Friday, April 27, 2007
Developing A Bond
Over spring break this year I had the pleasure of going to Death Valley with my dad for his 50th birthday. Sand dunes, craters, narrow canyons, lakebeds, and tons of other geological wonders entertained us throughout our stay. Everyday I was blown away by how diverse and beautiful this desert is, however, what really made the trip amazing was getting to spend quality time with my father. I now have a deeper understanding of this man, one that I couldn’t have gained any other way. Our conversations around the campfire will forever be ingrained in my memory. Just thinking about it brings a smile to my face.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Follow Your Nose
The afternoons in Arcata can be a beautiful thing when it isn’t raining. The wind usually turns onshore, and when I stand in front of my house I could probably smell the ocean if the air wasn’t filled with an incredible stench. One day I decided to get to the bottom of the funk and figure out where it was coming from. I started heading west and before I new it I was leaving town, and traveling down a one-lane dirt road. At the end of the road was the answer to my confusion: The Windy Acre’s Dairy Farm. From that day on I have been working on a story about this family farm and the people who run it, here are a few "off moments" from the project.
Check Out The Story…..
Check Out The Story…..
Northern California Crabbing
It's 2:00 a.m., Tuesday morning, January 9, 2007. I've just shown up at Woodly Island Marina, where I sit in the dark with butterflies in my stomach as a light drizzle sprinkles me through a thick layer of fog. My mind runs wild with anticipation and thoughts of what will come in my approaching 26-hour crabbing adventure. How will I handle the open water? Will I get sick? Should I take Dramamine or just balls up and hope for the best?
At around 2:20 a.m., Wayne Sohrakoff, captain of the Drifter, pulls into the parking lot in his ford f-150. He slowly climbs out and gathers his things and heads down the ramp to his 51 foot fishing vessel. Then, the diesel engines fire to life and the boat becomes illuminated with a beautiful Tungsten light--a signal that the day is just getting started.
As the boat fires to life, the face of deckhand Casey can be seen through a porthole, where he is busily preparing coffee inside the galley. Captain Schrakoff stands silhouetted in the cockpit, barking commands to Casey about what exactly should be done before the boat can shove off.
2:35 a.m. Still no sign of the 3rd crewmember, Worm, who by this time is 35 minutes late. Schrakoff begins to worry that Worm could possibly be “drunk somewhere.” Casey just shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes, as if to say that this scenario is nothing new to him.
2:45 a.m. Worm finally decides to grace the Marina with presence and the Drifter successfully pulls away from its slip, heading out for the open ocean. It's about a 2-hour boat ride north to get to the first string of crab pots, so Casey and Worm head straight to their bunks and passed out. I on the other hand, stay on deck and hold on for dear life, taking in deep breaths of the morning air with the hope that I won't get sick.
I queasily watch as flying fish sparkle in flight next to the boat, and then I slowly take a pull of my cigarette and do my best to take everything in. The muffled ringing of a bell can be heard as we pass the last buoy at the mouth of the harbor. The ringing in my ears not only signals that the boat is now in the open ocean, but also that it is time to start getting sick.
Knots start forming in my stomach, so I take solid hold of the railing, lean over and start vomiting. The sound of the engines, the smell of bait and the rocking motion of the boat rolling over 14 ft. swells, all take a long time to get used to. Feeling as sick as a dog, I'm left wondering if my decision to venture out on the turbid waters of the northern California coast was the right one.
4:45 a.m. The voice of Captain Schrakoff comes over the loud speaker and announces, “10 minutes,” which lets Worm and Casey know that we have reached the first string of pots. Sleepily, these two men climb out of their bunks and start to put on bright orange and yellow rain slickers. Once on deck, Casey and Worm finish running frozen blocks of squid and anchovies through the bait shredder and start filling bait containers--positioning themselves to be ready to process the first crab pot of the day.
The sound of a horn signals that the boat is coming alongside the buoys from the first string as Worm gets his buoy stick ready. The buoy stick, a 12-foot long piece of bamboo with a large metal hook attached to the end, is used to grab the lines attached to the Crab pots. The line is then threaded through a wheel, which mechanically starts bringing in the line and pulling the crab pot to the surface of the ocean so that it can be emptied, baited, and then either stacked on the boat, or thrown back into the ocean. This process takes about 3 minutes from the time that the line is hooked until the pot is thrown back in to the water, and is done with amazing coordination and precision between crewmembers.
As the sun starts to come up, I finally began to develop sea legs, and I no longer feel like I'm going to vomit whenever I put the camera to my eye. The rocking of the boat actually becomes rather soothing, along with the constant cries of seagulls flying behind the boat.
Deckhands Casey and Worm work almost non-stop the entire time we are out at sea. One of their few breaks comes only after we have been at sea for almost 20 hours. Then, the boat had to travel 3 miles to the next string of pots. In this small window of downtime, Casey grabs a large link cod that had gotten stuck in a crab pot, fillets it, breads it, and fries it up in the galley. This meal was one of the best fish dinners I have ever had.
The 26-hour crabbing adventure with the Drifter ended up taking 36 hours. When we got back to shore, I was delirious from sleep deprivation, and I stunk like bait, crab, and bird shit. It took almost a month for my 30D to loose the fishing boat smell; I don’t think I will ever get the smell out of the Aquatech rain cover.
I love adventures like this one that push me to experience things that are out of my comfort zone. These moments teach me about who I am, what I am capable of, and give me confidence for the next time I decide to grab my camera and step outside of my bubble.view images
Ecuador Adventure
Recirculating air, a cold soda, and a window seat--I was stoked. As I looked out, I saw a muted sea of green pass below me. Thoughts were bouncing through my mind: What is the jungle going to be like? Will I adapt to this environment? Did I forget any gear? Will these people accept me? My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the landing gear lowering, so I snapped out of my daze, buckled my seat belt, and prepared to land in the city of Lago Agrio, Ecuador.
Stepping off the plane, I was met by the hottest, most humid blast of air I have ever experienced. It threw me back a little. And by the time that I walked across 100 yards of tarmac, I was already drenched in sweat. From the airport, it is short cab ride into town, and intto the chaos.
Buses, cars, mopeds, and bicycles flew down the streets at overwhelming speeds. Venders lined the main street selling anything from fish, to the latest in designer knock off sunglasses. The sounds of horns, people, and music filled the air. It was a little overwhelming at first, so I bought a coconut popsicle, sat down on my bag, and took it all in. That first night I couldn’t sleep, so I just decided to lay on my bed with the AC on high, and let the city noises serenade me.
The next morning I woke up ready to take care of business, which was trying to track down my contact. If you have read this far then you are probably wondering where I am going with this, well here it is. The reason that I went to Ecuador was to do a story on an indigenous tribe named the Cofan. I had been in contact with a tribal representative through email, which led to a name and a phone number of who to contact once I arrived in Lago Agrio. I called this number only to realize that my broken Spanish did not work at all on the phone. Without hand motions and smiles, my communication skills drastically went down hill. Although the conversation was a disaster, I was able to figure out that I would be picked up at 8:00 am the following morning to begin the trek out towards the Cuyabeno Wilderness and the Cofan village of Zabalo.
The following morning arrived quickly, and at 8:00 am I was sitting contently on my bag out in front of the hotel, enjoying another coconut popsicle. Twenty minutes rolled past, then an hour, then two hours, and still there was no sign of my ride. Finally, around noon a beat up old wood sided truck pulled up in front of me, and the adventure began.
I walked around to the back of the truck only to find that they barely had room for me, already sitting there were around 5 children, 6 or 7 adults, a dog, a bunch of chickens, and a pile of bags. I threw my gear on the pile, grabbed a hold of the truck bed and let out the universal whistle that meant I was ready. As the truck thundered to life, I managed to say hello to everyone in Spanish, only to receive a few smiles and then silence.
After about an hour and a half of washboard road, the truck finally screeched to a halt in the town of Dureno. Dureno is a place where the Cofan have a canoe building business, and it is where they launch their canoes to begin the 275 kilometer journey down the Rio Aguarico to the village of Zabalo.
We unloaded the truck and stacked everything next to a tree that had a canoe tied to it. These canoes are very long and skinny, and at first glance you would have no idea that they can hold such an incredible amount. After loading everything it was time to shove off, and if my memory serves me there ended up being around 25 people, 8 chickens, two dogs, our luggage, and two 50-gallan barrels of gasoline that I had the pleasure of sitting next to.
The canoe had a pretty good size outboard motor attached and still they announced that we weren’t expected to get to Zabalo for another ten hours, if all went smoothly. After we made a successful ferry out of an eddy and into the current, the drinking began. Box wine was the drink of choice that day and they were generous to me, too generous. Before I new it, I was a little tipsy and loving every minute of it.
I wish I could fully describe to you how surreal it was that day in the canoe, heading out into the unknown, with people that I had just met. As soon as we left the shore in Dureno, everybody stopped speaking Spanish and switched to their native dialect, A’ingae. At this point I was a little buzzed, wide eyed, and in awe; all I could do was sit back against the railing and watch the jungle fly by.
The two weeks that I spent with the Cofan were probably some of the craziest times of my life, however, I have never met a more generous or welcoming people. As a culture that has been decimated by greedy western capitalistic culture, they never once directed any animosity towards me. I am using this blog as a look into my head, my journal, not as a platform to argue, so I wont list the many horrific things that have happened to the Cofan due to the fact that their land is rich with oil. Please visit the Cofan site and read the history of this amazing group of people.
view images
Stepping off the plane, I was met by the hottest, most humid blast of air I have ever experienced. It threw me back a little. And by the time that I walked across 100 yards of tarmac, I was already drenched in sweat. From the airport, it is short cab ride into town, and intto the chaos.
Buses, cars, mopeds, and bicycles flew down the streets at overwhelming speeds. Venders lined the main street selling anything from fish, to the latest in designer knock off sunglasses. The sounds of horns, people, and music filled the air. It was a little overwhelming at first, so I bought a coconut popsicle, sat down on my bag, and took it all in. That first night I couldn’t sleep, so I just decided to lay on my bed with the AC on high, and let the city noises serenade me.
The next morning I woke up ready to take care of business, which was trying to track down my contact. If you have read this far then you are probably wondering where I am going with this, well here it is. The reason that I went to Ecuador was to do a story on an indigenous tribe named the Cofan. I had been in contact with a tribal representative through email, which led to a name and a phone number of who to contact once I arrived in Lago Agrio. I called this number only to realize that my broken Spanish did not work at all on the phone. Without hand motions and smiles, my communication skills drastically went down hill. Although the conversation was a disaster, I was able to figure out that I would be picked up at 8:00 am the following morning to begin the trek out towards the Cuyabeno Wilderness and the Cofan village of Zabalo.
The following morning arrived quickly, and at 8:00 am I was sitting contently on my bag out in front of the hotel, enjoying another coconut popsicle. Twenty minutes rolled past, then an hour, then two hours, and still there was no sign of my ride. Finally, around noon a beat up old wood sided truck pulled up in front of me, and the adventure began.
I walked around to the back of the truck only to find that they barely had room for me, already sitting there were around 5 children, 6 or 7 adults, a dog, a bunch of chickens, and a pile of bags. I threw my gear on the pile, grabbed a hold of the truck bed and let out the universal whistle that meant I was ready. As the truck thundered to life, I managed to say hello to everyone in Spanish, only to receive a few smiles and then silence.
After about an hour and a half of washboard road, the truck finally screeched to a halt in the town of Dureno. Dureno is a place where the Cofan have a canoe building business, and it is where they launch their canoes to begin the 275 kilometer journey down the Rio Aguarico to the village of Zabalo.
We unloaded the truck and stacked everything next to a tree that had a canoe tied to it. These canoes are very long and skinny, and at first glance you would have no idea that they can hold such an incredible amount. After loading everything it was time to shove off, and if my memory serves me there ended up being around 25 people, 8 chickens, two dogs, our luggage, and two 50-gallan barrels of gasoline that I had the pleasure of sitting next to.
The canoe had a pretty good size outboard motor attached and still they announced that we weren’t expected to get to Zabalo for another ten hours, if all went smoothly. After we made a successful ferry out of an eddy and into the current, the drinking began. Box wine was the drink of choice that day and they were generous to me, too generous. Before I new it, I was a little tipsy and loving every minute of it.
I wish I could fully describe to you how surreal it was that day in the canoe, heading out into the unknown, with people that I had just met. As soon as we left the shore in Dureno, everybody stopped speaking Spanish and switched to their native dialect, A’ingae. At this point I was a little buzzed, wide eyed, and in awe; all I could do was sit back against the railing and watch the jungle fly by.
The two weeks that I spent with the Cofan were probably some of the craziest times of my life, however, I have never met a more generous or welcoming people. As a culture that has been decimated by greedy western capitalistic culture, they never once directed any animosity towards me. I am using this blog as a look into my head, my journal, not as a platform to argue, so I wont list the many horrific things that have happened to the Cofan due to the fact that their land is rich with oil. Please visit the Cofan site and read the history of this amazing group of people.
view images
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)