That Time of Year Again

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...

...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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.