The Last Wilderness

Ghost Forests

2012-02-17T02:08:00.000-08:00

The term "Ghost Forests" sounds like something out of Scooby Doo (or is it just that I have been watching too much children's television these past few years?)

Actually, ghost forests are stands of dead trees, whole forests killed off by salt water intrusion as a result of earthquakes and/or tsunamis. Click here for a very good explanation of the possible causes of this phenomenon.

I've seen examples of ghost forests in places on the Washington coast as well as in the San Juans... the long-dead but still standing pillars are a reminder of life's impermanence. That what is true now may not be the same tomorrow and that sudden, drastic change is always a possibility.

Working

2012-02-15T18:07:00.001-08:00

The due date for this baby is still March 1st, even though the place is still a construction zone. Literally. I built a wall today. Tomorrow and the next day are welding days, painting days, stuff like that. It seems so unlikely that it will all be ready to go by the 1st of March, but there it is.

There's a press release floating around with more info... Outdoors NW ran a little piece on their newsletter (scroll down a bit).

And, if you've got gear you're thinking about unloading, please pick up the phone. (253)691-7941

Dug in

2012-02-14T14:17:00.000-08:00

In retrospect, I learned a lot. I have a much better understanding now of what it takes to build a snow cave and, more importantly, what it's like to spend the night in one. (It may not have been the worst sleep of my life, but it was close.) As I was building it, laying on my back at the bottom of a pit dug into the snowy hillside above Reflection Lakes, I couldn't help but think that this was some hard work. I wouldn't do it for money... if you offered me a hundred bucks to dig out a cave for you, I would decline. Emphatically. I feel pretty confident in saying that, if I ever build another one, it will be a survival situation. It will be because I have to do it.

Now, with all that said, I had a great time. We snowshoed in from the Narada Falls lot, Marc pulling a sled, Andy and me with backpacks. It's a fairly easy hike, the first half-mile climbing through snow-clad forest, the rest of it on the Reflection Lakes road. It was a weekend and there were plenty of others around, although as the day went on, most of the others left. By 5pm, we had the entire basin to ourselves.

The skies were gray and thick and the snow fell off and on throughout the afternoon as we dug. Marc cut into the hillside to make our kitchen area and I began work on one cave while Andy started in on another. First, I dug down - farther than I needed to, as it turned out - then I gradually turned and began excavating under the heavy snowpack. for a while, until I had carved out enough room to actually get inside and dig, I had to lay on my back and carve upward, pulling blocks of snow out across my body, then ejecting them from the shaft.

The whole process took about four hours, with a few breaks thrown in. When I was done, I had a spacious room scribed out about 8 feet deep, with a sleeping bench about a foot higher than the top of the entrance, so that heat would be less likely to escape. It was big enough, but it could have been bigger. The spirit was willing to keep going until I'd constructed a suitably impressive underground lair, but I was tired. The flesh was weak.

Dinner was a mix of freeze-dried this and that, tasty and filling. Once I'd gone to bed, however, the flaws in my design began to make themselves more evident. First, not enough head room. I should have smoothed the ceiling out a little better to keep dripping water to a minimum. The sleeping platform wasn't quite level. And so it goes. I didn't have anything to use as a pillow, the bag got pretty wet, and I tossed and turned all night.

Enough whining. When I got up the next morning, just before dawn, I was struck again by the amazing beauty that surrounded me. It's hard to be too upset in conditions like these. I watched as the sky grew light, took a hike around the lake when the day arrived, watched the ravens and the camp robbers as they flew around me. I saw a fox trotting by later, when I went for another hike with Marc (and later came to find out that he had been trotting right up to our kitchen and helping himself to the contents of my food bag.)

No matter. All-in-all it was a great way to spend a couple of winter days. The mountain never really came out, although it looked for a while like it was trying to. Pinnacle Peak was there though, along with a few other pointy summits of the Tatoosh Range. The snowfall of the previous day coated the trees and made the entire place seem even more majestic.

Time well spent.

Snowshoe link

2012-02-11T04:44:00.000-08:00

It won't be light yet for another couple of hours but I still have to pack. Which, when you live in one place and all your gear is kept in another, can sometimes be a complicated process.

We won't be going to Paradise today - our camp site will probably be closer to Reflection Lakes - but it should be a pretty good weekend to strap on the shoes regardless of where you may be on the mountain. Here's a link to a freshly published overview of the trails around the Paradise area.

Has anyone seen my gloves?

Rat race

2012-02-10T09:56:00.000-08:00

These are the days of endless toil. Meetings (even with beer, they're still meetings), carpentry and painting chores to get the new shop open on time, teaching classes, taking classes, and a host of big and little things that need to get done if this summer's expedition is going to work. (I know, I know. I have been a little cagey about the plans for this summer and I need to give a better accounting of the situation, but things are still kind of fluid. In a week, maybe two, I promise.)

I got an email yesterday from a friend who wanted to know if I'd be up for a paddle around Anderson Island. It's close, not a difficult paddle, could be done pretty easily in a day, with the right currents. But I didn't even need to look at the calendar to know that it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

I know that this present schedule is not who I am; it's a temporary aberration. Right? I will have my time back again soon, yes? If not soon, then sometime?

Actually, there is a trip to the mountain that has been on my books for a few months now that will be coming up tomorrow. Up near Reflection Lakes, digging a snow cave, building an igloo... technically, it's work-related, but the reality is that it will be some badly needed wilderness therapy.

Plasticized, part 2

2012-02-09T07:21:00.000-08:00

I don't want to be depressing. It's already a foggy, rain-soaked morning and it doesn't need any help from me to seem more gloomy. The Ides of February, as it were. But I've been doing a bit of reading lately - "Reading rots the mind," Ed Abbey used to say- and I've been reading a lot about plastic. I've got a project coming up this summer where plastic figures to occupy a central role, and some of the reading I'm doing to prepare is downright depressing. Ignoring it wouldn't be right either though... here's a small sample.

- In some areas of the northern Pacific, small pieces of plastic outweigh the amount of plankton by a ratio of 6-1.

- The United Nations Environmental Program estimated in 2006 that every square mile of ocean hosts 46,000 pieces of floating plastic.

Those are harsh facts. I hope the day improves from here.

A Break in the weather

2012-02-07T04:54:00.000-08:00

The spate of good weather we've been enjoying for the past four or five days is about to come to an end. So say the weather watchers who are paid to know about such things, anyway.

It has always seemed to me that we get a week or two of very mild conditions during the month of February around these parts, an Indian Spring, if you will. Temperatures climb out of the cellar and the sky turns blue, the buds pop out on the salmonberry and the willow and it feels like spring is here. The subsequent return to reality is often hard to take.

Because it's not spring yet, not by a long shot. We still have months of cold, wet glop to get through before the fire gets put out in the wood stove, before we can hang up the winter jackets. They say that Puxatawney Phil is predicting six more weeks of winter this year; he's probably as right as the next forecaster. Six weeks, ten weeks... what's the difference?

I've looked through the historical records for this part of the country and I can't find corroborating evidence to back up my belief in a February break from wintery weather, but I still believe in it. The past week has been a good example. Micah and I were out on the paddleboards on Friday and he even went kayaking with his mother over the weekend... do those sound like things you'd do in the winter?

I could take a little more though, just a little, before reality comes crashing down around me.

Drifting

2012-02-05T05:32:00.000-08:00

In October 1832, the junk Hojun Maru left Japan with a load of rice and ceramics. After being swept out to sea in a typhoon and drifting for 450 days, the ship ran aground on the rocky Olympic coast just south of Cape Flattery. The only survivors were the captain and two cabin boys, who were quickly taken by the Makah tribe and held as slaves. Eventually, word of the extraordinary voyage and the sad fate of the survivors reached the Hudson's Bay trading post at Fort Vancouver and a party was assembled and sent to try to win their release.

That right there is a pretty good story. But there's another part to it as well.

In Astoria, just across the Columbia River from Fort Vancouver, a 10 year-old boy named Ranald MacDonald (really) heard about the castaways and hatched an amazing plan: he would attempt to make the trip the other way, and land in Japan - which was at that time a closed society, completely cut off from the rest of the world. If the Japanese ship could drift this way, he figured that there ought to be a way for him to drift the other direction. He didn't get the chance to act on his notion until he was 24, when he got hired onto the whaling ship Plymouth. He somehow persuaded the captain to let him off the ship near the northern tip of Hokkaido and he washed ashore where he was promptly arrested.

Instead of being executed, which was the common Japanese response in cases such as these, he was locked up. As a prisoner, MacDonald tutored his Asian captors in English which, because of their international isolation, they had no previous knowledge of. A few years later, some of those students became the translators for the complicated and delicate diplomatic negotiations between Commodore Perry, of the U.S. Navy and the Japanese government, negotiations that would eventually open the country up and bring it into the modern world.

The ocean currents are the circulatory system of the planet. Our fate is entwined with the forces around us, whether we understand them or not.

Shouting out

2012-02-02T16:32:00.001-08:00

I just got off the phone with my good friend Chris. Talk of lots of things, from Backpackers Supply to the upcoming Pummel at La Push to surf stories. Which is when he told me about this new site he's been writing for - actually, I don't know how "new" it is, but it's completely new to me - and I figured it's worth a shout-out. Outdoor Community Daily... lots of different ad-free pieces on a variety of outdoor topics. I've just scratched the surface, but I'll be going back to look some more after I'm done writing this.

Chris has written most often in the water section, SUP stuff and such. (The Santa Cruz wipeout sequence is awesome!) The picture at the top of this piece is him as well, with a late drop-in out at Westport.

Just the chat on the telephone has me wanting to go surfing right now... Hang the responsibilities. I'm gone.

Japanese flotsam, Part 2

2012-02-01T03:39:00.000-08:00

I was taught that flotsam is a term that refers to floating debris, while jetsam denotes stuff that has washed ashore. I don't remember how old I was when I was instructed thus, but I do remember who told me, and he was incorrect. Confident, but incorrect.

So, just in case you're ever in the position of trying to explain to someone the difference between the two terms, here it is, and it's actually fairly simple: Jetsam refers to floating items that were "jettisoned." Things that were tossed overboard from a ship or a plane, for example, perhaps to lighten them, perhaps as refuse. For whatever reason they may find themselves floating on the deep blue sea, items classified as jetsam were, at one time, on board a ship, etc.

Flotsam is any kind of floating debris, on or near the surface. It is not limited to being part of a ship, but it can be anything: chunks of building material, dead seabirds, glass net floats, and so on.

All jetsam is flotsam, but not all flotsam is jetsam.

Don Starkell, 1932 - 2012

2012-01-31T03:31:00.001-08:00

I have been reflecting lately on the way that the idea of death intrudes on the living as time goes by. When we are young, death dwells in the province of older folk, so distant and separate, almost on a different planet. But then, as we age, death comes a little closer. Imperceptibly almost, stealthy, like everything we've ever heard death would be.

It goes without saying that the deaths of those with whom we are closest are the ones that make the most impact. At least that's how it seems, anyway. But there are others too, some we never even meet. When the news arrives that they have passed on, it can hit hard in a different way, but no less profound.

Don Starkell died last weekend. Paddle to the Amazon, Paddle to the Arctic - that Don Starkell. I remember reading about that epic trip to South America, from the frozen wastes of prairie Canada to the jungles down south, and my mind buzzed for weeks after I put the book down. Starkell was a man who lived large, who dreamed things no other paddler dreamed, and then made those dreams come true. He was, by all accounts, a complicated man and he had his share of demons, but there's no denying the genius.

For me, Paddle to the Amazon was a magical book. The story of one man and his son taking a canoe from Winnipeg to the Brazilian rainforest captivated my imagination. Here was proof that everywhere was in reach, as long as you had the time. It took Don and his son Dana 2 years to cover the 12,000 miles of the journey and I was with him for every paddle stroke as I turned the pages.

He didn't stop there. His other epic trip was the subject of Paddle to the Arctic, another long and arduous adventure. For some reason, this story never resonated with me the way the other one had, I couldn't say why. Perhaps it was too much alike in scope, or maybe I was just older, less easily enthralled. It was no less of an odyssey though, and he ended up losing his fingertips to frostbite, and was rescued just a few miles short of his goal in a classic near-death finish to the expedition.

What got him in the end was cancer, as it is with so many. He was 79 years old and he had had himself a life. With his passing, there is one less heartbeat in the world, and one more legend.

Commencement Bay solo

2012-01-30T04:46:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-28T07:23:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-27T03:47:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-25T03:43:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-22T08:19:00.001-08:00

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

2012-01-21T15:11:00.000-08:00

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?

2012-01-20T07:16:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-19T03:46:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-17T21:31:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-17T04:36:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-16T03:07:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-15T05:17:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-13T12:58:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-12T09:38:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-11T05:06:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-10T04:04:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-09T03:51:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-07T21:09:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-06T06:23:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-04T06:39:00.000-08:00

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.

The Ancient mariner

2012-01-03T06:47:00.000-08:00

The search for the Northwest Passage, the fabled Strait of Anian, was an exploring boondoggle that launched a thousand ships. Maybe not a thousand, but a good few dozen, anyway. The pursuit of an ice-free shipping lane from Europe to the west coast of North America, running through the high arctic, has been the subject of great interest for centuries. Claims were made throughout the years that the passage had, in fact, been located; none of these claims were backed up by reality.

Apostolos Valerianos, (or Juan de Fuca, as he is better known), was one of those who claimed to have discovered the route back in 1592. A greek navigator, working for the King of Spain, he returned from a voyage up the Northwest coast with news that he had located the western terminus of the sought-after waterway. (There's a fair bit of controversy surrounding the idea that Mr. Valerianos ever even saw the passage in question, but there's no way to know for sure. He was right about some of the details, wrong about others.) The Strait of Juan de Fuca, as it is known today, turned out to be another false alarm but, as far as residents of western Washington are concerned, it all turned out for the best.

Ironically, the Northwest Passage is becoming a reality now, after all these years. Climate change and the ongoing thawing of the arctic has provided an open water route where pack ice used to be. Commercial ships have been using this northern route for a few seasons now and the traffic is projected to increase significantly in the decades to come.

There is a standing rock just south of the entrance to the straits called the de Fuca Pillar. It is a striking monolith, set among a garden of towering stones, where waves and wind are constantly at work, sculpting the coastline. It is a fine place to kayak.

Rainier ranger shot

2012-01-02T06:32:00.000-08:00

In what is being described as an "assassination," a park ranger at Mount Rainier was gunned down yesterday. The suspect who did the shooting is still at large, on foot in the park, and more than 100 personnel from a variety of law enforcement organizations are currently searching for him.

The ranger who was killed, Margaret Anderson, was a 34 year-old mother of two who had been working at Mount Rainier for the past four years. Her husband is also a ranger; the couple lived in Eatonville.

The suspected killer is a veteran with combat experience who is believed to have been involved in an incident near Renton earlier in the day that sent four people to the hospital, two of them with serious gunshot wounds. Benjamin Colton Barnes, 24, is described by authorities as a "person of interest," and is believed to be well armed and very dangerous. Obviously.

While my heart goes out to the victim's family and her co-workers, I can't help but wonder how many more of these PTSD events (if indeed that's what this turns out to be), we're going to see here in this county, this state and this country. The cost of war goes much farther than the price of bombs and bullets and the impacts are felt thousands of miles from the battlefield.

Rocks

2012-01-01T07:57:00.000-08:00

The many rocky islets and sea stacks that punctuate the coastal waters between Cape Flattery and Copalis Beach are known collectively as the Flattery Rocks National Wildlife Refuge. According to official counts, there are 870 of these stony outcroppings, some of which are little more than wave-washed reefs, and others - Jagged, Cake, Abbey and Tatoosh - are legitimate islands. (Destruction Island is not designated as part of the Refuge.)

Facts about the Refuge and a short inventory of the species that populate the area can be found here, but what is nearly impossible to relate is how wild this coastline feels. The beaches are windy and immense. The offshore rock gardens are places like no other, with waves exploding on all sides in brilliant, white detonations. The green forest rising behind the initial strip of shoreline is trackless, primeval, and the feeling of watching the rising tide erase your footprints in the sand is like seeing the end of time.

I can't wait to get back.

Resolute

2011-12-30T05:00:00.000-08:00

With only a couple of days left in the year, you'd better get busy. If there was something you wanted to get done in 2011, you're running out of time.

Myself, I'm trying to look forward. There are a whole list of things I'm hoping to get to in the next 12 months, places I want to go. It's hard to see how I'll get the time to do them all (and I probably won't), but I have high hopes.

And so it goes. Happy New Year!

King of tides

2011-12-28T04:19:00.000-08:00

The last week of 2011 will feature some of the highest tides of the year. They're called "King tides," a term that emphasizes either their size or the fact that they are tidal royalty. I guess. The explanation involves the combined gravitational pull that comes when the sun and moon align, pulling more water higher up the beach than normal.

Seriously, they started on Tuesday and will continue through today and tomorrow in the mornings and, depending on where you are located, they will either be monstrously huge or maybe just a little above average. The state Department of Ecology is asking for photos to be submitted to its Flickr site (budget cuts?); for specific instructions about what exactly to photograph, you can visit ecy.wa.gov/climatechange/ipa_hightide.htm.

If you miss these ones, the next set of king tides will arrive January 13-17.

Flotsam & Jetsam

2011-12-27T05:55:00.000-08:00

As the world turns - and the ocean currents turn along with it - floating debris from the March 11th Japanese tsunami is beginning to show up on Washington beaches. The real influx of stuff isn't going to get here until sometime in 2013, but some items, larger floats that have been assisted in their travels by the wind, have already begun to wash ashore.

Who knows what will make the trip? I think it might be interesting to do another paddle down the roadless coast, from Neah Bay to Ruby Beach, at some point in the coming year, just to do a little recon.

Truth is where you find it

2011-12-26T05:59:00.000-08:00

"Wherever we want to go, we go. That's what a ship is, you know. It's not just a keel and hull and a deck and sails. That's what a ship needs. But what a ship is... is freedom."

Captain Jack Sparrow

I'll admit it. I've been spending a fair bit of time this Christmas break lounging with the boy and watching a few of his favorite movies instead of getting out in the cold. He's pretty taken with the first Pirates of the Caribbean flick, and it's fun to hear him do his Captain Jack impression.

But whenever I hear Johnny Depp say those lines above, I can't help but think of a kayak. It's no Black Pearl, to be sure, but the freedom that I've found in a sea kayak is the same freedom. No roads, no trails, no limits.

Again with Christmas

2011-12-24T06:13:00.000-08:00

I remember thinking, back when I was a boy, that my father's attitude toward Christmas was a lot like Mr. Scrooge's. "Bah Humbug," was the sentiment they both shared when anyone offered up season's greetings. I used to think it was sad, or a joke, or a sad joke, but now I find that I am becoming more like the two of them with each passing year.

I'm not entirely there yet and I don't feel like turning this into a diatribe about the commercialization of Christmas (which is a silly argument anyway), or some kind of religious tug-of-war. I actually like presents and I have learned much since those younger years about the joy that comes with the giving of gifts, rather than only the receiving. I take my greatest pleasure on Christmas morning from seeing Micah's face light up when he unwraps a present... he doesn't really understand exactly where the gifts have come from. For him, the whole event is still a wonder and a mystery. It is magic, Christmas magic, and my Christmas wish is that it stays that way for as long as possible.

With that sentiment in mind, I wish the same for the rest of us as well. I really do want peace on Earth, collective goodwill and for the blessings to last all year. Even Ebenezer Scrooge came around in the end, so there's still hope for me. (Not so sure about my father.)

Inaccurate (and strangely familiar)

2011-12-23T15:03:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to get a few things inked on my calendar for the first part of next year and I've been looking to find information for a few of them online. One of them is the La Push Surf Pummel, which has been typically held on the last weekend of February, the last few years anyway. (I spoke with Ken DeBondt at one of the Steim hearings about whether it was happening next year; he assured me that it was, but I wanted to confirm the dates.)

So I did a search and it came up here, but what's kind of strange about the description is not only that it's a description of last year's event (although the title indicates that it's referring to 2012). What's really odd is that it's my write-up. I wrote that little info blurb for this blog last year and it appears that the Port Angeles Chamber decided to cut-and-paste and use it as their own.

Which is A-OK with me. I'm not possessive about the things I write, not the knock-off stuff like this anyway. Hell, I use other people's photos on this site from time to time... I am not upset about it in the least. Might even be a little flattered, actually. It is a little disorienting, however, when I go looking for information online and the best info I can find was written by me. I feel a little like the snake chasing after his tail at the moment.

And it's not even correct... the dates don't really match up. Expect an update on this soon.

Jack's back

2011-12-22T15:40:00.000-08:00

Some years, the Captain has trouble showing up in time for the beginning of January... not this time. 2012 Tide Almanacs and inserts for the Current Atlas will be available on December 26th. (Yes, I know the pictures feature the 2011 editions... I don't have any photos of the new ones yet.)

Quite simply, these are the best tide and current tools for paddlers in western Washington. The complicated current action in places like the San Juans is legendary and these easy-to-use publications are your best bet for a good day/week/year on the water. The Tide Almanac covers all of Puget Sound, the Straits and the San Juans. The Current Atlas (which still won't be getting reissued this year!), continues on up the east side of Vancouver Island as well. If you're one of the lucky ones who has a copy, you'll be wanting the insert.

Call anytime... Azimuth Expeditions: 253.691.7941

The big chill

2011-12-21T07:22:00.000-08:00

And here we are, at the shortest day time again. The winter solstice, where the dark seems darker and the cold seems colder.

The days begin to get longer from here on out, but it's hard to tell for a while... the changes aren't immediately obvious. We're going through the firewood at a pretty fair clip right now and I expect that will continue.

As I type this, the sky is just starting to lighten and I can see the fog and mist hanging over the Narrows. There's a breeze blowing in from the southwest and the water is choppy and rolling. It looks to be a day much like yesterday, and like tomorrow as well, if the weather watchers are to be believed.

On the other hand, with cookies to be decorated, gifts to be wrapped and Christmas just around the corner (and New Year's around the corner after that), there's no reason to be down at the mouth. Tis' the season for irrational exuberance and semi-organized celebration, even if the only good reason for doing so is just to keep each other's spirits up.

Isla de Dolores

2011-12-20T06:01:00.000-08:00

My thoughts these days are still running towards all things islands; I can't explain why that is, exactly. There is something fascinating about an island, any island, and there are some that capture the imagination on every level. They are apart, remote, isolated and somehow dangerous. Islands keep to themselves.

Destruction Island, off the Olympic coast, is among the most iconic of this breed of island. A rocky and improbable chunk of land, placed hard against a vast and violent sea, it is something of a miracle that it exists at all. Its remaining buildings, including the lighthouse tower, stand like ruins of some ancient civilization, faded and gone, unknowable now. Site of shipwrecks and heartbreak, it is a lonely post in a wilderness of water. And, for some reason, it is like a magnet to me.

I have been to the island several times, but it's been a few years. I am certain to return - hopefully sometime in 2012 - but even though I haven't set foot there lately, it has been in my thoughts. I can see, in my mind's eye, the storm-driven waves crashing against its walls of stone, the flat top, overgrown with head-high brush and salal, almost impenetrable. I can picture the rocky beaches, what few there are, and the intricate passages between the outcroppings that only a kayak can get through, and I can see the curious faces of the otter that frequent the kelp forests just off shore.

To attempt a trip out there at this time of year would be difficult. Summer, when the swells are smaller and the weather is friendlier, is a time far more amenable to the crossing; the paddle out there now would likely be difficult, at best. Still, with a name like Destruction, it hardly seems right to go on a sunny, summer day... perhaps a winter trip might be more fitting.

Something to think about.

Reception time; adventure to follow

2011-12-18T04:48:00.000-08:00

A few evenings ago, I went down to the Foss Seaport for a function involving O.A.R. Northwest. I was able to get a close look at their ocean-going rowboat - the one they'll be taking on their upcoming trips around Vancouver Island and across the Atlantic, from Africa to South America. It's stripped down at the moment, patched and sanded, waiting for a new coat of paint and the inevitable slew of sponsor stickers. It is an impressive craft.

These are burly expeditions and the crew are, in my estimation anyway, very fortunate men. There were quite a few people there at the event last Friday, including patricians from local government and the University of Puget Sound, where all of the original crew members began their rowing careers. I did not, however, get the feeling that any of the food and beverages, the chit-chat and the presentations, were what Jordan, Greg, Adam and Richard really cared about. (Don't get me wrong, the rest of it was all good, and each of the crew members did an excellent job of speaking and educating their audience.)

But there is a pull exerted by the open sea and anyone who has been out on the swells in a small boat has, somewhere down inside, a burning desire to go back. This desire gives itself away in little clues, the tilt of the head and the gleam in the eye. These guys want to get back out there and it shows.

By the time I left, I was feeling the same way.

Amber Steim - a retrospective

2011-12-16T02:18:00.000-08:00

It feels like it's been going on longer than it has, this whole Amber Steim legal thing. A year ago I didn't know her name - and I was perfectly fine with that - but times change. In case everyone hasn't been staying up to date on the who and the what of her criminal life and times, here's a recap.

It was a winter Sunday morning when Ms. Steim's car crossed the center line near Joyce, WA, and plowed into Ellen DeBondt's pickup truck. DeBondt was a hospice nurse out there in Clallam County, as well as an active member of the Olympic Peninsula paddling community. Along with her husband, Ken, Ellen was the prime force behind the popular La Push Surf Pummel, an annual gathering of surf kayakers and other wave-riding fanatics.

When the police arrived at the accident scene, DeBondt was dead and Steim was drunk. Stinking drunk, especially considering that it was now a Sunday morning, no longer a Saturday night. After blowing a BAC that was triple the legal limit, Steim went to jail, where she tried to manipulate family and friends - via jail phone conversations - into providing false testimony in her favor. (It's called "witness tampering," and those charges will be part of her upcoming trial as well as the vehicular homicide).

She made bail, $100,000, then violated the terms of her bail by drinking, which was detected by her monitoring bracelet. She fought the data, and lost - just a few days ago - with the judge ordering her back to jail and increasing bail to $500,000. Not sure what this means exactly, in terms of whether she'll stay as a guest of the State until her actual trial finally begins in February, but we can always hope.

The above is a recap of the facts in the case. Now for the speculation and opinion: I have to say, there is something incredibly gratifying about seeing a photo of Ms. Steim in cuffs, with her smarmy courtroom demeanor turned to a nervous grimace at the hands of the bailiff. Knowing she'll be trading in her sweet jeans for a floppy County jumpsuit only makes it that much better. When this whole ordeal began, I had a more open mind... in the abstract, I believe in the rights of the accused and the notion of innocent-until-proven-guilty. I didn't come down on her too hard, internally or externally.

Her legal gyrations since those early days have changed my mind. The one constant throughout the process has been her unwillingness to accept responsibility for her actions, her slippery manipulation of the justice system in pursuit of making her own situation better, rather than looking to atone for what she has done. If - and I wonder about this often - if she had pled guilty right from the start, claimed her actions and owned the consequences, how much better this whole thing could have been. For all involved. It still wouldn't bring Ellen back, but then nothing will. It would, however, have set the stage for redemption.

But redemption is out of reach for the unrepentant. Regardless of her eventual sentence, and I hope it's a long one, the bloody, drunken nightmares will continue for the rest of her desperate life.

Obit

2011-12-14T17:11:00.000-08:00

Gerald "Doc" Rink passed away today. (That's him on the left). He was my father-in-law, dead at 80 years of age, after a year of battling pancreatic cancer. I don't know exactly what he would want said on his behalf; he wasn't a man given to much conversation, certainly not about himself. He volunteered, a few days before his death, that he didn't want a rambling obituary, didn't need a whole lot of detail about where he went to school, what he did with his life, any of that stuff. His idea for a final summary (and I quote):

"He was here,

Now he's gone."

He was a good man, a great father and husband. He always made me feel like a part of his family and for that I am personally grateful. The likes of him are not seen often and he will be missed and mourned by all who knew him. Even this much of a tribute would certainly be too much for his liking but I feel like it's the absolute least I can do. It was a privilege to have known him and his passing leaves a hole in the world and in the hearts of those who remain.

Curse the darkness

2011-12-13T20:54:00.000-08:00

I just sold one of these today and while I was putting the invoice together, it occurred to me that, here's a piece of gear I use almost every day, but hardly ever think about.

Whether it's on the paddleboard or in the kayak, when it's dark and I'm traveling on busy water, this light is the best peace of mind I own. I believe that the reason I never think about it is because it works so well that I don't have to. (After all, it's a well known fact that a piece of gear is truly invaluable in reverse proportion to the time you spend thinking about it.) The suction cup base is stout and sticky and the light is visible at great distances - I have been across the Narrows and Mary's been able to watch my progress from the deck, over a mile away. Three AA batteries last and last and the LED bulbs have over 10,000 hours of usable life. For $36.95, you almost can't afford not to have this one and...

It makes a great gift...

Azimuth Expeditions 253.691.7941

Simple pleasures

2011-12-12T05:00:00.000-08:00

There are few things more enjoyable, more fulfilling, than peeing off the deck in the light of the setting winter sun. I am sure there are those who will argue with me, but they are wrong.

Red moon morning

2011-12-10T18:19:00.000-08:00

Totality (according to my watch), was just a minute or two after six in the morning. I'd been watching for a while up till then, looking skyward as I paddled the Foss in the wee hours of the cold pre-dawn, as the moon grew steadily darker. The light in the moon was being shut off.

According to them who know these things, this will be the last total eclipse of the moon we're going to see around these parts for the next three years. The fact that the sky was clear, that it was possible to see the moon at all, was pretty amazing. All week it's been cloudy and blah, and any glimpse of the moon has been brief, seen in snippets through the filter of Washington's hemorrhoid sky.

On Saturday morning, however, the heavens were on full display, stars blinking in the frigid night and the moon slowly going dark. It seemed closer during the half-hour or so that it was extinguished, still visible hanging there, but texturally more familiar somehow, more accessible. Darker, sort of salmon-colored. Like a big peach.

Shameless commerce

2011-12-10T03:55:00.000-08:00

I have a few websites that I follow on a semi-regular basis, oases in the internet desert that offer a cool drink of nectar from time to time. KayakQuixotica is one of them. There's no quid pro quo here... I don't have a link-swap or any other kind of back scratching deal on the go... it's just that Derrick says it as well as I could hope to do.

Check out the whole story here.

If you live in Wisconsin, you should probably take a sea kayaking class from him. If, however, you are in Washington, by all means, give Azimuth Expeditions a call. (253.691.7941) Classes are constructed on a highly personal basis - we've been doing them since 2003 - and you will not be disappointed.

For medicinal purposes

2011-12-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

I think there is not enough made of the value of wilderness. Specifically, the value of the healing power of wild spaces amid the chaos of modern life and death.

We seem to have no trouble with other means of coping, with drinking or drugs (given that they are legal and expensive, of course), with religious dogma, scrapbooking or retail therapy. Our list of acceptable psychiatric assistance includes all sorts of Freudian-this and 12-step that, but there is not nearly as much said about the truly natural approach as there needs to be.

It is therapy for tough times, I would say, to take an hour-long paddle in the cold hours before dawn. To hike for a mile or twelve on a random unmapped track on the side of a sweet, dark mountain somewhere. To find a stretch of glassy river that is untouched, or almost so, and to glide without a sound past wading birds and wild-eyed raptors. To put down tracks on unmarked powdery snow, miles away from the nearest courthouse, church or strip mall.

It is another hard week in our house, another week where the difference between life and death is front-and-center, where salty water is falling unchecked onto already tear-stained shirt sleeves and pillows. When a good man, a man like Mary's father, is discussed in the same breath as words like pancreatic and hospice, feeding tube, cancer and dignity, there is obvious and ample cause for sorrow. This too, shall pass, but the glacial process involves much time and pain.

Words don't often fail me, but they are failing me now.

Only 18 shopping days left...

2011-12-06T19:04:00.000-08:00

Mmmm... that Kokatat gear sure makes a great gift for the paddler in your life. Call 253.691.7941 while you still have time.

Morning musings

2011-12-05T07:03:00.000-08:00

I wonder what they're doing in Costa Rica this morning. I wonder, as I pull on my long johns (top and bottom), what they wear when they go out for their morning paddle. And then, as I get into my second layer of insulation (again, top and bottom), I think about it some more. Palm trees, white sand, rainforest and blue, blue water.

The kettle boils and I drop the tea bag in the thermos before climbing into my outer layer. Goretex pants and spray jacket, then Nomad boots over thick wool socks. Once I locate my gloves and fleece hat, I'm ready to go outside.

All these layers of clothing are basic protection, something between me and the forces of chill and darkness.These frosty mornings I feel like the outdoors is somehow out to get me. I bet it doesn't feel like that in Costa Rica.

Lake Union afternoon

2011-12-03T07:13:00.000-08:00

I went to Seattle yesterday to do a presentation for the Washington Kayak Club. (I'll get to that later.) I got into town early and took a couple hours to paddle around the docks and houseboat communities of Lake Union. Wilderness it isn't, but it is a captivating way to while away a winter afternoon.

On a paddleboard, the floating neighborhoods come alive. I can take the SUP through narrow slots between the houses that would be difficult to negotiate in a kayak and my vantage point makes the whole thing feel more like I'm taking a walk through a gallery. The houseboats come in all shapes and stages of repair. There are some that look like they don't have much longer before they sink into the black waters of the lake and others that are mansions, where I expect Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan are probably watching me through the window.

I paddle down the fingers of water then turn and work my way back out again. Sailboats bob next to their owner's homes and most houses have a kayak or two, or a canoe sitting on their decks. There are actually quite a few SUPs as well, which surprises me, although it probably shouldn't. On the lake, float planes come and go, and the Seattle skyline begins to sparkle as dusk approaches. I get back to the little park where I put in and haul the board back up to the car, change out of my water clothes and get ready for the evening, refreshed.

As for the slide show at the WKC, it was sparsely attended. There were a dozen there, out of a club membership that is reported to be over a thousand. But what does that mean, really? (I suppose I can take some comfort from hearing that the number of people that were there was twice as many as were at last month's meeting. But still.) The folks that did turn out were great and I had fun flipping through the pictures again and telling stories about the best summer of my life, but the whole thing couldn't help but be a little bittersweet. When it comes to sea kayaking around these parts, sometimes it's hard not to feel like the last horse standing in the glue factory.

Dancing through the loopholes

2011-12-02T05:57:00.000-08:00

The trial of Amber Steim was set to begin in August, wasn't it? That date didn't hold up and soon slipped to October, then to December. I think the current idea is that it will start in February, but who the hell really knows.

Whatever her lawyer is being paid, he's earning it. His pompous paper-shuffling and phlegmish harrumphing have effectively put an end to any notion of a timely justice and the alleged killer remains free on bond, with all of her bail time counting toward her eventual sentence. Theoretically, if he can stretch it out long enough, his client could be sentenced to time served, which effectively means that she'll get away with murder.

On Monday, however, there's a chance that Steim could be remanded back into custody for failing to meet the terms of her release. It seems her monitoring bracelet picked up elevated levels of alcohol in her system right around Halloween, which she is claiming came as a result of her getting her hair colored the day before. Uh huh. The upcoming hearing, set for 9am on December 5th, will determine whether she should remain free - to get her "hair colored" a few more times - or whether she should wait out the rest of her pre-trial phase in the Port Angeles calaboose.

Confession is supposedly good for the soul but at this point, after all the evasion and legal tap dancing, any assumption that the defendant has a soul at all has to be viewed with some skepticism. If nothing else, maybe a change of scenery might prod her attorney to proceed with a little more alacrity. For a big man, I suspect he can move quickly when he wants to.

The hearing is at the Clallam County Courthouse in Port Angeles on Monday, at 9am sharp. Ellen DeBondt's family have asked that as many people as possible show up to remind the judge and the community that Ellen's memory lives on and that we are all - including Amber Steim - still waiting for some justice.

Tomorrow night

2011-12-01T07:07:00.000-08:00

I know tomorrow's a Friday. And I know that you probably have something better to do. But, on the off chance that you can be persuaded one way or the other, I'd love to see you at the REI in Seattle at 7pm. I'll be doing a reprise of my sea kayak trip around Newfoundland, signing books and answering questions about the trip. I can't promise you that it will be the hottest ticket in town, but I will do my best to entertain and enlighten. And it's free, so you can't beat the price.

In the dark

2011-11-29T03:08:00.000-08:00

The sea just sits silently, but sometimes she does more.

And someone weeps as her love sleeps safe upon the shore.

Great Big Sea

Yesterday morning I went down to the Foss. (It seems strange to travel to water when it's just outside my door but the Narrows was active yesterday, too active for a SUP in the dark.) So I hied on down to Thea's Park and did the down-and-back through the darkened marinas and the reflecting lights of the city. Past the shipyard, where a half-finished tug sits at the dock behind the containment booms. Past the little point of land where cottonwoods and alders grow incongruously along the shore, mixed in with the post-industrial grime and the luxury yachts. Past dozing flocks of Canada geese, who paddle off impatiently at my approach. It is dark, winter dark, but the eyes adjust.

This morning I did the same thing, but on my home turf instead. I woke early, just before slack, and the water was flat as a griddle all the way across to the Gig Harbor side. I dressed and pulled the board down off the rack, and in minutes I was floating. It is darker in the Narrows than in the Foss, much darker. Vision is accomplished with the ears as much as the eyes, and the toes, feet and calves sense the shifts in current and in the way the surface changes. I hear a sea lion off to the north but I never see him. A barge is passing in front of me, off in the distance, and I can feel his wake a few minutes later as it reaches my position.

I focus on a light on the far cliff, angling towards it as the current builds. Slack doesn't last too long during times of large tidal exchanges and this morning's is a big one. The approaching shoreline is hard to make out, completely in shadow, but the eyes adjust. I can see rocks above and below the surface and I pick my way slowly through the velvet, feeling the force of the fresh current as it grows stronger. I turn and start back again.

A breeze has begun to blow out of the south, working in opposition to the current. The water's surface, once so calm, is lumpy now. The wind waves make the water hard to read and I pick a point on the far shore and paddle hard towards it. It's all I can do. A heron squawks overhead and I try to pick it out against the overcast. We are insomniacs, the heron and I, with more to do, a mile yet to go, before we sleep.

18,000 Days

2011-11-27T12:36:00.001-08:00

It's my birthday. Sort of. I was just doing the math this morning and figured out that today is my 18,000th day on the planet. That's kind of like a birthday, right?

Even though Hallmark doesn't make a card for it, it sort of puts things in perspective.

T-Day

2011-11-24T06:09:00.000-08:00

In no particular order, I'm thankful for...

- the rain

- having enough to eat

- a quality dry suit

- quiet mornings

- old National Geographic magazines

- Jessie and Sawyer

- good music

- mountains

- buttermilk pancakes

- popcorn and old movies

- comfortable boots

- waves

- barbequed tri tip and beans

- my wonderful wife and my superior son (superior to his father)

- Point Defiance Park

- finding change in the couch cushions

and...

- that the Packers are 10-0 (and I'll be even more thankful if they're 11-0 by the afternoon)

Happy Thanksgiving!

River time

2011-11-23T06:28:00.000-08:00

There are those who will tell you that December 21st is the longest night of the year. They may be correct, technically and astronomically speaking, but there are many different ways of measuring time. I am convinced, for example, that the longest night of the year in 2011 was November 18th. I know this is true because I was there, wedged into the back of a Subaru on the banks of the Columbia River, with temperatures hovering around freezing and rain beating down, getting my sleep in 10-minute increments from just after sundown till morning light. Forty-three hours, by my calculation.

OK, maybe less. But not by much.

I drove down to the river the day before so that I could be on the water early in the morning. I was there to paddle around Tenasillahe Island, part of the Julia Butler Hansen Refuge, the island just downstream from Puget Island and immediately upstream from the larger, better-known, Lewis and Clark Wildlife Refuge. The islands in the Columbia are low-lying, wooded and sinuous, their outlines shaped by the relentless current of the mother river. Tenasillahe is near enough to the coast that tidal levels play a part in the movement of the water, but it is the current that matters the most, to kayakers especially.

I launched from a dock on the dilapidated Cathlamet waterfront. Wood-framed buildings leaning precipitously one way and another gave the area a feel of rank dissolution. No, perhaps that's too strong a word; it was more an air of musty neglect that clung to the grassy shoreline in town. I liked it, quite frankly. There was no pretense there, no launch and parking fees, no pretending to be anything other than it was: a river town, warts and all.

I had originally planned on paddling down at Sand Island, just inside the mouth of the Columbia, but the high winds we'd been getting lately changed my mind. On this morning, the decision seemed to be the right one. There was scarcely a breath of wind and I paddled with the current along the Washington side, poking along the shores of the Hunting Islands, just west of Cathlamet.

I crossed the main channel over to Tenasillahe where the shipping lanes are the easiest to negotiate, but I still had to wait for an outbound freighter and a barge to pass before I could make my move. Shipping on the Columbia is non-stop and it is a good idea to pay attention.

The shoreline on Tenasillahe was composed of riprap, blackberry thickets and river-sand beaches, with more locations sprouting as the tide began to drop. I stopped a couple of times, just for a few minutes to stretch my legs, but mostly I wanted to keep going. This was one of those paddles where there is really more to see from the water than from land, and I was in something of a race with the tide anyway.

At one of the stops, I walked up off the beach to a spot just inside the treeline and saw a few of the white tailed deer that populate the refuge. They were walking along the perimeter road about a hundred yards upwind and they never even knew I was there. Their white tails bobbed like furry flags as they eventually bounded into the underbrush and disappeared from view.

There is a channel that cuts across the island, separating Tenasillahe from the islands of the Lewis and Clark Refuge and, according to a chart I had looked at before I started, the north side of the channel was fairly shallow. I wanted to get past this point while there was still enough water to float me, which I did without any difficulty. It didn't seem to be as critical a spot as I had thought it would be.

Once through the channel (and past a gaggle of duck-hunters prowling the shallows), I started up the south side of the island, back upstream. Current was an issue, although staying along the shore and following the contours of the land made it less so. A pair of osprey circled in the air above me as I reached the eastern tip of the island and I stopped for a break on a sandy beach before making the crossing over to Puget Island and from there, back to Cathlamet.

In the time I'd been on the water, the day had gone from gray and cold to blue sky and sunlight. The clouds had lifted, revealing the snow that had fallen in the Willapa hills the night before and the day seemed less cold, less hard. Which was a welcome feeling, after the longest night of the year.

Tenasillahe

2011-11-17T09:24:00.000-08:00

As Uncle Bob used to say, "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." And it is blowing like hell right now. We lost power at about 1:15am and it hasn't come back on yet and the forecast is calling for more of the same.

With all that in mind, I'm thinking of changing my destination for this weekend from Sand Island to a spot a little further up the Columbia. When the south wind is blowing, like it is now, the mouth of the Columbia gets hit hard. Not to say that I couldn't do it, but I might not really want to. Shallow water, fickle tides, strong river current and high winds are a few of the ingredients required to get your name in the paper, and not in a good way.

I've been eyeballing Tenasillahe Island, part of the Julia Butler Hansen Refuge not far from Skamakowa. I've paddled in the area before, although not extensively, and with the anemometer spinning as much as it is, this might be a good time to return. The islands in this part of the river are heavily wooded and low-lying, with interesting and complicated shorelines. I expect the river current to still be a factor and although it is farther from the ocean, tide levels are still important for circumnavigation.

Bad weather

2011-11-16T15:56:00.000-08:00

It's cold out there today, and wet. The talk is, it's going to freeze by Friday, maybe even snow by the weekend. (Seems to me that's what happened last year about this time... I could look it up, but it's not that important.)

It doesn't matter. I was just thinking today about the whole concept of bad weather, the idea that weather can be "bad," or "good," for that matter. I taught classes today at Point Defiance, twenty-odd high school kids hiking through the raindrops in t-shirts and hoodies - and that one kid who wore shorts - and I heard my share of complaints. And rightly so. They weren't dressed for it, with one or two exceptions, but the fact that they didn't allow for the November Northwest climate doesn't mean that the weather was bad.

The weather only seemed bad because they weren't prepared for it. It was weather - that's all. Lord knows I complain about it too, not to mention all the other things I carp about, but the weather just is what it is. I have learned to dress for the conditions, which is something that these kids still have to reach an understanding about. So, I can feel superior about that.

Oh, but I still have much to learn myself. Maybe not about the weather, but pretty much everything else. There are plenty of other things we cannot change and I'm starting to think that it just may be that the way we deal with those things is what really matters.

Go

2011-11-15T13:56:00.000-08:00

It's looking like this week might be a good time to head down to Sand Island. I'm thinking maybe Friday and Saturday?

The weather should be interesting - it is November, after all - and I haven't done a whole lot of looking at the tides yet, but I expect I can figure most of that out as I need to.

It is the going that matters most. Once the decision has been made, just go. The path will open up and the devil will sort out the details.

A November Sunday morning

2011-11-14T03:24:00.000-08:00

With the south wind blowing and the waves breaking on the shore here in the Tacoma Narrows, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for a paddle. I like calm seas and languid summer evenings as much as the next guy, but I enjoy rough water even more. Is that strange?

The current was running in the same direction as the wind, which made the surface conditions less lumpy than they might have otherwise been, but the wind was strong enough (25-30 knots), that there was plenty of turbulence to think about. Crossing over to the west side of the passage was rough, and I got my face washed a few times along the way, but once in the lee of the cliffs, the water calmed down considerably. In the flat water along the opposite shore, a middling eddy carried me southward, and the eddylines were filled with fall leaves and other floating debris.

Once I'd gone far enough to the south to set up for a return crossing, I paddled out into the lumpy water again. It didn't seem quite as rough as before, now that the wind and current were at my back, and the crossing quickly turned into a surf session. Two-foot wind waves caught my kayak and carried me onward... I'd paddle hard for a few strokes until I felt the lifting sensation that comes with being on the face of the wave, then I'd use the paddle blade as a rudder to maintain direction while the boat sizzled across the surface. A few seconds later, when I felt the next wave building behind me, I'd do it all over again.

And so it goes, the gales of November.

The Seven levels of surfers

2011-11-12T03:56:00.000-08:00

I ran across this helpful list the other day while I was surfing the web. (The kind of surfer who rides the internet, as it happens, is not one of the levels of surfer described.) It's good for a smile and, if you happen to see yourself here, I hope you won't take it the wrong way.

I wish I was surfing. Not the web kind of surfing - the other kind.

Life during wartime

2011-11-11T11:09:00.000-08:00

My father is a veteran. British Navy, WW II. Most of his action came in the South Pacific and Indian Ocean, as a radio operator on Her Majesty's destroyers. He had one of them torpedoed out from under him and spent a few months with his surviving crew members hiding out in the Cocos Islands until he was picked up by friendlies and taken to safety in Australia. I wish I knew more about it than that but he never really talked about it that much.

Likewise, my wife's father is a veteran. He's a bit younger than my dad so his theater of operations was Korea, where he worked in the motor pool. Mary was telling me the other day about how he was riding in an infantry convoy when the vehicle he was in broke down. The Sarge-in-charge told him, "You're the mechanic. Fix it." (I'm guessing there was more to the command than that, but there you go.) After troubleshooting the problem and finding it to be coming from the carburetor, he whittled a replacement part out of wood, snapped it in place, and got the vehicle and its occupants out of harm's way.

So many more stories are out there, never to be told. Tales of perseverance and inventiveness, courage and strength. And more stories are being written today as well, by a new generation of brave soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines. To Jim Campbell and Gerald Rink (and the millions of others who served, in good times and bad), Happy Veteran's Day.

Down day

2011-11-10T02:47:00.000-08:00

If there's a better way to spend the day than carving shapes in the sand, with the sound of the surf in your ears and the sun on your shoulder, I can't think of it.

303

2011-11-09T04:20:00.000-08:00

For prolonging the life of drysuit gaskets, it's invaluable. For keeping rubber hatch covers supple and crack-free, likewise. 303, a liquid protectant similar to ArmorAll, essential for anyone who spends any time on the water.

Consider this an endorsement.

Colors

2011-11-08T04:56:00.000-08:00

I went out Sunday on the board... a rare daylight ops, even more rare this time of year. I'm building a deck railing for one of the other houses down here on the beach and I needed to get some driftwood sticks, just for the authentic beachiness that the job requires.

The fall colors are out with a vengeance. The big-leaf maples and alder are glowing red and yellow against the walls of the Narrows and when the sun catches them just so, the effect is stunning.

I took the Bark, for its load-hauling abilities. The tide was high enough that I wouldn't have been able to walk around most of the points but low enough that there was still plenty of beach in between. I picked through the wood piles along the way, then loaded up the front of the board with about 50 of the pieces, most between 4 and 12 feet long. It should be enough to finish the job. I'll try to remember to include a picture of the meisterwerk when it's complete.

And the real upside is that it was an amazing day for a paddle. (I hope I go to heaven when I die but I don't mind living there in the meantime either.)

Stupid should hurt

2011-11-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

Amber Steim, the Port Angeles alcohol enthusiast who is accused of plowing into Ellen DeBondt's truck last March and killing her instantly, is going to be the subject of another hearing this coming Thursday in PA. Apparently, according to notification given to Ellen's family by the District Attorney, Amber's SCRAM bracelet - which she is wearing as a condition of her bail - has detected alcohol in her system. If it turns out to be true, this would be a violation of her terms of release. And, if she's found to be in violation, there's a good chance she could be remanded to jail to wait until her case comes to trial.

Which is probably a good idea. She could use, in my opinion, some down time to think about what she's done (or alleged to have done... whatever.) It seems to me she'll be able to think a little more clearly in the stony lonesome than out around the bonfire on a Friday night, doing spicy vodka shooters and Raindogs with the other kids from the trailer park. Admittedly, this is not an unbiased opinion and I would not make a good juror in this case, but so what? If she's really been out there sinking beers while she's out on bail, she should probably do some real time for a while instead of bracelet jail. It's as close to fair as possible, after all.

The hearing is at the courthouse in Port Angeles at 9am on Thursday, Nov. 10. I really want to be there but I'm not sure how that will work out. (It would mean leaving T-town at 6:30am, which would be tough with a 4 year-old in tow.) If there's any way to make it though, I would urge anyone reading this to give it a shot. Support for Ellen's family at this point is critical, and if attention to the process gets one more (allegedly) homicidal idiot off the street, it will be time well spent.

Long Island

2011-11-04T10:55:00.000-07:00

In Willapa Bay, in southwestern Washington, a hundred miles away and a hundred years back in time, sits Long Island.

It's home to the largest remaining low-land grove of ancient cedars in the state. Largely an accident of geography; the island was logged extensively back in the early days, but this one section proved to be a little too much of a pain-in-the-butt to get to, so it survived the misery whip.

Used to be, there was an actual town on the island's northern tip. "Diamond City," although there were no diamonds involved and as cities go, this one came in sort of small. The economy mostly revolved around fishing and oystering. There are no traces of the city remaining.

Willapa Bay is all about mud. Paddling here is as much about being able to read the charts as it is about swinging a paddle. If you read the tide tables incorrectly, it is an uncomfortable place to be.

I've been to the island many times, although it has been a while. One of my favorite trips is the subject of a Field Report that I wrote back in 2005 (before anybody really knew anything about "blogs.")

That's "Mr. Campbell"

2011-11-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

I've taken a new job recently, back to teaching school. It's a little different than the teaching I've done before, in that each of my classes takes place outside, at Point Defiance Park in Tacoma. Outdoor education, taught in the outdoors. Quite a concept.

I'm working at SAMI (Science and Math Institute), a specialized high school in the Tacoma School District, that utilizes the resources of nearby Point Defiance Park as its classroom. The school itself is a collection of temporary buildings just outside the main park entrance, and although some classes are taught here, most of the curriculum is based around the park's different environments, including the Point Defiance Zoo.

It's a great idea and I'm happy to be a part of it - a pretty small part of it, to be sure, but a part of it all the same. I see a real opportunity here and it's given me a new perspective on how to use some of the learning that I have accumulated as well.

Seven billion

2011-11-02T04:11:00.000-07:00

And counting.

Frivolity

2011-10-31T05:22:00.000-07:00

So, after much contemplation, the family of Robert Boardman is going to sue. Boardman was gored to death by a goat in Olympic National Park just over a year ago, and his family says that, since the Park Service knew this particular goat was a possible danger to human visitors, they should have removed him before the unfortunate incident happened. (Essentially, what they are saying is that it was not an "unfortunate incident" at all; it was a preventable tragedy, and the fact that the Park didn't prevent it should cost them. By "cost," they mean $10 million, and by "them," they mean the taxpayers.)

The lawyer who's orchestrating this money grab is John Messina, of Tacoma. Here's how he sees Olympic National Park: According to the TNT, he calls it a "specious argument" that Park visitors should have to accept any risk of encountering wild animals while in the park. "This is not that wild," he said. "Thousands and thousands and thousands of people and kids visit the park every year. This is a federal reserve created for the purpose of the use of the citizens of the United States. You don't just throw them in there with rogue animals and expect them to defend themselves." (Emphasis added.)

A couple things:

First of all, stop with the kids thing. Why is feigning concern for anonymous children such a default position for pompous windbags with bogus points of view? "For the love of God, think of the children." Get bent.

Second, there are a host of reasons for creating and maintaining a National Park. Wildlife preservation, habitat conservation, archaeological significance, history and so forth. They aren't necessarily put together for the "use of citizens." Gates of the Arctic National Park? How many citizens use that one? (Incidentally, there are a bunch of very wild animals up there and I'm sure they represent significant safety threats... probably ought to get that lawsuit warmed up too.)

I have not always felt so hostile in this case. When I first heard the news, I was sad and my heart went out to Boardman's family over their loss. Now, however, my supply of sympathy has been exhausted. Now that they have shown what is really important to them, my well has gone totally dry.

I have no idea how this case will percolate out, but I can't help but hope Messina and company lose, and lose big. I'd like to see not only a decision that affirms the notion of wilderness and wild creatures, but it would also be gratifying if his clients were held liable for the government's legal fees as well. I missed that day at law school where they covered frivolous litigation; looks like I'm not the only one.

Sand Island

2011-10-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

It is the nature of islands near the mouths of major rivers to change locations, to appear and disappear - both in reality and in written record - to shimmy and dance with the currents that are continually creating and destroying them. When an island actually goes by the name of "Sand," the effect becomes even more noticeable.

Sand Island, at the mouth of the Columbia River, isn't even in Washington. I don't know... I find that a curious geographic anomaly... maybe it's not that amazing. Still, even though it's a mere gunshot away from Ilwaco, on the Washington shore, it's actually part of Oregon. I've paddled to it from both directions and I can tell you, straight up, it's a lot easier to get to from the north than from the south.

Current is the main story; Sand Island is the supporting actor. The swirling currents of the Columbia bar and the back eddies associated with the ins and outs of the river shoreline are the reason that Sand Island exists at all. It hasn't always been here. Captain Vancouver noted it in his charts; Lewis and Clark did not. Even among those who agreed that it was there, there were differences about just where, exactly, it was located. Here's how the "Coast Pilot of California, Oregon and Washington, Fourth Edition," described it in 1889:

In 1841 it was almost abreast of Point Adams and less than one-third the width of the river from the point. In 1850 it had moved a little seaward, and was farther from Point Adams. In 1868 it was more than half-way across to Cape Disappointment but inside the line. In 1886 it had taken a shape like a boomerang with one point a mile and a quarter east of the Cape and on the same parallel, and the other point bent up the river and three miles northwest from Fort Stevens.

Sand Island sits in Baker Bay, dominates Baker Bay, and makes the surrounding flats and snaking channels a workout for boats of all kinds. Kayakers have an advantage, sort of, in that we don't mind running aground from time to time, but our reliance on muscle power for propulsion can bring other difficulties. Sometimes, the water running out goes faster than we can keep up with. Anyone who's ever paddled the Nisqually delta, Willapa Bay or the mouth of the Skagit is familiar with this sad fact.

Sand Island is about two miles long and 400 yards wide. There are trees, small ones, in the interior section, but most of the ground cover is scrub and sea grass. Beachcombing can be very interesting.

It's a difficult island to paddle around. I haven't done it for a while.

Meditation

2011-10-28T04:09:00.000-07:00

"Walking in wilderness becomes a meditation."

That's a quote from Terry Tempest Williams, in her book An Unspoken Hunger, and although she's referring to hiking in a desert environment, the same could be said for sea kayaking in the Pacific Northwest. Or paddleboarding, for that matter. Repetitive actions, in tune with the wider surroundings. Solitary, yet connected in a way that little else can approach.

I have tried more traditional meditation. I liked it, and it did provide a certain level of relaxation and refreshment, but I like this kind of meditation better. When I start my day with an hour or so of paddling, moving through strong current and listening to the sea lions and heron somewhere nearby in the dark, rather than only the sound of my own breathing, I get the benefits all day long.

People do what works for them. This is what works best for me.

One particular harbor

2011-10-27T05:36:00.000-07:00

I used to rule my world from a pay phone

Ships out on the sea

But now times are rough

I got too much stuff

I can't explain the likes of me.

But there's this one particular harbor

So far but yet so near

Where I see the days as they fade away

And finally disappear.

Jimmy Buffett

It's early morning, cold and still dark. It's not raining right now but it's on the way, and the current is flooding hard. I just got back from a paddle and I'm sitting here with a thermos of tea, still thinking about islands.

Tech talk

2011-10-26T03:49:00.000-07:00

I remember when my father brought home his first calculator. It was a largish brown and black box that fit uncomfortably in one hand, and it was capable of adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing. That was it, no more, no less. The little red numbers glowed knowingly from the black display and I couldn't believe how smart the little box was. 7,981 x 2,111? No problem. I was in awe. I can't remember the exact price, but I seem to recall it was more than $100. It was 1972.

Now, calculators are much smaller, far more powerful and are given away in Happy Meals. Technology has exploded into every corner of our lives, and the things that were once luxuries have become necessities. Microwave ovens, answering services, iPads, iPhones, cars that park themselves... it's all here. Can the jet-pack and the time machine be far behind?

Maybe I'm just getting old. Old enough to appreciate the technology but too old to care, most of the time. My cell phone is off, I dont IM, I haven't joined Facebook and I still haven't ascended to the ranks of the twitterati, not yet. Sometimes it seems that even the simple things are complicated.

This morning, I just feel like going paddling.

Island fever

2011-10-21T04:42:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about islands.

There are some islands that appeal to me because of their remote nature. All islands stand apart, but some stand further than others. Destruction Island is an example, an island that is regularly pounded by the full fury of Pacific storms, is home to a thriving population of sea otters, and whose beaches are strewn with detritus from the orient. It is a wild place, a place that instantly captures my attention and respect.

Other islands are interesting because of their history, the intertwining of the natural world and the "civilized." Places like Protection Island, or Tatoosh, maybe even some of the San Juans, where a veneer of development has taken hold for a time, then waned for one reason or another. It is the reasons behind the changes that I find captivating, as well as the relics that are left behind.

Smith Island, out in the eastern Straits, is where I want to go next. After that, I am not sure, but I know there will be another.

Firewood on the hoof

2011-10-19T05:24:00.000-07:00

There's something about living on salt water that brings out the opportunistic in anyone. When a chunky log goes floating by, especially a fir log that, when dried and split, will fuel the wood stove for a month, it seems obvious what needs to be done.

Pull on the Nomads, grab the paddle and the board, and chase it down. It can be a haul, pulling it back home against the current, but it's most certainly a job worth doing. I've heard it said that a man who cuts his own wood, warms himself twice. In my case, I would have to say that this particular log will warm me three times.

Obvious questions

2011-10-17T04:39:00.000-07:00

In the early 1970's, British sailor Tristan Jones undertook a 3-year trip around the world, and then some. He left the US, sailed east across the Atlantic, through the Mediterranean, down the Red Sea and around the Horn of Africa and along the east coast of the African continent down to what was then apartheid South Africa. From there, he set out across the south Atlantic to Brazil and attempted to sail up the Amazon, but was turned back after a thousand miles or so. He then sailed back out to salt water, bounced along the east coast of South America, through the Panama Canal, and down south again to Peru, where he put his boat on a truck and had it moved up into the Andes to Lake Titicaca. He sailed the lake for a few months, then found another truck to take him to the Mato Grosso, from whence he sailed again through Brazil, Paraguay, and Argentina, before ending his odyssey in Montevideo, Uruguay.

That's as close to a synopsis as I can get in a paragraph. The book is The Incredible Voyage, and it's an amazing read. There are a multitude of jaw-dropping passages in his account of the expedition, places where I stopped reading and tried to imagine myself in his position - being shot at by Egyptian soldiers, freezing in a Bolivian jail cell or battling the storms of the open sea - and he can turn a phrase in a way that makes the whole thing endlessly entertaining and, well, incredible.

There was one passage that caught my eye, near the end of the book, where he's talking with his sailing companion, a Quechua Indian from high in the mountains of Bolivia, who was seeing speedboats for the first time near Buenos Aires. The high-powered pleasure boats were racing across the water, faster than anything the mountain native had ever seen or even imagined possible.

"'Why does he go so fast?" asked Huanapaco.

'He's in a hurry. Wherever he's going he wants to get there fast.'

His bronzed face furrowed deeply in thought.

'Why does he want to go so fast?' he asked me, half frowning.

'To save time of course!' I replied testily. The hot sunshine was not conducive to long discussions on the obvious.

After another pensive moment, he asked quietly, 'What does he do with the time he saves?'"

That's a question I need to ask myself more often.

Things that go BOOM

2011-10-16T04:17:00.000-07:00

The Elwha dam removal projects are proceeding apace and will continue to progress until November 1st, when crews will give the demolition a break to allow for fish spawning activities. For now, however, changes come daily, with lake levels dropping and the huge, concrete river plugs disappearing into dust and gravel.

There's a pretty cool video here of an explosive event on the Elwha dam (not to be confused with the Gline's Canyon dam farther upstream).

Lake Mills and Lake Aldwell are shrinking - I took the photo above at the Lake Aldwell boat launch a week ago and you can just barely make out where the lake water is in the distance - and soon both will be gone forever. Someday, I wonder, will there be sections of the river known as Mills Rapids and Aldwell Falls, or will those names simply be lost?

Just for a little perspective, here's a shot of Micah and Mary at that same boat launch four years ago. Time marches on, for lakes and little boys.

A Review of the Nomad

2011-10-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

I just got back from my morning paddle. Up to the point and back, going with the current on the way there and bucking it (on purpose), on the return. I was out there for about an hour, with a white platter moon hanging over my shoulder and water calm as polished glass sliding under the board. It's 5:50am.

With colder weather on the way, I won't be barefoot on the SUP much. This is the time of year when we either go looking for more insulation, or a flight to Costa Rica. Much as I want the latter - oh, how I want it - my destiny seems the type that will require more insulation. I've gone back to my normal winter wear, polypro and fleece, wool socks, with a layer of Gore Tex over everything.

On my feet, however, I wear a pair of Nomads. The Nomad, by Kokatat, is a lightweight mukluk with a waterproof, breathable gaiter that comes up to just below the knee. It weighs very little but protects very much. The footbed is fairly stiff, thick enough to provide comfort walking on a rocky, barnacle beach but thin enough to allow for good sensation and foot movement, which is critical on a SUP. The shock cord lacing system is quick and easy to step into and the bungee at the top keeps the gaiter from falling during use. The foot area is 3mm double lined neoprene and the gaiter is made out of Tropos, Kokatat's proprietary waterproof, breathable fabric.

I used to use a different brand of mukluk in the winter - it's not important which one - and while it was effective at keeping water out, it was heavy and extremely slow to dry if the inside did get wet. The Nomad dries quickly and is so comfortable, I hardly know they are there. Until I step from the board into 18 inches of Pacific Northwest water at 5 in the morning, and my feet feel like they are in Costa Rica.

(If you paddle a kayak, canoe or a board during the winter, you already want a pair of Nomads, even if you don't realize it yet. To order them, just give me a call at 253.691.7941. It's not going to get any warmer for a while.)

Mowich Lake link

2011-10-14T05:10:00.000-07:00

I recently did reviews of all four campgrounds in Mount Rainier National Park for another web site. (That was a great assignment, I might add). There was a time, not all that terribly long ago, when there were six drive-in campgrounds inside the park instead of just four. Ipsut Creek is still there, but it's a walk-in or bike-in area now and Sunshine Point is closed "until further notice." I'm not holding my breath.

Anyway, the review of Mowich Lake can be found here.

Return of the little girl

2011-10-13T05:51:00.000-07:00

The weather oracles are calling for another La Niña this winter, although it's not expected to be as strong as last year's model. What this means, as near as I can tell, is that it will be another wet, cold winter and spring, which is good news for ducks, but I could have lived without it.

Tull Canyon

2011-10-11T11:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure why it took so long, but I finally made it up to the Tubal Cain mine this past week. It's a fairly long driving approach off of Highway 101, gravel logging roads ascending through National Forest land, ending at the trailhead parking area.

It wasn't raining so much as the air was just thick with suspended moisture, much as I would imagine the interior of a cloud would be like. Which is precisely where I was, I guess. Some of the descriptions I had read of the area commented on the views that open up along the logging roads, etc. I don't have anything to say about that. I car-camped at the trailhead, figuring to get an early start the next morning. Steak and beans for dinner.

(There is nothing, and I mean nothing, like eating beans straight out of the can.)

The trail is well-maintained and although it's a steady climb, it's not difficult. At least not up to the Tull Canyon junction, which is where I turned off. (The trail that leads from that point up to Tull Canyon - where the mine is located - is not signed and it angles off in a way that might be hard to see if you're not looking for it. There's a mine shaft in the cliff just above the main trail right by the spur, probably the best way to find it.)

The spur trail ascends steeply, right from the start. It's not long, but it is a workout and slippery when wet. There are boulders and exposed rock cliffs along the way, and just when the trail begins to level off, at the entrance to the valley, is where I came across the first piece of wreckage.

In January of 1952, a B-17 that had been retrofitted as a search-and-rescue plane crashed into the mountains just above Tull Canyon. The snow was deep and the plane slid down the high-angle slope to come to rest on the valley floor, almost 2000 feet from the initial point of impact. Of the eight crew members on board Flight 746, five survived the crash and were located by rescue teams within 24 hours. The wreckage has been pretty thoroughly picked over in the years since then, but there are still large sections of wing and fuselage, along with landing gear and engine parts, strewn throughout the area.

Back when I used to fly for a living, I had my share of inflight emergencies. I had some hard landings too, although none of them were as hard as this one, and I found the whole scene there in Tull Canyon to be sobering and thick with perspective. The entire prospect of heavier-than-air flight is a risky one under the best of circumstances, and it only takes a blink of an eye for those circumstances to change.

I came across a section of the cockpit where the flight numbers were still readable. Fading paint on brushed aluminum, like a headstone there in the most exclusive of cemeteries. I removed my hat for a moment, just because it felt sort of sacred, in a way I find I can't explain now.

I came across a few of the mine shafts up there as well, remains of the copper extraction business that once dominated the canyon. From what I hear, it never was a very lucrative venture and it closed for good in the early 1950's, around the time of the crash. The forest and the rest of the natural flora has rebounded well, hiding almost all of the evidence of the buildings and machinery that once occupied the area, leaving just the random holes in the mountain.

I would like to come back again someday when the skies are blue.

(For more details about the fate of Flight 746 and the events surrounding the crash, check out this excellent site.)

Comfort zone

2011-10-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity last week to go into a few outdoor specialty shops while taking a little road trip out on the Olympic peninsula. Wildernest and Sport Townsend in PT, and the Olympic Outdoor Center in Port Gamble. Now that we don't have any legitimate outdoor shops in Tacoma any more, it's a rare pleasure when I get the chance to just go inside of one and walk around. I look at the items on the shelves, the old familiar things mixed with the new stuff.

It's like going back to an old school, or watching an old movie, like a reminder of how really good it all can be. I learned so much of what I know simply from working in a shop much like these ones. I learned how Gore-tex works, why sea kayak paddle blades are asymmetrical, how to adjust ski bindings and crampons, what "wicking" means, how to repair fiberglass, the differences and similarities between topo maps and nautical charts. And so much more.

I miss having a place like that, not only as a place to go to work, but just as a destination for the day. A place to get ideas, to dream and to help turn abstract goals into lasting realities. If you live near a shop like this, you should go in soon and say hello, and buy something. Support your local outdoor shop; you are lucky to have one.

Best laid plans

2011-10-06T08:44:00.000-07:00

I suppose I should have seen it coming. By the time October comes around, the prospect of a successful Rainier climb becomes less likely, to say the least. The past 48 hours have dumped a couple feet of snow on the mountain, disguising the crevasses and making the route not only more strenuous, but also significantly more dangerous. I woke up this morning to find four new text messages from Ned on my phone, the last of which said, "I say we don't go. We missed the weather window."

And there it is. I am not precisely happy about it, but there are some things you just can't force. In the months ahead, Ned and I will undoubtedly get together and figure out a time for next year, but right now that seems so far away.

So I'm going to do something else for a couple days instead. Lower elevations. On a trail somewhere. I'll have more to say when I get back.

Guilty

2011-10-05T11:47:00.000-07:00

There's really no way around this, I guess. I figure that it's not that unusual - to google yourself - but it does seem to speak to a somewhat narcissistic and shallow side of the human condition. In this case, my human condition. But don't tell me you've never done it.

I don't know exactly how I got to the site or what winding path took me between one URL and another, but I found out, to my surprise, that I am represented on amazon.com, quite without my meaning to be there. A Sea Kayaker's Guide to North Puget Sound, which has been out of print for a few years now, is available here for $7 more than it sold for when I put it out. I don't know whether to feel flattered or unremunerated. (If I had any copies left, I might put them out on the interweb myself, eh?)

I do have more copies of the others in the series, however. (South Puget Sound... The San Juan Islands), and they are only $12.95 + shipping. Also, I'm hard at work - or is that hardly at work? - on a big guide book covering kayaking locations all over western Washington. I am proud of the writing I've done, and I think everyone should buy a few of these books, I just feel a little funny looking myself up this way.

But I'll get over it.

Carpe October

2011-10-04T06:59:00.000-07:00

In case the late sunrises and cooler weather haven't tipped you off already (and in the event that you don't own a calendar), October is here. In all its glory. And the rain has once again begun to fall, on the just and the unjust. I am not sure to which camp I belong but, as far as the rain is concerned, it doesn't matter. I think it was John Steinbeck who said that "One can find so many pains when the rain is falling."

Of course, it's not all bad. I've got the wood chopped and split, the Packers are 4-0 and Halloween is just around the corner. There are other bright spots too. I'm looking forward to a Rainier climb later this week, as well as a paddle out to Smith Island before the month ends. Maybe a couple of other quick forays into the autumn outdoors will get on the docket while I'm at it...

Seize October. Grab it with both hands and give it a big, fat hug. Squeeze it until it drops its treasures. There will be time enough for indoor lethargies later.

Everybody does it?

2011-10-03T10:31:00.000-07:00

David Uberuaga was the big cheese at Mount Rainier National Park for a long time, right up until he left earlier this year to take the Superintendent's job at the Grand Canyon, the plum of Park Service jobs. And got a $7000/year pay raise to boot. It seems like just yesterday I was reading in the Tacoma News Tribune, the local fish wrap, about what a dedicated public servant he was during his tenure at Rainier.

And now, after he's gone, after there's no chance of his directly facing any local feedback, the paper comes out today with a front page screed about a possible conflict of interest involving his sale of a house to RMI owner Peter Whittaker back in 2002. It seems he sold his house for triple the assessed value, financed the loan himself, and gave misleading information - and withheld information - all the while presiding over the concessions contracts that RMI had with the park.

I don't want to get into the tangled web that is the history (and the present), of alpine guiding on Rainier. It is hardly a secret and it's something that the article does a fairly decent job of addressing. I just have two comments: 1) If all this happened back in 2002, and details were exposed on several different occasions in 2006, 2008 and 2010, why does the local paper do nothing but sugar-coat the man, presenting him as a paragon of virtuous park management, right up until such time as he is gone? Is a newspaper nothing more than an advertising venue, mindlessly embellishing whatever press release comes across its transom? This is why newspapers are dying; it's hard to even read them with a straight face anymore.

2) I don't know what the rest of the National Parks are like, but Rainier has been a case-study in cozy cronyism when it comes to high-altitude guiding contracts (and who knows what else?) If they renamed the place "Monopoly Mountain," they probably wouldn't be that far off. After more than two decades of being the only authorized guide service on the mountain, the park reluctantly opened contracts up to a handful of other companies, but RMI still got the lion's share of the user-days. Stories like this one tend to throw a different light on that reality.

I have a house I'd like to sell. Seriously. If anyone from the park is interested in paying me triple the going rate, I'd love to talk to him. I'm not that hard to find.

Getting dry

2011-10-01T07:57:00.000-07:00

A few thoughts on this brief story about a 40 year-old paddler who floundered down in Henderson Inlet yesterday evening:

1. Hats off to the rescuer, Teal Russell. Thanks for making a bad situation better and for giving the gift of life.

2. The story doesn't mention whether the victim was wearing a life jacket. I hope that this means that he was.

3. The best kind of kayak rescue is to stand up and walk to shore. I don't know what kind of "kayak" the victim was paddling, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was a recreational paddle boat rather than an actual kayak. In which case, it isn't designed to be used in water that's deeper than you are tall.

4. If, on the other hand, the victim was in something that could reliably be called a "kayak," he should have been familiar with simple rescue procedures. (Note: Yelling for help is not a legitimate rescue skill.)

5. If you have a piece of equipment, whether it's a kayak, a car or a riding lawn mower, it is incumbent on you to know how to use it. Don't think that because you're good at some other thing, you'll just naturally be good at this as well. Take a class. Learn something.

Enough of the soapbox... I'm off to Docktoberfest to do a SUP demo this afternoon. (The paddleboard rescue class is a remarkably short one, I might add.)

Going, going, gone

2011-09-30T05:20:00.000-07:00

I've been watching a web site for the past week or so that shows the ongoing deconstruction of the dams on the Elwha River. The hope is that, once these obsolete and ill-conceived dams are out of the way, the river can return to its former glory, and that the salmon will return as well. The Elwha was, at one time, possibly the most productive salmon river between the Columbia and the Mackenzie, before the dams put a decisive end to that.

And now the dams are falling, albeit slowly and in a most controlled manner. I am looking forward to seeing the river running through here again, although it will take some time before the area really looks normal. And, I don't know how else to say it, but there's a part of me that will miss the lakes.

The road up to Whiskey Bend will not seem the same, at least that part at the beginning where it followed the Lake Mills shoreline, where the sun reflecting off the water seemed like hanging gold. And the overlook from the start of the Hot Springs trail, with the lake nestled in the valley below like a rare cerulean jewel in a priceless setting of green. That was damn pretty. And then there's Lake Aldwell, a little further downstream. That will be gone too. There will be no more family canoe trips - like this one - and I know I can't be the only one who will miss those.

I still say it's a good thing, these dams coming down. And maybe I'm just showing my age when I feel a sense of the bittersweet... that's what happens when memories and realities collide, something the young folks don't have to worry about.

Smith Island

2011-09-29T03:37:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately about Smith Island. It's one of those places that even long-time residents of western Washington probably don't know much about, if they've even heard of it at all.

Smith Island is located near the eastern end of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, about 6 miles off the west side of Whibey Island. The photo above is from 1949 and it's my understanding that most of the buildings pictured are no longer there. I remember seeing a photo of the lighthouse once, taken back in the late 1990's, that showed it teetering on the edge of the fast-eroding cliff, much of the land where it once stood having already disappeared from under it. (I have looked on the web but I can't seem to find it again.)

The cliff just kept getting closer and closer to the buildings until they couldn't survive anymore - at least, that's how I understand it. It's part of the San Juan Islands National Wildlife Refuge now, so going ashore is no longer permitted. Still, I'd kind of like to see it for myself... I'm thinking that an October kayaking junket might just be in order.

More to follow.

On the margins

2011-09-28T03:46:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a short review of the Mowich Lake area for a different website. Going over my notes, trying to pick the right superlatives to describe what is a picturesque and unique location... and I can't shake the idea that, although I'm not being untruthful, exactly, I'm also not telling it like it is. When I say that the Mowich area is stunningly, achingly beautiful, that is undeniably true. But it leaves out the fact that there is so much more out there, more that I have never even seen, that few others have ever seen, that is even more amazing.

And it is all so amazingly fragile.

And meanwhile, out on the Olympic Peninsula, there is a plan afoot to add 37,000 acres (or 37 zillion acres, whatever), to the National Park. Wild rivers that are currently under private control, remote tracts of land that are mostly of interest to hunters and timber rangers... it seems they might be in "danger" of being put into the public domain. Jobs are at stake here - as they always are - and, if some folks are to be believed, the guv'mint is out to git the little guy, as it always seems to be.

I don't know. Nothing. Or next to nothing, anyway. Here's what I do know: we - and when I say "we," I mean us collectively, as American human beings, carbon-based life-forms breathing the same common air - we, need to be very careful about claiming as our own those things we did not produce. Forests, clean rivers, things like that. Things that we not only did not make, but that, if they were to be somehow eliminated, we could not reproduce.

There is an active element of the general population that will always believe they are entitled to trees they did not plant. Entitled to fish that were born running through oceans and streams they never understood, and still don't. Who claim as personal entitlement the very minerals that lie under the ground they live on, as if they had some part in putting them there.

Yeah, this whole scheme may cost jobs, this land reassignment idea out on the far-westerly chunk of the continent. But don't forget, more loggers were put out of work by the invention of the chain saw than by any spotted owl. Jobs aren't the be-all and end-all, far from it. We don't just want jobs; we want lives, and somewhere worthwhile to live them.

Climate change

2011-09-27T04:12:00.000-07:00

I wore a rain coat yesterday, first time in a while. It was mostly just to get up the hill, take the boy to school, nothing technical. Still, the fact that the rain is falling, that the temperature is dropping a bit, has me thinking about the weeks and months ahead.

I've got that Rainier climb scheduled, about ten days away now, and the autumn chill, along with the precipitation, doesn't bode well. I guess I knew that this little inconvenience was going to probably come up at some point, but I am remarkably good at denial when I want to be. It just seemed that, since summer was so late in arriving this year, that maybe we were entitled to a late start to the fall as well. Doesn't look like it.

I'm not complaining. This wouldn't be the Evergreen State if we didn't get the rain, after all. If I wanted to live somewhere hot and dry, there are plenty of possible spots. And I'm still here.

Probably will have to get used to the rain coat again for a while though.

Mountain

2011-09-26T04:38:00.000-07:00

"Adventure travel seems to imply a far-off destination, but a near-by destination can be scarier, for no place is more frightening than one near home that people you trust have warned you against."

Paul Theroux

Docktoberfest

2011-09-25T06:33:00.000-07:00

Citizens for a Healthy Bay is putting on an event down at Dock Street Landing next weekend that involves kayaks, live music, costumes and beer. What could go wrong? The organizers contacted me to do a Stand Up Paddleboard demo and for some reason I said "Yes." (It's not that I'm shy at all, it's just that I don't know what exactly goes into a SUP demo - "Here I am standing up, here I am turning the board..." - sounds pretty pedestrian. I'm sure I'll figure it out by then but I am open to suggestions for things I can demonstrate.

And no, I don't plan on either "Here I am drinking a beer on a SUP," or "Here I am falling in." Other than that, if you've got some ideas, let me know.

For the love of water

2011-09-24T06:01:00.000-07:00

Although I've spent hundreds of hours at the Nisqually Delta over the past 20 years, precious few of them have actually been on land. Most of the time I've been kayaking, either on my own or with groups of paying clients, exploring the intricate waterways and the ever-changing shorelines of one of western Washington's greatest marine treasures.

As the years progressed, I began to think that maybe we paddlers were loving the area to death. Every commercial outfitter does trips there (I did, for more than a decade). Every club runs several outings a year through the marshes, and individual paddlers and private groups are thick on the water most of the time. I don't know that there's a problem with this: it just seemed to me that there might be negative effects of so much popularity. I stopped offering guided trips in the waters of the Nisqually Reach a few years back and I haven't gone there more than once or twice on my own since then either.

But I think I'm going today. And, just to make it even more different, I'm not taking a boat or a board with me. I'll be taking Micah, however, and we'll be doing all of our exploring on land. The Nisqually Watershed Festival is today - booths, displays, live music and food - but I am most excited to see the Delta again, from a decidedly different perspective. There have been some big changes there in the past couple of years, with more of the area returned to its natural state and a variety of new viewing platforms. I expect it will be a wonderful land-locked afternoon.

Tolmie Peak lookout

2011-09-22T14:04:00.001-07:00

There is something special about a fire lookout. There aren't many of them left - airplanes and satellites do most of the fire-spotting work now - but the ones that remain are monuments to a time that, to me at least, seems simpler, more human, better.

It is no accident that these crow's nests were the domain of poets. People like Gary Snyder, Jack Kerouac, people for whom words were magic... they did their time up there on the crags. And yet it was such a bare-knuckle occupation as well, calling for physical strength and vision unheard of at the lower elevations. Not to mention that your average lookout tender needed to be a level-headed sort, in tune with every mountain echo while maintaining an eagle eye on all 360 degrees.

I envy those men for the time they had. For the hours spent in sweet solitude above the clouds, for their ease of daily living. I'm not being romantic here; I know there were hardships associated with the job. But there are hardships that go with any line of work... and the payoffs from this one must have been monumental.

I hiked up to the Tolmie Peak lookout yesterday, in the northwestern corner of Rainier National Park. And yes, the view was superb.