Located at the Seattle Center adjacent to the Space Needle, the Chihuly Garden and Glass opened in the spring of 2012. I had the chance to visit for the first time while leading a Seattle-area tour for a group from the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum in Wausau, Wisconsin. I generally don’t spend much time in art museums, but the Garden and Glass just may be my new favorite Seattle attraction. Unfortunately my camera battery ran out just as we got to the atrium leading to the garden part of the exhibit, but never mind; I know I’ll be back.

All photos courtesy of Osprey Rafting.

“All forward! Dig in!” shouts Alicia, as wild waves crash over the sides of our blue raft. I plunge my paddle deep into the water and try to match my strokes to those of Jake, the paddler in front of me. It’s a challenge, especially when the raft bucks, rising above a whitecapped crest so that I’m mostly paddling through air. But although the churning rapids do their best to toss our raft about, Alicia steers us expertly through the hazards until we emerge into the calmer waters beyond. We’ve just passed through Snowblind, one of the wildest rapids on the Wenatchee River.

Although still in college,  Alicia is an experienced river guide for Osprey Rafting. I’m one of six paddlers in her raft for this journey down the Wenatchee, one of Washington state’s most popular rafting rivers, with Class III rapids that are especially exciting during high water in May and June, when snowmelt from the Cascade Mountains provides plenty of “big” water. On this day in early June water levels are quite high, and we’re rushing along so fast we hardly have to paddle between rapids.

Our day began at the Osprey office in Leavenworth, the Bavarian-themed town in the eastern foothills of the North Cascades, where we got kitted up with sleeveless wetsuits, spray jackets, life vests, and paddles before driving a short distance down the road to the put-in spot. Before letting us out on the water, Alicia and the other guides – two other rafts launched with ours for the 16-mile trip known as the Main Event – gave a thorough briefing on paddling techniques and commands. We put into the river in calm water, giving us a chance to practice our technique and teamwork before the excitement started.

The trip down the river takes about 4.5 hours, including one portage to get past a small dam. We pass through rapids with apt names like Rock and Roll, Rodeo Hole, Drunkard’s Drop, and The Suffocator, all without losing anyone overboard – that is, until we have a dramatic encounter with a cataraft, a catamaran-like raft with two rubber tubes with a frame between the two. Catarafts give more stability than regular rafts, but the rafters we encounter (not from Osprey) don’t quite seem to have mastered the maneuverability side of things. The collision is inevitable as we all push at the bigger vessel with our paddles and lean out of the way – Jake has to lean so far overboard he falls out. But thanks to our quick reflexes and Alicia’s skillful guidance, everyone’s fine, and we continue on our way down the river laughing at the unexpected drama.

We disembark at a spot known as Huck’s Landing, where the Osprey crew have set up a barbecue to celebrate our thrilling journey down the river. As we feast under a picnic shelter, the company photographers are busy downloading pictures from our trip, which they broadcast on a wall-mounted TV, letting us relive our wild Wenatchee adventure one more time before we board the buses and head up the road back to Leavenworth.

For more information:

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Disclosure: My trip was hosted by Osprey Rafting and the Leavenworth Chamber of Commerce. However, all opinions remain entirely my own.

The tradition of growing tulips was brought to the Skagit Valley by Dutch immigrants during the 1940s and has flourished into one of the region’s most beloved traditions. The Skagit Valley Tulip Festival runs the entire month of April and draws hundreds of thousands of visitors to the flower fields every year.

I took these photos last April at RoozenGarde, one of the largest growers in the region.

The Scottish collection includes a king and queen on their thrones, a bishop with his mitre, a “berserker” (warrior), and a knight on a horse. The pieces are so well preserved it’s hard to believe they’re almost 900 years old.

The Spanish Jesuits explored this area in the 17th century, trekking through through desert canyons and over mountain ranges on routes that would challenge even the most prepared modern hiker. They established missions throughout the Californias, including the one at Loreto, which became the capital of Baja California, in 1697.

The best preserved of Baja California’s missions is San Javier Mission, built between 1744 and 1759, about 25 miles inland from Loreto across the Sierra de la Giganta mountains. Although the distance isn’t far as the crow flies, the journey takes over an hour as we switchback up and down the mountains. Here and there, the road shows signs of the extensive damage left by Hurricane Paul in October.

Along the way we stop for a short walk in one of the canyons, where a stream tumbles over rocks into shallow pools filled with tadpoles and tiny frogs. An overhanging rock shelters some of the area’s most ancient treasures: abstract cave paintings in black and ochre created by early inhabitants of the region some 1,000 to 1,500 years ago.

Arriving at San Javier we get a sense of the legacy left by later arrivals, the Jesuits, who – in addition to founding missions and towns – also created oases in the desert by constructing irrigation systems and dams that made agriculture possible. The land around the San Javier Mission, with its green field and fruit trees, is still known to locals as Paradise. Entering through a gate beside the mission, we walk through the fields sampling limes and guava straight from the trees. A gnarled, 300-year-old olive tree planted by the Jesuits still produces olives to this day.

Inside the church, flowers at the altar and memorial candles places on the floor reflect the enduring Catholic faith brought by the padres. Hundreds of pilgrims visit San Javier every year, many of them walking on their knees to the church from the Cavalry Cross up the road.

The following day we take a day tour to Coronado Island, one of the five main islands that make up the Islands of Loreto. Part of Loreto Bay National Park, the islands look deserted from afar, their volcanic slopes covered with rocks and shrubs. Yet these islands – and the seas surrounding them – are home to a broad range of wildlife, as we soon discover. Approaching the island we spend some time watching a group of Pacific common dolphins. No whales, but our guide tells us guests have recently seen humpbacks, grays, and even blue whales. On the cliffs of the island great blue herons nest as seagulls and frigate birds circle overhead.

Rounding the tip of the island we find a cluster of sea lions floating together just offshore, their flippers pointed at the sky. On the rocks a pup frolics as a couple of big adult sea lions face off with snarls. Further on, pelicans congregate on the rocks in numbers far beyond what I’ve ever seen in one place before. And then, another highlight: a cluster of blue-footed boobies perched on a rock, surveying the action with as much interest as we give them. I’ve seen them before, in the Galápagos, in much greater numbers, but I’m still excited. After all, how can anyone not love a bird with feet the color of Smurfs?

On the other side of the island, the cliffs give way to a cove with a pure white-sand beach. We spend a happy hour or so enjoying a swim and a picnic lunch before heading back to Loreto.

It’s all just a quick sampling of the area’s beauty, but it’s more than enough to demonstrate that Baja is indeed a place all its own.

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Disclosure: This trip was made possible by the Villa del Palmar Resort at the Islands of Loreto. Read my article about the resort.

I took the two photos below during that performance. The closeup of the dancer in green is my favorite of the two for its composition and lack of background distractions, but I did like the feeling of movement in the second photo, which captured a dancer in mid-step, hair flying, as she performed a shaman dance.

After watching the dolphins swimming around for a bit, we were heading back to Akaroa when I spotted a pair of dolphins swimming ahead of the boat. I could tell from the way they were picking up speed that they were getting ready to jump, so I tracked them with my camera. When they finally leaped out of the water, I pressed the shutter, capturing this shot.

It’s a nightmare scenario – a tragedy for Doc’s family and friends, and a sad situation for everyone in the group. Cuba’s bureaucratic nature doesn’t help, as we are kept waiting for hours for officials from Havana to come to the clinic and then to the plantation to interview those who witnessed Doc’s fall. The medical examiner is unable to conclude definitively whether the heart attack or the blow to the head came first. Even the autopsy eventually comes back inconclusive. No one will ever know exactly what happened.

But how much do the details matter? Doc’s wife doesn’t feel a need to know; she’d prefer to avoid the autopsy altogether, but Cuban law requires it in situations of “violent death.” She insists her traveling companions continue with the group – a tour, like a show, must go on – while she remains in Havana waiting for the formalities to be concluded so she can fly home with Doc’s ashes. I do what I can to make things easier for her; once the group moves on the tour company remains in contact to ensure she has the support she needs.

During our remaining days in Cuba the group somehow manages to strike the right balance of respect for the situation and enjoyment of the trip. At our farewell dinner we raise a glass to Doc, whose adventurous spirit inspired us all during the few days we knew him.

“He would never have wanted to end up in a nursing home,” Doc’s wife told me, sadly but with certainty. “This is how he would have wanted to go. He was out there leading the way, exploring new places. He died doing what he loved.”

The oldest member of our group, Doc had more vitality than many people half his age. He had run his first marathon shortly before his 80th birthday and had checked off an impressive list of worldwide adventures, many of them fairly late in life. He had trekked to Himalayan base camps, canoed 400 miles of wild river in the Northwest Territories, and kayaked remote waters in Alaska, Greenland, and Patagonia. I remember Doc enjoying the music of the lunchtime band a few hours before his death. “This is real music,” he told me. “Not like that old-folks-home stuff we had yesterday.”

In the end, although Doc’s sudden death was one of the most difficult situations I’ve ever had to deal with as a tour leader, the way he died isn’t what I’ll remember most about those days in Cuba. It’s the way he lived.

The couple posed by a colorful wall and at the Church of the Holy Trinity (Iglesia de la Santísima Trinidad) by the main square. The bride’s intricately detailed dress, flowing veil and bouquet of small white roses contrasted brilliantly with the backdrop of the buildings and the cobalt-blue sky. But my favorite photo was the closeup of the couple gazing at each other with a look of love and tenderness. Just what a wedding should be all about…