tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198182132011-12-03T13:13:02.861-08:00Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.comBlogger4861100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-49687252586076003812011-10-04T13:20:00.009-07:002011-10-04T13:34:36.758-07:00

My latest coverage from "travelgirl" magazine. The copy is my original, so mileage may vary slightly. The Beehive State is mellowing its straight-laced, Mormon-settled vibe, showing its eccentric edge and pioneer pluck. Newly relaxed liquor laws encourage après ski celebrations. Add in a calendar packed with live concerts and indie films (thanks Sundance!). Hipsters now mingle in galleries,

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-32364405260627465992011-09-14T11:10:00.001-07:002011-09-20T23:06:25.529-07:00

Yee-haw, our 12-week Writers.com workshop starts again September 26! Bring a conference panel's worth of teaching talent to your computer – any time, anywhere. Each week, students receive direct feedback from one of seven instructors, ranging from a social-media maven to a CNN correspondent and National Geographic contributors. Now that's more thrilling than pec tats of tikis mid-orgasm (but

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-59856071576544644002011-08-05T00:49:00.001-07:002011-08-05T00:52:51.914-07:00

Ten days ago, I spotted a black bear from the world's longest continuous lift system in British Columbia. Its web includes the 1.8-mile unsupported span draped between Whistler and Blackcomb Mountains: the Peak 2 Peak. Today I skimmed uphill in Medellin, Colombia, where the metro – and its cable-car tendrils – are transforming the City of Eternal Spring's barrios. We are all in

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-75157567376397490122011-07-15T22:39:00.003-07:002011-08-01T23:10:07.037-07:00

From baby-cradle water lilies to stretch-limo river otters, South America’s only English-speaking country surprises. But can it push further – protecting its tropical rainforest and indigenous culture – with a clever carbon-offsetting plan? I explored all this in travelgirl magazine's summer 2011 issue...   Text & Photos by Amanda Castleman Nostrils flaring, the Giant River Otter surges towards

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-75464233536152366242011-06-28T11:45:00.000-07:002011-06-28T11:45:14.033-07:00

Students already are piling into the travel-writing master class, a 12-week workshop online that kicks off in September. So I'm busy revising the curriculum and expanding the instructor line-up, which included Tom Swick, David Farley, Charyn Pfeuffer and Edward Readicker-Henderson last term. Joining some (or all) of that roster will be Stephanie Elizondo Griest. We met back in 2004, when Random

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-5226730496637927282011-06-21T12:48:00.000-07:002011-06-21T12:48:27.443-07:00

Tattoo: check Multiple yoga mats: check Drives a Jetta, longs for a hybrid: check Yes, I really have hit the Seattle trifecta now... just in time for my 36th birthday on the first day of summer! Here: Author Amanda Castleman takes one last glance at the Marquesas, one of the world's most remote archipelagos, where she got her first tattoo from Master Artist Felix Fii on Tahuata.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-62685144876995798532011-06-16T17:58:00.006-07:002011-06-25T12:43:57.605-07:00

(Scuba Diving Magazine, July 2011) The Gray Angel spooks the mollies giving me a fish pedicure. Diva-style, it makes kissy faces and flashes canary-yellow pectoral fins. But what can you expect from a retired Vegas showfish? The Mirage casino cut this one-eyed beauty from its lobby-tank chorus line. Luckily the aquarist called Bonneville Seabase, 45 minutes west of Salt Lake City, Utah. Here

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-23945049933453225182011-05-13T10:42:00.000-07:002011-05-13T10:42:24.282-07:00

PAPEETE – I got detained a few hours by the Tahitian police for being "une journaliste". Then the tourism heavyweights woke up and freed our merry band of travelers. In the meantime, we got to sit in a darkened baggage-claims area, where smoking was acceptable. How very noir!

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-7041724444461515002011-05-11T11:04:00.001-07:002011-05-11T11:07:34.082-07:00

Scuba Diving just published my Santa Barbara story. <a href="http://www.zinio.com/pages/ScubaDiving/Mar-Apr-11/416159578/pg-44">ScubaDiving-Mar-Apr-11</a> Below I've run my original copy (mileage may vary), as the magazine doesn't everything archive online... Sea lions torpedo past skeins of playful seals and kelp

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-45708686942425898152011-05-09T15:47:00.000-07:002011-05-09T15:47:49.080-07:00

Outside ran my Samoan luggage photo as its Parting Shot in the summer 2011 Buyer's Guide. Many thanks to my awesome friend, comrade and testing-editor Ted Alan Stedman for making this magic happen. Eliu and Tala haul luggage from the seaside fales – thatched villas – at Samoa’s Coconuts Beach Club Resort & Spa. The porters routinely carry bags this way, wearing traditional lava-lavas (sarongs)

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-64490106673646805992011-03-28T20:05:00.002-07:002011-03-28T20:12:22.050-07:00

SEATTLE, WA – Food on a stick appeals to our primal, bone-gnawing instincts, pop-culturists suggest. Finally! A way to make cake consumption more feral. Aside from exposing chocolate frosting to a swarm of seven-year-olds hopped up on birthday soda and candy... Riddhi Shah explored handlemania in Salon last September. She unearthed strange stickchef offerings out there such as salad (Texas),

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-4272822474716848912011-03-07T17:46:00.004-08:002011-03-08T08:24:12.675-08:00

Bartica, GUYANA – South America upped my hot-sauce game. Oh, I was already a contender, knocking back blends of naga bih jolokia, which Guinness World Records salute as the world's third fiercest pepper (one million Scoville units to habanero's 350,000). But fresh never entered the equation until I touched down in Georgetown, Guyana's capital. Fruit in the Bartica market. South America's only

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-68622216864634818982011-02-25T19:04:00.003-08:002011-03-08T09:02:25.547-08:00

Google struck a blow for media pros today, changing its algorithm to push down sites like eHow in favor of "original content and information such as research, in-depth reports, thoughtful analysis and so on". It also has a new blocklist extension for Chrome, which allows users to screen out content farms ... and the company plans to study what sites get the boot. Journos and intelligent

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-85646998959346065482011-02-14T00:05:00.004-08:002011-02-17T00:11:56.607-08:00

Stole emo boyfriend’s roomie. Left couch. Read more succinct stories of love and heartbreak via Smith Magazine and The New York Times.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-39386626755050036262011-01-27T11:45:00.003-08:002011-01-27T11:52:49.171-08:00

North American print publications could take a cue from Novelist Mark Twain, who famously announced the “report of my death was an exaggeration.” Last year, 193 new magazines launched, from Northeast Flavor to Livestrong Quarterly. Those offset 176 closures, including the venerable Gourmet. And the decline hit the brakes, according to MediaFinder.com. In 2009, seventy percent more magazines shut

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-43949760725458692742011-01-14T17:48:00.003-08:002011-03-07T11:33:24.148-08:00

Anna Melville-James and Amanda Castleman shortly after they went freelance in 2000 In 2000, Anna Melville-James and I were reporters for Oxford's newspaper group in England. Our mustier colleagues considered us interchangeable: a generic woman – uppity and twenty-something. Never mind that her Limey accent, belly-button ring and silver-screen style contrasted with my sandy, scruffy Yank

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-63729193823862818612011-01-07T12:55:00.004-08:002011-01-09T20:48:53.444-08:00

Even the best of authors have ticks, unconscious patterns they fall back on, especially under stress or tight deadlines. Emotional material, for example, makes me start repeating everything thrice. Done intentionally, that can have great rhetorical effect, as devices like the rule of three and tricolon crescendo prove. But my babbling is of the nervous, insipid variety normally reserved for

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-85733205853331702792010-08-16T11:45:00.002-07:002011-06-16T11:51:36.302-07:00

<a href="http://www.zinio.com/pages/SportDiver/Aug-10/416129751/pg-44"><br /> SportDiver-Aug-10</a> My original content, as the story isn't archived online except via Zinio. Mileage may vary slightly... Sublime Seattle Seattle serves up coffee, newfound chic and some of the planet’s finest coldwater descents By Amanda Castleman

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-45793148443613519022010-02-19T09:42:00.000-08:002010-02-19T09:43:41.799-08:00

Médecins Sans Frontières has been aggressively canvassing my 'hood: Ballard, Seattle. Recently, as I braced to run the three-person corner gauntlet, a man fell in step and said, “can you spare a moment?” “I gave already,” I replied (omitting the “directly to Haiti” part. And also the “my god, now you’re running us down like Pamplona bulls?” one). “Oh, I don’t care. I just figured if

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-68069684526226105882010-02-10T10:32:00.003-08:002010-02-10T19:07:32.293-08:00

My travel-writer pal, Seattle-based Charyn Pfeuffer, hopes to spend a year volunteering for 12 projects around the globe from Haiti to Honduras. She has some terrific rewards for her pledgers, from homemade Theo chocolate bread to 40% off three nights at the Royal Hawaiian. But if she doesn't hit her $20k fundraiser mark by February 22, she won't collect a penny. She's over half-way there.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-41943870684944823842009-02-15T15:12:00.004-08:002009-05-06T02:22:13.046-07:00

Rock Islands, Micronesia – The divemaster hands me a nautilus. Cream-and-caramel striped, it's CD-sized, but thick-bodied, filling the curve of my palm. The cephalopod heaves within its chambered shell: one of nature's finest examples of a logarithmic spiral. I fin over to one of the Sam's Tours guides. "It seems stressed," I scratch on a slate. "That's how they move," he writes back. True,

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-80857749529809607362009-02-15T01:37:00.003-08:002010-01-08T23:50:28.548-08:00

Rock Islands, Micronesia – A small vessel switchbacks across the inner reef. "Want me to swim?" I gesture, as much as shout. The captain waves me off: maybe it's a point of pride, how close can he draw to the remote Lee Marvin Beach, where my kayak expedition's camped? He's awful good. I wade to mid-thigh, lunch held aloft, then clamber aboard. Sam's Tours kindly detoured its chase boat, so I

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-30241744188486603072009-02-14T21:20:00.010-08:002009-05-02T22:08:19.705-07:00

Rock Islands, Micronesia – We slip through a tidal tunnel, then weave deeper into the lagoonlets. Finally Paddle Palau's Ron stops short. "Shhhhh," he says. "This is a shark nursery. We could see pups here." Science still has much to learn about these predators. No one's quite sure how they sleep, for example. Ram-ventilators – who breathe by forcing oxygen-rich water over their mouths and

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-59739630779657039982009-02-14T01:25:00.010-08:002009-05-01T01:53:09.841-07:00

Rock Islands, Micronesia –  Ron is pulling out WWII whizbang facts, in front of the Japanese pill box. I focus on shooting photos, so I don't blurt spoilers like "Admiral Yamamoto" and "Battle of Midway!" Because when this man spins a yarn, you remember, even years later... I recall the site well too: the graffiti, the hidden helmet, the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-60682829181970204192009-02-13T02:26:00.006-08:002009-04-24T02:38:30.898-07:00

KOROR, Palau – In the helicopter tour office, I'm roboting through liability forms. "Hey, there's Ron!" someone notes. "Ron Leidich?" my head snaps up. "I've been trying to track him down for months." A biologist and outfitter, Ron's a driving force behind Paddling Palau, along with his wife Leticia Sicat-Leidich. "I've seen a journalist cry because he spent weeks here and couldn't corner Ron,"

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-6670585985069590812009-02-12T12:14:00.004-08:002009-04-23T16:52:47.971-07:00

KOROR, Palau – The rain washed all the gunk from the air, just in time for my hour-long helicopter tour. Pilot Matt stripped the doors off the Hughes 500, so I could shoot photographs of the dive sites and Rock Islands. Days like this, it's hard not to believe the hype – that I have the world's second best job, right behind "rock star". So April 25th, I'll share the career love at the Northwest

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-75992275374534840572009-02-11T17:43:00.002-08:002009-04-20T17:51:19.535-07:00

PALAU, Micronesia – Saki wears pink fins and carries a Hello Kitty slate. Her thick, waist-length pigtails swirl in the sea: sea urchin black at the roots, butterfly-fish blonde at the tips. This Carp Island Resort guide is tough and smart and funny. In fact, she one of the most amazing female divers I've met. But, well, she is a team player from the land of bullet trains with professional

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-34325636929302161222009-02-10T15:54:00.014-08:002009-04-23T16:33:37.434-07:00

Carp Island Resort, Palau, Micronesia – Where the shell path slices into the mangroves, the young woman glances back. “Where are you from?” she whispers, in English. “Seattle. America,” I reply. “You?” “Hiroshima.” Air erupts from my lungs and I wrestle the vacuum into a noise like “oh.” “You’ve heard of it?” she beams. Yes, of course, I want to say. My people fought yours for these islands,

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-34559485827805092242009-02-09T01:22:00.002-08:002009-04-20T17:49:35.323-07:00

PALAU, Micronesia – Eight divers or so load onto the Carp Island Resort launch. I am the only one who doesn't speak Japanese; I smile and nod a lot, inadequately. Rainclouds loom, so I accept a yellow slicker. I'm from the Pacific Northwest. Of course I have serious rain gear. Can I use more in typhoony weather? Always. Plus, I live in the land of geek chic and haute polarfleece: looking nerdy

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-9888130973489816822009-02-08T01:01:00.004-08:002009-04-20T17:49:35.323-07:00

PALAU, Micronesia – Current frets at my mask, hoses and pigtails, as I finally dive the famous Blue Corner. Parachute cord and a reef hook – a clever J-shaped curve of metal – anchor me to the reef. I bob, balloon on a string, staring out towards the Philippine Sea. Black tips, white tips, grey reef sharks: they all muscle past in great sweeps, sometimes framed by a quiver of barracuda. My last

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-26799504136932486542009-02-06T19:05:00.005-08:002009-04-20T17:49:35.323-07:00

SEATTLE-LA-HONOLULU-GUAM-KOROR: Amy ran to the pharmacy. Maria washed the dishes. Jenny, I think, took out the trash. And somehow, with a lot of help from my friends, I scrambled into the airport shuttle. People often assume travel writers are the road's elite: honed by countless witty anecdotes from Bosnia to Botswana. And that's partly true: I'll pit my security-X-ray speed against the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-69091565089075364062009-01-24T22:12:00.001-08:002009-01-24T22:17:54.394-08:00

Redondo, Washington – One flashlight sputters into the rowboat's shadows, 60 feet below the sea. Val slaps a freshly charged one in my glove, then gestures: "look!" My first Giant Pacific Octopus in the wild. I study the white suckers against the cephalopod's rose- and salmon-colored skin. It resembles a Kleenex, blotted with teeny bopper lipgloss, then chucked in a puddle. Deep under a rowboat,

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-29472179870131502202009-01-20T16:07:00.001-08:002009-01-23T16:09:50.959-08:00

WHIDBEY ISLAND, Washington – A friend dusted off his motorcycle for a sun-soaked drive, so we could hike Ebey's Landing. I'd not passengered on a bike since Rome in spring. Winter on Interstate-5 in the Pacific Northwest is a whole nother experience...

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-24456568883879679922009-01-13T01:14:00.010-08:002009-01-16T01:34:20.104-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Take two kids, preferably six- and 7.75-year-old girls. Add a dash of penny-squishing legal defiance at the Ballard locks. It's hard to misbehave in Seattle's old Scandinavian fishing village, but try to give Japanese tourists a thrill. And your spare coppers. Inject ample sugar, courtesy of Cupcake Royale, home of the "Coconut Bunny" and "Dance Party with Holly Hobbie

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-9783091515202042942009-01-07T01:36:00.008-08:002009-01-09T02:20:06.123-08:00

Waggles has an undescended third testicle. This – or possibly the fact he resents the name and resembling Toto – made him bark at me. And bark. And barkandbarkandBARK. Even though he'd moved into my backyard. But wee macho dogs can't appreciate such niceties. "Alpha wolf!" scream their instincts, not yet devolved down to drop-kick size like their frames. So Waggles barked. For months. Until the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-75012242369265716412009-01-02T23:30:00.002-08:002009-01-05T23:42:30.062-08:00

1. Carry the cell. Especially when people give the wrong directions, others then drop you off accidentally in strange quadrants of town and you've written down a useless number (home) for the one person who can make it all better. 2. In a pinch, one may count upon Buddhists and people with Tibetan prayer flags to loan their phones. 3. How friggin' Buddhist can you really be, if you'll eat turkey

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-23875920729169089412008-12-30T23:44:00.003-08:002009-01-04T23:52:23.298-08:00

Have 1,000 words* that require more telling than a picture? The good folks at Intrepid Travel might reward you with a 15-day trip to Peru for it, thanks to this nifty contest. Beth Whitman of Wanderlust and Lipstick fame sweet-talked me onto the judges panel. So knock it outta the park, folks! *Actually, the word count's 800-2,500, but why let that disrupt a fine journalistic conceit? Further

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-51895477182685640122008-12-26T17:51:00.003-08:002009-01-04T18:16:42.511-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – On a last-minute whim, Amy W. and I decided to host a holiday party. We sat 17 people down to dinner in my living room: a space smaller than a one-car garage. The banquet was an elbows-in sort of affair: T-Rex stub-limb dining. But many attendees declared it, "way more fun than family" and "better grub too". Oh, we still managed some dysfunction, sure, from punk-@sserey to

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-79746033048948439572008-12-25T21:15:00.001-08:002008-12-30T23:54:36.732-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Amy's trying to do my make-up, as people arrive for our Christmas dinner. I'm pup-wriggling, almost seismographing eyeliner across my forehead. Then, petulantly, I stomp my high heels – clop, clop, clop – and her calm shatters. "Stop being such a tomboy!" She lards on a full-finger wag. I sass back with maybe a few more clops: "Not really going to happen after 33 years!"

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-3650460110563126092008-12-25T01:30:00.001-08:002008-12-29T01:34:54.761-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Mike, of dump-run-truck celeb-status, recently sold me his old Canon 70-200mm, F-2.8 lens: my first proper glass since the AE-I a decade ago. The beast isn't close to paid off, but I take it roaming anyway, because things should be used. Birds catch my eye, this last real snow day in Seattle. But damn if the little suckers aren't hard to wrangle into a frame...

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-1934314177093198392008-12-24T10:59:00.003-08:002008-12-24T11:09:29.201-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Two years ago, I open-water certified in Honduras. My cousin Ryan, a Navy diver, had just passed away and, well, someone had to keep horsing around underwater, aggravating our elders... Every descent, I think about him. And now I wish I could ring his freaky walkie-talkie phone and yelp: "My first Sport Diver story came out. Right next to my friend Ted's. How's that for a

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-9993229272412375412008-12-22T12:24:00.002-08:002008-12-22T12:30:14.663-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Earlier this year, I wrote that the Emerald City's "600,000-odd inhabitants care more about snow-pack than stock options and society galas" in travelgirl magazine. "Don't be fooled," I continued. "Seattleites are plenty smart (The United States Census Bureau crowned their city America's most educated). But they obey the call of the wild here in ecotopia. 'This may be the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-72484460513113804602008-12-21T22:46:00.004-08:002008-12-21T22:54:19.245-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Snow sifts down, powder rising ankle-deep. And smack in the middle of the blizzard, my friend Amy W. shows up with a 20lb turkey: the last on the neighborhood supermarkets' shelves, in fact. Clearly I lucked into a dedicated co-host for the holiday dinner here on Christmas evening.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-59078709212463918642008-12-21T00:16:00.011-08:002008-12-21T22:25:46.405-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Though not superstitious, I must confess, my heebie-jeebies are rising, here in the 110-odd-year-old house: 1. The light switches on at 7am. Woo-woo version: Calvinist ghosts say "get up"! Rationalist denial: faulty-spring flips upward. 2. (Two weeks later) The shower blasts on, full bore, as I'm working at the desktop, dirty, two rooms away. Woo-woo: The home's

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-50862420556213151282008-12-18T20:36:00.005-08:002008-12-18T23:33:45.212-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – The yam-lentil stew simmers and earring-sized ornaments dangle from the live 12-inch tree. I gave it a ginormous terracotta pot, because, in time, it too shall become ginormous. My 2004 evergreen – lofty at 3.5ft – lives in a whiskey barrel on the back deck now: too heavy to drag inside. "You'll have to liberate it soon," my mother Ellen warns, "before it falls on that nice

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-8506621381070781072008-12-13T19:39:00.001-08:002008-12-18T19:41:51.723-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Beth Whitman, the Wanderlust and Lipstick diva, helped launch Passports with Purpose (PwP), a travel-themed raffle to support Heifer International this year. Our buddy Dave Fox supplied signed copies of his books Globejotting and Getting Lost as prizes, along with a writing consultation. I, uh, provided moral support from the sidelines, along with some 11th-hour publicity

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-64690749748642077672008-12-10T14:05:00.006-08:002008-12-16T14:56:41.629-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Yeah, I kvetch about the slaphappy fryer habits of Ray's Boathouse (oyster chunks in the yam fries: tsk). But whenever I crest 57th's slope, I always thrill to the restaurant's iconic neon tower, silhouetted against Puget Sound, where this notch of water wings northward. This hipster city needs an oasis for combovers and deck shoes, cranberry spritzers and tawdry

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-5863539878689157552008-12-05T01:56:00.010-08:002008-12-09T17:57:30.629-08:00

FOUNTAIN HILLS, Arizona – "What's the genus and species name for black bears?" I blurt, slamming laptop keys on deadline. No, beyond, to be honest. Waaaaay beyond – like in a Douglas Adams sense: "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." Ellen (mom) springs into action, ever the acute-minded hospital director who makes me so proud. "Hang on!" She sprints into the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-87598279653244511222008-12-04T14:18:00.004-08:002008-12-08T03:19:22.110-08:00

PUERTO PEÑASCO, Mexico – A toast, modified: May you never know want, May you never know need, And may you never chase a lost black dog through a dark foreign night. John (dad) found his 98lb mutt bounding gormlessly over the sand dunes. We have even more to be thankful for this season, it seems.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-58064884312734293692008-12-03T14:45:00.008-08:002008-12-08T03:23:30.655-08:00

PUERTO PEÑASCO, Mexico – The mariachis strum and shout for Keith's 80th birthday. Ellen – la mamma – is grilling patties. "Carne para hamburguesa," I read off the wrapper. "Meat with hamburger! Let's see, these contain cattle meat, bird meat, turkey and two animal products I can't manage to translate." She swats the spatula at me. "Bad vegetarian. Go away." But she sticks to hot dogs, I notice.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-13291347181666027362008-12-01T12:41:00.006-08:002008-12-07T12:52:11.852-08:00

PUERTO PEÑASCO, Mexico – I toted Rylee on my hip until she was in junior high school, she's so tiny. Oh, I could still lift her, but our mothers decided it was undignified. She's the closest I'll ever come to a sister. Our families have celebrated holidays together for 20-odd years: first beach walks in the NW, now barbecues in Arizona. I was in the hospital room right until her C-section. And

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-33224910626204145622008-11-30T23:14:00.005-08:002008-12-06T23:30:26.834-08:00

PUERTO PEÑASCO, Mexico – The good burghers of Arizona blast their SUVs across the border to "their" beach. The gringo beach. You know, the one larded with construction-stalled condo skeletons and half-million-dollar unsold villas behind security gates. Where the desert meets the Sea of Cortez, they rev their noise-making toys: ATVs, jet-skis and light-planes. They hoot and scream and booty dance

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-53380684193347746272008-11-25T01:52:00.005-08:002008-11-25T02:05:47.135-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – My pseudo-sib pulled an early-Christmas judo move: dinner and tix to The Hold Steady, often referred to as "America's best bar band" and the smart-@ssery of choice among Pacific Northwest travel hacks, it seems, since an ace food-hybrid writer joined us. Yeah, I'm big on sample sizes. Anyway. Singer Craig Finn launched into "Citrus" at the Showbox Sodo. The room's adrenaline

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-40793895843557619322008-11-20T23:24:00.001-08:002008-11-20T23:26:16.376-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington –  Work's gone lively, what with judging a contest for Intrepid Travel – and another for mine own Travelwritingclass.com, which just announced 2009 Rome workshop dates (May 10–16). And Writers.com unveiled two new media courses I'll teach online next year. All this just as I'm finishing – no, really! – the Frommer's hiking manifesto and organizing my triumphant return to

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-83125907860183010132008-11-14T16:22:00.002-08:002008-11-14T16:33:19.609-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington –  Open letter to Parks Superintendent Tim Gallagher: Please don't ban nudity in our parks. That defies the spirit of Seattle, whose liberal citizens just voted you a $146m levy during a recession. I'm not a nudist, but I value the freedom this city has protected for years. Frankly, I am horrified this issue has even arisen, especially since nakedness "per se isn't

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-7286700047439548512008-11-12T02:55:00.001-08:002008-11-14T02:59:10.418-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – Three months ago, the writer's garret was under threat: my sweet landlady Ruth started making "possible sale" noise, since the apartment below remained empty. "Let me slap an ad on Craigslist?" I asked, before ditching town for some field work on a Sunday night. "I'll link to the rental agent's dossier." Except the S.O.B. hadn't listed our house at all. At corporate rates,

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-52237570623671172852008-11-10T03:00:00.002-08:002008-11-13T03:07:11.423-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington – "Burning Man, huh?" one of my oldest friends muses. "I didn't take you for the type." (Well, I never thought he'd roadie for Yanni or Avril, but you don't see me taking umbrage or casting aspersions or what have you...) "The type?" "You know ... hippie." Oh, Paul. Burning Man is steam punk, retro swank, hair-band glam: any damn thing 55,000 anarchists could envision, in

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-28356668463683182832008-11-06T10:55:00.003-08:002008-11-06T11:04:48.823-08:00

SEATTLE, Washington: Bikes circle like sharks – lean, lithe and predatory. "Keep moving, just keep moving," Matt Messenger urges. Then he weasels his mallet between my wheels and snags the ball. Rookie meat, I jam the brake – yes, just one – smash the cycle into a horizontal skid and bounce out of the wreckage. "Nice fall!" The sport is bike polo, the "urban/hardcourt" strain, as opposed to

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-54071980052320098562008-11-05T02:01:00.003-08:002008-11-05T03:00:26.680-08:00

SEATTLE – People scream. Honk. Ignite bottle rockets. Big rebel stuff for Ballard, the neighborhood of lye-cod, ya, you betcha! Still I don't trust it. My cousin Jenny and I waif into the George and Dragon in Fremont. Why does the aura of fryer fat add authenticity? Never mind, it's here, it's visceral. The bouncer cards us as we robot-lock on McCain's concession speech. "It's real?" I ask. He

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-26428671467534391222008-10-31T00:54:00.004-07:002008-11-05T02:01:17.428-08:00

SEATTLE – October was, erm, cute. I could tell you about all the fab walks and dinners and kayaks and pool dives, testing secondhand scuba gear. Hell, I even managed a Tom Robbins play in there, complete with juicy cowgirls, thanks to alert friends. But, really, why? My head buzzed at the start and ever-so-much louder at the end. Karmic net gain: zero. As I tell my students, no one wants to see

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-75260927302345812172008-09-22T10:40:00.001-07:002008-11-03T10:47:48.228-08:00

SAN JUAN ISLAND, Washington – After months of playing in the deserts and rainforests, it's time to head home, batten down for the long grey swells of winter. To abandon some dreams, create others. This year's been curiously hard, between my grandmother's extended-play death and caretaking for a friend in crisis. I'm not sorry to rumble into its home stretch.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-20180757868798679972008-09-21T10:05:00.004-07:002008-11-04T09:48:37.381-08:00

SAN JUAN ISLAND, Washington – This landscape, all tawny bluff and steely sea, is where my cornered brain flees. After 12 years, I once again trace the familiar cliffs of American Camp. I've dreamt myself here so many times ... Now it's strange actually descending to Grandma's Cove – fielding bizarre declarations from a tagalong German tourist: no, the Exxon Valdez did not sink offshore, really.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-31772360671990349812008-09-19T19:13:00.003-07:002008-11-04T09:47:40.876-08:00

FRIDAY HARBOR, Washington – Against all odds – we are not a punctual people –  my singer-songwriter cousin Jenny and I meet on San Juan Island, as the ferries do-si-do between Canada and the States. Then we celebrate with some local microbrew and wind up sleeping in her Scooby van at the marina, because we can't be arsed to drive six miles to the county park. However free, the parking lot is

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-69240815264952499462008-09-18T21:31:00.001-07:002008-10-30T21:37:08.742-07:00

STRATHCONA, British Columbia – Along Baby Bedwell Lake rises a curious monolith: the zippered cocoon toilet. Rubberized canvas flaps atop a PVC frame, suspended over a stainless steel portapotty tank. "They just helicopter it out come winter," a passing mountaineer insists. "It's really sensible, even if it's weird." No, mate, that falls firmly in the just plain weird category. Sorry.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-7043594914631336862008-09-18T13:42:00.003-07:002008-10-29T13:55:52.464-07:00

STRATHCONA, British Columbia – The trail winds through alpine tarns the color of good single-malt whiskey. As I roll down to Baby Bedwell Lake, a couple greets me. "Where's your party?" "I'm alone." "You're solo-hiking? That's so stupid!" she bursts out. Um. Not really. The lodge manager knows where I am and expects a check-in call tonight. She's administered medicine for my fever, plus the sort

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-19482653151898682482008-09-17T18:58:00.003-07:002008-10-27T21:40:47.723-07:00

TOFINO, British Columbia – Some days, everything happens for a reason... My twice-confirmed water taxi bails for a more juicy fare. Irritated, I wander into the bookstore for an espresso – and just happen to overhear kayak trips being reserved to Meares Island, precisely where I need to report. She shoots! She scores! So I paddle a silky, sweet boat on Browning Passage. And then

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-72362499001887021252008-09-16T10:54:00.002-07:002008-10-27T10:58:07.758-07:00

UCLUELET, British Columbia – Signs warn about cougars. But I'm more worried about an attack by a recession-crazed realtor. Because Weyerhaeuser's planting "an exclusive community" smack in the middle of the Wild Pacific Trail (WPT). Construction snarls the path now like bubble gum in hair. I try to direct a British couple to the Big Beach. They give up and bolt towards their car. "I'm worried

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-83720384632185591722008-09-13T15:45:00.003-07:002008-10-24T16:58:26.503-07:00

SALTSPRING ISLAND, British Columbia – "Watch out for the turkeys," Miguel warns. They've escaped the pen in Ruckle Provincial Park and swarm around us. "They're tur-keys," I backchat. "I've dove with sharks, hiked beside bears. What's a turkey gonna do?" Answer: give my wise-@ss a wedgie while I squat down to take close-up gobbler-cam photos. Really. The hen nabs the plastic logo on the back of

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-83219860868583818092008-09-12T15:35:00.003-07:002008-10-24T16:52:36.426-07:00

SALTSPRING ISLAND, British Columbia – Thanks to ferries, we arrived late at the B&B – a communal organic farm. Much, much too late to complain about the wasps in the barn's sleeping loft. I trapped. He smashed. But ultimately, Miguel and I wound up sharing the single bed downstairs*. Nothing like a romantic weekend away to set things right ... like one's posture. *At the time, we were coupled up

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-21989212793369344942008-09-01T19:09:00.002-07:002008-10-21T21:27:11.494-07:00

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-87698681204719705292008-08-31T17:47:00.007-07:002008-10-21T21:29:50.124-07:00

BURNING MAN, Black Rock City, Nevada –  "Whiteout!" someone bellows. I scan the horizon, hills drizzled in desert sunshine, then swivel my head: Static fills the screen. Dust curtains the camp, ripping loose tents and small adults. Eyes disappear behind goggles, masks swathe pouting mouths. Pale chalk creeps up nostrils, down zippers, into DNA. Roaraxer Reid strums his

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-89955733263670512912008-08-31T11:54:00.004-07:002008-10-20T03:07:38.580-07:00

BURNING MAN, Black Rock City, Nevada – The Girl Scouts of America chucked me out 23 years ago. In addition to general atheism and brattiness, I'd protested our Thanksgiving charity project: pushing cloves into oranges to create aromatic spice balls for the homeless. To be fair, I had statistical data to back my potty-mouthed claim of "bull$hit": 100% of the troop found the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-37040528644477345542008-08-30T15:29:00.001-07:002008-10-18T15:34:29.567-07:00

BURNING MAN, Nevada – A million tales unfold on the playa. This is ours tonight... The Roarax Rounge art car, all umbrella spokes and bobbling illuminated globes, sputters. It bucks, shoots backward 20 feet – Grant super-heroes from its path – doglegs, then horribly jackknifes in the silt and conks out. But it's Burning Man, baby, so we crank the funk and everyone dances with the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-16687181704934807352008-08-29T22:05:00.007-07:002008-10-14T01:43:36.245-07:00

BURNING MAN, Black Rock City, Nevada – Rach and I wander the playa, despite the mid-afternoon heat. We snarf liquid-nitrogen ice cream, gawk at trees made of ballet shoes and animal bones, sip champagne and nibble cheese-old-enough-for-ennui in a tent complex painted like a Regency ballroom. We watch a man squirm through a pink net "rebirthing tube" 20 feet off the ground and

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-61336364893089334062008-08-28T02:30:00.004-07:002008-10-13T00:33:02.532-07:00

BURNING MAN, Black Rock City, Nevada – "U.S. needs us strong," the poster blares. "Eat your young." From the passenger seat, I snap a picture, ever the hack, even at 2.30am in a minor sandstorm. A guard flat-palms the lens. "Is that camera registered yet?" he barks. "Nah, why would it be?" I reply, about to bust out my press card and constitutional indignation, though I'm not

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-21817606501625618022008-08-27T19:19:00.004-07:002008-10-10T19:31:35.476-07:00

SAN FRANCISCO – Rachel and I dash around the city, doing all those essential pre-Burn tasks: Securing fake fur to clapped-out mountain bikes – check Browsing the pirate supply store – check Buying lace-up knee-high boots at Goodwill – ka-ching! We sling all the goodies into the car, crowned by her light-up jellyfish costume, and floor the accelerator towards

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-2815566434349655382008-08-25T15:11:00.003-07:002008-10-10T15:25:49.692-07:00

VICTORIA TO SEATTLE – The Clipper breezes from the B.C. capital to the Emerald City. Bone-tired, I slump in the seat and sleep until downtown's skyscrapers loom. Dockside, I peer at the street signs. I started this West Coast Trail jaunt by bus and dog-gone-it, I'll finish it the same on the #17. Soon as I find it. "Amanda," a man shouts. Puzzled, I turn. Only one person knows

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-11284204636655669422008-08-24T16:07:00.000-07:002008-10-07T16:08:29.949-07:00

Port Renfrew, British Columbia – A gun cracks through the mist. "Only one reason to shoot in town," I think, frozen alongside the main road. "Garbage bear. And I bet it's gonna burst out of the bushes right – THERE!" Ten feet in front of me, the understory erupts. A black bear, buttful of buckshot, legs it for deeper forest cover. Fifty miles of wilderness and I encounter

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-15161312093604747442008-08-23T15:44:00.003-07:002008-10-07T15:49:42.116-07:00

Gordon River, West Coast Trail – Rain drools underneath our Gore-tex, 4km from the trailhead. The four steepest, muddiest, nastiest kilometers of the whole route, naturally. But we splash out anyway: we're too close not to finish the thing. The ferryman's off for the evening, so we camp beside the river. David cooks pasta, wedged under the six-inch eave of the WCT sign. Our

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-68087604854106422982008-08-23T00:01:00.001-07:002008-10-01T00:03:14.692-07:00

Camper, West Coast Trail – Dreams fever the damp night. In one, Rachel Carson reminds me of the conventional wisdom: never attempt Owen's Point – the route's highest evacuation point – on a rising tide. I wake, convinced to go inland. I am alone in this resolve. My friends want to race the ocean. So I trudge into the blowdowns alone. And man, does it suck. For two hours, I

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-25424002844963797942008-08-22T22:00:00.003-07:002008-10-01T00:01:37.979-07:00

West Coast Trail – I often dream in the mist palette of Cape Cod, Santa Cruz, the Pacific Northwest... Sometimes dove-soft whimsy, other times stark black-and-white nightmares. In a recurring one, I blunder along a cliff, pursued, slow, lost. So when I round a cove, where a stunted tree drools over a sea-stack, I am uneasy. The twisted shaped reminds me of a favorite Japanese

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-15791673299488177452008-08-22T18:21:00.000-07:002008-09-29T00:58:16.408-07:00

Carmanah Lighthouse, West Coast Trail – The beagle Charlie Parker dives down the long-rung ladders: 50, 70 feet, no problem. But he never wandered, until a cougar – or something big and nasty – smeared his sister all over the river bank. "He's looking for her," insists Monique, proprietor of the mid-trek burger stand on Ditidaht territory. She serves me an omelet on a bun,

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-24217988041925816262008-08-22T17:30:00.001-07:002008-09-26T17:34:22.866-07:00

Cheewat River, West Coast Trail – The waterway's name translates "stream of urine". Appropriately enough, the ferryman sells cans of beer. Plus fresh crab and salmon, none of which pushes my go-button, as a vegetarian. Me, I land some boiled potatoes. With extra margarine, after I beg. Be still my beating heart. Don't be jealous, now. I think they have enough spuds for all my

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-3405036517373750352008-08-21T23:55:00.000-07:002008-09-26T17:00:58.443-07:00

Tsuisiat Falls, West Coast Trail – That night, Maria and I wander south on the beach. A nearly full moon silvers the whole horizon – the blues and greys and blacks shot only by a lone campfire blaze. We scrunch on a surf log and listen to the wild Pacific. We have been friends 15 years now. My college roommate was pregnant at my wedding. A decade later, her child baked me a

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-78491554747018035942008-08-21T23:13:00.003-07:002008-09-24T16:19:30.313-07:00

Tsuisiat Falls, West Coast Trail – We fret in circles: should we call the warden? Head forward to where our companion might emerge? Return to the last point we saw him? David bustles up: soaked and scraped from a surge channel. "Five groups told me you guys were here. The last one said I was in trouble." Well ... yeah. And duh. But – mature adults all – we soldier past this

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-5336551332881068582008-08-21T21:26:00.004-07:002008-09-17T01:50:56.300-07:00

Valencia Bluffs, West Coast Trail – Known as the "Graveyard of the Pacific," this wild rim has wrecked at least 80 major vessels. The Valencia alone claimed 133 lives, mostly women and children. For three days in 1906, breakers ground the steamship into froth against the shale. Outcry drove Canadians to hack a lifesaving route into the swollen knot of rainforest: the very

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-21397014157147944752008-08-21T20:02:00.000-07:002008-09-16T20:05:26.968-07:00

Michigan Camp, West Coast Trail – "The second biggest ladder is 10 minutes from the station," the warden counsels. Oh man is she correct. Four feet below the rungs salal sprouts. But my gaze gumbies past my feet and stretches 20, 30, 40, 60+ feet. The bear canister shifts ominously in my 60-lb pack (yes, yes, far too heavy: I know). I buck my knees onto a crossbeam. And I

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-24627145993474687932008-08-20T09:01:00.003-07:002008-09-08T23:07:24.473-07:00

Pachena Bay, Bamfield, BRITISH COLUMBIA – Never wear new boots on the West Coast Trail. Nuff said.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-81258756149724690872008-08-19T23:48:00.004-07:002008-09-08T23:48:40.823-07:00

1. Our B&B luggage-hauler went fishin'. 2. The boat was on time. Who knew such a thing could happen? 3. Thus his partner – in a hedge-clipping frenzy – fails to check messages. 4. The general store is shut due to lack of electricity. 5. The $200 suite boasts a scout-troop-sized kitchen, mudroom (remove all foodstuffs: bear threat) and two queen-sized bunk beds clustered

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-70636145723803389052008-08-19T23:16:00.002-07:002008-09-08T19:30:36.560-07:00

UCLUELET–BAMFIELD – "Did we miss the ferry?" The question bursts out, breathless. The top-hatted kid grins. "Nah. We can leave whenever you guys want." Welcome to rural Vancouver Island, where natives mold time like Play-Doh. Infuriating as this trait can be, the Seaway "Express" also stopped the boat so two gray whales could spritz our southern hides. Six feet away, the

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-26526628298676609552008-08-19T11:44:00.000-07:002008-09-08T19:21:58.302-07:00

SEATTLE–TOFINO – My Aussie friend Paul ambushes me at the floatplane terminal for bear hugs and a last-minute Starsucks run. A roadie, he travels even more than I do. Thus he understands the horror of overpacking – 66lbs on a wilderness trip! – and schleps off some excess equipment to his house-sitting lair. The propeller churns and we're off, banking over Gas Works Park

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-81609394601327460522008-08-17T18:20:00.001-07:002008-08-25T18:26:06.730-07:00

VICTORIA, British Columbia – My college roommate Robbie and I meet for dinner after work. That's around 10pm, given my hectic travel schedule. We haven't seen each other since 1996. So it's extra shocking to find him detained by cops outside my seedy hotel. "I ran into the lobby," he explains. "I was a little distracted by the hooker washing her boobs in the sprinkler – nice 'hood here – but I

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-62171043423361014692008-08-15T14:34:00.002-07:002008-08-25T18:42:44.747-07:00

JUAN DE FUCA TRAIL, Port Renfrew, B.C. – Without glancing at my watch, I know it's 7pm. That's when I start fretting about predators. The "hour of bearing down," I call it. Solo hiking at dusk is dumb enough. On Vancouver Island – amid one of the world's densest concentrations of bears and cougars – it smacks of outright idiocy. So does a three-mile-an-hour clip over mossy logs and wet exposed

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-18925520521179791112008-08-07T16:24:00.001-07:002008-08-12T16:28:09.678-07:00

A presentation by Rolf Potts, starring many of my favorite people like ma and pa and Marie and Edward... (Messr. Potts is a big deal in our trade, even if he needs to work on special-character corruption ... I suspect he interviewed me to liven the white-male progression – he seems to color or ovary it up every third month. Whatever the motivation, can I really object to featuring after Gary

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-58116775526549892772008-08-06T09:38:00.001-07:002008-08-08T09:41:14.961-07:00

Goldstream Provincial Park, BC – Never mind. I'm too ashamed to even try to explain why the laptop summited Mount Finlayson in British Columbia...

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-34133853162441178532008-08-03T11:47:00.003-07:002008-08-06T11:53:55.291-07:00

Fountain Hills, ARIZONA –  I flew south to surprise my dad for his 65th birthday. In the 110-degree desert heat, I knocked on the door, then popped out from behind a balloon bouquet. He hugged me about 20 times. Then, in a state of shock, ran into the kitchen and began cleaning.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-16077803942723480422008-08-02T11:25:00.005-07:002008-08-04T11:31:47.987-07:00

I don't care what lies your airline carrier smeared around: the new baggage fees have resulting in snarling chaos. Planes bottleneck, as passengers fight to wedge rollerboards in the overhead bins. Attendants wrestle away overlarge suitcases. People wail down the aisles, suddenly aware they've accidentally gate-checked cash, gold and delicate electronics. Like air travel wasn't vile enough? And

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-28102763160799348582008-08-01T10:43:00.002-07:002008-08-04T10:46:34.051-07:00

Dear US Airways, I am horrified by your new beverage policy. Charge for cokes if you must, but NOT water. In-flight embolisms kill more people than plane crashes, as you well know. Encouraging folks to dehydrate is flat-out dangerous. I will not be flying US Airways again until this policy changes, nor will I, as a travel writer, endorse your services. I am not alone in my sentiments.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-53277212981177986602008-07-30T09:40:00.001-07:002008-07-30T09:48:58.990-07:00

SEATTLE – So a teacher walks into a blog class. And the Internet is down. She resorts to charades and white-board pictionary. As with Bill Bailey's meta-joke, much hilarity ensues.

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19818213.post-89135998452950999352008-07-29T09:18:00.004-07:002008-12-11T00:14:22.098-08:00

I accept this, especially when I teach blogging. Last year I accidentally projected a three-foot-wide hoo-ha onto the wall. The programs director kindly assured me "it wasn't the first time at the Hugo House." But a masturbating carrot? What are these here innertubes coming to?

Amanda Castlemanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16162220092001064401noreply@blogger.com2