Same thing we do every day Pinky, try to take over the world.

Picking up where we left off last update, my medical situation is still pretty dark.  Neuropathy, heart pain, dysautonomia, and a whole host of awful unexplained symptoms.  I've never been one of these anti-allopathic medicine people, but as a very sick person I'm continually shocked at just how badly the American medical system fails people with chronic illness.  If you visit this site with any frequency you've heard the story already, we don't need to dwell on it.  I still struggle to find the right balance in being authentic in talking about my medical issues without letting that story define me.  I still hurt like hell most days and can't surf, run, kayak, bike, hike, climb or do much of anything that used to feed my soul, but I am moving forward in some big ways, and I'm excited to share some of the things I've been up to this year:

First up, I decided that no matter how bad I felt I had to start seeing pretty things again or my soul was going to die.  This is a bit complicated because pretty things require motion which my body isn't so keen on these days.  So I hatched a series of micro adventures, taking my knowledge of Oregon and making surgical strikes to access the most beauty for the least amount of effort.  Destinations included, the Salmon River Trail, floating on an inflatable down the John Day and Wallowa Rivers, and a long foray into the deep southeast Oregon desert where we peered down into the breathtaking Owyhee Canyon, soaked in deserted hot springs, and dug up Sunstones!

If being sick has taught me anything, it's to learn to appreciate the heck out of anything that brings you any joy whatsoever.  You don't get the luxury of being a happiness connoissuer any more, thumbing your nose at potentially joyful experiences just because your life isn't going the way you want.  Anything your eyes, mouth, or heart can feast on becomes vital nourishment.

One of my biggest sources of nourishment both literal and figurative is my garden.  Picking fresh herbs, leeks, zuchinni, and kale, for breakfast every morning, strawberries for lunch, nibbling on cucumbers and carrots and watching all the baby fruit trees I've planted get bigger is simply sublime, which isn't to say I don't have my fair share of battles with leaf miners, pill bugs, aphids, cabbage moths powder mold, and all manner of things that thrive when you put a buffet in the front yard.  It's fascinating to watch the natural evolution and how it twists and turns to escape my sculpting hand.  I am at this point convinced that borage and nasturtiums contain alien DNA and will ultimately overrun the earth.

Aside from pain, the other thing that makes being sick unbearable is uncertainty. This is the dark side of living in a country with such a poor social safety net.  While it's true that you can usually find something to eat, somewhere to sleep, and at least access to an emergency room care in America, poverty here has an event horizon, and once you slip past it, there is little chance of returning to anything like a decent standard of living.  This is a huge problem for people with health issues, because the body needs rest, good food, and access to more than just the ER and stressed out GP's to truly heal, and those things simply aren't available on $700 month disability payments. 

So to make a long story shorter, I realized that no matter how sick I am, I gotta somehow find a way to work and make some money, (ironically, so I can rest.)  To that effect, I've embarked on what is probably the most ambitious Cape Falcon Kayak project yet:  A complete overhaul of the business, to include plans, kits, instructional videos, an online store, and about a zillion other things that I'm basically nuts to try to do in my condition.

I started out by working with a graphic designer who has done an incredible job of taking pages and pages of handwritten notes and turning them into gorgeous plan sets for all five kayaks, as well as creating a new logo and even an electric brand so I can burn the logo into kayaks, paddles, and business cards made from kayak scrap wood.  Too cool! 
Check out these sample plans.

Next I scheduled a ten day intensive class with eleven students at the Columbia River Maritime Museum where we built all five Cape Falcon Kayak designs from scratch, filming the entire process, and finishing up with a surveying class generously taught by kayak historian Harvey Golden.  Thank you to the Columbia River Maritime Museum for hosting the class, and thank you to everyone who participated.

It probably goes without saying that the class kicked my ass pretty hard (another understatement), but it also showed me that I can put a mental barrier between myself and the illness and still give people a quality experience. It also makes me feel like I still have a purpose, another vital component of well being.

This means I'm going start teaching again on a limited basis. I'm aiming for four classes next year.  That still isn't much for people who are trying to get into a class but it's more than there's been in quite a while.  Due to that limited availability I've created a newsletter signup so people can receive an email whenever new classes, plans, kits, or videos are released.   The CRMM class filled in 48 hours, so this is a good option for people who don't want to miss out.  I'm planning another F1 only class in late September.

The next month for me is going to be a hyperfocused edit-o-thon to try to get the videos, kits, and plans ready by September.  During that process I'm going to be posting a lot of free content on my videos page, so come back and check that out,  or just sign up for the newsletter and I'll send a link when stuff gets posted.  Speaking of video, I wanted to share an amazing whale encounter my friend and former student Ken captured while paddling his F1 in Monterey bay.

Finally I want to share with you a personal project.  The most important part of surviving a serious illness is to have something to look forward to.  For the last few months that has been an awesome little sailboat called the Delaware Ducker.  Whenever I start to panic because I'm broke, in constant pain, and live in a van, I unroll the plans from Mystic Seaport and let my mind drift on an imaginary journey, gliding across the water in an ultralight tiny sailboat.  I've decided now is the time to make that sailboat a reality.  To keep myself from going bonkers from too much screen time I've decided to split my days half and half between editing video and building the Ducker.  I'm going to try to post pictures of the process every few days.  Feel free to follow along on the Delaware Ducker page.  Or check it out on the Cape Falcon Kayak facebook.  Also, the finished boat will be on display at the Port Townsend Wooden Boat Show, at the Northwest Maritime Center, where I teach a class every year.

I may not be able to do much besides work and suffer right now, but goddammit, I can cling for dear life to a sheet and tiller! 

Seriously though. I hope all of this inspires people facing all sorts of hardship to move forward as positively as possible which isn't to say that we all don't need people to carry us when we can't carry ourselves.  I've been there, I might be there again, there's days the pain is so bad I'm not sure I want to be here at all.  But for now, I'm alive, I'm strong, and I'm trying, and that wouldn't be possible without all the people who've supported me along the way.  Thank you.  I hope this update brings you joy.

-Brian

(one last thing, there is a really cool F1 for sale in Tennessee for a great price that has only been used once, send me an email if you're interested, details here