More details later

Stand Up for Watertrails

Part I Belfair - Dawatto Bay

Feb 27 Belfair State Park - Menard's Landing 12 NM
Feb 28 Menard's Landing - Dewatto Bay 6 NM

Came up a little short today. Brutal shuttles both days, but today especially. Yesterday was like a dream... perfect calm water, blue sky. I jumped in twice just to cool off. Today was windy and cold. Most of the miles were with the sea kayak paddle, on my knees or on my butt.

And so it begins. I'll post a more detailed account later.

Best of times

It's been a year since I first started writing in this particular forum, since I decided to get serious about the Olympic Peninsula. Or maybe "serious" isn't the right word.

It's been a year of early mornings, a year of coffee served with a view of the mountains, or the water. Windy days in a kayak, battling frothy Pacific rollers, quiet nights in the woods, where the deep forest absorbs all sound, where the flames from the camp fire flicker with an ancient light. Twelve months of driving back roads and logging tracks, missing turnoffs and eating at greasy spoons. A year of canoeing and throwing pebbles into streams, watching my young son double in age, and triple in confidence. A hundred miles or more of trail hiking, and thousands of miles of dreaming as I stare at the maps, following the contour lines with focused eye, happily living through imagination until the time comes to turn those mental wanderings into physical journeys.

Don't look now, but there's another year already on the go. I need to venture out and meet it. After all, it's not that life is so short, it's that you're dead for so long.

Orange Crush

It is not a glamorous thing, this shuttle bike of mine. It is a Schwinn Varsity (the model that many of us, of a certain age, owned growing up). It is orange and heavy, with a little rust in some places and scattered irregularities in its steel rims. It is no longer a ten-speed, although all of the sprockets are still in place. With a little coercion, I can usually get it to operate in three gears, maybe four, which makes the uphill portions of any shuttle a rather tedious process. I have dubbed it the Orange Crush.

It may not be much of a bike, but then, I am not much of a rider. I've used it mainly for backpacking trips, riding a few miles here and there on logging roads to get to trailheads. It saves time and, at the end of the trip, when the legs are the most fatigued, it saves wear and tear. I've used it on quite a few river runs, sometimes even carrying it with me in the canoe, its front tire propped hard against the gunwale. It will play a role in the trip coming up, soon to be taken from its perch in the garage and pressed into service once more.

It is not particularly good looking. It creaks and rattles and none of the bolts seem to like being tightened. The brakes work, though not well, and every downhill stretch is a crap shoot. Still, I can't complain. The O.C. cost me $10 a couple of years ago and it's been worth every penny. Over the course of the next six weeks or so, I expect I'll be riding more than a few back roads between start and stop points, stashing it in the bushes where it will stay until I come back in the van to claim it. I usually hide it well, although I doubt anyone would get overly excited about stealing it.

The shuttle rides on Orange Crush are sometimes the most dangerous and exciting portions of the trip. I'm grateful for the lift and there's a part of me that is fond of this machine, but through it all, I remain a reluctant cyclist.

A New page

Updates on the Puget Sound Challenge SUP odyssey can be found on the Last Wilderness website (as opposed to this here blog) and will be posted as often as I feel like it.

If you haven't checked it out lately, take a look when you get the chance. As always, if you have any questions or comments, just shoot me an email.

Opportunity Cost

I took an Economics class years ago, for some reason that must have been important at the time. I am not particularly good with numbers, and money has never been a passion of mine, so I don't remember much of what I supposedly learned in the course, but there was one concept that has stuck with me over time. Although I struggled mightily to understand many of the economic principles that were taught, I immediately got the idea of Opportunity Cost. Opportunity cost or economic opportunity loss is the value of the next best alternative foregone as the result of making a decision and it implies the choice between desirable, yet mutually exclusive results. (Thank you, Wikipedia.)

The essential truth is this: If you decide to do something, part of the cost of doing that thing is that you must give up the benefits that might come from doing something else.

I'm thinking about this idea now that I am soon to start the Hood Canal section of the Puget Sound Challenge (less than a week away.) In order to complete the route in a relatively short time, I'm no longer planning to do the Anderson Pass/Enchanted Valley backcountry traverse that I had been planning for March. I'll be spending those 5 days on the water instead, hopefully rounding Foulweather Bluff and working my way back south through the Sound.

I'm looking forward to getting started and I believe it's going to be a fantastic trip. I expect that I will see and experience some amazing things. I will not, however, have the pleasure of topping out on Anderson Pass on a blue-sky, winter day. I won't see the wild expanse of the Pacific from high on an Olympic crest or hear the falling rain on a forest canopy. I might see whales (it could happen), but I won't see mountain goats. All these and more comprise my opportunity cost, the things I will miss because of the choice I've made. The road not taken, eh?

Regrets, when we have them, seem to arise less as a result of the things we've done and more from the things that we have chosen not to do. Life is one big opportunity cost. Choose wisely.

Synchronicity

Ever since I first stepped onto a Standup Paddleboard (SUP) last summer, I have been thinking about doing an extended trip. After all these years of kayaking - not that I'm done yet - I wanted to try something different and I knew from the first tentative paddle stroke I took on that demo board that this was it. I figured that a paddle up Hood Canal would provide me with a different perspective of the Olympic Peninsula and a sense of how the region is joined and separated at various points along its eastern edges.

I've been plotting out my intended course for a few months now, trying to guess at distances that I can cover, putting together a plan. It's easy for me, after a couple of decades of sea kayaking, to dead reckon my route and be pretty acurate but with a lack of direct knowledge of the same information as it applies to an SUP, it's still a bit of a guessing game for me.

Yesterday, as I was picking through my mail, I came across the latest mailing from the Washington Water Trails Association (WWTA), and an article about the Puget Sound Challenge, a year-long event put on by the Olympic Kayak Club. The idea is to put in at Belfair and make your way up Hood Canal to the point it connects with the rest of the sound, turning hard right as you pass Foulweather Bluff. The route continues south past Bainbridge Island, through Colvos Passage and the Tacoma Narrows, then winds back up Case Inlet to Allyn, where it ends. That's 150 miles by water, all the way around the Kitsap Peninsula. The idea is to finish it within the year, and a portion of the proceeds go to benefit the WWTA, which does great work all over Washington on behalf of access issues and campsite management for those of us who spend our days in human-powered nautical pursuits.

I'm not going to go through all the details of the event - you can read all about it here. I'm doing it... it seemed liked an unlikely synchronicity that something like this would so perfectly dovetail with plans I had already made. I'm going to start next week in Belfair, just as I had planned, on a 2-day paddle up the canal. The difference is that now, instead of stopping at Shine Tidelands, near the Hood Canal Bridge, I'm going to continue the trip all the way around. I'm guessing it will take 10 days or so, and I'll break the effort up into at least three segments.

Because the WWTA has been such a valuable part of my Washington paddling experience, I am planning on doing this as a benefit for the organization, and I will be taking pledges to help raise money so that the work of WWTA can continue strong. I hope you will consider making a donation - email me with your pledge at info@lastwilderness.net. I will be posting updates on the Last Wilderness website as the trip progresses, and I'll keep the site up to date with the amount raised as well. My goal is to put together a $2500 donation to WWTA at the end of the voyage.

Incidently, I'm pretty sure this would be a first for an SUP. I know there will be a plethora ofkayaks that do it, and probably a few canoes and row boats, but I'll bet there aren't many of us making the trip standing up. (If you're out there and you're thinking about it, let me know. I'd love the company.)

Dam

Back in the Fall of 2007, I wrote a short Field Report for the Azimuth Expeditions web site about a family canoe outing on Lake Aldwell. At the time, a dam removal project was slated to begin in just a few months, and it was with a sense of urgency that I chose the destination. "Now, with the removal of the dams on the Elwha River just a few months away, I figured I'd better go for a look before it was gone forever." That's what I wrote then.

Well, the dam is still there. Along with its sister dam a few miles farther inland, the one that holds back the waters of Lake Mills. They're still scheduled to be demolished, but the date has been moved back to 2011. Or maybe 2012. Quien sabe?

I wonder if it's one of those things that a person could watch, when it happens. I believe I'd like to see a dam get removed. Meantime, I think I'll go back to Lake Aldwell again, maybe this Spring.

Research

Looking ahead to my upcoming SUP trip on Hood Canal, I have been perusing the web for tales of other touring paddleboarders. There are a few, but not many. I suspect that will change very quickly.

One that I enjoyed was an account of a paddle around Cape Scott, at the northern tip of Vancouver Island. In addition to this trip, paddler Dave Collins has also done a 3-day trip in Mexico, where the general warmth and perfect conditions in the photos can't help but catch your eye. Definitely isn't Washington.

My plan is to paddle the length of Hood Canal, probably beginning in the south, near Belfair, and continuing up to Shine Tidelands, just north of the floating bridge. Total distance is just under 60 miles, although the duration of the trip is going to be extremely wind and weather dependent. I suppose if I wanted to be assured of the best conditions, I'd go in the summer, but I can't. I have other things I need to do in the summer.

One thing I'm struck by when I look at Dave Collins' pictures of his trips is the amount of gear he has strappped to his deck. On the Cape Scott trip, his deck is awash and the drybags filled with his equipment are piled high on the front of the board (which happens to be a Laird 12'1", same as mine.) The bundle is massive and can't be easy to push around. I believe he travels with an extensive array of video gear in addition to camping supplies, but it still seems like more than I want to deal with.

My packing goal is to get everything I need for three days into a 39-liter zip bag. The bag itself is not waterproof, but its contents will be split into smaller drybags before being packed inside. Essentially it's ultralight SUPing, with all the lessons learned from superlight backpacking carrying over. Once I get the equipment set for certain, I'll weigh it and put a list together.

The big thing I learned from my fastpacking experience this past summer is that less weight really does bring more pleasure. I never once said to myself that I should have brought more stuff along with me, but I often thought how much more enjoyable everything was with less on my back. I'm willing to bet the same applies to the SUP.

9 - 5

Got back from the family ski trip... Mary did the skiing part, I threw rocks in the river with the boy, hiked all over the town of Index and waited for trains to pass by. Which is just how we liked it. Suffice to say that we saw one very long train, hopped on many railroad ties, sat in a fire truck and moved a large number of rocks, one at a time, to deep water. A good time was had by all.

Looking at the calendar, I see that it will be another 10 days before I have time to head back out to the peninsula. Working for a living is really starting to wear on me. I remember being told as a child about how the future would bring with it more free time, how robots would do all the messy work and life would be so much easier. I don't know all the whys and wherefors, but it hasn't turned out that way.

Time is the most precious commodity that ever was and most people, myself included, do not appreciate how rare and fleeting it truly is. We chase money, and we trade our time to get the cash, never completely grokking the concept of what we're actually doing. If you give up an item of great value that can never be replaced in order to get something ordinary and common, you will be seen as a buffoon and a wastrel, unless you're trading time for money. We all do that, you see, so no one is pointing fingers. It's normal. It's the way it's always been.

But here's the rub: Just because we're all doing it doesn't make it right. Or sane. Warren Zevon used to say that the secret to a happy life is to enjoy every sandwich. I don't know if that's the whole story but it seems closer to the truth than putting in another eight hours in the salt mine.

(Better be careful. It's thinking like this that leads to extended periods of unemployment.)

To the mountains

The long weekend is here. To celebrate our fortune at being able to string four days together where we don't have to work at someone else's behest, we're off to ski the weekend away at Steven's Pass. Our family is part of a group of about 15 that will all be staying together in a rented house near the resort. (Think Real World meets I Love the 80's.) I wonder what Micah will make of it all.

Fresh water

I finally got out of town at about 1:30pm. Not exactly an early start. I hadn't planned on the snow either, but judging from the number of cars in the ditch along my route, neither did most of the other drivers out there. By the time I got to Belfair, it was already 3:00pm. Belfair State Park was closed and the entrances to Twanoh and Potlatch had not been plowed, so there was no sense in trying those either. I ended up at Dosewallips State Park, getting in just before dark. That was Day 1.

Well, not exactly. I did have dinner, the classic car-camping bachelor feast that I don't get very often. Steak, grilled over cedar coals, and baked beans heated in the can over the fire. All washed down with an icy cold beer. Or two. After eating, I built up the fire and stood there, staring into the flames, staying warm. There is something about a fire on a winter's night, the way the flames lick up at the cold and dark, like they are hungry. The oscillating circle of warmth that keeps the night air at bay. The crackling snaps and pops of the wood as it burns, a random syncopation that seems almost musical.

In the morning, I rose before the sun. As the sky got light, it became clear that this would be a very different day from the one that preceded it, at least weather-wise. There was not a cloud to be seen anywhere as the sun broke past the eastern horizon and although it was still bitter cold, there was the promise that it would warm up a little.

My plans had changed substantially over the past week. I had thought of going to Lake Constance to try some ultralight SUP camping, then I'd thought about starting a journey up Hood Canal; in the cold light of the morning, neither option sounded right to me. The clear skies had arrived with the wind, and the water on the Canal was already choppy and unwelcoming, even at 8:30 in the morning. That's when I thought of Lake Kokanee.

There are two large dams on the Skokomish. The larger dam holds back the waters of Lake Cushman; just downriver from there is another dam, and the little lake that it has created is Lake Kokanee. I had never been there before and my hunch is that it is not a lake that sees many visitors, even in the summer. It has a park that seems like a community facility, meant for the use of area residents, and it has a Fish and Wildlife boat launch and parking area. Other than that, there is no waterfront develpment at all. The parking lots are all deep in snow, so I park on the road, taking advantage of the fact that there is no traffic and feeling fairly confident that any local tow trucks were probably still busy cleaning up the abandoned vehicles from the previous day.

Once I got on the water, it all started feeling right. (It's always like that.) The sides of the lake are very steep, rising almost vertically for hundreds of feet, and there are houses along the crest, but not too many. A few McMansions here and there, built to impress. Doesn't everyone need 7500 square feet, sixteen rooms and a water view? It didn't take long, however, before these were mostly behind me.

It seemed strange to me to be on fresh water. Most of my time on the water is spent among the passageways of Puget Sound or the rocks and waves of the open coast. I love the dynamic of the sea, with its changes and moods and the sights and smells that you can't find anywhere else. I see lakes, especially dammed lakes, as dead ends. They don't really take you anywhere... the shore on one side is just the same as the shore on the other. When you're on the ocean, the land on the other side is Japan. On this day though, this place was fine with me.

Kokanee is a small lake, and its shape it that of the canyon that formed it. It winds through steep sides through heavy forest that comes right down to the water's edge. There are no real beaches to speak of, although there were a few spots where I could have come ashore if I'd wanted to. I stayed on the board, stopping to take a photo here and there, mostly just soaking up the mountain air and letting the sun warm me to the bone. At the northwest end of the lake, a sign warns boaters to stay away from the powerhouse - the Lake Cushman dam is not far upstream. I turned around here as well, even though I could have kept going for a little ways. There is a limit to how many laws I will break in a day and I didn't want to push it.

Kenstruction

I'm sore. Feeling my age, I suppose. Normally, I feel a little fatigued after a couple days of paddleboarding, not before.

But I'm leaving today for Hood Canal, gonna do a couple days on the water and see how far I get. It's my reward to myself for getting the fence done. ("Done" may not be the ideal word to describe the current status of the project, but it's done enough that I feel a couple of days away from the hammer and the saw are in order. The last two days have been dawn-to-dusk workfests, and I have moved a lot of wood around.

Building the fence actually went pretty well. The long sections went up quickly but the gates took longer and were more involved. It is always easier to build walls than doorways. That's true for life in general - it is a reality not peculiar to construction projects.

Gimme shelter

The U.S. Forest Service went into the shelter-making business in the late 1920's and the 1930's on trails throughout the Olympic peninsula. As trails were being carved in to the land, shelters were constructed as part of the Forest Service's multiple land use management policy, intended to encourage backcountry recreational use. By the late 1930s, nearly 90 shelters had been erected. Less than 20 remain today.

The Anderson Pass shelter (above), is rectangular in shape and measures approximately 22' x 19'. It is a rough-hewn, one story building with pole wall construction and vertical board and batten siding. Its modified gable roof features cedar shakes and exposed log rafters. Inside, there is a wooden floor and several bunk bed frames that line the rear wall. has a horizontal log sill on a stone foundation with slat wood floorboards and bunk beds extends along rear wall.

I have never slept in any of the shelters I have come accross in my Olympic ramblings. They tend to be havens for rodents and often seem dark and depressing compared to the forest and streams around them. I prefer a tent or a tarp. Or nothing at all. I have taken refuge in them during storms, however, and I appreciate the fact that there are still a few of them around. One of the best cups of tea I have ever had was one that I made in the Happy Four Shelter, on my way out from climbing Mount Olympus, during a raging thunderstorm back in 1993.

Funny how some things just stick with you.

Selling books and telling stories

A rainy Saturday in the Pacific Northwest. I'm heading up to Mercer Island today to do a couple of presentations for the Washington Water Trails Association Winter Sea Kayak Seminar. It's always a crap shoot how these things will play out. This year, with the vagaries of the economy weighing heavy on everyone's mind, it is even more so. It's good to talk paddling though... I hope it goes well.

In the map room

When I plan a trip to a place I've never been before, I get every last bit of information out of the maps and charts I have for that area. I'll get out the dividers and break down the route into discrete segments: At approximately 1.3 miles past the point, there should be a small beach behind several large rock formations. There is a spring in the hill on the south side, about 200 feet from the sandbar. It's thorough. It may even be a tad obsessive.

But it's fun, and it's strangely fulfilling. To really get intimate with a place before you even see it... to me, this makes the entire experience even more impressive. There are some who say that overpreparation is akin to a crime - that the wilderness should be encountered on its own terms, without preconceptions. I can respect that point of view but I do not share it. I will allow them their beliefs, and they will allow me mine.

The funny thing about maps and charts, and this is a fact: once you've been to the places on the map, the magic is gone. There is a familiarity with the ground that comes with the journey, and while a map still serves as a valuable reference tool after your return, it no longer holds the mystery it once had. You no longer have to imagine what the road is like between Oaxaca and Puerto Escondido... you've been there. If you really want to get the most out of your maps and charts, use them now.

Rescheduling

I've heard it said that life is something that happens to you while you're busy making other plans. That sounds about right.

I was scheduled to go to a 3-day ski demo next week up at Mission Ridge. To tell the truth, I was looking forward to it, maybe learn a thing or two... at least get a chance to see how some of the equipment works that I am busy dealing with every day. (This winter, I'm working as a ski tech, tuning, repairing and mounting skis. Ironic really, considering my relative ignorance of the sport.) The word came down a couple days ago that, due to budget constraints and the overall economic climate, we won't be participating in the demo after all.

I saw it coming and, although I am sorry that I won't be making the trip, it does open up some time, and I think I've come up with a plan. I'm going to use the time to rebuild our fence here at the house. It's a project that needs doing and with the time suddenly coming available, I may as well get it done. And then, and then...

Since I started paddleboarding last summer, I've thought it might be a good trip to paddle the length of Hood Canal. Start in the south and ride north to the bridge, taking the measure of the shoreline along the way. It would be an interesting voyage and I'm fairly sure it hasn't been done yet. I was holding out for a longer board - we are expecting some Bark 14-footers in the shop sometime soon - but I got tired of waiting so I installed tiedown points on my board a couple days ago.

I figure that, even though a longer board would be better for flat-water touring, I would lose out on the surfing capabilities that a board like mine has to offer. While this is not likely to be a factor on any trip in Hood Canal, I can envision using my board to get to isolated coastal surf breaks this summer, and I want the ability to carry some supplies with me. I used 4" raft loops from Northwest River Supply and secured them to the board with a generous helping of marine sealant. For a bag, I am using a WX Tex zip-top storage bag which, although it is not totally waterproof, is the perfect shape and weight for the job. Any items carried inside that must stay dry will be in individual dry bags.

So, the way I figure it is, if I can get the fence replaced by Monday night, I can pop into work on Tuesday morning, take care of whatever skis need servicing, and be out the door before noon. The plan, such as it is, will be to head out to Hood Canal for a couple of days of paddling... see how far I can get. That's all I've got right now. More to follow.

Super Bowl Sunday

Sunday morning. A quiet morning with the air not too cold, not too hot, no wind (or not much, anyway). I can think of a lot of things to do that would not be nearly as pleasurable as time spent on the water with my wife. There was a time, before the boy arrived, when we seemed to have more opportunities to get out there together, when time was a bit more elastic. The passing years have a way of bringing with them more complications, obligations, aggravations, regulations...

When you have the chance to steal a minute, an hour, or an entire morning, to take that time and spend it with that one person that you signed up to spend it with in the first place, you take it.

A Starting point

According to the Washington State Parks web site, "Belfair State Park is a 63-acre, year-round camping park on 3,720 feet of saltwater shoreline at the southern end of Hood Canal in western Washington. It is noted for its saltwater tide flats, wetlands with wind-blown beach grasses and pleasant areas for beach walking and saltwater swimming."

I've been thinking of taking a paddleboard the length of Hood Canal. If I do, I think this is where I'll start.