setting myself up

early morning streetlight: seattle

It has been many days and many miles since I posted the last entry in Seattle. Once again dependent on public access to computer and internet resources these posting are going get sparse once again so I will try at least to be thorough (read long winded). To bring you quickly up to date on my current situation I am in forest Grove, OR just taking a couple days to relax and get ready for another week out in the cuts. This posting is made possible by the generosity of the Pacific University and its most excellent library facilities.

construction

My main problem with cities is that I get sucked right in. All the luxuries of the modern world at my beck and call, the wealth of people with which to talk with and ease the symptoms of my lonely heart, the surroundings that are so quickly etched in memory only to be abandoned again for the unknown, the sense that once gone I might never come back and if I did it wouldn’t be the same anyway-that is hard to walk (bike) away from. Hence I left Seattle days later than I had intended and even the hour of departure was pushed later and later as I lingered over breakfast, coffee, lunch, coffee until the days was well on its way. I finally caught the ferry to Bremerton in the late afternoon and after navigating my way out of town I was on a small highway heading once again to the coast. I had stopped a gas station outside of Bremerton to pick up a local map but the man behind the counter said since I was on the border of two counties it would take two maps to cover the territory and so they didn’t stock them. What? I would rather have to buy two maps than not have one at all. As usual I managed to find my way without one and as it turned out I spent most of the day riding right alonmg the banks of the Hood Canal until I made it to my intended campground shortly before sunset.

The ride from my campground at Potlatch State Park to Twin Harbors State park was a big one. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 miles including a detour into Westport to check out their fishing fleet and dine on some pizza. No desire to cook after a ride like that. The days ride took me along some pretty major freeways (no fun) and once again through Aberdeen (still depressing) and at one point the shoulder completely disappeared due to some construction and I had to walk 2 miles in the grass ( walking is so slow). Needless to say it was sort of a bummer day. Westport was nice though and I stopped and chatted with the construction crews who were real nice folks.

wetlands in bay center

In a move that was probably just an excuse to eat lots of smoked fish I decided to make an attempt to primarily eat locally produced food stuffs. This has come with some difficulty and with a few deviations from the plan but on the whole I have done well and tried things that I normally wouldn’t consider with a camp stove. My crowning dinner has been steamer clams with fresh pasta, and garlic all right out of Bay Center where I camped the next night. The road at this point is much better as I am back to the coast and despite the occasional log truck there is minimal scary traffic. Bay Center was a nice little town and the ride there was only about 40 miles so I took a long stroll down the beach looking out into the long sandy mud flats exposed at low tide with countless blue heron looking for dinner.

little bastard

sunset at cape disappointment

Another pretty easy day landed me on the Washington-Oregon border at cape Disappointment State Park. To date this was the first campsite I paid for and was by far the least desirable. First the hiker/biker site I was directed too was occupied by a backhoe and a large pile of earth and then the site I was moved to was occupied by the boldest pack of raccoons I have ever encountered. Clearly this guy here has lost that nocturnal habit and probably would have taken food from my hand had I been offering (not after my previous encounter). Besides these drawbacks the park was swell. I spent a few hours at the Lewis and clark interpretive center. Quite a journey that group had and what a world that must have been back then. They would be rolling in their graves if they could see what the U.S. did with the Louisiana Purchase. I spent dusk on the beach looking out over the Pacific watching the sun make its way down until the day was spent. Also I did end up getting a spot right on a little lake amongst some nice tall alders with only low grasses as ground cover. With a brisk wind blowing of the lake and through the trees I had a lovely nights sleep as the leaves rustled about me. I did wake up once to maybe three raccoons crawling over my bicycle which I had leaned against a tree just outside the tent. I watched them for a while wondering if they would try and tear open my bags to get at the food inside but after a few minutes sniffing around they left and I went back to sleep. I did put the food into some turkey roasting bags as I was once told that was a suitable medium for mitigating odors.

fort columbia one

fort columbia two

The next day I got an early start for what was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. The ride over the Astoria bridge. Almost four miles long with a serious climb and descent, a shoulder that is at best two and half feet wide, relentless high speed traffic, and not a single place to go-practically broke down and cried after I got off that damn bridge as I was so worked up with expecting to be smashed or sent over the rail at any minute. That said I thought Astoria was a lovely little town. Checked my email at the library (tellingly several locals could not tell me where it was), drank coffee and read magazines at an outdoor café, traded in the incredibly depressing book on Peak Oil for Saul Bellow’s Augie March, and met a lady who offered to let me crash at her house outside of town down amongst the ranches and wetlands. She and her husband (Tory and Dan) were incredibly accommodating and treated me to a salmon dinner and a pancake breakfast, and we watched Survivor and it was oh so pleasant to be a little taken care of for a change. They sent me packing with some dried fruit including some dried Asian pears which were hands down the best dry goods I have ever had.

for lease in astoria

The next day was a long one. I clocked about 95 miles to make it into to Portland in one go. My first rain day so far and with heavy traffic on a major highway it was a bit of a trial. The highlight was walking into a logging tavern wearing spandex shorts, a bright windbreaker, and neoprene booties over my shoes. I got a few looks and I was in a very uncomfortable way throughout my meal (elk burger).

My good friend of many years, longest of my post high school crowd, Jereb had arranged for me to stay with his mother and step father, Gwen and Michael respectively, in Portland so once again I was back amongst the hospitality of others. They have a lovely house and I was delighted to see the setting and people that had a good hand in shaping the character of my good friend. They graciously allowed me to stay two nights with them so I had a good full day to explore Portland. I did not see all that much but I am pleased with what I got out of it. First I spent hours at the City Bikes co-op installing a new rack, checking out bikes, and getting pointers for routes back to the coast. Incredibly nice crew there and helpful beyond my expectations. I went to Powell’s Books and bought Carpenter’s Gothic by Gaddis, which I wanted to read before I read another Bellow book, and sat for a few hours reading and drinking coffee. In the evening I met up with Amber, who I had met in Alaska, and a formidable crew of her friends and their friends to drink beer and ride bikes around. A mix of fixies, single speeds, a stingray cruiser copy, an older Raleigh mixte, and my tourer made from a pretty eclectic mix of cycles. I would have felt a bit cooler atop my faithful Competition, but you know. Besides being bicycle riders, which automatically ingratiates people to me, the folks I met were in general intelligent, socially aware, humorous, stylish, and good looking. Not a bad bag of tricks.

Painted Pipes at the Grand Lodge

Continuing on was once again a serious struggle with inertia and I haven’t even really got the ball rolling. I did make it out of Portland on the light rain to Hillsboro but I only rode a few miles before I stopped and took a room at this old Masonic Lodge turned hotel, a really cool building with all sorts of nooks and crannies and places to explore and cheap. Nice staff which I got to know last night sitting at the bar as the employees came in after their shifts. I thought I would stay another night and spend some time on this blog (these things aren’t easy so you know). So here I am. I will take off tomorrow riding south through the wine country before heading back out to the coast. I guess two to three weeks to get back to Berkeley so it won’t be long now before I am back among you guys that I miss more with each day.

mirror at the grand lodge

tragedy strikes

Well first the bad news. Since this bicycle trip first turned from an idea to a plan I have feared that something at least mildly disastrous would intercede to disrupt the months of expectation from being fully realized. Now it seems my premonition has been fulfilled in the form of a broken elbow my father received the day before he was to meet me in Seattle for our departure. A bicycle accident of course. As most of you know it is pretty serious, as most joint injuries are, but the surgeons are hopeful that they can restore full use of his right arm. I know that he was looking forward to this adventure at least as much as I was and so I will press on and attempt a more regular and detailed chronicling of my trip south for his benefit. This ones for you dad.

Putting that aside lets get on with catching up with the last week here in northwest Washington. I spent one night in the Thor Town hostel in Port Angeles. The owners lived on the property with an adorable little girl and a yard full of chickens, and shared their house with all of the wandering travellers who came through their doors. They proved invaluable in helping me formulate an itinerary for a the next few days as I had been sort of floundering in the vacuum of free will after being told what to do and where to be everyday for the past four months. Fortunately I am over that hurdle, and I am once again comfortable with the semi-directed trekking I had been doing before I boarded he Ocean Dancer.

In the end I decided I would do a little tour of Olympic National Park, and after packing up and a leisurely breakfast I made my way to Crescent Lake which is about 30 miles due west of P.A. It was suggested I stay in a closed campground to avoid the fees and I did. Besides being free I also had my choice of spots as it was deserted and so I was right on the beach. Even with about 20 stops and a two hour lunch at a roadside diner I still had hours to kill before it seemed reasonable to sleep. To fill the time I road my bike back to a nature trail to the Marymere Falls, which I had seen up the road. It was a pleasant stroll through a low-elevation forest to these falls, and the 1.5 mile round trip was about all my legs wanted to do.

maple leaves

The next day was a big one and I went a bit over 60 miles to make the Hoh Rain Forest about an hour and a half before sunset. I was then on the west side of the park and the river valleys thestretch to the pacific coast support an amazing forest environment. The Hoh was simply teeming with life-ferns, Sitka spruce, vine maple, Douglas fir, western hemlock, big leaf maple-all covered with moss. I have some photos but they don't really do it justice. I saw some elk. I made camp by the river and for lack of evening entertainment went to bed early and woke up the next morning around 4:30 and was on the road by 5:30. The sun had not yet risen and so I made my way slowly down the dark road until the dawn revealed the fog covered valley I was riding in. The mornings are the best for riding as the roads are deserted, the day is still cool, and the early light cast a sort of mystical hue to the world.

fog in a field at dawn

I made good time through the clear cut forests along the 101 and had covered the 40 plus miles to Kalaloch Beach before noon. Another incredible camping ground, this one in the coastal forest with the long sandy beach just under 50 yards from my tent. About a half mile from the camp ground is a little lodge and a small store. I had a long lunch at the lodge drinking a bottomless cup of coffee and reading Thomas Pynchon's Vineland. The setting for the novel was the the California coast from the logging and marijuana growing communities in Humboldt to the urban sprawl of L.A. It also stretched out as far as Texas and Japan. Excluding Japan, this was mostly familiar territory, and the the logging aspect seemed fitting for the country I was in. Written later in his life than the other novel's I had read this one was much more coherent and what at first would seem like digressions, which from Gravity's Rainbow I feared would be dead ends, always seemed to resolve themselves back into the overarching structure of the novel. As typical of Pynchon the prevailing mood was paranoia and conspiracy which he crafts so well, but this time he left the reader off the hook and managed to foil the conspiring forces and give the protagonists peace. Sorry if that's a spoiler.

beach and an unintentional nap on said beach due in no small part to the conveniences of the convenience store, I made what has become my signature dinner-spaghetti and tuna fish. I know it doesn't sound great but it is easy and filling. Afterwards, as I was laying in my tent working myself into a mood of self-pity listening to Elliot Smith and just beginning to fall asleep, I heard what was unmistakably one of my panniers being dragged down the little gully I was camped on top of. Scrambling out of the tent yelling and clapping I chucked some handy rocks and chunks of wood into the brush hoping whatever had made off with my bag would drop it. After a few moments all was quiet and I timidly made my way through the brush and down into the gully. Fortunately the bright reflector made the bag easy to spot with my flashlight and I managed toLittle did I know that back in the real world conspiring forces where working against me as well. After a nice long walk on the recover the bag with only a loaf of bread missing. Back up the hill I set off to find the lockers for food they usually provide for folks without cars to keep their food in. In my haste I was only wearing the short shorts I have taken to sleeping in and my sneaks. After a few cat calls from a group of older ladies getting drunk around the campfire beside their R.V., I found the lockers, but for some reason they were locked shut. As I walked back to my site I saw sort of large rodent scamper away from my tent. For lack of rope I used my bungee cord to tie my bag of food around a branch, but with the stretch factor it only hung about 2 feet off the ground. Tired and frustrated I tied a bear bell around the cord to at least provide an alarm if the ROUS made a pass at it. I went to lie back in my tent and as I flashed my light out the screen door into the brush I saw the two little slivers of eyes just waiting for me to fall asleep again. I decided to risk it and zipped the door up. I was once again drifting off to sleep listening to this animal slowly make its way through the brush when a late arrival to the campground pulled into the campsite next to me and I heard their dog jump out of the car and tear off into the brush chasing the offending creature away from me. Bag safely guarded by canine I drifted off to sleep.

The only problem with getting on the road so early is that it is impossible to find a cup of coffee until after 7:30. Combine that with the sparse population on this stretch of the 101, I typically don't get my dose until putting at least 20 miles behind me. In this case I didn't fill up until I had done the 40 miles to Quinault Lake, but really it wasn't so bad. I have found when I take my mind of the odometer and let it wander the miles really fly by. I have considered removing the device. Another great campsite on the south shore of the lake and just about deserted. I picked a spot on a little bluff above the lake and situated my tent to capture the rays of the setting sun over the lake. I took a little walk around the water and sat and read in the sun on the rocky beach. I have taken to regular stretching before going to sleep and after a routine that takes about 20 minutes I am usually in such a state that I have been able to sleep on the hard ground better than I did all summer.

Another early morning and another forty miles got me to Aberdeen. A boom town from the logging industry that has seen better days. Kurt Cobain was raised there, and the scene was about as uplifting as the music of Nirvana. From here I caught a series of buses-Aberdeen to Olympia to Tacoma to Seattle-with my poor bicycle bouncing down the highway strapped to the rack on the front of the bus. By the time I got to downtown Seattle the bike was so seriously out of tune that I had to stop and set the derailleurs right and play with the fenders just to make it semi-ridable to Fremont. That done I rode to Andrew and Claire's place where I have spent the last couple of days staying with them and their new dachshund puppy Nevada, cute little dog. Once again they have shown me incredible hospitality and we cooked some good meals. It is sad to leave the company of my friends again, but it is time to move on. I am just finishing up my laundry and I will be off this afternoon, although I am not sure what route. My Dad had made plans and reservations to do the San Juans, but I have already missed the first connection and I don't have the will to go that far out of my way without a companion. It looks as though I will shoot straight down to the coast back through Aberdeen, and resume where I left off a few days ago. I am abandoning the laptop so posting won't be so easy anymore but I will do what I can.

maybe my best photo

i never ever saw the northern lights

Just a small note to say that I am back in the lower 48. I got into Port Angeles yesterday after a long day of travel from Sitka. It has been a long time since I have been able to completely relax so I will spend at least a couple days here. After gaining at least eight pounds in upper body muscle (thanks to handling about 4500 fish this summer) and fat (thanks to the cookie habit Ron pushed on me) plus a 5 pound laptop, the bike is a hell of a lot heavier than I remember. Not to mention the fact I have scarcely ridden since the beginning of June. I did ten miles this morning and on the short list of complaints: sore ass, back, thighs, and, forearms.

I meet my Dad in Seattle on the 1st to begin the trip south. That gives me a few days to get back in shape. The old man was worried about keeping up with me, but me thinks he might have the upper hand after all my time out of the saddle. No real definite plans until then besides calling again on Andrew and Clare for a couple days.

What can I say of the last few months aboard the Ocean Dancer? It was in my eyes a trial, a test of character and will power. A few superlative statements come to mind. I have never worked that hard, felt so isolated, been so tired, felt more sick, or been as terrified as I had been for moments or days since I boarded that boat in June. On the flip side , though, I have never seen so many glorious sunrises and sunsets or the moon so strikingly reflected off of massive glaciers sliding into the sea, never felt the excitement of an approaching storm visible miles away on the horizon, or had as much fun as landing big king salmon, never met such an odd an interesting lot as the alaskan fishing community, or spent so much time lost in quiet contemplation and introspection. A summer to remember and perhaps to repeat some day.

My dad has a pretty detailed itenerary to reach Coos Bay in Southern Oregon by the tenth of October where he is scheduled to fly out of. Left to my own devices I estimate another ten to twenty days to get back to the Bay area for an arrival in late October.


Just a single picture today. This is Ron's fishing buddy's boat the Ocean Home all lit up at dusk as we anchored in Whale Bay.

One way tack to Yakutat

If you want the definition of the middle of nowhere just google-map Yakutat, AK. Granted you could google-map Pelican, AK and it would be an even smaller blip but I was holed up there for two hours not two days. Basically it is a real long haul from Sitka but if the weather would just cooperate for a few days there are apparently a few fish to be had up here. As it is however we are just tied up to the city dock waiting for a break in the storm.

The last few days in Sitka I lived up as if they were my last. With gusto I ate, drank, collected phone numbers, and passed out goodbyes to the few souls I had met there and wished I could have more time to seal the bonds of friendship with. Now it seems I will probably be back in Sitka in a week or so, and I am not looking forward to an uncomfortable second round of farewells. As unpredictable as this fishing life is, nothing, besides the commandments handed down from ADF&G, is definitive.

As a revised plan for the end of the season it looks as though Ron is going to fly me back to Washington ahead of him as his wife, Nina, will be joining him on the way home. As beautiful as the Inside Passage is I hope that this plan pans out. First it would simplify the arrangements I have with my dad for our reunion in Seattle, and also because I am beginning to grow a little restless as the summer winds down. When I am not busy fishing, cleaning, or cooking I find myself falling into some pretty atrocious moods that those of you who know me well are glad you are not in Ron's place as he is the only focus for my storms of discontent. I assured him it was not personal. Nevertheless I am ready to shed the closed quarters of the ODB (Ocean Dancer Boat, my nickname) for the open and seemingly endless road down the Pacific coast.

In literature I have waded into the Russian misery and suffering that is the writing of Chekhov. From my somewhat stilted pursuit of Russian short stories I gather that this is basically the state of things in Russia: misery and suffering. It as almost as though the renaissance made no discernible inroads into that eastern expanse and they are still toiling away in some medieval hell hole. Needless to say Chekhov does nothing for my brooding mood.

I know I sort of led on that I had some incredible things to say about my the days working up to my last post, but in retrospect it was nothing that needs describing here. It usually takes the perspective of a few days to sort out what is and isn't going to go in here. Fortunately as the master of my own little history here I can edit to my hearts content. Sort of empowering.

if wishes were fishes...

More photos as promised.


Up above here is a shot of a troller tied up to the dock at SPC where we unload our fish and at left is a shot of that boat as they pull a load of fish out of the hold with one of those yellow cranes you see above. For those of you wondering that it is how we get the fish out of the hold. After we do that we move the boat down to other end of the dock to load up on ice with the chute you see below.

Despite the fleets best efforts, we trollers are just not catching as many fish as most would like. Our boat is actually doing better than most so I can't complain about my paychecks, but it seems the Salmon are just not here this year in the numbers that can sustain much more fishing. This might result in only one more week of fishing if the things don't improve. As of right now they have shut us down for five more days and we will see what it looks like after that. Apparently September can bring in a lot of fish. The problem seems to be a really dry year they had a few years ago which when figuring in the three year life cycle for Coho's could explain the lack of Salmon running this year.

This could be a bitter sweet ending to the summer for me. On one hand I am anxious to meet up with my father, begin the journey south, get back to the Bay, and go on from there, but on the other I am really enjoying the fishing life up here and I could use another couple good catches to keep my travels up a bit longer. The fact remains that I will eventually need to get another real job and start pursuing some career, but to delay this as long as possible is the game I am playing right now. Hopefully I can make it through January before the gig is up. After that it seems some major life decisions loom before me, but there is no need to delve into that quagmire just yet.

On the way back into Sitka, I began reading To the Lighthouse. Virginia Woolf is quite a change from Hemingway and at this point a much needed one. Hemingway romanticizes a sort of manliness that makes for good storytelling but unfortunately at the expense of objectifying women to a point which is downright offensive as Alex more or less put it. In her role as a major figure in the women's movements of the 20th century Woolf provides a sort of antidote to this chauvinism. The radical difference in style comes at a good time as well, as although the manic pace at which you can devour Hemingway is exhilarating the come down after his abrupt and rather tragic endings was beginning to wear me down emotionally. With Woolf I feel I can take my time and get to know the characters more intimately than Hemingway would ever allow. The range of emotions Woolf lays out for the reader tends to reflect more accurately the ups and downs of human relations than Hemingway's stoic heroes. More true to life and in many ways more therapeutic for me at this time in my life. Sorry to bore you folks not into my literary criticism, but its on my mind so in the blog it goes. There is only so much talk of fishing I can sustain.

One facet of this fishing life that leaves something to be desired as the near impossibility of making a date. Sure I have a few days off here and there that I could probably sneak an evening with a girl in town, but as my luck would have it I fell for a female deckhand. As she is not on a troller the chances of us tying up in Sitka at the same time are slim to none. The isolation of life at sea is as beautiful and romantic (as well as gritty and exhausting) if not more so than I ever imagined, but leaves at least a few things to be desired. I knew this would be the case but it is always a shame to see a potentially good thing pass you by. I suppose some things are made even more sweet in that flirting transience in which the sheer impossibility is perhaps better than what the outcome would be if circumstances allowed. In short-it's nice to have a crush.

Now for Pete who claims he never reads my blog, which is just wrong with all the time he spends on the computer at work, I promised something just for him, although those of you who know Pete will probably appreciate this.
Knifey-spooney anyone? This is what I use to clean fish. I keep the blade as sharp as possible to make my job easier. With the knife end I cut out the gills, slice the fish up the belly, and cut around the membrane separating the guts from the neck. After ripping out the guts and tossing them overboard for the gulls I flip the thing around and use the spoon to scrape out the membrane covering the flesh away and then the kidney that runs along the backbone. I can clean a Coho in abut 45 seconds. This is no record but a far cry better than the 2 minutes it took me a month ago. A shame they should cut me off when I am just getting the hang of it.

This blog would not be complete without a bit of moaning and groaning. So here goes. On the first day out last time the stove broke. This particular one here. Please note the impeccable cleanliness of it as I just scrubbed that thing like it had never been scrubbed before.

It had some issues before we left town, but Ron had thought the problem fixed. Unfortunately this was not the case and we were left with only a hot plate to cook on for our ten plus days at sea. Now a hot plate is always annoying to cook on and as I have been spoilt with fine gas burning four banger ranges for the last several years, and I had just gotten used to cooking on a diesel stove this was a real pain in the ass. It probably would not have even been so bad if not for the fact that it seriously interfered with my daily caffeine intake. I know it is probably not too great to depend on coffee for my mental well being, but I swear I wouldn't need it if I wasn't working ten plus hours a day. As it is however, woe to the man or beast who stands in the way of me and my morning cup.

As it is we have a couple more days in town due to the closure and now some inclement weather. I have not made it out much this time as we have got some issues with the boat that Ron needs my hand with and the time had come for me to clean the decks again, which involves a couple hours of serious scrubbing. Now it is the weekend here so I suppose I will go out and mingle with the bar crowd a bit (at that bar over there). I have managed a few acquaintances in town now so that I have some folks to shoot the shit with. I am beginning, however, to get more than a little desperate for the company of my friends. There is really only so much companionship that you can get over the telephone, but damn if I haven't tried.

I could go on but I won't. My time here is growing short so if any of you people out there have any specific information you want to know about salmon trolling in southeastern Alaska, now is your time to pry me for information. I plan to get a few more pictures up here before I post this, but with the incessant rain we have been having I am not sure the camera will make it out of the bag.


Well I did so here up above here is a photo of my office if you were wondering what it looked like on my end. I know it is not exactly the executive sweet but the view ain't half bad.There have been some interesting developments and occurrences in the time spanning the rough draft for this one and the actual posting, so this is not exactly current anymore. I don't have the time or energy to catch up right now but check back in a couple weeks and I hope to have some fresh grain for the rumor mill.

Still in Sitka

Well once again Ron's projected departure date leaves a little something to be desired in the way of accuracy and I find myself in Sitka with more time on my hands then I know what to do with. Having exhausted my rather meager list of phone contacts, but still yearning for some conversation I resign myself to the one sided blog banter.

So far this time off in Sitka has been in many ways a blessing and a curse. On the positive tip I made some friends when I bought a couple of underage deck hands a case of beer. They were both only shy a couple of weeks and it just didn't seem fair to deprive them of a little release as they had both just spent more than 20 days out at sea. Anyway there names were Cody and Kayla and they were both up from Port Angeles where Ron is from as well. We spent the evening on the rocks down in the harbor each of us going off in turn about our good and bad experiences with our respective skippers. In light of those two I had very little to bitch about.

Yesterday I rented a bike. I broke down and took out exactly the kind of bike I loathe, but it was a hell f a lot better than nothing. I rode up a gravel to the nether regions of Harbor Mountain just outside of town. It was a little more than 5 miles with a gain of about 2,000 feet, and my lack of time in he saddle was made quite clear. The views would have been killer if I hadn't been riding through a cloud the last 1000 feet or so. Despite the way up the way down was incredible. I moaned about the front suspension when I took the bike out, but flying down dirt and gravel roads at 20+ mph I was thankful. Needless to say I was thoroughly spent by the time I returned the bike to the shop. I thanked them for the opportunity to torture myself for a couple hours.

After falling asleep at 8 p.m. I rose early this morning and treated myself to a large breakfast at Victoria's, a pretty decent little breakfast nook in town. I eyed the eggs benedict but for some reason I just can't justify eating that much hollandaise sauce any more. Maybe I don't even like eggs benedict anymore. Following breakfast I spent a couple hours at the Backdoor coffee shop I have grown to love both for its coffee and the girls who serve it. I wrote some letters and took care of some bills that needed my attention. I still am not over the joy I get from not cutting a check to a landlord every month.

On the negative side I find that I am now happier at sea than on land. Perhaps in Sitka surrounded by people I am reminded of all those I miss and will not see again for many months. While on the boat this reminder is removed and I am occupied with the bushiness of catching fish. Still on the boat I spent most of the day wrapped in my own thoughts, but there I think more toward the future than what is lost to the past.

I have made the successful switch back to fiction and began Hemingwy's A Farewell to Arms. Several have old me that it was not there favorite of his many works, but I am going to give it a whirl regardless. I also picked To the Lighthouse on Alex's suggestion, and ordered Seize the Day by Saul Bellows on a tip from my friend Leslie Schaffer back in Texas.

Ron has us set to leave at three this afternoon. We will see.

A moment of respite

So due to a shortage of salmon they have temporarily closed the season for a few days and so
I have a few days in Sitka to relax. I did manage to land the one above before they cut us off. Sorry the last post was only and update from my subconscious but I had a couple of friends in town and didn't have time for a complete update.

So as I mentioned my friends, Dave and Julia, were in Sitka. Through a stroke of luck they just so happened to stop in Sitka during their Alaskan vacation on one of my few days in town. We only had the better part of an afternoon and evening together but we made the most of it and ate and drank well out of all of our budgets. It sure was good to be amongst the company of good friends if only only for a short time.

Now I have two trips out to sea to cover. The week before my last stop in Sitka has been one of our best so far as we averaged over a hundred fish a day. Not as good as it could be but in light of the previous weeks not all that bad. The last trip out was short due to bad weather and the season closure but we made out with a few fish. Last time in town Nina, Ron's wife, flew into town and she came out with us he last few days. She brought a long a host of political mags and the New Yorker, which I read instead of fiction. I have decided it is impossible to be both well informed and well read. Call me an escapist but I think I will stick to fiction. The real world is just too much. I did manage to read Leaves of Grass, and I will agree with you Alex. It was one of the best pieces of literature I have read. More than anything else it inspired a little belief in the skeptic.

Now for lack of words I will bombard you with pictures. They stretch back a month or so.

















First my left hand that I was moaning about. It's not pretty folks. Below is a moon rising over the Fair Weather Grounds where we caught many a King Salmon late into the evening. Not easy to get a night shot on a rocking boat.

Stretching way back here is a shot of the reservoir above the damn on the Elwha River in Olympic National Park. the damn is one of the many reasons for Washington's decline in Salmon spawning grounds.





Damn formatting is impossible without using HTML! Anyway here is Dave and I in the hold where I put the fish. Foolishly I did not get Dave and Julia together.I will conclude with a shot of the port side of the boat coming out of Icy Strait . We are heading to the North and off to the east is Glacier Bay and the magnificent mountains and glaciers that make up Glacier National Park. The setting sun precluded shots of the glaciers unfortunately.I am going to make the rounds on the telephone tonight so if you are reading this make sure and turn the damn thing on and keep it charged or you are going to miss one of the rare opportunities to hear the the sweet sounds of my voice. Until next time then.

i had this dream

I was eploring this beach and as it grew dark the rocks turned to massive and soft pillows and I buried myself into them and slept. Later in the dream I awoke (still dreaming but dreaming i've awoken)and the pillows had changed into thousands of golden retreiver puppies and they were licking my neck and the tickling sensation was bordeline painful. Like when you are a kid and someone really lays into you and it is just torture. The senastion was so intense I awoke (for real this time) and there were mosquitos biting my neck.

The boat I am on was cruising through the desert on a sort of water highway 10. We passed countless huge families floating along eating watermelon at long floating tables . We got stuck in trffic and for someone reason I grabed a fish and jumped off the boat. I ran down the sidewalk while cleaning the fish. I passed a crowded intersection and looked back an the boat was gone and I was stuck in the heat with the fish.

i obscenity in the milk of thy republic

damn thanks all for your comments. i am all warm and gushy now. ron has got me on a short leash this trip back in town and i only have about 2 hours to spare before we head out again. not much to report anyway. the salmon fishing was as slow as last time but the waether was shittier so we had some pretty miserable days. i plowed through Don Dellilo's novel Mao II and it was good but not even close to as cynically witty as White Noise. As there are no used book store in town and i can't keep donating the new books i buy at the book store I have decided to start mailing them off to you guys. sorry ben but i all ready got rid of moby dick. it was just to big to hang on to with my ever growing library. anyway i just started on leaves of grass and the damn introduction is longer than whitman's poems put together, which i haven't even got to yet, but i am getting psyched about about them. i pretty much have to run right now. i am not sure when i will ever get photos posted again as Sitka's public computer infrastructure is rather short on modern equipment, but maybe if i get a few days in town next time i will figure it out. i wish the best to all of you wherever you are and if you want a book send me your local address to my email account.

they could not stop the nothing

This will have to go without pictures for now until I find a computer to accomadate me.

Well this one might not be as grand and glorious as the last one, but perhaps some of you will appreciate a more succinct account.

Much has happened since the last post. I lost track of the days some time ago but we left Port Angeles late in June to head up to Sitka via the inside passage. The first couple of days took us up along the coast of Vancouver Island, which I had only just traversed in the opposite direction on my bicycle. In fact the first night we anchored just outside of Nanaimo where I had spent several days relaxing and where I met Tara. All in all the journey took about a week to reach Sitka and the weather and the scenery was beautiful the whole way through. Without a whole lot to do besides eat and sleep I polished a fair amount of reading as we went, finishing Moby Dick after putting it down for about a month. I also read The Captive Mind by Czeslaw Milosz and the Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. All three incredible in their own rights but I found Milosz's work the most enlightening as I know little about dialectics and totalitarianism both of which it covered deeply. On the fifth day or so I had polished off everything I had to read and after two more days before making Sitka I was the epitome of restlessness.

Our first stop in Sitka was exciting but brief. We had made it the day before the Salmon season was to start, June 1st, and as Sitka is one of the main ports for the southeastern fishing fleet of some 900 trollers it was quite abuzz with fishing folk and everywhere you went there was speculative talk on where the big King salmon bite would be come opening day.

I did manage a few hours to myself to find a good bookstore to load up on books, two library's with the Internet for free, a good cafe, and the local pub. Te library was parting out some books for a dollar and I picked up a Carnival in Romans which provided a detailed history of a lower class revolt in a town in southern France during Carnival in the the late 16th century. Certainly a departure from my foray into American fiction, but quite absorbing in its own right.

Back to the narrative the King season lasted about ten days in which we stopped once in Pelican and once in Yakutat to unload fish and get more ice and fuel. As we were in a rush to make the most of the season we were in the towns only long enough to get things done, and in fact I didn't get off the boat either time. We did have some luck and all in all we caught several thousands pounds of King salmon and I made enough money to pay of my lingering credit card debt and then some.

I wanted to give the folks back home a little glimpse of what my days are like but first I will indulge in a bit of whining. Far and away my hands took the biggest beating. First my left hand gloves get a few holes in it (hooks, teeth, spines, knife, etc) accompanied with relatively minor wounds to my hand underneath. This would be all right except now my gloves leak salt water and fish guts that inevitably turn minor wounds into gaping abrasions. Next the right, unaccustomed to hard labor, becomes incredibly sore between the hard grip on the lines and the long hours of work cleaning fish with the knife. The right hand wakes me up in the morning with cramps I haven't known since playing high school football. Fortunately solutions presented themselves in the form of a latex glove underneath the vinyl for the left hand to keep out the caustics and a steady influx of Advil to manage the swelling in the right. You all will be pleased to know the hands are fine now and undoubtedly stronger for the abuse.

Anyway a day in fishing. Ron either wakes me up early (a good sign as the fish are biting) or I sleep until I want to get out of bed (a bad sign that he needs no help). They day goes on until the fish stop biting which is often well after sunset. This makes for some long days (17 hours a couple times) in which it is all you can do to catch some sleep and a bite to eat when you just feel you can't stand up any longer. My job is to catch my fair share of fish, clean them, and then I drop them in the hold, arrange them into rows and layers with ice in between. In a good day day that's moving around over a thousand pounds of fish and about that much ice. When we a) fill the hold or b) run out of time as we can only keep the fish on ice for six days we go into unload. To unload I move our thousands of pounds of fish into a bucket that is lowered into the hold and then I shovel out the ton of ice left over. This said and done I scrub the hold with soap and water, bleach it, and fill it back up with crushed ice they send down a big hose into the hold. This by far is the most intense part of my job and I feel damn satisfied when I'm done. Ron says I go to fast but it is just one of those things you want to get over with. Last time we unloaded we started at two in the morning and it was well after six before it was all said and done.

Following the King season we took a couple days in Sitka to rest up and restock and I ended up catching a ride out to a little music festival last Friday night. I had a grand time playing frisbee, listening to the folk-country-blues-jam and meeting people (probably more than half the town was there)whose names are mostly lost to oblivion. I suppose I overcompensated for my social awkwardness with one or two too many beers and was more than relieved to find my way back to the boat that evening in one piece. Unfurtunately not before making at least one regretful phone call. C'est l'amour.

Since then we have been out for another five days to start catching Silver salmon (aka Coho). We didn't really get our full six days as the weather turned nasty and we did not catch as many fish as we could have but I will admit it was nice to slow things down a little. I began For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway and damn is it good. I am not done yet and I am all ready blown away by his storytelling. I am now in the midst of the Spanish Civil War in a way that I am sure would be entirely impossible without having actually fought on the front lines. Its really amazing the sort of stock our hero is putting in the support of Red Russia especially after reading what happened in Soviet occupied Poland as described by Milosz. Milosz called it however when he said that those outside of the Eastern Bloc could never really known what totalitarian rule was without living under it. To his credit Hemingway was no big subscriber to dialectics but if the Spanish knew what a Russian Europe would really look like the Fascists might not have seemed worth fighting against. the lesser of two evils I suppose. All we have today is to choose between the Republicans and Democrats. The lesson in the end seems to be stay clear of the extremes on either side of politics, but boy does that sound like a cop out when you want to get passionate about something in this world.

That rambling about sums it up, and if you thought it was long you should have seen the other one (I had even worked in an intermission to break things up a little). hope this satisfies for a time. Keep a heads up for the next one which if I have the wherewithal might have a action shots of fishing in action. Be seeing you.

shoot me now

I just spent three hours on a posting and deleted it with the click of a button. The library closes in 30 minutes and I will be gone again for one to two weeks. Maybe by then I will have recovered my compusure enough to rewrite it.

here is a nice sunset anyway. it looks grainy on this computer. just great.

A Glimpse of the Next Three Months

Well I must apologize for misleading all of you dear people but I am not as many of you may be thinking on my way to Alaska. No rather I am sitting in the Public Library in the bustling metropolis known as Port Angeles, WA. It turns out that Ron, the skipper of the boat I am working for, decided with the permission of the Washington Fish and Game folks to fish a few more days of the coast of Washington, and so I got my introductory experience in the ways of salmon trolling, and here is what transpired.

Following the short but spectacular ferry ride from Victoria to Port Angeles, Ron picked me up at the terminal and took me back to his home up and out of Port Angeles a ways. I was received with a warm hospitality and after doing my laundry, a much needed chore, picking up the articles Elaine was generous enough to forward to the house, and eating an excellent meal of baked salmon, we were driven out, picking up food supplies on the way, by Ron's wife to Neah Bay where Ron's boat the Ocean Dancer was moored.

I was given the rudimentary tour of the boat and made up my bunk in the cabin below the foredeck before Ron went to bed and I went out for a stroll along the rather remote streets of Neah Bay, an Indian reservation home to perhaps one the oldest tribes known to anthropologists. As typical the past glory of these once magnificent civilizations is scarcely reflected in the tired towns along our American highways. It was not a long walk and I was soon crawling into my bunk to dream of the unknown days looming before me.

The next day proved that much to my disappointment I was not immune to the ravages of sea sickness. I had not eaten Kraft Mac 'n' Cheese in many years and I think it will be many more before I do again. After several hours of running on rather turbulent seas we finally made the fishing grounds and it was not much later that I fell asleep exhausted from one of the most wretched days I can remember. The next day I was much better and by my third day at sea I felt once again that my internal balance had been restored and I was none the worse for the rolling of the boat.

The last few days at sea oscillated from long stretches of waiting for a fish to bite to more exciting personal battles between myself and the salmon that are now for the next several months my livelihood. Interspersed throughout were the various other operations of cleaning the decks, moving ice into and out of the hold, and cleaning packing and unloading eighty king salmon and about thirty halibut. By the time all was said and done, the boat moored in Port Angeles, I was more than a little exhausted despite eating and sleeping at least a time and half what I am used to, and Ron indicates that this is only the tip of the iceberg compared to the number of fish we will catch in Alaska. All in all I like the work and enjoy watching the fruits of my labor piling up in the hold and I look forward to the Alaskan fishing experience. Wish me luck.

On the literary front I have about concluded my pursuit of Melville, which comes highly recommended to anyone with the pretense for adventure, and I especially liked his short story The Piazza. I am now taking suggestions for my next pursuit so don't be shy in your recommendations as I have a few precious days with a handful of used bookstores at my fingertips.

I have the boat to myself the next few days as Ron is of course staying at his house, but offered to let me stay at the docks as it is closer to the heart of the town. No big plans for the next few days besides catching up on communications. Perhaps the next one will come with photos of the journey to Alaska.

Fare the well B.C.

First a shout out to the all the commenters out there. I really appreciate it and I probably would have dropped this thing a long time ago without you guys. Here's looking at you kid :)

Second this will be the last posting for a while as tomorrow I head to Port Angeles to board the Ocean Dancer and head up to Alaska. I think it is three days running to get to the fishing grounds and I just don't know when I will have access to a computer again.

I suppose I last left off in Ganges where I spent several days taking in the casual island living that is so easily had up here in B.C. I have to admit that I was more than ready to move on to Victoria. After packing up the campsite Tara hitchhiked down to Fulford Harbour and I rode my bicycle the few rolling miles through sun drenched farmlands and vineyards to met up again for the ferry ride to Swartz Bay. Again we parted as she took the city bus in to Victoria and I pedaled in. Any complaints of poor bicycle routes on Salt Spring Island were more than suppressed in greater Victoria where miles and miles of dedicated bike paths connect the outlying areas to the inner city. I rode nearly 20 miles without navigating a busy street as the regional trails snaked through farmland and parks and quiet residential streets all expertly connected to provide a safe alternative for bicycles and pedestrians.



Arriving in downtown Victoria I quickly found the Turtle Refuge Hostel shortly before 7 p.m. where Tara and I had agreed to meet, and found her waiting as patiently as she seems capable of. After unloading my gear we went out for dinner to a sort of country themed pub with peanut shells on the floor and a barman in overalls in a straw hat. The music was great with many lesser know Johnny Cash songs among other well respected country artists on the jukebox. the food was good and filling after averaging just over 15 mph for the 20 miles from the ferry to Victoria which had left me quite ravenous. After dinner and a few beers I was ready for a good nights sleep.

I awoke the next morning, much earlier than planned mind you, to the sounds of men working in the old brick building next to the hostel that is being turned into luxury lofts that are becoming all to common in cities all around North America and abroad I am sure. Tara took me out first for a large fried breakfast and then a walking tour of some here favorite parts of the city. We walked the water front to fisherman's wharf where a small neighborhood of houseboats are moored before rounding the point and walking out a long seawall with the shores of Washington state across the Juan de fuca Strait to the south where I am destined to head tomorrow. On we went through Beacon Park which was really quite lovely and reminiscent of the parks I saw in Europe and especially in Amsterdam with countless little ponds and bridges and fountains all about.

The long walk left us both exhausted and after buying some goods for dinner at the market and a bottle of Canadian wine (my first) we headed back to the hostel. We made a salad that was really quite good and ate dinner up on the westward facing deck on the second story that was just blanketed with sun as it was getting on in the day. The wine was sweet and dry and well suited to the warm evening. the Canadian cheese however was disappointing with little or no flavor to speak of. A far cry from the sheep's milk cheese I had on Salt Spring Island that with just a touch of blue struck quite the balance between stinky and smooth. Below a shot off the deck mentioned above.

Tara took off this morning to the north to begin her summer as a kayaking guide. I thoroughly enjoyed out time together, but I am a bit relieved to be on my own again if only for a short time. After more than a week of travelling solo it was nice to have some company, but I think that on ones own is really the best way to go when on the road.

I spent the majority of the day at the Maritime Museum, which seemed fitting as my life for the next few months will be on a boat, my last two weeks have been spent hopping from one coastal town to the next, and my literature the past several days has been set on Melville's high seas. I was delighted to find a model replica of of a "British 74" the boat on which Billy Bud's story is told. The museum sort of oscillated from excellent to shabby depending on the exhibits but was for the most part interesting and was only marred by incredible sneezing fits that plagued me all day. I must be allergic to the something up here in the pacific northwest. Here is that 74 I was talking about.
I am currently perched at the best Internet cafe I have found yet. Billiards, beer, and cyber terminals. What more could I really ask for. The day is waning and I think I will call it an early night what with needing to be at the ferry terminal at 8:30 in order to clear customs. So to all those I won't be able to talk with before I head out, farewell, and wish me good luck.

You know a town is New Age when its named after the holiest river in India

Be prepared for the long one.

So I have been holed up in Ganges on Salt Spring Island for the last two days. It is I think the largest Gulf Island off Vancouver Island and is situated a about 40 miles from downtown Victoria, and has quite the liberal attitude to it. More coffee shops and book stores per capita than I have seen anywhere else. Unfortunately he almighty car still rules the road here and bicycling although not unpleasant would be sublime if there were some bike lanes and the cars didn't drive so damn fast. Perhaps you wonder why I linger here instead of moving on to the allegedly very British city of Victoria? I well fill you in.

After an off day in Nanaimo catching up on communications and taking in a bit off reading I set off down the road without really considering the route I should be taking as I had plenty of time to make it to Victoria and instead just sticking to the coast as much as I could. The morning was cool with cloud cover and I past over several bridges crossing the various rivers and streams B.C. is trying to restore so the Salmon will come back. Below is a shot down the Nanaimo river with the train truss and some boats just hanging out in mid air. I welcome any theories why.


A bit farther down the road I stopped at a roadside farmers market and bought lunch and stuff for dinner including an incredible looking berry pie, just a mini mind you. There I met a fellow cyclists touring with the same book as I and we swapped stories of out travels thus far and talked about the relative merits of our bikes (he rode a converted aluminum cross bike).

Just a few miles down the road the threatening clouds ceased their intimidation and let loose there torrents on me. I stopped and donned my rain gear and had scarcely gone another five miles when my rear tire blew out. I had just been boasting of how well my tires had been treating me on and off road to the cyclist back down the road. Go figure. Fortunately I was just at one of those awful roadside rest stops with all manner of fast food and gasoline, and there was an umbrella set up outside for me to work under. It took some time and three patches before I gave up on that tube and replaced it with another.

Back on the road I passed through Crofton before realizing my route was taking me to Salt Spring Island and through the town of Ganges where Tara had departed for that morning from Nanaimo to take hey kayaking guide test. At the left is a photo from the top deck you can make out my bike in the top left of the photo. I had just rolled up to a market with the intention of finding an internet site where I might drop her a line when I heard my name and she came up behind me. She said she had just arrived and was amazed that I had left Nanaimo later, spent 50 dollars less than her on public transport and arrived at about the same time. She said she had found a camp ground just outside of town and invited me to join her and I did.

We spent the evening much the same as in Nanaimo wandering the docks and comparing menus before settling on the OysterCatcher where I had a lamb burger that was incredible and would warrant a second trip. The next morning I awoke to find the berry pie I had bought had been devoured by the crows that had been annoying me since the early hours of the morning. Who would have thought the old adage to be true. I guess crows know a pie when they see it.


The next day she took me kayaking. She paid my rental fees and in return I let her practice her rescues on me which involved flipping upside down in my kayak and letting her help me back in. After the first terrifying flip I got used to the sensation and the water was actually pretty pleasant. The sun had come out after it had rained all night and been overcast all morning, and the whole experience was a really quite fun for my first turn in a kayak. The weather held all day and after taking showers and doing some laundry we went back to camp and turned in early. Up above is me reading while waiting for my laundry to dry. Here is a photo of our camp and one of Tara doing some last minute studying by lamplight.





The next day, yesterday now (I am finally caught up), Tara went off all day for her exam and I contented myself wandering about town, visiting the Saturday market, drinking coffee, and reading and writing. I finished the Hemingway book I bought in Nanaimo and started in on Billy Bud by Melville at Alex's suggestion. The style certainly took some getting used to after going down the ladder of grammatical complexity from Joyce to Hemingway and then being launched in to the antiquated and rambling prose of Melville. He does have a witty and often wry phrasing I find satisfying and often comic once I get used to it.

A day of sitting around all day had made me restless and so I took the bike out for a couple hours to tour the Island around sunset and these next photos are all from that ride.
























I had planned on moving down to Victoria but I let myself be convinced to stay on another day while Tara completed her exam so that we could have some fun tonight and tomorrow. The campsite is cheap and I like the little town of Ganges so it wasn't a hard decision. Besides my departure date from Port Angeles, has been moved back to the 8th leaving me with plenty of time to get to Victoria and from there it is a short ferry ride to Port Angeles. I am decked out in my cycling gear today and I am going out to do some of the modest peaks on the Island.

Savary Island across the Strait and to Nanaimo

After a magnificent nights rest on the beach on Savary I arose early to make a breakfast of burnt eggs and stale english muffins before packing up and catching the water taxi back to Lund on the mainland at 8 o'clock. Above is my bike off the beach waiting to be loaded. I met some real characters on the ride back to Lund, folks who had been living on the Island for many years bringing all their goods in tubs by boat and taking their waste out the same way. They all seemed happy to be living off the grid but within the reach of civilization. One fellow named Dallas offered me a ride back to Powell River where he was getting some tires fixed. I had already ridden the road to Lund and had not been looking forward to riding it back so I gladly accepted. We spoke the whole way back and he gave me the impression he didn't often get a chance to talk that much as he lived alone on the Island and hadn't many friends as he didn't smoke or drink. Below is the view off the dock from Lund to Savary Island and as you can see it is much darker on the mainland than on Savary.

Once back in Powell River I looked up an aluminum welder whom to which I was referred as I had broken my rear rack some time back. Probably on the miles of off roading with two heavy bags hanging off it. Larry the Tugboat showed up at his shop after I had waited an hour at the door. He jumped out of his van drinking a beer and after taking a look at my rack said it wasn't worth fixing a cheap piece of aluminum like that. He proceeded to wrap some zip-ties to hold the broken struts to the top portion of the rack, and the rack has held fine since. He recommended steel in the future.

I caught the noon ferry to Comox from Powell River(the shot at left is on that crossing) and after taking a wrong turn that led me 15 miles out of my way I finally got on to the Old Highway that runs down Vancouver Island. My legs were well rested as I had only done 20-30 mile days for two previous days, and I made good time to the Denman Island ferry averaging 11 mph despite the head wind. After stocking up on food at the market I took the ferry over to Denman Island. I had intended to go over to Hornsby Island from there but I was late for the last ferry. The park on Denman was fine though and after a short stroll on the beach I soon fell asleep only to be awoken by the steward who collected 17 dollars from me for the site. This was my first time to pay to camp and was a little sore at the fee as I can stay in hostel for not much more. I was soon fast asleep and slept a good 12 hours that night.

The next morning I had planned to catch a bite at one of the local cafe, unfortunately one was closed on Tuesday and the other had shut its doors permanently the week before. Instead I made a breakfast of coffee and a pastry from the local market where I was approached by a salty old sailor who filled my ears for tips to stay warm and safe on a salmon troller where he had spent many a season until the B.C. fisheries collapsed. After our talk I promised him a postcard and set out to catch the 9:30 ferry back to Vancouver Island. Its a short ride and I was soon on my way to Nanaimo. I made good time again as the land is more flat going down the island than it was going up the Sunshine Coast, and I was in Nanaimo checking into the Painted Turtle Hostel before 5.

The ride was over 60 miles and I was right tired. After showering, a trip to the grocery, and a stop at the pub round the corner (where some surly sailor tried to get me going), I was ready for bed.

I awoke the next morning and made eggs over cabbage. A poor rendition of a dish from Smokey Joe's in Berkeley that is sadly no more. I split my day between the local cafe reading The Dubliners and the local internet spot catching up on this blog. A lot of work I'll have you know. I strolled the streets of Nanaimo a bit but hardly left the four block area around the hostel.

In the evening I met a girl named Tara who was staying at the hostel and we went out for drinks and dinner wandering around the harbor and eventually taking a short water taxi over to Protection Island to the Dinghy Dock Pub were sailors could moor their sailboats right in front before coming in for food and drink. The weather was wet which precluded photos. The good drafs and easy conversation made for a pleasant evening.