Non plus ultra: the edge of the unknown

At 630pm on the 22nd of October the 47-foot sailing catamaran El Gato entered the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in her existence. Previously owned by Italians, she had been a Mediterranean girl all her (known) life. And now, abreast the fabled city of Tarifa, she poked her bows into the Atlantic. 

Although it kept pushing her back with a strong current; forcing us close to the green, pastoral coast of Spain, with its rugged bastions and alabaster estancias; dodging the smaller fishing boats to starboard while a cavalcade of ships converged to port. 

The wind, as opposed to the forecast light easterly, was on the nose; the seas choppy. When I finally took a nap I was mostly airborne, and the waves smacked angrily against the hull. As if that wasn’t enough, shipping traffic at this confluence of commerce and culture, was bedlam. The AIS chimed incessantly, we had to turn it off. 
We sailed under jib and main but kept our engines running for maneuverability. Vessels were coming and going from all points, squeezing toward the shipping lanes, and for several hours it was a corridor of hell.

In fact, for centuries charts indicated here ‘non plus ultra’ (nothing further beyond): a warning to mariners to go no further. Plato referred to it as the edge of the unknown. This was where Hercules, intended to cross a mountain, instead smashed it in two, hence the Pillars of Hercules – Gibraltar on the north and Monte Hacho*, on the African continent to our south – opening the Mediterranean Sea to the Ocean of Atlas. (*although some lore says it's Morocco's Jebel Musa)

The significance of Tarifa 

Gibraltar had fallen astern and a plume of clouds trailed off Monte Hacho, as we approached Tarifa. 

Many years ago – 17, in fact – Susan Colby had bid me up to San Francisco to interview at Quokka Sports. “Get your arse up here, they’re hiring writers and paying real money,” she urged. 

One evening another interviewee, Neil Stebbins, Susan and I went to the massive bookstore near the hotel to muse among the literature (that’s the sort of thing writers do for fun). Neil and I decided to select something from the enormous inventory, for the other to buy. We looked at volumes of books and listened to scores of cds. I can’t remember who chose what, but one of us selected an exotic album “Radio Tarifa” and by some quirk, the other chose the book “The Alchemist” – part of which is set in Tarifa. Although I never knew where Tarifa was, the coincidence was ominous, and to me it has remained a mystical place.

And last night, there I was, off Tarifa. We sailed close and even tucked in to the lee of the ancient fortress to raise our main. The lighthouse flashed repeatedly astern, late into the dark morning, bidding us adieu.

There were other portents on our trip as well. A brilliant rainbow burst from the powder puff clouds over Sierra de Cabrito. And a small bird flew into the main salon, fluttered around, and flew out ... but kept us company some of the way. Little love notes from God ;)

Currently we are motorsailing in very light breeze, beneath hazy skies, some 60nm off the coast near Casablanca. 

Map of Spain and Gibraltar from maps.com 

Expanding tastes and waists on Vancouver Food Truck tour

Vancouver World’s Best Food Truck Tour

By Tara Stoker

maps.com

It’s 11:30am in downtown Vancouver when all of a sudden the Canadian air changes. The scent of cedar from the nearby forest is overtaken by a whiff of freshly cooked naan, fish tacos and grilled cheese on the breeze. I’m pleased I’d exercised self-control on my flight from Toronto, and not eaten the rubber-egg sandwich. Instead, I rushed to my hotel and hastily donned walking shoes and a roomy dress; eager to join the ‘World’s Best Food Truck Tour.’

My first thought on booking this two-hour expedition was, ‘What could possibly warrant an entire tour of food trucks?’

Plenty!

The food scene in Canada’s bustling Pacific seaport city is dynamic, diverse and creative. Each day a barrage of trucks (there are over 100 with permits) serves up a diverse and delicious culinary cabaret of food.

Photos: Tara Stoker

Vancouver Foodie Tours selects the crème-de-la-crème for their two-hour foray. They’re run by an authentic group of prideful Vancourverites who relish “food tasting and educational excursions.” Given a 5 out of 5 rating on Trip Advisor and noted as a Canadian Signature Experience by the Canadian Tourism Commission, I was looking forward to an enlightening food-foraging adventure.

We rendezvoused at the Japadog stand located at Burrard and Smithe Streets, and met our guide Lisa, who was knowledgeable about the foodie scene as well as the history and points of interest in Vancouver. A dozen strangers stood in a circle as we confessed our favorite fare and desires to seek out some of the best food truck cuisine in Vancouver, and meet some of the interesting locals who run them.

Food trucks are relatively new to Vancouver, ranking behind only Portland and Austin in North America, Lisa explained. The movement started in 2008 when City Councilmember Heather Deal decided Vancouver could do better than the meagre allowance of hot dog, popcorn and roasted chestnuts street vendors. They offered 17 permits for food trucks and 800 enthusiastic wannabes applied. Each prospective food truck owner had to go before a panel of food experts with their menu plan, how it would contribute to the diversity of food offered, and present samples for the judges.

Japadog – the hotdog with a Japanese twist – is one such successful applicant, and one of the most popular trucks in the West End. Lines run up to a half a block long, so arriving when it opens is best.  We tried the spectacular signature Kurobuta Terimayo dog, made from the best Berkshire pork imported from England and topped with fried onion, teriyaki sauce, Japanese wasabi mayo and crispy seaweed – which gives it a surprisingly tasty crunch. After dividing the huge servings amongst the group, there was one-half of a dog left over. I gleefully jumped in and volunteered to consume it, since I was the best prepared in my expandable dress.

On our journey to the next truck Lisa pointed out interesting historical sites and places of interest. As we approached Howe Street, I inhaled a familiar aroma coming from Mom’s Grilled Cheese Truck. Thick-crusted grilled sourdough bread and aromatic cheddar cheese were a delightful accompaniment to a tasty dill pickle, all ensconced in a checkered paper cone. We enjoyed a small mug of tomato soup and a refreshing cup of ginger-mint lemonade as Lisa explained that Mom, Cindy Hamilton, was an experienced caterer for the film industry, spoke four languages and had decided she wanted to spend more time with her daughter. Thus, her food truck began.

Meanwhile, I had somehow envisioned the acidity in the tomato soup and lemonade might help dissolve the plethora of food entering my body. Or the few blocks between trucks might wear off the substantive calories consumed. This was not to be. Gaston, the local food truck bulldog moocher, waddled by and suddenly I realized we looked rather similar at this point. But I was not one to surrender. I loosened my buttons, and moved on.

maps.com

Down Howe and right on West Georgia Street we came upon the Soho Road Naan Kebab truck. Through the back window we could watch chef and owner Sarb Mund make fresh naan bread in his traditional Indian tandoori oven. He kneaded the dough, then tossed it in the oven with movements similar to a whirling dervish, managing to stretch it around the sides of the inner oven to create the perfect thickness of naan. Within minutes he dished out naan filled with butter chicken and secret spices, much to the delight of our group. Originally from Birmingham, UK, Sarb explained his passion was for sharing the wonderful smells and tastes he experienced as a child there.

 Now moving at a slower pace, with our cadre of foodies loosening their belts, we made our way back up to Howe Street to visit Tacofino. This stand is wildly popular with locals and tourists alike. The owner also has a brick and mortar restaurant in Gastown, but started out in the small fishing town of Tofino on Vancouver Island. Clearly he must have made trips to Baja California in order to create the true taste of Mexican fish tacos, which is relatively new to Canada.

Mom's Grilled Cheese Truck

The fish was fresh and grilled impeccably, with the traditional shredded cabbage in a corn tortilla. It was followed by the Chocolate Cookie Diablo: an innocent-looking chocolate cookie that zaps you at the end with cayenne hot enough to match the underworld! Happily, it generated enough heat to ignite my shuffle back to the hotel.

The World’s Best Food Truck Tour is a wonderful way to get entrenched in the local cultures and cuisines. Proud Vancouverites not only have the opportunity to share delicious food via their culinary traditions, but to share their background and heritage with passersby: real people with real life stories as to how their trucks and food came to be. As for me, it was an introduction to the authentic Vancouver life, and a wee taste of living like a local. 

Vancouver Foodie Tours

www.foodietours.ca

(604)295-8844

One if by land, two if by sea: hiking the Trans-Catalina Trail

by Betsy Crowfoot

www.maps.com 

Seven times I’d circumnavigated Catalina Island, on various yacht races, before finally setting afoot. A scruffy island hideaway for southern Californians, it’s got none of the glitz of St. Barths nor exotic splendor of Bora Bora. But it’s here. And its mere occupation of a slit of water just off the coast of Los Angeles makes it a destination.

One day, while racing to the Isthmus (the cinched-in waistline of the 22-mile long island) I began to covet the soft green loveliness of the springtime flora. The cozy cap of fog over Blackjack Peak. The sweet geosmin so contrary to the sea.

I planned a hike.

The Trans-Catalina Trail had been completed roughly a decade before: a 37 mile hike from tip to tip. But it’s not the distance that hikers howl about; it’s the indomitable elevation. I was warned that all paths go “straight up ... or straight down” and that the trailblazers had apparently never heard of switchbacks. Beside that, there was the interruption of herds of Bison – dull one-ton bovines that move (or not) when they deign. Of rattlesnakes and scorpions and scrabbly trails leading up, up, up.

Despite all that, I decided to tackle the eastern three-quarters of the isle, from Isthmus Cove to Avalon. And being the bionic one of the group, it was easy to guilt a few other friends into coming along.

The morning of the hike, having taken the ferry over, we were met by a local Catalina resident and friend, Jani. We stopped at the Conservancy office for a map and membership card, and were off with her sister Karen, to the west end.

Driving along the windy mountain road (held up only by eucalyptus trees, everyone is eager to explain) Jani pointed out the details of the trail, as we looked at Blackjack, soaring above.

“It’s better if you just don’t show us,” our third hiker, Holly, moaned.

After Buffalo burgers at the Airport, we dumped our gear at a campsite near the beach at Little Harbor, then drove the narrow snaking road to Two Harbors where Karen dropped us off. “This is it!” she said and we piled out, traded hugs, took a snapshot and watched her drive off into the fog.

Isthmus to Little Harbor

Rambling through the debris of a brushfire, we headed into the lingering mist. Our hike to Little Harbor would be a 5.14 mile Class II trek, traversing a steep 1212 foot ridge. The trail began as a dirt road, diminished to a pair of tire tracks in the grass, and finally narrowed to a small ‘goat path’ (although all the wild goats have been eradicated) rimmed with cactus and red flowers. At first we bemoaned the fog – thinking it was ruining our vistas. But days later we would plead for it, and cooler temperatures, to return.

Eventually, after skirting several ravines, Little Harbor appeared out of the mist – we’d made good our first destination.

Little Harbor to Blackjack
Despite all honorable intentions to rouse and get on the trail early, we delayed ‘til about 9:30. Our destination was just seven miles – according to the chart – but with thousands of feet gain and loss along the way.

The trail followed a commonly used road (unappealingly called “Sheep Chute”) so Jani recommended a scenic bypass. From Shark Harbor we scampered over a ridge south into Cottonwood Canyon and forged a stream bed – then retraced our steps when the walls of the ravine got too high and the poison oak too thick. From there we followed a bison trail through high grasses ascending towards Mt Orizaba and Blackjack Peak.
Wading through the towering grasses along tramped down paths, past behemoth-sized wallows, stepping over ‘cow pies’ the size of a large pizza, musing over mighty hoof prints; I wondered aloud if we might risk running into a bison – part of a herd brought over in the 1920s for a movie. Jani seemed undaunted and suggested we climb a tree if an angry bison appeared. But I didn’t see any trees ... nor thankfully, any bison at a close enough range to be concerned. Still, I might recommend others follow the marked trail.

Our path glittered with quartz and micas. This segment was a history lesson on Catalina Island: rich red clay soil, and green and blue schist from its days of origin; soapstone quarries and shell middens from the ancient Gabrielino and Tongva people; dilapidated fences and outbuildings from the early ranchers.

The tower at Blackjack Mountain loomed across several canyons for a long, long time. But eventually we crested a ridge and there it was before us. The campground is actually several hundred feet below – a three-tiered progression of sites nestled in a canyon amidst pines, palms and oaks; delightfully shady and cool, with spigots of water for drinking and dousing, picnic tables and porta potties. We were joined a few hours later by a friend who blessedly brought cold beers, firewood and other niceties, softening the day's grueling events.

Blackjack to Avalon

We were not eager to leave this beautiful site but dutifully set off on the hike toward Cape Canyon the next morning. Seemingly gentle at first, the 10-mile(ish) trail meandered beneath a patchy canopy of scrub oak.

Steep stuff

The fog we had cursed just two days ago burnt off by 9AM, making for a tediously hot day. At times we wanted to rest but no shade was to be found. So we’d sweep an area in the dried grass with a shirt (to check for rattlesnakes) and perch in the open; drinking water and nibbling on trail mix.

After a while the trail paralleled the main thoroughfare that runs from Avalon to Two Harbors. Here tour busses noisily buzzed by, their PA systems squawking scenic and historic facts. About 5,000 people live on the island and more than one-million visit each year, but we had passed hardly passed a soul on our trek. And now suddenly it felt like the Jungle Tour at Disneyland – and we were part of the attraction. As if to prove our point, as we arrived at Haypress Reservoir a young couple approaching from the opposite direction mimicked the tour bus: “And on your left, are two morons hiking the Trans Catalina Trail ...”

We had watched them scuff down the steep rubble trail, then traded notes on what was to come. Balefully they echoed the common critique: “I guess they’ve never heard of switchbacks here.”

After refilling water bottles, they continued west, and we east. Here our trail rose along a barren hillside, blatantly exposed to the midday sun. The official trail circles the city of Avalon, sweeping south and around the east end. One more Class III climb; six tortuous miles.

But, we concurred, we had already done that hike last year. So we cried “Uncle!” and bailed out early, bypassing the grueling scramble down Hermit Gulch and going directly to Avalon – with her many chic and cozy restaurants and pubs full of cold beverages.

After all, Catalina isn’t truly conquered without a line dance at the Isthmus, and some karaoke at El Galleon in Avalon. We tumbled down the hill, to consumate our climb and our triumph of the Trans Catalina Trail. 

– Betsy Crowfoot

Historic scenic of Catalina from www.Maps.com 

GO TAKE A HIKE!

Read about the benefits of hiking here: