Long lost #9

During my youth I had a long standing romance with Magic Hat #9s. Those mystical beers with their trippy labels and witty remarks on their bottle caps had me hooked. I would relish in the smooth, caramel body and round hints of fruit finishing it out. I couldn't imagine a finer beer and was adamantly sure that we'd be in love forever.

As a gutsy 17 year old, my Friday and Saturday night mission usually involved slipping into the local liquor store and "discretely" packing a cart with a few 30 packs, a bottle of vodka, a handle of rum, and some sort of neon sludge known as Puckers for the high school masses. Any time I had an extra 8 bucks to spend Magic Hat would call my name and I'd be living the good life for the evening.

Sadly- like most young romances, my palate developed I found myself steering away from those charming #9's. On my trips to back to New England now- I tend to lean toward more refined and hoppy brews from Harpoon, Offshore Ale, and other local purveyors of godly grog. I was surprised then, the other evening, to find myself thoroughly enjoying an Audacious Apricot from Pyramid Brewing. It brought me back to those rowdy teenage days. What was better than long nights drinking in the woods, on the beach, and wherever else we could get good and knackered without some authoritative figure giving us shit.


That's why I'm intrigued to meet up with my old girl again on my trip home to Martha's Vineyard this August. Maybe, just maybe, she will sweep me away again to those reckless times of years past. So if you see me standing alone on a dock in the middle of the night- head back and lips puckered- you'll know that we're together again, me and my darling #9.

Quake-up Call

Stretching yourself thin and pushing your limits is a valuable test of stamina and will, but only if that stressful submergence is temporary. I began to let my exhaustion slip into insanity yesterday evening when I realized that I hadn't accomplished any of my goals for the past two weeks. My four day hiatus from writing, plus my inability to put together a couple of important pieces of text, forced me to reevaluate my current heading.

We've got to remember to live while we're young. Take the reigns and work smarter- not harder. I caught the amazing Wellington, NZ band Fat Freddy's Drop at the Independent on Friday night. This band is a ska/beach/reggae mix of 311, Pepper, and the Marleys. The perfect blend to take along as an airy summer soundtrack. The Dazzling horn section, deep dub inspired bass, pulsating keys, and smooth, aqueous vocals took me to another level. Bask in the glow till the day I die, never lose sight of the reasons we try.

This morning I awoke to a gentle shaking. My first sensory stimulating earthquake. From the ashes and rubble we all must start again. This cycle works on the grandest and smallest of scales. Blue skies soon cut through the fog and although I'm still exhausted, I know the road ahead is one of good fortune.

SoCal Surf Trip Day 2: The Run Around

Our first full day in San Diego was a tango to the tune of palm trees and blue skies. I awoke around 9 and spent a few minutes stretching lazily on the back deck of our friends abode, gratefully bathing in the morning sun. What a wonder it is to live in a land without fog. Minutes later I giddily packed our wetsuits and hustled our boards to the car. Our desination- La Jolla Beach.

A light summer crowd had already descended on the beach by the time we parked, and the main break was packed with long boarders. I opted to hike north toward the pier and as the waves grew larger, the numbers in the water thinned accordingly. I might have stood out like a sore thumb in my hooded 5/4/3, but I was comfortably toasty by the time I reached the outside.

The waves weren't as powerful as they had been earlier in the day, but the winds stayed light, allowing the shape to remain more-or-less unaffected. Every three to five minutes a clean, shimmering blue set rolled through granting me another dose of SoCal bliss. On one of the larger sets a pod of dolphins cruised through. Watching these mammals as they hunt is nothing short of breath taking- no matter how many times you witness it. Grayish blue fins suddenly rise from below, slicing majestically through the trough, and an instant later plunge to the depths. Another example of natural perfection leaving its mark upon your imagination.

By noon my arms were exhausted and I rode the remnants of a wave to shore on my stomach. Peeling myself from the neoprene suit I enjoyed a brief soak in the shallows before walking across the hot white sand back to the car. I found my partner in crime happily relaxing on the boardwalk and we decided it was time to make moves.

A smattering of work had to be performed before we could have any more uninhibited fun, so we drove to the cliffs at the southern end of the beach, grabbed a hearty sandwich, and posted up at a hotel bar for a few hours. Delicious mint & cucumber cocktails complimented our duties exquisitely, and soon it was time to scout out a course for a fun run-- our sole regimented duty for the week.

We jogged the small island in under an hour, enjoying the scenic bay and meticulously crafted faux paradise, then breezed back to the beach for an evening session. The swell was dying a slow death so I opted for a quick session in boardshorts and longboard. A few waves purged my last bursts of energy and I returned to the beach in time to enjoy a Haywire Hefewizen in the waning, orange and pink light.

The night was topped off with an instrumental medley accompanied by a nice bottle of red wine. I hit the floor like a sack of bricks. Never have I slept so well on an inch of carpet. This is how every day should end for a surfer.

SoCal Surf Trip Day 1: Continental Special

We awoke in Santa Barbara Monday morning to overcast skies and evidence of rain. The AC had given out some time during the night, leaving the smell of sweat hanging in the air. A quick shower washed away the funk and we headed out to find food. Lucky for us a continental breakfast including oatmeal, muffins, bagels, cereal and fruit was on offer.

Continental breakfasts are a beautiful thing. I had a conversation with a fellow who explained how to strategically capitalize on these low-grade offerings. As a wayward traveler on a slim budget, he hacks his way cross-country by paying close attention to Priceline deals, and either cashing in on a cheap room, or crashing in a hotel parking lot. Either way he slips in for the complementary breakfast each morning. This tactic may not be for everyone- but if you do find yourself on a shoestring mission, it may not be the worst of ideas. Hell, waste not, want not. Any leftovers are going in the trash anyway.

On the road to Laguna Hills we watched the pulsating energy from the deep push lazily breaking waves along the numerous points. Rincon looked tasty, yet there were deadlines to meet- so we reluctantly sped onward. By the time we had wrapped up our media-relations it was four o'clock and I was more than ripe for a session.

Our first stop: Pacific Beach, San Diego. While this wave isn't exactly a standout in this area- my first glimpse at turquoise SoCal freshness couldn't have made me happier. Conditions were a little mixed up, yet a consistent wave was breaking to the north of the PB Pier and I charged out. Fearing that summer crowds would entail a hearty mix of sour locals holding down the main peaks, I paddled out just off center.

Within minutes I was able to assess the situation and realize that there were only a handful of people within 200 yards who could remotely surf. I traded rights and lefts with one other guy and slashed faces, carveddeep turns, and floated my way to glory. My first day here and I'm already scoring laps in these warm, welcoming waters. Could it really be this good? I truly had forgotten what it was like to be blessed with warm. When I'm not shivering, squinting from another ice-cream headache, or catching my breath from a severe cold-water beating, the stoke sets in exponentially stronger.

I surfed for a solid two hours and emerged from the water with a huge, shit-eating grin on my face. To top off our summer solstice celebration we had dinner on a roof-deck a block off the beach. Without a worry in the world I enjoyed a beer, mussels, and Ahi salad as I sunk in to an endorphin fueled haze.

Mixed Directions: How to use a Compass

Rolling down CA Highway-101 this evening the miles flew by as the sun shone softly in the rear-view mirror. Greens, yellows, browns, and blues painted a hazy tableau as we breezed through the fertile plains, rolling hills, steep canyons, and oceanic headlands of central California. Somewhere outside of SLO we began to wonder exactly which direction we were heading. West is that way, Devo said motioning toward the left side of the 'bu.

Our trip was to take us from San Francisco to Santa Barbara, so we were had to be heading at least partially south. It was clear that the wedding had done its damage for my delirious friend as she tried to fathom that west was actually to our right. This prompted the introduction of a compass to the conversation.

Seemingly a simple instrument- compasses can cause confusion and frustration if not used properly. To use a compass productively you must know a few things.

-- The earth has a magnetic field- and the magnetic north pole is where this field is based.
-- The needle of a compass is made of metal which is attracted to this pole.
-- Each Compass has a designated marking for North, East, South and West.

Line up the needle of the compass with the northern marker (usually marked with an orienting arrow), while staying stationary. See what direction you are facing in relation to this marking and bam! You've got yourself a heading.

Burning Man PreCompression Tonight in San Francisco

The 25th Burning Man season is officially kicking off this evening, with a Mega PreCompression Event at the Concourse Exhibition Center in San Francisco.

Music, art and fire will be on tap from 8pm-4am, in celebration of this historic 25th year and the Summer Solstice! Tickets are $30 at the door with a costume, $35 without. Last years precompression event in Oakland was amazing, so come early and enjoy the fire performances, then let yourself unwind through an evening of wonder.

Ruff*Ryders*

Late yesterday a large package was delivered to OPR while we were busily preparing for next weeks hectic lineup including: a SoCal Media Tour, the Fleet Feet Running Conference in San Diego, and the Bike PressCamp in Deer Valley, Utah. With deadlines bearing down on us, the box was shuffled off to the side until the scramble subsided. Thankfully, when I came in this morning the box was opened and sunglasses flooded onto the floor. The newest shipment of Ryders Eyewear had arrived.

Although we are usually the ones playing Santa Claus with our clients gear- it is always exciting to dig through those incoming boxes and ball out with a few of the new styles ourselves. I am a sunglasses fanatic and will barely venture outdoors without a pair (or two) on my person. That being said, I was giddy as an eight year old on Jolt when I saw the contents of the box. Ryders has added a bunch of new styles to their Chill line that will instantly up your hip-cred beyond your wildest dreams.

While I can’t unveil too much- I hope you enjoy these shots of the Dingo rocking a new pair of Shreddies.

Gore-Tex TransRockies 2010: A run through the Peaks of Hell

I might have grown up within a tight community of hard-core runners, but I never imagined in the wildest of hallucinations that I would take part in anything longer, or more excruciatingly stupid, than a marathon. Runners are all-right by me- but throughout my childhood I always held a sneaking suspicion that every one of them was slightly insane. This thought still hasn't completely left my mind- to this day, when I diligently wake up early to put in a few miles with the Dingo before heading to work.

My horizons were abruptly altered this past fall when I began working at OutsidePR. Our firm was founded with the mission to effectively publicize the most high profile, core outdoor brands- so joining the team subliminally binds you with the expectation that you are prepared to handle and embrace any and all types of extreme/adventure/endurance masochism. I may not have realized this stipulation right off, but it slowly sunk in when terms such as adventure race and ultramarathon became a common part of our daily dialogue.

Further magnifying my entry into this society of psychopaths was the realization that our client – the GoreTex Transrockies Race- is one of the premier adventure races in the United States. This multi-day, six-stage race draws participants from across the globe to compete in one or two-person teams for a purse of over $20,000. In the midst of the Colorado Rockies, the course runs from Buena Vista to Beaver Creek, through the heart of the White River, and San Isabel National Forests. Runners subject themselves to nearly 25,000 feet of elevation gain, reaching altitudes of over 12,500 ft.

My duty while in Colorado this August 22-27 will be to accommodate the members of the press covering the event, while reporting on the behalf of GTTRR, and participating when necessary. While I am rather eager to confront such a challenge, the issue still remains that I have never run anything in the realm of 20 miles in a day, not to mention at 10,000 feet. The only things I am particularly versed at executing at such an elevation are submitting to the whims of gravity and hauling ass down the mountain through powdery fluff-flakes; or imbibing far too many of the delicious microbrews available in Colorado, and promptly falling down numerous times as my confused mind convinces me that I’m the next Ricky Martin on the dance floor.

To say that I’m apprehensive is an understatement. On my last trip to Colorado I managed to convince one eager photographer to enter a team and cover the event. This friendly South African, Paul Shippey, is a man of many talents, one of which is running. Take a peek at his GTTRR blog if you are wondering how a real man prepares for an odyssey as this. As for me, I’ll be surfing, hiking, running short distances through the extreme elevations changes of Golden Gate Park, and pretending that I’m going to cut back on the brews and tubes. But hey- we all know that’s not going to happen. If you have any advice on how I should protect my dehydrated ass from the wild, unforgiving Rockies, please let me know.

Oily Excuse for Shredding

The surf has been super finicky for that last few weeks. June descended- and like clock-work - the valley turned into an oven and began enticing our dear summery fog inland. The result: lots of wind and short period, multi-directional slop. Our plight here is the Bay Area is rather mild, however, when considering that we don't have to live with tar balls rolling onto our beaches like they are in the Gulf. Pro Surfer Sterling Spence put out this clip from a recent session which documents the arrival of the unwanted oily debris.

The BP disaster isn't really improving at a visible rate and it reaffirms my lack of confidence in those powerful people in Washington. The worst news I've drawn from this disaster is that this exact Gulf spill scenario took place in 1979, complimented by a smaller Alaskan spill, which, deja vu, happened again a few days ago.



This video blows my mind. The people who we trust to protect us as our "representatives", continue to allow corporations to push their agendas, without implementing any new regulations, requirements, or safety devices over the past 30+ years. The common man will bear the brunt of the pain and suffering, just as they did before.

I overhead a guy at the beach today ranting something to the effect that justice needs to be served. Executions should be in order. I'm not sure if we should be putting someone on the chopping block at the moment, but I do agree that severe penalties should be written into law for those who consciously avoid instilling public safekeeping measures into their business plan. There has been a blatant disregard for the impact of these sorts of operations and little done in the name of proactive emergency planning. Humanity and the environment have far too much at stake to simply bypass these issues.

While I got a little heated about the state of the Gulf today, I was stoked to catch a few jacked up, meager waves in Pacifica. When we pulled up it was maxed out low, but as the tide began to fill in a decent shoulder began to form. Between getting worked on larger sets, we managed a few turns and some sight-seeing. Most notably: a seal charged a guy on a longboard down the line from us. The typically docile creature suddenly made a bee-line for the guy, extended from the water, and swooped for the end of his board with fangs flared. No damage was done, but we sure did fear for our toes for the next few minutes.

My time in the water was short lived due to work- but this classic footage from The Extreme Scene kept my session going strong into the evening.

Tuesday Haiku

Never enough sleep,
Wanting swell in the morning,
Dawn patrol must be.

St. Peter's Phishy Monday Feast

Mondays are for moving forward. Like a fish. Steadily, in no particular direction. Feeding on any joyous scraps the weekend may have left behind. When things at work get stacked up in any realm that seems too stressful- I find the school, blend in, and quickly dart away. My philosophy: conserve energy, be aware, live for tomorrow.



I am an expert in exhausting myself on my day off. The aftermath always consists of reduced productivity, apathy, and moodiness; possibly the result of a destroyed frontal lobe. Hence my fish-like qualities. The good news? Fish was on the menu this evening.

Tilapia, aka St.Peters Fish (due to its shenanigans of biblical proportions), is a freshwater fish found in warm water streams, ponds, and lakes. Although it is an effective biological control for aquatic plant problems, it is known to be an invasive species when it is introduced to new habitats. It is the third most utilized fish in aquaculture and eats a primarily vegetarian diet, so organic Tilapia is low in mercury, fat, carbs, and calories. Their farmed brethren, on the other hand, have a high fat content and may be worse for the heart than eating bacon or a burger.


Baked with a nice cajun spice, Tilapia is a great match for fresh sauteed veggies. To keep with the theme of the evening, we enjoyed our meal with a swirling Phish set from from last summer's show at Hartford, followed by wholesome Phish Food. Monday may not be my strongest day in the sea, but the life of a fish phan is never too shabby.

Gypsie Jazz in the Park

Tucked into a sunny nook in Golden Gate Park today, we celebrated a friends birthday with a libations, delicious kebabs, a variety of games, and a bunch rowdy characters. Topping off the festivities was music from a collaboration of Ensemble Soulard and The Smilodons. All afternoon the four piece collaboration played carefree grooves that cascaded through the Meadow, keeping a smile on the face of anyone within earshot.

Hailing from San Francisco, the relaxed crew of musicians rocked two guitars, drums, and a stand-up base, as they played multiple sets of original finger-snapping tunes, along with some fun covers ranging from 1950's Caribbean island jams to modern rock/ska. Lead guitarist Nick Boots describes their style as a heavy dose of gypsy jazz and classic swing, but mixed with edgy originals as well as some classic bebop tunes. These guys aren't just another wanna-be garage band, but serious musicians with tight technique and solid vocal and instrumental exploration.

You can check them out every Friday night from 6-9 at Yoshi's in SF, or be at their newest bands launch in Berkeley on July 9th. Surf on over to Myspace and give "Banana Tree" a listen- I'll bet you go back for more this summer.

To Stoke or Not to Stoke

On the rare mornings in Frisco when the sun has already conquered the fog and it's curiously warm enough to stroll the streets in just a t-shirt- you know that you must make the best of it. With only a few hours to spare before the United States kicked off its quest for World Cup glory I decided to check the swell.

A newer tool in the arsenal of wave predictability is StokeReport- a real-time Bay Area surf report tool, where users upload a brief, twitter-esque blurb about the conditions and can opt to post a picture. While incredibly logical, this tool has the surf community passionately divided. Some people are all for common knowledge and sharing the "stoke", while others see it as another bombardment of their waves, drawing more kooks to the water.

I see the argument on both sides- but considering the beaches the are included, Linda Mar and OB, I don't really have a problem with it. Linda Mar is the most crowded, convenient wave around and is an ugly mess almost every day of the week. OB is big enough to accommodate the city which it backs and the pecking order is well established at the better sandbars. Ya don't f%#$ with the folks at Kelly's Cove unless you want a black eye. What could be a potential problem about this site is if people start to post locations/details which are a little further off the map, exposing less inundated breaks to hoards of meatheads who didn't embark on the search themselves.

I say up with the stoke, but keep it classy. As any good New Englander knows- Loose lips sink ships.

As for babes on SUPS? Well that's a whole different debate.

Broad Stroakes of an Artist

As the sun sinks low over the Pacific, the wind drops to a gentle, intermittent breeze. Within moments the water turns to glass. Silent barrels peal effortlessly as a lonesome paddler drops in, speeds down the line, painting perfect arching brush strokes across the face of the wave.

Whenever I am fortunate enough to witness such a simple, fleeting performance I am awed and inspired. Surfers embrace the wave in an unconscious union, using their body as a tool to create an artistic installation of energetic expression. What does it mean to be an artist? Let’s take a look at the classic definitions:

Web Definitions:

A person whose creative work shows sensitivity and imagination.

Free Online Dictionary:

1. One, such as a painter, sculptor, or writer, who is able by virtue of imagination and talent or skill to create works of aesthetic value, especially in the fine arts.

2. A person whose work shows exceptional creative ability or skill: You are an artist in the kitchen.

3. One, such as an actor or singer, who works in the performing arts.

4. One who is adept at an activity, especially one involving trickery or deceit: a con artist.

---

[French artiste, from Old French, lettered person, from Medieval Latin artista, from Latin ars, art-, art; see ar- in Indo-European roots.]

Merriam Webster:

Pronunciation: \ˈär-tist\

Function: noun

Date: circa 1507

1 a obsolete : one skilled or versed in learned arts b archaic : physician c archaic : artisan 1
2 a : one who professes and practices an imaginative art b : a person skilled in one of the fine arts
3 : a skilled performer; especially : artiste
4 : one who is adept at something

Wikipedia:

An artist is a person engaged in one or more of any of a broad spectrum of activities related to creating art, practicing the arts and/or demonstrating an art. The common usage in both everyday speech and academic discourse is a practitioner in the visual arts only. The term is often used in the entertainment business, especially in a business context, for musicians and other performers (less often for actors). "Artiste" (the French for artist) is a variant used in English only in this context. Use of the term to describe writers, for example, is certainly valid, but less common, and mostly restricted to contexts like criticism.

My personal definition:

Artist (n)- an individual, from any walk of life, who actively pursues their passion, making the best of what their environment has to offer and inspiring people in their wake.

No matter if you are a doctor, lawyer, painter, entertainer, sailor, judge or outlaw- if you show respect for your fellow man while exploring your being to the fullest, your art is all right by me. The most influential artists who I have spent time studying are survivors. They adapt to their environment, live for their passion, and don’t complain when life throws them a curveball. They are not afraid of putting themselves on the line; risk is what makes an artist great.

The greatly successful artist Jimmy Buffet advises one to “throw caution to the wind”. This may be a slightly reckless stance, but it certainly correlates with George Jung's observation that “life passes most people by while they're making grand plans for it". Stagnancy, comfort and fear hold too many of us back. What we forget is that life always continues. Nature doesn’t care what we do. If we can’t pay rent tomorrow, then shit, we’ll either live or die. Your art is in your soul. Let it guide you as you paint the glassy canvas along the way.

Constantly on the Run

Been grinding today- first at OPR, now off to the shack. One thing is for sure- Chomps Energy Chews work wonders. They are like little crack bits that make words spring ferociously from your fingers. If you ever need a boost in the water, eat 4-8 of these tasty guys 20 mins before suiting up and you won't even be communicating with your brain when it gets iced down on the paddle out. Then once you are out there you will be paddling in circles like a madman.

The crash from the caffine isn't exactly ideal, but neither is work or sharing Crabs with Marina chicks...

Artist of the day:

Salmonella Dub. Plug them in to Pandora and dub/groove/trance your way in a misty spiritual haze through the work day. Love them.

Guardian of the Bay

Baykeeper, the environmental group dedicated to reversing the environmental degradation of the past and promote new strategies and policies to protect the water quality of the San Francisco Bay, recently announced that 90 percent of Bay Area beaches received a clean bill of health for the summer. It attributes higher water quality to improvements to sewage systems funded by a series of clean-beach bonds that California voters have passed over the last decade. It goes on to mention that during the rainy season (winter) most beaches pose a serious health risk from raw sewage run-off. These health risks include intestinal problems, ear infections, skin rashes and respiratory ailments.

I'm not sure if this release is a pat on the back to voters, with hopes of future support on Baykeeper initiatives, but wouldn't it be fair to say that the rainy season washes away most of the pathogens so that by the summer the beaches should be safe for use?

Baykeeper is smart. This group of activists and lawyers sue companies around the bay regularly to promote better industrial practices while taking home a profit. I can't help to feel that the settlements they negotiate require only marginal levels of compliance for the big businesses/polluters. The good news is that anyone who is ambitious enough to decipher such laws as the Clean Water Act, Clean Air Act, or Prop 65, can take these businesses to court and force them to comply- while making a nice chunk of change for themself.

Baykeeper does follow through on a noble initiative, but it does leave me wanting. There is still too much being dumped inconsequentially into the Bay and, as the Gulf is showing, too much at stake. Either way- the summer does offer the best time for foggy adventures and decent water quality in Nor Cal - so if you do plan to head to the beach make sure you hit those beaches which scored highest in our area according to SFGate.

The following Bay Area beaches received A's or B's, year-round, for water quality, according to Heal the Bay:

San Mateo County

-- Rockaway Beach

-- Montara State Beach

-- San Gregorio State Beach

-- Coyote Point

East Bay

-- Alameda Point

-- Most of Crown Beach

San Francisco

-- Aquatic Park

-- China Beach

-- Ocean Beach near Sloat

Marin

-- Every beach, including Stinson, Muir, Bolinas and Drake's

Sonoma

-- Every beach

And be sure to stay away from these Dumps.

These beaches received D's or F's for at least part of the year:

San Francisco

-- Baker Beach near Lobos Creek

San Mateo

-- Lakeshore Park

Contra Costa

-- Keller Beach, Richmond

I'm not sure how Linda Mar scores, but I'm sure I still have some poop in my eyes and ears from this winter, yaaa ummmmm...

Vagrant Gypsy Life

A chilly, whipping wind battered the tress today as I tried to focus inside the walls of OutsidePR. The sun shone brightly through the window of our WWII era officers home- yet Dodger paced the floor restlessly and my mind churned like the wind-torn waters of the bay a half mile away.

When I don't surf, run, or get outdoors for at least a small portion of the day I operate at a much lower level. Today, while procrastinating, my mind pondered longevity and putting myself in the barrels of my dreams. Sometimes you have to reevaluate and decide where you want your current sessions to lead you in order to thrive.

Reaching goals therefore, requires conscious and unconsciously planning and positioning. You can't just keep saying- if only I quit this I'd be able to make it at that, or- maybe next year I'll sell all my stuff and leave. When the end goal is getting in/on the water every morning there really is no excuse if we put our minds to it. What is holding us back?

The freedom granted by controlling the overall structure of your schedule can be very rewarding- that is, until you become exhausted by trying to juggle too much, or struggling to make rent. I have reached another fork in the road that is both exciting and daunting. Do I continue to work multiple jobs, in order to maintain the status quo of minimal obligation, or conform to a certain degree in order to gain back some semblance of stability? And if I do commit to normalcy- is there no more opportunity to strike out on my own, both on the road and as a entrepreneur?

Matt bought a boat last week and his reality is starting to bloom. I am pondering importing goods from the orient, working with hops, landscape design, architecture, running tours, and running amuck. I miss the long, muggy evenings PPPing at the East Chop Beach. This poem, written by the Poet Laureate of England in the first half of last century, reminds me of those laid back times; let's go back to the seas again... the vagrant gypsy life.

I Must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

Fresh FISH!

Some of my most memorable summer nights have involved a solid helping of crisp golden beer, balanced by course after course of slowly barbecued goodness. No matter what genre of meat or produce you plan to throw on the barbie, the Bay Area offers close proximity to the freshest produce one could ask for. If fish, mussels, oysters, or crab, are on the menu for your next gathering with family and friends- I definitely suggest you take the time to trek up or down to coast to procure your goods from a local seafood purveyor on the front line.

There are a variety of spots around the Bay to pick up seafood from the source, and if you find yourself on the peninsula, I'd suggest checking out the Fish Market just off the docks of the Pillar Point Harbor in Half Moon Bay. Today, after enjoying a phenomenal lunch on the patio at the HMB Brewery, we walked over to the Princeton Fish Market and surveyed the extensive menu of crustaceans and fish presented on the white board. We stood open mouthed trying to decipher what quantities would satisfy 10 hungry heads, and were soon helped by the busy workers who packed 4 pounds of mussels, a few pounds of gnarly large oysters, and a 6.5 lb salmon on ice for us.

Once evening rolled around, we kicked things off by throwing the oysters on the grill. The grill master and a few accomplices tried to nonchalantly slurp more than their share, but their cover was blown and soon the whole crew gathered around in a frenzy. Overzealous tongues were burned- luckily there was enough Skinny Dip and Sam Adams Summer Ale to keep things under control.

For the next round we steamed the mussels in a large pot, while the beer soaked salmon grilled in tinfoil. When it was finally ready, the moist salmon slid easily off the bone and we had more than enough to go around. Keep it simple. Take it slow. Enjoy the long, lingering summer nights. And remember, finish with more beer for guaranteed success.

Little Hairy- Part 3

Following our excursion at Fort Ross we drove the seven or so miles back to Jenner and pulled in to the swanky Rivers End Resturaunt and Inn. Inside we procured a few beers from a gregarious bartender and headed to the back deck, situated high above the mouth of the Russian River. The remaining sunlight felt warm on my face as a light breeze stirred the trees below. Conversation lingered on travels to come as my eyes danced along the shore in search of good waves. I had brought my board and hole-riddled wetsuit along on this trip in case we happened upon some swell- but you know what they say about bringing umbrellas, condoms, and the like.

Pushing my lust for waves aside I took a sip of Boont Amber Ale, the flagship brew from the Anderson Valley Brewing Company. This ale is a solid blend of rugged hoppiness and smooth malts- the perfect beer for winding down at the end of the day while enjoying a surreal NorCal sunset. If you ever have the chance to stop by this outstanding brewery on the road to Mendocino, enjoy a beer in the well manicured beer garden, then try your luck on their 9-hold Frisbee Golf course. What more could a nature and beer loving fool want? They certainly got it right. Their brews are well known in these parts, each label distinguished by a lovable and infamous bear/deer mascot, what's it called again? Oh yea- a Beer, ha.

As the sun dipped dangerously close to he horizon we loaded into the convertible and drove back to Little Hairys. The tide was much lower this time around, so trekking down to the beach was considerably easier. The last of the margaritas were made and we were just about ready to throw the brats on our trusty cooking rock when an unfamiliar, blinding light snapped on.

The ranger had caught us with our pants down. We had almost completely unwound and here he was to enforce the law on us unruly civilians. The night before the park service had come to the top of the cove and relayed a message that was something along the lines of "no camping/camp fires" via a megaphone. Tonight they were back again with a heavier intent to enforce law and order.

Park Ranger Michael was a reasonable and friendly fellow from the Sacramento area who mentioned to me that he spent his off days "lookin for women". Apparently they are a scarce breed in these parts. Dodger, however, had a sneaking suspicion that he was up to no good- noted by his low intermittent bark whenever Ranger Mike came close.

We had two choices. Stay the night and incur a plethora of expensive fines, or hike our gear out immediately in the pitch dark. Being that most of us are a part of the classy poor we decided on the latter. We packed as quickly as possible and I lead the charge up the skree field. This route was closer than our original trail, though I'm not sure it was any less sketchy.

The bottom half of the treck consisted of small to medium stair-like hops adjacent to and over a slowly running creek, but soon we were throwing our bags ahead and pulling ourselves over substantial boulders. Then the real trouble started. Loose rock turned into a loose dirt and the grade became steeper and steeper. Carefully traversing in a slow amble to the top, we caught ourselves many times to avoid slipping and falling a few hundred feet. I stopped intermittently to shine my light backward to show the way for the crew in my footsteps.

Once I reached the summit of the bluff I unloaded my bags and the exhausted Dodger and jogged back to assess the state of the rest of the crew. We were all huffing heavily, some of us enjoying the adventure more than others. The Ranger had hauled our heavy-ass cooler of beer and meat about half way up so I relieved gratefully him and made sure that a few other smaller bags were taken care of.

Thankfully the whole crew emerged from the depths unscathed, but especially ready for a relaxing rest of the evening. The rangers were kind enough to secure a spot for us at Bodega Dunes, a camp site ten miles down the road and sent us on our merry, slightly intoxicated way.

We arrived at the dunes right around 11pm and scavenged for enough wood to build a fire and enjoyed the most delicious semi-cooked brats I've ever had. We serenaded each other with tunes ranging from folk, to rock n' roll, to new age-indy preachings, while swigging cans of Simpler Times beer and cheap wine. Marsh mellows were toasted and stories told, and soon we were buzzed enough to crash.

It may not have been the wilderness adventure we had planned on, but it sure did offer enough of the unexpected to keep things interesting. Next time we'll just have to hike a little further out, push our luck, and find another diamond in the California rough.

Fort Ross- A Russian Stronghold in Nor Cal

Traveling north from Jenner, past our little cove of solitude, you twist and turn from sea-level to outstanding heights above the great Pacific. If you look closely as you round one of the bends, you might just notice a nondescript wooden fence about 200 meters long, that beckons from years past.

This recreated redwood stronghold is Fort Ross. Constructed by a team of Russians and Alaskans in 1812, the settlement was built to claim territory and establish a fur tradepost in "New Albion", the territory north of Spanish California. The Fort was constructed in a matter of weeks and, to the chagrin of the Spaniards, would be home to the Russians and Alaskans for the next 29 years.

We happened upon this place on Sunday afternoon as we took a leisurely afternoon drive to escape the wind and sun of the beach. The recreated fort features a couple long houses with commoners quarters, work shops, and communal dining areas, a central well, the Generals house, a chapel, and a two guard towers facing the ocean.


The cove below the settlement served as a semi exposed harbor during the occupation, and I could see why they would have chosen this spot at the time. It offers decent access to the rest of the coast for trade, yet is far enough from San Francisco to make it difficult for the existing powers to easily strike and force an outsider group to leave.

While wandering around the settlement I was in awe of how rugged and new things were in those days. Every corner you turned offered more possibilities and opportunity for personal riches. It is no wonder that this country fosters such strong desires to create the biggest pile for yourself. Our whole existence was founded upon the idea that if you just went a little farther down the coast then you would have a place of your own, and all the resources that you and your family would ever need.

I imagined myself out there 200 years ago working on a ship and hunting fur for a meager wage. The closest city 4 days away. The unknown, excitement and danger around every corner. I could disappear into a valley and build a home, grow crops, fish, and live off the land. What an exciting and daunting time that must have been.

As we drove out of the rolling State Park I looked back at the ocean and impressive wooden compound. The era of exploration may have ended, but there is always another cove and secluded wave around the bend. So make time to drive up Highway 1, put the top down, pull in to random roads, tip your hat to history, and steal away with a little appreciation for what was, and what will never be.

Little Hairy- Part 2

I awoke early, feeling cold and stiff. The fire had died completely during the night as a dense fog settled in. Peeking my head out of my 40 degree sack I saw a pink glow outlining the crown of rock surrounding the cove. I still wanted sleep so I knelt awkwardly next to the fire, added a few logs, and started huffing without much success. H meandered over a few minutes later- and being a part of the crowd who had arrived earlier the evening before- had his senses about him and took control of the fire.

Two or three hours later I awoke again feeling much more refreshed and hopped up energetically to check out my surroundings. The tide had gone down substantially overnight and aqua waters lapped lazily on the gray sand. The sky was a dazzling jay blue and the sun had almost reached our corner of the cove. We threw a few brats on the fire and after a light breakfast of cereal bars, trail mix, and fruit I was ready for the first activity of the day.

When you subject yourself to a workout a la Big V, you know that you are going to wake up sore for a few days. He did not hold back. We did a wide range of lunges, jumps, push-ups, rock weight exercises, and jogging followed by some simple yoga. The sun, salty air, sandy feet and secluded location offered the perfect meditation in motion and I felt amazing. We slowed down for a few minutes- but as is typical with myself and Big V, we couldn't stay still for long.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon included a hike to an adjacent cove, veggie tacos, and a blissful nap under the blazing sun. I have epic tan lines to prove it.

The video has been completed- but the damn budget windows movie maker won't let me publish- so I'm in a frustrating holding patter and will leave you with this picture for now...


Just as we hit the crest to the adjacent cove a small bi-plane swooped low over-head in a fly-by that would have made Indiana Jones proud.

Part 3- coming soon

Outside Lands Lineup Announced- Tickets On Sale Tomorrow

The lineup for the 2010 Outside Lands Festival in Golden Gate Park was announced this morning, headlined by Kings of Leon and Further. Across the board I feel this years lineup takes the cake by a long shot over last year, offering a little something for everyone.

I'm particularly stoked to see:

- Phil and Bob doing their staple SF thing with Further

- Nas & Damien Marley

- Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes!

- Sierra Leone's Refugee All Stars

And I know at least a few of you are jonesin' for your Pretty Lights fix.

Tickets go on sale tomorrow:

- Day Passes = $75

- Advanced Two Day = $125 @ limited quantities

- Regular Two Day = $140

I'll actually be on MV that week- so if anyone wants a room (and a dog) for the week give me a shout!