Juandering

It's my first class of the year in the San Juans... Memorial Day weekend. I suppose that's about right.

I'm leaving out of Washington Park this morning, a short day over to James Island with some eddy work in empty boats later this evening. Tomorrow I'm hoping we can cross over to Strawberry Island for lunch, just to check up on the place and make sure my bottles of wine are still stored in their places. (I do like having wine stashed here and there... you never know when you're going to be here, or there.)

Of course, if the wind is up and the clouds are in, our route may go through some changes. Cypress Head and Pelican Beach open for camping this weekend, yes? We'll probably go that way if the weather turns to pudding. There are a bunch of options, up here in the islands.

Regardless of the specific route, the plan is to be in Friday Harbor on Tuesday for the ferry ride back. I think we can do that.

Counting games

As I am cataloging possible sampling sites on the Olympic Grand Circle, I'm also going to try to quantify my results a little. I'm going to be measuring out a square, two meters a side, using a rope that I'll have with me. Inside this 4 square-meter area, I'll attempt to collect all the plastic waste I can find which, when one site is compared to others, should give a rough overview of the distribution of plastic pollution all around the Olympic peninsula.

There are some problems with this scenario. I'm going to miss most of the micro-plastic that might be in the sample area simply because individual pieces are too small for me to extract them from the sand and gravel. My selection of sampling sites will be fairly arbitrary (most likely places close to where I am camped), which may not provide the best data. I expect there are other holes in the process as well but I am honestly not too concerned.

What I will be able to do is to establish some facts about where things are right now. The information I accumulate will enable us to get an overall perspective on plastics in the region as well as allow for comparisons between one sector and another. That's a lot. It's not everything, but it's a lot.

I'm going to be in the San Juans for the next few days. I'm hoping to give the process a test-run somewhere up there... more to follow.

Number two

Mount Adams is the second-highest peak in Washington, after Mount Rainier. It's 12,281 feet, a couple of miles up there. It doesn't seem like it's that high to me at first, since it's a deceptively flat summit with a straight-forward southern approach, and the only time I've climbed there before was a relatively easy two-day ascent with a long glissade back down. In my mind, compared to Rainier, Adams seems downright benign.

I know this is not always the case, however. I know the dangers that come with assumptions. I will be going back to Mount Adams soon and I am wondering what the continued cold weather and high precipitation might mean for the climb. It will be good to be back in the mountains again but it may not be as easy as I remember it.

Nothing is ever really easy, when it gets right down to it.

Alternate energy

I'll be going to the San Juans later this week for a 4-day class in the islands. Memorial Day weekend, so I don't expect that we'll have the place to ourselves, but it's all dependent on the weather. Someone once told me that, "kayaking is solar powered," which seems to be true. Then again, I'm beginning to think that everything is solar powered... when the sun is shining, everything seems a little better.

The route will take us from Anacortes to Friday Harbor, via James Island, Obstruction Pass and Jones Island. It's a good plan and it takes us through some of the best of what the islands have to show. I hope the sun will be shining but, based on the year we've had to this point, I'm not counting on it.

Armageddonish, with a chance of rapture

The world is supposed to end today, at 6:00pm local time. (I have my doubts, since it's already past the appointed hour in Sydney and things still seem to be functioning normally down under, but just in case you didn't get the word, consider this a public service announcement.) Check here for a view of the loopier side of free speech.

I don't know much about doomsday, but I do know about yesterday. Temps got up to 71 in my neighborhood, which is the first time the mercury has topped out above 70 degrees in 198 days. That's more than six months. I'd heard a week or so ago about how this spring has been the coldest on record, with only 5 days above 60 degrees since the 1st of the year, and right about now the whole climate scene is getting, well, tiresome. At least on the local level.

Then again, if the earthquakes and the pestilence kick in later this afternoon as the tinfoil-capped apocolyptos say it will, a few degrees here and there will probably not make much of a difference. We're an hour away from sunrise and I'm going paddling. Could be the last chance I'll ever get and I plan to enjoy it.

Morning has broken

I obsess about the weather. At least, it feels like I do sometimes, but it might not be all that much different than the way many other people deal with it. Still, for all the complaining I do, I have to say that the past few days have been close to ideal.

And this morning, with the bright gibbous moon just a few days past full and dangling low in the west... the water a soft, viscous, undulating cushion... bald eagles swooping in to light on the low hanging madronas above the beach, eyeballing me as I paddle beneath their perches... the green-and-white tug pushing north through the Narrows, chugging hard against the current and leaving wake for me to ride... seals popping up in the rips, their liquid eyes revealing their curiosity, observe in shifts from the swirling waters off the point... and above it all, the streaking red and orange of a perfect Northwest morning.

From the wrack line

I've gone back and forth about what I want to accomplish on the Olympic Grand Circle when it comes to the issue of coastal plastic pollution. At first, I wanted to do samples along the way of beach trash, focusing on the amount of plastic I found. Then, learning more about the micro-plastics problem, I was interested in studying what is the most critically important piece of the puzzle. It is an activity best suited to a group, however, with more labor-intensive and time-consuming sampling methods.

One thing I want to be sure of is that whatever I end up doing, it can be used as part of a larger project. I should be able to transfer whatever data I collect to research that is ongoing elsewhere; figuring out just what that is and how to do it is the question.

I met last week with Julie Masura, Research Affiliate for the Center for Urban Waters and Carrie Hernandez, Stormwater Program Manager at Citizens for a Healthy Bay. We talked about the programs that they are involved with and what their specific needs would be. After going over the route and discussing the operational limits I would be under, we came up with what I am calling, for lack of a better term, a "plan."

Since there hasn't been an organized sampling of many of the areas I'll be passing through, my primary responsibility will be to document beaches and waterfront places where future sampling can be performed. I'll be using a GPS to pinpoint locations that are obvious pollution problem areas and I'll do spot inventories as well, hopefully providing a big-picture view of the peninsula.

The information on locations and other data I'll collect will be used to determine future areas for more focused research. There's no cohesive overview that is currently available to those doing the analysis at this point when it comes to comparing one area with another, which is what I will be in a unique position to do.

More on the nuts and bolts later. But it's good to have a plan.

Quick time

There's an article in the latest National Geographic about climbing in Yosemite, and part of it deals with the difference between the way that climbing is now and what it was back in the early days in the park. During the 50's and 60's, the dinosaur days of big wall climbing, it might take days, even weeks, to put up a route that is now done in mere hours. Some of the recent times are truly mind-boggling: The Nose in 2 hours, 36 minutes, for example.

"Speed has become the creed of the new uberclimbers," in the words of author, Mark Jenkins. The routes have been there for years, most of them, so every piece of the way is well-known. The question that climbers of an earlier era would often ask, whether a particular route would "go," would be actually climbable, is a question few of today's rock stars ever experience. "Climbing in the 70's was about adventure as much as athletics," the article goes on. Now, however, "speed rather than exploration has become a key measure of a climber's craft."

Take a moment and let that soak in. I have several reactions to this line of thought. Mostly, although I am not opposed to speed per se, if it's all just about going faster, it loses something for me. And the fact that I have trouble explaining exactly why this is bothers me. I should be able to better articulate my thoughts and beliefs; otherwise, why have them?

I should be able to explain why these "sports," are not really sports at all. That climbing, kayaking, skiing and surfing are examples of things that we can do to make ourselves more alive, that actually give us a heightened sense of connection with our environment. All kinds of environments. Hiking, snowshoeing, canoeing. Whatever. Moving through nature is what we were designed to do and yet so few of us ever really do it. I should be able to explain that it is the journey that is important, and that just making the journey shorter and shorter isn't going to make it a better experience. Quite the opposite. I should be able to lay out the spiritual benefits of outdoor adventure, and why I think that the emphasis on speed - among other things - takes away from those benefits.

I don't know any of the climbers that are profiled in the article, but I'll bet they are not as one-dimensional as all that. It's just my hunch, I guess, that there is a lot more to the art of vertical ascent than any article is going to be able to fully explain. I would also guess that there is still an element of wonder for each of these climbers in what they do, that there is still adventure in it.

If there's not, then I don't know why anyone would want to do it.

Legislating fun

It was only a matter of time before the old school got the new religion. After looking over the curriculum, I find that I'm unable to care much about organized certification programs, especially SUP requirements that look like they've been cut-and-pasted from some ancient kayaking course. Could this be more hokey?

And, more to the point, is this what it looks like when you take all the fun out of it?

Tranquilo

No words today. Not many, anyway. I'm looking at the calendar, trying to visualize the next few months and how crazy it will all be. There is much to be done and so little time in which to do it. I thought the picture might bring some serenity.

The edge of the day

The transition from day to night is a powerful span of time. Dusk, twilight, sunset, whatever you call it. It's the one part of the day that people all over seem to make a point of catching a glimpse of, if there's any way they can. Living at Salmon Beach, it's a ritual, standing on the deck, watching as the sky moves from blue to red to orange to purple...

The other transition period, from night into day again, typically gets fewer observers but is just as amazing. I was out there this morning, on water so calm and flat it seemed like it had been painted there. It was dark when I started, but just before 5am, I noticed that the ambient light had started to dial up. Up through the grays and steely streaks of cloud, up from the bones of another night.

Every day is an awakening, no matter where you are. I am just lucky to be here.

Boating season

It is cold up here, or it seems pretty chilly anyway, after a few weeks in southern California.

I've always thought it's a funny thing to have an official "Boating Season."(Not "ha-ha" funny, strange funny.) But here, in the Pacific Northwest, we've got one. And it starts today, apparently. So that's exciting.

I'm going to make it a point, in observance of the day, to get out on the water later on. But first, I've got a soccer game to go to. And it's our day to bring snacks.

The Crying lady

Just south of La Push is a stack known as Crying Lady Rock. It's an easy walk-out at low tide and at higher water levels, it can provide kayakers with some sporty waves and rips as the sea comes and goes around it. The name comes from the shape of the rock (which is alleged to look like a woman's face - I don't see it), and from the way the water runs down the slope of the stone.

Feliz

I'm thinking about making a run to the mountain tomorrow, maybe take the boy, just for the day. The beginning of May at Mount Rainier can be any season: spring maybe, winter probably, but it's just as likely to be sunny and hot. The best way to find out is to go.

For now though, it's time for a little Cinco de Mayo... which is pretty much St. Patrick's Day with margaritas and salsa instead of green beer and cabbage. Ahh, culture.

Boomerang travel

It's flat today. No swell and the wind is picking up as the day goes on, straight onshore, pushing down what few waves there are. Still, it's 83 degrees and postcard beautiful, and I'm not completely sunburned yet, so I went out anyway. Ledbetter again, and really, the lack of good waves is probably the only thing that differentiates the place from heaven. That, and real estate is likely more expensive here.

I'll be leaving in the morning, back on the northward track again, figuring to be back in T-town on Wednesday night. Mixed emotions there... can't wait to get home, to see my wife and the boy. I'm going to miss this luxury routine though, this sugar-sweet, leisurely life. The smell of jasmine and eucalyptus, drifting languidly on the warm, salty breeze and the sparkling, clear water. Dolphins every day (and a whale yesterday), along with the usual sea lions spying on me from all angles... I will miss them all.

This is the third trip here this year for me, back-and-forth, like some kind of high-speed, I-5 trauma parade. It will not be the last, I think, although the sense of urgency has passed.

I wonder if I'll have a chance for one more session tonight, maybe tomorrow...

May Day

Here's a sign you won't find in the Pacific Northwest.

The waves were perfect this morning. Shoulder-high, green and glassy, wrapping around the point at Ledbetter in clean sets going off in succession down the beach. There were about 20 of us in the lineup, but it seemed like everybody had room. I had some of the longest rides I've ever had, from the point to the parking lot. Almost.

A week of wind has chilled the water down, but with today's high supposed to hit 80 again, that is not necessarily a bad thing. Yesterday was pretty good; today is shaping up to be even better.