Whatever it is, it made me jump in with them. See?
Really, I swear that's me. That's Nikka riding on my back, to the right.
Okay, fine. You don't believe me? Sea (pun intended) for yourself.
Now do you see?
.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
See For Yourself
There's something about kids swimming in the the sea.
Whatever it is, it made me jump in with them. See?
Really, I swear that's me. That's Nikka riding on my back, to the right.
Okay, fine. You don't believe me? Sea (pun intended) for yourself.
Now do you see?
.
Whatever it is, it made me jump in with them. See?
Really, I swear that's me. That's Nikka riding on my back, to the right.
Okay, fine. You don't believe me? Sea (pun intended) for yourself.
Now do you see?
.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
All Work and Little Play
It was a grueling day for Jaida. Uncle Scotty wasn't here to talk Huskies or music with her, so she was stuck with yours truly, Auntie Netty. Auntie Netty is all business, and Jaida learned very quickly what that means.
*Really Auntie Netty, THIS is what you had planned for me today?!*
We ran errands as far north as Everett.
*Where's Uncle Scotty?! Waaah! I want my Uncle Scotty!*
The closest thing to fun that Auntie Netty did was to go running. Alleluia, that put Jaida to sleep
*Mush! Auntie Netty, mush!*
*She takes me to work with her! I'll make HER work for me!*
*Oh come on, Auntie Netty. You aren't cramping THAT bad. It was only fourteen laps.*
*You promise you won't take me to work again until I can eat solid food?*
*Okay, let's go home. I got a present for you. But you might have to give me a bath...*
Auntie Netty. All work and little play.
.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Trick or Treat
Sheazie Bear and Jaida Hope went trick-or-treating early. They dressed up in their Halloween finest, and hit the mall shops. Have you ever heard a toddler say trick or treat? It sounds more like chick-o-cheet. Oh, so dang cute!
Sheazie Bear was Sheriff Woody.
Jaida Hope was a leopard cub. Like her mommy.
Sheazie Bear was so excited about the whole affair. He danced to the band, then posed for pictures, and he probably told his little sister This is it, Jaid. We go out there and get as much candy as we can get our little hands on!
My hat! Mommy, help, my hat! He was so adamant about looking right, as his hat kept falling backwards from looking up to the shop keepers.
But while Sheazie was busy asking for treats, Jaida slept.
The little sheriff was gushing with pride as his bag filled up along the way.
He tore into the candy right away.
Jaid, we were supposed to be a team, but you fell asleep! So I'll just let you lick the candy. Besides, you don't even have teeth yet.
Whewh! What a day.
Chick-o-cheet!
.
Sheazie Bear was Sheriff Woody.
Jaida Hope was a leopard cub. Like her mommy.
Sheazie Bear was so excited about the whole affair. He danced to the band, then posed for pictures, and he probably told his little sister This is it, Jaid. We go out there and get as much candy as we can get our little hands on!
My hat! Mommy, help, my hat! He was so adamant about looking right, as his hat kept falling backwards from looking up to the shop keepers.
But while Sheazie was busy asking for treats, Jaida slept.
The little sheriff was gushing with pride as his bag filled up along the way.
He tore into the candy right away.
Jaid, we were supposed to be a team, but you fell asleep! So I'll just let you lick the candy. Besides, you don't even have teeth yet.
Whewh! What a day.
Chick-o-cheet!
.
Friday, October 21, 2011
A Wet Kinda Day
Jaida is wet. You can't tell just by looking. But the inside of that diaper begs to differ, despite that smile.
Sheazie Bear and Mayet are definitely wet. If pictures had an audible voice, you'd hear Sheazie Bear telling his momma how he's scared of the giant bucket overheard, that tips over when it's full of water.
Alfonsina's hair is the only thing that is not wet. Until Mateo hits it with that water gun.
Mateo is a regular water boy. That's because his Tia Alfonsina was a swimming instructor. She taught him to be confident in the water.
Sydney and Nicholas, no matter how hard they try to stay afloat on that board, are sopping wet.
Is there anything better than a play ground monkey gym in a pool?
So long as the weather is wet and windy outside...
There is nothing better than being wet and warm in a playground in a pool.
Sheazie Bear and Mayet are definitely wet. If pictures had an audible voice, you'd hear Sheazie Bear telling his momma how he's scared of the giant bucket overheard, that tips over when it's full of water.
Alfonsina's hair is the only thing that is not wet. Until Mateo hits it with that water gun.
Mateo is a regular water boy. That's because his Tia Alfonsina was a swimming instructor. She taught him to be confident in the water.
Sydney and Nicholas, no matter how hard they try to stay afloat on that board, are sopping wet.
Is there anything better than a play ground monkey gym in a pool?
So long as the weather is wet and windy outside...
There is nothing better than being wet and warm in a playground in a pool.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Stocking a Lake
Sheazie Bear's grandpa and grandma used to own a fish hatchery, which is a place where fish are artificially bred, hatched, and reared through their early life stages. I guess this is how fish farms get their fish. One thing's for sure though, this is where we got our non-reproducing trout to stock a lake.
Here is our "Nemo" story of sorts...
Sunday morning started foggy and early. We packed our bikes and fishing gear, and headed up to the Cascade Mountains. We were anticipating a lovely, flat ride on an old, almost forgotten forest service road to Canyon Lake.
But first, the fish. Two hundred and fifty little trout, about to embark on a quest to return to the wild.
A thick blanket of fog covered the valley. On yonder peak is the Mt. Pilchuck Lookout.
Previous hikes to the little hut have not graced me with a clear view yet. Today is no different.
The trail head appeared promising. The sun was out, and the old almost forgotten forest service road was rideable at best, and littered with shot gun shells and clay pigeons mostly at worst.
But it went from okay to really bad right away. The old road was definitely almost forgotten, overgrown with stinging nettles, eroded by a million run-off streams, and barely maintained even by foot traffic. It was so bad that 5-Star Scotty, with lack of proper tools because we were expecting an easy rideable trail, hacked foot cages off his pedals to keep them from snagging on the thick brush.
The only sign that this trail is not completely forgotten was this cold campsite we came upon. It looked like it was abandoned with forethought. It reminded me of The Blair Witch Project movie, so I passed it without disturbing the titanium pot, the unopened can of chili, the shovel, and the full can of bug spray.
After a harrowing bike ride through stinging nettles and water carved ravines, the Nemos of Washington finally arrived at their new home in the wild.
First, they must acclimate. Cascade lakes are fed by melting snow. Need I say more?
In case you're wondering about Palomino's skiff, it is a prototype. You can't buy it anywhere. It has an attachment for a seat, from which you dangle your wader-clad legs into the snow-melt water.
In the meantime, the dry-land inclined get comfortable on shore.
And the crazy-inclined dare to test the snow-melt fed lake.
If you've never swam in a pristine mountain lake high in the Cascades, you will never understand the deceptively inviting crystal clear waters of such lakes.
If you cannot imagine a million needles stinging every square inch of your skin, then do not jump into a snow-melt fed lake. I repeat, do NOT jump in!
Unless you're crazy like Netty, and can tolerate the feeling of your chest being compressed, and don't mind the prickly needles all over your skin, and can remain calm in the face of frigid paralysis, and still have the faculties to scamper up a log like a frightened monkey, I repeat again, Do. Not. Jump. In.
Otherwise, if you appreciate the outdoors, by all means take the old, almost forgotten forest service road, overgrown with stinging nettles, eroded by a million run-off streams, and barely maintained even by foot traffic, to drop off two hundred and fifty fish from the hatchery.
Because calling out "Fish on!" is almost just as exciting as jumping into the lake.
And if you can do it with your bestest friends, all the better.
Oh, but I almost forgot about the harrowing details of the trail... You see, before this seemingly innocent make-shift bridge of logs across this run-off ravine...
This is what might have happened. Might. Palomino might have slipped on the bridge, as Netty might have attempted to ride across the water sodden logs right behind him, and thank goodness Alfonsina might have been there in the nick of time.
But it didn't happen like that because we all marched our bikes across that bridge like sensible mountain biking, hatchery fish lake stocking fishermen and lake jumpers like this.
That's how it's done!
Across any bridge over any ravine, regardless of levels of biking expertise. Just ask 5-Star, who was a professional BMX racer once upon a time.
But let's not kid ourselves. The good, better, best part of these crazy excursions is the meal afterwards.
Yes, we were a bunch of mooks who ordered the exact same thing. Chicken Parmigiana for Alfonsina, Chicken Parmigiana for Palomino, Chicken Parmigiana for 5-Star Scotty, and Chicken Parmigiana for yours truly.
And that's how you stock a lake!
.
Here is our "Nemo" story of sorts...
Sunday morning started foggy and early. We packed our bikes and fishing gear, and headed up to the Cascade Mountains. We were anticipating a lovely, flat ride on an old, almost forgotten forest service road to Canyon Lake.
But first, the fish. Two hundred and fifty little trout, about to embark on a quest to return to the wild.
A thick blanket of fog covered the valley. On yonder peak is the Mt. Pilchuck Lookout.
Previous hikes to the little hut have not graced me with a clear view yet. Today is no different.
The trail head appeared promising. The sun was out, and the old almost forgotten forest service road was rideable at best, and littered with shot gun shells and clay pigeons mostly at worst.
But it went from okay to really bad right away. The old road was definitely almost forgotten, overgrown with stinging nettles, eroded by a million run-off streams, and barely maintained even by foot traffic. It was so bad that 5-Star Scotty, with lack of proper tools because we were expecting an easy rideable trail, hacked foot cages off his pedals to keep them from snagging on the thick brush.
The only sign that this trail is not completely forgotten was this cold campsite we came upon. It looked like it was abandoned with forethought. It reminded me of The Blair Witch Project movie, so I passed it without disturbing the titanium pot, the unopened can of chili, the shovel, and the full can of bug spray.
After a harrowing bike ride through stinging nettles and water carved ravines, the Nemos of Washington finally arrived at their new home in the wild.
First, they must acclimate. Cascade lakes are fed by melting snow. Need I say more?
In case you're wondering about Palomino's skiff, it is a prototype. You can't buy it anywhere. It has an attachment for a seat, from which you dangle your wader-clad legs into the snow-melt water.
In the meantime, the dry-land inclined get comfortable on shore.
And the crazy-inclined dare to test the snow-melt fed lake.
If you've never swam in a pristine mountain lake high in the Cascades, you will never understand the deceptively inviting crystal clear waters of such lakes.
If you cannot imagine a million needles stinging every square inch of your skin, then do not jump into a snow-melt fed lake. I repeat, do NOT jump in!
Unless you're crazy like Netty, and can tolerate the feeling of your chest being compressed, and don't mind the prickly needles all over your skin, and can remain calm in the face of frigid paralysis, and still have the faculties to scamper up a log like a frightened monkey, I repeat again, Do. Not. Jump. In.
Otherwise, if you appreciate the outdoors, by all means take the old, almost forgotten forest service road, overgrown with stinging nettles, eroded by a million run-off streams, and barely maintained even by foot traffic, to drop off two hundred and fifty fish from the hatchery.
Because calling out "Fish on!" is almost just as exciting as jumping into the lake.
And if you can do it with your bestest friends, all the better.
Oh, but I almost forgot about the harrowing details of the trail... You see, before this seemingly innocent make-shift bridge of logs across this run-off ravine...
This is what might have happened. Might. Palomino might have slipped on the bridge, as Netty might have attempted to ride across the water sodden logs right behind him, and thank goodness Alfonsina might have been there in the nick of time.
But it didn't happen like that because we all marched our bikes across that bridge like sensible mountain biking, hatchery fish lake stocking fishermen and lake jumpers like this.
That's how it's done!
Across any bridge over any ravine, regardless of levels of biking expertise. Just ask 5-Star, who was a professional BMX racer once upon a time.
But let's not kid ourselves. The good, better, best part of these crazy excursions is the meal afterwards.
Yes, we were a bunch of mooks who ordered the exact same thing. Chicken Parmigiana for Alfonsina, Chicken Parmigiana for Palomino, Chicken Parmigiana for 5-Star Scotty, and Chicken Parmigiana for yours truly.
And that's how you stock a lake!
.
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