Yosemite National Park, California

Yosemite was a zoo.

As with any zoo there are the exhibits and there are the people who go there to see them. I found it impossible to keep my sight skywards, towards the immense waterfalls and rock formations which towered hundreds of feet into the air, when, right in front of me I could see America in it’s many shapes and forms. America came in small shapes, and big shapes, sunburned shapes, and shapes that didn’t speak English. America rode motorcycles, drove RVs, and the brave few took to the park on foot. Everywhere I looked I was overwhelmed by stars, stripes and people who looked like they would die in the mud to keep the flag flying.

The great American Family vacation has been reborn. A hurting economy means people are ditching airplanes in favor of automobiles and are slogging around these great states to see what has been on their doorstep all along. By the looks and sounds of it, most are pleasantly surprised.

Of course there are also the international tourists. Asians carrying more technology than their slender frames can handle, Germans peering intently at maps, and Brits, constantly complaining about sunburns.

All these are really a given at any National Park. What made Yosemite unique was simply the volume of all the aforementioned. Finding parking spaces often involved staring contests with mini-van wielding mothers and quick clutch / accelerator action.

Being slightly more vertically blessed I had fewer problems raising my camera over the heads of the masses, however those of smaller statures must have had to battle to see anything at times.

I suppose you want to hear something about the park then?

Well, its incredible. It seems like rivers spill over the valley walls everywhere you look. The water falls for so long, its just mist by the time it gets to the ground. Standing next to one for more than a few minutes will probably leave you with hypothermia. The wind these things generate is unbelievable and chills a person right to their bones.

The view from Glacier point was well worth the 45 minute drive thought it was slightly doubtful wether the Golf would make it up all those inclines.

... Despite my efforts, my brain refuses to string words together any longer.

The photos speak for themselves.

Click them to make them bigger.

View down the valley.

Wish You Were Here, California

My watch would later tell me that it was the single greatest hour of our trip so far, but it could have been days, years even that we spent in the rocks and coastal desert scrub that evening. Time was a wash.

Somewhere north of San Francisco two young men pulled over and got out of their car. Naked bar swimming trunks and sunglasses they silently wandered through the thistles and long grass, drawn by some intangible force to the rocks ahead of them.

Hawks rode the thermals above while mice and rabbits dared each other to run the gauntlet between their burrows below. Lizards eyed the boys’ every move, darting from under falling feet at the last second.

Wars raged thousands of miles away. Men with white collars sat in offices somewhere, making decisions that would impact the boys’ lives somewhere down the line, but none of it mattered.

Paul Simon once sang, “I’d rather be a forest than a street...I’d rather feel the earth beneath my feet.” His words were written on every rock, every blade of grass, and the sunlight danced on the water to their rhythm.

Exchanging glances and flashing grins, the boulders were soon conquered and the pair triumphantly looked out over the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean stretched in front of them, a blanket of blues and golds.

A shutter clicked and a moment was captured forever.

Redwood Coast, California

Hunting for places to pitch a tent after dark has to be one of the most frustrating things ever. The phrases, “campground full” and “our spaces are only $62.70” seem to be a common motif for the California coast.

Be that as it may, every once in a while the (twisted and spiteful) camping gods smile down on weary travelers and bless them with incredible places to stay. Our first night on the Redwood Coast was just such an occasion.

After some 5 hours of driving and countless U-turns we drove our trusty VW up a dirt path into the woods and left it there. With nothing but iPod screens to light our way we descended into a gorge and found a rock beach next to a swift moving river. Indifferent to the sloped, lumpy ground we set up camp and crashed.

The next morning I stumbled out of the unbearably hot tent and shielded my eyes against the glaring sunlight. Slowly adjusting to the brightness, I was confronted by possibly the clearest and bluest river I have ever seen, some 15 steps from out tent. It was as if someone had poured gallons of dye into the water, neither words nor photos really do it justice.

After breakfast we simply sat there, basking in the warm sun and taking it all in. A hidden paradise.

A strong recommendation from Ben Small later led us to another gem, Stout Grove.

Never before have I felt so positively tiny as I did standing next to the trees there. Towering hundreds of feet tall and wider than our car is long, they are truly a sight to behold. We wandered speechless for about an hour or so, staring at the canopy in disbelief. Every now and again the silence would be broken by two of the giants bumping into each other with a deep, unearthly thud. ‘Please stay on the trail’ signs were frequently ignored as fallen skyscrapers tempted us to walk along them, leading hundreds of feet into the pristine forest.

Once, again, there are no words...

Our campsite.

..and this was a small one...

wandering....

Me climbing into the underside of a fallen redwood.

Corvallis & Ashland Oregon

Never have I welcomed a hot shower and home cooked food as I did upon arriving in Corvallis. We traded stories, stayed up late mercilessly criticizing American television, and slept on real beds. And to top it all off we left clutching a shopping bag full of snacks and sandwiches. A huge thank you to the Mr. and Mrs. Cleland as well as Val and Stephanie for having us to stay!

We arrived in Ashland late afternoon and once again were spoiled by home cooked food and access to hygiene facilities. Alex introduced us to all his friends whom I had heard so much about whilst in Ecuador. The next two days were spent concocting massive breakfasts, climbing mountains, making bonfires, sharing new discoveries in music and videos, sleeping in and then doing it all again. There is nothing like picking up right where you left off with an old friend...

Hamish Slack-lining in Triangle Park, Ashland.

Myself, with Tilly in the background.

Alex about to bike off to his graduation!

And for those of you who do not wish to see Hamish's bum, scroll no further!!!

Hamish getting 'natural' on top of Pilot Rock, Oregon.

Canon Beach, Oregon

Let me preface this by acknowledging the concerned messages I have been getting from friends and family alike in regard to Hamish’s haircut. The flat-top look was laid to rest and my brother once again resembles a semi-respectable member of society.

and now, on to the next chapter...

The vibrations were getting nasty in Westport and our VW Golf yearned to once again put rubber onto the 101.

A 6 hour drive south found us in picturesque Canon Beach, Oregon, but we weren’t the only ones. You see, Canon beach is, as previously stated quite picturesque, picturesque enough for someone to want to make a film there. And what better a film to make in Canon Beach than The Goonies!? If you’re not familiar with the cult classic children's film, The Goonies, then I would suggest renting it and preparing yourself for a memorable two hours.

As I was saying, they made this film there some 15 years ago and now all these moons later, Goonies lovers flock from all over the nation (and world?) to Canon Beach to celebrate the film and themselves. Occasionally we would see these odd individuals roaming the beaches and sidewalks decked out in Goonies memorabilia, muttering to themselves and cursing the fact that time so cruelly aged their once favorite child actors.

The surf was decent so we spent two days down at the beach camping...yes I’m going to let that sink in for a second...camping....

It may have been the worst idea in the world. We may have made the amateur mistake of paying through the nose for a private campsite. We may have had bloodthirsty raccoons circling our camp stove and food. And we may even have sworn to each other that we would in future avoid camping at all costs, but of course this is all hypothetically speaking.

Surfing at dawn, showering and rinsing our wetsuits in an ice cold waterfall and then cooking bacon and eggs in the car park became a morning ritual, well, for two days at least.

Determined not to be ripped off once again for a place to pitch our miserable tent, a church with a lovely patch of grass behind it was located and selected as our campsite. We were practically ready, tent pegs in hand, to stay the night behind this house of the Lord, when a friendly stranger asked us about our trip and ended up recommending we stay at a state park just down the road. Despite its endless knowledge, the internet will never best the wisdom of real people...

Having surfed our brains out and enjoyed countless hours in the beautiful sunshine we programmed out GPS for our next sto....oh.... thats right we don’t have GPS, however we make up for this with out amazing ability to pull U-turns (or to flip a b**ch, as we like to call it) in even the hairiest of situations...

Check back in soon and don’t miss the dastardly duo’s next adventure as we head inland!

*cue Star Wars music*

Breakfast on the beach...

Manzanita to the south...

Canon Beach to the North

Oswald state park and beaches.

Here is a time-lapse video I took driving over the bridges from Washington to Oregon. Its sped up hugely, not to worry Mum, we don't drive THAT fast.

Westport, Washington

We piled the car high with an endless amount of (mostly Hamish's) junk and headed down to Westport Washington for a surf trip / goodbye party for Hamish and a load of his friends from Vancouver. It was an incredibly strange place, a small fishing and boat building town who's economy had completely sunk (ha....ha..........ha........) in the past decade. These are the notes I took during our 3 days...if they don't make complete sense, its because Westport Washington doesn't completely make sense...

This is a strange America...

The kind of America where everyone knows everyone else, yet somehow no one knows Jack Bird.

The people here have ginger beards and piercing blue eyes and won’t hesitate to verbally attack an innocent traveler in the supermarket.

Illegal immigrants stand in the light rain outside the supermarket, waiting for someone who needs help building a porch or something. A population divided.

The motel manager’s kitchen has a plate of white powder divided up into short lines on top of the microwave. Must be where the toothless Japanese man gets all his pep from.

“Of course there will only be 2 people staying in each room”. Three to a bed? Preposterous.

Everything moves at slow pace, like someone took the drive out of an entire town but life goes on.

It must be something in the water. The words ‘trace amounts’, ‘arsenic’ and ‘water supply’ have been floating around...honestly, who knows?

Nuclear cooling towers loom over the tree line.

Showering? Optional. Shaving? Forbidden, the mustache that is.

Here, the food is microwaved, and the haircuts are DIY. The cameras are analogue and the aloe vera flows freely.

Welcome to Westport, Washington.

Our car. Sardines come to mind...

You thought I was joking about the cooling towers huh?

A nice sunny beach with lovely waves, 180 degrees in the other direction would have been a completely different picture...

Hamish pre Do-It-Yourself haircut...

...and Hamish after. Hilarity ensued.

Vanouver

The gentle rain provided an excuse for me to be quite lazy in Vancouver. Badly jet lagged I would crash mid afternoon each day. Just about every building and alleyway in Vancouver was seen through the car window as rain drops slid by.

We spent a great afternoon with one of Hamish’s friends, Julian, who works in a Harbor just north of the city. He got us a rental boat free of charge ( ! ) and showed us around Howe Sound. Rumors of dolphins and killer whales took us all over the sound in search, alas, with the exception of some fat lazy seals, no sea mammals were sighted.

A remote and rocky beach called to us and before we knew it, we had landed there and were standing up fallen trees in some work of modern natural art. Several logs had chains through them, remnants of a previous life when they were dragged by a barge through the cold British Columbian waters.

Julian then proceeded to show us the best way to have fun in a rental boat...

So there is a ferry, a big’un too, that goes from Vancouver to Victoria on the island. And see this big ferry makes a big wake. And see when one drives over the wake at speed, one has the opportunity to give their propeller a bit of fresh air. So, needless to say, Julian took us over the ferry wake a fair few times.

I still cannot get over the beauty of the Pacific Northwest. Snowcapped mountains and evergreen forests as far as the eye can see. I look around mouth open at just about everything, the locals must think I’m an idiot.

A huge thank you to Julian for such a great day!

Our Boat, the sound, Hamish and Julian.

Hamish and Julian doing work

Me

Our Captain, Julian.

Our finished 'work of art'.

What Are We Doing?

Freedom is a full tank.

Two brothers, one car, and roughly 5,000 miles.

Recipe for success, I think so.

The idea is to start In Vancouver Canada and drive south. Washington, Oregon and California await. From there, east to Arizona, north to Utah and Colorado then east again, foot to the floor across the midwest. All the way back to Boston.

Don’t call it a plan, because its not. Planning is not something we do well, or really at all.

If it looks interesting, we will be pulling off the highway and investigating. Cities be damned, we want to see parks and open spaces.

We have a tent with more holes than your average fishing net and a dual camp stove we bought in Vancouver. The seller looked like he may well have been cooking up Crystal Meth on these things before we got our hands on them, but as long as they work...

When not camping we will be sleeping on sofas of long lost or newly made friends.

We have few rules on this trip, and by few I really mean two.

Rule 1: Thou shalt not say the m-i-n-e word.

Upon arrival I was introduced to The Game of Life, a sort of communal living initiative. The game is simple, anyone playing is forbidden to say the m-i-n-e word. Saying the word results in 10 push ups on the spot and 30 seconds of verbal abuse usually referring to how manly and what a show off the individual is.

Rule 2: Thou shalt not shave thy mustache.

So with all that in mind, off we go!