Catalina Island fox makes a comeback

Catalina Island was a magical place when I was a kid. It look long enough to get there by boat that it was a huge deal to be able to go, and happened very rarely. I always knew it was out there -- surrounded by clear blue waters swarming with fish. The small town on the island, called Avalon, was what I would think of now as a tourist trap. But when I was little, it was the best combination of Disneyland and some small remote Spanish village.

As is usual for islands, the ecology on Catalina is very fragile, especially with its small size and large human influx. I had no idea there was an endemic species of fox on the island. According to this L.A. Times article, the native Catalina fox is making a heartening comeback after some strokes of good luck, weather-wise, and lots of effort by wildlife biologists. It's a cute little scupper.

Enjoy good news from childhood fantasy destinations,

Bp

This video is full of awesome

My faithful Canukistani operative "Yuri" sent me this video in an effort to help me better understand the quaint and humanistic culture from whose loins he sprung. It is so full of awesome I had to share it.

Welcome to Canukistani Folk Music.



Enjoy times past when men wore their shirts a bit too tight, with bandannas tied around their necks like an ascott to sing baudy songs in fisherman's shanties in the far north,

Bp

Ps/Addendum: After extensive video analysis we have determined that the man with the bad neck kerchief is Dennis Quaid. Tell me I'm wrong -- check out 1:08 on that video and tell me different.

Back Home!!

We had a great visit, enjoyed the wedding, and I'm back at a working computer. Really makes me realize what an enormous information nipple this thing is for me to be without for a while. The feeling was made that much more poignant by having a computer in the house but totally crippled by spyware and bizarre mini applications (a peeling banana cursor animation, for example), so it's really just a tease and not actually usable.

I will be gratefully immersing myself back into cyberspace pronto.

Hope all is well,

Bp

Crippled in the field

Hello loyal readers,

I'm currently in Barthoud (sp?) Colorado with The Wife, for a wedding. The computer here is riddled with spyware and can barely crawl forward enough to open a web page. I'm wrestling with the system -- because I can't help it. But, missives from the road may be lacking unless I can get this system to move quicker than a constipated anaconda.

Soon,

Bp

Total L.A. experience

So we went to the Arclight theatre to see the opening of Burn after Reading by the Cohen Brothers. The cool thing about the Arclight is that it is assigned seating. Yes it costs more, but you don't have to wait in cattle call and hope you are going to get your seat. The other thing about the Arclight is that the famous people like this feature of the theatre as well.

So who do we see on the way out of the theatre? Natalie Portman. She's teeeeeeny! Like this big (make a one-inch mark with two fingers to illustrate). I also spotted a character actor who has been in a meeeelion tv shows and films in the 70's and 80's -- who is neither Ernest Borgnine nor Paul Sorvino. I can't find his name for the life of me.

We are off to have a breakfast at Auntie Em's Kitchen. Supposedly really great food, despite being a hipster hangout. Ps: the hipsters in L.A. look almost identical to the hipsters in Portland. There is some media that they are both consuming to check their clothing (and facial hair) against.

I do think we're going to hit the La Brea Tar Pits as well, The Wife said she wanted to see "huge dead animals." That will fit the ticket.

Here's the trailer for the movie -- I'll probably review it later, but have to get to breakfast ATM.



Enjoy bumping around tinseltown virtually,

Bp

Guess where I am

I'm in the cool old-L.A. style bungalow of Catherine the Great and her male concubine Jerry. Catherine is scrambling up some of the smoked salmon we brought with eggs for breakfast. Rocking. [there is supposed to be a cute photo of Catherine and Jerry right here, but the mac is arguing with me, so here is a link]

We are in a cool neighborhood within Highland Park. We flew into LAX last night chatting away with a big Santa-looking fellow who is a diesel and drag-car mechanic. He was headed in to L.A. to truck a dragster to a race somewhere in the middle of nowhere (Bakersfield).

I will probably throw up a post or a photo or two while we're down here.

Enjoy your day,

Bp

Trovants: stones that grow

Ever heard of a Trovant? Me either.

They are called the "growing stones" of Romania. Check out this cool Environmental Graffiti post about them. When they get rained on, they grow and morph into weird sculpture-like shapes. Apparently, there is often a "brain-like" look to the top of the stones. That's not creepy at all, really.

Make sure to click on the slideshow to see a number of different examples.

Enjoy nature sneaking up on you in the most surprising ways,

Bp

[via "Yuri," photo credit in linked article]

Removing pine pitch from clothing

When I was at the Metolius River last month, I sat down on a bench under a big Ponderosa Pine. When I stood up, I heard and felt the pants pulling up multiple globs of thick pitch off the bench. These were my favorite pants, of course, some Carhart denim -- and I figured I had just made another pair of work pants.

I found out tonight that rubbing alcohol, when soaked generously into the fabric and scrubbed vigorously with a rough alcohol soaked rag, will remove the pitch. Of all the substances I read to use for removing pitch (WD-4, kerosene, hand sanitizer)rubbing alcohol looked to be the easiest on the fabric. The pants aren't dried yet, but by everything I've seen so far, it looks to have worked just fine.

If something shows up after drying, this post will be edited.

Enjoy saving a fine pair of duds,

Bp

The Metolius maintains its reputation, and I mine

Got a river tour with our kind host on Monday. He pointed out stretches that he traditionally fished, up which sides of the banks, which time of day, etc. He even took me to some private land with some beautiful stretches of fly fishing water. It was just after the heat of the day, so not the best time to be fly fishing. I wasn't exactly expecting to catch anything under these conditions, on this river, and sure enough I didn't.

It's well known amongst my group of fishing friends, that the Metolius in fact may not have any fish in it whatsoever. Our normal invitation to go fish it is, "Hey, want to go get our asses kicked at the Metolius?" We can see the fish at times, always monsters, but we sure as hell can't seem to catch them. The grand majority of the time we just fish and fish, mezmerized by the beauty of the river and the potential of all these hides and spots we're casting to, and go fishless. (Before they jump on and defend themselves, I will qualify that a few fish have been caught here by my fishing cadre, but it sure as hell isn't the norm).

My history with this river has been solidified -- I can only catch fish here by cheating. My very first day here, years ago, I rigged up a pretty standard deepwater nymphing outfit like I'd use on the Deschutes -- two flies, plenty of lead, strike indicator. That day, I caught two big beautiful trout, and was thinking "hey, this place isn't as hard as everyone says it is," right about when one of my fishing buddies walked up and said "Uh, you aren't allowed external weights on your line here. Better get them off before you get a ticket." Whups.

On this trip, I've caught a few fish. But I've caught them all at a spot that our gracious host deems so easy as to be unsportsmanlike, and calls The Kiddie Pool. It is the spillway for the little dam they have on their property. There is a small phalanx of young, gullible trout that hang out in the bubbles there. Once I figured out that this was the notorious "kiddie pool" I had to try a few casts, and sure enough I missed a few strikes and hooked a small rainbow. My host insists that if I mention having caught fish on this trip, I announce where. I'm not ashamed, at least I caught a few.

Enjoy getting your ass kicked,

Bp

A deeper look into Lotus Land

There are many factors that lead me into a nearly constant state of psychic disbelief about my current circumstances. Many reasons why I spend a generous amount of my time sitting a bit aside from the group, staring out over the landscape, dazed, wondering what the hell planet I'm currently living on.

For one, I really don't know anyone here. I had only met two of the folks working this retreat before I came here. I drove out with a professional clown, in a car that is covered with chalkboard paint and chalk graffiti. I'm surrounded by strangers -- smart, talented strangers.
And yet everyone greets me with a smile, and offers me assistance and advice like we're old friends.

In the mornings, people are roused awake from their various tents and sleeping platforms by a woman playing Reveille on a trombone. After breakfast we caravan to the Camp to work with the kids. I find myself sitting in a circle with experienced theater people, doing warm-up games, and then sitting down to work as coach and scribe for some amazing kid. One on one we work out a series of surrealistic characters, none human, that will give this young person a place to clear out their soul just a little bit. Give them a place to tell their story in metaphor, in code -- through art.

I feel like I snuck into some dream job, having faked my qualifications. Like the people around me are so comfortable in this position that they don't see how out of place I am. Wasn't it about a month ago that I was graduating with a degree in Biology? That's science, right? That was me, right?

When we get back from camp, and after we debrief our work with the kids, immediately someone hands me a gin and tonic and says that I'm expected out at the horse shoe pits. Somewhere, there is meat slow roasting on a mesquite bbq, and our host is setting up for some incredible dinner. I rarely have a second drink, but since they're served in pint glasses, and are strong, I rarely need a second drink.

And I wander around to look at the geese on the pond, or to watch the stars come out as the last of the sun goes away, and I wonder how the hell I got here. Who the hell are all these people, and why are they all being so nice to me. How in god's name am I pulling off being a writing coach for these complex and vibrant kids.

Bp


[Painting: Robert Duncanson, Land of the Lotos Eaters, 1852]

Reflections on working with these kids, and living on the river

As I mentioned a few posts back, I'm working with teens this week with Playwrite, Inc. We are working with kids at Camp Caldera, and so basically are working like sub contractors. During this same span of time, there are other arts workshops in subjects like photography, film-making, and fiber arts going on.

The kids that signed up for our workshop are great, intense, and working their tails off. Every day their moods and attitudes change, so you really don't know what to expect next. One day kid X is reticent, and quiet, and goofing off during the exercises; and the next they are excited to get writing, and fully engaged. Today had a particularly good energy about it, and we think it's because all the kids at the camp were allowed to sleep in. At this point in the immersion program, Camp Caldera staff figured out that a good long morning can eliminate a lot of behavior problems.

So I'm finally getting paid to work one on one with kids. It takes a lot out of me, and after only 3 hours I'm ready for a nap. We spend more time back at home base going over the work produced from the day and discussing various strategies that did or didn't work with each young writer.

There already is some impressive material coming out in the character sketches the kids have developed. I'm excited to see the short plays once they've been polished, and then performed (under the direction of the kids) by professional actors at the culmination of the workshop.

Living here on the river has put me into some la-la land. My brain doesn't seem to be firing on all cylinders, I trip up on my words, and I'm taking lots of naps. It is a life out of time -- quite surreal.

I have discovered that I am truly my grandfather's progeny, because I am picking up the game of horseshoes quickly. Grandpa was a handy player himself. I had a hell of a streak a couple days back and was undefeated. The wins have slowed down a bit lately, but my throws are still looking quite classy and artful despite the fact the they aren't always scoring. Who knew.

I'm also discovering that, for blogging, my home desktop sure is an enormous help. I have a real-sized keyboard (trying to type on diminutive laptop keyboards feels like trying to speak through a ball gag), and I have all my handy blog subscriptions to cruise for material to keep the juices flowing. Even if I don't post everything I come across, the process is now part of how I warm up to write and seems to help.

I'm off to stare at the river a bit.

Enjoy unexpected circumstances, and making the best use of them you can,

Bp

Quick followup from the river

So it turns out that Bruce, the executive director of Playwrite Inc., who is hosting this little shindig on the Metolius river, is an accomplished chef. Like, bigtime.

So we finished off our evening meal with hand-cranked organic ice cream -- Port and Marionberry ice cream.

We worked with the kids today for our first day of playwriting. They did great, and it is definitely hard work to coach them. Challenging in a good way, but challenging nonetheless. I'm loving it so far. And, I'm a newb.

Off to the sleeping platform, I'll post pictures of that in the next few days. I woke up from an afternoon nap yesterday to a mule deer stag grazing about 50 ft. away.

Enjoy short, unillustrated, somewhat disjoined blog posts,

Bp

Live blogging from the Metolius River

Posts will be emitting over the intartubes from the shores of the Metolius River in Camp Sherman, Oregon. Until August 1st or so. That picture there isn't mine, but it does give you a start. I'll snap photos and share as this job with Playwrite progresses.

More later, it's dark out and folks other than me need this computer,

Bp out

My first teaching gig -- Playwrite Inc.

That's what a degree in Biology will get you, a writing/coaching gig with marginalized youth. [I really don't like any of the terms for these kids, "at risk," "troubled," etc. -- maybe just "teens" is the best.]

I'm now part of the Playwrite team. You can get lots of information about the program by clicking the text link and surfing around a bit.

I'd say going to this page and clicking on the OPB Art Beat video would be a good introduction.

The kids go through a two week workshop where they write stage play material, assisted by coaches. The assistance is very specific, and doesn't include ANY material or words whatsoever -- meaning they do every single bit of the writing themselves, it's all theirs. We're more like scribes and questioners -- asking questions to help keep the kids on track and producing good material for their story. At the end of the workshop, professional actors perform their pieces. They direct these actors, and have creative control over how the material is performed.

There is solid research behind the Playwrite model. I will go into it in the future. For now, I'll say that when folks write through trauma, they heal from it much more successfully. It helps them digest the experience and move on with what they've learned. Freewriting, specifically, gives these benefits.

Got to cook the Canukistanis their breakfast so they can head back to the land of Ice and Snow with a full stomach.

Enjoy finding out that gigs fun enough to be SURE to be volunteer are actually paid,

Bp

Stu having an Apocalypse Now flashback

Here is Stud Farmhand doing his best Captain Benjamin L. Willard impersonation in the middle of a wheat field. I love this shot. Muse is a great traveling companion for stuff like this.





Enjoy live-action movie references captured in time, and in the bald,

Bp

Canukistani operative spots waterfall ninja at Latourelle falls

Although top secret, a small but elite force of Canukistani nationals are visiting the house. Among them MAY be Yuri, my prize operative.

We were reviewing the grandeur of the Columbia River Gorge on an undisclosed day in the near past, when Yuri spotted a man in a wet suit coming down the trail toward Latourelle falls. He looked at us, and said "we're going back to the falls, we have to know." We turned around, and Muse the official tour photographer gathered this data. I love that picture above... very cool.

Here is the waterfall ninja in his tentative, dangerous approach. Imagine what would happen should a pebble, or even a small boulder, be in the water flow.












































Enjoy nutbags unintentionally entertaining your international visitors and proving that Portland is, in fact, staying weird,

Bp

Off to the Palouse to work on hives

I'm headed out to The Palouse Diary headquarters to visit Uncle Fester and finish up my bee hives so they'll be ready when my sets come in next month.

Today, as I have been many times this winter, I am thankful we sucked it up (with the help of Va Momma and John) and replaced our Outback with an Outback. I've driven on tons of crappy road and felt safe, slept in the car, and today loaded up all 3 hives with room to spare. Awesome.

Ya'll have fun, I intend to.

Soon,

Bp

More info on those Blue Ice photos

Yuri (of Canukistan) has dug up a bit more information on those ice pictures I posted below.

Snopes.com did a little piece on it, exposing the misnomer "frozen waves."

Here is a post talking about blue ice and how it is formed, with some great shots from Southern Patagonia. Included in the bottom of the post are the photos in question. The photographer is named as Tony, and there is a link to his Antarctic photoset, named "Dome C."

Therefore, it seems reasonable to assume that the photos are from the location in Antarctica called Dome C. To finish off the intarweb research, here is the obligatory wiki entry for the location as well.

This may provide Trappin' Pat more information with which he can further explain the ice formations -- though he did a pretty amazing job already in the comments below.

Enjoy the white tips of your personal celestial sphere,

Bp

[photo source: linked UADDIT blog]

Ice photos

Thought I'd start off the week with some beautiful photographs. The original post calls these 'frozen waves' which, though poetic, I believe is a misnomer. There are a number of other photos at the link.




[via Yuri, the Canukistani operative]


Enjoy the beauty of solid water,

Bp

Big Wind

That is a picture of Stu's horse Ace, an old friend of mine, being blown about by the wind storm this morning in Walla Walla. It's also, coincidentally, part of Stu's back yard, normally the part where you can look out over rolling wheat fields and then to some beautiful foothills in the distance.

The winds at that time were 35 mph or so, with 55 mph gusts. About an hour later, when I decided to attempt a drive home, they'd ratcheted up 10 - 15 mph and the gusts up even more. Stu and Colleen had lost power in the house, about 10 minutes after they filled the tub and some 5-gallon containers full of water. No power, no water in their little water district. That was one of the reasons I decided to leave, I didn't want to put a strain on their temporarily limited resources.

It was a bit surreal to drive in the wind. The sky was dark and the road had constant debris flying past, lots of tumbleweed especially. There were barn roofs torn off and laying by the side of the road, and at one point a downed tree caused me to have to detour a bit.

Eventually, I hit open road, which in this part of the country is really really open. That was comforting, no more trees, just wheat. Outside of Milton-Freewater Oregon, when the road really opened up, I came upon 3 semis in a row that had been capsized by the wind and abandoned. Next was 6 power poles that were down in a row, but to my luck away from the road instead of over it.

The whole drive until way past Pendleton was dark like in the picture with Ace. Just a muddy grey weird color, almost like the color the clouds take on before a tornado, but a bit less green.

The roads were nearly abandoned, except for service vehicles of all sorts. I didn't see any car wrecks, just slowdowns due to trees in the road or big debris. It only took me an hour or so to drive out of the worst of the wind and be back in the gorge, on I-84 West, heading home.

I dodged a bullet apparently though, because not long after I got through Pendleton, the 84 was closed, and the winds increased even more. Gusts were reaching over 70 mph.

All in all it was an exciting and interesting drive home. Time to shower all this grit out of my hair and ears.

Enjoy your normalized weather patterns,

Bp