I first visited the ruins at Keet Seel in 2001. I had read up on how fascinating the ruins were, after all they are the largest most well preserved Anasazi ruins in Arizona and I really wanted to see them. I was grossly overweight at the time and while hiking the trail I swore if I got out of there alive I would never go back. In the next four years or so I managed to drop a lot of weight and since 2001, including this last time, I have hiked this trail 4 times. Each time vowing I will never do it again. But I found myself drawn to go out there yet again, with a group of Sierra Club hikers. I organized the trip and made it perfectly clear how tough it was. I do it in a two day backpacking trip, Memorial Day Weekend usually works out well, where we spend the first night camped at the Navajo National Monument visitor’s center campground. The next day bright and early we start in on the hike to make it out to the campground near the ruin by at least 3:30 so we can grab the last tour of the day. As people tend to be destructive, they only allow a guided tour of this ruin and you go up with a ranger. I posted the event in the Sierra calendar earlier in the year to secure participants and to make sure I got permits for 10. The permits are free and there is a 20 person limit per day with a 10 person limit per group. I defined this explicitly in the description and the trip rapidly filled up and there was a waiting list. I tried to keep everyone well informed about the trip and made sure they knew the rules. Also to re-iterate the participant limit and the fact there was a waiting list, so to please let me know if they were going to cancel. I still ended up with three people calling in sick at the last moment, and one complete no-show. I hate that. Not the calling in sick, because you can’t help it if you get Ebola or anthrax and can’t hike, it’s the no-call-no-show cavalier blowing it off that torques me.

This is not a backpacking trip for the beginning backpacker. When you call for permits, Navajo National Monument will send you a packet with information about the trail. Keet Seel is one of the best preserved ancestral pueblo villages in the Southwest. It is located 8.5 miles from the Visitor Center. The hike is rugged and strenuous despite it being mostly flat. You have to wade through livestock-fouled waters with some pockets of quicksand which you don’t know are there until you step in one. But, what I find encouraging is that the trail is marked by mile posts spaced about every 1 to ½ miles. From Tsegi Point, the trail drops sharply by 700 feet according to the ranger at the visitor’s center, but when you get to the trailhead you are informed that now it is 1000 feet from the canyon rim to the canyon floor on rocky switchbacks and sand dunes. How it got 300 feet higher inside of a few hours remained a question for thought among us hikers. Once in the canyon, the route then follows shallow streams and gradually rises 400 feet over the last 5.5 miles of the trail. Walking through water is unavoidable so I always encourage water proof hiking boots, otherwise plan on getting your feet wet. You have a choice on the final two miles to either take the upper trail where you walk mainly in sand and cross several deep sandy gullies, or stick to the creek where you go through the chasm of quicksand. In rainy weather you have to take the upper trail as there is no escaping flash floods on the lower trail at that point. They say to allow at least 4-6 hours hiking time each way, an hour to rest and have lunch, and about one hour to tour Keet Seel. The site tours normally start around 9:30am and are conducted throughout the day as people arrive. Quicksand, climbing up waterfalls, walking in smelly livestock fouled waters you can’t drink so you have to pack about 20lbs of water with you? Dangerous cliffs, flash floods, hypothermia, overheating, rock falls, collapsing dirt banks, mountain lions, and cantankerous cattle? What are we doing? Why do this, one may ask?

Well, it’s an adventure and it’s fun! It is also jam-packed with awesome views of the most breathtaking scenery you have ever seen. I had been contemplating leaving Arizona in the next year or so, but the landscape in the Navajo Nation made me fall in love with Arizona all over again. I think I just hate Phoenix. I started prepping for the trip during the week, as being a Lady of Leisure (i.e. unemployed) and went to REI to shop for hiker chow. Hiker chow comes in packets where you simply add boiling water, seal the pouch for about 6-9 minutes and viola, a gourmet meal awaits you after a long day of hiking. It’s usually high calorie as it’s meant to replenish your energy after all that hiking. There are several brands, Mountain House usually my favorite. I usually get the beef stroganoff and for breakfast the blueberry granola as all you have to do there is add cold water. But this time a pouch labeled “Biscuits and Gravy” caught my eye. Hmmm…..I love biscuits and gravy for breakfast. So I took that one. I bought the single serving of beef stroganoff and a packet of powdered milk so I could have milk in my coffee as well. When I got to the cash register I was delighted to find out that I had REI dividend credits available so the food cost me nothing! REI operates as kind of a co-op and every time you buy something you get credits toward a dividend you can use to purchase other things. As my finances are limited, this was a blessing. What serendipity, as the whole weekend turned out to have! I got my pack ready with all 30lbs of water and my other gear. I had borrowed a Big Agnus backpack tent from a friend as I was thinking about buying it from him. I would still like to buy it from him, but as it is, right now I ain’t got no money. So he let me use it for the weekend and I really liked it. Saturday morning I headed over to Bernie’s place to leave my car and pile in with Mike, Kirby and Bernie to carpool to the meeting location with everyone else. Everyone else turned out to be Ron (The Professor) and Diane (Gilligan). Just kidding. Ron is indeed a professor and Diane did get stuck in quicksand as Gilligan often did, but I am getting ahead of my story. When I got there, the boys were tying things to the roof of the SUV. After much re-arranging we got under way. Diane drove her SUV and Ron rode with her and Mike, Kirby, Bernie, and I rode together. We re-grouped at a vegetarian restaurant in Flagstaff called Macy’s. When they mentioned Macy’s I thought, the department store? Odd. But Macy’s is a popular vegetarian hangout in Flagstaff, very bohemian, and you can get some good coffee and pretty decent vegetarian cuisine. It’s like dining at the automat though, as you go up and order at a counter and if your order is for a hot dish, they hand it to you to go zap in the microwave. I ordered broccoli and cheddar quiche and it took about three tries in the microwave to get it heated up. But it was delicious as most anything there is. I am not vegetarian but can go that way sometimes, whereas Ron is vegetarian but will make exceptions sometimes, especially if it’s Haggis. We ate/drank up and headed for Tuba City to eat yet again.

Tuba City is on the Navajo Reservation in Northern Arizona. The Navajo name for Tuba City, Tó Naneesdizí translates as “tangled waters” which probably refers to the many springs below the surface of the ground which are the source of several reservoirs. Tuba City is located within the Painted Desert. Most of Tuba City’s residents are Navajo with some Hopi. The written history of the town goes back more than 200 years. When Father Francisco Garcés visited the area in 1776, he recorded that the Indians were cultivating crops. The name of the town actually honors Tuuvi, a Hopi Headman from Oraibi. Chief Tuuvi converted to Mormonism around 1870, and invited the Mormons to settle near Moenkopi. The present-day town of Tuba City was founded by the Mormons around 1870. In 1956 Tuba City became a uranium boomtown as the regional office for the Rare Metals Corporation and the Atomic Energy Commission. Five miles to the west of Tuba City is an attraction involving dinosaur tracks. Kirby very much wanted to stop and look but we were kind of on a time constraint to get to Navajo in time for the trail orientation. You must attend an orientation to gain your permit to hike to Keet Seel. But we did stop for lunch at Kate’s Cafe, renown for it’s hamburgers and sometimes hair in the food, but this time our plates were hair-free. I ordered the amusing secret recipe soup which involved cabbage, potatoes, celery, onion, and what looked like baco-s. A cup of that and a piece of classic Indian Fry Bread and I was set. Ron made an exception to the vegetarian rule and had a bowl of the soup as well. It was graduation day in Tuba City and everyone seemed to converge on Kate’s for after ceremony eats. Some oldsters dressed in their traditional Navajo attire, but most were dressed in modern clothing. There was one girl, a graduate I am sure, dressed in a traditional costume and she looked beautiful. I wish I could have taken her photo but it might have been a little insulting. I thought of a fair trade where she could take my photo dressed in traditional Biligana (white man) attire of jeans, Keen sandals and a PADI Total Submersion T-shirt. But who wants a picture of a stranger in a t shirt and jeans in their photo collection? But, teens will be teens as we noticed and there was a large table with a row of young boys all busy text messaging during their lunch.

The Mowry Gang

We set off from there for the roughly hour’s drive to Navajo National Monument. When we arrived we went immediately to the visitor’s center for orientation and to claim our permits. The sky was pretty threatening and I began thinking of contingency plans as the trail to Keet Seel is treacherous enough on a good day much less with flash flood possibilities. I was hoping for the weather to clear up. As we were waiting for our orientation, another hiking group showed up headed up by Mike’s arch rival, the Evil Don Mowry. Mike and Don apparently have a little competitive blood between them with regards to hiking. As in, who can go the fastest. I personally don’t understand the reasoning behind power hiking unless it’s for exercise. I am content to lumber along at my own pace. Every time Mike would mention something about competing with Don, Kirby would start whistling the theme to “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” which was fairly hilarious.

We camped out at the Sunset View campground where there are no ground fires allowed, so we all turned in fairly early after feasting on shared dished I urged everyone to bring. I didn’t sleep very well, as I never do on camp-outs, and I was stressing on what the weather was going to be like and whether or not we would be forced into taking the dreaded upper trail which I heard was far more strenuous than the river. But the next morning was sunny and looked promising. The Mowry Gang was packed up and ready to head out long before us and that did not bode well for the Mike/Mowry rivalry. Things were a bit of a kerfufel that morning with regards to finding battery packs, lost car keys, malfunctioning hiking poles, and various and sundry delays. Kirby is an avid photobug and couldn’t find his extra batteries for his camera. Then Diane couldn’t get her tent poles to lengthen and stay that way, and Mike saw Bernie’s car keys laying on the ground and he picked them up and put them in his pocket. Diane gave up on the hiking poles as not even the engineering genius Professor Ron could even fix them. Bernie urged us to move forward and they would catch up as soon as Kirby found his batteries. I was confident they would as I know Bernie can hike at a pretty good clip, and I don’t.

We started down the road which is about a half mile approach trail to the actual trail head. The trailhead is for Keet Seel and Betatakin Ruins. Betatakin is located roughly across from the visitor’s center in another canyon. It is an expansive ruin and I must return some day to explore it. It is a ranger led only tour as well but a day hike so you can camp out and hike and come back and camp some more, or take a room at the nearby Anasazi Inn in the hamlet of Tsegi.

When you start down the trail, you get a spectacular view of Dowozhiebiko (pronounced Dowozhiebiko) Canyon. This canyon leads out to the hamlet of Tsegi where the local ranchers can access the canyons via horse, truck or ATV and check on their cattle and horses. The cattle and horses are the reason no one can filter the water in Laguna Creek. There are also traces of heavy metals as in uranium, and no filter can get that out. I have had hikers on previous trips argue with me about this and the fact they think it would be perfectly okay to filter the water. I decided that if I had anyone on this trip like that I would say, go ahead and drink it. They signed the waiver and by the time they get giardiasis we’ll have access to medical resources. It is a drag to haul all that water, but a necessary evil.

We descended the cliff to the canyon floor and when we got to the junction of Betatkin trail and the continuation of the Keet Seel trail Bernie was sprinting toward us asking if we knew where her keys were. Mike of course had them and she had not locked the car because she didn’t know where they were. We decided that it would be best to lock the car as valuables such as my purse were in there, so Mike dropped his pack, headed back up and locked the car. I was confident he would catch up as he is a machine and is continuously honing his hiking speed to gain advantage on Mowry.

We reached the first of about 500 water crossings and began the trek down Dowozhiebiko Canyon to the junction of Keet Seel Canyon. It is marked by three white posts, the first of which is just beyond the first water crossing. You follow the white posts and they will guide you into the correct canyon. We slogged in and out of the creek trying to avoid the quicksand but sometimes we would find ourselves getting sucked in. It isn’t like quicksand you see on Gilligan’s Island where it looked like oatmeal, nor like in Tarzan movies where all you would see was the pith helmet of the explorer unfortunate enough to fall into it. This looks like solid damp sand and when you jab your hiking pole into it a few times it gets to looking like chocolate pudding. If you step in it you start sinking and it grips pretty hard. I’ve heard of people leaving shoes behind they could no longer find after getting stuck in quicksand. The quicksand has never been much of an issue in the previous times I’ve hiked this trail, but this was the rainiest I’ve seen it and the quicksand develops after it rains. Peachy.

We regrouped at the Big Waterfall, which about 35ft high and you have to climb up around it. From the top it’s about 2 miles to the campground. The decision had to be made of the upper trail or the lower trail. I had never hiked on the upper trail as I am lazy and this one has always been reported to be more difficult. By this time on the trail I am usually fairly knackered and the thought of trundling up deep sandy hills doesn’t appeal to me in the very least. It wasn’t raining, nor did it look like rain in any direction so it was decided that the probability of a flash flood was slim. In places like Arizona and anywhere in the desert southwest, it doesn’t have to be raining right there on you for danger of a flash flood to be imminent. It can be raining 30 miles away and flood waters can drain into the gullies and washes leading right to your feet and sweep you away never to be heard from again. It’s happened time and again to the hapless traveler in cars crossing washes, and hikers and campers unlucky enough to be caught in such a place.

We decided to risk it. There are some interesting rock falls and a couple more beautiful waterfalls on the lower trail. I didn’t consider that the quicksand would be waiting in quiet repose for us after all the rain in the previous days. We passed the turnoff for the upper trail and headed in to the narrows, also known now as the Chasm of Quicksand. We would sink a bit here and there approaching the next to largest waterfall and when I tried to lead the way up the waterfall that I was familiar with I sank past the tops pf my boots in quicksand. For a couple of lively moments I stepped in and out of it trying to escape but there seemed to be nowhere to go to get away from it. I would get sucked in everywhere I went! My legs charley-horsed and it was painful struggling to get out, especially with a heavy pack on. I finally freed myself as the others cheered on, and I got up the waterfall. I was able to wash my boots off in the rushing water and was looking forward to getting settled in to camp and taking those nasty boots off at this point. We continued and Diane chose poorly a route in the creek between two large boulders. The next thing I know she’s mumbling some expletives and is almost up to her mid-thighs in the suck. The rest of us dropped our packs and attempted a rescue. She was able to free herself a bit, we took her pack and camera so she could free herself easier from the muck. This was getting to be like a trip down the Amazon on The African Queen. Of course without a boat.

We made it to the campsite without incident and it was decided then and there we would be exiting the next morning on the upper trail.

The Mowry Gang was already there and had taken the large picnic table though there were only four of them and six of us. They were gracious though and offered up space at their table but Mike refused saying we were content with our four man table. No way were we breaking bread with The Mowry Gang! We set up tents and took some rest before the tour of the ruin. The last time I went out here I opted out of the ruin tour as I had been two times before. But there was a special ranger there this time and Ron had indicated he knew where the spring was that the rangers used to get water and if the ranger wasn’t looking he would show me. They used to let hikers replenish water there but after finding discarded shampoo bottles and various other pieces of garbage, they made it off limits. After reaching the ruins we decided against breaking the rules and sneaking downstream. I am not really in a financial capacity to pay tribal fines for violating permits to see a spring, even if there are petroglyphs to see.

The ranger that was there was named Steve Hayden. He was busy with The Mowry Gang and we waited at a scenic overlook for them to return. When they approached one of them said, “Oh, you all finally made it” to which Ron replied, “We’ve been here for hours, even had a nap”. Mike looked at Don and said “Hello, Mowry” and darned if Mowry didn’t just snub him. This meant war, obviously, and Mike had the eagle eye on him the rest of the time.

Ranger Steve’s grandfather , Irwin was in charge of the excavation along with his son who took pictures. Ranger Steve is now working on a book about the endeavor. It was a treat to have such a tour guide. He was able to explain all the politics involved and the things his grandfather and father experienced while working at the site. I tried to con him into letting us go to the Turkey Alcove and Turkey Cave just upstream as they are unexcavated and I have always wanted to see a pristine ruin. These sites are probably not completely pristine as the likes of the Wetherhills and others have been rummaging around these parts for nearly 200 years. Steve informed us that the site could be closed at any time as the safety is precarious at best. You have to climb a 70 foot ladder held to the cliff facing with bailing wire at best. As soon as you ascend the 70 foot wall of hell, you are on insidious ground as erosion and unstable ruin walls make it a delicate tour at best.

Once we completed the tour it was back down the ladder of death to the base of the ruin. We marched it back to camp despite my extreme desire to break the rules and sneak over to the Turkay Alcove, but why risk a tribal fine? We dines on our various pouches of hiker chow and believe me, that freeze dred stuff can be pretty tasty after a grueling, laborous hike though mud and quicksand.

Biscuits and Gravy

The next morning brought on the biscuit and gravy project. As mentioned earlier, hiker chow is meant to be simple. Then when I read the method of preparation for the biscuits and gravy I was ready to have beef jerky for breakfast and call it even. There were not one but two pouches involved, lowering heat to a simmer was involved and dropping the dough into the gravy was involved. It was more like dumplings and gravy instead of biscuits and gravy. I managed to cook some of them and shared with Ron but gave the remainder a Christian burial out in the woods. I need to interject here the difficulty in lowering a camp stove to a “simmer” as well. The things are meant to boil water and that is about all. Emeril would not be using a camp stove, there just aren’t enough heat settings. Boil n eat. That’s about all backpacking food should involve.

We stayed on the upper trail on the way out and it proved to be a much better choice. When I go back next year (did I just admit to that?) I am using the upper trail both in and out. Mike took off ahead of everyone and I was confident he was going to catch up the the Mowry Gang, but Ron and I caught up to him and Diane along the way. Ron and I hiked together for a long time having philosophical discussions about such deep topics as cosmology and dating websites. We crossed the sand dune near the swampy area dn there was something on the ground ahead of us that looked bloody and was drawing flies. We stared at the bio-mass for a good long while, and I mentioned it looked like a job for CSI as I couldn’t make heads or tails, literally, of what it may have been. Ron snapped a couple of pictures and we were off. Later that evening over dinner in Flagstaff we decided it must have been some sort of afterbirth.

At the base of the cliff, we offloaded what would have been extra water and we all started up. I fell behind almost immediately as I was very tired. I hiked up alone for the most part left to daydream and ponder things and I couldn’t decide what ate my lunch more. The sand dunes that went straight up the hill or the steep stair switchbacks. I eventually made it to the top, thinking, never again, but I have a feeling that wasn’t my last trek to Keet Seel ruins.

For a full pictorial, click here.

Until the next adventure,
The ScubaJedi

Two of my favorite things to do in this life are SCUBA and hiking/camping/backpacking. Okay that’s four things, but I can combine hiking with camping via backpacking. This past weekend I was able to go hiking and go scuba diving. Talk about a great weekend. There’s scant little that could have made it better, but I’ll keep that to myself. Today I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.

I lead a group hike out to Parson’s Spring in the Verde Valley. The trail goes along a year round spring with a number of good swimming areas. It was a little nippy out there to be swimming, at least for adults. At one point when we stopped for lunch at an overhang to a deep water hole there were some kids jumping in and screaming when they hit the water.

The day started out kind of chilly and remained that way until later afternoon. Of course we were going to the higher elevations and therefore it was even colder. The last time I did this trail it was later in the spring and way too hot. It is difficult to determine when a great time would be to hike in this area as it does get really hot, and the water is inviting and beautiful but the hike would kill you with heat. Then when you go when we went this past weekend of April 4, it was cool enough to enjoy the hike but you really can’t get in the water with anything less that a dry suit unless you’re a teenager.

I had at one time a full hike as Sierra Club only allows 20 people on a hike, and that is for good reason. Impact on the environment, and as a leader, wrangling more that that becomes too much of a challenge. As usual, I ended up with 8 people showing up. Some were courteous enough to call and bail, others just blew it off. So, next time you want to sign up for one of my hikes and you don’t give a shit about commitment and responsibility, save your strength flakester. Go with Meet Up or some other slap dash irresponsible disorganized group if you can’t even be polite enough to notify the organizer that you’re too boozed up and partied out from Friday night to go on the hike. I don’t care. I just don’t like being stood up by rude, irresponsible amateurs. Neither do the other outings leaders, makes us not want to bother organizing these outing.

Anyway, enough of the soapbox pet peeve rant. The people that did show up were of the finest quality. They were good sports about precarious river crossings and hanging on the edge of a small cliff. There was an alternate way of going through one part of the trail but I like the narrow ledge because it’s more fun. I was subject to a stoning from the other hikers, but they survived as I knew they would.

The trail goes on for about 4 miles then gets really hard to follow. I usually stop at a certain point when the hikers become whiny and ask how much further. Further to what? I ask….you can keep going forever. We turned around and headed back to the cars. Afterwards we went to Jerome to eat the The Haunted Hamburger, a popular restaurant that was once a guest house in the mining days. Jerome was mining camp established on the side of Cleopatra Hill in 1883. It was named for Eugene Murray Jerome, a New York investor who owned the mineral rights and financed mining there. Eugene Jerome never visited his namesake town. Jerome was incorporated as a town on the 8th of March, 1889. Local merchant and rancher William Munds was the first mayor. The town housed the workers in the nearby United Verde Mine, which was to produce over 1 billion dollars in copper, gold and silver over the next 70 years. Jerome became a notorious “wild west” town, a hotbed for prostitution, gambling and vice. There has never been a more wretched hive of scum and villany.

The town eventually deteriorated and today it’s a quaint retreat with B&B’s and art and craft shop, and oh yes, The Haunted Hamburger. Many of the towns buildings are reputed to be haunted.

It was late getting back and I barely had time for 40 winks before I had to get up and go hit the lake for a morning of scuba diving. Lake Pleasant is an articial resevior first created by the Waddell Dam, which was finished in 1928. The lake originally had a surface area of 3,700 acres and served as a private irrigation project. At 76 feet high and 2,160 feet long, the original Waddell Dam was, at its completion, the largest agricultural dam project in the world. The lake was filled by the Agua Fria River, capturing a large watershed throughout Yavapai County.

A new dam was completed in 1993 which tripled the surface area of the lake. Lake Pleasant is used as a major water sports recreation center for the Phoenix metro area, as well as serving as an important storage reservoir for the rapidly growing region. A number of boat docks make the lake a popular destination for water skiing, jet skiing, sailing and other water sports, and the lake is stocked with a number of fish for angling purposes. The lake is also popular for scuba divers in the Phoenix area, as it is the only lake with marginal visibility. As it is an articial lake, there is a lot of silt and frankly, it’s is kind of neat in a creepy way to see a flooded canyon. It’s like going on a hike under water. Many desert plants are still there and if you go too shallow you end up picking burrs off your wetsuit. Palo Verde trees and Ocotillo plants are still down there and it makes for an interesting dive. There are also some fish as evidenced by the fishing people who boat around the lake and have no clue what a diver down flag means. At one point when a fishing boat was going over the top of our bubbles, Karen who was on surface support, mentioned to them that there were divers right below. They smiled affably and said, “Oh, is that what those bubbles are” and continued their motoring with the fishing lines dangling in. Stoooopid!

The lake was very choppy when we started out on the pontoon craft. There are a couple of operators who the local dive shops use to take students getting their open water certifications and today I was with The Scubateers. They are really nice people and provide tanks and weights and a boat. Shore diving on Lake Pleasant, at least in my experience, really sucks. So it’s worth it to get ona boat. I was thinking about buying a couple of tanks, but I can’t even look after my regulator properly so imagine how badly I’d treat a cylinder.

I set up my gear and lo and behold, my reg was all jacked up. The spare air was free flowing so we ended up taking the low pressure hose off and putting an octo on. I have a regulator with two hoses, one for the second stage and one for the low pressure hose that attaches to my BC providing my spare air. So I was going to have to inflate my BC manually. (A BC is the vest where all your scuba crap attaches and it inflates to compensate for buoyancy). Then I get geared up and ready to splash and my second stage won’t allow me to exhale. Fuck. So I stepped back and began troubleshooting. I guess I had not really rinsed my reg out well enough after my last ocean dive and there was some salty buildup. I soaked the thing, as you do, but not well enough. We got it cleaned out and I was able to hook my low pressure hose back up and even though the second stage was still hissing (leaking) I was able to complete two dives. So, Mr Regulator will be back in the shop today for service to make sure it’s all working properly for my real dive trip to Grand Cayman next month.

The lake is good for testing gear like that. Better to find out then if your gear is wonky then out in the ocean on a dive boat on a trip where you can’t do anything about it but rent gear from a local shop. My new fins worked out really well though and I think I will be able to ditch the additional ankle weights that helped keep my legs from floating upwards. It’s a double edged sword in the idea that I won’t have to bring the additional weight on an airplane where they charge you for wearing shoes these days, but the new fins are heavier and so I end up with as much weight as if I brought the ankle weights. But, I don’t have to mess with wearing extra gear.

The water was cold and murky as usual, but I had a great time, as usual. I’ll probably go out for one more dive on the lake before going to the Caymans.

Until the next adventure,

The ScubaJedi

For a full pictorial of this adventure, click HERE

How Do You Kill a Saturday Morning?

I had never spent too much time in San Diego other than to go to the zoo. So the opportunity arose where I could attend (and speak) at a conference for Financial Professionals in San Diego and I took it. Being purely mercenary, of course, I thought, I can go a day early and get in a morning of diving. I booked three dives aboard The Marissa for Sunday morning, March 22 and bought some extra gear for cold water. I needed a 7mm suit and I got some new fins that are slightly negatively buoyant because in all the neoprene you’re going to bob like a cork unless you’re really leaded down.

So after carefully planning my trip and my diving etc, buying a thick wetsuit and the fins (close to $500.) I get a call Friday afternoon saying the dive trip was canceled due to weather. I was disappointed to say the least. On the bright side, they called before I schlepped all that gear only to find out that we weren’t going. So now I had to figure out how to entertain myself in lieu of scuba diving. A friend mentioned that he heard there was a pretty respectable aquarium in the area so I thought I would check that out as a consolation prize.

The flight is pretty short to San Diego and we were on US Airways. I have never experienced an airline that can nickel and dime you to death than US Airways. I went ahead and paid for a first class upgrade on the way out and therefore was spared the cost of checking a bag. Yes, the COST of checking a bag. Pure rip-off plain and simple. I am going to whine for a little bit here. For years and years it was no extra cost to check a bag. Now all of a sudden they charge you for it no matter what it is, even a small gym bag. So as a result people are bringing the kitchen sink on board the aircraft, yet they discourage carry ons. So what are we supposed to do? Go naked and bring nothing with us and just buy everything we need, including clothing when we arrive at our destination? With all the terrorist hoaxes and scares they have restricted what you can bring to the point where I can’t bring Listerine. So I have to go shopping the minute I get anywhere to buy simple things I could have brought from home but can’t because if I check it it will cost and extra fee and I can’t take it on board. WTF?? So anyway, air travel just isn’t any fun any more. I think I am going to learn to fly a Gyro copter and fly myself around. How hard can that be?

We got there at 9am and had until 2pm to goof off until we could get into the conference center and set up our booth. My co-workers, Frank and Charlene, wanted to go see Shamu. I thought that would be fun as I hadn’t been to Sea World in a very long time. We checked in to our respective rooms and decided to meet down in the lobby. By the time we got there we decided it was probably too late to go see Shamu, so we went for a stroll through a shopping/dining area and then down to the USS Midway. We stopped in every candy and ice cream shop along the way.

The USS Midway(CVB/CVA/CV-41) was an aircraft carrier of the United States Navy, the lead ship of her class, and the first to be commissioned after the end of World War II. Active in the Vietnam War and in Desert Storm, as of 2008 she is a museum ship in San Diego, California. She is the only remaining US aircraft carrier of the World War II era that is not an Essex-class ship.

Midway was laid down 27 October 1943 by Newport News Shipbuilding Co., Newport News, Virginia. Her revolutionary hull design was based on what would have been the Montana class battleships and gave her superior maneuverability over all previous carriers. She was launched 20 March 1945; sponsored by Mrs. Bradford William Ripley, Jr.; and commissioned 10 September 1945, Captain Joseph F. Bolger in command (Wikipedia, 2009).

We paid our $17 and hopped aboard.

Charlene got a military discount because of her stint in the Walking Army, as we Navy folk call them. There are many stairs on a carrier and it is not friendly to the physically challenged, so we had to listen to Frank kvetch every time we went up and down stairs. The start of the tour, which is self guided, is on the hangar deck. There were a couple of planes in there and I wondered how they got them up to the top deck where they could take off. There was a small yellow plane as you came in where they would take your photo then sell it to you later. Of course we bought our photos, we were such a striking looking trio.

I visited The Midway in the 1970s when I was a kid and it was docked at Mayport, FL. I remember running through the corridors like you do when you’re a kid loose on an aircraft carrier, and tripping on the bottoms of the the water tight doors. Each doorway is closed with a water tight hatch and therefore you have to step up to go through the doorways. We walked through the “racks” where sailors sleep it off after shore leave and I think those were the original mattresses from 1945. We went down to the bowels of the ship to have a look at the engine room where my dad spent most of his time as he was a Chief Warrant Officer positioned in the engine room of the ships he was on in the Navy. The only aircraft carrier my father was on was the USS Lexington, which was sunk during the Battle of the Coral Sea in 1942. Fortunately for him (and me and my brother) he was reassigned to the USS Lamberton before the sinking.

There was a simulator area and two choices for pretending to fly an actual aircraft. One was a “ride” and the other was an actual intro class where you were briefed for about 30 minutes before flying your F-16. I really wanted to do it, especially if Captain Handsome who was running the show would have joined me. I am sure he was retired Navy as active Navy fliers are too busy with all the war going on. But macho, handsome, and hunky nonetheless, very Top Gun. I like ’em arrogant and cocky. Especially in a flight suit.

After the Midway we decided it was nap time. Then it was booth set up time, then it was dinner time. What a life.

The next day the conference officially started, but not until noon. So I spent the morning at the aquarium in La Jolla. I took the rental car and drove up the I-5 to La Jolla, which also boasts of good diving areas. I was pleased to see the Pacific storm rolling in as promised so I wouldn’t feel too sore at not being able to dive that day.

Birch Aquarium at Scripps (sometimes referred to as Scripps Aquarium or Birch Aquarium) is the public exploration center for the world-renowned Scripps Institution of Oceanography at the University of California, San Diego. Accredited by the Association of Zoos and Aquariums, Birch Aquarium at Scripps has an annual attendance of about 400,000, including more than 77,000 school children, most of them there that day it seemed, and features more than 5,000 animals representing 380 species. The hilltop site provides spectacular views of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography campus and the Pacific Ocean, where I could see the fog, wind, and rolling waves.

Birch Aquarium can’t compare to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago, but it had to suffice in lieu of me actually diving in with the kelp.

Afterward, I headed back to the Hyatt and into my conference wear. A staggeringly ugly green golf shirt and some black pants. I got to hang out and talk about CRM software to passers by for the rest of the afternoon. After the aquarium, this trip got dull fast as all we did was hang out at the conference and eat. I did a talk for a workshop on Monday and I won’t bore you with the gory details from that.

Maybe next time, I’ll have an actual adventure to write about.

The ScubaJedi

11 First Dates

So a workmate and I decided we would go to a speed dating event. It was to take place on a weekday night and the venue was not far from where we work. The premise of speed dating is you sit with a person for a very short amount of time and talk and get to know each other as much as possible in 5-8 minutes. This particular one gave you 6 minutes to talk with the other person. Six minutes can be either very long or very short. At the end of the evening you turn in a list of who you think you want to see again and they compare it with the others lists and see if there are any matches. The only way they will notify you is if there is a mutual match. That is to say, if you pick the guy and he does not pick you, there is no match. So if none of your men picked you then you get a consolation prize and sent on your merry. They never tell you who was interested in you if you weren’t interested in them.

We arrived in enough time to obtain and adult beverage (or two) and find our way back to the private dining area. The tables were set up so that women would sit on the inside and the men would rotate around the outside. They were those half-booths where one side is a bench and the other a chair. I was situated between my workmate, we’ll call her Hannah for confidentiality purposes, and another lady. My first date was with a guy who wore a suit and tie. He was the only one in a suit and tie. Before we began, I notice that the majority of women were 5’8″ or greater and the majority of men were 5’7″ or lesser. No offense to the vertically challenged males, but most women do not like to feel like a giant gazorp towering over their man. So this was going to be interesting.

As I said, my first date was a bookish looking fellow wearing a suit and tie. He was cordial and friendly, but Hannah thought he was a dork. She would talk to them after I did as they rotated left. The next guy made my jaw drop. I knew him already. This town is entirely too small, I have decided. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I was dating a guy I met at a party, and this guy was with him. They were friends, and still are. Without going into too much gory detail, we were together for around 7 months before he went koo-koo and dumped me to return to his estranged, crazy wife whom he promised me he was going to divorce. Since then a strict “unless there has been a final divorce, they are still married and therefore un-dateable” rule has been in effect in my life. We live and learn, right?

Anyway, this guy, the friend, didn’t recognize me. When he finally did his eyes flew open in recognition and surprise. We talked a bit, he said my ex was still with the crazy wife yet still talks about me realizing what a mistake he made. No duh. I said, well, you get what you settle for. He really needed someone very very dependent and needy and the psycho biatch fit the bill way better than me. I can be needy, but am overall very independent and stubborn and proud to a fault. But now he’s stuck with her and according to the friend his life has been hell. I said on the contrary, since he dumped me my life has been like Astronaut Fantasy Camp. I learned to scuba dive and have been traveling all over to exotic locations like South America and the Caribbean. My career was going very very well, I have a fantastic circle of loyal, fun, interesting friends, and to top it off I look fabulous (according to him, I’m not that conceited). I am sure he’s going to go back and report this to he who dumped me. Yes, gentle readers, living well is the best revenge, though not a type of revenge found too often in opera plots.

So the bell rang and he moved on. After which a series of forgettable dates who would have to be slightly more interesting to merely bore me. If I were to hear “I like to work out, stay fit” one more time I was going to blow my martini right in their face. Puh-leeze. We took a break then came back and my next date was nowhere to be found and we thought the guy bailed. I sat there dateless for a couple of minutes then my troll came scampering in the room with a drink. I looked at his name tag and commented that that was an interesting name and he commenced to explaining to me all about how he came to be named. For five of his six minutes he went on about it. Then the blessed bell rang but the bloke just kept on. I had stopped listening at about 3 minutes and was thinking about when my new scuba gear would arrive and hoped it would be before the 8th of March as that’s when I am going to hit the lake and test it out. One of the organizers had to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to move on. I swear he looked like some sort of Harry Potter character. So now Hannah got to talk to him.

At the end of the evening I wrote down my choices. I wasn’t really interested in any of them as I didn’t find that I had anything in common with them and they weren’t very interesting overall, I am sorry to say. I would do it again for the fun of it, and I certainly don’t take it personally that none of the guys there was very interested in me either. Or at least none that I know of as they don’t tell you.

Next time, a real adventure.
The ScubaJedi

The City by the Bay

I was born in the Bay Area of California. I haven’t revisited the area for a very long time as we moved from there at the end of 1970. I returned a couple of times on business trips, but like all business trips you really don’t get to see much except the inside of an airplane, the inside of a taxi, the inside of a hotel room, and the inside of a meeting room. So when the opportunity arose to tour the Bay Area and Southern California on a week long series of seminars, I gladly accepted. There were some shenanigans to be worked in between gigs and it promised to be worth the go. I could see more than the inside of meeting rooms.

I was among a group from work to present our latest release of software, and was billed first every day. I spoke from 9 to 10 every morning, then got to sit around until noon when the event concluded and was then mobbed with questions from the audience. There were three other speakers, partners of my company who make add-on solutions to the core product. After day one I made my hour more interactive. I discovered people were mostly there to get a free breakfast and get one or two questions answered, and rather than listen as I spoke, they daydreamed until the Q&A section. Then they would ask about something I went over ad nauseum during the demo. Fortunately, everyone was clear and understandable when they asked their questions. It used to be I would present to very technical people, there were always some non-Engrish speaking fellows in the crowd who would always have a bunch of questions. I would have to ask them to repeat the question several times and I would still not make out what they were asking. I got some sage advice from a colleague who worked for IBM that helped out tremendously. When you can’t understand the question, you say, “What a great question, but you know, it’s a little beyond the scope of today’s presentation, so let’s take that off line and talk about it after.” Then after you’re done, you pack up your shit as fast as you can and make tracks before they can hunt you down.

The first day was in Milpitas, California which is in Silicone Valley near San Jose. We would be making our way down to the other Silicon Valley, Southern California ( where the silicone is implanted in the robot-women that live down there), in a day or so, but we had the Bay Area to tackle first. The routine was get up, do our gig, then 7 of us would pile into a huge SUV, the kind that are detectable by satelites in orbit, driven by our fearless leader, the orchestrator of the whole boondogle, Alex. Alex is a big amiable guy with a quick wit and boyish good looks. He may be the whitest guy you would ever want to meet. Which is why it surprised me greatly when he insisted on listening to vile, loud, booming, bass enhanced hip hop music in the SUV. I took a position in the very back of the bus hoping to escape the “music” but, the auto manufacturer saw fit to include speakers in the back as well.

We took the 101 up north to San Francisco. I was born in Oakland (East Bay) and lived in San Mateo, which is between San Jose and San Francisco. I have put a lot of miles in up and down the 101. They have done some work on it, but many parts still resound with the thunka-thunka on the tires that I remember. As stated earlier, it had been a very long time since I had been this way, and my memories are mostly from when I was a 10 year old girl. But when we passed Moffett Field, a Naval Air Base, I was thrilled to see Hangar One still standing proudly.

Moffett Field’s Hangar One was built during the depression for the USS Macon, an airship built and operated by the U.S Navy. The row of WWII blimp hangars are still some of the largest unsupported structures in the country. Hangar One’s floor covers eight acres and can accommodate 10 football fields. The building has aerodynamic architecture, and its walls curve upward and inward, to form an elongated dome 198 feet high. The clam-shell doors were designed to reduce turbulence when the Macon moved in and out on windy days. The interior is so large that fog sometimes forms near the ceiling! Anyone unaccustomed to its vastness is susceptible to optical disorientation. Looking across its deck, planes and tractors look like toys. Along its length maintenance shops, inspection laboratories and offices help keep the hangar busy. Looking up, a network of catwalks for access to all parts of the structure can be seen. Two elevators meet near the top, allowing maintenance personnel to get to the top quickly and easily. Of course I never saw any of this, I only got to see it driving by on the way to or from wherever my parents were taking me. I am sure they had tours of the thing by the 1960’s, but my folks couldn’t be bothered. There is an aviation museum there I would very much like to visit, and now on my list of things to do in this life is to return to the Bay Area as strictly a tourist.

As a child though, not to villianize my parents too much, we did at one point get to tour the USS Midway. But that was an aircraft carrier and my father approved of that type of thing as he was a Navy veteran and former sailor.

San Francisco is just as exciting as I remember it, except with more urine. Being a liberal, groovy kind of place, home to legions of flower children in the Summer of Love, 1969, the homeless are in abundance, tolerated and therefore very aggressive. The streets are steep and narrow and the people living there really do walk, resulting in great glutes. After arriving, we checked in to the Donatello, a posh hotel on the corner of Macon and Post. We got a screamin rate and Alex boasted that the SF Giants stay here. I wondered why a local sports team would need to stay in a hotel. Don’t they live there? But, what do I know about sports? The gang started talking sports at many times in the trip and my eyes would glaze over and I would think about how cold it would be to dive in San Francisco Bay, or what was for dinner that evening. At one point they were talking about some athlete and how he was practically built for his sport (swimming, I think) and I asked who it was they were talking about. Vic, one of our partners who had come down from Canada for the trip, was incredulous and thought I must live under a rock. I just don’t pay any attention to sports of any kind with the exception of diving, and I mean of the SCUBA type. There aren’t any real celebrity SCUBA divers, with the exception of the Cousteaus, and there’s just so much you can get excited about there. Wow, that Jacques really hung in there. Did you know his boat was called The Calypso? People just don’t get jazzed en masse about the bottom of the ocean. There’s no SCUBA Super Bowl, and you don’t see guys sitting around on the weekend drinking beer, eating chicken wings and watching PBS specials about the ocean wearing the wetsuit of their favorite diver.

So I was odd man out there, until they started talking about fancy cars. Then I was even more glazed over.

We decided on sushi for lunch. I would have been equally thrilled if they said we were going out for dog food for lunch. But, the majority rules so off I went for Bay Area Sushi. Chris, another partner who had come from Denver, was my only ally on the anti-sushi front. We were outnumbered. We were told of a place up Post Street, and when I say up, I mean up. We hoofed it on a steep incline for a couple of blocks, and I have no idea how Rachel, the only other female in the group, managed with the high heels.

The sushi place was small and very San Francisco like. We sat at the bar and I needed instructions on how to go about ordering. I decided to try the sushi, as I had never eaten it thinking that raw seafood is really just fishbait. I think Chris stayed on the safe side and ordered teriyaki and I went wild and ordered a combo plate of three pieces of sushi and some deep fried veggies and shrimp. As long as it’s breaded and deep fried, I’m okay with it. The food looked wonderful, the presentation very nice, but I ended up letting my fishies swim to other people’s plates at the end of the day.

The others made their way back to the hotel to get ready for our tour of Giants Stadium and I took off looking for a Walgreens to buy a few personal items I neglected to pack. I had asked the bellman at the hotel where the nearest Walgreens was and he pointed out the door and said just up ther street. When he said that I assumed (!) Mason Street, aka, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I can’t believe cars without four wheel drive can even get up these streets. I mean, San Francisco was built before the days of the Silver Spade excavator and the leveling of hills. So the streets are verticle. I hoofed it up to the top of Mason and was completely out of breath. I am in pretty good shape too. I hiked rim to river back to rim at the Grand Canyon in one day. I cried, but I did it. This was grueling. All for some Secret anti-persperant. Crap. The drugstore wasn’t there after all. I came back down Mason and turned back on to Post and went that way. Still no store. I ended up ducking into a local general store and bought some Secret that had probably been on the shelf for 15 years. But at this point I was desperate. I was working up quite the sweat and things were at critical mass so I caved and took what I could get.

Ira, one of our partners, knows a lot of people. One of his connections is a PR guy for the San Francisco Giants. He managed to get us a private behind the scenes tour of Giants Stadium. I have already mentioned how excited I am about sports, but I went along because it was a go and what else did I have to do? I could have wandered down to the Castro and looked at the gay people. But I’ve seen gay people and have never been in a men’s locker room. Fine line, I know, so I chose Giants Stadium.

What can I tell you. It was a stadium. We got to go behind the scenes then out on the field. The best part was when it was over and we got to go to Fisherman’s Wharf for dinner. Of course it was a seafood restaurant, so screwed again and not in that fun spanky way. I almost didn’t order anything, but I gave in and got a pasta dish that was quite good.

After dinner I was beat and ready to hang out in my posh room at the Donatello. Some of the others opted to continue partying and the reports the next morning consisted of some lively moments in an Irish pub involving male cross dressers and an altercation with a homeless man.

After the meeting, and I’ll spare the gory details of a software workshop, we were treated to dimsum, which I like considerably better than sushi. We walked quite a distance to what was once a main post office in San Fran and is now some sort of inner city food court. I thought it was a heck of a schlep to go to the food court, but there was a real restaurant in there that did a dim sum brunch. After that we headed to the San Jose Airport where we were in high hopes of getting on an earlier flight. Greg, one of our team, managed to get to the counter fast and hopped the next flight. Southwest Airlines is a lot like riding a bus in the air. An Air Bus. Hmmm, must be the thought behind the hardware. Anyway, these were garden variety 727 aircraft and me, Alex, Ira, and Chris had to wait until 8:55pm for our flight as our 7:00 was cancelled because of some mechanical failure, and I suspect, low passenger count. Adam, the Southern California sales rep was going to meet us in Orange County the next day and Rachel, the Northern California sales rep departed back to Phoenix.

We arrived at SNA and got our next gigantic SUV and headed to the Hilton. When we got there we were pretty punchy and the desk clerk told me they were upgrading my room to a suite with a hide-a-bed. I started laughing and looked at the clerk and said that sounds like a punishment. Why don’t I take the dually out back and use the little tin shack with the crescent moon on it for the toilet? I mean honestly, a hide-a-bed? I took the room and it was luxurious, with the exception of grammas hide-a-bed. There was a formal dining table for 8 people, full kitchen, huge flat screen TV. I would have traded it for a comfy bed.

We did our gig at the Hilton, took lots of pictures and were off to Beverly Hills. Hollywood wasn’t far and I organized a little safari later that evening up Sunset Boulevard. I thought Adam would get a kick out the the Guitar Center flagship store and the “Rock Walk”. Then we could hoof it down to the Whisky -a-go-go where many legendary bands, such as The Doors, got their start. We hired a car to take us there and no shit, it must have taken him a half hour to drive us four blocks. The traffic was bad, but the driver was worse. I don’t think he really knew you could press the gas pedal and let go the brake. He dropped us off, took our $40 and told us to call him when we were ready to come back. We looked at all the famous rock star hand prints in cement then went in the store. I made for the acoustic section as I prefer to play the acoustic guitar and thus sought out my favorite brand, The Ovation. All they had was the cheap made in Korea models and I was disappointed. So I played a couple of them then the boys came back and we looked at the classic electric models ranging in price from $2k to $90k. I got them to stand in from the the guitar wall as if they were rock stars with attitude rather than the gaggle of nerds they really are. We left and I said the Whisky was just up the street, let’s go. We walked. And walked. And walked walked walked. Finally Greg asked, “Where in the hell is this place?” I pulled the address out of my pocket and told him. He looked at the address where we were and he said it was 14 more blocks. I sheepishly looked at him and shrugged. You’re talking to a hiker. We then flagged a cab and were dropped off in front of the infamous Whisky a go-go. I was grinning ear to ear but the guys were trying to get away from there as fast as they could. I was ready to go in and Greg said he’d like to get something to eat before drinking any alcohol. We walked up the street a little and and found Frankie and Johnnys Famous Pizza. While having pizza and listening to a no less than hilarious story of an internet date gone awry by one of the guys, I was informed of their reluctance to go into the Whisky. I said I knew we didn’t really fit in but I didn’t care and I was told that it’s “different” for woman. The indication was that as men, they would be seen as not belonging there by the multi-pierced/tattoed crowd that was there and would therefore end up legs up in the dumpters out back.

My Name is Hollywood

So instead of the boys risking an ass-whooping at the Whisky A G0-G0, we sauntered across the street to pay a visit to the Hustler Superstore. It’s an adult store based on Hustler Magazine and so you can guess what the inventory consists of.

At one point we wandered into the area where you must be over 18 to go in to. There was a plethora of DVD’s, some of which I would pick up and ask the guys, “Gee, what’s this one about?” Then there was the Wall of Toys. BOB’s in every size, shape, and color you can imagine. For those of you wondering, BOB stands for Battery Operated Boyfriend. Unlike most men, they are very reliable, however they don’t converse well and they’ll never get the dinner check (but then again, the same can be said for many men as well). But in a way it is liberating to know that they will never call or e-mail you either. That frees you up to do other things besides staring at your Blackberry. I picked out a hot pink one and told the guys that I was going to buy it and use it as my laser pointer tomorrow for the presentation. The smart ass remarks continued and we were in a heap on the floor. Laughing to the point of tears, and the sad part was we were acting like teenagers yukking it up and there were people around seriously shopping. I wanted the guys to stand in front of the Wall of Toys so I could get a photo as I did at Guitar Center with them in front of the classic guitars. They bolted from the area before I could get any incriminating shots. Actually, I respected the fact we were all working mates and only took one photo, and that was out front of Jenna Jameson’s handprints. There was a porno walk much like the Rock Walk and the Walk of Fame on Hollywood Blvd. Adam pointed to Jameson’s handprints and said, “Those are some nasty hands.”

After the Hustler store we headed to another hang out called The Red Rock (or something like that). Adam and Ira had one drink and decided to head back to the hotel. Chris, Greg and I decided to stay and get shit-faced. Some very pretty Hollywood type girls came in and Chris zeroed in on them and even coaxed one into dancing with him. I don’t remember a whole lot after that, except that I was told later that none of us knew where we were staying when we had to tell the cabbie where to take us. I think Greg text messaged Adam to ask what hotel we were at.

The next thing I know my phone is ringing and it’s time to head to the conference center. I am of course still in my jammies, have no recollection of how I got into them and don’t care to think about it. But, I was in my own room, alone, all my ID and things were there and I was really really disastrously late. I felt like my head was in a vice grip. I am notorious for never suffering hangovers, but this was the exception. I was a hammerhead. I didn’t have time to shower, barely time to brush my teeth, I just pulled on the first professional looking outfit available, threw the rest in my bags and headed out the door. I knew I looked as bad as I felt. I rushed to the SUV which was loaded and ready to go, they were waiting for me. Hells bells. This was gonna be good. Ira asked, “So, how ya feeling today, Hollywood”. Smart ass. Then Alex took to pounding the rap music at full volume and I offered him $1000 to shut the radio off. He told me he couldn’t hear me because the radio was too loud.

We got to the venue, I was all business, got it set up and was on at 9 am. I put my game face on and was bubbly, cheerful, informative and receptive to questions. I was “on”.Once I was through, I packed up my stuff, went in back where no one could see me and passed out. Much to my chagrin, it wasn’t over. We were to go straight to the taping of the Tonight Show starring Jay Leno right after we finished up the seminar. My head was about to explode and to top it off I was getting a sore throat. We parked at a restaurant across the street as NBC studios doesn’t provide for visitor parking. We had gotten VIP tickets from one of our partners who does some acting on the side. He’s played in many television shows and movies in bit parts and supporting roles. We stopped in at the restaurant and had a bite to eat. I was still feeling pretty rotten and desperately wanted a shower and a bottle of Advil. Chris told me a Bloody Mary would help, so I had one. I didn’t drink it all. It helped a little, but not as much as someone shooting me to put me out of my misery would have. As of this writing I have yet to touch another drink of alcohol.

The Tonight Show was fun. I could tell they’ve done this before. Jay Leno came out ahead of time and told everyone what to expect, to please laugh, especially during the monologue, and just have a good time.

After the show we finally went to our hotel. Our partner, Daniel, invited us over to his house that evening rather than going out to dinner somewhere and we were happy to go. We went to the hotel first and I can say I have rarely enjoyed a grooming experience so much, even after a three day camping trip. I changed my clothes, got lots of fluids in me, lots of Advil in me and went to meet the guys again. Daniel had a beautiful home in North Hollywood with a huge flat screen television and a nice dog.

The next day went without incident and we were once again at the airport awaiting a flight. Flying out of John Wayne airport in Orange County is always a treat. The main runway, at 5,701 feet is one of the shortest of any major airport in the United States, resulting in most passenger aircraft operating from the airport to be no larger than the Boeing 757. Because of the rich people living here, the area that lies directly South of John Wayne Airport is considered a noise sensitive area. The short primary runway, coupled with the local noise restrictions, can require a takeoff at or near full power (95-97% power). Some aircraft operating from the airport may cycle to full power while holding at the runway then release the brakes when engines are fully spooled up. So basically, the pilot just peels out making for an exciting takeoff. On operations from this runway a steep climb may also be required to allow for a power reduction at about 500-700 feet above ground level for quieter overflight over the city of Newport Beach. I know someone who lives in Newport Beach and I am glad he isn’t being disturbed by the noisy commercial aircraft from SNA.

And that was my trip to California. Next stop, I believe, is gong to be a foray deep in the heart of Texas!

Until next time, that’s all from The ScubaJedi.

For a full pictorial journal, click here.

Due the the overwhelming crazy high rent I was paying for my posh North Scottsdale apartment, I decided to economize and find a cheaper place. I was originally going to find a house to share with a pal, but I bailed on that idea, ticking off the pal. But, as I am a self-absorbed twit, I needed to live alone, with the cats.
As it turned out, the apartment complex across the street was cheaper, nicer, bigger, and they had a unit available in a choice location in the ‘plex. I was granted the privilege of -0- move in with the exception of cat rent. I pay an extra few bucks a month for cat rent. I mean, do people with out of control bratty kids pay extra for the destructive screaming zonkers? No. But my cat, who mostly sleeps all day is a damage risk I have to pay a premium for. It just isn’t fair. I mean, honestly, kids are far more destructive than a cat.
Anyway, I decided to move everything over that would fit in my car and leave the big stuff for the movers. My friend Bruce came over the day I got keys to the new place and commented that the apartments were so close that I could just get a couple of dudes to hand stuff over the fence. He may be right as far as the little stuff goes, but I have a leather sofa the size and weight of a Volkswagen I’m sure no one would be too happy about handing over a fence.
My new downstairs neighbor, Barbara, came out and met me. I apologized ahead of time for the thunderous noise the cat makes when all three pounds of her races across the floor. She said no worries, anything would be an improvement over the prior tenants. Apparently there were three young Scottsdale women living there. Barbara said she wasn’t really sure who exactly lived there as there were people non-stop in and out of there. She was pretty sure they were running a brothel out of the apartment. They flooded the place at one point in some freakish bathroom accident and damaged both units. As a result, I scored brand new carpet.
This past Saturday (Dec 6) I moved in as far as sleeping there. I moved my kitchen stuff over and Nunya came by on Saturday and helped me move my clothes and shoes. Shoes. More shoes. Shoes. I deleted Zappos.com from my favorites in my browser and have sworn off buying new shoes ever, ever again. Yeah, right, but it’s worth a try. I did find shoes I forgot I had and so far this week have worn two different pair I haven’t seen in two years.
Saturday night I went to take my first shower in the new place and lo and behold, no hot water! What a shock. I mean it. I took a bird bath and went to the office in the morning and gave them a bug list, the water heater topping it off. All day went by and no one came around to look at it. Finally, “Little Mike” came by to have a look. He was anything but little and is probably the cutest apartment maintenance man I’ve ever seen. He spent about an hour troubleshooting it before telling me the bad news that it needed a part. Bummer. He hgave me the keys to a suite unit that they rent out to temporary guests. It was very nice, but having to get up and go across the complex to shower, then come back is a huge drag.
The water heater was still broke on Monday and word from “Big Mike” was that the part was going to take two or three days to arrive. I had already moved the cats and have to be where the cats are so I used the guest apartment just to shower in until yesterday. On Tuesday, Cute Mike (I think he would like that better than “Little”, what guy wants to be called “little”?) got it all fixed yesterday and I went out and bought him a present. I was at the old apartment last night to pack up the china cabinet, the DVD cabinet and another bookshelf so they would be ready for the movers. I got into the liquor cabinet and fixed me a lemon drop martini, quickly lost interest in packing and ended up watching The Breakfast Club on HBO. So now my Friday night is already planned, no booze and all packing. Living the dream!

The ScubaJedi

The final diving trip of the year was once again San Carlos, Mexico. I was originally going to head down with my usual dive shop but they cancelled the trip due to some military-like skirmishes between drug cartels and the Mexican army between Nogales and Hermosillo. So I went with another group who provide transportation via a motor coach. It was very nice not to have to drive.

The checkpoints looked about the same with the exception of the small artillery units with Hum-V’s equipped with grenade launchers. I hadn’t noticed those before on other trips down. Also, because we were a group in a bus, we had to disembark every time so they could go through our stuff. It all went pretty fast though, and the gentlemen with the semi-automatics were friendly and cheerful.

For our entertainment the operators provided violent guy flicks to watch, so I saw Ironman, Indiana Jones, Get Smart, and Deep Blue Sea. I was saturated with explosions, fighting, car chases, loud gunfire, and scantily clad women. I would have paid extra to watch something mellow.

We got to the Best Western Tetakawi (Matt, our 14 year old advanced student, thought it was Teriyaki almost the whole trip) and I found that I had a room all to myself! I not only got to ride down in comfort, but had a room all to myself. I couldn’t have been happier if I were twins. I got settled and headed down to a restaurant called Bananas where some of the group was having dinner and libation that evening. I sat with Matt and his father Todd, and then was joined by Suzanne, John, Steve, Steve, and Brian. Bananas boasts of the best hamburgers in San Carlos, so I decided to try one. I never sampled the burgers anywhere else in San Carlos, so I had nothing to compare it with, but it was good as long as taste and quality were not an issue.

The next day I was on the early shift and we left dock at 7 am sharp and headed out to the island of San Pedro for our hammerhead shark sighting dive! How exciting, I have always wanted to see a hammerhead shark in the wild. Now was my big chance. I buddied up with Suzanne, and we were going as a group out to the point where we would hopefully see some sharks. The water was somewhat chilly, but that was nothing compared to the quality of visibility, of which there was none. We descended and hit about 78’ at the most heading out to the point where the sharks were supposed to be schooling by en masse. Well, no sharks made it that day. They must have been taking the day off.

For the next dive we moved to the other side of the island where all the sea lions were. They were really excited about us being there, they love to play with scuba divers. There were a couple of big bulls there but they didn’t seem to mind us. The water was much clearer heading off the bow but was murky back in the cove, so we headed off the bow. There was one sea lion who was very interested in us. She was black with a tan snout, very unusual. We named her Mathilda. She followed up everywhere and hovered around so we could get some good shots. I thought she wanted me to pet her. We were down there a good hour before coming back to the boat.

I was really tired after that and went back to the hotel, got cleaned up and went across the street to Charly’s Rock restaurant with Suzanne and Yrena (don’t really know the spelling, but that’s how the name sounded). Yrena ordered something called seafood soup, and that is exactly what it was. They must have chopped up everything they could scoop out of the ocean that morning and put it in the soup. There were eyeballs and tentacles with suckers and all sorts of things I would deem cat food in there. She said it was good and I will take her word for it. Those two were going on the night dive and I bade them farewell after lunch and I proceeded to go back to my room and pass out.

I signed up for an extra dive so I was back at it the next morning. The seas in port were deceivingly calm but once we got out to open water the ocean started rolling. The Sea of Cortez is like a huge bathtub and if there is some weather at the end of it on the Pacific, it can wreak havoc. The waves were like swells, big rollers. The boat captain floored it and was hitting the swells head on and causing a very rough ride. I think it was the same boat driver as I had in Rocky Point on my whale ride (See blog Whale Riding in Rocky Point). I was every bit as nervous as I was for that ride. I moved to the front of the boat and held on to a pole with a grip of steel. At one point I started to cry. I looked around and everyone else was laughing and hanging around casually like nothing was wrong, yet this ride was seriously damaging my calm. Some of the staff was asking me if I were okay, if I was getting sick. Even as I write this I feel like I am rocking on the boat. The skipper turned the boat into a cove and anchored at Deer Island, much to the disappointment of Matt, who wanted very much to see the sea lions. I was just happy to get out of the maelstrom. I began to think they changed course because I was in such a state, and that made me feel bad because of Matt wanting to see the sea lions, and the outer island of San Pedro is better diving. We had to go back out to the rolling ocean to give Matt his deep dive for his advanced certification, and then we came back in. The dives nearer San Carlos are never as good as at San Pedro, but we did see some interesting things, such as a starfish with only four arms, a starfish with a jillion arms and a very weird sea urchin.

I went out on the afternoon dive as well. We stayed local and I was glad as I was getting pretty chilled at that point. On my Christmas list is a “Boat Coat”. I would like it in black, please, extra large so it will fit over me and all my gear. On the last dive it was getting dark ergo we brought flashlights. It was a quasi night dive. There were zillions of stinging feather hydroids all over the place and at one point I broke my “don‘t touch nothing” rule and went to pick up a beautiful shell, and grazed one of the hated ‘droids and it stung like an SOB. My thumb still itches. Therefore the “Don’t touch nothing” rule is back in effect. You never know what is going to sting the crap out of you down there.

We left the next morning bright and early, and got through the US border pretty easily. It was like going through the airport as we had to get off the bus, run our bags through a metal detector and x-ray machine, then we were free to enter the US and A.

For a full pictorial catalog of this adventure, check out this link.

Till we meet again,

The ScubaJedi

Every year I do a backpacking weekend to Reavis Ranch in the Eastern Superstition Mountains. Every year as I am trundling up the 5 Hills of Hell on the Insidious Mile I wonder why I do this. But that is on the way out. I call it the Insidious Mile because it is a deceivingly difficult stretch of trail and unfortunately the last thing you remember about the trail as it is the last mile. When you are hiking in on it, you don’t really notice just how much elevation you are losing. It starts at Trail 109, The Reavis Ranch Trail from the Roger’s Trough Trailhead in the Eastern Superstitions. From here you cross the junction with the Roger’s Canyon Trail number 110 and continue up another wall of hell called Graves Canyon, where there are switchbacks up a granite mountain to Reavis Saddle. Then it is smooth sailing into Reavis Valley across a grassy meadow past a Juniper of Unusual Size, through a swampy area and to the Ranch.

There were four of us, more had signed up but true to human nature, there are those who simply blow off commitments and choose to stand you up at the trail head by sleeping in. I have been leading hikes with Sierra Singles for a number of years and I am sick and tired of unreliable people. Any of you who sign up for a hike and decide to blow it off without notifying the outings coordinator (and you KNOW who you are), don’t bother signing up for any of MY outings as I will oust you from the list and dis-approve of you participating. Tough darts, flakester, go be unreliable somewhere else. The ScubaJedi has a very good sophisticated contact database and I track everything.

So my three GOOD friends and I headed off after stopping at my request at Denny’s to pig out on eggs and bac. We took two cars as the road leading to Roger’s Trough is rough and requires 4 wheel drive, or at the least, high clearance. Two cars are better than one in case one car doesn’t make it. Both vehicles were SUV’s and we made it fine. We geared up and headed in to begin the Insidious Mile to the junction of 110/109. We continued up the switchbacks stopping to pay our respects to Reavis at his grave. He was apparently found dead on the trail while hauling his fruits and veggies to market one fine day in 1896.

Reavis was known as the Old Hermit of the Superstitions. According to Tom Kollenborn (2000) Reavis was a well-educated man from back east who came out west to seek his fortune in the gold mines of California. He eventually ended up in Arizona and settled in what is now called Reavis Valley, an veritable oasis in the Supers where there is a year round artesian spring. This helps us backpackers of today in that we don’t have to schlep as much water to the site. How Reavis met his maker is a subject of discussion. Some say he died of natural causes, pushing 70 and hauling up and down those mountains all the time, some say a covetous neighbor who wanted the land caused him a mischief. Whatever the reason, his remains were found and he was buried on the spot where hikers today can stop and gawk.

I opted out of going up to the grave as I was just too tired. Besides, I’ve seen the grave many times and it never changes that much. There used to be clay letters spelling out Elisha Reavis but they have fallen by the wayside. You would have to go digging through he rocks piled on the grave to find them and that’s too ghoulish even for me.

We scaled the hill to the saddle, then cruised on down through the Very Grassy Meadow past the Juniper of Unusual Size to the Swamp. Once past the swamp you cross the creek and up to the valley. I was hoping for the Grand Skookums Campsite right there by the creek so no water schlepping would be needed but it was taken by a bunch of losers. Then we tried for Skookums Campsite number 2 and some young bozos had gotten there minutes before us and though started setting up camp in another location snagged the Skookums Site Number 2 before us. If some shithead hadn’t wanted to stop and waste time on breakfast at Denny’s, we’d have been there sooner and gotten at least the second good site. Needless to say we had to start hunting for a good site. I knew of one more quasi-skookums site where I’ve camped twice and cringed at the thought of having to schlep water from the creek. There is one really reliable spot to get water and that’s where Skookums Site 1 is located.

Luck was with us as no one had been the Quasi-Skookums for a while, it was a little overgrown but otherwise on good condition. The best news was not only was there a massive supply of firewood handy, but the creek was in high volume and right there by the site for filtering. No schlepping. I made a deal with my fellow campers if they would gather the wood, I would prepare the hearth. I friggin hate gathering firewood. I would rather schlep water.

We set up, got a cheerful fire going and hunkered down for the evening. I ate my usual hiker chow out of a bag, as did Willy and Will. What are the odds of two guys being on the trek and both being named Will? But there you have it. Nunya on the other hand brought steak and shrimp to sautee and savor as her evening meal. I just don’t have the wherewithal to cart that kind of weight in my pack. I am fine with meal in a bag from Mountain House. After dinner it wasn’t long before I was ready to snuff out for the night. I don’t know if it was the heat or that I am getting old or what, but I was very very tired. By 8:30 I was snug in my sleeping bag. It was cold at night and I zipped up all the way in.

I woke up to Will making a new cheerful fire at the hearth. We we back on the trail out by 10:30 after a leisurely breakfast and mellow breakdown of camp. We went back out the way we came in and it takes about the same amount of time to hike out as it does to hike in. We saw three tarantulas on the way out, including one on the road driving out.

No apples in the orchard this year, so maybe next year. I plan on a spring trip in April and hopefully anyone signing up will at least notify me that they are not going to show up!!Dirtbags.

Until next adventure,
The ScubaJedi