Rode hard and put away wet

Go big and go home

Off the grid and tiny. These are two popular themes in homes these days.

More often than not, though, "off the grid and tiny" translates to poorly joined plywood, battery-powered wifi, and a precious name ending in "ita." All of which exists for the sole purpose of being painstakingly documented on Instagram.

OG snowboarder Mike Basich's tiny off-the-grid house ain't that. His shit is crafted. Like really crafted. And way bigger than the sum of its parts.

Mike was tearing it up on the snowboarding tournament circuit 15 years ago. He was doing well and living large. And then one day he decided to bail on all that. He spent the next 5 years building the coolest little place I can imagine. The stonework alone took him 2 1/2 years, all done by hand. His hand.

What do you do when you're done? You call your buds and you build a friggin' chairlift to go with it! 

I love building things. The sense of gratification and pride is so rewarding. But aside from a few sketchy snow caves over the years, I've never slept in a place that I've built. This alone has the gears in my head turning. Combine that with the careening clown car that we call 2015 America and, well, I might be building sooner rather than later.

10 Gift Ideas for Outdoorsy Drunks

Outdoorsy drunks: you know the type. You might even be the type! 

Whether you're shopping for yourself or your like-minded friends, here are 10 Gift Ideas sure to satisfy.

1. A Vintage 1960s Travel Bar

Outdoorsy people enjoy travel. And drunks enjoy bars. So outdoorsy drunks will love their own travel bar! Executair made these cases in the 1960s and '70s. Several models were available which include various combinations of bottles, cups, and bar tools. You can find them in excellent condition on Ebay, many for under $50. I got the one above, with the original hangtags still on it, for around $60. They're lockable, so make sure the one you get either includes the keys or is unlocked.

2. Flasks and Growlers

Any outdoorsy drunk worth his salt and limes already owns a flask or two. But trust me, they can use a third! Drink holding technology marches constantly forward, leading to cool new shit like growlers. Perfect when you're looking to keep 64 ounces of your favorite microbrew fresh. Or when you're looking to armor a couple bottles worth of tequila. Respectable flasks'll put ya back $20-50. I like my basic Stanley which was $25. Growlers are $30-75. I don't have a growler of my own to recommend (HINT!!!) but here's a damn fine review.

 

3. A Place For Somebody To Set Their Butt

Nothing complements a fine outdoor cocktail like a fine outdoor place to set yer butt. Conventional camp chairs are fine but when weight, space, or dope-ass style are a concern, I'd suggest the Alite Monarch Rocking Chair. It kind of rocks on two feet, sits low to the ground, packs down to the size of a can of Foster's Lager, and weighs around a pound. Perfect for paddle trips and the like. 70-ish bucks. 

 

4. A Proper Muddler!

Friend: If you've made brandy old fashioneds without a muddler, you haven't made brandy old fashioneds. Now, muddlers aren't specifically for outdoor use. But the best ones are made of wood and "wood" is 4/5 of the word "woods." Woods are specifically outdoors. I've made a few muddlers in my day, turning cherry or maple on a lathe like the ones above. A fine gift if you've got a lathe. If not, you can buy one of these Pug muddlers, which are freaking gorgeous. OR! I was thinking it would be easy to make an especially outdoorsy (and almost free) version of a muddler. Like this:
            • Cut a fresh 10-inch length of maple, about an inch in diameter
            • Whittle or peel the bark from the working end of the muddler
            • Sand the working end of the muddler until smooth
            • Carve the rest for style
            • Wipe it down with kitchen mineral oil to preserve/class up
            • Accessorize with some maple branch swizzle sticks
 

5. Likker Jars and/or Likker Jar Supplies

Well, I've posted on infused liquors before. For the record, I'm a fan. They're a delicious item to bring to any party – a gift that's way better than some stupid-ass bottle of wine. You better get cracking though. Whatever you whip up needs a few weeks to acquire its beautifully boozy patina. OH! AND! Holy shit I got one more idea! You could also give someone all the necessary gear so they can make their own infused liquors. By "necessary gear" I mostly mean: Mason jars, booze, and fruit (you can get them all at your local grocery store).

 

6. A Hammock! And String Lights too!

A hammock and string lights make for a fine combo gift. ENO makes nice versions of both if you're looking for some one-stop shopping. I'd recommend the double hammock, even for single use ($70). There's just something wonderful about pulling the sides over you, cocoon style. The lights ($20) seem to last forever on three AAA batteries. Perfect over a hammock, a tent entrance, or backwoods bar.

 

7. The Gift of Fire

Outdoorsy drunks love drinking around campfires. You know what else they love doing around campfires? Looking at fire! While any Bic'll do the job (usually), I recently bought a blowtorch of a thing that's already saved me on several rainy camping trips. Wet tinder? No problem. This sucker'll dry it and light it both. I got this Turboflame Windproof Lighter on Amazon for $23. You'll also need a canister of butane to fill it which is like $5.

 

8. Swizzle Sticks

Swizzle sticks rule. You could make some! Or you could buy a kajillion vintage swizzlesticks on ebay for like almost nothing! I know swizzle sticks aren't an outdoor-specific thing. But damn it, let's make 'em so.

 

9. Metal pint glasses

Alright, so most of my metal pint glasses were collected from various outdoor-related trade shows. For a gift, you'd probably want to buy some. They're a little spendy, but pretty much indestructible. You can get a four-pack for around $30. A small price to pay for such badassedness.

 

10. Vintage Bottle Openers Yo!

CHEAP! COOL AF! We're lucky to live in a world that's flush with vintage bottle openers. I've always thought the flat ones are especially sweet: a little bit of beer history that you can carry around in your wallet, clip to a carabiner, or hang with some cordage from a tree. Pretty much every brewery made 'em back in the day. You can find 'em on Ebay for around $5 a piece. 

This weekend: just breathe

I've been thinking lately about the courses our lives take.

Beginnings and middles and ends. Indeterminate trajectories and the rolling onward of wheels. To be clear: I haven't fallen into a mood hole. I'm just feeling very aware.

What's at work here, mostly, is the fact that I've had some opportunities for quality thinking lately. Combine contemplation time with a shift in seasons and the upcoming holidays and, yeah... you find yourself thinking/writing screwy shit like "indeterminate trajectories and the rolling onward of wheels."

On a lighter but related note, I've also been reading Willie Nelson's autobiography "Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die." In addition to being a king hell songwriter (Patsy's "Crazy," Faron's "Hello Walls," and Waylon's "Good Hearted Woman," not to mention his own hits), Willie is a king hell lifeliver. He's clearly my kind of people.

Anyway, the book had me in a Willie way over the weekend, listening to a Willie playlist in a cabin in the snow. After a bulletproof mix of Willie songs I had heard a thousand times before came one I wasn't familiar with: a cover of Pearl Jam's "Just Breathe" that Willie did with his son Lukas. 

Just like Johnny Cash singing NIN's "Hurt" gave it immediate weight, so too does Willie singing "Just Breathe" with his son. But while "Hurt" mostly makes you hurt, "Just Breathe" is a perfect reminder of the things in life that really matter.

If you have a few minutes, give the video a watch. It might add some perspective to the time you'll be spending with family and friends this weekend. At least it did for me. The whole thing definitely puts me in a thanks-giving state of mind.

If you're up for the original, here's a great live version by Eddie and Pearl Jam.

It's Nature Rx Part 2! Side effects include getting off your ass.

Back in September I posted a link to Nature Rx Part 1. I surmised that, based on the name, there might be a Part 2 on the way. Right again Johnny!

These are fantastic. Watch 'em both. Do it now.

Finding chaney in St. Croix

Chaney: Cane Bay, St. Croix

When doing nothing, it's nice to have something to do. 

For example...

Collecting sea glass while poking along a desolate shoreline...

Keeping an eye open for morels while wandering a springtime forest...

Playing cornhole while standing around in a parking lot getting hammered on Busch Light...

While I was in St. Croix, I learned about looking for chaney. Even though I had already been on the island a week, I was oblivious to chaney. Once it was pointed out though, and especially after it was explained to me, I was hooked on finding it.

Chaney is broken pieces of (mostly) colonial era china. The name originated when local children would smooth down the edges and use it as play money (china + money = chaney, or china + change = chaney, or... or... or...). 

You find chaney in the dirt, in the woods, and alongside trails, especially after a good rain to expose new pieces. If you're in the right place, and have time to look, you'll come across quite a bit.

Most chaney, like most china I suppose, is plain white. Not especially interesting. But the best stuff has bits of abstracted design. It can be incredibly beautiful.

Where does it come from though? I know! I asked the same question!

Much it dates back to the 1700s. Depending on which version of the story you prefer, chaney either:

1. Was broken by the caseload while being shipped from Europe during rough seas, and then dumped.
2. Was broken one dish at a time during regular use, and then tossed out the nearest window.
3. Was broken one kitchen's-worth at a time during hurricanes and then strewn all over the island.

I'm guessing some combination of all three. But however it got there, it's there.

With or without chaney laying about, I would have been poking around in the bush either way. Because that's what I do. It was great having some sort of a mission, though, as arbitrary as it might seem. An open ended treasure hunt.

It turns out looking for chaney is the perfect thing to do when you're looking to do nothing much at all.

And I'm always looking to do nothing much at all.

I've seen chaney made into jewelry, which is pretty awesome.

You can learn a bit more about chaney here.

Love something so much you forget to go the toilet

This guy, and this video, are wonderful. I really think you should watch it.

And then ask yourself:

"Is there something I love as much as Snowflake loves skiing?"

If so: You're lucky! You get to go do it. 

If not: You're lucky! You get to go find it.

Either way, get going.

Good morning everybody!

Let's go! It's Wednesday! Full speed ahead!

Here's to traveling alone

MT. VICTORY, ST. CROIX, USVI, 11.09.15

When is the last time you took a trip that was entirely for you? A trip that wasn't about the people you were traveling with, nor the people you were traveling to see? A trip with no agenda except your own? 

I just got back from exactly such a trip. And holy shit.

Before I get started let me say that I generally don't have anything against other people. It's just that they're not always my cup of tea. To be clear: I love my family. I love my friends. I love the people I work with. I'm the luckiest bastard in the world. I know this. But sometimes it's just... you know?

That's where I was back in August when I booked this trip to St. Croix. I needed some time alone. 

Over the course of this year, I'd been feeling a growing need for Less. Less constraints. Less time commitments. Less of those goddamn ICS meeting invite chips people keep sending me which basically say "I didn't get a chance to pee on your granola bar this morning, so instead I'm sending you this unrequested obligation." 

What I needed was a good long meander. With the emphasis on "me." 

As the departure date neared, my basement became a staging area where I'd determine what to pack and what to leave behind. I decided that the aesthetics of this trip were important: I'd be taking a minimalist approach. A one-man tent. Very basic camping, fishing and diving gear. Just two t-shirts: green and grey. Two swimsuits: grey and green. A bluetooth speaker. A book. A ukulele. 

Just as important were the things I decided to leave behind. No laptop. No extra clothes for "a nice dinner." No schedule of events or list of things to see. 

None of these decisions required second opinion or sign off. They were entirely my own, as were any repercussions. This realization felt so freeing. Down in my basement with King Tubby blaring, it seemed like some kind of transformation was already underway. 

One of the huge upsides of traveling alone, to my way of thinking, is that you can be exactly who you truly are. Or exactly who you'd like to be. You're free to try on enhanced or entirely different versions of yourself and nobody is the wiser. My enhanced version of me? It's a guy that's unencumbered (mentally, physically, and spiritually) and entirely engaged in every moment.

I know I can hit those notes on occasion at home. We all can. But in St. Croix, I was going for the long sustain. In a place I knew very little about. I basically created a situation where I'd be forced to leave my natural introvertedness behind – down in the basement with all those unnecessary pairs of underwear.

Well, I hit the ground running in STX. My first night in Christiansted (the only hotel stay of the trip), I was hellbent on talking to as many people as possible. I continued my course while camping and diving around Fredriksted and Cane Bay. This, I realize, is a weird thing for a guy to do who consciously decided to visit an island during the off-season to live in a one-man tent. But conversations lead to connections. And connections make the difference between observing a place and engaging with it.

This approach, combined with an open-ended agenda, meant that I got to know more people on this trip than I would in several months back home. All kinds too: Locals, expats, and wanderers. Hanging-outters and hangers-on. It wasn't long before I ran into people I knew almost everywhere I went. They would introduce me to their friends and their favorite haunts. We'd share drinks, dive sites, and hazy late-night hijinks. 

This rarely happens when traveling with others. Why? Conversations are easier with old friends. When we travel with others we eat huddled around tables (instead of out in the open at the bar as God intended). We move in clusters like middle schoolers. We have plans and other places to be. 

If you want to go fast, says the African proverb, go alone. If you want to go far, go together. Well, I couldn't agree more. For this trip though, I wasn't looking for fast. I wasn't looking for far either. In fact, those are the exact kind of measurements I was looking to avoid. I knew I'd have plenty of fast and far waiting for me when I got home.

What I was really looking for was freedom. Freedom to seek. Freedom to see. Freedom to make a fried egg sandwich over an open fire while shittily playing a ukulele naked at dawn.

If you're interested in the same, or your version of it... 

I'd definitely suggest going alone. 

Back in a bit yo!

I'm going to be on an island in a tent in the rain for a while.

I'm putting things on hold here until my triumphant return (aka mid-November). In the meantime, check Bring Limes on insta if you're so inclined! I'll be posting there while I'm away.

5 Reasons To Give Eels A Try

Hey! Is it dreary outside where you are? It's so dreary outside where I am! But I've got just the thing! Eels! The happy songs!

Eels are probably best known for their 1996 video Novocaine For The Soul, the one where they float around. A good enough song, and a good enough video too. But given the incredibly strong output of main dude E (Mark Oliver Everett) over the years, it's kind of a shame more people don't know more of his work. (See also: Flaming Lips > Vaseline, and Radiohead > Creep.)

E's covered a ton of emotional ground over his 11 studio albums, including more than a little anguish. When it comes to melancholy, he's a boss. But on most of the records, there are bright spots mixed in too. Moments of hope or happiness, however fleeting they might be. 

String a bunch of those fleeting moments together? They start to feel more permanent. Here's a batch of five to help get you started.

Mary Oliver is a badass

Here's a confession. I had never heard of Mary Oliver. It wasn't until just a few years ago that a friend pointed her out, bringing me into the fold.

Here's another confession. I think if you combined Thoreau and Whitman into one transcendentally inspired, massively bearded crafter of words, he would still fall short of Mary Oliver. She's that good. 

I'm not revealing any secrets here, of course. She won the damn Pulitzer Prize. But the amount of wonder and wisdom she fits into every passage, into every word, is truly inspiring. Her power-to-weight ratio is off the charts.

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Mary turned 80 last month. She's tended to avoid interviews, preferring to let her words do the talking. But here is one she did with NPR not too long ago:

Fight or flight? Take the flight. They're cheap!

Back in August, the tunnel I was in really needed a light at the end of it.

Work was kind of crazy, as work is on occasion, and I could feel what was left of summer making plans without me.

Over the years, I've come to realize that August is my favorite month. It's when I finally figure out summer is winding down and, damn it, if I'm going to do all the sunsplashy things I planned to do, I better get cracking. As a result, I cram more good stuff into August than the rest of the summer put together. More time on/under/alongside water specifically. 

To my rickety way of thinking, summer is like one those big hurricane glass/test tube concoctions you get on Bourbon Street. Bright AF and it looks like it'll take forever to finish. But son of a bitch. Before you know it the first two-thirds is gone! Just when you're starting to think you've been had, however, you get to the last part. The fattest and bestest part. You know the big round bottom section that holds the majority of your sugary schlocktail? That's August. It's a gloriously bulbous glug of a month.

But this year, August didn't work out that way. It wasn't that my glass was half-full. Or half-empty. The entire thing was just freaking gone. The upcoming Fall was looking to be M.I.A. as well. (Meaning: It was looking to be Missing In Action. It wasn't looking like the Sri Lankan singer of Paper Planes. I'd have been quite okay with that.) 

I was contemplating all this one night at my desk when, right around 2:45am, an e-mail arrived from Orbitz.

Subject line: Great Deals Now! St. Croix $383! 

Holy uncannily timed spam, Batman! To the google machine!

They got camping in St. Croix? Yup. Diving? Yup. Fishing? Yup. Rum? Yup. Double check on rum? Yup.

This trip is planned!

I wasn't actively planning a getaway at the time. Since then, though, I've been watching flights closer and there are some ridiculous deals out there. I'd suggest you go spend an hour on KAYAK. Snoop around. Set a few price alerts, random or otherwise. Maybe something works out, maybe it doesn't.

Either way, it feels good having a few balls in play. 

Everybody's tunnel could use a little light at the end.

The boats of Carriacou

Carriacou is the largest island in the Grenadines, which are part of the Windward Islands chain. It's a beautiful, slow, real place where 4,500 people go about their business on their 13-square-mile piece of land.

A big part of their business is boat building. You see these wonderful wooden boats all over the island in various stages of construction. And of course, they're on the water too, painted exactly how all boats should be painted. 

Is that a fact? Aura fiction?

My aura. and/or Prince's bedroom in Purple Rain.

I had my aura photographed recently.

It was a peaceful experience, actually, considering I was sitting in an electrified chair just off Canal Street in Chinatown. Canal Street, of course, is where in-the-know New Yorkers turn for all their authentic luxury goods. When it comes to aura photography, I demand nothing but the best. 

The studio is actually a small jewelry store, called Magic Jewelry. They have the aforementioned electrified chair/camera apparatus in the corner, next to several chakra charts which are taped to the wall. Although the display cases were filled with jewelry and crystals and such, based on our conversation with the clerk, it seems they're making most of their bank these days in the aura game.

Now, I've never had my aura photographed. I don't know chakras from shock absorbers. Related, perhaps: I also don't do horoscopes. I'm not religious. I've never had my fortune, my palm, nor my tea leaves read. 

It wasn't always this way. As a kid, I was a believer. Specifically (and exclusively) I believed in the power of the Magic 8 Ball. There was simply no question it couldn't answer. But then one night, in a bedtime fit, I threw it at my babysitter. I don't know if it was the babysitter's head, or the fireplace behind him, that caused the Magic 8 Ball to crack open. But crack open it did. Inside I found a baby food jar full of blue water and that little floating polyhedron whatsit.

For years, I had trusted the Magic 8 Ball to guide me through life's toughest decisions. But then, just like that, I saw it for what it was: the crass invention of some marketing wonk at Mattel. 

My mind reeled. Was it all complete bullshit? Signs point to yes.

And just like that, a skeptic was born.

Skeptics, I should note, aren't necessarily without a spiritual side. In my post-M8B years, I've come to root my spirituality in nature. It's an understanding grounded in the natural runnings of the world: in weather systems and seasons and all the living quivering machinery spinning around us. I'm a part of it, and you, et al.

Mine is still a belief in a master plan, I suppose, just sans the master planner. Rivers reroute themselves because that's what rivers do. And then beavers and bass and birch trees adjusting accordingly, because that's what they do too. And so on. 

It's from these natural systems that I draw strength and solace. It proves helpful when I'm going through hard times in life or, say, visiting Orlando. Mine is definitely a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of spirituality.

Obviously, auras ain't that. You can't watch auras in action like you can the cycling of the sea. You don't see auras all around you like so many Starbucks. Your aura is not available to be photographed, run through a flattering hefe filter, and then posted for all your thirsty fans on Instagram. 

Until now! 

Aura photography! Step right up! 20 bucks! Everybody's a winner!

I think that's what I was expecting as we entered the shop – a chance to take home the cosmic equivalent of a giant bear in the top row. 

But in reality, the place was quiet. Serene even, given the clamor right outside the door. The man behind the counter couldn't have been nicer. During the course of our conversation, he shared with us that prior to working at Magic Jewelry he was a hardcore computer programmer. Eventually, he realized he wasn't on a healthy path and changed course accordingly. Rivers reroute themselves, that's what rivers do.

I was there with Katie, a co-worker and the discoverer of this shop. We had time to kill that evening before a photo shoot and so there we were. We each sat down in the chair and placed our hands on these hand-shaped chrome thingamabobs. There were wires all over. We stared into this giant box of a camera. The shutter flips open. Stare. 5 seconds pass. Maybe 10. The shutter flips shut. Aura captured. 

This part of the process took less than a minute. On an excitement scale of 1 to 10, I'd rate it a "meh." But then, while we waited for the Polaroid-style film to process, our trusted photographer began explaining chakras. Regions and colors and the nature of energy. I have to say, it sounded pretty good!

Finally it was time for the big unveiling. Katie's image was peeled back first: a brilliant sunburst of a thing! In the center, there was Katie exuding all this color and light. By now I've probably made it clear that I don't know shit about chakras. But I'll be damned if that camera didn't capture Katie to a T.

Then came the best part which I don't think either of us was expecting: a solid 10-minute reading of her aura as revealed in the photo. Her incoming energy. Her outgoing energy. Her opportunities, ambitions, and regrets.

Could Katie's reading have applied to me (the way all horoscopes seem to hit the mark, regardless of your birth date)? Well, sure I suppose so. But it seemed to especially apply to her. It really did.

And then it was time for mine. He pulled back the paper to reveal... So Much Purple. It looked like Prince parking his purple motorcycle in his purple bedroom in Purple Rain. There was also a splash of blue (the waters of Lake Minnetonka, perhaps?). And some incoming green.

I'll paraphrase here, but based on what he saw, he told me that my prior week wasn't a great one. True! It was not an ass kicker! He told me that I was currently in a transitional week. Yup! He told me that I worry about whether I'm communicating clearly. For good reason! Have you read any of this convoluted gibberish? He also mentioned that I have magical qualities and that I might have some intestinal distress. 

His analysis went deeper too, only some of which I recall now (regretfully). But I walked out of there feeling... good. Like, really good. 

I'm still not ready to hitch my happiness to any electrified contraptions. Ditto any theological ones. But an opportunity to reflect on who I am? A chance to purposefully accept or reject an alternative understanding of what I am? A moment to think that maybe, just maybe, I haven't seen it all just yet? I'll take that any day. 

Of course, ultimately, we hear what we want to hear. And so it goes with my aura photo experience. The two key takeaways that stuck with me since my reading are these:

1. I am magical.
2. I should poop more.

They're useful points both. Uncanny even. Just next time? Tell me something I don't know buddy!

Yes

Presque Isle, Wisconsin, October 17th, 2015

"Nature always wears the colors of the spirit." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Island time and the urban jungle

28th Street, New York City, October 13th, 2015

So I spent the last few days in New York City for a photo shoot.

As usual, I flew into Laguardia, the little airport that could. I prefer Laguardia mostly because it’s the quickest way to the Lower East Side, where I typically stay. But I also like its location right on the water. Flying into Laguardia is a good reminder that New York City is, indeed, an island.

Despite the rising popularity of tiki bars here, the Lower East Side won’t be showing up in many Buffett songs any time soon. But still, the city moves to its own rhythms, just like any upstanding island. Every day fresh fruit and fish and flowers make their early morning way from harbors to local markets. You can feel, or sometimes just sense, the subways underfoot; a rolling rumble much like big water against rocky shores. And thanks to a ridiculously warm October, the bars and cafés here remain wide open to the street, existing in that perfectly unfolded inside/outside state that feels exotic regardless of latitude.

I don’t know. My love for places south of the border, and south of 14th Street, have always seemed at odds. Straight-up conflicted even. But I do know that, in both places, when I’m there I’m entirely there – supremely focused and actively engaged with the world I’m within.

I know, too, that on every flight home I’m thinking “I’ve got to bring some of that attitude back with me.”