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

For almost a year this little grey update box has sat empty while my email inbox has steadily filled with people wondering if I’ve dropped off the proverbial waterfall at the edge of the planet.  The truth is, my health situation has been pretty rough lately and I’ve been quietly hoping things would improve before I had to write again.  For those of you who are new to the site, a long fight against chronic illness forced me to shut down Cape Falcon Kayak classes at the end of 2014, and an ongoing medical investigation revealed a fairly advanced peripheral neuropathy, widespread autonomic dysfunction, and a host of other devastating cardiac and neurological symptoms that have yet to be explained.   

Needless to say, this was not part of the plan. 

Over the course of the last year I’ve had a hard time reconciling my faith in power of the the human body to heal, with the reality of a personal situation that has proved thus far unresponsive to that sentiment.  Staying positive while living with disabling pain levels, dwindling finances, big changes in my living circumstances, and the inability to do almost everything I formerly enjoyed is beyond challenging.  I’ve always believed that with enough positivity and determination that anything is possible, I don't think I'll ever stop believing that, but you can imagine just how difficult it is to be proven wrong day after day.  It's a complicated existence, and one I'm still struggling to find my footing in.  On a more positive note, it inspired me to get a cool new tattoo.  :)

Also a bit jarring is being back in the city after nearly 15 years nestled in the coastal rainforest surrounded by old growth spruces haunted by barred owls, dripping sword ferns hiding golden chanterelle mushrooms, blankets of moss overshadowing secretive herds of elk, thundering surf endlessly delivering the beach sand between my toes, and emerald rivers hiding the distinctive twisting flash of those gorgeous winter steelhead trout.  I can't pretend that I don't miss it.

Still, if I had to choose any city to live in it will always be Portland, Oregon, so I count myself fortunate.   Bookstores, good parks, great food, and a general warmth that is missing from most large cities.  I try to focus on the good things.

To explore whether I might be able to return to teaching this year I decided to start small and spent a week building a pair of F1’s with my friend Holly in the living room of her house!  We had an amazing time chatting and building and stopping for lunch in the kitchen less than 6 feet away.  It made me realize how much I miss what I do, and watching her climb into her boat on a chilly winter day with a huge smile on her face is the moment I always live for!

So does that mean I’m going to be teaching again?  The answer is yes, no, and maybe. The build with Holly was fun, but my body wasn’t thrilled.  For right now I’m going to keep things confined to small one or two person classes.  The days are short and easy, and I can bring the whole works directly to individual students, which opens up possibilities for people who might not otherwise be able to make it to a class.

While larger classes remain mostly off the menu for now, I am making one BIG exception!  For years now I’ve talked about making videos and kayak plans available, in fact I actually started this last fall only to realize after a day of filming that it makes no sense to put that kind of energy into a project and not do it with quality camera equipment, and also a well lit professional quality shop space.  In searching for a space I got talking with Sam Johnson the executive director of the Columbia River Maritime Museum in Astoria, Oregon, and he invited me out to visit their Barbey Maritime Center which is most perfect small boat building space I’ve ever seen.  

In the meantime, I’m just going to keep doing what I can.  Going for short hikes in the city, petting stray cats, planting out the garden, and hoping my body will get with the program and let me return to the land of the living. 

Finally, I'm not the kind of person who has an easy time reaching out for support, (to put it mildly) but I welcome prayers, advice, friendship, and material assistance from anyone with the means to offer it.  It's especially helpful to hear from other people who have been through or are going through similar difficulties.  A sincere thank you to everyone who has supported me through these difficult times,  I hope there is a brighter future ahead!

Be well,

-Brian 

Life right now means doing what I can.  Tending to the huge garden we've created in my girlfriends front yard, reading a lot, consulting on off-grid projects, building boats in the garage, and being eternally fascinated by the biological workings of the compost pile and the endless swarm of bumblebees surrounding the lavender plants.  Yes, I'd like to go paddling, I'd like to be teaching, I'd also like a Ferrari and a million bucks.  Things could always be better, and things could always be worse.  You don't really get a lot of choice over what happens in life, but you can choose what to focus on.  I'll keep you posted.

-Brian

Here on November 18th, 2014, just a little over a month shy of my 40th birthday, I want to be writing about how this has been an amazing year. I want to tell you about how the off-grid Airstream project is coming along beautifully, with plans to add a mobile version of the Japanese Bath House to the fleet.  I want to tell you about the currach project we have in the works and a possible bid for the Race to Alaska in 2015. At the very least I want to express relief at a long year being over and looking forward to hours of drysuit clad solitude this winter, plying the waters of my beloved North Fork Nehalem River, casting for that most magnificent of fish, the steelhead trout.

But I'm not here to talk about any of those things today, I'm here to talk about being sick.

Truthfully, 2014 was a brutal year for me. As some of you know and most of you don't, I've been fighting a losing battle against a mystery illness for the better part of the last 3 years. Chest pain, shortness of breath, wildly fluctuating blood pressure, orthostatic tachycardia, heart arrythmias, heat intolerance, exercise intolerance, violent panic attacks, weakness, and extreme fatigue. In 3 short years I've gone from being one of the strongest surf paddlers on the West Coast to someone who can barely make it through the work day.

Through 2012 and 2013 I was able to keep this mostly hidden from friends and students but cracks in the facade of my characteristic humor and enthusiasm during 2014 have forced me to face the fact that I truly am sick, and if I just keep forging ahead in my typical workaholic fashion I'm going to collapse, or worse.  My condition is somewhat of a medical mystery,  basic labs and a single echocardiogram appear fine, prompting physicians to label it as either "Unknown, not real, or psychiatric."  Given the severity of my symptoms this seems insane to me, especially considering that I have not had any further cardiac imaging, brain imaging, neurological testing, viral or bacterial panels, or testing for any genetic conditions.

Over the course of this process I've bled my savings dry and accrued more medical debt than I'll ever be able to pay, I finally got insurance under the affordable care act only to have doctors refuse to order more tests, and insurance refusing to pay for specialists and the out of state facilities that are actually equipped to deal with complex cases like mine.

On the verge of a breakdown I reached out to others with undiagnosed illness and discovered an epidemic of sick people who have been sidelined by a system woefully ill-equipped to deal with mysterious chronic illness. In this process I also met other people though, I met people who fought every step of the way to get testing and to get care.  I met people who found answers and got their lives back.

I made a choice, I decided I was going to be one of those people.

I've been a fighter my whole life. I put myself through college working two minimum wage jobs. I worked on an ambulance and shepherded the broken and bloody to safety.  I led a fight to stop state-sponsored illegal logging on one of Portlands main drinking watersheds, and won. I carved a profitable off-grid organic farm out of the north facing slope of a temperate rainforest and simultaneously built a beautiful business where dozens of amazing individuals come together every year to connect around a passion for kayaking, building things, and a deeper connection to earth. In short, I feel like I have valuable contributions to make to the world and I'm not going to let some goddamned mystery sickness take me down without a fight.

In a long and torturous battle with my ego and my pride, my sense of self-preservation won out and  I'm going to do something I've never done before, ask for help.

Basically, I need a lot of medical testing and treatment that I have no conceivable way to pay for.  I'm already bleeding money just in the beginning stages of initiating care with some of the most brilliant doctors in America, and am hoping to pay a visit to the Mayo Clinic diagnostic center by Christmas.  These higher level physicians believe, that if I was an athlete 3 years ago and too sick to work today, that yes, there is probably something seriously wrong with me, and that's a step in the right direction.  To keep taking those steps I need raise some serious cash.  To this effect I've created a Go Fund Me crowd-funding campaign for myself.   I decided saving private Brian was just too cheesy, so we're calling it the Cape Falcon Medical Fund.

With your help we can get me back on track toward being the ridiculous and gregarious individual the world needs me to be.  If you decide to donate, thank you.

Finally, to answer the big question, what is going to happen with Cape Falcon Kayaks and the 2015 build schedule?  I can tell you now that I have every intention of teaching in 2015.   I have set dates for both Port Townsend, and San Diego which I will soon post online, along with dates for the spring and summer at the shop.  Dates for the fall tour from Maine to Florida will be announced early next year.  What is different than years past is that I won't be opening enrollment for anything except the Port Townsend and San Diego classes (open Jan 1st)  until March.  The reason being that I have to get on top of this illness before I make commitments and start taking money from people.   To be clear though, despite how I feel at the moment,  I have every intention of getting better.

I will heal.

I will paddle again.

I will be teaching next year.

To close this rather serious and depressing update, I want to revive a tradition from the old site, sharing the best pictures I've collected over the course of the year.   No crazy surf photos or mountaintops this time around, but the world is still beautiful when you move slower, and get closer.  Enjoy.

2013 was a tough year.   Beginning with a brutal sports injury that left me barely able to walk for eight months,  just as that started healing I woke up in the middle of the night and shook my fiance awake,  "Somethings wrong,  my heart isn't beating right."   Snapping back into paramedic mode,  this time with myself as the patient,  I tried to determine what exactly I was feeling.   The audible heartbeat in my chest was beating doubletime to the pulse in my wrist,  some sort of weird arrythmia.   Then I sat up,  and it stopped,  and I layed back down,  and it started,  and then the chest pain came,  and then I went to the hospital.

Five months, a half dozen doctors, and every single dime I've ever made later,  the tests are still ongoing.  To quote my cardiologist,  "There is definately something wrong with you, we just don't know what yet."   To which I had to resist the temptation to answer, "Have you met me?  Anyone could tell you that."   I'm pretty sure that if I ever do keel over my final words will be some sort of wise crack.  

One thing they don't tell you about being sick is that life doesn't just stop and play a little violin while you suffer,  you still have to do things.  Pain becomes a companion, molding you, shaping you, compelling changes that you could have never made otherwise.  I've been meditating every day,  cooking every meal,  working on Lee's new restaurant, making instructional videos, broadcasting live webisodes of me building things, designing a brand new website, building commissions, working on a new row boat design, building an outdoor kitchen for the farm, fishing, whitewater kayaking, salvaging wood, and running on the beach.  Every moment of productivity an act of open defiance against the tyranny of this stupid mystery sickness.    I will win.

I normally start these updates rambling on about my personal life, getting to the actual kayak building somewhere between the end and never, so lets start this time by talking shop.   With my organic farm mostly self-sustaining,  I'm taking a hard look at the business and asking: "What next?".   I think the first answer is that we need to modernize.  I've been tapping away at this archaic self-designed html website for twelve years now,  and truthfully,  for all the cool content it is looking kind of shabby.   More to the point,  there are things I just can't do here,  and chief among them is video.   I've spent the better part of a year and a half now teaching myself video production and we are finally filming and editing a whole series of kayak building instructional videos.   To this I plan to add paddling instruction,  and all manner of sustainable living projects.  Simply put,  I love to teach, I'm good at it,  and I want to share that with more people.  

The new site will feature professional photography,  a live shop cam,  and an all around sharper look and feel.

After small boats,  my other passion is small spaces and sustainable architecture.   A few months ago a lady contacted me and wanted to film me talking about the things I build and my off-grid organic farm.   I barely glanced at the email and probably mumbled something like sure,  whatever.   I'm glad I did!  That woman was Kiersten Dirksen,  sustainable living videographer extraordinare.   She travels all over the world making videos about people living smaller and smarter.   She showed up here,  family in tow, and caught me on an exceptionally clear-headed day while I talked about everything I do here from solar, to hydro, to salvage to boatbuilding.   Check it out!

Me talking about the Japanese Forest House click here
Me talking about the off-grid farm,  and building kayaks  click here

Our newest structural addition to the farm,  a kayak-salvaged wood, timber-framed outdoor kitchen in progress.    Gins' (co-owner of the farm) boyfriend Brigham has been using his mad metal working skills to create super efficient wood fired stoves and ovens.   Perfect for class potlucks rain or shine!

Speaking of salvage,  more than a few friends and aquaintances have been shanghai'd into pulling large chunks of wood long distances and thus have learned to accompany me into the wilds at their own risk.   If I see something cool I just have to bring it home.   I'm pretty sure my friends here thought they were completely safe heading out for a coastal paddle and crabbing expedition,  but you can find wood in the darnedest places.

On one of the flattest days I've ever seen on the Pacific ocean,  myself and crew dropped some crab traps and headed out to explore the sea caves of Neah-Kah-Nie mountian.   A death trap at even a small swell,  under these conditions we ventured into passages that I'd never even explored.   Ghosting down a passage in the darkeness "Bang!" my kayak struck an object and I let out a startled yelp.   "What the hell was that?'  my buddy called.   "I don't know,"  I replied,  "I think it's a log."   I pushed the thing and it moved,  and then leaned down and inspected it by braille.   The fuzzy surface spoke of a mighty battering,  but what struck my curiosity was how high it floated,  almost half out of the water.   "It's got to be cedar,  and dry."  I explained in the dim passage.   "I need to see this thing,  lets throw a rope on it."   Very slowly I towed the monolith into the light,  the butt of a log,  about 9 feet long,  24-40 inches around,  about a ton,  cedar.

"Lets see if we can move it."   a proposition that any normal friends would balk at,  but Don possesses a stalwart tenacity that makes me look like a slacker,  which makes us a dangerous pair.   An hour and a half a mile later Don abandoned me to go look for the rest of our friends,  which is when I should have done the same had I not been captivated with two poisionous thoughts:

1)  I found this in a SEA CAVE,  I'll never have a chance like this again.

2)  I'm already a quarter of the way there.

Did I mention this was my first time in a sea kayak since the injury?   Not exactly tip top conditioning,  even if I wasn't towing this behemouth.   At the 1/2 mark I realized I'd made a terrible mistake.   The wind picked up,  I was desperately hungry and thirsty.  I imagined myself dragging a sarcophagus through desert sands.   I simultaneously knew that I could not do this,  and also that I would.   At hour three my friends passed me, wisely assigning themselves to pulling crab pots and starting the fire,  and I found myself alone again.  I cursed the bastard thing,  trudging bitterly onward.   When I finally released it to let the small surf carry it onto the beach it had been 4 hours,  and 2 very long miles.

You can imagine I was not the most popular person in camp when I stumbled up the beach out of breath,  and commandeered all available hands mid-feast,  to help me pull the damn thing up the beach where the tide wouldn't bury it.   With strained friendliess toward my hairbrained scheme,  some carefully placed roller logs,  and a whole lot of grunt,  we dragged it a hundred yards uphill,  before returning to the feast at sunset.

The next morning I returned with my monstrous Stihl 084 and enjoyed the most scenic chainsaw milling I will ever do.  Working with absolute focus I just barely finished as the tide lapped at my heels.  More friends were recruited to carry the three inch thick slabs up to the truck.  Among salvage schemes this one has to be one of the more ridiculous,  and I want to offer a deep and heartfelt thanks to all the people I tortured to make my dream a reality.   It was a fitting first day back on the water.

It's hard to describe just how grateful I am to be paddling again, and though I need to be careful with the injury, there are days when having a gorgeous river literally in my back yard is just too much to resist. My friend Justin caught me sneaking a bit of solo floodstage class IV. Whitewater or Greenland stick, it's just a blessing to have a paddle back in my hand.

Among my many aquatic addictions, however, nothing holds sway over my congnition quite like steelhead fishing.   For two months a year approximately 30% of all thinking is devoted to these gorgeous silver seagoing supertrout.  An addiction like any other,  days are wasted with little to show,  responsibilities are neglected,  loved ones abandoned.   There are deep lows filled with cold rainy masochistic depression,  and all of that is forgotten in a moment when a mini tornado slams into the end of your line.   Every steelheader knows the feeling,  and the accompanying bright silver twisting flash.   So hard to catch,  and when you do get one landing it takes finesse as well,  then the reward of some best fish you'll ever eat.  It's a peak experience,  and one that just digs the groove even deeper,  "I need to get another one."  

Hi, my name is Brian,  and I'm a steehead-aholic.

Honestly though,  and I say this with great pain in my heart,  steelheading and whitewater kayaking are going to have to wait for now.   As those of you who follow this site know,  my fiance Lee is opening a local farm-to-table restaurant here in Manzanita.   A remarkable young chef, she went from farmers market booth, to leasing an existing space, to attracting attention and a hundred thousand dollars in investment to open her very own place.   Impressive for a 28yr old.   Such an undertaking really needs about 175,000 to get up and running,  but I've always believed in taking risks and living your dreams,  so I told her I'd build the interior,  for free.

I milled my best kayak-salvaged logs, old bridge timbers, anything beautiful with a story.  The idea is to create an interior as local and unique as the food she serves.  The doors on the space opened today,  giving me exactly 45 days to get it done.   I've never built a restaurant interior before,  but I have this disease called self confidence that gets me into all sorts of trouble.

Still,  a free interior doesn't close the funding gap,  so as my other contribution to the space I made a video and put it on Kickstarter to see if we could raise some money.   Kickstarter is an all-or-nothing grass roots fundraising platform,  meaning if you don't make your goal you don't get anything.   Well,  in one of the rare instances where my characteristic overconfidence didn't pay off,  we didn't make our goal.

All is not lost though.   We've taken the video to another site, this time with a more modest goal,  because to be truthful, even with this money Lee is going to be bootstrapping her way into the business.   I never ever use my website to push or peddle anything,  but in this one instance I'm asking you to consider making a donation to Lee and the restaurant.   A talented young chef serving people healthy local food,  I can't think of a better cause.

View the video here

Apropos of absolutely nothing,  I want to finish this update by showing off the cutest kitten ever created.   This is Bruno,  he's huge for his age, dangerously intelligent, and sadly does not belong to me.   My friend Jen,  professor,  food writer,  and author of the awesome Culinaria Eugenius blog,  rescued this little guy from the shelter where they arbitrarily decided he should cost TWICE AS MUCH as a normal adoption???   Honestly, they were right.   Bruno is the coolest thing in the western hemisphere right now,  and his adorable little face is a reminder of everthing warm and wonderful even when the cold winds of change threaten to blow in gales.  The neat thing about a cat is that they live entirely in the moment, pain is forgotten as soon as it's gone,  and there is no expectation of future pain and all the fear that goes with it.  

If we can draw wisdom from our furball friends, it would be that our only real job in life is to Be, and to Grow.

...well that, and to bite the shit out of things that upset us, but I wouldn't recommend the last part.

I'll see you all in the new year with a brand new website, videos, and a restaurant completed.   Come join me for another year of food, laughter, and kayaks. 

-Brian

As anyone who reads this site knows,  I like to dive right into the important issues of life before moving onto the trivialities of kayaking and whatnot,   and as such I feel compelled to ask my readers if they saw the latest larger-than-life sci-fi/monster movie Pacific Rim yet?   Dude!  giant monsters fighting huge robots with the fate of humanity resting in the balance!   Expertly crafted by Guillermo Del Toro  (Pan's Labryinth)  this larger-than-anything-ever-made movie is a godzilla-sized gut punch of some of the biggest,  meanest,  and most compelling action to ever hit the big screen.    There would have been so many ways to screw a movie like this up,  and he missed all of them.    If you like sci-fi,  you'll be doing yourself a grave disservice by not running out and catching this one on a big screen before it's gone.   Seriously,  go see it.

Next up:   The injury.    As many of you know,  last winter my idiot self decided it would be somehow intelligent to take my creaking skeleton up to the slopes of mount hood to chase a pretty girl on a snowboard,   which was great fun for all of 3 days until I caught and edge and crashed, snapping open an old and pretty serious sacro-illiac injury.   Well,  after one of the most depressing and sedentary years of my life I'm proud to announce that:

IT'S FINALLY HEALING!

I can't tell you what torture it's been not being able to move without pain all this time.  After a winter and spring of pure hell,  late summer I started walking without pain,  then a little farther,  then a short hike,  then a light backpacking trip.    As cliche as it sounds,  you really can't appreciate what you have until it's been taken away for a while.   Kayaking still hurts,  and I'm nowhere near 100%,  but I'm hoping that with more healing I'll be able to get back into a boat by early next year.   

Here at the shop we're still pumping out the best skin-kayaks available anywhere.   Superior ergonomic,  cutting edge design,  individualized customization, and a five year warrantee; there is a reason people keep coming back.    The F1 continues to be the backbone of my business,  and we make more of those than anything these days.   Extremely efficient hull,  tracks straight as an arrow but carves a mighty turn on edge,  stable yet quick,  nimble and more controllable in the wind and waves than any other skegless kayak in existence,  there's just no other kayak that does so many things so well.   After twenty years in sea kayaks it's essentially the boat that I designed for myself, to paddle long distances comfortably in extremely dynamic conditions.  I love sending these out the door because I know the people who build them will actually use them and its always gratifying to open my email and read about peoples adventures in their F1's.      

Six years in,  our organic farm and sustainable living education center is doing better than ever.   The CSA is solidly profitable,  the farmers market is going well better than ever with the addition of prepacked wraps and veggie trays,   letting us use more produce with less waste and showcasing new ways people can consume fresh produce without a lot of fuss.    When we first started carving cropland,  one grueling square foot at a time,  out of blackberry choked hard clay soil,   I could have never imagined five acres brimming with food,  or that we would ever arrive at the ability to completely feed ourselves without going to the grocery store.   I'm endlessly impressed by my farm-partner Gingers' ambition and raw tenacity in keeping the labor intensive operation afloat.   Her new boyfriend Brigham has really added the icing to the cake though,  and his efforts at landscaping has really transformed the look and feel of the property.   It's a project I feel lucky to be a part of.

On the personal front,  I was once again unsucessful at killing an elk this year.   Owing to the injury I was unable to stalk them through the forest this year,  instead adopting an equally ineffective strategy of sitting still on a known elk travel route and playing the odds of time and patience.   I brimmed with optimism that sooner or later they would have to wander close enough... which never happened.    Elk are huge tough animals and to reliably put one on the ground with a bow and arrow you NEED to be 30 yards broadside.   The forest is a big place and 30 yards is a very small distance.    I did, however, spend significant amounts of time in close company to these beautiful and secretive creatures and that opportunity to interact is so closely is the real reward of bow hunting.   Waking up at 4am,  creeping into the forest,  and spending day after day in solitude and twilight.   It feeds the soul something that we are missing more and more as civilization expands.  

While I may not be able to kill an elk,  dammit,  I'm a fierce predator of the local wild red and blue huckleberry.    This year I actually took the time to pick a huge bucket of these delicious little buggers over the course of two days and then made them into TWO delicious pies.    One thing I don't think I've ever mentioned on this website is that I'm a pie fanatic.    Regular cooking,  miserable,  but when it comes to baking pies I would go toe to toe with your grandma and win any day of the week.    The perfect huckleberry pie had eluded me for years but finally I think I nailed the ratios and got it right this time!

Next on the list of accomplishments was the harvest of this single 20lb chinook salmon,  although it did come at the cost of my pride.   Because of the injury I haven't been able to fish solo this year,   instead settling into a routine of begging various friends to row us around while I managed the poles,  and to endure a ribbing from nearly every fisherman in sight for having women rowing me around all summer!   It was all I could muster not to yell back something to the effect of  "at least we're rowing at all you fat bastards"   As they putted by under power of chevron and and evinrude.   While most fishing could more appropriately be described as chatting while dragging lines,  on this trip my fish biologist friend Mari and I actually mananged to hook up!    As a number cruncher and field biologist she has worked tirelessly in defense of the dwindling wild salmon of the Columbia basin but had never actually killed a fish!   Nature must have decided it was her turn because within an hour we were locked in mortal combat with this anadromous beauty.   Catching a big fish from a tiny rowboat is exciting to say the least and it was pretty cool to have that experience with her. 

Pies, fishing trips, and interminable elk waiting aside,   most of my time this year has been consumed with the huge project of preparing for the interior build of my fiance's brand new restaurant.    After a year lease stint in the delapidated and rapidly deteriorating Nehalem River Inn,  we are moving her farm-to-table cuisine into a brand new space in downtown Manzanita.   I probably don't need to go into detail to impress the scope of such a project,  especially when absolutely everything is being made custom.   The tables alone were milled from a fifty year old laminated bridge timber that washed down the river and I've been hanging onto for ten years.    The bar sawn from a gorgeous live edge fir log that I've had equally as long.   To compliment her handcrafted local-as-possible approach to food,   I'm building the entire interior from unique salvaged wood.    It's the biggest project I've ever tackled and not a little bit daunting but I'm confident that when it's finished we will have created a restaurant unlike anything on the coast.   The freshest possible ingredients,   Lee's amazing palate,  and a gorgeous handcrafted interior......

Click here to check out the kickstart video for our new farm-to-table restaurant, 
and please consider donating,  we need your help to make this happen!

....which brings me to my next pitch:   For years now I've been threatening to make a video,   and that has finally happened,  it's just not the video you expected.   With funding for the restaurant at about 70%  I threw myself into producing a Kickstarter video to help Lee get the rest of the way to her goal.    I bought a professional camera,  taught myself an editing program and worked insanely long hours to produce what I hope is a compelling enough story to get people to donate.   In ten years I've never used this website to solicit anything,  preferring to take a 'let-them-come-to-me' approach to business,   but just this one time I'm going to make an exception to that rule and push this project hard for the next few months.   Lee is a hell of a chef and her tireless work ethic has me convinced that she can make this farm-to-table restaurant a success.    Watch the video and please consider supporting our venture.   It's for a good cause. 

Finally,  the 2014 schedule is now online!   Port Townsend and Portland classes are open now and registration for Manzanita classes opens January 1st.   Classes can fill very fast,  so if you need to get into a particular class you want to hit send at 9am on January 1st.   I look forward to meeting new faces and sharing what I do,  in the meantime,  I've got a restaurant to build,  and if I'm lucky,  a few more fish to catch this year.   As always,  thanks for supporting what I do.   I'm very lucky to do what I love for a living,  and spending an entire year almost unable to do anything at all has only increased that gratitude.    Again,  consider checking out that kickstart video and putting a few bucks in the pot to make the new restaurant a reality.   Hope to see you in the spring!

-Brian

I'll begin by getting the 'poor me'  portion of this update out of the way.   The injury still sucks,  and despite my best efforts with physical therapy,  massage, trigger point release,  acupuncture,  deep breathing, essential oils,  prayer,  seances,  ouji boards,  and voodoo.....      It STILL f***ing hurts.     Slight improvements over this spring include:   the ability to work mostly without pain,  and some light carpentry in my off-time.    Still off the list is any sort of hiking,  climbing,  running,  paddling,   basically everything I do to stay mostly sane.   Prognosis is still totally uncertain,  but I am choosing to believe that one day I may actually be able to paddle again.    Fortunately I still have my sense of humor and my fingers to type,  so lets move on....

Summer being upon us,  it's time once again for classes at the shop.    People show up,  they build stuff,  they walk on the beach and hike to pretty places,  I get some money,  they get a boat,  we have a potluck,  it's a marvelous time.   People keep coming,  so I can only assume we're doing something right.    A giant improvement this year is that we finally have the GOOD SKIN back in stock.    The last few years have been extremely frustrating with ballistic nylon in increasingly short supply resulting in kayaks that were at times less tight than my pathological perfectionism can tolerate.   So it's a tremendous relief that my supplier finally found a huge amount of the good stuff-  9oz nylon that cuts and sews perfectly and shrinks up tight as a drum.   It's about time!    Another thing I want share is the flickr photo stream posted by Patrick a recent student in the may class.   He did a beautiful job of capturing the process and has given me permission to share.   Thanks Patrick.   

Patricks Flickr documentary of the May class

Intolerant of my roommates dog,  M the amazing supercat has moved down to the shop full time where her incredible personality endears her to everyone she meets.   You too will fall in love with her.   We had quite the scare a few months ago when one of my shop-mates let her into their studio where she promptly chowed a whole bunch of rat poison,  but after a frantic and expensive night,  and a very tenuous few weeks,  her survival seems assured.    This comes much to the relief of my shop-mate who had unfortuate displeasure of hearing the following words spoken clearly and with menace an inch from her face:   "If my cat dies I'm going to light your car on fire."   (please don't judge,  I was upset at the time)

Up at the farm an alternately wet and warm spring has kicked the chlorophyl into overdrive,   and we are planting and harvesting like crazy in an ever increasing frenzy to feed a 65 person CSA,   the local farmers market,  and my fiancee's farm-to-table restaurant.    The amount of sheer work that Ginger and her rotating cast of 2-4 interns manage to do in a week defys the normal laws of physics and reinforces my belief in passion as a viable fuel source for the future of mankind.   While I do own half the farm,  my work here is that of building and maintaining the infrastructure and thus I am spared the ravages of trench warfare in a pitched battle to keep nature from eating it's own bounty before we can.   Strolling through the quiet fields in the evening,  drink in hand, I am overcome with an intense gratitude to be part of this important journey toward learning how to feed ourselves.   The impracticality of shipping food long distances in an oil-scarce world is coming faster than we think,  at which time our cities and suburbs will have to return to local food sources.    The fact that we can do this on the north facing slope of a temperate rainforest gives me a lot of hope for that.

Building things for others to breathe life into being my raison d'etre,   Lee and I have been on a tour de force of as many restaurant spaces as possible gathering ideas and details for the build out of her new restaurant space.    That's right folks,  from the construction team who brought you the bright idea of farming in a coastal rainforest,  we present the newest insane project:   A salvaged,  hand built,  custom interior for Lee's new farm-to-table restaurant,   opening this winter in Manzanita.     I've always been a go-big or go-home sort of individual and this build out certainly qualifies.    Lots of rusted steel,  reclaimed boards,  fat fir slabs,  live edge wood,  antique mirrors,  edison bulb lighting,  burlap, and brass will form the canvas upon which Lee can practice her art of blending the absolute freshest in local produce and grass-fed meats,  with her background in fine dining.    The outpouring of support she's gotten for the restaurant is truly touching,  and both her and I are committed to doing everything possible to make the new space a success.    The current location,  Dinner at the Nehalem River Inn,   is open thurday through sunday,   with more days added as the season progresses.    I encourage you to come out for Dinner!

At present I've been keeping my carpentry chops sharp with lots of little projects around the house,  and my humility chops sharp by having to ask for help with damn near everything.  :(    Since vacating the Japanese house completely for full-time rental,  Lee and I needed a new place to hang our hats.    Hard to believe that this was our tool shed a month ago!?    This cozy little cabin right in the middle of the garden is perfect for our needs.    The woven cedar Japanese style railing fences look awesome and were ridiculously easy to build!

Another thing I just finally got around to was hanging this F-1 frame in the rafters of the Japanese house. 

Also easy to build are these simple stairs in the forest.     They facilitate a walk up to a favorite tree,  where for the moment I sit and wait,  contemplating life without exercise,  but still doing my best to make the most of my time.    As always,  I'm grateful to be employed,  to live somewhere beautiful,  and to have the opportunity to share my passion for beautiful simple things with so many people.    See you this summer,  or whenever....

-Brian
 

Bonus Photos: