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I'm happy to announce yesterday I entered into a relationship with Ema Dotsi.  I know this might come as a shock to some of my friends and family but when it's right it's right.  I met Ema on a recent trip to Bhutan.  She was getting some sun on a rooftop and her glossy red skin and firm curves were hard to ignore.   Later that same night I ran into her at dinner, she obviously had a nice long soak and her skin was much softer.  She was positioned at the end of the buffet and came across as a little cheesy but definitely a hottie.  We began seeing each other on and off for a couple weeks, usually at dinner but also a lunch here and there.  So began my whirlwind romance with Ema.  





Everyone in Bhutan seems to love Ema, their eyes will light up when asked if Ema can join us for dinner.  To her credit she is always available and usually the center of attention.  People are always asking, where is Ema and how do you like Ema?  Ema was getting under my skin and I felt empty and hollow when I didn't find Ema at the end of the buffet, our usual meeting place.  Something had to be done; we were too perfect of a match to just let Ema disappear after I went back to Chicago.  






I think I was outside Trongsa when I turned and caught a glimpse of Ema at the market, her skin was a little paler and drier than I had remembered but it was definitely Ema.  I don't remember thinking much about what I was about to do, I just kind of did it and just like the scene from Officer and a Gentleman I walked into the market swept Ema up in my arms and carried her out to the delight of the locals.  





Seventeen hours and a few questions at US customs later I unpacked Ema onto the kitchen counter.  So how would Ema and I begin our life together in Chicago, very few people knew Ema here and sometimes westerners don't know how to handle the heat Ema can give off.  Suddenly it came to me; I would introduce Ema to my friends and Thanksgiving would be Ema's big coming-out party.  






Ok, enough.  Fearing I'm beginning to slide into a Nicholas Sparks novel format or Justin Timberlake rom-com territory I'll come clean.  Spoiler alert, Ema Dotsi literally translates to Chili and Cheese not a young, attractive Bhutanese girl form Paro.  It's the national dish of Bhutan and unlike Lonely Planets evaluation of Bhutanese cuisine, it's damn good and spicy.  






I'll be honest I was puzzled when I saw red, green and white chilies drying on most of Bhutan's rooftops.  You expect to see this in Brazil or Mexico but Bhutan?  Unlike the Latin culture with it's hot spicy weather, women and dances, the Bhutanese are modest, shy and public displays of affection are rare.  The recently crowned 5th king of Bhutan, Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck aka the Dragon King, recently created quite a stir when he publicly kissed his bride.  But then again he is a huge Elvis fan and Elvis knew how to shake it up.  The Dragon Kings sideburns don't lie.   






Capsium annuum actually originates from Mexico's Tehuacan Valley.  The Bhutanese can thank the Spanish and Portuguese for hauling them back from the new world.  While the European pallet was a bit too tender for such a spicy chili, Asia, India and then Bhutan embraced the non-indigenous vegetable.  Maybe it was the spicy flavor being introduced to an otherwise bland diet, maybe it was the extra vitamin A and C that helped stimulate growth or maybe they were just ready for it.  Like the Buddhist like to say, when the student is ready the master will appear.  






Either way it was now my turn and I was ready.  The dish in and of itself is pretty basic; chilies, ginger, butter, salt, egg, datsi (cheese) and river algae…  river algae?  You mean the slimy stuff I clean off my kayak is an ingredient in this awesome dish?  I do live on the Chicago River but I don't think that's a good option.  I guess sautéed spinach kind of looks like algae so it'll have to due as a substitute.  Next it's time to clean the chilies of their seeds and soak them so they're nice and tender.  Note of caution; be careful not to touch your skin after you've cleaned the seeds from the chilies.  I made the mistake of touching my face and a half hour later it was still burning.  Thankfully, I didn't have to take a leak.  A friend, we'll call him bubba, wasn't so lucky.  While preparing an Indian dish with chilies he suddenly had to relieve himself and ended up getting to know a yogurt cup on rather intimate terms.  I've never been able to look at Yoplait with a straight face.   






While the dish is rather simple there is some creativity as far as what cheese to use.  The Bhutanese use a variety of cheeses so I'm going to start with a Spanish drunken goat cheese in honor of their role in its importation.  After that it's basically sauté over medium heat and let the magic happen.






Of course Ema was the hit of the party as she usually is.  Maybe it's our love of spicy food and close proximity to good Mexican or maybe it's just Ema.  Either way, I'm sure Ema will be showing up with me more and more at parties around Chicago.  People say we make a good couple.   

Begging Bowls of Bangkok:


We spent the morning in an old neighborhood looking for begging bowls handmade in the traditional way since 1700.  We found the craftspeople and saw much of the sandbagging.   Kim is delighted to now have a real begging bowl.  Right now the floods here have receded but the waters are expected to rise again soon.  We went to a huge market but much of it is still closed because of the floods -- Many many walls of sandbags everywhere.




We'll fly up to Bhutan tomorrow morning and hike about 4 hours tomorrow afternoon.










Getting to Know Bhutan:


We have been in Bhutan for about 3 days now, in the city of Paro.  There is 1 air strip that serves both the airplanes of the Bhutanese fleet.  It is cool at night and warm in the days.  This is in a valley between mountains, and so the plane drops out of the clouds and lands very quickly on the runway.






The people here look like Tibetans and 98% wear their traditional dress, which is a short coat and knee socks for men and a long sarong skirt and jacket for women.   The children also wear this.  There are cars but the few roads are single lane. The drivers are extremely polite and there is no honking. The streets are quiet.  Animals around are horses, donkeys, cows and many, many barking mangy dogs who fight and do doggy things.  There are tourists too in the city but only a few.






Buddhist temples are everywhere, and there are Buddhist prayer wheels, prayer flags and symbols on the hillsides and in the squares.  We have visited various temples already, including one from the 7th century.  Yesterday there was a climb up a mountain to a temple-- with the astonishing views and the pure wonder.  Buddhism permeates everything, even in the small convenience stores.






Archery is a national sport, and there are many fields where men gather and shoot arrows in friendly, beer-fueled groups.  They shoot 435 feet accurately with handmade wooden bows.  Amazing!!!  When someone wins they have taunting songs and dances for the other team -- kind of like a football thing.  Very fun and really amazing to watch.






There are no public displays of affection.  The King astonished people when he kissed his bride last month.






Today we leave the big city with its single airstrip and head out to village










On the Road in Bhutan:


This country makes my throat ache with the sincerity and risk of what they are trying to do.  They are determined to manage westernization successfully and to control influences that do not agree with their culture.  I see their unique, strict local culture standing against the huge, dripping maw of the wild world outside.





Yesterday we took a private bus over a Himalayan pass-- stopping at the top to visit an amazing place.  In trying to stop outside invaders from rebel groups from India, several of the enemy were killed.  While Bhutan succeeded in stopping the outsiders, they chose to build stupas (Buddhist structures) to honor the Indians killed and to express Bhutan's sorrow and compassion.  It was on a pass that overlooks the high Himalayas-- breathtaking.  To me it felt as gentle and wise as the peace museum at Hiroshima.  I needed to think about what the American government would to do to express their spiritual sorrow about similar deaths.





In the afternoon we visited the temple of a Buddhist monk named Drukba Cunley, also called the divine madman, who taught  that free love was part of God.  The temple is renowned as a fertility shrine, and they maintain an album of births to couples of all nationalities that came after a visit to this shrine.  I am a bit worried because I got blessed there-- but I am hoping the fertility they refer to can be things like writing success!  The temple is decorated with celebratory phallusses -- not the standard thing we thing of in temples. 





Today we will visit a very poor orphanage that Kim has found out about and give them various donations.










Altitude, Monks and Ema Dasi:


We have moved to central Bhutan, so it's colder and higher.  Several people-- including Kim-- are having a rough time with altitude sickness -- that is, not sleeping well because of gasping, headaches, etc.  We are ranging between 8000 and 12000 feet.






Imagine  a country half the size of Australia crumpled up into mountains until it is the size of Switzerland.  It's high, rough, pine covered mountains and sweet valleys with cropland with misty clouds drifting.  Stony cliffs, waterfalls, high pines, condors and buzzards in the sky are the backdrop for houses of stone with roofs weighted down by rocks against the wind. This high there are yaks and cows both. On most mountains there is a monastery.  The roads crawl back and forth, in and out, running level midway along the sides of the mountains -- like the ribbon candy at Christmas where the folds of candy are looped right on top of each other.  There are rock slides
often and lots of road construction.  There is only one road from east to west -- so what they do is to close the road most of the day for construction and then let people through only 30 minutes at a time, on a schedule.  The schedule changes as the workers move, so the drivers ask each other when the road will be open.






Yesterday we hiked up to a monastery at 12000 feet-- it's the home temple of Kim's favorite Buddhist teacher so he was deeply immersed in the moment.  There was snow along the road.  Then in the afternoon we went to a festival in a tiny village.  The monks there danced out holy stories for the villagers -- monks in bright silk costumes and
brightly painted, carved wooden masks that show the demons and deities -- twisting and leaping as they show the battle between good and evil.  The music was deep horns, huge drums, oboes and chanting done by other monks.  The village women also did some circle dances where they sang.  Several were full of beer and so danced with much laughing and maybe some new lyrics.






The food here is delicious.  Meat such as pork or beef in a stew, veggies in butter, noodles or rice, wonderful soups are the usual. The local delicacy is hot peppers in a fondue --very very hot but delicious.  People drink beer too.






Today, more festivals and a hand-loom craft shop, then hiking in the valley.










Om Mani Padme Hum and a Frisbee


We hiked up a mountain to get to a mountaintop monastery that supports a tiny orphanage.  Five Buddhist monks use their tiny stipends to support (currently) 27 orphans.  To be accepted for care, there must not be any family who can help out, and some of the boys are also handicapped in various ways from birth or from malnutrition. Ages range from 6 to about 17; it costs $1000/year to support a boy.  Getting him clothed and cared for when he first arrives costs $35.  They have to turn away boys if their budget can't manage it. The central board monitors them closely. The monks teaching and caring for the boys are good-natured young men -- one wore levis and T shirt beneath his cranberry-colored monks' robes.  The boys wear monks' robes and study scripture.  they take preliminary vows but are not required to become full monks when they grow up.  If they choose to leave and start a family, that is fine. Some do choose to become full monks.  After completing a monks' education, their status in their home villages goes up.  There are also convents run by nuns for orphan girls -- on other mountaintops.





So we hiked sevearl hours up the mountain and came out at a tiny village.  The monastery has a gorgeous old chapel/shrine and a big house where the boys and teachers live and study.  It is of old stone.  There was an earthquake here in October, and the walls were badly damaged and not yet repaired.  The monastery looks out over the Himalayas, and the boys can play in the huge sunny yard inside the monastery's walls.  They lined up and sat cross legged, and we gave them gifts -- pens, pencils, markers -- and frisbees and balloons!  What a scene!  Bright sun, boys shouting and running and jumping in the monks' robes as they learned how to play frisbee.  We played with them.  One of the teachers -- a young man himself-- could barely hold himself back, but, alas, felt he had to be dignified.  It was an hour of jumping and laughing in the bright sun.





We all gave money donations too, and Kim gave some from Sun in my Heart.





Later we drove down the mountain just as school was letting out.  We had gifts like pens and fancy hair ties.  The small children were wearing their school uniforms of blue robes.  One little girl's face twisted in wild, amazed joy when she realized that this bus of strange looking foreigners was stopping to simply give her a sparkly gift.  Her face said "I never even knew anything like this happened!"  It was a moment to remember forever-- just touching the people and hoping that they see us as more than old, fat, rich, strange-looking foreigners.










Black Neck Cranes, Festivals and Farms:


We came down out of the villages in the higher mountains today, and the clients leave Friday.  It's slow going on the roads here.  The national speed limit is 25 mph -- really!  The roads are so twisty and narrow as they snake across the sides of the mountains that no one would want to go faster.






This morning we saw about 50 black-necked cranes.  There are only about 2000 in the world, and the marshes here are where they spend the winters, migrating here from Tibet and Ladakh, India.  Oddly they look a bit like sheep from a distance because they are round and white except for their black necks.  They make a wonderful calling sound, and up close, they remind me of turkeys because of their big bodies, but they have lovely long legs and necks.  The bird watching here is phenomenal.






All of Bhutan is like a wildlife refuge-- there is no hunting or fishing in the whole country.  One client brought his fishing rod, intending to catch and release, but the Bhutanese feel this is a way of torturing fish, and they feel a fish may be a sentient being who was once human.  Once there was a proposal to neuter dogs ( there are many strays) and it was opposed partly on the grounds that dogs are the last reincarnation step before human, so people felt it was wrong to interfere with that dog soul's natural progress.  






We attended a village fair -- very crowded, everyone in their best traditional clothes, lots of priests doing dances, lots of traditional music.  There were some gambling games that Kim tried.  The highlight, as we left, was that a family was leaving, going home in a 2-ton dump truck.  About 8-12 kids were already standing in the back.  The grandma and mom had been standing next to me.  Grandma was going to ride in the back with all the kids, so mom and a friend shoved her up, pushing her up by the bottom, and the kids pulled from the top on her arms, and eventually she got her leg over the top and toppled into the back where all the kids were.  Everyone laughed.






Many of the oldest men in the villages do not wear shoes, ever, even though it is about 30-34.  Kim's beard attracts a lot of attention, and several of the men grin and pull their beards at him.






Some farmers have made their homes into guest houses and small restaurants.  We ate at one.  The menu was veggie dumplings, homemade buckwheat noodles, red rice, beef, carrots in butter, beans in cheese sauce, green beans, hot peppers in fondue, and apples.  The farmer was the cook and his wife makes the local moonshine, which was a strong barley liquor.  The family has a shrine room which was wonderfully warm and personal, with beautiful handmade wooden furniture and a gorgeous handmade display for their sacred objects.






We also stayed in a farmhouse cabin overnight -- tiny wood stoves in tiny rooms, great food, and, in a frigid cold bathroom, a steaming HOT bucket bath.  When I doused myself with that hot water, it was ecstasy.






A Swiss farmer moved here and has taught cheese making and animal husbandry.  We got some excellent cheese and honey.  They have brought in Guernsey and Holstein cows to increase the local herd's milk production, but the hybrids do poorly on the steep mountain slopes.  Yaks are best at the higher altitudes.  I found that Yak Butter tea is a taste that I have not yet acquired.






We did several long hikes through the farm fields.  Marijuana grows wild here as a weed.  It is not illegal, but if someone is using it, they are put into a program to lose the habit.  However, the farmers found that if they keep marijuana growing around their rice paddies,  the pigs eat it and sleep instead of bothering the crops.  So the pigs are high and the farmers are happy.






For me the highlight of the trip was a Buddhist puja (worship service) we went to one morning.  It was in a monastery's chapel/shrine from the 7th century.  The monks played horns 5 feet long, oboes, and huge round drums, and chanted in the deep, resonant, eerie bass that they use.  We stayed a long time.  Local people came and prostrated themselves and left.  It felt like the deep throbbing chants were the pulsing of all life in bodies as souls try to do the dance they were born to do.  I could have stayed there forever.

A few weeks ago I decided to take on the Chicago marathon.  Not that one, the Chicago Shoreline Marathon, which is a 26-mile paddle along the shoreline of Chicago, hence the name.  Well this year, due to the water and air show, they shortened it to 18 miles which sounded even better considering this would be my first paddling "race".  So I signed up. 


I'm no stranger to endurance events; I've completed an ironman as well as climbed Kilimanjaro.  I know what it's like when the lactic acid begins to build up and the event turns from physical to mental endurance.  But this was kayaking, I do it all the time, and I had just paddled 6 hours into a 25 mph headwind while on a solo trip through Quetico just a few months earlier.  How hard could it be?  


The other thing is that, I don't race.  What I mean is I have little to no ambition to race any more.  I want to fully experience the event and whatever it has to offer.  However, my friends will probably challenge this notion, as they will often time me when eating a Kuma Burger.  I've been told I'm the fastest eater they've seen with a record time of just under 10 minutes but I'm working on that.  BTW a Kuma Burger is a large Angus burger with bacon, sharp cheddar and a fried egg on a pretzel roll.  Throw in a good IPA like Lagunitas- Hop Stoopid, Half Acre- Daisy Cutter, Two Brothers- Resistance, Bells- Two Hearted, Dogfish Head- 60 or 90 minute and you have a perfect meal.  But I digress.  


So my strategy/goal was to just go out and experience the event, meet a few people and see some world-class surf ski paddlers.  I had heard from a co-worker in San Francisco, who is into surf ski paddling, that there would be some insanely good paddlers from South Africa, Australia and New Zealand in attendance.  She had informed me that they had just schooled the Northern California paddlers at a race on the Bay just a few weeks earlier.  So now knowing that this wasn't a bunch of gray bearded sea kayak instructors out for bragging rights on Lake Michigan I headed down to the pre race meeting.


The first thing I noticed was the parking lot full of surf skis.  If you aren't familiar with these they are typically 16.5 to 21ft and 16"20" wide.  That's barely wider than the laptop I'm typing on.  Surf skis are extremely fast when paddled on flat water (only an Olympic K1 or K2 kayak is faster) and they are great in ocean swells.  But with this speed goes stability.  The scooped paddles do help as you can lean on them a bit until you get the hang of it.  The paddles are actually double bladed with highly contoured wing blades for maximum efficiency.  


I did not have this but like I said I wasn't racing.  It wasn't like I brought the Pungo or Old Towne down to the lake; I had my Current Design Solstice GTS Kevlar kayak which has clocked many an hour along Lake Michigan and Superior.  But the paddle I had decided to bring was my low resistance-touring paddle, not a good idea.  But I contend my thinking was solid.  If I was going to be out for 4 hours I wanted something that would be kind on my shoulders.  Ok, so like they say, dance with who brought you.  


The highlight of the morning was when I was mistaken for Sean Rice, the South African who would come in second just 39 seconds behind Dawid Mocke also of South Africa.  They must train with sharks or something in South Africa to get so damn fast.  At the time I didn't even know who Sean Rice was but when I heard he came in second I had to laugh.  Well that would be the first and last time I am ever confused for a world-class surf ski kayaker.  Like I said, I don't race.



Sean Rice


During the rain delay I did chat with Dawid Mocke about racing, a new baby and Chicago pizza.  First, man what a nice guy.  It's rare to find elite athletes who are as down to earth as world-class surf ski racers.  Maybe its the lack of money involved in the sport, I mean the prize money wouldn't even allow you to buy a surf ski kayak and from what I heard a lot of the top guys where crashing for free at an apartment the organizers owned.  But they do make enough to travel and support families back home and besides, when did the lack of money stop someone from being a prick. Dawid's attitude towards balancing life and his profession is poignant and something more of us should consider.  This is an excerpt from an interview Dawid did for Globalsurfski.com where he draws on a favorite quote of his to explain his attitude towards work, family and life.  "A master in the art of living draws no sharp distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his education and his recreation. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence through whatever he is doing and leaves others to determine whether he is working or playing. To himself, he always seems to be doing both." Francios Auguste Rene Chateaubriand from the book Let my People Go Surfing by Yvon Chouinard

 


Dawid Mocke


The race was very organized, my hat goes off to the organizers Tim Flentye and company, they kept everyone informed as the weather turned nasty and delayed the race almost 4 hours and safety was priority as they had support kayakers scattered all along the course.    


So I'm not going to bore you with a play-by-play recap of the race but here are just a few highlights.  I was 37th out of 38th so if you thought I was setting you up to read about how I was the unknown phenom of the day, sorry.  I did however beat my expectations as I was targeting 4 hours and finished 3:48.  I could have probably come in 36th but I capsized as I left the turn around and when I emptied the water out the rudder filled up with sandy and I couldn't engage it while out on the water.  I thought about just going without it but the waves had picked up to almost 4ft so I went back to the beach, cleared the debris from the rudder and started off having wasted about the same amount of time it takes me to finish a Kuma Burger.  By the way I can't remember the last time I unintentionally capsized but it taught me a valuable lesson.  Slow down and make sure your stern is clear before setting out.  I did feel a bit fatigued the last 5-6 miles.  While I'm in good shape I wasn't in 18-mile kayaking shape.  Maybe I'll train a little, get a better paddle and take out that 36th place spot next year.  But like I said, I don't race.  

Eskimo Roll, Kayak Roll, C to C, Sweep Roll, blah, blah, blah. If you're a kayaker you've heard from the beginning that you're going to need to master this bugger or as they like to say, make it "bomb-proof". First, let me say I've yet to meet anyone who enjoys being strapped to a kayak and held upside down; it's disorienting, water eventually seeps into your sinuses and it's claustrophobic. Houdini called his trick the water torture cell for a reason. Yet for all its unnatural elements; if you can somehow stay calm, ignore the discomfort and understand a few general principles of physics, a successful kayak roll is nothing short of magical.

From what I can tell the Inuit invented the kayak roll out of a very basic necessity, they couldn't swim. It's a bit ironic that a culture so dependent on the oceans never bothered to learn how to swim.

But then again how quick would you be to practice your crawl if the water remains at or below freezing most of the year? If you ever get the chance to watch an Inuit kayak rolling exhibition you will be amazed at the level of control, agility and command of their environment the Inuit have developed. I watched a man kayak upside-down, meaning he extended his arms out of the water, placing the paddle across the bottom of the kayak which was exposed and paddle in a large circle. He then rolled up without so much as a gasp for air out of the frigid water. When asked if he was a champion kayak roller, he sheepishly admitted that all the "good" rollers had traveled to a neighboring village for a festival. He hadn't made the cut.

So how does it work?

If you're into physics it involves a few basic principles.

Newton's Third Law- action equaling opposite reaction.

Torque- paddler must generate a torque in the opposite direction (upward) greater than the downward torque they and the kayak are creating.

Buoyancy- our density is only slightly greater than that of water. Therefore, when we're under water the force of buoyancy is almost as large as our weight, creating weightlessness.

The formula looks something like F2*r2=M2>F1*r1=M1

All the steps that follow are designed to support one of these three principles and the order and manner in which you perform them does matter.

The Set Up:

The first thing to remember is it's not what you see, it's what you can't see that generates the torque and momentum that's affect your buoyancy and brings you upright. My first reaction was, ok looks like the paddle delivers the torque and it's the resistance of the blade on the water that I'll lean on. Wrong. The thing you'll need to focus on is to let the knees and hips do 80-90% of the work. The biggest mistake you can make is to learn a roll that relies too heavily on engaging the paddle blade. This will expose your shoulder and easily lead to a strained or even torn rotator cuff. To this point I prefer the Twist Sweep Roll to the C to C.

So you've taken a deep breath and rolled upside down. Now what?

1. Once upside down, twist, tuck and bring your head and chest to one side and skyward. Placing opposite elbow to knee, left elbow to right knee or vice versa, place your forearms against the side of the kayak and reach the paddle up to the top of the water.

2. Now what to do with that paddle. First, keep your grip light. I like to hold the paddle with my fingertips to ensure I'm not choking the shaft.

3. To protect your shoulders imagine you have a rock under your back armpit, this will force you to focus on twisting your core during the roll and not unwinding with only your arms.

The Roll:

1. Remember the knee you connected with your elbow. Well forget it, or better disengage it by dropping it, it's the opposite knee we need now. The opposite knee meaning the one furthest away from your head, this is the one that's going to perform all of the magic, or at least get the show off the ground or in this case out of the water. Now focus on driving this knee upward while using your hips to start sliding the kayak underneath you. This is your torque which needs to be greater coming upright than exists with the paddler and boat upside down.

2. Now at the same time your knee and hips are moving the kayak, bring the flat blade of the paddle across the surface of the water by twisting your torso from the forward position back until your chin touches your shoulder. I like to remember, right knee up and follow the right blade back. You will feel the momentum of your body and boat working together. It will feel fluid and smooth, this is where the force of the buoyancy is equal to the weight of the displaced water providing a sense of weightlessness.

3. During this final stage of the roll you should be looking down the extended shaft of your paddle, elbows forward and in, hands chest high with your weight centered, but most importantly you should be upright and breathing.

Presto, you've just successfully done and Eskimo roll. Ok, probably not, we know it's not as easy as following a few steps in a blog but understanding the physics behind the roll and the steps that generate the torque and buoyancy needed are the first steps to creating a little rolling magic of your own.

This spring I was on a kayaking trip through the Exumas in the Bahamas, and one particularly cool night, our group decided to have a fire on the beach. We agreed we would not be burning any treated wood as this would logically release the chemicals used in the preservation of the wood into the atmosphere. Seemed to make sense, so we collected only driftwood and dried palm leafs and we shortly had a brilliant fire.

While we enjoyed the fire one member of our group proceeded to collect the various plastic bottles and bags we had accumulating in our kayaks. When asked what he was up to he explained that he planned to burn the plastic. Puzzled, we first looked at each other and then asked him how he thought this would be a good idea, His rational was two-fold. One, the beaches were already littered with various forms of plastic and adding to it was out of the question. Two, if we carried our plastic back to the local town, they would discard of it via their slow burn, smoldering incinerator. This, according to one of his "chemist friends" would release the various toxins like the well publicized Bisphenol A, aka. BPA. If however, we used our high temperature fire, the rational was that fewer toxins would be released and most conveniently burned away.

We sat silent for a few minutes and pondered his and his "experts" logic. We agreed the local community had no recycling program and did indeed incinerate their garbage. While walking the streets you could often smell the thick plastic aroma of the incinerator when the wind was still. We also agreed that we could not leave our refuse on the beach to ultimately end up floating in the ocean and be consumed by a whale, shark or dolphin (see photo of one such poor victim who was done in by a plastic bag) or potentially add to the already growing plastic debris fields that dot our oceans. There is currently one the size of Texas in the north Pacific. Ironically, these debris fields of plastic are only broken down by sunlight which ends up as small pellet size pieces of plastic that is then consumed or absorbed by small fish, shrimp, oysters, etc. and guess what, eventually us if you eat that seafood or eat what ate that seafood.

So our dilemma lingered as we sat fireside on the beautiful white talc like sand. Carry our plastic out and have it burned in the local, smoldering incinerator, leave it on the beach, buried or not, and have it add to the already growing problem of plastic in the ocean or burn our plastic here and now and pollute the air, but maybe to a lesser degree.

What would you do?

http://www.livestrong.com/article/141950-plastic-bottles-toxins/

http://www.ehow.com/about_5118589_plastic-disposal-problems.html