Torres del Paine National Park, Chilean Patagonia

There is far too much beauty in Chilean Patagonia for my words, pictures and video to show, but I’ll do my best. If you’re reading this, and have questions about traveling to Torres del Paine, please don’t hesitate to contact me with questions.

The night of Feb. 1st, I spent the night in Puerto Natales. It’s a small port (on the ocean) at the foot of the Patagonian Andes.




It’s incredibly reminiscent of Telluride, Colorado.



Really nice people everywhere, and great food on every corner. I ate at a vegetarian café called “El Living.” I highly recommend it, vegetarian or not. Super inexpensive for what you get, and super healthy.



In the morning, I took a bus up to Torres del Paine, and talked to family that was traveling around South America for the year with their 11 and 13 year old daughter and son. They’re learning Spanish early, and becoming quite wordly, which is incredible. Evelyn, the daughter, told me “If you ever have kids, you need to take them here when they’re our age, and not wait until they’re older.” The parents and I agreed and chuckled. We saw Andean condor, flamingo, guanaco (wild llama), and Darwin’s Rhea (flightless, ostrich-like bird) from the windows.

At Hosteria los Torres, I took a right on the Paine Circuit, and headed towards Campamento Seron.



There isn’t much I can write to describe the deciduous mountain landscape that is Chilean Patagonia, but I can show you.



I hike alone, so lots of thoughts and songs fly through my mind as I walk. Like running, it clears my head to say the least, and I find myself in a place of deeper thought, while at the same time not really choosing what to think about.

My pack is lighter than others. It’s a 45 liter ultralight (if you will), so I can’t fit the kitchen sink in it. This is what I had with me:

Food (heaviest item…calorie dense is key, since I chose not to cook with a stove):
Banana chips
Almonds
Walnuts
Pecans
Peanuts
Granola
Sunflower seeds
Chocolate

Sleeping bag
Sleeping pad
Bivvy (Small one-person tent)
First-Aid kit
Water bottle
Water purifier (which I didn’t need)
Contacts, glasses, travel tooth brush + paste, but nothing more as far as toilettrees go.
Wallet + Passport + Phone (lifelines)
Camera
Headlamp
Knife

Clothing:
No cotton except a bandana
Wool socks + light synthetic socks
Hiking boots (zero drop of course)
Wool long johns
Zip-off light weight pants
Short sleeve tech top
Capilene long sleeve top
Heavy fleece
Raincoat
Gloves
Hat
Sunglasses

The only thing I forgot were my rainpants…I unpacked and packed my pack to make sure I had everything, and forgot them on my bed in Buenos Aires.

Passing Seron, I headed to Camping and Refugio Dickson. It was a long day, about 17 miles. Walking is different than running, especially walking with a pack, so I was decently sore.





At Dickson, I met a nice couple from San Francisco who had been traveling down South America. The bugs were pretty bad, and I’m not allergic to mosquito saliva, so nothing happens when they bite me, but even so having 20 on my leg at once was annoying to say the least.



Refugio Dickson is similar to a hut on the Appalachian Trail. It’s on the side of Lago Dickson, which is a glacial lake. The water is incredibly cold, and you can drink it straight up. It tastes great!





In the morning, I started another 17 mile day to Campamento Paso.











I passed Campamento Perros, where Charlie the fox was hanging out.



There I bought some salami. Animal fat is an incredible fuel, especially when walking. Nut and seed fat/carbs/protein is great, but you can’t digest it as well.

After Perros was the John Garner Pass, which everyone talks about. It’s a part of the circuit that takes you higher up, and through the weather. It’s like the top of any mountain in the white mountains…lots of rocks, cairns etc. I walked through a snow storm, but the sun came out afterward, and looking down over the glacier was incredible.



There's a bird in this picture:


I continued down through the woods to Paso, where I set up my tent, and ate my granola and sunflower seeds with some students of Santiago. Some Chileans speak well, but these kids had rocks in their mouths. I speak Spanish, but Chileno is ridiculous.

Day three was incredibly long. 22 miles from Paso to Refugio Cuernos, in the rain.









This section was about 80% burned from a fire that an Israeli Tourist set by lighting his toilet paper on fire. It’s not like there are a huge amount of signs specifically telling you to pack out your trash toilet paper or anything…

The fire was devastating, depressing, and is going to take 80 years to fully recover. Fires help coniferous forests open their cones and drop their seeds, but that’s a different biome than Torres del Paine. It’s a temperate deciduous forest, which fire isn’t a part of. Even though it rains and rains and rains, the intense winds dry everything out making it just…burn.



Passing Italiano, which was closed, I continued for another 90 minutes to Cuernos, which was packed, as it’s the only open campsite between Grey and Refugio Torres.



The wind was insane that night. I’ve never seen so much wind. Ever. Consistent, 50 mph+ gusts, blowing the water up off the lake. Tents were literally flying away. Think Wizard of Oz. I set up my bivvy underneath some bushes, and the wind didn’t touch it. Definitely a plus for having a small tent.



Sat on the porch with three Chilean dudes and played the ~5 songs I know on guitar, and sang to theirs. They knew how to play Californication, but didn’t know the lyrics. We did some entertaining.



Day four was rain, sleet, hail, and snow in the same day. I hiked up the French Valley to Campamento Britanico. I was so incredibly wet…wringed my socks out, after taking off my “waterproof” hiking boots a few times. Oh well. Valle Frances was beautiful though.



That night I brought my sleeping bag (and myself) into the refuge to dry a bit, and talked with a couple from the Netherlands who were traveling during the recession. They had beef WOOFing for a bit, and were working their way down Chile. I also talked to some climbers from Montreal about climbing…something I’d like to take up in the future.

Day five, I walked over to Hosteria Los Torres, took a nap after eating a wonderful cheeseburger, and then walked up to Refugio Chileno to try and get a sunrise glimpse of the towers. It rained all night, and my bivvy was a lake. Next time I use it, I will be bringing a tarp and rope to actually make a decent rain fly. In the refuge, I talked to a girl named Mica who working there. She was marrying her fiancé in the fall. He was from Punta Arenas, but they had met in Colombia. When I walked into the hut, she had The Tallest Man on Earth playing, so that started our conversation. She had just finished a masters in public health at BU, had an undergrad degree in anthropology, and had studied in Bolivia a while back.

There was an MRG sticker on Chileno!



Day six was more rain, so I hiked back down the trail, and took the bus back to Puerto Natales.

I found a hostel, had an amazing (for about $20) dinner, and crashed. It was salmon wrapped in jamon Serrano, over potatoes with cream, spinach, and walnuts, with blueberry jam on the side. I even bought calafate (Patagonian blueberry) mousse for dessert. So good. The one souvenir I bought was a Patagonia flag. Definitely worth it.

This was February 7th, and I had one more day in Chile before my flight back, so I decided to go riding in the mountains with some too-legit-to-quit gauchos, but that’ll come with the next post.

OTC to Chilean Patagonia

Got back from the OTC on the 26th, packed, got some new contacts etc., and headed up to Vermont to see all of the people I love, after going to my Dad’s house to see him, Nancy, and Sam. Went skiing at Mad River Glen for the first time on Saturday and Sunday. I hadn’t skied since freshman year due to knee surgery and Spain, but it went well. Super icy, but it was fun. 180cm skis + tele turns + icy bumps isn’t easy…I literally have to do jump lunges down the mountain for anything to work out. Saturday night got to see Jill, which was great. Had breakfast Sunday morning with Kaleigh, Gretchen, Em, and Dominique, which was great. I made eggpeppercheese dishes, and Emily made pumpkin pancakes. Went to Slade dinner Sunday night…so bomb. I love Slade food.

Left Littleton on the afternoon of July 30th. Said goodbye to Grammy, Mom and Matt. Overnight flight to Buenos Aires. Sat next to a gorgeous girl named Lucila from San Isidro. She had a boyfriend from Switzerland, of course. We talked about buying iPhones, Pentathlon (it somehow always comes up), windsurfing in Buenos Aires etc. Dropped my stuff off at my apartment, and headed back to the airport.

Flew from BsAs to Santiago, and missed my connection because customs couldn’t decide if my Pepperoni was cooked or not. Slept for a few hours in the terminal on my sleeping pad, and caught the next flight that left around 5. Got into Punta Arenas around 09:00 and caught a bus to Puerto Natales, which is the capital of the Chilean Province of Magallanes. Punta Arenas is on the Strait of Magellan. It’s 53 degrees south latitude. I’ve now been farther south than I have been north. The Gatineau river in Quebec is at 46 degrees north.

Pentathlon, Life, and what I want to be.

I’ve spent just over a month in Colorado Springs, at the OTC, training, training, and training. It’s been unreal. I leave tomorrow morning for Boston.

When I first got here, just after the fall semester ended, I was in normal-people “great” shape, but not in Harry Greene “great” shape. I was a student who was training on the side for a sport that acts like a full time job.

Where am I now? I’m a bit further along. I’d say I’ve done about a semesters’ improvement in around three weeks. I’m dead serious.

There’s a reason they call it the Olympic Training Center. I wake up in the morning, start training, and stop before dinner, read after dinner, and then go back to bed. The pool is a 6-minute walk away from my dorm room. Fencing is 5 minutes away from the cafeteria. There are trails to run on about 2 miles away. I have structure in my day. It’s not 20 degrees outside (usually).

Typical week:

Monday, Wednesday, Friday:
Fence 8-10
Shoot 10-11
Run 12-1
Swim 3:30-5
Dryland training for swimming 5-5:30

Tuesday, Thursday:
Running or track workout: 9:30-11
Shoot: 12-1
Swim 3:30-5
Usually fencing footwork and target practice somewhere in there.

Saturday:
Long run in the morning
Swim in the afternoon
Shoot at some point individually

Sunday: Competition or day off

I eat and sleep like a mother in between all of this.

I fence with quality fencers who push me, and give advice. They react correctly. Janusz is an incredible coach. I don’t even get private lessons yet, and I’m still improving drastically.

G pushes us in the pool. Long course meters at altitude absolutely sucked at first, but I got used to them. Workouts I couldn’t fathom a month ago are now fun. We get our strokes recorded and analyzed with an accelerometer. It doesn’t get any better than that.... My stroke has improved tremendously over the past three weeks, and I can feel it. I’m more efficient, and I love it.

I’m running the most I’ve run in years, consistently, without pain. I went on a 13-mile long run at altitude the other day, got back and realized that my average mile split was 7:04. Justin and I weren’t pushing. It felt great. I’m faster than I was two and a half years ago with UVM Cross Country when I was running 50 miles per week at sea level, in the summer, after a great base.

I hit 5 shots in 12 seconds the other day. It was during practice, and without a heart rate, but I’m happy with it to say the least. Two months ago it took me about 40 seconds. No lie. I can consistently hit 5 shots in 20 seconds without (and sometimes with) a heart rate. It’s really all about the front sight and developing the right muscle memory.

What does all of this mean? It means that Pentathlon is that much more tangible. It means that when I focus on something exclusively, without distractions, I get better. A lot better. Who would have thought?

After junior worlds, and the all of the “How did it go?” I got from everyone, my parents didn’t have much faith in me. I try not to blame them, since they don’t come from athletic backgrounds, but to be honest it put a bitter taste in my mouth. They support me financially, and I can’t be more thankful for that, but the little things that get thrown into conversation that show that they only like Pentathlon because it’s resume material doesn’t really help with the mental edge. When I feel like my head is going to explode in the pool, I need my own positive thoughts flying through my head, as opposed to doubt. This winter break, I proved to myself (and hopefully to them) that I am competitive. I improved 300 points, passed Americans that I haven’t beaten before, and am 200 points away from the next one up. I went from 11th at nationals to 6th at this passed World-Cup qualifier.

I have a good idea of who reads my blog, but to be honest this post is more for my own benefit. I’m at a time in my life where I believe in myself, and to quote Steve Prefontaine, “Having a true faith is the most difficult thing in the world…many will try to take it from you.” I’m sitting here at 11 pm, typing, not having packed anything yet, and I have to get up reasonably early. There’s a reason I’m here right now. I need to tell myself that as running is real, so is pentathlon. It may not be pure, but it’s brought a sense of verisimilitude to my life.

I’ll be taking four business courses in Spanish in Argentina. Hitting on the realism side of things, I won’t be able to train as much as I want to. Instead of 25 training sessions per week, I might have 12, but that’s life. That’s college. What I want to convey is that after I’m done with school in two and a half years, it will be time. I’ll be fast enough in the pool by then. Fencing will be better. I’ll be in running shape, and fast. Shooting will be there. Riding will be fine as usual. I’ll then have a year until I have to be on my game…to become a true elite athlete, and then another year until the games. After that, life starts. Until then, I sacrifice what I need to in order to become he who I envision.

One might think that if I just train and study, I’ll end up without a social life. The funny thing is, the more I train, and the more time I spend with good people who understand this lifestyle, the closer we get. I train with the same good people, eat meals with the same good people, and shoot the shit with the same good people every day. I’m sorry, but when you’re all fighting for a common goal, that’s how friendships are made (highschool cross country anyone?). When I first got to the OTC in August, and met everyone in person for the first time, I didn’t know how to act. I had heard about Margaux for instance that it was a good idea to “just get on her good side.” I had heard that Pentathlon was catty, political, and that people weren’t actually that cool. Hoooooo man, is that complete bullshit or what? Margaux is fucking awesome. Everyone is awesome. Normally, after I’m around people for a bit, I tone down the filter a bit, and just say Harry Greene things. Some people get sick of my gags, nonsense, stupid humor, etc. What’s weird is that people here…don’t. They spit it right back. They make the same kind of social commentary that I do. They say things that I would hesitate to say in front of other people…and it’s perfect. When I break into song, Margaux sings with with me. When I talk about how showering and soap are completely optional, and how food is sacred, Justin is right there with me. When I make strange faces at Sammy and Rendy, they make strange faces right back. When I ask Janusz if I can wear spikes for the combined event (which involved running over the fencing strips), he tells me “Yes, but only if you take them off every time you run across the strips, and up to the shooting zone.” At dinner with RC (Greco-Roman wrestler), the bobsledders, the fencers, Tucker the paralympic swimmer, Andrew the gymnast, stuff gets brought up that I thought only I talked about… You know how when you know someone really well, you can set them up for witty remarks, and you both just understand each other? I do that here with people I’ve just met, and it works. All of the negative energy just gets blasted into space by the positive vibes that people send out, and it’s perfect.

Athletes seem to be a different breed, no matter where they come from. It’s not about their physical ability or what they’ve done, it’s about the mindset. It’s about trying to be a better person.

Sometimes at home, I’m perceived as arrogant, cocky, a show off, lacking in modesty, you name it. The funny thing is, I haven’t gotten that here once. Not once. Strange, huh? I’ve been called “Someone who just stepped out of an REI catalog,” “Mr. American Man,” and some other stuff that I can’t remember right now, but it’s all viewed as a good thing. My point is that there’s a difference between confidence and arrogance. When you do what you do with conviction, and you’re relatively good at it, and you’re proud of yourself for being yourself, you’re not arrogant, you’re doing life well, and that’s a good thing. Sometimes it feels like other people resent you for it. Yes, I’ve been handed this opportunity by my parents. Yes, I’m relatively well-off. Do I take it for granted? No. Am I going to give all of this back to the youth of tomorrow? Of course! That’s why I want to do what I want to do as a career! Also, living and training among Olympians makes me a small fish. I no longer get called “Hercules,” and I like it. I like going out of my comfort zone. That’s what life is about. When you’re a small fish, no one’s going to say that you’re arrogant. When you’re a big fish, some people resent you for it, because some people just don’t have the drive to be the best that they can be. Funny how that works. If cocky is the converse of apathetic, consider me a large rooster.

My family runs an international overnight summer camp in Maine, and a day camp in Massachusetts. I talked to Rob Stull (president of USA Pentathlon) about life for a while, and he told me that I’d be crazy not to continue with Pentathlon. With the people you meet all over the world, with my International Business major, I’d be stupid not to do it. I like Rob. He’s a good guy, and not just because he tells me what I want to hear. As I recall, that statement was unprovoked by me.

What I’m trying to say with this is that if I were to send a letter back to 12-year-old Harry Greene, I think he’d be happy. I want to keep it that way.

What I’m getting at with the first half of this post is that I can never take what I have for granted. People say that you never realize what you have until it’s gone. When I come back and read this in the future when I’m starting another stint at the OTC, I’d like to tell myself to work as hard as I humanly can, because I only get this chance once. From day 1, do it. Please. Fence like you mean it. Beat the pool to death. Run strong, run smart. Focus on your god-damned front sight.

You only live once. Work hard, train hard.

Swimming.

Last spring, I fenced four nights per week, and got back into running shape. I swam regularly (not enough), basically just keeping a feel for the water. Looking back at my training schedule, I should have found a different pool to go to, and actually swam real sets, not just did drills and 100’s while avoiding the obnoxiously slow people in my lane.

Summer was okay in the pool. I swam more, but still not enough. Not having a set daily schedule from someone else makes getting better at something you aren’t already good at pretty difficult. You start doubting yourself.

This past semester, I swam more. I got better. I did real sets. Well…I at least got better at swimming workouts. I sprained my ankle twice in the three weeks before worlds, so that put a damper on things.

After school ended, I headed out to the OTC, and got into the pool for some real work. Genadijus coaches me for real (as one would hope). The sets can feel like death, but they’re doable. I’m ACTUALLY getting noticeably better, not just saying that I am. He sends us the weeks’ practices beforehand if we’re not at the OTC (what I did when I was home), which I love. I know what’s coming, and I know that I can do it. I have a start point and an end point.

Swimming is such that you can’t just swim sometimes and get better. You have to be consistently in the water, pushing yourself. Hard. You have to put those meters in, or else you lose it. “Use it or lose it” applies here, oddly enough.

I posted my training spreadsheet a while ago on googledocs, but never kept up with posting it. In order to make myself stay in the water, I’m going to continuously update this:

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0AggABtl9ZX-4dHVVdUJfRkpsMzVTS1NkMjUyT0VsRFE&hl=en_US#gid=0

…and log my training week, every week, publicly.


This is pretty much everything since I started college. I record the things that are actually useful to me, which is why I stopped recording my shooting scores.

Pretty much right after I get home, I’m going hiking in Patagonia for about a week, which means I won’t be in the pool. I know. Part of me wants to shank myself as well, but I’ll never get another change to see the one of the greatest wilderness paradises on the planet. After that, if you’re reading this, and you see that I’m not posting my training, or not swimming enough, please get on my case (if you have time). Gretchen, Mark, Matt, Mom (I don’t think she reads this…), Dick, Nancy, Kaleigh, Alexa, etc.

What’s enough, you ask? About 3000m/day I figure is pretty good.

Once I get to Buenos Aires, one of my priorities is going to be to find a good pool, and live in it. After that, I’ll get settled with fencing. Running is going to have to take a backseat, probably like 20 mpw, just to stay with it.

We’re going to do this. It’s going to happen. School is going to be difficult, but I’m going to make time. I’m going to be efficient with everything. I’m going to get faster.

When it comes down to it, if you put the quality time and quality effort into anything, you get better. Maybe you get better slowly and steadily, maybe you take two steps forward and one back, but you can’t spend time doing something well, and not get better. I’ll say it again. This is going to happen. I’m not going to keep swimming 2:30. I have the strength. I have the aerobic capacity. I have the anaerobic capacity. I ran 1:59 in the 800m, but only after putter in 4 years of hard work into track and field.

No matter how many people tell me how difficult it is to get a good stroke and get faster in the pool later in life, I honestly don’t give a damn. Imagine if I believed that? Anything is possible. No. More. Bullshit. Time for work.

There’s a reason I wear a necklace with a Prefontaine quote on it. No matter how many high school cross country shirts say this, and no matter how many people have it in their facebook profile’s “quotations” section, I believe it. It’s part of me.

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”

I’m going to look back at this post in five months. What am I going to say?

“I knew I could do it.”

Let’s go.

Gretchen Powers

Gretchen Powers. If you know me from school, or stalk my facebook, there’s a good chance you know who she is. She’s pretty dope.

Spring of ’09, I posted on the UVM 2013 facebook group that I detested putting wooden-handled knives in the dishwasher, under the “pet-peeves” of a “roommate survey” on the discussion board. Don’t ask. She was entertained. This is where it all started.

Freshman year we went skiing together a few times. She thought I was nuts, but she was okay with it.

Sophomore year, she still talked to me during no-shave November (Why? I have no idea), and we became pretty close. We ate dinner together frequently.

When I came back from Spain, we went hiking in Vermont, running in the woods, and cooked parchment paper fish at her house in Middlebury. We went to Anna’s Tacqueria. She didn’t like it at all. NOT.

Before Junior Worlds, she made this:

http://vimeo.com/32113661

Truly special people exist out there. People that care. They’re people you’d do anything for.

This fall, we decided to make a film. It started out as 24 hours running, but we needed a theme. Freshman year I had written a whole dialogue about “chasing the person you want to become.” Tagline set.

Long story short, we almost killed each other making it, but it was totally worth it. Best user-video of the year on Flotrack, WHAT? 10,000 views on Flotrack, 4,600 on Vimeo? (1/11/12) Yeah. She’s a film genius, and I have really good running form. Modesty is a virtue. Here’s the link:

http://www.flotrack.org/speaker/6012-Highlighted-Video/video/524374-The-CHASE

Gretchen spent more time on this film than the gestation period of an elephant (yes, that was necessary). Filming lasted a few months…editing a few years.

Shot locations:

Colchester causeway in South Hero, VT
Spear St. Trails
Lincoln Woods
East woods
Red Rocks
UVM Track
Burlington Country Club golf course
Mt. Philo
Rolling fields and dirt roads in Charlotte

Music:

1. Dangerous, Pete and Mike Band
2. Scott Miller


Gretchen is going to Nepal this spring. She doesn’t know it yet, but when she comes back, she’ll be a Level IV badass. There are six levels. Ernest Shackleton, Mick Jagger, Ryan Lochte, Dean Potter, and Paula Radcliffe are at Level VI. She’ll probably find this and give me shit, but that’s okay.

SLADE

Last spring, being away from the UV made me realize how much I love it. Madrid, however much I love it, and fondly look back on it, made me find myself.

Madrid:

Goods:

We care about what we eat. We don’t put chemicals into our food.

We like renewable energy and efficient cars.

Not so goods:

Why are you judging me? You’re a posh, superficial ninny. Get over yourself.

Why don’t these people recycle?

Do all of these women come from the Spanish girl factory? Are you all the same? Do you think for yourself?
Clarification: They’re not all the same. There are down to earth people everywhere, but Madrid is considerable more homogenous than Burlington.

I’ve already gone through this, and I fully appreciate and embrace cultural differences, but y’all hopefully know what I mean.

Where does this all point? Where does this mindset I love hang out?

Yes, you guessed it. Vermont. Thank you admissions at Boston College, Dartmouth, Villanova, Cornell, etc. for not accepting me three years ago, because I wouldn’t be where I am today had I gone somewhere else. Sure, I can be happy anywhere. Cornell would be great. Zack loves Dartmouth. Life is give and take, and it just to turns out that I’m doing everything I want to do here at UVM. Pentathlon. Business. Spanish. Spain. Argentina. Slade.

Yes. Slade. It’s like Oz for people who care.


Being away from UVM made me realize how much I love my school. Where does the essence of the UV reside? The environmental co-op. Slade Hall.

Senior spring of high school, visiting UVM, my parents and I went to talk to Stacy, a counselor at Nashoba North who was a senior (?) at that point. She was an RA in the Greenhouse (dorm with an environmental theme). I asked how green the greenhouse was. She informed me that it wasn’t excessive. There was a dorm called Slade for the hard-core folk.

Well, freshman year, I roomed with a high jumper named Ross. Ross and I learned a lot from each other. We made each other a lot more open-minded in terms of peoples’ differences (in a good way).

Freshman year, when I wanted to go out, I would go to 239, So. Prospect Street, or what was then known as the Cross-Country House. One night, some sweet people came in, and invited us to a party down the street at Slade. I thought SURE. I’m down. In my polo and white jeans (which are now white jhorts, thank the Lord Jesus my Savoir*), I walked south to 420 So. Prospect St, looked into the basement, saw people dancing shirtless to a jam-band, and said, I can’t go down there, I look like a yuppie. I went back to 239, not realizing how open the people down there was. Slade was intimidating at first. That was my first and only experience with Slade.

*This is sarcasm. Jesus and I aren’t friends.


One day in nouveau-riche Madrid, I thought, “Where do I want to live next year?”

On campus was good, but where can I find the true community I have here in Spain? Where can I find people like me? Can I bend the rules, so I don’t have to deal with dining halls, annoying freshmen, and people who just don’t care? Wasn’t there that place called Slade?

*Does research*
*Thinks*
*Thinks more:*

Isn’t that like Chewonki? Didn’t I love the Chewonki mindset?

Don’t I love eating good, fresh, local, sustainable food?

Do I love gardening?

Do I like people who are interested in who I am as much as I’m interesting in who they are?

Verdict: Yes.

*Writes long application to Spring 2011 Sladers about dancing about liking wolves etc., running, eating my pseudo-paleo diet, just normal HPG stuff, being shirtless frequently, Pentathlon.*

*2011 Sladers like application.*

*Overjoyed*

Over the summer, I email Emily Piché about stuff. I become more excited. Emily is the shit.


Fall 2011. I show up at Slade. The first person I meet is Taylor. I don’t know her name. She just looks at me. She is wearing a white and blue dress. Is she judging me?

First Slade meeting, I fall in love with it. It’s like heaven.

So if you’ve read this, and you’re still confused, here’s what Slade is (Angie Freeman, if you’re reading this, take notes):


Slade is an environmental co-op. Cool, thanks for the description.

We order our food locally from the source or City Market, and we each cook once per week. Cook crew gets together two hours before dinner, and whips up the greatest vegetarian food ever. Creativity is a plus.

We also have a garden and a greenhouse to grow a lot of our own vegetables.

We have open-mics every other Wednesday night.

Weekly meeting is on Sundays, where we talk about our weeks, and what we need to do in Slade. It’s super constructive. Usually. Sometimes we beat dead horses, but that’s okay. They’re already dead…no harm done.

Every night is a potluck as well. Anyone can show up, bring whatever large vegetarian dish they desire, and eat with us.

What kind of people would Slade attract?

THE BEST KIND. We’re being articulate here.

Everyone is interested in who everyone else is. Everyone cares.

We compost. A lot. I love compost.

We turn the heat off, because we don’t need it.

We use drying racks instead of the dryer.

We eat together as a family.

We love the natural world.

We bike places, even when it’s cold as balls, just to nix that little bit of carbon dioxide.

We don’t use plastic wrap (frequently).

We feel bad recycling things, because we aren’t re-using them. Jars, yogurt containers, cups, everything gets re-used.

Music is good. Oh, so good.



So, that’s what Slade is all about, but there’s so much more to it than than. You have to be there.

One weekend, a bunch of us went to Greg Soll’s (slader) farm to work, get veggies, and make KILLER salsa. Unreal Salsa. So good. On my bike home, I noticed a wild apple tree growing on the side of the road. The next week, Patrick, Nick, Emma, and I drove back to pick apples. So many apples. We made apple sauce, crisp, apple everything. I’m going to go with *epitome of decreasing carbon footprint* for this one. It was great fun, too. Climbing apple trees. The best ones really do grow at the top of the tree.

Things I made on cook crew:

-Tortilla Española
-Vegetable Lasagna, homemade pasta, tomato sauce, everything from scratch except the cheese.
-Veggie Burgers.
-Corn muffin patty things that were meant to be tortillas, but ended up not being tortillas.
-Vegan soup. Celery root, garlic, rutabega, butternut squash, beans, tomatoes, chickpeas, kale, tomatoes from the garden, peppers, carrots, oregano, olive oil, salt, etc.
-Pesto pasta with homemade basil from the garden. I used hazel nuts. It was dope.
-Potatoe fries and sweet potatoes fries with homemade ketchup and tomatillo ketchup. Tomatillo ketchup is tangy and perf.

Memories:

Bro’s night + Sladies night turning into clothing-optional invasion of most of Redstone campus, turning into singing Bob Dylan on the front lawn. Amazing night.

Standup and open mic and people laughing at it (WHAT?)

Cooking venison burgers with Gretchen. Avocado + cheddar + English muffin + Venison.

Spaghetti squash with Kaleigh.

Ernest the cat.

Ocelot the rabbit.

Angie (resident director) walking in on everyone sitting naked in the living room after the naked bikeride, seeing Patrick holding a beer, and doing NOTHING about it (dorms are dry).

Compost. 3-bin compost getting funding from SGA, but never making it past ResLife.

The Trial and Execution of Bozo the Clown. Henry Kellogg put on a play. I was Beastman. It took place, the future, and Bozo was on trial for being a clown. In a corrupt judicial system, he was sentenced to death by a pie to the face. Three judges. Glog (Carmen), Oswald (Devin), and Beastman (myself). Witness: Jenkins (Patrick), Mr. Jeanine Priss (Piche), Dr. Nanjoo Nakarimplati (Nick, the clown expert), Bailiff (Ilana), and Bozo himself, (Anders). Beastman sits through the play, making grunting remarks at the ridiculousness of the other judges, and finally at the end gives a speech (broken with beastly gibberish) about how Bozo is innocent. Glog and Oswald cannot understand him, and thus find Bozo guilty. Brilliant.





Sloliday: everyone gets together, does yankee swap, sings songs, eats breakfast.

Swords: Each member of Slade, during finals week, must carry around something longer than his or her forearm at all times. If you are seen without your sword, you may be challenged to a duel by another slader. If you decline the duel or fail to produce your sword, you are out. Bathrooms, and rooms are safe. I made it to the final four. Hallie, Hana, Devin, and myself. I left early to head to the OTC, and thus forfeited. I tied my sword to the top of the Mother Tree. It’s probably still there.

That’s it for now. I love you all. I’ll be back to Slade next fall.

April-August

Yes, I haven’t posted since April of last year. I’m going to start posting again. This blog partially serves to chronicle my life for myself and others in the future, so I’m going to include what has happened between April 18th, and today.

After Barcelona, I went to Carlos’ house in Tenerife. I really should have written about this right after I got back, but time was of the essence. In Tenerife, we drove up Teide (the tallest mountain in Spain). I’d like to hike it some day. There is snow at the top, but you can’t ski down it at all.



Carlos’ grandfather has a banana plantation. Buying local and buying bananas are not necessarily mutually exclusive.
There were several dogs there, including a chihuahua puppy, and a chihuahua mix. Different from goldens, I suppose.




In Tenerife, Carlos and I spent a lot of good time with his friends (who are hilarious), at the pool, and at the beach. There is black volcanic sand on one side of the island in Tenerife.




Carlos’ Parents and his sister Cristina are great. They’re talking about sending her and her friend to Camp Nashoba North this summer.

After Tenerife, I returned to Colegio Mayor San Agustin. The Fiesta de Clausura (end of the year party) was pretty great. I wore the following, which was quite different from the Spaniards’ dress apparel. Apparently bright colors aren’t in yet, but whatever, right? A pink shirt with a green and blue striped tie is reasonably fresh if I do say so myself.



SO. On the plane back from London, I met a girl named Marina. We talked about stuff, and she asked me for my number. You probably know how much I like phones. Well, I gave it to her anyways, thinking, “alright, she’s cool.” I mentioned San Agustin during our conversation, and Milagros (who lives in SanAgus), knows Marina from class. Marina and I hung out for a while until I left for Boston. We still talk. In the summer she’s a camp counselor, and I found her to be considerably more real than some of the other Spanish girls. A few days before I left, we went out for her Birthday. Her friends were great too.



As you can see, halfway through my time in Madrid, I wasn’t to thrilled. People were superficial and there weren’t enough trees. Funny enough, it turns out that there are fun, interesting, down to earth people wherever you go. You just have to look. By being myself in Madrid, and not trying TOO hard to fit in, I ended up hanging out with good people. I never thought I’d miss the city, but Madrid was home to me for four months, and home stays with you.

I miss riding through the streets, dodging traffic, scaring people half-to-death as I found that perfect spot between them as they slowly walk forward just as you have to anticipate.

I miss the kryptonite chain around my neck and my mesh swim bag on my back as I coasted down Avda. Seneca into San Agustin on the bike that I spent oh so much time on.





I miss Irene, Virginia, Ana, Edu, Carlos, Garbiñe, Miguel, Alejandro, Marta, Maite, EVERYONE that made Madrid what it was. It’s a small world, so I know I’ll see someone from SanAgus again, but it might be a long time.


When I got back from Spain, the first thing I did was drive up to Vermont, and run into the woods with Gretchen. We hiked Camel’s Hump and Mt. Mansfield in the two days I was up there, made flounder in parchment paper that was dope with her mom, cousin, and cousins boyfriend, and ran in Lincoln woods.




Hiking Mt. Mansfield, I kept saying “Gretchen, do you hear that? Do you smell that? Can you feel the humidity?” The smell of the evergreens and fresh, clean air was…well…you get it. Nada puede sustituir al mundo natural.



Gretchen now likes to run in Lincoln Woods. Ask her about it. She’ll rave. I would have to agree with everything she says. I’m very fortunate to be able to run there whenever I want.

Before camp started, I drove out to the Zoar to pick up a Pyranha Fusion. I also ran the Dryway (Deerfield) in my NEW FULLFACE HELMET!



I like my teeth, thank you very much.

I (camp) bought that kayak specifically for teaching windsurfing (not paddling after kids in a playboat), and for going on expeditions.


On the way out to the Deerfield, I stopped on Rt. 2 for lunch #1 at a small, but good diner. The menu was good in that I would have gladly eaten anything on it, based on both the quality of the food and the taste. I sat at the counter, and talked to the girl working there about food. Food is good. Mr. Jones (Counting Crows) came on the station, and I heard her singing along. I commented on how good that kind of music is. 90’s rock is spot on. We talked about it for a little bit. On the way home, I stopped back at the same lunch place for more food, and after paying, gave her a CD with the Pete and Mike Band’s stuff on it. Good people deserve good things besides tips, and I figured it was appropriate.


Camp started soon enough, and working without Zack was mind numbing at times. Teaching windsurfing is great, but it can get old. As a result, I brought a new activity to camp: outdoor cooking.


One day, when it was cold and overcast (for once that summer), the kids didn’t want to go out on the lake. I asked, “Well, would you like to make a fire.” I was met with a resounding “YES!” We made a campfire. I brought over bananas, foil, and chocolate chips, filled the bananas with the chocolate, wrapped them in tin foil, and we made chocolate bananas. The kids went WILD over it. It became an activity. Innovation is wonderful. One girl the whole summer didn’t like chocolate bananas. Baffling. Her contemporaries ate it for her.


This summer, Zack and I didn’t get to go to the rapid river, but I figured it was obligatory. I decided to go on my own, but add a little spin to it. This deserves a post of its own.


The summer finished up quite nicely with Pentathlon and camp, but oh MAN was I ready to go back to school.