Fun and Mishaps on the Shenandoah

So a few friends and I took a brief weekend trip out to the rural Shenandoah Valley for a much needed end of summer weekend getaway.

Saturday morning Sal, Sancho and I crammed all of our outdoor equipment into the back of my truck with not an inch to spare and set out on Route 66 westbound.

We ended up getting to our destination (the Down River Canoe Company) well before the rest of our crew so we took the initiative to set up our tents and camping equipment at our campsite nearby.

I had brought most of my extra gear for Bryan and his wife who are novice campers.

A couple of hours later we were loaded into a bright yellow school bus and driven the three miles upstream by an older butch looking woman.

Our goal was to float down and into our campsites. The river was seasonably low and moving at a snails pace. In a couple locations we were forced to get off of our inner tubes and push ourselves over rocks. "That's ok", I thought. "It's all about the relaxation."

At one point the river picked up and we managed to find a pretty decent sized swimming hole. Not too long after that I hopped off my raft to "relieve myself" of all the beer I had consumed. While I was attempting to leap back onto the raft, my foot slipped off a flat rock and managed to impale itself on a very sharp rock adjacent to the flat one. Blood immediately began gushing down my foot. I was concerned because as beautiful as the Shenandoah is, I knew of its reputation as a make shift sewer system for dairy cattle.

Retrospectively, I should have gotten medical attention immediately. But so it goes. After a long day of being in the open sun and rafting we finally made it to the Low Water Bridge.

Shortly thereafter with overwhelming appetites we started up the grill and threw on some hot dogs and burgers that would end up taking over 4 hours to cook.

We ended up getting a blazing campfire going and cooking our dogs over it. Even though I've sworn off eating pork, I was so hungry that I chose to disregard my moral principles and chow down on a dog or two.

The next morning the aching in my foot was starting to get the better of me. After the hour and a half drive back to DC, I hobbled over to Matilda's house to show her my battle wounds. She insisted that I go to Urgent Care and get stitches immediately. After thinking about it for a minute and remembering that the open sore on my foot had been marinating in the foul water of Shenandoah river for quite a while I decided it might be a good idea to get it looked at.

Three hours later I found myself face down on a doctors bed and a crusty doctor injecting my foot with Novocaine. Talk about excruciating pain! The needles hurt more than the abrasion. The doctor said that I had punctured my foot pretty deep and that it was at risk for an infection.

I am still taking my antibiotics and can not put pressure on the back of my foot.

All injuries aside, it still turned out to be a beautiful weekend.

Cape Follow Up

So, I've been extremely bad about updating my blog lately. Chalk it up to two parts "lack of energy", a teaspoon of "loss of ambition" with a smidgen of "scarcity of time"? ... or just call me a lazy stooge.

After a three year hiatus from the outer extremities of Massachusetts's, my plane touched down tenderly at Logan International airport slightly ahead of schedule. Imagine that! Just a few minutes later I found myself nervously awaiting on my large backpack that happened to be meticulously packed with a weeks worth of provisions. After a few anxious minutes, I grabbed my pack and hopped aboard a small water taxi in search of the high speed ferry.

The sixty mile ride across Cape Cod Bay aboard The Provincetown III would prove itself to be more of a gay cruise than a means of transportation for the overwhelming majority of the people on the boat. Public displays of affection were indiscreet and in no short supply, not that I'm complaining. In fact, beyond seeing a whale breach, it was one of the more amusing happenings on the ninety minute ride.

The ferry gingerly pulled in to the Provincetown pier around 1:30 pm. A close friend of my parents was kind enough to volunteer to pick me up.

Thanks to brother Rick my entire tent was already set up. This was already looking to be a great vacation.

The next day was even better. The weather was perfect and we went down to Head of the Meadow beach for our first beach day. Had I known that this would be one of our only beach days, I would have stayed longer. In any case, it was great to see my brother Tim in the ocean for the first time in 17 years. He was the first one in the ocean and the last out, none of my nieces or nephews had the stamina to stay in longer.

After a couple of days of rain in the campground, our spirits were becoming slightly frazzled. Tim and I took the liberty to buy about five pounds of Mussels and two dozen clams. Since my stomach was slightly queasy from all the Miller Lite swilled the night before, Tim was on his own. About an hour later, an empty twelve pack of Budweiser and a full garbage can of what was just previously five pounds of mussels stood before Tim.

During the nights we managed to commandeer someone else's beach fire almost every night. Rick, Tim, Jim and I sat by the ocean drinking beer, smoking cigars and taking it all in.

The following day I bought some sand eels at the bait store and threw in a line to see what was biting. Apparently crabs have a fondness for sand eels because I was constantly re-baiting my hook. I also tried to do some snorkeling and ended up entangled in some guys fishing line. I didn't see a damn thing. I'm convinced Cape Cod is now devoid of sea life (except crabs).

The last few days were somewhat stressful. Powerful wind storms had picked up. Everyone was in the mood to get on home. The next morning everyone took off except for my mother, Kevin, his family and myself. It was odd not having everyone around and I was looking forward to getting home myself as well.

The following day Kevin dropped me off in P-town and I hopped on board the ferry back to Boston. On the way back I noticed many of the same people from the ride over. However, instead of a loud festive atmosphere, most people were passed out, sprawled across seats or drinking bottled water. I laughed to myself. "It must be hard being gay".

Oh and on a final note, while sitting in the Boston airport waiting for my plane to come in from Washington I heard someone say "Thanks John", I looked up and who else would it have been? None other than John Kerry!

Cape Cod... Drink or Destination?

Cape Cod

Pour 1oz. Vodka
Mix Cranberry Juice
add Lime Wedge

or...

Spend seven days languishing in a lounge chair on the tip of the outer Cape with your entire immediate family minus 1 brother and 2 nieces, 525 miles from the politically charged, manic chaos that has come to define Washington, DC.

"I'll take the latter, extra heavy on the family please."

One to two weeks out of the summer in Cape Cod while growing up was a staple of my childhood. While I've finally come of age to appreciate it, this opportunity will be more than cherished. This will be the first time for many, many years that my entire family will all be vacationing there together.

Next week, you may be able to find me combing the local sea shore in a dire attempt to fetch the perfect sand dollar, carelessly strolling through Provincetown watching the hedonistic circus atmosphere take place, or sipping a Bloody Mary and gazing off into the horizon.

Cape Cod... one of the few places where an "anything goes" mindset is not just the norm, it's a constitutional requirement precedented by decades of overtly liberal, entertaining and outlandish folk.

Whether you go to the Cape to relax, body surf, fish, or engage in sexual libidinous behavior on the beach as identified in this article, it's a great place to be.

Everything is NOT All Good

Not too far beyond the precipice of the "mid-summer", an unwanted anxiety slowly begins to find its way into my well being.

Flashbacks to 30 degree temperatures, impending snow storm warnings, and complete incarceration for four months bring out my gag reflex.

Slowly but methodically, one day at a time, the later the summer gets the more my seasonal anxiety begins to strengthen its grip on my conscious.

That being said, last winter I made a pact to myself that I would get out and into the wild in order to spend as much time as I could attending festivals, hiking and camping. I'm confident that if some sort of audit was conducted at this very moment my progress report would reflect a modest B-. Had I not gone to Alaska and done some pretty arduous hiking and fishing I think I'd coast by with a simple C.

Which brings me to why everything is not All Good...

All Good festival - Martins Mountain Top, Masontown, WV the apex of all that summarizes my summers objectives and goals. Held annually, All Good festival brings about 30,000 jamsters from all over the states, as well as top notch talent consisting of the likes of Dark Star Orchestra, Perpetual Groove, Phil Lesh, etc... the list goes on.

Unfortunately for me, this year I've decided not to attend. It's not the three and half hour drive out to West Virginia, it's not the $150 ticket price, ok... well that may have something to do with it. It's the cost of everything god damn it! (230 miles x 2 = 460 total miles), assuming 20 miles per gallon in my truck comes out to approximately 23 gallons of fuel burned. 23 x $4.09 gass = ~$100.

Now take into account food and beverage (of which are also completely inflated) and you end up with a $400 dollar-2 day weekend. Good times or not, I just can't bring myself to do it. I can think of many other "good times" to be had that come in the shape of a 4o ounce cold dark bottle, a good book and a poolside lounge chair.

So, suffice it to say, with my spirits slightly dampened and my summer report card floundering, I'm going to try to make the best of my weekend out on the river again! My show must go on.

Moo Moo's First Swim

Meet Miss Emma, allegedly the fastest, strongest, most talented brindled pit bull terrier to ever traverse the volatile, treacherous and sometimes deadly waters of the upper Occoquan Reservoir.

Local legend has it that Miss Emma once pulled three burly sailors to safety after the vessel they were in had stumbled upon an iceberg and capsized.

Yup... I know what you're thinking, "Icebergs in the Occoquan?", "A 30 pound mongrel Pit Bull mixed breed mutt pulling men to safety?".

What can I say? I heard about it from a friends cousin's sister's boyfriends brother in-law! He said it happened to his best friend and that his wife's uncle saw it all happen.

Anyways, here she is with her doggy vest on all jazzed up to swim in the Occoquan. We took her out there Saturday.

What a stunningly gorgeous day. The optimal temperature, moderately sunny, and a private cove just a stones throw from my house made it feel like a sliver of our own paradise for a day.

Believe it or not, for as small a dog as she is, she kicked ass! I'm so proud of little muttsy. I didn't even have to coax her into the water at first. She chased a few sticks up to her shoulders.
Then after a few confidence boosters I dragged her about 100 ft out into the water and watched her swim back to shore. I thought I might have even seen a few tail wags in there.

At one point, like a receiver showing off by spiking a football, she grabbed a piece of floating Styrofoam and brought it into shore.

Not only do I have the best swimming pit bull this side of the Mississippi, I've also got a dog that is more environmentally conscious than myself.

My dog is green. How about yours?

It's Good to be King

This by far is indisputably my most favorite picture that I took throughout my brief travel to Alaska.

Proudly perched on the top of his own self declared throne, located somewhere in the vicinity of 90 miles out in the Prince William Sound of southern Alaska, it was more than obvious that "King" owned this jagged, inhospitable rock sculpture as well as the two accompanying islands found near by.

While his harem of female sea lions engrossed themselves in barking in a primal attempt to protect their fertile breading grounds (at Kings behest of course) King barely exerted enough energy to pretend to care.

While female sea lions would fight tooth to flipper in order to defend the smallest nook of serrated, jagged, sharp rock, comparatively speaking, Kings domain consisted of a wide swath of flat welcoming rock exclusively reserved for the upper echelon of seal kingdom.

With his insatiable mass and domineering presence, not one junior sea lion in the local vicinity dared to challenge him.

We circled around this random rock formation in a twenty two foot aluminum fishing boat, gawking at this unreal environment. While we exchanged fleeting glances amongst each other, I felt that we were all thinking the same thing and discretely wondering if we were really in the United States proper.

Later on in the afternoon we witnessed two humpback whales performing their mating rituals while we circled around several gregarious porpoises swimming curiously around the boat.

Although fishing was a bit slow that day, I did manage to convince a small halibut to bite my hook. Please excuse the red faced look of utter constipation on my face as I had just gaffed a fish half the size of my body in a proud moment.

Later on, we decided to stop by one of the many islands in the Prince William Sound. These islands had the inviting look of paradise (as seen on TV). But after stepping off the boat with our waiters on, the bone chilling coldness of the salty water penetrated right through the neoprene protection and rested itself directly into my inner core . It was a startling realization that this environment played well on the eyes but was inhabitable. In any case, it was absolutely surreal.

This was undeniably the best part of my trip! I hope everyone in their life time gets to see something this amazing!!!

The Rushing Russian

We averaged somewhere in the nature of four to five hours of sleep per night. After climbing snow saturated mountains, fording rivers, all the while subsisting on a steady diet of granola, beef jerky and silt tainted glacier water it was time to relax.

Relaxation came in the form of fishing for salmon in the Russian River.

"The Russian" as the locals call it is one of the most heavily fished sockeye salmon streams in Alaska. Fortunately or unfortunately for us, the salmon that coaxed us into coming to the Russian that day were running a few weeks behind their migratory schedule. Reaping the benefits of this irregular cycle, the four of us owned the pristine waters of the Russian River for a day.

Hip waiters pulled snuggly around our chests, fishing poles in hand, the crew and I struck out to catch our limit of natures bounty. Within ten minutes K-man had landed a decent sized trout.

As envious as I was, I snapped this picture and started walking upstream more than eager to stake out my own ground. I couldn't help but notice how absolutely gorgeous it was out there. The temperature peaked around 65 degrees, the sun was luminously shining and the air smelled of crisp mountain dew.

Besides K-man catching what appeared to be the same trout over again, as time went on fishing became something less than a fruitful effort.

Fruitless or not, it was still a very surreal and peaceful time. As I stood there in the stream listening to the water trickle by, I thought to myself how far I was from home.

As we were wrapping up and walking back to the car, Sal suddenly stopped and anxiously pointed across the stream.

A few seconds later a brown grizzly bear came lumbering through the brush. Indiscreetly trudging through the thicket and rooting around for salmon scraps this bear had no shame. Hell, we were in his backyard. This was our first bear sighting and it happened to be a grizzly.

It took a few seconds for the novelty to wear off and for me to realize that this primal beast was foraging around for it's next meal not more than 50 feet across a shallow stream from us.

While most of the typical Alaskan wildlife eluded us on our hiking excursion, this was definitely a convenient moment for us to get a taste of our first bear sighting. We were standing fairly close to the stairs up to the parking lot.

There was another fisherman standing just out of frame on the same side as the bear. Moments after seeing this grizzly the four of us started screaming... "GRIZZLY, GRIZZLY, GRIZZLY!!!".

I wish I was able to capture the look on this poor souls face. It was absolutely priceless.

Instinctualy, the man darted across that stream with little to no concern for the potential of drowning. Mind you that this was the same part of the stream I managed to get half way across earlier in the day and decided to turn around because it was a little too forceful for my tastes.

Even though I did not even catch a snag it was a great day.