Pelican Surfing in Sandy

Thinking back to Hurricane Sandy now.
I know it was rough for the states up north but it remains a bitter sweet memory here. Florida was gifted a swell by her that we will be talking about on our porches long after we get old, if we get old.

Before I begin, I must say that I have written about a lot of swells. When I look back through by rambling in journals and this old blog, I usually try to dwell in words that paint pictures of barrels and long glassy faces that curl over not a drop out of place. Sure this swell had all those things. Some size certainly worth mentioning: double-over head plus. Spitting tubes, offshore breeze, and all the fanciful parts of an incredible swell.

I think for me though, something will stand out this time more than the barrels and perfection. During our second session north of the St. Augustine pier, a certain moment needs recalling. As we just reached the line-up, ducking under a final roaring train to narrowly escape a watery beating something very interesting happened. At least I felt it was. I was resting on my board, tired from the paddle out when off to my left I noticed some pelicans surfing by. Cruising in long beautiful formations that lick face of the waves, arching their wings to ride the air that is being pushed up from aquatic motion. One pelican in particular seemed to want to cut out early though. I was so lost in admiring them, that I was startled when I realized that this unique pelican was flying straight at me like a small airplane whizzing above the water. "Woahh, WOOAHH!" I slammed my face down against by board to duck as low as I could. I felt one of those woooooshing sounds that your friend makes when he tells that story. I could have licked the pelican had I been laying on my back. No contact though. Not even a feather. He must have seen me though? Right? I swirved to see if some pattern in his flight would reveal that this pelican was as surprised as I was. Nothing. Still cruising as if I was just a mere patch of seaweed below.

Kyle laughed at me. He was paddling only a few feet away. Holy guacamole I kept thinking. I deserve some guacamole after that. I glanced down at Donatello, the pelican tattoo on my ribs. "What was that all about Don?" Nothing. He doesn't usually say much at these times.

So yes the waves were amazing. However, I feel I will remember Sandy not only for her gifts but also for certain events synchronized with her patterns. What does it all mean? Nothing most likely. That really isn't any fun though. I try to believe there was some message being delivered, an omen perhaps. A good one I hope but I never want to assume. Further interpretation is to be sought I suppose.
Thanks for reading.

a taste:

Reunion

Yann Martel writes a perfect description of a familiar friend floating toward Pi's lifeboat. Absolutely worth mentioning.  Excerpt taken from Life of Pi, p111:

Notes from Joshua Tree

Joshua Tree is an interesting place. Certainly a type of setting I have not experienced much, a place beyond any expectations I could have mustered within my noggin. There are some pretty rad mysterious elements in the desert which provide for endless pondering of things. Things like creative existence and other fancy thoughts where one can use words a bit beyond daily vocabulary. It is fun. For example, while we were their the conversation turned several times to how in the hell did these towering boulders come to dismount in majestically stacked piles of climbing goodness. When one looks around at Joshua Tree, one will notice that almost all the dirt lays on a steady flatfish plain. There is a few mountains off in the distance. For the most part though, it seems as if the only formations are giant rock monuments. Maybe they were built by giants, big rock fellows who wanted something to do, so they made art. Or even better! Perhaps the rock monuments are not monuments at all but the rock giants themselves who have laid down to sleep. They wake up and move about while nobody is looking, standing up first like Optimus Prime waking from his Semi-Truck. It must be true! I am on to something, rock transformers maybe. I would like discuss this further but now while I must go on to other matters.

Our trip to Joshua Tree, which consisted of Ben Sasso, Tony Sasso, and myself, was truly amazing and necessary in every way. I say necessary, because almost all adventuring really is necessary of course. Tony proved to be an awesome guide by having everything already good to go when we flew in. His camping knowledge was adept along with his scrumptious cooking skills. We ate like men. Tony brought us to the rocks and helped us learn how to lead climb and set anchors when needed. Nifty. It was also quite nifty for Ben and I to see that what we learned in our climbing gym back home actually applied to real rock. It was weird at first, but we seemed to catch on quick. We were completing routes from 5.7 and 5.10c and hanging over cliffs of doom, I want to mention that JTree is known for having run-out bolts and having some of "the hardest ratings anywhere", words of the local legend Eric Hires. It seems safe to say that a 5.10 at the gym was about 5.8 out in the dessert. What we thought was a hard V4 turned out to be a V0. It is also safe to say that the adventure was quite humbling. Other things to mention: being naked in the dessert is awesome, delicious burritos can now be made anywhere, no serious injuries occurred, and yes I still struggle to grow facial hair (although it is coming in better now).

I had this other thought I want to share and expand on. Well its more like an absurd imaginative assumption that should only be taken as fact. What if, the rocks really enjoy being climbed on. I know I am personifying these boulders, but seriously I have this feeling that they just love it. I can see the rocks just shuddering with excitement as we gear up to ascend them, like the boy and his Giving Tree. I am sure some are a bit spoiled with too much attention like the beast that contains the Stitcher Quits route. Always getting a good massage. I imagine it must feel something like that. Then there are lonlier giants who stare beggingly at climbers who pass by. Maybe they get attention only in certain seasons, or never, spending most of their holidays alone. "Just one climb please, good sir", I can hear them thinking it in their mysterious rock language. Curious, is it not? 

There will be many returns to Joshua Tree for adventure and investigative purposes.  

  

  

Heading to JTree

I figure this is as good a time as any to mention that some friends and I have become overly addicted to climbing. Last summer, a few of us did some in Alaska and California, in which we experienced this sport on a whole new level. Months later, it is safe to say we are now obsessed. I have even gone as far as purchasing my first container of protein powder, something I never thought I might do.

There are geographical issues though. Florida, if you had not noticed, does not offer a whole lot of mountainous climbing landscape. Most of the state is only a few feet above sea level. Despite this inconvenience, we have found that it does have a few great climbing gyms that act as wonderful supplements, while preparing for the real thing. So this is what Ben Sasso, John Taylor, Sarah Rogers, Veronica Spake, a few others, and myself have been doing with our time. The result has been an exponential level of obsession in the sport.

Now the real reason I have sat down to write at this particular moment in time, is to squeal out a bit of my pre-trip anticipation/excitement for a trip coming up. That jittery feeling that has one visualizing the adventure while making weird faces of emotional frenzy, teeth gritting, eyes widening, and then the person in the room staring at you curiously and concerningly. (ehhem) So, this blog post is currently acting as my outlet for such feelings. A few of us are flying out to Joshua Tree in California, one of the great climbing locations in the US, to get our fix on some real rock, quartzite monzonite, in this case. Joshua Tree National Park is found in the dessert near LA and homes a wealth of giant boulders big and small. It is the oasis to our obsession. 

Among epic climbs on my list of envisionment, I imagine scruffy beards, meandered yodeling, warm campfires, bloody fingers, spicy food, and arguments in caves about the Theory of Relativity. Yes, not much longer now.  Here are a few photos to explain further what I presently can not:

Substitute Teaching

It is fun. At least it is most of the time. Certainly not always easy. Quite difficult actually. Sometimes it is at least. Not knowing all the time what classes I will have. Who will be the students? How will they behave?  Just fine plenty of the time. Definitely now always though. Goofy and awkward the way kids are. Cruel and unusual the way they can be. Listening and attentive verses defiant and rude. All in the job. I enjoy the job. I do. The surprise. What the day will hold. The fire drill, tornado drill, and lock down drill. Back to back. The kid who fell over in his chair. Again. The lessons. The projects. The sarcasm. The good ones. The stories I will have when I am old. Already there are so many. Very unpredictable this work. Making it enjoyable. Preferring it to be this way. Well not exactly. I guess I really want to just to be a teacher. A full-time one. My own classes. But for now, this is fun.

My First Product Review

I was shopping at the dollar store recently and decided it necessary that I indulge in some hair washing solution. I have never been one to be real picky about what hair toxin I use. The bottle of "Scooby-Doo: 2 in 1 Conditioning Shampoo" seemed perfectly reasonable, despite whether or not you think it is dog-shampoo. It is for humans. I checked. Also, "ghostly grape" sounds kinda nice too, like those delicious Flintstones vitamins. Anyway, this decision has left me a thoroughly disappointed consumer. So much, that I now feel inclined to do my first product review.

When I first opened the ghostly grape shampoo, the smell was a bit overpowering. That same smell that we all for some reason have decided to associate with grapes. But have you ever thought about that? What does a grape smell like? If you can not remember, go into the fridge right now and put one up to your nose. There is a lie. The lie being that grapes have a fragrance. Allow me to inform you that THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A GRAPE FRAGRANCE. Grapes do not have a smell in the first place, so how the hell did we arrive with a "grape fragrance"? This question could arise long standing debates of theories and hypothesis, however I do not care about that, sort of... All I want to do right now is state that all of our noses have been cheated. Cheated like children brought to a candy shop that only sells broccoli. (No offense broccoli lovers.)

I should also mention that this shampoo was pretty awful for washing hair, even mine. It left my hair feeling like the side of an orange construction cone. If you do not know what that feels like, well then go find an orange construction cone, or just use this shampoo.

Postives: I did not cry when I used this shampoo, thankfully because it is tear-free!

Internship moment

I told my students today in a moment of greatness that truly one day they will grow up and realize that one thing they must always do is simply be ridiculous.

wonderfully brief

"If you watched a movie about a guy who wanted a Volvo and worked for years to get it, you wouldn’t cry at the end when he drove off the lot, testing the windshield wipers. You wouldn’t tell your friends you saw a beautiful movie or go home and put a record on to think about the story you’d seen. The truth is, you wouldn’t remember that movie a week later, except you’d feel robbed and want your money back. Nobody cries at the end of a movie about a guy who wants a Volvo.

But we spend years actually living those stories, and expect our lives to be meaningful. The truth is, if what we choose to do with our lives won’t make a story meaningful, it won’t make a life meaningful either."

Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

Dad.

Somewhere in England doing what he loves, and looking good doing it.

This has been in my mind

The photo below is something that I stumbled recently. I wanted to share this because over the last couple weeks it has been my new obsession. I stare at this image so long that and find myself dreaming, dreaming that I am there. That I am one of the divers with the whale. That I am looking into his eye and we are swimming. Swimming next to him as he swims next to me. But we have stopped, and now were just standing together, one hundred feet deep. I can hear myself breathing and then I can't hear it anymore. The world stops.
He whistles a long bellow,  echoing deep from somewhere within him. His great weathered eye focuses on me. Suddenly I can feel that he knows everything about me, my thoughts, my family, my dreams, my heartbeat. The curious beast is looking right through me. For a quick moment, I see him too. But before it goes further he pushes past me. I want to follow. I want to live underwater too, forever. Forever a whale.
He circles once, than turns towards where he came. Slowly the beast wanders off, but he isn't really wandering. His dark tail can be seen moving up and down but soon it fades into the blue. It is so blue He gives out a final bellow. The sound roars past me and into the ocean.
Goodbye.
Now I am awake, wishing I lived underwater. Underwater forever.

Uneasy Sweetness

The waves have been steadily incredible throughout the last couple weeks with Hurricanes, Irene and Katia, sweeping by. The Saturday morning of Irene, out Kyle Linsly and myself paddled out alone in a most beautiful place.  (Where, shall remain mysteriously unknown) It was still dark. Below is a little picture of that morning after the sun rose. We were the only ones out, or at least that's what we thought.

Ten minutes after reaching the empty lineup. I heard some splashing behind us. Turning my head, I saw a thick dorsal fin cruising slowly. It rose 2 feet tall and swam less than 10 feet behind us. Several feet behind the dorsal, followed a tall tail fin, waving slowly, offering a very ominous propulsion My stomach sank. For some reason I uttered, "Kyle don't look behind you...." He did of course, but as he did, the prehistoric beast submerged, into the murky ocean. I remember thinking, "I liked him much more on the surface. At least we knew where he was then." We could only sit quietly and pray he is not interested, or hungry... I'm sure we don't taste good anyway, right? Funny thing about it is that neither of us wanted to paddle in. The swell was too good. It was too perfect. We shakily decided the animal was probably just curious about what who we were exactly. "He probably left...yea?" (These thoughts can help sometimes) We even named him Andy to make ourselves feel better. Andy the giant shark. There, I said it, the S-word. 

We kept surfing for a few more hours. However, neither of us could escape the ugly thought that Andy might be lurking below us in the coffee brown water, trying to guess what our feet would taste like.

Teaching

Been back from Alaska for just over two weeks now. I went straight into my student-teaching at Sebastian Middle School. The change feels unusual but it works. Mrs. West, my directing teacher is a fun woman, full of priceless sarcasm. My duty is to slowly take over the 6th grade World History classes. I love the age-group. They're awkward, imaginative, and hardly corrupted by the hormone explosion that is middle school. On the first day a boy named Camren asked, "Where do you keep the flamethrowers?" I paused, the question caught me by surprise for some reason. It took everything in me not to respond with, "Well, there are two in every teacher's desk, three buried outside, and a very powerful one kept with the Principle. Her's has the biggest range of fire." Instead, I decided to calm him by saying that we have no need for flamethrowers. He reacted quite confused, "Then how do you stop the snipers!?" I took a deep breath, and again reluctantly restrained myself from a very desirable facetious response. "Snipers? There's no snipers," I stated. His eyes got big. "Well that's not what my brother told me!," he remarked.

Oh the beauty of sibling mind control. The conversation brings back so many nostalgic memories. This is going to be a beautiful semester.

Another chapter to the book, Patagonia this time.

Southernmost Kickstarter from ben sasso on Vimeo.

funny things and such

Starting to miss home a bit. I wonder whether or not I will regret that statement. Home can be a curious place of ups, downs, and all arounds. I do miss my roommates. They just returned from their own adventure in Iceland and I would very much like to hear about it directly from them. I miss the ocean, the warm Atlantic Ocean. I want to surf in it. I want to swim in it. I want to roll around in it like a dog in their own poop. Where I am now I do get to live on the Pacific, however the water is hardly above freezing temperature. One can only be in it for so long. Being a Florida boy, I have every excuse to be cold. I also miss my family. All my brothers have moved out and we seem to be turning into that strange form of slightly older people who take on real responsibilities and other weird things. My parents are spending more time together though, and that is something very nice to think about. I miss St. Augustine. I miss the bent and broken streets with the Spanish architecture that never seems to get old despite actually being quite old. I miss all the slightly unusual people who live there. I think when I return I will go for a walk, or something.

But hold on. That paragraph should not be taken as anything close to saying that the Alaskan adventure has lost its gleam nor its northern lights. This place is still plenty interesting with all its mustaches, mountain hikes, hysterical bars/bands, sea planes, camping, black bears, eagles, folky locals etc. The sun does not like to set much and its difficult to track where it goes so you never have to worry about there not being enough time left in the day to do things. Also, I am serious about not being able to track the thing. Every time I feel like I can see it going one direction, I swear it turns around and goes the other way just to spite me. It makes telling north from east a bit complicated.

Leading people on the zipline tours never appears to get old either. Every group of tourists is different and even if they are not great zippers and come flying into my platform at 30mph, I get to do things like prussic break them so hard that they launch upwards into the cable. Now how could that ever get old to anyone? Most tourists are good zippers though as long as they get taught right. Kids can be a doozy when they are so light that they can't make it across the lines. This usually results in having a guide having to zip out and pull them in. Grown ups do it too. Just imagine what its like when you get a 250 pounder stuck in the middle who refuses to move. My arms still hurt. It does make for a fun challenge though. Lots of times you get incredible people who laugh at all the bad jokes and even contribute some of their own. These are my favorite. Another fun type are those with the sudden fear of heights who forgot they had a fear of heights. Its tempting to manipulate this fear into humor when you are always working at height. I promise I am not that mean, but when you work with tourists constantly, it is important to always make yourself laugh most. It keeps one's wits about them.

Worthy Alaskan Moments

Caught My First King

Okay so after months of watching the King Salmon run up our creek. I finally got one. Today I had the day off and walked out to one of the points that extend into our cove. There were several musky dudes fishing near by and I could tell by their behavior that they come out to this spot often. Its a way of carrying one's self I think. Anyway I nestled into my own little spot and started casting. My primal peripherals allowed me to see the glances I was getting from the fishermen and fish on each side of me. I casted my hook. Then I casted again and again.... but that was all that was necessary. As I was reeling in my third cast, I felt an enormous yank down my rod but was hesitant to believe I had fooled a fish. (I am a master of hooking the bottom). We fought for about 10 minutes. She was strong and every time I thought I had her, she would take off again, spooling line from my reel. One of the fishermen came over and offered me his gaff. This made pulling the fish out of the water and beating her to death quaintly simple. All said and done, I am happy to have caught my first Alaskan King Salmon and look forward to eating it this evening.

Note: a female "King" salmon should really be called a "Queen" salmon.

should probably write something

    note: Sarah zippin on the right

Good ol' Alaska. I think I am am getting used to the new way of life out here. Hitchhiking, stumbling, eagle screaming, camping, climbing, singing, and mustaches seem to be the norm out here. There's also plenty of kicking back and enjoying what is around you. I have attempted fishing a few times too but my flyfishing skills could still use some work. I guess the salmon that run up our stream aren't very hungry on account they are only thinking about sex. Weird? The local fishermen all use big womping trebble hooks to snag the King Salmon that make their way in. I have not given up, I still dream of catching "Old Betsy" as soon as I get the right fishing tackle.

I wish I had more to write about right now but the longer I am here, I start to feel like my days blurr together just a bit. Not in a bad way though. I am not sure if its because the sun never fully sets here or that I am becoming rather used to the daily grind. I am not sure if I can even call it a grind though, how about the daily zip? Hmmm never mind. The zipline courses are becoming quite familiar. I can almost tell you how many screws are in each different platform we zip through. I find myself forgetting how high up we are sometimes, and than I catch myself falling off the edge on my lanyards. Comfort can be dangerous. That sounds like a quote in some Hemmingway Novel. Okay well in conclusion of this odd post, I want to add that Sarah and I are certainly enjoying ourselves. Its a different way of living and working out here and its interesting to take in. Have a nice day. Good ol' Alaska.

Two weeks in

Okay this is my first real update since arriving in Alaska. The people here are freakin great. I have been learning a lot about the local area. So far everything is crazy. Crazy awesome. The Tonga forest has the most biodensity of any forest in the world - Yes more than the Amazon jungle. That means there is a ridiculous amount of things living out here. The ziplines that we guide on shoot right through the center of all of it.

Everything here is bigger (sorry Texas). The first time we went outside, I thought I was in Jurassic Park and that perhaps pretty soon velossa raptors and brontosauruses were gonna show up. I have yet to see any, but we do have plenty of black bears and bald eagles. They like to sit around staring at the creeks, waiting for the salmon to arrive. There are also giant beards everywhere. I feel that being here might be exactly what I need to finally grow my own.

The last week and half has definitely been one of the most difficult training programs I have ever taken part in. I had no idea how technical and random this job was gonna be. The actually guiding is not too difficult, but the tech and the different rescues can be something else. I found myself upside down clipped in to the center of 500ft cable suspended 115ft above the ground performing a lanyard fall lower down rescue. Funny what finding a summer job on the internet can lead to. Surprisingly, that particular rescue is actually one of the easier ones.

We had testing yesterday. Guiding is easy, but the rescues can be a doozy. There is about 30 different steps to each of them. None can be missed and none can be out of order. Sarah passed with flying colors. She seems to be doing awesome out here despite her permanent migraine condition. She says its because we are outside and get to work with our hands. So awesome. I sadly did not pass a couple of my rescues the first time because of two small errors. However, after a bit more practicing (and some beating the crap out of my dresser), I passed this morning without errors. Finally we are certified guides.

I need to mention the people out here. They rock my socks. Everyone has been super welcoming and quick to help you out. Despite us all being from different place, it seems we're all quite like-minded. Most came out here the same way we did - through the internet, and most have traveled some pretty epic adventures already. I'm sure if we added everyone's trips together, we'd find that this group has been to the whole world. Something to note also: everybody here is awesome at cooking. Sarah and I try but our efforts are weak. We came in the other day and our friend Nick was baking massive loafs of bread and simmering home-made apple butter. Others are usually cooking some 89 ingredient recipe with cheese that I have never of. I really hope to be a better cook by the time I leave, that would be nice.

We have arrived in Alaska

Our new backyard:

Mom

this is a very good thing

Summer seems pretty much here and this is a very good thing. It is a time to feel completely free from everything society tells us to be. If you haven't yet, make it an important note to immediately forget what day and time it is. Go on every adventure God throws at you. Swim naked, grow a beard, build a fire, scream on your back porch, purchase a flight to somewhere you know nothing about, drive and sing with your windows down, sleep on the beach, build a fort, cook outside, learn a new instrument, smoke a cigar, make cut-offs out of your pants, steal (borrow) a golf cart, read a book, stop texting, road-trip, carve a tiki-man, eat a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich (or just invent one), talk to strangers, boogy in a place where nobody else has to a song that only you can hear, get completely lost, plant something, and of course never change out of your bathing suit. Anything else you feel like adding to this list it greatly appreciated. When you're old, reminiscing, and nostalgic, these will make awesome ridiculous memories, so take advantage of it!

Not quite sure how to describe this one.

Something we decided to make last night:

Irish Blood

beautiful words

Last Saturday

About three weeks ago I started working aboard the Freedom, the local schooner here in town. All I can say is that it is the best job I have ever had and I feel truly blessed. We take out tourists to sail for a few hours and serve them drinks. We also get to climb around on the greatest floating playground of ropes and beams ever created. Last Saturday though, work was a bit different from what I had started to get used to.

The day began with a private group out for a funeral ceremony involving the dumping of someone's ashes over the side of our ship. I had never been apart of one before, not even on land, so of course I was a little intrigued. They arrived with champagne and finger-foods all ready to be served by us. Everyone seemed pretty nice. I learned Bob had passed in his 60s leaving behind his wife and adult children. A few smiles revealed that some time had gone by since the passing.

Later the widow poured the ashes into the ocean. Sniffling followed and then words were shared. Some people told their favorite memory of Bob. Some made jokes to lighten his death. Some just drank the champagne. And then a man stood up who had been quiet the entire trip. I had noticed him earlier. He had been socially isolated from everyone else and by his own choice I am sure. A strong looking old guy with balding gray hair, he too was probably in his mid 60s. He started to speak but three words into his story his voice broke apart and so did he. Everything got quiet, everything. He attempted to speak again but soon fell back to pieces. I looked around at my fellow crew and their faces went solemn too. My own face was feeling a little heavy. Bob had been his best friend. I bet they probably knew each other their whole lives. It seemed the death had even hit this man harder than it had the widow. His glass shook, then fell to his waist. He got quiet again. Soon a woman interrupted to share another thought about Bob, but I don't think anyone heard her. We all seemed stuck. Stuck staring down at the wet cracks in the hull deck. But I do not think thats what we were looking at.

Two hours later I was working another shift with a different group of people. A man stood up, turned to the girl next to him, and kneeled before her. He proposed, she took the ring, and we all clapped. It felt weird witnessing such an event in the same day. I am not sure why, but I guess thats why I am writing this post.

Last Night We Made Enchiladas

Mugshots of Australian Criminals from the 1920's

These shots are amazing: 

click here to see more