Just a frog on the Lilly Pad

Fall weather, good wine... there is no better way to spend a fall day. I got an opportunity to spend some time with my friends on their boat on the Potomac River. I hope you enjoy this story, and the pictures that go along with it. Dave ************************************************************************************* Friends Paul and Pam Bosch invited me to enjoy an afternoon on their boat. Although the November evenings had been cool, the daytime temperature was in the upper 60’s. They told me to bring a heavy jacket and a hat, because it would be cold on the water. I met them at in Stafford at Hope springs Marina. As we were boarding, someone stopped and asked them about the name of their boat. I hadn’t noticed but it was not painted on the back and apparently this is bad form in the world of boaters. Paul paused for a second as if he hadn’t considered the question before and then blurted out “The Lilly Pad.” It was an obvious description of his power boat with green top and green markings. Theirs is a beautiful 27 foot boat with a cabin down below. The cuddy has a full Galley; a Head; seating and sleeping for at least 4. A month had passed since they had taken the boat out and the spiders had taken nest. As we unzipped the windows of the bimini, spiders of all sizes were startled that we were moving into their comfortable spaces but with a flick and a foul word, they were gone. With the boat cranked up, Pam and Paul worked together to get the boat out of the slip and we slowly began moving out of the protection of Aquia Creek. At the helm Paul brought the boat up to speed, its big engine began to hum and the deep brown water of the Potomac sparkled as a bright, crisp cusp of shimmering wake in the sunshine. A smile on his face, gave hint that he was more than happy to be back on the water. We sped across the river to the cliffs of the opposite shore. With no protection from the wind, the water in the river was choppy but the big boat plowed unhindered through the waves. The sky was deep blue and sun beat down. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, but patches still held the bright colored reminders of how beautiful this fall had been. We anchored. Pam prepared a tray of cheese and crackers, while I opened a bottle of wine. Paul made jokes the implied that Wine and cheese were more appropriate for a sail boat instead of his fossil fuel burning water missile. We sat here for an hour or more in the breeze and sunlight watching the wildlife and talking about everything and nothing at all. As the sun began to set we decided to head back to the creek. In the creek the water was smooth and what was left of the sun reflected beautifully. The dark blues of twilight were pushing the sun back into the horizon. Slowly it disappeared making the color of the sky change from bright yellow then to orange and then to gone. This is when Paul allowed me to take the helm. I navigated the boat slowly through the creek. It was 40 feet from shore to shore with a deep channel in the middle of the winding waterway. With the sun gone, Paul’s knowledge of the area and the lights of the homes on shore allowed us to navigate. The stern of the boat yawed from left to right as I steered us deeper into darkness. The temperature had turned cold and it was time to trade the sunglasses and shirtsleeves for warm fleece and stocking cap. We traveled for a long while till we reached a spot that allowed us an opportunity to turn around. Paul maneuvered the boat and began back down the creek heading towards the marina. Without being behind the wheel, I was able to see that people were out. Some were fishing, and some on shore were allowing a bonfire to stave off the chill that was settling in. As we slowly motored home, I couldn’t help but feel smug. There was no better way to spend a fall day than with friends on the water. Like frogs on the Lilly Pad.

Fall Morning Hike

From October 09

This seems to happen to me every year... I forget how much I enjoy being in the woods. I get busy during the summer with vacation, yardwork and the like and literally forget to spend time "out". Its not like I dont know it.... the issue is more like I forget just how much I enjoy it. Anyhow, Fall of the year is an excellent time to go for a hike. The temperature is moderate, the bugs are almost non existent. Good company and a picnic lunch are a recipe for a great time. Enjoy this months post Dave PS - CLICK ON THE PICTURE ABOVE TO SEE 80 MORE.. ;-) The pace of life gets really fast during the end of the summer season. Chores around the house take precedence over having fun with friends and family. Sometimes you have to just break away, steal some time and head for the woods. That’s exactly what my girlfriend, Katherine and I did. Just 55 miles southwest of Fredericksburg in Criglersville is the White Oak Canyon trail. This is a 10mile (round trip) trail that sits beside the Rose River – the trail promised waterfalls and at least 5 miles of relaxing and vigorous exercise. We started off at the trail head. The first cold night of October left a chill in the air on the trail. This first part was an easy trek. Wide trail led to two “formal” bridges over the river which being fair was more like a swollen creek. As we crossed the second bridge we looked down to find that someone had stacked stones. In this practice, stones of various sizes are literally stacked. The edges of each river stone are meticulously placed, finding the matching surfaces that will allow the lower stone to act as a foundation for the next precariously balances stone. Adding new stones without interfering with the previous ones requires incredible focus. The practice has become a popular form of meditation and in some ways art. The sunshine shone through the colorful canopy of fall leaves, illuminating the path. With the river and its soothing sound running alongside, we strode up the trail. The incline was becoming more severe as we made more distance. We reached the “lower falls”. Although beautiful these falls were not quite ordinary. Instead of water pouring over a precipice and plunging to a distant pool below, this was a fast flow of water down what appeared to be a water slide. No joke, the falls gave the appearance that if you started at the top you could ride the water down the smooth sided crevices in the incredibly huge rock faces down to a deep pool at the end. It was obvious by the significant carved out path of the water that it had been at this job for hundreds of years. After spending a short appreciation time we continued and the trail took a turn upward. By this point, we were doing less talking and more deep breathing. The trail had changed from a wide open soft path to a more closed in, root laden path with many rocks that had erupted from the earth into the path. Each step was from root to stone and then over again. I was no longer able to allow my gaze to wander; instead my attention was required to navigate my way upward finding each blue blaze to ensure I was heading the right way. A stop to touch of the water told you this was no longer the cool flow that would refresh on a hot summer day; this was the cold water that had adapted the temperature of rocks which cool quickly with the fall equinox. We made our way to the “upper falls”. The vantage point was significantly different from the lower falls. We had a precipitous perch from which we could see the water flow below us. The same slide-like grooves had been cut into the stone. After a quick lunch we made our way back from the direction that we had come. Although another hiker had thrilled us with the tale of a bear sighting, the only other excitement was when Katherine fell in the ankle deep river doing what she called ‘stealthy walking’. I heard her fall and as I turned around to help, I saw she was in a state of perpetual falling. Each of her individual attempts to get up allowed another river stone to fall loose under her making it appear that she was wallowing in the river. We laughed as I helped her up and other than a bruised pride bone she is fine.

Arrrr Maties... Its Disc Golf

Not every adventure is as fun as you'd like it to be, but I like to find ways to have fun regardless. As sure as I say this, I have to tell you my friend Aaron LOVES disc golf. He is a huge guy who dwarfs over most everyone else. He was telling me that Disc Golf is one of those sports that his sized doesnt help him at all. Everyone is equal in Disc Golf. Anyhow - this trip was marked by not by the golfing but by the 'pirate like' antics during the golf. Read on... Dave ************************************************************************************* A good friend and former personal trainer of mine Aaron invited me out for a round of Disc Golf. Having never played before, I accepted. Aaron is a 6’5” 250 pound semi-pro basketball player. He was going to bring along another friend who like me had not played Disc Golf before. We had arranged to meet at Burke Lake Park. This was a very ‘family’ oriented park, In addition to an 18 hole Disc golf course, there was a carousel, mini golf, a train ride and a snack bar. This is just the part of the park that I saw, there is also a traditional golf course and as the name implies a lake. As I was sitting and waiting for Aaron to arrive, a parade of an Asian family started past with 6 children that were very excited to be at the park. I watched with a smile on my face their enthusiasm was more than contagious. Suddenly one of the children stops, points directly at me, and begins speaking to his brothers and sisters in his native tongue. I'm still smiling but clearly confused as his mother rushes to stop him and saying in broken English…. “I told you not to point.” Then looks to me and says “I'm sorry”. I smiled again, and explained that I understood her concern but the pointing really didn’t bother me…. I was however curious over what he had said while pointing and laughing... She smiled politely and kept walking with no answer. I guess I’ll never know. Aaron arrived shortly after. He had brought along very intense friend who was appropriately named Pierce. As they walked up they acknowledged me with grave toned greetings of ‘Ahoy‘and ‘Arrrr’ and then informed me that this was ‘Talk Like a Pirate’ day. Look it up, it’s an official day. Who knew!!?? This Disc Golf course is almost completely in the woods which ironically are where most of my traditional golf game is played. As in ‘real’ golf, there are “T” boxes. These are poured concrete platforms from which if you tried real hard by craning your neck and by commanding your gaze around a maze of trees you could see approximately 2 hundred yards away, the “hole”. This was a metal basket of sorts with chains dangling downward that would entangle a disc as it was thrown into them. The discs are smaller and heavier than those Frisbees’ you may have played with twenty years ago. These are made for a purpose other than being caught. They come in assorted weights and are categorized as ‘driver’, ‘mid-range’ or ‘putter’. As in standard golf, each of these is designed for a specific purpose. There are several ways to throw the disks. The traditional way is by curling the Frisbee in towards your body and then quickly and forcibly releasing it forward towards your intended target. Another was identified to me as “the trigger”. This style of throw has your fingers inside the Frisbees’ edge. The disc is thrown in a ‘side arm’ motion allowing your fingers to ‘flick’ the Frisbee away from you at the moment of release. This was Pierce’s preferred method. Although it clearly did not give him much control, he said that the other way was “less than manly”. The discs would fly off in the direction of the hole but then suddenly bank hard in one direction or the other and begin bouncing off of trees. After a throw one of group would shout in their best pirate voice “Avast….“ in surprise of the discs seemingly unpredictable trajectory or “shiver me timbers…” in disgust. Like the 3 land lubbers that we were, each of us charted our own course to each hole. In just two hours we covered all 18 holes, with the final ‘putt’ by Aaron. As his disc hit the chains he punctuated our finish and his score, tauntingly yelling “Maties… that was Parrrrr”!

Striving for Balance

Not much more to say on this one other than... The state of VA wants to impose licensing taxes on Yoga Teacher Training schools.... Bad Idea. Teaching (even teaching people to teach yoga) is not a profession that pays very well, Its a baaaaad move to impose new fees on these schools. If you get the opportunity, make sure your local government knows how you feel on this issue. Namaste Dave ************************************************************************************** With all the things I do that generate adrenaline, I need something to help me balance things out. I have found nothing does that better than Yoga. I had begun taking yoga classes to help manage my own anxiety but found it so enjoyable that I joined the Teacher Training program. The program is a 200 hour nationally recognized certificate program that teaches all of the major aspects of Hatha Yoga, including Philosophy, Postures, breath work and meditation. This is exposure to ideas that are thousands of years old. Hatha Yoga is the ancient Indian (Southwest Asian not Western) system of physical postures and breathing exercises that balances the opposing masculine and feminine forces in the body, the "sun" and the "moon." In a word “Balance” Fast forward a couple of years of hard yet rewarding study and work; it’s time to start teaching. My first class was filled with people that I had taken classes with before. I think it was a little awkward for them and me. But there was also a trust that was developed. Not to mention the fact that the students trust Ren Fields, my teacher and owner of The Healing Arts Yoga Center. They knew she would not unleash a nut upon them. There was a lot for me to live up to. Although the postures are different for each class based on experience level, there is a prescribed process that starts with smaller, easier, gentler movements and then advances towards larger postures. The entire class is conducted with that gentle kindness and encourages each student to focus within themselves and have “their own” yoga class. This approach honors the fact that every student is different from the person standing next to them. Students are encouraged to make modifications to poses that challenge them. We are not striving for Yoga Journal perfection here. Ren will say yoga’s principle is “no pain… no pain”. Nervous at the start, I was worried that I didn’t know enough. Even though I am well trained and am very involved in my own practice at home, my confidence was waning and I feared that my class would see through me. This evening’s class was designed to shake off the stress of the day. “Tune into the room”, I say as I encourage everyone to let their day go, stop making lists, or mentally completing the day’s chores. But it was me that needed to ‘settle’. I began my own private internal class of deep breathing techniques, helping me focus. Being the instructor is much different than being a student. There seemed to be lots to be nervous about. Students can sense your mood, and it’s up to me to make them feel more comfortable. Here in this class there were 15 people waiting for my next set of instructions. It felt a little like “Simon Says” in that the instruction needs to be very detailed. If I leave one thing out confusion can ensue… and well that’s not calming. Despite my internal nervousness, I took the class through basic postures, ensuring that they were getting the most out of each. Using words of encouragement, I spoke to those who needed it, some needing to ease off, some needing to keep each pose more active and still others needing alignment. Surprisingly, they followed my instruction without hesitation. We spoke to each other in a quiet dialog with me providing instruction and they responding non-verbally as they flowed from pose to pose. This being the first class that I had taught, it was not flawless. Ironically, I used many of the relaxation techniques that I had learned through the Training Program to help me navigate my own nervousness. I got my reward as the students rose from ‘deep relaxation’ – a 10 minute period of rest that allows each student to fully experience the positive effects of the yoga class – each was student was smiling. I had been trained well and I had done my job.

Lightning Strike

I cannot tell you how Harrowing and eye opening this experience was. Harrowing, because someone should never ever have to see a good friend hurt. It takes a toll that you could not imagine. Eye Opening because, I saw a strength in this friend that I would never have seen otherwise. I cannot put enough emphasis on how impressed I am with George Judd's ability to stay cool under pressure. The piece of the story that is not told in the Front Porch is that I am certain that had I not been there, George would have saved himself. I played a valuable role in getting him out, true... but he was gonna get out of there even if he had to do it on his own. In fact, he walked up the ravine with help but on his own two feet. His presence of mind, physical strength and years of military training (albeit Air Force) came together to make what could have been an absolute disaster into a success story. I am dealing with this subject very lightly in conversation with friends and at times in this post because.... well... George is ok... he will make a one hundred percent physical recovery. Mentally, however neither of us will ever disrespect a thunder storm again. Read on .. it will all make sense Enjoy Dave ************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** George and I put in at Motts Run. The trusty iPhone indicated that the weather was moving away from us. We had planned to stay in that general area and not go any real distance. George had never been in a Kayak before and was very interested in learning. Drizzling rain began to fall, but what the hell, we were going to get wet anyway. We paddled the 16 ft touring boats around as the rain increasingly fell harder. Neither of us gave this anymore thought than to laugh at it and make silly jokes to each other. As I showed George how to maneuver his boat there was a flash in the sky… Yes it was lightning. One might think that this would be our clue to get out of the river. Nope. Instead, we decided that staying close to the shore allowing the canopy of the overhanging trees to keep us perfectly safe. Now instead of paddling in the middle of the river and staying in the same vicinity, we were guiding our boats down river along the shoreline. It wasn’t long before the rain increased in intensity again. This time it was beginning to feel like an actual storm. The sky was getting angry with the rain falling hard and the wind beginning to blow. We decided that the best bet was to find a very covered area and allow the storm to blow past. We spotted a place close to the pump station for Motts Reservoir. Big overhanging tree and a shore line that we thought we could beach the boats on. We meandered to that spot. The rain fell faster and the wind blew harder. We began to make jokes about how foolish we were feeling. Like Gilligan at the beginning of his “three hour cruise” we had no way of knowing that things were about to get worse. As we sat in our boats making small talk and basically ignoring what was becoming a major storm, the boom, light and crack of a lightning bolt struck a tree on the other side of the river not more than a quarter mile away. This was our hint that getting off the river was the smartest thing that we could do. There is nothing graceful about exiting a floating kayak. My first leg out sank into calf high mud and water… Feeling very vulnerable I quickly got my other leg out and scrambled to what was a 2ft wide piece of muddy shore. We were “safely” tucked in close to the shore. There was a huge tree overhanging the river – we thought that under the circumstances we were as safe as we could be. (read: we weren’t the tallest object in the vicinity) I was tying my boat off to a root… George had gotten out of his boat and was looking for a spot to tie his when seemingly from nowhere a flash of light and crackling sound were between him and me. The bolt, yellow and white seemed to arch from the sky to a point under the canopy of the tree. Not ten feet away, I saw George in what appeared to be theatre lights get struck by this lightning bolt. Time stood still. I wanted to believe that the bolt had hit the ground between us or the tree above us, but as George fell in slow motion back into the river that the seriousness of the situation became clear. The look on his face was uncertainty and confusion. Still wearing his life vest he hit the water facing upward. The vest kept him afloat. As I was moving towards him, he opened his mouth to speak only it wasn’t words that came. As his mouth opened, smoke escaped in a scene that could only be repeated on a movie set. His eyes (and mine) grew large. His somber words came quickly after… “Dave… my insides are fried”. Based on what I had seen, I knew this to be true. Very quick discussions also showed that George couldnt feel his legs. I did not want to move him. I scrambled to my boat to get my phone from the drybag. Dialing frantically… there was no cell signal. Although we were in a civilized area, we were at a very low spot on River Road. In split second decision, I looked at George told him to stay calm and commanded him to keep breathing. I needed to get to higher ground if I was going to get him help. I left him. The shore was a 10 ft high section of rock and mud and poison ivy. I scrambled up the hill in a near panic slipping and falling, but knowing that I had only one job to do and that was to get my friend medical attention. The rain was still falling and wind blowing. Once off the river, I was out in the open. I was still dialing the phone.. 9-1-1… I barely had any signal at all. I was trying to stay low to the ground. I knew now just how easy it was to be struck and I would not be able to help anyone if I were to fall victim too. “911.. what is your emergency?” The voice came across the phone. Worried that I would lose my signal, I pushed information across the line, not exactly panicked but certainly not calmly– “lightning strike; River Road; between Motts Run and Pump station”…. Beep, beep, beep. I lost my signal. I did not know if I had gotten enough information out for them to find us. Knowing that this situation was bad, I headed back to check on George. As I had began my slide back down the hill I saw the red kayak that he had been holding was floating down the river. I knew that this meant that he had, in a very real sense, let go. Definitely panicked at this point, I flung myself down the hill, screaming his name.. “George!.. George!”…… I knew that the worst had happened. No one survives a lightning strike. What came next will stick with me forever… George responded. The most calm and commanding voice I have ever heard spoke back to my frantic yells… “Dave…. I'm ok. It’s not as bad as I thought”. There are no words to describe how I felt at that moment. Not only was he alive, he was getting better. He was able to tell me exactly what was wrong with him.. I grabbed him by the life vest and with the benefit of adrenaline pulled his large frame from the river and into a sitting position. The lighting had affected his right hip, leg and hand. The blast had literally blown his shorts to shreds. Rain still falling, wind blowing, he and I looked at each other in disbelief and now with some hope that this was going to have a happy ending. I was not yet calm, but definitely feeling better about the direction things were going, I left him a second time. With a sense of urgency, I pushed myself back up hill to try a second call to 911. Same result… half a message and then disconnected. I still had a job to do. Completely in the open air and with a new found respect for lightning I made a half crouch run out to River Road. It was only then that I realized that I was freezing cold, no shirt on and soaked to the bone. Unwilling to stand up straight in the storm, I knelt low on the side of the road and waived my arms frantically trying to stop any of the passing cars. I am certain that I looked more like a street urchin than someone trying to get help for a friend. Finally flagging down a car; The gentleman inside, an officer from the Rappahannock county jail, all business, asks “what’s the problem”? Our matter of fact exchange told me that I had finally found help and as he drove away to get a call to 911, I did my crouch run back to the river. George was improving even more. I looked at his shorts and all that they weren’t covering…. In what can only be called nervous humor, we immediately began making jokes….. “Oh my god, George it hit you in the… wait no it didn’t…” With the sound of sirens in the background, he replied in his best Seinfeld-ian accent… “I was in the pool!!!” Thats when I knew everything was going to be fine... This guy is unflappable. Alls well that ends well.

Tai Chi

First - My apologies for the VERY late Post..... right around the 1st of July, I got caught up in another adventure.. Read next months post... Its a thriller... and I forgot (yep, thats right!) to post this. Next Months, will be up on time. Promise. Second... Tai Chi - Very cool. I highly encourage you to try this form of 'moving meditation'. Its good for every age, physical condition. Thanks for Reading!!! Dave ********************************************* I guess word is getting around that I'm always willing to try something new cause I was recently invited by friends Matt and Tamis to join them in a Tai Chi class. Tai Chi is a form of martial arts that dates back thousands of years. The art is handed down from teacher to student unchanged over and over again. My Teacher at the Spotsylvania YMCA was Rob Petit. He can trace the lineage of his Tai Chi education back through his teachers as far back as 1924. And those had been taught by others who could be traced back for lifetimes. In these thousands of years the basic movements have not changed. The art of Tai Chi Emphasizes softness, stating that a rigid form in combat is actually more brittle than one that flows from movement to movement and then uses the opponent’s energy against them. This form was initially taught in secrecy only to family members. Our class started outside on a Sunday afternoon. We started with some basic warm-ups and then moved onto a Qigong (Key-gong) exercise with the intent of centering our energy and breath. We did something called “reeling silk”. Standing with a semi-wide squatting stance, arms held sideways about chest high, hands cupped as if I were holding a ball; Rob instructed me to move my hands and arms sideways as if I were moving that ball from one side of my body to the other. Breathing in while moving to one side and out while moving to the other. I was to lead this movement with my hips. To emphasize this point, Rob told the group “your hips are the commander”. I suspect he was trying to get a greater point across having more to do with true martial arts than my hips. Rob teaches the “Sun” form of Tai Chi which involves 98 movements. The movements simulate a defensive posture awaiting an attack from a would be offender. Motions are tied together in a free flowing dance anticipating each attack and then responding with a block and subsequent attack. Using Tai Chi for the health benefits each move is done very slowly emphasizing its beauty. Speeded up it is a considered a full on martial art. You have to understand. I can’t even line dance. I happen to know that most small children are able to Macarena right out of the womb, but not me. So for me to try to follow these steps and channel my energy into any form other than frustration was extremely difficult. The regulars in the class intently focused on the transition from movement to movement. There I was doing a stilted version of Ballet. I finally understood what my son was going through in the Karate class I had enrolled him in when he was five. I was embarrassed by him way back then, but now I fully understand. Shane, I offer a public apology 17 years late. The second part of the class involved a broad sword called a Dao. I learned that an adrenaline rush right into the veins of manhood can be achieved just by putting a combat weight sword into my hands. Using the sword involved a separate set of moves. These moves although flowing and rhythmic involved the thrusting, blocking and slashing of the sword. The key was to do it all in a controlled manner. Because of my inability to do this I openly expressed a concern for the safety of my class mates. Rob went through the short form weapons training sequence with the group at first and then alone with me. While he was working with me Matt, Tamis and the others performed a two person simulated combat version of the same movements. Matt and Tamis are happily married, but I couldn’t help but imagine how this two person approach could go horribly wrong if either one of them were having a bad day. This art can be performed by anyone. Once I learn the form, I see that it has great potential for creating calm and centering energy. I encourage anyone to try it. I plan to continue.

Hanging by a Thread - Part 1

Sometimes I find myself in a rush to get out a story to the front porch. It may not seem like much, but in order to provide quality reading for you... I put some thought into what I want to write, plan the adventure and then actually perform it. THEN I get to write. Its typically more than just a casual process. Anyhow.. this time, although I got most of the facts correct... I did not do Steve Benett's caving resume justice. Steve has had some amazing adventures that make my easy breezy stuff seem like a walk in the park. Take a look at this list of caving / rappelling: ************************************************************************************* Caves: Name Location ----- ----------- Bone/Norman Renick, WV Breathing cave Bath co, VA Crossroads Bath Co VA Flower Pot Cave Dayley, WV Marshalls Bath Co VA Cave Mnt Cave Franklin, WV New River Cave Giles Co. VA Sinette/Thorn Thorn Springs, WV Sites Cave Thorn Springs, WV Buckey Creek Greenbrier Co, WV Mystic cave Seneca, WV Scott Hollow Union, WV Island Ford Covington, VA Rappels: Rappel Location Distance Dates ------ -------- ----- -------- El Capitan Yosemite, CA 2650' Spring, 2004 and Spring 2007 New River Gorge Bridge Fayetteville, WV 850' Oct, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2007, 2008 Maryland Heights Harper's Ferry, WV 200' Summer 2001, 2002, 2007 Whitesides Highlands, NC 650' Sept, 2001, 2002, 2004, 2006 Golondrinas Aquismon, Mexico 1300' Jan, 2004 Guaguas Aquismon, Mexico 600' Dec, 2004 Sotano de las Quilas Aquismon, Mexico 300' Dec, 2004 Sotano de las La Linja Aquismon, Mexico 240' Dec, 2004 ******************************************************************************* Hats off to Steve and a special thanks from me for his patient teaching in my back yard. Enjoy, Dave ********************************************************************************* Hanging By a Thread - Part 1 Some adventures take a little preparation… Rock climbing, caving, rappelling, all require knowledge that only boy scouts and those that have a desire to learn get involved with. In this mini-adventure I needed to start the learning process weeks before it actually happened. I met my friend Steve Bennett around town. In passing conversation he mentioned that he was a caver. Spelunker? No. Most cave explorers prefer to be called “cavers”. The term ‘spelunker’ likely was derived from the word Speleology which is the study of caves and their characteristics. Steve has an easy style. Soft spoken, yet very confident, it turns out that he is very experienced with rope work. He rappelled down major caves in Mexico; down El Capitan and is a member of a team that rappels off a bridge in West VA every year for Bridge Day. We would be using a tree in my back yard. A few weeks after assigning me to learn some basic knots, Steve came to the house. Safety first. Before we would ever head out to a rock face, I would need to be able to complete several skills in the back yard. My Skills test today was to get all of the gear on; Ascend to the limb at the top of the rope; switch from “Ascending” to “Repelling”. Putting on the gear was no easy feat. The seat harness was made of webbed material that while on the ground had no recognizable shape to it at all. I likened it to a piece of woman’s lingerie… when its on, you understand exactly what its designed to do… while it’s on the ground, it’s anybody’s guess. The seat harness is made to support your weight, each of the Ascenders, two primaries and one safety, connect directly to that. There is some webbed material that wraps at your shoulders to allow you to attach your upper body to the rope should you get too tired to actually hold on. The other major piece of equipment is the Figure 8. It looks just as its name implies and is used to apply tension to the rope so that you can lower yourself down a rope in a “controlled” manner as opposed to any of the other ways that one can come down a rope. We strung a rope over a branch in one of my trees and then tied off to a neighboring tree and used an overkill amount of effort compared to the 20’ height that we were working with. We used the “frog method” to go up the rope. My feet were in a loop at the end of the upper ascender, as I rested into the chest ascender, I raised the upper ascender with my hand and my feet would rise with it. I’d stand on the loop, the upper ascender would lock into place and the rope would pull through my chest ascender. I moved up the rope quite easily. You might say frog like. Anyhow… here is the trick - doing the “change over” at the top of the rope, after climbing to begin the rappel. This requires standing up on the ascender, adding the Figure 8 into the mix, leaning onto it and then removing all of the ascenders. Think spider on a web (with a helmet on). That initial moment when all of the ascending equipment is removed and I lean back onto the rope brings quite a rush. I had a flash of fear that my hand to be used as a “brake” wouldn’t be in the right position and I would slide wildly down the rope bouncing off of the tree the whole way. Deep breath… release….. and… well nothing. The system allowed me to easily control my descent at any pace I chose. Between the Gear, the system and Steve’s excellent teaching, I was completely safe. A little anti-climactic, I know. But stay tuned, I will be out on the rocks soon.

The Art of Adventure

One of the things that I like about myself is that I like to learn. Sometimes that is book learning; sometimes that trying a new food; and yes sometimes that means learning a new skill. I have had mixed results. Golf for example.. what I learned was the golf is frustrating and welll... I dont like to be frustrated. But recently I was introduced to Oil Painting. First on a trip to Key West where I was given an opportunity to apply paint to a large mural project... and then late last year when a friend offered to put me on the right path. Wow! is the only response I can muster that even comes close to doing this feeling justice. I really want you to understand... Ive gotten positive comments on the paintings that Ive created... but thats not what brings the "Wow!" ... That feeling is illicited from the sheer thrill of choosing a subject; snapping a hundred photos; mixing colors and then putting paint on canvas. The process combined with the end result gives me an amazing warm feeling inside. Ive tried hard to share that feeling in this post. Feel free to let me know how Ive done. Enjoy Dave ************************************************************************************* “Van Gogh”, “Monet”, “Renoir”, “Honaker”. I like the way that sounds, but let’s be clear, I’m not comparing myself to these great impressionist artists. I can however now fully understand the thrill they must have felt from putting bold strokes of paint onto canvas. Last October I was speaking with local artist and close personal friend Cheryl Bosch (also known as Ceebs) when she offered to guide me in the ways of Oil Painting. Oil paint was my idea, because I have been inspired by local artists like Michael Dean and Ed King and I wanted to make bold strokes of paint. Cheryl has a unique perspective. Structures, people, animals and landscapes all captured first by photograph and then created on canvas with a style and palette that is all her own. On the day that I went to her studio to paint she was working on a large portrait of a confident, well heeled gentleman with bold dreadlocks. The detail in subtle shades of light reflecting off of his skin and the way that she had captured his eyes make you ‘feel’ the person in the painting. In contrast, I chose a simple picture of red and green chili peppers to paint. It was perfect for my beginning skill level, yet there was enough detail in the picture that I had chosen to work from that I would have to work with the paint to show colors and textures. I thought it would be easy, it was not. Though there is an emphasis on being ‘creative’ there is quite a bit of process involved. I began mixing paint colors trying to match as closely as possible the colors from my original. I was surprised to find that these peppers were not just red and green. There were shades of those but also yellows, whites and browns that my eyes had previously taken for granted. I had to look at things differently in order to truly ‘see’ all of the detail. “Fat over lean” Cheryl would say guiding me with the fact that I needed to create the images first and then accentuate them as each layer of paint would dry. She was an excellent teacher. It was a thrill loading up my brush to create each nuance of light or of a barely seen shadow. Deciding the right mixture of colors, the right brush, the right spot and then making the stroke was somehow emotional and thrilling. At times I would get timid with the paint I didn’t want to mess up what was somehow becoming true “art”. I had to encourage myself to just let go and let it be what it was going to be. When it was done I stood back to see what I had accomplished and was amazed. The shapes I had painted actually looked like peppers. It looked like the original only better. The colors popped off of the canvas. I really didn’t know that I could create like that. I was sure it was beginners luck (and Cheryl’s expert tutelage). Fast forward to March 2009. I got a call from another local artist Mirinda Reynolds stating that Liberty Town was having a juried show “Feast For the Eyes” and she thought my Peppers would be a nice addition. I was concerned about my creation being judged. Once you write a column or sing a song or paint a painting, it’s out there like a piece of you on display to the world. And I had no confidence in my abilities. Yet, two days after submitting it, I got the call. My peppers were accepted into the show!! My painting would hang in the gallery for a month with the art of many talented local artists. I have done eight or nine paintings since the peppers. Surprisingly each one has brought that thrill and subsequent amazement. I’m hooked let’s add “Painting” to the list of adventures. ************************************* Click on the pictures above to see more of my artwork.

Attitude is Everything

Hi.. Ive got to tell you .. Attitude, especially a bad one has plagued me my entire life. When I say that out loud most people who hear it act surprised. I should just say that what happens in my brain is very different from what shows on the outside. Why is this important? Well, Ive found that a Bad attitude actually dictates the outcome of whatever it is that your trying to accomplish. In my life, I dont start yardwork, cause it will be too hard, or I talk myself out of a hard workout because I will hurt tomorrow. And as you may guess, very often yardwork doesnt get done and I dont achieve my fitness goals. Lets vow together to focus on whats in front of us and let our attitude reflect that moment in time rather than our perception of what might happen or what has happened in the past. I think we will all be better for the effort. Enjoy this months post Dave ********* I am under no illusions about my running abilities. I was first “recruited” to run in High school. My brother, driven by some unknown force could run the mile in sub 5 minute time. So by virtue of blood, I must be able to run fast too!? Not true. I never actually came in last in our track meets but I frequently shook hands with the last place participant, in a celebration that was more like a kinship of survival rather than sportsmanship. These days, my normal 2 times per week run is 3 miles at a slow pace. …. I have opted for comfort over speed. I was invited to join the local runners group for a run. They meet at 8 am, every Saturday morning at Hyperion. Upon my arrival groups began forming. I had to decide where I fit. There were the fast guys, who despite the low 30’s temperature were in shorts and tee shirts. I guess they didn’t expect to be outside long enough to get cold. This was not my group… There were the folks who expected to go longer distances keeping them running for a couple hours. They had water dispensers strapped around their waists in what looked like superhero utility belts. Again, not my group… Then there were those I like to think of as the normal people. Those going moderate distances at what I consider a moderate pace. I saddled in here. George (of backpacking fame) who invited me, decided to hang back and run with me. Everyone takes off at the same time, but very shortly after, the different groups start taking shape. It was a great spring day, it was cold, but the birds were chirping and the flowers and trees were starting to bloom. The group was laughing and having a good time. Attitude check: good. The course meanders through old town, down Princess Anne; under the tracks back up Caroline; Past old mill park; and then onto the canal path. Beautiful! From there onto varying routes based on the distance you would like to run. We were going 4 miles and I was happy with this decision. I first hit trouble 30 minutes into the run. I was fighting it, but my resolve was weakening and my pace had slowed. We were running along one of the most beautiful spots on the river, but I wasn’t seeing it that way. No longer was it a great spring day, I was cold, and I was breathing heavily. Flowers? Hah! I couldn’t see ‘em. Attitude check: Uh oh! The canal path, which I could just make out through the haze of my negativity, is a beautiful paved trail running right down the middle of Fredericksburg. My legs felt fine, and although labored, my breathing was normal. My brain, however, not knowing where we were going and how far it really was could only focus on the negative. I began telling myself that I wasn’t going to complete the whole distance. I kept running. Attitude: B-A-D This section of the run seemed to take forevvvverrrr. More negative thoughts came as I plodded joylessly passed the dog park. There was a collie barking out obscenities. If I had more energy, I would have barked back at him. Attitude: OMG! Then, rounding the corner at William Street, I finally knew where I was. A weight lifted. I straightened up my posture, my stride increased. Then, as Hyperion came into view, I felt even better. The aches began to fade and angels sang. Attitude: Phew! In what he certainly felt was a good joke, George had led me onto the 5 mile loop (5.5 miles actually), not 4 like we had discussed. Attitude: surprisingly grateful. To his credit, I did finish further, and faster than I would have on my own… and then there was my first cup of coffee after.

Baby... Its Cold!!

Polar Bear Plunge--- I have never ever liked to be cold. In fact, it was just a few years ago that I made a concious decision not to hybernate during the winter. I slowly but surely bought the right clothing and gear to allow me to "play" out doors in the coldest of months. None of that prepared me for this adventure. I had heard about people doing something called a Polar Bear Plunge for the first time, when I was a kid. I was sure it was in a far off land, where the people had thick skin and strange customs. It definitely wasnt in my back yard. Even at this young age my first thought was "They must be idiots!". No adventure that Ive ever undertaken has required less gear, or less skill and yet has provided as much of a thrill as this one has.. Read on, cause now - I am one of those idiots. Dave ******************************** The event was held in support of The Wounded EOD Warrior Foundation. This foundation is a non-profit organization that provides assistance to Wounded EOD Warriors and their families in the form of financial relief. An Explosive Ordinance Disposal “Warrior” has volunteered to be a part of a Military EOD program within one of the services. Despite the sun and relative warmth of the day there were seagulls sitting on the frozen water near the railroad bridge at the City Docks and the Fredericksburg Rescue Squad was breaking 1+ inch thick of ice away from the boat ramp. The intent was to “Plunge” 4 at a time till all one hundred attendees had frozen themselves to the core. Many of the plunger’s had plunged before. Everyone that showed up, was in good spirits and seemed exited at the prospect of making themselves into a popsicle. All around you could hear experiences being shared. One guy had plunged twice last year and swore he wasn’t doing that again. The first time, he said was fine, but the second time he felt pins and needles. He looked way too serious as he told me. There was a costume contest. Team Costumes included a full entourage of the Peter Pan crew complete with the infamous crocodile and a cigar smoking Wendy. Rocky and Bullwinkle along with Natasha and Boris were the Team costume winners, while a very brave and confident man dressed as Borat in his “slingshot” bikini took top individual honors. I was told by one of the other Polar Peril Seekers it wasn’t considered an actual Plunge until water got above your knees, but the ultimate was to swim the 20 feet out to the rescue boat, touch it and then come back. This defined my approach. I was simply going to swim out the boat and maybe do the backstroke back in. It was go time! I was in group that included 2 Lady Libertys and Captain EOD. I was not in costume, I figured I had enough to contend with without trying to embarrass myself too. In I went up to my knees; I heard the gasps of the Lady Liberties (Woosies, I thought) and then I jumped, . The water temperature was in the low thirties. I went further out past the “rescue” divers (which I assumed was for the purposes of a good show.) I kept going still only about 15 feet from shore. Things were feeling good, I was sticking to my plan. Then it began. The weight of the situation finally began to register. Each of my body systems started checking in; knees and other joints registering complaints… my lungs literally wanted to stop taking in air.. or was trying to take in too much air, either way, I couldn’t breathe and I was in water over my head. My pores all slammed shut simultaneously and I'm certain that my voice, had I said anything would have come out in a higher pitch. The most incredible thing is that my brain lost all unnecessary thought. Only one remained… and like the voice from Amityville, it only said one thing “Get Out!!” I was just a couple of feet from the boat but that didn’t matter. The feelings were primal and as far as my body knew we were in survival mode. It decided that we were heading back in to shore…. Nerve endings began firing off; it felt almost like I was being pelted from the outside of my skin. Pelting = fire and ironically Ice… hundreds of pokes to my skin. The description from the earlier plunger did not do this feeling justice. My movements were forced and deliberate. I could hear the laughter from the on lookers as I made my way out. I'm sure that the laughter was in enjoyment of the spectacle. Each of us made a different face indicating our reaction, but I'm certain they had no idea of what was going on in my mind. They have no idea.

We be Jammin'

Warning: this is a stream of consciousness post…  I took part in my first guitar Jam session this past weekend. I have some friends down in Norfolk that were having, of all things, a Ground Hog’s Day party.. Any excuse to invite friends over will do, I guess. This was a thrill for me…. Because it is very, very different than the way I typically play music. This was 6 guitarists with 6 different styles with 6 different interpretations of the same songs. The results were a lot of fun. This next statement may just be my own lack of self confidence in my playing…. But, I was the most inexperienced player there. Which basically means I learned A LOT. This type of playing was more about playing together… simple 3 chord tunes like “Mustang Sally” that everyone knows. I am typically playing by myself in my living room.. working a song towards my perception of perfection. Lack of perfection was more than acceptable in the jam session. Sitting in the garage in a circle of chairs, 5 acoustic guitars, one electric. One guy would start out the rest would pick up with the rhythm … the next guy would start singing.. Then another would take on the lead guitar role… at the end of that tune, the next person in the circle was expected to start the next song. And so it would go all the way around til it started over again. During the playing, everyone was encouraged to wail out the chorus… some would sing just the way that they had last heard the song on the radio…. Others would try very hard to harmonize… others would just loudly hum a muffled version of the words. It became a menagerie of sound that somehow made sense. Beatles tunes; Van Morrison; Old Soul; Buffet… all were represented really well. Our host for the evening is a relatively new friend of mine, Mick. He and I had played together several times before with the first time being when we met with our Significant others while on a trip to Keywest. This is another story in itself. (for another time). He had not played music with most of the others. They were well seasoned performers that had played together frequently at local pubs etc. Mick was beside himself at having them play in his garage. It became his turn. Now you should know that Mick is no slouch at the guitar, He usually but not always, fingerpicks and always sings. Every song that he takes on becomes his very own. He started enthusiastically with the Doobie Brother’s “Long Train Running”… and the group just fell in behind him, but the show was all his. He was so into it that his guitar strings began making sparks… This is not a joke. No one could believe it… also, no one got a picture of it. Turns out that he was using a pick, which is rare for him… and this pick was made of Jade. It was a very cool thing to see… and the sound it produced was incredible. When he finished…. Everyone cheered loudly.. it was one of those exciting moments that comes without warning and everyone.. the 6 guitarists and the 20 people listening were in awe. As for me… I realize I have a lot of work to do… I enjoy my playing, but like I said earlier, I'm working a tune to perform it… not that this is bad.. and I do really enjoy it. I want to be able to take more of a role in this type of an outing too… So, I’ll be working on my 3 chord tunes… and my timing and my singing and my memorization of the Keys and… and… and… well, working on just allowing myself to have fun playing just for fun’s sake. I am however thrilled to have been involved in this event. I keep learning new ways to have fun.. Dave

Living on the edge...
Its February, technically the middle of winter. Its increasingly more difficult to be outside and keep active. I do my best, but cold is not my favorite thing. I dress warm and add some adrenaline to overcome it. The end result is generally something that I feel satisfied over.

This months adventure left me very satisfied.. but I got to relearn a few things along the way as well... Im not in my 20's... fear is not always bad... patience takes practice.
Quote: "If your not living on the edge, your taking up too much space...." refridgerator magnet
PS - Polar Bear Plunge next week... Wanna join me?
Enjoy
Dave
*********************

Winter has finally set in here in Virginia and Wintergreen is just 1.5 hours away. It’s close, cheap, easy to get to and for a novice snowboarder the slopes are just challenging enough.

I like to live on the edge, but sometimes I have to find it first. This is literally the case with snow boarding. The snowboard is a rigidly flexible piece of fiberglass that you strap directly to your feet. By flexing the board and making the metal edges dig into the snow you can manage your speed and most importantly manage your direction. Too little edge and you’re speeding down hill like a rocket, too much edge and your flat on your ass.

The goal is to transition from front edge to back edge seamlessly while cruising down the hill. There is an instant, however between transitions when you are searching for the catch of the alternate edge. Start the turn, waiting…. heading down hill… picking up speed… Brain Racing… Catch! The instant the edge digs into the snow you feel it and once again you’re wholly connected to the earth. But in those split seconds of what feels like a helpless space walk you can relive your entire life. It requires trust.

My first trip out this year was a shakedown trip. I needed to learn to trust myself and my equipment again, boots, bindings, board, and knees. I took a methodical approach finding my edges while there were kids with no fear were flying past without regard to me or the consequence of a fast and painful fall.

On my second trip just one week after the first I forced myself to do a couple of runs down the slope and practice my transitions. I’m glad I did, because nothing felt right. I didn’t feel as comfortable in my abilities as I had on my last outing. Although my goal for the day was to hit some more difficult slopes, I decided to continue on the easier slope till my confidence increased.

After 2 or 3 runs, I took a break at one of the snack shops to regroup my confidence and ponder what was going wrong. There is no sporting problem that a logical approach can’t fix. While there, I had some hot cocoa and read an article in an adventure magazine about how to control ‘panic’. It was simple advice really, Breath; Organize; Act… Advice that I would later use.

I did a few more runs linking transitions, finding my edges; my version of ‘carving up the hill’, not with the speed of the fearless kids, but far from geriatric snowboarding.

I decided in the last hour of the session that I was going to hit the next more difficult slope. Just one run is what I told myself. I hopped onto the chair lift and as I did one of those ‘fearless kids’ jumped on next to me. Neither of us reached for the safety bar that holds us in. Wanting to be viewed more like one of the fearless kids rather than the cautious “older kid” that I am, I left it up. While he was complaining about the lack of challenging slopes, my brain with all of the cumulated wisdom that comes from growing up, raising a child and holding down a day job was screaming “lower the damn bar!” Instead, as the lift took us increasingly higher, I used my new found advice. I looked at 50 foot drop, I breathed deeply, I organized a plan (If I fall, I’m taking him with me!) and then acted like it didn’t bother me. No fear, Hah!...

After making it to top, it was clear that this slope was considerably steeper than the last. I had to literally look over the edge to see where the bottom should be, and then had to trust that it was really there because it was out of view.

I started slowly, stuck to the basics and after 4 runs… It’s Time to find a new edge.

Dave

Wilderness Gourmet?

First.. Happy New Year! I believe its going to be a good one. Hell it cant get any worse than last year. (I hope...) Second... Sorry to all of you who follow religously (I see you down there at the Dr's office in Richmond...) for my not having blogged in December. Ive had some personal drama to deal with, which I believe is now under control. For some insight into that, check out Emily Barker's Blog 'huh? what?' at www.rustproofbottom.blogspot.com Anyhow... a good year is in the offing.. Ive already started planning some real adventures that I can write about. Hold on to your hats. Third... Please make some comments.. look at the link below that will allow you to comment.. ask for directions and even get involved... The more the merrier is what I say. Enjoy the January Post.. Dave ______________________________________________ When your out in the ‘wilderness’ what you eat is a primary concern. Meals can be as simple or elaborate as your gear and imagination will allow. I have gone out with nothing more than a pack of hotdogs, while an Adventure Guide friend of mine boasts of making a chocolate cake (with icing) over a campfire while out biking. I’m not talking about survival foods here, not in the Man VS Wild sense anyway. Scenes of Bear Sterns eating berries and climbing trees for eggs just to survive are a whole different discussion. One that I’m not qualified to speak about because 1.) I’ve never really been in a life or death survival situation and then 2.) although they say everything tastes better eaten outdoors, I haven’t been able to bring myself to eat a grub “just cause it would be fun”. The only limitation in your meal choices is the amount of weight you can carry. Car Camping allows the most flexibility because you can keep a cooler with ice to keep your food fresh. Try these ideas: Steaks on a Rock: This is more about the cooking apparatus than a recipe. Create your fire; find a flat river stone; Place it directly onto the fire allowing it to get good and hot. Then use it as a skillet for your steaks. My son and I did this many years ago out at Kerr Damn Reservoir… The steaks tasted great, but that may have been more about the Father / Son moment I was having than the meal. However, my son still talks about it too. Scrambled Eggs in a baggy are another favorite. Crack your eggs into a zip-loc bag, add whatever you have brought along, cheese; green peppers, leftover Steak (from the rock) then place the bag into boiling water. Careful not to touch the sides of the pot as that creates a mess. The Kayak ‘holds’ afford some space ice to help keep sundries cool. My experience is that these foods need to be used in the first day’s meals. My favorite meal is RoadKill Chicken. I’ve had this after a day kayaking down the Shenandoah River. Technically it wasn’t “road” kill because I didn’t actually pick it up off the road. Again, simplicity: Place chicken breast in tinfoil. Add Spices – Rosemary; Salt; Pepper; Fold it up tightly and Toss it into a less intense portion of the fire. You can do the same thing in the morning using eggs and potatoes… making a breakfast casserole… just be sure to put the potatoes on the bottom. 20 minutes is all it takes. Getting it out of the fire is the interesting part. While hiking, not only do you have significantly less carrying capacity, campfires are forbidden in many of the National forests, you need to pack a camp stove and pot too. Dehydrated foods work best here. My least favorite meals but easiest to pack are Ramen Noodles and / or MRE’s. They need to be reconstituted with water, and regardless of how hungry you may be after a long day on the trail, they taste pretty bad. But, both are hard to beat for their weight to energy value. For me the best meal is had on the last night of a hike. By this time I don’t have to think in terms of “rationing” any longer. I can eat just about whatever is left that isn’t intended to get you through the last day’s miles. On my last hike, fellow hikers and I made a meal combining: Ramen Noodles; Chicken breast (from a foil pack); MRE Pork chop with gravy; CousCous; and MRE Rice. It became a stew of sorts all in the same pot. Yum! Although none of these meals are on the same level as eating grubs. They aren’t exactly Chocolate Cake either. Dave