Spirit Island Via A Rented Canoe in The Rain
As I am getting older, there’s things that I just thought would come into my life, big and small, that just somehow, for the most part, haven’t. For example, I assumed I would do more snowshoeing and snowboarding trips in the winter, and I always wanted to get more into duck hunting, fishing, and canoeing. I have a real hate on for motorboats though, as I know several people who own them and I end up doing a sizeable amount of winterization each year in exchange for an hour long lap around the lake every two or so years. Though, I am not too sad these things are minimal in my life, I’ve put very little effort into them, usually picking something else to spend my time on. So its always a nice treat when someone else talks me into it.
It wasn’t my idea, few of my adventures are. As is often the case, Natalie had suggested it. Her and her boyfriend Cole were coming to Alberta for the Calgary Stampede and she wanted to do the famous Spirit Island canoe trip. I had never heard of it before her, which is odd, I’m usually pretty up on things.
I drove my barely running Subaru to meet them in Jasper. That evening we went to Pyramid lake so I could practice my fly casting and we had dinner on the beach, souvlaki skewers and a bagged salad, not a bad feed when roughing it. In the morning, we braved the nightmare traffic to get to the downtown shop and get our rental gear and the key for the canoe lock up. From there it was a lengthy drive to Maligne Lake. We parked our vehicles, found our canoe locked on the stand, heaved it to the shore and began loading equipment.
Three’s a crowd in a canoe, you never know who to put in the middle and which side to paddle on. We switched out throughout the day, each time we stopped for a snack or the bathroom. We also had to spin and face into the waves created by the big boats ferrying tourists to spirit island. Stronger canoers with better balance likely wouldn’t have this problem. We eventually rolled into our site, behind some very gear laden video bloggers, they did not appear to be having much fun when not filming. They should take up writing, its the thinking-mans vlog. We found a nice campsite near the shore and made ourselves comfortable around one of the fire pits, the other had clearly been commandeered by another group of older gentlemen who really made it into a nice kitchen, complete with tarp a tarp roof. We would later befriend them, nice guys who were there for the fishing, and having some luck.
After making camp, we loaded back into the canoe, less our gear, and went further down the lake to our intended destination of Spirit Island… though we couldn’t actually go onto the island, we just canoed to the view point, also at the time it was a small peninsula. The whole thing was a technicalities mess, but we had fun on the walking path and on the stairs getting us up nice and high to see it. I kept being told its a spiritual place with great significance to the local First Nations but no one there, or online, was able to be specific about that. The only useful information I am able to find is that someone in 1960 won a Kodak photo contest by taking its picture. While we were there as tourists, less good tourists were also there, hauled in on a boat that they didn’t paddle themselves. They did however, feel very comfortable climbing into our canoe, left unattended on shore, to get some pictures. I was tempted to push it out with them in it, allowing them some impromptu paddle practice, but everyone panicked and scattered as I got close. Please dont touch my things, even if they’re just things I rented.
We got our pictures, and our fill of fellow tourists and made out way back. I fished a bit from the canoe without so much as a nibble. Along our journey, Cole was wearing a painted straw cowboy hat, mother nature took offence and a gust of wind blew it off. As penance for that one time in 1997 that I littered, karma planted that cowboy hat right on my beak. Not sure if you’ve ever had a solid cowboy had sneak up on you from the front, but its a rather disorienting experience. I wasn’t paying attention then suddenly a white blur slapped me and blocked my vision, for a moment I thought seagull had taken offence to may paddling technique. Once back at the site, my sore nose and I continued to fish the shore and continued to do little more than practice casting. Dinner was communal affair, a lovely South African family had joined us and tried their very first smores. At some point a young family showed up and couldn’t find space, the dad was frustrated, but polite, and suggested everyone get out their paperwork as it appeared someone was in imposter, camping illegally. There was brief moment of us all looking at each other suspiciously. Before papers could be produced, the final empty campsite was found buried in the woods.
Three in a canoe was a crowd, but so was our sleeping situation as we were only able to book a single site and it was explained to me clearly and slowly by Parks Canada that it was one tent per site. A second tent would cause steep fines, ridicule, exile, and making fun of my hiking pants. So the three of us spent the night in the tent. Luckily it was quite large so we didn’t have to cuddle, though, due to weather, I did offer. Fair bet that I snored, but somehow no one mentioned it.
The last day of our trip we paddled against the wind, all three as hard as we could, as the rain came down. The ride out was a fun look at the scenery, the ride in felt like voyageurs hauling furs up river, methodic, hard rowing, and lacking in fun. Admittedly, a song would have helped but none of us are singers. I sat in the middle of the boat, grinding the tops of my feet into the hull under my own weight, when stopped on the shore for rest, I stuffed what I could under me but by then my feet were already asleep and my ankles sore.
After what felt like a few days paddling we arrived at the docks. Cole got his truck while Natalie and I unloaded and stowed the canoe. Cole backed down to us and we loaded up, he also informed me that his heater core had failed recently so he just plugged the lines off because he usually didn’t need it anyway, so now he had no heat. Initially, my instinct was to feel bad for him, but then I remembered he lives somewhere that doesn’t require his vehicle to have heating. We changed into dry clothes and warmed up in my car while eating whatever snacks were left. From there it was a drive into town, an afternoon lunch, then a goodbye. They had to get to Banff, and I had to get home. I haven’t seen them since, but Natalie has invited me on her next group canoe trip, Cole has politely declined his invitation, but I’ll see them both soon in the Philippines, hopefully there’ll be less cold rain and paddling against the wind, but with my trips, you never really know.
Post story
Just as a post amble, not much technical to this one, we rented a canoe and all the gear from a local shop, its a pretty sought after campsite that Natalie was able to get her hands on. Really just a big thank you to Natalie on this one, it was her idea, her planning, and all her photographs. Cole and I just paddled, and I fished a bit. As a side story, I was in a customers house for work and he had an old framed photo of Spirit Island from, I would guess the 60s, that he said he took himself. Something about that warmed my heart, knowing people have been going to see this little place for a long time and someday Ill be the old guy with the photo framed in my house that people will comment on. As for canoe camping, it was as much fun as I thought it would be, even with the weather. It also has the advantage that you dont have to be as concerned about weight, so you can bring little luxuries like a full sized pillow.
Posted in Fishing, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, canoe, Jasper, maligne lake, Outdoors, spirit islandwith 1 comment.
Mental Health Motorcycle Ride
Last year I did a motorcycle trip to Vancouver to visit friends, and I see no reason not to make it an annual tradition. This year I wasn’t feeling great, I was down, I was out, I was over it all. Historically I have been pretty open and somewhat comedic about my fluctuating mental health, so no sense hiding it, I was depressed. Fortunately for me, the stars were aligning. I had just accepted a job offer starting in about two weeks, when I was scheduled to get back from my camp job. After some conversations with friends and a visit to a walk in clinic where I was seen by the most helpful and inquisitive doctor I have had in years, I decided to skip work and take the trip to visit friends and family. At first my work tried to strong arm me by saying I had exceeded my days off quota with my schooling and my trip to Peru. There was a pang of guilt until I remembered they had denied me a raise after that schooling. I forwarded them a doctors note and packed my saddle bags. This cowboy was riding off into the sunset.
Going West
My trip started Sunday morning at a bike meet at a coffee shop, I had expressed some concerns and trepidation about the trip and was met with “oh no, you gotta go, that sounds awesome”. I went home, loaded the bike and headed west for the worst part of the trip, Edmonton to Jasper. Day 1 of any trip for me is the worst, its 4 hours in a straight line on the highway to the mountains, the hardest part is staying awake. Fortune laughed and decided it owed me a little fun, if that were to be my attitude. Just west of Edson I heard a loud bang and looked in my mirror to see my possessions strewn on the highway behind me. Hard on the brakes and a quick shoulder check, I parked on the shoulder and assessed the situation while grabbing what I could off the road between vehicles. After some swearing and investigating, I had discovered that the two aerosol cans in my saddle bag had exploded. One was glass cleaner for my visor and one was lubricant for my chain. The explosion had taken my emergency tool kit, bike cover, shampoo, and shower gel. The shampoo upset me, it sounds silly but it was one I had bought in Nepal and only used on special occasions because I cant find it here. I could smell it up and down the highway and I collected the melted garbage and sorted through the tools. Of my emergency kit most of my hand tools survived including, miraculously, a cheap electric tire pump I bought off amazon for $35. Concerningly though, I did lose my spare tire tube. Like a panicked child I called my dad, before he answered I recalled my age and realized I was in fact on my own on this one. For a brief moment I felt like a child that had crashed his pedal bike. We had a laugh about it and I sent him some pictures. Next I called Natalie and had a similar conversation. I considered turning back but needed to say it out loud. It was the one time this blog made a trip better, without it I would have gone home but I realized that wouldn’t be a story. An explosion four hours into the first day, THAT is a story, but it only counts if I keep going. Get the bike back on the road, re asses in Hinton, get to Jasper, make a decision in the morning, that was the plan. With my Leatherman I cut what was left of the saddle bag off the bike and packed what survived into my other luggage. Thankful me and the bike had survived and that of the four bags on the bike, that was the most ideal one to explode because it was mostly consumables. I would have felt horrible if I had lost Natalie’s sweater in an explosion (I brought it back to Canada from Peru because her luggage was full). She would have forgiven me, I’m sure, but I still don’t like to incinerate my friends clothes, I’m told that’s bad manners. As a fun exercise, next time you travel, ask yourself, which bag would be the best to explode and how would you proceed from there? It might help you lighten your luggage, I learned I didn’t need to be dragging along a bike cover.
In Hinton I checked everything was holding together on the bike, and it was. I was also surprised at how well the bike was handling, initially I had concerns that the uneven weight distribution would cause problems but I didn’t notice anything. At the Jasper campsite I was given a spot beside two older gentlemen on cruisers, they offered me a beer and we got to chatting, they were amazed by my story. The decision to press on was made, I had to see this through, I had been shown I can overcome and shown that I clearly over-packed, a difficult trip is what I needed to get my head right. The relaxing at a resort vacation never did do it for me, I need a goal or a challenge, I needed a win and this was one I would fight for.
The next stop on my itinerary was at my aunts house in Cache Creek. The entire drive I was vigilant for any and all noises and made constant stops to check straps. There was also some anxiety in me, I don’t see my aunt very often and usually when I do its part of a group setting. All my worries melted as I pulled into the drive and she gave me a good hug like only an aunt can. I told her all about my trip so far and she took me for a drive in her ’65 Pontiac and showed me around town. For those who don’t know, my first car was an ’86 Pontiac and I briefly owned a ’64, so I have a soft spot for them. We had sandwiches for dinner at a local diner and we stayed up good and late telling stories in the back yard while she watered her grass, thankful I didn’t turn back. The part of the trip reminded me of the importance of family and staying connected with them.
Sadly my schedule only allowed one night and in the morning I was off the Vancouver to visit Natalie and Cole. I took the sea to sky highway, a route known as one of the best in Canada for motorcycles. In the town of Pemberton I found a bike shop, they didn’t have the exact tube I wanted for my spare, but they consulted the charts and found one that would work in a pinch. My understanding is its a bit heavier duty for off road use, fine by me, I’m not high speed and I want rugged and reliable. I also made a point of stopping at the little café in Lillooet I had discovered last year, it was just as good this time around.
Traffic into Van was bad because it always is. Shortly after arrival I got off my small motorcycle and into Cole’s pickup to retrieve his camper. The camper in question was a monster after my own heart, a GMC Topkick, which is a large duty truck usually with a dump box or crane mounted on it. This one had a fifth wheel camper mounted on the flat bed with sheet metal skirting to allow for a lot of storage underneath. After a few days camping with them the only flaw I found in the design was that the door to get in required quite a set of stairs. We got the RV back to the house after a stop for dinner and a failure to start resulting in some batter swapping to get us going. Battery issues would plague us this trip, unfortunately.
Tofino
Cole and Natalie took the camper and I followed on my bike. We hopped the ferry from Richmond to Nanaimo and headed north. Construction delayed us about an hour, but we did stop and see Cathedral Cove, a patch of large old growth trees and we made a short stop to wade into Sproat Lake and see some rock carvings. Our campsite in Green Point was nice, but perpetually damp and in the shade which made tent camping somewhat unpleasant for me. At night I would lay cold and listen to the furnace run in the RV and I decided I needed a camper van for next year. Natalie had two friends camping nearby and we spent a lot of time with them in Tofino. The first day there I rented a surf board, as everyone else had their own already, and we all did our best. A few people caught waves, not me, but some people did. We went again in the morning and I did a little worse I think but overall it was still really fun. One of the days was spent exploring Tofino and Ucluelet, I bought a sticker and some post cards. It was nice to get some exercise and try something new on this trip and I realized that maybe I need to allow myself a little luxury beyond a tent next time.
We also did a short day hike I had read and dreamt about years ago. We hiked off the main highway to see a crashed airplane, my understanding is it had been there for decades and no one was killed. It was covered in graffiti but fun to climb through and while there we had seen some stellar jays, I had never heard of them, but I am new to bird watching.
It was fathers day and we decided to visit Natalie’s parents on the way back. They lived just south of Vancouver, I think, so we took the ferry to Victoria. On the way there, the Topkick broke down and Cole had to do a quick battery swap on the shoulder. His speed made me think he may have worked on a race pit crew at some point. Once on the mainland, we stopped at a grocery store for supplies and the thing again wouldn’t start. Natalie’s dad showed up with his vintage truck and gave them a boost. For his efforts, we made him a dinner of barbecued burgers, he seemed happy with the arrangement. After dinner some time was spent in his garage, we were all chatting about this and that but I was simply too distracted by all the hotrods, antiques, and collectables in there. This man was a true collector and had been doing it a long time. Eventually it got late and we had to leave.
Sunshine Coast
I left my camping gear at Cole and Natalie’s and borrowed a spare motorcycle helmet from them. I drove my bike onto the Ferry and Natalie walked on. On the other side I drove to Vanessa’s and Natalie caught the bus, unfortunately I couldn’t fit a passenger and my gear. Vanessa was there as a travel nurse and was staying in a walk out basement suite with an amazing view of the ocean. We walked to Sechelt along the ocean and had dinner in town. We got back to Vanessa’s just in time for me to pull the gear off my bike and give Natalie a ride to catch the last ferry of the day.
Vanessa and I took the bike north to Pender hill and did the short hike to the viewpoint. I had purchased a sandwich at a café that morning and we split it while looking down at the boats in the bay. She asked, casually, how fast my bike goes, I responded “oh not very, top speed is about 160, but we were going slow, about 60 on those curves” “oh” she said “yea it felt kinda slow”. Every bike guy I tell this story to laughs, as do I, I guess not all bikes give off the cool bad-boy vibe. I have since found myself combing Facebook marketplace looking for a 1000cc sport bike. That night we had some leftover risotto and I baked us some cookies, we split a bottle of wine and watched TV. It was a nice relaxing evening.
On my last true vacation day, Vanessa and I took the bike to Gibsons. We wandered the marina, and window shopped the stores. I got some earl grey ice cream and she had a coffee. From there we went to the grocery store and hauled a backpack full of goods on my bike back to her house and I made burgers yet again, and they were just as good. It was an early night, Vanessa had to work in the morning, and I had to drive home. I didn’t feel ready for home, I never do on a trip, but these few relaxing days of calm motorcycle rides along tree lined roads and making good food were the best thing I could do to prepare myself for a vacation to end. Luckily for my mother, Sunshine Coast housing is wildly expensive, so, as tempting as it was to just stay forever, I had to come home.
Going East
With the gear all loaded, I thanked Vanessa for letting me stay and headed to the ferry. I was at Natalie’s in time for a quick breakfast and to drop off the helmet and get my gear. Retracing my route on the sea to sky highway I returned to my aunts house in Cache Creek. As I neared town I noticed a lot of unique and highly modified cars on the roads. My aunt informed me there were races going on in the area and her town was on the circuit. We went for a walk to see a few and she showed me more of the town. Sadly, it was an early night. The morning brought with it rain and a long day. Just before Jasper, rain moved in so I put on all my rain gear and prepared for the worst, and the worst it was. A torrential downpour soaked me to my bones. It felt like I was being punished by Poseidon. I rolled into Jasper on fumes literally and metaphorically, at the gas station I struggled to get my now tight leather gloves off to fuel my bike. Passersby gave me sympathetic looks, they knew I was having a rough day. My next stop was a place called Lou Lou’s, I went in, water squirting from my shoes with each step and pouring out of my sleeves. I ordered a slice of pizza and a soda and had a seat. Water pooled around me under the chair. I peeled off as much gear as I could and used the washroom. Now at least my hands were dry, but still cold and weak. The food warmed me up and the sugary soda gave me a boost. After delaying as long as possible, I re-equipped and climbed back onto my Royal Enfield. The rain somehow got worse, I would put my head above or beside my windshield to blow the water off and had a constant battle with semi drivers who seemed rather insistent on being right in front of me. I wished I had enough horsepower to just fly away ahead of these trucks, this was the second time this trip I had wished for a faster bike. Once home, I backed my bike awkwardly into its spot in front of my car. Out of sheer necessity and will power I stripped everything off my bike and hauled it in, I often dream of being wealthy, but in this moment, I cursed myself for not being able to afford a garage, I could have just pulled in, and left it until morning. I had a hot shower, followed by a hot bath and then slept hard. True to tradition, the stretch between Edmonton and Jasper was a miserable trial, but I survived it, and somehow, that made me feel better, knowing I wont melt in the rain on a bike.
I dont know what this trip did for my mental health, I felt better in some way and worse in others. I was reminded I had friends and family, but also reminded they were all quite far away. And those friends were just friends, my apartment here was still just as empty with only me in it. The new job turned out to be great, with wonderful coworkers. This trip ended up being another fun thing to talk about with my motorcycle friends. They’ve all been on great trips over the years so these sorts of things give me more credit with them. I still consider myself an amateur, but Billy, Taylor, and Joe tell me I’m not an amateur anymore, and that carries weight in my mind. I guess if you’re sad, go for a motorcycle ride and see what happens.
Technical
I have no real solid idea why my saddle bags exploded. After the trip I found that all of the bolts holding my exhaust together were a little loose which may have angled the muffler up slightly. I think that combined with the saddle bag slipping a little low allowed it to overheat the aerosol cans. Melting holes in universal soft sided luggage is a common problem, I just happened to have two explosives stashed in those bags. The air pump that survived is still for sale on amazon here and its actually gone down in price.
There’s more information on the plane crash here. If all you’re curious about is the model of plane, it was a PBY-5A Canso (I think), a unique amphibious plane, in my photos you can see where some of the landing gear would have retracted into the sides as well as the top mounted wings.
I have not yet bought a faster motorcycle, I dont have any plans to, but if I see one for the right price, I just might have to.
Posted in Hiking, Motorcycle, Travel and tagged motorcycle, sunshine coast, tofino, travelwith no comments yet.
Peru Part 5: An Oasis and An Ending
The trip was coming to an end, I could smell it in the air and it was effecting my mood.
The day we boated out of the jungle, we also flew to Arequipa. The town itself was old Spanish colonial with beautiful stonework buildings. During a tour of a convent, I threatened to leave the girls behind to adjust their attitudes. They didn’t take the threat seriously. Our stay was short because our only reason for being there was to see Colca Canyon. Our bus tour started at 3am, and fearing a repeat of the Rainbow Mountain incident, I preemptively dosed myself with medications. The tour bus stopped for breakfast at a terrible café that served scrambled eggs and what I referred to as “judges bread” as I banged it on the table like a gavel… no one laughed but that’s show biz, baby. At the canyon itself we did see a few condors flying in the distance and some people dressed in rather impressive condor outfits getting photos with tourists for tips. Somehow during this outing, my paternal instincts earned me the nickname “Father Condor”… Made me regret not leaving my companions at the convent. After the canyon we took a night bus to Ica. The bus was actually kind of fun, but uneventful. I sat on the top level a the very front and had an amazing view of the sunset and sunrise and watched movies in-between.
In Ica we somehow had our wires crossed and ended up at the wrong address, a van passing by stopped to inform us this was a bad neighborhood and that if we were staying we should not go out at night. NOTED. We got properly orientated and situated at the right address a bit further north at what I chose to assume was a safer area. I had a bit of a nap but was in a bad mood from the girls giving me a mean nickname and definitely not sleep deprivation and being a little hungry. We had some local Chinese food that I can only describe as bad and then caught a taxi to Huacachina, a small Oasis in the desert. It appears designed for post cards. I wanted to rent a buggy and fly through the dunes but was informed we could only get driven around by “professionals”. We bought our tickets and were walked to the buggy, a Nissan 4×4 that had the body stripped off and some chairs and a frame welded on. Looking at the bald street tires I didn’t have much hope for this trip. I was wrong, that driver must have been having marital problems because he drove that rig like he didn’t want to go home. We got a bit of air a few times and all my videos have excited screaming in them. We stopped and did a few short trips down the sand dunes on toboggans, plywood with some plastic on them shaped vaguely like a snowboard. The buggy was wilder than expected and the sand boarding was milder, but as any good Canadian, I have had several near death experiences on toboggans so maybe my perception is skewed.
It was now Renata’s turn to pick an activity. She chose a vineyard tour, at first I wasn’t very excited but, I skipped breakfast and we did a wine tasting first… so I got in the spirit pretty fast. With the better part of a buzz on, we got to tour TACAMA, the oldest Vineyard in South America. They explained a lot about wine but I was just enjoying the fresh air and architecture. I’m not sure I’ll ever be a wine guy, but I’m definitely a have a few drinks and wander around an old farm guy. That evening we found a street food vendor doing chicken shawarma and given the last few days of bad food, this food was nearly a religious experience.
Mildly hungover and sad to be leaving the shawarma stand behind, we caught a bus to Paracas, Peru’s tourist town. A small oceanside town with an abundance of hotels and restaurants but somehow, the locals just couldn’t quite connect the dots to make it fun. First was our hotel, Renata and I got put in a room right beside the reception so all night we could hear the receptionist getting phone calls, and in the morning guests stood outside our door to shout their daily plans to each other. We asked about changing rooms or even to a partner hotel across the street and were told that was not possible. We asked the hotel across the street anyway and they said they would be happy to… so we moved before anyone could change their minds. Natalie and I wanted to do some scuba but could only find a few places offering it, but it was actually through the same dive shop. The prices were steep and the photos looked like it was just mucky water. I looked into renting a bike to cruise around, maybe drive through the desert nearby but all we could find were little scooters. Then I found dune buggies but they were small cc and guided tour only, the tour was slow along a paved road. This place felt like a retreat for toddlers.
We ended up hiring a car to take us for a drive to some local beaches and viewpoints. The ocean was too cold to swim in and the wind was picking up so we mostly got driven around. The guide was fun and insisted on getting a bunch of funny photos of all of us jumping at the same time. Somehow, at the time it was about the funniest thing we had ever seen. We then had a lazy day of walking around the town and the beach nearby, ate some seafood and had an early night.
We caught the bus to Lima and I could feel the dread in my chest, the trip was winding down. We met with Fiorella again, she returned my jacket and took us around the city for last minute shopping and a tour. We had a nice dinner and watched a movie in our rental apartment, which was probably the nicest place we stayed. It was a high rise with big windows and a view of the ocean. I was sad to leave but real life was calling, I had to get back to work and to my little apartment.
All that was left was to get home, and Air Canada did such a bad job of it that they ended up booking me a flight on WestJet that got me home 12 hours late. Typical of Canadian Airlines.
Peru was a lot of fun, and like everywhere I’ve been, I feel like I scratched the surface. Now find myself daydreaming about going back and exploring just a little more… maybe someday, until then, I’ve already got other destinations in the planning stages.
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Posted in Travel and tagged backpacking, peru, travelwith 1 comment.
Peru Part 4: Glamping In The Amazon
When people think of The Amazon, they get images of dangerous animals and impenetrable bush. Man eating cats and bold men, like Sasha Siemel. I was surprised to find that some of the nicest accomodation of my trip was in the middle of the jungle just a few miles (as the parrot flies) from where Paul Rosalie makes camp.
We flew from Cusco to Puerto Maldonado, a town on the edge of the Amazon. I had been to the edge of the amazon before. Just rubbing elbows with it had resulted in a hostel robbery, a symphony of puking men, and a bus ride that I consider a brush with death. This time I was much further south, and hoping it would be a little more relaxed. We stepped out of the airport, shocked at how hot it was outside, just a gross, wet heat. The micro van was no less hot as it snaked its way through the city to the hotel. This city was deep inland, nearly in Bolivia, but the flip flop clad motorcycle riders had a real island vibe so did the big palms lining the streets. We got checked into our hotel and explored town a bit. The only notable things from that first day are my big chicken lunch and then going last for a shower and noticing that no one in the group turned on the electric water heater, so I was the only one who got a lukewarm shower instead of a cold one.
Late morning we hauled our gear to Jungle Pros and were told to separate out the essentials, as though my backpack was full of luxuries. We left as much as we could in a storage closet and the rest was tossed onto a long skinny boat. We were introduced to our guide, the boatman, and a lovely swiss couple who would be joining us for the trip. I don’t know if I was ever told their names, but I do know I don’t know their names now. They were friendly people and were making their way all around South America and eventually up to Canada in a Land Rover with a rooftop tent. A brave endeavor if ever there was one. I was, naturally, quite envious of this. But, to be fair, I am envious of anyone doing anything that isn’t working or sitting around… actually sitting around is kind of nice too.
Once we were prepped and loaded, the big outboard motor hummed us upriver. Along the banks we spotted howler monkeys and capybaras and were treated to a delicious lunch of fried rice with tofu and veggies. I’m not usually a fan of tofu, but like any great meal, the atmosphere and company played a role. We passed our intended camp and went ashore where we were handed rubber boots to march into the jungle. It wasn’t a long walk and it ended at a little lake with another boat, a raft with a deck across two hulls, each about the size of a canoe. A bunch of us took turns paddling at the back of the boat until we got to our fishing spot, a task I was eager to volunteer for because I like to feel involved and it distracted me from my upset stomach. We were then handed long branches with about six feet of fishing line, a wire leader and a single hook at the end. A pale piece of beef was pulled from a plastic grocery bag and cubed into small pieces with a dull machete. We put the cubes on the hooks and the hooks in the water. I don’t know who caught the first piranha that day, but it was sure exciting when they did. Its a very human reaction to pull a fishing pole up, see a toothy fish come at you, then swing it away… right at someone else in the boat. For about half an hour we were best described as a flying piranha regatta. Probably not the right use of regatta but exceptions get made when it has a nice ring to it. It is my belief that I caught the largest fish of the day, though, being to gentleman that I am, I didn’t brag about it until now. I also only caught one, they are very much like perch, a surprisingly gentle bite and will steal your bait if you aren’t fast enough. In that same lake we witnessed a family of giant otters playing, we were close enough I could hear one slurping and crunching as it ate a fish. We got to our camp after dark and were shown to our cabins. I thought there had been a mistake, it had a porch, queen sized beds, and a high pressure shower with hot water. Rather uptown for a fellow like me.
Despite our fancy accommodations, I was forced out of bed at 3am for the days events. We loaded back into the boat, like a family into a station wagon on a cold Christmas morning. Tired, wrapped in blankets, excited for what the day held. It was well before daylight and we were warned against using our phones or headlamps as the driver needed to retain his night vision. So, I stared at the stars while the boat hummed us upstream for two hours with little more than moonlight to guide us.
As day was breaking, we unloaded and scrambled across some rocks on a sandbar, the guides set up spotting scopes and chairs. We felt very far from civilization, but there were probably 40 other people there from different tours. We watched the birds come in, land on the cliffs, and lick the clay. The guide had told us they do this for the salt. Once the early morning action died down, we had some breakfast and found our way back to camp.
I had an afternoon nap as best I could, in the evening we climbed a tower of stairs 50m tall to get above the canopy to get another look at the birds and watch the sun set. I actually didn’t like this much, I dont care for heights and that tower was so tall it had a natural sway to it that kept me clutching the hand rail. We worked our way down the tower and were given a night tour of the jungle. Our guide used a UV flashlight to point out all the scorpions and spiders hiding on the trees. Many of us used red light headlamps to navigate. A funny thing happened, when we bumped into another group. Both groups crowded around our guide who was showing a glowing scorpion and asked us to turn our lights off. We all did, except one woman in front of me was having trouble, in a sour huff, she swung her headlamp toward me and said “here, honey, I can’t figure this thing out.” Without much thought I took it, clicked the single button on the top and it turned off. I then realized, she probably meant to hand it to her husband, so I offered it to the man beside me who denied being her husband, which then led to a comical game of “is anyone here this woman’s husband?” sheepishly, a man across the group admitted guilt and accepted the headlamp. This led to a joke that lasted over a week in our friend group, usually along the lines of “he’s our boy, get your own”. That evening, after dinner we stayed late in the dining area with our guide and had a long chat. It was clear that he was passionate about his work and knew a lot about the history of the area. To me, that passion is what makes a guide good, that joy of being there and sharing it with people. This is also when he mentioned that he was friends with Paul Rosalie who lived nearby. For those not in the know, he is a conservationist and author who has a very interesting Instagram and has even been on Joe Rogan’s podcast.
The next morning, we said our goodbyes, loaded up, and headed out. I think a longer trip would have been either exhausting, or require enough downtime to turn boring. Two nights was the right amount. We got lunch in town and then hit the airport again, this time flying to Arequipa via Cusco. The airline lost Renata’s luggage and we got to the apartment late. Her luggage was eventually found and returned, for dinner we went to a sushi restaurant and because I don’t know sushi, I told the waitress to surprise me. It ended up being another amazing meal on this trip.
Technical data
The jungle trip was Natalie’s idea, and it a darn good one at that. We used a company called Jungle Pro they are highly rated on google, trip advisor and every other rating website I can think of. The lovely swiss couple are documenting their trip via Instagram on their account RustyGary (the name of their Land Rover), I’m sure they’d appreciate a follow and are always posting interesting content from their travels.
Posted in Fishing, Photo Drop, Travel and tagged adventure, amazon, backpacking, bird watching, jungle, Outdoors, travelwith 2 comments.
Peru Part 3: Sick As A Dog And A Day Of Rest
I often feel a bit of a fool when writing. I tend to default to “and then I, and then I, after that we, then we, and then I” and it makes me feel like a toddler telling someone about their day. I’m excited about what happened but do my readers really want a chronological play by play that almost feels like a police report? So here’s my attempt at something with a little heart.
I find myself losing sleep a night thinking of all the places I will never go, and the places I have been haunt me as places I may never see again. I want to see Africa and hunt big game and ride the famous ore train in Mauritania. I want to go back to the Himalayas and feel the cold air on my face and take deep breaths in the Buddhist temples and smell the tapestries older than the country I am from. I want to spin the prayer wheels and hear them squeak on their metal rods. I want to see the huge vultures fly overhead again, but the truth is, I barely survived the first time.
This was my second try at South America. The first time through I went home six months into my one year trip nearly 40lbs lighter. I was sick, downright sick. Food just wouldn’t stay in me and I didn’t want to eat anyway. It broke my heart and irreparably damaged my now ended marriage. And I was now in Peru.. in South America.. again, and sick again. Natalie had stayed in the apartment that day feeling unwell and I wished I had joined her. I had been sick for over a week, just a problem beginning daily anew. A combination of nerves, bad genetics, and bad food. Earlier in the week, a horrible tasting Hawaiian pizza Vanessa and I split ended my day early. In fact, one of the few things that didn’t upset my stomach was the alpaca burger I tried, though, spiritually, that didn’t feel great. The day before, our usual driver, Victor, had taken us through the sacred valley and showed us amazing sights including open air salt mines that had somehow never come under the thumb of a major conglomerate, instead remaining the property of the community, growing as the families did. For me though, the trip was simply a drive from bathroom to bathroom while swilling Pepto-Bismol and taking concerning amounts of anti-diarrhea meds. Its funny to talk about but at the time, it broke my heart, because I cant help but think of the person I could be if I weren’t sick.
Instead of hanging back with Natalie, I joined Renata and Vanessa for a 4 am pickup to take us to Rainbow Mountain. How could I not? Its THE Rainbow Mountain, the one on the postcards, the one I see on all the dating apps, along with an unusual amount of paddle boarding pictures… that’s not related to travel, but why are so many people on dating apps into paddle boarding? it always struck me as boring. At any rate, as we stepped out of our apartment, my stomach was making it clear, every step out of my home was in defiance. My stomach churned in a way that I can only describe as a direct threat to my dignity.
The microbus driver was late, he couldn’t find us for nearly half an hour. In his defense, we were in Cusco. I don’t think there’s a harder city to navigate, its all narrow one way roads on steep hills. Walkways and roadways are indistinguishable. He found us, and I pulled him aside and explained I was unwell and would need a bathroom very VERY soon. He shook his head and said we were the first on the bus and the next bathroom was 45 minutes out of town. I told him I probably couldn’t wait that long and he said he would find something. The bus slowly made its rounds, struggling to find each passenger in the maze of a city. After a few stops, I think the guide noticed the sweat beading on my face and waved me off the bus. He took me behind a city bus stop and said “you can pee here”.. this was not the first time someone in Peru thought my stomach ache meant I had to pee. I was starting to wonder if maybe Peruvians dont get digestive issues, that would explain some of the street food I had seen. After clarifying the situation, we got back on the bus. We plowed our way through the very early morning traffic. My entire body tensed and I counted down the 45 minutes on my watch, praying he was telling the truth. True to his word, right on time, we pulled in to a truck stop for fuel. I sprinted to the bathrooms in an outbuilding and had a seat. It was bad, it was shameful, and it was depressing. I was in pain, but in an embarrassing way, a way that rarely gets sympathy. I texted the girls in the group chat and asked them to text me when the bus was done fueling. I sat for a long time. I weighed my options… it was: risk an accident on the bus, or stay there until I felt better enough to travel and maybe try and take a taxi home… but I was nearly an hour away from our rental, would a taxi take me that far? I sat there disheartened and embarrassed, I wondered if traveling just wasn’t for me, and I worried I’d never get invited on another trip. Who would want to travel with me? I’m just sick all the time. The girls didn’t see my text but I heard the bus fire up. Snap decision, I ran and got on.
Nearly an hour of driving later, we stopped for a breakfast. I barely touched it, but again used the facilities and filled my pockets with tissues. The girls ate my share of breakfast, we did have a long day ahead of us. The bus rattled up a gravel and mud road surrounded by amazing mountain views. I squinted my eyes and did my best to distract myself any way I could. I listened to a podcast and tried to imagine everything they talked about in extreme detail. Renata had shown me study that activating your imagination can sometimes shut down anxiety, it worked a little, but as soon as the bus stopped, I b-lined for the bathroom. We started our hike and hit light rain. The hiking wasn’t bad, the exercise distracted me from my stomach and we slowly made our way to the top. Unfortunately it was cloudy and rainy at the top and the famous view just wasn’t there. We saw a muted red hillside with hazy clouds in the way. We got what pictures we could and waited as long as possible for the weather to clear but it just didn’t. Out of time, we turned and headed down. Once we descended the steepest part, the clouds parted, Renata turned back but I just didn’t have the energy left in me. The clouds came back before Renata could make it back up. The bus ride home wasn’t as tense for me, but I was still off and making use of every bathroom at every stop.
We were scheduled to hike the 7 lakes of Ausangate with the same tour company the following day. Natalie was still sick and I yielded to my stomach’s demands and stayed back with Natalie. It ended up being one of my favorite days of the trip. Vanessa and Renata left early in the morning, and I slept in a little then went to the local shop and got some snacks. I came back and fired up the little ceramic plated propane heater. The apartment was exposed wood beams made of logs rather than squared off lumber, and cracked plaster coated the walls. It looked, felt, and smelt, like a South American home, it had unique architecture and the floors had a charming squeak to them, its imperfections made it perfect to the point that houses here in Canada feel like soulless hospital waiting rooms and office cubicles by comparison. The kitchen was simple, but the kettle worked and that’s all I wanted. Natalie and I settled in on the lounge chair and couch and scrolled through Netflix. I found just the right movie, a comedy from my childhood, The Three Amigos. It was what I needed in that moment, we followed it up with another of my favorites, Tremors. I’m a sucker for a double feature. Natalie hadn’t seen either before. After sufficient lazing about and movie watching, the other girls were back from their trip and we went to Cafe Organik. The waitress walked us to our table, but there was a grey kitty on the chair. She picked him up and carefully set him on another chair at another table without so much as a meow or head raise. We sat and I motioned for her to hand me the cat, she smiled and plopped him on my lap and informed me that his name was Tiburon (the Spanish word for shark). He was soft and cuddly and sat on my lap the entire meal. It was a lazy waste of a day and it was perfect. The following morning, we hopped another flight that would start the jungle adventure part of our trip which was another amazing highlight but also another fight against my health.
Despite my weak stomach and willingness to complain about it… my friends and I are already planning our next big trip so… guess I’m just going to keep powering through. Hope the next trip has a few rest days and friendly cats in cozy cafes.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Cusco, Ollantaytambo, Outdoors, peru, Rainbow Mountain, travelwith no comments yet.
Peru Part 2: Birthday in Cusco and Salkantay to Machu Picchu
I’ve always hated birthdays, just a reminder of the relentless passing of time and my shortage of progress. The closest thing I’ve ever found to a cure is have really weird birthdays, last year I took my motorcycle off-roading with a friend and didn’t mention it was my birthday until I was leaving, it was a good day. 2023 I was in Pokhara doing a tour of Tibetan culture in Nepal. Wonder what I’ll do next year.
Lima
Natalie and Vanessa arrived in the morning, dropped their gear and we were off. We met with Renata’s local friend Fiorella. They had met via a Facebook group for people wanting to learn new languages and had been video calling to learn English and Spanish. She was kind enough to give us a tour of the city that included a local ceviche place, a visit to a Paddington Statue, a market, a park full of cats, and a fancy restaurant called Clon. I felt a little like Guy Fieri checking out a hole in the wall local joint and fine dining in the same day. Fiorella was also kind enough to hold onto my motorcycle jacket and gloves as I didn’t need them for the remainder of the trip.
Cusco
The girls only got to spend a single night in that nice AirBnb because in the morning we flew to our next destination. Cusco, its an amazing city, but its all steep and narrow stone streets. I joked it wasn’t a walkable city but a climbable one, no one laughed, but that show biz, baby. Our first day there we got checked into a bit of a shabby hotel high up the hill of town and walked down to the market. We had amazing falafel for lunch and somehow I was the only one who didn’t get a little sick from it, which is unusual. We wandered the city a bit and the girls made a few coffee stops and we saw what felt like a few dozen churches.
Birthday
The day of my birthday I met Renata at a café, she had left the hotel long before me. She was kind enough to buy me a pistachio croissant for breakfast. From there we hiked to a giant statue of Jesus, high above the city. The highlight of that was getting a picture with an alpaca named Javier. We then met up with the other girls and went to a market where we had a smoothie. The smoothie lady was very excited about my birthday and kept giving me extra to drink. I think I was the only one not excited about my birthday, I had actually been dreading it and was somewhat dragging myself along around the city that day. For dinner I was taken to yet another fine dining establishment, I had the beef and it was amazing, and a birthday brownie was brought out for me. I felt a little awkward in my travel clothes being served by people in suits, but it is what it is. Fancy restaurants always make me feel like an old farm dog that snuck into the house, it feels a little unnatural like at any minute I’m going to get scolded and removed for no particular reason.
Pisac
As a test and prep for our upcoming trip to Machu Picchu we went to Pisac to see the ruins. We were driven by a delightful man named Victor. He spoke a little english. I had showed Renata the Punch Buggy Game (where you punch someone when you spot a VW beetle). He thought it was hilarious, but I was losing to bad, he started pointing them out to me before Renata could strike. On the way he stopped off to show us a big alpaca and llama farm where we could feed them by hand. Not sure what the point of the place was, but it was sure fun. The ruins themselves were beautiful and we could walk all over them. We hired a guide who seemed knowledgeable but he must have been quite a busy guy because he had a backpack full of homemade goods to sell. He first showed us his polished moon stones, then his hand made flutes, and his hand made beaded birds (identical to the ones we saw for sale in Guatemala), and his homemade aroma therapy oils that he somehow had a perfect factory looking label on… or maybe he was just full of alpaca dung and trying to sell us mass market goods. Hard to say, but I know what I would guess.
Salkantay
At 5am Victor picked us up and drove us to the start of the trek. It was a few hours drive and the last of it was on a narrow road carved off the side of the mountain. Eventually we hit a stand still traffic jam and someone informed us the road ahead had washed out. We were instructed to jump out, gear up, and start hiking. It was lightly raining and I was already cold, I hate starting a hike that way on top of being upset about being reminded just how old I am getting. My friends, my creaky knee, and I all hiked along the road between the jammed cars and micro busses until we saw the washed road and a trail down and around it. As we took the detour I saw the entire community had come together with shovels and pick axes to make our new trail and begin repairs on the road. That road was important, and it would seem the government probably wouldn’t be fixing it soon. We had only hiked about an hour, if that, and we asked someone for directions to our hotel for the night. He pointed at a building and said “that one” we assumed it was a mistake but no, Victor had driven us nearly to our hotels doorstep. We were checked into an uninsulated and unheated room with 7 beds. We dropped our gear and hoped no one else would be joining us. I put on my thin fleece sweater and my rain poncho. I left my down jacket and rain jacket at home hoping for warm weather and reduced weight… I was wrong. I ended up cold and carrying Renata’s poncho in my bag, however she was kind enough to let me wear it. We hiked uphill, in the rain, to Humantay Lake. The hike was all of an hour but I was cold and sweaty at the same time, my flimsy rain poncho, still holding on for dear life from when I purchased it for $1 in Thailand, was really just trapping moisture in. We got to the top and I was feeling a little ill and was immediately annoyed by all the influencers doing costume changes and photo shoots. I get the importance of social media fame for, almost, every job now, but it still annoys the hell out of me to see influencers in the wild. I headed back to the hotel long before the girls. When I got there I put on as many layers as I could and hid under the blankets desperate to get warm. In the evening we all played cards and huddled as close as we could to the ceramic pot being used as a mobile fire pit. Unfortunately we were seated by the door and people were seeing how much they could come in and out and they were most definitely unfamiliar with doors, especially the concept of closing them. The lovely old woman running the place caught on that I was cold and unwell and brought me a hot water bottle to put on my stomach under the poncho. She also started laying down the law on the door being closed. Lovely woman, five stars.
Also, a funny thing happened. It doesnt fit smoothly into the story but I just had to talk about it. The kitchen area for the hotel was outside, and there was a big group staying at the hotel so there was a lot of food being brought in. The chef, was wearing hiking pants and a down jacket, typical of the younger men in the area, but he felt it important to wear a white chefs hat. That on its own was funny enough, but more than once he ran past us, with a tray in each hand, the hat on, and running on his tip toes like a cartoon character sneaking. It was just so candid and caught us all off guard it became something we laughed about a lot on the hike.
Day two of the hike was the real highlight. It was the hike over Salkantay pass… The over part was the problem. It wasn’t raining but the previous days rain had left mud which contained a large amount of horse manure. It was effectively an uphill trudge through wet horse poo. The view at the top was nice, and we did see condors flying high overhead, but the trail was crowded and I was downright exhausted. From the top of the pass we hiked downhill for nearly seven hours. It was long enough I thought we had gotten lost. We eventually landed at our hotel which was noteworthy for how bad it was. Keep in mind how much I travel, this one was probably top 10. The rooms were simple, but had art on the wall that still had the corner protectors on the frames, and one was hung blocking part of the window. The bathrooms upstairs near our rooms didn’t have showers that worked so we had to go downstairs through the, thankfully, empty dining area to get the the shower. Three of us had lukewarm showers, but poor Vanessa had a cold one. There was no shower curtain and the drain didn’t work well which was just unpleasant. In the room I had to smash a bug for Renata, one more reason to bring a real book instead of an e-reader. Now, dinner was another sight, we paid about $5 for it, which is steep in Peru. It was boiled spaghetti with salsa and something similar to parmesan cheese. It. Was. Awful. Just downright bad. I had hiked for nearly eleven hours that day and just couldn’t finish a plate. In the morning we were woken up by a half hour of a diesel engine idling. I was glad to be walking away from that place.
Our hike to the next stop was a boring one. We hiked along the road all day, Renata and Vanessa ran off far ahead so Natalie and I had the day to catch up on gossip. There were a few waterfalls that ran across the road, so I swapped my hikers for crocs. We arrived at the Eco Lodge to find it was actually a really nice hotel and I got my own private room, which was nice. Dinner was veggies, rice, and beef, but the beef was a rather pathetic unidentifiably cut that resembled a bat wing… sometimes, its best not to investigate. After dinner the hotel called us a car to drive us to the local hot springs, the road was narrow, and the shoulders steep. I also noticed a lot of burning clutch smell and the dash lit up like a Christmas tree with warning lights whenever we went up hill. The hot springs were nice, but not worth talking about. We left after dark and I found our car had only one working headlight, and a dim one at that.
The last day of the hike was to a town called Agua Caliente, it was effectively 22km in the heavy rain. Luckily, the rain was warm and we were headed to a hotel so it didn’t bother me much. Renata and I hiked together, we thought we were ahead of the others so we stopped at a hotel/cafe for tea, from there we could see Machu Picchu across the valley, barely. We waited over an hour for the girls, and decided they must have gone around (they actually snuck passed somehow). As we got closer to town we walked along train tracks, where I couldn’t resist the urge to put a coin on the tracks and see what happens. The train squashed it, but not as dramatically as I had hoped. We met the others in town and got into our hotel, again somehow uphill. It was ok, but the windows opened into the hallway not outside, and all night the lights were on and coming in through the window. Somewhere there’s an architect who needs a slap. We then took a day off to rest, we explored town and found another Paddington statue.
Machu Picchu
We had the option to hike to the site, but it was a few kilometers of steep switch backs, so we opted to take the half hour bus. Once up there, we did a self guided tour based on some research I had done, and the previous days rain had left a lot of the drainage and irrigation systems functioning. We were supposed to hike to Huayna Picchu as part of our pass, but due to rainy season, it was closed so we were allowed to go up top to get the famous post card view. There isn’t much to tell of it, the weather was great, the views were great and I was a little sad. I wanted to visit this famous place for decades, ever since I was a kid, and especially since university. I almost went during my honeymoon in 2015/2016 but didn’t quite make it. And now I was here, and it was all just kind of a pile of rocks. I know there’s great history there, but everything was “maybe it was this” and “we think it was used for that” and in the end, it again felt like an influencer photo studio. We got our share of photos too, hopped the bus, got our stuff from the hotel, and caught a train. To be honest, I think the train was almost as much fun, we were comfortable, eating, and taking in the view together.
The Lucky Horseshoe
On the first day of the Salkantay Trek, I had left the lake early and headed back to the hotel to lie under blankets and try to warm up. When the girls came back, they found a horseshoe stuck in a muddy creek bank and knew I would want it. So they brought it back for me. I wrapped it in a plastic grocery bag and stuffed it away in my pack. It stayed there until I got home. I cleaned it with some vinegar and gave it a scrub, it revealed that it was fairly modern (not surprising) and had been made from rebar. It now hangs above my doorway for luck. In Peru I noticed they would hammer them into the floor at entryways, typically on the top step, unfortunately, that isn’t an option in my apartment.
Posted in Hiking, Travel and tagged backpacking, Cusco, hiking, Machu Picchu, Outdoors, peru, travelwith 5 comments.
Peru Part 1: Motorcycle Fool’s Errand
I’ve been to Peru before, but was only in Lima for about a week. I haven’t been to South America since my honeymoon in 2015, that trip didn’t work out, and neither did the marriage. So of course when the idea was suggested in the group chat I was hesitant but also looking for a bit of redemption. Its hard as a writer when you can’t put a feeling into words, that’s my job, but I guess I just wanted to salvage South America. Like if I could go there and have a good time it would undo some of the failures of my past.
The plan was for me and three friends: Natalie, Renata, and Vanessa to all go to Peru together. You may remember them from other adventures like my Guatemala trip. As it turns out, I would be there a week before the girls arrived so I did the natural thing and rented a motorcycle and did a trip north. I found a few motorcycle rental options but the most affordable, by a huge margin, was a Hero Eco 150cc (boasting a whopping 13.5 horsepower). I did a sizeable amount of research on the best available route and decided to do Canyon Del Pato. It was a long flight there, and getting from the airport to hotel resulted in some confusion when my pre-booked ride didn’t show up so they sent another only to have both arrive at the same time. In the evening I explored the city a bit and got some food. Ordering that first meal, alone, in a new country is always a great feeling when successful and in this case I was able to use my Spanish, which felt like a big win.
Lima to Barranca
In the morning I picked up the bike and hit the road. My first impressions were that Peruvians were crazy. Traffic was bad and the motorcyclists belonged in a circus exhibition show the way they drove. I did my best to match their style in an attempt to be predictable. An easy trick was to find a bike and follow it through the traffic. Once I got outside of the city it was a much calmer ride, but my bikes lack of power became quite obvious. I found I was topping out somewhere around 70km/h. The landscape was also a little depressing, it was all desert and sad huts and shacks barely standing. Peru also has a major little problem with at times resulted in a bit of a landfill small. The rental place suggested I see Chancay Castle. I googled some pictures and it looked like an interesting old castle, maybe a relic from Spanish colonialism. I drove half an hour out of my way to find it was actually a theme park… I didn’t go in. I passed a checkpoint and was waved in, my blood pressure spiked and I had visions of Peruvian incarceration because I didn’t have cash for a bribe. Turns out this cop was very honest, he checked my paperwork and we did our best to communicate, eventually he just asked “tourist?” “si, tourist” “ok, have good day”. My hotel for the night was off the beaten path down some dusty back roads and at one point a dog ran out to chase me, I barely got away… my motorcycle was barely faster than a terrier, thank got it wasn’t a whippet chasing me. The hotel was nice, but no one spoke English, with my lacking Spanish they explained that they dont have a kitchen, I had to order food. After some “chatting” with them, they were kind enough to call and order for me. The food was amazing, grilled chicken and french fries. I spent the evening alone in my hotel room wondering just how foolish this idea was.
Barranca to Huaraz
It wasn’t an interesting day, but it was a challenging one. I started the day early as there were predictions of rain and I wanted to get ahead of it. The landscape changed from desert to more grassland and I gained elevation.. nearly 4000 meters of elevation actually. That little bike with its carburetor really struggled, in fact, I was going so slow up the switchbacks that I got pulled over. Again, I was nervous and again the police were honest. A quick license and paperwork check followed by a handshake and a goodbye. I arrived at town tired, dehydrated, and starving and promptly got lost looking for my hotel. Google Maps kept leading my down a dead-end alleyway. After the second time I used satellite view to science it out a bit better and finally found it on the edge of town. Then it took 15 minutes of banging on the door before someone let me in, as usual I was the only guest. I had more chicken for dinner at 5pm, my first meal of the day, and went to bed early not feeling well. I was quite cold, as we were high up, but the hotel had no heaters, the owner was kind enough to give extra blankets.
Huaraz to Caraz
While loading my bike, I tipped it against a brick wall and broke the last inch off the brake lever. Not a great start to the day. The road to the next town was a bit rough, but it was paved. I then deviated to see a lake that the hotel owner in Huaraz had suggested I visit. The road was a sand and gravel mess, more potholes than road and no shortage of wash out. I fought my way up it for 45 minutes and paid to get in to the park. 15 more minutes of driving and I was at Llanganuco Lake. It would have been at home anywhere in the Rockies with its turquois waters. Downhill was a little faster, more in the fashion of a mountain bike than a motorcycle. I made my way to my hotel in Caraz, only to find my phone not able to make calls and no one opening the gate, again I banged on it and rang the bells until someone finally came. A woman with an American accent expressed shock that I was on such a small bike with such little luggage. She let me in, got me squared away and explained that I was the only guest. I joined her for a walk around the property with her dogs, which was quite lovely, then had a nice meal in the attached restaurant. The owner told me she was from Montana originally and she introduced me to her business partner, a woman from Venezuela named Maria. The room was nice, with a big bed, proper shower with hot water, and lamps beside the bed for reading (oddly rare when I travel).
Caraz to… Caraz…
After a few days of rather dull riding along roads that were either straight and boring or tight switchbacks that were a slog, I was excited to finally hit the canyon. Canyon Del Pato is well known for its winding roads, tunnels through mountains, and views of waterfalls. It comes highly recommended on adventure motorcycle travel. I loaded up my bike, bid farewell as they wished me safe travels. At 21km I excitedly went through the first tunnel and was so happy and excited to finally be doing it… but the bike felt…off. I pulled to the shoulder and had a good look at my, now flat, rear tire. Some serious adventure bikers from Argentina stopped to help, but I found my emergency tool kit provided with the bike had no spare tubes in it, just an old wrench and a clutch cable. They aired my tire up and suggested I turn back, which I did. I made it 1km to a cafe, the woman explained that I couldn’t get a tire shop to send someone to me and hiring a truck would be very expensive so I was best to wait for a truck to come by and catch a ride. Only one truck came by, a large gravel truck who couldn’t fit the bike. I decided I best press on, the woman lent me a hand pump more suited to a bicycle. I aired the tire and made it a few hundred feet before it was flat again and now unable to hold air. I couldn’t ride the bike at any speed on the flat so I had to push it. This was going to be a long day so I made a better plan. Stripped off as much gear as I could and changed to a light long sleeve shirt to keep sun off. I grabbed a gear tie (heavy duty wire that can be shaped) and used it to tie my clutch lever half way, then I set my helmet on the throttle as a lock. In this way I could let the bike slowly power itself while just holding it up. It was slow but it worked, except the foot peg would occasionally bash into my calf. A few people on motorcycles stopped but were unable to help, finally enough sun had penetrated my skull that I came up with an idea. The next bike to stop happened to be a young man who spoke some English. I asked if he could get to where there is cell service and call my hotel from last night and see about a truck. He left and I kept pushing, 45 minutes later he came back and said “that’s Maria, I know her, she said she would try and get a truck so just wait here. I’m sorry, I have to go.” and off he went. I stopped in some shade, had some water and a snack, after what felt like an hour, I started focusing on how he said that she said “try to get a truck” and decided I didn’t like that. I started pushing again. Around kilometer 4 and hour 3 of pushing a farmer stopped in his tuk-tuk, I asked if his phone worked and if I could use it. I also thanked myself for taking all those Spanish lessons, because they were absolutely paying off. Maria answered and she excitedly explained that she was on her way in a truck and I should stay put. I thanked the man for letting me use his phone. Within minutes Maria and a man were there with a big truck, a cabover larger than a pickup but smaller than a semi. He and I lifted it up and into the back and rested it on a tire. He drove Maria and I to the tire shop were she came with me to make sure I didn’t get ripped off. The driver asked 120 soles for the ride (about $45), and a new tube, tire, and install was 105 soles (about $40). I couldn’t see what caused the tire to go flat as it had been so beaten by me pushing the bike, there was no obvious puncture, so my guess was I damaged it by hitting a pot hole, or maybe the protective band inside the rim slipped and the spokes poked a hole in the tube, I’ll never know for sure. The driver left, Maria caught a taxi, and I got some gas and headed back to the hotel. It was now nearly 5pm and I was exhausted. I spent the night at that hotel and Maria informed me she was giving me a special deal on the room, which is crazy because she had already saved me, if anything I should have paid extra.
Caraz to Barranca
Unfortunately, due to that lost day and the flat tire, I couldnt keep my original route, I had to turn back and retrace my route. I laughed a little at the fact that I had driven 3 days of meh roads to get through one tunnel of the canyon and then turned around, but thats life sometimes. Now I had 2 days to retrace those steps, so I did the long ride back to Barranca. It was better riding as it was mostly downhill, but the entire time I worried about another flat. In a lapse of judgement, I booked a different hotel this time, something more central. I booked online for about $35 but when I arrived I was checked in and paid $20. In my room I wondered if this was a umm… well… a sex hotel.. there were mirrors everywhere and all the bedding was bright red velvet and zebra print. Putting it out of my mind I had a shower, the bathroom looked like they forgot to finish it, there was exposed water valves they had cut the tile to access and a hole in the top that I assume they plan to put a window in at some point, and there was no shower curtain. I got out of the shower and saw a text from booking explaining that I had been put in the wrong room at the wrong rate and I had to move to the penthouse and pay the difference. It wasn’t much nicer, but it did have a balcony, but it looked out over unfinished buildings and smog. The TV worked, and it was nice to watch a movie.
Barranca to Lima
The road back to Lima was quite dull, just a long 4 lane road through the desert. I did take this opportunity to find that bikes top speed, going down a long hill, full tuck, top gear, full throttle, I hit a whopping 97km/h. I was honestly a little furious at this point. I got back to Lima and white knuckled my way through traffic back to the man I rented the bike from who seemed shocked I was there to return it and told me he would be there in an hour, when I explained I was there now, he arrived in 10 minutes. I showed him the damage to the lever, and the new tire, and politely gave him a bit of a talking to about his pathetically insufficient emergency kit. He seemed genuinely surprised that the tire change tools weren’t in there along with a new tube. He gave me my full damage deposit back and promised the next guy would get a better kit.
I caught an Uber to the AirBnB and got checked in. Renata arrived shortly after and I nearly cried I was so happy to see a familiar face after those last few days. Our internet wasn’t working so the owner came by and fixed it and brought us a bottle of wine to apologize for the inconvenience. We drank it that night, and ate way too many maple cookies after a short walk around town to try a pisco sour. In the morning Natalie and Vanessa arrived and the rest of the trip began.
Honestly, I was quite sad about this part of the trip, the riding I was able to do wasn’t great and the bike was severely under powered for it. I considered a large bike but this one cost $300 to rent while a larger one, 500 cc, cost around $1200. It made me realize the importance of enough power but also my need to learn how to change a tire and have the tools to do it myself. For an experienced biker that could have been a 1 hour setback, I lost an entire day that cost me the main purpose of my trip, that’s on me. I did learn that there are trustworthy people willing to help in these countries, like the friendly police, all the bikers who stopped to help, the café worker who gave me a pump, and especially the hotel owner who came and retrieved me. But in the end, like most things in life, it was on me to help myself and I just couldn’t in that instance. I was off to a rough start, but I have four weeks and three friends to help salvage it.
Posted in Motorcycle, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Outdoors, peru, travelwith 1 comment.
Mexican Dogs, Sharks, and Dirt Bikes
I’ve been trying to get to Mexico for years. Somehow it just never happened. I think because its so close and so available that I have been saving it for later, there has also always been this sense that its either for relaxation or partying, neither of which has ever appealed to me. The initial plan was to go to Cozumel Island on the east side of Mexico for its famous diving, but after some research, Cabo ended up being easier access, similar pricing, and had higher likelihood of seeing sharks while diving.
What had started as a solo trip was smiled on by good fortune. I had been able to talk Natalie and her boyfriend Cole into joining me. We all arrived in Cabo within an hour of each other, and Cole had some distant, vague, family member who kept a truck in Cabo. Expecting an old dusty Toyota, I was quite shocked to find we were being lent a brand-new-top-of-the-line hybrid F150. This seemed a way better idea than taking a bus or taxi. They delivered me to my luxurious two star hotel and took themselves to their rental condo. My hotel was clean, but dated and rough. Lots of cracked tiles, sagging ceiling, and throughout the time I was there, I saw a lot of little beetles and bugs. I realized, my step-brother may be right about my willingness to sleep anywhere when I absent mindedly slapped a cockroach-looking bug off my pillow, and laid down to relax without so much as a flinch or pause for concern. Maybe next time I should splurge for that 3rd star.
In the morning they picked me up and we went to a dog rescue to do a hike. It was near the marina and a very eccentric man led a big group of tourists and his many dogs on a hike that was more climbing than walking. We ended up just above the famous Cabo Arch. Along the way the guide would occasionally stop and tell the large group his philosophy on reality and physics. At one point he mentioned the vibration of the earth and the universe impacting your brain waves… and something about special breathing techniques to unlock higher understanding. Now, dont get me wrong, I enjoy a good cult as much as the next guy, but you have to start with peace and love…then work into brainwaves. Biology lessons aside, it was a great hike and the dogs were super friendly.
After the hike we stopped into the dive shop and solidified our plans, I was booked in for four days of diving and had brought cash to pay. We clarified the schedule and the bill, I was told $850cad, however the next morning when I came in, they ran the numbers again and it was $780. I was happy to not question it. Lunch was at a restaurant called Asi y Asado, it turns out it had be featured on Guy Fieri’s show. The food was pretty good, afterward we went to Costco and stocked up on snacks and bottled water… and I just realized I am yet to pay Cole back for that case of water… lets hope he also forgot. Two of Natalie’s friends arrived that evening, Sarah and Koda, they were sharing a room just below me in the hotel and it was a bit rougher than mine, largely due to the obvious mold on the bathroom ceiling.
When diving, its typical to have one outing, either morning or afternoon, that consists of two dives, with one tank used per dive. My first outing I was in for a bit of a surprise. For fear of my stomach, I skipped breakfast and got there early to get organized and avoid stress and rushing. I had also emailed in advance to ask if I could be put on a boat with a bathroom. Though, technically, the boat did have a toilet, they waited until we were out on the water before informing everyone on the boat, that it was “light duty” and for “number 1 only”… I think there was a miscommunication in my emails. My stomach didn’t feel great but I survived the first dive without incident. I was partnered with a very experienced diver from the US and was relieved to find I wasn’t using too much more air than my companions. This fear stems from my time in Thailand were I was on the mend from Pneumonia and was sucking through air much faster than anyone else on the dives. The dive itself wasn’t anything too wild, highlight being a Guitar fish, which I had never seen before.
While on surface between dives, my stomach began to boil a little. I mentioned to the guide that my stomach was a bit upset, he replied with “oh no, you might puke?” “no, other end”. He without much concern, said something along the lines of “well, if you go in the ocean, thats totally fine” which was weirdly reassuring. Luckily it didnt come to that. The second dive of the day was much clearer visibility at a place called Land’s End, which is just off the tip where the Cabo Arch is. Under the surface, I had a great view of the wreckage of an old ship. I was told it had been down there since the 40’s. At this point it was mostly scrap metal scattered along the bottom, but still an interesting experience.
The afternoon was spent at the beach with the girls while Cole took his open water diving course. Lunch was tacos and in the evening we played card games at the rental condo.
Day two of diving was with Natalie and Sarah, this was the first time I had ever gotten the opportunity to dive with friends. Its no surprise that it was a much better experience, I’m a friendly guy and will chat with strangers, but you just have better conversations and more jokes with friends. On our way to the first dive site we got a very close look at some whales which was amazing. Both dives had good visibility and we saw schools of small rays both times.
Dinner that evening was at another Guy Fieri restaurant, this time it was Solomons, a higher end establishment. I had a Caesar salad that was prepared from scratch at the side of the table. The table next to us had Mexican coffee which got lit on fire and transferred back and forth between cups resulting in quite a light show.
Day three the dive shop was able to shuffle some things and have Cole, Natalie, Sarah, and myself all dive together. We went to the same places as I had on day one, this time we saw an eel out in the open, multiple octopuses, puffer fish, and Cole officially finished his training. At the end of the second dive, the current was strong on the surface, so we had to grab a line on the side of the boat and get towed away from the jagged rocks before boarding. It wasn’t far or fast, but it was an interesting experience. That evening we stayed in at the rental again, I retired early in the evening as I had a big day ahead of me. That was also the last I would see of Cole, Natalie, and Sarah as they were all leaving the morning. Sarah was headed home, and Natalie and Cole were headed north.
Day four was the big day. I got to the dive shop early and was given, along with two others, a ride to a partner dive shop about half an hours drive away. We got our gear sorted and loaded into the boat. We were introduced to our guide, the captain, and the first mate… a dog. He was introduced as an emotional support dog and a lookout, we were told if he starts barking to start looking around for wildlife, especially whales. No one is sure how he does it, some suggested he could hear them, other think smell, I don’t think its for us to know. Skeptical as I was, once we got out of the marina, the dog barked, and sure enough, a few whales just off the bow.
We got to the first dive site, Gordo 2, and were walked through the plan. It was a deep water, blue water dive. This meant, we would be going down deeper than standard recreational diving (in this case a maximum of 40m). We were instructed to stay behind and above the guide for safety, we were hoping to see scalloped hammerhead sharks and that if we encounter a group, its likely that one or two will come circle us and see. The understanding is they will be looking if we are large enough to be their predators or small enough to be their food. Luckily, we are about the size of a hammerhead so we would be fine. However, if they get too close for comfort, we were told just go vertical which will make us look bigger and they will likely go away. The boat dog cuddled me the entire time this was being explained to us.
We descended down to just below 30m and let the current carry us, we couldn’t see bottom and had no landmarks for reference so the guide followed his compass. The guide also kept a buoy above so the boat could track us. Shortly after we got to depth, the guide pointed to the left and there it was, a school of hammerheads. A few larger ones came our way and had a look, then rejoined the group. In the excitement, I started filming but got tunnel vision, and didn’t realize I was starting to sink. I took a look around and couldn’t find my companions, there were a few seconds of concern until my guide reached down, grabbed my BCD, blipped some air into it and pointed both fingers at his eyes, the universal signal for pay attention. Lesson learned. All in all, the closest the sharks got to me was maybe 10 or 15 feet, likely further, its hard to have a sense of distance or scale. We surfaced and rested on the boat, I apologized to the guide, he didn’t seem too worried about it and said it happens all the time.
The second dive was at Gordo 1, same setup, rules, and safety. The only difference being that we could see the bottom here, but it was at 60m, so we weren’t allowed to go down to it. Not going down to the bottom sounds easy, but the habit is to swim a few feet off the bottom so you really have to fight your instincts. We made our way down to depth and didn’t see anything too exciting, just a few small fish here and there. I noticed I was starting to get close to half my air (1500psi) and knew I needed to notify the guide, but he was a little far and I couldn’t get his attention with waving. By the time I did, I was at 900psi. We started to ascend to end the dive, he called me over and handed me his secondary air source. I wasn’t about to argue with him, but it did strike me as strange since I still had air, I took his and we slowly went up. During our ascent, a sealion started circling us and darting between. It was an amazing show, but also quite odd considering we were 8 miles from land. We hit our 3 minute safety stop at 5 meters and I was signaled to go back onto my own air source. Once back on the boat, I apologized again, and explained myself. The guide, ever the professional, didn’t seem to think much of the incident, just reiterated that I really needed to tell him sooner. I asked how much danger I was in with that little air, he said “none, I would have just shot up a second buoy and the captain would have sent a second tank and regular down on a rope”. Looking back on it, I think I may also have had a bit of nitrogen narcosis as I remember being a bit confused, and when he initially went to share air with me I thought we were at the 5m safety stop, in reality, we were at 32m. Its also entirely possible I just made an error and my pride wants an excuse. I made sure to tip that guide a little extra for saving me… and/or putting up with me.
Once back on land and back to the original dive shop. I had lunch with my diving partners for the day and Koda. Afterward Koda and I went back to the beach, had an early supper, then turned in early as she was flying out the next day.
Koda’s last day we went to the local museum, it had the spirit but was a little underfunded and underwhelming. She caught a ride to the airport and I went to a bar that sold mojitos and cigars, and enjoyed one of each. The following day I moved from my hotel to a resort and immediately regretted it. It felt fake, isolated, and sterile. I want some grit on my vacations. I want people to wonder how I do it, not how I afford it… thought this resort was pretty cheap so there’s no mystery there.
My last big activity of the trip was a good one. A man in a dusty Toyota truck pulled into the resort to retrieve me, he had a passenger with him and both had a “hell yea” attitude. It was a comical juxtaposition with the continuously swept tile of the foyer. While we made our way to the clubhouse, traffic was terrible, the driver looked at me and said “hold on, I have an idea” and cut off the road, down some gravel to an open sandy expanse. He drove his truck cross country for a few minutes explaining that he had a lease on all that land so its fine.
We got to the clubhouse and I was kitted with all manner of protective gear except for riding boots, I had to provide my own on account of my size 14 feet. I was paired with a young guide, who definitely weighed less than his 450cc dirt bike. I was given a newer version of the same bike, a honda , and told to follow the guide. We made our way across the sandy field we came in on, then onto sandy roads, then gravel, then rough pavement, then back and forth through all manner of road, track, and trail. We stopped occasionally to take in the view, drink some water, or step behind a cactus. Ripping on a dirt bike around Baja was just one of those things like hiking in the Himalayas that feels weird to say out loud, I just know that’s someone’s life goal and I did it casually on a two week trip.. go do stuff people, its easier than you think.
The half way point of our trip was at an ocean front restaurant. I ordered three tacos, a coke, and pet the local dogs while I waited for the food to come out. It was delicious, tacos in Mexico and a cold soda after driving in the heat, it was almost a religious experience. We climbed back onto our bikes and headed back along a slightly different route, this one took us more along the side of the ocean. While riding, the guide pulled over abruptly and excitedly pointed at some whales. If memory serves, that was the 5th group I had seen on this trip, starting to look like an infestation at this point (this is a joke, protect the whales). We made our way back, this time much faster across the sand now that I had some time to find my groove on it. Riding in sand is an odd experience, its sort of like driving on ice where you have limited control or traction. It differs wildly from ice in that you are always in a bit of a floating sway, like a vaguely controlled hydroplane. Speed is your friend, you want to glide across it, and that feels very unnatural.
After the bike was back safely and parked, the guide offered me a beer, it was my favorite brand… free. Post-beer, I was given a ride back to the resort. I must have looked quite the sight, covered in dust, carrying my boots through the clean building on the way to my room. It was good feeling.
Technical
I want to get out ahead of the scuba incident. I got a great photo of him and I while I was using his secondary air. He politely asked me not to post it on social media because a lot of internet “experts” will have a lot of criticism about it. I screwed up by not banging something against my tank to get his attention, and he rectified the situation easily. Despite what I will tell ladies on dates, I wasn’t actually in any danger at any point. In fact, the most dangerous part of running out of air on a shark dive was the sea lion… apparently they have a sense of humor and have been known to nibble fins and hoses, but rarely do divers actually get nipped. After the dive I asked about the air share when I still had air left, he said it was better to not exhaust your own air completely before sharing just in case there’s an emergency and you need to split up again. This explains why he signaled me back onto my own air once we were at the safety stop, at that point I could just surface if I ran out.
Also, I went through all this deep water dive for a chance to see hammerheads, which I did… but Cole saw one while taking his course just outside the marina in 18m of water. So, no dive is a bad dive and you never know what you’ll see.
The bike I used was a Honda CRF450 with some modifications and I just stuffed my own boots into my checked luggage, they took up a lot of space but I didn’t bring a lot of much else. I brought my duffel bag instead of my usual backpack which felt very weird, but I was glad to have it. The extra room ended up being for souvenirs, cookies, a t-shirt, and koda gave me a cheap towel she bought for the beach.
My parents bought me a Casio G shock model DW-9052 just before this trip so I kept sending them photos of it in questionable places. Not surprisingly, its a great travel watch, has all the features I want, not too expensive, not too flashy, and can handle abuse… Probably why NATO uses them.
Lastly, this was a fun trip to explain to my travel insurance provider…
Posted in Dirt Bikes, Hiking, Motorcycle, Photo Drop, Scuba Diving, Travel and tagged adventure, Cabo, Hammerhead, hiking, Mexico, motorcycle, Outdoors, Scuba diving, Sharks, travelwith 1 comment.
Thailand Notes Part 4: A Resort And An Ending
For the remainder of my trip, I wanted sun, beaches, and relaxation. So I picked a small island and booked a scuba resort.
Koh Tao Island
The process of getting from Chiang Mai to my hotel on Koh Tao Island was quite a long-drawn-out event. Here’s the short version. I caught a plane to a city who’s name I dont recall, and had to deal with taxi drivers and tourists arguing over the cost of transportation… again. I will never understand why a tourist will argue with a taxi driver over $2cad. Spent the night at a hotel, then took a taxi to a bus to a boat to another boat and spent a lot of time baking in the sun between. At some point someone stuck a sticker on my shirt that showed my final destination. It made me wonder how many tourists they’d lost before they came up with that idea. Once again I was alone, heading out to somewhere I had never been surrounded people I don’t know. Luckily Thailand is visually more inviting than Nepal and I arrived at my destination during the day. They also had someone from the hotel pick me up at the dock. I had booked my stay at Ban’s Diving Resort, thinking, to hell with it, I’ll spend the last of my money at some beachside motel and relax. Well, I thought it was a little hotel claiming to be resort, a common exaggeration when you budget travel, but this was, by far, the nicest place I had ever stayed. They had multiple pools, a dozen buildings to house guests, a landscaped garden between, and even a golf cart that worked like public transit. I signed in and signed up for a scuba refresher in the morning, I had my license, but I was rusty. After food I went to bed, sunbaked, desperate for sleep, and thankful I had paid extra for AC.
The refresher was fairly uneventful. I was tossed into a pool with another diver and an instructor and retested on the basics. It didn’t take much for me to get back into the groove. However, I was a little suspicious of the other diver with me. He claimed to have done over 100 dives and to have his advanced open water. His skills in the pool and general lack of knowledge shed some doubt on that. It crossed my mind that no one actually asked to see my certification, and therefore, one could easily lie and just go diving. It strikes me as needlessly dangerous for yourself and those around you but, it could be done. I believe this was the case with that individual but it wasn’t for me to say. After class, I got talked into an afternoon excursion and the dive master was the instructor who gave me the refresher, so it all worked out well. The first dive I was plenty nervous but it was fairly uneventful. It was exciting enough I decided to ignore my budget and take my advanced open water course. The following days dives were a little more exciting. I dove with a French man who was rather rude and pushy underwater, swimming too close to me and to wildlife. He got within inches of a turtle and bluff charged by trigger fish, shame they didn’t nibble him a bit, pain may have taught him a lesson. In the evening I went for a long walk up and down the beach. It was beautiful, but it was lonely. It’s a strange feeling to be lonely in a place many consider to be paradise. I had once read that resort towns, like the big ski towns in The Rockies, have a really high suicide rate because people move there and find it doesn’t solve their problems.
Getting my advanced open water was a lot easier than I had expected. I assumed there would be some course work, maybe some theory, or a test. We just did specific dives. Basically there is a list of dives and you pick 5 of them, that’s the class. In this case, the instructors picked based on what was available to us and what they felt would be the most fun, which is a fair way to operate. We started with a deep-water dive, we went down to 28m and played a math game to check for nitrogen narcosis. A condition I am told will cause a sensation similar to being intoxicated and impact motor skills and brain function. The test was: the instructor holds up fingers and we hold up however many we needed to add to get to 11. For example, she holds up 6, so I hold up 5. It’s a smart test, though somewhat revealing of how bad some of us are at mental math. We were only that deep for about 4 minutes, then slowly worked our way up and took in the sights. Interesting side note, at that depth we hit the thermocline, that razor sharp edge where water gets very cold, if you’ve ever jumped into an Alberta lake you may know what I am talking about. Our next dive was supposed to be a “fish identification” dive where in we practiced hand signals for different species of fish. Once we got down to depth, we saw that the ocean was littered with plastic bottles, one of the instructors went up and got a large mesh duffel while the other got us all stacking the bottles into a pile. In the end we only made a small dent but cleaning garbage out of the ocean was very satisfying. I like the idea of having a task beyond looking around, much like hiking, I prefer to have a goal. After the dive we dumped water out of the bottles and stashed them away. I’m hoping they didn’t just go onto a barge and back into the ocean somewhere else.
Night Dive
We sat on the boat and waiting for dark, as the sun set, we slipped back into the water. Truth be told, I was terrified while waiting on the boat, but as soon as I got in the water I was just excited. It was like motorcycling in the rain, I was so focused on the task and it was such a rewarding challenge, my brain just didn’t have room for fear. We pointed our flashlights and saw the blue patches on a stingray glow. The instructor brought us in a circle and had us shut of our lights and wave our hands. As we did, bioluminescent plankton lit up. It was very faint and you had to really look for it, but the little blue flashes were there. It was not a light show that rivaled fireworks, it was just faint whispers of light not intended for the human eye. After the dive I went to the restaurant attached to the resort and found I couldn’t get anyone to come take my order, or even bring me a menu. This was a common theme at that establishment during my stay. Throughout the week I just went to the nearby 7-11 for suppers and ate them on my balcony. It was quite isolating, and very stereotypical of a tourist to eat all his meals from 7-11. Towards the end of my stay, one of the instructors informed me there was a really good fried chicken restaurant about a block away… I became a regular there during my stay.
The rest of the week was more diving and relaxing. One of the dives was a navigation dive where my partner and I were shown a map, given a slate to draw our own and make a plan, then off we went. I suggested she take the lead as I have a lot of experience with maps and she said she needed the practice. She got lost almost immediately. I recognized a large rock crack and took the lead. We did a lap around the pinnacle and did a swim-through at 26m. I was about to lead us south west to a rock pile, but she stopped me. It turns out I was running very low on oxygen. We made our safety stops and surfaced. The entire ascent, we locked arms ready to share her air via the spare regulator. It never came to that, I ended with just under 15 bars on the gauge. Typically, you try to end with somewhere between 40 and 50 bars of pressure. After that dive we did a shipwreck, unfortunately visibility was horrible. I could barely see my outstretched hand. So I followed the group only able to see their silver tanks in all the green algae. We did a swim through on part of the ship and got some pictures. It was a strange disorienting sensation to be swimming and see the current change direction, without a fixed object for reference, it felt like I was spinning and changing direction against my will. It felt like drunken spins. Diving in poor visibility is something I thought would be terrifying, but once down there I realized that no matter how bad it got… I could just go up. This made it an interesting learning experience, but I was sad I didn’t get a good view of the ship, the pictures I have seen of it look amazing… One more reason to go back.
I decided I wanted to get a tattoo on my second last day on the island. My diving was done and I wanted a full day to recover before taking boats, busses, and planes where aftercare would be difficult. I booked my appointment at a well reviewed shop. He quoted me a price of about $150 cad and told me to be there at 3pm. I came back at 3, after my last dive. He was tattooing someone else and without looking up, he told me to come back at 5. I went for pizza and never came back. To hell with him if he can’t keep a schedule. Didn’t need that tattoo anyway. Later, I had a few drinks at the bar with some of the dive instructors. It was nice to see they were super friendly even off the clock. After a dozen dives and about a week on the island some part of my mind was considering finding a way to stay, maybe get trained as a dive master and make my living that way. Its weird, I was still quite sad and alone feeling, but I wanted to stay. I liked the diving, I didn’t like the empty hotel room.
Back To Kathmandu
My full week in a private room on the resort and diving daily resulted in a bill of just over $800. I don’t know how it ended up that cheap, I was expecting a little over double that but they offered discounts for dives and accommodation. I didn’t ask too many questions or look too close. Happily and hurriedly, I paid my bill and left the office. The next few days were just an uneventful blur of busses, boats and a plane back to Bangkok. I stayed at the edge of town near the airport far from anything a tourist would want to see. The next day I went to the airport and waited for my flight back to Kathmandu. In the airport, I did a tourism survey and was given a small coin purse. It really felt like a scam of some kind but they never asked me for personal information so it must have been legitimate. I also took the opportunity to send a few post cards to my family. While waiting to board the plane I noticed a Nepali man wearing a Magpul shirt. Naturally I went over and complimented it. He informed me he was from Nepal but lived in the USA, hence the firearms shirt. On the plane, near Kathmandu, we hit some hard rain and turbulence. We circled the city for about an hour waiting for the weather to clear. We were told we may divert to Delhi, luckily it didn’t come to that. This time I stayed at the same hostel, they just texted me the room number and I helped myself. It went much smoother than the first time I stayed. I was also very relieved to see the duffel bag I had left behind in storage was still there, dusty, but untouched.
I spent the next few days wandering the streets of Kathmandu in a smug self-satisfied way, I was proud of myself for all I had done. I picked up a few more gifts for friends and family from the various little shops and decided to splash out and stay at a $35 a night hotel my last two nights. It was beautiful, big, and clean. The balcony overlooked a little shrine statue in the alleyway. In the evenings I smoked cigars on the balcony while writing in my journal. Mamita asked to meet me at a café at 9pm. I wandered the dark streets to get there, thinking about how 10 weeks ago they would have terrified me. Upon arrival I found my phone was off, I turned it on and found she had texted me to reschedule for the morning. Mamita met me for breakfast and I told her about my travels, it was nice to catch up. On the way back to the hotel I bought Natalie a Royal Enfield T-shirt to match mine, she had requested it. I wasn’t sure when I would see Natalie again, but we were already talking about her coming to visit me at home during the summer to do some hiking, that did end up happening, along with a few other trips. Repeatedly I repacked my gear for the flight home, and relaxed in my hotel room, for supper I had a water buffalo burger that was positively amazing.
The last day was dull, almost intentionally so. I tried to sleep in, I checked out at 2pm and stored my bags. I walked Thamel one last time and tried my best to soak it in and remember the feeling and the smells. After some lunch, I bought a 200npr copy of H.G Well’s The Time Machine. Finally, it got late enough, I got a ride from the hotel to the airport and started the long trip home. There were long flights and layovers and I had no idea what my life would hold when I got home. At the time, I had no job, and no plan, and was somehow, ok with that. My friend Troy picked me up at the airport, fed me a burger, and delivered me to my apartment. Everything was how I left it, and I didn’t feel too terribly different… Maybe a little thinner… I was sad it was over, and I was glad to be home, it was time to sleep in my own bed, and see what the future held.
There’s no great way to say this, but I took this trip because I hated my job and was depressed about my divorce. It’s hard to say if it helped with either of those much, but I think it turned out to be a net positive for me in other ways. I made friends that I am still in touch with and in less than a week of posting this, I will be meeting Natalie, her boyfriend, and two of her friends in Cabo to do some diving. And probably never would have gone to Guatemala if it weren’t for Natalie and Renata. Aside from the people I met, it let me do a bit of a hard reset and take stock of what I want to do with my life. Certainly I don’t have all the answers, but I know now that I want to keep travelling and I know I want to spend time with friends and family… After some time at home and at a semi-office job, I took another run at HVAC, it turns out that job wasn’t a good fit, but the industry is and I am now a first year apprentice and going to trade school in the new year. Turns out I like working with my hands and fixing things. Not everyone has the opportunity to travel like I do, but that was the life I had built for myself… and this trip has made me optimistic about what the rest of my life could look like now that I have a better understanding of what I do and dont want out of it. As for healing from my divorce, it didn’t help, only time was able to do that. But hey, it might help you, so book the trip, and tell me all about it when you get home.
Thank you to everyone who has been reading these stories… more to come in the future.
Posted in Scuba Diving, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Koh Tao, Outdoors, Scuba diving, Thailand, travelwith 4 comments.
Thailand Notes Part 3: The End Of The Loop
In the morning, we all agreed to stay an extra night at the same hotel in Mae Hong Son, I needed the rest and I think the others did too. We decided to do a day trip to visit a Long Neck Kayan village (sometimes spelled Karen). Riding to the village, the roads deteriorated from nice tarmac to dirt, and just before the village there was a steep downhill. The road was cut out of a hill and had a steep berm on both sides. Courtney and Will were far ahead of me and when I came to the hill, I saw the Courtney had been the victim of our first crash. She was, for the most part, unhurt. She had some scrapes on her elbow and knee, but nothing serious. Her bike took a few dings, and a mirror had spun loose. I used my multi-tool to tighten the lock nut holding the mirror in place, and we continued. We arrived at the village and found it small and nearly empty. We walked the main street and saw a few vendors had small huts set up selling trinkets. The Karen people are refugees from war torn Burma, the women famously wrap brass coils around their necks to give the appearance to a longer neck (it actually pushed down the collar bone creating the illusion of a long neck). The women were friendly, but the village was primarily peoples houses and small stalls selling to tourists. I didn’t want to invade peoples’ privacy and wander into their homes, which I have heard of other tour groups doing. A local woman with excellent English introduced us to some other women selling their souvenirs, I bought a bottle opener for myself and a post card for my nephew. I decided not to take pictures of the locals, it already felt like an awkward invasion of privacy and snapping pictures felt like another level of that. After a very brief tour, we headed out.
Natalie had mentioned seeing a sign along the way for “something she wanted to check out” so we stopped and had a look. It was some sort of business sign outside of a farm and while we debated what it was and if we should pull in, a woman was riding out on a scooter. She informed us that it was a restaurant owned by the farmers. Natalie was interested but Courtney and William weren’t, I wasn’t overly interested myself, but Natalie didn’t have a GPS to get her home. With all the charm of a wet blanket, I decided I best have some lunch with her while the others headed back. We went in to the empty open-air restaurant. Our table was shaded by a thatched roof held up by beams and no walls. The waitress spoke little English so, I just pointed at the cooler and ordered us a glass bottle of soda water, thinking it was cool. It turns out that cooler was just for show. We were brought glasses and a bucket of ice to go with it. I wash shocked at how refreshing that was in the heat. We finished the small bottle, and someone who spoke better English came by. We ordered another bottle of soda water and some chicken with rice. While we ate and chatted, I got my phone onto the Wi-Fi and translated the menu. It turns out their specialty was frogs. I was tempted to try some, but we had just eaten and I was full. At least, that’s the excuse I used. This lunch, somehow, stands out to me as the best meals of my trip, or possibly ever. It was probably the company, and the fact I was in a country I never thought I would see and doing something I never thought I would do. But there I was, on the other side of the world riding a motorcycle in a jungle, and now eating lunch with someone I had known for little more than a month. There was no rush to do anything for the rest of the day, the food was good, and the drinks were cold. We explored the grounds a little and then went back to the hotel to relax for a bit before doing a hike up many many stairs to get to two large stupas. While there we saw monks doing evening prayers. I don’t know for sure, but that high up, we looked west and I am sure we could see Burma. Or, rather, trees that were growing in Burma. We went for supper and then went for a walk so the others could show me roti, a local dessert. It started to rain and we ate our crispy, crepe-like dessert under the eave of a building next to the sweet woman who made it for us. Afterward, we had a late night at the hotel, we sat on the patio out front of our cabin until nearly midnight talking a lot about not much at all and stuffing our faces with snacks from the local convenience store.
I woke not feeling well, a price paid for my over indulgence in sweets before bed. Our first stop of the day was at the Su Ton Pae bridge. On the way there, Courtney and Will had gotten ahead, and Natalie, without a nav system, missed a turn. I struggled to catcher her on the winding narrow road, eventually I flagged her down and we got going in the right direction. It was a large bamboo bridge across a field. I think the field flooded seasonally to necessitate the bridge, but I don’t know that. The bridge ends at a Buddhist temple. While there we hung a small slab of wood, about 2 inches by 6 inches on a wall with others. People write their names and their wishes on them, we put “loop group”, our initials, and “good vibes” on ours. I used the bathroom, on the way out saw a dog curled up drawing ragged breath, I found an empty bowl on the ground and filled it and put it near him. I hope he was just dehydrated and that I helped, but I will never really know.
Our next stop was at Fish Cave, a spring fed cave that became a stream full of carp. They were called Mad Carp because they contain a toxin, and possibly as a result, they are considered holy. At the entrance we were sold a small pail of greens to feed them. When dropped into the water, it was an absolute frothing feeding frenzy. The grounds were well kept, and the river was crystal clear. Natalie had mentioned seeing a sign about a hike from the main road and wanted to investigate after the fish cave. We went and followed the trail until it led to a steep hill with some signage. My phone translator wasn’t overly clear but it seemed to say do not enter, and possibly something about danger. Will and Natalie promptly ignored that sign and continued. Courtney and I decided to head back and wait. We sat in a small wooden hut near a bridge at the trailhead where the bikes were parked. The others were gone for nearly an hour and I think we were both fairly annoyed by that. I think the heat was starting to get to me and my attitude. My grump session was interrupted by seeing locals spear fishing in the river. They had scuba style face masks on and rudimentary fishing spears and were having pretty good luck, it seemed.
Eventually Will and Natalie came back, having found some sort of small monastery at the end of their hike. It was now time to head for the hotel. Unfortunately, we got somewhat separated and Courtney got far ahead. I ended up guiding the others to our destination, the town of Ban Rak Thai, a Chinese settlement, about 1km from the Burma border. I read online it was started by soldiers who were opposed to the communist revolution in China. The town had beautiful red lanterns hung over the streets. At the hotel it was a bit of confusion about rooms but we settled on a 3-bed dorm style room for 1000 baht total. The hotel was also very confusing, it was mostly concrete and wood and had a variety of stairs and ramps going every which way. It felt somewhere between a treehouse and a maze , or perhaps a combination of the Winchester Mansion and The Lost Boys hideout in Neverland. We went for supper, but the first place only had Chinese soups and noodles that my western eyes didn’t recognize as food. Luckily, they were sold out of what the others wanted to order so we went elsewhere. The next place we went to was lakeside and much nicer inside. I got a pork omelet and it was amazing. On the walk back, we bumped into another tourist on a scooter who was very much lost. He wasn’t very clear but it sounded like he had missed the turn to get to a monastery. We wished him luck as he left, I do hope he made it.
We got a late start on the day and ended up leave at about 12:30, it was raining lightly and I bought us some cheap rain ponchos. Somehow I still have mine here at home and still take it with me on motorcycle trips. We initially wanted to go to a small town called Ban Jo Ba to do a farm stay. Just before town, I was in the lead, and rounded a corner followed by downhill S- curves. The curves surprised me and I hammered on the rear brakes to lose some speed before the turns. As I rounded the second corner, I looked in my mirror in time to see two scooters high-side in near perfect unison. I parked my bike and ran up the hill. Courtney and Natalie seemed to have come in a little fast and hit the brakes too hard, I think. Both girls were shaken, but uninjured. Natalie’s jacket seemed to have taken a good scrape on the shoulder but luckily, I think, she rolled on landing instead of taking the impact or skidding. Courtney’s bike needed another mirror adjustment and it was good to go, aside from the addition of a few extra scratches. Natalie’s bike also got a mirror tweak, and when I went to move it, the bike revved but didn’t go. It didn’t take long to see that the chain had come off the rear sprocket, sadly, it was hidden under a chain guard and my Leatherman wasn’t up to the task of removal. A local, who spoke no English, stopped his truck and took a look. He motioned for me to follow him, I jumped on my bike and we went into town. He stopped at a house and spoke to a man, he was on his step sitting like buddha in loose fitting and somewhat grubby exercise clothes, his long hair piled on and around his head. Shortly, he jumped up and drove off in a hurry on a scooter that had to be push started, had I not seen it running, I would have assumed it had been stripped for parts. When he returned, he had a little nylon duffel bag full of rusty wrenches, and I spotted a set of vice grips that had been ground flat like a spanner wrench (which strikes me a genius). He handed the bag to the man in the truck. We then went back up the hill to my companions. The man propped the bike on the stand, pulled the guard off, loosened the rear wheel, set the chain on, set the proper tension, and put it all back together. It was very impressive, the speed and confidence with which he did it. We gave him 1000baht palmed in a hand shake to thank him, it was all we had for cash that wasn’t buried in our bags. I then drove the two scooters up the hill as the girls didn’t feel confident doing so. We debated the merits of facing the hill again and decided against going down it. A consideration was that the town below didn’t appear to have much and having to come back up the hill in the rain felt a bit risky to them. As we got back on the road, the light rain turned into proper rain. Luckily, the next town was only about 15 minutes down the road. We went slow, dead slow. Everyone had a bit of a spook in them and I feared another accident could result in a refusal to get back on the bikes and we were far from home. In hindsight, I think all members had more grit and dedication than I was giving them credit for. The hotel was nice, but the man checking us in spoke no English so he just held the phone while someone else walked us through check in. William and Natalie went for supper, I walked to the local corner store and grabbed food for Courtney and I. Neither of us felt up to dinner out. I had been not feeling well and her spirits were low. It was an early night for us all.
In the morning, considering the previous days events, I was relieved to find the weather was clear. We opted to skip breakfast and drive straight to Pai. We made it without incident and stopped for lunch. While waiting for food, I grabbed a Rubik’s cube off a nearby shelf in the café and solved it. I thought I was a big deal for that, Courtney then solved it much faster than I had. We didn’t waste much time in Pai, and I was thankful for that. Its hypocritical of me, but, that place is an absolute tourist trap and I hated it. It looked like a town the tourists were taking advantage of. Entitled foreign teens everywhere and in the way. Scooters flew by us with riders wearing little more than swim suits and clearly lacking skill and hoping blind arrogance would make up the difference. There was also no shortage of tourists with large bandages covering areas commonly afflicted with road rash after a crash. Outside of town and clear of its chaos, I started to feel pretty good on the winding road. Unfortunately, the girls were possibly still a little shaken and a bit slow on their much smaller scooters. I would race ahead, making full use of the street tires affixed to my dual sport bike, get my fill of thrill, and then sit and worry while they caught up. That must be how my mother feels every time I go somewhere. I didn’t mind, but my mind did wander to the idea of doing the trip again solo someday or even with more experienced riders on sportier bikes. Not worrying about others sounded nice, in that moment. We hit some rain towards the end of our ride, but nothing too severe. As we got into town, I missed a turn. Courtney offered to take over as navigator. I was glad to see her up to the task. Were I a better navigator, I may have done that on purpose (I am not a great navigator, and that was not a ploy, but I may use a ploy like that in the future). My bike read one bar of fuel remaining and we were stuck in Thai rush hour traffic. I once was lost in Aukland rush hour in a rental van with the fuel light on. That was far more stressful, I can push a bike and I wasn’t lost. I informed my companions of my low fuel and told them I was heading directly to the rental shop. When I pulled into the shop I was expecting a full white glove and magnifying glass inspection, but the woman barely looked up from the counter before giving me back my deposit. Honestly, I felt a little annoyed, I was mentally prepping for this all week, I was ready to defend myself with pictures of every scratch and scrape on that bike.
We went for supper at a very fancy, and empty, steak house. After the weeks of vegetarian Nepalese food and the various gas station and street food of the motorcycle trip, a big slab of meat was just what I wanted. So I treated myself to pork chops. Our trip was over and I was sad about it. All that was left to do over the next few days was for the others to return their bikes and for me to book flights for the next leg of my trip. The entire loop, I was worried about bike damage and had read some horror stories about insane charges and even scams involving the rental company stealing the bike from in front of your hotel, but ended up having no issues. The girls got a lot of their deposits back and weren’t charged much at all for damages. They inspected Will’s bike a lot, I guess he looks like the type to crash, but he kept it shiny side up the entire time and they gave him his full, deserved, deposit. We had a few lunches and dinners together after that, but eventually all had to go our separate ways. Natalie caught a train and I got a plane. I was worried I had seen the last of my friends.
Technical
The only technical thing I can think of, is that I made sure to pack light for this trip and that really paid off, I just had a small 20L dry sack and a 25L collapsible backpack and neither were full. The waterproofing ended up being a big savior. I really liked the jacket the rental agency lent me, it was from a company called Dianese, and I did try to find it in Canada but the model is out of production and was quite expensive when it was in production, so maybe someday I’ll buy the new model when I am feeling spendy. The Mae Hong Son Loop is famous for a few reasons and the twisty roads are a big part of that. I met a few people along the way who were on their second or third time on the loop and had done it decades ago before smart phones and GPS maps. I could definitely be talked into going back, and I would definitely try and talk this same group into going again. Another fun thing I did do on this trip that was perhaps a little silly, I would text my parents what hotel I was staying at so they could use google street view and satellite images to see the layout.
A big thank you to everyone I came across on this trip, the locals were always friendly, welcoming, and did their best to help tourists who had gotten themselves into trouble.
Posted in Motorcycle, Published Work, Travel and tagged adventure, backpacking, Mae Hong Son Loop, motorcycle, Thailand, travelwith no comments yet.