The Next Adventure...

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...

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

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"

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

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

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

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

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

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...

“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

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

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

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

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

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...

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!!

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

...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!