Published in Wavelength Magazine

Fate of the Futaleufu another river "damned" from the diary of Andrée Hurley (edited by the magazine) Saturday, Northern Patagonia - How to begin? I am feeling very disoriented writing on Chris's computer at this hospitaje at the base of these tall mountains in northern. The dirt road leading here was filled with potholes; sitting in the kitchen with its carefully painted pink walls and yellow trim, my inner ear still vibrates from the little blue bus. We eat next to the stove tucked behind the tables and chairs. I have declined the proffered delicacy of puréed cow brains, but indulge mightily in the meat pastries without problem. I am near the town of Futaleufu, not far from the Argentinian border. My destination is Expediciones Chile , a paddling camp on the Futaleufu river, for some whitewater kayaking and a few days of paddle touring down through Lago Yelcho. Because of many layovers, it has taken me three extra days to get here, but nothing I have seen so far compares with this beauty. Every day I wake up and am awestruck

Sunday - Chris's camp is alongside the Futaleufu; we pass through five gates to get to it, stopping to talk to people at the school house and the ranches along the way. Chris has done a magnificent job building; there is a beautiful dining hall, an outhouse made of bamboo, a large sauna containing a huge custom welded wood burning stove, and two outdoor showers, one attached to the sauna and the other nestled between large boulders on a bamboo platform. The Futaleufu River itself has enormous volume and beauty, blue with glacial sediment, warm in it's late summer stage. It may be the best river in the world, the cathedral of rivers, according to Chris. Chris is planning to go whitewater kayaking and asks me if I want to go, if the water looks hard to me. Shane Benedict and Beezly where also visiting, and kayaking. I think it looks flat and uncomplicated, so off we go, hiking a good distance with the boats across a golden field and then down a bit of a cliff. Chris, Shane and I put in, and to my surprise the water is far `pushier' than it looked; I am content to get used to my boat while Chris, in his element, plays the waves. He and Shane had competed against each other in the nationals, one for Perception, the other for Dagger. They suggested I wait in eddies while they do pirouettes on cushions.  The Fu slides downstream, cradled by a curve of granite. Ahead of me on the inside corner is a massive whirlpool with a killer eddy line and boils to boot. The boils surprise, rearing up in front of the boat, as if to make sure someone is paying attention. But I've just been on the easy stretch; the Terminator is downstream, and so tight and fast that Beez earlier dislocated his shoulder. No time to think in there, said Chris, only time to act. When the going gets rough, Chris tells me to take a tight line behind him. I flip twice, the first time above a hole big enough for twenty kayaks. It takes me two tries to roll that time; I miss the first out of nervousness. Chris reprimands me for over-compensating. Shane reminds me to wait to roll. I laugh to myself as I have told so many people the same things. I portage the Terminator, feeling a like Little Red Riding Hood carrying my kayak across golden fields and through pine forests. I make a clean roll again after catching air in the standing wave set called the Himalayas, coming up surfing back down the wave. My elation is complete. Pato picks us up and we are off to the sauna, dinner, and a round of hearts. They name me "Babe", and I must say, I did pretty well for my first time. Monday - After this wonderful introduction to Chile I am shocked to learn that a dam has been planned for the Fu. Without consulting any local people, a private company posted three little notices in the Santiago and Puerto Montt diarios; since no newspapers are transported or sold in the Futaleufu area, it is an absolute surprise to everyone. Los Becinos, a community landowner's association, finds out about the dam through a Chilean visitor who had read the newspaper in the coastal town of Chaiten. The community is astounded to hear the news and discovers they have only four days to lodge a formal protest (two being weekend days). An emergency meeting has been called at the school and someone is appointed to go to Puerto Montt to lodge the protest. People say (in jest and as an indicator of the emotion involved) that they would rather secede to Argentina than see this happen. The hat is passed and 160,000 pesos ($300) is raised to transport the representative to Puerto Montt in time. Tuesday - The Futaleufu runs down a steep canyon (we are talking walls straight up, thousands of feet), and then off into Lago Yelcho. I cannot see the river from here, only the mountain. Time is running on already this morning, but today I will put my sea kayak on the river (somewhere towards that mountain) and paddle to Chaiten, where I am to meet the bus Friday at five which will shuttle me back to the town of Futaleufu. Chris drives me to the put-in point at a local farm. Wool hangs drying, brown, black and white on racks of branches against a backdrop of towering peaks. We open the gate and drive across the pasture, trespassing. The dogs bark and two women, cleaning wool next to the river bank, walk across the greenery, surreal in the peaceful sunshine. Ciao, as they say here, their cheeks to yours (I am remembering people by the feel of their cheek - - scruffy, soft, young feeling, light). It is time to paddle. Wednesday - High noon. The river is emerald-green, moving at maybe half a knot. Granite rises straight out of the emerald water, massively, white with mottled black, pines clinging to the sides, snow at the top. Ahead, a looming hill splits the stream. Right or left? Left, sandbar on right. A glacier appears around the corner showing dark crevasses. The sea kayak is not as maneuverable as a whitewater boat; it responds awkwardly. Drifting downstream, I see boils -- or are they upstream V's? I'm having a crisis of perception, sitting in a sea kayak and reading a river. The kayak feels cramped; maybe I can pack better tomorrow.. All sorts of little items around my legs. Do I feel a tickle on my foot? I hate that. Just imagining what might be in there...I try not to. Late afternoon and I'm at the lake. Fish jumping like crazy. (No fishing pole!) Beautiful marsh, tall reeds both sides. The water is glassy, dark before a rounded mountain, its chute curling down to the water's edge and reflecting back. Another tiny beach covered with white sand and bleached driftwood. Lots of dead wood everywhere, a sign of old forests, few people. The deeper I go into Lago Yelcho, the more miniscule I become. The mountains, waterfalls, trees all loom. Those steep granite sides, steep mountains rising and rising. Touching the the sand for the first time, it is rich granite sand, each particle it's own firm entity. Thursday - Wake with a sense of mission yet not wanting to rush. Make a good cup of coffee and eat imported granola, think of packing for the second day. Kayak much more neatly packed today, maybe a bit heavy towards the stern. It's a big crossing I am deciding on. Going by my aeronautical chart, the east side of the lake is shortest. The crossing is very exposed, and no beaches in sight. Slight breeze on my back. I look for whitewater against the cliffs on the other side but see nothing to indicate more wind. There may be takeouts to the south, but steep. Nowhere else to go but forward and I do see signs of beaches on the map far ahead if this breeze becomes dangerous. This area is taking on a dreamlike quality in beauty. Every rock and tree is poised and proud. As I round a point a waterfall appears, seemingly cascading for a mile. It is still a twenty minute paddle away and I can only but paddle towards it. I have to take some pictures beginning early to show how large it really is. The water sparkles in front of it for fifty yards, as the sun is behind it to the north east. As I come closer I see there really is no dry landing spot, just beautiful yellow rounded rocks lying a few inches under the surface in front of a mound of boulder ten to twenty feet in diameter. I paddle to the source and am gently pushed away by moving water. To my right is a spot to exit the kayak, and I have to tie it to a rock so it won't drift away. Walking across the small rocks I finally realize I need to do some major wading and just go for it up to my waist -- the run off is much colder than the lake. Climbing and slipping I get closer to the falls, the mist pounding on my body. Set up the tripod for a few pictures (it is very dark and I set the camera to one second) and make a quick exit -- I am freezing all of a sudden. My glasses are fogged and the freezing frames are cold on my face. I'm suddenly worried about slipping on this moss and being disabled and getting hypothermia just from windchill. So I sit on those round golden boulders on a watery shoal with my feet being lapped by warm lake water. A little triangular green bug lands on me; the comraderie is overwhelming. Afternoon. I feel like I have a long way to go and need to just DO it. My feeling is to get away from this isolated spot, as there is no place to stop. I'm here on the water with just the fish. The map shows a bridge over the river that drains Lago Yelcho into the Pacific. 4:40 pm. Eureka, I see the bridge. Just its little points, like tee-pees. Whitecaps out there. Bummer. Now the sound of waves echoes off the cliffs and surround me. The waves are bigger, rolling. No wind here, yet. Get an occasional crest. Finally the wind hits. Hat brim low, body low, paddle evenly against the wind. Set small goals; that boulder, this stump. The bridge is getting closer, dwarfed by that huge glacier from above. Heading under bridge; couple of campaneros go over on horses and ignore me. A contrast between old and new. 5:20 Moving water ahead...! and another corner with a drop... get out, change into warm clothes. Very cold, now, with wind chill... First time on moving water like this (faster than before) in a sea kayak and have some fear about maneuverability and loss of stuff. Funny lining up in a sea kayak for a V, using the same strategies... Going for the inside corners, without actually getting caught by the eddy. The boat is hard to turn, especially in this wind. Evening. Wind is dying, camp set, who knows where I am, really. The map is so off. No people anywhere. The river is curving around this glacier to the west. Water is running off the glacier in rivulets everywhere. Huge rivulets. You know, maybe that last big noise was the glacier, they do make noises, don't they? Friday - Early. Up and at 'em. Guide mode. Get packed first. Make the bow heavy to keep it downstream, or am I being dyslexic again? Looks misty out there. Birds are starting to call, faint light. Put on clothes in prep for mosquito war. My favorite thing, to pace and eat warm granola. Yesterday it tasted good, today it's all I can do to force it down. Very foggy. Radiation fog? A bird is having conniptions in a hidden location. I want to get back to catch the bus so I won't have to stay overnight. Underway again. This place is so amazing; fog clears; peaks showing above. Far above. Beautiful wide gorge with mountains thousands of feet high, tree covered, lush with granite showing in patches. So busy looking barely missed a log right in front. The protrusion was facing upstream. Finally the river merges with the ocean. It is cloudy, warm and shallow until I find the eddy line. Then it is cold, blue. 12:50 There is Chaiten! So foggy, hope it doesn't get covered up, hope the wind doesn't get worse. Keep finding myself in sandy shallows, lots of logs out here too in the ocean. Water isn't salty yet and it's still warm, muddy, cross eddy line and now cold, salty, clear. Pablo Neruda captured it well. At the beach -- drag boat up on slippery rocks, run up the stairs thinking I must be a sight, all wet, deranged, messy hair. Where is that bus station? It's only 1:15. Should be able to get it. Saturday - I have made it back from my trip in time for the meeting. From Chris's camp next to the river I walk to the schoolhouse. Inside a classroom four men make up a panel behind the schoolteacher's desk. They discuss la repressa, or dam, that has been proposed. The group is silent, polite. Everyone is worried. In front of a government lawyer sits a cassette, a reminder that big brother is listening, harkening back, for me, to the dictatorial regime of Pinochet. The mayor is here...the head of a group of neighbors, the schoolteacher... they each take turns making speeches. The mayor probably is feeling trapped between the government and the people. In the door is one of the handsome campañeros in a shawl and pants made of raw wool, still fluffy. Is his farm threatened? What is his life and where will he go? Does he have a good piece of property now he can't replace, a subsistence lifestyle? You can see some people are poor and want the work the dam would bring. Chris, definitely the tallest and blondest in the room, mentions in his broken Spanish that work would only last so long. This is one of the most beautiful places on the globe he says, and it should be preserved for the future. He is suggesting that the group needs a name and a mission statement, that the name is important for los diarios and for the future. Outside I meet a man who was in charge of building the road into this area. He and his wife have traveled from Santiago for this meeting and fill me in on the indigenous huemul deer, which is a national emblem. A law passed two years ago protecting the huemul might be of benefit in saving the Fu, he says. Sunday - Beez and Shane and Chris are still sleeping while I head to the beach with my coffee, diary, and mattress in this early morning light. The Thermarest insulates me from the round wet stones, dark and solid, which sit behind a heavy water-soaked log serving as a retaining wall for the Fu, keeping it on track and away from this rare white sand beach. The Fu laps over periodically, valiant, defiant. Thousands of cubic-feet-per-second rush by at a steep gradient. How long can the log do it's duty against the powerful blue stream in front of me? Poplars mark a ranch on the other side, against a forest of trees, and a split rail fence decorates the rounded pasture lands. When the sun was beating down on the black stones last week, the women from the ranch laid out their laundry to dry over there, adding spontaneous color to the landscape. Who wants this magic and peace to be inundated by machines, by men and their wish to build, harness and change the face of nature? Why can't we live in symbiosis, live more simply, take advantage of the gentler ways of creating the power we need? I think of the deranged river beds in North America -- so lonely and barren upstream, the water dispersed to golf courses in deserts. I think of the Paquarre River in Costa Rica; where, as we floated through a narrow rock canyon we heard noises above and looked to see men drilling. We were told the Paquarre dam had been stopped, but do they try to fool us? Throw us off the track while they set things in place for the coup de gras? My time here in Chile is close to an end. Chris and I take our kayaks down to the free-flowing blue river, let it carry us on its strong back, feel its white unharnessed energy once more. Monday - While in Puerto Ramirez we find that the plane into Puerto Monte has been cancelled, and start back up the road towards camp. The bumps seem to have grown and we travel them slowly. To break up the ride, Chris stops to stretch on the bridge over the Fu, where the river races along in the night with the stars to compliment it. I spend as much time as I can muster, awake by the river that night, finally going to bed at 2 a.m. What did it matter, not sleeping, when I was only going to be traveling the next day. Tuesday - Waiting for the bus at the schoolhouse, leaving now for Chaiten to catch the plane. I have a vision of the old granddad, all tough but wrinkled with luminous twinkling, standing against the wall.On the bus, leaving. We pass a row of wood shacks once-hidden by the hospitaje which treated me to the great pastries, and -- I can't believe the hospitaje has burned to the ground! Only ashes remain. We had watched the Crying Game here, with all the local ranchers during their night out. Somehow this event makes me think of the changes that the damming of the Fu will cause to this river, this land and these people; like an ending. I think again of the old grandad, against the wall. He had said, after hearing about my trip, "So, you are not afraid of dying?" ...... Andree Hurley has travelled and paddled widely. She is actively involved in the Washington Water Trails Association and has developed a World- Wide-Web site on the Internet featuring kayaking (and other paddlesports) and environmental issues. Point your WWW browser to: http://www.halcyon.com/ah.

Kayaking Lake Titicaca

I exited the plane at the airport near La Paz, and was disconcerted to see a little girl vomiting on the pavement. Little did I know that would soon be me.

The bowl of La Paz was the most fascinating thing I had ever seen, and the taxi descended to my hotel where I was to start my FAM trip, meet the guide and other guests.

It was a bit hurried; as soon as I got there we left for some ruins. Stone faces looked out from walls in grim fashion, and I started to get a headache, which wouldn’t go away.

Back at the hotel the guide, Sergio Bolivian, told me to drink some coca tea and go to bed, which I did.

The next day we set out for Copacabana and Lake Titicaca. It was a stark but beautiful scene, and a majestic temple like building stood out amongst the flats terrain.

We set up our tents while the guides assembled the Kleppers…they were having a hard time and I offered
to help, but they didn’t want any help.

Meanwhile, I started to feel nauseous, and the guide told me to make myself throw up and I would feel better. I complied, and went to bed.

In the morning we had breakfast and launched the kayaks. I found I had no energy, unusual as I was a kayaking guide and instructor, and all the boats were paddling away without me. 

Eventually a motorboat with Carlos came and picked me up. He was a handsome man who came from a wealthy family – they had a paint company in La Paz. He offered me chocolate and a Cuba Libra, with run from Cuba. I had a feeling I shouldn’t drink alcohol, but it seemed so exotic that I had a couple of sips.

At one point we stopped at an island to see a ruin – I have pictures but don’t remember much about it. 

I was motored to our destination and set-up camp. I rested in my tent and watched some pretty women in colorful, large skirts head our way on a path. I thought they were heading home, but actually they were coming to us to sell jewelry. My tent-mate flashed some money and they didn’t want to leave the door of the tent, poking their heads inside and reaching out with their hands. All I could do was roll over.

The next day we went to a village on a different island and it was humming with industry. Stone steps built in ancient times went up a hill steeply, giving access to agricultural terraces. A little clear running creek ran down the side for irrigation.

We walked by a mud building that showcased potatoes and guinea pigs for sale, both a staple in the diet. 

Potatoes come in all shapes and styles, often being preserved on the surface of the earth. Guinea pigs are used by local doctors – they run over the body of a sick person, and then are dissected by the doctor to discover the ailment.

Very carefully I took a few pictures of people lounging below me, foraging with their lamas.

Onward to the next camp – we arrived and heard that one of our local guide trainees had flipped his kayak when leaving the shore of the island and lost his glasses. He came to our camp late, extremely worried as he couldn’t see much and the glasses were expensive.

Three hours later someone came to our camp, a long trip for them, to deliver the glasses – it seems they had several people diving into the lake to look for them.

We boarded a bus in the morning and as I had been getting sicker and sicker they put me in the back to lie
down. It was a treacherous trip; we heard one bus had gone over the edge the day before. My body was bouncing off the seat, and I was getting worse with altitude sickness by the minute.

Back at the hotel I was put in a room to myself. Everyone had gone out to dinner. Ironically a woman I knew from Seattle, Mimi, was on the trip, and I kept hoping she or someone else would stop by.

There was a knock on the door and a man who said he was a doctor came in. He only spoke Spanish. He said he was going to give me a shot for pain and where did I want it, in my arm or my bottom. I told him I didn’t want a shot. He gave it to me anyway along with some prescriptions, and then asked for forty dollars American. I thought this was preposterous. I had to crawl across the floor to get it from my pack. 

The next day I was put into a white van to go to the rustic lodge with three other guests. The rest of the group was going to hike the Inca Trail.

The driver was a flirtatious guy who had been out with our guide drinking all night. We hoped that he could drive to the lodge without an accident.

We crested the Andes (I think), and I needed a rest stop. There were no buildings, so I walked to the edge of a lake to have some privacy, and I my way back I realized this is where everyone else goes to the bathroom too.

There was a dog sitting at the top of the pass – he was put there for good luck and was waiting for handouts.

We wound down into the jungle and came to a beautiful lodge furnished with antiques, with a large dining room, swimming pool and a group of cabanas. 

An elderly man was flirting with me and throwing me kisses that I thought a bit too sexist.

My tent mate and I were happy in our new quarters and went to have dinner – a lovely tomato soup with quinoa grains floating delicately on top. The bartender was very young, and had created a sketch book of cocktails and recipes; I told him he should publish it. 

At some point the elderly gentleman found out I was sick and told me he was a doctor and could help me. After his original display of affection I told him I didn’t want him to come near me, and shocked he said “tu no molestar, tu no molestar”. He was really such a nice gentleman – and the top pulmonary physician of the country. He had worked with people in the mines.

After evaluating my lungs, he walked me to his cabin and took some ampicillin from a suitcase of drugs in the closet. We then walked to a tiny cemetery and he showed me his wife’s grave while he held my hand. She had fallen though the bridge over the river and died. The plot next to hers was his.

The ampicillin was as if someone took an eraser to my lungs; every day I could breath a bit better. What a godsend.

Eventually the rest of the group showed up from their trek. We had another meal and then set off to go whitewater kayaking. We stopped at a family home and I remember having a miraculous conversation with an elderly man in Spanish. I felt like I was in a bubble as he described his life to me, and how the only way to visit was to come on the big trucks over the little dirt roads, hanging on the sides.

We set off and found kayaks waiting for us at the top of a steep gorge. We got them to the bottom and found a man collecting and killing butterflies.

The river looks to be a class 2 or 3. Carlos was there, and we set off with him in a kayak. He didn’t know how to stay upright and flipped many times. I was aghast at the safety on the trip, but they said things were different in Bolivia, the US being overly cautious.

We then boarded a van to head back to La Paz…it was a long trip and it grew dark. Eventually we heard the sound of an animal wining, and it turns out someone had put a puppy in a box and tied it to the edge of the cargo rack. We rescued the poor thing and tried to stop it from shivering.

We were sleeping, finally, and found we were stopped at a roadblock. There was a curfew in the city do to some unrest, and we weren’t allowed to go forward. The guide negotiated for a couple of hours and we were finally allowed past.

The end of the trip arrived – I was both happy, relieved and a bit sad to have an end to such an adventure with nice people.

I booked myself into the Hotel Presidente. I had spoken to the editor of Summit Magazine before I left and he had told me if I took a good picture of the mountain Winopotosi, he would put it on the cover…

At the front desk I asked the concierge if I could go out there – he said, hurry, there are newlyweds in a taxi going there right now – go ask if you can join them.

I’m not sure what they thought, but the Japanese newlyweds let me into the car. We dropped them off of to go on their celebratory climb, and I got some fairly good images. We hurriedly went back to the city.

We did see a woman in the middle of nowhere putting rocks across the road – she was trying to stop the cars from going to the mountains. The driver told me not to try and take her picture, as she would throw a rock through the window.

We stopped for a minute at a cemetery of miniature houses. We had gone by an old mine and saw chemicals all over the ground. The cemetery was for the workers – each person had a little house it was resting in, and llamas were grazing around them.

What an unusual experience it all was, I watched La Paz get smaller and smaller as I flew out the next day. It took another six weeks for me to return to full health, but if I was able to do it all over again, I would, although I'd spend more time acclimating.

I headed up towards Mount Baker over Martin Luther King weekend to hold my vacation cabin listing open. Between customers I was engaged in  day and nighttime photography of the mountain and the stars from the upper deck.

Paying attention in this way brought back to me the peace and stillness of life outside the city and a greater appreciation of a get-away such as this!

This image is an overlay of the sunrise and evening stars, specifically the constellation Orion. I set-up my Nikon D7000 in interval mode to create star trails and thought the image of Orion the best. Orion shows in the early evening a couple of hours after sunset.

New York and the Adirondacks

As many of my friends know, I got a start in the outdoors when I was very young as my father built a ski lodge. Not just any ski lodge but the Mammoth Mountain Inn. I started skiing, hiking and swimming as soon as I was able and this eventually led to backpacking, rock climbing, river rafting and kayaking.

I've kept up the kayaking and over a decade worked my way through up through the American Canoe Association instructor hierarchy to become an instructor trainer educator.

One way this has paid off for me ties into my love of travel! In August I received a consulting contract in the Adirondacks to oversee an instructor trainer candidate and a Level 2 course held for the wonderful instructors of The Black River Outdoor Education Program.


Aside from the lovely environment in upstate New York, this also fed into my interest in real estate. We were told we would stay in the Wildflower guest cottage. Our cottage was a beautiful two story cottage on a grand scale made of hardwoods.

It is placed on a large piece of property which emulates a great camp such as the ones the early vacationers had. I like to call it a mini great camp!

On the main floor we found the master bedroom and bath, casual living area and a wonderful screened in porch where we managed to have our coffee one morning. The second story had the library and second bedroom with a wonderful four-poster bed.

Our cottage had a kitchenette but the dining room and commercial kitchen are in the lodge next door.

A stroll down a lane through the forest brought me to a carriage house with a horse washing station, and hidden in the woods were more homes and guest houses.

We had a wonderful screened in porch where I would have my coffee each morning. One day, out of the forest and myst, a lynx bounded across the grass. I can see it as clear as day, but didn't have my camera. 

We drove each day to Nick's Lake near Old Forge, New York for our classroom and then were often treated to steak, red wine and chocolate desserts.





My hosts, Jeff and Laura Liebel,  have a canoe and kayak company called WECANU and are also quite involved in the Northern Forest Canoe Trail (dear to my heart as I am the current president of the Washington Water Trail).

I ended up extending my stay and drove as far as Lake Placid, visited a friend on Lower Saranac Lake and toured the Wild Center Natural History Museum.

The architecture of the museum is inspired by studies that show that seeing the living world each day can make one happier and healthier! More than ninety-five percent of the spaces inside have a direct line of sight to the outdoors.

Overall it was an exceptional trip which fed into many of my interests!

Reminiscing of summer and fall, moving into Christmas

I didn't spend too much time at the computer this year - I mostly traveled with iPhone in hand!

After driving to the Outdoor Retailer show in Salt Lake City last August, I decided to visit the four corners area before heading to Yellowstone to visit my aunt.



I visited and camped at several national monuments, parks and native american sites. Navajo National Monument, Hubble Trading Post, Canyon de Chelly, Chaco Canyon and Mesa Verde were some of my favorites. When it is hot I found it best to pull in near dusk and leave before noon.





From Mesa Verde I headed to Jackson Hole and Yellowstone. I joined my aunt on an early morning "safari" and we were fortunate to see grizzly bears and a family of wolves in addition to the bison, deer and fantastic scenery.


As a tour guide I appreciated the knowledge and agenda. While I am a do-it-yourself kind of gal, I would highly recommend this tour.







Luckily I had a kayak course to look forward to in Florida.

After the course near Naples, I shot across the state to see The Adams Family in West Palm Beach and then toured the keys, accomplishing something I had always wanted to do - I got a certification in scuba! - I can stay under the water for long periods of time and keep company with the fish!

Amoray Dive Resort is one stop shopping for this. They were recommended by the local visitor's center as they had one of the last rooms (low-key with kitchenettes) available and it turns out one of their instructors, Dan, was available to work with me for two days. With his help I managed to plow through the text book, take the test and accomplish the pool and four dives.

Salmon la Sac

I went with friends on a little cross country ski trip near Rolsyn - up the river, up the road and then onto a little trail along the Waptus River.

Overall it was a beautiful day in our own private snow globe. The Salmon la Sac seemed to glow an iridescent green under it's cover of snow and ice, an image that will remain with me for a long time.

Exploring Issaquah Trails for Dog Walks

During a lull in the Northwest rain I was looking for a new trail and found one! It was more than bargained for but rewarding.

Cougar Mountain has a lot to offer so I drove out the Issaquah-Renton Highway until I found the first small parking lot. Off I set with Ci Ci on a nice steep incline.

At the top of the first incline I walked through a little valley complete with a boardwalk which elevated us above a muddy bog.

I eventually reached the top to find a bench that was just created last year. It has a cryptic saying : "May You Find Inner Peace, Tranquility and Safety on the Trails. Follow the Path to Bushido".

Of course this leads to another path; the path to finding the meaning of Bushido. The way of the warrior...which according to http://thebushidocode.com/ are rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor and loyalty.

Now the hike worked the body and fed the mind and spirit. As I said, rewarding...

As usual I tried to get a good track with the iPhone GPS and it tried to keep up although lost us in a couple of places. Here is a map-link to our hike and a link to pnwhikes.com where one can find more details.

The bench is on the top of the hill to the right of the track, although the GPS wasn't able to follow us there. The trail was easy to follow and well signed.

The Big Island

I joined friends on the big island of Hawaii and basked in Paradise for one week. As it was a last minute trip, I made it an adventure by having very few plans. Thanks to my friends, the iPhone, Yelp and word of mouth, I found great places to stay and took some wonderful hikes and swims.

As Yelp was so helpful I created an account and added reviews: Yelp Reviews.

Our trip to the Green Sand Beach was incredible. We hiked in along the coast watching humpback whales breach and then dove into the water as our reward. I swam underwater and thought I heard a goat bleating; of course it was really a whale sounding from outside the bay, but at first I was shocked as it seemed to be right next to me!

The picture of these whales as taken right off the deck of a house I shared with my friends at Moiliili, the last fishing village on the Big Island. As one local said, however, it is important to get off the deck and onto the lava.