Utopian Quest

Gastado (da Jetta) was given a break for the cheap flight to Oakland.  A woman solving our questions of cancer drove me to Berkeley, where an old friend with a spirit much younger than mine picked me up.  We ate vegetarian and were cornered by the bistro owner who was sure she was going to convert us to vegetarians, or at least eat up our afternoon explaining why.  After a night in Danville, a wonderful woman having a horrible day stopped by my thumb and by the time she had dropped me off in Sacramento, she was erupting with Laughter.  Inside the California capital, and upstairs in a lobby, a tray of fruit and tea provided me with da go juice needed to endure “western acupuncture.”  Without cost, A wild man clad with a white coat drilled needles into my head until I whited out and floated away from Capital Park.  Needles to say, I will have to give it another shot.  Happily dazed, I wandered into Sac and found myself a member of a Agrofuels protest at the Cali EPA.  The time for me to testify for the Bill of Pure Air was 8pm, and at 6pm Scott and Christine saved me from embarrassment.  The morning gave us Mount Shasta freshly dusted in powder snow and fresh food of Colin and Jenn’s production.  We had a wonderful day speaking broken Bayerisch mit Peter and ripping uncut snow.  The German festivities continued into the evening with the “who can pound the nail in this stump first” (old Garmischer pub tradition), and all the German specialties including Garmischer stories and music.  After a scrambladelsch bfast, we hit Giddy Giddy Gulch with a party of 9, with sunny skies all day; we tore the corn off the face of Shasta!  A mountaineer who had donated his key to the mountain became the 10th Corn fest member of the day.  We got the hammers back out to celebrate.  Scott and Christine drove me back to Arnold and after a couple days, Scott dumped me on the highway to Yosemite.  A wonderful family of climbers picked me up, treated me to lunch, and hiked with me to Upper Yosemite falls, which was erupting with spring melt.  Hitching out of the valley was another story, a deranged and spoiled drug addict (apparently also illiterate) misread my sign saying San Fran, and drove me an hour south, dumping me on a county highway between Oakhurst and Mariposa, from there another interesting person drove me to Posa where a carload of skater punks drove me to Merced.  I then happily paid $20 for Amtrak and BART to take me the remainder of the way to Danville.  The old friend in Danville shared her talents for massage and Craniosacral Therapy with me, and coupled with Kelly’s “meat grinder” yoga, I was feeling premium.  We topped off the morning with sauna, hot tub, and cadobruschetta.  Now alone in central San Fran, I let the traffic lights guide my feet through the Tenderloin, Haight st., Castro, and 10 different parks.  Kiki, with whom I co-guided last summer, lives in the Castro, and she took me to Thai and put me up in her apartment.  The next day I continued to let the lights cue me until I ended up back in Des Moines.  Thank you to everyone that diamond studded my Nor-cal adventure, including you, “Oakhurst taxi!” Below:  I had to bail, about halfway up El Cap (left), Our prep to drop in Shasta’s  Powder Bowl

Trudging out in the wild (or what they consider such in Japan), I have been hoping to see the Macaca known to be the worlds northernmost primate in the wild.  Finally last weekend, while exploring Shimokita fishing villages, their staunchy little faces were directing traffic, and stopped us dead in our tracks.  I shot some brilliant photos with the tele-lens (Below).  The locals in the area seem to pay no care to them, and we were rather their gawking target.  That night I was sewing a book binding when I was lucky enough to drop kick a sewing needle, successfully burying the eye end in the soft tissue of my big toe (under the bone).  After three days of limping, I knew it had broken off below where I could get to it with my self surgery (yes I tried), so I had a wonderous adventure at the Misawa Hospital, where only two people spoke broken english.  After an X-Ray proved my theory, I was escorted to a strange bed with a raptor-claw scan and then I had a Japanese Surgery.  I think I can now perform foot surgery so give me a call at your next puncture.

When you pick up an average guidebook on Japan, the Tohoku section is usually sparse, showing photos of rice farmers and alluding to their seemingly only (anti) social output, PACHINKO (Japanese slot/pinball).  Tohoku has not just been forgotten by tourists, but by the government as well, most of the national parks have fallen into disrepair, and many large engineering projects that had begun, now quietly sleep as rust an corrosion rebutt their efforts.  Coming to Tohoku has certainly opened my eyes to the beauty of rural Iowa, every piece of nature here has been channeled by concrete and steel.  I have chased some tracks to festivals like Emburi (below right), a parade where each rice farming family dresses in colorful traditional costumes, each step of their dances mimics a step in the process of cultivating rice, from planting to harvest.  The most difficult thing here is making true friends, as in all collective cultures, once people have their circle of friends and family, they are done making new ones.  So people are very friendly, though I have never received an invitation, or been able to establish plans with a Japanese person.

After awaiting the glaciers to recede from Iowa, I made it to Leadville, CO to recertify the WFR certification. Two days later I was on the subway in Tokyo. I couchsurfed with a Parisian of Portuguese descent by the name of Elizabeth. She took me by foot to Roppongi crossing, (below) one of the larger cross-walks in the world, especially in terms of volume of people, which was true the night we went. The notorious nightlife found at Roppongi helps keep the crossing full. The next day invited me to a show of the art of Japanese Juggling, coincidentally showing free at the Hamarikyu Gardens. The perfomers enchanted a small crowd of gawkers by balancing spinning rings, cups, boxes, etc. upon spinning Japanese umbrellas, to the tune of a Shimasen (Japanese 3 string instrument). Click on the photo to see the gallery.

This autumn was exceptionally challenging and rewarding.  Back in the tumbling cycle of graduate school, swimming in a pool of research about contrastive rhetoric commanded that I completely learn a new stroke to stay afloat.  Old strokes came in handy though with a trip to Pictured Rocks National Lake Shore (see below).  Many characters from previous plays fell into this stew.  In the new dish came together with orGAINic LOVEly INgredients of OTHERSome interest.  The Lampost seemed to be the new kitchen, and the Sunday Night Potluck the community.  From this new foundry, a Community Garden was forged with much potential.

With a breakaway of warmth upon us, Krystal and I did a spur of the moment bike tour of the Amana colonies.  Lost to the trap and lure of tourism, we found the Amana we were looking for hidden in an old oak, on the skirts of Middle Amana (Below).  As a break to the peaceful country symphony, we contemplated poems by Emily Dickenson, and wrote a few of our own too.

After dropping the dumplings off at the bird house, we took Mokulele to Kauai where Adam and I met two of his friends, Margie (the blonde), and Katie.  They knew a guy on the island who picked us up, refueled our vagabond stomachs, and slingshot us into the Kalalau trail along the Na Pali coast.  This trail is for no confessing sinners, you gotta pack your elephant gun to survive the 13 mile hike to Kalalau valley.  Since we had a late start, the first night was spent in the wet coffee grove of Hanakoa.  This place was so humid we couldn’t get a fire going with fuel as kindling.  I made a little shelter out of sticks and ferns and in the middle of my sleep it decided it wanted to snuggle, I awoke thinking a wild boar was upon me and yelled at the top of my lungs.  Kalalau, like Waimanu, is a place where mother nature is doing a good job of letting man in the door.  These lush valleys used to be home for some 5,000 Hawai’ians, and there terraces serve the new community of some 150 hippies, living off the land.  We ran into a caveman in his garden, planting taro naked as the day his mother shot him out.  He had a sun died beard that, like his hair, had been worked into a nappy blob over the years.  He looked at us and smiled and went about his business.

After our exploration of the noni cliffs, and unworldly waterfalls.  We flew to Maui, where Margie and Katie lived.  This taste of civilization gave us the burning desire to run back into the moss of the wild.  The surf competition off of front street kept us entertained until a vortex by the name of, well I don’t quite remember her name, but she took us in her camper-truck to a beach party, that was about 5 people strong.  A fairly un-normal night ensued, and the next morning at 4 am the last palate burnt out and it was time for us to take our island flea back to the Big I.  Our pilot weighing in at 350 easy was sweating heavily as he loaded us and two others’ luggage into the small Cessna.  Shortly after takeoff there was a buzzer that I was sure was his heart monitor, warning of Cardio-infarction, it instead was a warning of a ajar door, right behind me the door then flew open.  We had an interesting jump, and after radical Rob brought our luggage, it was off our separate ways.

46 days on the Big island put me back with my Aquarius cusp.  This summer ripened my tropical Hawai’ian family ties.  Analou, a keeper of Hawai’ian culture, shared with us the true shared breath of Aloha, and chants granting us a safe and prosperous time in Hawai’i.  Alberta and Jason have given us our own little campground, a slice of the simple life where we may live off the land, eating papaya, mango, and of course Boot Boot, and fishing the waters of Waipio.  Waimanu (below) is always a welcome recharge, a sanctuary that civilization can never penetrate.  Of course, our trip would not be complete without cameo appearances from the sit-com-big-island: Derrick “Steve Erwin’s lost twin,” Betsy, Dave and Anna from the van, Abe, Smokey, Paul, Radical Rob, Tanya, Ralph, Alex, and the Maile, Jim and Artesia, and the crazy bike lady, and of course 25 amazing teens and two amazing women counterparts.  Thank you Kiki and Lizz.

For the past two weeks I have been in Colorado.  In Frisco the first week, my dad and I went climbing, biking, hiking, and rented a canoe and a jeep for a day.  It was a blast and what made it even more exciting was that there was a BBQ festival on main in Frisco for three days.  Last week some old friends from college and I did a lot of climbing.  Sunday at The Monastery outside of Estes Park.  It has difficult, exposed, and fun sport climbs.  Monday, Dusty and I met these two older guys (40’s) at Vedawoo in Wyoming.  We climbed 4 diverse climbs on rock that rivals the Needles and Joshua Tree.  Tuesday morning another friend from school, Joe, met Kristy and I and we bouldered at Horsetooth Resavoir.  And finally Thursday came.  We awoke at 2 am, were at the trailhead in Rocky Mountain National Park at 4am, at the base of the Petit Grepon at 7am and then 8+ hours of exposed alpine climbing and rappelling ensued.  About halfway up, we heard thunder, and blinded to the weather coming from the west, panic set in and we silently performed our tasks at hand.  The summit is only about 3 feet by 20,we gladly found it at 1:15, 12,000 ft. some long scary rapps on the ice floss and were back at the car by 6pm.  Thank you Ed’s Cantina for the most rewarding Nachos we had ever ground. Click the summit photo for more photos, below is a photo of the delicate climb as seen from the Gash:  (Courtesy of Bryan Bornholdt), the climbers are setting the abseil, and us at the third rapp station(Below right).

Spring is usually a time of promise in Iowa, one that the grip of winter death will release you . This was an exceptional spring that was loosing the fight to old man winter. As of a few hours ago, the report said it would snow later today 28th of April. The flowers on the trees are promising though. All of UNI Outdoors’ spring trips were canceled, which basically means I have stayed in CF since January. In March, TJ, Julie and I went hiking out by his house, looking for buck drops (antlers)I have made a lot of new friends who helped me to have the best birthday party, actually my first since second grade.

Winter was a challenge on many levels. First off, adapting to days that the windchill can dip to -40 degrees F. Adapting to being in school again was a challenge too. Also, finding a place to live and…. well I won’t bore you any longer. I kept myself from studying by swimming, climbing, reading, and tons of cross country skiing. I got to do a lot of this with TJ, Meg, and Julie blue. I also started ice climbing again. I happened to have my camera up top when a Sheriff came out to check out the fun.