Travels, adventures, exploits

Ok, it’s probably just a simple case of laryngitis, but the long and the short of it is that I can’t make a sound besides an unintelligible skwak. It’s been an interesting day, attempting loud whispers, being asked to say things again, and then making….unintelligible skwaks. It’s met first with puzzlement, and then sympathy, and then something coming close to frustration that I, ALLISON WOODS, can’t express myself the way I always have. This frustration is not from me, it is from the whole world of people who deal with the oversized, referential, dry wit that comprises most of what is me on a daily basis. I often think that many to most of people don’t “get” me or my point of view, but if I am reduced to hand gestures and eyerolls, I realize that most of what I put out there is actually not lost. Pretty big revelation for a girl who spends a lot of time thinking people are not getting my schtick.

At the risk of sounding overly nice, and possibly a bit introspective, I have this to say: No one should ever have their voice taken away from them. It is so much of how we exist in the world, so much of how our whole raison d’etre comes through the trappings of our personality, that is is a crime to take that away.

Oh, and hopefully I’ll stop hacking and not being able to clear my throat by tomorrow, because not being able to talk really sucks.

OK, SO….the other day, I was in the Wind Rivers (yes, THOSE Wind Rivers!) and it’s time to bed down for the evening. My first night camping at 10K….actually a little over. I was beside myself with excitement, camping in a little nook in a boulder field about 20 minutes away from the Cirque of The Towers, one of the most beautiful places on the PLANET. I was practically TREMBLING with ANTICIPATION. So, so, time to get ready to get in le tent. Hm, what to do with the camera? I’m still getting used to carrying my new-to-me DSLR, a lightly-used Canon Rebel XSi with a modest zoom setup. I knew it was going to get cold, possibly below freezing, but I was also worried about condensation in the tent. I opted to loosely wrap the camera in a Cuben Fiber stuff sack and slip it into my pack. It wasn’t going to get THAT cold.

The next morning, we awoke to blue skies and the tack-sharp relief of Warbonnet Peak cradling us in our little basin. The voices of climbing teams who had started before dawn serenaded us. I didn’t give anything a second thought as we prepared to walk up to Jackass Pass to look into the Cirque. As we started heading up the trail, I turned around to admire the view. This is a thing in the Winds, if the view in front of you looks pretty good, turn around, and undoubtedly there is something similarly majestic that also might command your attention. Sure enough, the view looking out toward Haystack Ridge insisted I look. I pulled the Rebel off of my hip, turned it on, composed my shot, zoomed and focused….and….nothing. No click of the shutter, and come to think of it, nothing on the LCD screen. Just….nothing. After getting over my abject unhappiness, which took a good half hour and included a lot of pouting and fiddling with my camera, I slogged up to the Cirque…..which was really impressive, but since I couldn’t TAKE PICTURES of it, really pissed me off. I went over to the edge and tried to take a picture, and then ignored the view for as long as we were up there. I’m trying to make the shift to making a living as a writer and not having any pictures of this place IS NOT MOVING THAT AGENDA FORWARD. I completely lost track of my vacation, the view, where I was….and just got pissed off THAT A PIECE OF TECHNOLOGY WAS SHATTERING MY DREAM.

I finally got over myself later that day and went back on vacation. The hiking was as good as it gets. The trail just challenging enough to be fun, the company excellent with my boyfriend Ken. We packed up after dropping down back to camp and headed east to Deep Lake. From there, we spent a day exploring the neighboring ridgeline and looking down into the adjacent lake basin. We visited the little lake just above and out of sight of Deep with its massive glacial slab. We observed a lost llama, still in its harness, running away from anyone who got near it. We met a couple of climber girls from Colorado who had ditched their spouses and home life and were climbing massive pieces of rock without a care in the world. On our last day, we headed over the pass to Temple Lake and wandered the abandoned trail past it and down to Big Sandy Lake. All of this…WITHOUT A CAMERA.

Today is my first day back in Seattle. The Rebel is still not working right. I took the camera down to the Glazers repair desk. The guy was confused as to why the camera was broken until I mentioned the camera had probably gotten frozen the other night. Then I got a cold look and a knowing shake of the head. “This is bad for your camera, don’t you know that?” I replied that I had no idea why, and it was explained to me. A pocket camera is sealed, it’s all one thing. It gets cold, doesn’t work, warms up, no problem. A DSLR has a detachable lens, and that allows moisture to get in….and then freeze, and then thaw….and you get the idea. I should get an estimate back in a couple of weeks, and it will probably be a couple hundred bucks,

I don’t know how I should have been overnighting my camera in the Winds yet, but the way I did it was wrong, which is why you are reading a lot of words with no pictures and feeling my pain with me. If you are still reading, see me in a couple of weeks when I know what really happened to my camera.

It’s gotten to the point where I kind of dread opening my gear closet—it’s overly full and there’s this….smell. You know what I’m talking about.  Boyfriend Ken and I are leaving in a few days for the Wind Rivers in Wyoming, and it’s 15 hours each way with the packs. Icky odor…must go… before road trip. I’ve never washed a pack before, so I didn’t really know what I was in for. Turns out it’s a snap.

My two backpacks, an Osprey Aura 50 and an Osprey Aethial (Arial suspension, Aether packbag) 60 went into the tub, along with a healthy amount of some kind of technical soap. Was the fancy soap necessary? Probably not, and unless your packs have some kind of DWR treatment on them, it’s probably not necessary. Filled the tub up about halfway and let the packs soak a while. I flipped them a couple of times and gave the straps a good scrubbing. A big big rinse, and they were hung outside to dry. There was an amazing amount of filth in the tub, including quite a bit of what I would guess is globs of dry skin. It was totally disgusting!

The good news: it’s not been a couple of days and the packs are completely dry….and they smell fresh as daisies.

Gear performs best when it’s kept clean an properly maintained. Do you wash your sleeping bag? Here’s how.

Like most uptight Seattleites, I’m a little too precious for the kind of coffee you find in motel rooms. From the 300 dollar a night digs on the hill high above Washington’s mythic Methow Valley to the rundown condo just up the block from the madding crowds of Waikiki, I’ve been consistently disappointed, no, HURT, by the sad excuse for coffee available in the rooms. Now before you get up in my grill about the in-room coffee being complimentary, let me say that I consider amenities to be part of the cost. Ahhnyway, yeah, bad coffee on the road. Time to do something about that. First step, roast up a bunch of beans. No, scratch that. I am roasting my own beans, but that’s kind of a lot to ask when all you really want is a good cuppa to get you started when you’re on the road. What’s it gonna take?

The GSI Glacier Stainless JavaPress fit the briefing perfectly for me and my SO—we road trip frequently, and tend to beat the crap out of our gear. Cost is less important than durability, and weight is not a concern because usually it’s in the back of the car. Even for an airplane ride, I think the weight is worth it because this thing is bombproof. We’ve been dragging it around for months now and it shows nary a scuff. It’s your basic French Press model,  dead simple to operate. Drop in coarsely ground coffee with nearly-boiling water (normally made with the in-room coffee maker or hot water from the breakfast bar), let stand a few minutes, plunge, drink. You may wonder: Does the Glacier make good coffee? Well, yes, it can. Put in quality beans, ground to the perfect level of coarseness, and you will be rewarded with a perfect cup of gooey black joe. You gotta follow directions though! There is a locking position marked on the side of the press (barely visible in the photo) that I didn’t initially see because I am left-handed. Locking the lid in place keeps sludge out of the coffee cup. You might want to brighten up the marks with a paint marker, as I did, so bleary eyes can get the top on correctly.

Cleanup is a snap if you bring along a rubber spatula to get the big chunks out. Most days, a quick rinse is adequate, when at home the whole meathouse comes apart for a good scrubbing with soap. The next step for me is to put this together into a kit which will contain the press, spatula, coffee, and a couple of travel mugs. Mornings are a lot more tolerable when coffee’s not left to chance.

GSI Glacier Stainless JavaPress, $40, gsioutdoors.com

Hey, Salmon, Idaho, I have a bone to pick with you. Please don’t get defensive, I want to help. Really, I do. I know I come across as a spoiled urbanite, and I can live with that. I just spent 3 days eating, drinking, and sleeping in your town on both ends of a backpacking trip into the Bighorn Crags. For a town that’s trying to make money off of recreation, I was surprised at what a mystery the hills seem to be in town. The Frank Church/River of No Return Wilderness is part of a 3.3 MILLION ACRE Wilderness complex. It’s the largest in the lower 48.The only person who seemed remotely familiar with the area was the fish biologist we talked to. Other than that, people seem blissfully unaware that there is a world class hiking destination in their back yard. Sure, it’s 60 miles of dirt road from town, but no town is closer and Salmon’s where you get supplies before heading in. There really isn’t any place to buy gear in town. The guy at the hook and bullet shop who sold us fishing licenses had no idea what flies to recommend, but that’s fine, Jane McCoy at McCoy’s Tackle Shop in Stanley (pop. 100, 2+ hours away) knows enough to make up for your ignorance. But that isn’t what really chapped my hide about the Salmon experience. It was the food, plain and simple. At first I thought it was a matter of availability, but then I saw that there is a farmer’s market in town and plenty of cows in the vicinity. It’s AUGUST, THERE IS NO REASON TO GET YOUR SUPPLIES FROM A TRUCK THAT COMES BY ONCE A WEEK.  I ate exactly three steak and potato dinners in Salmon, and you know what? The salads came out of a bag (“homemade salad bar”, my ass, 28 Club!), the dressings came out of a bottle, the steaks were either tough or half fat, and the potatoes were not baked. Twice I had so-called “baked” potatoes and they were sad, foil-wrapped steamed spuds with no crust on them, and no flavor to speak of. It was 2 out of 3 because the Shady Nook’s potatoes were “not good” the night I ate there and they were out of mash, so I ate a couple of bites of the horridly salty rice as my starch. Potato denial in Idaho. Oh, the humanity.  I know it’s POSSIBLE to get good raw materials in Salmon, because the one lunch we had at the Junkyard Bistro was nothing short of delicious. It’s like most of you making food in town just don’t care. Here’s the deal: People like me come to little towns like Salmon because of the recreation, but we are also aware that we are supporting the local economy with our tourist dollars. We want to leave money in your town. Matter of fact, we left about 500 bucks there last week.  I’m a freelance writer, and I very much want to sell a feature story on the Bighorn Crags, but I hate the idea that my words might send people into Salmon to eat and drink poor-quality comestibles. Is it really so much to ask that you put a little care into the buying of your ingredients and the preparation of your food? While you’re at it, would you mind learning how to pour a decent cocktail? I’m just talking the basics here.

Just one other thing: I’m willing to put up with glacially slow service at the grocery store. I am, really, I can be patient. But closed on Sundays? Are you kidding me?

People think that when you’re a writer, all you do is write. The fact is, we end up getting the gear, testing it, managing testing with friends (and then gathering their feedback). trying to break the gear, writing about it, very often photographing it, and then, if it’s apparel, possibly MODELING it. That’s why you don’t see professional models in most enthusiast magazines, the models are the authors and the friends they recreate with, Again, testing, while a serious pursuit, and part of work, is a leisure activity. I admit to hugely enjoying work that I do.

So what is maybe the least fun part of all of this-too-fun-to-possibly-be-a-real-job work? Without a doubt, for me, the worst part is when I have to model. I’m being hired for my wit, ability to put words together, and to critically think about gear….not so much as a model! I’m in the throes of middle age, and I’ve got that sort of body. Healthy, but, well, you know. Add to that this challenge: clothing samples are usually in “sample size”, AKA women’s 8 or medium. I’m neither, so if I have to test samples, they are too small…and then maybe after that, I might also have to (eek) model them? Enh, what are you going to do? Stand up straight, shoulders back, big smile, aaand….hope for the best. In this picture, I’m wearing a really lovely skirt from Smartwool (reviewed here), that is unfortunately…you guessed it, a medium! I didn’t love testing it because I knew it was a little small for me, but no one really had to see me in it, at least until now! I put on my best face, tried to remember to suck in my stomach, and put on a pair of Spanx. What we do for the things we love sometimes….

I’m one of those people who doesn’t like anything stuck between my toes. I’ve always likened it to giving my feet some kind of a wedgie. For this reason, I’ve never reviewed flip-flops, but something about the Ocean Minded styles appealed to me. I’m not sure if it was the well-constructed footbeds or the relatively sophisticated (for flip-flops) styling. I took a pair of the not cleverly-named Seaweed II to Hawaii with low expectations, but was pleasantly surprised. After a day or so of “toe wedgie”, my feet adapted, the Seaweeds broke in, and it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I have worn the crap out of these things as my everyday shoes in HI, as an errand-runner here in Seattle, and as pre-and post hike car shoes. I’ve never experienced any discomfort or abrasion from the straps, and the footbeds and soles have provided more than adequate support for my somewhat broken feet. I find them extremely comfortable.What won’t they do? Provide lateral support, toe protection, or much traction. At 14 oz. for my women’s size 9 pair, they won’t turn into camp shoes, but as an apres-hike shoe and for grocery-getting, two thumbs up for this flip-flop.

The Seaweed IIs are on sale right now (black only) at the Ocean Minded website for $19.99. Full price for other colors is $40. www.oceanminded.com

A couple of months ago, I came up against a very tight spot in my work schedule. After returning from Hawaii, the plan was to go to the 5th Avenue Theatre to do Guys and Dolls, followed almost directly by Aladdin. If it sounds like I’m talking gibberish, it’s because I have kind of a goofy job—I work backstage, making musical theatre magical. The 5th Avenue is fast becoming one of the most influential and important regional musical theatres in North America—to wit, Norbert Butz, who won the Tony last week for Best Actor in Catch Me if You Can debuted that role on our stage in 2009, and Casey Nicolaw won the best director award for Book of Mormon—he’s directing out brand-new-for-the-stage Aladdin. And that’s just the recent accolades. We’re kind of a big deal these days! Don’t get me wrong, I’m just a small cog in the machine, but it’s incredibly demanding work, and the hours can be downright inhospitable. We are currently scheduled for 14-hour days, six days a week, but due to time spent waiting for set pieces to be completed, our schedule’s even screwier than that, and we are having to also work on some Mondays, eliminating the day off.

A few days before I started Guys and Dolls, I got an email from Backpacker about doing some ongoing work for them. I’m currently under contract for 6 gear reviews in 12 weeks, with an option to extend the contract. It’s terribly exciting, and I absolutely LOVE the work. Every two weeks, I go through rigorous edits, and at the end, the reviews I’m bylined with look better than any writing I’ve done in the past. Additionally, I am in the process of working out another deal for a kind of art project. I wish I could say more, but the contract isn’t signed yet. Stay tuned! What might this have to do with tea, you might ask? Today I had to go home from the theatre at lunch with body aches, phlegm, a headache, well, you get the general idea. It’s tough under normal circumstances to stay healthy, but I’m  burning the candle at both ends—and Aladdin does not close until August. I found myself reaching for the tried-and-true fix: Owl Instant Ginger Tea with Honey. A big bag of it runs about 5 bucks at my local Asian grocery store. It’s simply dried ginger and honey, though as you dump it out of the single-serving packet, it’s ugly little dried brown clumps. Once hot water has been added, it becomes nothing short of delicious, giving your senses a big hug of spicy ginger and earthy-sweet honey. I love to take it backpacking for its therapeutic and calming properties, but it’s also a nice option when you’re too sick to want to eat much of anything. I find that it gently soothes achy bones and plugged sinuses, and it’s equally tasty drunk hot or cold.

I don’t know if it’s going to get any easier for me to perform at the level that’s expected of me this summer, but I’m not going to forget to have a little Ginger Tea.

I’ve mentioned here and there that I recently landed a writing project for a national publication. In case you haven’t seen it yet, it’s a contract for six articles for Backpacker.com. The first one went live on Thursday. They will run every two weeks or so for the next three months.

This is an exciting project for me. Check out the first review here.

I heard a PSA on my NPR affiliate about a food and wine event in Walla Walla called Feast and emailed my boyfriend Ken to see if he wanted to go. Before I knew it, hotel reservations were made, tickets were purchased, and I’d been set up with press materials by the event’s organizers. The plan was to drive to Yakima (which calls itself “The Palm Springs of Washington”…snerk) Friday night, and have a shorter hop over to Walla Walla to taste wine in the big tent. Seemed pretty harmless, as there’s nothing do do in Yakima….right?? It took approximately 4 minutes to scope out downtown. First stop was the Gilbert Cellars Tasting Room for a bottle of the 2007 Estate Syrah, a bargain at $24. This tasting room is a definite stop in Yakima, with nice wines, and a stylish room with a giant photo of Mount Curtis Gilbert behind the bar. Next we ambled over to a place called The Speakeasy. Looked like a dive from the outside, looked like a dive on the inside. Guy playing old R and B classics under bad disco lighting, and an interesting mix of your typical Yakima rednecks and what looked to be the entire black population of Yakima. Loved the music, nice folks, though the cocktail waitresses looked at us like we were aliens. Next stop was the Yakima Sports Center, a bar with a really good neon sign outside and a complete personality crisis inside. more cocktails were consumed while we discussed politics with the local wildlife.

Saturday rolled around, but something about the previous night’s exploits had us wobbly as a couple of baby fawns, and we still had Feast ahead of us. I think we both just kind of wanted to go home with our tails between our legs, but we climbed back in Ken’s new tiny Fiesta, and off we went. Neither of us are used to riding in an itty bitty car, and we did not enjoy the ground effects and road noise.

We made it over to Feast and grabbed our tickets. At this point, we had not rallied sufficiently to drink wine. The mere thought of it made me want to hurl. So….I’m supposed to review this event without participating? OK, so I had some food. So did Ken. The food vendors were not given any way to actually COOK food, so they were using chafing dishes and serving some cold food, and oh, I don’t know, not doing much at all interesting in the way of food. I had some meat on a piece of bread and a decent pork taco and it was all pretty forgettable.

Seattle is a good food town, and I’m silly if I think a little place like Walla Walla is really going to knock my socks off culinarily, especially at a food festival. Oh wait, a wine tasting event with some food. Hm. Yeah, no.   This event is a great way to get the city folk over to check out the town, but it needs to be reworked into something more hip and fun. Please figure out how to get rid of that gawdawful tent.

I mean come on people, Walla Walla is already WAY cooler than this. Being unable to properly perform my self-assigned duties as a blogger, I slunk out early, leaving a pile of unused tokens on a table. Special thanks to Feast for hosting me, I feel bad I didn’t enjoy the event more.

After a restorative nap and a side trip to Waitsburg, it was time to hunt down some dinner. After being turned away at Brasserie Four for our lack of reservations, we squeezed in at the bar at T. Maccarone’s. Let me tell you something about this Walla Walla place. They don’t turn many tables, and you are expected to have a reservation. For a town trying to make money off of tourism, this is a really bad idea. Such as it is, we got into Maccarone, and despite the ridiculous name, the food is pretty good. The beef carpaccio had a nice drizzle of truffle oil on it, and while Ken’s gnocci was mushy, the lamb ragout it came with was absolutely delicious. We had another bottle of nice wine, and wandered over to Charles Smith, where he and the rest of Walla Walla were celebrating the opening of the new world HQ of Charles Smith Winery/K Vintners. This is a fun, bold, and rather punk rock range of wines, and the scene in the renovated warehouse was nothing short of kickass cool. Industry folks, locals, and rich guys with trophy wives made the people-watching nothing short of stellar. The party was the highlight of the trip.

I think I can speak for Ken as well when I say that despite the ridiculously long drive, Walla Walla has a lot to offer, and we will be back soon. There are about a bazillion tasting rooms, a lovely and quaint downtown, and some darn decent vittles. We didn’t hear about it until too late, but there is supposedly an insanely cool cocktail bar over in Waitsburg called jimgermanbar, run by a guy called Jim German. Turns out he lived down the hall from me in a little artist’s commune building in an old nursing home in the late 1980s. Small world.  Can’t wait to check it out next time.