Potlatch 2009

The most fun tournament in America - in a class all its own. Just as the Club Championship in Sarasota is unrivaled in its competition and taking the game to its highest level, so too does Potlatch stand without peer among tourneys seeking to strike that perfect balance between competition and fun. "Fun" here defined not only by competing at the highest level, but also by your ability to defeat opponents by shotgunning beers during timeouts and challenging each other to inventive and often prurient games before, during, and after the game. And in this respect, Potlatch is the best there is.

Four short days after arriving back from Boston, Jennifer and I set off for Seattle - direct flight! We were met at the airport by Jen's cousin Brian, and spent the night with him and his 8-month-pregnant wife Kelli at their sweet apartment downtown. Took in the sights on their roofdeck, and enjoyed a nice sushi dinner at a place near their apartment.


They looked positively resplendent - Kelli looked gorgeous and Brian already had the air of a proud father-to-be. They are our role models for a young married couple in many respects, so seeing her pregnant was more than a little jarring... had to get Jen out of there before she caught the bug. Who knows if babies are contagious?


The tourney began Friday morning under flawless blue skies in Redmond, Washington, a half hour east of the city. We donned our beautiful purple DarkHorse uniforms and took the field against a bunch of college kids from LA. We buried them under a hail of deep throws and athletic plays, despite a sizeable number of early miscues. Adjustment pains. DarkHorse is comprised of alums from the Claremont Colleges (5 schools in So. Cal) where both Michael and Trina went to school. This year they generously absorbed a few extra Stouts in the form of myself, Kevin, and Jen; Michael remained in India and did not make the trip.


Mom and Dad drove up to complete the six-some. So good to see everyone; a veritable family reunion, and the conditions couldn't have been more auspicious. Perfect weather, if a bit hot - mid 80s and not a cloud to be seen. Fields are beautiful, stretching across the aptly named 60 acre park. Filled with flying discs and surrounded by a colony of tents. Beautiful.


We dropped a heartbreaker in the second game to some upstarts from Salt Lake, losing on double-game point. Fortunately we reclaimed our dignity in the vaunted DarkHorse derby, maintaining our undefeated streak by shotgunning two beers and successfully leading two "horses" to Joos.


Explanation necessary but not provided. Video will have to tell the tale.

Got blown out in our third game by Team Canada. They were better than we were, but a whole lot less fun. Chalk up a Pyrrhic victory for the DarkHorse. Plus, I doubt they'd ever seen anyone take a shot out of Drew's chesthole. Which, if you haven't seen it, is pretty damn impressive.


Friday night the Stouts enjoyed a nice dinner out on the town before retiring back to our tents to get some much-needed sleep before the festivities of Satur-day and night.

Saturday we cleated up yet again. I don't really remember exactly what happened, a circumstance I blame on the events of Saturday night. I think we won a couple games and lost a game or two. Hard to say, really. But we had a lot of fun and maintained our unbeaten streak in the Derby. And we all boasted some fresh My Little Pony tattoos.


We also inaugurated our "boost it" strategy, which consisted almost exclusively of ill-advised (but nonetheless effective) deep shots to the end zone where we'd have to make big catches in traffic for the score. Here's a typical sequence:




Maren and AJ drove up from Portland - really good to see them. The family reunion expanded to include friends! Though they're practically family. And after some resistance, they even obliged by participating in the DarkHorse Derby. And oh it was a beautiful sight to behold:


Jen's aunt and uncle also showed up, as did their son and his wife (Jen's cousins) and their beautiful baby boy (baby alert!!!) I tried to enforce a two-minute rule with Jen holding the baby, but again without success. Starting to make me nervous. But if truth must be known, I too took a turn with the wee lad.


We even managed to escape for a couple hours to hit up Lake Washington, where a refreshing dip felt absolutely amazing. Even if I forgot my swimsuit (shh!)


Saturday night is a huge shitshow. 1500 Ultimate players descend on the Red Hook brewery for a massive salmon dinner/dancefest/party. As a "local" team, we volunteered to help serve salmon. The power quickly went to my head, as I began demanding bribes in the form of beer to liberally disburse the fresh fish.


But it paid off for my patrons when I befriended our Honduran cook and steered plate after plate of salmon to my line (much to the dismay of the other line). By the time the sun set so had my sobriety: time for the dance floor.

Sunday dawned early and came accompanied by an unsolicited (but probably not undeserved) splitting headache. Ah, aging (or is that boozing?) Fortunately the first game didn't start until eleven, so we repaired to a nearby cafe for breakfast, which turned out to be a good idea (this despite serious misgivings from a number of very unsettled stomachs).

Due to our early losses we were relegated to the B pool where we stomped everyone we faced for the rest of the day. Regrettably, the Achilles I strained at Beach week last month continued to hamper my abilities, finally giving out for good after game 5 on Saturday (playing again so quickly after Boston not being ideal for its recovery). So I applied sunscreen, hung out, and thought hateful thoughts about the previous night's alcohol consumption. Alas, someone's got to do it.


Ashley and Seth joined us... though I don't believe I commemorated their brief stay with photographic evidence, and they somehow rebuffed our entreaties to participate in the Derby. Lamentable.

We finally left after semifinals to enjoy a relaxed dinner with Jennifer's aunt and uncle. Gail and Tony were wonderful company and stellar hosts, treating us to a well-received (and unsolicited) lasagna dinner and hot showers. Both proved necessary prior to our god-awful red-eye back to DC - and straight to work - on Monday.

Amazing weekend. Spectacular. So good to see friends and family, so good to be back out West, so good to play the sport I love (cast and Achilles notwithstanding), such nice weather, such great company (our team was awesome)... the kind of weekend that just rejuvenates my belief that life is good. Ah.


Commuted from Seattle straight to work. Fortunately, 6mg of Ambien ensured a smooth sleep on the flight back, and I even managed to be productive on Monday. Unbelievable. And so passes another weekend in the life. Happy 4th of July.

Some pics for flavor. Cuz there was lots of flavor. No explanations necessary... just go with it.

Anniversary... to Poultry

Been a busy couple weeks… the dual onset of Ultimate season and a return to the working world. But first things first - let's at least be chronological about it.

On June 1st Jennifer and I celebrated our one-year anniversary – an entire year! We returned from Boston in the early AM. Jen had to report to work, sadly, but upon returning home I found a beautiful bouquet of flowers courtesy of the Christensons.


After I pined all day, Jen finally came home and we enjoyed a nice walk down to Spices, an Asian fusion restaurant in Cleveland Park. Great ambience, good food – and a champagne mojito to toast our anniversary.


And then the much-anticipated event: the cutting of the anniversarial cake.

It had lain frozen in our freezer since the wedding, Jen having successfully thwarted all my efforts to eat it in the interim. Apparently it’s a tradition that you save the top layer of the cake and eat it on your one year anniversary. I’m not sure why this tradition exists, and I can’t imagine its origins, but who am I to flout tradition? Especially when it means I get to eat cake?

Turns out it was still pretty damn good. Props to Manfred, who makes a mean cake – even a year later.

For contrast (stark indeed) three days after our anniversary I drove up to Baltimore to take part in the bachelor celebrations of a buddy. Good crew from across the U.S., some barhopping - who knew Baltimore could be so much fun? And on a Thursday night, no less.


Extremely difficult to limit one's alcohol intake at a bachelor party, but this I nobly did so as to be able to drive the 45 minutes back to DC. Also, the party was a little atypical in that the bachelorette joined us halfway through the night. But it made for a good scene, and the guys were certainly happy to hang out with the ladies.


After recovering the next morning, I set out to find an answer as to why my right wrist hurt so badly (pain lingering since Beach Week). The answer, regrettably: because I tore two different ligaments. And so I began my first day on the job with a rigid cast on my right arm... at least I persuaded my doctor to allow me enough flexibility to type.

Of course, the cast also hampered my Ultimate game, a relevant fact for last weekend’s tournament in Versailles, Ohio (pronounced NOT like the French). But we persevered, flying out Friday after work. We were joined on the plane by former Metal teammate Paul Batten... and a German shepherd (apparently on duty with FEMA).


We arrived in time to patronize a not-exactly-bustling Dayton eating establishment around midnight.


45 minutes of winding through rural streets later, we arrived around 1:30am: Poultry Days.


Poultry Days is a coed tournament drawing players from around the Eastern U.S. and Canada, and this year even featured 4 teams training for July’s World Ultimate Championships: the Brits, Americans, Canadians, and even the Taiwanese. It also coincides with the annual Poultry Days festival (est. 1951) which is an amazing event in its own right, featuring lots (LOTS) of BBQ chicken, and even a Miss Chick contest. Miss Chick (age: under 18) then throws out the first pull in the championship game. Town and tourney coming together... ain’t it lovely?

Jennifer and I played with the Smerfs, a hybrid team of former teammates and friends hailing from Boston to DC and points in between. We arrived around one am, set up our tent (everyone camps around the fields a la potlatch) and mingled with friends over beers until sleep claimed us.


Saturday dawned bright and beautiful with a full schedule: 5 games. We crushed our opponents. With a team composed of predominantly elite club Ultimate players, we handily dispatched all five opponents by a combined 55-20 score (games to 11). I threw only left-handed, but nonetheless managed to throw for three goals. Jen also threw a goal to me, a beautiful 40 yard backhand that my defender gave up on as impossible to reach. Catching actually was good too – for those few discs that I couldn’t reach with both hands, my cast-hand performed respectably.

After the games we reported to the Poultry festival to claim our chicken dinner, and managed to sneak in a quick swim. The team reconvened for story-telling (a delightful series of “how-we-mets”) complemented with beers and a continuous game of “pass the bag-o.”


Bag-o’-wine, that is.

Night brought more drinking games... and a trip to the carnival.

A speed ride, some funnel cake, a general sense of disequilibrium at the masses of Midwesterners in a relatively confined space.



Sunday we faced our first real test: Berkeley. Bunch of club players from Revolver/JAM and the women’s teams out there... posed no threat. We went up 8-4 before they clawed back 9-6. And then we, ah, had some trouble. And they went up 10-9 before we tied at 10. And then we lost. It was actually quite sad, particularly because if we had beaten them we stood a very strong chance of beating the next team and thus setting up a semifinals game with Team USA, which would have been a total blast.

A mixed blessing for me, though, because I aggravated a strained Achilles in the penultimate point of the Berkeley game. Had we faced Team USA, I would have been tempted to play, with potentially disastrous consequences for my season. Alas.


So I’m in a cast for two more weeks, through Boston and Potlatch. Then a few weeks of a brace with rehab... hopefully back in time for Colorado, and hopefully I won't require surgery. Playing Ultimate without being able to really use my right hand – is as difficult as one might imagine.

One weekend in DC, then we’re off again: Boston awaits. May as well enjoy it.

Amherst Reunion - five years?!

After Thursday's aborted trip, we set off in style, flying First Class to Boston. Picked up our rental car (chatting in line with an Amherst alum from the class of '64), picked up Abbie in Wellesley, and set off.

Proceeded directly to Antonio's, where we couldn't be bothered to take pictures because we were busy crushing pizza. Mmmm... Antonio's. Dropped Jen off at Rao's and headed off with Abbie to the house on the hill via the trails behind Amherst. Ah, Amherst: 864 acres of bucolic beauty. What a paradise for four wondrous years. The House on the Hill is gone... moved. But the gorgeous view for which it was justly famed remains.


Abbie on the trail.


Classic New England meadow.


And why not: a perfect little pond, framed by the verdant green of late May.


Friday night the festivities began in earnest with a cocktail hour on Merrill Beach. (Merrill "beach" so-named because it was designed to hold water... but the architects failed to account for the weight of the water. So the "beach" is actually more of a desert). Enjoyed beers with some classmates, took in the beautiful views.


Time for dinner. Picked up my wife (time to show her off, after all) and joined the "tastes of Amherst" buffet, featuring all our favorites from our college years. Tasty. Some drinking games. Some victories.


We had loyal fans...


Who became opponents.


Called it a night in hopes of rallying for Day 2. Awoke around noon in time (barely) for the college luncheon. People lounged in the grass as we faced difficult decisions: to hike? To the pond? To get ice cream?


Facing the lingering effects of a strained achilles sustained in beach soccer, Jennifer and I opted for Puffer's Pond. Good decision.


We hung out with our friend Will for awhile...


Before being joined by the Stewarts. Bill was my Ultimate coach at Amherst and subsequent teammate with Metal - I love his family. Every time I hang out with them I feel better about humanity and prospects for the world... they just seem to do it right. Inspiring.

We played a little disc with 3.5 year-old Liam. Kid sports an impressive flick.


I love the look on his face as he retrieves the disc - which is at least half his size.

After a refreshing dip in Puffers (and by "refreshing" I mean "New England birth control" - was a little brisk) we returned to campus... and were greeted by this sight.


Unbelievable. Amherst ingenuity at its peak. These men (or "frat boys") bravely foraged into a home improvement store and purchased almost 200 feet of heavy-duty plastic wrapping. They then somehow acquired a hose and located a big hill. Voila: a massive slip n slide. I couldn't resist. I parked the car immediately, and - still in my swimsuit - joined the fun. Jen got a great video.


We had enough time to shower before the night began again: cocktail hour and a buffet dinner. More games. President Marx made an appearance - he's been doing amazing things for the college. Best president we've had in decades. He refused to chug a beer with us, but I won't hold it against him.


But Saturday night featured a highlight of special significance for me and Jen - Pete and J were playing, almost a year to the day after they rocked our wedding. First they joined their former acapella group for a concert.


And then took the stage to an enthusiastic reception from the home crowd. And the dancing began.


A few photos capture the flavor of the evening. College! The discerning viewer might note a certain progression in the photos...






We'll let that end the night (the discerning viewer will note the prominent beer stain... I blame Stephanie).

Sunday morning we awoke for brunch with the O'Connells. Barry was my thesis advisor and mentor at Amherst - a great guy who really cares about his students. His wife Kristin is every bit his intellectual peer; they're a wonderful couple.


Returned to campus and began to say our goodbyes. Sad!


The guys at the coffee shop... caffeinating the morning after.


After a parting visit to the local ice cream shop, we set out for Boston. The skies opened up to share our tears. We dropped Abbie at the airport and joined Kim and Dan at their new place in Jamaica Plain (fresh arrivals from Philly). Really good to see them. After a nice home-cooked meal, we holed up at Clery's and summoned friends from all corners of the city. A good crew.


And Sunday night ended late - our last night as newlyweds. At midnight it became official: we'd been married for a year! May the celebrations continue...

The end of an era

I finished my final exam of my graduate career on May 14th. In the intervening three weeks, my liver has been subjected to a savage beating commensurate to what two years of strenuous education did to my beleaguered brain.

First the graduation parties: parents in town, no obligations except to hit as many Happy Hours as possible (which I obligingly did, setting an attendance record at Fox N Hounds for consecutive days). Graduation itself, followed shortly by my 27th birthday - more parties!

Then SAIS beach week - cut short by the need to fly north to my 5 year college reunion at Amherst. Then a quick night in Boston... and Jennifer and my 1st Anniversary! Raise the glass yet again.

But since they say a picture's worth a thousand words... let them speak.

The Christensons drove up from North Carolina for graduation; my Dad flew in from Oregon, and my Mom arrived directly from Spain where she was road tripping with her sister. The celebrants:


The graduate, deep in thought:

The Daughters of the American Revolution Hall - august and elegant:


We went out for dinner to celebrate - this time with diploma in hand.


From graduation to birthday - we dined out again for my 27th. Me and my mother-in-law.

And later on, with the crew at Marvin's.


After Marvin's we relocated to a funky little Jazz Bar that was dropping some sweet tunes. And took some shots.


Early the next morning... my official birthday! Jen and I celebrated with (what else?) birthday waffles!

And without further ado I set out for Outer Banks, North Carolina. I left behind my supportive wife, instead filling the minivan with two Irishmen and a Swiss American - fellows SAISers. Five hours later, we arrived: the beach house.


A beautiful sunset over the trees made a splendid view from the deck.


I stayed with a bunch of Bologna classmates the first night. Represented at this dinner were passport carriers from: Poland, Ireland, the UK, Austria, Switzerland, Chile (not exactly Europe)... and of course the grand ol' US of A.


I only had three days in the OBX, so I had to use my time wisely. I opted to divide it approximately equitably between: relaxing on the beach, playing frisbee, sitting in pools/ocean/hot tubs, partying with friends, eating, and generally doing nothing. I succeeded admirably in all respects. A little beach ultimate:


There was also some 4am Rock Band.


And some foos.


And some grilling.

The Bologna crowd was infinitely more organized than us disparate Districters (the German influence overwhelming the Italian), and they threw a sweet pig roast on the last night I was there. Mmm. Pig.


Unfortunately, the houses weren't all directly next to each other, meaning each night we had to brave a walk of indeterminate distance down the dark beach. Fortunately, we liberated "torches" from the driveways and blundered courageously on.


We all got together on Wednesday to watch the Champions League final between Manchester United and Barcelona. Despite a strongly partisan crowd (led by two Irishmen with strong UK allegiances), the Catalans emerged victorious. Great game.


I drove back with a happy Barcelonan, and arrived in DC in time to enjoy a drink with a friend down from Boston before heading to the airport at 5pm for our flight to Boston. Met Jen, got there no problem... and our flight was delayed. Rainstorms limiting Eastern seaboard traffic, particularly around Logan. Bummer. We decided to wait it out at a nearby bar. We're sitting there, and Stephen Colbert walks around the corner. Is that Stephen Colbert? That's Stephen Colbert! He sat down at the next table (literally three feet away) and we eavesdropped on his conversation with three other people for the next half hour. Turns he's going to guest-edit the upcoming edition of Newsweek... we got the advance scoop.

They postponed the flight from 7 to 8, then to 9, then 9:30... and finally 11:30. We'd had enough, and decided to return home and try again in the morning. Fortunately I played the "it's our anniversary" card and scored a complimentary upgrade to first class. All is not lost. Off to Amherst!

The life of a Weekend Warrior (Oregon edition)

For my last weekend in Southern Oregon, Kevin and Dad finagled a three-day weekend. With 72 hours of unbridled freedom and the promise of glorious weather, we faced our first dilemma: to summit Shasta, or not to summit Shasta?

A 20 minute 8am phonecall with Sarah, the ranger for Shasta/Trinity national forests, helped our decision. Forecast for Shasta: high winds (gusting to 150mph), avalanche danger, unstable snow, three feet of new on the high slopes. Instead she recommended we check out Castle Crags - spectacular views, phenomenal hiking, good for dogs. Sold. We loaded up the car, purchased a couple hundred dollars in necessary provisions (jerky, mango, almonds), and set off. Three men, two dogs, one Camry.

I'm going to take a page from The Boy's blog and let the photos speak for themselves. I confess that this is a partial abdication of my responsibility to select photos, but in my defense: the photos selected here represent only a snapshot of the 600 or so that my trigger-happy father and I took. And believe me, the Northern California alpine landscape provides an extraordinary subject. It's almost unfair.

We headed down: the dogs "before." (You'll need to contrast with the return trip and the dogs "after").


After procuring maps in the Shasta City ranger station, we pulled into the Soda Creek trailhead where we access the Pacific Crest Trail. Loaded up our packs, posed for the camera: the men before.


And the dogs, loaded up and ready to go:

And set off. Our goal: the Castle Dome, a hulking hunk of granite shooting up 5,000 feet from the valley floor. The PCT runs from Mexico to Canada through some of the most beautiful terrain our country has to offer.


So Daisy is our yellow lab, a relatively obedient (albeit occasionally insolent) dog who likes to lead the pack but is generally content to stay on the trail. And then there's Texas. Texas is Kevin's dog, and Texas leads his own life. He does what he wants, obeys if he feels like it, and generally just tears around the forest at his whim. He has a particular fascination with squirrels, which he loves to chase up trees and stare at. So we're hiking up the PCT and we see Tex barking up a tree. A squirrel. Eventually he rejoins us on the trail and again bolts out ahead. Repeat: Tex about thirty yards off the trail up the hill, barking up a tree. Another squirrel. I turn away to continue hiking, and hear Kevin exclaim behind me, "Holy shit, that's not a squirrel - that's a bear!"

(I didn't get a picture, but this is about what he looked like). I whirl in time to see a 200+ pound black bear drop heavily out of the tree and take off at a run up the hill - with Tex nipping at his heels. Tex who weighs about 40 pounds dripping wet. They disappeared up the hill - no sign of Tex, no sign of bear.

We hiked for 15 more minutes, hoping to catch Tex at one of the switchbacks that intersected his last path... no sign. Finally we dropped our packs and split up in search of that naughty black (and now possibly dead) dog. I found him trotting happily up the path, having successfully vanquished (or at least survived) a bear.

Tex earned a leash for his efforts. Shortly thereafter we had our first glimpse of Shasta looming mightily to the north. Spectacular: 14,000+ feet of unadulterated natural beauty.


Finally we reached the Dome path leading to the Dome itself. The views: stunning.


After gaining almost three thousand vertical feet in as many hours, we arrived at the saddle. 360 degree views - the snow-capped Trinity Alps to the west, the heavily forested Marble Mountains to the east, the hulking Dome to the north, the Crags themselves to the south. Unbelievable. We made camp on an open space at the top - check out Dad with our amazing campsite. Not another person for miles.


While Kevin lounged, Dad and I decided to climb the saddle to get a view of Shasta. And we were amply rewarded for our efforts.


I scouted the Dome - the views from the top could only be amazing. But how to get there? The east face dropped away in a sheer two thousand foot drop. Not that way. The west face - similar story. The north inaccessible unless we wanted to descend a thousand feet to where it met the valley; that left the south face. Doable, it seemed. Just follow that little crease, double back to that ledge, climb that rock... Dad agreed to wait while I checked it out. To include an element of prudent restraint I imagined Jennifer was watching - would she approve? Up I went. (You might have to click on the photo to see me).

I reached the false summit, a jutting pillar of rock just below the top of the dome itself. The first pic gives a sense of how far up it is, the second you can actually see me atop the point of rock.



After snapping a photo of Dad below (click to enlarge), I decided to go for it.


Holy shit. Atop the dome, Shasta glowing to the north. Spectacular.


I took a video to capture the 360 views; you can hear the wind howling. Exposed up there. Amazing.


Descending proved more difficult, but soon Dad and I rejoined Kevin at camp for a campfire and stovetop dinner. Hunger really is the best sauce. After dinner we were treated to another unbelievable sight: the full moon rising over the eastern ridge. Um, yeah. We probably deserved this.

Kevin and Dad retired and I stayed up to tend the dying fire. The moon cast an astonishing amount of light. Kevin's lit tent (he read inside by flashlight) created a cool effect against the crags.

I also took a long-exposure shot of the crags by moonlight after Kevin called it a night - you have to click on the image to appreciate the austere presence of the granite spires. Awesome.

We awoke to a spectacular sunrise. Why not.

Kevin and I enjoyed our morning coffee.

Finally, we posed together before beginning the next stage of the hike. In front of the crags.


From the saddle it was a steep descent back to the PCT, followed by a long traverse around to the other side of the crags and a creekside campsite. Daisy bravely led the way.

We stopped to refill our water at a stream emerging out of the mountain, and continued to be treated to stunning views as we traversed the mountain. A welcome respite for our legs to finally walk laterally instead of straight up or down. The backdrops were amazing - almost everywhere we looked a gorgeous slice of nature awaited our glance.



We ran into the third couple of the trip - some kind folks down from Redding (the other two couples we saw on Friday both hailed from Portland). They obligingly snapped our photo.


And we pressed on. Standard.


By midafternoon it was getting quite warm on the trail; fortunate for us that we stumbled upon a gorgeous little mountain stream with perfect little pools as mini waterfalls tumbled down the rocks.

I decided to go for a dip. The water was, ah, a little brisk.

Finally we reached our destination: Burstarse Creek. We made camp below the trail alongside the creek, nestled amid a paradise of green with the sound of quietly running water. A perfect spot, and the perfect contrast to the previous night's open alpine camp.

After naps and reading, Dad and I decided to venture up the creek to where an alleged waterfall lurked. Daisy nobly accompanied us. And voila! A waterfall. Quite impressive, a glacial-fed stream plunging about 40 feet into a prime little pool below. Dad and I took turns going for swims - very cold. Refreshing.

Daisy admires the waterfall.

Dad shoots me atop the falls.

I shoot Dad and Daisy below the falls from above. Awesome.

We returned to camp - and chilled out. Tired dogs.

Kevin and me with tired dogs.


We sat around the fire for awhile, enjoyed a leisurely dinner, and finally called it a night.

We awoke with the sun again, broke camp, and set off. The home stretch: a long traverse, this time along the valley path. The PCT to the Flume Trail to the Kettlebelly, back to the PCT and a short descent to the car (which hopefully had not been stolen/vandalized during our wilderness adventure).

One of the amazing things baout this trip was the variety of the terrain and the life around us. Pine forests, oak forests, sprinklings of dogwood, a number of exotic flowers, streams, huge granite outcroppings, waterfalls... you name it. Our final hike took us down into the valley and through some rich forests. Beautiful. Kevin in the oak forest.

Dad among dogwoods.

Me under a massive broken tree.

After four hours at a pretty steady clip (interrupted only by yet another attempted escape by Tex) we arrived back at the car, triumphant. The men, unencumbered, after.


We struggled to stay awake on the 90 minute drive back. But I would venture to say that we did better than the dogs. Check out Daisy and Tex, after:


And so concluded our epic three-day weekend. Unbelievably perfect weather. First cloud sighting Sunday morning - a high wispy thing. Total number of people spotted on over 20 miles of wilderness trails: 9. Bear sightings: 1. For me, alpine streams submerged in: 3. Spending time with my Dad and Kevin for three glorious days in God's backyard: priceless.

Tomorrow morning I board the plane back to DC. But first, one more southern Oregon obligation: the mountain bike ride. If my legs can sustain it, up into the wilderness I must go. Judging by the fact that they haven't so much as moved all morning, I think it's safe to say the dogs will stay here.

Unbelievable weekend. The kind that keeps me coming back.

The kids aren't alright

I just found out that a friend from high school overdosed last night and died. This is the second such phone call I have received with the same news about a classmate - the last one came in 2003. This from a graduating class of 42. Now 40.

St. Mary's High School, Medford, Oregon. The "smoke free" Class of 2000. You guys remember that shit? Well, turns out we had worse things to fear than cigarettes.

What the fuck? Early reports say it was accidental, on methadone. Apparently he went into rehab over Christmas... the methadone was to get him off some worse shit.

Like Matt, Tom was living at home with his parents, ostensibly trying to get his life back on track. Like Matt, his parents were the ones to find him. I can't imagine - I wish that on no one.

We had a blast together two years ago at AJ's bachelor party in Vegas. He looked good, seemed healthy, was happy to be back with friends.

He was happy at the wedding. Looked good in a suit. Good for him to be back in Oregon, at least connected to good influences on his life.

Then we saw him over Thankgiving six months ago - freaked me out. I remember remarking to Jen how out of it he looked - a train wreck waiting to happen. Poor fucking kid. Poor fucking family. 26 years old. What a goddamned waste.

It's eerie. His Facebook page is still up. His face staring out. Hard to believe he's gone. It's not right. The lyrics of the Offspring song The Kids Aren't Alright are running through my head:

"What the hell is going on...
fragile lives, shattered dreams."

RIP, Tom. You were genuine, funny, earnest, a good friend... and probably too sensitive for this world. You'll be missed.

Spring returns... time to head for the hills

With the weekend forecast calling for sunny skies and temperatures climbing into the seventies, Jennifer and I set out for "wild and wonderful" West Virginia (quotation marks here intended to reflect the official state slogan, not the sarcasm you might associate with certain other state slogans - see e.g. "garden state"). We left after the Friday evening rush hour, traversing the three hours to the sprawling metropolis that is Seneca Rocks. Unincorporated town consisting entirely of: one intersection. A general store, a pizza shop... and about 11 people. Perfect.

We set up camp at the nearby Seneca Shadows campground (where I had stayed with Michael last June on our West Virginian escapade). By eleven the next morning everyone had arrived: Jake, Eythan and Dana, Sloan and Amy, Victoria, and Jennifer and me. Sure enough, the day held every promise of spectacularity. We deliberated over rock-climbing versus general hiking. Complicating factors included my desire to rehab the torn ligament in my middle finger (probably not conducive to rock climbing) and Dana's desire not to force her dog (Jackson) to rappel. Jennifer and I volunteered to take the dog with us on a wilderness trek; the rest opted for a moderate climb involving some belaying and rappelling.

With Jackson bravely setting the pace, Jennifer and I ventured into the Dolly Sods Wilderness Area. Cool droopy leaves creating a unique effect in an otherwise still relatively leafless forest. Sunlight through the trees playing visual tricks with shadows. Really nice hike, a few miles down a gradual hill, across a few creeks. Stopped for a picnic, talked about our future travel plans and careers. Finally stopped at a rock outcropping overlooking the valley below, giant hawks riding the updrafts and swooping over us. Very nice.

Returned to camp to enjoy a beer and gaze at the justly famed Seneca Rock itself. Drove down to a lookout point and watched climbers making their way gingerly up and down the sheer cliffs. Jackson bravely patrolled to scare off any would-be predators. Perfect weather. So relaxing.

We all reunited at the campground, our cohorts fresh off a death-defying triumph over the Rock and eager to get into the gin and tonics that would provide our just reward. It was a great crew: classic DC. We jokingly agreed that we could thoroughly manage a crisis - among us were a post-conflict reconstruction specialist, a military training contractor, a FEMA disaster recovery specialist, a contractor working with FEMA, a lawyer... quality. Though Jennifer and I were about five years younger than our comrades, we were the only married couple. Again, classic DC demographics: overly educated, international, ambitious... and treating the 30s as the new 20s. Why not?

We grilled sausages, chicken, veggies, and salmon - the real deal. Accompanied with beers, G&Ts, wine... and glow sticks. A little glow-in-the-dark frisbee. Some marshmallows. And Victoria even produced chocolate stuffed bananas, roasted over coals. Um, amazing.

Jennifer and I awoke to Sloan describing the "cross-fit" training regimen he was about to run. We listened incredulously as he barked out the order: 800 yard hill run, 10 "burpies" (combination jumping-jack-pushups), 15 leg raises... repeat three times. We opted NOT to get out of bed. Meanwhile, Dana took off on a 15 mile bike ride. DC weekend warriors: the only way to be.

After Dana's return we enjoyed breakfast burritos with eggs, cheese, cilantro, salsa, salmon, and rice. These people do not mess around. And finally, we set off. This time we opted for a climb to the "observation point," from where it was only a short scramble to the the top of the Rock. We proceeded up en masse, posing for the obligatory photo on the viewing deck.

I pressed on the final couple hundred yards to the summit, affording stunning views of the valley below... and daunting views of the razor-back slab of granite (or limestone or whatever it is - geologists we are not) that is Seneca Rock. You can see people in the distance waiting to rappel back down. The rock is literally about four feet wide, with sheer cliff walls dropping off hundreds of feet on either side. I took this shot over my head looking down - the trees on the left are hundreds of feet down, and the crevice to my right blocks another drop of several hundred feet. Vertigo-inducing... makes you want to return to flat ground.

We returned to camp and said our goodbyes - time to head back to the city. A weekend well-spent: wild and wonderful indeed.

And a few more photos for good measure.