Tina's Journal

December 11th, 2001

11/24/01 The racket that startled me awake emanated from a cat poised indignantly in the middle of our room. As I blinked myself awake through the early morning grayness I glanced at the barred windows and closed doors of our room. A cat. What in the world was a cat doing in the middle of the floor in our bedroom? At this hour, however, after the experiences of the past few days, I didn't spare too much energy thinking about it. I just let it out. It continued to whine and complain with the persistency of pretentious cats everywhere. Whether or not it truly was a part of that household, the orange tabby's insistent scolding guided me through the hall, feeling vaguely powerless as he glanced back every so often to make sure the dumb human was following. I let him out the back door on my way to the bathroom.

One of the students in my second semester section in Baja and I had landed in La Paz a few days before. She had had a severe hypoglycemic attack in the exact middle of the one long crossing we had. So, after a fruitless, frenzied ride to the closest village at night, where it took me forever to try to use the satellite phone (this was not helped of course, by the fact that all of the area codes in Mexico had been changed three days earlier and only one person, somewhere in the village, happened to have the newspaper the included the new area codes. Plus, the operators weren't answering.) Luckily, she recovered significantly enough that we could return to the group and confer with the other instructors and leave the next morning with all of our stuff.

So after a panga (open fishing boat) ride on Force 3 seas and a LONG truck ride over bumpy dirt roads with a Mexican salt processing engineer we landed on the doorstep of the Yeneka Hotel on Thanksgiving afternoon. We checked into our room to find deep purple walls covered with painted-on palm trees and life-sized renditions of the sun and the moon. Our room was on the second floor, with a view of the inner courtyard, which contained not only a few partially-intact, dried, spiny fishes and various scavenged sea creature bones, but also an old Model-T desperately in need of a tire change. "Welcome to La Paz" I told Jennifer. We supped at a very expensive restaurant on the water front, watching the sunset over the harbor, while she ate a pseudo-Thanksgiving dinner and I ate filet-mignon wrapped in bacon and covered in a thick mushroom soup. It became rather clear that when in Mexico, it's best to eat Mexican food...

My hopes of meeting up with other COBS staff were never realized and so for the next few days I showed her the city, traveling from taco-stand to restaurant to hotel for an afternoon nap. Of course we had to try the ice cream. We were lucky enough to watch a folk-dance competition in the plaza on Friday night. As we sat on the folding chairs near the back and tuned out all the formalities in the beginning (I haven't learned the words for "sponsor or supporter" yet), it became blindingly obvious that we were the only blond-haired people in a sea of shining dark hair. The costumes were fabulous as women in long, Victorian-styled dresses and lace-up boots, picked up their skirts and swirled around with cowboy-hatted men in boots to match. We only stayed for an hour or two, realizing after a while that if we wished to save our hearing, and avoid watching every team from all over Southern Baja perform the same dances, then we should sneak out while our eardrums were still intact.

December 27th, 2001

Driving across Idaho in May, as some of you might remember, an event pleasantly free from spine-tingling escapades, never-the-less spawned much thought and writing. Mostly, I believe, because I was alone in that car as it sped away from my home of three years.

Now, again, I am alone and reading, the latter of which, whether a novel is heard or perused with my own eyes, is also always liable to get me in the mood for writing again. I am in Mexico. This time in Loreto in the staff house. I arrived yesterday (the 26th) afternoon, after leaving Maui (rather reluctantly) on Christmas night. An extensive collection of ticket restrictions and changes-of-plans led to my landing here without anything to do until January 9th. I had the opportunity to finangle an interesting outing in the mainland of the States, but chose instead to allow myself a retreat of solitude. An sorely needed opportunity, judging by my sleep-deprivation and physical and emotional fragility over the past few days. Sleep, as I believe I have mentioned before, is a good thing. This morning I certainly took advantage of my solitude in the staff house to languish in bed until 11 AM. Granted I had also stayed in bed until 11 AM yesterday, but another COBS instructor was using our room to get ready for her imminent departure on a course, so I didn't sleep quite as well.

So, I am here, on the one hand grateful for the opportunity for true rest time (since I can never seem to fully rest when other people are around) and on the other hand feeling a little wasteful of this free time which I am hopelessly squandering with sleep and reading and waiting for my rice milk to thaw in the sun after it spent a night in an over-enthusiastic fridge. It is, I suppose, the type of vacation most people spend 50 weeks out of the year waiting for - one in which you divide your time between sitting and reading in the sun and sitting and reading in the shade.

Don't you worry 'though, lest you think I'm living the resort life; I can't sleep in too late for fear I'll miss the water, which appears to turn off around 11, or perhaps just intermittantly. And sitting in the sun does not mean lounging on a palm studded beach on a deck chair, but rather, dragging my aluminum folding chair into the doorway and looking out at the dirt and weed choked back yard, ringed by a palm covered chain-link fence. I suppose I could go to the beach but I'm far too lazy for that. After all, I have to walk into town today to pick up my laundry, which, after about two hours of searching yesterday, I finally relinguished to a lady in a small pink one-room house stuffed with washing machines, driers and piles of laundry. There are no "self-serve" laundromats here and getting all your laundry washed, dried and folded, while nice, is not cheap.

It has become much cooler here than the last time I was here. I was actually cursing the shower for only producing mostly warm water this morning instead of the hot water I was hoping for. And the sun outside actually feels nice and not like the Death Ray that it was in October. After all my gloating to Andy about how much warmer Mexico was than Hawaii...

Hawaii that's right. About Hawaii...

I appear to have lost my Hard-Core Roughin' It ability for I couldn't stomach the idea of staying in baggage claim in LAX for more than five hours and got a hotel near the airport on my way to Hawaii. Two weeks earlier, on the way to Boston, I had had a 24 hour layover in LA and decided to stay at a hostel. Fine and cheap and near Hollywood - how fun! But I hadn't realized exactly how far Hollywood is from LAX.. I would have paid more for the shuttle trips to and from the airport if I had not arisen early the next day and decided to brave public transportation. One bus, three trains and a shuttle bus later I was at LAX and early! On my way to Hawaii, 'though, I had only a 12-hr layover and I got the cheapest hotel with a free shuttle. It was worth it since I was starting to get a cold.

So I arrived in Maui relatively refreshed and was leid by Andy! I was carrying my mom's old suitcase - the one she had used when she came to the States 35-odd years ago. It doesn't really close so I wrapped it with a neon-yellow piece of webbing and plan of putting lots of stickers on it. In the glove box was waiting Toblerone and we went immediately to the Poi Mochi stand - a new favorite fried food of ours - we discovered it at the Maui fair in October. It was a beautiful welcome!

We spent that afternoon and the next shopping, wrapping and boxing presents. While Andy was at work on Tues, I drove upcountry to the Massage School and got my lower back worked on - it was so amazing (the teacher came in to demostrate all the techniques on me) that I scheduled another appointment for Thursday, but unfortunately, after driving all the way up there, I found out that the student was sick, so that was a wasted day. I was sorely dissappointed since it had shown so much promise for my ailing vertebrae and hips.

On Wednesday the 19th I met Andy at his classroom, much to the delight of his students, "Hey Meeester, is that your girlfriend??" I got a special pass and we watched the Baldwin High School talent show - all singing and music oriented. Some very good, some not so, but a fun glimpse of teenage Hawaiian culture.

We finally had time for the beach and then returned to town for the much-anticipated opening of the Lord of the Rings, which, through it's entire 3 hour length, kept us spellbound and entertained, even 'though we both knew the story.

On Friday we left for the reknowned "Drive to Hana," a popular drive around the East side of the island, which is often immortalized by T-shirts sporting "I survived the road to Hana" accompanied by images of a muddy jeep balanced on the edge of a pothole. Of course, by now, the road is practically perfect, with the only challenges entailing being behind a SUV and having to hold on as Andy took all 300 hairpin turns at speeds rivaling a bobsled race. It was beautiful on the North side; dripping wet rainforest full of waterfalls and one-lane bridges. I spent most of the time trying to slow my pounding heart and churning stomach as I attempted to pull Andy out of his Race-Driving in the Alps rapture long enough to stop and look at a map. "I'm gonna puke!" I pleaded.

We noticed a few places of interest on the map but since finding them entailed slowing down to speeds less than 30 mph, we soon missed them all and found ourselves in Hana, a tiny little town with only one, very expensive, restaurant. I think it only took us an hour or two to do a drive most people schedule all day for.

We did stop once at a roadside stand (hunger and my begging allowed Andy to put off the completion of lap 45 in the Indy 5000 for just a few minutes) and try roasted breadfruit and fish kabobs. I had been dying to try breadfruit for years and found it rather disappointing, sort of like a cross between a potato, cabbage and seaweed. Terribly bland but for some reason reminded me of the sea.

We checked out the museum in Hana (a gift shop with some wall displays and a restored courthouse with a bench and 3 pews) as well as a beautiful art gallery full of huge carved-wood bowls, tables and rocking chairs as well as painting and sculptures.

After a stop at the general store we headed further around the island to a state park that stretched from the ocean to the top of Haleakala (the volcano). You could camp for free in one of the most beautiful spots on the island. We chose a spot in the corner of the field with a picnic table and grill before realizing that you could camp anywhere, including (the now occupied) spots on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We headed down on the mown paths through the fields to the ocean. Our hopes of relaxing on a nice sand beach were dashed as we surveyed the sharp black volcanic outcroppings being pounded by ferocious waved whipped into a frothy light blue splendor by wind and underwater shoals. It was beautiful to look at - the waves built up off shore and flowed together as they neared a point to assume monstrous proportions before they crashed and thundered onto the rocks.

We climbed about the rocks but stayed away from the roiling depths. A family was collecting limpets for a prechristmas dinner and we got to check out the rarely seen underside of these critters. They looked like a cross between a snail and a clam. I didn't find them appetizing, but apparently they're quite sought after. Probably by the same people who enjoy clams and snails.

In the morning we immediately set off for the "pools." A river comes cascading down off the volcano and collects in pools and waterfalls before descending into the sea. It was beautiful and the cool, fresh water was refreshing. We sat for a long time watching folks jump off the waterfalls and taking in the extrordinary effect of seeing the river drop from one pool to the next, to the next and then into the largest pool of all - the ocean. Andy jumped off one 20-foot tall waterfall, waiting until I had my camera ready. Which, of course, happened to be out of film. Sorry folks, it would have been a fabulous shot.

Hunger finally motivated us and we continued on our way around the volcano that is the East side of the island. This time the roads really were rougher - dirt and bumpy. And Andy loved it even more, taking it as if his Ford Escort was a 4-wheeler (this is where that funny noise in the front end started...). I tried to pry my hands off the seat and enjoy the beautiful pastoral scenery but had a hard time focusing on anything but how fast we were about to take the next blind corner, bounded on one side by a cliff wall and the other by a dropoff into a valley floor.

Finally, after we stopped at the one and only sign of civilization on that side of the island - a little store containing a museum's worth of old cameras - to buy Fritos and sodas for breakfast, I forced Andy to let me drive for a little bit. This action resulted in what was argueably the most tense moment of my whole trip to Hawaii (barring the Ultimate Frisbee incident), perhaps since we met. I sat, belted into the drivers seat, door locked, demanding, with eyes burning and heart unwilling to beat any faster for any longer, the keys and a chance to drive, for we all know how different it is in the passenger's seat. While Andy, unflappable as always, was graciously trying to overcome nervousness at my driving ability, and shock that I had taken his most favorite toy (road and car) from his grasp so rudely. "You're going to drive like my mother" he accused. "You're stealing all the fun!" I shot back. Finally, after a 10 minute standoff, his betterness and my pleas of "it's not fair!" and "only 5 minutes," led to me taking the wheel for the first time in days and a fine little drive, that was neither too slow for Andy nor too fast for me. I finally relinquished control after trusting that the car could handle the road and that we weren't going to die.

A short while later we entered a beautiful dry forest and managed not to drive by the only winery in Maui, where we sampled all the wines and read about the history of the area before leaving in search of real food.

The search brought us to Makawao, a cute little artesian town, full of shops and alternative healthcare offices. One office building had no less than 4 chiropractors, 2 psychotherapists, 2 massage therapists and a real estate agent. We checked out a glass-blowing studio I had heard about and got to watch a man create a beautiful twisted glass vase.

Evening was coming and we headed up to the top of Haleakala - the highest point on Maui at just over 10,000 feet in an hour or so. There are signs on top saying "thin air, walk slowly."

It was freezing up there and it seemed that I was the only one prepared with long pants, boots and a down coat. Everyone else scurried around in their flip-flops and shorts from car to observation station and back. We timed it just wrong and watched the sunset from the car window as we descended several 1000 feet to the campground. We, like other couples, ate a cold dinner in the comfort of our car before braving the cold and dark to set up the tent. Neither of us slept well and I got up early to go for a walk on the nature trail and into the sun - there was hoar frost on the trail! We quickly descended and headed straight for the beach, where Andy snorkled while I soaked up the sun and proclaimed the water in Hawaii "cold."

We made a lovely bunch of summer rolls to bring to Ultimate frisbee but ended up leaving early due to a very unpleasant, large man getting very irate because we collided in the endzone. He flipped out and started swearing at me and then anyone else who got near him, kicked a water bottle that hit his son's head and continued to rant and rave, so we left. Yuck.

The next day 'though, we went to an Ultimate Christmas party replete with a gift exchange and games and a huge potluck spread. It was in Lahaina, so we slept on the lawn of a friend's neighbor's empty house right on the waters edge, under the stars and wondered how in the world we could possibly live in such a place as that, short of selling our souls. It was beautiful.

Christmas brunch was at a cafe in Lahaina and then we drove back to the "Big City" where everything was closed because the economy wasn't based on tourism. Dinner was at the only open restaurant we could find - a sportsbar. I left that night to spend a nice five hours in the ticketing area of LAX's international terminal before arriving here, in the "cold" ;)

January 3rd, 2002

My illustrious roommate, of Bellingham, Ingrid, should be happy to hear that life in retreat has led to an interest in cleaning. A shock, I realize, but I have actually been taking great pleasure in wiping the ubiquitous red dirt off of everything in my house. It looks much better now. Very pleasing. I can't get the walls clean because they're made of painted cement, but in general, stuff looks a little better.

I spent New Year's eve at our landlords house, where he had a party complete with Pinata for the (multitude) of kids. The two pinatas were actually the focus of much interest by all the children present, which let me interact with them in the manner than one can always interact with children that don't speak your language - through smiles and laughter. The pinatas were, in fact, hanging directly over my head. That is, until 11 PM, when they were moved to the center of the patio where they were lowered and each child, from youngest to oldest (but not the adults, mind you!) got a whack at it. They took this very seriously from their initial introduction to the crowd by Jose (the landlord), in which he held them from behind with the stick pointing straight out in front and quickly defined the circle. Onlookers jumped back in feigned fear as the weapon swung by. As soon as the first "thwack!" was heard the audience broke out into what I can only guess is called "the pinata song." The unblindfolded child had presumptively, the duration of the song to take his hits. A 4-year-old, curly blond haired boy got an extra verse. I thought that for all their excitement the onlooking children were quite gracious in allowing certain younger kids extra time - perhaps because they knew they were in a better position to swipe any stray candy that fell out when they didn't have the stick, or perhaps because they knew that such a little tyke could hardly ruffle a paper mache feather. Either way, when one of the older boys invariably whacked the stuffing out of the pinata, he and the ensuing crush of children were covered liberally with flour, which fell concurrantly with the piles of candy.

Aside from the party, and that one night with the tequila, things have been calm. Filipe and I have been making small progress in the language department. He very much wishes to know English, but doesn't want to have to expend any energy to actually learn it. I can relate exactly. I have renewed my study of Spanish but have been quite successful in avoiding any actual conversations in Spanish, save with Filipe. I might, in fact, succeed in returning to the US with only an extra 5 vocabulary words.

Other than that, life here is good. It's much colder than it was before and I wish I had more long pants and shirts. I fear for our 4 AM wake-ups on the water. I am diligantly practicing yoga and getting into the habit of writing in a journal again. I am trying to avoid checking my e-mail everyday, but so far have only missed yesterday and that was due more to circumstance than will power. Ah, the corruption of the computer. At least I am helping the economy here in Loreto by shelling out $5/hr to the internet "cafe." They have the cleanest bathrooms in town, by the way, even cleaner than mine. A reason to return ;)

I remain willing to act as a repository for brilliant career ideas, so if anyone has any, send them this way. The most successful will probably involve a high salary and working at night...

January 5th, 2002

We watched Chocolat tonight, since Penny and Dave are gone, so we have been enjoying the use of their computer and VCR. It was great. It was great to have Rolos to eat during it (they also saved me during my long walk home from the video arcade this evening - Filipe had to stop by his aunt's house, so I had to walk home alone in the dark and I kinda went the wrong way and ended up wandering around all these dirt back roads (the street we live on is dirt, so it's not that big a deal) - but I ate Rolos to comfort myself and keep my strength up during that arduous walk...). And then there was the chocolate filled wafers that I was saving for emergencies (they lasted 10 days, that's big) and did I mention the coffee ice cream? It was excellent. My time alone is ending, two more instructors are coming in the next couple days, so we'll have a full house!

February 1, 2002

1/11/02 Weather: unpredictable, complicated, transitory and dangerous. It made its presence known early on. Four hours of meticulously planning our first two days of lessons was quickly erased as the wind started to blow soon after the students stepped out of the taxi-van. For the first time since I started teaching down here, I actually felt prepared and confident in at least the logistics of a course start. Since it was my co-instructor's first sea kayaking course and first time in Baja, a lot of the responsibility fell on me to lead the way. As many of you can imagine, I took a rather masochistic enjoyment in being in charge, stepping in whenever energy seemed on the verge of dropping and directing people like a traffic cop. It was nice to finally have the confidence and knowledge to step up and create my vision of the perfect course. Of course, the repercussions of this will come up later...

1/14/02 Two days of wind led to some creative teaching, including introducing paddle strokes and rescues in a very small salt water lagoon and instigating the creation of a course "cheer" (you never know when Ultimate frisbee training will come in handy...) as well as calm water on Day Three, our planned departure for Danzante island. We were greeted by a veritable hive of wasps, which tested the patience and stress-level of all for the two days we were stationed there. Four students were stung, but luckily our course director, who was allergic to bees, never showed up for our planned meeting with the Park service. While waiting for the aforementioned course director and Park personel (whom never arrived, in true Latin fashion) we escaped the omnipresent wasps by hiking to the top of a saddle separating our side of the island from the other. It was a beautiful trek, and allowed the students to experience a bit of the thrill of a mountaineering course as we ascended a steep, loose, cacti-bordered ridge (you never know when your mountaineering skills will come in handy...). Cold self-rescue practice and a self-admitted obsessive stove use and safety class rounded out the afternoon.

1/16/02 Those of you who are familiar with red tide warnings in the East coast might be interested in the manifestations of this organism in the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez. Its name becomes obvious as the water actually turns red. It looks as though either a shark has been feeding nearby or someone poured a lot of tomato powder into the water (your choice of analogy depends on your mood at the time). At night a beautiful light show is in evidence with erie, bright blue washes crashing into the shore. At least it removes the mystery of whether the shellfish is safe to eat! So much for our afternoon of snorkeling. Instead, the students were treated to an exceptionally uninspiring lecture on navigation; a topic that is neither Tim (my co-instructor) or my strong point. Navigating down the Baja pennisula is rather simple - keep the coast on your right.

The next day we arrived at the perfect beach for my all-time favorite lesson - bracing! The little cove had clear, blue water with a white sand bottom, plus an intertidal natural hot-spring for warming up after all that time in the water. I especially like this topic because in order to "help" the students learn bracing, you jump on the back of their boats and attempt to knock them off balance, it is usually a lesson full of laughing and fun and lots of emptying out of boats. I also taught towing and carrying a person on the back of your boat, which led to a free ride over to the hotsprings. This was the first beach where we competed for space with other campers - you get awfully spoiled traveling by kayak down here.

1/19/02 The next two days saw resupply, and many beginnings; challenging weather, Tina's burnout, addressing of coinstructor personality conflicts and student feedback for the instructors. It was a movement for all of us from group forming, where politeness reigns, to group norming and storming, where conflicts arise and are hopefully addressed. It was also the first time weather prevented us from traveling, allowing us time to practice rough water rescues, get a taste for waves and wind and discuss risks and weather-related decision making as a group. The long days and 4 AM wake-ups were starting to show repercussions. The students enjoyed getting a taste of rough water, although the changing weather sent my stress level skyward.

1/21/02 Our weather-dictated early landing yesterday left us behind schedule and camping on a rather rocky, but very interesting beach. Tim and I moved back into the "arroyo" to get out of the wind, while the students stayed closer to the kayaks, behind the protection of steep coastline cliffs. This morning I awoke to wind and a very sick co-instructor. I cancelled any plans for traveling and instead set the students out for an abreviated "solo" to allow time for the weather to calm down and Tim to recover. A couple students also came down with a GI funk, so the rest was well timed. Horses wandered into our camp in the afternoon.

1/22/02 I hiked up a nearby hill this morning and could see some of the student camps spread out along the flat land in this valley. I really like this spot, there are nice cliffs and rocks to the North of our beach to walk along and explore. The arroyo behind is bordered on one side by some small hills, such as the one I'm standing on, which are nice vantage points to look out on the gorgeous, uninhabited, coastline to our South (cliffbands and two distant points). The South side of the arroyo is made up of a sort of savannah-like grassland consisting of open meadows with trees interspersed throughout. While scouting for solo sites yesterday morning I came across a 15-foot hole, which looked as if it had been an attempt to dig a well. Nearby were some stick structures, like frame shelters without roofs. Other than that there are no signs of humans anywhere, even looking up and down the coast. I wonder where the horses came from?

I could easily see just living here, if I knew how to fish and collect food from this desert. It would be so nice and beautiful and peaceful. I feel like this solo is too short and I want more time to relax and read and do yoga. But I am also looking forward to arriving at "the Dunes" (course end) where I will no longer be responsible for keeping nine students alive on the ever-changing sea. Tim and I have been discussing how to work together effectively considering our very different styles. I think West Coast and/or Colorado folk really are inherently different from East Coasters - we just appear to have very different natural behaviors.

I relish time at "solo" because it gives not only the students time for reflection and rest, but the instructors too. I find myself drawn to the simplicity of life out here - just spending time eating, sleeping, traveling - without the added complications of "success" or society. However, it also brings up a feeling of selfishness. I find that for me the importance of interpersonal relationships is paramount. Having solid, supportive, relationships with friends and family seems not only a thing I want but also a position I am responsible for. I form a part of many people's lives and being here, away from them all, in the service to a variety of people whom I am not personally invested in for any other time but now, seems at times silly and irresponsible. I find myself drawn to the idea of a life that revolves not only around eating, sleeping and living, but around family and interpersonal values. Life off the grid seems like a sustainable and worthy goal as well.

1/23/02 A West wind blew all night. I didn't sleep much for fear of branches coming off the tree I was sleeping under. At 4 AM, 'though, there were no waves since the wind was coming off of the land. So the student leaders of the day decided to get ready. By daybreak it was still windy but without waves so we left. Paddling was hard, since we were now battling a headwind, but staying close to the cliffs helped. Tim and I had told the students that we would continue to "step back" so they could integrate all that we had taught them and truly start learning through experience. It was a wonderful challenge for them (at least I felt so, I don't know about the students...) since for once they had to feel the responsibility of leadership in challenging conditions. They did very well and came through the day tired but satisfied. We stopped at a small village to see an old "hacienda" that had been built during the pearl harvesting years (similar to the story of The Pearl) and to buy fresh fish and tortillas. I got Tim to help me drag my loaded boat up the beach (much to his distress) and was exceedingly happy to just put out my "sandfree zone," lay out all my stuff and read (Earnest Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises). Happy Happy. Also ate lots of chocolate. Mmm ;) Dew at sundown (usually a sign of calm weather to come).

1/24/02 Started getting windy at night. Super windy. The dew was long gone and it turned out that my happy little camp was in the process of being buried in the ensuing sandstorm. I spent most of the night rearranging my bivy sack so I could still breathe without eating sand all night. The students got up at 5 AM, but not I - I could hear and see the waves and knew they were big and crashing. I knew we wouldn't launch that day. Some went for a run instead and I taught tides and currents and we went for a hike and played games. Another student got sick and Tim and I briefly revisited our differences. Yup, they were there.

1/25/02The water was ripply this morning and I could feel a breeze on my face. There were no whitecaps visible near shore although I could see them on the Northern horizon through the binoculars. There were significant swells. The students decided to press on and we did an exciting surf launching. However, whitecaps soon appeared and we had an exciting surf landing on a small rocky but slightly protected beach about an hour later. Many of the students loved the excitement of the rougher water, but I was certainly happier to not have to keep track of seven bobbing boats disappearing in the swells and whitecaps. This beach is full of beach cockroaches, which the students took a surprisingly long time to notice, considering the swarm of bugs heading toward the emerging intertidal zone en masse. I enjoyed the gals reaction when they finally noticed the creepy critters. We slept in a small arroyo down the beach, which was beautifully situated on a small point. Its floor was smooth, unbroken rock, that you reached by climbing up about 5 feet of cliff. It had a few "levels" separated by short steps and the walls were close and covered with desert foliage. The back of the arroyo was guarded by a towering cactus.

1/26/02 I thought for sure it was going to blow today. There were ripples on the water and a dark blue haze on the horizon before sunrise (7:10 AM by the way). So I fretted and stressed and could barely contain myself when the students weren't on the water by daybreak. I looked back over my shoulder obsessively all morning and could not relax - expecting a great Northerly to blow in any second. I even confided in the student leader of the day that I thought we should have been on the water earlier and told him that the wind was "out there" and we were lucky if we got even the smallest window of calm water. Every time the smallest breeze ruffled the ocean's surface I prayed for calm water. Of course my credibility would be shot and I wrestled with that for a little bit but my own desire to progress and reach our water resupply and subsequent course end in a timely manner swung my prayers toward benign weather even if it discredited my bold predictions in the morning.

It was calm. We had swells and consequently a surf landing. I was nervous and stressed until we landed, but took Bonine so at least I wasn't seasick. No wonder I get tired in the afternoon - it's probably an adrenaline funk. The students pushed through with few breaks and we arrived without any problems. We got more water and took a really long hike to see the ruins of an old mission. It was much longer than I had expected and all of us were exhausted by the time we returned at dark. I gave the students my best pep talk before going to bed.

1/28/02 The past couple days were blessedly calm and we were able to catch up on our itinerary and arrive exactly on time. The students were on "finals" the last 28 hours and consequently we did not paddle with them. It was a challenge but they appeared to weather it well. I am tired, have used up all the pages in my journal and am relieved that the paddling part of the trip is over. No more weather worries.

1/30/02 Our first morning in La Paz and our first morning to sleep in and what happens? It rains!! Ironically, at 4AM. I get up and move under a "palapa," which at least prevents the rain from hitting my face. The students get up at 5:30 to seek shelter under the canvas tarp over the picnic table. It's funny how unprepared we are for a simple 3 hour rain shower. I refuse to get out of my sleeping bag until 8 AM, but can't shake the irritation of having to get up at 4AM for the 20th day straight. We set the students loose in La Paz for the afternoon and after a couple hours of happily received free time, Tim and I spend 3 hours debriefing the course with the course director. We don't even get to "staffing issues". After dinner out with the students we retire to our trailer park for the "pin" ceremony, wherein, the students now rested (or caffinated) and satiated by all the food they could stuff in over the past 8 hours, happily recount how wonderful the trip was. It's such a nice, warm fuzzy time.

2/1/02 The students were released at noon yesterday after much accolades about what a good time they had. The rest of the COBS staff headed back to Loreto soon after, but I stayed on in La Paz - to get a break from COBS in general. I ended up hanging out with all my (now ex-)students, which was great fun. It was nice to finally be relaxed, drinking a few gin-and-tonics and not worrying about how I was being perceived. Almost all of the students were from the East Coast - New England in fact and 8 of them were women, so I had no trouble relating to and relaxing with them, with the clear understanding that I was no longer responsible for their safety. It felt like I had this big group of friends to hang out with.

February 5th, 2002

Forgot to mention the Dolphins, we saw tons of dolphins in the first part of the course. They were, as usual, graceful and worthy of the time-out we always gave the students to view them.

I have to mention at this time that it's been raining for days here. When I returned to Loreto on the night of the First (after running all the way to the bus station to catch the 6PM bus, only to wait until the very end, find out that there's one seat (actually a stool) left for me, but... oops, I don't have any money left. So, I managed to find a bank machine and remember the PIN number for my VISA card (since I had sent my ATM card back to Loreto with the truck thinking I wouldn't need it), and then return to wait to see if there were seats left on the 8PM bus, which there were, I got the last one. This, however, left me arriving in Loreto at 1AM, far too late to call for a ride, so I walked the half an hour home to find that the door was locked, so I had to wake them up anyway). So, I woke the next day to severly overcast skies - looking dark and ominous. I remember thinking it looks like it's going to rain. Which it did. For two days. Not heavy pouring rain, but lite Bellingham rain. It was weird. It so rarely rains here that the houses aren't actually designed to be waterproof. Consequently, there was water dripping out of the light fixture in the bathroom and several drips in the "library" where we sat watching a movie on a TV where the picture was cocked at an angle. The whole scene struck me as very funny and rather classically Mexican.

February 26, 2002

The three seven inch tall letters looked skinny and square on the whiteboard in front of us. My course director had shifted about uncertainly, ruminating on how, exactly, to present this concept, before finally deciding on simply writing out the word FUN in a blue-bordered box in the lower right-hand corner of the board. "Don't forget to have fun out there," she reminded us, wrapping up two days of pre-course preparations. Right. Fun. I thought to myself. I had forgotten about that in the long lists of Boat Packing, Paddle-Float Rescues and Formation Paddling lessons that filled the pages of my course journal. It seemed also to be missing from my pre-course attitude, suppressed by anxious anticipation of uncertainties to come. I'll have to remember that, I noted to myself.

Luckily the world was conspiring to help me out. I had chosen the unknown co-instructor on purpose. The two other instructors present at orientation were fellow sea-kayaking trainees last September, but the third instructor I had never met, I had just heard about him from previous semester students. He is one of the world’s experts on primitive skills and last Fall’s semester students had sported necklaces made from twine hand-spun from plant fibers; a skill he had taught them.

If you were in the mood for characterizing people, you could probably divide the world up into two groups: one would consist of those who choose the unwrapped presents at a Yankee Swap (everyone brings a present and when it’s your turn you can either chose a present someone else has already picked and unwrapped, or a new, unopened one) and the other group would consist of those who choose the wrapped presents. I always choose the wrapped ones - you never know what you are going to get but there was always the opportunity that it might be The Perfect Thing (or else a pair of fuzzy dice, either way, the surprise is the best part). The new instructor was to arrive with the students at noon the next day, which meant we would have no time to either prep for the course or get to know each other. Serendipitously he turned out to be just the person to bring out the fun side of me. Claiming to never teach anything he doesn’t enjoy, he finds a way to enjoy everything; from the look on students faces as he persuades them to try a live (tail-less) scorpion, to singing sailing songs to lessen the boredom of daily paddling.

By Day Six I had whittled a spoon out of ironwood, taught only inspired and interactive lessons and pleasantly rediscovered what it felt like to work with someone who liked to talk and hang out. We were soon giggling about climbing stories and contemplating the effect of emotional state on physical health. What a relief!

One of my goals for this course had been to present a calm and confident demeanor when things got sketchy. "Don’t panic" seems to be the mantra for almost every emergency management organization and it’s good advice - although often harder than anticipated to implement. I had my first opportunity to practice my new, relaxed manner on Day Four. We had launched that morning for an exploratory excursion to a near-by point to let the students feel what choppy, white-capped waves are like (they always look so deceptively benign from the shore). The alleged reason for the trip, however, was to dump our "shenaynays" (fecal collection units - they get dumped at sea). It was choppy and windy and we did a sort of "Simon Says" exercise to practice holding position. It turned out to be too windy to go all the way to the point so I told the students to pair up and stabilize each other while they dumped their shenaynays.

After I had emptied mine, I looked over to the group and noticed one kayak upside down, with the student in the water. It’s not particularly usual to have students flip unintentionally, so I was a bit surprised. Quickly noting that we were a safe distance from shore, I endeavored to remain calm and make this a learning experience for the students. "Go ahead and start a rescue," I encouraged the swimmer’s partner. This would be great practice of the assisted rescues we had taught them a few days earlier.

As I turned to survey the rest of the scene I noticed, at the other end of the group, that my co-instructor’s kayak is upside down and he’s setting up for a roll. Fine time to practice rolling, I think to myself. In a blink of an eye I see another kayak upside down. What is going on here?? Then I notice my co-instructor has wet-exited and has joined the second student as a bobbing head in the water, hanging onto their respective kayaks. Sigh I take a deep breath and in my calmest, most encouraging voice direct a couple of students to start rescuing the new upsets, since they are much closer than I, and this is a learning experience after all…The first student is now in her kayak again and everyone is managing to hold position, so with much encouragement I coach them through staying away from the rocks we’ve been drifting towards, and turning their kayaks around in the bouncy seas. We finally seem poised to leave, the other two kayaks having been effectively rescued, but must wait again (more practice turning their kayaks in the waves) for the last two swimmers to dump their shenaynays.

Back at the beach (with no incidents), the students seem unconcerned and I find out the full story - the first student flipped reaching for a dropped shenaynay (her partner apparently not holding on tightly enough). My co-instructor simply tipped over while dumping and missed his role due to the wind and waves pushing his boat back down every time he tried, and the second student flipped while trying to get in position to help him. I mentioned that we normally try to stay upright during shenaynay dumps... ick. It was a big step for me, ‘though, recognizing that there was no immediate danger, although the water was rough and the students inexperienced, and managing the scene without appearing stressed or concerned. Rather amusing in retrospect...

Following our theme of creative lessons, that same morning we rigged up a system of ropes to hold the kayaks in position so we could teach self-rescues. Two land-based students held onto lines attached to the front and back of a kayak so it wouldn’t drift into the rocks while a student practiced his or her self-rescue. The student in the boat just had to be careful not to touch the ocean floor since we had seen a poisonous scorpion fish while snorkeling in that area the day before. It was an effective, albeit unusual, way to teach the rescues.

Due to high winds we were waylaid on the island for an extra two days. This allowed us time to explore the Eastern shore on foot. The students (OK, us too) got really excited about all the little critters we saw in the tide pools - from sea anemones to little hermit crabs with red feet. My co-instructor (Bart) even persuaded a couple students to hold a 6-inch crab in their mouth while the other students took pictures. Snorkeling the day before had been an exercise in hypothermia - such a difference from the last time I had snorkeled (in October). There were so many things to see; colorful fish and sea stars and corals, but it was so cold that you couldn’t stay in the water too long. The hike provided a nice way to check out critters without freezing. It also turned out to be a bit of an introduction to mountaineering as we navigated over and around all sorts of rock and ocean barriers. At one point it looked like we could go no further due to a 50-foot pile of rocks blocking the area between the ocean and the cliffs. Someone, however, found a sneak route under the boulders and we continued on. There were sandstone sea caves carved out by the ocean and volcanic ledges pockmarked with sea urchin holes. I taught my weather lesson in the protection of one of the caves, and we all assessed the sea conditions from a ledge jutting out into the frothy waves.

We finally left the island on Day 7, the day we were supposed to reach our resupply - 20-odd miles down the coast. It was choppy with 3-4 foot seas but the wind wasn’t too bad, so with a little Dramamine we managed to make it most of the way to our new planned meeting spot with Amy and Penny (our Course Director and Resupply Guru). We had to pull off the water for a few hours when the wind picked up, but got back on at 4:30 PM for another hour and a half, arriving just as it got dark in Agua Caliente.

Amy and Penny were thrilled to see us, having just given up looking for us, and soon left the beach to get some food for us from the truck. The tide was rising and it was getting dark quickly, but I just couldn’t get the thought of the inter-tidal hot springs off my mind. With a devious shrug of the shoulders, Bart and I rallied the students with the words, "don’t change your clothes, let’s go!" as we took off over the black, volcanic rocks. A ten-minute speed walk found us looking at a channel of water separating us from a small island. I was praying that the tide was not too high to have flooded the hot springs for the dubious and grumpy students didn’t know what we were dragging them to and would probably lynch me if it wasn’t something good. Luckily we found the pools, constructed of a foot or so tall barrier of rocks, barely out of water when we crossed the channel and still deliciously hot. Ah! Perfect! I was spared a lynching. We only had 10 minutes to enjoy their warmth before the cold sea water invaded. But that provided the perfect impetuous to leave, for it would have been terribly difficult to motivate everyone to leave the soothing warmth had it stayed hot.

The next day we were blessed with calm water (finally) and continued on to meet Penny and Amy at our normally scheduled resupply and dinner "out" spot, where we pay a local family to serve an authentic dinner of fish tacos on their "patio". The following days passed pleasantly and peacefully. I even let the students sleep in until 5:30 one morning! We saw blue whales and dolphins and even an errant sea lion. My co-instructor and I spent one whole afternoon hanging out and talking and forgot to present a lesson (the students were very grateful for the "down time" as well).

The wind started to blow again on Day 12, but from the West and South this time, signaling the entrance of a low-pressure system (often followed by a Northerly blow, which is of greater concern to kayakers and boats in general). We made it rather easily around Punta Alta, an exposed section, and stopped at a small "town" (three houses) called Nopolo, home of Carlos, the man who had helped transport the sick student in November. With the students involvement, we managed to organize a service project wherein we dug 175 yards of ditch from their house towards the well (315 m away). We only had two shovels, a hoe, a rake and a pry bar and so were unable to complete the whole length. The gals in the group were pushed aside a little by the enthusiastic guys, who claimed that they were more efficient than the gals. This, naturally, did not go over very well with the women, who came to me asking if there was something else they could do to help out. So we arranged to go collect as much water as we could from the well so the family wouldn’t need to lug so much on their own. Adela, Carlos’ wife, gave us two yokes, a wheelbarrow and seven 5-gallon jugs to fill. We used a 5-gallon bucket clipped to a string to raise the water from the 15-foot well, and the gals took personal pride in using the yokes to carry it on their shoulders past the boys.

Later, the students, on their way to make dinner, were invited to use the couple’s kitchen, a separate shack that had a wood-fired grill. They went to work readily, cooking up a huge dinner of instant refried beans and veggies and a big pot of pasta to share with the family. Carlos had just returned from fishing in time to grab some food, but as much as we tried we couldn’t get them to eat outside with us. Only Carlos’ mom, his 1-year old daughter and the cat would eat with us, the rest would take some food and then retreat into the house to eat, coming out later to chat. They insisted that we sleep on their front patio, to be out of the wind, so we were lulled to slumber listening to Bart read from the Alchemist followed by the low cries of the baby and the family talking inside. Unfortunately the next two courses will probably not take us past Nopolo and so they are left with only a ½ dug ditch and no money to buy the hose for it. If anyone knows of a charity that might donate money to buy hose, please let me know.

Early the next morning I surprised a student intent on fixing birthday balloons to my boat. One blew away in the dark, but the other one I tied onto my stern and it accompanied us the six miles to San Evaristo, where we had to pull off due to the wind. Luckily this protected port is at the very terminus of a relatively drivable road, which would prove beneficial later on. I had taken Bonine (like Dramamine) and so was pretty dopey for the rest of my birthday, although Bart and I did manage to make matching flutes out of bamboo he had collected earlier and we got invited to play baseball with the locals in the evening (San Evaristo only has a population of about 48 on a good day, so they always love opponents). We got creamed! The field was all dirt (as well as hummocks, bushes and a soccer goal in the outfield) and the bases were old shoes, or shirts, or whatever, and not exactly regulation distance apart. Luckily they had enough gloves to share, so we’d trade off after every inning. After a dinner of blackened fish we retired for the night - not a bad way to spend a birthday!

It continued to blow for the next two days and my memories of a nice, protected port were obliterated by blowing sand and 20 knot winds coming over the protecting cliffs. We were unable to make it to course end, a scant 11-miles away by water, but our strategic location allowed us the plush luxury of baseball games at night, access to a telephone (for the village had one satellite phone, which I had used in the November evacuation), and the many yachts also riding out the storm in the harbor. These boats had much stronger radios than ours and I recruited one to help us contact Penny and Amy during our contingency radio check times. We were never able to get through to anyone via radio or phone, despite the help of at least four ships and hiking to the top of a large nearby hill, but Penny and Amy, knowing we wouldn’t be paddling simply drove the hour and a half up the road and found us. The other group of students had managed to make it to within two miles of San Evaristo so our group helped them carry their kayaks the remaining distance into town.

Luckily the taxi drivers, who (by law) transport the students, agreed to travel the hairy dirt road to San Evaristo and Dave (our site manager) managed to get one of the trailers in. Still, it was a treacherous ride out - we almost lost four boats as the straps holding them down busted from the torque and the vents blew hot air the whole time as the engine worked HARD. It took us five and a half hours to reach La Paz, four of those being on dirt roads that I determined (from the backseat of one of the trucks) felt like being on a coin-operated jiggling bed in the middle of the lost luggage room in LAX during a Richter 7 earthquake. The trucks arrived in La Paz around 10:30 PM, just as the students were getting ready to serve dinner (the vans are actually faster than the trucks, since they’re lighter).

The next day was chock full of instructor debriefings, gear cleaning and a quick trip into town (during which Bart and I spent all our time writing student evaluations - we managed to squeeze in a half-hour of e-mail, but only by racing down the road and hailing a taxi, which thankfully passed the students as they walked the last quarter mile to the RV park), then individual meetings with all the students. Dinner was followed by a surprise birthday pinata for the three of us whom had had birthdays on the trip, skits and our patrol’s "Secret Santa" gift exchange. We had then still more interviews before finally falling asleep around midnight, only to wake up at 4:30 to see the students and my illustrious co-instructor off.

Overall, I finally felt really good about a course. I had managed to relax enough to have fun and enjoy the amazing things around us. I felt comfortable enough with the weather to know what to expect and when to paddle or stay on shore. It was so refreshing to have a co-instructor who embodied quiet compassion as well as serious fun (he persuaded our group to throw the semester course director, Greg, fully clothed, into the pool at the RV park, late at night). I finally saw again that side of myself that was fun and energetic and confident. It had been missing for so long.

March 11, 2002

Yikes! Moab has expensive internet cafes! Call me on my cell phone if you want to talk!

The last course, one week with adults, continued in the Fun Course Trend, much to my relief. It started with two days of wind and big, crashing waves. I was a little grumpy as I PMS'd my way through yet another course start ruined by weather and the choice of an unprotected starting beach. Once the weather calmed down and we finally left the beach we settled into watching whales, dolphins and birds all around us - a fin whale even surfaced scarcely 20 feet from one of my students! It was a pretty laid back course, with half the students in vacation mode and half in skill-learning mode, so we interspersed a lot of time for snorkeling and laying in the sun. My co-instructor taught me all the words to The Big Rock Candy Mountains, so I serenaded my students as often as possible.

The most exciting moment came on the 5th night when a wind storm blew up out of the West and blew my kayak down the beach. Luckily it didn't make it into the ocean, like a variety of the student's gear, but I tied it to a very big boulder just to make sure it didn't go for any more evening romps.

The second most exciting moment was the night after the course ended and we met all twenty students in a restaurant in Loreto and our patrol was having the time of their life - I had been seated for about 5 minutes before I had a Gin and Tonic AND a shot of tequila sitting in front of me, neither of which I had ordered. I managed to pass off most of the rest of the tequila that ended up in front of me, but they were a seasoned partying bunch. The night ended with us trying to keep one student from getting arrested for indecent exposure (he was only 19 and the rest of the group had their hands full trying to keep him out of trouble) and getting my co-instructor to actually walk back to our house. It was fun and everyone looked remarkably well at the airport the next morning as we started our long journies back to the States.

April 6th, 2002

4/2/02 My heart jumped as I saw the first white sliver of sun pop over the horizon. I had been up for a while, debating the merits of sleep vs. sunrise. I had moved myself and my "sleep system" to the top of the cliff earlier, after I saw a soft pink glow grace the Eastern horizon. The wind, which had blown so viciously the night before, driving me to take refuge behind a juniper tree high on the ridge, had abated, leaving me no excuse but sheer tiredness to not watch the sunrise from the highest point around. I still closed my eyes sleepily between visions of yellow light illuminating the clouds in a triangular swatch above where the sun would soon rise, and pressing the folds of my bivy sack down to see the misty hills of the Western San Rafael Swell rising up behind the gentle slope of the bush-dotted valley beneath my feet. The snow on the mountains glowed white in the distance.

An hour or so later I slowly extricated myself from the sleeping bag, feeling stiff and unsteady. The previous day we had traveled down a canyon aptly named "the Squeeze" where we stemmed over ten-foot deep "crevasses" in the red rock and pushed, pulled and prodded our just-a-hair-too-wide packs through exceptionally narrow openings. The cliff walls, lined with the history of sand dunes and ocean bottoms past, soared upwards on either side, revealing a sliver of brilliant blue sky far overhead. We exited our earthly embrace by scrambling up a slate covered hillside, slipping and sliding as the rocks and dirt spilled backwards towards the canyon bottom. Several hundred feet and much exposed travel later we reached the wind-blown top of the Moroni Slopes, just as the last light faded from the sky.

It was a rather typical day of canyoneering for us. The second-to-last day of the 16-day canyon section of the Southwest Semester Course. I had been reunited with Bart and his patrol (see 2/26/02) and we, with the addition of the ever-happy Billy, had been traipsing about the canyons with large packs and large smiles (and a few blisters). The area was spectacular, full of earth tones and silence.

4/3/02 The whole section was completed with an eleven mile run - my first ever "Outward Bound Endurance Event." I ran the whole length with one of the students and we traded miseries and encouragement the whole way. The best part was between miles six and nine where the road took a gentle downturn and we stretched out our stride and stopped discussing our pains and just ran, enjoying the rush of endorphins as the rabbit brush swept by, stride after stride, and the wind pushed our hair back, making us feel faster and faster. I had planned on making a final great push to the end, but I started too soon and so was battling nausea and other less pleasant bodily desires and so crossed the finish line with what I fear was a rather pained expression on my face. My body felt like crying as I walked around to cool off, crying from the intensity of being pushed for almost exactly two hours. In a half-hour, however, I was ready to throw the frisbee around.

May 1st, 2002

Andrea and I are in an internet cafe in some random part of Seoul - I think it's well known for it's markets. My aunt and uncle left early this morning, so we came directly here - a long train ride. But, as luck would have it, the Chinese consulate just happens to be moving this week and won't be open until next Monday. And then the crowds that normally line the street everyday will be 100 times worse, since it will have been closed for a week! Andrea says we need to come very early. It also turns out to be May day today, which is a public holiday here, so a lot of things are closed. We had a breakfast of fries, chocolate shake and coffee at McDonalds (actually, Andrea had a Bulgogi Burger - it's always interesting to see what different things are on the Micky-D's menus in other countries!). There was a Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts on the corner opposite the McDonalds, as well as a Seattle's Best. Just like home...

I've been having trouble uploading anything to this website, so I apologize for the size of this page and the general disarray of this site. At some point I'll get back on a regular computer... Until next time,

July 17

I am vacillating, as usual, between happiness and seriousness, sometimes I think I'm just a serious person, and then I eat something delicious and life looks rosy again. This evening it was fresh salmon and halibut on the grill with fresh blueberry cobbler for dessert. I made my own special little batch of five wheat-free cobbler "cupcakes" with the intention of eating some of them for breakfast tomorrow - especially since I had stuffed down halibut after filling up on salmon. But alas, the cobbler didn't last very long and now I'm sporting a seriously blue tongue and forefinger (from licking the pan clean). Mmmm, mmm good! But no exciting breakfast for me tomorrow...

I'm in a "working" phase (as opposed to a "slacking" phase) and am interested in learning all this stuff so I'll be a great teacher when the course starts. Strangely enough, I seem to get in these "working" phases late at night, when I really should be sleeping so that I won't be grumpy in the morning. Luckily we're in Alaska where I can keep the students up relatively late (or more importantly, we can wake up a little later).

So far I've completed two 14-day courses, one in Western Prince William Sound and one in the Kenai Fjords. Both were beautiful, amazing course areas. I had forgotten how phenomenal Alaska is - with lush greenery carpeting the hillsides, glistening sliver waterfalls spilling down the cliffs and towering mountains hanging in sharp relief over the camp blue ocean. When the sun shines everything just radiates vibrant color and energy. The Fjords was full of glaciers - everywhere you looked some glacier was hanging off a cliff or flowing down to the ocean's edge. We camped near Aialik glacier and watched and listened to the roaring crash of calving icebergs all night. It sounded like a thunderstorm was imminent at all times. One day we had whales swimming around us for about an hour as we paddled - they surfaced a scant 15 feet from my boat! Later on we paddled through a crowd of harbor seals - there must have been a hundred of them - all checking us out - peaking up out of the water with their sleek, shiny heads before periscoping quietly down again. Bald eagles are so common the students stop pointing them out to each other. So far my co-instructors have been wonderful, I start a new course tomorrow.