At long last the slow-moving kayak sailing across the wide Pacific with all of our household goods on it finally arrived on island. Happy day. Even happier the day we got to lay our eyes on the crates themselves when we had to meet the customs officials at the DeWitt Moving and Storage company's warehouse so that we could account for the firearms we brought along with us. "So, where are you from?" the customs man asked me with curiosity as my husband began withdrawing weapons from the gun safe. "Texas," I replied with a smile. "That explains it," he said. I smiled bigger. We had a pleasant conversation on a point or two about conceal/carry laws in Texas, Arizona, and Guam. He thought it was in Texas where your average citizen could carry a weapon unconcealed on his hip. No. That's in Arizona. In Texas it must be concealed while carrying the proper documentation on you. I presume one must carry the proper documentation with one in Arizona as well, unless one doesn't care about the law to begin with. It is the same in Guam.
After unwrapping each firearm it was out of the steamy warehouse with us, through the drizzling rain, and into the office where my husband and the customs man, along with his customs partner, went through all the paper work to get our little arsenal cleared for entry into the island. My husband took pride in showing off each and every piece we own. Customs' eyes grew large with admiration as they got to handle a couple of the firearms: a replica 1861 black powder Springfield, and the most recent acquisition, an SKS semi-automatic rifle. Once cleared with the instructions to get my husband's babies registered within thirty days, we took them home, knowing we had to wait one more day before the rest of our stuff showed up on our doorstep.
The next day came with our things, along with the edges of a typhoon that was about 600 miles to our north and thankfully moving away from us. While the off-loading began in sunshine, we were hit with bands of heavy rain forcing the men from DeWitt Moving to stop and get under the tarp they had strung up from their truck to a couple of our coconut trees. During lunch, one of the Chamorro fellows shucked and opened two of our coconuts, unplugged them, inserted straws and we had fresh coconut milk straight from our front yard. Wow. There was a natural fizziness to them as well. The Chamorro fellow told us about the various stages of the coconut and what it can be used for. Did you know that a young coconut, when it is removed from the interior shell is soft and pliable and feels rather rubbery? It's also still very edible, too. Only when the coconut is fully matured in the shell does it become the coconut we are accustomed to seeing in the stores. At this stage it is hard and can be easily grated.
At long last we were left alone. The men from DeWitt Moving Company had cleaned up and driven away. There it all stood, like cardboard redwoods blocking the furniture, imposing, attempting to be intimidating: boxes, boxes, and more boxes. I, however, refuse to be intimidated. After all, now I am in my organizational element! Just one question remains: had I downsized enough to fit everything into our tropical home? Without the luxury of even a carport (I guess sacrifices to the Square Footage Gods had to be made somewhere when the US Air Force designed the floor plans for the larger housing units) my husband quickly came to the conclusion that we need a portable outdoor storage unit (with tie downs to withstand the occasional tropical storm or typhoon) for those things that would normally reside in a garage. We're just happy to be able to mow the yard with our own lawnmower!
Time to get back to work. Unpacking boxes can be a rambling experience. Now where did I put that box of envelopes I unpacked just last night?
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Whither Shall I Roam?
"Boonie Stomping? What is that?" my husband and I asked each other last October when he had put his name in for consideration f
or a position at Andersen Air Force Base, Guam. We had been looking at a web site about the island to get an idea of what we might be getting into if he should be selected for the position. We did not have to look far to discover what "Boonie Stomping" was all about. "Boonie" refers to the jungle and "stomping" refers to hiking. Put the two together and you have jungle hiking, and apparently, there are oodles of trails to stomp on to your heart's content in yon boonies.
These "trails" barely seem to meet the minimum requirement for such a classification. They are marked with brightly colored tags and there is a foot path, but the trail can easily fade into the rest of the j
ungle if you don't keep a sharp eye out. Stomps are categorized according to difficulty, from easy to very difficult, or as I might like to say, difficult to insane. Depending on the weather, those trails can quickly become more difficult than described. Bring water, a hat, hiking boots, bug spray, bathing suit, and be sure to put on your sunscreen. Leave your machete at home -- the idea is to leave minimal impact on the environment as you trek through the adventure. If you are going Boonie Stomping, it is a good idea to tell someone where you are going.
So off we went, myself, my husband, and our two nearly 23-year-old sons, to our first-ever Boonie Stomp. My husband had already been talking to the fellow who is in charge of these adventures, and first reported back to me that the hike we were going on would be an "easy" hike. Good, since my hiking boots were still on the slow-moving kayak across the Pacific and not on my feet. On the morning of the hike, we were ready with hydration packs, food, first-aid kits with Bunny Band Aids, sunscreen and plenty of enthusiasm. We met in the center court of the Chamorro Village in Haganta to register and be briefed. There was a good sized crowd there: young, old, little kids and even
a baby or two.
After the briefing of our stomp location, Fadian Cove, and some other things I could not hear too easily, our caravan struck out. We went to the northern end of the island on the western coast onto some private property with spectacular views of the Philippine Sea. The Boonie Stomp leaders have arrangements with the owners to bring hikers out there to hike down to a cove at the bottom of the cliff. Another briefing, also a little hard to hear since I was in the back of our large group.
Off and away we tread. At first it was not too hard, and I was snapping away with my handy-dandy digital camer
a. Our descent to the cove began as we turned a around a bend and officially stepped into the jungle. After I observed the angle of the trail, I though it would be more prudent to return the lens cap to the camera lens so it would not get damaged in case I slipped or fell. Boy, am I glad I listened to that prompting. The red clay on the trail became wet as we realized that rain must have moved through the area about an hour before our arrival. I just needed to be careful how I stepped on the trail and everything would be alright. Easier said than done, as it turned out. I soon slipped and landed right on my posterior. Lucky for me I had a little extra padding back there. "No problem," I thought, getting up. I wondered why it seemed a little hard to stand up. A few feet later I slipped again. I got up again. This time I definitely noticed that my knees were not helping very well. I contemplated the pr
oblem. Surely this would be the only place where I would have problems slipping. A little further down the trail, another slip! OK, now this was just getting silly! My son Eric, who was hiking behind me, and a young woman hiking in front of me helped me get on my feet this time. They both helped me get down much of the trail. Between the two of them, I was able to finally reach the bottom of the trail, albeit a little muddy, bruised and scraped by the limestone rocks that are part of the landscape.
I had to stop along the path from time to time as the experience reminded me all too clearly that I am out of shape. After the third slip, I considered turning around and going bac
k but the sound of the waves crashing somewhere down below me lured me onward. Once while resting off to the side of the trail, a woman in the group commented how no one had better get a broken bone or else that person would be hated by the others. I marveled how young kids were bounding down the trail as if there were no hazards to watch out for. One of the women, who must've only weighed 90 pounds, wore a backpack complete with baby on board. Somehow, I didn't think this was the place to pack a baby into, especially with the trail in the condition it was in, but what do I know?
I had passed my camera off to my other son, James, for safe-keeping somewhere along the trial. He had gotten down to the cove before I did and was off taking pictures. I found a "soft" limestone rock and sat down. What a site! I wasn't expecting the beach to be so rocky, but it was all very breath-taking. Some people were already in the surf while others were diving off the natural bridge. Still others were exploring the rocks. I was content to sit there, wondering why my thighs had gone to muscle failure. That did it. Starting the following Monday I
was goin
g to 
start working out. Well, maybe after I recovered from the hike.
We stayed at the cove about an hour or more and then it began to rain. Putting my camera in my backpack, I just sat there, not caring if I got wet as long as the camera stayed dry. The rain came and went and came again. James advised it was time to think about climbing the trail back to base camp. We were all thinking about the red clay and the slick conditions that might worsen if we didn't get started. My husband was not yet ready to depart, having just gotten out of the surf and was still getting his shoes on and taking a bite to eating. Eric stayed with him while James and I began the long
ascent.
Going up appeared to be a lot easier than going down. For a while, I was doing quite well not slipping but when I did, it didn't seem to be as bad. Perhaps it was because we were going up? It began to rain again, making the jungle more steamy and fogging my glasses. I rather like to see where I am going. I just hoped that my camera was staying dry inside the backpack. My muscles and hands hurt. I wondered a few times if we were still on the trail. Thankfully, James was able to help me see that we were when it looked as if we had gone off. I prayed I would not slide down the slope. Thank goodness for the trees and vines. How much further? During a rest stop, I was reminded of a scene from the movie, Jurassic Park. At least I didn't have any dinosaurs after me, but I had to climb the trail on my hands and knees in many places. I tried not to think about how long it w
as taking, and definitely had to concentrate on avoiding hyperventilation. At last the jungle thinned, and, right when I was about to cry, we rounded the bend and there was base camp! I survived! I might have kissed the ground but I might not have had enough strength to stand up again.
Base camp. What a welcome site. James and I sat under the canopy to rest and wait for the rest of the family who were surely a few minutes behind us or closer. There were only a handful of people left to come out. We waited and waited. Word was my husband was having trouble on the trail. Bad knees. After over and hour, with Eric's help, he finally made it out. For a while, I wondered if he was going to become "an incident". Fortunately, rescue helicopters were not required. The classification of this hike turned out to be "medium", but the weather had definitely made it "very difficult". Translation: really hard!
This hike may well have been the toughest one I've ever done in my life. I don't know if I will ever do another Boonie Stomp, but I know I will never forget this one.
or a position at Andersen Air Force Base, Guam. We had been looking at a web site about the island to get an idea of what we might be getting into if he should be selected for the position. We did not have to look far to discover what "Boonie Stomping" was all about. "Boonie" refers to the jungle and "stomping" refers to hiking. Put the two together and you have jungle hiking, and apparently, there are oodles of trails to stomp on to your heart's content in yon boonies.
These "trails" barely seem to meet the minimum requirement for such a classification. They are marked with brightly colored tags and there is a foot path, but the trail can easily fade into the rest of the j
ungle if you don't keep a sharp eye out. Stomps are categorized according to difficulty, from easy to very difficult, or as I might like to say, difficult to insane. Depending on the weather, those trails can quickly become more difficult than described. Bring water, a hat, hiking boots, bug spray, bathing suit, and be sure to put on your sunscreen. Leave your machete at home -- the idea is to leave minimal impact on the environment as you trek through the adventure. If you are going Boonie Stomping, it is a good idea to tell someone where you are going.
So off we went, myself, my husband, and our two nearly 23-year-old sons, to our first-ever Boonie Stomp. My husband had already been talking to the fellow who is in charge of these adventures, and first reported back to me that the hike we were going on would be an "easy" hike. Good, since my hiking boots were still on the slow-moving kayak across the Pacific and not on my feet. On the morning of the hike, we were ready with hydration packs, food, first-aid kits with Bunny Band Aids, sunscreen and plenty of enthusiasm. We met in the center court of the Chamorro Village in Haganta to register and be briefed. There was a good sized crowd there: young, old, little kids and even
a baby or two.
After the briefing of our stomp location, Fadian Cove, and some other things I could not hear too easily, our caravan struck out. We went to the northern end of the island on the western coast onto some private property with spectacular views of the Philippine Sea. The Boonie Stomp leaders have arrangements with the owners to bring hikers out there to hike down to a cove at the bottom of the cliff. Another briefing, also a little hard to hear since I was in the back of our large group.
Off and away we tread. At first it was not too hard, and I was snapping away with my handy-dandy digital camer
a. Our descent to the cove began as we turned a around a bend and officially stepped into the jungle. After I observed the angle of the trail, I though it would be more prudent to return the lens cap to the camera lens so it would not get damaged in case I slipped or fell. Boy, am I glad I listened to that prompting. The red clay on the trail became wet as we realized that rain must have moved through the area about an hour before our arrival. I just needed to be careful how I stepped on the trail and everything would be alright. Easier said than done, as it turned out. I soon slipped and landed right on my posterior. Lucky for me I had a little extra padding back there. "No problem," I thought, getting up. I wondered why it seemed a little hard to stand up. A few feet later I slipped again. I got up again. This time I definitely noticed that my knees were not helping very well. I contemplated the pr
oblem. Surely this would be the only place where I would have problems slipping. A little further down the trail, another slip! OK, now this was just getting silly! My son Eric, who was hiking behind me, and a young woman hiking in front of me helped me get on my feet this time. They both helped me get down much of the trail. Between the two of them, I was able to finally reach the bottom of the trail, albeit a little muddy, bruised and scraped by the limestone rocks that are part of the landscape.
I had to stop along the path from time to time as the experience reminded me all too clearly that I am out of shape. After the third slip, I considered turning around and going bac
k but the sound of the waves crashing somewhere down below me lured me onward. Once while resting off to the side of the trail, a woman in the group commented how no one had better get a broken bone or else that person would be hated by the others. I marveled how young kids were bounding down the trail as if there were no hazards to watch out for. One of the women, who must've only weighed 90 pounds, wore a backpack complete with baby on board. Somehow, I didn't think this was the place to pack a baby into, especially with the trail in the condition it was in, but what do I know?
I had passed my camera off to my other son, James, for safe-keeping somewhere along the trial. He had gotten down to the cove before I did and was off taking pictures. I found a "soft" limestone rock and sat down. What a site! I wasn't expecting the beach to be so rocky, but it was all very breath-taking. Some people were already in the surf while others were diving off the natural bridge. Still others were exploring the rocks. I was content to sit there, wondering why my thighs had gone to muscle failure. That did it. Starting the following Monday I
was goin
g to 
start working out. Well, maybe after I recovered from the hike.
We stayed at the cove about an hour or more and then it began to rain. Putting my camera in my backpack, I just sat there, not caring if I got wet as long as the camera stayed dry. The rain came and went and came again. James advised it was time to think about climbing the trail back to base camp. We were all thinking about the red clay and the slick conditions that might worsen if we didn't get started. My husband was not yet ready to depart, having just gotten out of the surf and was still getting his shoes on and taking a bite to eating. Eric stayed with him while James and I began the long
ascent.
Going up appeared to be a lot easier than going down. For a while, I was doing quite well not slipping but when I did, it didn't seem to be as bad. Perhaps it was because we were going up? It began to rain again, making the jungle more steamy and fogging my glasses. I rather like to see where I am going. I just hoped that my camera was staying dry inside the backpack. My muscles and hands hurt. I wondered a few times if we were still on the trail. Thankfully, James was able to help me see that we were when it looked as if we had gone off. I prayed I would not slide down the slope. Thank goodness for the trees and vines. How much further? During a rest stop, I was reminded of a scene from the movie, Jurassic Park. At least I didn't have any dinosaurs after me, but I had to climb the trail on my hands and knees in many places. I tried not to think about how long it w
as taking, and definitely had to concentrate on avoiding hyperventilation. At last the jungle thinned, and, right when I was about to cry, we rounded the bend and there was base camp! I survived! I might have kissed the ground but I might not have had enough strength to stand up again.
Base camp. What a welcome site. James and I sat under the canopy to rest and wait for the rest of the family who were surely a few minutes behind us or closer. There were only a handful of people left to come out. We waited and waited. Word was my husband was having trouble on the trail. Bad knees. After over and hour, with Eric's help, he finally made it out. For a while, I wondered if he was going to become "an incident". Fortunately, rescue helicopters were not required. The classification of this hike turned out to be "medium", but the weather had definitely made it "very difficult". Translation: really hard!
This hike may well have been the toughest one I've ever done in my life. I don't know if I will ever do another Boonie Stomp, but I know I will never forget this one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)