An overcast sky keeps the heat down. A few drops even fall from the sky but the effort quickly fizzles. Each worker’s face and hands disappear into the green leaves looking for good clusters of grapes. The clusters are few, the grapes are small. The late rains have knocked down production everywhere. Last year it was the May heat that caused so many fires that slowed production. Many of the vines are barren, or the grapes are too shrivelled to use. I find a couple of spots with good grapes. I load up my bucket, snipping away at the healthy clusters.

Ironically, the low hanging fruit is harder to get at than the high hanging fruit. I have to squat down, working my old knees, to get the clusters near the ground. When I top off the bucket, I dump it into a bin. As the bin fills, the forklift comes by and carries it back to the house for processing. The migrant crew quickly works through the two vineyards, one Sauvignon Cabernet, one Sauvignon Franc, working from row to row. Our farmers have thoughtfully provided music and the workers make decent company as we work our way through the vineyards. Continue reading “Grapes of Wrath, Revisited” →

I stand at the back of the Premier trying to get my line in quickly as the ship stops over a school of fish. Porpoising seals struggle in the swell to catch up with the boat to get their cut of the anchovies. Seagulls hover in the air, then dive down to steal bait. The deckhand stands on the fish tank tossing flying anchovies dripping with salt water for chum over my head.

My anchovy gently tugs the line as it drifts from the back of the boat. The line starts running. I flip the lever to unset the spool release. Tighten the line and set the hook with a quick yank upward on the rod. The fish is running and the tip of the pole is pointing straight down, the telltale sign of a yellow tail. I start working the line reeling up, keeping the tip of the pole up. Already, my forearms are tightening. I have to work my way from the end of the boat around the corner on the port side ducking under some poles and lines as I move.

The fish runs again. I wait.

I reposition the rod handle into my hip for some better leverage and put my foot up against the bottom rail. I reel down and pull up, reel down and pull up, reel down and pull up. Someone tells me they can see the fish. I work my further up the side of the boat. I feel the burn in my forearms and hope I can get the fish on board soon before it becomes a seal snack. It runs again. The captain says he will tire and come up soon. The captain gaffs the yellowtail and pulls the first yellow tail of the day on board that turns out to be the jackpot winner. I get several fish, er(??) fist bumps and high fives.

I raise my fifteen pound trophy for a quick picture, shake out the lactic acid in my wrists (is it even possible?) and remove my pullover as the overcast sky suddenly seems a bit warmer than it was fifteen minutes ago. The fish is a fine birthday present.

Continue reading “Crater Lake, Oregon” →

“What are we going to do today?”. “Short and beautiful” my mom says. She walked over 4 miles yesterday according to my fit bit. I could tell she was slowing down and didn’t join Max and I on our last walk of another 5 miles to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. We have a whole day to kill while Max attends his orientation at UCSC.

Continue reading “Short and Beautiful” →

Max silently reads his book Ecotopia resisting my attempts to turn him into an audio book. Krakauer’s heady and not so upbeat audio book Missoula on rape can only be listened to in small doses. We’ve already listened to all the CDs we picked up from the library including the Doors, nirvana and Coldplay. So I encourage my mom to continue her travel blog. Her bandaged finger protecting a cut tendon and exposed nerve from a defective garbage can prevents her from writing so I will have to take mental dictation. Continue reading “Retro Travel Blog” →

After driving one hour from Baltimore, we (my sisters Betty and Emily, Betty’s two daughters, Emily’s twin boys, Vincent, and me) arrived at Union Station. The Union Station feels like an international airport. It’s got lines of shops, travelers with their luggages, and walls lined with screens that show arrival and departure times. Busy travelers thread through each other, and intermingled them are tourists or out-of-towners with slower pace and leisure attires. The dome ceiling is so high that I wonder if a bird fly in to the station by accident, she may likely not notice that she is trapped.

Continue reading “Star-Spangled Banner” →

The swell rises up the cliff wall, covers the barnacles and retreats. The red footed Pigeon Guillemot perches on a narrow black ledge of volcanic rock above the cave entrance. I glide along the base of the cliff a few feet from the rocky wall staying in the shadows to avoid the sun. A group of cormorants sit and stare at each other on the snow-covered rocks that reek of bird urine. The long fronds of giant kelp stretch out parallel to the wall tracing the current like the tail of a kite. Fry dart in and out of the brown leaves. A couple of pieces of squishy flattened tar rest on the floating leaves. Blue fish move among the stalks and leaves of the kelp trees. The water is tinted aqua blue when shallow, its surface is surprisingly smooth.

Continue reading “Kayaking Under the Cliffs” →

A tent, two sleeping bags, two ground pads, water bottle, cook stove, camp pots, sporks lay on the floor in preparation for a night of camping and a morning of ocean kayaking on the Channel Islands with my friend Phil.

Continue reading “Channel Island Trip and Prep” →

Bruce, max, and I climb six floors worth of stairs in the blistering las vegas heat that gives the air resistance like wading through deep water, quickly moving over the sun baked concrete stairs that sear the bottom of our bare feet. The top of the platform offers a great panorama of the Las Vegas valley, the mountains holding the city in a deep saucer. The Las Vegas skyline is visible in the distance, the entire city stretching out in front of the platform. Boulder strewn mountains lie directly behind us; mountains tilt to our left, the uplifted strata slanted to the sky. Towering cumulonimbus hang over distant mountains rising into the upper atmosphere flattened out on top as if pressed down by a giant hand.

Continue reading “Wet and Wild” →