Cape Horn to Starboard

I recently finished reading my friend John Kretschmer's first book, Cape Horn to Starboard: The Classic Chronicle of Rounding the Horn in a 32-foot Sloop. It had been out of print for a few years, but it was republished last fall with a new introduction and afterword. I have enjoyed all of John's other books, so I was excited to read this one. It didn't disappoint.

In the fall of 1983, when he was only 25 years old, John and his crew sailed a Contessa 32 from New York to San Francisco by way of Cape Horn, replicating the route of the nineteenth-century clipper ships. His youth and relative lack of sailing experience proved to be an asset, as he didn't know what he didn't know, or he never would have considered such a crazy adventure. As John wrote to me in an email message last week, "Rereading the galleys I was amazed at my own audacity, what was I thinking?"

The feat gained him and his crew instant fame for sailing the smallest boat to date around the Horn. John states modestly in his afterword that their arrival in San Francisco must have occurred on "a slow news day" based on the grand reception they received from Mayor Dianne Feinstein and the local news media and later from Dan Rather and CBS News. When the commotion died down, John embarked on a career as a delivery captain, which is detailed in his second book, Flirting with Mermaids: The Unpredictable Life of a Sailboat Delivery Skipper.

John and I are the same age, so as I read his book I couldn't help but think about what I was doing with my life while John was sailing around the Horn. All I was doing was trying to get a second degree, in engineering this time, and working part-time at a Milwaukee hospital, where I met my future wife, Nan. My greatest ambitions revolved around planning annual backpacking trips with my friend, Dave Beckwith. It all seems so "small potatoes" compared to what John was doing. Maybe, at an unconscious level, that's why my ambitions now are so, well, ambitious.

Chicago Basin

It is the most beautiful place in Colorado, a state that already boasts the most spectacular scenery in the continental United States. The Chicago Basin is an area of pristine wilderness in the middle of the San Juan Mountains in the southwestern part of the state. One of the reasons for its unspoiled condition is that it is only accessible by foot and then only after first taking a train ride from either Durango or Silverton. The closest road is many miles away.

The world-famous Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad stops to drop off climbers and backpackers in the ghost town of Needleton, near the intersection of the Animas River and Needle Creek, at an elevation of 8200 feet. After crossing the footbridge over the Animas River, it takes a six-mile hike along Needle Creek, with about a 2500-foot elevation gain, to get up into the basin.

The trail was originally built by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression, and it is well maintained to this day, but it is still a grueling grunt. Having hauled a heavy pack up it twice before, I packed as lightly as possible last weekend when I returned for the first time in fourteen years, along with my neighbor Rich, his stepsons Wes and Miles, and Wes's friend Rich. This was a second annual trip for Rich, Wes, Rich and me after our Rim-to-Rim Grand Canyon hike last June, with Miles filling in for Jake this year.

By mid-afternoon on Saturday, we had reached the upper part of the basin, where the good campsites are located. There is a recent restriction on camping within one hundred feet of any water, so the campsite I stayed at with Dave Beckwith back in 1996, which we checked out along the way, was not usable. This turned out to be a good thing, because as we walked further up the trail, we spotted the basin's renowned mountain goats on the hillside above the creek. The goats are not indigenous; they were transplanted from Glacier National Park in Wyoming at about the same time that the trail was built in the 1930s. They are thrilling to see in the wild and add incredible charm to this already magnificent area.

Instead of shying away from us, the goats came down to investigate. Some in our group were afraid they would be head-butted, but the goats were only curious and came right up to us as we stood on the trail taking numerous photos. They moved on after a while, and we continued up the trail to a good campsite with easy access to the creek. As we were setting up our tents, the goats returned and wandered around our camp until they located a place at the edge where Miles had urinated. They pawed the ground and ate the wet dirt! It was gross to think about, but they were obviously craving the salt in the urine. With a group of five men, it wasn't long before we had marked most of our perimeter, and the goats started to fill up our campsite, but the novelty of having them so close by never wore off.

We played sheepshead, ate dinner, and then played more sheepshead until it started to get dark and cold. The goats finally went to wherever it is that they sleep and we retired to our tents. The next morning, the sun didn't reach our campsite until almost 8:30, and no one was in a hurry to get back on the trail until things warmed up. The day's plan called for all of us to hike up to Twin Lakes, in the upper basin that separates the area's three Fourteeners, Sunlight Peak, Windom Peak and Mount Eolus, which I had climbed with Dave Beckwith during our two previous trips. After appreciating the moonscape-like vistas and figuring out their routes, the others would climb Sunlight and Windom while I returned to camp, packed up, hiked out, and caught the train back to Durango so I could be back at work on Monday morning. The others would go back to camp after their climbs, return to climb Eolus and its subpeak, North Eolus, the next day, and then hike out on Tuesday.

The climb from our campsite to Twin Lakes was as difficult as I remembered it, maybe more so, even though I was using trekking poles to help ease the strain on my knees. I must be getting old. A few times along the trail, I thought to myself that I was happy I wasn't climbing the peaks again. It was enough just to see them once more from the lakes. I wondered if Nan would want to join me on another trip to the area someday. Places this beautiful need to be shared.

Happy birthday, Dad!

Doves in Denver

Nan and I just returned from an extended Memorial Day weekend in Boulder and Denver. Last night we saw one of our favorite bands, Doves, play at The Gothic Theatre, a small converted movie house in Englewood, south of downtown Denver. For me, it was the highlight of the trip.

My friend Dave Beckwith introduced me to Doves several years ago when he gave me a mix CD that included "Melody Calls", a song off Lost Souls, their first album. A few years later he gave me another mix CD that included "Some Cities", the title track off their third album. As Dave would say, I found it "compelling." I picked up the album and couldn't put it down. I bought Lost Souls and then The Last Broadcast, their second album. I even bought Lost Sides, their "B sides" album. It was all eminently listenable. I was a huge fan of the "Manchester sound," a type of dance-oriented music made popular by bands like New Order and The Smiths in the 1980s, and Doves, also being from Manchester, sounded like the natural progression of that music.

The concert started off with "Jetstream" off their new album, Kingdom of Rust, and then went straight to "Snowden" from Some Cities. From there, Doves balanced new material with old for almost two hours. The highlight for me was "Caught by the River" off The Last Broadcast, one of the best and most emotional songs I've heard in the last ten years. It tells the story of a father coming to terms with a son who is beyond his help, and it features a gorgeous acoustic guitar and keyboard soundscape. When people ask me what music I like, I have them listen to that song. The photo above shows the band playing it live.

I read a review recently that referred to Doves as "the best band you've never heard of." Maybe that's why they play tiny venues like the Gothic for just $20 a head. I expect that situation will change as they continue to produce exceptional music and gain a larger following. They certainly deserve the success.