Fishing Adventure

April 13, 2014 No Comments

“Are you ready for an adventure?” Cliff emerged from the shadows into the glow from the car lights. Now that’s how you begin a fishing trip! 6am and the city was still sleeping as we glided through the silence and the dark. Watching the world slowly wake added to our anticipation, Cliff seemed as excited as we were, three kids on an expedition to the Oregon coast. We reached the urban boundary, houses became fields and then forest. We curved along Highway 6, Cliff pointing out landslides, the delicacy of this ecosystem becoming apparent as we passed some heavy machinery logging trees. We weaved along and I began to doze in the back to the soothingly soft voices in the front.

Then we were there. I was handed waders and fishing shoes which fit perfectly, what else would you expect, the day was already written. I starred down the steep ramp and then was handed a rope, reassured that a one armed-man had done the job easily a few weeks before. They heaved, the boat creaked and then it went slowly sailing down the ramp and gently skimmed the water at the bottom.

As Cliff rowed us along the river, slipping into guide mode, I realised that this was a much nicer way to go fishing. (Once I vocalised the thought Cliff apologised to Dylan with a laugh) Pink nymphs at the end of line we floated down, stopping at the best spots, waiting for a nibble.

My bobber dipped, I starred, I pulled, it resurfaced, maybe it just caressed the river bed. We began to haul anchor, and Cliff suggested I send it out one more time, then it dipped again, then the line began to fly. “My float went under!” Everyone started yelling at once, it was a fiesty one, it zoomed around, my rod bending under the effort, it fought and fought, once it surfaced right near the boat long enough for us to see it was a hatchery fish and a keeper, but ultimately it won the battle for its life courageously, yanking the hook clear off the line nymph and all when it sensed its moment as I passed the rod to Cliff to bring it in. Cliff was chastened, I ecstatic with adrenalin, Dylan happy to see there were Steelhead trout to be caught, possibly glad that he had a chance to be first to pull one in being a seasoned fisherman and I a first timer.

A patch of blue in the cloudy sky teased as we rounded the bend, moss covered trees arching branches and then Dylan’s float went under. His fish made for the rapids, the cheeky thing, but Dylan was a step ahead leaping for the bank and bringing him in. Cliff swooped the net and there he was, 11 pounds of hatchery beauty, nothing like Dylan has ever seen in the Grey River trickle back home. He was almost more astonished than proud at first. The best thing of all is that hatchery fish weaken the wild fish population when they breed with them so it wasn’t just a good meal, but a boon for the wild ecosystem of Wilson River. As Cliff explained, once upon a time they thought you could just breed fish in captivity and release them into the wild river, but they just weren’t as strong as the ones born free, and when they spawned their progeny were weak too. now it is thought better to capture wild eggs fertilise them by hand and release them into the rivers before their hatch, just to ensure a high hatch rate. Ah, the fiddling humans have to do when they begin meddling with nature, it would be amusing if it didn’t so often go horrible so wrong (I’m talking about you cane toad).

We did some wadding, Cliff allowed himself some flyfishing and the boots on my feet began to fall apart to add to the excitement of the day. Cliff with his surgical expertise tried tying them on with rope, the currant cleverly untied his knots, Dylan had a go and they were in a pile around my feet within the half hour. I made a rather hilarious with the foam flapping with every step, clown like strides to compensate, then I lost the foam entirely only for the sole to begin to unglue. By the end of the day they had a rather lovely streamlined look but were doomed for the great black plastic bag in the sky.

We reached the end of the final run, but decided there was time for just one more go so we drove back upstream and sent the boat swooshing on down again. We passed some old mates in a boat, I took the time to enjoy the scenery and Dylan hooked another trout. This one had a saltwater hitchhiker clinging to its scales, it hadn’t been here for long. When we finally disembarked a whole bunch of tourists crowded around our cooler to marvel at our catch, taking photos perhaps to claim as their own.

Then to top off a perfect day Cliff invited us home for a homecooked meal of barbecued trout which tasted all the better for being so fresh and so free. Sally also made us a delicious farro sidedish and an entre of cheese and some of the best bread we’d had in America. and not so secretly at all a highlight was their border collie Ranger who I got to give extra special attention to as he was recovering from surgery, I piled on all the love and pats that I had stored from missing our own border collie at home. Owls hooted as we left for home, so grateful to Cliff and Sally for gifting us this amazing day, perhaps the happiest of our whole trip.

filleting-fish

Travel

where we are now

April 12, 2014 No Comments

[mm-insert-title]

portland, oregon

We planned on visiting the Japanese Gardens but it was a grey old day and my legs weren’t up to revisiting that hill so we just had a quiet one, letting ourselves be still for a while. So after a visit to a bike shop and securing some fishing licenses for the next day’s adventure we just spent the day planning the cycling adventure across Europe that had begun hatching in our minds since facing the wide expanses of America, where you are tied to your car as if it was an umbilical cord.

Our Airbnb host’s name is SaraHope and for those who now us, you’ll be glad to hear we are being looked after in our travels by people like her. Perpetually scatterbrained we had neglected to book more than two nights and of course when our plans to go camping fell through due to Dylan still being on the tail end if his cold and our surprise invitation, of course someone else booked it up. SaraHope went out of her way, organising her housemate Minka to stay over at her boyfriends so we could use her room and then two days later moving us back into our old one. The only shame in this whole scenario is that Minka’s hilarious little gentleman mutt called Giovanni also had to leave. Can anyone resist saying that name with an OT Italian accent? If so, you are far stronger willed than these two simple souls.

Our room came adorned with giant faux leaves and flowers above the bed, and because SaraHope couldn’t be there to welcome us when we arrived she left us a handwritten card! Her boyfriend Sapphire was there to greet us on our first morning, ah poor Sapphire, who left after ecstatic dance to run dance/martial arts workshops in Australia, neglecting for the secondtime to get a working VISA and travelling with a one-way ticket. Alarm bells sounded as he emerged off his flight and after a lightening quick interview where they looked sat his website banned him from the country for 3 years and frog marched him within 24 hours back onto a flight to Portland. Yikes isn’t that your far whenever you arrive in a country for the first time? But in most cases it’s irrational.

Now to prepare for our fishing expedition, of course it’s midnight and we have to rise at 5! It is so exciting to take a break from the city!

Portland Guide

Seven Virtues

One virtue is the fairtrade coffee, another the free wi-fi. I had a hot chocolate.

Bike Gallery

Super awesome sales assistant and that day 50% off everything Giro. Nice men’s bike clothes too, actually made in America, the girls only had smelly old American Apparel though.

Bike Gallery

Super awesome sales assistant and that day 50% off everything Giro. Nice men’s bike clothes too, actually made in America, the girls only had smelly old American Apparel though.

Appetite

The super awesome sales assistant recommended we visit his wife’s shop after seeing my Topo designs bag. Sadly it was closed but from peeking in the window we saw some pretty gorgeous hand screen-printed bags.

Travel

Wildwood

April 11, 2014 1 Comment

That hill, oh dear lord it went on forever and so so steep. It was my initiation to the biking world and although all Inwanted to do was stop and walk it, I made it slowly and unsteadily to the top. I guess it made the view all the more spectacular, the city all the way below. The rose garden didn’t have a bud to its name, but spring bulbs and cherry blossoms were putting on a show. A couple were having their engagement photos taken as we wandered by, perhaps ruining one of the shots, it was funny to see such staged happiness and affection that was delivered on cue at the photographers demand.

We walked the Wildwood trail at the top of the hill, that was the inspiration for a book by my favourite musician Colin Meloy of the Decemberists, sunlight burning a crack through the clouds to illuminate a random tree or moss covered branch. No fairies or talking anmals out today though. I wooshed down the hill back to the Rose Garden and felt that rush of freedom you get when moving fast on a bike after a big climb. Cherry blossoms were floating on the breeze in drifts and I explored the gardens while Dylan rang. In a dark corner was the Jewish memorial, life sized bronze sculptures of everyday objects cattered the path, a teddybear and trodden on violin. These very human offerings so much more moving than a wall of granite covered in names, I chance to remember the lives of the lost rather than just their deaths.

Further along leaves were surfacing in unfurling spikes from their winter slumber and hellebores nodded heavy with flowers. A man caught the last beams of sun on a grassy slope and the path ended in noisy playground packed with children. While Dylan unlocked the bikes for the descent a raven sat, a shadow, in a branch of the cherry tree. He looked at me in that side on way and croaked its ugly beautiful song.

We were meeting a family friend for dinner and as we made our way across town, rain began to fall. We sheltered under the familiar awnings of Crema Bakery to put on our raincoats and then the clouds burst and rain flooded to the city streets, washing them and everything else clean. We hesitated as minutes ticked by and then asked Lonnie to meet us nearby as it wasn’t looking good on our end. We bundled into his favourite dive bar, waiting to meet another generous stranger, full of recommendations for our culinary adventure. As my friend Jessie puts it “eating our way through America”.

Portland Guide

International Rose Test Garden

A lovely spot to view the city, you’re probably better going in early summer though if you want to see some actual roses in bloom.

Palace

Only go here if you are in the mood to buy something because everything is so lovely you’ll definitely find something to love. Vintage clothes and local designer garments and bits and bobs. Monday is 10% off, and I found a Fyallraven cape for 60% off, it is as amazing as it is ridiculous, I look forward to dry knees on my bike rides in Melbourne winter. The shopgirl is super nice and attached to all garments there and although its weird to say the shop smells really good.

City State Diner

Can you go to America without eating at a diner? Well this one is slightly more diner in name than menu as it all seemed a little gourmet. It’s yum food near Palace and not too pricey. I had hazlenut challah french toast deluxe, and it was as good as the name sounds, including rum honey!

Travel

ecstatic dance

April 9, 2014 3 Comments

[mm-insert-title]

Portland, Oregon

When you travel you can’t stay huddled in your comfort zone, you are continuously tested and stretched and by stepping out of your comfortable routine you get to know yourself better. If you don’t throw yourself into life you miss out on experiences and for better or worse interesting is always better than boring. That’s how I found myself in a sea of strangers freestyle dancing for two hours. I am always nagging at Dylan to go dancing, so when our Airbnb host SaraHope invited me to Ecstatic Dance I couldn’t really refused although my mind was repelled like a magnet from jumping into the unknown without the safety net of my boyfriend’s company.

The Tiffany Centre was a grand old building, all ceiling frescoes of kings and saints, sweeping marble staircases and timber paneling. Not the small community hall I hd expected for a new agey “dance journey”, the room was huge. I cut my strings to SaraHope and waded into open space. There were people swaying and stretching to the relaxing rhythmic beats, I took shelter to stretch on the floor, time to observe. One woman with a swooshing robe and shaved head was beautiful watch, weaving like tendrils of seaweed through the waves of people. Another man in a trance like shuffle snailed past, a gorgeously graceful girl who must be a ballet dancer, impossibly flexible legs pointing north and south. Then there was a woman with an off duty service dog on the floor and amongst the crowds of dreaded up, descended yoga panted enlightened ones were neon top big earring ravers. Then a whole heaps of mums and kids dressed for the gym and a fairy party respectively.

We joined hands in a circle to encourage inclusion and embrace the theme of water, all donations would be going towards the Sea Shepherd. Then all there was left to do was enjoy the moment, it was hard to get out of my head at first, to dance like no one is watching is harder than it sounds. But after a while the rhythm throws your mind into quieter depths and the comfort in numbers releases hidden tensions. SaraHope had forewarned me that some dancers practie contact dancing where you dance with a person always having some physical contact. I saw a number of pairs doing what almost seemed like slowed down martial arts moves, sometimes rolling over each other backs, sometimes flipping on the floor. As the music shifted from Underwater Love to Shake Your Ass to Rolling in the Deep, I realised a white clad boy and I were moving in time, perhaps consciously on his part and on making eye contact, I thought why not and made contact. There is something pathologically awkward about trying to move in sync with another human being with no set steps or instruction, to those who can do this gracefully I am in complete awe, I can’t imagine it being very restful, always preempting another’s slight movements. It was nice to have a brief connection in the room though, as with anything new even in a crowd you can feel alone. Sweaty backs aside it was fun, I would have felt a coward had I not let myself accept the experience, but once the song was done I yearned for freedom and exited contact as suddenly as it had begun, no hard feelings.

We danced on, at the half way point it was almost tribal, jumping and stamping, everyone throwing themselves into the rhythms, a bell would ring, people would yell out. Then exhaustion began to set in, some people folded onto the side lines, I didn’t want to demure. To last to the end of this full body and mind workout I had to stop trying to match the fasted rhythm in the music, slow it down, people around me were doing the same. i imagined mysef pushing my hands through thick air, like the resistance of swimming. It was almost like Tai-Chi, perhaps the mostbenjoyable part of the dance, in our slow movements we became like a community of fishes or washing in the wind, we rippled together. Then it was done, a line at a time poem was read and we were released into a sunny Portland noon.

Dylan had a surprised for me when I returned home, tickets for the Seattle Orchestra Downtown, but we had to go now! We bundled up and jumped on bikes into town. In the gorgeous concert hall the audience hummed around us, then that wave of tuning that gets the heart pumping in anticipation. And the theme for the concert? Soundscapes and the sea, how the world plays in unison! Luther Adams: Become Ocean, painted vivid images of the barren planes of Alaska that is his home, soft and so sweet that it almost lulled us to sleep, which is a compliment. The Varèse was polar opposite, full of unexpected cracks and claps, a composer who in the 50s dreamed of electronic music that technology was not yet capable of producing. A small number of the elderly portion of audience, left the room in disgust to our mischievous delight! And of course the Debussy: La mer was very fine, bows of strings moving like the legs of a Japanese wind sculpture, we settled in to watch the interactions between the orchestra members, deference here, a look there, one particularly impassioned jerky viola player, another with an epic beard down to his waist. The music done, lights up we emerged into late afternoon shadow. we wandered a while before finding dinner, around a square while a homeless man in a bright yellow workman’s vest sang in a deep baritone about a “good loookin’ girl”.