The hard part of an expedition

The die is cast. I’ve committed to going on a kayaking trip among the San Juan Islands, located offshore of the northwest corner of the continental United States. It’s a treacherous journey, fraught with dangerous creatures, challenges to the body and soul and numerous chances to make the fatal error. No quarter is asked and none is given.

And then, you get to paddle. The kayaking is fine. It’s getting there and back that tests your mettle.

My approach is to start with a list of the known and work out the unknowns. Item one, I know I have to be at the docks on San Juan Island and ready to paddle at 8:00 am on a Thursday. Item two, ….uh, that was quick. My lists of knowns are frequently concise.

I don’t even know for sure when we’ll return. The outfitter gives you the day, but time is nebulous. I understand it’s subject to conditions and the collective speed of the undetermined group, but that doesn’t help me with the scheduling. I’ll begin with the easier stuff and get back to this later.

How does one get from mainland to the island? I can fly in on a commuter airline or take a ferry (with or without car). I check the airfare. Okay, that was easy. It’s the ferry.

The simplest way, with the least layovers and opportunities to miss connections, is to rent a car at the Seattle airport, drive to the ferry (a hundred miles or so) and take that to the island. Of course, you’re paying ferry tolls both ways and for a car that will sit idle for much of the week. I have to look at the alternative of using the bus service from the airport to the ferry.

The bus service has to synchronize with airline arrival and ferry departure, and it’s not like any of them run on the hour. So, I now have to bring the airline into the equation, while everything else is still a variable, and optimize the whole thing. I’m getting flashbacks of cranking through quadratic equations.

I call up a list of Delta flights to Seattle and then apply my Skymiles balance to see when I can get a free flight. I already know the answer, but have to go through the self-flagellation just to be thorough. Sure enough, I roll craps. Either I don’t have enough points or the flight is “unavailable.” That’s airline terminology for “thanks for playing.”

My next stop is one of the all-inclusive travel sites. I get an array of times and fares, don’t especially like it and exit the site. Then, I re-enter and get a slightly different selection. You keep doing this until you get something you want at the right price. I can only guess why it varies. Bear in mind, when you select the flight, you will receive a polite message that the fare has increased since it was posted (must’ve been five seconds ago).

It’s a house game and you’re not the dealer. Live with it. I make the buy and get the message that it’s not final until the airline confirms. Isn’t that why you have computers? This is supposed to be an instantaneous deal, not move at the speed of smoke.

I should wait for that confirmation, but I’ve got my momentum going and the lineup in my head (somewhat). I call up sites for the ferry and bus schedules, departing and arriving. Now I’ve got more screens going than a lanai in Orlando. Can’t handle the toggling, so I copy and paste to a single document. I’m a visual learner.

As usual, I’m faced with choices of either multiple hour layovers or connection spans that are a matter of mere minutes. Do ya feel lucky punk? Well, do ya?

Not only did Murphy enact a law about this, but the footnote is that the problem will occur early in the chain and mess everything up down the line. I’ll go with a cushion and take a book to read. Bus and ferry depots have to be a gold mine of people watching, anyway. I take a guess at the ending time for the kayaking and make the ferry and bus reservations both ways.

To make an 8:00 am tee time, I’ll have to be on the island the previous evening. The search is on for lodging. It’s a mecca for killer whale watching, so there’s got to be a lot of choices. Right?

An island, by definition, has a finite supply of land, which affects pricing. See Manhattan, Singapore or Hong Kong. This turns out to be a model of the disappearing middle class. Either you’re a spendthrift world traveler or an itinerant kayak bum. I know my type casting.

Eschewing the posh resorts with champagne flowing through gold-plated fixtures, I narrow it down to a hostel with dorm-style accommodations. I’ll arrive late and leave early, so I don’t need a mini-bar. And, after 18 hours of travel, I won’t be hankering for HBO.

I call the hostel and make the reservation, which consists of me reciting the date and her saying “Yup.” I ask if there’s a confirmation number or something, not anticipating what a hilarious question that turned out to be to her. No one ever asked her that. Can’t wait to meet my bunkmates.

A sit back and take a big breath. The second hardest part is done. The most difficult is the wait.

Birth of an Expedition

The San Juan Islands are a scattering of rocky nuggets offshore of the northwest corner on the continental United States. In my kayaking life, I’d heard references to them as a desirable paddling area. But, I envisioned them as bleak and barren, so they didn’t hold much interest.

A couple years ago, a paddling friend of mine took a trip there and posted his photos on the web. Wow. All kinds of wildlife and stuff going on. Nothing like I thought and I understood why the area merited frequent mention in paddling circles. It went onto my list.

This month a sea kayaking magazine carried a feature article about paddling the San Juans. My eye fell to a photo of a killer whale breaching. That sealed the deal. If not now, when? When you arrive at the end of life, what do you have to show for it except your memories?

The first step is selecting an outfitter. To keep it simple, three parameters: competency, the right route at the right time and the boat.

The first, you take your best shot at web surfing and what you can read between the lines of their web site. Even then, it will depend somewhat on the guides you draw.

Then, it’s got to be soon and it’s got to cover some territory. I want to see some variety and get out to the prime areas.

Finally, I’m going for a sea kayaking experience, so I want to paddle a sea kayak. This requires some background.

For financial reasons, most outfitters target a market broader than existing kayakers. They include those who want the experiences, but aren’t necessarily good paddlers. Or, maybe they haven’t paddled at all.

So, the outfitters favor tandem kayaks. They’re fairly stable and it cuts the number of boats they have to key an eye on in half.

If they do offer solo boats, they tend to be beamy (more than 22” wide). More like stretched recreational kayaks.

Not for me. In my inquiries, I specified what I wanted. The outfitters who had them put out the hoops for me to jump through.

I don’t blame them. Someone overmatched by a boat could easily mess up a trip. But, laying out my experience and skills runs contrary to what I’ve learned.

Whereas some overstate their abilities on the registration forms for such things, I go the other way. I quickly learned that guides have an eye out for experienced kayakers in the group and tend to delegate to them. I don’t mind keeping an eye on one or two people who might encounter problems in high seas, but I’m paying to enjoy the trip, not work it.

With that settled, I’m going about the business of arranging travel to the islands. It’s about as simple as Chinese calculus. But, what place worth going is within easy reach?

I’ve already completed the first step, with predictable results. That is, I tried to buy the airline ticket with my Skymiles. You’ve got a better shot with beads and trinkets.

With that finger exercise out of the way on to the rest.

Karma

Karma. As ye sow so shall ye reap. What goes around comes around. Etc., etc., etc.

I wasn’t thinking this as I agreed to sell the “Mad Cow,” one of my favorite kayaks. I was just doing the good deed.

The kayak first popped up on my radar a couple years ago on a classified ad site. It was a Dagger Outburst, an old school boat. And, it was in a unique swirled black and white pattern that was way cool. I immediately called but it was already gone. Drat!

About six months later, it showed up again on the same site. This time, I was quick enough.

I enjoyed the boat’s old school design and handling for a change of pace experience. I have a stable of kayaks and paddle the crisp modern designs most of the time, but this was fun for a diversion. Kind of like taking out your old MG roadster on a hot, sunny day.

This summer, I became friends with a new paddler who was struggling with the kayak she had acquired without benefit of much knowledge. It was a playboat and suitable for an experienced paddler.

I offered her a choice of some of my boats to borrow until she could ramp up her skills and confidence. She selected the Mad Cow. Not a bad choice for a neophyte, considering its soft and forgiving edges.

She quickly advanced and gained a fairly solid roll. A few weeks ago, I began to wonder how she would react when she had to return the boat. We paddled together and she had added cow bells to the deck and horns to her helmet. Then, we were at a pool practice a few days ago and I noticed that she and the boat moved as one. This wasn’t going to be easy for one of us.

What it came down to was that the boat was an occasional date to me, but a spouse to her. I offered to sell it and she jumped on it.

Not an hour later, I’m working at the computer, mostly as displacement activity to avoid brooding about the loss. A message pops up on my email. It’s from the sales manager at the largest kayak seller in the country, from whom I’ve bought a few boats.

It’s the end of his season and he’s attaching a list of boats he’s got left over with some prices I won’t be able to resist. “LOL.” Okay, I’ll take a look.

On the second page, it jumps off the screen. I was looking for a particular playboat a couple years ago, but couldn’t find one at a good price. I settled for another one at the time. Here it was in the perfect color at a killer price. I called him right away.

Karma works.

When everything comes together

As the faithful readers know, I lead a number of kayak camping trips. You stick your neck out when you do because there are numerous variables that can derail things, especially with wilderness camping (no facilities). Some people don’t deal with adversity well, nor do they want to endure the griping if things go south. To me, it’s just part of the deal with organizing this, or anything you try to accomplish.

Monroe Lake is almost 11,000 acres of surface water located in southern Indiana. Weather is variable one. I can’t do anything about that, so I don’t worry about it, other than prepare the participants for the possibilities.

Since it’s a manmade body of water, it incorporates many fingers, marshes and other backwaters. They provide interesting paddling potential, but also opportunities to get lost in a variety of blind alleys. The best you can do is a lot of advanced homework, including maps and satellite views. It’s still a roll of the dice. Things never look the same at water level, especially when you’re in the labyrinth of a swamp.

The final piece was the campsite. You cannot reserve in this wilderness. I had researched to identify the prime spot. But, the lake is popular and there are no guarantees.

The weather cooperated, clear and hot. I had warned participants to bring plenty of water. There were many places to take a refreshing swim, for those who didn’t have the ability to roll their kayaks as a cooling off method.

There were a couple blind alleys in the navigation of the marshes, but no significant problems. That was a good thing since the heat sapped energy and there wasn’t a lot in reserve for feeling our way around.

That leaves the campsite. As we approached the desired location, it became apparent that others had already staked out some of the prime sites. So, when we encountered a good vacancy about a quarter mile before my target, I was tempted to jump on it before someone else did. But, why settle for less when you’re shooting for the perfect weekend? I paddled on.

As we rounded the final point, my heart sank. The site was nirvana. It was flat, shaded and had an exquisite beach that featured a crop of geodes for collecting. It also had a canoe, tent and two occupants. Drat!

However, I engaged them in conversation and they pointed out how far the site extended, saying there would be more than ample room for our large group. They had no problem with us digging in. It proved to have more than enough space and was one of the best camping sites we’ve ever encountered. The stage was set for a perfect weekend. And, it was.

When you do this kind of thing, you accept that everything seldom turns out as you expected. But, it’s great when everything comes together.

The Co-worker List

“I Hate People!: Kick Loose from the Overbearing and Underhanded Jerks at Work and Get What You Want Out of Your Job” It’s a book written by Jonathan Littman and Marc Hershon. It was also the subject of today’s luncheon speaker.

Among their ten least wanted co-workers are:

“Switchblade – Today they may be trashing your cubemate. Tomorrow they’re dishing you.

Liar, liar – Technology has made it easy for workers to lie about not getting that email or voice mail.

Stop sign – Devil’s advocate is another term for these naysayers. The larger your company, the more likely you’ll run into Stop Signs who strangle your innovative ideas like weeds.”

Etc., etc., etc.

I applaud their initiative for being among those who repackage long standing organization theory with common sense and make a buck off it. But, the classifications seem more generic than tied to the workplace.

After all, habitual gossips and liars are generally deemed loathsome, whether it be in the office or the family, church or neighborhood. And, who has any regard for those who rain on every parade, but never pull off one of their own?

If I were putting together the workplace list of most abhorrent, it would include:

The Phantom – You need to make a copy in a hurry, but discover the last user left the machine jammed. Just disappeared and left it. This person is a kissing cousin to the one who takes the last cup of coffee from the urn and doesn’t make any more.

The Spoiler – A flexible manager tries to accommodate special needs of the employees (payroll advances, having to come in late, etc.). These favors have to be universally available, but can only be viable if they aren’t abused. The spoiler abuses them and ruins it for everyone.

The Merchant of Menace - It always seems there’s one person who has four kids, and each kid has 27 teams to raise money for. You are constantly imposed upon to buy candy bars, greeting cards, and numerous other goods you don’t really need. Let the kids learn how to earn their way and keep the unnecessary pressures out of the workplace.

Now we have the beginnings of a workplace list.

Joey's still paying me

Subsequent to the aforementioned shopping trip, I got to select the movie on pay-per-view. She accused me of retribution, but I was simply applying the “Boggy Principle.” You can pick your own symbol of the genre, but “The Legend of Boggy Creek” was a movie so horrific in every dimension that it achieved cult status. And, unintentional hilarity.

This flick showed great potential. Set in the 1800s, it melded cowboys and aliens (aluminum foil grade special effects), with a dose of self-righteous preaching about the evils of nuclear power, sexism and profiteering. Yes, I did say the 1800s. And nothing says 19th century Colorado like 21st century Romanian countryside. My last vacation had a bigger budget than this film and probably lasted longer than the shooting. There’s no way this couldn’t soar to a new low.

My companion had her finger poised on the button as the closing credits scrolled. Couldn’t wait to kill this one. The screen switched back to a cable channel and she prepared to banish reception altogether, but I grabbed the remote. “Just give me five minutes of this.”

It was Mecum’s Muscle & Classic Car auction. What Sotheby’s is to some, this is to me.

She knew five meant twenty, but sighed in resignation and tried to get into it. “That’s the same car as the last one. Why is it selling for $20,000 more?”

The same car? How could she be so unfeeling? “Because this one has the big block. Someone was smart enough to go a few hundred more back then that turned into five figures, now.”

Her eyebrows knit in calculation. “So, another five cubic inches a cylinder makes a difference.”

“No, it doesn’t make a difference. It makes all the difference.”

I did some work for Joey during my teenage years. He’d pay me a decent hourly wage to work on his personal cars and boats. Sometimes he’d come out to the warehouse to check on progress and would hold forth on his philosophies. Years before, I had been an avid reader on the life of Benjamin Franklin and had decided that one secret of life was learning from people who achieved things.

Joey was no Ben Franklin. But, he was a guy who started with nothing and built a small empire of car dealerships and racing enterprises. When Joey spoke, I listened.

One of the things he said was that you always buy a high ticket item as though you were going to sell it tomorrow. That is, maintain value. So, if you were ordering a new car, as an example, you would go for the most desired options and colors. If you were buying something used and maybe a bit esoteric, you paid bottom dollar so you wouldn’t lose anything, should you decide to liquidate.

The lesson in the auction was that people who buy muscle cars usually want muscle. Period. A few extra bucks in more muscle yielded a fantastic return on investment.

“And you apply this now, when you buy your kayaks?”

“Yeah, I can think of four right off the bat that people already have dibs on, should I decide to sell. I also bought a Harley in the 80s, rode it for five years and sold it for about double what I paid.”

“Why didn’t you do that for a living?”

“I thought about it at one point, but decided my preferences would get in the way. I probably should’ve done it on a smaller scale as investing.”

“What? What’s that look?”

“Let’s fire up your computer. I want to see something.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that you start doing that this minute.”

I wasn’t thinking that, but this line of thought tugged at something that had barely registered during the movie. We went up to her computer and I did a quick search of a certain kind of auction site.

“What is that?”

Many years ago, I received firearms training. Subsequently, I joined a sportsmen’s club to maintain the edge with some target shooting. One of the revolvers I acquired wasn’t well suited for plinking, so it has resided in the bottom of my safe for a long time. “That is a Colt Python .357 Magnum.” Among the many things in the movie that was an anomaly in its time frame was a gun that wasn’t manufactured until past the midpoint of the following century.

“It’s a bit expensive.”

“Now it is, but I didn’t pay near that back when.” Cha-ching! “I did go some extra bucks for stainless steel. Let me find one of those.”

“Wow, that’s outrageous.”

“Yes, it is.” Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching! I figure the investment in the stainless option returned about 1,000-1,200%. Not bad as ROIs go.

She elbowed me playfully. “You could sell that and take me on a few more shopping sprees.”

“Sure.” Or, I could buy a few more kayaks.

Joey may have thought we were square back in ’66. But, as far as I’m concerned, he’s been paying me ever since.

Death Row

The row of chairs before me was dotted with men’s faces that reflected impending doom. I selected one to await my fate.

Not the waiting room of an IRS auditor. Nor, the booking desk at the local police station. Your hint is that each chair occupant was weighted down with bags of merchandise, plus a purse.

Yes, it was the row of guy chairs located close to the dressing rooms of a women’s fashion shop. All of these men appeared able to easily handle the rigors of a police booking or tax audit. But, who among us knows the correct answer to “What do you think of this one?”

You don’t know the right answer because there isn’t one. You are wrong by definition. And don’t think you have the mental agility to sidestep the question with a vague or noncommittal response. That will only provoke focused follow-up queries to pin you down on specifics. You will die by degrees instead of by one merciful blow.

But, you can avoid walking into the common pitfalls. For instance, the answer to which of these two looks good is “both.” That won’t get you off the hook, but it does lessen what you will have to do to make up for lost ground.

Beware the test question. If you have been too adroit with your reactions, there will be a question to test your sincerity. Try to finesse that one and you’re back to ground zero.

So, here I sit, neck deep in fancy plastic bags. Trying to figure out what dinner location will best atone for the errors I am about to commit when that door opens.