I was back in Michigan a couple of weeks ago to see the family and watch the WMYA regatta (The Westerns) on Spring Lake.   As the regatta rotates between various clubs, and since I now live in AK I hadn’t seen the Westerns at Spring Lake, my home yacht club, since 1993.  It was a fantastic time, which I really don’t have then energy to attempt to describe around these parts.  Anyway, in between beers and rum drinks I put my GoPro on my cousin Charlie’s tiller for a race and the results were pretty encouraging.  I’ve edited a bit but tried to keep the more critical tacks, jibes, and rule 42 violations.  Enjoy the race.

Last weekend I headed down to Kenai with Don to collect me annual salmon stock with the dip net.  Unfortunately the fish, wild crowds (pictured above) and waves were less then cooperative and I only came home with five fish.   Luckily my disappointment with the lack of fish was cushioned by the most luxurious dip netting accommodations I’ve yet to experience out at Don’s friend Rodger’s compound in North Kenai.  So instead of  brooding on the beach in the rain we lounged in leather recliners eating moose jerky and watching Cops, which kind of evened things out.  Anyway, I’ll be going back for more fish, next time too Kasilof, and I’m  hoping it will be more successful.

News has reached me that Cannonsburg (the ski area of my youth) has been sold.  The decrepit area is now the possesion of a lawyer from Petoskey.  I don’t have any clue as to how this will effect the day to day operations (this whole post is an excuse to post the picture above), but knowing how the previous owners seemed content to let the place rot I can’t imagine things will get much worse.  I’m only worried that Cannonsburg traditons like breakless rental skis, groups of five riding a quad chair, busses of Indiana drunks, meth smoking lifties and derailed T-bars may become things of the past.  (Hat Tip to First Tracks)

• Group A : Mexico, Uruguay
• Group B: Argentina, Greece
• Group C: England, Slovenia
• Group D: Serbia, Germany
• Group E: Netherlands, Cameroon
• Group F: Italy, Paraguay
• Group G: Brazil, Portugal
• Group H: Spain, Chile

And everyone in Anchorage is encouraged to watch the late morning games with me at the Polar Bar, should be good times.

UPDATE: Anyone looking for some skiing content should check out Seb Montaz’s trailer video of 4 routes on the north face of the Aiguille du Midi. (Hat tip to Chamonix Insider)  And Joe Stock has posted lots of local goodies.

Immediately After landing in Cochabamba and clearing customs I had a camera thrust into my face.  ”Welcome to Bolivia, where are you from?”  ”Where’s Alaska?”  The second question caused me to take a brief pause (It was a 36 hour, 8,000 mile trip after all), and when I managed to answer something about the north, Canada and the Pacific Ocean the camera man (who I was soon to learn was Alejandro and was wearing and early 90s purple windbreaker) responded with a friendly “fuck you”, then a laugh before handing me a glass of coca tea.  After some brief formalities at our hotel I spent the rest of that first frantic day rambling around Cochabamba with Alejandro and his partner J_____. One moment we were taking shots in the street and asking the cops if we could stand on their car, the next we were avoiding a two hour line by a brushing aside a few soldiers (who all looked under 17) and claiming Alejandro’s massive camera and my microphone were all press credentials we needed.  In between a couple more drinks, some delicious food (grilled hearts!) and an interview with an 85 year old Bolivian school teacher we actually made into the accreditation center where Alejandro bullied some local youths into giving me the international press credentials I so didn’t deserve.  The rest of the day continued at pace, crisscrossing town in J______s’ car, shooting some video, drinking beer, eating beef and yuca, drinking coca rum, changing money, interviewing a couple of elderly Quechua women, (but sadly forgetting the three or four Quechua words they struggled to teach us)  and getting a small taste of Cochabamba. Then, after spending my first 16 hours in South America being in constant motion, Alejandro dropped me off at my hotel and I drank whiskey on the balcony with Brad until two or 3 in the morning.  Four hours later we woke up, slammed a couple glasses of coca tea, and got on the bus to catch the opening of the convention.  The sun was shinning, I was hung over, and the bus passed a burro carrying 5 mattresses.  I was in love with Bolivia.

It was at that opening ceremony that I first put Alejandro’s teachings to work.  Jess and I cut the line that morning by brushing some soldiers aside, waving my press pass like a spastic and having Jess follow me holding the microphone.  (I’ve since learned that the latin american press behaves like  such animals that if your not foaming at the lips with rage you won’t be taken seriously)  It was also at the opening ceremony that I met Azucena, who acted like a personal translator and tour guide for the rest of the trip.  It’s due to her that I understood at the time Evo’s crazy chicken comments that became a national joke in Bolivia.  Afterwards, fighting through the crowd trying to follow Azucena, the rhythm of the convention became clear.  A blissful rampage broken by strange speeches and the occasional state dinner.

Before I go on I need to say a few words on the fantastic Cochabamba.  My first impression of the town was that the mountains and sprawl gave the it the look of an extremely green version of Salt Lake City.  But once inside I realized that Cochabamba possessed a diverse liveliness that the desert sun and Mormon church have long since cauterized in Utah.  Driving in town was completely organic, with lane lines, traffic lights and roundabouts all treated as merely advisory.   To get to J____’s house you were forced to drive against traffic on the shoulder of a major highway for 200 yards, it was frightening.  Cab drivers would burn through red lights without hesitation.  Dodging pedestrians at speed was common on the main roads, and passing cows and burros was normal on the side streets, which rotated between dirt, cobbles and pavement at random intervals.  I’ve never seen anywhere near the number of half finished buildings, at times it seemed like most of the homes had rebar stretching skyward waiting for an additional story.  The conference and our hotel were slightly outside of town (in Tiquipaya and Colcapirhua respectively) and existed in a wonderful state of urban ruralism, with cows and cornfields existing alongside apartments, large brick buildings and small factories.  Central Cochabamba was hypnotically diverse as well.  A two minute walk could go from european feeling squares and tree lined boulevards too chaotic narrow markets or allies filled with crazy bars and savage partying.  Everyone was extremely friendly, and with Alejandro’s and Azucena’s habit of starting conversations with strangers, I felt like we met more people in a few days then I would in a month at home.  It was an enchanting city that I’d love to visit again.

Throughout the conference my main duties were to shoot some video, facilitate interviews or interactions with the press, and to attend as many of the discussions as I could.  The press stuff was incredibly easy.  With Carlos translating, Brad repeating speeches and the press eager to hear from a bunch of strange Alaskans all we had to do to get airtime was convince our delegation to show up.  In one average afternoon Brad spent over an hour  on Radio Fidel, Jess was interviewed on live Bolivian TV, and I got to provide the translation for Fred on french radio station.  Most of the video I shot while following around Alejandro, as he was so determined to get good footage all I had to do was follow in his wake.  At one point while chasing an interview with Naomi Klein I watched as he bull charged over 3 people with a camera on his shoulder.  The panel discussions were interesting, and usually sparked a lively conversation between Azucena and myself.  As part of the Alaskan delegation I had to attend both a dinner and brunch with Evo Morales, Leonard Boff, and Hugo Chavez.  Normally attending dinners with various foreign heads of state would be enough to make me miserable, as I ceremonies of that sort bore me to tears.  But both events proved to be pretty entertaining, the food was pretty good, Evo danced with a member of our group (the extra sharp will spot both Brad and I in this video).

As soon as the conference was over I took off for La Paz with Azucena.  Our friends from the embassy strongly suggested flying (20 minutes), but with a local guide the seven hour bus ride offered better scenery and a chance to experience normal Bolivian life.  Throughout our trip the local Bolivian papers were filled with stories of public transportation deaths, and after riding the bus it’s easier to understand why.  The roads in Bolivia are the craziest I’ve ever experienced.  Narrow, perched on top of massive cliffs, and occasionally washed out by small streams or cluttered by rock slides; veering over the edge of a massive cliff never seemed too remote a possibility, especially when passing oncoming traffic.  Azucena even insisted on sitting on the right hand side of the bus to avoid any direct impacts with oncoming traffic.

While in La Paz Azucena showed me a bit of the town, we ate some fantastic food and went to a hysterical party with a few of her friends; but our main activity was to go for a fantastic hike up Mururata.  After riding in a van heading south of La Paz for 3 hours on the craziest roads I’ve ever experienced, we spent 7 hours hiking past numerous lakes and llamas while taking in the stunning views of Mt Illimani (top picture).  We made it up to over 5000 meters. It would have been nice to make the summit, but the altitude was crushing me (despite chewing coca leaves I struggled to pace with Azucena all day) so after eating some delicious eggplant sandwiches next to a waterfall we turned back.  I was tired but feeling proud of putting in a good days work getting as high as we did before I began seeing the potato harvests near the base.  The number of potatoes (see above) that the local indigenous farmers pick axed out of the mountain side while we were hiking was astounding, and acted as further proof of the delusional nature of my idea of hard work.

So now that I’ve gone on longer then any of my posts for at least a year I think it’s time to start winding this story down.  If given the time I could go on talking about Bolivia for weeks, but I think that will only serve to depress me as I try to return to my real life.  First off I have to thank the Bolivian Embassy for making the entire trip possible.  Second thanks to Alejandro, Carlos and Azucena for taking me out of the tourist realm and giving me a glimpse of how people go about real life in Bolivia.  It’s been an unforgettable trip,  and I made so many friends I feel like I have no other choice but to return.  Also, I can’t get the thought of skiing this line on Huyani Potosi out of my mind.  Thank you Boliva!  I can’t wait to return.

Moonlight

Jordan, Wilson and Maxs Tracks

Since the clouds moved in Saturday morning we haven’t skied much.  Jason and I spent saturday skiing Arctic Valley while Wilson and J-rod drank beers in the car.  Sunday started early, I was woken up around 5 when Wilson, Max and J-rod came back from the bar with a truck full of floozies.  I got out of bed and joined them for a beer and listened to Wilson rant for a bit before going back to sleep.  With the late night we got an even later start then usual on Sunday.  J-rod also lost his wallet at a strip club, which with a plane to catch that evening ruled him out of any activities.  Max, Jason, Wilson and I headed into Johnson pass on the snowmachies; we tried to loop around into Silver Tip creek but never made it, and mostly just played around in the crusty snow.  Hopefully the weather improves before I’m off to Bolivia, that last little period of sunshine gave me the itch for some skiing.  Oh and if you’re looking for video, Hatch Your Trax has some great stuff up.

UPDATE: As usual a bunch of locals are making our recent exploits look incredibly lame. Here is some Super Cub assisted skiing of Mount Thor, and here are some pictures of skiing Pioneer Peak. You can count me incredibly jealous of both of those lines.

So after a painful weak without any skiing I finally go an opportunity to make some turns on Wednesday. Jared, Jason and I drove down south through heavy clouds moving in and out but we managed to get up Corn biscuit and wait for a sucker hole.  When it came time to ski I was very excited, the snow looked fantastic on the norther aspects and I’d been cooped up all week waiting for some snow.  Then, 5 turns into my run I stupidly cruised into my sluff, blew out of both skis and was forced to walk the bottom three quarters of the line.  I was joking and calling it the walk of shame Wednesday night, but also suffering from a serious skiing withdrawal.

So with yesterday greeting me with flawless sunshine I made some plans to get back after it.  Wilson was taking a break from rebuilding his snowmachine engine and decided to come along as well.  The original plan was to ski Twin Peaks, but after some deliberation we decided to go back to Gulch Creek and ski some lines in the Chum Bucket.  After an easy skin up sunny side and some brief confusion from Wilson we made our way over to the lines.  The ridge was nice and wide, but I didn’t really take it very far as I was dropping first.  The snow was a little chalky up top, but absolutely perfect in the heart of the chute.   Jared and Wilson made it a little further, skiing the rime covered ridge, and Wilson skied the line the chute we’d been thinking about for the last couple weeks.  I’ll have some video in a bit