Commencement Bay solo

Mary and Micah dropped me off right at 1pm. I was a bit surprised that I didn't see any of the other paddlers at the park, but maybe they were running a little late. I packed my gear and got the kayak down to the beach, waited around for the group to show. The sky was gray but the air was dry, not much rain in the forecast. The water was a sheet of steel, calm and unbroken all the way over to Vashon Island in the distance.

When nobody else had arrived by 1:30, I decided to start without them. I had planned to tag along with a group from Rogue Wave Adventures for the afternoon, stop in at Katie Down's for a brew to celebrate Bob's 29th birthday... but they must have changed their plans without letting me know. A bit rude, I must say, but it was still a nice day and I had a boat I needed to bring around anyway.

I paddled past the liberty ships berthed along the waterfront, the huge ready reserve vessels that seem permanently moored to the shore near Old Town. Past the park, where groups of people walked and skated, enjoying the break in the weather. (There are some places, far from here, where people go out to enjoy the sun on a Saturday afternoon. Here, we'll settle for it just not being too rainy.)

I beached at Katie Down's and went in to see if the group was there. Nope. I had a beer anyway - Happy Birthday, Bob - and left soon after. Back on the water again. I continued down the shoreline and past the ongoing restoration work at Ruston, past the yacht club. A bald eagle lit on the top of the flagpole out in front of the club as I paddled by.

I hadn't been to Anthony's for a while so I stopped in there as well, my wet footprints leaving a trail to the bar where I had a cup of chowder and a pint of Odin's Gift. (Good beer, that one.) Still no sign of the group. I didn't stay long there either and got back on the water to complete the trip.

Past Owen Beach where people skipped stones and dogs barked at me here and there, trying to figure out just what it was they were seeing. The tide had turned and the current began to carry me to the point, then around and into the Narrows. The wind had picked up, out of the southwest, but nothing to be concerned about. I stayed near the shore, watching as several more eagles swooped above me, then landed on branches far overhead. I pulled into Salmon Beach just as the gray sky began to fade to black, just as the rain began to fall.

It was strange, I thought, that I didn't at least see my group on the water somewhere. I went inside, checked the email that I'd gotten from Christine, about when and where to meet. Turns out I was a day early; their paddle wasn't happening until the next afternoon. I guess it really is important to check those pesky details.

No harm done. It was a good afternoon anyway.

Getting my retail on

Even though I mentioned it in a blurb there on the right side of the page, I think this bit of news deserves its own special entry: Azimuth Expeditions, the guide service and kayaking instruction outfit I started back in 2003, is going to be going through a major change. Azimuth grew out of Tahoma Outdoor Pursuits, a similar company I'd worked for since 1991. Along with one of the other guides, I took over TOPs and we turned it into Azimuth Expeditions, and it's had a pretty good run since then.

When Backpackers Supply closed in the summer of 2010, Tacoma no longer had any outdoor specialty shops, and certainly nothing that catered to kayakers and paddleboarders. I have been asked fairly regularly over the past 18 months if I was going to open a retail store and, for a variety of reasons, the answer has always been "No."

Until now. On March 1st, 2012, Playback Sports will be moving from its current location on North I street to larger digs in the Proctor District. When that happens, Azimuth will be moving in with it, occupying part of the same facility and setting up as a paddlesports retail partner. What this means is that, as of March 1st, Tacoma will once again have its own dedicated, local shop that deals in all things water sports.

I'll continue selling Kokatat (because it is the absolute best), along with Ortlieb, Captain Jack's, NRS and International Sailing's nautical charts. In addition to lines of new gear, I'm also looking to sell used items and I'm open for consignments of good used items that so many people have gathering dust in their garages and basements. There's a lot of great gear out there that isn't being used, and it should be. If you've got some that you want to get free of, let me know (percentages are good). 253.691.7941

Along with the retailing, classes and tours will continue and, undoubtedly, expand as the season commences. I'm looking forward to seeing you in the new shop.

On ice

There used to be a bar at the Paradise Inn up at Mount Rainier. I don't know if it was a good bar or not, but I seem to remember that I had a pretty good time there.

There was one time, seven of us in our party, me and Tony, and 5 Brits. I wouldn't say we were their guides - because that would have been wrong - but we were the local knowledge, which is what they were looking for. They were part of a group that had come over for a trip we were running in the Olympics back then, a combination backpacking/kayaking gig, with a couple of dozen participants. When that trip had ended, these guys wanted to do some climbing, so we did.

The night before we started up, I remember going into the bar at the lodge for dinner and a beer. Or two. Whatever. And when we came back down, after a mostly successful climb, we went back for a celebratory round.

It was the kind of a place that seemed like it had several lifetimes of stories built into every panel and booth. Where lies were exchanged and friendships forged. I am sure that we were only one group of thousands who had started or ended our climb there, and now you can't even find a photo of the place online.

The grand old building was remodeled a few years back and when the dust cleared, the bar was no longer in the floor plan. I think that's a pity.

The wrath of Aeolus

I was awakened by the wind this morning. Actually, I woke up at a few points during the night to the sound of the gales whipping through the trees on the hillside above the house and the waves crashing on the beach. There are some who profess to like the wind; I am not one of them.

Wind, especially this cold, gusty stuff that pummels me to sleep on a winter's night, is a malevolent force. To my way of thinking, anyway. Knocking down trees and power lines, pushing the high tide even higher, tearing pieces off of docks and strewing dead leaves and litter all around. The high winds and surf tore into the jetty out at La Push yesterday, with sea water overtopping the rock wall and damaging some waterfront buildings, swirling tons of new sand into the dredged channel.

When I say that I am not particularly fond of wind, I am not talking about the soft summer breezes of a Jimmy Buffett song. The tickling puffs of moving air that carry a scent of jasmine or that toss the hair from a pretty girl's face. This winter wind is a titanic force, unseen, but all the more powerful because of it. It has the ability to upset the apple cart of my daily life with its falling limbs across the roadway and drift logs under the house, tearing out the plumbing in seconds flat.

But, as it turns out, there is not much I can do about it.

Japanese flotsam, Part 1

The first glass fishing net floats came out of Norway, back in the mid-1800's. I didn't realize this... I just assumed that they were a Japanese invention, possibly because I live on the Pacific coast and the ones that make their way to beaches in North America started their journeys in the land of the rising sun.

Ever since I first heard of these items, I have looked for them at every opportunity. I was probably about 10 years old when the idea was first presented to me that something as wondrous as this was out there, riding the ocean currents for years, then washing ashore, perhaps right at my feet. For me, the thought that I might find one of these treasures in the wrack line somewhere became a kind of beachcomber's grail story, one I've been telling myself over and over again.

I've come close. My buddy Jon found one near Sand Point on the Olympic coast one time as we were unpacking our kayaks. We walked back and forth between the boats and the camp a few times, and our footprints in the sand made a trail that passed right by a clump of kelp that had rolled up onto the beach. On one of our passes, Jon looked down and picked up something from out of the seaweed pile, brushed it off with a swipe of the hand and there it was. About four or five inches in diameter - it wasn't a big one - but it was a legitimate Japanese float and I had practically stepped on it several times without seeing it.

I wonder how many times that has happened, how many times I've been right on top of one and haven't noticed it. I have spent a significant chunk of my life on beaches from California to Alaska... I have to figure there were times when, if I had just been looking in the right place, or looking with a little more intent...

They aren't being made anymore. Cheaper, more durable, plastic floats have taken over the scene (and I have found zillions of those.) They are utilitarian items, without craftsmanship or magic. Could it be that there are still some glass ones out there somewhere, waiting for me to find them? Maybe this year?

Paper routes and chain saws

The snow that we had dumped on us earlier in the week is gone, or mostly gone. There are still some folks without power, although that scene is about over as well. It's back to normal, or whatever normal may mean, anyway. The wind is still with us though, and is expected to continue, knocking down the odd tree here and there.

Speaking of which... I'm doing the paper route down at the beach this week. I'm the replacement for the regular paper boy (who's actually 71 years old and having some medical issues), and I'm not exactly sure how long my role as media dispersal agent will be going on. I don't mind it... I'm a morning person, after all, but this has been a particularly trying week for winter coastal paper delivery.

Take Friday, for example. I had to break out the chainsaw to clear two fallen trees from the road into the parking lot before I even got started with the route. So I'm out there at 5am, with the headlamp on and the delivery pouch over by the side of the road, next to the gas can, and I'm thinking, "How many paper boys need a chainsaw to get their route done?" It's got to be a pretty small demographic.

And tomorrow's Sunday. That's the big paper, dammit. A thankless job, I tell you, this home delivery of newsprint. And one that will not be around much longer...

Brother, can you spare a ham on rye?

There's a fox up at Paradise, hanging out near the visitor's center. He's given up the wild life for the easy handout, given up fresh meat for stale popcorn and bologna sandwiches. Ignorant tourists feed him their Wonder bread and HoHo's, and they get dumber while he gets softer.

Begging is never pretty.

Heavy reading

I was thumbing through the latest issue of Orion magazine, when I came across an article by Paul Kingsnorth, Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist. It is an excellent piece and I'm not going to try to condense the whole thing here - you should probably go read it for yourself. The synopsis would be something like, in our current obsession with reducing carbon output, with the concept of sustainability, we have lost sight of what we are trying to save. Maybe even lost all chance to save it.

In other words, the present state of what passes for environmental awareness - wind farms, solar arrays, tidal turbines, etc. - revolves around keeping our creature comforts, our way of life, just without the carbon. "It is the latest phase of our careless, self-absorbed, ambition-addled destruction of the wild, the unpolluted and the non-human. It is the mass destruction of the world's remaining wild places in order to feed the human economy. And without any sense of irony, people are calling this 'environmentalism.'"

It's heavy stuff, for the most part, but it rings true. Uncomfortably true. I'm not sure what to do about it personally... and therein lies the real problem. Mr. Kingsnorth doesn't either. He finishes the article by saying, "I withdraw from the campaigning and the marching, I withdraw from the talked-up necessity and all of the false assumptions... I have been busy fragmenting the world in order to save it; busy believing it is mine to save... I will follow the songlines and see what they sing to me and maybe, one day, I might even come back. And if I am very lucky I might bring with me a harvest of fresh tales, which I can scatter like apple seeds across this tired and angry land."

It's an eloquent and provocative piece and this little sampling doesn't do it justice. It raises more questions than answers, which can be frustrating to some minds. But the only way that answers can arrive is for the questions to be asked.

Waiting for the end of the world

There's a snow storm coming, that's what they say. "They," being the weather oracles, the forecasters of white doom. I don't mean to belittle the science and alchemy of short-term climate prognostication, and they may very well be right this time, but I fear we are getting soft. Softer. The schools have all been canceled for tomorrow, the buses are all on storm schedules. People are being warned to stay near home and hearth, keep the pipes clear and the wood stove stoked...

And there's nary a snowflake in sight. Not yet, anyway. Now, I'm not saying there won't be. I'm not saying that we won't all wake up to a winter wonderland tomorrow, sleigh bells ringing, and all that. I'm just saying that it's not here yet and we're all acting like it is. We - and by "we," I mean our entire society - are now officially a bunch of old women.

Strike that. The old women are the tough ones.

Oh my God... it's going to snow!! Stop the presses... stop life as we know it. Maybe it'll be a big one, maybe not. It seems it will be bigger than we are though, either way.

Money matters

With a few notable exceptions, I've never been much of a joiner. I've always been a member of the school of thought that says, "If nominated, I will not run and, if elected, I will not serve.".

With that said, I am the new Treasurer for the South Sound chapter of Surfrider. I volunteered - I've got no one to blame but myself. And the funny thing is, I'm really looking forward to being more involved in some of the things that Surfrider has coming up. There are kid's surf camps with the Makah and the Quileute, beach clean-ups in the Sound and on the coast and some other great programs. Which I'll probably get into later.

As for being the Treasurer, I'm not sure I bring anything special to the mix. I can add and subtract, so there's that. Hopefully, that will be enough.

Venting

Well, that was hard to take. The Denver Broncos were still the worst team in the divisional round of the NFL playoffs, but not by much. There's gonna be some changes around Green Bay in the offseason, I'll wager. Now that I'm an owner, I might just have to get involved, make some management decisions.

As Homer Simpson put it so well: "I've seen teams suck before, but this is the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked." It's going to be a long time till September.

A Half-good trip

The idea was that I would go to Paradise the first day, do a little snowshoeing, and the next day I'd head to the southern side of the Mount Tahoma Trails, maybe ski to the yurt, just as a day trip. The first part of the plan went well; the second half fell a little short.

Paradise is well named, let's just say that right up front. Clear skies, plenty of snow. I strapped on the shoes and went out on the Skyline Trail at first, away from the more crowded areas, and in less time than it's taken to type this, I was all alone in the backcountry. That's how it felt, anyway.

The mountain dominated the view. When you're the size of Mount Rainier, there's not much that's going to upstage you. Hundreds of feet of exposed stone, too steep to hold snow, hanging a mile overhead, mixed with glaciers and snow fields gleaming white in the blinding sunlight. The summit seemed close, much closer than it was. I've heard stories about visitors who didn't know any better, who got confused by the scale of the place, and set out for the summit in blue jeans and tennie runners, thinking they would get up and back by supper time. Resulting in the inevitable call to Search and Rescue.

I can see how it would happen; the summit is like some kind of magnet to the soul. I fought the urge to climb and kept to the lower elevations instead.

With the excellent snow pack, it was no trouble to cut across one ridge, then another, and find my way to the Alta Vista Trail. As the sun descended, I came back down to the parking lot, fully satisfied with an afternoon well spent.

The next morning, I had hoped for another slice of heaven, but it was not to be. The snow that graced Paradise didn't quite make it to the Tahoma Trails, a couple of thousand feet lower down. There was some snow, but not enough strap on the skis. Some icy patches amid the gravel, anticlimactic compared to the previous day. I walked up the trail toward High Hut for a while, thinking that if I hit snow line, I could come back and grab the skis.

In the end, I lost interest and pointed the car back toward home. There will be other days.

That's the way it goes

Snowshoeing the trails near Paradise was fun, but the skiing on the Mount Tahoma Trails didn't happen. Not enough snow cover. That will be changing in the next few days but it may be a while before I have the chance to make it back up there.

Meh...

I'll post some shots of Paradise later.

Cure for the common cold

As the sun came up this morning, I could see the oranging glow on the peaks of the Olympics. So far away and yet so close. It is cold out there today and the frigid air makes everything clearer, even the crenalations and the parapets of mountains fifty miles distant.

Today, however, I am going in the other direction. Mount Rainier... Paradise this afternoon, I hope, and then a day on the Tahoma Ski Trails tomorrow. I'm fighting a cold, which makes the whole venture a little misguided - sleeping in a snowbank, alternating between sweating and freezing - not the best idea, perhaps.

Still, sometimes you just have to go.

Balance

Sure, it's been cold. But it hasn't been that cold. And yes, it's winter, but compared to other winters we've had lately, it's been pretty dry and easy-going. By this time last year, we'd already had significant snowfall here at sea level and there were at least a half-dozen mornings where I'd broken through a bit of plate ice on my morning paddle. Not so this year.

They say it may change this weekend. Or by Monday, anyway. A front is on its way, which is weather-code for precipitation, and with temperatures forecast to fall, snow is a possibility once again.

It's one of those sweet-and-sour predicaments... too little snow and the skiing crowd is despondent; too much and you can't get up to where you wanted to go because the roads are impassable. (I'm not talking about the resorts. Money keeps those roads open, fuels the apparatus that makes more money.) It's the backcountry spots, where there's a chance of spending a day beyond the reach of the madding crowd, that are harder to get to when the snow falls too heavily. You can buy your snow park permit, but it doesn't guarantee you'll be able to make it to the snow park.

I'm going up to the mountains in the next few days, before the big dump comes (if indeed, the big dump is coming.) I'm hoping for the right balance of accessibility and white stuff.

Elusive harmony

I have done some long trips. Arduous, painful, wonderful, beautiful, trying, exhausting and amazing trips. In kayaks mostly, or on paddleboards, although I've had a few mountain adventures in there as well.

I have never done anything like these guys though, (seriously, watch the video), a mind-numbing, unsupported skiing/walking slog to the South Pole. I just finished reading about the trip and I have a few thoughts: First off, the expense hurts my head. A couple of million dollars (or more), for three guys to walk less than 900 miles. That's an oversimplification, to be sure, but when it's all said and done, that's the nut. Secondly, these blokes, being Brits (and one Canadian), had some anti-American verbiage at the end of their book that seemed like a desperate attempt to salvage some dignity for their effort - after an amazing ship-sinking episode and the subsequent rescue - when I thought the concept, in and of itself, was pretty respectable right from the start.

The thing that really hit me, however, was the extent to which the three principal characters seemed to be constantly in opposition to one another. Niggling, back-stabbing, cold and hurtful comments served with lemon juice and sandpaper were the norm. They were so close for so long that it was probably inevitable that they get snide, snarky and petty. Of course, they were kind of like that from the start, which should have set off bells for them; quite frankly, the fact that they wrote about their disagreements so openly made for uncomfortable reading at times.

This is not to denigrate what the trio accomplished. It's a long walk in a harsh place... in the footsteps of Scott and Amundsen, and damn few others. I can't help but think though...

I'm looking at a pretty major project this year myself. Open coast, just three of us, wild country with limited avenues of escape. Nothing like Antarctica, but remote and beyond, in its own way. (More on this upcoming.) I hope I, and the people I am with, can maintain better than these guys.

And, just as important, I really hope my boat doesn't sink.

Still locked up

I got an email the other day from a family member of Ellen DeBondt, an update on where the Amber Steim situation is now and what's likely to happen going forward.

More delays, this time as a result of the prosecuting attorney's parents being ill and her need to be away and caring for them. The trial, which was scheduled to begin in February, will get pushed further into the future.

Which is not real good news for those who are seeking justice, or closure, or some small sign that the legal system is not completely constipated. Of course, it could be worse. At least the defendant is still locked up, and will remain locked up, for the forseeable future. In order for Amber Steim to be released on bail again, she'll have to go through a hearing and, even more problematic - considering her character and self-destructive bent - the party posting her bail will have to take responsibility for her actions upon her release.

Considering her demonstrated inability to put the bottle down, for someone else to assume responsibility for whatever buffoonery she might get into next seems like a pretty high bar to clear. It's hard to know how long the current situation will hold up, but at least the roads are safer for now.

Probably running tomorrow

I'm still getting out in the mornings. Mostly on the SUP but I'm also doing a little running as well. I have this crazy idea that I might do a few races this year - nothing complicated - like a few 5k's and a 10k, maybe, on my way to doing the Sound to Narrows this June.

I did the Sound to Narrows 20 years ago. My "Running Year," is how I think of it now. I had always wanted to run a marathon so, in 1992, I trained religiously, ran some shorter races over the course of the year, then did the Portland Marathon in the fall. I did ok, as I recall. No records were broken but I seem to remember being satisfied with the results. And I haven't run a whole lot since.

But I think I'd like to give it a try again this year. (The Sound to Narrows part, not the marathon part.)

But, truth be told, at 4-something on a rainy winter morning, I'd rather be on a SUP on the Foss or in the Narrows than on a run through the darkened lanes and trails of Point Defiance. There's just something about walking on water.

* * * * *

Update: Nah, I went paddleboarding.

Longer

On January 1st, just a few days ago, sunrise came at 8:01 am and sunset at 4:28 pm. Today, according to them who know, the sun will come up a full minute earlier and drop at 4:34 pm. That's 7 more glorious minutes of daylight in less than a week.

How will you use it?

Shooting stars

It's clouded over now and the forecast is calling for rain later today, but when I first got up and out on the board this morning, the sky was mostly clear. It's warmer out there today too, which feels good to me.

I don't know if there's a predicted meteor shower going on right now, but I saw four shooting stars in the northern sky while I paddled, an hour or two ago.

* * * * *

UPDATE: Sure enough... it's amazing what a little casual research will get you. More info here.