Bitten by the Bug

The Next Adventure...

2009-02-15T11:39:00.001-08:00

We've been talking a lot about sailing this summer. And why not? It is relatively cheap (once you get the boat), there is so much to see by sea, and we can be weekend warriors! So, the spring re-fit season is approaching, and we will document what we are doing to get Destiny cruise-ready once again.

Some of the potential trips in the idea bin:

Hudson River Cruise: up the Hudson to West Point and points north. Perhaps as far as Albany... and who knows, maybe we'll lock up to Lake Champlain! That would be greta trip.

New York Harbor - Hells Gate - Long Island Sound: I've always wanted to do this trip... NYC skyline by night, and into LI sound for a weekend of exploring.

NJ Shore: I haven't been back to the fickle NJ shore for years. Lots of great beaches and harbors, crazy inlets with brutal currents, gambling (of course)... and the Inter-Coastal Waterway for those days when the weather offshore looks too sporty.

That will keep us busy... for now. At this point Destiny only needs some cosmetic work, along with a few electronic upgrades, and a bimini cover for some shade in the cockpit. We will keep you all posted.

*If you are curious about the Flicka class sloop, check out www.flicka20.com

Let me tell you what won't happen...

2009-02-11T16:44:00.000-08:00

He says:

I don't have a crystal ball, but I wasn't born yesterday. Let me tell you what is NOT going to happen...

1. The bailouts will never end. Ever. Once you shatter a window, it never goes back to being a window... unless you melt it back down and reform it anew. Same thing goes for our FIRE economy (Finance, Insurance, Real Estate). The FIRE economy is dead, a corpse, rotten and bloated. And the bailouts are just so much plasma and platelets and fluids... No one is checking for a pulse on the body, no one can believe that it is dead. These guys loved the FIRE economy too much, and they are not the best ones to be giving emergency care. Someone needs to walk into the room and put a gentle hand on their shoulder, and whisper "Stop". Until that happens, the bailouts will get bigger and bigger, until one day, people stop believing that the dollar represents value...

2. The dollar will not hold value. Not really a shocker, the dollar has been a terrible store of value since 1913... the year the "Creature from Jekyl Island" took control of the country. Thomas Jefferson warned us of the danger of a central bank, stating that if we give the power to print money to private bankers, that "through the process of inflation, then deflation, our grandchildren would find themselves penniless on the continent their grandparents conquered". He was right.

And the value of the dollar is really based on our collective confidence, and not much more. But the problem is that confidence is not measured on a scale from 1 to 100. You can't "sort of" trust the dollar. Either you do, or you don't. Just like derivatives and credit swaps, when they fail, they go from 1 to 0... like a binary switch. ON or OFF. So it will be, when the American people realize that the Federal Reserve is flooding the world with worthless dollars.

3. Private retirement investment vehicle will not be left in the private sector. They will be confiscated. Perhaps not overtly, but I'm guessing that the day is coming where you must invest your tax-deferred accounts in T-bills (ONLY) to keep tax-deferred status. In case you haven't noticed, T-bills have not beaten inflation for years, and the one month currently yields 7 basis points... seven. Thats a whopping $700 return on your million dollar investment! Yikes.

4. Taxes will not stay low. Believe it or not, our Gov't has a bit of a spending problem, an even bigger debt problem, and a whopping future liability problem. They will raise taxes, fees, pay to play, fines, you name it. We will all pay more, regardless of income bracket.

I wish I knew exactly what was coming. I don't. But I've read enough history to know that the sky is darkening, and the leaves are showing their bottoms. The coming storm will not be gentle like the great depression. It will probably be more like the Civil War, or the French Revolution. I wish I felt differently about the future.

Winter Dreams

2009-01-20T16:03:00.000-08:00

It's cold, snowing, a real winter in NY. It reminds me of my childhood back in the 70's, when the snowbanks were piled higher than the tops of our hats. We were headed into a new ice age, or so the leading scientific consensus of the time stated. I guess things change. But one thing doesn't...

In the depths of winter, I always start dreaming of summer. And with summer (in my mind) comes wind, water, and sailing. I love to sail, and I love to look at sailboats. Beauty, simplicity, form following function. I think I love daydreaming about sailing just as much as the actual practice of sailing. That's not true.... but it is close.

To me, sailing is self-contained self sufficiency, a vehicle for adventure, and a traditional art-form. I loved teaching sailing back in Oregon, mostly because the students questions drove me to research the origin of arcane terms and words, like Foc'sle (folk-sul). But I also loved watching students change from awkward hamfists to wind sniffing artists. Trimming sails, noses held high to the wind, steering a sharp course.

Anyway, I am dreaming of woodworking projects and polishing bronze and brass. Maybe a new outboard for the dinghy. Destiny (a Flicka class sloop) has a lot of teak, too. You'd be amazed at how dingy teak gets, even when she is put away under cover for the summer. And once she is back in the water, perhaps Elizabeth, Mo, and I can feed the rat by making some trips up the Hudson or down the river into NY Harbor and beyond... (and Elizabeth has a lot to learn about sailing!!)

"I'm in Love, I'm in Love and I don't care who knows it"

2009-01-02T04:53:00.000-08:00

She says:

So folks it's been a while, far too long actually, and I've been meaning to write but things kept coming up, and honestly I was feeling a little sheepish about writing. After documenting all our adventures out west, our rock climbing feats, car camping escapades and walks through the wilderness, it felt so anti-climatic to tell you that we were headed back to the east coast to plop back into our old jobs. But much has happened since the last time I wrote and I figured it was only fair to bring you up to date on our goings on.

So a recap of our trip back east, After Seattle (our last entry), we made our way to Idaho to spend a day or two with Dougie (a fabulous friend of Jeffrey's.) As I said we were planning on staying for a day or two and after two days we drove to Dougie's office to say fairwell and be on our way, "But its must see TV tonight, you gotta stay, 30-Rock... it's new!" Dougie protested, he knew our new-found weakness for creature comforts and played right into them. We barely put up a fight... and then the rationale to stay just kept sounding better and better, "Well Friday we can't leave friday, we gotta have a night out on the town." Saturday we were too hung over to leave the couch which lead to a 30-Rock marathon, Sunday we were promised a delicious Pancake Diner Breakfast and Monday we were back to must see TV... It was hard, but after a week we peeled ourselves away.

We had a worldwind tour through, Utah and Arizona stopping at many national parks including, canyonlands, zion, brice and the northern rim of the grand canyon. (This part of the trip was crucial, since I'm an east coast girl I had visualized the west as the red rock canyonlands of Utah and I refused to go back east until I saw them. I was far from disappointed and it felt more like I was touring the terrian of Mars than the US of A. We made our way through Colorado, through the winding roads and snow capped Rocky's and spent a few days with Jeff's younger brother Craig and his girlfriend Laura (who just moved to Basalt, CO.) From the beautiful landscapes of CO we were on a mission to get back to Central New York for Halloween. But not before we visited with my friends Joe & Christy in Ohio, so after 30 hours of straight driving we arrived in Dayton, OH and got to meet Ms. Caroline Amato (Joe & Christy's beautiful new baby girl.)

Finally we arrived back in NY, greeted with open arms by Denise, we relaxed and enjoyed Jeff's mama's company... and I enjoyed the comforts of a modern kitchen with an oven and the makings for zucchini bread. For halloween I didn't have enough time to execute one of my favorite non-traditional costumes, but I was excited to finally be able to do a couples costume and so with insirpation from the local costume shop, Jeff and I went as Frankenstein and Frankenstien's bride. We tried to make Moby and mummy dog, but we wanted little to do with it, and Denise went as a flapper...

On our way down to my Mothers house on Long Island we stopped in White Plains for some apartment hunting, found a decent apartment that took dogs in an afternoon and headed to Sayville to see mama and all her animals. By mid Novemeber we were moved into our new apartment and back at work.

So we are back at Malcolm Pirnie our old company, long story short, Jeff got a call from his old boss somewhere back in September that they needed him back... and if there was anything he could do to entice him back please let him know. With our budget getting smaller and smaller and the cold months of winter looming, our minds were already drifting to what to do next... so the offer did have allure, after a few days HR called me to let me know if I was interested in coming back, they would be happy to have me. So if we wanted we could both get our old jobs back, and after much deliberation we decided, that we have big dreams, we know we can live cheaply, but if we want to continue to fulfill our dreams we were going to need jobs... and we liked Pirnie, they treated us well, and we enjoyed the culture of the workplace... and we didn't even need to interview or go through all the job application leg work. So it seemed like the thing to do.

Thanksgiving was spent with Jeff's older brother Jon & fam in New Hampshire and was filled with mouthwatering smells coming from the kitchen all weekend, an annual turkey bowl football game on Thanksgiving, trips to Portsmith and the local candlestick bowling alley, lots of scrabble, nights full of board games and I even badgered everyone into playing charades (which after some intial complaining everyone seemed to enjoy.)

As the holiday season sprang into full gear I was certainly sweept up in the holiday spirit. Since we were in Alaska last year, this is the first year Jeff got to see me in action. Christmas trees in every room, garland over every doorway & window, mistletoe, advent calanders, holiday songs and of course lots of baking.

Christmas was spent with my mother, we drove out to her house on Christmas eve and I was determined to get us all to midnight mass for the first time in years... and as we were getting ready to go, my eye's were misted from the emotions brought on by the good people of Bedford Falls as I watched the end of "It's a WonderfulLlife" and then... Jeffrey, right there in the guest room of my mothers house, got down on one knee and asked if I would be his wife. Obviously the mist in my eyes turned to full on tears and I clumsily put out my right hand insteand of my left and shook my head yes.

So we're Engaged! Yay! No we have no idea when the wedding will be... but of course it will be fabulous and our honeymoon... sounds like a good excuse for another adventure to me. *~

So I hope you all had a warm and loving hoilday season and I hope the new year finds you in good health and happiness. I don't know how often we'll be writting from here on out, as the blog was to document our adventures in the great outdoors... but we had fun writting while we were on sabatical and we hope you enjoyed reading out tidbits...

Till the next adventure, so long

Frisbee

2008-10-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

Mo says:
I forgot how much I love frisbee! Momma bought me a new frisbee on the road, so now we play frisbee all the time. I like it best in the desert...the sand is soft and I can stomp on the frisbee after it lands. And when I get tired, I just take the frisbee into the bush and take a nap. Life is simple, and good!

A Quarter Century Old

2008-10-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

She says:

I think at one time or another everyone imagines how they would act if they met their favorite famous person. I, of course, have imagined that when meeting said person I would be calm and collected, compliment them very casually but with heartfelt sincerity and then maybe woo them with my charm and convince them to join me for a spot of tea or a pint (depending on the temperament of the famous person)... that last part I never really saw myself going through with but I did love imagining that I could be so urbane.

I did not imagine that attending Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Cafe concert in Seattle, WA would give me the opportunity to actually meet someone I idolized. Nor did I imagine just how mortifying my actual interactions could be in comparison to my calm and collected fantasies. But first I would like to give you some background on the events at hand.

Originally, Jeffrey and I were to be working in Alaska until October 5th, returning back to the west coast only days before my 25th Birthday and coincidentally days before Stuart McLean, host of the Vinyl Cafe Radio Show on CBC radio (the Canadian and much better version of Garrison Keillor) would be hosting a concert in Seattle, WA only a short drive from Portland, OR (where our return flight was schedule to land.) I dropped hints with decreasing tact for about a month, doing everything besides making a huge poster telling Jeffrey to buy tickets and tape it to the toilet. After a month I was pretty certain Jeffrey had gotten the message loud and clear until on a drive home he asked,
“Hey, you know we get back to the lower 48 right before your birthday, is there anything you want to do?”
“You’re kidding, right? This is a set up?”
Jeff answered with a very blank stare, I couldn’t believe it, I had been so obvious, how could he have missed the signs, “You’re joking” I said once more in a hopeful voice before I exploded into a monologue about all the clues I have been dropping for the past month.

Well the hints didn’t work, however the rant did and the next day Jeffrey forwarded me a copy of the ticket order. I was going to see Stuart McLean for m 25th birthday! I was so excited.

And now that excitement has only been mounting since May, and since we left Alaska earlier than initially planned we have had to plan our entire Western tour around this concert, which has made it all the more exciting. Since I don’t receive Canadian Radio Stations regularly I download Stuart’s show weekly and listen by podcast.

I discovered Stuart while in high school, I had purchased a Christmas compilation CD and Stuart’s stories about Polly Andersen’s Christmas Party was the last track on the album. The story was heartwarming, comical and reminiscent of a lost time in American History. A time I dreamed of experiencing, a more wholesome time when family’s crammed together in living rooms around the country to listen to their favorite storytellers or huddle around to hear a presidential address or news from around the world. For some reason the radio era seems so much more romantic than the TV one, maybe because it fostered imagination and aloud its listeners to visualize the scenes described. Anyway, I am a notoriously bad story teller so the way Stuart’s words captivated me furthered my love of his stories and his fantastic storytelling ability.

It took quite a few years before I thought to look him up online, only to find he was a radio host in Canada and had a slew of stories on CD, a minor hint to my mother and for Christmas, I received all of his recorded work, (apparently my mother and I speak the same hinting language, be it a female or family thing)

I think of all the music and other auditory medium I listen to, Stuart might be my favorite and I dreamed of seeing him in concert, however since he was Canadian it was rare that he performed in the U.S., even rarer that he traveled to the Northeast. So when I realized that I was going to be out west when he was performing I was determined to go.

The concert was everything I dreamed it could be, complete with quaint stories that tickled my heart and funny bone. Stuart’s stories had me leaning forward on the edge of my seat, eager to hear the next line, but trying to preserve the bubbly feeling of seeing Stuart live. Stuart told stories of Dave (owner of the Vinyl Cafe) his wife Morley and their two kids Stephanie and Sam, read a story form the story exchange about a pastor being initiated into a new parish full of rugged fisherman. He shared bits of his own life story with us, interacted with the audience calling out children and the elderly to receive free CDs or his newest book. The concert also included multiple Canadian singers who were phenomenal! Two girls whose combined talents formed the likes of Dala, a piano player that cleverly combined classic composer favorites with popular tunes from modern times and a renowned Blues singer, whose grey hair, leather vest, cane and gravelly voice made you think that maybe this man didn’t just sing the blues, but he was the blues.

It was a wonderful evening and at the culmination of the concert I wasn’t disappointed it was over, because I was told Stuart always stays after the show to greet the fans and sign autographs. As I stood on the long line I kept trying to figure out what one-liner to say or how to act to give off that calm and collected air that I imagined. But Stuart has been such a big part of my life (especially this trip as I have really looked forward to listening to his podcast each week) part of me wanted to do something so he would remember me and I would not just be another dweeby fan. As I scrambled to come up with something, Jeff was slowly becoming convinced that I was actually crazy. I decided to have Stuart sign a specific chapter of the book instead of just in the front, and asking him to wish me a happy birthday via autograph would be enough distinction without being crazy and that I would rely on my charisma to do the rest.

Oh god, the butterflies were flying full speed in my stomach as the fans in front of me thanked Stuart and were on there way. “Oh dear, it’s show time” I thought, I sheepishly said hello; Stuart asked me my name as I hand him my book. “Elizabeth,” Jeff snaps a picture, “And what’s your name?” Stuart directed his question to Jeff, I interrupt, “Elizabeth” I realized my mistake, nervously laugh and then stayed awkwardly quiet while Jeff told Stuart just how much I liked him. My hands are sweating and after a quick posed picture, I grabbed my book and tried to discretely leave the theater so Stuart wouldn't realized just how overwhelmed I was by our meeting. I barely made it out the door before I start to cry and laugh hysterically. Jeff documented my failed attempt at being suave and as tears stream down my face I’m was disappointed by my dorky interactions but elated at what a wonderful evening it was.

If all this talk of Stuart has peaked your interest you can find more information about him and his show here: http://www.cbc.ca/vinylcafe/

So my mother knows Jeffrey is treating me right: Jeff also took me out to a scrumptious dinner in Seattle, including Red wine and chocolate cake! Treated me to a very entertaining college football game between the UofO Ducks and the UCLA Bruins in Eugene the night before my Birthday AND woke me up with Balloons, breakfast in bed, (pancakes topped with singing candles) and finally a book about how to live a self sufficient life on a farm! (An idea I have been talking about this entire trip) So in short, my 25th Birthday was fabulous, thanks to my fantastic boyfriend! Yikes 25 years old I’m half way to 50! Ahhh!

Cheeseburger in Paradise

2008-10-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

She says:
So since first strapping on the alpine harness at Smith Rock and climbing up the nubbiny routes on the welded tuff rock, i’ve climbed on Basalt Columns in Eugene, OR and Bishop, CA, and Granite cliffs and domes in Lake Tahoe and Yosemite National Park.

I have really grown to love to sport of rock climbing, the continual set of challenges and with each new skill set attained, a new set of challenges presents itself. Owen’s River Gorge is fabulous sport climbing, the gorge has relatively moderate temperatures (as long as you stay in the shade) and the routes a surprisingly steep and long. They allow for a great workout and a chance to exercise your problem solving skill as your muscles become fatigued. One of the benefits of Owen’s River Gorge is though it’s steep, the rock has surprisingly fantastic hand holds or jugs which make you feel like a rock star as you ascend the routes.

Up until this point Jeffrey has done all the leading, which means he ascends the rock first, clipping into the bolts or plugging in gear and then clipping in (on traditional routes). Lead climbing adds a whole dimension to climbing, as there is greater fall potential from a lead climb. Generally you lead a climb below your skill abilities so that you can safely place the protection gear needed, without being in a place where you become so strained physically or mentally that you might fall. Anyway, taking the step into the leading world was a step I was nervous about. It’s demands a level of comfort and confidence with climbing that I was not sure I had attained. But in order to continue to push myself and grow as a climber, I need to start to lead routes.

So I found a rather inviting looking 5.5 sport route to lead and after warming up seconding Jeff on a few trad and sport routes around the side of the arete, It’s time to take the step into the leading world. 5.5 routes are pretty easy climbing (thought, leading it does and additional challenges). I tie in to the sharp end of the rope feeling calm and confident in my abilities. During the climb I actively remind myself of the advice and techniques that Jeff has shown me, but more than anything I try to enjoy this new type of climbing. For your first lead, you should climb an easy enough route so you don’t have to think about the climbing and instead you can focus on the new tasks of clipping in properly and protecting the climb. I climb the route confidently, posing for victory shots as I reach the anchors. With the completion of my first lead my tummy starts to rumble for the victory dinner Jeff has promised... Big juicy cheeseburger & ice cold brewski here I come!

My friend Mandy has been reading this blog about our climbing adventures, and she was inspired to write a poem. Jeff and I were so moved that we wanted to share her beautifully written poem:

A Huge Smile

With a huge smile extending across the desert sky,
I hang from my fingertips and feel alive.
I have all that I could want,
And I risk everything for this moment, every chance I get.
The bigger the better,
The toughest the best.
I've seen but a fraction,
but could fill the voids in many minds,
with the images I have captured with my open eyes.
I have felt, seen, and connected with her,
Our Mother - most others have forgotten.
She is here with me waiting,
Her patience unmatched.
Who will join me in knowing,
How many are capable of surviving.
As I learn from our Mother,
As I harden outwardly and inwardly,
As I rise to the challenge,
I become that which I have always known I am:
A woman - capable, confident, compassionate...
Or some might just call me tough.

Bishop for all Seasons

2008-10-08T13:07:00.000-07:00

She says:

As the sign says as you enter the city limits, “Bishop for all seasons.” The town has a short main street, peppered with outdoor gear shops, home furnishing stores and a few eateries and coffee shops. It's a town with a whole lot of character, and it seems to be rapping on the walls of my heart, hoping to be added to the long list of things I love about the west. With its easy access to outdoor activity and the charm of the small town, I’m in love. Jeffrey and I typically climb in the morning till we are fatigued and then head into Bishop proper for some internet surfing at the Looney Bean coffee shop. After we get our internet and caffeine fix we roam the streets of the small town, window shopping, as I mentally make a list of all the things we must experience before we leave this town. We stop into the local grocery to get to some fresh produce and indulge in a redbox movie rental for a $1.50 a night!!! Cheap entertainment, I love it!

One of the big highlights of Bishop for me is the Eric Schat’s Bakery. A bakery that looks like it was plucked from Epcot Center’s Holland section. There are figurines and plywood cutouts of bakers and Dutch woman with braids and wooden shoes. There is an old fashioned car outside decorated to the nines with advertisements for the bakery. The entire bakery looks like it was transported straight from Disney world, straight down to the stained glass windows and the woman who greets you with here lace hat on. Once in the store there is a bounty of bread that almost makes me fall over there are so many delicious looking options including an Eric Schat’s original, “Sheepherder bread” the only thing that can compete with the abundance of bread choices is the copious bakery selection, including apparently the award winning, best glazed doughnut in 1998! I can barely contain my excitement, I feel like I am floating around in store in a cloud of confectionary goodness. Jeff decides we should get a loaf of bread. I agree and secretly decide that we also need to sample a pastry... or two!!!! Come on this place is a baker’s dreamland.

We decided on Rosemary sourdough bread and then I sneak over a purchase an apple fritter and pecan cinnamon roll. As we sit outside and partake in the confectionary and savory bread delight, I honest start to daydream about living here. Drugged up on sweet bakery treats I think of working in the bakery and mastering the varying baking techniques and with every day of heading straight to Owen’s River Gorge to get my climbing fix... I would be in heaven.... **sigh** it's good to dream.

Climbing Like a Warrior

2008-10-07T09:21:00.000-07:00

he says:

Climbing is a physically demanding sport. We all wish we had stronger forearms, longer arms, and delicate footwork. Close to the ground or below an anchor, we’re all heroes.

Climbing is a psychologically demanding sport. We all wish we had nerves of steel, control of our fears, and trust in our pro(tection). Close to the ground or below an anchor, we’re still heroes.

While the physical aspect of climbing receives most of our attention, it is the other side that has captured my interest lately. We can train our physical systems: muscles; tendons; fingertips and toes; balance and flexibility. But what about our heads? How do you push your limits physically when our heads are telling us to be careful, cautious, and conservative?

A warrior seeks challenges not for easy wins, not to pump up his ego, and not for the admiration of others. A warrior climbs to learn about himself, to immerse himself in a challenge so complete that fundamental questions are revealed and answered definitively.

Challenge, Focus, Commit.

So we’re back at Smith Rock, and we are climbing harder than ever. My goal is to lead .10a trad this summer... that is, a traditionally protected (trad pro) 5.10a rated (hard) route. So, I’ve been leading a lot of 5.8 and 5.9 routes to gain strength and experience protecting routes and bouldering to build confidence in my ability to think through difficult sequences on climbs.

In addition, I need to coach Elizabeth as she gains confidence and skill. She is climbing so well, and I want to gradually increase her exposure to complicated climbs as she improves. I’m sure she will be able to 2nd the .10a’s I’m leading!

Lions Jaw 5.8 trad
Great crack route, good protection. The crux is a roof sequence about 80’ off the ground. It goes, and I enjoy watching Elizabeth work through the problem without any help or advice from me. She is so strong!

Out of Harm’s Way 5.8 trad/sport

Toys in the Attic 5.9 trad
A crack pitch that is characterized by pigeon shit and straw for the first 30’ feet, all of which makes the climbing slippery and the protection non-existent. After that, the route steepens to a committing overhung lie-back that ends at a roof, followed by a 10’ traverse in a finger crack. I protect the traverse and finish pumped and weary. Elizabeth finds difficulty and challenge at the roof, and discovers that my pro will prevent a serious fall. She also learns the importance of protecting traverses!

The Outsiders 5.9 sport
Ancylostoma 5.9 sport
Phoenix 5.10a sport
Light on the Path 5.10a sport
Hesitation Blues 5.10b sport
More or Lester 5.10c sport

New Testament 5.10a trad! (a potential first for me!)
After climbing several hard routes today, I spend 20 minutes at the base of this route assessing the climbing, the potential rests, and the pro. Even though I am a bit tired, I decide that today is the day. The climbing goes well, the protection is ok. The hand crack flares inward, making cam placements difficult... they can ‘walk’ into the crack, mushroom open, and fail if loaded (short story, they won’t hold a fall). After 70’ of climbing, I am starting to get pumped. Hands are not working as well as they should.

The route gets harder, steeper and more exposed. I sink two good chocks that settle my nerves and boost my confidence. Only ten feet to go, and my forearms are flooded! My hands will barely respond to my requests for finger locks and hand jams. I am hoping to lock joints into cracks, using my anatomy to hold me instead of coordinated muscle action. I down-climb about three feet and rest, shaking out my forearms one at a time as I eye the rest of the route. The final push. I climb the last steep section without placing additional pro, knowing that a fall will be arrested by the chocks below. I execute the final moves with what little hand strength I have left. I reach the anchors and clip. I am there.
A light rain is now falling, so I clean the route on the lower-off, and we pack up for the hike out.

What did I learn? Endurance is what keeps us alive between rests. Good pro allows us to manage fear and keep the mind focused on climbing. An honest assessment: I should have tackled this climb fresh. I was fatigued at the start, which made it more difficult than it should have been. I let my ego dictate the decision to climb New Testament, a 5.10 trad route, on this day... I am happy to have completed the route, but I have so much to learn.

700 Billion Reasons to Not Believe in the System...

2008-10-05T17:49:00.000-07:00

“In for a penny, in for a pound”...
he says:

The US congress is currently debating the future of our nation (not any more...they just killed us all). Not the nature or quality of our future, but the very future (or not) of America. The corporate stock of the US, the greenback, is balanced on the edge of a knife, and with it the US itself. We are facing something much like Germany experienced in the 20’s... or what modern economists like to call a “currency crisis”. Read about Argentina or the Weimar Republic of Germany to get a sense of what lies down this road.

It is a choice. Let the dopey wall street magicians take the beating they so richly deserve, perhaps destroying up to a quadrillion dollars of notional wealth in the process. Or, socialize the losses by destroying the currency and bailing them out. The latter, of course, will destroy your savings and mine, and will wipe out the financial prospects for our kids, and theirs, and theirs...

What they are trying to do is hold together the financial system itself, and a few ex-Goldman Sachs employees have convinced them that for $700 billion, it can be done. First rule: double any number the gov’t quotes to you and me. Second rule: Quadruple or quintuple the number if it is a taxpayer bailout!

So, what can we expect from a $3.5 trillion bailout, paid for by you and me? Here is my guess:

The national debt, at $9.6 trillion (on-budget that is...) before the Fannie and Freddy debacle, will likely ballon to roughly $15 trillion once those losses are realized. Another $3.5 trillion some time next week will put us $18.5 trillion in the hole. So far, so good.
This number, as huge as it is, does not include “off-budget” items. The current administration is especially fond of the off-budget spending gimmick. Afghanistan? Off-budget. Iraq? Off budget. Katrina? Off budget. You get the picture... A hundred billion here, a hundred billion there, pretty soon we’re talking about real money! A low-ball estimate of $10 trillion of additional debt, since 2001, has been accrued in your name and mine, “off-budget”.
Current estimates of the future social security and medicaid liabilities in the coming decade are staggering. How does $4 trillion a year, every year for the next 10 sound? That is in excess of all “revenue” paid into the system. So, in the next decade, the first squirt of baby-boom retirements will tack an additional $40 trillion (minimum) of debt onto the balance sheet.
Ok. $70 trillion of DEBT, assuming all goes well, by the end of the next decade. This number is not a figment of my imagination. David Walker, former comptroller of the US (GAO) agrees. So what?

Unfortunately we’ve gotten used to big scary numbers from our government. But there are consequences to this kind of debt. It was a huge pile of war debt that drove the Weimar republic to the printing presses in the 20’s. When governments can’t pay their debts, they print extra money... to pay their debts. Cool, huh?

But the first phase of the great global de-leveraging is asset price deflation. People will sell things of dubious value... particularly stocks and bonds, but commercial and residential real estate will get hammered too. This will have the effect of boosting the value of the dollar (when you sell a stock, it is redeemed for dollars). The recent surge in the value of the dollar is evidence of this... but it will not continue. It can’t continue.

Soon, smart foreign central banks, investors, and sovereign wealth funds will dump the dollar. Would you hold a dollar that you knew was getting printed into existence by the trillions? Probably not. You’d spend it now, while it still holds some value. And that is precisely what is about to happen. The tidal wave of dollars will wash into this country, into every stock exchange in the world, looking for something of real value to buy. Real things. Oil, Natural Gas, Food, Minerals.... and prices will react, by shooting skywards. The Dow will explode... but your purchasing power will go away at the same time.

This chain reaction is called Hyper-Inflation. Prices move up fast, daily, hourly. Paychecks are issued twice a day. Meals are paid for in advance, because the price will rise significantly during the meal. Eventually, the largest denomination bill ($100) will be worth more as functional toilet paper.

So, as the debt grows out of control (...and the current debt is uncontainable. If the US gov’t confiscated every last dollar of wages, a 100% tax rate, it still could not pay off the debt) it is important to realize that those bills will come due. The US will pay. And in doing so, the treasury and federal reserve will print every last dollar required for the job.

But, to this congress, this outcome is better than watching their friends on Wall Street take a loss, miss a Christmas bonus, or God forbid... reap what they have sown. This is not the first bail-out, and it won’t be the last.

Our nation has been taken hostage by international banks, just as Thomas Jefferson warned it would, if we were ever so foolish as to relinquish control of the currency to private interests. So we did, and so it has. God help us all.

A Year Ago Today

2008-10-04T07:55:00.000-07:00

he says:

The great socialist republics were (in)famous for many things, but my favorite was the five year plan. The planned society, the planned economy... It implies so many things. Such that one is thinking ahead, that one can foresee the unforeseen, and that one is capable of shaping the future.

Ha. Where were you a year ago? That is the mental game I like to play. Think back to where you were a year ago, then ask yourself if you are now where you thought you’d be 365 days ago. My guess is that most of you are not doing what you thought you’d be doing, where you are doing it, with whom you suspected. Only 365 days have passed, yet life has brought an unknowable series of choices and outcomes in just one short year.

A year ago today, Elizabeth and I received a phone call from a production company in L.A. The call was shocking, and it prodded us to ask our employer for a four month leave of absence. They obliged, and we began packing and organizing and disconnecting from the civilized world for an unforgettable odyssey in the Alaskan bush. A life changing experience in so many ways.

Just 367 days ago, I never would have guessed it. One of life’s little surprises. Any sort of five year plan would have melted in the face of such radical input. Even a one year plan would have gone out the window.

So, I ask you. Where will you be in a year? What constructive changes are you willing to undertake to make it happen? And when life throws you a meatball, are you ready to forget about the conservative double you were preparing for, and to slug this pitch out of the park?

Life is about choices, big and small. The answer is that you do not know where you will be, and neither do I.

Dream big, dream small. Prepare.

Now make it happen.

Ode to Watson

2008-10-03T09:53:00.000-07:00

She says:

So I know that this blog is suppose to be about the great adventures that Jeffrey and I are currently indulging in... However I am hurting and I have the desire to write, so bare with me, though these words aren’t wild tales of adventure, they are words of a beloved friend with a tail who was an unlikely adventurer.

Watson, the 16 year old golden retriever who I loved with all my heart moved on to heaven today. He was not always my puppy to love, as the first 5 or so years of his life he was owned by one of my childhood friends. Watson, who was the product of a mishap between a pure breed golden retriever mother and her son, a dog who made up with his heart what he lacked in IQ.

A dog who escaped regularly from his home and even made his way to the train platform in Sayville, boarded a train to NYC and was going to be let out by the conductor in Jamaica before a fellow train rider informed, “Wait that dog got on in Sayville, you can’t put him off in Jamaica!” and with that this kind patron of the LIRR took the day off from work to escort the lovable Watson safely back home to Sayville.

Watson, who loved to run, (especially away) and though we provided a good home for him he would still occasionally take off down the street. Though he always seemed to find the kindest of folks to take care of him until we were contacted and he could be brought back home.

Watson, who’s eyes twinkled right before he bee-lined it out of the yard. I even mentioned the twinkle to a friend who was watching him for me, “Be careful” I warned, “if he gets that look in his eye, he’s going to make a run for it.” Only to have my friend inform me as I picked him up, “You wouldn’t believe it, I thought you were kidding about that twinkle in his eye, but I was outside with him and he did, he gave me a look, distinctively, right before he went barreling down the street.”

Watson who you could lock in a car with bags of doggie kibble, fresh cut meat from the butcher and Italian bread and every single time you would come back to the car with a very moist and crumbled bakery bag with no bread in it, the meat untouched and a very guilty looking Golden.

Watson, a dog who like so many Goldens craved attention and just wanted to be loved and caressed. A dog who craved being pet so much he didn’t care what appendage was touching him and how and so if you became tired of scratching his ears with your hands you could instruct him to walk down to your feet which were conveniently perched at the edge of a foot rest and he would happily stand there and let you rub his chest with your feet... as long as it was human contact he didn’t care what the form was.

A dog with such a kind soul that our cats would often seek shelter between his two front paws and snuggle up under his chin as he lied down, or rub their faces in figrue 8's around his legs as he stood or do tumble saults over his head as he slept. A dog who never showed his teeth, not even to our bully, Lhasa apso -Cocker Spaniel, Missy though he was 5 or 6 times her size. A dog who you had to give permission to before he would eat.

A dog who was repeatedly told he was the handsomest boy in Sayville with the best velvet jowls in all the world. A dog who would squeeze himself into the two passenger kayak with my mother in the stern and Missy, the beast, in the bow and would sit patiently for hours as my mother and I explored the canals of our neighboring towns. A dog who loved all creatures.

A dog who would never think of grabbing a tennis ball out of your hands and would very tentatively place his mouth slowly around it when you offered it to him. A dog who always came and sat next to me when I was upset and let me give him hugs when I needed them. A dog who though I have moved far away from and I wasn’t there with him in the end, will always hold a place in my heart. A companion and a friend.

I love you Watson and I always will. You are now in a land where your legs will support you again and you can run free. You can indulge in endless amounts of Italian bread and there will always be a warm hand to caress your velvet jowls. You will be in my heart until I join you again.

Bishop...and Owens River Gorge

2008-10-01T16:29:00.000-07:00

he says:

The climbing has been fantastic in so many ways. I’ve always loved to climb, but felt that it was a discipline that required a serious level of effort. This trip has provided the time necessary, in my mind, to develop as a climber. Different kinds of rock, different styles, and ever increasing difficulty and length to stretch my comfort zone and my abilities.

Owens River Gorge is a deep, steep gorge lined with hundreds of established sport and gear routes. Vertical to overhanging welded volcanic tuff provides interesting, pumpy problems to keep us busy. Good hands, good feet, and great anchors make for safe, fun workouts.

We’re currently camped in the high desert, at roughly 6,000’ msl. Sage and pinion pine dot the landscape. The white mountains to the east, and the big granite spires of the high sierra to our west. The sunrise washes the high sierra in a pink glow, and the sun immediately warms my face. Elizabeth is still sleeping as I make a pot of turkish coffee and write, sitting in my lawn chair, bundled in down and fleece. Another beautiful morning.

Today we run. A hundred minutes on winding dirt roads in the national forest. A long, slow run. Afterwards, we’ll hike into the gorge to climb a few routes, depending on how our energy levels hold up. Then into Bishop for a little laundry, and to return the movie we rented last night (Dan in the Real World) to the red box.

This place is very comfortable, especially when compared to Yosemite NP. I am finding the NPs to be very onerous with their need to post rules everywhere, collect fees everywhere, and to generally prevent almost every kind of human activity that comes naturally to you and me. The average stay at the national parks in the early 20th century was 30 days. Today, the average stay at a national park is 3.5 hours. If you ask me, the park service is a massive failure, based solely on that single statistic. People would stay longer if they felt welcome, if they felt ownership, and if they felt comfortable. But most do not.

The park service makes the public feel as though they are trespassing on their own land. Twenty bucks for a primitive campsite in a national park, which is free everywhere else on public land. Ten bucks to walk into the park... no car, just to walk in. No dogs on any trails anywhere in the parks. Why? Actually, it is to prevent very small breeds from training the predators to seek out trail snacks! (seriously, that is what we were told). So, no dogs of any kind. That was easy. Why not just ban kids, the frail, elderly, and waifish fashion models too?

I digress. The sun is up and warming the valley. The gray peaks of the high sierra are illuminated, and the breeze has picked up. Another cup of joe, a bowl of cheerios with powdered milk, and I’ll be ready for the day.

Yosemite National Park

2008-09-29T16:02:00.000-07:00

She says:

I’ve been hesitant to write, much like the way when I witness something truly breathtaking I am rarely moved to take a picture. I am not a very skilled photographer and I am often disappointed with the photo I’ve taken and more so disappointed in the amount of effort that went into that photo and took me away from the moment. After many failed attempts I’ve decided to take in the beauty of the moment and preserve it in memory. And so, as we approach Yosemite I become overwhelmed with the unbelievable views, and the feelings just get more intense after we entered the park. I felt like I could sit among the incredible edifices of rock for years and I still wouldn’t be able to take it all in.

The west feels so alive to me. As we pass through the rolling granite of Tuolumne Meadows you can almost imagine a sea of liquified granite flowing freely, eons before in this very place. The frozen statues of cresting granite waves now greet the visitors of Yosemite entering from the east. The meadows are punctuated by the clearest of lakes (which Moby whines at as we pass, begging for us to stop so he can go for a swim.) From certain points in the meadows you can capture a glimpse of Half Dome, the 8,836 ft granite dome that explodes out of the 4,000 ft valley floor. The dome that is famous to all rock climbers and most outdoor enthusiasts, a goal for some, demanding respect from all.

The valley is an hour drive from the meadows and a good 6,000 ft elevation loss, as we drive the winding roads with steep drop-offs I am reminded of my mother's fear of heights (a trait I pretend not to have and blame on genetics when my hands start to sweat.) I remember one road trip in particular, it was the summer between 5th and 6th grade and my mother and I were driving up to Cadillac Mountain in Maine. I had been hearing about Acadia National Park and Cadillac Mountain from my 5th Grade teacher Mr. Mac all year, and as we start to ascend the largest coastal mountain on the east coast flutterbugs of excitement formed in my tummy.

I take in the beauty of my surroundings until I hear a muffled whimper coming from the driver's side of the car. I look over to find my mother’s face flush and soaked with tears. A weary voice follows, “I’m sorry Elizabeth, I tried, I know how much you want to see Cadillac Mountain, but I feel like I am going to throw up I’m so nervous. I keep thinking we are going to drive right off the side of the mountain”

Seeing my mother crying as we wind up the steeped cliff road is more than I can handle. I reach in to find some bravery to try to calm her, but all that comes is an explosion of tears to match my mother’s. “Its okay” I tearfully console her, my hands instantly in a sweat. There is no place to turn on this narrow road and with the trail of cars behind us my mother is forced to continue. We sit quietly, trying to imagine ourselves anywhere else, (anywhere that has flat land on either side of the road.) The road finally turns inward and comes to the first overlook in the park. My mother steps out of the car and looks for a friendly face to consult about the rest of the drive to the summit. An elderly couple calms all of my mothers fears telling her that the rest of the drive doesn’t involve any steep cliffs. As we pile back into the car, my mother desperately trying to muster the courage to continue, the man who just a moment ago attempted to comfort her now does one better. "If you would like, we can wait for you and we will drive ahead of you on the way back down the mountain, that way you can just focus on our car, take it slow and not have to think about the way the road looks like it runs right off the cliff." My mother enthusiastically took them up on their offer and after making it to the top of Cadillac Mountain and back down again, my mother is convinced that this elderly couple is God-sent.

My thoughts come back to the present as we reach the valley floor and are greeted by El Capitain the 7,569 ft granite cliff that you can’t help but gape at. I know it’s a famous climbing area but it seems unfathomable once I’m here in person. After a quick scan of the cliff, most conclude “...no one must be climbing today.” Then as you look around and see others pointing to the cliff and talking about climbers and you think they must be crazy, there is no one there. Then you look again, adjust your scale and notice the ant size orange tee shirt or the sparkle of some climbing gear and the immensity of the granite cliff hits you once again. It takes your average crazy climber 3- 7 days to climb this cliff. If you visit El Capitain at night you can see the headlamps of all the climbers secure in their bivy sacks, strapped into porta-ledges anchored on the cliff side to sleep thousands of feet from horizontal ground. Just incredible.

We decide that after rarely paying for a campsite it is time to fork over some serious cash to the National Park to stay within the park boundaries for a few nights. Cold hard cash is hard to part with, but if I think of the fun serves that it allows us to partake in I am okay with it. At 7:30 with Moby in tow we head to the ranger talk campfire. The ranger talks are a big tradition at Yosemite, one I hope will continue. The rangers talk on a variety of topics; sometimes about their love of this land and how they became a ranger or their scary encounters with predators to interesting tales about the traits and characteristics of some of the animals found in the park. It's the kind of wholesome entertainment I have always loved and I hope I can always seek out. In the morning we grab our coffee mugs and head over to the the campfire circle for a free cup of joe and some mingling with some fellow campers. Chatting amongst the Yosemite campers is a great way to start the day, with the free caffeine running through my veins and stories of other's adventures in the states and around the world I am invigorated for the day.

So I LOVE the big towering trees of the Redwoods but overall I think Yosemite wins out and my favorite National Park thus far.

The Yosemite

2008-09-24T15:40:00.001-07:00

he says:

What can one write or say that hasn’t already been said about America’s favorite national park. During college, I remember reading a lot of John Muir during upstate New York’s winters. His works, his experiences in the wild, untouched Yosemite and Tuolumne valley’s, his view that through wilderness was preservation of the world... spoke to me then, and probably laid the foundation for my love of wild, untouched places. That said, John Muir would be royally pissed if he saw the valley today. I won’t comment further on what the park has become, because even though it is a busy, tourist swamped place, it is still breathtakingly beautiful.
This was our first trip into the Yosemite Valley (I’ve been to the outer park before). Simply incredible. Inorganic wonders: El Capitan, Half Dome, Stately Pleasure Dome. Organic wonders: Tuolomne Meadows, beautiful rivers, and numerous groves of Giant Sequoia.

Our primary goal here is to climb granite. Cracks and slabs, flakes and faces. There is more rock here, more great classic routes, than anywhere else in the U.S. Granite domes, sheer cliffs, split by cracks and littered by detached flakes caused by the exfoliation of these massifs as they weather through the eons. Rough texture and polished patina, fixed bolts and traditional gear. This place is a climber’s playground.

We hit every climbing shop in and near the park, and we can’t seem to locate a climbing guide. So, we borrow guide from a pair of germans at the campsite next to ours. Elizabeth cooks dinner, while I sketch routes into a spiral notebook, marking the locations of anchors, features, and crux notes. It is painstaking, but it does not compare to the anguish we would feel once we were “lost” on a 500’ granite cliff.

With several pages of notes, route descriptions, and descent notes copied into my own hand, we are ready to tackle some new challenges.

Puppy Dome: Puppy Crack, 5.6. A two pitch (rope length) clean hand crack, continuous and fun. Easily protected, but lacking features outside of the crack. So we were literally ‘all in’, two hands and two feet swallowed by the crack, moving up slowly and surely. Ankles barking as we stand up on over supinated toe jams, knuckles bleeding from the bite of quartz and feldspar crystals, and finger tips throbbing from the abrasive treatment. Physical climbing.

Pothole Dome: Assorted toprope routes. Unprotectable slabs. Moving up blank faces on impossibly small hands and feet. Friction. Dime-thick edges. Balance. Delicate climbing.

Lembert Dome: Northwest Books, 5.9 variation. A moderate five pitch, 400’ cliff route with a beautiful pitch of undercling crack climbing, and a very exposed pitch of finger crack in a dihedral up high. We start early in the morning to beat the crowds.
It is cold, the sun is not yet on the west facing cliff, so we dress warmly. The climbing is smooth, our rope work is efficient. The 5.9 crux is awkward and very exposed, but the move is easily protected and we both move past it fluidly. The sun soon warms us as we top out on the bald granite dome. Our first big multi-pitch route together. Elizabeth climbs better every day, and the exposure did not seem to phase her. It would have been very understandable for her to have ‘freaked’ at the crux, but she climbed magnificently. I should have known...

Stately Pleasure Dome: West Country, 5.7. Another 450’ dome route, four moderate pitches and very exposed. The route overlooks a beautiful mountain lake and the Tioga Pass Road. The crack is steeper than I expected, but the moves are solid and is easily protected. Two hanging belays (belay stances on steep rock that require you to sit and hang in your harness) make it feel even more exposed than would big comfortable ledges along the route. Elizabeth impresses me by using the non-verbal communication I taught her when the wind and distance make verbal comms impossible. We use short, sharp tugs on the rope, much like morse code, to communicate “off-belay” “on-belay” “climbing”, etc. We top out, and do two 180’ rappels, followed by a rather steep granite ‘walk-off’.
Great climbs. Unmatched scenery. Unforgettable adventure.

Retire Today!... you may not get another chance...

2008-09-17T15:36:00.000-07:00

he says:

What is it that drives a guy, mid-career, to drop it all and retire small?

There are many answers, but I am going to address one of the biggies. It may seem a bit incongruous, but the answer is:

Peak Oil.

Plainly put, it is the growing scientific consensus that we are at the world peak of petroleum production. The rate at which we can produce crude oil is at a maximum. It is not that we are running out, it is that we are running out of the ability to find and exploit large new fields that can replace the “elephants” that are currently in decline. So, as the rate of production falls, and world demand rises (on the backs of huge developing economies such as China, India, Russia, etc.)... we have a problem. (Google: M. King Hubbard, Matt Simmons, James H. Kuntsler to read more on peak oil)

Oil is everything. The fuel in our cars (obvious), the lights in our homes (still obvious), the food on our tables (fertilized with petroleum, protected with petroleum pesticides, harvested, processed, and transported with petroleum), the water we drink (pumped, filtered, and disposed of with petro-energy), the products we depend on (plastics! made from and shipped with petroleum)...on and on.

Some argue that the world population boom is the direct human recycling of petroleum. Billions of additional humans on this planet, only because we have been able to stretch the carrying capacity of the ecosystem using fossil fuel. Billions of extra mouths, all eating oil derivatives. Think about that one for a second. We’ve recycled a limited natural resource into the project of human reproduction, for the sole sake of human reproduction. Talk about futile.

The American Century (the 20th) was a story of industrial growth, economic vitality, and a middle class expansion that the world has never seen before. But I would submit to you that every bit of that growth was directly proportional to the increased production of oil. A 1:1 ratio. Pump more oil, experience more growth. The average American currently has the equivalent of 80-100 slaves working for him or her, and that slave power is derived from ancient solar energy that was captured and stored in the ancient sea life that became our dwindling fossil fuel reserves.

Think about that. We are so oil wealthy (sort of...but that is another blog) that the average american lives like a king of old. We are so far away from the mean human existence, that a modest return to something closer to normal is likely to spell serious political and social trouble.

So what? As we pass peak (2005 is widely believed to have been the world production peak), strange things will happen in the markets. $150 a barrel oil is just a warm up. The current credit crisis is only a symptom, and a minor one at that. Less cheap oil means a falling standard of living, across the board. Period.

So, for the middle-class American (me), I would expect:

You will never be as wealthy as you were in 2005-06. Ever. Never. Get used to it.
Your standard of living will slowly grind down, imperceptibly at first, then at an increasingly rapid rate as time marches on. In time, food will become the most expensive item in your family budget.
We will re-learn the following, very expensive, hard earned nugget: Real Estate is NOT an investment! A house is a depreciating asset, just like a car. It is expensive to maintain, and the taxes levied against it are significant. The over-worked printing presses of the US Treasury department have been printing cash (to buy huge quantities of foreign oil) so fast and for so long that the inflation created the illusion of wealth, and a post-war population bubble seemed to provide an endless supply of “greater fools” to bid up the prices.
Retirement, in the standard mode of thinking, will never happen for my generation, and those that follow. We will work until the day we die.
We will care for our parents. We will re-learn the importance of family that was lost during the cheap oil land rush that made people think Phoenix was a nice place to live.
Our lives will become “intensely local” to quote J.H. Kuntsler. We will walk places. Like to work, to the grocery. To dinner with friends.

Sounds grim, but it doesn’t have to be. That’s why I am retired today. I am determined to enjoy what the oil orgy has to offer. Gas at $15 a gallon would make this road trip impossible. Gas at $15 will seem cheap before long... I don’t pretend to have it all worked out yet, but what I do know is that the cheap oil bubble has popped. It’s gone forever. We will soon realize that what we’ve been thinking of as normal life, was far from it.

The real world, a place where invaluable, non-renewable, highly concentrated forms of energy are as expensive as they should be.

And yes, the book is in the works... hopefully I’ll have a manuscript completed this winter!!

Lake Tahoe!!

2008-09-13T14:38:00.000-07:00

he says:

An outdoor playground, no matter the season. The cobalt blue lake, at 6,250’ above msl, is perfect for sailing, kayaking, swimming... you name the water sport, and it is happening on Lake Tahoe. The lake is ringed by mountains... granite massifs that contain some of the best big moderate rock routes in the west... places like Donner Summit, Lover’s Leap, and even the lil’ Pie Shop, just south of town. And the mountains, national forests, and the Desolation Wilderness, are all fantastic backpacking.

Add to that world class mountain biking and road riding, big mountain ski resorts, and casino’s on the Nevada side of town, and you’ve got yourself a playground!

So, we arrived in the area... and just like moving to a new town, it takes a bit of time to figure out the lay of the land. We spend the first few days kinda’ doing recon. Where are the cliffs and crags, where are the best beaches for dogs, and where is the nearest free camping. Not to mention, where can we go to get semi-free wi-fi (we will buy a cup of coffee for this convenience).

So after three days on the scene, here is how we spent our Wednesday.

Up before dawn, because we usually go to bed early (dark at ~8:15). I make a pot of turkish coffee (fine grounds in the water, strained through your teeth), Elizabeth makes a breakie of frosted mini-wheats with sliced banana and powdered milk. Once we are fueled up, we commute into town (7 miles, no traffic) and park at the beach.

We gear up for a run on the extensive bike path network that rings the lake. Mo, is going to sit this one out. He got stung on the paw in the Trinity Alps, and his left paw is still tender (he really hates bees now). We run for two hours, nice and easy considering the elevation. Then we walk with Mo and a pair of water bottles, hydrating and cooling down. It doesn’t take long to cool down, the wind is picking up, and the air temperature is in the low 70’s.

After the run, we roll across the road to Safeway, which has a wi-fi cafe at the front of the store. Endless internet, no purchase necessary. We email, blog, and surf the news. Nothing new.

Once we’ve had our fill of that, we roll back to the car, pack a beach bag, get Mo, and head to the beach. Elizabeth, Mo, and I swim in the startlingly clear water of the lake. The water is still warm, as the night time temperatures have only recently started to fall into the high 30’s. So, we swim and wash away the salt that accumulated on our skin while we ran. And Mo chases stick and fetches the tennis ball we found yesterday. Then we lie in the sun and dry and warm our skin/fur. We read our books, Mo curls in a ball and shivers himself warm. He always stays in the water too long.

At about 4:30ish, we pack up and head to the rock climbing crag we’ve been haunting, called The Pie Shop. A 200’ granite cliff that has a nice mix of routes. But today, the cliff is off the radar. Today, we are going to work on some boulder problems. Short, steep, tremendously difficult problems on, well, boulders. The idea is to crank really hard moves low to the ground (with a spotter), so that when you are climbing, you can crank through similar moves with confidence and ease. We find a few problems that seem reasonable, and we work on them for about 2 hours. We each top out on a couple of easier ones, and struggle on a more difficult problem. Next time. We’ll be sore tomorrow.

Back to camp, I start dinner, Elizabeth does yoga in the forest. I look over at her, and see moby taking a dump just beyond her. I guess he doesn’t get the subtle energies necessary to E’s focus. He is, however, ready for dinner. In a short while, we will share a bowl of rice and vegetables, seasoned with our new favorite spice, Goya Adobo.

After dark, a cup of tea while we read by headlamp. The moon has risen and Jupiter is bright. Soon, the three of us will crawl in and sleep well...

The National Park(way) Service

2008-09-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

...an interview with a ranger...Ranger X.

I encountered an off duty national park(way) service ranger in a dimly lit bar, in a small town on the outskirts of one of the park(way)s. I lubed him with a few free drinks, knowing that his meager salary was probably the only limiting factor in this evenings binge. After a few hours of chit-chat, I asked if he would go on the record, anonymously, of course...

Me: Thanks for accepting my invitation. I bet you get few opportunities to speak candidly about the NPwS.

Mr. X: It is true, but what does it matter, the public is not smart enough to read anyway...

M: Wow! That is a fairly contemptuous thing to say. Is that view widely held?

X: Oh yes. We feel that the national park(way)s would be much much better if the public stayed at home. We find them to be fat, stupid, and bothersome.

M: But aren’t the national park(way)s supposed to be for the people to enjoy?

X: No. Absolutely not. That is a common misunderstanding. The national park(way)s are an elaborate series of very expensive toll roads, which wind through areas that we have deemed too valuable for the common public to enjoy. That is why we encourage people to come, pay the toll, ahem...I mean entry fee, and drive through.

M: Wait. You’re saying that you don’t want people to get out of their cars and enjoy the park(way)s?

X: No, of course not. We want people to enjoy the park(way)s from the climate controlled comfort of their vehicles. Oh, and we want them to stop at the gift shop, too! Very important for the mark, ahem...I mean guest, to spend time shopping along the park(way).

M: So in your view, the public is like a herd of sheep, to be corralled and fleeced... and by all means they should not spend time enjoying the beautiful portions of America that have been preserved for their benefit?

X: Better. If they were to linger along the park(way), could you imagine the traffic congestion, and parking issues? Not to mention how many trucks full of keychains and posters we would need to bring in to satisfy their compulsive shopping? It would destroy the roads, and we would have to raise the entrance fees, and the campground fees, and the shower fees...again, so that we can maintain the park(way).

M: So, essentially, you’re organization is a road maintenance outfit, with gift shops, elaborate rest areas called campgrounds, and elaborate viewpoints called trailheads.

X: Bingo.

M: What about the wilderness? What what would John Muir think of the national park(way) service today?

X: Isn’t he dead? Besides, wilderness is for poor people... pioneers, settlers, people with everything to lose and very little to spend in our gift shops. Poor people enjoying the wilderness does not pay the blacktop and gravel contractors!

M: Well, Mr. X, thanks for your time and insight. America appreciates it.

X: Stay at home next summer!

Transition Days...

2008-09-11T14:21:00.000-07:00

he says:

Transition days are the days when you emerge from the wilderness and re-enter the civilized world (or vice-versa). For any number of reasons, these days can be difficult: your own expectations may be unrealistic, or the mental gear-shift can be tough. Coming out of the woods, we have to plan our route of travel, get chores done (clean up, repack our gear in the car, do laundry, get supplies), and find a free place to camp that night on the way to our next target.

So, we spill out of the Trinity Alps, and find a picnic table at the trailhead where we unpack our gear on a big tarp. We sort and pack away our backpacking gear while we cook a breakfast of potatoes and salmon (from a can). Then we fill a bucket with water and give Mo a bath. He is filthy, covered with dust and a little stinky after days and days of swimming in mountain lakes.

Next we find a campground, about 4 miles from the trailhead, with $2.50 showers (unlimited time). We each shower and shave and shampoo until we see clean skin emerge from the dusty armor of a week in the woods. However, we are cleaner than usual, surely because of all of the swimming we did in Deer Lake.

So, three clean bodies pile into the car stinking of shampoo and soap, and head for the nearest berg... Weaverville, CA. An artsy little mountain town that makes a living off of the tourist trade. We hit the laundro-mat with a big bag of stinky clothes. While the machine works, we hit the grocery store and re-supply the pantry. Next, a quick $1 do-it-yourself car wash to take a layer of filth off of the car. Back to the laundry, to start the dryer. Then to the thrift store, where I pick up 5 used paperbacks for $8.

Then to Mamma Lamas, the internet coffee house in town. We email, pay bills, and check on the general health of the world. We plan our route, and hit the road.

We roll into Redding, CA in time for dinner, and we locate a chinese buffet that will allow us to do unlimited damage for $11. Perfect. We’re still in pain.

A quick stop at the pet food store, and we hit the road, east toward Lassen Volcanic N. P. Three miles short of the park, we enter the national forest. An immediate left turn onto a dirt road, and another left onto an old logging road, 20 yards later we are in a grassy stand of firs and cedars.

It’s twilight. Mo is sleeping, curled in a ball in the grass. Elizabeth and I sit in our lawn chairs, reading our books by headlamp... nearing bedtime. This has been a nearly perfect transition day!

Every Meal a Feast!!

2008-09-10T19:40:00.000-07:00

Mo says:
I’ve been eating the exact same food since I was one. I was still a puppy, and I was having all sorts of stomach trouble, and I was even losing hair on my face! So, Poppa found a really great food for me, and my allergies went away. I liked the way it tasted.

When I moved to New Jersey a few years ago, I was really stressed out. I just didn’t feel like eating any more. So, Poppa started feeding really meaty food from a can. I liked the way it tasted.

When we went to Alaska, I got to eat all sorts of great food. Fish, potatoes, meat... you name it. But when we came back, my stomach started acting funny again. So, poppa found me a new food, ‘specially made for “seasoned” dogs, like me. It has extra vitamins, stuff to keep my teeth healthy, oil for my coat, extra fiber so I can take healthy grumpies, and it even has glucosamine, which pop says will keep me from getting twinges in my hinges. I love the way it tastes!!

This is the best food yet!

Falling for the West

2008-09-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

she says:

I grew up on Long Island, went to college in the capital region of New York and after finishing up my degree I fled to New York City to enjoy urban life for a few years. I am an east coast girl. I love the North Fork of Long Island especially in the summer and fall, dinning at the Lobster Roll, canoeing down the Peconic River, picking up a fresh baked pie at Briermier Farm as I make my way through rolling vineyards and farmlands to my cousins boat for a weekend of liquid indulgences. I love corn field mazes, pumpkin picking and making the annual visit to apple orchards up north and dreaming of all the apple treats I will concoct later that week. I take pride in being from Long Island, (more so, being from Long Island and not being the tanned, Gucci wearing, Prada toting girl that Long Island is famous for.)

I love NYC, running down the west side highway, riding my bike through central park, walking from my apartment on the UES to the Union Square farmers market for some fresh produce and decadent cheese. I LOVE Sunday brunch, chatting with friends at a new wine bar or coffee shop and of course grabbing a bite to eat at any of the copious, quaint eateries that shape the palate of all New York Foodies.

Though I am a New Yorker I love the Red Sox, New England clam chowder and have always been charmed by the cobble stone streets of Boston, the crisp sea salt air of Perkins’ Cove in Maine. I embrace New England and largely the Northeast I’ve always imagined my life there.

However after traveling 3,000 miles to the West coast I find myself needing to make some room in my heart for what I’ve found here:

The most striking is (not surprisingly) the weather, after spending 23 years in the humid, barely sufferable summers in New York the dry heat of the west is absolutely superb. If you are hot in the sun, well you move to the shade and there is actually a difference and one can cool down. You don’t sweat just from being outside in August, in fact its hard to sweat even when exerting one self.
Fruit of the Earth, like the salmon berries of Alaska I am tickled by being able to harvest blackberries all over the west coast. The simple act of picking fruit for free from nature’s bounty make me feel closure to past generations who I’m sure made the most of the free fruit and moreover probably looked forward to the berry season. More than that the berries are DELICIOUS, not only the best blackberries I’ve ever tasted, but the best berries period.
The Produce is mouth-wateringly good; because the west coast has a large amount of agriculture much of the produce in the grocery is fresher, tastes better and is substantially cheaper than the east coast.
The store brand versions of any drug store or grocery item is ascetically pleasing. (I know that sounds silly, but it makes a difference I swear, especially since Jeffrey and I are being so cheap and eating a bunch of canned items, it doesn’t feel like as much of a sacrifice when the can is just as pretty as the high priced can ... and often prettier)
Free camping, Jeff touched on this, but the idea of being able to Car camp in the wilderness for free isn’t only fantastic, but it makes a lot of sense (and seriously make we question the camping situation on the East coast)
No tolls. After growing up on Long Island where no matter what route you take to get off the island you are paying a toll, to living in NYC and commuting to White Plains were tolls were just another expense I needed to factor in each month... traveling out west on well maintained roads sans extraneous fees has again seriously made me question why east coasters have let such ridiculous practices like tolls take root.
I’ve always considered myself to be athletic, outdoorsy (and dare I admit it, tough.) However between dating Jeffrey and tromping around in the woods out west I find myself continually challenged by the rugged environment (as well as Jeff abilities.) And I find myself constantly question if I am really tough or not, I’m slowly coming to the conclusion that maybe I'm not as tough as I thought.. or maybe I’m east coast tough. In either case I have to recalibrate and conquer the untamed west!
The access to nature just seems easier. I know we are on an outdoors trip so this maybe biased, but it just seems like the culture is much more outdoorsy here and access your outdoor desire doesn’t require driving hours away from your home on toll roads just to ride your bike with out being blasted by the horns of impatient drivers who are unwilling to share the road.

So I’m feeling a bit conflicted, do I stay loyal to my roots and my love of the east coast or do I jump ship and feel out this new love and see what adventures it brings. I hope I can continue to do both for awhile.

The Trinity Alps Wilderness

2008-09-07T13:36:00.000-07:00

he says:

It’s funny how emotions can shade an experience. Rolling east out of Eureka, headed toward the Trinity Alps, the road was miserably windy, faithfully following the Trinity River to the Pacific. None of the ranger stations were open, so we were not able to get a detailed hiking map of the area. Add to that a series of forest fire closures in the area which were making it seem as though we would have to by-pass the entire region. The end of the day, still no map, and despite being in a national forest we had a difficult time finding a side road to find a suitable camp. Then Mo wakes up in the middle of the night with serious stomach issues (you do the math)... so far, not a good start.

The next day, we drive into the half empty Trinity Lake (a years long drought is starting to have an effect) and make breakfast along the tributary stream that is now crawling along the lake bed. With resolve brought by the new day, we make a plan. We’ll drive up the nearest road, park at the trailhead there, and hike using the topo map in the Gazetteer. I pull the staples from the spine, and remove the appropriate page. The scale is 1:150,000. A mile is the width of my pinky nail. Not a lot of detail, but it will suffice. The major trails are shown, and we’ll bring a gps for back-up.

By noon we are walking. Elizabeth has packed enough food for 3 days +2. That means we are planning on a three day trip, with two days of emergency food. She is great at planning trail meals, so I seldom interfere.

That night we camp along a creek in a deep valley. A small flat gives us a great camp, and we can swim in the deep pools. We hang the food in a tree, because we have entered bear country. At dusk, as we sit and talk by the creek, I sense motion out of the corner of my eye. Across the creek valley, about 100 feet away, a black bear is making his way down the valley. We shout and bang pots, Mo looks at us like we’re nuts. About 30 minutes later we hear, but can no longer see, something moving across the creek. We repeat the noisy drill, and hear nothing more. Perhaps it was enough, perhaps we were just hearing things. We sleep soundly.

The next day, we start climbing in earnest. Our planned destination is a mountain lake about 12 miles away and at approximately 7,150 feet above sea level. We start the day at about 2,400 feet. We are getting used to the map scale, and we mark each trail junction with the gps. In a worst case scenario, we can backtrack using just the gps. By early afternoon, we have entered a granite cirque, with no where to go but up. We climb dusty switchbacks in the hot sun, until a deep green lake in a bowl of rock appears before us. We’re home.

We set up camp, swim, and lounge in the sun. We decide immediately that we will be staying in the wilderness for longer than three days. We figure that if we ration carefully, we can stay for six days... but it means living on less than 1000 calories a day. Well worth it.

Sunset lights the granite walls on fire. Bright red light in a darkening sky. Beautiful.

Sunrise slowly creeps down the opposite wall, and makes it’s way across the lake to camp by 9:30. The alpine meadows come alive with he buzzing of insects, the snapping of grasshoppers, and hummingbirds whipping from flower to bush.

We rest. The climb the day before was tiring. We do laundry, swim, read, and just sit still. A great day in the mountains. We also notice the altitude. We get winded easily, light headed when we stand up too quickly. The rest day will give us a chance to acclimatize.

We climb. Siligo Peak is a grayish granite spire that rises another thousand feet above the lake. We climb with ease through the thin mountain air, and explore the summit ridges, the other alpine lakes, and the passes between peaks that exit to the south and west. We save the peak for last, and climb the last 500 feet or so quickly. Huge views. The white granite peaks of the range to the west shine brightly. Mt. Shasta to the north. And the smoke plume from the fires to the southwest.

An explosion of mayflies has drifted in on a thermal, and we watch them swarm in the light of a setting sun. Thousands have had the misfortune of landing on the lake, and the trout are having a field day. The lake is alive with feeding fish.

Eventually we must say goodbye to this place. We pack our loads, significantly lighter now, and head down the valley. We know where we are headed, and camp along Stuart Fork Creek beneath a water-slide with several deep pools. We swim in the sun, and dry off quickly in the near zero-humidity. Our last night in the Trinity Alps, the sound of the rushing creek puts us to sleep.

Running with the Giants

2008-09-04T07:36:00.000-07:00

she says:

When I was in elementary school (which is much more recent then when Jeff was in elementary school) I remember having conversations about things that were of this earth but were beyond my limited experience. Like the dangers of quick sand, the power of Niagara Falls or the massiveness of the Himalayan Mountains. The Redwoods were one of those things, "There are trees in California that are soo big you can drive a car through them!" "No way," I thought and simultaneously, "I can't wait to see them."

And so after waiting far too long, on a day off at Smith Rock, with an hour run under our belt and nothing on the agenda except figuring out what was next, Jeff and I pretty quickly decided that is was time to head south: Crater Lake, the Redwoods, Lake Tahoe, Yosemite (just to name a few.)

So with Moby in the back seat, Johnny Cash on the iPod and a flavored cigar in hand we hit the open road. We take in the foggy Oregon coast, have handpicked blackberry pancakes for breakie, and ultimately arrive at the Redwoods!

Those large trees do make an impression (I'm still impressed by their size and it's been a week). We decided to take in some of the prominent Sequoia and Redwood groves by going for a morning run. As we started running my thoughts wandered to how old these trees must be, the lush rainforest floor at the base of their trunks, and the feeling that now-extinct animals have passed by them. Their immensity does remind you of prehistoric times and you almost think that a velociraptor is about to come barreling towards you from hind the closest overturned Giant.

So I had to wait 15 years to see these giants, but the wait was worth it. One more thing to check off the bucket list.

Living in Your Car - Homeless and Happy!!

2008-09-02T06:59:00.000-07:00

she says:

I am really proud of the way that Jeff and I are living. We are living simply, with but we are taken in much of this great country and living in Jeff’s rig has allowed us to venture where ever our heart’s desire. Many have asked how we can afford to do this:

“Don’t you have student loans still?”
“Did you win the lottery?”
“Well live it up now because you will be paying for such misappropriated time later in life.”

To which I respond,
“Most certainly.”
“I wish” and
“I really don’t think that will be the case.”

Anyway, every once in a while my heart starts to race a bit after one of those comments and I think, “Oh no, we have it all wrong, we’re not making any money, we’re screwing up our retirement, we’re never going to be able to have a normal life.” Fortunately within about 5 minutes my head becomes screwed on straight and I realize that we are living smartly and simply, rationing our money, food and gas. And more than anything else, Jeffrey and I have each other (and Moby) and we are genuinely happy and enjoying life completely.

I am saying all this to let you know that living the way we are is not out of reach for anyone. You merely have dig deep and find the courage to step outside of the boundaries of typical Americana... job, house, two cars, picket fence... you know the drill. If you can, stop letting your debts hold you to a job if you don’t find happiness in it. Yes, some are more tied down than others (namely the three things I can think of: kids, an abundance of animals, and “owning” a home) for you this life would require some serious rearranging... however, it could still happen.

Anyway if through the course of reading these blogs we have tickled a nerve with you and you find yourself wishing you could break free and do something similar, YOU CAN! The hardest part is deciding to do so. After that... it's easy.

So here is a little photo journal of how we are doing it.

Last fall, we built a cabinet conversion for the back of the rig. Two large capacity slide drawers and a sleeping deck that slides over the top of the folded down back seats. There is additional forward storage beneath the sleeping deck.

The drawers are our pantry and supply closet. The supply closet holds the stove, fuel, dishes, utensils, cleaning supplies, laundry soap, water filter, first aid kits, sewing kits, stove repair kit, guide books and maps, general storage, etc. The pantry holds all of our food, spices, drinks, snacks, etc. Pretty straight forward.

The side passenger doors have small packs attached to hold personal items and clothes. We each have a side, under the sleeping deck, for our personal supplies... and Jeff shares his space with Moby.

We installed an 800 watt inverter for small electrical loads. Generally, we only use it to charge the laptop while we're on the road... but I suppose we could install a microwave and Kitchen Aid mixer....

And that is that. It ain't much, but it is home for now. It is a very simple, uncomplicated life. And it is ours.

Trust Fund???

2008-09-01T06:41:00.000-07:00

he says:

How are we doing this? How can we afford it?

We don’t spend any money we don’t absolutely have to. In the last month we’ve paid for camping one time. Fourteen bucks. We took much needed showers to make it seem like it was worth it... But in reality, so called “primitive” camping is fantastic!! If you’re from the east coast, you probably are not aware, but the federal gov’t owns a vast quantity of land in the west. The U.S. Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) are the biggies, and you can camp anywhere on federal land as long as you are more than 1/4 mile from an existing campground (pay site). Every now and then you’ll find a designated primitive camp site with pit toilets (National Recreation Areas and BLM), but if not, it isn’t all that difficult to dig a hole.

So, our rent for the month of August...$14. Not bad. We don’t eat out. OK... we went to the Izzy’s pizza buffet once, after a long and fantastic week of rock climbing at Smith Rock, but it’s not the norm. We eat three meals a day, cooking on the MSR stove when a hot meal is in order. Coffee, tea, oats, rice, noodles, soups, burritos, sandwiches, etc. We don’t keep ice in the cooler, so we don’t make/keep leftovers. We cook exactly what we want to eat. As you might imagine, our food bill is quite low...probably in the neighborhood of $3 to $4 a day, including Moby.

Gas for the month of August...3 tanks, $240. Too much, I know, but we’re getting better. Unfortunately, we have a list of parks and places we really want to see, so we’ll have to spend the money on gas. While it is another blog entry, I think gas is super-cheap right now (.25 per cup), and the opportunity to see these far flung places may soon be financially out of reach for most Americans... (more on that topic later).

I am happy to report that we got over 22 mpg on the last tank!! YEAH!!!

The only other one-time, big ticket items include: State Gazetteers (detailed topographic maps of OR, WA, CA - $40), State Park, National Park, and NW Forest Pass - $110 total, and a new 60m 10.3mm climbing rope - $80 after using my REI dividend!! All one-time purchases... and we can use the maps on the trails too!

So, that is the financial picture. It does not take a big pile of cash to live small. You do have to get comfortable with uncertainty though... you must be flexible, if you will. And you really should love being outdoors! That last one really matters!!

Naps...

2008-08-31T14:26:00.000-07:00

Mo says:

I like naps. Naps in the mountains, naps in the desert, naps on the coast, naps in the forest. There are so many good places to nap. Caves, under logs, in the tall grass. I like to pretend I am a lion or a wolf, sleeping in the tall grass, waiting to stalk my next meal. I blend in well in the desert.

Sometimes I nap in the sun. Then I get hot, and move in to the shade. Sometimes after a swim, I shiver while I’m napping. Then I dry off and warm up. If I get lucky, Mom or Dad will cover me with a sleeping bag to help me warm up. They always take good care of me. I have the best pack in the world!

Becoming a Rock Climber

2008-08-30T14:44:00.000-07:00

she says:

“I would try this route man, but it looks a little chossy. Besides after that last climb my forearms are totally pumped and my tips are shredded.”

With every new sport comes a new lingo and the case certainly holds true with rock climbing. Before Smith Rock I climbed a bit in some rock gyms and annually at the rock wall at summer camp. I always enjoyed myself however never found the right venue to pursue my interest in rock climbing further, until of course I met Jeffrey who was already a proficient climber (better yet, he had a ton of extra gear I could use.)

And so as I laced up the borrowed climbing shoes, strapped on the worn harness and tied in to the top rope that Jeff set up. I was nervous, but thrilled to be outdoors and climbing. With the first few hand holds and foot pockets what struck me was how the rock almost seemed designed for climbing. I remember being back in the rock gyms and thinking, “these plastic holds are completely unrealistic, no rock has hand holds like this.” Well I was mistaken; Smith Rock has holds like that.

Incredible, what a place! With each day I got a bit more comfortable on my feet, with each evening I tried to digest the techniques Jeffrey has taught me so I could put them into practice the next day. Like with any new skill, you have your good days and your bad days and what keeps you going is the satisfaction of successfully getting through the crux of a route, putting into practice a new technique, feeling the advantage of proper foot placement, reaching out a grabbing that killer hand hold to pull you through and the promise that with perseverance you can keep climbing more challenging and trying routes (and maybe even lead one day.)

Rock n Road trip...

2008-08-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

He says:

What next? Showered, tanned, and rested, we head south from Hood River and into the desert. Our destination is a state park called Smith Rock. This park is a river gorge carved out of a welded tuff, or volcanic ash and debris flow that solidified into a massive, very resistant, rock formation. The cliff faces are pocked by small pebbles and cobbles, as well as potholes and finger pockets which makes for excellent rock climbing!

In fact, Smith Rock is one of the premier rock climbing areas in the country, and is often cited as the birthplace of sport climbing (bolt protected climbing, as opposed to traditional gear protected climbing). Anyway, Smith is our destination, rock climbing is our goal!

Elizabeth is new to rock climbing, and my goal is to gradually introduce new techniques and difficulties. I haven’t climbed in over three years, so a gradual approach is for me too!! I need to gently re-calibrate my fear reflexes... something that is required when your 100’ off the deck, clinging to tiny edges, and your last pro is 15’ below you...

So, we settle into a new rhythm. Camping in the desert, the sun rises above the Ochocco Mountains, and warms your face. Coffee, a good book and yoga. Drive 7 miles to the park, packs already loaded with climbing gear (which I packed and brought with us in June... it stayed in the car while we were in AK), and we hike into the gorge.

The sun is heating the walls, Red Wall and Morning Glory Wall are glowing, Zion Wall and the Dihedrals are bright too. The air is still cool, so we head for a sunny wall. We pick a climb, drop our packs, and start to gear up. Moby scratches the earth and picks a spot to nap. I lead, Elizabeth follows. We chat about the new and different techniques required for the climb. Moby moves into the sun. We climb the route again, this time paying particular attention to form. We are lost in our little world. Mo is in the sun now. We pull the rope and move to a new climb, with different features, and we repeat the drill. New challenges, more physical this time, lactic acid builds in our forearms and fatigue is setting in. Mo is in the shade.

At the end of the day, we hike up and out of the gorge, tired but not wiped out. We sit in the grass on the rim of the gorge, the sun is setting behind the tallest spires, and the wind has picked up. We talk about the day’s effort, and what we’d like to try tomorrow. Water jug is full, our faces washed. Flip flops on, lawn chairs deployed, stove heating dinner, a good book in our laps...

Decompression Wilderness Retreat

2008-08-23T07:30:00.000-07:00

He says:

PDX... and just in time. A volcano in the aleutian islands erupted just as we left anchorage, grounding all alaska air travel. We just barely escaped indefinite airport-waiting hell, the kind you see on tv when there is a blizzard during the holidays. You seldom take the time to appreciate how much it would suck to be trapped for days in an airport, no hotel spaces left, no way to get to your destination, just hours upon hours of waiting in the manufactured strip-mall environment of the modern airport. It has almost a theme park feeling, where everything looks as though it is convenient and comfortable, the way the Disney eiffel tower looks like the eiffel tower. But it isn’t.

The chairs are designed to be comfortable for an hour, no more. The food is designed to be eaten one time in a day, not three. It all looks normal and thoughtful and modern, but it is really an amusement park facimilie of what an actual comfortable environment could be. No matter...we escaped.

We load the car, and drive west to Mt. Hood. Elizabeth sleeps while I stop and run a few errands: NW forest pass, Oregon gazzeteer (forest road maps), National Forest ranger office for info/updates, groceries, and gas. By noon we are parked at the timberline lodge, with our gear spread all over the parking lot. Sorting, organizing, and packing our backpacks for a week-long hike around Mt. Hood.

By 2:00 we are walking. Mo’s pack is filled with about 8 days of food, and I am carrying one large can of meaty goodness to spice things up for him. He’s never carried such a heavy pack, and he doesn’t seem to mind it at all. Alaska has been good to him, and he is stronger and healthier than I can ever remember.

Elizabeth and I have packed food and gear for 8 days out. Our planned route is about 50 miles, with a lot of climbing and descending. The Timberline Trail circumnavigates the mountain, crossing rushing creeks, ridges, and alpine meadows between 3,000’ and 6,000’

above sea level. The trail has become less popular in recent years, mostly because a huge section of the trail was washed out in 2006, and has yet to be repaired. But we are looking forward to bushwhacking our own solution to the problem.

First day out: Clouds and fog, cool temps. We made camp in a high alpine meadow amongst a cluster of trees. Starting easy, and we relax and sip tea and study the map and try to plan out what the days ahead will bring.
The morning breaks sunny and warm. In fact, clouds never re-appear the entire time we are on the trip. Sunny, dry and warm... just what Oregon summers are supposed to be.

“What’s a ‘good’ pace for this trail”
“There’s no such thing as a good pace, just the pace your walking”

We wonder about pace, only because we have so much food, and so much ground to cover. No other reason. We have all the time we need, and we don’t want to finish too quickly. We plan to make this trip last.Stream crossings can be challenging, and we worry about Mo and the very fast moving water. Needless worry. Mo has four legs, and crosses the fasting moving streams with ease. We are amazed to watch him pace the banks looking for the best spot to cross. He even eyes the opposite bank to evaluate how he will get out of the stream beds. Amazing.

We do our best to hop from rocks to logs to the far bank. Some of the more complicated crossings (5 braided streams, with dense bushwhacking through scrub alder between each) take as long as 45 minutes. A total distance of 200 yards in just under an hour. Pace? Fugitaboutit! Now we begin the long, steep climb up and out of the stream gorge. Hot, dusty... why didn’t I splash my face with water when we were at the creek??

We camp in old growth forest, near a small meltwater stream. Mo is happy to have his pack off, and he immediately finds a spot to nap.

The mountain is a huge, living landscape. It is so easy to forget that the earth is constantly changing under our feet. Water, wind and their accomplice, gravity, are always working to undo the works of our optimistic visions. The trail, it seems, is not exempt. The impossibly steep sided canyon that we are traversing has been hit with a series of major landslides in the last year. The trail is gone, and so is everything else, right down to bedrock!! We decide to press on, and the progress is slow and very sketchy. Loose rock, gravel, wet sand and ancient volcanic ash.

Adrenaline flows at a steady rate, making us hyper aware of the vast wide open space to our lower left. Back on solid trail, we sigh and giggle, mostly as a post-adrenal blow-off... thankfully back to the mundane business of walking!

“How far do we want to go today?”“Let’s walk until we don’t feel like walking anymore”

“Why don’t we stop at the next beautiful campsite?”
“Sounds like perfection to me!”

I’ve never really felt free in the hills, the mountains have always held objectives for me, with timelines and goals. This trip is different. Right now, I am exactly where I want to be. I don’t need to be ‘anywhere’ by tonight, tomorrow night, or monday morning. Our schedule is dictated by how much food we have left, and our desire to walk. So simple. And the thing is, I’ve read about this kind of simple freedom, we all have. Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, Stand By Me....yeah, all about kids, I know. But still, the lesson can get lost if you let that simple fact overshadow the real meaning of those stories. Innocence can be lost, but only when you stop looking for it is it truly gone. On this trip, we are experiencing our newly found innocence, and it is liberating.

Tonight we camp in a stand of trees near a flooded meadow, ringed by snow that shines so bright we have to keep our sunglasses on until dusk. Mo romps in the frigid meltwater, spooking two mule deer that ventured up the ridge, probably hoping to get a drink from Mo’s new swimming hole. The mountain is reddish-pink with alpenglow, the breeze is light and sounds fantastic. I love the sound of wind blowing through stands of alpine fir and spruce. Sounds and feels like music.

Up before the sun, I brew coffee and stand in the meadow with Mo. He took so long to warm up last night, shivering in the tent, that he now avoids the cold pool.

We watch the red sunrise, an eerie cast. Later that morning, we encounter a group of day-hikers that informs us of a forest fire on the east side of the mountain. The dry heat of the day and the wind have aggravated the situation, and the east side trailheads are now closed. We press on for the rest of the day, but we each know that we need to come up with a plan B. We camp on a high ridge overlooking the desert on the east side, this will be the turn-around point of our trip.

We put together a return trip that takes us down to nearly 2,800’, and back up to a great little spot called Burnt Lake. We camp and swim and swim some more, washing off the trail dust and grime. The temps reached into the high 90’s, and we climbed over 3,000’ today... so there was a lot of grime. We feel renewed. A cool swimming hole was worth every foot of climbing. We sleep hard.

We are up early, and we pack up camp and finish off our breakfast. We have little food left, so it is fitting that we hope to make the Timberline Lodge this afternoon. We encounter an increasing stream of day-hikers. We stop and chat with any and all, and talk about the weather, the fire, politics. There are little kids, tots, on the trail...we are close.

At the lodge we drink water, slowly unpack into the car, and enjoy sitting in our folding chairs (with backs).
“What’s next?”
“I don’t really know yet. East to the desert? West to the ocean? North the the high cascades volcanoes? South to the Willamette Valley?”
“We can’t make a decision in this state...”
“How about Hood River, OR, then. It’s only 40 miles from here, I’m sure we can find a shower there, it’ll be windy there and we can watch the kite-surfers, and Mo can swim in the Columbia River. We can just relax for a few days until we make up our minds.”
“Sounds like perfection.”

Loose Cannons and Great Escapes

2008-08-11T15:31:00.000-07:00

she says:

I could probably write a short novel about the happenings of the last week, but to catch everyone up and the keep it as brief as I can I will attempt to limit it to a blog entry.

The truth is that this blog has been slightly mis-representative (out of necessity...but we’re in the clear now). It would seem that our decision to step out of the comfort of the corporate world and into the contractual one meant that we would also have to accept a large amount of uncertainty (much larger than we could have imagined.) Uncertainty in if we would be paid, when we would be paid, uncertainty in the needs and wants of our manger’s [REDACTED COMMENTS**]. Uncertainty in if our manager’s wife [REDACTED COMMENT**]. And the uncertainty that in offering to help make dessert [REDACTED COMMENT**] a horrid afternoon full of [REDACTED COMMENT**]

In all honesty the manager’s wife [REDACTED COMMENT**]. Never before have I gotten so angry that my blood has boiled, my stomach turned and I have become so livid that I have trembled. I hope to never reach such an aggravated state again.

Before the last fiasco in the lodge (which was the last horrid afternoon with said manager’s wife) Jeffrey and I had decided (via pro-con list) that since we were no longer being paid and since the free room and board of Icy Bay Lodge was no longer worth it... it was time to move on. And so we decided that we would leave Icy Bay at the conclusion of Denise’s (Jeff’s mama’s) visit to pursue our dreams in the untamed west of the continental 48.

Denise’s visit was fantastic for Jeffrey and I (though I fear due to the lack of nice weather Denise may not harbor that warm and fuzzy feeling that many get after visiting Alaska.) For me it was absolutely wonderful to have some company at the lodge that I could talk with candidly about the situation at hand, chat about random happenings back east, as well as share is some much loved berry picking and paddling.

There were many adventures during Denise’s stay, though few of them were the thought out adventures that Jeffrey and I had planned. There was bird watching, bear spotting (a mama bear and her 3 cubs,) kayaking, berry picking and a skiff tour of Icy Bay to observe the rare Kittlitz’s Murrelet and get a closer look at the to three receding glaciers that feed Icy Bay.

However probably the most unplanned and adventurous was the impromptu escape from Icy Bay. Since the weather was stubbornly determined not to let Denise see even a hint of blue sky and even more crushing, the gray ceiling of clouds was not cordial enough to lift and expose the quite humbling views of the coastal mountains across the Bay, it was decided that we should make our get away via an Ex-Korean warship turned research vessel. The boat was carrying the Bird Crew from Icy Bay to Juneau and was willing to drop us in Yakutat a few days earlier than anticipated, however it would ensure that we would not miss our flights out and more importantly ensure that we would be far away from the [REDACTED COMMENT**].

The Voyage to Yakutat was certainly an adventure, from concerns about Moby’s bladder after being on board for almost 20 hours without any relief, to that queasy quincal of potential seasickness as the rather round bottomed boat made the 8 hour cruise along the lost coast of Alaska. There were no whale spottings (which apparently is unusual) but the voyage allowed us to share stories about the bizarre happenings at Icy Bay Lodge and discuss future plans and adventures (as this was a turning point not only for Jeff and I but also for the Bird Crew.) It was a great way to decompress from the insanity that was such common place at the lodge.

So after spending a few days walking around Yakutat picking Salmon Berries, seeking out the anti-climatic tourist attraction and enjoying the occasional glass of vino, it was time to leave the summer-less Alaskan coast and make our way to the Pacific Northwest. We hugged Denise good bye in Anchorage (glad that she came to share in some laughs, but embarrassed at Alaska’s poor hospitality in the form of unrelenting dreary weather) and we were off the Portland, OR.

** NOTES REGARDING REDACTED COMMENTS: We have redacted portions of this entry at the demand of the lodge's corporate attorneys - portions which further explained our negative experiences at the lodge and with its owners. The statements have been redacted solely on the advice of counsel, to avoid unnecessary legal issues, and not because they were not true.

The Animal Kingdom

2008-08-05T09:38:00.000-07:00

Mo says:

There are a lot of strange creatures here. Over there in the grass is a huge brown dog, he seems to be eating a bush. Weird.

He is tall, and he ran off after deciding that he had eaten enough. Then he wandered up the stream and into the woods. I guess he didn't want to sniff butts and play in the sand like other dogs.

When we went kayaking, we saw some dogs on

the ice. They were gray and spotted, and they didn't have very big ears. They didn't really bark much, but whenever we got close to them they would go swimming. So I never really got a chance to sniff them, either. I like to lie on the ice and go swimming, too. I think we would have had lots in common!

We all went for a walk on the beach. After a long time, we all curled up on the beach for a nap. While mom and dad slept, I smelled something funny. I couldn't figure out what it was, but I just couldn't sleep. It was stinky, and it seemed to get stronger and stronger. Finally, they woke up and we started walking again. As soon as we started walking, we spotted a big bear in the grass who was creeping up behind us (I know it was a bear now because dad loaded the gun and we moved away from him pretty fast. He says they are not dogs!). I think he was trying to surprise us!! Oh well, we spotted him before he could.

So many different kinds of dogs here! What a neat place...

Love from the Lower 48

2008-08-02T18:03:00.000-07:00

She says:

This week started off with some gifts from some loved ones residing in the lower 48. I received a hand written letter from my Aunt Pat informing me of how my mother was recouping after surgery as well as catching me up on all family to-do (really there is nothing better than a hand written note).

I also got a new pair of L.L. Bean slippers from my mother (these are the most beloved piece of footwear I’ve ever had. They ARE my security blanket. I would not dare venture anywhere without them, so you can imagine my dismay when they somehow missed getting packed for Ak. Obviously my mother needed to send a pair stat, they console me the way a mug of hot cocoa would console one on a cold winters day or a cup of noodle soup soothes the soul when one is feeling under the weather.)

And last but certainly not least, I received an absolutely fantastic baking cookbook from my dear friend Megan. The book is from a bakery in Brooklyn called “Sweet Melissa Patisserie” the bakery brags to make to best version of your favorite dessert. After talking with Megan about the dilemmas I was facing at the lodge, she thought this book might be the answer. I can’t say that there is really any cure fit for what is ailing the lodge and the disparities between Jeffrey and my cooking and the taste buds of the management, but that is neither here nor there, but its as you will soon find out, behind us. The book is fantastic, I throughly enjoyed the detailed cooking instructions given, simplicity of the ingredients and the fantastic antidotes about Melissa’s childhood and what a large influence baking had on her life.

All the gifts were heart warming and gave me pangs of nostalgia for home. I love being here in Alaska, but sometimes I do miss the familiar faces of those that I love back home. However, fortunately for me Jeff’s mama is coming for a visit. It will be good to see her. I hope to share some of the beauty and adventure that this place holds (and fingers crossed the weather will cooperate.) In addition, it will be wonderful to have a fresh set of eyes observing these odd circumstances at the lodge, and to tell us if we are sane coping with the insane or on the brink of loosing our marbles.

The Icy Tour-part two

2008-08-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

And after the fourth day in the tent, waiting out an Alaksan coastal gale, you begin dreaming of bailing out. We listen to the marine weather forecast, and it goes from grim to grimmer. We have a four hour window before the predicted weather gets truly awful... and we have roughly 6 miles of open water packed with ice between us and the lodge. Whitecaps and winds at ten knots, scheduled to build to 30. Who wants to go for a paddle?

We break camp in a downpour, packing wet everything into our boats. It is very chilly, so Moby gets a sleeping pad to insulate him from the cold water on the other side of the kayak hull. Plus, he gets a new customized rain slicker made from a garbage bag. He hates it, but he seems to understand why he needs it.

The first few miles are good, the ice is thick, but it keeps the seas from building. The wind is on our port quarter, so we are getting a nice little boost in speed. At the edge of the ice flow, we see our next problem.

“Wow... it’s really rough ‘out there’, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I thought the ice was going to be the problem”

Four foot seas, short and steep, are building rapidly, whitecaps are breaking around us, and the wind is loud and getting louder. Shouting distance is about 10 feet, and we work hard to stay close enough to communicate, but not so close that we pile up on each other when a big on breaks. Our focus is on Gull Island, about two miles away, now easily visible through the wind and rain.

We paddle hard, Moby cries occasionally as he shivers in the front of my boat. We’re all cold and wet, but he has to just sit there. I think he gets how serious we are, and he does his best not to move or shift weight. More than once, a steep pile of foamy seawater slaps us both in the face. Good times. Moby is plotting revenge, I’m sure of it.

We pull up in the lee of Gull Island. After just 50 yards of paddling against the wind, and we are suddenly thankful that the wind is at our back. We all climb out of the boats, stretch, and look back at the patch of boiling bay we just crossed. Another two mile crossing to the eastern shore and we are home. We don’t linger on the island. Back in the boats, back into the square seas of a shallow bay during a building gale.

Finally in the lee of the forest. Smooth water and barely a breath of wind. The lodge stands against the darkening skies, our cabin just behind and tucked into the woods. There waits a warm shower for the humans, a dry towel and bed for Mo, and the gossamer threads that form the web of comfort that will become the dream-like beginnings of our next adventure...

Berry Season

2008-07-31T10:46:00.000-07:00

she says:

So after returning home from our very damp across the bay voyage, we hid away in the comfort of our dry, warm, solid roofed cabin for days to escape the rain. Finally, after at least a week of relentless rain, we got some relief. So to celebrate we decided to get out and go for a hike to Riou point (the ocean), however it very quickly became a day of Salmon berry piking! So exciting.

We have eaten a few wild strawberries while we were across the bay, tiny, but deliciously sweet. Moby really enjoyed them as well, and with his superior sense of smell he even helped us seek out the fantastically ripe strawberries (what a dog!) Unfortunately the strawberries are not close to ripe on this side of the bay, as much rain and little sunshine isn't the best combination for ripening. The salmon berries on the other hand are coming along quite nicely (though they are considerably more bitter than strawberries, even at the peak of perfection)

So with a stroll around Moraine Bay and a half a galloon

of salmon berries in tow we headed back to the lodge and I started to dream up just what to make with our pick of salmon berries... after much deliberation and reviewing my many baking cook books I decided on a Salmon Berry Almond Galette! I combined the almond paste from a Sour Cherry Galette recipe by Martha Stewart and I altered a Corn Meal Pie Crust from the JOY and matched it with the preparation for a berry filling from Nigella Lawson (substituting the salmon berries for the blackberries and apricots Nigella calls for)... and of course a bit more sugar since the berries are so bitter.

And vala! After dinner treat and celebration of summer dessert complete! The crust was divine, and overall the dessert was a hit however I think the berries and scrumptiousness of the flaky

crust overpowered to almond paste... though it didn't get many complaints. Yum Yum

Jeff and I decided to end the evening by enjoy a bottle of wine the "bird crew" got us in town (we've been saving it for quite awhile.) So in the warm glow of our dimly lit cabin we sat and sipped pinot nior out of mason jars, talked about our day, this experience and the dreams to come... man I've missed vino.

Zeus R.I.P.

2008-07-30T19:34:00.000-07:00

Mo says:

My friend Zeus (far left) died on Monday. It was sad. He went to sleep under Cabin 2, like we all do to get away from the bugs, but he never woke up. Pop says that it is part of life, so I guess it's normal. But still, I miss Z, especially the way he would bark at the machines. It was so loud we would all start barking at the machines, then the humans would yell too!! What fun!

Anyway, I hope Z is sleeping all he wants, and doesn't get hit in the head by airplane propellers anymore, or attacked by wolves, and that he gets huge plates of leftovers after dinner every night. Goodbye, Z.

the Icy Tour

2008-07-26T19:08:00.000-07:00

he says:

This is Part I of a piece i'm writing on our trip... hope you enjoy it!

Elizabeth and I are planning for a week long kayak and backpack tour of Icy Bay, Alaska... but we are packing provisions for 10+ days. If the weather gives us the chance, we’ll extend this once in a lifetime tour to fill the window mother nature gives us.

We’ve been waiting nearly a year to get back to this place, to experience the solitude and beauty of rugged coastal Alaska by sea kayak. Last fall, we won a lottery of sorts, and were chosen to participate in a cable television show called “The Alaska Experiment”, pitting small teams against the bush for a three month stretch. A sort of survival endurance contest... Our ‘insertion’ consisted of a two day sea kayak trek through the ice choked fjords of Icy Bay to our tent camp and new home. The taping of the show passed with its trials and hardships, the whole experience was unforgettable. But those first two days on the water stayed with us... and it is those first moments paddling in Icy Bay that brought us back.

Elizabeth loads her ramen, coffee, and soup-stuffed drybags into the bow and stern

compartments of the rental kayak, and I busily work on some custom modifications to the two-person boat that will carry me and Mo, our 75lb german shepherd. I jury-rig some pvc and crab pot floats into a make-shift double outrigger to give us a little secondary stability should big Mo decide to shift his weight at just the wrong time. If you’ve ever taken a big dog for a ride in a little boat, you probably know that they always chose the wrong time to get up and move to the other side of the boat.

So with a few non-permanent modifications and a very short sea trial, the double boat is ready and Mo seems to like it. The additional backpacking gear and supplies are loaded into the stern and between my legs, and we are ready to go.

We are jumping off from Icy Bay Lodge, a full service resort lodge on the eastern shore of Icy Bay. The lodge provides adventure kayak vacation packages in any configuration you can imagine... from basic boat rentals and minimal support to lodging and meals, a landing craft insertion deep in the bay, and fully guided kayak tours. From the lodge, we’re planning to cross the bay to Independence Creek, and then work our way clockwise along shore as we slowly make our way back to the lodge.
“Once we cross the bay, we’re kinda committed”
“Yes, we are”
“What if the ice chokes the bay later in the week?”
“We’ll find a way”

And quiet hope is all you have on a trip like this. We were going beyond any kind of assistance or easy rescue. On a trip like this, you simply have to be ready to wait for the weather, for your opportunity.

All said, the sea tour will cover approximately 30 miles, not counting diversions, meandering, and side trips. And we have two short backpacking trips planned, so when we’re not exploring by boat, we will be bush-wacking through scrub alder, devil’s club, and salmonberry bushes to take in the views and experience the full force of one of Alaska’s wildest places.

We’re off....the sun is shining through holes on the gray blanket of clouds, winds are light, the bay is flat. We paddle hard for Gull Island, the only waypoint before making the crossing. Aptly named, the gulls are numerous and noisy. They protest our presence, mostly the presence of a wolf on their sanctuary, but they soon get over it. They circle above as he shows interest in fetching driftwood, not sniffing out their nests in the grass. After the short stretch we head west into the bay, west to the coastal mountains and Independence Creek. The ice in the bay is thin and easy to move through, and we are thankful that the wind and current have given us a fee pass today. The bay can be packed with ice depending on the conditions, and it could make for very slow paddling. After two and a half hours of paddling, we make landfall and begin scouting for a decent campsite.
We make camp, and start a small fire to cook dinner on and to smoke the bugs away. Tomorrow we will backpack up Independence Creek, but tonight we sleep on the beach.

Packing the boats to head further up the bay, we are thankful to be free of the devil’s club infested gulch that holds Independence Creek. That is one forbidden place; dark, steep, nearly impossible to move. I kept thinking of the 80’s flick “Predator”, and wishing at times that I had Jesse Ventura’s ‘ol painless Gatling gun to cut a swath through the unruly tangle of underbrush and deadfall. Moby kept looking at us quizzically...

“Dad, what in the hell are we doing here, exactly?”
“I’m not so sure either, ask your mother!”
“Adventure!” was her reply.

In this moment I am thankful for her enthusiasm. It helps soften the edge of this horrid canyon, this place that feels more hostile than indifferent. I am dreaming of the bright open spaces on the water, not the dark, close brush we are battling this moment...

Paddling north and west around Kichyatt point, the ice is thick and the icebergs are huge. We are wary of the big ones, and give them plenty of respect. We have seen several split and roll in the last few days, and we don’t want to be in the neighborhood when it happens. The beaches are choked with ice, and hundreds of car and house sized blocks seem to be hung up in the flats after last night’s high tide. After a bit of searching, we finally locate a beach with a few clear spots and navigate through the huge beached icebergs.

We survey the beach to see who and what makes a living in the area. We find mostly moose tracks of all sizes, only one set of bear tracks, and some smaller coyote tracks. Not that we would have abandoned this beach, but it is comforting to find only one set of bear tracks. Our wildlife safety gear includes a vhf radio, bear spray, and a last resort 12-gauge shotgun. We hang our food in the tall cottonwoods that line the bay, and always cook away from camp. In our limited experience, scent discipline is the most important aspect of bear safety, so we do our best to minimize the incentives around camp.

Last fall, we had several very close encounters with coastal brown bears, and in each case the bears were curious but not intent on sacking camp or eating humans. While this is not always the case, we’d much prefer to make lots of noise, be cautious with our food, and never ever have to shoot a bear!

The next few days delivers a coastal gale. While the water of the bay is protected, it was hard to tell where the ocean stopped and the rain filled air began. So we stayed on shore, hiking and beachcombing and exploring in the pouring rain. Rain gear or not, it is hard to stay dry in this kind of constant deluge. So we spent the evenings and nights rotating wet gear into our sleeping bags for body-heat drying and storage. By morning, we were each packed in our synthetic bags with several layers of almost dry but very warm synthetic clothing...dampness rules here.

“You want to go to the desert this fall?”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to be able to crawl into a dry sleeping bag, maybe even my down bag!”
“I know, and to have dry clothes to sleep in”
“And I can’t wait to be able to drink water without feeling like I’m colluding with the enemy..”

These are the kind of big dreams you have after day three in the tent...

Mr. Fairchild

2008-07-17T11:02:00.000-07:00

she says:

In the movie Sabrina, Sabrina’s father is a chauffeur for the very wealthy Larrabees of Long Island. He chooses this profession not for his love of cars, or because its the best job his education will allow him, but because he is a lover of books and this profession allows him hours a day to pour over the pages of whatever book he fancies. I always liked that idea, the idea of not having your job be your passion, but instead, taking a job that allows you to enjoy your passions in life.

My thoughts wondered to Mr. Fairchild today (Sabrina’s Dad) because we have had some pretty damp and dreary weather the past few days and it has allowed me to start and finish “The Lovely Bones” in just a couple of days, (finishing a book in a couple of days is no big deal for most people, but for me, it’s a feat). The Lovely Bones is one of those books that hooks you, so when I would wake up the hear the rain tinkling the roof of our cabin, I welcomed the weather as it let me pour over my book without feeling guilty for not going outside.

So this morning, after breakfast was served and plates were cleared, I started a fire in the dining room of the main lodge and sat with my book, I was happy. I happily read that last few pages and mulled over the story in my head and prepared dessert for the evening.

Today I made “Victorian Lemon Sponge Cake”, from a recipe my Nigella Lawson’s “How to be a Domestic Goddess.” The cake’s actual name is “Victoria Sponge”, (like with many things I read, I read it wrong the first time I saw the name and then was too stubborn to say the proper name once I realized the mistake.) The Lemon came about because with the simple fresh berries and whipping cream that filled the middle of the cake I thought a tart damp lemon cake would compliment the filling better than the plain sponge with the dash of vanilla extract originally suggested. I was glad I went with my instincts on this one, the dessert went over quite well.

And so as the evening is wrapping up, the dinning room table cleared, kitchen tidied up and guest back in their cabins, I sit and reflect on my new profession. Reading books is not my passion, but I do enjoy a good read. And the fact that this job allows me to do things like read, draw, kayak or hike makes me very happy. And though being a housekeeper, making lunches for the fisherman or baking brownies from a box-mix for the umpteenth time is not my passion, it does allow me to dance around the kitchen, read up on scrumptious and complex recipes that make my mouth water and most importantly it allows me to bake and tweak recipes into the light and delicate form of dessert that I love so much.

Icy Bay by Air

2008-07-16T14:19:00.000-07:00

He says:

There is a group of wildlife biologists staying here for the summer, and they study the various birds that call Icy Bay home. They go out for two or three day excursions, study their respective subjects, and return to base to rest, download data, and repack. On occasion, they fly around and listen for the radio beacons they've outfitted various birds with, to log their locations and travel patterns.

Needless to say, we hitched a ride on one of those flights, just to get up and see the sights.

Icy bay Lodge, the bay, the coast range, Mt. St. Elias, the fjords and glaciers, the Malaspina Glacier, potholes, etc. What a beautiful place!!

So, we used the opportunity to scout out the bay for good camping spots on our kayak tour. At this point we are planning a week long kayak trip in the bay, to explore the fjords and valleys, see wildlife, and of course, to see the glaciers up close and personal. So many beaches, stream valleys, and high meadows to explore, so little time!

Maybe 2 trillion

2008-07-08T22:59:00.000-07:00

she says:

There are certain types of mystery that don't translate very well, mystery that can not be captured on film and is hard to describe in words. I unfortunately have experienced two of theses types of mystery during my time in Alaska.

The first was last fall; cold and damp. I found myself watching The Alaska Experiment and thinking "Why are Jeff and I in our rain gear, it doesn't look that bad." Then remembering it was a downpour, and you just couldn't tell on TV. The discomfort of being chilled down to the bone by the moist and frigid Icy Bay air didn't translate.

The second mystery I thought I could handle, (I've been to Australia, had flies crawling all over my face, up my back, in my ears and I adjusted... I was serene and seriously found peace with the flies of the Oz... and so) I thought I was prepared for the mosquitos of Alaska. However I was sadly mistaken.

Of course that wasn't the way it started out. When I first arrived I was ready to adjust, I even thought that the mosquitos though plentiful, didn't have as bad a bite. Yes.. the high pitched sound of their wings buzzing by your head will drive you batty.. but I thought I could get used to it. So as I happily worked in the bug-free-ish kitchen I thought, "the bugs are manageable, I can do this."

That was until of course I worked outside for the first time. I quickly learned that there are different types of Alaskan bugs and mosquitos are far from the worst of it. There are these bugs called white socks. And they are smart little buggers. I swear they wait till you have your hands tied up, hauling lumber before they latch on to the tender skin in the corner of your eye and bite with such gusto that they leave a bruise. A bruise that looks like you and a Kebbler elf have gotten into a fisticuffs. Yes it will itch and your eyelid will puff up, but NO scratching it. It will just make it worse.

And there was the time I was staining the cabin, it was raining so you would think NO Bugs! I was under the protection of the porch, unfortunately all the bugs were also drawn to the protection of the overhang and the strong sweet aroma of wood stain. So after inhaling quite a few insects and cursing a ton, I continued staining with a bug net over my head. Actually many of the things I now do outside consist of putting on my mosquito head net before venturing outdoors. Sitting outside with a cup of tea at the end of the day to enjoy the sunset just doesn't happen around here. Damn Bugs!!

Anyway, I think to worst of all is when the mosquitos disturb you from your slumber, ruining your fantastic dreams and your extremely restful sleep as their irritating soprano-like buzz, circles around your head like a Cessna attempting to come in for a landing on your face. In my semi-conscious state I am irrationally angry at the tiny satanic flies. I imagine the high pitched little flies were sent on some sort of mission to attack me personally, like they are trying to avenge their dead brother that I killed earlier that day or something... I hate them.

One of our kayaking Israeli clients questions Devon (the lodge handyman & deckhand) as he was getting ready for a 5 day camping excursion, "How many bugs do you think there are here?"

"I don't know man, a lot" was Devon's reply.

"I think maybe a trillion bugs," was the Israeli's response as he pondered the number and after a prolonged silence he reconsidered, "maybe two trillion."

So in short there are a lot of bugs. Though I must say they are improving my hand eye coordination tremendously.

Busy Busy Busy

2008-07-07T23:54:00.000-07:00

He says:

Ok. So we've been busy. We had three days off without clients, and actually taking time off never occurred to us. There is so much to do around here, so much work needed to get the lodge and grounds in order for the season. And while none of it is technically our job, Devon (the boat crew and resident carpenter) certainly needs all the extra hands he can get.

So, Elizabeth and I spent 3.5 days, 12 to 14 hours each day, working the grounds, cleaning, organizing, building, sorting, landscaping, fueling, etc. This place is starting to look good!

The economy up here is half cash, half barter. Favors on top of favors, good deeds go a long way, and nobody forgets to return the favor when the situation arises. A care package of halibut steaks and salmon fillets goes one way, a 10 ton piece of heavy equipment lands on the beach for 24 hours of use the next. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Good stuff.

The big group of kayakers returned from 5 nights camping on the beaches of Icy Bay. They were dirty, hungry, and happy. A big halibut grill, lots of cigarette smoking, and kibitzing in native tongue. They did not get the best weather we've seen, but coming from the desert, I don't think most of them were too concerned (save one of the guys in the group who was from New Zealand). An early beach drive to the airstrip, three planes, lots of bags, and the place was suddenly very quiet, very calm.

A lull in the storm. A chance to prepare for the next wave...

Sitting in the Client's Seat

2008-07-04T15:21:00.000-07:00

she said:

This week at the lodge we have two clients that have become very good friends of George and Jill's over the years. As soon as we met them I was at ease; they brought paper bags full of fresh and unheard of vegetables from Pike's Market in Seattle and with our greeting hand shake I could sense their zest for life and easy going way. It was going to be a fun week, full of fresh vegetables, experimental sushi platters and a lot of laughs.

George invited Jeff and I along for a day on the boat. Trolling for Salmon at the inlet to Icy Bay, stunning views of Mt. St. Elias with wind swept clouds blanketing the lower peaks. As we cruised out the the Salmon hot spot we were treated to a whole new perspective on the coastal mountains.

It was a fantastic day, gentle

rolling swells of 1 to 2 feet, George would see a green blip on his radar and call, "Target at 33 ft" and with 40 seconds the clients would yell, "fish on" with glee. As the 30 to 40 pounders fought against the slow and steady pull towards to boat George's excitement for the catch would become contagious. "Yeah, baby bring it right in." As the fish was raised over the side of the boat everyone would whoop and holler, slap five and shake hands it was a proud moment for all no matter who caught the fish.

The fish were plentiful and the day... was relaxing. It was nice to sit in the clients seat. I crawled up on top of the boats cabin and took in the view, ocean as far as the eye could see and if I turned my head there was good old Elias just peaking out past the costal mountains.

We came back to the lodge and promptly started prepare our Salmon feast, complete with king salmon sashimi, sushi and rolls as appetizers and a light marinated grilled filet for the main course. Without exaggeration the best fish I have ever tasted.

A three hour tour...

2008-07-03T12:43:00.000-07:00

Mo says:

I usually guard the lodge while ma and pa go kayaking or off in the big boat. But today, I got to go for a drive in the big boat. It was best when they lowered the gate in the front. The wind blew right in my face, and I could smell the ocean, fish, birds, trees, dead stuff, and lots of

other things that I couldn’t identify.

At one point, we pulled up to a big pile of ice and snow that was floating in the bay. We got to hop onto it so I could eat some snow, and then we got back in the boat. It was pretty neat. The snow tasted great.

After a while, I got sleepy and took a nap in the sun. The boat kept moving along while I guarded it. After a while, we stopped and pulled some ice onto the boat, then we pulled up big cages

with little red things in them. They moved a lot, and had lots of legs. Weird. I barked at them so they knew who was in charge.

It was good to get back to the lodge. I really had to pee after eating all that snow!

What to do with a half day off....

2008-06-30T17:32:00.000-07:00

He says:
A day off (mostly) to do what we please. Tuesday? Saturday? Whatever. We made breakie for the clients, and they were on the boat and headed offshore to fish all day. We quickly geared up and loaded the sea kayaks for a day of exploring. Beautiful blue skies with just thin wisps of high clouds, a glassy bay, and no particular place to go...

Icy Bay is a kayakers heaven. Protected water with just a small swell from the ocean. In the summer, the wind is light and variable. Tidal currents are manageable everywhere we’ve been so far. Coves, islands, glacial pack ice choked fjords, and incredible mountain views. Paradise.

As we paddled NW from a potty break on Gull Island (aptly

named...what a racket!) my mind wandered to the absurdity of certain cliches. “Life is short” for instance. I won’t argue semantics... life certainly can be short, and is truly too short for some. But I think the cliche speaks to those who plow through life with blinders on. Baby’s have very long days... always processing, always learning new information. The dullness of the lives we often choose forces us to stop processing new information, perhaps because we know that if we truly were aware of all of the shitty choices we’d made, we’d hate ourselves.

Life is long. There is plenty of time. I’d bet life seems like a short night of sleep to those sleepwalking through it. Believe me, I’ve done my share of sleepwalking... and I’m not judging those who do. But what would it feel like if you woke up from that slumber to find yourself old, gray, and dying. Horror? Sadness? “A lifetime of regret?” Yes, yes, and yes... I imagine.

As I paddled, I imagined the life paths that might have been. And all of the choices that lead to this place and time...

I work as a chef at a remote fishing lodge in Icy Bay, Alaska. My commute is 20 paces...takes 35 seconds, and there are no tolls. The days are long, the work is very satisfying, and the clients are interesting, amicable, and always in love with this place. They are on vacation, relaxed, and it is contagious. I am getting paid to do something I love, in a place that is breathtakingly beautiful. I work with my love, Elizabeth, and Moby sleeps directly under our kitchen floor. I can poke my head outside, whistle, and he is there in seconds. I can slip him a treat, have a stick throw, or take him swimming anytime of the day.

The glacier ice is getting thicker now, and I need to focus on navigation. Seals pop their heads up to investigate our alien presence. The ice crackles and drips and pops. Elizabeth pulls up along side and asks for a kiss...

“What’cha thinking about?”...

“Not much”

The Morning Commute

2008-06-29T22:54:00.000-07:00

She says:

I wake up each morning as Jeff is crawling out of bed. I still have my eye mask on letting me believe its the middle of the night and so I go through denial, hoping Jeff is just getting up for a midnight potty run and I still have hours of sleep left. But Jeff never gets up in the middle of the night, no denying it, its morning.

I never admit that I am not a morning person, but when you lay out the fact of just how much I despise getting out of bed... the only reasonable conclusion is that the morning and I are not the best of friends. So I lay there as Jeff gets ready, slowly succumbing to the morning and the duties that lay ahead. As I hear Jeff close the "Condo" door and listen for the pitter pater of Moby's paws on the porch... it's my cue, it's time to get up.

So I emerge from bed, minimize my morning routine to changing clothes, brushing teeth and throwing a winter hat on to hide my bed head. I tell myself as soon as the clients get on George's boat you can go back to bed. But right now, it's time for the morning commute, 20 paces to the Lodge and I'm at work! I occasionally get slowed down by the morning doggie greeting, a little head petting and ear scratching for two Chesapeakes, a Mastiff and Moby, sure beats the 1.5 hour commute over the Tappan Zee Bridge.

I go into the kitchen and pour myself a strong cup o' joe, I find I am drinking a good 3 - 5 cups a day up here, that can't be good for a person, but I think I will let it slide till I get into the routine a bit better. Time to make some breakie, bacon and eggs, french toast, eggs benedict, pancakes... what's your fancy? Thus far Jeff has been the breakfast man, he cooks up a mean over easy egg and so he tends to the griddle while I set the table and get all the other fixins set for breakfast.

The clients slowly emerge from their cabins, stumbling into the kitchen, barely functional till they get their caffeine fix. As we set up for breakfast I try to figure out which native plant will make the best garnish to accent today's eggs florentine??

By the time the clients have finished breakfast I'm consumed with what to make for dessert that evening and the other chores of the day. That promise I made to myself to crawl back into bed as soon as the clients leave is a fleeting thought.

Now I am dreaming of breads to bake, salads to marinate, hikes to take, kayaks to paddle and adventures to chase.

The day is mine, be it in the kitchen or out on the frigid waters of Icy Bay...

Settling in

2008-06-28T14:03:00.001-07:00

He says:

So, the first wave of client checked out today. Elizabeth and I rolled out a week of pretty fine dining, considering the new kitchen, mixed bag of supplies, and totally new dynamic. There were challenges, to say the least. Elizabeth made a really great breaded baked Halibut, but instead of breadcrumbs, somebody had refilled the breadcrumb container with brown sugar and spices (smoke rub). Needless to say, the breading was a bit to sweet. We scraped and saved... but it was an unhappy moment.

Then there was the great dinner roll incident. I'd spent the morning making a milk bread dinner rolls, and the came out great. I put them in the warming oven to hold (you can see where this is going)... That's right, pre-heating the oven for baked clams, Elizabeth nuked my rolls. I was not happy, but you shake that stuff off. They made great bread stuffing with the Arista di maiale (pork roast with a rosemary-garlic rub) later in the week.

And then there is the great bread experiment. Sandwiches all week for the clients, made with fresh home-made bread. We've both made bread. We've done this before. But we have been swinging and missing with the sandwich bread. Finally, we got experimental. Lots of single loaves, with various recipes. As it turns out, a good loaf of white sammich' bread needs plenty of sugars to feed the yeast during its second rise up and over the edges of the bread pan. One T yeast, one T sugar... the rest is pretty much gravy. Do not taunt the bread during the second rise... it feeds on fear (and anger)!!

So, the clients caught fish, lots of them. We had seafood this way and that. Raw, marinated, smoked, grilled, baked, deepfried, panfried... dips, appetizers, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I may never buy seafood in the store again. Fresh fish can not be substituted for... yes, it matters that much. I am now a fish snob. I admit it, but there is nothing I can do about it now.

Today is all about cleaning and preparing for the next wave. Lots to do...

A Dog's Life...

2008-06-25T22:28:00.000-07:00

Mo says:

The beach is fun. There are so many rocks in the bay, I may never get them all on shore! I play with my new friends Zeus, Cali, and Chester all day. I sleep under the house, right under the kitchen, while Pop and Elizabeth work. Sometimes the mosquitos bite my nose, so I bark at the door and they let me in the lodge.

I swim all the time. I shouldn't swim late at night, because I get cold lying in the grass. The food here is great. I got some fish and french fries in my food today. The fish here is great. Much better than tuna in a can!

Pop brushed my teeth today. I was too tired to fight it. We saw a Grey wolf yesterday. It was a long ways away, but we all smelled it long before the humans saw it. What would they do without us?

Work and The World

2008-06-23T15:46:00.000-07:00

He says:

The kitchen work has been great! Organized and stocked, we are turning out some fantastic meals! Arista di Maiale with home-made bread dressing, Halibut Seviche on fresh fried corn tortillas, and strangely enough...the Chicken Marsala got rave reviews!! We are very busy these days, learning lots, and making up for what we don't know with hard work and improvisation.

It's funny how the news seems so far away. The death of George Carlin, a cruise ship sinking, more hedge fund perp walks on Wall St. The "fake world" seems a million miles away, and yet this very remote place relies so heavily on the infrastructure and mobility provided by those institutions. Life up here is the tip of the spear, so to speak, and without the ability to move people and stuff cheaply and easily, the standard of living here drops precipitously.

Which is not to say that life here, and the lodge operation, could not quickly reorganize at a new, nearly equal, level of comfort. It would take some serious re-tooling, but it could be done. Alternative energy sources: solar power, wood heat and cooking, even a wood fired, steam powered electrical generator!

Feeling far away. As we settle in to our routine, entertaining, cooking, socializing with new groups of clients, it is hard not to feel the remoteness of this place. Elizabeth and I went for a kayak yesterday, and as we paddled away from the lodge (population 14 this week) we felt like we were finally getting away from it all!! Truly isolated and alone, mid-bay, 100 miles from the nearest town.

We were peaceful, quiet... small. I guess our sense of isolation and wilderness will necessarily adjust to the new 'norm'.

The Solstice

2008-06-21T23:32:00.000-07:00

she says:

So last night was our first officially meal with clients and I am pleased to say that George and Jill (the owners of Icy Bay Lodge) seemed more than pleased. Jill asked where we learn to present food so well... “From eating out in New York?” was my reply. I hope that answer wasn’t too haughty, but I do feel like being a bit of a foodie in New York has helped my food presentation sense as well as my culinary skills.

For our first meal we served up some fresh Icy Bay clams, which I stuffed and baked Rockafeller style. (a big hit)

The main course consisted of marinated lamb chops, armenian rice pilaf and stewed dill tomatoes and green beans. And... for dessert cornmeal berry cobbler with fresh whipped cream yum yum!

One thing I am finding about cooking all day is that I’m never hungry, I can’t decide if my appetite has subsided or if I am subconsciously snacking all day and not realizing it. Well I guess my waistline will tell in time.

We had a clear sky for sun set, which I think was around 10 pm (well that’s when the sun tucked behind the coastal mountains) though as most know, there really is no night here, its goes from dusk straight to dawn. The clear skies made for a cool crisp evening, which translates to the perfect snuggle weather! And with that GOOD NIGHT!

To the old grounds...

2008-06-20T23:54:00.000-07:00

he says:

So we have been here for a little less than a week and I am still pleased with our decision to come back. I have no idea when the sun actually sets, but it never gets dark and tomorrow marks the summer solstice (the longest day of the year! Can’t wait)

Anyway in our short time here we’ve taken a hike to our old tent camp where we stayed during the Alaska Experiment. It was strange to go back, the tent platform weathered and covered with bear claw marks. The neighbors never come to visit until you up and leave town! The smoker, cold storage and the commode were intact, but surrounded by the inevitable progress of spring-time: strawberry bushes, grasses, and a few new alder shoots.

A strange combination of a seemingly distant experience mixed with what seems like premature nostalgia. It was only 9 months ago that we landed on that beach, ready for anything. At the time we thought the Alaska Experiment would test our physical endurance... as it turns out, the experiment, the test, came in a far different form. Alaska, it seems, would test out willingness to settle for the ordinary, our intolerance for missed opportunities, and our love (and patience) for one another. We hope the test is graded on a curve...we have a lot to learn. :)

The long way back...

2008-06-16T22:21:00.000-07:00

she says:

So after driving 3,300 miles from Brooklyn, NY to Eugene, OR, stopping at every ridiculous statue that was advertised along the way and any and all national parks along the way, couch surfing at various friends places or cramming 2 rather tall adults (with shamefully plentiful waistlines) and one very talkative dog in the back of a Chevy Tahoe...

After seeing old friends again (for Jeff) or meeting new ones (for me)...

And after crating Moby in Portland so he could make the last leg of the journey in the luggage section of the airplane with us.. (and Jeff and I being able to hear him trying to ward off the baggage handlers from our seats in business class) We have finally arrived back in ICY BAY!

I'm pretty sure Moby thinks he has died and gone to heaven. Watching him looking out the windows of the bush plane as we took off was priceless, you could almost see him trying to compute what the heck was happening as the trees got smaller and smaller and clouds passed our windows.

But we are back on Icy Bay and it feels good. We have better accommodations this time around: Heat, running water, flushing toilets, electricity and 2 ovens!! Oy Oy! Let the baking commence.