Street dog (Tw)eats Angry Bird

I had envisioned my morning going much differently than it did. The plan was simple enough. Go to town, buy chickens and put them in the shed. Today, I learned that god or whatever higher power that rules over us mortals has a sense of humor.

But Tristan, do you not already own 5 chickens a voice in my head announced? Well strange voice in my head, I owned 3 chickens which I (you) ate, and now I am (we are) left with 2 hens who are cranking out lots of eggs. I figured it would be fun to buy three more poultry to gift to my host family and eat with my friends who are coming to visit in December.

The bus ride in was as uneventful as selecting the three chickens which were two females, one male and each were roughly the size of 6 piece McNugget boxes. Huey, Dewy, Louie (as I named them) and I then boarded the bus back to Baños. They were wedged humanely in a box which did not have air holes I until I poked them. The Ménage à trois box of chickens were quiet noisy on the bus and earned some warranted strange looks. This was not normal gringo behavior.

Weather Interjection: It had rained the past few days and now the sun was shining but the streets were still mud covered and tough to navigate on foot without incident. Can you see where this is going?

We departed the bus and began the short walk to my host family’s house. Not paying attention, which I am usually not, my foot found a great patch of slickness and I fell with a gracefulness that cannot be taught. Now mostly covered in mud I noticed one of the chickens staring at me, in front of me, not in the box. Of course the box had to break. I let out a pathetic sigh. Fuck.

I grabbed the little guy and quickly located another one scuttling to a nearby trash pile. With a chicken in each hand I spun around to see a scene no chicken owner wants to see. The chicken stood 10 feet away in a staring competition with none other than Old James. Old James, it had to be him.

He is the best of the worst street dogs in my barrio. Self appointed alpha dog of Baños this bastard fears nothing. I have seen him attack cars going full speed with the intention of winning. While he can usually be found drooling on some stoop, he occasionally ventures out to prove himself. Today was one of those occasions.
Before I could think of any solution other than throwing the chickens in my hands at him, the chase was on.


This next part is best told by fictitious outside observers.

Martha and Rosa, both indigenous women, explain the madness that they just saw.

Well, we were just sitting there on the porch shucking corn, probably discussing the weather or latest town gossip I don’t remember, when a baby chicken goes running by. Now there is nothing terribly unusual about that or the dog chasing it. But what came to pass next neither of us could have ever imagined. That weird gringo, you know the one who had that big ugly beard for awhile? Yeah him. Well he just came out of nowhere completely soaked in mud with a chicken in each hand yelling something in English. I think he was drunk or on the drugs or something. He was chasing that dog, which was chasing the chicken like a mad man. I swear I have never seen anything like it. Martha proclaims.

This is where Rosa would probably chime in with “some village in America is missing its idiot.”
And a good laugh would be had by all.

After jumping two fences I turn the corner of an old house only to see Old James sitting with a shit-eating grin standing over a pile of feathers. I could not help but laugh. I was mad at him but I released I was going to eat the chicken someday so why not laugh?
The surviving two needed new names. I would like to present to the world Mister and Misses Brunch.




I promise someday I will write a blog that has nothing to do with rugby or chickens.

Occupy Rugby

Sports are much more than just games; rugby is no exception. Through sports we can teach and learn respect, humility, nutrition and many other important life skills.

That statement is the basis for my new Peace Corps project. At the suggestion of my players we successfully created Cuenca’s first middle and high school rugby teams. The process started last week with three separate presentations at a school explaining what rugby is and what we hope to accomplish. Rugby is a very new sport to Ecuador and Cuenca in particular. Many people think the game is nothing more than an uncontrolled bar fight full of barbarians and cretins. A doctor once told a player here that man has evolved from brutal sports like rugby to play futbol. This is an entirely false statement. Rugby, in fact, evolved from futbol in England in the early 1800’s and last I checked injuries still occur in futbol. We as rugby players face an uphill battle in this futbol culture.

Many of the kids expressed genuine interest and asked excellent questions during the sessions in the past week. On paper we had 30 or so interested in starting training the coming Monday. Due to other experiences I have had, I did not expect half of the people to show up. I was pleasantly wrong.

There were a total of 32 kids on Monday at practice! 16 of them were between the ages of 11 and 15. The other half was 16 to 18 years old. I must say I was a bit unprepared for those kinds of numbers but luckily I had help. Lucho, one of the players on my team was there to assist in dividing the horde into into the age groups and he took the younger of the two.

Several other players besides Lucho have shown up this week to lend a hand in teaching the next generation 3 times a week for an hour and a half. I could not be more pleased with this project. Although I cannot take much, if any credit for the idea or even the follow through of the project. My players came up with the idea along with David who attends the high school and trains with us. He was the one who talked with the administrators and set up meeting times for us to meet with the proper authorities to hash out the details. And before we knew it we had practices full of eager kids wanting to learn a new game thanks to a solid group effort.

It is an amazing thing to be a part of.

Can’t Win Them All

As a player and coach of an undefeated team this is a hard fact to accept. However, some days, the scores of the game do not reflect the events that took place on the field. This was one of those days.

We arrived at the field a man short, not an ideal situation for a game against a tough adversary. Not only were we short one player, we also were lacking several of our key players due to injury or job relocations. But the show must go on.

We took to the field and though no one said it, we all knew what everyone was thinking. The average player on their team was the size of our biggest player, Jose. Jose weighs in around 220 lbs and our average player weighs in about 180. Speed and solid defense were our only chance.

The Yaguares (for inexplicable reasons they spelled it wrong…) scored first by swinging the ball to the outside man thus exploiting the advantage of their numbers. Their forwards (the bigger guys on a rugby team) really dominated the game. So, as a counter measure, we decided to only attack with our backs (smaller guys) and play to our only strength.

15 minutes or so in to the game our full back, Dinamita, damaged a ligament in his knee and had to retire. Now we are down two players. We continued to play tough, getting hammered every time we got the ball. But we pressed on.

Just before the half ended, another player, Jonathan or “Crash”, took a knee to the jaw (fractured in 2 places). Once the referee realized there was a player down he whistled the half over.

Thirteen of us were left standing. Though I did not want to “throw in the towel” as a player, as a coach I had too. With only 13 people there was no feasible way we could win, but more importantly I did not want to have any more of our players hurt for the sake of pride.

The rest of the team agreed with the decision and so it was made. At halftime we forfeited the rest of the match with the final score being 15-6 in favor of the Yaguares.

I was prepared to give a speech in the post game huddle about holding our heads high and being proud of how we played. But when I looked around the circle I saw nothing but smiles on the faces of my comrades. They already were proud of themselves and their teammates. We all agreed that this was the best game we had all played, even though we had lost. We then counted to 3 and gave a good cheer for our team. AGUILAS!!!

As we disbanded I looked to the other team’s huddle and heard something that caught me and the rest of my team by surprise. They cheered Aguilas, our team’s name.

That is what rugby is all about. Win or lose, it is truly about how you play the game.

We stuck around to watch the next game and then afterwards all the teams headed out together to get food and beer, as is the tradition of the sport.

Boobies and other cool stuff

To say the least, the last week was very eventfull!

The Peace Corps project for the home of the eldery is now fully funded! Thanks to everyone for your love and support for this great project in a rough economy. The group I am working with to implement the project is equally as eager as I am to begin once the funds are transfered.

Earlier in the week I was lucky enough to go to Isla de la Plata with some of my friends. What an amazing place! It is a small island off the coast of Puerto Lopez (Ecuador) and is part of the National Park of Machalilla. It is home to multiple species of birds, the most famous being the Blue-footed Booby.

This time of year is particularly good because Humpback whales migrate to the warm waters of the equator to breed. On the boat ride out to the Isla we were able to catch a few whales breaching, and even one feeding!

It is also a very special time on the Isla because the boobies are in the peak of their mating season. The male and female have very distinct and different calls, and the males even have a dance and a present to go along with the whole charade. The male will waddle and lift his legs to impress a female. And, as a sad attempt to prove that chivalry is in fact, not dead, he offers his inamorata the nearest twig as a token of his love. To me the male´s call sounded a bit like a little kid blowing on a Kazoo without knowing how to play it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYmzdvMoUUA
(copy and paste the link into your browswer) This video is not mine, but captures the same scene we saw.

The pictures below are mine






Another new experience for me on this trip was surfing. I was able to rent a board and get lessons for 2 hours for a rate of $25. Worth every penny! My instructor, Miguel, was a good teacher and could really explain to me what I needed to do to correct my mistakes.

Things I learned:
1. The general principles of how to surf
2. Swallowing large amounts of sea water leads to an upset stomach
3. Yes, it is possible to belly flop off of a surf board
4. Surfing (or drowning in style) is fun


Flyfishing, one more thing I can check off of my long list of things to do before I get too smart or too old to do them, whichever comes first. Flyfishing, as far as the list and reality go, is not dangerous. Similar to my surfing experience, I am by no means an expert; I learned much of the basics. However, it was much less painful and had tastier results than surfing. I did not catch anything on a fly rod, but reeled in a good sized Rainbow trout on a standard rod.

I did not just go and rent some fishing gear, I learned from some real fishing experts. Several expats here in Cuenca started the Cuenca Flyshing Club. All of the members are extremely nice and willing to help any newbies get into the sport. Kent, one of the founders, was the one who showed me how to handle the fly rod. It is much more elegant than regular reel fishing. Watching a good fly fisherman is like watching a great painter paint. There is a relaxing beauty to the dance of the weighted line as it flies in front of, and behind the angler.

After the sun had set it was time to drink a nice homebrewed beer and cook our catch. Gutting the fish was a new experience for Joey, Michael and I. while doing it, I was unsure of how to pull out the guts once the incision was made. Michael explained to me what he did and I had an aha moment! I located the gills and pulled. Ta-da! As it turns out, it is pretty easy thing to do once you know what you are doing.






Here are a few shots of Cuenca!

Old

The following story is not a recent one, but I wanted to share it anyways.



Growing up in a non-hunting part of Pennsylvania was an interesting start to life for me. In my home town owning a gun is almost considered a crime in the eyes of some. Not to mention hunting and harvesting game are activities that should never, under any circumstance ever, never ever ever be done. But remember, it is ok to buy poultry that lived in a tiny cage, fed steroids and then packaged and put on the shelves of the local grocery store.

On the other hand I also grew up listening to my grandfather’s tales of hunting elk, whitetail and muleys in Wyoming and the mountains of Colorado. His stories kept me on the edge of my seat as a kid and are always a camp fire favorite for a few of my friends.

At the age of 18, in my first year of college and after years of shooting shotguns with my father, we decided it was time I made some hunting stories of my own and we booked my very first hunt. Pheasant.

Pheasants originated in Asia and were first introduced to the US in the 1800s. Ringneck Pheasants, like the ones on the hunt, can now be found across the globe due to their readiness to breed in captivity and the fact they can adapt to numerous climates.

The male Pheasant, also known as a rooster, is larger and far more colorful than its female counterpart. He sports a long tail that when fully matured nearly doubles the length of his body. His head is primarily dark green with bright red around the eyes and beak. The body is a combination of browns and brilliant shades of gold.

An unfortunate sports accident a few weeks before the fall hunt had blown out my ACL and meniscus of my right knee. I was absolutely heartbroken, thinking I was going to have to miss my first hunt and wait six months after the surgery before it would be possible to go on another hunt.

But we Schrecks are stubborn people.

I got the surgery done and a week later I hopped on my crutches and we went off to the hunt. Being on crutches complicates even the simplest of tasks, so I knew I was in for a challenge. Nevertheless, I was not going to let anything stand in the way.
Our guide Robby and his German shorthaired pointer, Doc, were sympathetic of my situation because one of his other dogs had knocked him over several years ago and blown out his knee. The instant I heard that I knew that there was no better guide in the world for me!

The plan was for me, my father and Robby (who carried my 12 gauge over and under) to follow Doc and wait for him to go on point. The rainy weather had made an absolute mess of the fields and my crutches sank several inches into the mud with every step and the holes they left would instantly fill up with the left over ground water. This made my progress somewhat slower than our hyper active bird dog hot on a scent.
Apart from the poor ground conditions, the scenery was a picturesque mid-November day at the M and M Hunting Preserve in New Jersey. Beautiful blue and grey clouds covered the late fall sun, only allowing the occasional rays to shine through. All the trees had shed their leaves for the inevitable approaching winter and the cold air nipped at our bare faces in a refreshing way.

This is what I had envisioned for the hunt.

Doc soon had a bird cornered at the end of a waist high plot of corn stubble and went on a picture-perfect point, like the kind you would see in the old Winchester posters. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I crutched with all my strength to catch up to the others at the point. Robby traded me the shotgun for the crutches and I snapped the breach of the Browning ULTRA XS shut with two shells loaded. I completely forgot the state of my leg and assumed my shooting stance which had become second nature.

Time came to an utter stand still as I watched the tip of Doc’s muzzle for where the bird would burst out of the brush. Doc held the point for a solid minute before I arrived, a very impressive feat. He never flinched until he heard the call.

“Flush’em!”

The racket a rooster pheasant makes as he beats his wings to get out of thick brush is quite a thing! I let him fly for bit, watching this beautiful creature in motion before I swung over him and squeezed the trigger. First shot, first bird! What a feeling!

Without any hesitation Doc was on the bird and before I could stop shaking from excitement Doc brought the bird back and placed it gently in the hands of his master. Who, in turn, handed me my first bird. I could feel the warmth of the bird through my gloves and his distinct scent filled my nose. If you have never seen a pheasant up close you must add it to your list. These are in my opinion the prettiest of all birds.

M and M Hunting Preserve works extremely hard to make sure the birds have plenty of natural habitats on the preserve and maintains them to perfection. They are a true model of sustainable hunting.

After the hunt we brined one of the pheasants with sautéed onions, white wine and a few spices. Then we let it marinate for a few hours before roasting it. What a fantastic way to end the day!

So, despite being on crutches I went on my first hunt with my father and it could not have been any better! Now I have my own hunting story (and hopefully many more!) to tell my grandchildren someday.

Videos!!!

So, I figured it is time to do some more videos!

Nothing is killed in these editions, sort of...


Copy and paste the links below into your browswer and enjoy! (send to friends too! I want to earn those theoretical YouTube dollars)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7GGSHtqeks&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWnbitBO8YQ

Insert Title, Not Foriegn Object

In which the author expresses his frustration with the barrier of language, being a gringo and feeling the need to scream, curse and throw heavy things at breakable things


The following is a translated conversation that is had weekly with the lady who owns the tienda next to my house.

“hi, I would like to return these (beer) bottles and buy two more beers.”
“What?¨
“I would like to buy two beers, please”
“I don’t know what that is.”

Through gritted teeth and a feigned smile “beer (I point to empty bottles I am returning). Cold beer, those bottles in the fridge?”

Long pause “Ohhhh, Beer. Haha, yeah how many.”

Folks, if there is one word I know how to pronounce in Spanish it is beer. I have never had any other problems buying stuff from this lady, the only problems occur when I try to buy beer. I swear she does it just to mess with me. Imagine if an employee did that to a certain client every Monday morning at Starbucks.

Caffeine Fiend Beats Sarcastic Employee With Espresso Machine

Not saying I would beat a tienda lady for messing with me and my happy hour. [Legal department insisted that I add that sentence] But seriously, when its 5’o’clock on a Friday and I bring empty bottles, they just need to be replaced. Go ahead and mess with me when I am trying to by yogurt or a banana, but don’t fuck with my beer. Comprende?

The aforementioned story inspired my latest creation, Coffee Porter. A nice dark beer mixed with a very strong batch of organic Ecuadorian coffee. Yeah, it’s good.






I recently purchased the Lord of The Rings trilogy on DVD for $4.50 [legally]. There is nothing like getting through the first 2 disks and then looking forward all day to completing the set with a nice home brewed beer after work only to find that the third disk is just another copy of the second one. There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or Spanish to express this feeling.
But I digress, life is good.

Remember those cute white chickens I had? Well we did BYODC (bring your own dead chicken) at the local rotisserie chicken place and then had a nice take out dinner. Kind of like Boston Market, right?