Travel Adventure

Diving in the Galapagos

2011-12-26T22:00:00.000-08:00

The Galapagos Islands are an Ecuadorian province that is 97% a national park. They lie on the equator 600 miles west of the mainland and are one of the most unique ecosystems on the planet because of their isolation, age and confluence of three currents: the cold Cromwell from the west, the warm Panama from the northeast and the cold Humboldt from the southeast. The ocean currents dictate the life of all birds, mammals and marine life in the islands because they cause an upwelling of phytoplankton which affects all life in the food chain. At times of the year these changes produce a huge proliferation of pelagics and fish found nowhere else on Earth. Barb and I came here with our son, Michael, who is in the Peace Corps in Ecuador, to dive in this underwater Garden of Eden. We stayed in Puerto Ayora on the island of Santa Cruz and did day tour dives.

After extensive research by Michael in Ecuador, we settled on Scuba Iguana as our dive outfit: an excellent choice as it is perhaps the best dive shop in the Islands. We were impressed with their gear, dive safety, service, knowledge of the marine life and expertise of the divemasters.

Verónica helps Barb put on a buoyancy compensator over her 7 mm wetsuit. The water is cold, about 60 degrees, and we also wore hoods and gloves.

Dive tours are offered 7 days a week to various islands and each tour consists of two dives. Michael had been dreaming of Gordon Rocks for months; it is considered one of the premier dives because of its abundance of large pelagics: hammerhead sharks, manta rays, sea turtles, barracuda and octopus. It is also one of the more difficult dives because of its strong and often unpredictable currents.

Besides being underwater naturalists, the divemasters are accomplished photographers and take photos and videos of each dive. I learned a lot about underwater photography by watching them and asking questions. Our first day was at Floreana and we peel off the boat on our first dive.

After equalizing our buoyancy on the bottom, Barb and I pause for a hub and wife photo before heading off along the rock wall.

The amount and variety of sea life is astounding. This a Pacific green sea tortoise and it swam right over us, completely oblivious to our presence. We were constantly amazed and surprised that the marine life had no fear, or even concern, for humans. It was if we were not there or were simply part of their natural environment. This enabled us to get extremely close to them.

Here is a Spotted Eagle ray languidly cruising along the bottom. Our dives were between 40 and 60 feet, so we had enough air to stay down for 50 to 60 minutes.

Another Eagle ray swims past amidst a school of creole fish.

There are several species of sharks that inhabit the waters here: Galapgos shark, white-tipped reef, blacktip shark and the scalloped hammerhead. For a diver seeing a shark up close is always a thrill; we watched almost breathless as a white tipped cruised by the wall only 20 feet away.

This white tip is resting on the bottom at a "cleaning station", where smaller fish clean its skin of parasites, one of many symbiotic relationships found underwater.

In this short video, Michael captures a white tip swimming right by him as if he were invisible. I was right behind him and watched in disbelief as the whole scene unfolded.

The Galapagos sea lions are very curious and enjoy playing with each other and with divers. They literally came up to our facemasks, stared at us with interest, then suddenly swerved away doing twists and somersaults.

This is what it looks like from my point-of-view. I had the camera right next to my face.

In this short clip, a sea lion swims up and to Michael and nips him on the head. Watch as he spins around it happens.

Halfway into our dive we witnessed a spectacle that seemed surreal: a school of thousands of barracuda swam around us. We saw them approaching as a giant, writhing mass, indistinct in shape and then they coalesced into sharp relief as they passed by in their relentless search for food. Barb hovers in the blue void as the school streams by.

It took several minutes for the school to swim by us. Although we were only a few feet away, the barracuda paid no attention to us and we never felt anxious or threatened.

The variety of species is not as diverse as a tropical reef, but still has unique fish. This is a Guineafowl puffer in its yellow phase. Objects are magnified by about 25% underwater because the velocity of light slows and bends as it passes through the water, making for dramatic viewing.

A Pyramid Blue Sea Star elegantly graces a rock outcropping. These sea stars were quite common and i always looked forward to seeing them.

A Hieroglyphic Hawkfish blends in with its surroundings. Sometimes the fish were so perfectly camouflaged that we didn't see them unless they moved.

A Marbled Ray buries itself in the sand waiting for prey. They are absolutely motionless and one time I was taking a photo of a sea star and almost stepped on one with my fin. I was only one foot away when I took this picture and the ray simply stared at me.

Sea slugs are quite prolific and some species are harvested for commercial markets which at times causes conflict between the Park Service and local fisherman. This is a Galapagos Dorid nudibranch, endemic to the islands, also known as a blue-striped sea slug and it feeds on algae. Fortunately it has no commercial value, so it is quite common.

The divemaster caught Barb and me as a school of fish swarms behind us.

Truth is stranger than fiction and this unusual denizen proves the axiom: it is a red-lipped batfish.

After two dives we were all tired and racked out on the way back to port. It is surprising how exhausting diving is, but two dives a day is quite taxing on your body. It is probably a combination of being under pressure (every 33 feet underwater is an increase of one atmosphere of pressure or ATM). So at 66 feet we are at 3 ATM and the air density we breath is tripled. See an explanation here.

We took a day off from diving and walked out to Tortuga Bay, a three kilometer trip from town. The trail goes straight through the dry forest of palo santo and cactus trees.

The beach is sublime and one of the most beautiful in South America. On this morning we had it all to ourselves. The sand was super fine, like granulated sugar, but soft. It felt sinfully sensuous to wiggle our toes in the wet sand. Barb walks in feet heaven towards a deserted horizon.

Tortuga Bay is also a marine preserve as it is a nesting area for marine iguanas. This singular species of iguana evolved from land reptiles to marine ones because of the scarcity of food. They feed on green algae that grows on the lava rocks in the intertidal zone. They are black to insure maximum heat absorption and they blend in perfectly with their surroundings. Barb is standing right over one and it is almost invisible.

As with most animal life here, the iguanas are totally unafraid of people and can be approached quite closely. Carlyle and a local scope each other out.

These are little guys and like to hang under the mangroves.

This is a male in mating colors. During the breeding season, the males sport green, turquoise, red and orange to attract females. This guy is perfecting his pose.

An alpha male relaxes on the sand, gathering warmth before heading into the ocean to feed.

No Stout vacation would be complete with out tossing a frisbee and so Michael and I keep the tradition alive.

Lonely Planet claimed there was surf on Santa Cruz and recommended this surf shop for info on local breaks and surf conditions. I was stoked and thought it would be boss to rent a board and surf in the Galapagos, so I stroked into the shop and politely inquired in Spanish if I could rent a stick and where the best local breaks were. Ah, that was my first mistake. Not only did the owner know nothing about surf breaks, but the shop only sold women's beach apparel in sizes small and petite. As Michael's Ecuadorian co-worker once told him with a rueful smile: "La logica no te sirve aqui", which means "logic doesn't work here".

Darwin is forever linked to the Galapagos and the locals keep the association alive: numerous streets, hotels, birds and flora are named after him and bronze busts abound. Michael contemplates The Man.

Puerto Ayora has a lively restaurant scene. Along the main drag, Avenida Charles Darwin are upscale hotels and expensive restaurants that cater to the tourists on boat tours, but just a few blocks from the wharf in Los Riscos, the locals' restaurant row, with a score of outdoor restaurants. The menu of fresh seafood is a gourmet's delight. Our favorite was langosta encocada, which is lobster grilled and then cooked in a coconut sauce; it is to die for. Barb and Michael watching a soccer match while waiting for their order.

A typical outdoor kitchen with main entrees on display.

On our second dive tour we went to the islands of Mosquera and Seymour, both rock wall dives. After we were suited up the divemaster took our photos. Michael is all smiles.

And so is Barb. A happy camper.

As was I. Diving with my wife and son is as good as it gets.

The water clarity was exceptional on these dives. A large school of blue stripped snapper pass a grotto in a wave of colors.

Nature's camouflage is so subtle that it takes a discerning eye and I'm sure we swam by many species. However, Barb spied this Leopard Flounder practically painted on the rock.

A Galapagos shark meanders along the perimeter of the wall. It was always exciting to see one of these magnificent creatures materialize out of the blue, like a lone soldier of fortune on a mission.

This brief video is incredible. It shows a Galapagos shark coming out of the depths, heading straight for us, then veering off and tracking parallel to us. At the end of the clip you can see Michael taking a photo as the shark swims by. What is amazing is that this scenario happened several times and each time it was equally astounding.

We had seen several white-tipped reef sharks and Galapagos sharks, both quite close, and were impressed. They were between six and eight feet, but still projected the coiled menace that could be unleashed at any moment. Our divemaster had said that we might see a hammerhead on this dive and we were tingling with anticipation. Suddenly he motioned to us and as we turned around a massive dark shape cruised by in the near distance. I caught Michael taking a picture just as it happened.

The scalloped hammerhead is the apex predator here. These are large fish, ranging between 12 to 15 feet and dwarfed the sharks we had previously seen. Their power is tangible.

A squadron of hammerheads on patrol. The number one rule in diving is never hold your breath; you are always supposed to keep breathing to avoid any nitrogen bubbles in the blood. I had to remind myself of this mantra as I watched these beasts because the involuntary reflex was to hold my breath.

They veered towards us for a heartbeat, but then resumed their formation, effortlessly gliding through their liquid medium like deadly phantoms in the night: the image seared in my mind.

A Male Mexican Hogfish swims through a pastel of blue.

A unique phenomenon of diving here is the thermocline, which is where a body of colder water meets a warmer body of water and a barrier or demarcation line is formed between the two. The colder water appears blurry. Here Michael is just entering the thermocline. His hand and the right side of the photo appear out of focus, but this is what it looks like. It reminded me of a Twilight Zone episode.

Now Michael is completely in the thermocline and everything appears blurry. Entering a thermocline is a shock as the water is 10 degrees cooler and it feels like ice water is flooding your wetsuit. Fortunately they did not last long and we were able to pass through them fairly quickly.

Manta Rays are largest of all rays with wingspans up to 22 feet. They appear to swim in slow motion, but actually move fast because of their large size. We saw a couple cruising in the distance.

Michael points to a Scorpion Fish, one of the most venomous fish in the world. Its sting causes intense pain and if not treated can cause paralysis, seizures and death. These fish lie in wait and ambush their prey. As you can see, they are practically identical to their surroundings.

Diving in the Galapagos for me was like being an underwater explorer: seeing new, different and fantastic creatures for the first time; never knowing what to expect or see, but knowing it would stagger the senses. We say goodbye to the dive experience of a lifetime.

Mt Scott: The Monarch of Crater Lake

2011-10-27T19:08:00.000-07:00

Mount Scott is the monarch of Crater Lake National Park rising to a regal height of 8929 feet, it commands a realm from Mount Bachelor to Mount Shasta. It is the highest point in the Park and offers unsurpassed, magnificent views in a 360 panorama. This is the view from the King's throne looking south at Crater Lake.

Barb and I had hiked to its summit 30 years ago with Kevin in his first year on my back in a Gerry Carrier (remember those?). So in mid-October on a glorious fall day, we decided it was time for another outing. A ranger lookout sits on the top of the peak and is just barely visible in this photo at the trailhead. The hike is a moderate 5 miles round trip and has an elevation gain of 1250 feet. It takes 90 minutes to ascend at a leisurely pace, stopping frequently to admire the views, and about an hour to descend, making a very enjoyable day hike.

The hike is only possible from mid-summer to mid-autumn as trail is not open until July and closes once the first snowfall occurs. Autumn is the best time to hike as there are no crowds, the temperatures are cool and crisp, the days are sunny and the air is clear as a bell. In winter the king wears a mantle of white

The route traverses across the lower flanks and then proceeds up the southeast side in a series of switchbacks on a gradual, well-maintained trail. This is a sketch of the trail.

Depending on the season, the time of day, the angle of the sun and the amount of direct sunlight, the color of the lake changes like a chameleon. At times the intensity of the blue is surreal as in this midday photo in August.

We took off full of enthusiasm, inhaling the intoxicating scents of hemlock and fresh alpine air. A fellow hiked obliged us and took our picture at the start of the hike.

The first half mile is flat and meanders through a big meadow. Barb approaches in wonder.

The trail winds through a forested section and then emerges on the southeast flank affording spectacular views to from the southwest to the southeast.

This view is looking southeast with Crater Peak in the foreground.

Further on the Winema National Forest and the Klamath Basin come into view. This is Agency Lake in the distance.

We met a couple from Klamath Falls on the trail and they pointed out all the landmarks in the Klamath Basin. Here is a telephoto shot of Agency Lake.

The forest stretches for miles and at lower elevations it cannot be seen, but at altitude it is a sea of trees marching to infinity.

Mt McLaughlin rises out of the misted shadows above an endless expanse of Douglas Firs. At times we felt like the only people on the planet. It was so quiet we could hear our breathing and the vistas made us feel insignificant.

As the trail switchbacks around, the eastern view of Winema National Forest fills the horizon. The huge meadow area in the middle distance is the upper Williamson River Valley.
A savvy trail sign warns us to be prudent.

Then the trail curves west and we get our first view of Crater Lake hundreds of feet below. It was hard to keep our eyes on the trail and so we'd simply stop and stare.

Finally Crater Lake is revealed in all her majesty and she is absolutely breathtaking and resplendent. We have a world class treasure in our back yard.

There wasn't even a breath of wind and the lake surface was like a mirror. Wizard Island paints a perfect reflection. We sat down and gazed.Nature's beauty is ineffable.

Around another switchback Mt Thielsen looms in the distance across a vast expanse of Doug Fir forest. Diamond Lake is just visible to its left.

Barb approaches the summit ridge as Crater Lake reflects clouds on its surface. It was a Sunday on one of the clearest days of autumn and we saw 8 other hikers on the trail the entire afternoon.

This is one of those scenes I'll remember the rest of my life. There are few places on the planet that have such majestic beauty and grandeur.

Barb crosses a small snowfield on the summit ridge. The park ranger lookout is on the peak, but it was closed already. The trail falls away precipitously, over a thousand feet on either side.

The trail on the east side of the ridge just below the lookout with the upper Williamson River valley to the right.

Carlyle approaches the lookout. By this time we were famished and couldn't wait to sit down and eat our lunch.

Barb enjoys lunch while gazing westward as Mt. Thielsen and Diamond Lake define the horizon.

This is the view of the summit ridge from the lookout. Mt. McLaughlin is a bump on the horizon.

The views of the lake were so serene and stunning it was overwhelming.

We stared, gazed and admired in awe as we ate lunch.

To the north Mt. Bachelor and the Three Sisters rise from the Cascade Range separating western Oregon from eastern Oregon.

To the east the Williamson River valley and forests extending to infinity.

To the northwest Mt. Bailey, Diamond Lake and Mt. Thielsen loom from a sea of green conifers. Everywhere we were surrounded by wilderness on such a scale it defied belief.

A telephoto shot of Mt. Thielsen reveals its rugged peak.

As we descended, we stopped again for another view of the lake.

Two evergreens frame the crater perfectly showcasing the namesake of the lake.

If you have never done this hike, put in on your list. If you have already done it, then put it on your list again; we will. It is a fantastic experience.

Burning Man 2011

2011-09-29T22:30:00.000-07:00

Burning Man is one of the most amazing, astounding, incredible and uplifting experiences of a lifetime. For one week every year at the end of August, 50,000 people come together and form a community, Black Rock City, in the Black Rock Desert. Everyone is self-sufficient; you bring all your water, food, clothing and leave no trace when you depart. 2011 marked the 25th anniversary of Burning Man and for my 63rd birthday I decided it was time to go.

Ten Principles govern Burning Man: radical inclusion, gifting, no commercialization, radical self-reliance, radical self-expression, communal effort, civic responsibility, leave no trace, participation and immediacy. There are no pets, no commerce, no bartering, no trading: everything is shared or gifted: think about that for a moment.

There is art that is so creative it defies description and leaves you in awe when you see it. The people are dressed in the most colorful and fantastic sartorial splendor you can possibly imagine. And the community itself makes Burning Man an unforgettable celebration of human spirit you will remember the rest of your life.

As virgin Burners we had a potpourri of expectations and stereotypes. Rumors abound that it is a hedonistic orgy, drugs are rampant and everyone is naked. Nothing could be further from the truth: it is about art, self-expression, gifting, participating, self-reliance, music, dancing and creativity. So join us as we follow Alice down the rabbit hole and enter Wonderland.

We rented an RV, which allowed us to bring lots of water, ice, food and take spartan showers at night: a luxury. Arriving Monday morning at 11 am, this is the view from the top of our RV looking towards the entrance.

Barb waits patiently as en endless line forms behind us. The Black Rock Desert is a 400 square mile dry alkaline lake bed and the environment is harsh. The wind can whip up dust storms day or night and the dust is like talc; it gets in everywhere and on everything: your body, hair, clothes, in your RV or tent. The sun can be relentless and it is hot, usually in the 90s or higher, but these conditions are part of Burning Man and when cruising around the playa on our bikes or venturing into a Theme Camp, we hardly noticed the discomfort.

We went with our good friends Bryon and Sheryl and were joined by two of their friends, Mike and Randy. Having three vehicles allowed us to set up a giant windscreen and tarp shade canopy (Bryon's brilliant idea), which mitigated the inclement elements. The encampment is called Black Rock City (BRC) as there are 50,000 people camped out. BRC is arranged in concentric circles radiating out from Center Camp. The streets are labeled alphabetically and as this year's theme was Rites of Passage the street names reflected this: Anniversary, Birth, Coming Out, Divorce, Engagement, Funeral, Graduation, etc and the side streets were clock hours with Center Camp at 6 o'clock. Once we understood the arrangement, it was easy to navigate and find places we wanted to visit. The closer to the center, the crazier and louder it got, so we set up our camp on the outskirts at J and 5:30. In a stroke of genius, Barb bought a carpet piece at Home Depot and this gave us a comfy, soft "floor" to walk around on instead of the hard, hot alkaline lake bed.

This is a satellite view of Black Rock City from a NASA satellite. You can see Center Camp, and The Man in the center of the playa with a circle of art objects around him. It looks small from this perspective, but there are 50,000 people down there.

Randy and Byron pose in standard Burner apparel in front of our camp.

Mike and I model our headgear, eye goggles and our threads du jour. Every day we donned a new costume.

Mike, Bryon and Carlyle prepare to venture forth and explore Wonderland.

Sheryl and Bryon on the playa with their Burner bikes. Bicycles are the only way to get around as the distances are too far for walking and once parked, no one drives vehicles except for the Mutant Vehicles. Most bikes are fat tire junks because the alkaline dust ruins gears, paint jobs, tires and brakes.

Some bikes, however, are extremely elaborate, ingenious and colorful. We saw bikes 20 feet high, multiple tire bikes, penny-farthing high wheelers and some were all covered in colored fur or painted psychedelic colors.

Barb and Carlyle exit their RV, ready for a night on the playa. At night everyone wears lights, glo-sticks, headlamps or reflective clothing so other cyclists and pedestrians can see them. We scored our accessories at Dollar Tree and Renaissance Rose.

Carlyle dresses for a day at Black Rock City. Some people spent hundreds of hours crafting the most dazzling costumes, limited only by their imagination: it was a blend of Halloween and Carnival in Rio.

I field test my Burner bike in front of our camp; it performed as advertised.

Art is literally everywhere: sculptures, paintings, live theater, body painting, interactive art, puzzles and parades. This is the "cog" in front of Center Camp.

Barb strokes into Center Camp. This is our first afternoon here and we had no idea what to expect. Prepare to be amazed.


At Center Camp there was always some form of self-expression happening, such as yoga, music or painting and lots of people watching or milling about. It is an excellent place to people-watch: to see and be seen. These are two typical Burners scoping out the scene and being photographed by other Burners. Most Burners were in their 20's or 30's. Less than 5% were were 60 or older: we were a highly distinguished and sophisticated minority.

There was acrobatic yoga going on this particular afternoon and it was like watching gymnasts perform: the grace, strength and athleticism were impressive.

Another typical Burner. I loved this guy's headdress.

Often it was impossible to tell if the body painting or tattoos were real or temporary, but they were always colorful and often provocative.

Everywhere we looked there was something new, different, exotic or bizarre. As Alice said "Things get curiouser and curiouser". A typical group yoga scene.


This couple was amazing. The guy would tell the gal what he was going to do and she would flow into the move; it was like watching ballet.									T

Here is a short video of what they were doing.

They made it look so easy.

Perhaps more than anyone, these two women epitomized Burning Man. They were cheerful, wholesome, beautiful, young 20-somethings who were having the time of their lives. They had a body painting theme camp and invited us to come by and get painted. When I asked if I could take their photo, they were delighted.

I didn't realize that their backs were also painted until one of them turned around. The paintings were all one-of-a-kind, hand-drawn works of art.

Barb fills out her Burning Man census form in Center Camp.

Late in the afternoon we took a stroll on the playa. We soon learned that nothing was ever the same. Every day was different; you never knew what you would see.

These guys were the Lamplighters, a volunteer honor corps, and they walked the perimeter lighting all the temporary light fixtures along the playa. It took a couple of hours to complete the trip.

This was the first mutant vehicle we saw. Burning Man has a DMV and all mutant vehicles must be inspected and licensed before they can go out in the playa.We talked to the driver of one and he told us that some are licensed only for day use, others for night and some for both. All vehicles must have brakes, lights, driver visibility and safe steering.

This is the second mutant vehicle we saw. At night it must have looked horrific on the playa, but we never saw it again.

This is what it is like riding on the playa: a vast expanse of a dry lake bed with random art objects everywhere. You can see The Man in the background behind Barb. The ground was hard-packed so riding was easy, but every now and then a soft sand area would suddenly appear and make for tricky riding, especially at night.

Here is a classic example of a single occurrence of random art: giant balloons of sharks and geometric objects. The wind would gust and send the sharks "swimming" and make the circular airfoil roll across the sky.

This will give you some idea of the scale. These things were huge. We went back the next day and they were gone; it was a one-time event.

Like a scene out of Mad Max, a cyclist emerges from a dust storm.

Another random mutant vehicle with speakers mounted on the frame broadcasting music as the riders danced.

This lady designed and built this boat by herself. She was from Petaluma and had been coming to Burning Man for 11 years. Although it doesn't look drivable, there is a steering wheel at the stern and the entire boat is on a car chassis. We learned early on that the more we participated and engaged with people, the more we learned and appreciated. People were eager to talk, share and explain; it was pure synergy.

Now this was truly amazing: a replica of an 1805 British frigate. I talked with these guys, who were from San Francisco, and they brought the ship to Burning Man every year. It was transported by trucks in sections and it took three days to assemble. When finished it had full rigging, sails and canons. Imagine the time, money and effort to do this. It was staggering and at night it sailed the playa just like its forbearer sailed the high seas.

This is what she looked like at night before her maiden voyage on the playa.

This is a larger-than-life-size statue welded and crafted from metal that was in front of a theme camp. It reminded me of the alien in Predator who battled Arnie to the death.

People come from all over the world to participate in Burning Man and this was an active theme camp where Burners could paint a sign from their home and place it in the camp. There was a map of the world with a scaled protractor to accurately indicate the distance from Black Rock City to home.

Although Ashland is only 199 miles as the crow flies; it is a world apart. Barb and I showed our civic spirit for the State of Jefferson.

Some of the art is scientific. This was created by a physicist from Berkeley. He designed a mirror that reflects your true self, not a "mirror image". It is a reflection you never see. It is only other people who really see you as you are. Inside there are various mirrors and all of them reflect the "real" you. It was a fascinating revelation to see "me".

To test the mirrors, I took a photo of myself. Note that my right hand is on the camera shutter, which is how I shoot . The woman to my left is looking in another mirror and is pointing at herself with her left hand. It was just incredible to see the view of yourself as you appear to others. Most people will go their entire life and never and never "see" themselves.

This is another theme camp of a southern latitude bar/motel. At the far end on the left was a bar and a band. In the middle was the camp kitchen and at the right end were the sleeping quarters. Two stories. This all had to be designed, built, trucked in and assembled.

This is a zen garden theme camp. There was a place inside the tent to meditate and there were rakes in the rock and gravel gardens where you could create your own designs.

These tepees were part of a private camp on the outskirts near where we were camped.

These yurts were very popular and we saw them all over. I talked to a guy who had one and he said they are modular, easy to assemble, sturdy in the wind and cool inside.

Some folks like to mark their territory and there's nothing like a white picket fence.

Others prefer the Electric Kool-Aid Acid look. This shot was taken in late morning and these guys were still sleeping off last night's revelry.

These three Aussie 20-somethings camped right next to us and survived a week in this hatchback. They slept side by side like three bugs in a rug. They reminded us of ourselves at that age: young spirits traveling in a foreign country on a shoestring. We gifted them cold beer, ice and fresh veggies.

My daily regimen was a bike ride foray at dawn out on the playa, while Barb slept in, then breakfast with our friends, then an exploration trip somewhere in BRC, back for lunch, followed by another venture to a workshop, music performance or an event. Then a well-deserved nap in the afternoon to escape the heat and dust and rest up for the evening's festivities. Carlyle in perfect form while Randy models his hat.

After being recharged, we decided to explore the playa and look at the art structures. Cycling along we passed this guy, who only on Tuesday was offering margaritas or tequila shooters. Always prepared, we had our Burner cups and opted for a margarita.

We cruised by the Duck Pond Slip'N'slide and I couldn't resist, so I stripped down to my skivies, got a spray of water for lubrication, took a running start and launched myself to the cheers of the crowd. Bryon caught it in a short video.

After such vigorous exercise, we repaired to the Duck Pond bar where a glance inside revealed standard patrons. Sheryl braves the crowd and orders a libation.

Out on the playa, The Man reigns supreme. You can climb up to just below him and get a superb view of the playa and Black Rock City. There is no religious significance to The Man. See Myths of Burning Man for a comprehensive explanation of The Man.

Every time we turned around there was a piece of random art. This chair sat on the Esplanade, the street that faced the playa and ran the entire perimeter of Black Rock City. It was the place to see and be seen, day or night.

The skeleton wheel depicted Charon rowing, simulating the journey across the River Styx and was one of my favorite art objects. It was out on the playa about 100 yards from The Man.

The wheel was operated by a system of pulleys, which had to be pulled from both sides to rotate the wheel.

This was an engineering and artistic marvel. The skeletons circled around and at night a strobe light gave the skeletons the illusion of paddling as they ferry the dead souls across the river. I uploaded this from YouTube so you have to watch 15 seconds or so before it kicks in, but the illusion is eerie.

Burning Man publishes a guide that tells what events are going on throughout the week. There are recurring events that happen every day and one-time events: they run the full gamut from meditation, to yoga, cooking, music, dances, painting, philosophical discussions, sustainable agriculture, poetry, weaving, pole dancing and last, but not least, erotic activities. One evening we selected belly dancing and entered this tent. Instantly we were transported into a Damascas cafe; there were large pillows, hookahs, a bar offering tea and exotic drinks and women in sequined outfits belly dancing. It was fabulous. As we were watching, this woman next to us, fixes Bryon (who is cuddling Sheryl) with a lustful glaze, leans over to him and says "Hi, I'm Real Girl, who are you?" After a few minutes of squirming diplomacy, Bryon finally extricated himself from her amorous advances, but as this photo shows, she still remained hopeful.

After Real Girl retreated we took another photo. The grainy look of the photo is caused by the ubiquitous playa talc that is magnified by the flash on the camera.

At night the playa is transformed; it becomes another dimension where the limits of your imagination are stretched to the horizon and beyond. You see things that you only imagined in your dreams. I don't know what this tree was called, but I thought of it as The Magic Willow because its hanging branches constantly changed colors.

Every time we went out on the playa at night, we stopped to admire the Magic Willow.

At times I really did feel like Alice in Wonderland. There is simply no other way to describe it. This is a video of what the Magic Willow looks like at night. After you view this, think about coming up with the idea, designing it, building it and constructing it in the Black Rock Desert.

Fire dancers were all over the playa at night. There were troupes, individuals, staged events and impromptu ones. All were spectacular.

The Man lit up at night. There were always people around The Man, day or night, at all hours. It didn't matter; he was a magnet.

Out of the darkness the most fantastic apparitions would appear. I almost had to pinch myself. Was this real? Is it science fiction? Fantasy? A dragon looms out of the playa night.

A colorful spaceship supported by a logo of The Man enthralls the crowd on the playa.

Another favorite was The Dragon Eating Its Tail: a temporary wooden sculpture made by a group from Waco, Texas. It was later burned simultaneously along with 26 other art works.

A goldfish mutant vehicle cruises the playa. This car held two occupants and was built of plastic molding with embedded LED lights. I was continually astounded at the creativity of the artists.

The next morning, after only 24 hours, I had the grizzled look of a veteran Burner.

Mornings were special: the early light is magical, there is no wind, almost no one was up and about and I could ride all over the place in the cool air. The view behind our RV.

The view looking east down our street at dawn.

I hopped on my bike and rode out to the playa as the sun was rising. The juxtaposition of the sun and the playa art was surreal.

In the mists of dawn a lone captain steers his boat across the playa heading for port.

Random wooden art structures greet the warmth of the sun's first rays. All these were later burned at night in a ceremony of 27 structures surrounding The Man.

The Man faces east as the sun rises.

Beyond The Man are scores of art structures and the this one caught the morning light perfectly.

Voted the best art structure on the playa, The Temple is gilded by the early morning light as my shadow reaches outward.

The Temple was spectacular. It is set way out on the playa all alone and rises majestically three stories above desert floor. Look at the people and ponder its size and scale. Think about what it took to conceive of and build this work of art.

The playa surface with Skeleton Wheel in the background. The environment is dry, harsh and unforgiving, but exudes a sublime beauty.

Oblivious to my presence, I rode by this surreal scene of a couple at dawn lying on a big pillow out in the middle of the playa like Bedouins in the Sahara. They had probably been out all night.
These metal sculptures rotated with wind, changing size and shape. I have never seen such an amazing display of creative art anywhere as at Burning Man; it is both incredible and inspiring.

On this particular morning there was a balloon art display. It was only there on that day. I loved the ephemeral nature of the art; it made me appreciate it all the more.

Up close it almost became a living organism, especially when the morning breeze gave it life.

The Trojan Horse was one of the showcase art works. It weighed 14 tons and was lit up at night. At the end of Burning Man, it was towed out onto the playa and burned.

Remember it had to be transported, assembled, wired and constructed. The people who did this paid for it themselves; it was a labor of love and imagination.

There were interior stairs and you could go inside the horse.

A crazy scaled dragon stands mute on the playa.

I asked a wandering Burner to take my photo as I was all alone on my morning sojourn. Note stylish leopardskin tights.

A gathering dust squall suddenly sweeps in off the desert silhouetting The Temple and the Skeleton Wheel.

In a flash the dust obscures everything. Fortunately these dust squalls usually lasted only 10 minutes or so and then it cleared up and visibility was restored.

This was a classic sign. Indeed Burners did play, all day and all night.

There was some nudity at Black Rock City and several events celebrated the state of being au natural, in particular The Naked Bike Ride. I climbed up on The Man and took a pre-ride shot of the participants.


The riders congregate before the start of the race. There were body types, sizes and shapes as varied as human anatomy. The guy in the middle must be from Oregon judging by his tan.

The riders take off just as another dust squall comes in.

This rider was unphased by the elements and was concentrating on her morning java fix.

Bryon, Sheryl and Barb cruise the arid playa in search of greener pastures.

Sheryl and Barb ride away from an approaching dust cloud.

Seeking shelter from the storm we noticed another bar; however this one was unlike any bar we'd ever seen. The name Period Bar could have meant many things, but the manikin of a woman menstruating narrowed the definition.

Indeed, inside we were treated to free drinks from an artificial vagina: not your common dispensary for booze. I asked the host what was in the concoction and was told vodka, rum, watermelon liqueur and soda. They watched Barb's reaction with bemused interest as she received her cocktail.

The Willow Tree during the day was as stark as its surroundings as it waited patiently for darkness when it came alive with color.

Each morning I arose at dawn and rode out on the playa. This morning I discovered The Dragon way out in the desert with a band on its deck playing music and revelers gyrating to its rhythm.

These people must have been dancing all night as I got there on my bike at 7:30 am and yet they looked as fresh as if they had just arrived. I don't fully understand how the music was broadcast and what the energy source was, but there was a guy on an electronic keyboard that controlled what was playing. The music was what I called "techno". Here is a short video of what I saw and heard.

The people at this event were decked out in their finest party threads and in the morning light, it was a photographer's dream. I asked permission before taking a photo and was always obliged. Here is a sampling of Burners dressed to the nines.

It was often hard to tell if couples were couples or if they'd hooked up, but it didn't matter as they were as radiant as a royalty at a Viennese ball.

As you can see most of the revelers were 20-somethings.

But there were exceptions.

These beautiful ladies were very striking and were pursued by young men and photographers alike. I caught them as they were posing for another photo op. Their headdresses were exquisite.

Not to be outdone, the young men were equal to their feminine counterparts. It made me wish I were in my 20's again watching these guys celebrate with such pure joy and wild abandon.

I continued riding across the playa and came across another soundstage out in the middle of nowhere with another crowd of revelers.

People were dancing everywhere, on the ground, on the stage

In cages

And of course, there were more glamorous couples.

and unusual couples.

And surreal couples

This couple reminded me of a scene from the first Star Wars movie.

At a different area on the playa an active art project featured a balloon ride. There was always something going on 24/7 at any given place. What you are seeing in this blog was magnified a thousand-fold all over Black Rock City.

This is a giant puzzle and people passing by would stop and try and fit a piece together. I watched for 10 minutes as these guys tried to find a connecting piece. Finally after several aborted attempts, they discovered a piece that fit, then they shrieked with delight, high-fived each other and started dancing; it was a priceless moment. I caught them just as they were fitting the piece in the puzzle.

Just off the Espanade at about 9 o'clock a theme camp had set up a roller disco and supplied roller skates for anyone who wanted to skate around to the tunes of Staying Alive. It was all free and anyone could participate. Imagine, a roller rink in the desert.

The Burner Santa Claus Parade was actually a scheduled event, which we were unaware of until they came marching by. I just loved the totally random events that were happening. Everything was new and different; it was like looking through a kaleidoscope.

Like any city, BRC had services for its citizens. My bike blew a sidewall and we had heard about a bike repair camp, which after various inquiries we found. I talked with this guy at length as he was fixing my bike with a new tire and a new tube. Burners are so fascinating. This guy had been coming here for 7 years with his son and they always had a bike repair camp. For a week he gifted bike repair to anyone who needed it. In real life he was in charge of all the HVAC for the city of San Francisco's skyscrapers. Time and time again the generosity and kindness of people there amazed me and touched my heart.

We had friends from Ashland that told us they'd be going to Burning Man, but there is no cell phone or internet there, so no way to tell friends where we were. Finding someone at BRC is like the proverbial needle in a haystack, so were were surprised and happy to run into our friend, Barbara, who was attending for the third year.

The two Barbs were happy Burners.

One of the events listed in the directory was a pole dancing contest, so we went and discovered it was the preliminary rounds with the finals being several days hence. However, the contestants we saw, both men and women, were accomplished dancers and gymnasts. This woman was maybe 20 and was like a Cirque Du Soleil performer.

This dancer advanced to the finals.

Why have a Trojan Horse if there is not a battle between the Greeks and the Trojans? And so this legendary feud between ancient civilizations came to life at Burning Man. The Greeks advance.

The Trojans assumed their defensive position. Then both sides traded insults in a staged display of hubris while the crowd of onlookers cheered.


The command to attack was given and the Greeks launched their spears with a savage battle cry that reverberated across the playa.

Then the warriors closed ranks and engaged.

One evening the clouds rolled in at dusk and provided a pastel sunset. An auspicious prelude to an evening on the playa.

The Trojan Horse at night could be seen for miles around and was a main attraction.

A giant multi-story mutant vehicle replete with sound stage and dance floor prowls the playa with dancers on the top deck.

The Mushroom car was right out of Alice In Wonderland

And it constantly changed colors

The sartorial dress for night was as varied as the art.

A flotilla of mutant vehicles cruise the playa. Visual senses were overwhelmed. There is nothing to compare it to, no frame of reference or experience, except pure wonder.

On Thursday night in a coordinated ceremony 27 art structures were burned on the playa. We watched the Dragon Eating Its Tail as it went up in a fire ball. As the fire reached their zenith a wind gust showered the crowd with flaming embers causing a minor stampede to safety.

The mesmerizing flames of fires have enthralled mankind since our ancestors dwelled in caves and revered fire for light and warmth: it is the same today.

We spent four days and nights at Burning Man, but it seemed like an eternity. Time stopped and was replaced by an alternate reality. It was the experience of a lifetime for these Four Burners.

New York City & The 5 Borough Ride

2011-06-08T07:20:00.000-07:00

New York City is a world unto itself. There is no other place like it on the planet. It is the most populous city in the country with over 8 million citizens living in its five boroughs. Every year on the first Sunday in May, rain or shine, Bike New York sponsors the annual 5 Borough Ride, a phenomenal event in which more than 30,000 cyclists ride through all five boroughs of the city. For one day a year bicycles rule The Big Apple. This year Barb and I joined our kids, Kevin, Trina, Brian and Jennifer for a ride through Gotham. New York is expensive, but there are hidden bargains and one is the Staten Island Ferry, which is free and provides spectacular views of the the city and the Statue of Liberty. The New York skyline from the Staten Island Ferry.

New York is famous for its national icons that all Americans recognize even though they've never seen them in person. These icons are part of our national consciousness and seeing them first hand is both emotional and breathtaking. The Statue of Liberty is in a class by herself and it brought tears to my eyes just to see her.

The Chrysler Building is an architectural jewel: a masterpiece of elegance, whose countenance is visible all over Manhattan.

5th avenue is a teeming horde of shoppers, tourists and locals clogging the sidewalks, all moving in a continuous, frenetic flow, all the time, at all hours, like driver ants marching through the jungle.

The New York Stock Exchange in downtown Manhattan is now closed to the public for security reasons and is visible only from the outside. Fates of millions hinge on the machinations of the traders ensconced inside.

One of the best ways to see Manhattan is to take a doubledecker tour bus ride through its steel and glass canyons, its east side tenements, and neighborhoods like Little Italy, The Village, Chinatown, Broadway, Soho, Midtown, the Flatiron, Tribeca, Harlem and Central Park. Tickets can be purchased at various locations, but for some curious reason all the vendors are from West or East Africa. The tour guides are all classic locals, who spout a fountain of knowledge about the city. We have taken the tour three times, but always see something different and learn something new; this time it was the fact that over 150 languages are regularly spoken in The Big Apple. You can hop off and on anytime you want, so it is perfect for exploring the city's unique and fascinating neighborhoods. Here we cruise through lower eastside Manhattan heading north towards midtown.

You never know what you will see in this city. There are business and services that exist no where else, such as this children's boutique in the West Village.

The ferry to the Statute of Liberty and Ellis Island is located at Battery Park in lower Manhattan, so on a sunny day the mimes are everywhere competing for customers.

It brought a big smile to my face to see foreign tourists from all over the globe, lined up to pose with Lady Liberty. More people want to emigrate to this country than any other and once a year the State Department sponsors a "green card lottery." Over 15 million people apply and only 50,000 are selected.

Sometimes signs are simply absurd. New York City goes 24/7; it is non-stop. You can eat, shop, play tourist or see a show at all hours. Noise is omnipresent: a cacophony of traffic, music, languages and an intense urban energy that envelops you like an ethereal miasma. So when I saw this sign, I thought "really?".

Taxis are the life blood of the streets; they are everywhere and hailing a cab is a technique New Yorkers learn early on. I watched a young mother sternly tell her young 3 year old child to stay on the sidewalk, while mom waded out into the street to hail a cab. The toddler remained firmly planted just off the curb watching mom with big, round eyes. One day we were playing tourist uptown when a thunderstorm erupted. It was comical seeing tourists and locals compete for a taxi, as we stood in an alcove and watched the comedy unfold. At times we took cabs, and without exception, all of our drivers were from a foreign country, usually Africa or the Middle East, half of whom had their families back home, but they all longed to become US citizens some day. The view from our alcove as the rain pours.

Some of the neighborhoods have fire escapes that are right out of a Hollywood set. They looked like decorations and I wondered how effective they'd be in a fire.

We scored a 2 bedroom place in the East Village through VRBO and and got a 4th floor walk-up replete with full kitchen and wifi. For stays of 3 or more days, renting an apartment is cheaper and more convenient than a hotel. These are upscale brownstones a few blocks away on 9th Street.

Everything in New York is locked, but even that is no guarantee: a locked commuter bike smashed by a passing car.

At night the city transforms itself into an exotic smorgasbord of music, dining, theater, cinema, art and entertainment. All of this coalesces at Times Square in a maelstrom of intensity that overwhelms the senses. Reality is displaced and turned inside out; Blade Runner is here and now.

We saw Memphis, a uplifting Broadway musical about the birth of rock'n'roll from the blues. Broadway is the Holy Grail for musicals in the USA and the caliber of talent is without equal: it is the best on the planet. The singing, dancing, choreography, and acting are fantastic; it is a cultural event of the highest magnitude. If you are ever in New York, treat yourself to a Broadway musical; it is literally world class.

At midnight Times Square is as crowded as high noon. Some music venues and night clubs don't even open until 11 pm and they go all night.

Eating in New York is a culinary adventure as there is cuisine from every culture and country in the world. Several websites are devoted exclusively to dining in The Big Apple such as New York Grub Street, Urban Spoon, or NY Eater. You log on and select the neighborhood you want to visit, then the cuisine you prefer and a zillion restaurants come up! It is amazing. We were in the mood for Spanish fare and chose a tapas bar in the East Village, La Bota. It was owned by a Spanish couple from Valencia and featured a mural of Picasso's Guernica on the wall.

The ambiente, tapas and wine were as Spanish as Andalucia. We had a plato de quesos (mixed cheese plate), gambas al ajillo (garlic shrimp) and patatas bravas (spicy potatoes) and chorizos ala Riojana (grilled sausage, onions and peppers). It was a slow weeknight and, so we practiced our Spanish and had the pleasure of talking with owners about Spain, Andalusian cuisine, soccer and politics.

Trina gave us a lesson in technology when we wanted gelato for dessert. I suggested asking a local beat cop (ubiquitous on street corners all over the city) and this brought guffaws from our daughter. In 15 seconds she had used her iPhone to locate a gelateria only a few blocks away. The place had just opened two weeks ago and was owned by two Italians from a village in Campania, who were engaged in a vociferous debate in staccato Italian as we stroked in. Our greetings in their native tongue brought expansive smiles to their faces and when we told them that Barb's mother was born in Italy they went gaga. Check out the menu.

No visit to New York would be complete without riding the subway. It can be a very economical and quick way to get across town if you are heading north or south; it is also safe, clean and efficient. We took it frequently and even a casual observation of its passengers would provide fodder for a PhD thesis. We were no exception.

New York City is home to the biggest photography store in the USA and probably the world, B & H Photo. It is a block long, three stories tall and owned and staffed by Hassidic Jews. I was like a kid in a candy store; shopping here is like visiting Disneyland. I wanted a polarizing filter and was directed by a uniformed "usher" to the Digital Camera section, where I took a number and waited for one of the 75 stations to be assisted by an expert sales person, who knew everything there was to know about whatever I asked. The view from the waiting line.

Finally, the big day came, the first Sunday in May; the reason we had come here. If you decide to visit New York, this one of THE best ways to see the city; it gives you a unique perspective that is unavailable at any other time of year and is really a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

We rented bikes from Metro Bike New York and scored new Trek hybrid 15 speed bikes, which were more than adequate. The ride starts in Battery Park, but you have to get there at 6:30 am and then wait 90 minutes in the pre-dawn chill for the start, or you can sleep in and join the ride a mile north along the Avenue of the Americas at 8:15 when the first wave comes riding by. We opted for the latter choice: family portrait at the start.

Barb and I pedal north along the Avenue of the Americas (6th Avenue). It is so silent: no cars, no traffic, no construction, an eerie feeling in a city of 8 million. We hear only the sibilant hiss of bicycle tires and the animated chatter of the riders.

As we approach midtown, the peloton coalesces into a living, organic mass; it is exciting, inspirational and surreal.

Trina and Kevin pose at a frequent stop caused by a bottleneck ahead. There were riders from all over the world. We heard dozens of languages, some of which we recognized and others that were "Greek" to us. Some riders had flags identifying their country and some had flags of their home state. There were serious riders, sleek in their team jerseys and families with "tandems" of five bikes all linked together.

Almost every other block in Manhattan has an iconic building. Cyclists cruise by Radio City Music Hall in the early morning.

Kevin and Trina head into the glass and steel canyons of midtown. It seemed as if time had stopped and we'd entered The Twilight Zone.

The 5 Borough Ride is a cultural event more than anything; it showcases the best of New York from its architecture to its iconic landmarks to its citizens. It is extremely well organized and even has volunteer cheer leaders like this couple who were exuberant in their support.

The green trees of Central Park are visible in the distance as the peloton comes to a halt because riders are funneling into the park. As far as the eye can see north and south, there are cyclists and a sea of helmets.

Barb and I are two garish gumdrops adding a splash of color to 6th Avenue.

Central Park provides a verdant, green respite from the overwhelming urban landscape. The size of the park is astonishing and even at 8:30 in the morning, there were lots of joggers, walkers and rollerbladers. Shadows dance as we ride beneath the trees.

Brian uses his camera to take a self-portrait as he rides through the park and captures his wife, Jennifer, riding behind him.

Spring was approaching its zenith and it was lush with the fragrant scents of blossoms and the vibrant colors of fresh growth.

Then we headed into Harlem and were treated to local singers performing gospel music on the street corners. Conveniently there was a rest stop near by, so we stopped to enjoy the music.

New York City is composed of several islands and so traversing the five boroughs involves crossing lots of bridges. From Harlem we crossed the Madison Avenue Bridge into the Bronx, but it was a short tour of only a couple of miles along the Harlem River.

Then it was back into Manhattan across the Third Avenue Bridge to FDR Drive with massive housing projects lining the East River.

Next the route followed the East River under an overpass. Barges and boats ferried cargo up and down the river oblivious to our presence.

New York's Finest were literally on every street corner, directing traffic and looking bored. It must have cost the city a fortune in overtime, but it is money well spent. Most of the cops were in their 20's, low men on the totem pole. This trio was classic: the old vet in the middle flanked by his young Turks.

The most classic bridge is the Queensboro Bridge, also known as the 59th Street Bridge, a cantilever bridge completed in 1909, which links Manhattan and Queens as it crosses the East River and passes over Roosevelt Island.

The bridge is like a giant erector set, spanning almost 7500 feet in length and on a normal day has a daily traffic count of 176,000, but this day it was all bicycles.

Many cyclists stopped to admire the views of Manhattan and Roosevelt Island; we were no exception. Barb questions my sanity standing on a narrow traffic separator as I snap photos before being disciplined by a course marshall.

The view of eastern midtown Manhattan from the bridge. It was a glorious, clear blue sky day, absolutely perfect for riding.

Riding into Queens, home to the New York Mets, JFK and La Guardia airports and the US Open at Flushing Meadows. The borough was established in 1863 and today over 45% of its population of 2 million are immigrants: people seeking a better life for themselves and their families, like all of our ancestors who came to this country.

Queens is the largest of the 5 boroughs, but Brooklyn is the most populous and it is proud of its heritage, but who knew that it was "like no other place in the world". We cross an invisible threshold into the former home of the Dodgers.

After 25 miles, there is a huge rest stop and snack station at Commodore Barry Park, where riders can scarf bananas, get water and rest. Imagine enough bananas to feed 30,000 people.

The Manhattan Bridge forms a backdrop for a family photo at the rest stop. It was one of those perfect photo ops and we took turns with other riders taking each others pictures. It was such a festive occasion and everyone was in such high spirits that it was infectious.

An endless sea of riders climb up to Atlantic Avenue and head towards Shore Parkway en route to Staten Island.

The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge connects Brooklyn to Staten Island and is named after Giovanni da Verrazzano, an Italian explorer and the first European to enter New York Harbor and was the longest suspension bridge in the world when it was completed in 1964. We paused for a tourist photo.

Riders below are like ants on the Shore Parkway as the Manhattan skyline looms in the background.

Another view from the bridge. No matter where we were, there were riders in front of us and riders behind us.

The finish at John Paul Jones Cannonball Park on Staten Island. A well-deserved victory family picture. There were food booths, bands, cycling vendors and raffles going on, but we had plans for dinner in the city, so we hopped back on our bikes and rode down to the ferry.

The Staten Island Ferry shuttles weary cyclists back to Manhattan. It took us about six hours to do the 42 mile course from start to finish.

We all thought it was a very memorable day in The Big Apple and were already thinking about next year. What about you?

Surfing in Costa Rica

2011-04-03T22:30:00.000-07:00

Costa Rica is blessed by geography with a coastline that receives waves almost year round. It has point breaks and reef breaks, but mostly garden-variety beach breaks which hold swells up to 10 feet before they close out. The water is a tropical 86 degrees and feels sensuous as it flows over the skin, almost caressing it like a lover. Below is a typical example of morning glass at Playa Carmen near Mal Pais, where Barb and I, with our sons, Kevin and Michael, spent a week enjoying Costa Rica's copious bounty of surf.

Mal Pais is located on the Nicoya Peninsula at the southern end of the province of Puntarenas in the northwestern part of Costa Rica.

A closer look on the map. Mal Pais is still a laid-back rural town that caters mostly to surfers in their 20's and 30's and a few baby-boomers, but now offers yoga, wi-fi, sushi, a Belgian bakery and a plethora of surf shops. However, the roads are still dirt with pot-holes, iguanas roam everywhere and howler monkeys roar in the tree tops. Best of all, there is no hassle in the line-up for waves as the surfers are mellow and the beach break stretches for a couple of miles.

The quickest route from the airport in San Jose to Mal Pais is along the new highway to Puntarenas and then on the ferry across the Gulf of Nicoya. The ferry ride consisted of a motley crew: surfers, locals, church groups, Euros on holiday and 20-somethings on their first adventure outside the States. We settle in with our bags and surfboards for the 90 minute trip across the gulf.

Kevin and Michael were amped. Visions of overhead swells marching in from the horizon danced like sugarplums in their mind.

We stayed at Casa Azul, a hotel right on the beach run by Richard, an ex-pat from Wisconsin. It is clean, safe and 100 yards from the surf. Playa Carmen just after dawn at low tide. The beach goes for miles.

Barb walks under a canopy at the entrance to Casa Azul. It was hot during the day, in the mid 90's, but it was the humidity that was the killer. After a half mile stroll downtown for lunch, we were drenched in sweat. Everything moves slowly here.

Our daily routine was surf, eat breakfast, read, nap, have lunch or not, surf, sip cold brews or gin and tonics while watching the sunset, have grilled dorado or grilled chicken for dinner, gaze at the heavens under an impossibly, clear night and hit the rack by 9 pm: a grueling regimen, but we were Spartans in adversity. We'd fire-up early and check the surf. Kevin and Michael would savor a cup of coffee and I'd sip Taragui, my favorite brand of Argentinian mate, which I carry at all times. Depending on the tides we'd be in the water by 6:30 or 7, always members of the Dawn Patrol, as the waves were glassy and uncrowded in the morning as the 20-somethings would stay up late and party and hence fail to rally in the am. Scoping the waves with binoculars while lounging poolside: decadent.

Another trio of the Dawn Patrol walks down the beach. About 30% of the surfers were women and most of them could shred as well as the men.

Surfing has its rituals like any sport and checking the surf is always the prelude. Then after getting jacked watching the waves, we'd grab our sticks and segue into the next phase: waxing up. Rubbing on the wax before a surf session is foreplay: the wax beads up, the surf is pounding in the near distance, the tangy salt air tantalizes the senses and the anticipation of riding waves accelerates to near fever pitch.

Michael gazes skeptically at my surf hat, but it is an essential piece of apparel in the tropics. This hat is made by Sunday Afternoons of Talent, Oregon and shields my entire face, ears and neck from harmful UN rays, the wide brim reduces glare on the water and the secure strap holds the hat in place when punching through waves or getting thrashed in a wipeout.

I always wore a rash guard to avoid sunburn and protect my carefully cultivated, custom Oregon tan, but Kevin preferred to lube up and brave the elements, so Barb obliges her son and applies sunscreen with motherly love.

Michael and Kevin surfed 9'0"s that they rented from Nalu Surf Shop, as it is very expensive to ship longboards. The airlines are mercenary; they charge $400 per board one way! I brought a 7'0" as it only cost $100 one way and sold it to Nalu for $250 at the end of the trip. We pose with our sticks before paddling out.

Walking down to the water it was amazing, as we had the place almost all to ourselves in the mornings. Brown pelicans cruised along the surf line just inches above the waves, their wings almost tracing the water and frigate birds soared aloft scanning the ocean surface for fish.

Barb is not an early riser and often we'd come in after a session before she was up and about, but on a few occasions she heroically arose, trudged down to the beach, waited patiently for us to catch waves and took pictures. We are also indebted to Don Burt and his son, Matt, fellow surfers and friends from Medford, who were there and also took pictures. The first session it took me several waves to regain my rhythm, but once regained it was pure stoke.

Don and Matt with their longboards on the lawn at Casa Azul.

Michael hadn't surfed much before, but he took to it like a veteran and was soon shredding. He'd catch a wave and we'd hear him whoop as he dropped in. Then he'd paddle back out with a huge grin on his face that grew more expansive with every wave. Michael leaning into a bottom turn on an overhead set wave.

Kevin was in 7th Heaven as soon as he got wet and caught some good waves. He screams full-tilt-boogie across a glassy wall on the wave of the day.

Sometimes two of us would break taboo and both take off on the same wave. Michael and Kevin share a party wave.

Michael does impromptu splits before sailing off his board.

Then grabs five on a nose ride the very next wave. Nose riding is what makes longboards so much fun; it is pure finesse.

Carlyle fades on the take off, setting up the bottom turn and a run down the line across the wall.

Michael and Kevin with satisfied smiles after an afternoon session.

The main drag in Mal Pais is one street and consists of restaurants, surf shops, hotels, internet cafes, souvenir stores, tour operators, bakeries, grocery stores, banks, a pharmacy, quad rentals and a liquor store. Something for everyone.

Nalu is run by an Aussie ex-pat from Bryon Bay and is a classic surf shop.

Walking through downtown on the way to lunch. All we wore were shorts, sandals and short-sleeved shirts as it was too hot and humid for anything else.

The Artemis Cafe was one of our favorite breakfast places as it was air-conditioned and had wi-fi, so I could check email and world news.

Afternoons were devoted to reading. Kevin settles into the rhythm with a paperback. Barb and I brought our Kindles as we are now converts: they are light weight, compact, store a zillion books, have a built-in dictionary and can change font size.

Barb and I like bird watching and we'd often sit poolside and watch the amazing diversity of birds on the grounds of the hotel.

Costa Rica has more bird species than all of temperate North America and we are enthusiastic birders. These are Bare-Throated Tiger herons, the largest heron species in the country.

A male and female perched on a coconut palm and preened.

This colorful bird is a Great Kiskadee and was quite common.

Besides birds there were other animals about such as the red squirrel.

Or the ubiquitous iguana. They were everywhere and often during the heat of the day would become so languid they'd fall out of the trees. We'd hear a WHAP! and look out to see an iguana on the ground after taking a short screamer, but it didn't seem to phase them as they'd always amble off into the brush.

The tropics breeds strange, colorful and large species like this yellow-spotted garden spider, whose web was a meter across. Notice he only has 7 legs, perhaps having lost one in a fierce battle with a rival.

Geckos are truly amazing creatures. They can change their body color to imitate their surroundings. This one was green in the grass and then changed before my eyes as he crawled across the concrete pool deck.

Howler monkeys live in the canopy and have a ferocious roar than sounds more like a lion. It was spooky and ominous at night when they'd roar as we were walking through the trees. It was as though a primordial beast was stalking us.

Don had just scored a new Canon digital SLR, which could also take videos and he had a 70-300 mm lens to go with it. So one day he decided to be the photographer, instead of surfing and he got some nice shots. On the beach before the morning session.

Don behind the lens zeroing in on a photo.

This is a short video montage Don took of me on a couple of waves. You can hear the sound of the surf in the movie.

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Don catches Kevin dropping into an overhead wave with just a hint of an off-shore breeze on its face.

Michael finds another set wave and after cranking a bottom turn, he looks down the face at the section feathering in front wondering "Will I make it?"

And the answer is: "No, I won't". So he alley-oops over the top, rather than getting hammered by the lip. Smart kid.

Kevin scores a nice backside and sets up for the ride down the wall.

Don's lens captures a classic nose ride by Kevin on a small wave. Another advantage of a longboard is that it is easier to catch waves because the planing surface is so large compared to a short board. So with just a few strokes a longboarder can literally plane into the wave, whereas a short boarder has to have the wave almost cresting to catch it, which makes for critical take-offs.

Don gets me going backside. Short boards offer extreme agility, fast, dynamic turns and more speed. Both boards have their pros and cons, so it's nice to have a quiver and be able to surf either one, depending on the wave conditions.

Surfing is physically demanding and this becomes readily apparent when paddling out in a beach break because a surfer must surmount in-coming waves. At a point break you can paddle around the point and at a reef break you can paddle out on either side of the reef, but at a beach break you have to paddle straight out. There are several strategies to overcoming this obstacle. The first is to simply wait for a lull in the sets and then paddle like hell and hope you make it outside before another set rolls through. This is successful more than half the time. With a longboard the waves simply drag you back, but with a short board you can "duck dive" under the white water. The technique is to push the front of the board down, like doing an underwater push-up and then use your foot to push down on the tail, which, results in the surfer's derriere being exposed up in the air right before the dive. The textbook technique is illustrated by Don's shot of a female surfer.

After an afternoon session we are spent, our arms like wet noodles and our bodies running on fumes. An unspoken custom among surfers after they paddle in, is to stand on the beach and watch the waves and other surfers before heading home.

Don's eye catches one of the surfers watching the waves.

Barb melds into a coconut palm and enjoys a sublime tropical moment in the late afternoon.

The flora of Costa Rica is as diverse as its fauna. A botanist would have a field day. Casa Azul has lots of flowers growing on its grounds; it's like an arboretum. This is a pink ginger.

This radiant flower is a Flor de Caña and only lives for a few days. Richard, the owner of Casa Azul, gave us a tour of his garden and identified various trees and flowers for us. Some of the flowers and blossoms had intense, sweet fragrances that were intoxicating.

This is a mango tree, but we were three weeks too early to pick them as they ripen in late April just as the rainy season starts.

Cocktail hour was pretty informal. Button-down shirts, ascots, pleated silk slacks and penny loafers were discouraged, so board shorts became de rigeur. In hot, humid climates a gin and tonic with ample fresh-squeezed lime juice is a very thirst quenching drink. A father and his sons toast a day of surfing. It just doesn't get any better.

Half the town turns out to watch the sunset, Nature's light show over the Pacific, so we joined them.

There is a timeless majesty to the sun sinking into the ocean. It is a scene I treasure every time I see it. The two brothers share a special moment.

I think of the movie The Endless Summer when I see the golden orb descending towards the water and can hear the familiar guitar chords of The Sandals in my mind.

Every sunset was different, but each one was special. Sometimes the sun was obscured by clouds on the horizon, sometimes there wasn't a cloud in the sky and sometimes Nature painted a pastel masterpiece that was nonpareil.

As it turned out, Don celebrated his 64th birthday while we were there, so we commemorated the occasion at Brisas del Mar, a restaurant overlooking Playa Carmen. The rays of the setting sun gilded the swells approaching their ultimate destination.

The Birthday Photo from the deck taken by our Argentinian waiter, Martín. There were a surprisingly number of Argentinians in Mal Pais, mostly from Buenos Aires.

We were treated to an iconic sunset, quite a birthday present for Don.

After the sun went down a spectacular light show occurred as the clouds turned pink, red, orange, purple and finally gray in a span of 10 minutes. There is very little twilight in the tropics and darkness falls rapidly after the sun goes down.

It was a week I'll remember the rest of my life. Surfing is my favorite sport and to share it with my kids is a dream come true. We are recreational surfers and will never grace the cover of a magazine, but it doesn't matter because as 60's surf legend Mike Doyle once said, "the best surfer in the water is the guy having the most fun".

Diving in Paradise: Glover's Atoll, Belize

2011-03-26T09:52:00.000-07:00

Belize has a coral reef system that is 300 kilometers long and makes up one third of the Mesoamerican Reef System, the second largest barrier reef in the world. Belize has three atolls, shallow volcanic mounts surrounded by reefs averaging 50 feet in depth, and they offer some of the best scuba diving on the planet.

At the southern end of the reef is Glover's Atoll, a National Marine Reserve. Jacques Cousteau stated that it was his favorite dive spot in the Caribbean. The diversity of the reef ecosystem is astounding: 500 species of fish, 36 soft coral and 70 hard coral species. It is has been a World Heritage site since 1996. Here is a map of Glover's Atoll. We stayed in the southeast corner at Isla Marisol.

Isla Marisol, a PADI dive operation, is on the south caye (pronounced key) and is a well run outfit located on five acres. Isla Marisol is the one withe arrow pointing to it. From the S.W Cays to the Middle Cay is three miles..

This is the view that greets you as you walk to your cabina. It is a fantasy come to life. Time melts away as the tropical landscape permeates the senses.

Coconut palms fringe the caye overlooking aquamarine water whose colors change throughout the day as the sun and clouds dance across the sky.

A palm lined path leads from the boat dock to the cabinas. The lack of humidity was surprising as we expected muggy weather, but it was pleasant and there were very few bugs, so it was refreshing to be outside.

The cabinas are simple affairs, but clean and comfortable with lots of screens to let in breezes and the ever-present fan to circulate air. Everything is built on stilts because of the occasional hurricanes and drenching tropical rains.

This was our cabina. It featured two sloping chairs suitable for lounging and a hammock for afternoon naps. The wind rustling the palm fronds was a soothing sound that serenaded at night us as we drifted off to sleep.

Barb relaxes between dives. We signed up for two dives a day so we could have time to kick back, read, bird watch and simply relax.

The island gets most of its energy from wind and solar power. The bathrooms use composting toilets and rain water is recycled for bathing. Catch systems collect rain water that is stored in tanks, but as water is precious, we used it sparingly.

The spring equinox brought the largest full moon in the past 20 years. A cloud bank shrouded its rise off the horizon, but as it climbed above the clouds we were treated to a golden moonrise over the Caribbean Sea.

The daily dive routine was breakfast at 7:30, first dive at 9, second dive at 11, lunch at 12:30 and third dive at 3 pm. We only did the morning dives and it was a good call because we were quite tired by the afternoon. It is very surprising how much energy is consumed by your body from diving. This is the main dining room where we'd fuel up. There were 14 divers there from across the States, Switzerland and the Netherlands. Barb and I were amused that we were the most "senior" divers.

These smiling ladies were the kitchen crew: Jenice, Alicia and Marisol. They prepared yummy meals with lots of fresh fruit and salads. The menu changed everyday, but usually included fried rice and beans, the Belizean staples

The dive shop and boat dock were rustic, but had everything for diving. We brought our own diveskins, wetsuits, fins and masks, the latter of which were ground to our prescriptions so we could see clearly underwater.

The boat was comfortable, but got crowded at times when everyone went on the same dive; however, it was a congenial group and we all got along. Barb and I learned a lot from the more experienced divers about what to look for and the names of different fish and coral that we saw.

Diveskins provide warmth as a layer beneath the wetsuits, act as a rashguard against chafing and make us look like participants at Burning Man. If you think these are wild, you should have seen some of the leopard skin and mosaic pattern diveskins the "other guys" wore. Barb and I model our apparel before donning our wetsuits.

The first part of every dive is descending slowly as you equalize ear pressure, obtain neutral buoyancy and then wait at the agreed upon dive depth for the other divers. It always took me longer to descend so this was my frequent view: air bubbles from divers below percolating to the surface.

Every dive had two dive masters, one to lead and one to run sweep. Kitty was the lead dive master on our dives. Barb follows her into the blue void on the descent to the reef below.

The reefs in Belize are in pristine condition: it is an underwater Garden of Eden. This dive was called The Aquarium and was the best dive we did; it had the most species of fish and coral and was only at 50 feet so we stayed down for 50 minutes. This is a typical reef scene with soft coral in the foreground, hard coral in the background and fish swimming between them.

This short video gives an idea of the fish life in this reef. Without underwater lights it appears all blue and green, but the fish were really a rainbow of colors.

The Queen Angelfish is aptly named as she displays regal colors and is very striking. although not skittish, they are difficult to photograph as they flit in and out underneath coral outcroppings as this one here.

I happened upon this pair and they seemed curious instead of bolting into a crevice, so I watched them spellbound as they weaved back and forth.

Suddenly one of them turned and stared right at me. I was hovering only about three feet away and I got a rare photo of the beautiful fish straight on.

This is a squirrel fish that was cruising around a tube sponge.

The sensation of diving is both surreal and supernatural because you are weightless. Cruising along underwater we felt suspended in time. Every time I dive I am amazed at the experience; it's as close as I'll ever come to being in space.

Our dive master, Kitty, spotted this nurse shark sleeping under a coral overhang. She told us that nurse sharks are the only sharks that sleep as all other sharks lack an air bladder and must swim constantly.

The soft coral resembled plants and flowers. Sometimes their delicate fronds seemed like underwater lace as this violet Gorgonian sea fan.

Often schools of fish would cruise by oblivious to our presence such as this school of dog snappers, with eye-catching yellow tails.

One of the more fearsome-looking predators is the moray eel. We saw this one slithering through the coral crevices where he parked himself in a perfect ambush spot. I kept a respectful distance as I took this photo, but even so he opened his mouth, bared his razor-sharp teeth and hissed at me.

The reef system supports a wide variety of sponges and the barrel sponge is easily recognizable by its shape and huge size. A diver could completely disappear inside the larger ones.

One of the stranger denizens is the lion fish, whose spines are poisonous. We saw a rare pair of these unique fish on some fan coral.

But the most unique fish we saw was the honeycomb cowfish. Note the little horns on either side of its eyes and the exquisite mosaic pattern on its body.

There are several species of turtles that inhabit the reef including loggerhead and hawksbill. This is a hawksbill swimming off the edge of the reef.

Later on we saw another hawksbill lying on the sandy bottom.

Another species of angelfish is the French Angelfish. These were quite common and we saw them on every dive. Here one cruises along the reef.

On one dive I was able to follow one for a ways and got right behind him for this picture. I was literally two feet away from the fish when I snapped the shutter.

This is a short video if a French angelfish swimming along the reef.

This dive was Long Caye and went through a series of canyons. Jacques Cousteau said it was his favorite dive in Belize. Divers descend into the first canyon.

These are dog snappers and two grunts. Both are common reef fish and we saw them frequently. Their yellow coloring makes them stand out in a blue world.

A dog snapper floats above a barrel sponge. Sometimes there would be fish inside the sponge; perhaps they were hiding from predators.

A yellow tube sponge rises up showing off its neon color.Reds, purples and oranges disappear quickly underwater, but yellows are vibrant even at 60 feet.

Even without a flash the color of the yellow tube sponge is visible as shown by this brief video.

Another unusual denizen is the hogfish, marked by its distinctive shape and color pattern. Fish are like birds in that many look alike and it is only by color markings that some species can be identified.

A small colony of brain coral displays its namesake pattern.

A blue tang ambles by. These were also very common and are easily recognizable by their shape and dark blue color.

A blue parrot fish chews on some coral. All parrot fish have unique, hard-plate teeth for gnawing on coral, their food of choice. They are quite skittish and hard to photograph, so I was fortunate to get this picture.

A short video of a blue parrot fish swimming around the sponge.

At the end of the dive we all made a mandatory decompression stop for three minutes at 15 feet to purge the last of the nitrogen from our bloodstream. Then we finally surface and form a line. The boat captain throws out a rope and we all grab on so the current doesn't push us away from the boat.

The first thing we shed are our fins as it is almost impossible to climb up the dive ladder wearing them. We found this the most difficult part of diving. The swells are rocking the boat and it takes timing, coordination and strength to grab the ladder and haul yourself up with your tank and weight belt on. You go from being weightless to carrying an extra 50 pounds in a heartbeat. Barb makes the transition.

As the sun sets over the water, the last dive boat of the day comes back to the dock.

We dived for several days and it was the most fantastic experience. For a brief moment in time we were underwater astronauts exploring a new world.

After rinsing off our gear and our bodies, we repaired to the bar located in a thatched hut out on the water. Seth, our boat captain and Angie, the bartender, are all smiles at the end of a wondrous day. We'd sip a cold Belikin beer and chat with them.

A brown pelican relaxes on his favorite piling amidst a palette of turquoise hues.

The sun completes its journey across the sky and paints a pastel with its fading rays.

We had only been on the island for five days, but it seemed like a month. Caribbean time marches to its own drummer.

A Snowshoe Hike To Hobart Bluff

2011-02-28T06:19:00.001-08:00

Hobart Bluff in the eastern Siskiyou Mountains is just a half mile off the Pacific Crest Trail and is a spectacular hike any time of year, but in winter it is magical. Rising to an elevation of 5187 feet, Hobart is a promontory overlooking the Bear Creek Valley. The trail is a 2.5 mile loop that offers magnificent views of Mt. Ashland to the west, Mt. Shasta to the south, Chinquapin Mountain and the Klamath Basin to the east and Mt. McLoughlin to the north. Below is the view from the Greensprings Hwy driving to the trailhead.

Our son Brian paid us a surprise visit from DC, so we took advantage of our good fortune and the fabulous weather to do a snowshoe hike with Kevin and Daisy Dog. Normally, Soda Mountain Road provides access to the trailhead, but the road was not plowed because of the heavy snowfall, so we had to start at the bottom of the hill, 1.47 miles from the trailhead, according to our Garmin GPS. Kevin and Brian are all smiles at the start.

Hiking in shoeshoes is fun, but the right equipment is essential for the type of snow and the weight of the hiker. Online you will find a bewildering assortment of snowshoes, but after perusing reviews and Backpacker Magazine's recommendations, we scored MSR Evos from REI, as they are lightweight, sure-footed, easy to strap on and have optional tails for extra flotation. I am happy to report that they perform as advertised. Our sons rented MSR snowshoes at the Ashland Outdoor Store for only $10 a day. The road started out level with a broken trail which made for easy hiking. It was one of those winter days you dream about: clear, sunny, crisp and windless. The road is enclosed by stands of Doug Fir that form a regal corridor of snow-covered evergreens who welcomed us as we traipsed through their midst.

After a quarter mile the broken trail abruptly stopped and we were confronted with a white carpet of deep snow marching up through the forest. Brian strides confidently onward and upward through a virgin path of fresh powder.

Even with snowshoes and tails, breaking trail is an arduous task. We were fortunate that we had Brian and Kevin to forge a track for us as otherwise, it would have been an exhausting endeavor. Brian and Daisy take the lead.

Occasionally the forest would open up giving way to breathtaking views such as this one of Mt. McLoughlin, rising above an endless forest: a white jewel glittering on the horizon.

The shadows along the trail danced and flickered at every turn making an oscillating pattern of light and dark. The road leveled off for a short distance, giving us a respite before resuming its ascent.

After taking a turn at breaking trail, Daisy decided it was easier to follow the beaten track: smart dog. The depth of the path gives an indication of the extent of the snowfall we had to tread through.

The road turned due south and a small meadow revealed Mt. Ashland to the west with its ski runs visible on the north face like white ribbons.

Daisy and Tex, Kevin's dog, take a turn at the front and give Brian a break. Barb and I wisely stayed behind and paced ourselves as this was no time for hubris.

At various places along the trail we'd see signs of wildlife such as these rabbit tracks crossing our path and disappearing into the trees.

As we finally neared the Pacific Crest Trail, Barb takes a breather and admires the scenery. One of the most amazing aspects of the hike was the profound silence when we stopped. Without any wind, there wasn't even a sigh in the trees. We are bombarded by sound every minute of our day and in its absence, the silence was deafening.

Pilot Rock stands as a sentinel on the Siskiyous guarding Oregon from pernicious invaders to the south.

Kevin and Brian kick back with dogs while waiting for Mom and Dad to catch up. The lack of wind made it surprisingly warm in the sun.

The trail entered the forest and meandered along the contour. The periodic diamond signs on the trees were a Godsend as they indicated we were on the right trail because at times with the snow depth it was impossible to discern where the trail turned.

Most of the trail was easily passable, but there were some hidden snow-covered low hanging boughs which tripped us up on occasion; however, more treacherous were hidden tree wells which seemed like black holes that could swallow us without warning. Kevin and Brian pick their way through the mine field.

Emerging from the trees, the great expanse of the Winema National Forest in Klamath County opened to the east and dominating the horizon was the majestic snow covered Chinquapin Mountain. During summer it is hardly noticeable as it blends in with the vast, limitless forest, but in winter it wears a mantle of white and showcases its hidden splendor.

After more than 2 1/2 miles we reached the spur trail leading up to Hobart Bluff and now it was only another half mile to the summit.

However, most of the half mile is a steep ascent. Kevin, Brian and Daisy lead the way up the slope. Barb and I lag behind and climb at a leisurely pace.

Barb is dwarfed by the landscape as the forest spreads east to the Klamath Basin.

Carlyle high steps up the slope. The snowshoes were very easy to walk in and the sharp edges gripped the snow very well, which was helpful on both the ascents and descents and the tails provided adequate flotation in the deep snow. I give the MSR Evos a 5 star rating.

The trees lining the summit ridge bear stark testimony to the brutal winds which shape their limbs. It reminded me of a Salvador Dali landscape.

Barb crests the summit ridge as the southern Bear Creek Valley comes into view.

To the north Mt. McLoughlin is a bump on the horizon. The forest appears infinite. It is as though we are gazing upon a vista 10,000 years ago, looking back in time.

A close up view of Mt. McLoughlin reveals her sublime beauty. The queen of the southern Cascades holds court in her kingdom.

Barb and I pose for a well-deserved photo in southern Oregon's majesty.

I proudly hug Brian who broke trail almost the entire way: a fine son.

As we reached the top and did a 360, we gasped as our eyes focused on the southern horizon as Mt. Shasta rose like an ethereal, white goddess above the tree line. It is easy to see why this mountain is worshiped, revered and ascribed spiritual powers; it has no equal.

Kevin sits on the far point of the bluff and gazes across the Bear Creek Valley and Emigrant Lake below. This viewpoint is one of the best in southern Oregon for views in all directions and on a clear day it is unsurpassed.

Mt. Ashland dominates the skyline to the west and I-5 is a small slash in the middle of the photo. Jackson County is such a treasure and I am constantly amazed by her.

Brian and Kevin take a last look before heading back. The blue waters of Emigrant Lake are just visible in the distance.

As the afternoon deepens Barb traverses back across the summit ridgeline.

At the saddle on the ridge Barb and Daisy stroll through a winter wonderland.

The trail descends through a flickering light show of shadows. It is astounding how quickly a scene can change because of lighting. The mundane becomes fantastic.

Barb evokes lines from Robert Frost as she crosses a fairy tale meadow: "and miles to go before I sleep". This was perhaps the most memorable photo for me: it is surreal, sublime and absolutely timeless.

Four hours later we arrived back at the point of our beginning. We were tired puppies, but it was a pleasant exhaustion that feels delightful as it slowly creeps through your body enveloping it in a warm embrace. It was as good as it gets.

Redwood National Park: A Hike Among Giants

2011-02-05T20:35:00.000-08:00

Redwood National & State Parks protect a forest found nowhere else on the planet. The Parks contain 45% of all remaining old-growth redwoods in the world. These magnificent trees are the tallest in the world, grow to a height of 300 feet and live up to 2000 years. Located in the very northwestern corner of the California coast, the redwoods thrive in a unique micro-climate that provides the perfect blend of rain (60-120 inches per year), constant summer fog which reduces evapotranspiration, a temperate climate that fluctuates between 45-61 degrees year round and a rich, river-bottom alluvial soil. In the northern section of the Parks is Jedidiah Smith State Park, which contains a vast roadless forest of old-growth redwoods. Check out the map.

There are miles and miles of hiking trails through the Parks. One of the most spectacular is The Boy Scout Trail. This is no ordinary hike; it is one that takes the hiker on a physical and spiritual journey back in time, to a primordial world where plants reigned supreme and dinosaurs roamed the earth. Carlyle walks among giants.

The trail meanders through boundless stands of old-growth redwoods, whose average age is 700 years. Access is off Howland Hill Road between Stout Grove and Crescent City. The trail's name is derived from a scoutmaster, who discovered the tree in the 1930s, which is an astounding feat, as there was no trail back in the day and after 100 yards one would be hopelessly lost, unless one were trustworthy, loyal, helpful, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.

Barb at the trailhead. We were the only people on the trail that morning and literally had the place all to ourselves. The ever-present fog provides one-fourth of the water necessary for the trees to survive and the rainy season from October to April supplies the massive amounts of precipitation they need to flourish.

In death, the trees bestow life for the next generation. The fallen giants become nursery logs sustaining new growth and nourishing small seedlings. Barb walks beside a nursery log filled with offspring who will compete for a home in the forest. The park ranger told us it takes almost a thousand years for a fallen redwood to completely biodegrade and decompose.

Shortly after leaving the trailhead, but without being conscious of the transition, we crossed an intangible threshold, and entered a world that existed during the Miocene Epoch, 20 million years ago, when the redwoods first appeared on our planet. It is an ethereal feeling: mysterious, sublime and spiritual. Our senses of sight, smell and hearing were suddenly amplified as we literally stopped in our tracks and gazed around in Nature's greatest cathedral.

A redwood cone is the size of an olive. Each cone contains 60 to 120 seeds. One tree may produce 10 million seeds, but only a few will reach maturity. If a seed settles in just the right place it may grow into a tree that will live more than 2,000 years. Another nursery log with redwood saplings wrapping their young roots around the log.

Barb walks through a landscape so fantastic it defies reality. The scale is astounding; we felt small, humble and overwhelmed amidst the majesty of these trees.

The Park headquarters in Crescent City has an excellent selection of maps, books, literature and photos of the Park's ecology, trails and history. Two superb hiking books are Best Easy Day Hikes Redwood National and State Parks by Dan Brett and Best Short Hikes in Redwood National and State Parks by Jerry & Gisela Rohde. There are over 60 hikes ranging from half a mile to 6 1/2 miles.

At places, the trail weaves through a living gorge of colossal trees that seem a portal to another world. It was like walking on hallowed ground and with each step our veneration for these exalted conifers increased.

There were many scenes like this that receded into infinity, an endless forest expanding in all directions. It was quiet, yet eerie. Sometimes we could hear the gurgle of a small brook or the wind sighing in the branches, but mostly it was a serene silence, as if time itself had stopped.

The girth of these redwoods is staggering. Most of the trees were like this one. Half the time we had our necks craned, as our eyes followed the massive trunks up to the heavens. Entire ecosystems thrive in the upper canopy: plants, amphibians, mammals and birds. National Geographic did an article last year about the trees and the different ecosystems which thrive in the upper branches and the canopy. You can read it by clicking on the two links.

The trees live so long that many eventually get struck by lightning, but are so tough, they survive, like this fire scarred veteran.

The deeper into the forest we ventured, the more magical it became, until it was like Middle Earth because no other place could be like this.

It took us five hours to complete the 5.6 mile loop out and back because we were constantly stopping to admire the trees. The trunks grow straight as a ruler for the length of a football field. These are living dinosaurs of the plant world that survived to the present day. Barb gazes up, up and away.

At the end of the trail is Fern Falls, a perfect spot to relax, have lunch and listen to the soothing, mellifluous rhythm of the water flowing through the forest. So we did.

On occasions, a nursery log will give birth to a row of trees, called a column, that grow right next to each other, like giant pillars. This magnificent trio are siblings.

The Boy Scout Tree is located a short distance off the trail and is easily reached, although there is no sign, just a narrow path twisting up the slope. The tree is really two trees that grew so close together that they fused, producing a leviathan.

The size and scale of this tree is truly amazing. The pictures of me and Barb next to it will give you an idea, but in person, it is 1000 times more impressive.

Barb stares in disbelief. We sat down and gaped.This tree started growing about the same time that Caesar crossed the Rubicon.

The trail reverses itself back to the trailhead, but it seemed like we were seeing everything for the first time, as if we were on a different path from whence we came. Barb crosses a bridge over Mill Creek that is bordered by another nursery log.

A living symphony of the tallest trees in the world serenade us as we walk back through Middle Earth. The depth of emotion I felt in the presence of these trees was so stirring and passionate that it permeated my soul; it was extraordinary.

There were scenes like this that were so mesmerizing, I was tempted to wander off the trail and walk into infinity. This was one of the most inspirational hikes we have ever done; it was a trip through time into a window of the Earth's past that is rarely seen. It made us glad to be alive and infused us with a sense of wonder.

Late in the afternoon, as we approached the trailhead, a shaft of sunlight pierced through the forest and lit up the west-facing trunks, transforming their bark into red wood: Nature's tribute to herself.

A Day in the Life

2011-01-16T12:12:00.000-08:00

The Peace Corps celebrates its 50th birthday this year. Established on March 1, 1961 by President Kennedy in an Executive Order, it set forth three goals: (1) provide technical assistance to people in developing countries; (2) educate and teach people in the host nation about American culture; and (3) upon arriving back in the USA, teach and help Americans understand the culture of the volunteer host country. It has been one of the longest, most successful programs in the history of the United States and since its inception over 200,000 Americans have served in 139 countries. Barb and I were two of those volunteers 37 years ago in Guatemala. Currently there are over 8600 volunteers serving across the globe, 60% of them are women and the average age is 28. The map above is 15 feet wide and adorns an outside wall in the central school in San Pedro de Vilcabamba; it was a Peace Corps project some years ago. Below is a map of the province of Loja.

Our son Michael is serving in the Peace Corps in the southern province of Loja in Ecuador and lives in San Pedro de Vilcabamba. Peace Corps volunteers work for an agency in their host country and have counterparts (co-workers) in the agency. Michael works for an Ecuadorian Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) called Colinas Verdes. He and his Ecuadorian counterparts work in sustainable agriculture, mainly coffee and irrigation projects. Many people wonder: What does a Peace Corps volunteer do? What is it like? How do they live? How much are they paid? We spent a week with Michael in his town and went out in the countryside and accompanied him in his work. Here is a composite of A Day in the Life. The sign at the entrance to San Pedro.

Michael strokes into town on the main drag. It is high noon on a weekday and is as busy as it gets. Watching him walk down his hometown street, Barb and I experienced intense flashbacks, transporting us back to the fall of 1973, when we trod the same steps down the calle principal of our town, Zacualpa, in the province of Quiché, as newly arrived Peace Corps volunteers.

Peace Corps volunteers live on the economy and get paid the same salary as their counterparts in the program or agency they are working with. It is a small amount, but usually enough to obtain decent lodging and groceries, but with little left over for entertainment (drinking and eating out). Michael rents two rooms in a house and prepares his own meals, including making his own peanut butter, something Americans take for granted, but which is almost non-existent in the rest of the world. His room is a simple affair, but does have mosquito netting.

The kitchen is actually deluxe by Peace Corps standards. He has propane gas and a refrigerator. We had no refrigeration for two years while in Guatemala; it is a luxury.

The locals formed a nursery co-op some years ago called Green Hills (Colinas Verdes) and today it provides coffee, potatoes, citrus trees and other fruits and vegetables. Each co-op member works a fixed number of days per month in the nursery in exchange for a certain number of seedlings. Michael and Estrella pay homage.

The nursery has many seedlings, but none more important than coffee. These are tiny coffee seedlings. The black, porous netting provides protection from the sun and some warmth at night.

As they grow, the leaves change form and are transformed into a different plant.

Michael also works with a women's co-op where they make cards and bags out of recycled paper and pressed flowers. This hillside used to be a slope of weeds and Michael terraced it and helped the ladies plant flowers, especially roses, so they would have a steady supply. It has been mildly successful.

In a single room the women create the artisan products from the paper and dried flowers. Another volunteer suggested they sell their cards in Vilcabamba as there is a tourist market there. So the women took their cards into the town and sold all of them, but they never re-supplied the vendors. The American concept of capitalism is not always embraced here like back home.

Much of Michael's work is in the campo, where he helps families with sustainable agriculture projects, like making compost or an organic liquid fertilizer called biol, so we went out on a work day with him. First he had to get a 50 liter plastic container (in which the biol is mixed), molasses and yeast (for the enzyme action), dried coffee husks (from the nursery) and some chemicals from Colinas Verdes. We fired up at 6 am and arrived at 6:30, only to find that the key to the storehouse, where the needed supplies were kept, had been lost, misplaced or not put away, depending on who you asked. We were told that the key would be located "ya mismo" , which a ubiquitous Ecuadorian phrase that means "right now", except the term is relative and can mean a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours, a few days or even a few weeks. It is a national pastime trying to guess the proper context of the phrase. Finally the key turned up, we got the supplies and took a 45 minute ride in the back of a pick-up south over a pass and down into another valley.

We were literally dropped off by the side of the road in the countryside and then had to carry all the supplies by hand, shoulder and foot.

The road soon gave way to a trail, that led down to the house where would be working with a family to make a compost pile and a container of biol.

The amount of manual labor in developing countries is staggering. In rural areas, almost everything is done by hand, foot or pack animal. From simple groceries, to propane tanks for cooking, to building materials; it all has to be humped in. Michael carries the molasses container, crucial as a food catalyst for the yeast in the biol.

This is the first homestead where we worked. It could be anywhere in Central or South America. The tableau is timeless.

This is the garden area, which is sheltered by black porous cloth. The orange colored fruit is naranjilla, a sweet, orange-flavored fruit, but not acidic, that is eaten fresh or made into juice. Trina enjoys the welcome shade while waiting her turn to work.

To make biol you need several ingredients, one of which is fresh manure. It doesn't come any fresher than this. Imagine humping a 60 pound bag of this fragrant cargo for half a kilometer.

Other ingredients are a few chemicals, like copper sulphate, borax, calcium chlorate and powdered yeast. Michael prepares the concoction.

Next come fresh leaves to supply needed nitrogen as they decompose; so we all formed a leaf brigade and shredded leaves.

Then the precise amount of molasses is added, as carefully as an Italian chef in Piemonte shaving truffles into a sauce for braised rabbit.

Then like a witches brew, the final mixture is stirred to perfection.

Afterward the lid is put on the tank and tightly sealed so no oxygen gets in, as that would abort the anaerobic fermentation. However, as gas forms and expands during the fermentation process, a release valve is necessary, which is provided with an empty soda bottle. Using materials that are cheap and readily available is indispensable to to the success of any project. The biol will be ready in about three weeks and is a highly nutritious organic fertilizer that be applied to fruits and vegetables alike. It is very concentrated and must be diluted with water so it provides more than 10 times its volume in the tank.

The second project was making a compost pile. The family is required to provide the local materials such as manure, ashes and leaves and are told this in advance, so the señora here was well prepared with bags of all three. However, sometimes things are lost in translation. Michael recounted that one time he showed up and there were no materials at the site. He asked were the manure was? In the field. He asked where the leaves were? On the trees. He asked where the ashes were? In the cooking area. They smiled and said they had all the materials they were asked to provide. First the soil is spaded and turned to loosen it and provide improved drainage.

Next the manure is spread over the freshly upturned soil. It is rather like making a Dagwood sandwich with separate layers of organic materials, one on top of the other.

The señora was both surprised and delighted to have Michael's family of Spanish-speaking gringos in her back yard, working, laughing and joking with her. Here she pours out wood ashes.

Brian and Kevin do some heavy-duty work turning over the multi-layered pile.

Barb spreads more leaves. It was quite hot , but the porous mesh provided remarkable relief from the intense heat of the direct sunlight. We are only 5 degrees south of the equator and at an elevation of 4500 feet, the tropical sun is relentless.

Michael splashes a liquid mixture of molasses, yeast and organic chemicals on the surface, which acts as a catalyst to speed up the composting process. The señora and her family have to turn the pile twice a day and water it once a day, but it will be ready in a few weeks.

Michael and the señora work in tandem shoveling the coffee husks from the nursery onto the pile. The husks decompose very quickly and generate lots of heat, which aids in composting the other materials.

Afterward Michael and the señora put on a layer of black plastic to assist in the heating and decomposition; then they celebrated with a hug and big smiles. Every parent wants his kid to be happy, follow their dreams and make their way in the world and, at times, if the kid follows in their parents' footsteps, it is as good as it gets. Barb and I were both overcome with emotion.

The day was still young and so the next adventure was a hike up a river valley to check out the irrigation project Michael was working on. The government also happened to be working on an expansion of the Pan American Highway, and the dust was like a sandstorm in the Sahara. We had to wade through it to get to the river.

Just before the village of Yangana we turned east and headed towards the mountains, following the river. A local joins Barb for the walk into town. The climate in this valley is drier than in Vilcabamba and irrigation will allow the people here to grow sustainable crops year round thus providing food security.

All the materials for the irrigation project had to be carried in, some by hand, some by horses. The irrigation tubing is awkward to transport because of its length as the sections cannot be cut and because the trail is sinuous. The project will serve a large number of families and each family receiving water from the project volunteers their time working on it: ferrying supplies and equipment, digging trenches and laying pipe. It is truly a communal affair.

It is 1.5 miles to the source where the intake is and the pipe has to follow the slope and contour of the terrain. Michael at the start of the trail along the river.

Some of the workers on the project return after carrying a load in on their horses and Michael exchanges salutations with them.

The trail crosses the river many times, meandering back and forth over rickety bridges like this one. Michael told us to wear trail shoes that we could get wet because at places fording the river was the only option.

The route was fairly gradual, but the terrain was often uneven. Barb and I were glad for our trekking poles, especially when crossing the river. We step over a section of exposed pipe that has yet to be covered up with earth and tamped down. Before the pipe route was dug out, Michael and his co-workers spent days surveying the contour of the terrain and planning out the best route.

One of many times we got our feet wet. Even though it was hot and humid, there were no bugs and no snakes.

At places the irrigation pipe was exposed and sometimes the route was relatively easy such as here.

However, at other places, natural obstacles had to be contended with as here, where rather than rip out an entire tree, it was easier to bore underneath the tree root.

The pipe snaked through the trees and vegetation up on the slope of the hillside and there were sections where cables had to be suspended to support the pipe across a gully. We chose the low road.

Another river crossing. The hike in was rapidly becoming an Indiana Jones adventure.

After more than an hour of hiking we asked Michael how much farther it was and he replied ya mismo. We should have known better.

This is the three stage sedimentation tank. The water first comes into the smaller tank, fills up, then flows over into the second tank, whose spillway is slightly lower, before it flows into the third tank, which has wire mesh to screen out any remaining debris. The theory is the solid materials will settle to the bottom of the first two tanks, so by the time the water reaches the mesh at the third tank, it is free of any material that could clog the irrigation pipe. Michael and Estrella survey the tank.

This is the water source and intake from the river. It is located here because beyond the fence is private property and permission could not be obtained to go further. The problem Michael explained is that no one knows what will happen at the intake when the heavy rains come, the river expands to flood stage and rocks are swept downstream. Will they lodge against the intake and block the water flow? Simply one of the many unknowns and frustrations of infrastructure development here.

Michael and Estrella sit on top of the intake tank. Now we were here just to check it out and it took us 90 minutes to get here. Michael's typical day on this project is a 6 am wake-up, a 45 minute ride in the pick-up, a 45 minute hike in (he hikes much faster than we do), then 8 hours of digging, laying pipe or burying pipe, the hike out and a ride home in the dark: a 12 hour day, but he loves it; in fact he revels in it. His counterparts do the same thing and he has earned their respect by working side by side with them, eating their lunches together, talking, laughing and lamenting the myriad injustices in the world.

A commemorative photo before heading back. By this time the roiling clouds were descending down the mountain slopes and peals of thunder echoed across the valley, a harbinger of the predictable afternoon rain.

This is what immature coffee beans looks like, or rather the coffee husks, as the bean is inside the husk. The husks are shelled after they are harvested and dried. Then the beans are roasted and ready for grinding.

Barb, a proud mom, and her son pose beside a healthy mature coffee bush. The plants needs the right blend of shade and sunlight. Too much sun and the plant becomes tall and spindly with little production. Too much shade and the the plant loses its shape in a vain struggle to reach the sunlight, also stifling production.

One of Michael's favorite shirts is a bamboo shirt from Yala in Ashland, Oregon (http://www.yaladesigns.com/). The company makes the most comfortable shirts. They drape like silk, feel good on your skin and will dry out overnight after being washed, so they are ideal for traveling. Nancy and Larry Morgan are the owners and Nancy was Michal's teacher in Ashland Middle School, so she donated some shirts to Michael. He sends his appreciation. Apart from the technical job, the cultural exchange that occurs between a volunteer and his or her counterparts, host family and friends is perhaps the most priceless. It opens up a whole new world, a new way of thinking, a different perspective on life: what is really important, what really matters. Ask any Peace Corps volunteer about their service and 99% of them will tell you it was an incredible, profound, life changing experience. It was for me and Barb and it will be for Michael. A Day in the Life.

Vilcabamba: The Sacred Valley

2011-01-08T18:05:00.000-08:00

Vilcabamba is one of those enchanted places that make you wonder if you've entered another dimension. A pueblo of about 4200 denizens in the southern province of Loja, it's nestled in a narrow valley at 5000 feet surrounded by the towering peaks of Podocarpus National Park to the east and the Andes in all other directions. We arrived three weeks after the rainy season began and the entire countryside was transformed into an emerald world showcasing vibrant hues of every green in the color spectrum.

The valley is renown for the longevity of its inhabitants, so many of whom live beyond 100 that Dr. Alexander Leaf of Harvard Medical School explored the area in 1973 and wrote an article for National Geographic Magazine publicizing the phenomenon. Conventional wisdom holds that the mineral-rich water and anti-oxidants of the plant life explain the anomaly, but today it is a haven for ex-pats, bucks-up hippies and wealthy Europeans. The Welcome Sign subtly conveys the message.

Another lesser known celebrity in Vilcabamba is Estrella (the name means Star), Michael's yellow lab puppy, who being an Ecuadorian, responds to commands in Spanish. Michael takes her everywhere, including his job site and she adapts just like the locals. We had seen cute photos of her, but she is even cuter in person.

Our home for a week was the hosteria of Izhcayluma, which means Between Two Hills in Quichua, the lndian dialect. It is run by two ex-pat German brothers, Dieter and Peter and is a perfect place to kick back and relax. This is the entrance.

The motto reflects the philosophy. Besides hanging out, the hosteria offers activities such as hiking, mountain biking, massages, sauna, yoga, a lagoon pool, a bar and a terrace overlooking the valley. The mix was mostly kids in their 20s on a wanderlust in South America, but there were a some baby boomers and a few trust-fund hippies.

After a four hour bus ride from Cuenca, we unloaded our gear and began to explore our new home. Jen is all smiles.The hosteria sits on several acres of lush landscaping that feature an astounding variety of flora and fauna, especially birds.

Ecuador is the stereotypical Banana Republic; it is the world's largest exporter of the yellow fruit at over 7 million tons a year. Bananas are so woven into the culture that in local fiestas throughout the country, young women compete to be crowned La Reina del Banano (Queen of the Banana). Jimmy Buffet would be right at home here. Did you know that bananas grow upside down?

After a typical afternoon thunderstorm, beads of rain become translucent pearls on a banana leaf. We spent hours just walking on the paths through the lush frondescence.

As Vilcabamba sits at 1500 meters and is only 4 degrees south of the Equator, the variety and juxtaposition of plant life that grows here is incredible. Prickly pear cactus grows side by side with bananas.

Exotic wild orchids sprout from trees as epiphytes run wild. It is a Garden of Eden.

In the early morning, right outside our room, birds I'd never seen before feasted on tropical berries. A hammock on the deck provided an ideal perch for bird watching as the sun crested the mountain peaks filling the valley with light and warmth.

This is a blue gray tanager. Tropical colors of plants and animals are so dazzling because they must contend with each other to attract mates amidst a riot of competition.

The rooms are simple, clean, light and airy with spectacular views down into the valley. Fortunately there almost no bugs except for little, curly mini-centipede-like creatures that dropped from the ceiling, but they were harmless and made a satisfying crunchy sound when squeezed between sheets of toilet paper.

Much of our time was spent relaxing, talking, eating, drinking, and of course, reading. The hammock overlooking the valley provides the perfect setting. Barb kicks back after a shower and enjoys the moment.

Indeed, the entire family kicked back, frequently, especially after a morning hike or bike ride. The weather pattern was clear and sunny in the morning, cloudy by midday and rain most of the afternoon into the evening: a good recipe for reading and relaxing.

This is a view looking down the valley with the town of Vilcabamaba in the background, as clouds descend from the peaks of Podocarpus National Park. Named after the only native conifer in the Andes, the park has five micro climates and covers almost 1500 square miles of cloud forest, including some of the most remote and rugged terrain in the country. Note stylish toquilla sombrero de paja from Cuenca.

The restaurant was open-air under a thatched canopy with a view of the Vilcabamba valley. Breakfast was included with lodging and was a gourmet spread of fresh fruit, usually papaya, bananas, watermelon and pineapple, accompanied by fresh juice, bread, homemade jam, yoghurt, granola or huevos a su gusto. The kitchen staff would make a sack lunch if requested, a nice convenience for day hikes.

This is the view while eating breakfast. There are walking paths all over the property and in a few seconds you can be alone in a verdant world surrounded by luxuriant foliage and exotic sounds of birds, insects and animals.

Cerro Mandango, is an iconic peak that dominates the western horizon; its name means The Sleeping Inca, and is a favorite day hike. The hosteria provides maps and a list of recommended hikes that are easily accessible.

The mountain rises quite steeply from the surrounding forest, almost like a tepui in the Guiana Higlands of Venezuela.

One morning we decided to do the hike and intended to get an early start so we could enjoy the morning sunshine and descend before the afternoon rains. This view is the east face and the route follows the ridge on the left. Alas, being on vacation, coupled with inertia, resulted in a noon departure. Guess what?

Here is a view of the north face taken from San Pedro, two klicks north of Vilcabamba, and the village where Michael lives. The geography changes dramatically depending on the perspective, making the mountain appear like a different peak.

There are two crosses on the peak, one on the summit, visible here, and one on the false summit peak, just barely visible at the lower left. Latin America in general, and Ecuador in particular, has an obsession with placing crosses on all prominent peaks so that they can be seen for miles around and especially from the valleys far below. The physical labor and difficulty involved in constructing these symbols is astonishing as it requires cement, stones, huge wooden beams and white paint, all of which must be humped by foot or burros up steep, twisting, often treacherous trails.

Proper outfitting and gear are essential before venturing forth. For me and Barb this means trekking poles, sun hats, day packs, water bladders, and colorful shirts. Of course having a puppy as a guide also helps.

There is an entrance to the hike and a fee to access the trail, but to the right of this photo is an old dirt road that leads to the trail, so this "entrance" is literally a facade, behind which is a private residence. After a while you simply don't ask why, you just accept that that's the way it is. Trina and Jen at the threshold.

The young lady who accepted our "park fee" told me a free map was available which showed the trail, route and features along the way and politely inquired if I'd like one. Being a map guy I readily assented and was given "the map".

The intrepid crew at the start of the hike. The trail climbs about 1500 feet to the final summit. The first cross on the false summit is on the peak to the right and the second cross and true summit is on the peak to the left. It takes about three hours.

Initially the path meanders through the forest. The day was warm, high 70s, and humid, which made it seem warmer, but it was pleasant and there were no bugs.

Singular, unusual wildflowers graced the trail with animated colors.

Emerging from the forest, the valley below is dwarfed by the range of mountains in Podocarpus National park. already the rain clouds are building. The prevailing weather comes from the Amazon basin which is directly east on the other side of the mountains. Huge, warm, moist air masses are forced up over the Andes and condense at high altitudes bring the predictable afternoon showers.

Higher up the trail, the town of Vilcabamba comes into view and beyond the massive Andean peaks march toward the horizon. It is difficult to comprehend the scale in these photos, but it is both overwhelming and breathtaking.

A telephoto shot of Vilcabamaba. The valley is very narrow and almsot all arable land is cultivated up to the edges of the cloud forest.

Just below the false summit, the trail steepens considerably. This posed no problem for the kids, who scampered up like mountain goats.

This is a view to the north and San Pedro, Michael's village, can be seen in the upper left. It is about two kilometers from Vilcabamba, but is worlds away from the tourist ex-pat scene.

This photo gives you some idea of the scale and the pitch of the trail. Barb and I are the ridge to the right of the knoll in the middle. Click on the photo to enlarge it for a better view.

The trekking poles are a Godsend, especially on the steep sections.

Finally the first cross comes into view, giving us renewed energy and enthusiasm.

Imagine our surprise at seeing a GQ layout as we crested the ridge.

Barb exults in reaching the cross. She was a happy, but tired puppy, unlike Estrella, who bounded about sniffing out every rock, crevice and plant.

After catching our breath, we commemorated the climb with a family photo.

But there was more to come. Kevin points towards the final summit. Storm clouds were fast approaching and we debated whether a summit bid would be wise as afternoon storms are frequently electrical. However, with a cross on the summit and God on our side we decided it would be safe, but the ladies decided to descend and not tempt fate.

Brian pauses on the saddle. The trail follows the base of the cliff face around the right of the mountain and then cuts into a narrow defile that requires 300 meters of hand-held scrambling through gullies thick with undergrowth until it breaks out on the summit plateau.

Michael traverses the first section. The trail was rudimentary and washed out in places from the daily rains.

The lighting in the afternoon was exquisite. You never knew when a hole in the clouds would appear and let the sun gild the countryside. Just as we rounded the corner above the terraced ridge below us lit up bringing everything into sharp relief.

Some sections required hanging onto the thick grasses as the trail was muddy and slick, dropping straight off several hundred feet below. Estrella, on the far right, watches with detached amusement as Michael and Kevin carefully traverse across.

Just before cresting the summit plateau, the trail switches back towards the valley.

From the summit the first cross seems far away as the gathering storm approaches.

Barb, Trina and Jen can just be seen descending the ridge on the far right.

A victory photo on the summit for National Geographic before the storm hits.

Michael walking along the plateau ridge before descending back down through the defile.

The rain starts as Kevin and Michael approach the first cross on the descent.

Our last view of the valley before the heavens opened up. The rest of the hike was in a steady rain punctuated by huge peals of thunder and flashes of lightning. I was glad we were off the summit.

An hour later we trudged into Vilcabamba, tired, hungry, wet, but happy.

After a quick visit to the heladeria for some ice cream, we repaired to Sambuca's, a Mexican restaurant run by a Mexican who grew up in Boston. He had the best guacamole in the world and we ordered lots of it, repeatedly.

Sated, after a delicious repast, we returned to the hosteria and resumed our normal routine. A hard life style, but years of traveling have made us Spartans in adversity.

Estrella finally relented and joined Trina for an afternoon siesta. Later that evening as everyone drifted off to sleep the rhythm of the rain on the tile roof was like a lullaby.