An email from Francisco

The weather’s been cold and gloomy. That seems to have an impact on everyone, but especially our clientele; the mentally ill.

More malicious, delusional, paranoid and negative behavior. Makes for a long day.

I finally get home and fire up the computer to check on some boards I moderate. There’s an email from Francisco. Suddenly, the world is sunny.

A couple years ago, I did a kayak trip on Sea of Cortez islands off Baja, Mexico. I didn’t know the area, so I signed up for a guided expedition. Francisco was the lead guide. So, why do I hear from him?

I hear from all the people who were part of that. Immediately after the trip, we established a web site to share photos and we just stayed in touch. I’m still in contact with people from high school, college, companies I managed, etc., but those were long-term relationships.

Maybe it was the mix of people, which was very interesting and diverse. One guy lived in the backwoods of Oregon. He and some other scientists had a particle accelerator they worked with. He said he’d get up in the morning, stroll down the street in his bathrobe to property owned by one of the partners and worked till noon. Then he’d walk home to have lunch with his wife and get into some clothes. The others were equally intriguing, if not as eccentric.

Or, it could’ve been enduring the trial of the trip together, and prevailing. Baja is dessert. Not much rain. The week we were island hopping, a hurricane came through. Copious amounts of water running over arid ground with little plant life to stabilize it wreaks havoc, not to mention the other aspects of a hurricane.

On top of that, less than half the participants were experienced outdoors people, and even fewer had kayaked before. The guides had never dealt with anything like these conditions. We pulled together to get everyone through with hardly a hitch. And, had a fantastic time. That’ll create some bonding.

I don’t minimize Francisco’s leadership role. The success of the trip was a reflection of him. He knew what had to be done and managed to motivate others to follow his lead.

He grew up in Chile and had been a lawyer and a television news anchor. A very engaging and witty guy. Yet, something motivated him to “drop out.”

I’d seen it before. A whole town of them. I did a similar trip on Lake Powell. It originated in Page, Arizona, on the Utah border.

Page is three hundred miles from either Vegas or Phoenix, and a million miles from nowhere. The whole town is based on the lake, the Colorado River and red rock formations. It’s tour operators and guides. That’s about it.

They are all former somethings. Chefs, executives, engineers or whatever.

And, they all know each other and look out for one another. It’s like a commune. They all have a story about what called them away from civilization. But, no one’s talking about it.

I complimented one Page guide because I had learned something from him about minimalist packing. He asked what I meant. I pointed out that he had gotten by with essentially the same clothing the entire week we were out in the bush. He told me that was all the clothes he had, except for a winter outer layer. For that matter, he had virtually all his tangible possessions with him on the trip. Another way of life.

Anyway, Francisco and I exchanged a few emails, getting caught up. It brought back memories of wondrous sights, bucket-mixed margueritas and hilarious nights around the campfire. A reminder that there’s a big, wide world outside the office. Not a bad way to end a winter day.