Yesterday morning, I made an important phone call. It was important because the results strongly affect what we'll be doing in the next 6 months. If you didn't know this already, Rebs and I are planning to move home to the United States. After 4 years of Korean living, we're ready to move on to the next chapter. Think babies, family, school, careers, none of which have we been pursuing very heavily while over here.
My phone call was to the Cherokee Nation EMS program based out of Tahlequah, Oklahoma. I have been planning to take their EMT (Emergency Medical Technician) course for some time now, and possibly the Paramedic course thereafter. Specifically, I was calling to get dates in mind. Up until now, Rebs and I had been hoping to do some traveling over the winter, then head to the States for a 1-2 month road trip for climbing at a few places we have never been. This phone call changed all that. The EMT course starts early March, will last for 6 months, and then the Paramedic course starts just after the EMT course finishes.
My understanding is that if I want to take the Paramedic course, this is the best time to take it because it is only offered every 18 months, the duration of the course. And since the two are lined up next to each other, I wouldn't have to wait after my EMT course.
There are so many variables in the mix right now that I don't want to talk too much more about them until they are finalized. But I guess this was all to say that we'll be home sooner than you might have thought.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Home Sweet Home?
As I look through the last of our photos from the trip, sitting here in my living in Korea, I know that our vacation is over. We still have a week, thankfully, to get prepared for the school semester and check things off our list like, "Pick up Epic". While sitting on a bus to transfer terminals in Narita (Tokyo, Japan), I noticed someone was touching my leg. No, not a creepy guy or an accidental bump by someone who says "excuse me", but a 10-year-old Korean boy, still wearing his neck pillow from the plane, oblivious that he is breaking my personal space. Why? Because there is no personal space in Korea, or Asia in general. He continues to bump my leg as we ride the bus. Welcome home.
As we got in our car last night, I sat in the driver seat feeling cramped, thinking how small our car feels after having driven a rental for a month. I feel like I'm sitting on a phone book. I go to start the car. Oh yeah, it's a stick shift. As we drive through the side street of our neighborhood, a car pulls out of an apartment complex and cuts me off, then continues to drive slowly. Your car is small, therefore you never have the right of way.
It is these small idiosyncrasies that remind me that I am home, back in the "land of the morning calm". But I find myself more irked by such things than I used to be. I always used to subscribe to the idea that we choose live and work in a country other than our own, therefore we subscribe to their rules and culture. But after nearly 4 years, I am growing tired of it. Friends we have here have talked about knowing when it's time to leave. You can just sense it in a person, this restlessness that grows in agitation over simple things that make no difference individually in the big picture. But it is the buildup of getting cut off, shouted at, or whatever happenings that leave a person feeling undignified--they become the straw that breaks the camel's back.
And so it is with myself that I can sense my mood is different. My friends here are great, my work load light, the beauty of the mountains all around us. But I know it is time for us to move on. It will be a challenge this semester to stay positive, to focus on the good, and not to itch for the day we head back to the States. If you pray, please do so for me in this.
As we got in our car last night, I sat in the driver seat feeling cramped, thinking how small our car feels after having driven a rental for a month. I feel like I'm sitting on a phone book. I go to start the car. Oh yeah, it's a stick shift. As we drive through the side street of our neighborhood, a car pulls out of an apartment complex and cuts me off, then continues to drive slowly. Your car is small, therefore you never have the right of way.
It is these small idiosyncrasies that remind me that I am home, back in the "land of the morning calm". But I find myself more irked by such things than I used to be. I always used to subscribe to the idea that we choose live and work in a country other than our own, therefore we subscribe to their rules and culture. But after nearly 4 years, I am growing tired of it. Friends we have here have talked about knowing when it's time to leave. You can just sense it in a person, this restlessness that grows in agitation over simple things that make no difference individually in the big picture. But it is the buildup of getting cut off, shouted at, or whatever happenings that leave a person feeling undignified--they become the straw that breaks the camel's back.
And so it is with myself that I can sense my mood is different. My friends here are great, my work load light, the beauty of the mountains all around us. But I know it is time for us to move on. It will be a challenge this semester to stay positive, to focus on the good, and not to itch for the day we head back to the States. If you pray, please do so for me in this.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Yesterday was an adventure. It was our last climbing day in Skaha before heading back across the border to Oregon. We had gotten up early, hiked up to the Great White wall, and enjoyed a crap shoot of climbing with an early morning start (early at least by our standards). Our first two sport routes had turned out to be duds. Rebs has this tendency to find easier-looking routes that turn out to be extremely difficult, which is exactly what our “warm up” route turned out to be. We definitely got warm, and moved on to find another one that was better. My choice turned out to be a diagonally bolted one that remained awkward most of the way, then finished with some nice, slopey ledges (please read with sarcasm). Not exactly a great route either. I think Rebs actually called it the worst route she’d ever been on.
So since our sport routes were turning out bad, we decided to try our hands at some traditional-style crack climbing. This is a relatively newer style of climbing for me, and especially for Rebs. I thought the route was phenomenal. A perfect seam that you could at least get finger tips into the whole way up with a couple pumpy spots to keep it exciting. But Rebs had a different experience. On any crack climbs I’ve put her on previously (quite a few here at Skaha over the past week or so), she’s managed to avoid using the crack and scramble her way up in some ridiculous fashion. But this time, she had to use it. Not to mention the exposure on the route. (It is at the top of a massive valley.) She worked her way up eventually, refusing to quit like the stubborn girl I love and adore. But the route was so long, she had to rappel twice, the first time to some anchors she couldn’t see from above. She did really well not to hyperventilate or pass out, but the anxiety left her exhausted. Yet, she still managed to have enough energy to belay me on a really cool route called “Test of the Ironman”, a very long and reachy route, hence the name. The sun was starting to hit the rock, so it was about time to move on.
We had some lunch and then hiked down to another area to rest in the shade. After a bit of rest and some bee swatting, we looked at the guidebook and I pointed out two different options that looked good to me. We decided to go up and look at the first and then make a decision.
The first route turned out to be two pitches, a runout, 4 bolt, 30 meter climb to a ledge, then an easy 5.9 trad route. Rebs said it looked good, so we decided to do it. Only when I was racking up did she point out that this was her first (voluntary) multi-pitch trad route.
The top pitch turned out to be the gem of it all, with a little bit of perfect hand jamming that even Rebs enjoyed. She was about halfway up the route when she heard a distant rumbling and turned around to see a massive thunderhead moving in on our cloudless blue sky. She began climbing more quickly while I did my best to stay quiet and let her enjoy the route, although my mind kept flashing back to the WFR couse (Wilderness First Responder) I’d taken in college and all the information and statistics they’d given us, essentially saying that on a rock face, attached to a bolt and a rope is the last place you want to be when a thunderstorm hits. I also thought about how a few days earlier, we had decided to take our rain fly off the tent since we were in such a dry climate and wanted to cool things down faster.
Fortunately, Rebs had no hiccups and made it back to the belay station shortly, from which we rappelled again to the ground. A beautiful route, just a little rushed. We scurried to pack up our gear then, speed hiked/jogged our way back to the parking lot. The huge blue-grey cloud loomed just East of us as we drove the 15 minutes back to our campsite. Like angry bees, we zipped around and got the tarp back on the tent and all our junk off the picnic table in a matter of minutes. The cloud was rising over the rock nearest to us when we decided not to stick around for the showers, but to head into town for a few errands to prep for the long drive to Oregon the next day.
In town, the streets were already wet, as if we had just missed the downpour. We could see the rain and lightning just North of us a few miles. I pumped gas as it sprinkled rain, my first shower of any kind in a few days. Meanwhile, Rebs went next-door and found a restaurant attached to a hotel that has free wifi, so we split a sampler appetizer for dinner and checked email. Upon our return to the campsite, our wonderful host Dale said he’d sat at his picnic table working a crossword while the storm rolled through. He said he counted ten drops. All that work for nothing! But we saw it as a sign that we were meant to be done because we got all our errands done, the camp mostly packed up in 5 minutes, and still had time for a beer and good conversation with Dale and “Gloria”. It was a great end to this part of our journey. We will never forget you Skaha.
So since our sport routes were turning out bad, we decided to try our hands at some traditional-style crack climbing. This is a relatively newer style of climbing for me, and especially for Rebs. I thought the route was phenomenal. A perfect seam that you could at least get finger tips into the whole way up with a couple pumpy spots to keep it exciting. But Rebs had a different experience. On any crack climbs I’ve put her on previously (quite a few here at Skaha over the past week or so), she’s managed to avoid using the crack and scramble her way up in some ridiculous fashion. But this time, she had to use it. Not to mention the exposure on the route. (It is at the top of a massive valley.) She worked her way up eventually, refusing to quit like the stubborn girl I love and adore. But the route was so long, she had to rappel twice, the first time to some anchors she couldn’t see from above. She did really well not to hyperventilate or pass out, but the anxiety left her exhausted. Yet, she still managed to have enough energy to belay me on a really cool route called “Test of the Ironman”, a very long and reachy route, hence the name. The sun was starting to hit the rock, so it was about time to move on.
We had some lunch and then hiked down to another area to rest in the shade. After a bit of rest and some bee swatting, we looked at the guidebook and I pointed out two different options that looked good to me. We decided to go up and look at the first and then make a decision.
The first route turned out to be two pitches, a runout, 4 bolt, 30 meter climb to a ledge, then an easy 5.9 trad route. Rebs said it looked good, so we decided to do it. Only when I was racking up did she point out that this was her first (voluntary) multi-pitch trad route.
The top pitch turned out to be the gem of it all, with a little bit of perfect hand jamming that even Rebs enjoyed. She was about halfway up the route when she heard a distant rumbling and turned around to see a massive thunderhead moving in on our cloudless blue sky. She began climbing more quickly while I did my best to stay quiet and let her enjoy the route, although my mind kept flashing back to the WFR couse (Wilderness First Responder) I’d taken in college and all the information and statistics they’d given us, essentially saying that on a rock face, attached to a bolt and a rope is the last place you want to be when a thunderstorm hits. I also thought about how a few days earlier, we had decided to take our rain fly off the tent since we were in such a dry climate and wanted to cool things down faster.
Fortunately, Rebs had no hiccups and made it back to the belay station shortly, from which we rappelled again to the ground. A beautiful route, just a little rushed. We scurried to pack up our gear then, speed hiked/jogged our way back to the parking lot. The huge blue-grey cloud loomed just East of us as we drove the 15 minutes back to our campsite. Like angry bees, we zipped around and got the tarp back on the tent and all our junk off the picnic table in a matter of minutes. The cloud was rising over the rock nearest to us when we decided not to stick around for the showers, but to head into town for a few errands to prep for the long drive to Oregon the next day.
In town, the streets were already wet, as if we had just missed the downpour. We could see the rain and lightning just North of us a few miles. I pumped gas as it sprinkled rain, my first shower of any kind in a few days. Meanwhile, Rebs went next-door and found a restaurant attached to a hotel that has free wifi, so we split a sampler appetizer for dinner and checked email. Upon our return to the campsite, our wonderful host Dale said he’d sat at his picnic table working a crossword while the storm rolled through. He said he counted ten drops. All that work for nothing! But we saw it as a sign that we were meant to be done because we got all our errands done, the camp mostly packed up in 5 minutes, and still had time for a beer and good conversation with Dale and “Gloria”. It was a great end to this part of our journey. We will never forget you Skaha.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Home-Bodied Travelers
Is there such a thing? That is exactly what we are. We like to travel around and see different places, but we don’t particularly like the constant packing, unpacking, and reorganizing of it all. That’s why we decided to stay in Skaha. Last night we kept debating on whether to go to Squamish in the morning. We even played “Rock, Paper, Scissors” (the way Koreans solve all their problems) and ended up with Squamish as the winner. But after some more discussion later, we decided to stay right where we are until heading down to meet up with Bob and Connie, giving us about 4 more days including today.
Here are a few reasons why:
1) We want more time to climb. Skaha has over 1000 routes, enough to go months without ever getting on the same route twice. We’ve found all different styles from slabby, positive climbs to juggy overhangs, sport, trad, runout, and over-bolted. You definitely can’t say Skaha’s “not my style” of climbing because it’s all-encompassing. And now that we’ve been up there a few days, we’re getting a good feel for the area, which makes it easy to get where we want and not get lost anymore.
2) You can’t beat this campsite. Seriously! I know I’ve already raved about it in previous posts, but it’s perfect. Not crowded, clean toilets, great hosts who are friendly and like to chat, but are great for giving you your privacy too. The view is spectacular. We’re right on the water, which is the perfect temperature for the now hot summer days. And at nights, it cools down to the mid 60s—perfect for snuggling into your sleeping bag.
3) We don’t like being rushed. If there was one statement to summarize our goals and motivations, that would be it. If we were to go to Squamish, we felt like we’d get there, have time to look around, and then have to leave before ever getting a good feel for the place. I hate feeling like a tourist. I know that going on vacation required some degree of tourism, but I feel I can minimize those feelings if I spend enough time somewhere. You get to know some of the locals and the secret hot spots, etc. and it really helps. I feel like there is so much more to gain from such an experience versus driving through, staying for a day, and taking a few photos along the way. Sure, it might make for some nice photography, but it’s just a photo. To me, the photo becomes so much richer when there are memories attached.
4) It saves us money. This trip hasn’t exactly been on a shoestring, so: driving ($1.32/liter) + 2 ferry rides = lots’o’cash. I’m sure we could afford it, but I guess the bottom line is that we’ll get more out of our experience.
There are also plenty of things to do on our rest days here. Today, we shopped and did laundry in the morning, then took the afternoon to find me a new pair of flip flops. We walked downtown some. Rebs got coffee; I got ice cream. The peach festival was going on, so we walked through it. It felt like a fair without the animals or rides. Basically a lot of tasty, very greasy food and a stage. Nothing was going on at that time, so we headed on to the movies, a great way to avoid the afternoon heat. After the movie, we headed back here and opted for a very light dinner of watermelon and veggies with hummus after having gorged ourselves on popcorn and pop only an hour before. Now here we lay in the tent, waiting for the air to cool, watching the moon set low beyond the mountain pass across the lake. In tomorrow lies the hope of some more good climbing or bathing in the lake, soaking up the sun, reading books, or visit one of the many wineries in the area. We have no real plan. But sometimes, the best plan is not having one.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Lost & Found - Part 2
We're still at the campsite with no electricity and haven't made the time to trek into town until now. I'm writing from the public library here in Penticton. Our original plan to continue on to Squamish got delayed by a day of sickness and the sheer awesomeness of this place. We're heading back to the rock tomorrow for one more day before heading to Squamish.
So... back to the story. We found a campsite and made ourselves at home. Lakeside, in the shade, fire pit, tent spot ON the lake--literally it's about 3 steps from our door. We haven't had rain since we set up the tent, but a few splatters of bird poop. Yeah, so it's pretty much the best campsite you could imagine. And the campground hosts are funny. Dale and Hannah (though Rebs finds 'Gloria' a more suitable name for her) are wonderful, keeping unwanted loiterers out, checking up on you every now and then. They're both semi-retired, I would guess in their early to mid 60s, have a camper and everything imaginable to go with it because they're here for 3 months. They get pretty upset when people try to use our site to get access to the water. We don't really mind that much, but they sure do.
Some fun facts: I've swam across the lake twice now, though the reeds are getting a bit tall now that the water level has gone down a few inches. There is a wonderful ice cream parlor we frequent often named "Tickleberry's". Rebs likes to say the name over and over. Our bodies are very tan. We lay on our spare air mattress in the water, using a piece of rope as a sort of lasso for the mattress and making an anchor to a rock. I successfully finished Born to Run in about a week. Very good book. We got lost... sort of... hiking out of the park one day.
It all started as a regular morning hiking in to climb. Rebs found what appeared to be a good area in the guidebook, but was about as far away as you can get from the parking lot. So we said we'd hike in and then work our way back. But the problem was, we couldn't find the trail that led there, at least not all the way. We'd go one way, then back another, unable to decipher where we were on the map. Eventually, Rebs found the right trail and we made it out there. Had the whole place to ourselves, that's for sure. By the time we got set up for our first climb of the day, it had already been over 2 hours. We got 2 routes in before stopping for lunch. Reassessing the day and our expectations, we decided to follow the trail around (it's a loop) to take a look at some of the areas we hadn't seen already. We made our way around and spent a couple hours hiking and looking at rock and setting up the hammock to rest for a bit.
When we decided to hike out was when it happened. There happen to be all these meandering side trails that go off in different directions all the time, I'm assuming are shortcuts to different cliffs because there is climbing all over the place. So if you don't know where you're going, it can get a little...interesting? So we took a wrong turn. No big deal. At least we were on a trail... which led to another trail... which led into some bramble bushes. And did I mention that it was getting later now, maybe 6:00. Rebs began to panic because we weren't seeing trail signs. We couldn't figure out where we were on the map, so therefore we must be lost, right? In my opinion, we weren't lost, only misplaced for the moment. (This is what I often tell Rebs when I can't find something) Lost is when something is gone for good. We were definitely not lost.
Soon, we began seeing trail signs, and an outhouse. After another 45 minutes, we were safe and sound at the car. No broken sandals this time, though we were both wearing flip flops, having not expected to hike a total of 5+ miles that day. That's what we estimated once we made it to the parking lot. We slept soundly that night, let me assure you.
So... back to the story. We found a campsite and made ourselves at home. Lakeside, in the shade, fire pit, tent spot ON the lake--literally it's about 3 steps from our door. We haven't had rain since we set up the tent, but a few splatters of bird poop. Yeah, so it's pretty much the best campsite you could imagine. And the campground hosts are funny. Dale and Hannah (though Rebs finds 'Gloria' a more suitable name for her) are wonderful, keeping unwanted loiterers out, checking up on you every now and then. They're both semi-retired, I would guess in their early to mid 60s, have a camper and everything imaginable to go with it because they're here for 3 months. They get pretty upset when people try to use our site to get access to the water. We don't really mind that much, but they sure do.
Some fun facts: I've swam across the lake twice now, though the reeds are getting a bit tall now that the water level has gone down a few inches. There is a wonderful ice cream parlor we frequent often named "Tickleberry's". Rebs likes to say the name over and over. Our bodies are very tan. We lay on our spare air mattress in the water, using a piece of rope as a sort of lasso for the mattress and making an anchor to a rock. I successfully finished Born to Run in about a week. Very good book. We got lost... sort of... hiking out of the park one day.
It all started as a regular morning hiking in to climb. Rebs found what appeared to be a good area in the guidebook, but was about as far away as you can get from the parking lot. So we said we'd hike in and then work our way back. But the problem was, we couldn't find the trail that led there, at least not all the way. We'd go one way, then back another, unable to decipher where we were on the map. Eventually, Rebs found the right trail and we made it out there. Had the whole place to ourselves, that's for sure. By the time we got set up for our first climb of the day, it had already been over 2 hours. We got 2 routes in before stopping for lunch. Reassessing the day and our expectations, we decided to follow the trail around (it's a loop) to take a look at some of the areas we hadn't seen already. We made our way around and spent a couple hours hiking and looking at rock and setting up the hammock to rest for a bit.
When we decided to hike out was when it happened. There happen to be all these meandering side trails that go off in different directions all the time, I'm assuming are shortcuts to different cliffs because there is climbing all over the place. So if you don't know where you're going, it can get a little...interesting? So we took a wrong turn. No big deal. At least we were on a trail... which led to another trail... which led into some bramble bushes. And did I mention that it was getting later now, maybe 6:00. Rebs began to panic because we weren't seeing trail signs. We couldn't figure out where we were on the map, so therefore we must be lost, right? In my opinion, we weren't lost, only misplaced for the moment. (This is what I often tell Rebs when I can't find something) Lost is when something is gone for good. We were definitely not lost.
Soon, we began seeing trail signs, and an outhouse. After another 45 minutes, we were safe and sound at the car. No broken sandals this time, though we were both wearing flip flops, having not expected to hike a total of 5+ miles that day. That's what we estimated once we made it to the parking lot. We slept soundly that night, let me assure you.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Lost & Found
Good morning from Penticton, British Columbia. The arid climate is wonderful—cool nights and mornings with warm, mostly sunny days. We left Leavenworth last Monday. That morning, we were awakened by thunder in the distance (is it 2 seconds for every mile?), and the rain followed shortly. Our rain fly worked well, so we stayed dry, then skipped breakfast and scrambled to get the tent down without getting too wet. We ended up at a little breakfast café called O’Grady’s where we ate, got lots of coffee refills, chatted with my dad on Skype, and uploaded pictures before I got jittery and was ready to go. The place itself was really beautiful, with a mostly finished wood interior, a gift shop attached through a hallway, and an organic garden out back, where they grow many of their herbs and produce fresh. They do tours on Saturdays at 4pm, if anyone reading ever makes it out this way. Rebs and I have dreamt about opening our own coffee shop someday. We both agreed that O’Grady’s would be a good place to model it after.
So as the rain continued to pour, we headed North toward Canada. After a brief stop to discard some peaches (you can’t bring produce across the border), we made our way into Canada, found a tourist information center and a map, then headed up to Penticton. First on our agenda was to see the climbing area, so we followed the road signs of a rock climber up a newly paved road to a newly paved parking lot. The climbing was a hike in, so we chose not to do it in the rain. Fortunately, there happened to be youth group of some sort just getting out of their vans. Fortuitous. We asked their leader where we might find a climbing shop and he directed us to a running store because he said there wasn’t any climbing shop in Penticton (hard to believe with over 1000 maintained routes in the park). So we headed down into Penticton to find the store, which happened to close around 4:30. We were an hour too late, but there was a bookstore next door, which happens to sell copies of the local guidebook. Yay!
Guidebook? Check! Place to stay? Hmm… It was still lightly raining and the thought of camping in the rain didn’t sound like fun, so we decided to go across the street and use the local coffee shop’s wireless to find a place to stay. Rebs did a bit of research and found a nice B&B that overlooks the city. Barb and Gary are two lovely people, (and quite resourceful too) having switched from the internet server business about 10 years ago and never looked back. We nestled into the Ruby Room for the night with some Domino’s Pizza, and what do you know, Rebs’ favorite show, “The Bachelorette”, happened to be on TV. I actually had to go wash my feet in the tub before dinner because I partially stained the bedspread with my dirty feet.
The next morning, we woke up late to sunshine and a beautiful breakfast on the back patio, refreshed and ready for climbing. Barb suggested we get out early to find a good camp site because the upcoming weekend was a holiday, meaning there’d be lots of people with the same idea as us: camp and enjoy the beautiful weather. So we headed to Okanaga Falls Provincial Campsite, but were about 3 minutes too late, pulling in right behind the car that took the last site. The Parks and Rec lady was kind enough to send us on to another site of similar quality about 10 minutes down the road. When we pulled into Vaseaux Lake, it looked like we might run into the same problem. As we were driving by, I had my window down and heard the lady in charge holler, “You girls might try site #9 at the end there. I think there is a couple just leaving.” (Apparently, I looked too much like a girl with my long hair). That site happened to be the best one of the whole lot, right on the lakeside with a spot for our tent nestled down by the water and away from the highway. Our prayer had been answered!
To be continued…
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