Crete, The Photo Edition

Back on the salty sea! Cruising along the coastline from Matala, southern Crete

Sunset behind the islands of Paximadia

The first trip gearing up for paddling at the beach in Matala

Sea cliffs and caves east of Matala

The view of Red Beach, east of Matala, from the ridge above

Matala at night

The ruins of the Minoan palace of Festos

At the top of the Samaria Gorge, the largest gorge in Europe, getting ready to descend 4,000 ft in 11 miles

The Iron Gates at the end of the Gorge - the walls are only about 12 feet wide here

At the beach in Roumeli, getting ready to paddle

Icons at the Byzantine church of Agios Pavlos

Eskimo roll practice at Marmara Beach

Paddling up the freshwater river from Palm Beach

Selfie, dodging rocks along the coastline

Barracuda souvlaki

Sunrise in Galini, getting ready to make the 8 mile crossing back to Matala

On to the second trip, my trusty steed that I got to rally up and down mountain roads, and through teeny tiny towns.  Waiting for the ferry at Hora Sfakia

The town of Loutro

Paddlers coming in for lunch

The ubiquitous taverna cat

Exploring the Blue Grotto on a stand-up paddle board.  The rocks are undercut so the light filters in from below the water

Standing up and making it look good

One of the three rocks at Tria Petra, paddling the last long leg to Galini

Exploring the archaeological museum in Heraklion

These clay pithoi were taller than I was.  From there it was back home to Montana!

Working Vacation

Wait, where am I?  What day is it?  It's been quite a month, and my brain is struggling to catch up.  Six weeks ago I packed my bags and left Ennis, first to run the Bozeman Marathon...

26.2 miles, done!

...then to spend some family time in central Oregon...

At the headwaters of the Deschutes River

...and finally on to the Greek island of Crete to lead sea-kayaking trips and do some massage.  Is it any wonder my sense of time is a little warped?

There were so many incredible shades of blue

Crete was amazing in so many ways.  I learned several Greek phrases ("kali mera" = good morning, "eferisto" = thank you), but most of my vocabulary had to do with food.  Moussaka, kleftiko, souvlaki, dolmadakias, raki, dakos, and choriatiki each found their way onto my tongue and into my belly.  I easily ate my weight in olive oil and feta, not to mention goats-milk yogurt and honey.  And since each place uses a slightly different recipe, you really have to try one of everything.

There were several moments where I had to pinch myself to make sure it was actually happening: sitting in the harbor town of Hora Sfakia watching a brilliantly-colored kingfisher hop from rock to rock; watching the sun set over the Libyan Sea from a ruined Turkish fort; paddling through endless azure waves past arid rocky coastline; looking over the whitewashed buildings of Loutro from a rooftop while giving a massage; and navigating through sea caves narrow enough to touch with both hands before entering a chamber lit through the water from below.  For many people this is a trip of  lifetime, and I was lucky enough to be along for the ride.

Now that I'm back home, it's fall.  The bears are ravaging apple trees for last-minute calories, frost lays heavy on the garden in the mornings, and the sun sits a little lower in the sky every day.  It's the season of soup and squash, anticipating snow and celebrating the sun, preparing for winter and saying goodbye to summer.  The birds, and part-time residents, are all flying south to warmer climes leaving the rest of us to nestle in and get ready for what comes next.

Home sweet home!

Merry Matala

Greece is lovely this time of year, with the days getting shorter and the temperatures slightly cooler. The beaches are still packed with well -browned Europeans in a startling array of shapes and sizes and most of the hotels are fully booked each night. I've heard French, German, Italian, Russian, and a few others I couldn't quite identify. Our first clients arrive tomorrow so I'm enjoying a last evening to myself watching the sun set into the ocean.

My role for these two trips is mainly as support and massage therapist. The first trip will serve to get me familiar with the itinerary and rhythm of travel, and I'll probably get to paddle nearly every day. The second trip, with 17 people, will involve much more logistical, behind the scenes work. One of my biggest challenges will be staying up past 9:30, which is usually my bed time but here is when most folks head to dinner. Night owl, I am not.

As you can imagine things in Greece work a little differently. You get your check for dinner when they're good and ready to give it to you, and it's bad form to turn down the frequently offered shots of raki, the local liquor. Renting a van or booking multiple hotel rooms often involves tracking down just the right person to talk to, who may or may not speak English, could be in England or off taking a nap, or who may forgo your reservation entirely if something better comes along. Part of the magic of these trips is that the clients have no idea how much really goes into them.

You Know You're Running in Montana When...

...the wind's in your face and it's uphill both ways

...you run through at least one herd of cattle on your route

...the ranchers raise two fingers off the steering wheel and shake their heads as they drive by

...you're more worried about running into a moose than a bear

...it starts out 70 degrees and sunny, and ends up 50 degrees and raining sideways

...you're excited to see the mud because it means the snow has melted

...there are more animal tracks than human on the trail

...your hand cramps up from carrying bear spray

...stream crossings, log hurdles, and mud wallows are par for the course

One Wild Workout

The best training partner and garden helper ever

I must be crazy to keep running.  I believe the definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.  Every time I start training, I tell myself it's going to get easier, and every time I curse the universe in short, gasping breaths when it doesn't.  I just get used to not being able to breathe for longer periods of time and learn to ignore my aching legs and lungs.

Maybe the lack of oxygen is starting to affect my brain because not only have I signed up for a marathon on October 6, I just registered for the highest half marathon in the country.  The Madison Marathon (http://themadisonmarathon.com/) takes place at around 9,000 ft in the Gravelly Range, southwest of Ennis, and if you're in town on July 28 you can watch me huff and puff and grunt my way through 13.1 painful miles.  After that, running 26.2 in Minneapolis in October will be a piece of cake.  Or so I tell myself.

To that end I've started going on longer and longer training runs.  Right now my options are long dirt country roads that run straight for miles on end or silly steep hiking trails that are a delightful melange of crusty snow and shoe-sucking muck.  One of the few passable trails is the Pot Trail and Trail Creek, which run into the hills to the east of Ennis Lake.  Luna and I headed up there on Wednesday armed with energy chews and bear spray, and proceeded to climb.  And climb, and climb, and climb.  There was a lot of breathless hiking and swearing on my end, while Luna kept looking back and wondering what was keeping me.

We climbed from 4500' to 7600' in about 4 and a half miles, then turned around and tumbled all the way back down the hill.  There were old bear prints frozen into the mud, amazing views of Ennis Lake spread out below us, and snowy mountains all around.  Bubba was waiting for us back at the car (running is not one of his favorite activities) and we all headed down to the Madison River for stretching and swimming, respectively.  At that point the river is deep and slow as it leaves Ennis Lake, and absolutely brimming with avian life.  I counted at least a dozen loons, sliding dark and low through the water, a pair of common mergansers with their distinctive mohawks, a singular grebe, and a large immature bald eagle pursued by a pair of noisy crows.  Things like that make running, however difficult and stupid, completely worth it.

Northern Travels

Taking the Colonel north from Edmonds to Anacortes, leaving the harbor

The Edmonds ferry

Deception Pass

Tulips on the Skagit Flats

Tulip fields in full bloom

Spring In MT, Believe It Or Not

Bear Trap Canyon, Madison River

Two weeks ago Carl and I took the dogs to Bear Trap Canyon.  Luna and I jogged over rock falls and past rapids while he and Bubba hiked, then we met back up to swim the pooches and hike out.  It was warm enough that we were both sweating in our T-shirts, and the dogs were happy to paddle around in snow-melt water.  This morning we woke up to half an inch of snow on the ground and the world wintry still.  You've got to love spring in Montana.

Luckily most of my job to date takes place in the sheltered environs of one of two greenhouses, although the fickle spring weather makes it tricky to regulate the temperature in there.  If the sun is out, and it often is here, the production greenhouse will be 90 degrees at 10:00 in the morning regardless of the temperature outside.  It's a game of propping doors open, rolling up plastic sides, and constantly checking the thermometer to make sure nothing's either boiling or freezing.

The production greenhouse, getting greener all the time

So far I seem to be having some success at this large-scale gardening thing.  Last week we sent a batch of spinach and lettuce over to the school, and on Friday we harvested a slew of produce to sell at an impromptu market: radishes, spinach, beet greens, beautiful bunches of kale and chard, and a salad mix of lettuce, baby kale and chard, beet greens, and crisp tasty pea shoots.  It was extremely satisfying to hand over these bags and bunches of lush greens knowing that I'd grown them, with plenty of help and technical support.  Bubba and Luna helpfully milled around underfoot and greeted our buyers.

Rhubarb chard

Baby zucchini

The dogs investigating the hot spring

The best part about the job is that I get to take the dogs to work.  Most of the time they lay outside and watch the world go by, alerting me to visitors and making sure the perimeter is secure.  Every so often they'll come in to make sure I'm still there, and then wander back outside to where the action is.  They're the best gardening buddies ever.

Last Best Place

Our view to the northwest

 Now that we've been in Montana nearly a month I feel like we're finally getting our feet underneath us.  There are pictures on the walls, a new-to-us truck in the driveway with Montana plates, and plants scattered liberally around the house.  We have high speed internet and an old school rotary phone, retro cowboy wallpaper and a king-sized bed that fits all four of us.  On top of that, we've both started in on our new jobs.

Carl is working as a park ranger with the BLM, and gets to do things like ski to backcountry huts and raft the Bear Trap Canyon of the Madison, in addition to cleaning toilets and controlling the drunks floating down the river come summer.  I'm employed in the greenhouse of Madison Farm to Fork, a local foods non-profit that provides education, puts on classes, and sells veggies to the local school and at the farmers market.  That latter part is my responsibility, putting all those seeds in the ground and convincing them to grow.  Whatever I don't know about gardening (which is a whole lot), I am rapidly learning under the tutelage of my boss Kaye.

My office

Ennis has a year round population of about 960 people and 11,000,000 trout.  The number of bipeds doubles or triples in the summer with the arrival of fishing guides, second-home owners, and other seasonal transplants.  It's nice to be here in the tail end of winter to get to know all the faces that will still be here when the leaves start to fall.  We're enjoying small town living, where Carl's boss knew I got my job long before I did, and our elderly neighbor calls us up on our rotary phone to invite us to pinochle night at the historic school house down the road.  Everyone here has dogs so the furry kids have found lots of new friends, too.

Taking the dogs for a walk

If you want to find us, pinpoint the town of Ennis and then continue south for ten miles.  The Madison Range will be on your left, craggy peaks still covered in snow.  Big Sky resort and Moonlight Basin are over on the other side, fairly close as the crow flies but at least an hour or two away by car.  Soon you'll be able to see Sphinx Mountain with its distinctive profile.  When you get to Cameron, basically a sign and a bar, turn east and head up the bench towards the mountains.  Keep an eye out for pronghorn, golden eagles, and the 500 strong herd of elk that winter up there.  Make sure to slow down on the turns, and when the road turns to dirt you're almost there.  You'll be able to see the white farmhouse with the green roof about five minutes before you get to us.  The fearsome guard dogs are partial to peanut butter and hugs, and they'll be just as happy to see you as we will.  Welcome to Montana!

On The Road...Again

Road warriors extraordinaire

Driving across the country is something you should do at least once in a lifetime.  But after the 6th or so time, the epic journey loses a bit of its romance.  We've already kept track of license plates (North Dakotans are everywhere now), counted the Wall Drug signs both eastbound and westbound, and taken pictures of all the state lines.  The dogs have peed in all four time zones and Carl has downed more energy drinks than he'd care to admit.  We left Chile on January 29th, and by February 11th we had arrived at our new home in Ennis, Montana.  That's approximately 10,052 miles in 14 days.  We're ready to be off the road for a while.

From West Virginia we drove west to Bozeman to stay with our friends Amanda and John.  On the way we stopped for the night in Rapid City, SD, exhausted and ready to find some fried food.  You wouldn't think that the first weekend in February would be such a busy time but every hotel we drove by had a full parking lot and was charging premium prices for their rooms.  Turns out it was the last night of the stock show and Rapid City was bumping.  Who knew.

On to Bozeman, where our friends were kind enough to let us sleep on their futon while we searched for a place to live.  Much to our surprise, it took all of  one day.  Carl had the genius idea to stop in at the local paper to see if there were any classifieds that hadn't run yet, and lo and behold there was an old farmhouse for rent.  We drove out to see it, got the key from the neighbor who stands a full head taller than Carl, and decided that it would work perfectly.  I think it was the rotary phone and creepy root cellar that really sold us.  That, and the wilderness area two miles up the road.

That accomplished, it was off to Oregon via a visit to my aunt and uncle north of Spokane, WA, to retrieve our worldly belongings.  Everything fit in the 24' moving truck with room to spare and the roads were clear all the way back to Montana.  Unfortunately, we did have a casualty: our Portland Timbers gnome didn't survive the journey.  The dogs were super troopers through the whole ordeal, although by the end Bubba wouldn't leave the car in case we left without him and Luna refused to get back in.  But once the couch was out of the truck in and in the house, the dogs finally realized that we were home.

Home sweet home

Big Things in a Skinny Country

The title applies to rock formations, glaciers, and Carl's shoulders.  Last week we set off on one last adventure, south to Tranquilo to check out the marble caverns there, and on to an excursion to Glacier Leones.  We were sitting at the bus stop in Cerro Castillo, hopefully sticking out our thumbs until the bus arrived, when our hitching actually garnered us a ride.  The small van that pulled up was already packed full of 11 people and a trunk of bags, but somehow the perky little driver fit in both our backpacks and us.  Carl's neighbor was decidedly unhappy about being stuck next to a wide-shouldered gringo, while I was sandwiched in the middle of the front seat.

We stopped several times to drop off people at random farms and intersections before reaching the small town of Tranquilo about three hours later.  The little city sits on the edge of Lago General Carrera, and the main street hosts a series of restaurants for travelers and small trailers advertising trips to the Capillas Marmols, the Marble Caverns.  After waiting around for our guide to collect enough folks to fill the boat (everything moves slower here in Patagonia), we traipsed down to the small dock and set off down the lake.

The wind was at our backs for the 30 minute ride to the caverns, turquoise water kicked into waves and high mountains all around.  The caves were formed by a combination of wave action from below and water trickling down from above, leaving fanciful arches and delicate columns that look like an abstract painting.  Some of the caves were large enough for the boat to travel back into; others stretched through entire rock formations.  After snapping photos and cruising along we headed back to shore.  Our campsite for the night was one kilometer out of town, right by the lake, and one of our favorites so far.

Next day we caught a bus down to Bahia Catalina for our glacial excursion.  Luckily the driver knew where to drop us because it wasn't a town, just a sign at the side of the road and a dirt drive heading down the hill.  We hiked down to the cluster of cabins, made camp by another finger of the lake, and set our alarms for early the next morning.

Our journey out to Glacier Leones required several modes of transportation: an hour and a half drive down a rough dirt track parallel to the Rio Leones, two hours of hiking over rivers and across fields littered with huge glacial erratics to the terminal moraine that forms the edge of Lago Leones, and finally a two hour boat ride with a questionable motor up to the face of the glacier itself.  Glacier Leones is fed by the Northern Patagonian Ice Field and resembles a huge river of ice flowing down and around the jagged peaks to the edge of the lake.  We trolled slowly along the its face, dodging floating chunks of ice, to our lunch spot on some rocks near the side of the glacier.  It was the perfect vantage point to watch pieces fracture and tumble into the water, sending out waves and creating a sound like thunder.

At first it was just chunks the size of a soft ball or a grape fruit.  Then we saw a piece the size of a Volkswagon Bug tumble off, and we were pretty excited.  When we saw one the size of a bus, it created a splash about 4 stories high and we thought our day was complete.  But just as we were about to head toward the boat, a whole promontory of ice the size of an apartment building crumbled into the water.  I'm pretty sure I let out a whoop of pure joy that was drowned out by the noise.  The resulting waves swamped the rocks where our life jackets had been sitting and forced the guides to push the boats out.

It was the highlight of an incredible day, and we were fully satisfied as we began the long trek back to our tent.  We got back with just enough time to cook up some dinner and fall into our sleeping bags before dark.  The next day we lucked out and caught a ride to Cerro Castillo with a very friendly surveyor who was working on the road to Guadal.  We made it back in record time and even got dropped off right on Mary and Cristian's doorstep.  Our last adventure in Chile was an official success.

A Week In The Life

Summer is in full swing here in the southern hemisphere.  We arrived back from Argentina to find the sun blazing down on Cerro Castillo and clouds banished from the blue, blue sky.  We also found that Chile is still as unpredictable as ever.  Mary and Cristian were in Coyhaique and we were busy unpacking our gear when a truck pulled into the driveway.  This wasn't unusual, as people drop by to socialize or sell things or pick up horses every day of the week.  This time, however, the woman who got out had a puppy in her hands.  The little ball of fur couldn't have been more than five or six weeks old, teeth barely coming in and eyes still tinged blue.  Luckily I had Mary on the phone and she was able to translate that the little guy was indeed for them, and had been promised to them some while ago from the next litter.  With that cleared up, the woman handed me the puppy, got back in the truck, and left.

 Despite all my fears and full-on maternal mode, the puppy survived his first night snuggled up to a hot water bottle and has been thriving ever since.  We've named him Hayduke (Carl just finished reading "The Monkey Wrench Gang"), he's a full blooded Border Collie, and he's a big fan of following around the other dogs and wrestling with the kittens (who are now full on cats).  I may be sneaking him home in my suitcase.

With the temperatures creeping into the 90s we went in search of a place to cool off.  In the hills behind town there are a whole series of lakes, some small and ringed with reeds, others large and more rocky.  We followed the wooden signs towards Lago Tamango down a twisting dirt road past neat little farms tucked into the hills and sudden vistas of the mountain range.  It took us about 45 minutes to reach the lake, and another five for Mary to talk the owner of some cabins into letting us access the water on her property.  It was a world class spot with the whole Cerro Castillo range visible on the other side of the crystal clear water, and the swimming was phenomenal.  The horse flies can't get you when you're under water.

 Yesterday we planned to ride horses over to Mary and Cristian's farm down the road and help haul in all the hay that was baled the day before.  We got five minutes down the road and decided that it was just too dang hot for any of that silliness.  Instead, we watered down the horses and headed to the rodeo over in Ibanez.  It was so hot that all the ice cream in the ice cream truck was melting, and people were sitting underneath the bleachers to get out of the sun.  This was the traditional type of rodeo with bronco riders and live musicians singing of their exploits.  There were gauchos from Chile, Argentina, and even an incredibly tall gentleman from Brazil.  We watched the horses rear and buck, bodies hitting the dirt or clinging desperately, while eating sopapillas with chopped tomatoes and sipping fresh melon juice.  It's a fantastic way to spend a Sunday.

Bumps in the Road, Part II

Jackpot!

Although Chile Chico and Los Antiguos are only about 5 km apart, you can definitely tell they're in different countries.  Chilean cities are usually built around a central plaza, while Argentine cities tend to sprawl out in random directions.  Argentina has nicer cars, Audis and VWs instead of the rowdy Mazda trucks and 4WD vans favored by the Chileans.  And there are also ATMS which accept Visa cards, meaning we could finally continue our trip fully funded.

From Los Antiguos we were able to catch a bus the same day towards Puerto Deseado on the Atlantic coast.  It was a large double decker bus with seats that reclined and TV screens that didn't work - pretty much the lap of luxury as far as we were concerned.  The comfortable ride made up for the dreary scenery.  Central Argentina is kind of like Wyoming or North Dakota, and not the pretty parts.  The wide open flatlands of scrubby brush were dotted with oil derricks, utilitarian little concrete towns, and  the occasional herd of sheep.  Everything would have been fine, except that we misunderstood which stop we were supposed to get off at and ended up an hour and a half farther than needed, missing our bus in the process.  After a night short of sleep in an overpriced hotel, we reached our destination the next day around noon.

Puerto Deseado was first visited by Magellan in 1520, and also featured in Charles Darwin's explorations.  Since then, it's become a typical sprawling town with a defunct train station and a church that also served as a light house.  Finding a suitable place to sleep was somewhat challenging and involved a two mile trek out of town to a reasonably sheltered campground, which is key in a place with incessant winds.  The reason we'd come all this way to a seemingly bereft spot was what lay beyond the shore.  25 km to the south was Reserva Provincial Isla Pinguinos which, true to its name, was home to about 30,000 nests of penguins.  Real, live, penguins.  How could we resist that?

The guest list of our expedition covered four continents: two Argentine guides, two Australians, a South African, three Brazilians, and us.  We headed out around 11:30 in a bright yellow Zodiac, with the sun glinting off the brilliantly clear blue water and the wind surprisingly calm.  Not even five minutes out of port we spotted a pair of Commerson's dolphins speeding through the waves towards us.  They swam circles around the small boat, their white sides glowing through the water, before continuing on to something more exciting.

Commerson's Dolphin

We were already incredibly excited when I sighted another two fins slicing through the water.  The skipper quickly turned the boat around to see two Peale's Dolphins, larger and grayer than their cousins, coming up fast.  Within minutes they were joined by another two or three Commerson's, and we were beside ourselves watching them zip under the bow and surface right alongside us.  I was so excited that I couldn't even handle taking pictures, grinning from ear to ear and absolutely giddy with childlike glee.

Peale's Dolphins

I don't even know how long we spent with the dolphins - fifteen, twenty minutes?  Whenever they moved on, so did we, heading towards some small rocky islands to experience the local sea lion population.  They sound like an old man getting out of bed, growling and grumping and harrumphing, and they smell like a fish sauce factory.  There were several harems of females with large alpha males to guard each one, and there was even a newly born pup, the same dark color as the rocks.

Sea lion rookery

Next stop was Isla Pinguinos, where we were greeted with the smell of rotting fish and decomposing bodies. But I don't think anyone noticed because we were surrounded by Magellanic penguins, chicks and adults, lying, standing, and waddling around.  These were the penguins I had seen at the zoo growing up, right there in front of me going about their business.  It was completely wild and totally exhilarating.

Magellanic penguins

Our guides laid out lunch before we hiked over the island to the colony of rock hopper penguins.  This is the northern most population and also the most accessible.  True to their name, they do indeed hop from rock to rock up the rugged shore to reach their nests and chicks.  We got to hang out for over an hour and watch them launch out of the ocean, rinse off in tide pools, and preen each other.  As goofy as they are on land, they're equally as graceful as any seal or dolphin in the water.

Rock hopper penguins

Eventually, of course, we had to bid farewell to the penguins and sea lions and skuas and head back to town.  For the perfect ending to the perfect day, Carl and I visited the restaurant Puerto Cristal for an amazing sea food smorgasbord.  Some lucky guessing and menu roulette netted us some pan fried calamari to start, then a plate of clams smothered in a creamy sauce for Carl and a bowl full of rice topped with a tomato-based stew of clams, mussels, shrimp, and fish for me.  We were in such culinary heaven we didn't even need dessert.

The next morning we had to rise at 2:00 in order to make the hour trek to the bus stop for our 4:00 AM bus.  There were a surprising number of people out at that hour, mostly young teenagers with nothing better to do. From there we slept most of the way back to Los Antiguos, making our connection this time, and crossing the border without incident.  One more night in Chile Chico, then the 8:00 AM ferry across Lago General Carrera.  The wind nearly blew us off the deck but we did get to see the whole mountain range.  Cerro Castillo was out to welcome us back.

The Cerro Castillo range from Lago General Carrera