I sucked big time last year at this blog- I have several half-finished entries that I need to update.
Maybe I'll just post this over at R&R.
Yeah. That's the ticket.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Saturday, July 10, 2010
It's a reservoir, not a lake...
4-18-2010
I spent a couple days at Glen Canyon Reservoir. (GCR)
Some people like to call it 'Lake Powell' but I'm pretty confident of 2 things: 1) John Wesley Powell would not like his name attached to this body of water- he preferred the canyon below. 2) It's a reservoir, not a lake.
Nevertheless, I'm not one of those crazy Sierra Club Drainer types, I like it for what it is, but I also like the idea of the now-submerged canyon.
So I am, through a strange multi-year chain of events, a part owner of Miller's High Life, a 43 foot Boatel houseboat that has lived on the GCR since 1973.
We've started calling it the 'Money Pit'
Every year, we have to take it out of the water for winterization and put it back in for the summer. We're something of a legend, as there are only a few owners of these things that will do their own launching/retrieval. Hundreds of boats and only about 6 are managed by the people that use them. It allows us into the deepest darkest bowels of the storage yards, and it also gives us a few perks, such as extended hours into the services that are offered in the marina.
In 2006 when we first purchased the craft, we hoped to buy an on-water mooring. The waiting list at that time was approximately 5 years. Due to the economic retraction of 2007-2009, we were contacted by the service vendor in 2009 asking if we'd like a mooring. Now.
So we have a sweet on-water parking space for our little money pit. And a complimentary parking space for our giant trailer.
Anyway, we showed up and pulled the boat out of storage, parked it in a massive parking lot to do a little bit of work on it.
A quick coat of paint on the rails, a couple of items installed and Johnny Law comes to tell us we can't camp where we are.
So we move the thing 100 feet away and stealthily set up our sleeping arrangements.
In the morning, we spend some time installing a new stereo, fixing the plumbing, doing some electrical work and generally loafing around.
At 4pm, we pack it all up and head toward the water- time for some launching.
People stop and stare. I guess it's pretty unusual to have an owner floating their own boat.
The butt of the boat hits the water and we fire up the engines. Or I should say: we TRY to fire up the engines. For some reason it doesn't work very well. one of the two engines dies whenever throttle is applied. The other doesn't like to start at all.
So we sit at the bottom of the launch ramp with our bum in the water hoping and praying that this beast will start so we can get in a couple minutes of recreation before the sun goes down.
While we wait, other people come by, complimenting our paint job, a service employee apologizes to us for making us launch our own (I prefer it) and a nice group of kayakers comes by and gives me a sweet new visor, which is somewhat related to the name of the boat.
Finally Mr. Mechanic and his assistant (forevermore known as Skipper and Gilligan) get them fired up and pull the trigger.
I back them in and slam on the brakes. The engines rev and this bitch floats! They putter across the bay and drive it up onto a beach. I go to park the trailer, walk back down to the dock and hitch a ride over to the beach.
We spend the next couple hours kayaking, swimming and eating fine food. A speedboat ride into the canyons scratches an itch, and I'm deposited back on the dock to begin the walk of shame back up the ramp to the truck, for we must go home tonight. The other bastids are staying for another day...
I spent a couple days at Glen Canyon Reservoir. (GCR)
Some people like to call it 'Lake Powell' but I'm pretty confident of 2 things: 1) John Wesley Powell would not like his name attached to this body of water- he preferred the canyon below. 2) It's a reservoir, not a lake.
Nevertheless, I'm not one of those crazy Sierra Club Drainer types, I like it for what it is, but I also like the idea of the now-submerged canyon.
So I am, through a strange multi-year chain of events, a part owner of Miller's High Life, a 43 foot Boatel houseboat that has lived on the GCR since 1973.
We've started calling it the 'Money Pit'
Every year, we have to take it out of the water for winterization and put it back in for the summer. We're something of a legend, as there are only a few owners of these things that will do their own launching/retrieval. Hundreds of boats and only about 6 are managed by the people that use them. It allows us into the deepest darkest bowels of the storage yards, and it also gives us a few perks, such as extended hours into the services that are offered in the marina.
In 2006 when we first purchased the craft, we hoped to buy an on-water mooring. The waiting list at that time was approximately 5 years. Due to the economic retraction of 2007-2009, we were contacted by the service vendor in 2009 asking if we'd like a mooring. Now.
So we have a sweet on-water parking space for our little money pit. And a complimentary parking space for our giant trailer.
Anyway, we showed up and pulled the boat out of storage, parked it in a massive parking lot to do a little bit of work on it.
A quick coat of paint on the rails, a couple of items installed and Johnny Law comes to tell us we can't camp where we are.
So we move the thing 100 feet away and stealthily set up our sleeping arrangements.
In the morning, we spend some time installing a new stereo, fixing the plumbing, doing some electrical work and generally loafing around.
At 4pm, we pack it all up and head toward the water- time for some launching.
People stop and stare. I guess it's pretty unusual to have an owner floating their own boat.
The butt of the boat hits the water and we fire up the engines. Or I should say: we TRY to fire up the engines. For some reason it doesn't work very well. one of the two engines dies whenever throttle is applied. The other doesn't like to start at all.
So we sit at the bottom of the launch ramp with our bum in the water hoping and praying that this beast will start so we can get in a couple minutes of recreation before the sun goes down.
While we wait, other people come by, complimenting our paint job, a service employee apologizes to us for making us launch our own (I prefer it) and a nice group of kayakers comes by and gives me a sweet new visor, which is somewhat related to the name of the boat.
Finally Mr. Mechanic and his assistant (forevermore known as Skipper and Gilligan) get them fired up and pull the trigger.
I back them in and slam on the brakes. The engines rev and this bitch floats! They putter across the bay and drive it up onto a beach. I go to park the trailer, walk back down to the dock and hitch a ride over to the beach.
We spend the next couple hours kayaking, swimming and eating fine food. A speedboat ride into the canyons scratches an itch, and I'm deposited back on the dock to begin the walk of shame back up the ramp to the truck, for we must go home tonight. The other bastids are staying for another day...
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Dunes and Deserts 3/28/10
So the day after watching the guy splat into the tree, I woke up early to roll out to the Jericho Dune Field, Known to most people as the 'Little Sahara Recreation Area'
A vast, delicious dune sea just over an hour from my house, this place is a redneck's heaven.
There is ample space for 4 wheel drive activities, riding of all kinds of motorized beasts, animalistic beasts, kite flying, hole digging, campfire burning, and much much more.
On an average weekend, you are likely to see many a mullet flying behind a streaking fast japanese motor vehicle of some kind.
I've been a frequent patron of this place since I was 10 years old, when my family went there on a trip to dig holes in the sand. As a Boy Scout we used to go ride machines there often- this was before scouts were forbidden from doing anything fun. Come to think about it, some of the crap we did there on those outings certainly contributed to the banning of such activities.
Anyway, I went for a ride. Bought a pass into the park so I could climb some sand. I've recently done some work to my trusty steed, and I was in the mood to give it a test. It climbed and ran better than it ever had before. Seriously. I was doing stuff in 3rd gear that used to require 2nd and sometimes 1st gear. Vrooooom.
I saw this funny thing: someone had swiped a speed limit sign from the road and posted it at the bottom of Sand Mountain. Hahaha. People reach speeds upward of 70mph climbing that hill. Most people go faster than 25 down the hill. Haha.
After an hour of that, I went outside of the park to find my friends who were camping somewhere on the other side of the fence.
Found their camp and the trusty guard dog: Max the Puggle.
That's all.
Oh yeah- there was a kite. Or two.
A vast, delicious dune sea just over an hour from my house, this place is a redneck's heaven.
There is ample space for 4 wheel drive activities, riding of all kinds of motorized beasts, animalistic beasts, kite flying, hole digging, campfire burning, and much much more.
On an average weekend, you are likely to see many a mullet flying behind a streaking fast japanese motor vehicle of some kind.
I've been a frequent patron of this place since I was 10 years old, when my family went there on a trip to dig holes in the sand. As a Boy Scout we used to go ride machines there often- this was before scouts were forbidden from doing anything fun. Come to think about it, some of the crap we did there on those outings certainly contributed to the banning of such activities.
Anyway, I went for a ride. Bought a pass into the park so I could climb some sand. I've recently done some work to my trusty steed, and I was in the mood to give it a test. It climbed and ran better than it ever had before. Seriously. I was doing stuff in 3rd gear that used to require 2nd and sometimes 1st gear. Vrooooom.
I saw this funny thing: someone had swiped a speed limit sign from the road and posted it at the bottom of Sand Mountain. Hahaha. People reach speeds upward of 70mph climbing that hill. Most people go faster than 25 down the hill. Haha.
After an hour of that, I went outside of the park to find my friends who were camping somewhere on the other side of the fence.
Found their camp and the trusty guard dog: Max the Puggle.
That's all.
Oh yeah- there was a kite. Or two.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Beginnings
So I thought I'd write down a few different things here.
My personal blog - Ramblings and Rumblings- is just that, a pack of random jibberish.
I use that forum to address the storms that work their way through my mind.
It is a place of various colors and moods.
This will be more a celebration of my recreational hobbies.
What do I do?
Well, if you know me well, you know that I work almost all the time. But when I'm not busy with work:
I hike. Mostly mountains, I'm lucky enough to have countless trails within a short distance of my house, so I can hike pretty crazy stuff without working too hard at it. I've recently had a hunger for peaks. I really like sitting at a summit.
I bike. (mountain, not street. although most of my rubber contact is tires on pavement)
I boat. Sometimes.
I cycle. (motor- mostly street cruising, but sometimes dirt)
I ride ATVs. Mostly sand. Mostly sporty stuff, I am not much into trails and mountains, but I'll do it occasionally.
I photograph things. This is where it all ties together- I'll take pictures, write up a little snippet and call it a blog post.
Your responsibility is to read and comment. Or don't. But if you want to come out for an adventure with me, this will be a good place to do your homework about the potential activities.
Note: I am going to be backdating several posts, so events that show up prior to this on the list may have been written after this introductory post. Read back for all the 2010 history.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Y First
March 27, 2010
I set out to hit the Y in Provo for the first time this year.
A little rusty, but it seems like I'll make it..
Knee acting up a little bit. This is a theme that will be ongoing.
I find a patch of snow on the trail, hoping that the upper trail doesn't get too sloppy.
This hike isn't particularly difficult, but the vertical slope is fairly daunting: 1200 vertical feet in just over a mile. Its proximity to the city makes it a popular little jaunt. In 2009 I hiked this trail 24 times.
Upon reaching the slab, I rest a little. There are some paraglider guys up there trying to catch a wind.
I do my usual routine: get a drink, eat a bite of food. Rest my aching bones. Try not to talk to anyone.
I head down. Down is usually harder on me, as my foul knees don't hold up to the stresses of the trail that direction. Usually after a long descent, I find myself stumbling and leaning on things. Hiking sticks help. A few minutes sitting helps. But the fact is, I almost always have a moment or two where I feel like a wobbly-kneed baby giraffe- or in this case a hippo.
Driving off the hill, I see one of the paraglider guys coming in for a landing.
Through a strange turn of events, his landing doesn't go as planned. An hour later, he's still clinging to that tree like a cat escaping a pack of wild dogs.
I set out to hit the Y in Provo for the first time this year.
A little rusty, but it seems like I'll make it..
Knee acting up a little bit. This is a theme that will be ongoing.
I find a patch of snow on the trail, hoping that the upper trail doesn't get too sloppy.
This hike isn't particularly difficult, but the vertical slope is fairly daunting: 1200 vertical feet in just over a mile. Its proximity to the city makes it a popular little jaunt. In 2009 I hiked this trail 24 times.
Upon reaching the slab, I rest a little. There are some paraglider guys up there trying to catch a wind.
I do my usual routine: get a drink, eat a bite of food. Rest my aching bones. Try not to talk to anyone.
I head down. Down is usually harder on me, as my foul knees don't hold up to the stresses of the trail that direction. Usually after a long descent, I find myself stumbling and leaning on things. Hiking sticks help. A few minutes sitting helps. But the fact is, I almost always have a moment or two where I feel like a wobbly-kneed baby giraffe- or in this case a hippo.
Driving off the hill, I see one of the paraglider guys coming in for a landing.
Through a strange turn of events, his landing doesn't go as planned. An hour later, he's still clinging to that tree like a cat escaping a pack of wild dogs.
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