Lake Powell/Glen Canyon

I put my fully loaded kayak in a skiff that I rented at Antelope Point Marina in Page, Arizona, and the guy John drove me 52 miles north into Utah to Oak Canyon and dropped me off.

It was hot, windy, and the sun was blasting, and I sat on a spit of sandstone and had a sinking feeling of "okay, here I am. What the hell am I doing here?" I couldn't see any decent campsites so got in the kayak and started paddling. Huge gusts of wind whipped up white caps that came flowing over the bow of the kayak. I stayed close to shore and after about an hour found a decent campsite.

The wind was blowing so hard as I unpacked that I had to cover my face from the stinging sandstone particulate. It's really tough to pitch a tent in such wind, but by 4:00 I was inside. Hot. Sandy. Letdown. The evening wind blew so hard that I had to cover the tent stakes with heavy rocks. Sand rained in all night - blown up between the rainfly and right through the netting of the main tent fabric. I could see it falling through the flashlight beam. I was covered in a layer of red dust by morning.

The morning arrived calm and beautiful.

Evening two is quiet.



And then came a week of the sublime. The main body of water - Lake Powell - has 96 slot canyons to explore; the result of the Glen Canyon Dam built in the early 60s. 700 feet down was the original Colorado river. An ecological abomination to many, but strangely, artificially beautiful.

I sit on smooth sandstone from 6 to 10 in the morning every day and gaze out. I read. I practice the small guitar I have with me. I eat. Then I climb in the kayak and leave for some exploring.

Into a canyon



I don't know how to climb back into a kayak if I capsized it, and this water is still freezing because it is early in the season. Vertical walls mean I am continually noting the last place where I could swim the overturned kayak, climb out of the water onto the rock, and get back in.

There is no way to fall out unless I do something stupid like reach behind myself for a camera and lose balance.

The canyon narrows



Into a slot




Water ends, and I continue hiking




Day number three had me realizing that continual coats of sunscreen would allow me to be in the sun all day. And at that point I reveled in just sitting with hat, glasses, and sun. I felt no burning. By day number four, I took off the sun glasses and hat because it threw me more directly into the environment.

2:00 PM blasting sun

Peru Little Drama

I was in Peru last year hiking and spent the first day in Lima walking around. I was approached in the main plaza by an attractive, shabbily dressed woman who proposed being my guide for a city tour. She had a portfolio of pictures of her with other tourists and her name was Isabel.

Here she was:



As we sat there another woman came up and sat down, and told me that she, too, was a tour guide. Here name was Meri Monica.



The three of us talked, and while there was an undercurrent of competition, I think we three were each satisfied to have something to be doing. The two women did not seem to know each other.

It became a bit awkward, and I asked if they wanted coffee or some food, and we could practice our English and Spanish together (and I would buy).

We sat outside at a restaurant, and a very odd dynamic began to emerge. There was a huge competition for my attention. On the one hand was the professionalism and obvious integrity of the second woman, Meri. She wanted to talk history, architecture, etc. But Isabel chose to tell me of her life, which was a sad story of abuse from her husband, poverty, and lost opportunities. She started crying several times, quite genuinely it seemed to me. When her food was delivered (quite a lot of food) she got in a huge argument with the waiter and sent it back to be redone in some way which I never understood.

All this was interspersed with a very effective come-on to me. Huge personal warmth, etc., etc. I found myself really wanting to take her tour and sort of wished that Meri would get lost.

Next thing I knew the owner of the restaurant was motioning me to come in, and advised me that she was some sort of "bad" person. He then walked out and got in a huge shouting match her, apparently then telling her to leave.

She left, motioning to meet me later in the plaza. By then I was wondering about various scams, and headed the other direction. I didn't see her again

I did run into Meri a few blocks away and did end up taking a great all afternoon taxi tour of greater Lima which included an eye opening trip to her poverty stricken neighborhood within the enormous sprawl of barrios that is greater Lima.


THE E-MAIL I GOT FROM MERI MONICA EIGHT MONTHS LATER:


Oh, friend, I am very happy that you remember me.

Talking about my job, you know that I am offering tourist packette, tickets
plane, inca trail, etc... I win a small PORCENTAJE for each sell, in
these weeks, I have been having a little sell....But, you know that also I am offering my service of tourist guide...For this side, I can get a little
more of money.....But, I have city tour just a few times

Really, I might get many city tours all the time, but, for some INESCRUPULOSA PEOPLE from my country...many tourist could be afraid and don`t accept any city
tour.......

I don`t want to talk you about it, but, maybe you remember the
crazy girl that INTERRUMPIÒ our conversation and was telling us some
terrible story of her life, afterwards she did a horrible show in the
restaurant where we were eating...Then, sometypicall musicians were playing
some good songs, after they asked for you some money and you gave them some
so the crazy girl also asked for you money...After, she continued talking
about her terrible life...Really, she was bothering us a lot....So, when,
she went to the bathroom I told you that I didn`t know nothing about that crazy girl...Finally, we decided to separate and let that girl go...

Afterwards we met again in front of the SANTA INQUISITION MUSEUM and started the city tour.....I am sorry, but, I am talking you about that girl, because of that some months ago, a TELEVISION INVESTIGATION PROGRAM did a report about some bad people that offering to the tourist drougs, alcohol, sexo, etc....In the main square, and the true is that in that report the crazy girl who bothered us, was in that report...In other words, she is PROSTITUTE, for it and for many cases alike
to it, I don`t have many city tours, because many tourist migth DESCONFIAR
of my work....Really, those are the things that DAÑAN LA IMAGEN of my
country and also destroy the work of a lot people.

Really, I am upset, because of my sells...Now, I am selling very a little
and you know that studying english is expensive and also, I have to pay my
basic neccesities....For it, I want to ask for you smallll help. If you can recommendnd me to some tourist to do city tours, You know that I am honest and I only want to work more....PLEASE, try to understand me......In addition to
I know a lot things about history, geographic, nationarealityty, social
problems, etc.

Thank you so much for all.....MANY GREATINGS FOR YOUR FAMILY....YOUR FRIEND
FOREVER....MERI MÒNICA.



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I didn't think she was a prostitute. I thought she just really liked me (!)

Jack's Blog

Mix together the following:

* Desire for activities with my children
* Scanner
* Digital Camera
* Time

Here's what we've got so far.

The World According to Jack

Susan B. Anthony

It was pouring rain, 9:00 AM, and I needed to do something interesting. I was listless and bored.

For the longest time, I've had these dollar coins stacked on a shelf. I grabbed them and drove downtown, parking near the Seattle Center. Howling wind, driving rain as I headed south on First through Belltown.

I have this recurrent desire to develop my ability to observe, and to be more externally oriented. I walked though this sort of unpleasant environment of wet and wind, watching and listening.

The men's bathroom in the hallway behind the Macrina coffee joint was blocked by a cleaning cart, and a woman was inside doing the sinks and talking in what sounded like a Slavic language. I waited awhile, poked my head in with a sort of guilty smile, and she moved out of the bathroom, smiling at me, talking on the phone.

When I came out she was down the hall, off the phone. "What language was that?!" I asked. "Bulgarian."

We talked for a couple minutes. Then I told her that I had found these coins. "Here," I said, "we don't really use dollar coins...." Just a gesture as I moved on. A nice feeling.

Bell street into the Market starts to get busyer, and I watched faces, clothes, posture, movement. The endless varieties of retail and merchandizing. I don't like going into stores, though.

A bit farther down, two old guys were holding a sign at the Aurora and Seneca off ramp. I said "hey", and told them I found these coins on a shelf; "Here are couple for each of you, they are dollars."

To which the older exclaimed, "They're the old silver ones, they must be 1979, they've got the gold ones now." And so they were: 1979.

I gave them all away over a couple hours, and needed some dollars bills for multiple copies of Real Change.

Most of the people I talked to were in as good or better spirits than I was/had been, and so my day took a nice turn.




When possible, I used to sit at the top of the stairs up to our house in a broken wicker chair with the afternoon sun on my face. I always considered the sun, its marvel, it's mystery. Why didn't we exclaim about it more?

During the year, I'd watch its arc. In early April it finally made it over the Roth's roof and was able to set right between their house and the next house north - the blue rental with all the people I never meet or know and who seem to just come and go year after year.

I would quietly celebrate this symbol of spring.

With each year, these cycles seemed shorter. But years do get shorter as we live more of them.

To my left, the front door was usually open, and I often could see Jack in a contorted position on the couch absorbed in something.

People walked by with their dogs or babies. I found that if I stayed perfectly still, they rarely looked the 20 feet up at me. But moving my body always brought a glance.

Something deep in us is alert for movement.