Retro Chronicles: Camping in California

You haven’t lived until you’ve camped amongst the California redwoods in November.

Simon and I drove up from San Diego, through Sonoma Valley and into the Armstrong Redwoods during early November 2007. We came equipped with our three person tent, down sleeping bags, fruit, water, eggs, hotdogs, and a bottle of whiskey, all stuffed nicely into my rucksack. The weather was misty and overcast, but it stayed at a comfortable 60 degrees Fahrenheit. The drive up the mountain was beautiful as we left cell phone reception behind and curled slowly around massive trees.

We arrived at the state run campsite around 3 in the afternoon. The campsites were abandoned and we were able to choose the plot that we felt gave us the best view. There were no rangers in the stations and we paid our fees by leaving money in the appointed box in a damp envelope. I was surprised that we were able to pull my car straight into a space next to our site, as I’ve always had to hike into small campgrounds like this one before. I was also happy to see bathrooms with running water toilets and sinks. We had our camp pitched in about twenty minutes. The camp had a raccoon locker for the food, but no signs of bears. I hid the food away, but wondered if there were also going to be bears in the night, if they hadn’t started their hibernations.

As we put the finishing touches on Casa Getchell-Dearn, a forest ranger pulled up in a truck. “Are you going to camp tonight?” he asked, unable to hide the incredulity.

“Yes,” Simon replied. “It looks like we are the only ones, though.”

“Yeah, it’s not a busy time of year. We get a lot of people during the summer, but not in November. Just so you know, tomorrow morning at around 8 a.m., we’re going to start chipping these piles of wood.” The ranger pointed at piles around the campground of gathered debris from the forest. “It’s going to be an awful noise.”

“That’s OK. We need to get up early, anyway.”

The ranger headed back down the mountain road and we decided to hike up to a clearing, to watch the sun set. The place was silent except for our footfalls and conversation and the occasional bird twittering. After a short hike, we sat along a grassy, craggy clearing above the canopy of trees and swilled whiskey from the bottle. The sun set over the mountains, but was largely obscured by mist around the various peaks. The shadows around the mountains turned the air into deeper and deeper shades of blue and the air grew crisp. We decided to head back to camp and make fire.

On our way back into camp, I noticed a sign that asked that we not gather firewood from the forest, but rather purchase it from the rangers. We had not seen any rangers at the stations, however, and we needed to eat. Conveniently, the rangers had gathered wood up for us and left them in piles for the wood chippers. “We ought to help them out,” I suggested and we used a pile of chipping wood for fire. The fire quickly roared to life while we whittled sticks into points for hotdog roasting and fried some eggs.

Our peace and contentedness was supreme up in the mountains, miles away from anyone else. We shattered the silence by playing David Gray in my car stereo, loudly enough to hear while we stared at the fire and talked about random things, smug in the knowledge that the music could echo off the trees without anyone else hearing it. Falling back into silence, we sashayed off to an early bed.

Our deep, peaceful sleep in the mountain air was punctured only by the frisky chittering of raccoons, who were unable to get our food, despite their best efforts. That is, until the wood-chipper roared to life. Simon and I prefer our mornings to start late and with coffee. We grumbled at each other about the noise and buried our heads deep into our bags. Shockingly, despite the industrial screech of the chippers, which went on for two hours, we both fell back to sleep and did not rise again until after 10. Well rested, we broke camp and headed back down the mountain and into San Francisco. The last 24 hours had been sublime.

Retro Chronicles: Alicia and the Greek fishing boat.

An honest chronicle cannot have just the tales of heroism, triumph, awe and curiosities. They must also include the other, ubiquitous travel archetype: the tale of drunken shenanigans that might land you in a Turkish prison. For the sake of the Chronicles’ integrity, here is the story of Alicia G. and the Greek fishing boat.

The evening began like any other midsummer’s evening in Pythagoras, a small town on the island of Samos in the Dodecanese, Greece. It began with pre-dinner cocktails. Pre-dinner cocktails led to wine with dinner, which led to cocktails after dinner and then to shots. Alicia G. and her merry cohorts were enjoying the hot, dark night in an outdoor bar along the town’s marina just feet from the water. Opposite to them were boats of every kind moored up, side by side.

Late into the evening, Alicia’s dear friend, Liz F., handed Alicia a shot and said, “I bet you $2 that you won’t jump onto that fishing boat and bring me back the net.” She pointed to a small vessel a few feet away. Alicia G. carefully considered this proposal. Her pride had suffered enormously over the past year because Liz routinely proffered $2 bets that Alicia would not perform various feats of jackassery; Alicia always declined, causing Liz to regularly mock and taunt Alicia for lacking balls. On this occasion, however, enough liquid courage had been consumed for Alicia to surprise Liz. “OK,” she said, and marched immediately over to the boat.

Alicia G. gauged the distance between the small boat and the concrete quay to which it was tied. It appeared to be approximately two feet, with the boat rocking gently. Knowing that she was drunk and wearing high-heeled shoes, she endeavored to pull the boat closer using the mooring line. She tugged with all her weight and succeeded in bringing the boat slightly closer. However, as soon as she let go of the line, the boat drifted back out. She stood up again and wondered whether she should jump. Visions of falling into the water and cracking her head on the concrete danced in her brain. She stood up and shrugged at Liz, thinking that perhaps she would give up. But instead, in a sudden rush of bravery, she took a step back and made a flying leap into the boat.

Landing safely, relief flooded Alicia. She stood up and looked at her group of cohorts at the bar, who were all now watching intently. She leaned over and began gathering the fishing net, which turned out to be massive. Dropping the net and preparing to disembark, she shouted at Liz, “It’s too big.” Her words were barely out of her mouth when she saw a man sprint out of the darkness towards her and spring onto the boat. Stunned and nervous, Alicia put her hands up in a defensive gesture, gasping, “it was just a joke.”

The man, who was speaking Greek to her, used the opportunity to grab both her wrists with one hand and the mooring line with the other. He started to undo the mooring line with quick movements. He shouted in Greek down the quay. Convinced she was about to get arrested and tossed into a Greek prison, and realizing that she was caught in his strong grip and that escape was unlikely, Alicia tried to explain. “I wasn’t going to do anything. I was just kidding.” The Greek man laughed at her and continued shouting down the quay and pulling up the mooring lines.

Feeling helpless, Alicia was relieved when a dashing English sea captain emerged from the darkness and stood on the quay before her. Simon D. held his hand out to her. The Greek man let her hands go, still laughing. Alicia gratefully grabbed onto Simon and stepped out of the boat. It became apparent to her then that the Greek man never intended to apprehend her, but was enjoying the joke, too. She began to laugh sheepishly.

As she stepped off the boat, the crowd across the sidewalk erupted into applause. “You are bad ass,” Liz praised, running up to her. “That was awesome.” But she never paid Alicia her $2.

Epilogue: Some days later, Alicia G. learned that there was some debate amongst the bystanders about whether Alicia’s breast had come out of her top when she was grabbed by the Greek fisherman. Alicia has remained silent on this topic, until today, but would like to end the speculation. While Alicia was wearing a dangerously low-cut top (it was hot in Greece), her breast did not make an appearance. It did come amazingly close, but stayed in by about a centimeter. Photographic evidence shows that Alicia remained fully clothed, if barely. Similarly, direct-witness Simon D., who stood only a couple feet from her, confirms that there was no inadvertent flashing.

Re-runs aren't always bad.

Hello everyone,

I apologize for not having posted any chronicles this week. Simon and I have set aside our usual hijinks to spend our time with Simon’s father during his last and final adventure. Although I have nothing to blog about from this week, I will try to make it up to you with a few Retro Chronicles.

Love and prayers,

The Polar Bear II tempts me into boat trespass.

On Friday, the strangest thing happened. I decided to run a search on Google to see if this site would appear. After a few failed attempts, I searched the terms "polar bear nauticat". In response, I found a used Nauticat 38 listed for sale in Suffolk county, which is only 70 miles northeast of London. To my surprise, it was named the Polar Bear II! The coincidence was too much. Simon and I made an impromptu weekend trip to see it, made possible by Simon's generous mum who lent us her car.

We aren't the earliest of risers, so we didn't head out until shortly after noon on Saturday. London traffic was atrocious and it took us four hours to get through the city. It was nearly 5:30 by the time we pulled into the marina in Ipswich. Just as we drove in, we saw the man at the brokerage shop lock up to go home. Curses! I worried that we drove all this way and would never see the boat. So we parked and wandered around the marina looking for the Polar Bear II. The wind was whipping and it was getting dark, so after about twenty minutes, we abandoned our search for the day.

Half an hour later, we pulled into the sleepy town of Felixstowe, which greets you with a sign claiming, "England's Premier Port." (Simon scoffed at this but had to eat his words when he found out that it is the third largest container ship port in all of Europe.) Felixstowe looks like a miniature version of the New Jersey shore with all the tacky lights and carnival booths, and it was similarly closed up for the winter. Although we didn't book any accommodations, we quickly came across a quaint, 4-star bed and breakfast called the Grafton Guest House. http://www.grafton-house.com/gh/. The friendly owner greeted us upon ringing the bell. It was quiet, affordable and central. Our room was immaculately clean and comfortably set up with a double bed and en suite. Recommended.

The proprietor of the Grafton House suggested that we try a restaurant on the water front called the Alex. http://www.alexcafebar.co.uk/. The Alex was a gem! We absolutely gorged ourselves on the best lamb and pork I have ever had. The house red wine was beautiful and had a distinct cherries and dark chocolate flavor to it. We finished with the cheese platter, which Simon gleefully announced had several varieties that "smell like socks" and were therefore lovely. Happily, we left satisfied and not too much poorer, as the Alex was also nicely priced.

The next morning, Simon and I got up early to search for the Polar Bear II. The previous evening, I discovered that the brokerage was closed on Sundays, so our only hope was to stumble across the boat and see if we could kick her tires informally. We quickly found the Polar Bear II gleaming in the early morning sunshine. She was hauled out of the water and set up on stilts. On the ground a few feet behind her was a ladder belonging to another boat. After a quick look around, we set the ladder upright and scurried aboard. She was beautiful! Teak decks! Lots of storage! Good condition! All she needs is a little paint, some oil, and a nice young couple to take her out to sea.

Unaccustomed to rising before 10 am, Simon and I were shocked to realize it was only 11 am by the time we were done at the marina in Ipswich. With so much of the day left, we decided to see a castle (as you do in Europe). We drove north to Framlingham to see the ruins of a 12th Century castle that was later used by Queen Mary Tudor as a hide out. The country roads sported homes with proper thatched roofs and road signs to warn of deer and frog crossings. (They must have huge frogs around there.) The castle remains consisted of a Tudor house and large, impressive, but crumbling stone walls. The castle also had a trench dug around it for a moat. It would have been awesome to run around if we were 10-year olds.
http://www.touruk.co.uk/castles/castle_Framlingham.htm.

Now that we've found the Polar Bear II, I'm working on getting her. Wish us luck!

PS - I realize that this is the second time in a year that I've jumped aboard a complete stranger's boat without permission. Unlike the last time, however, alcohol and Liz weren't the instigators. Also, I managed to remain fully clothed and was not apprehended by a Greek man who may or may not have been intending to trade me in Turkey for a goat.

Retro Chronicles: Liz, Adam and I rafted and survived.

Although Simon and I aren't yet on the high seas, we are having some adventures in London which still need chronicling. In fact, we are taking an impromptu trip out to Suffolk this weekend to see a used Nauticat for sale named... the Polar Bear II! I'm working on those posts over tea and will update soon. In the meantime, I will entertain and amuse you all with YouTube clips from when Liz, Adam and I went whitewater rafting on the Illinois River in Oregon in May 2007.

This first video is of one of our guides, Kaitlyn, scouting Green Wall rapid, the most difficult of the rapids that trip. We ran it successfully a few minutes after her and Liz didn't even fall in. Way to stay in the boat Liz!



This second video is what happens when 30 year old men relive their glory days as 13 year olds, also known as atomizing grease to create a fire ball. I can't say much, though, since I was right there laughing and commenting, "That's awesome." Fortunately, no one lost any eyebrows... probably due to the tin foil armor. We like to be prepared.



PS - Horsing around in the woods rules!

I miss talking to my friends and family.

I've asked most of you to download Skype already, but here's a friendly reminder. download Skype

Skype is an extremely easy program to use to call all your Skype-savvy friends anywhere in the world for FREE. That means that you can call me when I'm in London or Antarctica or Timbuktu or San Diego. Did I mention that this was free?

Here's how it works: download Skype and add me to your contacts list. Then, when we are both online, you can call me or I can call you and we talk over the internet. If you have a webcam, we can even see each other live. I've found that the connections are pretty good, particularly for international calling. The sound quality has been better than the international cell phones and calling cards that I have used in the past. (The webcam pictures can be slow sometimes, though.) Oh yeah, and it is free; which is way better than the $50 a minute I accidentally paid from Copenhagen to call home once. That was brutal.

On top of your computer and an internet connection, you need a microphone and speakers. So, if you don't have that built in, buy a headset or a webcam. You don't need both to make Skype work. I have a Plantronics headset and a Philips webcam similar to the ones sold by Skype -- but they were more expensive through the stores -- and I like them both. You really don't have to spend a fortune to get good equipment.
Skype Store USA
Skype Store Europe

Skype also has some other fun and interesting features including voicemail, mobile phones, call forwarding to your phone or calling other people's phones from your computer. These options allow you to get away from your phone or your computer, depending on your goal. I am only beginning to experiment with how well these work, so I have no opinion yet. I will update you when I do. In the meantime, if you would like some information on these services, click here. www.skype.com

Have I nagged you enough? Sign up for Skype now so I can stop nagging you and we can start talking again. That means you, Liz. download Skype

Lots of love!

The Polar Bear will be the rockingest yacht ever ever.

What exactly is the Polar Bear? Why does it warrant chronicles?

The Polar Bear, quite simply, will be the rockingest yacht ever ever. I have decreed it so. The Polar Bear is the working name for the as-to-be-yet manifested Nauticat 44 yacht that will take Simon and I around the world.

The Polar Bear seems like it will be a fitting name for this yacht. We have decided on the Nauticat 44 because, not only is it solid and comfortable for world cruising, it is also built for sailing in cold places as well as warm. The Polar Bear will be no Med-cruising plastic fantastic. No, it will be a salty seafarer that boldly endures the cold slaps of the ocean in far-flung corners of the world. Arr! Since polar bears are fierce, smart, and formidable creatures, they are worthy of representing our similarly fierce vessel. Most importantly, Simon won't be embarrassed to say its name over the radio.

Since we have such adventurous and lofty plans for The Polar Bear, no mere log would do. It needed chronicles and I was just the chronicler to do it. Conveniently, these chronicles will also provide (I hope) a source of entertaining reading for our friends and family who want to hear our tales of daring-do or are just curious as to where in the world we are at the moment.

PS - If you have no idea what a Nauticat 44 is, but are curious enough to click on a link, here you go: Nauticat 44 Boat Info

Cheers!