Wide-Angle Wandering

Two Weeks in Antigua

2013-05-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

2012-12-07 (Please note the dates. I'm now posting in whatever order I please.)

Clouds Over Antigua

Two weeks in Antigua. I'm in that space where I need to settle in or move on. Unfortunately, Betsy is still in the clutches of a good but very slow mechanic for fuel injector service. I'm getting my cake and eating it too, however, with the help of Club 4x4 Guatemala.

Sunbeams at sunset as seen from a private finca owned by a Club 4x4 Guatemala member

Aside from taking trips with the 4x4 club, I am also enthralled by all the abundance of social contact (party, bar, party, bar ...), decent liquor (Zacapa rum ... ahhhh) and good food (I often sing the praises of the Guatemalan tortilla). I did manage to at least try and do something productive - I signed up for Spanish classes. I have wanted to do something academic to try and improve my Spanish but I was skeptical from the start about the independent schools.

Spanish class wasn't really my thing. It was sort of like high school, except my instructor always wanted to cut out early and I couldn't fall asleep in the back of the room because the teacher was always right there in front of me.

After a week, I decided not to go back.

Instead, I passed my time visiting the mechanic in Ciudad Vieja, wandering Antigua, making new friends and photographing the volcanos and colonial architecture.

Volcán Agua as seen from Café Sky

Most mornings, I wake up around 6AM to the church-bells at La Merced. On Sundays, at 5AM, as they seem to enjoy launching mortars and setting off firecrackers. Very pious. I then swing by Café Fernando for coffee and breakfast. I'm not sure what they put in the tomato salsa but it draws me back in almost daily. After visiting the mechanic, I ride the Chicken Bus back to Antigua and commence wandering.

Usually by afternoon I'm sitting in the central park, next to the topless mermaid fountain, with a book in hand. I talk to the shoe-shine kids, the chiclet kids, the artesanía vendors and other random folks that want to ~~pester~~ talk to me. I don't like buying random junk and I am also kind of turned off by child labor but I'm always good for a conversation. After two weeks, most folks aren't trying to sell me stuff anymore, but they do stop by to chat. I don't mind really, in fact, I kind of enjoy it.

In the evening, I change to the park by La Merced. My favorite tamale vendor sets up shop there. I have developed a genuine love and appreciation for park lard, corn meal and chicken bits.

La Merced at Night

This routine is pleasant but I think I'm ready to get in the truck and go for a drive.

Semana Santa - Antigua Gone Wild

2013-04-02T18:40:00.001-07:00

2013-03-28

Alfombra Time

Semana Santa Crowds

I have managed to avoid Semana Santa in my previous trips to Latin America. I've always had a sense that in most places it would be more spectacle than cultural experience. More of a haven for pick-pockets and parking scams than for connecting with people. A few folks I know who normally live in Antigua leave during Semana Santa, citing trash, traffic jams and amazingly enough – decreased business. But, for whatever reason, I stayed and fought traffic, often driving the wrong way down trash-strewn one-way streets.

Other than the litter and traffic hassles, Semana Santa is famous for two things: processions and alfombras. Processions are sort of like parades – sad, sad parades. Instead of politicians waving and clowns juggling and rainbow pride dance parties like you find in a parade in California, here you get people laboring to carry the float (or "anda") on their shoulders, lots of smoke and a mournful tuba-dominated marching band.

My View of Most Processions

When the procession approaches, 20-40 Roman soldiers line the street. Throngs of people wearing purple robes (sold locally at Tunics 'n' More) walk through the Roman gauntlet; some of them swing pots on a chain from which thick clouds of sage smoke pour out, others talk on their cell phones.

The Pious Talking

Once the street is full of smoke and spectators, one or more floats approaches, carried by women in street clothes, men in purple robes, or Roman soldiers, followed by a generator to power the lights and a marching band to supply the slow, steady, somber tube-beat. The floats all depict angels, virgins, and Jesuses. Jesus ranged from being seriously bummed but well-dressed to being horrifically mutilated at the hands of the Romans. I saw Jesus with the flesh torn out of his knees and flailed from his back, emaciated, and otherwise covered in blood and gore. These were the most gruesome Jesuses I'd ever seen, having never really toured the crucifixes of Latin America before. The only explanation I've ever seen comes from Paul Theroux in The Patagonian Express. He says, and I paraphrase, that the indigenous people of the Americas had suffered so greatly themselves that to accept that Jesus suffered more called for some extra-convincing imagery.

At one point I found myself walking amongst a procession, between two tubas and purple guy carrying the barrier that kept me from escaping. I did my best to look pious and belongy.

One Bummed Jesus

The last component of the procession is a bull-dozer and a few guys with shovels who sweeps up the alfombras and procession detritus.

Procession Approaching

Generator Duty

Romans

Alfombra literally means rug or carpet, but in Latin America it refers to a flower & tinted sawdust drawing made in the street during religious festivals. I saw some photos of some very elaborate alfombras but for whatever reason, when I went out, I mostly saw rustic flower/plant arrangements and simple shapes. The ones I saw were less impressive than those I saw in Querétaro. There people openly wept and the indigenous folks performed their ceremonies, other than here where people gawked and snapped photos while the indigenous folks mostly sold Chinese-made handicrafts.

So that's pretty much it. Great big crowds of people gawking at religious street art, sad parades, trash and traffic jams. Good people watching. Horrible parking. Sad Jesus.

Religious Antigua from Guy Deckard on Vimeo. I am not a videographer nor should I pretend to be, but some of you may find these clips interesting.

The Human Element

2013-03-01T13:53:00.000-08:00

2013-02-15

Locations of the Immigration & Customs Offices
View Guatemala Overland Visa and Auto Permit in a larger map

A lot of people talk about the human element to border control and bureacracy with great disdain. They curse the corrupt, angry gatekeepers to their travels. They talk about border crossings as if they were parole board hearings populated by gremlins. What one has to keep in mind is that it is the system, the mob, that is chaotic and broken – the individual workers are just humans caught up in it's machinations along with the rest of us.

Yesterday I read UnWireMe's account of his border crossing fiasco wherein he was not permitted to re-import his truck into Guatemala without permanent importation. He opted to sell it in Belize and enter Guatemala on foot. From his account, I learned three very important things.

First, he was actually on 180 days with his car in Guatemala, not 90, like me. I figured it was likely that this rule, if it did exist, was being enforced because he had already received one extension. I confirmed this by paying 100Q to an attorney in Antigua this morning to make some phone calls and explain the rules to me.

Second, UnWireMe had a write-up on the process for requesting a car import permit extension in the city. It looked quite do-able, except that they required the visa extension to be completed first.

Third, if you ask really, really nicely, the people in customs may waive the visa requirement.

By noon I was not only free to renew my documents at the Mexico border, but I also had an angle on getting them renewed in the city – saving me time, expense and risk. It all hinged on how charming I could be in customs. In short, I was screwed unless I could find someone more personable than I to accompany me.

An hour later, I was on the road, now with a co-pilot, a friendly Honduran woman who knew the locations of both offices. Sometimes everything just comes together.

We drove to the airport and to the SAT office first. My initial strategy was to play dumb, but the librarian behind the counter noted my looming visa expiration and told me I would need a new stamp first. I explained my predicament, in my best formal and polite Spanish. She showed my passport to her colleague. "You'll have to go to the border", she said. I replied with the plea I had been rehearsing.

Ahh, the border, yes. That is one possibility. However, if I go to the border, I will have to cross into Mexico, where they will charge me fees, including a $200 deposit! Plus hotels. And fuel is so expensive. I would like to extend my visa here in Guatemala, so I can see Tikal and Semana Santa. I really like it here, however the Immigration office needs 8 days. They are not as fast as you are. If only I could get my vehicle import permit extended, then I would have enough time to get my visa too. Can you help me?

She said something again about going to the border. I looked over my shoulder at my co-pilot. The librarian behind the counter recognized her and they both started talking in rapid Spanish about things completely unrelated to my predicament. The librarian then looked at me and asked, "How long does the immigration office take?"

8 days, I repeated, but I could use 15, just in case there is a delay with immigration.

"I suppose I can give you a temporary extension. Then you must come back here with your visa to complete the process."

A minute later I left the office with my stamped papers.

Items required:

current vehicle import papers

passport with renewed visa stamp OR passport with expiring visa stamp + personable companion

There were no fees or photocopies required. I now had two hours to find and get through immigration.

We made it to Zone 4 and proceeded to drive around following the directions of people we talked to on the street. We found the office, and by 3:15 I had taken a number from the Information window and acquired a blank application. Reviewing the requirements, I saw they wanted a black & white photo. I only brought color photos. There were 8 people in front of me.

I exited the building and found a shop selling photocopies and black & white photographs. For 60Q, I bought four black & white photos shot with a digital camera and printed with an inkjet printer. Back inside, there were 7 people in front me.

At 4:15, my number was called. I handed over my completed and organized collection of paperwork. The clerk did some stuff and handed everything back to me, directing me to another window. There, more stuff was done, and everything was handed back to me along with a bill for 118Q, payable at the bank downstairs. At 4:20 I was back upstairs with my stamped receipt. I handed everything to the woman at the second window, who did some stuff and sent me back to the first window. More stuff was done and I was given a receipt for my passport as well as instructions to return in 8 days.

Items required:

Passport with expiring visa stamp

Two (color?) photocopies of the passport photo page

One (color?) photocopy of the expiring visa stamp

One photocopy of a credit card (I used a debit card and the clerk blacked out the 3-digit code from the back).

Two black & white passport style photographs

118Q

Just a few minutes before the office closed, I was back on the street. Free to linger just a little bit longer.

The Bureacracy of Lingering

2013-03-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

2013-02-14

Somehow, in the aftermath of liberation from Spain, the people of Guatemala, Nicaragua, Honduras and El Salvador were stricken with the ugly, self-indulgent sense of nationalism. They fought over territory and trade and eventually defined some imaginary lines to mark their borders. At these borders, each posted low-level bureaucrats and armed enforcers to make sure anyone crossing those imaginary lines knew just how important their nation was with respect to the others. That became onerous, since we're talking about nations the size of New England states , so they came up with the CA-IV agreement, making it easier for Central Americans and harder for everyone else to travel in the region. Today they have about as much hassle as I do driving into California from Arizona. Also like California, they can only aspire to someday be as sensible as Iowa and Nebraska are with their borders.

In any event, today marks the 86th day since I entered Guatemala. On Monday, both my CA-IV visa and my car import permit will expire. The visa is not a big deal. The fine is only 10Q per day, payable at the border immigration office, as well as some increased vulnerability to police corruption should I get stopped in the meantime. The car permit, however, could be an issue. Import permits are handled by customs. My temporary permit cost less than $20. This spares me from paying thousands of dollars in taxes to permanently import the truck. Over-staying a temporary import permit looks an awful lot like trying to skirt the permanent import taxes. Customs likes it's taxes.

My options are:

Request extensions in the capital
Make a border run
Bribe someone to handle it for me

Of course it isn't so simple where bureacracy is involved. At the capital (or the capital of any CA-IV nation), I could get my CA-IV visa renewed. In Guatemala, that takes 8 days. I don't have 8 days. I have no idea what it would take in El Salvador, my next planned destination, but driving to San Salvador for the first time to renew my visa on the day of it's expiration didn't seem like a good plan. I could pay the fine for my visa but I'd be in violation of my car import permit. Process for getting an extension in Guatemala? Unknown.

A border run should be a sure-fire way to get another 90 days. Because of CA-IV, the only options are Belize (1 long day driving), Mexico (a few hours) or Costa Rica (2-3 days). Mexico is the most realistic option. Some have reported driving to the border, walking to the Guatemalan immigration and customs offices and handling everything without crossing. No 8 day wait here. However, it's quite possible that I might have to cross into Mexico for a day or two and then come back. There is no consistency. Being a border, there's always the risk that some unknown technicality could leave me stuck on the Mexican side, but it's not too likely; it's just expensive to pay both the fees in Mexico and Guatemala. Car import permits are not covered by the CA-IV agreement, so each country issues a new one. Getting one at any border should be automatic.

I also investigated the corruption angle. I found it was relatively easy to get someone to rubber-stamp a visa extension without traveling to the capital or the border but I didn't find anyone who could bypass customs.

Other than pondering, I've really been putting off dealing with this for the last couple weeks. Instead I've been driving around the mountains, breaking & repairing the truck. It's been fun, but Monday's coming. Today, I resolved to get my affairs in order to do a border run to Mexico in the morning. It was the only option available.

I drove to Antigua to get my documents in order. Each border crossing requires a certain number of photocopies of various documents. They vary from country to country and sometimes between crossings. Fortunately, there are several good sites that try to track the requirements. It's never a good idea to show up without photocopies unless you know the border crossing well. Sometimes the nearest working copy machine is miles away.

While looking for a copy shop, I saw Miguel from This European Life on the street. I employed the magic button which granted me permission to triple-park upside-down and backwards in a red zone, rolled down my window and told Miguel about my plan. "Oh no", he said, with deep concern. "If you leave, you can't come back for 90 days. It's a new rule from customs. You should talk to UnWireMe. He had to abandon his car in Belize last week."

The rules down here can be byzantine but this caught me by surprise. Really?

Why Climb Volcán de Agua?

2013-02-22T15:23:00.000-08:00

02/21/2013

Volcán de Agua

We drove from Antigua to Santa María de Jesús early in the morning to meet our guide outside the travel agency on the town square. We'd made arrangements to hike to the summit, spend the night and hike back down the next day. Back home, I'd have made a trip like this with a light pack but this being Guatemala, we needed a horse and horse-guy, a cardboard box full of food, a rollaboard suitcase, a couple miscellaneous tote bags, a trip coordinator and a guide.

We set out from the town center, at 2000 meters, around 8am. The Footprint Guide said this was a 3-5 hour climb to reach the summit at 3700 meters. We took 8, in no small part due to my slow but steady pace (actually, I was nearly gasping for air and hauling myself up with a stick by the time I reached the summit). Someone else might be able to do it in 3-5. The trail starts out as a dusty road winding up toward the first rest area. There are trails, dustier than the road, which cut across the switch-backs. This road used to go all the way to the top and was passable by cars up until Hurricanes Mitch and Stan gutted the road and littered it with rocks. The forest has since reclaimed much of the path.

Mal Paso

From the first rest area the road becomes more of a horse trail, climbing slowly via a series of lolling switchbacks up to the Bad Pass ("Mal Paso"). Unfortunately, this stretch, and all those to follow, are strewn with trash. Along the way, we frequently stepped aside to let workers pass with horses and donkeys. I don't know where they were going but I imagined them slipping into the forest on unseen trails to the pieces of land they worked. I asked the guide about the bandits that all the guide books warn people about. "Yes, bad people. There are still bandits here. The police don't do anything, but we know who they are so they don't bother us. You're safe if you go with a guide. And a machete." Later he showed me the spot where they like to wait in ambush for the tourists whose cameras they like to steal. The last assault was a month ago.

From the Bad Pass onwards, the terrain is more rugged and the trail climbs steeply for the summit. In the afternoon, however, the wind blowing up the mountain brings mist and clouds. The views are better in the morning, though hiking through the clouds does possess it's own mystique. 15 minutes short of the summit, we walked past a metal door lying on the ground stenciled "Guatemalan Air Force" in Spanish. Below the aircraft debris, the crater of the dormant volcano spread before us. It was flat and dark and strewn with rocks. Someone had built a small house and erected two goals to indicate this crater was also a high-altitude soccer pitch. I would like to see a game here – the introduction of rocks and boulders would add a much-needed element of unpredictability to the game.

The Crater with views of Santa María de Jesús

The final ascent to the summit brought us to a set of fences surrounding dozens of tall antennas and radio towers. The meandering fences were topped with razor-wire topped with barbed-wire. They served no purpose but to blight the landscape as the doors had all been removed, or perhaps never installed. The cabin we rented was an unheated cinder-block structure with a flourescent light, dirty mattresses and an unlit bathroom with a toilet. Outside the door was a huge radio tower. A plastic hose snaked down the tower towards a barrel full of water. The hose collected condensation and rainwater from the clouds. A plastic jug was used to flush the toilet using the cloud-water. It was cold and windy, both outside and in. I got the impression this room was normally used by workers who maintained the equipment surrounding us.

Camp Radio Tower

The workers had a small store, stocked with ramen noodle soup, water, coke and snacks. We bought two cups of ramen, no doubt prepared using the cloud-barrel-water, and split it amongst our group. By 6PM we were driven indoors by the wind. Shortly after, I stepped back outside for a moment and found myself in an icy furnace; the setting sun, as it fell toward the distant ocean, illuminated the cloud around me with an ominous yet mysterious orange glow while the frigid wind rushed up the sides of the volcano. Within a minute the color had faded as the density of the clouds surrounding me increased. I went back inside, grateful for the ramen soup and my sleeping bag, and listened to the wind splitting around the towers until I fell asleep.

I intended to get up before day-break to view and photograph the stars or perhaps the horizon at dawn but didn't make it out until 6AM. The chill was fierce. The light was interesting but in all directions I saw ugly lines intruding over the landscape – razor wire, chain-link, high-voltage electrical lines, cinder-block structures, radio towers. There were probably some visually interesting juxtopositions to be found but I didn't look; instead I went back inside.

Helicopter Crash

An hour later, with the sun in play, it was cold but tolerable. We walked around the crater rim to see the rest of the helicopter wreckage. There was another radio tower. I looked down on Antigua, Ciudad Vieja and Santa Maria on one side, clouds on the other. We walked back to camp, dodging guy lines and power cables. There we were regaled with tales of bandits and assaults on tourists on the forested section of the trail, far below. One of the criminal gangs had been taken out by vigilantes. Two dead, one in jail (after a hospital stay) and two fled. The police, they said, were useless. Still, they assured me we would be ok as long as we traveled with a guide. Ours was nervous only when we descended through the aforementioned forested section. The climb down was dominated by wide views of the valleys below. While I was assured that bandits were lurking, there was not one to be seen.

Views of Antigua and Ciudad Vieja

So why climb Volcán de Agua? I enjoyed the views and the company of friends, but with four other large volcanoes near Antigua, it hardly seems worth it to deal with the trash and security threats and expensive travel agency just to arrive at a cold, ugly camp inhabited by utility workers. I won't be back.

Ciudad Vieja

2012-12-11T09:20:00.000-08:00

2012-12-08 (Please note the dates. I'm now posting in whatever order I please.)

Rickety Rocket Launchers

The chicken bus stopped unexpectedly. The driver said something I didn't make out and everyone began to get off. I stepped off the bus and looked up to see the top of a rusty ferris wheel against the backdrop of a volcano. As I was wondering what the problem was with the bus, I heard the twin thwumps of mortars being fired. They exploded high overhead, sending cardboard shrapnel to the ground. I followed the crowd and rounded the corner to find a flatbed truck full of angels and demons blocking the road.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, though after finishing my business in the city, I found myself walking back to Antigua, wondering where the return buses were.

2012-12-09

The chicken bus followed the normal route today. After a fruitless visit to my mechanic, I walked to the centro to find some food. A sizeable crowd was picking their way through the aisles, shopping and eating. I bought some water and a tortilla with sausage and fermented cabbage (Mayan sauerkraut?) and sat down by the church. A banner on the wall depicted a wrinkly old white guy with a gold, jeweled staff topped with a crucifix. Inside, a pre-recorded sermon read by an overly-inflective voice actor played, followed by hymns. Outside, dozens of bells clamored for the attention of potential ice cream customers.

As I sat outside the church, questioning reality and trying to redefine normal in my brain, the hymns stopped and the music changed to flutes and drums. Suddenly the bells stopped and the ice cream vendors started pushing their carts down the road. I thought a religious procession, the bizarre mix of the solemn and the raucous, might be displacing the vendors but suddenly the people on the street began to run. I stood up and looked for danger; the last time I'd seen a crowd move like that it was followed by a group of riot police firing tear gas. A short distance away, I saw a burst of smoke quickly followed by a loud report.

Fleeing the Thwump

I ran toward a parked truck but stopped as I rounded the bumper to see two mortars tubes fire their projectiles right in front of me. I backtracked around the truck and ducked down. The majority of the crowd had gathered behind the gazebo in the town square. I peaked around the truck and saw a rocket launcher spinning out of control. I ran for the gazebo. One of the rockets struck a hot dog vendor's stall but no one seemed injured. Another landed in the crowd on the other side of the street. I shared a glance with a guy dressed as a cow. He just shrugged.

Monkey Demon Torments the Pious

The mortar fire and rockets continued for several minutes before everyone returned to the street and the ice cream bells resumed clamoring. The music coming from the church never halted.

Afterwards, I picked my way through the crowd, now gathered around groups of angels, priests, cowboys and demons, the latter dressed in drag, others like hellish Three Musketeers and some like blond-haired versions of The Predator.

This time I found the bus.

White is the Color of Death

The Predator

Screw the Whale Sharks

2012-12-05T11:43:00.000-08:00

2012-09-22

Dawn over Bahía de los Angeles from Dagget's Beach Camp

This morning I woke up just before dawn to hear the fisherman getting their gear ready. I was sweating in the humidity despite leaving all my windows open to let the breeze through. I watched the sun rise from my tailgate, which motivated me to get out of the truck and shoot a few images from the beach.

I took my time organizing my gear and set off to explore the town and decide if I would stay or go. Maybe even see some whale sharks (hopefully not entangled in a Gonzaga gill net). First I stopped by the Brisa Marina, where the sea turtle hatchery is located. It was shut down and in disrepair.

Sorry turtles - time to fend for yourselves.

I continued on to Las Hamacas, described as a popular breakfast joint. I was the only one there until I was ready to leave, when I stopped to talk to two women who had just sat down. They had been sailing full-time for 5 and 11 years. With some understanding of sailing and an initial investment it seems it is possible to travel the world very inexpensively. I enjoyed the conversation but left feeling a bit like an amateur for traveling on roads and spending so much on motels, campgrounds, restaurants and groceries.

They turned me on to a bar by the water, Guillermo's, where a retired prospector hangs out. Having nothing better to do, I stopped by in the afternoon and sure enough he was there. He told me he'd written a book, Bahía's Hidden Gold, about the 20 years he'd spent mining gold in the hills around Bahía after leaving California and Nevada. I didn't quite understand all the details, but mining gold seems to be quite complicated – it's impossible to sell gold that's been melted down, there are many crooks that claim to buy but never pay and, at least in the states, rules and regulations that seem to be against the individual miner.

I asked him about the local businesses and he said that as Bahía has grown there are a lot of people that are only interested in money, including the folks that own Guillermo's, whom he said pay their landscaper $5/week and call him peanut because of his crooked back. The prospector recommended the people at Diaz, just down the street, as being friendlier. Guillermo's had just charged me 35 pesos for a canned Tecate, the highest price for beer that I've ever paid in Mexico. It is, at times, hard to shake the feeling that I'm walking gringo ATM in this part of Baja.

He also explained that the Turtle Hatchery had shut down after the “Island People” started restricting access to the islands. He then accused me of being too cheap to buy his book and of driving a stolen truck, so in the end I'm not sure how much stock I'd put in his opinions.

Bahia de los Angeles Sunrise

Pelican at Sunrise

At Diaz, I talked to the guy behind the counter for a bit about camping and boat trips. It would be wild to see the whale sharks but I'm not all that keen on swimming out there myself to look for them (even if my new fins from FreeDive Shop do let me haul some ass in the water) nor do I want to hire an entire boat. It would be much better to find some people to split the cost with.

The guy at Diaz was very friendly and while he didn't let people camp at his place, he recommended I talk to the folks at the Villa Vitta hotel about camping and the guys in the building next door about finding whale sharks. There was nobody next door so I checked out Villa Vita.

The guy at Villa Vita told me that they have an RV park but the hookups don't work and no one uses it, so they told me to park there for free and consider eating at their restaurant. I asked about getting a boat and he said he was expecting some people to arrive at the hotel tonight. If any of them want to go searching for whale sharks, he'd let me know.

I parked amongst the broken glass at their waterfront RV park. I should have driven up to La Gringa. The camping here was pretty bad but it was late in the afternoon to hunt up new digs. I spent the rest of the day swimming, wandering around and catching up with people back home using the cellular Internet access at the only working café in town.

That evening I stopped back at Villa Vita, as promised, to order dinner. Whale Shark organizing was a bust. The food was not worth the free camping; a greasy piece of fried fish that came from a bucket and a slimy, wet, flaccid salad capped off the day.

In the morning, after declining their offer of breakfast, I used the parking lot to organize the truck. There I saw another Landcruiser, an 80-series, with an ARB awning and a roof rack. I stopped by to introduce myself and met the folks from Stomach for Adventure. They too were not feeling Bahía de los Angeles (after paying $50 in fees to someone to change dollars to pesos) so we decided to move on to Bahía Asuncion.

On my way out of town, I stopped by a sign advertising Whale Sharks. The whale shark guy wasn't home.

Bahia de los Angeles Sunrise

Bahía - a decent place to stock up on groceries and use the internet but I wouldn't want to sleep/eat/live there, even if the sunrise is rad. If you want to see the whale sharks, I can't help you there. Plan ahead.

Coco's Corner

2012-12-05T10:16:00.000-08:00

2012-09-20

Sunset from Dagget's Beach Camp

This morning I left Gonzaga Bay and headed towards Coco's Corner, not sure if I was after a deserted beach with no grumpy conversations or if I'd make another stab at finding the overland track, if there even is one in Mexico right now.

Desert Path

Heading south, I drove through beautiful desert landscape with ocotillo cactus swaying in the breeze, tall saguaro's standing solid and many rocks covered in spray-painted graffiti from thoughtless passers-by. This is pretty inhospitable territory and I have a hard time imagining the early inhabitants, conquistadors and missionaries making their way through this place. Stopping to take a break and some photos, I saw two vehicles pass by. Both made a point of stopping and making sure I was ok.

When I arrived, at Coco's Corner, Coco was sitting back in a bench seat from a car, repurposed as a comfortable place to sit. I'm not really sure how to label it his place – so I'll just describe it as a shack, shaded car port (covering a 1986 4wd Eagle station wagon inhabited by a stuffed gorilla – muy perrón as they say out here), somewhat ramshackle collection of car pieces, empty beer cans strung along the road and the most important thing - a fridge full of ice-cold Pacífico.

I was the only visitor at Coco's that afternoon, although one car pulled over and the driver got out to yell, “hey, do you sell coconuts here?” Coco waved him off, turned to me and said “My name is Coco, I don't sell cocos,” along with some strong words about the sort of people who look for coconuts in the middle of the desert.

Coco fetched me a beer and then went back to giving directions to a guy up on a ladder. He was having his collection of bras, underwear and baseball hats that hang from the rafters rearranged. This appeared to be serious business as the new positions were described exactly.

I asked Coco about his collection. The oldest bra, a faded yellow one, arrived in 1993. The oldest panties from the following year. Coco said that he had come to this spot via wheel chair in 1991. The road was much better back then. I gave him a 100 rupee note, which I'd been carrying in my wallet until I found a suitable home for it, explaining that it was from India. Coco looked at it and said, “Hey, this guy's an Indian, from Valle Trinidad!" Holding up the image of Mahatma Ghandi for the guy on the ladder to see, he continued, "Hey Indian, this guy on the bill looks just like you!”

The Road from Gonzaga Bay

Ocotillo Cactus

I told Coco about I was thinking about going to a different beach, maybe Bahía de Los Angeles, maybe Calamajue. He said that Calamajue would be deserted but beautiful and warned me that the way back was dangerous if I weren't careful as there is an unmarked curve with a steep dropoff that is hard to see from that direction. As for Bahía, there would be a lot of flies and mosquitos. I could take the easy way, via the gravel road connecting to Highway 1 or the hard way, going up over the mountains. He didn't advise going the hard way solo. Going solo didn't worry me too much but I wasn't really in the mood for another long day of hard, slow driving. I elected to continue on to Bahía the easy way.

A couple of hours later, I pulled into Bahía, after another inspiring mountain drive through red hills and mountains mottled with shrubs – all part of the Valle de los Cirios, according to the signs in the area. In Bahia, I dug out my Traveler's Guide to Camping in Mexico (which should really be titled the RV Driver's Guide to Parking in Mexico) and chose the spot described as the most popular in Bahía – Daggets. I pulled in just before sunset, found the guy taking the money, and paid just under $10 to camp.

The place was clean, had showers and functioning toilets and palapas facing the sea. I was, of course, the only one camping here. I explored the grounds a bit, seeing some signs that one of the RVs might have been inhabited, but otherwise the place was deserted except for the family running the place and a few fisherman that passed through.

Still, the sunset was beautiful, the sea was calm and the stars were bright, so it wasn't at all bad.

Gonzaga Bah

2012-12-04T11:58:00.000-08:00

2012-09-20

Gonzaga Bay Pastels and Bird

I woke up early, sweating, as the sun was up and over the horizon. The fridge drained my battery overnight so I cooked all the perishables and had more machaca/chile/lime tacos than any person should need in the morning.

Leave the door open for a great view from the loo.

After breakfast I went out and explored the rocky beach and went for a swim. The water was shallow, warm and very clear with small grey minnows and bright yellow fish that looked like they belonged in a small freshwater acquarium. Later I regretted this swim as it caused blisters, like little chemical burns on my skin.

After being rejected by the sea, I packed up my things to explore Gonzaga Bay and see if any other travelers were about. On the way out I stopped at the Papa Fernandez restaurant, thinking a break was in order after the 100m drive from the beach. They were all out of cold beer and everything else so I moved on.

At the military checkpoint, they took my name and logged it in a book - this was the first time I was asked to identify myself although no documents were checked. They crawled around in the truck for a couple of minutes and then waved me on. This was the first checkpoint since I started my "playing dumb" strategy and it seemed to be working.

Just past the mostly-complete Pemex station, I stopped at the Rancho Grande mini-mart. The attached restaurant was closed but the mini-mart was well-stocked. I bought a tall Tecate and sat outside in the shade to ponder my next move. I met a couple from California that had come down to Gonzaga to clear out their home and finish selling their things. The owner of the land had decided to expand his bar into their lot. They were clearly upset to be evicted from their slice of paradise. I couldn't help but wonder what business justification existed for an expansion - this place was not exactly hopping.

I set off to find a place to sleep, this time on the bay itself. First I checked Campo Beluga, south along the bay. I pulled in and a small pack of barking dogs surrounded the truck. I asked the older man that came out of the house about camping. "$20," he said.

$20 buys access to the shower house, a parking space next to a simple palapa and a lot of barking dogs. I wasn't feeling it. Do you have anything more economical?

"No," he said, shaking his head. I passed.

I went back to Rancho Grande and asked about camping. The surly cashier said "$15" and pointed towards the water. I tried to make some small talk but he was busy sitting in a chair and being surly.

I checked the spot. Several empty palapas and a shower house, with a beautiful view and no dogs. Still, I didn't need a palapa or a shower house and I'd be spending the night alone regardless of whether I rented a palapa. Oh yeah, and the cashier was surly. I passed.

Gonzaga Bay at Sunset

Instead I chose a spot that appeared to be undeveloped, near the water and set out to boondock. I spent several hours swimming, shooting photographs and lounging in the sun. I saw no one on the beach all afternoon. More bisters.

That evening, I walked down the beach to Alfonsina's restaurant. I'd already eaten all my machaca. I saw a couple of occupied houses on the gringo strip but otherwise the area was quiet, dark and deserted. The restaurant was closed but there were a few workers inside. I ordered a beer.

A man, perhaps the owner, came by and sat near me. He asked me about where I was staying and where I'd considered staying. I told him I was camping in my truck. He wanted to know what I was paying and seemed surprised and disconcerted that I was free-camping. He then got up and went back to watching television in the other room. I'm not sure how to describe that conversation but it didn't feel like a welcome.

This morning, rather than stock up on supplies at the grumpy mini-mart and find a better camp spot, I decided to shove off.

I can recommend Papa Fernandez provided you bring your own cold beer. Next time I'll explore Punta Final. As for Gonzaga itself - beautiful, expensive and surly though I imagine living here is beautiful, so long as the landlord doesn't evict you from your lot.

Stars over Punta Willard

2012-11-28T18:15:00.000-08:00

2012-09-18

From Punta Willard at Sunset

This morning, before leaving San Felipe, I had to stop for one last breakfast at Champ's. I shared my huevos rancheros with the cat and thought about finally getting back into Baja's wild desert landscapes for some camping.

I lingered over conversation with the waiters, Benny and Alfonso. Benny has lived in San Felipe for 24 years and greets me every morning with a smile. Alfonso is the new guy. He speaks English primarily, having lived in the US since he was three years old. He left the United States in the late 90s after a DUI arrest. He unknowingly signed an agreement permanently banning him from the United States in exchange for a speedy deportation (avoiding time in an immigration holding center) and dropping the DUI charges. His kids still live in the states.

After breakfast, I stopped at the market and bought water, tortillas, cheese and a bag of cooked beans. Even I can assemble this into an easy meal.

Finally on the road, I stopped just south of San Felipe and picked up a hitch-hiker, Alberto, who was headed for Puertocitos to work on the road-building crew. He was born in Mazatlan but now lives in Puerto Peñasco. For several months he has been in Baja, working. He stays with friends in San Felipe on the weekends and hitchhikes to the job site during the week. He was enthusiastic about Maztlán and encouraged me to spend time there.

I dropped him off in Puertocitos, and soon after, encountered the road construction. I spent the last few miles to Gonzaga picking my way through the trails crossing the torn-up dirt road, weaving between the occasional bull-dozer or dump truck and keeping an eye out for the sudden drop-offs where the bridges were not yet in place. This is one of the few construction zones I've seen where I would have appreciated a pilot car.

Three hours after leaving San Felipe, I saw the turn-off for Papa Fernández restaurant and palapas. Cruz met me at the gate, charging 60 pesos for a palapa and a place to camp. He was an incredibly friendly and welcoming guy and I was glad to throw some money his way.

Clouds over Punta Willard

I set up my hammock and explored the beach a bit before making myself some tortillas 'n beans 'n cheese for dinner. As the sun began to go down, I took some photographs.

After darkness fell, I found myself in a spectacular location to photograph the stars. For the first time on the trip, there were no city lights, no lighthouses, no boats on the horizon, no cars and no flashlights. Just nature. It was perfect.

Milky Way over Punta Willard

Ursa Major over Punta Willard

Ursa Major Setting Over Punta Willard

I photographed the stars until the horizon disappeared and retired to the hammock to gaze. I fell asleep in the hammock, waking several hours later to see Orion high in the eastern sky at which point I moved to my bed in the truck to sleep.

Mechanic Report - Taller Barney in San Felipe

2012-11-28T13:57:00.001-08:00

2012-09-17

After a couple of weeks spent driving around in the mud, sometimes for fun, sometimes just to get across a washed out road during one of the rain storms, Betsy's starter solenoid started hanging up. Getting it to start involved a hammer and sometimes jumping the starter solenoid to the battery.

After a couple days of this, I stopped by Taller Barney to see Alfeín, a highly recommended mechanic in San Felipe. I don't mind doing my own work when I'm at home, but on the road, it's nice to let someone else get greasy.

Alfeín's crew had the starter off in no time. He opened it up and a couple ounces of water, mud and grime poured out. I don't really understand how all that muck could have infiltrated the starter.

One of the kids in the shop ran down the road and came back with half a gallon of gasoline, a two-liter bottle of coke and some plastic cups. By this point the neighbors had started filtering in and we shared cold drinks during the afternoon heat as Alfein vigorously cleaned out the starter with the gasoline.

I met a guy with a prosthetic leg who runs every day along MEX-5, learned how to spot the water caches that the locals leave in the desert, got some tips on good places to hide money and valuables in my truck and heard many tales of roads and trips throughout México.

While I was there, I spotted some pretty cool vehicles. Alfeín likes to brag that he does his fabrication by intuition and with his senses. He has a mental image in his head of what he's building or fixing and doesn't need computers, manuals or plans.

I can't speak to that, but his V8 converted FJ40 job was coming along nicely, the engine sounded great and he got my starter in like-new condition for cheap. Hanging out in his shop was not a bad way to pass an afternoon.

2 Became 7 in San Felipe

2012-11-25T18:09:00.001-08:00

2012-09-18

How I Felt on Saturday Night

Those who know me will not be surprised that I stayed in San Felipe longer than I'd planned. One might blame my propensity to linger, dawdle, drift and amble but in this case I am not to blame. I just met some cool cats on my way out of town.

I arrived late on Tuesday, feeling quite grungy after 5 days of mostly damp camping in the sierras and on the Pacific coast. I just wanted to do some laundry, sleep in, sort out the truck and hit the road. Thursday morning I was ready to do just that. I pulled the truck up to the hotel office, went inside to pay the bill, and came out to start pulling away when I heard someone say, "hey, I like your truck." Betsy really is a looker. I get this all the time.

I looked over and saw a shirtless Oregonian sitting in a camp chair outside his hotel room with his girlfriend nearby. They offered me a cold beer, my kryptonite when I'm hounded by the relentless Baja daystar, and soon my plans to hit the road had faded like a billboard in the Mexican desert.

Shawn and I couldn't resist. I'd later regret this after having to clean the mud out of my starter.

They stayed until Sunday. The next four days were a blur of Tecate Light, steamed clams, lounging on the beaches ($20 per car to use the beaches south of town - outrageous!), terrible music, chasing iguanas, driving around in the sand and mud and all around good times with them and their geriatric shepherd/collie mix.

Saturday would have been particularly memorable as this was Mexican Independence Day, a time for national pride, drunkenness and fireworks. I enjoyed just enough, or perhaps precisely too much, delicous Mexican beer to recount any details but I was able to operate my camera, so this story will be told in pictures. It must suffice to say there were big sombreros, tasty food, fireworks and a strange conversation with an arsonist-turned-bartender.

Losing focus

Almost as many military as celebrants

Fireworks on the malecón

The best way to save power is to never finish wiring the CFL

I did eventually get on the road, after a day of recovery and another cleaning the mud and grime out of Betsy's starter solenoid. Today I head back out into the desert.

Mike Sky Ranch, Now With Less Axle Damage

2012-11-24T15:55:00.000-08:00

2012-09-11

Getting started, just north of El Coyote

This morning I packed up the truck under a clear blue sky with the clouds racing overhead, emphasizing the effect of altitude on one's perspective. This might have been a good night for stargazing in the park but after three days I was ready to move on.

I set off at 9AM, a pretty early start for me, after first tracking down a ranger to open the gate and let me out. The view was not too different from what you might see on Tioga Pass in California, but steeper and with more rocks washed out over the pavement, including one new boulder that would surely take heavy equipment to clear.

My goal for the day was to finally cross the trail from the observatory road to MX-3 via Rancho El Coyote and Mike's Sky Ranch, ending in San Felipe. The only other way was a long loop west to MX-1, north to MX-3, east to MX-5 and south to San Felipe.

As I drove down the observatory road, I couldn't see the turn-off to Rancho El Coyote so I stopped at Rancho Meling for advice. The owner looked up and asked, "Are you alone?"

Yes, I said, and pointed at Betsy, but I can make it.

"I wouldn't recommend it. That road is pretty bad."

I almost made it once before, I told him.

"Did you get over the hill?"

Yep.

He shook his head and knelt in the dirt, drawing me a map. "Good luck then."

The turn-off was just west of of the ranch. The El Coyote sign was covered in Rancho Meling advertisements but now that I knew where to look I did spot it. El Coyote was closed but I got more route advice from one of the workers. I asked what the road condition was like. He looked up, then down, and said "I don't know. There's been a lot of rain."

Hah, I scoffed, and set off again.

Some areas had lush growth.

The trail was a bit confusing near El Coyote but once I was on the right path, it was easy going. There were very few spur trails and while I didn't see any other vehicles, I did see some motorcycle tracks that I followed through lush areas just past El Coyote.

Once the trail reconnected with the main path to Mike's Sky Ranch, the terrain became much more rugged, with many recently washed out arroyos and a few rocks that had to be moved from my path.

Climbing the big hill

Most of the trail didn't require 4WD but I did need low range for some of the hill climbs. Fully loaded, Betsy is kind of a pig. With 18 gallons in the tank, another 15 on the rear bumper, 6 33" mud terrains, a plywood/2x4 bed to sleep on and my set of tools, I suspect she's a bit overweight for this sort of terrain.

Descending to Mike's Sky Ranch

The descent down the hill yielded many more stunning views, but I left the Contour on auto as I was paying far too much attention to the road to stop and take photos.

Eventually I reached Mike's, crossed the stream, traversed some more rough terrain and reached the sandy trail out to the highway. Along the way I stopped at Juan's ranch, where I'd spent the night after the great axle disaster, and gave him a recipe for apple marmelade. Nomads - keep an eye out - there may be a new jelly man on the peninsula.


Pavement, a bittersweet sight

From the pavement to San Felipe took another couple of hours, plus 15 minutes at the army checkpoint at the junction of MX-3 and MX-5. From this point on I'm going to start being difficult with these checkpoints (forgetting all my Spanish and making them work a bit harder) as this guy asked me a million random questions, rifled through all my stuff and generally made a mess of my packing.

San Pedro Martír National Park, At Last

2012-11-22T19:57:00.000-08:00

2012-09-10

With my new hardened chromoly axles from Marlin installed, I set off to make my third attempt to reach the San Pedro Martír National Park. At over 10,000 feet, the park promised beautiful skies, a respite from the heat and a landscape with flora and fauna not found in most of Baja.

My first attempt was foiled by a very ugly series of thunderstorms. My second by the great axle disaster near Rancho Coyote. This time, I was determined to reach the park and shoot some starscapes.

I started south from Punta Banda, this time following the highway to the park. With only two roads to navigate, there was no chance of getting lost, and being paved, no risk to my axles. On the way up, however, a heavy rain set in. Did I want to camp in the mountains in a heavy rain with no stars in sight? Was there any reason to continue? Would my third attempt be foiled as well?

I stopped at Rancho Meling to grab a bite to eat. In the dining room, I met Ana, who offered to make me a burrito, which I gratefully accepted. Of course I was the only one at the ranch, other than a few workers. Ana didn't have anything else to do but sit and talk, and I was grateful for the company, so I told her about my plans to see the stars from high in the mountains and how this was my third attempt to do so. Ana didn't think the rain would let up and I briefly considered spending the night on the ranch ($50US for a room, $10US to camp on the lawn).

While we waited out the rain, she told me about her life in the Unite States. She had worked for years as a housekeeper in California and Nevada hotels. Her family had been separated between Mexico and the United States due to immigration issues. Once the housing market crashed and the economy in the states faltered, it made more sense to return home and find work in Mexico. There were more people than jobs in the capital and so she ended up in the Baja sierras, working at this ranch.

Late in the afternoon, the rain started to slow down and I decided to make my move, arriving in the park around 6PM after a steep climb. There would be no RVs here. I paid 54 pesos to enter, took a short drive through the park and then set up camp. I saw one other vehicle arrive behind me but I never saw them or anyone else in the park after that.

I built a small fire from wet wood and pine needles, ate a simple meal of tortillas, beans and tomatoes, and put out the fire so I could see the stars more clearly. Within a few minutes, a blanked of clouds spread over the sky and I retreated to the truck to read and sleep in the damp chill.

I woke up early and stared out of the tailgate at the rain. Around 8AM I crawled stiffly out of the truck, donned my rain gear and ate fruit and yogurt for breakfast. As the rain faded, a bright, grey, diffuse fog drifted through the trees and over my camp, covering me, the truck, the trees and everything around me in cloud-stuff. It lifted after just a few minutes but it is a sight I will never forget.

I spent the rest of the morning hiking the trails, amongst the clouds and the cows and woodpeckers and pine trees and some sort of bird whose wings make a turbulence that sounds almost like a small helicopter when it takes off. I crossed sandy trails flanked by granite boulders, dry arroyos dampened by the fog and gazed out over wide expanses of valleys and the lower peaks.

In the afternoon sun, I drove the short road through the park to a museum and visitor's center. It was closed. Inside, through the windows, the displays looked new and modern, as if it had been built and promptly closed, never exposed to the wear and tear of visitors. I continued up to the observatory but the gate was locked and a sign said they only take visitors from 10-1PM. Along the way I saw a man, the only person I'd seen in the park, walking down the road and kicking fallen rocks onto the shoulder.

Back at my campsite, I took some of my supply of Ray's Own beef jerky and walked out to the park entrance to share it with the rangers. I talked to one man who'd been working at the park for 16 years. He told me about a British author who had spent 3 months in the park researching his book. He too had brought them beef jerky.

That night I built another wet fire, ate another simple meal and retired early when the rain and clouds obscured the sky.

Nada

2012-10-29T23:55:00.000-07:00

2012-10-29

Oh the poet is not in today
He didn’t say where he’s going to or how long he’s apt to stay
He mentioned that he did not have a worthwhile thing to say
But the poet is not in today
- Chris Wall

For some reason, everytime I've sat down to write something I've come up blank. Perhaps I'm just anti-inspired by the inane blathering of most of the travel bloggers I've come across. Perhaps I'm uninspired by my own notes. Perhaps I've just called in sick.

In the meantime, I've been deriving some satisfaction from the camera and learning Veracruzano shark recipes.

Escape from Ensenada

2012-09-07T16:55:00.000-07:00

9/7/12

The past few weeks were a blur of walking around town, eating in cafes and restaurants (a reprieve from my usual camp stove fare) conversations with strangers, oddballs and new friends and finally my escape from Ensenada.

On Thursday, I was sitting in the last table at a bar, listening to the Santana-ish cover band, drinking a beer and wondering what it would be like to spend the rest of my life in Ensenada waiting for auto parts to come in the mail. While I sat and pondered, the waiter came by and asked if I'd mind having some people sit at my table.

Mind? Hell no I wouldn't mind. Please, for the love of your favorite deity or natural process, put some people here. What's the worst that could happen? I have to listen to more advice about giving bribes and finding the best whores in Mexico?

The waiter came back with a group of people, some software developers from a Mexican IT company and a guy from Canada. They were here on business but I kept them distracted from IT talk as well as I could. A few minutes into the conversation and my story, the guy from Canada looked at me and said:

"Hey, are you the guy that George sent those axles to?"

This is how I met Ritchie, a 60-series Landcruiser owner from Canada who happens to be living and working in California and uses the same mechanic that I do in back in the states. George told Ritchie to keep an eye out for a guy in Ensenada with a broke down hi-line 60 and I just happened to be occupying the last table at the bar that he and his coworkers chose. Serendipity.

The following Saturday I joined them for a trip to see the Bufadora (a natural water spout / blow-hole), Ensenada's most famous tourist attraction. I will spare you any photographs. The Bufadora is a carnival of all that is terrible about Mexican culture and tourism, all packed into a small street at the end of Punta Banda. The blowhole does it's job and is a reasonably interesting natural phenomenon but the aisles of cheap Chinese caricatures of Mexican handicrafts, the pushy Viagra salesmen, the awful restaurants and the caged animals subjected to loud club music in those restaurants really turned me off. You can pet a baby tiger, however, and that's kind of cool. I am told the people running the tiger booth are the real deal, genuinely raising money for animal protection, but who knows.

I had fun, but only because I was hanging out with some good people. After we visited the blowhole, we stopped at several beaches along the way. Most of them wanted a ridiculous amount of money to access their beach, so we didn't actually hit the water until the public beach just outside of Ensenada. It wasn't all that bad for a public beach - minimal trash and no touts - but the water is chilly up here and the waves have some energy.

On Sunday I joined Ritchie, Gabby and several others from the software company for a little Labor Day party. Being so close to the border, every three-day weekend in the states brings the bars and clubs in Ensenada to life. The night started off easily enough but ended, several bars later, with me going on drunkard auto-pilot back to my hotel, via one or more taco stands. The smartest thing I did that night was discarding the uneaten bag of tacos on the floor when I collapsed into bed.

On Tuesday, once recovered from Monday's cruda, I walked out on the malecon to photograph the ships again. This time I was ordered off by the security guards for taking photographs that were "too serious." For your enjoyment, I've included the forbidden photo on the cover of this post.

The following Thursday, as I was packing up and preparing to leave town, seeming to have learned a hard lesson about finding auto parts in Mexico, I decided to make one last stab at finding my axles. This time, with the help of the hotel receptionist, I learned that they had been at a local post office for over a week, waiting for me to come and pay the exorbitant import duties.

Once that was sorted, I made arrangements with Monchie Fernandez, champion Baja racer and mechanic, to have them installed. I settled back into the hotel for one more night.

Today I drove back out to Punta Banda, gave the axles to Monchie, and lounged around Campo La Jolla until the job was done. Monchie made quick work of it and by early afternoon, I was free to head up the hill to buy a drink for Baja Doc, who put me in contact with Monchie and was generally very helpful in negotiating the local scene. At Baja Doc's place, I enjoyed the hospitality and conversation with Doc and his Japanese neighbor. I didn't even have to buy him a drink as his box of Pacifico was nearly full.

I really enjoy meeting people who've abandoned or avoided the rat race and this part of Baja is full of folks like that.

After a couple of hours of cold beer, tasty almonds and enjoying the view from Snob Hill, I headed back down to La Jolla to find a camp site for the night, determined not to go back to Ensenada.

Charmed Living in Ensenada

2012-08-31T21:03:00.003-07:00

2012-08-29
My days in Ensenada have settled into an easy routine with few disruptions. This doesn't sound like vacation because really, it's not. It is charmed, privileged living and while pleasant, I am ready for some sort of challenge. Something to struggle with. Some kind of tension.

I've settled on the best place for machaca (dried shredded beef or fish with peppers, onions, beans and hash browns at Cazuelitas). The best place for fish tacos (the first stand on the left as you walk down Miramar past the 7-11 and towards the fish market). The best place for seafood coctail (raw octopus, clams, oysters, scallops, fish with onions, peppers and avocado in a spicy tomato lime broth at the stand on Lazaro Cardenás and Avadero). I'm still undecided on Tijuana draft beer at La Taberna or Negra Modelo on tap at Louie's Tequila Bar. I have yet to find a decent coffee but at least it's not all nescafe like I remember from previous trips.

Pleasant, easy, sometimes dull. Fácil.

In the afternoons I walk the town. Outside of the tourist district I haven't found much in the way of distinct neighborhoods or enclaves. Ensenada strikes me as a town that may have grown up quickly, fueled by fishing and tourism. From the marina, it seems to have sprawled in a homogeneous fashion as far as the land would permit. Away from the bars and restaurants near the malecón, I found houses interspersed with hair salons, tire shops, schools, taco stands and used junk stores in every direction. On one walk I passed a woman carefully sweeping and grooming the dirt in front of her house. On another, a bride posing for photos in front of the graffiti along the dried out estuary (avante garde?). Most people are simply going about their daily business - shopping, paying the bills, shepherding the kids.

The tourist district changes character towards the end of the week. The shopkeepers that are snoozing in chairs on the street on Tuesday are determined to get your business on Friday. The streets that were quiet, with occasional Mexican families and expat in the cafes and restaurants, start to fill with tourists by the weekend. The hotel prices double. The conversations around me become more staccato, more insistent. Pudgy kids wear their giant, gaudy sombreros with red uppercase print "MEXICO" as they walk back to the cruise ship.

In the evenings I walk the malécon until twilight fades to dark. This is my favorite time for photography and for people watching, as the sun, and it's reflection from the white pavement, is far too bright during the day. It also gives me a chance to walk by my favorite fish taco stand, where they call me amigo and make small talk. "Do you live in Ensenada?" No, I'm visiting while I have my car repaired. "Do you like it?" The people are friendly, and the weather is nice. "Where are you from?" California. "Aren't the people friendly there? I think it must be different, people don't really live together in the states." Sometimes that's true.

I often spend a couple hours in one of the bars nearby. There is some good beer to be drunk and my most interesting conversations have started here. On my favorite topic, what is there to do in Ensenada, the conversation follows one of two themes: boredom or enthusiasm. Boredom if you're not easily entertained by nightclubs and enthusiasm if you are. Extra enthusiasm for whoring.

At all my favorite spots they ask, "Hola amigo/joven, are your parts here yet?" My answer is always the same - not yet, but maybe tomorrow. "God willing, but I hope you like Ensenada!"

Rite of Passage

2012-08-31T19:21:00.002-07:00

2012-08-23

For some roadtrippers, the foreign breakdown is sort of a rite of passage - albeit one I really didn't think I would experience. I chose my vehicle carefully and pre-emptively tackled all the maintenance that might have reared it's head in the next 30,000 miles. I planned to stick to roads and occasional trails - nothing too technical.

Still, the birfield joint, mechanical marvel that it is, is a weak point in the Toyota solid axle setup, especially if you abuse it (uhm, yeah, we'll just leave it at that). The trailside birfield replacement is also a rite of passage for Toyota solid axle owners, or so I'm told. I didn't carry a spare birf in my box o' parts so it doesn't matter for me - instead I limped out, spent the night on a chicken farm and drove to the nearest town in 2wd the next morning.

With the support of the good folks on www.bajanomad.com, I made contact with a trusted mechanic who pulled the axle apart and all looked fixable. I settled in for a few days of fish tacos and Tijuana draft beer while waiting for Betsy to come back good as new.

Unfortunately nothing goes according to plan in Latin America. The plan is more like a rough outline of what might happen. Since I didn't know how to say "birfield" in Spanish and the mechanic didn't know how to translate the Spanish equivalent into English, I was confused when he called to tell me I had a broken housing. A broken axle housing? "Bad luck my friend, he said, this part is not available in México. Can you get one from the states?"

When it comes to international parts shipping and diagnosis, I am developing a less-than-stellar reputation. One wrong part was ordered and another almost ordered before my mechanic in the states insisted I get him a photograph of the damaged part. The local mechanic dropped it off for me and I was surprised to see a simple cracked birfield. I suppose it does house some bearings - that's where the language confusion kicked in.

The next decision was where to find the replacement. My local mechanic was right in that a 60-series Landcruiser outer axle / birfield would be an unusual part in México, but he didn't know that '81-85 Toyota pickups use the same outer axle. Using that information he located a part but I'd already come up with a better plan. I would order a couple of upgraded outer axles. Any time something breaks I become a neophile - why use the same old boring Toyota axle when I could get a shiny new upgrade?

Finally, I had to figure out how to get it to me. I could either have it shipped to San Diego where I could pick it up after a two-hour bus ride and a two-hour walk across the border or have it shipped directly to me in México while I indulged in the aforementioned tacos and draft Tijuana Morena beer.

I chose the latter and one week after limping into Ensenada I thought I had it all figured out.

I didn't realize the package would be coming via US Mail, however. That would mean no tracking after the hand-off to the Mexican postal service. I wonder how long that will take ...

Ensenada

2012-08-25T10:08:00.001-07:00

2012-08-19

Ships seen from the malecón.

I left the rancho in the morning. Before pulling out I checked my turning radius. Now left turns were ok but right turns were limited. Then neither were limited. The problem seemed intermittent but my troubleshooting wasn't as deliberate as it should have been either.

The drive back up to Ensenada was uneventful, though I found that nothing concentrates my mind more than a mountain drive with the prospect of limited steering. As I approached the city, the sprawl of squat square buildings laid out over the surrounding hills came into view.

Not knowing anything about the city other than "it's bigger than San Felipe, you'll find a mechanic there for sure" I elected to stop and ask around at the first mechanic I could find. He looked and listened and declared the problem was with the steering box. I wasn't convinced by his confidence but it didn't matter - he said I would have to find and bring him a steering box as he couldn't get one. I moved on.

Gobblet of radishes at my favorite taco stand

I drove down to the central area, near the waterfront, and found a hotel offering rooms for $29 a night or $149 per week. I checked in for a week and hit up bajanomad.com and and my friends and mechanic in the states for advice via hotel wifi. In the evening I walked the malecón and sought out fish tacos. Most of the stalls in the fish market were closing early, but one, the best one as it turned out, was open. 10 pesos for tacos and each was better than the last.

On Friday I spent the day talking to folks in the states. A further range of diagnoses brought me from stabilizer to power steering pump to steering box and finally to an axle.

I jacked up each wheel and found that with one hub locked, it was binding and hard to turn. This would be a clear sign of a problem with the axle except that I have an autlocking front differential - a noisy contraption on a good day. Clearly I was going to need to take it apart to go any further.

Fortunately, bajanomad.com came through with a recommended mechanic in Baja, but I would have to wait until Monday to connect. Over the weekend my notebook gained two more contacts and hand-written maps. It seems that everyone has a favorite mechanic down here.

I spent the weekend wandering the streets of Ensenada. I had a fantastic molé at one of the many small joints away from the tourist district, tried fish tacos at several places before deciding the first really was the best, photographed the malecón in the evenings and found two bars with decent draft beer. By Sunday night I was getting quite bored with this pleasant, easy routine.

Ensenada Ships at Night

Ensenada Street

Ethical Street Photography - A Tribute to Ian Mallory

2012-08-25T00:14:00.000-07:00

Recently I was reading with great fascination as Ian Mallory meandered through his thoughts on panhandlers, homeless people and photographing the same. We started an interesting discussion but due to some unknown technical malfunction my comments stopped appearing on his site.

Ian brings an interesting perspective to the conversation and it's his courage to keep the seemingly downtrodden in their place that I most appreciate. Some people might take umbrage at the notion that Mr. Mallory invents captions and fictional motivations for the people he photographs. Others might question how he crudely conflates the homeless and panhandlers. Still others might argue that photographing street people with a safe, long lens is a cheap way to make otherwise mediocre photos seem edgy.

I, however, find his condescending words, thinly wrapped in a veil of acknowledgement, sympathy and pity, to be a remarkably insightful approach to interacting with those less fortunate. What better way to get the photo and satisfy the panhandler's request than to give only if getting something, surely a satisfying image, in return? What a charming micro-application of free-marketeering!

Even greater insights can be found in the comments following his post. For those he disagrees with, he offers patronizing gratitude and false compliments, ignores the portions he doesn't like and sometimes skillfully deflects the commenter, as in the case of the formerly homeless veteran. We are indeed quite fortunate to have a manager of army gymnasiums on hand to comment on the struggles of the combat vet.

To those who think photographing people in a vulnerable state should convey a sense of dignity and highlight their equality, I say you should drink deeper from the well of crass exploitation. As Mr. Mallory has shown, it tastes great and surely drives up the page views, blog revenue and social media scores.

All Part of the Adventure

2012-08-17T23:14:00.001-07:00

2012-08-15

Last night I asked Pedro to wake me when the coffee was ready in the morning. At 7AM he knocked and I crawled stiffly out of the truck and found a new vehicle in the lot, belonging to Chris and Lucky, father & son returning home from a fishing trip in Baja Sur. The staff offered us breakfast, but with the caveat that it would be $10 each. They seemed surprised when we accepted. I did so for the chance at an English conversation.

Lucky had been working in Montana until recently, and spoke fluent Spanish from working with hispanic laborers. He and his father, from San Francisco, told me about spots along the coast of Baja where the fishing is fine and the villages free of gringo resort homes.

After our mediocre breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes and tortillas, we asked Pedro about the road and routes out to the national observatory. He told us that the road would be rough, with loose rocks at first, but then it would smooth out. I paid my tab (somehow they extracted $40 USD from me on top of the camping fees) and organized the truck for the drive. Lucky decided against it since he didn't want to waste the day if his Volkswagen didn't have enough clearance to make it.

As he and his father drove off, Lucky told me he hoped I would find what I'm looking for. I think he was speaking philosophically because at this point, nobody thought I'd actually get lost looking for the observatory.

Following Pedro's directions, I set off for the observatory via Rancho Coyote. For two hours I followed the road, which quickly degraded into a 4wd trail. I climbed up over loose rocks, followed ridges overlooking brown valleys mottled with green shrubs, crossed arroyos smeared with dried waves of mud, drove through quartz deposits erupting from the roadbed and found occasional oases.

Eventually the road ended in a washed out creek bed. I never found the turn-off that Pedro had described, through the cattle gate, to Rancho Coyote. As I made my way back out to look for the gate, Betsy let out a squealing and crunching sound that surely indicated a problem. Nothing critical looked awry, though the steering stabilizer was hot to the touch and had a sizeable dent in it. Satisfied that this was probably the cause of the noise, I resolved to ignore it and continue on. Further up the trail I hung up one of the rear leaf springs on a rock but freed myself with a traction mat and a pile of stones. Getting out was a bit harder than getting in.

Back at Rancho Mike Sky, Pedro laughed and insisted I had missed the cattle gate. He didn't seem to know anything about the washed out road but since trucks went back there every few days and usually didn't return, the way through must be possible. He described two other routes, one a rough road through a neighboring ranch where I'd be charged by the owners to cross (a reasonable requirement given the number of off-roaders who pass through here) or a longer route across easy dirt roads via Valle Trinidad. I opted for the latter route in case Betsy decided to start squealing again.

At the turn-off for Valle Trinidad, I discovered I could no longer turn more than a few degrees to the left. Instead, I continued slowly up the road to a driveway marked by beer cans overturned on the cactus plants. Fortunately it was on the right and I eased my way in.

Inside I found Juan, the owner of this ranch. I explained my problem and he grabbed a tarp while I got my tools from the truck. He too suspected the stabilizer but after removing it we found I still couldn't steer. I said this must be some bad luck but Juan replied “No, no, this is part of the adventure!” While we pondered the problem, I gave him and his friend Emilio some of the beef jerky I had brought from California. Juan gave me a roasted ear of corn and a handful of fresh pine nuts.

We decided that the best thing to do would be to drive slowly up to Ensenada, two hours away. Since it was already late afternoon, I speculated that the morning would be a better time to go, to which Juan unreservedly offered to let me camp on the ranch. “Very tranquil here”, he said, before going back to work. Emilio showed me around the ranch, a ramshackle collection of structures surrounded by goats, geese, roosters, fields of beans and vegetables, apple and pine trees. The roosters, he said, were for cockfighting. I declined to share my opinion of blood sports at that point, yet he went to explain with a shake of his head that “that's what people want, so we raise them.” The largest of the fighters, he said, was always sad in the off-season but perked right up when it came time for combat.

Emilio too had work to do so he left me to relax in an easy chair under a corrugated tin roof where I munched on pine nuts and read from Dove, Robert Graham's story of circumnavigating the planet alone at the age of 16. In between pages I thought about how to fix my steering. At nightfall I went to sleep early, to the sound of barking dogs and growling roosters.

In the morning I woke up to find Juan making tortillas and Emilio pouring me a cup of coffee. I gave them the coconut I'd been carrying for the last few days and Emilio gave me an apple from their orchard. I countered with a bag of frijoles that I wouldn't be eating due to my aborted camping trip.

When I was ready to hit the road, Juan told me to come back anytime. Emilio asked that if I did, to bring them a book of apple marmalade recipes as they were inclined to make some for sale.

To Mike's Sky Ranch

2012-08-17T21:55:00.000-07:00

8/14/2012

Last night was tough to sleep, even with the fan. The fisherman use the beach access from the campground to launch and retrieve their boats, I assume with the tides. Between the heat, the noise and the fish smell my campsite was becoming less desirable.

San Felipe, for travelers, is a town past it's prime. This much is evident by the table dance bar and the shuttered nightclubs on the malécon, the trash-strewn beach, the dearth of budget accommodation and the greasy soup, shrimp and cheese sunk under a mass of tomato broth, I found for dinner.

Ramón, the waiter who brought the fatty bowl of soup last night, spoke exuberantly about his life. Between trips to other tables he stopped to show me pictures of his infant son and to talk about his tortilla business. On one pass he asked why I was in San Felipe and I told him I was escaping the thunderstorms but that soon I'd be fleeing the heat. Eventually I wanted to be on the mainland. He told me about his last roadtrip through México and with a smile lamented that he wouldn't be able to take another, on account of his son.

This morning I woke with sunrise and was driven from the truck by the heat around 8AM. I had breakfast at a cafe, took a swim (dodging diapers and plastic bags on on the beach) and then set off for supplies and to re-attempt my trip to the Sierra Pedro Martír park and national observatory.

On my way back north I re-crossed the military checkpoint. This time I went through the most invasive search yet but it still wasn't that thorough or inconvenient. I know the military in México are the good guys but I still bristle every time I approach a checkpoint. Whether it be police, military, border patrol, TSA, at home or abroad, I resent the intrusion. To keep my blood pressure down I make a game of it. I ask questions, distract the soldiers, answer their questions with a smile, try to get information out of them, crack jokes, whatever it takes to feel less like I'm being examined by an authority looking for an excuse to up the ante. This time I spent a good while talking about my first-aid kit. I explained that I wasn't a doctor, just “bién preparado,” to which the soldier pointed out that I didn't have any snakebite anti-venom. Not so preparado after all.

Driving west on MX-3 I saw a local police truck on the side of the road with it's lights flashing. The officer waved me on and I passed by a semi that had flipped on it's side. It looked like the truck just drove off the side of the road and flipped over for no apparent reason. It was probably overloaded. Just past the truck was another officer, who looked me over as I drove by. He whistled and through the rear-view mirror I could see him waving. Did he want me to stop? I figured he wasn't too likely to leave the scene of the accident to pull me over so I just kept driving. Betsy is about as far from non-descript as it gets in México so I'm hoping I don't drive by that guy again.

If I do get pulled over, assuming I've done nothing wrong, I have a multi-step plan for avoiding the gringo shakedown.

Speak and understand no Spanish. Since many folks down here know some English, I'll use the only German I know to keep the officer confused. “No, no, apple strudel with ice cream. Two beers please. Airport. And no eggs!” Once I run out of German I'll use the only Thai phrase I know: “I'm an American. I like big boobs.” If desperate, I have one Cantonese phrase: “my kung-fu is better than yours.”
If that fails, I'll pull out my Guía Roja and ask for directions to random places in the area. "Do you know how to find the road to the place with the hot springs and the good tacos?"
Next I'll start taking notes and perhaps pull out my camera and take pictures while smiling like an idiot. No cop wants to be photographed asking for a bribe.
If the officer won't have it, I'll hand over my old spare driver's license. As long as he doesn't have my real license there's no leverage.
If he still insists on extracting a bribe, I'll call his bluff and offer to follow him to the police station to sort it all out.

Fortunately he didn't give chase. I turned off the a/c to continue climbing to the turn-off for Mike's Sky Ranch, about 30 minutes up an old dirt road. It used to be a popular stop for pilots but they say the military made Mike shut down the airstrip (or post a 24/7 security guard). Now the place serves off-roaders.

The drive up was good. The road was just rough and steep enough to require low range and while 4wd wasn't needed it gave me an excuse to try out Betsy's new autolocking front differential. I pulled into the ranch around 5. The place was empty aside from the three folks who run it.

Since I was the only guest, I opted against a room. I didn't see a point if I wasn't going to be staying up and socializing. Instead I got a $10 camping spot in the parking lot and asked them if they could make something for dinner, which they seemed willing to do.

An hour later I sat down to a well lubricated fried steak, surrounded by gobs of semi-solid beef fat, some rice and vegetables. In some ways it was my first decent meal since arriving in Mexico. Although it was strange to dine alone in a room that could have easily served 50, with only the ticking clock to keep me company, I imagined the place full of loud tourists who would have arrived on dirt bikes and quads and appreciated the solitude.

At sunset I retired to the truck, to read from Paul Theroux's Patagonian Express, and fall sleep early.

San Felipe

2012-08-13T16:32:00.003-07:00

2012-08-13

There was a seemingly large storm coming up behind me as I reached MX-3. As lightning flashed in the distance, I turned west towards Ensenada to get some diesel at the Pemex. I drove through another military checkpoint to get to the Pemex 100m further on. The soldier waved me through without much of a glance. At the Pemex I found the big diesel sign was a lie. The attendants weren't sure where I could find some.

I turned back towards the checkpoint. Although they had just seen my oddball vehicle pass through 2 minutes before, the soldier working the eastbound lane was curious about me and directed me aside for a search. I chatted him up, both to distract him from his poking around and to try and figure out where to find some diesel. He wasn't sure but figured there'd be something an hour or so to the west. Betsy is full of gear in all her nooks and crannies. Between my mishmash of random stuff and my constant questioning he didn't get very far before passing me on with a smile.

I hadn't acquired any provisions yet on the trip. While camping at the national park I used my emergency supply of spam and ramen noodles (mmmm). Feeling quite peckish, I stopped for a coconut and asked the coconut lady about diesel. She figured there'd be something about an hour or so to the west.

By this point the storm had caught up with me. Lightning strikes, thunder and giant raindrops cut visibility to nothing but Betsy handled it with aplomb. At one point the road was pretty heavily washed out and a line of traffic was backing up on either side. If I'd been alone I probably wouldn't have tried to cross the torrent but I watched a less capable vehicle than mine make it. I pulled out of line, bypassed all the pansies and plowed through sending 10'of muddy spray off each fender. It was a glorious scene.

At this point I decided to scratch my trip to the observatory. I wasn't sure how far south the storm would move, making for potentially ugly roads on the climb up and a cloudy sky once I got there.

Betsy tethered to an electric outlet thanks to my ship-to-shore battery
charger. The onboard fridge is set to 45f and life is pretty good.

Instead, I pushed on to San Felipe. I wandered around town and found most of the hotels were in the $550MX range. Not wanting to start blowing my budget on fancy hotels this early in the trip, I opted for a $250MX spot in a campground, 50 feet from the water, with an electrical hookup and wifi connection. It seems I'm the only idiot visiting San Felipe in the dead of summer so I've got the place all to myself.

Laguna Hanson

2012-08-13T15:44:00.000-07:00

8/11/2012

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache. I figured it was dehydration but drinking water didn't help. That headache didn't go away until I had a cup of coffee. Apparently my daily visits to the Chocolate Fish in Sacramento left me a caffeine junkie.

After coffee I moved to the hammock. I lounged all morning. The last week in the heat of the Sonora really wiped me out. Once the sun had reached an annoying height, I erected an aluminet shade over the hammock and went back to napping.

While camping in Canada and Alaska, I found I had forgotten how to tie some of the knots I find most useful, like the bowline. I brought a book of knots with me for reference but for the life of me I could not translate the diagram into a proper bowline. The only way I can tie a bowline is one-handed and around my waist as I'd learned to do in rescue training as a Boy Scout 20 years ago. It is strange what one remembers and one forgets. All I have to do from now on is pretend my left arm is broken whenever I want to hang my hammock. These days I wish the scouts weren't being directed by a bunch of bigoted ultra-right religious fundamentalists. Why should one have to stand on the wrong side of history just to learn to tie knots?

With camp set and napping taken care of, I set out to explore the park on foot. This late in the season, the lake was more of a mud flat, though still intriguing with the huge granite boulders scattered in and about. A herd of cattle wandered through and then a group of horses, leaping and snorting and generally making a fuss over nothing. I saw raptors flying overhead and a pair of feral dogs hiding in the grass with only their ears poking up – looking more like coyotes than dogs.

The people were the real novelty. It seems that when Mexicans visit a national park, they like to pile into their pickup trucks and drive around the park honking and yelling and waving at each other before returning to camp to crank up their stereos. I was bombarded by norteña, ranchero and banda music by day and latin electronica at night. Occasionally some classic Madonna was thrown in.

During the day this didn't really bother me but as night fell and I lay back in my hammock I was dissuaded from night photography by the trucks driving around with blinkers flashing, the people shining flashlights in every direction and the moron across the lake playing with his high-powered spotlight. This went on well into the night.

Instead I just lay back and looked upward. As the sky turned black, a dusting of stars was revealed and to my delight, the satellites and meteors that one never sees when a city is nearby. I counted nine shooting stars - some faint and in the periphery, others bright but momentary and a few so brilliant they were like tracers from a celestial machine gun, each destroyed by the atmosphere, leaving a bright trail.

Come morning I resolved to move on to a quieter and more photogenic location – the National Observatory to the south. I packed up the truck, got some directions from a neighbor and hit the road at the crack of noon. The Garmin, even loaded with their official maps of Mexico, doesn't show any of the roads in this area so I just started driving south. I made it to MX-3 in an hour, only 10km off course to the west.

A México

2012-08-13T15:34:00.000-07:00

08/10/12

After several nights at the El Centro Motel 6 (recently renovated with new veneers and everything, quite nice) I was really ready to move on. The heat was wearing me out but I still managed to fix my broken a/c, a windshield washer line and hardwire the chargers for my various gadgets from the parking lot.

In Calexico I stopped at a bank to get some cash. As I stepped out of the truck I saw a young woman frantically trying to open the doors of her running car as her mother sat in a wheel chair in the sun. In Spanish she asked me if I had a stick that we could use to try and unlock the car door. Amazingly, I understood most of what she said. In the tailgate I found the perfect implement – a 3' length of aluminum flat stock, which I bent into shape and forced through the door jam and down to the lock button. While saving the day I noticed I had left my fuel cap back in El Centro.

An hour later I was back at the border, now with cash and fuel cap, and made the easiest border crossing of my life. Simply drive on through – no hassles! On the Mexicali side, however, confusion reigned almost immediately. My Garmin is nearly though not completely useless. Eventually I gave up finding my way in the truck, so I found a place to park and promptly locked my keys in the car. Unlike the woman in Calexico, I had planned ahead for this and used the spare from my wallet to get back in. I need to establish a routine or by the time I get home I'll have nothing left but the shoes on my feet.

While not necessary in Baja (norte), I wanted to get my tourist card at the border to avoid having to figure it out when I reached Baja Sur. I walked back towards the border until I found a Grupos Beta emblem, which I recognized as the sign for immigration from some photos on bajanomad.com. Determined not to get stuck with a 30 day visa like the first time I came into Mexico (requiring a confusing revisit to immigration for a renewal) I chatted up the officials, told them I was visiting Mexico on my “gran aventura” and asked for a 180 day visa. No problema. Next time I will just fill that line out myself but I couldn't spot it on the form before he snatched it away from me.

FMT in hand, I got back in the truck and set out to find my way to MX-2 to La Rumorosa. The Garmin insisted that the best route was back across the border, over to San Diego and down through Tijuana. I turned off the routing and ended up using it as a really small, really annoying map and compass. Between the compass and the mish-mash of signs for Tijuana I eventually found my way.

La Rumorosa is nearly a straight shot up MX-2. The only maneuver required came at the junction of the free (libre) and toll (cuota) roads. Even though I was on the free road I still had to pay 20 pesos to intersect the toll road. I passed through one military checkpoint where I was waved through after a cursory peek through the windows. Betsy was doing fine, for the most part, but I was usually forced to keep the a/c off and I had to stop several times to let the engine idle and cool down. It was 115f when I left El Centro so this was understandable, albeit annoying.

In La Rumorosa I found my turn-off to the Parque National Constitucion easily thanks to the one thing the Garmin does well – notify you of upcoming waypoints. Had I thrown it out the window like I considered earlier, I would have just stopped for directions and probably found my way just as easily.

I followed the dirt road past numerous ranches. The scrubby brush gave way to taller brush and then to pine trees – they look like the Ponderosa Pines you found in the southwestern U.S. There were myriad trails and paths leading off from the road I was on so I guessed which paths were most likely to lead to the park and after two hours I did find my way. I was surprised on arrival to see so many people camping in the park. I'd been forced into low range twice to climb over steep stretches of road to get up here and I didn't quite understand how the 2wd pickups and passenger vehicles I'd seen had made it. Perhaps with long running starts and Dukes of Hazard-style jumps. One of the inclines was so steep it caused my jug of diesel additive to leak through the closed cap. I got to enjoy that smell for a couple of days afterwards.

At 1600m it was still hot up here but the mountain breeze made it all quite comfortable. I built my camp, complete with a hammock strung between Betsy and a tall pine, had a snack and laid back to relax and reflect.

By about 11PM, however, it was too cold to stay out in the hammock, even with thermals, a fleece, heavy socks and a wool blanket. Reluctantly I retired to the truck for a more comfortable sleep.

Kiluea Caldera as Dawn Breaks

2012-07-17T02:16:00.000-07:00

Halema`uma`u crater at Volcanoes National Park
2012-01-29

Photographers Don't Always Have Permission

2012-07-02T16:37:00.000-07:00

Adjusting one's sense of ethical street photography doesn't always come naturally when traveling. The rules, customs and expectations of the the photographer are different than they are at home. The consequences of behaving contrary to those expectations may be different as well.

Children in the Andes

These kids were happy to interact and be photographed but if their camera-shy parents had been present
I would have had to work harder to get their permission and probably not bothered with this shot.

In the United States it is generally considered acceptable to shoot, without explicit permission, wherever the subject does not have a right to privacy. For Americans at home, a street photo is almost always just a street photo.

This notion is encapsulated in the Photographer's Bill of Rights, a very reasonable code of ethics for most photographers, especially at home.

The general rule in the United States is that anyone may take photographs of whatever they want when they are in a public place or places where they have permission to take photographs.

In specialized communities, the situation is much more nuanced, and it seems that some self-proclaimed professional travel photographers don't understand that.

There are people who have explicitly or implicitly revoked permission to be photographed. The prohibition on photography may apply to a certain neighborhood, a region or just certain people or circumstances.

The prostitutes in the Red Light Distrinct in Amsterdam don't allow photography on the street in order to protect their privacy. People in Chiapas, Mexico don't want themselves or their property photographed - especially by foreigners. The indigenous people in the Andes are notoriously camera-shy. Some people are simply tired of having tourists treating them like zoo animals.

Ignoring these prohibitions is the habit of the obstinate and insensitive traveler. You may just be a bad diplomat but you may also find yourself in an angry confrontation or facing confiscated equipment.

Even if you get away with it, you have to ask yourself why? Are you an investigative journalist? Are you creating an image whose aesthetic qualities override the subject's rights?

Personally, I believe that a photographer should have to work harder in those circumstances than simply walking through someone's neighborhood, finger blithely on the shutter, sneaking photos to sort out later with invented captions and commentary.

Capitol in Black & White

2012-06-28T14:20:00.000-07:00

2008-09

One from the vaults.

California Capitol
Canon A1, Kodak Tri-X 400

Twilight at the Farmer's Rice Cooperative

2012-06-22T19:54:00.000-07:00

Add caption

Since I upgraded to 85mm gel filters, I added some HiTech neutral density & Cokin graduated neutral density filters. As a means of practice, and to innaugurate the new site design for Wide-Angle Wandering, I took this shot at twilight at the Port of West Sacramento using a Sony NEX-5, FD adapter and Canon 24mm/f2.8 stacking Hitech 2+3 stop ND and Cokin GND gels.

Somber Places

2012-06-22T19:17:00.000-07:00

Sony NEX-5, FD adapter, Canon 24mm/f2.8, GIMP

The first time I came across the California Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in Capitol Park, I stepped inside the circle, following the stories depicted in sculpture.

I was having a somber moment in a somber place.

Before long some people came by - the sort of twenty-somethings you often see around midtown. Two of the girls climbed up on one of the sculptures, giggling and making vapid comments.

I must have expressed quite a look of dismay as I was booted out of my contemplative mood because one of the group sheepishly apologized as he exited.

A few months later I came back, this time with my father. He too was lost in thought as he walked through this space, though for him these depictions are much more meaningful than they ever will be for me.

Before long a group of teenagers came by, far more obnoxious and thoughtless than the people I'd encountered on my last visit.

"Why would they do that? How could they behave that way?" he asked me. I tried to mumble some defense about how they didn't know what they were doing, that they're just kids after all. It was a hollow thought.

These were foolish kids, who will soon help wield the nation's power, while ignorant of it's past.

I'm glad to say that on today's visit, I found nothing more than flowers placed thoughtfully around the memorial.

I was finally able to visit and contemplate in peace.

Amongst my thoughts were the monuments, memorials and somber places I've encountered in my travels.

Have I always recognized them for what they are? Have I treated them with respect even when I didn't?

Crossing Paths

2012-05-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

2011-08-19

Bridge over Canyon Creek, YT

Desolation has been a pretty consistent theme on this drive. For the most part the campgrounds are empty, the pull-offs are empty, the cafés are empty and often the fuel stations are empty. I've only managed to have a couple of conversations that went beyond "how ya doin' where ya goin' where ya from?"

I find it somewhat shameful that more people don't have the means or inclination to wander through these parts - but I am also grateful. Nothing spoils a moment in nature like a bunch of babbling tourists.

I was just starting to get used to the solitude when I heard that fellow corporate drop-out and wandering nomad Smilin' Joe, of the New Dirt Road, was in the area. Since it wasn't too far out of my way, I agreed to meet up and show him around.

Joe has an odd sense of planning. We'd exchanged some emails where I suggested we have a time and place to meet. He figured we should just aim for the Yukon and figure it out from there.

Neither of our cell phones were working so we communicated by voicemail. Despite common sense, we both arrived in the same Yukon town at the same time. We ate at some snazzy grill in town, picked up some beer and headed out in search of a place to camp.

With nightfall approaching and no recommendations to guide us, we went to the first spot we came across - the provincial park at Marsh Lake. It was, of course, deserted. No noise, a choice spot on the lake and plenty of wet firewood.

I personally am opposed to the use of accelerants when building a campfire but after witnessing Joe's clumsy attempts at wasting matches I decided to take over. With skill and aplomb, I chopping the wood down to appropriate sizes, delicately drizzled one of the larger logs with vegetable oil, and successfully built a life-sustaining campfire to ensure our survival. The next priority was consumption of pricey middling Canadian beer, which we accomplished by sunset.

The next morning I showed Joe how to make a proper cup of coffee using an aeropress, rather than the cowboy swill he'd been brewing. As for plans, both of us had some sort of vague desire for hiking up into the mountains somewhere. The Yukon Territory is so big, however, that getting anywhere takes hours. Our staunch opposition to planning left us momentarily stymied. I then suggested a jaunt to Atlin. Once I told him about the shithouse and other amenities, he was sold.

I set out in my stout and capable 4x4, leaving Smilin' Joe to follow my trail in his little Honda. Fortunately I was there to set the pace.

Smilin' Joe Fission verifies Warm Bay's namesake

Along the way I got a close-up view of an adolescent grizzly bear as well as a Canadian lynx. This was by far my best day for spotting wildlife from the road.

We pulled in to Atlin by early afternoon. In an effort to try something different, we headed out to Surprise Lake. I was impressed to see the little Honda follow me down the trail.

At the lake we found a deserted scrubby campground with a lot of torn up earth nearby. It was not exactly scenic, so we retraced my previous steps and set up at at the pull-off on Warm Bay Road, a deserted wooded campground with a view of the western sky, the snowy mountains and the lake's bobbing surface.

I spent the rest of the afternoon making camp while Joe played on his bicycle. I didn't mind his impertinent screwing off though. I find that camp-craft really is it's own reward.

The day's hike turned out to be a few hundred meter walk up the road to the public warm springs. Joe reveled in the sulphurous muck for a bit before we headed back to camp for beer and whatever concoction we devised from our combined food boxes for dinner.

Today we woke still deluding ourselves that we would find a place to go for a proper hike and arrive there with enough to time to make it. We set off from Atlin back towards the Alaska Highway with Watson Lake in mind.

The first fifty miles were a wet muddy slog through the rain. Joe's Honda was fishtailing like mad, so I pulled over to lock my front hubs and wait for him to catch up. The rain & mud obscured windshields, reduced traction and overall made for a great drive.

Joe got his revenge, however, by passing RVs and trucks on the paved roads with ease, while I had to plan any passing maneuver, using inertia to my advantage. It was slow going overall and we didn't arrive in Watson Lake until after 6PM. Since Joe is enamored with simple, kitschy things I had to show him the signpost forest first off.

Afterwards, we stopped for dinner at Kathy's, where I had a horrid clam chowder that may have just been vegetable soup with some canned clams stirred in. Joe fared much better. I don't mind eating simple, bland or even somewhat distasteful things when I make them myself. It's insult added to injury, however, when paying someone to do it for me.

To sleep, we drove out to the campground at Watson Lake. We weren't the only ones camping here tonight but it was still mostly empty. We couldn't find a good lakeside spot so we pulled the vehicles together and rigged up a tarp over a seating area and a campfire. We each took our ration of pricey Canadian beer, burned stuff and eventually retired. I slept on the memory-foam mattress on the bed I built into the back of the Landcruiser. Joe crawled into a meager tent and slept on the ground.

Beer for Breakfast

2012-05-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

2008-12-25

This morning I went out around 7:30 to try and catch some photos of Banglamphu before the tourists woke up.

Walking around Thailand, it seems like I can't stop moving without a random stranger approaching me to say hello or offer directions. Usually I talk for a minute and go about my business. Today I met a history teacher and some guy from Chiang Mai. Both stopped to talk to me while I was standing on the street hanging out with my camera, looking for a photographic moment.

The Chiang Mai guy was particularly friendly. He really wanted to take me to see the 40 meter-high standing Buddha at a nearby Wat. I had nothing better to do. It was quite impressive. Of course he also steered me to a travel agent who I can only imagine was operated by a friend. It was not impressive and I bought nothing.

Afterwards, I offered to buy him a drink from one of the street stalls, since we'd been walking for some time and it was quite warm out. He said it would be better at the park, so off we went.

At the park, we sat at a table next to a canal and had tall bottles of Leo beer. Beer for breakfast is one of my favorite expressions of freedom from the tyranny of work.

We talked about life as farmers for his family in Chiang Mai, the medicinal qualities of garlic, his children in Bangkok, his involvement in politics (arrested in 1978 in a protest where the police/military killed many protesters), his support for the recently ousted prime minister (he is a red shirt) and places to travel.

He mentioned once that while he would like to visit Ko Samui, it is out of his price range as the cheapest bungalows start at 600 baht (about $17 USD).

At about 10AM, I bought him another and left some cash to pay the tab. I had to get back to the hotel to meet Denise so we could leave town for Ko Samui.

Finding my way back to Khaosan Road was an adventure in and of itself, as I was quite lost. I stopped every few blocks to ask for directions. Everyone just kept pointing, so I walked until I felt unsure and stopped to ask again. People directed me though the backs of restaurants, various small alleys and the middle of a Thai kickboxing school. Just as I thought I must be really lost, I stepped out of an alley and into the middle of Koh San Road. I made it back just in time to grab breakfast, a shower, and a cab to the airport.

Canon A1, Kodak Elite Chrome 100 film

In the cab I was struck by another one of life's small but global similarities - the religious symbol dangling from the rear-view mirror. In most of Latin America, there would have been a Jesus (maybe even the elusive bobble-head), a crucifix, or a Virgin Mary. Here it is a Buddhist amulet.

In Koh Samui, thoughts of our earlier conversation on affordability were on my mind as Denise and I checked in. Chiang Mai guy will never see the places in his own country that I am here to visit and that doesn't quite sit right.

Grand Palace and the Golden Mount

2012-05-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

2008-12-23

This morning we got up and met Denise's friend Jai who was going to show us around Bangkok. Not only does she know her way around this crazy place but she has access to a car too.

Jai took us to the Grand Palace first. The palace is set on a huge walled area near the river in the old town. Inside are dozens of buildings for various purposes related to Buddhism and royal affairs.

Grand Palace
Canon A1, Vivitar 28-80mm, Plus-X 125 film

The murals, metal work, statues, golden temple rooftops and so forth were a sight to behold. Between the blue sky and the gilded architecture, the color contrast was striking.

Grand Palace
Canon A1, Vivitar 28-80mm, Plus-X 125 film

I realized at the end of the day that my camera was loaded with black & white film. I shot what was loaded but resolved to carry two bodies and to take better notes in the future.

Grand Palace Statue
Canon A1, Vivitar 28-80mm, Plus-X 125 film

After the Grand Palace we went on to the Golden Mount, set atop a hill in the old town. We followed the path, occasionally ringing the bells line way.

Inside the temples, sitting in front of the shrines to Buddha, it isn't hard to imagine what draws people to find comfort here. As one who has no penchant for superstition, I found it easier to gaze on Buddhist symbols and artwork than that of some other religions - it seems more peaceful than most.

Grand Palace
Canon A1, Vivitar 28-80mm, Plus-X 125 film

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2012-05-20T18:51:00.001-07:00

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Yay, Rainbows

2012-05-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

2011-08-16

I set off with the goal of making it back to Haines Junction, giving me an easy day tomorrow. I continued north along AK-1 to Tok, fueled up, and kept driving - mostly in the rain.

yay, another rainbow

After a long day, I pulled into Haines Junction. Like my last pass through this area, I couldn't turn down the allure of a shower and clean laundry so I camped at the Kluane Kampground.

I can't complain about an RV park that has a view like this

While it is also an RV park, it's got a great view and the tent area is far enough from the RVs that you don't have to know they are there.

I met Carolin and Adrian while trying to get the funk out of my laundry. Over Moose Drool, they told me how they had flown from Europe to Canada, bought a mid-90s Ford Explorer, and started driving it south. I thought their vehicle choice was very brave. I hope to cross paths with them again but in the meantime I'll have to subscribe to their hilarious HowdyMail and PaisanoMail blogs.

They are the first people I've met on this drive who didn't think I was crazy for taking such a long roadtrip.

Ursine Invaders

2012-05-09T08:34:00.000-07:00

2011-08-16

Last night, as I was sitting in the truck and getting ready to go to sleep, I felt and heard the dreaded bump in the night.

I poked my head out with a flashlight but I never spotted the intruder.

The next morning, however, I found this on my rear bumper.

Designing the Perfect Roadtrip

2012-05-08T10:36:00.000-07:00

North to Alaska

This week's Bootsnall 2012 Indie Travel Challenge is to design the perfect roadtrip.

I thought his would be right up my alley but then I saw the questions they asked.

Who’s with you in the car?

I might just be in trouble here. I'm going solo on this adventure.

What snacks are in the cooler?

Definitely in trouble. I haven't even thought about this yet.

Adding jerry cans to the
swing-out bumper

One thing I have been focusing on is gear.

This is interesting because when I reflect on past roadtrips and what made them memorable - the equipment had little to do with it. The best trips have been spontaneous and simple. Riding in the back of a pickup truck to a music festival in Malawi, borrowing a completely underpowered compact car to see temples in India - these trips didn't involve extensive planning or preparation, at least on my part.

Yet when it came time to design my own perfect roadtrip, gear was a primary focus.

I enjoy fiddling fiddling with gear. Everything I own has been modified in some way.
That tendency has been unleased on my trip planning with a vengeance. Modifying my vehicle, customizing electronics, choosing the survival and comfort gear I will carry - these things have taken time away from traveling. Time will tell if it was worth it.

Tearing apart the interior for the 4th time

For entertainment I have 250GB of MP3s on a small Android tablet mounted to the dash. A simple head unit sends signal to an amplifier that powers four speakers in the front and a sub built into the rear quarter panel. To help get un-lost I have a GPS navigator and SD cards with maps from the Open Street Map Foundation. To power everything reliably, I have an upgraded alternator, a second group 31 battery on an isolator and solar panels.

The vehicle itself is an older 4wd with a mechanical Diesel engine. I have a hi-lift jack and some basic recovery gear along with two spare tires, an air compressor and some basic spare parts. I have the tools on board to disassemble most of the things that might need disassembling.

Packed and ready to roll

I built a sleeping platform into the rear which I covered with a foam mattress from Ikea. Next to the platform is a Norco 12v refrigerator. This is full of film and sometimes delicious beer. Under the platform I keep the kitchen, which I can slide out onto the tailgate whenever I want to use the stove.

If things turn out just right - all this material junk and time spent on gear will enable an uninhibited and free-wheeling journey.

Like the equipment, the location is really just a means to an end. While I'm planning to travel through Mexico, Central and South America, if I lived in the other hemisphere I'd be planning for Africa or Asia. I love Latin America but it is just the setting.

To me the perfect roadtrip is one where spontaneity rules. It is flippant around the beaten path. There are mishaps. The top or the windows are often down. New friends are made and old ones made better. Cultural boundaries are crossed.

I have no idea how to design a trip like that.

Beyond Valdez

2012-05-08T09:04:00.000-07:00

2011-08-15

Whittier to Valdez on the ferry

I was nearly out of fuel when I arrived at Portage Lake, having foolishly passed up the only Diesel pump I saw over a long stretch of highway. Since I didn't know exactly how far I'd have to drive to get to Whittier or Valdez for fuel, I used the jerry can to extend my range.

The state of California mandated that fuel cans be designed to maximize fuel spillage both on the ground and on your shoes. My jerry can is CARB compliant and performed as designed.

To get to Whittier I drove through a long tunnel. Traffic only moves through the tunnel in a single direction at a time. Fortunately I factored the 30 minute wait into my ferry schedule. The turbo Diesel engine made a glorious roaring whistling sound as we eventually rumbled through.

In Whittier I nearly missed my ferry while drinking coffee and relaxing by Prince William Sound. Fortunately I convinced them to re-open the gates and I was the last to board. Unlike Washington ferries, you can't wait until 20 minutes before departure in Alaska.

Canon F1 on Legacy Pro 100 (Fuji Acros) film

The ride was great. We sped past iceburgs, fishing boats, snowy mountains, green mountains, streams and waterfalls, arriving in Valdez after about three hours.

From Valdez I headed out on the only road leaving Valdez. I stopped on my way to photograph this stream and once more to pick up some fish from a local processor.

In retrospect, there are plenty of options for camping around Valdez so taking the slow boat, enjoying the ride, and hunting for a camping spot in the evening wouldn't have been a problem.

I, however, had more miles to travel so I set off on the highway, driving alongside the Wrangell-St. Elias preserve.

I spent the rest of the day driving, seeing very little human activity along the way. I did see one black bear and one coyote from the road.

Eventually I stopped and made camp on the far side of the preserve.

Taking a break along Alaska 4

Snow Caves and Iceburgs

2012-05-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

2011-08-14

Portage Lake

I left Homer to start making my way north but planned to stop in Clam Gulch along the way. My new friends from Anchorage mentioned there would be music & camping at the Dead Fish festival.

I found the festival grounds - an aging, dingy bar on the side of the highway. Inside it was dark, smoky and cobbled together. There was no sign of a festival setting up but it was only late afternoon.

After a few drinks, Jen, her beat-boxing cousin and friends from Anchorage arrived. Despite the fact that only one band showed up to play the "festival", a good time was had by all. That night I slept in my tent in a field near the bar. It was good to be away from the traffic but waking up on the ground with a hangover was a little rough.

That morning I walked back to the bar and had a cup of coffee before setting off. When I went to settle the tab, the waitress took my bill, put it in the register, closed the door and walked off. I guess she wanted a 200% tip? I don't quite get it. If it hadn't been for Jen and her friends from Anchorage I'd have found this dingy bar an odd and slightly hostile place to hang out.

Intent on seeing some more Alaskan nature and pressured by my ferry reservations, I set off again - this time toward Whittier, Alaska. I planned to take the ferry to get Betsy and I to Valdez. This way I could see Portage Glacier rather than back-tracking through Anchorage.

I arrived at Portage Lake late in the evening. Showing up on Saturday night and looking for a place to camp is not a great plan in this area. Boondocking options are limited and the organized campgrounds seem to be popular on the weekends.

I found a pull-off that didn't specifically prohibit overnight parking. I was away from the highway and nobody bothered me. I even had an RV for a neighbor most of the night.

Iceburg on Portage Lake
Canon F1 on Legacy Pro 100 (Fuji Acros)

This morning I moved down the road and paid for a night at one of the government campgrounds nearby. From there it was easy walking distance to reach Portage Lake, which I did in the cold flat rain. At certain times there is a boat that you can take to ride right up to see the glacier. I preferred to walk, however, so I moved from the lake to the trail towards Byron Glacier.

It was an easy walk, sloping slowly upwards. I walked past streams of spawning salmon, some mottled gray and others bright pink, along fields of fireweed and raspberries, eventually coming out onto a field of glacial debris.

Layers of snow receding back up the mountain.
Olympus Stylus Epic on Fuji Acros 100

Off in the distance I could see great big mounds of snow, large boulders and a dark blue glacier high up on the mountain. The snowfields were accessible so I headed there with a weather-proof Olympus 35mm in my pocket.

Upon reaching the biggest of the snow mounds, I found a cave formed by the runoff from the glacier.

A few others were exploring further inside. I chose to focus on the exterior. The trickling water was a constant reminder that this cave was being dismantled.

Back at camp I built a campfire and cooked a sweet potato with some carrots which ate along with the raspberries I found along the trail.

Snow cave near Byron Glacier.
Olympus Stylus Epic on Fuji Acros 100

Point Bonita Lighthouse

2012-05-07T08:03:00.000-07:00

2010-10-02

Photographers at Point Bonita Lighthouse

Karthik wanted to show me a lighthouse with easy access and dramatic surf. The day we chose was dreary and heavily overcast - perfect for black and white.

Since the sky had little definition, I shot without any filters and let it go white.

I've been taking the F1 with me on every shoot. I absolutely love the rugged simplicity of this body. I've almost always got it paired with my new favorite lens, a Canon 24mm/f2.8 (new FD) prime. Today it was loaded with Legacy Pro 100, essentially rebadged Fuji Acros.

Lighthouse with Surf

Lighthouse Up Close
Canon 135mm/f3.5

Lighthouse and Cliffs

This negative was damaged. Online the distress
lends an effect that isn't universally displeasing.
Printed, there's little charm.

Glewingk Glacier

2012-05-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

08/11/2011

Glewingk Glacier
Canon A1, 50mm/f1.8, Provia 100

The downside to Homer is that once you've seen the bald eagles hanging out at the Safeway and talked to your wacky beach neighbors and seen the Time Bandit's office and had a drink at the Salty Dawg ... there isn't much you can do on your own.

You need a boat or a plane to get anywhere.

Once I came to that conclusion, I headed out on the spit to find a water taxi. I wanted to see a glacier.

I went with an outfit that was recommended to me back in Anchorage. They couldn't get me out until 3PM and it would be a pricey ride. I bought the ticket anyway. At 3 I headed to the pier and caught my ride at 3:30. I was the only one on the boat. The skipper dropped me off, with a warning to watch out for bears. It was almost 5 by the time I reached the trailhead.

The hike was pleasant and easy to follow. For three miles I walked through forest, brush and glacier moraine. I didn't see any bears but I did see a lot of fresh scat. Did you know that each pile of bear crap can have up to 20,000 berry seeds in it? I learned that at Denali. This trip has been very educational.

Eventually I arrived at the lake, opposite Glewingk Glacier.

Glewingk Glacier
Canon F1, 24mm/f2.8, Fuji Acros 100

I've never seen a glacier up close before - nevertheless one that was actively birthing iceburgs. I sat at the edge of the lake with my camera still stowed and just listened to the distant iceburgs rumble and splash into the water. Older iceburgs drifting near shore sent hundreds of tiny streams into the lake as they melted. The nearest iceburg was covered in dirt, as if it had received a mudslide on its way to the lake.

I dipped my feet in the grey silty water but the chill dissuaded me from going further.

I only had an hour to shoot before I had to make my way back to the bay for my pick up. I spent the rest of my time wandering around the shoreline and shooting film.

Glewingk Glacier
Canon A1, 24mm/f2.8, Provia 100

Homer isn't really the sort of place where you can just show up and wing it unless you have a lot of time to waste. I wasted most of my spare time on the drive, so winging it wasn't a great plan. That's how I came to find myself on this lakeshore wishing I had brought my tent and a sleeping bag.

Reluctantly I got back on the trail and followed the loop back around to the bay.

Glewingk Glacier
Canon A1, 50mm/f1.8, Provia 100

I made it to the pick up at 8:15. 8:30 came and went. I sat on the stump of a long-since disintegrated pier and listened to the surf and the shrill calls of eagles overhead. At 8:45 I pulled out my cell phone and started walking up and down the beach.

I was keenly aware of how uncomfortable a night on this beach would be with only a lighter, mulitool and a light jacket on hand. Again I thought about my pack, uselessly stowed in my truck back in Homer

I did get a bar of signal and so was able to call the phone number on my receipt to inquire as to my abandonment. They apologised profusely and assured me that someone would be out to pick me up - for real this time. 30 minutes later my ride arrived. Disaster averted.

All future boat trips will include more specific planning for this scenario.

Moonrise in Homer, AK

2012-05-05T09:38:00.000-07:00

08/10/2011

Setting up the moonrise shot.
Lumix LX-3

I set off from Anchorage in the early afternoon. I got a late start but that's ok - I spent the first half of the day getting travel advice from some friendly folks in Anchorage.

From what little I've seen, I'm already impressed with the Kenai peninsula's beauty. I could easily see making this a vacation destination in and of itself. Fishing, hiking, mountains and rugged coast could keep me busy for a while - if only I had more time.

I'm planning to use Homer as my base for the next couple of days - perhaps a starting point to get to Kachemak Bay State Park (boat or floatplane).

You can camp right out on the spit for less than $10. After parking on the sand, I walked up to the Fresh Catch Cafe where I splurged on my first real meal in weeks, eaten while watching kite surfers skipping over the surf out my window.

Moonrise in Homer, AK
Canon A1, Provia 100

I walked outside to find a large full moon rising over the mountains across the bay. As I put my camera on a tripod, an older woman with a rake walked up and pointed to the mountains, saying "if you turn your head sideways, that one looks like Richard Nixon shedding a tear of remorse."

Back at my truck, a fellow in a sleeping bag in the sand called out "Hey! You look like you just stepped out of a time machine!" I never found out if I was from the past or the future.

Baja or Bust

2012-05-05T08:03:00.000-07:00

I've been holed up in Sacramento, CA since January. This stop was never intended to be so long but a few vehicle delays and distractions have tied me up.

View Larger Map.

The main problem is Betsy's charging system. A mechanic managed to damage the vacuum pump, alternator and two voltage regulators before I collected all my parts and took them elsewhere.

On the plus side, I now know how to rebuild a Diesel vacuum pump. This is largely a useless skill as the pump on my Toyota almost never requires rebuilding. All you have to do to keep it running is not mess with it.

I've since taken the alternator to a new rebuilder. This new alternator hacker is fixing the mistakes in my FrankenAlternator and building me a FrankenRegulator to go along with it.

I think I'll be on the road soon. 10 days?

My plan for Mexico is pretty basic. I'm going to cross the border at Mexicali, drive through Baja, take the ferry to Mazatlan and continue south.

I'll camp from the truck, sometimes in campgrounds and sometimes in the backwoods, occasionally hitting up a hotel for a decent shower.

To get started, I'm collecting my thoughts in this google map. Reading about the ruined missions, warm water, fresh clams, cold beer and hammocks leaves me feeling more stir crazy than ever.

Sarah Palin's Patria

2012-05-02T15:51:00.001-07:00

2011-08-09

Water rushing down from the mountains

This morning I set off from Denali to make my way down south toward the Kenai peninsula.

A fellow named Hal suggested I take Hatcher Pass for a more interesting drive with the added benefit of bypassing Wasilla.

Despite the Sarah Palin magnet on my dash, I really had no desire to visit Wasilla so I plotted a route to Hatcher Pass via Streets & Trips, possibly the worst navigation software ever created, running on a Windows laptop, perhaps the worst navigation hardware ever created.

Then I drove and drove and drove through the drizzling rain. Eventually the road started to wind up toward the pass. Off in the distance I saw a dark shape that looked almost like a horse. Then a cow. Sort of a tall, fat horse-cow. She was a great big sow moose right by the side of the road. Mildy interested but mostly annoyed at my passing. She was much closer and far more impressive than any wildlife I saw at Denali.

As I continued upward, I could see snowy mountains ahead in the clouds. Eventually the rain turned to snow and I began to wonder just how much snow or ice I might run into. I have 4WD but my tires are on their last few thousand miles of tread.

I kept driving, through flocks of white-tipped birds and buzzing insects, stopping to admire the view despite the sleet, until I reached Summit Lake, which was really more of a pond.

Summit Lake

I found a family from Texas, whose vacation photos I sort of begrudgingly shot, huddled around their car. They gave me a supernatural blessing in exchange for the photographs.

There really wasn't much to see up there with the snow and sleet and clouds snuffing out the view, leaving only a wet chill, so I shoved off pretty quickly.

On the other side of the pass I made a wrong turn and ended up driving through Wasilla anyway. I tried, but there was definitely no way to see Russia from there.

Beautiful Denali

2012-05-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

2011-08-08

Denali Reindeer

Today was a fantastic day for photography and sight-seeing but it meant spending most of the day on a bus.

From that bus, however, I saw four grizzlies, many reindeer and a coyote so it wasn't all bad.

Two of the grizzlies were feeding on a reindeer carcass. Yesterday I was told a battle between bears & wolves had been pitched over this particular carcass. Today's show was considerably less exciting.

Denali in the Distance

After several hours we approached the Eilsen visitor center. Denali came into view as an incredible, angled, snowy pyramid piercing layers of clouds, all surrounded by rolling green hills and pale blue skies.

I spent the next couple of hours outside the visitor's center, watching, photographing and talking with other travellers.

The weather cooperated here and there. When the clouds lifted just right, the mountain would shine.

Denali
Canon A1, Provia 100

The Strange Long Grueling Drive to Hampi

2012-04-26T13:19:00.001-07:00

2010-06-20, Sunday, 07:45

The Maruti 800, an incredibly uncomfortable
place to sit for 21 hours.

We left Chennai early this morning to drive to Hampi in Karnataka state, 380km (240 miles) away.

Google will tell you that it is a 10 hour drive. No doubt this was the extent of Karthik's research as he regurgitated this factoid to me, assuring me that it was a reasonable amount of time to spend stuffed back into the Maruti.

Oozing our way through Chennai I couldn't help but feel that we were more like a molecule subject to the forces of osmosis than a self-determinate pair of travelers charting our own course.

I remarked on this to Karthik who looked over and said "in Chennai there is no course. Only course correction." And so it went.

The safety gear is between your ears.
- Indian road safety sign

Eventually we did pass through the city's membrane and into the suburbs and countryside of Tamil Nadu state via National Highway 4. The national highway is a toll road, amongst the best in the country. This means that it is mostly paved, mostly consists of more than one lane, is mostly free of giant gaping holes and boulders. It also has a lower concentration of animals, people and carts than you find on other roads.

AC
No Hand Signal
Power Break
- Signs painted on the back of cars
and trucks announcing the vehicle's
capabilities.

It does not mean, however, that people will drive in the right direction or behave in a predictable fashion. At one point, as we were flying down the highway at a brisk 50km/h, we passed between one vehicle driving straight for us in our lane and another vehicle reversing towards in the lane to our left while being overtaken by an SUV, possibly full of political thugs.

Sunday, 17:00

We've been driving for over 8 hours. Progress is so slow. We stopped a half-a-dozen times to try and check the tire pressure at a service station. I don't understand why this is so important but Karthik is intent. At one station the machine was working but the guy who operates it wasn't there and nobody else would touch it or allow us to operate it. At another station, the machine was broken and we were told it was because it competed with a local tire repair shack down the road. Once we finally did find a machine that worked, it was a modern, fully automatic machine - much more sophisticated than anything I've seen in the states. Dichotomies abound.

Reckless driving is one way ticket to hell.
- Indian road safety sign

We estimate that we still have about 4-5 hours to go. The low speeds, frequent obstacles and stops for directions and air have slowed us down. We're told that the road from here to Hampi is a "good road". Since we are currently on a great road, Karthik tells me this means divine assistance may be required.

It's getting dark out. There's a storm on the horizon. Our car has 12" wheels and an 800cc engine. It can barely move under its own power. We don't have any plans for where we'll sleep.

Karthik found the name of a guest house in Hampi online but when he called the listed number, the conversation went like this:

Karthik: "Hello, my friend and I are coming tonight. Will there be a room available?"
Random Stranger: "Who are you? Why do you want to stay at my house?"

Sunday, 19:00

We are still driving. There is lightning on the horizon and it is dark out. We think we'll make it to Hampi by 11. Stopping for directions is getting harder. Every time we pull over we risk being run down by a truck.

The toll highway was expensive but relatively well-maintained. Still, we had to share the road with goats, cattle, pedestrians, bicycles and vehicles moving against the flow. Now the road quality is deteriorating but still ok.

Sunday, 20:00

We came across a roadside hotel & restaurant - the Grand Regency Hotel. We pulled over to get some food as we were both hungry and hadn't seen anything to eat in the dark. The food, as I've grown accustomed in the last two days, was fantastic. Afterward I spied a paan wala. I had no idea what he was making but it looked fascinating and I wanted to try one. I asked Karthik if I could try a tambaku paan but after a short conversation with the vendor they decided that I couldn't handle it.

They both agreed that I should have meetha paan. The vendor laid a large green leaf in his palm, slathered it with a reddish-brown liquid, sprinkled it with powdered spices and filled it with dried fruits and rock sugar before folding it and handing to me. Once again subject to Karthik's tyranny, I accepted my lot. It was strangely energizing and refreshing.

As we walked back the car we were both thinking about the hotel rooms behind us. Karthik spoke first and we decided to check it out. Unfortunately the rooms were pricey and smelled of bad sewer plumbing, which encouraged us to move on.

We got back on the road at 21:30. How far could we be?

Sunday, 23:30

This road was ok at first but things are getting rough. The biggest challenge are the mining trucks and buses. This road is not divided and every large passing vehicle blinds us and forces us to the side of the road. We are going 30-40km/h most of the time.

Karthik is madly employing some sort of communication mechanism based on flashing the brights with mixed success.

Monday, 00:30

Just after midnight I was jolted by a loud thunk. I immediately thought 'tire!' and felt the cyclic thud a few seconds later. We pulled over on the side of the road with all of the trucks and buses whizzing by. I used a flashlight in a futile attempt to improve my visibility to the passing traffic. I then went to the trunk, curious what I would find.

I pulled out a spare tire and a jack. The spare was nearly flat, the jack was missing its handle and there was no tire iron.

At this point I was starting to get agitated. This drive has been completely against my style. My car at home has a a complete spare & tools, tire plug repair kit, fire extinguisher, hatchet, preserved food, water, blanket, emergency tow strap, hose for moving air from inflated to deflated tires, a shovel and a set of maps covering 800 miles in every direction. That is the lightweight kit for the Miata.

Now I'm standing on the side of the road, in the middle of the night, with a disabled vehicle, no safe place to sleep until daylight and our cell phone has no service. Karthik just shrugged and cursed the car for being so unprepared.

We then took positions on opposite sides of the road, attempting to flag down a passing vehicle. For a while nobody would stop. Actually, I don't think they could stop. These were heavy mining trucks and they couldn't see us in time to do more than honk. Eventually we lucked out and a dump truck with two very young guys stopped to help.

They quickly jacked up the car, removed the flat and installed the nearly-flat spare. Karthik offered some rupees in gratitude but they refused, saying "No, you're in trouble. How can I take your money?" And just like that, any stress I was having about the situation faded.

I moved to the right side of the car to help keep weight off the spare and we limped back down the road towards some roadside lights.

Monday, 01:30

Within minutes we came across a corrogated metal shack with a sign advertising tire services. It was located about 20 feet from a trench cut across the road. The same trench that bit our tire.

Karthik knocked on the wall of the shack and within moments a slightly disoriented man stepped out. He spoke Kannada and very little English. Karthik speaks English, Hindi and Tamil and very little Kannada. Somehow they managed and the man took our flat tire and popped it apart with a metal bar.

Now I understood why Karthik was so concerned about tire pressure - these tiny little tires use tubes like a bicycle.

Next the man built a fire with kerosine and coal in a metal tray. He put the tube up on a vice and used the heat from the fire to melt and reform the tube. He fixed the bent rim with a hammer. He then inflated both tires. Even if we don't have the tools, at least now we have a spare dry-rotten 12" tire to help us along our journey.

When it came time to pay, Karthik asked what we owed and the man told him to pay whatever was fair. Karthik then tried to give him 100 rupees but the man refused and would only take 60 (about a dollar).

Monday, 05:00

We got back on the road about 02:00 and didn't arrive in Hampi until 04:30. 21 hours to drive less than 250 miles.

We found a building with a sign saying Shanti Guest House. It didn't quite look like the pictures online but we were beyond exhausted. We woke up the security guard who was sleeping in the courtyard. He let us into a room with a promise to check in and pay later in the morning.

Cosmic Visitors to San Francisco

2012-04-24T05:57:00.000-07:00

City Hall from Afar

From time to time I lose track of film, find it again, process and scan.

This really doesn't bother me - I enjoy the surprise.

In my latest discovery, I found a roll of film that I shot on a photo trip with Karthik back in September 2010.

These images were all taken in using a Canon F1 and Legacy Pro 100 (aka Fuji Acros) film.

San Francisco City Hall

This was a largely spontaneous trip. Karthik identified a few locations in advance but we didn't expect to find anything quite like this.

Cosmic Visitor to City Hall

Time for creation or destruction?

A Kodachrome Day

2012-04-23T04:00:00.000-07:00

Canon A1, Kodachrome 64 film

Before I took these shots in April 2009, I'd spent the weekend in and around Monterrey with a camera in hand. When it came time to leave, my A1 was still loaded with Kodachrome.

I often wish I shot in a format that let me swap film on a frame by frame basis. Since I shoot 35mm, however, it often means my camera is loaded with the film that was appropriate for my previous shoot but not necessarily for the current one.

On my drive home, this was on my mind as I cruised through the dull, hazy, overcast, drizzly conditions with a camera full of low-speed Kodachrome slide film. I almost didn't bother shooting but something egged me on.

I exited the freeway and followed the backroads. Soon enough I was pulling over and scouting shots.

Ordinarily I'd have chosen Kodachrome where my subjects were brightly lit and brilliantly saturated. Today was not a Kodachrome day.

I finished off the roll anyway and I'm glad to say I proved that preconception wrong.

Summit Garage
Canon A1 with Kodachrome 64

Cattle grazing around a wind farm.
Canon A1 with Kodachrome 64

While there's no more Kodachrome being processed today, were I to try this again with something like Velvia I would add a warming filter and a tripod to my kit. Those two additions would have saved me some post-processing trouble and given me more useful frames to work from.

Horsetail Firefall at Yosemite

2012-02-22T03:05:00.000-08:00

Horsetail Fall from Southside Drive

One of the great things about California is just how easy it is to run off and go check out an amazing waterfall on a whim.

This morning I drove out to Yosemite National Park in the hopes I'd be lucky enough to see a firefall.

The firefall sometimes appears around the second or third week of February. At this time of year, the sun is at the right angle to illuminate Horsetail Fall on El Capitan with orange light ... if the fall is flowing and there are no clouds in the sky.

I arrived at 1PM and scouted out a spot near the river, east of El Capitan, on Southside Drive. There was no one else there.

I killed some time and came back around 2:30. I was still the only person.

A few other photographers and campers showed up over the next couple of hours, eventually filling the turn-off.

The Sun intermittently popped in and out from the cloudy, overcast sky. By 5:35PM I had nearly given up hope but at 5:40PM the fall suddenly faded to a splendid reddish orange.

Firefall (Horsetail Fall) on El Capitan
Sony NEX-5 with Vivitar FD 80-200mm lens

A few minutes later the color faded back to grey and the fall became nearly invisible again. As I was packing up, the clouds lifted briefly and the sky turned blue and pink.

El Capitan over the Merced River
Sony NEX-5 with 16mm lens

In addition to inaugurating the NEX-5 (and FD adapter) I shot some Provia today with the A1 & the cheapo Rexatar 400mm lens. All in all a great way to spend the day.

Yosemite From Above

2012-02-19T14:12:00.000-08:00

El Capitan

You have to love a conversation ends up at: "Hey, let's go fly to Yosemite Valley next weekend."

A few days later we had a plane reserved and the plan unfolded.

We took off from the same airport as last time, leaving early to keep the weather in our favor.

On the way out I rode in the backseat. I'd forgotten how cold it can get up there. My fleece was completely insufficient so I spent most of the ride out huddled in a ball to conserve my waning body heat.

That all changed when we reached the valley, however. I spent the rest of the flight with my Sony NEX and Canon 50mm/f1.8 trained out the window.

I'm still trying to learn how to manually focus using "peaking" in the electronic viewfinder but these show it's possible.

Circling over Half Dome

Yosemite Falls

Looking east to the Sierras on the return trip

After too few circles over the valley, we turned back north and headed to the airport at Columbia for food and fuel.

Flying to a small town, walking off the runway and into a historic downtown area for breakfast is a real trip. It sure beats the airport Starbucks.

After a great diner breakfast and a walk through the ancient American ruins of Columbia, CA we walked back to the plane and flew home.

I have no idea how to read this map.

Pullin' a Gingrich

2012-02-05T20:59:00.000-08:00

Betsy has been at the Landcruiser hospital for almost 2 weeks now getting her leaky fuel injectors tested, rebuilt and re-installed.

What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Well, I decided to take a lesson from Newt Gingrich and rent a mistress.

Everyone, meet Josanna.

Josanna is a spunky little Rogue. She's a svelte, cheap date and best of all, she doesn't mind getting dirty on Maui's windy little backroads.

If Betsy manages to get her health in order I might take her on my next trip. Consider this a warning!

Hookipa Beach Lookout

2012-02-05T18:00:00.000-08:00

My last stop, at the Hookipa Beach Lookout just outside Pa'ia, Maui.

Unfortunately it's come time to step away from Maui's alure. I really want to come back and find a way to linger but for now I am bound to cover more ground.

Highway 31 & 37 from Hana

2012-02-05T15:10:00.000-08:00

This morning I got up early, made breakfast, packed my gear and checked out of Joe's Place. I pondered whether I had time to check out the red sand beach in town but decided instead to give myself plenty of time to get to and enjoy Waimoku falls.

With that I set out along Highway 31, in flagrant violation of the warnings I had seen touted on official tourism sites all the while embracing the advice I received from the hitch-hikers and the various indie travel sites.

This turned out to be a great decision. The dirt road is in good shape (when there is no flooding) and the twisty one-lane roadway is in good repair. If you're a good driver this should be no problem.

The drive was fantastic. Even more fascinating than the drive to Hana on the twisty Hana Highway, highways 31 and 37 provide a view of the varied landscapes of Maui, from the tropical forests to the dry mountains and clouds. The road follows the ocean for a great distance providing magnificent views of the pacific and the sea arches reaching out from the island.

Pipiwai Trail to Waimoku Falls on Maui

2012-02-05T13:31:00.000-08:00

Just a few miles outside of Hana you find the Kipahulu area of Haleakalā National Park. The feature I was mainly interested in was the hike on the Pipiwai trail to Waimoku Falls.

The hike starts near the ranger station at the Kipahulu entraance to the national park.

Along the way to the falls, you pass through bamboo forest, guava forest and banyan trees.

Unfortunately for me, I reached the incredibly tall waterfalls just minutes before the skies opened up.

Once again, the sky & weather were conspiring against me. Still, while not stunningly photogenic, it was a beautiful and worthwhile experience.

I was soaked by the time I got back to my car. Wet and cold but not the least bit disappointed, although it did leave me wishing I'd slowed down and spent more time seeing the some of the other falls in the area.

Waiʻanapanapa near Hana, Maui

2012-02-04T17:08:00.000-08:00

After recuperating in the car at Haleakala, I set off on the Hana Highway. I drove about 50 miles through beautiful, lush tropical scenery as the road twisted and turned at an unfathomable rate. Seriously, I love twisty roads but I've never driven one so compact as this.

There were pull-offs along the way, many filled with parked cars full of tourists on various hikes, but I mainly chose to keep going. I had my own food so I didn't stop at the roadside stands. This trip was all about covering as much as I could in my short stay on Maui.

I have to face the fact that this style of travel is not what I'm after. I'm a slow traveler at heart and the pace I've been maintaining over the last few months is unsustainable. Still, I only have a weekend here so what can I do?

In this case I kept my eyes on the target(s) - Wai'anapanapa State Park, Kaihalulu (red sands) beach and the Kīpahulu area of Haleakalā National Park.

On the way into Hana I picked up a couple hitch-hiking who suggested I definitely check out the red sands and the vista from the cross high above town.

These were all great options but in the interest of time, I only managed to get through the black sands at the state park, the trail to Waimoku falls in the national park and the landscapes off Highway 31 leaving Hana.

I took these shots with the Lumix to test some compositions and exposures before shooting on film at Wai'anapanapa State Park.

Haleakalā at Sunrise

2012-02-04T07:05:00.000-08:00

This morning I set my alarm for 4AM, slept until 5 and was on the road 15 minutes later. Last night I prepped my gear and food and was ready to simply get up and roll. I arrived at the observation deck an hour later and climbed up the trail to the top of the cinder cone while it was still dark.

At the top I found that I was alone except for a couple of Hawaiian guys with an ukelele. I'm glad they were there as they had good aloha and provided a nice soundtrack.

Unfortunately, the sky did not cooperate. Once the moon went down it would have been a great place for stargazing or perhaps photographing star trails but I came up looking for a sunrise.

It was a beautiful sight regardless. I passed my time photographing some digital shots (and a few on film as well but I don't expect much), listening to the ukelele and pondering the majesty of it all.

In short order a couple dozen people made their way up and turned the quiet spot into a chattering hall of complainers. Why you'd get up so early and hike on a 10,000 foot volcano just to complain about it loudly will never make sense to me.

By that time the sun was up so I moved over the summit to gaze some more.

Afterwards I took a nap in my car before I driving to Hana.

Why I Wrote "Why I'll Never Return Anywhere"

2012-02-04T00:25:00.000-08:00

Nomadic Matt recently published a self-described Op-Ed in the Huffington Post travel section titled "Why I'll Never Return to Vietnam". In it, he describes a litany of negative experiences he had while backpacking on a tight budget and concludes that he'll never return (but then goes on to list all the circumstances under which he would).

As you can infer from the title, the post is quite inflammatory and has generated a fair bit of controversy as well as my own satire. Unfortunately, the controversy is mostly misguided, often focusing on Matt's credibility and questioning whether or not he ever went to Vietnam at all.

The real story here is about the quality of writing that we expect from professional bloggers and just how much the standards of journalism should apply. Had Matt posted this to a personal blog and left it that, it would have disappeared into the ocean of mindless rants that comprise most of the blogosphere. If anyone had noticed they would have simply dismissed it.

Matt, however, chose to publish this to his readers and then to resurrect this article from his archives and publish it to the Huffington Post, years after the trip took place. Considering it's low quality, it's hard to understand what would motivate him to do so other than to generate controversy and traffic for his travel business.

The article's quality issues start in the first paragraph when Matt says he'll "Never, ever, ever" go back to Vietnam but in the next sentence gives two scenarios under which he would go back.

He then continues with a sensible thesis, "No one ever wants to return to a place where they felt treated poorly" but fails to back up this idea with the rest of his ranting. He proceeds to list his negative experiences but any experienced traveler would recognize these as par for the course in many parts of the world. It sounds whiny. A shopkeeper tugged on his shirt?

Unfortunately, it gets worse as Matt starts to use misconceptions to bolster his indignation. He describes a shopkeeper who rips off his friend by giving a piece of candy instead of the correct change. He fails to understand that in Vietnam, where inflation & devaluation have ravaged the currency, it is common to use candy or gum rather than hundreds of Vietnamese Dong valued at pennies.

He then makes the specious argument that "the Vietnamese are taught that all their problems are caused by the West, especially the French and Americans, and that the West 'owes' Vietnam" based on an anecode from an unnamed schoolteacher.

Matt concludes the article by saying that he actually loves to struggle and face hardship while traveling. By that logic his trip to Vietnam should have been the highlight of his travels.

Oddly enough, the article is followed by an Author's Note that basically tells the reader to ignore everything he's said and go have a good time. What Matt doesn't seem to realize is that when an established budget travel expert announces to the world that a place is so bad that even he can't have a good time there, he's strongly implying that you can't either.

Matt missed an opportunity to shed some light on the problems and challenges facing budget travelers in Vietnam. He missed the opportunity to examine his mistakes and learn from them while publishing the story for the world to benefit.

All he managed to do is damage his credibility as a travel writer in exchange for some traffic to his blog.

Haleakalā at Sunset

2012-02-03T19:00:00.000-08:00

A short climb from the observation deck.

Today I left Honolulu on an early flight to Maui. One of my goals is to photograph the summit of Haleakalā, the dormant volcano that comprises most of the island.

At 10,000 feet, the summit reaches above the clouds yielding an astounding display of color and light on the landscape when conditions are right.

Unfortunately for me, conditions weren't quite right for the sort of stunning landscape I was after, but it was still a beautiful and worthwhile experience.

On arrival, I headed to Pāʻia and checked in to the Rainbow Surf Hostel. I took a private room as I planned to get up at 4AM the next morning and wanted to spare my bunkmates from my alarm.

I don't plan on spending much time at my home base so I had no issues with roughing it a bit in a hostel. I grabbed a nap, picked up some groceries from the Mana food market down the street, and headed out to the national park.

Since I was traveling alone, not equipped to spend the night in the backcountry and not excited by the prospect of hiking back on unknown trails in the dark, I chose to limit my forays to the cinder cone near the observation deck and trails further up the road at the summit.

I arrived around 5PM and stayed until after 7. I was hoping for some magic lighting but the clear, empty blue sky didn't really present much color, even as the sun went down.

These images were taken from the summit, just after the sun dipped below the horizon.

The colors were brilliant, but without a second layer of clouds in the sky to capture and diffuse the sun's rays, the effect was limited.

Not to worry, however. I plan to be back here tomorrow morning to see what sunrise has to offer.

A scene from Tatooine?

Observatory in Silhouette

In the end, I did shoot some Provia 100 in my Canon A1 but I don't have high expectations. The images here are the test shots taken with a Panasonic Lumix LX3.

Why I'll Never Return To Anywhere

2012-01-30T17:16:00.000-08:00

I was just reading an interesting post by veteran traveler Nomadic Matt about the horrors of budget travel in Vietnam. It was written over a year ago about a trip that happened several years prior but is up on Huffington Post today. In it, he talks about how he paid too much for souvenirs, paid too much for a taxi, didn't get his change for bread one time and a woman even had the gall to tug on his sleeve when he moved to leave her t-shirt shop without buying anything.

As anyone who has traveled in Southeast Asia knows, cheap western budget travelers deserve to be treated better. He really got me thinking about all the places I will never go back to around the world.

Mexico

In Mexico in 1998 I was constantly hounded by vendors. Simply setting foot in a tourist site resulted in unscrupulous vendors trying to charge me up to $5 for stone carvings. I suspected the locals paid more like $2 but I couldn't get them to budge. Outrageous!

Despite my miserable first experience, I had the nerve to go back again a few years later. This time I bought a hammock in Merida. After a miserable two minutes spent haggling, we agreed on a price, and I thought I'd finally gotten my dew. Imagine my shock and outrage when I found out he'd swapped my chosen hammock for a smaller one.

On a beach outside Tulum, I found another vendor who offered to swap my little hammock for a normal one plus some cash. I took him up on the offer but resented paying the cash. Mexico owed me at that point and I really didn't see why I should have to pay twice for my large, comfy, hand-made hammock.

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson at this point but I returned once more in 2003. This time I stopped in Puerto Peñasco to stay the night before moving on to Bahía Kino. My room was supposed to have a television, a privilege that cost $5. Imagine my shock when the TV didn't work.

Mexico, you've ripped me off for the last time. You are on my banned list until you make it easier and cheaper for me to travel there.

Thailand

While visiting the beautiful and somewhat remote western coast of Koh Phangan, I decided to rent a motorbike to get around for a few days. The cost? A staggering $6 per day in local currency. That's not the worst of it. When I went to return the bike, with one additional scratch on it, they had the nerve to charge me $50 for the repair before they'd return my passport. I knew they weren't going to actually fix the bike. It made me so mad.

That's it Thailand, NEVER AGAIN!

Ecuador

Twice I've been to Ecuador and both times I've been victimized by all manner of taxi drivers who tried to charge me $5 for a $2.50 taxi ride. Do you think I'd forget?

On the second trip, in a vain effort to salvage the experience, I decided to go to the Galápagos. I looked into the options and found so many horror stories about people booking a small ship cruise through the islands. Often people would find out the boats were swapped, the food wasn't that tasty, or the guide didn't speak good enough English. What a rip-off!

I was forced to fly to the islands (for less than $200) and travel independently to try and avoid the possibility of paying too much for something. I may have seen some of the most amazing wildlife I could have imagined but it was all sullied by the fear I would be ripped off again.

So Ecuador, until you clean up your image, or an attractive female talks me into it, I'll never be back.

The United States of America

On a recent trip to Alaska, I found myself in a bar one morning trying to overcome the hangover I'd initiated the night before. When it came time to leave, I put down $5 for my $1.50 coffee. The bartender took the bill and didn't bring me any change.

Can you imagine the impudence? Like I really wanted to leave a $3.50 tip!?! I was so stunned that I couldn't say anything, but nevertheless, I've resolved never to travel in my patria again.

The Rest of the World

As I go about cataloguing my experiences, I'm suddenly struck by just how corrupt and awful people are around the world. This universal trait has really soured me on travel. From now on, I think I'll just stick to the all-inclusive resorts on the moon. At least there I won't have to stress about money.

For non-native English speakers, please understand that this post is satire and not meant to denigrate your nation.

Halema'Uma'U Crater in Kiluea Caldera

2012-01-29T16:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we capped off our day in the park at Kiluea. Without any active lava flows, this was our best chance to see something orange.

We arrived around 5PM to scout out the area. Unfortunately, the plume of SO2 has closed the crater rim road & trails to the west, limiting us to the southern side. The glow doesn't become visible until sunset.

My goal was to shoot some landscapes featuring the orange flow and plumes of vog coming from Halema'Uma'U Crater. This was a chance to try out my new-to-me hand-held spotmeter.

I don't have much hope for the night shots, however. I was shooting slides and the contrast in the scene was probably more than the film could handle.

In the meantime, you can get a sense of the eery glowing plumes of volcanic gas in the digital test shots below.

This morning, I came back at 5:30AM to shoot some more. I was hoping the sky would be clear of clouds behind the volcano and was rewarded with an amazing starfield over the gas plumes.

The Bus to Oahu North Shore Beaches

2012-01-27T13:29:00.000-08:00

Big Rocks at Waimea Bay

This little trip report is for the benefit of a friend who spends way too much time in Honolulu and not nearly enough time riding The Bus around his groovy little island. Feeling driven to escape the city, I decided to head to the North Shore to see the scene around the infamous Banzai Pipeline.

Riding The Bus was an adventure. The first driver took me aboard, drove one block, and told me to cross the street and catch the bus going in the other direction. 30 minutes later I was on another bus. This one went less than a block before he pulled over and told me to go walk up another block and catch the bus in front of the market. Here I talked to a couple who had no idea what I was saying but through pantomime & broken English I managed to find the 52 going north.

More Big Rocks at Waimea Bay

The third bus was the charm.

I hopped off near the Ehukai Beach Park. This was a pretty typical beach but with some giant waves. Unless you have a board or there is a banzai bikini surf competition going on, this spot is interesting for about 10 minutes.

My next stop was Pupukea. Only I didn't stop. I wish I had but was running short on time after that marathon bus adventure. I'd come back here though as they had some giant coves and what looked like tide pools worth exploring.

My last stop was Wameia Bay. I missed the easy convenient stop and ended up hopping off the bus on a big hill. No issue, however, as there is a steep footpath that leads down to the beach.

Sittin' on a Rock at the Bay

Waimea Bay is great. You can swim, get your head pounded gently by the surf, climb on rocks and it has a photogenic shoreline. This spot is a nice antidote to Honolulu. The Bus #52 will get you here.

All Tropical Mornings Sound the Same

2012-01-25T18:13:00.000-08:00

Birds screeching. A truck's backup alarm beeping. Curtains scattering and flapping in the breeze. Motorbikes buzzing. Dogs barking. Children giggling and moms scolding. This is good morning, Honolulu.

As I woke, it felt like my first morning in the Dominican Republic. There it was a little louder - the birds were more constant, the buses didn't have mufflers and the motorbikes roared down the street in huge crowds.

This morning, though, it struck me that everywhere I've been in the tropics has a similar soundtrack. The level of chaos in that soundtrack might vary but the underlying rhythm of human activity feels much the same.

Provided that one doesn't insulate themselves behind air conditioning and thick hotel walls, it's easy to tap into.

Abandonded Hot Springs

2012-01-10T22:36:00.000-08:00

The last few days have been long hard slogs through West Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. I get up, drink some coffee and drive ... and drive ... and drive some more.

The upside is that it's completely reasonable to cover this much ground in a short amount of time. This is a luxury I won't have once I cross the border and head south.

Still, I'd like to have a no-travel day. I think I'd settle for an easy travel day.

Last night I put together some route ideas and this morning I checked with my brother, who'd hitch-hiked through this area years ago. He highly recommended checking out the scene at the Verde Hot Springs.

View Larger Map

There are a million trail descriptions online describing how to get there, so I'll just add one note. Fossil Creek Road, coming from Strawberry, is closed from November to April. I don't know what that road is like the rest of the year but in my case I had to head up 260 towards Camp Verde to pick up Fossil Creek Road from the other side.

I found a few people camping near the power plant. They were all friendly and interesting characters. The springs, however, were deserted. I made the short hike easily enough, using the palm trees as my landmark. Wading the Verde river wasn't difficult but it was damn cold.

The hot spring was worth the numbness. Apparently this place used to be a fancy resort but after calamity scattered the rich folks, the remnants are free to anyone willing to hoof it back there. All that remains are the concrete channels and pools used to collect the geothermal heated spring water.

Nighttime at the Verde River

After letting the days stresses drift away, I reversed course and made my way back to the power plant.

Around 10PM the full moon crested the mountains. I shot a few frames to test exposure options. I'm looking forward to some moonlit photography in Death Valley tomorrow.

2012-01-08T18:12:00.001-08:00

Camping at Bottomless Lake, keeping an eye out for UFOs. Just wind and dirt and stars so far.

Huh, Austin Really Is Weird

2012-01-06T13:41:00.000-08:00

Austin is a great town. People are friendly as hell, goofy and creative around here. The weather's great (in the winter), the food's damn tasty, and the beer is pretty good too.

Today I figured I'd see see just what makes Austin weird - and I found it at Vince's Cathedral of Junk.

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2012-01-01T20:43:00.001-08:00

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Heading South, and West

2011-12-30T20:12:00.000-08:00

I'm about to start the next leg of the trip. The map below is a rough route but it gives an idea of where I'll be heading over the next few weeks. 4300 miles.

The ability to cover that much ground in a short time is a luxury I won't enjoy much after I cross the border.

View Larger Map

Many Thanks

2011-12-21T20:32:00.000-08:00

As I'm packing my gear and making my final preparations, I find myself surrounded by artifacts of the generosity of family and friends. To that end, my acknowledgments and thanks:

Robin & Ali for storing some of my stuff
Roger for storing some of my other stuff
My parents for storing the rest of my stuff
My brother for all the workouts
Todd, for helping me build cargo box / sleeping platform.
Chris, for helping me build the jerry can & hi-lift jack mounts on my rear bumper
Amanda for helping me make curtains
Rob for helping me reassemble the truck before the Alaska drive
Jan, for all the time spent answering questions about the truck

I couldn't do it without your help. Many thanks.

Extending Fuel Range

2011-12-03T18:10:00.000-08:00

Using an angle grinder to blow up a kerosene can

My rear bumper has a cage for holding a jerry can and some tools. With a 5 gallon can, I can eek out almost 400 miles between fill-ups. I'd like to have greater range but extended capacity fuel tanks are either really expensive or require a lot of customization.

I decided to modify the bumper some more to hold additional cans. Not ideal but a heck of a lot cheaper & easier.

My goal is to have the spare tire, 2 fuel cans, 2 water cans, and the hi-lift jack ... assuming the hinge on the bumper can handle it.

Progress

2011-11-23T17:18:00.000-08:00

Superficially, this may appear to be anti-progress but I swear - things are coming along.

Civil Unrest

2011-10-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

The unveiling of a gleaming new federal courthouse was the impetus for a street demonstration.

Exodus

2011-09-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

Exodus went slowly due to issues on the highway. Still, many people left just after the temple burn, leaving the city quite empty by morning.

The Burns

2011-09-04T23:32:00.000-07:00

I witnessed four major burns. Each was a unique experience with it's own character. I don't have many photographs as I rarely brought out my camera.

On Thursday night, they burned the 23 regional effigies arranged in a gigantic circle around the playa. As the flames lit up the playa, small groups danced and celebrated.

The Trojan Horse was more theatrical. An army of of soldiers and slaves pulled the enormous horse out on a platform to be burned. The fire was immense and it was fascinating to see such an incredible structure burn.

When the Man burned it led to the largest party I have ever seen. It was beyond all preconception. How do you understand a place where you might see a 30' yacht with a giant party on deck roll by on your left while an elephant call emanates from a giant mastadon skeleton passing you on the right.

Meanwhile there are tens of thousands of bicycles all zooming around, festooned with flashing lights. Mutant vehicles have unloaded enormous speakers blaring everything from metal to dubstep. The mood of the crowd is surreal and exuberant.

On Sunday the temple burned. The temple was a multi-room, multi-story building inscribed with messages from burners. When it burned, the tone was somber, with many seated and holding each others hands.

Things I'd Do Differently

2011-09-04T18:50:00.000-07:00

The week was a blur of dust and wind and lights and art and wildly dressed people zooming about on bikes and other things.

I had a fantastic time but there are a few things I'd try to do differently.

Get more sleep. Acclimatization is a bitch. Between the change in climate, the time zone changes, driving all night and the dust I spent several days barely able to move.
Cold weather gear. I forgot my thermal underwear & balaclava. That made it hard to stay out late at night when the playa really came alive.
Splurge on aluminet. I used plastic tarp & aluminet and the tarp was annoyingly inferior. Avoid the flapping tarp noise & wind lift - build with aluminet.
More solar power. I used a 30 watt solar panel connected to my auxiliary battery. I rarely used the car stereo. By cleaning the panel often and pointing it at the sun I was able to power the fridge for 1 full week. If I had 45 or 60 watts I could have made the entire event.
Use a real dust mask. I had a lot of issues with dusk, even wrapped in a shemag. Perhaps a painter's dust mask would have been better.
A spray bottle (or squirt gun) with water and peppermint or eucalyptus oil is refreshing and gives the illusion of cleanliness.

Orphan Camping

2011-08-31T00:27:00.000-07:00

Some people camp at Burning Man in large organized official and unofficial theme camps. They range in organization, amenities and responsibilities.

In any event, that didn't jive with my DIY nature so I elected to set off on my own. The volunteers along the road all agreed that it was best to jump in feet-first.

Orphans aren't alone for long. Impromptu parties and get-togethers erupt around the campsite all the time. Almost all my neighbors were friendly.

There was one guy who seemed pretty grumpy but he only stayed for one night. The desert is self-correcting.

My camp consisted of a shade structure constructed of PVC pipe, aluminet, solar LED lights, a tarp and a Landcruiser.

It served me quite well considering the conditions. I was comfortably shaded, I had enough solar power to run my fridge for almost a full week and I could spot it from a distance due to the solar powered flag-pole.

Burning Man 2011 - Rites of Passage

2011-08-29T23:33:00.000-07:00

I've had a vague notion that I wanted to go to Burning Man for a long time. Work kept me from going for the last few years but that was definitely not an issue this year.

I was still on the fence so I reached out to a friend and experienced burner. He told me I should definitely go. He described it as a "seething cauldron of creativity." I was hooked at that point.

Other than reading the survival guide and subscribing to The Jack Rabbit Speaks I had little idea what to expect until I saw some of the incredible video productions people have made. I was informed from a survival standpoint but the videos give a much better idea of what it's like.

Still, this is just a technicolor shadow of what it's like to spend a week in Black Rock City.

Uninhibited creativity taken to incredible extremes. Sensory overload under harsh desert conditions. Self-governed crazy stunts involving fire-breathing art cars and kerosene-flinging dancers often involving nudity are performed under the bemused watch of a bevy of state & federal law-enforcement agencies.

People take care of one another but everyone is expected to be self-sufficient. They have principles. It all ranges from strangely natural to quite overwhelming.

The first time I stepped out onto the playa I saw this giant rolling fire-breathing neon praying mantis.

Denali

2011-08-08T17:07:00.000-07:00

Denali Rain

2011-08-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up to a hard dreary rain. Like a moose pissin' on a flat rock.

I had three goals for today:

Get a bus ticket to get to the end of the park road
Get to camp
Shoot some landscapes

A few hours into the pouring rain, I decided to cancel my walk-in campsite at Igloo. I could have kept myself dry but keeping the cameras dry would have been more work.

Instead, I got a drive-in site at Riley Creek. This way all I have to do is pack for day trips into the park.

I spent the rest of the morning at the general store at the park entrance waiting for the rain to ease up. I bought a bus ticket for 6AM the next morning (the only way to travel past Savage Rock is on foot or by bus). I met a few interesting folks and got some good recommendations on roads and routes for southern Alaska.

So Many Rainbows
Panasonic Lumix LX3 (point & shoot)

I also ran into some people who were driving fully outfitted Toyota FJ Cruisers. Their roadtrip was being sponsored and their vehicles were covered in logos. They gave me a catalog, which I later used for fire-starter. One of them was complaining non-stop about the trip.

I'd much rather drive a beat-up old truck and enjoy myself.

Which is exactly what I did with the rest of the day.

Landcruiesr on Denali Park Road
Canon F1, 24mm, 1/125s@f8, yellow filter on Legacy Pro 100.


View from Denali Park Road Canon F1, 24mm, CPL + red Cokin, 1/30s@f11 on Legacy Pro 100

Alaskan Range from Denali Park Road
Canon A1, 50mm/f1.8, Skylight filter on Provia 100. f6.7 @ 1/125th

Hitchhiking, Stolen Bikes and Denali National Park

2011-08-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

After 2 nights in the Fairbanks area, I was ready to move on. My cameras were neglected and I really wanted to immerse myself back into nature.

Just outside of town, I picked up a couple of hitch-hikers. I am generally sympathetic to people who need a ride. These two were polite enough but in hindsight I'm pretty sure I helped them transport some hot bikes.

Bike thieves really cheese me off.

Savage Rock
Olympus Stylus Epic on Fuji Acros 100 film

I dropped them off just outside Denali National Park. My plan was to spend the next couple of nights exploring the park. I didn't have a backcountry permit and I wasn't really well-equipped to pursue one so I planned to explore from the park road. This isn't as bad as it seems in Denali as there are no trails. You either follow the road or bushwhack.

At the visitor center, I sorted out a couple of nights at a walk-in campsite deeper into the park. Since I don't plan ahead and the park was full, I had to find a another place for the night.

Before heading out of the park, I decided to explore a bit by car and scout out some photo locations. The road is closed to private vehicles at Savage Rock, so that's as far as I went today.

I ended up at the drive-in Denali Grizzly Bear Campground just south of the park. This place sucks - expensive, for-pay wifi, the stankiest pit latrines I've used on this trip and weak natural surroundings considering our location.

Meh.

Chena Hot Springs

2011-08-06T13:16:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for hot springs so this morning I decided to follow this road a bit and check out it's namesake. On the radio they announced the first frost advisory of the season. Not too much time left before winter.

30 miles down the road I found the Chena Hot Springs Resort. Along the way were numerous places to camp – official and unofficial. Given a do-over, I'd blow off Fairbanks and make camp just outside the resort. There is plenty of nature to explore and the springs would be a nice place to relax after a long day.

The resort was a bit to manicured for my taste but not terribly bad. I had to listen to some rednecks talk about the sweat formed under your ass when you use a heated toilet seat and a germany couple with a screaming kid. Once I managed to avoid people, it was the most relaxing thing ever.

Twice now a geothermal hot spring has saved my mood.

Fairbanks, A Bust

2011-08-05T23:00:00.000-07:00

Audio Cassettes Instead of Floppy Disks

Yesterday I lazed about the Tok River, reading a classic account of computer espionage from the 80's. I was using a Commodore 128d back then. I had Commodore BASIC and CP/M and a 2400 baud modem and software on 5 1/4” floppy discs and audio cassettes. I wanted a Unix machine but I was just a kid with no means. I almost got my hands on one once. I sometimes wonder how much more electronic mischief I'd have gotten into if I'd been born just a few years earlier and had some more powerful equipment.

Eventually I did hit the road. Given the desolation of the past few weeks, I figured some social interaction was in order, so I headed for Fairbanks.

I went for the university district and settled in at the Marlin, a dive bar full of rugby players, college kids and various sundry jazz afficionados listening to the live band.

I needed advice on a place to spend the night. Most people I talked to didn't really know much about camping in the area but I received unanimous vague recommendations for something down Chena Hot Springs Road as well as an offer to put my tent up in the fairgrounds parking area with the carnies. A mildly interesting night but overall I'd call it a bust.

Still, I took their advice and drove down Chena Hot Springs road and stopped at the first spot I found – a state park at mile 27. It was dark out so I pretty much pulled in, paid my fee and went to sleep.

This morning I went back into Fairbanks and had breakfast at the Sourdough Cafe, near the university. It seemed like everything came with reindeer sausage. I had mine with eggs and hash browns. It was nice to eat something that didn't come from the bear can.

I traded a book at the university book store and then sought out the free wifi at the park on the river. There I found a reply to my first attempt at Couchsurfing. A host made a vague offer stay at their place. They had a dedicated spot for surfers. He left no contact info, so I messaged him through the site … and never received a response. Another bust.

Since I wasted too much time bumming around Fairbanks and trying to contact the Couchsurfing host, I headed back to the only thing I knew for the night – the state park at mile 27.

Tok, Alaska

2011-08-03T23:23:00.000-07:00

Heading out of Haines Junction, I encountered some of the best mountain driving of the trip. This stretch of YT-1 would make a great Miata road.

For lunch, I stopped for a crepe & coffee at Pine Valley Bakery & Lodge. These folks cooked up a tasty savory crepe along with some good coffee. This was a nice change of pace from food out of the bear can.

At 18:00 I reached the Alaska border. Crossing into Alaska was a much simpler affair than entering Canada. The border guy seemed surprised that someone would drive all the way up there just to see Alaska but he let me in without hassles.

So, I've made it to Alaska. Only it feels like I'm just getting started. My nebulously defined Alaskan destinations are still a fair distance from here.

Just across the border I came across several cabins on the side of the road. As black SUVs whizzed back and forth, looking for illegal Canadian immigrants no doubt, I shot several frames in the evening light.

Cabin Near the Canada/Alaska Border
Canon F1, 50mm on Efke 50 film

The featureless white sky in this photograph is caused by the film. It tends to render blue skies white and without much contrast. Usually I use a yellow filter for the sky but I didn't want to deepen the shadows on the vegetation.

First Alaskan Sunset
Panasonic Lumix LX3

Just short of Tok, AK I made camp at the Tok River state campground. There are only a few others camped in the park, so it's quiet along the river.

I wandered through the park reading the interpretive explanation of permafrost heaves (who me, bored?), enjoyed some long-absent cellphone reception, and cooked another delicious meal of beef jerky & instant rice.

Sheep Mountain Across Kluane Lake

2011-08-03T20:33:00.000-07:00

Sheep Mountain Across Kluane Lake.

Canon A1, 24mm/f2.8, Skylight filter on Provia 100. f11 @ 1/125th

Sheep Mountain Across Kluane Lake.

Canon F1, Canon 24mm, 1/60s@f8, yellow filter on Efke 50 film.

From the south side of Destruction Bay (north of Haines Junction, YT) there are some awesome vistas. When the water is still I imagine the reflections are amazing.

Yukon Again

2011-08-02T21:30:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up refreshed and happy to be so close to the wilderness. I worked the handmill & aeropress to produce a mug full of most excellent coffee. I'm not sure if it is the time spent grinding or the coffee itself but this ritual leaves me very alert. I used to be turned off by the idea of bringing “coffee culture” to camp but this tastes good. I'm making up for years of cowboy coffee.

I took a seat at the side of the lake to watch life roll by. After a few minutes the only other camper on the lake came by and lent me his binoculars so I could see the two moose grazing in the brush. It was a pleasure to watch though they were too far away for photographs.

He also told me about the warm springs found further up the road before he wandered off to drop his kayak in the water. The water looked cold but this being Warm Bay it's more manageable than it might seem. Swells can reach 4' on a windy day, however. It looked like fun.

I was torn at this point between staying in Atlin for a day of exploration and getting back on the road. I decided to move on, but first I had to check out the warm spring.

Accurately named, the warm spring was really a small spring-fed pond, warm but not hot, in an open field just off the dirt road. Sitting on the gravel bed of the shallow pond, I felt the bubbles of sulfurous gases drifting up and running along my skin. The cool air was refreshing in it's own way, once I'd worked up the nerve to get out of the water.

Back at the truck, I headed north to get back on the Alcan. I took the long way, however, passing through Tagish, Carcross and Whitehorse. I made brief stops only for coffee and fuel. This would be an area worth slowing down and exploring some day.

If ya gotta stay in an RV park, it might as well have a view.

I was hoping to camp somewhere near Destruction Bay but after lingering in the warm spring this morning I didn't make it too Haines Junction until almost 21:00.

I was seduced by the siren's call of free wi-fi at the Kluane Kampground. Got a pretty secluded spot away from all the RVs so it wasn't bad at all.

Happy BC Day from Atlin

2011-08-01T16:02:00.000-07:00

Photo break

I'd been contemplating a side-trip to Atlin, BC after reading about it online. I asked about it at one of yesterday's stops and got an enthusiastic recommendation.

"They've got buildings out there older than you and me put together."

Getting there was a 100km detour off the Alcan. The road was paved in places but torn up for construction in others. It was relatively slow going overall.

Just east of town I found a potential camp-site at Spruce (Pine?) Falls. There was room to hide the truck from the road, a fire ring and the sound of waterfalls. Promising, but I really wanted to be on the lake.

Canon F1, Canon 24mm/f2.8, yellow Cokin + graduated neutral density filter on Efke 50. f4.5 @ 1/60th

Canon A1, Vivitar 28-80mm on Velvia 100. 1/8s @ f11

I grabbed a bite to eat from a road-side stand and asked the woman running the grill about camping. She recommended I drive down Warm Bay Road. "It's got all the amenities. You know, a shithouse."

Sold.

Fee-Free Camping on Atlin Lake

Junction 37

2011-07-31T22:57:00.000-07:00

The Saloon hasn't been open in a while

Around 9PM I rolled in to Junction 37. This is where the Cassiar Highway joins the Alaska Canada Highway.

Since it was so late, it wasn't hard to convince myself to pay a few bucks to the woman at the gas station in order to camp at the RV park.

I ate at the diner next door. I was the only patron, which I'm starting to grow accustomed to. The folks running the joint were friendly and the chow was good.

These motel rooms & the laundromat were all closed as well.

Portal to the wastelands

As for wildlife, things are really picking up. Today I saw two black bears, two moose and innumerable bison.

Hot Springs and Waterfalls

2011-07-31T17:30:00.000-07:00

Double Cloud Layers north of Muncho Lake
Canon F1, 50mm/f1.8, yellow Cokin, 1/125s@f8 on Efke 50 film

Two things I wish I'd known before stopping at Muncho Lake:

Of the 3 fuel stations around the lake, one was closed-down, one was out of Diesel and the Northern Rockies Lodge was almost 40% more expensive than any other fuel I bought in Canada.
The two provincial parks at either end of the lake fill up early. A tent campsite at the Northern Rockies Lodge was expensive and not very good. Better to just move down the road in that situation.

In any event, today I hit the road with a few stops but no particular destination in mind. Just down the road I pulled into Liard Hot Springs provincial park. There was a small entrance fee but it was well worth it. Camping is available but I only stayed for a few hours.

The springs are natural with minimal man-made interference. Despite the weekend, there were relatively few people in the water. I spent a couple hours in the hot and cool currents with gravel around my toes. The gnarled tree roots, rising steam and oddly warm & humid forest made the place seem a bit like Dagobah. I left the water feeling calm and serene.

Next stop was at Smith Falls. This would be a good place for free camping. Next time. The falls are visible from the road but not very photogenic. I decided not to hump the big tripod down the trail.

At Coal Creek I stopped for coffee and pie. It was made from some sort of local berry whose name I can't recall. The dude running the joint was very chill. He had an old hippie vibe.

My next stop was at Contact Creek to fuel up. Here I paid $0.50 less per liter than I had at Northern Rockies Lodge and it was full-serve. Nice folks too.

Muncho Lake

2011-07-30T00:21:00.000-07:00

I got up early today, intent on spending some time behind the camera. Still, I made time to stop at the Tetsa River Outfitters for coffee and breakfast (they bake their own rolls and pastries - damn tasty).

Moose near Muncho Lake
Canon F1, 50mm, red Cokin, 1/125s@f5.6 on Efke 50 film

My plan was to stay the night at Muncho Lake and take advantage of morning & evening light to try and capture the reflections on the lake.

Stone Sheep North of Muncho Lake
Panasonic LX3

I did make it out to the lake but unfortunately the weather didn't cooperate for photography.

The mirror-like reflections and green hues that make the lake famous were blotted out by drizzle.

Despite the setbacks, I did get a few shots on the way in and around the lake.

Reflections on Pond
Canon F1, 50mm, 1/500@f5.6, GND on Efke 50 film

Muncho Lake
Canon A1, 24mm/f2.8, CPL on Velvia 100. f5.6 @ 1/125th

While I was out shooting, somebody snagged my lightweight travel tripod. It was a cheap piece of junk but without it I'm limited to hand-holding the camera or using the big studio tripod. That one is too big to carry very far.

To the jerks that took my gear - have fun trying to use that tripod without the quick-release plate.

Inga Lake to Tetsa River

2011-07-29T23:35:00.000-07:00

Inga Lake

Yesterday was another long travel day. It feels like I've covered a lot of ground but I haven't even reached the start of the Alaska Highway.

At some point in my trip "planning" I picked up a copy of the Alaska Milepost. So far I've found the guide to be nearly worthless.

Yesterday, for example, it didn't have any useful information for this area. Once again, I found what I needed simply by keeping my eyes open and exploring a bit.

The Inga Lake Provincial Park was one such find. No fees, a nice lake and a measure of solitude. Not bad at all.

Today I realized that I haven't shot any film yet. Perhaps this is what left me susceptible to the Milepost's travel advice. I spent a fair bit of time driving off down BC77 looking for the waterfalls described in that tome. I never did find them but I did get to drive on this cool old bridge and I saw my first black bear of the trip.

Wooden Bridge on BC77

For tonight's camping, I'm staying at the Tetsa River Provincial Park. One thing I've noticed about Canadian parks - the loo always has toilet paper and an air freshener. Now that's civilized.

Not Even Muddy Yet

2011-07-29T00:20:00.000-07:00

Taking a break just outside Fort Nelson.


Not Even Muddy Yet Olympus Stylus Epic with Fuji Acros 100 film

BC is a Tall Province

2011-07-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

Taking a break on BC97
Panasonic Lumix LX3

I'm back on the road, a few dollars shorter, but my charging issues should be solved.

I've been trying to make up some time and cover some ground but I'm learning first-hand that BC is a long, tall province.

Tonight I'm camping at a small private campground near Salmon Valley. This will have to do since I stayed on the road too late to hunt around.

More Charging Woes

2011-07-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

The auxiliary battery died over the weekend and wouldn't take a charge. I back-tracked to Port Coquitlam to give the folks at EBI another crack at it. This also gave me time to have the u-joints serviced as I can feel some slop in the driveshaft.

Something in here isn't working quite right.

Camping Amongst Yahoos

2011-07-23T22:14:00.000-07:00

Camping on Harrison Lake
Panisonic LX3

On Friday I took the Landcruiser to EBI in British Columbia to check out the charging system. Once squared away, I needed a place to stay that wasn't too far. That spot turned out to be Harrison Lake.

The first night I stayed on the west side, heading up from Morris Valley Road. There were a lot of primitive pull-offs and a few provincial park sites but everything was occupied until around KM 33.

While not right at lakeside, this was a decent spot to make camp. The view was nice and there were tons of fresh berries growing all around the area.

The second night I moved over to the east side. Snow-mottled mountains, lapping waves, great sunsets ... it would have been perfect if not for all the yahoos camped along the lake.

Harrison Lake Shoreline
Panasonic LX3

Sunset Across Harrison Lake
Panasonic LX3

Unfortunately that meant a campsite littered with broken glass, toilet paper and beer cans. It also meant listening to their hollering and crappy music blasted across the lake.

I can't wait to get farther north and afield.

North to Canada

2011-07-22T08:44:00.000-07:00

I left Seattle yesterday afternoon, heading north for Canada. As I drove through Everett, I noticed that with the wipers, heater and headlights going my batteries were discharging. Not good. I never had this problem driving around sunny California.

I stopped at Sears where they charged the batteries but were too mystified by my custom 12v dual-battery setup to diagnose the issue further. This didn't bode well but I don't really believe in omens so I kept on trucking.

On my way out of town I stopped for a road-side espresso. The swill was dark and bitter, filling my mug from hell's cascade. I was expecting that. I did not expect to be served by a bikini-clad barista. The coffee was ok but I still, heartily approve of this trend. She confirmed that she does, indeed, make a lot more tips this way.

At the border crossing I was grilled thoroughly by the Canadian border authorities. Of all the places I've traveled, I find the Canadian borders to be the most unpleasant.

Today I'm having the truck looked by the folks at EBI.

Packed

2011-07-21T00:21:00.000-07:00

Off to Alaska

2011-07-17T01:57:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Redmond, WA. Yes, I am officially on the road.

The departure was a bit of a scramble. With the help of a fellow wanderer I managed to get the truck^* re-assembled. I only have one mystery part left to install and the USB hub, laptop +12v, rear video RCA and LED lighting are still a work-in-progress. I'll deal with that on the road.

My route is still largely undetermined but that's alright.

^{* Though the HJ60 is technically a wagon and not a truck, I'll use the terms interchangeably. I can't stomach the term "expedition rig" so if you catch me using it call me out.}

Round the World - or Maybe 'Round Alaska Instead

2011-06-22T13:52:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened since I started seriously thinking about leaving work to travel. It all culminates in one simple happy statement: I am now free from the shackles of employment and finally have the time & means to do some adventuring.

However, instead of circumventing the globe by bus, plane and boat I'm planning to travel out of my new mobile home - an aging Toyota Landcruiser. Right now I'm busy modding the vehicle and getting ready for the trip. Soon, I'll be setting off for ... Alaska?

Yosemite Falls Lunar Rainbow

2011-06-18T01:00:00.000-07:00

During the full moon each spring, the moon creates a lunar rainbow, or moonbow, over upper and lower Yosemite Falls.

While a moonbow can be created wherever the conditions are right, there are only a few places, like Upper & Lower Yosemite Falls, where a moonbow is predictable.

Predictability is key to photographing the moonbow since it is also difficult to see unaided. The eye isn't sensitive enough to discern the colors. This results in a dim monochrome rainbow against a moonlit backdrop.

All of the colors of the rainbow are represented, however, and can be captured using a long exposure to overcome the low light levels.

As the moon crosses the sky, the angle with which the moonlight strikes the mist from the falls changes. The moonbow is only visible for a short time each night when the moonlight hits the mist at the right angle. You can see the effect fade over the course of about an hour in the following progression of images.

These images were taken on June 18, 2011 with a Canon A1 using Velvia 100 slide film . The exposures were all taken around 4-6 minutes @ f4.

Yosemite Falls

2011-06-12T11:19:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning we got off to a late start since we'd stayed up so late photographing the falls by moonlight the night before. These shots were all taken from around the Sentinel meadows area using a Canon A1 and a variety of prime lenses. Metering was a combination of guess work and checking against the F1 as the A1's meter has gone thoroughly wonky.

Canon A1, 50mm/f1.8, Fuji Provia 400h, CPL.

Canon A1, 24mm/f1.8, Fuji Provia 400h, CPL.

Canon A1, 50mm/f1.8, Fuji Provia 400h, CPL.

I like the illusion of the clouds pouring over the waterfall even though I've seen dozens like it. This is the double-edged sword of photographing a place like Yosemite. It's a great fun to meander this park with a camera but unique images are rare indeed.

El Capitan by Moonlight

2011-06-12T00:15:00.000-07:00

Canon A1, 50mm/f1.8, Fuji Provia 400h. 30s @ f1.8.

Sunday night we decided to take some long exposures by moonlight. This shot of El Capitan was taken around midnight from the Tunnel View vista on the road to Wawona.

Despite heading out late we still had to contend with tour buses and headlights. Once the crowd thinned we had a spectacular view.