Higo Blog

This afternoon, I jumped in the car and headed South towards Big Sur. I was cruising along at the speed limit, driving with the windows and sun roof open, enjoying the sunshine and looking for spots along the side of the road that might grant me coastal access.
Every few minutes, I would spot an opening in the barbed wire fences that run along Highway 1, or for the telltale absence of brush, usually only a shoulder-width patch, that usually signaled the start of a hidden trail.
It seemed that everywhere I stopped, other people would see the car and follow me to see what I was looking at. I’ve grown to really like having these places all to myself, and so I’ll hike places that are a bit more steep or challenging to get to than the average person is willing to brave.
I came upon a well-hidden path a few miles South of Garrapata State Beach, obscured by the thick brush. Once through the beginning patch, I spied a pristine beach, with what looked like a steep, but climbable path that made it back up to the highway. In order to get the secluded cove, I would have to descend the granite cliffs, skirt my way around some tidepools, and it looked like I would be home free. As if to motivate me, a group of tourists appeared a few hundred feet behind me.
Along the way, I looked among the wave-beaten rocks, and at the newly exposed layers of soil for cool rocks or artifacts. It was low tide, and though the waves weren’t large, I knew that if I fell in, there was a good chance that I would be injured by the wild surge and the jagged rocks.
And so I came to a large mass of granite and quartz that stood like a large knife between me and the beach that I wanted to visit. Though the rock was tall and vertical, it wasn’t too hard to climb over and around it. Before I started, I considered what I would do if a sleeper wave came in when I was on the blade of granite. It would have to be a huge wave, at least ten times larger than the largest wave I had seen crash, in order to get past the little islands that sheltered the cove and its immediate surroundings.
I made it to the beach, and enjoyed laying the only foot prints into the sand that I could see. There was something satisfying about knowing that no one would follow me to this beach, at least not the same type of people that had been following me earlier. I walked around for a while and soaked up some much needed sun.
From the waterline, I surveyed the cove, and picked the place where I would climb back up the surrounding cliffs. I could follow up the stream, but that was likely to be a pretty messy option, so instead I picked the area of granite that led to the path that I had seen from the beginning of the trail.
Hand and foot holds were sparse, and so I took my time testing to make sure that they were strong enough to support me. Before long, I had climbed much higher than I had though, and reflected that if it would be really hard to climb back down. I felt confident that I could fall and not hurt myself, but if I did, no one might come looking for me for a long time.
So I continued my climb, and the granite slowly turned into hard packed sand that formed a very steep grade. It was at this point that I regretted climbing so high in dress shoes. The smooth soles of my shoes had a hard time keeping purchase on wet concrete, and did not inspire confidence on the compacted sand. I flattened my body along the cliff, and shifted my support to my hand holds. A few arm lengths out of reach was a lone ice plant patch, and a larger patch was just a few feet above the closer patch.
Slowly, I tested crags and outcroppings of substrate, some of which crumbled before I committed to put a load on them. Digging my fingers into some of the firmer parts of the wall, I made steady progress to the smaller ice plant cluster. I grabbed onto the thickest part of the stem and tested it for strength. It snapped off, leaving me with a fleshy branch of withered lobes. I tried another part, hidden under a healthier part of the plant, and used it to reach the next, larger cluster.
The top of the ridge was in view, but it became a near vertical climb. Quickly, and carefully, I rooted out healthy stalks to hold on to under the green spikes, and scrambled onto a manageable area. The rest of the climb was through thick scrub, full of dead, pointy chaparral and hidden ground squirrel holes, and still rather steep, but it was a relative walk in the park.
I had noticed sand in the crags of the granite below, and had even seen the sand cliff, but it had looked less steep from the beach. Next time I will bring the appropriate shoes. Next time, I hope not to depend on ice plant in order to pull myself up and out of danger. I am glad for the ice plant, though. For a hand hold, I’ll take ice plant on a cliff wall over chaparral any day, as long as it’s healthy.

“I got a good woman” is a bad way to begin the Blues, unless you stick something nasty in the next line like, “I got a good woman, with the meanest face in town.”
Read the rest here.

Now, as I test out Movable Type v.4.1 for the first time, I can not help but think about what the interface looked like when I first used it, and how writing that first post felt. Blogging was pretty well-established by 2003, but it was new to me and it was with the encouragement of my brother that I started to run with it.
Back then I was living in a far away land, and the blog started to serve as a lifeline back to family and friends, allowing us to stay in touch, even though we were on different sleep cycles. Now, it still serves that purpose, though it does not occupy as much of my time. Life just doesn’t seem as fast-paced and adventure no longer lurks just around a bend in the road over here. I almost feel as if I am living in a retirement community, and I am in a sense. Just under two years ago, I was teaching in one of the worst schools in Osaka during the day, out in the big city at night, and constantly exploring strange and foreign sub-cultures and worlds. There was a lot of stuff for me to share.
I probably would not have been as involved in writing or, for that matter, taking pictures as much as I do had it not been for Justin keeping this domain up and running, and that would have been unfortunate. Sometimes, when I feel like I’m forgetting my life in Japan, I look through the archives and everything comes back. My posts are a hedge against dementia, a touchstone to the past.
I am fascinated by Justin’s efforts to keep the architecture of our blogs up to date. Whenever I take a look at the various templates, lines of code to make CAPTCHA or Analytics work, or any of the other moving parts that are hidden under the hood my eyes glaze over and my brain protests against trying to make sense of it all. I, the slacker, much prefer to focus on the content rather than the infrastructure.
I have a hunch that he does not like dealing with the installations – like is not quite the right word. I think he gets a satisfaction of learning how to use all of the tools to keep our blogs running smoothly and up to date, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the process of staying on top of these things is one of his forms of meditation.
Given the choice between learning Movable Type from scratch and blogging on something that attracts some of the best features as a result of being open source or subscribing to a service like Blogger and not learning anything more than I needed to, I probably would have gone the Blogger route. I’m glad I didn’t though, as I really like posting things here.

I took shelter from the cold rain, in an old, dark room, full of books with yellowed pages and a jumble of artifacts and well-worn work items. Scant light fell as running streaks on to the warped linoleum, I contemplated as I breathed in warm, stale air.
On the walk to the room, my Hawaiian pizza (with green onions!) had shed some of its cheese, which had coagulated onto the side of the carton. I tried scraping it back on the pizza, but when the cold fats and proteins were sampled, they proved unsatisfactory. Despite this, the flat bread with tomato sauce tasted really good after coming in from the rain.
Though I only had thirty minutes to eat, time seemed to slow down, as I enjoyed my packed lunch and read a book. It felt as if I were living another version of The NeverEnding Story, when Bastian cracks open a book and gets lost in the tale.
I wonder if this cartoon was inspired by the same scene…

For such a shitty cartoon, Beavis and Butthead was pretty entertaining.

Surprisingly, this little dog is able to go boulder hopping if you direct her along a clean, reasonable line.
Though she can climb up steep rocks and plows along like a little bulldozer, she doesn’t necessarily like going off the path.
The yawn indicates that she’s had enough, clearly not interested in checking out the critters left exposed by the low tide. It’s probably better that way. We don’t want her to stick her nose into the nematocyst-laced tentacles of the green anemone in the nearby pool.
We get back into the car, and she gets her muddy paws on everything (that I will end up wiping off later on in the day). Next time, along with dookie containment bags and water, I must remember to bring a towel to clean her off.
I’m curious to see just how steep a course she can safely handle, but that is an activity for another day…

Is it Nas vs. Jay-Z? Tupac and Biggie? Ice Cube talking smack on Common?