Remember Who You Are

January 17, 2023 by Christopher So

Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.
10:30

I go to the sea to heal.

I go to the sea to feel my rage.

I go to the sea to remember where I have been and where I want to go.

I go to the sea to remember what I have done and what I want to still do.

I go to the sea to thank it for my life and to remember that I too am powerful.

I go to the sea to remember who I was and how fucking hard I have worked to become who I am.

I am Chris.

Written to: “Lucky Mistake (Her 2.0)” - Vincent, Alice Berg

'23 and Me

January 05, 2023 by Christopher So

Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.
10:35

Bend is the first place I have lived to make me miss summer.

Against all odds 2022 managed to drag what was left of itself over the finish line. A year of so much loss and sorrow and hard work. For me, for my family, for the world. I entered 2023 buried under layers of my favorite blankets - a “BZZT-BZZT” from my Garmin sent off into the cool darkness of my cave on wheels.

Absolutely toasted off my new dab pen, I laid there floating through a messy slideshow of the past year. Through memories of my friends, my family, my ex, my new life in Bend. They oozed out of my head and around my body, just out of reach - a nebula of cold, black syrup.

In waking life I have been feeling lost like I am floating through my days and nights.

Leading up to the new year I had been feeling a renewed sense of living for myself. I was soaking up spaces and faces and making significant changes in my life. I think I am still doing those things but it feels like I am living in slow motion, that I can’t actually touch anything or anyone. Like I am pushing along the bottom of a cold, dark, endless pool. Half breathing half drowning with no direction.

I ended the year, bat in hand, beating the life out of every bleeding second left high as a kite on the intense feelings of finally getting to know myself and living for that self. Yet now I feel more lost than I ever have.

But.

And there is a ‘but’, and I get to use it this time.

2022 taught me that two of the most important things you need to pull yourself out of these spirals are optimism and appreciation. Optimism not necessarily that things have to get better, or even will get better. More like optimism for optimism sake because the alternative is sadness. And sadness leads to overthinking. And overthinking leads to hopelessness. And hopelessness leads to isolating yourself, getting wasted, crying your eyes out to EDM at 3am while looking at pictures of your ex, and driving off the edge of that first high spot on 20 east - you know the one.

All said and done though, for me, I actually do think things will get better. I believe it.

Appreciation comes much easier for me. Appreciation for the clothes that protect me, the gas that moves me, and the food that nourishes me. Appreciation for the warmth of my blankets, the faint smell of juniper on warm winter days, and the tightness of a hug just for coming into work.

It has been:

1 year, 4 months, and 30 days since the surfing accident that almost killed me.
10 months and 10 days since Helena and I split.
7 months and 22 days since I started my Bend journey and cousin Pat ended his life.
1 month and 14 days since I moved into my truck.

Passage of time always puts things into perspective for me. Numbers and units made up to quantify the fluid cosmos, but it still helps.

I do hope that these posts become lighter with the new year. More often than not they become updates that quickly devolve into long, public therapy sessions with pictures - you know I know.

There is a lot to look forward to this year, even I will admit that. I am entering into it with Bend as my home base, full-time living in my rig, and with a pretty good idea of the wild places I want to see. I am entering it with more of a community and with a more developed, albeit shaky, sense of who I am and who I want to become.

I want to explore the rest of central and eastern Oregon. See the Wallowa Mountains and the Alvord Desert for myself. I want to see the rest of Washington’s north coast, its islands, and I want to bikepack Vancouver Island and get tacos at Tacofino.

I want to see the deserts of New Mexico and Arizona, to feel the sun against my back in Joshua Tree as I rip it’s gravel roads, to muster up the courage to visit San Diego, and to find love.

Lastly, I want to improve my relationships with the people that already love me. Hard to write, hard to understand, hardest to do. An addendum to my advisor’s advice:

“I think maybe you should try spending time with the people, who want to spend time with you [and stop taking them for granted]”.

Yea, I think that’s all I got this time.

A hui hou,

Chris

Written to: “Mirage” - Rebelution

On Gratitude and Living for Yourself

November 29, 2022 by Christopher So

Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.
10:08

It felt like the valve had been pulled on my anxiety. I could feel the weight of dammed up sadness, depression, stress, anxiety, and resentment pouring out of me. You could almost hear the whistle as I sat there in Spoken Moto deflating. Sinking deeper and deeper into my chair. A heap - grateful and exhausted.

I was finally full-time truck living. From conception it took a little over two months to prep the truck, purchase gear, and adapt my cooking and storage to the space of my 4Runner, Rhyhorn. Then there was the chaos of downsizing and moving what things I needed into Rhy and what I wanted into a 5 x 5 storage. Every free moment before and after work as well as all of my weekends were dedicated to the cause.

Even before the dust began to settle I knew that I wanted to end my old chapter and begin my new chapter at Spoken Moto, with a hot coffee and closed eyes. And so I sat. Writing, drifting, and soaking in the quiet cold of my first night.

I had no idea that so much of my anxiety and depression was tied to my belongings and my space. There was something about having a room, a bathroom, a kitchen, a pantry, a closet, a garage and having all of my things spread across them that filled me with a strange sense of responsibility and commitment. I felt like I needed to keep track of all of those things, to take care of the spaces themselves, to fill them with more things, and to start and end my days with them nearby. Not to mention having to share some of these spaces with others and that I had to PAY SOMEONE ELSE’S house off just to have a roof over my head as I buried myself in depression and anxiety. Getting rid of things that couldn’t fit in my truck and storage unit lifted a lot of these self-imposed commitments off of me and I felt lighter and happier with each sentimental thing I donated or threw away. Moving away from my roommates freed my mind and gave me back the power to invest my time, energy, and money into a space and a life that I owned.

Being back in Rhy meant that my life was once again on the road and on the go. I could choose where to end and start my days and no matter where I travelled everything I needed would be with me: the sentimental, the functional, the meaningful. Organizing, cleaning, and maintaining Rhy was no different than the everyday chores I did living in remote Hawaii and Alaska - taking care and ownership of a space that takes care of you. I didn’t realize just how much I missed that.

I have been blessed to be able to start this journey in Bend. My friends have generously shared their spots with me and have offered their driveways and homes if I ever need a warm place to stay. In the lonely weeks leading up to a holiday about reflection and gratitude I unexpectedly found myself surrounded by love.

My former living situation combined with a fresh batch of romantic rejection, terrible (and expensive) food, and an increasing feeling of isolation had formed a new weight on me since deciding not to blow my brains out over the love-of-my-life in May. The added stress of not making nearly enough money to pay for my anxiety-filled home, food, and actually have savings pushed me to consider leaving Bend for somewhere where at least I would have community (and better food).

The move into Rhy came as an immediate, desperate solution to the housing and money parts of the problem but what I didn’t expect, and am so incredibly grateful for, is how it brought me closer to my friends.

There is something easy but powerful about spending simple time with the people you care about. It feels better, it feels good, and it feels natural. I have spent my whole life building communities filled with love and friendship but have spent that same time moving all over the country, and away from them. Caught up in the bleeding chest wound that has been my crash landing in Bend I have been so preoccupied with triaging my anxieties, fears, heartache, and insecurities that I have barely made time to spend simple time with the people around me.

Like my grad school advisor told me the day I wept in her office as the pressure and sadness of a spiraling PhD program, moving back to Virginia, losing my grandpa and grandma and uncle and other grandma and other grandpa and cousin, and my crumbling partnership poured itself out of my face and all over my meeting notes -

“I think maybe you should try spending time with the people, who want to spend time with you”.

With what felt like the suddenness of a pulled power cord the pace of my life changed completely once I moved back into Rhy. Suddenly I was 25 and in the Klamath mountains again. Experiencing the West Coast for the first time, living and working odds and ends ecology jobs out of Rhy, getting nakey nakey outside every chance I could find, and exploring as much as I could on my days off. With the change of pace also came a simpler way of living, one that helped to open my heart up again in a way I have not felt since I first moved to the PNW.

The sacred timing of the Universe could not have been better. It was with a present mind, an open heart, and god-willing the lowest anxiety I have had since 2015 - that I got to spend Thanksgiving with three wonderful groups of friends.

The land here is beautiful and sacred and the smell of juniper will always bring me back to the high desert but it is community that would make me stay. I spent Thanksgiving with three different groups of friends that reached out and wanted to share time and space with me. Of all the things they could have been doing with their lives and partners, they decided to share those moments with me. For the first time since moving the Bend I felt like I could see the beginnings of a community I could be a part of.

On gratitude and living for yourself I have these last things to say. I am 32. I don’t own my own house in Southern California or work in IT. I don’t make 6-figures or have a job where I can work from an airbnb in Thailand. And I absolutely will never own a Tesla. But I do want a family. And I do want a partner that will love me and us and themselves. And I will do everything I can to see as much of the beauty left in this world, with what is left in me.

I think that’s what it’s really all about.

Chris

Written to: “Hawk is a Mule” by Andrew Marlin

On Loss and Lifting

June 20, 2022 by Christopher So

Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.
23:35

The most formative partnership of my 31 years of life ended on February 22, 2022 the senses of which were branded into my heart and mind through a blur of clenched teeth, the smell of rain, burning eyes, and empty open hands. I left my home in Virginia on May 4, 2022 shaking in the solitude of my truck as I drove through the morning light of my neighborhood crying for my mother and my family. My dear cousin Pat took his own life on May 14, 2022 alone in the Arizona desert far from home and from us. And the person who felt like a part of my own bones and flesh and spirit told me that she had found new love in her new home on May 29, 2022 over text as I stood frozen, wide-eyed and breathless in front of a baker, deaf to his words asking me which of his cakes I had been waiting for.

I drove as far into the high desert as I could, timing my turn around to catch the sunset. Without missing a beat I pulled off onto the side of the road, slammed my door, and opened my trunk - the smell of juniper air filling my lungs. I felt like it was finally time to end what felt like an endless suffering, but instead of emptying my brains onto 20 East - I paused. I thought of Pat. I thought of the desert. I thought of his family and my own pain. I thought about how I would have given anything to be sitting with him out of the back of his big blue van sharing stories, sharing pain, talking about the future. And I thought about Her and Her hands and Her smell and Her voice and I screamed and cried and ripped at my hair, my voice cracking across the dusty desert…and I cried and cried and cried. And then I looked up at the orange sky as the sun began to set behind the sisters, and I celebrated life.

I feel like I have spent most of my remembered life saying goodbye to the things I want to keep. Losses and abandonments laid onto me like heavy chains one after another since I was a child. And with each new goodbye I think I learn lessons, I think I get stronger and better, that surely with a critical restructuring of myself I will not be left again. But it always happens.

And then I lost Her and then I lost Pat and then I nearly lost myself and I realized that things truly needed to change in a way I have never tried before.

Sifting through the co-mingled grief has been painful and exhausting. Learning that I am responsible for my own feelings, my own actions, and my own worth seem straightforward but has been profound. I am not happy about how I treated Her or how I treated myself during our partnership. I mourn and regret my inability to recognize and overcome my old patterns of self-sabotoge and insecurity. I angrily blame the toxic exes that came before Her and the harsh, rigid ways that I was raised by my parents but I know I am wrong. I am responsible for my own life, my own feelings, and my actions that follow.

We are all doing the best we can.

Unlearning. The first step to meaningful change has been to recognize my own insanity and dishonesty to myself. It has been painful and hard and uncomfortable but it has been rewarding. I “protected” myself from being surprise-abandoned by another lover by pushing Her away. By feeding my insecurities, ignoring Her reassurances, and starving Her of my time. By allowing myself to be swallowed into the belly of jealousy I bailed on Her, grew cold, distanced myself with no explanations.

Even during my apology I dove deeply into self-sabotage. I told Her how much of a better fit Her friend was for Her, how seamless they would be, how I could never teach Her how to surf like he could, how different we were and how similar they were, how I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live in a dirty expensive overpopulated Southern Californian city when that same beautiful ocean rests against the shores of the Pacific Northwest’s ancient wild forests. I was rude and an assailant to my own partnership, an assailant to the things that the woman I loved held dear.

For my half of the things that ended us I have taken responsibility and I have grieved. The next step was to understand why I did what I did, and why once again I found myself watching the end credits of the same fucking movie.

A different girl, a different town, same loneliness, same goodbye, same shitty me on my knees begging arms outstretched and empty, but older this time. Old enough to know that I didn’t just lose a partner this time, but that I lost a chance to share a life and a family with a woman I loved deeply.

When I received the news of Pat’s passing it tore open a hole in my healing heart and poured into it the rawest forms of compassion and loss I have ever felt. I cried in the darkness of my room, my tears pouring out heavy and easy, soaking into sheets I haven’t washed since I shared them with Her. I felt raw and exposed and all at once floating in the dark void left by his absence. I reached out to his sister and his parents.

His loss catalyzed in me a serious change. I began to examine the preciousness of life and individuality. The inherent value and worth in each one of us, granted by simply existing. The vastness of forever, and how little of that time is ours. What a miracle it was to even exist at the same time as the ones we love.

I began to let go of Her and us and my painful attachment to our memories.

Most difficult of all was that I began to open and examine the heavy baggage I have been carrying with me into each new life I’ve lived.

Receiving the news that She had found love with the same friend that triggered me to sabotage and tear us apart cut into me like a knife but not in the way it would have the old me. Walking away from that bakery I texted her that I was happy for them and that I wished the best for Her, and I meant it. Thoughts of Pat crashed through my mind, mixing violently with the vivid memories of Her that were pouring out of my freshly re-broken heart. Thoughts of the pain and heartache his family was going through. The way She adored me and held my hand while I drove. There was no anger, there was no jealousy, there was no spite or vindication. I would have gratefully listened to anything she had to tell me because anything the Universe could throw at me would have been better than her being cold and dead and gone.

But ending my own life was a separate thing entirely. At least in that moment. It was something that I felt like I was ready to do for me and on my own terms. There was nothing more that I could do for myself and the people in my life. It was time to cut my losses and wash my hands of my failed attempts at existing in this world with someone I love. What I mistook for self-care and freedom would have been the most profound abandonment of my life and it would have been by my own hands…

My decision to instead celebrate life that day was thanks to Pat and the lessons I had begun to learn from losing him. Telling me that She had found love was not easy for Her to do and it wasn’t something that She owed me at all. She told me out of respect and love. I didn’t realize it as I was driving as fast as I could, but it freed me. It cut the last invisible string attaching us. It bookended a period of deep aimless loss and laid the foundation on which I could finally stand and begin the hard work of lifting myself from my grief.

Losing Her, and Pat, and Her again showed me just how much bigger the picture of my life was. Far bigger than the pain and intensity of my current but temporary reality, far longer than I was allowing it to be.

I am only just beginning the very beginnings of lifting from my grief but I need pause and breath. I want to honor just how much time and work it took to get here. I want to celebrate that I am still here and able to feel the earth between by toes and the sun on my skin. I want to give thanks for the smell of juniper after the rain, and the sound of my mother’s caring voice.

I know that a big part of the work I have before me is finding love and worth in myself, for myself, and by myself. Something that I know will take my lifetime and may never really be achieved. In lifting from my grief and forward into the rest of my life, it will be important for me to carry with me all of the lessons I have learned and am still learning. But also my raw honest feelings. I cannot hope to work through my unresolved abandonment by first starting with abandoning myself. Flawed and damaged as I may be, I am mine and I cannot be left behind.

The baggage will need to be opened and inspected, acknowledged and processed, and then let go.

But that doesn’t mean that I cannot begin my healing gently.

I am lucky to call Bend, OR home for now. I am blessed to share space with its land and to be surrounded by its mountains, trees, lakes, animals, and deserts. I am slowly opening up to its people and have found kindness where I have shared it. I miss the community and family I left in Virginia but I know that sowing kindness, love, and empathy here will nurture amazing things.

I have always taken heed of a phenomenon I call the sacred timing of the Universe. Some would call it coincidence. At the very least, there is something special about the temporal patterns of our lives. I have found my first gentle steps into healing through books. I have poured myself into a life-changing book on abandonment, the desert poetry of Edward Abbey, and the gentle rage of Robin Wall Kimmerer. The latter two of which I have owned and read during very different lives. Yet now they resonate with stronger meaning and intention.

The sacred timing of the Universe is something I am becoming more and more of a believer in. Two pieces of advice given to me by two of my loving friends back in the first months of my break up ring powerfully now.

”Get to know yourself again, and take it slow.”

”Celebrate the beauty of what was, and the beauty of what will be."

I want to live and feel and love deeply. I want to have a rich emotional life and I want to share it with people that are willing to share their lives with me. I never want to treat anyone like I treated Her again. I never want to feel like I did when I lost Her again. I don’t want to continue living in these old patterns of self-sabotage, loneliness, and abandonment. I want to be a better person for myself and for the people I hope to share my long life with.

I want to be free…

I love and miss my family, I love and miss my friends, and I love and miss Her. With my whole heart.

And I love and miss you, Pat. Thank you for saving me. I hope you have found peace.

Chris

Written to my Spotify Playlist: On Loss

Westward: The Journey Back to Bend

May 04, 2022 by Christopher So

Fairfax, VA
Elevation: 312ft.
04:06

Where do I begin?…4 years ago I moved from Astoria, OR back to Fairfax, VA. The goal at the time was to attend grad school and to be near my Grandpa and my uncle as they neared the end of their time here with us. It felt like I was also running out of time…

I want to do things differently this time. I want to learn to love myself and to live for myself. I want to celebrate the existence of everyone I meet and to expand my capacity to love and be loved. If I cannot do these things and much more then I am damned to continue this cycle of losing everyone and everything I love. I don’t want to lose anymore…

I hit the road in 4 hours - on the same day that I began my first journey west in 2015.

This is my reality and I am blessed to have it, the good, the bad, all of it.

Thank you for everything Virginia,

Chris

Written to: “Square One” - Caamp and “Desert Heat” - Michigan Rattlers

The Weight of Home: The Journey Back to Virginia

April 10, 2018 by Christopher So

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft.

“I wanna be where the talk of the town is about last night when the sun went down…”
- Jack Johnson

Growing up the definition of “home” was black and white for me. It was where my Mom, Dad, brother, and Grandparents were. Home was the safe and familiar place I would open my eyes for the day and close my eyes for the night. Through these past few years of living, loving, and letting the world in I can say that home has become something much harder to define. It is not a place or a people, rather, home has become that feeling of familiarity. Singular and extremely vast, it is the feeling of kinship with a place, a people, a time, an energy. Without getting too metaphysical, home has become where I am.

In 2015 I packed my things into my truck and moved to the west coast to escape everything that I considered home. It was spiteful, it was vengeful, it was escapist, and it was ill found. I was fed up with clashing with the energy of Northern Virginia and was terrified of the kind of person I would become if I stayed. The narcissist I am, I believed it was “them” that had to change.

The Pacific Northwest showed me many things. Things beyond my wildest imagination (I know its cliché but find yourself in front of a mountain so beautiful that you ugly cry and then come find me) but most importantly it showed me a lot about myself. I began to understand the mechanisms of my mind. How I perceived spaces around me and how I, in turn, affected those spaces. I began to learn who I was at a deeper, fundamental level. Without getting to “self-help-y”, I learned that I needed to meet the world halfway. It is here in this moment of clarity that my definition of home was refined. Home is where I found peace. Where I could be and let be.

I owe my monkhood mostly to three years of backbreaking physical labor and mental depravation, but also to the countless faces that I have been able to call my family. I came to the west coast to escape the east coast but what I found was that I needed to escape a mindset.

Today I begin my journey back to Virginia. I leave a home for a home. But like my journey west, I carry on my back not the weight of goodbyes, heartache, and fear - but the weight of home.

Mahalo for everything, and with all my love,

Chris

Written to: "Talk of the Town" - Jack Johnson (ft. Kawika Kahiapo)

You’ll Never Be This Free Again

February 11, 2018 by Christopher So

Astoria, OR
Elevation: 23ft.

It’s been about two and a half months since I returned from Alaska. As always, time feels like it is oozing around me. Formless, slipping away, fast and slow. Returning from seasonal work is always an adjustment, just ask my cousins. It’s not unusual for me to lock myself up in our home for a week straight. Alaska wasn’t as remote or as physically demanding as many of my past jobs have been but I still felt like I needed to re-acclimate, recharge, reacquaint myself with my old friend – society.

I have been struggling with writing. Be it my personal journal, my instagram, or my blog I just can’t seem to put thoughts into words lately. I partially blame my grad school applications for filling my life with anxiety and self-worth issues. Don’t even mouth the words “Statement of Purpose” to me. The stress and, hopefully, future relief of grad school applications will surely be the defining event of 2018 for me. I can’t tell you all how much I yearn to be released from this anticipation just to then be thrown into the jowls of graduate studies.

I keep telling myself, “It’s all part of the experience”.

The “experience” of course meaning being alive! Being a human on this earth living and feeling and seeing and learning and doing all of the things humans can do. I’m talking about potential, both actualized and in the progress of being so. I am talking about the capacity for each one of us to do or not do anything we are willing to work hard for. Not easy. No. Definitely not, and I am not so naïve a person to believe that we all have the same chances. Far from it. I believe that we all have hills to climb but some of us are given mountains and bare feet.

My family is also on my mind. If grad school is the next step for me then the room I am entering will be filled with opportunity and guilt. Where I will be these next 2-6 years I do not know, but I know that I want to be close to the people who raised me. People whom, for my 27 years and beyond, have been surviving and working and existing for my generation to have a chance to succeed in America. People whose personal dreams are no longer about themselves but are about us. I am a product of a strong and weathered family tree whose branches span wider than the borders of this country and whose roots dig so deeply that they draw from generations of spirit, sweat, and sacrifice.

Where my grandparents will be these next 2-6 years I do not know, but I know that I want be with them.

Upon updating my website with my experiences from Alaska I began running out of things to do. There are no REIs in Astoria and finding a place that will take a worker unsure even of his next few months is hard to do. Inevitably, I resolved to be a bum. I inventoried my things, I cleaned Rhyhorn, I went to Costco. But you can only do these things so many times before you begin to go crazy. I picked up some work with a friend doing home improvement. Basic things like cutting tile, placing tile, cleaning tile. It paid well and I learned a lot and will probably go back. But I also knew that this nomadic, free-floating lifestyle (being unemployed) of mine was quickly coming to an end. Not just a temporary, seasonal end like many of these past years but potentially a permanent end. Let’s be clear, I am not putting myself through the meat grinder that is grad school just to come out unemployed. If I am reading the winds correctly, the beginning of this next chapter of mine could mean the bittersweet end of my nomadic life.

So I went on a road trip.

All it took was some texting back and forth before bed and Becca Klassy and I had hammered out a plan. I would drive south, chasing brighter, drier days to visit her in her new home of Placerville, CA. My plan was simple. Take it long, take it slow, and visit as many folks as I could along the I-5 corridor. My guiding mantra, “It’s all part of the experience”, oh, and, “You’ll never be this free again”.

My first stop was good ol’ Portland to see an old friend, Alan DePerio. A fellow DMV expat, we knew each other from college. It was at steamy house parties, filled with more dude hypebeasts and warm Coors Light than should ever be allowed, that our friendship was formed. Make no mistake though, he was the calm, collected upperclassman and I was the terrified, sweaty freshman being herded into the kitchen for shots of Aristocrat vodka. But time erases all things college except for your GPA and for the night we were just good friends looking for good food and good beer. It wasn’t until this past year that Alan moved to PDX and, for me, he represented a familiar piece of home from a time and phase of my life long ago. It was only the second time that I had gone down to visit him and it was good catching up, eating well, and learning about who we were now.

I arrived in Corvallis around lunch the next day. The plan was to meet up with two other Klamath alums, Rob and Matt, for dinner and to continue onto Eugene that night. I caught up with Rob over coffee and spent the rest of the day walking around the Oregon State University campus. Poking my head in and out of the buildings I took in the college vibes with relish; I really missed the atmosphere created by academia.

Dinner with my old amigos was wonderful. We caught up on each other’s lives and talked about the rest of our Klamath team. Where were we all now? I got some helpful advice from Matt about grad school and some wise, encouraging words from Rob. Leaving town that night I was reminded of how lucky I was to care and be cared for.

Driving through the darkness I made my way to Eugene, the next city down I-5 and the home of my dear friends Kaitlin and Maybe. That lucky feeling continued on as I got to spend the day exploring Siuslaw National Forest with my two adventure partners. Like Alan, Kaitlin and I go back to college days. Unlike Alan, it was as art students that our friendship was formed. Haphazard at best, we’ve unintentionally weaved in and out of each other’s lives for the past 5 years, “like a pair of fuckin’ electrons”. A little over a year ago Kaitlin and Maybe moved to Eugene and in the few times I’ve gone down to see them since, they have become an important part of my life and time here in Oregon.

Day 4 of my road trip found me sitting in a Eugene apartment parking lot frantically thumbing away on my rapidly antiquating iPhone 6s. I had just received word from the University of Virginia that I was to be flown out to Charlottesville for a “recruitment weekend”! What excitement and disbelief had initially filled me was quickly replaced with stress and annoyance for not bringing my laptop with me. The reason being that I had to quickly get word out to several out-of-state friends that our big, once-in-a-lifetime PNW road trip that was months in the making was going to effectively be cut in half. I needed to figure out logistics for them, plane tickets for myself, and drive 9 hours to be in Placerville by nightfall. A guilty and apologetic email sent I pulled out of the parking lot and began my long drive south.

The long, mountainous drive through the State of Jefferson is a familiar and beautiful one. Following I-5 south I snaked through lush green valleys connected by vast, hilly swaths of agricultural land. Ahead of me I was greeted by an endless blue horizon broken only by Mt. Shasta.

I hadn’t seen Becca since our trip to the Olympic Peninsula last February and she had since moved down to Placerville to work for Summitview as part of the equine staff. I had planned to break up the drive into three, three-hour parts but ultimately drove until I reached Redding before taking a substantial break. Tired and ready for a warm bed and a familiar face I finally pulled into the tiny town of Placerville, CA around 20:00.

Day 1 of Lake Placer-hoe

It is at this point that I began my journey through the Placerville/ Lake Tahoe area. A 4-day adventure with Becca Klassy and co. that, for many reasons, would deserve it’s own blog post. But for the sake of my and the reader’s sanity, will mainly be shown through pictures.

Day 1 of my visit was spent outdoor bouldering for the first time with Becca and new friends, Jake, Orik, and Tucker.

I started bouldering back in 2015 to strengthen my climbing skills for fieldwork. I was terrified of heights and believed that knowledge was the best way to dampen my fear.

Don’t let the photos fool you! I spent my entire climbing time attempting a V0 crack climb only to have a total nervous breakdown at the last part of the problem. The fear of falling and seriously injuring myself is still very much unconquered but I really owe it to these guys and their patience for taking care of me both up and down the rock.

For our session the group took me to a favorite spot of theirs just west of the beautiful Donner Lake.

Calling it a day we packed up our things and hiked up to the nearby summit. Gazing out east we had a clear, beautiful view of Donner Lake and the Carson Range.

Day 2 was spent exploring the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe with Becca. The 122,240-acre lake falls short of only the Great Lakes in size, and Crater Lake in depth. It is a pristine, vivid blue and sits nestled in the Sierra Nevada range at a stunning 6,225ft. With Becca’s signature bowl of breakfast oatmeal in our bellies we spent the whole day photographing the lake’s eastern shore.

One of our main stops was Secret Cove, known for being a pristine, nudist beach.

Our second major stop was Bonsai Rock where Becca hoped to capture the famous rock right at sunset. Note that the hike down to Bonsai Rock wasn’t the easiest and, wearing only chacos and carrying all my camera gear, I personally didn’t feel like it was worth it and stopped a bit short of Bonsai Rock.

Day 3 in Placer-hoe was spent exploring the old shops lining Placerville Downtown. The tiny town had just about anything a tourist could want ranging from antiques to hippy soap to outdoor gear. The main street had a few bonus gems that I didn’t expect, such as a historic hardware store and a shop dedicated to psychedelic rock records and posters.

Day 4, my last morning in Placer-hoe, was when I got to meet Becca’s horse, Chester, for the first time. I had heard a lot about him over the years but never made it out to meet him when they were still living in Oregon. I also have a fear of horses – they are just so big.

I shadowed Becca as she went through her usual routine with Chester. She cleaned his feet, brushed his hair, and ran him through some exercises in the arena.

It was my first time watching someone run a horse through verbal drills and was fascinated. It reminded me of the dear sled dogs that I lived with this past summer and was a reminder of the complex and amazing relationships animals and humans can have.

By this time I had been on the road for 7 days and had begun to miss my own bed. As the sun set behind the edge of the valley I chased Mt. Shasta like a ghost through the cold night. It was just me, the hum of Rhyhorn’s engine, and my thoughts. It was as if the dark winding drive back through the State of Jefferson was melting away what little peace I had managed to find on this trip. Peace or escape, I’m not quite sure. With each lonely turn on that dark highway I was carried deeper into thoughts about my family, my responsibilities, and the life I had made for myself out here in Oregon. 6 hours later and I had arrived in Medford, OR.

To describe Grandma Templeman would be to describe a warrior queen that has travelled near every inch of this great country and touched nearly as many lives. It was her, Grandpa Templeman and their church that sponsored my mother and her family to the U.S. during the Cambodian Civil War of the early 70s. With the help of the church, they took my family in, clothed them, fed them, and gave them a leg to stand on. To put a value on what her and Grandpa did for our family would be impossible and is why I drive to Medford to see her every winter I can.

We spent the night and much of the next day catching up on each other’s lives and families. At 90 she is the picture of health and strength and is every bit as happy as the last time I saw her. Just before lunch I helped her with a few things around the house that she had been wanting done. I removed a little gate that had made getting into her shed difficult, reinforced a broken fence, somewhat mounted a garden hose holder, and re-insulated a trapdoor leading to her basement. With Grandpa Templeman gone she could only do so much to upkeep her home and was adamant about not letting her home run wild. I thought a lot about how much my grandpa was able to do as a younger man and how he, at 91, was in much poorer shape than Grandma Templeman. Belly full of chicken salad and heart full of her love I hugged her goodbye and hit the road for Eugene.

Slipping out of the quiet Medford neighborhood I made my way north and began the last leg of my trip. Engine roaring, white dashes seemed to fly past me as I cut my way through fiery hills. The sun was already beginning to set and I had 3 hours to rally my energy. I was off to see Kaitlin and her friends.

If I had a snapshot of every time I’ve had a drink with Kaitlin Akers it would be an album filled with many different lives. We first met in a studio photography class in 2012 in good ol’ Fairfax, VA. She had long, curly blonde hair and I had a slicked back man bun. From there it was a strange hit or miss dance of a couple of art kids running into each other at the Starbucks or the college bars downtown. Then it became a once-in-a-long-time cup of coffee, a couple of nomads catching each other “on the way out” of Virginia. There was even a time we grabbed a couple of glasses of wine at a Whole Foods during one of my visits home. She had green hair, and I had long nappy dreads. So many lives it seems. Imagine then, the surreal feeling I had sitting around a table with her and her friends drinking Pliney the Elder in a Eugene bottle shop talking about the drought the Willamette Valley was going to have next summer. I don’t know when or where I will run into her next but I’m excited to see who we are then.

2018 is going to be a year of great change for not just me but many of my closest friends and family. Even if the changes are not great, or for the best, it is still a year that will find us all stronger and smarter and more hopeful than ever. That’s something I really believe.

And even if I’ll never be this free again, I know it’s all part of the experience.

Mahalo and with all my love,

Chris

On Point Framing and Misc. Updates

July 31, 2017 by Christopher So

Healy, AK
Elevation: 409m

Life has been moving fast out here in the Healy cabin these last few weeks. The tundra is hitting it's peak growing season so our vegetation protocols have been in full swing. Above-ground biomass is the name of the game here. With all of the work we are putting into measuring carbon, temperature and permafrost thaw the study isn't really fleshed out until it can be paired with some sort of vegetation response - enter our "hell week".

It's tongue-in-cheek for me as most of my past work has been in some form of botany or forest ecology. Counting plants, measuring plants, picking plants, planting plants, eating plants I've done it all, and so, it was a refreshing and familiar change in pace when we began foliar collection and point framing.

Foliar collection was a pretty straight protocol. 10 target species, 10 coin envelopes and a set of rules. Our job was to pluck a specific number of leaves from each species to be dried, ground and run through a mass spectrometer. The idea is that there will be a relationship between our artificial warming and the value in the %C and %N content of the leaves over time.

Point framing, on the other hand, was a beast with the kind of attention to detail I hadn't seen since my time with NEON. A 60 x 60cm PVC frame is strung with 14 pieces of fishing line to create 49 evenly spaced intersections, a thin metal pin is dropped at the intersection and we record the number of times it makes contact with a plant species' leaf, stem or fruit. The idea is that we get a detailed measurement of the above-ground biomass in our plots without any sort of destructive harvest. The kicker is that we have 108 plots. The KO is that the protocol can't be done in heavy winds or rain (cause the pin will touch a biased amount of plants).

The protocol was last done in 2013, before any of the current cabin team had joined the lab, so Elaine trained us up quickly and we hit the ground running. The sooner we were able to punch through all 108 plots the better chance we had of not burning out. To maximize our efforts during ideal conditions our days started as early as 0500 and ended as late at 2200.

As painfully slow as the protocol felt the time went by remarkably fast. The cabin was split into AM and PM crews and Bri, a grad student in the Mack Lab, came early to help us with both protocols while also doing her own research.

Not too long into the fray, Julia, Dakshina and Erin (technically an REU from UW, I gotcha homie) also from the Mack Lab, joined the growing cabin family. Focus shifted for the Mack folks to complete their own work and life for us continued on. A rainy spell brought some respite from point framing and gave me the chance to catch up on entering data as well as giving the blocks some McLovin' (checking systems) and others a chance to work on their own grad projects.

It was around this full-capacity-bursting-at-its-seams-how-many-scientists-can-you-fit-into-a-tiny-cabin moment that Ted and his son, Julian, visited us and treated the whole crew to a pizza dinner at the canyon's own Prospector's Pizza. It was baller and it was much appreciated. A warm, salty meal was what I think everyone needed. Fast-forward to now and point framing is done and entered and can move on to be QAQC'd and processed. Life, for at least a couple days, has returned to normal. Well, except for poor Heidi aka Heidenheidi von Rodenheiser. Through a strange, convoluted shit tornado that is communicating with the Park Service, her role in a mapping-of-the-study-site project has become difficult. But that's another story.

A few assorted updates:

Upon first meeting Dakshina we learned that we had both worked on Kure, her in Winter 2013 and I in Summer 2015! Words don't really explain well the feeling of meeting a fellow Kurean especially all the way out in interior Alaska. The proud and the few that have worked on that beautiful remote place float somewhere in between close friends and dearest family - we are Ohana. We didn't get to talk much the first time we met but this last week we caught up on all things Kure, work (we are the field techs of our respective labs how crazy is that??) and the value of a life filled with rich curiosity and the never-ending pursuit of the experience. It was a happy and wonderful connection.

In pupper and doggo news. Taiga's puppies have graduated to the psychotic jail-break stage and the two girls, Olive and Otter, have already gone off to their respective homes. The boys: Flash, Flint and Finn will be staying with Mike and Corine's kennel (Finn will be going to Justin). Queen and Fleur reached retirement and were given to a former client of the kennel to live the rest of their days peacefully in upstate New York. I was in the field when the new owners came to take them but I wished I had a chance to say a proper goodbye. Queen and I spent a lot of evenings together talking through the fence and she was my favorite. Ohma's pups have exploded in size as much as she's shrunk! The last of her winter coat has come out leaving behind a lean wolf-dog I hardly recognized. Boom and Osa have gotten so big that they are difficult to pick up. Between their feet, legs and tails they are growing so fast and so disproportionately they remind me of baby giraffes.

Things in the field keep ticking on. Between the veg protocols, Justin just getting back from his vacation and me on my way out to mine we had just enough overlap to straighten and tighten down the Eddy Tower and the wind turbine and to test our FD (forced diffusion) sensors.

Tomorrow marks the beginning of my week off as well as the FIRST TIME MY PARENTS HAVE EVER VISITED ME DURING A FIELD SEASON!!! I have been planning since I first got the dates I would have off and am hoping that I'm able to show them a trip they'll never forget. They retire at the end of this year and, after all of these years they've worked to provide for my brother and I, I hope to make this the perfect kickoff. Hopefully the weather holds up and that it's blue skies from here on out.

As always, mahalo and with all my love,

Chris

Written to: "Illinois Sky" - Michigan Rattlers

Alaska Or Bust!

February 27, 2017 by Christopher So

Astoria, OR
Elevation: 7m

And so it begins...I got the call today that I had been selected for a field technician position in Healy, AK that I had applied to in late January. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, the job was by far my reacher this season and, like Kure, represented some far flung land way out of my realities. I will be working with a crew out of Northern Arizona University studying carbon flux as a result of climate change and melting permafrost. It's a big picture study attempting to answer questions about the encroaching fate of our Arctic ecosystems and what it might mean for such vast carbon sinks to suddenly become carbon sources. It's a big opportunity for me because I'll finally be working in the subarctic landscape that I've been enamored by for so long now, I'll have a chance to work with data loggers and flux instrumentation associated with big picture climate change and it'll be a huge step towards knowing what I want to do for grad school. In a just one short month I'll have my boots on the ground in Fairbanks meeting the team with Rhyhorn by my side and -20F winds burning the skin off my face. Blessed, grateful, stoked and overwhelmed.

Mahalo 2017 and heres to all the growth to come,

Chris

Here's a link to learn more:
https://www2.nau.edu/schuurlab-p/CiPEHR.html

The Losing Side of 25

February 25, 2017 by Christopher So

Astoria, OR
Elevation: 23ft.

After nearly a year-long hiatus I have finally returned to the blog life. It comes in the form of a rainy trip to the Olympic Peninsula, my OCD-driven resolve to consolidate my websites and a cathartic country song about being a mid-20s failure.

I have been struggling with the idea of combining my tumblr, 500px and Society6 for some time now. The inspiration, I suppose, is the sense of neatness and professionalism that one gets when they own a single, custom domain name. “One site to rule them all”, you could say. The struggle? I’m incredibly lazy. The idea came to me this summer during my time on Kure Atoll where I worked as a habitat restoration tech with 6 other people to rid a 200-acre island of invasive plant species (see gallery). Kill the bad plants to save the good birds. I lived on the atoll for 6 months surrounded by thousands of seabirds, pristine ocean air, unending horizons, fiery sunsets, the bluest water you could imagine and shorelines of marine debris. The work was hard and repetitive so I often filled my days with podcasts, one of which was Star Talk hosted by Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Chuck Nice. Herein lies the inspiration for my website. Simply put, their squarespace commercial was among the few commercials I would hear for the next 6 months.

It has been a little over 4 months since I returned from the island and I have been filling my time with applying for work, exploring my new home base in Astoria, keeping in reasonable shape and volunteering at the Julia Butler Hansen Refuge for the Columbian White-Tailed Deer. Besides a 2-month trip back to Virginia for the holidays and a 2-week long road trip around Oregon back in November – I have travelled relatively little. Nothing to write home about at least.

Enter the Olympic Peninsula.

Texting back and forth a couple of weeks ago with my good friend, Becca Klassy, I realized that our schedules lined up for a potential 3-day adventure. Scouring my Hiking Oregon and National Parks guidebooks I settled on the Olympic Peninsula. Neither of us had ever been and it was a great opportunity to test out my current adventuremobile setup with a girl and a dog thrown into the mix. Olypen is tricky in that the olympic range creates its own weather patterns and, like a mini cascades, is extremely wet on it’s west side with a rain shadow to the east. The range itself is shaped like a horseshoe with several major watersheds radiating outwards in all directions (Wikipedia and guidebooks). Our visit would be during the peninsula’s wettest season.

Boundary-wise, olypen is a patchwork of reservation, national forest and park service land with Olympic National Park making up the majority. This would prove to be a major problem for us when we realized at the end of our first day that dogs weren’t allowed on any national park trails. Journeying up Hwy-101 we were able to access the shoreline to our west and the park to our east. Scattered along the highway are small towns and reservations but for the most part olypen has a remarkably small number of roads. This would prove to be another major problem for us as a heavy storm swept the peninsula our first night flooding the roads and downing trees along 101. But more on that later. Among the small towns and reservations located in olypen are none other than Forks, La Push and Port Angeles – towns, I learned from a very animated Becca Klassy, are major settings in the Twilight series.

Our first day was spent travelling up the coast from Astoria checking out Kalaloch campground, Beach 4 and Ruby Beach along the way. Right off the bat it was pouring rain, overcast and cold. Our plan was to progressively check potential campgrounds as we made our way up into the park and, based on how much daylight we had left, choose one to settle in that night.

The beaches were absolutely beautiful. The storm was encroaching upon us making for angry waves and whipping wind. Ancient driftwood lined the shores – pulled out of the hearts of these forests by rivers just to be pushed back by the sea. Grand sea stacks loomed in the distance, worn away from the mainland by crashing waters, these lonely islands truly make the pacific coast iconic. All said and done, Becca, Addie and I got to see that raging ocean we had wanted to and got to breath in the cold sea air.

En route to the Hoh Rainforest Visitor Center we came across a small, unassuming outdoor outfitter named, Peak 6 Adventure Store. We almost kept driving but the word “Adventure” was enough to lure us in. In a word I would describe it as, “cozy”. The first things I noticed was that it was run by a friendly old lady, had a real fire going and carried Helly Hansen. We got to talking to the owner and learned that their family also owned the large ranch behind the shop and that this was, for a long time, just an add-on. I’m not sure if they still own the ranch today but from her we learned that their family had a long tradition of guiding folks through the park on horseback. That was pretty much the cincher for Becca and I. Looking around she found a nice shirt with the tree of life printed on it and I found a warm, thick, well-made flannel for a quarter of the price you’d pay for anywhere else. Small shops for the win! Becca snatched it from me and paid for it citing how I had paid for everything else so far – it’s just the way I am ladies.

We settled in for the night at the Hoh Rainforest campground and, upon discovering that all of the hiking Addie did on the beaches was illegal, decided to dedicate the next day to exploring Forks, La Push and potentially Port Angeles.

Waking up the next morning we gunned it for Forks but were stopped only a few minutes down Upper Hoh Rd. by a couple of downed trees likely attributed to the heavy winds and flooding the night before. Upon inspection I noticed that they had luckily splintered into manageable pieces and, running the numbers in my head, I figured my best bet would be to hook them up to Rhyhorn, pull them until they broke and then tow them into the next lane. The idea was that we just needed to clear one lane to get by and that park service would handle the rest. I only had 4 ratchet straps, a pocket chainsaw (thank you so much Ellery!) and Rhyhorn but I made it work. (See my instagram for the video – thanks Becca!).

Photo Credit: Becca Klassy

According to Becca, Forks is the town that the vampires and Bella lived in. To me it seemed like any other small sleepy town until we drove past it’s visitor center and Becca recognized Bella’s truck.

As we drove further through town is became quite apparent that they had no reservations about the Twilight craze. Small shops here and there named their things after vampires and werewolves, “Twilight burgers” and “Twilight firewood” were a couple of my favorites. On our drive back through Forks the next day we would stop by Sully’s Burgers for milkshakes, upon a friend’s suggestion – they were amazing.

La Push is the reservation that the main werewolves in Twilight are from. We got to unwind and take in some fresh air at First Beach. Despite not seeing Taylor Lautner anywhere it was well worth the drive up.

After gathering my thoughts, running the numbers and taking a shit I made the call to shoot for Port Angeles. I knew that it would take us 1.5 hours to get there, that we wanted to camp as far south along the coast as possible and that Bella bought her prom dress there. Rejoining the 101 we travelled northeast and entered the Olympic National Forest. Much of the drive so far had been a clear cut/ replant patchwork and it was re-energizing to see the deep greens of the federally managed lands.

Before long we were entering the national park again and the highway snaked south along the bottom of the beautiful, glacier-carved Lake Crescent. A thick fog settled in and the speed limit dropped. It gave me time to appreciate the lake’s deep, emerald color and for a moment I was able to fantasize what it might be like to live in the isolated communities grandfathered into the national park. Pulling into the Storm King Ranger Station we stretched our legs and gave Addie a chance to burn some energy at the pier. Between the fog, the glass-like water and the peaceful sounds of loggers zooming in the distance I felt at ease – the perfect mixture of nature and society for me.

Port Angeles was without a doubt the largest city we visited in the peninsula and was the farthest northwest I have been in North America. Complete with a large port, a decent sized downtown and a Safeway there wasn’t much else we could have needed. Walking out onto the city pier we gazed across the Straight of Juan de Fuca – Victoria, BC bustling somewhere in the distance.

Safeway sandwiches in hand we departed the city just as the sun went down. Before us was a 2-hour drive south towards Kalaloch campground. We had scoped it out on our first day and knew the farther we drove tonight, the less we drove tomorrow. The fog had gotten worse and my fatigue wasn’t helping. Though we didn’t end up hiking very much all of the hours spent driving were adding up. As we wound our way back along Lake Crescent I couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t quite right. I kept thinking about how dark it was, how wet it was, how windy it was, how unplugged it was. Though the campground was only 2 hours away we were in the middle of stormy country with out-of-state plates and a minority behind the wheel. It was moments like this that made me grateful to have Becca and Addie with me. So much of my travels have been solo (by choice, I fucking love it) but trips like this can be unsettling and sometimes scary when you’re alone. About a mile out from our campground, a mere 10 minutes away, we hit a dead end.

I can’t say that it was unexpected, honestly we were really lucky to have made it this far, but it really fucking blew. Unsure of what to do we turned around. The tree was too large to attempt what I did that morning and we didn’t have any signal. On top of that it was windy and rainy and pitch dark. I stalled for a bit because didn’t want to believe it; mainly because I was so tired and I knew that the next campground was 40 minutes back in the direction we came. It was about then that I noticed headlights beaming from the other side of the log. Getting out of Rhyhorn I walked over and greeted a surprised bus driver. It was only 1900 or so, so a good amount of traffic would still be on the roads. We both agreed that the best thing to do would be to turn around and report the tree to 911 as soon as we found signal. Putting Rhyhorn into drive we made our way back to the state-run Hoh-Oxbow Campground.

Pulling into an open spot, Becca fed Addie as I prepared Rhyhorn for bed. In only two nights the three of us had worked out a rhythm. My finding was that sharing one big blanket was not nearly as comfortable as sleeping in our own sleeping bags. Whenever Addie would join us in the back she would lay between us pulling the blanket off of us both. I also learned that, even though I set up Rhyhorn with a minimum carry, there was no comfortable way for two decently tall people to sleep straight-legged – fetal position or bust. The next morning brought with it the clearest conditions we had had all week.

3.5 hours later and we were pulling into good ol’ Astoria, OR. It’s amazing how quickly this little fishing city has become home for me. I hugged and thanked my adventure partner for a great trip and we went our separate ways.

The Losing Side of 25

If you know me well you know that I have struggled deeply with the concept of success. Since high school I have been paranoid, anxious and borderline depressed about the encroaching weight of adulthood. I remember asking myself often when exactly did a person become an adult? Was it learning to drive, getting your first paycheck, paying rent for the first time or was it ordering your first beer? Did I become an adult the first time I got laid or was it when I became the proud owner of Rhyhorn? And once you had all of those things covered what did it mean to be successful? Growing up as a first generation Cambodian American the answer was simple – get a good education, get a good job, raise a good family and contribute back to society – become a doctor.

If you know me well you know that I am definitely not a doctor. I went to school with the goal of becoming a pharmacist. I did 4 years of rigorous pre-pharm courses and worked all 4 years in a pharmacy as a licensed technician. In the end, however, I decided to pursue a career in the outdoors. Now my parents and much of my extended family were of course worried, wary and generally confused. But they have been nothing but supportive. The feeling of being on the losing side of 25, the reason for suddenly wanting to write again and the reason for finally creating this website – comes purely from me.

Fast-forward to today and I’m 26, have held 8 jobs and lived in 4 states in the last 4 years, partially live out of my truck and buy bulk lunch meat from Costco. I have seen a lot of places and have met a lot of “adults” and have realized the thing we all have in common is that we have no fucking idea what we’re doing. The more I see and learn and do the more I realize that my cookie-cutter sense of what it means to be successful isn’t necessarily a single shape. That successful can also mean, just being happy.

To build this website I had to go through nearly 4 years worth of photography and writing. I meticulously rebuilt every one of my blog posts and photo galleries from scratch and thus found myself facing many of my old demons (and terrible file management). I have always been in a constant state of inter-personal analysis but after this week I have to say that I am really over myself.

It was interesting sifting through all of my angst and depression and cheesiness and incredibly inaccurate sense of plants, geography and wildlife. It was hard to rehash old heartaches and to visit old places that hold a lot of sentiment for me. It really made me miss my old friends and my home in Virginia. But what it showed me, and I am grateful for this, was that I really have come a long way in these 4 short years. Now I know it sounds like I’m about to go on a rant about how great I’ve done, but the truth is that I am still no where near where I thought I’d be at 26. I’m not in grad school, I don’t have a permanent or even long temp position and I still haven’t technically worked for the fed. Also, Rhyhorn hasn’t become the lifted tesla-crushing-bald-eagle-flames-in-the-background-don’t-tread-on-me chick magnet I wanted him to be. But I’m ok with all of that.

This website was created to carry on the sentiments of my old tumblr; to be the hub for my travels, my writing, my photography and my progress for the years to come. My hope is that it will reflect all of the experience I have gained these 4 years and perhaps show in some way that I have grown as a writer, photographer and person. But perhaps the most important purpose I want this website to have is to be a connection to all of my friends and family all over the world. To be, in its own way, a tribute to the people that have helped me become the person I am today.

Mahalo and with all my love,

Chris

Onwards Again: My Journey to the Atoll

March 02, 2016 by Christopher So

Honolulu, HI
Elevation: 19ft.

Likean old scratched up transparency the dark sky slidbeneath me endlessly reaching for the sunrise. Mount St. Helens rose out like a silent island. To me the clouds were nothing more than another ocean rocking my ship back and forth. I was on my way home.

Traveling through the sky I closed my eyes and let myself float away into the peaceful sway of my music. Anything to get my mind off of the violent throes of turbulence and the fear-laced, steel entrapment around me. Visiting home was going to be big for me, it was the last time I would see my friends and family before I left for the Kure Atoll. It had been 8 months since I first pulled out of my driveway and began my journey out west. It was a moment of fear, excitement and uncertainty but with each passing mile - courage. Blasting above the clouds I felt like I was unceremoniously backtracking my voyage and in many ways I began to feel my courage disappear. Since I had left Virginia there really hadn’t been a moment I wasn’t working, traveling or experiencing something new and different and as I got closer and closer to home I began to feel a surge of responsibility and reality settle back upon me. Though I have been exploring, growing and learning more each day my family has, at the same time, been carrying on working hard and missing me. My grandparents grow older everyday, my parents and aunts and uncles ever more weary and anxious for retirement and my dear brother and cousins growing up and preparing to begin their independent lives. To me, I was returning to a home that was quickly fading away.

To my brother: It has been my honor to cook hotdogs and pasta roni for us all these late nights. Through all the different years, girlfriends and versions of Halo I could always count on you being there for me. Here’s to many more years to come.

For the next 7 months I would be living and working on the Kure Atoll as part of a team sent to eradicate an invasive weed displacing native plants and killing albatross chicks, golden crownbeard (Verbesina encelioides). With little more than a satellite phone for communication contact would be limited to occasional, text only emails. And because of the remote nature of the island there would be no leaving until our scheduled extraction in November.

To my beloved NoVa family: Elementary school, high school and college. We have grown up together and I cannot wait to grow old with you punkasses.

With a strange sense of symmetry I carefully scheduled and planned who I would see on what days of the week. In very much the same way I planned my goodbyes 8 months ago, I had scheduled a different group of friends to hang out each day down to the hour. Each meeting was a roller coaster of emotions: catching up and filling each other in on almost a year apart, talking about how much had changed and how much I missed being there and then explaining my new job and saying goodbye again for the foreseeable future.

To my father: Ramen, sushi and life advice - it was at Blue Ocean that you taught Alex and I many unexpected lessons and was a tradition we enjoyed every time we were back home. Thank you for the years of full bellies and full minds.

Though 7 months can hardly be called an eternity I knew it was enough time for things to change. Returning home I was surrounded by love and excitement. Endless questions about what my jobs this summer had been like (brutul)? How was it like living in Portland (cute hipsters, artisinally vague foods, amazing beer)? When was I going to cut my hair (never)? Am I dating again (no, I am going to die alone)? It was the crazy rush of story telling, pantomiming and unending laughter that reminded me I was home but it was the quiet moments in between that made me realize how much I wanted to stay.

To Tim: During our last drink together you told me that you loved everything about the PNW, that it gave you a new sense of hope. I promised you I would find Base Camp Brewing Company and drink in your honor - it became my favorite Portland brewery and I couldn’t wait to get this growler to you - you deserve it brother.

To my dear, sweet, darling Mason: Thank you for always being there to set me straight. Through elementary school and college you and I were always learning what it meant to be socially normal together. Thank you for sharing your Taiwanese-ass whiskey with me. I hope to see you escape out west soon!

The regulars. Of all the tables I’ve eaten at I’m going to miss this one the most.

Proper log-splitting technique.

My mother saved my “Goodbye Week” schedule from April. It was surreal experiencing the same feeling again.

To my little cousins: It has been my pleasure and honor watching you all grow up. I wish I could still be there as you all approach the trials of adolescence and adulthood. Just know that I will always be there for you all, no matter where I am. In the famous words of my generation, “text me, beep me, if you wanna reach me”.

To my grandma: I will never be able to cook as well as you do. Thank you so much for feeding our family for all these years. No one will ever put up with my pickiness as well as you have. Alex and I owe our height, strength and discerning palates to you.

To my grandpa: You always knew how to dress well. It was only the finest things on sale for you and Alex and I have benefited for years from your adventures to the mall. I will miss your laughter, your burps and your love of eating out. I know you want nothing more than for me to return to Virginia but I promise I will be back sooner than you think, home will always be with you and the family.

It was waking up in my empty room to the shuffling sounds of my grandfather’s footsteps downstairs. The distant rumbling of the washing machine, the echoing beep of a door opening. It was the sound of my mom calling out Levi’s name in the backyard and it was the gentle vibration of the garage door opening and closing beneath my room. It was these quiet, familiar moments that made me reflect on the people and moments I took for granted, these quiet sounds of my family and their existences that let me know that I would miss my home so much. It was seeing all of my dearest friends and holding them tight that made me realize how much love surrounded me, how rich a life I have been blessed with. 7 months isn’t forever, but it’s long enough for life to happen and each time I let go and said goodbye a part of me knew there was a possibility that it was for forever.

To Erik and Lydia: You two are the hardest working people I know. Thank you for the countless words of kindness and wisdom. It was the compassion you showed me and the advice you gave me that helped me muster the courage for my road trip. Don’t stop chasing your goals! You guys will always be my Fairfax REI family!

To my Bestest Buddy: It’s hard to believe how far we have come since high school. A long far way from those late nights spent on AIM and xanga! I am so proud at how far you’ve come with your career. You were always an unstoppable force. When I come back I hope to see you running the neo natal ward!

To my dear, beautiful Jerry: Where have the years gone? We have seen each other at our worst and have pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps countless times. Life is a never ending battle but damn it you always manage to capture the sunsets like no one else. Best of luck with the Air Force brother, I can’t wait to hear your stories!

To my dear Kaitlin: What a wild ride it’s been huh? Life can be crazy and all over the place and I think we have both gotten extra heaping helpings of “all over the place”. It is a fateful dance that we are able to find each other when we do. I’m going to miss your kind words and your gentle spirit.

Something I realized as I saw friend after friend and had coffee after coffee, life had not stopped just because I had left. In my mind my family and friends had been frozen in place. Solid and static, preserved in a film of oozing sentimentality. But NO. The friends and family that I left behind were fiery beings just as aggressive and hungry for life as me. They were progressing in every way I could have hoped – time does not bow to sentiment.

To my SCBI family: No where in my travels has a place held so much for me. SCBI was my beginning, my first steps into the world of conservation. In it’s fields and forests I made some of the best friends I will have in this life and it is in it’s dark streets and green hills that I have left a lot of my heart. You all have done so well and I can’t wait to see where this year will take you all. I’m honored to be fighting the good fight by your sides.

I didn’t realize how precious a few fleeting hours in an old house could be to me until I sat down with you guys. It was as if I could feel the moment slipping out of my hands and into the darkness of the room. I felt like I could have gotten lost in the blurry familiar sound of our laughter. More than any other moment that week, it was sitting there that I realized how unfair goodbyes can be. It was hardest saying goodbye to you four – you are my family.

To my beautiful, ageless, benevolent dragon-tiger mom: You have been the ground beneath my feet for my entire life. Selflessly you have provided for Alex and I pushing us to be the best we can be and in return you only ask for our love and our virtue. A large chocolate Costco cake will occasionally do it too. Since leaving the path to Pharmacy I have often struggled to find a way to make you proud of me, though perhaps it was only in my own eyes that I fell short. Standing in our store surrounded by the rings and bracelets and watches you and Dad have so tirelessly worked to sell I gave you my best photograph and it still didn’t feel like enough to me. To me it was a physical culmination of all of the years I have grown and learned and explored because of you both – a product of the man that I have striven so hard to become. To you and Dad I owe my life.

To Rirrian and Afrodesiac: You two were always ones to go against the grain. Whether it was striving to create your own business, constantly pushing yourself to surpass your creative limits or just being the brashest, baddest, ex-slapping best friend a guy could have – you two have always been the wild ones. I owe breaking out of my shell to you both and am grateful to have you as my family.

It still surprises me how much an aggressive barbarian like Rirrian can like art so much.

I’m going to miss having you by my side through natural disasters, awkward social situations, parties, restaurants and naps. When I come back we are going to have to get you suited up for the backpacking trip of a lifetime – then you can finally really get me killed.

To my FCA family: Oh the countless memories we have had. And by that I mean how many embarrassing versions of Chris you all have had to bare witness through the years! You are my FCA family and I owe so much of my confidence and, honestly, social skills to you. It was those ragtag college years where I grew into my own skin and found the real Chris that I could be happy with. Thanks to you guys I reached my final form (and you know it’s over 9,000!!!!!!).

To my beautiful sisters: After all these years we are still forever the triangle. Thank you for dealing with me through all of my strange phases, exes and for putting up with me never returning phone calls. But above all thank you for always making me look good in public – trust me when I finally do find that right lady you both will make amazing groomsmen.

To my brother: It has been a pleasure and an honor. My only regret is that we never hung out sooner – oh the adventures Rhyhorn and Yoda could have had! I don’t know where life is going to take us but I do know it’s going to be in 4 and it’s going to be covered in mud. Here’s to us one day finally adventuring together!

To my beloved uncle: I regret not spending more time with you and the kids all these past years. Saying goodbye to you when I first left for Oregon was one of the hardest goodbyes for me. You have always looked out for me growing up and I hope that I can return the favor one day with Grace and Mason. Family is first and it’s the most precious thing we have. I’m gonna miss your humor Koo. Here’s to planning an awesome vacation together soon!

To my Fairfax REI family: Nevermore was the passage of time more obvious than when I returned to where it all began. People come and go, such is the passage of life, and it was good to just see a few old faces. It was 2012 when I approached its doors as a desperate college graduate with nothing more to his name than a dream to work outdoors and 4 years of irrelevant pre-pharmacy courses. It was in this REI that a manager took a chance on me and it was here that I first entered the world of outdoor recreation. I owe so much to this humble little store – here’s to making the co-op proud wherever life takes me!

To B-randon: You god damn Brit. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I first picked you up at IAD airport. It all started with an internship and look at you now! A jeep, a pup and fiancé!? B-randon you are doing it more ‘merican than you could have ever have hoped! I’m going to miss our belligerent conversations, our whiskey tastings and our hilarious parties at Leach House. Best of luck with what lies ahead of you dear friend!

To the wonderful, loving, unbelievably kind-hearted Mandolia family: I can’t believe how much warmth and love pours out of your home. From the first time we met you all took an interest in me and my hopes and dreams. Though our time together has been brief returning to your home on the last night of my visit home was the perfect ending to a week of overwhelming emotion. No where else do I feel so welcome, so unabashedly comfortable. I will miss your open hearts and will take the lessons of kindness and adventures you have taught me everywhere I go. Above all else, I will miss your heated bathroom floor – simply genius.

To my beautiful boy: It feels like yesterday that I held you for the first time. Raising you was a trial but one filled with joy. Long gone are the days where you would follow close behind me, beg to be held and ate regular dog food. You are grandma’s big boy and the protector of the house. Daddy will miss you but he will be back sooner than you think. Keep the family safe and stop letting grandma dress you up in silly outfits, have some damn pride, son.

Iremember hugging my mother for the last time at IAD. It was a draining week to say the least and after all was said and done I spent less than 10 hours with my own family. The familiar feeling of her arms and the smell of her hair was almost too much. As I walked deeper into the airport I waved goodbye to my father illegally parked in front of the departures and held back a floodgate of tears. What was a trip initially filled with sadness, longing, fear and homesickness ended in the resetting of my soul. Hearing how many of my friends were inspired by me and my journey was surprising and humbling. Hearing how many of them were proud of me for facing my fears was heart breaking. For so long now I have been battling my fears of being alone and pushing myself to be able to stand strong on my own in the face of the wildest unknown. I have become stronger and hearing my friends recognize that inspired me, broke me and rekindled a fire in me. As I tore through the sky towards Oregon I knew that I was ready for the next step.

Breaking the news about Kure to my Oregon friends and family proved no easier. In the time I’ve been out here I have created a home. Familiar roads and places fill the spaces where I would drive lost for hours panic-stricken by the pace of the city. I have a regular commute, I have a regular job, I have a regular doughnut shop. And what’s extraordinary is that, in the three months working at Hillsboro REI, I have made close friends. I wasn’t able to reconnect with many of my Klamath crew after breaking the news but in a similar fashion they were already all over the world. With the exception of Charles who I was finally able to get that climbing trip in that we had talked so much about over the summer: best of luck with your upcoming projects and pass on my love to your family! With my departure fast approaching I made sure to act on the lessons learned in Virginia and put time with friends and family to the forefront. For the last month there hasn’t been a moment not spent living.

To Chris: It was good meeting you man. You’re young, driven and wise beyond your years. Whether it’s the Marine Corps, Firefighting or getting sponsored by GoPro I believe in you. Just don’t die!

To Easewryder: It’s funny how much we have in common and how cool we became after just a few short days. It was unlucky that we met so late but it was good fortune that we met at all. Best of luck with your passions and send Mistor Falcor and the lady my love!

After my string of field jobs ended in October, I entered a spiraling descent into a dustbowl of unemployment. No longer was my life filled with sunkissed days and star-filled nights. No more was that constant feeling of purposeful adventure. It was after a solid month of trawling USAJOBS and Texas A&M to no avail that I decided it was time to reapply to REI. Within days Hillsboro REI responded and within a few weeks I was standing in a green vest again. With the crazy unstructured chaos of being unemployed, having to reacclimate to city life and the ever-growing pressure of finding that stable permanent job bearing down on me, REI was a safe haven. A familiar home where I knew the rules and I knew the people but above all where I knew I had purpose. Within weeks I was exploring the Portland area and getting into the groove of a schedule again. Despite being surrounded by people everyday I kept to myself and maintained my solitary style of adventuring. It was a surprise to me when I began to descend into loneliness. Without a physical job or a family of field techs to distract me I began to succumb to a concrete, urban depression. That’s when I began to find my new REI family.

To Mike: It was a blessing to meet you my dear friend. I’ve never met someone so full of knowledge and good intention. You were born a natural teacher and are destined for great things. I wish you the best of luck with everything you pursue – the next time we meet let’s make it the summit of South Sister!

To KATIE JEAN!: Hands down you get the award for planning the most adventures packed into a single day! My only regret is that we didn’t start earlier! You have a good heart and are beyond fun to hang out with. I know you will bring honor to our hiring generation. Next time we see each other again let’s do it all again dear friend.

To my darling Tummybummers: What will I do without your forlorn glare from frontline? Or the way you would snipe me with your light-footed fairy dance. I will never look at coffee or Mt. Hood the same thanks to you and I wish we had more time to adventure together. Thanks for showing me that great strength can come in the form of great patience.

To A-aron, erbear11 and Overlord: Easily the three easiest people to hang out with I have had to fortune to meet. Thank you for welcoming me into your lives and showing me how Oregon transplants throw down! You all have had such diverse lives filled with such great stories and experiences. I will take your humors and your wisdoms (and your love for the Kendama) to the island and I will return to Oregon and we will party into the sunset.

To my dear dear dear beccaklassy: Where do I even start? In the few short months I worked at REI, and lived in Portland for that matter, you have become my best good friend. You showed me how to climb, you showed me how to be spontaneous and you showed me how to be a good friend. Thank you for making me open up despite how stubborn I was. Our adventures hold a special place in my memory and I can’t wait to come back. I wish you the best of luck with everything you aspire to do. You. Are. Unstoppable.

To Hosh William Swanson: It’s been an adventure getting to know you my friend. I wish we had the chance to hang out more. I loved our conversations about the island; your curiosity and fun-loving attitude has rubbed off on me in a good way. I wish you only the best with whatever comes your way. Always remember, the fannypack of fun. (Photo Credit: Becca Klassy)

I am honored to call Hillsboro REI my home away from home and have been so fortunate to meet so many amazing people. You all welcomed me in with kindness and were always down to adventure. It showed me that there is a value in enjoying solitude but that there is also value in opening up and letting people in. Thank you all for giving me a new place to call home and a bunch of amazing people to call family.

I remember it vividly. Driving out of Yellowstone National Park I turned my wheels westward and began the last leg of my solo road trip. The mission was Boise, ID and it was going to be the first time since Indiana that I would see family. Two weeks of being on the road and I wanted nothing more than to see a familiar face, to hear a familiar voice and to feel at home again. To my cousins I owe the most. Without them I wouldn’t have been able to actualize my dream of moving out west and pursuing a life out here. It was because of their generosity and support that I was able to create a new home base and slowly begin to work, live and build. To them I owe my PNW experiences.

To Khem and Amanda: Thank you for all of the wonderful experiences. From my first view of the Gorge to my first Tonalli’s doughnut you both have always been there to hit the town with me. Our progressives will always be a thing of legend and I will continue to honor your names with mountains of tots, craft beers and artisanal obscure ice cream flavors! It didn’t take long for us to fall into a comfortable groove. I will miss waking up to the sounds of our creaky floors and the smell of fresh coffee. Our living room conversations and musubi nights will also be missed. I hope you all the best this year and I can’t wait to see you both again! Whatever changes may come they will be good and we will tackle them as a team. You can trust that I will bring honor to our remote seabird field work family! #wowfreshfamilyforever

To Judy: Thank you for always making time to see me all these years. You are a wise and caring person and I am grateful for our talks on life, love and family. I hope you find everything that you are looking for in Oregon and I can’t wait for our next brunch! Keep true to your heart and I know you are going to kill it this year!

To my dear Lombard St.: I will miss the sounds of your train tracks, your forlorn horns echoing through the night lulling me to sleep. Many a late night you have led me safely home and many a busy day you have shown me the way to Fred Meyer and Costco. Perhaps most of all I will miss they way you lit up on bright, clear days your colors bursting, Mt. Hood looming ever regal in the distance. Alas. You, Rhyhorn and I will reunite again one day.

:DEEP EXHAUSTED EXHALE:

Thank you for putting up with me. Without a doubt this has been my longest, most prolonged blog entry. It has been a wild ride these past few months and I have lost a handle on a lot of different aspects of my life. But if there is anything to take away from this crazy explosion of emotions and words and photographs it is this: There are things in this life far greater than ourselves. We all have different things to fill in the blank but it’s as simple as that. 4 years ago I was sitting in a massive lecture hall surrounded by bleary-eyed, exhausted pre-med students. Like a room full of zombies we stared blankly at a faded screen of endless powerpoint slides awaiting any sort of stimulus, hungry for any sort of change. It was at that moment that I realized that there was too much to this life to not chase my dreams. I realized that my path was going to be one spent making as much of a difference in this world as I could. Clichés aside, I will finally put this post to rest. It has been a wild ride this year and I couldn’t have spent it with better people or in better places. My next steps will be into the Northwest Hawaiian Islands and I will carry the weight of everyone’s love with me into the unknown. Here’s to next steps and never slowing down. See you all in the Fall.

With all my love,

Chris So Grateful

Multnomah Falls: Exploring the Gorge

November 05, 2015 by Christopher So

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft.

With my cousins traveling through South Africa and REI having me on a regular schedule I have been in the city more consistently now. It’s been lonely and has been driving me a bit stir crazy but that’s what the days off are for. This week I decided to explore more of the Portland and Columbia River Gorge areas. Since arriving her in May I have travelled all over Oregon and much of Northern California but have deflected the natural areas around my own home base. Hiking part of Forest Park yesterday I was inspired to get further away from the sounds and smells of the city and decided to hit the gorge today. I hiked a loop that started off by none other than the famous Multnomah Falls!

Multnomah Falls (620 ft.), 2nd tallest year-round waterfall in the U.S.

A view of the gorge.

A view down from the top of Multnomah Falls.

Another view of the gorge with I-84 in the foreground and Washington in the distance.

Past the falls the trail becomes unpaved and more natural.

And more so - if this were pokémon I would need a Rhyhorn to cross this.

Log POV.

Welsendanger Falls (55 ft.), one of the many smaller waterfalls along the Multnomah Creek.

Wet with fog and rain, the mossy forests of the PNW create an almost haunting energy.

At times the water and trees seemed two parts of an endless corridor.

After a certain elevation a fog bank settled into the forest giving me very strong “Over the Garden Wall” vibes.

Inspired by Ant Man. My Banana Slug friend.

Fall is here in the PNW and the Big Leaf and Vine Maples are casting their eerie glow through the wet wood.

mëh.

Breaking through the fog I began my descent. The hike to Larch Mountain would have to happen another day.

This small fall flowed straight over the trail.

Downstream of another large waterfall.

Fairy Falls (20 ft.)

Cedars frame the babbling creek.

This part held a bittersweet reminder of Dolly Sods.

50/50

A memorial to a fallen firefighter.

The gorge.

Wahkeena Falls (242 ft.)

Wahkeena Creek’s junction with the road.

My first journey into the gorge was a success. I had to cut my hike short because of sunlight but I am certainly smitten with the gorge and will be back soon!

Love and miss you all,

Chris

Yosemite National Park: Mist, Smoke and Granite.

October 19, 2015 by Christopher So

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft.

Running back and forth between Rhyhorn and the house I could already feel the excitement growing in my chest. Sleeping bag, tent, camera - check. I could already see the open road, the mountains, the never-ending sky. Dried food, jackets, boots - check. I could feel the hum of the road beneath me, the warmth of the dusty sunlight. Shit, the yeti. With a satisfying slam of my trunk I walked over to the driver’s seat, organized my maps, music and GPS and started out of the quiet, Portland neighborhood. It was 0730, I was going to Yosemite.

The cool morning air whistled through the cracked windows as I merged onto I-5 S. To get there I would have to drive across Oregon and nearly half of California. California is fucking huge. I would be passing through many of my old stomping grounds. Eugentron, Corvallitron, Grants Passtron, Medfordtron, Ashlandtron and Reddingtron. South of that I had never really travelled this far inland. Traffic wasn’t as much of a bitch as I thought it was going to be. Shoulder to shoulder with tired morning commuters I broke away from the rat race once I cleared Tigardtron and gunned it south.

The old anal Airstream parked at the intersection of hwy 96 and I-5 - an old landmark to my Klamath Crew that meant we were almost home.

Driving south out of Portland has some of the most dramatic landscape changes along a highway I’ve ever seen. Oregon is a patchwork of agricultural land, public/private wilderness and towns with large cities like Portland, Eugene and Bend interspersed within it. At one moment you are driving through the congested web of Portland’s bridges and the next you are hurtling towards Mt. Shasta in all of her misty beauty.

Mt. Shasta elev. 14,180ft.

Mom vans, trucks and weathered campers blend together on I-5.

My first mission was to meet up with none other than Kevin Tenorio in Rocklin, CA. Our friendship goes back to middle school days when our everythings consisted of Yu-Gi-Oh!, self-taught martial arts, Rurouni Kenshin and social anxiety. Bitten by the hip-hop choreography bug in late high school we both dedicated a lot of time perfecting our separate dance styles and blended it with martial arts to form the Take-Out Boys. Add on Johnny Chen and you had the triumvirate. After college Kevin took his passion for dance to the next level and moved out to Denver, CO with the hopes of teaching choreography. Hands down he was the most courageous person in our close-knit friend group and had held onto the passion for dance firmer than any of us. His bold move to pack up his life and drive across country was secured by nothing more than the prospect of a few job interviews. Fast forward to 2015 and he hasn’t just started teaching choreography - he has taught at 3 schools, created countless choreographies for the massive Denver PrideFest and has done commissioned work for MapQuest. But things change and life keeps moving. As of this month Kevin packed his life up again and made the move to northern California to pursue a more stable job as a branch manager for an up and coming energy company. It doesn’t seem glamorous but it’s part of the path that myself and all of my friends are traveling - growing up. Check out his work at his YouTube Channel.

New to the area and within driving distance to me I figured I would spend my last unemployed weekend with him (I got a job at the Hillsboro REI!). Looking through my maps and looking at how many days we both had off I told him he was in for a treat, we were going to Yosemite. As I continued south through California the sun began to set. I wasn’t going to make to Rocklin before dark and was starting to wonder where we would camp for the night.

Endless agricultural fields almost looked like savannas in the orange sunset.

It wasn’t until 2000 hours when I pulled into the parking lot of the gym Kevin was currently using as his showers. He had a house lined up and had already accepted the job but for now he had to tough it out of his car while things fell into place. Like I said, courageous. We ate at a local burger place and caught up while I poured over my road map. I didn’t like how dark it already was and hadn’t quite planned this far ahead - unlike me, I know. I debated on just gunning it for Yosemite tonight and gambling on the off chance that the less popular campgrounds had space. Hearing me think out loud he helped me make the decision by simply saying, “Let’s just fucking go tonight”. Moving his things to Rhyhorn and parking his car in a sketchy motel parking lot we gunned down the dark highway. We had 4 hours ahead of us and with luck would be pulling into the western entrance by 0100 hours - it was going to be clutch. As time ticked on we caught up more and more. It was wild to think that we were sitting here in the same car. You could just feel how much we had changed since high school and how much we had changed from each other. We were always quite similar growing up but the difference now was as plain as black and white. He was clean-cut, dressed in all black dance-specific clothes, tatted and pierced and as city mouse as you could get. And I, well, I was me. Dreadlocked, dirty feet, dirty shorts and blasting country. It was wild and epic and all to unreal how we had managed to reconnect all the way out here.

It started to get near the arrival time and we were suspiciously still on the major highway. From looking at the map earlier we should have already started heading east towards the National Forest land but we weren’t. What had happened would be the first of many silly logistical mistakes I would make. Instead of verifying that we were heading towards the western entrance I had just plugged in “Yosemite” to my GPS and accepted what it told me. Yosemite National Park can be simplified down to a large circle with two major roads crossing it horizontally splitting it into thirds. The top one was an alpine road that separated the northern wilderness from the more car-friendly lower parts of the park. The bottom road was Yosemite Valley itself, the heavily developed area surrounding the Merced River where the famous peaks like Half Dome and El Capitan resided. We were unintentionally heading towards the valley. This wouldn’t have been a big deal under any other circumstances but it was already late, we didn’t have a lot of gas and there were no open campsites there. To put it into perspective, Yosemite is a national park the size of Rhode Island and instead of cutting west towards a campsite at the outer edge of that top road we were entering the park from the SE towards a ghost town of empty visitor centers and full campgrounds. Breaking my navigational error to city mouse he was undaunted. We were explorers and we were gonna do it - simple as that.

Nothing could have prepared me for what would eventually become an epic 3 hour journey through the winding roads of the pitch black mountains of this park. Driving slowly though the eerie night we found ourselves in the valley. Thick fog filled the cold air and not a soul stirred. It was ghostly. Continuing along the main southern road of the valley loop I was jolted awake by the unmistakeable orange of fire.

“Holy shit Kevin the forest is on fire!”

Getting out of Rhyhorn I stood before the darkness and let in the unmistakeable crackling of a thousand little fires. Like spirits dancing between the shadows of the trees the fire licked and cracked through the night and I breathed in the warm air with relish. I was 100% sure this was a prescribed burn and was at a loss of words. It was simply amazing to be there.

The mission was to continue around the loop and to check the campgrounds dotting the valley. These were the most popular campgrounds since they were close to the Valley Store, Visitor’s Center and, of course, El Cap and Half Dome. We ran into a park ranger and asked him what camp sites were opened and learned that they were all full. Discouraged I asked him about Wawona campground near the south entrance.

“Wawona?…Maybe. Good luck, get some rest”.

Pulling into Wawona all I could think about was how loud and bright Rhyhorn was. Desperately looking left and right all I could see were taken campsites. City mouse was falling asleep and would have been little help anyways as he wouldn’t have known what to look for - this would be his first time camping ever. With a heavy heart I made the call to drive south some more in hopes that an unnamed campground just out of the south entrance was open. Closed. It wasn’t until we had driven through Fish Camp and further south that I realized that we were out of luck - there was simply not going to be anything out here. Turning around I made for a turn off I had seen earlier near the closed campground. Pulling in at an angle I made a triangle with Rhyhorn and the ridge protecting us from the road. Grabbing my headlamp I quickly set up our two tents (REI skills to the rescue) and broke down the basics of tent camping to the sleepy city mouse. We climbed into our tents and passed out - it was 0400 hours.

The next morning rumbled me awake into a hellish blaze of yellow light as 18 wheeler ripped passed us. The tent shook violently and I sat up heart racing. This was exactly what my team spent the whole summer trying to avoid - dispersal camping along a major road. Waking city mouse up we emerged from our tents and began to load up Rhyhorn. Our mission was to get back to off the road before any Park Rangers found us and to get to Wawona. There we would wait for a campsite I had seen the night before that was only reserved for one day. Piling into Rhyhorn we started off for the camp, it was 0600. As we drove I realized that in an hour and a half I would have been driving on and off for nearly 24 hours, Rhyhorn’s engine hadn’t even cooled down since we had fallen asleep. Fast forward a few hours and we had a campsite, breakfast in our bellies and a gameplan for our first day. Since we had 2-3 days allotted for the park I decided to focus on one major area each day. Today we would work our way northward and explore the valley. It was a perfect morning.

Massive granite mountains so characteristic of the park.

Our first stop was a quick hike to the top of Sentinel Dome. Walking through the granite meadows I was overcome with the scent of the pines.

Smooth granite took the place of soil.

Sentinel Dome elev. 8,122ft.

An adorable pinecone family.

Yosemite NP was, like much of Oregon’s defining mountains, born from volcanos. Formed underground from massive magma flows, the granite bedrock eventually rose to the surface thanks to a tag-team effort of surface erosion and tectonic plate shifts. Once these bad boys rose to the surface water and ice sculpted them to the shapes they are now. The Merced River carved out the Yosemite Valley and ice age glaciers polished and cracked the ridges into the iconic shapes we see today.

A view of the other side of the valley from atop Sentinel Dome.

On top of the world. Kevin and El Capitan in the distance.

Ansel Adams’ Jeffrey Pine and yours truly.

Back at Rhyhorn we continued up Glacier Point Road to Glacier point where we came face to face with Half Dome and all of it’s glory. It was the best lunch spot to date.

Half Dome elev. 8,842ft. | Shot with Canon 5D Mark II.

After walking off my geomorphological full-chub we got back into Rhyhorn and headed north for the valley. Along the way we went through the tunnel and exited out into what has been described as “the most photographed vista on earth”.

From left to right: El Capitan, Half Dome, Sentinel Rock, Cathedral Rocks and Bridalveil Fall | Shot with Canon 5d Mark II.

The valley itself is made up of a one-way loop that runs west to east. On the northern loop is Yosemite Village which is a town made up of the visitor center, valley store, forest service dispatch, valley garage and a bunch of restaurants and parking. We treated ourselves to a hot dinner (1 orders of fries cause shit was hella expensive) and made our way back to camp as it started to rain.

Swinging Bridge Picnic Area - a spot Kevin was considering for a choreography.

Wawona was spared from the heavy rains that flooded the higher elevations of the park the night before and we awoke to a morning shrouded in fog and smoke. I knew that there was more to see in the valley but was also debating on going further north. Realistically, weather consistent, we might pack up and head out the next day so for all-intensive-purposes this was our last day. Driving into the valley we parked and walked over to the visitors center for city mouse to collect himself (the dirt and general exposed nature of the outdoors was getting to him) and for me to look up some day hikes. What I realized was that there was an incredible amount of day-hikes that we hadn’t done at all. Instead of moving onto the northern part of the park I realized we couldn’t even finish the hikes here in the valley. It was good news. As the rain began to worsen I picked out a short, popular hike that would round out the day as well as give us a good workout to an amazing view. The mission was Vernal Falls.

Misty mountains.

Merced River.

The sheer size of the mountains was hard to grasp. Photos seemed powerless.

The mossy side of the ridge. The trees were growing at 45º angles.

Tree up close for scale. Tree on slope for scale.

The hike towards the falls was luxurious. If there is one thing to know about Yosemite it would be that it has an incredible amount of infrastructure. Most national parks will be rather built up and accessible but one as charismatic and large and iconic as Yosemite is a totally different story. The path was a 1.5 mile switchback up a wide paved path. Rain vacillated between drizzling and torrentially down pouring making the hike difficult on the rockier portions. I discarded my jacket and ended up hiking in a t-shirt. I still haven’t mastered the art of hiking in the rain. As we approached the last stretch of switch backs the path turned into steep, narrow staircases carved out of granite. City mouse was a champ as he carried his water bottle, soaked sweatshirt and camera bag up the stairs. Even as experiences as I was I was having difficulty with the slippery stairs and almost would have rather just had a gravel path or dirt - but this was a mountainside we were talking about.

Another view of the Merced River.

A view downriver towards the valley. People for scale.

Rounding the last corner the rain started to pour hard. Like ouch-this-is-hard-rain pouring.

There she falls!

By this point I was scared for my phone. Hurry up Lifeproof.

At the top we took a wet breather. Gazing down into the valley my breath was taken away. The steep cliffs, the curving river disappearing into the foggy green of the forest. It was an awe-inspiring picture of force and it was just one hike of the park. It was then and there that I realized that I needed to come back, come back soon.

From the narrower part of the river, the large snag in the middle and the size of the people you can backtrack where I took the previous photos.

A few miles further up the path and we would have reached Nevada Fall.

Granite. Deep and dark. People for mind-blowing scale.

Started from the bottom.

Wet and tired we changed our clothes and made our way back into the valley for a nice dinner. Walking around the village store I searched for stickers (of course). It wasn’t until we were checking out that I realized that I didn’t have my car keys. Quickly going through the past hour I realized I had dropped them in the cup holder as I was changing my pants - they were locked inside of Rhyhorn. With daylight to spare we made our way to the visitors center where I asked the shop clerk if they could recommend a course of action. They passed me to the park rangers who then passed me to the village garage. They told me to call AAA (thanks for advising me to get it dad!) and then, once they got the call from AAA they would drive over and help us out - simple enough. AAA had me on hold for almost an hour. It was unbelievable. The situation quickly dissolved from me pacing back and forth saying grateful things to city mouse like, “Man I am so glad I have AAA, this was easier than I thought!” to “How? How is this even possible? How can this be the situation that is happening right now? They still have me on hold! I know they can hear me I know it’s recording! BALLS BALLS BALLS BALLS WHAT THE FUUUUUUCKKKKKKK!”. Eventually one of the guys came out and asked for my card and made the call themselves and within 15 minutes were were driving back to camp. Driving back along the windy road that had become our familiar commute I couldn’t help but feel like I didn’t explore enough. There was so much more to do and so much more to see. I knew that there would be another chance and that this was just a taste of a whole world of exploration. Rounding one of the last corners we were struck with a sunset so orange it looked like wildfire.

That night it stormed. It may have been the hardest storm I had ever camped in. Starting around 0300 the rain had become so loud that it had woken up most of the campsite. It was lightening and thunder crazier than I had ever felt. Being me I set up my phone to voice record the storm and sat back for nearly an hour listening and counting lighting strikes - it was surreal. Within 30 seconds I counted nearly 49 strikes - somewhere was getting its shit fucked to put it scientifically. The next morning we found our tents owned. City mouse was basically sleeping in a small pond and my tent had mud and sand kicked up the sides underneath the rain fly from how hard the rain was landing. But instead of a flaming deathscape we found the morning greeting us cool and misty. Packing up our wet gear we hit the road for home. Bidding farewell to my new campground friends I set my sights for Rocklin. We took an alternative path that traded I-5 for forest roads. It was a flashback to the Klamaths. Winding mountain roads took us through a landscape dominated by shrubs and rolling hills. At this point city mouse was pretty done with nature and responded to my stopping with, “What are you doing. What the hell are you doing.”.

Oh, hi Shenandoah.

He jumped head first out of his comfort zone to join me on this adventure and I have a lot of respect and gratitude for him.

That part of California no one thinks about.

On the road back home thoughts of my realities started filtering back in. It was like the sudden onset of cell signal and text messages was a calling for me to come back to real life. To responsibilities. It’s strange. What I experienced and witnessed and felt in my bones this weekend was everything I consider to be real life. The realest it can ever be what can be truer than the earth, the water the mountains that have been there so long before us and will be there so for longer? I settled into a peaceful storm of thoughts on that endless road.

This is why I do what I do.

We picked up Thai food and Kevin’s car. Shouting for joy we were both relieved to see that it didn’t have any tickets or wheel clamps. Saying goodbye to Kevin was a mix of feelings. Here we had spent such an amazing weekend far from our problems and here we were back in Rocklin. I watched as he organized his car and couldn’t believe he had been living in it for as long as he has. I was happy that he had gotten his managerial job and that things were starting to pick up for him again. I’ve never met a person so dedicated to his passion - never. Hugging it out we said goodbye and good luck. Good things will come soon yet my dear friend.

Country Mouse | City Mouse

The next 10 hours would be a painful test of man and machine fueled by gas station bathrooms, trail mix bars, oreo shakes and me ultimately caving in and buying the new Mumford & Sons CD. But God. Damn. It. Rhyhorn and I were made for the road.

Give me golden fields and blue skies over concrete any day.

By this point my mind was starting to melt - like the sunset.

At this point I was shouting Mumford & Sons and crying in joy to see Portland.

All in all the trip was an amazing one. It felt forever since I had been on such a journey. Covering 1,763 miles in two days I was just 1,044 short of returning home to Virginia - 2/3 of the way across the U.S. But more than just the distance I hadn’t had a journey that affected my heart and mind like this in a long time. I suppose it was a mix of seeing Kevin in his current situation, my encroaching responsibilities, how much I missed being with someone and how much I missed my family. Whenever I see places as beautiful and breathtaking as Yosemite I am always pulled from deep within by a sad feeling that my parents and my grandparents aren’t with me. These are places that my brother and I can spend our whole lives exploring but my grandparents and parents have spent most of their lives working to survive and to provide for us. Making sure they retire soon and can start enjoying their lives is going to be a big part of my 5 year plan. I want to show them things they’ve never seen before…Here’s to making that happen.

As always, love and miss you all,

Chris

Torrent Sedge, Wet Pants and Hennifer Lopez: A Much Needed Break

October 12, 2015 by Christopher So

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50 ft.

Just as job applications and a lack of general movement started to drive me completely crazy I managed to get out of the city and back into the country this weekend. The mission was northeast Oregon, more specifically, the John Day River. Since arriving in Oregon in April I have been traveling up and down and across this beautiful state and have nearly covered everything west of the cascades. Eastern Oregon had been shamefully neglected but I was going to make part of that right this weekend. Driving out of eastward out of Eugene Friday evening I was met with familiar sights as we passed through Blue River, Sisters and Redmond. I fell in love with central Oregon during my time at the H. J. Andrews and was eager to see more of the high desert landscape so characteristic of the state’s “dry side”.

My mission’s mission was to help Matthew Goslin, a PhD student at the University of Oregon, with his study on Torrent Sedge (Carex nudata) in the middle fork of the John Day River. He is working on determining the environmental drivers behind CANU distribution as well studying the sedge’s role as an ecosystem engineer. The study site couldn’t have been at a better location. Nestled south of the Blue Mountains, the John Day River winds its way through high desert and a complex history. Having been aggressively dredged for gold in the past, the John Day River has been on a path to recover as restoration projects in the Oxbow Conservation Area have begun to slowly and steadily reshape the river. Matthew’s study sites were located in this beautiful conservation area.

My role was to assist Matthew with measuring and resetting erosion pins, essentially painted steel pins set into the banks of sections of the river, while his other assistants, Alex and James, photographed and TopConned the banks of other sections. Laying down the transect tape, Matthew and I walked along the river bank checking to see how much soil had eroded away from around the pin since the last measurement. It was an ingenious way to measure erosion and working along the cool river was a nice change.

That night we returned to Boulder Creek Ranch for warm showers and warm food. I treated the crew to my famous (work in progress) Japanese curry couscous and kale.

The next morning ripped into my consciousness with a mix of redtails, horses, dogs and my phone blaring the Turnpike Troubadours. Located on a functional ranch, the Boulder Creek cabin that we stayed at was hands down the best deal for any adventurer/ field tech traveling through NE Oregon and will be a staple stay next time I come through. Stepping out into the cold fall air I was greeted by a Rhode Island Red intensely staring at me at the bottom of the cabin’s stairs. Walking up the steps it inspected me and crooned.

“Hello, chicken.”

Stepping foot on the gravel I got my first look at the ranch and felt a dozen pairs of eyes settle on me. Goats and horses and more chickens seemed to welcome my appearance as a breakfast bell and four goats started slowly for me. I have always like goats. There was a super pregnant one and there was an affectionate small one and stooping down I gave the small one all the scritches. Moving on towards the horses the affectionate small one became aggressive and gave me a hard tackle to my bocci balls but it barely missed.

“Hello, horse.”

“Her name is Hennifer Lopez.”

Packing up the van we headed out for the field. Little did we know that it would be a day of technological trials. Setting up the TopCon proved to be much more difficult today for Matthew and James and ended up eating up much of the second day.

The TopCon serves the purpose of a GPS unit on the finest most powerful steroids one can find. The base station communicates with satellites while the user takes a second antennae attached to a pole and a controller and maps points accurate down to a millimeter. Matthew is using the technology to map hundreds of points along his study sites. By getting points on the bank, the floodplain and islands of CANU he will be able to create a detailed map of the rivers in ArcGIS. To complete the picture, pun intended, he is also collecting photographs of the banks from 90º, 45º and 180º. These will be stitched together to form a larger continuous photograph. Conservation is pretty damn high-tech.

I spent the rest of the next two days helping Matthew reset erosion pins and soaking in the John Day water and sun.

All said and done, I loved working in the river. I wished I had brought my quick dry hiking pants as well as some closed toe water shoes, but it was a much needed change of pace and a desperately needed break from the jobless, depressing, computer screen life I had made my reality. A huge shoutout and thank you to Matthew, Alex and James for the great time I’ll definitely join the team again (if I’m still unemployed). I’m looking forward to my next chance to get out east and to explore more of what this crazy amazing state has to offer!

As always, love and miss you all.

Chris

The Bird Hunters

October 05, 2015 by Christopher So

I’ve been obsessed with the album since I’ve gotten it and this track has been my favorite so far. The imagery that the troubadours are able to paint with their music touches the heart and is all too real.

With my hands around a Belgian made Browning, my mind on the lines of her face.

The Things In Between: Wrapping up my first season out west.

October 05, 2015 by Christopher So

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft.

I t’s hard to believe that its been nearly half a year since I set off on this journey out west. It feels like it was just yesterday that I was watching Virginia shrink away in my rear view mirror through the tangles of my belongings piled high. At the same time, looking back through the things I’ve experienced, the people I’ve met and the things that I’ve learned - it feels like it’s been years. There have been times where I have found myself suddenly tripping through my thoughts. Daydreams so abrupt and deep realizing just how drastically I have changed, how far I am from home. It’s as if my mind has been taking in so many new things, so many good, so many bad and all so sudden and real that it’s starting to trickle into my soul. A level, I suppose, deeper than the head or the heart. Or is it a combination? An all encompassing body of what you are. I certainly have made it a point to make the most bang out of my buck this summer, to say the least. I managed to fit in three field jobs, three iconic cities, two national parks (one three times and the other twice), most of Oregon and its coast, an unhealthy amount of craft beers and ice cream and of course a handful of new friends. The latter holds the most weight. Through my work I have met good people, amazing people. And through them I have met others. I have adventured into new places with people I have known for less than a day and it is that ernest spontaneity that so characterizes this place that I hold dear to me and owe so much of my change to. I left the east with a heavy heart and heavier associations. It only takes a few tragedies to snuff out a person’s light - you can’t bounce back from everything. But it can take an equally few amount of real moments to bring you back. It’s not just the open roads or the sunsets and sunrises or the looming mountains and bottomless lakes it’s the everything in between it’s the cold mountain mornings and chilly night laughters it’s the sound of boiling water and the smell of rain on the earth. It is following your friends instead of paths into the woods and it is learning that we are all part of a world much larger, older and wiser than us. If you found me last year and told me that things were going to be ok, that it was going to be the simple sound of hot coffee from a stranger pouring into my dirty cup that would rip me out of the dark waters drowning me and into the world again - I wouldn’t believe you. There is an inherent goodness in the strangers and people that we meet, if we give them a chance, and it is something that I have come to appreciate more than anything. And it is the bridge that we create to ones that we want to hold onto that I have been pouring myself into. There isn’t anything we can’t learn from others, especially forgiving oneself. I swore to myself that I was going to make a new life out here but more importantly that it wouldn’t simply be a different life. I was going to make myself a better more wholesome person and after this summer I feel like I have come much closer to that goal. The trick is that there isn’t a finish line. I learned that you just keep learning. That there isn’t a limit to how good you can be to yourself or to people and that there is always going to be someone who’s offended. But being ernest and open is always better than being right. That all being said…I had an absolute blast!

To ring in the next chapter I spent the weekend exploring Crater Lake with my old SCBI friend, Erin Morrison and her friends Jordan and Charlotte. Following a dark and winding forest road I drove deeper into the country in search of the mysterious campground they were camped at. Between the pictures she texted me, my map and my GPS I managed to roll into the dusty clearing Friday night. As I adjusted Rhyhorn to face towards the exit I made an awkward 5 point turn without a doubt sketching out the three as they sat around a campfire huddled in the dark. Erin and Jordan were members of a crew doing marten research out of OSU (coincidentally one that I have applied to) and Charlotte was working on her masters studying small mammals. Right off the bat I could tell this was a fun group. We planned starting the next morning relatively early, doing a few hikes and then catching the sunset over the lake. It felt good to be on the road again but a part of me missed my crew and my work. Hearing the three talk about their field work and past experiences made me excited for the next step - it’s all uphill from here. Setting up Rhyhorn for bed I was grateful for the cold night air. Fall was here and I didn’t miss the heat of the summer one bit. What was once an oven to sleep in was now a cozy cave.

It was nice to be back at Crater Lake. Driving towards it’s looming ridge I was reminded of the coolness of it’s water and the magnificent views I was able to see at the tops of it’s lookouts. It was much windier and colder than when I had come earlier this summer turning our hikes into a hilarious balance of wearing our layers and carrying them in our hands. Our first stop was the Cleetwood Trail, a winding hike down to the water. During our hike down I got to know the girls better and I couldn’t get enough of Charlotte’s adventures. She hails from Sweden (a purebred you know) and has spent many years traveling both for work and for fun. I picked her brain on what countries in Southeast Asia she enjoyed the most, how she travelled through India and Nepal and what kinds of jobs she had done in the past. For someone around my age she was incredibly worldly and I have to admit I was rather inspired. I have been aggressively tackling my west coast checklist ever since I got here but my eyes are trained northwards now (think Canada, Alaska and the Arctic Circle). I still have a lot of the continental North America to travel with Rhyhorn before I do much international travel but it was certainly a treat to meet someone also chasing their wanderlust. Reaching the bottom of the rim I soaked my feet in the cold cold water and we took a breather. It was wasn’t long until we starting talking about the small mammals that live in the park and it wasn’t much longer after that that a Pika appeared! It was a funny coincidence because we were just talking about Pika research and suddenly we were carefully combing the rocky shore trying to corner it for a photo. People come for the water, we came for the Pokémon.

Driving along Rim Drive to the next hike I couldn’t help but get the feeling I was on a beautiful highway. Our mission was the Mt. Scott Trail a long and steep hike up to the highest point in the park. But first it was lunch time which, for the girls, meant tiny cups of instant soup. I thought it was cute and hilarious how small they were and also impressed that they could work off of so little. Hiking up we talked more about work and travel and I relished in meeting these new people. It’s like the world has forgotten the value of a good story. Something that held great weight back in the day and now people just don’t care anymore. Meeting new people is like learning new stories and I cherish that.

The rest of the day was decently spent searching for a third hike and realizing that a lot of the park was already closed for the winter (this was the last weekend of the summer season). A few turnarounds later we settled on making dinner and catching the sunset over the lake. Gathered and shivering around a dying jetboil I couldn’t help but feel like we were in a realistic REI commercial. Rather than the glorified pictures of beautiful people swathed in down jackets and trendy cooking gear it was four people shivering, hungry and dirty chasing sunbeams to stand in and I loved it.

The wind was so cold and strong at the top of Cloudcap Overlook we gathered in Erin’s Mazda 2 aka Tenacious Tink to eat our noodles while waiting for the sun to set. But once that sun began to set oh it began to set. I can’t say I have ever seen a more beautiful sunset. Dipping closer and closer to the western rim the sun cast a million shadows across the rippling, blue water. The whole sky seemed to converge on the edge of the rim as the red-orange eye of the day closed shut.

The trip and all that it held seemed like a perfect ending to a good chapter of my life. I’m excited for what’s next and am open and ready for whatever it may be. Thank you all for always reading and being here with me, as always I miss and love you all!

Chris

Central Oregon pt. I: Three Sisters, Bend and Smith Rock

September 04, 2015 by Christopher So

Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.

Packed and ready to go I settled into my seat and took a moment to close my eyes and let the smells and warmth of my little world seep back into me. Without opening my eyes I put the key in and turned it and like a surprised, waking gasp Rhyhorn’s engine revved and the console came to life. Opening the windows I sucked in the cold mountain air, held it in my chest and, gripping the wheel, exhaled into the sound of the churning engine. That’s how much I like driving. Taking down my sunshield I organized my dashboard, checked my GPS, arranged my charging cords and made sure that my extra fuel and water weren’t leaking. The mission was simple, I had a three day weekend to myself and didn’t know a thing about any of the surrounding area - explore. Putting Rhyhorn into reverse I bid farewell to the HJ Andrews parking lot and set my eyes eastward.

I’ve spent more time among trees than buildings this summer and being surrounded by clean, crisp mountain air has become such a norm for me. I passed the familiar Forest Service sign indicating that I was entering a National Forest, this time it was the Willamette National Forest and as the thick green canopy swallowed me up I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the life I have shaped for myself and for all the people that helped me get here. Like I used to tell myself - these days are numbered. Traveling east on 126 I blasted my latest musical addiction - Bitterwater by The Oh Hellos and hurtled towards the Dee Wright Observatory. Staying eastward I transitioned onto 242 aka the McKenzie Pass-Santiam Pass Scenic Byway and began a long, winding journey into a landscape transitioning from a mixed conifer forest to barren, volcanic lava fields.

It wasn’t until I passed one too many scenic pullouts that I turned to my right and realized that North and Middle Sisters were looming in plain view. Preoccupied with not passing the observatory I fell into a tunnel vision my brother always caught me in - don’t forget to look at the ceilings brother.

The lava fields were a stark contrast to the lush, green forests I had just been driving in. The endless landscape of pumice and bleached snags was a less-than-subtle reminder of Oregon’s volcanic past. Pulling into the observatory parking lot I was surprised to see that the whole structure was made out of lava stone. Named after the Forest Service foreman that led the CCC construction of the Depression-era structure, the Dee Wright Observatory stands an enduring monument to a time long ago.

Built into it’s walls were small windows facing the many peaks of the Cascade Mountains.

Mt. Washington elev. 7,794ft.

Black Butte elev. 3,350ft.

North Sister elev. 10,085ft.

Middle Sister elev. 10,047ft.

A view of North and Middle Sisters from the observatory roof.

The whole experience showed me how powerful the earth was and how old it was. These mountains and landscapes were formed by volcanoes so long ago and have persisted through the years relatively unchanged. If it wasn’t for organizations like the Forest Service these views and places would be lost. Pulling out of the parking lot I continued eastward towards the town of Sisters, OR. As I drew closer I crossed into the Deschutes National Forest and the landscape changed again, this time to shrublands mixed with Ponderosa Pine (Pinus ponderosa) forests. So rich was the vanilla smell of the pines that it filled the air of the town like a heavy perfume. It would become a defining fixture of Central Oregon for the days to come. Pushing onwards I eventually made it to Bend, OR. I had a shopping list that needing checking off (I love excuses to buy outdoor gear): Hiking Oregon Falcon Guide and camp fuel from Mountain Supply, Reliance Aqua-tainer 7-gal water jug from REI and beer and dinner from Deschutes Brewery. To describe Bend would be to describe an oasis hidden away in the cool, high desert climate of Central Oregon where young, beautiful outdoor-minded people mingle among retired golfers, brewmasters and Ponderosas. Originally a logging town situated along the last bend of the Deschutes river, the city was a mixture of industrial park, suburbs and farmlands. It was similar to Portland in that it had a large tourist presence as well as a huge craft beer presence but differed in that there was an authentic outdoor recreation presence. Tucked away between the Three Sisters Wilderness, Deschutes National Forest and Smith Rock State park to the Northeast the city took advantage of hungry, tired adventurers and weekend-warriors. On every street there seemed to be young travelers living out of their trucks and vans rubbing elbows with clean cut, color-coordinated families on vacation. It was a strange mixing bowl of lifestyles and I loved it. Errands out of the way I settled down for dinner at the Deschutes Brewery brewpub. Right off the bat the brewpub felt like a space filled with old friends and family. It was an employee’s birthday and many regulars had shown up to drink and celebrate with him. Golf was playing on the tv’s and a slightly older crowd dominated the bar. I had heard so many good things about the 1988 brewery that I made it a point to get a taster.

The elderly couple next to me turned out to be good friends with the bartender. Asking him such in depth questions about his wife and girls I would have thought they were family. Noticing my hiking book and map the older man and I began to talk. We talked of great places to visit and great places to drink. I consulted him on what places were best to camp and hike and we both settled, in light of my time constraints, on the idea of heading southwest into the Three Sisters Wilderness and attempting the long hike up to the South Sister summit. We began talking about life and work and adventures and before I knew it I was sucked into his high-energy, positive perspective on life! Here was a grandfatherly, patagucci-clad boss of a man telling me of drunken camping adventures and riverside breweries he had done just the weekend before. Young at heart and young at body. Thanking him and the bartender for a long, wonderful evening I made it back to Rhyhorn and made my way to 372. The mission was to find a campsite close to South Sister and to get a good night’s rest. As the sun began to set I started to get worried. Although beautiful, the road was leading further into the wilderness but no where nearer to open campsites. Slowing down to consult my map I let a small, tightly packed OSU sticker clad toyota pass me - travelling students perhaps. A few minutes later the small car turned sharply to the left on what looked like a road to nowhere. Holding out for a better campground I continued on until the road bent southward. At this point I had just passed the trailhead for the hike and it was getting darker so I pulled a u-turn and made for the nowhere road. To my luck it turned out to be a nearly filled campsite with a beautiful view of a (dried up) lake. As an added bonus the OSU car was owned by two, super cute girls. Too tired and shy to make much conversation we exchanged a few kind words and I set up Rhyhorn for bed.

I awoke to the sound of hard rain and scratching. It took me a moment to make sense of what I was hearing and it sounded like a heavy, earthy scratching. As if something large was outside of Rhyhorn kicking up gravel and dirt into his wheel-wells. Staying still I strained my eyes to see out the windows but in the darkness I cold barely make anything out. Suddenly a shape moved past my rear window and a cold sweat formed across my body instantly. It wasn’t animals I was afraid of it was people. Slowly unclipping my ka-bar from its sheath I lay perfectly still on my side listening as hard as I could in an attempt to discern the size of the threat based of the crunch from it’s footsteps. It seemed too small to be a person and more and more I wished I hadn’t cracked my windows as much as I did. Scratch Scratch. I couldn’t take it anymore and sat up straight and fast but there was nothing there. Peering out into the darkness all I could make out was the rain and the distant trees. The girls’ car was peacefully parked where it had always been. Kicking my food box I listened to see if it was mice - nothing. The next morning I did a walk around and found small hoof prints around Rhyhorn but nothing in the way of digging. Crouching down I looked under my seats and along my floorboards and found mice droppings. Not totally convinced that mice could have been making as much noise as I was hearing - I chalked it mostly up to a varmint problem. Bidding the girls safe travels I continued westward on 372 into a foggy, cool morning.

Devils Lake

Pulling into the trailhead parking I gazed up the misty mountain and debated with myself. It was much colder and much wetter than I had prepared for - a rookie mistake. I had become too used to the unrelenting, dry heat of the Klamaths that I hadn’t paid enough attention to the incoming storm. Pulling on my icebreaker long underwear and darn tough socks I jerry-rigged a hiking outfit, grabbed an apple, trailmix bar and my camera and set off up the mountain. The path was steep, moist and soft from the amount of pine needles on it. Hiking upwards I could see far into the open understory where rocks, ponods and hemlocks dominated the forest. From the ferns and moss it was clear that this was a forest with plenty of water.

The cold, wet air condensed onto my beard and mustache and kept me cool as I hiked higher and higher. Realizing how much better hiking shape I had become I thanked the Klamath bootcamp. Eventually I broke through the forest and into a high, open valley. Trees became sparse and the soil became sandy. I was at the foothills of South Sister.

Pushing onwards I hiked through the whipping winds peering over each pass to see if I had reached Moraine Lake yet, my turnaround point. Nearly there I ran into a couple from Portland that had entered the hike from the northeast trailhead. They were a friendly middle-aged couple and complimented me on my camera and brave outfit. We made small talk about the area and they recommended me to visit Smith Rock State Park if I had time. They were the second group of people to tell me that since I started the hike so I knew it was fate, the next mission would be Smith Rock. Bidding them farewell I turned around and hiked around another pass and there it was - Moraine Lake.

Climbing clumsily down to the shore I sat down and began to take off my socks. As cold as it was one doesn’t simply hike up half a mountain to not soak their feet.

The fog was so thick you couldn’t see South Sister though it was silently looming over the valley.

Walking around the lake the sun came out in sudden breaks. Never for more than a few minutes. The water was surprisingly warm and I would often walk back into it to warm my feet. Hikers nearby looked at me as if I was crazy, though, from my appearance I wouldn’t blame them. Making my way back to the trail I ran into the middle-aged couple again. Laughing at the coincidence we struck up a more in depth conversation and they asked me about where I was from and what I did for work. Describing Virginia, my trip out west and the Klamath job they excitedly asked me questions on the forest fires and my future plans. The husband had actually gone back to school and graduated with a B.S. in Environmental Science and was commiserating with me on the lousy job market. I told him not to lose hope and to check big job boards like the Texas A&M one. We bid each other farewell with dripping noses, zipped up jackets and cracked smiles - it was cold. I told them that I had applied to Portland Patagonia and that I would certainly see them again there if I were to get the job. The climb down was fast and before I knew it I was back at Rhyhorn heating up and naving myself back to Bend. I didn’t really know anything about Smith Rock but from my guidebook I could tell that it was a climbing paradise and would likely be very very full. With plenty of daylight ahead of me I reasoned out that I would head up towards Redmond, find dinner and beer and then find a campsite close to Smith Rock. Setting my GPS for Cascade Lakes Brewery I gunned it north. As fate would have it the brewery was closed and, consulting yelp, I made it for my second choice. A small-batch craft brewpub called Smith Rock Brewing Company. Pulling into a small neighborhood off the main road I began to get excited. Turn after turn I realized that I had found a local neighborhood brewery reminiscent of Portland’s homey brewpubs. Pulling into the parking lot of the house-sized brewery I immediately noticed their Forest Service themed logo and welcome sign. This was a good choice.

Walking into the brewpub I was hit with the smell of burgers, fries and beer. The dimly lit room had a total of 4 people in it and was roughly the size of a living room and kitchen. Sitting at the bar was a laughing man in golf attire making conversation with the older man behind the bar. Greeting them I placed my empty water bottles on the counter (I hadn’t been able to find water to fill my jug yet) and sat wearily in the seat. I complimented the man on the decorations and the feel of the bar, I told him it was my first time. He explained to me that they were a family-owned small-batch brewery. They only had 2 taps at a time and only brewed one keg of beer at a time. The man at the bar told me it was the best beer in Redmond. I told the bartender that I liked how the bar was Forest Service themed and asked if the brewmaster worked for them at all and he simply replied, “Haha oh no I never worked for them”. I laughed and apologized and said it was a pleasure to meet the brewmaster and he laughed replying that he wasn’t a brewmaster just a brewer, shaking my hand he told me his name was Kevin. The brewery was the product of his attempt to improve upon his wife’s hobby of making home brews. One thing led to another and the next thing that they knew they were applying to become a brewpub. His wife handled the attached kitchen and it was now him solely handling the brewing. Ordering the stout and a burger I began talking to the man at the bar. We talked about beer and good beer and bad beer and work and life. It seemed to be a theme of this trip. The more I made it a point to talk to people and to step out of my comfort zone the more my life seemed to expand. Really it was the expansion of my perceptions from hearing new ideas and having new conversations about things I wouldn’t normally talk about that does it. In almost a “yes man” attitude I have been taking leaps and bounds out of my normal routine. Talking to him about what I did for work I told him that I believed that anything can become work. That even the beauty of the outdoors can become overwhelming when enough tasks were assigned to it. Only after an hour or so of drinking and laughing and cursing did he reveal to me that he was a PGA pro (Tam Bronkey) and that even golf had become a job to him but that at the same time he was able to wake up everyday grateful that his job was to do something he loved. Kevin said that he loved what he did at the brewery but that if someone told him they would pay him $25 an hour to pump gas that he’d kick us out and shut the doors that night. Laughing we all agreed that no one was going to pay anyone that much to pump gas. Thanking Kevin for the amazing food and beer I asked him about camping advice and he told me to go straight for Smith Rock State Park itself and to camp at the Bivouac campground for $5 you could get water, a spot and a hot shower. Blown away I thanked him and hit the road.

Pulling into the campsite I wasn’t sure what to expect. Driving towards the state park I was already blown away by the size of the rock formations. It was the kind of magnitude of nature I expected of a National Park. Instantly I realized that I was camping at a climbing mecca. Pulling into the parking lot I slowly made my way to an empty spot. Everywhere there were young people living out of their trucks and vans laughing and organizing climbing gear. Every other guy seemed to have either dreadlocks, long hair, an amazing beard or an amazing long dreadlocked beard and every girl was a tan, earthy climbing goddess. I had no idea where the hell I was. Parking Rhyhorn and climbing out to stretch and pay for a spot I was met with approving glances. With my dreads and adventure rig I realized I blended in perfectly but oh god I was no climber but rather a cowardly hiker/photographer. Having already eaten I began to unpack Rhyhorn and filling up on water. The campsite was set up community style with just a large open area fenced away from the restoration areas of the park filled with flat areas and tree shade for campers. You just had to pay $5 and hike out and find a good spot for yourself. As the sun set on the distant hills the sounds of laughter and music drifted through the air. The smell good dinner and herb filled the air as well and I found myself struggling to socialize. I never had too much of a trouble traveling solo but for the most part I was often time alone and in pretty secluded areas. This was like a beautiful outdoorsy young people convention and the bravest thing I could muster was to sit on the back of Rhyhorn with a beer planning the next mornings hike and smiling at passerbys. It was embarassing and I regret it. A number of times cute girls peered into my trunk and smiled at me and of course I smiled back. In retrospect it was likely because I had tied up my Bob Marley tapestry over the back of Rhyhorn and, with dreadlocks draped over my shoulders as I read, probably looked like a weed dealer. Feeling like I had embarrassed myself enough I headed back to my tent and read before calling it a night.

I started the next morning early I had a lot of hiking to do. Making instant noodles at the food area I made friends with a traveling couple. The two were from Arizona and were taking half a year off to travel and climb around the west coast. Giving me a generous pour of coffee from their percolator we talked about traveling, their dogs and how awesome the toyota 4Runner was. They were a good pair of people and were no strangers to hard work and responsibilities but knew how to live at the same time. Bidding me good luck on my job search they told me to enjoy life and to not work too hard - life was simply too short. With their words in mind I strapped on my daypack and grabbed my camera and descended into Smith Rock.

Carved out of basalt by the Crooked River, Smith Rock was a breathtaking set of ridges and flat rock faces nestled quietly north of Redmond, OR. Surrounded by private, Forest Service and BLM land the surprisingly affordable ($5) and sinfully accessible state park quickly became one of my favorites. Hiking along the Crooked River I circled the main ridge clockwise.

On the trail I greeted fellow hikers but off the trail I gazed up in awe (and terror) at climbers tackling the various rock faces. Towering above the river to the west side of the park was a particular ridge that climbers had tethered a slack line across. From the ground it was barely discernible but just watching as vultures flew around it doing loops above and underneath it made my knees weak.

Rounding the bend it began to rain heavily. Putting my DSLR away I whipped out my trusty iPhone and began the gradual climb up the north face of the ridge. Instantly there were fewer tourists and for much of the hike I was left alone with the river, the trees and the sound of the rain.

Climbing higher and higher the trail began to narrow and become less maintained. Through the mist and rain a foggy valley came into view. Beyond it lay a hidden expanse stretching north into Central Oregon. Hiking to the sound of my own tired breath the song, Down in the Valley, came to mind.

Nearly to the ridge I ran into a man gazing into the valley. We talked about the park and how undervalued it seemed to me and how unbelievably cheap and pristine it was. He agreed and laughed and told me that he had been here for many years and it never got old. I asked him if he lived here and he said yes and that he was the creator of smithrock.com embarrassed and surprised I apologized and asked him about the site and he explained that it was a site dedicated to climbing and recreating in the park and that it has been a pet project of his and his wife’s for a long time. Shaking his hand we gazed out towards the famous Monkey Face rock face and oohed and ahhed at the climbers attempting it.

Hiking onwards I reached the ridge just as the sun came out. Bathing the park in it’s orange glow it warmed up my bones and dried my clothes. Finding the perfect lunch rock I laid out my clothes, kicked back and ate like there was no tomorrow.

As I began my descent down the south face of the ridge I began to run into more and more tourists. It seemed that the counter-clockwise route was more popular. This half of the hike offered views down into the river valley and ridges to the east of the park.

Tired and all adventured out I climbed into Rhyhorn and set off for HJ Andrews. It had been a wild weekend with as much time as possible spent outside and it was so rewarding. Passing through Bend and Sisters I found myself back on the windy road home and welcomed by rain and fog. It was the rain that the region has really needed and it was a good thing that we were finally getting some. Passing back through the lava fields I stopped and grabbed a picture that must have come straight out of Interstellar.

Nearing HJA I had a decision to make. From the beginning of the trip I had been trying to engineer the logistics so that I was worn and weary by the time I arrived back in Blue River, OR but with enough daylight to warrent a trip to Terwilliger Hot Springs. It had been on my list of things to do and seeing as how I was worn out, weary AND cold I hung right and went for it - and jesus fuck was it worth it!

Hiking towards the hot springs I could see the steam rise from the forest. I had heard good things about this spring and as I descended through the wet, fern forest my excitement built like no other. I knew that it was a clothing optional spring and was debating on going in nude. Now everything about me is generally cautious and safe and reserved so I was battling a lot of my comfort zone as I hiked closer and closer to the springs. By the time I reached it and saw that most of the folks in there were nude I decided, fuck it, I’m out here on the west coast winging it and lord knows what the hell I will be doing months from now but right now I am here and I am going to live it! dropping my shorts I tied up my hair and slid into a wonderful pool of 106ºF heaven.

It was a weekend to remember and I made more friends and learned and experienced more things than I could have hoped for. The trick was to keep my mind open and my heart brave. It’s a pretty neat world out there and at 25 I am a quarter done with my stay here so I need to live it up. This weekend I am already back in Bend typing this up in Bend Brewing Company. The sun is setting and I’m not really sure where I’m staying tonight but Rhyhorn willing I’ll find a place. Here’s to living life simply to live life - celebrate the moments and get naked!

As always, love and miss you all,

Chris

Soil Crew Week 1: HJ Andrews, Oatmeal Girl and the Dirty Tatum

August 28, 2015 by Christopher So

Blue River, OR
Elevation: 2,504 ft.

It’s been such a relief to be back in the woods again. It crept up into my bones slowly and surely the few short days I spent in Portland resupplying, packing and eating - I was growing depressed. I think a big part of it was getting out of the woods and so suddenly being thrown back into regular, developed society. Filled with cell phone signal, wifi, cars, concrete, money, noise and responsibilities. That’s the big one. I think the sudden surge of my life picking back up where it left off before the season was overwhelming. It was only 3 months to everyone else but 3 months in the field is so much longer. There were times where I turned my phone on airplane mode just so I wouldn’t look at it as anything other than a camera. The HJ Andrews gig coming up when it did was a life saver and the perfect opportunity to get back into the woods with a grateful heart. And let me tell you, this project as been absolutely amazing!

Balls! But Chris how could hauling heavy digging equipment to steep slopes and digging a 1m x 1m x 1m pit for 10 hours a day be amazing? The answer is location, location, people, whatever-the-fuck-they-are-making-us-do. No way in hell did I ever think I would be able to work, let alone live, at the HJ Andrews Experimental Forest yet here I was nestled in the foothills of the cascades surrounded by towering conifers and living on a compound filled with young ecologists and Forest Service researchers. It was like SCBI and SMSC met the west coast. We were housed in a 8-person apartment with running water, soft beds, a full kitchen and wifi (abiet extremely slow wifi) - and there are only 3 of us! The campus and the housing where the first things to put a smile on my face.

The next thing that brought me a lot of comfort and relief was the forest itself. The forests here haven’t been burned as much and, the section that our plots are in, run a long a large watershed which both add up to a very open, shaded, cool forest dominated by Oregon Grape, ferns, maples and hemlock. The brush is so low and mild that I can work in just a t-shirt and pants sans gaiters, long sleeve or thick Carhartts. The cool, moist air and the open green of the forest reminded me of cold days at SCBI walking alone looking for trees and it reminded me more of why I loved forests - the Klamaths just weren’t for me.

Now, the people. Matt and I had our suspicions of how Brett, our team lead, would be. Us both having been big leads in our own project as well as having graduated Klamath death camp feared we would be working with a snot-nosed, overly-enthusiastic, cocky OSU grad student upstart motherfuck. We were pretty sure we were going to have to show him how hard work is done and were bent on scaring him with our absurd standards and work ethic. But we were wrong.

Put in a way he would be proud of - Brett is a big, badass motherfucker. A Research Assistant from OSU he holds the same job (but not necessarily level) as my cousin Amanda and my Klamath boss Rob. I would rank them about ODST level-ish. Right off the bat I was like crap he’s huge and has a big red beard and he’s going to kill us shit what did I get myself into. 5 minutes into meeting him he brought in a shit ton of beer and had already made a “that’s what she said” joke. I instantly knew this was going to be a fun job no matter what they had us doing. That’s when the job comes in. We are part of a soil crew slated to be the first short season of a revival of soil analysis of sorts. I’m not completely clear on it all but Mark Harmon was explaining to us that there just wasn’t any consistent data collection being done on the HJA soils particularly in the watersheds and that the idea was to do short but regular seasons of soil and litter collections. What does that mean? Soil pits. A shit ton of soil pits.

Admittedly it’s easy to understate soil science and the protocols that come along with it. We are actually digging, sieving and collecting samples from 1m x 1m x 1m pits carefully chosen and dug to exact dimensions and weighed and recorded one bucket at a time. Step 1 is hiking to the site and choosing an appropriate spot to set up our pit - it has to be a place with vegetation and slope characteristic of the area and it can’t be too close to trees for nutrient and practicality reasons. Then we have to photograph it form different farthings and then carefully remove all of the vegetation from it. Then we cut around and remove the forest floor. It literally peels off like a mat and goes into labelled paper bags. Then we measure the height of the surface of the bare mineral soil at 16 intersecting points on a grid laid over the plot (and will do so at each dug interval) and THEN the fun begins. Digging carefully we create a perfect square into the side of the slope making sure that the distance from the top of the pit to the bottom is the same both upslope and downslope. We collect, weigh, sieve, weigh and store all of the soil we dig and damn we were all surprised at how much soil can come out of a meter cubed pit. The tiring part is when the big muscular movements like digging and hauling and weighing are interrupted by the tedious tasks like using a plumb bob and gently scraping the sides of the pit with a paint spreader to make sure its completely vertical or separating the rocks and roots by hand to be weighed and sampled. It creates a mental tired which compounds the physical tired we already feel.

We do 10 hour days so inevitably we are starting to wear out. The mornings have gotten slower to start and the drives home are quiet but having showers and beds and clean clothes everyday really does something for moral. Brett and Matt both have sweeties waiting for them back in Corvallis and Eugene respectively and hearing them talk about them of course makes me feel lonely but being 25 and in the middle of trying to figure out where I want to be in the field I always end up in a reasoning flow chart that ends in - it’s ok. There is a lot of things I am still working on both professionally and personally and I just don’t think that I am a wholesome enough person for a relationship yet. I know three women that would tell you the same. That all being said and done it still sucks and its tough sometimes. There are a lot of young people at this facility but because we are all up to so early and get back so late there isn’t much chance for dialogue. Also, everyone is housed in the buildings away from us and it’s just us soil guys, a solo researcher next door and a couple of researchers from Colorado State below us. All very quiet and keep to themselves. Anyways, one morning as we are getting our coffees and breakfasts going I am emptying my instant Quaker oatmeal into my camp bowl when through the window our of the corner of my eye I catch a golden flicker of light. There across the street walking with her arms crossed close to her chest was a girl walking with long brown hair. She was wearing a tanktop and running shorts and the way the morning light breaking through the trees hit her skin and her hair was unlike anything I’d seen in a long time. Now in reality she was just a cold girl walking over to the work trucks probably to get it ready for her team. She probably woke up late and had no time to get into her field clothes and figured she’d just get the truck closer to the apartment to make loading easier. Probably didn’t even brush her teeth or take a shit yet. The point was that I had spent so much time with sweaty, dirty field men and women that a clean, tanned barely clothed girl was just unbelievable - goddess like. Laughing at how much it affected me the guys didn’t let me forget about it all day. By the end of the day her name was “Oatmeal Girl”. My patheticness aside, a Tatum is an old term for something that holds papers. Essentially a clipboard. More specifically in forestry a nice metal one with several compartment. We have one on our crew and it’s dirty as hell and bent out of shape from so many seasons and we simply call it, “the taint”. I’ll leave that one for you to look up.

I have one week left here on soil crew and then I’m being transferred to a veg crew. From talking to some of the other researchers here it sounds like the HJA veg team is working out of Cascade Head on the Oregon coast which would be fucking amazing! Word on the street is that we may even get up into the Olympic Peninsula. Now I know I complain a lot of veg work but I think I can certainly stand to get into some more awful shit if it means getting that close to the coast again - and getting paid. My weekend starts today and I’m planning to take Rhyhorn out to explore some of Three Sisters Wilderness and Deschutes National Forest. Here’s to living each day like you die eventually and not being afraid to just say what you mean.

As always love and miss you all,

Chris

Gone

August 23, 2015 by Christopher So

It’s been over a half a year and though I have learned so much about myself since then, I am still learning how to let go.

Gone are the days when you’re the wind.

Spike 6, Seattle, Spike 7 and Moving On.

August 22, 2015 by Christopher So

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft.

There is something to be said about the things we carry. Since Seattle I’ve had this feeling like I’ve been lost in place and I’m not sure what that even means. This chapter of my life started the moment I fired up Rhyhorn in my parent’s garage and backed out down the familiar drive way waving goodbye to my foundation, my base. I suppose this could be just another part of learning to stand on my own, just growing up to put it plainly. I don’t really know but I do know that I already miss the woods, the disconnect. I’ve been feeling very alone lately but alone in the woods is different than alone in the city.

Spike 6 began a little non-traditionally. Instead of leaving from the cabins as a group, Lily, Eleanor and I met up with the crew at Hotelling Campground straight from San Francisco. The team had already done a day in the field when we met up with them and I felt guilty that I was still in shorts and a t-shirt and clean as can be. Alan joined us for this spike which was good. It helped us confirm many of our questions, got him some field time and set us up for a good closure to the season (little did we know that there would actually be enough funding for another full spike afterwards). The crew had done a two-plot day (a new site and a control, which, still takes a good amount of time) and was pretty tired and dirty looking. It was then that I realized how desperate we all must look to everyone we meet.

Having Rhyhorn with me was a real treat. It gave me a chance to practice living out of him some more and saved me a lot of logistic grief having all of my food and clothes in my own place - zero time breaking down camp in the morning means more time to take a shit and make instant noodles. Waking up that first morning I already knew it was gonna be a doozy of a spike. It was a hot week and most of the plots were going to be low elevation sites. Needless to say we all fell asleep in puddles.

The week turned out to be a good one for wildfires I think in the time that we were there at least 3 had started around us. By the third day the valleys were filling up with smoke. As bad as the fires were, it was a welcome relief to the heat. Blocking out the sun with it’s eye stinging mist, the fires became a sort of presence.

Alan kept mentioning that I wouldn’t have anything to blog about since the week was going so smoothly, and he was right. Things went very well despite the additional plots. Having him back as a leader took a load off of the crew. We didn’t need to consult a printout of instructions and any problem we encountered was assessed by him directly right away - we were flexible. I will say that another reason things seemed to be so good - neutral - for me was that I had just started to shut down. Similar to the kind of foggy angst I’m feeling now I had somehow flipped a switch in me that simply turned me off. There were moments that I just felt dead inside. A season like this was abnormally hard physically and mentally on the crew and I just couldn’t handle it. Here’s me with some Poison Oak.

Here’s my worst enemy, Tan Oak.

The rest of the week has really faded in my memory but the pictures I took remind me of the smokey drives and the long long days. Collecting the micromet sensors was an interesting return to the beginning. A few days before meeting the rest of the crew I had gone to the sites with Krista, Alan and Howie to set them up and I knew even then that this was going to be a tough project and that I would be a totally different person come the day that I return to get them - I was right. This job taught me the value of hard work and even more the value of working hard. Sometimes there came endless days filled with hardships and dead ends and giving up was all that we wanted to do but there’s something to be said about gritting your teeth and just jumping in knowing that it’s all just gotta be done.

Spike 6 ended with driving back to Happy Camp a day early. In addition to paying for all of the campsites, Alan treated the whole crew to a pizza dinner! It was more than we could have asked for from a guy working just as hard as we all were. Driving back through the smokey valleys behind the trucks I was reminded just how small we were in the grand scheme of things.

We came back to the cabins to a commiserating email from Rob. Ever concerned and watchful of us, our awesome supervisor showered us with praise and shared with us an old photo of him and his hotshot crew back from a day fighting fires. What. A. Bad. Ass. And of course he got the spot next to the lady - ooh, kill’em.

After a goodnight’s rest, a whole bunch of laundry and part I of packing Lily and I headed north for Portland. The mission this break was to catch up on emails, job applications, weight and to head up to Seattle!

Packed with our things and my new friend (Lily’s friend), Janelle, our trio headed up to the maritime city. Each of us had different people we wanted to meet up with on different days - it was logistically a potential mess but it went through without a hitch cause these girls were super independent and knew how to get around on their own. On the first day we hit up the Pike Place Market area.

It was a nice change of scenery and pace. The climate was mostly a cool, salty breezy 70º and the city was filled with colorful tourists and people. Walking around Pike Place Market I felt giddy to be so close to where REI and Starbucks (kind of) got their starts. My contacts for the break were two old friends from the east coast, Morgan from SCBI and Mark from the third grade. Seeing them both was unbelievably amazing for me. For a moment I snapped out of my tired fog and had a jump in my step again. The first night we met up with Morgan and three or four of the local AmeriCorps teams and house partied! It was refreshing and a little overwhelming to be around so many young people again. Though there wasn’t BP or earsplitting dubstep like the good old Leach House days, there was good conversations and much needed hugs.

The next day I met up with my old friend and the Obi Wan to my Anakin (he taught me how to break dance back in middle school), Mark Nufable. He took me on a tour of the other side of Seattle and showed me parks, amazing food, comic book shops, the most amazing card game shop I’ve ever seen, REI SEATTLE!!! and the wicked awesome EMP Museum.

(Yes those did belong to Gimli, Strider and Frodo)

(Made me miss my brother)

(Shout out to my NEON family!)

After the museum we crossed the water and headed towards Ballard and quite possibly one of the biggest moments for me on the west coast so far - the Conor Byrne Pub!!! Aside from it being extremely old and historic, the interior was open and comfortable, the crowd was mellow and musical, the tap was rich in craft brews and whiskey and IT’S WHERE THE HEAD AND THE HEART MET!

My life felt more complete than ever. THATH has been the closest band I’ve ever held onto and has been a driving force for a lot of my life decisions for the past 3 years. Not a long time, but I’ve gotten so much done in that time and I really do owe it to them. Lily met up with us and surprised us, and the entire bar, by signing up for the open mic night and playing the Mbira. I’ve never met such an earnestly positive and fearless person in my life and am very very grateful and proud to call her my friend. At 22 she has already travelled much of the world and has touched many lives, and is a bad ass Mbira player.

The trip came to an end and we headed back to Portland. Learning that there was enough funding for a full 7th spike was bittersweet. I had already begun to miss the team and the mountains but god the work was tough. But, as I began to really truly understand, nothing in life is, why cry about it?

Spike 7 started without a hitch. I felt we were all kind of worried about the spike since two of our teammates were heading out halfway and since most of the plots we had been assigned were revisits of old ones where Alan wanted us to haul out a number of large trees - no exception. It seemed like the fates had mercy on us because our first plot was super flat and super open as well as a easy hike down from the road - it was a gracious warm up.

(A Costco pie never tasted so good)

The plots were as hard as we had expected. Processing and hauling out trees as big as Alan wanted us to turned out to be not just a full days work but a long full days work, even with a team of 6. It made me think about how this was essentially him making us correct our misunderstandings of his instructions and how it just didn’t seem realistic that a three man crew would have been able to do this and still finish each day at a reasonable time. It just didn’t add up. Perhaps we could have had each three man crew take two days per plot, one day to do the protocols and another to get the stems but then there was no way we would have hit the 60 plots we needed. Looking around at the whole team working till it began to get dark I just didn’t get it. But, then again, that’s not a call us field techs can make.

It was a smokey week. Fires were still burning and new ones had started. There had been, by this time, 3 hotshot fatalities. Wildfires just are a part of life here and the firefighters that fight them are truly heroes. I felt fortunate to grow up on the wast coast where all we worry about is heavy rain and snow not closing schools down. A cool thing about the smoke is the spectacular sunsets it creates.

With our current work rate in mind we decided to focus on revisits while we still had Charles and Kim and to attack the plots as a full team. The hope was that we could hit enough big ones that we weren’t just destroyed when it became just Eleanor, Matt, Lily and I.

Though, as bad as I make the job seem, it was filled with rewards. As all hardships are I suppose. There is a good side. We all became tougher and closer. By Spike 7 we could have easily been hired on as a ultra-low budget logging crew. Nothing automated just dull hand saws and muscle. Looking back on the work I really hated it but being back in the city I miss the simplicity of it all. Waking up I didn’t have emails or texts or appointments or errands or, fuck, exercise to worry about. It was get up, break down the tent, get your dirty clothes on and hit the road. In a way my angst could be attributed to me just not acclimating easily back to the developed life. After Charles and Kim left we had our asses kicked by a revisit and didn’t get out of the field till past 2200 hours but it was that kind of asinine ass kicking that makes the good times great.

The last leg of our Spike was characterized by a hodge podge of driving and confusion and, suprisingly, the coast. Tired and broken from the 2200 plot we drove long and high to a very remote new plot. Once we got there we realized that the path down into it was overgrown and such thick brush that we could barely make out the sheer drop it hid. Tired and broken to the bones the last thing we all wanted was another late night - it was a full stem analysis plot and we still needed to head to Brookings, OR by the end of the day, a 5 or so hour drive. We chalked it up to field karma and decided to treat ourselves better today and made our way to the coast. We used the daylight to resupply ice and fuel and to contact the local ranger to let them know we were in the area and, of course, a Morality Fund fueled pizza dinner!

We planned to drive as close as possible to the plot and dispersal camp setting us up for an early attack on the plot. Following the GPS and Alan’s instructions we carefully made our way east into the mountains but inevitably hit a road we couldn’t drive. Even in 4 low ‘OSU 1′ simply couldn’t climb the steep, washed out fire road. We were over 2 kilometers from the plot and in backing up the truck got it stuck against the brushy, sandy side of the road. I had never seen the axels on these trucks flex so much as they straddled and slide into the deep washed out ruts over and over again.

Upon freeing the truck we had to figure out logistics. Admittedly it did cross our minds to just camp on the beach, forge a plot and head back to the cabins - but that wouldn’t have been right. Looking at the maps we found a round about way to put us close to two of the plots - it would mean arriving in the dark again.

The next morning we tackled REP02, the 1999 Repeater Fire. The plot proved to be your classic dense Tan Oak plot on a east facing slope so we suffocated and burned for 12 hours and hiked out.

The next day was REP01 and even denser plot filled with Tan Oak and Madrone aka the clothes ripper. Madrone branches are smooth, hard and brittle and will snap into sharp points easily. They tear at your skin and clothes and usually make for a bad time. The plot was filled with so many large conifers and blowdowns that it would make both the protocols and stem analysis take longer - fitting for our last plot of the season.

But turning off the negativity, closing my mouth and jumping in I went through the motions until even this passed. Hiking out we felt like a load had been taken of of us, like we had been freed…Starting up the truck there was one thing on all of our minds - ice cream.

Back at the cabins we rested, we sawed, we cleaned, we packed. And then when all the dust fell we said our goodbyes. It was hard but not as hard as in past jobs. I would be seeing most of them again shortly either in Portland or in the short HJ Andrews soil and veg stints we had all been transitioned into. But another part of it, I think, was simply me growing up. Pulling out of that cabin gravel road for the last time I turned onto 96 and headed west towards Seiad Valley. It was emotional but not as emotional as I thought it would be. It’s the nature of the job to make strong but short connections to the people and places you worked with and then to move forward into the next chapter. Folks with more seasons under their belts do this better but I think I am getting there. “No old friends”.

Almost there.

The mission after leaving the State of Jefferson was to visit Mrs. Doris Templeman in Medford. Mrs. Templeman and her late husband sponsored my mother and her family from Cambodia to the states as they were fleeing the Pol Pot Regime. Meeting up with her was on my list of things to do for a long long time and I don’t think I could have anticipated exactly how wonderful it was going to be. Right off the bat she welcomed me with open arms and gave me a warm shower and a soft bed to sleep in. She fed me lavishly with fresh fruit, stir friend noodles, cookies and all the iced tea you can drink (made right, she was born and raised on a farm in the midwest)! From the moment I got there till the I left after breakfast the next morning we talked. We talked about my mother and her family and their first days here in the U.S., we talked about her and her husband’s life together and their adventurous days travelling with their kids job hopping all over the states, we talked about doing what your heart tells you to do and that positivity and faith can take you a long long way and we talked about loss, mortality and being good and strong. I had never sat and talked to her before though we had run into each other a fair amount of times during my teenage years. It was fascinating and touching to learn so much about such an important person to my family, we talked like we were old friends. Shoot we even talked about wildfires, ecology, climate change and the importance of conservation. Probably the most touching things we talked about was when she spoke about my mom and her siblings. Looking through old albums she told me how she first met them when they were all very sick and scared and desperate and how they all worked so hard to excel in school and to learn english - how nothing she gave them no matter how small was so incredibly appreciated. It was an experience to hear someone talk about my aunts and uncles like they were kids. These were people I grew up looking up to for guidance, people I always thought had it figured out. Looking through their photos I watched them grow up into teenagers and then into adults and then into parents. I left Virginia feeling a stronger connection to my family than I ever had, a connection like we were all earnest friends and no longer just relatives. After talking to Mrs. Templeman and hearing how emotionally she told stories about them and my grandparents I had never appreciated or missed them more. I am so grateful and proud to come from two extremely strong families. I come from a family tree rooted in war and loss and supported by hard work and love. It made me miss all of my not-so-little cousins and my dear brother. It wiped away all the sadness and loneliness the field season had dredged up from the back of my mind and simply made me grateful. Before I left I facetimed my mom and aunt at work knowing just how much Mrs. Templeman and them would appreciate it. She’s been a part of our family since my mom was 10 and has watched her grow up and is now watching me grow up and seeing them talk and laugh warmed my heart beyond compare.

All in all it has all come to a close. I’m sorry for such a large, rambling post I really put too much off for too long. The next steps for me are uncertain. For the next 5 weeks or so I have secured some work at OSU’s HJ Andrews Experimental Forest doing some soil science work as well as some vegetation work. It will give me something to do, get me paid and get me into another opportunity to network. There ain’t no rest for the wicked and I need to keep climbing as long as these hands and legs can climb. Until next time all of my dear friends and family - I’ll see you in the woods.

Chris