Silver Moose Ranch

In the classic Bernstein Bears childrens story The Bears' Picnic Papa Bear sets out to take the family on a picnic only to discover that each place that looks like a perfect spot is, in fact, very much not the perfect picnic spot. Scenic meadows are stampeded by cows, bees tend to not want bears picnicking by their hives, beautiful overlooks actually overlooks a highway, etc.

When searching online for the perfect place to stay for vacation one assembles the list of perfect criteria, and hoping that Papa Bear's curse does not hold true for this selection, pushes the submit button.  These days the criteria is pretty exacting, so pushing that button and driving up to the place you are going to spend the next 6 days of your 'perfect' vacation are always a bit anxious.

According to the website and the Trip Advisor reviews, the Silver Moose Ranch would be not disappoint.  Large, sunny rooms, in a quiet, natural location but only a few minutes’ walk to Park City's downtown restaurants and shops. The perfect picnic spot for a B & B.

Situated down a side road, on 13 acres of Aspen and meadow, is what can only be described as a really cool 5+ bedroom house blending Mediterranean, ski resort, and mission-style influences. The Silver Moose exceeds all criteria. It is a great place to start and end every vacation day. From the massive central stone fireplaces to the open, granite-countered kitchen crowned by a gorgeous iron-work chandelier to the king-sized beds in the rooms, every detail is perfect.

And then there was the unexpected bonus ( somehow I skimmed over that on the website). The breakfasts and snacks! All homemade, all sooo very good. Eggs, coffee cake, crème Brule French toast, snickerdoodles, biscotti, and more.

Brian and Tamara, the hosts were great too! Friendly, and knowledgeable about the area, they've collected all the menus and information about what's going on in the area from specials at the local restaurants to the low-down on the pair of geese that you might encounter walking up the driveway.

The Silver Moose Ranch was the perfect Park City place for us.

Park City Hiking?

May is off-season in Park City. Most of the snow has melted so the skiers are gone, but there's still enough in the higher elevations that the mountain bikers have not yet arrived which is fine by us. When making plans for this trip we'd assumed it would be a good time and a good place to do five days of hiking. After stopping at the third 'outdoor' store with only mountain bike trail maps we began to wonder.

SD persisted and we stopped at the fourth shop, White Pine Touring and finally found a good topo map with clearly marked trails up in the mountains. Unluckily, most of those were on the other side of Guardsman Pass, the road through which was closed for the winter. “Yeah”, one of the bike guys explained, “they don't open that til June, maybe July. But you can hike the bike trails.”

Being, well, who we are, we drove up to Guardsman's Pass, and sure enough it was closed even thought there wasn't all that much snow. There did however appear to be trails off the parking lot just below the summit. While probably bike trails, they were empty not only of snow but also of bikes and people and we weren't sure they'd make good hiking trails running as they did all over the ridges and ski slopes. The views from the ridge however were spectacular.

Inspired by the scenary, but slightly discouraged by the hiking prospects, we headed back down to Park City to check into the Inn.

Triple threat?

Last night at Gracie's bar, while sipping a local Full Suspension IPA and watching the bike commuters stream by, a fellow librarian stopped by to talk about this great book store he'd found two blocks to the East.  Could Salt Lake City be a triple threat on the BBB scale?

The beer is awesome. A rich, smooth, full selection and coincidentally, low alchohol, so I have tried a more than usual number of different brews. The bikes are everywhere. There are roughly 10 bike shops in town and the city supports an extensive network or trails and bike lanes.  I picked up a map at the visitor center which not only shows a large number of bike only routes, but also lists all the rules of the road and the general theory behind it all.

The bookstores? Those too are prolific. Although most appear to specialize in used, collectable books the selection is more varied, yet complete than in stores that sell new books.

On the BBB scale, Salt Lake City rates a perfect 555. But is it all that good, or are there limits to the BBB scale? Something there is that doesn't love this town. Which isn't to say I would ever pass up a chance to visit, drink a beer and take a ride!

Keep it simple

Yesterday morning I walked up through Temple Square to Capital Hill and back through Creek Canyon and Creek Park.

The founding of Mormonism may be a bit puzzling, but their naming schemes certainly aren't. Things here are pretty much along the lines of calling it as you see it. Want a name for a city beside a Salty Lake? Hmmm lets call it Salt Lake City. What should we name the square in which our temple sits? How about Temple Square! A park in the Canyon that has a creek? You guessed it. City Creek Canyon Park.

It certainly makes it easy to tell which is the bigger canyon Big Cottonwood. Or Little Cottonwood? I'll bet you can even guess what type of tree grows there.

 I am however, a little confused by City Creek Center. It is in the Center of the city and there is a Creek running through it. (BTW -its the same creek that runs through the canyon) but what is it really? Hint:'Shopping' or 'stores ' or should be in the name.

I also wonder why they focused on the lake when naming the place. Walking around the area what you really notice are the mountains. Everywhere you go, there they are both to  the East and to the West, big, beautiful snow covered mountains. If it were my town, and I needed to stay with the naming scheme, I'd have called it Big Mountain Valley or maybe Awesomeville!

Salt Lake City Prequel

I'm off in a few hours for Utah. Three days of conferencing in Salt Lake City and then a vacation week in Park City. I've been doing my usual prep work, scouting out good hiking trails, brew pubs, and books.

I easily accumulated a list of good breweries (although recommendations are always appreciated), and hiking in the Wasatch Mountains sounds fantastic, but there is a notable lack of good, related reading material, unless you count mysteries and polygamist biographies. Having read Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith , which is both, I'm all set as far as that genre goes.

There are a few "history " books, which don't read well, but do have some information. The Lady In The Ore Bucket: A History of Settlement and Industry in the Tri-Canyon Area of the Wasatch Mountains begins with settlement of the city and continues on through the lumber and mining eras.

The thing that surprises me about the early years isn't so much the casual use of the word 'wives ', I got used to that on my last visit, no, it's the land ownership system. Basically, the Church and or Brigham Young owned the land and everyone else either leased it from them or...I don't know...got some by marrying some of his children? Luckily multiple wives beget multiple children and land ownership became more and more common as the years rolled on. But still it seems a strange feudal / socialist system and one that is often overlooked. Makes me wonder....

Bermuda Books and History

There are very few bookstores where you can ask “Do you have the Jarvis book?” and they will know what you are referring to, fewer still where they'll reply “Usually we do, but we're sold out. We should be getting more in next week.” Bermuda is actually, probably, the only place. The “Jarvis” book to which I was referring is the 600 plus page, 10pt font, meticulously-researched, heavily-footnoted, scholarly-tome, In the Eye of All Trade: Bermuda, Bermudians, and the Maritime Atlantic World, 1680-1783 (Omohundro Institute of Early American History and Culture) .  Published in 2010, the book is a credit to the Island's history. The fact that is it a nation-wide best-seller is a credit to the Islanders.

I was a bit confused however to find that while every bookstore carried an extensive list of Bermuda history titles from Dispatches from Bermuda: The Civil War Letters of Charles Maxwell Allen, United States Consul at Bermuda, 1861-1888 (Civil War in the North) to Rogues & Runners , the actual Island seemingly disregarded their history.

It's taken two weeks to understand this apparent contradiction. It is in its relationship to history that Bermuda seems to be its most British. Why they  make little of their historic buildings and forts (forts from 5 centuries line the coast), but at the same time read books like the Jarvis book. This morning however, it became clear. Like Britain, there is so much history everywhere, and in everything that making monuments or museums to every piece would necessitate turning the entire Island into a museum but everyone knows the history, everyone reads the books – at least enough to support a significant Bermuda History section in every bookstore.

That said, Bermuda is hosting a conference in June on its maritime history. With tours and lectures it sounds, at least to me, like lots of fun.

I'm thinking of getting a Kindle Fire, Full Color 7" Multi-touch Display, Wi-Fi and also some sheets: 1500 Thread Count Queen 4pc Bed Sheet Set Egyptian Quality Deep Pocket Sage

Little pink, and azure, and chartreuse houses for you and me

Even under the relatively muted February sun, a white Bermuda house looks sad, especially when compared with its brightly painted neighbours. For a staid, New England girl, this observation was totally unexpected. I'd heard about the colorful houses and dismissed them as garish, needlessly showie, certainly not something that 'fit' within the landscape of even a semi-tropical location such as Bermuda. But driving through the streets of St. George, I had to admit, it was the bright chartreuse house, or maybe that deep azure one that looked most at home.

House sizes and configurations varied from one story 'shotgun” style to multi-story, rambling mansions. Some homes are situated on suburban-type lawns, some right on the street (and by on, I mean no front yard, no shoulder, the house wall-less-than-three-inches-from-bus-mirror on the street). Others are built into, or out of the limestone clifts.

And while the houses vary in both shape and color the roofs are all of white, stepped blocks, channelled so as to collect rain water into holding tanks. All the homes have shutters, sun, hurricane or both, and are built of stone, cement block or stucco and painted pretty much any color except white. And all have porches or patios - living space outside being as important as living space inside.

Bright outside and in, sounds like home to me!

Three and Three are Fourteen

"Pardon?" I asked.

The information desk woman repeated her previous mathematically impossible statement verbatim, "Three and three are fourteen. Board either the 7 or 8 bus at the Dockyard,  ask for a transfer to the 10 or 11. Transfer at Hamilton, that will take you back to Flatts."

I've come to believe that getting to know the public and private transportation systems of an area is a good way to get to know a place. Bermuda is no exception.  The well maintained pink buses travel from one end of the 21 mile-long-island to the other along the same incredibly narrow, limestone-carved, shoulder-less  roads as the cars and bikes (motorcycles and moped with engines no bigger than 150 cc)  The people on board are polite, and quietly gregarious with one another.  At every stop someone would get on, sit in a seemingly random empty seat and begin talking about aunt so and so, or what happened last night at Joe's.

The bus fair system, like island life, is effortless to the locals, but enigmatic, apparently hard to explain, and really very simple. The island is split into 14 zones. Anyone and everyone will tell you that, however, they're not clear on where those zones are and zone maps haven't been printed in years. But really, that doesn't matter.  There are few options. You can either buy a day, week, month or three month unlimited pass, you can pay $3.00 (in coins) every time you board, or you can purchase deeply discounted 3 Zone tickets.  A 3 zone ticket will allow you to travel through 3 of those unknown zones. And here's the tricky part: 2 three zone tickets are used for any travel over 3 zones. 4-14, it doesn't matter, three and three are indeed fourteen.

From the Rail Trail to the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club

My first inclination after landing in Bermuda was to find a seat on a sunny patio and order up a frosty rum drink.  I fought that urge (for a little while at least) and followed my second, and usual habit when coming to a new place. Within an hour we were walking the Rail Trail down to the Shelly Beach, checking out the native Bermuda Cedar Trees, sandy beaches, green turtles and  colorful houses.

And everywhere is that famous azure blue water.  65 degree azure blue water. Clear and bright.  I just had to go swimming. How could I resist? It was 70 degrees and sunny,  warmer than most days I'd gone swimming last summer.  S.D. 'forgot' his swim trunks so could only watch. The Bermudians ignored the whole thing.

Finally then it was time for that drink! And while they won't swim in the winter, they do drink Dark and Stormys all year round.  Goslings rum remains the official alcohol of the island, even though it is no longer made here.

We followed up cocktail hour with a rum swizzle at a bar in Hamilton and dinner at the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club, waiting until after dinner to explore the old trophy rooms, bars and patios and find photos of all those CCA folks whose papers I'd arranged back at the Seaport.

I was just starting to get a feel for the place, and it turns out, my first inclination was as much a part of that as my second.

Zero Degrees in The Sun

The trick to hiking in 0 degree weather is to keep moving. From the trailhead where you open the car door and get that first frigid blast to three miles up the trail when it's time to break apart the frozen banana, or on the summit, crunching through a peanut butter, jelly, and ice crystal sandwich, you have to keep moving. You really can't even stop long to gaze North at the magnificent view of Mt. Washington rising out of the Presidential range, or East to Mts Passaconaway and Whiteface, and especially South towards Lake Winnipesaukee where the North wind smacks into the mountain.

But boy is it worth it! Our hike last Monday up to Sandwich Dome, via the Sandwich Mountain trail to Jennings Peak and then returning via the Drakes Brook Trail, was Cold and stunningly beautiful. It had snowed two days before, and the snow still hung on every tree branch. There was no wind in the valley and everywhere was a still silence. Except when we walked, and then the sound of our boots crunching on the snow filled the empty space. SD had been hoping to see a deer, or even a Moose but soon realized "We aren't going to sneak up on anything today." Of course we had to stop moving in order to hear each other talk so conversations were limited.

There were lots of great views along the Sandwich Mountain Trail, and even more from the summit of Jennings Peak. We had intended to continue on to Sandwich Dome but had reached our turn around time. What with having to flounder up some icy stretches we hadn't set a very good pace. And with those same icy stretches in mind we decide to hike back on the longer, but less steep Drake's Brook trail. That too was especially lovely in the cold. In areas where the water was fast, the brook still ran while in other, flatter sections it was frozen, with ice crystals freezing above it.

By the time we arrived at the car I was ready to sit directly in front of the blasting heater, but looking back to the mountains as we drove away also wished I was still crunching along through the winter woods.

Carter Doom?

Considering that for this, our third attempt on Carter Dome, we hadn't hiked a peak in over 6 months and the weather forecast was borderline blizzard/ice storm, there was a good chance we might not be reaching the summit  of our 44th 4000fter.  But we were prepared with microspikes, snowshoes, down and synthetic jackets, I had a new pair of Garmont Momentum Mid GTX Winter Boots, and a free weekend.

We were at the 19 Mile Brook Trailhead at 7am Saturday morning. There was a light snow, the temps were in the mid 30s, and all the mountains were covered in thick clouds. But at least they weren't predicting a blizzard like the were April 1, 2011when we made our last attempt on Carter Dome. Nor was it 2 pm and 85 degrees, as it was when we attempted it in May 2010, after SD's pack broke.  We had to make an emergency pack purchase and change the itinerary.

I was a bit apprehensive. Not so much about the hike, I realized, as about the possibility of not making it on the 3rd attempt.  How do you keep trying to do the same thing over and over again without succeeding?

We broke trail through the snow until about half a mile from Zeta Pass when we passed by a guy doing both North Carter and Carter Dome.  It was about this time that the snow became heavier and started to build up so it was good to have someone in front. At Zeta Pass however, he went North, and we went South plowing through 6 inches of powder. Just not deep enough for the snowshoes. The wind picked up and the temperature was dropping, but that was offset by occasional glimpses of blue sky. Maybe it would clear up by the time we reached Carter Dome? Because at this point, one thing was clear, we were less that 1/2 mile from the summit, and this time we were going to make it!

And we did! Guess you can just keep trying until you get it right. You could tell the view would have been nice if we weren't in the low clouds. You could also tell that within half an hour it would be. But the wind was blowing, and with the temperature dropping it was too cold to hang around. We decided to head back via Mt. Height which by the time we were there had some awesome views along Carter Ridge to the North. Mt. Washington was still in the clouds Pinkham Notch spread out below.

Homeowning. A Smoking Adventure?

What constitutes an adventure? SD and I disagree.  He insists that renovating this new house qualifies (he also insisted in adding a few comments - they are in green). I insists life is an adventure, lets enjoy it and take advantage of it.  (although most time he says it's "something to get through". I contend that having done more than 8 houses between the two of us, it doesn't.  What a stick in the mud.

That no matter what the house looked like when we saw it that rainy day in August, we both knew what it could be and that getting it from there to here and forward was something we would do, it might even be fun, but its something that really didn't qualify as an adventure. I insist it qualifies, (it is if you believe life is an adventure, loosen up!), because it's the first one we've done together, and because we're both a good 15 years older than the last time we did it.

C. K Chesterton says "An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered."(That a recipe for considering all life's trials and tribulations an adventure, it's all in your attitude!!)

So what then is inconvenient? SD's continuous whining, his non-stop ideas for the location of the half-bath?  Making plans is inconvenient? 

He feels that his adventure lies in doing the renovation with someone like Me. You are so lucky, as am I, how much better than that can it get? Life sucks, making an adventure out of it makes it better!!!!!

This morning I walked out to the compost bin we built two weeks ago and filled up last weekend. And it was smoking!! Actually smoking. That baby was burning! And not just in the middle. As i turned the outside leaves into the center more smoke rose. An upturned clump of grapes was almost shooting flames.  I have built many a compost pile in my time. Most molded into usability. Only one, and that one was half horse manure, ever burned. But now, with the help of the lovely SD, things are smoking (so life isn't an adventure but the compost pile gets you excited?). 

This house thing with SD just may turn into an Adventure after all.

Shucked

Oyster farming combines two of my favorite things, farming and being on the water. Oh, and Oysters!  Shucked: Life on a New England Oyster Farmis an ode to all three. Written by Erin Murray, a woman who spent one and half years farming oysters at the Island Creek Oyster Farm in Duxbury, Mass does a great job of describing the the highs and lows of the life. The mud, the cold, the phyiscal demands, the crew comraderie, the taste of freshly picked oyster, and the pride of growing good, sustainable food.

I'm a big fan of aquaculture, for a number of reasons
, and it really bugs me that most people equate aquaculture with agribusiness and all it's pollutants, and cheep labor practices, when aquaculture (at least in the US) is really about sustainable, local farming. I love the role oysters play in the food chain, in the filter chain, and in the local economy - and Shucked does a good job of explaining those relationships.

Murphy also briefly talks about aquaculture as a means of sustaining the New England Fisherman tradition as most of the Oyster farmers that sell to Island Creek are either ex or part-time fishermen/lobstermen. Which is key in my mind. Why let the big fishing fleets of Stonington, New Bedford, and Gloucester die off as the wild fish stock is fished out, why not set those seafaring, ocean-wise folks to growing? (aside from their major  aversion to transition from hunters to farmers, that is)

The only really big disappointment I had in the book was that she failed to mention the entire, vibrant, tasty, New England oyster farming culture. Island Creek is in no way the only Oyster farm in New England. In fact, I've toured a number of New England oyster farms, and tasted a hell of a lot oysters and not a single Island Creek. Nor does she mention (or know?) that there are lots of other ways to grow them.

Oh, and that brings up another point. The book includes a number of great oyster recipes, but really, seriously folks, isn't the best way to have oysters raw, slurped right out of the half-shell?

Reading the River - North East Style

 It's amazing how fast you can kayak down river, with the outgoing tide,and a west wind at your back. But the real question is how long it takes to get back to the launch site? And will you still be having fun when you get there?


We put in at the East Street boat launch in Ipswich for a paddle east to the sea. It was a beautiful fall day. High tide had just passed, so both the river and the tide were with us. And have I mentioned that the wind was too? From the boat launch to the sea, the river runs approx 2 miles through an estuary/bay, but the channel is well defined. It also meanders with several bends and reaches. By the time we came to Plum Island Sound the flow rate was amazingly strong and we pulled onto the beach watching as a lone kayaker fought their way through the rip and into the river, and contemplated the trip back.

After a quick Shot Bloks refuel, we headed up river, up tide, and up wind. It was more frustrating than hard. Paddling and not moving, is such a bummer. But as we started tucking into the inside bank of the meander then paddling hard across the reaches to tuck in, once again on the inside bank of the next up river meander we started making good progress.

 Although I wasn't walking the experience reminded me of walking up the Virgin River in Zion National Park. "As the water rushes down you have to figure out where the water is running deepest and fastest." and get to the other side. Figuring out where and when to cross is almost as challenging (in a fun way) as the paddling.

Turns out it takes approx 3x the times and effort to go back but the effort in no way lessens the fun. The paddle out was just as fun as the back, with the added challenge. The day just as beautiful. the company just as good.

A Tale of Two Kayaks

They were the best of kayaks, they were, well, both the best of kayaks, but for different reasons. Just as Eliza was settling into her new home, a old new comer showed up. Build by SD back in 1992, stored and loved by good friends, and known by those who've kayaked her as the Grey Ghost, she weighs in at 25 lbs with a length of 14ft, and is of stitch and glue construction. Eliza is 14. 5 ft., weighs 49 lbs and is of rotomolded plastic.

We took the both of them down to Lynch Park, along with two sets of paddles, a 210 cm Bending Branches Breeze and the Grey Ghost's pine, Inuit-inspired 9ft paddle. I then proceeded to paddle four laps around the buoy a half-mile off shore.  First the Grey Ghost with my Bending Branches paddle, then the Inuit paddle, then I switched boats and took Eliza around with the Inuit paddle, then the last lap with the Bending Branches paddle.

SD's pine/Inuit paddle is noticeably both heavier and longer that any paddle I've ever used. It also has a much narrower blade. Aside from the weight, I really liked it.. Just  very little effort had either boat moving out, and building momentum with ease. Turning was a bit more complicated with the longer, thinner paddle but some of that may have been from lack of experience.

When I switched to the Bending Branches paddle, the lightness was welcome, but the shortness of the stroke suddenly felt unnatural and stunted. After using both paddles I decided the ideal one would be light but long. At least 20 cm longer than what i had, and with a narrower blade. (Hint: Werner Athena  )

Kayak comparison was not so easy, not so conclusive. While both are roughly the same length, and width, their weight, construction materials and hull shapes are very different, and it comes through in the paddling. SD's kayak was known as the Grey Ghost because of her off white color, but I felt she paddled more like a glass slipper. So light, seemingly delicate, and super responsive. There was no give in her, she moved out, no energy was lost between paddle and boat. She was also very low in the water, and. I'd guess in a heavier swell, she'd skim right through, rather than over, the waves. As it was she easily held a steady course, even downwind.  In the hands of an expert paddler, and with a not-so expert on a very calm sea, I suspect she'd be a dream.

But, I'm no expert paddler and Eliza was more forgiving. Not so responsive, and not so balanced, but more comfortable. She took a little more effort to get under weigh, but she went just fine.

So for now, I guess I stick with Eliza.  I guess, but boy is that little slipper seductive.

What a Difference a Month Makes

Only one month ago we purchased our lovely little clashingly decorated home. After only 30 days of wall-paper stripping, hole puttying, painting, floor sanding, tile cleaning, cabinet scrubbing and a heavy dose of decorating awesomeness we now have the beginnings of a lovely little home. And here's the proof:

Dinning Room - Before

Sitting Room - After

Living Room - Before

Living Room - After

 

Kitchen - Before

Kitchen - After

Entry Way - Before

Entry Way - After

Who are the People in Your Neighborhood?

While renovating and moving into a house no longer qualifies as an adventure (been there, done that about 8 times!) people ringing your doorbell (2 tones for the front, 1 for the side) and dropping off welcome-to-the-neighborhood cards, soup, and cupcakes certainly is. As is having the mailman introduce himself as the neighbor who lives in that house "over there, the one with the red garage door." All this is very new, at least for me as an adult. I do believe Noank, the town where I grew up, was much like this but being a kid, I was oblivious to all the adult-doings. Since then I've lived in a number of places and can recall only one time a neighbor offered a welcome gift. Sure, we'd eventually meet and talk, during a snow storm, or on the stairs, while doing yard work, or after our kids starting running together but generally neighbors pretty much stayed inside their physical and social boundaries

This neighborhood is proving very different. I had only just recovered from a real live paper boy sighting (complete with white canvas sack and orange shoulder strap) when a posse of 10-12 year olds rode by on scooters and the neighbor across the street walked up the driveway and introduced himself.

Now the Sesame Street song that is now on continual loop. This is indeed an adventure into a strange, perhaps wonderful, perhaps a bit-too-friendly-for-a-Nutmegger, world. But as SD always says, we'll see. As the years go by in this latest adventure I suspect I'll be able to resist the urge to put on a dress and apron while cooking,and leaning over the fenced to gossip with a neighbor, on the other hand I could ace the lawn and garden competition.

Do America

By day 6 of the Seattle/Oregon trip I had Mark Knoftler's “Do America” on continuous play. It seemed like we were going from place to place, hitting the high/tourist spots and with the newly invented BBB scale  I felt like I had a good feel for three new areas.

Ashland, Oregon is a full-on BBB triple threat!  With the Standing Stone and Caldera micro brew pubs less than three blocks from each other, the Bloomsbury independent bookstore and bikes, from sleek racing to around-town cruisers, almost as prevalent as pedestrians it's a beautiful thing. Added to all that is a great used book store, fantastic hiking, fruit -  luscious pears, plums, blackberries, etc, growing everywhere like weeds, and  friendly people,and its a town I could really spend some time in.

Jacksonville, 7 miles East of Ashland, looks good at first sight. Neat, tidy 19th century houses, large sidewalks, and a decent coffee shop. There are a number of bikes in town but you soon notice they are only riding through town. There's neither a bike shop, nor brew pub.  Out of 15 different shops, not a single bookstore, used or otherwise, and while the restaurants offer locally grown food, their selection of Oregon beers was limited. A very sad, missed opportunity for a town.

And then there is Seattle, a town once noted for its impressive coffee shop penetration, but now has even more sushi restaurants.  Tourist traffic has also increased in the last decade and the big independent bookstore recently moved from Pioneer Square, North and up to the Capital Hill district. It is a well-stocked, vibrant, if singular store.

Bikes, and bike lanes are everywhere in Seattle - as is a bike-friendly transit system. But somehow you get the sense that the idea is to get bikes in and out of, not around town. Seattle boasts a great outdoor recreation ethic, but all that recreation happens outside of Seattle. It's like a commuter city, a city where everyone lives and the commuting it to the mountains, rivers, and ocean around them.

And the beer? Hmmm. I really can't recall anything remarkable about the beer selection in the restaurants, and didn't see a brewery although google maps does show one, it too is in the Capital Hill district, not Seattle proper.

All in all, I guess I too view Seattle as a commuter town. A decent place to go to Do America and find other BBB towns like Ashland.

We Walked Among Them

You knew photographs never did them justice but you never know how much, or rather, how little, until you are actually there with them. In the redwoods, the forest is the trees. Huge, massive trunks that you just can't love enough, you hug them, but can't even manage to encircle them 1/3 of the way. You try to photograph them, but can't get far enough away from one to get it in the camera window. At first they are overwhelming, and bring you (me) to tears. Once you've spent a little time with them, it begins to feel just right

We asked the Ranger for a good 5-6 mile hike to see a really big tree (as if we weren't already surrounded!). He pulled the park map out and began highlighting the various hikes and trees in great detail. We decided to hike the 5.4 mile Boy Scout Tree Trail. After a quick trip to the foggy shore of the Pacific Ocean, the mists which make the existence of giant trees possible, we drove west up into the redwood forest. Off a dirt road that often narrowed to one car width between massive tree trunks, we found the trail head and began hiking. The Ranger had shown us a picture of The Boy Scout Tree, a black and white, circa 1920 image of ten boy scouts gathered at the base and climbing up to through the crotch of a massive 'double' trunk tree and seeing it in person seemed as good a destination/excuse as any to walk amongst these trees. Because really, that is what I wanted to do – just be there in this new forest with them.

It takes 3000 years for a redwood to reach maturity. The forest we were walking through was much older. The top of Mt Mazama blew off 12000 years ago,forming Crater Lake, the Cascades had been growing for millions of years, and the White Mountains, my backyard stomping ground, had formed 124 to 100 million years ago. Walking among the redwoods, the youngest of them all, I felt not only small, but also quick. A blip. And it both pissed me off that for the most part, people had felt they had the right to decimate the trees, and the earth, and it also felt like a big joke. Man's existence is a blip on this massive time scale where 3000 year old trees are but a second, where one volcano can bury an entire ugly city in one good blow, and no matter how much we try and mess it up, nature, the planet, the universe, gets the last laugh. If we're smart, if we can be comfortable with the meaningless of our part in all this, we can walk amongst it, and know, that that, in and of itself is enough.

Who Wants to Go to Crater Lake?

[Catch up post from last month]

Around 5700 BC Mt. Mazama blew its top and left behind a big hole, a really big, big hole and this now the bluest lake I've ever seen.

We began this trip with breakfast and pie at Beckie's, a diner on the side of Route 62 described by most tourists guides as a Must, and reviewed, with varying degrees of compliments on Yelp, and TripAdvisor. The most notable thing about Beckie's on the day we were there was the continuous stream of bicyclists stopping there for pie and sandwiches. After watching a dozen filter through the place we discovered they were on a 10 day organized tour around and up the coast of Oregon . Their destination, like ours, was Crater Lake. A 37 mile ride seemed a bit tame to us but hey, it was their vacation.

SD and I pulled out of the parking lot in our rental Hundi and soon turned right and up rt 62 to the park. And up. For 30 miles we drove up to the rim of a volcanic lake often passing the bike riders, spinning, later struggling in low gear, we had seen at Beckie's. Once we entered the park, the road became much steeper as it wondered up switchbacks with views off to other mountains. Mt Theisen to the North, Mt Shasta to the South.

We parked at the rim and took the trail to Mt. Garfield. Hiking up alongside the lake, the view more amazing at every turn. Views that would even be worth a day long bike ride straight up a mountain!

Who wants to go to Crater Lake? I do! I could spend hours and hours there and never not be impressed by each new view...and come to think of it, it would make for some amazing kayaking!

The BBB Scale: a proposal for town assessment

When bicycling through Holland Amy and I quickly learned that the first stop in any town should be at the VVV (tourist information stop). The VVV is the place to get info on the town. Not only can you get info on campings, bathrooms, bike routes, but you can also get a feel for the town. In the States, it's not so easy but while in Seattle last month,  I decided that  the tenor of a town can be determined by looking into three factors; Bikes, Books, Beer. These three valuable indicators are indicative not only for their literal value but also for what information they tell about the town.

The ideal town would have a ratio of people to independent bookstores of 1:200,000. These bookstores would carry titles by local authors, have a large section of high-quality local history books, sponsor author talks and book groups, and be generally supportive of book culture.

Not a Bike Lane - notice cars

The high scoring town would also have a thriving bike-commuter population as evidenced by real bike lanes, not the suicide lanes such as in Boston, and plentiful and secure bike storage. Support of bike commuters is not just in and of itself important but also indicates a culture that supports outdoor recreation and is trying to make a dent in the U.S. car culture.

And finally good beer, or more to the point, micro-breweries, would be a celebrated by the perfect town. This important aspect of the BBB scale measures not only the actual presence and support of microbreweries, but also the prevalence of micro-brews on tap at the local bars - both high and low dollars. High support of micro brew culture is an indicator of local support for alternative, small businessmen, and locavors, all desirable qualities in a town. A symptom of a town that is proud of its accomplishments and people and can have fun doing it.

In the end, that is what it's all about, trying to find the town that is the most fun (Even if it's my definition of fun!) and that town has bikes, books, and beer!

Biking, Bainbridge Island and Blackberries

After the second brilliant sunny day of this trip and the 8th consecutive sunny Seattle day, I'm beginning to suspect that all those continuous rain stories about the Pacific Northwest are told in order to keep Californians and Easterners away. Another thing that would be attractive, if you knew, and they've never mentioned, are the blackberries. You know those rather largish black berry bundles that grocery stores sell in tiny pints for $3.99? Those same berries, or rather, a more luscious, ripe, version of those berries grown EVERYWHERE in the Pacific Northwest.

I first noticed them, with the total disbelief of a blackberry deprived Northeasterners, as we were riding our bikes just outside of Bainbridge. We'd taken the 9:20 ferry, arrived just a little before 10:00, rented some horrendous rental bikes (I now get why some people don't like to ride bikes, I wouldn't either if this way my experience) and immediately pedalled out to circumnavigate the island. After grinding through 6 gears and 2 chain rings up a hill, we were speeding down when I noticed that all those bushes crowding the side of the road were overflowing with blackberries. I braked. SD swore, almost ran into me, and narrowly avoided another broken collarbone which may be the reason he was not as impressed as I was. There were blackberries everywhere.

At least they sure looked like blackberries, but what were blackberries doing on the side of the road? Unpicked by humans, untouched by birds, unnibbled by rodents? I glanced up the road to see if anyone was watching, any cars approaching. The coast was clear so I picked and ate one. At this point I was expecting that perhaps they just looked like blackberries but were infact some insidiously disguised poison fruit. But oooh, they tasted like black juicy sweetness itself. I picked another and handed it to SD, hoping it would justify his close encounter with 3 months of intense shoulder pain. I'm not sure it did, but he did smile. We ate some more, me still glancing furtively around wondering when some angry farmer would appear waving a shot gun, and then we rode off.

BLACKBERRIES!!!!

Up over the next hill there were more roadside berries, and up the next hill, and down the other. (In addition to berries there were an unexpected number of hills on this island!) Sometimes the bushes looked so ripe and full I tried, but just could not pedal by. SD was now riding a good 100 ft behind me so when I cried “Berry Break!” he would have enough braking distance. At one patch I was literally surrounded by blackberries, so many berries, so little hunger.

Talking about this later with Pacific Northwesterners, transplants, and other visitors, I learned this first encounter with blackberries was typical. That they are in fact so plentiful as to be considered an invasive weed. The bushes are everywhere, in highway medians, on the side of the LinkRail tracks, in vacant warehouse lots, in parks, everywhere.

Strangely enough, they still sell in Seattle grocery stores for $3.99 pint.

Swimming with the Salmon, Hanging with the Harbor Seals

Most people go to Anacortes to see the Orcas. And I admit, that would be cool, but on Friday I went to Anacortes to see the Salmon and the Mussels, or really, the Salmon and Mussel farmers.

Riding to the Salmon Farm

Ever since I was a kid I wanted to be a farmer. But being raised in a coastal fishing village, farming seemed remote, exotic and impossible. Little did I know, I could have been a fish or seafood farmer (there presently is a oyster farm in Noank) . Aquaculture in the United States is amazing.  While its image suffers from the bad rap it gets from foreign raised salmon, US grown fish thrive in open, healthy, sustainable 'farms.'  Farms that I'd be happy to live on. While America romances the Family Farm of the midwest, with its rolling fields of amber waves,  I've seen the beauty of the Peuget Sound waves rolling beneath Mt. Baker and douglas fir lined shores.

Mussel Farmers Hard at Work

And then there are shell fish farms. From Anacortes we drove about 20 miles south to the Penn Cove Shellfish Farm and toured the mussel farm.  The mussel are grown on 30 ft lines hanging from a series of rafts.  Apparently, the harbor seals consider this their personal day spa. Even as we rode by them close enough to almost touch the raft, they merely glanced our way and went on sun bathing. There's an amazing amount of work that goes into profitably growing and harvesting mussels. The day we were there wasn't a harvest day but there were still two crews hard at work. One 'socking' the young mussels onto their lines and the other gathering spat.

The only proper way to end a day of watching people grow food, is, of course, to consume that food. Coincidentally, just down the road from Penn Cove, in the town on Coupeville, is Toby's Tavern,  the perfect place for mussels and beer.