The Big Back Yard

Last year Lapacaca, This Year Paint Out....

Missoulian: Art in the air: Painting pros capture outdoor beauty

One Year of Lapacaca Bliss

From Missoula to B.C. to Sex Peak to Bethel, the honeymoon continues...

On Bumdom

We've got some weather in these parts this weekend, so that makes for a nice excuse to hang out all day at the library.  Sometimes I like to wander around with no purpose, and just pick up and read books that I otherwise might not ever notice. 

I picked this one up, and was so pumped about the first two pages, I thought I'd reproduce them in their entirety, with one minor humble edit:

When I was very young, and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch.  When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age.  In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job.  Nothing has worked.  Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.  The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib cage.  In other words, I don't improve; in further words, once a bum always a bum.  I fear the disease is incurable.  I set this matter down not to instruct others but to inform myself.

When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must find in himself a good and sufficient reason for going.  This to the practical bum is not difficult.  He has a built in garden of reasons to choose from.  Next he must plan his trip in time and space, and choose a direction and a destination.  And last he must implement the journey.  How to go, what to take, how long to stay.  This process is invariable and immortal.  I set it down only so that newcomers to bumdom, like teen-agers in new-hatched sin, will not think they invented it.

Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over.  A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys.  It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness.  A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.  And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless.  We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.  Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip.  Only when this is recognized can the blown-in-the-glass bum relax and go along with it.  Only then do the frustrations fall away.  In this way, a journey is like a marriage. (or a lapacaca). The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.  I feel better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it. 

That selection sent me meandering through various adventure books.  Walking from Tierra Del Fuego to the North Slope sounds fun, but a 7 year mission is a bit of a hefty time frame at the moment.  Riding the rails would be sweet, so I checked out Theroux's classic.  But most of those trains are no longer in service.  To follow his footsteps, we'd have to hop freight trains.  That'd be fun, but we'd need a pretty good sling to carry Revel safely.  Also inspiring wanderlust, Reader's Digest.  An unlikely source, but in 1980 they put out guide to the natural wonders of the world.  (Available through Amazon for a mere penny!  I can't afford NOT to buy it.  I think it will be the perfect anniversary present for Genevieve.)  Exotic geographic features in far-flung lands always get me fired up.  Especially when they consist of large snowy mountains that can be ridden.  Or glissaded. 

If the weather cooperates, I'll be on a mini-adventure tomorrow, 220 air miles upriver via an Alaska State Trooper Cessna 206 to the town of McGrath.

The Plague, and Adventures in America

Genevieve and I are back from our adventures "outside" or "down-states" as they call it around here, meaning in the contiguous 48.  We've both managed to catch a gnarly cough, which we are affectionately calling "the plague".  It helps to joke about things.  Even when they aren't super funny.  To any of our dear friends and family who we were just hanging out with, if you catch "the plague" we apologize profusely. 

We had some great adventures, and unfortunately took no pictures as our camera is getting its mystical lens repaired.  But we arrived in Missoula happy to enjoy the bug free days, starting with some quality time with Genevieve's parents.  We attended the Mt. Jumbo wedding of Jean-Marc and Natalee Deschamps.  Unlike us, they got married on the top of Mt. Jumbo, which incidentally was one plan we were seriously considering.  It was a great wedding, and featured a spectacular sunset.  And it was great to catch up with the Deschamps, and other people from the good old Bonner School days.                                                

After the wedding, Genevieve and I split forces.  She stayed in Missoula for more hanging out, and I wandered south to visit my folks.  We had a nice adventure off the beaten path in the Sawteeth Mountains, Grandjean to be specific.  If you're wandering through Idaho, I highly recommend it.  Awesome natural hotsprings and excellent mountain views await.  We loved it. 

After that, I wandered over to Portland.  I got to hang out with one of my funniest friends from law school, Lori LeCheminant, a founding member of the surf club and also the real-life inspiration behind the movie Blue Crush.  We met up with Jake and Megan for a night on the town that culminated, as all good nights on the town do, at Mary's Club. 

                  

The next day I headed south with Jake and Megan for a mini Oregon coast surf tour.  Megan, thank you for letting me invade your private romantic last few days with Jake before he wanders off to the dangerous land of Korea for two months.  He'll be doing environmental work at US bases near the DMZ.  Anyway, we got decent waves at Newport and Port Orford.  Port Orford is my new favorite town on the Oregon coast.  And Jake's parents are thinking about relocating there, so he'll have lots of excuses to hang out there.  Luckyyyy!!  Beautiful scenery and nice waves.

                                                 

After camping our way down the coast, we were ready for our main mission... Mt. Shasta.  We were "The Fellowship of the Brokeback Mountain King".  Our crew consisted of Jake and Megan, Jeremy and Carrie Senn, Jackson Bauers, Jason Gilder, Damon Mino, and Daniel, Kent, Lisa, whose last names I obviously don't know.  We crushed Shasta, but I won't lie and say it was easy.  However, the descent was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I've never gone from feeling so crappy to so euphoric in such a short period of time in my entire life.  We awoke at 2:00 AM after close to zero sleep, wandered up to the trailhead, and hiked 7.5 hours to the summit.  The ascent was a mere 7 miles and 7,300 feet in elevation gain.  At about 11,000 I started feeling the altitude.  By the time I reached the top I was feeling nauseous, so my victory thrill of accomplishment was minimal.  I was most impressed with Jackson, who carried a 40 pound pack to the summit that included a dear friend of the family who had recently passed on and wanted his ashes scattered from the summit of Shasta.  Of course, I was also a little proud of myself, despite my flagging physical performance, because I managed to summit in my trusty running shoes.  Who needs boots?  Anyway, I was one of the last of the Fellowship to the summit, but I was the first to wander down.  We reconvened at "The Thumb", about 12,900 feet.

                      

Daniel gave us a quick course in glissading, and off we went down the mountain.  What had taken us 6 hours to climb, we descended in about 45 minutes of sliding bliss.  We sat on chunks of tarp, dug our ice axes in the snow, and slid down at least 5,000 feet.  Perma-grin!  Pure fun!  The following map shows the route - we basically glissaded down close to where the red line starts, made it way past Helen Lake, and stopped somewhere before Horse Camp.  Words can't explain the euphoria of the adventure.  I would do it again in a heart beat. 

And now, we are back in Bethel, enduring "The Plague."  Tomorrow I'm submitting my first indictment to the Grand Jury.  And Genevieve is not travelling.  But she went to Nunap today.  We are reading "Happily Married With Kids:  It's NOT just a fairy tale."   It's not Happily LuPu'd, but it's close enough.  From what we've read so far, having a rug rat can be a major drag in a  lot of ways.  We are preparing ourselves.  We still think it will be fun and funny.  We like to think we're pretty good at laughing through hardship.  And since I've agreed to do 100% of the night-time work, Genevieve's feeling pretty happy.  See, we're laughing already!

Uplifting and Downlifting Pictures

Here's a nice picture from our friend Lori's MySpace. For other uplifting statues of Jesus teaching white kids how to play sports, you may want to visit this website.

As for the downlifting news, our friend Tom forwarded us this picture. We don't know what the heck happened, but it has been described as a "minor flotation issue". Tom, we feel your pain...

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It's an HOMBRE

We've been slacking a bit on the blogging, being on vacation and all, but Friday we learned that little Revel Gacson DeWayne Arthur Thundar Williams IV is a boy.  We saw his goodies and everything.  Definite boy.

Kisaralik Camping

Oh, the joys of the great outdoors!

At a decompression session the day after returning to civilization, we took turns identifying our Fun #1 moments. We each had at least one or two. Tina invented some new terminology, notably Fun #1.5, which is Fun #2 for the person involved, but Fun #1 for everybody else. Example: Somebody in the group needs to perform a bodily function, thus exposing bare skin to the wrath of the tundra mosquito hordes. Fun #1 for all spectators, a big fun number deuce for the doer.

The above picture gives some sense of the mosquito hordes, but nothing can quite capture it.

Tom's friends were up visiting from California. For big city women, they handled the tundra with amazing facility. No complaining, no poopy-pants. And this mission, I assure you, was one that nobody would be faulted for complaining about. Our hats are off to Emma and Tina. Incidentally, Emma is a fellow alumni of the van lifestyle, and Tina is a surfing lawyer, so we all pretty much hit it off instantly.

The original plan behind the mission was majestic - way up the Kisaralik, the river is crystal clear. 10 feet deep, but so clear the bottom looks like it's just inches below the surface. Countless salmon and trout swimming, biting on every cast. And mountains!

In an odd twist of fate, we did not quite make it upriver that far. We were overloaded, so we couldn't get the jet-boat on step. So once we hit shallow water, we didn't cover much ground. We set up camp. After that, it was an exercise in endurance, thanks to our friends the mosquitoes.

Genevieve, ever the chef extraordinaire, had a gourmet dinner lined up for us. Thai peanut noodles. Her unexpected secret ingredient? Mosquitoes. In the process of cooking the noodles, she estimated one mosquito per second was flying into the pot. She tried to remove as many as possible, but it was a futile battle. We were pretty much at peace with it, and ate the noodles plus protein contentedly. I was the weakest link - you don't really notice the little black ball of the mosquito body, so that didn't really phase me, but I'd occasionally look down to see the long legs of a particularly large dead mosquito, and that's where I'd almost lose it. But hunger prevailed. And it was, after all, delicious.

Below, we stand on the bank of the river, enjoying our first taste of skeeter ville and a view of massive brown bear tracks. Big tracks, plus a recent viewing of Grizzly Man = not super relaxed sleep.

In other exciting news, Genevieve is currently enjoying the process of donning maternity wear. And we just viewed the interior of the dream cabin, and it is very dreamy. And tomorrow we are off to America, Montana to be precise. And en-route we get to visit Regan in Anchorage and Chi-Chi in Seattle. Hooray!

Genevieve's Sweet Cherry Ride

Genevieve's dream cruiser was up for sale here in Bethel, the Electra Betty, so we bought it on the spot. It rides like a dream and is three speeds of pure Bethel fun. And at $300, an actual bargain by Bethel standards.

The 4th of July is Bethel's biggest holiday. The whole town was out to celebrate at a fair-like gathering complete with a parade, live music, games, raffles galore, and lots of food options. Nick Cooke sang some sweet tunes, including an excellent one about Bethel and another cool one about fish camp.

And Bethel is currently hosting the original travelling Vietnam War Memorial. Its a sobering monument, quite faithful to the original. It seemed so surreal here in Bethel, with elder Yupik women in qaspeqs mourning their lost loved ones. I wasn't so callous as to take a picture, but I'm sure you can imagine it was a moving sight.

Welcome to Alaska, Regan!

We took a last minute trip to Anchorage this weekend to meet Regan and officially welcome him to his new home in Alaska. We're super pumped to have the WilYoshi clan up here in with us! Many good adventures await us, for sure. The trip was made possible in part by the last minute cancellation of our firefighter exam, which is now postponed for approximately 9 months. But that's no big deal. I can still pretend I'm a firefighter in the meantime. We get to don the Nomex and the SCBA and play in the fires now that we've completed the course anyway.

Back to Anchorage... we had a good time hanging out and wandering up some of the mountains. One of the best things about Regan, and hanging out with him, is his infectious enthusiasm about all things. Here we are on Flat Top, or as Regan likes to call it, Table Top Mountain. (Looks quite a bit different than the last time we hiked it.) Other adventures included moose dodging, apartment/home hunting, fishing spectating (more fun than it sounds), donut eating, walking/philosphising, and movie spectating (Nacho Libre).

We didn't take too many pictures. Oh yeah. It turns out, our trusty camera has healed itself. Unfortunately, there's now a blurry spot dead center on the inside of the lens. It doesn't make for award winning shots. But I like to think of it as an after-market artistic effect. Or maybe some kind of mysterious deep philosophical message. Maybe HF is sending us some kind of message against focusing too much on the center.

Here are the last shots taken before the trusty camera went for its synchronized swim in the Kuskokwim:

New Garage Sale Purchases

a new reason to celebrate every morning....mmm....makes hot beverages even tastier