Christmas in Peru

I don´t really know how to talk about Christmas here.
A lot of magic and a lot of new and a lot of ordinary has happened.

A day spent urban surfing in Lima. A rendezvous with friend Jaymi in the Lima airport. Jaymi changes everything. Christmas Eve we saw a pigeon with cankels. Christmas day we flew to Cusco and Jaymi starts aclimatized to the elevation (read: lots of sleeping, eating, and cards). Boxing day we went for a walk in the morning that latest until after dark. Today we went white water rafting on the Urubamba River after several days of rain storms - great fast water.

I have large itchy things on my feet. Contending theories of causality range between poison ivy, bug bites, and athletes foot. I wishfully tell myself it is athelete´s foot. After years of athletic mediocrity, I feel like I finally made the team.

I suppose there is lots more to tell. I have at least five stories I want to go into. But blogging isn´t the same when you travel in a group. I don´t have the same deep longing for familiar social contact which I felt in Africa. I feel like the moments I´ve had here are being shared already - and the potential rewards for sharing them again by blog are therefore lessened. Sorry blog audience.

In three hours we head out on a four day trek along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. We will arrive on New Years eve and usher in 2011 in the ¨lost city¨. See you all in 2011!

Cordillera Blanca and the Laguna Parón

We booked it for the Amazon basin. After twenty hours on a bus, we were still on the coast. Spirits were low and we decided that we didn´t have time for the jungle.

On Dima´s advise, we headed to the Cordillera Blanca in the high Andes.  For the first fifty hours in bus transit, highlights included a fruit juice and calling home. Fruit juice on a bus: take an orange, cut a hole in the side, put your mouth up to the hole and squeeze. So funny to watch a bus full of people doing this. The last ten hours was in the Andes through the beautiful Cañón del Pato - a cavernous meeting of the lightly coloured Cordillera Blanca and the darker Cordilelra Negro. Thirty six hand-cut tunnels and some very steep edges. Pavlo watched anxiously out the side of the window.

In the city of Caraz, we settled in for a rest and staged for a trip into the Laguna Parón. It was a nice hike with more than twenty river crossings.

At one point, a waterfall rendered the path impassible. I went low and found a steep traverse (5.7) to get across. Pavlo went high and got well acquainted with some steep rock slopes.

Then a rainy night at 4200m elevation in one of the most epic camp sites I´ve ever found - at the end of a massive sand spit right on the water. The cloud cover was thick, but we could see each of the six > 6000 m peaks surrounding us one at a time.

In the morning we headed upward for the vista. Granite walls and perfect blue lagoons, we touched the glacier at 4500m and turned around.

After the four hour descent to the road, we walked 22 km before a truck finally picked us up. When you ride in the back of a cargo truck with holes in the floor and zero suspension, the world is a gun fight and every turn is on two wheels. But we hit home just as darkness falls and the rain picks up.

La Uña de la Grand Bestia

We met an Ecuadorian guy, Sebastien. Skinny, sun burned badly, he´s a lonely character. Has been mugged enough times, he´s afraid of everything now. He loved our stories of where we went in Ecuador. His synopses - ¨You guys have been to the worst possible places, but you seem to have the best time!¨ He comes to the beach town of Canoa every year since he was a boy. He produces movies, and comes here to get away from it all and revise screenplays. His laptop broke on his first day here, so now he mostly smokes and drinks.

We went out with him one night. Had a few rounds at the Surf Shack, a local gringo hangout. ¨Do you guys want a real local experience?¨ he asks. We say yes. He takes us down the beach to where there is a large boat in a high sand dune. The boat has been converted nicely into a bar. ¨The owner is a real character¨ he says and repeats himself several times before we arrive ¨a real character.¨ He explains that the coast is sort of the wild part of Ecuador. It´s where men once settled their differences with machetes on the beach. Things have changed, but some of the mentalities of justice live on through violent crime syndicates in the coastal cities. We passed through one such city en route to Canoa called Puertovejho - while we were there, we were told once to stay inside, once to move along, and once to run. Most of the surf towns along the coast suffer from gang crime. Except Canoa, a huge surf town. ¨It´s the best place in Ecuador,¨ says Sebastien.

We approach the ship and have a seat at the bar. Sebastien introduces us to Don Calisto - an old man with hard eyes and deep creases through his whole face. Sebastien is good friends with the Don. He made the Don´s bar famous. The Don is happy to see him.

Sebastien and the Don talk about old times in rapid Spanish. I can´t understand anything. Sebastien translates to English one sentence in ten. Basically, Sabastien helped publish the Don´s life story in a famous newspaper in Ecuador, which earned the Don and his bar national fame. The basic story is that the Don and his henchman ¨El Tractor¨ were hardcore junkies in Peurtovejho. Huge crack heads and the worst sort of criminals. A huge history of violent crime. Story after story about some guy who messed with some guy and then El Tractor goes and puts a gun to their heads. Sometimes he shoots, it seems. He´s named El Tractor because he only ever moves forward.

Eventually they got sick of this violent life. They moved to Canoa and set up shop in an abandoned ship where they could live out the rest of their lives in quiet peace on the beach. They still use their mafia influence, but they do so to keep the city quiet. A place for tourists to surf and drop money.

Sabastien tells us why we´re here. He tells us of how The Don and El Tractor dropped their crack habit. They make a special drink. A now infamous drink. Called ¨La Uña de la Grand Bestia¨ or The Claw of the Great Beast. It is a special homemade liquor of 100 proof alcohol aged for one year with a special mix which pickles in the alcohol - whole marijuana plans, whole coca plants, and the right combination of venomous scorpion and centipede remains. You can seem them all floating around in the 50 liter glass jars he has on the bar. Apparently, just do 20 shots of this a day and it will cure you of your crack addiction.

We have a shot each, which becomes two. The Don joins us. We buzz. We eat pizza and laugh. We leave the bar and when we come back, El Tractor greets us. Sebastien and El Tractor embrace. A few more shots. You can taste the scorpion as you chew the drink. The coca stays in your teeth. The centipedes spin round in your head. It´s pleasant after a few.

I stumble around in the morning. I´ve lost my glasses, lost my head lamp, lost my hat. I walk out barefoot into the city street. Mud everywhere. The Don passes me on a cell phone. I smile and try to make eye contact as he looks straight through me. The streets have so much more character now.

Surfing in Canoa

Alrighty! We´ve headed west to the coast and landed in Canoa a world class surf destination. The waves couldn´t be better! Canoa was loud and bumpin for the weekend, but things have calmed down nicely. We´ve found a perfect place to chill out for five or six days and we have rented long boards which now accompany us everywhere. We´ve surfed four days straight now. So nice to lose the wet suit.

Here´s some snaps from this morning.

Life is mostly surfing and reading, though there have been a few interesting nights. The Argentinian owner of Che´s Pizza attracted our attention with his rasta atmosphere, his Jamaican styled shanty, and his Spanish music evangelizing marijuana and calling for the revolution. We lay in his hammocks for hours feasting on pizzas from his rustic army stove.

Last night we went for a walk at dusk and ran into Lady, a Columbian traveler we had met at Che´s Pizza. We accompanied her to a Mexican friend´s birthday where we were a party of only six in the abandoned bar. Still, we filled the dance floor - Pavlo taking Columbian Salsa lessons from Lady, while I tossed Lady´s three year old daughter into repetative flips and spins.

View from our hostel

I´ve now headed solo by bus into the nearest town for a bank and Internet fascility. Pavlo is on the beach with Lady styling his hair. Pavlo owes me huge. I´m writing this post (and a few others) from a black and white monitor. I hope the photos look alright...

Quilotoa Loop, Central Highlands

We went for a walk and it was very nice. We tented on the shore of this crater lake, and then walked through the next couple towns from Quilotoa to Chunchilan.




A Half-Hearted Post from the Grave

We are sick as dogs. I think it´s the altitude. Pavlo thinks it was the Cotipaxi cheese. The power has been out for two days. I was up all night throwing up - Pavlo says to me ¨finally you´re the one with some issues.¨ At 4am I heard him vomiting too. I´m back on my feet now - he´s bedridden.

But the mountains are so beautiful - I can´t imagine a better place to be sick.

There is much to tell, but I´m simply not up for it. No pictures cause this computer sucks. Festivals in Quito. The most amazing bull fighting. A flat-bed into the mountains and two days of trekking. Crater lakes and so much beauty. I´m going back to bed.

Bull Running in Quito

Hemingway wrote that an artistically good bullfight requires “good bullfighters and good bulls; artistic bullfighters and poor bulls do not make interesting fights….” He is right and I wrote a story about it, and it made me cry one single tear, and then I deleted it, and now you´ll never see it, and I can´t seem to write it again no matter how hard I try, and it´s really quite a sad loss.

Needless to say, bull fighting is pretty cool and pretty brutal. I couldn´t believe the things I saw on this day.

Pavlo and I took bets as to which bull fighter who be killed. Pavlo bet Yellow, I bet classic Red. Pavlo won in the first fight. The man was stabbed against the ground many times by the bull. It didn´t kill him - but in the spirit of the bet, I give the win to Pavlo. The man later stood up and killed the bull dishonorably. The third fighter was really quite magnificent and he taught us what the sport is about. The fifth fighter shall not be spoken of until I can re-write the story mentioned above. The last fighter was booed out of the arena.

The crowd was amazing.

At one point, a man ran onto the field with his own cape and tried to fight the bull. This man tried very hard to taunt the bull with his cape. Another man tried very hard to tackle him as he did this. A group of men tried to distract the bull. The bull tried to kill everybody. Eventually the man go pinned against the side of the arena with the bull in pursuit. He brought his cape up in defense, but a man grabbed him and held the cape down. This man was punched in the face promptly and the bull was avoided. The police came from behind and grabbed the man by the neck dragged him backwards over the arena wall. All very amusing.

This man has the unfortunate job of having to stab the bull
over-top his horns and using both hands at once. The bull is not
wounded when he faces it, and the man has no cape to aid him.

I felt this man was under-appreciated by all.

Quito, Ecuador - Safe arrivals

We have landed in Quito, Ecuador. Just look how beautiful it is:

They speak spanish here. Like a lot.

The country´s largest festival is in full swing - we have tickets to the bull fights tomorrow.

Best moments have all been Pavlo. "The !#$ing toilet won´t flush and it !"#$ing has a terd in it."
Pavlo has eaten a napkin.

Pavlo has cried in public.

Pavlo is the best travel companion ever.

Las Vegas

I'm last in line to board the plane. I hand my ticket to the attendant - Vancouver to San Francisco.

"You guys goin' to Vegas?" he  asks through a smile.
"How did you know?" I reply puzzled.
He says nothing and waves us onto the plane.

The ticket reads San Francisco.
Maybe he overheard a conversation?
Maybe he saw my connecting ticket?
Maybe he watched us chug those 24 oz beers in the restaurant across from the gate.
No. I decided that we are oozing some kind of unmistakable Vegas aura. The stoke factor is high: we're heading for the bright lights and the dessert. Sunny weather. New rock. New friends. New adventures.

We arrive in Las Vegas just after midnight and we're hung over already. A cab takes us to the Sahara Hotel. Fifty years ago the Sahara Hotel was the camel's pajamas. A lot changes in fifty years. Frequent exposure to cigarette smoke takes a tole on the luster of any wall papering and the new atmosphere of the Sahara attracts a budget clientele. I watch row upon row of joyless slot-players in the dingy smelly open room. A 70 year old woman sits hunched over the "Playboy" slot machine fondling buttons with pictures of girl's asses. I ponder the health effects of n-th hand smoke and I spend $1 on the slots. I don't understand the game - how do I make these things align? I suck at this game. We leave the hotel to search for late night eats, but the nachos were synthetic. At least the beds are soft.

The next morning we go to The Strip, find some much better food, and then head to digest it by the pool. We make it half way to the pool before getting distracted by signs advertising "Indoor Skydiving." We jump off the bus and don full-body jump suits. The four of us enter a vertical wind tunnel and take turns experiencing simulated free-fall. After twenty minutes, we are ready to forsake reality forever and spend our life's savings on a wind tunnel - how hard can it be?

Darkness falls fast and we change out of our jump suits and into our alter egos: moustaches for the gents and dangly earrings for the lady, we all have retro 70s regalia and cool aliases like Chaz, Wayde, DeMonte, and Feather Johnson. Dinner, margaritas, and our own renditions of Queen kick the night off right. The group comes together. Then the Bellagio and six straight wins at the black-jack table. Soon, I'm betting the farm on green. Fate's fickled finger points to thirty-three red and we feel the first loss of the night. Humbled, Chaz and I briefly retreat to safer bets. 

Not destined for a conservative night, soon the chips start to roll and I place the first big bet of the night. 

I'm not thinking. Black. $100 chips feel just like $5 chips until they're on the table. I regret the bet immediately.

"No more bets" and a wave of the hand. 

I can't watch. I walk away and from a distance I watch Chaz watch the wheel spinning. What have I done? What a waste.

Chaz winces and lowers his head in defeat. Walking over he groans, "sorry man." My heart and my colon meet. 
"You @#$%ing won!!"  he lights up. We laugh and I promise I'll get him back for this deception. We have beat the Bellagio - it's time to move on. 

Feather, Wayde, DeMonte, Chaz
(Front to Back)

Our group gets separated and Chaz and I are outside waiting on the Strip. We sit down just off the walk-way. We idle but for a second. I fill my hat with change and place it at Chaz's feet. We heckle and cajole. "Can you spare some change for two hustlers down on their luck?" The suits, the moustaches, it's all perfect. We earn $7 in the first three minutes.

Time to hit the clubs. Feather gets us VIP with ease. "Except him," says the bouncer, "you'll never get him in anywhere wearing those." He points to my choice of footwear for the evening. People don't appreciate high-end flip-flops. 

We're already on a first name basis with the security guard. She jovially escorts us to a store where we can buy shoes. Closed. 
Plan B: We begin to canvas the area looking for men with size 10 shoes. I offer up to $150 to anybody who will part with their footwear. Only one taker - his feet are too small. Fifteen minutes pass and I'm still unshod. 

Plan C: We find a new store. It's open but sells no shoes. I buy a $4 pair of navy blue socks and put them on over top of my flip flops. Back to the VIP line, we breeze past the first bouncer. Then we're through the full body search. Elation! We're in!  $30 cover? We walk away.

I disappear from the group. It's time to get Chaz back for his tricks. Soon a crowd of ten plump 50 year old women are all cheering loudly. "Chaz! Chaz! Chaz!!" He answers the call. He's so smooth. I egg on the crowd more until their cheers change "Do it! Do it!"  Chaz looks baffled. "What!? What am I supposed to do?" he screams over the cheering. It takes a while - then the largest of the women yells "Your Elvis Impersonation!" It takes a second but soon Chaz is twitching his legs and twisting. He grunts "ah huh huh" over and over, but he clearly doesn't know a single Elvis lyric.

It is true that if you double your bet every time you lose, then you'll almost certainly recover your loses. However, my pocket book failed to sustain exponential growth and we quickly found ourselves facing the inevitable catastrophe. We consulted the fates and they decided that we should go for it: one final spin of the wheel with the rest of the night on the line. 


We lost. But walked home with everything we had wanted to win

(... except for all that money)

Photos courtesy of Cowboy J

Published in Drive Out Magazine

Drive Out Magazine published a story about Ralf and his amazing adventure through Africa. They used my account of our time together in Malawi to answer the interview question "Have you ever been stuck badly?" I'm published! Though they took some creative liberties and didn't give me credit ... w/e

Ascending the Northwest Face of Half Dome

Half Dome as seen from Glacier Point

You should know:

1. This was a fairly safe activity.
2. Looking back, this appears to be pretty ridiculous.
3. The indisputable trip leader of our voyage was my dear friend Mr. Dima. He's the man. Whatever emotions this post evokes within you, please credit 65% of them to Dima and 35% to myself. This includes (but is in no way limited to) emotions such as joy, anxiety, concern, gassiness, fatigue, etc.
4. Shoutout to ma family on this one.
5. I don't know why I did this. But I'm happy I did. For those of you who said I shouldn't do it, know that I considered and respect your opinions.

*           *          *

3:45 am - I am politely awoken by a rumbling cell phone.  I'm naked beneath a down sleeping bag. No tent tonight, we camp under the stars. Only half the sky has stars tonight. Snooze.

3:55 am - I am arrogantly awoken by a beeping watch. No more snoozing. "Want some protein bar?" I ask. "No thanks," I hear.
"Want some goo?" I hear.
"No thanks."

Dima on approach. Our climb progresses up the left
of the wall in the background.

We are sleeping 20 meters from the base of the of Yosemite Valley's infamous Half Dome. The 2000' vertical northwest face towered over us, occluding the sky. Dima thinks that we can complete this 2300' climb in a single day. I am dubious. But who was I to tell him we can't?

We arrived here twelve hours earlier in the full heat of the California sun traveling first by plane, then car, then bus, and finally foot. We had approached via some scrambling/hiking on a pleasant walk up The Death Slabs. As I suspected, the hiking was non fatal. But the adventure already had me tired and scared.

We had climbed the first 400' of the face after the hike and watched the sun setting from a small ledge. Turkey sandwiches go well with sunsets. I was tired and had struggled immensely through the climbing - fatigue, dehydration, and hunger was affecting me only a few hours after leaving camp. I suppose my vigorous regiment of keyboarding, 3am bed times, and a strict diet of PBnJ has its toll.

Dima 60m out on pitch 9.
The climb continues up the prominent
chimney flake.

We left our two ropes fixed to the wall and stashed the gear on the ledge. We slept at the base and soon woke. I left my headlamp in the bag stashed up high, so I had to ascend our ropes in darkness. Ascending is easy if you do it right. I learned to do it right after about 1800', so my start was slow and tiring.  When we reached the ledge and the bag, the sky glowed from a sunrise hidden by the wall's shadow.  

The next section of climbing progresses up a long thin crack which arches to the right. This section is too hard for me to climb without help. Dima may be able to climb it, but we are emphasizing speed and safety today - so he places gear into the crack and uses it to aid his ascent. The next bit of climbing is a few grades easier, so Dima climbs it using gear only for protection.  Dima is now has 200' of rope between him and where we started. He reaches a predetermined place to stop and fixes himself to the rock using gear. He signals to me that he is secure and I ascend the rope or climb the rock until I reach him. Repeat this process 23 times, and you've climbed Half Dome.

So that's what we did.  And it was beautiful and consistently intense. There are lots of great people who thoroughly detail what the climbing is like [1] [2] [3] [4]. There is an approximate map below. I'll detail a few highlights.


The Robbin's Traverse  - You are climbing. Your goal is to go up. You reach an impassable section of wall. If only you were 15' to the side ... then you could climb the easy looking rock over that'a'way. You need to set up a pendulum! Fix the rope to a point on the wall, then sit back on the rope and lower yourself downward. Now you can swing freely on the rope. Run right, run left, run right to start swinging. As you swing, let out more rope to increase the size of the swing.  Eventually you'll reach the easier climbing and you are now free to continue upward.

The Robbin's Traverse is a section of unclimbable rock with 9 bolts in it which form a sort of ladder (called a bolt ladder). When you get to the top, you set up a pendulum to traverse right. It's an awesome playful feeling. My first pendulum. Good times.

Dima ready to start the pendulum.

The Chimneys  - Granite walls always have huge flakes of rock which hang awkwardly off the wall. Likely my favorite formations on granite are these detached flakes - like Boomstick flake in Squamish, where a flake of rock floats 1'' off a parallel face coming to a knife's edge which you walk. Sometimes these flakes get so big that you can get your whole body inside them and you can walk up the inside like you're in a chimney. Half Dome has two chimney pitches inside some big big flakes (depicted in the background above).  Dima reminds me regularly "I hate chimneys." So, I was leading the chimneys today - but I got scared and didn't do it. When Dima got up high into the squeeze section of the second narrow chimney, he called down "I don't think I can do it." Never have I heard such words from Dima's mouth. Needless to say, he did it.

Five o'clock comes too soon - With 550' left to climb we prepared to overnight on Big Sandy Ledge. It was neither big, nor sandy. We had a pad and a bivy sack for the two of us to share. I dozed on a 3' ledge using a raincoat around my legs. At 8500' elevation, I found the wind too cold for my liking. I was very happy when Dima said, "Want a jacket? I'm not using it" and gave me his coat. He was using it.

We had a good conversation and slept poorly. I dreamt.

Dima soaking in the sunset rays after a day in the shade
and before a cold night. Sponsored by Black Diamond.

Thank God Ledge - The whole route goes straight up underneath a massive overhanging rock called The Visor. The first party to climb Half Dome named the ledge "Thank God Ledge" because it allowed them to move left and out from under The Visor, passing around it instead of over it. It narrows to less than 1' with no hands. Dima walked it. My backpack kept my center of gravity behind me; so I crawled and hung off the side traversing by hand when it got too narrow. Crazy exposure.

Dima waves to the gods.

Topping Out  - The pace on the second day was more relaxed, but an encroaching storm has us both briefly scared. After thirty six hours on the rock, we were greeted by hiking tourists at the top. Most arrive after a few hours of hiking. They were happy to share some much-appreciated water. 

It felt great to be off the wall. I was ready to be done. Now it is just a matter of a long descent back to camp via chains, hiking, and then a bus. It took us a while, but the valley's scenery and waterfalls were engaging and spectacular. Time passed quickly as we dreamed of cold beer and All-Star Sausage Pizza.

*          *           *

Yellow - Approach (3 hours)

Red - Climb (36 hours)

Not Shown - Descent (5 hours)

Volume II - Beyond the sabbatical

Okay - so I'm not on sabbatical anymore. But I've missed blogging so I'm just going to start again. You object, "but it's call Kenn's Sabbatical!?" Well, get used to it. I'm not even going to change the name. Take that!!!!!

“Real rebels are rarely anything but second rate outside their rebellion; the drain of time and temper is ruinous to any other accomplishment.”

I'm back at work and back in Canada for what continues to be the most enjoyable of summers. A high percentage of the adventuring takes place at a keyboard - but I've also been out in the mountains for the majority of weekends. I wish I had blogged about it all. Since I didn't, this post offers a brief catchup. In later posts, I'll slow it down and introduce a few of the new characters.

I found a new house in Vancouver with a fabulous group of people. It's bright pink and blue near Gericho beach in Vancouver's west end. My new roommates are fabulous and have become good friends and we're currently planning a trip to Peru together in December.

I'm back at work and loving it.  My first project was to spend a couple months building a new tool which could drive a cost saving business process. I released the tool a few months ago and the response has been very positive. It's the most successful piece of software I've ever written already. Since completing the tool, I've started a new project on a different team with totally new technologies. Things have been slow to progress, but I released some infrastructure last week. I'm looking forward to seeing it take flight over the coming month. Needless to say, I've been spending a lot of time at the keyboard.

It's been a good summer in the mountains, with many fabulous moments spent with friends both new and old. Some highlights have been the ski summit of Mount Hood in Oregon, a climb up Squamish's Grand Wall (depicted left with stolen picture), a road trip down to Yosemite where we climbed Cathedral Peak and Matthes Crest, the discovery of a rope swing at Brohm Lake (depicted below), a successful climb up Angel's Crest (in stark contrast to last summer's attempt), a rainy attempt of Infinite Bliss, and a clean trad lead of Seasoned in the Sun (the climb which started it all). I also enjoyed a visit to see The President in Kelowna.

Jaymi drove in from Winnipeg for an awesome visit after returning from a year in China. Our surf trip to Tofino yeilded some sweet waves and an unexpected head-on highway collision. Everybody walked away with minor injuries except for my roommate Nate who wasn't wearing his seatbelt - he was entirely uninjured. Hopefully we can skip these dramas on next weekend's surf trip down to West Point, Washington when Drew is in town.

I'm planning to lead Grand Wall with Tim the following week. Going up this climb behind Dima in May was amazing and exhausting and epic. Avacado sandwiches with Dima on the top of the Split Pillar (depicted) is one of my fondest memories of climbing. I'm not sure if I'm ready to lead the climb and the whole idea has me on edge. I'm a climbing brute with strength and bravery but very little technique. Regardless, this is the blog post I'm looking most forward to writing.

This post reads like a list; it's not a nice read. If anybody requests to hear more about the things listed here, I can write about them - but I'm not currently planning on it. I needed to put it all down to move forward because it's the next steps that I'm looking forward to the most. I feel like there are some big journies and some major life changes coming up. All my best friends seem to be taking big steps right now - be it by taking a chance on new passions abroad, or returning home after years overseas, or quitting their job to chase a dream, or establishing deep roots in place.

As the gloom of another Vancouver winter threatens, I'm looking for my own next steps. Volume II begins.

Life in vancouver

Back home! Pretty cool. I miss blogging though.

Did a nice road trip down the Oregon coast. My friends bailed 50m from the summit of mount hood, so I stood on the peak alone before skiing from peak to base. Three consecutive weekends in squeamish resulted in a nice start to the climbing season: lunch on the top of split pillar halfway up the grand wall with dema, lunch on bellygood lunch after a morning on stairway to heaven with tim dema and new room mate nate. Solid leads on some 9s and easy 10s. No lead falls yet for the season. Really loving it.

Back to the office I'm working on a tool which drives a novel quality process for web ui testing. Pretty interesting and I had a pretty intense couple weeks at the keys. I got an iPad, and a macbook and am starting to dev for the app store. Two feet always. Nice to get the brain going again.

New house is the best show in town right now. Four roomies: performing artists, musicians, photographers - beautiful people all around. "take it leave it Tuesdays" are our weekly dinner party and jam session. Means I'm playing with the keyboard again with aspirations of harmonica.

Coming up is a 24 pitch climb in the north cascades with shann. Approach includes a river crossing which I'm super psyched about doing. I'm psyched about alpine style climbing for this summer. Going to summit baker on skis soon as part of our "mountain a month" preparation for Aconcagua in December.

Work keeps me toiling over cool problems on most days and I get outside when i can. It's not Africa, but i'm still finding myself having fun every once in a while by accident.

Written from my iPad.

Trip Overview and Fast Action Replay

I've been getting a lot of traffic now that the sabbatical is over. Thought I'd give a little summary for new comers.

Shown is my actual route through Africa.


Fast Action Replay:

• Quad biking in the Namib Desert
• Wilderness safari in Etosha National Park [2]
• Hitch-hiking through Botswana and Zimbabwe
• Walking safari in the Okavango Delta with lion
• Victoria Falls and rafting the Zambezi River
• Radiculous travel companions in Malawi
• Relaxing on Lake Malawi
• Walking and camping on the the Nyika Plateau
• Learning to white water kayak on the Nile
• Gorillas, rainforest, and volcanos in Uganda

Pictures from sorted by country and are posted here.

Entebbe, Uganda - Heading Home

Wow! I'm in Entebbe living out my last moments in Africa. My flight home to Vancouver departs in just a few hours. Lots of great times in South-Western Uganda this last week with Shann - it's been great.

I had one professional development ambition for the sabbatical - to learn F#. Epic fail. Instead, I spent the time debating over extending my sabbatical indefinitely via a letter of resignation. Usually I thought about beginning a year long trans-continental sea kayaking expedition in the Mediterranean. But it turns out that three months was just long enough and I'm really very stoked about my return to Vancouver and put my nose back to the grindstone as employee 373952 next Monday. Truth is that I miss familiar friends and faces both in Vancouver and Seattle/Bellevue.

I'm wondering what happened to all my little projects and programs while I've been in Africa? What clever co-worker has mutated my tool to fill a purpose I never intended? I wrote three new programs the week before my sabbatical - I wonder if any of them were ever used. I see that Bing's maps are now integrated with photosynth. The future is now, man.

I also can't wait to see a doctor. I have so many things wrong with me: schistosomiasis, folliculitis, hemorrhoids, weird skin rashes, tooth aches, a soar throat, etc.

Lake Mutanda, Uganda

With only two days of time left, Shann and I headed to Lake Mutanda in the very southwest corner of Uganda. It was a nice motorcycle ride to a school by the lake and then a short walk for some much needed R&R. We ate pumpkin, swam, and played cards. Chill spot.

Whilst departing for Entebbe and home, I asked Shannon to hold my things so I could go interject in the soccer game being played by some unsuspecting school children. I ran after the ball and easily stole it from the first child, but the soccer ball was made of garbage bags and the grass was extremely wet. This surprised me and threw me off guard - I quickly tripped over myself and the ball and went sprawling forward. The whole school laughed uproariously and everybody simultaneously swarmed the field. The soccer game went from ten players to fifty, and Shannon was mauled by more than a hundred school children wanting to shake her hand. Eventually we ran out of the school away with giggling children buzzing around us like flies. Good memory.

I thought I'd let you all in on the drama of our rummie game. The graph has lost the time component as our data collection wasn't mindful of visualizations. Must be rusty. But as you can see - 'twas still epic.

Gorilla Tracking in Mhinga National Park

The most publicized tourist adventure in Uganda is the tracking of the families of habituated mountain gorillas. There are only a couple hundred mountain gorillas left in the world (all in Uganda, Rwanda, and the Congo) and they have never successfully been bread in captivity. So they're kinda a big deal. Kinda cool but comes with a heft price tag to spend only an hour with them.

The first guy I met who had done it was in Botswana. He paid $1000 for a gorilla tracking permit online. When this permit turned out to be fake, park rangers refused to let him go. He bought a second permit for $500 from the park rangers but fell ill and missed his tracking date. He finally got to track gorillas after purchasing a third permit. His experience consisted of thirty minutes of tracking and a one hour session with the gorillas. $1333 per hour? He claimed it was the best thing he had ever done.

I later met Joseph, likely the most experienced traveler I've ever met. He recounted the tale of his twelve-hour trek up the steep slopes of the Impenetrable Forest to find the illusive gorillas. He said it was fabulously worth while and a bargain for money. He also mentioned how deforested Uganda was now compared to when he visited many years ago and claimed that the future of the gorilla was bleak. He convinced me at the time, but in retrospect I disagree as gorilla tracking is now the third largest industry in Rwanda. With permit prices doubling in the next two years, even the DRC is protecting their gorillas.

Shann and I went.  It was pretty cool. Shann describes it better.

The silver-back screamed at our guides and walked to his lady via a path just a couple meters in front of us making eye contact. That put us in our place.		The baby swung around playfully.

The next day we stayed in the park to bag the three peaks of Mount Sabinyo in the Virunga range of volcanoes. It was a casual hike with a few new friends from New Zealand. On the third peak, we stood in Uganda, Rwanda, and the Congo at the same time. We played twister - right arm Uganda, left leg Rwanda above the border. We had lunch in the Congo - despite being brief, its the thirteenth country I visited on my sabbatical.

This was the closest we've been to the rainforest depicted in my dreams. I must say that the majesty of Jumanji continues to illude me, but it is still beautiful. The third peak was the highest and best as the last 200 meters were vertical and conquered by a series of sketchy wooden ladders. I think this might have been the first hike I've done with Shann which she actually enjoyed.

Isabel's Pygmies

My friend Isabel has always wanted to be pygmy goat farmer. We walked through a Batwa village and saw some pygmy children singing and playing. I just couldn't stop laughing when I saw their goats - though their was nothing exceptional about them.

It wasn't a pygmy goat, but I took a picture of the pygmy's goat thinking of Isabel.

Kigali, Rawanda

Traffic is so orderly: cars stop at crosswalks and motos yield to pedestrians. The streets are impeccably clean: we saw a woman cleaning dirt and throwing it out; and women sweeping the streets - but get this... the brooms have handles! What is this place? Where am I? Despite the orderly nature of the streets, I've been in several near traffic accidents. Eventually I realized that they were driving on the right side of the road. It feels so strange. I felt strangely comforted when a moto refused to yield.

Everything is so chic. It's Easter weekend - so we're seeing the best people have - but there are true signs of opulence here. Everybody seems to have a stylish cardigan to throw over their immaculately clean tailored shirts. Children wear three piece suits. Billboard advertisements for online banking? Really? In stark contrast, I'm unshaven and my white shirts are regularly soiled on the minute-long walk from the clothesline to the tent.

I'm moving at the pace of a man who's been on vacation for three months and I suspect it's maybe a bit slow for Shann. We spend most of our time sitting and eating, or preparing to sit and eat in a new place. Kigali has no shortage of venues for fine dining - even gas stations have nice restaurants with French, Italian, or Indian on the menu. We sat, played cards, and drank beer at the Hotel des Mille Collines and shared a somber moment on the rooftop overlooking the lights of Kigali. Two long dinners at Indian restaurants have been tasty and fabulously relaxing - but we can't quite seem to shake the stress of paying the "absurd prices" - costs comparable to home.

It's always neat when your expectations for a place are so thoroughly in contrast with reality. Its nice here, but I feel strangely unsettled by the luxuries. I'm self conscious of being so incredibly and illogically frugal - though I feel that Ralf was maybe right when he phrases it living efficiently. If the small luxuries of Rwanda irk me so, what will it be like to return to the wealth and luxury of Canada in just one week? It feels like it's all drawing to a close too soon.


[Edit: 8/4/10] In retrospect: although I seem to want to consider myself some sort of luxury averse wilderness explorer, in sober truth I'm craving comfortable beds, marathons of Seinfeld episodes, dinner parties, and lots and lots of time with friends outdoors. I'm really in the mood to re-watch familiar movies.

Francais c'est Joyeux

Shannon and I arrived in Kigali, Rwanda yesterday. English is an official language and the language of instruction in schools - but its too new - just French. I took nearly six years of mandatory French classes. It was my worst subject. I just didn't enjoy it - but oh, how things have changed! I recruit a pretty waitress to help me conjugate avoir on a cocktail napkin over breakfast. French is my favourite thing in Rwanda.

We're looking for accomodation at "St. Paul's". I'm pretty sure St. Paul's is a church. I ask a man "Ou est St. Paul's?" He becons for us to follow him. I want to confirm that St. Paul's is a church but realise I don't know the word for church after I've started the question .... "Qui es St. Paul's ... pour le Jesus?" Blank stare.

I camp - Je tente.
We camp - Nous tentons.

Shannon speaks better french than me, but she's too busy laughing at me or being embarrassed by me to ever use it.

Bumpy roads and spitting cobras - let the touring begin.

Today's post comes from guest author and traveling companion Shannon Rolph. Enjoy her emotive writing.

"Kenn and I are now on the road. We decided that we would head to the Southwest of Uganda – a land packed with rolling hills, crater lakes, lowland rainforest, highland valleys, and sky-piercing mountain ranges. It is beautiful!

After our first days spent touring caves and lakes around Fort Portal (see Kenn’s post on this here), we decided that this would be a great opportunity to head into the Semliki Valley – a lowland rainforest that is continuous with the Congolese Uturi forest, the largest in Africa. There were two things I didn’t anticipate about this trip: 1) how incredibly beautiful the drive would be; 2) how absolutely terrifying the drive would be.

Myth: A matatu that drives full speed around blind corners on the edge of a 100 metre dropoff with only it’s blaring horn to protect you from any oncoming vehicles is really, really scary.

Fact: A matatu that drives full speed around blind corners on the edge of a 100 metre dropoff without blaring it’s horn to protect you from any oncoming vehicles is really, REALLY scary.

We took the 2 hour journey in a jam-packed rickety matatu with babies on our laps, flying around blind corners with enormous dropoffs only inches away (the tires definitely left the gravel a few times), all for the sake of getting to this rainforest.

We got to the rainforset – went for a walk – saw some monkeys and big trees – but otherwise it was truthfully a little bit disappointing. The highlight was probably seeing a 2.5 metre spitting cobra. We heared it before we saw it; it was hustling down a tree trunk trying to get out of sight as we approached and made a ruckus as it hit the ground.

After seeing the cobra, we walked on and soon looped back. As we were crossing the same point that the cobra was first seen, there was a loud rustling in the trees overhead. I turned to our guide, Moses, and asked, “What kind of monkeys are up there?” Moses looked at me, fear in his eyes, and responded with a thick accent, “spitting cobra.” The look on my face must have been quite rewarding because he burst into laughter and continued to laugh at his joke for a solid 5 minutes afterwards. I jumped at every rustling in the bush for a solid 45 minutes afterwards. Jokes about deadly snakes - not funny!

I'm now sitting in a cafe in Rwanda drinking the nicest coffee I've had in 2 months. We just arrived in Kigali and I'm really looking forward to exploring (and testing out my grade 10 French) - Internet seems to be more common around here, so I'll be sure to update a bit more often!

xoxo"

Ambeere Caves

The first day of "Milestone Shannon" has begun. We left for the Ambeere Caves outside of Fort Portal.

We swam under a glacier waterfall drifting down from the Rwenzori Mountains - Africa's highest mountain range.

We entered the Ambeere Caves - literally translating to "Breast Caves." Named as such because the stalagmites are apparently shaped like breasts and the water turns white as it drips down the limestone. They didn't look like any breasts I've ever seen - but then again, breasts in Africa are just different. I also couldn't make out the slaughtered dog or miscellaneous cow parts in the rock which the local people center their legends around.

We saw some crater lakes and hiked some Rwenzori foothills.

We got lost on our way back to camp and joined a small procession walking in the right direction - four people walking through the bush with a large flag raised high. When we asked them how to get to the caves, they asked us "so you want to go to prison?" We were quite confused and decided to find our own way.

Back on the road again. Nice to travel with Shann. So smiley.

Luke's Kayaking Adventures

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Upstream without a Paddle

To recap - I let the kayaking paddle drift away after swimming during a lesson near class 4 rapid Easy Rider at the source of the Nile in Jinja, Uganda. The paddle sunk and was not recovered. It was a rare and important asset for my friends working at the local kayaking business.

I met the owner of the paddle, Safa. The previous day, we had had negotiated the price of a bike rental and I had learned many of his negotiating tactics. I was happy to have done business with him previously as we entered discussions regarding the paddle.

He recognized his upper hand and played on my guilt in negotiation. His argument was that I had forced Luke to take me to Easy Rider despite it being out of my league, I had lost the paddle due to negligence and ruined his business in doing so. As a result, he could no longer afford to eat or go to school. I was a bad man who had screwed him horribly. It would cost me $100 USD to remedy this. I was happy he started at $100 USD as this was where I had hoped to end negotiation should it end at dollars for paddles. But selfishly, I was excited about trying to acquire or build a new paddle.

First, I was going to buy a kayaking paddle on the internet and ship it to Uganda. I found base model whitewater kayaking paddles for $25 at Walmart.com but they don't ship to Uganda. I thought of shipping it home, then having mommy forward it to Ward in Jinja, then having Safa pick it up. Cost is $25 purchase + estimated $40 shipping + estimated $25 tariff, but best case timeframe is likely a month. Safa wanted reparations for lost income - $2.50 per day for the rental of the paddle. This was a deal breaker.

Second, buy a paddle from one of the local kayaking schools. They held firm at $300. Nope.

Third, buy fins and a medal pipe. Fishermen find lost rafting paddles and resell them for $5. I found two for sale, but I felt bad about it as I knew who the proper owners were. I found proper owned paddles for $10, and a pipe for $3. I was ready to buy when Safa said that the quality would be insufficient to replace the lost paddle which been a professional paddle. I didn't give into this argument easily, but he was right.

Fourth, my friend Fatia brought a paddle which belonged to a friend. I got her down to $40 for the paddle. Again, Safa objected to the quality saying it would break if you used it on the class 5.5 rapid Big Brother. To be fair - it was old and cracked, the shaft was fiberglass instead of medal, and it had two left fins - but the paddle I lost wasn't exactly perfect either. I took it to the water to test it myself. Eventually I gave it to my friend Tony who took it down Big Brother - he said he liked the paddle better than the one I had lost.
I was feeling like I had it, but Safa still refused the deal - willing to accept only $100. Luke said "I want paddle, but he - he only want money." I was solidifying my assumption that Safa was just trying to exploit the situation for a profit. I was very firm in my resolve to push the paddle instead of money.

Safa got angry and I thought he was going to hit me. He threatened to call the police - a clear bluff. Eventually the story of the lost paddle's origins came forth - Safa had washed an Irishman's clothes for four months and paid him $70 for the professional freestyle paddle. The waterproofing of the paddle had been ruined when Safa paid to have it modified from freestyle to whitewater form. Safa seemed sincerely hurt by my insistence and became very troubled. I'm so used to people starting with outrageous prices and then paying one quarter of that - but I was now convinced Safa had started with a fair price. I reasoned that I had pushed this ordeal far enough and we went to town together so I could get him $90.

I also bought some blades and a pipe and gave them to Luke. Despite being low quality, Luke will no longer spend 15% of his income renting paddles from Safa when he works in the kayak. And maybe his kayaking pupils will feel more comfortable having an instructor with a paddle.

Kayaking the Nile II

I have managed to get out in the kayak for five more lessons. I kayak early in the morning and late in the afternoon to avoid the sun. I had a stomach and bowel infestation for about ten days and so went kayaking only when I felt up to it. I have since terminated the infestation with a healthy dose of antibiotic.




It seems that all of Luke's kayaking lessons can be summed up using one of the following statements of broken English:

• Swim hard, Kenny.
• Don't swimming.
• Enjoy kayaking.
• Use yo' hips.
• Keep your paddle very far.
• Don't panicking.
• Paddle very hard.
• It's goood!

But really - what else is there to say? Luke has mastered elegance through simplicity. But Luke's broken English leaves a little to be desired and I am in want of a kayaking buddy. Nearly every day somebody takes kayaking lessons. Some come for two or three days of lessons. One guy came for six consecutive full day lessons paying nearly $600 to do so. No matter how long they stay, no matter what teacher takes them - not a single one has rolled the kayak. Despite this, they seem to have a good time. But their collective lack of progress has been extremely frustrating for me as I head to rapids alone.

The first four lessons were on a class 3 rapid near my camping site - a very accessible place which has been great for playing and working on basics while I'm sick. The rapid is about 100 meters long and 40 meters wide. Approaching by kayak from below you can climb out of the water and walk over an island to run the rapid's lower third (the best part); or paddle in calm water up the side and then cross low-grade rapids to where the water is big and fast. There's nothing standing in the middle, but the lower third starts with a set of two standing waves that you can surf. Luke and I also play on some other class 3s and in the bottom of some of the class 5s and 6s. There is serious fast moving water here.

I have a very fond memory of some runs during sunset and I wish so much that I had a picture.

By the end of day five I had had two consecutive lessons without swimming and was feeling very confident despite having Luke tell me constantly that I have "bad looks" - which I later found out meant that I can't line up the approach for surfing. He is trying to get me to step it up and try Easy Rider, a class 4 rapid nearby. Easy Rider is massive but he thinks I'm ready. See below.

On the weekend, Shannon came to visit from Kampala and on Sunday we went rafting. It was awesome! I got my first taste of Easy Rider when it flipped the rafting and sent us all swimming. Luke was one of the safety kayakers on the trip and it was amazing to see him run the river - most notably Big Brother a giant chute with a four meter standing wave; and Overtime with a three meter waterfall which he dropped down. Shown is our raft just after The Bad Place after Itanda Falls (see video). Crazy!

At lunch time on rafting day, Luke told me that the next rapid was a class 4 and that it would make my day better if I passed it on a kayak instead of on a raft. I agreed nervously. I walked around Overtime with the kayak feeling bad about leaving Shann in the raft alone - the rocks and big drop at the end of Overtime had been the subject of much intimidation. But Shann was relaxed and seemed confident. She sent me onto my adventure with a smile. Getting through the long sections of flat water proved to be more of an issue than the rapids. I watched her from below as she ran through Overtime. She did great and looked relieved when they took the line which didn't drop down the waterfall. I ran clean through Little Spit, my first class 4 rapid with no need to roll. It was noticeably bigger than anything I'd done before and the power was impressive and scary - my first time in waves which are taller than me.

I was very pleased with how things went and decided to stay in the kayak for the next rapid, a class 4 called Bugogo. Bugogo is a series of two big waves. Luke offered some words of inspiration "paddle hard" as we entered the rapid in the middle. We faced sideways to take a line which avoided the first big wave and then rammed the second wave in the middle. The second wave picked up the kayak and threw me into a back flip. I would later learn that I need to tuck into a pike should I want to avoid this - it seems funny that this tidbit was omitted from the preparatory lessons. Being upside down in the class 4 water didn't feel so different, and my roll was perfectly crisp. I sailed through the haystacks to the end and scrambled back into the raft.

Turns out that Shannon was thrown feet first out of the front of the raft on Little Spit. In doing so, she perforating her ear drum. She is fairing well after seeing a doctor in Kampala and a full recovery is expected shortly. Notice me smiling gleefully and Shannon in the water in the picture.

Lesson seven and I am energized after a day off biking in the countryside. My first lesson without a stomach flu. Luke was teaching a few Israeli friends of mine to roll, so I went with a new guy Baron to Easy Rider (picture on right shows our raft flipping on Easy Rider). Easy Rider is bigger water than Bugogo and has five big waves as compared to Bugogo's two. I was quite nervous about attempting it and felt like we were rushing things. Baron and Luke were encouraging - so why not check it out? An island in the river is straddled by two rapids - Easy Rider is to the right, and an unnamed class 2 passes on the left. The plan was to go down the class 2, study Easy Rider from below, then maybe walk above and run the chicken line. The chicken line is the easiest line on the rapid but you have to approach sideways which makes things a bit technical. While on the class 2, I was caught off guard by larger than expected boiling water and whirlpools. It was nothing I couldn't handle - but I'm just not composed in the mornings. I got sucked down backwards by a small whirlpool. I rolled out but each time was sucked down. If I would have paddled hard I would surely escape - but I just let myself drift and spin and get scared and lose my breath. On the fourth overturn, I rushed two attempts to roll and ended up taking a swim.

I'm swimming on the left side of the river where the class 2 merges with Easy Rider. The safe eddy is on the right bank, so I had to swim across Easy Rider's tail. The water was very strong and fast. By the time I made it to shore, I was very fatigued but the water was moving fast and oddly by the bank forming an odd pattern indicative of strong undercurrents. To avoid this dangerous water, I had to swim away from shore back into the main current. Exhausted, I let the paddle float away and I thought about ripping the skirt off me to reduce the drag. In this state of mild panic I was able only to think of myself - retrospectively I regret this decision, regard it as lazy, and wish I had kept my composure as there was time to rest. Too bad Luke wasn't there to remind me of the "don't panicking" lesson. I made it into the eddy safely. Baron leapt into action when I told him about the paddle "now the real adventure begins" he said as he paddled after it. I waited for about two hours on the island until he returned.

The paddle's blades are commercial grade but the shaft is just a medal tube. I didn't know this at the time, but its typical African assembly means that it isn't water proof. The paddle simply fills with water and sinks after some time - so my decision to abandon the paddle doomed it to a watery grave. You can't exactly go to the store and buy a kayaking paddle here. The fishermen shim bucket lids into tree branches for paddles. Luke often teaches without a paddle because there just aren't any. Somehow I just did not realize how valuable the paddle was for Luke and Baron. I felt terrible while sitting and listening to Baron tell their fellow safety kayakers about the loss - reactions ranged from total disbelief to glaring looks of disgust in my direction. One jumped into his kayak to look even though more than an hour had passed. Three of the five approached me one at a time over the next day for the story of how it was lost. Later I sat with Baron and Luke in a bar, their heads hanging low. It isn't their paddle to lose - they rent it for 5000 shillings per day from a wealthy local guy. They expect trouble from the owner. I felt worthless.

Gaining a little perspective, I laughed loudly as I left Luke and Baron at the bar. So I lost a paddle? As if we can't fix this. I abandoned my thoughts of squeezing in a trip to Murchison Falls that afternoon - I'll stick around Jinja to see how I can remedy the paddle situation. There is amusement here - but also a sense of duty to my new friends.

On the Nile after a bit more practice: