Floating in the space.

I live in Wellington, New Zealand, now.  I am a creature technical director at Weta Digital.  I am working on some CG apes for a film called “rise of the apes”, starring a concerned James Franco, coming soon to a theater near you.  It’s also fitting that I live in New Zealand now, posting here, as the image on the header of this blog is a photo I took in New Zealand, near Mt. Potts Station, in 2007.

One thing I have noticed about Kiwis (what the natives call themselves) is that they often have a gift for utter earnestness.  Three separate events took place today which reinforced this:

At the main desk of the four star hotel where I am residing until I find an apartment:

I have an important fax which needs sending.  I mean, it’s a fax, which is 1930’s technology so I damn well must have a pretty fucking important reason to be sending one, or why the hell would I bother jumping through all the byzantine hoops of getting it done?  Anyway, I give the nice young lady (holy crap I am going to be a total codger when I get old if I am calling twentysomethings “young lady” at 33) behind the desk the fax.  She goes to the back to work the arcane incantations.  Comes back out with the paper I gave her.  I ask for the confirmation report.  She goes back to get it, then comes back empty handed, looking a bit put off.  Requests further information from me.  I pause to gather myself, then inform her that fax machines print a confirmation report after receipt is confirmed.  She looks like she is about to cry and says the following phrase, which I will never forget:

“I’m only twenty-two; I don’t know how to work a fax machine!”

This while sporting the most desperate puppy dog mien I have ever witnessed on an adult.  I pause again and a rush of thoughts pour through my head: she must be having me on!  No, look at that face.  This is a four star hotel!  Oh I think she’s afraid I am going to shout at her.  She is a receptionist!  The poor girl, she’s like a little lost puppy.

And so I smile in what I hope is a fatherly way and say,  ”oh, that’s okay; I am 33 and I still don’t know how to use them.”  Which is true–I usually have the fucking receptionist do it.

Another diverting anecdote, from the dairy aisle:

For the past few days my bowels have been moving rapidly and the excretions have resembled nothing so closely, in action, sound, and results, as squeezing the dregs out of a hershey’s chocolate syrup bottle, with great force and little care as to direction.  At any rate, I’ve attributed this to my wanton consumption of milk, which I am drinking at work, combine with with the output of the ~$20000 espresso  machine in the kitchen.  I have forgotten I am lactose intolerant.

So, I collar a stock boy (man who is at least 5 years my senior) in the aisle and ask him where the lactose free milk is.  His response:

“Do you mean soy milk?”

“No, the lactose-free milk.”

“Do you mean organic milk?”

“No, the lactose-free milk.”

“What kind of milk?”

“Milk without lactose in it.”

“I don’t think we put lactose in our milk.”

At this point he grabs a jug of milk from the shelf and begins reading the ingredients.  During this whole exchange he’s had this really boyish smile of helpfulness on his face.  He really wants to help and hasn’t got a clue what I am talking about.  This from the guy who stocks milk for a living, in his mid-thirties.

I resist the urge to facepalm and say, “oh I will just grab the soy milk then”.  He’s really crestfallen that he’s been unable to assist me.  There is genuine regret in his voice when he tells me that he’s sorry he was unable to help me locate the milk lacking the mysterious ingredient “lactose”.

A bit later on in the store, I am checking out with my items.  The extremely friendly and happy checkout girl pauses while scanning my aged smoked cheddar, which is durably vacuum sealed in a sturdy plastic.  She turns it over in her hand suspiciously and asks me if I am sure I want it.  My bafflement must be plain, and I ask her why I might not.  She says, “well, it looks strange”.  I look more closely at the packaging, clearly undamaged, with the rich brown cheddar showing its loveliness through the wrapping.  I make a leap of faith and ask her, “because it’s brown?”  She nods concernedly.  At this point, I am just enjoying everyone’s ingénue, and I reassure her that it’s fine, and the bag boy says “It’s brown because it’s smoked, isn’t it!?”  Triumph.

I have resisted all my instincts at biting sarcasm.   Because if these people are for real, it would obviously result in a mass shutdown of the city and widespread panic.  And if they are this good, this subtle and nuanced, then I have no chance of competing and I’d do well to stick with my straight man shtick.  Seriously, none of these people would last a second in Manhattan.

Tags: kiwi, lol, new zealand, sarcasm, shopping

I’m in a tiny jungle village now called Lanquin, somewhere in Guatemala.  Getting here was a bit of an adventure.  I have had others, but I wrote this one up right after it happened, and I thought I’d share it.

The Book (Lonely Planet Guide) convinced me I should take the “exciting” road from Huehuetenango to Coban. It’s about 150km, and The Book says it can be done in 7 hours if your connections are perfect. I had perfect connections which didn’t match what was described in the book, but it took about 9.5 hours, and was a genuine adventure.

The novelty of cheap travel here is difficult to impart to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The one word which encapsulates it best is probably chaos. There are no schedules. There are no signs, street names, or addresses. There are no actual bus stops. There are no safety procedures. What takes the place of many of these things is people. People know where things are, how to get to them, when buses come and go, where they go to, and people and nature get in the way of vehicles, making them generally too slow to cause harm. The Book is only so up to date; this kind of entropy is continually refashioning experience, so the only way to get by is to ask a lot of questions. The answers you get will not agree, so it’s important to establish a general consensus, if you can. Practically, this translates to the following experience. The Book sums it up as an adventurous bus ride through the central mountain jungle on unpaved roads, which takes you through about ten towns and seven hours:

I walk from my hotel to the main square of Huehue, where there are probably about 2000 people standing around in a three-acre park. There’s vendors all around the place, children and animals running everywhere, cars and motorcycles laying on their (often modified) horns as they make inchworm pace while still managing to not quite kill everyone they go past. Crossing streets is an exercise in confidence. I’m usually too broad to allow anyone to share the sidewalk with me, and turning sideways only makes this worse, with The Pig on my back.

I go to where there are some garish chicken buses idling, and walk up near one, whereupon about seven different people ask me where I am going, and point at three different buses when I reply. I use the consensus, and run after the moving vehicle, grabbing a ladder on the back just as it accelerates beyond my top running speed. As soon as I have a foot inside through the back door (remember those doors on school buses? The emergency doors? They’re used all the time, here), the bus abruptly halts, but I am ready and am not dislodged. I lean back and toss The Pig up to the teenager standing on the roof, then take up position inside, bracing myself in as many directions as possible. Somewhere along the ride, the minder worms his way through the crowd, managing to collect a Q$2 fare from each rider while not being asphyxiated in the crush. I am too tall to see out of the windows, so I just ride along and get off when everyone else does, after establishing consensus among those near me as to where that should be.

The terminal is way more dirty during the day, when it’s filled with people. Adjacent to it is the market area, which smells like a sewer and specializes in fresh produce. The terminal is just a big staging yard, with all sizes of buses, none of which is parked parallel to any others. Through the fray I ask which is headed to the town The Book says I am looking for, and am disappointed to find another chicken bus for my trip. I learn that I will be able to skip a transfer, and that makes me feel a bit better about the coming ordeal. I watch the kid tie my bag down onto the roof, then board and head all the way to the back, which was a mistake. Or maybe it was not taking the Dramamine which was the mistake—but in any event, the swaying gets to me, and I am ready to puke after less than an hour. The Van Damme double feature playing in the 27” CRT bolted over the driver and blasting through the PA system probably isn’t helping, and avoiding looking at the screen helps a lot with the sick feeling. The countryside is gorgeous, of course, and I pay Q$20 for the privilege.

One transfer, Q$15, and four hours (to The Book’s 2.5) later, I am in Uspantan, and it’s about 4:30. My third bus trip of the day was in an impressively packed microbus, which is basically a van. More than 30 people in a van designed for 12. I love this place. The ride to Coban along the unpaved mountain track lies ahead, but I can’t find a driver who says he’s going there among the half dozen milling near the central square—I have missed the last bus out of Uspantan. Not a terrible thing, because I was just passing through Coban on my way to Sempuc Champey anyway. That and it will be dark when I arrive, and clouds are rolling in, obliterating the breathtaking view I am supposed to be enjoying along the way. I wander around the town for a while, cursing the lack of street names and addresses, and eventually find the hotel mentioned in The Book. I am about to cross the street to it when a microbus full of people pulls up next to me and asks if I am going to Coban.

The feeling of good luck dies quickly. Right after I pop the Dramamine I know will make me groggy, I discover that the bus does not actually go to Coban, and that we will have to transfer. I am sitting in the passenger seat, and decide to just go with it. I can’t figure out where we’re going to stop and how long the trip will take in this roundabout way—I just go with it. After about an hour and Q$25, the incredibly windy mountain road loses its surface, and becomes a mud track, which gets progressively worse. I wonder how many unpaved roads there can be from Uspantan to Coban, but it goes on for long enough, and the views through quick breaks in the drizzle are good enough to make me think I am on the right track. That and the fact that everyone on the bus is going to Coban makes me wonder what the coming transfer is all about, and I am pondering this when we approach one of the larger recent landslides we’ve been seeing all along the way. This one is about five hundred yards wide and a mile tall—it’s obliterated the road, and there is a new track which winds down to cross it, but the drizzle has made it extremely slick and the bus driver won’t take us. Everyone gets out into the wet twilight and starts walking down the road, into the jungle and across the huge landslide. A Cuban guy on a medical mission tells me that another bus awaits us on the far side of the landslide, and I go with it and follow everyone else.

It’s not so bad on the way down, but The Pig makes its presence known once I am slogging through four inches of mud on a 20 degree upslope, above 2000 meters. Gratitude to my hikers is a new and welcome feeling. Men are working on the disaster of a road, and they have very large dump trucks at their disposal. Once picks us up as it passes us on the upslope. We’re grateful for the ride, but as the truck repeatedly slides down and re-ascends the same terrain while dark falls, we elect to hop out of the filthy bed and resume our trek. I’m deep in the Guatemalan mountain jungle, on a landslide, it’s raining, I’ve no vehicle, and getting too be too dark to see. I feel prepared and in the moment, like when I am leading a climb. This would probably have been more intense if there weren’t quite a few people around. I ask the doctor what happened to the road—he tells me the mudslide was two months ago, and it killed 13 people. We’re in great danger where we are at the moment, with the wet conditions and unstable terrain.

Not far above a clutch of wallowing trucks which nearly shove us off the edge of the cliff, we find a van and driver, who tells us to hop in. Unfortunately, he’s come down from the original road a bit too far, and getting back up the mud track becomes the exclamation point on the journey’s sentence. We hop in and out a lot, and push a lot, and eventually make it with a chorus of cheers. We all run towards the receding bus once it’s able to outpace us, worried it could take off with our stuff. There’s a pleasant feeling of camaraderie among the group, which is enhanced by the respite from the hard work. One guy, however, is asking me too many questions, and says he’ll look for a hotel with me once we’re in Coban. My adventure isn’t quite over.

We actually transfer again, and PAY the guy whose bus we pushed up the mountain. Q$2 more. The final microbus drops more and more people off, until it’s only three or four of us—finally we’re in Coban, and it’s full dark. The drizzle continues, and the fee is Q$5. The guy asking me questions seems even more dodgy, as he seems to halfway be a stranger to Coban, but he’s also called his buddy with a taxi, and they want to give me a ride. They tell me it’s dangerous where I am (I am trying to get my bearings, so I can find a hostel listed in The Book), which sets off all sorts of alarms. We’re standing in front of a mall, and there are people everywhere. I resolve to get away from these two, and reposition my machete to a place where I can reach it without rupturing something. I head to an actual McDonald’s, where I compromise my culinary principles in order to put some food in me, and take a good long while to peruse the book, surrounded by children, diners, and servicepeople with shotguns.

Leaving the restaurant, I still can’t figure out where I am (I got directions from a teenager who was dead wrong—that’s what I get for not establishing consensus), and hop on a collectivo headed further into town. It’s Q$1.5. I arrive at my hostel only to discover that there’s a dance hall with the same fucking name as my hostel, and that I have to go back to where I was if I want to get there. I elect instead to just get a room at the closest place with a shingle. It turns out to be Q$98, but when I decline a TV, the price drops to Q$62, which is fine by me. I can barely contain myself when I sit down to write this out.

7 exciting bus rides through the Guatemalan jungle: $9 US, total.

Tags: adventure, bus, coban, Guatemala, hiking, jungle, landslide, mud, rain, sempuc champey, uspantan

Sitting in a fine hostel in Zacatecas, waiting for an odd moment when Juanho isn’t looking so I can go and unplug the router to reset it so I can use the internet.  I could pay $5.00 (which is actually $.33) to use their computers, wired directly to the router, but why have I lugged this expensive hunk of technology for ten thousand miles if not to save on usage fees?  Speaking of which, one evening in Vegas a few months ago while seeking a place to stay, I actually ended up paying more for an hour of internet use than I pay to live here per day.  I’m watching Total Recall, dubbed into Spanish, on the lobby TV.  It just doesn’t have the same flavor when you can hear that ridiculous accent.  It’s just as ridiculous to think that this guy is now leader of “the world’s seventh largest economy”.

I’ve slept in about 30 different places since I last updated this thing.  Some for weeks, most for just a night or two.  Almost all in the states.  I know how to climb rocks properly, now, though.  I feel competent enough to walk up to a cliff with just my rack of gear and some beta and climb to the top with a partner, then get back down.  It’s been an educative few months.  A lot of pictures have been taken, and I’ve put many of them on facebook instead of here.

Now in Mexico I find what Spanish I have coming back in fits and spurts.  I’m trying to supplement this with Rosetta Stone, but the inability of the computer to recognize my speech is frustrating.   Maybe I’ll try some Pimsleur if I can find a fast internet connection somewhere.

I think I have eaten more tortillas in the past three weeks than in the rest of my life, combined.  Heading off further South tomorrow, most likely.

Tags: climbing, hostel, mexico, rosetta stone, zacatrecas

I’m in squamish now, holing up in a rented room while it rains, a lot.  Not much going on, just enjoying staying put for a few weeks.  Got about a solid week of climbing in with Kate here, which was great, but the rain is here in force and I will be moving soon enough.  Still need to edit and go through the rest of my yellowstone pictures and video, but there will be time for that this week.  I am not sure if I am going from here to Yosemite or to Moab or to Red Rocks.  Still in decision mode.  All three of those are further than I want to drive in a day, so all will entail a stopover or two.  But I need to get back on the rock.  My ability to find rainy crags on this trip has been uncanny.  Let’s hope the desert at least will help me overcome that.

Tags: canada, climbing, kate, rain, squamish, vancouver

I’m falling behind in my travelogging.  I was in Jackson four days, and this post comprises the first two.  Since then, I stayed one night in Livingston, Montana, one night in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho, one night camping in Vantage, WA, and one night in Arlington, WA.  Now I’m in Vancouver, BC.  So I am about a week behind in my posts.  Took a lot of pictures in Jackson area, and I’ve been moving steadily, so I haven’t had much time to go through them.  Took video, too, which makes it even harder.  Well:

Day 1: Snow

My first day in the Jackson area, I decide to do a relatively gentle day hike in the tetons.  I am very surprised to find that there is a $25 fee for access to the combined Grand Teton and Yellowstone national Parks.  It’s good for a week.  I let a ranger at the station know I am hiking alone into the mountain trail and she just gives me a look which seems to ask why I am telling her this.  This is at odds with the literature the park service puts out, which generally advises not to hike alone.  The hike is generally uneventful, despite encountering bear tracks and seeing some elk in the distance.  My bear spray stays holstered.  I got up adjacent to the Tetons — they rise straight up out of the valley, more than seven thousand feet higher, with little or no foothills.  This means you can get impressive shots of them without wandering five miles into the backcountry, like I did.  I found myself trudging through snow after about 7200 feet, which was a bit alarming to find in mid October.  The valley was a little spooky, and I turned back after only a few miles–this probably more due to my lack of destination rather than the spookiness.  Due to the expense of Jackson, I ate a meal I cooked with the Jetboil (which is awesome) in my motel room.

Enclosure

There is a very nice climbing gym in Jackson called Enclosure. It’s nice because it’s not crowded, it’s huge, there is a good variety to the routes, the routes are all discrete from one another, the3re are auto belay devices, all belay stations have grigris, and there is enough normal gym equipment lofted above the entrance area to qualify as a regular gym.  Also it’s neat and clean, and everyone’s friendly.  I got some numbers of people looking for partners from the bulletin board, and though all of them tell me that they put their information up there ages ago, one is actually about to climb when I call her up, and we meet at the gym.  Her name is Katie, and she works for Alpinist Magazine.  She is tall, lean, and fit, and is a far better climber than I am.  She reinforces the fact that Squamish will be rainy and if I want to work on my actual rock climbing, the3re are better places to do it at this time of year.  She also suggests that I select a local mountain and go climb it, but of course I have no mountaineering experience, no gear for that type of expedition, and no one to go with.  Incidentally, Alpinist announced that it was ceasing business due to recent economical vicissitudes, the very next day.

Day 2: old…faithful?

Yellowstone was my original destination in the area, so I decide to go there the next day.  It’s a bit of a drive from Jackson, and I don’t arrive until too late to take a serious hike, so I head to the Old Faithful area.  It’s pretty built up, and there are tourists swarming around everywhere.  The geyser isn’t supposed to go off for at least two hours, and by then I will have no time at all to go on a hike.  So I drive up the road a bit more, and take off down the path toward mystic falls and an overlook of the whole valley, which is filled with geysers and hot springs.   Never did see Old Faithful erupt.  I blame this on the otters.

Most of Yellowstone park is actually a huge volcano that goes off very rarely.  The last time it did, half a million years ago, it produced about 2,500 times the debris as mount St. Helens.  It’s positioned above a magma chamber about fifty miles across.  When the chamber erupts, the land actually falls into the chamber, forming the caldera.  Because of the close proximity of the magma chamber to the surface, groundwater trapped in the stone is superheated and works its way towards the surface and out, in the form of hot springs and geysers.  Half of the world’s geothermal features are located in Yellowstone, which is the continent’s largest volcano.  It’s officially considered active, although geologists can’t tell when the next “supereruption” will occur.  Scarily, for the past few years, the altitude of the park has risen more than 3 inches per year, which is way above previous recordings.

Wile E

On the drive through the park, I came up on some cars stopped in the road in both directions.  This is on a highway where the limit is 55 and the turns are tight with rolling hills, so it was rather sudden.  I didn’t know this, but this is generally a sign that an animal is nearby.  In this case it was a coyote, calmly loping along the road, in front of one of the cars.  It was looking at the cars but not really paying them much mind.  I thought it was an immature wolf, but found out later it was a coyote, which are far more numerous in the park.  I drove past it three times–it had the most serene yellow eyes and a tail tipped with orange.  Already the day was going very well, and it was beautiful, if cold weather.

The fields of geysers near the roads are bridged with boardwalks, so that people do not:

1. Disturb the otherworldly mat of microorganisms thriving in the near-boiling spilloff.
2. Fall through a thin layer of crust into a spring of boiling water, covering their bodies with third degree burns in a few seconds.

Buffalo chips

The enormous buffalo chips scattered everywhere prove that the local bovines no not abide by the boardwalk rule.  It’s probably easier not to fall into a hole like that if your weight is situated over four points instead of two.  I saw about three buffalo in the distance and tried shooting them, but it’s useless with my terrible zoom to try and take pictures of anything from far away, especially when that thing is an unmoving dark blob of mammal against some lighter colored grass.  There are several small geysers and hot springs along the way to the trail. They are definitely odd things, and I have to wonder what the first humans who encountered them thought of them.  I can’t really think of anything in nature to compare them to, or really anything manmade.  Maybe fountains, if fountains were particolored and shot incredibly hot water out of the ground randomly.  I watch a couple of them go off and decide that Old Faithful isn’t going to make much of a photo op, especially since you can’t go near enough to it to get a good shot with a 3x zoom.

The boardwalk terminates into a trail which takes me up the side of a small cliff, where I can see over the entire valley, which is filled with what look like smoke pillars rising straight out of the ground.  It’s chilly out so the water is steaming off at a good rate.  The vista makes me think of a battlefield or maybe hell–I have nothing in real life to compare it to.  The trees up here are all under ten feet tall and scattered around are the burned out husks of a former forest.  I guess there was a severe wildfire that killed everything off a few years ago.

I’m a little unhappy about the photo opportunities until the sun gets low and I reach the falls, which have a number of recommending features.  The first is that they are falls, which is a welcome change.  The sun will set at a parallel angle to the gorge, which will make a great shot, so I hang around, clambering around the trees and rocks surrounding the stream and falls.  There are hot springs here, too, right up next to the falls.  I take some photos and perch on a rock, waiting for the sun to get low enough for a really dramatic shot.  I’m no more than a mile or two from the road, so it’s okay to hang out til twilight.  Besides, I have my trusty bear spray, so what could go wrong?

Otterpocalypse

I will tell you what can go wrong.  When you’re in the Yellowstone outback, the sunlight is fading, and you are perched on a rock over a waterfall fed by boiling hot springs and lined with slick mats of sludge–when you least expect it: otters.  Otters!  I saw a huge shape go slithering past the bottom of the boulder I was sitting on and I thought it was a freaking huge catfish with legs at first.  It was more than a meter long.  Then it surfaced and poked its inquisitive little otterface left, right, and went under the water again.  I got a terrible photo of it, and tried following it up the stream, but every time it would surface, I’d get ready to take a shot of it and it would immediately vanish.  It got way ahead of me–it was better at scrambling up a powerful rocky stream than I was at walking along the bank.  Up the stream a bit and noticed TWO otters now regarding me briefly, before submerging and wriggling around.  Apparently it was an OTTERPOCALYPSE.  So I got some not great video of the otters looking at me before swimming away.  I left them alone after this, as I was clearly disturbing them, which is impolite.  I checked later, and river otters are considered ‘common’ in the park.  Whatever, man; I have never seen an otter in the wild before.

Ttonka

I took some long exposures of the falls, but it was getting dark so I hoofed it back along the trail.  I was kinda jogging, and as I approached the entrance to the boardwalk back across the geyser field to the parking lot, something made me look to my left.  A huge dark shape that was not a plant or a rock was about fifteen feet from me, within the clearing of flora that was the trail.  Took me a second to note that it was a buffalo–way too big to be a bear.  About the size of a Yugo, probably with better acceleration and handling.  Still, it was a bull and I had been pretty much running towards it.  It didn’t really move very much, and was sideways to me, but I backed off slowly–there are warnings posted around the area indicating that people have been gored by bison.  I took a picture of it, of course, but there wasn’t much light and I was pretty interested in putting some distance between me and it, so it didn’t come out well.  I didn’t know that I’d be much closer to buffalo in the next few days.

However, in all, it was a far more interesting day than the previous one.  Katie, who I had climbed with the day before, had recommended that I go and climb a mountain, so that is what I resolved to do the next day–I spent the evening getting my gear ready because I had to leave at 6 AM, well before sunrise.  I had resolved to climb Table Mountain, which is directly adjacent to the Tetons, but about half a mile shorter, and not at all technical.  I would have to drive to nearby Driggs, Idaho to get to the access trail, which was in Grand Targhee National Forest.

Tags: bears, bison, buffalo, climbing, coyote, hiking, mountains, national parks, otters, snow, tetons, yellowstone

This is my last day in Jackson.  I’ve hiked the tetons, wandered around the Old Faithful area, and climbed a fairly aggressive mountain.  Also went to a very nice climbing gym where I was able to climb with a woman who works for Alpinist Magazine.  I’ve been looking into my Canadian destination some more and it looks like I may not spend much time in Squamish after all–the rainy season there, which is there now, is very rainy and will preclude climbing nearly all the time.  So I will head south prematurely, but may detour into southern Utah or Nevada to hang out and climb.

On my way through Wyoming, specifically Laramie, I saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road, but was going 85 in the passing lane and there were trucks.  Decided it might be interesting to pick someone up and see what they had to say–I have been making friends all along the route, so far.  Also, it was really cold and Wyoming is really empty.  Turned around at the next police U-turn (they don’t have no u-turn signs for these in Wyoming–I guess they figure that you might need to turn around and aren’t so woried about being sued), and drove back to pick the guy up.

His name was Johnny and he had a sign for Salt Lake City.  Told me his ultimate destination was San Diego-although it came out that he didn’t actually have a house.  He was coming from Woodstock New York, where he’d been cleaning his Grandfather’s grave.  Apparently he hitchhiked across the country twice to clean his grandfather’s grave.  He wasn’t too talkative so I didn’t pry.  Looked like a hard-lived 50 or 55, and told me he’d slept under a bridge in Laramie the night before, as there were no shelters.  Smelled like it, too.  He’d walked about a mile down the road by the time I got back to him–he was going to hoof it, ride or no ride.  All he really told me about himself was that he was living on SSI, and had been for 20 years.  He slept for most of the 200-odd miles I drove him–I dropped him off after buying him lunch, when I headed north.  Listen up, hitchhikers:  it’s your job to be entertaining if I give you a ride!

The closer I got to Jackson, the more rural and picturesque it became.  Ok not more rural–the whole world is rural out there.  I was unable to resist stopping along one country road at a derelict farm and tresspass all over the place, taking pictures.  The place was called Eden, according to my map.  I think it was worth it.

One last note: I drive a 2001 SAAB 9-3.  It’s rated at 23/29 mpg.  But so far on the trip, I rarely see it dip below 30, and if I am forced to drive 55 or 60, I have exceeded 34 mpg over long distances.  I have never seen the car get mileage this good.  I have no idea why this is happening.  Gas in KC was $2.79, and I was getting 32 mpg, so it was like a time warp or something.

Tags: canada, climbing, eden, hitchhiker, homeless, jackson, laramie, mpg, nevada, saab, squamish, tresspassing, utah, wyoming

I’m currently in Jackson, Wyoming, spending my days hiking trough mountains that are already covered in snow deep enough to be measured in feet.  They get started early here, apparently.  This town is very ritzy for a little mountain town in northwest Wyoming.  I paid five dollars for an english muffin with egg and cheese.  Can’t stay here long–the cheapest place in town is $60 a night.  They do have a fantastic climbing gym, however.

I had planned on some climbing in Boulder, CO, but the weather did not permit.  That is the third time that I have been rained out of climbing on this trip.  I better get used to it if I am going to stay in Squamish for any decent period of time.  I elected to stay in a cheap ($30) roadside motel in Denver, which was a bad mistake.  The place smelled like an old ashtray, there was incredible noise of every sort all night long.  While I showered, some sort of emergency lights were flashing outside the window.  The one looking into the shower.  Also, the door to the room was broken.  I was adjacent to the office, and I saw a steady stream of unsavories come and go all night–I think the lady working was selling drugs, too.  There was a megaphone going off intermittently outside all night–I found out the next day that it was the paging system for the grocery store across the street.  Next time I will skip out on huge signs by the highway proclaiming $30 rooms.  In the USA at least.  Man this place is expensive when you are homeless I mean *cough* on sabbatical.

I was in Kansas City, Missouri (I just love how Kansas City is mostly in Missouri) for a couple days visitng with my dad.  He lives not far from the Nelson Museum, which I spent about four hours hanging around, taking pictures.  Also visited a very odd climbing gym that used its own rating system.  Also it was completely deserted.  Not too many rocks near KC.

I have now surfed my first couch!  Let’s hope it’s one of many.

Tags: art, boulder, colorado, jackson, kansas, KC, missouri, museum, nelson-atkins, wyoming

I am now in Kansas City visiting family for a few days before I continue. Between NC and KC, I took a bit of a detour in the form of a four-day trekking trip through Great Smoky Mountains National Park, in North Carolina and Tennessee. I hiked about 45 miles through rugged mountains full of black bears and narrow woodland trails, including a 10-mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail and Clingman’s Dome, highest point on the trail and in the smokies (there is a peak slightly higher about 20 miles away-that one is the tallest east of the Mississippi). I brought my laptop with me in order to get a feel for carrying around everything in the pack all day every day. Conclusion: I need a smaller pack and less stuff.

What follows is a log of my trek.

Mount Collins Shelter, Tennessee, 9:32 PM, October 2, 2008

Even though my thermometer is reading 40 degrees and I am wrapped in my 32 degree sleeping bag, silk liner, and I am fully clothed, there is something about sleeping in a backcountry shelter that’s closed due to aggressive bear activity that makes one unable to get warm. Its completely silent—no wind, no acorns falling, no rustling, no traffic, no insects, no nothing. So when this aggressive bear shows up, I will sure hear him coming. Half of me wants the bear to come and get it over with—I have the most heinous weapon imaginable, bear-power pepper spray, and I am technically safe behind a locked fence—and the other half would just love a completely silent night. Had I known this place was verboten, I never would have come, but I didn’t see any sign until half a mile away—with twilight settling in. There is no other campsite within five miles, and even during the day, these rugged trails keep me and my 60 pounds of trekking gear to a max of just over 2 mph, on the flats. Add to that the fact that I had set out at 9 am, covered 12 miles, and there was just no choice: I had to stay in the bear-infested shelter.

There is no way my thermometer is right. I am shivering like crazy. Maybe I should put up my tent, not that I think it will help any. And it will restrict me and prevent me from easily seeing any interlocutor. It’s too damn cold for bears to be out. My primary concern is now freezing to death. I tried starting a fire but all the wood’s too wet.

Rotting Princess

The ride into Great Smoky Mountains National Park, from the North Carolina side, is at once scenic as it is a reminder of what the results of American imperialism wreak. Cherokee, NC is about as grim a tourist trap as I have ever seen. It’s punctuated by an enormous Harrah’s highrise, which is directly adjacent to a motel, once called Princess, now fenced in and being retaken by the forest. That people flock to the place in order to live inside the casino for a few days, never looking outside at the gorgeous countryside (that is, the part right over the border),just made my skin crawl. I couldn’t drive through that nasty little town quick enough.

I didn’t get to the park with enough time to hike anywhere, so I elected to stay in one of the more formal, lot-based campsites, with such amenities as toilets. And RV parks with people running incredibly loud diesel engines so that they can watch their plasma TVs while roughing it. Of course, who am I to talk, as I sit here by my campfire typing away. It’s only because I broke my kindle and have nothing else to do! Camping out in the RV park was educative, anyway, and showed me what to look for when I’d be doing it for real. Read: don’t pitch your tent in the mud.

The Worst Stuff on Earth

As I was getting out of my car in the long term lot, the bear spray in my pocket managed to get caught on my steering wheel, which both ripped off the safety and depressed the trigger very briefly. It was so quick I didn’t see anything, or where it sprayed, but I found out later. My first reaction was about three seconds later—my eyes spasmed shut, and I began coughing/gagging uncontrollably. I didn’t actually get hit with it, so that went away after a few minutes—however, I’d have the taste and smell of it in my face for the rest of the day. And it’s awful. Add to that a reaction that happened later—the skin on the right side of my body began to burn, though it appeared normal, only slightly flushed. It was worst where the pack contacted me, and where the sweat beaded on my forearm. When I touched the area, the heat would increase rapidly and become uncomfortable in a matter of seconds. Washing it off made no difference. That night, more than 12 hours later, I had to sleep with my arm outside my sleeping bag, touching nothing warm—any warmth made it feel like it was on fire. Combined with some other things to keep me up all night. Bear spray: heinous stuff. If I do end up spraying one, it will never, ever bother humans again.

Acorn Night

I overestimated my ability to get somewhere, my first day. I even had nagging doubts, but I still tried. The end result was a campout in a clearing by the side of the trail. Officially not allowed, although it was probably just as good as any other campsite. I was on a ridge, though, and the wind was relentless. The wind through the trees sounded like waves breaking—I could measure the proximity of gusts by the sounds the leaves made. Each wave arrival would be punctuated by acorns hitting the forest floor. I was awakened more than once by the really quite startling sound of an acorn hitting the tent right above my face, after falling 100 feet. Still, I was proud to have hiked about 10 miles in 10 hours, all uphill, with my stupidly heavy pack, which I need to lighten up a LOT.

The light coming across the ridge at 7:30 the next morning made my tent glow like it was irradiated. I don’t know if it was worth the sleepless acorn noise night, but it was impressive.

Stupidly, I ran out of water, thinking I’d get to the shelter, where there are springs, and so had to make due with an energy bar for breakfast and being thirsty all morning. It just made that first glug at the spring that much better—and I tell you it was good. There is nothing like getting to the top of the mountain and tasting that wondrous spring water. After filtering it, of course.

I was also rewarded the next morning for my premature campsite by coming on a group of elk on the trail near where I’d camped. They saw me before I saw them, however, and the only picture I was able to get is a nearly indiscernible glimpse of the buck’s 8-point rack. I should have known they’d be around because of all the scat I saw on the trail. But I’d been seeing bear scat the whole time and no trace of one so far. I am glad I bought that spray. I think it might be a more powerful stopper than a gun. So what if some local on horseback saw my holster and asked me if I’d seen any “baars” with a smirk behind his cheekful of chaw.

Nontrekkers

The second day I spent mostly on the Appalachian trail, which is really just like the rest of the trails in the park, but more famous. As I approached Clingman’s dome, however, I began to encounter people more frequently, with smaller backpacks and generally less fit than those I saw on the trail. Once I got to the strange tower at the summit, there were people with babies, the elderly, and obese people. I became the odd one out with my no doubt enhanced fragrance and huge pack. It was jarring all the more so because I was back in the company of the normal run of people for a brief period only—as soon as I ducked down the trail leading away from the tower, I would not see another person. Also it seems kind of obnoxious to build a tower on top of the tallest mountain around, but it’s all wooded and you wouldn’t be able to see the receding blue ridges without it. Still, there are clearings within a half mile that are unobstructed, so again, it’s a bit obnoxious.

This was the night that I had to sleep in the closed Mt. Collins shelter, which I came to about four or five miles from the dome.

Bearpocalypse

The night in the closed shelter passed uneventfully, unless you count my being unable to stay asleep for more than an hour at a time an event. Thermo read 36 degrees when I woke up, and there was frost everywhere, although my water didn’t freeze (hooray). I was so excited by not having had to chase off a bear that I took some campy shots, although I again decided to forgo breakfast, in order to get out of the spooky-ass bear camp. It was a pretty gross campsite, too. Lots of slobs, apparently drinking Natty Ice (even the boxes of which are shitty—they won’t burn).

Even though today was all downhill, my joints were aching by halfway through the day and I elected to only hike about 9.5 miles. Bringing my total to about 32, in three days. My early retirement meant I got to take it easy along a very nice creek trail, and I took some pictures I hope turn out well. Really pushing the finepix to its limits, I think. Along the way I came to another camp “closed” due to “bear activity”. Apparently it’s a regular bearpocalypse just now. “Bear activity”? That could apply to seceding from the union or taking a crap. At that camp I also came upon a group of three younger dudes, most distinguished by one of them carrying a brush scythe thing, which looked like a prop from a horror movie. They seemed alright, though I did tell them I was going somewhere I wasn’t.

Fire Making Ape

Stopping early also meant that I got to make a proper camp for once. I picked a campsite that I actually liked, at about 3 PM. I’m about 100 feet from a large creek, in a nice flat wide-open spot, with ferns and plenty of firewood. Speaking of which, I built a fire! Took photo op with “I will never take this camping” nalgene, of course. I DID LAUNDRY, by HAND, and it is drying on my CLOTHESLINE. It’s so luxurious here that I actually have a bed of ferns under my tent. Pimp. There are some nice people sharing the site with me, though they are about 50 yards from me with their own fire ring. They have horses and every time one of them gets freaked out because an acorn fell near them, it makes this horrible REEEEAGH noise which sounds like a hell demon spawn being tormented. The leader told me his name was Eighty Four, at least that is what I heard. Turns out he said “Eddie Ford”.

I’m hoping to make it to my car tomorrow, but that’s more than 13 miles away and the first three of that are very much uphill. There are plenty of campsites along the trail I’ll be taking, and there is water, so it won’t be dire at the end of the day. I have learned that lesson. However, I’d really like to get out of here, as the constant bear-related apprehension is getting to me. I’d prefer camping in the desert, where the worst animal I’d have to worry about at night would be the occasional gila monster.

Okay, I just went away from the fire, a    nd I am officially confirming that campfires are totally pimp, while camping. Reasons why:

1. Light

2. Heat
3. I am man, the fire-making ape! Who’s the apex predator, now!

Seriously, I started shivering the moment I stepped away from the fire, but over here its like key largo, or some other warm place without bears that has showers and non-freeze dried food. The people next door gave me a cookie and I almost passed out. I’m going to eat an entire pizza when I get back to civilization. I’m thinking camping out in Yellowstone is pretty much out of the question, as it’s way further north, higher altitude, and full of bears that are like, twice the size of the bears here. Stephen Colbert was completely on the money about bears. Also, much like apartments in Manhattan, camping seems to be more feasible when you have a person or two to share carrying the essentials with. It’s tough going it alone. I bet people who have actually camped out by themselves in the backcountry before are reading this and going “duh”. Another reason campfires rule: something to do. I could spend 100% of my time right now poking at it. Totally mesmerizing. In closing, screw those signs which say “choose not to have a campfire. Collecting wood impacts blah blah blah.” Fire-making ape.

Weak Sauce

My final day in the backcountry was unremarkable. My camera ran out of batteries and my stove ran out of fuel, so I had to get out. I did manage to hike 13.5 miles, but most of that was on a path wide enough for a car, very nicely flattish and free of obstacles. It was nice to look at, in many places. Even the creek crossings had bridges, and there were no ginormous logs completely blocking the trail. Not intense at all. Weak sauce.

I was exhausted at the end of the day, though, and elected not to drive anywhere. Stayed in an unbelievably spartan motel; the proprietor said “I ain’t got any of that bull-shit” when I asked if there was any wireless internet. But he did manage to direct me to a decent pizza joint where I failed to consume an entire pizza. The girl who served me there asked me about the pictures I was going through, and we got to talking. Turns out she lived in a tent in Alaska for a couple months and did encounter a bear. It was in her food when she came back to camp, and she sprayed it in the face with the all-powerful bear spray. The bear growled at her and continued eating.

So, it’s a good thing that I didn’t have to rely on the worst stuff on earth: bears are worse.

Tags: bear spray, bears, hiking, pepper spray, smokies, trekking

Haven’t updated in a while.  Been out in the mountains, away from all communication.  I took a climbing trip right before I left to go trekking.  Here’s the account.

I’m hanging by a rope on the side of a sheer cliff face, 200 feet above the deck, and it’s raining so hard that I can’t hear what my partner’s yelling at me about the state of the rope—but I can guess, as I am out of rope to descend on, that it is some kind of tangled. I’ve known David Pearson for approximately three hours, but at this point we have both literally had our lives in each others’ hands, which requires either very confident trust or plain stupidity. Probably a combination of the two. In any case, it forms a special bond, and I was trusting it at this moment, when he yelled at me to grab onto the slippery rock, taking my weight off the rope so he could untangle it.

David and I met after posting on a forum looking for partners to climb with in Western NC. I was a little hesitant at his lack of experience, which mirrored my own. No doubt he probably felt the same way about me, along with meeting up with a stranger for life-endangering sporting activities where survival is directly dependent on the competence of one’s partner.

Today, David and I have each completed our first lead climbs. In free climbing (free refers to ascending solely via the use of your body and the rock-the rope and all gear is only for protection in the event of a fall), lead climbing differs essentially from top roping in that you do not have a pre-placed rope above you, and you are systematically placing protection as you go up. Of course, as soon as you’re above any pro(tection) you place, you are exposed to a fall at the very least double the amount you have climbed above that last piece of gear. This is very different from top roping, where you never fall more than a few feet. Leading is much more dangerous, but it also opens up the vast majority of outdoor climbs, as most climbs require multiple pitches where one rope is nowhere near long enough, and most climbs just don’t allow access to the top without climbing there first. The transition to leading is a crucial stage for the rock climber. Also it requires more gear, and everyone loves gear.

The rock we were on wasn’t quite vertical—probably more like 80 degrees on average. It required a lot of “slab” work, whereby you must “smear” your shoes on the rock, without much purchase other than friction holding them there. Same with the hands. The downside to this kind of climb is that while you don’t feel as exposed, you are in fact in greater danger from a fall than you would be if the wall was overhanging—if you fall, you will not fall, you’ll skid or possibly bounce along the rock until you reach the end of the rope. So it was a hell of a place to start leading. Add to that the fact that the bolts (this was a sport lead—it has bolts along the way. Traditional lead involves using doohickeys inserted into the rock cracks to protect yourself) were spaced further and further apart the higher I got—and I was petrified by the time I clipped into a tree at the top of the route.

David led next. His route was longer than mine and sloped away above me so I could not see him once he was halfway up. I followed him, cleaning the gear out of the rock as I went. As I got into the upper reaches, I was stunned. Some of the bolts were 25 or more feet apart. That meant that David had been climbing 25 feet above his protection, exposing him to a possible fall of more than 50 feet, and that on rock that he would be hitting the whole way down. I got pretty nervous just thinking about if that had happened to him while I was holding the other end of the rope. When you’re 19, the world is a lot less scary place, I imagine. Although David wasn’t like me at 19; the summer after high school he’d hiked the entire Appalachian trail—by himself. I think at that age, I partied a lot and maybe played some Quake-I can’t quite remember.

Once at the “top” of our climb (there was more rock, but no bolts), we set down and had a snack, enjoying the quite spectacular view of Lake Lure (we were on Rumbling Bald), and the wonderful weather. Wonderful until a thunderhead rolled out over our heads from behind and immediately started dumping. It was clear climbing was over for the day after about two minutes of the downpour, and we hastily rigged a rappel. Too hastily—I got stuck halfway down, my climbing spider senses going haywire—you DO NOT climb on wet rock. Even though I was descending the rope, not climbing, the tangle seemed to take ages to undo and I was very relieved once I was safely on the deck.

The rain completely stopped by the time we’d rappelled down to the start of the first climb, and the sun was back out. It had come down for just exactly long enough to preclude any more climbing for the day—which was fine by me, as I had had enough excitement and firsts. David and I got some terrible Mexican food at a place that was half hair salon and relished the day’s happenings. We shook hands and said our goodbyes—maybe we’ll get to climb together again some other day.

Tags: climbing, David Pearson, North Carolina, Rumbling Bald

I’ve been in a non-existent town in central North Carolina for about a week.  Staying at my mom’s new house while I await a few items I need/need to take care of before I move on.  Got my kindle this week.  Marvelous device.  Way cooler than I thought it would be.  I spent a vast swath of money at REI, which I hope to not repeat for the duration of the microretirement.  Got a lot of lightweight camping technology; I will eventually post a comprehensive gear list.  I still have a car right now, so there is some excess that I have in the trunk.

I’ve been messing around with lightroom for the first time.  I wish I had done so earlier; it’s leaps and bounds ahead of photoshop, in terms of photo management and adjustment.  It really makes the difference for me, as I don’t have a very nice camera nor am I great at getting light correct-but I can adjust with the best of them.

I found myself about three feet from a large, snarling dog yesterday, on a deserted country road, when I took it upon myself to go for a run.  In typical NYC style, I elected to wear headphones, and I had the volume so loud that I didn’t hear the beast until he was just behind me–when I spun around, he pulled up short.  Clearly he was going to make a meal of one of my calves.  I just started yelling and waving my arms at him, and there was a bit of a standoff, him barking and half-charging me.  There were no rocks right next to me, so I was ready to hurl my poor Gmini at him.  It would be a good sending off of the device, though.  It’s served me steadfastly for many years.  I was at a loss, and my yelling wasn’t having much effect on the dog after the fourth or fifth time, and I thought for sure I’d be missing the health insurance in a big hurry, until struck by inspiration:  I pointed back at the house I assumed he’d come from and ordered: “Go home!”  It worked, he promptly shut TF up and loped back to his territory.   Yay training!

This incident has firmed my resolve to acquire some sort of equalizer.  I was thinking about a taser, but they are very expensive, somewhat bulky, and probably a questionable item to be carrying across borders.  So I am thinking pepper spray.  I saw one called bear spray which was both amusing and reassuring.  I’ll probably go with something more concealable, but who would have thought: bear spray.  I wonder if you can get shark spray, lion spray, or elephant spray.

I’ll be leaving in the next few days–I hope to do some climbing in the Linville Gorge area, or, if weather and partners do not permit, I’ll just camp out in the smokies.

It’s getting colder.

Tags: bear spray, camping, dog, kindle, lightroom, North Carolina, rei, running, taser