An Urban Boychick Takes on the Outdoors

Beauty in the Strangest Places

2012-01-16T13:37:00.000-08:00

This morning I went out back to get some firewood. Along the way I noticed a ring of ice crystals inside a piece of PVC pipe I have stuck into the vegetable bed (I use it to support a cold frame). I grabbed my camera and took this photo.

Paddling with Orion

2012-01-14T17:44:00.000-08:00

The Potomac is only about a third of a mile wide at Memorial Bridge, but at night it seems much wider. This part Thursday Peter, Moulton and I took advantage of some unseasonably warm weather to do an Ice Pirates paddle. As we paddled down dead center in the river, the cars on the Virginia side were far enough away to be no more than a hushed drone. To our left, the monuments shone as always. They appeared large until I looked up. There, revealed through an opening in the clouds, was the constellation Orion, dwarfing the rest of the scene. Orion is, of course, a fixture in the winter sky, but somehow its (his?) enormous presence seemed particularly striking this evening out over the relative darkness and open expanse of the river. The rest of the paddle home on the calm river was graced by his presence.

Of Two Minds About Winter

2011-12-28T14:06:00.001-08:00

I go through a cycle of thought again and again when I go paddling in winter. Naturally, it's usually cold as I put my boat onto the car. I feel the sting on my hands when I touch the racks and the cam buckles on the straps. I hate cold hands. "OK, this is it," I think. "Winter paddling has been a unique experience, but it's really unpleasant. I've earned the bragging rights for having done it, but after today I'm done."

At the put-in point I wrestle into my cold weather gear. Pulling the tight-fitting dry suit over my head is extremely unpleasant; once in place the gaskets are tight around my neck and wrists. The stiff zipper across my back limits my mobility. Again, my hands are cold. I am cold. "This is ridiculous," I think. "I'm going to be uncomfortable the whole time I'm out. I really think I'm going to switch to something else in winter time. It's crazy to do water sports in freezing weather."

I set out in my kayak. The coldness of the water makes me nervous. A capsize, harmless in the fall and even enjoyable in the summer, could be fatal in near-freezing winter time water. "I am so done with this," I think.

Then I get going. Slowly, I warm up. After a while, the sting of the cold disappears even from my hands. I notice a special feeling. The water itself seems to be more viscous while the air is light and crisp. The scenery, in a winter palette of browns and grays, stands out in high relief. An eagle is easily visible in the bare branches of a tall tree. It takes flight, gliding majestically past us. The sun glints off the water and warms us a bit. There is an feeling of total quiet. There are no jet skiers and few other boaters. We see few people even on shore. It is, as is so often the case with winter paddling, magical.

My paddling companion and I arrive back at Riley's Lock all to soon. Still in our dry suits, we walk over to the C&O canal towpath and gaze out over the Potomac. A peaceful quiet pervades the scene. I linger, looking forward to my next opportunity to experience the magic of winter on the water.

A Guilty Pleasure

2011-11-13T14:17:00.001-08:00

I have to admit that I feel guilty doing it. It's just not something that people like me do. In fact, I have spent years looking down on people who do it.

I'm talking about powersports. Activities which involve using a motor to have fun. I have always been a people-powered person. On the water I scowl at jet skiers and water ski boats. On the cross-country ski trails I shake my head at people who ruin the pristine winter wilderness with snowmobiles. Being something of a car guy, I go a little easier on the pleasures of motorized vehicles on land. I don't expect car owner to be a super-miler in a Prius, but I also give a pretty wide berth to ATVs and dirt bikes.

But now I'm motorcycling. Over the summer I fulfilled a "bucket list" item by learning to ride a motorcycle (Valerie took the class too). For the last month or so I've been tooling around on a borrowed Kawasaki Vulcan cruiser, and I must say I'm enjoying it. Riding a motorcycle is ridiculously impractical, particularly in a densely populated area such as where I live. There's little feel of the open road when there are five stop signs between home and the supermarket. Commuting to Tysons Corner is only for the suicidal. Even the highways in the area - I66, the Beltway - don't lend themselves to easy riding, except at really off hours.

In my brief riding career I have experienced a fresh horror at the terrible driving habits of Washington area drivers. I have become pretty inured to them in my "cager" (biker sland for car-driving) mode, but motoring along on two wheels gives you a fresh perspective on the cell-phone-talking, makeup-applying, left-turn-from-the-right-lane habits of my fellow Northern Virginians. Riding is pretty impractical too. You can't carry much on a bike, and it requires special clothing, which is another limiting factor in using a motorcycle as a commuting vehicle. Motorcycling is really a form of recreation rather than transportation. People ride for fun, and quite frankly I have more than enough forms of fun that I don't get to in my life. I think that if I buy a bike it'll just sit in the driveway looking forlorn and making me feel guilty.

Have I mentioned it's fun? There is something pretty cool about being astride this motorized beast, leaning it through corners and feeling the acceleration when I twist the throttle. The wind in my hair (OK, you can't feel the wind in your hair when you wear a helmet. Oh, and I don't have any hair). Also, motorcycles are cool. I love looking out the window at the thing. I find myself spending time looking at motorcycling web sites - gear, bike manufacturers. There's also a community of riders. One day when I was riding to work another rider exited the Beltway and merged into Rt. 123 right in front of me. As he pulled into the lane in front of me he flashed me a peace sign. Suddenly I felt like part of the tribe.

Speaking of tribes, I have also joined the email list of The Tribe, the DC area club for Jewish motorcyclists. Yes, there is such a thing. I haven't met any of my fellow kikers ... ooops, bikers ... yet, but I can't wait to!

I even had a biker bonding moment at work the other day. I went in for a meeting with my new boss and noticed his office had a lot of motorcycle-related stuff in it. Turns out he's really into riding - commutes every week from his house in the Northern Neck to his pied a terre in Tysons on his Harley. We had such a good time talking bikes we almost forgot to talk about how his plan to eliminate my department's budget, which I guess I can categorize as two engineers' equivalent of a barroom biker brawl.

Anyway, I am conflicted to death on this bike thing. Dropping another couple of thou for a hobby (I'm already into music and kayaking for that much or more)? A dip into a world where people burn gasoline for pleasure? So confused. I think I need to clear my head. A ride on the bike would be just the thing ...

Focus

2011-10-28T07:10:00.000-07:00

Mindfulness has come up a few times recently. Last month I did a paddle with a kayak Meetup group at Mason Neck. It was different than a CPA paddle in that there were a wider range of participants - relative beginners in rented rec boats, a guy in a one-man wooden canoe, up to an ACA Level 4 instructor. As a result, there was less focus on getting-somewhere-fast and more on just being in the moment. On the way back, I took particular notice of this tree stump and cormorants. Being sharply in focus on a slightly hazy day, it somehow seemed extra real. I stopped and looked at it for a while. Being aware of being in that spot at that time was wonderful. Interestingly, this is not my photo - the trip organizer, BayMystic, must have thought there was something noteworthy about this spot too since he took and posted the shot.

Not long after, I sat in Yom Kippur services. The rabbi's sermon was about, of all things, focus vs. multi-tasking (things have changed - I don't remember my childhood rabbi talking about iPhones!). Sitting there, having just been reminded about the specialness of every day both by the liturgy and by the very recent and unexpected passing of a family member, I decided I would try harder to be fully conscious and to in the moment.

And then I promptly forgot about it.

Kidding. Sort of.

This post is for you, dear readers (I'm optimistically using the plural), but it's also for me, to remind me as I look back over posts in the future to keep working on my mindfulness.

Now, what was I writing about?

Can I have a pickle, too?

2011-09-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

OK, check one off the bucket list. Valerie and I have successfully completed the basic motorcycle training class and are now duly and officially licensed to drive motorcycles.

The class was taught by Don and Mary Ann, who were clearly authentic bikers, but excellent teachers as well. While they were gruff and no-nonsense, they were also supportive. Neither Valerie nor I had any motorcycling experience going in, and Valerie hadn't ever even driven a standard transmission car before, but the teachers were always helpful, never critical, when we goofed up.

The class consisted of an evening of classroom time followed by two full days of doing skills exercises on motorcycles in a big parking lot. Let me tell you, the riding part was hard work! We started each day at 7:30 AM. Spending the day out in the sun in August all bundled up in riding gear would be tiring enough in and of it self, but we were doing much more. Like an incredibly bad circus motorcycling act, the group rode in circles, did figure eights, rode over obstacles, swerved through cones, and did tight turns.

It was an effective course. When I first sat on the bike I was pretty nervous about riding it at all, but now I feel that I could take a motorcycle out at least on local streets (not ready for the highway yet).

By the way, Valerie was afraid she was going to fail the final practical exam. while she did in fact completely blow one of the exercises she actually wound up with a better overall score than I did, since I lost a lot of single points here and there. We both got 100% on the written exam (we may not be super well coordinated, but we're book smart!).

And today, when I went kayaking at Ft. Washington I noticed a Harley parked at the marina. I exchanged a couple of words with the owner, complementing him on his sweet bike. Hey, man, that sort of camaraderie is typical among those of us who are brothers in the biker community.

UK Trip: Days 8, 9 & 10

2011-07-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

Day 8

I'm going to be a little short here, since I've spent so much time writing about Scotland. We arrive in London early Saturday morning having slept somewhat fitfully on the train. We take the tube from Euston Station to Victoria, where we put our bags in the "Left Luggage". Our plan is to spend the day on a double-decker sight-seeing bus but it soon starts teeming rain. We get soaked at our first stop, Buckingham Palace, where they cancel the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard because of the rain (for a rainy country, England is poorly adapted to rainy days). We do a little more sight-seeing on foot but don't feel like waiting on "queues" in the rain and so after lunch (more pizza!) we go to our hotel to dry off. The hotel is quite civilized - bathrobes, TV in the tub, mini-bar. Ted creates an impressive clothesline web in the bathroom where we dry our wet kayaking gear, which has been stuffed into our bags since the day before.

Fortunately, the rain stops eventually. Ted and I head out to find a few geocaches (challenging, since our GPS receiver is at the bottom of a Scottish loch) and wind up taking a long walk - past the Tower of London, over Tower Bridge, along the South Bank of the Thames, then finally back over London Bridge (which appears to be in good shape) and back to the hotel, stopping along the way for dinner (Italian again, thanks to Ted's limited eating range).

Day 9

Tower of London in the morning. We try twice to go on the Yeoman Warder (beefeater) tour but each time it sprinkles a little just as the tour is getting started and so it gets canceled - again, a poor approach in a rainy climate. We self-tour instead and have a good time. Alas, the line for the crown jewels is quite long so we don't see them. For lunch I force Ted to eat in a sandwich shop (think Panera, but smaller). I simply can't face another pizza meal.

After a brief stop at our hotel, we go to the British Museum. We spent longer than planned at the Tower and so our visit to the museum is brief, focusing on the Roman and Eqyptian galleries - including the Rosetta Stone!

From the museum we walk through Covent Garden to Leicester Square. Along the way I spot the hotel where I stayed when I came to London with my family in the 1970s. It's a cool walk - we're in the high energy part of the city. Our destination is the Leicester Square movie theater, where we have Harry Potter tickets waiting for us (I bought them online in Scotland). We pick up our tickets then head over to the nearby Chinatown for dinner, then back for the movie. After the movie we get a surprise when we go into Haagen Dasz for ice cream. It turns out this is a very fancy sit-down Haagen-Dasz. We walked up to the door where there was a maitre d who asked us "table for two?" I stared blankly at him, having not encountered a sit-down ice cream restaurant since the Jahn's of my youth. Eventually I recovered my wits and responded, and he seated us. The waitress (!) brought us menus, which included a range of exotic ice cream combinations and desserts. We ordered two scoops apiece, which were served in nice, real bowls - quite civilized.

Finally, it was back to the hotel. This was a little bit of an adventure, as the Underground was closing for the night. We got part-way back but had missed the last train on the line we had to connect to and so wound up taking a bus the rest of the way. Our last, long evening in London was a success.

Day 10
Sadly, we headed home. A quick and easy train ride to Heathrow, a last cider at the airport bar (Ted bought), then back to the stifling heat and familiarity of home. It's great to travel; it's great to be home.

London Highlights

UK Trip: Days 5, 6 & 7

2011-07-23T12:57:00.000-07:00

Day 5

Today we got to paddle without taking a long drive first. Ele promised us 7 minutes to the put-in (the jetty, that is) and sure enough we were there in exactly that. We did a shuttle, starting on Loch Moidart and ending back at the inn. This was our longest day (about six hours on the water) and had a lot of highlights. First of all, the scenery was striking. Second, we stopped off at the ruins of a 13th century castle, Castle Tioram. Like everything in Scotland, Castle Tioram has a link to Bonnie Prince Charlie, a romantic figure from the 18th century who led the unsuccessful Jacobite Rebellion - an attempt to overthrow the Hanovers and return the more British Stuarts to the throne of England. The rebellion met its end at the Battle of Culloden, the location of which we passed on our taxi ride from the Inverness airport. I reckon Bonnie Prince Charlie, a valiant crusader for a failed cause, occupies a place in Scottish hearts similar to that occupied by the Confederacy among Southern Americans - except his cause was a more noble one of nationalistic pride, not preservation of slavery.

Anyway, we paddle out of Loch Moidart, past castle Tioram, around Eilan Shona, up around Smirisary and Rubha Gheed a Leighe, into the sound of Arisaig,
ending at Glenuig. The sea life was awesome as always: blue starfish, herons, cormorants, seals, and sea otter. We also caught a glimpse of porpoises, pronounced in Scotland as "poor-poises". This was also our roughest day. A number of people got a little freaked (though being British, they didn't much show it) and Sue was having a little trouble with boat control. No capsizes, though. Lunch was the "Crofter's Piece" - a selection of cheeses, a roll (everyone said that the cheeses should properly be eaten with oatcakes), salad, and shortbread biscuits. True to his green leanings, Steve packs everything in reusable containers. Ele, surprised at the poshness of the lunch, exclaimed "ooh, there's even a wee serviette!", something we Americans would call a "small napkin".

We paddled near here.

In the evening, it was back the bar. I have mentioned that Steve, the owner of the Glenuig Inn, likes to share his opinions on a variety of subjects. Tonight he told us the rationale behind his selection of spirits for the bar. He focuses on unfiltered whiskies. It seems that most distilleries cold filter their whisky, primarily because Americans, who put ice in their whisky (Philistines!) don't like seeing their drinks turn cloudy. However, cold filtering, while it solves the cloudiness problem, removes long-chain molecules which give the whisky its depth of flavour. So, Steve has sought out a number of unfiltered whiskies. At the bar he gave us some to sample, and in addition some Scotch vodka and Scotch gin. The vodka was quite drinkable. I don't like gin, but I must admit this stuff had a nice aroma. I was also partial to the organic Bruichladdich whisky, less so the Caol Ila which is Ele's preference. Oh, I should mention that part of the inn was burned during the Jacobite Rebellion - another connection to Bonnie Prince Charlie.

I had my one meat dinner of the week: Moroccan lamb stew, made from some poor local lamb. Teddy, near starvation, agrees to try (and likes!) tomato basil soup (pronounced tomahto bahsil), which he has with white rice.

After dinner we perused the ample collection of local outdoor and kayaking magazines, made a little use of the Wifi, then headed to bed.

Day 6

Our last full day of paddling. A relatively short drive to Arasaig. We stopped in town both to drop Sue off (she was a little achy and decided to stay on land) and to go to the convenience store where Teddy was able to buy some ramen and "crisps" (potato chips) to ward off starvation. This made him happy. The waters around Arasaig are known for skerries: "A skerry is a small rocky island, usually defined to be too small for habitation. It may simply be a rocky reef." The skerries are home to zillions of harbor and grey seals. If you take a look at the pictures linked below you'll see that we were in the near constant presence of lots of seals. Thanks to Ele, we also got to try pepper dulse, an edible seaweed and see sea anemone, Sea urchin and starfish Starfish. We had good weather all day except for a little rain at the very end - our only rain of the kayaking portion of our trip. As on the previous several days, we had great views out to Skye. Lunch was the Crofter's Piece again - more cheese.

We were kayaking near here.

This was our last night of the trip and so we toasted the trip at the bar. Ted had his by now habitual pint of cider. Dinner was, as usual, at the inn. Teddy had the tomahto bahsil soup once again, but was happier because he had been able to eat lunch (one of his ramen cups, made with some of our tea-time hot water).

Day 7

A short paddle today, putting in at the jetty just up from the inn and paddling out to an island in Loch Ailort. The island had some ruins which are said to the the remains of a Pictish (Iron Age people) fort - but some say it's just volcanic rock. AS we did our morning load-out Ted suggested that we leave some of the group "kit" (such as the tea equipment) behind since we'd only be out for a couple of hours. The group emitted a collective gasp at the notion of skipping tea. Sure enough, even though it made us late in getting on the road we stopped to have tea.

We were back at the Glenuig Inn in time for lunch, so I had my Crofter's Piece (more cheese!) at a table rather than on a rock. From somewhere Ali produced a package of oatcakes, which all assembled agreed greatly improved the enjoyment of the cheeses.

Then it was back into the van one last time for the ride back to Inverness. We said our goodbyes at the Inverness Railway station "car park". Ted and I had a few hours before our sleeper train to London left so we dropped our backs in a locker at the "Left Luggage" and went into town.

Ted chose our restaurant for dinner - an Italian place where he could recharge his depleted calories with pizza and "chips" (fries) - though he had convinced the inn to serve him tomahto-bahsil soup for breakfast! Then we stopped in at the McDonald's for coffee and Wifi. Finally we returned to the station to find - HOLY CRAP! - the Left Luggage room had closed for the night. It hadn't occurred to me that such a place would close up, though indeed they did have hours posted. My mind immediately began to race with thoughts of having to book lodgings and alternative transportation back to London. Fortunately, we found a station employee who was willing to fetch the key and open the room so we could fetch our bags. Whew! We were quite happy to get on the train and settle into our wee berth.

Scotland Highlights Days 5-7

UK Trip: Days 3 & 4

2011-07-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

Day 3

This was our first full day of paddling. The day started with breakfast, both cold (cereals, yoghurt and prunes, of course toast) and hot (black pudding, ham, poached egg and sausage or haddock). We then all loaded into the van for about an hour’s drive to a put-in, including getting mildly lost along the way. Apparently GPS is unknown in the Highlands; the guides did everything the old fashioned way, with big fold-out maps and educated guesses.

Our paddle was, like the day before, on Loch Sunart, but much closer to the mouth of the loch – hence the long drive. We spent about five hours on the water, circumnavigating the Isle of Oronsay. Boy, it was gorgeous. Both green and rocky. Surprisingly clear water. And lots of sea life: seals, sea otters, terns, golden herons. While we were closer to the open sea, it was still a pretty calm environment, except when the wind kicked up at the end.

We were paddling somewhere around here.

Every day our lunch was provided by the inn. Today we had a choice of ham and cheese or “egg mayonnaise”. Well, ham and cheese was out of the question for me. The egg mayonnaise on white bread, gloopy enough at breakfast time, was totally unappealing to me after it had spent half a day in the hatch. Fortunately we traveled with a wide array of snack food and so I had plenty eat – dried fruit, nuts, chocolate bars and some novel (to me) UK foods: Tunnock’s biscuits, and "flapjack". Lunch, of course, concluded with tea and biscuits. I should mention that it wasn’t strictly tea, as every day we also had the choice of French press coffee (they call this type of pot a cafetiere, probably to avoid saying the word “French”, much as in America for a while we ate Freedom Fries) – apparently even the British are giving in to coffee culture.

I have no idea of the distances we paddled on any of the days, but this was one of the longer trips and it was good to get back to the inn and wash up. As always, the group met at the bar, where Ted’s drinking education continued. This evening he had a sweet hard cider which became his drink for the rest of the trip. I decided it was time to dip into the whisky myself and, after getting recommendations from the experienced crew, selected a Macallan 10 year. Good, with a splash of water.Not too "peaty".

Dinner for me was "veg flan” (known to Americans as vegetable quiche) with assorted veg, potato, green beans, salad. Ted had his third burger in three dinners. Having had a longer day on the water, folks turned in a little earlier, in fact just as it was getting dark (that’s a joke – it gets dark at 11).

Day 4
Let me start by quoting the "trip dossier": "Further west lies Ardnamurchan Point - this is one area that we will not sea kayak to as it is the most challenging section of the whole trail, and is for experts only!" So, where did we paddle today? Why, Arnamurchan Point, of course. The forecast called for unusually calm conditions and so the guides asked us if we'd like to take a chance and drive out to the point and see if it was paddle-able. Of course we all said yes! So, into the van we went for another long drive. When we got to the point conditions did indeed look good, however the only launching point was a jetty which appeared to be on someone's property. No one answered the door and so we were a little flummoxed about launching there.

Let me digress here for a second - "jetty" is another Britishism for what we would call a ramp or more generically a put-in. Scottish jetties are distinctive in that they are built with rough conditions and extreme tides in mind: long concrete ramps extending way out into the water so as to be usable under all tidal conditions. For me, the word has a nostalgic ring, as it hearkens back to the British Ant and Bee books I read as a child, one of which involved a trip down a jetty. For some reason I remember reading this word, which was not in our Brooklyn vernacular and seemed quite exotic.

Anyway, having failed to secure permission to launch we decided to drive up the road to the lighthouse. At worst, we'd take in the view. At best, someone might be able to vector us to another, um, jetty. The good news is we accomplished both - someone at the lighthouse knew the owner of the jetty-side house and was able to phone him and get permission for us to use his put-in.

Arnamurchan Point is the westernmost point on the British mainland, and is quite ruggedly beautiful. We had putzed away a bunch of time at the lighthouse and I think the guides were a little worried about conditions taking a turn for the worse and so we had a fairly short day of paddling but Ele, as always, had a good eye for the local sealife, pointing out anemones on the skerries (big rock outcroppings), cormorants and gannett birds.

Our other excitement for the day was Teddy's capsize - the only one of the trip. He was trying out edging technique and pushed a little too far - and over he went! The water in Scotland is pretty chilly (quoted in the dossier as mid fifties but I'd guess actually sixty-ish degrees) but fortunately Ted never feels cold. Also, we have practiced rescues plenty of times and so with Ali's help he was quickly back in his boat and fully recovered. The only real loss is that somehow in the process of falling out he had ripped open the day hatch and lost some of the contents - including his GPS receiver. Lunch, packed by the Ben View Hotel staff, was a nice brie and raspberry sandwich. I'm beginning to get a bettter understanding of Wallace and Gromit: the Brits do love their cheese (and their toast)!

Ted's capsize also leads me to point out an interesting difference between US and UK paddlers: they accept a lot more risk in terms of water temps. The guides were dressed in sailing pants, tucked into tall wellies (rubber boots), with a "cagoule" (paddling jacket) on top. This gear keeps you nice and dry if you launch from a jetty and things go as planned but fails if you capsizeas it does nothing to keep you warm or dry if you wind up in the water. In fact, I'd say the wellies are something of a liability in the water. I can't image a US group going out dressed this way in cool water - maybe it's just American risk aversion. For my part, I wore thin neoprene pants, shirt and socks all week.

We were paddling somewhere around here, with lovely views out to the Isles of Eigg, Muck and Skye.

The end of the day brought another long drive, this time to the Glenuig Inn, located directly on Loch Ailort. The inn had a modern feel to it and our room, unlike the other places, was quite spacious. It turns out the owner, Steve, had recently done a major green renovation of the place. Steve, we learned over the course of our stay, was always quite eager to discourse on his green innovations - as well a any number of other topics. Interestingly, I learned after the fact that Steve's renovation of the inn is quite controversial. If you look on TripAdvisor you'll see that certain people hate him for having ruined a local hangout by having turned it into a sterile place aimed at eco-tourists and serving nothing in the bar but foofie organic whiskies and ales but no lagers (the horror!). Other reviewers think he's created a pretty cool place. Since I arrived with no preconceptions of what a Scottish local inn should be like (and since I'm one of those eco-tourists) I put myself in the second camp.

Dinner for me was a nice spicy bean curry. Ted was beginning to go a little nuts since there was nothing for him to eat outside of breakfast and the nearest store is 20 miles away. After dinner, a little Wifi time and then off to bed.

Scotland Highlights Days 3&4

UK Trip: Days 0, 1 & 2

2011-07-23T10:39:00.000-07:00

We arrive in Inverness to find everyone in a bit of a tizzy. Inverness is playing host to the Scottish Open golf tournament, except for the past two days it has been pouring rain and the golf has been canceled. This seems to affect everyone. Even our taxi driver was supposed to have been marshaling at the tourney but instead found himself behind the wheel like a regular work day. Mrs. McRae, at whose B&B we stayed, reported in her Scottish brogue that there'd even been a thunderrrrstorrrrm, with forrrrrked lightening. As a DC area resident I thought nothing of this until I learned that thunderstorms are rare in the cool, high latitudes of the Scottish Highlands.

After hearing The McRae's rather long list of rules (don't bump your suitcase up the stairs; no carryout food on the premises; don't leave the bathroom light on all night the way those Portugese people did the other week as the fan noise bothers the other guests, you must pay cash as credit card machine is broken, ...) Ted and I headed out into town through lingering rain showers in search of dinner. Ted is an excellent traveling companion but an extremely picky eater, which can complicate the process of finding food on trips. In this case he was willing to go to a pub (one recommended by our taxi driver) because the menu included burgers. I had fish and chips washed down with a pint. Our first pub dinner was nice enough but the real fun began after dinner when we took a stroll through town. I should mention here that Ted is a big fan of Celtic music (I like it too) and so our ears perked up at the sound of bagpipes. The source was a street performer and we hustled over and listened to a tune before noticing another band up the street. We scurried over to hear them. And then we noticed dancers. Then a teen bagpipe band. Then little girls doing Highland dancers (with bagpipe accompaniment - no prerecorded music here!). Then a Celtic folk band. Then an excellent young band made up of accordion, fiddle, pipes, and drum. And a whole pipe and drum corps in full Highland regalia. Mind you, these were just the street performers. There was music spilling out of the clubs as well: more folk music emanating from a coffeehouse, and a rock band with horns playing classic rock standards (they did a pretty mean version of Tequila) at a bar. The whole shebang culminated with a march up to the grounds of Inverness Castle where all of the street performers we'd seen performed individually and together as the sun began to set (at 11 PM - love those Northern latitude summers) over the River Ness. If this is what Saturday nights are like in Scotland, Ted was ready to tear up his Virginia college applications in favor of University of Edinburgh. Alas, we learned that this was not a typical Inverness Saturday night; rather, it was a special to-do arranged for the golf tournament. But no matter: we were all the happier to have stumbled into just the right night to be there. Finally, having been on the go for about 36 hours (DC to London to Inverness plus our evening out) we returned to White Lodge and crashed.

Saturday began with our introduction to the UK style of breakfast. I refer to "UK style" because apparently there's fierce and conflicting nationalistic pride at play in naming this meal. When on Day 3 our Scottish guide ordered a "full English breakfast" from our Scottish innkeeper he got an animated (though tongue in cheek) talking to for not having referred to it as a "Highland breakfast". My old boss, who hailed from Derry, used to call this same meal an "Irish breakfast." I’m betting that In Cardiff they call it a “Welsh breakfast”. Anyway, breakfast always includes a cold component consisting of cereal, yoghurt (sic - the English don't know how to spell in their own language) and fruit. Then there's the hot breakfast, with choices ranging from the delicious (Scottish salmon and eggs) to a dish so disgusting I can't believe so many countries are eager to lay claim to it. Yes, I refer here to the full Scottish/English/Irish/Welsh/Isle of Man breakfast, which comprises poached egg, sausage, ham and black pudding/blood sausage. And toast. Always lots of toast with everything. Mrs. McRae also served us some potato scones, which were more like the love child of Pupusas and potato latkes than any sort of scone I'd ever seen.

After breakfast we bid the McRaes goodbye (Mrs. McRae kept watch to make sure I didn't bump my suitcase down the stairs) and after a "wee" stop at McDonalds to use their Wifi we met up with the group at the Inverness railway station as planned. The group turned out to be small: two guides and six of us "on holiday." Other than we two Americans, the group was evenly divided between Scots and Brits. Our two guides were Ele, a 20-something British woman living in Scotland and Ali, a 24 year old Scottish guy. They arrived in a van towing a trailer of Easky 17 kayaks, a small but generally insignificant step down in my mind from the promised Capellas. The other group members included Alex, a British professor of Scottish literature at Edinburgh, Annette, a Scottish nurse practitioner, Kath, a Scot who was some sort of public policy type, and Sue, an Englishwoman whose profession I didn't get - she may have been retired. Years of watching Monty Python and Harry Potter movies have given me the ability to understand much of British English, save for the real Britishisms (e.g., being "knackered" at the end of the day or calling cookies biscuits) but the Scots were another story. I'm sure that by the end of the trip the Scots all thought I was hard of hearing or daft given how many times I asked them to repeat themselves or just stared blankly when they asked me a question. Someone once said we are "two people divided by a common language" (this is one of those quotes variously attributed to Winston Churchill, Osar Wilde, and Shaw). How right he was.

Inverness is pretty far up in the Scottish Highlands, but it was still a ways from there to the west coast lochs. It doesn't look far on the map, but the roads in rural Scotland aren't exactly superhighways. In fact, a lot of the distance we covered was on single lane roads and by that I don't mean single lane each way, I mean single lane. The roads are one lane with little bump outs big enough for one car every 10th of a mile or so (a.k.a. every 0.16 km). When two cars come towards each other one pulls into a bump out and lets the other go by. Since the roads are also winding and hilly sight distances are limited leading to frequent abrupt stops to avoid head-on collisions. There’s even the occasional need for one of the cars to back up down the road a piece if the cars don’t see each other until they’re past the bump-outs. When you're traveling in a van trailering a bunch of kayaks this gets even more interesting. We made it to our destination after what to me was a hairy ride.

Our paddle on the first day was something of a check-out. The guides started us out just paddling in circles around the put-in on the more protected, inner section of Loch Sunart. Once they had a feel for our abilities we went for more of a real paddle, in fact staying out longer than planned. This first outing introduced us to two other daily features of paddling the lochs: first, the fifteen foot tides, and second, the mandatory daily stop for tea. On this first day the tide was going out while we were on the water. In the time it took us to have our tea and biscuits fifteen feet (5 m) of dry land had appeared between my kayak and the water’s edge!

After we got off the water we went to our lodging, the Ben View Hotel in Strontian. Since you no doubt already know that this town gave its name to the element Strontium, I will skip that history and go straight to a description of the inn itself. As you might have guessed, the hotel offers a nice view of various “bens”. If you don’t know what a ben is, I’ll explain by saying it’s a “corbett”. Still confused? These are only-in-Scotland terms for “Mountain Peak”. In particular, we had a nice view of Ben Resipole and Ben Garbhein. If I ever come into possession of a mountain in Scotland I'm going to name it Ben Franklin. Or maybe Ben Gurion.

The Ben View had a nice traditional inn feel to it. The owner was a very gregarious fellow - and a big Springsteen fan (he told me this since I was an American). After getting cleaned up the group met at the bar where Teddy, having turned eighteen (legal drinking age in the UK) that day, was determined to order a drink. Of course, he has no idea what he likes, but fortunately he was in the company of experts (i.e., Scots) who were all too helpful in suggesting drinks. Even the innkeeper got into the act, pouring Ted little tastes of everything they had on tap. Ted finally ordered a rum & coke, figuring it was sweet and was a logical first step for a habitual Coke drinker.

Photos:

Scotland Highlights: Days 1&2

Discovering New Places

2011-07-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

I've been learning to ride a bike. Not the basic part of moving forward without falling down: I mastered that years ago. Rather, with the winding down of my running career I've been looking to cycling as a new form of exercise and have been trying to do some rides of at least moderate length. I have an unrealistic possible goal of riding the metric version of the Seagull Century (100 km, or about 62 mi) this fall; more realistically, I just want to build up my cycling muscles and, um, seat tolerance.

At 18.5 mi today's ride was not one of my longer ones, however it offered lots of hill practice. I started from home, peddled up Sycamore St./Williamsburg Blvd./Glebe Rd. to Chain Bridge. This part of the ride has lots of fun ups and downs over extended hills. To give you some idea, the GPS shows my speed alternating between speeds as high as 27 MPH as I motored downhill and as low as 8 MPH as I granny-geared my way back uphill. From studying the map I found a little trick detour to bypass the suicidal final plunge down to Chain Bridge. It's not perfect, though, as you have to do a slightly less suicidal climb up the Military Road exit ramp and then to the downhill plunge on a quiet side street.

Once across Chain Bridge (a great view, as always) I headed west on the C&O Canal Tow Path. The tow path is packed dirt and so for someone on a thin-tired bike it's slow going. I didn't realize it during my ride but I actually made it out of DC and into Maryland before I turned around at one of the canal locks. On the way back, out of curiosity I decided to explore a side path off the tow path. Why would there be a paved path into the woods off of a dirt main trail? Well, after exploring it I can't explain why it's there but I can say where it leads. Turns out it goes all the way to a neat concrete platform situated above the bank of the Potomac about midway between Chain Bridge and Little Falls. The platform offers a great view of both the bridge and the falls. Now, I kayaked this section of the river a million times back when the Thursday night group used to launch out of Georgetown. In fact, I'd often spend time hanging out in my kayak right about at this spot waiting for the crazier folks who liked to take their sea kayaks up into the falls. I never, however, noticed this platform from the water. I can't believe it. It must be somewhat camouflaged by the rocks and branches along the shoreline.

I didn't pause long at the platform because I wanted to keep my ride going. So, back on my bike I climbed and I continued down the tow path, switching to the paved Capital Crescent trail where the two paths meet at Fletcher's Cove. The CC takes you right onto Water St. in Georgetown, past the Potomac Boat Club, Washington Canoe Club and Jack's Boathouse. I paused at Jack's and watched someone launch a stand-up paddle board. I thought I might say hi to Paul or Anna if they were there but boathouse wasn't open yet, and so I moved on.

Continuing along Water St. took me to Georgetown Waterfront Park. I've watched this park being built from the vantage point of my kayak but had never visited it on land before. It's very well done, a nice place for folks to stroll and connect to the river. It has some neat old photos and maps of the area etched into stones around the park: one showing the old aqueduct bridge, one showing a 1940s (I'm guessing) view of Georgetown, and a bunch of others. The only thing it's missing is a car-top boat launch. I took a five minute break at the park, breaking out the thermos of coffee and piece of biscotti I had brought along. Then it was back on the bike, up across Georgetown, and over Key Bridge back into Virginia.

The ride out the Custis Trail from Rosslyn to home is at a macro level an uphill battle. The combination of the topography of the land and the need for the bike path to cross over a number of roads makes it a rolling ride. Up, down, up, down. A good workout for sure. The good news is that I think I'm getting better at these sections - in fact, I was feeling strong enough at the end of this roller coaster that I added a little dog-leg to the ride, detouring down a side path into Bluemont Park rather than taking the more direct route to the W&OD trail.

Finally, home at about 10:30 AM, just in time to say goodbye to V as she left to get together with a friend.

Next time I try doing this loop twice. OK, maybe once plus a few more add-on segments. Someday, twice.

Great Hudson River Revival, Days 2 & 3

2011-06-25T18:15:00.000-07:00

Sunday

I sleep pretty well in a tent and so I wake up feeling refreshed even though it’s pretty early and I didn't get all that much sleep. The morning is dry and cool enough for me to put on a light fleece jacket. I whip up a breakfast that’s much like home, save for the Starbucks Via Brew instant coffee in place of my usual cup. Oh, coffee deities, please do not strike me down for drinking instant!

One of the great aspects of Clearwater is its link to the river. The festival’s raison d’etre is raising awareness of the Hudson’s ecology and environment. The festival takes place on a peninsula jutting out into the Hudson. You can see the river from most of the park and you can even watch one of the stages from the water. There’s also a “working waterfront” area where people can experience the river directly: row, paddle and go for a sail on the sloop Clearwater. In keeping with the festival theme, I start my day by hitting the water in my kayak. The car-top launch is just down the hill from the campground and so just a few minutes after finishing my last sip of coffee I’ve got the boat in the water and am ready to go. There's another car at the launch with two CLC Shearwaters (the same kayak I have) on it - two beautifully constructed wooden boats. I never see the owner, but by fate I notice a post of his later on Facebook and needless to say we are now "Friends".

Last year I paddled around the peninsula on which Croton Point Park sits. This year I head in the opposite direction, heading north across the bay and up the shoreline. The river is majestic, with the Hudson Highlands towering above the west shore. The Hudson is much more of a working river than the Potomac, so there’s commercial boat traffic, but the river is so wide that it’s miles away. My side of the river is quiet, save for the occasional commuter train.

At the end of my paddle I stop at the working waterfront and check out the displays, which include an antique ice boat – a catamaran designed to be used when the river is frozen. I also talk to the people at the Hudson River Water Trail booth. Then I grandstand a little bit, doing rolls and braces just off shore where the crowd can see. Then it’s time to head back, dry off and have a little lunch before heading into the fray of the festival.

My first target at the festival is the Klezmatics at the Sloop Stage. I get there a little early and so see the end of Buskin & Battaeu’s set. I don’t know these guys but they’re good – and apparently Sherry knows of them since she’s there. She's torn but ultimately decides not to stay for the Klezmatics; before she leaves she clues me in as to where to find her at the main stage area. The Klezmatics are great as always. This set is a mix of klezmer and the folkie stuff they do. Somewhat mellow, as they are saving the high energy numbers for their set at the dance stage. Having lived in Virginia for two decades, the demographics of a New York folk festival surprise me – I think the audience for the Klezmatics at the Sloop Stage had a higher percentage of Jews than Kol Nidre Services at my temple in Virginia. I shouldn’t have been surprised: on Saturday, the MC had introduced Janis Ian as being “a mensch”, an expression you’d be less likely to hear in an introduction at, say, Wolf Trap. As Sherry said, “we’re home.”

After the Klezmatics’ set (BTW, Lorin Sklamberg has the same accordion I do!) I headed over to the main (Rainbow) stage to see Suzanne Vega. She was performing with a guitarist who did some neat looping to create a very layered sound. Good stuff, even though she kept forgetting her songs! I meant to go over to the Hudson Stage after that to see Chris Smither but wound up yakking with Ken, Sherry and their friends and wound up staying at the Rainbow Stage to see the Indigo Girls. I wasn’t a big Indigo Girls fan in their heyday, but they put on a really enjoyable set. They were playing with a violinist and a really good keyboardist/accordionist named Julie Wolf (good enough that I remembered her name). I next caught the beginning of the Driveby Truckers, but I wasn’t that taken with them and so headed over to the dance tent to see the Klezmatics – that’s right, two sets of the Klezmatics in the same day! At the dance tent you can really get up close to the stage. Unfortunately, my injured leg kept me from doing much dancing so I swayed for a while then went off to the side to sit. I ended the day by seeing Justin Townes Earle – that’s right, Steve’s boy. I have his latest CD and I must say that he’s an excellent live performer as well.

I just bought a new (used) camera which works (via an adapter) with my Canon lenses from the 1970’s and over the course of the day I further entertained myself taking pictures. Got some good ones.

As on Saturday, I skipped the “Clearwater Generations” set in favor of falafel. By this point the food vendors were starting to pack up. The falafel place sold me a heaping plate of leftovers – falafel, carrots, some dolma, and tahini – for half price. I also got a small ice cream and a cup of (brewed) coffee. Then it was time for the hike up to the campsite. Boy, my leg was hurting – it was a slow walk up the hill, with several breaks. There was a much smaller version of the jam session going on – just three people – which I decided to skip. I was saturated with music and I wanted to get an early start the next day.

Monday

I wake up fairly early on Monday - around 6 AM. Basically, it's just breakfast (two Via Brews this time), pack up and hit the road. Uneventful trip home, save for my GPS realllly wanting me to take the GW Bridge rather than the Tappan Zee.

Great Hudson River Revival, Day 1

2011-06-18T17:25:00.000-07:00

Like too many of my posts these days, this one starts with a nightmarish traffic jam. After an uneventful and quick drive from DC to Croton-on-Hudson to attend the Great Hudson River Revival / Clearwater Festival, it took an hour and a half to exit from Rt 9A and drive into the festival grounds. No matter – I had expected some degree of backup and was mentally prepared. Eventually I made it, set up my tent and headed down to the music. Wow, what a lineup. There are seven stages at the festival and there’s always more to see than there is time to see it. Saturday I caught Janis Ian, David Bromberg, Arlo Gurthrie, Toshi Reagon and Brooklyn Qawwali Dance Party. And just like last year, in this huge sea of people I had no problem finding Sherri and Ken. By the time Arlo’s set ended I was pretty beat – too much so to hang around and see the “generations” set (parent/child combinations such as Pete and Tao Seeger …). Plus I have to admit that this idea is too mushy for me. Instead I headed for the food area for another of my favorite Clearwater activities, procurement and consumption of the falafel sandwich. Yum! Then it was up the hill to the campsite, stopping along the way to call home and watch the sun set over the Hudson River. I figured I might turn in early and indeed I lay down in my tent at about 9:30 and immediately fell asleep. Thirty minutes later, though I was up – awakened by the sound of the Saturday night campsite jam session. I had participated last year and I say with all modesty that I was the best accordionist there. I just couldn’t resist joining in again. So, out came the accordion and over to the jam I went. It was being run by the same guy as last year and in fact there were a number of other familiar faces, all of whom remembered me. After all, when you’re the best accordionist there, you tend to make an impression. And what an interesting lineup of musicians: guitars (of course), acoustic bass, a guy who played bongos, flute and tin whistle, a violinist, a violist, a French horn player, a couple of banjos, and harmonica. Well, to make a long story short I jammed until close to 1 AM, at which point I was literally having trouble standing up any longer. This was for two reasons. First, having been awake for nearly 21 hours (save for the 30 minute nap) I was just exhausted. Second, I injured myself running last week (a shin splint, I think) and my leg was starting to give way. So, away went the accordion and I headed back to my tent (which I had trouble finding because I was so damn tired). I shut off my alarm, which I had previously set for 5 AM so I could get in some early morning kayaking, and figured I’d start Sunday “whenever”.

Patuxent Water Trail Day 3

2011-06-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

When we pulled the boats up on Saturday we all agreed that it was too tight an area for us to all load at once in the morning. We’d have to pull one boat out at a time, load, launch, and repeat. Needless to say, 6 AM Sunday found us all crammed down in the launch area at once, busily loading gear while tripping over each other and the kayaks. A brief but intense rain shower rolled in while we were finishing up, causing us to dash about in a yet more manic fashion. Amazingly, this comedic ballet did not result in any mishaps, nor (as far as I know) did any of our slapstick maneuvers in an area thick with poison ivy yield any major rash problems. Against all odds, we actually got under way exactly at 0700 - ten minutes earlier than on Saturday. I wondered if the shower was going to mean a day of paddling in the rain, but fortunately this was not to be. The shower rolled out as quickly as it had rolled in and conditions were dry the rest of the day.

On this wider section of the river we didn’t have the current helping us, the wind was against us, and we were all a little “experienced”, as we put it, so it felt like slower going. I was paddling with a new Greenland paddle, one which seemed more given to cavitation than my old paddle, and so I spend a lot of the day focusing on adjusting my stroke to gain efficiency. Being the only one there paddling a plastic boat, I think I also may have been working the hardest to keep my speed up. However, being towards the young end of the group agewise, I was darned if I was going to be the one in the back, so I just paddled harder, as evidenced in the big blister which appeared on my right hand mid-day.

Heading for Jefferson Patterson Park

A warm, calm day on a wide river isn’t all bad. In fact, without the previous two days to compare it too it would have seemed quite spectacular. However, we were getting into the more developed, more heavily traveled section of the river and it began to feel like a little bit of a slog. We took a welcome lunchtime break at Jefferson Patterson Park, which was hosting Children’s Day at the Farm. A typical paddling break involves squatting on a rock at the shoreline and gnawing at a half melted PowerBar, but here we hiked up into the and explored a really neat local festival – replete with farm animals, funnel cakes, old tractors, the works. Oh, and the most delicious cold Diet Cokes ever.

While we sat and ate lunch a couple of our group started cooing over a horse. “It looks like a Belgian, but miniature.” I know nothing about horses – where I grew up they were something the police used for crowd control and livery hacks used to ferry tourists around Central Park*. I can tell a brown horse from a white one, and maybe a large one from a small one. The finer points of equine breeds are completely out of my range of knowledge, however. So I was impressed, as is always the case when people demonstrate mastery of what seem to me to be obscure subjects. Jen, who took dressage lessons in college – dressage, for pete’s sake! In Greenwich Village, where I went to college, you could probably find cross-dressage lessons, but that’s different – went over and talked with the owner. Turns out the horse was a Haflinger, which, sure enough is somewhat like a smaller Belgian. So there.

After a longer than planned break we hit the water for the final stretch to Solomons. The Route 4 bridge proved to be another one of those never-getting-any-closer landmarks. I worked on my mental focus. My natural tendency at this point in a trip is to fixate on getting to the end and stop noticing the present. But I kept guiding my thoughts back to where I was at that moment, appreciating the breadth of the river, the way my leg muscles felt when I got the stroke right, the look of the group spread out over the water, the sky.

Solomons

At last we rounded Point Patience into Solomons, which is a quaint little waterfront town. After hitting the beach just before 3 PM we mucked around a little bit – finding a public restroom, strolling, hauling gear, enjoying the still-cool sodas Ralph had in a cooler in his truck. Somehow the shuttle plans worked and everyone and every boat made it onto a car. Mike’s brother Butch, who was in town for his 50th high school reunion, arrived with Mike’s van and gave Jen and me a ride back to where we had left our car. The van ride was satisfyingly long – made me feel we had really covered some distance.

Jen and I had learned our lesson. We turned on the traffic report as we pulled out of Selby’s Landing, making sure we were not heading into another traffic jam. Truth be told, listening to the news was a little jarring after three days off the grid but I guess all good things have to come to an end. As we drove home I felt like we were descending from the special world of the river back into the mundane. Jen and I vowed to go back another time so we could cover the few miles we missed at the outset. It’s good to know the Pax and I will see each other again.

You can read Ralph's trip log here (includes links to everyone's pictures).

A short album of pix is here.

Total Distance: 21.9 miles

Three day distance: 47.5 miles (for Jen and me, YMMV)

*Actually, this is not 100% true. I have ridden horses in both Brooklyn and Queens.

Patuxent River Trail Day 2

2011-06-11T19:03:00.000-07:00


Setting Out, Day 2

I would have bet against it, but 7 AM indeed found the group on the river ready to go. I had popped awake at 5 AM, having slept (or at least having been horizontal in bed) for longer than any night in recent memory. The night had been cool, in the high 50’s, and quite conducive to sleep - at least for those of us with sleeping bags. A few people had packed for summer weather and felt the overnight chill. Suzanne wound up sleeping bundled up in all her clothes and paddling jacket to stay warm. As light dawned I stumbled out of my tent and wandered down to the boats to get my breakfast. I had left my breakfast food in the kayak, figuring it was as safe from critters in the hatch as in the tent. Pausing to take in the scene, I reveled in the glow of water in the dawn light, punctuated by puffs of mist. Back up on the bluff, Ralph had coffee up. The early risers gulped down a quick breakfast and then we shook the laggards awake.

I’m glad I had test-packed my boat before the trip. Both mornings required quick loading and it was good to know where to put everything so that it would fit and preserve the boat’s trim.

The section of the river up at White Oak Landing is quite lovely, being small and largely devoid of development We proved a compatible bunch on the water – all about the same speed and skills. Rich, a fast long distance paddler, paddled way out ahead as he is wont to do, but kept in radio (and usually visual) contact with us. Saturday morning was for me the most peaceful stretch of the whole trip. Ralph knows the river very well, and in addition to the natural beauty he filled us in on some of the history of the area. Paddling through this tranquil spot it was hard to image it crawling with British warships and American gunboats as it was in 1812.

King's Landing

We made a stop at King’s Landing where we were able to refill our water supplies (and use a flush toilet, too). We marveled at the pool – obviously maintained and ready for swimmers, but closed and locked mid-day on a June Saturday. Perhaps budget cuts have taken their toll. This stop had originally been planned as a lunch break but we started so early and made so much progress that most of us decided to hold out until we got to Maxwell Hall and so took just an extended leg-stretch and snack break.

Our destination was said to be near the Chalk Point power plant. We’d been able to see this plant in the distance from the observation tower at White’s Landing, and it loomed in the distance as we paddled onward. Distances on the water can be tricky: at the start of the day the power plant didn’t seem all that far away, but after half a day of paddling it seemed not an inch closer. That kind of visual effect can really mess with you if you let it. After yet more time on the water the plant finally entered the foreground of our view and we knew we were close. About this time Greg hailed us on the radio saying he and Jenny were out on the water, had spotted Rich (who was out front as usual) and that he’d be joining us.


Chalk Point Power Plant

No one in the group had used this campsite before and so it took a little finding. I led us to the listed GPS coordinates for the site, a point at which there was a small beach and a trail leading up to a cleared area with a picnic table. We were also greeted by snakes, ticks and poison ivy. Rich reassured us about the snakes – yes, this species bites, but no, they’re not venomous. Oh, and and let me not forget the constant drone of the power plant, which sat just across the creek from us. Suffice it to say that this site, while still lovely, was less idyllic than White Oak. We pulled the boats up above the tide mark, squeezing them into a pretty small area, and then we dragged our gear up the hill to the campsite.It was a warm afternoon so after settling in a number of us went for a swim to refresh ourselves.

Relaxing

When you camp you pretty quickly get into a routine built around food and shelter. In fact, the forced consideration of the lower levels of Maslow’s hierarchy is to me one of the appeals of camping. You have to be in the moment taking care of basic needs in a way which those of us in urban civilization rarely do. As such, we set to work establishing our campsite. Tents (some slightly impinging onto an equestrian trail), and a tarp went up and food came out. Saturday night was Suzanne’s turn to cook for our little sub-group. She had planned a different variant chicken hash, this one with curry and Trader Joe’s multigrain mix. I once again helped out with my full range my major culinary skills, which include both opening cans and stirring. Before you know it we had a pretty tasty dinner, with enough extra to share with the larger group. Other folks ate a range of food, including MREs (pre-fab military field meals) and the Mountain House camping store equivalent. More wine was consumed, but alas there was no watermelon. There was no fire either, since the campsite lacked a fire ring. We subsequently realized this was because we weren’t really at the campsite. Al and Bob went out for a brief evening paddle and discovered the campsite proper was a little further into the creek. We were in the right park in the right neck of the woods, but not in exactly the right spot. Since we were all set up by the time we discovered this fact, we opted to stay put.

Saturday evening we took a brief walk through the park and I dashed into the woods to find one of several geocaches hidden in the park. Mostly, though, it was another evening of sitting back in our folding chairs and enjoying the (warmer) evening. While I had never met Al before, I knew from a mutual yogi friend that he was a yoga practitioner and indeed he spent some time during the evening doing yoga, including some rather impressive inversions. Motivated by this, I stretched a little too. After a relaxing evening we again turned in early with the goal of getting an early start again on Sunday. There was some noise overnight from the power plant - for example, we heard the shift change, but nothing too bad.

Total Distance: 18.9 miles

Patuxent River Trail Day 1

2011-06-07T19:28:00.000-07:00

This is the first of three segments about a weekend kayaking trip following the Patuxent River Water Trail for 50 miles from Queen Anne Landing to Solomons, Maryland.

-------------

The trip started inauspiciously. Jen and I set out carpooling from Arlington to meet up with the group at the Queen Anne put-in but found ourselves stuck in a hideous traffic jam before we even made it out of Virginia. We got increasingly frustrated as the minutes ticked on, eating up the extra time we had built into our schedule, then the minutes required to get to the launch under the best of conditions. Well, actually I’m speculating when I say Jen got frustrated, since she displays that mid-West equanimity I find so perplexing. I grew up in a complaining culture. The New Yorker’s version of the Goldilocks story would have only two bears. “This porridge is too hot!” I get that. “This porridge is too cold!” I can sympathize with that. “Just right”? Never. Don’t people in Iowa know the meaning of the word “kvetch”? OK, maybe they don’t. Anyway, after a couple of hours of fuming (me) and mild vexation (Jen) we phoned the group and told them to launch without us. Ralph, the trip organizer, vectored us to another put-in downstream where we could catch up with the group. When Jen and I reached this “bail-in” point we realized we were almost at the terminus of the day’s paddle. Wanting to get more than a mile of paddling in, we went through the rigmarole of getting a parking pass then headed up river to intercept the group, which we did at their lunch-break point at Mt. Calvert. In the end, Jen and I paddled about 6.75 miles to the group’s 11.5.

Fifty miles in three days sounds like a lot, but in fact with cool weather and favorable tides it’s really only a half day of paddling per day. We reached our first campsite in the early afternoon. The campsite was a lovely setting: an open field, surrounded by trees on a bluff overlooking the water at one end. And an ancient, but maintained porta-potty. Each of us had our own individual tent, so in a jiffy we transformed the field into a little city comprising eight tents plus Ralph’s hammock. As we planned the next day’s paddling we realized we’d want to be on the water by 7 AM to take advantage of the tide, which led us to immediately go on “Drinking Savings Time”: drink, eat, and go to sleep an hour or two earlier than usual in order to get on the river that much earlier. Jen, Tall Tom, Suzanne and I coordinated on dinners. Friday night was Jen and my turn to cook – a delicious chicken hash-like mush (no actual hash was used in the preparation of this meal). We were done with dinner so early that we had time for a second round of drinking, after which we took a hike to a cool observation tower. “Caution: Tower Sometimes Attracts Bees & Wasps” said the sign at the base. Fortified with ample drink, we were not deterred by this warning and ascended the tower to find a magnificent view of the Patuxent River. After dinner we finished off the watermelon Ralph had somehow managed to transport in his kayak, made a few jokes at the expense of Rep. Anthony Weiner (the political scandal du jour), and planned the next day's paddling. I don’t have too many evenings like this in my life – hanging out in the wild, kicking back and relaxing with friends. I do cherish such moments and like to make them last. This one, however, came to an early end. We were all in our tents by about 9 PM. I read for a while then went to bed.

A Choppy Night

2011-05-27T14:48:00.000-07:00

I really need to sit down sometime and get a better understanding of how waves form in the river. Some nights a fairly strong wind will kick up nothing but some small swells. Other nights a moderate breeze will somehow stir up serious wave action. Last night fell into the second category. From conditions on land I really wasn't expecting any significant when I got on the water. But boy, it turned out to be a fun evening. We headed across and downriver, always the roughest of our paddles and quickly ran into two foot swells with occasional whitecaps. Nice! In cold weather these kind of conditions freak me out because of the serious implications of capsizing, but once the water warms up (it's now in the 70's) I love a choppy evening. Downriver we paddled straight into it. A lot of kayaks have a very buoyant bow and so they go over top of the waves when you paddle into them. That keeps you dry but pounds you every time you drop down into a trough. The bow of the Shearwater cuts through waves rather than going over them. That means a wet experience with waves rolling up the deck, but a fairly smooth ride. You just have to know how to steer the thing - there's no point in trying to turn the boat when the nose is buried in a wave. One new paddler turned back (escorted by a couple of more experienced kayakers) but the rest of us made it down to Haines Point, which turned out to be surprisingly calm. In windy conditions the point is often a mess of standing waves and clapotis caused by the confluence of two rivers plus the channel bouncing into the seawall, but for some reason last night it was relatively smooth - again, there's some hydrodunamics at work that I just don't understand.

Paddling in following seas (the waves behind you) is very different than paddling into the waves. A wave will come up on you and all of a sudden the stern of your boat wants to go faster than the bow, making it want to spin around. Proper strokes and use of the skeg can help, but I always find it a weird feeling. On the plus side, the waves really push you along - we made much better time on the way home than on the way out.

There's never an evening when the power of nature fails to impress me. On the evenings when the river is up it impresses me most of all.

Bike to Work Day

2011-05-21T05:59:00.000-07:00

The experience of growing up in New York City in the 70’s indelibly etched certain weird ways of thinking into my brain. Principal among these is the assumption that you always have to expect that people will act in malicious, even psychopathic ways. So, after securely locking up my bike at work (making sure to lock both wheels and the frame against theft), I take my water bottle with me. Why? Well, first, the water bottle isn’t locked to the bike and so I assume there’s a high probability that someone will steal it if I leave it unattended. Heck, I assume that even a passerby who had no intention of committing theft might steal it just to teach me a lesson for having left it there unprotected. Worse yet, someone might poison it – add a little battery acid or something – and put it back on the bike. Now, I admit this is pretty paranoid stuff, particularly since this particular bike rack is under video surveillance and is located inside a parking garage in a high traffic area directly next to the hallowed Permit B parking spaces where the CEO and other most senior execs park. But this is the way you think when you grew up in the anarchic, lawless New York of my childhood – the place and time of the Charles Bronson Death Wish movies. A time when having your car stereo stolen at least once per year was par for the course, when we had to lock up our bikes even inside the garage of our house since the garage was routinely broken into. I notice that the other bike in the rack has two full water bottles on it. Not a Brooklyn native, I assume.

Oh, I’m supposed to be talking about Bike to Work Day. Yes, that’s it. This year for a change I got a chance to Bike to Work on Bike to Work Day. I had none of the conflicts which had kept me from participating the last couple of years: meetings requiring me to wear a suit, weather, etc. The ride back and forth to work was pleasant, as it always is. I didn’t get the feeling that there were too many participants going out in my direction towards Tysons (as I’ve noted, there was only one other bike in the rack at work) but there seemed to be plenty heading downtown. In fact, on the ride home I saw lots of people heading in the opposite direction wearing their purple Bike to Work Day t-shirts, confirming that there were plenty of participants.

The organizers of the ride set up a number of “pit stops” around the city in the morning. I hit the one at Gallows Rd. and the W&OD trail. Picked up some swag, but passed on the Panera croissant egg sandwich and coffee. I already had a water bottle full of iced coffee, and the eggwich would have been a little too much food in the middle of a ride. I also stopped at the Booz-Allen pit stop in Tysons Corner because it was a block from my office and because it’s where I had to go to claim my purple t-shirt. This was a smaller stop but offered bike tune-ups. I had to deal with a guy from a Fairfax cycling organization who insisted, simply insisted, that I take their flier.

The ride home had no pit stops. Cyclists were on their own for “bike home from work day” but from the looks of it we all survived – I saw no collapsed cyclists by the side of the trail. There were few sprinkles here and there, but no real rain. I vow to bike to work again soon.

Force of Nature

2011-05-19T19:46:00.000-07:00

Some days really bring home the meaning of the term "force of nature." Over the past week everyone has been shocked by report of the record flooding of the Mississippi River, with farmers' fields inundated under ten feet of water. Of course, we're all still reverberating from the Japanese tsunami. Now, we have our own small-scale version close to home. Admittedly, the Potomac at flood stage pales in comparison to these other cataclysms. But look at the sharp "hockey stick" rise in the Little Falls gauge height over the last couple of days. Wow.

After a long email exchange on the subject, most of the kayaking group bailed (so to speak) tonight.. Just Rob, Peter, the back-after-years-absence Mike V and I showed up. The four of us made our way to a shoreline vantage point through the construction area of the humpback bridge. The river was high, and it was cooking. Big logs, trees and other debris were flying down the river as if motorized. The river was just a few inches below overflowing its banks on the DC side - and it was low tide. Peter proposed a paddle in the protected waters of the Boundary Channel, which would have meant a mere 45 minutes or so on the water. I just didn't feel it was worth changing clothes and unload gear for such a short trip, and I was leery of the inevitable urge to peek out into the river a little just to test the conditions. My view prevailed and so the four of us headed to dinner at Lebanese Taverna followed by browsing at Hudson Trail Outfitters.

I rarely go out just to socialize weekday evenings. Either I'm doing some activity (kayaking) or going to some meeting. It was really nice to just sit on a nice evening and shoot the breeze over shwarma and Lebanese beer. I felt like I was in a beer commercial. I've been stressed lately, but the force of nature forced me to relax tonight.

Southern archetypes

2011-05-01T19:29:00.000-07:00

Spent the day in Knoxville hanging with some distinctly southern characters. There's the lawyer guy - some combination of Matlock and Foghorn Leghorn as played by John Larroquette. There was Dr. JB the crazy engineer, who looks like they took Jesse Duke (the patriarch of the Dukes of Hazzard, in case you are unfamiliar with the show) and showed up for the meeting dressed in grimy coveralls straight from the wardrobe of Cooter (the mechanic character on the same show). The Boss Hog character in all this was Dr. Bob - not in the evil Boss Hogg sense, but in the sense of being the wealthiest man in Hazzard county. My compatriot RC, while a native of Brooklyn rather than the south (coincidentally, he and I grew up not far from each other) reminds me of Barney Fife nonetheless.

I'm living on a diet of blackened fish, candied sweet potatoes, pecan-crusted chicken and lots of sweet things. I have managed to defy the local culinary norms a little bit and make one dinner and breakfast vegetarian. And the Azteca hot pepper and chocolate gelato in downtown Knoxville? Delicious!

What about the bison?

2011-05-01T18:51:00.000-07:00

Thursday only three of us showed up to paddle; everyone else was SK102-bound. Given that we were an intimate little group we had some time to muse as we headed upriver (I won't dwell on the coastal flooding advisory which was in place). What's with the central section of the Memorial Bridge - why is it metal when the rest is stone? And what's with the buffalo head decorations at the apex of all the arches?

A little research revealed that the center span was originally a drawbridge. Over time, as less boat traffic headed to Georgetown it got used less and less frequently. by the 1960's there was basically no longer a demand for passage of tall boats and so when Roosevelt Bridge was built they didn't bother making it a drawbridge. Having a low bridge just upriver was the final nail in the coffin, and so the drawbridge mechanism was disabled and was removed in the 70's.

As to the bison, I couldn't find a story. The bridge symbolically relinks the North and South (connecting the Lincoln Memorial top Rober E. Lee's house at Arlington). Maybe the bison were considered a symbol of the "post-bellum" vitality of America, in particular the American West. Or something.

Anyway, a good paddle. Water was high - the normally poky boundary channel was wide and deep.

Bike to work

2011-04-28T19:07:00.000-07:00

First day of biking to work this year. Took a chance, as I had snapped off the top of the pin on the valve stem of my front tire, but the pressure held for the ride out (I bought a replacement tube at lunchtime). As always, an enjoyable eight miles plus one mile of hell through the construction of Tysons Corner. Got to work and changed in the tiny temporary locker room they have set up while the regular ones are under renovation. A little weird sharing this small space with another employee who was quite nonchalantly totally naked for the whole period I was in there. Maybe I should report this incident to one of our senior HR people. Oh wait, he was one of our senior HR people.

Should I be Dead or Something?

2011-04-18T19:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I read yet another article about High Intensity Training. The idea of HIT is that rather than exercising for a long time at a steady pace, you do a series of short, explosive all out bursts with cooldowns in between - intervals to the max. Well, that seems good to me; less time exercising, and really only a few minutes of pounding on my oh-so-fragile lumbar disks. So today I decided to try it out on the trail.

My target workout was five minutes of warmup, six intervals of 30 seconds all-out followed by a minute of recovery, then five minutes or so of cooldown - about 20 minutes total. My supposed max heart rate is somewhere in the 170's, depending on which formula you use. They say you shouldn't exceed 80% of that, or the upper 130's for me. However, my usual runs or erging sessions take me to about 145-150. Well, take a look at the accompanying chart. For the first three intervals not only was I above 80%, I was well above my supposed 100% heart rate (note the horizontal line) - the first interval was up over 200 BPM. You could tell I was more tired and not pushing as hard in intervals 4-6.

So, someone with a "max" HR of 174 getting his heart pumping over 200 BPM? Is that healthy, even for a minute or so? Is it normal to like doing this sort of thing? The funny thing is that I used to run this hard when I took the bootcamp class to try and keep up with Glenn and John, the two really fast runners in the class. I never thought anything of it. However, seeing the data on my HR gives me a different viewpoint. Damn quantitative information is gonna make me back off a little bit next time. Maybe.

Muddy Feet, Again

2011-04-10T16:42:00.001-07:00

I spent Saturday building a retaining wall in my backyard so I could expand my vegetable bed. The previous day had been rainy, the yard was wet and so over the course of the day everything got muddy. I got muddy. My tools got muddy. David, helping me out, got muddy. I thought that Saturday was going to be my muddy day for the weekend.

Sunday I woke up early to do my first breakfast paddle of the season. Sunday mornings when there's nothing else going on I tend to start my days with a jaunt up the river, usually pausing at my turnaround point to have a thermos of coffee and a snack - hence the "breakfast paddle" name. As always, I felt a wave of happiness as soon as I pulled into the marina. This was also the first day this year that I took out the Shearwater - my beautiful wooden kayak, which only made it more special.

The water is still cold so I donned my drysuit. This suit is really meant for people who paddle with friends (actually not a bad idea when the water is cold). It zips across the back of the arms and shoulders, and so it takes some nearly arm-dislocating contortions to zip the thing solo. In fact, the only way I can do it is by clipping an extension string onto the zipper toggle so I can hold the zipper in place and get a little more leverage. I look like I'm having some sort of seizure when I'm wrestling myself into the thing. But I did it.

Each season on the river has its beauty. The winter brings silence and solitude. Both the river and its banks are pretty wells deserted in the cold weather, the water seems more viscous and the air thinner. Springtime, on the other hand, is all about activity. The marina was busy today as fishermen launched their boats. The paths along both banks of the river were buzzing with runners, cyclists and dog-walkers. Rowers were out in force - singles, fours and eights. And then there was that guy sitting incongruously on a log at the water's edge above Georgetown, reading the Sunday Post Business Section and drinking tea from a thermos, his kayak pulled up beside him, his feet ankle deep in mud. Wait, I know that guy - it was me. Yeah, it was low tide and so the shoreline was all exposed mud. I had to squish my way through it up to solid ground for my breakfast break. Yes, I was muddy-footed again, but it felt good.

Sneaky Biking

2011-03-21T19:39:00.000-07:00

We have this alternate schedule thing at work where if you work 80 hours in 9 workdays, you can take the final Friday of the period off. I try and take advantage of it, but somehow I rarely seem to succeed. Either personal things rob me of hours during the week (school meetings, doctor's appointments ...) or something comes up which requires my presence on what otherwise would have been a day off. This past Friday was no exception. I had taken a sick day earlier in the period to try and recover from bronchitis, and I had a meeting out in Sterling pop up for Friday morning. It was going to be another beautiful, unseasonably warm day - in the 70's in mid-March! - and so I was determined to take at least a little advantage of it, even if I couldn't get a full day off.

What's this? Our Sterling office is not far from the W&OD trail?! And there's a new, large W&OD trail parking lot nearby just off of Rt. 28?! Too good to pass up. Before I headed to the office Friday morning I threw my bike and gear into the back of my car. My Sterling meeting was done around lunchtime, and I headed over to the W&OD. For the second time in as many days I found myself using my car as a changing room to wriggle into exercise clothes. I'm pretty good at this by now - I once completely changed from a business suit into yoga clothes while driving down Rt. 7, thanks to a lot of red lights and traffic.

I headed west on the trail. Out past Rt. 28 the trail is much more open than the section by my house. It has almost a rural feel. Riding was a pleasure, even though there were plenty of Lance Armstrong wanna-be's out and about. I may sound old and curmudgeonly for saying this, but these people make me laugh (except when they're pissing me off). When I was growing up cycling was something you did for transportation and maybe light recreation. It wasn't a Sport with a capital "S". Certainly, no one donned special outfits for bike riding. Nowadays, though, you feel quite under-dressed if you venture out on the trail without your matching cycling jersey, tights - or better yet, singlet - and little bike socks and shoes. I admit to owning the most functional parts of cycling clothing: shorts with paddling and hard-soled bike shoes. I do not see any reason to adopt the rest of the costume. And I certainly see no reason to adopt the selfish view some of these folks have - that they own the trail and slower cyclists are unwelcome obstacles in their way.

Make no mistake - I am a slower cyclist. No one would mistake me for Lance Armstrong even if I took to wearing the bike racer outfit. No one would mistake me for Lance Armstrong even if I was dating Sheryl Crow (an idea I must say I find less objectionable than wearing the bike racer getup). This was the first time I had been on a bike in a long time and I was slooooow. According to my Forerunner I pedaled about 20 miles at an average speed of about 12 MPH. Admittedly, that included a bathroom break and a stop at the quarry overlook (!), but I think it's still a pretty accurate speed. I felt good though despite my slowpokedness - I pedaled 20 miles without feeling sore in the least afterward, I enjoyed the ride, and I look forward to more cycling this year.

After my ride I headed over to the nearby Wegman's shopping center looking for food. I was about to go into some chain food place when what to my wondering eyes should appear but the Sterling branch of Moby Dick House of Kabob! I ordered a felafel sandwich and powered up my computer to approve timesheets, something I had forgotten to do in the morning. The felafel was awesome - really hit the spot after my ride. I must admit to feeling some affinity for the folks who run these felafel-serving joints, though I'm not sure the semitic fraternal love would be returned.

Alas, I felt compelled to make good on my commitment to work the rest of the day, so at the conclusion of my little adventure I wriggled back into my work clothes and headed back to work.

St. Paddles Day

2011-03-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

The first Thursday after the beginning of Daylight Savings Time was St. Patrick's Day. Sunlight for paddling and unseasonably warm temps - plenty of reason to raise a glass in celebration.

It's that swing time of year when dressing for the water temp means schvitzing in the boat, however dressing for the air temperature would have put me at risk had I wound up in the water. I'm reading a book written by an ocean rower, from which I've learned that while out at sea ocean rowers often row naked, particularly on the bottom, to avoid salt water rashes. I certainly wasn't ready for that. So I put on my drysuit over just a t-shirt (and pants, I was wearing pants!) as a compromise.

It was a small group: just Rob, Peter, Jen and I showed up at the marina. We were joined by Annette and a friend of hers who paddled down from Washington Canoe Club in OC-1s (outrigger racing kayaks). Suffice it to say, a good time was had by all. The group headed upriver to accommodate Annette and Pam, who ultimately needed to head in that direction to make it back to the Canoe Club. As expected, we got pretty warmed up. I wound up doing some sculling braces cool off - got my torso and the back of my head into the water, which was indeed cold. However, once the sun set it cooled off quite a bit and by the time we neared the marina I was glad for my drysuit.

After paddling we had our typical Noodles and Company dinner, then we crossed the Pentagon Row courtyard to Sine Irish Pub. The place was hopping, crammed with bleary-eyed revelers in green. In addition to the usual bar area they had set up extra keg coolers throughout the place serving green beer. Peter availed himself of this holiday-themed beverage, while the rest of us ordered Irish whiskeys. I usually don't drink after our Thursday night paddles, but the proximity of St. Paddy's Day and Purim (the one Jewish holiday when one is supposed to get drunk) was enough to convince me to deviate from my usual practice. I mean, two drinking holidays in one!

We made a toast of "Sláinte" to our good fortune for having had such a nice evening, and then we were on our way. Sometimes you don't even need a rainbow to feel you've found a pot of gold.

Winter XC Ski Weekend: Day 3

2011-02-19T12:14:00.000-08:00

When you travel with a group you need to stay loose. The plans for Day three changed more times than I can count - snowshoeing, skiing, snowshoeing, hiking at Blackwater Falls, skiing ...When it came down to it, Peter, Suzanne and I went snowshoeing, most of the rest of the group went cross-country skiing, and Peter and Gina, after getting their usual late start, went hiking.

In the woods on show shoes

I had never been on snow shoes before. The other Peter was an experienced snowshoer. Suzanne and I strapped on our borrowed (from Dave & Cyndi) snowshoes and followed Peter into the woods. Well, other than Peter's initial preference for bushwhacking straight uphill, it was a blast. Skis let you move quickly through the snow, but you're somewhat constrained by terrain. Snow shoes let you go anywhere. We hiked alongside trails. We hiked off trails. We hiked up hillsides. We ran into the rest of the group at one point.

The day was much warmer. Saturday we had been wishing for more layers' Sunday we were stripping them off.

Were we having fun? By the midpoint of the day Suzanne and I were speculating where and when to get the best deals on buying snow shoes - a good sign for our enjoyment of the day, but a bad sign for the wallet.

The snowshoers were the first back to the lodge, but soon the rest of the group began to trickle in. Lunch for me was once again the spicy curry lentil soup. Peter and Suzanne, who weren't driving, each ordered beers and settled in. The Whitegrass lodge is the kind of place that invites you to hang out, except when it's jam packed (as it was on Saturday). As a result we lingered for a while before all heading our separate ways back home. A wonderful weekend.


Almost the whole group: Jen, Cat, Reggie, Dave, Cyndi and Rob (front table), Suzanne, Pe	ter, Nelson and Caroline (rear)

The trip home was like a trip between seasons. Some warmer weather was rolling in and as I left Canaan Valley the thermometer went from the 30's to the 50's pretty quickly. Back home it was near 60 degrees, which made me eager to ditch the thermal base layer I was wearing . That weather rolled into Canaan as well and a few days later the webcams were showing sad bare spots where we had been skiing. Well, I guess we timed it just right for some not-quite-spring skiing.

Everyone except Peter and Gina

Winter XC Ski Weekend: Day 2

2011-02-15T19:09:00.000-08:00

Crazy conditions at the lodge - that's me betwen the ski racks

Wait a minute, this wasn't in the forecast! The weather forecast had called for a warming trend over the weekend, but Canaan Valley weather can be unpredictable. I awoke Saturday to cold temps, light snow, and fierce winds. I watched the snow swirl around as I ate breakfast at the inn and chatted with a couple of other guests, all skiers. I was in no hurry to get outside. Saturday was also the day we had figured on going telemark skiing, but it turned out that some of us preferred going back to Whitegrass for XC. I picked up Peter and Suzanne at Hypnocoffee in Davis and the three of us headed over to Whitegrass. Dave and Cyndi, Reggie and Cat, Rob, and Jen headed for Timberline to telemark. Gina and Peter slept in a while. Nelson and Carolyn headed out separately to ski.

Taking a break at a shelter. Note horizontal snowfall

Have I mentioned it was windy? The closest weather history I could find online just now was Petersburg, WV, which recorded gusts of 45 MPH. Whitegrass weather is more extreme than Petersburg so I'm guessing the winds were upwards of 50 MPH there. Peter, Suzanne and I sat for a while in the lodge watching the wind try to rip the flags off their poles, thinking that maybe we were a little crazy for even considering going outside. I regretted not having brought a full face mask and a few more layers. Finally we headed out for a warm-up run, so to speak, of Springer Orchard Trail. This took us right into the wind. I was glad for the ski goggles (not normally used for XC) that Teddy had given me for the trip. The force of the wind wad unbelievable and the snow ground against us like we were being sandblasted. I was wearing ski gloves with chemical handwarmers in them and my hands were still freezing. The water in the drinking tube from my Camelback water bottle froze. After about five minutes we stopped and questioned whether we were doing this just to prove a point, but we pressed on. Adding a pair of glove liners helped warm up my hands, and once we were into the woods we were somewhat shielded from the wind, so things got better. I'm glad we did, since conditions were great. Fresh powder over the existing base. The scenery was beautiful too. We skied for about two hours before heading back to the lodge for some marvelously warm soup (spicy curried lentil ... mmmmmmm). The afternoon was a similar story: back out into the blistering winds, this time to the Timberline trail. This is a beautiful trail which eventually leads into some woods. We skied for a while in the virgin snow of the woods, which was nice, though we were disappointed to find that the trail didn't take us to Timberline ski area (maybe we just didn't go far enough through the woods). Peter and I took a detour on the way back to check out a side trail while Suzanne headed back. Some time in the afternoon the snow stopped, but the winds remained pretty strong.

Late afternoon we left Whitegrass and after a quick stop at my inn to change (and yes, to check email) I headed over to the Purple Fiddle to meet up with the group. In addition to the hotel part of the Purple Fiddle, there are dorm type accommodations and a common area over the club portion - a kitchen, living room and pool table. We took over the living room area, broke out all the snacks and beverages we had with us, and ordered a stack of pizzas. Our original plan was to head downstairs to watch the band, but we wound up having such a good time just hanging out that we never made it down to the club - and heck, we could hear the band pretty well from upstairs anyway. I'm not sure how much pizza and snack food I had, but it was a lot - including a particularly wonderful blueberry goat cheese courtesy of Gina. I drank my share of single malt scotch (courtesy of Rob and Gina) and wine as well. Finally, one by one people started to peter out. I mean this literally, as Peter the elder was the first to go, falling asleep on the couch. Next Nelson and Carolyn headed to bed. Then came those of us who had to drive somewhere. Needless to say, plans for Sunday morning were left a little fuzzy.

Winter XC Ski Weekend: Day 1

2011-02-11T20:18:00.000-08:00

Me, in the Whitegrass lodge

I headed up to West Virginia today for a ski weekend with a group of about a dozen friends. It was in part a celebration of one of us turning the big 4-0 (alas, she was the second youngest of the group), but mostly it was just a chance to hit the trails for some cross-country skiing and maybe telemark skiing and snow-shoeing. Plans for the trip had been long in the making, but in the final analysis were a little short on details, at least to the engineering-inclined, with no particular agreed-upon arrival time. I figured I might be skiing by myself on Day 1 and so I was pleasantly surprised when I pulled into the parking lot at Whitegrass ski area and immediately spotted my friend Rob. He had car-pooled up with Suzanne and Jen and they had arrived just minutes earlier. Whitegrass is a funky 1950’s (or thereabouts) downhill ski area which today serves as a cross-country ski resort. The lodge is small and rustic. It feels like a restaurant in a college town which happens to rent skis. While the four of us were getting into our gear Peter and Gina showed up and five of us set out on one of the shorter loop trails as a warm-up (Suzanne had promised to wait and take a lesson with the other beginner, the other Peter). Rob was using telemark ski gear (a hybrid between XC and downhill). He quickly tired of trudging along the trail in the heavier gear and went back to play on the big slope. The rest of us continued the loop, passing through beautiful woods and a horse pasture with some friendly horses.

Peter, Gina, and Jen on Springer Orchard Trail

After this trail we stopped back at the lodge and met up with Peter and Suzanne, who were just finishing their lesson, Nelson and Carolyn, who had been skiing since early morning, and Dave and Cyndi. We relaxed for a little bit in the yurt (which I assume is there to help with the chronic over-crowding in the lodge) then went into the lodge for some food – spinach mushroom barley soup for me. The big group of us started to climb Three Mile trail (which, no surprise, is three miles long). Probably the most note-worthy part of this outing was a slightly out of control Dave whacking into and wiping out a woman who was stopped in the middle of the trail. Anyway, half way up the trail we realized how late it was so we turned around and skied down.

I must say that my skiing skills started out awful. I simply had no control on downhills and intentionally fell more than once because I couldn’t stop any other way. As I skied more I got more comfortable and I improved through the afternoon. My ancient ski gear, though continued its disintegration. Last year one of my boots broke in two while I was skiing the W&OD trail after one of the Snowmageddon storms. Today, the strap on one of my ski poles broke. I skied without a strap for the rest of the day but in the back of my mind I was working ideas for temporary fixes.

Waiting upstairs at Hellbenders. That's my foot on the right.

I was a late joiner to the trip. By the time I decided to go along most of the group made arrangements to stay at the Purple Fiddle in Thomas, WV – a funky hostel/nightclub. Since the Fiddle was full by the time I joined, I’m staying at the far nicer (but more expensive) Bright Morning Inn in Davis, just a few minutes away. For dinner the group – now swelled to a dozen with Catriona – decided to hit Hellbender Burrito, convenient for me since it was right across from where I was staying. It takes a while to seat 12 at a restaurant in a small WV town. Fortunately for us the restaurant had a little room upstairs to hang out in. This room felt like a college apartment – 1980’s vintage couch, beer sign, video games, junk. It was actually a cozy place to hang out for a while. Finally they called us, though we did have to eat split between two tables. I had a burrito with seitan (a wheat protein product), veggies, cheese and beans – good! I accidentally really doused my burrito with habanero sauce (I didn’t notice the bottle didn’t have a shaker top). That didn’t really slow me down any eating it and I had that wonderful burning sensation in my mouth when I was done.

Everyone had gotten up pretty early, so the combination of big burritos and beer on top of an afternoon of exertion did us in. It was an early night and we all headed back to our respective hotels to turn in.

Sports, Shooting Sports

2011-01-23T17:46:00.000-08:00

I know this blog is usually about some fairly laid back activities like kayaking and hiking but today we go in a different direction. St. Ambrose said, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." I say, when in Virginia long enough, y'all are gonna wind up shootin' (and quoting saints, apparently).

There's a group within the local Mensa chapter (yes, I'm a member) called BLAM: Blazing Lightly Armed Mensans. It's a group of Mensans who meet once per month to go target shooting. The group usually meets at the shooting range at the national NRA headquarters and let me say that the average IQ in the place goes waaaayyyy up when the BLAM folks walk in the door. Oops, there I go again, giving in to the stereotype that people who like to shoot are a bunch of idiot yokels. I have to remind myself that target shooting is a perfectly respectable sport - heck, it's even in the Olympics, including my favorite odd combo, the biathlon. It's just that if you hang around gun ranges in Virginia it's very easy to conflate those who enjoy shooting with Confederate flag-waving rednecks.

As a further digression, I learned the other day that the official adoption of the Confederate Battle Flag (the well-known "stars and bars") took place right nearby in Fairfax, Virginia. Generals Beauregard and Johnston chose it because the official Confederate National Flag of the time looked a lot like the U.S. flag and on a battlefield it's important to be able to tell who's you friend and who's your enemy.

Anyway, back to shooting. I've always felt like a total know-nothing when I've gone out with the BLAM group since I have absolutely no background in shooting. To rectify this I signed up to take the NRA basic pistol course. I have to admit I couldn't believe it myself, but sometimes it's good to stretch a little bit beyond what you normally do.

The day of the course comes and I show up at the address given to find that it's a private house - a typical suburban McMansion in Fairfax (no Confederate battle flags in sight, though). I ring the bell and a pretty, petite woman about my age answers, assures me that I'm at the right place, and leads me into her family room. It's a typical McMansion family room: vaulted ceiling, giant TV, family photos. Nothing unusual at all ... except for the big collection of handguns spread out on the coffee table. Revolvers, automatics. Big guns, small guns. The woman who answered the door introduces herself as Tina, the instructor, and gives a little bit of her background. It turns out that she's former Secret Service, former ICE federal agent, former air marshall. I quickly figure out that this little Southern belle is in fact one tough chick.

I was the know-nothing of this group too. My fellow students included a guy who brought several of his own guns along, a woman who says she currently keeps a loaded revolver in her nightstand for "home protection", and an Indian guy whose name was sufficiently difficult to pronounce that he went by "Z". Z is a current gun owner too. The class was a few days after the Tucson shooting of Rep. Giffords, which most present took as a sign that we all need to be carrying guns to protect ourselves from gun-wielding crazies. The majority opinion in our little group is that the world is going to hell in a hand basket and that as a result we all need to be armed. I find myself once again a little bit of an outlier, but I keep my mouth shut.

Politics and paranoia aside, the course was very well taught. I learned everything I was looking to learn and feel much better prepared to hang out with the BLAM crowd. The class was supposed to end with a trip to the range at the Blue Ridge Arsenal but the range was 100% booked by a law enforcement agency doing practice. Instead, I met up one on one with Tina at the range a couple of days later before work. I opted to shoot .22 - the smallest caliber - so I could work on form without the bigger kick of larger guns. We went through a box of 100 rounds. Again, Tina proved to be an excellent instructor and I got better with each clip. Finally, my very last shot went right through the center of the bullseye. Success! I feel ready to start listening to country music and driving a pickup ... oops, there's that stereotype again.

A True Ice Pirates Paddle

2011-01-02T19:27:00.000-08:00

The Chesapeake Paddlers Association has a number of weekly paddling groups, all of which finish up their seasons in late October when the water and weather turn cold. The hardcore nutballs of the Georgetown group continue paddling past the official end date. Known as the Ice Pirates, this hale and crazy group paddles year-round, weather permitting. I'm a part-time Ice Pirate myself. It's nice to use those Thursdays in winter to do something else - yoga, music, anything inside where it's warm and cozy. But there's also something very special about being out on the river in the winter when it's cold and quiet, so I show up to paddle at least once per month through the winter.

Last year was not kind to Ice Pirating. With the Snomageddon snowstorms and extremely cold weather, the river was too frozen to have paddled on, even if you could have gotten to it. This year also got off to an inhospitable start as an early cold wave froze the river in mid-December. This past week, though, there was a warm spell and reports started to come in that the river, while frozen in Georgetown, was navigable below Gravely Point. I was the source of one of those reports, having gone for a speedwalk by the river Christmas morning.

So mid-week the emails started flying: Was anyone paddling? Was it even possible? Advisable? After discovering that the Park Service locks up Gravely Point at night we decided to chance Columbia Island Marina. A group of six of us showed up to take our chances on this titanic adventure.

The marina has bubblers which keep the water moving thereby reducing freezing around the boats in the docks. Most of the lagoon was frozen, but we were able to get out by hugging in close to the docks. Once out on the river we saw that it was frozen upriver, frozen out in the middle of the river, but open along the Virginia shore. We headed that way to see how far we could get.

About five minutes into our trip we ran into an obstacle: an ice field. A section of the river which had been frozen was in the process of thawing but was still covered in large, chunky sheets of ice. We could see the ice field was only a few hundred feet long and decided to try to cross it. Getting through took a combination of trying to shove ice sheets out of the way with your paddle, poling against them to move your boat (there was too little open water to paddle normally), running your boat up and over ice, and just generally crunching along. We made it through, though it was more than a little nerve-wracking to do so. The traversal took its toll on my paddle too; when I got home I noticed I had chewed up one of the edges of the paddle a bit. Not a problem. I was using one of my homemade wooden Greenland paddles; I'll just sand out the damages..

Once we made it through the ice field it was smooth going. The river was open and the winds were calm. We paddled along through the crisp air most of the way to the southern end of National Airport (a security truck did come out and take a look at us at one point but must have decided we didn't look threatening). I was warm in my dry suit; only my hands were cold. There is just no answer to keeping your hands warm when paddling in cold water. As we neared the bottom of the airport we started to hit some more ice and decided that maybe it was time to turn back.

The trip back was much like the way out. The ice field seemed a little worse on the way back. The night way cold and maybe the river was refreezing. Maybe we were a little more tired and a little less excited. Or maybe we just didn't pick as good a route through the ice. It took all of us a while to pick our way through the ice. Caroline and I were the last ones to make it through, but we made it.

Back at the marina I paid the price for not having brought gloves. My hands were cold, cold, cold as I changed out of my drysuit and loaded my boat. The loss of manual dexterity I experienced even on dry land in upper 30's temps is a sobering indicator of what to expect in case of a capsize. Yikes. But enough of that ...

Dinner was, as usual, at Noodles & Company, where we toasted our having truly earned the Ice Pirates name. But I'd still be happy if global warming had kept the river ice free for us.

Experiments in Speedwalking

2010-12-30T20:00:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to worry that my running days are over. Well, worry may be too strong a word. I started running after Teddy was born since it was the only exercise I could do on the spur of the monent any time of day or night ... "the baby's asleep, I'm going for a run." I have never considered myself a runner in a "I am a Dancer and a Dancer dances" sort of way. Still, I like it in a lot of ways. It's a highly portable workout. It gets me outside day in and day out. It also is a more challenging aerobic workout than anything else I do. The problem is that it's also very high impact and I suspect that's one of the causes of my current achy back. I actually stopped running for a year and had far fewer back problems. Since I joined an early morning bootcamp class earlier this year (a class which is full of serious runners) I have been going back to it, with a corresponding increase in back issues. Now I have a herniated L3-L4 disk and feel like I'm 90 years old. The funny thing is I'm fine while moving: walking, kayaking, rowing, running. It's staying still that hurts.

Anyway, I've been looking to find activities to take the place of running. My current experiment is speedwalking. I wouldn't say I was racewalking, since I don't have that odd racewalking gait down. Rather, it's just walking as fast as I can with a fast cadence. So far the experiment has been a success. Thanks to my lovely Garmin Forerunner I know that I can get my heart rate pretty well up there - not quite like running, but definitely into Zone 4 (aerobic training). With running I get my heart rate up to about 150 BPM pretty quickly and stay there. When speedwalking my HR takes longer to ramp up and tends to sit in the mid-140's. My second speedwalk I got up into the 150's for the last ten minutes or so - not sure what was different or if I was just worked out at that point. The tables all say I should be exercising at abut 146 BPM but I seem to be able to handle a little faster. Maybe I should try speedwalking the hills of my neighborhood.

The only downside is I'm sure I look like a dork doing it. But, it still gets me outside, and it's much lower impact than running. I'm going to keep experimenting.

Meditation By the Numbers

2010-12-16T17:24:00.000-08:00

V bought me a wonderful birthday present: a Garmin Forerunner, which is a combination GPS and heart rate monitor. I have been using it for all sorts of things: keeping myself from slacking off when I run, keeping track of distance when I run in unfamiliar places, and just as a HR monitor on the erg (rowing machine). It's very cool. I love data!!!!

I decided to wear my new toy while meditating to see if I could see any physiological effects from meditation. For my first trial I turned on some streaming ambient music and settled in on the couch. The problem was that right after I settled in an announcer came on and started talking up the station's Premium (paid) Service. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of ignoring this disturbance, but the heart rate shows otherwise. Or maybe it's just Heisenberg effect - knowing I was monitoring myself got me a little agitated. Anyway, after a few minutes the announcer finished and I settled into a body check-in: a mindfulness meditation where you turn your attention in turn to the different parts of your body. That settled my HR down into the 60's. After a while I switched to another technique; a "Yud Hay Vov Hay" breathing meditation I learned from Rabbi Jeff Roth. Interesting results there - a choppy and slightly higher HR before finally settling down. As a third step I tried a prone visualization meditation that I learned in a yoga class. That produced a very steady, slow heart rater. I ordinarily wouldn't do three types of meditation in one sitting, but I was experimenting. My conclusion is that physiological effects of meditation are clearly measurable through HR.

One thing really bothered me about my first trial, and that was the absolute numbers of HR. Because I exercise regularly I have a pretty low resting heart rate and I was surprised that my meditation numbers were as high as they were - particularly since an initial brief focused breathing test had yielded a HR of 56 BPM. So I decided to try again. The chart below shows my second result. I started with the same seated check-in as the first trial (minus the initial aggravation) and quickly got down below 60 BPM. I think I have an explanation for the little bumps at 4:00, 6:30 and 9:30. I was tired and I think I dozed off a couple of times. I think the bumps are where I caught myself and awoke with a start.

I continued with a repeat of the prone meditation. Again, my HR clocked right down into the upper 50's. Apparently I dozed off once there too, as shown by the wake-up bump just after minute 14. I was much happier with these absolute numbers, which I think reflect less HR elevation from experimental stress (and more tiredness-induced relaxation to boot).

I would love to be able to repeat this experiment with blood pressure. In the meantime, I may continue using the HR monitor as a new-found way of monitoring my meditation.

Oh, one last thing. I wasn't trying for a certain duration and so I find it interesting that in both trials I meditated for almost exactly the same duration.

Now, back to tonight's meditation ... drinking cognac while looking out the window at the snow :)

My new Forerunner

2010-12-07T19:12:00.000-08:00

One of my Channukah presents was a Garmin Forerunner. This amazing little device combines a GPS and heart rate monitor to allow you to track your workouts - distance, pace, heart rate, time. I love it. It's been keeping me honest. Seeing my pace, I've been running harder. I have been using it on the erg and have been rowing harder (in that case I'm using it just for the HR monitor, since the GPS track of rowing in place isn't very useful). I wore it while raking leaves the other day just to see the impact on my heart rate (about 90 - 100 BPM, since you asked). I have even done a quick test of my ability to lower my resting heart rate through meditation. Initial results are positive: got down to 56 BPM. That was just a quick test; I need to collect a longer sample. If anything gets me out of bed in 20 degree weather tomorrow to go running it'll be the opportunity to collect another data set. I love data!

The thing does look like a "Dick Tracy watch" (for those old enough to know what that means) though. And speaking as a one-time GPS designer, the size and capabilities of the thing just blow my mind.

A couple of trips to the Shenandoahs

2010-10-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

It's a quick trip from where I live to Shenandoah National Park: an hour and forty-five minutes at most. Every year I vow I'm going to take more advantage of this nearby hiking wonderland, however I'm ashamed to admit how often I go for extended periods without going there. Well, this Fall I have been true to my vow, having logged two recent trips to the Shenandoahs.

First, just I was really jonesing for a hike, Teddy asked if I'd want to come along on a Yorktown High School Outdoors Club hike to Old Rag Mountain. I felt pretty happy that he asked - not every teenage kid wants his dad tagging along on a school trip with his friends. I was also thrilled because this is one of the best hikes in the area. The hike is about nine miles of fairly steep vertical trails with some rock scrambling to finally reach a great view at the summit at about 3200 ft. elevation. There were as many adults as kids along on the hike: two Yorktown teachers (required), my friends Elisa and Steve, another Dad and I accompanied five high schoolers and one younger kid. A very nice group of kids - I think the kind of kid who would spent a weekend day hiking rather than playing Nintendo or going to the mall is the kind I'm inclined to like. Interestingly, the trail was much less crowded than usual - perhaps because it was at the very early edge of foliage season and most folks were waiting for more intense Fall colors to appear.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks: This past Friday after a crazy week I found myself with a day off and decided to head for the park again to get my own look at near-peak colors. I can make myself crazy second-guessing my decisions and I did so as I drove out to the park - such a long drive, this wasn't a great year for foliage because of a hot, dry September so why am I bothering?, I had so many chores to take care of, I needed to practice for an upcoming bar mitzvah gig, was it even worth the trip? These thoughts dogged me all the way to the park but disappeared the minute I was out of the car and on the trail.

It was a chilly, windy morning but I was properly dressed. The air was crisp and the view was notable even from the parking lot. I parked at Panorama (near Thornton Gap) and hit the Appalachian Trail headed to Mary's Rock. This is another vertical hike to a spectacular viewpoint - albeit a shorter one than Old Rag. I had my GPS with me and the elevation view of my track is pretty entertaining: flat across the parking lot, then a steep steady climb, gaining 1,200 ft in elevation over just 1.8 miles of trail. I had brought my camera along. Between the partly cloudy weather and the aforementioned sub-optimal foliage conditions, the big vistas were not popping with color to extent they sometimes do. However, there was plenty of color at the level of individual trees. I pointed my camera at stands of trees and even individual leaves - some of the leaves had strikingly beautiful multicolored patterns. I think I got some nice pictures.

The summit of Mary's Rock affords a nearly 360 degree view of the park and the Shenandoah Valley. Because of its sweep I think it's actually a more stunning view than Old Rag. I scrambled up the rocks at the summit to get an even better view. The view was so nice that I ignored the cold wind and stayed up on the rocks to eat my lunch. My Spaghettios Thermos (passed down from my children) hadn't kept the Asian noodles with peanut sauce I had prepared very warm but the dish was still tasty and just warm enough to help counter the nippy conditions on the mountain. I had the summit to myself - again, the trail had been fairly empty - though a couple of other hikers showed up just as I was starting down.

On the drive back I spotted a coffee roaster store in Sperryville. I was past the place by the time its presence registered, so I pulled onto the shoulder and drove about 100 feet in reverse back to the store. The place is a true roaster - they roast their coffee in-house. Their bags of coffee all carry roast dates, and the dates of the two bags I bought were the current day and the day before - fresh roasted! I poured a cup for the road (which they comped to me since I bought two bags of coffee!) and headed back home, this time without any inner second-guessing.

Tashlich by Mayak

2010-09-10T12:53:00.000-07:00

My Tashlich by kayak video can be see here.

L'Shanah Tovah!

On Hallowed Ground

2010-09-10T12:45:00.000-07:00

Circumstances prevented me from attending services Rosh Hashonah morning. I usually like to spend some time outside on the holidays, as I find nature to be a spiritual experience. So, I brought my prayerbook with me and after taking care of my family business I made the quick trip over to Manassas Battlefield Park with the idea of finding a quiet spot to read through the morning rosh Hashonah service.

One cannot visit the Manassas battlefield and not feel the hallowed aspect of the ground. This was the site of two major Civil War battles (the battles of Bull Run, I was raised to call them, though in the South they're known as First and Second Manassas). Thousands died here in battles of brother against brother. The bible clearly understands this theme, containing as it does any number of stories of conflict between brothers. Had I done nothing other than walk the battlefield I feel like I still would have been learning biblical lessons, but I was intent on delving into the service. I walked the fields past the Henry House, the Stone House and up Matthew's Hill, finally finding and ducking into a stand of trees.

The morning Rosh Hashonah service opens with a biblical quote from Numbers. ""How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel! Like valleys they spread out, like gardens beside a river, like aloes planted by the LORD, like cedars beside the waters." I was immediately struck by the contrast between the photos I had seen in the visitor's center of the soldiers' tents and this biblical phrase. How would someone have reacted coming upon one of the encamped armies? Certainly not by declaring the beauty of the encampment.

The Rosh Hashonah liturgy is full of symbols of the specialness and fragility of life. To me, reading the passages on a battlefield brought home the specialness of our existence. One of the central prayers of the service, the Unetennah Tokef, reads in part

""On Rosh Hashanah it is inscribed, and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: how many shall pass on, and how many shall be born; who shall live, and who shall die; who in his time, and who before his time; who by fire and who by water; who by sword and who by beast; who by hunger and who by thirst; who by storm and who by plague; who by choking and who by stoning... Who shall rest, and who shall wander; who shall be tranquil and who shall be harassed; who shall be at peace and who shall suffer; who shall become poor, and who shall become rich; who shall fall and who shall rise... But repentance, prayer and charity revoke the evil decree!"

Was G-d there at Manassas? Was he there as the floors of the Stone House were stained red with the blood of wounded soldiers, as artillery fire ravaged the troops? Was he deciding how many would pass on that day by sword?

There is a majesty to going to a service, to hearing the prayers recited and chanted in a group environment. But there's something maybe even a little more special about studying them yourself in a place that is steeped in the theme of life and death.

2010-08-28T16:00:00.000-07:00

Paddling Route: Truxton Park to
Chesapeake Bay Foundation

My friend Ed's been off the water for a while dealing with various medical problems. He's finally feeling up to paddling so this weekend he organized a return to paddling "coming out party", paddling out of Truxton Park in Annapolis. Ed wasn't sure how much distance he'd be up for, but we had a laid back group that was ready to be supportive and take on whatever distance and speed turned out to be appropriate.

I had never launched from Truxton before, as I'd heard it's kind of a madhouse of boats. That turns out to be true, but it's also a pretty cool (and free!) place to get on the water. Yes, I felt like I was playing kayaking Frogger here and there, but a few minutes of paddling takes you to "ego alley", the point in downtown Annapolis where the yachts tie up, there's some nice sightseeing in Spa Creek and from there it's a quick hop out into the Severn River and the Chesapeake Bay.

Our group of seven included Ed, me, a woman named Melissa whom I hadn't met before, my kayaking neighbor Jen, Yvonne, and kayaking couple Greg and Jenny. Greg's an experienced and inventive paddler - always experimenting with this and that. Today he was kayaking with a stumpy canoe paddle rather than the usual double-bladed kayak paddle. Jenny is someone who is both skilled and just wonderfully graceful on the water. I took rolling lessons with her at several different kayaking events back when I was learning to roll. They're both really nice, laid back people to boot. Yvonne and Jen had spent the night on Yvonne's boyfriend's boat in Galesville. They had been out partying the night before but looked none the worse for wear.

We did the little trip into downtown and then headed east out the mouth of the Severn. From there we headed south down the edge of the Bay, passing the "Maritime Republic of Eastport" and then heading down towards the South River. We took a break at the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, where we all gathered at a picnic table looking out over the sandy beach and the Bay. From this spot we could see the activity of the Chesapeake - the big freighters, the small sailboats, Thomas Point Lighthouse.

Ed, Greg, Jenny and Jen at the Chesapeake Bay Foundation

On the trip back we picked up a small amount of chop. We got to watch a guy experimenting with a standup paddle board - and repeatedly falling off in the waves. We saw some sailboat racers. We detoured to see if the Blackburns, some members of the club, were there on their boat but alas, they weren't. Finally, we returned to Truxton, having covered 11.2 miles. This was much longer than we expected to paddle, a good sign for Ed's stamina and overall fitness. After loading the boats a few folks headed out to lunch, but since it was getting late I just headed home - hitting some traffic from the nasty Glenn Beck/Sarah Palin rally along the way. Grrrr.

A perfect day weatherwise (sunny, not too hot, not too windy), and a nice opportunity for a group paddle to commemorate

Publish Post

Ed's return to the water.

Bay Ridge Run

2010-08-21T18:50:00.000-07:00

Thomas Wolfe wrote that "Only the Dead Know Brooklyn." Well, it's certainly true that even most of its inhabitants don't know it all. I went out for a run while back in Brooklyn for a visit. I had never realized before how easy it is to get from the Hotel Gregory in Bay Ridge onto the Shore Parkway jogging and bike path that runs along New York Bay. In fact, I can't remember ever having explored this path before despite my having admired it a gazillion times while cruising along the adjacent Belt Parkway (never mind that I should have been watching the road, not the bike path). The path offers a gorgeous view of the harbor, punctuated by the towering visage of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. When it opened this bridge was the longest suspension bridge in the world and it's still the longest in the U.S. (the latter according to Wikipedia).

There's a real difference in feel between Brooklyn and DC. In the early mornings the W&OD trail near my house is filled with people grimly set on accomplishing some goal - getting their cardio in, doing some mileage. Washington is all about goals, all about the ends, not the means. Everyone is decked out in serious exercise attire, the better to efficiently make their milestones - beating yesterday's time, going the distance.

In contrast, the Shore trail in Brooklyn feels almost like a party at 7 AM. Yeah, there are serious runners, but there are also people just strolling along enjoying the breeze and the view. One guy had set up a lawn chair and was reading the paper. People on bikes pedaled past at a moderate pace - wearing street clothes, no less. Such behavior would be frowned upon among the spandex-clad, breakneck speed "serious" bikers of DC. A group did tai chi with swords. A few people leaned on the railing and watched the ships go by. The people along the Shore trail were really in the moment, enjoying where they were and the experience of being there, not whether their heart rates were in the target zone.

I'm a Brooklynite by background but also an adopted DC'r, so I split the difference. Yes, I had a big grin on my face as I padded along the trail in my Vibrams - the sight of the bridge and the oh-so clearly Brooklyn people made me happy. But, I was also there for serious exercise. After overdoing it a bit on the run (I kept going after one of Achilles tendons screamed "Stop!") I did some exercises at a park bench - dips, squats, lunges, bootslappers, push-ups. This being New York, no one raised an eyebrow at my odd antics. The ground on the trail was a little too trashy to get down on the ground and do exercises so I passed for the moment on some of my routine. I walked up to a little park along the higher level path on the other side of the Belt where I had seen the tai chi practitioners earlier. The ground was cleaner there so I did a few more exercises. After this I thought I was done but my walk back to the hotel took me past Ft. Hamilton High School. I wandered onto the field, where I found a soccer team practicing some odd drills, urging each other on in Spanish. The field itself was artificial turf and badly needed vacuuming -- or whatever it is you do to clean the schmutz off of Astroturf, but still quite usable. I found a quiet corner away from the soccer team and did abdominal work. Finally, I headed back to the hotel and woke up the boys.

I miss that part of the New York attitude - life is a party, go out and enjoy! Washington is so damn serious. I like the (marginally) slower pace of DC, but can't we learn to have some fun?

Belle Isle Trip - Day 3

2010-08-10T21:57:00.000-07:00

Today the forecast high temperature is triple digits, plus we know we have to be out of the campsite by 3 PM, so we plan a slightly shorter paddle. We get as early a start as we can, which in mellow-out mode means we hit the put-in a little after 8:30 AM. Paddling once again out of Belle Isle we decide this time to cross the Rappahannock (Powhatan for "River in place with a few traffic lights") and explore a creek or two on the opposite shore. We quickly got some excitement when a pod of dolphins swam by! Coming up close and personal with dolphins when you're in a small boat is an incredibly cool experience. They're so graceful, so powerful. They're visible for such a brief instant each time they come out of the water that it almost seems like you've imagined them. Rob and I stopped and watched them until they were out of sight. The experience gave me a grin that lasted the rest of the day.

Dolphin dead ahead

We continued across the river, about a 3 mile crossing due south to Punchbowl Point. Have I mentioned it was hot? Not matter what we did to cool off, it was hot hot hot. When we hit the far shore we paddled into Parrott's Creek where there was a public landing - an actual one with a boat ramp. I had the ramp as a waypoint on my GPS because there happened to be a geocache there. We took a break and watched the boaters come and go. I found the geocache. We also braved the water for a quick dip despite the presence of at least one small jellyfish. As was the case every day, we decided to return a little sooner than planned because of the heat. The return trip was pretty quick. Some big white houses near Belle Isle made a good visual landmark and so we were able to make a beeline back to the put-in.

When we got back to Belle Isle we set to breaking camp. The moment when the tent comes down is always a sad one for me, symbolizing the end of my sojourn in the peaceful, natural world. My sad feelings were assuaged somewhat about twenty minutes into the ride home when I stopped at a 7-11 and got an ice cold soda - a nice counter to the hot, hot weather of the day. On the drive home I watched the car's outside temp gauge, which did indeed break 100 for a while. I'm glad for air conditioning and cold sodas, but I like the outdoors too.

Belle Isle Trip - Day 2

2010-08-09T22:40:00.000-07:00

Rob and I awaken and crawl out of our tents at about the time and have a quick breakfast of cereal and Ethiopian Yirgacheffe coffee. Seeing Rob pull out his camping bowl and folding camping cutlery makes me a little guilty for using a disposable plastic bowl and spoon. Isn't it wonderful how easy it is to find something to feel guilty about these days? Who knew that Mother Nature was a Jewish Mother? We're eager to get on the road because we have about an hour's drive to today's paddle. We load both boats onto one car so as to conserve gas (score one for Mother Nature!) and hit the road.

Mathews is one of the less developed counties in Virginia, so rural that it may not have even a single traffic light. I say "may not" because whether it does or not depends on whether you count the lights at the end of the swing bridge to Gwynn's Island, as mentioned in this quote from the county web page: "Mathews County still does not have any traffic signal lights. However, there are lights placed at either end of the swing span bridge to Gwynn's Island that could be considered traffic lights by some." As just about everyone knows, Mathews is also known as the daffodil center of the Middle Peninsula and was the home of Sally Tompkins, the only female officer in the Confederate Navy. Captain Tompkins, I salute you for your groundbreaking accomplishment, even if it was in the service of treason against the state. Oops, my Yankee roots are showing again.

Mathews County has developed a set of water trails - planned paddling routes, much like hiking trails. A neat set of maps is available at the Bay Gateways web site. I had studied and plotted waypoints for two: the Piankatank River Trail and the Winter and Horn Harbor Trail. It was hard to resist a river with a name like Piankatank (a Powhatan Indian word meaning "river in place of no traffic lights") but since the weather was calm we opted for the more remote, more exposed Winter and Horn Harbor Route, which included a section in the Chesapeake Bay. The launch point was at Garden Creek Landing, a somewhat grandiose name for what turned out to be nothing more than a road that ended at a sand dune. Apparently the end of the road is a little bit of public Chesapeake Bay frontage sandwiched between private property to the left and right. It seemed quite remote to us but was hardly unknown - someone was there combing the sand with a metal detector when we arrived, and a small group of locals was there enjoying the beach when we returned.

We launched into the Bay and headed due south along the shoreline. The Bay was pretty calm, though an occasional wave broadsided us, dumping across our boats. Good bracing practice. We followed the water trail route into the northern end of Winter Harbor. What looked like a small opening on the map turned out to be almost half a mile wide and we poked along looking for the narrow harbor opening for quite a while before realizing we were already in the harbor. After crossing the northern harbor we followed a narrow series of passages to the harbor's southeast corner. It was during this time that I realized the challenges of navigating on water using a GPS loaded with the "roads and recreation" mapset. Rob's GPS, loaded with the marine mapset, offered a much better representation of the facts on the ground (or on the water). So we had my GPS, loaded with the route waypoints but showing us paddling over land, and we had Rob's GPS with the good maps but no route waypoints. No problem; we put our egg-like heads together and figured our way through. The stretch through Winter Harbor was as beautiful as kayaking gets: tall grasses, pretty water, blue skies, bird life aplenty. Being on the water can be so wonderful that one wonders why Noah was so happy to see the dove bring back the olive branch indicating the reemergence of dry land.

Birds on pilings in the Chesapeake Bay near Garden Creek

Before long we reached the Winter Harbor channel, identified by a series of red markers, at which point it was time to decided whether to explore the fingers of Winter Harbor or whether to head back into the Bay and paddle around into Horn Harbor. We chose the latter, first taking a bit of a break on a beautiful and desolate sandy strip just outside Winter Harbor (due south of red buoy 4A, in case you want to visit). While I knew we were just around the bend from some houses inside the harbor, it felt like we were at some incredibly remote desert island. We beached the boats and dunked ourselves in the water for a bit, gaining a little refreshment from the bathwater warm sea. We also walked around and took pictures. As with the prior day, I was just reveling in being in such a wonderful and different place, wearing a PFD (life jacket) rather than a Blackberry.

Cooling off in the Bay near Beach Point

We climbed back into our boats and paddled into Horn Harbor looking for Peary Landing as a place for a lunch break. By this point it was quite hot out and we were hoping to find some shade in which to take a break. Peary Landing turned out to be elusive - it may be another of those hard to discern end-of-the-road public landings, but we did find a cove that offered a place to get out and get shade under a stand of evergreens. The shoreline was guarded by an army of little fiddler crabs, ridiculous looking things each with one huge claw. They looked like they were wearing the crab version of those giant foam hands you see fans wear at ball games. Fortunately the Lilliputian crustacean defenders retreated as we approached and kept their distance as we feasted on peanut butter sandwiches, tuna, Toblerone and, in my case, a lukewarm Coke Zero.

Once again the heat proved to be a limiting factor (or LIMFAC, as my Department of Defense friends say) for us. The trail is listed as 15 to 22 miles, which would have included going further up Horn Harbor and optionally exploring some side creeks. Sitting there amongst the crabs our GPS receivers showed we had covered just short of 7 miles, but we decided to head back, for a roughly 14 mile round trip. We retraced our steps (paddles?) out of Horn Harbor. Instead of going back through Winter Harbor, though, we stayed in the Bay and headed straight north for home. The wind and water had picked up just a little bit, but fortunately they were behind us and helped push us along. On Day 1 I discovered that my boat is slower than Rob's into the wind. On Day 2 I discovered that mine flies relative to his with following wind and seas. When I stopped paddling I would still find myself moving forward at almost 2 knots. Unfortunately for Rob he was not getting this same level of boost. I kept pausing to let him close the distance between us but the waves conspired to keep me going. Before long we found ourselves back at Garden Creek.

Some of the inspiration for this trip came from Kayaker Ralph's recent Chesapeake Paddler's Association trip to the same area (well, also I had for years wanted to check out the Mathews water trails). Our original dinner plan for the day had included visiting the same restaurant Ralph's group had, the Oasis in the inappropriately named town of Lively. However, on our way down to Mathews we had passed through Kilmarnock, a tidy and genuinely lively little town that we noticed offered a choice of restaurants. Kilmarnock did not have the washed out, hungry look common to rural towns and hadn't once brought Deliverance to mind as we passed through and so I noted it as a place to stop for dinner on the way back. At Garden Creek we loaded our boats and cleaned up as best we could, including rinsing our feet in a convenient puddle. One advantage of being as bald as Rob and I are (remarkably, he has me beat!) is the lack of telltale unkempt hair. With fresh clothes on we looked fresh as, if not a daisy, at least a Mathews daffodil and after loading the boats we rolled toward Kilmarnock for dinner.

Remarkably we passed up the Car Wash Cafe and Catering and instead chose a Mexican Place with tables outside. There we struck up a conversation with some regulars, including meeting Lady the dog, Lady's owner, and a couple of guys who appeared to have a standing order to have a round of Budweisers delivered to their table every ten minutes or so. Not rednecks. More like shore people. Laid back, happy to be out enjoying a nice evening socializing in town. Our waitress was a cute, young, moderately tatooed woman who offered pleasant service and complimented our decision to order vegetables and salad rather than heavier fried stuff - she's a healthful eater herself, she said. I must say that the burritos (and veggies) and a beer really hit the spot.

After dinner we headed the rest of the way back to the still deserted campground where we turned in early. As I went to bed I figured that there must not be much of a bear population in the area, as the garbage and recycling cans had regular, unsecured lids. I also thought about the lack of security at the campground and how it would be a great place for a homicidal maniac to kill a bunch of campers - well, a small bunch, since as I've mentioned the campground was pretty empty. Well, I figured as I dozed off, either the homicidal maniac threat is as small as the bear threat or the locals have just accepted the occasional brutal slaying as a part of life, much as I used to accept having my car stereo stolen every year when I lived in New York. Either way, I drifted off to sleep reasonably certain I was going to awaken not to Freddie Kruger or Yogi Bear but to the next day's sunrise.

Belle Isle Trip - Day 1

2010-08-08T21:34:00.000-07:00

Today was Day 1 of a three day kayaking and camping trip. My friend Rob and I planned this trip somewhat at the last minute in place of Kayaker Ed’s Thousand Islands trip, which was cancelled due to Kayaker Ed’s back problems.

I wheeled into the Warsaw, VA McDonald’s about 15 minutes ahead of the planned meeting time to find Rob already there. A good sign – I like punctuality. We continued on to Belle Isle State Park, where the person checking us into the campground seemed almost surprised to see us. I later realized this was because, for some reason, the campground was all but deserted. I’m not sure why that would be the case for such a beautiful park in the middle of summer vacation season. But anyway, the check-in person assigned us a nice site and promised that she wouldn’t put anyone in the adjacent site – an easy promise to keep, given that it turned out that only four of the thirty sites were occupied. It felt like we had the place to ourselves.

Lagoon

After setting up our tents and Rob’s nifty shade canopy we headed out for our first paddle of the trip. We set out from the park’s car-top launch, which is nicely located in a quiet little creek. We paddled out of the creek and turned northwest into the Rappahannock River (upriver). I’m more familiar with the piddly little upriver section of the Rappahannock near Fredericksburg and so it was nice to discover how large the river felt down near its mouth – it’s several miles wide, in fact. The shoreline along this section is fairly developed with houses but is still pretty. We cruised along, sightseeing and just generally enjoying being out on the water. In particular we noticed the popularity of red metal roofs.

We ducked into Farnham Creek. Just at the creek mouth there’s a little spit of land that creates something of a lagoon. The lagoon was like an idyllic little oasis and turned out to be an excellent place to take a break. It also gave us a chance to do some nature watching: we saw herons, cattle egret, and even a dinner plate sized jellyfish. Since I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast back home I hungrily munched down some trail mix and whatever other snack food I had with me. We spent quite a while there just reveling in being out in nature … and away from the office.

Me taking a break at the lagoon

Rob relaxing at the lagoon

Because of the heat we decided not to paddle further, so we started heading back. The wind had picked up and so we crunched through some light chop. The design of my boat is such that it cuts through waves rather than going over them. The advantage of this is that you don’t get the pounding that you do with a more buoyant bow, but you get a wetter ride when paddling into the waves and, I noticed, have the bow dive into each wave really slows the boat down. I suddenly found myself working pretty hard to keep up with Rob. At the time I thought he had gotten a strong second wind and was sprinting back to the put-in, but in retrospect I think it was mostly the difference in how our boats performed in the chop.

Upon our return to the campsite we relaxed with appetizers (wine and cheese, and canned oysters for Rob) then cooked our dinner (burgers, cucumber salad, and fresh corn). A tasty end to an enjoyable first day.

Almost biblical proportions

2010-07-31T13:23:00.000-07:00

It was another one of those evenings when a Severe Thunderstorm Warning was in effect, but conditions looked pretty clear. Not unusual for a Washington summer evening. Because (for the sake of variety) we were paddling out of an alternative location, and perhaps because of the weather, only a few people showed up. It was just Rob, Kurt, Peter and me. After some time spent examining the weather maps on various smartphones and listening to the forecast on the radio we decided it was safe to go out. The Severe Thunderstorm Warning was scheduled to expire within 30 minutes and it looked like the last line of storms had already passed by. Still, to be (slightly) safe we ditched our original plan of paddling up the Anacostia River, which would have meant a mile or so of exposed paddling across the Potomac. Instead we headed south, sticking close to the Virginia shore.

South of National Airport we decided to duck into the cove to see if it was possible to poke up Four Mile Run at all. A poor choice of routes into the cove combined with low tide soon had us nearly aground in some very shallow water. As we were mucking our way through this inch deep stuff a wave train came rolling in from the river - a series of small (maybe a few inches high) but noticeable waves. According to Kurt, this was the tidal bore - the leading edge of the tide as it turned around and started to come in. I'm not sure if this was the case or not, but if it was it was a pretty cool thing to have witnessed. And I can say I kayaked through a tidal wave.

Our focus on slogging our way across the shallow flats back into the deeper channel was suddenly interrupted by Rob's VHF weather radio which sprung to life with an urgent warning pertaining to a Severe Thunderstorm just north of National Airport heading south, bringing with it heavy rains and 50 MPH winds. In other words, it was just on the other side of the airport from us and headed our way. We could see the storm in the distance and so made a beeline for shelter at the Washington Sailing Marina. There we waited things out for a while, striking up a conversation with some sailors who were also waiting for the weather to clear. As it turned out, the storm tracked just north of us. We could definitely see it and we could feel the wind pick up, but we didn't feel a drop of rain. I think, however, that if we had been in the Anacostia River as planned we would have gotten hit more head-on.

As the storm continued east, a giant rainbow appeared in the sky, bathing the silvery riverfront headquarters of the Defense Intelligence Agency in multicolored splendor. I know from my biblical studies that the appearance of a rainbow means everything is going to be A-OK for boaters (Genesis 9:13), so we took it as a sign that the weather was again safe and started the trip back to Gravelly. As is often the case, the thunderstorm left some beautiful skies behind it and as we paddled home we were treated to a gorgeous sunset.

There was one other neat aspect to the paddle. Our route took us around the airport's perimeter. (I assume) because they were trying to clear a backlog of flights that had been held during the storm, both the main runway and the shorter crossing runway (runway 33, that is) were in use. Planes landing on the crossing runway practically skim the water as they come in. If you happen to be paddling past the end of the runway as a flight is approaching the planes are so low that you really feel the urge to duck. It was cool. We waved to the pilots on approach. Couldn't see into the cockpits to see if they waved back, though.

As we landed our kayaks, we could see that as is typical, Gravelly was crowded with people there to enjoy the river view on a pretty evening and, in particular, to watch the planes take off and land. The roar of planes as they thunder in and out of the main runway is pretty impressive. We got off the river feeling that having witnessed the (putative) tidal bore, a massive thunderstorm, a giant rainbow, and a grand sunset, we had indeed had a special evening.

Clearwater Trip Day 3

2010-06-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

I'm always amazed at how well I can sleep in a tent. I wake up feeling pretty refreshed despite having gotten up briefly a couple of times during the night. I'm glad it's early. The event camping area has inadequate facilities (two sinks, two toilets, and two urinals for about 100 tents worth of campers) and I want to get washed up before it gets crowded. As I bruch my teeth, one of the guitarists I played with at the previous evening's jam session ambles up to the other sink. As we wash and chat a line begins to form behind us. Without warning, the guy lifts one of his feet into the sink and starts scrubbing it. "Mulberries," he explains. "I walked through a bunch of them barefoot last night and now my feet are all purple." He washes one dirty purple foot, then the other, oblivious to the line of people behind him waiting to do things like brush their teeth at that sink. I make a note to use only the left-hand sink for the remainder of my stay.

It's pretty early and so I do have time for kayaking before the festival starts. I drive down to the car-top boat launch and spend a nice couple of hours paddling around Croton Point. The Hudson scenery is pretty awesome. The river, even up here, is quite wide with high bluffs on the western shore. On the way back I stop at the festival's "working waterfront" area to do some rolling practice. After a while I'm joined by another guy. He's paddling a recreational kayak - sort of a low end thing - and makes a number of attempts to roll, failing and wet exiting each time. The first time I see him struggling I paddle over and put my boat's bow near him so he can do a bow rescue. It turns out, however, that he's never heard of this technique. The only way he knows to get back into his boat is a mad cowboy scramble from the stern. As we talk he tells me that he's planning to travel by kayak from his home in New Jersey to Baltimore to visit his brother. He says he's got the route all worked out. I expect we'll be hearing more from this plucky young fellow - most likely in the next volume of Sea Kayaker's cautionary "Deep Trouble" books.

About noontime I head over to the main stage and stake out a spot with my chair and raincoat. I then make a bee-line to the dance tent to hear more zydeco. Today it's C.J. Chenier, who is a close friend ... well, I once rode in an elevator with him. I'm taking mental notes as I watch - my klezmer trio is scheduled to play the dance tent at the Takoma Park Folk Festival in September. I meet up with Sherry and Ken (and briefly, my DC kayaker friend Matt). As we're heading back to the main stage at the end of Chenier's set the heavens open up with a summer thunderstorm. Between Sherry's umbrella and my raincoat we get only partly drenched as we watch the band Donna the Buffalo. The rain does help cool things off a little, which is good as I stay largely rooted in place for the next couple of acts: Joan Osborne, then Shawn Colvin (I do take time off to get another delicious felafel .. worth the 30 minute wait). I also browsed the Activist Area, but stopped myself from engaging the folks at the "Israel out of Gaza" and "Close Indian Point Nuclear Power Station" booths. Didn't feel like ruining my good mood by picking arguments with these folks. But it made me realize where the lefty orthodoxy is these days.

I had decided that morning to drive home Sunday rather than stay over another night. I had already broken camp and my gear was in the car, so at the end of Shawn Colvin's set I bid Sherry and Ken adieu and got on the road. They were incredulous that I wouldn't stay for David Bromberg, but I'm not a big fan. Likewise, I couldn't believe that they were totally unfamiliar with Shawn Colvin, who is in my opinion an amazingly talented singer-songwriter.

A leisurely drive down the Hudson through Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown, over the Tappan Zee Bridge (it never occurred to me growing up that it was unusual how many things in NY had Dutch names), and then a Starbucks-fueled dash down the Garden State Parkway and I95, and I found myself home again.

Note that there's no mention of Charles and Lori in today's write-up. They made it back to the festival but I never saw them - they spent all day at the beach and kids activities and we never met up. I was bummed about that.

All in all, a really enjoyable weekend. I'm already scheming how to do it again next year and maybe entice some of my family members to come along.

Clearwater Trip Day 2

2010-06-20T09:23:00.000-07:00

I start the day with a bowl of cereal and Starbucks Via Brew instant coffee - unsatisfying in a different way than the French press coffee I usually make while camping. It's too early to head to the festival so I take a leisurely stroll along the beach at Lake Welch. I'm really impressed with the beauty and maintenance level of this campground. Unfortunately, it's not where I'll be staying for the Festival; just a stop along the way, so after lounging for a bit I break camp and get on my way.

After a pretty river crossing of the Hudson at the Bear Mountain Bridge I arrive at Croton Point Park and proceed to spend 30 minutes creeping my way into the festival. I set up camp and head down in time to catch Sara Watkins (of Nickel Creek). The aptly named Hudson Stage is right alongside the river. A marvelous location to hear music. I settle in and by the grace of G-d my spot soon gets shade from a nearby tree. Let me say that if I have any say in what heaven is like, it will include outdoor music festivals by the water's edge. With shade. Of course, in heaven I won't have to wait on line to use the Porta-potty, and arch-angel Dominic (those of you from the vicinity of Avenue J know to whom this refers) will be there to serve me freshly made pizza. But this was a pretty good earthly approximation of the heavenly music festival.

After about half an hour I was starting to wonder how I was ever going to find the friends I was planning to meet at the festival when up walks my friend Charles with his wife Lori and kids - a miracle, given the huge size of the festival. We settle in and are joined a bit later (aided by cell phone reconnaissance) by our other friend Sherry, her husband Ken and cousin Seth, and her mother. We proceed to spend the afternoon each cycling in and out of this base camp spot while also tending to other needs. Lori and Charles take turns entertaining their antsy kids. Sherry & crew move up closer for a while then wheel Joyce (her mom) back to their RV. I disappear to hear some bands at other stages and browse through the crafts booths. We all wind up back together to see David Amram, who is an excellent and inventive musician, but whose patter leaves something to be desired. In between songs he made negative comments about, among other things, various styles of music ("suitable for torturing prisoners"), the current state of tambourine playing, people who don't get counterpoint in music, and Western Europeans for what they did to the native Americans. Oh, and he advised the crowd not to listen to the negative people you come across in life.

During the afternoon I watched as Charles entertained his kids with balls, stuffed animals, snacks, and just about everything he could think of including little xylophone mallets that younger son Seth proceeded to clock his dad in the head with. Mid afternoon Charles and Lori ran out of parenting patience and headed down to Yonkers to rendezvous with his parents on their boat. Hopefully they'll be back tomorrow.

The rest of us split up for a while in the late afternoon. Early in the day I had spotted a felafel stand and set my mind on felafel for dinner. I understand why they had the longest line in the food area - it was really good felafel. For dessert I dug out a packet of Powerbar Energy Gels out of my backpack. This was a free sample Valerie had gotten some time ago. If your food tastes run towards jellyfish embryos with raspberry jam I'd highly recommend these things. Otherwise, maybe not so much.

I also trekked back to the campsite to take a little break. Camping next to me were two middle-aged guys, both of whom were the kind of characters that have been Joe Pesci's bread and butter for decades now. They had with them a toddler, who was clearly the child of one of them, since every time the guys were out of the kid's sight he would yell "Daaaaaaaaad!" endlessly until Daddy returned, or at least responded with, "Yo, Nick, I'm right heeere!"

After cooling off a little I headed down to the Dance stage to catch Buckwheat Zydeco, a perennial favorite of mine. I haven't mentioned my back problems here, but what kind of weird back problem do I have?? -- five minutes of sitting and I'm in pain, but an hour of dancing to zydeco and two nights sleeping in a tent are no problem.

I caught up with Sherry and crew at the main stage for Steve Earle. A very nice solo set on what turned out to be a beautiful evening. I lay down on the grass, watched the sky and let the music roll over me. I don't agree with all of his politics (a couple of songs that I feel were overly sympathetic to the so-called Palestinians) but he's undeniably a gifted singer-songwriter.

After saying goodnight to Ken and Sherry I headed back to the camping area (the RV area where they were staying is in a different section of the park) where I found a little jam session going on in the picnic pavilion. After listening for a few minutes I unsheathed my mighty accordion and joined in. At peak we had about five guitarists, three banjo players, a bongo/flautist, a harmonica player, some singers, and me. Oh, and an even weirder instrument for a while - a melodica. There was one woman who kept bringing up songs to sing. "Do you know this one It's an a cappella number." She'd then proceed to sing solo. Don't get me wrong, she had a nice voice, but she wasn't quite grokking the concept of a group jam session.

Anyway, about midnight I started to lose focus so I put the King of Instruments to bed and headed for my tent. Aided by a dose of some suspicious cough medicine (OK, it was bourbon in a reused cough medicine bottle) I was soon asleep with the goal of getting up early and kayaking in the morning.

Clearwater Trip Day 1

2010-06-20T08:52:00.000-07:00

I had cleverly arranged a meeting at my company’s office in Columbia, MD Friday afternoon in order to give myself a head start on heading up to NY. Unfortunately, the meeting ran a little late and I hit horrendous traffic for the first 100 miles, yes, 100 miles, of the trip, so I found myself blasting up the Garden State Parkway trying to figure out if I was going to make it to the campground before dark. After briefly considering a hotel I pressed on, making only the briefest of stops along the way, and made it to Harriman State Park just about at sunset. Having not wanted to waste daylight time changing I was still wearing a suit. In fact, in homage to the Men In Black type work our folks in Columbia do, I was wearing my black suit. Losing the jacket and tie, I proceeded to set up my tent in what was still a most formal fashion, much to the bewilderment of the folks in the adjacent campsite.

Lake Welch campground has a couple of unusual attributes: all of the tent sites are wooden platforms. This is nice in that everyone gets a level, flat, dry site. I could see a downside if it’s windy though – there’s really no way to stake down your tent. The other thing I noticed about the campground was the large raccoon population. Once it got dark they were out in force, roaming the campground in such numbers that I thought I was imagining things until I’d flick on my headlamp and catch the reflections in their eyes.

I must admit that despite 20 years in Virginia I still have a bias against the South. It was nice to be in a campground with zero pickup trucks and no Southern accents. My fellow campers may have been just as rednecky as anyone, but I didn’t get that creepy Deliverance feeling I sometimes get camping back home. People up north here seem to invest less in over-the-top camping setups too – fewer mega-tents, canopies, campground-rattling sound systems, and extensive camping furniture. I swear, sometimes I see people camping with enough gear for an entire Army brigade. I guess that’s where the pickup truck comes in.

Oh, and I really like the new New York license plate. It looks a lot like the ones from when I was a kid.

Brokeback Kayak

2010-05-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

My back has been killing me for days. It's a combination of doing things that aggravate it (running), not doing enough of things that help it (stretching) and things that just can't be good (cross-country flights in the middle seat seated next to Jabba the Hutt). Today I decided I'd rest it, which meant skipping my AM bootcamp class. I think I may need to get a better understanding of what it means to rest, however, as 6 PM found me at Columbia Island Marina as usual, ready to hit the water - after some extra back stretches. How wise was it to load the 50 lb. boat onto the car and spend a couple of hours paddling and rolling? Well, to tell you the truth I felt better when I got off the water then when I started. I'm a firm believer that, absent significant pain, movement is better than immobilization for healing muscle problems.

After getting off the water and having dinner with the kayakers I still had some time to kill before picking David up from his video master class, so I went and had a beer at a bar in Clarendon. Unfortunately, the threatened thunderstorms finally hit and I got soaked as I dashed the three blocks from the bar to the studio.

Morals of the story: (a) activity beats inactivity; (b) stretching helps a great deal; (c) Advil and Belgian beer is an excellent combination, and (d) like it or not, I think I can't really be a runner anymore.

A Farewell to Frank

2010-05-02T18:52:00.000-07:00

Today a memorial service was held for Frank Baxter, longtime owner and scion of the founder of Jack's Boathouse in Georgetown. Frank passed away last November. The service, held on the docks at Jack's, was informal but heartfelt. Those of us in attendance: customers, friends, relatives, people from other boathouses, various river people, family, and current Jack's management, each stepped forward to give our reminiscences and tributes. I offered an anecdote relating to Frank's incredible knowledge of and oneness with the river.

Jack's became my paddling home shortly after I started kayaking in '99. Frank was a great guy, even though I now realize there was far more to him than I even knew - hidden behind a gruff and reticent exterior. Frank, you'll be missed.

[Note: The overhead shot of the boathouse is from a rally years ago when Jack's was in danger of being steamrollered to make way for a restaurant barge. I am in the photo in the "rasta" red/yellow/green kayak (my first boat!) near the lower right corner of the photo]

The river screamed my name

2010-03-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

This morning the office called softly to me while the river screamed my name. I simply could not spend another beautiful, precious Spring day indoors and so I took today off and hit the water. The Potomac is on its way back down to normal from last week's wacky 14 foot flood stage level, and so I wasn't sure what I'd find when I put in. I figured at worst I'd be able to paddle the narrow, protected Boundary Channel, and indeed I started out in that direction after completing the comical contortion act required to zip my rear zipper dry suit without assistance (I consider it part of my warm-up). There were signs of Spring life all the way up the channel - wood ducks and geese on the water, herons on shore. Some turtles, still sluggish from the cold water, let me paddle right up to them.

The river itself indeed had some noticeably high current, but nothing unmanageable or dangerous. I headed up the Virginia shoreline to just below Three Sisters Islands, then crossed over to the DC side to see how the Georgetown boathouses were faring. Washington Canoe Club, which had been flooded just a few days ago, looked to be drying out pretty well. Potomac Boat Club looked in good shape too. The docks at Jacks, on the other hand, looked like they had sustained some damage either from the recent flood or from the freezing temps this Winter (I understand the owners left the docks in place all Winter). The ramp from the shore to the docks looked broken and it looks like some of the supports for the docks themselves had lost their buoyancy. The flow of the river around the pillars of Key Bridge just below Jack's created some weird micro-currents, which gave me a chance to test out the effect of the skeg I installed in my kayak over the Winter. I had been worried as to whether it would have the desired effect, since it sits a little forward of where most skegs go (necessitated by the fact that I was retrofitting it through the rear hatch and could reach back only so far). It worked fine. I lowered it and suddenly the stern was locked in place. Great!

I crossed back over to the Virginia side to start the trip back to Columbia Island, but noticed some goings-on at Thompsons Boat Center and so headed back across to the DC side to take a look. They had a crane truck there lifting their ramps into place. I hope they finish today, as Ted is supposed to row there tomorrow.

The trip downriver was fast thanks to the current. I noticed a lot of debris high on the shore - the river must really have jumped its banks last week. Back at Columbia Island I tore off my dry suit as fast as I could - it's hot wearing the darn thing when it's 70 degrees out! - and headed for a delicious lunch at Cosi in Ballston. A very nice morning.

Half Mile

2010-02-24T07:45:00.001-08:00

I have been getting excited by the somewhat warmer temps and longer days. So Monday I decided to go running in the morning for the first time in what feels like forever. My hope was that there had been sufficient melting on the W&OD trail to make it runnable. It was already getting light when I headed out the door at 6:20 – a nice change from the depths of winter. A brief toddle across the ice at Mad Manor park got me to blissfully clear (for the most part) blacktop on the trail. I was thrilled! Unfortunately, my excitement was short-lived, for it turned out that only about ½ mile of the trail was passable. I guess the heat from the highway helped with melting, for the trail got completely snowy and icy starting at milepost 4 – just where it veers away from the road. Well, a half mile of trail is better than none at all, so I just ran that stretch again and again until I reached my desired distance. It was nice to be exercising outside for a change. I’m glad I took the opportunity when I did, since more snow is in the forecast for tomorrow: not enough to make the trail skiable, but probably enough to return even my little section to unrunnability.

Playing in the snow

2010-02-07T05:56:00.000-08:00

It's easy to be seduced into staying indoors in the winter. On those cold, dark mornings, why not exercise in the warmth of the basement, TV and Hulu at hand to provide entertainment, nothing heavier than a T-shirt and shorts required? Being a cold wimp, I often give in to this logic, however I do remind myself from time to time that the outdoors offers rewards to offset frozen fingers and runny noses.

Yesterday we had another near-record snowfall here in DC. The official measure at National Airport was about 18", however I can easily measure over two feet at places around the house - particularly where there was still snow on the ground from Wednesday's snowfall (what is this, Michigan??). It's not often that Northern Virginia is this skiable and I've been taking advantage of it. Wednesday morning I went out cross-country skiing for about an hour before heading to work, and yesterday some friends and I did about 3 1/2 hours on the W&OD trail.

I have a couple of friends in the neighborhood who, like me, are XC skiers. I arranged to meet them down at the trail. In checking Facebook I discovered that my friends Gail & Chris, who live a few miles away, were also planning on skiing, so I extended the plans to meet up with them further along the trail at the Bluemont Park caboose (for those not familiar, the W&OD is a rails-to-trails trail along the old Washington & Old Dominion railroad right of way, and it's dotted here and there with railroad artifacts). Amazingly, our plans to meet up at various points along the trail worked and the five of us, kind of cajoling each other along, wound up skiing quite a distance. We were the first ones out on the trail. It was quite neat to enjoy the park in its pristine state, but cutting a trail through the deep snow was work - and I was often in front. There wasn't much wildlife out and about, though Jen did spot a pileated woodpecker. There weren't many people out and about either - it was still snowing and I think most people were just hunkered down at home. We did see a few other skiers, a pair of people on snow shoes, and a few brave souls out walking and taking photos.

The Joys of the Trail on a Cold and Windy Morning

2010-01-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

How easy it is to be seduced into exercising only indoors in the winter. When it's cold and dark and even the trip to the sidewalk to retrieve the morning paper is uncomfortable, who wants to venture outside? The erg machine beckons, in a warm and cozy room with TV to help pass the time.

Still, there is a certain special something to exercising outside. A chance to reconnect with the outdoors, to see what the planet is up to. I love the fact that the trail's appearance evolves with every season. This time of year this means the peculiar beauty of winter. The marshy spot by the side of the trail was frozen, with some cattails sticking up out of the ice. It was too windy for the morning mist to form on the Bluemont Park field, but the little waterfall was running strongly, the water tumbling past some snow remaining from last week’s storm. The air was cold, and it was incredibly windy. I had to keep my head down at times to keep the wind from stinging my face. However, I also had to keep my eyes on the trail, on the lookout for the occasional icy spots. Even in winter there is birdlife along the W&OD trail. A high point of this morning’s run was spotting two cardinals in a tree, their bright red plumage a stark contrast to the otherwise grey morning.

Was it as pleasant as a springtime run? No … well, maybe. Each season has its charms, and while winter is a little more uncomfortable, it’s still a pleasure to be out experiencing the variety of the seasons.

Skiing the W&OD

2009-12-22T09:31:00.000-08:00

This weekend we had one of those (cue dramatic music and digital titles) "Storm of the Century" storms. It's pretty unusual for us to get enough snow to ski here in Arlington so I took the opportunity to strap on my skis and hit the trail. Clearly I wasn't the only one with this idea. By the time I hit the trail there were well established ski grooves and I came across about half a dozen other skiers along the way.

The W&OD trail was a pristine winter wonderland. The little foot bridge over Four Mile Run to the trail was like a pathway into a deep wood. I love the look of streams in snow and paused to reflect on the Four Mile Run before continuing on. I took the trail through the parks, down past the caboose, all the way to Carlin Springs Rd. Pretty much my morning running route. There was so much snow that even some of the typical bare spots under the overpasses were filled in. No problem at McKinley Rd. A few steps over bare spots at Patrick Henry Drive. The only real bare patch was the long underpass under Wilson Blvd.

This morning I tried to repeat the experience with less satisfacotry results. The W&OD trail had been plowed clear of snow (the bike trail was cleared before my street!). Fortunately there were new ski grooves cut alongside the trail. Unfortunately, about 1/2 mile down the trail one of my 30 year old ski boots gave out - the "duckbill" that attaches to the ski broke off. Still, it was nice to have a second taste of skiing the trail and it was a quick walk home.

A Swan Song for Brooklyn?

2009-12-06T11:59:00.000-08:00

It's not as cold as I expected as I step out the door of the Sheepshead Bay Comfort Inn. I'm at the southernmost end of Brooklyn, an area exposed to outer New York Bay and the ocean beyond. In the summer this can result in a nice cooling breeze. In the winter, it can mean a biting wind. I indeed feel the wind as I step out from the shelter of the hotel and begin my run up Emmons Avenue. It's blowing hard enough that I squint my eyes a little in response. I'm dressed right, though, and so it doesn't bother me.

I make my way up Emmons Ave, past the abandoned Dunkin' Donuts and the half completed condos. The bay opens up to my left as I pass the fishing boat docks. A few people mill about. The morning fishing boats have already left and the stores aren't open yet so there's not much reason for people to be out and about, however being New York there's always someone around. My run takes me down through Sheepshead Bay, over the footbridge that crosses the bay, then down through the relatively ritzy neighborhood of Manhattan Beach, and ultimately to the campus of Kingsborough Community College, known locally as "K on the Bay".

On the way back I notice the ducks in the water have been joined by a number of mute swans. I don't come to Brooklyn expecting to see wildlife so it's a pleasant surprise to see these beautiful creatures adding a touch of grace to the otherwise gray and murky scene.

Friday night I had dinner with a bunch of old high school friends, none of whom live in Brooklyn any more. Few of them ever make it back here. I have been coming back here to visit family all these years but may soon be in the same boat. Now that my mom is gone I don't whether my dad will continue to live here. My connections to the old place are fading. One of these trips could be my own Brooklyn swan song.

[Photo from http://www.planetware.com/]

Moosylvania

2009-11-28T15:24:00.000-08:00

How long does it take to get to Mason Neck State Park? Apparently, five minutes more than I think. No matter how much time I allot to get to this park I always wind up a little on the late side. Well, today I wasn't actually late. I was on time. It's just that most everyone else had gotten there early.

It was a blustery morning (Small Craft Advisory in effect, winds gusting to 30 MPH) and I arrived just behind my friend Mark. We were numbers seven & eight to arrive out of a total of nine. No worries - I quickly unloaded my gear and find I'm ready to go well ahead of Kurt, the last arrival.

Let me say that whatever kayaking cojones I have shrivel up as the weather turns cold - I am a cold water wimp. So, looking out at the whitecaps and feeling the wind gusts, I suggest that we start our trip as planned but stop and assess our situation at High Point before we head out into the more open section of the river. My more adventurous friends grumble their agreement. Our planned destination is Leesylvania State Park, the name of which always makes me think of Moosylvania from the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. As we get underway we pound our way through some light chop and wind. At the point we decide it's not so bad and so continue on as planned. The only compromise we make to the weather is we chart a course that minimizes our open water time rather than our distance - though I have to laugh when I look at the track log because it's clear that 3/4 of the way across we say "the heck with it" and change course to head straight for Leesylvania. I'm paddling my Shearwater, which has neither rudder nor skeg, so I have to do a lot of sweep strokes to keep the kayak on course in the beaming waves. My left elbow soon begins to get really achy to the point where it's a challenge to stay on course. I make a note that I really need to develop better directional control of this boat. But I make it to Leesylvania without incident.

Lunch at the beach at Leesylvania is pure joy. We're all quite warmed up in our dry suits and so the wind doesn't bother us. It's sunny and about 50 degrees - quite pleasant, if you're dressed for it. The wind even drops off for a little while. My PB&J and green tea hit the spot. I could stay here all day.

The paddle back is more direct and faster. This time we decide to go straight across rather than hug the shoreline. Because of my achy elbow, my safety conscious friend Tom sticks close by me the whole time. I'm not keeping up with the fastest paddlers in the group, but I'm not lagging behind either. The wind and waves, still somewhat abeam, in the balance help rather than hinder us in this direction. Before we know it we're scraping through the hydrilla plants that choke the Mason Neck launch area and are back on land. Alas, no hanging out afterward. Everyone has places to go. We load our gear and get on the road.

Oh, and I should mention we see eagles - just two today. One circling above us as we launched, the other at the top of a tree. Both spotted by Cyndi, who has an amazing eye for bird-spotting.

(Photos: #1: Track Log; #2: Rob and Mihail launching)

Ice Pirates Kickoff

2009-11-19T22:00:00.000-08:00

The "normal" kayaking season for the weeknight paddling groups ends around Halloween. After all, past that time of year it's dark out by the time one would launch, plus it starts getting cold. Which means it's perfect paddling weather!

Tonight we kicked off the unofficial Thursday night "Ice Pirates" group - those of us who keep showing up and paddling into the winter. I must admit I have been only an intermittent ice pirate these last couple of years, choosing to spend my Thursday nights in the warmth of the yoga studio rather than the cold of the Potomac. I must say, though, that tonight's paddle made winter-time paddling seem pretty enticing.

It had been a drizzly day, but the rain stopped at around 5 PM. Conditions as we set out were gorgeous. The water was like glass, perfectly reflecting the lights of the city. A slight mist hung over the river, blurring the boundary between river and sky. I've heard that pilots can lose their bearings at night and get confused as to which way is up and which is down. I kind of felt the same way as we glided along tonight through this merged version of water and sky. We shared the river only with its inhabitants - ducks, geese and herons. We saw no other boats the whole time we were out.

We did the usual upriver trip, around Roosevelt Island. With the tide up and a couple of days of rain in the river, we opted for the Boundary Channel on the way home. That this twisty, shallow little stretch of water is damn near impossible to navigate in the dark is part of its appeal.

Late that night there was a rare November thunderstorm. It was as if the weather had been held back to give us an opportunity for communing with the river, then unleashed with full fury once we were all safely home.

The Sky (Meadows) is the Limit

2009-11-15T18:42:00.000-08:00

What? It's going to be sunny and 70 degrees in mid-November? Drop everything and head for the outdoors!!!

Ted and I decided to take advantage of the unusually balmy weather today and go for yet another geocaching hike, this time to Sky Meadows State Park in Delaplane, VA. After delicious, nutritious breakfasts (Eggos and veggie sausage for me, ice cream and Cheese Nips for Ted) we hopped in the car. I reluctantly took the "death seat", letting Ted do the driving.

Sky Meadows is a nice park, except that the start of the trails is somewhat steep. Stiff from the car ride, we huffed and puffed our way up the hill until we loosened up a little bit. From there it was pretty smooth sailin'. We hiked the North Ridge trail, detouring up to (but not onto) the AT, then returned via the South Ridge, Snowden and Gap Trails, a 4.5 mi loop. According to the GPS we peaked at 1689 feet. While that's only about 800 feet of elevation gain from the parking lot, the rolling terrain made it feel like a lot more. I bet if I calculated the elevation gained and lost it would be 1200 feet.

I would have been willing to continue on and hike the other side of the park, but Valerie and I had plans to meet friends for dinner. So, after hanging out at the farmhouse for a while, Ted and I reluctantly climbed into the car and headed home. Needless to say, as is our wont we made a stop at the Gainesville WaWa Market on the way home.

A quick Florida trip

2009-10-30T19:46:00.000-07:00

I did an overnight business trip to Florida this week. I cleverly arranged my first day's meeting so that I found myself free and at Indialantic Beach at about 4 PM on Weds. I started my beach visit by indulging in an ice cream from Coldstone, both because ice cream at the beach just feels right and because it assuaged my guilt at leaving my car in their parking lot. I then took off my tie, rolled up my pants, and switched from shoes to Keen sandals. While I'm sure I was quite the sartorial oddity I didn't care - it made me beach ready and away I went. I spent quite a while strolling the beach (even picking up two geocache finds along the way). Boy, it felt good - the sun, the waves, the sounds. Finally, as the sun started to get low I headed back to the car. I would have liked to have stayed through twilight (a pretty time at the beach) but I knew I had an hour's drive back to Orlando and I didn't want to be doing it too late.

The next morning I figured I needed to work off my food excesses of the day before which included, in addition to the ice cream, a pastrami sandwich and a black & white cookie. I mapped out a 5K loop starting at my hotel and as soon as it got light out the door I went into - wham! - the unexpected heat and humidity of an unseasonably hot Orlando October morning. Man, it was like August in DC. I was huffing and puffing after about a quarter mile because of the heat, but then I started to acclimate and I completed my loop - up Research Parkway then through the UCF campus, finally returning along Alafaya Trail. I'm sure I was quite a sight as I staggered, dripping with sweat, into the hotel breakfast room and started downing diluted orange juice.

Having made a spectacle of myself in two Florida cities in two days, I returned home. Oh, and along the way I got to see an incredibly cool technology briefing facility and tour a high tech mobile command center.

Foliage on the Occoquan

2009-10-25T14:53:00.000-07:00

It's become a tradition - every year my friend Tall Tom and I do a leaf-peeping kayaking trip on the Occoquan Reservoir, launching out of Fountainhead Regional Park. This year we were joined by my friend David. David and Tom had never met before - they are from different aspects of my life, but they're both paddlers. Valerie always tells me to stay safe while paddling, and in this case I was in good hands, accompanied as I was by a Red Cross safety professional and an attorney.

We all got there early and launched at about 9:45 AM, after bumping into Tom's and my friend Kingsley, who was not there to kayak but just to schmooze with another group of paddlers. As we launched, David commented that he was surprised there wasn't more wind, given that a front had just passed through. This is something you never want to say while kayaking and indeed, as soon as we cleared the shelter of the marina cove, we were justly punished with a significant headwind.

We pushed upriver for about an hour, taking in the gorgeous foliage along with the abundant birdlife (eagles, ospreys, herons, kingfishers, geese, and more). On the way back we stopped to poke into a cove David knew about, which was a really nice little detour. I get so caught up in covering distances that sometimes I forget the pleasures of exploring the little coves and creeks - which is part of what drew me to kayaking in the first place.

Upon landing we chatted with some guys who had some interesting boats - hand-built wooden canoe, and a Folbot folding kayak. Tom and I bumped into another Chesapeake Paddlers Association guy - it was a popular day for foliage, I guess. Then, we were on our way - me back to the family, David to do some work, and Tom to do household chores.

More photos here.

Maybe the River was Haunted

2009-10-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

One of our last Thursday night trips of the regular kayaking season (not counting Ice Pirates). As we headed up the river from Columbia Island we found ourselves being carried along by a mysterious wave. I kept looking over at people kayaking to my right and seeing that they were riding this wave - it looked like they were surfing the Potomac. After a minute or so I realized it was carrying me too. Our whole group got swept along for quite a while, making it to Memorial Bridge in record time, beofre the wave finally started to outrun us. There were a couple of confused moments as the wave train went by us, pushing kayaks this way and that as it did. The tail end of the wave kept sucking us along almost all the way to Roosevelt Island.

I have no idea what caused this mini tsunami. It wasn't a boat wake, and the wind was calm. WEll, it was the week before Halloween ... maybe the river was haunted.

Gym -- arrgh

2009-10-20T16:40:00.000-07:00

I went to the gym today after a long, long absence. I like going to the company gym at a technology firm. There are plenty of other scrawny-lookin' folks there and I never have to feel embarrassed about the not-so-heavy weights I use.

Now to see which aches more tonight, my teeth (I started the day at the dentist) or my muscles.

A Ten Miler of One

2009-10-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning I got a particularly early start, as I wanted to get a decent paddle in and still spend Sunday afternoon doing some family things. It was just getting light as I headed down the GW Parkway. Taking my eyes off the road for way too long, I marveled for about the zillionth time at the beauty of the monuments.

I got to Columbia Island about 6:45 AM. I had deliberately taken a route unaffected by the road closures associated with the Army Ten Miler, which was being run that day. The Pentagon is just across a narrow channel from the marina and as I unloaded in the distance I could see and hear the hustle and bustle associated with the race. Unbeknownst to me, at the same time I was pulling into the marina my friend Cyndi was arriving on the other side of the Boundary Channel to check in a t the race.

In my rush to get out the door I had forgotten my watch, but I knew what time it was when I set out as I could hear church bells chiming 7 AM as I passed under the humpback bridge on my way out of the marina. I headed upriver. I paddled into a light but noticeable breeze as I headed up the river. For the first time this season I felt a little chilly. Along with the beginnings of autumn color in the leaves, the weather was a harbinger of the cooler weather to come. Before you know it, it will be dry suit season. I sighed at the thought of it, but what can you do? A police boat was patrolling under Memorial Bridge, again associated with the Army Ten Miler, I guess. They didn’t take much notice of me.

Since I had gotten an early start I decided to go for a longer trip than usual and continued all the way up to Fletcher’s Boathouse, where I took out for a break. I retrieved my Thermos^TM from the day hatch and enjoyed a cup of coffee by the riverbank. I had Fletcher’s just about to myself; it was a peaceful moment as I drank in the coffee’s warmth.

Heading back down the river, I really benefited from moving with, rather than against, the wind and current. As I got past Georgetown I realized I could see part of the Ten Miler course. I watched the runners as I continued down the river. I got another time check as some bells chimed 9 AM. About this time I noticed the wind suddenly kick up and along with it, the river. Since the wind was coming from behind me this gave me yet more of a speed boost, which I appreciated as I was starting to get a little tired. The tide was high enough to make the Boundary Channel navigable, however I chose to stick to the river so I could keep riding the wind and the small swells. Back at the marina, I could hear the excited voice of the race announcer over at the Pentagon, though I couldn't hear what he was saying. By that time, I imagined, runners were finishing the race.

The route I took on my drive home includes a section of road which looks down onto the Pentagon parking lot. Taking my eyes off the road for way too long, I was astounded at the size of the crowd at the race. The huge parking lot was jam-packed with thousand upon thousands of runners. As if that wasn't enough, I spotted a bald eagle circling over the Pentagon. Wow.

Anyway, I hadn’t brought my GPS with me, so when I went home I used the distance measuring tool of Google Maps to estimate the distance I paddled. It came out to almost exactly ten miles. In the midst of a much larger race, I guess I was a 10 Miler of One.

Numb skulls?

2009-09-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning I went out for one of my typical early morning quick paddling jaunts: launch at Columbia Island and head up the river a ways. It's nice having a marina so close to home - early Sunday mornings it's under 15 minutes driveway to dockside.

Anyway, I noticed a lot of activity on the water as I headed past Georgetown. A number of crew launches out, and an endless stream of single person sculls heading up the river. Float markers everywhere. It turned out there was some sort of rowing regatta going on.

I made it up the river with no problem, but on the way back down I really felt like I was dodging traffic. I followed the DC shore to keep out of the lanes marked by the floats along the Virginia side, but that route had me crossing the sculls' launch trajectory and also put me right in the path of the maniacal racing canoes and kayaks from the Washington Canoe Club. Once south of Key Bridge I decided to get out of traffic by heading back over to the Virginia side and following the river side of Roosevelt Island. However, before I knew it a volunteer in a launch was telling me over a megaphone that I was in one of their lanes and had better get out of the way before the sculls got there.

I have no problem sharing the river and I love the fact that there's a whole community of paddling people who enjoy being out on the water. But part of me, I have to admit, was really annoyed at the way the regatta took over the river Sunday morning. I was out there for a relaxing early morning paddle but wound up feeling like I was trespassing. Please, rowing people, remember to share the river nicely with the rest of us!

Tashlich by Kayak

2009-09-20T15:11:00.000-07:00

The Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashonah is one of the major events in a season that focuses on repentance and introspection. At this time of year we ask for forgiveness for our sins and try to wipe the slate clean for the new year. One holiday ritual, dating back to at least the 15th century is that of Taslich, or "casting off". Taslich involves physically casting an item - typically some sort of bread - into a body of flowing water as a way of symbolically casting off sins. This ritual has its root in the following biblical passage:

G-d will have compassion on us,
and overcome our sins,
He will hurl all our sins
Into the depths of the sea. (Micah 7:19)

I guess I shouldn't even have to mention the biblical connection. Judaism is a legalistic religion. Every word in the Torah is assumed to be there for a reason, and just about all of them are interpreted as some sort of commandment. Let me just say that if Genesis 2:2 read, "and on the seventh day, G-d had a cup of coffee then rested", then over the millennia Jews would have developed endless rituals and regulations about how to properly have a cup of coffee before the Sabbath: what is the minimum number of ounces required to be consumed? if one has a latte, which is mostly milk but is suffused with coffee flavor throughout, does that satisfy the commandment? Is the almighty telling us to drink decaf, as the cup of coffee is followed immediately by resting? Furthermore, Starbucks would have been started by a Jew ... oh, wait, it was. But I digress.

Anyway, being Reform Jews and therefore somewhat (well, quite) open to adapting traditions to suit our modern sensibilities, last year I created my own custom: taslich by kayak. Why cast away your sins from beside the water, I figured, when you could do it from on the water? After all, doesn't a kayak-based ritual get you closer to the "depths of the sea"? Last year was a success and so this year, after my turn on the beameh (pulpit) during morning services during which I had the honor of reading the blessings over the Haftorah portion, Teddy and I loaded up our boats and headed to Fletcher's boathouse, where we launched into the Potomac.

Teddy hadn't paddled in quite a while and so I wasn't sure how much paddling he was going to be able to do. On the one hand, he hadn't been in a kayak in about two years. On the other, he's grown into quite a strong young fellow. So I started out easy. We set out on a meandering trip down the river, pausing to sneak up on turtles and just float along - as well as to do our Taslich ceremony. I wasn't going to push him at all until at one point he said "what are we doing? I don't feel like I've gotten any exercise at all." That was my opening to step the paddle up a notch and so I suggested we head for Three Sisters Islands, a trip of a little under 2 miles from Fletcher's. We had the current with us and so made the trip pretty quickly.

Upon reaching Three Sisters we were greeted with an amazing sight. The river was so low that large swatches of dry land were peeking out of the water around the islands. It was like the parting of the Red Sea (oops, wrong Jewish Holiday reference). We later realized the water was shallow enough that one could walk among the three islands, which is not usually the case. Teddy beached his kayak on the first island and asked me to paddle alongside while he swam to the furthest island. Now, 70 degree water is a little cool for my taste for swimming, but perfect for Teddy, who is in many ways a penguin. He scrambled around the Southernmost island a bit and then I accompanied him back to his kayak. Now, while I may have referred to "dry land" above, in fact the exposed areas above water were really soft mud. Ted squooshed in up to his knees as he made his way back to his kayak, and with a flurry of mud we got under way.

As we started back I realized it had gotten late - and we were due at a friend's for dinner. We'd have to hurry if we wanted to make it back in time. I must say, Teddy came through! He paddled the two miles back at a very respectable speed with no breaks. Being unaccustomed to the upper body effort of kayaking, he was worn out by the time we got back to Fletcher's, but he did it! We squooshed through more mud at Fletcher's (the low river level exposed mud by the shoreline there too), tossed the boats back onto the car and headed home with Ted behind the wheel. We made it back quite a bit later than planned but were still only 15 minutes late for dinner. Not bad.

As for the ceremony itself, the ritual of Taslich is pretty minimal. There's no set liturgy. We used crackers to represent our sins - small objects to represent a perhaps large set of sins, but then again, think of how much data a memory stick can hold theses days. I recited the passage from Micah, put the crackers on my spray skirt and then put the kayak up on its side via a sculling brace. The crackers slid off and with them, symbolically, our sins for the year. If only it was so easy ...

On the Boardwalk for My Mother

2009-09-11T13:27:00.000-07:00

I spent part of this past week up in New York for the sad event of my mother's funeral. She passed away Monday after a long period of illness. The funeral was held Tuesday, which therefore started the official mourning period. The rituals and restrictions associated with mourning in Judaism are many, particularly during the first week, or shivah period. If you follow all of the rules you're pretty well forced to spend the week focused on the grieving process, since you basically are discouraged from doing much else. You're prohibited by tradition from leaving the house, bathing, shaving, engaging in any form of entertainment, wearing leather shoes (I have no idea why), and more. However, Reform Jews do some picking and choosing from among these rules. I refrained from wearing leather shoes for the first three days (said to be the most intense part of shivah), won't shave for the week, and am avoiding TV and radio, but I have left the house. In fact, I drove home from New York on day three - with the radio/iPod off, of course. My brother and I joked that it would be hard for him to adhere to the restriction on attending entertainment (which some people continue for up to a year) as he is by a Broadway musician by trade.

What does this have to do with an outdoors blog? Well, the morning after the funeral I found myself in my hotel room in Sheepshead Bay wondering if going running was acceptable within my personal set of shivah rules. Drawing upon the concept that applies throughout Jewish law that health takes precedence over all required observances, I decided it was. I further decided that I'd go running on the boardwalk at Brighton Beach as a tribute to my mother, as she loved the boardwalk - so much so that she and my father retired to Brighton in order to be able to stroll the boardwalk and enjoy the ocean. It had been years since she'd been able to make it the 3 blocks from her house to the beach, so I was making this visit for her.

Coming from the sleepy and straight-laced Northern Virginia suburbs, I'm always struck by the variety and quantity of life in Brooklyn. I hit the boardwalk about 7 AM by which point it was pretty crowded with people. Russian senior citizens strolling and young hispanic teens hanging out. I passed a couple of people doing strange calisthenics - things they must have learned in Soviet schools, or in mental institutions, or perhaps Soviet mental institutions. There was the guy standing in one spot wiggling his whole body like JelloTM. There was the fellow high stepping down the boardwalk like a storm trooper on ecstasy. A young Orthodox Jewish woman jogging, decked out in properly modest Orthodox attire. An older man in white support hose and bright green shorts: equal parts Gorbachev and leprechaun.

I ran from Brighton to Coney Island and back, about 30 minutes total. At the end of my run I took my shoes off and walked down the beach to the ocean. As I did some cooldown stretches by the water's edge, I noticed that there were some swimmers in the water on this cool, grey September morning. The beach maintenance guys were still out with their heavy equipment finishing their daily sifting of the sand. For some reason there were paramedics about.

My mother always reveled in the eccentricities of Brooklyn. I don't think she would have minded my morning run at all - in fact I like to think she was along with me that morning.

Walking Meditation and Mellow Rock Gardening

2009-08-31T13:02:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I led a meditation walk for a group from my temple. I have for some time been interested in the intersection between my love of the outdoors and my religious beliefs. I’ve also been involved with a Jewish meditation group, which in some cases draws upon kabbalistic tradition and in others outright appropriates or invents other ideas to create a Jewish meditation practice. I decided to combine all of these and do a Jewish walking meditation. Again, I didn’t invent this particular mash-up; I drew heavily on the writings of Rabbis Mike Comins, Jamie Korngold and Jeff Roth.

Nine people bet against the forecast of thunderstorms and showed up for the event (a winning bet, it turned out - the afternoon was unexpectedly sunny). After having a chance to ooh and ahh over a hickory horned devil caterpillar a ranger had just caught, our group off down a trail in River Bend Park alongside the Potomac to explore various meditative approaches – walking and stationary. I will not detail all what we did on our meditative shpatzir here. Rather, I’ll say that I was nervous about whether people were enjoying this (which was messing with my mindful awareness) until we got to a stopping point along the trail where we did some seated practices then shared a bit of how it was going. Listening and watching, I realized that not only were people into it, they were so into it that no one wanted to leave the beautiful spot we had chosen for our stop. The same thing happened when we sat down at some picnic tables at the end of our walk. After the silence of the walk, people were eager to talk and we wound up spending some time just lounging around by the river chatting. I certainly had no problem with this – lounging on and around rivers is one of my favorite activities.

Finally, people got on their way, leaving my friend David and to hit the river. While David and I had long known about each others interest in kayaking, we had never paddled together before. We put in at the boat ramp and headed upstream. Unfortunately you can’t get very far upriver before you start to run into riffles and rocks – not the ideal situation for a sea kayak. Still, we gamely explored various paths up the little rapids, ultimately successfully making our way further upstream. While the conditions on this section of the river are rocky, the views are awesome and further enhanced my enjoyment of the day. The meditation event had lasted longer than I expected (not that I'm complaining) and so I was somewhat time-limited on the water. So, after a little more exploration we turned around and let the current shoot us back downstream to the put-in.

As always, the drive along Georgetown Pike back to the Beltway was twisty fun. And I always wonder as I drive past the mega-houses that line the road – who is it who owns these multi-multi-million dollar things, who could possibly use so much square footage, at what size does a house just become irresponsibly large, …. and how can I get one?

Saturday AM, Mason Neck

2009-08-22T14:37:00.000-07:00

4 AM, raging thunderstorm. Feels good to be safe and sound in bed, but my paddling plans are at risk. 6 AM, light rain. Beginning to think of bagging paddling and working out on the erg instead, but I go downstairs and check the weather online - hmmm, looks like there's going to be a break in the weather. 7:15 AM, load the boat. The sky is clearing a little. 8:03 AM, pass through the gate at Mason Neck State Park just after the park opens. Unload and get on the water a little after 8:30.

It's beautiful out. Not too hot. A little foggy/hazy, the kind of mist that makes things seem a little unreal. I say a prayer of thanks for being able to experience this scene. As I paddle the water is like glass. The iffy weather has scared most people off for the day - there are a few fishermen out and a handful of recreational motor boaters, but other than that, the river is mine. I paddle around out of Belmont Bay and into the river, the paddle north a ways. The slightly foggy weather seems to be encouraging the birds to stay out and hunt a little later than usual. In fact, eagles are out in force! It's a mere twelve minutes after launching when I spot my first eagle (a mature bald) and in total I have six separate eagle sightings, both mature and immature plumage. I'm not sure, though, whether I saw six different eagles (I'm guessing it was three).

After an hour or so I turn around and head back. As I come around the point back into the bay (and, interestingly, cross the Virginia/Maryland State Line), I startle some ospreys. They're noisy birds, particularly when defending their territory, and so my entry into their space causes them to let loose a cacophony of sound. For some reason this strikes me as funny and I wind up sitting there laughing out loud for a little while before paddling on.

I come upon a motorboat anchored near shore. Two little girls are playing in the water. They say "hi" and show me a trick they're doing with a stick in the water. We talk for a few moments.

At one of the beach areas along the Mason Neck shore I stop and practice some rolls. The session I did with Dave last week really helped. I haven't been comfortable before rolling the Shearwater, so I was happy to discover that this time I was doing it pretty cleanly. It'll be even better once I get the enhanced thigh braces built and fitted.

Finally, I laze my way back to the put-in. I'm eager to see how much water there is in the hatches. Yesterday I put new gasket material on both hatches in an attempt to fix the insane leakiness of these hatches. The result? 50% success. The forward hatch was almost completely dry - maybe a 1/4 cup of water in it. The rear hatch, though, was still a problem. Better than before, but there was at least a gallon in there. Hmmm, back to the drawing board.

After getting off the water and changing into dry clothes I hiked a couple of the trails at the park - about 1.8 mi in all - to scope them out as a locale for my upcoming meditation walk. Then I went on my way. Great morning at the park.

Bermuda Snorkeling

2009-08-22T14:19:00.001-07:00

We just took a family vacation: a cruise to Bermuda. This was the first cruise for all of us except Valerie, who had gone on one as a child. Overall it was a nice time, though Valerie had some trouble dealing with the motion of the ship.

One of our days in Bermuda we booked a sailing/snorkeling expedition aboard the catamaran "Restless Native". Alas, the wind was calm and so we would up motoring rather than sailing. The silver lining of that circumstance was that since we didn't spend time cruising the island under sail, we had more time for snorkeling. The boat took us to a protected, shallow beach near a small coral reef. We all grabbed masks and snorkels and down the ladder we went into the water. I started seeing fish right away, as did the boys. Valerie, however, struggled with her mask - it was fogging, and leaking - and so it was a while before she got into the fish-watching.

I enjoy snorkeling - floating along looking at the fish, and even more so the coral, which seems otherworldly. I must admit, though, I hate the snorkel mouthpiece and have to spit it out every once in a while and take a break at the surface.

I think David had the best time of all of us, as he was not only looking at the sea life but also taking pictures (I have a waterproof camera). We had to push him along at the end so as not to hold up the boat, because he was so caught up in the activity.

Back on board the Restless Native, we all (well, the adults) had rum swizzles, a Bermudian drink.
The weather clouded over and it started to rain pretty heavily, sending most people running for the cabin. People have a funny attitude about getting wet. In this case a bunch of people, still damp and in their bathing suits from snorkeling, still felt the need to take shelter from the rain. Well, from my perspective they were welcome to huddle down below. The few of us who stayed up in the hammocks had room to stretch out, good conversation, and enjoyed being cooled off by a warm summer rain.

Fitting out the Woodie, Part I

2009-08-09T12:41:00.000-07:00

There was once a book (or was it a play?) called something like, “I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change.” Such is the story of my new kayak, a CLC Shearwater. I’ve been in love with this kayak since I first paddled one, and the one I picked up recently from a guy in Massachusetts immediately became my favorite boat. Still, a wood boat cries out for custom outfitting, particularly since the guy who built this one had fitted it out for his 6’ 4” frame (not my height!) and with a bias towards form over function (for example, no deck lines). So, while I’m enjoying paddling it as-is, I’m slowly modifying it to my tastes. So far I’ve added forward deck lines: bungies and perimeter grab-lines. I ripped out the NRS seat pad he had put in (what did he glue that thing in with???) and put in a thicker, more contoured seat with some hip pads. This seat is more comfortable, plus the inch or so of added height gives me better layback clearance for rolling. Currently I’m fabricating some thigh braces. The boat originally had them, but the builder cut them out in an attempt to create more room for himself in the boat. Sad to say, the thigh braces I’m making look pretty bad so far. I’m not the world’s most skilled fiberglass/epoxy worker and there are some bubbles, drips, and the coat is uneven. They’re structurally fine and I expect the appearance will shape up with some sanding and another coat of epoxy. If not, I might opt to put a coat of marine black paint on them.

Still on the “To Do” list for the boat: adding a day hatch, which will entail re-doing the rear deck lines, perhaps adding a deck-mounted compass, and (this may wait for winter), adding a skeg. Each step is making an already perfect boat better.

Lake Anna Family Campout

2009-07-26T12:39:00.000-07:00

About once per year I convince the family to go camping. That’s long enough for them to forget the details of the last trip, and so they agree. Actually, Ted would camp every weekend, particularly if he got to drive to the campground. It’s Valerie and David who need convincing – anyplace without WiFi or A/C is indistinguishable from Guantanamo Bay in their eyes. This year we headed for Lake Anna State Park. The park added camping just a few years ago, and it’s quite nice campground – large sites, clean bathhouses, lots of trees. As a compromise we booked in a camper cabin rather than a tent site. That way Valerie would have a somewhat real bed and a ceiling fan.

The ride down was a challenge. We hit enormous traffic. The drive, which is under 100 miles, took over four hours. I was coming down with a cold and started to get really tired in the stop-and-go traffic. Valerie took over driving and I promptly fell asleep for the rest of the ride down I95 – good thing, actually, since I think it helped my energy level for the rest of the weekend. Checking in was easy; dinner was a feast of hot dogs and chips. Ted and I took a walk in the dark down to the lake – really pretty. Friday night I slept like a log. Valerie, deprived of her Tempurpedic mattress and air conditioning, tossed and turned.

Saturday AM I got up somewhat early, despite my cold, and hit the lake for about an hour of paddling. I came back to the campsite to – surprisingly – find everyone awake and waiting for breakfast (most of our supplies were in the car, with me). Teddy cooked pancakes “Scout Style”. I think these were, in fact, “Ted Style”, meaning that rather than make normal size pancakes he made the huge, pan-sized pancakes. I think he likes the novelty of making such huge pancakes, but in fact it’s hard to get them fully and evenly cooked. Still, who can complain about his eagerness to cook breakfast? I drew cleanup duty, which included scrubbing the “Ted Style” mess out of the pan and prep dishes. We spent the rest of the day at the lake. Having grown up going to ocean beaches, I still maintain that lake beaches aren’t “real” beaches, but over time I have grown to appreciate the relaxation of not having to worry about the kids, because there are no waves, no sea creatures and no undertow. In the late afternoon we headed back to the campsite. D & V hung out while Ted and I nabbed a couple of geocaches located a short walk from the campground. We also kept passing by a site near ours that was stuffed with 20-somethings having a grand old time (not too wild) on a group campout. I told Ted, “this could be you and your friends in a couple of years.” He likes envisioning that sort of thing – his grown-up future. Saturday night we had an enormous campfire, again courtesy of Ted. S’mores were made, of course.

Sunday morning I got up even earlier, so I could get my morning paddle in without keeping the rest of the family waiting. Another nice hour-long paddle, plus some bracing practice. This time I was back just as everyone was waking up – well, Valerie claimed never to have fallen asleep the whole night, but in fact she must have dozed off for at least a few minutes since she was just waking up when I got back to the cabin. Then we packed up and hit the road – with Ted behind the wheel on the twisty roads leading back to I95. I thought he id OK, except for drifting off the road here and there, but by the time we pulled into the Thornburg McDonalds, Valerie was at her wits end. That was the end of Ted’s driving for the day.

Was it a successful trip? By our family’s standards, I’d say so. Yeah, there was some friction here and there, but overall we had a good time, particularly when we were down at the lake. Now I’ve got to wait a year for them to forget so I can suggest it again.

Après moi, le déluge

2009-07-24T19:20:00.000-07:00

It seems like virtually every Summer evening in the Washington area has the same forecast - warm and humid with a chance of thunderstorms. As a result, we spend a lot of time before launching debating the wisdom of going out and, these days, checking the latest forecast on someone's iPhone. This past Thursday was no exception. In fact, as we arrived at the marina it was thundering, but the storm soon passed and the iPhone indicated that the system was moving out of our area. So, we launched as usual. The paddle up the river was beautiful and as is so often the case, we congratulated ourselves on making the right decision and having a splendid evening rather than running from the specter of showers. Then it start raining.

A few sprinkles at first, coming, of course when we had already paddled quite a ways up from Columbia Island. Sprinkles soon turned into a downpour and our group took shelter under Key Bridge waiting for it to pass. Which it didn't. "It's only rain," we figured, and so pressed on, heading back down the river between Roosevelt Island and Virginia. The rain was drenching, but it was kind of fun, to tell you the truth. Then the lightening started.

I hate lightning when I'm out on the water. I was immediately reminded of the warning I had read on my Blackberry the previous weekend as I was anxiously checking the weather while stuck in a tent in the middle of an open field during a thunderstorm. "Remember," it said, "lightning is one of nature's most serious killers. Seek shelter immediately." Well, shelter was a few miles back down the river, so we pressed on. We took another break under Memorial Bridge, hoping the storm would blow by. It didn't. So, with lightning getting ever closer, we pressed on. When I began to see the bolts hitting DC not far off to our left, I shifted into an overdrive I didn't know I had. Boy, I wish I had had my GPS with me to log my speed, because I think I was paddling pretty fast. We all paddled pretty hard back to the marina, then quickly loaded our boats in the slightly slackening rain.

So, what comes next? Seeking shelter, perhaps? No way! Not when there's a whole potluck to be consumed. The storm seemed to be starting to move away, so we all gathered under the canopy at the marina's by-now closed snack bar (yes, under a big metal frame) to shoot the breeze and eat. I did have some visions of headlines in my head: "local kayakers electrocuted at marina", but as I said, the storm seemed to be moving away, so I took the chance. A glass of wine, some excellent cheese, and a little while later, all was well. The lightning flashes were off in the distance, the sangiovese was delicious, and a good time was being had by all. Perhaps the close call we had just had made things even a little tastier, a little more alive.

The forecast for this coming Thursday? Warm and humid with a chance of thunderstorms. We'll see what happens ...

Wooden Boat Wooden Boat Wooden Boat

2009-07-20T17:08:00.000-07:00

It's here. I picked it up in Connecticut. It paddles beautifully. More later.

Over the river, not through the woods

2009-07-12T16:59:00.000-07:00

Decided to check out the new bike path over the Wilson Bridge today. It rocks! They were even nice enough to build in some overlooks where you can pull out of the main bike path and look out over the river through built-in binoculars.

I started at Gravely Point and headed down the river to Alexandria. When I get to Old Town I'm never sure if I'm still on the bike path or not, but it doesn't matter. I just keep heading South. This time I would up on a block I hadn't been before, where I went through this weird little tunnel that took me back to Washington St and the entrance to the bridge path.

It's interesting - the Virginia side of the bike path is at the South end of Old Town, which is a very nice, colonial era town. The path entrance is itself, however unremarkable. The Maryland side of the bridge, on the other hand, is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but has this beautiful landscaping. That seems backwards to me, but maybe they just had more room to work with on the Maryland side.

Anyhoo, once on the MD side I rode down the crushed shell bike path to National Harbor I spent some time looking out over the river. It being early Sunday morning, nothing was open. Like a rule-following fool, I walked my bike through the deserted National Harbor area because the sign said to. A couple of other cyclists rode past me while I was doing this. As far as I can tell they weren't ticketed or arrested. Anarchists. Hoodlums.

Don't cry for me Pasadena

2009-06-27T06:27:00.000-07:00

After saying goodbye to Ted this morning - he's off to Boy Scout camp - I headed out to Ft. Smallwood Park in Pasadena, MD to do some kayaking on the Bay. I carpoooled up there with my friend Tom. That always adds to the experience, both because Tom's a nice guy and because he literally strokes the dashboard of his well-worn Saturn station wagon to coax it to keep going for one ... more ... trip.

The launch site for this trip is a new one - well, at least kayak access is. Our trip organizer, Gina, lives nearby and wanted to introduce folks to this new launch. Sixteen of us in total, from all directions, showed up, and no one but Gina had been there before. I'd say Ft. Smallwood's kayak launch coming out party was a success.

The conditions were choppier than predicted. 1-2 foot waves, and quite confused in places, making it hard at times to maintain direction. I guess this was a result of a combination of wind, boat wakes and tidal currents, as the wind wasn't strong enough to have caused this much chop. Whatever the source, it was a good opportunity for me to get some practice in slightly heavier waters.

We started out juct about at the confluence of the Patapsco River and the Chesapeake Bay, paddled up the Patapsco a bit and then into some creeks. This isn't a pristine rural area - the shorelines are developed (with neat little cottages!), and you're never out of site of the smokestacks from an electrical plant and a steel mill - plus Baltimore. There was plenty of boat traffic, including a steady stream of cigarrette boats. Still, it's always great to be out on the Bay. Perhaps my favorite part was poking up some creeks and discovering some marinas stocked with old boats - some being restored, some simply decaying in place, some scuttled.

12.1 miles total.

Sunday Morning Loop

2009-06-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning I woke up early as usual. It was a beautiful day and I knew it would be several hours before the rest of the family woke up. Kayak? Boy, I wished I had loaded the boat on top of the car the night before, as I was feeling just a little too lazy to deal with it right at the moment. Besides, the overhead of a paddling trip - loading, driving to the river, driving home, unloading - would take more time than I felt like investing in the morning's outing. I decided to have breakfast, read the paper and think up an alternate plan.

How about biking? Well, that would have a lot of the same overhead -- but wait, there's a bike trail two blocks from my house! And I've heard that the county has built a new connector trail from the terminus of my local trail to the Mt. Vernon trail. I decide that the W&OD / Mt. Vernon / Custis Trail loop is exactly what I the doctor ordered and in a few minutes I'm out the door. It's 7:10 AM.

The first 4.5 miles of the ride are familiar ground, as this is my usual running / biking / walking turf, and pleasantly downhill ground to boot. When I get to the bottom of the W&OD trail in Shirlington, sure enough, there's a sign for the new connector trail. Let me tell you, this new trail is a great thing. Connecting between the W&OD and Mt. Vernon trails used to mean riding through the streets in a somewhat ugly neighborhood and for me, inevitably getting lost. Now it's smooth sailing. Exit the W&OD, turn right, turn left at the Weenie Beanie, go around the Exxon and you're golden.

The Mt. Vernon trail has always been my favorite section of this loop. It takes you right along the river, alongside National Airport (that's Reagan National for all you friends of Ronnie, or DCA for you ATC types) and past some of my local kayaking put-ins. I took a break at Graveley Point Park, which has the dually cool location of being on the Potomac in sight of all the monuments and unbelievably close to the north end of the main runway at National. The spot is a popular local attraction just because of the experience of hearing/feeling/seeing the planes take off. It's really loud, they're really low, and it's great fun. I had the foresight to bring a small thermos of coffee. So I plop down at a picnic table by the water's edge (a little off the flight line) and relax with my coffee.

Much as I hate to leave that spot, I get going again after a bit and face the icky part of the ride - the undulating hills along the Custis Trail from the river back up to my house. Up and down. Up and Down. Up and Down. Up over Lee Highway and down. Up over I66 and down. Up for no apparent reason and down. The granny gears become my friends.

I get home a bit after 9. As expected the rest of the family is just getting going. In summary: 18 miles, exploration of a new trail, and a good cup of coffee in a striking spot.

The Long Overdue Asheville Report

2009-06-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just have to do something that doesn’t make sense. So when my friend Zgrav suggested driving nine hours to Asheville, North Carolina to go geocaching, I said, “heck, yeah!” Before I continue, a little background on the sport. Geocaching is a GPS-assisted treasure hunting game. You use your GPS to guide you to a spots where people have hidden little “caches” – containers ranging in size from pinky-tip up to briefcase size. The real point of the game is in the hunting rather than the finding – sort of like catch-and-release fishing. Geocaches each carry a two dimensional rating –difficulty and terrain – as to how hard they are to find. The easiest ones you can drive right up to. At the opposite extreme, there are geocaches that require solving hard puzzles, use of a specialized gear (helicopters, free-climbing, SCUBA) and a host of other challenges. The most challenging cache level is 5/5. Asheville is overall something of a caching mecca, and is home to a couple of 5/5 caches that were reputed to be outstanding. These 5/5’s were Zgrav’s targets. Ted and I had never done a 5/5 before, and we were eager to join in.

I picked Ted up early from school on Thursday and we got right on the road. The drive down seemed very long and somewhere along I81 I started to question the wisdom of the trip. My spirits sank even further when we stopped to take a break at Harrisonburg. I chose this spot to take a break because James Madison University is there and I want to slowly begin introducing Ted to colleges. It was a beautiful afternoon, and we took a nice stroll around the JMU campus. The only problem is that we, of course, wanted to pick up a few quick geocache finds while we were there. Unfortunately, the location of the first cache we tried was mobbed with people going on tours of the campus (that’ll be us soon enough). The second one stumped us, and we were chased away from the third one by campus police when we were just 40 feet away from grabbing it. Dejected, we grabbed a Frappucino at the campus Starbucks and hit the highway to finish our drive.

We had arranged to meet Zgrav and 4EverYoungs (I should explain that I’m using people’s geocaching names rather than their real names here) for breakfast the next morning at the local IHOP. Ted and I strolled in pretty well rested. The two of them had left later Thursday and had driven through the night to get to Asheville and so were pretty tired. We were also joined by Bubba Q Jack, who had made the trip as well and Asheville caching legend Ozguff. We lingered too long over breakfast before (after picking up a quick cache right in the IHOP parking lot) heading out to start our first 5/5, called “Toobe TTorcher II”. [Note that throughout this log I have intentionally misspelled the cache names so that future seekers of these caches cannot easily find the information I have provided here – which might spoil some of the fun for them]

Geocaches are listed online at site called, naturally, Geocaching.com. The cache hider provides some description of the cache, and each person who logs it can add information as well. From reading the cache description and logs we figured we’d be spending time in water tunnels and that it would be a tough slog. Here’s the list of items recommended for folks attempting the cache: “FIRST AID KIT, Good detailed topo/road map of area or maps on GPS, At least two good flashlights with extra batteries (hands-free headlights are best), Climbing harness with a short length of GOOD safety rope/webbing and at least one carabineer. (If you are in good shape, or an experienced climber and not afraid of heights you may not need this item—but we recommend it for safety.), Old, warm clothes and shoes/boots that you don’t mind getting dirty/wet/torn, A GOOD pair of gloves, rubber boots – Optional, Kneepads HIGHLY recommended, Notepad and pen, and a camera (you’ll wish you had it!).” Ooof.

I won’t go into the details, but suffice it to say we saw a lot of the inside of Asheville’s stormwater management system. We quickly figured out that each stage of the cache (and there were many) contained clues to finding later stages. Ozguff accompanied us to the first stage of the cache, where we picked up a multi-page packet that you used to fill in information from each stage as you went along. Actually, since we took the last packet, we made a quick detour to a Staples and made some more copies to restock Stage 1 before attacking the next stage – cachers are generally pretty good about maintaining each other’s caches. The first “real” stage found us crawling through some pretty tight corrugated metal pipes looking for the next clue. Each stage got progressively harder and more interesting. There were tiny tunnels to crawl through and big tunnels you could have driven through. There was darkness. And, of course, water. I had my neoprene boots on, which kept my feet dry. The others, in hiking boots, resigned themselves to wet feet.

After 7-8 hours of this, we realized we needed to quit for the day, since we had another 5/5 to take on that night. So we did a quick scoping of the next stage, then headed back to our hotels for a quick break before heading to “Athena’s KKurse.” Ted and I got lost trying to find our way back to a Panera we had passed earlier (yes, we had a GPS receiver) and settled for dinner at Burger King for the second night in a row, then headed further south.

There are certain geocaches that can only be done at night. Athena’s KKurse is one of these, and it’s another 5/5 to boot. The cache is located in rural southern North Carolina (not far from northern South Carolina) on, and this is unusual, the expansive private property of the cache owner, Shymntmn. You have to get his permission before taking on the cache, and he keeps a sharp eye out as you roam his property. A bunch of us (not just Zgrav, 4EverYoungs, Ted and me, but also Bubba Q, Reedkickball and a few other caching friends) met up at the listed coordinates at about 8:30. By 9 PM it was dark and we started our search. Some other local North Carolina cachers who had previously done this cache turned out to see us off – mostly they were just heckling us as we looked for the first stage, and happily they left us soon thereafter. Shymntmn was also there to get us started. He was a really nice guy, and turned up spookily throughout the night to help keep us on the right track. Whenever our group seemed stumped, we’d suddenly smell cigar smoke and Shymntmn would appear out of nowhere, cigar in hand to give us little hints in his clipped German accent. After a while we realized he was using an ATV and a different set of trails to get from stage to stage.

We couldn’t have picked a better night. It was perfectly clear and the stars were out in force. The night hike would have been worth it even without the cache, and the cache would have been worth it even in the worst weather. But to do this cache on a nice night – perfect. Again, I will not spoil the cache by describing any of its many stages. I will only say that Shymntmn invested considerable time and money in this cache. Going way up in the air, using multiple wavelengths of light, codes aplenty, hidden items, and more. Each stage would have been a memorable experience on its own. As with Toobe TTorcher, you had to gather information as you went along, and once again I took on the job of scribe, to make sure we got everything recorded correctly. The entire experience took about six hours. Six incredible hours doing the weirdest things in the woods in the middle of the night. We staggered back to our cars some time after 3 AM, exhausted and happy, having successfully completed the cache. How I made the 45 minute drive back to Asheville I don’t know. Ted and I plopped into bed about 4 AM.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t sleep in the next morning, for we had arranged to meet up with Zgrav and 4EverYoungs to continue our pursuit of Toobe TTorcher. When the four of us met up again, Ted and I looked a little haggard. The other guys, now operating on two nights of virtually no sleep, looked even worse. Undaunted, we picked up where we left off. We had figured out that we could save some crawling if we managed to pull up a storm drain grate on the entry road to a local big box store and drop into the middle of a storm drain rather than crawling up all the way from the end. Zgrav and I took advantage of a break in the flow of traffic and managed to yank up the grate (they’re heavy!). We dropped 4EverYoungs down the hole, then quickly put the grate back. Zgrav, Ted and I then positioned ourselves at various storm drain grating along the way so we could keep track of our teammate. What people must have thought of us as we talked into the storm drains I don’t know, but fortunately, Asheville is a pretty offbeat place – I guess they had all seen oddball behavior before.

Once again, we spent all day crawling through the Asheville underground, finding strange glyphs on the tunnel walls, doing more “duck-walking” than I care to think about, missing some clues but using our smarts to figure them out, finding new accesses to stages because new construction had changed the old one, until the final clue led us to … the middle of the street at a new suburban-urban center?! We were flummoxed. This locale didn’t fit anything else we had seen along the way, and certainly didn’t seem like the right final location for a 5/5 cache. We searched every square inch of the place – again, we must have looked a sight, all grubby from a day of subterranean exploration – but couldn’t find anything. We retreated back to our cars, where we reviewed our data. Still nothing. We were starting to lose our light as well. Finally we broke down and called Ozguff. By coincidence, we were in his neighborhood. He said he’d come down and meet us and was there in a flash. Taking a look at our data, he surmised we had transposed two digits in one of the latitude/longitude numbers. Something had actually seemed strange to us about this earlier, but again, there was new construction in a spot such that we had become convinced we were heading the wrong way when in fact we were close to the final stage. Ozguff accompanied us to the final stage, where we happily logged our triumph of having completed our second 5/5 cache of the weekend. Ironically, on the way back to the car I slipped while crossing some deep water and got my feet wet – after two days of keeping them totally dry while slogging endlessly through water.

Again, Zgrav, 4EverYoungs, Ted and I retreated to our hotels and cleaned up. Zgrav used to live in Asheville and we met up and went out for dinner at a funky pizza place near the university. We were all feeling a combination of exhilaration, exhaustion, and hunger. We wolfed down a couple of excellent pizzas and some beer (well, not Ted) in celebration.

I have always wanted to visit Asheville, but on this trip so far I had seen mostly the insides of the public works, so I vowed that on Sunday Ted and I were going to do some sight-seeing before heading out. Unfortunately, we awoke to a steady rain on Sunday so our sightseeing was cut short. We drove around downtown a bit (yes, we found a few easy geocaches), visited the botanical gardens (again, to log a cache), had lunch at a surprisingly good Mexican restaurant, then headed for home.

Some day I must get back to Asheville and see the normal sights.

Note: This trip took place in mid-April. Two months later, no one else has logged Toobe TTorcher. It's a tough one.

Outrunning the Quiet Storm

2009-06-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a rainy week. Not just the usual Washington summer afternoon thunderstorms, but heavy downpours 5 AM thunderstorms, flash flood warnings, the works. So it was with a severe weather watch in place and some trepidation that I headed down to Columbia Island last night. The consoling factor was that I had checked the weather report right before heading out from work, and the skies looked like they would be largely clear until about 9 PM.

My friend Dave has a new fixation with doing yoga warmups before paddling. I think he has been influenced by both Dubside and our friend Gina, who is a yoga instructor in addition to being a paddler. Interestingly, I had been thinking just the day before, when doing my 20 minutes of stretching before my 40 minute run, that it's funny that I stretch so much for running and erg-ing, but not at all for kayaking. So, when Dave suggested yoga, I was happy to take part. We must have been quite a sight, about half a dozen of us going through various asanas on the grass at the marina, while getting dampened by a light sprinkle of rain.

The weather held and the trip was spectacular. The birds were out (kingfishers, wood ducks, night and blue herons). When we got up to Georgetown the water was filled with crew shells practicing. It was just a wonderful feeling - all the hustle and bustle on the river. Six-person shells, singles, racing canoes, our group of eight. It felt like a secret society of the river, with all of us out enjoying the evening in our people-powered boats, with nary a powerboat in sight. The water is still a little cool and the rain had washed all sorts of chunky stuff into it, so I held off from rolling (the brown chunkiness of the water didn't stop Dave and Nelson, though).

As we started to head back the wind picked up. Leery that this meant the forecast severe thunderstorms were imminenty, I picked up my pace and pushed back to the marina at a more rapid clip. Fortunately, my fears were unfounded. The weather was still fine when we got back, which gave us a chance to spread out and have our potluck as planned - a fine spread of cheeses, dolma, veggies, hummus, bulgar salad, fruit tart, chocolate babka, and more. Being National Park Service property, I am certain that we did not drink wine. Just a rather large juicebox of grape juice.

I arrived home stuffed and happy.

Mindfull vs. ... unmindful? mindless?

2009-05-31T18:20:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went hiking with Ted at theBull Run Nature Conservancy. As usual, our hike had several purposes. Of course, there's the basic enjoyment of hiking. But Ted is also training for a week-long Scout backpacking trip in July and is trying to do as much hiking as possible in preparation. Needless to say, we were on the trail of a geocache as well. I had already found this one, but Ted hadn't.

As we hiked, I decided to try out a mindfulness technique I had read about in the book "A Wild Faith". What you do is bring your concentration into the moment by focusing on various things, first in succession, then sharing your attention among them. The feel of the soles of your feet as you walk. The appearance of the forest around you. Your breath. I find I can maintain this combined focus for only brief periods, but during those periods I'm very much in the moment. Then the monkey mind kicks in again and I start to wander off into thought. Another thing about doing this kind of mindfulness practice is that it doesn't leave much room for conversation. So, while I did it we hiked silently, which is fine - but it would be hard to maintain for a long time or with a larger group. I enjoyed the exercise.

Today, in contrast, I had a very unmindful kayak trip. I got to Occoquan Park early before the Chesapeake Paddlers Associations Gear Day, so I hit the water for a while. It was a pretty morning, but I kept getting very lost in thought about other things - primarily financial things, which I guess are a preoccupation for everyone these days. Every once in a while I'd wake up and realize I was in the middle of this gorgeous kayak trip, then I'd zone out back into my thoughts. I think I have to figure out a kayaking mindfulness technique. The only thing that really sort of served that purpose today was when I was focusing on my stroke. A focus on paddling form keeps you in the moment in its own way. Applying tips learned from various paddling experts. Watching the speed indicator on the GPS as you fine tune the stroke. Adjusting the blade angle and entry to avoid splashes. Checking for torso rotation. Focused. Moving faster. Yes.

The Eight Foot Wilderness

2009-05-24T17:21:00.000-07:00

There’s a corner of my garden that’s wild. This little spot bursts forth with such savage lushness that walking through it one half expects to come face to face with a tiger.

I must explain the peculiar fact the spot I’m describing is neither large nor remote. In fact the deepest depths of the savage corner are maybe six feet from the house. It’s just that the lay of the house and plantings have created an isolated tiny wilderness. To get there from the front of the house, go past the dogwood on the front lawn, turn left at the tea roses that flourish despite my neglect of them, and then squeeze between the sycamore and the boxwoods. As you emerge from the shrubs, you’ll find yourself in a spot so overgrown with so many plants it takes your breath away. Ivy, Virginia creeper, and thorny things and wild weeds I can’t even identify. It’s as if the local flora developed a master plan for the neighborhood and zoned this petite square to return to nature. A couple of times per year I go back there and cut everything back, but for most of the summer it’s my own private little jungle.

Bike to/Walk home from Work Day

2009-05-15T11:52:00.000-07:00

OK, I didn't bike to work on Bike to Work Day, but I had an excuse. Really. I biked to work on Tuesday, which was quite pleasant. I have finally settled on a favorite route and outside of some unpredictability due to construction in Tysons Corner (for example, about 50 feet of sidewalk disappeared between my morning and afternoon commutes), it's a pretty smooth ride.

Then came the ride home. I made it through the traffic of Tysons with few problems, then the bumpiness of Gallows Road. When I reached the bike trail that takes me the rest of the way home, I breathed a sigh of relief.

A little ways later I heard a sudden Bang, like a firecracker had gone off under my bike. I stopped immediately, and at first I thought it might have been a joke - maybe someone scattered those pressure-sensitive caps on the trail - since my front tire was fine. Then I realized my rear tire was massively blown.

Hmmm, four miles from home. No one to call. Got the bike with me, plus laptop and clothes. What to do? Wait? Walk? I wound up walking four miles home with the bike. Ow. To society's credit, I will say that two people did stop to offer help. Unfortunately, neither of them had a tube that would fit my bike.

So, my bike was out of commission for Bike to Work Day. Instead, I celebrated Buy New Super Durable Tires and Tubes So I Can Bike to Work in the Future Day.

Choppy Evening

2009-05-14T12:05:00.000-07:00

A choppy evening on the Potomac tonight. There was a steady wind, creating a continuous wave train. The waves were only about a foot peak to trough. This is high enough to be fun, but not at all out of control. We banged our way South and around the bend into Washington Channel. Then we turned around and surfed the waves back.

Oh, how I have a love-hate relationship with surfing following waves. I hate the crazy out of control feeling of skidding as a wave picks up the back of the boat and makes it try to catch up with the front. Oh, how I love the feeling of riding a wave, paddling hard to keep on top of it, being propelled along faster and faster.

We got off the water just in time. As we were loading our gear it started to rain, and lightning arrived soon thereafter. Washington Summer is on its way.

Eat, Pray, Dub

2009-05-10T16:31:00.000-07:00

When the opportunity to take a master class with Dubside came up, I jumped on it. What was he going to teach? What were the details? It didn't matter. Dubside is one of the masters of traditional Greenland-style kayaking, one of the few Americans to have competed in the Kayak Championship competitions in Greenland. I mean, you really should see this guy do a Kinnguffik paarlallugu/nerfallaallugu (Greenlandic for "coming up on the other side, on one's back"). Plus, he's a little bit of a character - kind of like a mystical shaman of the kayaking world. He has no fixed address. He dresses all in black. Even his kayak and kayaking gear are black. He has the kind of long, wild beard one would expect a mystic to have. He doesn't own a car and so paddles a folding kayak, which he schleps around on public transportation. And of course, he has only one name ... Dubside.

My kayaking pal Jen, who lives around the corner from me and I *for once* managed to coordinate car-pooling (we usually meet up at launch points and say "oh, we should have car-pooled"). We threw the boats on the car first thing in the morning and headed down to Mason Neck. We got there on time only to find most everyone else already there, so we hustled our gear down to the launch and hurried over to join the gang.

The day started with some talk about traditional kayaking and some stretches. In addition to the quirks already noted, it appears that Dubside has had his skeleton surgically removed, since he has some unbelievable flexibility. All thanks to yoga, he says. We all worked to emulate some bit of his flexibility, then we got on the water.

It was a pretty windy morning. There was significant chop in Belmont Bay, which meant we got a chance to practice under rough water conditions as we learned to fine tune our strokes and braces. I was a little dismayed to find my dry suit leaking a little at one wrist; this is something I'm going to have to investigate. I did my best to ignore the trickle of water slowly soaking my right arm and joined the group in surfing the waves back into Kane's Creek where it was calmer, but - as usual - quite shallow. Freshly armed with tips on how to add power to our stroke, we turned back into the wind and smashed through the waves back to the put-in. The strokes portion of the class filled the morning. By the time we got back to the put-in it was about noon, so we pulled the boats up on shore and took a lunch break on land.

During the break I had a chance to talk with a good friend who is back on the water after a nasty round of chemo. I admire this guy for maintaining a positive attitude through it all, and for his periodic - always upbeat - status emails through his ordeal. His emails never failed to inspire me to appreciate life a little bit more.

After lunch we focused on rolling. Unfortunately, the water level dropped dramatically during lunch break, almost as if someone had pulled the plug on Belmont Bay. I guess the tide combined with a shift in the winds accounted for this rapid drop. The net result was that the lower water level brought a bunch of weeds to the surface. You could paddle out past the weeds, but the wind would quickly blow you back. As a result, conditions weren't all that great and so I didn't do all that much rolling. I did a little practice using an Avataq (float) to get the feel of forward-finishing roll, but then I started to feel kinda wiped and so I headed back to the beach. A couple of other people headed in at about the same time. We chatted until the rest of the group came back in a little while later.

The class finished up back on land, with quick snippets of video from Greenland and some commando kayaking sea stories. Unfortunately, I had to bail because I knew I had to get home for Mother's Day dinner (Valerie is amazing to have let me go to this class on Mother's Day at all). So, I twisted Jen's arm a little to leave and we pointed the car northward towards home. And I made it back in time for dinner - barely.

They are risen!

2009-04-12T17:40:00.001-07:00

Midway through today's hike I had two simultaneous and contradictory thoughts. Tired and achy from rock scrambling on the way to the top of Old Rag Mountain in Shenandoah Park, I looked at the next challenge and thought, "Boy, maybe I'm reaching the age when I'm going to have to cut back on some of these more strenuous outings." The reason I had time for my thoughts to wander, though, is that we had caught up with a hiking group composed entierely of Korean (I think) senior citizens and had to wait while they scrambled up a particularly challenging crevice in the rock. They were slow, but each and every one was making it. Ted and I had talked for a while earlier in the day with one of the younger members of their group, Joe, who told us that this group hikes every Sunday, and that they do it for their health. From the pace they were setting up the mountain, I'd say it was working! I guess if you set your mind to it, you don't ever have to slow down.

We did this hike as a closer to Ted's Spring Break. The last day of Spring break promised great weather, and so the two of us headed for the mountains. Ted had never done this hike before, and I'm not sure whether I had either (I know I've hiked the nearby White Oak Canyon trail), but it's known as one of the most spectacular hikes in the region. We expected the park to be empty, given that it was Easter, but when we arrived at 9:45 AM the upper lot was already full. The trailhead was abuzz with activity, including the Korean seniors doing group warmups.

I won't bother with all the particulars of the hike. I'll just say we did the classic Old Rag loop, 8.8 miles, plus the walk to and from the lower parking lot, for a total of about 10 miles. Elevation gain of about 2350 ft from the lot to the summit. Peak elevation, about 3200 ft. The weather indeed turned out to be lovely - chilly at first, but warming with the afternoon sun. We got ourselves pretty warmed up from the hiking and scrambling too; at one point just before the summit my legs got pretty rubbery from exertion and I had to take a little break.

We reached the summit at about 1 PM. There were still little icy pools of water here and there in the rock at the top, but overall it was a wonderful scene. Sunny, great vistas. We reconnected with a few groups we had bumped into on the way up - the three foul-mouthed nurses and their friend Tom, the young rock climber chick who had given me a boost to help me start up the challenging crevice mentioned above, and of course, the Koreans.

The hike down was on easier trails, but was still tough. I know from experience that for some reason I'm very slow when going down in elevation (it must be some muscle imbalance, since I'm fine on the climb), and so lots of people passed us on the way down. Finally, Ted and I arrived at the car tired and happy, with a great feeling of accomplishment.

The only other unusual part of the hike was that it was still Passover and so I couldn't take my usual collection of trail snacks - energy bars and the like. Instead I made do with matzo & cheese, an orange and various other little kosher for Passover tidbits I found at home. Likewise, when we stopped at WaWa market in Manassas for a snack on the way home, I had to pass up all the yummy chometzdick (that is, not kosher for Passover) snack foods. I wound up with the healthful, if not 100% satisfying combo of Baked Lays and apple slices.

Can Brooklyn count as The Outdoors?

2009-03-30T20:18:00.000-07:00

I always find the drive from DC to NY tiring. I95 is always crowded enough that you can't just relax back into your thoughts, and today bad weather exacerbated the stress of the drive. Combined with some sensory overload from a brief stop at a kayak show, I was pretty dazed by the time I hit Staten Island. Is it any wonder that at first glance I misread the "Staten Island Botanical Garden" road sign as "Satanical Garden"?

Brooklyn always brings out mixed emotions for me. It's home. It's my roots. Truth be told, though, it's a pretty gray and grubby place. But dammit, the food is good. As usual, my first goal upon entering the borough is to get a slice of pizza. I squeeze the car into an impossibly small parking space in Bay Ridge and set out in search of a pizza place. The first place I come across, a block and a half up, is closed for renovation. I have to walk all the way to 79th St. to find a pizza place - that's five blocks! Having to walk five blocks to find pizza in Brooklyn is simply unfathomable. Pizza is ubiquitous in Brooklyn, and I am pretty frustrated by the time I finally belly up to the counter and order.

I can't help myself, I somehow pick up a Brooklyn dialect when I visit. Not just the accent, but quirks like calling people "buddy" and using expressions like "fuhgedaboutit". The funny thing is I didn't speak like this when I lived here. I think I overcompensate for my insecurity over being merely an ex-Brooklynite by adopting a comically exagerated Brooklyn persona. So, "yeah, gimme two slices an' a smawwl Diet Coke" is what I sez to the guy behind the counter at the pizza place.

Accent notwithstanding, I soon sit down with my two slices. There's a commercial for Domino's on TV. Domino's?? Who in their right mind would order Domino's in Brooklyn? I take a bite of my slice. It's about average for Brooklyn, which means it's AMAZING. The crust is a little on the crisp side, but the flavor is just right. It just explodes through my mouth. Before I know it I have inhaled the whole slice. I force myself to take a break and then eat the second more slowly. Heaven.

Oh, and I later figure out that had I walked in the other direction I would have gotten to a pizza place in only two blocks. That's more like it.

Wasn't it just snowing?

2009-03-07T19:37:00.000-08:00

OK, so five days ago we got slammed with significant snow. But that was then, this is now. It hit seventy degrees today. Seventy! There is no way to describe how good the warm weather and the Springtime air feel when you're so, so sick of Winter.

Today was the annual trip planning meeting for my kayaking group. I usually attend the meeting but truth be told, I don't lead many trips, so this time I stayed home and worked on my taxes. I can add my trips to the calendar later. I swung by the meeting just as it was ending - had time to grab some dynamite coffee cake and join people as they headed for the river.

Oh, the agony and the ecstasy of warm early spring days! You have to dress for the water temperature, which is still in the 40's, so on went the layers and the dry suits. But have I mentioned that the air temperature was seventy degrees? Man, that winter gear is hot. Before I got into my boat I had to wade into the Potomac to cool off.

We launched from Gravelly Point, just north of National Airport. I have never seen the place so crowded. Joggers, runners, bikers, people with strollers, airplane watchers, boaters, walkers. So many people out taking advantage of the break in the weather. It was like a party, like Central Park. The large parking lot was full - we unloaded our boats and parked on the grass.

After zipping up into our oh-so-unconfortable gear we headed out, a group of eight paddlers. We crossed the Potomac and headed up the Anacostia River. The Anacostia is not the world's prettiest river. It has much more of a working river feel than the Potomac - work boats, scruffy marinas, the Navy Yard. We paddled up past the new Nationals stadium, past the USS Barry at the Navy Yard, a little past the Anacostia Community Boathouse. Along the way I splashed myself liberally with river water to stay cool - and you have to be pretty warm to voluntarily rub yourself with the toxic muck that is the Anacostia.

As we turned back we realized we had had the wind and the tide with us on the trip out. It was uphill, so to speak, on the way back for sure. The wind in our faces kept us cool, but it took a little work to keep up a decent pace. As usual, Cyndi literally paddled circles around the rest of us. I haven't paddled much over the Winter so I was feeling the burn for sure! As we rounded Haines Point a soccer player yelled to us asking if we could help him retrieve his ball, which had gone over the fence into the river. At first we said, "sure", but when he mentioned it had gone into the water 45 minutes earlier, we told him it had no doubt drifted too far to be found, apologized for not being able to help him out more, then continued on out into the Potomac.

I don't know how far we paddled, exactly, but we were out about 2 1/2 hours. As soon as I hit land I downed my extra water bottle in what felt like one gulp. We helped each other load boats, had a few mini coffee cakes that Dave had thought to grab as we headed out from his house, then headed out through the traffic jam - traffic jam! - of the Gravelly Point park.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

2009-03-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

Walking in a Winter Wonderland ... because the car broke down

So March starts off with a bang - a big, white bang of a snowfall. The biggest we've seen here in a long time. Not anything that would impress anyone from the real snowbelt, but big for Virginia. For Valerie and the boys decisions about what to do are easy - when your life revolves around school, someone else does the decision-making. School's closed - stay home. For me, things are a little more complicated. I'm usually pretty hard-core about making it into work. I've got a calendar full of meetings. On top of all that, I've got an appointment to bring my car into the shop on the way to work.

So, at 7:45 I set out so I can get to the shop at opening time. It's only about a mile from the house, but it turns out to be a crazy drive. Even the main roads are slick like crazy. I get to an intersection where I want to turn left, but the car just keeps going straight. Oh, boy. Fortunately, the roads are empty and so I safely slide to a stop about 50 feet past the intersection. From there I inch the rest of the way to the shop. The shop is open, but none of the mechanics have made it in yet. I leave the car but decide to go home rather than press on to work.

The walk home is amazing. There's a walking trail through a small park that connects to the bike trail that runs near my house. I do the whole walk home through parkland. It's still snowing. It's bitter cold, but I'm bundled up top to bottom. It's white, it's beautiful. It feels more like the Sierra Nevadas than Arlington. A few dog walkers are out, along with a few dedicated souls trudging to the Metro stop. We greet each other heartily.

It takes me about 30 minutes to walk home. I arrive home exhilarated. Another cup of coffee, light a fire in the fireplace, power up the laptop. One by one, my meetings get cancelled and disappear off the calendar. I have a pretty productive day by the fire.

I love March snow. All the fun, knowing full well that it's Winter's last gasp.

Ich bin ein Fredericksburger

2009-02-22T17:23:00.000-08:00

A little less than 150 years ago bullets were flying over the spot where we launched. Union and Confederate forces stood arrayed on opposite sides of the Rappahannock River in what would ultimately be a brutal defeat for Burnside's army at the hands of Robert E. Lee. Today, nary a ghost of that time stirred as Tom and I arrived for our trip up the Rappahannock. A group of us had accepted our friend Paige's invitation to come down his way, spend some time on the water, then check out his new house. Paige frequently makes the trek to DC to kayak with us, and we really owed him a return visit.

Tom and I, carpooling, arrived early, so we spent a little time driving around and checking out historical markers around the town. We headed back to the dock just as the rest of our group arrived - Dave and Cyndi, Nelson (without Caroline, who was sick), Kingsley, and Paige. In not time flat we were zipped up into our cold weather gear and were on the water.

The river had a pretty strong current and the weather was iffy so we decided to head upriver, figuring it was better to do the tough paddling on the way out and coast back. The river is narrow and shallow, but we made it all the way up to the base of the rapids in the center of town. A couple of our group went to play in the rapids a little bit. Paige got out of his boat and body-surfed the lowest rapid a few times. Tom and I, being a little more safety-oriented, beached our boats just downstream and walked up the river to hang with the rest of the gang. Definitely a fun interlude.

On the way back we did have the benefit of the current pushing us along, but we were subjected to crazy, very rapid changes in weather. Sunny. Stinging sleet. Sunny again. So windy that you just stopped paddling and ruddered to keep the boat pointed in the right direction. Cloudy. Rain.

After we got off the water we all headed over to Paige's house, which was just a few minutes' drive from the put-in. It's a beautiful house in an attractive new development. He just bought the place this past year and so it has an, um, open look. That is to say, he has very little furniture outside the bedrooms. First we stood around the kitchen eating snacks and drinking the beer assortment that Dave had so thoughtfully brought. Then we all sprawled out on the carpet in the totally empty family room while we waited for the incredibly slow Frederickburg Dominoes to deliver. Once the pizza arrived we discovered how hungry we were, as we devoured it in what seemed like seconds. Then we made equally short work of the brownies Caroline had thoughtfully sent along with Nelson.

Finally Tom and I said our goodbyes and headed back North, away from the civil war and back to Sunday afternoon chores.

Blammin' Valentines Say

2009-02-14T20:12:00.000-08:00

I started today with a dilemma - erg or run. I really wanted some time on the rower, because I needed that kind of workout, but with the end of the deep winter chill, the outside beckoned. The answer? My own little biathlon. I did about 2/3 of my normal workout on the erg, then threw on a jacket and did about 2/3 of my normal run. An invigorating and challenging way to start the day.

I was sipping a cup of coffee after cleaning up when Ted comes running in. "A new geocache just got published right near the Wilson Boulevard McDonalds," he shouted, waving a printout. Now, being the first to find a newly placed geocache is something of an honor - sometimes the hider will even put a little prize inside for the finder. Some people are real First-to-Find (FTF) chasers. We tend not to be, since I rarely care to drop everything and run out to a cache. This one, though, was too good to pass up, being less than two miles from home in an area we knew well. The cache had been published earleir that morning (it was about 10:00), and so we figured we still had a chance. We hopped in the car and headed right over.

Well, it turned out to be a tougher find than we expected. As I mentioned, we know the area well - we bike over to the McDonalds all the time. The hider, though, had done a good job and after about 10 minutes we were still stumped. We were about to give up and move on when another pair of cachers showed up, then another one, then another one. We knew all of them and so it became a little search party. In the process we claeaned quite a bit of trash out of the little corner of the urban park in which we were searching. Finally, Ted made the find. We had thought about hitting one more, but realized we had to go home and make sure David was awake, because ...

Next it was time for BLAM, or Blazing Lightly Armed Mensans. BLAM, a monthly Mensa outing to the shooting range at the NRA headquarters, is an invention of the febrile mind of Adam Beslove. The range draws a wide assortment of people, from hunters to Virginia rednecks to people like us - a bunch of gun-totin' engineers, surgeons, executives and such [nb: I am not actually a gun-totin' anything, as I don't own a gun. I just borrow other people's weapons at the range]. Ted, David and I all went. Today, thanks to the generousity of Scott, we shot 9mm to our heart's content.

After that, the day slowed down a little. Right now David is baking a complex triple chocolate ganache cake for Valerie's birthday, which is tomorrow.

An ice blast from the past

2009-01-27T17:51:00.000-08:00

An old photo of mine was selected as the January picture for this year's Chesapeake Paddler's Assocation Calendar. Reprinted here is Susanita's excellent write-up of our trip that day:

Post subject: Mason Neck Trip Report -- December 30, 2004

http://members.bellatlantic.net/~jaronson/pirates/MasonNeck123004_005.JPG How much would you bid for a hundred dollars? I'm hacking away at yet another layer of ice with a three foot piece of wood I've scavenged from the shore when I hear my paddling partner, Jesse calling my name from his kayak. He's just launched and is moving slowly in the water. As I turn to towards his voice I feel my mouth drop. I can't believe how far away he is. I have hacked my way through ice clearly 300 yards from shore. I can just barely make out the image as he begins to paddle through the ice. But I can clearly hear the crunch of ice meeting fiberglass. http://members.bellatlantic.net/~jaronson/pirates/MasonNeck123004_000.JPG What were we thinking? Minutes before Jesse and I had been hacking away at the ice together. In between conversations about Christmas, the tsunami, and Alias ( my new favorite tv show), Jesse shares with me this story. A group of executives has gone to a training conference. As part of the training they are told to 'bid' on a $100 bill. The trick is that if you don't win the bid you are forced the pay the value of your last bid. How much would you bid to 'win' a $100 bill? The executive who won bid $200. The point of the exercise was to show how easily people can get caught up in competition. The need to win. ********************************** Why would anyone spend over an hour breaking up an ice jam just to go kayaking? Was it perseverance or sheer stubbornness? It was 10 a.m. when Jesse and I met at Mason Neck State Park. I met him at his car and told him we may have a little problem with the launch. It was covered with ice. We walk to the beach to assess the ice. There is what looks like a 20 foot swath of ice blocking the beach from the open water. Beyond the ice we can see the glimmer of water. As it turns out, that glimmer would be a mirage. It is high tide and the water has spilled over the ice creating the illusion of moving water. And all I can think is, "It's my birthday and I want to go kayaking." http://members.bellatlantic.net/~jaronson/pirates/MasonNeck123004_003.JPG "Oh c'mon Jesse," I plead. "It's just a little ice." He looks around and grabs a stick and throws it across the ice. It skids for what seems like forever and finally stops, never breaking the ice. "Try a rock," I say. "The stick was too light." He hunts around the beach for a rock. He throws the rock across the ice and mercifully it breaks the ice and sinks to the bottom. We exchange glances and smiles. "Yeah," he says. "I could just plow right through with my kayak." Yes! We're not going to let a little ice stop us. "I'll go first," he says. "I know how you are about your boat." Jesse hasn't known me that long but it doesn't take long to figure out that I am very particular about my boat. Anyone who meets me has to hear about how I came to buy the Mirage 530 with the custom purple fade and integrated rudder. How I talked for weeks with the designer of the Mirage in Australia. How nice the Aussie accent was to hear at 2 am in the morning. How I had the boat custom painted then shipped to L.A. then picked it up at customs. How it only weighs 40 lbs even with the electric bilge pump. How it's made of kevlar and cost about $1000. And now I'm thinking of putting my precious Purple Mirage in a bed of ice! Oh, how I was wishing I had a plastic boat. We zip into our drysuits and carry the kayaks down to the ice. Jesse courageously launches into the ice with greenland paddle in hand. He pushes off and his kayak hits the first wave of ice. Crunch. The sound of ice crushing against his boat sends a chill up my spine. I look at my Mirage** and think of how I'd feel if it was crunching in the ice. I also realize he's not going anywhere. So I race into the water and start breaking it up with my foot. Like I said earlier. It?' my birthday and I want to be kayaking. I'm making good progress and we agree that the ice can't be that thick or go too far into the bay. We can see clear water ahead. So with each step I crunch down on the ice, breaking a path that Jesse follows in his kayak. Then the ice gets thicker and my boot lands on the ice with a thud. I bring my foot up higher and try hitting it harder. It's not working. I glance back at Jesse sitting patiently in his boat. http://members.bellatlantic.net/~jaronson/pirates/MasonNeck123004_002.JPG "I'll get a stick," I say. "This ice is a little thicker." I run back to shore and search around for a stick. I find a long spear like stick and wade back through the broken ice to where I left off. The stick works. The ice is breaking up now. We can see the glimmer of water not far ahead. "Just 10 more feet," Jesse says. "And we'll be in open water." At this point he decides it will be quicker if he breaks the ice too. So he gets out of his boat and goes back to shore for another stick. We break through the ice section by section. The ice is now almost 2 inches thick. We reach the section which is covered in water and realize we're not even close to being free. But now we have time and effort invested. We look out at the water ahead of us and agree that the ice can't go on forever. I'm sweating and cold at the same time. I have three layers of clothing on underneath the drysuit but my feet are like ice cubes. If anything, we agree that this is a good test for the drysuit. We continue working never looking back. After a while Jesse leaves to get his kayak that he left near shore. Standing in frigid water up to my waist surrounded by a flotilla of ice chunks, my feet numb from the cold, I stare determinedly at the remaining ice that stands before me and the clear moving water. How far would you go to break through ice just so you can go kayaking? It looks like my limit is about 300 yards. Or is it? I'm still hacking away when Jesse paddles up beside me. He continues ahead breaking through the next section of ice. I hear the crunch of resistance from the ice but it breaks easily and pretty soon he is out in open water. It's 11:30 and we're finally going kayaking! http://members.bellatlantic.net/~jaronson/pirates/MasonNeck123004_001.JPG

Signs good and bad

2009-01-24T10:47:00.000-08:00

This morning I went out for a run despite feeling really crappy (I have a cold). I find it painful to breathe out in the cold when I'm sick (and even when I'm not). This can be a real problem for me when I go running. Today I got a really bad side-stitch after about 1/2 mile, so I droppped back to walking and forced myslef to breathe deeply. After about a minute I felt better and continued with running, still focusing on breathing. No problems after that.

The bike trail still had signs up pointing the way to downtown DC for the inauguration. That made me smile. I was tempted to take one as a souvenir, but they're actually useful on a longer term basis and so I decided to leave them be.

In one of my recent posts I talked about the Bluemont Park restroom. When I stopped there today I noticed that someone had etched "Property of Arlington County Parks and Rec" onto the flush valves of the toilets. Last time I reported on how I found the restroom inspirational; today the measures to foil potential plumbing thieves reminded me of man's darker side.

A New Direction

2009-01-19T07:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning it was off to the pool again for another rolling session. As I passed the Metro Station I saw signs of inaugural activity. There were people heading for the trains to head downtown for the concert. There were porta-potties by the station entrance (to handle the overflow crowds?). Tour buses were zipping hither and yon.

At the pool I once again worked on my offside roll - that is, rolling the kayak in the opposite direction. Everyone has an "onside" and and "offside" - like being right or left-handed. My onside rolls are pretty bombproof but my offside has been non-existent. Yesterday, though, it worked! I was doing ear-to-the-water braces, sculling braces, and even rolls on the off side. Not with a 100% success rate, but far better than ever before.

Could this be a sign that we're heading in a new direction?

The Meaning of Life was in the Bluemont Park Men’s Room

2009-01-14T17:26:00.000-08:00

I usually slug down a cup of coffee before going out running in the morning, so by the time I hit the midpoint of my run I’m ready to take advantage of the facilities. Fortunately, the turnaround point on my most common route is right near the restrooms in a local park. Every run, my ritual of visiting the Bluemont Park restrooms is the same. First, I am pleasantly surprised to find the bathroom open, even though it’s routinely open. Next, I slowly enter the bathroom. Before I get too far from the door, I peek into the stalls as best I can to scope out any dangerous people who might be lurking there. In the many years I’ve been using the park restroom I have never, ever felt threatened. In fact, it’s rare to even find it occupied at all, and yet I always check. As I advance into the place I take a look around and marvel at the fact that everything is clean and working, and that the place isn’t graffiti’d or otherwise trashed. Again, I get this feeling of happy surprise despite years of visits to a place that has never been anything but clean and functional.

My reactions to the place are not based on my expectations of the Bluemont Park restroom itself. Rather, they’re based on the public restrooms of my youth. New York was in pretty bad shape in the 70’s when I was growing up. Crime was rampant, and little money was available to maintain infrastructure. A large number of public restrooms had been taken over by seedy characters, either as residences or places of business. A few were operational but were in an incredibly filthy and rundown condition. The rest had simply been locked up, because they had been vandalized past the point of function, had broken down, couldn’t be maintained, or as a measure to keep out the seedy characters.

So, in my current experience I enter a mundane place and find the wonder in it. While most park users probably don’t even think about the place at all, each and every time I marvel at clean, safe indoor plumbing. I’m not sure if it’s possible to enter into an I-Thou relationship with a bathroom, but if it is, I’m there.

How many other opportunities are there to recognize the everyday wonders of the world? How many things am I taking for granted that I could be appreciating in more depth? A comfortable home? A beautiful vista? Even rush hour traffic, for it means that I have the wherewithal to have a car, and all these other people and I remain gainfully employed in the midst of a deep recession.

Rabbi Mike Comins points out in his book A Wild Faith that there are certain prayers that help us to recognize the sacred and exceptional in our lives. Most blessings in Judaism are intentional, that is, they are said when you’re about to do something or have done something planned. However, there’s also a category of response blessings, to be said in response to an unexpected, spontaneous happening – seeing a rainbow, smelling a flower, and so on.

I’m not ready to start saying b’rochot over the Bluemont Park bathroom (not to digress, but there is a blessing that is appropriate for recitation after having gone to the bathroom), but I’m going to try and take the sense of wonderment I feel over the place with me to more experiences in my life.

First Kayak Trip of 2009

2009-01-01T14:43:00.000-08:00

I open my eyes and see that it's 8 AM. This is a good thing. Good because I got a decent amount of sleep despite having been up quite late cleaning up after a New Year's party, and good because it still gives me plenty of time to get to the launch site by 11. Being New Year's Day, it's time for the first kayaking trip of the year! Actually, today's trip was a little bit in doubt - yesterday was brutally cold and incredibly windy. One of our friends who had planned a New Year's Day paddling trip over in Maryland canceled because of the weather, which, I have to admit, was a major motivating force in getting our group organized and out on the water - nothing like a little machismo to get you going in the morning. After my morning ritual of lubricating the brain with a few cups of coffee while staring uncomprehendingly at the newspaper, I chipped some ice off my kayak, loaded it and my gear up, and headed for the meeting point at Bladensburg Park.

As I approached the put-in I couldn't help but notice two bad signs. The water level in the Anacostia river was very, very low, and all of my friends were clustered by their cars outside the park gate, which was locked. One member of the group had actually correctly guessed the combination for the gate and so we could have gone on in and launched, but we decided that wasn't really a good idea. After a quick pow-wow we decided to put in at Gravelly Point on the Potomac instead. Gravelly is just a few miles from my house so I wound up driving about 30 miles round trip for nothing, but what the heck. We drove in a caravan back over to Virginia, where Kingsley joined us - he had been late getting to Bladensburg, but he found the note we had left pinned to the gate about our change of plans. We unloaded and were quickly under way.

Fortunately the winds had died down quite a bit from the day before. The Potomac was still every so slightly bumpy, but nothing of any concern - no risk of injury from exposure. After hanging out at the launch point watching planes take off (the launch is almost directly at the end of the main runway at National Airport*) we crossed the Potomac and headed up Washington Channel. The channel was almost completely protected from the wind, and we all warmed up pretty quickly. At the beginning of the trip I could still feel the effects from partying the night before - headache, and a little feeling of being dehydrated, but as we kept moving and I kept drinking water I felt better.

While traveling up the channel we saw bike racers doing loops around Haines Point. We speculated as to whether the mayor of DC, who is an avid triathlete, was among them. We saw three bald eagles - two mature birds (a nesting pair?) in a tree over Haines Point, then a maturing bird (white head, but otherwise immature plumage) at Ft. McNair. The channel is home to a large marina, so we all gawked at the big boats and daydreamed about ditching our conventional lives and living aboard a houseboat (particularly after we spotted a houseboat with two kayaks lashed to its side).

Washington Channel ends at gates to the Tidal Basin (home to the famous Cherry trees and the Jefferson Memorial). You can never get into the Tidal Basin from the either the river or the channel because the gates are always shut, but today one of the gates was off its hinges and stuck open. Could this offer a rare entry into the basin? We all lined up and threaded our way through the first gate and under a bridge, but alas, it turns out there's a second line of barriers, which were intact. So, we went through the usual comical turning around process that ensues when a bunch of kayakers in long boats find themselves bunched up at a dead end, then headed back down the channel. Interestingly, we saw many of the same sights on the way back that we had seen coming up - with the exception of the eagles.

At the end of the trip Peter wanted to test how waterproof his two-piece dry suit actually was, so he took a stroll into the 37 degree Potomac. Seeing how refreshing it looked, I joined him and we floated around for a bit. Cyndi, who also waded in, snapped a few pictures. I did learn a lesson from this immersion. This winter I've been paddling with pogies, weird tunnel things that attach to the paddle and take the place of gloves. Today I wore a lightweight pair of ploypro gloves under the pogies. At the point when I jumped into the river my hands were no longer protected by the pogies (since I wasn't holding my paddle), leaving me with just the light gloves. My dry suit and layering kept me pretty comfortable in the river, but my hands started screaming immediately from the cold. In an emergency situation I can see how that could have very quickly led to loss of dexterity and therefore difficulty in executing a rescue. I think I'm going to start wearing heavier gloves under the pogies, even if it means my hands get too warm (actually, with me there's no such thing as "too warm").

Trying, as always, to maintain personal/family balance, I skipped the post-paddle gathering and instead headed home to Valerie and the boys. Valerie is always understanding of my need to disappear off to the river for a few hours here and there. In return I try not to push the boundaries.

It was a great way to start the year.

*I will never, ever refer to National as Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, even though that's now the official name. Nothing against the Gipper or anything. See this link for details.

Great Falls

2008-12-28T10:50:00.001-08:00

It's an unbelievably warm December day - the temperature is already above sixty when I go out to retrieve the morning paper. I just gotta get outside and enjoy this warm, if gray and windy, weather. The family is still asleep. I decide to take a quick jaunt over to Great Falls park and hike Mather Gorge. Great Falls is an amazing resource just minutes (assuming it's not rush hour) from home.

I get to the park about 8 AM. Not too many people about - just some birders. Unfortunately, the parking booth is manned. Is it really worth it to pay a ranger to sit there and collect five bucks from each car?

I first visit the three Falls overlooks near the visitors center. They've been redone since the last time I visited. Two of them are now handicapped accessible, and all three have expanded guardrail systems. It used to amaze me how open the overlooks were - it would have been very easy to slip off the rocks and plunge down into the gorge. Much too uncontrolled for the developed section of a nearly-urban National Park. Now, with the expanded railings, you'd really have to be determined to fall off at the overlooks. After gawking for a little while I headed down the River Trail, which runs along Mather Gorge. This trail too has been renovated. It's better blazed and easier to follow than it used to be. The trail still has gorgeous views, and, thankfully, no new safety railings.

One reason I chose this locale is I'm scouting locations for Jewish-themed hikes (inspired by some books I've been reading lately) I intend to lead for the temple in the Spring. So I pay close attention to how difficult the trail would be for a group, and I pause between Sandy Landing and Cow Hoof Rock to try out some Mindfulness exercises I intend to use on the hike. Unfortunately, at this location you're only a half mile from the road, and so my focus on the sounds around me was dominated by ambulance sirens along Georgetown Pike. After pausing for a while to take in the Mather Gorge view I continued on to where the River Trail meets the Ridge Trail, then hoofed it back up the Matildaville Trail back to the visitors center. About 3.75 miles, all told.

As I got into the car my phone rang - it was V, calling to see where I was. Perfect timing. She and the boys were heading over to the bagel store and wanted to know if I'd be interested in meeting them. I pointed the car that-a-way and we met up for brunch.

As I was leaving the park, the portion of Georgetown Pike to my right was completely closed off and there were police cars a-plenty about. Could this have been related to the sirens I had heard before during my attempt at mindfulness?

A Kooky Hike at Torrey Pines

2008-12-18T19:10:00.000-08:00

Today is the last day of my San Diego trip and as it happened, both my schedule and the weather cleared in time for me to spend some time outside before heading to the airport. I checked out of the hotel a little before noon and decided to try walking over to Torrey Pines State Preserve, which seemed pretty close by. I started off by hiking along a path from the hotel that paralleled the ocean. It turned out that this path was actually part of the Torrey Pines golf course and that pedestrian traffic is not permitted on the course. I was chased down by not one but two golf carts - a supply cart that blocked the path in front of me while the Course Marshal caught up from behind and cordially ejected me from the property.

I continued by walking along Torrey Pines Road to the entrance to the state preserve, a little less than a mile in total. From there I headed straight down the Broken Hill path, which looked like it would head to the beach. I hiked at Torrey Pines when I visited my friend Kris back in the 80's, and I had the same reaction then as now - except for the ocean views, the place kind of sucks. I guess I'm just not attuned to the desert beauty of sage scrub ecosystems. Lots of low scrubby plants. Few trees to speak of. They've made it feel very uninviting too. I know the park service is just trying to protect a fragile ecosytem, but the sheer number of negative signs - "No picnicing!" "No trails!" "Trail Closed" "Plant renewal area - keep out" is a little off-putting.

The other thing about Torrey Pines is that it's made up of a bunch of canyons and peninsulas, so you can't really go from one trail to another. When I got to the end of the Broken Hill trail, which ends abruptly at a, well, broken hill, I had to turn around and hike back about half-way before I could hook up to another trail. I must say, though, that the view at Broken Hill was quite stunning. And I love the smell of the place, which I remembered from my 1980's trip.

After hiking a few trails I decided it was time to find my way out of the place. Because I had been working my way North through the park I decided to work my way out from where I was rather than backtrack. Bad idea. I finally made it to a park exit, but found myself several miles north of where I entered the park. So, my walk back to the hotel covered the orginal couple of miles plus two more miles, which had to be covered on the bike path adjoining a highway. Not fun.

As usual, I was looking to geocache a little bit a part of my hike but this too was a failure. The preceding days had been unusually rainy (I mean real, heavy rain) and so a number of trails were closed. I got about 100 feet away from one cache, but was stopped by one of the strident "Fragile Area! Do not Enter!" signs from getting any closed. I spent quite a few hours at the park, but wound up with only one geocache find.

All I had had to eat all day was a granola bar and some coffee, and I had worked out in the gym before my morning meeting, so by the time I got back to the hotel I was pretty tired and hungry. I hopped in the car and headed to La Jolla where I devoured a Banzai Vegetarian Burrito at Wahoo's Fish Taco.

Was the hike a success? Yes. No. Maybe. New vistas are always good. Hiking during the business day is always good. 60 degree weather in December is good. Sandy trails through sage scrub ... well, it beats working.