Adventures at the Musee de la Truffe – Sourges France

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In 2003 I decided to take a trip to France. I planned it all out and rented a Gite in the Southwest of France, a region called The Perigord.  The Perigord is famous for it’s truffles, wines, and fois gras. About a week before I left I was chatting with my friend Kath and told her about the trip. She piped up and asked if she could go. Who was I to refuse, after all I was going alone and there was more than enough room in the cottage I rented so I said why not? So she booked and would arrive about two days after I got there.

We had a great trip but the subject of this particular post is the day we spent in Peregeaux  and Sorges. The cottage was a self-catering affair and we would typically buy food at a local market and settle in in the evenings and plan out the next day. This I liked this very much because we were not on a schedule like you would be on a properly planned out tour. We got along very well as traveling companions as we both subscribed to the philosophy of spontaneous fun. For example, we would be off driving on our daily excursion to or from the planed destination and go past a road that looked interesting and say, “Hey, let’s go see what’s down that way”, and off we’d go.

This day we decided to go to the Museum of the Mousterian in Peregeaux and the random and largely obscure Truffle Museum in a hamlet called Sourges. Kath dug that one up out of a travel book. The Truffle Museum ranks up there with The Cumberland Pencil Museum in the UK. We had a map and a rough idea of where to drive, but once we got to Peregeaux, we had no idea where the museum was and neither of us read French very well. It was my turn to drive and we had a Seat, which is a Spanish made car that looked a lot like something you would see a lot of clowns pouring out of in a circus tent. So there we were in Peregeaux which is roughly the size of Los Angeles. Not really, I exaggerate, it’s about like Austin, TX but without the music and bridge of bats. So we’re driving around aimlessly and decide to stop and get something to eat. Here I just want to say that if you find yourself in France and are hungry, you are in luck. We never had a bad meal anywhere no matter how ghetto (well, there were no ghetto diners in France) the place looked. The French know food.

As fate would have it, we parked on the street in an area that looked like a town square with something interesting at the center. Lo and behold it was the museum.

Mousterian is a name given by archaeologists to a style of predominantly flint tools (or industry) associated primarily with Homo neanderthalensis and dating to the Middle Paleolithic, the middle part of the Old Stone Age. The culture was named after the type site of Le Moustier, a rock shelter in the Dordogne region of France. Similar flintwork has been found all over unglaciated Europe and also the Near East and North Africa. Handaxes, racloirs and points constitute the industry; sometimes a Levallois technique or another prepared-core technique was employed in making the flint flakes. I read the entire Clan of the Cave Bear series and am a huge fan and that was what inspired me to visit this region of France. The Neanderthals never changed their technology and is a theory as to why they crapped out.

Then we were on to Sourges and to learn more than we could ever want to know about truffles.

We had no trouble finding the truffle museum as the town is very small, and there was a huge plastic black truffle sticking out of the side of the building, (see Picture). Luckily all the information about truffles was in French, English and German. After the tour through the museum, there was a footpath out back where you could stroll through a truffle “orchard”. Truffles grow on the roots of oak trees. They look rather like turds, especially the black ones, but they sell for hundreds of dollars in the markets. I don’t know why. They used to use pigs to dig them up but the pigs were too smart and would eat the truffles after they dug them up. So they started using dogs who are much more respectful and won’t eat the fungus unless told to do so. We stopped at a stand on the side of the road at one point to buy fois gras from a local farm. It was attended by a young girl who spoke English and told us that they used flies to find truffles. We thought her English must not be that good because she thought dogs were flies. After all, how could a fly dig up a truffle? But she clarified it by saying a certain type of fly will light on the ground under an oak that had truffles growing on it. Then they would set the dogs to work.

After the stroll we decided to head back. We drove out of town and I passed the turn where were would head back to Le Quatre Route, the town where our amazing Gite was. So, I go to make a U-Turn and mis-calculated the depth of the ditch on the other side of the road. There was tall grass growing in the ditch and it was very deceiving so to this day I say it was not my faux-pas. So gentle reader, you know what happened next. We ended up in the ditch. The car did not capsize but merely lay at a helpless angle. Kath got out to asses whether we could push the little car out ourselves or would we require assistance from the locals. I was afraid to get out as I think my weight was keeping the car from tumping over entirely.

The driver side rear tire was off the ground completely and so she decided to sit on the car and try and weigh it down. Kath is a robust woman but not robust enough. People starting coming around and since the situation pretty much spoke for itself we did not really need the universal translator, aka, English-French dictionary. I asked in my best French if someone could call the police, maybe they could help and arrest me for careless driving. No one spoke English and the best I could make out was that since it was after 5pm on Friday, the police were closed for the weekend. Wow. I don’t feel I need to even comment on that. Everyone that came by in or on a wheeled vehicle were either on a scooter, bicycle, or an even tinier car than we had. I was appalled. I mean, this is a farming community, didn’t anyone have a dad-burn tractor? Where I come from if you have a farm and no tractor you are in the hurt locker.

Finally a lady in a car stopped and Kath went over to her. She was filthy, had been picking walnuts all day and walnuts leave a black residue similar to when you’re picking tobacco. Don’t ask how I know this, maybe I’ll write a memoir of when I briefly worked in a tobacco field as a child. Kath came back and reported that either the lady was going to let her use her phone, or she was going to take her to where there was a phone, or take her to a garage with a tow truck. Any of the options were better than where we were now.

So Kath left with the Walnut Lady.  I sat there and had all kinds of visitors. It was Friday evening in a very small town, so the stupid fat American lady was as good of entertainment as any. After a bit, a large flat bed tow truck comes around the bend. I have no idea how Kath told him where to find me. Perhaps Walnuts told him. Either way, he way on the job. His name was Andre and he was cute. Did not speak English at all. He hooked the car up to a chain and pulled it out of the ditch and started loading it up on the truck. We tried to stop him but he told us as best he could that it was a requirement that the car get looked over for any damage. Who knows if that was true but who were we to argue. He had possession of the controls and therefore we really had no choice. Plus, this was getting fun. We got up front with him, me in the middle and Kath shotgun. We’re driving along in silence and finally I chimed up and said in French, “We’re Americans. On vacation!” He just nodded and sort of chuckled as if he were in the states he would have been thinking, “Yeah, y’alls stupid”.

He drove us to a garage where a little man with baked bean colored teeth was working as a mechanic. He was listing to Bono and Frank Sinatra and had a Yorkie dog names Attila. He put the car up on the hydraulic lift and about a metric ton of gravel and dirt came out the skid guard.  After he got through examining the car he brought it back down and started in on some paperwork. Finally I took a big breath and asked in French how much? He repeats, “Ah, combien, combien…”. Then he shows me the ticket and he had written down $180 in American dollars. WTF? Oh well, nothing we could do in a situation like this but pay it and luckily he took Amex.

After that he told us to pay attention to our driving. Then we were free to go. Kath fired me as driver.

The Platonic Friends Kiss of Death

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Every time I meet a guy I find myself attracted to, he is never interested in me. It is confusing and strange in that we’ll usually go out, they will pick up the dinner tab, drive, all the ingredients to a “date” then by the end of the “date” I get the old Platonic Friends Kiss of Death (hereinafter referred to as the PFKOD) but without an actual kiss. Somewhere in the course of our being together they decide they are not interested and give me the line that they don’t want to date right now because of Fill In The Blank. They just want to be friends. Then the next thing I know they are hitting on my friends and/or dating someone else. Oh, so it wasn’t that they aren’t interested in dating because of some tragic circumstance in their life, they just aren’t interested in dating me.
The line about just wanting to be friends is also a crock. My friends contact me out of the blue to see how I’m doing, they invite me to go places and see things with them, they come over, they invite me over, they lend me money, I lend them money, provide moral support in times of tragedy, and you know, act like friends. These guys, if I don’t contact them somehow, I will never, ever hear from them again after the PFKOD. So why do they even bother to offer friendship? These guys aren’t friends. They certainly don’t act like it. I know why they lie like that, because they don’t want to hurt our feelings, but let me tell you something, gentle readers, it hurts more to be strung along. So, my new rule (actually it was put into effect last year but failed recently), is that I require reciprocity, especially from men. If I find myself always doing the work, i.e. contacting them and they never contact me first, they are off my mailing list.
It’s that simple. It’s totally apparent that they have no interest in me in any way. It is baffling though. Especially in this age of the Information Superhighway, I can’t even find the on-ramp. I have experienced the weirdest behavior and I think it is condoned because of the anonymous nature of the Internet. I have had situations where a guy has responded to my online profile (back when I was even trying), we e-mail back and forth all day long as if we’re having a conversation (I worked in front of a computer all day, and I have a smart phone so I am always on e-mail) and close the conversation by saying talk to you tomorrow. Then I never, ever hear from them again. Ever. WTF is that? Is the rule that guys are mostly Flaksters? I will give them a chance the next day and lop an e-mail saying hello. Then, if I don’t hear back, and I almost never do, off the list they go and into the idumpster.
If they were called away to go fight evil in Afghanistan, or some other lamo excuse, the very least they could do would be to let me know. But they don’t. They just evaporate. Great disappearing act, Mr Magician! We know what that means, loud and clear. So, what I am trying to say and affirm is that I will not waste my precious time on anyone who doesn’t care about me.
You also know when you’re in Just Friends city when the guy refers to you as “Buddy” or “Kiddo”. Happy Birthday, Buddy! Hey there, Kiddo! Yeeaaach! Or if they “dude” you. That means they look at you as if you are another man.
I just want to be loved, is that so wrong?
Your Friendo Platonico,The ScubaJedi

Keet Seel 2011 Trip Report

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This year’s trip into Keet Seel canyon was the most memorable yet. I have a better description of the general area and more details of the trail on another blog found here.
We left Friday with 8 of us on the trip. We did all the usual, Kate’s Café at Tuba City, camped at the Visitor’s Center, then hiked in. The difference in this year’s journey was that I was tipped off on where a reliable fresh water spring was by three Navajo boys we ran into on last year’s trip. It was located fairly close to the campground near the ruin, but I have been sworn to secrecy as to the actual location. So that meant that we only had to carry in whatever we needed to drink for the hike to the campground! In other years we had to pack in all our water and that made for a very laborous hike in. Without all that extra weight we arrived at the campground about two full hours sooner than usual. We could go at a more comfortable yet faster pace without the super heavy packs.

When we got to the campground, we got the skookums camp spots near the bigger picnic table. There was another group of four from Flagstaff who got there after us.

So, my game plan was to go to the spring and fill up with that we needed for the evening, go tour the ruins, come back for dinner and laughs. Then in the morning, make another run to the spring for water for the trip out. Good plan, right?

We took our empty containers and headed to the spring. We got there and the glorious water was gushing out so pure and inviting. It was cold, clean, and fresh. We filled up, I rinsed my hair out as did Ann Marie. We headed back and I got the bright idea to take the upper trail back. So we got to where we would descend back down to the river then back up the trail to the campground and we saw Ranger Steve heading away from us toward the ranger shack. We waited thinking we were hiding in the trees, we didn’t really want him to see us because technically we weren’t supposed to know where the spring was. When we thought he was far enough away we started down the hill. Then he turned around and was heading toward us in a very deliberate manner. When he got to us he was very serious and asked us if we had been to the spring. Busted!!! What could I say? We were all there without packs and just full water containers standing guilty as charged without having to say anything. I said yessir, we had been and he proceeded to hand us our butts. He told us he could kick us out and make us walk all the way back, that the spring was owned by a Navajo family who made it clear that no one was to go back there and use the spring except the rangers (I think the boys who gave me permission were part of that family). Ranger Steve told us we were putting the whole place in jeopardy by digressing from the trail we had permits for and going back there and getting water. I tried to explain that the boys told us we could use the spring but Ranger Steve would have none of that. We apologized and said that the location of the spring would remain a secret.

He asked if we were going to tour the ruins, that the other group was already up there and he could take two more if they wanted to come now. Steve (one of my group, not the Ranger) and Robert said they would go. The rest of us walked in shame back to camp. We tried to figure out how he knew what we were up to and still haven’t figured it out. I said there must be a webcam back there or something. There was some concern as a couple of the guys didn’t get enough water for the next day as they thought we would be making another spring run in the morning. Eric said we should make a midnight run like a bunch of Ninjas.



But, as fate would have it, I had discovered yet another spring coming out of the rocks right on the trail a little further down about a mile. It was a smaller spring and we would have to use a filter to siphon the water up as you couldn’t put a bottle or platypus in to collect the water, the hole is too small. I actually scouted four additional springs along the way where fresh water could be filtered and collected. The spring by the campground is the only secret one as it is the easiest to get the water out of and you don’t need to use a filter. It is now known as “Forbidden Spring”. The real reason they don’t want its location known is because people have gone back there and trashed it in the past, leaving shampoo bottles and other debris scattered around. The rest of the springs feeding the nasty creek along the way are fair game. So I am still never going to carry a heavy pack in there again. Water is available. Most people hiking out there would never notice the feeder springs, but I made it a point to memorize where they are.

Anyway, after about 45 minutes, the others headed toward the ruin to wait for the first group to finish and then they would get their tour. I opted out as I hate the 70 foot ladder of extreme peril and I have been up there enough. I stayed behind and explored the campground area outside the fence and around the other gullies etc. I wasn’t as tired as usual because I didn’t have to schlep a heavy pack.

Robert and Navy Steve came back and we sat and chewed the fat for a while. They said that Ranger Steve was ultimately cool about our water pilferage. It really is because they want to keep the area natural and people do tend to trash it, sadly enough.

After a while, Diane came back looking a bit excited. She said when they were on their tour, Ranger Steve started getting some radio transmissions about a couple of lost hikers! She said Ranger Steve had to cut the tour short because he had to go look for the hikers. They were part of another Meet Up group and had not come back with the rest of the group. It was an older couple and their descriptions were given over the radio. So the gang were walking back in the stream and they saw an older woman wandering toward them, looking a little confused. They stopped to talk to her and she asked where Keet Seel was. They said right here. She said how did I get back here? I was trying to get back to my car. Turned out she was one of the missing hikers. So Ann Marie, Eric, Michael, and Darrell headed back to tell Ranger Steve they found one of the hikers, and Diane stayed with the woman. When Ranger Steve got to her, Diane and Ann Marie came back to camp, Darrell, Eric, and Michael said they would help out looking for her companion who was, according to her, in pretty bad shape. Neither of them had any water, they were dehydrated and had no food. It was getting dark about then so Ranger Steve handed out flashlights and the guys fanned out down the canyon searching for the lost man. Darrell carried the woman’s pack for her even though he has a bad back and had been schlepping a pack all day. Eric found the man who was passed out atop the second waterfall. There’s the waterfall near the campground, then another one a little further down then the Big Waterfall which is the last place where you can get a vehicle. There was a truck waiting with EMT’s by the Big Waterfall, which is around 2 miles from the ruins.

Eric, who is Chinese and has a very thick accent gets in the man’s face and asks “Do you need water? Do you need medicine? Do you need food?” He said the man’s eyes were just glazed over and he was shaking badly. He was in very bad shape and the guys were pretty confident that if they hadn’t found him when they did he would have died being out there all night. He had no way of getting warm, no water, no food, and was exhausted.

The other guys got there with the woman and Michael and Darrell carried packs, while Ranger Steve and Eric held on to the man and helped him along until they got to where the truck was waiting. Of course we were all back at the camp wondering what was transpiring and then the guys came back around 10:30pm. Ranger Steve comes up to me and gives me a hug and said we were all exonerated for the water incident with the help the guys lended on finding the missing hiker. Turned out the couple had hiked all the way to the base of the cliff, but instead of heading up, they kept walking up Long Canyon, which is one of three canyons all connecting at the base of the cliff. They walked a fairly long way up the wrong canyon until they came to a herd of sheep, thought they were lost and turned around to go back. Again, instead of finding the trail up the cliff (marked with a huge white post) they headed back down Keet Seel canyon! They got as far as the second waterfall and the man could no longer go. He stopped there and she kept going and ended up back at the ruins. She was a bit confused and couldn’t figure out how they got so turned around. I don’t know how they endured all that hiking. I would have keeled over a lot sooner myself. The woman was actually in really good physical condition.

The next day we all packed up and headed out. Ann Marie, Darrell, and Robert all said they needed more water and I said that I would wait for them by the other spring I knew of and we would get some.

Then on the way back up the Cliff of Insanity, I of course, was way behind because I just can’t handle steep uphill climbs very well, I trip on one of the railroad ties in the first set of switchbacks and fall on my face banging my left shin really badly. It started swelling up like a softball and I was really shaken up. Falling like that with a full pack is no joke. Ann Marie and Darrell were up a few levels from me and I yelled to them that I had fallen. They said they’d wait and when I got there Ann Marie had a cold pack and a sticky ace bandage and she packed up my leg. It really helped.

So, that ended the most eventful Keet Seel trip yet! Even though I will not use Forbidden Spring again, I know where to get water on the trail, so still, no more heavy packs!

Next up – Adventures in Curaçao

The Scuba Jedi

The Online Dating Adventure

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The Scuba Jedi is tired of always having to do everything alone. Well, I do have a large circle of regulars that I hang out with and do things with, but I think you all get my meaning when I say being alone kinda sucks. So where do you go to meet a decent man? I’m asking you gentle readers, because I really don’t know. I joined a singles activity club and have met some really great single women. It is actually a lot of fun and I have met some good friends and done some cool things like traveled to Bonaire and Peru with the group.

I’ve tried the speed dating thing (see The Dating Adventure ) and that was fun but unfruitful. Now I am trying the online dating thing. I have actually tried this on and off for several years, and as I am still single, it doesn’t seem to be working either. Lately, however, I have been going on a lot of first dates. In the past I got nothing, not even an electronic wink, but maybe my pictures look better this time around. Also, something else I’m trying differently this time is I have dumbed down my description a lot. I don’t mention that I am The Scuba Jedi, or that I am a Sierra Club Wilderness Guide, or that I have traveled to 11 different countries, play musical instruments by ear, speak French, make art, used to drive a motorcycle, can make my own clothes, make pottery, work for Microsoft, have a graduate degree in Forensic Psychology, am a voracious reader, and dress up for Renaissance Fair. Men don’t give a crap about any of that, I have figured out. As a matter of fact, this all goes to work against me. All they think about is sex, and all they care about is if they think you’re hot looking. So I have a couple of portrait pictures and a couple of paragraphs about how nice I am, would like to meet someone who can make me laugh (all guys think they’re hilarious), and that I like to cook and wouldn’t it be great to have someone to cook for…giggle giggle giggle. Excuse me, I have to go throw up right now, when I’m done I’ll finish the blog…..

One might wonder why I even want a man if I think so little of them? Well, let me tell you. I have met and know some pretty terrific guys. They are mostly all married, and understandably so. So this gives me hope that there might be one out there for me. The dumbed down profile isn’t a lie, it’s just not disclosing all my information at once. I think this is what was killing me in the past. I put it all out there and it was overwhelming. So I just reeled it back in a smidgen and will dole out the rest of me in little pellets like from a Pez dispenser.

So I have had a lot of first dates. Here’s the drill: They answer my online personal ad and we e-mail back and forth for a couple of days. Then they give me their phone number and I will usually text them so they have my phone number, because I won’t call a man to start off with. Nor will I let them trick me into asking THEM out. I read “He’s Just Not That Into You”, I know the game. Then we’ll either keep texting or he’ll call me. We set up a time and place to meet and then we meet. We’ll have a nice chat, a couple of drinks, or a coffee, and say so long. Then one of two things happens. I will either never hear from them again, or they will contact me a couple of days later about seeing each other again. And here’s the thing, my amazing blog readers, it’s always to GO OVER TO HIS HO– USE! Can you say “Booty Call”? Not only am I not interested in a booty call buddy, but that is just creepy and makes me uncomfortable. I am a fairly good judge of character and I know these guys are mostly harmless, but the one time I judge poorly I am going to regain consciousness and find myself in a hole in some guys basement hearing “It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again”. No thanks, Buffalo Bill, I am not coming over after only meeting you in person one time. When they find out I’m not coming over, they dump me. One time a guy actually took me out three times before abandonment. He wanted a bed buddy for an upcoming weekend in Sedona. When I told him I was doing a camp out that weekend and couldn’t go, he disappeared.

All in all it should really be discouraging. But it has actually toughened me up and I am using this as educational material. The trick is to have no expectation. Then when you’re treated like this, you aren’t surprised or hurt. I am very grateful that these guys show their true colors right in the beginning and I don’t get dragged into a mess that will lead to hurt later. I am truly blessed.

And so, I will persevere.

Until the next adventure, your Friendo Platonico,
The Scuba Jedi

Grand Cayman Adventure

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Every year the Professional Association of Diving Instructors (PADI) Diving Society hosts an event called Total Submersion. It’s a week of boat and shore diving, parties, food, hanging with other divers and maybe even making new friends.

I managed to wangle some vacation time from May 1 to May 8, which when you work shifts punching a time clock, is no small feat. The weeks leading up to the event dragged on and on and the night before I left seemed to take a lifetime. I had to work until 9pm the night before and I had a 7 am flight the next day. Once again, I procrastinated packing, thinking I am such a pro I can do it in 15 minutes. But not only did I have to pack some clothing, but all that scuba gear. But I prefer packing the gear last so that I can make sure I don’t forget anything. From time to time, I have dreams that I am going on a long, exciting, exotic diving vacation and as I am boarding Air France or British Airways and the cabin door is closing, I discover that I didn’t pack my mask, or my fins, or my BC. Things you really can’t dive without. Occasionally I will dream that I forgot my purse with all my money in it, and very occasionally I’ll dream that I am boarding the plane completely topless.

But I digress.

I ended up not going to bed until 12 or 1. I had to leave the house at 4:30 in order to get checked in for an international flight. I couldn’t get any of my so-called “friends” to take me to the airport. I mean, they could go back to bed, or get an early start on a Saturday. But it all turned out well, as I ended up waking up at 4:30 am. I didn’t even have time to shower, I just threw some clothes on and bolted out of there. I just did make it in time. I only sat at the gate for a few minutes when they called my row and off I went. I didn’t forget to pack anything and I was wearing a top.

The flight was uneventful except for the male flight attendant trying desperately to flirt with the busty blonde in the row across the aisle and in front of me. From Houston to Georgetown, Grand Cayman, the guy was chatting with her stooped over leaning on the arm of her seat which put his ass directly in my face for approximately two and a half hours. Nice. He did manage to serve a couple of drinks but it took a lot to distract him from the blonde to, you know, do his job. I am pretty confident he struck out anyway.

The humidity festival is ongoing in the Caribbean and in Georgetown, the airport is the small Banana Republic type. They wheel the stairs up to the jet and we de-plane to the open air so the moisture can hit you like a bus right away. There was something new this year, they have enclosed the rolling stairs in some sort of plastic covering that quite frankly, looked like a giant hamster tube. That made it even hotter.

The Cayman Islands are made up of three small rocky clods of dirt called Grand Cayman, Little Cayman and Cayman Brac. They are located south of Cuba and west of Jamaica. The Cayman Islands are famous as an offshore banking center in the Caribbean. The islands are actually the peaks of a massive underwater ridge, known as the Cayman Trench, standing 8,000 feet from the sea floor, which barely exceeds the surface. The islands are therefore at sea level and this leaves them vulnerable to the sea, and worse, hurricanes. Grand Cayman is the largest, with an area of 76 square miles. I have never been to either of the two “Sister Islands” of Cayman Brac and Little Cayman, and I hear the diving is very good there. They are located about 80 miles east of Grand Cayman and have areas of 14 square miles and 10 square miles respectively. All three islands were formed by large coral heads covering submerged ice age peaks of western extensions of the Cuban Sierra Maestra range and are mostly flat. One notable exception to this is The Bluff on Cayman Brac’s eastern part, which rises to 140 feet above sea level, the highest point on the island and where everyone rushes when a hurricane approaches.

Grand Cayman was obliterated by Hurricane Ivan in 2004. Hurricane Ivan was a category 5 storm (the strongest rating on the Saffir-Simpson scale) and was the size of Texas. Think about it, Grand Cayman is 76 square miles. The state of Texas is 268,820 square miles. It swirled over the island for two days and basically ate it. There really wasn’t anywhere to go, not even The Bluff on Cayman Brac.

Fortunately, Total Submersion takes place before hurricane season. The weather is usually pretty clear when we’re there. The first day of diving was Sunday and after an orientation session we were off to the boats. At Total Sub, everyone is divided up into teams with a color designation. The first year I went I was on the Red Team. Since then I’ve been on the White team consistantly. There are repeat guests who go every year and some people who attend every other year or couple of years. I have been going back every year since 2007. I like the event, have made friends, and the diving is always a sure thing, unlike places like San Diego where the conditions can be unpredictable. However, the first day of diving was a little unusual as the seas were what could be considered rough for the Cayman Islands. The boat was rocking and bouncing and this, gentle readers, makes The ScubaJedi nervous. It’s the same feeling as when I’m on skis (read Adventures in Skiing) or on an out of control water sled (read Whale Riding in Rocky Point). I guess I feel a bit helpless as I know that no matter what, the water is always the boss and can knock you around any way it wants. Once I splash though, everything is much better. For the second dive we moved the boat to calmer waters to a dive site called Eden Rock. The first one was Little Tunnels because it’s full of little tunnels. Eden Rock is a popular site for not only divers, but for snorkelers as well. They come off the cruise ships that dock not too far away. I’ve heard of snorklers near divers will sometimes swoop down and grab a puff of air from a diver’s spare air hose. That, to me, is an invitation to having my fin shoved up a snorkeler’s ass.

The first two days, I am usually very tired after the morning boat dives, but on the second day, which was Monday, I managed to get in around 4 dives before becoming unconcious. There are optional dives you can pay for like a night boat dive. I got a rough start with night diving but now find it very comfortable and like it as you get to see all the creatures of the night that venture out to look for food. I signed up for the night boat dive and was looking forward to it to the point that I forgot my regulator. I left it in the room. A lot of people leave their gear laying around as it’s pretty safe but my regulator was expensive enough that I didn’t want to leave it laying around with the rest of my gear. It has a wireless transmitter that talks to my wrist dive computer and lets me know how much air I have and neat stuff like that. So I usually tote the wrist computer and the reguator assembly with me. So we’re under way out to sea and I commence to setting up my gear and lo and behold, no regulator! For those non-divers reading this, the regulator is the thingamajig that screws on to the air cylinder and a hose comes out of it and to your mouth, which allows you to breathe. It’s kind of important. So I began to whine and bitch that I was going to miss the night dive. I was pissed. But there was a spare reg on board and Scotty, one of the boat captains, helped me set it up. But then the low pressure coupling didn’t fit my spare air assembly so I began to kvetch again. Another diver on board happened to have about 5 spare low pressure hoses with him as it happened, and one of them fit. I was still a bit twitchy about using different life support systems, but I splahed anyway and saw many wonderous things.

I completed my 100th dive on this trip, and the last dive of my journey was the most spectacular of all. A site called Big Tunnels, which has, big tunnels to swim through. But it was like diving in the Grand Canyon only you don’t have to stop at the ledge and look down, you can cruise over the deep chasms and even dive down in them. I saw the biggest Super Male Parrot fish. Super Male Parrot Fishes are Parrot Fishes that were once female then decide to switch. The process is more than likley much cheaper and easier than when humans decide to do this. The life cycle of the Stoplight Parrotfish, which is most commonly found in this area is complex. But the SuperMales are really friggin big fish. They school, so you have to wonder what is after them, as there is always a bigger fish.

After Big Tunnels we went to a site called The Aquarium where, after I descended to a depth of about 30 feet discovered that my transmitter was no longer speaking to my wrist computer. The two obviously had a quarrel and were no longer communicating. Bummer. I went up and boarded the boat, switched off the air, switched it back on and everything was fine. But I didn’t trust it and decided to stay up top. Big Tunnels had been so spectacular I wanted to remember the trip with that last dive. I stayed aboard with Scotty and Trevor and took pictures of my feet.

The next day consisted of shopping so I swooped into Georgetown and spent money like a drunken sailor. I regretted it when I looked at the receipts and saw that I was going to have to live on peanut butter for a couple of weeks.
But, I can’t wait until next year when I can do it all again.

Until the next adventure,
The ScubaJedi

Adventures in Skiing

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I had never been downhill skiing. The opportunity arose where I could go with my social group up to Flagstaff, Arizona for a day trip with a ski lesson for $57. I decided that sounded like a fun idea so I signed up.
I did have an ulterior motive in that there was a certain guy I was interested in whom I had met at another gathering. He is from Brazil and I happened to speak a little Portuguese so we kind of hit it off. We had a lot of common interests like scuba and backpacking so I thought it would be fine to get to know him a little better. We’ll call him Paulo (not his real name).

We all met at a Starbucks to carpool up to Flagstaff. I was hoping to beg a ride from someone as I don’t know how to drive in snow and I wasn’t sure of the conditions. I was hoping that Paulo would drive and I could ride up with him. When I got there, he said he didn’t know whether he was going to stay up there for the night or come back, so I said that was okay as I would pile in with someone else on the way back as I knew there were pleanty of people returning that same day. I was signed up for a 9 mile hike the next day and wanted to come back.
I rode up with Paulo and another guy I’ll call Edward. We had a great time yukking it up and chatting and listening to Edward’s enormous collection of 80’s music. When we left the Verde Valley to climb the mountain into Flagstaff, Paulo announced the the gas gauge “Empty” came on and we needed to stop for gas. I said, um, there won’t be a gas station for quite some time. there is literally nothing between Camp Verde and Flagstaff except Munds Park and that was some way up the road. I was concerned. Paulo had never been up to Flagstaff before as he has only been living here a couple of months. Edward re-iterated my concern saying that we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Paulo said that there was about 30 miles of gas left when it was on empty so no worries. I said that was great except we need to go about 50 miles.
We just did roll into Munds Park on fumes and stopped at the first Shell station. I was never so happy to see that obnixious yellow shell.
On to the mountain, we made it and met with the rest of the group. One woman there had come up the night before and she was all in her ski outfit as she had her own stuff. She swooped in on Paulo and started taking over his day. She enthusiastically asked him if he were going to stay the night, what he was doing for lunch etc etc. He replied that he would stay the night and she whipped out her cell phone like it was the Bat Phone or something and started calling her hotel to see if there were rooms so she could book his room for him. Then she grabbed his ski pass and started helping him attach it to his coat and I was getting a little annoyed. What was she, his mother? I had told this woman prior that I was interested in Paulo and I guess there are really no rules in love and war, and this was a little of both. But, I have a personal rule that stems from self-worth and integrity and that is I don’t fight over men. I was having fun and was going to learn how to ski and that’s what I would concentrate on.

The line was long to get the rental equipment and we missed the 10 am lesson and the next lesson was at 1. We got our skis and boots and were left to our own devices. Paulo said he wanted to just get out there and do it, and I admired his fearlessness. I am relatively fearless myself, but there is something about sliding down a mountain on a pair of sticks that does unnerve me slightly. I really wanted to wait for the lesson, but that was not for another three hours. So I went along with the crowd and donned my $75 ski pants and had someone show me how to strap into the skis.
Ski boots were invented by someone who loves pain. They keep your ankles extremely rigid, which I supposed is to your advantage, but I was pretty confident that my legs were both going to snap at the shins. Then you have to get your skis and carry them outside. They weigh slightly less than that boots, which is to say it’s like trying to carry a couple of lead telephone poles. I slung mine over my should to try and look like I knew what I was doing but at the same time trying not to render those around me unconcious by hitting them with the skis. Then there was the walking around in ski boots. Everyone was clomping around like Herman Munster with a gate like Jar Jar Binks. Sort of a drunken bobbing.

So I hit what was called the “bunny” slope for beginners. Me and a couple of other women sort of stuck together. Paulo took off with his mamma, the woman who was intent on taking care of him. I wondered if at dinner she was going to cut his meat for him. Anyway, I was busy trying not to die, I couldn’t worry about them. I ended up aimed downhill and started sliding. I got up to speed close to say, mach 2, and discovered I had no idea how to stop. I had these visions of Sonny Bono and that one Kennedy smashing into a tree. I, however, would not be as lucky as them and die on the spot. I would probably be left quadrapalegic and live another 60 years until I could talk somone into feeding me strychnine. So I purposely fell. I sat down, rapped the back of my head on the ice and skidded on my back a few more feet before coming to a halt and laying there dazed. That’s how I stopped from then on, just flop down. I was sure there had to be a different technique to stopping on skis. Paulo yelled for me to get up off the snow before I froze but he was too late. I was already frozen. I took the skis off, got up and went to find a place to sit and cry. I am usually pretty good at anything I try but this was going to be a challenge. I saw snomobiles go by dragging a litter to pick up bodies with and thought I would pay real money to get a ride on one of those. Instead I cambered back up the hill and decided to chill out until the lesson. I met some of the others for lunch, then it was time for the lesson.

I learned how to stop which was nice, but still, if I got going too fast, I still had to fall down. I was hating skiing more and more. I looked around at the others who made it all look so easy. When we made our way ( me skidding on my butt mostly) down to the ski lift I decided I had enough. It just wasn’t fun. I told Ryan the Ski Instructor that he was a wonderful teacher, but I was just not going to be a skier. I went and turned in my things, changed into some dry clothes and hung around until everyone was back and ready to go to dinner.
We all went to the famous Beaver Street Brewery, then Edward, Paulo, and I headed back to Phoenix. Paulo is magic. He transformed from a affible, nice, funny, interesting person into an arrogant, preachy, nonstop talking know it all in the space of an hour. He started getting really philosophical, and would not let anyone else finish a sentence before he would interrupt and tell you you were wrong and we might as well be talking about flowers. He all but called me stupid. I am hard enough on myself and really don’t need anyone preaching to me and telling me that I am not equipped intellectually to converse with them. I almost asked him how to say “You SUCK!” in Portuguese. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the guy. Hate is not the opposite of like or love, indifference is. I hate him and that means I care somewhat. He’s nice, funny, animated, and interesting as long as you stay in the shallow end of the pool with him. Don’t go deep into anything. I am not in the least bit worried about him reading this either. Inasmuch as him reading this would indicate some interest and curiosity in something other than himself, and that just won’t happen.

I was really happy to return and get into my own car where I am the Captain. That was the end of my ski adventure. I’m not sorry I went, I did have a good time. I also learned a lot and have been feeling a lot better about things.

I also heard that Paulo got in a fight with another guy at a group event the following Monday.

The ScubaJedi

Keet Seel Backpacking

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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

Hiking and Diving in One Weekend

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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

On the Road in San Diego

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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

The Dating Adventure

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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