The place that I’m house sitting sits in a part of the country and on such a road that I don’t have to take the truck out of second gear to pull out of the driveway, and onto the black top. Just as often as I roll out into the road without stopping, I also pause to survey the amazing scenery. To my left is a 3 acre sheep pasture, in which is contained an old but still productive orchard of Apple and Plum trees. On a clear day, looking east across the pasture sits Mount Rainier, a 14,000 snowcapped giant more reminiscent of the Himalayas, at least at this proximity. Also contained within the pasture is a small pond, which is now filling with the increasing fall rains. Often times at night, I can hear the cackling of ducks as they sit on the pond.
In the pasture are three sheep; an old Ewe, whose name is unknown to me, and her two lambs, Smoothie and Houdini. The pasture contains more than enough forage for 5-8 sheep, but upon seeing me on my daily perambulations the sheep sprint over to me, hoping for some grain, as if they hadn’t eaten in days. I give them grain every other, or every third day. It keeps them wanting, and in that way, more approachable. They are tame enough that I can stroke their matted and musty wool, and I like to scratch them on their noses. At night, I often hear a troop of Coyotes as they maraud the area, seeming to concentrate a lot of their time in the sheep pasture. I imagine it is hard to sleep sometimes for those sheep.
Also on this ten-acre plot, is a large yard and barn, which contains 45 hens and a rooster. My friend Steve is an ornithologist, and his love of birds extends from the wild avifauna into the realm of domestic fowl, common as well as extraordinary. Contained in this large flock of layers are specimens of English Wellsommers and Silver Laced Wyandottes and skittish mostly white Auracanas, which grace the nest boxes with pastel blue eggs. There are also several birds of unknown origin, including the bizarre rooster, who is iridescently black, with bluish spots and a more or less calm demeanor. Like the sheep, the chickens upon seeing me alight into the air as they gather close to the barn door to gain position for my daily toss of scratch and other goodies.
The main focus of my attention here, maybe not in time spent, but certainly in the amount of worry apportioned in my brain are the two Peregrine Falcons, Louise and Trog. Steve has been a falconer since he was a teen, and hunting with hawks has been a passion of his ever since. These birds, though captive and imprinted on Steve, are not tame. They are unaccustomed to human presence enough that I can’t enter the mew in which they are kept, in fear of Louise’s sharp talons.
My daily duty for the falcons consists of preparing a Coturnix Quail for each bird. These Quail are raised more or less for the purpose of feeding birds of prey, and Steve buys them in bulk lots and keeps them in a freezer. Each night I defrost two for the following day, and in the morning I prepare them for the birds. To this, I pull out all of their flight feather, and about half of their body feathers. They are beautifully marked little birds, similar to our Bobwhite Quail in appearance, and it is hard to tear at their small bodies with my fingers without feeling something akin to remorse, but less tangible. I then cut their feet off, above the ankle.
The Peregrines are quite capable of plucking the feathers, and dealing with the feet, but doing this keeps down the amount of debris in their mew, as well as lessening the chances that they might choke on the bulk of added material in their diet. Louise, being a female is larger than Trog, a male. This is normal amongst raptorial birds and owls, but is extraordinarily displayed between Louise and Trog. Louise probably weighs 160% of what Trog weighs, and such always gets the largest Quail, and always gets it first. Upon seeing me carrying food, she often begins to jump back and forth at the barred window of their enclosure, jingling the bells on her jesses (leather leg hold straps) as she does. I coo to her in a soothing voice, and say something like, “hey sweetie, I’ve got something for you,” and if she begins to screech, I try and calm her, but am rarely successful until I finally toss her the Quail through the bars, which she deftly catches in her large yellow talons. She immediately mantles over the bird, spreading her wings protectively and begins to scold me, wanting me to leave. I walk around to the other side of the mew and place the other quail on a shelf for Trog, who rarely comes down to it in my presence.
It’s wonderful to be in such proximity to such regal and amazing creatures, but also a bit sad to see them in an enclosure. It’s kind of like the allegory of the cave, except that these birds actually know what it’s like to be outside the cave from time to time, so their existence inside the “cave” may not be one of contentment through ignorance.
Also on the homestead are 15 homing pigeons, which were 14 when Steve left for India 5 weeks ago. When he was running me through the daily routine, he expressed woe that in the four years in which he has had pigeons here, he has never raised a chick. Currently there is a 15-day-old chick, which is being watched over by a female Parlor Roller, its mother I presume. Parlor Rollers are a bizarre breed of pigeon, who, when startled by a clap, or other such noise begin to flap and roll around on the ground uncontrollably as if in an epileptic seizure. It will be interesting to see what this chick turns out to be, having half Parlor Roller genes in its makeup.
It has been a welcome, and necessary respite for me out here in the land of Ramtha, and couldn’t have come at a better time.
11/23/09
2009 MLS Cup
Well, another year of MLS soccer has come to an end. I have to admit that my lifestyle has not lent itself to being a true fan this year, not owning a TV and such, and in all I may have only watched five or six games.
Last night I settled in with a glass of wine to watch the finals, after talking to my father on the phone about the game. My father is a rabid MLS fan, and the rest of my family has held season tickets to the New England Revolution since the league's inception. My Dad was all fired up about the game, and had reason to be. With Seattle out, and New England out, I really didn’t care who won, but he shed some light on why the Wheelan’s were routing for Real Salt Lake, and it had nothing to do with Beckham.
Andy Williams, arguably Real’s best player, has long history with my family, having begun his US soccer career at the University of Rhode Island, where we would go and watch him play. He is a Jamaican citizen and has played on their national team for years, but professionally, he played with New England in the beginning. After Real Salt Lake’s last game with New England, Andy came over to where my family sits to talk with his friend Tony Lopes, who sits next to my family. Andy’s wife is currently battling a form of Leukemia, and my mother is currently the chair for her local Relay for Life. She had brought a “hope” cancer necklace for Andy and was thrilled to have the chance to give it to him. With that connection, I watched with great emotion every time Andy touched the ball last night, and he played incredibly well.
Another interesting connection came from an interaction my Father had with another of Real’s players, Yura Movsisyan after that same last game with New England. Yura is a Russian citizen, but ethnically he is Armenian. Oddly enough, my father’s friends growing up consisted mainly of Armenians, and from them he learned a bit of their language, as well as what it means to experience genocide. My father exchanged some words with Yura in Armenian, and it must’ve touched him, for he wrote about the experience in his blog. Pretty neat!
The game itself was a pretty frenetic match, and neither team seemed to ever find a rhythm. Sometimes both teams want it so badly that they just keep pushing, and never form an organized approach to the match. That was the case last night, and I felt bad for the league and its seeming inability to dazzle the country and the world with a level of soccer that will once and for all establish it as a viable part of our culture. Having said that, I have to say that Landon Donavon’s pass for the Galaxy’s first goal was one of the best passes that I have ever seen in the game. Also, David Beckham played to his role as master distributor and set kick artist, but it failed to really add much to L.A.s effectiveness, though he did set up Donavan for his assist. I also have to mention the worst professional penalty shot I have ever seen, which was also served up by Donavon, which may have cost the Galaxy the game.
In the end, Real Salt Lake, perhaps the biggest underdogs to advance to the MLS playoffs eeked out the win, and the Wheelans went wild!!!
11/20/09
GRINDADRAP
I just got one of those forwarded emails, the kind that we don’t usually open, but it was from a friend that doesn’t usually send this stuff, so I checked it out. When I opened it up, I was shocked to see the images contained in the email.
The email was a petition sent around the world to bring attention to the killing of dolphins and pilot whales in the Faroe Islands in Denmark. These mass killings have been part of the Danish culture for centuries, and perhaps millennia, which is the argument they use for perpetuating the cruelty. They kill White-sided Dolphins, and Pilot Whales en masse, numbering into the thousands. Not that there is a nice way to kill a whale, but the method used is particularly cruel, relying on hooks and knives, which take many blows and slashes to subdue the animal enough to drag it to shore, where they are bled out.
Fishing in any situation is becoming one of our main issues as we address how we as humans forge our way into the future looking for sustainable ways to feed ourselves while trying to maintain cultural identities and traditional rights. For me it seems that with our knowledge of the intelligence of these creatures, and the social dynamics of their cultures and existences we must transcend the argument that because we have done this for so long it is a valid thing to do, and a valid way of sustaining ourselves. I am not an animal rights activist per se, and believe that some harvest of animals for food and other products MAY be an acceptable activity for humans, but there is a line somewhere that must be drawn.
Saying that maintaining certain cultural identities relies on the continuation of activities such as the dolphin slaughter in the Faroes, or Japan, or using leg hold traps to kill wolves is akin to saying that raping women, or owning black people, or dumping radioactive waste in streams is paramount to retaining my cultural identity because my ancestors perpetrated these activities which at one time were considered completely normal for my culture. It is time to embrace what we know is good, and finally, once and for all to reject what we know in our hearts is wrong. There is no right way to kill a Whale, or a Dolphin, but en masse with hooks and knives is certainly the wrong way.
Please embrace goodness, and in every action of your life take it upon yourself to choose the right choice, shunning evil and spreading love at every juncture in your existence. It is of paramount importance on the individual level, as well as the global. When we close our eyes for the last time, we will realize that there is no one else to ask forgiveness from but ourselves. Good luck with that.
go here for a youtube video here to sign a petition to stop this!
11/18/09
Check this amazing educational video about Salmon out!!!
11/16/09 Self Help
Unless it's completely apparent and in your face that you are experiencing a psychotic event, or severe depression, I think that it's hard to recognize that you might not be functioning at your prime mentally. This is especially true, I think, if your life seems to be moving along in a pleasant way. So many of us, caught in the flow of the current, tend to just float along, never realizing that there might be a better way to get downstream.
I'm not sure how long I've been floating along, but for some reason, this past week has been a bit of an awakening for me, or so it seems.
Living in a cabin by myself, and being the kind of guy that I am, has kind of led to a self reliant tendency in many regards, including psycho-therapy, or counseling. When I was injured this July I was thrust into a situation that was seemingly not ideal. As much as I kept my spirits up, and tried to think positively, a general malaise seemed to set in, and as I finally seem to be coming out of it i am recognizing that maybe it's been a pattern for longer than i had recognized previously.
It's kind of funny, because i am the guy who is smiling all of the time, and I truly enjoy life, and think that I've been having a really good go at it. Turns out however, that really, I've just been floating along, and have not really been as pro-active about molding my life as I should, maybe?? Anyway, this morning, when I woke, the culmination of these thoughts seemed to break wide open in a feeling of limitless possibility, and new feelings of self confidence, and excitement for the life to come, and a real and true knowledge that I hold my life in my own hands, excepting of course, the fractalized string cheese threads of my fate and destiny. Life is good.
11/09/09 Actualize Whirled Peas
I've been thinking a lot about the world, and how as humans, we can change our direction, change the ending of our story. The reality we live, is of course determined by the series of events that we experience, but it's also determined by how we retell those experiences, and think about them, and remember them.
I'm writing this off the cuff, so it's liable to not make much sense, please bare with me.
Society, the world collective consciousness really seems hell bent to experience some kind of apocalyptic finish to all of this, and seems completely resigned to the fact that world peace, and indeed that peace between individuals is ultimately unattainable. With the 2012 fervor, and the situation in the middle east, and the seeming embracing of all of this by our christian culture, it's as if we are choosing some kind of cataclysmic ending to our story here on earth. Choosing the easy way out, but is it really easy?
It's only easy if we keep retelling our stories in such a manor as to embrace our past wrongs, as we do every day. We retell our war stories, always with a clear right side, and wrong side, and a victor, but no one wins in war, and no one can justify war. It is IMPOSSIBLE for me to believe that Jesus, or Mohammed, or any other deity for that matter, would embrace killing, or violence of any type. The idea that wrong acts go punished with punitive correction, or violence only serves to perpetuate the very violence that is responsible for the initial wrong. We must condemn all violence. It is, quite literally the only way.
Bombing for peace is truly akin to fucking for virginity, there is no way around it. That said, we must begin to retell our stories in a different manner and shun these wrongs from our collective experience. By affirming violence as a necessary evil in any form is to perpetuate violence in all forms from rape to murder, and it starts at the person to person level. That means you. I know that it's not a new idea, but I feel that with our ability to communicate on the web with so many people and cultures, we have an opportunity to start something new and real and pervasive. Sorry about the convoluted, poorly organized meaningless group of words above. Hugs and Kisses!.
11/02/09
had a little fun with my halloween costume before the party. I know, I'm kind of retarded.
Driving back to my cabin on Monday morning I hit some serious traffic on the hood canal bridge. It's a draw bridge, and nuclear subs often cause it to open, closing for cars, for long periods of time while they pass through. I was already running a little late, and now I was stuck in a long line of non-moving traffic. I had to sit there for 45 minutes, and just toward the end of that wait, I had to go. I mean, I really had to go. There was no way that I was going to pull over and pee, and subsequently be behind every last one of those cars for the entire next hour.
I couldn't hold it, that was certain. I didn't have any empty containers, but I did have 3 vessels, all holding liquids. The apple juice held only about 16 ounces of juice in it, so that was the best bet, but for some reason, my guilt ridden mind wouldn't allow me to pour the juice out, not even for the homies, so I pounded it. When you have to piss that badly, I tell you, it is hard to get down a pint of apple juice!!
I got it down, and then I filled that bottle half way, a full quart, and didn't spill a drop! The moment of truth happened right in the middle of the Hood Canal bridge. Me and that bridge have some sweet history.
On an almost related topic, I got some sopes at Gaby's tacos last night. They were really good, and they brought some hot peppers for garnish, and some really spicy home made hot sauce. Definitely the best Mexican in Yelm. After finishing my dinner and paying I went to the bathroom for a quick number one. I started driving home, and just after getting out of town, I started to feel "the burn". That's right kids, that one. I had forgotten that I had Jalapeno oil on my hands, and probably hot sauce too. I tell you what, I've been in the hot seat before, but last night was somehting else. OOOOweee, was I happy to get to running water!
10/25/09
On Wednesday night, I shirked some responsibility and drove out to the coast in search of waves. The swell was 10 feet at 15 seconds when I left home, and was forecast to increase over night and have some really sizable surf for Thursday. I'm still a ways out from actually getting on a board myself, but can't really stay away from the water.
I ended up camping with a couple of friends that night, at the end of a small road, at the end of a medium sized continent. It was dark, very dark, with the slightest sliver of a waning moon dropping into the west, and our campfire lit up the underside of the alder canopy and enclosed us in our own small world, and wouldn't you know it, we had beer. It was a very enjoyable night, with the pounding of serious surf resonating through the mossy forest and into our dreams, all night long.
In the morning, the routine of driving and searching for the perfect wave, and optimal situation was replayed, as it is, every swell, for every surfer. We ended up at a a spot that required a bit of a hike down some serious terrain to get to the beach. It was much more than I have done since I tore my achilles, but it seemed to handle it with a little babying more or less. The way up was done mostly on one knee, and using the ropes that thoughtful surfers have constructed on the trail over the years.
The waves weren't huge, but some double overhead sets came through, and it looked pretty fun. I had some fun shooting pix and video, and watching the birds. This spot has a lot of Black Oystercatchers, which are always a blast to see with their gawdy orange bills contrasting against the sleek black of their plumage.
Here are a couple of photos of Blair Habenicht crosstraining. He was killing it! A sick drop, on a wave that heaved open into a gaping pit, which puked spit all over Blair. Epic bottom turn!
10/21/09
I guess this is the time. I'm just hoping that when I jump off, I grow wings.
It seems for years now, that I've been cultivating all sorts of side projects, but never really had the energy to put the long hours in to force the fruition, never mind the where with all to ignore the social leanings that generally drive me after, say, 5:00ish, and sometimes earlier. But now we come to the crux. It's shit or get off the pot time, even if no ones waiting in the wings, it's time.
So, I'm paying a guy to get my vicarious living project website up and going. I feel really good about him, and am just swallowing the credit card charge as an investment, precisely the type of maneuver the world warns about, and quite similar to the past maneuvers which have landed me in the place I'm in, too much debt, forced to work too much to pay that debt, no savings, check to check.
That said, this is good, and I am excited. Though the stress level is high, with so many things on my plate besides the Vicarious Living Project, but after sitting up here on this rock for so long, having taken the time to climb here, I've found my route down, and I'm jumping.
And now some mushrooms for your enjoyment. Below you'll find two photos of the elegant Shaggy Parasol, Lepiota procera, (i think). Not only is it gorgeous, but it's a great eater too, and kind of an easy one to know you won't die from.
A group of buttons. These are great, though not being open, you can't grill them like portabellos, which is my favorite way of cooking these.
A more mature specimen spread wide open. These mushrooms grown in areas with high organic matter, and often on compost, horse poop piles, and on wood mulch. Keep your eyes open, they're still happening here in WA!
10/16/09
Had a Blast at the Barter Fair in Tonasket. I'll put something up here in a sec with some photos. It was insane, and insanely cold. 2 gallon water jug frozen solid!
I'm at the hotel in Wilkeson right now. About to go fishing for some silvers down on the carbonado river. Epic, weekend with the Northwest Chapter.
10/04/09
This is an email I got yesterday from a friend, Amy Porter, who is working in one of the most remote field stations in the world. It's called Cocha Cashu and is in the Manu National Park, in the Amazon basin of Peru. I had the pleasure of working with Amy for 3 months at Cocha Cashu, and can attest that this 5 foot tall hundred pound vegan is one of the most bad assed field biologists alive:
Hola,
You know it is going to be a crazy day when the morning starts off
with a close encounter. I left camp this morning for another day out
at the eagle nest and when I was about 1km from camp I encountered a
group of peccaries (wild pigs) on the trail and in the forest.
Normally I do not get too excited about peccaries since I am
surrounded by about 50 of them everyday at the nest but I decided to
stop and watch them for a minute. They were walking around and
snorting, being typical peccaries and then all of a sudden they
freaked out and started running north (away from me), also typical
peccary behavior. What was crazy was about several seconds into the
peccary chaos, a big jaguar bolted out of the forest and started
running down the trail directly at me! It came to within 6m from me
and then dug its heels in the ground and turned into the forest. I
think if it wanted to have attacked me I would have been toast because
I was completely frozen. I know the encounter was brief but I swear
time just stopped at that moment (my heart as well!) As soon as I
caught my breath, I tried to see if I could find it in the forest. I
was able to follow it for about 30 seconds more before it completely
disappeared in the forest. At that point I could only see its back but
I was amazed at how vivid its spots were against the forest. I know
these cats do not normally stand out that well so I think my senses
must have been super heightened. AMAZING! I have seen a jaguar once
before on the river but I was in a boat. It is a completely different
experience encountering one on a trail and an even crazier experience
having one run directly at you. The whole experience was nuts, the
jaguar just jumped out of nowhere and SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO close.
Obviously the jaguar was the peak of excitement for the day but it did
not end there. I also watched the female ornate hawk eagle attempt an
attack on a young spider monkey directly over my head! I saw the eagle
fly from the nest and perch in a big Ceiba tree ~25m behind me but she
was mostly out of view. About several minutes later, a group of spider
monkeys came into the area and two of the young/small juveniles were
playing in a tree right next to me. The bigger of the two monkeys
climbed to the top of the tree where the branches were almost bare and
it was completely exposed. I was thinking careful little dude, there
is an eagle close by. Then, less than a minute later the eagle flew
right at its head with talons out. The spider monkey gave a harsh call
then dropped a few meters (very different response than what a little
titi monkey would have done). The eagle flew off and out of view and
the spider monkey was safe. I do not think the eagle really had much
of a chance with the spider monkey but it was still cool to watch, and
right over my head!
Anyhow, just thought I would share some of my day. Hope everyone is doing well.
Abrazos y besos,
Amy
10/03/09
A month ago we had a cougar and a bear in the yard. Yesterday, I saw this little buck talking to my chickens, and when I went outside to check him out, a Merlin flew over head. This is the buck talking with Buddy Cianci, one of my Rhode Island Reds Merlins are my favorite. Little killers that can adapt to any situation. This is an adult male Columbarius subspecies, the Blue Merlin. A handsome little dude!
10/01/09 11:35 PM
Here are a few more photos of surf in Rhode Island on Monday, September the 28th.
Choolwhip dandole
The Riz with a double tasty
9/30/09 11:11 PM
Well, thanks to some people on tweeters, a list serve for birdwatchers, it appears that I didn't even get it right to genus. Kind of embarrassing, but not the first bird that I've misidentified, and likely not the last. Turns out that it's a Lapland Longspur, a bird that I've seen probably 50 or so times, just in different circumstances, and I certainly wasn't in a Longspur mode of mind, though it is pretty "normal" habitat for them in the winter, I have never seen one at this beach. Pretty bird, and nice to be so close.
9/30/09
Settling back into life went a little slow, and I'm not sure about my work situation, but luckily I have too much to do.
In the afternoon I went on a surf/nature walk to one of my favorite places. The surf wasn't that good, but luckily the birds were. When I first walked out on to the beach I was greeted by a weird looking Sparrow. Its large buffy eyeline, bold ear spot and plumage made me think it wasn't a regular Savannah Sparrow, but maybe something in the same genus. Savannah Sparrows are pretty much the most variable birds though, and I'm still not sure what the bird is. I also got to see four Pectoral Sandpipers foraging in a left over, tidally isolated pool. They were very cooperative and the light was sweet.
Tomorrow I'm harvesting kelp to make pickles and working on some new sewing designs.
9/29/09
Well, I'm back in Washington after a whirlwind trip to Rhode Island. Finally got some waves on Monday back there. It was kind of nice not to be fiending for waves the whole time with my hurt leg.
Jamie Risser trimming in the sweet spot at the dock.
The shadow, somehow not making this wave look awful!
I have a list a mile long right now of things to do today, but there's waves, and I'll probably go shoot photos.
9/26/09
I went to a New England Revolution game with my family last night, in which they faced off against the Seattle Sounders. Check out this insane goal in the 88th minute to win the game!!
I haven't really had the time to see an M.L.S. game this year, and was really impressed at the quality of play. Both teams exhibited a real knowledge of the game and displayed true prowess and expression of il jogo bonito. Watching this game was much more like watching a british soccer match in the Premier League, than the usual kick and run style more akin to Mexico. It shows great hope for the game of soccer in the U.S.
My parents have had season tickets to the Revs since the first year of the league, and have front row seats in the corner of the field where the visiting teams enter and exit the field. The staff there are all friends with my family after so many years, and it's really neat to see this side of my parent's life. After the game I had a great talk with longtime U.S. goal keeper, Kasey Keller as he exited the field, explaining to him how I used to live in Lacey, WA, his hometown. It was pretty cool, and he gave me a great signature on a Sounders shirt that my friends Mike and Gladys Costello had given me. Now I have something to wear when I go to games out in Seattle! Despite the frigid New England weather, we had a great time.
9/23/09
Boo Hoo's and Stripahs on the fishtrap boat with Cap'n Willis.
So, I'm in Rhode Island visiting friends and family for another week. I've been here for a week, and as per usual, haven't seen my family that much. I'm off my crutches, and in shoes with a pretty severe limp, and wear my aircast/walker boot at night when I'm drinking, and when I'm doing other precarious activities.
Rhode Island is quite the contrast to living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, WA. There are women here, which is totally cool, and a constant barrage of activity thrown at you to distract you from doing anything productive.
Bummed I missed a heavy skate sesh last night at the Attleboro ramp, including Chet Childress, and other gnarly rippers. The other night some shit went down there, including Willis pulling a sick Lean to Tail, and Joe College pretty much anhilating the shit when he brought his mini ramp lip tricks to the deep end. Not to mention P.C.Pete after puking , then ingesting 11.5 vicodin killing the shit with style including a wicked gnarly Nosepick in the pocket.
Joe College with a gnarly Rock.
It was pretty much an epic scenario, including an extending of the swamp walk with Tommy Bennet, who gave us all a lesson on native plants. Iggy's Rips!
8/31/09
CRAB ENCHILADAS
A RECIPE FOR FUN!
I have a good friend named Scott who is also a deadly slayer of Dungeness Crab. People from elsewhere may have heard of Dungeness Crab, but what you may not realize is that I live 10 miles from the mouth of the Dungeness River, presumably the namesake of the tasty crab. As I finished up my work for the day Scott came over to tell me he had left me some Crab in my cabin, and since yesterday was the last day of the season, crab is now officially a coveted commodity.
I had some enchilada sauce and some greens that needed to be eaten too, so I decided to make crab enchiladas. My only problem was a lack of tortillas, well, not my only problem, but my only food related problem on this evening. That’s not even true. Generally yellow corn tortillas are favored for making enchiladas, for they take to light frying very well, and maintain a nice consistency. Only Robin Willis is allowed to make enchiladas with flour tortillas. So anyway, I have a bunch of masa and a tortilla press so I whipped up some tortillas. I wasn’t sure how they’d perform in the realm of enchiladas, never having used home made torts for that, but it couldn’t hurt to try.
Some of the Ingredients.
A lot of people don’t make enchiladas because it seems like a lot of work, but the payoff is that you can make a whole bunch and eat them for days. They don’t even take that long, I think I only drank two beers while making these.
The process:
Tortillas: I’m sure that there is a prescribed way to make tortillas, but I never really learned it. I have a little spin on them though that seems to me to make them more plyable, and stuffabel, without having to add wheat flour. I put a small dash of Egg Replacer in the masa before adding the water. Egg Replacer is tapioca and potato flour, (I think) that vegans use for baking.
Add water to the flour mix until soft and uniformly moist, but still firmish. Add the right amount, but don’t worry too much, because if you make it too moist you can just add a little more flour.
If you don’t have a tortilla press, don’t fret. You can use two like glass plates, or any plate without the lipped base. Use saran wrap, a cut ziplock bag, or tear a plastic produce bag down the sides, to use as a non stick surface for pressing the tortillas. I make little balls out of the masa mix all at one time. Make the balls about 1.25 inches in diameter. If using a press, lay the plastic out, put the ball in the middle, fold the plastic in half over the top of the ball and close the top and press down on the lever. I usually flip the tortilla over and repeat to get uniformly thin tortilla. If using plates, make a plastic/ masa ball/ plastic sandwich between the two plate bottoms. Apply even pressure to flatten out the ball. It might take a couple of tries to get the thickness right.
Enchiladas:
Some more of the Ingredients.
Ingredients:
one pound Crab Meat, (dungie or rock)
Enchilada sauce
Greens
Onion
Cheese
beans
Anything else you might think of
Beer
Roll your own.
A lot of people make enchiladas with just one main filling, cheese, or meat, but I like to mix a bunch of stuff, and I also like to add beans. It’s kind of rare to see beans in enchiladas. I’m also not eating cheese too much these days, so there isn’t any in these, but I think it would taste good, if you can live with your contribution to the dairy industry.
Good enchilada sauce is really important, and for a long time has been hard to find in the canned form. Old el Paso used to have a really good one, but became unavailable about 15 years ago, and when it came back it was no good. I can’t recommend Hatch either, but have been happy with Las Palmas, which I buy at Safeway, but I’ve seen elsewhere too. It’s easy to make on your own, and I remember there being a really good recipe in either the moosewood cookbook, or the enchanted broccoli forest.
So, you have to fry the tortillas lightly, in hottish oil. I used coconut oil, but anything’ll work. On an electric stove, use like medium medium high heat, but don’t burn the oil. Fry each side for just 5-10 seconds, and set aside, or bathe in Enchilada sauce as you pull them out. That’s usually too much for me to manage, so I do them all at the same time, than drench the tortillas in enchilada sauce as I roll them. I found it important to roll the home made tortillas right after drenching them, or they would crack. It didn’t happen too bad, but didn’t happen at all if I rolled them right away.
So, dip the tortillas in a plate full of sauce, and stuff the enchilada with the desired amount of ingredients, but remember not to stuff too much, because you want to be able to roll them up, and place them in the pan so the seam is on the bottom and the enchilada stays wrapped up. For greens, I used Mizuna that a friend gave me, which is kind of a firm salad green, but I think benefits from some cooking. Spinach could be used here as well, or tender kale.
Ready for the oven.
Presto
I use a dutch oven to cook mine, and no, I’m not talking about a covered wagon. Glass casserole dishes work well too. So once you have all your enchiladas rolled in the pan, put a little extra sauce on top to keep them from drying out. I threw a little fresh pesto on these, but only because I love it. It wasn’t really that necessary, but it was good. Stick the whole thing in the oven, or an a fire or something for a little bit. I don’t really have a temperature gauge on mine, so I just lit the flame and closed the door. Cook the enchiladas until just before you smell a slight burning on the bottom, and pull out of the oven in the nick of time. Garnish with more goodness and gorge!
Now that's cookin' with class!.
8/31/09
0 game
That second phone call,
The one after the first unanswered.
Reason enough not to dial.
Better to know?
No.
Better to know.
8/31/09
So, anyone reading this likely knows that I tore my Achilles tendon last month, July 12th, to be exact. I kind of wanted to write about my experience with the injury and with the health care system, mainly because it’s such a hot issue right now, and I also wanted to illustrate how even productive members of society are left behind with our current system. Every day my situation and experience becomes more and more unique, and it warrants some elucidation, in my opinion, anyway. I hope that you have the patience to read all of this.
When my Achilles let go, I heard a pop, a loud pop. I think that the sound happened after I felt the pain. It seemed delayed, and seemed like I was already on my way down to the ground. As I hit the ground and reached for my leg, I knew exactly what had happened, even though I kept looking behind me for the non-existent phantom that had hacked my leg. There was no one, but the incident was so out of place and unexpected that surely there must be someone hiding in the bushes with a machete. I looked again. Before any of my teammates had gotten to me, I had processed the realities of the situation, everything. I suddenly realized that I was out of work, would likely incur huge medical expenses, needed surgery, would not be able to drive, would not be able to work for a very long time, would not be able to finish my bathroom, would not be able to drive, would not be able to gallivant with any of my friends until the wee hours. All of this and more went through my brain in an instant. I didn’t even notice the pain.
As Nib and Kyle shouldered me over to the sidelines, I think I went into a sort of shock, but unlike any shock I had experienced before. It wasn’t a physical shock, but a mental shock that seemed to build a barrier around the realities that confronted me. I was jovial, smiling, joking with the players warming up for the next game. There was no question about the injury. I had no tendon in my leg, and my calf muscle was balled up in the middle of my lower leg. No one there believed that my injury was as serious as I said it was. There wasn’t enough pain I guess.
I knew I had to go to the emergency room, although in retrospect, I never would have done that in my situation. Eventually, the game ended and Kyle drove me to town, where my buddy Scott drove me the rest of the way to the hospital, the Olympic Medical Center. There I received, what at the time seemed routine, and well-intentioned care. Of course they X-rayed me, knowing that it would show nothing about the injury, and would only cost me money that wasn’t necessary. They didn’t have anyone in there that was an orthopedist, so every decision about my care was made over the phone with a Doctor named Margaret Baker. They determined that indeed my Achilles was completely ruptured through the administration of the “Thompson test”, in which your calf is squeezed, and if your foot doesn’t move at all, you’re tendon is not attached.
Anyway, the clear path was surgery, and to have it as soon as possible, so I underwent all of the pre-op stuff in prepar5ation for a likely surgery tomorrow. I was told not to eat anything in the AM, and to call Doctor Baker’s office at 0800, when they opened, to get in the office ASAP, so they could get me in the O.R. After about 3 hours, I was discharged with instructions and 6 vicodin, which were billed to me at $9.00 per pill, twice their street value!!
I eventually made it home, after visiting with some friends. I didn’t want to be alone right away. So, I get up early after, nearly no sleep at all, having to re-medicate in the night to sleep at all, so I can call Doctor Baker’s office. I called at 0800, and spoke with her assistant Ann, who informed me that the plan was not at all to get me in ASAP, and operate on me right away, for it had been discovered that I had no insurance. Now, the issue was transformed from treat the injured party to the best possible extent, to cover our asses and make sure we get paid. She informed me that before she would even make an appointment for me that I would have to first apply for financial assistance from D.S.H.S., and upon completing said application I should furnish proof of this and make an appointment. Feeling very much second class all of the sudden, and fearing that I might not receive equal care as any normal person would, I said, “that’s retarded, you can’t just make an appointment for me first?” then Ann went off on me, mostly about how it certainly is NOT retarded to expect payment for services.
To me, that was a non-issue. Of course they would be paid, maybe in 2013, but they’d get their fucking money! At 0800, the morning after tearing my Achilles in two, I had no options, so I got a ride down town. I had the address wrong, and got dropped off at the wrong place and had to hobble to the right building and go through the whole process. If you think the DMV blows, try applying for social assistance on Monday morning with a torn Achilles, and being told point blank that I would not receive ANY assistance because I make $260.00 a month from a real estate contract that I own, currently my only income.
I jumped through the hoops, and outside called my ride, then Doctor Baker’s office. The assistant now in the office informed me that in the hour and a half that had passed, suddenly they had no appointments until Wednesday, so the surgery wouldn’t happen until Thursday. How the fucking fuck, could they schedule people in front of me, knowing full well that I had no other options?? Doctor Baker, I hope your practice ends in a terrible way, and that your last years of life are spent regretting your choices. Okay, that was harsh, I hope that you read this, and re-examine your practice, and maybe re-examine why you got into medicine and grow a heart, or at least pull Ann’s head out of her ass. (No names have been changed for the sake of anonymity). My ride was going to be about an hour, so I hobbled up to the internet café and began trying to figure my shit out. I called every doctor with in 50 miles, and no one could see me that week. I looked into surgery in Costa Rica, and Thailand. I checked ticket prices. I thought about recovering with no one around me that I knew. I thought about foreign busses on crutches. I scrapped the idea.
I made 65 phone calls that day to nearly every orthopedist in western Washington. A friend of mine gave me a number of the doctor who had recently performed surgery on her, and who was great. I called, and low and behold, he had a cancellation on Wednesday. No sooner than Doctor Baker, but at least I might feel better about giving them my money, and by this time I had heard from two people that Dr. Baker was regarded as a serious hack in the O.R., not exactly confidence instilling words. I called Harborview Hospital in Seattle, and was referred to the Orthopedic Center where I was assured that surgery was the treatment, and that if I went to the ER I would most likely be admitted that day and receive surgery that same day or the following day.
If I had insurance I would have made one phone call and had to endure none of this stress. I also would have been operated on be a renowned hack, so I guess that I’m thankful at this point. That same day, I moved out of my cabin, not having a bathroom, and fearing my mind if I were to be alone too much. At my new roommate’s house that night, we were all talking, and it seemed to make sense to act on the soonest possibility that existed, which was getting into the ER at Harborview in the AM. Amazingly, my friend Jenae offered to drive me there, and so we woke at 0500 and drove to the big city. She and my friend Angela dropped me off at the ER, and went for breakfast.
In the ER I got to speak with someone immediately. The guys asked me what my issue was, and I explained to him my situation, and that I had spoken to someone in orthopedics and that they had advised me to come in. He urged me to double check with the doctors before admitting myself, so, on my last remaining pain pill I crutched from one end of the gargantuan hospital to the other and waited to speak to a doctor in Orthopedics. After about a half an hour I spoke to Bob Walsh, a nurse who assured me that surgery was the course of action for my injury, if in fact my tendon was ruptured, and that I should admit myself, and they “would take care of me.”
I crutched back to the ER, which by now was full of bleeding victims and addicts, looking to get their prescriptions filled. It took me about an hour and 45 minutes to get in the back. At 1130 I was taken to have X-Rays taken, which I told them had already been done, and which could have been sent in 5 minutes from Port Angeles by email. They took 6 X Rays at this point, and would take 3 more, for which they would charge me nearly $1,600.00. Now, remember, everyone knows that X-Rays do not show anything about soft tissue injuries. At about 1500 the Doctor finally came in, did the Thompson test, agreed that my Achilles was ruptured, and promptly left to confer with the rest of her Orthopedic Team to determine the best course of action. About an hour later she came back to the room, and this is what she said, ” Now, I want you to know this has nothing to do with the fact that you don’t have insurance, but myself and the Orthopedic Team think that it might be best if you heal in a non-surgical manner.” she then continued, slightly contradicting herself,” however, if we have a surgery slot open on Thursday, we will call you tomorrow and get you in, otherwise, we need you to come in next Tuesday for a re-evaluation of your situation.” She cited a paper from Europe that talked about the differences between surgical and non-surgical healing for ruptured Achilles, and basically concurred that allowing scar tissue to eventually bridge the gap between my tendon and heel, that I would be as good as if I had had surgery.
You’re right, she must be insane. The ER doctor conferred to me that he didn’t buy the logic, or the decision, and went after her to ask her about the paper. He found it and printed it for me, and in very plain language, that paper recommends that active individuals always opt for surgical healing, as with active people, the incidence of re-rupture is almost double with the non-surgical approach, never mind that it takes twice as long to heal and recover, i.e. twice as long out of work!! Some medical students built the worst cast in history around my leg, and sent me off on my way. For this service they charged me about $1,700.00, so my total costs for Harborview exceed $3,300.00, for absolutely nothing! “Just go home, you’ll get better.”
I went to my friend’s house, and decided to go to my appointment the next day at Proliance Orthopedic center in Issaquah, WA. My friend Cassie, even though I was on pain pills let me borrow her car, an automatic, for the 45-minute drive. They asked for a $200.00 down payment, and said that we could work on a payment plan afterwards. I saw Doctor Clayton Brandes, and he recommended that I have the surgery, and said they would get me in as soon as possible. He did talk about the non-surgical option, but stressed the longer recovery, and the likelihood that an active person might re-rupture it. We scheduled surgery for Monday, and I worked my way back to the peninsula, with some help from my friends.
Surgery went well, and everyone was more than personable and helpful, and my friend Devon drove all the way over from Port Angeles to pick me up and bring me home. After all of the headaches, and dealing, now it was time for the healing.
It took some time for the bills to come in, but I knew the ballpark for the surgery was going to be about 8-10 thousand dollars. When all was said and done, the total was about $11,500.00, not including follow up visits. It took me some time, but eventually I got to the library and printed out all of my financial paperwork, and wrote a letter explaining to all of my medical providers, that though I have every intention of paying, I was completely unable to pay my balances in full at this time, in fact, I was already running a serious deficit.
Well, last week I got a letter from the Orthopedic Center and Surgeon, saying that they had waived 100 percent of my fees, and today I received a letter from the hospital in Port Angeles saying the same thing. I don’t know what this means in the long run for the “system”, but for me it means that I am responsible for far less money than I thought I would be. I nearly cried when I got the first letter. As far as health care in the country, I remain very disillusioned, and know had this injury happened to me in nearly any other country, I would have received equal care with much fewer headaches, and certainly much less expense shared by respective population. I can only assume that my costs will be absorbed by your insurance company, or through some grant or federal program, but in a sane world, I would receive treatment, and eventually be able to pay for that treatment, not being half of my yearly income, which this was. My recovery goes well, though my incision is slightly infected right now, but I am hopeful for a speedy recovery, and so thankful for the administrators that looked at my paperwork, and with a swipe of the pen wiped away so much of my debt, and so thankful that Doctor Brandes sewed me back together and not Doctor Baker.
8/30/09
I literally have zero discipline. I haven't written anything in ten days. Lame. Great news for the Vicarious Living Project though. THIS JUST IN! I have been getting great response from people, and just met with a business and marketing strategist and got some very good feedback and ideas, and am definitely inspired to take this thing to the next level, even if no one is actually reading this blog yet. So I am picking out the best board, and reading the conditions and am getting poised to drop in on this huge wave, and regardless of whether I take a beating or not, it will be a fun wave, and hell, I can always claim bankruptcy. right?
And now a public interest story
I've been visiting with an old friend this weekend, well, she's not old, but our friendship is, and we were reminiscing about things, as I was tending my now infected surgical incision, wondering why the hell my body is always stricken with odd bullshit. We got to talking about a trip we took to Ecuador some 15 years ago.
We were volunteering at a place called Jatun Sacha in the Amazon basin, one of the first private reserves in South America. Jatun Sacha is quichua, (not quechua) for big forest. Most of our days were filled with trail building, planting trees, harvesting cacao, or watching birds. My friend Robb and I were there specifically to help them with their birdlist, to which we added two new species, the Orange-backed Troupial, and the Tiny Hawk, e new genus for the reserve! Anyway, we all stayed in this cabin in the woods, about a 3rd of a mile from the road. There was no power, and the water was collected in giant cisterns from the rain, which in the amazon can be quite plentiful. We used this water for bathing, brushing teeth and on occasion, cooking. We were told that the reserve staff managed the water with iodine, and that it was clean.
Down the road a bit, and back in the bush lived a family who appeared to subsist mostly on what appeared to be their own volition. They had crops of all kinds, as well as livestock, but what interested us most was the volkswagon engine that the husband had converted into a generator, and his make shift bar in which they managed to deprive us foreigners of our sucres. This was before Ecuador began using the dollar.
The beer was always cold, and he had an amazing sound system which would blot out the night noises of the deep jungle, even the cicadas. I spent my 20th birthday here. That's another story, in fact, a whole chapter. Anyway, one night we had partaken in an evening at "the bar", and as any nearly 20 year old would, we all got shit faced. I think it was at about 0100 when we staggered back to our cabin, named Ali supai, quichua for place of the spirits, due to its reputation for being haunted.
We all had the munchies bad, and I guess that we were out of popcorn, for that was the usual faire at this point of the night, so we decided to make pasta. We filled up a big pot with some rain water from the cisterns, and set it on the stove. At some point I looked into the water with a flashlight to see if it was boiling and noticed that the water was teeming with life. Literally hundreds upon hundreds of filamentous worms wriggled and writhed in pain as the water was heating up. Some of them were pink, some were cream colored. Some were small and oddly shaped, some were 2 inches long and narrow. Half of our group opted out of the mid night snack, but the other half, me included, decided that we would just boil the water for another minute, and that would be good. It's science!
That trip to ecuador began my life as a harborer of weird and unknown life and the symptoms that go along with this. I recall a day walking the streets of quito when I actually turned green. I was faint and could not walk anymore, and I was olive green. Now lying here, with an infected leg, I can't really blame random chance, I guess it's just me.
8/20/09
And careen I did. I’d love to tell you about the road that I drove, but it’s one of the places that I pick mushrooms, so I can’t, but if I could, and you could drive it someday you would feel the rush of flying up and down that thing in the darkest night of the month with a hand clutch. Shifting and spinning the wheel on marble gravel with perilously precipitous drops on every outside corner, and strange, obscuring shadows on the inside corner walls.
As I left the house, I remembered that I had sort of misplaced my wide-angle lens, so taking long exposures of meteorites was out, but I wanted to go anyway, just to hear the night, so I tricked myself into believing that I might set up my video camera instead, which I did have, and hope to get a shot out of dumb luck. Of course I never set it up, but if I had I probably would have gotten a shot. Who knows.
So, I get to the top, maybe 4,000 feet, I’m not sure, maybe five, and right where I was planning on parking to see the biggest sky were two guys with telescopes set up all around. I turned my lights down to not ruin their night vision, and pulled over. As I hobbled down in the darkness, sounding like the ghost of a pirate serial killer dragging bodies through the woods, I wondered what these guys must be thinking as I approached in the black without a light. “Howdy” I said, “ You guys stargazing?” though it was obvious that they were.
“Yeah.” replied the older one, “It’s a beautiful night. Are you on crutches?”
I said," I was," and he asked what had happened, and we did the whole injury thing, all three of us, full circle, the way it always works , “ Yeah, I hurt my knee once...”
“The ground is pretty un-even up here, you watch yourself,” said the older one, and I could tell he was a smoker from his wheez.
“ I will, thanks,” I said. “I’m sort of stargazing too, but I kind of forgot all of my gadgetry.”
“I’m Bill, and that there’s Travis,” a young string bean of a kid, whom he referred to as Travy for most of the night.
“I’m Drew,” I said and extended my hand, “mind if I hang out?”
“No, not at all. Do you know your stars at all?” asked Travis, though I had forgotten his name already.
I had to explain to him that though I’ve been interested in, and have studied the natural world for all of my known life, and have travelled to and froe with astronomy experts and have benefited from countless nights staring into the night sky with telescopes and knowledgeable friends that no, I do not know anything about stars. I can find the north star and the big dipper, and Orion, etc., but for some reason when it comes to true astronomical understanding my brain just does not retain the stuff.
“Do you know what that is?” asked Travis, pointing to a big bright shiny thing in the south east sky.
I said, “ you know, that damned planet has been giving me trouble for the last two weeks,” which it had. “ I now it’s not Venus, and I’m pretty sure it’s not Mars because it’s too big and not red, and I don’t think it’s Saturn, but is it Saturn?” I at least knew that it was a planet, which I took some comfort in, but Travis was not impressed and wrote me off as a non-equal right there.
“no, it’s Jupiter,” he said, “ Sometimes it’s hard to tell Saturn and Jupiter, but you can see the moons even with binoculars on Jupiter sometimes.”
Travis turned out to be great, and very obliging, putting the scopes on everything, starting with pointing out the summer triangle, delphinus, Daneb, Cygnus, some Globular. Then the scopes started going to the galaxies, M-31 and 32, 81, and some other numbers. I suppose with some background knowledge that it’s neat to look at these things and see a deeper value, but they all look like cloudy stars to me, but it was neat nonetheless. Bill showed me the coat hanger, which is an asterism, not a constellation. See how much I learned! It was cool, and in the end they put the 16 inch reflector on Jupiter, and that was really cool. I couldn’t believe that my hair brained, camera-less, beer-less drive into the wilderness turned out so cool. Just after midnight I thanked them and headed off, having to drive up the mountain another 3 miles before I could turn around. I think they thought that I was pretty weird. They’re probably right.
8/19/09
The worst thing you can do is read Jack Kerouak when you want to write. Worse than that is reading through the heat of the afternoon with a little dozey, then you drink a couple of beers, eat some huevos rancheros and before you know it, you’re careening up a mountain into the new moon night on the premise that the persiid meteor shower might still be happening, but you know it isn’t. And the rotten yogurt on the beans.
8/15/09
The Beasties of Cameron Rd. Chapter One
There is a type of wasp, the European Paper Wasp, which since I moved to Port Angeles has made its homes on the eaves of my cabin. They look like the Common Yellow-Jacket but are longer in body and not nearly as aggressive. Depending upon how successful they are, the nests range in size from 3 to 8 inches, and hang in 4 or 5 locations along the underside of my roof overhang on the east and south facing sides of the cabin. I’ve had to knock down a nest when it was getting too big right near my front door, but generally, I feel like a Violaceous Trogon living amidst and amongst.
When I got hurt last month there was a nest starting to grow not a foot from the entrance to the cabin. I had been coming to grips with the fact that I’d have to deal with them at some point, but then I got hurt and moved out for two weeks, and the nest grew in my absence. When I returned, barely mobile, only reasonably conscious, and still highly allergic to wasps I was quite unable to tackle the task.
For me, the wasps weren’t really a problem. Even though I keep the door to my cabin open most days, rain or shine, the wasps have entered only 2 or 3 times, on solitary scouting missions, even though their nest is right there. People are scared of the black and yellow warning stripes that adorn their bodies as well as our most basic genetic fears. I was having to tell people about the nest, so no one would do anything rash or crazy in my door and end up with the wrath of the wasps raining down on them, and they would say, like, “ man you need to do something about that thing,” and some would offer to do it, but none ever did. Then, 2 people got stung. They did not get stung by MY wasps, but got stung in the main house, by what I am sure were common Yellow Jackets, but I’m a little biased.
Instead of dealing with the wasps, for what was I to do, I went to Oregon. When I got home, a can of insecticide had been purchased. Or should we more accurately say, a can of Cancer spreading agent had been purchased, which when sprayed into the environment often causes the death of insects as well. So since, non of my friends would “man up” and deal with this in the respectable way, which is to hit the thing in the middle of the night and run away, I was presented with the pressure of having to do this the way only an invalid should. I live with a newborn and a 3 year old, and we cannot have them getting stung, and my roommate has a strong distaste for killing, and so it was my duty.
I set my alarm for 505, and when it went off I actually remembered why I had set the alarm. The last month has been spent trying to stay in bed as long as possible to stay off my feet, so to wake this early was a little foggy. I slid on my butt along the edge of my loft and climbed down my ladder onto the chair and hopped onto my right leg and grabbed my crutches. I hobbled over to the table where my head lamp and can of poison waited, and leaned way over to grab the chair and slid it over to the door. I opened the door a little and lit the hive up. There they were, 40 to 50 waspies all heaped up on one another on top of the honeycomb nest.
I closed the door, and hopped behind the chair, scooted it up and hauled my self onto it and balanced on my one leg. I reached down and grabbed the poison, and prepared myself for battle. I say battle, because confronting an adversary with such potentially painful repurcussions requires a mental preparation for the worst case scenario. But really, this was a battle like when the citizens of Providence marched down to West Kingston, Rhode Island, and while the men of the Narragansetts were out hunting, the distinguished settlers of our fair land laid waste to the women and children who remained in camp. Like the Great Swamp Massacre of 1675 I was attacking a helpless population of cold and mostly immobile wasps while they slept.
I readied the can in my right hand, and twisted the knob of the door. The door swayed open about 10 inches, and I sprayed the can in a frantic burst, as I looked away to avoid any carcinogenic blowback. I grasped for the door handle and slammed the door shut. I looked up toward the nest through the glass of the door, and nothing was happening, except a foam ball was clinging to the roof truss just on the other side of the nest. I had missed completely.
I repeated the process, though this time a little less frantically. I spied the nest, took aim, and watched as the spray lit up the nest, and all the wasps. They started dropping, and as they did so, they tried to fly. The door was open, and they were coming right at me. In one motion, I slammed the door shut, spun around and jumped off the chair, but much less smoothly than that sentence might allege. I caught my right foot, and came down right on my cast, which applied about 185 pounds of falling pressure onto my brand new tendon and the Kevlar holding it together. As I hit the floor, so did 4 or 5 wasps, which splattered a little, drenched in death. A few expletives later, I grabbed the bottom of my crutches and pulled them over to me and hoisted myself up, washed my hands and went back to sleep.
I could hear chickadees foraging in the maple outside my cabin as I lay in bed, but I didn’t want to confront a potentially half dead and pissed off wasp nest, so I updated my stupid facebook status and lay in bed planning my life. Finally I mustered the will to climb out of my loft and went to look out the front door. Dead wasps lay all over the deck, and the residue of falling insecticide was gathered in moist blotches. I opened my rat proof door into the bathroom, and crutched outside and around the cabin to see what happened from the other side. I got ‘em. There was one live wasp on the periphery, but every other wasp on the hive was dead, my mission accomplished. Now, as I write, a common Yellow Jacket peruses my stove top and threateningly hums through the air of my cabin, and my critter karma is running at a deficit once again.
8/03/09
Before this whole injury thing happened, I had been synthesizing an idea, a statement, a way to explain my lifestyle in terms of retirement, health insurance and standard of living. Maybe I was just trying to come to terms with the hand I’m playing, but I’ve been picking all of my own cards for some time now. I don’t think that the ideas involved are fully matured yet, but the irony of my current situation and what I wanted to write about forces me to try and deal with it now.
A lot of people that I respect greatly caution me all of the time, that when I’m 50, 60 or 75 I’m going to regret not having led a more normal life and paid into some system in the hopes of receiving some benefits other than my social security blanket. Artists, surfers, teachers all alike have warned me, in fact I only know of one friend off of the top of my head that whole heartedly endorses how I live, granted, most people I know never contemplate what I do, they are just my friends. What is funny is that at the same time, I get the standard, “that’s great, do it while you can” encouragement, about my travelling and general tendency to wander and maybe not work as much as a good American should. I reply, ”while I can?? When would I not be able to do this?”
Central to my ethos, (for it is a planned existence, and not just the life I’ve fallen in to), is the fact that because we are born in this country, and because this is the greatest democracy in the world does not mean that I have to agree with that system, and it also does not mean that I have to offer you a better system in return. I believe that we are far beyond systems of management and government that can ENSURE equality and fairness to all people while maintaining a peaceful existence on this planet, unless that system is simply LOVE. Democracy will not save anyone. Never mind the fact that the U.S. is NOT a democracy, but a republic. That said, I’ve known since I was a young adult that I don’t agree with hardly anything that our government does, or at all with how 99% of people live their lives, and are more or less forced to live their lives by this cave allegory that has been written by corporate puppeteers, and constantly re-written to keep people just on the edge of survival and consumption, so that the most we, as Americans can hope for is a vacation to Cancun and some digital pictures to share at the office, never to know the possibilities that exist just outside of our prescribed boxed life. I know, I am over simplifying, but this is a blaahhgg, not a book.
So, for me, rejecting this type of a consumer based society, veiled by a patriotic fervor and guise of freedom has always meant that I must find different ways to exist in this realm. I accept that I have been very much shaped by late 20th century ideas, ideals, recreations, and pop culture. I am not saying that I want to disappear into the woods, or burn T.V.s, or blow up corporate officers. What I’m saying is that I want to leave the cave, and forge an existence that I know is there, and I want to inspire people to do the same. What I really want, is to live in a community where friendship and love is valued more than anything else, and I want to be loved and nurtured in that environment, and raise a family and enjoy all that this bountiful world has to offer. Kind of a bummer that I also believe that birthing and raising a child in this world does not make sense due to the current situation, thank you everyone who has ever given birth to more than your share of children, you took mine. Didn’t realize this was a rant too. Oh well. So the conclusion of this paragraph will read; Living as a normal American for me, not agreeing with the current situation of the world, our environment, our government would be like fucking for virginity or bombing for peace. You cannot simultaneously oppose a system and support it with your taxes and life without great emotional consequence. Unfortunately, you cannot also live simultaneously in the United States and oppose our government without going to jail and forfeiting your freedom, ‘cuz everybody knows freedom ain’t free. In fact, what freedom costs is one hundred years of isolating impoverished people throughout the world, subverting governments and opposition factions throughout the world, economically enslaving people in nations who never knew what a job was until their food sources all of a sudden cost money, exporting hatred, guns missiles, and munitions to the four corners of this spinning, wondrous and verdant globe. That’s what it costs, and you know what else it costs, your neighbor Jimmy’s leg, and 5,000 innocent collateral damages, all so we can watch the NFL, drink dirty martinis, and vote for the best of two fucking assholes. I don’t mean to point fingers. I own a 2006 Toyota, have $47,000 in debt to 7 or 8 creditors and drank 2 Olympia beers last night. I just want to work through this so we might make it a little better.
What does this have to do with the first paragraph about retirement, social security, standard of living, etc.?? Well, to many, I think the term “standard of living” is often at the heart of what they believe is truly the best course for their life. They believe working a 9-5 and paying into the system and retiring at 65 will be the way to optimize their standard of living, and get the most out of this life, until, ahhhhh....., at long last, heaven. Most people I think engage this idea regularly, and even contemplate their standard of living in terms of the rest of the world. The problem is that the examples of the rest of the world come in Sally Struthers commercials, the Headline news and photos of be-headed Mexican drug lords on the side of the road. Standard of living and Quality of life should be measured by number of smiles per unit area, and I guarantee you the US, as well as many other first world nations would fall to the bottom of the list. Even as it is, with normal indices like literacy rate, infant mortality rate, work/recreation rate, the United States is ranked very low on the list, even when compared to 3rd world countries. Costa Rica, for example ranks higher in every area, except for unemployment. Fewer people work, but more people are happier and healthier.
So, really, for me, the heart of the matter is that we are Homo sapiens sapiens, in the family hominidae, order primate, class mammalia and phylum chordata. To me, this means that we are essentially animals. Yes, we reason. We love. We do all sorts of things that have not been illustrated in much of the other occupants of the animal kingdom, including kill for nothing but an idea or thought, yet our similarities are far more numerous than our differences. Walk through a Walmart on some Sunday afternoon and you will quickly realize without a shadow of a doubt that we are not living as we should. I hesitate to say, “as we were meant to“, because, intellectually I have yet to embrace some idea of predetermination, or other god type concept. I think it is highly important to celebrate life, reflect on beauty and display reverence to the forces that make that possible for personal growth, but subscribing to a religion or giving allegiance to a god has never made sense to me. My wager is that if I love and perpetuate love, and never have a reason to ask forgiveness, than even if there is a Saint Peter, or an Allah, all they will be able to say to me when I reach the pearly gates will be “ Well done, my brother,” but it’s pointless to act on mythologies of the afterlife, without considering how best to live right here and right now. And to live best right here and right now is to not think about the future, not worry about tomorrow, or retirement. Is the idea of sitting in a mobile home at 65 careening along the vast highways, or watching days of our lives everyday really that attractive??
The security of a job may put one at ease, especially when mortgaged to your eyeballs, and leveraged beyond your next offspring, but is that how animals are healthiest. I’m pretty sure that every animal I’ve ever known who knew when their next meal came from, and never had to worry about shelter, or survival was less fit than its wild counterpart, including representatives of our own species. A more dynamic, visceral experience and interaction with the world can only be more satisfying, and lend itself to wider and deeper personal growth and knowledge. That is why I live as I do, and even as the bills mount, and I cannot work in my normal capacities, and I am really scared as to how I will eat in two weeks time, I know, for me, this is the right way to be, and though my smile”o”meter may be registering fewer smiles than normal for me, my standard of living will continue to be very high, and I am very thankful for that, and know that it has nothing to do with Republicans, Halliburton, Ford or even Thomas Jefferson.
8/01/09
Had a Doctor's appointment yesterday. It was pretty rushed, but went well. Got my stitches out, and finally got a look at the leg. The tendon seems strong, and no problems were visible at all. The doctor did some range of motion tests, and was impressed with the situation. Best of all, I got to put my aircast on, instead of getting a fiber glass cast. Now I can take it off when I bath. A super bonus. To maintain a pointed toe, (equinus) position and keep the stress low on the newly stretched tendon the doc put an inch and a half heel lift in. It was just a little bit less than what I had, but when I woke up this morning it hurt pretty bad, worse than it had in a five days or so. Haven't taken any pain pills in six days.
7/26/09
Sunday night, crazy life. Waves, sun, I feel like I'm in a prison. Shackled. I want my Mommy.
7/24/09
If I just lay here in bed, there will be nothing to write about, or at least nothing appropriate to write about. My buddy Pete is coming over, and there are waves, so I'm going to hobble my ass down and lay on the beach while they surf. There's also waves in RI, carnival must be in town!
I'm gonna ' make Pete carry all my shit though. I know, I'm just supposed to lie in bed, but what can go wrong crutching out to a cobblestone point. I'll be really careful, and I promise to see cool shit to write about, as if anyone but Josh Allen knows this site exists.
7/25/09
When I came up with the whole drewtube idea,no one was blogging, facebook barely existed, and now everyone has their own f--ing website and blog. It kind of sucks, and definitely took the wind out of my sails, a bit, as I struggled with why my site would be unique. What more do I have to offer that isn't out there already? Maybe nothing, but that's not really a reason not to do something. This site is definitely not going to be just a blog, though it is now, the vision is much more complex, and I hope worthy of throwing out into the interwebbed ether.
It's very hard when all you do is sit in a recliner all day to think of something worth writing about. I have some personal shit going on a little bit that's pretty interesting, but it's personal, and involves other people that would probably not want to be interwebbed on the drewtube, if you catch my drift, but other than that, all I have to talk about is how I fell over last night trying to talk on the phone and walk on my crutches last night. I held my phone to my ear, as I tried to go into my bedroom for privacy, holding the right crutch in my armpit, and swinging it out with my hip. I don't think I was especially buzzed on the pills, but who knows these days. I hit a chair with the crutch, and had nothing to plant my weight on, and fell forward. At first I put a lot of weight on my bad foot, but when the pain of that mistake hit my brain I pulled it away and did a straight up face plant into the wood floor, and my phone skidded out of reach. It hurt like a mother fucker, and there is the distinct likelihood that I did some damage to my newly repaired tendon. It hurt very bad all night, and still hurts in a different area than it did after the surgery. I told the Dr.'s office about it today, and they said just to monitor it, so that's what I'm doing. Hope I didn't re-rupture it already. That would blow majorly. Not sure what I would do at that point. I think I would buy a plane ticket to Siberia or something, and just lose it. Find some raindeer herder to piss out some amanita extract and find me a new god.
7/22/09
Haven't gotten out of bed yet, it's almost 10 and I should eat something. I think that there's waves today, and that blows majorly. I know that good things will come out of this down time, but I had one of those crazy moments last night when I hobbled outside to piss under the stars. The world got really heavy, and I could feel every second slipping away from me. I get this feeling a lot, and it really makes it hard to deal with the life we are forced to live in this society. It really isn't just. We are forced to spend so much time in the maintenance of the artificial, just in the hopes that we might get a chance to do something real once in a while. It's times like these when I just want to drop out, leave it all, and go, like the guy in Kung Fu, or some samurai wandering the world, except I don't know how to sword fight.
But there I was, swaying on my crutches, 3 pills deep, staring up at the stars, wondering what the hell the world has in store for me. I know my life is great, and will continue to be so, but I just wonder at all the possibilities that are out there. If leaving it all behind wasn't also leaving my family behind, and embracing the distinct possibility that I might never fall in love again, I think it would be easy. I have a serious yearning to be feral, to experience the world as we humans have evolutionarily. It's not an intellectual thing, it's a yearning from my guts, from my very core that wants to reject all of this, this wasting of time. Life is so hard sometimes.
7/21/09
Lying in bed, I can hear a sea plane taking off from the Port Angeles harbor which is only several hundred yards from my bedroom on the bluff.
Surgery is such a bizarre thing. When you come out of the anaethesia, you still feel like you are just about to go under, and then the nurse explains that it's all over, and you look down and your foot is all bandaged up, and you're good to go. My friend Devon picked me up from surgery, and actually had to sign for me as a responsible party, since I was so drugged up. That was pretty weird, then we hit stop and go traffic which turned a 20 minute ride into an hour and a half. We made it home smoothly enough though, with a couple of snaffus that I won't go into here, but it was a pretty funny night.
The pain didn't start to come on until about 2300, when I promptly took a percocet and went to sleep, which came quickly. But seemingly just as quick I awoke with the agony, and not wanting to pop another pill until 4 hours had gone by, I just lay there and sweat, and grit my teeth. I was in and out, dreaming and gritting until 0300 when I popped another, and was able to get a little sleep until my room mate's alarm went off at 0345, and the gritting/dreaming cycle began anew.
Now I'm on one and a half, and the fog horn is going off, though there's not a hint of fog in the strait, and my ankle feels like a steel jawed trap has ensnared me, and there is no end in sight, except I know that it'll only be a couple of days like this, and then back to normal. Oh wait, normal won't be for another 180 to 300 days. As if I've ever been normal.
7/18/09
I'm not sure exactly what is happening. I'm trying not to think too much about it. My foot is now finally showing signs of trauma, six days after the injury it is turning purple around the margins, and starting to swell a bit. When I take my first steps in the morning the blood rushes and it feels like a badger is gnawing on my leg, but if I make it through the first half hour I usually don't need the pain pills.
This morning however, I had to finish an upholstery job on a boat being delivered this weekend. Not a big job, just making a bench seat and back for a 32' center console, but even the most rudimentary tasks are so difficult these days. Forgetting my tape measure at the other end of the shop sets me back ten minutes, never mind carrying and loading the 30 pound finished cushions to the truck, and installing them. It's exhausting.
The bedroom in the house where I'm convalescing has one of the most amazing views in the world, and it helps keep my spirits up. The sun rises over the southern shoulder of Mt. Baker at just after five, and illuminates the San Juan Islands and Canada, and I can see east down the Strait of Juan de Fuca, for a long way. Gulls and Swallows ridge soar the roofline of the house.
My new roomates, Dustin and Jenae, are more than accommodating, and I can't imagine a better situation in which to confront this injury and surgery. I can't be more thankful, and glad for the Dungeness Crab that Dustin brought back from work today. Even with only one leg, life is good!
6/1/09
I’ve been going through some pretty serious shit lately. A little while ago, on the full moon some pretty fucked up shit went down, and it’s caused me to re-evaluate pretty much everything in my life; who I am, where I am, and where I am going.
If you’ve ever had a friend who is a bad whisky drunk, you might have a better feel for what I’m about to describe, if not, I’ll try and shed some light on it. For some reason, whiskey affects people in a different manner than other alcohols. I myself have even ended up in the clink on whiskey, not something I’m proud of, though it’s one hell of a story. I don’t drink whisky in public places any more, I only drink it on the beach, or in the mountains. Somehow, whiskey can send people into a maniacal state of mind, where the only outcome is trouble.
Anyway, this night in particular was setting itself up to be extraordinary regardless of the booze, and I had a sense of that from the beginning. Some friends of mine and I had met at the wine bar downtown for just a couple of glasses of wine, and, as it always does, those couple of glasses turned into a couple of bottles and some tapas. Everyone wanted to continue to another bar afterwards, so I decided to start on the water, and not drink anymore, so I could be a driver.
We got to the next bar, and things were going more or less as they go at bars. People get drunk, people get obnoxious, but for some reason one of my buddies was a little extra obnoxious. Later on I would find out that another friend and he had drank Irish Car Bombs(ICB’s contain whiskey), which would help explain it, and apparently my buddy spiked his finished pint glass against the wall, just feet from the bar’s owner. Somehow he didn’t get kicked out, and ended up starting some trouble with a random guy in the bar. Some friend’s of mine stepped in to break it up, and were actually giving the other guy shit, but I saw it go down, and was totally ashamed of my friend, and wasn’t about to step in on his behalf. What I should have done was recognize his state, and tried to usher him out of the bar and home. Hindsight is always 20/20. He was under a lot of stress at the time, and when I say that, I mean some serious stress, types of stress that I hope I never experience, so it was, maybe not acceptable, but at least understandable that he was letting loose.
Things cooled down, and we were all outside smoking cigarettes, and for some reason my friend started in on me. I won’t go into detail too much here, but he said some seriously fucked up shit, friendship ending shit to me. I didn’t know how to react, but I think I just told him to fuck off. He had this really devilish look in his eye, the whiskey look. He kept in on me, and I’m not really one to not defend my honor, I get pretty riled up, but for some reason, when it comes to “debating” with this particular friend, I get really frazzled, and he just has his way with me. So shit kind of cooled down, and we’re all just standing there, when out of no where, with his open hand, my friend hits me as hard as he can in the face. It was kind of a slap, but it was so hard that the impact was much more like one of those forearm WWF wrestling punches. My head flew back, and then re-coiled back to look at him. I had never been hit so hard, with such seemingly hurtful intent in my life. I felt completely violated, and in an instant I sprang forward and punched him in his left jaw, and when he didn’t go down, I hit him again.
He went down hard, half on the curb, and partly in the road, and I stood there, shaking, saying “what the fuck, what the fucking fuck” over and over. I didn’t know what had happened, I was in total shock. I’ve never hit anyone like that in my life.
Eventually he got up, and our friends diffused the situation as best they could, and we superficially made up, enough that I could drive him home. On the way home though, he started vomiting, and so I pulled over. I grabbed a sweatshirt from the back of my truck and was wiping the vomit from his face, and trying to comfort him, and he totally freaked out again, really going at me verbally. I’ve never been so hurt in my life by a friend, and it still hurts when I think about the shit he said. He has the luxury of being blacked out, but I’ll never forget that shit, and though he says he didn’t mean any of it, it had to come from somewhere. I called my friends to come and get him. He was fucking my car up, and throwing my shit all over the road, it was obvious that we weren’t going to reconcile right there, in the street, and more than likely, we’d both end up in jail if I hung around.
I went to my friend’s house to sleep on his couch. I lay there, with the light of the full moon coming in through the front foyer, and cried like a baby for hours. I felt like such a piece of shit having hit my friend. One of the things that is supposed to separate us from our animal cousins is that we can rationalize, and overcome our animal instincts when they’re not appropriate, and I really, really try to be the best person I can be, and make the right decision at every juncture in my life, and as I lay there on the couch, it was painfully obvious that I had failed my self. Though my friends all assured me at the time it went down, that I had done the right thing, and maybe it was for them., it was not the right thing for me. It’s exactly this kind of point blank reactionary behavior that perpetuates violence in our society and across the globe. If we can’t step back and be the “better man”, and give our attacker a hug, and the love that we all need and deserve, this type of shit will never stop.
I’m not saying that my friend was justified in hitting me, or saying the shit he said to me, but a more courageous person would have engaged him thoughtfully and lovingly before it ever escalated to the violent level that it did, well, who knows with whisky involved, but this incident sent me into a straight tailspin, and I’ve been forced to re-define everything about myself, my life, my path, my purpose, and my friendships in the past few weeks. I still have a lot of figuring out to do, and my friend and I still have some growing and reconciliation to embrace. I can’t help but wonder if someone like me can’t make the right decision when faced with this shit, how will Hamas and Israel ever come to accords? Somehow, we all need to embrace the true love, and I’m definitely not talking about god here, but love and understanding between one another, so we can live lives where we never have to ask for forgiveness, because we’ll never need to. It seems to me that it should be a lot easier, than it is, I don’t know. It makes me sad.
1/26/09
I've had a little lapse in my writing since I was in Hawaii. Man what a trip.
Two weeks later, it seems a world away. I've been surfing a lot here, and it's been really good. In fact, the entire eastern Pacific has had waves, from Alaska to Costa Rica. Everywhere, including Hawaii and elsewhere all experienced incredible surf from that last storm system. It was held out in the pacific by a dominat high pressure that sat on us, and it kept the low, and the waves, just spinning and spinning, sending long interval swell everywhere.
A dilemna of writing and being a surfer is that sometimes what you write about can increase the likliehood that surfership will increase at your "local" spot. While I might be more cavalier than some in talking about waves, and days spent surfing, a certain censorship is REQUIRED. No matter how it's chopped up, waves ARE a limited resource, and it is necesary to follow some decourum while writing about surfing. I will not name spots, unless they are world famous spots, like "pipeline" or "uluwatu". Sometimes a detective will be able to figure it out, but hopefully most people just won't care about the whereabouts.
Photos: now that's another can of worms. Waves are really beautiful and fun take pictures of. And it's really fun to have something to remember a particular day by. A major dilemna, but the web is not the forum for posting photos of home spots, or little known about breaks. Well known beach breaks and famous spots, maybe those are different. Is talking about the Mentawaii islands just embracing a certain type of racism?, almost claiming it as a local sopt for rich travelling surfers, with no regard to the future locals that will be from there and will surf. Grafitti on the wall in Puerto Caldera, Costa Rica says, " local es "born" !"
So, stay tuned for some photos I took last week. 9 feet at 17 seconds, increasing to 10 feet, with the period dropping to 15 seconds. After hiking through the forest, my friend Pos and I came across gargantuan monsters pounding the coast. We had thought we would get there just before the swell hit and get some overhead, to head and a half surf, but as the beach drew near, we could hear through the ancient Spruce trees a pounding, not unlike that of the poundings of Orks from the depths of middle earth. From a cliff overlook, it almost looked do-able, but once on the beach it became apparent that there was no way.
But, maybe down the beach, is that a channel. "Let's check it out" We walked down the beach, and at one point, even pulled our suits over our heads and got our boards, (6'5") out of their bags. Then, the channel was destroyed by three straight sets measuring well over 15 feet on the face. We hiked out, our tails between our legs, dismayed, and wishing that we were Laird, or at least that Dave Kalama would drive us out to try one of those beasts.
Where we ended up surfing was another hike, including rope ladders tied by Cindy Lauper for the movie "the goonies". It was an agreement she had to make for them to use her song, due to the awefullness of her voice. She Bop.
From the cliff above, the waves looked like they were overhead and a half, and sometimes bigger, so we stuck with the 6'5"s. Upon paddling out, I learned pretty quick that I was undergunned as a good double over-head plus set came in and broke like Sunset, fast off the drop, a hard section, then a flat spot, then a rifling, and thick inside section over a table of a ledge and around the corner. It was insane, and I saw my buddy Forest get a wave that put hair on MY chest, just watching it. It was epic!
Then I surfed for 5 more days straight, and got some of the best waves of my life, much of them on my new fish, which I love. I sure wish that I hadn't duck dove it into the bottom. At times it gets shallow.
1/7/09 Well, I have one day left in Hawaii. I didn't sleep at all last night because the thought of surfing triple overhead Sunset was looming over me throughout the night. If it wasn't my last chance to do it, it wouldn't be such a big deal, but the waves haven't gotten this big for my entire stay. They are also running the Backdoor shoot out maybe, which is a "hui" sponsored event for local guys to see who gets the best tube at Backdoor, which is the right at Pipeline. Yesterday was Epiphany, or three kings day, and I blew it. It's almost a more important holiday for my family, and I never called home. Oops. These last 3 weeks have been pretty selfish ones. Sorry everybody, I'm not a very good friend or relative sometimes. I'll try and improve on that one.
1/2/09 Leaving Kauai today. Love this place. I bought a board yesterday at the board swap in Hanalei and plane on coming back soon. I'm going to leave the board here at a friend's house to make sure that it happens.
Going back to O'ahu this afternoon to do some birding hopefully and get some waves. 12/17/08
It’s official. I beat Sam to my 50th state, and as I sit on a verdant hill with the sun not up yet and the rooster’s crowing in said 50th state I’m pretty happy. Yesterday afternoon and night were an awesome introduction to the island.
I arrived at the airport with a bunch of other flights, and it was an insane, disorganized cluster fuck trying to get somewhere so my friend Bob could get to me with his car. Bob is my buddy from RI that is getting married. His parents were flying in too, but we had a bit of time to kill before their flight arrived, so a beer was in order. We drove around that section of Honolulu, which is pretty seedy looking for a little watering hole. This part of Honolulu is a shipping and industrial center, and you would think there would be bars everywhere to cater to the workers, but it was really hard to find one. Finally, attracted to a sign that said dancing girls we saw a crusty little dive on the Sand Island Access rd. We walked in, and there was no one there except an old Hawaiian woman and two younger women of mixed, Asian/American descent who were working the bar. Being next to the defunct strip club and the whole vibe had me wondering just what kind of a place this “bar” actually was, but it seemed legit enough. We got a couple of beers and chatted with the women behind the bar. They were really nice, and asked if we were hungry. I was starving, and said yes, and then she asked if I liked kim chi and sushi. I said yes, and she produced a couple of plates of awesome food, and then some poke, which is raw fish in a sesame oil based sauce, with seaweed. It was really good, and I was stoked on the “island vibe”.
We bought a couple of leis for Bob’s parents and went into the airport to find them. Their plane was on time, but their luggage took a bit to make its way out on to the carousel. It was kind of raining on and off, which it’s kind of been doing for a while now. On the previous Wednesday and Thursday Oahu, and the rest of the islands had received some very substantial rains, and had some serious flooding. Lots of crops ruined, houses muddied, and surf contaminated with pig poop. The drive to the North Shore is quick, at least without traffic. It takes no time to leave the urban Honolulu behind and get into the Dole Pineapple lands, and then before you know it, you’re dropping down into the Haleiwa Valley and onto the North Shore. Coming into Haleiwa Town, you can see Ka’ena Point stretching out, cradling the west end of the coast. At the tip of the point is a Nature Conservancy preserve with nesting Wedge-tailed Shearwaters and Laysan Albatross, neither of which I have seen before.
We turned east on the only road that runs along the North Shore and passed by all the landmarks that I’ve read about and seen in surf videos since I was 11 years old. It got me thinking that if there is a mecca for a surfer, the North Shore is it. It is the one place that all surfers will eventually visit, and the one place that I know where everything is before I get there. We pass by Lani’s and Leftover’s, around and into Waimea Bay
All information is property of Drew Wheelan, unless otherwise stated. ©2009
I got it down, and then I filled that bottle half way, a full quart, and didn't spill a drop! The moment of truth happened right in the middle of the Hood Canal bridge. Me and that bridge have some sweet history.
I also got to see four Pectoral Sandpipers foraging in a left over, tidally isolated pool. They were very cooperative and the light was sweet.
Tomorrow I'm harvesting kelp to make pickles and working on some new sewing designs.
