Bursting into the New Year!

You never know when something will occur that will put your long-discussed, well-laid plans on hold.

After completion of our PNT adventure in late October, Dale and I spent some much needed, much appreciated and enjoyable time with friends and family, both in the Northwest and in Colorado. For the first time in many years we found ourselves embraced by family for the fall and winter holidays. In Washington we carved pumpkins for Halloween, and gorged on delicious food during a boisterous Thanksgiving Dinner. In Colorado we experienced a wonderful, wintry Christmas and quietly rang in a chilly New Year playing card games.

As midnight faded into January first, we leaned into each other, gently kissed, and both felt a rising sense of excitement and eagerness for our 2010 goals. This is the year we plan to take Beyond Sea Level from blog to small business. This is the year we plan to use our passions and long-earned skills to develop an environmental outreach organization. A kind of "ecotourism for the mind", we envision offering a series of environmentally-themed courses for life-long learners who want to improve critical thinking skills regarding current and future environmental concerns. Through this effort participants will move beyond their own personal sea levels to gain perspective on how we impact and coexist with the ecosystems we live in. We want to raise the importance of the environment in the voting booth, and by doing so make positive change in the state of our natural world and the only planetary home we have. We will accomplish this through an unbiased, even-handed approach in which people are encouraged to draw their own conclusions regarding their environmental decisions. We want to make a positive difference in the world and we plan to begin in the Puget Sound area.

That being said, Dale and I set out for the Pacific Northwest in early January with a few simple goals in mind; 1) Find immediate employment that will 2) sustain ourselves (food and housing) while we 3) apply for grants and develop curriculum for the future of Beyond Sea Level (BSL).

Unfortunately, our plans have been temporarily put on hold. A minor set-back has slowed our blogging and our forward movement in Seattle. The culprit – a burst appendix - deep in Dale’s abdomen.

Okay, so many people experience appendicitis. (According to WebMD, appendicitis will effect one in fifteen U.S. citizens). For most folks, it’s not a big deal. However, if your appendix bursts two weeks before you have it removed…well that is a problem. Yes, you read that right. Two weeks. We honestly didn’t know. Dale was feeling discomfort in Colorado around Christmas that we attributed it to high-elevation (sleeping at 8,500 feet), flu symptoms or other common gastro-intestinal issues. Clearly, something more serious was going on - serious enough that I am posting this from the hospital, six long days after surgery.

The good news – we’re doing okay. Dale’s fine. He’s in discomfort, and annoyed by the setback, but more himself every day. Since the appendix had already ruptured, and formed a lovely pus-pocket in his gut, the hospital in-patient time is extended. There’s a concern about further infection, and we’ve learned a new term: paralytic ileus. An ileus could be called “frozen gut” and not in a fun, “I’ve had too much ice cream too fast” kind of way. No, instead your bowels basically go to sleep. Until they wake up and start working again you can’t leave the hospital. So essentially we’ve been sitting around for days and days waiting for Dale to pass gas. (Giggling is definitely allowed.)

If my discussion of bodily function does not exactly correspond with our loftier plans post-appendicitis-recovery, keep in mind we also spent 3.5 months on the trail when we dug cat holes to bury our waste, peed next to each other on the trail, and could easily sink into the realm of “body-function-jokes” to keep ourselves entertained on long hiking days. And it’s exactly these moments when humor becomes as healing as the happy-drugs they push for pain.

So I post this from the hospital where Dale is resting quietly and we wait for gas to pass. We’ve been warned that recovery from this kind of acute appendicitis can take a while. We plan to use that time to continue the job search, and move forward on making BSL a reality. We will continue to blog. And we will always be grateful this did not happen out on the trail in a wilderness area miles from a trail head.

What a way to burst into the New Year, eh?

Lessons Relearned - Rationing

Many of life's lessons must, unfortunately, be relearned.

It was several days before we hit the Devil's Ridge trail deep in the Pasayten Wilderness that we knew our food was low. The scenery, the terrain, and the weather had all conspired against us. We had spent extra days in locations too spectacular to linger only briefly. That splendor derived, at least partially, from the grueling elevation changes we encountered daily. And it was September in the North Cascades – when not spitting on us, the clouds loomed forebodingly, the wind howled, and the elevation warned of snow.

We carefully estimated calories, allotting similar amounts for each of the meals remaining before we would arrive back in “civilization”. We planned aggressive hiking days over Tatoosh Buttes, Sky Pilot Pass, and Devil's Dome. At the same time we talked of caution on the trail, for accidents and injuries happen when low blood sugar leads to poor judgment. Our independent, stubborn personalities would be a problem. When only one of us wanted to push forward an extra mile or two, frustration mounted.

Our final meal consisted of a few handfuls of dried carrots and celery floating in thin vegetable broth. Not a very satisfying supper after hiking a dozen miles with a pack in fall weather. Your body needs calories to burn to keep you warm while the rain on the tent keeps you awake. Carrots don't have much fat and celery is pretty lean in the protein department.

That was the only time we ran out of food on the entire PNT. While we had been continuously burning more calories than we ingested, this was the only time when hunger could find no relief – the food bags were bare.

When we look back on that week in the high country we are reminded of how profoundly it affected our abilities. Cold fingers take longer to set up camp. Cooperation becomes an effort rather than second nature. Perception distance shortens. No one chooses to live like that.

Yet families in your own community look at the calendar every month and must start rationing food. Sacrifices are made until payday arrives. Like us on the trail, supplies don't just materialize out of thin air - you fight through to them as best you can.

Think about all of the benefits regular, healthy meals provide: Kids are better able to pay attention in school developing knowledge and social skills that will benefit society for decades to come; Parents have more patience and more energy, making them better role models; all of us are more capable at everything we do, creating success, improving self-confidence, and laying the groundwork for higher achievement.

Now is the time of year when new calendars go up. The time when we record vacations, birthdays and other special events. Now would be a great time to add a food bank reminder. Now would be a great time to take food rationing off the calendar of a local family. Should you donate every month? Every third month? That is up to you. How much to give? Again, give whatever you feel comfortable with.

We always hear how charitable giving goes up around the holidays and tax time. Hunger isn't so predictable. So plan to give throughout the year. And while you are placing reminders on your calendar, look up the address and phone number of your nearest food bank or shelter. When February or April comes and that reminder jumps out at you, call them up and ask what they could use – make the most of your effort.

We've all needed help from time to time. Let's remember to give back.

Happy Holidays. And may your only rationing this season be of cookies and fudge.

Support Local Libraries!

Imagine two dusty, grimy, fatigued hikers coming into a small town in northern Washington after 100-some miles on the trail. They are hungry and stinky. They look forward to the simple pleasures civilization can offer - the possibility of a shower, a bed, and a hot meal. If they pass a library sign on their way to achieve cleanliness and satiation, however, they may do a little jump for joy despite the weight on their backs. In fact, our 1200 mile trek would have been far more challenging without libraries to support us along the way. We owe many libraries in the remote landscape of the Northwest a great deal of thanks.

For Dale and me, libraries offered a refuge. At often tiny libraries in small towns along the Pacific Northwest Trail we found a warm, comfortable shelter where we could sit down in a chair for a few moments and catch our breath before connecting with the outside world. Thanks to libraries we learned they finally buried Michael Jackson after far too much hoopla, as well as Senator Ted Kennedy, an event we took more somberly. In libraries we corresponded with friends and family via e-mail, and posted new stories to the blog. Before heading out into town we got recommendations for local eateries and accommodations from friendly librarians. Whenever we came into a town to pick up our food box, we kept a sharp eye out for the local library.

We encountered our first library in Eureka, Montana. After admiring the detailed three-dimensional mural on an external wall we took over one of the few tables in the small building to catch up on our lives outside of the hike. We were thrilled to access free WiFi in a place that lacked any cell phone coverage. We even thumbed through a few books – a tantalizing peek into stories and images otherwise inaccessible on the trail.

Mural depicting historical events on wall of library in Eureka, MT

Some libraries along the hike were so small as to have limited weekly hours. The tiny Northport, WA library – once the town jail – was staffed just a couple days a week. We felt fortunate to show up at a time the small building was open. There we caught up on e-mail, thumbed through magazines with pretty, glossy pictures, posted blogs, and enjoyed the unique atmosphere of a library/historical museum. The jail cell had been converted to a children's reading room – I think I know a few moms who wouldn't mind an opportunity to lock up their kids somewhere they can read quietly. Dresses on display from the early 1900s hung incongruously with neon-pink signs proclaiming “Animanga Club meets Tuesdays”. The librarian offered to keep the WiFi signal turned on when she left for the week so we could continue to work outside the building after hours. Thank you, kind librarian!

Entrance to library/museum in Northport, WA

Children's reading room in converted jail cell of Nortport, WA library

The slightly larger library in Concrete, Washington, also opened only a few days. Yet we were able to connect to the outside world via a WiFi feed broadcast outside the building. Large posters on locked doors provided the access password and external outlets offered a valuable power source. While our rears got sore sitting on the hard concrete sidewalk, we were very grateful to be able to connect to the internet.

We came across the largest library along the PNT route in Port Townsend, WA. Their two story, stucco building hummed with activity, even in the middle of a weekday. The library was so busy, in fact, we never even found a place to sit. While most visitors seemed to be on computers, others prowled the stacks, and read in one of the scarce chairs about the place. We escaped the midday-crush of visitors and gratefully returned to fresh outside air where we discovered a sweet, feline statuette just outside the library's entrance.

Library in Port Townsend, WA

Cat sculpture outside Port Townsend, WA library

In Forks, WA – yes, that Forks - the librarians seemed pretty used to strangers hoping for an on-line connection. Yet despite (or perhaps on account of) the small town's heightened “Twilight” popularity, Forks' librarians greeted us with warm, wide smiles - no pointy canines or incisors to be seen.

While Dale and I both always liked libraries, we really came to appreciate them over the course of our hike. The proliferation of public places reminded us that local libraries offer a multitude of services to the general public for only a nominal yearly tax. For one, they open a door into the wonderful world of books, and books offer escape, or background to our histories, context for our lives, and promise for our futures. Movies and music are free, and you can peruse a variety of magazines and journals without needing a subscription. Libraries are where mothers can bring their young children for story time and retirees can research that hobby they've always wanted to try. It's a place where students can study, or simply lose themselves in daydreams. It's where people gather to talk about books, or share community concerns. People go to libraries to research new careers. And more than ever, in today's economy, libraries have been invaluable to so many who find themselves in the strange and uncomfortable position of looking for employment. It seemed appropriate and fitting, then, that we gave our first public presentation about our PNT hike in a public library.

Sadly, libraries around the country are feeling the devastating impact of our current economic troubles. Libraries are closing, and like too many others right now, many wonderful folks are losing jobs they love dearly. Since the librarians I know are so deeply passionate and enthusiastic about their work it seems like an extra blow to remove them from the thing they love best in the world. In addition, invaluable services to the community at large are disappearing. Many librarians are as devastated about the loss of library services to patrons as they are about being out of work.

The stories we've heard about branch closures and lost jobs reminds us to consider our own local libraries. We fully support the institutions that provide so much to the community, and offer refuges for locals and transients alike. So here's a big Thank You to all the libraries who offered respite during our long hike. We also want to give a special Thanks to the Aurora Public Library for letting us share our PNT experience a week ago. It meant a great deal to us to be able to share our story in a place that holds so many other stories. We hope we'll be able to pass on more of our PNT experience in future library presentations. In an effort to keep these institutions up and running we will certainly support library initiatives in future voting opportunities. In the meantime, one of the first things we do when we settle will be to get a library card!

Seeing Stars

Walking along the Pacific Northwest coast means walking along tide pools thriving with life - life that becomes exposed to the air and our eager eyes during low tides. We spent one especially memorable afternoon moving among rocks piled with Ochre sea stars and I got a little carried away with taking pictures of their artistically arranged bodies against the barnacled, seaweed-choked rocks and fine gray beach sand.



After the second young person to see the orange sea star on the rock above called out happily, “It's Patrick!”, I finally found out they were referring to the five-armed, orange companion to that yellow, pant-wearing cartoon sponge who lives under the sea. That's what I get for being old enough to have missed the SpongeBob SquarePants phenomenon, and for not having any of my own kids since SpongeBob splashed into Saturday morning cartoons. (And yes, I had to Google how to spell his name.)



These Ochre sea stars come in a variety of colors from orange to purple, brownish, or reddish. They are extremely tolerant out of water and can be exposed to the air for up to six hours.


Commonly miscalled star-fish, sea stars are in fact, not fish. Along with sea urchins and sea cucumbers, these Ochre stars are part of the phylum Echinodermata.



Echinoderm means “spiny skin” and if you've ever touched one of these prickly creatures you know why they were named that.



The underbelly, or under arms as it were, of these sea creatures is covered in rows and rows of tiny tube feet. These small appendages help sea stars suction to rocks, and allow them to move and feed.



Ochre sea stars eat shelled animals like barnacles, snails, chitons, limpets and mussels. I wonder if Patrick would be as beloved if his young admirers knew that in order to eat he pries open the shell of a mussel and extrudes his stomach into the opening. The meat of the mussel will literally be dissolved and eaten within its own shell! Yum. Yet without the predacious sea stars, mussels like the ones above could take over entire tide pool habitats.



The mussels have one thing in their favor - sea stars smell. It's likely the mussels to the right of the orange sea star above will detect their predator's scent and will stay closed up tight even when the tide rises again.



Aww ... pretty. Art found in nature is indeed inspiring. How could we not be star struck?

Turkeys

Turkeys east of Goldstake, Washington

We have lots of traditions centered around turkeys in this country –

Millions are consumed for Thanksgiving, the president annually pardons a couple of birds, “sparing” them from the dinner table (what actually happens to them anyway? Is there an old fowl home where they while away their days in rockers?), and we search the supermarket fliers for the best price on frozen (sometimes fresh), big-breasted, butter-balled blocks wrapped in plastic that bear no resemblance to the birds pictured above.

Given that our urbanized population lacks an appreciation for where our food comes from – what if we changed that last tradition? What if we selected the centerpiece of our holiday tables fully feathered? What if we drove out to a commercial poultry farm, walked among the thousands of white birds, and picked out our favorite gobbler to be killed, plucked and delivered the following week? (Of course, the Wild Turkey Federation encourages us all to take up hunting for what was almost our nation’s symbol.) Perhaps the protein smothered in gravy or slathered with cranberry sauce on our sandwich the next day would hold more meaning. Perhaps the gap between the grocery store and the farm would be reduced. Perhaps we would be more thankful for those who devote their lives to growing the food we consume. Perhaps we would be thankful for living in a country whose natural landscapes were home to the first turkey. Perhaps we would have a greater appreciation for the landscapes themselves and all they provide for us. Perhaps.

Me? I’m off to the store – Christmas hams are on sale.