That’s The Good Stuff - Fall 2019

“We got this,” I said as Wifey and I sized up the surf thundering onto the beach in front of our little neon sea kayak.

“I don’t know,” Wifey raised her eyebrows.

“I think we can do it.”

“We could get help from the guides, but all right.”

“After this set. One. Two. Three. Go!”

I pushed our kayak loaded with the camping gear we used to survive the past 2 nights down Milolii Beach and into the Pacific Ocean. Jumping into the rear, I was a half a beat slow, but we got pointed in the right direction and pulled deep with our paddles.

“Oh no!” Wifey said, watching the surf pull back into a larger wave set than we anticipated.

                “Here we go,” I shouted. “Dig!”

                The wave crested, taking the front of our kayak and Wifey with it. For a brief moment I thought we might clear the lip and rock forward, but Mother Nature had other plans. Our alignment was just a few degrees off and the wave threw us and all of our belongings like a coin toss into the ocean.

                Fortunately, our camping gear was lashed down well and the guides helped us reposition and make a successful launch on our next try.

                “Wooo! That was awesome.” I exclaimed once we were out past the breakers and waiting for the rest of the day-trip tour to launch.

                 “Wow, we’re a hot mess.” Wifey responded. “And we’re scaring the rest of the tour from wanting to leave the beach.”  

                “True. They have to leave eventually.” I shrugged.  “That was kind of fun.”

                I could almost see Wifey’s internal risk avoidance calculator crunching the pros and con of encouraging me. Finally she looked back, smirked casually and said, “Yeah, that’s the good stuff.”

                Trips and adventures don’t always go exactly as planned. It’s when we’re challenged by unexpected circumstances, that growth and a healthy (and sometimes literal) splash of humility happens. Wifey is right: it’s the good stuff.

                Parenting is kinda like that too. We plot. We plan. We try to set our family trips up for success, but our offspring have their own agendas and there’s just no anticipating how they’ll flip our world on its head. Sometimes it’s just silly, like Michael’s obsession with all things butt. “Look at that bear’s butt.” Or the time this summer when he literally got a splinter in his butt and thought it was more funny than painful. “Mommy, Mommy, quick! Pull the splinter out of my butt!” He said while rolling in hysterics on the floor.

                “Hold still, Michael.” Wifey laughed. “I need to pinch...”

                “…My butt.” Michael erupted in laughter again.

                “Nurse Butt reporting for duty,” Wifey laughed.

Butt, I mean but, then they surprise you, Michael at 9-years-old, started lead-climbing this year and even bagged his first outdoor onsight, when you lead-climb a route from the ground up without hanging on the rope and without any beta (advice) on the climb.

At 8-years-old, Jane too epitomizes this unpredictable “good-stuff” dynamic. We just never know how things will go with her. Camping, sure she’ll be independent, set up and sleep in a tent alone. But hiking to get there, she once threw such a fit at the start of the trailhead that she actually gave herself a spontaneous nosebleed causing other day-hikers to give our family a very wide berth as we encouraged and cajoled her into the backcountry leaving a trail of nose blood along the way.

Perhaps more than any other summer adventure, our canoe camping trip to the Emerald Bay boat-in campground symbolized this embrace of spontaneity and willingness to accept some risk.

 “Oh man. This crossing is going to be rough,” Uncle Jon said from the back of his canoe as we watched the steady stream of boats crossing the mouth of Emerald Bay.

“We’ve made it this far.” I said.

Despite Wifey’s wave-PTSD, the canoes were more stable than our sea kayaks and the boat wakes weren’t as massive as Pacific Ocean swells. We made the crossing in one piece.

In the morning we cooked breakfast on our Jetboil on Fannette Island and spread some of Pat Mitchell’s ashes entrusted to us by his widow and our neighbor and friend, Diane Mitchell. A lifelong sailor and adventurer, Pat would have laughed at our mishaps and escapades. And I’m sure he’d agree with Wifey, “that’s the good stuff.”

I usually don’t wade too deep into local politics, but I’d like to acknowledge Rebecca Bryson and the Tahoe Home Connection for their work on real solutions to the local housing shortage. Creativity and willingness to do something go a long way, thank you. I’d also like to say that as the new TMN editor, Heather has made some very good choices by embracing dialogue and discord instead suppressing speech. It’s not always comfortable, but especially in today’s polarized times, we need brave and disparate voices and forums willing to encourage that constitutionally-protected expression.