Adventures of a Fun-sized Wanderer

Headlong into 2012

2012-01-15T11:00:00.000-08:00

On the 15th day of the new year we've finally got our first snow in town since November, and it's about time. New Year's Day we attempted to continue our tradition of going on a snow shoe, but there was no snow to be had. Instead we hiked up Hobart's Bluff for panoramic views of the valley. Of course I forgot to bring my brand new camera so you'll just have to take my word for it. But now I get to capture priceless images such as this:

We woke up this morning to a light flurry of flakes slowly coating the yard. The chickens were huddled in their coop clucking in dismay, but Luna was out like a shot to explore the wintry landscape. After Carl left for work I bundled the fuzzy kids into the car and drove up to the Forest Service roads behind town. Sunday mornings are quiet, and snowy ones even more so. We had the trail to ourselves for the most part, the scant quarter inch of snow gradually deepening. It was just enough and of the right consistency for snowballs, which both dogs chase with equal enthusiasm. At the end of the hike Luna refused to get back in the car; luckily it looks like winter isn't over just yet.

Luna looks good in a coat of snow

Rooting around for snowball remains

You've got a little something on your face there...

Brain freeze!

Saw a lot of this while hiking

Cheese!

Happy new year, y'all!

That Time of the Year

2011-12-07T14:10:00.001-08:00

The trees are bare, the frost is thick every morning, and the snow has yet to fly in earnest; it's that awkward time of year between seasons where fall is on its way out but winter hasn't officially begun. Once Thanksgiving is over, Christmas always seems to sneak up on me. December is the shortest month of the year in my book, whatever the calendar says, especially coupled with the incredibly short days. Then again, I could be up in Alaska like some people I know...

This year we decided to go out and find ourselves a real honest-to-goodness Christmas tree. The Christmas cactus served its purpose well last time, but since we've been established here for an entire year (what a scary thought!), we figured it was time to revisit some family traditions. Namely, sneaking out into the woods in search of the perfect tree. We loaded the whole family into the trusty, rusty Subaru and headed up into the hills.

Luna's been on a couple hikes before, but this was her first cross-country adventure. She was in hog heaven, following at Bubba's heels and proudly coming around to show me all the interesting things she found (rusty cans, sticks, pine cones...). At one point I remembered the camera that was still sitting in the car, and she accompanied me on a brisk trot to the vehicle and back. When she gets a little bigger she's going to be the perfect marathon-training partner. Before long we found a good looking arboreal specimen.

Carl went to town with the hacksaw and made quick work of it.

A proud hunter with his catch.

It was a lovely day out in the woods.

Once we got the tree home the fun really began. You wouldn't think it would be that hard to find a container that would successfully hold both tree and water; neither did we, and that's where we were painfully wrong. After three tries, water spilled, obscenities hurled, and a tree chucked off the back porch, a good old pickle jar came to the rescue and saved Christmas. A very happy holiday season to all!

A Very Furry Thanksgiving

2011-11-28T14:54:00.001-08:00

A very happy post-turkey day to everyone! The Ashland Funny Farm celebrated the holiday with a road trip to the far reaches of Edmunds, WA, Luna's first since coming home. It's a good thing we left the chickens at home because they wouldn't have fit in Carl's new Golf TDI. Thank goodness for roof boxes, or we wouldn't have either.

Our first stop was my folks' house in Lake Oswego. Luna was thrilled to see their beagles again; the beagles were far less excited to see her. While there Carl was kind enough to humor my nerdiness and accompany me to the Body Worlds exhibit at OMSI. I was like a little kid in a candy store - "Look, there's the sciatic nerve passing through the piriformis!" "Check out the nuchal ligament!" "See, that's the SI joint I keep talking about". Carl had the grace to just smile and nod, and even ask the occasional question. Our favorite body was the drawer man, who had sections that were peeled open and punched out so you could see how everything fit together. The giraffe was a close second - did you know they have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans do? Or that their heart is bigger than a basketball? It's crazy the things you can see once the skin comes off.

On Thanksgiving day we loaded up the pair of Volkswagons with two dogs, six people, and numerous crates of food, and slogged up I-5 to Edmunds to meet the rest of the Hayes clan. Carl's friend Eric, newly arrived to Corvallis, OR, somehow let himself get roped in to the whole affair as our guest of honor. We decided that flannel shirts were our theme of the day, and showed up at my Aunt Ruth's doorstep festooned in plaid and bearing delectable things to eat.

There were 13 people and 5 dogs (which means almost as many canine legs as human ones), lots of eating, drinking, and making merry; all in all, a very successful holiday. Even though I remembered my camera, somehow I only seem to have pictures of fuzzy family members (beards and mustaches excluded). Funny how that happens. We were all very impressed with Luna - at 14 weeks she is an incredibly calm and well-behaved puppy. I'm giving her all the credit. Bubba and Luna got to share a bed at the hotel, and were both wiped out after a big day.

The next morning dawned cold and clear, with the Olympics out in all their glory.

The Kingston ferry headed out.

Puppy dogs playing in the sand.

Friday we turned around and did the road trip all over again. Good thing Bubba and Luna are such good travelers.

Don't make me pull this car over, kids!

It was wonderful to see everyone, and eat good food with good people, but it's always nice to be home. I hope everyone had a very merry Thanksgiving - into the holiday season we go!

Fall!

2011-11-13T12:59:00.001-08:00

Autumn arrived suddenly about a month ago, shifting gears to crisp sunny days and ever colder nights. Last week we had our first deep frost and that seemed to be the cue for all the brilliantly bedecked trees to give up the fight and drop their drawers. I walked out the front door to find a carpet of leaves burying the driveway and front yard, not to mention Carl's car. The dogs and I spent some quality time raking.

With the cooler weather has come snow in them thar hills, and we decided there's no time like the present to introduce Luna to that wonderful white stuff. Seeing as her front paws are currently twice the size of her back ones, she's perfectly equipped. Bubba showed her the way and she had no reservations about jumping right in.

Bubba strikes a pose with Mt. Shasta in the background.

Luna taking flight in pursuit of snow balls. I think she's part panther.

On the prowl...at 3 months of age she weighs in at 14 lbs 2 oz. They grow up so fast!

Carl chucking snow balls for Bubba, who seems to be doing his best "Jaws" impression.

Luna getting in on the fun.

With this crew there was no way I'd emerge unscathed. Giving Luna some lovin'.

Banzai!

Back at home, my wonderful mother sent along a gift for Carl - his very own man-apron, or "mapron", as he prefers to call it. One has to look good while grilling, after all.

Find the Puppy

2011-11-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

They did this of their own volition, I swear.

Daily Dose of Doggie Doings

2011-11-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of Halloween, I figured I would share this photo of the dogs wrestling on the couch. Bubba is the sweetest dog you'll ever meet, but he puts his game face on to play with Luna. At times he looks just like an angry grizzly bear.

After a long hike in the mountains, both pups were tuckered out. The little one loves snuggling up to her big brother, and once she's done chewing on his face he doesn't mind a bit.

By Popular Demand...

2011-10-30T18:55:00.000-07:00

....Namely, my mother. But who doesn't love cute puppy pictures?

Luna decided my pillow was way more comfortable than her bed. My tasty face was just a bonus.

Awww....

Somehow the little dog manages to take up the majority of the bed.

Bubba's still not quite sure what to make of the interloper.

Just look at that little face....

...And that big droopy one.

Puppy love!

My Pillow Has the Hiccups

2011-10-24T08:18:00.000-07:00

I thought I might just post these pictures and call it good, but my fan base is getting antsy for something a little more satisfying than that. Carl often asks me how I survived without a dog for so many years (as in the eternity between leaving home and the fateful summer day when I walked off the ferry into Bubba's life). It's wonderful to come home to that goofy face every day, and now we've doubled the furry fun with our newest addition. We'd talked about getting another dog while Bubba is still in his prime, in the hopes his amazing temperament and personality would rub off on it. Somehow I convinced the landlords that adding another couple pounds of dog to the house really wouldn't be that big a deal, and the next thing you know I'm picking out a puppy of my very own. Her name is Luna, she's half black lab and half Australian shepherd, and she's smart enough to be a whole lot of trouble. Not to mention pretty darn cute.

Bubba is still getting used to the idea of being a big brother. He sends us long-suffering looks every so often, wondering what possessed us to mess with the status quo.

Just look at that face...how could I say no?

Luna is only allowed on the couch when she's completely exhausted and has no energy left for shenanigans (which takes some doing). She views Bubba as her personal jungle gym - last night she wiggled in under his chin and draped herself over his legs. Bubba, the amazing dog that he is, just sighed and looked the other way.

In other exciting news, my brief visit to Portland coincided with that of my sister Sarah, down from the great frozen wastes of central Alaska. With the powers of our persuasiveness combined we convinced my mother that it was a really good idea for us to get matching tattoos together. Despite dithering the entire ride to the shop, I'm proud to say that my mother went through with it and got her first tattoo ever. It was Sarah's first one as well; although Mom will probably stop there, I bet my sister ends up with a line of sled dogs running across her low back by spring. The winter nights are long and cold up there in Alaska and I've heard these things can be addictive...

South of the Border

2011-09-18T13:39:00.000-07:00

Southern Oregon is a funny place, in oh so many ways. In particular I'm thinking of my tendency to wander all over the state, for hours on end, in almost any direction but south. That direction leads to the strange, foreign land of California, which is obviously another world despite the fact that it's only 18 miles away. There's a perceived barrier that halts my imagination in its tracks when casting around for the next adventurous destination.

This weekend we decided to cross that barrier and head south to see what we could find. Mt. Shasta is visible from many of the peaks around here, and we got the chance to see it up close and personal. We took a quick tour through the town of Weed (named after its founder Abner Weed, but now rife with hilarious connotations) and stopped at the brewery there for lunch. There were a lot of empty store fronts on Main Street, a couple of tacky shops on the highway selling "I Heart Weed" shirts, and a surprisingly nice community college. The brewery was quiet but delicious.

On down the road we headed into the town of Mt. Shasta, its namesake looming in the background. There's a healthy population of hippies and wealthy retirees, somewhat like Ashland, and it made for some good people watching. The forest service office there provided us with some fodder for future excursions, before driving up the mountain to see what it was all about. Mt. Shasta towers over its neighboring peaks at 14,179 ft, making it especially striking since the valley floor is only 3,000 ft. There's a wilderness area covering much of the peak above 10,000 feet but since Bubba couldn't read the signs it wasn't a problem. The road dead-ends at the old ski area, empty now except for the parking lot, a couple trail signs, and some hippie rock art.

From there we took the back way to the active ski area, which was kind of disappointing given the terrain we were looking at. We may have to make our way back in the winter anyway, just for the fun of it. By the time we headed back north the clouds had cleared from the peak and I was able to convince Carl to pull over so I could get a picture of it.

Even though the autumn solstice is fast approaching, there's still plenty of time for adventures before the snow flies. We've had only two traces of measurable precipitation since June and there's nothing in the forecast anytime soon. Our goal is to fit at least one backpacking trip in this year, however short and sweet. I'll keep you posted.

Things Are Getting Real...

2011-09-13T16:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true, summer vacation is over and it's time to face the real world. No matter that temperatures are still in the high 80s and the tomatoes haven't ripened yet. Days are getting shorter, the sun sits lower in the sky, and I've got myself a real honest-to-goodness job. That's right, I've joined the ranks of the gainfully employed as a licensed massage therapist. I'm working at Balanced Massage, a clinic up in Medford that focuses on therapeutic and deep tissue work, and so far it seems like a really good fit.

I wasn't supposed to start work until this week, when the gal I'm filling in for was scheduled to go on maternity leave, but she ended up going into labor on Friday. Needless to say, I got to jump right in to her busy schedule, and thankfully no one seemed too upset by the fact that I wasn't her. She gave birth to a healthy baby boy that night, and they're both doing fine. My system is still in shock from dishing out five massages in one day; my hands and forearms are a little sore, but give me another month of this and I'll challenge anyone to arm wrestling.

So here's the next great adventure. I get to experience all the joys and frustrations of building up a clientele, figuring out the best way to get stubborn muscles to relax, and becoming the most popular massage therapist in town (just kidding on that last one). Oh, and living in the same place with the same person for a whole entire year. That hasn't happened since high school; I've still got a couple months to go before it's official but just the idea of it is scarily grown up. I guess that goes along with the multiplying gray hairs on my head...

The Hayes Family Goes to the Beach

2011-08-20T16:39:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like those hot, hazy, stifling days of summer to make you pack up the furry kid and some gin and tonic materials, and head for the coast. That, and a massive family reunion. We made a stop over in Portland first, to eat delicious Thai food, watch the mania of the Timbers' Army cheering on their soccer team, and provide cheap labor for my mother's dessert factory. Then it was up Hwy 217 and west out 26 to the northern Oregon coast. I'm not sure who was responsible for booking this family madness during the busiest weekend of the year in Seaside, but our clan joined the 50,000 other folks descending on this town of 6,188 for the culmination of the Hood to Coast Relay. Like the name says, the "biggest relay in the world" starts at Mt. Hood and winds up in downtown Seaside 200 miles later.

We managed to avoid most of the people, even when we visited Cannon Beach to fulfill Carl's dream of recreating "The Goonies". That man has a mean truffle shuffle. We found plenty of kelp to fling for Bubba, who probably ran his own equivalent of the Hood to Coast over the course of the weekend.
My Aunt Ruth found a rental to hold most of our immediate clan, and there was an amazing view off the back porch. It was just the place for sipping cool drinks, soaking up the sun, and keeping track of Hurricane Irene's path of destruction up the East Coast. Just another reason why the West Coast is the best coast.
The house was built in the 40's and had a funky floor plan with lots of unnecessary stairs.
At the reunion, shaking hands with relatives I haven't laid eyes on in years, I was bombarded with the consistent greeting, "Nice to see you! So how are the chickens?" To fulfill everyone's curiosity, here's the latest on the little feathered cluckers:

At five months old, the ladies are fully feathered and starting to figure out their purpose of producing eggs. The Fury and Erica are both laying the cutest little eggs you ever did see, while Brendina seems to be a bit slower to catch on. I did find an egg without a shell this morning, so maybe she's getting it; part of it, anyway. Carl still enjoys communing with the girls. I believe that's Erica on his lap, in time-out for trying to peck his toes.
Here they are in all their chicky glory: Erica, Brendina, and the Fury.
And us? Oh, we're just fine.

Whew...

2011-08-14T10:10:00.001-07:00

...it's been one heck of a week. On Monday I got the go-ahead for Lasik surgery to fix my eyes, Wednesday I went under the laser, then Friday we headed over to Union Creek for the night before I ran a half marathon at Crater Lake on Saturday. It's no wonder I slept in this morning.

The Lasik is something I've been thinking about for a while but never really had the guts to go through with. It finally seemed like the right time and the right place. The surgery itself only took about 20 minutes and I was awake the whole time. Carl even got to watch the procedure through the large viewing windows and TV screen on the wall. He said it was pretty crazy watching the surgeon carefully pull aside the flaps created in my corneas, and then squeegee them back down afterwards. I got a front row seat for all that. I just pretended I was watching a trippy movie with lots of intense lights and weird sounds; the Valium helped with the disassociation. The next day I was able to drive myself to my post-op appointment.

Having worn contacts for the past 14 years, being able to see without anything on my face doesn't feel that foreign. But then I realize that I'm not even wearing contacts, that there's nothing between me and the world, and I start grinning like an idiot. It's a pretty amazing experience.

Surgery on Wednesday was no hindrance to running a race on Saturday. Since Crater Lake is a two hour drive away, we opted to spend the night at Union Creek Resort, nestled in the thick dark woods by the upper Rogue River. Before dinner we went to check out the Natural Bridge, which is a section of river that flows through an old lava tube, and the Rogue River Gorge, a chasm formed when the roof of that lava tube collapsed. This is the outlet of the river from running underground.

I thought this sign was particularly hilarious. Oh please feed the animals, we're just worried about their cholesterol. As long as it's not salty it's okay.
Looking up into the Rogue River Gorge, all basalt rock covered in ferns and moss.
Next morning we were up before the sun to make the trek up to Crater Lake. The race day instructions were rather vague so I wanted to be there in plenty of time. We were. It did give us the opportunity to watch the sun rise over the crater rim.
Carl and Bubba were the best support team ever. There was one lane of traffic open so they could position themselves for cheering and photographic opportunities, then race ahead again to find another spot. Bubba acted as the lookout.
Still smiling at mile 5 as I dump a layer.
Stopping by later on for some Bubba lovin'.

It's funny how small this world is. While milling around at the starting area I ran into two guys I went to college with who live up in Portland, Nick Benjamin and Dan Dunning. Funny enough, they were also there to do some running. Nick is an athletic freak of nature and disappeared way out front, but I caught up with Dan and his friend Adrian, and ran with them for a stretch before leaving them behind on the hill. I didn't get the memo about a pink shirt.
Running with the gorgeous lake in the background, more than halfway through.
Coming in to the finish line - I caught that girl in the last 20 feet or so after a four mile uphill climb. Mt. Thielsen is in the background.
Finished! I was blown away by my time of 2:09:19, averaging just under a 10 minute mile on a course that ran between 5800 ft and 7800 ft above sea level with several big climbs. I was 6th in my age bracket (20-29), and 54th out of 141 runners. All that training really paid off. Special thanks to my support team - I couldn't have done it without you guys!
On our arrival back home we found another treat waiting for us - our very first egg! One of those silly chickens finally figured out what it was meant for. Now we just need the rest of them to catch on.
...yup, one heck of a week.

Down One Day, Up the Next

2011-08-04T17:46:00.000-07:00

It was another adventure-filled weekend down here in the Rogue Valley, and we started it out by meeting up with our friends Chad and Heather for an excursion down the Rogue River. Armed with life jackets, snacks, and some rented rafts, we put in at Hog Creek for a 14 mile paddle to Grave Creek. Here we are heading into Hellgate Canyon. Even Bubba gets a life jacket.Chad and Heather blazing trail down the river.
Getting my raft on after a long hiatus.
Me and the Bubba. Poor Carl was stuck on camera duty all day, except when he got to put it down to haul Bubba back in the boat. That dog loves the water.
Needless to say the boy was pooped by the end of the day.
Next day Carl and I went on an exploratory mission to the rim road of Crater Lake, previewing where I'll be running next weekend. I'm glad I did, because now I know the last three miles are entirely uphill. What have I gotten myself into?
Wizard Island in the blue, blue waters.
Mystery flower straight out of Dr. Seuss.
That's Mt. Thielsen in the background - we'll be climbing that someday.
Phantom Ship Island.
Carl risked life and limb to get a picture of these incredibly pink flowers. It was worth the effort.
After we got back I still had to go for a run, so I waited until the sun and temperatures were dropping before heading up to a Forest Service road behind town. As I neared the last curve before the two-mile marker, huffing and puffing, I heard something bolt through the trees up above the cutbank to my right. I turned my head in time to catch a glimpse of a little black bear cub rocketing off, which made me wonder where mama bear was. Turning a little further I found her on the hillside directly above me, ears up and body tense. She was a beautiful cinnamon color, unlike her inky offspring. Since I was planning to head back at two miles anyway, I had no problem saying "hi" to the bears and then backing down the trail the way I came. It's good to know there are still wild things up in them thar hills.

Scramble and Splash

2011-07-31T19:22:00.000-07:00

As many fun things as there are to do in southern Oregon, come summer it requires a bit of selective time management. Most any hiking has to be done in the morning, before the sun reaches it zenith, and it pays to be out of the house between 5:30 pm and 7 when it's just as hot inside as it is outside.

Wednesday we got out of the house early to tackle Pilot Rock. The guide book classifies the hike as "strenuous" and it wasn't kidding. Although it's only a mile as the crow flies, there's an 800 foot climb that's fairly vertical at times before you can stand on the top and look out at the world. This part of the trail is just to get to the base of the rock.
Carl put his predatory skills to work and caught us a lizard.
The wildflowers were in full swing, covered in butterflies.
Let the climb begin!
Up at top, Carl does his best to smile for the camera. If you look closely you can see Mt. Shasta lurking in the background.
Cheese!
Next day, we headed for the water to cool off. Carl and Bubba enjoy the view of Mt. McLoughlin from Lake Hyatt
Bubba got to try out his new life jacket. He didn't stop whining or swimming the entire time we were there.
Even the kayak got to come out and play. I cleaned it out thoroughly beforehand to remove any skulking arachnids.
Happy summer!

Dog Days of Summer

2011-07-22T21:17:00.001-07:00

It feels like we just got back from West Virginia, but that's still too long for us to sit still. The temperatures are ramping up here in southern Oregon even though we're not nearly as bad as the rest of the country. Lucky for us we have the option of picking up and heading out to the coast where it's twenty degrees cooler and chock full of salty, sandy adventures. On Wednesday that's exactly what we did, following the gorgeous Smith River down into California and then turning north for a few more miles to Brookings, Oregon.

We rolled in just as everyone else was checking out of Harris Beach State Park and were able to nab a sweet little camping spot before heading down to the beach. Bubba discovered a new favorite past time: ripping apart the long, rubbery snakes of bull kelp washed up on shore. We can't figure out which part he likes better, the satisfying popping sound when he first tears them open or the firm yet yielding texture which allows for utter annihilation.
There were several cool rock formations to scramble over, under and around in search of hidden treasure. I think Carl is looking for whales.
My two favorite boys.
I'm still a big kid when it comes to tidepooling. There's nothing better than sticking your finger in the biggest sea anemone you can find.
We found plenty of little crabs, but this time turned up some new ones. I've never seen the ones with the bigger claws before, and so far in my internet perusals I haven't been able to come up with an identification.
This may possibly be the best picture of all time.
Watching the sun drop into the ocean, just another one of my favorite hobbies.
The next morning we headed into town for some breakfast and managed to squeeze into Mattie's Pancake House. It was bursting at the seams with families on vacation, biker gangs passing through, and locals in for their usual. Carl got the fresh crab omelette and I was almost jealous, except that my Swedish crepes with lingonberry butter kept my mouth occupied the whole time. If you're ever passing through Brookings, you should definitely stop by.

Ring Around the Valley

2011-07-18T14:58:00.000-07:00

Now that school's out for the summer I've somehow lost track of the days. My sweetie's weekend is actually Wednesday and Thursday, while the rest of the world celebrates a more traditional respite, leaving my sense of time all topsy-turvy.

On Saturday I had the chance to attend the Siskiyou Folk and Bluegrass Festival over at Lake Selmac, about half an hour outside of Grants Pass. The incentive to leave the house was provided by Heidi, a Grants Pass resident and friend way back from my Seward, AK days. We've been living 45 minutes apart for the past eight months and finally, finally got the chance to spend some quality time together. It was a wonderfully small, relaxed venue for two such homebodies as ourselves. The stage was a semi-trailer set up at the lake's edge and Wild River Brewing Company had taken over the picnic shelter to dole out burgers and beer. Families with young kids and pairs of old fogeys populated the lawn and bobbed their heads along time with the surprisingly good music. The local talent in southern Oregon is pretty darn phenomenal.

Sunday was cool and misty as the day before. The plants are all a little confused because historically it's supposed to be in the 100s here. Personally, I have no problem with switching it up. It makes 11 mile runs so much more enjoyable. Come August I'll be running at elevations anywhere between 5,980 and 7,850 feet above sea level, so I figured I should probably start training up there. I headed up Mt. Ashland to the Pacific Crest Trail, which cuts across the mountain on its way from Mexico to Canada. I ran just a portion of that, hiking over a couple small snow banks and taking in the views of massive Mt. Shasta. While it never seems to get any easier, I'm starting to feel better afterwards, especially the long runs.

After all that I had to marshal my energy to gear up for my second musical adventure of the weekend. Carl and I packed a picnic dinner before heading over to the picturesque town of Jacksonville. The annual Britt Festival draws artists from all over the country, and we were there to see the Avett Brothers in all their exuberant glory. It was a gloriously diverse crowd, from death metal zombies and flannel-clad hipsters in skinny jeans to dread-locked hippies in organic hemp drapings. Needless to say the people watching was fantastic. As was the music; the venue is set on a hill radiating out from the stage so you can hear no matter where you're at. It was hard to sit still and luckily we didn't have to. We'll be back in September for the John Butler Trio!

It's almost enough to distract me from the fact that I'll be taking a very expensive practical exam in T-minus five days. I'm having a little trouble getting my head back in the game...what's a pectineus again?

The Round Up at Knutty Acres

2011-07-11T13:28:00.001-07:00

Go ahead, make all the jokes you want about West Virginia and get it out of your system. Banjo music, moonshine, incest, poor dental hygiene, the works. I can assure you it's only partially true.

When Carl and I packed our bags for the family reunion at his folks' place in Harpers Ferry, I was under the impression that we'd be spending most of our time hanging out in the shade, floating down the Potomac River, and that maybe, just maybe, I'd find enough motivation to go running once or twice. Little did I know that we were to be dragooned into an animal-wrangling posse ruled by the iron fist of his mother Nancy. She's a lovely woman and was kind enough to lend me some clothes appropriate for such earthy endeavors.

Down on Knutty Acres (the affectionate name for the Kautz abode) there is a resident herd of some 70 hoofed beasts, a combination of goats and black bellied Barbados sheep (try saying that ten times fast). Our mission: to give the 40 new babies their tetanus shots. First, said wild beasts had to be extracted from the forests of sumac and Osage orange and herded into a small pen. From that pen they were pushed into an even smaller one, which then required one to wade in among the sheep and weed out the newbies, identified by small golden tags in their ears. Nancy was in charge of the shots because none of us wanted to get any closer to the needles than we had to; Carl, his sister Amy, and I were in charge of sheep-wrastling.
Here I am modeling the approved method of nabbing those fleecy buggers.
You'd think we were chopping off their ears instead of just cuddling them from the noises they made.
Nancy at work. You had to make sure you had the goats by the horns (even though they're not quite bulls they'll still do a number on you).
At the end of it all, Carl thought I looked so darn cute as a farm girl that he had to dress me up in the straw hat and shepherd's crook, and pose me with Lily Pearl on the porch swing. Lily thinks she's a dog and will follow you anywhere, even into a silly picture. Gee shucky darn!
By the close of the weekend we managed to catch 35 of our 40 targets, which isn't bad at all. We even got to spend plenty of time sitting in the shade, floating in the river, and yes, I even paddled my butt across the way to the C&O Canal trail for a couple jogs. The relatives were all convinced that I'd simply disappeared. Like any good family, this one loves to eat, so there was plenty of food all weekend long. Even when the electricity went out during the mother of all lightning storms and the hot sausages went cold in the crock pot, there wasn't even a glimmer of starvation as the tables groaned with 4 different pasta salads and 27 varieties of dessert. Good times were had by all.

And where was Bubba during all this, you may ask? He got to go on his very own vacation up to the beautiful San Juan Islands in Washington State, accompanied by my parents. He loved the swimming but wasn't so fond of the fireworks. Fun as it was, at the end of it all he, like us, was very glad to be home.

Endings and Beginnings

2011-06-27T08:22:00.001-07:00

It is with much regret and a heavy heart that I report that Katie-hole is no longer with us. Upon our return from the Tetons, we found a bird that was a third bigger than the others with a substantial comb and big long tail feathers just starting to curl over. The rumors turned out to be true; Katie-hole was indeed a rooster. He departed us on Friday, after we received a positive response from an ad posted on Craigslist. As I watched him being carried off in a cardboard box, I couldn't help but think, "The lucky little devil". Turns out his new home is a large piece of land outside of Medford with 15 young and lovely chickens, and not another rooster in sight. Between the harem and his alpha-male status, Katie-hole has truly gone to a better place.

As I briefly mentioned before, I have managed to successfully work my way through 6 months of massage school and am now a proud graduate of Ashland Institute of Massage. From here, the next step is a practical exam administered by the Oregon Board of Massage Therapists up in Salem (I have yet to receive my date), pass said exam, and then apply for a license to practice. After that, who knows? I suppose I'll use my new-found skills to find employment, but I'll take it as it comes.

In the meantime the calender has once again propelled us into the season of summer, and the weather has decided to follow suit. There are new and exciting things appearing every week at the farmers market, and we've been busy scoping out swimming holes for when it really gets hot around here, not just the measly 80 degrees we've been experiencing. It's a good thing we're getting used to this now because on Thursday we're flying off to wild and wonderful West Virginia for Carl's family reunion. Sadly, Bubba won't be in attendance; he gets to go to doggie summer camp with Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Fritz up in the San Juan Islands. His life is so hard. Happy 4th of July, ya'll!

Tetons, Ho!

2011-06-23T10:41:00.001-07:00

Grand Teton National Park is one of those places that is stunningly photogenic, yet impossible to completely capture. I spent so much time gawking at it all that I would totally forget to turn the camera on, let alone try snapping pictures.

We rolled out of Ashland practically the exact same hour I finished school. That's right, I'm a proud graduate of Ashland Institute of Massage, and I've got the t-shirt to prove it! Now back to the fun stuff and more on that later...

Oregon is a freaking big state. So is Idaho. There are mind-boggling open expanses that hold nothing but sage brush, some scruffy junipers, and a pine tree or two. We split the 15 hour drive into two days, crossing Oregon, then Idaho, and finally up into Wyoming. This is a pit stop we took along the Malheur River in eastern Oregon.
Guess what, it was still winter there. They had over 700 inches of snow up in the mountains and all the waterways were running fast and high. Thank goodness I brought my down jacket to protect my thin Ashland blood. I had meant to put the cute smiling picture of me eyeballing pelicans here, but I guess I uploaded the perturbed one instead. Whoops.
We fully enjoyed playing around at the discovery centers in the park.
One day we took an excursion to the national forest to take Bubba for a hike. As much as I love the parks, I'm not a fan of their "no dogs" policy. The trail took us up alongside a creek that required us to get creative with our crossing techniques. Bubba was the only one who ended up swimming, thank goodness.
On our search for wildlife Carl decided to set up his own perimeter to wait for a bear to emerge from the willows. We soon got bored and moved on, but we later heard that she crossed the road exactly where Carl predicted she would.

Golden eagle

A moose and her calf crossing the Snake River.
Carl and his trusty steed.
Our main excuse for heading to the Tetons was to attend the wedding of the man who introduced Carl to PBR (anyone responsible for such a life-changing event certainly deserves some respect). The ceremony was down by the river with the mountains looming in the background, and the following reception was held at the National Museum of Wildlife Art. We got to wander through the galleries to our hearts' content, although we did get busted trying on the costumes in the kids' discovery corner.
Up close and personal with a moose.
This bison was checking out Bubba from a roadside vantage point.
The big news in the park this season was the three-cub litter of bear 399, the second time she's had that many. We were lucky enough to see them about 25 yards off the road.
She was a big girl.
The two seasons Carl worked in the Tetons it was his tradition to go to Yellowstone on his birthday. We were a couple days late but made it up there anyway to check out such bizarre sights as this super-heated water pouring into the river.
I guess the bison can't read because there were tracks everywhere across this thermal spot.
The Lower Falls of Yellowstone River, at the head of its Grand Canyon. Even with all the people it was still spectacular.
Bubba checking out a bison jam. He's a well-seasoned traveler at this point.
Quintessential Yellowstone: bison and thermal vents.

The day of our departure was the first day of summer and actually felt like it, too. It was hard to leave those gorgeous mountains behind, but we'll be back. On the way home we stopped in Idaho Falls at the very much off-the-beaten-path Museum of Idaho. For some reason they were host to an abbreviated version of Bodies: The Exhibition, and I couldn't wait to see it. Carl was good enough to humor me as we wandered past the preserved bodies and I excitedly pointed out all the muscles and structures I had learned in school. It's one thing to learn a specific muscle from a book; it's completely different to see how it fits in with everything else. My favorite exhibit was of the cardiovascular system. They used a process called corrosion casting, where colored plastic is injected into all the blood vessels and then solidifies, allowing them to remove everything else around it. The end result was a perfectly discernible structure of delicately branching tubules; the arm looked exactly like an arm, right down to the fingers, and the whole body was there including ears and lips. If you ever get a chance to see this exhibit, even somewhere like Idaho Falls, you should definitely go - it's amazing.

Back at home the corn has grown another foot, the peas are raging out of control, and we have salad greens coming out of our ears. Even the chickens seem bigger. Oh, and it hit 91 degrees yesterday. Hello, summer!

The Sweetest Things

2011-06-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

After the wettest three month period in Ashland history in the last 100 years, the end is finally in sight. Temperatures are rising, the clouds are parting, and all the warm-weather crops are itching to get going. Just the other day I rang in the season with one of the best things ever: the first strawberry from the garden. Those big pasty things from California just can't compare with the intense sweetness packed into the little ruby prizes ripening in the yard. The best thing is there's going to be more where that came from.

Saturday night, following the color scheme, we got our redneck on and headed out to the Wild Rogue Pro Rodeo for some carnage and people watching. There was plenty of both; the bleachers were packed with all sorts of folks out for a big Saturday night, and we got front row seats to watch it all go down. There were belt buckles the size of dinner plates swaggering by at eye level, kids with hats as big as they were peeking out from underneath the brims, and boots and denim and shirts with pearl snaps galore. I realized I wasn't wearing nearly enough shiny, sparkly things or eyeliner to fit in with the female contingent (note to self for next time). There was one little girl decked out in pink Disney princess cowboy boots that lit up and had a furry ruff on top. Where were those when I was growing up, I ask you?

Beyond the human population, which was an event in and of itself, there were also a large number of large animals involved: bulls, broncos, and sheep, the whole bit. The first time I saw a bull fly out of the shoot with a man desperately clinging to his back, all I could think about was how gnarly that guy's sternocleidomastoids must be (Carl was not thrilled with my hankering to get my hands on the rodeo dudes). Those cowboys take some punishment. I can't imagine how they climb back on the broncos and get thrashed around on a weekly basis - it's repeated, full-body whiplash for an eternity of eight seconds (or however long it was before they were heaved off). Some wore helmets, those on the broncos had protective padding behind their necks, but that can't be good for you. How any of them are able to have children after all that is beyond me.

The lower-impact, less cringe-worthy events of steer roping were also quite entertaining. I think these guys are freeing a calf after the fact. Those baby cows seemed to take it all in stride: busting out of the gate, getting lassoed and eating dirt, then hopping up and trotting out of the ring.
I believe the winning time for this event was 4 seconds flat. In that time the cowboy ropes the sprinting steer, leaps off his horse, tackles said steer, and ties its feet with two wraps and a half hitch. Done and done.
The rodeo equivalent of the half-time show involved all sorts of legal forms of child abuse. My favorite by far was the mutton busters. A crowd of kids in helmets entered from one end of the arena and a herd of frisky sheep were led in from the other; 4H high schoolers steadied the steeds while the kids clambered on (some facing forward, others opting to ride backwards). Someone blew a whistle - they were off! Sheep exploded in every direction imaginable, kids flew through the air or were dragged in the dirt, and the crowd roared its approval. The winner was a tenacious little guy in a backwards stance, hugging his woolly steed for dear life as the high schoolers tried to pull him out of the reassembled herd.

The next part was the boot race, where kids under the age of 8 pulled off one shoe, left it at the opposite side of the arena, and assembled back on the other end. The idea is to race to the pile of boots, find yours, put it on, and get back to the finish line before anyone else. Kids are vicious, especially when there are prizes involved. The ensuing dogpile was too amusing not to photograph.
How on earth do you top that? With a twelve mile run, of course. Sunday I set out and plodded up 1,700 feet to the network of bike trails that wind through the hills behind town. The birds were singing, the wild white irises were blooming all over, and my new shoes felt just fine. What a way to ring in the second to last week of school - 10 days until the Tetons!

Springtime Rambles

2011-05-28T09:18:00.000-07:00

Mother Nature has gone out of her way to remind us that we do, indeed, live in Oregon. After a couple tantalizing weeks of warmth and sun, we've settled into a routine of cool temperatures and above average precipitation. While this bodes well for rafting and fire season, my tomato plants are drooping and depressed (kind of like the folks around here). I have no doubt that in a couple weeks they'll all be wishing it was this cool again but for now they're starting to get cranky. The weather just gives me the push I need to finish up my lingering school work, and putter around the garden taking pictures of flowers. I had no idea that chives bloomed.
Both Carl and my mothers identified this vine, and I forgot its name both times. But it sure is nifty looking.
On Thursday Carl had a couple of hot dates at the VA hospital up in Roseburg, and I was able to switch around my clinic schedule to supervise him. They were surprisingly efficient and we had plenty of time in between appointments to get lost in the booming metropolis of Roseburg. Even the GPS was confused about where it was at. We had some delicious Greek food, by far the highlight of the town's cuisine, took a picture in front of the quilt shop for my mother, and flipped through old postcards at the antique store. I found a couple of Mt. St. Helens before she blew, along with some cool old images of Glacier National Park.

We took the long and scenic way home, winding our way east along the gorgeous North Umpqua River. It's famous for its waterfalls, so of course we had to stop at a couple. The first, Tokatee Falls, plunges 40 feet into a geologic pothole before plummeting another 80 feet into the pool below. Check out that sexy columnar basalt...
Next along the line was Watson Falls. Hiking up along the moderate-sized stream we were sceptical of what lay ahead. But like Multnomah Falls in the Columbia Gorge, even a small stream can create something spectacular when it throws itself off a sheer cliff (don't try that at home, kids). We captured this photo using the timer function and a precariously balanced camera on the walkway railing. It only fell once in the process.
The road home swung us by Crater Lake and through some snow flurries. Even though winter's still got a firm hold in the higher elevations, things in the garden are hopefully poking up their heads and the lawn is growing exponentially. The chickens at two months old are halfway there to laying eggs and we're itching for some summer adventures. Three weeks until the Tetons!

Updates from the Funny Farm

2011-05-21T12:49:00.000-07:00

7 weeks on and all the chickens are still alive, miraculously enough. They eat a lot, poop even more, and basically carry on as chickens are inclined to do. The ladies have taken up residence in their castle outside and get to wander around in the yard when we're there to watch them. Their newest discovery is the dirt bath: there's a nice open patch in the back corner, and the other day the chickens made it their own, rolling around in the dirt, ruffling their feathers, then looking around to make sure no one saw them looking so ridiculous. Sigh, they grow up so fast...
The only one we can pick out by name is Katie-hole, because she's got the biggest comb and a domineering personality. She may in fact be a rooster, but we're going to wait and see.
Carl's parents, Ed and Nancy, paid us a visit all the way from West Virginia. The boys put up the clothes line, and Nancy helped me identify the mystery plants in the yard and design an arrangement for the garden. Here she is eye-balling the chickens (see, I told you they grew).
Bubba's still not sure what to make of them. They're not sure what to make of him, either.
Speaking of the dog, he's turning a venerable 8 years old tomorrow. He's keeping me company by lounging on the couch snoring, but don't let that fool you, he's really got a terribly tough life. Hikes through the woods, swimming in the creek, a big yard to poop in...yup, poor thing.

Alien Invaders

2011-04-28T18:33:00.000-07:00

One month on, and we've lost our little chicks as we knew them. Gone are the cute little feet, the soft touchable down, and the convenient palm-sized proportions. In their place are a couple of large, awkward, screeching monsters who continue to gobble food and produce copious amounts of manure but have yet to bring forth a single egg. We've lost track of who's who except for Katie-hole (she seems dead set on establishing dominance). Rar!

The old blue bin just wasn't cutting it any more, so the little monsters have been transferred to a larger cardboard abode, complete with roosts. They're learned how to use their wings so we make sure to secure the roof after every visit.
In theory the weather is supposed to get warmer, and once that happens and the rest of their feathers come in, the chickens have quite the castle waiting for them. Carl spent many long, hard hours constructing the best outhouse ever, complete with movable run. I contributed by sketching on the crooked moon.

That's the news from the funny farm. I've finally purchased seeds, so who knows, we may even have a garden at some point. Oh, the joys of urban homesteading.

Three, Seven, Two, Four, Hike!

2011-04-22T16:14:00.000-07:00

Note: Due to a technical snafu this post is from last week.

3, 7, 2, 4: those are the numbers, respectively, of how many weeks we've had the chickens, how many weeks left in massage school, how many papers I have left to write for pathology class, and how many miles I ran today. Doing some constructive procrastination sounds way better than continuing on about peripheral neuropathies and thoracic outlet syndrome.

First, the chicken update: the coop and run are finished and waiting for the weather to warm and the chicks to finish sprouting their feathers. They're getting into that awkward adolescent phase where the last remnants of chicky fuzz are being replaced by random tufts of feathers, and it's getting difficult to tell them apart (the Fury is still the loudest by far). Their feet are the size of dinner plates, their legs are getting bigger by the minute, and they're getting fast. They're also figuring out how to use their wings, hence the lovely impromptu roof we've put on their box to keep them from wandering. We brought them outside the other day to test out the run and coop, and they promptly christened it with several chicken deposits. I guess that means they approve.

Next up: massage school. This is also related to the papers in question, which I'm currently avoiding. We're way past halfway and things haven't slowed down a bit. There's a little less than two months left, and on one hand everyone can see the light at the end of the tunnel , and on the other hand that tunnel drops us back into the big wide world from whence we came, with board exams to pass and an actual profession to begin. Funny how that works.

Papers: see above.

Last up: running. As my mother pointed out to me, I'm not really built for running. My sister got all the long lanky grey hound genes, while I'm designed more along the lines of a Himalayan pony (short, squat, and stubborn). It's mostly the stubborn part that keeps getting me out there, although there's the added incentive of avoiding more squatness than necessary. This morning I ran alongside Lithia Park and watched hordes of parents with pastel-colored children in tow, lugging baskets full of loot and vibrating with sugar. I had entirely forgotten about Easter and was a little confused by the plethora of cars parked along the road, until I saw all the balloons and Sunday best outfits and excited munchkins.

I remember being a kid and hunting for eggs in the house, where my siblings and I each had a designated room with exactly the same amount of eggs and prizes (my parents were all for keeping the peace). Some years we'd get all dressed up and head up the hill to spend the rest of the day with my dad's relatives, eating ham off fancy plates and hunting for more eggs on the extensive grounds. The best part was when we found eggs left over from the year before - I hear in some countries they're considered a delicacy. We just enjoyed the gross factor.

The Chicken Chronicles

2011-04-11T21:42:00.001-07:00

I am a person of slow, careful consideration. Any decision I make has to be deliberately thought out, with every possible consequence weighed and balanced. There's a fair amount of good old fashioned fretting, too. Carl doesn't operate in this manner. He is a man of decisive action and sweeping passions, so that when we received permission to raise chickens from the landlords on Thursday, he had the fuzzy little buggers in his hands by Sunday. I hadn't even had a chance to read the chicken books I had checked out from the library. So here's our next grand project: four Rhode Island Reds named Erica, Brendina, Katie-hole, and Carla a.k.a. The Fury. Here they are at five days old (they were born March 31).

Bubba wasn't sure what to make of the new additions.Carl has discovered that he is the chicken whisperer, and is dead set on training them to be the perfect poultry.

I'm not quite sure what to make of them, either.My little sister Sarah was in town for a lightning-fast visit this weekend. We got to take a long walk around town, check out a Native American pow wow, eat delicious food, and yes, play with chickens.

Our little feathered friends are good for hours of entertainment.

Look how big they've gotten! Ten days old and growing by the hour. Carl wants to know when they're going to start laying eggs.

In other realms of life things are perking along just fine. We had our first clinic with the public at school and it went really well - it's fascinating to experience the sheer variety that humanity has to offer, because every body you get underneath your hands is a whole world unto itself, with a unique history, geography, and climate. We've finished kinesiology (which I rocked), and have started new classes like neuromuscular therapy, pathology, and business. Fascinating, frightening, and titillating, to be sure. My race training is also going well - I've worked my way up to five whole miles. In this town you plod uphill for half your required mileage, then turn around and run downhill to complete the course, or vice versa. It seems to be effective in countering the upper body bias of massage therapy.

The Great Pink Turtle Hunter

2011-03-31T20:18:00.000-07:00

Spring has sprung with a vengeance, and I have suffered the consequences. Yesterday we had our afternoon class outside and I got sunburnt. Embarassingly sunburnt. A lovely shade of pink, to be exact. It's keeping me warm while I write. Normally Carl and I have weekends on opposite times of the week, but today I had the opportunity to join him on an exploration of the area. Tomorrow I may be giving four massages to four total strangers (we're starting senior clinics, our first encounters with the public, and there will be much more on that later once I've lived through it), but today was totally given over to fun. It started with a trip to the farmer's market up in Medford, wandering between stalls filled with plant starts, various crafts, and delicious food and veggies. We collected some baby beets for the garden, full-grown adult beets and wild fiddleheads for dinner, and home-made tamales for lunch. Loaded up in the truck, Bubba's head out the window, we cruised through the picture-perfect town of Jacksonville on our way to the Applegate Valley. We had a brief stop to check out this home constructed from a Sears and Roebuck catalogue: Our destination was Squaw Lake, eight miles back from Applegate Lake up a twisty gravel road. It's a popular spot in the summer and it's easy to see why. Bubba made it in the water in less than 5 minutes from the trailhead, the lake is ringed by various camp sites, and even in March the water temperature was decidedly pleasant. After eating our tamales (still warm) sitting in the sun on a log by the lake, we headed up the trail until something caught our eye. Down below, perched in a row on a log, sat three fat little turtles. Carl's childhood stalking instincts were aroused and the hunt was on. Bubba and I watched from the shore as he flushed out and nabbed this impressive specimen of a red-eared slider (a non-native species).

Here's a close-up of the handsome guy (turtle, not boy).

Next it was my turn. Learning from the best, I proceeded to stalk...

...corral...

...and wrastle my very first wild turtle. That's the kind of success you get when you learn from the best! Mine was a western pond turtle, a native species, and a pretty good looking reptile if I do say so myself.

On our last bit around Carl practiced for the Scottish highland games and tired Bubba out at the same time.

We drove around to the other side of Applegate Lake for a view of the peaks in the Red Butte Wilderness, someplace we're definitely checking out once the snow melts.

The manzanitas are blooming! Who knew?

Back at home, showered and supplied with gin and tonics, it was time for dinner. Here are the fiddleheads before...

...and after. A little garlic, olive oil, and soy sauce go a long way when paired with crunchy green goodness.

Life is good in the ol' wild and wonderful Oregon!

Spring Break 2011: The Photo Extravaganza

2011-03-26T09:29:00.000-07:00

After an intense week of both a written and practical Swedish final, and the second-to-last kinesiology test, the week before spring break was somewhat anticlimactic. All that adrenaline and stress that had kept us going was suddenly gone, and we still had five days of school before vacation. Needless to say morale and motivation was low and our numbers dwindled as the week wore on. Some left early for sunny climes, and others, like me, were finally felled by the bug that's been circulating the valley.

Luckily I managed to get back on my feet by the time company arrived. Carl's college friends travelled all the way from the exotic climes of the east coast to explore this lovely state and hang out with their best friend, Bubba. I suppose Eric, Brendan, and Katie were excited to see Carl, too. Tuesday afternoon we gave them a tour of the town by foot and served them up some delicious burgers of local bison meat accompanied by Carl's second batch of homebrew. After enjoying some of the bounty found in our corner of the world they decided to change Oregon's state motto from "she flies with her own wings" to "local and sustainable".

Wednesday dawned slightly gloomy, but looked as good a day as any to check out Oregon's only national park. Carl got to practice his drift car racing skills as we wound our way up the snowy road to Crater Lake, hemmed in by snowdrifts taller than the car. The wind was whipping the snowflakes sideways but cleared the way for us to actually see the lake. Carl, Katie, and Brendan strike a pose while Eric does his best midget impression.
We discovered we're not so good at following a trail - our path looked like a herd of 50 snowshoers with ADD had passed through.

Carl decided to make a snow angel after his snowshoe got caught and gravity won.

The howling winds had built up all these cool looking icy deposits on the trees.

We made it back in time to return the snowshoes to the outdoor store in town, and then enjoy an outstanding dinner at Standing Stone Brewery (Carl and I only get to eat there when there's someone visiting).

The next morning we got an early start (for us) and headed across the border to California to check out some big trees. The wind would alternately clear the views for us and then pull in sheets of rain.

The trail down to the Tall Trees grove was slick and sticky but the thick canopy of trees kept us fairly dry. The sun even came out several times. Brendan and Katie explore a hollowed out tree.

These suckers are BIG!

Brendan and Eric try to see all the way to the top.

Lots of moisture meant lots of cool fungi.

Carl does his best forest elf impression in the massive ferns.

Friday morning was subdued, as it was time for the crew to head back to Portland. Bubba was beside himself with worry as bags were packed and everyone milled around gathering up wayward possessions. Needless to say they made it back north, are hopping planes today, and I've succeeded in giving Carl my cold. The pair of us sound like a couple of old men who have been smoking for 60 years. Thanks for the visit, guys, and safe travels!

Poised to Spring

2011-03-13T15:37:00.000-07:00

I feel like my life outside of school has been on hold for the past two weeks and will continue to be for one week more. Spring break, I have never been so excited for your arrival. The season of spring is also sneaking nearer, producing tantalizing tastes here and there of the good things to come. Last week I was almost blown off my bike by a breeze that smelled of warm earth, fresh green things, and sunshine. Crocuses and daffodils are popping up everywhere, and yesterday I saw the first cherry tree beginning to blush. Even the indoor plants are getting the memo; I had no idea kalanchoes could bloom. At some point very soon I'll have to take a break from muscles and the intricacies of the nervous system to read that gardening book I got for Christmas.

Right as I've finished lauding all the glories of this fair season, in true Oregon fashion the clouds have blown back in and rain is pouring from the gray sky. Just in time for a jog. In order to maintain motivation for such a toilsome activity I've signed up for the Crater Lake Rim Run. Come August 13th, if you've got nothing to do, you should come down to scenic Crater Lake National Park and watch me run 13 miles around the crater's rim. It'll be a blast. Other exciting plans in the works are a trip to the Tetons in mid June for a wedding and some adventuring, a voyage back east to West Virginia over the 4th of July for Carl's family reunion, and the arrival of Carl's college friends next week, just in time for the debut of his second batch of homebrew. Life is good, if a little wet at the moment.

One Hot Saturday Night

2011-02-26T21:37:00.000-08:00

On a dark wintry Saturday night, Carl and I joined other enthusiasts to watch women in fishnets and spandex bump and grind their sweaty bodies against one another. Music was pumping, dollar bills were flying, and heart rates were up. Get your mind out of the gutter - this was good old fashioned family-friendly roller derby we were watching, and those dollar bills were donations to send fourth graders to camp.

At the season opener for the Southern Oregon Rollergirls, women with code names like Madame Morticia, Udaho, and Piranhasaurus raced laps on roller skates around a track laid out on an auditorium floor, wearing all the regulation protective gear (helmet, mouth guard, wrist pads, elbow pads, knee pads) and governed by a circling flock of referees in official black and white jerseys. Roller derby is a team sport that involves lapping members of the other team to score points, but it's complicated enough that I'm not going to try and explain it here. If you've ever seen the movie "Whip It" you know what I'm talking about.

Needless to say there were time keepers, score keepers, and lots of rabid fans. These girls are passionate about their sport and it was exciting to see the venue so packed (the only other time I've seen that many people gathered together in Medford was at Costco). Oh, and did I mention Carl was there for work? Yup, he got paid to watch those ladies in their spandex duke it out on the floor.

In other news, it snowed! The town of Ashland received a good four or five inches, depending on how far up the hill you live, and was transformed into a veritable winter wonderland. Schools shut down for a day in celebration (not mine, of course). Bubba enjoyed the cold white goodness covering the world.

The Moment of Truth

2011-01-30T18:17:00.000-08:00

After four weeks of spine-tingling anticipation and anxious glances, today was the day of reckoning. Would all the time, tears, patience, and smelly green things lead to fruition in the form of a delectable alcoholic beverage? Or would it all be for naught, that one sneaky dog hair having ruined the entire precious batch? It all came down to this.

We held our breath as the lid was pried open. The hiss of escaping pressure was a reassuring sign; so was the clear amber color as Carl poured the first glass. "Smells like beer", he said after a tentative whiff. Then he took a swig and I swear to you the man started to glow. A grin broke out from ear to ear that would put the Cheshire cat to shame. Beaming triumphantly, holding the glass aloft, he crowed, "I've made beer! And it's damn good, too! I am AWESOME!" Congratulations, Carl, on joining the illustrious ranks of the Homebrew Army; your mom and I are both very proud of you.

The rest of the week wasn't nearly as eventful. I went to school, Carl recovered from a head cold, and Bubba moped at home. It was once again sunny this weekend so we took Bubba for a hike up in the hills behind town, catching glimpses of Mt. McLoughlin over the far edge of the valley and following deer trails through the woods. Back at home we made blue cheese burgers with locally raised beef, cheese from the next town over, and bread baked down the street. Everything's better in Ashland.

Rogue River Rambles

2011-01-23T17:04:00.000-08:00

After a busy week there's nothing better to clear the head than some long walks in beautiful places. Since my parents were visiting we had to show them around Ashland Saturday afternoon, winding up at the Standing Stone Brewery for some delicious burgers and beer. Today we trekked a little farther north through the town of Merlin and on out to the Rogue River trail. Just like the name suggests, it's a trail that runs alongside the Rogue River, and if you wanted you could follow it for 40 miles until you hit Gold Beach and the coast. We weren't feeling quite that ambitious so we turned around at Rainie Falls, which at this water level was more of a longish rapid instead of a true waterfall. Here's a picture looking downstream at the beginning of the hike. Let the forced march begin!

Cheesing it up with my folks at Rainie Falls.

The boys and me at the same spot.

While there were a number of people following the Rainie Falls trail on the opposite shore, we only passed one other couple on the cool side of the river. The trail head marks the beginning of the wild and scenic section and we look forward to revisiting the upstream portion when summer arrives (which in this corner of the world will be next month or so).

Red Letter Weekend

2011-01-16T17:36:00.001-08:00

You know things are getting exciting when the Martin Luther King Jr. cactus starts blooming (since it didn't deign to show its face around Christmas I'm renaming it after the pertinent holiday). It's the first time this particular plant has produced flowers, so you'll excuse my enthusiasm. School is gradually getting more intense, the weather took a turn for the damp and blustery, and we've had some exciting new additions to the house.

Pictured above is Carl's carboy when it was in full fermentation mode, happily bubbling away in the pantry. All that yeasty foam slowly settled to the bottom over a period of fourteen days. Today was the fateful day of transferring all that lovely fermented liquid from one big bottle into several little ones. Carl has been on his own so far in this process, but this time I got to assist and abet in the operation. In my left hand I've got a contraption known as the Emily Capper (with a name like that, I had to get involved). In my right I'm holding a successfully filled and capped bottle of homebrew. Bubba was, as usual, unimpressed with the whole dog and pony show.

My job was to a) hold the siphon that transferred the beer from the glass carboy to a plastic 5 gallon bucket for further distribution and then b) take the filled bottles from Carl and use my spiffy red capper to seal them up. The whole operation took about an hour, not including all the sterilizing and cleaning. Bubba and I celebrated by lounging on the new sofa, the third momentous occasion of the weekend. With this new addition we were able to rearrange our awkward living room into something a little less stilted, and move the futon to the upstairs loft for a more complete feel. It's amazing how such little adjustments can make everything click into place. With homebrew and sofa our feng shui is complete.

Week 1

2011-01-09T11:34:00.000-08:00

The past couple mornings the valley has been inundated with freezing fog, the moisture in the air solidifying as it comes into contact with the edges of leaves, delicate spider webs, and even the front of my jacket as I bike to school. Thick banks creep up the hills muffling the outside world and putting it on pause. My life feels like this, too, as I get wrapped up in a new environment, a new set of people, a new language of description. Massage school is not for the faint of heart. There's something to terrify everyone, be it intimate self-exploration or copious amounts of memorization. By 4:30 on Friday we all looked like we had been run over by a herd of stampeding bison.

My mind is running around in circles; even my body is adjusting to the new, rigorous schedule. Waking up in the morning before the sun, getting home around dark, remaining engaged all day long takes its toll. Luckily the teachers are the caring, understanding kind who know how difficult a transition this is for most of us. I at least have the benefit of attending school in the last five years; for others it's been a lot longer since they sat in a classroom. This week we covered introductions (many times over), expectations, how to drape and undrape someone on a table without exposing anything embarrassing (it's harder than you think), and began learning the language to find our way around the body: superior, inferior, lateral, medial, proximal, distal (and those are just reference terms - just wait until we actually start in on bones and muscles).

Thank goodness I've got a live-in study guide. Carl has been settling in to his job at the White City VA as a recreation therapy assistant. He's been to two high school basketball games, got paid for them, and soon gets to start organizing his own trips. It's quite convenient having a body around to poke and prod, flex and extend. And drape - have you ever tried to manhandle 200 pounds of dead weight? After that I'll be ready for anything.

Ring It In Right

2011-01-01T16:13:00.000-08:00

How best to celebrate the New Year in a new place? By exploring it, of course. New Year's Eve found us driving north in search of home brew supplies to complete the kit Carl received for Christmas. After checking out a couple places we wound up just around the corner from the Rogue Creamery. They claim to make the world's finest handmade cheese; as discerning dairy consumers and chronic sceptics we simply had to test their hypothesis. Several samples of blue cheeses and the best sharp cheddar I've ever had later, they just might be right. We walked out with our wares only to discover wine tasting right next door. The wonderful older couple working the counter told us all about the grapes they grow on their land up near Jacksonville, describing each medley as they poured for us. Thanking them, we continued on to the next building and found handmade chocolates. Fully sated, loaded with goodies, we headed home where I whipped up some leek and potato soup from all local veggies to ring in the New Year. What's not to love about a place where all these wonderful tastes are created right in your backyard?

Carl and I turned in early so as to get a good start on the new year. He was up early as ever despite being out of coffee; Bubba and I muddled our way groggily out of bed as per usual. The clear, frosty morning made for a gorgeous drive east on the road towards Klamath Falls. The trees got denser and taller, the snowbanks grew higher, and before we knew it we were in a veritable winter wonderland.

Our chosen trail head took off from the road right at the borders of the Rogue River and Winema National Forests, just south of Sky Lakes Wilderness. We had the parking lot to ourselves except for one other truck. Carl spent a couple minutes adjusting his new snowshoes before we set off into winter.

Bubba was anxious to get going.

Since any blazes or signage was covered by the feet of snow, we followed an old track up into the woods. For once Bubba had to do twice as much work scouting out the trail and then reporting back.

He managed to find a hole on one mission...

...extrication successful!

Hiking out of a creek bed on our way back to the truck.

We stopped at Fish Lake to check it out. Mt. Brown is hiding in the clouds.

We're back home with tired legs and an exhausted dog, sun burnt noses and a much better appreciation of the lay of the land. Here's wishing you and yours a happy 2011 - may it be the best one yet!

That Time of Year Again

2010-12-27T14:20:00.000-08:00

It's come and gone, yet again, although you wouldn't know it from the store fronts, decorated yards, and the line at the post office. I feel like Christmas is still coming, lurking somewhere around the corner. How can it be over? There's no snow on the ground, there's no swarm of tourists, and I haven't been working for two weeks straight (I haven't been working at all, in fact). It's the first time in four years that's the case and I'm still getting used to it. That doesn't mean there hasn't been any Christmas spirit; Christmas Eve we strolled downtown under the brilliantly decorated store fronts and buildings, and even the Christmas cactus is decked out in festive cheer.
Christmas morning I helped Bubba get started on opening his presents. He's a quick learner - after the first one he unwrapped them all by himself. Two days later only one of those four toys remains whole. Oh, well.

Bubba and Carl all cleaned up for Christmas dinner.

Here's wishing everyone a happy holiday time of year!

Happiness is...

2010-12-20T10:37:00.000-08:00

...watching dogs launch themselves across endless miles of beach, then taking off after them to escape a boyfriend with crab-goo-covered hands.

...eating delicious fried goodness in a restaurant packed with retirees (you know it's got to be good).

...laughing until your eyes water and your sides ache and all that fried goodness threatens to reappear.

...walking through a psychedelic wonderland of dazzling lights covering a formal garden, and realizing that Christmas is right around the corner.

...curling up for the night in a yurt and getting woken up at 6 in the morning by a thunderstorm, rain pounding on the canvas roof and thunder roaring overhead.

...getting ready to dive in to homemade, crunchy crispy hash browns and a delicious omelet as big as my head.

...driving up Siuslaw Creek through the driving rain listening to cheesy dance music on our way to meet my parents for lunch.

...listening to my parents squabble over the best way to get to the quilt shop.

...walking in the front door after being away and feeling at home.

Best holiday wishes from southern Oregon! Hope you're happy, healthy, and well.

Ashland/Fantasyland

2010-12-10T16:47:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like hopping on your snow sliding implement of choice for the first time of the season to instill a little humility. This morning Carl and I did just that, throwing boots and helmets into the Subie and heading up to Mt. Ashland. Warm temperatures made for some firm, wet snow and our legs reminded us in the sternest terms possible that we've been driving around the country for the past two months on our butts. Great fun was had by all; it's hard not to love a place that's 30 minutes down the road, has no lift lines, and is full of locals. Carl all steezed out in his new gear, enjoying the view.

The past week has been full of gloriously mundane tasks and accomplishments, the kind of things you can only appreciate when you've been deprived of them. Over the weekend we cleaned up the yard, raking up all the fallen leaves, mowing the lawn, and getting our compost bin in order. Downtown is a quick walk up the hill so we perused the shops, did some Christmas shopping, found our favorite bakery, and got library cards. Although they don't allow dogs in the city parks, Ashland backs right up to Rogue-Siskiyou National Forest. Bubba led us on an exploration of some of the 28 miles of mountain bike trails back there, past twisting madrone trees and mystery shrubs with pale green vertical leaves. There are numerous grocery stores in town as well as a natural foods co-op, necessary now that we have a kitchen in which to cook our own meals. After so much time on the road the simple comforts of domesticity are surprisingly satisfying.

I'm enjoying the laid back schedule while I can, because the massage school to which I applied decided to accept me, oddly enough. Starting on January 3rd I'll be a full time student at the Ashland Institute of Massage, learning everything I need to know to become a licensed massage therapist (in theory, anyway). Who wants to come visit me now?

To celebrate my acceptance into school and Carl's new state citizenship we had dinner at the Standing Stone Brewery, our new favorite place. In addition to several varieties of delicious beer, they serve delectable, locally-derived food; I really wish I was getting some sort of kick back for writing all this. Alas, the ten minute walk will have to be consolation enough.

Back in the Motherland

2010-12-02T09:58:00.000-08:00

Free at last, free at last, hallelujah, we're free at last! This picture was taken in Nebraska in the aftermath of an ice storm, but the sentiment remains the same. No more waking up, hopping in the car, and putting in 10 and 12 hour days. No more weird hotel rooms, gas station food, or flat boring states. The journey that began 3 pm on October 6 in Ketchikan, Alaska, has finally culminated on November 28 in Ashland, Oregon.

A brief summary of our accomplishments:

Days on the road: 54

Miles driven: 8,903 (not counting ferry mileage)

States visited: 22

Different plates observed: 49 (all but North Dakota - they got absorbed by Manitoba and no one noticed), plus 6 provinces

National Forests: 15

National Parks: 7

Middle fingers given to Carl: 3

Times the truck was in the shop: 3

Dead deer on the side of the road in Missouri: 33 (mostly west of Columbus)

Warmest temp: 75 degrees in Colorado Springs

Coldest temp: -11 in Kalispell, MT

Lowest elevation: sea level at the Oregon coast

Highest elevation: 14,115 ft atop Pikes Peak

There was sun, snow, wind, rain, and ice; we learned that squeaky cheese is delicious, Arizona doesn't observe daylight savings time but the Navajo Nation does, everyone loves Bubba, and WD40 sprayed on an open flame makes a simple yet effective torch. Somehow, after all that, we're still talking to each other. Miracles do happen.

The next adventure is a stark departure from our nomadic lifestyle. Carl went and got himself a real job in White City, OR working at the VA as a recreation assistant. White City is a flat town full of gun shops and ATV dealerships, so we've found a place further south in the hippie haven of Ashland. There are two breweries within a 15 minute walk, a bike trail that stretches all the way to Medford, and a massage therapy school that I am in the process of applying to. Needless to say we're all really excited to be able to unpack our bags and sleep in the same place every night.

Here it is! It's Oregon, so of course it's raining.
The house is starting to look less like the trailer threw up in the living room and more like an actual home. We couldn't resist the spiral staircase.

Looking back at the front door. To the left is a room we've set up as an office and Carl's closet.

Bubba still isn't sure what's going on.
The kitchen has some pretty awesome orange Formica, and the fridge is about to keel over with Carl's magnet collection.
The upstairs loft has storage running down either side; the trippy murals were already there.
Looking down into the back yard. There are raised garden beds, some surviving strawberry plants, and left over garden tools. The garage to the right has a large walled in storage space as well.
And the back of the house. Yes, the blue picnic table came with.

So there it is, the new homestead. It feels weird to be an official Oregon resident again after 8 years of wandering (not that I've ever bothered to change my ID). Not being able to pump my own gas takes some getting used to. We've got plenty of space so if you're ever in southern Oregon feel free to stop on by!

The Final Haul

2010-11-19T08:32:00.000-08:00

It's funny how dire weather warnings tend to coincide with the busiest travel times of the year. West Virginia is cool and crisp as we check tire pressure, charge phone batteries, and mentally prepare ourselves to drive into the predicted maelstrom of the rest of the country. Sleet in the Midwest, snow in the Rockies, high winds, floods, and general chaos await us on the long haul west. Bring it on!

The past week at Knutty Acres has been delightfully relaxing. There were several days where we didn't step foot inside a moving vehicle (besides the utility vehicle for retrieving the mail and doing some West Virginia dog walking).

There were plenty of four-footed friends to keep us company. L-R: PeeWee, me, Sparky, and Elmo.

Once Ed and Nancy, Carl's parents, returned from Colorado, Nancy was able to give me a crash course in watercolor painting. It's been a really long time since I've painted anything besides a Forest Service sign, and I just couldn't help but fiddle with it. It's so hard to leave well enough alone.

We did a study of a light house, working from a painting Nancy had already done. Mine came out pretty well; definitely worthy of posting on the fridge.

Bubba doesn't know we're throwing him back in the truck tomorrow but he'll figure it out pretty quick. Wish us luck as we head to Spokane to join my nutty family for Thanksgiving!

Almost Heaven

2010-11-13T09:12:00.001-08:00

Road trips are fun, but every four wheeled nomad reaches a point where they never want to crawl into one of those infernal machines again. Bubba reached that point about three weeks ago (see above); Carl and I hit the wall halfway through Kansas. That state has a way of sapping all the joy from your soul. We survived with the minimum number of stops and continued east to places I had only heard of in songs: Kansas City, St. Louis, the Missouri River, Lexington, the Shenandoah Valley, the Potomac River, and the Blue Ridge Mountains. For all the times I've heard "Country Roads" it was pretty exciting to finally be driving down them in the wild and wonderful state of West Virginia.

Carl's parents live outside of Harpers Ferry right on the Potomac River in a beautiful log house they pretty much built themselves. It's still fall here and the hills are shrouded in reds and oranges, fading slowly as the morning frosts claim more victims. There are stone walls running across the fields, old houses in quaint rows, and idiot drivers up the wazoo. Ah, yes, the things I love about being back east.

We arrived in the dark on Tuesday evening, drove Carl's parents to the airport on Wednesday afternoon so they could visit the Colorado Springs clan (oh, the irony), and now we're in charge of three Jack Russell terriers, one cranky old German short hair, and 38 black bellied Barbados sheep. Luckily most of the menagerie takes care of themselves so we've been free to run over to Morgantown to empty Carl's storage unit, walk around the historic streets of Harpers Ferry and Sheperdstown, and do novel things like sleep in the same bed for consecutive nights and cook our own meals.

The luxury of stationary down time means that I've had a chance to assemble some of our photos from the expedition. Clicking here will take you on a visual tour of our travels through the southwest. Enjoy!

The Most Epic Road Trip Ever, Continued

2010-11-04T08:36:00.000-07:00

It's been a month since we left Alaska, and a week since our stopover in Portland. We've made it to Colorado Springs, the new home of Carl's brother and his family, and it's nice to have a couple days sleeping in the same place.

The last couple weeks have been a whirlwind: after picking up the truck in Eureka we spent the night parked off a Forest Service road somewhere in the Sierra Mountains, spent the next day driving across Nevada (a never ending state of rocky ridges separated by flat arid valleys), camped under the stars in Bryce Canyon National Park, watched the sun rise over Bryce Amphitheater, drove over to Zion National Park, went for a hike to find Carl some tarantulas (mission accomplished, much to my chagrin), enjoyed more amazing stars, woke up early to hike the nail-biting trail to Angels Landing (not for those afraid of heights - after 43 switchbacks you then traverse a knife edge aided by chains anchored in the bare rock), shared the view with some rabid chipmunks, hiked down with big smiles on our faces, rallied over to the Grand Canyon, discovered Arizona doesn't observe daylight savings time, realized the Navajo Nation does, reveled in a hot shower and a warm bed in Tuba City, marvelled at the sheer vast expanse of northern Arizona, stopped at the cliff ruins of Navajo National Monument, found our way to Utah and Moab, discovered a sweet BLM campsite on the Colorado River, read Edward Abbey in the shadow of Arches National Park, took a short trip to Canyonlands National Park, took a longer trip up Negro Bill Canyon where Bubba got to frolic to his heart's content, spent another evening reading Edward Abbey, ogled at the surreal formations of Arches National Park, relaxed for an afternoon in Moab, spent our last night at our favorite campsite, headed out to 1-70 through Colorado, and ended up in Colorado Springs. If it all seems hard to process, don't worry, I'm still working on it.

There's photographic evidence of all of this, of course, but it may take a little longer for that to get online. We'll be here for the weekend and then plan to continue our eastward migration to West Virginia, to retrieve the rest of Carl's worldly belongings. More stories and adventures to follow!

The Most Epic Road Trip Ever, Almost

2010-10-25T20:13:00.001-07:00

Life on the road is more than just wind in your ears and sun on your nose (although Bubba would beg to differ). The journey from Ketchikan began with a boat that carried us to Bellingham, WA, and a return to a world accessible by car. From there the road ran through Seattle, past the aquarium and Pike Place Market, to Portland, for a stopover with my ever-welcoming and angelically patient parents. Then on to the coast, with my first ever visit to the Tillamook Cheese Factory for squeaky cheese and ice cream. I can now call myself a full-fledged Oregonian.

Somewhere around Cape Perpetua Carl and I pulled over so Bubba could have his dinner with a view.

The next day we romped over the sand dunes near Florence and discovered why most people choose to explore them by four wheeler.

This lunch spot just north of the California border required a U-turn.

Once we got to California things got weird. I guess everything really is bigger out west.

South of the Redwoods we started seeing signs for elk, and scoffed at the lack there of. Until we passed by Big Lagoon and realized the elk were real.

There are definite perks to visiting famous places in the off season. On our hike down to the Tall Trees grove in the Redwoods we saw a total of five people on the trail. I had great fun monkeying around on one of the smaller giants.

That little white speck is all 5'3" of me, offering some scale on the trees down there.

Our necks were sore from taking in this view the entire time.

On our way back to Portland we saw this sign. If the elk turned out to be real, who knows?

That's right, I said back to Portland. Our anticipated itinerary was slightly truncated due to some car issues. The truck is still in Eureka, waiting to be retrieved on Wednesday when the head gaskets have been replaced. Luckily being unemployed has its benefits, such as a flexible schedule. Trip, interrupted, to be continued!

The Hayes Family Does DC

2010-10-04T11:11:00.001-07:00

It was a fun-filled, action-packed week when the Hayes clan descended upon our nation's capitol. There was the usual anarchy of trying to get eleven strong-willed, opinionated people in the same place at the same time, but somehow we managed. Cheers to Aunt Julie for organizing meals and lodging, kudos to Aunt Ruth for the tours of the Library of Congress and the White House, a high five to Sarah's friend Zach for the exclusive West Wing excursion, and a huge thank you to my grandparents for making it all possible.

We spent a lot of time perusing the Smithsonian museums. Sarah and I estimated that if you went through every single exhibit in every single museum it would take you approximately six years to cover every square inch of the complex (at which point, of course, they would have changed exhibits or added new ones and you'd have to start all over). Given that, three days of exploration was hardly sufficient. We said hi to the pandas at the zoo, checked out Norman Rockwell's paintings at the Portrait Gallery, found C3PO and Julia Child's kitchen in the American History Museum, had lunch at the American Indian Museum, ogled amazing pieces of woodwork at the Renwick Gallery, and met our ancestors at the Museum of Natural History. Whew.

Somehow we found time to drive up to Pennsylvania to spend an evening with my little brother Nathan at Bucknell University. My mother, of course, managed to sniff out a quilt museum in Lancaster featuring the work of the local Amish folk and their Mennonite neighbors. Then it was back to DC for an exclusive look at the West Wing, and an early flight out the next morning. All in all, it was an extraordinary adventure far removed from the island life of Ketchikan.

I'm back on the island now, looking at these pictures and marveling at how far away it all seems. My next journey is by water, riding the ferry all the way down to Bellingham, WA. From there I'll be running around the Pacific Northwest, visiting friends and family and enjoying my extended vacation. Alaska has been swell, but it's off to the next adventure!

Maritime Cowboys

2010-09-24T16:25:00.000-07:00

This cake celebrates many things: Tyson receiving his boating license, the glory of government food orders, another couple days of amazing weather, and my last trip into the field for the summer of 2010. Five of us went out to Helm Bay for a night to fill the woodshed there and the one at the adjacent cabin on Helm Creek, bringing the season full circle as I revisited the sites of my first cabin trip.

At these saltwater cabins the favored method of collecting firewood is beach logging. Dean, Brian Doyle, and Carl were dropped off on shore armed with peevees and log staples, while Tyson and I waited aboard the ship. Their job: find some good looking pieces of wood, roll them to the water's edge, pound in a staple, and push it out to sea. Our job: keep the boat off the rocks while chasing down the free-floating logs and wrangling them into submission. I'm proud to say I've finally learned how to tie a bowline knot, and I can do it in 3 seconds flat on the underside of a slippery log. Once the logs were secured to the forward cleats we towed them over to the dock in front of the cabin, added them to the growing raft, and returned for more.

A rough and tumble crew of pirates on the prowl.

Our raft of logs was sufficient to fill both woodsheds, thanks to Tyson's expert guestimations.

The trick of beach logging is to let the water do the work, letting the ocean carry the raft in on the tide. High tide was at midnight, so the inevitable pee excursions were coupled with a trip down the beach to reel the logs in. It was like Christmas coming down to the beach the next morning and having them all laying there, ready to be sliced and diced. Carl and Dean did the honors.

We had the Helm Bay woodshed filled by 9:00 that morning, and the second shed was full by the afternoon. It was a job well done, topped boots and all.

I walked out of the office yesterday for the final time, and into the ranks of the unemployed once again. Things from here are a little bit fuzzy. I leave Sunday morning to join my family for a trip to Washington, D.C., then return to Ketchikan (if I survive the culture shock) and ride the ferry down to Bellingham with Carl and Bubba. There are some planned stops with friends and family, but the final destination is up in the air. You can rest assured that there are many more adventures to come. Three cheers for the unknown!

Great Happenings in the Great Land

2010-09-18T14:27:00.001-07:00

It's been one hell of a week here in Ketchikan. September is generally the time when Mother Nature presses the button to release the hounds of inclement weather, and an iron curtain of rain and gloom descends upon the land until the following May. This year, however, she's either extremely distracted or completely insane, because the past seven days have been warm, blue skied, and sunny. There's a chill in the morning that feels like fall, real fall, not soggy, grey, Alaskan fall. The days are markedly shorter, the sun setting ever farther to the south, giving way to an incredible expanse of stars in the clear night sky. Birds and seasonal workers alike are getting restless to move on to southern climes and the alpine areas are taking on a rosy autumnal hue. Beaches and streams are clogged with dead and dying salmon, stinking to high heaven. Ah, yes, fall in Alaska.

Our mission this week was stocking up woodsheds for the winter on several cabins. We stayed at the southeast end of Heckman Lake in the cabin there, boated over to Heckman's other cabin, and hiked down to the cabin at Jordan Lake. On the flight out we caught sight of two Humpback whales, their huge forms suspended in the water down below us. One of them was apparently wounded, because each spout was a red-tinted mist, leaving a bright trail through the green water.

The woodsheds went quickly with five pairs of hands and some conveniently located trees, leaving us time and energy to explore the lake by boat and foot. Amazingly enough a handful of salmon had made it all the way up the Naha River, past bears, eagles, and a significant waterfall, to the outlet of Heckman Lake. Watching those couple fish, white-tinged with decay and swimming slowly in place, you had to wonder if they knew what they were in for when they first started upstream. Do they contemplate their own fishy mortalities as they batter their way up a river they'd left years before? As little orphaned fry there were no parents or aunts or uncles to tell them what to expect: a couple years of open ocean wanderings, a taxing return home, one frenetic orgy of reproduction, and then slow, inevitable death. It's probably better that they don't know, as a large percentage would probably say "screw that", run away and join the circus. That doesn't bode well for the propagation of a species. I'm just glad my life cycle has significantly more flexibility than that of the salmon.

The Mountain Man and His Bridge: An Alaskan Love Story

2010-09-10T11:32:00.000-07:00

This week I had the good fortune to accompany a man by the name of Jason Dean out to his project site at Nooya Lake to close it down for the season. He's one of those strong, silent, hairy guys with a love of hard work and an irrational fear of bears. We spent the night in the shelter that had been his home for the past four months, a three-sided, cedar-shingled affair constructed by the CCC back in the '30s. It's a funny place for a shelter because although there's a constant drone of flight seeing plane traffic, they're not allowed to drop people on shore due to some part of the Wilderness Act. Anyone who stays there has to hike a mile up from saltwater; Dean reported a total of three parties encountered over the duration of the summer.

The mornings at Nooya are almost always thick and gray, the fog crouching over the water until the sun gets high enough to burn it off. Spiderwebs turn into works of art under a coating of dew.

Morning mist over the lake's outlet, seen from the bridge.

The bridge itself is an impressive piece of engineering, all the more so because it was created solely by hand. Dean and his crew mates found the tree, cut it down, towed it over, and rigged pulleys to haul it into place with muscles and hand tools alone. I feel lucky I got to check it out.

The fog burning off Nooya Lake in the morning.

Flying out, and the view over the inlet to the lake.

Back over Revilla Island, remembering how different this place looks from the air.

It wouldn't be Ketchikan without the cruise ships. This one had two pools and a mini-golf course.

It's hard to believe that it's already September, and I've only got two weeks of gainful employment left. I can only hope you've enjoyed reading about my adventures as much as I've enjoyed writing about them. Life continues to be one heck of a ride.

Humpback Photo Extravaganza

2010-08-26T20:34:00.000-07:00

This week we all received a healthy reminder that we are indeed in Southeast Alaska. I was once again stationed with Tyson and his crew, in addition to Carl "Paparazzi" Kautz (kudos to him for most of the pictures in this edition), and our mission was to clear and brush the trail up to Humpback Lake. We went into the wilderness armed with loppers, axes, and cross cut saws, but only after the weather allowed our boat to sneak out on Tuesday. What a lovely day for a boat ride it was...
As a result of the rain all the waterfalls in Boca de Quadra were gushing with a vengeance.

All that water needed someplace to go, and the trail was often the path of least resistance. If you slosh fast enough, you can manage to keep most of the water out of your boots.

It was lovely weather for some foul weather gear.

Luckily for us the weather nymphs smiled on us enough to hold off during meal times, so I got to stay dry while preparing some killer falafel. Mmmmm, fried things....

The next day we split into teams: Tyson took Waylon and Doyle, while Carl and I worked together. One group took on the trail-gobbling shrubbery and the other attacked the downed trees. After removing one smaller specimen, Carl and I were faced with a rather large log that we chose to turn into a step, as removing it entirely would have required way too much effort. Here's before...

During (we used the cross cut to slice out the sides, then chipped away the middle with an ax)...

And the final product. A darn fine piece of trail building, if I do say so myself.

On the way back we discovered that the salmon leaping around at the mouth of the creek had made their arduous way farther upstream than we thought possible, flapping sideways through water barely two inches deep. Carl took the opportunity to fulfill his lifelong dream of catching a fish with his bare hands (in return for the stress it endured, he deposited it another 50 feet upstream. Happy spawning, my friend)

On our way home we got to travel in style in a De Haviland Otter, which comfortably seats eight in addition to the pilot and copilot.

Between the observation bubble and Tom Waits in the headphones, why would we travel any other way?

Flying is the only way to really appreciate this place. It never ceases to blow me away.

Weak But Not Broken

2010-08-20T19:07:00.000-07:00

Friday's here at last and it's been one heck of a week. My fingers are having a hard time finding the keys, as my fine motor skills are somewhat inhibited by the labors of the day. We had a work party up at Perseverance (for overtime of course - how else do you get a bunch of slacker seasonals to put in yet another ten hour day?) that had all ten of us facing the monumental task of shoveling gravel from helicopter bags onto the prepared trail. Each bag held 2,300 lbs of rock, and there were 184 bags. I'll let you do the the math, but the team of us powered through and got 'er done.

I spent the rest of the week camping out at Ella Bay with Tyson and Waylon, brushing out the three mile trail up to the lake (pictured below). It's on the eastern side of Revillagigedo Island and since it's part of the Misty Fiords wilderness area there are no mechanized tools allowed. When it came to clearing the swathes of salmonberry, blueberry, and devil's club swallowing the trail, we did it all by hand, armed only with a pair of loppers and the occasional cross cut saw. I felt like a laborer in a Japanese garden snipping each individual blade of grass with a pair of scissors. And there's nothing like looking up from your path of plant carnage and seeing the enormity of a temperate rain forest to make your actions feel absolutely futile. We built some character on this trip and finished the trail to boot.
The trail was in variable condition but passed through some beautiful open muskeg valleys. There were plenty of salmon leaping in the saltwater, eagles and herons overhead, and rough skinned newts underfoot. Tyson told an anecdote about an unfortunate newt that crawled into a coffee pot one night, and the even more unfortunate campers who made coffee the next morning. Needless to say, all parties ended up deceased (rough skinned newts are deadly poisonous).

After two days of too hot weather, the wind picked up and blew in a front of thick clouds, cool temperatures, and sporadic showers. The sky Wednesday evening was gorgeous, looking over to Rudyard Bay from our beach campsite.

Our kitchen utilized some strategically placed drift wood. Waylon cooks up some stir fry as Tyson contemplates the view and the bugs.

Later there appeared an arc of rainbow that even had a faint twin. Pictures just don't do scenes like this any justice.

The boat ride back was cold, wet, and tumultuous. I slept for most of the way, as well as you can with the boat rearing like a wild thing underneath you. Top that off with a day of shoveling gravel, and I am good and ready for the weekend.

Return to Naha

2010-08-13T20:56:00.000-07:00

From Naha Bay to Heckman Lake is a stretch of about six miles. I was there six weeks ago to hike and assess the entire trail and related cabins, three weeks ago to attack encroaching shrubbery on the section between Jordan Lake and Heckman, and now the past four days to complete the brushing process. It occurs to me that I've spent more time and energy there than any other site this summer, which makes this final trip a cause for bittersweet celebration.

This time around I had the chance to participate in the trail inventory with Jacob, the man in charge of monitoring use throughout the area. He checked through a painstakingly detailed list that included every log step, elevated boardwalk, and piece of natural tread, while I followed behind with the mile counter. The contraption consisted of a large wheel with small spokes sticking out at one foot intervals, a unit that clicked as it tallied each foot, and a metal frame of retina-searing orange. Imagine a spindly unicycle with handles instead of a seat and there you have it. I wheeled that thing from the dock at the ocean up, over, and down every single root and rock and stair, all 30,576 feet to Heckman Lake. The first day we got as far as Jordan Lake, then returned the next day to finish the task, for a grand total of 20 miles round trip. And then the fun really began, brushing and clearing the 2 mile section of trail closest to salt water.

Even while my back was aching from bending over to grab salmonberry and devil's club, I couldn't help but marvel at the place. The river was chock full of humpy salmon running up to spawn and the banks were teeming with wildlife. We saw seven black bears the first day, nine the second, a resident family of mergansers, and bald eagles up the wazoo, including a swimming one. Hiking back to camp one evening we came around a corner and suprised the eagle sitting on a rock by the river. It attempted to flee, but after three or four clumsy flaps failed to take off and sank into the water, "oh crap" written all over its face. With a look of forced nonchalance, the eagle turned around and stroked its way to back to dry land in a surprisingly graceful manner.

In other momentous news, on Saturday, 57 years ago, my grandparents got hitched, so happy anniversary to them. Congratulations, MB and PB, I love you guys!

Portland or Bust, Baby

2010-08-09T13:38:00.000-07:00

Everyone needs a vacation now and then, even if my job doesn't really feel like work most of the time. Ketchikan is located in a beautiful corner of the world but the town itself has little to offer in the way of culture. When I heard my friend Tina was having a wedding reception in Portland the first weekend of August, I jumped on the chance to head south. My boyfriend Carl came along for the ride and the much needed mental break. We had a grand old time perusing thrift stores (see above), eating delicious ethnic food, and listening to outstanding music at the Pickathon music festival.

Readjusting to the lower 48 took a little bit of time. At the Seattle airport I had to go sit in a corner because all the people and stores and TVs were so overwhelming. The Pickathon gently eased us back into another way of life, where Xtra Tuffs and Carhartts were replaced with plaid shirts and organic bamboo fibers. After a Friday morning of people watching in Portland we headed out to Pendarvis Farm in Happy Valley to take in some musical vibes.

The event was well-organized with a relaxed atmosphere. There were five or six separate stages, which made it hard to decided who to listen to. The two main stages were covered with this amazing tent-like contraption suspended above the lawn.

Wood Stage was buried off in the forest, and we started out there listening to the Foghorn Stringband. Later we came back to catch the Punch Brothers, a bluegrass group from New York City all decked out in suits and ties.

In addition to music this was a celebration of delicious food. Gorgonzola fries, anyone? They were real big on sustainability, so the beer garden was populated by stainless steel cups instead of plastic ones, and the vendors used paper plates and bamboo utensils. There were more recycling bins there than I've seen in three months.

Hayes Carll performed on the main stage, and I had to buy a shirt because his name tickled my funny bone and a CD because his music was amazing. He sounds like the older generation of country singers, with some blues and rock mixed in for good measure. Other awesome acts included Martha Scanlon, a singer-songwriter from Montana, Megafaun, and Breathe Owl Breathe.

Carl and I enjoyed attempting self portraits while listening to music.

The musicians were just getting warmed up as night began to fall.

On Saturday we headed over to Selwood Park to celebrate my friend Tina's wedding with Shea. The main celebration was down in Mexico and this gathering was for all of us who couldn't make it. There was good food, some bumping techno beats blaring from somewhere across the river, and a radiant bride. Congratulations again Tina and Shea!

Now it's back to Ketchikan, which greeted us with a perfectly calm, misty Alaskan evening. In three weeks the parentals are coming to visit, and a month after that I'll be unemployed again. Happy summer to all!

The Voyage of the Lady Lund

2010-08-04T21:58:00.000-07:00

The Lady Lund is one of the typical Forest Service craft that live at all of our freshwater cabins, and she was integral in our latest job of salvaging everything we could from Red Alders shelter. Located on Ella Lake, the shelter got on the wrong end of a landslide and now has a creek running through the middle of it. Our mission, based out of the Ella Narrows cabin 2 miles away at the other end of the lake, was to retrieve the Lady Lund and any firewood that was dry from the wood shed, and deposit it at our base of operations.

The views from the float plane were amazing. From the air you can see the trails left by ancient glaciers, lakes hopscotching down wide valleys and islands trailing into the sea. The peaks are worn and rounded by weather and everything is covered with a thick fur of vegetation.

Ella Narrows is almost impossible to spot from the air, nestled back under the canopy. It was wonderfully cool on a week where the island was seeing temperatures in the 70s (that's ridiculously warm when you're working in canvas pants and Xtra Tuffs).

The two mile row to Red Alders took about an hour, down one branch of the lake and up the other. As you round the bend you're treated to this view of an amazing alpine bowl, and the rock massif that towers above the shelter itself. If it weren't for the creek this location would be perfect. Curt and I divided our powers between the two boats piled high with cedar rounds and took off on the return journey.

Curt is in inexperienced rower, to say the least, so I let him get ahead as he zig-zagged spasmodically on his way back. The heat was sitting low and heavy on the water, blurring the horizon to a point where it was impossible to tell where the water ended and the land began. Gulls cried, loons giggled, mergansers cackled, and the mountains called back to them as my oars bit into the smooth water. The wood released the warm smell of cedar into the still air with every stroke. In and out, forward and back, again and again. My back and shoulders remembered the motions well from last summer. There's a meditative quality to repeating the same motion over and over; I had to shake myself from my trance when the Lady Lund finally scraped up on the rocky beach, and it was time to haul wood rounds once more.

It took two trips over two days to transport all the wood, and on the remaining day we fixed the wood stove at Ella Narrows. The stove pipe was held together by tin foil and disintegrated as soon as we removed it. Our replacement pipe happened to be the exact same size as the fittings (which means it didn't overlap like it should). Nothing a pair of tin snips and some muscles couldn't fix. Wood stacked, stove functional, boats stowed, we waited in the 84 degree heat for our ride out: mission accomplished.

A Three Ring Show

2010-07-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

It's been quite the week. I feel like I stepped off the plane from Denali and hopped right on a whirl wind carnival ride. Jordan Lake came first, where Curt and I joined Tyson, Waylon, and Doyle in brushing out the 2 mile stretch of trail between that cabin and the one at Heckman Lake. The boys made a mess with their noisy machines, hacking through the jungle of salmonberry and devil's club, while I cleaned it up and made it look like a trail again. We got to take a helicopter in, as we were slinging a bunch of lumber for repairing boardwalk, but took a float plane out a day later than planned due to the weather.

The next stint was out at Wilson View cabin, and getting there was a perfect example of why it's called the Forest Circus. First, a front was roaring through and nobody was flying the day we were supposed to leave. Then the next day we had way more equipment than would fit on a single flight (in addition to four people), so I waited with Bo, a local kid volunteering for the weekend, while Curt and Dwayne headed out with the first load. Dwayne is another volunteer who manages property in Ketchikan and does contracting on the side. Two hours later some Fish and Game folks showed up for their flight with 13 days worth of food and a huge propane tank. Plan B was to have us jump on with them, but needless to say there was no space on that plane either. So we went to Plan C: the pilot drops them at Bakewell Lake, runs over to Hyder by the Canadian border, picks up some more folks, and finally comes to get us in Ketchikan five hours later.

Fair enough. I dropped Bo at his house and went back to the warehouse to plane some posts. At 1:00 I picked Bo back up, stopped by the float plane office, and discovered the flight would be at least another hour. I dropped Bo back off and returned to the warehouse. An hour later I called the Forest Service dispatch to check on our flight and learned that the company needed that pilot for a flight seeing tour and didn't have any more available flights for the rest of the day. Good thing I got to work at 6:30 that morning. Luckily, Plan D (hopping on the 7:30 AM flight the next morning) worked without a hitch and Bo and I reached the holy grail of Wilson View cabin.
As you can see the cabin above is missing a deck and is precariously balanced on some Lincoln Log lumber. Our mission was to replace the foundation and return the cabin to level ground. Dwayne orchestrated the event with professional ease, directing the three of us as we coordinated jacks, assembled a wheelbarrow, and dug out rotten posts. When it came time to mix the cement for the foundation he and I positioned ourselves on opposite ends of the wheelbarrow, shovels in hand, and proceeded to combine pre-mixed bags with water hauled from the lake. Dwayne is a big guy, well over 6 feet tall and about 300 pounds. I'm 5'3" on a good day and about 135 lbs with my Xtra Tuffs full of water, so the sight of the two of us going to town must have been pretty funny. The act of mixing cement is exactly that of paddling a raft: lock your arms, dig in hard, rock your whole body back, and keep in time with your partner. After a couple batches Dwayne looked down at me in wonder and stated, "You're the best cement mixer I've ever worked with". My daddy would be proud.

Flying out to Wilson View we got to see so much of the country you can't see from town.

Looking up one of the many inlets in Misty Fiords National Monument.

You can see why it's called Misty Fiords...

Flying up Wilson Lake on our way in.

Wilson Lake on a quiet morning.

On our way out the mountains decided to make an appearance.

The head of Wilson Arm, where the river dumps into salt water.

I love float planes!

Looking up Carrol Inlet on Revilligigedo Island.

You know you're on the home stretch when the cruise ships come into view. Ketchikan town on a beautiful sunny day.

The Denali Chronicles

2010-07-23T12:04:00.001-07:00

Last week I took leave from my job of mucking around the woods in the rain and voyaged north to Denali National Park to muck around the tundra in the rain with my little sister. We had such a phenomenal time that I couldn't possibly put all my pictures on the blog, so please check out my special Picasa album for the full details.

I will tell the story of the Great Bear Encounter of 2010. It was Tuesday night (technically Wednesday morning) and the rain was still coming down. At 1:30 in the morning the two of us were half asleep, listening to the rain on our tent, and the rustle of our tent shifting around. That's funny, it doesn't seem too windy...All of a sudden two big paws came from nowhere to rest on the corner of the tent containing my feet. I sat bolt upright and roared, "IT'S STEPPING ON ME!!" Sarah immediately joined me in yelling, shouting, and bellowing as the feet rapidly disappeared. Breathless and wide awake now, we looked at each other in bafflement. "Maybe it was just a marmot", Sarah said. I looked to my right, through the mesh side of the tent, and saw a giant nose pressed up against the fly. "THERE'S A NOSE!!", I yelled, and the hullabaloo resumed, with the addition of shaking the tent and various expletives. The nose disappeared, but soon enough something was batting at the fly on Sarah's side. At this point we were both wondering what to do if it didn't go away. Neither of us wanted to open the rain fly to see what was on the other side. My trekking poles were looking like pretty inviting weapons but luckily the bear seemed to lose interest after that. We continued our noise making for a good 15 minutes anyway, and it was a full half hour before either of us felt brave enough to take a peek at the outside world. There was nothing there but rain and fog and the twilight that passes for night in northern Alaska. Neither of us slept very well after that.

The next morning the rain was still coming down, and even though our bodies were sound, the tent unscathed, and our food untouched, we decided to head back to the road. During our invigorating bushwhack through head high, interlocking willows we both decided we were way more scared of moose than bear. As such we sang and yelled and yodeled our way through the soggy bottom lands. It's a good thing we came out when we did because neither of us had much of a voice left.

The rain continued that day, and the next, but then decided to clear out for our bus trip on Friday. We saw a long-legged lynx, herds of Dall sheep, a tricolored fox, arctic ground squirrels, hoary marmots, caribou up the wazoo, four brown bears, three moose, two golden eagles, and a loon in an alpine pond. Mt. McKinley even made an epic appearance. It's simply massive, dominating the skyline and making the rest of the Alaska range look like foothills. Thank you, Sarah, for living in such a beautiful place and letting my come visit!

Some Quick Notes

2010-07-22T20:07:00.000-07:00

I apologize to all of those who follow this blog with a passion (namely my mother). My time has been so tied up in adventuring that I haven't had a chance to write an update, and that adventuring has been full indeed. Last week I made the long trek up to Denali National Park to visit my little sister and her sled dogs. We had a wonderful time painting the park red; there were close encounters of the Ursus arctos kind, torrential rainstorms, baked goods involving avocados, and sightings of rare species such as lynx, tricolored foxes and (gasp) Mt. Mckinley. Good times were had by all.

The past couple days I've been out in the woods at Jordan Lake. The crew of us were brushing out the trail from there to Heckman Lake. I enjoyed picking up sticks while watching bald eagles fly down the river. We got back today, later than expected due to cloudy conditions (in southeast Alaska? That's crazy). Tomorrow we're back out in the field redoing a cabin foundation. I'm still foggy on all the details but I'll fill you in when I figure it all out, namely once I've been through it. Happy summer.

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

2010-07-08T19:54:00.000-07:00

Every now and then you have one of those days where you look around and pinch yourself to make sure it's real. Wednesday was such a day, when Curt and I hiked up to Deer Mountain and Blue Lake. Our purpose (of course we had one, we work for the government) was to fix a cock-eyed stove pipe and charred patch of porch, as well as remove any garbage we found. It was a pretty tough and miserable assignment given the conditions that day and the terrain we had to cover (see images below). I'm still amazed by the fact that I weasel my way into jobs where I get paid to live out some people's trip of a lifetime.

Deer Mountain sits right above town and affords awesome views of the cruise ships, Tongass Narrows, and the airport on Gravina Island.
To get to Blue Lake you traverse this ridge north from Deer Mountain. This is looking southwest towards Dixon Entrance.

Blue Lake truly lives up to its name. The shelter there is a simple A-frame with few amenities, as opposed to the Deer Mountain shelter which is outfitted with oil stove, loft, and kitchen table, but the location renders all that irrelevant.

It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.

The icing on the cake was after a day of hiking 11 miles up and around 3,000 ft peaks (starting at sea level, mind you) and getting paid for it, I had this delicious salmonberry pie to come home to. I'm the most bad-ass homemaker you'll ever meet.

Just Another Day At The Office

2010-07-02T19:49:00.001-07:00

Only Fools Run At Midnight

2010-06-27T20:41:00.000-07:00

Up here in Ketchikan we have to invent ways to keep ourselves entertained and pull people out of the woodwork. One such event is the Only Fools Run, which happens at midnight near the solstice. It's a fundraiser to support independent living for people with disabilities in southeast Alaska, and part of the fun (besides running around town at an ungodly hour) is dressing up in silly costumes. There were several superheroes, a firefighter, a gang of zip-line guides in full helmet and harness regalia, and us, of course. Nikki and I managed to roust ourselves to run on a drizzly Alaskan evening, encouraged by the neon-yellow shirt you receive and the amazing costumes she pulled out of her attic.
She's decked out in black sequins and green wig, while I went for the full cloud-print mumu. Thank goodness Nikki saved those old dance costumes. We were both extremely excited to finish, as you can see below, both because of the late hour and the fact that neither of us had actually done any training (good thing we only had to go 5k). Good times in the salmon capital of the world.

Muskeg Warriors

2010-06-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

After all the beautiful weather we've been having, Mother Nature delivered us a swift kick in the rear to remind us that we are indeed in southeast Alaska. The week has been cool, misty, and drizzly, and the trick is in staying dry. Rubber rain gear keeps everything out but you sweat buckets on the inside, the thin stuff breathes better but soaks through eventually and gets trashed, and going without leaves you a soggy, muddy mess by the end of the day. The best you can do is figure out your own system by mixing and matching.
Whatever your rain gear preference the rubber boots are nonnegotiable. People come here for the first time and scoff at Xtra Tuffs as funny looking and impractical for trail work. True, they don't offer the same protection as leather boots (coated neoprene does little against flying rocks), but there's nothing better for mucking around in the slop and glop that forms as soon as it starts to rain. Not to mention the muskegs (Alaskan for "bogs"). They range from mats of sphagnum moss, capable of holding 15 to 30 times its weight in water, to sloppy organic muck; regardless of composition they are WET.

Most of this week I worked up at Perseverance trail, a project funded with Economic Recovery money. The trail leaves from the Ward Lake recreation area and continues about 5 miles up to Perseverance Lake. Our work consists of removing the boardwalk, cutting in reroutes for the trail, and filling it in with gravel. On Thursday, while others were wrestling with a particularly stubborn culvert, Brady and I joined Andrew, the crew lead, in tackling a large section of muskeg. We had already ripped up boardwalk from above and maneuvered it down a brushy slope to use as a base for the trail. Using them as guidelines, Andrew fired up the chainsaw and proceeded to drag it through the thick mat of moss. You could hear him giggling as the muck flew.

That done, Andrew continued on to another area and Brady and I were given the task of digging out the severed sections to about 8 inches deep, and then laying in the boards to form a foundation for the gravel. He grabbed a shovel, I armed myself with a pulaski, and we went to town. I discovered that the best method was hacking out a row with the tool, setting it aside, and then excavating the severed chunks with my bare hands. Gloves and sleeves just got saturated with muskeg juice, which smells like the decomposing matter from which it's formed. Mucking along, I took a step and almost lost my leg to the swamp. As I retreated, it filled itself in to an innocent high point once more.

"Careful, Brady", I said, "That spot's really deep."

"Really?" he asked, and came over to investigate. He prodded it once, twice with the shovel, and on the third poke, SLORP, the shovel all but disappeared into the ooze. We stared as water started gushing up against the handle. With a mighty tug Brady pulled the tool out, and a geyser exploded up from the puddle's surface. The water in our trench started to rise rapidly as we watched with eyes agog and jaws dropped. Oh crap!

"Really, Brady?" I demanded, "Did you really have to see how deep it was?" He gave a helpless shrug. As our boardwalk quickly disappeared underwater we sprang into action, racing to the downhill side and digging a drainage for all we were worth. Brady wielded the pulaski like a wild man and I threw moss aside with my bare hands. Soon enough we'd formed the bed for a rushing stream and our newly created reservoir was steadily draining. We stood there breathing hard, watching the crisis seep away. Andrew came ambling by, took a look at the carnage of mud and moss and muck, observed "Looks like you guys found some water", and just kept walking.

Return to Dude Mountain

2010-06-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

After a long, varied week that had me doing trail work, organizing and cleaning gear, wielding a power brusher, hauling rocks, and hiking 12 miles to check out logistics for a project, the perfect way to unwind and work out the kinks was a hike up Dude Mountain. This time I went with my friend Carl and the ever present Bubba, and this time you could see. The haze you see around my head below is a cloud of bugs that followed us from the parking lot to the peak.
Looking southwest out to the ocean. It's hard not to get excited about views like that.

Much of the snow had melted since I'd been there last, but there was still enough for some killer glissading, 180s, and somersaults. Happy weekend everyone!

Life and Times of a Cabins Maintainer

2010-06-11T16:23:00.001-07:00

It's been yet another productive week with the Forest Circus up here. Curt and I loaded up the landing craft bright and early Tuesday morning and headed north in the company of Clark, Tyson, and Doyle. The boys dropped us at Blind Pass cabin so we could give it a good spit shine while they did some beach logging. In three hours we had the place ship shape and ready to go, just in time to hop back on the landing craft for the 30 minute ride east to Anchor Pass. As we started hauling gear up the beach, watching the boat disappear down the channel, it occurred to us that although we had a propane tank neither of us had actually loaded a stove. Huh. Good thing us cabin folk are the wily, problem solving type. It's amazing what you can cook over a fire (pork chops, curry, and calzones, to name a few), although it's nice to have hot tea again.

The junk show continued this morning as we checked in with dispatch on the radio and discovered that the boat wouldn't be coming back for us today due to the gale warning in effect. Huh. You wouldn't know it from the glassy water and high clouds that we could see, but we were also about 50 miles north of Ketchikan. The dispatcher informed us she'd contact the sea plane company and see if she could get someone out there. We kept our fingers crossed, and sure enough, a Beaver took off at 9:15 to come fetch us. The incoming tide aided the loading process and we were off by 10:15. On the way back we buzzed a pair of grizzlies on the edge of the woods, one of them poised on a log and watching us overhead. The weather got worse the farther south we flew, and by the time we neared Ketchikan the wind was a steady 30 knots and the sea below us frothy and white. As we were unloading our gear back at the warehouse the rain began, thick heavy drops driving in horizontally. It feels wonderful to be back safe and warm in civilization.

So what exactly do we do out in the woods all week? That's a very good question. Here's Anchor Pass cabin, which gives you a good idea of what most of them look like. They're about 12' by 12', with two bunk beds, a table, kitchen cabinet and counter, and a wood or oil stove. The skylights and long days insure plenty of light inside. Some even have a large covered deck.
The first order of business is usually filling the wood shed. The boys had left us a couple logs on the beach and we were able to get quite a number of rounds from them. Curt sawed and split, and I hauled the great, ocean-saturated chunks up from the beach and stacked them in the shed. Most of what you see below I schlepped by hand, one piece at a time, including the hidden row in the back. Hope ya'll have your tickets to the gun show...

The next day we armed ourselves with bleach water and scrub brushes in the never-ending battle against moss, fungi, and all things green in this temperate rainforest. This outhouse was conisderably greener before we got to it. We also scrubbed down the entire boardwalk after removing the shingles that provide traction, because that stuff gets slippery when it's wet (trust me on this one). The clean boards were then covered with stuff called geogrid and tacked down with a staple hammer, one of my new favorite tools.

Those were the main projects at this cabin. Most of the time we get to putter around and fix any little thing that catches our fancy, whether it be cleaning the windows, recaulking seals, or replacing the gasket on the wood stove. Due to the ridiculously long days there's also plenty of time to soak in the scenery and take artsy pictures, which is fortunate because this site was particularly stunning. I don't recommend sticking your nose in the chocolate lily below - it's pollinated by flies, although you can eat the starchy root with no ill effects.

There were also stands of wild iris, and the indian paintbrush was just starting to make an appearance.

Life's pretty rough when I get to spend my time in places like this. That's actually Revillagigedo Island across the channel with the snow-covered peaks, as the cabin is situated across Behm Narrows on the mainland. This is an amazing place, with so many nooks and crannies to explore. This job gets me out to a bunch of them, but I'm constantly blown away by the vast scale of the Tongass.

A Walk in the Woods

2010-06-05T19:47:00.000-07:00

Ah, Saturdays, the perfect time to sleep in, eat a leisurely brunch, and hike straight up a 2900 foot peak over slippery board walk and rotten snow. It's the ideal combination to recharge the soul. I went with my friend Nikki, a born-and-raised, honest-to-god Ketchikanian (Ketchikanite? Ketchikonian?), her dog Mosely, and my friend Carl's dog Bubba. It was sunny when we left the coast and started driving the one dirt road that accesses the interior of Revillagigedo Island. The patchy clouds made for some amazing views as we clambered up the board walk, which quickly disappeared beneath banks of snow.
As we followed the ridge up the trees got shorter and stumpier, until we were following game trails through twisted, shoulder high heathers. We decided we'd reached the summit when the ground didn't go up anymore. The clouds enshrouded us on all sides so there was no other way to tell. Have I mentioned that Bubba doesn't enjoy posing for pictures?

We both decided we like hiking best in this misty, cool weather. As we stood at the summit the wind kept opening little windows in the clouds, revealing crumpled coastline, the snow-covered flank of a mountain, and even patches of blue sky. We stuck it out until the next cloud arrived to dump its contents on our heads, then boot-skied our way down to solid ground.

The flowers were just starting to come alive in the higher reaches, like these lupine. Down below the bunchberry is blooming, the devil's club has exploded, and the skunk cabbage is shoulder high. This island has more shades of green than the Inuits have words for snow.

Safe As I'll Ever Be

2010-06-04T19:58:00.000-07:00

Let's hear it for training week. It feels like I went on a four day road trip, minus the tunes, fun stops, and exciting destinations: sitting in place for seven hours a day, staring out the window and wishing I was doing something, anything else. I suppose it's the most efficient way of delivering important information to the largest number of people possible, but it's probably the most painful as well. The weekend arrived just in time.

The most exciting day by far was our survival training on Tuesday. The instructor was a basket case from Sitka, kind of like an older Jim Carrey hopped up on something illegal. He spent all morning telling stories, waving his arms, throwing props around, and instilling in us the basics of surviving in a northern marine climate. The afternoon is when things really got interesting.

After a lunch break we all met at Rotary Beach, south of town. We helped haul duffels and dry bags down to the beach where we got some hands-on experience. The instructor pointed out Scottish loveage, licorice fern, chocolate lily, twisted stalk, goose tongue, and cow parsnip. All of these are edible plants found along the coast; the last is questionably edible, but will definitely give you a wicked photosensitive rash if you mess with it. Next was fire making - my team froze to death before we could get anything going. We got to set off flares, toss smoke canisters, and basically wreak havoc in the name of survival.

Last and best we got to try out float coats and survival suits. These are all bright orange (the better to spot you bobbing around in the ocean), keep you from sinking, and are varying degrees of waterproof. My suit was an extra large so I resembled an oompa-loompa waddling down to the water's edge. They are remarkably effective and actually pretty comfortable, not to mention supremely fashionable and flattering. After that quick dip I shed my outer layer and tested my friend's PFD and my own cold-water tolerance. Granted, the sun had come out in patches by this point, and I was wearing my neoprene paddle gear, but after 20 minutes that 48 degree water is still pretty dang chilly. The worst part is when you actually get out of the water and the cold really hits you. It took me a long while to warm up afterwards, but the looks of disbelief I received from the peanut gallery on the shore were well worth it.

Adventures in Wonderland

2010-05-30T20:54:00.000-07:00

Here's the photo version of my life for the past two weeks. This is the recreating time, not the work time, although sometimes it's a little tough to tell the two apart. Below is Silva Lake, at the south end of the road. There's still a ton of snow up there, as you can see.
Totem Bight State Park is north of town and is just a cool spot. Made way cooler by the peace sign.

Little hobbit doors just invite monkeying around.

The main attraction of Totem Bight is the series of totem poles (go figure). The above picture is the entrance to a pole house with a huge, ornately carved front. Below is just one of many poles around the cove.

When I hiked up Deer Mountain, a peak that looms above town, I started in the clouds and just kept climbing until I got above them. There's ocean below there somewhere.

Along for the ride was Bubba, my friend Carl's dog. He was not excited about getting his photo taken.

This afternoon I christened my friend Leah's boat with an awesome paddle. The clouds broke just as we were putting the boats in the water, and we were treated to a rare window of sunshine and glassy flat water.

I love taking pictures of my boat.

On our way back the wind kicked up something fierce. Still, with the sun and the ocean and boat, how could I not smile?

This is a pretty amazing corner of the world to play in. The weather has been phenomenal to boot. I wake up every day with a smile on my face and so thankful to be here. Life is indeed good.

Trials and Tribulations of a Free Agent

2010-05-28T19:35:00.000-07:00

What happens when Curt takes off for some sort of very important training, leaving me bereft and directionless for a whole week? I get to play the free agent, mucking around in as many different departments as possible.

On Monday I was part of the desk crew. Some sort of paperwork didn't go through so I wasn't in the paycheck program. No profile, no paycheck. In order to remedy the situation I had to contact HR, located in New Mexico. The first time I called I was on hold for 45 minutes, and the instructions I received weren't even close to solving the problem. Calling again, I sat there for a full hour, doodling my hands, feet, and deranged imagination while I waited for a human being on the other end. When she finally picked up the gal was very helpful and pleasant, I'll give her that. She even managed to solve my problem (hopefully - we'll find out next week when the checks are cut). It only took two and a half hours. God, I love working for the government.

On Wednesday I pretended to be part of the monitoring crew and partook of their kayak training. After a classy safety video, circa mid-90's judging from the hair styles, we headed out to Ward Lake for some practical application. As there were 10 participants and only 8 leaky dry suits I took the second shift and was forced to work on my tan on the beach while they practiced paddles strokes, wet exits, and re-entries. When it came my turn I threw on a suit and headed out through a film of pine pollen to the deeper part of the lake. I was glad to discover I haven't forgotten how to fall out of a kayak. I can even get myself back in with something resembling grace, which for me is quite an accomplishment.

Tuesday and Thursday were trail crew days. On went the rubber boots, canvas pants, and work-horse mentality. The project is a 45 minutes hike into the woods, which really is a nice way to start a shift. Once you get your breath back it's time to work. There's something satisfying about swinging a pulaski, ripping out roots, and carving a level trail from a slanting, moss-covered hillside. There's also something satisfying about having each muscle of your body in a near-unresponsive state from sheer exhaustion. Fun as it was, I'm excited to have the variety of cabin maintenance to keep me entertained for most of the summer.

The bugs in the woods weren't bad until they bit you. They'd come in swarms, waiting until you thought the coast was clear and you emerged like a hermit crab from your stifling bug net. Then they descended like a horde of ski bums on a large pizza (what's the difference? A pizza will feed a family of four). The welts on my neck weren't the worst part. I didn't even realize insects bit lips; I can assure you they do. I felt the little feet, and crushed a tiny body, but it just wasn't fast enough. Within minutes the middle of my top lip was swollen to twice its normal size and I was having trouble talking. Cursing my luck, I returned to lopping young trees that just happened to be growing in the middle of our trail. Then like lightning striking twice, I felt another one, just to the right of the first. Thank goodness it was about quitting time. When I removed my helmet and bug net my crew mates stared in disbelief for a moment, then burst out laughing. If it looked half as funny as it felt I can't blame them. We all agreed that I was a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie, and that some people spend thousands of dollars on Botox to achieve such a look. If the lumber jack gig doesn't work out, I'm headed to Hollywood.

The Curse of the Cabins

2010-05-21T22:04:00.000-07:00

According to Curt, a person always gets wretchedly sick on their first cabin trip. I think he says that because it happened to him (apparently the Helm Bay trip last week wasn't "real" enough). On my first full-on, 40-hour, float-plane-flight-away cabin trip, I did indeed get sick. But I did it with some class - none of this snuffling, sneezing, coughing business, no sir. I went for the total misery of a sore throat, complete with white gunk on the tonsils and glands swollen hard as marbles. It started on Sunday. It's still here as I write (I'm disinfecting this keyboard after I use it, I swear). In the long run all it does is make me appear more hard core, because not only did I schlep gear, haul wood rounds, scrub moss-covered walkways and walls, and repair wood stove gaskets, I did it all when I was sick. Take that, Chuck Norris.

Patching Lake Cabin appears so happy and harmless in the sun...which actually came out of hiding all Wednesday afternoon.

All geared up to head out. What you can't see is every square inch of space behind me crammed full of boxes, bags, pulaskis, pumps and hoses. Kevin, our pilot, must be a Tetris genius.

Coming in to land on Heckman Lake, where we had a brief stopover to repair an aggressive dock. Did you know a plane float costs about $80,000 to replace?

The view swinging around Higgins Point to the Tongass Narrows and Ketchikan itself. You can see the airport on Gravina Island to the right, and a massive cruise ship in the middle of the channel. We got to buzz it on the way down.

A Beaver like our own trusty steed. Float planes are a pretty phenomenal mode of transportation. I'm adding "float pilot" to my list of things I want to be when I grow up.

Illness aside, the trip went incredibly well. It only rained when we were done with work, the bugs didn't bite, and you can't help but love having a 12' by 12' cabin as home for five days. You can check out all the cabins on the Tongass National Forest website by clicking here. There's a map as well entries on all the indiviual spots. It'll give you some sense of scale when I talk about a 10 minute float-plane ride or an hour boat trip.

Somebody Pinch Me

2010-05-14T21:25:00.000-07:00

I think I've contracted some sort of terminal disease. I've been in Alaska for an entire week now and there's a ridiculous grin plastered across my face. It's been there for seven days and shows no signs of fading. Didn't my mother always tell me my face could get stuck?

Needless to say, it's been a very good week. I began my first official day of work on Monday and learned that the Forest Service, being a government agency, requires a lot of paperwork. All us newbies signed our lives away, and then I met Curt (my supervisor), and I signed some more papers to check out gear (helmet, eye protection, ear plugs, gloves, dry bag). It was exhilarating. There was a lot of wandering from office to warehouse to office again in those first couple days, but I can do it with my eyes closed now.

Thursday we finally got out into the field after a game on Wednesday of hurry-up-and-wait that the weather won. You don't really want to go boating in 6-8 foot seas anyway, especially in a little tin landing craft (well, I don't). The wait was completely worth it for the glassy smooth ride we had across Behm Canal to Helm Bay. I'll let the pictures do the talking from here: This is Curt, looking studly in his float coat, digging at an old mine site we checked out. The entrance is all foamed over, but there's a decrepit house there as well that's incredibly creepy. I refused to climb the stairs to the second floor.

Zoe the dog and me communing on a skiff ride around Helm Bay. She belongs to Larry, the shop teacher at the high school. Him and his class were doing a volunteer stint with us at the cabin, and those boys did a fantastic job finishing all the projects we had for them. They managed to break three mauls and even fix one of them.

On the skiff ride we checked out this little island that occasionally has seals hanging around. We saw a couple poke their heads out of the water but that was about it. This is the view looking up Helm Bay.

When I Grow Up...

2010-05-09T19:15:00.001-07:00

Greetings from Ketchikan, Alaska, the salmon and rain capital of the world. I've been ridiculously spoiled since arriving on Thursday because I haven't seen a single drop of rain. Really, not one. I did get the chance to view several salmon, of the miniature variety. On Friday I traipsed along with several other Forest Service employees to Ward Lake, a recreation area 5 miles north of town, to participate in some environmental education. They led the event, and I pretended I was just another ADD 5th grader that came swarming off the bus. I got to identify some fairy barf (a sea-foam green lichen), stick my finger in a sea lion's mouth (it was dead at the time, although some kids had questions about that), and ogle aquatic invertebrates (did you know they have leeches in Alaska? And that everything's bigger up here?).

My favorite part of the day was when the fisheries gentleman was getting the kids to guess the names of all five types of salmon. "Okay" he says, "This one is also known as a chum, it starts with a D, you've probably got one at home as a pet, and it's a...." One girl shot her hand up in the air, waved it frantically, and shouted out "Du...goldfish!"

The highlight of the weekend should be hard to identify, seeing as it's been filled with hikes through mossy woods, a BBQ on the beach, tidepooling, shuffleboard, and all sorts of new and interesting people, but I'd have to say it was the singular event that made my future clear and answered the age-old question of what I want to be when I grow up: momma, I'm going to be a lumberjack! Seeing as it was "Be a Tourist for a Day" on Saturday, and the cost of entry was only one can of food for the local women's shelter, how could we not go see the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show? It was campy, it was kitschy, and it was pretty dang cool. I've been guaranteed that by the end of the summer I'll be able to swing an ax and chop through a log in 30 seconds flat, not to mention run a chain saw like that. All very well and good, but what I really want to do is strap spikes to my feet, throw a rope around a tree, and run up the thing like a monkey. Tomorrow, I've got safety training for the Forest Service. But after that I'm gonna go sign up for log rolling camp.

Well, That Was Fun

2010-04-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

Winter's over, spring's exploding (in Oregon, at least, although Montana isn't far behind), and I'm soon on to the next adventure. But before that, a quick photographic tour of the winter:

It was a low snow year, to put it kindly. When the parents came to visit in January we went on an excursion to Glacier Park and found coverage even more lacking than on the mountain.
Mom and Dad check out Lake McDonald Falls, where we ate lunch, watched ouzels (a.k.a. American Water Dippers) frolic in the frigid waters, and tried to duct tape Dad's disintegrating cross country boots. It would have worked, we just didn't have enough.

Did I mention it was a low snow year?

In the beginning of February I had the opportunity to join my aunt Julie on a cat skiing trip up in the great land of Canada. Once I got there it was awesome. The two hour trip ended up taking me nearly five: first, I drove as far north as Eureka before realizing my boots were still sitting on my doorstep, and then got stopped by the friendly state trooper on my way back north just short of Eureka because it was 5:37 on the last day of the month and he had to meet his quota. Despite all this the snow was fresh and soft, if not deep, and the company was exceptional.

March brought more adventures, to Lookout Pass, Schweitzer, and Big Sky. Then before you knew it the season was at an end and I turned 26. My friends, sweet as ever, couldn't contain their excitement and threw me a surprise party. Not just any party, but prom, complete with big dresses, cheesy photos, and tuxedo t-shirts. Below: Nathan and I strike a pose pre-party.

Just some of the lovely ladies and their girls - Maggie, Abby, princess for the day, and Sarah.

It was hard to leave Whitefish but arriving in Portland was like the moment in "Wizard of Oz" when it switches from black and white to color. This place in spring never ceases to amaze me. I'll be here for another week hanging out with my parents and catching up with friends, then it's off to the next adventure: ocean, mountains, big bears, bigger trees, lots of rain, boats and float planes. That translates to working for the Forest Service out of Ketchikan doing cabin maintenance. I'll be an honest-to-goodness government employee until the end of September. While I'm spending a fair amount of time in the woods, the blog will be up and functional, so check back if you're bored or just feel like being a stalker. I'll try to keep you entertained.

New Kid on the Block

2009-11-10T12:12:00.000-08:00

Well, it's official. Once again I've become a full-time resident of Whitefish, Montana, moving my various tupper wares and boxes and crates into yet another questionably functional domicile. It's funny how many things you don't really notice about a house until you spend some time in it. Such as, "wow, there aren't any lights in this living room", and "huh, there's nowhere to hang my towel in this bathroom". These shortcomings are easily remedied with trips to the local thrift stores and some elbow grease, but none of that really matters when the house in question is a tomato-throw away from the down town area. The post office is one block west, the library an eight minute walk away, and I can see the Snow bus stop from my kitchen window. You can't judge a book by its cover, and you can't judge this place by its peeling paint or the toilet on the doorstep (which has since been removed). I'll be sharing the space with two roommates: my newly-graduated sister Sarah, joining the ranks of the gainfully-unemployed twenty-somethings, and my college friend Alyssa, farmer and horse-whisperer extraordinaire.

This is a pretty quiet time of the year in northwestern Montana (unless you're skulking around the woods trying to murder fuzzy forest creatures, of course). There's no snow, no tourists, and therefore not much work for those of us in the seasonal sector. We're biding our time and counting our nickels. In another month things will be gearing up for the holidays, but in the meantime I'm reading lots of books (just devoured English Creek by Ivan Doig and highly recommend it), finally putting pompoms on all those half-finished hats, and looking forward to spending Thanksgiving in Portland with my family. So happy autumn, and let's all do a snow dance until we're blue in the face!

Opening Day

2009-10-25T18:02:00.001-07:00

You've got to love fall in Montana. The mountain tops are dusted with snow, the tamaracks light up the hillsides, and orange becomes everyone's favorite color as the woods fill with big, burly, gun-toting men and women. That's right, boys and girls, this day, one 25th of October 2009, marks the beginning of rifle season here in the Treasure State. Let the carnage begin!

To celebrate the occasion I went hiking in one of the few areas where you don't have to announce your humanity with day-glo colors: Glacier National Park (although, just to remind people, one of the local papers recently ran a half-page article reminding people there is no hunting in the park). Apgar Lookout is a solid hike for several reasons: it's only a short drive from the valley, the 3 mile climb affords just the right amount of sweat, and the fire in 2003 ensures you have gorgeous vistas the entire way up. The first picture is Lake MacDonald; the last is the Middle Fork of the Flathead River hugging the Glacier View Golf Course. The lookout itself is closed, but it's an amazing spot to hang out and take in the views from Hungry Horse to the North Fork.

As gunshots echoed across the valley I had a moment of silence for all the Bambi souls becoming one with the universe...and crossed my fingers that one of those blasts was Nathan nailing an elk. Nothing hits the spot on a cold dark winter night like elk fajitas.

First Best Backpacking Trip Ever

2009-10-15T16:29:00.000-07:00

In the last week of September, in a corner of far north-western Washington, a very brave man allowed himself to be dragged into the deep woods on a three-day forced march. Backpacking is one of those beautifully masochistic sports that requires a certain amount of insanity to pursue. Why else would one load up a pack, hike away from civilization as we know it, and make even the smallest of tasks inordinately more complicated? Nathan has often posed these questions to me, seeking to understand my inexplicable desire to run away into the woods. Maybe it's the sense of self-reliance you find by making due with what you have on your back, the quiet you find miles away from the nearest road, or just the mind-blowingly beautiful places you find out there.

In September, we set off for the far reaches of Olympic National Park to explore this thing called "backpacking". We struck the karmic jackpot from the get-go because (suspend your sense of disbelief, drumroll please) it didn't rain on us. Not once. In northwestern Washington, in the end of September, the next drainage over from the Hoh Rainforest (the Sol Duc Valley receives only 90 measly inches of precipitation a year, as opposed to the 100 required for full rainforest status). Hence Nathan's broad smile at the Sol Duc trailhead.

Half a mile down the trail, through tall cathedrals of cedar trees and lush undergrowth of ferns, we found Sol Duc Falls, so of course we had to take a picture.
From there we started climbing for 5 miles, over exposed basalt rock, slippery roots, and trickling streambeds. Despite having seen no precipitation for about two weeks the forest floor was still oozing with moisture. Deer Lake was our first campsite, and the place Nathan spotted his first elk, way the heck up on the ridge. The fish were also rising like crazy and he was cursing all the gods and goddesses and various deities that he hadn't brought his fishing pole.
The next day we climbed once again, up and past the tree line to a gorgeous subalpine climate rife with sun-ripened blueberries and huckleberries. We developed a hiking rhythm: walk a hundred feet, stuff face with berries, walk another hundred feet, stuff face with more berries. Repeat as necessary.

From the high rocky ridge we took a brief detour down to Lunch Lake, part of the 7 Lakes Basin. Nathan was not excited about climbing back up approximately 328 steps.

Rar, mountains!

The glaciers of Mt. Olympus were truly breathtaking. The only thing between us and it was the Hoh River deep below. Through Nathan's binoculars we could make out all the crevasses and moraines, especially on the sweeping expanse to the left that's hidden in this picture. It looked like a giant highway or river flowing down the valley.

This hike was especially cool because every time we came around a corner on the ridge (and there were many) there was yet another amazing view. Good thing Nathan brought his snazzy little tripod.

On our way back down the ridge to the forest we passed Heart Lake. Yup, it's a heart all right. This bowl was also chock full of black bears (Nathan got the joy of hauling the bear cannister). We saw one, two, three little black dots that kept popping up closer and closer. Most of the red areas on the mountain side are blueberry bushes, so you can understand why it would be a popular spot for those voracious munchers.

Needless to say, there were other fuzzy creatures around stuffing their faces.

Our second night at Sol Duc Park we were back in the thick trees, nestled among roots by a little waterfall. On our hike out we passed through a forest that felt muted, the light reduced to shadows by the dense canopy and the sounds muffled by a soft floor of organic duff. Varied thrushes skimmed between the massive trunks and we even startled a black tail deer, but the highlight of the trip came a mile from the trailhead. Absorbed in our own thoughts we plodded along until the hikers in front of us stopped short. Freezing mid-stride, we glanced up the hill to our right and there he was, a huge bull elk, rack catching the light filtering through the branches, observing us with quiet altertness. We held our breath as he turned and made his meandering way up the slope until he faded into the greenery and disappeared. It was the perfect cap to a fantastic trip, and the best part is that Nathan's still talking to me.

Flashback: Summer

2009-10-02T11:36:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Portland about the same time fall did. One day it was summer and then *bam!* autumn roared in with all its crisp, cool, damp glory. What better weather for reminiscing the fickle charms of summer? The following pictures are from the backpacking trip I led in the second week of September, and they were all taken by a very talented woman from Australia named Carmel Bannon. Thanks, Carmel, and I hope the rest of you enjoy them!

We started out at the foot of Bowman Lake on Sunday morning. The cool weather and intermittent showers were perfect for the 7 mile ramble to our campsite at the head of the lake.

We awoke the next morning to cloudy skies that just kept dropping lower. From Bowman Lake we proceeded to climb up towards Brown Pass. The rain came in waves, pushed in by gusts of cold wind. The trail wound up through a thick green tunnel of brush that ensured we were constantly soaked, even when the rain abated. This was our lunch stop, before the last push up to the pass.
To get to Hole-in-the-Wall campground, you have to follow a spur trail for almost a mile, dropping down into an open alpine bowl that serves as an excellent example of a hanging valley. By the time we rolled into camp it was sleeting sideways and we were all narrowly focused on staying warm, getting fed, and huddling in our sleeping bags as soon as possible. This is the food prep area at the site the next morning, and you can see that we were just below the freezing level. I'm extremely proud of that tarp shelter, by the way.

Day 3 brought the promise of better weather with sucker holes of blue sky passing overhead. On the way back to the main trail we heard a mamma grizzly huffing at us from the brush. It's a sound few people get to hear, and it was all the more disconcerting because we couldn't actually see her. Making lots of noise and singing silly songs, we began our trek up to Boulder Pass. This is the view on the way up - you'd never believe it was 90 degrees only a week ago.

The trail up the pass was marked with rock cairns and took us over jumbles of pillow basalt (a rarity in a mostly sedimentary area), around stromatolites (a fossilized blue-green algae, one of the first forms of life), and up boulder fields covered in 4 to 6 inches of fresh snow. In the picture below you can see the west side of the pass, looking up from Boulder campsite. That's Boulder Peak to the right, and by the time we started coming down the other side the weather was definitely on its way out. This time we went about setting up camp in a much more leisurely matter, laying out wet clothes to dry, sunning ourselves on rocks, and enjoying the views from the open air toilet. It's amazing how relaxed you feel when your survival isn't in question.

The next morning a delegation set out to explore Boulder Peak. The sucker holes were winning over the clouds and it felt wonderful to walk around without feeling like a pack animal. Carmel is the gal on the left, Scot is the gentleman in the middle (luckiest guy in Montana right there), and yours truly being really bright on the right.

From the ridge we had some spectacular views, such as Pocket Lake and Kintla Peak in the photo below.

From Boulder Pass we shouldered our packs once more and descended another 2800 feet to Upper Kintla Lake. Below you can see an example of executing a bear hang. As big as that bundle looks, imagine how big and heavy it was three days ago.

One of my favorite things about backpacking is the backcountry pedicure. Simply mahvelous, dahling. (Actually, it's a bit of Second Skin on top of a blister. Details).

Day 5 took us from Upper Kintla Lake up and over its terminal moraine to Kintla Lake for our last night in the woods. On our final day we had about 7 miles ahead of us and a 12:00 lunch date. You only get these kind of pictures when you're up before the sun is.

3.5 hours later we interrupted Kiandra from her spot in the sun so she could serve us some grub. That deli lunch as never tasted so good. From L to R: Kiandra, some stumpy kid, Jamsheed, Terry, Judy, Scot, Peter, and Tyler (Carmel is behind the camera).

One last look at Kintla Lake. Note the absence of snow on the mountain tops. The wonderful thing is that after persevering through conditions like we had, it made the rest of the trip that much better by comparison. You can't truly appreciate the beauty of a place until you've experienced it in a full spectrum of its moods.

Thanks again, Carmel, for the photographs, and thanks to everyone for a wonderful trip!

Your Regularly Scheduled Seasonal Updates

2009-09-26T20:08:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again: leaves are turning, nights are getting cooler, and I am once again couch-surfing from friends to family and back again in gainful unemployment. Shoulder season is both beautiful and awkward. It's an incredible opportunity to visit people I've neglected for far too long, explore new places without thought to time constraints, and catch up on the world in general. Yet after a couple months of frenetic activity followed by weeks of unrestrained freedom I seem to reach the same conclusion every time: I haven't the foggiest idea what to do with myself.

The summer could be summed up by that much beloved South Asian phrase "same same but different". I didn't even bother keeping track of how many times I went from Moccasin Creek to West Glacier but I can describe every inch, every boulder, every eddy of the Middle Fork of the Flathead River in such excruciating detail that it could be considered a form of torture. Such familiarity is tempered by the fact that every trip was somehow different - the social dynamic of the people on board, Montana's fickle weather, the water level that shapes the Middle Fork's personality. I've come away from my first season of river guiding with shoulders of steel, a greater appreciation for moving water, and a killer Chaco tan.

I did get the chance to lead a six day backpacking trip in September that brought together all sorts of extremes. Our group of seven guests represented a broad spectrum of experience, age, and geographic distribution, while the environment responded with everything from sideways snow to sweltering sun, thick forests to bare rocky passes. Somehow it all balanced out to a beautiful equilibrium that left us all with huge grins on our faces. To get an idea of it all you can check out one gentleman's pictures here. Thanks, Jamsheed, for putting those together! There are more out there and I'll post them as I'm able.

Six days spent schlepping a sixty pound pack turned out to be excellent training for running a half-marathon. In order to avoid the typical paddler's physique (gorilla shoulders/chicken legs) I started plodding in the spring, but quickly realized that unless I had a tangible goal in mind there was no way my lazy butt would continue that regiment. So I signed up for the Two Bear half-marathon in Whitefish, put some money down, and started training. A month into it I was ready to run the stupid thing, already, and be done with all this silliness. Who runs 13.1 miles, anyway? 146 people, that's who, and another hundred ran the full marathon, including a gentleman who was 83. September 13 was a beautiful sunny day and I managed to finish in under two hours with a time of 1:57, far exceeding my goal of simply finishing. I was 6th out of 21 in my age range (20-29), and 42nd overall. As Nathan likes to put it, I smoked 104 people. I guess hiking up all those mountain passes was good for something.

Currently I'm doing a west coast tour of the greater Seattle area, including the Olympic Penninsula, soon to be followed by a week down in Portland with my newly empty-nested folks. I've been stocking up on ethnic cuisine, coffee, and city culture before I head back to Montana in October. Given my previous record, the next update probably won't come until the spring, although I may make an exception to upload some pictures. Enjoy!

Home is Where You Hang Your Chacos

2009-05-29T15:22:00.000-07:00

After a full six months of internet silence, I've decided to fire up the blog once more. Here's the condensed version: after another season teaching snowboarding at Whitefish Mountain Resort, at Big Mountain, in Whitefish, Montana, I spent two weeks in Oregon with my boyfriend Nathan and our friends Jason and Abby: snowboarding, touring Portland, and enjoying the coast. (You can check out those photos here if you so desire).

Safely back in Montana, I'm now shacked up in West Glacier to try my hand at raft guiding. Nathan has been kind enough to lend me his 12' 1958 Siesta camper for the summer. It's got a propane stove, electric lights, and the most awesome moose-print cushions you've ever seen. Montana Raft, my current employers, have a camp ground available to employees and there are all sorts of set-ups out here: traditional campers, old buses, 20-person tents, not to mention ingenious tarp shelters and a steadily growing herd of dogs.

Here's my new home, complete with camo tarp

We'll see how the house plants fare. I may let them out to roam when it gets warmer.
The kitchen is cozy but functional, and I'm so excited to have a gas stove

My sister made that beautiful blanket on the bed for a college art class

Now that I've renewed my Wilderness First Responder and been on the river a couple times, the next hurdle will be Swift Water Rescue. The weather is calling for temperatures in the 80s, which is a good thing since there's gong to be a lot of time spent in 35 degree water. Yeeha!

Halloween in November

2008-11-16T13:24:00.000-08:00

The last time I knocked on a door while wearing a costume I was 12 years old and they were giving me candy. There's usually something wrong if you're 24 and running around at night doing the same thing. But Tuesday night, that's exactly what I was doing, complete with a full body bear suit. Granted, I wasn't exactly in my right mind, due to a marathon journey from southern Vietnam through Bangkok and back to Portland. As such I hadn't really slept in three days, and even now my brain is still somewhere over Hong Kong.

That is still no excuse for standing on my own doorstep dressed like Smokey's little brother. Eventually my dad answered the doorbell and I lumbered in, peering through the mesh eye holes and trying to string together coherent sentences in a disguised voice. My mother sized up this costumed intruder in gleeful disbelief. As Bernie the Bear launched into his singing telegram, serenading my mother with a version of "Happy Birthday", she happened to glance down at the dancing feet. The suit didn't quite cover my toes and my mother somehow recognized them, as only a mother can. I removed the mask at the end of my song and squeezed my mom as she leaped into my arms, screaming with joy for a good 10 minutes, rendered ecstatically speechless by the appearance of her wandering daughter, garbed in a bear suit, showing up a week early, and on her birthday no less.

Thanks to my dad's amazing brainstorm I made a quality entrance back to the United States, and that means that yes, I'm back. I'll respond to emails, answer the phone to share stories, and probably show up on your doorstep if you're in the Portland area. It has been an amazing adventure to say the least. I'm still getting used to wandering down the grocery aisles full of strange and familiar products, and I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not in Asia any more as I drive around town.

Thank you all for reading my rants of the last six months - it's been a fun experiment. If you want to hear more I can deliver it all in person. For those of you in Montana, I'll see you soon. For those of you elsewhere, best of luck on wherever your adventures take you.

I Survived Saigon

2008-11-09T21:32:00.001-08:00

I'm a couple hours away from successfully exiting this teeming city, but it's not Saigon itself that will kill you, it's the getting there part. I left my guesthouse on Phu Quoc Island at 6:30 Sunday morning. One of the young women running the guesthouse came out in her pajamas, saddled up her motor bike, and gave me a lift down the bumpy red dirt road into town. There I was loaded onto a mini-bus with several other passengers for the 20 km drive down to the boat pier at the island's southern tip.

The ferry ride began with some Ben and Jerry cartoons, with techno music thumping on the sound system. Then we got to watch not only "The Gods Must Be Crazy" but "The Gods Must Be Crazy, Part II", dubbed and subtitled in Vietnamese. The seas were rough enough that the attendants were handing out plastic bags but thankfully I didn't see, or hear, anyone using them.

At the pier in Rach Gia, back on the mainland, it was a short scooter ride to the bus station, which turned out to be a small kiosk tucked between two local eateries. I partook in the common hobby of sitting on the sidewalk in a low plastic chair, sipping strong coffee, and watching the traffic fly by. The rest of the men sitting around greatly enjoyed my tattoo and spent a good while staring and giggling. People came by selling sun glasses, lottery tickets, fresh fruit, and we kept waiting.

20 minutes after the appointed time the mini-van rolled up. The puppy in its carrier was stowed under the back seat with the bags of potatoes, passengers were assigned seats, and luggage was pile in whatever voids were left to be filled. The sliding door required some strong persuasion to stay shut, and threatened to fly off throughout the journey. Every single road seemed to be under construction, trucks came flying past a hair's breath away, and there were motor scooters zipping any and every direction they liked. Men emerged dripping from setting fishing nets in the murky roadside ponds and canals. Rain showers came and went. All in all, a typical Vietnamese road trip.

Even after navigating the impending Saigon traffic to the Mien Thay bus station, the journey wasn't over yet. That station happens to be a good 10 km from the city center, and the moto taxis enjoy levelling exorbitant rates to get you there. Somehow, though, I managed to sneak aboard a city bus that eventually stopped somewhere familiar, and got away with a 25 cent ride. A short hike and some enquiries later, by 8:00 I had a windowless cell in which to spend the night and a butt entirely numb from the twelve hour journey. It's more stubborness than endurance that's gotten me this far.

In other news, my dad's been at it again. If you're interested, or just wasting time online, you can flip through all my adventures with Nathan in Thailand by clicking here, or you can see what I got up to in Vietnam before my mother arrived by clicking here. I preface this with the statement that these photos have not been edited beyond their orientation, so proceed at your own risk.

Notes from Vietnam

2008-11-06T23:48:00.000-08:00

I was sitting in an internet cafe full of Vietnamese kids plăying computer games when I read the final election results. It was one of the few times I fervently wished for the presence of a fellow American, someone with whom I could share my excitment. Obama won and my mother made it safe back to the States - life is good.

One of the things my mother carried in her expertly packed bags was a memory card from my camera, containing all the pictures of our adventures. So if you're bored and want to check out rice paddies, food art, and flattering pictures of yours truly, click here. Thank you, Dad, for getting all those online!

The past couple days have been funny, both in the ha-ha and the boo-hoo sense of the word. After my mother's departure I made a break for the Mekong Delta and discovered that in this country trying to get off the tourist trail instantly makes your life ten times more difficult. Fewer people speak English, public transport drops you in mysterious and inconvenient spots, and if you hesitate in your confusion, you're lost. Still, it's still fairly entertaining to be the only white person in town and see the look on a street vendor's face when you tell them (in sign language) that you'd like some food. It's even more entertaining trying to guess what all those parts floating around in the soup are.

I've decided to while away my last couple days in Vietnam on the island of Phu Quoc, so far southwest that it's almost Cambodia. There are white sand beaches, blue water, and palm trees for sipping fruit shakes under. The trick is finding a place that serves something other than steak and pizza (apparently the only thing tourists like to eat). On the 9th I road trip back to Ho Chi Minh City, and fly to Bangkok on the 10th to get out of the country before my visa expires.

Hurts So Good

2008-11-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

It's amazing how far a 45 minute plane flight can get you. After the fifteen hour bus journey from Hoi An to Dalat, Mom opted to spend the next leg in the air. We left behind the lush hills and valleys of the central highlands and landed smack dab in the middle of hazy, humid, crazy Saigon. Officially known as Ho Chi Minh City, the name still depends on where you're from and how communist you are. Either way, people will know you're talking about a place with 8 million people and 3 million motorbikes.

Crossing the street feels a little like swimming through a school of tiger sharks - as long as you keep moving calmly and sedately, avoiding any thrashing or sudden movements, you'll come out on the other side in one piece. We had plenty of chances to practice this skill as we made our way across the city, as the streets are much wider and the blocks much longer than Hanoi. From the backpacker area we wandered past the old market, stopped for some passion fruit ice cream that had Mother swooning, visited a Vietnamese quilt shop (selling finished products only, to Mother's dismay), and finally washed up on the doorstep of the Golden Lotus Foot Massage Club.

Although the name suggests a bad Chinese restaurant by day and a seedy dance club by night, the place was actually more than nice enough for my mother. The card claims to have the "Facilties of a 5 Star Hotel At a price That is much less expensive Than anticipated and Easy access" and we're inclined to believe them. For $15 dollars we first sipped lotus tea to soothing music, then were ushered upstairs to a cadre of giggling young women who proceeded to massage and manipulate our bodies for the next 90 minutes. Rose water foot bath, cucumber face mask, more methods for spine cracking than I've ever encountered, we got it all. I believe I still have a footprint-shaped bruise between my shoulder blades from when the gal did the cha-cha on my back.

Spines realigned and muscles melted, we emerged back into the thrum of the city as darkness was settling. Today we explored some other dark corners in the War Remnants Museum and the Reunification Palace before making a good effort at spending the last of my mother's dong. She's sitting beside me as I write, watching a Chinese soap opera dubbed into Vietnamese and waiting for the taxi that will take her to the airport. Since she hasn't disowned me yet I can only imagine that she enjoyed her short stay. It will be a bit lonely without her - safe travels, mummy dearest!

Vietnam Mafia

2008-10-31T07:08:00.000-07:00

An essential part of the tourist trail in Vietnam is escaping said tourist trail on the back of an Easy Rider's motorcycle in Dalat. These blue-garbed guides have gained such popularity throughout the years that they are now plagued with imitators, and as such have a vested interest in getting to the tourists first. After a five hour bus ride chugging up a twisty, windy mountain road, through acres of vegetable fields and stands of pine trees, we were greeted at our arrival point by two Easy Riders offering their services. We thanked them kindly, accepted their card, and headed off in the direction they indicated for our hotel. "Goodbye!" they waved cheerfully.

At the next intersection 20 feet down the road, we paused briefly to get our bearings, and heard a voice over our shoulder directing us to the left. We turned, and there was the short elfin guide, grinning under his helmet. "Goodbye!" he said, and zoomed off. Around the next corner we found the tall mustachioed guide waiting, pointing us across the road before gunning his bike and disappearing. It was like wandering through Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, with helpful little oompa loompas popping up at every turn. Sure enough, there they were in front of the hotel, and sure enough, they were still there when we came down from our siesta. We brushed them off to find food, having not eaten since a bowl of pho at 6:30 that morning, and were only moderately surprised to see the tall one pacing the pavement when we finished.

The persistent fellow's name was Sinh and we finally took up his offer of a day trip on the back of a bike to see the local sights. Once we had agreed he disappeared for good, at least until 8:30 this morning. Exiting our hotel we found Sinh and his diminuitive sidekick Hiu smoking on the sidewalk, awaiting our emergence. Helmets were adjusted, Mother's last-minutes jitters were brushed aside, and off we went.

Our journey covered at least 60 km, past pagodas and vegetable fields, through scorching sun and pelting rain (sometimes simultaneously), on dirt tracks and winding paved roads. Mother's favorite part was the silk factory, where we were shown the process from worm to finished fabric. The warehouse was hot and noisy from the rows of clattering machinery and vats of steaming water. From stacks of flat bamboo baskets the white silkworm cocoons were then boiled in water to loosen the fibers. Young women in aprons and rubber boots somehow connected the cocoons to a spinning machine that drew the thread apart from the cocoon, and then wound it together with other gossamer fibers to form thread. The next machine wound the thread onto large rounds, and from there it was further transferred to thick spools. The spools were then placed in huge weaving machines, with automated shuttles flying back and forth, and the pattern delineated by hole-punched cards cycling through near the ceiling. Seeing the whole mess in action was even more bewildering than the muddle I've just written.

Mother survived not only our two-wheeled flight around the countryside, but a slippery scramble down to a waterfall past a poisonous snake, a drenching downpour, and a wander through a certifiable crazy house (the bizarre architecture gave me vertigo just trying to navigate the stairways). Our adventures are somehow drawing to a close, with one more night in Dalat and then another in Saigon before she braves another marathon plane journey.

Girls' Week Out

2008-10-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

A series of planes, trains and automobiles have brought us safe and sound to the confines of Hoi An, that ancient trading city that has shifted from merchant goods to tourists. It's a very feminine town, full of beautiful old houses to wander through, quaint little shops with trinkets to browse, and enough culture oozing from the woodwork to start your own batch of yogurt. Did I mention tailors? We figure by this point "Hoi An" actually means "tailor" in Vietnamese, just like "yum" means "horny" (so be careful what you say to that cute old man at the delicious restaurant). You can't swing a monkey in this town without knocking down a manequin dressed in some piece of custom fashion, guarded by iron-willed women ready to wrest your measurements at the slightest hint of eye contact. Even my mother and I were not immune to the allure of exotic fabrics, and we'll pick up the final results tomorrow so they can be transported home to sit in our closets.

There's no better way to while away a rainy day than to hole up in the kitchen and produce delicious food, or so my mother taught me. As the monsoons are still alive and kicking in central Vietnam we decided to stick with tradition and enroll in a cooking class. The rain poured down all night, and by this morning the river that had been lapping at the esplanade had now fully engulfed its embankments and was creeping up the road, swallowing the waterfront whole. Our cheerful Vietnamese guide braved the deluge to take us through the market, pointing out obscure vegetables, familiar fruits, and kitchen implements essential for carving carrots into flowers.

Since the river was too high to take a boat to the cooking school we were loaded into a minivan, although the experience of skimming along at water-level was pretty much the same. It's amazing how much water those country roads can hold. Our dripping entourage transferred to the classroom, a pristine space with rows of chairs facing a demonstration table, complete with an overhead mirror. When the chef had finished his mechanical demonstration we moved to our individual cooking stations, where silent, efficient women delivered the prepared ingredients and whisked away dirty dishes. Eggplant hot pot, fresh rice paper for spring rolls, shrimp pancakes in rice paper, artfully arranged cucumber and tomato, we produced them all, with varying degrees of success. My tomato rose turned out more like salsa, but luckily there's time to practice before entertaining the family at Thanksgiving.

We'll see what tomorrow brings. Heads, the weather's good and we wander the countryside on bicycles. Tails, the rain continues and we drink thick Vietnamese drip coffee while writing postcards until our hands are shaking from the caffeine and literary effort. Either way we end up on a night bus to Nha Trang, and from there to Dalat. Come heat or high water we're heading for the hills.

Soggy in Sapa

2008-10-25T19:09:00.000-07:00

It felt weird to be wearing long sleeves and closed-toed shoes as we walked through the swirling mists of Sapa. The mountain town is so far north that it's almost China, and it's the coldest spot in Vietnam. They even had snow this year, the first time since 2000. There was no snow during our brief visit but my thinned blood and light clothing ensured that I had goosebumps for the first time since that snowstorm in Kyrgyzstan.

We arrived off the night train just as it was getting light (the thick clouds assured that there was no sunrise). Our room had an amazing view of verdant mountains and tiered fields, but after snoozing for a couple hours the scenery had disappeared entirely, replaced by a thick bank of fog. The mountain tops never returned.

One of the things Sapa is famous for, besides its miserable weather and luscious scenery, is the various hill tribes that live in the surrounding area. In all actuality you can't avoid them because in the short span of time that Sapa has been a tourist destination the locals have become well-versed in the industry. As soon as you step out of your hotel, groggy from the turbulent overnight train, you are surrounded by a flock of shoulder-high women and girls, decked out in their traditional costumes of indigo fabric and intricate embroidery, and pushing more of the same in your face. For all their miniature stature they possess the tenacity of a pit-bull, and you have to wade your way up the street to a chorus of "You buy from me? You buy from me?". They can all ask your name, your age, how many children you have, and refuse to take "no" for an answer.

Mother's hands are still blue from from the leaves of an indigo plant we were shown while walking through a village, and her bag is about 20 pounds heavier from her new collection of fabrics. We both survived the hectic bus ride back down the hill to the train station, and we continue our southward migration today.

Arrivatissima

2008-10-22T03:22:00.000-07:00

Good golly, my mother's in Vietnam! She reminds me of this fact multiple times a day, battling through knots of speeding motorbikes, walking through a market where everything is still wiggling, or kayaking through sheer limestone cliffs on glassy-smooth ocean water. It's a far cry from previous vacations but I think she's enjoying it so far (she hasn't disowned me, at least).

Our one day of touring Hanoi has left us sated with the city - our itinerary requires at least one more trip through. Despite the noise and craziness it's much more accessible than Bangkok. The buildings are shorter, as are the blocks, giving the city a more human scale. Certain shops cluster together selling the same wares on appropriately named streets: Shoe Street, Watch Street, Flower Street, and apparently Eyeware Street. We visited the extensive courtyards of the Temple of Literature, walked past Ho Chi Minh's empty mausoleum to watch the changing of the guard, and sat through the colorfully cheesy, yet highly entertaining water puppet show with all the other tourists in town.

The traffic of Hanoi is as jarring as ever after an overnight trip to Halong Bay. Our boat was beautifully tripped out in dark wood and slept eight; only three of the cabins were actually occupied and we lucked out with the honey moon suite in the bow. Once we got done ogling the boat there was plenty of scenery to drool over. The limestone formations are similar to southern Thailand or Khao Sok National Park, except the rows of islands just kept disappearing into the blue horizon. Our path took us away from the more touristed areas, so for company we had a couple other junks, some floating fishing villages, and the sea eagles.

As we sat down for lunch we were unprepared for the 6 course bonanza that followed. The unexpected bounty left us even more vulnerable to the onslaught of dinner, where each course was presented with ornately carved fruits and vegetables. There were water buffalo made from potatoes, eagles carved from squash, and a glowing model of our boat from a watermelon, with wafer-thin slices of carrot for sails. Apparently the chef had a lot of time on his hands as we were cruising along the bay, rowing among floating houses, and kayaking past limestone cliffs.

Next step: the mountain town of Sapa, and hopefully some cooler climates. Bring on the train!

What Would Your Mother Think?

2008-10-15T05:48:00.000-07:00

After three months of slow-paced living through Laos, Cambodia, and Thailand, Vietnam comes like a soccer ball to the face. The horns are aggressive tools of war, the pace of traffic is furious, and the touts are out for blood. This morning I was mobbed at the bus station by a cloud of mini-van assistants, pulling me first one way, then the other, shouting at each other that they'd seen me first. The policeman on the corner whacked my bag with his baton to get me out of the way. During the ride the attendant got into a yelling match with a passenger over who-knows-what, although it settled down after a couple minutes. I haven't heard voices raised in anger since the traffic snarls of Delhi.

I arrived in Hanoi only yesterday morning but I motored to Ninh Binh today, leaving the big city to be explored with my mother. I haven't even seen the town because I rented a bike and pedaled 9 km in the rain with some French kids to a little place called Tam Coc. Along the way we stopped for some drinking water (as if the stuff dripping from our faces wasn't enough), and the elderly lady working the stall was horrified that I was biking through that weather without a rain poncho. She was joined by a handful of people sitting nearby, and to appease the mob I bought one for 20 cents. With decisive movements she tore open the package, unfolded the thing, scrunched it up so I could get my head through, and then proceeded to dress me in my new waterproof apparel. She wasn't satisfied until I was safely enclosed in clear blue plastic, and even then everyone insisted that I get another one (I'm unsure if this was out of concern for my well-being or simply to make a sale). I kindly declined and we continued down the road.

Tam Coc is a landscape reminiscent of northern Laos with sheer stone hills rising straight from rice paddies and flat water, all enveloped by mist. In this case, however, there is a waiting army of Vietnamese women in conical bamboo hats waiting to row you across the water. The river twists through some narrow spots and then seems to end entirely, until you get close enough to the rock face to realize that there's a low tunnel stretching all the way through the mountain. One the other side yet another panorama of green and grey unfolds before you, and this repeats itself four times until it's time to turn back the way you came.

Our guides chattered amiabley to each other the whole while, rowing steadily as other boats bearing other rain-ponchoed tourists floated by. A handful of people, including our ladies, used the familiar method of hands and arms to move the oars through the water. Everyone else looked just as comfortable using their feet. Somehow their roughened soles moved precisely to turn the oar flat against the water, and then back to slice through the air. One smiley old woman, anywhere from 45 to 85, accompanied us on the way back, talking with our guides as her feet cycled through the air.

I Heart Fast Internet

2008-10-13T05:03:00.000-07:00

One of the beaches we visited from Railay, Krabi Province

Sunset on Railay Beach, when Nathan finally got to use that tripod he's been carting around all this time

Firecrackers exploding in Trang during the Vegetarian Festival

The local marching band passing by

The view from the pier at Chiew Lan Lake, Khao Sok National Park. After much useless questioning of travel agents and websites, we made our way to the entrance of the national park on a mission to find some floating bungalows. The numerous guest houses there all advertised the same trips so, lacking other options, we went along with a rotund little hobbit of a man on a two day trip out to the lake.

Love those long tail boat rides - after an hour those wooden planks get a little less quaint

At last, we found our floating bungalows, and they really were as cool as they look (the bathroom was across a barely-floating walking on the mainland, if you're wondering). Where else can you dive off your front porch into warm, clear, 75-foot deep water? There were even some plastic kayaks in which to wander around the lake.

Part of the excitement of our trip was a short walk (called a "jungle safari") through the nearby woods which was slightly slippery due to the torrential rains of the morning. We saw some long-tailed langurs and heard tons of gibbons, although they all seemed to be saying "it's the falang, run away, run away!"

From Khao Sok we hitched a ride up the eastern coast to Surattani, Chumpon, and then Prechuap Khiri Khaun. We hiked up 396 steps to a wat perched on a hill above the town where a couple monks were feeding bananas to the resident monkey troup. On the way back down we walked through a street festival, Thai style. That means frying everything from chicken legs to grubs and little birds, selling bathmats and tattoos (the permanent kind), and playing Thai pop music as loud as humanly possible.

The next afternoon Nathan and I headed 4 km from the city to the air force base that also serves as a popular weekend beach for the locals. It was pretty entertaining to cross the tarmac in a tuk-tuk, and then emerge into a bustling hub of Thai families cavorting in the ocean and lounging in chairs under the pine trees. Nothing like a little sand in your toes before a 5 hour bus ride to Bangkok.

Long Weekend Holiday

2008-10-06T03:39:00.001-07:00

One of the wonderful things about Thailand is that, upon entry, people of most nationalities are granted a 30-day visa free of charge to romp around the country. One of the annoying things about Thailand is that you only get 30 days. With mine expiring on October 6, Nathan and I are enjoying a brief holiday in the wonderful country of Malaysia.

A Malaysian man I met in Laos couldn't figure out why more people don't come to his country. He informed me that it's cheap, it's beautiful, and everyone speaks English. So far that all seems to be true. Even though the ferry terminal on Pulau Langkawi happens to be right next to the yacht club, and the large resorts on the pristine beaches cost more than my 6 month budget, in between there are still rice paddies, green hills, and women in head scarves serving up plates of rice at little road side restaurants.

Somehow our timing today was such that as soon as we approached the beach the clouds rolled in and rain started pelting down, and the minute we left the sun returned. The extremes in weather rather reflected the variety of tourists strolling through town. For every tanned European filly falling out of her bikini there was a completely covered Muslim woman walking down the beach with her family. Wandering around the Underwater World (Malaysia's largest aquari, or so it claims) the people watching was just as fascinating as the rock hopping penguins and technicolor sea horses. Brochures were offered in Tamil, Arabic, and Chinese, in addition to Malay and English, and there were definitely more languages floating around the watery halls.

Sadly, this visit will remain brief as Nathan and I hop the ferry back to Thailand tomorrow morning to continue our grand adventures. We've got a week left before he flies back to Montana, and I continue on to Vietnam to await the arrival of my next travel buddy, who also happens to be my mother.

Is That A Weed Whacker In Your Face Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

2008-10-05T06:04:00.000-07:00

Despite its gentle-sounding name, the Vegetarian Festival of southern Thailand requires both nerves of steel and a strong stomach. We've been able to glean that the celebration is a kind of Lent for folks of Chinese descent, where for 10 days people give up meat, dress in white, make offerings at the temples and participate in various processions. The most famous part is the self-mortification, where in the process of purifying themselves people will slice their tongues with large knives or hack at their backs with axes, among other things (see below).

Nathan and I arrived in Trang on a Friday afternoon, which gave us time to sip real coffee in a coffee shop and sample the culinary wonders of the night market - any combination of deep fried, sweet, and savory. By pure chance it was also the day before the main procession in town, hence the yellow and red banners lining the streets. Restaurants were flying yellow flags to indicate that they were serving vegetarian food, and the clothing stores had racks of white togs, occasionally decorated with red Chinese characters or dragons.

Saturday morning we walked around the corner past tables set up with fruit, water, and incense to join the local throngs awaiting the parade. Nobody seemed to mind that we weren't wearing white. A couple falang in the midst drew little attention compared to the approaching excitement. First came the dignitaries with large red banners and megaphones, then some appropriately confused-looking children dressed up in Chinese costumes. They were followed by teams of young men hoisting pagoda-style shrines on their shoulders, and then the fireworks started going off. Part of the game seemed to be shaking the shrine directly below the explosions, and soon the street was a riotous war zone of smoke, noise, and fluttering red paper.

Then through the smoke I could make out another group of men, also with a shrine, except this one was supported by metal rods stuck through their mouths. I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't eaten breakfast yet. There were other teams like this, then individuals with rods, skewers, or spears through their cheeks. The bike tire was bad enough, but I nearly crawled out of my skin when the guy with the weed whacker threaded through his face walked by. He was followed by a musical trio: saxophone, trumpet, and tuba. I haven't a clue how they got them where they were, much less how they walked around like that for the hours the parade wound its way through the city.

The procession went on and on. Just when you thought it was done another team came around the corner, dripping blood and sweat, stopping at the tables of offerings to confer their blessings. When the women with brooms finally came through to sweep up the red paper littering the streets, Nathan turned to me and asked, "So, is it time to find fried rice yet?"

Thailand Photo Journal

2008-09-29T05:21:00.000-07:00

Mae Ya Waterfall in Doi Inthanon National Park

Rocking my high fashion turtle helmet and movie star glasses to go with the puce vespa

Nuff said.

Nate-dogg, I don't think we're in Montana any more! Some of our new friends in Hell and at least they've got all their body parts

The view from the top more than made up for the heepie-jeebies we contracted below

Ko Tapoo, more popularly known as James Bond Island, in stormy Phang-nga Bay. This was used as the set for "The Man With The Golden Gun", which is on my to-view list for when I get back

Braving the 30 knot winds and driving winds on James Bond Island. All the dripping, miserable tourists in their wishful swimsuits made for some pretty entertaining people watching

Ko Panyee, home to a Muslim fishing village all built on stilts. The school kids here have the most amazing view ever, although low tide tends to get a bit pungent

Walking in a Buddhist Wonderland

2008-09-27T04:11:00.000-07:00

Everyone we met today tried to convince us not to go to Phang-nga. "Why are you leaving Phuket? This is where everybody goes!" "Phang-nga? There's nothing there!" "Everyone goes to Krabi or Phi-Phi, what are you doing?" Stubborn, rock-headed Americans that we are, Nathan and I found ourselves a bus anyway and trundled 86 kilometers northeast from the glitz and the chaos of Phuket. Something about strolling between a Starbucks and a sprawling Club Med to a strip of white sand populated by scanty swimsuits just didn't have the same appeal as exploring towering islands in the middle of a national park.

Phang-nga itself is a pretty simple affair with a central street where all the signs are in Thai and there's not a Speedo in sight. From the simple tour office facing the bus station we received a hand-drawn map (definitely not to scale) of all local points of interest: 7 Eleven, the three guest houses, various small markets, and a whole list of caves. After dropping our bags and grabbing a quick bowl of noodle soup we set off in search of an adventure.

A mile or so down the road we decided to follow the directions of a helpful pointing statue and took a right turn towards the vertical hills ringing the town. Sure enough, there were more helpful pointing statues guiding us into one of the most bizarre religious complexes I've encountered yet. It started out innocently enough with a row of animals from the Chinese zodiac. Down a set of stairs, however, we found ourselves in hell - quite literally. Concrete figures covered in oozing sores, losing eyeballs from sockets and limbs from bodies, were being attacked by all manners of demons with saws, axes, giant screws, or spears, dripping with garish red paint that was surprisingly effective in eliciting a response. After I picked my jaw off the ground and repressed my gag reflex we made a hasty retreat up a set of stairs that led, disconcertingly enough, into the mouth of a huge cave.

My skin still crawling from the gory scenes below, the cavern seemed more menacing than tranquil, bats fluttering from dark recesses and frogs croaking at us from some gloomy place below. The little golden shrine, hidden in the midst of graceful stalactites and swooping limestone formations, couldn't quite hold our attention as we kept checking over our shoulders for eagle-headed demons. Only when we had escaped through a long winding tunnel in the form of a huge dragon did my heart actually start beating normally again.

Oh, but the adventure wasn't over yet! We'd been through Hell, and now we needed to visit Heaven. A helpful old monk directed us to a narrow staircase made of concrete disguised as wood. We climbed above the rocky jungle all the way up to a shrine perched on an outcropping. It had not one, not two, but three levels, and when we got to the top we forgot all about the bizarre happenings below. Up there we had an amazing view of the jutting green hills fading to blue, out to a flat expanse we could only assume was Phang-nga Bay. We watched kids playing basketball below us and the sun illuminating the cliff faces across the valley.

Thank goodness for those helpful pointing statues, because after all that my poor brain was in no shape to navigate us back to the main road of whizzing scooters and food vendors.