Cache and Release

What do you get when you take several dozen crazed Geocachers, 59 new Geocaches all released at the same time and add in a dash of sleep deprivation?  You get Calgary’s Cache and Release Winter 2010, officially known this year as “10 Years! Calgary, AB”to help celebrate the tenth anniversary of geocaching as a hobby.

The Official Cache and Release Car Flag For the uninitiated, geocaching is a very simple hobby.  At it’s most basic level it works like this:

Someone hides a container somewhere in the world and the publishes the coordinates for it on the Internet on a website such as Geocaching.com.  Other people then use the coordinates and a handheld GPSr to go out and find it.  Once they find the container they sign the logbook to prove they were there and then they go back online and talk about their experience.

The more experienced cachers will explain there are MANY variations on this theme and all sorts of different rules and community standards, but that is for a different post.

For the last few years the Calgary Area Cachers put on an event twice a year known as “Cache and Release”.  This event builds on the initial geocaching premise by giving people a few weeks to go out and hide the best cache they can.  None of the listings are made public until the day before the event.  On that dayt the caches are published with the caveat that no one is allowed to look for them until the event officially gets underway. 

Guess What Their Hobby Is?

This year the event kicked off with a brunch event on Saturday, which ran from 10:30 – 12:00.  Noon marked the start of the cache seeking craziness, which ran for a full 24 hours.  (The caches remain available after the event as well, but the 24 hour period ends with a wrap-up event and a vote on which caches were best in various categories.

This event is really more about the socializing than it is the caching.  Since everyone is really focusing on the caches which were released for the event there is almost always a crowd of people at whatever cache you choose to seek.  This gives you plenty of opportunity to catch up with old friends as well as make a bunch of new ones.  The event has become very popular since being introduced to our area in 2008.  Cachers often will come in from out of town to participate.  There are no limits to the people in this event — young, old, families, singles.  You have people who have just been introduced to the hobby as well as those who have been doing it for years and/or have thousands of cache finds under their belts. 

Some people choose to team up and cache in groups while others will head out on their own and just see who they run into.  This typically leads to a group of vehicles parked at random locations and a whole bunch of really confused non-cachers.

What Could Be In Those Trees That Is So Interesting?

This year’s event was unique in that many of the caches were placed outside the city limits, and mostly to the north and west.  This meant that we were able to accomplish 42 of the 57 new caches in about 12 hours without really rushing too much.  We stopped about an hour for a meal and then pretty much quit caching after the “Crash and Relax” which is a gathering of cachers at a local truck stop at midnight. 

The event officially ended with a wrap-up party at Nick’s Steakhouse which I had to miss.  Votes are tabulated, prizes awarded and the event concludes.  What is left are great memories and a city that has a whole bunch of new high-quality caches.

The more rural nature of the event combined with a snowfall just a couple of days before made for some interesting conditions, such as caches buried under massive snow drifts and very muddy road allowances.  If the smiles in the photos are any indication, everyone had a really great time.

My Flickr Photoset from the Event

 

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My Life In Baseball: Part I

A couple weeks ago some friends and I were sitting around over coffee and talking about how we need to make a trip to Boston to see a Major League Baseball game at Fenway Park.   This must have planted a thought in my head about going to see a game because a couple days ago I purchased a couple of tickets to go see the Mariners plays the Royals at Safeco Field in Seattle in July.

My history with baseball goes back a long way.  Sometime when I was a young child I remember going with my mother to see the Lethbridge Dodgers of the Pioneer League play a game.  It must have done something to me because baseball was the only organized sport I ever played as a child.

I use the term “played” loosely as I was never much of a player.  If the object of the game was to hit into double-plays, strike out with men in scoring position or lose fly balls in the sun I likely would be enshrined in Cooperstown today.   Heck, I had a bad enough time trying to fit into those form fitting uniforms that were in style at the time.  I’m sure if I were to look hard enough I could find an old team photo from my days as a Padre – we wore bright yellow uniforms with green lettering.  I’m sure the people who turned out to watch those games wondered why there was a taxi cab patrolling right field.  I always played right field because most of the batters were right-handed and didn’t have the skills to take the outside pitch to the opposite field so putting me there is where my manager could limit the damage I could do while still staying within the league rules about “everyone must play”.

Knowing that I would never make it as a player I was forced to look

There was a period of time in Junior High where I thought my ticket to the major leagues was going to be as an umpire.  I had great plans of attending umpire school and working my way up through the minors.  Yes, there is nothing like being a young teenager and striving for a career where people will yell at you, kick dirt on your shoes, and swear at your every little mistake all the while suffering along for little pay.  Actually, it sounds a lot like the job I have now – except for the swearing part!   You would think that I would have clued in that wearing super thick glasses would be a hindrance to someone wanting to work as an umpire, but I was bound and determined.

Before entering high school I started out umpiring Little League games.  I’m sure the league organizers had their doubts about me, but at the umpire orientation session I was the only one who actually understood the minutiae of the infield fly rule so they let me in.  I’m sure the fact that they didn’t have enough volunteers to fill the schedule didn’t hurt my chances either.

I remember the first game quite well.  One team was being managed by my principal and the other by my former math teacher – no pressure there!  I had assumed the league would pair me up with a veteran umpire who would show me the ropes.  No such luck!  Being too young to drive I rode my bikes to “the quads” south of town and arrived to find the other umpire was even younger than I was.  Since this was his second game of the season he was the more experienced so he opted to work home plate while I took my position in the field.

Things started out OK.  Every call I had to make was either a clear “safe” or “out”, “fair” or “foul”.  Then, about the third inning, the one manager (my principal) started yelling at us that the opposing pitcher was balking.  Now, in fairness, the infield fly rule was one thing, but to this day the details of the balk rule still escape me.  In fact, I suspect you could quiz most umpires about the rule and while they might be able to recite the wording of the rule verbatim, if you asked them to call it during a game they would tell you they’d rather sell their own mother into slavery.

I think this flustered us a little.  Every time there was a man on base he’d start yelling “Balk!” after every pitch.  Things really started to go downhill from there…

A batter tried to check his swing.  To me, standing down the foul line at first base it certainly looked like he had stopped his swing in time, but my partner behind the plate took a different view.  With all the confidence he could muster he bellowed out “Striiiiiiiike!”  The manager appealed to me.  Now, one of the rules I had learned from reading baseball books was that the umpires always need to stick together.  Show weakness and you’ll never live it down.  So, despite my best judgement I confirmed my partner’s call.  The manager let loose some comments from the dugout behind me about how spineless I was and things. 

Things settled down a little for a couple of innings.  Then my partner messed me up again.  This time he tried to walk a batter after Ball Three.  It’s not even like he messed up the count either – he simply blurted out “Ball three – take your base.”  The batter, not being one to give up a free pass started trotting down the baseline to first.  The manager comes out and questioned me about how that was possible.

Having learned that backing up my partner only got me trouble the first time on the checked swing call, I decided to do what was right.  I stopped the batter before he reached first and sent him back.  I made the right call.  Well, of course, here comes the other manager out of his dugout to berate me for overruling the senior umpire.  I was starting to think that as long as I could piss both sides off equally I would be OK.

I eventually survived that first game.  After the heat of the battle had passed both managers came out and offered me some advice in a constructive way.  (I think they knew if any umpires quit it would put the whole schedule at risk!)  I even stuck around a couple of seasons after that and can say I actually enjoyed myself for the most part.

Of course, there’s no fun in that so one day I’ll relay the story of the time I had an entire team from Medicine Hat waiting around my car to challenge me to a fight after a game. 

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Song Lyrics: Some of my Faves

Running on Empty by Jackson Browne (1977)

Even if this wasn’t already one of my favorite driving songs it would be perpetually on my play list simple for all the great lines it contains.  Seriously, how can you beat these?

Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive
Trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive.

And:

I don’t know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too

 

Finally, this classic verse which is how I actually try to live my life:

Everyone I know, everywhere I go
People need some reason to believe
I don’t know about anyone but me
If it takes all night, that’ll be all right
If I can get you to smile before I leave

Blue Rodeo probably makes my list more than any other group simply because both my wife and I listen to them a lot and go see them in concert any chance we get.  The fact that they are a Canadian band and have seemingly been around forever doesn’t hurt either.  Some classics that spring to mind:

 

Til I Am Myself Again (1990)

But the half-finished bottles of inspiration
Lie like ghosts in my room

This reminds me of my dorm room at university where we would wake up in the morning and there would be beer bottles spread around from a party the night before. 

The night before we were always the coolest people on campus but the next morning we were just tired losers like everyone else. 

 

 

 

English Bay (1993)

And I wonder if you think of me
As I dream of you
Do you hear the song
That I sing from this hotel room

This has an immediate impact on anyone who has ever been in a situation where you have a special someone stuck in your head but you’re not sure whether you ever cross their mind.  Add in the image of the loney hotel room devoid of any personality and you have a mental picture that is hard to shake.

 

 

Last To Know (1992)

Memory works in strange ways
Cuts you down makes you pay
One day you’ll be walking fine
The next day lightning hits you from behind

The contrast in this verse is what gets me.  Look behind you and your memories will cut you down and make you pay, but fail to pay attention and you get hit from behind.  It’s the balance we all need to strive to achieve — enjoying the past while remembering no one knows what our futures hold.

 

And, my last one to add to this list for tonight goes to one of the best heartbreak, drinking, country tunes ever written:

 

Killin’ Time by Clint Black (1989)

You were the first thing that I thought of

When I thought I drank you off my mind

Ask any guy who ever tried to drink to forget a woman and they’ll tell you how true this one is — adding alcohol doesn’t do anything to kill the thoughts you are trying to shed, all it does is intensify the pain. 

(Not that I am speaking from personal experience here, of course!)

 

 

OK, that’s it for now.  I’m sure I’ll do another post with more great lyrics another time.  And, naturally, I’ll also one day do a “worst lyrics of all-time” list too — the ones where you hear them and think “THAT was the best they could come up with for a line?”  Until then, cheers!

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Just My Luck: Lost on Ole Buck

Technology.  You know it fails at the most inopportune times.  Today’s hike up Ole Buck Mountain was hindered by a glitch with my Garmin 60CSx.  The small metal clip which holds the MicroSD card in place had broken off at some time during last week’s hike up Prairie Mountain.  I thought I had solved the problem with a lot of tape — indeed, during my tests last night the unit held up to all the pounding and shaking I could throw at it.  However, that was not to be the case today.

I shouldn’t get ahead of myself though.  Today’s target was Ole Buck Mountain.  At least it is called “mountain” on my topo maps — in reality it appears from the road to be more of a large hill than an actual mountain.  From what I read on the topo maps the net elevation gain is something less than 300m, making it a pretty simple ascent.

Shirley and I, along with Tucker the Dog, set out from Priddis around 9:00am heading north on Highway 22 to the TransCanada.  Access to Ole Buck is off Highway 68 in the Sibbald Flats area of Kananaskis.  Why Did The Beaver Cross The Road?We were cruising along 68, thinking how nice it was that the road is now paved all the way to the Kananaskis boundary.  We came over a slight rise in the road and had to brake for a baby beaver meandering down the middle of the road. 

We quickly put on the four-way flashers and pulled off to an approach on the side of the road.  I attempted to capture some photos of the little fella, but he was determined to not cooperate and pose for me.  We watched until he made it into the small pond on the west side of the road before deciding to carry on to the trailhead.

To Get To The Pond On The Other Side, Of Course!

The official trailhead for the Ole Buck Loop starts in the Sibbald Lake Recreation Area, somewhat to the west of the actual summit.  We weren’t really interested in the official trailhead, however.  We had our eyes on a couple of new Geocaches which had been placed by Peter Goodman, aka “BVPete”.  These caches promised to show us a different way up, using the south ridge as an approach. 

With that in mind we parked the car slightly off the road, something made possible by the total lack of moisture in the area.  After going through the pre-hiking ritual of getting the backpack on, leashing up the dog, locking the car, checking the camera it was time to fire up the GPSr and set out.  I turned it on and punched in the first waypoint.  I was greeted with nothing more than a distance and an arrow.  My maps were missing again!

I normally have two map sets loaded on my GPSr — Topo Canada v4 and the Southern Alberta Trail Maps.  Unfortunately, both were loaded onto the aforementioned MicroSD card which was — once again — malfunctioning.  No matter, the route to the summit promised to be relatively simple — gain the ridge and keep to the high ground all the way to the summit.  Besides, the two caches would act as beacons, guiding us to the top.

Crossing Bateman CreekWithin the first 400m of the road we had already had to cross two barbed-wire fences and also ford Bateman Creek.  The creek crossing proved to be no issue as it was still mostly frozen.  I was able to make my way across the ice with only getting one boot slightly wet.  Shirley opted to use a convenient log for her crossing, a situation which always leaves her in less than the best of moods — she doesn’t really enjoy the threat of getting wet, especially this early on in a hike.

The rest of the trip to the summit was as simple as expected.  Although we sometimes lost track of the cattle / game trails we were following, we were never in any danger of losing the ridge.  It’s pretty much a straight shot right to the summit, which is about 2km away.  There is some light bushwhacking and some deadfall to deal with, but neither one was proving to be much of an issue.

By this point I was starting to feel pretty confident, even without maps on the GPSr.  We took an extended break near the pathetic little summit cairn.

Frankly I wasn’t expecting it to be as warm as it was.  The thermometer in the car was reading 16C when we had left and neither of us had needed our light jackets at any point along the way.  There were only a few clouds in the sky and the sun was beating down on us pretty good.

 At this point I must confess we were less than prepared in terms of the amount of water we brought with us.  Shirley had her stainless steel bottle which carries about 750mL and I had my 500mL bottle and we had another 500mL bottle as a “spare”.  Well, we were both sweating and the dog was panting pretty good too in the early season warmth.  I also should mention that Tucker had some “stomach and bowel issues” all morning so he was pretty dehydrated before we even left.  Shirley had a plastic bag with her and we fashioned it into a makeshift dog bowl and gave most of our “spare” water to the dog. 

DanOCan and Tucker at the Summit Cairn

Under most circumstances this wouldn’t be an issue as we knew the route back to the car and it wasn’t very far.  However, I can never resist the lure of “just one more cache” and there was another one to the west, just over 1km away “as the crow flies.”  (One of Shirley’s least favourite phrases!)

Not having the maps in the GPSr I was forced to recall the route from memory.  I knew the trail maps showed a route from the summit over to the south-west where the cache was.  The problem was there was nothing at the summit that resembled a trail in any way, shape or form.  There was a lot of deadfall though!

Never one to be deterred, I boldy declared I could find the route.  I set off to the west and down the slope. 

I was a good 150m or so down the slope when I decided that the bushwhacking was getting to dangerous for the camera.  We stopped to put it away in the pack for safety.  I normally don’t like carrying the dSLR on these rougher off-trail hikes, but a couple days earlier I misplaced the point-n-shoot somewhere in the house so I had no choice but to haul the D90 with us today. 

Trail? What Trail??We continued down and to the west but then I noticed there was a fair amount of snow ahead.  I surmised that we must be dropping down on the north side of a ridge.  Knowing that the road was to the south of our location I certainly didn’t want to get into a situation where we needed to go up and over a hump to get home.  I veered off to the south and we bushwhacked to regain some of the elevation we had just given away and to get on top of a ridge once again. 

The ridge carried on in a general south direction.  Now, from the comfort of my house, I can compare our track log against the trail maps and I can see that I actually had gotten us onto the trail proper.  That wouldn’t last for long though!

We reached a point where the ridge started to drop rather significantly.  Had I carried on down that slope in a southward direction we would have hooked up with the Ole Buck Loop in just another 300m or so.  Instead I again opted to not surrender the elevation and instead followed the ridge off to the west, taking as much of a straight line approach to the cache as possible.

What I learned on this hike is that if nothing looks like a trail then soon everything will start to look like a trail.  Every broken branch became an indication that someone or something had passed this way “not long ago” and we simply HAD to be on the right path. 

As I said during the trip:  “I’m not lost.  I know exactly where I am and I know exactly where I need to go — I’m just not sure how to get there from here.”

We eventually reached the cache site and “civilization” — a wooden bench at the viewpoint on top of the Ole Buck Loop.  Wow, there was a well marked trail and everything!  We were saved from another one of my patented “DanOCan Death Marches”.  We ate the last of our food, drank the last of our water and hoped like hell that I could remember enough of the map to get back to the car.

My original plan for this hike had been to pick up the Ole Buck Loop and follow it down to the Sibbald Forest Exhibit Trail, follow it along Bateman Creek to the east until it swings south and then hooks up with Highway 68.  From there it would be a short deadhead along the road back to the car.

The only glitch with that planA Nice View From the Pleasant Part of the Hike was I couldn’t remember whether the path I wanted was on the north side of Bateman Creek or not.  The Ole Buck Loop lead us to a bridge across the creek.  Now, most normal people when faced with the choice of crossing a creek on a nice bridge or facing a likely fording will choose the bridge.  I, of course, choose to follow a game trail on the north side of the creek instead of using the bridge.  I was wrong, naturally.  The trail we wanted was on the south side!

Bu this point Tucker was really suffering.  He had slowed his pace to a near crawl.  He also wasn’t making an effort to carry a stick, which is one of his biggest pleasures on these hikes.  We had to get back to the car soon.

The game trail was at least heading in the right direction.  We managed to follow it back to the car, needing to only cross several barbed wire fences.  Or, it may have been the same fence and we just crossed it several times.  Frankly, the first time I ducked through the wires and stood up on the other side I got really dizzy, indicating I too was likely suffering from dehydration myself.  We half-walked, half-stumbled to the car and started the drive home.

Honestly, it wasn’t that bad.  We ended up doing 8km in our loop around Ole Buck which isn’t too much more than the 6.5km I had originally estimated we would do.  We had managed to get the dog some water when we crossed Bateman Creek for the second time so he was quite content to sleep all the way home.  After getting home and showering we headed off to the Water’s Edge Pub in Priddis for some grub and drinks and settled in to watch hockey.  Heck, it turned out to be a good day.

Tomorrow?  I’m thinking of checking out the east end of Lusk Ridge in the same general area.

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The Soundtrack of Our Lives – Part II

As I often do in the evenings, I am poking through my collection of music files, adding the songs to various playlists, rating the songs, and filling in missing album art or other tagged information.  Yeah, I’m a little bit of a geek when it comes to my music files.  As a followup to last months post about The Soundtrack of Our Lives, I decided to add a few more selections to my own personal soundtrack.

 

The World I Know — Collective Soul

For me this will always be Chinese New Year’s of 1996.  I had gone out with some friends for dinner at the Silver Dragon Restaurant in Chinatown and I offered to give this girl a ride home to save her a long trip to the deep south parts of the city on the C-Train.  Her name was Kristin and at that time we traveled with the same group of friends a lot.  I wanted to go out with her so I really appreciated the chance to be alone with her and talk.  I remember how the snow was falling as we drove through downtown and when this song came on she asked me if I knew the name of it because she really liked it.  It was one of those really great nights.  In the end it never worked out.  Later that year I asked her out for dinner and, while she initally accepted, she later changed her mind.  She explained it was a misunderstanding and she thought it was a “just friends” thing.  As our group of friends all moved on to other things we saw each other less and less until eventually losing contact completely less than year later.  However, for that one snowy night, the possibilities seemed endless.

 

Carrying Your Love With Me — George Strait

May 1997.  Shirley and I had just made the decision to get married the night before I was scheduled to leave for Ontario to attend the wedding of my friends Bill and Michelle.  I drove all the way to Toronto and back with just six CDs in the changer of my ’94 Pontiac Sunbird.  This disc was one of them and I remember driving somewhere along the north shore of Lake Superior in the dark with the rain coming down singing along with this one:

“On a lonely highway, stuck out in the rain.
Darlin’ all I have to do is speak your name.
The clouds roll back and the waters part.
The sun starts shining in my heart for you.
You’re right there in everything I do”

It doesn’t get any more perfect than that.  In the end I drove the entire trip from Toronto to Calgary non-stop except for a 30 minute sleep break in Kenora.  In retrospect it was a dumb thing to do because I don’t remember almost anything from the Saskatchewan portion of the trip, but a man in love will do a lot of stupid things!

 

 

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