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.

Back to Bangkok

After a 9 hour bus ride where we recieved moist towelletes and a meal of rice and meat of unkown origin, we arrived back to the chaos of Bangkok. After staying on deserted Isles, the amount of people and pollution was overwhelming. Staying at the same guest house we did 4 weeks ago is exciting, since we can guage how much we've learned about traveling the world in that time. Two days ago our feet stepped onto Myanmar ground for about 15 minutes. We had to extend our visa, and the best way to do that was by heading to Ranong, a Thai boarder town on the southern tip of Myranmar. It was like traveling into a different time and world. There were longtails by the hundreds, rickety houses on stilts hanging over the delta, egrets, women with powder on their faces and men with plaid patterened sarongs. Gone were the neon signs, blinking and flashing in every direction. The fishing piers were all a bustle so early in the morning. I cannot say how hard it was to step into that world and turn around, but our 15 yr. old boat driver was beckoning us back to the boat. Tomorrow's goal: the ruins of Sukkotai, north of Bangkok for a 6 hr bus ride.

Clown fishies!

Holidays in the tropics seem like a glimmer of a dream. The only sign of Christmas is by the sparse, cheesy decorations adorning a few hotels and restaurants. Ben and I have returned from a journey into the deep south of Thailand. We spent about a week exploring the Ko Tarutao National Marine Park on the Western border of Malaysia. We spent the first two and a half days at the largest island of the archipelago. It felt like we were the only visitors to an abandoned park. There were thick white sand beaches spreading for miles, barren of people and littered with sand dollars and millions of crabs. The island supposedly had a curse on it, and I think the curse bit me, literally, when I recieved an innocent looking bite on my left cheek. It proved out to become a nasty and infected spider bite, which brought us to our current location, Krabi, in seek of good medical advice. And don't worry, because my cheek is making a grand recovery now. After those lazy days on Tarutao, we lifted anchor and headed to Ko Lipe and Ko Adang, even furter out in the ocean. Ko Lipe is a tiny, boomerang shaped island inhabited by a few thousand real sea gypsies with the settlements only connected my skinny white sand paths through the forest and grasses. They are a people that moved in from Indonesia and have no legal status in Thailand, but live a peaceful life from the sea and land. We spent a few days on the less populated island, Adang, hiking up cliffs and to isolated private beaches. Ben played in the waves like a dolphin while I worked on my tan. The coral was sparkling all over, full of stingrays, adorable clownfish, angel and banner fish, and so many more forms of life that seem alien to me. It was by far the most beautiful and remote place we've discovered, and it tore my heart apart to leave that gem behind. But the road is again unfolding towards another exciting adventure.

pak bara

Much has happened since the last post. Some of the highlights include; a 2 hour windy ride in the back of pickup through the warm night to the Khao Sok rainforest, blood sucking leeches and gibbon calls, monkey sightings and monsoonal downpours, and a journey to Tonsai, by Krabi (aka the climbing mecca of Thailand) where we kayaked, swam, and hiked every inch of the area possible. Today was most adventuresome day yet. We finally exited the main tourist circuit. We got to Pak Bara, the gateway to a huge and beautiful marine national park on the south western edge of Thailand, all on our own. We quickly found ourselves the only foreigners on the bus. Then we foolishly figured out that the best way to get here from La Ngu was by a moped, Ben on one and me on the other. Now our bellies are full of pad thai and curry, our heads want rest, and our bodies crave for more crystasl clear snorkeling, protected reefs, and rubbish-free islands. Some of the places we have visited so far have been sad to see with the constant pound of hammers, rubbish hidden around every corner, and reefs starting to fade. Hopefully this park does a better job at the protection aspect. Hold on for the next update.

Monsoon Remnants

As Ben and I sit in this slow internet cafe waves are splashing against the windows and Thai longboats are bobbing like nibbled fishing bobbers on the aqua green water. Last night rain pelted our bungalo and lightning lit up the water along with the full moon casting dull shadows on tall fruit and palm tree branches. We huddled under our mosquito netting sleeping like we hadn't slept in days, which we hadn't. Yesterday was reached Ko Tao Island in the Gulf of Thailand after an on the verge seasick boat ride. After pushing our way through the taxi hagglers as we stepped on to Ko Tao we strapped on our packs and hiked through the jungle chewing on lechi fruit. The path was a maze and the shore and island covered with lumpy granit boulders. At our first chance we stripped down and dove into the warm and clear water. For us it was the first time the ocean has felt warm in years. Little fish swam around our feet and coral washed ashore. It's raining but at least it's not the cold hypothermia rain we are used to, so it doesn't bother us. This morning Ben went out in the storm and got us some coconut juice after a morning swim in the wild ocean...

bangkok madness

40ish hours of traveling, a lost bag, a shocking heat wave that starts the sweat dripping immediately, geckoes on the wall, buddhist whats, international travelers, a tuktuk ride to a market selling live frogs, turtles, eels, wild eggs, fruits and vegetalbes unidentifiable, feral cats everywhere, cheap and yummy food, friendly thai smiles, and birds and sounds i've never dreamt of before. Tomorrow we head to a 'relatively' quiet island to avoid the full moon craziness and get our bodies into some warm and clear water for snorkeling and long walks on the beach. It is not hard to adjust to this traveling lifestyle!

Concrete Shock

On the drive from Ohio to Wisconsin, I glimpsed a young fawn standing on the edge of the fragmented forest pondering with its wide eyes, the flat and loud open space of the highway,the whining speeding shiny things buzzing, and the rumbling of the monstrous metal conglomerations. Where will this lone fawn go? What water can it drink as rainbow pools of oil-splashed puddles flow to the dithes and then woodland streams? Must it resort to an acre of dying woodland squashed between factory farms and highways? What does the fawn sense as rain starts to sprinkle on its ragged coat and it turns its back on the impending doom, white tail flashing in the night.