Trip Journal -- Day Five, Second Entry

13 Oct. 2004

Oh, a small note about the passengers.

Had breakfast with a Chinese family this morning and thought, "Thank heavens!  Some diversity!"  There are over 70 passengers on the boat and they're all white.  (Excepting the aforementioned Asian family.)  The crew is all white, too.  (OK, the whole "visible" crew.  There are a few black guys in the galley, but I don't see them much as they're hidden back there, creating tasty things for our consumption.) 

There's something uncomfortable about how monochromatic this place is.  I guess I forget that life is like that in some parts of the country -- but I come from the big old multicultural mecca that is called Los Angeles, and five days among only white folk is weirding me out.

Trip Journal -- Day Five

13 Oct. 2004

Just got back from the loveliest paddle (that's apparently what you call a kayaking session).  We're at the confluence of the Snake and Columbia.  At first, the only options were a 3-hour paddle, a 2-hour paddle, and a walk through Sacajewea State Park -- but I raised my hand and asked for another "one-hour wussy paddle" -- which was granted due to popular demand.  i.e. six of us.

This time, I was with Jack -- an older fellow who don't hear too good -- at least, not from behind.  His hands shake, like from Parkinson's, so I steered.  I'd been a little concerned about going out with him, but he had an easy, measured stroke and we ended up kayaking very smoothly.  We were probably the best team of the three on the water, as I was able to keep in perfect synch with him.

Chris, our guide, even gave us some tips -- showing us some new strokes (even stuff that works without the rudder).  Even something as simple as paddling in really shallow water -- we were hugging the shore and it was awful rocky and muddy under the water.  We kept getting mud on our paddles and going to deeper water, but Chris went right through the shallow bit.  When I asked him, he said the kayak can run in 3 inches of water (4 with the rudder) and he just uses a shallower stroke to keep the paddles clear.  And I was all, duh!  shallow stroke!  Why didn't I think of that?

He also taught us how to turn the kayak real sharp - by extending the paddle and doing a real long stroke.  Yes, I know, all of this should have been intuitive, but with the "idiot-proof" kayaking, we'd just been taught to plant our hands on the paddle and keep doing that one forward stroke.  Chris got us thinking about varying it to bring about different results.  Way fun.

Scenery was also lovely -- paddling on two rivers and all.  There was actually greenery -- a marked change from the dry landscape of yesterday.  This was more like how I'd expected the Columbia to be.

Also, when kayaking, I shared some baseball scores (thanks to AT&T Wireless mMode).  The other two boats were interested in what was happening, so we were paddling along talking baseball.  Later, I realized it was the first time I'd been out there kayaking without concentrating on the kayaking.  Jack set this great pace I could follow with my eyes closed, so my body went on autopilot and it freed my mind up for recalling the scores I'd read.  A small step, but a far cry from the "showtune cruise" from two days ago, where I was all about finding a rhythm to support the paddling.  Next up:  walking and chewing gum at the same time.

Trip Journal -- Day Four

12 October 2004

OK, if you haven't been convinced this is the Best Cruise Line Ever by the kayaking or the cookie hour (every day at 3:00 -- cookies and milk), let me tell you the big one.  The one that isn't even in their brochures, but should be.  Are you ready?

The Coke is free.

Not just during Happy Hour.  Not just at meals.  Any time you want a Coke, you just ask the bartender, "May I have a Coke, please?" and she'll give you one, no questions asked.  (And by questions, I mean, "What's your room number?" -- the standard bill-it-to-your-account question.)  Man.  Coke at will.  It's freakin' paradise.

Today, we had a jet boat ride from Clarkston, Washington.  (Clarkston's twin city is Lewiston, Idaho.  I'll give you a second to think that one through.)

We followed the Snake River down the Washington/Idaho border (leaving the question of whether I can check Idaho off my list of visited states -- as I'm sure the jetboat veered into Idaho territory although I never actually set foot on the land), and then the Oregon/Idaho border, into Hell's Canyon.  (The deepest gorge in North America, we're told -- deeper than the Grand Canyon.  Of course, we weren't at it where it went that deep.)  

 

Pretty terrain.  Very desert.  Barren.  Columnar basalt with manganese deposits at the bottom.  Our jet boat captain, Buck (Buck was assisted by Leon, who didn't say a word.  He just helped dock the boat and passed photographs among the passengers to help pinpoint sights.  I kept thinking of him as "the other brother Darryl.")  So, anyway, Capt. Buck would point stuff out on either side of the boat, and rather than say "port" or "starboard" -- or even "left" and "right" -- he'd just refer to "The Warshington side" or "The Idaho side." 

Buck pointed out stray bits of wildlife.  Sadly my photograph of the Big Horn Sheep did not come out (no zoom).  We also saw some more petroglyphs although, again, photography was impossible.

I sorta fell asleep on the jet boat on the way back.  The drone was steady and soporific, the sun through the window (the jet boat was completely enclosed -- like the kayaks, this was a water activity designed to be experienced dry) -- anyway, engine hum steady, sun toasty and (thanks to the engine) the bench seats were vibrating like a thousand dollar massage chair.  We all started dozing.

And woke up just as we returned to the ship.  For cookie time!

Trip Journal -- Day Three, Second Entry

11 Oct. 2004 -- later.

Waited near the bar all of Happy Hour to pay my debt to Andrew in alcohol, but he never came near.  I saw him later and thanked him again.  He waved it off.

So, the one-hour kayak ride.  My partner had broken her foot back in Portland, so it was my chance to steer and find out whether the rudder really was idiot proof.  And other than a minor mishap with some rushes, I'd say it went pretty well.

Kayaking went a little longer than scheduled, as pointed out when our guide said we'd been out 45 minutes and were a half hour from the boat.  I was pretty zonked by then --(Later, the bartender said they used to "advise against" doing the hike and kayaking.  Now they tell me) -- so we kept stopping to rest.  My partner and I tried to take our minds off the paddling by talking.

Eventually, I commented that I was trying to find a song with the right rhythm to match our stroke, as these things work best for me with a tune running hrough my head.  After I sang a verse of "It's Raining Men" (first thing that popped into my head), I casually mentioned that I generally hum showtunes.  Turns out girlfriend knew her musicals, so we ended up paddling back with her naming a show and me singing a verse or two from it.  We ultimately pulled in to the boat platform giggling and singing a duet of "Dance 10, Looks 3" (aka "Tits and Ass") from A Chorus Line.

Trip Journal -- Day Three

11 Oct. 2004

Every morning, our schedule appeared on a dry erase board.

We went through three locks last night.  I know.  Still, interrupted sleeps beats all hell out of no sleep -- and with a full belly of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit, I was ready to take on the hike, er, walk, er, maybe the hike.

See, they tender us to some ... land.  (I believe it's in Washington State someplace, as we've turned onto the Snake from the Columbia) and there's a 3/4 mile gravel path to a lookout.  From here, you can decide whether to take the hike.  The distance is 3 miles (although whether that includes the mile and a half round trip on the gravel path, I'm not certain).  The catch is that it gains about 700 feet in elevation.  And there's no more path -- just a trail, and some scrambling over rocks.

Peer pressure is a terrible thing.

I didn't want to go on the hike.  I said I wouldn't go on the hike.  I was winded at the lookout.

I went on the hike.  Because I was in the third tender from the boat, I had about 5 minutes to make up my mind at the lookout.  I caught my breath.  Some 45 people (nearly all upwards of 15 years my senior) were going or had already left on the hike.  About the only one sitting it out was that nice lady with the cane.

I had dressed for it and brought water -- in case I decided to go.  So, at least, I was prepared to go.  Good plan.

Could not have been about 10 minutes into the hike part when we reached the first "path, what path?" bit.  (It was, actually, going downhill.)  Six senior citizens easily picked their way down it with no problem, while I held up the rest of the group behind me, trying to find footing.  I apologized a lot and continued on.  Bitching all the way.  Largely because of my major stupidity in not packing my hiking poles.  Or even one pole.  A friend of mine who uses crutches calls herself a "quadruped."  I think about that a lot when I'm going up and down these inclines without a pole.  I need that extra "leg."

I had my near-predictable mini-breakdown fairly near the top.  It wasn't too far, but it looked to be nearly straight up and I saw no way of getting up it (much less getting back down) without, oh, murdering that woman who'd had the presence of mind to bring a pole, hiding the body, and stealing the pole.  And that would be an awful lot of work.  Besides, the ship has a "leave no trace" policy, which I'm sure I'd be violating by leaving a corpse out there in nature.

I ask my guide if I can stay there and wait for them to return, but I can't.  Our guide has to keep us all together.  One lady offers me some of her water, and another gives me a tissue for my runny nose. 

And then, enter Andrew.  Andrew is a photographer.  Andrew has a huge pack on his back with all his camera equipment to take pictures at the top of the hike.  Andrew, who apparently had no clue of my murder plans, said, "I've got a walking stick in my pack if you want one."

I blink and have that, "I'm saved!  I'm saved!" expression.  I eagerly dig into his pack and meet:  the monopod.  It's one sturdy little bastard.  A collapsible metal stand used for camera balancing, which can easily double as a walking stick.  Andrew is happy to let me use his monopod to get up and down the hill -- I only have to agree to give it back up top so he can put his camera on it.  A deal is immediately struck.  (I fully intend to find Andrew tonight at Happy Hour and buy him a beer.)  I make it up the mountain fine.  I take pictures.

Pretty, huh?  I have to admit, the view was glorious.  And let me point out that I started off on a BOAT.  Which is to say, this walking venture began way down there where the water is.

The guides are a little concerned about the hike back because we haven't got too much time.  ("I know," says our guide to the other, "But we had to stop and take a rest break."  I add, cheerfully, "That would be me.")  They're a little worried because we've got about an hour to get back to the ship and, "some people take longer going down."  ("Really?" I think, "Are they looking pointedly in my direction?")

I actually didn't take long going down at all.  (I was nearly the first one back from our group.)  A nice man stayed with me during the rocky bit at the top, helping me pick a path down the rocks.  And yay for the monopod.  Having a stick to plant and hold your weight makes all the difference.

There may also have been something about the altitude.  I had no real idea what 700 feet was (and then I thought of that lock yesterday, and thought, "seven times that").  But on the way back, although my feet began to hurt and I was still pretty pooped, my breathing was nowhere near as labored.  I thought it was just 'cause downhill is easier than uphill -- but then one of the ladies pointed out that we'd started at some altitude already and it was just easier to get air when we were lower down.  Good point.

Quick photo looking back up the hill from the path back down.  We were at the tippy top of that far hill in the distance.

There's kayaking in the afternoon -- a 1 hour, 2 hour, or 3 hour session.  Yesterday, I did an hour and a half -- and would have cheerfully gone for 2 today had I not yielded to the pressure and hiked -- but, as it stands, I'm quite happy the one-hour wuss option is out there.

Trip Journal -- Day Two, Second Entry

10 Oct 2004, later

Did I mention I didn't sleep last night?

My quaint and charming cabin is conveniently located just above the Engine Room.  And last night, we went through some locks -- navigating into locks requires use of the bow thruster, about which I know nothing except it sounds like we're running aground, against an angry whale. 

And something in my cabin was buzzing last night.  Not softly, like a fly or something, but loud, as if the window were not seated properly in its casement.

So -- little sleep last night, four hours the night before.  It didn't really faze me this morning.  Excited about kayaking, eager for breakfast (hell, even curious about the marine shower) and I was rarin' to go.

After kayaking was lunch.  I rarely eat much for lunch (especially not after having had breakfast, a meal I usually skip) but I ate like I was famished.  Salad, cup of soup, and two halves of a grilled cheese sandwich.  And, um, another half, as long as the waiter was coming around with them.

We then did the Coast Guard mandated security drill; I sat on the deck for some sightseeing (watched us go through the John Day Dam & Lock -- which raised our ship some 105 feet); I went downstairs for milk & cookies.  I ate two huge cookies.  At this point, I started to notice that I was eating an awful lot, but I attributed it to having expended energy kayaking or something.

And then, it hit me.  I was on a bench seat (in a booth) and I leaned back to rest, almost as a joke.  And my body said, "You're not getting up."  Actually, I don't think my body was capable of complete sentences or polysyllabic words.  It said, "Me want more down time."

I staggered back to my cabin and -- with my clothes on and the window open -- had a bit of a lie down.

I couldn't sleep, though.  The damn buzzing thing was still buzzing, and I realized that this was what was keeping me awake, not the steady hum of the engines or the bright glow of the midday sun.

I pulled myself out of (well "off of") bed --still not having made the connection that I'd been eating like a pig because my body had zero energy and was trying to recharge however it could.  I went into "stubborn investigator mode," hunting down the cause of the buzz.

I actually went right for it (like Inigo Montoya when he does that "Father, guide my sword" bit).  Seems the window is surrounded by mock wood panelling, and some of it is loose at the top of the window, causing the annoying buzz.  Press on it, and it blissfully stops buzzing.  There are bolts all around the window, giving me an opportunity for an easy fix.  I jammed my "adventure camera bag" up there, wedged it between a bolt and the offending piece of panelling.  The bag presses the panel to the surface and presto, no buzz.

This is the view, looking upward, of my window for the rest of the trip:

This accomplished, I promptly fell back in ("on") bed and crashed for two hours.

Woke with a headache.  I had one last night and this morning, too -- but with the new found brain power coming from an actual nap, I know exactly why I have it and how to make it go away.  I haven't had a Coke in over 24 hours.  Stupid caffeine withdrawal.  Conveniently, it is now 6:05 -- "Happy hour."  I'm off to go get happy.

Trip Journal -- Day Two

10 Oct. 2004

The morning view from my cabin window -- Miller Island.

So, last night at kayaking orientation, someone asked what we should wear.  The Naturalist/Guide said it would be much warmer once we passed through the Columbia River Gorge (that night) and she just wears a T-shirt and nylon pants.

I go back to my room grumbling -- nobody put "nylon pants" on the gear list.  I got khakis; I got jeans; I got shorts; I got mid-weight fleece; I even got rain pants, for cryin' out--

Rain pants.

Rain pants are nylon.  Rain pants are lightweight when you're not wearing fleece under them.  Rain pants, when you think about it, are the perfect warm weather kayak bottoms.

All hail the rain pants!

"So, how was kayaking?" you wonder.  I gotta say, this company does everything in its power to make the kayaking experience waterproof and idiot-proof.

The waterproof part was nearly a complete success -- between the spray skirt (conveniently covering my lap) and the nifty launching platform (so you enter and exit the kayak from the ship itself), the only stuff of mine that actually got wet was my water bottle holder and fleece jacket -- both of which were tied to the top of the kayak and got a little sprinkled when I missed a stroke.  Hell, my hands didn't even get wet -- courtesy little run-off guards on the paddle.

It's me!  In a kayak!  Photo taken by my partner as we practiced our kayak-parallel-parking skills before our guide led us off for some sightseeing.

The idiot-proofing was also a success.  The kayaks are long and wide -- making for serious stability.  And they also have rudders.  This is great -- none of that turning the kayak with paddling or having one person call out, "left, right, left, left, more left!" -- you just keep on paddling straight ahead while the person in back steers with foot pedals.

I was paired up with a nice total stranger and we easily navigated around Miller Island.  Our Naturalist/guide took us to see some petroglyphs and pictographs on the rocks -- several were hard to spot ("OK, see those two piles of bird turd.  Now, look at the one on the right and go down about 6 feet...")  I should note, at this point, that the crew isn't stuffy at all, and awfully friendly and down-to-earth.

You can't see it too well, but there's a pictograph in this photo.  The red staining near the center of the image is not rust, but faded paint in a circular pattern. There's also a very small "bulls-eye" sun in there. 

My digital camera, which had previously shown an alarming tendency to drink batteries before even ten photographs had been taken, works a heck of a lot better now that I adjusted the screen brightness (actually, turned it off altogether and just getting the screen lit via ambient light).  I shot many more pictures and the batteries are nowhere near dead.

This one is sunrise over Miller Island.  I actually got very few sunrise/sunset shots all trip, so I was pleased to discover this one.

I also took this shot of my journal.  I can't believe I have the penmanship of a third-grader.  No wonder I type all the time.