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November 20 A move to Joshua Tree Here I am, back in Joshua Tree- a place I have been in the Spring and Fall since my return from New Zealand in 2006. Crazy. I never imagined spending much time in the desert- much less living in one of these moisture parched landscapes. I grew-up in a place that has more fresh water than anywhere else on earth, with wet, rainy summers and cold, snowy winters. Here in the Mojave desert it's been in the high seventies in the day, and mid-thirties at night. I have seen exactly two drops of precipitation since I arrived- and that startled me (I though a bird pooped on me). So how did I end-up down here . . . again . . . on a more permanent basis? Well, I was offered a position as a full-time field instructor with Odyssey Wilderness Programs, who I was working for this past summer, as they started a new therapeutic rock climbing and backpacking program in the park. A new program means lots of risk, but lots of opportunity to contribute to the structure of courses and the curriculum as well. I started by driving a van down from Bellingham, stopping to climb Mt. Ritter in the Eastern Sierras on the way down. High winds meant it was hard for me to hold onto the rocks as I scrambled from the saddle at just over 12,000ft. toward the summit, and tiny pebbles and bits of sand blew into my eyes behind my sunglasses. My book said the peak had a nine mile approach- round trip. Unfortunately it was nine miles one-way, with five thousand feet of elevation gain- a bit more challenging than I thought it would be, though not terribly difficult and with reasonable weather despite the wind. An amazing sunrise with spectacular lenticular clouds, coupled with some ice axe and crampon work across a snowfield and up a steep couloir made for a great day. After returning to the van I had a five hour drive to Joshua Tree. Odyssey's Office is in a beautiful Spanish style house on a hill overlooking the Morongo Basin. One of the neighbors is Bev Doolittle- a famous artist whose house- which looks like a cross between a space station and a carniverous fish- is a work of art in itself. As for myself, I've made a home in downtown Joshua Tree, a couple blocks from the road that enters the national park. A very low rent and reasonable cost of living mean that I actually live in a house, rather than a cardboard box, and believe it or not I actually sleep on a matress rather than a thermarest. My days-off have been spent rock climbing, meeting locals, and cooking with my three roommates. So far I've led two courses- one backpacking course with a single student, and a rock climbing course with three students. If all goes well, I'll be on a two-weeks-on, two-weeks-off schedule until March, when I hope to return to Bellingham, Washington for another round of living the good life in that perfect climate with abundant mountain recreation. Ah, and did I dress-up for Haloween? Of course I did- only this time I didn't go as a homeless outdoor educator as I do on a day-to-day basis. I was inspired by my mother's description of the costume of one of the preschoolers at her school- I went as a bottle of Heinz Ketchup. People here in Joshua Tree take Haloween- as well as other holidays- pretty seriously, so I was happy that I was able to fit-in by choosing such a senseless outfit. I was also able to host a house warming party, which had a spectacular turn-out and offered my roommates and I meals of potluck leftovers for nearly a week. Maybe we should throw parties rather than go grocery shopping? So my time here has been very good, and I'm feeling fit and healthy after hauling around a pack laden with water and eating organic rice, lentils, and quinoa for weeks at a time. I hope you all are preparing to gorge yourselves on incredibly large foul and various canned-goods! I'm borrowing an oven from my neighbor and preparing to go all-out. Cheerio! Glen September 29 A Last Hoorah in Washington Geesh, what a season! The weather is turning cool again, and I suppose that's a sign that it's time for me to migrate. But before I scamper off to Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California for my next stint of work, here's the fatty on what I've been up to from August onward. After returning from British Columbia I led my first trip with Odyssey Wilderness Programs aboard the Resolution- a 26 ft. longboat schooner. We sailed through the San Juan Islands for the next 14 days, making stops here-and-there to resupply and visit with therapists in the field who met with students about their therapeutic progress. I always learn a dump-truck load about myself on these trips, and I find that being involved in a therapeutic program isn't just beneficial for "clients", but equally beneficial for me. My ability as a leader is constantly tested and adjusted, and the way in which I communicate- verbally or otherwise- is challenged. I love this work because it challenges me mentally, physically, and emotionally while forcing me to learn about new environments and pick-up new skills. And in the end, whether or not students make meaningful changes in their own lives, I think that I am positively changed myself. Good stuff. But after two weeks of full-on challenge, it can be a bit difficult to adjust to ordinary life once more. So during my twelve days off after my boat course, I tried to capture challenges that floated my way. Two planned mountaineering trips fell through, but I joined up with some friends for a little bike ride up the Mt. Baker Highway. I ride a bike often, but I would not call myself a "cyclist", and neither would the cyclists who saw me huffing away on my mountain bike as I rode the 124 miles from Bellingham's ocean front up to Lake Anne at over 5000 ft. and back. I had a lot of respect for my friends who had invited me along, who completed the ride with smiles on their faces as I feigned mine despite the taste of lactic acid in my mouth. The weather remained good, so it was back up to Mt. Baker the next day to hike the Skyline Divide Trail with sweeping views of Mt. Baker, the Twin Sisters, and Mt. Shuksan. And then around the east side of Mt. Baker for a backpacking trip along Baker Lake through old growth Spruce and Cedar more than ten feet in diameter. After the trip I headed to Seattle for an interview with Lakeside School where I was applying for a position as an international trip leader for high school service learning projects, and then it was time to head back to work. My next course proved to be more challenging than the first, with a larger group size, one less instructor, and a more physically demanding course as we backpacked the Olympic Coast and the Hoh Rainforest of Olympic National Park at the foot of Mt. Olympus. Two weeks later and I was surprised to find myself back in Bellingham, which was awash with young people as students arrived for a new school year at Western Washington University. I headed back to Seattle to work the corner for my friend George's boxing match, to see my cousin who I hadn't seen in over ten years, and to explore the city. Then down to Bend, Oregon I went to see my friend Dave, where we went climbing, cliff jumping, and hot-springing. Then back toward Seattle, stopping in Tacoma to see my friend RJ and meet Charloette who I would climb Mt. Rainier with. Rainier was more of a challenge than I had thought, with the glaciers gaping wide this late in the season, making the going slow as we belayed eachother across broken icefall and crossed ladders over crevasses placed by a local guide service. Wind speeds grew steadily as the sun rose, blowing rocks and chunks of ice from adjacent slopes, and occasionally blowing us off our feet. We completed the final glacial traverse and sat for a few minutes on a ridge leading to the summit crater before we decided to head down. The sun threw light of all shades over the landscape, and I again had the feeling of being an astronaut in a foreign land. Rainier will certainly see me again in the future. And now I am preparing to pack a van and head south to Joshua Tree so I can begin working winter backpacking and rock climbing courses for Odyssey Wilderness Programs. I have a two-weeks-on, two-weeks-off schedule, so if any of you are interested in paying a visit, come on down! It will be warm and sunny! (compared to where you all are coming from anyway). Yikes, that's enough. Take care, and make sure to value that low-elevation air, Cheerio, Glen August 01 British Columbia UnboundAfter trying to stay in one place since
April, having work fall through and more work fall through, and
examining the concerned expressions of roommates as I consumed
damaged canned goods and produce with a famished fervor, it was time
to explore all possible options for keeping myself fed and housed. After a flurry of e-mails, and another whirlwind of paperwork and trips to the fax machine to send-off resumes and copies of certifications, I got an e-mail from Thom Henley who I had led a trip to Indonesia for in February. He offered to have me on as a volunteer worker at a camp he was constructing for international youth in Kitwanga. After some research, I found that Kitwanga was located on the Skeena River inland from Prince Rupert British Columbia, just a bit south of Mt. Edziza Provincial Park and the Stikine River where I had worked the year before with Alaska Crossings. With visions of salmon and mountains dancing in my head, I said yes and packed my bags. En route I visited my friend Ian and
his girlfriend Jen on Vancouver Island. We went backpacking for a
day in a fog covered alpine landscape before we decided that the
views were better down below and headed to lower elevation for urban
explorations. Then it was on to Vancouver (the city- not island) to
meet Thom and travel north by car to his land on the Skeena. The
land was incredible. Perhaps the single most beautiful piece of
privately owned property I have ever seen. The Seven Sisters- an
impressive granitic range I liken to the Tetons on steroids struck
into the sky on one side. Glaciers poured down into old growth
cedar, fir, and cottonwood before the forest flowed to the edge of a
field rampant with white daisies. On the other side Frog Mountain-
still capped with snow in early summer- stood over the Skeena River
which cut a vertical bank and rid the land of a row of balsam poplar
trees that once anchored the soil but blocked the incredible view
down the Skeena's riparian corridor. And standing elegantly along
the border of the land were a series of structures: A storage
“shed”, which was more the size of a small house- was built with
a chainsaw in five days by “Mr. A”, a Thai man who I led the
Indonesia trip with. There was a gorgeous dining hall made from
large timbers fit together with pegs, an outhouse, and a series of
tent platforms for canvas wall tents like those used by prospectors
at the turn of the century.
Thom explained the new projects. A water tower, solar and wind power, shower facilities, a pantry with stone walls, and a new outhouse. I thought back over my previous construction experiences building water gardens, erecting fences, and of course constructing lizard cages. I began scratching my head. Then I remembered that I also had experience remodeling a nineteenth century log cabin using hand tools when I was sixteen, a bit of time building mud huts in Northern Thailand, and I'd done a lot of research on alternative energy systems and a bit of design work back in college. Eureka. I had all the false confidence I needed to begin.
And so work began with the few tools I
had- a tape measure, hammer, nails, handsaw, and a pile of scrap
lumber leftover from a mill that had closed-down. Later, I obtained
a straight edge, level, power tools, and a generator, which greatly
sped-up the process. Progress was still slow since most of the
lumber I was using was warped or not uniform in thickness, and every
time we needed more supplies we had to drive more than an hour into
the nearest town, and load as much as we could into our shiny silver
four-door rental while gritting our teeth at the thought of paying
for a scratch in the paint. During the three weeks of construction
I oversaw two young workers from a nearby Gitxan reservation, and a
volunteer named Erhardt from Mexico as we constructed the pantry,
put-up wall tents, dug ditches for waterlines, built a bar for the
dining hall, helped a neighbor install the plumbing, constructed a
new outhouse, and erected the pilings and main supports for the water
tower. It may have been a slow process, but I was impressed by the meager results we achieved. After the construction phase it was on
to the training phase, as a group of people from Canada and the
United States gathered to participate in Rediscovery International's
eleven day training for youth workers. The training included
bushcraft, navigation and route finding, camp safety standards,
voyageur canoing, and cultural and natural history as we visited
modern and historic sites of the Tsimshian, Gitxan, Wet'suwet'en, and
Nisga'a Fist Nations Peoples. A highlight for me was stuffing myself
with salmon, fry bread, and eulachon (candle fish)- which were
traditionally used by First Nations People for their oils which could
be burned for light, or mixed with food as a caloric preservative.
Another highlight (and this one more lasting than the mouth fulls of
amazing food) was getting to know people like Val, Ken, Lavender and
Theo, who introduced me not only to their Gitxan culture, but also
showed me a level of hospitality and generosity that I hope I can
show to others in my own life. And of course I also had a wonderful
time with James, Maggie, Lea, Midori, Erhadt, Pat, and Thom as we
traveled, worked, and learned with and from each other each day. And now I am back in Bellingham,
readying myself to lead a sailing course for youth in the San Juan
Islands off Washington's coast. It's sunny and warm here like most
of the States at the moment, and I'm desperate to leave this laptop
behind and get out in some rays before they remember this is the
Pacific Northwest and go back where they came from. Happy summers to you all! Light a candle-fish for me, Glen PS: If you're ever having bad luck fishing in BC, don't forget to check the road. James grabbed us a huge Spring Salmon dropped by an eagle onto the highway. It was still cold, and definitely still delicious despite the claw marks.
June 14 Life After Asia Huh. Did I really leave Asia more than three months ago? Yep- I guess so. It is now the middle of June, and my last blog was back in late February. So what have I been up to? Well, certainly not all I intended on being up to, but somehow life has a way of making me bend to its will. I'm bending. Upon returning to the States I began working for Peak Performance in Joshua Tree National Park, as is common for me to do in the Spring and Fall. I worked with some great kids from Marin Country Day School and Polytechnic School who I took backpacking and rock climbing in remote areas of the park. Between courses I visited the "Integetron". What the heck is an Integetron? Why, it's a machine built by aliens of course! Ok- not exactly. The machine was built by George Van Tassel in 1959, after he was visited by some friendly folks from Venus (would you call them Venetians?) who told him to build the thing. Unfortunately the machine was never finished, so it wasn't able to create the positive ion field needed to increase human life expectancy twenty years, but hey, you can't blame a guy for trying. Check it out on wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Van_Tassel After my escapades in the desert I headed for Bellingham, WA, where I had spent the winter before. I was excited to attend training for Odyssey Wilderness Programs, which consisted of rote memorization of curriculum, mission statements, core competencies, risk assessment models, and protocol. We were then tested verbally and in written form before being cast-out on the Olympic Coast with fellow instructors who acted like at-risk youth. Days started at 5:30am, and finished around 1am. We hiked in the dark and the rain, taught navigation classes and camping skills, and practiced our therapeutic skills on one another until we wanted to kick each other in a very unprofessional manner. Then we boarded a longboat. Longboats were once used as lifeboats aboard Tall Ships, as well as for exploring shallow waters and traveling up major waterways inland. Ours was called "The Resolution", and we rowed and sailed it for the following six days around the San Juan Islands. Fourteen of us slept aboard its 26 foot length, double deckered on the floor boards and oars which were laid flat over the top of the seats to create a second platform. We all relieved ourselves in a bucket on the bow, which required use of commands like "Eyes Aft!", and "Ahoy! 'Tis a mass of gas!". Following training, I joined my friend Dave on a trip to Bend, OR so I could recertify my Wilderness First Responder. The class was a load of fun, with one of the instructors cracking jokes left and right, and explaining how an 'inny' could actually become an 'outy' if a hernia occurs in just the wrong way. I've always wanted to know what it's like to have an outy, so I spent the next two days trying to rupture my abdominal wall as I climbed at Smith Rocks in Bend. Then it was back to Bellingham to wait for work. And wait for work. And wait for work. But nothing. Bad economy has meant low numbers of admissions, which means a little work divided a lot of ways. So, it was back to teaching martial arts, and I began to make a modest sum (very, very modest) teaching private lessons and evening classes at a gym in Bellingham. Check-out my profile under "instructors" at http://www.usmaa.us/. I also began spending more time with mountain rescue folks, tying knots, untying knots, talking about knots, and not tying knots. I am proud to say that I now do not know how many knots I've knotted over the past few days I've spent knotting knots that I previously did not know. And then Bonom came for a visit, and as always happens when Bonom and I get together, thousands of feet of elevation were ascended in a matter of a few days. We attended a talk by the infamous Dean Karnazes- an ultra-endurance athlete who has- among other things- run across the major deserts of the world, including a good section of Antarctica. Ah, what a great vacation. With inspiration in our pockets we woke at 5am every day for an uphill run or mountain climb, followed by a swim, and a bout of rock climbing as we made our way north through Van Couver, Squamish, and Whistler, then east through the North Cascades, and Northeast to Mt. Baker. Then I arrived back in Bellingham and promptly contacted Thom Henley, who I worked for in Thailand and Indonesia as a trip leader and environmental educator. He told me work was available, and to get my butt to the Skeena River east of Prince Rupert in BC in late June. So- that's where I'm headed. You can see my description on his website under "Who we are": http://www.in-touch-with-nature-education.com/who/who.htm. My life is as unpredictable as ever, despite my plans to "settle down" this year. Bellingham does feel like a home in the making, and I hope that some how, some day, some way I will actually be able to find work that allows me to stay put. It's getting rediculous. I hope you are all well in all those place you all call home! Glen February 25 Indonesia: Cannibalism and other good funYes, yes, it’s true. I’m still overseas, and still traveling. And no, I don’t have a hidden chest full of gold that I’m using to pay my way through. The chest is far too big to hide.
This time I was visiting Sumatra- a northwestern island of the Indonesian Archipelago. I was working for “In Touch with Nature Education”, run by Thom Henley who is half man, half legend here in Thailand because of the dozens of books he’s written on Asia’s protected natural areas and ecology. The trip was for International School Phnom Phen (ISPP) out of Cambodia. My co-leader, Mana Sareewong, and I met the kids from ISPP at the airport in Medan, Sumatra after spending a lovely day wandering the dirty streets of the dull and architecturally uninteresting city. We all bused our way north of Medan to Gunung Leuser National Park where we stayed the night just outside the preserve. The next day we headed across a river to an Orangutan sanctuary, where we watched a 5’9” male weighing more than 200 pounds scare one of our guides off the trail. He already had a nasty scar on his arm from a previous bite, as did the other two guides.
We continued walking through the preserve, encountering Thomas leaf monkeys, monitor lizards, giant ants, orb spiders, and my personal favorite . . . “Snake Man”. We’ve all come across strange and interesting people in our lives, but I can honestly say that Snake Man’s story trumps any I could have told previously. Snake Man did not know his given name, but had been called Snake Man (Penjinak ular) from a very young age after it was decided he would become a shaman. Shamans in this part of the world harvest snake venom which is used as an ingredient in medicine, as well as for anti-venom. He was born in the jungle of Sabah, northern Borneo, where he was cared for by his grandparents since his parents had been killed in intertribal warfare. His grandfather was a headhunter and cannibal, and some of Snake Man’s earliest memories were of drinking human baby’s blood because his grandfather said, “it’s sweet and healthy for small children”. After his grandparents passed away Snake Man wandered the forests of Borneo, learning about plants and animals and collecting ingredients for medicine which he sold in the city. He also was called-upon to help remove dangerous snakes from households and fields where people preferred to deal with the snakes respectfully rather than offend their spirits by killing them.
When our group met Snake Man, he was on the bank of a river, handling a green vine snake. He would place its head into his mouth to calm the snake down, and let it bite his toes with its tiny needle like teeth, which weren’t long enough to pierce the man’s calluses. He told us he used to have a rear fanged viper which he would let bite him “just a little bit” so that he would build-up tolerance to venom. It was a good thing he had a reasonable amount of tolerance, since two massive deformities on both of his arms showed the signs of bites by the infamous King Cobra. He said he had survived because he was able to use medicine from the jungle, though his right arm had lost most of the function due to the use of a razor blade at a hospital to make an incision to extract the poison.
The remainder of the trip was spent south of Medan near Sibayak Volcano, where we climbed to the noisily steaming caldera on the summit. The kids humored me by pretending to be attentive during my natural history lesson as they cooked eggs in boiling sulfuric pools, and we all descended back into the 94 degree heat of the equatorial rainforest.
And now I’m back in Bangkok, practicing martial arts as usual. The gym I’ve been helping my friend Leigh put together is just about ready, and we’ve managed to snag a few more students. If anyone would like to see the website (still in progress with updates and editing), visit: www.boxer-rebellion.net. I’ll be back in the States on March 11th, and back to work in Joshua Tree National Park shortly thereafter.
Hope you are all doing well- keep snakes out of your mouths!
Glen Indonesia: Cannibalism and other good funYes, yes, it’s true. I’m still overseas, and still traveling. And no, I don’t have a hidden chest full of gold that I’m using to pay my way through. The chest is far too big to hide.
This time I was visiting Sumatra- a northwestern island of the Indonesian Archipelago. I was working for “In Touch with Nature Education”, run by Thom Henley who is half man, half legend here in Thailand because of the dozens of books he’s written on Asia’s protected natural areas and ecology. The trip was for International School Phnom Phen (ISPP) out of Cambodia. My co-leader, Mana Sareewong, and I met the kids from ISPP at the airport in Medan, Sumatra after spending a lovely day wandering the dirty streets of the dull and architecturally uninteresting city. We all bused our way north of Medan to Gunung Leuser National Park where we stayed the night just outside the preserve. The next day we headed across a river to an Orangutan sanctuary, where we watched a 5’9” male weighing more than 200 pounds scare one of our guides off the trail. He already had a nasty scar on his arm from a previous bite, as did the other two guides.
We continued walking through the preserve, encountering Thomas leaf monkeys, monitor lizards, giant ants, orb spiders, and my personal favorite . . . “Snake Man”. We’ve all come across strange and interesting people in our lives, but I can honestly say that Snake Man’s story trumps any I could have told previously. Snake Man did not know his given name, but had been called Snake Man (Penjinak ular) from a very young age after it was decided he would become a shaman. Shamans in this part of the world harvest snake venom which is used as an ingredient in medicine, as well as for anti-venom. He was born in the jungle of Sabah, northern Borneo, where he was cared for by his grandparents since his parents had been killed in intertribal warfare. His grandfather was a headhunter and cannibal, and some of Snake Man’s earliest memories were of drinking human baby’s blood because his grandfather said, “it’s sweet and healthy for small children”. After his grandparents passed away Snake Man wandered the forests of Borneo, learning about plants and animals and collecting ingredients for medicine which he sold in the city. He also was called-upon to help remove dangerous snakes from households and fields where people preferred to deal with the snakes respectfully rather than offend their spirits by killing them.
When our group met Snake Man, he was on the bank of a river, handling a green vine snake. He would place its head into his mouth to calm the snake down, and let it bite his toes with its tiny needle like teeth, which weren’t long enough to pierce the man’s calluses. He told us he used to have a rear fanged viper which he would let bite him “just a little bit” so that he would build-up tolerance to venom. It was a good thing he had a reasonable amount of tolerance, since two massive deformities on both of his arms showed the signs of bites by the infamous King Cobra. He said he had survived because he was able to use medicine from the jungle, though his right arm had lost most of the function due to the use of a razor blade at a hospital to make an incision to extract the poison.
The remainder of the trip was spent south of Medan near Sibayak Volcano, where we climbed to the noisily steaming caldera on the summit. The kids humored me by pretending to be attentive during my natural history lesson as they cooked eggs in boiling sulfuric pools, and we all descended back into the 94 degree heat of the equatorial rainforest.
And now I’m back in Bangkok, practicing martial arts as usual. The gym I’ve been helping my friend Leigh put together is just about ready, and we’ve managed to snag a few more students. If anyone would like to see the website (still in progress with updates and editing), visit: www.boxer-rebellion.net. I’ll be back in the States on March 11th, and back to work in Joshua Tree National Park shortly thereafter.
Hope you are all doing well- keep snakes out of your mouths!
Glen January 22 Journey to the Tibetan SideThank god I’m not bothered by being stranded, delayed, inconvenienced, or less than perfectly safe. After New Year I was supposed to meet-up with a Nepali family that has been looking after me, but unfortunately a bit of civil unrest made it difficult for them to travel from Kathmandu to Pokhara. While I waited to see if things would clear-up, I visited a cave with Jenny’s brother, Robert, who was also visiting Nepal. We purposefully found our way into a portion of the cave that was not part of the ‘tourist route’, turned on our headlamps, and walked for several hours through bat guano while glaring up at garbage stuck in the cave’s roof from monsoon floods when high water pulses through. As the hour became late, bats began to stir in the larger rooms of the cave. Thousands and thousands of bats. After a few questions to Robert about our relative safety (he had experience in caves with large swarms of bats- I did not) we decided to leave rather hastily. Unfortunately we weren’t hasty enough, and we found that the entrance to our cave had been “closed”. A very solid yellow metal gate was locked tight with a padlock blocking our exit. After attempting to squeeze through some tiny cracks beside the gate, we realized that we were not yogis and sat down to enjoy some biscuits and water we had brought along while settling in for the night. Then we took a look at the hinges, which appeared to be poorly welded. A few bashes of a rock later and one mighty hoist and we had taken the entire gate off its hinges- padlock and all- inched our way by, and set it back on the pins. Job well done and a much more comfortable bed awaiting. The next day I finished packing my bags and headed back into the Annapurnas to hike the ever popular “Annapurna Circuit” which circumnavigates the range, passing from lowland jungle in the moist south, over a 17,700 ft. pass to the Tibetan cultural area of Mustang on the north end of the range where very little rain falls and the landscape resembles the canyons and deserts of the American Southwest. During the first few hours of the trek I encountered 15 year olds scaling packed dirt cliffs and poking dynamite into the crumbly earth. As I jogged for cover behind a trail of Nepalis, explosions sent debris flying in all directions. An overhang in the cliff face along the trail provided adequate protection as more explosions made the fabric of my trekking pants twitch and my ear drums vibrate. Road construction here has hardly changed in the last fifty years. Daily life has hardly changed either. I ate yak daal bhat (yak meat, rice, and lentils) with a Gurung family who cooked the food over a clay wood stove and served it in heaping portions on my plate as I sat in a smoke filled room. Also in the room were old women and men of the village, two young girls, and a handful of newborn puppies keeping warm in a space beneath the stove. The next days I spent walking with two men from eastern Russia who packed Russian trekking staples such as a kilo of mayonnaise, a kilo of honey, and “vodka”, which was actually a coke bottle filled with a Nepali rice whiskey called Raksi. It sounds like a strange combination of foods, but they were quite delicious as we toasted to the similarities between Russia and east Alaska and spread the calories over our chipatis. Next I met two Brits, an Ausy, an Irishman, and a Dutchman who I accompanied into the higher elevations of the trek. We day hiked up to a lake just above 15,000 ft. (frozen this time of year) and prepared to make our way over the Thorung La- a 5,416 meter (17,764 ft.) pass that divides two very different ecological and cultural regions of Nepal. The Dutchman, Geijs, and I had been eyeing an unamed peak beside our tea house one evening (just in front of Chulu West- a good mountaineering challenge), and decided to tackle a very easy ridge while the others pushed-on ahead. Six hours of climbing, one slow oxygen deprived step after another, brought-us to what appeared to be an insurmountable pillar which was the true summit. Fortunately we found a steep route up a gully on the north side, and soon were watching my water bottle clunk its way to lower elevations. Oops. This peak was 5,314 meters in height (17,430 ft.) but because of the rain shadow effect of the Himalaya it had very little snow. A few knee pounding hours later and I was recovering from mild altitude sickness back at our 13,700 ft. base in Thorung Phedi. The next day, feeling rested and well fed, we crossed over Thorung La without so much as a splinter of a headache. Unfortunately, diarrhea decided this would be a fun time to play games, and I practiced a duck walk for much of the way down to the pilgrimage site of Muktinath on the other side. Muktinath is sacred for both Hindus and Buddhists, as it is the site of holy waters flowing from the Himalaya through dozens of ancient water spouts, and of the ‘eternal flame of Buddha’, which is a flame coming out of a crack in a rock which has reportedly been burning ever since Siddhartha Gautama (Buddha) was born in 565 BC. Others say the flame has been burning ever since subterranean natural gas deposits escaping from a vent were ignited by either humans or natural events. Continuing south, Geijs and I arrived in the medieval town of Kagbeni. After using a satelite phone to call the Nepali family I was supposed to meet back in Pokhara, we discovered that Pokhara was “all closed-up” due to labor strikes, and that no buses were running, no banks were open, and no food or accommodation was available. So, we decided rather than hurrying back to crumbling civilization, we would stay in Kagbeni for three days, rest our feet, and enjoy the wonderful hospitality offered to us by a local Tibetan family. Geijs and I both had a hard time pulling ourselves away from the family, as they had provided us with unending portions of food (pounded rice, a sort of porridge made from buckwheat, yak milk, and seasonal vegetables) and of course Tibetan tea, which is made from salt, yak butter, yak milk, and black tea. They also enjoyed watching us drink their local Raksi (rice wine). One night the son took us to a Nepali movie being played in a community building of sorts. The movie was provided free of charge by an international aid organization- but none of the Nepalese knew the name or nationality of the organization. After dubbing over the movie with our own English interpretations for an hour or so, we tired of our senses of humor and returned to sipping salty tea by candle light back at the house. Plus, there was Yak Donalds just down the road with some great apple pie (nope, I'm not kidding). A swift descent later and we were in Tatopani (literally “hot water” in Nepali) soaking in local hot springs and eating chicken sizzlers. After a wild bus ride we arrived back in Pokhara. Yesterday a conflict between students and political parties in Pokhara led to beatings and burnings in city central, so many businesses were closed and no buses were running. That made it hard for me to get back to Kathmandu to change my return air ticket to Thailand, so I tried to call instead. After visiting no less than four travel agents, walking to the local airport, making three calls to a travel agent in Thailand, and trying seven different telephone numbers I was unable to contact Royal Nepal Airlines. Scratch that. I was able to contact one woman who spoke no English and hung-up on me shortly after "hello". Fortunately I was finally able to have the agent in Thailand contact Royal Nepal Airlines in Thailand and make the changes for me there. Now I just have to find my way to Kathmandu when the buses are running to pick-up my ticket. Ahhh, I love the diverse ways of doing business in this world. My next move is to head back to Thailand to teach martial arts for a bit. There are rumors of a new gym opening in Bangkok that I’m supposed to man for a month or two. We’ll see what happens . . . More stories to come, I’m sure! Glen January 02 Nepalese excursions I'm back after two weeks of running about in the moderate elevations of the Himalaya. After talking with some locals, I decided to trek up to Annapurna Base Camp (Annapurna is one of 14 peaks over 8,000 meters). The trek was supposed to take about ten days, but I was pleasantly surprised by the ease of hiking here. Most people take a guide, and quite a few employ a porter to carry their belongings. Employing others is a nice way to give some money to locals, but I couldn't afford either, even though a guide only costs around 10 USD a day, and a porter about 4 USD. But if you've ever backpacked neither are needed. The trails are very obvious, passing through villages and laid with slate in areas where the slope steepens. There are good maps available, and even in the hills where people don't speak any English they can nod you in the right direction if you can half-way pronounce the village you're headed towards. Tea houses, some built specifically for tourists and others starting out as homes that have been converted into hotel/restaurants stud the trail every one to two hours- and much more in heavily traveled areas. These are placed to snag some filtered water (the minerals in natural streams can be problematic), a meal, or a sleep on a real bed with a mattress. Even at altitudes of 16,000 feet, and dozens of miles away from roads that can sustain motorized traffic, you can find these places. And most of them even have electricity for a few hours a day, thanks to local hydro-power initiatives. I ordered pizza at a tea house beneath the massif of Annapurna South at around 13,000 ft.! And temperatures aren't bad this time of year either. At night at 13,000 ft. the temperature got down to about 22 degrees Fahrenheit. Not bad considering this is winter. And during the day it was in the mid forties. When the sun came-out I was hiking in a T-shirt, and I never needed boots- let alone crampons that I thought I might want when crossing over passes. The views were awesome. I'll let my pictures do some talking here. And the people were great. I am loving Nepali people. They love to joke, socialize, and drink their weight in tea. I've never been much of a coffee drinker, but I think I'm consuming at least three times the caffeine intake of the average coffee consumer. And I'm talking lots of politics (which, to be honest, I know nothing about). Nepalis seem to love politics. I've also been meeting other travelers, including a French/Australian who is driving from London to Sydney. He's throwing his car on a few boats, of course. I organized a gathering of a few dozen travelers for the New Year, which I celebrated when I returned to Pokhara in the valley below. I also had a few days in Kathmandu with a man named Seth from Alaska who was a photojournalist working on a book about street children. We spent a day playing with some street kids in Durbar Square, and I learned quite a bit from listening to Seth, asking the kids questions, and hearing stories about NGOs that had failed to make any progress with the kids since few of them have ever lived in a disciplined environment, and generally run away when discipline is applied. Now I'm waiting to see if the Nepali family that's looking after me will be able to meet me in Pokhara so we can all travel to Chitwan National Park together to take a look at some wild Rhinos. I've always wanted to ride a rhino. Happy New Year! I can't believe it's 2009. Love- or if you don't like Love, then ice cream- everyone likes ice cream. Or soy-cream if that's your thing, Glen December 13 From Low to HighThis past month has been yet another whirl of change in my life. After unexpectedly loosing two months of work in SE Asia shortly after the closing of Thailand’s international airport, I found myself- to use a cliché expression- stuck between a rock and a hard place. I was in Thailand with very little money and no guaranteed work for at least three months. I applied for work in the US, but no one had work available for the winter months. So, I did what any self respecting person would do- I begged my friend to take me into his home in Bangkok and finance my martial arts addiction. Leigh did so happily, and over the next month we trained together every day, and together taught martial arts at a nearby studio, and at Chulalongkhorn University.
As I met more people I began giving private lessons, and one of my students recommended that I travel to Nepal to save money, since Nepal is cheaper than Thailand. I explained that I once had a ticket to Nepal, but lost it when the PAD took over Bangkok’s international airport, and was not certain that I would be reimbursed. As a result I could not afford to go, and even if I could, staying with Leigh was cheaper than paying for a guesthouse in Nepal. He told me not to worry about it, gave me the money for a ticket, and put me in contact with a family in Nepal that he said would take care of me when I arrived. I didn’t have much to loose, so with a touch of skepticism and a head empty of expectations I left on a plane to Kathmandu.
Flying into the Kathmandu Valley was more impressive than I expected. The valley receives no rainfall this time of year, and the mountains were crystal clear backing orange lit ridges with patches of vegetation displaced by terraced fields. The town itself was like an exploded village, with dirt roads and cultivated areas encroaching on the expanding city. When I arrived I was met by a friend of the Nepali family that is looking after me, who rushed me through immigration, customs, and baggage claim without waiting in line and without even having to wait for my luggage to come out on the conveyer belt.
Outside the airport I met John, a British man, with whom I was told I could exchange martial arts lessons for hospitality. Hospitality came first, as John checked me into a guesthouse that he paid for, picked me up the next day, introduced me to his family, and fed me mounds of Nepali food prepared by his wife. Food here is delicious and diverse due to many ethnic groups and religious beliefs. The food I ate was similar to Indian food, only not as rich (no cream sauce), and was absolutely delicious.
This morning I visited Swayambunath Stupa, better known as the monkey temple. The place was swarming with Reeses Monkeys, as well as Tibetans coming to pray as the sun rose and gave the haze over the valley a red glow. A group of youngsters practiced martial arts on the cool bricks of a monastery at the temple- kneeing tires, whirling dart whips, and practicing acrobatic kicks in the air. I was told by John that Nepalese are crazy about martial arts, and the only Olympic medals the country has ever won were from Tae Kwon Do. As I walked back to my guesthouse I saw at least a dozen people wearing windbreakers advertising various forms of unarmed combat- perhaps a part of the warrior culture that made the ghurka soldiers infamous.
In coming days I will be organizing a trek into the mountains. It seems some of John’s family members owns a company that leads, among other outdoor activities, expeditions up 8,000 meter peaks- including Everest. Not something I’m interested in (or would ever be willing to pay for if I were) but it sounds like an opportunity to hear some good stories while I gather information for my own outing.
Stay tuned for photos and all the rest.
Namaste, Glen November 25 Two months in Asia Yep. I'm still here. Actually I'll be in Southeast Asia for at least
another four months! That's good though, cause during the course of
the Southeast Asia program we travel through four countries (Loas,
Cambodia, Vietnam, and Thailand), not counting a brief stop in Burma,
and I need time to practice my languages and brush-up on history. These past two months have been far too packed to bore you with day-to-day details, so here's a list of the highlights of the trip for me: Staying with a family in Cambodia (Siphen and Mach) Working with Burmese refugees Helping Cambodian school kids improve their English skills Building a house for a family in Cambodia (it took only seven hours to put-up most of the structure!) Trekking in Northern Laos Climbing and caving in Thailand Scuba Diving And spending time with people from all over the States (and one from Canada) of very different backgrounds and opinions After the fast and furious semester course, I settled into a mellow life in Bangkok sleeping until 9am and practicing martial arts with my friend Leigh and a group of students at Chulalonkorn University (Bangkok). I'm also planning how to spend my vacation time. Thailand is a very cheap place to stay, but believe it or not there are even cheaper places in Asia. I'm planning on saving some money (and indulging my love of mountains, as usual) by heading to Nepal for a month and a half between courses. I depart for Kathmandu on December 1st, and return to Bangkok on January 12th. During my time in Nepal I hope to head to the Everest region to visit Gokyo Lakes not far from Everest Base camp. Plans may change, though, as it is winter in the Himalayas and I may find it difficult to travel if snow conditions don't comply. For those of you from Alaska and Michigan, you might be amused to know that at 16,000 ft. in December the night time lows in the Everest Region are only around -6 degrees F, while during the day it's around 23 degrees. In the valleys it's still around 70 degrees in the day, and 55-60 in the evening. Not too bad for winter in the Himalayas! I've thrown my first batch of pictures on the blog, but I'm having trouble getting my card reader to read a new storage card I purchased in Vietnam (go figure). Stay tuned for a few more in coming days. And throw a few snowballs for me! Popcanmai, longkhon, sin jow, mingulabah, chum riep leah (see you again), Glen September 16 Defining RandomEven though I am the one who is in control of my life- or at least more in control than anyone else I care to blame at this time- I am none-the-less amused by the random situations and events that compose my path through this world. Of primary concern is my future ability to make sense and find meaning in the life I have lived. How will I tell my grand kids a logical tale of my experiences when these experiences seem to occur all at the same time on opposite ends of the earth, and barely seem to relate to one another? And how do kids, let alone grand kids, find their way into a life as absurd as this one? Take, for instance, this past month. It all begins with a flight from Wrangell Island, Alaska to Anchorage where I met Jenny. After meeting-up, we immediately went about destroying Jenny's car. A hole in the gas tank was supersoaking a parking lot, so we quickly purchased a catch pan for the gas and some putty so Jenny could patch the hole. The pan proved too tall for Jenny's car, so we tried to return it, but the NAPA was closed. Although we could not return the pan we were given some sound advice by a NAPA agent when we had purchased the pan- don't try to patch the leak ourselves, have the tank replaced by professionals in a shop. So, we remedied our situation by replacing the gas tank at a shop . . . where the tank was replaced with a gas tank with a hole in it. This hole was then patched with a scew and a rubber gasket, for the low, low cost of 250 dollars. There, much better than patching the hole ourselves. The patch quickly failed, so brilliantly the shop offered to repair the tank again . . . with another screw and a rubber gasket. Thankfully they told us it would definitely hold this time- so long as we don't take the car down any dirt roads- such as the 60 mile McCarthy road that Jenny lives at the end of. Being active, young, and stupid, we decided to drive the car despite its crippled state. Naturally, we chose a dirt road that neither of us had been down yet. After miles of cringing and yelping as the car bottomed out on six inch stones (Ok, I was the only one yelping) we rolled-up to a river we couldn't cross. Jenny donned her extra tuffs and I barefooted across to a gold prospector's camp where some jovial men adorned in mane-like beards were sitting around a table talking mining politics in a break room. We listened intently for more than an hour, and I feigned interest hoping that something profound would jump out and grab hold of my real interest. It didn't, but our patience paid off and we snagged a cabin on a hill overlooking the camp for the evening. We visited Hatchers Pass in the following days, messed with the car a bit, and then I flew to Los Angeles to work a course near Big Bear ski resort. Before the course, I met-up with Jenny's old college room mate, Cory, who took me to his studio in Santa Monica where he edits commercials, short movies, and music videos for the entertainment industry. I dabbled around with some controls and watched my artistic tallent reveal itself through unnatural skin tones, blurry images, and confusion over what I was actually doing. Kid Rock couldn't have done a better job if he'd edited his video himself. Or maybe he could have. Cory and his girlfriend, Mellisa, then took me to Universal Studios a short walk from their house, and I was overwhelmed with culture shock as I waited in line to ride a mechanical bull while lights flashed, music blared, and people bought handbags for more than two hundred dollars each. I spent the next day hanging out with some beauty pageant contestants near Vennice Beach and wrapped-up my stay with a Ju-jitsu class before hitching to Big Bear for my course. (Random enough yet?) I led high ropes course, rock (wall) climbing, and leadership activites for a wellness retreat for a private school, then snagged a ride to Redondo Beach to meet some friends I used to work with at Chadwick School. I then hitched north up the east side of the Sierras, and was surprised to be picked up in the middle of the Mojave desert (the town of Mojave, actually) by a young lady who works for a famous rapper whose name I was asked not to disclose over the internet. Her job was to nanny the man's children- a job for which she is payed $2,500 a week plus room and board. She works only every other week, leaving her free to travel back home in her fuel efficient hybrid as often as she likes. She is also forced to participate in family activities as well, such as staying on exclusive privately owned islands in the West Indies and doing extravagant tours of Europe- all expenses paid of course. I gave her my information and told her if the family ever needs a guide, I'm their man. Do you think Nannys have a lot of clout when it comes to arranging costly guided vacation activities for celebrities? I arrived in Bishop, California in the Eastern Sierras and quickly went about begging my friend Trisha for food, lodging, and climbing. She tossed me in a trailer at her friend Paul's house, and over the next three days we climbed rocks of various difficulty, and had a long day up an easy 13,000 foot peak called Mt. Julius Cesear in the eastern Sierras. I then hitched south again, being picked-up within a minute by a very friendly truck driver named John who dropped me off just outside of no where south of Ridgecrest California. It took me seven hours to get my next ride, during which time I sizzled in the desert sun, prefering to stand out near the pavement rather than listen to the arguments of a ruthless couple who occupied the only shade for miles under the awning of a dust covered gas station. My next ride was with a goggle of puppies, and somewhere underneath all the licking, nuzzling, and whining was a man who ran a stop along the Pacific Crest Trail for through hikers. We stopped at a swap meet to pick-up a prehistoric saw blade for his wife to paint natural landscapes on so she could sell it at an art market for an outrageous sum, and then it was time to feed the dogs. McDonalds was just the thing, and before you could say "woof" the pups and their mom had consumed three big Macs and a pile of chicken nuggets. Maybe McDonalds should market their burgers as dog food? And now, after a breif stay in LA again during which time I practiced my Russian and Austrian with some backpackers at a hostile, I am sitting in a tiny chair in Tokyo Narita Airport, Japan. Where else would I be? I will be arriving in Bangkok in seven hours. That's it from me! I'll let you all know what I'm up to when my life makes sense again. Or more sense at least. Say hello to autumn for me. I'm going to miss it here in SE Asia. Glen August 24 Photos for the Masses And here you are. I've posted them. A few dozen photos of my office and its occupants. My kayaking trip to Anan turned out to be more epic and rewarding than I imagined. More than sixty miles of ocean paddling in two days, half of which was against an incoming tidal current that tried to push our boats up the back channel of Wrangell Island and into Canada. But the fruits of our labor were grand. Anan creek was spewing salmon into the talons of eagles and the mouths of dozens of black bears. Young bears, old bears, bears with cubs, and angry males stood alongside the creek not-so-patiently waiting to plunge their clumsy paws and jaws into the icy water. Unlike descriptions you might read of the stealthy prowess of a predator as it cunningly stalks its prey, the description I will here render of black bears fishing at Anan Creek is less romantic: Bears stumble down a rocky slope toward the edge of the creek. Sometimes another bear sniffs at the new arrival, and walks back to a cave formed where two boulders lean together. The newcomer then fumbles its way down to the white-water, and positions itself in a spot that will allow it to be as lazy as possible for the next four hours. This usually means a spot away from other bears that has good access to an eddy pool chalked full of salmon, and with a flat spot nearby where the bear can lay and pile salmon scraps that are less tasty than the gutsy bits. The bear then stands uneasily in the current, and stares at the hundreds of salmon at her feet like a child looking down into a glazed deep freeze full of ice cream. Then, the bear makes a few unsuccessful lunges, looks around as if to see if any other bears are having luck with this technique, and proceeds to mouth a nearly lifeless salmon from the pool as it limply floats past the writhing mass. A few bites later, and the bear lies down for five minutes, gets-up, and repeats the process. Not quite the majestic image Alaska tourism is going for, but an accurate representation of an opportunistic Alaskan none-the-less. Keep me up to date on how you all are doing! I can check my e-mail again! Glen May 25 Another Round of McCarthyAs I always do when I have time off from working in the mountains, I headed back into the mountains. After finishing my first program with Alaska Crossings I had a month off, so I hopped aboard a ferry and headed to Skagway. Originally I was going to meet-up with a Belgian friend in Haines and live aboard his boat for a bit, but as you probably suspected, he got a job counting desert tortises in th Mojave desert and wasn't going to be around.
In Skagway my friend Jenny met me, and we quickly found our way to the hardware store to purchase cap guns. For those of you who don't know, hardware stores in Alaska sell everything- including toys, food, and even launderae. Skagway is a bit of a fake-a-made town for tourism, with saloons, banks, and a railroad that look like they were pulled out of the 1800s- only in full technicolor. So having a shoot-out in the middle of town seemed like the proper thing to do. Some people were noticeably concerned as our caps popped off, and I think I saw one man run for cover as I feigned being hit and collapsed in the street. Luckily most people who saw the demonstration thought it was hillarious, and we had a few chuckles ourselves as we buckled our hip belts on our backpacks and began the climb up to a set of alpine lakes that hang over the town in a snow-filled cirque. We spent the next three days hanging out in an abandoned miner's cabin, drinking lots of hot chocolate and climbing the twin Dewey Peaks which rose on either side of the cirque. We post holed our way back down the trail we had created on the way up, and drove over White Pass and into the Yukon.
I had never been through the Yukon before, and after spending 50 days soaking and cold along the coast the dry, sunny weather of the interior was a welcome relief. We saw many moose, a caribou, and had fun chasing a porcupine up a tree where he peered down his soft nose at us with an expression that said "what the heck are you chasing me for!?". Lakes and mountains slid along outside the window, and I stared dumbstruck by the awesome immensity of the St. Elias range as seen from Kluane National Park in Canada. The dryness of the landscape and softness of the snow reminded me of images of the Himalaya I had seen in movies about Tibet.
A breif stop in Glennallen for grocery shopping and we arrived in McCarthy, population 48, where I had spent two previous summers as a guide. Jenny headed off to work- she does the books for a hotel, a restaraunt, a local non-profit, and a flight service. Basically, the town was unable to run properly until she arrived. And I headed into the backcountry. I postholed through deep snow for three days, camping on a glacier and climbing a couple peaks, before I returned to town. I climbed a few more peaks, and practiced crevasse rescue out of the glacier. Then I had an interesting run-in with a German man named Sylvester who was once a body guard for the CEO of Mercedes company when the RAF terrorism group was in full swing. We spent a day together talking about terrorism, security, and international politics before I met the superintendent of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and found myself in a late night card game of hearts with some big-wigs from the Bureau of the Interior.
Finally it was time to leave McCarthy, so I packed-up my camp, threw on my backpack, and stuck out my thumb in the direction of Valdez. My first ride was with a German Alpine Guide, so we had lots to talk about. And my next ride was with a couple from Girdwood/Anchorage who drove me to Valdez and introduced me to half the town- family by family. I played in a local softball tournament and was given a house to stay in and a dog to take care of, along with plate after plate of food. Currently I am typing on the Gudreau's computer while they are out Hallibut fishing. Not a bad gig. Tommorrow I'm hopping a ferry to Cordova, and then I'll be back in Valdez again breifly before I fly back to Wrangell to go back to work.
Stay tuned for some pictures on this blog in the not-so-distant future. I've taken many, but I haven't been hauling my card reader with me.
I hope you are all enjoying your summer! Oh, unless you are one of my Kiwi friends who is looking-on, in which case I hope you had a good summer and are enjoying the beginning of your winter.
Cheerio,
Glen January 28 Getting Outside After living in Bellingham for almost a month, I've finally taken some time to explore the adjacent countryside. It all began one day when I sat down on my computer to look at info on the geology of Southeast Alaska, and I decided to check the weather. Hot damn! A day of sun! I'd better plan a week of outdoor activities to take advantage. I started by heading out to a friend's yurt (yep, the infamous housing structure of the nomadic ski bum) in the village of Glacier on the way to Mt. Baker. The next morning we woke early, dragged our groggy selves away from the piles of dirty dishes left over from the potluck, and headed up to the mountain for a day of skiing. I was pleasantly surprised to have a bit of muscle memory left over from the days when I did more downhill skiing. The last time I went speeding down an icy mountain slope I was standing upon skis acquired from a rubbish bin in South Island New Zealand. The ski "hill" was an ungroomed alpine couloir - a shoot of snow and ice that begins as a notch in a rocky mountain ridge and gradually decreases in angle to the plains below. My ski's edges were as sharp as butter knives, and I used them to skillfully glide sideways and slow my pending decapitation as I hurdled- somehow upright- toward the valley below. This time I borrowed my roommate's "skis". They were actually ski boards- a much shorter, more maneuverable, but less stable pair of planks. Terrible in powder and on ice, they do wonderfully in wet snow and on steep terrain with little room to make large turns. On coastal mountains like Mt. Baker, dry, powdery snow like those of you who ski in Utah, Colorado, or Northern Michigan are used to is rare, so I had a great time on the boards. The next day I packed my bags and caught a bus and a ferry for Orcas Island just off the West Coast of Northern Washington. I stood up the road a bit with my thumb pointing toward town. After failing to catch a ride with anyone on board the ferry, I hitched with four others in a tiny neon green VW Beetle. My bags wouldn't fit under the hood (the engine's in back), so I lapped them and struggled to have a conversation due to compression of my lungs. I spent that night in an abandoned campground, reading about how to operate my new Altimeter/barometer/compass watch while it dumped rain on my tarp. I had come to Orcas to visit my friend, Whitney (Whit for short) who had been living on the island for three years with her boyfriend, Owen. The two of them pieced together a living by looking after a small farm, caretaking for a friend, working at a youth center, and leading kayaking trips in the summer. Whit invited me to come help-out at the youth center for a night, which I gladly accepted. I have never ever ever in all of my short life ever ever seen a youth center like this. Some times lists are the only way to communicate mass amounts of information quickly. So here's a list of the resources in the youth center (some of them): a movie theater, 22 Mac computers with internet access, a music room full of real, and very nice, instruments including electric and acoustic guitars, drum sets, keyboards, pianos, etc., an editing room for music and videos complete with computers, software, and video cameras, a planetarium, an indoor batting cage, two video game playing rooms with large screen TVs, remote control construction vehicles that you could build structures with, a cyclone machine, two pool tables, ping-pong tables, basketball, the reconstructed helm of a ship with steering wheel and switches, DVDs galore, shelves and shelves of books, board games and card games, a huge crafts room made out of an old yurt, and the list goes on and on. Whew! It's amazing what you can do on an island full of retired millionaires who are happy to contribute to an endowment. I made $11.50 an hour to hang-out, make sure no one killed anyone else, and play scrabble. Sometimes the disparity between wealthy communities and those in need is so in your face it's laughable. Whit took me to a community meeting on nearby Lopez island where I met a group trying to start up a healing center. Then Whit and Owen took me on a tour of the properties they looked after, showing me a salmon hatchery, a sawmill, and a hydroelectric unit used for generating power. Owen explained that the property owners like the idea of having their land used for sustainable farming practices, but don't always want to do the work themselves. They are happy to have others come care take and start their own projects on the land. Whit and I strolled to the top of Constitution Peak to get a beautiful (but very windy) view over the islands and surrounding mountain ranges, followed by a dip in some hot tubs before bed. The next day I was off to the Olympic Peninsula to meet Nina for a trip in the Olympic Mountains. Being winter, our route had to be carefully planned due to the difficulty of route finding after the December storms wiped out roads and trails, and since snow covers trails that were not destroyed. We had perfect weather as we snowshoed along a steep mountainside and attempted to gain a ridge. Unfortunately, the ice was too hard and the crampons on our snowshoes not strong enough to continue to climb on the northern slopes, so we burrowed into the snow beneath a log 500 feet below the ridge and called it a day. The next day we collected the few wands we had used to mark our route, and plodded back to explore a lake. It was great to be in the mountains again, and the sun provided me with some much needed vitamin-D uptake. Now I'm back in Bellingham, relaxing into a bit of a cold I've picked-up, and dreaming of using the thousands of dollars of gear I've purchased to keep me warm and dry in Alaska next week. Hugs to you all. I've gotta go blow my nose. Glen January 11 Around Town Wow. I'm sitting still again. What a wild feeling. Not only am I living in one town, but I am living in one house, sleeping in one bed, and eating out of one kitchen. Ok, so I'm eating out of anyone's kitchen who invites me to, but I'm usually eating out of one kitchen. Before I moved into this house in Bellingham, Washington, I visited Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula with Nina. We scampered through some old fortifications, mucked around on the beaches, and walked around in the rain. Basically, we had a relaxing and soaking time. And now, on to Bellingham. Bellingham is located 25 miles south of Vancouver, BC on the West Coast of the United States. Its most noticeable landmark is Mt. Baker- one of the most glaciated peaks in the lower 48. Off the coast are the San Juan Islands, to the Southwest is the Olympic Peninsula, to the north are the Canadian coastal ranges, and to the east are the North Cascades. It is the only port in the lower 48 servicing the inside passage up to Alaska, and is a 45 minute drive from Seattle. In other words, it is an outdoor enthusiast's dreamland. This time of year the weather is a bit . . . hmm . . . wet. When it's raining at sea level it's dumping snow up high, which is why Mt. Baker has the highest snowfall on record. In 1999 it was recorded at 1,140 inches, or 95 feet. Whew, that's a lot of slushies. Surprisingly, I have yet to get into the mountains in this area. A big reason is because of the huge avalanche danger. Two snowmobilers were killed last week when a giant slab avalanche broke loose. Another reason is because access is limited. The storms the Pacific Northwest was hit by last month destroyed roads in many mountainous areas, including Mt. Rainier National Park and the Olympic Peninsula, while the snow in the North Cascades has caused many closings. Despite the difficulty of getting into the mountains, I have been keeping myself very busy and active in other ways (surprised?). On the morning of New Year's Day I gathered with several neighbors, hopped into a car, and drove to Lake Paddon for the annual lake run and polar bear plunge. We ran around the lake for an hour, and then hurdled ourselves into the ice encrusted lake with two hundred other participants. The next day I joined a martial arts gym and have been religiously attending boxing, kickboxing, and grappling classes that make my triceps feel like they have been smacked repetitively with hammers, and my quads feel like they were stuck in a bark chipper. Earlier this week I volunteered at a local middle school where I taught martial arts in a PE class. Next week I hope to begin volunteering at a food bank. I've been filling any free time by researching Alaska Native issues and Wilderness Therapy in preparation for my next job in Alaska which starts in February (yep, I'll only be here for a month). I've also been spending hundreds of dollars on waterproof, willow proof, bear proof, and teenage proof outdoor gear to keep me happy and healthy in the Alaskan winter. Ok, so maybe neither happy or healthy, but at least alive . . . hopefully. Being in one place and participating positively in a community that I'm coming to know makes me miss having a physical home place. The irony is that the work I find fulfilling and meaningful forces me to travel- which I find very important for my personal growth. So, for the time being I will content myself with working 24 hours a day for 50 days at a time (my next job), followed by periods of coming back to the places and people I love. It's a dirty job, but look at all my vacation time! Happy sun and snow to you. I'm saving-up my rainy days so I can exchange them for sunny ones this summer. Glen December 11 Cascade MasqueradeYep, I'm still on vacation. Kind of. That's the irony of the sort of work I do. I have work that is 24/7 for weeks on end, followed by periods of no work at all for weeks on end. It's the feast and famine mentality. When I'm working I'm often working in the tourism industry, and when I'm on vacation, well, I'm often a tourist. And my recreation can actually boost my resume. In this way, my play is work and my work is play. Odd, isn't it? Ok, enough Zen Koans for now. The past few weeks I have been exploring Oregon and visiting my friend, Nina, who lives in Portland. You may have heard about some nasty weather we had here in the Pacific Northwest recently. You know, the storm that "smashed" the coast with 120 mile-an-hour winds? Well, Nina and I were on the East side of Mount Hood at the time, enjoying gusts of wind that rocked the fire tower we had taken shelter in. We skied into the tower the night before the storm hit, watched trees toss and turn restlessly in the wind, woke the next morning, and skied some more. Luckily we had one brilliant morning where the triangular summit of Hood stood out brilliantly on the horizon fronted by a tattered forest of conifers. A day after the storm the temperature dropped, and the snow conditions became "exciting" for backcountry skiers of our caliber (I think we would be about .22). Within seconds of our downhill back to the car, Nina had crashed and I stood (actually slid) laughing at her. About four seconds later I was laughing hysterically while barreling toward a tree. The tree caught me and tangled me up in such a way that when Nina yelled for me to grab her ski as it came skidding by me, I couldn't untwist my hand from my ski as I watched it zip along in the tracks we had made on our way up the hill a few days before. Luckily the ski stopped at a gate a quarter mile or so down the mountain, and after a few more crashes, I decided to stop as well. We both forfeited our skiing talent to the ice crusted "snow", and began using our brains and boots, rather than gravity, to aid us on our decent. We returned with a few bruises but with all teeth intact. A couple days passed by and I found that I was restless again. I never can sit still for very long. Nina let me borrow her car, and at 4:30am I began driving north to Mt. St. Helens- the very active volcano famed for its explosive 1980 eruption which de-capped the 9,677 foot mountain, causing it to lose 1,314 feet of elevation and about 0.67 cubic miles of material. The mountain still spittles and spattles, sending missiles and ash flying toward unwary climbers and home owners. Luckily, these spewings are few and far between, though you might not guess it if you were staring where I was, looking into its gas vent pocketed crater that billows upward from the force of magma rising below the surface. I was on the crater rim at about 12:30pm after climbing the snow covered cone. In the summer time, Mt. St. Helens is a moderate to challenging hike- 10 miles round trip with 4,500 feet of elevation gain. In the winter access to the mountain begins at 2,200 feet due to road closings- making the climb to its 8,363 foot summit more difficult. Also, due to the storms, the snow and ice conditions on the mountain necessitated use of snow shoes, crampons, and an ice axe. As mountaineering goes, it is a very easy climb, with 17 miles of distance and 6,163 ft. of elevation gain. But for average visitors to the national park, it is very challenging. Lucky for me that meant that when I summited on that crystal clear day, I was the only one up there. The winds were strong though, and my hands quickly became numb as I tried to snap off a few photos before descending into the clouds. I stamped back down the mountain carefully as wind filled my footprints with snow and a white-out slowly engulfed the lower elevations. Today Nina took me to the coast, where we had beautiful weather once again. A few clouds moved-in in the evening, making for a spectacular sunset, and reminding us that we hadn't eaten since breakfast. A visit to the Tillamook Cheese Factory left me stuffed with dairy as we weaved our way around clean-up crews removing trees from the roadway which had recently been under water. Another day will pass, and I'll be on my way to Bellingham, Washington where I have an apartment lined-up for this January. Lots of beauty to you all, Glen November 29 Northern ExposureWell, it's been nearly two months, but I found it again. The rain. California has absolutely spoiled me as an outdoorsman. Never in my life have I had such good weather- consistent, and generally predictable, even in the high country (not to say that it's still not potentially dangerous). And I've also managed to find some snow as well- a sight I see everywhere this time of year in Michigan. In order to find these wonderful gifts of nature I had to head north out of Southern California into Northern Cali and Oregon.
My first stop on my way north was in Berkley, California where I met-up with my friend Jack who I used to work with in Alaska. Some of Jack's Florida friends joined us and we celebrated Thanksgiving in the traditional American way- by having someone else cook us dinner, gorging ourselves, and getting all boozed-up. In this case we ate dinner at an Asian restaurant in San Francisco's China Town and went out for Saki.
Also while in the Bay Area I visited my friend Bonom- another chap I met in Alaska. Let me digress for a moment to make an odd comparisson. Many people who are just getting to know me are shocked that I participate in full contact ring sports like boxing and Muay Thai kickboxing. They always say, "but you're so nice!", as if those who participate in full contact sports are necessarily cruel in order to succeed in their sport. They also sometimes say, "you don't look like a full contact fighter". What can I say, I don't often wear my handwraps on the street and growl at children passing by. But similar thoughts passed through my mind when I first met Bonom. Bonom doesn't act like an adventurous outdoorsman. He doesn't look like an elite endurance athlete. He looks like what he is- a successful owner of a computer business in Marin County. But despite what my preconceived notions might have been, Bonom is who he is, and through knowing him I'm reminded to stop putting people into compartments and let life open my mind. In this case, Bonom opened my lungs as we went on a two hour morning run up Mt. Tamalpais at a heart wrenching pace. He had hoped to do a swimming work-out that evening, but thankfully those plans fell through. The next day we loaded our packs full of sand and water and hiked for eight hours through sand and into the coastal mountains. That was my idea. Heavy packs and hills are easy for me after leading desert courses where instructors carry three gallons or more. In response, Bonom said, "that was fun", and took me out mountain biking the next day. The ride was a measly three hour gruel session up a peak, followed by a very steep downhill on narrow, rocky, rooty, single track. Hmm, sure am glad I've got my health insurance in order.
Bonom and I then traveled north to Mt. Shasta in Northern California, at 14,179 ft., it is the second tallest peak in the Cascades (Raineer is taller). We left at 10:30pm after I had spent a good couple hours checking good routes for this time of year (November has avalanche danger on the faces, and rockfall danger on the ridges), looking at road closings, and rechecking routes. We arrived at 3:30am, slept until 9:30am, did a bit more info. gathering at a ranger station, and moved our camp up to a bit more than 8,000 feet to further acclimatize. We slept until 5am, and began climbing under a hazzy sky with the full moon beaming like a light behind a lampshade. The weather cleared, the slopes warmed, and we watched a series of baseball sized rocks hurdle down the mountain on an adjacent route at helmet level. I guess we chose the right ascent route. We were advised to climb a low angle (40 to 45 degree) route due to avalanche danger and 'bullet-proof ice', a mountaineering term refering to ice that is difficult to kick crampons into, and impossible to stop yourself on in the event of a fall. Luckily our crampons bit the ice on our route easily, and we gradually ascended for nearly 6,000 verticle feet without having to scramble up rocks or scree. At the summit plateau we glared-up at a mass of ice encrusted rock 80 feet or so above us- the true summit. A chunk of blue ice peeled-off and spun to the slope below, smashing amongst thousands of other fragments. I looked at Bonom, he looked at me, and I felt my head throb with the altitude. "Well, I guess we're at the top then," I said with a tired smile on my face. The crystal clear sky gave us a tremendous view from the summit over the gray-blue mountains of the Trinity Alps and stretching into the Cascades of Oregon.
A couple snickers bars later and we were well on our way back, sauntering down the darkened trail to our car where Nina waited for us. I said goodbye to Bonom, and Nina and I drove north to Crater Lake, Oregon where we jaunted in calf-deep snow around this 1,949 ft. deep cauldera filled with fresh water. Two other visitors passed by on skis. It was dead quiet. We drank some hot chocolate and headed north again, stopping in Eugene to visit Nina's parents and then on to Portland, where I am currently sitting in a chair, wearing a hat, a sweatshirt, and hoping that I have what it takes to lead 49 day backcountry trips in the dark, cold, and wet of Southeast Alaska in the winter . . . with at-risk youth . . . in grizzly country . . . without trails . . . and without doilies or a pet poodle.
That's quite enough from me. Hope you're all having a wonderful Fall!
Glen
November 23 Infinite Fall Geesh. Is it really almost December? Fall in Alaska starts in August, Fall in Michigan starts in September, and in California- well- I can hardly tell if it ever really becomes Fall at all. At least the way I'm used to Fall. I'm been relishing the sunny, warm days that climb into the 70s during the day and drop into the low 60s at night. I just finished leading trips in the Mojave desert of Joshua Tree National Park for Chadwick- a private school in California. I teach natural and cultural history (geology, meteorology, ecology, anthropology, and other 'ologies'), navigation, and backpacking and camping skills. As usual, the desert was beautiful. The kids on my trip were wonderful, and my co leaders were delightful. I laughed so hard some days that my diaphram hurt. It was a great end to my season. And now I have a bit of vacation time before I begin work for Alaska Crossings in February. So, I'm traveling north up the Pacific Coast. I'm in San Francisco at the moment visiting my friend Bonom whose favorite activities are running fifty mile races, swimming long distances in the open ocean, and grinding his feet into the peddles of a mountain bike while trucking up mountains. So, I've volunteered my body for abuse while I stay with him. We're both training for doing a bit of high altitude mountaineering down in South America, so it is a good thing to abuse our bodies into better shape I suppose. I was happy to add new masocistic ideas to our repitoir by suggesting that we load our packs with water and sand, then hike along the beach and up over a few small mountains in the coastal range. It was a great day with tremendous views, so it actually made this activity enjoyable. We'll be climbing a peak or two in the Cascades over the next weeks to further prepare, so stay tuned for more pictures on the site. And now I have to go pack my bags, and then pack my stomach. It is Thanksgiving after all! Happy holidays and turkey eating (or tofurkey eating if you like)! Glen October 29 A return to the Land of Subtle BeautyI imagine everyone has a place that feels like home. Or, more correctly, I hope everyone has a place that feels like home. Even though I have done a fair bit of traveling for my age, having visited seventeen countries and more than half of our states including Alaska and Hawaii, there is something magnetic about the Upper Peninsula of Michigan- called the UP for short. Perhaps this feeling is rooted in the timing of my experience in the UP, since I moved there just after high school. It was a chance to make a home that was all my own, and I relished the opportunity to redefine myself in this new place. Or maybe it has to do with the amount of time I have spent there- nearly six years in total. That is more time than I have spent anywhere since I left.
Whatever the reason I fell in love to begin with, every time I return I fall head over heals all over again. The people are incredibly friendly, shockingly genuine, and the landscape is serene. Upon my return this October, I was awed by how colorful this place is. After working in the mountains and deserts of Southern California, I grew accustom to blue sky, green conifers, and hundreds of shades of red and brown stretching across the desert and along the forest floor. This is beautiful in its own right. But here in Michigan it is the hundreds of shades of green and blue that are amazing. Lake Superior, the second largest body of fresh water in the world (second to Lake Baikal in Russia) is over 1,200 feet deep, 350 miles long, 160 miles wide, and radiates an amazing spectrum of blue light that not only colors the landscape but reflects out into the sky and deepens its shades as well. A variety of firns, blue berry, bear berry, bunch berry, winter green, lichen, mosses, and mushrooms choke out any brown space that might appear in the understory, while the canopy this time of year beams yellow, red, purple, and fading neon greens.
Immediately upon arrival I headed to Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore- the first national lakeshore designated by Congress. It consists of a forty five mile stretch of undeveloped beaches, sand dunes, three hundred foot cliffs, and forests hugging Lake Superior's island dappled waters. I was hoping I would be able to do a bit of paddling, but this time of year can be a bit rough on the water. We watched in awe as twelve foot waves sent explosive showers of water a hundred feet in the air, moistening us as we walked along the cliffs above.
Aside from the color, the other thing that is in your face this time of year in the UP is wildlife. Bear, deer, moose, wolves, fishers, badger, beaver, bobcat and even mountain lions make this hunk of wilderness their home. Along the trail we spotted a few bald eagles flying overhead, and enjoyed following bear tracks along a sandy trail and up a beach tree nearby where the bear was gathering nuts for winter.
And what do people do for fun here? Well, like most places, a lot of people watch TV. But a surprising number of people don't have a television at all. And unlike many places, most people hunt. And the diversity of hunting techniques is astounding. To take advantage of the full season, some people have bows, black powder weapons, shotguns, and rifles. My friends Andy and Pete make their own bows, using only stone tools, out of the limbs of native trees. Their arrows are fashioned with obsidian or flint tips which they've made themselves. Because these weapons are only deadly at close range (20 yards), they require a tremendous amount of skill to use. Hence, for some people hunting is not merely about killing an animal for food, but is about the art of hunting itself.
In the coming weeks I plan to do some more backpacking around the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, popping off some photos for your viewing pleasure. I climbed a few peaks in the Eastern Sierras three weeks ago that I hope to have pictures of in the near future, so stay tuned, and this winter keep your eyes out for Patagonia's visit to my blog. I may be headed to that part of Chile with my friend Bonom for the Christmas season.
I hope you are all having as marvelous a fall as I'm having. Oh! And I'm now the big 26 after having my birthday on October 24th.
Peace to you all,
Glen September 13 Would you like some water? This blog will be a short one . . . I think. This week we experienced three days of non-stop rain. It has hardly rained at all this summer. The result? Flooding. Our property here has been flooding every year for the past three years, getting worse earch time. We would love to move the business to higher ground, but unfortunately we cannot, since our main building is part of a national historic monument. It was once the powerhouse for the Motherlode Mine, a copper mine that competed with Kennecott Mines in the early 1900s. So, we live like fish. Ok, it's probably more like living like moose, walking through knee deep water between buildings and occassionally within buildings. I've grown tired of wearing gum boots (waterproof rubber boots).
Our solution is to pump water out of the buildings and use any human or machine power available to pile rocks and debris in front of our property to create a levy of sorts. At best it diverts the water. At worse it creates an eddie so that the full force of the river does not topple our structures. Unfortunately, braided glacial streams deposit huge amounts of sediment as they flow, blocking old channels and creating new ones as they search for low ground. As it happens, the old river bed has been built-up with enough sediment that it appears our property is quickly becoming the new low point. I suspect flooding will continue well into the future unless something rather drastic (and costly) is done. In the meantime, you can enjoy some pictures of everyday life in McCarthy alongside flood photos. Enjoy, and stay dry!
Slosh,
Glen
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