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Personal Blog of Steve Baumber
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I have a crick in my neck. Let me rephrase that. I have a BIG crick in my neck, and all day I inched around the building like a crab, staring from the corner of my eyes to ensure that the slightest movement didn't jar my neck into horrendous spasms that would leave me crying on the ground. Okay, I embellish a tad, but jeeze oh man I hope this goes away.
Having said that, we'll be driving to Prince George on Saturday, and then to Telegraph Creek, and then to the Island for Christie's wedding. What a blog that will be! I wonder if I can just strap my head to the seat...
We recently went to Bowen Island and had a great day of biking around to find the beaches that it had to offer. Some good swimming, and some big nasty hills. Biking is definitely the way to enjoy the island, but some of them are Granny Gear material.
Went and saw "Metallica: Some Kind of Monster". Like being part of a therapy session, it was an interesting movie that left you eager to explore the truth of every nuance in your own heavy-metal emotional landscape. It gave a resonance to the music of "St. Anger", and also showed the power of honesty. The moments of avoidance became painfully obvious, and the moments of truth were truly cathartic. And it has such a happy ending too. Jason Trujillo is one badass bass player. I think Ian needs braids.
Last thought; cleaning one's hard drive of unwanted spyware, viruses and trojan horses is highly satisfying. Like shining your shoes. It may not last, but for a while you walk taller and feel sexy.
posted by Steve @
8:18 PM
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7.29.2004  |
Let me back track, a week or so should be sufficient, to tell you our latest adventures...
We left around 2:45 pm on Friday heading to Hood River, just East of Portland. Battling through Interstate traffic past Seattle we stopped off for sustenance at Black Angus in Federal Way. Being savvy travelers to the US, we knew that ordering one meal beween the two of us would be more than enough, and true to form, it was. Properly satiated we pressed on, past Tacoma, Vancouver, and Portland. We carried on into the night listening to an "all 80's hits weekend" on the local radio station following us from Portland. Ahh, memories of late night forays to Kootenay Lake. We sped alongside the Columbia River, counter to its wide expanse flowing to the sea, with visions of Windsurfing in our heads. At least we had stopped sweating.
We arrived at the Hirsh's B&B (or more casually known as "the place they rented where everyone showed up"), dropped gear and set up camp. Kristy met us with a Smirnoff Ice and a smile, and so we fed her cookies. The rest of the gang showed up soon after from a local house party where there was a Kayak Rodeo - an apparatus that suspended a river kayak in the air so that the occupant could be spun around at high speed. What kind of town was this? Uncle Dave was the clear winner so we celebrated with more cookies.
After a lovely sleep of 3 to a bed (Robin and I forming the bread of a Rosemary sandwich) we arose and hustled out to greet Big Jim Farr at the finish line of the "toughest half marathon he's ever done". Have a look at the pictures and see if you spot any familiar cheering faces.
We returned to Hood River and prepped for Hood Fest. After a good run with Dr. D, I was ready for the party. We reverse bungie-jumped, battled in the inflatable gladiator pit, drank wine, ate food and grooved beyond measure to the likes of Dr. Theopolis! T'was a weary Hood River Gang that slept that night.
A mass exodus the next morning left Rosemary, Kristy and I in the house for a day or two. So we signed up for free windsurfing demo boards at the Pond. Under the careful tutelage of Sharky and The Dean, Razor and I cut our teeth on the boards, uphauling, catching the wind and jibing to our heart's content. A tasty chicken dinner in our bellies, we then watched "Farenheit 9/11" at the local pizzeria/movie theatre. Imagine sitting on a couch, feet perched on bean bag chairs, in a full-sized, sweaty movie theatre drinking a beer and eating popcorn, while Michael Moore slowly erodes your faith in the goodness of America. It's an effective film to both outrage you towards Bush and the government who supports him, and our own casual, day-to-day, unconscious hypocrisy. A night of searing images and despondency in Hood River.
What to do on the morning after? Hike to the Tamawanis waterfall! After a 2 mile track and a rocky scramble, we stood behind a curtain of water blowing mist into the summer sky, looking at the world from behind it's usual face. How does one find a bearable level of individual responsibility in the face of global inequity? As the water coursed it's way overhead of the cave we crouched in, and plunged to the rocks below, it seemed that being swept along, resigned to the current, might lead to a hard end.
There was obviously more to be learned, and nature would be our teacher. We returned to Hood River, and met Sharky and The Dean for a river expedition in 3 mighty Hot Tamales, with Sharky guiding us in the Blue Dagger! We guided The Toad strapped with kayaks to the drop off point, AC/DC raging in the headphones, and paddled out into the current. Sharky's main word of caution, "If you just float along, you're at your most vulnerable and at the mercy of the river. Paddling increases your control." In effect, go faster than the river. What an intriguing concept!
We paddled, and portaged, and ground upon rocks. We surfed standing waves (as best we could), and ran the white water. The route took its toll - Razor pulled out early to save her wearied arms, and Sharky had an unplanned exit into the rapids, though her brawny rescuers were close at hand. But The Dean and I pressed on and exploded through the final Class 3 foam with grins and whoops on the other side. Go faster than the river, and you can choose your own destiny through the rough water. I began liking this philosophy, although I wasn't sure what the metaphorical equivalent to strapping yourself aboard a large, red plastic boat for the journey might be. We cooked steaks, ate ice cream, and played cards that night, and our sleep was the sleep of the well exercised, or perhaps the well exorcised.
The next day was more windsurfing, and witnessing the kite surfing in the Gorge Games. Crazy! The wind was up, and the struggle to uphaul, catch the wind, and jibe in the Pond rubbed my hands raw. But I think perhaps the wind also had a lesson to teach, if I had any inclination of going faster than that particular current...
The next day it was time to leave, and we headed southwest to the Oregon Dunes. Spent the night in a campground on the edge of the huge sand drifts, with the echo of 4-wheelers and dune buggies in the distance. Finding ourselves without fork or knife, and no matches, a neighbouring camper lent us four very long matches. We clipped the ends off to normal-sized matchsticks, and used the long wooden ends as chopsticks to eat a feast of fish, prawns and potatoes cooked in foil packs on the BBQ. Who says traveling in SE Asia doesn't come in handy?
The next day we pressed north, stopping to see the seals at the Seal Rocks before breakfasting on the beach, and then climbing to the light house at Heceta Point. We paused to explore the tide pools at Cape Perpetua, and coasted through Newport and Lincoln City, shopping at Outlet stores only to eventually collapse into a meal of halibut and scallops at the Blackfish Cafe. Properly sustained, we sped off to Cape Lookout, in time to strike camp and watch the sunset over an uninterrupted horizon. There are not many places on our part of the west coast where you can gaze out to the edges of the curved world.
A mosquito infested spot, we vacated Cape Lookout the next morning in favour of a more pleasant spot to hike, along the Cape Trail. Fantastic vistas awaited us around each corner, and rewarded our sweaty efforts over roots and rocks. We then forced ourselves back into the civic and pushed north once more. We turned inland and skirted around historic Astoria, to cross the longest truss bridge in the world! Further and further we pressed inland, once again countering the flow of the Columbia River, until Longview forced us north. We stocked up on supplies and found a campsite on the edge of Mt. Saint Helens National Monument park.
There was no room at the various State parks, so we backtracked back to the town of Cougar and the local RV park. Our host that evening was a drunk fellow willing to let us tent for a fee. As he staggered about, loudly proclaiming his steadfasteness to his job and keeping our campground free of trouble makers, we set up camp. After a hearty dinner of smokies and corn, we had used up our last matches. I made a futile attempt to light a fire using the car lighter and and an elborate combination of wood bits and newspaper. After bemusedly watching me inhale noxious fumes from a smoking page of the Georgia Straight for five minutes, Razor calmly introduced herself to our neighbours from California, who gave us an entire box of matches. She then lit the fire and we toasted marshmallows, and my boy scout antics were quietly tucked away somewhere next to my pride.
The next day was a day of lava. We hiked in it, through the immense and fantastic Ape Cave, a 2 mile lava tube! We hiked over it through the Lava Canyon. And we witnessed it's origin at the edge of Mt. Saint Helens. Twenty-four years later, the blast zone is still evident. As the attending USDA Forest Service Ranger told us, eventually it was gravity that moved the mountain, released the pressure and unleashed the eruption. Massive trees, now ghostly white logs, are laid out like compass points for miles, showing the direction of the blast cloud. The area by Spirit Lake is barely inhabited by sparse stretches of greenery, and the mountain itself overlooks the scene like a chipped pottery bowl glazed with snow. But everywhere is new life, and like a sign for us to ponder the resilience of nature, on the way out a baby elk scampered in front the car (good braking Razor!). The ebb and flow of creation, eruption, reduction, and renewal.
It was now time to head home, tracing a new path north. As we eventually climbed aboard the superslab and sped along the I-5, the days of our travels seemed to be slowly sucked away. The road passing beneath us was dragging them out, tied as they were to the places we were leaving behind. Was it really 8 days ago we loaded the car up and left?
Home again, it's a beautiful day in Vancouver, and it's nice to be home. Apologies to those who had left phone messages or emails, not returned until now. What can I say? We were out.
Go faster than the current, keep a straight arm with the wind at your side, and pay heed, because if you want change even a mountain can move.
posted by Steve @
12:03 PM
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7.18.2004 |
For all of those sitting on pins and needles (ha ha), my prostate is just fine. Downstairs I measured my blood pressure and heart rate on the little do-it-yourself machine at the pharmacy: 120 over 78 and 38 bpm. May I live until the Gods favour me to come home to Valhalla!
posted by Steve @
9:53 PM
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7.06.2004 |
Hmm, far too long again between Blogs. Lost all my loyal readers, I'm sure.
Went surfing in Tofino over the Canada Day long weekend. Is anything more Canadian than surfing wearing a 9mm wetsuit? Me thinks not! There were 12 of us who make up the "What's Ultimate?" ultimate team, and yes, we chucked a disc on the beach to keep ourselves in good form for the Summer league. They're a fantastic group of people who enjoy eating drinking, relaxing interspersed with gross levels of high intensity activity. What a terrible bunch of influences. Sounds like the folks I grew up with.
Rosemary and I are now looking forward to a week-long holiday heading to the Oregon coast where the plan is to try windsurfing, and try out our new "surfer" nicknames - Grizzly and Razor. The Hood River Gang await us...
Added a new song to the website, a little ditty I whipped off for the last of the "old guard" at J.S. Thrower & Associates Ltd. in Kamloops, where I used to work. My apologies to Neil Young and anyone who plays harmonica. Karen started work about two years after I did, and she's now heading to greener eastern pastures. Gord is the last of the originals now, so I think I'll have to write him a lonesome cowboy-type song soon.
Word to Mike, Christie and Ian, all aboard the marriage train this summer. Tayt has a daughter. Pete has a house. What's my contribution to the maturation of my posse? I have an appointment to get my prostate checked tomorrow! Yes indeed, I think it's time I settled into the preemptive maintenance checks on the ole bod. Wish me luck - here's to hoping that it's still the size of a walnut!
posted by Steve @
2:57 PM
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7.05.2004 |
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