Fixie

My only regret about this project is not taking before/after photos. When I first got the bike, it was in pretty bad shape. It had been left outside for the better part of a year, and needed a lot of work.

I started by removing all the components, then stripped the original paint off the frame. I had been warned this would be difficult, and it was. Getting the frame completely bare took me ~25 hours. I went through a can of paint stripper, a lot of steel wool, and a circular wire brush (I used a drill to get paint out of the the nooks and crannies.

After setting up a studio, I got to work painting the bike. It took about a month of actual painting to finish this stage (somewhere in here I stopped entirely to study for the MCAT).

I was able to conserve some of the original components including the cranks, the handlebars, and the seatpost. I polished the aluminum with steel wool for hours to restore some shine to the metal. I ended up replacing both wheels, the fork, the brakes, the bottom bracket, the tires, tubes, saddle, etc. etc.

Here's the few photos I do have. Enjoy!

This is the only original photo of the bike. Without the close-ups, it is pretty difficult to see just how gross and dilapidated this bike was. We're talking chipped, rusted, spider-infested, greasy...the seat foam was rotting...etc.

Anti-thematic, to say the least

Today I had an epiphany. On second thought, "epiphany" connotes some sort of productivity--a moment of truth in which something pivotal and previously unnoticed betters forever the life of the "epiphant." (Epiphant being the receiver of an epiphany.) As you will see, definitions and new words have overwhelmed my day. But I'll come back to that topic.

For those who don't know, I'm living in Berkeley, unemployed. In a valiant quest for gainful employment, I sat down at around eight o'clock with firm intentions of continuing my job search. Sunday evenings, however, are an insidious foe.

It started innocuously; I opened a new browser window to re-read the job requirements for a position I'm applying for, then started punching out a cover letter. The words wouldn't behave themselves, so I set the cover letter aside.

I opened another tab to look at graduate fields of study at UC Berkeley (yes, I'm still trying to figure out what to do with my life). The PhD in Linguistics caught my eye, so I opened that link in a new tab. Dutifully reading the website, I realized I had almost no idea of what Linguistics was.

This called for a new tab! I googled Linguistics and wound up at the Wikipedia article on Linguistics. After scanning the article, I clicked the external link at the bottom taking me to the "Language Log."

New tab. The language log has a worthwhile youtube vid with the audio by Stephen Fry. I watched it, then wondered who Stephen Fry was, so I clicked his weblog.

Tab #5. Stephen Fry, it turns out, is one of the principal actors in "V for Vendetta." (If you haven't seen it, do so immediately, before the 5th November.)

I mentioned this tidbit to Kelsey, who was reminded that we must observe "Guy Fawkes Day," November the 5th to most of us, which is to drink 40's, eat cupcakes, and watch "V for Vendetta."

Wittily, I responded "cupcakes, 40's and V for Vendetta? That's kind of anti-thematic, don't you think?" I wondered aloud whether anti-thematic was a word.

Three tabs later I had checked the google news site for instances of "anti-thematic," as well as dictionary.com and the urban dictionary. It was present in none of these.

Excited, I opened tab #9 and began to compose an urban-dictionary definition for my new word. I had never written a definition before, and the task was more complex than anticipated. I found myself opening tab #10 (online thesaurus) and #11 (another urban dictionary window to cross reference words in my new definition). Tabs #12-14 followed with several additional dictionary and thesaurus sites.

I finally worked out this definition:

Anti-thematic:

the deliberate or accidental absence of any common theme among a group of objects, ideas, events, etc.

Example

Despite his fondness for malt liquor, Andrew didn't attend the "Cupcakes, 40's, and Guy Fawkes" party on the 5th of November, declaring the combination "inappropriate and anti- thematic."

Flushed with success, I submitted my definition.

At this moment my inverse epiphany struck. Dumbfounded, I stared at my formerly innocent, productive browser. In front of my eyes lay a fully intact chronology of corruption. From job search to...making up words?

And that's how Sunday evening had it's way with me.

Tune in!!

Here's something you won't believe. Steamboat has radio stations (notice the plural) that you actually want to listen to.

It's amazing. First off, the narcissistic self-promoting Front Range stations don't broadcast up here. Second, the advertisements are local. All of them. It's unreal. Finally, they play good music!

It's a refreshing change from Whister. Someone told me, though I never verified it, that 20% of the content broadcast by canadian stations must be of canadian origin. While I'm not sure of the social and economic impetus behind that particular legislation, I am sure that it resulted in me shouting "THATS ENOUGH ALANIS!!" at the radio on a bi-weekly basis. Plus BC has a strange fascination with B-side 80s music--you know, things you never heard when they were popular, and for good reason.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Why don't you just buy a mattress?

"Why don't you just buy a mattress?" It's a legitimate question. But I do tire of repeating myself to legions of bemused bystanders. Maybe that's why I like writing: question deferrment. Write it once, then reference.

"But seriously, there's a bed in the other room. You can use it." So I must explain, again, the pile of raw lumber in my tiny room. I hate bad mattresses. Had one in college. Couldn't tolerate it. I slept on the edge of the mattress to avoid the super-saggy black hole. There was no way to sleep on my stomach either--didn't fancy a career as a contortionist.

The standard-issue box spring/mattress combo with a basic metal frame has several shortcomings. It’s too low to store anything underneath. When your living space measures 12' by 15', storage is vital. A decent mattress (one that doesn't double as a hammock) is way out of my price range.

I want comfort. I want utility. I want spatial maximization. I want cost effectiveness. I decide to build a bed. This is problematic; I have no tools. And by no tools I mean absolutely zilch. No hammer, nails, drill, saw. Nothing.

So I headed off for the lumber yard. This is a place where serious men do serious business, like operating forklifts, driving giant diesel trucks, and pointing huge meaty fingers at lumber piles then grunting formidably. This is not a place for punk-assed, Passat-driving, flip-flop wearing, 24year olds with kiddie sunglasses. They should have a sign posted. "This is not the Home Depot. We will not be happy to assist you. As a matter of fact, if you have to ask, we will actively despise and belittle you. When you know exactly what you want, we will get it for you. Grudgingly."

I was swiftly passed from employee to employee. It's the workplace version of hot potato: pass the obnoxious customer. James, the forklift driver, drew the short straw. A disclaimer: I am not pleased to share a name with this man. He was unpleasant, rude, and made it clear from the outset he would have loved to run me over with his forklift. Or possibly skewer me with the prongs and deposit my shish kabobed corpse atop a pile of 5/8 inch plywood in the far corner of the warehouse. Either way, he was not at all happy that I needed "One 14’ section of 2x4, one 10' section of 2x4, both cut into 50" segments, one 14’ 2x4 cut into 80" segments, an 8' 4x4 cut into 2' segments, and a 5/8 sheet of particle board cut into two 48x40inch segments." He informed me repeatedly that he was not a carpenter and that cutting the lumber for me would forever negate the possibility of building anything with it. He threatened to loan me a circular saw and make me cut the planks. I declined. He claimed he would have to use a chainsaw. Seeing the precision table saw mounted on the far wall, I called his bluff.

Once James had suffered the indignity of making ten easy cuts in 4 small pieces of lumber, I paid and loaded up the car.

Lacking a tape measure (remember, no tools) I had hoped a 40x48 inch particle board would fit into the trunk. It did not. Nor, with the particle board jammed unceremoniously into the backseat, did the 80" 2x4s fit into the trunk.

The end result was questionable at best. The particle boards only fit into the backseat with the windows rolled down, so the corners could poke out. Even then the rear passenger door refused to shut. I remedied the situation by looping the seatbelt out the window and tying two half-hitches around the exterior handle. I drove home with 2 of 5 doors open.

Thankfully I did not encounter any police cruisers.

Epilogue

I borrowed a drill from a friend of a friend, bought some wood screws from Ace, and the bed looks great, despite premonitions of grouchy forklift operators.

Blogged Anew

I guess we're off to the races again, and by “we” I mean “I” since I’m pretty sure no one reads this blog anymore.

Near the end of April, I went heli-hutting in the Tantalus range, near Whistler. It wasn’t heli-skiing, because we didn’t get dropped off on any peaks. Instead the chopper drops you at the hut, and from there you climb whatever peaks you desire.

Skinning up to the saddle after a particularly exhausting day, we crested the ridge and were greeted with a vista spectacular by any standards. Inspired, sentences began to form in my mind, and I raced to the cabin, grabbed a pen and paper, sat down, and BAM. Nothing. Pen and paper is my kryptonite.

My solution? I bought a palm-powered device, called a DANA. It has a full keyboard, long battery life (AA powered), and it’s designed for use in public schools--hence, durable.

The idea here is to write every day. I'm hoping to take this nifty device with me wherever my travels may lead. What you’re reading now is the fruit of those labors.

Poof!

Just like that, it's over. The village is deserted. The broadcasters have left, taking with them the screaming throngs emblazoned with red maple leaves on their foreheads. There are traces that the olympics were once here, but the metamorphosis has been swift and unforgiving.

I can't speak as to what happened in Vancouver during these past two weeks, but I will say this. Whistler was a dreamland. To all those Whistler locals who, poisoned by the whining of naysayers complaining about lack of parking and the inconvenience of the games and the incompetence of VANOC, abandoned their hometown during the Olympics: you missed out. Big time.

For those who stayed it was magical. We were there when thousands turned out to watch the torch come thorough Whistler, there when Canada won its first gold medal on home soil, there when the village had 4 concerts daily, at the sliding center when the USA took gold in the 4 man bobsled. We perched on the hills above the Dave Murray downhill and watched the world's best skiers pit themselves against our home mountain (making us look like chumps in the process). And most importantly, we saw Whistler at its all-time best.

Its all-time best.

Hockey and Salt.

I had no idea so much hockey was played during the Olympics. The difference in coverage between US networks like NBC/ABC and Canadian ones like TSN and CTV is both remarkable and telling. In the states, hockey is practically an afterthought, whereas in Canada, hockey carries as much weight as all other sports combined.

The US defeating Canada somewhat resoundingly comes then, as a huge blow to the Canadian ego. Not that it stopped me from jumping up and down screaming "U S A! U S A!" in the middle of Whistler square surrounded by legions of maple leafs and dumbstruck faces, but I do find it inappropriate to rub more salt in the wound. Any self-respecting Canadian feels the sting far too acutely, and strolling down the village walk after the victory singing "America the Beautiful" at the top of our lungs was probably sufficient.

The Olympics continue in spectacular fashion. The weather has made every effort to bolster the party atmosphere. February the 23rd feels like spring. The temperature was a balmy 50 degrees--and warmer in the sun. We sat on the deck in Tshirts eating ice cream and pondering going swimming. But I'm not ready for spring just yet. Hopefully the winter hasn't burned itself out too quickly.

Hasta entonces!

The Olympics, In fact.

The Olympics are, quite simply, too big to touch. The village seems to vibrate with all the events.

In fact, 2010 has given me the most wicked FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) I've ever had. I want to be everywhere all at once. Between work, skiing, events, concerts, world-class DJs, and general craziness of the village, I've hardly slept in a week.

In fact, in fact, I've never seen such a large, diverse group of people SO ECSTATIC and SO HAPPY to be part of something. Everyone is smiling and friendly, never in a hurry, gracious in defeat and exuberant in victory. On Saturday, two competing drum corps (French and American?) ran into each other in the village and blended their acts for a solid 15 minutes, blocking the entire village stroll in the process. Yet nobody got peeved about having to detour, and the crowd was SO STOKED to see the musicians in action. It was quite a scene.

In fact, in fact, in fact, people love to be on TV. The CTV broadcast booth in Whistler was constructed right in front of Surefoot. Anytime they go live to the Whistler studio, the crowds go wild behind the camera, jumping up and down, screaming, then checking their phones to see if some acquaintance saw them on TV and called. We can hear the racket from the shop. In related news, I will be attending the 4 man bobsled finals on Saturday the 27th. I will try to stand in front of an NBC camera, if I can find one. Hypocrite.

In fact, in fact, in fact, in fact, never tell the Swiss "more cowbell."

Granola a la Slantz

OK, for all you CO hippies out there.....here it is, the coveted granola recipe. Well, technically it's not Emily's recipe. I made a few modifications, like cutting the grape nuts (since they seem to be about as expensive as regular nuts), eliminating the butter (health!), cutting the sugar (more health!), increasing the oats (oatey oat oat oat, oatey oat oat, look at all these oats!), adding banana chips (for the monkey in us), and changing the baking directions slightly.

I think that's a wrap. Click on the picture to blow it up. Click, Click, Boom.

Let the games begin!

I watched only snatches of the opening ceremony. I was working. What I saw left a less-than-favorable impression. Apparently, the 900 million dollar security budget doesn't account for hapless drunks stumbling out of bars on Granville street to find The Great One clutching some jury-rigged roll bar on the back of a pickup while holding a large incendiary device (aka Olympic torch) whose resemblance to a giant blunt is bettered only by the 4 massive doobies surrounding the Olympic flame. Guess they weren't kidding about the "Green" Olympics.

But, the games have begun! Whistler is thumping. The village plazas are crammed, it's impossible to find a seat in a bar during any event in which Canada has a remote chance of victory, and by all reports the luge track was a massive party this evening. Throngs of crazed tourists crowd in behind the tv cameras in the hope of getting their face, however fleetingly, in front of the nation.

As for me, I went skiing in 10 inches of fresh snow today on deserted slopes. Presidents day weekend what?

A view from below

First things first. If you are looking for updates on the Vancouver 2010 games, turn on the TV.

I'm here to give you the down-low on the "underside" of the games--the oft disgruntled peasants who have been flattened by the 2010 stampede.

Saturday, Feb 6th was a glimpse into the near future. The torch procession arrived in Whistler at 6:30pm. Thousands upon teeming thousands crowded Gondola Square. And this was just for the torch ceremony.....

Also flooding the village are VANOC workers, police officers, security personnel, transit authority workers, athletes, and Olympic volunteers. The latter are as numerous as New York rats, and rate about the same. Their bright blue suits have earned them the not-so-endearing nickname of the "Smurfs," though my favorite is "the Na'vi." Either way, they bobble about the village doing absolutely nothing but being blue, so far as anyone can tell.

Slowly but surely the village continues its "Olympicafication." On-site TV broadcast studios, tents full of exorbitantly expensive technical equimpent (and requisite 5-man security detail), and nightly ski-jump exhibitions involving fire have begun to change the colors.

Friday is gonna be very, very interesting.

Let the Confusion...er....Games begin!

It began today. The parking lot closures in Creekside and Whistler village, checkpoints on the highway, and the new bus schedule.

Lets use the bus schedule as our mineshaft canary. A bit of background info. To ease congestion on the Sea to Sky Highway (the road between Vancouver and Whistler), personal vehicle traffic is being regulated through several checkpoints which require a "local vehicle permit". In addition, almost all the public parking in Whistler will be closed for the entire month of February. This means that everyone in town will be taking buses for the next month or so...which has caused a lot of complaining, mostly from permanent-Whistlerites. Most of us "peasantfolk" take the bus anyway (I'm an exception).

Because of the massive influx of people, and the fact that people can't drive, Whistler has increased bus service exponentially. Where one bus usually comes to Emerald every 1/2 hour, there is now a bus every 7 minutes and a new route that runs into Emerald, instead of just along the highway.

The new regime kicked in today. I parked the Passat hound and walked 10 mins down to the bus stop, waited 5 minutes at which point 2 buses showed up simultaneously. Interesting. At least my bus driver knew where to go. It appears that everyone else who took a bus today had to give the driver directions. Where is Spruce Grove? Left? Also, they changed all the routes so I waited at two different bus stops on the way home only to discover that the new route didn't pass by that way.....

so we'll see. Hopefully the bus chaos is an exception to the rule, not the rule.

Whether we like it or not, February is here to stay.

Breaking the Silence

Welcome back! I figured it best to wake my blog from it's slumbers with a little time to spare before the Olympics, giving it time to rub the sleep from its eyes and grab a cup of coffee.

Lets see...quite a bit has happened since November, so I'll keep this brief. It has continued to snow consistently, giving good ol' WB over 3 meters of base!! Work has been steady, and we will be moving to a new location next week. It's a smaller space, but only a 15 second walk to the gondola and much more visible, so business should pick up. Things are well in Deerhorn place. We currently have 19 people, but it doesn't feel too crowded and we've had a lot of fun so far. The owners have chosen to re-carpet, re-linoleum, and generally overhaul the house to sell it in April (of course they couldn't have done this in July when the house was empty), so we've been mildly inconvenienced for repairs. But we do have new carpet...

So my close friend Polek made an epic video of the pre-olympic Whistler winter. Be warned, the soundtrack is explicit (but an excellent song I must say; he has good taste in music). The footage is superb--try not to be too jealous of all the snow. Included is footage of a tour Paul, Polek and I took up the Duffy Lake road earlier this month. Also, watch the movie in full screen HD! It makes a huge difference.



Stay tuned!!! I plan to continue writing throughout the games, and lord knows I'll have plenty of material to keep things interesting!

Hope all is well,
Andrew

Snooooooooooow!

Let me give you a small idea how much snow we've had this November.

Whistler is reporting 84 inches of snow in the past 7 days (that's right, one a foot per day)
There is a 75 inch base (a landmark we didn't reach until March last season)
I got face-shots. (Plural. Face-shots.)
Nothing above treeline can be opened until it stops snowing (ski patrol was triggering 3 foot deep slabs quote "with certainty")

I came home from the village today at 4pm. The roads were wet, but clear. At 9.30pm I went to shovel the driveway. It took over an hour. The snow in the driveway is knee-deep. Knee deep!!! In the Driveway! I was whooping and hollering so loud I probably woke all the neighbors.

My forecast for tomorrow?

Epic with a chance of legendary.

Awkward....but successful...and with dry legs

First day on the hill!!

I'd like to say it was picturesque and sunny and I slayed everything, but it wasn't quite that way.

First off, I showed up at the shop at 8am (a stretch to be sure), because I was meeting friends and my skis are in the shop. Problem: Sam has decided not to open until 10am until business picks up. So instead of skiing I went to two coffee shops and read two newspapers and waited two hours to get my skis out of detention.

Second, it was pouring down rain until one reached the roundhouse, where it was dumping snow and extremely windy. There is a lot of snow....about 3 feet in the past week....(yes)....but it's pretty wet. Which, actually, is fantastic because it makes for great base to cover the rocks. But it's heavy and not that great to ski. Especially when, at the end of last season, you turned your DIN settings to 6 and forgot about it, then tried to ski two feet of liquid concrete and double ejected facefirst into a snowbank. Fantastic.

Also, one should scrape summer wax from the bottom of one's skis so they can be expected to slide. Finally, don't ski in the rain. The only part of me that stayed dry was my legs, thank you sweet patagonia pants. Everything else was completely, wring-me-out, sodden.

The good news?

It's puking right now, there will be at least a foot of fresh snow in the morning, and the temperature dropped so it will be nice and fluffy. Also, it's supposed to keep snowing all week.

As for my skiing abilities, well, it's a work in progress. It took a couple runs to get the feel for the sport again, and at first I felt extremely awkward with two giant semi-slippery planks bolted to my legs. But I started to flow a little better towards the end of the day, so things are looking up.

Oii!

My Life as a Clock

I left Fort Collins one week ago today. Since then, my life has ticked like the smoothest of chronometers.

The drive was uneventful. I slept in the car only once, visited Alex and Lily in Portland, then cruised up to the border on Wednesday--an event I approached with some trepidation. Thankfully, my work permit was approved without hassle. After a brief victory dance in the parking lot, I proceeded to Vancouver where my visit to the city coincided with that of my mother, aunt, and uncle. This slice of serendipity resulted in a superb gourmet dinner, good company, and a 23rd floor suite at the Fairmont.

In addition, I got the job as the house manager. That means not only a place to live but discounted rent as well. Best of all, the house is currently empty, giving me the chance clean, organize, and generally prepare for the winter. It also means I get to indoctrinate all incoming housemates so things get done my way. Hehe.

This weekend I'm going hot-springsing with Mark and Meg and Co, and I start work next week. There's only 5 of us this winter, as opposed to 13 last season when I couldn't get enough hours. On top of that, I ordered the skis I've been dreaming about all summer, sold my snowboard to fund said purchase, and finally found some ski pants that fit to replace the ones I destroyed last season (see archives "R.I.P, R.I.P.").

But most importantly, it has snowed all week with no signs of stopping in the near future. Which means the resort may open as early as next week.

I hope last week was as good for you as it was for me.

Whistler, Round 2

Well, here we go again!

After much ado, I've secured a work permit to return to Whistler for one more winter.

I return this time under much different circumstances than my carwith, penniless, lonely, debut of last October. This time:

I have a job that I love.
I have a place to live.
I have friends.
I have ski pants which repel water and have not a stitch of duct tape on them.
I know exactly what I'm getting myself into.

Well, sort of. See, the Olympics are in Whistler this year, which adds an incomprehensibly large variable to this already-unstable town. So I don't entirely know what I'm getting myself into. I'd be bored otherwise.

I'll also have a few more responsibilities this season. I may be managing the international house (hopefully), and i'll probably be working more hours. I want to volunteer for the Olympics if there are opportunities, and generally life will be a bit more chaotic than last year.

That said, I don't know yet if I'll be blogging as regularly as last year. But tune in occasionally.

My verbosity comes in spurts.

Mouse-ion Impossible.

Your mouse-ion, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate the government facility we call "Volkswagon." Once inside, you must disable the windshield wiper aparatus. In incliment weather this should effectively immobilize the vehicle and the mouse nation can operate un-threatened.

So, last night the fam headed to a natural area just south of Wyoming to watch the Perseid meteor shower. The shower itself, while beautiful, wasn't particularly noteworthy, unless you consider small extraterrestrial chunks of debris making very temporary and ill-advised incursions into the earth's atmosphere to be noteworthy.

I should mention that this open space is in the middle of nowhere--about a 45 minute drive from Fort Collins--hence its selection for star-gazing. On the way home, after watching the stars for several hours, Cliff, Madeline and I headed back in the trusty VW Passat Hound. Becoming lost on the return trip, I stopped the vehicle to perform an "about face," when, unannounced, a mouse popped up from under the hood and scrambled on top of the windshield wipers! Now, a crueler person might have promptly wipered that mouse off into the heart of darkness, but, being the compassionate soul I am, I decided to remove the mouse more humanely.

That was before he decided to take up residence on my engine block. After the wily bugger slipped back under the hood and remained undetected during 5 minutes of flashlight searching, we gave up and, hoping not to smell fricasseed rodent wafting in through the vents, resumed the drive. Well, 30 minutes later, I slowed down to make a left hand turn, and, sensing the decrease in velocity, the mouse reappeared!

This time, I was ready. Having mulled over the damage small mousey teeth could do to the more sensitive components of my vehicle, I was feeling considerably less compassionate. So when this, the boldest of mice, decided to step onto the hood, I tapped the brakes.

Imagine if you can (and I doubt you can, unless you dream far more vividly than I) the terror, the unfiltered panic of sliding helplessly into a dark abyss; picture the frantic scrabble of impotent mousey claws against an unyielding metallic veneer as faster and faster you plunge off the brink into nothingness.

Now try to express those emotions of terror, disbelief and betrayal on a tiny, brown, whisker-bracketed face. I swear to you, it's possible. Only the Tom Cruise of mice could so accurately convey emotion.

Now please don't fret; we stopped and shooed the dazed mouse off into the bushes, so today he's fine (though no doubt massively inconvenienced).

Counting backwards....49th to 48

Without question I will return to Alaska to fish, climb, or hopefully ski, but for now, the 49th state is behind me and I return to the familiar, crowded and tame lower 48.

The summer was spectacular. As of our departure on the 1st, it had been the hottest, driest summer on record in at least 20 years. Needless to say, we lucked out. Of the forty-some odd days we spent in and around the Juneau area, I used my rain pants a grand total of once. The statistic may be slightly skewed since the pants self-destructed after a 2 mile hike, but the salient point is this: we visited a rainforest and had stunning bluebird weather.

I wish that I could describe to you how wonderful the summer was--full of laughter, adventure, hard work, music, and gorgeous sunsets amongst other things--but I simply cannot. Many of my stories involve students, and for privacy's sake I cannot tell them here. Also, being an employee of Overland puts a certain restriction on what I can publish in this blog. But in large part I simply feel I cannot accurately convey the experience of the summer.

My stories, at least for this chapter of my life, must remain unpenned. My photos, however, I will happily share.

Shank the cameraman!

Virgin Islands? Nope. Glacier? Check. Must be Alaska. Sweet!

God-ray sunset near Haines.

My feet are freezing in this picture. This lake is pure glacial runoff. It is so cold that swimming just makes you angry. Augh! (Swimming = 10 second endeavour + cursing)

Dinner. Point Bridget State Park, near Juneau.

Section of trail the group built in Point Bridget State Park. Trail is a boardwalk for much of its length, and we spent many hours carrying planks, pounding nails, and leveling boards.

Sunset near Haines.

Southeast of the Northwest

Point Bridget at Sunset.

Alaska is not as expected. At first blush, all seems as it should. The landscape of Southeast Alaska is drastic; the sea gives way to dense forest, which gives way to enormous peaks jarring the skyline, punctuated by hundreds of glaciers. But get up close and personal and the ecosystem seems incongruous. First off, the forest isn't a coniferous forest as I would have expected this far north. Its a rainforest, plain and simple--a humid jungle minus the heat. To my eye it is an ecosystem more comparable to Costa Rica than anywhere else I've travelled. While there are conifers, other vegetation like the giant skunk cabbage, towering deciduous trees, and spiny and poisinous Devil's Thumb smack of a jungle. Above treeline things become decidedly more predictable. It is cold, windy, snowy and steep, and the views are as gaspingly intense as a plunge into one of Juneau's many iceberg-riddled lakes.

Insert into this dramatic landscape all the animals you've always wanted to see but never, or rarely, found--Mountain Goats, Bald Eagles, Grizzly Bears, Humpback Whales, porcupines, native Alaskans in brown rain gear and gumboots.

But I'm accustomed to all that by now, and after three weeks Laura and I have the drill down pat. One thing is slightly unsettling. Our first day, we both bought bright yellow rubber rain suits in anticipation of the 90 inches of rain Juneau receives annually. Since purchasing them on June 20th, we have used them: never. Contrary to all probablities, the past week has been sunny with record-setting high temperatures reaching the 90's.

Perhaps the next three weeks will make up for the lack of rainfall we've had, perhaps not. Either way, the next group will be hard pressed for a better trip than the one we've just finished.

In the past three weeks I've been reminded of how difficult and frustrating and exhausting this job is--how all-consuming and energy-sapping it is to reign in 11 energetic teenagers 24 hours a day. But I've also been reminded why I do this job; moments when 11 kids raft their kayaks together at Seduction Point near Haines and sing Billy Joel's "Piano Man" at the top of their lungs, while rare, make your heart glow.

Our next group arrives tomorrow, and I expect the first few days to be equally as taxing as they were with the previous group. But I know and remember how big the payoff can be, and I am ready.

As for me, I've had some incredible experiences. I saw a Grizzly bear and her three cubs and saw 28 mountain goats, both firsts, as well as some of the most spectacular scenery of my life. I am loving every minute, and while I must cut this short (7 minutes remaining!), know that I am having a blast here in AK.

Me, Eagle Glacier lake.


The Group

Point Bridget State Park, 11pm.

Me, about 1 hour's hike from Downtown Juneau.

Kayaking near Haines.

Endless supply of skipping rocks.

Part of the group, Point Bridget.