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Water, water, everywhere. Except in my stuff

Feb07
by Greg Cravens on February 7, 2012 at 10:42 am
Posted In: Talk About Toys

 

 

I like my stuff dry.  Especially the stuff that can, by no account, get wet.  If I was a smoker, for instance, I would insist on dry tobacco during my Scuba vacation.  If I had a decent camera at the moment, I would want it to stay undampened while on an Irish cross-country hike.  If I were carrying around a spare pair of underwear on a rainy motorbike ride, I would want for them to stay dry until I wished to wet them.

You know what I mean.

There are those who will honk on about how they are frugal and clever, and they keep lots of little things tucked into gallon sized zip-lock baggies, sometimes tucked inside other gallon sized zip-lock baggies. And maybe a third for good measure.  Well and good!  Very frugal and clever of you.  Big damn deal.  My kids take their lunches in such mundane things.  I carry around old plastic grocery sacks in a zip-lock baggie binered to my dog leash.  Just for picking up poo.  “Fie” upon you and your zip-lock baggies and their mundane poo-ness.

Though I will say that I have a couple of Zip-Lock baggies that are designed to carry wardrobe in.  You can get some truly honkin’ huge Zip-Locks, I can tell you.  I took a couple down the Grand Canyon, just in case.  I still have them, in case you want to see ’em.  I’ll let you touch ’em.  For a buck.  You could, but shouldn’t, fit a kid in them.

They’re not cool, though.  You know what’s cool?  Dry bags.  Nothin’ more intrepid that pulling an expensive camera, a satellite phone or, best of all, clean dry toilet paper out of a dry bag.  You look like you know what you’re doing.  French trappers from the 1800s would have given their eyeteeth for Dry bags.  As it was, they gave their eyeteeth to gum disease and other nastiness, but they’d have been happier with the Dry bags in my opinion.

Nice heavy-duty bag- sometimes in bright, easy-to-find-in-dire-circumstances colors… sometimes in clear, easy-to-find-your-stuff-in non-colors.  The best ones even have heavier duty plastic or nylon, or whatever that stuff is, bottoms on them.

You can get small ones that hold all the stuff in your pockets- then you don’t have to worry about locking that stuff up in your (or someone else’s) car while you kayak down a river- take it snugly with you.  Or you can drop your lunch in there and go hike even if there are rumors of rain lurking just out of sight.  You can put your computer in there, strap it to the back of your Harley and go to Sturgis in the snow.

You can get bigger ones that hold everyone’s stuff on a float trip.  You can even leave lots of air trapped inside it so it’ll float, too, when that guy that always invites himself on the trip comes up and flips your canoe “for a joke… why’s everyone so pissed off alla time? What?”

You can get giant ones that hold your tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, pillow, sheet, towel, spare clothes, extra hats, and all during long river trips that last for weeks.  Some of those have backpack straps and everything, but that’s for another review.

The tops of these things roll down a few times, then you click the buckles together.  Perfect.  No water in or out, and the rolled and curled top edge now becomes a carrying handle of sorts- that also clips onto gunnels, back straps, luggage rigs, you name it.  There’s also usually a handy D-ring for clipping your Dry bag to something wet… or dry… or anything in between.  How fancy is THAT, huh?  Fishing with a clumsy buddy?  Put your Skoal, your wallet, your keys, and the gun you plan to kill this clumsy bastard with after he flips the boat again in your dry bag.  Bring it out when he needs killing.  Fancy.

I have two really, really big dry bags.  When the whole family took one of those “Hey, let’s drive all over the West for three weeks” vacations a while back in a rented Jeep (which, by the way, does NOT have the storage capacity of my Suburban.  I would NOT have wanted the gas bill for a long trip in my Suburban.) The two dry bags, one red and one blue for easy identification on the fly, were filled with all the stuff that would otherwise have blocked up the back window for three weeks… the sort of thing that officers of the law occasionally frown on.  They frown on other stuff, too, but that, again, is for another review.  (I’ll just say that deciding to take highways across’t Texas because, let’s face it, Interstates all look the same and they get BORING, will get you the hairy eyeball from constables of the law who’re on the lookout for people who want to avoid Interstates for totally other reasons.  The constables will apparently scrutinize your children to make sure they’re not midgets helping out with the drug smugglin’)

But I digress.  So we drove around with these two big red and blue round plastic duffels on top of a white Jeep.  I’m informed by my brother that it made us easy to  spot in the New Mexican distances, as we looked like a cartoon police car.

And if you haven’t already figured out another place you’d like to use a drybag, well, there’s the best one right there.

So if you want to shop some fancy Dry bags, click on the fancy Dry bags:
Nrs Bill's Dry Bags Bag, 3.8 Cu. Ft., Green

└ Tags: buckles, canoe, cravens, dry bag, jeep, kayak, long trip, motorbike, motorcycle, NRS, scuba, Suburban
1 Comment

Max, from the vaults.

Feb05
by Greg Cravens on February 5, 2012 at 7:51 am
Posted In: Non-Hubris comics

Here’s another Max cartoon that ran way back in 1998. I had to open it in Photoshop because it was created in FreeHand so long back that no other program seemed to want to fool with it.  It’s a little depressing for a lot of reasons:  The jewelry supplier that bought these is no longer in business, I found a typo that had gone unfixed for over a decade, and the coloring on this thing, and the layout of the last panel, is awful!  I’m no longer much of a fan of computer lettering as I was back then, either.   I suppose I had to learn everything I like and don’t like over time until I was ready to burst forth with some Hubris for you.

 

 

└ Tags: Fargotstein, greg, Greg Cravens, Mantle Clock, Max, Maxtoon, The Bench Jeweller
1 Comment

Tshirts and other shady deals

Feb04
by Greg Cravens on February 4, 2012 at 9:40 am
Posted In: Dirty Pictures

I think I’ve mentioned before that my buddy Mike created the Dagger logo for Dagger kayaks.  I have another funny story about that and tattoos. Remind me to tell you sometime.  And I’ve mentioned that I’ve done some work for various boat companies.  There was, in fact, a mad scramble during our ‘we-don’t-have-kids-yet-but-we’ve-got-this-cool-hobby’ years to cut deals with any kayak-related companies we could.  Here’s one of the products of that-

It’s a proposed Tshirt sketch for a company called Orosi, if I remember right.  I don’t know if it was ever produced.  I suspect not.  But I have an Orosi helmet around here somewhere, it’s held up pretty well.  I’ve done a LOT of Tshirt designs for various and sundry people and companies over the years.  They’re fun.  Sometimes the technical stuff gets in the way.  One of my favorites are folks that have contracted with a Tshirt printer that won’t do halftones or 4-color process, in total opposition to what the company needed to begin with.  Clearly a conflict between the guy signing checks (“use the cheap printer”) and the guys who’re gonna be wearing/giving away the shirts (“If they look like crap, who’s gonna want ’em?”)

There ARE middle grounds.  One color designs on custom color shirts can often be made to suit the need.

On the other hand, if the guy with the checkbook doesn’t want a Tshirt, you’re likely to get to the point where (and this is a worst-case scenario) you must:   Design a one color piece of art that can print on both white Tshirts and navy blue Tshirts that has no halftones, no thin lines, lots of lettering (copy provided, but not spell-checked, with lots of people’s names) and a logo (tiny .jpg provided for reference) which they must have at the printer tomorrow, so it needs to be shown to the powers-that-be today and before 4:00 because that’s when the boss leaves. And it’s gotta look cool because they’re going to be worn at a competition and our team is signed up for the Best Tshirt competition.  And “the printer says they can’t get email so you’ll have to take a printed copy to their shop- on clear acetate if you can, please.  When you get there, you need to call over the fence for someone to come.  Don’t open the gate because the dog will get you.  We’ve got $50 for a budget.  Will that work?”

Ah.  Those of us with older graphic design degrees are all chuckling and nodding our heads just now. Students getting graphic design degrees are laughing out loud at how bad things used to be (without realizing how little they’ve changed) and everyone else is thinking, “We paid our Tshirt artist with a couple of Tshirts.  Of course, he was fourteen.”

└ Tags: Dagger, design, graphic design, halftones, Orosi, Screen printer, screen printing, T-shrit, Tshirt
1 Comment

Lawn Luxury

Feb02
by Greg Cravens on February 2, 2012 at 6:02 am
Posted In: Talk About Toys

Judy Outdoors says:

I highly recommend the Greatland Folding Outdoor Lounge chair for all those grandparents to use while watching their nephews and grandchildren surf, skateboard, ski, and perform death-defying feats on the high bar and rings at the gymnastics studio.  The chair comes equipped with a legrest and pillow and, not one but two armrest cup holders.  Said grandparent can relax, feet up, with a cold beer or a glass of wine while watching their descendants try to kill themselves.  I personally do not recommend using stemmed glasses while drinking wine, as the cup holder may jostle a bit when you jump in shock, turn over to shield your eyes, or try to stand up and cheer or curse at a referee.  While plastic cups are decidedly inferior for wine sipping, the family crystal will appreciate your sacrifice, as will the clean-up crew of your venue.

 

I purchased my chair at Target for a modest price and have carried it, not only to the aforementioned horrifying events, but to a brother’s cowboy music concert.  The only caveat, other than the wine glass warning, is that it can be hard for a short person to lever herself out of the chair without tipping it over.  Best to call on a tall son or decent looking stranger to help with that lest you wind up entangled in the chair and being placed in the handy nylon carry bag along with it.

└ Tags: Chair, Greatland, Judy, lawn, wine
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Grand Canyon diary- Part 6

Jan31
by Greg Cravens on January 31, 2012 at 1:45 pm
Posted In: Lies Around The Campfire

I never made it to the Ocoee with the ancient boat. The Ocoee was a river I was perfectly happy in.  Even on a bad day, I knew what to watch out for and where I could fudge the run.  I’ve been nearly drowned there, and I’ve done some of my most controlled paddling there, and everything…EVERYTHING… in between.

So, I wasn’t going to learn anything there about paddling unfamiliar water in my long, obsolete creekboat.  I’ll say now that it was a Savage Gravity.  Savage was the brand name- and it wasn’t the only Savage boat I ever owned, just my least favorite.  The model was called ‘Gravity’.  It was a pumped-up version of their whitewater playboat, the Scorpion.

I don’t recall how I got it, to tell you the truth.  I did a couple of deals here and there over the years for boats- some Dagger work in trade for one of their canoes, for instance; and I recall having worked on some Tshirt designs for Savage, though I don’t remember how the deals came about, and I don’t remember any of the shirts ever being produced.  Also, there may have been some logo work done with Mike that went haywire.  Anyhow, back then I was young, the economy was booming for advertising illustrators like me, and I didn’t yet have kids… so I had the time AND money to collect boats and weird stories about how they’d been got.

To get on unfamiliar water, I went to a river called the Cheoah with Mike, taking only the old creekboat so that I’d have no choice but to paddle it.  I should have taken my reluctance to paddle the thing as a subconscious prompting that I just wasn’t happy with it.  It nagged at the back of my mind all the way to the river.  The Cheoah is one of Mike’s favorite rivers now.  It was opened to recreational kayakers only a couple of years ago after its bed had been dry for decades. Mike was very complimentary about the run, and got me excited at the idea too, finally.

So.  The Cheoah. It’s not the smooth, wide run of the Ocoee. The rocks in it are sharp and formidable.  There’s a waterfall. It’s not Western Whitewater, like the Grand Canyon would be, but it wasn’t what I was used to, so it would serve a good purpose.  Before we go farther, I should point out that the purpose it would serve would be to unman me, make me worry that I’d die either on the Cheoah, or in the Grand Canyon, and lead me to do something that would make Mike really, really mad at me.  Looking back, I can’t decide how bad an idea it was; whether it was a truly horrible idea, or just a crappy idea that was just what I needed anyhow.

Fred and Kathy joined us for the run, and so did Drew Armstrong, one of the most amazingly competent men I ever hope to meet.  He once pronounced that he knew of a dozen or so ways to start a fire without matches or a lighter, then went on to demonstrate six or seven, even allowing the rest of us to give it an unsuccessful shot. You’d think that the fun and camaraderie would calm my nerves about my old creekboat. Nah.

This old boat was long and straight, tippy side to side, and made to keep your knees low for a sleek profile.  It was awful.  It was so old, and the intervening years had seen boats with higher knee placement, much more volume, and shorter length come into style.  The new boats were much more stable and yet easy to turn.

For a forty two year old like me, the low knees placements were murderous.  In fact, I suppose they turned out slightly less than murderous, because I lived.

The run was a cramped, uncomfortable, unstable mess from the beginning.  This thing was fast in a straight run, but there’s very little room for that on the Cheoah.  What there is room for is ducking and dodging between things and sprints to nearby eddies where the length of the boat worked against me badly.  I brought the boat to see if it was the sort of thing I could sit in for sixteen straight days out West.  I discovered that I couldn’t sit comfortably in it for a single run down a new river.

The discomfort of the boat and my estrangement from kayaking resulted in panic upstream of the waterfall. The waterfall has a tricky lead-up to it, too.  That didn’t help.  Nor did the fact that I had to be lead down some sneak routes coming into the waterfall area.  When I finally worked and sweated my way to the set up point, I guess I felt I had a handle on things.  You were supposed to run toward the fall, aiming at a jutting rock.  The water rushed across the rock and would sweep you to the right as you dropped over.  That’s not as tricky as it sounds, and I could visualize it.  Of course, I can visualize flapping my arms and flying around, too.  I ran at the rock and instead of shooting nearly straight over it, pushed only slightly to the right by the force of water, I shot sideways to the right and plunged down where I didn’t want to be.  I landed badly, fought for control, and lost it. I’d flipped the boat, panicked, bailed out, and swam for shore before good sense kicked in.

A lot of other people worked very hard to retrieve my boat for me.  I lost a new water bottle, lost my pride and lost every bit of self-confidence I had.  That was probably a good thing.  I had become pretty complacent about the Grand Canyon run.  Old memories of competence on unfamiliar water led me to think I could weather whatever I needed to.  Not so.  I vowed not to take my old creek boat, even though the cost of a new boat was out of my reach and I was so out of touch with kayaking that I had no idea what boat might suit me anyway.

Mike, as usual, came to the rescue.  He loaned me a wonderful Dagger brand boat called a Mamba.  I wanted to get back on the Cheoah and shake the fear I had of it now.  So the next day I ran it in the Mamba, not entirely upright, but always in the boat.  Rolling the Mamba the next day above a narrow run, I felt some control return.  I was thinking while I was upside down, not just panicking.  I rolled the boat and went on.  That was what I needed:  to learn that I could panic, and to learn that I could keep from panicking.  My choice.  I wasn’t ready to run off to the Grand Canyon, but it was as close as I was going to get.

Mike wanted to borrow the Savage Scorpion for a race during Memphis In May.  I was glad to agree.  In a fit of pique at the miserable, awful boat, though, I went ahead and listed it on Craigslist.  I figured it would take a month or two to sell and by that time Mike would have raced it and that’d be that.  It sold within hours.  And another boat I had.  Mike was rightly ticked off.  I’d agreed to loan him the boat and then sold it.  In my defense,  I can’t think that Mike would have done very well with it.  It was a wretched thing altogether.  After letting me know I’d been a thoughtless (insert favorite rude name here) Mike forgave me, and I gave him the money from my two boat sales for the Dagger Mamba he’d loaned me on the Cheoah.  I should have charged more for the boats… obviously they sold too quickly to be priced well, and if I’d gotten more money for them I could have afforded a camera to take on the trip with me.  But I was now out of discretionary funds and it was time to pack.

 

└ Tags: Cheoah, Dagger, David LeMay, Drew Armstrong, Fred Hatler, fury, Grand Canyon, gravity, greg, Greg Cravens, Kathy Kelly, Mamba, Mike Womack, Ocoee, River, savage, Scorpion, waterfall, whitewater
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