Life in the wild – Page 2 – Two Travelin' Chicas…

Just Do It…

How do we do it? On the road for exactly 4 years and 8 months and 2 days…Life is too short to waste a moment. If you need to ask, well I’m so sorry for you. This last week/month has been a tremendous insight into so many things. Who really needs to discuss the elephant in the room?

With so many friends of ours that have moved from the US to live in other countries, it’s good to hear the insight from “boots on the ground”. Of course we’ve made a list of things we’d like to have, and those that are a must, where ever it is we decide to call home base.

Can anyone ever really live the “perfect life”?

We asked some and they will say that a “community” is important. We agree. We will say that temperature and climate as a whole impacts our decision greatly. Others claim the silence, cost of living, food, water, power…being off grid. Things, it seems we are conditioned to as “privileged” Americans. I think friends, location to things we like to do, access to water sports, and a small carbon footprint if possible, also are high on the list. Clean air and good health care are not something that can be denied.

How do we proceed? Good question. Perhaps the real answer is that we will never be comfortable in any one place for too long. Perhaps a few months here and a few there. No real commitment and there in perhaps lies the real issue. Why commit? After all, we are wanderers, travelers.

There are a few reasons to find a home base…one a place to feel grounded, your own. We have our place in TRNC, ready in Feb of 2027…but until then? Why do we feel a need to find one place? A place we “own”? A need to spend money? Some will say, if you’re comfortable in your own skin, there’s no need to find comfort from outside. Yes and no. It’s not that comfort we are looking for.

The future is so uncertain. We will most likely agree to rent, long term, and leave when the urge comes. We are not getting any younger and eventually will need a “home”. Somewhere they don’t throw away their old people. A place to travel from.

A place that targets health and well-being over treating dis-ease. A kind and stable government.

We are wrapping up a week in Tulum, where we ventured out to see if we could find a place to call home base. Once again, the homes were lovely, one we both were ready to buy. The next day we went out again to look and we stood in the jungle for about half an hour and we both began to feel ill from over heating. We took it as a sign that this is not someplace we could enjoy for long. Oh well…on to Oaxaca for 2 weeks of fun!!

The Roads of Baja

There is a strong draw, felt by a number of nomads, to explore the wild spaces rarely visited by “tourists”. One reason is the lack of transportation capable of handling the washed out, wash board dirt roads found in these areas. Another, the urge to stay in the familiar, attached to cell phones, TV and the comforts of the brick and mortar of a home. When we tell some of our journeys, they all gasp and wonder where we ever got the need to wander.

There is a pull to the desert that has enveloped Chris and I. A need for open spaces, a dry climate and room to roam freely, sometimes without seeing another soul for days. The chance meetings often turn into deep conversations and a fire side chat recounting trials and tribulations of life on the road. We share our stories, sometimes harrowing and unbelievable. Perhaps it’s a draw to face death at every turn, or perhaps the thrill of adventure and to push the envelope beyond the comfort level of the normal human. This takes us to today, four and a half years of being free and able to travel at will, one with our surroundings.

In February of 2021, we hooked up with a caravan of three, Chris and I and two other gals, and crossed the border into Baja Mexico, for the first time. There’s a call we lean towards and freely give into, that paves the way for our wander lust. Baja seemed like the great western frontier that we needed to explore and conquer. Armed with only our cell phones and a good translation app, Garmin GPS, and a competent van, we set out to explore a country unknown to us; a 1,000 mile journey full of new flora and fauna, animals and sea life. I found it so inspiring that I wrote a book while traveling through Baja for 3 months. Fast forward to January 2025 and here we are again.

https://www.amazon.com/Childs-Story-Answers-Why/dp/B09PHHCGWX?dplnkId=38cdaa69-0263-42c6-afe6-a62c7c7e4057&nodl=1

It’s been a tough 2 years emotionally. After loosing our corgi Gandaulf, we sold our first van and all the toys we had accumulated during our travels and set out to travel around the world. Seven months traveling around Europe and another four months in SE Asia, Indonesia, and Malaysia, then back to the States where we purchased another van to complete the Canada/Alaska trip we missed out on during our two and a half years living on the road.

Alaska and western Canada is another frontier of sorts. Not like the desert but just as grand and open. The roads in each very similar; pot holed and delaminated. The punishing washboard roads in dire need of repair, are enough to put any van build or truck to the test. there would be whole days of traveling 3-400 miles and never cross another vehicle. We were never sure if the paved sections of the roads were better than the dirt roads, both held their own dangers. The grandeur of the Alaskan and Yukon outbacks are hard to match, even in the deserts of the south western USA. Still, the desire to revisit Baja California, Mexico and the desert was strong.

Today, January 6, 2025, I’m writing you while enjoying coffee and the warm sun of La Paz, Baja California Sur, surrounded by fellow travelers. We’ve traveled 1350km so far, with another 300km to go. The roads to this point have been narrow two lane highways, with little to no safety lane and often no shoulders. There are times when we must come to a complete stop to walk the van through deep potholes and slow to a crawl when passing trucks come barreling around blind corners. There are constant signs of accidents, both with roadside crosses and mangled guardrails, straightened out or completely ripped from the supports and trailing off into deep ravens as if pointing to the site of a wayward vehicle leaving the road and plummeting to its end. Often times, there will be stretches of road that have carcasses of dead cows, horses or the unidentifiable remains of some unfortunate animal, usually struck at night by a speedy semi, as they come to the flat roads to sleep. It’s a constant reminder that it only takes a second of misfortune to end a life.

So our nomadic wandering continues with so much more to see and experience. We may be absent but we are always present where ever we find ourselves. Living in the moment, sometimes with no set direction but forward. Always savoring the newness of each destination and rolling with whatever may come our way.

Baja Holiday

I’ve been sitting on this lovely mesquite wood since I pulled in a day before Chris could join me. I caught an awful cold which continued to infect my lungs and finally today, I feel human again. It’s been a long month. I brought out my axe and picked the wood I thought I could split and had at it. I managed to take 7 of the 10 pieces of gnarled mesquite wood and cut it down for smaller wood and kindling. Invited new friends, and had a night of hearing the new version of campfire stories.

We all are from different places and times, some old some a little younger. Some have physical property, land with or without a dwelling, and some have what we’ve arrived at this beach in. No matter, we are all a family unlike that you find. A community of like minded individuals, that, for whatever reason, have the need to wander.

For some it’s a place that is not too pleasant in winter months, some who drive south into Baja as an escape from the gloom and cold winters. For Others, just an escape from some demons chasing them, known or not. For us it’s a chance to take a camping vacation on the beach, where we can stop and unload and finally sit still for more than a day.

Baja Sur is like the old western movies you see. Gauchos riding amongst the cactus and mesquite, Palo Verde and Palo Blanco trees dotting gnarled rocky desert landscape. Tall pilars of crumbling hills and buttes stacked on the ground like the fins in a dragons back. Hot arid air burns the skin and in the city is often full of Mexican polkas and meriotche.

We’ve moved to Loreto, about 2 hours further down the coast, to visit our long time friends who live here now. They live in the Historic Centro of Loreto, a maze of streets that eventually lead to the main Malecon. Bahia Loreto fronts the Malecon and is often a churning white capped sea. There are many gringos mingled with the local Mexicans living in the historic district. Loreto is more like an oasis than the desert. The Centro is centered around one of the 3 missions in this area. A mix of shops and cafes line the Centro. Coffee shops and artists round out the collection. Arched trees provide shade and beauty.

Time to stop and live outside the van for a week or so.

Sun Glitter…a day at the beach

Well, we’ve made it down into Baja California Sur, Mexico. The journey down took the best part of a week. There are numerous military check points along the way, mostly just curious federales except coming into San Ignacio, those guys are jerks.

The driving was a bit hairy after we connected with the main highway Route 1. The road is plenty wide enough for our van and a semi…as long as everyone stays in their own lanes. The last trip up and over the mountains and into Santa Rosalía was the last of the dangerous stretches of windy mountain passes for a while. We were told there’s an accident almost everyday.

Our push to get to Mulege and Bahia Concepcion paid off in spades until Chris came down with the same cold I was battling and we opted to get a hotel room in Posada Concepcion to get some rest and take some long hot showers to try and get on top of our sickness. After a day I pushed on to the beach to set up camp, Chris stayed behind for one more day.

A nice camp spot was saved for me by Frank and Linda, right on the beach only 20’ from the high tide line. The beach is made up of broken shells that have been pulverized into course sand. There are starfish, pelicans, seagulls and turns, dolphins playing in the bay and dozens of paddle boards and kayaks skimming the water as far as one can see. The gentle lapping of the water along the beach lulls me into a trancelike state until the seagulls cry snaps me back.

Every morning, several beach dwellers take out kayaks and fish. Upon returning, they clean and fillet the fish they caught. This daily ritual has attracted 5 large brown pelicans and 2 seagulls. The fisherman feeds the pelicans and the seagulls scream at them, sometimes pestering them enough they get a small morsel. Lazy birds.

Everyday a gentle breeze picks up in the early afternoon, turning the glassy waters of the bay, into small wave trains that lap at the shore and make for some fun paddle boarding. There’s little trails leading up into the hills that surround the beach, a larger area with a dozen or more palapas, outhouses with smelly pit toilets, we use our own and take the cassette once every 3 days and dump it in one.

On any sunny day, the bay turns aqua green with deep blues and turquoise. Dancing in the water are sun sparkles, glitter from the sun. If you squint your eyes those sparkles become sun drops splashing into the bay. I squint and watch these little jewels of light as they dance on the top of the water. Another day another sand dollar.

Down a Winding Desert Road

To say our lives are boring, would be the biggest lie anyone ever told. Today we find ourselves on a pilgrimage down to Baja California. Driving through the barron desert of California’s Mohave. The vast emptiness is overwhelming and all encompassing. Creosote, desert rose, sage, Joshua trees, and various other spiny shrubs, dot the desert floor. Whips of dust circle and rise into the sky in thin tornadic spouts. The desert has a beauty all its own.

As we make our way, small desert communities spring up in the middle of nowhere. Towns like Needles, Searchlight, and Topok breakup the monotony of flatness. We wonder what the inhabitants do for fun? Chase jackrabbits…wander around in altered states of mind. Sit on porches rocking in old wooden rocking chairs. Commune with the vast sky? There’s a certain peace found here in the desert emptiness, vastness that is beyond measure. A kinship with Mother Earth, a pleading of the poor souls living among her scorched soil and dwarfed trees and plants.

For the next few months we will enter this environment willingly, searching…searching for that kinship, immersed in the life of leisure. Healed by the salt air. Lost in days unknown, time lost, only day and night. Wander around with like souls just living life on the peninsula’s terms. It’s time to disassociate from the tension and unknowns of life in the US.

We are looking for somewhere to call home base. Someplace we can travel out from or just hunker down and become part of a community. Who really knows. What I do know is, we have wandering spirits that are hard to quench, hard to convince to stay in one place…wanderlust.

some fun travel photos

A Good Match Photo Challenge

Southward Bound

It’s warm and cozy, sitting in Willow (our van) with the heat on. It rained last night, as usual, and the morning sun is busting out at the seams as the heavy clouds give in to the coming day.

The rain drops sit poised on the edge of the turning leaves and bushes on the forest floor, just waiting to bedazzle the world when the sun finds its small existence. The lack of squirrels portends the coming of the fall chill and the stupendous color change beginning. For the last month, these busy little creatures have been scurrying from tree to tree, digging holes and filling them with a winter bounty, if they can find them under a blanket of fresh snow. The geese have been filling the skies in huge, jagged Vs, honking as they begin their southerly migration. Perhaps we should take note of these happenings and head south ourselves.

We crossed the border from British Columbia Canada, a few days ago. The fall colors slowly fading out and the green leaves have reappeared as if we passed backward through time. The spectacular mountain vistas giving way to the subtle rolling hills covered in orchards and vineyards, then the unending flat fields of golden grains, farm houses and rogue silos, interrupting the golds with a few ancient cottonwoods, tin roofs glinting the suns rays like a diamond amongst the fields of gold. We’ve been sticking to wandering the backroads, trying to eek out whatever new experience we can find as we meander southward.

It’s always bittersweet when we move from one place to another. This trip, now spanning over 9,500 miles, has seemed like a blur. The vast Canadian wilderness, coupled with the wildness of the Alaskan frontier, has made it easy to immerse oneself in nature, primal and raw. To have an intimate insight into the lives of the First Nations people, the animals and fishes that roam the vastness, the small plants, boreal forests, 14,000’ mountains, glaciers and lakes, Arctic tundra, towering fiords, and so much untamed beauty…has been a blessing that is etched into my mind forever.

An Ode to Rubber Boots

The rain has come for another day…

I slink back to my bedroom and on my bed lay.

Oh come on says, a small voice in my head,

It’s but a bit of rain…

With fog drifting over head.

Just put on those rubber boots…

And throw off your dread.

My rubber boots are warm, cozy and dry…

If my toes are happy,

Then so am I.

So I wrangled myself

From out of my bed,

Opened the closet and then I said…

This will be fun.

This will be good.

I’ll put on my rubber boots,

I’ll be safe from harm…

My feet will be happy,

My feet will be warm.

A smile came over me…

I pulled in my rain coat

And was as happy as could be.

I opened the door

And I said to myself…

no more.

I stepped into the rain,

I clicked my heals…

And without a complaint,

I thanked that little

voice in my head.

I was out of doors.

No more stuck inside.

And my rubber boots…

Kept me warm, safe and dry.

The Wilds of The Alaska Frontier

The clouds, like ghostly apparitions, glide across the mountain tops, getting stuck in the rocky crevasses and at mid-mountain, the tops of black spruce groves. White gashes of the snow fields and silent glaciers, creep across the mountain passes, carving deep scars into the ancient Arctic tundra. The tree stands dot the sides of the hill in a spattering of greens, yellows and reds, as the fall closes in. A hint of chill hangs heavy in the air tonight. It’s gonna be a cold one, clear skies and a light breeze from the NW. The lake stands still as glass, reflecting the grandeur of the surrounding alders, willow and poplars. All is silent and eerily still.

It’s been a week of travel from the Antigun Pass of the Dalton Highway above the Arctic Circle. We took a side trip to Chena Hotsprings for my birthday, before heading south down the Parks Highway. Denali, or more correctly, Mount McKinley, was playing peek-a-boo with those of us that hunkered down for the night in the makeshift view point parking lot campground for a night of boon-docking. The sun is starting to actually go down now at a more reasonable hour. The long days of the mid-nite sun, have gone for the summer, and the march towards the winter darkness has begun.

The weather has been, well typical Alaskan. In any given week, at least two days will have sun, two will be cloudy and three will be wet. The wet days are usually drizzly and overcast, which both ignites the colors and makes for flat lighting, muting the contrasts. Good trade. Sometimes these are prime wildlife spotting days, since a lot of the visiting humans hunker down and stay dry. Bears, both black and brown, love to forage for the blueberries and raspberries that are covering the hills and road sides. Moose are a rare sighting in any weather, so the fact that we saw one was almost a miracle. The fish don’t much care if it’s raining, bright in sunshine and clouds, we caught our fair share of the Arctic Grayling. Porcupines waddle across vast empty ribbons of highway minding their own business. Ground squirrels and prairie dogs scamper about the puddles and dig in the soft black soil. It’s a struggle for survival that we have had the good fortune to observe while here.

The salmon run has begun in most of the streams and rivers. These mighty titans of the fish world, fight with every ounce of life they have left to make sure the population survives. Their bleached bodies, still sporting the deep red color of the end of life, struggling upstream in shallow creeks and streams or their corpses lie rotting on the sides of these rivers and streams, providing nutrients and sustenance for opportunistic predators and scavengers like the raven and gulls. Even the majestic eagle makes a showing at this feast. In the way of the salmon’s final goal…stands humans and the grizzly bear. Both worthy foes.

We’ve seen the landscape change. Not just the beginning of autumn’s colorful show, but the craggy mountains, smooth rolling hills, flat Arctic tundra and massive lakes and rivers, glaciers and gigantic snow fields. We’ve floated down a river, through an iceberg choked lake and seen temperate maritime weather. We’ve flown over 12,000 feet in a seaplane through the snow laden Fairweather Mountain peaks. We’ve seen thick subarctic boreal forest and sparse arctic tundras, vast inlets, bays and fiords. The wildness is everywhere.

The Dalton Highway, Alaska

A trip to Alaska is a once in a lifetime thing…especially if you drive there.

We set out almost 2 months ago from Salt Lake City, UT…and hit the road for the long 2500 mile journey to Skagway, Alaska. Since, we’ve hit a good deal of Eastern British Columbia, The Southern Yukon Territory, and have made our way to Fairbanks, Alaska and up to the Antigun Pass on The Dalton Highway. Over 3500 miles covered.

I must say that the Dalton Highway, or the Haul Road, has been the most technical driving we’ve done. On a dry clear day, the road is just a dusty mess, rocks flying from passing vehicles, and deep pot holes. Now let’s add in road construction where they thoroughly soak the road with water and grade the road. Our once dusty road, becomes a swampy mess with mud showers for the van as semi trucks blast through the now water filled pot holes. By the time we reached Yukon Crossing, the van was covered in grey brown mud half way up the sides. The running board were piled an inch thick with mud and gravel. The back of the van was covered in mud and made it difficult to open the doors without becoming covered yourself.

The first night, we camped at Mile 60 BLM Campground and slept well. The next day was more of the same road conditions, but the landscape has changed dramatically. We had gone from huge Alder trees and thick, lush green forests to scrubby conifers, aspens and birch trees. Soon we reached the Arctic Circle, 66.33 degrees latitude…the goal we set out to accomplish. We pulled into the BLM Campground and settled in feeling very satisfied at our achievement.

The next morning, blue skies and sunshine, beckoned us to venture the next 60 miles to Coldfoot, a small town of about 125 people living a sustenance life off the land. It’s the last stop for gas and food before heading into the Arctic Tundra and the North Slope Mountains, Perdue Bay and Deadhorse, big oil mining towns and the beginning of the Trans-Alaskan pipeline. We buttoned up the van, cleaned off the windows and set out north for Coldfoot.

Just outside of Coldfoot, is an Interagency Visitors Center with the most helpful rangers who will answer all your questions on road conditions, weather and wild life sightings, mainly grizzly, Dahl sheep and Muskox. They also encouraged us to drive to the Antigun Pass, another 50 miles further north, and another notch in the ‘been there, done that’ belt. We were given a weather forecast for both Coldfoot and Antigun Pass, told the driving etiquette, and again, encouraged to explore further north.

The next morning, fog hung heavy in the treetops, but the skies were wanting to part so we made the decision to make the drive. I didn’t have much faith that the weather would clear with rain and snow in the forecast, and I was not getting my hopes up for a great photo day, but we packed up and bit the bullet, and we were on the road.

“The first 30 miles are paved,” one of the rangers told us the night before. Yes, indeed the road seemed like it was better than the last 200 we had driven…until…One thing I can tell you is, I’m not sure which is better, paved or unpaved?

Paved roads seem to sluff off on the sides where the permafrost has begun to melt, leaving no substrate to hold the tarmac in place. Second, the frost heaves are accented by skid marks as the drivers before had slammed on the brakes as they were launched into the air. Next are the potholes, they seem to grow in size as each passing semi bounces through them, some covering almost the entire road.

Dirt roads, well they have their issues and advantages as well. Rocks are by far the worst part of a dirt road. The Dalton Highway is renowned for breaking windshields. Second would have to be the mud, thick grayish mud, resembling concrete. The rain turns this into a slurry mess, coating everything it touches in a casing of grey slop, making entering the van nearly impossible without gloves or wiping handles and the edges of the doors with a rag. The dust, on dry days, is a fine powder that infiltrates rubber door seals, mechanical objects begin to squeak, and everything becomes covered in a light coating of white dust. The potholes are much more numerous and often times lined up just perfectly that there’s no choice but to slow to a crawl and step through each one. The best thing about a dirt road though, is it can be graded and potholes filled and compacted. This was witnessed by us both north bound and south as the crews watered and graded.

The day we decided to do the Antigun Pass, the weather didn’t hold and it rained most of the way. The first 30 miles of paved road was a pacifier for the last 20+ miles of muddy dirt road. I can’t imagine how we could’ve managed without the BFG KO2 tires on the van. At times the road was a soupy mess of mud as slick as snot. We made it to the top of Antigun Pass, covered thick in heavy clouds and rain, we jumped out of the van and took some photos and turned around for the decent back into Coldfoot.