Seattle Trip Top 6

• Pit-stopping in the indie-rock capitol of Olympia, Washington for the very first time (!!!!) and meeting one Mike Cummins (older brother to Temple and Matt!!!!). Also, randomly purchasing an exquisite ceramic bowl hand-made by this Northwest original.

• Coming around that one corner on I-5 where you all-the-sudden see the city of Seattle for the first time—the city and the Sound and the sun gleaming crazily off the windows and the water.

• Skating Marginal Way, just fooling around all by myself while the big men talked and drank beer and the birds flapped their wings.

• Starvingly finding a Greek restaurant and eating incendiary fresh pita bread sprinkled with big chunks of salt.

• Drinking a tall whiskey soda at a yuppy bar with my guy.

• Walking through the rows of vegetables on Beacon Hill, no one in sight, skyscrapers in the distance, a cool breeze whispering of fog and falling leaves.

Painted Hills Mega Post

We spent last weekend in the wild-lands of East/Central Oregon, splashing in and out of swimming holes on the John Day River, scouting sun-baked fossil beds, and, in general, filling our hearts with fun.

Let's go there for a minute.

Hot and bright by day. A chorus of cricket song at night. Not a single bar of cell-phone reception (vacay-ing in the wilderness shouldn't be tampered with by outside-world contact anyway).

We whipped through round, caramel-colored hills to get there, but on a dirt road a few miles outside camp, plans changed. Plumes of smoke, coloring the air blue. Wild-land fire fighters biding time inside diesel trucks. Helicopters hauling big troughs of water. Mobilization.

We turned and retreated through a blackened landscape and chased the fading light west—later to find a new, downriver campsite by chance, in the dark. Nevertheless, it was a special place.

What I took away from the trip: the image of delicate leaf tendrils pressed into ancient fossil stone, the freedom and quiet of being the only tent in sight, and the strange way it felt to get woken up at night by the haunting sound of coyote howl. I wonder what Lefty thought, curled up out there in the dirt in front of our tent?

A panting dog, and the Painted Hills in the hot wind—exuding deep geologic mysteries.

Reelin' em in, tossing em back.

Stone-cold fossil hunters.

Parched earths of the Precambrian.

Later grams.

Coastal Rabbit Hole

This weekend I fell down a kind of rabbit hole of summer with a small group of friends, as we basked in white-crested waves and sunlight and the very brightest star-scape over a black expanse of water.

We travelled westward on Friday after work and found a shangrila campsite overlooking the strand—just in time to stagger up a hillside of deep sand and watch the sun disappear. Up in our little hollow—hidden, as we were, from the rest of the beach goers—life ground to a kind of halt. Our fire crackled. Our hot dogs roasted. The real dogs curled up all tired in the sand.

I think one of the very best things about camping is that you remember about the stars. They're always a surprise for some reason. You're done cooking, and you're all staring at the fire talking and sipping, when someone looks up. "Look at the sky!" Sure enough, the pale ceiling of dusk has been replaced by a ba-jillion tiny points of light. It's just the kind of little miracle thing that city peoples like ourselves don't get to see on a daily basis.

Hidden out.

Lincoln City for Go Skate Day—scary/fun.

Back seat car buds.

Birthday Bingen-ing

June days are very long. The longest! Here in the north country, you can have two complete days in one if you want—if you have the energy. Which you def don't sometimes. But the reality is that it's very possible to navigate an entire workday, and then meet up with your friends after to drive 60 highway miles to a skatepark, where you can skate for several hours as evening sunbeams stab through purple cloud banks over rolling Tuscan-like hills in the background. Then, after final dusk, there's STILL time to head into town for late-night feasting, after which you can drive home under tiny, pale stars—pulling into town at a very respectable midnight. Tired as dogs. But accomplished-feeling, you know?

Again, you don't always have what it takes to make this kind of thing happen. But sometimes, it's the healthy thing to do. It's okay if it takes a special occasion to get there. Like, say, a special guy's birthday?

Best Camp Meal 2014

Recent camping-meal move: fire-pit nachos.

I made them after the longest, funnest day of wandering through woods and swimming in cold, sun-glimmering waters. I did not take a picture of them, though (I'm not programmed to "food-Gram" for some reason).

Yes, yes, food when you're camping always tastes better. All that fresh air, et cetera. But! I'm gonna argue here that these nachos are legitimately good (the Monterey Jack melts ungodly smooth/creamy, and that Trader Joe's Taco Mix kicks). They're also hecka easy. I mean all the shit below travels well. And the campfire inferno toasts and browns and bubbles things in wonderful—if unexpected ways.

In conclusion, I would like to say that this meal is, for those who care, my new campfire jam for the rest of summer ’14.

What you need:

1 can of black beans

1 brick of Monterey jack cheese

1 pack of Trader Joe's Taco Seasoning Mix

1 can of Trader Joe's Black Olives

1 bag of tortilla chips

1 pan (that you don't mind getting all covered with campfire soot)

1 giant piece of aluminum foil

What you do:

Mix together the black beans and, like, half the taco mix.

Chop the cheese and olives.

Pile everything onto a metric ton of chips spread evenly over a baking sheet.

Cover completely with tin foil.

Get some good embers going, and cook on a grill over the fire for as long as it takes to get things where yo want ’em, melting and toasting-wise (for us, maybe 10 mins? but every fire is different ya know).