The Elephant (Foot) In The Room

    I currently hold a bachelor's degree in Biology, and have taken three physiology courses, two anatomy courses, and one neuroscience class.  I still know next to nothing about the brain.  I think even hardened neuroscientists would say that there are many mysteries yet to solve in the field, entire fields of neurons with no known function.  Be that as it may, when I read about the learning process at the cellular level, and about the structures and pathways of the brain that promote "learning", I feel comforted in a way.  I relate the feeling to living in a home that has doors that you have just barely cracked open, and stairs to entire floors that you've never climbed.  You don't know anything about what's behind those doors or on those other floors, but you know it's your home and that you're safe. 

    My latest reading brought about some of those feelings.  Eric Jensen's book, Teaching with the Brain in Mind, uses fundamental anatomy and physiology of the nervous system to inform best teaching practices.  Like others who speak and write well about the brain, he draws the reader in wondrous facts about the brain and comforts them with easy-to-understand language while still applying technical vocabulary.  This kind of digestible science is what I want to emulate as a teacher.

    Another crucial part of making science digestible and relatable for students is allowing for humor.  Jensen is able to get in some jokes in his chapters while still maintaining respect for the content.  I think that this aspect can be easier for an educator than for an author of scientific literature.  For one thing, our audience is younger and probably wont take science as seriously as industry professionals.  But even in graduate school and beyond, adults continue to learn, and I'm a firm believer that humor bolsters learning.  When we can laugh, we become less stressed about content.  More importantly, if we are able to laugh at a joke that connects a complex subject with something we've seen before, it indicates an understanding of that subject.  

    For example, as a way of venting about prior work experience with my co-workers in that field, I became quite enamored with memes.  Combining a pun or a quick few words of a joke with a photograph that served as context for the joke, really hits the right way sometimes, and I can go through a string of relatable memes and bust multiple proverbial "guts".  One that I made for our class, after being reminded of synapses and their structure in Chapter 2, I'm quite personally fond of.  It serves to help students visualize two vastly different things, and laugh at their similarities (at least I laugh):

    One issue that came up in class with Jensen was his assessment of differences in critical thinking skills between classes of people, specifically "male" and "female".  This is something that I didn't gather from the reading because of the edition that I read.  The second edition has this chapter on critical thinking that is absent from the first edition, so knowing little else about what he talks about, I find it strange that he includes this controversial and debatable viewpoint in a more recent edition.  Why was this chapter added, and what purpose does it serve?  How did he come to believe that it was critically important to claim that boys and girls have different critical thinking capabilities, when all of the literature that I read from the first edition stuck only with humans as a species, not categorizing (much) into different classes of people. 

Still, I learned a lot from the material, and I think much of what he encourages in practice, based on the research discusses, align with my own.  I will dig into his reasoning more and try to take it all into perspective.  

I bid you happy trails, smooth sails, and myelinated axons.

The Moral of the Story

Moral (adj): of or relating to principles of right and wrong in behavior

Moral (noun): the moral significance or practical lesson

The subject of our recent class, as well as the subject of my most recent reading, pertains to morality.  Right and wrong, good and evil.  The question of who (or what) decides which thoughts, behaviors, and actions belong in which column is as old as nature itself.  Nature is actually one of the first places I look to for answers on morality.  Distilling right and wrong to their origins brings us to the simple concept of survival.  What choices/actions/behaviors are most likely to help us survive and reproduce, and thus survive themselves?  Also, questions of morality regarding humanity become much more complex when put in the context of morality regarding the environment. 

To guide us into (and challenge) our thinking about morality and how it informs education, the professors assigned us to read excerpts from a book from 1984 titled In a Different Voice; Psychological Theory and Women's Development by Carol Gilligan.  

Gilligan herself is a moral psychologist, and from the excerpts we learned about her investigation into the different moral development of boys and girls using a technique developed by another moral psychologist named Lawrence Kohlberg.  Kohlberg developed six "stages of moral development", each belonging to one of three "levels": Pre-conventional, Conventional, and Post-Conventional.  The stages that Kohlberg developed, and that Gilligan used and critiqued in her own research, are most often explained using a story (I believe also created by Kohlberg) that some of you may or may not know about: The Heinz Dilemma.  I'll try and paraphrase it.

Heinz' wife is dying.  There is a drug that will cure her, and the chemist who created the drug lives in the same town.  Heinz tries to buy the drug from the chemist, but the cost of the drug is too expensive.  Heinz gets help from family and friends but can only raise half of the price of the drug.  Heinz pleads with the chemist to sell it for a cheaper price or let him pay the money back over time.  The chemist refuses.  

Here is the crux of the story, the question posed and the answers to which are graded using Kohlberg's Six Stages.  Should Heinz steal the drug?

Perhaps you can come up with your own answers and grade yourself using the stages.  But the real issues that came up in class were not about individual moral development, but about how morality is shaped by different factors: intrinsic factors like gender and personality, and extrinsic factors like media influence, parental guidance, and social norms. 

A key argument with the reading was centered around the results of two eleven-year old children who were interviewed and both asked to answer the Heinz dilemma.  The boy's answer was immediately in favor of stealing the drug.  His reasoning centered on the judicial system; the acknowledgement that morality may not correspond to the law, that laws "can have mistakes".  The girl was adamant that the woman shouldn't die, but held firm that Heinz shouldn't have to steal it. Her reasoning was more focused on the network of relationships stemming from Heinz, his wife, and the chemist.  The moral dilemma for her was not so much a question of whether or not Heinz should commit a crime in order to save his wife's life, it was a question of why the chemist refuses to provide the means to save a life when he has it.  

It seems like they both have an intelligent grasp of morality, albeit with different means of expressing their views on right and wrong.  And yet on the Kohlberg scale, the girl was graded at a lower level of moral development.  Gilligan argued that the stages themselves were male-biased and skewed, but something that I and my classmates noticed was how the examples themselves fit the traditional male/female stereotype.  

I wonder what trends we would see now in children, almost 40 years later.  I also wonder at how different personalities between girls and boys affect how they are scored, because each boy and girl will follow slightly or widely different logic than the two examples.  

Ironically, "The Moral of the Story" is also the title of a song by the artist Ashe (the first photograph), with a beautiful and eerie piano accompaniment that I'm (slowly) learning.  Her lyrics are similarly beautiful and sad.  They inspire further questions about right and wrong in the choices we make, and really pull at your heartstrings.  They're the kind of words that, when you listen to them, you immediately want to make it a mantra.  They are words that I dream of singing to my own child.

"Some mistakes get made,

that's alright, that's okay,

In the end it's better for me, 

that's the moral of the story, babe."  

The Sweet Spot: Learning from Educational Philosophy While Constructing My Own

 I have to preface this entry with an acknowledgement that, once again, it has been an embarrassingly long time since I last updated this blog.  I’ll skip the meandering explanation of why I haven’t written and should have. It will also have to be another time (if ever) that I publicly divulge any of the many blog-worthy Addy-ventures that have occurred in the last four years.  

Instead, I will share another guilty admission and explain why I am now writing again after so long; it is a required class assignment.  I know, I know.  I can almost hear your groan of disappointment.  

Nonetheless, I will do my best to hold your attention, for I can seamlessly weave together the theme of this post with the overarching theme of this blog. It is as simple as connecting two things that cannot (or at least should not) exist without the other: adventure and education.  

The class that I am taking, the one responsible for the words you now read, is Educational Psychology.  We are learning about different instructional methods and philosophies and applying them in different settings, seeing how they fit.  Utilizing various resources, one of our overarching goals of the class is to determine, and then describe, our own personal educational philosophies. 

What I want to do here is put down my swirling thoughts down in words and try to describe how the process of determining my educational philosophy is going.  To help me, I will share some of what I’ve learned from the book In Search of Understanding: The Case For Constructivist Classrooms, by Jacqueline Grennon Brooks and Marin G. Brooks.  

As you re-read that title (made you look) you might wonder, “what does constructivist classroom mean?”, and that would be a great question!  

Here's my take on a concise definition:

 “Constructivism” is an educational philosophy that operates under the assumption that knowledge is relative. In other words, each of us constructs our own understanding of the world. 

A “constructivist classroom”, therefore, is one in which the students become the main movers and shakers of their education.   The guidance from an ideal teacher in situation is more subtle and faciliatory, while the lesson structure is more fluid, varying based on each individual student’s interpretations, interests, and needs.

One of the things I enjoyed most about this book was the connections I felt to the examples and research that the authors chose when describing instructional methods.  They often refer to math and science lessons, and one of their very first examples was about the first time a young child visits the ocean, which means a lot to me personally.  One of my very first memories is of visiting the ocean.

Determining how much I agree with the constructivist methods that I’ve been reading about, it is only natural to draw from my prior experiences in educational settings, both as a student and as the educator.  The moments that I look back on as successful were experiences that did involve methods that Constructivists encourage, but they also involved methods that run against constructivist philosophy: lectures and demonstrations that the student then mimicked or practiced.

Two examples I can draw from are my experiences as a swimming instructor and as a sailing instructor.  Within these two settings lie excellent opportunities for students to have freedom and construct their own knowledge, but can also require specific, concise, and accurate instruction.  In both settings, as in all educational settings, safety is the primary concern. When students are literally learning in deep water, the number of safety concerns go up. 

Take a first-time swimming lesson with a three-year old.  In my past lessons I wouldn’t have been able to justify the idea of giving them complete power.  First of all, most would probably either bolt right for the toys or bolt for their parents.  If they didn’t do those things and instead bolted for the water, this is a paradoxical best AND worst case scenario.  If I’m already in the water, great, I can get to them, but if I’m not, then even if that kid has the innate gift of being able to keep their head out of the water on their own, I’ve just committed negligence.

This is, of course, an extreme example.  If I knowingly allow or physically put a child in deep water, I trust myself to know that the worst possible outcome is some water up the nose. My point is that I believe ground rules to be necessary in every educational setting, and the giving of those ground rules is traditionally given as precise directions. 

What I am learning in this class, and through interpreting Brooks and Brooks, that I didn’t know as a young undergrad teaching swim lessons over the summer holiday, is that I was taking progressive and constructivist approaches to traditional lessons without knowing it.  If you had asked me then why I was using those methods, I would have just answered that I was trying to make the lesson more fun. 

Some of these instructional highlights are presented in the book, especially in Chapter two.  Brooks and Brooks stress the importance of valuing student inquiry and physical action over the study of classical textbooks, both of which I have found empowers students and fosters engagement.  Thinking back to my own fifth grade classroom, I was much more engaged in learning about the subject of geology when I was on a field trip to a cave in central Oregon than I was reading about it in a book.

  

I have also learned that giving students as much power over their learning as possible does not mean there is no guidance.  The key is determining the right amount and type of guidance.  Brooks and Brooks recommend that a constructivist educator guide their students by presenting “good problem-solving situations” (p. 36).  This means that the situation: 

1.     1. Demands that the students make a testable prediction

2.     2.  Make use of inexpensive (read: accessible) equipment

3.      3. Is complex enough to elicit multiple possible approaches at solving the problem

4.      4. Benefits from group effort

Making sense of these varied and merited solutions to educational questions reminds me of trying to hit a baseball.  You can technically hit the ball with any part of the bat, but if you make contact with the ball too close to your hands, the ball has less power and your hands get stung.  Hit the ball with the far end of the bat and the same thing happens.  My Dad (and many other coaches) told me that I had to hit the ball with the "sweet spot" on the bat. 

What I am coming to believe is that there exists a "sweet spot" regarding guidance in a class setting.  It essentially lies between saying nothing at all, and giving enough guidance to stay safe and aligned with the learning goal (teacher- or student-derived).  The key is determining the right amount and what kind of guidance.  That is what I think I will continue to grapple with as a I move forward in developing my own educational philosophy.

More advances in knowledge yet to come, but in the meantime....

Happy trails, smooth sails, sunny summers, clean masks, and cheers to enjoying the process! 

The Frustrating And The Awesome, in Glaucester Bay and Beyond

I love the ocean.

It's such a funny thing, trying to analyze just what it is I feel when I'm out on the water, but I'm far from alone in both feeling that soup of emotions as well as being unable to describe it fully in any coherent way.  I love how simply smelling the air makes my muscles relax and makes breathing come easier.  I love that taking off on fast-moving boat seems to bring a surge of electrically charged excitement, like every molecule is vibrating.  I can be standing at the railing of a whale-watching boat, peer down the side at the surging white wash as the prow cuts through the water, and become hypnotized by it. 

And I love how the creatures that live beneath the waves are still a complete mystery. 

I was fortunate enough today to 1) be a part of a NESS SEA Americorps crew that is so active, social, and close-knit that after only knowing each other for 5 days managed to plan and successfully implement a two-and-a-half hour road trip to another state to go whale watching; and 2) get to go whale watching.

The name of the company was called Cape Ann Whale Watching, by the way.  Based out of Glaucester, MA (this is pronounced "Glauster"), it's a pretty cool business.

One of the cooler aspects, at least for me, was of course the conversations with Lead Naturalist, Chris.  I had to take a bite of my pride knowing that he was younger than I am, but nevertheless he was a great dude and super knowledgeable.  Both being ocean geeks, and him vastly more knowledgeable than I, allowed for stimulating conversation.  For example,  I told him about the Sea Otter research I'd been a part of in Moss Landing, and he pulled their giant binder of whale genealogy, records and identifications (brought back good memories of working in Canada) and showed me the fluke of a whale they had named "Lutris" because of the small splotch on it's right fluke that looked exactly like a floating Sea Otter. 

He also talked about matriarchal behavior of Humpbacks, of which I had no idea and found completely fascinating.  We got to witness this behavior first-hand with one of the local matriarchs named Cajun (born in '88, represent!). As she was leading her entourage of "associates", a fourth female came into the mix, apparently trying to join the gang.  Chris helped us all notice the aggressive behavior that Cajun started displaying, from making "trumpet blows" to quicker, more erratic and aggressive movement.  Supposedly Cajun is picky with who she allows to join her crew, and  who can blame her?  The behaviors that are known to be used in feeding seem like a very complex coordinated dance, and when you realize these animals have to consume quite literally a ton of fish a day, it's "easy" to see that feeding is serious business for them.


I think what I'll remember most from my conversation with Chris wasn't any term or statistic or description of a behavior.  It had more to do with the subject in general and the way it can reflect life in general.  He told me about a talk he sat in on from one of the worlds leading Whale Song Researchers.  And he told me that at the end of this research presentation, the researchers final slide was a big question mark.  Despite all of the research and study and popularity surrounding Megaptera novaengliae, one of it's most endearing behaviors is still a complete mystery. 

When Chris told me this story, I just shook my head and mused about how exciting and amazing it is that we still have so much to learn about the oceans and the life in it. 

He said, "yeah, it's like this mix between frustrating and awesome".
_______________________________________________

If there is still so much we don't know about one of most popular sea creatures alive today, imagine what we don't know about less charismatic sea creatures? Imagine what we may still learn, and what we may never get a chance to learn? 
_______________________________________________

On a slightly more whimsical note, the Whale Watching trip wasn't the only stop we made on this trip, thank goodness.  We got to the area a little early, and managed to get up even further, to a little tourist attraction known as Rock Port.  There we found some cool art shops, clothes shops, and what good ol' Google had brought up as the best Austrian Bakery in New England.  I had looked it up because we have not one, but TWO Americorps members this year who are fluent in German and have spent considerable time in Germany or Austria.  I have to say, the raspberry cheese strudel I got from Helmut's Strudel was one of the best pastries I've consumed in a long time.  Unsurprisingly, the two German-speakers weren't as impressed ;-)

.... but I think it's safe to say we still all had a boat-load of fun.


Happy trails, smooth sailing, don't forget your snacks and your bathroom breaks, enjoy the little things as much as the great big things, embrace the frustrating AND the awesome...and if everyone remembers their raincoats, it won't rain.

Sea Names, Fornicating Snails, And Other Such Silliness On The Shores Of New London

It's fitting that 0345 in the morning on the third day of my east-coast, year-long "service project", the second straight sleepless night, and just about four and a half YEARS since my last post on this blog, is the moment I decide to pick up the proverbial pen again.  Considering what the last 9 months have brought in terms of experiences, struggles, and challenges....I can only say that first: I'm proud as hell of myself for doing this, and second: it's about damn time.  It's certainly a nostalgic feeling, like blowing dust off an old award, or some other old souvenir that perhaps others see and perhaps even enjoy, but it doesn't mean quite as much to anyone else.

So I'm in Connecticut now...no big deal.  In case you couldn't hear it through the computer, re-read the last sentence and imagine thick sarcasm surrounding the last three words.  Because for me (and for a few others close to me that have chose to or otherwise deal with me - Hi Mom and Dad) this HAS been a VERY big deal.  Six weeks ago I was only vaguely aware of the opportunity that later would take me more than 3,000 miles from home.  It only became a possible opportunity 4 weeks ago Wednesday, and until I was on that plane, 30,000 feet in the air with Mt. Hood only the closest feature on the board game-sized state of Oregon, I wasn't sure I would actually take it.  In fact a few times I was pretty certain I wouldn't take it. 

And yet, amidst all the failed efforts at packing, ridiculous non-sensical frustrations, constantly feeling that only certain demise awaited me....I made it here.  I made it this far.  I live, I'm relatively comfortable, I have a roof over my head, a cool room mate, awesome co-members, and as of 8 hours or so ago, I have Wi-Fi for crying out loud.

I'm going to cut this short.  Leave some tales left untold, at least for now.  But in a fleeting moment of clarity and motivation worth remembering, where ideas, emotions, and actions seem to flow and dance together, fitting into place, I'll conclude with this...fitting (haha) pledge.  As the kids these days put it, I'm hashtag justgonnaleavethishere:

---------------------------

I will get things done for America - to make our people safer, smarter, and healther;
I will bring Americans together to strengthen our communities;
Faced with apathy, I will take action;
Faced with conflict, I will seek common ground;
Faced with adversity, I will persevere;
I will carry this commitment with me this year and beyond;

I am an AmeriCorps Member, and I will get things done.

--------------------------

Lets dust this off too....

Happy trails, smooth sailing, namaste; be bold, listen to Dueling Ninjas by Trace Bundy; Crepidula fornicata; happy 4:20; if it's two am and I say I'm in a meeting, don't ask why.  See you in a hot sec. good morning? good night.

The Flight of the Anchor (March 8th, 2012)

Twelve days left in Belize. We’re currently in Placencia, and will be for at least the next four or five days while I get my SCUBA cert. I’m starting my first day of diving today. Yesterday was all bookwork. I should have had the book read backwards and forwards by now, having it for the past nine months.  I always was a phenomenal procrastinator.  In any case, it didn’t matter; I aced all the quizzes the first and only time through.  I will say that watching the video for EVERY. SINGLE. SECTION…. back to back to back….well, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been through longer spans of time in a class room, but I felt like I was missing out.  And I was.  For all five sections, there is a video, and each video is geared to be watched before a confined water swim.  PADI obviously expects five confined water dives prior to going out and taking on the open ocean…I get a make-shift “confined water dive” in the shallows off of Laughing Bird Caye.  It would be nice to have more time to get comfortable with the equipment, but is that COMPLAINING I hear? What’s that, Addison? I’m learning to dive in the tropics, with golden sun, blue sky and miles of reef a mere conch call away, instead of a 12 foot man-made pool? That’s right. Thanks for the reminder.

Here’s another. This particular gem that I’m about to share is one I know already will be a favorite when I recall this trip to parents, family, friends, grandchildren…or the lady with the pretty white shoes sitting next to me at the bus stop… (pause for recognition of the Forrest Gump reference).  I was woken up yesterday morning at who knows which wee hour of the morning, to my Uncle Fred gently knocking on my ceiling hatch. “Addison”, he yelled ever so sweetly to jar me out of my slumber, “come up and help, we dragged anchor.”

Forgive the necessary tangent, it won’t take long.  This is a perfect example of my uncle’s personality.  He stresses, he frets, I KNOW he must, but he never ever shows it.  In fact, you’d think he was downright bored with the fact that his 43 foot, several ton twin hull capable of crushing man and palm tree had just drug 100 yards down the anchorage. 

I, on the other hand, have not and likely never will master such a skill.  Because when those words crept their way into my dreamy ear canals, they may just have well been buckets of ice.  I was up, out on deck, and looking for the anchor chain before I realized I was still only in my boxer briefs.  Gotta love my polyester Hanes, they never chafe…. TMI? Sorry, moving on.

Let me make it clear, if it wasn’t already, that dragging anchor is NOT a fun experience.  Because more than likely it’s dark, and you’re still dazed and shaking the sleep off, trying to center yourself in the bay or harbor or wherever you anchored. For the first few minutes, your eyes adjust and you don’t know if you’ve run aground, hit a boat, etc.  Millions of synapses are firing, neurons flashing and dashing like Space Mountain.  BUT….but, we were fortunate enough to have none of the above horrors strike my heightened senses.  And when I realized that we were perfectly safe despite our boat’s late night stroll, my excited fear turned to excited laughter.  Ahh, that familiar one-two punch of body releasing adrenaline and endorphins (yes, you know what feeling I’m talking about, and yes, I see you smirking). 

So… while it took us another forty minutes of idling around the mile wide harbor to find a solid hold again and fall with a crash back into my cabin, I couldn’t be bothered.  I mean hell, I was standing there at the bow of the boat, anchor chain fading into the dark calm water, learning an integral part of sailing life.  I was doing exactly what I came to do, AND I was doing it mostly naked.  You put yourself in that kind of situation and tell me you don’t feel free. 

…Maybe I won’t be quite so descriptive when I tell my grandkids that story. 

Happy Trails, smooth sailing, smile big, hang loose, bridle up and motor back.  

Every-day People, part 1: Mi Familia de Catamaran

Cruisers are a different breed of person.

I knew it to be true before I even left. Let's face it, you start to get an idea after a few family get-together's Still, my understanding of the concept was not only validated but renewed with vigor not 24 hours after arrival. It is the romance of the landscape that inspires you to go sail, the success and excitement that inspire you to keep sailing, but it really is the people you meet that inspire you to make it a lifestyle. With that in mind, I have decided to dedicate a series of my travel updates to the people I have met as a way of better telling my story, since they have either contributed to or have been the drivers of all the things I've seen, done, and enjoyed since coming to the Caribbean.

It really has to start with the people I got to know over the first week and a half at the marina. I already mentioned getting invited for drinks with the four with the million-dollar sailboat/yacht/lounge/cinema.

There was another from our tennis crew who stood at about 6'6” and I couldn't help but nickname Woodstock. He kept his pony-tail hair under a ball cap that had more holes in it than my tennis racket. It fit on top of his care-free head perfectly, though I think if I'd touched it it would have turned to dust.

The couple from Canada who rounded out the tennis group had mad skills on the court and if they were playing at the same Texas Hold-em table would rob you blind before turning on each other. Being cruisers and therefore minimalists by default, they catch most of their diet when they're underway. But regular fishing isn't they're style. They catch their food by spear-fishing with Hawaiian slings.

One of the constants at the marina was the guy everyone's probably seen in a movie somewhere, typical if you even call it that, the one with the slightly southern accent who might be at the bar, might be watching t.v. in the lounge, might be coming out of the bano or just walking around aimlessly, but always has a knack for popping up wherever and whenever you are, and always with a lesson or a story to tell. Who can't love a guy who's flown choppers over Vietnam, ran intelligence from East Germany, married a Brazilian and still offers to take you in his dinghy up to a local hotspot to meet the owner's beautiful daughter?

The night before we headed out, the yacht next to ours was having a little party, which of course we were invited on board for after getting back from dinner. While my aunt and uncle decided to pack it in, I was more than willing to step over to the dark side. Here I met a whole new parade of wonders, not least of which was the captain. This man was such a genius in the DIY category that he had designed a hard roof for their boat, took pure pleasure in the red carpet he had installed in his engine room, and most importantly of all, built a self-dispensing beer cooler above their freezer. Woodstock was in attendance with his wife who was nearly as tall as him. An anesthesiologist who was quite inebriated was able to (multiple times) pinball herself seemingly on accident off of at least two people and safely into a chair. The captain told us each seat was thus strategically placed since they have so many parties on board. Lastly was a spitting image of Captain Barbossa from Pirates of the Caribbean, who insisted on standing on the very stern of the ship and threatening to fall backward multiple times. Like any proper sailor, he never lost his footing no matter how much he teetered and swayed, and I realized later that his proximity to the rear of the boat was directly related to a slightly impaired bladder control. This was the man who was apparently responsible for the Dr. Pepper advertisement of the 1970's that propelled the soda to national popularity.

When we finally cut loose from our mooring at Marina Catamaran in the morning of Saturday the third, there were many goodbyes and promises of staying in touch. One thing about cruisers is that they all have boat cards which they pass around, and they all seem to run into each other quite frequently (apparently the seven seas are still part of a small world). But we had at least five other cruisers there at our dock, helping us push off, like there was nothing in the world they'd rather be doing than helping their friends off, and it became quite a momentous occasion.

I got the feeling that they had all been in that same position before. After all, with any large heavy moving object, it's easy to hit something, so the more eyes and hands, the better. Still, I was amazed at the ease of it all. How easy these people come to aid one another, how easy they smile, how easy they party; how easy they share the fantastic stories of how they came to be where they are, which were often not so easy. These people are and were hard workers, integral parts of society, game-makers and game-changers. Not one of them were idle in their lives; if they had been, they wouldn't have been able to afford their seemingly idle lives now. But of course, even these lives are far from idle, for they are filled with taming waters, constantly fixing things, meeting new people, and making it fun. I expected to meet people who were running away, who lived on their boats because they disagreed with the politics or culture or common life they had left behind. Not so. These people are the A-type personalities, the ones who get stuff done and got stuff done, who knew what they wanted and knew how to get it: they knew how to succeed. And here I find them all bunched together in one place? And in a tropical place? What a ride.

Happy trails, smooth sailing, smile big, buy someone a drink, do what you love and make it look easy, especially when it isn't.

On your mark....get set.....

Not much time to get the word out, but we're setting sail this morning! Aunt Barbara took a ferry to Livingston, the port town at the mouth of the Rio Dulce and got us all checked out of Guatemala. So today, with any wind in our favor, we'll be able to head straight out and north for Belize...otherwise we'll camp out another night at a place further down-river. But regardless, we'll be out of this marina and out of internet contact until further notice. I'll keep the updates coming as regularly as I can, but hopefully the next time you'll hear from me will be from Placencia, Belize, midway through my SCUBA course!

Smooth sailing, happy trails, take a deep breath, and GO!

Caffeinated Calm

My Grandfather was the kind of man people admire. He was one of my heroes. Even his oldest daughter reminisces about how he knew everyone and everyone knew him. But in the short time I knew him, I didn't know many people that HE admired. But this little tale is about one of the few. Ted.

Ted is a pilot, like my grandfather was, and he owns a motorized glider that he takes out from time to time. He's also madly in love with his wife, and I think it is for this reason more than anything else that my Grampa thought so highly of Ted.

Ted and his wife, I don't know her name, just that he calls her "Corky", have been married a long time. And with all couples who are madly in love and have spent so much time together, they have their little quirks, their routines, their traditions. Ted and Corky's tradition is coffee. They buy raw coffee beans, and each morning they'll peel and roast them in a giant cast-iron skillet, and grind them up by hand before brewing their morning cup. Needless to say, they do their coffee right.

Now, Corky has had Multiple Sclerosis for forty years of their marriage. She is now confined to a wheel chair and has many more health problems, but still they go through this ritual each day. Recently, Corky had to have surgery on her throat, which prevented her from being able to eat or swallow for a couple of weeks, her source of sustenance needing to come from a tube to her stomach. You can imagine this putting a damper on their daily coffee activity, but for crafty old Ted, this didn't stop him.

While Corky would be unable to taste their magnificent brew, Ted decided to engage her other senses of sight, smell and feel. He brought a selection of beans with him to the hospital, and by her bed, he was able to brew their daily coffee, though not quite as traditionally as normal. She was able to smell the beans, picked which ones she wanted, and after the coffee was made, Ted would put 20 cc's of it into a syringe and deliver that to her feeding tube. She would have her sip, then he would take a sip, and repeat.

Every so often, there are things that happen in our lives that, as petty as they seem when we look back on them, can really upset our ebb and flow at the time. We'll get flustered, frustrated, downright angry, and life stops being what it should be. Even being down here in the warm and welcoming tropics, I've had moments of the day where the stupidest little thing pisses me off, and then EVERYTHING goes wrong. But the first time this happened to me on this trip, my aunt told me this story, and I realized just how infinitesimal my plight was and how comical my frustration was.

Life can be a very harsh and unfair place where very bad things happen to people who don't deserve it. That's why it's important to make the best of every blessing we get, and toss out the rest. Emotions like anger, resentment, fear, and apathy are the only kinds of garbage that I don't feel bad throwing away.

When I get up every morning, I'm going to think of Ted as I sip on my morning coffee, and know that I'm going to have a good day.

Cheers.

Lluvias

I was still pretty young the first time I drove to Arizona with my dad. In fact I think it was the only time I've road tripped to Arizona. I'm completely guessing here, I'm going to say somewhere around ten. There isn't a lot I remember about it, but one memory takes hold above anything else that came from it. It was pretty soon after entering the Arizona border, when it started raining. The landscape was fairly arid, but I recall a long line of the giant telephone poles and some red mountains off in the distance. My dad pulled over suddenly, told me to climb out and smell the rain. I was perplexed, but I did what he asked. It was the most amazing thing that had ever permeated into my nostrils. Warm and sweet, like I was standing in a green house full of some magical flower. I was speechless as I looked half excited/half inquiring at my Dad, who only said, "Arizona Rain". I haven't smelled anything like it since, but it has caused a fascination and somewhat of a romantic relationship between myself and the water that falls out of the sky.

The people from Oregon reading this I'm sure are rolling their eyes, or should be, since rain is such a frequent occurrence back home, and it certainly doesn't have any kind of smell that would make up for the general dreariness that it causes. Nevertheless, I'm generally a rain fan. Remember this and smile as I recite my new line of trouble, just as I had to do... multiple times.

Last night was my first big rain down here in Guatemala. It has continued off and on for most of the day, and this evening was our first consistent break from it. I hadn't been expecting to see much but a few drops while I was down here...I was proven very wrong. It dumped. and dumped and dumped. During one particular stint, I am awakened by drops falling on my hand, and I jolt up with the thought of leaking pounding in my skull. It's nothing really, but drops coming from a hatch which is supposed to be sealed shut still causes a minor annoyance. Grumbling, I wrack my mind for a simple, creative, and quick fix which will allow me to maintain what dry patches of sheet I have left and get back to sleep as soon as possible. My raincoat. Perfect. The things meant to get wet, it can act as a shield. But what will hold it down? I'd never forgive myself if I let the wind blow it away. But the continual water drops falling on what is now my head has more pull than it should, and I go outside with the coat, hoping to find something heavy to hold it in place as I go. I see the towels. Coincidentally, they were left hanging on the life-lines so they would dry. It wasn't much, but they were soaked and heavy. I was too tired to think of a better alternative. i threw my coat over the hatch, threw the towel over it around the edges of the hatch, and that was that. The rain was coming down so hard that while I had not even been out from under the leaky Bimini while outside, I still came back into my cabin wet and shaking like my dog after a bath. In any case, I slept dry through the rest of the night and more of the morning than I would prefer.

The day was pretty slow, compared to my previous...jeez, is it Monday night already?...six days prior, since it was the first day of frequent rain. Stayed on the island all day, reading, caught up in this book The Hunger Games. Either that or putting a layer of water-proofing paint on some bracket for some place. When the sun broke, Fred and I would scramble out, him to the engine compartment, me to the hatches and windows, putting on silicone sealant and covering the windows in Gorilla Tape.

I think the most charming part of the day was in the late morning during a break we thought would last longer than it did, and we unfurled the Spinnaker sail (oddly, it had gotten wet from being out on deck last night). While we only let half of it out of it's bag, it was already spreading across the whole boat when the wind picked up. Seeing that multicolored sea of nylon dance around like that gave me just enough time for a brief sigh of contentment, before I noticed the rain clouds inching closer behind it. The first wave hit was relatively weak, and we let the sail be, cleverly forecasting that the forecast would call an end to the west wind's mid-day cry session.

But you can guess that the forecast did follow our direct instructions. Rather, the west wind had been cheered up by our silly shenanigans, stopped crying, and decided to piss on us instead. Sooo my uncle and I sheepishly bowed our heads, took our licks like men. And when the second and third and fourth humiliating yet awe-inspiring downpour had run it's course, we took down the majestic sail to be "dried out" another day, hopefully soon when we're out in the middle of open ocean with nothing to run into. And, publicly admitting our defeat, the weather rewarded us with the first sunset I was able to capture with my GoPro. Of course, the standard remedy to a long day's suffering was required, as per any proper celebration (see prior blogs, keyword: cervesa).



With the short moments of cloud break and with sunshine fading fast, I hit the pool and snapped a few test pictures under water with toy.



I think I've spilled enough (pardon the pun) for one day. Smooth sailing, happy trails, don't fly your spinnaker in 20 knot winds, don't EVER take an un-potty trained dog on a sail boat... and when there's so much rain falling that it looks like the sea's upside down, just smile and think about how cool it is that you can breath under water.

We're out of fuel, so we must be close.

It's interesting how one singular part of a day can stick out in your memory, despite everything else that happens in that one day. Sometimes it's a moment or event that sums up the entire day, but sometimes, like this time, it doesn't, but it pokes at you just the same saying, "hey, you're going to remember me!" It is from an event like that happening today which led to the title of this as well as the new description under my refurbished, and now visible, title.

It's a line, slightly altered, taken from a movie called "Captain Ron" starring Martin Short and Kurt Russell. The neighbors whom I mentioned before in their million dollar mansion of a sail-yacht INSISTED that I watch it before I set sail, and were even so generous as to let us watch it on their boat on their enormous projector screen. Talk about sailing in royalty. But the movie is hilarious, I highly recommend it to anyone who has any kind of admiration or dreams of sailing. The sound track is fantastic set alongside camera shots of sweeping Caribbean waters with a lone sailboat, mainsails flying. The beauty of the landscape, the ridiculousness of kurt russell's eye-patch-wearing character, and the constant reminders of, "that's what you DON'T do", by the experienced sailors sitting next to me, all will stand out.

Other important segments of the day: playing more and much better tennis in my vibram five-finger kso's. the balls of my feet hurt much more than the did, but those things really are versatile. Also finally discovering tortillas sold in town that HAVEN'T been pre-fried (it's a harder task than you'd think, being in a little guatemalan hovel).

I have to include my daily ride on the dinghy. I'm getting much more comfortable navigating the thing, and those short rides have become my favorite part of the day. being out on the water, flying over the wakes with the humming of the engine, feeling the wind and spray on my face, all the while knowing it's me guiding this worn-out blow-up torpedo....it's bliss.

Happy trails, smooth sailing, use your eyes, don't forget to enjoy the little things, and don't forget to enjoy the little things.

Se trata de la vida

So of course the first two days in Central America have been amazing beyond any words I could articulate to justify what I've seen. It's absolutely a different world, different and yet the same to what I expected. But one thing I can absolutely articulate is that the last two days have had more game changers than I expected or have ever had before in my first two days to any other country I've been to.

1. Situation: leaving for the airport. Description:I slept through my alarm so we left 20 minutes later than were supposed to. That one happens all the time, no big deal, it happens all the time. Effect: minor concern. Treatment: being an slight ass to the lady at the check-in counter and pushing my way through security.

2. Situation: Houston flight. Description: Somebody on the flight before mine relieved themselves in their seat. Translation: somebody shat. in their seat. Effect: Hour-delay while somebody tracked down another seat cushion. Reaction: It takes five, ten minutes tops for these guys to fix a wiring problem with a wing, but apparently it takes an hour to get a friggin cushion so somebody can sit in the seat. I mean for gosh sakes, just upgrade the person assigned to that seat to first class on the next flight, caution tape it off, and fabreeze the crap out of it. problem solved.

3. Situation: Belize. Description. First of all, I flew into Belize City. I was supposed to meet my aunt and uncle their with their boat, but se la vi, that plan didn't work out. Their boat was getting repaired and (go figure) they didn't get done, so my aunt, all by her lonesome, hopped on two buses from the tiny shantytown in Guatemala where their catamaran is docked, six hours of travel, just to meet me. From their, we stayed in a very pleasant little hotel across the street from (go figure) a RADISSON hotel, in Belize City, and took another two buses the next day back down to Guatemala. Overall, the trip was not bad, though some of the roads in Guatemala aren't paved, so the van was at times a bumpy ride. But, on recommendation, I ordered some tacos on the border, and as expected, they were delicious. Only problem: we almost missed our bus from Florez (closest town to Tikal, which is the largest Mayan Ruins in Central America) to Frontera where we were going. Effect: In the rush, We left my aunt's bug screen door, which I had hand-carried all the way from Portland in a cardboard box, on the bus. We didn't realize it until we were AT THE BOAT. Reaction: minor heartbreak. Treatment: Cervesa, food, and muy cervesa.

4. Situation: going to town. Description: Uncle Fred let me man the dinghy. First time operating a small motor with the transmission built into the handle. Effect: slightly larger learning curve, and almost bashing said dinghy into the dock. Treatment: more driving, and muy cervesa.

5. Situation: tennis. Description: got invited from the "neighbors" next door, who are sailing between four people what looks to be about a million dollar sail boat. 55 feet of architect/sailor catnip. Anyway, invited without a racket and without tennis shoes. Effect: blisters on hands from using a racket untouched for eight years, blisters on feet from wearing old boat shoes on a concrete tennis court, and very fun but very pitiful tennis. Dad, you'd be ashamed, but hey, I haven't played so what are you gonna do. Treatment. Lotion. and cervesa.

You know, I've long since given up trying to plan my trips to a T, because they NEVER go as you plan them. But they are always adventures, and each plan that goes so magnificently awry makes it that much more adventurous. Which is EXACTLY why I started this blog.....well that and I'm the type that forgets what he did the day before, so I have to write everything down. Almost every event has been a fantastic moment, and I can't soak them all in fast enough. Most of all, I'm thrilled to finally be down here. It's been a long time planning, and while we haven't even set sail yet, my mind is already blown. It's tropical, it's hot, it's wild, it's laid back, it's absolutely a third-world atmosphere, and my eyes are OPEN. And I've slept like a log every night I've been here. In hopes not to jinx it, I'll knock on wood, that my nights will remain that way while I'm here. We have some pretty loud toads, so we'll see.

Happy trails, smooth sailing, watch your step because the boardwalk might not always be level, and remember that sailor's maintenance comprises mostly of duck tape, WD-40, and CERVESA.

buenos noches, mi amores

Fish, Fur, and Family Feud - Canuck Chronicles day 34

One situation to describe how well family week went…I’m currently writing this blog update during a home made game of family feud using otter and gray whale trivia. Its genius, and some of the ridiculous guess answers are devastatingly gut-busting:

“What is the gestation period of gray whales?”

“2 YEARS 1 MONTH!!”

“2 years 1 month gestation period for a 900 pound infant?! I hope not!”

And this was only the end of the week. I can’t say I worked very hard today as it was one of my last full work days and I haven’t slept much in the last few days, but at the same time I don’t feel too regretful based on our level of success the days prior. Two days ago we saw a bear, multiple eagles, a seal, and an entire family of four river otters who put a show on for my kayakers and myself not once but twice during the transect. It was probably the best field day of the trip, and I doubt I’ll have a chance (and I don’t know if I want one) to have a better field day with the three days I have left in Ahousaht. And after seeing all that, we spent the afternoon dunking the kids with the kayak and having a big day on the water, jumping off the top of Stardust (which at high tide was higher from the water than the pier) and swimming across the inlet. The water was cold, but the heat from the past few days made it worth it.

My group wasn’t quite as lucky yesterday (or today for that matter) but all of our luck apparently got transferred to Drifter (our whale-watching boat) who ran into a fishing boat that had just finished a catch of over 70 Coho salmon and were generous enough to give two to us (granted Tyler knew the fishermen). So that night the boys (including myself) built up a cedar fire, burned it down to coals, threw on some wet alder wood and slow cooked the heck out of both of those fish. Everyone loved it and the best part was I didn’t have to do dishes post-perfectly-cooked-salmon-dinner.

And the highlight of highlights (drum roll please)…we saw a bear within 50 feet today. Around five pm, one of the Moms was getting a little antsy from being cooped up inside on a beautiful day, and wanted to go on a hike. So Jeff (the super cool Earthwatch director) and I rallied together and got a couple others to come with us. We hiked up to the reservoir up in the hills behind the house, and once we got into the trail we started finding bear scat that was relatively fresh. We had seen bear scat on the trail before, but never that fresh, so needless to say (me being the only staff member) I was on my toes. But we made it to the reservoir just fine, and I was relaxing on a log about 2 minutes before we heard crashing across the water and a Jeff saying good and loud, “BEAR.”

It never got to a point where it was a threat, because the bear was a cub and there was like I said about fifty feet of water between us and it. Nevertheless I knew that seeing a cub is the worst type of bear because it means Mom isn’t far away. We had a good time talking loud to it, taking photos and videos and watching it pick berries. But after about twenty minutes of that, we finally saw Mama, and she was heading down to our end of the reservoir, and at that point I decided it was time to head back. It was a super exciting last night of the trip, and it made Jeff’s whole trip because he’d never seen a bear before. I think he got quite first taste of one tonight. And me…I just can’t get over the fact that I’ve seen three in the last two weeks, not to mention probably having one within staring contest distance while checking a camera.

Tonight has of course been a slightly bittersweet last night for the volunteers, because it’s my last group of volunteers before I leave on Friday. I’m excited to go home, and the first week of being back in civilization will still be awesome, being part of my best friend’s wedding. But then it’s back to REAL real life, and even though I’ve been working here and getting paid to do it, I’d gladly pay it all back to spend another six weeks up here in this great place with all these great people. I know that all good things come to an end (or at least take a break before the next good thing), I’m thankful for what I’ve learned and seen and been a part of here; I’m ready for yet another phase of life to end and another begin, but one thing’s for sure: I’m going out with a BANG.

Smooth sailing, happy trails, always throw your hooks out because you never know what you’ll catch, and don’t be afraid to jump because more often than not, the water’s just fine. Oh and don’t forget to double-foil wrap when you fire-cook salmon, because losing those delicious juices when the foil tears is an EPIC party foul.

Into The Wild

This week was Teen Week, and if there was ever a time when I’d consider myself slightly grown-up (impossible, I know), it’d be this week. I’m usually a mildly disoriented character as it is, forgetting things, becoming lost for words, losing my train of thought….but being in the charge of these kids took me from my usual disoriented character and blew me into a plummeting airplane of whacked out. I don’t know how it happened, but I’ll venture that it could have been a combination of or a strategic single placement of the following teen behaviors: constant chatter, loud screaming, blasting the worst rap songs ever created while meetings are taking place, dancing to said worst rap songs, disintegration of any food particles lying around in the kitchen, disregard and lack of respect for anyone of authority, complete lack of manners, or complete lack of common sense. I remember being a teen once (hell I still have the appetite of one) but I want to believe that I wasn’t quite as insane as this.

All of that venting aside, it was a pretty good week by the books. My team saw otters four days straight, which I find extremely abnormal, and I constantly reminded them how lucky and spoiled the were for getting to see so many. One lucky teen and I (if I could be so bold, the most normal teen in the group) saw a black bear (probably one of the best moments of this trip). To top it ALL off, while checking some video footage from one of my IR cameras in the field, we discovered that a cougar had been prowling by my camera not a day after I was there changing the battery (another awesome moment). Safe to say I am now a strong believer in all the dangers and excitement that this little island paradise, and the next time I feel stupid for talking to myself in a very loud and high-pitched Elmo voice while rifling through otter scat in the bush, I will think about that cougar and that bear.

And this segues into the not so great but definitely exciting aspects of this week. Out of the two big ones that I’ll mention, we’ll start with the least exciting. Today, Krystal and I were setting up a video camera at a new latrine site. It was a pretty tough camera to place because the location we chose for it is on a rock that’s partially submerged half the day by rising tides, not to mention we had to lie on our stomachs in order to fasten it to a branch. But, superstars that we are, placed it just fine, but as soon as we stood up to go, we heard a crack in the brush. Then we heard loud crashing in the bush that seemed to get louder and closer. Krystal promptly HISSED as loud as she could and made for the kayak, while I yelled “LOUD NOISES!” and had my bear mace out faster than a gunslinger in a quick draw. The crashing stopped, and both of us got into the kayaks quickly and headed out to the middle of the bay. Nothing came out to the rocks where we had been standing, but it was a scare all the same.

The more suspenseful moment of my week and likely the most suspenseful day for every staff member here was three days ago, when a girl in my group fell off of a downed tree about three feet, landing laterally on her hip and head on the tidal rocks below. I don’t want to make it more dramatic than it was, but it was pretty dramatic for me while it was happening, particularly because 1) this girl was my responsibility and 2) the girl can’t weigh more than 100 pounds, she’s a twig. And I was expecting that twig to be unconscious when I got to her. She wasn’t, but it’s definitely an experience I’ll never forget, having a tiny girl smashed on the rocks screaming and crying for me to help her. I made the cardinal mistake that would put my lifeguard training to shame, pulling her out of the rocks before checking for a head injury, but it went as smoothly as a situation like that could have gone. We managed to get her back in the kayak, paddled her to the house, she had a first responder there within the hour and in three she was on a ferry to the hospital. Amazingly, she was back at the house by dinner time, albeit with a cracked hip. I know not to feel responsible, and I don’t. It was an accident and everything turned out okay. Still, (following what seems to be the fabulous theme of this trip) it was another brand new experience for me that I’ll likely carry with me to my grave.

And if I never hear the words “Teen Week” back-to-back in the same sentence ever again, I’ll be okay with that.

Smooth sailing, good hunting, watch where you step, and always remember protection ;-)

Man Day - Canuck Chronicles Day 17

7.31.10


I don’t know why I bother trying to think ahead or bother planning for anything specific around here if it isn’t research related. It gives a false sense of security. And the funny thing is, I’m not saying that in frustration. I’ve come to grips with it and on most occasions I actually enjoy the rush of it because I’m already abysmal at planning ahead for anything.

This morning was not exactly one of those moments. Here I was taking the words “four days off” after the volunteers leaving as nice slow time to catch up on my research data entry, organize my thoughts, and catch up on sleep. How naïve I was back then. Last night William (head researcher) asked if I’d come out to Tofino with him and our mechanical engineer on staff to help him try to fix up his truck. What time would we be leaving? Five in the morning. To be fair, I agreed to the whole thing, wanting to take every opportunity to go into town for free. I didn’t feel that way when five a.m. rolled around, however, but I woke up soon enough once we had the wind in our face flying the boat down the channel at 20 nauts.

We had to drop off another two members of our little family in town as they were headed north to do a whale transect for William, after which Will, Taylor (mech. Engineer) and I went out for a quick and early breakfast before setting out to fix the truck that William had parked in town. The problem (putting it lightly) was with the front left suspension. Now I don’t know much about cars at all, so I was trying to soak up as much as I could while acting as errand boy for the two who actually knew what they were doing. I won’t lie, I didn’t feel very useful, but I did what I could. We knew it should only be a two hour job replacing the parts we had to, but we estimated ahead knowing our own skills and planned for a five hour job. But with these kinds of things, as I said at the beginning of this entry, planning much of anything around here is a futile effort. We started work on the truck at 8ish and didn’t finish until about 5. The most impressive of our trials and tribulations was that once we finally worked around all the rusted screws, nuts and other crap just to get to the shock, we spent about two hours trying to make the new one fit before someone had the bright realization that we had the wrong shock entirely. The fact that we had successfully replaced other parts of that side suspension was the welcome reminder that the day wasn’t a total loss. We did some shopping (mostly for alcohol) and made it home by a well-earned 6:30 pm.

But of course that wasn’t the end of the day. Tyler and I have been planning a session with his semi-automatic shotgun for some time, and I was not going to let a long day under a busted truck stop me from seeing that plan through. Sure enough our timing was perfect since we were able to eat real quick and hit the trail up to the canyon by seven, gun, ammo and clays in tow. We made it a big staff event and there was plenty of daylight until seven pm so we had a blast (literally). I’d never shot anything else besides a boy scout b.b. gun or an airsoft gun, so I was a little anxious as to how it would go. Can I even shoot it? Can I shoot it accurately? Is the recoil going to break my nose? But surprisingly it came pretty easy. I followed Tyler’s safety lesson and stance as best as I knew how, and in the end I did pretty well. The recoil was pretty weak as the semi-automatic takes most of the energy from the recoil to load another round, and after only six rounds, I was already hitting flying targets. It was some of the most focused and serious fun I’ve ever had, and once again (as has been the norm since I arrived) was an experience that will no doubt have a deep impression for the rest of my days.

So all in all, today I rode in a boat, helped fix a truck, bought booze and meat, and had a damn good first shotgun session. I think I see a couple more hairs on my chest.

Smooth sailing, straight shooting, and always make sure you have the right parts for the job.

The Life Aquatic - Canuck Chronicles Day 16

7/30

First day without volunteers at the University of Victory Whale Lab in….two weeks exactly. It’s a surreal kind of feeling having the house so empty after it was practically alive for so long (seriously, the house moves…sways more like it). It was sad seeing them leave, since we had one group of five people who were here for the first two weeks and got pretty close with the staff. There’s one in particular that I’ll especially miss, but that’s the way it is. Tyler said it from the beginning: you learn a lot about a person when you live with them for a week, but as quickly as they grow on you, they leave again. It’s just the way things work in the eco-tourism business I suppose.

That said it was a pretty colossal last day for our campers, and a great morning for the staff and especially me. As soon as I walked out squinting into the foggy sunshine, I saw the whole group of volunteers heading down the peer, whispering frantically and waving me over, saying they had seen a river otter in the middle of the inlet. Just as a reminder, my research project down here is a study of river otter behavior, and in two weeks I have seen little more than two otters, so it’s easy to believe me when I say I was a little excited. Not only was this particular otter not so cleverly evasive as the others I’ve stumbled upon, but it put on a straight-up show for our volunteers. It dove down and came up a few seconds later with a fish and then swam with it right at us, under the pier and across to the other side, where it feasted on its breakfast under a floating wharf on the shore-side of the pier. It started playing peek-a-boo with us for a while from under that wharf, poking its head out of various cracks and gaps until we realized that unless the otter could move at lightning fast speed and pop its head out of two different places at once, there was actually MORE than one otter under that wharf. They didn’t play with us for very long and soon swam out to the central dock where they didn’t come out from under until they were out of range of us. I found it very interesting timing that I’ve been searching for river otters tirelessly for the last two weeks, and the day that our second batch of volunteers gears to leave, Two decide to pop out right from under my nose. I’m pretty sure they’re toying with me, but there’s no way of proving it.

The staff decided that our little furry entertainer shouldn’t be the only one who had a big breakfast, and we made ourselves a rancher-size breakfast (after the last of the volunteers were gone). I have to say we’ve been living a pretty impressive vegetarian lifestyle on account of it tends to be cheaper when buying in bulk for an average of 22 people, not to mention that half of our first week of volunteers were vegetarian. So needless to say, meat’s become something of a delicacy in the old house. But this morning we threw that little conservation rule right out the window when our head-researcher William pulled out his five POUND secret stash of bacon as well as leftover bratwurst. He cooked up all the meat and a giant brick of hash browns, after which I contributed some of my famous omelets (which I DID perfect in Scotland), and with a side of smoked salmon on top of all that, we ate until we couldn’t eat any more (which in my case took a loooong time).

We spent a good amount of time discussing plans for next week after we were all content with our food intake, which was very necessary as next week is Teen Week, and anybody who’s ever been a teenager at camp can imagine what kind of storm we have ahead of us. But the staff is doing a great job of taking advantage of the four-day calm before it. We worked the rest of the day on cleaning up the house, doing bulk laundry and taking inventory of all the food we have left in the house. I had some batteries that needed charging and data that needed organizing, so it became a simple but productive afternoon. And when that even started to slow down, I realized I had a camera in the field that I had to check, so I begged a couple of the staff to hit the 5pm mosquito-ridden water with me in the kayaks. And I’m glad they did, because I retrieved my first video feed that actually had an otter visible on it, albeit a thirty second video of its rear and tail before it disappeared. It was still more than I expected to see and was another nice reminder that maybe I could be possible almost close to doing something correct out here. Don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head.

We had leftovers for dinner and had a lovely evening of sharing an unclaimed bottle of Jack Daniels and watching The Life Aquatic. I’d only ever seen the beginning of it when it first came out and I didn’t really get the humor at the time. But now after getting the full dose of it after spending nearly three weeks in an aquatic environment, I think I can safely say that it’s become one of my favorite movies (though that could slightly be the booze talking).

Smooth sailing, good hunting, and always get your boots wet.

Losing Screws

7/18/10

Journaling and keeping everything written down on this trip is impossible. I hate to say it, but honestly it’s outrageously difficult. I never imagined myself so busy and so happy to be so busy on this little addi-venture. The days are slowly getting shorter but my days keep getting longer with all the things around here that I try to fit into a 24-hour period. And part, if not all of it, is a sheer bewilderment at all the things that I’ve done since getting here Tuesday night and the things I continue to do each day. I’m more sore than I could ever describe and even now I’d rather be halfway through a REM-cycle, but if I want to get all my adventures of the day written down before my battery dies I’d better stop babbling and start writing.

This morning started with a 7 am cup of tea to-go and an otter scan: no otters. Yesterday’s scan started at 6:30 (ish) and went much better with two otters seen, but I don’t let it get me down. After coming back for a bigger breakfast (slightly let down by the lack of eggs in the house but still a good bowl of life :-P), I headed out to start work on Stardust (the bigger whale-research vessel that needed washing and painting). The majority of the team except William, Bree and I (Bree is volunteer number one who showed up yesterday afternoon a day ahead of the rest) went out on drifter for the weather-permitting daily whale transect, leaving the three of us on Stardust duty. I had the awesome job last night of helping to scrape and powerwash the hull of Stardust yesterday night (God my battery’s running low already). You may think I’m being my normal sarcastic self, but really I’m completely serious about how awesome it was. I of course have never done anything remotely similar to scraping and powerwashing a boat before, and I soaked up every minute of it. Through all the foul-smell scrubbing and getting little bits of mussle/barnacle shell in my eyes and mouth, and again today getting heavy-duty copper paint in the aforementioned body parts, I had a skipper-sized smile on my face. The painting took quite a while, first with the taping along the water-line (so we wouldn’t get the environmentally UN-friendly paint in places where we didn’t need it) and then with the actual painting. We probably started that round 11 am and didn’t finish until about three. Two hours longer than expected, but the important thing was getting it done right, which I can happily say that we did.

After taking a short change break and sorting out my laundry, Bree and I headed out to check one of the two cameras that I placed yesterday morning (the one closest to camp and a short hike away). We left around the exact time that 11 of the 12 other EarthWatch volunteers showed up, so it was just a wee bit stressful finding all my gear through their crashing about, but I was definitely happy to get her and I out of the house with all that going on. We successfully checked the camera’s memory card on the field computer IN the field (awesome) to verify that the camera’s angle was set right. We adjusted it and locked it securely back to the log and made it back to the house in all under 45 minutes. From there I threw all the gear down and went through the introduction meeting/safety briefing with the volleys, after-which it was right back to the Stardust with Ty and William.

With all the paint dry she was ready to get back in the water so we stressfully went through the process of getting the wey-cable to lower her down into the little bay. Turned her around and docked her on the other side of the small dock (me trying desperately to tie three pad-buoys to the starboard side at the right length all while not falling overboard) and immediately switched over to Drifter (much smaller whaling vessel) to move her into the wey for her powerwashing (no painting thank God) and oil change. The cleaning went without a hitch but it was when we started to change the oil that things began going wrong for me and Ty. The two bolts plugging the oil tank on both motors we so badly rounded that the socket wrench wouldn’t get them off. We tried for what felt like hours trying different size sockets to no avail. Eventually we used a paper towel in a size up socket and managed to work the garbage bolts loose. Surprisngly with Huey’s tools we were able to screw the garbage bolts back on and the successfully changed the oil. I spilled a ton of old oil onto the port motor when I took the can out too slow, but it was cleaned up easy enough.

It was here where the gem of the day took place. After we got Drifter released back into the water with Huey’s help, Tyler and I took Drifter out for a ride to make sure the motors were running smoothly. As soon as we got out of eyesight of the house, Tyler didn’t even ask, just stepped away from the wheel and said, “take it”. The ten minutes that followed I’ll NEVER FORGET. It was one of the most exhilarating yet peaceful experiences I’ve ever had, having complete control over that skiff, testing her turn-radius, zig-zagging in and out, playing chicken with a local (which you NEVER do according to Ty), all the while having a perfect view of dusk over the hills and mountains of Vancouver, Flores, and Cougar Islands. The satisfaction I got from those short moments is indefinable.

Far too tired to write anymore, my shoulder’s killing me and my eyes are drooping. So until next time, smooth sailing. I know I am.

The Canuck Chronicles Day 1

Best. First Day. Ever.

Woke up on a tiny island in British Columbia, Canada, this morning with the sun and a cool ocean breeze in my face and a hammock calling my name. It doesn’t sound like it, but this is all part of the job this summer. I’m interning for a professor and conducting research on river otter behavior in Ahousaht, B.C. I think I have to go ahead and say that I will probably deserve everything I get while I’m out here, good and bad, because I’ve harassed my professor to give me this research since I learned about it during May of last year.

Day one on the island was probably as action-packed as one could imagine, and it was more exciting than I ever expected. We rolled out of bed at a comfortable nine am after arriving at the island late last night, and we took our time making breakfast. We took the dime tour of our little neck of the (literally) woods from Tyler. Tyler’s a 25 yr-old smart-mouth employee of the University of Victoria Whale Research Lab, which is specifically where I’m located. After unloading the pounds and pounds of gear off our ferry last night, I first shook hands with the man after he helped our group move a multiple-hundred-pound crate off the ferry and onto the dock, and the first thing he said to me was, “Hi, I’m Tyler. Boy you all pack light, eh?” Needless to say I liked him immediately.

Back to the day. After finishing up the tour, the other two researchers with me from Redlands, Laura and Chandler who are both doing separate Grey Whale projects, and I changed into soak-able clothing and met up with another member of our jolly gang of staff, Crystal. Crystal will be my second-in command for my river-otter project, and she’s also our unofficial kayaking instructor. Our job for the morning was to learn how to successfully exit a kayak with a skirt on (kayak skirt) after the kayak has successfully capsized. We were in two-man kayaks and Crystal told us before we hit the water that our kayaks were very stable and difficult to roll. Well as anyone who knows me can guess, I took that as a challenge and managed to turn that sucker with one pull. I’ve never worn a kayak skirt before nor have I ever exited a capsized kayak, but I can confidently say from experience that it is easier than it sounds. It was a load of fun, a great way to wake up and start the day. But that wasn’t all. On our way back we were stopped by Tyler and asked to grab a 20 foot floating log and drag it across the beach, under two gangways and a pier and safely tie it to a floating wharf on the other side. Pulling your leg, you might ask? That’s exactly what I thought, but nay, he was plenty serious. So Crystal and I lashed that log to the end of the kayak and (tugboat-style) huffed and puffed and pulled that log under two gangways and a pier to the other side. To that event that I can confidently say from experience that it is not easier than it sounds. A twenty-foot long tree trunk floating in the water is still a twenty-foot long tree trunk, and it was heavy as hell to drag through the water in a kayak no less. I got my work out in for the day, but did we take a break there? Don’t count on it.

Breath, aaand….After we parked the kayaks and drained them, we walked back to the house to start lunch, but (again thanks to Tyler) had to postpone that lovely 2nd meal of the day so we could help him move another floating wharf across the beach between the dock and beach to another spot. Again, not easier than it sounds, but with two ropes attached to the far ends of the wharf, the tide coming in, and all seven of the staff working on it, we managed it fairly quickly and were able to get right back to lunch.

After lunch things slowed down. I worked on clearing the memory out of my video cameras while the others talked, read and slept. At three we congregated with Crystal again to have a go at locating one of the river otter latrine sites that she and the previous researcher had found last year. If you don’t know what a latrine site is, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Unfortunately we couldn’t get to it because the tide was in and the path to it was overgrown by some very friendly thimble-berry bushes. Thimble-berry bushes are a lot like raspberry bushes except with more and bigger thorns for petting us with. We cut the hike short and decided to try again tomorrow morning. We headed back to the house and spent the rest of the afternoon working on our respective projects. Crystal and I tested cameras, memory cards, and discussed logistics. It’s all the boring stuff so I’ll leave the details out.

After all the work that Tyler put us through on our first day, he came through for us at the end of it by cooking up a huge spaghetti dinner, and it was exactly what we needed.

Today was more than anything a day for living in the moment. While I stood on the dock coiling rope as we moved a floating wharf down the beach, I was happily awe-struck by the situation I successfully managed to get myself into. But I didn’t have much time to ponder my good fortune because we had to keep that floating pile of logs and nails from ramming into boats, rocks or metal gangways. I can only wait and see what six more weeks of this has in store for me.