Since the weekly police reports found in the pages of The Northern Light are often a source of humor or downright amazement, I've decided to start posting my favorite(s) of the week each Thursday.
For the inaugural post in this series, I present an Oregon man who encountered some trouble on Wednesday, Sept. 22 while trying to cross the Peace Arch border into Canada. According to the report, officers were dispatched to the border to deal with a man who was having trouble crossing the border. The man explained he was attempting to get to British Columbia to meet up with the Queen and CIA agents but was not allowed to cross, to his surprise and dismay.
The man was convinced through his conversations with police to give up the .38 caliber revolver he was carrying along with some of the sharper, pointier weapons he had in his possession. Despite the helpfulness of the officers, he was not able to find his briefcase, which he said contained vital nuclear missile launch codes.
After officers were convinced that the man no longer had the ability to start global thermonuclear war, they sent him on his way back to Oregon. The report did not say whether or not the man returned to his home in Washington's neighbor to the south with his marbles intact.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
My First Non-School Day First Day of School
This Wednesday marked yet another first day of college for thousands of students attending Western Washington University in Bellingham. Books were purchased, classes were decided, and Red Square was once again filled with almost-adults skittering about to their proper classrooms.
Along with the 2,500 or so freshmen and transfers who counted Wednesday as their first day at Western, I experienced a completely different kind of first. Wednesday was the first day that I did not have to go back to Western. This year, school started without me because I am now a college graduate.
This day has of course been on the horizon since I graduated from Western on August 21. it has been on my mind quite a bit recently, however, mostly because of my girlfriend who is currently still a student at Western. Through her, I have gotten to experience all the usual stress and enjoyment of starting a new school year at Western: buying books, figuring out classes, getting to know roommates.
But now I've graduated. With no plans to go to graduate school in the near future, I can now enjoy my life without the worry of tests, homework or any arbitrary deadlines, such as the end of a quarter. While I work roughly 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day, my evenings have become surprisingly free. I sometimes find it hard to find something to do with myself.
And that's where the nostalgia of student life has already begun to sink in. The last four years of my life have been dedicated to learning, first and foremost. Despite all the various stresses, both academic and not, college brings, I have genuinely enjoyed the learning opportunities given to me.
But now I'm out of college. My life from now on has an entirely new set of priorities. Learning for learning's sake unfortunately has the tendency to slip down the list in situations like this. I have realized encouraging myself to learn more about subjects that interest me, such as journalism and science, is entirely up to me.
At first, this realization seemed daunting to me. But after a full month of it setting in, I have decided to make it a challenge for myself. Though my college career is behind me, I pledge not to allow my love of knowledge to follow in-step.
Along with the 2,500 or so freshmen and transfers who counted Wednesday as their first day at Western, I experienced a completely different kind of first. Wednesday was the first day that I did not have to go back to Western. This year, school started without me because I am now a college graduate.
This day has of course been on the horizon since I graduated from Western on August 21. it has been on my mind quite a bit recently, however, mostly because of my girlfriend who is currently still a student at Western. Through her, I have gotten to experience all the usual stress and enjoyment of starting a new school year at Western: buying books, figuring out classes, getting to know roommates.
But now I've graduated. With no plans to go to graduate school in the near future, I can now enjoy my life without the worry of tests, homework or any arbitrary deadlines, such as the end of a quarter. While I work roughly 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day, my evenings have become surprisingly free. I sometimes find it hard to find something to do with myself.
And that's where the nostalgia of student life has already begun to sink in. The last four years of my life have been dedicated to learning, first and foremost. Despite all the various stresses, both academic and not, college brings, I have genuinely enjoyed the learning opportunities given to me.
But now I'm out of college. My life from now on has an entirely new set of priorities. Learning for learning's sake unfortunately has the tendency to slip down the list in situations like this. I have realized encouraging myself to learn more about subjects that interest me, such as journalism and science, is entirely up to me.
At first, this realization seemed daunting to me. But after a full month of it setting in, I have decided to make it a challenge for myself. Though my college career is behind me, I pledge not to allow my love of knowledge to follow in-step.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
My Memory is A Little Foggy
I hope the paucity of posts this past week can be forgiven. These past few days have been especially busy at work and I have been feeling a bit under the weather.
On Monday and Tuesday of this week, maybe Wednesday, also, I can't exactly remember, I had the eerie pleasure of driving through a bit of fog on my way to work. Fog also greeted me as I arrived and hung around for some time on those days. The view from The Northern Light's second-story office usually gives a pretty good view of Canada just across the water. On the foggy days, however, visibility stopped just beyond the road that runs parallel to the water line.
With these instances included, I only have to use both my hands to count the number of times I've been in fog. Understandably, this came as a surprise to all my co-workers. Most of them were even more surprised to learn that the very first time I had ever been in fog was four years ago at the beginning of my freshman year at Western.
You see, fog does not happen much, at all really, in my hometown. I vividly remember how surreal it was to walk through it that night I experienced it for the first time. I also remember being a little angry, seeing as how that particular instance of fog delayed me from flying home for a few days.
Experiencing it again this week made me think back on my first weeks at Western,which were also my first weeks in the Pacific Northwest, and all the drastically different weather conditions it had to offer. With my adult life in this part of the country just barely beginning, I can't help but think what other unique aspects of this place will send memories of my earliest days here rushing back.
I guess only time will tell.
On Monday and Tuesday of this week, maybe Wednesday, also, I can't exactly remember, I had the eerie pleasure of driving through a bit of fog on my way to work. Fog also greeted me as I arrived and hung around for some time on those days. The view from The Northern Light's second-story office usually gives a pretty good view of Canada just across the water. On the foggy days, however, visibility stopped just beyond the road that runs parallel to the water line.
With these instances included, I only have to use both my hands to count the number of times I've been in fog. Understandably, this came as a surprise to all my co-workers. Most of them were even more surprised to learn that the very first time I had ever been in fog was four years ago at the beginning of my freshman year at Western.
You see, fog does not happen much, at all really, in my hometown. I vividly remember how surreal it was to walk through it that night I experienced it for the first time. I also remember being a little angry, seeing as how that particular instance of fog delayed me from flying home for a few days.
Experiencing it again this week made me think back on my first weeks at Western,which were also my first weeks in the Pacific Northwest, and all the drastically different weather conditions it had to offer. With my adult life in this part of the country just barely beginning, I can't help but think what other unique aspects of this place will send memories of my earliest days here rushing back.
I guess only time will tell.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Run 542
Before I get anyone's hopes up with that title, I want to say upfront that I did not attempt the 8.5 miles and 1,500 feet of elevation gain today as I have been saying I would for the last week. So this post will not be a re-cap of my experiences up there, as I initially thought it would be.
I chose not to run, and here's why.
For anyone not familiar, Run 542 is part of the larger event known as Festival 542 that is taking place this weekend along the Mt. Baker Highway (state route 542). The focus of the event is a 24.5 mile bike ride that starts in Glacier, WA, and ends at Artist Point; roughly 4,000 feet from the ride's beginning. The run starts near the beginning of the bike ride and winds its way up to Artist Point on a series of trails in the Mount Baker Ski Area and the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest.
Here's a map of the run. The steepness of some of its ascents really cannot be expressed accurately in words.
When I was first given the opportunity to participate in the run one week before it was scheduled to happen, I was hesitant but still extremely excited. Though my trail-running experience was almost nonexistent, I still felt, based on my previous backpacking experience, I could do the run in a reasonable amount of time. The friends and co-workers to whom I told the idea seemed surprised at my decision to do the run but also generally supportive.
Plus, I had never been up the Mt. Baker Highway. I felt the trip was one I needed to make to be a real Washingtonian, and I could not imagine a better way to do it than the run.
As the event drew closer, however, self doubt began to grow within me. I knew of a trail near Fairhaven in Bellingham, the Pine and Cedar Lake trail, that would just about simulate the conditions of the Mt. Baker run. The P and C trail is 1.6 miles and goes nearly straight up in the beginning, reaching an elevation gain of 1,300 feet. I thought that if I could do this trail a few times comfortably, I could just make the Mt. Baker run.
Though I had traversed this trail in the past with a friend, it seemed steeper than I remembered when I attempted it again last Wednesday. By about halfway, I had to turn back. My leg muscles were aching, and I was getting a little dizzy. I drove back home that night feeling disappointed in myself and more than a little sore.
As the weekend drew ever closer, I began to seriously think about why I felt the need to do this. I realized that from the beginning, I was never really doing this for me. I think because of all the people I told about it, I felt I would be letting them down if I decided not to go through with it; even as the reality of the Mt. Baker run being eight times what I could not do on Wednesday set in.
I finally made the concrete decision Saturday morning to not attempt the Mt. Baker run. I did, however, return to the P and C trail and completed one circuit. I was able to make it up and down again, about 3.4 miles, in roughly one hour and 15 minutes. Achieving this made me feel less bad about not going through with the Mt. Baker run. I averaged about 2 miles per hour, which is pretty good for me.
I returned to the P and C trail because, despite my self-disappointment, jogging the trail on Wednesday was genuinely fun. Trail running, I confirmed this morning, is definitely something of which I want to do more. Therein lies another reason I did not attempt Run 542: I did not want to start my experience in trail-running with a trip that would have most likely all but destroyed me. I did not want to have that sort of negative association with this budding hobby of mine.
Put simply, I just did not think I was ready for Run 542. There's always next year. Until then, I plan to keep running.
I chose not to run, and here's why.
For anyone not familiar, Run 542 is part of the larger event known as Festival 542 that is taking place this weekend along the Mt. Baker Highway (state route 542). The focus of the event is a 24.5 mile bike ride that starts in Glacier, WA, and ends at Artist Point; roughly 4,000 feet from the ride's beginning. The run starts near the beginning of the bike ride and winds its way up to Artist Point on a series of trails in the Mount Baker Ski Area and the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest.
Here's a map of the run. The steepness of some of its ascents really cannot be expressed accurately in words.
When I was first given the opportunity to participate in the run one week before it was scheduled to happen, I was hesitant but still extremely excited. Though my trail-running experience was almost nonexistent, I still felt, based on my previous backpacking experience, I could do the run in a reasonable amount of time. The friends and co-workers to whom I told the idea seemed surprised at my decision to do the run but also generally supportive.
Plus, I had never been up the Mt. Baker Highway. I felt the trip was one I needed to make to be a real Washingtonian, and I could not imagine a better way to do it than the run.
As the event drew closer, however, self doubt began to grow within me. I knew of a trail near Fairhaven in Bellingham, the Pine and Cedar Lake trail, that would just about simulate the conditions of the Mt. Baker run. The P and C trail is 1.6 miles and goes nearly straight up in the beginning, reaching an elevation gain of 1,300 feet. I thought that if I could do this trail a few times comfortably, I could just make the Mt. Baker run.
Though I had traversed this trail in the past with a friend, it seemed steeper than I remembered when I attempted it again last Wednesday. By about halfway, I had to turn back. My leg muscles were aching, and I was getting a little dizzy. I drove back home that night feeling disappointed in myself and more than a little sore.
As the weekend drew ever closer, I began to seriously think about why I felt the need to do this. I realized that from the beginning, I was never really doing this for me. I think because of all the people I told about it, I felt I would be letting them down if I decided not to go through with it; even as the reality of the Mt. Baker run being eight times what I could not do on Wednesday set in.
I finally made the concrete decision Saturday morning to not attempt the Mt. Baker run. I did, however, return to the P and C trail and completed one circuit. I was able to make it up and down again, about 3.4 miles, in roughly one hour and 15 minutes. Achieving this made me feel less bad about not going through with the Mt. Baker run. I averaged about 2 miles per hour, which is pretty good for me.
I returned to the P and C trail because, despite my self-disappointment, jogging the trail on Wednesday was genuinely fun. Trail running, I confirmed this morning, is definitely something of which I want to do more. Therein lies another reason I did not attempt Run 542: I did not want to start my experience in trail-running with a trip that would have most likely all but destroyed me. I did not want to have that sort of negative association with this budding hobby of mine.
Put simply, I just did not think I was ready for Run 542. There's always next year. Until then, I plan to keep running.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Head East on Badger Road
The title of this post is a a paraphrase of one of the directions Google Maps gave me today. I was trying to find a place called Sumas International Motorsport Academy in, surprisingly enough, Sumas, Washington.
This line stuck with me because going west is often colloquially used to denote going on some sort of adventure, or more generally, the spirit to travel into the unknown. Hundreds of thousands of not-quite-yet Americans did it to make this country what it is today. Before that, even larger numbers crammed their families onto boats or struck out on their own to find what they could find across that vast alien world we call the ocean.
On this occasion, however, I was heading east to some place I had never been; east across a state, like many others, whose very existence is owed to the idea of "going west." What I found going east genuinely surprised me and made me excited to discover what else my adoptive home has to offer in all directions of travel.
While heading east, I was shocked all over again at the sheer amount of green that covers Washington. A sort of green that wills itself into your field of vision. For someone raised in the browns and tans of Las Vegas, Washington's landscape says one thing:
"The Pacific Northwest is verdant, dammit, get used to it."
I found that the area's natural green is only one of its many shades. There is also a green that people have created and now tend: the green of agriculture. Perhaps it was just the road over which I traveled, but eastern Whatcom County seems to be filled with corn fields. Such fields even skirted my eventual destination, which brings me to my next observation from today.
Washington is a land of near-opposite juxtapositions. The rolling hills and grasses of eastern Washington next to the snow-capped peaks of the Cascades. The natural emerald of the state's forests with the man-made green of fields upon fields of corn and other crops. And today, I experienced one more to add to the list:
The tranquil, pastoral setting of a farm next to the tiny roaring engines of a racing kart track.
Of course, the karts were sleeping today on my visit to Sumas International Motorsport Academy. But the upcoming weekends will awaken them once again, and the ever-present smell of the dairy farm will mingle with that of burning rubber.
And because it's Washington, the two will fit together.
What's my point here with this long-winded description of about one and a half hours worth of driving? It's this: Washingtonians, both native-born and transplanted, should get out and explore their magnificent state. Pick up a compass, pick a direction, and just go.
You will not be disappointed.
This line stuck with me because going west is often colloquially used to denote going on some sort of adventure, or more generally, the spirit to travel into the unknown. Hundreds of thousands of not-quite-yet Americans did it to make this country what it is today. Before that, even larger numbers crammed their families onto boats or struck out on their own to find what they could find across that vast alien world we call the ocean.
On this occasion, however, I was heading east to some place I had never been; east across a state, like many others, whose very existence is owed to the idea of "going west." What I found going east genuinely surprised me and made me excited to discover what else my adoptive home has to offer in all directions of travel.
While heading east, I was shocked all over again at the sheer amount of green that covers Washington. A sort of green that wills itself into your field of vision. For someone raised in the browns and tans of Las Vegas, Washington's landscape says one thing:
"The Pacific Northwest is verdant, dammit, get used to it."
I found that the area's natural green is only one of its many shades. There is also a green that people have created and now tend: the green of agriculture. Perhaps it was just the road over which I traveled, but eastern Whatcom County seems to be filled with corn fields. Such fields even skirted my eventual destination, which brings me to my next observation from today.
Washington is a land of near-opposite juxtapositions. The rolling hills and grasses of eastern Washington next to the snow-capped peaks of the Cascades. The natural emerald of the state's forests with the man-made green of fields upon fields of corn and other crops. And today, I experienced one more to add to the list:
The tranquil, pastoral setting of a farm next to the tiny roaring engines of a racing kart track.
Of course, the karts were sleeping today on my visit to Sumas International Motorsport Academy. But the upcoming weekends will awaken them once again, and the ever-present smell of the dairy farm will mingle with that of burning rubber.
And because it's Washington, the two will fit together.
What's my point here with this long-winded description of about one and a half hours worth of driving? It's this: Washingtonians, both native-born and transplanted, should get out and explore their magnificent state. Pick up a compass, pick a direction, and just go.
You will not be disappointed.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Friday Night Lights
On the evening of Friday, September 3, I attended my first ever, and I do mean ever, high school football game. Sports in general never really interested me as a high-schooler. I had also always thought of the games as just another excuse for the popular kids, of which I never really was one, to coagulate into their predefined cliches. Of course, looking back at my time in high school now, I had no way of knowing if that actually took place, seeing as how I never attended one.
Last night changed all that.
As part of my new job at The Northern Light, I had been tasked with taking pictures at Blaine's football games while a freelancer with whom the paper had worked before wrote about them. In addition to the game being my first, the evening also represented my first experience with taking photos where that was my sole responsibility; as opposed to shooting something and also being expected to write about it. I was also more than a little excited to use my newly laminated press pass for the first time.
The evening could not have been a better one for shooting a game. The sky was absolutely clear and turned nearly all the colors in the visible spectrum as the earth rotated to reside deeper and deeper in its own shadow. Mount Baker stood like an immense referee in the far off distance. The smell of hastily made popcorn hung in the air and mingled with the sounds of myriad high-schoolers gossiping (at least my teenage impressions of high school football games were partially right).
During the week before the game, I had asked a photojournalist friend of mine who graduated from Western a quarter before me for some pointers on shooting sports. All her advice, high shutter speed, wide-open aperture, rushed through my head as I took test shots of the game to make sure the settings on my borrowed Nikon D50 were right. I knew, of course, that they would have to be continually adjusted as the natural light waned and the towering floodlights bathed the field in a synthetic glow.
Then the high school band struck up the school's fight song, and a crash of stampeding football players uniformed in black and orange, Blaine's colors, surged onto the field. Introductions for both teams commenced and ended. The game was about to begin.
Once the game started, my friend's advice kicked in once again and informed me on where to stand to get the best shot; that, and a little bit of following the lead of the four other photographers who were there. I eventually learned who among Blaine's team got the chance to touch the ball the most. As the night wore on, the most stressful bit was continually tweaking the camera's setting to cope with the hellishly lighted time of twilight. I unfortunately had to sacrifice a quick shutter speed, and being able to stop the fastest action, for properly exposed shots.
I finally understood how tough of a job shooting sports can be. Not only do you have to be aware of most everything going on around you, your camera has to be constantly adjusted to fit any changes in light conditions. All this while hustling up and down the field in order to find the best shot.
Overall, the experience was an incredibly positive one for me. I think I came away with some pretty decent shots, at least for my first time. Future games will hopefully only improve my skills.
Besides the experience of shooting sports for the first time, something else hit me that night: the realization of how much I had missed out on during my high school days by not going to football games. A brief conversation with an employee of the school district I had met in the first few weeks of my time at The Northern Light really stuck with me. He made the comment that this is what Friday nights are like in small-town America. I regret never having experienced it in my hometown of Las Vegas, but I am more than excited to be a part of the experience in my adoptive northwestern Washington home.
Last night changed all that.
As part of my new job at The Northern Light, I had been tasked with taking pictures at Blaine's football games while a freelancer with whom the paper had worked before wrote about them. In addition to the game being my first, the evening also represented my first experience with taking photos where that was my sole responsibility; as opposed to shooting something and also being expected to write about it. I was also more than a little excited to use my newly laminated press pass for the first time.
The evening could not have been a better one for shooting a game. The sky was absolutely clear and turned nearly all the colors in the visible spectrum as the earth rotated to reside deeper and deeper in its own shadow. Mount Baker stood like an immense referee in the far off distance. The smell of hastily made popcorn hung in the air and mingled with the sounds of myriad high-schoolers gossiping (at least my teenage impressions of high school football games were partially right).
During the week before the game, I had asked a photojournalist friend of mine who graduated from Western a quarter before me for some pointers on shooting sports. All her advice, high shutter speed, wide-open aperture, rushed through my head as I took test shots of the game to make sure the settings on my borrowed Nikon D50 were right. I knew, of course, that they would have to be continually adjusted as the natural light waned and the towering floodlights bathed the field in a synthetic glow.
Then the high school band struck up the school's fight song, and a crash of stampeding football players uniformed in black and orange, Blaine's colors, surged onto the field. Introductions for both teams commenced and ended. The game was about to begin.
Once the game started, my friend's advice kicked in once again and informed me on where to stand to get the best shot; that, and a little bit of following the lead of the four other photographers who were there. I eventually learned who among Blaine's team got the chance to touch the ball the most. As the night wore on, the most stressful bit was continually tweaking the camera's setting to cope with the hellishly lighted time of twilight. I unfortunately had to sacrifice a quick shutter speed, and being able to stop the fastest action, for properly exposed shots.
I finally understood how tough of a job shooting sports can be. Not only do you have to be aware of most everything going on around you, your camera has to be constantly adjusted to fit any changes in light conditions. All this while hustling up and down the field in order to find the best shot.
Overall, the experience was an incredibly positive one for me. I think I came away with some pretty decent shots, at least for my first time. Future games will hopefully only improve my skills.
Besides the experience of shooting sports for the first time, something else hit me that night: the realization of how much I had missed out on during my high school days by not going to football games. A brief conversation with an employee of the school district I had met in the first few weeks of my time at The Northern Light really stuck with me. He made the comment that this is what Friday nights are like in small-town America. I regret never having experienced it in my hometown of Las Vegas, but I am more than excited to be a part of the experience in my adoptive northwestern Washington home.
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