Rucksack Evolution

There's some changes in the works. Big changes. Yuge changes (couldn't resist). If you haven't noticed, the world has been on pandemic lockdown. Perhaps nowhere in the US more so than Washington state. A timeline, for your reading pleasure : January 20th: First confirmed US case, 45 miles down the road from us. (We have since learned there were many other cases before this confirmation, of course.) March 11th: My life suddenly got a lot easier. Classes canceled, along with midterms. Businesses, restaurants, etc begin closing. The company I write for put down a hiring freeze, and I suddenly had as much freelance work as I could do. March 25th: Pretty much the entire fucking region closes down -- public lands, remaining businesses (except grocery stores). Today, May 19th: Shit is still closed down. By the way, I don't agree with the current severity of the measures. They were fine in March and through April, wise even and 100% backed by the science at the ...

I've been a bit under the weather lately, so the boy and I decided to try a short and easy hike near town. The threat of downpours and landslide risks also influenced our decision, so we headed down to a little park right on the Whatcom/Skagit county line near lake Samish. Squire Lake did not disappoint! We arrived at the trailhead after lunch, probably around noon. There were cars parked on the road but the parking lot was almost empty, so I'm guessing we missed the morning rush :) We ran into two people on the trail and heard a family at one point, so not secluded but not crowded, either. Other than some mud, to be expected in January, the trail was in excellent condition. Sawdust and fresh cuts bore witness to recent trail cleanup from the wind storms, so good job county in maintaining the parks! The boy and I headed out on the squires lake trail loop, then joined up to the beaver pond loop. We got off trail to walk up Squire Rd for a better view of the beaver pond...

Yesterday morning dawned cloudy and drizzly -- par for the course in the north sound in January. I had narrowed our hiking destination to three coastal options -- two without a lot of trees in case the windstorm from Friday persevered into Saturday. (Tree in wind = deathly hazard.) I spent the pre-dawn hours looking over weather reports and making a decision. The wind had died down sufficiently, so I look for "sun holes" on the radar. Whidbey Island looked like the best destination, plus it is only a short 27 miles away. Nurse Log Growing the Next Generation We headed out to a little known and little used state park, Dugualla. According to WTA.org, this little coastal oasis was purchased in 1992 to save it from logging, and I'm glad it was! With no amenities, not even a pit toilet, it feels like the Open Space county parks of my Colorado youth -- just a parking lot then a lot of trails. This equals minimal tourism, since most people funnel into the nearby fully ...

This recreation area is nestled in the fertile valleys outside of the town of Sedro-Woolley at the foot of the North Cascades. It was a state asylum "farm" that was in operation from 1909 until 1973, when most of the property was closed and later turned over to become a recreation area filled with hiking/walking trails and a disc golf course. You can explore the remains of the old dairy buildings near the parking lot, or you can walk further afield and find a few more ruins sprinkled around the property, namely old electrical sheds and a creepy pump house. For a somewhat sunny December hike with no snow, this was an easy choice. It is actually more strolling than hiking, considering that the majority of the trails are old road beds and there is no elevation gain. There are some pretty areas that feel more "wild" if you follow the main road/trail and bypass the bridge that leads to the area of the hospital that is still in use. Back here, we found a prett...

It's been a hot minute, hasn't it? Three months. I'm almost done with my first quarter at WWU. I've begun to find my place in my new home. My new direction in life is becoming more and more apparent every day. Things aren't perfect, but things are perfectly good. There was a ton of planning in my last post. Man, I am the queen of epic plans! Following through, not so much. But, I did a bit better this time: No emergency fund but bills are just barely being paid each month. To be fair, the grant funds I was counting on for an emergency fund got delayed and I won't see them until January (they issued them for winter as opposed to fall quarter because they were sent to the wrong school, my old school, initially). I know pretty much exactly where my goals are leading me now. That's a major break through.  Mo and I somehow managed to break our entire entertainment spending habit. It kind of just happened. I simply don't give a fuck anymore. The p...

There's probably a million quotes and sayings that basically boil down to the title of this post. We know they are true, most of us have lived them, and each time we think it will be different. There's a whole cadre of #vanlifers, digital nomads, retired Class A warriors, rubber and leather tramps, dirtbags, hiker trash, and general vagabonds that have been traveling to run away from themselves rather than to find themselves (whether they admit it or not). Am I one of them? An ennui set in after my last post. This ennui quickly lead to boredom, dissatisfaction, and self loathing. The self loathing won out, as it is apt to do. And for a heartbeat, I let it. Big mistake. When self loathing wins, even for a short period, the next days (and sometimes weeks) are like a hangover as you try to find the shards of you your own mind hasn't destroyed. Hm, maybe that's just me, I don't know. I "locked" myself in my room (aka: I hid behind the curtain that ma...

I used to think roots were something you were born with. The place where you were born was where your roots were, for better or worse. In that case, I was born an outsider. I never lived where I was born. I was whisked away at a few months old to where my father's roots were. I lived there for 13 1/2 years, a cottonwood puff on the wind with nowhere to land. I didn't fit in anywhere, not where I was born, not where I was planted. Homeless in my own home. I was spirited away to a different place shortly after my 14th birthday, this time to New Mexico. It was a completely foreign place to me, although we all technically existed under the same national banner. This is when I learned that a country was not a home, just a political designation. It was easy to exist in Albuquerque because it was a land of no roots. Those whose roots withered in the desert soil were mostly gone, victims of the Spanish, the Americans, and each other. Those who came later were mostly rootless ...