pedadidact

2010 February 28
Elwha Campground > Port Angeles OPC > Elwha Campground
Distance Biked: 10 miles

How good it is to waken with assurance of God's love, even as He loves Christ Himself. Such were the morning kisses of the Spirit upon my underserving soul this day. After a speedy breakfast I road to Port Angeles for worship at Redeeming Grace Orthodox Presbyterian Church. Once again I was heartened to sit under a liturgy full of grace and truth, and to enjoy some familiar hymns.

Port Angeles RGOPC - Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me [.mp3]

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Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy wounded side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure;
Save from wrath and make me pure.

Not the labor of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to the cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly;
Wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When mine eyes shall close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.

Port Angeles RGOPC - Great is Thy Faithfulness [.mp3]

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Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
there is no shadow of turning with thee;
thou changest not, thy compassions, they fail not;
as thou hast been thou forever will be.

Refrain:
Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
all I have needed thy hand hath provided;
great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,
sun, moon and stars in their courses above
join with all nature in manifold witness
to thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Pastor Elam's message drew a comparison and contrast between Elijah and Christ. Both were the representatives of respective Covenants. Both came bearing the word and authority of God the Father. Both for a time went out of the camp as it were, Elijah to the brook Cherith and Christ to Golgotha. But as Elijah's depature signaled a judgment of drought upon the Covenant people of national Israel, Christ's removal to the cross opened up an abounding spring of waters for the children of God by faith. The message was altogether a blessing, as is anything that sets the heart on the all-sufficiency of Christ.


I always knew Scandinavian humor was a myth.

After service I was invited again to lunch at the Elam's. For want of food and dear fellowship I gladly accepted. Both husband and wife nourished me, Andy by wisdom poured into my mind and Paula with roast put into my belly, both for which I was grateful. After coffee and ice cream I rode off to Swain's to buy webbing, tubes, and clasps. My plan was to improvise an internal frame and waist belt for my backpack since more hiking looked to be in my future out west.


Cherry blossoms tricked into thinking Spring has come. Poor fools.

The Elam's also had an evening study in their home this night which I was graced to attend. We prayed for families, sang hymns, and studied the section of the Westminster Shorter Catechism pertaining to the nature and attributes of God.





Following study the room became a land flowing with popcorn and coffee. I made myself comfortable on the floor with an enormous edition of the National Gallery of Art: Washington. What a fantastic book! One particular painting stood out, which is John Songleton Copley's, Watson and the shark.



Riding home at that hour would have been a chore but for a generous couple from the fellowship who gave me a lift back to camp. Though the time was 10:00 PM, I called my father to wish him a happy forty-ninth birthday.

2010 February 27
Elwha Campground > Elwha River Dam > Elwha Campground
Distance Biked: 7 miles





Three miles from Elwha campground, up a writhing road that follows the cusp of a deeply gouged canyon, wades a concrete titan whose shoulders pool the waters of Lake Mills. Several conversations with locals on the controversy of the dam had energized my interest in it. Apparently during the 1920's men were more interested in hydroelectricity than biodiversity and their monument to progress almost destroyed the endemic population of salmon. But in the end it is the dam, and not the fish, which will suffer extinction. Block by block the colossal structure is to be removed so that the river may return to its natural state. Or at least that is the goal, since no eco-restoration of this scale has ever been mounted before. As this year would be the last before its demolition, numerous people encouraged me to see the Elwha River dam, and thus it was my destination for the afternoon.




The curiously coralline waters of Elwha.



The route was steeply graded and glazed red in sopping leaves. At the top was a wealthy inheritance of panoramic views. Here the fair lake was wreathed in wisps of cloud, attended on all sides by her mountainous coterie of Olympic admirers. To my left was the dam itself, its iron shoots spilling torrential flows which boomed tremendously, filling the air with a steely blue mist. How far down it plunged I could not see, it was so large. I found myself awed motionless as I always am by such hulking structures, both for the scale and for their display of engineering prowess. I suppose if I ever visit Hoover or the Panama Canal I might pass out?


[ View this image larger]





While eating lunch I called a dear friend with whom I spoke for an hour. Having lately been so famished for social interaction, the conversation, though mostly regarding mundane details of our mutual lives, was to me more nourishing than my meal.




What are fried potatoes without hot sauce?


After cleaning my Trangia stove. Nice and brassy.

During the ride down my cell rang. My father had called to say our dog of thirteen years had been put down that morning. The old pup had begun to suffer from a sudden and intense pain, and euthanasia seemed the best option. Dad was understandably in a slump for it. "He was a good dog for us," his said, his voice wrought up with emotion, "but at least he's sleeping now, just as he did for most of his life." News was also relayed to me of a mighty earthquake in Chile, and the warning of tsunamis in Hawaii.


Owen scales the jagged peaks.





After dinner I did little besides notch off three more hours of Two Years, before going to sleep early for Church.

2010 February 26
Elwha Campground > Port Angeles > Elwha Campground
Distance Biked: 8 miles

Experience confirms theory. For years I have felt my need for social interaction and wondered what it would be like to go without it. In fact, at twenty-five years old, I cannot recall greater than seventy-two hours when I had not spoken with someone I knew. This does not mean I am isolophobic. To the contrary, from childhood I enjoyed long periods of solitude. Hours on end could be spent in a room with none but green army men, or wandering the fields near home. As an adult I feel as strong a need to be alone for several hours a day, but there is the side which wants human company.


An actual deer in the headlights.

Part of this trip is an inquiry into my personality, learning what I enjoy and dislike, seeing how I respond to situations. Isolation is one of them that I feel both ways about. Two weeks on the road has been making this fact more real to me. While relishing the solitude for most of the day I feel also an itch to speak with people, to converse in a way beyond mere gratuities at the occasional gas station check-out. I find myself more emotionally hungry for interaction. Phone calls and emails have become significant markers in the day. And so far I am becoming more certain that a truth was unearthed in Christopher McCandless' last hours, that happiness is best when shared. My motto this week is, Reflection is done alone but with others we refract.

Three-and-a-half miles from Elwha the Clallam County bus runs 101 to Port Angeles, originating in Forks. For .75c one can take this either way. I rode back to Port Angeles hungering for an instant friend, or at least to check my email. Not being the most socially proactive, I sat quietly for hours in Bella Rosa. This turned out to be a fair waste of time as I finally wished to have hiked somewhere. However, all was not chaff. I needed some spare parts and replacement nuts for the bike were found at Swain's for .19c a piece, not bad.



On the return trip a bedraggled man with a broad, gummy grin and soft eyes introduced himself as Wild Bill. "At least that's what they call me all over the Country." Bill said I was a regular road dog as he once was, and insisted I take two dollars. "It's not much, but we road dogs look out for one another." He also offered me a bowl marijuana, but I declined and bought cookies at a nearby coffee shop instead. In retrospect, I probably should have stretched the money out with rice or oatmeal. Bill was a nice man to give me that.

During the evening I sailed along with Two Years and then called it a night.

2010 February 25
Elwha Campground

Tent flies, especially of the ultra-light variety, are only intended to withstand so many days of rain. What's more, the fact that I had slung a tarp unevenly over the whole tent so that it was touching the fly, creating points of contact for water to pool and saturate, was causing droplets of water to light on my sleeping bag.

I thought about this problem while boiling eggs and frying bacon this morning, but I was mostly thinking of the eggs. I had somehow never personally boiled any before. Wanting not to ruin the precious delicacies, I "phoned a friend", or actually three friends, who each gave different directions for the perfect hard boiled egg. My final recipe was as follows:

- Place eggs in water.
- Bring to a fair boil.
- Lower heat to low and cover pot with lid.
- Cook nine minutes.
- Pour excess water into Melitta coffee maker, prepare to enjoy hot beverage.
- Place eggs into icy water to stop cooking process.

I have to say, in my opinion the eggs couldn't have turned out better. Firm but not too hard or crumbly. Yellow yolks with no graying, and a loose shell. It must be owing to the step regarding coffee.


Salt and pepper. *mmm*

Having now eaten, I sawed and sharpened several poles about five feet long. Into these I turned screws to fit the eyelets of my tarp. With a bit of effort, and a fair amount of frustration, I single handedly erected a savage tarpaulin hut over my tent which I hoped would endure the "prolonged showers" supposed to be coming soon.





Jim and Dave gave me a beer and some old-time conversation in the afternoon. I was shown some of Dave's home-jobby wood stoves, one in the van and another in the RV, wrought from old propane tanks. Marvelous little works they were, too, keeping his camper 80F. From these and other additions to his trailer, I surmised that Dave is in every way creative but with language, which for him is limited to as many expletives as there are few adjectives.


Jim ponders his decision to burn creosote.


"Dave's hooch"



Having loaded Dana's Two Years Before the Mast onto my eReader, the evening blew along with the Alert. How refreshing it is sailing into nautical stories!

2010 February 24
Elwha Campground > Port Angeles > Elwha Campground
Distance Biked: 22 miles

Weather forecasters in the Peninsula are notoriously wrong. In other lands they would be called witch doctors, but the folks of Juan de Fuca accept that theirs is an imperfect art, if not a black one. This time, however, predictions seemed on. From midnight on rain patted upon my tent fly. Repeatedly I woke and thought about riding ten miles in the downpour, as i intended later in the day to visit the Post Office. Thankfully, at 8:00 AM, just as I was riding to make breakfast, the sky changed its wet, gray coat for something fresh and blue. Without delaying, I packed my trailer and was off.



Once in Port Angeles, I connected with Pastor Elam at his home. He very kindly provided me with packing materials. Into the box went a change of clothes, winter gloves, a book, and, surprisingly, the majority of my camera gear. A fancy DSLR with high quality lenses was to be shipped home; the point and shoot would stay. This decision was mostly made on the basis of weight, but there was also the factor of liability and loss. Besides, everything I had taken so far on the trip has been captured with the point-and-shoot, and the images were going fine. Still, as a professional photographer venturing into scenic wonderlands, the choice to bring only the "little" camera was unexpected.



The previous night I had determined to pick up a hurricane lantern, the sort that burns kerosene or paraffin oil, while at Wal-Mart. Not only would an oil lamp conserve batteries and add ambiance but, more importantly, I thought it might warm up the tent a bit. Sleeping is one thing, inside a nice synthetic bag, but wtriting in 35F is a challenge and breeds idleness. Thankfully, I had sense to call and make sure the lamps were in stock. As it turns out, none were and so I was spared a ten mile round trip for nothing.



Nonetheless I still needed stove fuel; if not from Wal-mart, I would have to find it elsewhere. Pastor Elam recommended Swain's General Store. "People who play outdoors go there," he said. People who eat popcorn also go there, because Swain's has a machine by the front door and they sell big bags for 25 cents. Despite the mellow exterior, Swain's turned out to be a buzzing fantasy land of supplies: an immense selection of real-world outdoors equipment, hardware, clothing, food, and almost everything else one could want for a trip like mine. The sock aisle alone had scores of types to choose from, and that they had a whole aisle dedicated to socks is saying something. Not only did I find the fuel, but Swains carried some very fine oil lanterns. I picked out a miniature V&O hurricane lamp, ten inches tall, in forest green. I also picked up a bag of popcorn.



A block away a man named bill was running his own hot dog stand, as indicated by the hand-scrawled sign, "BILL'S HOT DOGS." Despite the exhorbitant cost and the marked inferiority of his product compared to Wisconsin brat vendors, I patronized the man for a schnitzel with sour kraut.



The afternoon was spent recharging electronics and updating blogs in Bella Rosa Coffee, a hip little nook with plush leather couches. Then on to Safe-Way for groceries, since I had my trailer with me. Amongst other things, I bothered the butcher for two slices of applewood bacon, half a dozen eggs, and one slice of cheddar.



Just as I arrived in camp, rain began to fall. Even this was short-lived and within the hour I was not only cooking scrumptious breakfast, but making a cleaning catastrophe of my non-non-stick pots. Scrambled eggs, I learned, are a match for Scotchgaurd sponges.



After sorting out my dishes, I paid a visit to Jim. He and his friend, Dave, a 71 year-old foul-mouthed blaggard in coveralls mucked with chew spit, were outside the RV shooting the breeze over a couple beers. They immediately informed me that two "pretty young things" had arrived and were even now struggling to get a fire going of the wet brush lying around their site. "Go on and help 'em," the men coaxed. "Maybe you'll get lucky with one o' them. We would try, but we're too old. They're college age. You go and have fun for us." Of course, this was communicated in much filthier terms.



Had I intended to mingle with them it wouldn't have mattered. Within fifteen minutes the girls' impulsive camping trip petered out like the coals of their hapless fire. They packed up and left, probably to go back to their dorms. All the same, the event triggered thoughts of how vulnerable I am as a twenty-five year-old male, single and unoccupied. "God protect me," I prayed, "from easy women, and the blackness of my own corrupt inclinations." How much of one's morality exists only because it has not been tested is hard to say, and not something I am keen to find out.



With oil lamp burning, and the temperature in my tent soaring to 60F - a near tropics - I lay up 'til midnight sketching ideas for a getaway hut named Geneva. Three bunks could be lofted at 8' to free up the floor and take advantage of rising heat. Each would have a brass placard baring the name of one of the three magisterial Reformers. Mounted on the center pile would be star horns, the Swiss flag slung beneath it. A wood stove and wine cellar, bookshelves, mounted weapons and a dart board, would make for a man's winter chalet, for study, respite, and fellowship. From these waking dreams I slipped into slumbering ones.

2010 February 23
Elwha Campground

For the most part, this was a tent day. Rain battened me in to read and write, letting up long enough to cook rice and forage for snacks to evacuate into the vestibule. Rice cooking skills, I am pleased to report, have improved noticeably on this second round. My grains were eaten with sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg.




[view larger] Elwha River



Hunched in my synthetic sanctuary, I finished Owen's Communion with God. What a fantastic, helpful, wonderfully practical book it was! And during another break in the rain I gathered audio recordings of the streams and river nearby.



Elwha Brook [.mp3]

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Elwha River [.mp3]

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Weather reports threatened rain throughout the week. Considering my plans to ride into town the next day, circumstances were looking less cheery than hoped for. But, praise God, I have proper gear for a reason. With the right supplies, one can thrive anywhere.

2010 February 22
Elwha Campground

The whole of this day consisted in little more than washing socks, reading Owen's On Communion with God, eating Trisquits with hotsauce, and making first-rate tortillia soup. Rather than exhaust the scant details of these events, I will tell the reader other things.





Now, I am of the opinion that naming one's possessions tends to promote better care of them, or at least a more colorful relationship if and when they fail to work. The name of my bicycle, therefore, is Owen, in honor of the loftiest and most enduring English theologian. Tracking closely behind is an aluminum cargo trailer, The Puritans. For the most part, wherever the first goes, the rest follows.





Owen is a 20" Timberlin mountain bike with drop handles and a very scuffed dark purple paint job. A sticker on the frame reads, "JESUS IS STILL ALIVE." You will not find my model in this year's catalogue of latest-greatest. Four days prior to setting out, I bought the ride used from Dream Bikes in Madison, WI, a non-profit that helps inner-city youths receive job experience. I'm not interested in kevlar and carbon fiber. If the bicycle performs half as well as the faithful $120 Wal-Mart Schwinn which endured 3,500 miles under my feet during 2008 and 2009, then I will be quite satisfied.

2010 February 21, Lord's Day
Elwha Campground > Port Angeles > Elwha Campground
Distance Biked: 22 miles

My watch alarm sounded at 6:30 AM. Aversion to the cold was overcome by a warming desire to attend worship with God's people in Port Angeles. Quickly as possible I was into my clothes, fed, and mounted on the bicycle. Sub-freezing air set my fingers into exquisite burning. The pain was shortened, thankfully, when, to my astonishment, I had covered all ten hilly miles in just over an hour. Being earlier than expected, I rode to Starbucks and checked email.



The OPC met just around the corner, renting Scandia Hall, a Sons of Norway lodge. Besides the lovely little congregation of neatly dressed and gregarious brethren, I found the room to be occuppied with a Nordic array of horned helmets, Viking barks, and mounted deer heads. Over the moveable pulpit was a gilded fabric cross. To each side hung carigeen curtains overtopped with floral embellishments.



The arrangement of liturgy and selection of hymns, sermon content, and all else was, to me, wonderfully Christ-and-Gospel centered. Several times throughout the message I felt warmed by the Spirit's comfort through the clear preaching of Christ's cross and imputed righteousness.

Port Angeles OPC - A Mighty Fortress is Our God [.mp3]

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Port Angeles OPC - Holy, Holy, Holy [.mp3]

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Port Angeles OPC - Jesus, Master Whose I Am [.mp3]

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Pastor Elam invited me to his home for lunch. After being acquainted with his wife, their three children, and a friend from the church, I was sated richly with a fantastic meal of pasta and salad, superb coffee and a deluxe selection of ice cream. Between stories and bouts of Elam's jolly laughter, I was offered thoughtful advice regarding seminary and vocational ministry, which I greatly appreciated.

Taking leave of these friends, I returned to Starbucks to update blogs and edit photos. From there I visited the grocery store and made the mistake of purchasing twenty pounds of food for the next few weeks at Elwha. This was bad mainly because I would be carrying it home on my back rather than by trailer. The discomfort of ten miles steep riding with a now thirty pound burden had not occurred to me. Before setting off, I paid another visit to Jack in the Box, for cheap grease tacos. I prefer to think of them as "calorie bars", which, given my strenuous exercise, is more justifiable.



Sometime near midnight, with an awfully sore spine and shoulders, and relieved to have evaded the seedy night walkers of Port Angeles, I arrived home, as it were, in site 15. Into my tent I crawled, not to wake until my fractured body said so.