Happiness is a Warm Puppy - 24/5/2008

Just arriving to New Jersey on Friday meant that Saturday was jetlag day. After a rousing game of fetch and shred the stick with MacCool, I went with my parents to Bel Haven Paddlesports, which is their local outfitter. They were having a demo day, which meant lots of boats to try and other deals to be had.

I tried two Necky sea kayaks and loved them both. The Chatam 17 felt a tiny bit too big for me, but it tracked really well, even with the wind. It was easy to put it on edge, though I struggled sometimes to keep it there. I wonder if the Chatam 16 would fit me better. The outfitting was very comfortable and the boat felt perfect in width. Next to try was the Eliza, a women's specific design. It, too, felt great in the water. It has a rudder instead of a skeg, which feels a bit too much like cheating to me. I never put the rudder down because I was halfway into the lake before thinking about it and then discovering that the lock was still in place. Sideways in the wind was no problem.

The Eliza comes in an ultralight fibreglass composite design as well. That boat looks perfect. It's narrower than plastic version and has a skeg instead of rudder. Weighing in at a mere 19.5kg, it looks like I can carry it myself. Price difference? $1250 for the plastic version and $2300 for the glass boat. Is it worth the difference? Probably, but I didn't think it wise to fall in love with the glass boat when neither one fits the budget at the moment.

We had lunch at the demo day and did the obligatory gear shop. Mom is getting Anna Levesque's Recreational Kayaking for Women DVD for her birthday from my dad tomorrow. She thinks he bought an idiots over waterfalls DVD like he was looking for, to entertain his students at school. Just like she thought I was most likely coming in July not now.

Jetlag kicked in as we rolled up the driveway. Parents left for somewhere, leaving MacCool and me to commune over laps and fetch/destroy the stick games in the back yard. His recently mowed lawn meant sticks were hard to come by and destroyed in one bite. Constantly smaller sticks were being thrown across the yard and eventually they became too small for his eyes to see.

MacCool celebrates his 11th birthday today. Happiness is a warm puppy. As I blog, an occasionally snoring and occasionally restless puppy keeps me company. Even at 11, he can't sit still for long.

Mom paddled a Wilderness Systems Tsunami, a slightly larger model than the boat she has on order. The wind tried to remove her hat just as I took the picture.

Dad liked the Necky Chatam 17, which was my favourite boat of the day.

A flatwater air brace is as effective as its whitewater counterpart.

I told MacCool to sit at the bottom of the stairs, which he obliged. Then I told him to stay. He obliged for a minute. As soon as I was out of sight, he climbed the stairs cautiously. I caught him with his guilty face on as he was halfway up the stairs and immediately his tail began wagging. The original video is grainy but clear enough to see the guilty face. I am not sure blogger's compressed version is going to be as good, but the wagging tail behind the guilty face should still be clear.

MacCool scratches an itch.

MacCool takes a break from fetch the stick, to break the stick.

Sailing in South Queensferry - 21/5/2008

The original plan for Wednesday night involved bikes and Glentress. Neil canceled in that morning, claiming malfunctioning legs. I saw him in the Faraday break room and watched him walk/hobble/waddle across the room like a marathoner. Biking did not appear sensible. George proposed sailing instead. Neil declined, but Brian and I took him up on the offer. It was a nice evening for a sail, with some wind but not enough to get anyone too excited.

George owns half of a Lark, which is on the large side of a two person boat. Soon after we arrived, I learned that my paddling boots were in another bag and sailing would have been another good use for welly boots, also at home. Oh well. Brian and George launched the boat and I offered to park the trolley in exchange for collection from the pier. My feet got to wait until entering the boat to get wet and cold.

The Lark has an especially low boom. I am not sure that is the correct term for it, but considering it could go boom against either Brian's or my head, I think the name is apt. Our job was to negotiate the small front sail which meant when George said, "Coming about," we would either pull a line taut or release a line. It worked pretty well. I found a reasonable perch to avoid the boom, but Brian struggled. My perch attempted to minimise wet and cold feet, but after a few comings about, wet and cold were achieved anyway.

George gave each of us a shot at steering, though he wisely held onto the part that controlled the sail. The Lark is tippier than the Sunfish I remembered paddling in the Girl Scouts, so perhaps a less crowded boat is a better idea for trying both.

We sailed around Queensferry Harbour, staying in the shallower parts to avoid the race involving the bigger boats. We were out for about an hour and a half before deciding it was time to head back. Without the race, we might have ventured across to North Queensferry, but that can wait until another time.

The tide was on its way out, which meant loading the boat onto the trolley involved a lot more faff than unloading it. I was deposited at the same collection point and held the boat for the boys to take down the sails. Brian provided propulsion for the journey back to the ramp. Low tide meant the ramp ended before enough depth was reached to collect the boat. We tried many configurations but in the end had to empty a lot of water from the boat before it was reunited successfully with the trolley. We then made use of the hose to leave the unique smelling Port Edgar mud where it belonged.

Brian viewed the Lark with skepticism, wondering how three people would fit.

George and Brian sail from the launch ramp to the pier to collect me. I was grateful for the postponement of cold and wet feet.

Duck... duck... duck... duck...

Goose!

At least someone knows what he is doing.

George and Brian dismantle the sails. Brian is the hint of red and orange among the fabric of the sail.

Desailing

Without sails, Brian became the Lark's main source of propulsion.

Coasting to Dunbar - 18/5/2008

Bike Scotland Book One, aka the little red book, has 40 cycle routes in central Scotland. Brian and I headed to Dunbar for a route called "Coasting to Dunbar" which was claimed as 25km (15.5mi) and hilly. Our version of it included a few wrong turns for 22mi on Brian's bike computer and a hilly ride that was remarkably similar to last week's mostly flat ride.

We parked at Victoria Harbour in Dunbar and followed the instructions out of the town to Spott Road, making a quick stop at Asda for nose powdering before cycling on toward Spott. Brian had to wait for me a few times as I stopped to take photos of the views back to the sea. The waves looked big by the harbour and they still looked pretty big from so far away. According to the lunar cycle, the full moon will arrive on 20 May, so the big waves make sense. The second time I caught up for Brian waiting patiently for me, he pointed and said, "This is a nice view. You can see Arthur's Seat, Berwick Law and that bird shit place."

With the little red book safely in Brian's pannier, we cycled through Spott and missed the left turn toward Elmscleugh and an eventual ford across a burn. Instead, we enjoyed a long zoom down to another ford and thought we were on the right track until the road came to an end. The left turn was a dead end and the right turn seemed completely the wrong direction, so we checked the little red book and cycled back to fix our mistake.

We found Elmscleugh easily enough and the correct ford. The next town to find was Innerwick. This time, we checked the book and made the correct left turn. Uphill paid off with some nice, long downhill and Brian got ahead of me. The road ended and the left turn downhill led to a quick right to Innerwick. I wasn't sure if Brian made it, so I stopped at the junction to see. I couldn't see him on the Innerwick road because it turned too quickly but I didn't see him at all on the fast downhill to Torness, so I headed to Innerwick anyway. On the way, I passed a guy walking the other direction and asked. He said yes, a cyclist passed maybe 2 minutes before. I said thanks and continued onward. Sure enough, Brian was waiting for me in the village wondering where next.

The little red book said make a left then a right at Innerwick Castle. We didn't see anything resembling a castle, but made a left and a right when they presented themselves and zoomed down to the coast beside Torness Power Station. Just up the way from the power station was a caravan park, the John Muir Path and beach access. The John Muir Path was our route back to Dunbar but the beach looked like a nice place for a picnic.

Our picnic spot looked out toward the next sticky outty bit, which the OS Map said had places called Telegraph Hill, Dowlaw and Fast Castle Head. St Abbs is on the far side of the lump.

After the picnic, we cycled along the walkway beside the power station, watching the waves crash against the synthetic shoreline and admiring the signs that warned against swimming because of the strong currents near the inlet to the power station. Honestly, the appeal wasn't there. At one point along the walkway, the water made crossing in the dry a bit of a challenge. I watched Brian time his sprint across to avoid getting splashed by the incoming waves. He succeeded but only just. It made for an interesting photo series.

Beyond Torness, we followed the John Muir Path along the coast, which is very much a walking path and not as great for bicycles. Fat tyres would have been better. I appreciated the kevlar lining on my tyres for their extra squish, but I could feel the rocky stretches all the way up my back. I preferred the grassy stretches, even with their occasional steep erosion drops. Brian got well ahead of me.

Traffic increased on the path as we passed surfers and then walkers. Brian waited for me first at Barns Ness lighthouse and then the park bench in the golf course. It was a short jaunt back to Dunbar from the park bench. On the drive home, we stopped at Luca's in Musselburgh for that ice cream that Brian didn't get on our cycle to North Berwick last year.

Looking back on the long, shallow climb away from Dunbar

The view down to Spott from the hill that went up, steeply up and then up some more.

Peeking between the trees to the Bass Rock.

Brian waited for me at the top of the hill from Spott.

The view across to Telegraph Hill and Fast Castle Head from Torness

splish

splash

Barns Ness lighthouse was along the bumpy John Muir Path most of the way between Thorntonloch and Dunbar.

Loch Lomond weekender - 10/5/2008 - 11-5/2008

With a goal of an inexpensive weekend away, Brian and I became slaves to the weather and headed west to Loch Lomond. Forecasts suggested it would be the least wet, foggy or windy. It was -- the weather was well behaved on both days, bordering on warm.

We arrived to the car park in the early afternoon, just as the annual hill race was finishing. Our hike up to Ben Lomond summit was spent dodging descending runners. We were impressed that they had just run up what we were walking. I was slightly jealous on the way up, but certainly not on the way down. It took a certain amount of madness to run down the hill. We took the tourist trail, but it wasn't littered with tourists. We were never really alone, but we never really had to fight our way through a mob either. Unless you count the rocky traffic jam about a mile into the walk. Small clumps of straggling runners mixed with race officials, hillwalkers and one fearless disabled guy descending in a strange looking buggy. We snuck through pretty quickly on a path that looked less appealing to the descending.

We had a very late lunch atop the summit, enjoying the view and the slight wind blowing the midges away. Just as we were about to head back down, we spoke briefly with a backpacker who had just summited via the less walked trail and talked more to his dog. The dog seemed pleased with his accomplishment but not so interested in carrying on with his person. We felt bad because the guy never gave his dog any water. When it was clear the guy was about to leave, the dog looked first at Brian and then at me for rescue. We apologised for his person being so cruel, but could not offer more than a sympathy scratch behind the ear. They left with the dog on leash, but the sheep were in no danger. We hoped that they would find one of the tiny streams so the dog could have a drink. They disappeared off the trail not quite a mile from the summit, probably to set up camp a good distance away from the main trail.

Next time we walk a hill like that one, that should be our plan, too. Brian said Loch Lomond is Glasgow's place to get away from it all. Our neighbours locally and all along the loch seemed like instead they brought it all with them. We had dueling stereos for a good part of the night, with the more annoying coming from across the loch. Eventually, I think the drunk neds from down the way found their way closer and shouted to each other as they wandered aimlessly. Several somebodies were shouting drunk anyway. It was a long night, punctuated by a sleeping punch from Brian, who was bundled into his sleeping bag to avoid any midges who may have found their way into the tent. I slept in my bug net, because i didn't think it was midge-tight either. By dawn, the neds discovered quiet and the generous people across the loch put their music back on. Never again. It's a shame, really, because Loch Lomond really is a nice place.

In the morning, Brian spoke with one of the park rangers who had the unpleasant job of cleaning up after the considerate people. Indeed, that was her least favourite part of the job. With a slightly tired start, we took our bikes on the delayed ferry across from Rowardennan to Inverbeg. We combined two routes in the little red book, cycling north to Tarbet as Loch Lomond constricts. I didn't necessarily want to get all the way to Tarbet, but I wanted to get as far as the constriction. Tarbet wasn't all that much farther. We had our first picnic there, enjoying ice cream (Brian) and a popsicle (me) in the village green. From Tarbet, we had the best view of the Ben Lomond summit.

We doubled back and continued south, passing some of the considerate people from the night before as we followed the West Loch Lomond Cycle Path. The sun felt warm and the wind was gentle. We stopped again in Luss and I discovered that my back was soaked. My Camelbak, which I was excited to not cause me pain, had sprung a dire leak. It had to be retired. I got some bottled water from the shop as replacement.

We continued south from Luss with the cycle path leading away from the obvious shoreline about where the wallaby island sits in the loch. Sadness as I couldn't wave to the wallabies or show Brian the castle on the tiny island that he's not allowed to get. Occasionally, we could see Loch Lomond, but the path never really found its way back until Loch Lomond Shores. Tourist mecca #2, but a good enough place to stop for lunch. We laughed at the speed(ish) boat that was drifting away because the guy forgot to beach it or tie it off and we watched a swan argue with a dog that was defending its stupid person who probably threw stuff at the swan to begin with.

Cycling onward after lunch, we dodged congestion in the Balloch Castle Country Park before reuniting with NCN route 7. The little red book describes this route as mostly flat, which I guess might be true if you consider the hill surfaces to be flat as they go up and down. Rolling hills is more accurate, though it makes me wonder what they consider a hilly cycle to be. NCN 7 followed mostly B roads and the occasional rough track.

We arrived to Drymen just a bit after 4pm and took another break on the village green. Eleven miles to Rowardennan, eleven definitely not flat miles. Much of the ride was with the cars, though the occasional trail was welcome. Past Balmaha and the wall of midges at the turn, Brian was led astray by one trail that I opted not to follow. My legs were fading and I wasn't interested in bumpy trail to agitate them more. He caught up with me on the road with a mile or two left to Rowardennan and beat me back by a minute or three. My legs were going at their own pace and would get there eventually.

Sunday evening far more peaceful with sun shining across the lake as we rested by the shore. On the drive home, the weather transitioned from sun and (relative) warmth to fog and mist. The red sheep were still visible at the Pyramids, but only just. The active parts of the weekend were great, but perhaps better enjoyed in the off season.

Three and a half miles from base to summit, it felt like the hike up the hill was faster than the hike down but it wasn't.

The signs near the bottom warned that tourist trail was not waymarked on the open hillside. It didn't really need to be.

Brian looks like he's up to something. In reality, he is just failing to avoid the camera.

Our squinty summit pose

The southwestern summit view across Loch Lomond photographed hazier than it looked.

Looks like one of the rescue squads was out training, buzzing the summit of Ben Lomond on their way to the southeastern end of the loch.

The baby sheep always look far too shiny and new, like they need to find some mud and play for a while.

With the gorse in full bloom, the day looked more summery than it felt.

Scuba! - 4/5/2008

Following a leisurely cycle to South Queensferry with Brian and Callum, where we explored the purported "new route" along the coast (it's been there for years, just now it is officially an NCN route), I got my first taste of scuba diving.

Deep Blue Scuba has monthly Discover Scuba sessions at Merchiston Castle School. Leisurely bike ride led to lateness, so I ended up not going in the pool at the same time as Amy. It's a shame, really. I didn't miss much of the pep talk beforehand, so it really wouldn't have mattered, but whatever. She got scubaed up and immediately did an underwater somersault. The gradual introduction in the shallow end led to eventual pottering in the deep end. The pool went from loud to silent as all of the students and instructors dropped below the surface.

My shot followed not long after she left. One of my instructors for the day took my camera (with orders not to photograph any of the children in the pool) and the three of us students attempted to get organised into all of the gear. Graceful it wasn't. I had to try a second mask because the first one they gave me was well too big. Soon enough, we were underwater and breathing strangely.

I felt like I was hardly breathing at all, with the air not seeming to get past my mouth. A little bit of dizziness suggested it was the case and I ignored instructors as best I could to focus on breathing semi-normally. The regulator doesn't really mesh well with truly normal breathing. I didn't want to mention dizziness to anyone because it wasn't serious but I knew they would freak out. I fiddled with buttons to adjust the air in my vest, whose acronym I forgot immediately. I wanted to see what a little bit of trimming would do, but overly helpful instructors snatched buttons out of my hands, deflated me quickly and thwarted my fiddling.

We played underwater frisbee, which I know Amy would be jealous of, as gradually they lured us into deeper water. Both of the other students had to surface to fiddle with things. I was pleased that my mask had been dealt with early because I didn't have to surface at all. Brian found the deep end porthole and seemed to enjoy watching.

One of the other instructors nicked the frisbee, so instead we all posed for a couple of class photos. Eventually, being in the pool got a bit boring. There's only so much swimming in slow circles you can do before it gets old. Scuba isn't really an energetic sport, so I wondered if I got bored before or after Amy did.

As we expected, Amy got bored in the pool quickly. I did, too, but I think she beat me there.

My Discover Scuba class photo

During our pre-scuba pep talk, the lady said the gear was not so graceful to wear out of the water, but we would feel much more graceful in the water. She was lying. Grace takes practice, lots of practice. This picture misleads you.

Naptime.

Frisbee was slower and perhaps a little easier underwater. Catching something way off course was not any easier with all of the clunky gear, though.

Brian enjoyed his play on Callum's shiny bike.