November 29, 2011

When people talk about the Northwest,  they most often refer to to a 100 mile section from the coast to the Cascades. The Cascade Mountains run from northern California to southern British Columbia, separating the area into two distinct sections.  The western part has the cultural centers, coastal climate, and the majority of the population. The eastern part falls in the rain shadow and takes up most of the real estate and houses most of the Republicans.  West of the Cascades, people drive hybrids with bike racks. East of the mountains  people drive lifted pickup trucks with gun racks.   Growing up I spent time between the two areas and have both pickup and hybrid in me.

Months in the desert and the California sun had made me soft, or so my family claimed, and  after two weeks of constant fog and rain, I had to get out.  Leaving Washougal,  I drove east on highway 14,  a two lane scenic route through the Columbia River Gorge.  Each mile east of Stevenson equates to one and half less inches of annual precipitation.  I kept driving.  Like clockwork, the clouds  opened up around Underwood.  I drove farther.  At Lyle the clouds were gone,  exposing sun.  Sunglasses.

A break in the clouds.

An aspen grove.

Running from the rain.

Tim on a hike.

Chinchillen’

Some times a little change in weather is all you need, or sometimes it just whets the appetite.  A little is rarely enough.

Here are some more links,

Running up the hill (Picasa),

A Restless Transplant (Facebook).

November 10, 2011

After a few hundred miles,  things started looking familiar.  Road names and exit ramps sporadically conjured memories from yesteryear.  Beers in the woods at parent-less McMansions in high school.  Dark thirty to departures heading up to Mt. Hood in the back of a friend’s family van.  Tween soccer games at a roadside field.  The closer the Syncro marched towards Portland,  the more the memories flowed.  “Portland International Airport, 20 miles.”  No stopping them now.

As I drove north on I-5 through Northern California and Southern Oregon,  the trees changed color by the mile.  No more dodging fall by zipping up and down the California Coast.  Leaves littered the sides of the roads and rain beat down in proper northwest fashion.  At 4:30, the sun set over the hills.  “Fuck daylight savings,”  I mumbled, adjusting the windshield wiper speed.  Five hours later, I pulled off highway 14 at a familiar gas station t0 fill up.  Dressed in shorts, a sweater and barefoot, the 38 degree, rainy night caught me off guard.

Needles and leaves.

A morning hike in the woods.

An afternoon in Portland.

Tim on Prindle Mountain.

For miles.

Harvesting beats from the garden.

Seal Rock.

For the first time in five years,  I was back in the Columbia River Gorge during the height of fall.  Visiting the northwest once or twice  a year, in the summer and around the holidays, limited my view of the place I where grew up.  Just like a new haircut making a familiar person look different,  a change of season makes an old place look new.  Try it sometime.

Here are some more links,

Fall (Picasa),

A Restless Transplant (Facebook).

September 22, 2011

As the sun sank, we made our way towards the train tracks bordering the Washington side of the Columbia River.  The smell of fermenting blackberries brought back memories of my childhood spent running around, face painted and brandishing a wrist rocket, blasting gravel and anything that moved.  Negotiating a vine the diameter of a ping-pong ball, I felt a familiar tug on my shorts and the sharp scrape of a blackberry thorn on my thigh.

“God damn it!” I moaned, grabbing the thorn and flicking it like a popcorn kernel.  “How do you get through this shit?”

“With this plank,” Tim said, flipping a 12-foot plank on top of the blackberry bushes and walking across on it.  Following Tim’s lead, I quickly made it through the bramble and onto the tracks.

Despite the shortening days,  temperatures in 80′s made the steel tracks and black railroad ties feel like late July as we headed west a half mile towards a longtime favorite swimming hole.  Scrambling up the trail, we disregarded a no trespassing sign, emerging onto a basalt outcropping into the Columbia river.

Summer feet.

Splash.

Summer light.

A hydration bladder,  of sorts…

Boulder.

“Man it’s getting darker earlier,” Tim said crouching on a rock and dripping water from a jump.

“Indian Summer is in full effect,” I grinned, pulling my T-shirt over my head and sliding on my flip flops.  “Let’s go eat.”  We were there for only twenty minutes, but that’s what makes a summer swim a summer swim, even in mid September.

Here are some more links:

For daily updates, check out Out of Reception,

Swimming (Picasa).

May 17, 2011

LL Bean Buck, October 2008.

I procrastinated. The winter slowly meandered towards spring, but was constantly set back a few rainy days. Just as I grew accustomed to evening walks through Central Park, back to back days of biblical rain checked my seasonal optimism.



Paul Smith Canvas Sneaker, January 2009.

So, I waited and pondered which shoe to use.



Common Projects sneaker, April 2009.

Scroll through the photos quickly. It looks like a stop motion film, with all of the shoes skewed towards the left.



Van’s Authentic, August 2009.

I still have these things stuffed in a closet. They smell like the plague.



Ralph Lauren Wingtip, October 2009.

In the past, my selection has been traditional, with some of my favorites being a Buck, a Brogue and a Danner boot. However, since leaving Maine and moving to New York, my taste has changed. Partially due to my days spent surrounded by the “American Heritage” aesthetic, recently I have started appreciating more pragmatic, purpose-driven items.

Danner Mountain Light II, December 2009

British Walker Buck, April 2010.

Instead of carrying around my camera and laptop in a vintage backpack, I bought a GoRuck Gr1 (partially in my preparation for the GoRuck Challenge in Boston). I also opted for a technical down jacket over a wool coat on my Saturday morning walks.



LL Bean Boot, October 2010.

You won’t see me in Crocs or zip off nylon shorts anytime soon.



LL Bean Signature Work Boot, January 2o11.

But instead of hunting eBay for vintage Omega, I have been poking around looking at contemporary Sinn’s and Luminox’s.



Nike SFB May 2011.

Finally, spring stayed around long enough for me to grab my camera and my Nike SFB chucka and head to Central Park. As the sun set, I sat reflecting the evolution of my taste over the last three years and pondering where it would be in the next three. Setting the ISO and aperture to 1600 and 4.5, respectively, I threw my shoe in the air the way I have for the last 10 seasons.

Here are some more links,

Changing Seasons (Picasa),

Changing Seasons (ART).