I open one eye… blurry is the world I see.
I open the other… the light is slowly growing.
I slowly turn over and look at the clock… 6am.
The pink hues of the pale morning light add a rosy glow to the parting night sky.
The grey sky turns bright blue and my heart quickens… my senses become alive.
The birds summon the day as the sun summits the mountain peaks and warms the still air.
The life cycle begins again… I rise to embrace it.
I stretch to the sky and offer up myself to it’s bidding.
Tag: adventure travel
Walking The Line
My whole life used to be centered around walking one path or another. I often chose the path of least resistance as a child… later I was a follower… then I swung from right to left in wild extremes. Now a days I find the center path is much more enjoyable.
Walking the center allows me to experience more of life’s variances. I’m not stuck in my ways and find it much easier to see others point of view without having to buy in or fight them. I haven’t painted myself into a box… quite the opposite, I have opened myself up to stepping outside the “box”. I don’t swing wildly to the right or left… I stay more neutral and I find this is a much easier path in my life. Not to say I don’t have strong opinions… I just allow myself to speak my mind, my position and then engage in insightful conversations.
While walking the center can be dangerous… say if you are walking on a busy street… but I find it is important when traveling abroad. The moment I start comparing my life with the lives of those around me, I become unable to share in their life experiences. I become self-absorbed and close minded instead of a foreign traveler in someone else’s homeland.
For me the center is a good place to grow and share in all of life’s adventures.
A Good Match Photo Challenge
The Short Cut
We don’t have many friends that can keep up with us. As a matter of fact at this point in our lives those friends are pretty much none existent. Maybe it’s because we have a small streak of bad luck ,that at times, lead the well planned trips into small disasters. This is exactly what happened several years ago on a backpacking trip in Southern Utah.
Our friends, Aaron and Ty, decided they were up to the challenge of a backpacking trip through Coyote Gulch in the Escalante/Grand Staircase National Monument . It was a pretty easy trip… all of 11.5 miles into a slot canyon and at a point about two thirds through the canyon we were to take the “short cut”, a class three scramble up to the rim of the canyon, and then a short one and a half mile hike across the arid desert back to the parking area were we left Aaron’s single cab pickup.
We packed everything carefully, including our water filter since we would be hiking in a slot canyon that a small creek ran through year round. We planned out our meals, divided everything up equally, fitted our packs perfectly and headed out at the trail head at the top of the canyon. It was a short hike across the arid desert at the rim of the canyon then gradually descended into the cool walls of the canyon.
The day was full of conversation and laughter as we covered good ground. At around seven we reached our camp spot… a set of cascading falls in an open area of the canyon. It was a night of sleeping under the stars. The campfire illuminated the red rock in eerie shadows, the silence enhanced the trickle of the water over the rock ledges, laughing at the arid desert surroundings. We finished up our beers and wine and bid each other sweet dreams and off to dreamland.
The next morning came in brilliant pinks and reds and the light slowly crept into the canyon with a wave of hot air that broke the hold of the cool night air. We had a breakfast of re-hydrated eggs and some other food-like substance in a zip lock bag… just add water. The calories were gonna be needed for the day’s hike and scramble up the side of the canyon wall and back to the car.
If you’ve had the pleasure of desert hiking in a slot canyon… you’ll know the peace and solitude it can afford. The dancing colors at the canyon rim high above your head. The occasional screeching of the ravens. The sound of the hot arid breezes as they turn each corner hugging the fluted rock faces. It’s an other worldly experience not soon forgotten.
Around 11 am we came to the “easy scramble” to the rim as described in the guide book. We all looked at each other and our jovial demeanor turn quickly to a surge of panic. The “easy scramble” turned out to be an almost straight up and down 100 foot climb. We had no gear for such a climb, only about fifteen feet of cheap rope, gloves and good hikers. We hurried and filled all our water bottles and sat down to plan our assent to the rim.
Aaron and I had the best chance of getting to a small ledge about 2/3rds the way up where we would haul the packs then turn back to help our friends to the top. The day grew hotter and hotter and the sun climbed to its highest point putting us directly into the sunlight and turned the cool rock face into an oven. We continued our assent and by noon we had achieved our first goal and 2/3rds of our climb.
Finally around one o’clock, we all reached the top of the canyon and were faced with a hike across the arid desert to our takeout. Problem was there were cairns piled in every direction as far as the eye could see, and we had burned through most of our water on our scramble. We regrouped and headed off in the direction we thought the takeout was. It never dawned on us to pull out the compass we carefully packed.
For about an hour we wandered aimlessly from one rise to the next hoping to get a glimpse of the truck in the distance. The air and sun was so hot and dry we were beginning to over heat… it was just then Chris remembered that she had the compass. Finally, with the aide of the guide book AND the compass we were heading in the right direction.
Another thirty minutes went by… we had been out of water for over an hour… we were becoming panicked and unable to think clearly. The heat from the sun was playing tricks on our eyes as the waves of arid air painted pictures of what looked like bodies of water on the dry desert floor. We even dropped our packs and agreed we’d find the truck then go back for them after hydrating.
Climbing to the top of another rise… there it was! Hiding behind an outcrop… the white Ford truck… our chariot.
The Desert Silence
Here I am sitting on a rock in the middle of the NV desert. A minute ago I was driving and found myself just wanting to “get there”. I thought to myself, “why can’t you just stop?” Surrounded by all this beauty and the grandeur of the desert in all its vastness, emptiness, and its own beauty. Why can’t I stop? I finally pulled over and found this rock and had the desire to write. Writing makes me stop, turn inwards and listen. It tunes out the outside, complicated world and makes me calm down.
I hear the breeze blowing thru the dry brush. I feel the vastness of the blue sky. I feel the warmth of the sun contrasting the coolness of the rock I am sitting on. I hear my inner demons and the battle that I am waging on the inside. I feel the sadness of being alone, but not lonely. I feel the struggle of an inner peace scratching and clawing its way to the surface of my being.
It is a perfect 72 degrees. The sun shining brilliantly in a near cloudless sky. The desert surrounding me shows off billions of years of weathering the turmoils of life. Life of a desert. There are hundreds of colors if you look close enough. Birds sing their songs of the day if you stop and be still. When all stops the silence is deafening. I can hear the tapping of the keyboard, the rush of blood in my ears, my heartbeat and every breath I take. A car passing by breaks my trance and I must move on. A bit calmer and more centered than just a short time ago.
I found a trail that lead to the top of a ridge for some 360 views. Again the silence is broken by the sound of the wind in my ears and the sound of the passing cars below. Winding thru this landscape is a black ribbon that allows even novices into this stark landscape. I take a sip of water and am reminded that is this one element that is lacking here. It is the one thing that brings life and death to the desert. A gentle burst of rain is quenching. A sudden downpour can equal death and destruction as it upsets the tiny microclimate, causing run off, flash floods and great land disturbances that shape the ever changing dynamics of the desert.
The mountains of the desert are like folds in the earth’s ancient crust. Others are like ancient sea reefs. Others are great monoliths of long extinct volcanoes. They all loom high above the desert floor and are haloed by the true blue of the desert sky. They stand like monuments, thrusting out of the flat sandy bottoms to touch heaven itself.
I venture further into the ever changing landscape and come to my favorite, red rock. The red rock is the womb of Mother Nature. The wind and rain carve into this sand stone and give it its unique characteristics of color, carvings and caves. The caverns that are created remind me of a womb. This rock has pushed up from deep inside Mother Earth and survived years of punishing to create these eerie formations that hold a history lesson in fossils and primal composition. The layers reveal stories of years gone by before man and memory. Every sound echoes through its strange formations. I could sit here for hours and pick out faces, shapes and become entranced by is stark beauty.
A small lizard just ran past me and broke me from my daze. The desert has a way of stealing you away. It lulls you into a trance of sun, rock and heat. Transfix your gaze on an object and hours can go by without notice. The desert soothes the mind and rocks the soul into a blissful existence. The shadows grow longer and the sun moves slowly, methodically across the sky. These rocks and sand have seen the same path over and over again, but the visitor to this realm, is transformed with each moment spent in its splendor. Tread lightly and take only pictures and leave only footprints in this land of history and intrigue.
Photo Gallery Bocas Del Toro 2017
A Night on The Town… Bocas
After a nap in the middle of a rainy day, we decided that we would head “out on the town”. Now Chris and I are not much for partying… those days are long gone… at least the staying out till 2am drinking and dancing. No I am afraid we are a bit wiser and more controlled than in our younger days. That’s not to say we won’t go out for a nice dinner, meet strangers who become friends, drink a few glasses of wine, have a good beer at a local brewery or take a long walk around a new town. Last night we did a little of each.
We went out to a Pizzeria called Ciao Pizza in Big Creek, Isla Colon, http://www.ciaoepizza.worldpress.com , They had real wine, not the boxed Clos wine served everywhere in the islands. The pizza was cooked in a wood fired oven and the atmosphere was quaint. We met some folks that had just arrived on the island and warmly invited them to join us. Filiberto came strolling in and viola we had a party. We shared good food, good wine and listened as Filiberto told us of his exodus from Venezuela.
We next strolled down the muddy road side to a local brewery. There we found some locals enjoying some good craft beer and more conversation. http://www.bocasbrewey.com. We sat through a few rounds until the heaviness of the night air lulled us into a drowsiness that followed a great day!
The Artist’s House on The Sea
The third stop on our journey was The Artist’s House on The Sea, on Isla Colón. We packed up to head out from Un Puerto Particular via water taxi back to the main island of Colón. We notified Filberto of our arrival and planned to meet him at the dock at 13:00. Filberto said he would be driving a Kia Double Cab and wearing a leather hat. He said we wouldn’t be able to miss him. In Island time he showed, as planned, and he was wearing a top hat made of leather… no doubt he made it. He is an eccentric type of fella. His thick accent was easy to listen to. He carried himself well. On the short ride to our new home he told us a quick synopsis of his life. Recommended eating establishments and told us how to get about.
Upon arriving we entered a small mud path that was lined with garbage. He explained that the neighbor was piling it there to eventually claim the property for himself… some convoluted law about him using the property that eventually he could claim it as his own since the owner didn’t care to take care of it? We were getting used to seeing large garbage piles sitting about… this was not the act of nature but of man.
Shaking off the vision, we entered into Filberto’s domain. There was a small wood planked walkway that lead to a charming three story building. Once inside he showed us his works of art. He told us about building this house and his own house 300 mts off the main house. We have left Kansas Dorothy. The home was basically three large bedrooms with three baths and one stand-up shower on the main level. The bathroom on the second level has a shower that you sit on the toilet to use. The third floor bath is tucked away in a small slanted closet, good for children but an adult might find it difficult to use. The main level has the cooking area. Stove, shower, fridge, table and chairs and a small washing machine. Totally open to the world.
On each level there was an eclectic assortment of art work. Filberto gave us a tour and explained each one, where he found it or where his inspiration came from. His art was expressive and down right strange… but totally reflected his demeanor and personality. The more I watched him, listened to him and grew to respect his choice of lifestyle, I couldn’t shake my grandfathers image from my head.
He left us and departed to his home on the water in a small Zodiac inflatable boat… that no longer was inflated but served his purpose of traveling to his small home on The Sea. His home was now ours…
Coffee Up In The Hill
Our last day on Isla Basimentos… coffee? The best coffee and organic breakfast is found at a cacao farm at the top of Basimentos. Now what no one can tell you correctly is where it is or how long of a hike it really is. It’s called Up In The Hill Coffee and Gift Shop.
We flagged down a water taxi from our dock and told him to take us to the coffee house on the hill. He dropped us off at the dock and pointed and said follow the path up the hill. Simple enough… we paid our fare and set off. It was about 9:30 and the heat was just starting to build. We found the path marked clearly at first and set off UP. The first sign said 15 minutes to In the Up in the Hill Organic Farm… 15 minutes later a sign that said 7 minutes and 10 minutes later another sign that said 7 minutes. With sweat pouring from the intense humidity and continual up hill trekking… we finally came to a muddy path with a big sign that said 7 more…
Finally forty minutes later we came to a gate Up In The Hill! We had arrived. Honestly the last thing I wanted was a hot cup of coffee, so I settled on a big glass of water and lemongrass tea.
If you ever get to Basimentos you MUST go to this coffee shop/ cacao farm. The food was amazing… the atmosphere, although thick with humidity, was charming. We were visited by the local cat, dog, chicken and rabbit. Local wares for sale adorned the walls. Fresh cacao and coconut products were offered. They have tours thru the farm, you can watch cacao being pressed or just enjoy the ambiance. Prices were very reasonable and the food delicious.
Island Living World Wide on Confronting Trash
Every island we’ve ever been on… a huge issue is trash. That’s not to say the islanders themselves are dirty. Islands are just the strainer for ocean garbage. We have seen many creative uses for this garbage; from bagging it up and using it as wave breaks to stop erosion to cute uses such as planters and works of art.
The gals that own the little beach cabin we are staying at here on Isla Basimentos have made a concerted effort to keep their area of the beach “trash free”. They say that recycling is just catching on here. We are instructed on what trash is good and what trash is bad. Instructed to toss uneaten food and food byproducts into the jungle, certain cans and different plastics go in bins, glass in another and paper in a third. Amazingly if you eat fresh, and who wouldn’t when it’s available, there’s not much left for the “other can”.
Two Travelin' Chicas... 