hawaii pre view flipping out on the big island

what it be to all you folks were gearing up

for the sun whales and surf many more back flips and cliff diving to be had

grap your swim suit and come on over and kick it with us island style

Wonderland Christmas

Christmas, and Ben and I were snowed in. There was nothing to do but get cozy, fire up the sauna, ski, sled, build snowmen, and ski some more in the backyard. Coming in from the cold we enjoyed delectable home-cooked food and sat by the fire while Christmas choir music played over the radio. Truly, a magical Christmas. The only things missing were family, carolers, and sleigh rides.

Swimsuits in -40

I never thought I'd be warm in a swimsuit at -40, but with a steamy hot spring to hustle to, it wasn't so bad. I never thought I'd volunteer to go aurora watching at -40 and last for 3 hours, but with bunny boots and army mitts mixed with constant jumping jacks and foot stamping, it was bearable. The aurora played around the sky in casting green off the miles of untouched hills and spruce of the north country. I felt the earth's vibration, the empty hills calling me in. And then there was the wolf. As I drove up the Denali Park Road I thought to myself that morning, "I might see a wolf today." Then, walking back from the park's kennels, head down into my scarf, a voice warned me to "look up, you don't know what your missing." There it was. Standing as I had always imagined I'd see it. A white wolf, fur tipped with gray, piercing blue eyes, staring into me from the bend of the trail, 50 feet away. I stopped, heart beating through my chest, pulse quickening through my ears. A frozen moment in time, eyes locked with the wild, and then as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared. After a few more moments of silence, I willed myself forward. It was so magical, I had to confirm it actually happened through it's tracks. It had followed mine, paw upon boot print, until that moment we connected. It was real. My lifelong dream, just as I'd always imagined it. The north country, a land of bitter cold, a land where your mistakes can get you killed, a land of raw, undulating, beauty.

Tday in Seldovia

They called it the Thanksgiving Storm 2007. The predawn hours roared and howled with an angry mean wind. Trees succumbed to the gusts. Power went in and out, and I huddled in my sleeping bag praying the timber frame barn would hold. By noon the storm abated enough to allow all 14 of us (9 adults and 5 kids), to don foul weather gear and explore the Stanisch's land near quaint Seldovia. Their moss and spruce forests were converting to swamp and huge rootballs where trees met their fate dotted the landscape. Fully drenched, we returned to the house, where we dried our jackets next to a fire and feasted on all the traditional home cooked, Thanksgiving feast. The rest of the 5 days were filled with more eating, cooking, talking around the dinner table, long walks, saunas, beer drinking, laughing, playing with the kids, and general family goodness. Was that just the bite of the wind or a tear in my eye, when we waved good bye to the wonderful and amazing Stanisch's, as our boat pulled away, to whisk us back to the 'real world'.

Winter pleasures

Glancing ahead, Ben took a sip from his water bottle. In that split second of lost concentration, my balance failed, and down I tumbled, skis over poles, into a quicksand of powder snow. Ben couldn't hear my struggles from the crest of the hill above, as it took me over ten minutes to dig myself out. "What took you so long?" he asked, as I crested the ridge. We'd been chugging upwards for several hours, and my legs were begging to stop. But the beauty surrounding, sugar coated peaks, deep, deep powder, and the bowl to ourselves, kept us trekking. We were skiing the bowl I gazed upon countless times from town below. At the top, trepidation filled me as the seemingly "gentle" slope, now didn't seem so gentle. But with a deep breath, a few timid turns, and then another run, I regained my ski legs. We glided down the mountain, a glow with our meeting of fluffy powder. Soon we trudged over muddy streams and fall leaves in our ski boots, returning to civilization, hard to believe we'd just experienced such a serene wonderland.

First snows and hard frosts. Dry skin, digging out winter layers, reassessing the wood pile. Winter is coming and coming fast. Snow geese flying past frozen lakes. They're flying south and we're flying north.

It was a whirlwind visit home, full of harvest moon, fresh orchard apples, kayaking in a handmade boat along the fox while flushing out herons and kingfishers, long bike rides in the country side to the sound of crickets and grasshoppers, and digging in the dirt to create a new garden bed. The time was gone before I knew it, half the things on my list of fun things to do, left undone. It was comforting to see some things left unchanged, while most things seemed to move all too fast. There were heat lightning storms and countless laughs and smiles, a trip up north in time to see peak colors and the festivities of Oktoberfest. Mom, can you send more cheese curds?

Surfing the wind

Spent a weekend playing with the toys and hiking through the fall colors. The water was cold and the wind howling, skirting dead salmon the biggest challenge of the day.

Autumn Colors

My backyard

Daylight is dwindling, the devils club turning yellow and orange, and the tundra is a carpet of red. Fall storms usher in one of my favorite times of year up year, a time for hiking, for breathing, for that scent of autumn in the air, for the trails, and towns to empty out, and for the bears to stock up on berries and fish.

The rain comes down an inch and hour. You can either curl up to a good book or go get wet. I chose wet. Waking to the dark this morning, I lit some candles and slithered into a wetsuit. Got to the beach by 7:30 to meet Seward Surf Cult member, Nick. The waves were bigger than I've ever seen there. The water glass, pocked with fat raindrops, waves breaking big, sending spray higher than the retaining wall. The surf zone was as turbulent as a clothesdryer. I was pummeled from waves in all directions while attempting to maintain my grip on the 50 pound windsurf boards we were using after each ride. The dogs sat on the beach and howled as we paddled out, cheering us on. A harbor seal head emerged not twenty yards away as half dead salmon showed their fins. Nick even caught one bare-handed. I conquered my fear of waves today. I went for it and I was rewarded. Now that I've stood on a board and rode a wave, there's no turning back...

Scenes from work

What elevation are we at?

We finally got the winning question yesterday, and not only was it just one question, or one person, but man, we got them all! It was a day that started out hectic, behind schedule, and in a torrential downpour. At one point I felt my balance slipping as I stood on the edge of the dock holding the stern of a 100+ pound fiberglass kayak. After a morning of such events, I was just settling in to accepting a very ,very long day, when the clouds broke revealing that bright orb in the sky. The radio crackled with reports of Orcas 1.5 miles east of Pilot Rock. After suspense filled minutes passed of scanning the horizon with binoculars up on the flybridge, I spotted that sleek, dark fin, headed straight for us and my heart leaped in exaltation. But this new sensory overload for the tourists really got the questions flying. My skipper spent ten minutes explaining to one person that the elevation of the ocean was sea level. Then I had to explain why sea otters don't have blubber and whales do, including the consistency and purpose of blubber. Another man could not believe that the little chunks of brash off coming off the glacier actually melt, once they are in the ocean. I understand that if you don't have any experience around the ocean or glaciers you might have some basic questions. I am always more than happy to answer any question and teach about nature. However, yesterday was a day that left the skipper and me scratching our heads....

Home Improvements

Between busy work days and time off, Ben has been busy on the Sauna! Located down in the gorge, the peacefull stream trickles past as the fern and moss cling the cliff walls. Can't wait to put on the finishing touches and crank up that stove, sweat, and rince in the crystal clear waters!

Goat hair on the bear berry

It started out as a short day hike up Mt. Alice with Jason’s dog, Solars. It ended up being a 3 ½ hour climb, out of the hemlocks, past the alders, and onto the alpine and scree. The world of miniature plants, rock gardens, and snowmelt ponds emits a sense of serenity and peace whenever I tread over it. I climbed and climbed, past the highest point I’d ever been to where I’d been skiing with Ryan and Ben, and way past the rise I thought I’d turn around at. This was new territory! How could I stop? After meeting two hikers coming down, I was inspired to push it just 400 feet higher, up the rocky and unstable slope to get, “a good view,” as they explained. When I crested the rise, I burst out, “Holy &#@%, holy &#$#@!” as a smile danced across my face. I dared to peak over the edge, and quickly stepped back. The cliff dropped hundreds of feet down to a craggy slope, but spread out before me, lay the Godwin Glacier, as I have never seen it before, wrinkled, cracked, blue, and a long tongue of ice. Clouds screamed up from below me and dwarfed a little red helicopter heading up the Glacier. Waterfalls laced the cliffs and snow caves gaped treacherously. After an unwilling parting, I began the long, 3,700 foot descent down. Solars was long gone, and I was caught unawares when I rounded a hill and halted 30 feet before five surprised mountain Goats. Their coats were half shed, giving them a half human appearance. They split up in a second, disappearing into the rugged cliffs, all except for one. Then I spotted Solars, running like a wolf 50 yards behind a goat, heading straight for the abyss. “NOOOOOO! SOLARS, COME HERE!!!!” I shouted. My heart started to beat in trepidation, as they neared the cliff edge. The goat flew over and disappeared, but Solars had the brains to give up his chase. As I finally picked my way down, I gave him a half-hearted scolding, and then spotted the goat again, about 100 feet down, on a rock ledge. I lay close to the earth and peered over the lip at him for a good half hour. Every few minutes he’d wiggle his ears and shift around on the rock. The minute I turned my back, he vanished like a banshee. The thing that gets me good, is I was only a few miles away from home, while I was communing with mountain goats and prancing across the alpine and snowfields.

From the Arkansas rice farmer and midwife, to the oncologist and ex-chef who spouted out recipes like an entrancing fairy tale, to the New Jersey Russians who reapplied their make-up every half hour and the wise old Indian who blessed me and wore a grin from ear to ear, I learn from the people that surround me. The day may start rainy, foggy, or sunny, but as the hours unfold, trapped on a 43 foot boat with a group of strangers every day, I learn to unfold their stories, as I unfold my own. I learn my first impressions are often wrong, and I learn to expect the unexpected. From a girl who used to be petrified of striking up conversation with unknown faces, I am beating down my shyness one day at a time. The next challenge: the art of story-telling: capturing words on the spot and crafting them into a luring and strategic web of sounds. No delete or backspace key to be found. The challenges never stop and I grow ten-fold with each flounder. Someday, I'll be the best deckhand...ever!

Brownie Points

I racked up some major brownie points with one of the skippers, Lee, in the last few days that I don't think any deckhand could ever beat. It all started with sleeping through the alarm. That is a major no-no for this job, because on-time departures are a must. Because of that rushed morning, the morning coffee took effect while we were under way (another major no-no for using marine heads). But what was I to do? Sometimes you just gotta' go. Lee had just spent three hours the previous night fixing the finicky toilet, so I figured I had a safe shot. Not so, as I held down the flusher, for 5, then 20, then 60 seconds. The sweat started to bead on my brow and my heart race as I imagined whispering to Lee with a boat full of passengers all within earshot, "Uh Lee, if you weren't already going to kill me for being late, you're really gonna' love me now." After a few more minutes of desperate plunging and flushing, I gathered strength to face the storm and clambered up to the wheel. After muttering the dreaded words I watched horror rise then fade in Lee's face. "Alright, go grab a bucket, tape down the seat, and have fun telling all the passengers they'll have to use a honey bucket," he ordered with forced calm. When we finally returned to the slip after a long day on the water, we faced three more hours of toilet slimed fun. Our other crew across the harbor yelled to us, "Hey, how'd your day go?" We both looked at each other and grimaced. Then Lee decided to declare the truth,"Fine, except the head's messed up, AGAIN!" "What happened? Did someone leave a big old turd in the toilet?" asked Katrina. He just smiled pointed to me, as I attempted to strangle him.

The next day both the boss and Lee agreed it wasn't really me that broke the head. It was bound to happen any moment and it was my lucky day. The only reconciliation I have is in knowing that I saved a passenger grave embarrassment. Yeah, I'm a hero, I guess.

But I didn't stop earning brownie points there. The next day I worked with Lee was full of loading and unloading kayakers in rainy, cold weather. The wind picked up like usual coming back to the harbor. The starboard side was loaded with kayaks and I could barely get the lines on. Pulling up to the ramp, I hopped off with the stern line and made a wrap around the cleat like usual, but for some reason (i.e. the wind), the stern wasn't getting any closer like normal. Then the bow drifted further and further out. I couldn't see Lee's hand signals through the glare of the glass, and before I knew it, the line on the boat slipped off the cleat. There I was, standing on the deck alone with line in hand, watching the boat glide away. This scene happened not once, not twice, but THREE times. With each attempt an amused audrience grew, both on the boat and the ramp. Since I've become so good at dealing with embarrassment, it was a pleasure to walk back to the boat, greeting all the passengers as they walked off, while trying to make funny cracks; "Did he say he was going to kill me yet?" "Hey, long time no see." "I missed you guys!" That night, we used our measly $20 in tip money to chug some beer to wash down that bitter aftertaste.

Note: Things are looking up for the future of Laurel as a deckhand. She need not resign quite yet, as today she was trusted to drive fifty miles through five foot swells and over an infamous terminal moraine to the above, Northwestern Fjord for five day kayak drop-off. The previous day, she was also trusted to practice maneuvering the boat in the harbor and docking at the slip. All is not lost.

Amy Tan in Xtra Tuffs

Who else could pull off wearing xtra-tuffs, the Alaskan sneaker, with a silky black, Chinese garb? Amy Tan, and her two little... ca,-er, I mean ... dogs. It was a weekend that seemed to last a week, every minute filled with interaction and reaction. Writing and talking about writing, reading writing, and breathing writing. There were also: walks on the beach, sea anemones huddled in the sand, a cup of cocoa with dogsled friend, Dean, bluegrass tunes to dance to under the twilight of midnight, finding friends two hundred miles from home, the bounce of the saw-whet owl and the haunting whisp of the snipe flight, waking to the first blue sky in weeks, and gobbling down Homer home grown eggs while effortless guitar filled the air. I sat legs bent with arms hugging me, taking in life, taking in color, taking in brevity and change, the pulse of life. Thank you great Earth for allowing me to partake in brief moments of drunken splendor.

Ahoy, a whale off the starboard!

Life has been a rollercoster, literally, as I come home from a long and adrenaline filled day at work, to see the newsprint roll before my eyes. No, this can not be attributed to the influences of the drunken Seward summer-ites. It can only be attributed to a day at sea, a day open to the elements, a day open to the power of the ocean, and a day open to waves bigger than the boat. Yesterday was a typical day "in the office:" With a boat of 12 tourists and kayakers, we were stopped to watch a group of orcas tale slapping, fluking, and breaching, when not 20 yards away a behomoth surfaced and blew off our starboard side. The gray submarine disappeared only to resurface moments later just off the bow, long enough to flash its stout fin and gray smoothness. A fin whale: appearing and disappearing out of the depths of the green waters. Before I could wipe the awe out of my eyes, the group of orcas decided to swim five feet below our boat, all in a line, their white gliding like underwater phantoms below us. Each day is an adventure, open to the whims of the sea.

Beach Clean Up

During our last adventure on the Fox Island Spit, while we waited for the water taxi, Ben whittled away at some bark, tied some twine, and created a mobile, half beach trash, half beach nature. Three weeks later, I returned, this time equipped with my dear friend from home, Summer, and a handful of trashbags on a mission to clean up that battered beach. Our team of 13 volunteers removed at least three boat loads of styrofoam, plastic bottles, lines, and even wrappers with Japanese writing on them. The most exciting find, was discovering that little mobile Ben made, still hanging peacefully, exactly where he left it on the driftwood. I pocketed it, to bring it home and ask, "Do you remember this?" It was a meaningful day and a chance to give back. One that I won't forget and one that I look forward to do again in the future.

Snorkel Snorkel

After pondering the idea in Hawaii while gliding over tropical reefs and in only a swimsuit, Ben and I tried snorkeling out in the northern Pacific, where the seas rage against the cliffs and the water temperature is a mere 40 degrees. I could not believe the beautify of the seaweed, floating and swaying in every swell, covering every surface, leaving gaps and holes for fish, sea stars, limpets, snails, and chitons to hide in. The colors were purple, salad green, florescent orange, rich brown, and red. The textures were thin, waxy, leathery, and rubbery. The water was clear and the depths haunting. I felt alive like never before as I at last explored below the surface of the sea I gaze at daily. It is a rich and colorful garden and beckons for more explorations! I'll admit, it was a little awkward learning how to kick with fins and a drysuit, or to put on my mask with mitted hands over a hooded head, but all the extra gear and hassle was unbelievably worth it, for beauty and mystery indescribable.

After weeks of bitter temperatures and wind, Ben and I lucked out on the most beautiful weekend of the winter thus far. We packed our bags and tied our boots, hitting the Caines Head trail head at 6 pm, Saturday night. The snow was deep in places until we hit the beach trail. The world was ours, full of sea birds, playful sea lions, fresh avalanche chutes, and crystal blue ice flows. After a late night around the fire, we awoke to a bluebird sky day. Ditching our packs for a jaunt up to the old fort we had to don snowshoes for four miles. The uphill trek was worthwhile as the views were breathtaking. This time last year, I hiked out to the fort with two friends and we were rewarded with a blanket of fog and mist. This year we could see for miles, only 2 boats on the water and no tracks before ours for weeks. All this, right in our backyard! 24 hours after setting out we returned weary and limping, but happy and hungry inside.

Surfing in Resurrection on Resurrection Day

Last Easter Ben and I found ourselves basking in spring sun at the foot of Exit Glacier and Paradise Creek, the only souls for miles. We've decided to make every Easter a memorable one now and we won't be forgetting this one anytime soon. I sat in the warm car, listening to the rain tinkle on the window for at least 10 minutes before Molly strode up from the beach, yelling, "Why aren't you out there, girl? " Good question. Fighting the pleasures of comfort for the excitement of the new, it took me at least another 10 minutes to wiggle my way into my dry suit. Then I stumbled out into the gray drizzle and grabbed a rock of a surfboard and hauled it to the mouth of Fourth of July Creek where Ben was already communing with the curious sea lions 30 yards off. The last ocean water I bathed in was warm and inviting, full of coral and butterfly fish. It took me a few waves to splash up over my chest to realize this was the same big ocean. This time though, as water flooded into my neoprene gloves, it felt colder than ice, colder than the coldest water I've ever felt. The waves were perfect for me, small and easy and toward the end, I actually caught one that allowed me enough time to stand up on the board. A shriek escaped my lips of astonishment. Now I'm hooked. I know what that 'just one more' mentality is. Just one more for hours and hours. I know why surfing is almost a religion to Ben. I know the connection you feel with the power of sea meeting land. Returning to the car with triumph pasted on my face, I realized I wasn't even cold, I was actually breaking a sweat.

And the north wind still blows...

Returning from a weekend full of old familiar faces and smiles, the ever constant Resurrection Bay wind threatened to nip my ears and nose as I walked along the coast, trying to remember what a fresh snowfall and sky full of snow flakes looks like. It's been over three weeks of this relentless cold high pressure system. Ben and I spent the last few days in our old stomping grounds of Girdwood. After watching the start of the Iditarod, which never fails to bring tears to my eyes, Ben and I danced the night away with fellow friends that came out of the woodwork for a telepalooza festival. The beer and high spirits were flowing like honey fresh from the comb. Then we beat off our hangover the next day with a five hour ski up to a mountain in the back of Girdwood valley with Jwax and his furry friend, Solars. The view made all the pain of inching our way up the mountain worth while. And last night I fell into the fast rhythm of the best cross country skiing I've found in years, complete with the vista of the setting sun. Keep checking the blog, because hopefully soon I'll get some pictures of all the recent travels and adventures posted.

And the north wind ever blows

After Ben squeezed in a religious sunrise surf session at Hilo with whales spouting in the distance, we boarded a metal box that dumped us off in a land of freezing temperatures, tall banks of concrete snow, and hungry moose. It has been a cold slap in the face of how much harder you've got to work to stay alive up here in AK. The last five days have been busy of digging out my Subaru which was buried to the roof, hauling water, fixing the stove pipe which was sacrificed when the cabin roof avalanched, and hauling by hand more firewood to feed the ever hungry stove. In a twisted way I am completely happy when I have to strap on my bunny boots, wrap my scarf around my neck, and pull on the mittens to face the elements and shuttle another load of wood to the furnace, or haul that sled of wood down the path and stack it in wait for the chopping block. Evenings are full of smiles and laughter from friends, slowly spilling stories as we sip wine and warm our bellies with food. In some ways it is a polar opposite way of life than Hawaii, but in others it couldn't be more the same.

Dirt work

I scrape the dirt out of my fingernails and wipe the sweat off my brow. At long last Ben and I have a real project to dream about, pour energy into, and watch fruit forth into reality: working hard on clearing Ben's land for his family and momma, the old fashioned way with sweat and muscle. When Ben first pulled up to his little lot outside of sleepy ranchland, Na alehu, I gasped at the jungle of 3 meter high Christmas Berry trees dominating every inch of the lot. It was so thick there was not even a place to park the car and we had to belly crawl to reach the ancient stone wall marking the back border. After a few hours here and there whenever we are camping out on the land, we have cleared out an area for 3 cars to park, started a drive way, built a kitchen and fire circle area, stone walls defining paths, and stone steps carved out by hand. Most impressively, thanks to Ben's motivation, at least a third of the land is cleared. The biggest grassy clearing nestled next to the lava rock wall is our favorite spot to sip our tea as we watch the moon rise over the ocean and the stars peak out at an intensity I have only found at the heights of most remote corners of Colorado. But this time, we can lay out on our backs with no need for blankets or down coats. We fall asleep to the sound of cattle, wild pigs, owls, and cats meowing through the night. We wake with dawn as a chorus of rooster and bird calls erupt with the rising sun, never late, and always anxious to start the fresh new day.

Whale sail

On the whim of the unexpected, Ben and I found ourselves in the hull seats of a doulbe canoes style sailing boat from the 50's. We were charging over waves, over the bluest of blue waters with a color I wanted to reach out and take home, and past pinnacles of pastel reef gliding below. Six of us made the crew and the swells rolled us in and out of view. The small sail sent us to an ancient village site with stone walls to remind us of the ancient culture that was fostered here. On the journey home we passed a mother and a baby whale, not in the far distance, but 20 feet away. Their soft spots on the water left a window into the void as we smoothely slided by, avoiding collision with the prehistoric.

Earth meets ocean

The power of Hawaii keeps unfolding, just as the lava, traveling from the depths of the earth, sizzles and cracks as the waves of boil and bubble. Feeling as if I was in a National Geographic movie, Ben and I rewarded ourselves with a sunset over the lava flows into the sea, a skylight, and smoking rocks a few nights ago. I was breathless and spellbound. I felt as if we had traveled through a time warp as we trekked over that alien landscape of fresh and liquid, ropey, and sharp rock. We had dropped down to the prehistoric beginnings of our earth.
The last few days have been spent using our legs and backs, hiking to a remote beach oasis in the midst of a desert of the Volcanoes National Park. We swam in crystal clear waters, surrounded by countless colorful and new fish. Turtles lazed in our little lagoon. Then we hiked back up over the Palis (cliffs), as steep as the Grand Canyon, to be greeted by two Nene, endangered Hawaiian Geese. The ache in my feet and legs has been well rewarded.

Centipedes and dolphins

A gap of time since the last blog has elapsed since the last writing. In a quick recap, Ben and I spent time enjoying the city life in Chiang Mai, including massages, museums, music, and a floral expo the size of Disneyland. Then we went for 3 days on about 4 hours of sleep traveling by taxi, plane, and rental car, dropping out of the sky to Honolulu and then hopping over to Hilo on the Big Island, Hawaii. After flying for 8 hours over nothing but ocean and then stepping onto a large and volcanic rock with hungry ocean crashing against it's cliffs, the power and rawness of this place sets in. The plants, birds, and insects are the most diverse and beautiful that I have ever seen, even those 7 inch long centipedes. Fruit is overflowing on every tree and the weather changes from one valley to the next from lush jungle to arid desert. We finally met with familiar faces and I got to experience the highly revered Olson's farm. There was a party straight out of the O.C. and clear, clean, fish-filled water straight out of Robinson Curusoe. We are excited to explore and put on our packs, tie up our shoes, and use those leg muscles exploring lava floes, caves, and hidden beaches.

Stage-fright

Wat after wat, chedi after chedi, and buddha after buddha. Ben and I have discovered our secret Angor Wat of Thailand. We've walked among crumbled and ancient ruins for three days now. We could sense the holiness and voices of people in the past. The power was at its height with the almost full moon tinkling down through a lacey canopy of tree, casting shadows over an ancient river that has been sustaining life for eons. For New Years, Ben made friends with a gang of local youngsters, we got invited to a village party, where dish after dish and shot after shot of Thai whiskey were offered. As the party heightened Ben got called up on stage to play the harmonica and dance, greeted by big grins and applause. I learned some Thai dance movements from a group of school girls, a mom, and a little 3 yr. old girl. A perma grin was pasted on my face the whole evening, as our main form of communication was smiles, laugher, and pantomime. Our first morning of 2007 was greeted by the red rising sun over the ancient river, people fishing the waters, and the sound of monks chanting.