Overdue

March 26th - A Tuesday

Back in the huts with nothing but the woods and mountains to keep you company. Nah, you still have Drew and Jack. They're cool guys. I cannot tell you whether or not these two girls also staying in the hut are speaking Hebrew or Arabic. Either way, they're loud as hell. It's my final run. I leave in a week. I will already be in the air as a matter of fact. I miss the climbing in Wanaka. I'm excited about this hike. In a way, I already miss it. I know that I will soon be deprived of all of this; all of this sheer wildness. Not to be confused with scary wildness, but the kind that makes things unpredictable. The wilderness will be missed too. But who am I kidding? I'm excited about coming back. I like New Zealand, no doubt, but I miss the States. Most of all, I miss everyone in it.



March 29th - A Friday

Vomit. It's just a nasty word, right? Yuck. Having all of those delicious, nice things to eat only to throw them up in some scrambled, nasty mess. That's how I feel about my scribbling. I've been doing so much, hearing so much, seeing so much, and feeling so much that it's hard to truly convey the beauty of it all; all of the memories, all of the happiness, all of the sadness, and everything in between. Must it be found only to be forgotten? Lost in a world of continuous thought only to be retraced at the most inopportune time crashing against the mind in great waves of emotion and feeling? Whatever. Now that that's over, let me recount the adventura of late: walking along Robert Ridge, seeing Golden Bay, meeting that 1000 year old man, climbing that 18 clean, climbing that other 18 dirty, almost getting that 20, the small, but increasing in depth and duration, talks with Drew, the surmounting realization of how near you are to returning home, longing to stay, but yearning to leave; it's the final stretch. I'm nearly there.



March 31st - A Saturday

It's raining. The sun is attempting to shine, though I do not have much faith when staring at the looming squall. I'm crossing the Cook Straight. Apparently, it's quite treacherous waters capable of producing 40-50ft swell at a moments notice. She seems nice enough. I'm leaving the South Island. The ships horn just blew. I imagine it bidding farewell to the Marlborough sounds as it steers into the blank horizon. I just read "101 Sonnets." Some I really liked, but I don't believe I understand poetry. I don't know if I ever will understand poetry. Art with words. Painting with nothing but rhythm and words and stuff. I don't know; maybe it's not so different than music. With the random rays of light beaming down, the water changes from a dull grey to a vibrant teal. We slept in one of those coves last night. It was the last night that I will spend in a tent for the remainder of the trip. It's kind of sad that I'm leaving it. It's wild how powerfully violent and strong a wave is as it rises and falls upon the shore, yet, it brings so much peace and tranquility. It was so nice to sleep with  the wonderful ocean singing its lullaby. It sure beats the hell out of that crowded climbers campground. Don't get me wrong! It was a cool place. Would have been a bit cooler with a beer - perhaps several beers. My hands are brown and burnt, skinned and scratched, but they feel strong. I still wouldn't call myself a climber by any means. I'm heading back; running home. The return started in Picton. It will end in Mississippi. Being on this great carrier of people running across the carved straight makes me feel at ease. I think Marshall's love for the ocean has sank into my own skin. It's a writing day. An old fishing vessel is zipping by. Its old white hull stained with rust along with its large mast connected to the various pulleys and nets also seem comforting. How bout that for work? Of course it be hard! But man! Instant gratification, the salt on your lips, the wind in your hair? What a life. We're out of the sounds. The last pillar of grey and black rock with its green hat just passed the starboard side leaving nothing but an alternating grey and blue horizon. Enough of documenting this voyage. AN ALBATROSS! THAT WAS AN ALBATROSS! I cannot help but think that I betrayed this trip. Maybe not. I did learn a lot and that's what counts, right? I just wish my stomach and palate were not so spoiled. We have had a lot of pasta, though. Not great pasta, but noodles and plain Jane sauce out of a jar. We used to throw mushrooms in! But that was over a month ago. This is my longest entry yet. I fear that I am rambling. But when has rambling ever been so bad, ay?

April 2nd - A Tuesday

Coffee is a wonderful thing. They call it a long black, my drink; two shots of espresso topped of with hot water. Though, if it is not good coffee, I suppose it would be quite terrible. The best thing about it is after a sleepless night on the bus, sunrise ramblings through terminals, and one book down, I still have the energy, no, desire to write! I'm coming home today. It's 1:50 p.m. I board at 3:40 p.m. I've been here since 8, though. Yesterday and today have me feeling quite lazy. I always come back to that dilemma! Desperately desiring to laze, but hate the feeling of laziness. Bah! No matter. With my mind racing a million millennia a minute all in an attempt as to how I can keep myself busy once I get home, I half-way feel accomplished! Micah mentioned that I may not want to start working so soon, but I heartily disagree. My entire being is fixated upon it. I know that this wildly industrious energy will not last, but I intend on milking it for everything that it's worth. I need some money, damn't! For too long have I spent money without the proper means to repay. Yes, it was towards my edification, both in and out of the classroom, which, I suppose is more of an investment, but regardless! It's been one hell of a ride, but I'm ready. I'm ready to move on. Then again, that's what I've been doing in the first place? Moving on? Constant motion. That's what it's all about, I guess.

April 9th - A Tuesday

Mum

It's been one week since I landed in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I had cheap, Mexican food at midnight. It was excellent. This past week with my family has been nice. The life in rural Oklahoma is a slow one. Perhaps even Mississippi slow. Perhaps more? There is no more readjustment period. Coming here has solidified it. In the last several years, I have become so accustomed to picking up and going that by time I come home it feels as if I never left. Oh indeed, I am all the wiser, but never do I feel confused anymore about where I am. I believe that I have grown to love America very much like I have grown to love Mississippi; from the outside looking in. I look forward to getting to know my country better in the coming years. Am I scratching off foreign travel? Good Lord, no! I just need a little break, that's all. I have no idea where I'll turn up. Maybe it will be near the coast...any coast! Or the mountains...any mountains! I have applied to a few jobs that would require extensive foreign travel to Southeast Asia and the South Pacific. Hey, that be an adventure. In all reality, what I'm about to embark will be my greatest adventure, yet! Starting my life.

Diary Readings (continued)

Digression; Side note 2

The Ascent:
The ascent is bold. It makes its intentions known. It challenges all that oppose it throwing fire from the sky and rain from the side. Legs cramp, brows furrow, fists grow white, all the while a slow path performs a crescendo and the victor stands upon weather beaten rock and snow with the wind wiping exhaustion and bringing vigor and glory and peace.

The Descent:
The descent is cruel. Its motives are scarcely scene, but become more apparent with every stumble down. Bones become brittle. Joints become stiff. Hunger sets in. What comes up must come down. Bull shit. The distance grows. The heat gets hotter and the wind gets softer. The forests are inviting. They ask for nothing more than a chat. Then it gets dark.

March 9th - a Saturday

Tis the second consecutive day that I have risen before the sun to do nothing but say hello and make her coffee. It wasn't too bad, either; finding comfort by adding a little chicory; watching the clouds billow over the mountains as they cover the turquoise blue lake that extends past the horizon just to tuck it in at night. Fragments. Run-ons. My mind has been full of them lately. Constantly thinking of my past, present, and all of the would be futures that it has conjured at the same time wields an anxious mind. A dominating thought has been my career. I'm ready to grow up. To get a haircut. To shave my face. To become my own man. Self reliant in every respect of the word. I write this as the day is coming to an end in Aoraki (cloud-piercer) National Park. I am anxious about the hike thru Ball Pass. I bought my first Topo. It already has some food stain on it. I snagged avalanche and hypothermia guides. I have my Cuban cigar at the ready. The seas may look calm, but they are buzzing beneath.

March 10th - a Sunday

Our first true Alpine crossing. Thank the Lord for those old folks with all of there rejuvenating wilyness and, more importantly, experience. The slippery scramble up that scree pitch on top of our consistent wash out of our route was a tad scary. With our tents snugly situated behind several large boulders, the "Upper Playing Fields" aren't too shabby. The pink and purple and blue haze dropping below the surrounding white and black peaks makes for one hell of a view. Those damn Kea better not get into our stuff tonight. Alpine parrots? Huge green parrots with brightly colored under feathers that have a more inquisitive mind than a cat tripping on nip. I cannot believe that the Hooker and Tasman glaciers used to fill up those two valleys; the Hooker to the left and Tasman to the right. It's even hard to imagine them coming up to the moraine wash out rising some 1000 feet of the two old guys let alone the entire damn gully. Still anxious. We cross the pass tomorrow morning.

March 11th - a Monday

That scree slope falling out of those chaucy bluffs looks sketchy. It's 6:30 in the morning. My camera is steadily taking pictures. Maybe it will turn out well, what with the pink and blue climbing over the distant, but not so distant peaks. I'm looking at Mt. Cook (Aoraki) from the Northeastern side. I see where we have to go. I see our pass. On to the scree slope, up the bluff, thru the ice field, over the snow, atop the pass, and down the crumbling Ball Ridge with the Caroline face to our "true-left," will we reach the mouth of the Tasman glacier all while taking notice of the OTHER glaciers and mountains towering above us and breaking beneath us. Anxiety. Fear. Excitement. My pulse has quickened. It's nearly time to go. We have a long day ahead of us. There is no more route. We're leaving the trekking party that we met behind. We must find our way. I like that. Scares the hell out of me, but I like it.

March 12th - a Tuesday.

It's Drew's birthday! I'm in the car. We're in the car. We're alive. Sun burned, scraped, skinned up and down, achey, but relieved, proud, and happy. That climb. That scree. Looking to the right and left and seeing nothing but an immediate wash out lasting thousands of feet with nothing but fine gravel and big boulders to stop you on the way down, which, as you well knew, wouldn't. It's as if the side of the mountain fell off leaving nothing but a fragment - there they are, again - like little momentos for the mountain to remember her by. Makes me sad. The snow pitch! The heavily trodden and iced ascent up. Jack not getting crampons. The steep, slippery traverse down. Looking at Mt. Cook and hearing him rumble as he cast down ice and rock the glaciers and valleys below. Ball ridge. The exposed Ball ridge. All dangerous. All scary. All conquered (well, not Mt. Cook). That 8k run right after. Getting the crampons back with not a moment to spare. Success. Relief. Gratitude.

March 16th - a Saturday

The last several days have been a blur. Images and country are crashing together throwing flashbacks of big dinners, rock face, momentary solitude, boulders and beach, nightlife swing, green falcons, among other things. It's been a good trip. We're in Dunedin. We're at the beach. The wind is blowing. The surf is up and the water is cold; it's just so damn clear! It's a shame that your pride won't allow you to surf anymore today because your lack of skill surrounding by that surplus of skill. But, to be fair, that wet suit was a girl's wet suit; i.e. way too damn tight in a few areas (like, one area). I still have a stomach ache. This may be my favorite beach, yet. All of those gentle rolling hills and bluffs really make it something special. Actually, it's that lone, old, gnarled tree. It's just siting there in a pasture of golden hay at the foot of the sand looking over the bay. Natures light house. Green house? The boys are being lazy. I don't blame them. Lots of climbing yesterday with a big night out afterward. I lost my nerve cleaning that route. It was tall. It was exposed. It was scary. More like beautiful. I'm proud now, but that's after. That's usually how things go, I suppose.

Digression; Side note 3

Details. Life is full of them. Sure there is always that big picture scheme, but how do we know or, better yet, feel words without knowing those little words to describe those big words? Little words being details, of course. The little things that you're supposed to enjoy. Our mornings are pleasant. This is how: birds singing, sun rising, tent stirring, wind blowing, camp moving, water boiling, coffee making, breakfast munching, Eugene starting, car packing, and we move on. How about even more? The way Micah flashes his blue eyes when I flash an additional sugar packet for tea; the way Drew always says, "nice." after a good roll up of the tent; the way Jack's stomach growls louder than my own after a meal (WHAT!); the way a wave dances and tempts you closer never being able to discern whether she's going to give you a smack or salty kiss; the way the sky looks above the tree line as you stumble out of the tent in the wee hours of the morn. Yeah, those. They're nice, right?

March 21st - a Thursday

Micah left two days ago. My entries haven't been sparse for lack of material, but to accessibility and time. Yeah, we've kept on with the trekking and climbing and all of the other "cool" stuff, but his absence has caused a great deal of unrest within me. The last three nights have been bad. Can't sleep. Not a wink. I'll wake up from a small trance and immediately jump to conclusions as to why my worn out body won't do what it's told. What is it about? It seems as if all my drive and ambition are narrowing to climbing out of this whole that I have out myself in (having a good time doing it, I might add). Becoming financially secure and settled. Normalcy. I crave normalcy; that day to day grind that so many people tell me that they wish they could free themselves of. Free like I am. It seems as if my mind is more occupied with forecasting job outlooks than the outcrop of that bluff we just climbed. It will pass. Things always do.

March 23rd - a Saturday

Content. We had a massive meal for dinner. 3 burritos with all of the fixin's (except sour cream; junk is nasty). I make almost every meal. I don't know how this happens given that Drew is every bit as good as a cook as I am, if not better. Eh, whatever. I don't mind it. Beats washing up afterward. We've been climbing a lot of rocks as of late. Big rocks, little rocks, slippery rocks, slab rocks, granite rocks, limestone rocks, dirty rocks, clean rocks, overhung rocks, ya know; the lot of them. Drew is a damn good climber. Wye creek was scary. I think that I would have attempted to onsite lead a route on that big wall, but if I would have looked down, I might have cried. I think Dunedin is still bothering me. Being utterly exhausted 75-80ft off of the ground after finishing the hardest route you've ever attempted desperately hanging on as you're trying to remember the process of cleaning a route while being above your protection with nothing above or below. I lost it on that route. Unnerved for sure. The past several days have been good for me. I think I'm getting it back again. The mojo.

Let the pic's begin:

looking at Cook from the Upper Playing Fields.

I know Jack.

hey, Drew.

going down.

whip my hair?

surfers in the woods? nah, they comin'

Milford.

Mount Cook (The Caroline face)

KEA!

Diary Readings

February 11th - A Monday.

I'm not quite sure where I am other than in a tent by a stream in a meadow near mountains in Northland. It's our first night camping in NZ. The landscape is spectacular. We started our journey the 16th of January, but not too much before today is worth recalling. That's a bit bold. Maybe they will be recalled. Further on, I suppose. The surfing with Mickey was the best. Of course you'll remember the big wave you got crushed in along with the big wave you finally caught (5.5ft maybe? hardly big), but remember all of those smaller moments too; like this one. Washing dishes in the creek, drinking red wine, and eating chocolate by the moonlight.

February 14th - A Thursday.

I just arrived in Raglan. I'm sitting on a porch. I'm drinking tea. I'm periodically looking at the bay. She sings encouragement. I'd rather not be with anyone at the moment? The last several days have been great. Camping, Camping, and Camping. Now I'm at a hostel. The money is running out way faster than I intended. I'm anxious. Can't decide to go for a run or have a smoke. I can do neither. Damn... Have I spoken of Cape Reigna yet? Well, It was nice. Look to the left and smell the air, feel the breeze, close your eyes. You're there. Now you're running into the water under the massive rock bluffs. It's a great feeling.

February 15th - A Friday.

At this very moment, I'm listening to the album "Kid A" by Radiohead. It's out there, but good. I'm still in Raglan. I wish I could stay here. I can't wait to leave here. I went for a surf today; was too scared to go for the big boy rocky point break. It had great waves, though. We're going to Hobbiton tomorrow. I'm awfully excited about that. I've been drinking too much beer lately. I attribute that to the Nelson Bay venture where we drank just about every night. Nothing serious, but continuous. Yoga was quite nice today. She pronounced her O's oddly. Oregonians. I want to go to French Polynesia and work on a pearl farm. The potential position in Nashville has me on a edge a bit.

A Digression; Side note 1.

This is my first side note. I don't know how long this is supposed to last. Maybe I should continue to talk about Cape Reigna? It was big and beautiful and blue. I went skinny dipping in broad day light where the two oceans met - the Tasman and the Pacific, of course. I was 100% sober. The Kauri forest was nice. I don't think that I'm spelling that correctly? I think it inspired the creator of ferngully. Especially that second tree being 17 around or more? I miss being off of the beaten path. I want - NEED - to climb a mountain. I want - NEED - to be challenged brutally. I think about it all of the time. I rode a good wave. Now I need to yell atop a snow covered peak, beat my chest, and yell into the nothingness that sets above the world. Damn, my handwriting is bad. Cruising around the North Island is beautiful. I'm having a hard time imagining how the South Island can be so much MORE beautiful. I miss stability. I long for chaos. I hate roads, yet I live my life on one. Cello or piano? There are still so many things that I want to learn. I'm going to get good at one of them when I get back. Not like Dr. Sebba or Dr. Simon good; hell, not even half that good. But good enough to play a song. Carl, my dread, is hungry. He's growing. He's also trying to raise a family.

February 16th - A Saturday.

I'm by the light of my lantern. I'm in a tent near a lake near mountains near the sea. Today was a great day. I drove to Matamata with the amigos. We drove further, led by Eugene of course. We arrived in Hobbiton just before our tour began at 1. We saw it all. Buckland even! The party tree was still there. Hobbit holes of all sorts still in tact! My favorite was having that free tasty ale in the Green Dragon. Purchasing Micah and myself another round was just as rewarding as the first! Geeze, I was excited. I wanted to run through the meadows and hills, swim down the streams, and dance and sing all night long never leaving the pretend world dreamt up to be the Shire.




February 19th - A Tuesday.

Not much happened today other than eating. Lots of it. Nvm. We went to Wellington. We went to the Te Papa museum. We saw the giant squid. Miraculous. It was a great museum (I touched the raptor even though I wasn't supposed to!!!). More important note! We climbed Mount Doom yesterday! And Tongariroo! We took the Tongariroo Alpine Crossing and turned right towards Mount Doom. I keep referring to it by it's fictional name merely because I cannot pronounce nor spell the real name. What a sharp, ashy, barren, steep shadow of a path it was. Into the mist and clouds we went only to arrive standing on the rim of the volcano. We smoked our cigars and had pb&j's. Lovely. Tomorrow we're crossing the Cook Straight with the South Island in our sights. HooraH.

February 22nd - A Friday.

So I'm making a habit of writing in the tend before or after reading. Wednesday we crossed the Cook Straight and stayed in White Bay. Thursday morning I woke up to scower the rocks searching for my breakfast; abalone and green lipped mussels. I was successful  Breakfast was successful. Those two Americans biking New Zealand were nice to talk to. The hostel we stayed at in Motueka that night sucked. The steaks, potatoes, and beer was great. Today we woke up and at 30 eggs, a loaf of bread, and a block of cheddar. We're men, damn't! I'm hungry just thinking about it. I'm always hungry. The Hangdog climbing park was pretty cool. Felt good to be on rock again. I almost got that overhang. Almost. Though, my knee has been hurting ever since. More climbing tomorrow along with prep for Mt. Arthur and Mt. Owen in the Kuhurangi Mountain Range.

February 23rd - A Saturday.

The full moon has risen over the mountains  It has a cast a silohuete of the sub-alpine ridges and peaks surrounding us. It's chilly outside. Our fire is-a-goin'! The back country of New Zealand has been all too welcoming. Man, that moon is bright. And the stream flowing down from the nearby brothers of rock and stone, Arthur and Owen, tastes delicious. As long as the weather holds, the hike up to Mt. Arthur throughout the Tablelands and Kuhurangi forest should be nice and clean. This is our first multi-night camping venture into the bush. I'm so packed with granola and peanut butter, I could explode and feed the entire populous of Bonnaroo. Climbing was good this morning too. Three lead climbs and my first clean! Though, I couldn't have done it without Drew's expertise. Climbing by the mourn and tramping by night. All is good.

February 26th - A Tuesday.

I'm listening to the sound of American and Canadian voices. I can't remember any of their names. I don't miss America per se, but I do miss good, cheap beer. And cheap things in general. When I get hungry, I miss the States. When I am thirsty, I miss the States. So basically, my homesickness can be quite wretched sometimes. Anywho. We climbed Gordon's Pyramid and Mt. Arthur yesterday. Tomorrow, We climb Mt. Owen. How 'bout that hike in? Jue puta! The guys are getting weary. It's tiresome work, the trekking and tramping, but it's oh so rewarding. I'm worried that they are not seeing the reward. I'm worried that they are not feeling it like I am. Maybe their spirits will pick up. I'm sure they will. I want a massive burger. One that will make my heart fear for its life. We haven't been eating much. I'm energized enough, but I'm constantly hungry. That 30 egg breakfast seems so long ago. Le sigh.

March 3rd - A Sunday.

I'm clean! I'm full! I mean sorta full! Did I mention that I'm clean? It's been over a month since I have washed my hair. I can't remember my last shower. The Scottish dark ale was absolutely delicious. This Crafty Beggars Pale Ale is quite nice. Remember: they're crafty, but not too crafty. Shall I recount the journey up Mt. Owen thru Granity Pass? Along Sentinial Mountain keeping right across the sub-alpine mixture of tussock, boulder, flower, and granite? Scrambling up grey sheets hanging from the side of Owen as he stood proudly in the beating sun? How we jumped over crevasses with no visible bottom? Scanning the horizon to the South and looking at snow covered peaks chatting above the clouds? I'm in Christchurch. Our bodies hurt. We need to rest. We are weary but not broken.

The Runaway; Stepping forward while looking back.

With a strong attempt not to stray from the theme, I will convey onto you what has happened in the recent days of late. You will have to excuse me, however, for my memory seems to be a bit hazy

A fortnight to the day, three gentlemen and I boarded planes that would lead us thru Asia, Indonesia, and onto Sydney, Australia. With a vague remembrance, the flight went on quite well with tasty airplane food, horrible children that commanded the attention of all, an orchestra of snores, and a sleepy movie soundtrack written by Yann Tiersen (Amelie). 

Upon the arrival of our forth compadre, a Mr. Jack Wood, we set out to meet our lovely Australian hosts. A few minutes and a heap of cash later, the taxi left us at the door of our temporary home. After nearly 40 hours of travel, it is to be said without the need of being spoken that we were slightly fatigued. 

The next several days were spent meandering about the city making sure to exploit the beach as much as possible. I suppose walking the harbor bridge followed by a round of beers (provided by the generous Micky Mike) makes for a good night as well. And hell! Even though the surf was a bit shit, the taste of the pacific crashing down was as tasty and powerful as ever and, at the end of the day, all that was left aside from the tide washing in was an out of breath, ragged, silhouette of a man walking along the beach carrying nothing but a board and a smile. A board and a smile. 

Though I was quite keen to get back to surfing, We decided to get a short taste of trekking with all of our new gear. Harnesses, rope, shoes, packs, tents, lanterns, and even Nutella were all to be put to the test with a short venture into the Blue Mountains past the Three Sisters and onto Blackheath with the Shipley Upper rock plateau in our sights. Exploring valleys, yipping and yelling on ridges, wading thru fog, and misty water falls were quite all right especially with the Kookaburra laughing at us all the way (google Kookaburra laugh. do it.) We climbed and climbed some more. Jack and Micah climbed their first route. I am finally in the 5.10 club. Drew excelled and lead a 5.11a starting with overhung jugs planing out to small, tight crimps. The climbing was bloody brilliant. Looking at the rock a 60-80 ft. climb with fresh chalk marks and solid bolts was nice enough, but what made the climb was when your curious eye decided to look to the right then to the left and then flat out 180 degrees opposite and see a drop that widens the eye a bit more; a drop extending thousands of feet running into a lush valley hidden amongst a surrounding family of mountains and feeling the strong, cool wind brush the face of the mother of all the mountains as she stood taller than the rest in the hot Australian sun.

When the climbing was all said and done, we meandered back to Sydney aboard a lovely train filled with people going about their daily business with news papers, coffees, briefcases, and books in hand - not all in one hand, of course. As soon as we arrived in Sydney, we inhaled a quick meal only to be taken by Mike (a lovely gent, truly) 3 and a half hours North to Shoal Bay along the Australian coast line South of Brisbane.

Upon our arrival, Rachael (our new, lovely host) set out a pack of cards, a case of beer, and introduced herself to our crew. Needless to say, we became friends in a quick hurry. I mentioned earlier that the beaches in Sydney were nice, yeh? Well, If I did not, they are. However, they do not come close to the sheer goodness of the beaches in and around Shoal and Nelson Bay. For two or three days, we wondered about the sandy and rocky beaches of the Bay. The highlight you ask? Well, snorkeling was great. Truly great. I SAW DORI! IT WAS TOTALLY HER! I nearly chocked! Good thing that I did, because I must have spooked all of the other fishies out of the bushy kelp forest that I was fluttering about and, in a moments time, I was surrounded by a sea of color rather than a sea of water - I guess both, but whatever.

Oh yeah! The highlight. We, along with our new bestest friend Rachael, decided to test the limits of the tide and cross over to a beach with out path or pass except for the point of large rocks thrown upon the shore forming a jetty filled with ride pools, barnacles, sea slugs, and other little critters left behind at low tide. What we found greatly exceeded our expectations. My eye met a small, golden beach with set after set of blue and turquoise waves crashing against barrier rock formations nestled on the brink of a semi-circle facade of twisted, cut rock that stood behind us as we faced the Pacific and felt the white ocean mist kissing our sun-burnt faces. In the middle of the sandy beach stood a large rock jutting out of the ground dead center of the lagoon looking over the big ole' blue. I had to get on top, oh yes, I had to get on top. The wet, salty air and my mangled mane might as well have made babies on the spot. We sat around the small beach without saying a word meerely listening to the waves battling and crashing together as they receded and charged at one another over and over again. Usually static things are burned into memory - ya know, like smells, pictures, maybe even touch? This memory was not static; is not static. I can close my eyes and taste and feel and smell and see all that I did that day in perfect moving imagery. Good stuff.

Within several days, we packed up and headed North to Murrula North Ranch, the home of Rachael and her lovely family located outside of Scone, Australia (the horse capital of Australia!). We've only been here a short few days, but we feel at home. The land, the farm, and the family have all been so, so good to us. In order to give this memory in the making justice, I feel a fresh coffee (or beer depending on time) and a revitalized mind is required.

Until next time, folks.

Jonathon

P.S. Sorry for no pictures. I have been shooting in RAW which apparently produces a file (.RW2) that is unreadable to any Photoshop less than the brand-spankin' new one. So, to prevent this from happening in the future, I intend on shooting RAW and JPEG, which will allow me to upload pictures with no need for conversion or any of that. Just know that the touched up ones in the end would be better, I suppose?

P.S.S. My internet access is pretty sparse. I believe that it will get even worse in New Zealand. So, what I am trying to say is... don't expect many more of these. I'm talkin' about one per month, tops? Sorry!

The Intermission

I had to write. To put down what is continuously being said in my mind.

Adjusting back to the Western style of life was not to bad - in fact, I enjoyed it. We have it pretty good, ya know. Not worrying about parasites in your tap water is a good thing. A very good thing. Having my Jeep again was also nice. Hell, I'll just say it: I missed a lot of things.

Even with all of these ammenities that I take for granted, I am still a bit on the fringe. Not even a month passed, and I was already antsy about my next trip. That's a bit strange right? To long for home so badly and then, not even a month after my arrrival, have strong thoughts about leaving once more. Sitting down to write a term paper or analyze data - ha! Useless. It's not that I am not thinking - it's just that my thoughts are some place else. This leads to the dominant idea (feeling?) of this blog: our trip. The trip of all trips.

Australia and New Zealand.

As soon as I graduate and have that Bachelor of Science in my hand, I will be gone. Selling everything. Leaving everything.

Side note: I feel as if it's a bit irresponsible for I am capable. Capable of a lot. Yet, I forgo this responsability to relish in the idea of freedom - the idea that I am the one in charge and am not dictated by any other being or entity but death herself (yes, death is a she, people. get with the times).

My two friends and I will be heading to Australia for nearly three weeks and then on to New Zealand to embark on the hike of the century. Desired outcomes: hang ten on the gold coast, climb a 5'10, summit a mountain w/o guides, have enough footage to make a documentary, enhance understanding of nature and our connection (lots of yoga), life long friendships, and most importantly, when it's all said and done, be content all ready. I am tired of this constant desire. This insatiable appetite that consumes my every breath. The unknown is just so damn attractive. It has turned into lust if anything. Why? You tell me. In the mean time, I am going to find out.

Desired Summit: Mount. Aspiring

Concerning the documentary. Yeah. I'm serious about that. I'm selling my Jeep and buying climbing gear and recording gear which includes, but is not limited to a Bolex 16mm w/ 3 lenses and a DSLR with HD capability and 1080p at 24 FPS. The theme? Well, I'm not going to disclose that just yet.



Bolex H16

Oh yeah! How long are we staying? As long as we can. 1 month? 2 months? 3 months? 4 months? Who knows.

Hey, here is an idea: be our sponsor, and we will include you in the documentary. I'm creative! Sorta.

Cheers!

Jonathon

A Finale

Ok, ok, ok. I know what you’re thinking. This is really late. But… If you think about it, it’s not that late. I mean, I only returned to the States 6 days ago (I started writing this the 21^st). For my tardiness, I will try to spare y’all of my ridiculous rambling. Because you know it happens.

Friday July, 28^th, I finished my position with El Cultural. I kicked it off by playing a few tunes for an intercultural festival for my school with drinks and friends to follow. July 28^th is Peru’s Independence Day! Now you know something new. The drinks were a bit necessary. Good thing I didn’t have to wake up at 5:30 to catch a bus the next morning, right? Wait. I did have to catch a bus. A 10 hr bus. With a touch of Rosy Retrospection, the ride was not that bad. At that moment in time I am sure I would have told you otherwise.

So that was the start. July, 29^th, I took off. Fled. Ran. Leaped. Left. Jumped. Whatever the hell you want to call it. I was headed to Cuzco. In Cuzco awaited antiquated churches and beggars, tourists and thieves, Incan temples and over-priced coffee, do I go on? Super awesome place. Met people from all over the world. A few highlights: good English beer, a wicked burrito (and I use that adjective in more ways than one), textiles, markets, and architecture. The Plaza de Armas was one of the more beautiful plazas that I have seen.

Though Cuzco was nice, I only came to Cuzco for one thing. One big hike through the Salkantay pass that would lead me to the Incan city named Machu Picchu (named after the small mountain range surrounding the city; to this day, the Incan name of the city is unknown). Well, I did exactly that. After 36 hours in the city, I left. Left the hostal at 4:00 a.m. and did not return until Saturday morning. 'Twas good. Very good. Indeed it was my first multi-day trek! I will let the pictures speak for themselves, but I will say this: a good group can seriously elevate the experience (pun intended). And I had one hell of a group. People from Europe, the U.K., Australia, the U.S., New Zealand and even some Brazilians. Not only did I gain a few additional red blood cells to cope with the altitude, but a ton of insight. I do not know if I have ever had so much reasonable political discussion in my life! I guess it is a pretty relevant thing. Something worth learning aside from an Aussie’s perspective on federal banks or a Swiss’ opinion on Laissez-faire capitalism is that no trek is worth making if you’re viewing the entire damn thing through a lens. This is where my pictures slowed. If I found something worth gazing upon, I gazed. If something was marvelous, I marveled. With my own eyes this was done – not with a camera. And ya know what? I do not regret it. I can still feel the crisp, clean mountain air brushing against my face. I can still see the clouds below me and above me as they lingered in valleys and clung onto mountain peaks. I can still taste the cold water taken from the glacial brooks that flowed down the mountain sides. I was selfish, y’all. I drank it in rather than bottling it up. But of the pictures that I do have… well, here you go.

Coffee bean picker. 

I had to take the picture, people. had to. 

After the trek, I hung out with several of my new friends in town while I tried to recoup my strength. With a few passing nights, I felt strong enough to take on the 32 cumulative hour bus ride to Huaraz, Peru – the trekking capital of Peru and home to South America’s tallest tropical mountain: Huascaran (22, 205 feet). The bus ride from Cuzco to Lima was hell. 23 hours of zigzagging through the Andes. It really did not help that I stuffed my face with street food the hour before the departure at a festival in the square (but damn that food was good). I mean, who’s going to turn down stuffed, baked guinea pig served with all sorts of fixins and corn beer! Not this guy. After arriving in Lima, I had to find a connection to Huaraz. Though I wound up with nearly 7 hours to kill, I did pretty much nothing; well, aside from getting lost, finding myself, getting lost again, becoming fine with it, and then finding myself accidentally. That ordeal involved two beers and wanton soup.

After arriving in Huaraz and catching up on some much needed sleep, I hit the town. When I say hit the town, I really meant drank tea and had muffins and llama burgers and fondue and more tea and burritos and cheese cake and French fries and stuff. Buses don’t feed you much. Least not in my standards. In Huaraz, I stayed in another backpacking hostal (of course) where I bunked with two Spaniards and an Argentinean. THESE dudes… These dudes were cool. Extremely dedicated and experienced mountaineers. Totally took me under their wing. Had I had enough gear and time, I would have attempted to summit one of the nearby mountains with them.  Instead, I did some cross-country mountain biking and hiking. I mean… the city is only 10,000 feet above sea-level. How hard can that stuff be? Not hard when you’re already acclimatized! Boo yah! Ok, it was still hard. Huaraz was beautiful. Plain and simple. Well, the country side. If I were to return to Peru once more, that is where I would begin. Same picture mentality applied.

quite possibly one of my favorites. valleys are so nice. 

After 5 or 6 days in Huaraz, I returned to Lima for about 4 days. I stayed in one of the nicer districts called Miraflores. Dude. It was sweet. Great cafes, used book stores, photography exhibits, WI-FI park, random art showings, live music, and, of course, the Pacific. This upscale, artsy community was situated smack dab off of the Pacific Ocean. The second day that I arrived, I took a walk that lead to the water. Within 5 minutes, I was in a wet suit and charging towards that wonderful sound with a 7’5” board by my side. The water was chilly but the waves were nice. To this day, I am quite a terrible surfer, but I have the heart of a seal. Sound ridiculous? That’s because it is. It is quite ridiculous that seals are awesome surfers. Ellos corren con las olas. I don’t give a damn just how big that wave is, but I will try my best to run with it. One of the benefits from a surfer’s district is that you meet other surfers. Real ones. Surfers tend to be pretty cool people. I do not know of it not holding true in fact. During my short stay, I managed to become pretty good friends with a fellow surfer from Sweden. Lima is cool, but I believe it was definitely a little bit cooler thanks to her. I probably would not have even gone to the Billabong surf competition 30 minutes South had she not asked me – yes, I went to surf completion. Yes, the waves were big. How big? Oh… just 30 feet. Ridiculous? Insane? You’re damn right. Lima treated me well.

this wasn't the wave. just sayin'.

The night of August 14^th strange emotions begun to take hold. It was the night that I would head to the airport. It was the night that I would pass through security, pass through customs, pass through the food court not hungry, and board the bird that would carry me home. At the time, grabbing any particular feeling would have been impossible. Peru was different. This trip was different. I worked a real job. I lived a real life. I did not see the half-truths that a country portrays and a tourist sees. I saw it all. Felt it all. Heard it all. To say that I grew would not quite be correct – I believe it falls under the ambiguous shroud of comprehension. To understand. Entender. Saber. Conocer. Tratar. Probar. Escuchar. Sentirse. Those and many more.

I suppose I will visit Peru again. That’s a pretty safe bet. In the mean time, it has given me plenty of things to think about.

Sneak peak: Two of my greatest friends and I are planning a trip to New Zealand. We’re buying one-way tickets. Interpret that however you like ;)

Jonathon