So, I got a little behind with my blog - as many of you may have noticed. I blame that partially on the fact that Kelly didn't have internet available for me for a few months. Plus, she keeps running off with the computer so she can do her homework after work. Since about six months have passed since I last wrote, I'll just summarize - at least up to the point where we went to Greece - that deserves its own entry.
We spent Christmas in Arizona - mostly in Sun City with the Vilvens. Kelly flew in a couple days before everyone else, which turned out very nice. We had a few days with her grandparents before everyone else got there. Grampy Wallace was in the hospital with a broken arm, but got released a few days after we left. We ventured up to Sedona for a couple days after Christmas, which is just an hour away from my hometown of Flagstaff. For Kelly's birthday, Ryan took her to a nice Thai place in Seattle. The rain was pouring down outside, but the food, tea and company were warm enough to counteract that. It was quite appropriate that Ryan's gift was an umbrella. The lining is a happy sky spotted with white clouds. It makes Kelly smile when she is using it, knowing that she has the only patch of blue sky around.
Washington had record snowfall this year and really bad avalanche conditions. Nevertheless, we managed to get a few hikes in. Kelly bought and used an ice axe for the first time on Anaconda Peak, in January. The hike was icy and she was still scared at times, despite my encouragement from her backpack. The top was cold and windy, but it felt really great just to be out doing something. In February we hiked Iron Mountain. An ice axe wasn't necessary, but Kelly still used hers a couple times on the way up. At the top, it was gorgeous. The sun was out and the views were spectacular. We laid at the top for an hour, like we were on a beach - not a mountain. Only, on a beach you can't make giant snowballs and roll them off the cliff. We heard a couple avalanches go and decided to head back before the snow got too soft.
Kelly's first solo Dale Carnegie course started at the beginning of February in Auburn. Travis sat in for the first few sessions, in case she had questions. She was so nervous the first couple sessions, but finally settled into a routine. I even got to go to her graduation in April. (More on that in a later entry.) In week two or three Kelly made an offer on a townhouse on the Kent/Auburn line.
On the 29th of February, Kelly took a big leap and moved from IDS to BCA. Stress to flight test engineering. AEW&C to the 777 Freighter. Kent to Seattle. The commute is longer, but she says being able to walk around the planes and do some hands-on work is totally worth it. This group also does weekly hikes, so we've been on a few of those. With the iffy conditions, they've all been lower elevation walks, generally through muddy paths. Some days it feels like the sun doesn't exist.
Spring break and Easter came early this year. During the week off, in March, Kelly's cousin flew out from Texas to stay with us and see Seattle. Since he couldn't rent a car, and Kelly needed hers to drive to work, Kelly's mom came up to help him get around. Since the townhouse was supposed to close at the end of March, they helped us pack after hitting the museums.
The first couple weeks of April were a little stressful for Kelly. She was finishing up two classes and starting another. Between taking and teaching classes her time was spent trying to wrap up the townhouse deal and get ramped up in her new job. She spent about a week up in the factory in Everett waiting for a test to happen and building up hours to flex time for vacation. Somehow she managed to fit in 62 hours of work and almost all of her schoolwork the week before we went to Greece. She said it wasn't that hard, though, because she was enjoying everything she was doing. I guess it's not as hard to work for 62 hours if you get to be around an airplane all day. And the paper she had to write - was about Greece. So, in the end, it all worked out great and she was able to catch up on sleep during the plane ride.
domingo, 25 de mayo de 2008
lunes, 31 de diciembre de 2007
Hippity Hoppity - Where's the Wapati?
The third week of November in Utah is supposed to be cold. The ski resorts are supposed to be open on Thanksgiving. The mercury should dip well below freezing every morning. Not this year. When we landed in Salt Lake, the surrounding mountains rose majestically in the distance, but the tops were brown, not snowy white. After spending Friday working virtually in Salt Lake we headed toward those mountains - up to 7,000 feet, about 100 miles from the city. On the way to the cabin we saw a figure crouched in the dark, on the side of the road. We backed up and opened the door for a lonely, friendly Border Collie. The Vilvens seem to gain dogs by fate, and this one was fated to become a part of the family.
Deer munched happily in the fields around the cabin, basking in the sunshine and apparently aware that deer season was over. Big bucks bounded after the does - big bucks that had been mysteriously absent during the deer hunt. We headed to the lowlands, where the large herds of elk had resided the year before, confident that we’d get an elk on opening day. We followed our normal routine – one gun going in on the bottom side of the ridge, the other driving around to the top in case the herd broke for the fence line. It was a good plan – except the elk weren’t there.
Blaming the hot, dry fall, we left the winter range after walking a few potholes which were devoid of fresh sign. After lunch we hopped on the four-wheelers and ascended the mountain over McDonnell basin. Once again, deer peered out from amongst the aspen, which towered like fence-posts against the watery, blue sky. Cruising comfortably along the dirt roads, we realized this hunt might not be over as quickly as we suspected. Not even a flake of snow was present, even at the top, where does and fawns indicated that the animals had not moved down for the winter.
On the way back, we finally caught a glimpse of a small herd of elk through the naked, white trunks. They trotted through the trees, two-hundred yards into the grove. We followed them on the four-wheeler, but were unable to get a descent shot, so went home empty-handed.
Sunday and Monday proved equally futile. Monday Salt Lake had a record high of 72 degrees – which translated to a balmy 65 degrees up in the mountain. The deer filled the fields like rabbits, but the elk remained elusive. We scoured the sagebrush in the trucks, tramped through cedar-filled ridges, and buzzed around on the four-wheeler. We saw does, fawns, bucks, cotton-tails, golden eagles, moose, and grouse. But only signs of elk. It is pretty bad when the highlight of your day is stumbling upon fresh elk pee.
Finally, on Tuesday, we got a break. The temperature dropped to 8 degrees in the morning. No moisture meant no snow, but we hoped the drop in barometric pressure would convince the elk that winter was finally here. Before checking out a new place, we hit up our normal haunt in the lowlands and hit the jackpot. The local herd of elk was there, hiding in the cedars. Scouring the flats as the sun rose, we finally saw them. Jon drove them straight towards Kim, who got some shots off. Startled, the elk headed for the ridgetop. We raced along the rutted, dirt road – the Jeep rattling and clanking as we went – and kicked it into reverse to catch the nine cows just as they crested the hill, panting from the sprint.
With our two tags filled, Kim was able to set off for Kansas in time to spend Thankgiving there. Kelly’s mom came out from California, knowing only that a “surprise” was waiting for her in the form of a cowdog. The last few days were crisp, with highs close to freezing – much more normal. Kelly ran around to catch some last pictures, although the cold had forced many of the animals to bed-down until late in the morning. After a pleasant hike through the aspens she spotted a young, bull moose. Apparently moose do not like having their pictures taken. He chased us down the road, through the yellow gate, across the half-frozen creek – straight back to the car. Hopefully a few of the pictures will turn out after all that effort.
The ski resorts were frantically making snow as we passed on the way back to Salt Lake. We left the cold but clear, dry air of the Salt Lake valley for the welcome humidity in overcast Seattle.
Deer munched happily in the fields around the cabin, basking in the sunshine and apparently aware that deer season was over. Big bucks bounded after the does - big bucks that had been mysteriously absent during the deer hunt. We headed to the lowlands, where the large herds of elk had resided the year before, confident that we’d get an elk on opening day. We followed our normal routine – one gun going in on the bottom side of the ridge, the other driving around to the top in case the herd broke for the fence line. It was a good plan – except the elk weren’t there.
Blaming the hot, dry fall, we left the winter range after walking a few potholes which were devoid of fresh sign. After lunch we hopped on the four-wheelers and ascended the mountain over McDonnell basin. Once again, deer peered out from amongst the aspen, which towered like fence-posts against the watery, blue sky. Cruising comfortably along the dirt roads, we realized this hunt might not be over as quickly as we suspected. Not even a flake of snow was present, even at the top, where does and fawns indicated that the animals had not moved down for the winter.
On the way back, we finally caught a glimpse of a small herd of elk through the naked, white trunks. They trotted through the trees, two-hundred yards into the grove. We followed them on the four-wheeler, but were unable to get a descent shot, so went home empty-handed.
Sunday and Monday proved equally futile. Monday Salt Lake had a record high of 72 degrees – which translated to a balmy 65 degrees up in the mountain. The deer filled the fields like rabbits, but the elk remained elusive. We scoured the sagebrush in the trucks, tramped through cedar-filled ridges, and buzzed around on the four-wheeler. We saw does, fawns, bucks, cotton-tails, golden eagles, moose, and grouse. But only signs of elk. It is pretty bad when the highlight of your day is stumbling upon fresh elk pee.
Finally, on Tuesday, we got a break. The temperature dropped to 8 degrees in the morning. No moisture meant no snow, but we hoped the drop in barometric pressure would convince the elk that winter was finally here. Before checking out a new place, we hit up our normal haunt in the lowlands and hit the jackpot. The local herd of elk was there, hiding in the cedars. Scouring the flats as the sun rose, we finally saw them. Jon drove them straight towards Kim, who got some shots off. Startled, the elk headed for the ridgetop. We raced along the rutted, dirt road – the Jeep rattling and clanking as we went – and kicked it into reverse to catch the nine cows just as they crested the hill, panting from the sprint.
With our two tags filled, Kim was able to set off for Kansas in time to spend Thankgiving there. Kelly’s mom came out from California, knowing only that a “surprise” was waiting for her in the form of a cowdog. The last few days were crisp, with highs close to freezing – much more normal. Kelly ran around to catch some last pictures, although the cold had forced many of the animals to bed-down until late in the morning. After a pleasant hike through the aspens she spotted a young, bull moose. Apparently moose do not like having their pictures taken. He chased us down the road, through the yellow gate, across the half-frozen creek – straight back to the car. Hopefully a few of the pictures will turn out after all that effort.
The ski resorts were frantically making snow as we passed on the way back to Salt Lake. We left the cold but clear, dry air of the Salt Lake valley for the welcome humidity in overcast Seattle.
Los Papas
After a few days of lazing about the cabin it was time for a little action. The Tractor Tavern had just what we needed – the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies. We got there plenty early, but had to return to the car when we ended up being 3 dollars short of the admission price. The guys at the door were incredulous when we showed up with a handful of change to cover the rest of the cover, but still sold us the last two tickets.
The floor was so crowded that dancing was pretty much impossible, although some of the more intoxicated onlookers tried their best. Watching the keyboardist was worth the price of admission – and seeing the band live really added to the music.
The floor was so crowded that dancing was pretty much impossible, although some of the more intoxicated onlookers tried their best. Watching the keyboardist was worth the price of admission – and seeing the band live really added to the music.
Rodrigo y Gabriella
Spontaneity can be a lot more fun than planning out an event, as we found out on Halloween this year. Instead of trick-or-treating we rushed from Kelly’s class up to the Paramount in Seattle where Rodrigo y Gabriella were playing. A mix of acoustic flamenco and heavy metal, this Mexican-Irish pair have a unique sound whether they are playing their own songs or a Pink Floyd cover. As much fun as the music is watching them play – their hands moving so fast even the video cameras couldn’t keep up. One problem with spontaneity is the possibility that, in the last-minute rush to get tickets and a spot on the floor, you might forget where your car is…
Lock, Yacht & Salmon?
Hoping to catch a concert in the park one sunny afternoon, we drove up to Ballard to the Crittenden Locks. This turned out to be a pretty fascinating place, even though one of the dock workers told us there wasn’t a concert that day. When boats transition from the freshwater of the sound to the salt water they must pass through the locks to avoid mixing the two types of water. A beautiful day draws quite a number and variety of boats, from million-dollar yachts to single-person ocean kayaks. Workers guide the boats into the locks based on size where they wait for water to either fill or drain, depending on which direction they are going. People are not the only one traversing the waters. Salmon struggle along in the strong current, their efforts visible from the many underwater viewing windows.
viernes, 9 de noviembre de 2007
Un Dia Perfecto
If there is such a thing as a perfect, fall day - the day we went to Colchuck had to come close. We arrived in Leavenworth around 9 am but, unlike our last trip there in July, it was not hot. The wan autumn sunshine filtered through the trees at the trailhead creating light, but not much else. Despite our gloves and jackets, we were still shivering in the crisp air as we set off. The trail wound through the forest, not too steep - but enough of a workout that we were soon pulling off the gloves and unzipping the jackets. The dim green of evergreens was broken intermittenly by yellow and brown maples. These glimpses of color were temporarily exciting as each could be the gold leaves of the larches we were searching for. We crossed a few wooden bridges and eventually arrived at Colchuck Lake, just as the sun began to shine in earnest.
Fog wafted off the wet stumps by an old dam at the closest end of the lake. Impressive Dragontail and jagged Colchuck rose majestically at the far end, casting an imposing shadow on Asgard Pass. The still silence of the mountains was broken only by our footsteps and the occasional pip of a pika. After carefully maneuevering across the half-submerged logs at the dam, we worked our way around the edge of the lake, enjoying the solitude and the placid water. Larches rose up from the shore like golden flames against the almost unnatural teal water. The sun rotated around until it was peeking over the edge of the pass, which looked less menacing the closer we got. A herd of larches marched their way into the basin from the Upper Enchantments, seemingly headed toward the lake to join their vibrant friends.
Illuminated by the sun, the brilliant needles were almost transparent against the pure, blue sky. A small beach, still covered in frost and ice looked back toward Leavenworth. Artistic black swirls appeared in the granite sand, the gentle curves contrasting with the sharp peaks of the mountains around us. I felt as if I could stay there forever and be happy. But the sun was already making its way back down behind the mountains, as if it didn't quite have the energy to pop up over Dragontail.
Since we had come to see the larches, we aimed for a large cluster about half-way up the now shadowy pass. Pika tracks dotted the snow-dusted rocks. From the grouping of the prints it seemed like the fuzzy mountain hamsters had hopped from rock to rock. We heard them chirping around us as the stashed leaves for the winter, but my shy cousins kept their distance. A few couples struggled up Asgard, headed for a campsite in the Enchantments. Without the heavy packs and with the tantalizing view, the snowy pass didn't seem so daunting. We turned back as we began to run out of space on our memory cards, arriving at the parking lot well after dark because of a little confusion about the path. Even the bustle of Oktoberfest and the iffy food we ordered couldn't break the peaceful feeling that came from experiencing what has to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
Fog wafted off the wet stumps by an old dam at the closest end of the lake. Impressive Dragontail and jagged Colchuck rose majestically at the far end, casting an imposing shadow on Asgard Pass. The still silence of the mountains was broken only by our footsteps and the occasional pip of a pika. After carefully maneuevering across the half-submerged logs at the dam, we worked our way around the edge of the lake, enjoying the solitude and the placid water. Larches rose up from the shore like golden flames against the almost unnatural teal water. The sun rotated around until it was peeking over the edge of the pass, which looked less menacing the closer we got. A herd of larches marched their way into the basin from the Upper Enchantments, seemingly headed toward the lake to join their vibrant friends.
Illuminated by the sun, the brilliant needles were almost transparent against the pure, blue sky. A small beach, still covered in frost and ice looked back toward Leavenworth. Artistic black swirls appeared in the granite sand, the gentle curves contrasting with the sharp peaks of the mountains around us. I felt as if I could stay there forever and be happy. But the sun was already making its way back down behind the mountains, as if it didn't quite have the energy to pop up over Dragontail.
Since we had come to see the larches, we aimed for a large cluster about half-way up the now shadowy pass. Pika tracks dotted the snow-dusted rocks. From the grouping of the prints it seemed like the fuzzy mountain hamsters had hopped from rock to rock. We heard them chirping around us as the stashed leaves for the winter, but my shy cousins kept their distance. A few couples struggled up Asgard, headed for a campsite in the Enchantments. Without the heavy packs and with the tantalizing view, the snowy pass didn't seem so daunting. We turned back as we began to run out of space on our memory cards, arriving at the parking lot well after dark because of a little confusion about the path. Even the bustle of Oktoberfest and the iffy food we ordered couldn't break the peaceful feeling that came from experiencing what has to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth.Do The Puyallup
Since it was the last weekend for the legendary Puyallup fair we headed down for some cow-petting, Krusty Pups and, most of all, people watching. Looking at the crowd piling through the gates, we knew we would be in for a good time. The line for hand-dipped corndogs and onion burgers was long, but we finally got the classic fair food. What's a fair without a rodeo, right? Well - we had missed the scheduled rodeo, but found something even better - Mutton Bustin'. This event was for kids aged 2-6. Basically, they take the unsuspecting youngsters, sit them atop a jaded, street-smart sheep and just let go. Most of the kids were bucked off within the first couple seconds, but a few clung on grimly (out of fear or determination) and made it to the end of the run. The ridden sheep gathered at the end, comparing tattoos and glaring menacingly at the children. One kid rode his sheep all the way to the ground - ending in a spectacular somersault where the boy was momentarily UNDER the beast. Second place went to a two-year-old girl who will forever be one of the few people on earth who is deathly afraid of sheep. As an outside observer one would probably be horrified to see small kids being terrorized just so their parents can get a few pictures of them being bucked off a dirty, four-legged cotton ball. However, as a spectator, it was pretty darn amusing.
After the kids had received their prize belt buckles, we wandered over to the animal displays. My favorite was the reindeer with his big, watery eyes and spindly antlers. The speckled draft horses were impressive. No dainty race-horse names like Seabiscut here. Names like Chief, Rex, and King were much more suitable for these immense but beautiful creatures. I was not a big fan of the emu, whose beady eyes and sharp beak were uncomfortably fixed on my tail. The scruffy, highland cows were cute and friendly. The young one licked Kelly's hand with it's 100-grit, sandpaper tongue while I posed for a picture.
We picked up an elephant ear and some fresh lemonade before finding a seat on the ground next to the hypnotist stage. Like the kids on the sheep, it is always amusing to watch people do silly things. While the kids were cute, however, the participants in the hypnotist show pretty much just got to make fools of themselves. I tried to get Kelly to volunteer, but she wasn't outgoing enough, so I missed my chance at fame. I'd like to try being hypnotized sometime, just to see what happens. But maybe I'll try it somewhere where I won't be on a stage in front of hundreds of people with cameras...
After the kids had received their prize belt buckles, we wandered over to the animal displays. My favorite was the reindeer with his big, watery eyes and spindly antlers. The speckled draft horses were impressive. No dainty race-horse names like Seabiscut here. Names like Chief, Rex, and King were much more suitable for these immense but beautiful creatures. I was not a big fan of the emu, whose beady eyes and sharp beak were uncomfortably fixed on my tail. The scruffy, highland cows were cute and friendly. The young one licked Kelly's hand with it's 100-grit, sandpaper tongue while I posed for a picture.
We picked up an elephant ear and some fresh lemonade before finding a seat on the ground next to the hypnotist stage. Like the kids on the sheep, it is always amusing to watch people do silly things. While the kids were cute, however, the participants in the hypnotist show pretty much just got to make fools of themselves. I tried to get Kelly to volunteer, but she wasn't outgoing enough, so I missed my chance at fame. I'd like to try being hypnotized sometime, just to see what happens. But maybe I'll try it somewhere where I won't be on a stage in front of hundreds of people with cameras...
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