Recent bomber run with my buddy at Breck, Jan 26, 2011

Dec 19th Trip

.....
I am ready for this trip, but I am also worried.  I hope et no point do I get stuck somewhere or get in an accident.  After saying my goodbyes I was on the road by 6:45 am.  Starlight slowly gave way to pinking sky as I drove northwards.  The sun not making its first full appearance till I was in Fort Collins.  So many things already felt familiar, yet different.  Like I was doing this whole thing backwards.  The Art-deco gas station that now serves as a marijuana dispensary.   The new owners electing to keep the original colors.  Not for aesthetic reasons, ony because they were either to lazy or to cheap to do otherwise.  Nevertheless the neon green and electric purple they used for the new sign gave it the feeling of a low-class strip joint. 

I could not help but notice the sign on a car wash while I sat at a stoplight. "psst, your dirt is showing"  I felt proud and giggled as a clean sedan pulled up next to me.  No outdoor minded subaru owner would be caught dead with a perfectly clean and waxed car.

By 8:20 I find myself somewhere just south of Laramie pulled over for speeding.  He says he clocked me, I am surprised since he came at me from the other direction.  A nice enough guy and he seems to actually be sad he has to write me a ticket.  I tell him it's okay, it's my fault, and his job.  Somehow we end up talking about how until recently he used to own a ski-resort 'near-here'. But after the economy took a hit, well, now he is a cop.  I drive away not exactly sure how that conversation came up.

Soon I am on I-80 picking my way through all of the United States tractor-trailer fleet, while simultaneously navigating the snow- packed roads.  I take a little solace in the fact that all of the vehicles off the road are semis.  Some on their sides, some facing the wrong way.  That little bit of misplaced confidence is quickly shot down every time I see the grill of a MAC truck barreling up my ass.  Add into the fluffy mix a handful of folks with far off out of state plates (Florida, Illinois, Missouri) that seemed overly cuatious about driving in the snow.  So cautious that they were more dangerous.  I was glad to finally turn off on to snowpacked 191 and get away from everyone.

August 7th, 2010 (old entry)

(NOTE : I am posting random entries and tidbits from my journal trying to catch up to present day)

One week left here this summer. One week till I can put one more notch in my belt of a summer at the lighthouse. Sad to say, I feel so blasse about the thought of my remaining time. As if I have written all of this before. True, these are the same feelings I always have around this time, and in that sense they are familiar and confronting. But, well.... I don't know what to say.

Trinket, the resident baby seal, begins mewling and the noise redirects my thoughts. Four people show up just before 11, rain soaked and loud. The usual conversation of sailing here and there, of a 12 pound ham they have been using for a week and the need to pump their tanks. I wish I could avoid listening to such a banal conversation. They are so loud and occupy a major portion of the porch. Silence might only be found in the woods. I am elated when one of the women says she is cold and should get moving. I am happy they are retreating to their boats and Costco salmon burgers. The rain starts falling harder, Rose curls deeper into herself.

A slow day, a good day, a day that I read a whole novel from start to finish without much interruption. Robert Louis Stevenson "The Dynamiter". An appropriately sized green book with the visage of a young man embossed on the cover. The typeset almost a 3/4 of an inch from the edge of the page. A somewhat absurd margin that made the book thicker then what it should be.

From out on the water comes elevated voices, a father and a teenage son aboard a sailboat ironically named Nirvana. They are yelling at one another. In transiting past the point, they cut it to close and fouled their prop in kelp fronds. The father jumped into the dinghy while the son fiddled with the boat hook. The offending kelp finally freed, the boat turned towards Bedwell Harbor and disappeared into the fog.

June 14th, 2010 (Old Post, catching up on posts)

14 June 2010
The sign in the waiting area encourages people to use mass transit. Twilight Tolstoy’s have written their smarmy quips about taxes, Schwinns, and poop smoothies. It’s so infantile and yet I add my line amongst them. “Plus bikers aren’t fat” On the ferry the locals read their papers and sip their coffee in silence, while tourists chatter to shake off the morning groginess. A few stretch out across bench seats and catch a nap. Work boots hanging over the edge and sweat-washed ballcaps blocking the light. A few tables over, someone shuffles a deck of cards and another man turns the pages of his newspaper.
While off island we went to all of the usual stops, a sea of consumerism with strip malls extending out on to the pavement like awkward angled jetties. The hardest was WalMart. Fat women in tight capris and stilletos dragging their fat bawling children. Men with bellies hanging miles past their belt. Forcing them to create ballast by thrusting their heads backwards and adding bags of cookie dough to the back of their calves. Everyones shirts are so tight their back rolls appear as a pack of sausages made by an inexperienced butcher. I feel so out of place, nausea begins to take over. A couple of women walk past that are perfect examples of real behead. They don’t waste their money on styling gel, they just use the sculpting power of unwashed stringy locks. I want to run out the front doors and breath in the sweet rain perfume air. Dan pipes up “Oooooh, Scrubbing Bubbles, I love scrubbing bubbles.”
It strikes me as utterly hilarious and I can’t help giggling as we walk towards the checkout lane. I only feel completely normal again while sitting in the ferry line. A Ford Focus with Oregon plates pulls up next to us and a nun steps out with her dog.

Waiting sucks.

It has been hard, waiting for things to happen. The BLM recently changed the policy regarding docents at Patos, making it nearly impossible for me to go out this year. Now I will be waiting till July to go out to Stuart. That's fine. I have come to accept it as a part of the process.

The waiting for something to happen has left me apathetic to my writing. Add on top of it, this year I do not have someone to write to. Everything is harder this year. The rain fails to keep away the tourists from strolling out to Indian island and picking the flowers. They keep pouring in while the tide is low enough for them to walk out along the spit. The only faces I recognize anymore are family or the senior friends of my grandmother. If i feel lonely in my home, and even lonlier in Colorado, how can I ever expect to feel a part of something again?

I am still traveling with the cancerous letter that I wrote a month ago. A letter that feels out of place and time, yet I can't bring myself to dispose of it. Something about having it allows me to be visually reminded about my promise. But with no one to write to, I feel lost.

Photos: Rawlins, Wyoming to Victor, Idaho.

WeMo camping under the stars on the edge of the Kilpecker Sand Dunes in Wyoming.


















Big Sandy Reservoir


















Birth place of "Big Sandy's Boot"






























The Road Warriors once again take to the road in their faithful WeMo. (Name of the car)
















Granite Falls Wyoming, had to stop for other reasons, but the view was amazing!

Rawlin Times

An article about me, they called for an interview. Boy did I feel like a rock star.

Here are some photos from the event taken by the onsite photographer.

May 16th Start of the summer trip

Left early yesterday after a small little set back at the house.  Once my passport was re-found, I said goodbye to Tom with a big hug and a kiss.  The send off was rather uneventful, rain clouds and fog hung low over the gray road all the way to Rawlins.  A few times I was a little worried as far as the comfort of the kite festival.  While driving through a sleepy Loveland, I smiled as I passed a man walking along the sidewalk.  In one hand was a fresh cup of coffee, in the other, two red reniculas whose heads bobbled outside their newspaper wrapping.  Outside of Fort Collins the sky began to box in and fog banks filled every valley.  I barely noticed when I had crossed into Wyoming.  A few times the sky cleared up enough for me to see  the base of the wind towers or the lone male antelope in the middle of the plains.  All the while Steve Inskeep was on the radio telling me of life on the Pakistan-India border. 

 Fifty miles east of Rawlins I crossed the Snowy Range and ran into a wall of wet snot.  The thought crossed my mind that this trip, at least the part to Rawlins, was going to be a big mistake.

April 9th 2010

(Spokane Wa)
There was definitely something familiar about walking around downtown Spokane. Although for the life of me I couldn't remember where Aunties & Uncles was. I vaguely remembered it being near the Opera house, and with enough sidewalk stumbling I found it. It had changed somewhat inside. Downsizing to almost only the bottom floor. Still bright and loving, the walls the same muted white with that almost obnoxious green accent. It felt different this time. As I walked amongst the neatly lined shelves it felt like something was missing. Perhaps it was the lack of the oppressive weight of floors full of books above me. Even the attached cafe had changed. From the artistically over colored photographs on the slate gray walls to the perfectly handwritten chalkboard menu above the stereo playing french nouveau jazz. The quaint cafe had become that psuedo-neighbors dining table style of upscale fine dining. It reminds me of the Kitchen in Boulder and I feel sadly under-dressed in my hoodie with my americano and Byron. (Book: The Road to Oxiana by Robert Byron)

Don't get me wrong, I love it in here. The manager, whom I talked to for the better part of an hour, and the owner have done a fantastic job. It is just that feel like a stranger in a town that was once my home. Oddly it only spurs my desire to be back on the road. At least that is familiar from my past, a feeling like I always needed to get out of Spokane.

The music changes slightly, still the words are in french, but the beat feels distinctly Cuban or Puerto Rican. I is with this change that I am blindly following Byron through the Mediterranean eastward. Funnily enough, I am continually distracted by a particular patron within the bookstore. From where I sit I have a clear view of the magazine rack and the books on Astrology and Metaphysics. It is there that he has been perusing for the past twenty minutes. As if the answers that he has failed to find in his anarchy might be hiding in the pages of an untold horoscope. All black clothes with various slogans of the anti-corporate, gauged ears, and long black dreadlocks that reach towards his studded belt. If eel as if he is a cross between several of my friends and a cliche. I think he knew I was watching him, for he looked right at me, walked away, then circled back a moment later to return the books.

NABX 2010

For more photos see: Chris NABX 2010

Aoxomoxoa, we have all felt it. Whether we fly stunts, fighters, traction, or anything else our childish community of peter-pans has devised to put into the sky. It is that divine feeling, or transcendence that one feels at any age. Pure unaltered bliss that you can only know when you fly simply for the sake of flying. It is aoxomoxa that overcomes you and makes you smile even when you snag a kite in a bush or snap your lines. You are happy because you are doing what you love. Aoxomoxoa lives within the playa, and it calls out drawing everyone from near and far. Although, most of us traveled from all over the United States, this years North America Buggy expo (NABX) brought crews from Canada, United Kingdom, New Zealand, Australia, Israel, and Japan. Whether it was the possibility of setting new land speed records, or just to be surrounded by fellow kiters, we all converged on Ivanpah Lake south of Primm, Nevada.

The reports from the pre-event were of conditions boasting 30-40 mph winds with 75 mph gusts. It was on one of these days that Fast Arjen set a new record of 82.89 mph with a 2.7m kite. As he sped past Buggytown some dropped what they were doing, others were desperately trying to tie down their own gear in the rolling wind. Everyone, however, knew that they were witnessing history. It was into this boiling wind that the HQ Powerkite team thought they would be falling into when arriving early Thursday morning. However the storm front that had brought about those conditions had cleared out and passed to the west the night before.

The lake bed baked in the gradually increasing temperature while everyone walked around lazily awaiting for even a breeze. The more seasoned fliers watched as every now and then a ‘sucker wind’ would come through and the newbies would run out to the field to set up. Only to have their kites fall out of the sky. Time came to a standstill as the sun wavered in the sky. In the heart of the mojave, the middle of the day is the hardest. For almost 8 hours everyone floated between chatting, checking gear, and snagging lunch at Buggytown headquarters. Then at 4:29 pm, Aeolus (greek god of the winds) flipped the switch to ON and Ivanpah came alive. Buggy town emptied out as one after the other ran out to their kite of choice. The night ended with a HQ sponsored party under the big tent, with the fresh flowing nectar of Ska Brewery. The Matt’s (Kite fliers hailing from Ska Brewery) themselves stood behind the taps pouring one cup after the other for each successive thirsty kiter.

The sun broke on friday morning with a day of no wind. The bug was in us by this point, and Team Wee Thump of HQ took off across the mountains to the west in search of wind. Before reaching our destination, we were sidetracked and stopped at the edge of a true Joshua Tree forest to fly some stunt kites and deltas, trying desperately to keep them above the kite eaters all around us. Large bushes and blooming joshua trees thrusted their snarling fingers towards the sky trying to pull each one of our kites back to the ground. But HA! we were successful and walked away with only one accident, our fateful teammate Wheelie Willy had backed into a barbed wire fence. The day was only half over when we stopped by the Whistlestop Cafe in Nipton California. Once a favored stop of famed silent film actress Clara Bow, this town with a population of sixteen had become a ghost town holding on to the edge of the desert. The crew played with the bobble-head turtles and toy tanks inside the store, until that tell tale whistling of the wind started to pick up along the road. Oh sweet wind it called to us and brought us forth to the southern end of the lake bed. Would it be possible to kite back to buggy town from here? Only eight miles from the fencing along the road back to home according to the GPS. The question was, were there unseen hazards? Like what about the old evaporation pond and the berms with kite eating thorns? To do it on a buggy is one thing, but for Kiteloop Kyle to think about crossing that distance on a landboard, meant that the day would be over by the time he poured himself into camp. After much debate, the plan was scrapped in favor of bringing the wind back with us to camp. The camp was rejoicing as the dust rolled off the back of our car at a steady 15 mph. Several folks stopped by the HQ camp to try out our new baby, the Prodigy 6.5m. Others simply wanted to learn to fly either a de-power or a kite on handles. We were more then happy to teach and help set up, only to be rewarded with watching that smile spread across their face. Priceless. Flying once again into the sunset, more than the HQ Wee Thump team rejoiced when dinner came out and Lenka and Slava (Snowkite Cinema) threw on videos of the day.

Saturday came parading into buggy town with perfect wind in tow. Over 8 hours of flying and free-riding and all of us felt that great aoxomoxoa feeling wash over us. All types of traction kiters, buggiers, landsailers, and landboarders spent their time riding the pleasurable playa. If it moved, chances were that we put a kiter in it and watched it sail. With the perfect lighting and all of us out on the playing field, it seemed only perfect that we set up a tandem buggy and head out to capture some footage. Kiteloop Kyle grabbed the Montana V 7.0m in the 16 mph wind and Chris and myself in the tandem buggy popped up the Apex II 7.0m and headed to the softer side of the lake. A perfect place to throw some tricks and fly as a group. The sun set on buggy town and those not out on a midnight ride were treated to a fabulous banquet and the raffling off of many fabulous gifts.

Team Wee Thump was all too sad to wake up on Sunday. Other then the lack of wind, there was a sense of sorrow in the air as we all knew that we would be going our separate ways. We were also sad to say goodbye to those that made this event amazing. Thank you Dean, you are the embodiment of living-breathing aoxomoxoa. Thanks also go out to Jose and the various characters that aided in making sure that everyone of us left with a big ole chuckle in our hearts and a smile on our face. Thank you Lenka and Slawek, and the Peter Lynn boys for the amazing footage to keep us entertained at night. And last but definitely not least, a special thanks goes to everyone that helped in the kitchen. Without your hard work and delicious meals, we would of been relegated to eating cold McDonalds and marshmellows.

Personally I want to thank Ska Brewery for suppling free beer to all of us thirsty kiters. Not only are the Matt’s kiters themselves, but they are spreading the word and the fruits of fabulous Colorado Breweries. I also want to thank HQ Powerkites for being so amazing and accepting of a silly girl in a gray skirt that just loves to fly. You guys are always making the weirdest places feel like home for me. To everyone else that went to NABX and spent a minute talking with me and my crew, or just flew with us, you are the reason more people need to get into the sport. Finally, to the members of the new Team Wee Thump: I love you guys.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cbau/4380798629/

Dear B,

It is snowing again, and much like the moisture laden flakes falling from the sky, I feel heavy and burdened. I feel unable to let go off this oppressive feeling that someone I trusted so completely routinely lied to my face. Almost a year has gone by and without any form of real closure I feel more and more betrayed. Why I ever put any sort of faith in that friendship continues to haunt me. What a colossal waste of energy. I can't express how hurt I am right now and at the same time clueless at how to make myself feel better. There is something I am looking forward to. I plan on driving to Lake Louise outside of Calgary and cathartically burning my favorite photo of me and this friend. It seems befitting. What do you think? Do you understand why I feel this way? Does my catharsis in Calgary seem a fitting closure in light of the fact that my friend will never do me the kindness of being honest with me... let alone speak to me? Your input would be greatly appreciated, and until we speak again, I hope all is well with you.

Me

Mar 12th-13th, 2010

B, Mar 12th

On the road again. This weekend its off to Powder Mountain Utah for the Superfly. It is the next stop on the Snowkite Circuit, with only one or maybe two more before the season ends. I wont be able to make the snowkite Rodeo in Montana because it is the same weekend as the

North America Bu

ggy Expo on Ivanpah lake south of Vegas. You guys probably drove through there last year on the way to the California coast.

Sigh, just looking at my travel list for the next few two and a half months, I am excited, but worried. The van is sure to die soon. The question is whether or not I will be lucky enough to have it happen when I am either here in Boulder or at my mom's/the island this summer.

How is your trip to Newfoundland going? Well I can imagine. That is such a beautiful part of the country (no B.C. tho!) I wonder if you are going by road, plane or train. I don't know if you heard that my travels will take me through your neck of the woods in a few months. I doubt you will have the time tho to visit. Oh well, I will continue to write as if we were still friends! I have to admit that seeing the photos of you at Lake Louise

has inspired me to add it to my travels this summer. I have seen photos of it since I was a child and have always wanted to go there. But that is for another letter. This one is supposed to be about my trip to Utah! After last weekend at the Colorado Snowkite Open, I now have a whole family of kiters from all around the country. I can't really think of anyone of the folks I met that wont be happy to see me again. I know that I will always have a fresh cup of coffee waiting for me and countless others either sleeping on floors or in the back of their vans/trucks/SUV's/Campers. It is definitely an added sense of security when you are in my position. Alone on the road. It's always nice to have a friendly face amongst the wilderness.

Anyways, the weather in Boulder is trying to be spring. It is kind of sad since we never really had full blown winter here. Before we could see the snow we all sat around anxiously awaiting, the birds started chirping and the tulips started to poke their leaves through the warming soil. Pussy willows are appearing on the trees and the temperature seems to want to stay around 60. It seem strange that here I have spent yet another spring in Boulder, and I am once again on the eve of my summer departure. Thankfully these trips I have been taking have been a good remedy for my greatest malady: Wanderlust. Actually, as you know, it hasn't cured me of it, it just has satiated my appetite a little. I fear tho, that it will take more and more trips to achieve this level of being ok with remaining relatively stationary. It was a lot easier when I only looked forward to the lighthouse. Then I could bemoan my time at home with nothing to do but plan. Now, I have what I wanted, a stable home and a life out of a duffel bag.

On the subject of home, I have really been developing my idea of it. The best way to describe it: I have always wanted to see my house as a museum of my life. A repository for the detritus that tends to collect about me. I also like having the thought although my 'life is afloat' I still have an anchor somewhere.

Till after the event,

Me

Dear B, March 13th.

Driving across Wyoming. Awoke this morning at 5 am outside of Little America. After driving for an hour or so I pulled off on a ranch exit next to the train tracks, crawled atop a parked freight car and watched the sunrise. THe mountains and some cows at my back, along with the threat of a blowing front. Until now I had always hated driving across Wyoming, but there is something special about it. Long red roads and gusting winds, and thankfully a refined sense for Road music radio stations. I don't know if I would ever go so far as to live here, it will always remain a waystation state for my other journeys. Like now, I write this from Utah, waiting for the skippers meeting for the Powder Mountain Superfly.

Love,

Me

Dillon Snow Kite Open Mar 5-7 2010

For the first time ever, Colorado Kiteforce has upgraded their ever popular Therapy Sessions to a full blown competition. With roughly 30 competitors from near and far, (some hailing from Russia, Peru, and even farther!) the fields for both Pro and Amateur were well rounded. The event, set to kick off around noon on Friday was postponed due to wind conditions. Although many had set up on the ice in the lee of the marina, most felt wary about launching into the 30+ mph winds. Those of us that sat this one out, the Peanut Gallery as it were, watched from the deck of the yacht club as gust after gust came out of the west. One by one swirling vortex’s would come crashing down on the ice and tumble towards the fliers, catching some off guard and humbling most. Finally around 3 pm their seemed a lull in the gusts and the wind felt as if it had evened out to a steady 25. Those with enough faith in their abilities (and maybe a few hotshots) decided to take off across the ice for a short practice run. In short order those of us in the Peanut Gallery watched as one by one those that had ventured out came back with either their tails between their legs, or completely spent from trying to maintain control. In the span of an hour three kiters had detached from their gear completely, with one kite tumbling over a mile across the ice before it came to rest in a barbed wire fence along Highway 6. Needless to say the tapped keg of Euphoria (Ska Brewery) and the threat of a spectacular 80’s band at the bowling alley that night helped us to assuage our fears about the rest of the event.
Thankfully the great gods of the sky decided to bless us on day 2. Sadly tho, their blessings were a little misguided. They seemed to be directing their attention more at those partaking in some alpine action on the mountains ringing the valley. Blue skies, nice temperatures, and no wind. Ideal if you were doing any sort of downhill activities. This was, as evident by the RC pilots early in the morning, not what we needed if we expected to do any races. In fact before the racers arrived I pulled out a no-wind stunt kite and enjoyed the sunshine warming the day. Thankfully, around 3:30 pm the thermal finally started to kick in and those with kites out ran down to the ice to fly. This time, to be rebuffed by 7 mph winds that kept dropping down to 5. Between the conditions overhead and those underfoot, it was a chore to stay in the air let alone work your skis, or board, out of the slush that was developing rapidly. One competitor (Gary Greene of GG Wind) ended up barely crossing the finish line when the kite fell out of the air due to 2 mph wind. Several folks even walked part of the upwind leg of the race simply so they wouldn’t lose ground and could keep the kite aloft. Before we parted for the evening, the raffle was held. With folks (some only spectators) walking away with a brand new 6.5m kite, a new Cabrinha snowboard, a new set of Rossingnol fatties, and countless swag. Those that were winners, and those that weren’t, once again retreated at the end of the day to the keg, a hot tub, and the bowling alley.
Oh Day 3, we were so happy to see you come. For this final day of the Snowkite Open broke upon us all as the perfect Goldilocks day. Just right. Most of the competitors had felt that the day would take the same turn as the previous two days, so when the call came down from Anton that yes indeed we WERE going to race at 11 am, most of them were still rolling out of bed. There was a mad rush to the field, jackets and harnesses half on and rolled up kites in tow as one after the other ran down so as to enjoy the 12-15 mph steady wind from the south-east. Those with LEI’s were hand inflating while standing in line at the air compressor simply so they could get out there as soon as possible. As the pro’s were set to ride in the first race, I had time to set up the PA system and throw on Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Up Around the Bend. How funny that up until the point that I was watching Billy Bordy (Ozone), Jacob Buzianis (Best Kiteboarding), and Anton Rainold (Colorado Kiteforce) launch and head toward the starting line that I finally heard the lyrics of the song. “Come on the rising wind, we’re going up around the bend...yeah”. I think the folks on the field had the same feeling and they all let out whoops and hollers as the realization hit that the event was on in full force. All of the races were run in the next few hours with Amanda Weldy (Ski’s) and Heather Schenck (Snowboard) taking first place in their divisions in the women’s fleet, Sean Haag (Ski) and Billy Bordy (Snowboard) winning first place in the Pro division and Bentley Blaho (Ski) and Rick Dunn (Snowboard) in the amateur division. The day was not complete with out some free-riding and a chance for us to just enjoy the unconstrained joy of new and old tricks and good wind mixed in with great friends and fine weather.

update. I am an HQ sponsored kite flier!

Recent Photos

Travel makes us look sweet and sleepy.. maybe because we are.




Yellowstone Country


Sitting in the Park, with/on Ben

Elizabeth Blank at Ballestreri Winery amongst the Sunflowers.

Lighthouse Ramblings

19 July
I awoke early this morning. It was so peaceful all I could do was smile and reach out and pet the soft ears of Percy who lay nearby. It was a nice respite from a restless night. For some reason I had a lot of trouble sleeping, constantly waking to toss and turn.
I have so many great plans for the future and things I want to accomplish. Thankfully Turn Point and Patos give me a chance to really tink about all of the logistics of each dream. I have so many plans in general for the coming year and I really hope that I can stay true to my course and do them I think of the dream I have to become the US top female white-water kayaker, and realistic that is. It is a daunting task to face, and the question is am I really up for it.
The water is eerily calm. Candlestick fish create the only ripples on the water as they jump and swim. Likewise the air is still, as if lying in wait for something bigger. Not another person or a boat for miles and the only sounds of humanity come from squawks on the VHF. In the distance I can clearly see the Olympic mountains. With the weather as it is, they seem bigger today. Their snow-capped peaks feeling closer then before. There is some stirring in the mattress of kelp off the point. The baby seal cries out for its mother as it vainly tries to climb upon the slippery stalks. It splashes back down into the water, each one sounding loud and percussive in this ‘anticipating air’.
I wonder if the weather is a precursor to what I can expect as far as visitors today. The past few days I have seen over a hundred people both days, but I also saw someone by 9:30 in the morning. It is 10:30 now and not a soul has approached the point.
I get all sorts of interesting folk that come out here. I am used to the ones that complain about the hike, even tho it looks like they should be hiking more often. I am also used to all of the other sorts of folks that find their way down here, camp kids, aging boaters, those on kayak tours, and the likes. In spite of all of that, I still get broad-sided every now and then by folks that absolutely baffle me. Like today I was moving wood chips down to the keepers quarters when a fellow and his grandson came by. He offered up his grandson to help me carry the buckets. I gladly accepted and then we walked down to the point. I ended up talking with the grandfather, feeling the whole time that something was ‘off’ about this soft spoken man.
Like many he asked if there was an easier way back to Reid harbor. I try not to laugh at people, the walk is not as bad as they make it seem. I told him ‘no’ and that he shouldn’t cross private property to get there. This sparked and annoying and persistent debate which he left by saying “well there is another way to think about all of this, these islands should all be parks.”
This after I said my family still cares for its homestead property. I am trying to see it from his point of view, and when I try I find myself severely conflicted. The land is so beautiful and at times I do wish everyone could enjoy it. However, I have seen how people treat public spaces. It is a romantic ideal to think that only people of good intentions and of a ‘Leave No Trace’ mentality actually compromise the majority of visitors to public spaces. I even see it here, while my general job is to be here for the people and to open the museum, my overall number one priority is to keep honest folks honest. Ask any ranger at any park what their job now entails. They are cops in green pants with a park badge. I think the writer of Nature Noir said it rightly. “The same a-holes in the city are the same a-holes in the woods. Nature doesn’t change people.”
It is a sad but true state of things. I find it every time I walk the property and find beer cans and toilet paper on the ground. Or bits of left-over wrappings from a snack shoved into a tree. As if mother Nature doesn’t mind the extra bit of tinsel crammed down her throat.
I also take issue with his statement on many other levels that I choose not to go into at this moment. My hand would cramp and my eyes would fail before I finished that diatribe.
Linda stopped by later in evening, bringing by more toilet paper for the outhouse. We ended up sitting on the porch talking about the future of the Keepers Quarters and about the joys of dealing with bureaucracy. Right now everything is somewhat at a stale mate as far as progress. Who will and can do what is still up in the air. We ended up discussing the proposed fence and its implications. We both agreed it would be sad to cut off the little bit of view that I do have. I can see a filtered sunset through the trees and sometimes a passing tanker. Now that the trees have been cleared from the water towers, there is ample sun reaching the ground. I can’t wait to see this place after the salal and underbrush has grown up and moss carpets the ground. This place still has an air of hope about it and I hope it isn’t stifled.

A lighthouse journey

8 July 09
Started raining late last night and it looks like it will continue for awhile. Unlike yesterdays drizzle, these are big drops and enough to be of the soaking variety. I am still going to open the museum, but other then that I dont know what I will do. Yesterdays injury to my thumb with my carving tools has left my hand nearly useless for picking up or doing functional things.
After setting up the museum early, around 10, I returned to the porch with my book and watched the boats pass for sometime. The silence of the water was broken when the fast wet puffing exhalations of an Orca surfaced a few hundred feet from the point. I quickly grabbed my radio and camera and rushed down the steps. Although I could not hear any one talking on the net, on account that most of them were in Rosario Strait, I broadcasted out my call-sign, location, and that the pod was south-bound. I voiced it three times with no response and resigned myself to watching them pass when finally my ‘old buddy’ on the Emerald Moon called me and passed the info along. We chatted and shortly thereafter when I was sitting on the porch I heard the captain of the Peregrine voice over the radio “Who ever the lady at the lighthouse is, she has my undying gratitude.”
I chuckled a little to myself and shut the radio off.
Some may see it as harassment, what those boaters are doing. In fact amidst the various conversations on the net yesterday, some humorous, others argumentative, came someone who was unaffiliated to the whale watchers. He didn’t call anyone or say who he was, just “How are things in the whale harassment fleet today.”
This topic has been a constant source of discussion in the area for years. I personally have only a few minor problems with it, because I can list all of the good that comes from it. I hate to also add that it brings a much needed revenue to our tourist based economy. Money that small farms and business just can not seek to provide. I feel they also safely educate people. It is always a travesty to me to see large animals confined to small pens. We say it’s for ‘our knowledge and pleasure’. But if we are the ones that want the experience, shouldn’t we be the ones in cages in THEIR environment?
What a lot of people don’t realize is that with those boats also comes the necessary law enforcement. They don’t only hand out tickets to the public, but also the commercial. The latter sees a fine significantly more hurtful then the former. It is also because of these boats that we are able to pay for researchers etc... Such as the whale-poop sniffing dog and her boat Mojo. How else would we know if the whales have been forced to change their diets because of human effects on fish populations?
It was a rather slow day, partly on the account of the rain. Both linda and Jim came to visit and we discussed everything from the future of TPLPS to power loads. Later in the evening, after supper I went to the school library for more reading material. I spoke with a few locals along the way, and ended up bringing back a collection of work by Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripidies, and Aristophanes. I also picked up two other books, but it wont hurt to read some classical literature while I am out here.
I finally did walk along part of the deer trail out the back door, but only because Percy and Rose decided to go for a romp in the woods for over twenty minutes. I have been a little worried because Percy has been limping noticeably the past few days.

Turn Point

7 July 09
I struggled with getting out of bed this morning. I was so comfortable and I wanted to return to dreamland. The clouds cleared a little last night for the sunset and there was enough light for me to work on my carving for an hour before slipping between the sheets.
It has been raining most of the day today. Nothing that really soaks the clothes, just enough to keep the ground wet. I am a little surprised that I do have quite a few visitors, no the usual numbers, but enough to talk to in the middle of the day. Almost all of them missed it when the whales went by. They were a ways off, just barely visible enough that one didn’t need binoculars, but better visible if one did have them.
I’ve started writing more dispatches to my friends some of which will be placed in a box until the addressee is ready to receive them. In one of my dispatches I talked of my powerful need to travel and how in explaining it I end up falling short. I say something like ‘I just love meeting new people and seeing new places’. This statement seems so cosmopolitan to me, better suited coming from the lips of a debutante. I really don’t know how to describe it accurately. I think that I have only met one other person with such a kindred soul, and I hope one day he will forgive me enough to be a part of my life again.
It’s a quiet evening, the rain has taken a break for awhile, and the swallows are diligently feeding their four growing babies. I watch the parents twist and turn over the field before swooping down the deck to the nest high on the electrical box. This day has gone by fast and I feel as if I have done little, but stab myself. After closing the museum I went to make supper and worked awhile on my carving. In the process the gouge I was using slipped and went deep into my thumb. The blood poured so freely it wasn’t till my third paper towel with my hand over my head that it finally stopped. A bit of duct-tape to hold it secure and I started again. They say master carvers never cut themselves. Boy do I have a long way to go.
All of the things I am already missing this summer here at Turn Point. I do miss eating my dinner at the table by the window. It was always nice to look out on a million dollar view while eating. I still will sit on the porch for sunsets, but it is almost as if it has lost some of its feel. Little things, like I can’t feel the floorboards vibrate in my bedroom every time a deep sea tanker goes by, or eating my breakfast sitting on the door stoop while readying my paperwork. I really don’t mind being in the trailer, I am just reminiscing.

Tidbits once again

23 June 2009, Patos Island


Yesterday evening while I was working in the field the only visitors to the island, a gentlemen and his two daughters and one of their friends, came down the path while I was looking at Camas seeds. After chatting awhile they invited me out to dinner on their boat. We talked of the island and life, the history and the stories, over hamburgers and wine. It was the first time I had watched the sunset from a boat in Active Cove. Around 10:30 pm he brought me back to the cove below my camp and the dogs rejoiced at my return. The food and company were wonderful, although I lay wide awake at 4 am from a sugar rush from metabolized wine.
While I was going through the past few days of paperwork, it hits me, this is day 7. Seven more to go. It really does make sense, my supplies are half depleted, my work is halfway done. But seven days! Wow, it just seems like a lot already and a whole week to go. I actually find myself craving some aspects of civilization a little bit. Last night spoiled me for the rest of the week.
Today was a really low tide, so I set off to go around the base of the cliffs at the south end of Patos. It was not easy going. I had not even reached Trident Point and I had to walk through the salal and trees. It was through a really thick patch of near duck-and-crawl underbrush that I noticed my right glove missing. I retraced my steps to the last time I was on the beach and couldn’t find it. Sneaky Spanish John must of taken it while I had my head in a cave. Finally, after climbing through chest deep growth for half a mile, I came out on the southern beach near Trident Point. Marking almost halfway around the island. I looked up to the high-tide mark and found treasure trove of beach trash. Enough to fill my knapsack and then some. By the time I reached the cove before Blanchard Bay I was forced to build a crate to carry the pieces that I kept finding. Styrofoam, empty water bottles, oil containers, picnic plates. A plastic cornucopia detailing how we are killing oure planet every day, bit by bit. I added more along the way until I reached what I call Castle Rock, the rock that sticks up separate fromt he headland and is visible from the lighthouse. The furthest point visible from the lighthouse, at this point I was carrying nearly 50 pounds of trash on a makeshift crate on my head. There was still so much trash on the beach that I was unable to collect at that time for the sheer fact that any more items I shoved into my makeshift bundle or my sack, would fall out. Needless to say, it was heartbreaking as I left so much behind for want of room to carry it.
I eventually made it back to camp, completely exhausted and collapsed for half an hour in my hammock so that I might regain some strength. I have to admit I was some what glad that when the group of 12 or so on the beach decided to walk to the lighthouse, they also decided to pass by my camp without disturbing me. I did however feel guilty that I was shirking my duties, and after I heard them walk by towards the beach I followed and introduced myself.
I nearly forgot to mention, Spanish John that sly old coot, decided my glove wasn’t worth keeping and brought it back to the camp and left it laying in the dust where I was sure to find it.

Tidbits from my journey

Patos Island, 20 June 2009
It is a funny thing about campsites, people apologize for walking on the trail that goes by the edges of my campsite. It is as if my camp has walls and doors, ones you can see through. My life is on display, as is every camper. It’s a weird irony that people wish to respect the privacy of your camp by not intruding, but are quick to comment on your particular way of camping. For example the guy and his family who came in on a yacht with a gas dinghy, a speedboat, and a kayak. He is quick to point out that I need a generator and power tools and gasoline. I try and say at first that getting gasoline out here is pretty expensive, especially when we can’t afford a boat for transportation (yet). He goes on adding that a little Honda generator wouldn’t use that much gas, my reassurances that I dont need it since I have nothing to power seem to be lost on him. In his mind my 5 gallon jugs of water sitting in the shade, my single burner mini camp stove, and my hand crank lantern are surely a sign that I am poor, or maybe just crazy. To me they are comfortable and simple. A means by which I can more appreciate what surrounds me. He doesn’t know that I did research on and tested out several tents before finding the perfect one that I could live in with the dogs for 4 months straight. He doesn’t know that the best looking and tasting pancake I have ever made in my life was on that little PocketRocket (stove). He doesn’t know the pleasure of working all day with his hands to come back to a hammock with a view and a copy of Thoreau’s The Maine Woods. As he judges me in my campsite, I have judged him from the comforts of it. Him and his doga are overweight, his 3 boys more interested in speeding in and out of the cove on the speedboat then paddling the kayak amongst the Harbor Seals. His barbecue, mounted off the back deck, smells of steak. Probably served with potato salad from the fridge and a cold drink. I on the other hand, have picked five beautiful oysters and a few mussels and they are sitting in a mesh bag in the water for tomorrows supper. I am happy with my dinner of pasta, Curry, Lentils, and carrot.

Life as a lightkeeper, once again!

Yep, I am back up doing the lighthouse thing again. So every now and then I will post something from my journal. Again if you want a copy of the 'book' from this year please let me know.

Nic



17 June 09,
Back on Patos, lost my camera back at the landing on North Beach. Didn’t Paul Theroux in The Old Patagonia Express say something about the joy of traveling without a camera. I also stupidly left my car charger inverter at home, so I am only able to charge the VHF raio and use it for communication. Leaving my phone as an emergency resource. I gave the information to Nick, and I’ll wait to see if all of that comes through. All of my camp is set up in the furthest site, the one we call ‘Calebs Camp’. Everything is comfortable and in its place, even my hammock. The view of course is spectacular and from this vantage point I can watch the boats come in and out of Active Cove. Watch them bobble up and down as a freighter waves comes in. Compressed between the walls of Patos and Little patos, I can actually see the water rise and fall without the discerning crest of a wave.
I do feel a tad lonely already, but not as much as I will when the boats leave. There is something comforting about still hearing human voices, I may not be actually eavesdropping, but I still tune in, if just a little to hear that little slice of humanity.
“Hey Robin come here.” A man calls out from his boat.
“Yes dear.”
“You didn’t shut the cooler.”
“Oh.”
The dogs are napping peacefully in the shade and although the clouds and possible rain of this morning have burned off, the sun provides little warmth to the stiff breeze. My lunch of Honey Bunny Graham Crackers and honey almond butter is enough to give me a much needed jolt after this morning. Funny how on the ride over this morning, two of the folks on the boat live in Longmont, not more then a mile from me! I gave them my information and they may contact me when I return to Colorado. (Later I found out that this is the granddaughter of my great-grandfather Jack Barfoots best friend. She went to visit my great-grandma right after that trip and talked of a young lady with two dogs going out to Patos)
It’s barely even 6:30 pm and I am already a bit sleepy. After dinner I shuffle papers, knit another 10 stitches on my hat, then head over to the grass ont he point. I drift off watching the sun and shadows on Percy’s head before a hummingbird flys at my face and flares his tail. I think ‘Woah buddy! I dare you to pick a fight with me”.
I have a funny mix of feelings about the next two weeks. I am excited to be out here again amongst the harbor seals and eagles, but there is a part of me that is scared. Scared of possible boredom, loneliness, solitude, injuries. All of that, but I also like that I feel that fear as it seems normal.
There is a seal out playing Active Cove and I can see his body twit and glide under the water from my vantage point. Little wet exhalations as he bobs his head along the surface. I am not the only one doing the watching. As the sun starts to slip further into the western sky, clouds start to roll in with the breeze. The kind of fluffy strung out clouds that make for a spectacular sunset. At this rate i hope I am awake for it.
On my evening walk out to the sunset spot I came across 3 baby swallows laying in the grass. Two died while I searched for their nest. The third will be dead by nightfall. They were so small and fragile, each one barely larger than a quarter, but already their pin feathers were showing along with the tell-tale blue feathers that made them so easy to identify.

Video of my winter friends :)

Winter has come and gone, and all i have left are the memories and the photos. I decided to make this short little movie of my two best buddies here. Both of which might not be in Boulder when I come back from the lighthouse. Bigger and better things for the two of them.... I'll miss them.

~Nic

Thoughts on my present situation

I have been thinking recently about traveling and finding ways for people to pay me to do so. This is the constant dilemma of every traveler in the world. Either finding a job that pays you to do what you love, or finding a way to fund it. Right now with me in school it seems really hard to find those opportunities that I can actually take advantage of. I mean, I still have the light house to go to during the summer, and I love it. But I miss being a part of the world, and I am honestly jealous as hell when past/present friends of mine tell me of their recent adventures or plans for the future. Even now I am getting ready to go for the summer and I am listening to my good friend Chris talk about how he is going to move to Calgary over the summer. 17 hours away.... I understand his need to move and travel and do something... just to have a change. I also know I am going to miss him terribly. Then there is Pat, who is living back in Europe, just returned from Morocco, has been to nearly every European country out there.... I am so jealous I want to scream! I hate being jealous, I don’t feel like it’s an integral part of my being, however here I find myself fixated on how I am not doing what they are.. how I am still here trying to do what I love and feeling trapped.

I have talked about this with Tom, he doesn’t have the same urge to travel, in fact only wants to do it if it has purpose. No real desire to be a part of the ‘world sphere’. I understand it, but it is really hard to rectify those differences. I would love to find a job with a company that encourages or pays me to go all over the world and do things, however, there are a lot of people with the same desire as me. Thus making this increasingly difficult to set myself apart from everyone else.

All I can do, is train, seek out certifications, try and meet as many people as possible and take every opportunity that comes my way... only then can I see the world through people.

Nic

Swiftwater Rescue V2

The other team is running the scenario we just ran. They do a pretty good job at rescuing all of the victims from the water! After this one we moved up to harder rapids, faster current, and entrapments. Lots of fun... very dangerous... and freaking cold!

Missoula Montana, Swiftwater Rescue Tech Training V1

Intro to a dream

Old Journal entries Episode 1.0

Dec 23rd, 2007 (Driving to Galveston with family en route to Cruise ship)

One thing I notice right away as we drive along the miles and miles of cracked highway corridor; the advertisers must have it easy. Their flashy billboards and bright colors provide a welcome relief to the travelers eyes bombarded by the utter drabness of dilapetated buildings, dusty laundry, and industrial parks. Even the small vestigs of humanity that are tucked in between the tons of concrete are quickly forgotten. their rusty memories congealing together in my brain leaving me with a feeling of despair.
We drive past a cemetery, a place of emotions and monuments of life, and I am shocked to see a car driving along its parkways. The sadness in this area seems as if its such an integral part of life and society that the last place loved ones would go is to an effigy of broken dreams and shattered hopes. It's odd, generally one would assume that with so many electrical lines hung precariously in the air, that it would give the area an energized feeling. What an odd conundrum that one always feel as if the atmosphere is pushing down on them ten times harder and is more oppressive.

Dec 26th, 2007 Jamaica
Sitting dockside in Jamaica. It's such a westernized activity. A ton of fat americans in stretched bikinis, gaudy fabrics and cameras, taking pictures of and gawking at the 'natives'. It's the same in every tourist town, a facade the tourists are directed down. Where the true nature of the island is one block behind in the filth, poverty and run down children. The most endearing part of our whole walk on Jamaica is the young black girl that reached out and touched my arm and smiled. Althought the sad truth is she is being cultivated to sucker in the tourist when she gets older.

another new toy

Oh boy... I am so EXCITED!!!!!!!!!! I can't wait until next wednesday, the day my new 'toy' arrives in the mail. Last year around Thanksgiving I met Chris Turner, a local kite 'head', when I blew out a part of one of my stunt kites. After we became fast friends he infected me with the 'power kiting' bug. Although we have yet to ever really fly together, aside from that one time in front of the hospital for his grandmother, I am hooked. Therefor, I went ahead and bought my first power/traction kite along with a mountain board.


Now, yes, I do feel bad that he has told me that he wants to teach me how to snowkite etc... but... after waiting for several months I just can't help it any more and thus, I am taking matters into my own hands and teaching myself! YEAH!!!


Alright.... I will post photos and videos of my first flight as soon as I get them, but till then, here are some photos of what the kite looks like.



Nic