Pescadero

Pescadero was exactly what I was looking for when I came to Mexico. I imagined beach camping directly in front of a wave, sunrise out on the water and enough waves to go around. 

My journey was circuitous; I left a day late from the states. Missing my flight worked out. I spent the day sleeping off the sickness that snuck up on me the day of my planned departure. To avoid missing the next flight I stayed up all night playing Catan with my buddies. If you haven't played I highly advise it. Settlers of Catan is the perfect platform to burn up 21st century tension by trading, conquering and expanding your settlements. We've coined it hippie monopoly. 

Arriving in Mexico was the equivalent to a travel nightmare but I was in too high spirits to care. The contents of Alaska flight 626 were disgorged onto the roasting tarmac. After dodging multiple vehicles I finally made it to a non-descript door where I was ushered into the terminal. After passing an employee checking air conditioning ducts I progressed headlong into a thicker and thicker stream of humans. Promptly the human river came to a standstill at the top of a two story set of non-functioning escalators packed to the brim with vacation bound North Americans sporting shirts like "Cabo Fiesta 2017" and "Tequila, Fiesta, Siesta, Repeat." Two hours later I passed customs and was greeted by my intact surfboard. I was so grateful that I hollered and kissed my bag. On further inspection it took a small ding but nothing to complain about.

I managed to find public transit in a sea of mini-buses and taxis and began my bus hopping to Pescadero. I was deposited in the dust in a sleepy little town. I found a winding road leading to the coast and trudged towards the setting sun. About three quarters of the way two expats pulled up in their Tacoma and gave me an incredulous look, followed by. Hop in! They gave me a sandy piece of board wax and pointed me towards the free camping. The sun had set and it was getting dark, I was tired and looking for a place to crash. I figured that by walking to the end of the beach I might find a secluded nook. As I passed a camper van a voice yelled out, ¨Did you just arrive?¨ I answered with the affirmative and they quickly followed with, ¨Want some rum!?¨ They were Canadian, and dawn would show me that the majority of license plates were from British Columbia.

            The next morning I was the first one out in the water. The waves were heavy and thick, once people showed up, the vibes were unheard of. Everyone cheering each other on as they dropped into the heaving behemoths. I was shaky and nervous but managed to pull into a couple nice waves over the course of the morning. The best part: my handmade board performs like a dream! 

Adventures with a Canadian Fox

In the steady continuation of datecations with my Canadian love, I spent the first part of 2017 basking in the glory that is British Columbia. Gladly the incessant rain abated within a few days after my arrival and we got a few days of unreal, crisp sunny weather. We took full advantage of this and managed to snowboard under blue-bird skies, hike through the dripping Red Cedars that characterize the Pacific Northwest, and sea kayak around Gabriola Island.

Photo Credit: Megs

The wonder of Vancouver, as an outdoor enthusiast, is that for a city of over 600,000 people, nature surrounds and nearly engulfs the glass and steel cityscape. Three ski resorts within thirty minutes not to mention Whistler, just under two hours away. Ocean on two, or three sides of the city depending on where you are. Ferries that run daily taking you to the gulf islands or Vancouver Island proper. Needless to say, I'm in love with it almost as much as I am with Megs.



The moment I would like to share was a sunset walk that we took to the waters edge on Gabriola Island. We headed to a spot that Megs had been to before, a spit of land that becomes an island when the tide is high. The sun was setting and we were off; the walk was surreal. The cedars grew close together, making the forest floor a mono-crop of moss. With each step, the moss would pucker, swallowing our feet. Our ramble followed animal trails that meandered through this green and rust red world. A sound caught my attention to our left and as I turned the image brought The Wild Things promptly to memory. A Scottish highland cow, with huge curving horns, and a long wavy coat to match the trees peered at us with a baby by its side. The cow proved to be benign, content to watch us as we hopped over logs towards the ocean that we could perceive through the thickness of the trees.

We crossed the threshold of the forest to the placid ocean dotted with islands. The sun was beaming on the snow capped mountains across the Strait of Georgia. The sky was immaculate, not a cloud to be seen and the alpenglow rising pink off of the rugged treeless peaks in the distance. An eagle flew overhead and ducks bobbed quietly. The speed of the world slowed as the fading sunlight crept up the mountains.

The moment glistened with serenity. We sipped our teas and contemplated the magic that the vista brought. The combination of mountains and ocean is abrupt, wilderness in essence, yet its allure is undeniable. So beautiful that sucks the words out, replacing it with a sense of calm wonder at the beauty of this world. Moments like these, especially when shared, are gems that nestle into our hearts for safe keeping. Our walk back was giddy and silly, I felt I was humming from the awe and of course our furry friend was there to watch us pass. 

Gear Review

I bought my first pair of climbing shoes in high school. When I complained about the pain in my toes my climbing friend laughed and said, “Get used to it, that’s how they are supposed to fit.” Since then I have always equated climbing shoes with pain. In fact, it seems to be an industry standard and a literal take on the phrase, “No pain, no gain.” The Scarpa Vapor V’s are here to turn that concept on its head. 

When I saw the Vapors a the REI garage sale in October and slipped them on I was surprised for two reasons, they fit, and they were instantly comfortable. It felt like they were meant for me, green and tucked in a pile of miscellaneous shoes. I did a double take before I realized I was looking at a pair of sleek climbing shoes. At first, I thought they were too big but there was no dead space, they are just instantly comfortable. This is one of the Vapors best qualities, there is no trial time to break in the shoes.

On rock or at the gym the Vapors excel. With a slightly aggressive shape but a soft flex they hold a fine balance. They are designed with the reverse slingshot rand pushing your heel back rather than your toes forward increasing comfort. They are coated with

4 mm of Vibram Edge rubber making them grippy on even the most worn granite. The toe box is properly tight but not uncomfortable, and the sensitivity of the shoe makes finding the flakes for foot placement easier than I’ve ever experienced.

Climbing at the gym I’ve gotten comments from people about my sweet shoes. They aren’t overly colorful but the green pops just enough to catch the eye when you are making that sweet heel hook. My favorite part about them is the little Italian flag. Scarpa is proud and they show it. You should be too, sporting these great climbing kicks is like taking your climbing level up a notch just by putting them on. 

Since this has to be five-hundred words I need some space filler, but really what more can I say about a pair of shoes. So I’ll tell you a little about my first climbing experience in years. Picture this- Alaska, a craggy glacial valley and perfectly worn granite all over the place. My friend Daisy takes me mountain biking to one of the local crags. I have no shoes and haven’t climbed in years but she is encouraging. Up I go, leading some easy climbs in my bare feet. It was a blast and was the invigorating body movement and experience I needed after over a month out at sea and to get me excited about climbing again. I now have gotten myself a new pair of shoes and am back at it again. It is amazing what a friends enthusiasm can do to get the stoke flowing again. 

Salmon Fishing

A joyous moment!

Alaska, the last frontier, they say. The promised land some say. I have heard about this place of mythical proportions my whole life and I’ve been infatuated with the idea of going. Last summer I got my chance. I bought a plane ticket with the determined intention of salmon fishing in Bristol Bay. I had heard that this was the real deal, “off-the-road system”, removed from the rest of the country by ridges of glacier capped mountains, only accessible by plane or boat. On my flight in we passed almost directly over a smoking volcano and on my descent I saw a herd of caribou.

I was on an adventure. The journey pushed me beyond anything I have ever experienced. Sleepless days, nights never dark, but picturesque with rainbow skies. Fish, fish and more fish. Endless fish, I swore at them, prayed for them, and ate more of them than I ever had in my life. My world became a 29-foot-long and 11-foot-wide boat named Sea Breeze. However, there was nothing breezy about the experience. We launched into 30 knot winds and 8 foot seas. The first 48 hours were hell incarnate, I was soaked, shivering, puking and pulling fish in. The puking stopped, we fixed our leaky windows, and the fish kept coming.

Five weeks out in the ocean. Five weeks without feeling the land underfoot but learning to relax and rock with the boat. Whether sitting, cooking, hauling in fish or sleeping. The rock and sway became comforting. I had nightmares for two weeks, imagining all the terrible things that could befall us. But one by one we checked them off the list and I became more confident that we could survive anything. Engine fire, check. Grounding on a sandbar with the net out, check. Wrapping another boat in our net, check. The never ending near catastrophes became commonplace.

A hose clamp fractured on our coolant hose. Emptying our antifreeze, seizing up our engine, and breaking down our hydraulic reel. The net out and our boat adrift cruising towards the 1000-foot-long “trampers,” hitting one would mean obliteration. 900 feet of net loaded with fish, and they were still coming in. “Round-hauling,” pulling the net in by hand, is like running a marathon with your fingertips. Grab the mesh, lean back, pull as hard as you can, repeat. The conclusion of this act is a deck filled with net and fish, hip deep in it. The next step is to remove the fish one by one. Yanking, pulling and picking through the mess of net and fish.

There was beauty and joy amidst the overwhelming hardship. Watching the mountain ranges change to indigo under rainbow skies. The sublime calm of night, ripples dancing, reflecting the moon above. Fish, rooted to the cycles, 4-6 years swimming all over the Pacific Ocean only to return to their natal stream. Multicolored and powerful, unyielding in their determination to return home. Salmon Fishing, a rite of passage that taught me that I’m capable of anything.

Lake Anna Adventure

Lake Anna

This quote sums up so much of my need for adventure. There is a belonging in the adventure to a wild place. The finding of the home that exists within myself. Labor day weekend this year a buddy of mine from Ashland and I headed down to the Trinity Alps to meet two of my cousins coming up from San Francisco. We arrived late Friday after work and hit the trail in the dark. On our drive down we drove through exceptionally thick smoke from forest fires. I was worried that we might be smoked out at the trailhead. But when we arrived we were heralded by the stars. We busted through a few miles and ended up in a beautiful valley with the stars twinkling overhead. The light in the morning was sublime, the smoke made an orange glow that was filtered through the old growth firs and cedars. Waking up to birdsong and the wetness of the dew on my sleeping bag was so comforting. After breakfast we continued up the valley on our way  to Lake Anna. We went off trail in our quest and worked our way up the valley and onto the ridge until we found the gorgeous deep blue of the cirque lake. Without delay we swam and basked on the rocks letting the tingling sensation of the cold fade away. We made camp overlooking the lake and headed up the knife like peaks to get a panoramic view. The smoke shrouding the land below was so surreal, we were in an island in the sky; Just above the smoke that was enveloping the land below. Our home for the next two nights was nestled under a beautiful old growth tree, that night we heard the call of the Great Horned Owl. The following day I had a yearning for an adventure, there are a vast number of peaks and lakes in a very small area. My cousin Chad and I decided to see how many we could visit in a day. We set out crossing the saddles between the mountains and hiking off trail carving straight-ish lines between our destinations. We summited mountains and swam in multiple beautiful lakes. It was a day of ultimate questing, with only a small day pack between us we covered many miles of up, down and back again. Returning to camp we figured that we made a 5 lake loop and covered about 8 miles. I missed this feeling of raw adventure: sleeping under the stars and moving lightly over the land. This trip brought me back home and helped me settle back into what it means to be at home in nature. I belong to the wild places, I thrive and find my power when I am deep in the wilderness of the world. Without this I wouldn’t be me and I would be utterly lost in the churning of our modern world. 

Deer Lake and Siligo Peak

Why I Adventure

 Adventure is deeply rooted in the psyche. When we could have stayed in central Africa we chose to wander. We explored and pushed the boundaries of the known world until we spanned every continent and ocean on this planet. Now we have taken this innate sense of expansion and taken it beyond the limits of our home planet. Every human has a different sense of adventure, yet it lives within us all.

I choose to adventure because it fulfills a deep need to push my own boundaries, to seek the wild places, the moments in which I could never have fathomed, to stretch myself into the unknown and come back changed. Adventure can take on many forms, from epics that involve airplane flights to far away places, to backyard rambles. It is the focus, the purpose behind the action that makes it an adventure. When we let the preconceived fall away and step into the unknown we are on an adventure. 

This past year my eyes have been set on the ocean. I have been cultivating a deep appreciation for one of the most foreign environments for our bi-pedal species: water. Deep water scared me when I was young. I wouldn’t go into water that I couldn’t see into, murky deep water gave me the heebie-jeebies. I was a teenager before I was really comfortable swimming in lakes, rivers and eventually the ocean. Surfing has always held an allure for me, when I started to surf I saw the ocean in a new light. A force to be reckoned with, but also one that can be harnessed and danced with. Surfing has taken hold of my heart, it is so raw, there are so few ingredients needed to make an amazing moment happen. 

Driving from Ashland to the coast is an adventure, we traverse multiple bioregions and travel along the last un-dammed river in California, the Smith River. Once we arrive it is time to assess conditions, almost never do we surf where we envision. There are so many nooks and crannies that catch the swell directions; or keep the wind at bay, so many factors that can really only be weighed once we arrive.

Plunging into the water with only a board underneath, and in the northern latitudes a wetsuit, is a leap of faith. Fighting the breaking power of the waves to get beyond them is the first test. One that has sent me sprawling back on the beach many times. Once that is complete you have to be patient. Bobbing in the ocean like a seabird, waiting for the right moment and wave to begin the next test. Can you paddle strong enough to catch the surging beast? There is something so raw about a wave, a pulse from some distant place in the ocean that when it gets close to land rises up and roars. Surfing has captured my soul and embodies so much of what I call adventure. 

My first Ecuadora!

Diana teaching me to weave!

Two days ago I completed my first Ecuadora, it only took me about 20 hours from start to finish. Much slower than the eight hour average of the weavers. It's a time consuming process to weave a hat from start to finish, there are many tricks that I never would have been able to figure out on my own. Thankfully I had the inventors of the Ecuadora to teach me.

Day Two, learning to make my first pattern

In the beginning as the base grows new wefts (The fibers running vertically in the photo, sticking out of the bottom) need to be added periodically, meaning that apart from focusing on the weaving itself I had to be constantly aware of when to add more wefts. The wefts are always Toquilla Palm because it is more rigid than the plantain bark. 

Trying out a top hat while I work

Once enough wefts have been added it's smooth sailing for a little while, nothing to to but continue going round and round. Until I got to the level of the closure. Then it gets tricky again, I had to learn to weave in reverse, weave in one direction towards the gap, and then turn around and head back the way I came. This played quite a trick with my mind and it took a while before I got it down without messing up, almost every time I would turn around I would get stuck and have to think about the process all over again. The last bit is to make the clasp itself which requieres adding new wefts sideways to pull off. This was where Diana had to take over for a minute to get me started.

Finished the cap, now onto the visor, with a fedora and Ecuatopper in progress.

The visor was pretty easy compared to what I had to complete to get to this point, every day of weaving I was getting better and faster.

Almost finished!

Stoked about my new hat! It feels great to have finally completed an Ecuadora from start to finish!