I got to Austin with a day to take care of things - vet, mail, packing - and then flew on to Chattanooga after a long night of drinking with John and Jon and Stefan, passed out on the front porch at 3am when the cab arrived. But I made it out with all I needed and then some. It was the first time I enjoyed airports, because I wasn't at all stressed or concerned and could just walk and walk and take in the sights.
05/18
Pa and I took his explorer up the Tennesee line, into the Tri-Cities area, by the Virginia and North Carolina borders. We explored golf courses for his later in the week fun, and then went to the cabins he'd rented. Rod was there, geared up for fishing. So we put our waders on, grabbed a couple of cigars, and waded in.
The Watauga is a beautiful river, flowing through limestone, clean. Green trees line the river: white oak, other oak, poplar, elm and locust. It smells green, and tastes good. I slipped in the river, loading my leg waders with 55 degree water - a real shrinker. So I sat out on the bank and watched the fish jump, and nipped at the flask Ron sent for my birthday. O'Dhaniel showed up eventually. Rod's friend Mike showed up with his 4 year old son. We were packed into the cabin and serenaded by the Savage snoring sawmill.
05/19
We took a guided float down the Watauga, OD and I in a boat with Evan. OD caught his first fish on his first trout hunt within an hour. He repeated this feat again and again, catching a grand slam - rainbow, brown and brook - before lunch. I had strikes and ripped the hook free a number of times. These were fiesty fish, fighters, and they didn't like my technique at all.
So I began drinking PBR's. O'Dhaniel caught more fish, and began apologizing each time: "Sorry Jo." I drank more beers and caught more trees and rocks. I was having a good time just being out on the river, but OD was clearly concerned and our guide Evan was getting frustrated. It was a beautiful day on a lovely river; we had cold beer. How could I be upset? I drank more beers and caught a fish. Then three. The more beer I drank, the more fish I caught. I found something approaching technique - I relaxed and the fish took what I had to offer.
05/20
Rainy gray day, and Pa and Rod went out for golf. OD and I stayed around the cabin, and tried wading in the Watauga for trout. We saw no fish, and had no action. We packed it in after a couple of hours, and sat down for marathon Carcasonne. We had a lazy intellectual day, and figured out the game. Others returned, and OD, Mike and I played Carcasonne late into the night.
05/21
We took another guided float, again with Evan. Rod and Pa were with Jason again. OD started on the beers early, and encouraged me to do so. I started catching trout right away, over 8 in (and out) of the boat before lunch. It was another gorgeous day, past 50' cliffs, over small rapids and deep holes. Fishing from the front of the boat was much easier. I only caught O'Dhaniel once, as opposed to the 5 times I hooked him on Monday. Pa and Rod were reelin them in by the dozen. A good time was had by all.
05/22
O'Dhaniel and I took a side trip, as more golf was on the elders' agenda. We went to visit a friend from Oberlin, Darrah, living on the other side of Roan Mountain from Elizabethton. We'd reconnected a year ago at Jordan's wedding, and had a chance to hang out with Zack, Darrah's new hubby. We took the scenic route out, up and over the highest peak in Tennessee. We saw dogwood and chestnut in bloom as we got higher on the mountain. Then, past the fir line, the trees were barely in bloom, the rhoddies barely budded out.
We met up with Darrah and Zack and Zack's friend and fellow blacksmith, Drew. After some North Carolina style pulled pork bbq - delicious - Darrah, OD and I went to check out the school. Darrah'd met Zack at Penland School of Crafts. He's a blacksmith; she's a glass blower etc. Penlandia is on the side of a mountain, looking across the temperate rain forest valley. It's easy to see why artists and artisans (what's the difference) would be attracted to the spot. We toured the different buildings, each devoted to a different craft. Again, I found myself amidst expert tool users in a highly artistic culture. I dig it.
After walking around a bit, we went back to Darrah's, a modest house with a big new barn Darrah just put together, sitting on the bottom of a bit of acreage. After catching up a bit inside, Darrah, OD and I went on a hike, mostly uphill. We had a great time wandering around, taking in the greenyellow lime yellowgreen trees.
Afterwards, we went back in to the school to watch or help Zack and Drew harden a die for the forge in their shop. I sat on the rocking bull, and mostly stayed out of the way. A nordic blacksmith, Tessa, provided me with tasty rollies. OD got to man the water nozzle on the hot metal. Iron got hot, then cold. We made steam, and maybe the die got a little harder. I could stand to do this sort of thing more often.
05/23
O'Dhaniel and I took off early to make a rafting appointment in Erwin, TN. I'd planned to check out the Nolichucky, home river of a guide friend I'd made in Terlingua, Scott. Scott took care of us - put us in the front of an R6, himself steering in back, and only lunch (for 30) and water in between. We'd been warmed up on the ride over the mountain by senior guide Jed, playing the banjo to feel out the crowd, and offering such witticisms as: "A rafting trip is a lot like a Grateful Dead show; the bus might just make it there."
The Nolichucky is like the Watauga, only moreso. It's more remote, with park land and railroad land on each side. It's also a limestone river, but with many more hazards and much more drop. It's technical whitewater, with a nice full 1/4 mile stretch of class 4, even at the low 650cfs we ran on. The river is free flowing, so if Mt Mitchell (highest in the Appalachains) gets rain, the Noli rises.
We had a most excellent time on the river, often pulling ahead to be a safety net for duckeys or other rafts. There was very little in the way of flippage, so rescue was not required. We spent some time in a hole surfing, and I got to drive a while. OD tried to flip us, but I managed to keep us all aboard. Maybe next time...
After we got back, we spent some time at the compound drinking beers and bourbon and throwin shoes. I met the other guides, and folks took both OD and me for guides. We fit right in, easy outdoors with a beer in one hand and a horseshoe in the other. Scott gave us a great day, and so we took him out for Chinese, eating heroic quantities of fried saucey meat. Yum.
05/24 - 05/27
My dad and I headed back early Saturday, having had good times together and apart. O'Dhaniel had a much needed vacation, and I was happy to share in it. We got back to Ootlewah in the afternoon and rested.
Elise arrived the next day, with my nephew and niece in tow. I got to meet Sylvie, bright eyed and smiley. Rhys has more words, more understanding, and is more fun. We've spent the last several days eating meals together, going on walks around the hilly neighboorhood together ("Can you say 'suburban wasteland' Rhys?" Elise asks).
I'm happy I made it out for family time; it's been a while. My one regret on my recent tour was that I wasn't around for the holidays - 30 in a row was pretty good track record, but I wanted to be around for the arrival or newness of Sylvie. I'm over it now, having had some time to hang with dad, mom, and sister. My nephew and niece know me, and to me that means much.
Tomorrow I'm on the road again, headed to the Grand Canyon by way of Austin and Denver. I've got a Wilderness First Responder course to take, so that I can do this guiding thing professionally. Then it's backpacking, rafting, and more travel. I'll keep it posted.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Looking Back III: Texafied
After work settled down, I settled in. I got a pickup, a shotgun and a dog. I got a woman, but she won't stay true. Cue the music...
From my first day there, Terlingua smelled like home. I expected to be there a while over the time to come, just not so much so soon. After guiding work dried up at the end of spring break, I found myself with little incentive to move on. The heat drove many away to northern climes, but for me it was deeply satisfying.
I found a truck for sale in town approximating what I'd planned to build up, only much further along. So I bought it, and started fixing it up. These plans stalled due to lack of tools, planning and knowhow. But getting things done isn't really living Terlingua style.
I met a woman, Fanny, whom I became interested in, and vice versa. Of course, this came with some entanglements, as she was the ex of one of my coworkers, Tex. Well, I talked with Tex about it, and he said it was done and over and to do what I would - go ahead. Of course, I did. And Fanny needed more closure with Tex and so on. So I stepped in a mess, as I'm wont to do. No one was hurt, and the road goes on.
I became good friends with some of the locals and a few of my fellow guides. Dan came by bored one day when we hadn't worked in a couple of days, and spotted Tinky Winky - a doll someone had left at the house I was staying. "Tinky Wink must die," he proclaimed. And so we took the doll out for target practice. We shot guns, played chess, and camped around the desert. Dan turned me on to new music and books, and I him. I got a shotgun and we finished off Tinky Winky, in a way that a 22 or 45 just can't do. The shotgun was my planned gift for myself at the end of my ride. I was planning to get it in Austin, but it seemed right in Terlingua. Besides, was I really going to ride to Austin at this point?
Over the first few days in Terlingua, I found myself in the best dog culture I'd encountered. Riding around for supplies, I had a pack of 3 dogs start chasing me. I dismounted, put the bike between us, and then saw the big dog smiles on all their faces. Instead of telling them to go, I yelled at them to get out of the road, and then let them all meet me. Going to the bar later, I found a place where people arrive with unleashed dogs. Silent glances cut across the room as dogs or owners share information. It was like an extra layer of intelligence and communication not found elsewhere.
There are dogs in Terlingua without owners - Brown Dog the quintessential example. He'll lead you through off trail desert paths, once he figures out the direction you're headed. He'll wait in people's cars as they're ready to leave the bar, hitching a ride to whereever he thinks food and rest will be best. Everyone in town knows Brown Dog, and respects him as a survivor. He showed me a thing or two, and linked me up to other groups of people walking out in the desert.
I'd long been thinking of getting a dog, a blue heeler especially. I want a friend that can keep up with my biking, something smart and not too crazy. A friend brought his bitch's litter to the bar - blue heeler australian shepherd mix. It would never be a good time to adopt, so there's no time like the present. So, I got Muki, born 02/05, an auspicious date. Muki got to spend some time with her mother and the runt of the litter, and much time with uncle Brown Dog. And now I won't be as alone on future travels.
I had to get down the road to meet my dad in Tennessee for fly fishing. This had been the plan since January, and I was loathe to miss it. So I got my truck as fixed up as I could, packed my shotgun and loaded Ziggy and Muki and drove out of Terlingua. How do I feel about driving at the end of my bike trip? Didn't I cheat? Wasn't the plan to ride my bike from Seattle to Austin?
Well, I didn't ride the whole way, now did I? I'd hitched rides and rented cars when I wanted along the way. I'm not a fundementalist, and accept changing situations with a smile on my face. I'm still travelling, now in Tennesee, tomorrow in Arkansas and so on. So I feel great, really, about getting here in time to spend a week with my dad on the river.
I did leave Muki behind with a friend in Texas, as weekdays alone in a garage seemed less puppy friendly than a couple of weeks with other dogs. I've got to socialize my baby even when I'm around. I've added a responsibility to my life, and Muki is really the only thing that generates stress for me. On the other hand, spending time with a puppy does so much to make me a child again - how much fun is that?
From my first day there, Terlingua smelled like home. I expected to be there a while over the time to come, just not so much so soon. After guiding work dried up at the end of spring break, I found myself with little incentive to move on. The heat drove many away to northern climes, but for me it was deeply satisfying.
I found a truck for sale in town approximating what I'd planned to build up, only much further along. So I bought it, and started fixing it up. These plans stalled due to lack of tools, planning and knowhow. But getting things done isn't really living Terlingua style.
I met a woman, Fanny, whom I became interested in, and vice versa. Of course, this came with some entanglements, as she was the ex of one of my coworkers, Tex. Well, I talked with Tex about it, and he said it was done and over and to do what I would - go ahead. Of course, I did. And Fanny needed more closure with Tex and so on. So I stepped in a mess, as I'm wont to do. No one was hurt, and the road goes on.
I became good friends with some of the locals and a few of my fellow guides. Dan came by bored one day when we hadn't worked in a couple of days, and spotted Tinky Winky - a doll someone had left at the house I was staying. "Tinky Wink must die," he proclaimed. And so we took the doll out for target practice. We shot guns, played chess, and camped around the desert. Dan turned me on to new music and books, and I him. I got a shotgun and we finished off Tinky Winky, in a way that a 22 or 45 just can't do. The shotgun was my planned gift for myself at the end of my ride. I was planning to get it in Austin, but it seemed right in Terlingua. Besides, was I really going to ride to Austin at this point?
Over the first few days in Terlingua, I found myself in the best dog culture I'd encountered. Riding around for supplies, I had a pack of 3 dogs start chasing me. I dismounted, put the bike between us, and then saw the big dog smiles on all their faces. Instead of telling them to go, I yelled at them to get out of the road, and then let them all meet me. Going to the bar later, I found a place where people arrive with unleashed dogs. Silent glances cut across the room as dogs or owners share information. It was like an extra layer of intelligence and communication not found elsewhere.
There are dogs in Terlingua without owners - Brown Dog the quintessential example. He'll lead you through off trail desert paths, once he figures out the direction you're headed. He'll wait in people's cars as they're ready to leave the bar, hitching a ride to whereever he thinks food and rest will be best. Everyone in town knows Brown Dog, and respects him as a survivor. He showed me a thing or two, and linked me up to other groups of people walking out in the desert.
I'd long been thinking of getting a dog, a blue heeler especially. I want a friend that can keep up with my biking, something smart and not too crazy. A friend brought his bitch's litter to the bar - blue heeler australian shepherd mix. It would never be a good time to adopt, so there's no time like the present. So, I got Muki, born 02/05, an auspicious date. Muki got to spend some time with her mother and the runt of the litter, and much time with uncle Brown Dog. And now I won't be as alone on future travels.
I had to get down the road to meet my dad in Tennessee for fly fishing. This had been the plan since January, and I was loathe to miss it. So I got my truck as fixed up as I could, packed my shotgun and loaded Ziggy and Muki and drove out of Terlingua. How do I feel about driving at the end of my bike trip? Didn't I cheat? Wasn't the plan to ride my bike from Seattle to Austin?
Well, I didn't ride the whole way, now did I? I'd hitched rides and rented cars when I wanted along the way. I'm not a fundementalist, and accept changing situations with a smile on my face. I'm still travelling, now in Tennesee, tomorrow in Arkansas and so on. So I feel great, really, about getting here in time to spend a week with my dad on the river.
I did leave Muki behind with a friend in Texas, as weekdays alone in a garage seemed less puppy friendly than a couple of weeks with other dogs. I've got to socialize my baby even when I'm around. I've added a responsibility to my life, and Muki is really the only thing that generates stress for me. On the other hand, spending time with a puppy does so much to make me a child again - how much fun is that?
Looking Back II: Learning to Guide
I got a new hat for my trip on the river. Weeks later, at the Rocket Fuel party, someone was pointing someone else out to me. I simply asked: "What hat is he wearing?" "A good question," was the response. A new hat indeed...
I sat shotgun on the way from the office to the put in. I talked easily with my guide, John. He pointed out features and flora to the two couples in the back of the van. I pointed out things to him, and he noted that this was not my first rodeo. Of course, I love the Big Bend, and was excited to see it from a new perspective.
The river trip was awesome - thousand foot cliffs shoot up from the river. After call upon call of canyon wrens, we chanced upon a mated peregrine pair. The parade of birds continued, but I soon ran out of names. After paddling upstream half the day, we lunched and hiked a side canyon in Mexico, and then eased our way back down the Rio.
John began working on me to stay and help guide or shuttle during the spring break rush. I became convinced that this was a good idea, and - after all - why not? I'd been told before by a guide I'd met on my tour that Jan Forte was great to work for. On John's recommendation, she took me without any experience. I asked her to make me a trainee and to put me on the river as much as possible. She didn't let me down.
I started the next day, on an overnight trip down Santa Elena Canyon - covering the upper as yet unseen by me half of the canyon, and the several miles above that. I received instruction from Carmen, hard and fair and an excellent cook. "You're going to feel like you're going from rock to rock, always falling behind. We all go through that." True.
I was blown away by the experience immediately. So long had I been living in relative privation, expedition style gourmet canoe camping was quite a shock. Campfires and propane and dutch ovens and gallons and gallons of water. I'd graduated to camping in style.
I stopped writing and taking pictures. There was too much new to do. Reflection took a way back seat to action. I came back and really met my coworkers. I was clearly the least experienced and most out of place. Travelling alone so long, I'd forgotten how to be in groups my age. I required resocialization.
That'll only really go so far though, coming from where I'd been. Few have travelled alone as I, and few understand the complete rearrangement of my life facts while keeping my essential identity the same. I feel like I'd become who I am, not who I told myself I am. Guiding seemed a natural selection along these lines - teaching and learning and being outdoors and active all the time. Professional camping was easy, but managing interactions took some time.
Most guides percieve a gulf between themselves and tourists. Some even set themselves aside from the locals. I felt one in the same all of these. I feel at home in Terlingua. I can show and tell with the best of 'em. And yet I know myself a traveller, new to so much so much of the time.
Nonetheless, I found myself deeply attached to this new group of people. I treated them like family, maybe with more familiarity than some were comfortable, but certainly closer than coworkers or even new-found friends. This in part came from the openness and trust within the culture. It too came from finding a richer collection of varied experts than I'd ever encountered. Polymaths and panelementalists abound. Tool users and vehicle drivers at exceptional levels, these are also considerate communicators, artists, and seekers. Again, I felt at home.
The next three weeks I had a day or two off. I was on the river all the time. I ate little. I slept little. I socialized much. I balanced as best I could, training hard in my Uechi managing any inner conflict - sanchin with a canoe on my head. I opened my mind to new experiences and drank in the river. Jan put me on each of the three upper canyons, giving me quite a tour of the river. My fellow guides taught me patience, technique, and so on. It was easy, natural. Then I was worn out and business died down and I was on the river less and less.
I've found something that will allow me to continue this nomadic lifestyle with something that looks like purpose. I've got waters to learn, and places to be. I'll even get paid for the pleasure, which seems alright with me. I've made friendships that will last, with people who share my values, pursuing mine own interests. Where else can I find rock climbing mountain biking hanggliding whitewater guiding wisewomen listening to dub music? I'm hooked.
I sat shotgun on the way from the office to the put in. I talked easily with my guide, John. He pointed out features and flora to the two couples in the back of the van. I pointed out things to him, and he noted that this was not my first rodeo. Of course, I love the Big Bend, and was excited to see it from a new perspective.
The river trip was awesome - thousand foot cliffs shoot up from the river. After call upon call of canyon wrens, we chanced upon a mated peregrine pair. The parade of birds continued, but I soon ran out of names. After paddling upstream half the day, we lunched and hiked a side canyon in Mexico, and then eased our way back down the Rio.
John began working on me to stay and help guide or shuttle during the spring break rush. I became convinced that this was a good idea, and - after all - why not? I'd been told before by a guide I'd met on my tour that Jan Forte was great to work for. On John's recommendation, she took me without any experience. I asked her to make me a trainee and to put me on the river as much as possible. She didn't let me down.
I started the next day, on an overnight trip down Santa Elena Canyon - covering the upper as yet unseen by me half of the canyon, and the several miles above that. I received instruction from Carmen, hard and fair and an excellent cook. "You're going to feel like you're going from rock to rock, always falling behind. We all go through that." True.
I was blown away by the experience immediately. So long had I been living in relative privation, expedition style gourmet canoe camping was quite a shock. Campfires and propane and dutch ovens and gallons and gallons of water. I'd graduated to camping in style.
I stopped writing and taking pictures. There was too much new to do. Reflection took a way back seat to action. I came back and really met my coworkers. I was clearly the least experienced and most out of place. Travelling alone so long, I'd forgotten how to be in groups my age. I required resocialization.
That'll only really go so far though, coming from where I'd been. Few have travelled alone as I, and few understand the complete rearrangement of my life facts while keeping my essential identity the same. I feel like I'd become who I am, not who I told myself I am. Guiding seemed a natural selection along these lines - teaching and learning and being outdoors and active all the time. Professional camping was easy, but managing interactions took some time.
Most guides percieve a gulf between themselves and tourists. Some even set themselves aside from the locals. I felt one in the same all of these. I feel at home in Terlingua. I can show and tell with the best of 'em. And yet I know myself a traveller, new to so much so much of the time.
Nonetheless, I found myself deeply attached to this new group of people. I treated them like family, maybe with more familiarity than some were comfortable, but certainly closer than coworkers or even new-found friends. This in part came from the openness and trust within the culture. It too came from finding a richer collection of varied experts than I'd ever encountered. Polymaths and panelementalists abound. Tool users and vehicle drivers at exceptional levels, these are also considerate communicators, artists, and seekers. Again, I felt at home.
The next three weeks I had a day or two off. I was on the river all the time. I ate little. I slept little. I socialized much. I balanced as best I could, training hard in my Uechi managing any inner conflict - sanchin with a canoe on my head. I opened my mind to new experiences and drank in the river. Jan put me on each of the three upper canyons, giving me quite a tour of the river. My fellow guides taught me patience, technique, and so on. It was easy, natural. Then I was worn out and business died down and I was on the river less and less.
I've found something that will allow me to continue this nomadic lifestyle with something that looks like purpose. I've got waters to learn, and places to be. I'll even get paid for the pleasure, which seems alright with me. I've made friendships that will last, with people who share my values, pursuing mine own interests. Where else can I find rock climbing mountain biking hanggliding whitewater guiding wisewomen listening to dub music? I'm hooked.
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