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.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Recent Photos
Travel makes us look sweet and sleepy.. maybe because we are.Yellowstone Country
Sitting in the Park, with/on Ben
Monday, August 24, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, August 03, 2009
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.
Monday, July 27, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, April 27, 2009
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
~Nic
Sunday, April 26, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
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!
Monday, April 06, 2009
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
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
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Recent Photos
Wow... these past few days have been so much fun... and epic... and it's only the beginning!!! here are some photos.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Feb 16th random mutterings
I think back to my days on the island, (Orcas) truly magical times. I am reminded of the day that Alex Danskin and I walked out ot the field by Camp Orkila and laid down in the tall grass and watched the few clouds there were that day drift by on the inbelieably bright blus summer day. It was the summer my cousin Kevin was making a movie, a typical two bit western with his best frien Erica. They borrowed our grandfathers black powder rifles, and filmed it in the farmhouse to make it feel authentic. It was also the summer that I started to understand love in it's various forms. It was also the turning point in my life when I subconciously decided that no matter what boyfriend or husband I found myself with in the future, that my true love, the one that would make me happy the rest of my life, was my love for life and travel. It's different then loving a person. It doesn't expect you to change, it knows you will. It doesn't ask anything of you, because it knows you will give everything. It never tires of your company or pines for your return, because it knows you have never actually left. For that it is forgiving of your faults, accepting of your blemishes, and forever there to show you new paths and opportunities. I think back on the field often. Alex and I never really developed a strong friendship, we only ever knew each other during the summer. Although I did go to a dance with him... and tore my dress, a blue dress that always reminded me of a plump cinderella. But that field, and the moments lying there while life passed by have become a sacred refuge for me. I wonder now and then what paths my friends have followed after I concluded the chapters I occupied in their lives. I wonder more out of a sense of flexing my brain and trying to solidify the memories in my head, for fear that they will be lost.
It tickles my fancy everytime I think of these 'profound' moments in my life, and wonder if they had the same effect on the other participants, or if I have been the unknown actor in someone elses life changing moment. Are there friends that look back on a moment that I have deemed normal and possibly forgotten for their simplicity? It is odd for me to retreat into my mind and memories and analyze why the field with Alex, or the dock with Sam, or the night in the alley with Chris have had profound affects on me. While at the same time life chaning decisions or moves are relegated to "Oh yeah, I guess I remember that".
I miss the middle east. I miss the people. I am still working my way into the Republic of Boulders 'scene'.... and at the same time fighting an urge to run, go on the road and get away. I want the lighthouse. I want the solitude and the open friendship of the people that came to visit the lighthouse and found a friendly face sitting on the porch. I guess that's part of the real reason I miss working, that and feeling useful to someone other then myself.
It tickles my fancy everytime I think of these 'profound' moments in my life, and wonder if they had the same effect on the other participants, or if I have been the unknown actor in someone elses life changing moment. Are there friends that look back on a moment that I have deemed normal and possibly forgotten for their simplicity? It is odd for me to retreat into my mind and memories and analyze why the field with Alex, or the dock with Sam, or the night in the alley with Chris have had profound affects on me. While at the same time life chaning decisions or moves are relegated to "Oh yeah, I guess I remember that".
I miss the middle east. I miss the people. I am still working my way into the Republic of Boulders 'scene'.... and at the same time fighting an urge to run, go on the road and get away. I want the lighthouse. I want the solitude and the open friendship of the people that came to visit the lighthouse and found a friendly face sitting on the porch. I guess that's part of the real reason I miss working, that and feeling useful to someone other then myself.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Life in Colorado
I've been trying to keep myself busy the past few weeks, with working on my creative writing, attending the Boulder International Film Festival, and trying to get as much time outside doing what I love. As a result I have adopted my personal motto for the half year or what have you, "No excuses, just priorities". With that I am going to go out and do all the things I love, stay busy,. and stop making excuses for not trying new things, or for delaying what I have already planned.
Anyways, here are some photos of the past 2 weeks.
My new 'Mountain Board'
Love, me
Monday, February 09, 2009
Paris Photos
Ok so I actually have about 300 more photos that I haven't put up on here, this is just a random collection of some of the photos I did take. Please enjoy. More to come from my recent escapades shortly.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Paris Episode 2
Jan 21st cont...
There is something pleasing about a map. TI's lines and etchings ay 'here i am, all of the knowledge you need, and I can be trusted, I am the culmination of all of the great thinkers of life that may have wondered across my pages and folds. What better way to finish a meal then to have that wonderful coated feeling of formage, and a cafe with it's somkey darkness. Thankfully our waiter at the bistro is helpful and understanding of our troubles and helps us with our poor pronunciation and lives through our bastardization of the language of love. If only everyone in the world was as polite and understanding of peoples faults. I think of the novel that I'm reading now, 'Le Flaneur' about the consumate wonderer, the one who travels Paris to purposely lose themselves in its streets. Ah this is me, I would walk the whole of Paris if the opportunity presented itself at the right time. Ah the possibility that is the American Western Front, home of the pioneers and outposts. It suits me all to well. I keep thinking of jobs back in Boulder.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Paris Ep. 1 part 2. Jardin Luxembourg and The Pantheon
Jan 21st --- AH! out on a walk to the department store today to purchase some clothes for the next week (luggage is still lost) we passed by a true traditional book binder that was hand tooling the leather binding. OH!!! I have a new dream job!
*Le Jardin d' Luxembourg*
It's beautiful here, serene. The terns and pigeons disturbed from the fountains lift off and dance lazily around the palace. It's cold here, the french scurry about to and from work tightly wrapped in wool scarves and coats. What else can be said about them, then a people in perpetual motion living i a city stuck in time. I would love 
to see this Jardin in spring or summer, but for now it remains a place of possibility and probably beauty.There is a carousel in the Jardin, with each revolution a kid yells out how many times he has gone around. "Trois, Trois, Trois!!" he is quite enthusiastic about it. It makes me think of all of the flocks of scooters rushing around town. I swear I have seen them, certain ones, a few times. Zip, zip, between the cars and buses. I am amazed that I have yet to see one sprawled out across the pavement. A fat little black pigeon sits down beside me, hoping I might shed a scrap or two of something unfrozen in his direction.
*Pantheon*
As we walk past the paintings of the story of Joan of Arc, the crowning of Charlamagne, and many more, it feels surreal to be standing at the site of the original Foccault Pendulum, or to be standing in the crypt of Marie Curie, Voltaire, and 
other magnificent people of the past. These have always been only names in my books, references, merely only existing as figments of my imagination. They didn't seem real until this moment, the one which I am sitting here, writing at the feet of Voltaire and hoping that one day I will achieve such literary greatness. It is cold inside the Pantheon, not nearly as much as it was outside, but the small heater we sit next to under a mural of Joan d' Arc warms us as we choose our next location. I would love to go to Notre Dame, but that might have to wait till another day when the battery in the camera has a greater charge. 
Definitely one of the joys of Paris in winter is the lack of tourists. I could only imagine how crowded the historical attractions are when they are full of 8 million camera toting Chinese, fashionable Russians, and rotund and obscure Americans on a holiday. 
It might be biting at Tom's nerves that I continually want to stop and write, but being in a part of the world that was once the bohemian capital of the world and was home to some of the greatest authors in history inspires me to express myself. Even if every now and then I imagine myself on this trip in other conditions.I love our little hotel with it's sloping stairs, broken spring arm chairs, toille wallpaper, and the sweet old lady behind the counter who appreciates my frustration at losing my luggage and all of my clean clothes. Oh well, making the best of it.
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