adventures of a canoelover

The last few weeks have offered up an explosion of odonates. Not sure why, but I seem to be seeing more varieties of damselflies these past few weeks. They’re not as big and fast as the dragonflies and they’re weaker fliers so they perch more when the winds blow.

The problem with the wind blowing is framing up a shot.  Damsels perch on the flimsiest of reeds so the same puff of wind that makes it harder for them to fly makes it harder for me to frame them.

They really are lovely, and quite complex.  How these little jewels evolved into the amazing creatures they are is beyond my comprehension.  I have to think they had a little help along the way…nothing this beautiful happens by accident.

Tomorrow I’m breaking out the new 110 macro. Stoked.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

I have a few paddles.  Most of them live in a rack in my garage, all lined up and ready to party, if paddles can be said to do so.

The canoe paddles are all wood, save two carbon-fiber paddles, ultralight racing paddles that weigh a little more than a pound.  My traditional one-piece non-laminated paddles are mostly cherry, a dark, rich, durable and lightweight wood, but some are ash and Sitka spruce.  My laminated paddles are all over the wood map: black walnut, western red cedar, white cedar, hickory, black willow, Sitka, cherry, and basswood.

My kayak paddles are all carbon-fiber, save two wood paddles that are spruce, cherry, black walnut and cedar.  Never noticed it until recently, and I’m not sure why.  Maybe it’s because for me, canoeing is more aesthetic, like ballroom dancing, and kayaking for me tends to be a more lively activity.

26 canoe paddles may seem like a lot, but they are all different and all useful.  Some are useful by hanging on the wall (like the 150th Anniversary Shaw and Tenney Limited Edition (9/150) Birdseye Maple Guide).  That one will never see water, but it’s one of only a few paddles that are not used regularly.  It was a gift generously given, and I would like to pass it along to my grandson someday.  Thanks again, Steve.

A few of my paddles were made my companies no longer in business.  Those are still very much in use…they are for using.  Since I use the right paddle for the right conditions, the thin-bladed deep-water paddles are still in very good shape.  The whitewater paddles are beaters.  They will break someday.  That’s cool.

A few of my paddles are my own designs.  They are used too, regularly, so I can see if they can be improved.  Sometimes I come home from a paddle and get busy on a grip or blade or the transition from blade to shaft.

A few of my paddles were custom made for me.  They are wonderful, and the difference between these paddles and others is like comparing a custom-made Italian suit with a Jos. Banks three-piece.  The latter is certainly of good quality and can be very, very nice, but a custom-tailored suit…until you’ve experienced it, you’ll never know how good it feels to have something perfectly fitted.  A bad paddle is like a K-Mart polyester leisure suit.  Yes, the Caviness BP was made for “those interested in price alone.”  At least they admit it.

Paddles are the fundamental tool used to touch the water.  It’s the tool that connects you.  The best canoe in the world is worthless without a good paddle, so maybe that’s why I am just as obsessed about a good paddle as a good canoe.  I don’t call my paddles sticks.  Not my style.

Kayak paddles…that’s for another day.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

I think there is a perfect correlation between how much time I spend outside and how many odonates hatch.  The correlation is, unfortunately, negative.

I believe they waited until I got busy and hatched all at once.  Halloween Pennants, Spotted Skimmers of all types, Widow Skimmers, Pondhawks, Clubtails, and of course, Darners have suddenly decided to persecute me.  No time for pictures or even a short walk in the woods or along the marshes.   Black Saddlebags…both Common and Prince Baskettails…Bluets, Spreadwings, Rubyspots, and of course the Ebony Jewelwings.  Grrr…

At least this little Eastern Amberwing decided to hold still enough for me to take a shot with my stupid phone camera.  You see, they wait until my battery dies or I leave the camera in the car.  They know.  They mock me.  Perithemis showed compassion.

This is one of the smallest skimmers around…always less than an inch long.  This guy (it is a male) is guarding his personal vegetation mat with the tenacity of Lindsay Lohan guarding her blow-filled Coach bag.  A few Widow Skimmers came by but the Amberwing chased them away and went right back to his pad.

I always root for the underdragon.  Go P. tenera!

And now…off to Door County for the 8th Annual Door County Sea Kayak Symposium.  Pictures to come for sure.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

Some folks have asked me what all the wife X.X stuff is about.

Here’s the best explanation.

For those of you who still use an abacus when you run out of toes, software manufacturers use numbers to show how their software has been updated to the latest version.  So you have Windows 3.1 or Photoshop 7.0 or other such designations.  The software doesn’t change radically; it’s just given a few more features, bugs are fixed (new ones created, natch), and they make a few bucks charging you for a program that has been significantly improved, or so the saying goes.

People can be similar to software.  I feel all people should always be trying to improve themselves in some way, large or small.  With no designation to note specific accomplishments for people, I adopted the computer science model.

Anyway, both of us are committed to not have a Spouse 2.0.  Given that Newt is on Wife 3.0 (I think she might have been Mistress 2.0), I think it’s important to state your intentions,  both privately and publicly.

My lovely wife started as Wife 1.0 over 27 years ago, but was upgraded as she accomplished cool things that really stretched her physically and emotionally.  When a milestone was achieved (like nailing her Eskimo roll), she got an upgrade.  The letters are for smaller but no less significant achievements.  The latest update from 1.2a to 1.2b was for letting me buy a canoe without her approval.*

Wife 1.2b has been with me for over 27 years now.  I’m sure anxious to keep her, and from the rumors I hear she’d like to keep me too.  Now she’s off to the Wind River range in Wyoming for a two week backpacking trip as part of her Master’s program in Experiential Education.  One of the reasons I love Wife 1.2b so much is her interest in growing.  I imagine when we’re both old and gray she’ll be Wife 1.999z or something like that.

I am Temporary Bachelor 1.0.  This means I can eat what I want when I want, watch all the movies she hates (Spinal Tap being the prime offender), and hang out with the guys for a while.  Sure.   Sounds great.  For about three or four days.  At this point I’m throwing myself into work to keep my mind occupied.  Or writing a lot (just finished another free-lance article).

Wife 1.2b is a goof, a by-product of teaching hormone-drenched middle schoolers the finer points of math and algebra.  When someone gets this excited about a cream puff, you know you married up.  It’s the random goofy stuff that doesn’t happen around here when she’s gone.

I’m rambling.  Time for bed.  Maybe Dog 3.0 will join me for a while.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

* Actually, the upgrade is for not killing me for buying a canoe without her approval.  Hey, she’s in Wyoming?  What’s a guy supposed to do when someone drops a Racine Boat Company 15 foot Chippewa wood/canvas boat in your lap?  One that was made sometime between 1906 and 1924?  I need a serial number…seriously. What a guy is supposed to do is consult with his Wife 1.2a.  But I didn’t.  Hence the upgrade.

Hawai’i was cool.

There were big cool things like the  Na Pali Coast by kayak.

There were small cool things like this Pallid Ghost Crab (Ocypode pallidula).

That camo puts Mossy Oak® and Realtree® to shame.  The Pallid Ghost crabs have very different patterns of camo depending on the the beach they occupy.  They always blend in so they’re almost impossible to see unless they move.  That strongly suggests some  natural selection.  Anyway…

I had a great vacation with the whole family, for the last time in the foreseeable future.  The children are scattering to the four winds now, and with school, missionary service and a busy work schedule for both Wife 1.2a and Husband (beta), it seemed unlikely we’d all be in the same place for more than a few holidays here and there, a week if we’re lucky.

As much as Kaua’i is beautiful, I couldn’t live there.  The weather is too perfect.  Not too hot, not too cold; it’s Goldilocks Weather.  Goldilocks was not only a burglar, she was a whiner and a bore.  I’m much more at home here in the imperfect and often unpredictable Midwest.

Maybe I like change more than some folks.  Maybe I have a short attention span, I dunno.  All I know is that Kaua’i is gorgeous, dressed up to the nines, bountiful and fecund, adorned with gems of waterfalls and mosses and ferns.  Kaua’i is gorgeous, but she wears a lot of make up.  I prefer my women and my landscapes unadorned, or if they are adorned, that it’s the kind of adornment that is subtle and may be easily overlooked by those looking for flashy.

When I overheard a tourist say “I can’t believe how many different plants there are here,” I thought “You dope…there are a lot of different plants everywhere.”  The difference is Kaua’i hits you in the face with the variety and big flowers and all the showy stuff, like Angelina Jolie after make up and Photoshop.  The analogy is clearly not a perfect one, but I don’t have the patience to come up with a perfect one.  This’ll have to do.

Despite the differences in scale, whether majestic cliffs or micro-crabs, there is a lot of beauty there.  And here.  For me, mostly here.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

When I think of Hawai’i, I definitely think of places like Wailua Falls.  The kids love waterfalls.  Wisconsin has a few waterfalls, but in Kaua’i you can’t throw a rock without hitting a waterfall.

The scenery is beautiful, of course, but in my world, it’s always about the people, and I think the land affects the people.  So it’s natural that a place so beautiful produces beautiful people.

Troy is a weaver.  A native of Kaua’i, he does what most people do; he holds three jobs.  He owns a taxi, he works at the local minimum security prison as a substance abuse counselor, and he weaves palm baskets for tourists.  He set up at Wailua Falls, since lots of people like going there.  If you ever saw Fantasy Island (my condolences), you’ve seen this waterfall.

Anyway, I watched him for five minutes or so.  A drunk tourist was annoying, but Troy deflected it beautifully (remember he’s a drug counselor).  I was intrigued.  So I made a proposition.

CL: “How much for the baskets?”

Troy: “Fifteen bucks.”

CL:  “How about for $30 you teach me?”

Troy [sizing me up]: “You think you can keep up?”

CL: “I think so…”

Troy [still sizing me up]: “….okay.”

He split a palm front with an old steak knife, prepped it by scraping some of the stalk away, tied it in a loop with some twine, and we got started.

It’s one thing to do, it’s another to teach.  Troy was clearly a teacher, but he also wasn’t used to teaching this particular thing.  He wanted to go faster, but he fell into the rhythm of things quickly.  He slowed down, and the fun began.

I like this guy.  He had a good sense of humor, made fun of me in a gentle way (I assisted), and was patient.  It’s not at all intuitive, so my brain had to go from snowshoe weaving to palm frond weaving.  Totally different.

I asked Troy how long he had been doing this.

“I dunno…a while.”

Typical Kaua’ian answer.  Time didn’t seem all that important to Troy.  Who cares how long he’s been doing it?  He was doing it now.    I needed to get back to now, and Troy was a good guide.  I asked him who taught him.

“My brother.”

“Who taught him?”

“I dunno.  Some old Hawai’ian guy.”

Again.  If he had said “President Obama” would it make a difference?   Another superfluous question.  Who cares if he went to the University of Palm Frond Basketry?

At that point I decided to shut up.

The richness of an experience like that is a gift.  It took a little bit of courage to ask, but then again, what’s the worst thing that can happen?  He says “Sorry, haole.  No deal.”  But he said yes.  At one point I said, “This part is tricky…”  He laughed and said “Yeah, a lot of people say ‘teach me how to do that.’

“So do you teach them?” I asked.

“No, they don’t want to learn.  It’s hard.”

It was definitely something I couldn’t have figured out on my own.  I handed over two twenties and he dug for change.

I put my hand on his arm. “Keep it, brah. It’s worth an extra ten bucks just for your story.”  He looked at me and smiled.  “Thanks.”

Mahalo.  I no kid you, you stay da kine, brah.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

I’ve never blogged from a phone before. Excuse my typos.

Normally I’d wait until I got to a real computer, but there are three things I want to share about this place.

1) One-way bridges. From our condo to my favorite snorkeling beach there are at least four one way bridges. It means taking turns and being considerate. Four to six cars go, then it reverses. If you are car seven, you stop.

This would fail miserably in Chicago. Here, it works. The locals resist newer, better bridges. Progress sometimes isn’t. These socially-appropriate traffic patterns isolate Hanalei from inpatient jerks.

2) Naked little kids. At Tunnels Beach a few days ago, a lovely young mother sat in the sun and watched her two little boys playing in the wavelets. One, about four, was digging in the sand, the other toddler was pushing a truck around, making appropriate truck-like noises. He was a bronze cherub, naked as a cupid without wings. Adorable.

On the mainland, someone would call Social Services and report this lovely young mom for…something, I dunno. When she left, little cherub baby waved and shouted “goodbye,” over and over until I became aware he was talking to me. I smiled and said goodbye too, and apparently content, he toddled away with a grin. Mom smiled too and said goodbye.

Chill out, mainland.

3) Doing nothing. This is a difficult thing for me. Thank you, Kauai, for the doing nothing lessons.

Aloha,

Canoelover

One of my favorite things about vacation is being able to read whatever I want, whenever I want.  The only rule I have is no business books.

There are two reasons for this.  First, I’m on vacation.  Second, most business books are really silly.  The worst ones are the cutesy Who Moved My Cheese? variety, or worse, Jesus, CEO.  Yes, it’s a real book, except that tiny little detail that Jesus stood for everything that business generally sees as bad; unselfishness, humility, sharing of resources, and loving unconditionally.  However, there is good evidence that Jeffrey Skilling may have believed he was God.  Then there’s The Leadership Secrets of Attila the Hun.  The secret to leadership is to randomly execute people so the rest of them pay more attention.

But (as usual) I digress.

So it’s going to be a good vacation.

It’s a good mix.  The local bookstore was several hundred bucks richer by the time Wife 1.2a, Daughter 1.1, Son 1.2 and I got out of there.  Then again, that’s about what a month of satellite TV costs, and we don’t have to put up with the Chardonnay In A Box Channel. The suitcases will bulge with history (my problem), fiction, a few humor books and a three-pound tome of Les Miserables, unabridged.  Daughter 1.1 is feeling ambitious.

It’s almost gluttonous to read as much as you want to.  Almost, because books aren’t fattening and I don’t think you can feed your brain too much good stuff.  If you’re loading up on Harlequin romances, you’re eating boxes of Twinkies dipped in Betty Crocker Ready-To-Spread Frosting.  Problem is, you can’t puke up a novel once you’ve read it.  What happens in the frontal lobes stays in the frontal lobes.

So choose wisely or you’ll O.D. on junk words.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

P.S.  Kauai, if you were wondering.  And yes, we’re going kayaking.  Hitting the Na Pali coast.  Hope she doesn’t hit back too hard.  There also may be surfing.

It has been a pretty schizoid Spring  so until this week the odonata were scarce in my locale.  Just the CGDs (Anax junius), but I still poked around out back behind the shop for a bit a few minutes a day to see what’s up.  Up until this week there were no signs of emerging dragonfly nymphs on the cinder block that holds up a little wall that keeps our floating dock in place, but I did spot a pair of wolf spiders sunning themselves near a crack in the block wall.

Wolf spiders are pretty cool.  They’re quite common if you keep your eyes open, and this time of year my eyes are wide open.  While they are not by beloved odes, they’re still very interesting and enjoyable to watch and/or stalk.

It was interesting to see two spiders, male and female, hanging out in the space.  I guess during the mating season they can share a web peaceably, which is pretty cool.

Arachnophobia is real and I get it.  I understand not wanting spiders around after seeing The Two Towers and Shelob and all that spidery goo and slobber.  Lies, I tell you.  Spiders maybe creepy looking, but so is he.

I’d rather find a wolf spider on my couch than Ozzy.  Wolf spiders smell better, clean up after themselves, are good parents, and eat obnoxious pests.

Okay, so they have one thing in common.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover

I saw a dark spot on the siding just under the window sill, and at first, thought nothing of it.  Then I leaned over, took a good look and saw that it was hundreds, maybe thousands of newborn spiders.  What variety is anyone’s guess, unless you know a good neonatarachnologist.  But there were a lot of them.

I blew a soft puff of air at the cluster and amazing things happened.  Immediately some of the little dudes threw out some silk and started to float away on the breeze.  I had heard of ballooning before but never saw it en masse like this.

At the end of Charlotte’s Web, all the babies launch themselves into the unknown on their silk balloons, except for three.  I’m hoping that Joy, Aranea and Nellie stick around.

Respectfully submitted,

Canoelover