Party Like a Rock Star Party Like a Rock Star

The other day I was reminded of a rescue that my teammates and I went on a few months ago. It was along the Pacific Crest Trail, and a woman and her dog had gone missing. There were many aspects of this that seemed off to us- she had been traveling the PCT for months at that point, so it's not like she didn't know what she was doing. She had her dog and a "friend"- some guy she had blogged about who had joined her for the last 100 miles along for the ride. She had logistics support, and had already returned to a hotel to wait out a snowstorm at one point. So our guess was that she was out along the trail somewhere, Barry White crooning away in her tent with her and her "friend" blissfully unaware of the rescue effort under way to save her. Scott and I headed out to Snoqualmie Pass, and the entire way were confused about exactly what we were doing out there, but still happy to do our part.

Upon arrival at search base, we were asked if we could travel down the PCT. Yeah. From Snoqualmie Pass to Stevens Pass, the PCT is close to 70 miles long and we had no interest in an endurance hump, or overnighting in the field that evening. The weather was starting to sock in, and as it turned out I HAD to be back in Seattle the next morning to hop on the phone and deliver a brief I was working on for our US Coast Guard project. While not in the cards, the search administrators did a good number on peer pressure to see if we could in-fact stick around and were fairly disappointed when we had to politely decline.

Still, we were assigned to the PLS (Point of Last Sighting)- a campground roughly 10 miles in from where we could pick up a side trail in order to save a long and tedious hike along the PCT. Driving I-90 out and around, we passed through the town of Ronald- where the TV show Northern Exposure was filmed. Funny how a show based in Alaska was filmed in a little town outside Seattle, but there it was and you can still see the houses that the moose walks right by in the trailer.

Stressed out by the deliverable and several telcons that I had first thing in the morning, we stepped off onto our side trail just as it got dark. Off Scott and I go, hunting for them until the wee hours of the morning. Breaking trail and pressing through thick brush, we searched along the snowline and admired the stars which were clear enough that we could make out the Milky Way and even an occasional meteorite. When we came up empty handed, the team decided it was time to return to base and finally popped out by our car and drove home.

Returning to my loft at 03:30, I finalized a powerpoint, made the telcons from 07-10:00 and then proceeded to work the rest of the day as if nothing had ever happened.. surely not as if the ~20 miles of speed hiking and lost hiker hunting had occurred. No weird post-allnighter buzz, lagging exhaustion, shakes, etc etc. How, you ask? Four Rock Star Energy Drinks. Seriously. Four. That stuff is like liquid speed. How it works is beyond me, but I'm telling you that maybe either a SMR teammate or a guy with newborns invented it. I swear to you, they scare me. I didn't even feel like I had been up for close to 40 hrs including a rescue through the backwoods of Washington, worked on some dry-ass powerpoint and then talked for an eternity on a telcon by the time I crashed that next night. The only side effect I noticed? I thought it was great to TM everyone I knew with "party like a rock star, party like a rock star" .

Scary..

So there. I have now done my part for mankind and passed this hidden gem of information on to the world. A day later, the woman was discovered quite literally in her tent with Barry White going. Not surprisingly, she was confused about why exactly this rescue had been called out on her despite being a day overdue. Seems that after a few months alone along the PCT, it was pretty exciting to spend time with a guy that she was digging on and who had come to see her. Crisis averted, she was safe and doing well. And in the process I learned a valuable lesson- when you need some fast energy in a way that will keep you up despite the level of energy exerted, Rock Stars the way to go. It may require a biohazard label and I'll only drink it on heavy exertion occasions because of that, but it has worked like a charm for our team on more than one occasion now. Driving back from a Mt Olympus 30 hour nonstop summit climb, several of us drank Rock Stars and were able to get safely home.... man that stuff is crazy.

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The Lucky Christmas Dodge

On December 23rd, I went to LAX with my sister for our flights back to DC in time for Christmas. We had to beat feet because part of our Christmas tradition is to celebrate something called "Little Christmas". Our family opens presents on Christmas Eve (24th), but Little Christmas is more or less an authorized event to open one present each, a day early. Barbara's nonstop flight into Washington Dulles from LAX on the newly founded Virgin America would have her into DC sometime mid-afternoon. But given that this was a last minute trip to see Sgt Hawes' Basic Reconnaissance Course graduation, it would have cost me close to $700 to pick up a round trip ticket. Not being made of money, I used frequent flier miles to hook up a United Airlines round trip costing a whopping $7.50. Tough call on that one.. frequent flier miles and $7.50, or $700.. hmm. The catch was that on the return, my flight would take me through Chicago instead of nonstop into DC. At the time of purchase, I couldn't have cared less. At the time of flight, I couldn't have cared more.

When I arrived into LAX on Thursday night, the place was an absolute zoo. That was the first sign that this seasons rush compounded with an already crappy travel year would be a challenge. So when Barbara and I arrived at LAX somewhere in the neighborhood of 08:45, we found that Virgin America and United were conveniently located right next to each other but the airport was already a mad house. Barbara's flight was to depart at 10:40, and mine wasn't heading out until 2pm but given my ambivalence in being laid over in LAX thanks to some of the best people watching in the nation, I was completely fine with that and agreed to get there early with her.

Immediately after getting to the United Checkin line, my stress level started to spike. One woman told me that I couldn't check in until after 10:00, since my flight departure time was over four hours distant. Great. I didn't have any interest in wheeling around two suitcases for another hour so instead I opted onto the standby list to get the bags checked in. This proved to be both a burden and a Godsend down the road. We made our way through security, had some breakfast, and then Barbara went to her gate while I milled around between terminals and gift stores for some last minute Christmas shopping.

At 2, my flight was delayed until 2:30. Looking at all other Chicago-bound flights, they were delayed across the board which definitely raised an eyebrow or two. So at 2:30, we finally received our boarding announcement and jumped onto the plane. To sit. And sit. At 3:00, we were told that United needed our gate, so we would taxi out onto a remote part of the flightline until we received our takeoff approval. Again at 3:30, the pilot came on and informed everyone that the weather in Chicago was so bad that only one runway was operating. As such, we were held in LAX until ORD was ok with us flying in that direction and we were again being pushed back to 4:15. So long, connecting flight. But then at 3:40, a very anxious pilot comes on the intercom and gave us 2 minutes- we received our takeoff green light and if we missed this extremely narrow window, we wouldn't have another one for a whole hour. Flight attendants scrambled, people shut down laptops and tried to get off one last text message before we were airborne.

The flight was extremely quiet, and other than some light chop didn't get sketchy until we were almost into Chicago. Then the clouds rolled up to greet us, the bumps started, and the snow flying by windows was super-thick. The pilot managed a smooth landing and then there we were, at O'Hare. I had received a few updates before we left LAX letting me know that my ORD-DCA flight had been delayed also, so by my watch I had 20 minutes to get from Terminal C to Terminal B and on to that plane before it's now 9:50 departure to Reagan National. I quite literally ran to the first terminal monitor I could find- to read "delayed" or "canceled" on almost every departing flight listed. There were three remaining flights to the DC area that evening and even with the lateness of the hour you could tell that everyone was putting on a last-ditch effort to get people home for the holidays. My flight- the last of the 3, was now listed as departing at 10:55. Guess I can take my time getting to Terminal B, after all. As I made my way, I passed the longest Customer Service line I have ever seen. Passengers were asleep on gate couches. The Red Carpet Room lounge was overflowing. Talk about a worst-case scenario. On December 23rd at the height of the Holiday travel crush, one of United's key mid-country hubs is forced to a slowdown because of weather.

Over the next two hours, I had to change gates 3 times. One of the DC flights was able to get out and one was canceled. The one scheduled to depart O'Hare 2 hours before mine now showed a departure time 5 minutes ahead of ours, now 11:15pm. Then, the gate agent came on and gave us some news.. our crew was stranded in Idaho somewhere. Immediately after that announcement, the Departures monitor showed no scheduled depart time- just "postponed pending airport operations". More and more, it looked like I was going to be sleeping in O'Hare on Little Christmas, picking some random couch seat to call my very own. United EasyUpdate called for the 10th time with an automated update: "Good news! You have been rebooked on Flight XXX departing Chicago O'Hare on 24 December at 9am" I'm screwed.

But then in a rare feat of jointness, the Gate Agent who hadn't left us the entire time came onto the intercom and told passengers that in-fact, United was calling another crew in. The Gate Agent informed us that the DCA flight before ours hadn't departed yet, and depending on how things went in the next half hour we would either have that planeload of passengers merge with ours, or we would all truck down to Gate B-10 and merge with theirs. Then out of the blue, an airplane arrived at our gate and passengers hurried off. A pilot showed up.. and then two. The cleaning crews ran onto the plane and then they disappeared. Several extremely tired looking flight attendants jumped on board. We were told that all we needed was one last flight attendant, and then we were golden. She appeared at 30 minutes past midnight along with a mob of people who had just gotten word down at B-10 that their new plane that would take them to Reagan National was waiting for them at B-16 and had beaten feet to get on line for boarding passes.

We jumped on board and took off at 01:30am, arriving into Reagan National at 3 am. The crew were pleasant and I thanked them profusely for making the effort that they did. With all the canceled flights, and crappy weather they put forth a massive effort given the time of year and desperation of passengers who wanted nothing more than to be with family and friends in time for the holidays. Working in the air industry in this country is a thankless job right now and it's important to recognize those who go the extra mile as much as point out those who don't. But it's amplified time and again when you throw in the tight quarters and high dollar figures associated with air travel. Because of that, I can't express enough how thankful I was to this crew for pressing on at that time of night and under those conditions. Thanks to my name on the standby list in LAX 15 hours earlier, both bags were waiting in the baggage area with no wait- just grab them and go meet Dad and Barbara. "Well, hello! Haven't seen you in a while"

I was extremely lucky and I'm sure the envy of several thousand people who were still stranded in Chicago- and I know it. To drive home the point to me even more, I turned on my phone when I landed and found one voicemail waiting for me- from United EasyUpdate: "Your original flight, scheduled to depart Chicago O'Hare at 9am has been canceled. You have been rebooked on Flight XXX departing Chicago O'Hare on 24 December at 5pm". Lucky dodge. I was in DC in the wee hours of the morning on December 24th but with all the last minute Christmas shopping, present wrapping and other miscellaneous chores that needed to be done before our celebration started, there's no way I would have been able to make Christmas without that crew pressing on like they did.

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Ugg Lemming Parade

Today my sister and I did some quick last minute shopping before Christmas and ended up walking around Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade, a unique blend of shops, restaurants, and boutiques settled along a four block stretch of the city and within sight of the Pacific Ocean. In addition to the stores on 3rd Street, walking down the street provides one with a unique opportunity of seeing a healthy collection of the most bizarre and self-absorbed people in the United States. Among my perennial favorites are the Psychic Cat, who for a simple donation can read your mind and your future. Thanks to the help of a translator who just happens to speak cat, Psychic Cat then communicates its amazing prediction to a breathless audience. Then there are the living statues- you know the ones, people who paint themselves up silver or white, throw on sunglasses, and then move to a new pose when someone throws some coins into their basket. How would you like to go on a date with one of those people? Their skin a silver pallor from not quite cleaning up all the way and wondering in the back of your mind if all that makeup is going to lead to cancer one day. And among the other goofy people, you have throngs of those that can't be seen outside of the home unless they have on their designer shirts, $500 shades, and Ugg boots. In many ways, I'd rather spend time with the Psychic Cat than this crowd.

It's been a little while since I was last in LA and this trip came at an opportune time to hang out with my sis and also make a quick trip down to Camp Pendleton where Sgt Hawes, one of my Marines from 4th LSB was graduating from Basic Reconnaissance Course- a lifelong dream of his and something that I am extremely proud of him for. Landing in LAX, I immediately remembered what LA means to me- lots and lots of plastic people who don't seem to know how to place Moscow on a map but definitely are in-tune with the latest and greatest on K-Fed & Britney's drama. Not everyone for sure- there are definitely plenty of people who I know who live in the greater LA area who are genuine, friendly and close friends and who would give their shirts of their backs for someone in need. But it doesn't take a great deal of effort to find someone who would gladly take your your friends shirt, then turn around and sell it along with their soul to see themselves on TV. That being said, I definitely don't mind the International Airport at all- the fashionista people watching there is among the best in the country. If I'm ever laid over at LAX or DFW thanks to weather or mechanical problems I'm never that upset. It's just so damn entertaining. But there is a downside and Thursday evening, walking through the secured area of the airport en route to the baggage carousel I couldn't believe my eyes. Waiting just past the bored TSA agent guarding the secured area exit was a mass of humanity on a Mumbai scale. It took 45 minutes to get my bag, and that was only after I fought my way back and forth between Carousel 1 where UA #976 was listed- then heard a woman on the overhead 20 minutes later announce that 976 bags were coming out on Carousel 3. After another 15 minutes a UA rep told me it was actually Carousel 1 and then again 10 minutes later I finally found it on 3. What a mess. Barbara was waiting to pick me up and asked if she should drive through again while I scared up my bag. I told her yes, but when I walked outside the snarl of traffic made it clear immediately that it was going to be a long, long time before she made it to where I was standing. And it did. Almost an hour later she pulled up through the maze of stopped buses, hotel shuttles, bitchy women and toughguy dudes who would randomly cut off others and then stop before some bored and frustrated traffic cop shooed them on. And there's word that the massive Airbus A380 superjumbo, capable of carrying over 800 people and recently unveiled by Singapore Airlines is soon to be introducing even more passengers into this mess. That'll be fun. Hope my bag isn't the last one out of the hold with those numbers.

So after spending time with Sgt Hawes yesterday and a good night sleep for the first time in many days, Barbara and I headed into town. The weather was nice, the sun was out for the first time in two weeks, and even the antiwar protesters were in a good mood. And then I saw them. Uggs everywhere! Per-capita, I think that one out of every four women in the greater Los Angeles basin are proud owners of Ugg boots and make up 85% of Ugg Corporation operating profits. And soooo glamorous! As clearly displayed from the picture at right, wearing Ugg boots make a person incredibly happy, stylish, and reflexively strike poses that remind one of constipation. Pink ones, brown ones, tan ones, blue ones. Tall tops, furry tops, low rider types, clog versions. They. Are. Everywhere. And, they look STUPID. Oh, hey everybody! I'm so cold down here in LA! I need to wear my Uggs to keep my toes from suffering frostbite. If the temperature drops below a balmy 65, it might snow here in Southern California, and I want to be ready. Sure, I'll still have on my tank top and mini skirt, but thankfully I'll be able to wade through the snow from where I parked my H2 to get back to my home safely in time to watch Entertainment Tonight without losing my feet.

Whatever. To me, it's just plain dumb. It's not like those of us that run around the mountains decide that it's fashionable to jump onto a crowded Tokyo subway during rush hour with an ice axe and crampons. Oh wait.. yeah we did do that. Ok, so maybe a shirtless Matthew McConaughey and Pam Anderson wandering around with them on make plenty of star-struck fans think that they have something in common if they just go out and buy a pair for themselves. But seriously. To me, they just look ridiculous. If we were wandering around a sub-zero Anchorage in the depths of a January winter hunting down a Wooly Mammoth and I saw some girl wearing them it probably wouldn't even make me blink. But when I'm wearing a polo and the woman wearing the Uggs has on barely enough clothes to recreate a napkin it just doesn't make sense to me. Aren't her feet sweating like crazy in there?

In LA, Ugg boots are so ingrained into the popular culture that toy stores even sell dolls wearing different versions. I swear that I'm not making that up. So what's up with Ugg wearing dolls? It's in the data, actually. Some dude with too much time on his hands did a quick evaluation of Uggs website, revealing that most hits are coming from 25-40 year old females that earn between $60 and $100k, reside in the New York and California areas (read: affluent urbanites) and was kind enough to have the foresight to know that I needed his research for this blog. If you cross reference his data with anecdotal articles dealing with footwear (I didn't) and web searches that reveal ad targeting strategies (I didn't care enough), from what other people tell me most Ugg purchasers are women and parents of Tween girls that have Uggs on their Christmas wish lists. And that's why Little Barbie is dressed out in Uggs and why if I have a girl one day she'll remain locked in her room until she's married if Uggs ever appear on her wish list.

Oh, Barbara found this pic taken in NYC thereby confirming transcontinental anti-Ugg sentiment while assisting with the detailed research that went into this blog. Seems to imply that I'm not alone in thinking that Uggs are ridiculous outside of the Arctic Circle.

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Bullion Basin & Frustrating Pilots

This past weekend my Seattle Mountain Rescue (SMR) teammate and I ended up heading out on a Search and Rescue (SAR) mission close to Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, located in the foothills east of 14,410' tall Mt Rainier. The storms that hit over the week while I was in London for training managed to unexpectedly dump several feet of new snow and then trigger several avalanches across the Cascades. As a result, when I returned to the US and turned my cell on, about 50 text messages came rolling in dealing with several unrelated groups that had managed to get themselves into trouble, requiring SMR to head out to extract them and provide care starting as early as Tuesday. By the end of the week, one particular group who had headed out into the back country for a snowboarding trip up and over from Crystal Mountain continued to be lost with no trace.

So on Saturday, my teammates and I headed out at 05:30 in our fully loaded Expedition, arriving at search base around 07:30. After receiving our assignments and designating who would go with what team, we were inserted two ranges away by UH-1 helo to a remote and high angle search area. As we flew in, I was surprised to see the sheer number of avalanche that had hit this particular area over the last few days. Just about every slope and exposed run across several bowls showed some form of avalanche result, so given how long these three men had been missing coupled with all those slides made their chances of survival seem pretty slim. Holding on to hope, we learned that one of the three had just purchased an avalanche beacon the day of their disappearance.. so if he picked up batteries at the same time, they would have been the most fresh and possibly still capable of a charge. If we could pick up a signal, we would be able to vector in on any one of them and hopefully find them alive somewhere holed up and ready for evacuation.

Our team of 6 hit a very small LZ nestled in between pine trees and after breaking up assignments into teams of two (there were two SMR, two SPART and two Central Washington Mtn Rescue in our team) ranging from the base of an avalanche to straight up the center slope of an 800' face riddled with avalanche debris, we used our beacons and walked zig-zag to see if we couldn't find any trace of the missing snowboarders or pick up an emitted signal. We searched and searched with no results but occasionally one of us would pick up a ghost ping where our beacon would ping, we would look at each other with worried expression, and then spend 10 minutes combing that area with wands and cadaver dogs. All things considered, it seemed downright eerie. We came across the snowboarders "hut", a home made shelter carefully built by the three deep in the treeline and perfectly placed to take advantage of all these pure runs without having to worry about lift lines or other boarders. They had spent literally months working on this hut, complete with moss to plug holes in the wood sides for insulation, a cast iron stove (try considering that in your pack), tarps to cover the door and a well constructed and leakproof roof. It was well camouflaged to keep NPS Rangers from finding it given that the structure wasn't exactly authorized and it was located on National Park land. But given the level of complexity (the cast iron chimney even had a little home made roof to keep snow out of the top) and obvious frequency of visits (found a cord of evenly sawed wood and canned food with a receipt from November) for them to have missed their shelter as they traveled enroute didn't make sense. And yet there was no trace. So the more likely scenario was that they had triggered an avalanche on the way in, and through the week's storms likely had another one drop on top of them. If that had happened, it would be spring before any trace revealed itself. Grim, I know. But very strange and one of the reasons that we all spent so much time focusing on the ghost pings and probing of fields where it seemed likely they might have been.

It is funny how even in the darkest of times there comes a moment where you can truly relish life and where even simple, little things often overlooked when caught up in the day-to-day rush of things just pass you by. It happened in Iraq all the time. At the end of another day, every once in a blue moon my buddies and I would ascend to the top of a tower somewhere, smoke a cigar in the blast furnace heat and stare wistfully at an absolutely beautiful orange arabian sunset. There in Bullion Basin, thrown straight into this grim day where the odds of finding the boarders alive came a moment where Scott and I ascended straight up a 45 degree slope through chest deep snow to pop out on the very tip top of an icy ridgeline that held a stunning view of the east face of Mt Rainier. On an afternoon of mild temperature, no wind and blue skies, it seemed odd to be looking out at this beautiful scene staring awestruck at the magesty of a massive volcano so close, yet hear the constant clatter of search helicopters scouring the treeline 1000' below us and radio chatter of search teams coming up empty handed. Throwing down a handfull of Sour Patch Kids, Scott and I moved on, descending back into the trees and reenergized to continue along our search path.

Toward the end of the day we were told that the search was called off and we had 10 minutes to quickly descend to our LZ for pickup. We moved pretty quick, arriving at the LZ and calling the helo to let them know that we were ready to head back to base. That's when we heard another rescuer acting as relay who told us sorry, the pilots decided they were done and were heading home. I just stared at Scott in disbelief and shook my head, asking our SPART teammate to reconfirm what we had just heard. Thanks, pilots. So, as it turns out, pilots are the same all over the place! Not just in the Marines. How many times have I found myself on the short end of a helo ride where I ended up having to use black cadillacs for egress while the pilots were hanging out in the O Club hitting on nurses. Apparently at least once more.

Scott ended up laughing as I bitched and complained about pilots for the next 4 hours as we broke trail and post holed over 7 miles through hip deep snow to navigate 1,000' up, then across and over two mountain ranges to get home. In the fading light of day, I reached the final ridge and looked down into the new valley. Way, far off in the distance, about as large as an N gauge train model set sat the ski lodge bathed in orange glow. From where we stood in the dark, the trail wound down down down through tree stands and additional avalanche fields to the ski area and it took our collective team close to 5 hrs to get back to base. Chowing down on a meal that Steve had kindly saved for us, we packed up, loaded on board the truck, and headed home.

Ultimately, I don't know what happened to the three boarders. Scott and I talked about it and speculated as to what had happened to them, but with additional winter storms inbound and at least three more months of solid winter weather it may be late spring before anyone knows. Hopefully, in a remote long shot the three are holed up in a hotel somewhere sleeping.

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So Long, Big Christmas Tree

I know this post is going to sound snobby, and given that I have witnessed people in dozens of third world countries live off of $1 a day, maybe it is. But this past weekend my sister and I experienced the end of an era, so I thought it was something worth writing about as we mourn the passing of a family tradition. For the last 15 years or so, our family has picked up Christmas trees that were big- huge even. Part of it was the sheer enjoyment of feeling overwhelmed by Christmas spirit, some of it was the fun of the event, some of it could even be chalked up to the trip to get the tree.

I'm sure that just about everyone has seen Christmas Vacation at this point, and specifically the opening scene where Clark Griswold takes the family way out into the wilderness only to return with a tree so big that when the binding cords are cut, tree limbs fly out windows and the size lays general havoc to the living room. For our family, there's a bit of truth to that. It typically takes all four of us the greater part of thirty minutes to get the tree into the house, base installed, and then vertical- complete with structural support and guy lines attached. Sap is on everything and you are never surprised at the unique places that pine needles find themselves over the next two days.

Admittedly, there are plenty of other famous trees that go up during the Holidays- Rockefeller Center and the White House spring to mind. I even saw a CNN report on the White House tree that said that there are actually specific dimensions. Seriously. According to the White House, the Christmas Tree has to be specifically 18 1/2' tall, 13' around, and have "strong, full branches" Who comes up with this stuff? Equally amusing were the interviews of onlookers who were on-site for the tree cut down and bundling: "..exciting time for the area and to come see this once in a lifetime opportunity."

So our specifications aren't quite like that, but it does breed nostalgia for us and as a result I think it's important to start from the beginning. Two days after Thanksgiving, the Sexton Family Tree Farm opens for business about 2 1/2 miles away from our house on Old Dominion Rd. There, Mr. Sexton scurries around, yelling at a flock of teenager boys who are either from Langley High School or Freshmen in college, looking for a quick buck through brute tree labor. These kids are there dressed in pine-covered sweatshirts and jeans while a fleet of cars and SUVs drive in and then 20 minutes later drive out with a big tree tied to the top. There are big trees, little trees and gargantuan trees. Mr Sexton has them all neatly arranged into groups, and the intent of being there first thing is dad's insistence on picking up one that's freshly cut. He believes that if you get a tree within days of its being cut the thing will last much longer than if you procrastinate and grab one the week before Christmas. And like almost everything, he's right on the money. I think a few years back we had a tree that lasted until close to March and still looked like it had life left in it. When I dragged it out into the backyard Christmas Tree graveyard, I actually dug a hole and put the bottom 6 or 7 inches into the hole under the stupid assumption that the tree actually had a fighting chance. It promptly died.

Once we have sufficiently tired out a bunch of teenagers who have to drag out and stand up four or five trees that range in height from 12' to 14' tall, we select one, mom grabs 100 pine boughs that she'll never use for wreaths and then we lash the tree to the roof of whatever car we have chosen to torture on that given day. Given the hierarchy of cars in our family, this usually ends up being mine, but not the CJ-7 that's now gracing their garden as a winter squirrel home. Then the slow drive begins, where the tree strains against its tie-downs as we hit a cranking 20 mph through windy back roads leading back home. Once in the driveway, the whole family gathers again to literally drag a 150 lb tree into the house, its branches scraping now-green stained door jams and leaving a trail of pine needles that even a blind routefinder could follow. We hammer on the same base we have used consecutively for 10 years, throw the thing into the air in a scene reminiscent of the Suribachi flag raising, and then quickly tie it off to anything we can use as an ad-hoc anchor. For the rest of the night, and into the following day we decorate the crap out of the tree, putting up at least 8 light strands and about 500 ornaments. The decorations range in size and design, but largely conform to a red and straw motif which makes it look very Christmasy and does look really cool in the end. Dad then continues with a ritual watering schedule that even includes a flashlight for evening hours in order to throw in 2 gallons of water a day to keep it looking nice. By Christmas, when it's time for presents and the ritual family pictures it still looks every bit as fresh as when we picked it up.

This year, it was different from the start. Mom wants a smaller tree, stating the new floors as a reason for the downsizing. So dad goes along for the ride. After a few confusing questions and glances from Barb and I, the three of us (Mom sat this one out? What's going on here?) head to Sexton's Tree Farm, and pull in to find the lot literally deserted. There are about 20 teenage kids sitting on their asses, and Mr Sexton himself turns out to be inside taking a nap. Once we park, only one kid comes forward to help- the rest sit there and grumble, probably talking about.. you know, I can't even remember what 17 year old guys talk about anymore. Probably something geopolitical and thought producing.

We are the only ones on the lot looking for trees, and instead of head over to the big ones, we settle on the smaller pile. I don't know if it's the economy, or what. But the fact of the matter is that trees in the smaller pile end up being $115, while trees in the larger pile are a whopping $280. I also don't know who came up with their pricing strategy, but when a tree that's 10' tall is $115, and then a tree that is 11' tall is $165 more, someone needs to go and do some thinking about how these things are marked. Seriously, wtf? Just for that reason alone, why not take a 10' tree and stick it on a pedestal or something. You could go out and buy one for $100 and still end up way ahead.

As we drag out a few surprisingly light trees to compare, Dad makes comment on a few occasions about getting some of our assistants friends to come over and give him some help, but none of them do because they clearly are too deep into that very geopolitical and thought producing discussion to come over.

Anyway, so our kid holds up trees and then in the end helps us lash the tree down to the car. Where this usually takes twenty minutes, today it takes about five. Dad goes inside to pay and wakes up Mr. Sexton, who never even makes a cameo appearance. His son (I'm guessing) comes to the car, lights up some kids lazing around, and then sends a few home, I'm sure at their shock. The rest just sit there looking surly. Dad gives our helper a fat tip (take that, lazy ass kids), and we are off, easily hitting 40mph on our way home.

Getting the tree off the car and into the house is a breeze- I just lifted the thing and carried it in by myself. No pine needle trail, no branches scraping walls and leaving behind a light green tint. We hammered on a base and up it went on it's first try- without any support wires needed! It just stands there all by itself. Wow.. trees do that.

We strung lights, and to cover the entire tree it took us 4 strands this time. Loading on as many lights, ornaments and bulbs as we could the entire decorating process took on a streamlined feel- I think we knocked out the decorating in about an hour. At the end, there were still plenty of decorations left in the box and spare light strands on the floor that ended up going back downstairs. Mom was happy, Dad was quiet, and Barb and I were reminiscing of the old days.


At first, I think we were all freaked out at the prospect of a tiny tree. But I guess in the end, it's meant to be. Spending that much on a tree is a bit ridiculous, although it was an amazing addition to the Holidays. In the end, it looks like even the ritualistic neutering of the old tree where Dad takes pruning shears and cuts the tree one limb at a time so that in the end it looks like what a cat does after you dunk it in a bathtub is over. But like records are made to be broken, maybe traditions are made to be upended. Mom invented about 20 this past weekend, from Doug-Makes-Thanksgiving-Omelets to some crazy prayer circle hug thing. So maybe those new traditions can take the place of a massive tree, but I still think that it'll be sorely missed.


By the way, what's up with all the Segways in DC these days? Reminds me of Arrested Development and Gob's favorite way of getting around.










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Astoria, OR- home of the US Coast Guard, Army, Lewis & Clark and the Goonies

Last weekend, Alpha Company (USMC, 4th Landing Support Battalion based out of Ft Lewis, WA) went to Astoria, WA. All 60 of us boarded busses and headed south to the mouth of the Columbia River which was a 4 hour drive all things considered. After what seemed like an eternity, we arrived at Camp Rilea, an Army training facility on the outskirts of town and adjacent the mouth of the Columbia River.

Area History

It's actually a very interesting region, steeped in history. Originally a fishing community named after America's 1st millionaire (John Jacob Astor.. who made his fortune in the fur trade and then developing Manhattan as a real estate baron), Astoria was truly established thanks to the overland route blazed by Lewis and Clark who wintered over from 1805 to 1806 at Fort Clatsop. More on that later. Once Lewis and Clark's Corps of Discovery expedition returned and presented maps of their great journey westward, the Columbia River became a highway of trappers, settlers, ne'er do-wells and other pioneers looking to set out on a new life. To support this bustling community, Fort Astoria was established and eventually grew into a small city/ port outpost. Widely considered America's most established writer at the time, Washington Irving was approached by John Jacob Astor to mythologize the three-year reign of his Pacific Fur Company. Irving's book, Astoria (1835), cemented the importance of the region in the American psyche and as a result the name stuck. Astoria had arrived. Over the years, Portland grew to overshadow Astoria as an industrial shipping port and business began to center specifically on the fishing and lumber market. Today, it is an artsy enclave that maintains a distinct flair for the sleepy pioneer days of long ago through unique architecture, shops and homes. Adding to that from a modern flair, there is a bridge that is at least 4 miles long and spans the Columbia River right at its mouth. One end on the Astoria side is elevated to allow container ships to pass through enroute to Portland while the remaining 3 3/4 miles stretch at barely 40' above the water giving it a unique and interesting appearance.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astoria,_Oregon
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astoria-Megler_Bridge

Arriving at Camp Rilea, we were directed to our bivouac site at TA-13 where we prepped the grounds and set up for the next few days. The first night, the staff bedded down the Marines and then headed out to Astoria so we could relax and plan for the following days training events. That plan lasted all of about 10 minutes. After driving aimlessly through the town we finally found the Wet Dog Cafe- a local brewery where a few of the Coast Guard ARSC guys took me when I was in Astoria for work a few months back. 15 Marines pile into a bar in a Coast Guard town, and what do we find: some long haired hippie wearing one of those Marines T-shirts that recruiters hand out. How stupid do you think he felt? "Hey, check me out, I'm a bad-ass! Oooppssssss...." The bar was all decked out for Halloween, complete with corn stalks and a half million pumpkins but after drinking a few beers (their strongest was something sort of dark that they wouldn't serve more than two 8 oz glasses to any one person) Batwings (Sgt Lentz) ran out of the bar with a 10 lb pumpkin on a dare. Chafing Gun (Sgt Huntington) then decided that he was going to steal a larger pumpkin just for the hell of it, but for some reason that didn't work out. When we returned to the bivouac site, Bat Wings handed off his pumpkin to the firewatch who were then tasked with carrying the thing for the rest of the weekend... lucky them. I do think that it's pretty funny that here we are in this town full of hotels and nice houses and then when we are ready to go to sleep we get excited to head to a grassy meadow where we can jump into sleeping bags. Man if only the people around us in that bar knew.. they'd be so jealous.

The next morning, reveille sounded at 06:30 and the Marines were hopping. After ~20 minutes of prep and another delicious MRE breakfast the company broke into two groups: one would conduct Helicopter Support Team (HST) training at USCG Air Station Astoria and the second would prepare for hoist training at Camp Rilea. Both would involve the HH-60J "Jayhawk"- one of the Coast Guard's multi mission SAR birds. Astoria maintains 3 HH-60s and we had worked for several weeks to plan and prepare for the days cross-training

events. After the teams were separated, the HST team moved to Astoria and arrived under a thick blanket of fog. Because of the limited visibility, the Marines had several hours to kill. But Marines being Marines, they started to poke around and one glaring thing that they immediately noticed was that along one wall of the hangar just about every flag that could be flown.. was: POW-MIA, Oregon State, Washington State, Air Force, Army, Coast Guard.. it seemed like even the Elk's Club had it's flag up there flying proudly on that wall. All except the Marine colors, which were rolled up and propped up in a corner. Story goes that at some point the flag mount broke and they just hadn't gotten around to fixing it. In their defense, there was a broken mount up at the hangar door and I'm sure that with all the elements hitting that particular mount it was just a matter of the right gust of wind. Give bored Marines enough time to be idle, and watch out. YouTube is full of videos to prove it. Once the hangar got quiet, there they were, scaling the girders and in an image as close to any Iwo Jima Mt Suribachi flag raising as I'll ever see, our Navy Corpsman Doc Peterson pulled the Navy flag out of it's mount and replaced it with the Marine flag. Other than a few scuff marks on the pillar I doubt that many people will notice other than just about every Marine that sets foot into that hangar.. and maybe one or two eagle eyed Elks Club members.

So after screwing around for what seemed like forever, the skies began to clear and fog burned off. At 10:00, flight ops gave the green light and the pilots began to warm up their HH-60. We moved the team out to a far corner of the air field where we were then able to complete multiple HST lifts of a 1,250lb buoy. Typically, Marines conduct HST lifts of items like HMMWVs, 10,000lb net loads or other heavy items using CH-53E helos but those are few and far between in the Pacific Northwest. In Iraq, Alpha Company Marines worked almost every day to move items as wide ranging as vehicles, Riverine boats, MRE pallets, water, container units and even recover helicopter wrecks. It is truly an efficient way of moving equipment and cargo- especially in Iraq, where the roads are so dangerous. But that's for another post. At Astoria, we focused on thinking out of the box to succeed in working contacts to link up our Marine company with the Coast Guard and conduct joint training that was beneficial to both teams. Wrapping up the lifts, the HST team was ferried back to the hangar in order to prepare for the next phase of our cross-training evolution.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Ever wonder if a tree makes noise when it falls in the woods? The same thing goes with Marines and screwing around when the leadership is gone. You know it happens, all you can do is just keep your fingers crossed that nothing bad happens and that it all works out in the end. If I had a dollar for all the Iraq stories that I was blissfully unaware of when we were in Iraq.. but did actually happen and am now being told.. I guess in their eyes there is some sort of Statute of Limitation in place on when things that happened aren't something that is ass-chew worthy anymore.

So the reason I bring all that up is because as we come driving down the road to TA-13, all of the Marines are sitting there looking way too innocent. I don't know what was going on, but I'm sure that come 2010 I'll hear about it. Maybe something involving Bat Wing's 10 lb pumpkin.

See what I mean?

After an hour of Marine Corps Martial Arts, the HH-60 arrived for hoist training. Hoist training involves the following: Helo arrives on station, drops Rescue Swimmer (R/S) down to the site for assessment. After R/S communicates with the helo, basket with tag line (used to secure and stabilize the basket as it is moving underneath the helo thanks to rotor downwash) is dropped to ground level. Marines fireman carry fallen Marine to the basket, where he is placed and then raised up to the hovering helicopter. This process is repeated over a 45 minute span of time to the point where any exposed skin is sufficiently exfoliated from all the blowing sand whipping around at 80 miles an hour.

Interestingly enough, this is also where you learn quickly who has listened to your packing list and who decided that they knew better as five minutes into the evolution ~15 Marines were huddled together on the other side of the berm with their backs to the helo and shielding their squinting eyes. Guess who forgot their goggles? Smooth move on their part. To me, this was quite similar to what it's like watching with painful awe as your dog learns the hard way about drinking sea water for the first (and last) time. I guarantee that now whenever someone says "helo ops", the first piece of equipment thrown into their packs will be goggles... I swear I saw some of them picking sand out of their eyes 24 hours later.

All in all, rewarding training among teams that really don't have the opportunity to train much together. Basket lifts are in all likelihood the most logical real-world event that would occur between Marines and Coast Guard, typically during a humanitarian crisis- sort of like what played out over and over in TV coverage of the Hurricane Katrina aftermath. But additional SAR type of challenges involving canopied forests or higher angle terrain might find several of Alpha's Marines involved in real-world rescues with the Coast Guard- likely given the large number of climbing Marines that are housed within company and larger scale Natural Disaster events like last year's floodings.

After some more beach training and an afternoon awards ceremony the company sounded liberty, boarded the bus and headed into Astoria for several hours of R&R. Think it was funny watching 15 Marines walk into a brew house? Watch 60 Marines walk down the street and listen to on-the-street conversations. Most people, unaccustomed to Marines in that part of the world yet right on the Pacific assumed that a US Navy Destroyer was in port but then checked out the sexy hair cuts and thought the better of it. People there were really great, even buying us drinks from time to time- all of this in a town that has an Army and Coast Guard base within a stone's throw of city center. We ended up snagging a 3" stack of coasters and a bunch of beer glasses after some bartender tried jamming us on our bills and was ridiculous about a burger order made 1 minute earlier "sorry dude, you can't change from a classic burger to a bleu cheese burger- its too late now". Ass.

The next morning, the company sounded reveille early- 05:00. Breaking down camp we donned helmet, flak and packs to kick off on an 11.5 mile conditioning hike down the Fort to Sea Trail, a historic trail believed to have been established by none other than Lewis and Clark to link Ft Clatsop with the Pacific Ocean. Round tripping the hike, we actually hiked the grounds of Ft Clatsop to see the fort, the fresh spring watering point and canoe entry point. Why not? It's not like any one of us is going to wake up one morning and go "you know what? I want to go see Ft Clatsop today" and make it a destination visit. I'd even bet good money that unless we conduct another training exercise at Rilea, there's a good chance only one of us might make ever make it back. I sort of put it into the same category as the Hole-in-the-Wall Monument, located in the Mojave National Preserve that you drive by at 80mph enroute from 29 Palms to Las Vegas. It's located near this little rinky-dink town (Cima) and sounds intriguing, but who wants to side trip 20 some odd miles to see it when you have Vegas on the mind? Not me. So, here was our chance to see Ft Clatsop as Alpha goes humping by. Hopefully one day, someone will talk about Lewis & Clark with one of the Marines and he'll be able to talk about how he was there and saw part of that history. And that right there makes it all worth it.

As for Ft Clatsop, this little log cabin structure way out in the middle of nowhere, Lewis and Clark stayed while hoping that at some point they would be able to hitch a ride on a passing ship rather than have to re-trace their steps. Think our 47 mile Mt Olympus climb was opening up a big can of suck-it-up? That doesn't hold a candle to what those guys had to look forward to. I'm sure one wise-ass soldier looked at their journey home and said "hey, we're halfway there". So waiting out the winter, the Corps of Discovery holed up to prepare for the return that I'm sure wasn't exactly looked forward to.

Alpha lucked out and were able to bus it back home, but only after retracing our hump route back to Rilea and then one last drive through Astoria.

Look out, One Eyed Willie, the Marines are in town and giving you a run for your money.

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