Just before you board a raft to float down the Colorado River inside the Grand Canyon, they tell you something important: There is no going back. Once the raft leaves the shore, you will spend six nights on the river with virtually no escape. This is true for everyone starting the journey from the northern entrance. We were ready.
My nephew Casey organized the trip, which he had completed two years prior with his wife. This time, it was a family affair, with me, my two brothers, Randy and David, and Casey’s brother Josh. All five of us piled into the raft, known as a “J-rig”, along with nine other people we’d be stuck with for a week.
Logistics
Western River Expeditions has been operating in the Canyon since the 1960s and specializes in “motored” trips that go faster than the river’s flow. A 30hp motor pushes the J-rigs along at about twice the pace of an “oared boat”. We were part of a two-boat group that included two drivers and two “swampers” who served as tour guides, cooks, and everything in between.
As rafting trips go, ours was quite luxurious. The team provided three meals a day, with breakfast and dinner being hot and usually impressive for river faire. The company provided each of us with a sleeping bag, tarp, cot, and an optional tent for two.
Our schedule tracked the sun, waking at dawn and sleeping just after sunset. The temperatures were in the upper nineties in the day and 80s at night, with a few showers and a major storm. As with most trips, ours included two “groovers,” portable toilets that seal tightly and are carried with us. The term “groover” comes from the practice of sitting on ammo boxes that leave grooves on your legs. Most people pee in the river, which is encouraged.
Most camps are on sandbars at the river’s edge, which change over time as the river floods. The entire experience is very sandy, but the sand is fine, almost like talcum powder.
The J-rigs are impressive boats that have been the same since the 60s. Five pontoons are lashed together and carry metal boxes on metal panels that store everything for the trip. It’s all very analog, aside from the motor. No refrigeration, no electricity, no lights. They keep the food cold with blocks of ice. Beer, which was consumed daily, could be cooled by dragging it in a bag in the 50°F water.
Each boat carries two extra motors in case one fails due to a malfunction or hitting a rock. On the third day, the second boat hit a rock that sounded like a loud metal bang echoing through the canyon. The motor came off the back of the boat and was caught by a safety net.
Over about 45 minutes, they retrieved the broken motor and replaced it. Later, the trip leader gave two motors to another operation that had lost multiple. The guides all look out for one another.
The Experience
The scenery in the Grand Canyon is impossible to capture in words or photos. From the very start, you are surrounded by vertical walls that reach thousands of feet into the sky. Part of the experience is the amazing consistency. A single mile out of the canyon would be a world-class attraction. On the river, the attraction goes for 188 miles. All day, every day, you are surrounded by soaring cliffs and fascinating rock formations. The enormity is nearly unfathomable.
What struck me was the untouched nature of the experience. The Grand Canyon, with a few exceptions, is untouched by man. Even the level of the river has been consistent for thousands of years. On the entire journey, there are only a handful of bridges across the Colorado, in part because the canyon is surrounded by desert. You might hike out and find you’re many miles from civilization or water.
The Grand Canyon is a geologist’s dream. Unlike most large rock formations, the rock layers are in order, with the oldest on the bottom and the newest on the top. There were sections of the trip where we could see rocks over a billion years old, formed at the bottom of an ocean where the canyon is today. I loved seeing the smooth blackness of Vishnu Schist, a “basement rock” among the oldest on earth.
Our swamper, Paco, like all swampers, knows every rapid and historical fact about the river. Most stories were about the first people to navigate the river and attempts to make it a tourist attraction. These stories often ended in death, or hiking ten or more miles out of the canyon.
As with our trip, once these brave souls took on the river, the only way out was through. I can’t imagine what it took to be among the first, never knowing what was around the next bend, all in wooden boats. John Wesley Powell was the first to navigate the canyon on behalf of the US government in 1869.
The canyon is the ancestral home of native Americans, including the Anasazi, Navajo, and Hopi tribes, who consider it sacred. The tribes work with the National Park Service to outline what visitors can access. On short excursions, we saw 1000-year-old pottery and dwellings that existed when the canyon was greener and wetter.
The River
The Colorado River in the Grand Canyon is managed by a dam at Lake Powell, which is currently at 33% of capacity thanks to continued drought conditions in the desert Southwest. If this decline continues, the Colorado could see lower water levels that make rafting trips impossible, and impact electrical infrastructure for a large portion of the American West.
The water of the Colorado flows from the bottom of the dam, where the water is about 50°F, making rafting a refreshing experience. You are encouraged to bring rain suits to help you deal with cold mornings and cold water. Sometimes they helped, but most people just got wet.
The first major tributary, the Little Colorado, was dark red thanks to flash flooding and changed the Colorado to a milky brown thereafter. Unlike most rivers, the Colorado is “losing.” This means that it does not grow as it progresses to the sea. In fact, it no longer reaches the sea at all.
But for our trip, it flowed with power. When water levels fall, the rocks in the river get closer to the surface and create even more treacherous rapids. Thanks to the navigability, flexibility, and size of the J-rigs, we faced each rapid head-on, right through the guts of the largest waves.
There are three locations to be on the boat to experience the river: straddling the pontoons in front, on a front-facing storage box in the middle, and on pads in the back. Being on the pontoons guaranteed being drenched by the rapids. It felt like riding a bull sometimes, with your hands holding ropes on the front and back to prevent you from being bucked into the river.
Each day saw 2-3 rapids that were big enough to soak nearly everyone.
There is no paddling on this trip; you just hang on. No one on our trip required rescue. J-rigs have flipped in the past, but it is very rare.
Some of the most memorable sections of the trip involved hikes into slot canyons, caves, and waterfalls that form oases deep in the canyon walls. One of the most impressive was Red Wall Cavern, a huge cave carved by the river. The enormity cannot be captured in photos.
Other places, like Deer Park Falls, feel almost surreal, as if they were made up in a Hollywood studio.
The Canyon has multiple slot canyons that snake back into the valleys.
Havasu is another, but our visit was thwarted by flash flooding. It felt ironic that parts of the trip were impacted by too much rain… in the desert.
On the river and through the excursions, you are reminded that people are often injured on these trips. Broken arms and legs are most common, along with cardiac, allergic, or nutritional issues. A person in another tour group required a helicopter medevac near us.
There are hikes along narrow cliff edges where a slip could lead to certain death. For our group, everything felt safe and well-managed. No one had any medical issues.
My Experience
This was a top-three trip for me. It vastly exceeded my expectations in terms of natural beauty and the overall experience. Despite being a luxurious version of the trip, it had plenty of adventure and a lifestyle that felt a bit challenging at times.
My nephews and I decided to forgo the tents and sleep all six nights under the stars. This comes with the risk that storms will appear overnight, and this happened twice. In both cases, we put our clothes and supplies in a big dry bag and individually covered ourselves with a tarp. I’ll never forget feeling warm and dry under the tarp as rain beat on its exterior less than an inch from my face. This approach has some drawbacks. Eventually, water condenses inside the tarp, and rain gets in from the sides, especially if the wind blows. Both nights, I felt cold rainwater flowing into my sleeping bag and reaching my feet and neck.
The issue, of course, is having a wet sleeping bag thereafter. It feels disconcerting to stuff the damp bag into the dry bag for transport. Thankfully, camps include rocks that bake in the sun each afternoon and dry anything you need in minutes. Again, rain in the desert. Who knew?
Even on clear, moonlit nights, I went to bed thinking about how different these nights were compared to home. With no covers, I lay on the cot as sweat pooled on my neck and moistened my shirt collar. Wiping it away reminded me that my skin was constantly covered in sunscreen and fine sand. We bathed often in the river, but the water was dark and left a residue on everything. Yet, I still slept quite well.
We were told to bring a small duffel (24″ long) that weighs less than twenty pounds. They recommended inflatable pillows, and I found two in our backpacking supplies at home. Both of my pillows developed leaks by the second night. So, I added mine and Casey’s puffy jackets to a grocery bag and wrapped them in my long underwear, which served as my pillow for most of the trip.
Despite the pillow, sand, sunscreen, and rain, I woke each day feeling rested and ready to go. It’s funny how easily we can adapt for short periods.
This trip represents the longest I’ve ever been completely unavailable and off the internet since it was invented: 6 days. I didn’t miss it. The impossibility of connection kept my mind from wandering. Part of the experience is checking out and not looking back. We joked about the possibility of returning to a new world, with new leaders.
As it turned out, we had an internet connection all along. The guides recently added Starlink, partly because guests had started bringing their own on the trips. On the final day, the lead guide announced that he would make an internet connection available for an hour so people could FaceTime family from the Grand Canyon. My family decided, as a group, not to engage. We wanted the offline feel to remain.
The guides did not always welcome the presence of Starlink. It’s handy and a great resource for safety, but it changes the dynamic. As a small indication, the password for the Starlink seemed to send a message. It was “worseworld” as if a new world of wifi was worse than the existing one. I concurred.
Guides
I’m always fascinated by the people guiding trips like ours. They often have a deep passion for the place and a dedication to show it to others. Our trip leader was Wiley, the most experienced of the group. This was his 300th down the Grand Canyon and 12th trip this summer. I can’t imagine spending 12 one-week trips, back-to-back, with only a day in between. He loves it and says he’ll be back next summer.
The rest of the crew were “all stars” who came out to do this trip. The other driver was Lindsey, with two kids at home and a wealth of experience and knowledge. I enjoyed walking with her through the hiking trails and having her describe the flora and fauna.
Our swamper was Paco, a young guide who currently lives in Idaho. This was her 40th trip. A mix of knowledge and charisma made it fun to have Paco with us, always ready to laugh.
The second swamper was Makia (I’m not sure about the spelling; it’s not Hawaiian). Makai was quieter than the others, but had experience as a member of the park’s search and rescue team. He’s spent his life doing death-defying extreme sports and has stories to tell.
Every guide on the trip was constantly working. If they weren’t guiding, they were setting up a meal or breaking it down. Each day, Paco carried the groovers, full of material, from some far-flung location to the boat. I know it becomes a lifestyle after a while, but I couldn’t imagine doing it for long periods in the desert heat.
The Exit
At the end of our trip, the only way out was via a seven-minute helicopter to a nearby cattle ranch called Bar Ten. The ranch covers 250,000 acres and has an airstrip for catching a plane back to civilization. The guides described the ranchers as “real world cowboys,” which was true.
Overall
This is a bucket-list trip that truly delivers. To be able to do it with my family made it even more special.
When we first met, getting used to Sachi’s perspective on making and serving food took me a while. She would make A LOT of food for small gatherings and send people home with leftovers. She would plan meals for days and become consumed with every detail. Seeing her mind spin, I’d try to remind her that the meal could be simpler and easier to prepare. She appreciated the advice, but it didn’t change much.
Over time I came to realize a few things. First, her perspective on food was based on growing up in Hawaii, where huge amounts of food were the norm for social gatherings. As she put it to me once, “Food equals love.” Quantity matters, both in presentation and what people take home. Not enough food? That’s failure. Besides, who doesn’t want to bring a little love home with them at the end of a nice evening?
I also began to see that, for Sachi, preparing food wasn’t a burden or something to be reduced. She has a real, lifelong passion for food that is a deep part of her. When she has an idea for a dish or a dinner to plan, she’s at her happiest. When she’s had a hard day or needs a change of pace, she cooks to refocus. It sounds trite, but food is truly her happy place.
A New Adventure
It’s probably no surprise that, after building flattop, we’ve settled in and the pace of our life has changed. After years of being happily overwhelmed with construction planning on top of daily work, we now have a bit of space. Common Craft, the company we’ve run since 2007, is stable and her side of the business doesn’t require as much attention as it did. I noticed that Sachi was not as excited about the work and was looking for other ways to engage her mind. She was capable of so much more and I didn’t like seeing her cast about for the next thing.
Late last year, we started to bat around the idea of her getting a job, perhaps even full-time. We discussed remote work for a tech company, doing things like project management. This way, she could work from home and have a flexible schedule. It wasn’t a good fit. Sachi didn’t want more screen time in her life.
We refocused on local jobs, meaning on Orcas Island. Tourism is our biggest industry and the jobs are highly seasonal and involve working with tourists. Sachi is amazing at hospitality but is also an introvert who quickly becomes exhausted when working with the public.
Near the holidays an idea bubbled up that seemed to have legs. Eastsound, the main village of Orcas, has a famous bakery called Brown Bear Baking Company. The bakery is a busy place where it’s common to see lines out the door. The food, a mix of bread, croissants, pastries, quiches, sandwiches, and more, is top-notch. We know the owners and have heard about their struggles to find good help. What they needed most was a baker: someone who is serious about baking as a profession.
Photo by lifeonorcasisland.com
Sachi reached out and they invited her to become a full-time baker. I told friends that they (the owners) would quickly discover their stroke of luck. Sachi is a dream employee: a hard worker and a dedicated partner.
The Job
We both braced ourselves for big changes in our lives. Her schedule is four 10-hour days, Friday-Monday. She starts work at about 5:45 am, which seems manageable for a baker. She’s part of a small team that includes the owners, and together, they do it all. They bake loaves of bread, croissants, muffins, quiches, and more (full menu).
From the moment she walks into work, to the moment she leaves, she is busy with one project after another. Multiple oven timers are going at all times. Hours fly by and she’s mostly in the back, doing her thing. She is completely engaged and constantly learning.
The physical aspect of the job, being on her feet, leaning over a bench, and moving full sheet pans and bags of flour, took a toll initially. Over a few weeks and a new pair of shoes, she adjusted and is now accustomed to it. She comes home every day both happy and exhausted. This job seems to have filled a space in her life that needed to be filled and I’m so happy that it’s working.
Since 2007, we lived and worked together every day. Now, she’s at work much of the time and it has taken some time to adjust. She is still involved with Common Craft and I need her help often. We’ve had to figure out how to fit it all in. I’m starting to take on more of her duties and learn some of the systems and software she’s used for years.
Lifestyle Change
A big difference, personally, is how I approach weekends. I am used to having a normal weekend like most people who meet up with friends, go on adventures, etc. Now that Sachi’s weekends are Tuesday-Thursday, I’m trying to navigate my time because I can’t (or shouldn’t) have two weekends per week. Do I work on normal weekends and make Tuesday-Thursday the weekend so we can do things together? Do I work a normal workweek? I’m still figuring it out. What helps is that being alone for four days each week has done wonders for my productivity.
Sachi genuinely enjoys the job and the work. It combines her loves: making food, being engaged, and learning new skills. I have come to see her job as a baker from a romantic perspective. It’s an ancient and essential profession. People depend on her work, each day, for nourishment and joy. Her days are spent working with food and people instead of computer screens. Importantly, she gets to put real love into what she makes.
This feels like a new chapter for us both and we’re both ready for what’s next. Always forward.
Doe Bay Resort is on the other side of Orcas Island and may as well be on a different island. It takes over 45 minutes to drive there, so I rarely visit. That’s not to say it’s unworthy. The resort and grounds are beautiful, with seaside lodging (yurts, cabins, domes) and a clothing-optional spa. The vibe is, shall we say, back to the earth.
The resort restaurant, Doe Bay Cafe, is a favorite and in the restaurant hangs this sign:
I took that photo in 2018. We had just purchased property on Orcas and were in the thick of planning Flattop. The sign struck me because it felt so fundamental, and at the same time, far away. We were in the process of moving from Seattle and a year from razing the yurt-shaped house. Few things in our life were stable enough to focus on yielding anything.
“This principle is like an order. Make sure that every time you design a house, garden, park, or school, it includes elements that will provide real tangible yields. The yields could be food, fibers, or fuels, but there needs to be something.”
This is our fourth summer at Flattop on Orcas Island and our farming game is improving. Each year, we (mostly Sachi) conduct little experiments in the garden with the hopes of finding a secret code that unlocks our little microclimate. The job is never done and that’s part of the fun.
We’ve had strawberries for the last few years and they’ve become a summer favorite. Just before spring this year, Sachi dug up all of last year’s plants, amended the soil, and replanted. Then, in the spring, she thinned the leaves, which allowed the plant to get more sun and fresh air.
The strawberry experiment seems to have worked. Starting in early June, I became the strawberry collector and protector. The birds were eating into my yield, so we covered the beds with netting. From there, the berries flowed. At first, there were a few a day, then dozens, then over 80 in one day. I tracked them all and looked for ways to use them.
I couldn’t help but make a graph.
We had 661 when I stopped counting.
I made syrups, infused liquors, dehydrated, macerated, and gobbled them daily. They were delicious and I felt something stirring in the back of my mind. This wasn’t a handful of strawberries, it was strawberry production and I had hard data on the matter.
You were here when we built the beds and filled them with soil and plants. You were here when we stumbled through. This year, the systems are working better and we are obtaining a yield. I’m already thinking about next year’s strawberries and what we’re learning now that will make the crop even more productive.
This article was published in my free newsletter, Ready for Rain.
From the moment we decided to move to Orcas Island, I became fascinated with the idea of self-sufficiency. I dreamt of using water from a well, growing food, owning a home-based business, and learning to build and repair some of what we need. That dream is becoming more real each year.
Some elements of self-sufficiency are built in at our location. We don’t have the option to connect to community gas, water, or sewage, so we have well water, a propane tank (below, left) and a septic system (below, right),
I take some satisfaction from knowing that my water, for example, is independent of a city water system. It still amazes me that it comes right out of the ground, ready to drink.
Solar energy was always part of the plan for the property, but a lower priority in the midst of building Flattop. At the time, some government subsidies and incentives were being phased out or were uncertain. We continued to say “someday” and added a conduit from the roof to our electrical panel to make future installation easier.
The Reasoning
At our latitude, solar energy is not a slam dunk. The equipment is expensive, we have short, cloudy days in the winter, and lots of tall trees. The alternative, power from the grid, isn’t terrible. It’s mostly clean energy from hydropower and relatively affordable. We spent months debating the options.
A reality of island life is more frequent power outages than the mainland. Our electricity comes from the mainland through an underwater cable and is part of a network across the San Juan Islands. In stormy weather, a fallen tree on another island can take out our power for hours. Before recent infrastructure improvements, many homes were built with diesel generators for powering homes in blackouts. They’re expensive, require regular maintenance, and are not clean energy sources.
For the first three years at Flattop, we did without backup power. Batteries, a chest freezer, cell phone service, and a propane stove could get us through. But we soon discovered a bigger problem: our well and septic pumps depend on electricity to function. To put it mildly, these systems are required and motivated us to consider alternative energy sources. We needed a battery for storing power to use in a blackout.
We met with a local solar installer and learned about all the new subsidies and incentives. The “Build Back Better” bill (2021) reset federal incentives to install solar and/or battery systems. The federal government offers a 30% tax credit on the cost of the project (materials and installation) until 2032. That’s huge. At the same time, the state of Washington doesn’t collect sales tax on the materials. Our local power co-op also offers a 10-year financing plan at 2% per year. It felt like everything lined up. We pulled the trigger and began a 14-month wait for solar panels and a battery system installation.
The Investment
These projects ideally pay for themselves over time. The big question is: how long will it take? Our installer estimated that solar would cover about 90% of our annual power bill and we’d likely pay it off in 9-10 years. That 90% number may sound surprising. Here’s how that works:
Our connection to the electrical grid is now a two-way system. We pay for the energy we use and can sell the excess energy we generate via solar back to the power co-op. The power we sell back is then credited against our power bill. The excess power from long summer days will offset our winter electricity use. Another factor is that the cost of grid electricity is likely to increase over time. A solar and battery system insulates us from potential increases.
The System
In February of this year, a team installed 37 panels on our roof, which equals almost 16 kilowatts of potential power production. In the photo below, the roof is recovering from a huge amount of pollen this year.
The battery system has two batteries and together hold 13 kilowatts of power. To put that into perspective… Our home, right now, uses between 20-40 kilowatts of power a day. In a power outage, we can reduce our power consumption to make those 13 kilowatts last 2-3 days.
The batteries are connected to the grid, which keeps them continually topped up. In a long power outage in the summer, the solar panels can charge the batteries and power the home. Then, battery power can easily get us through the night. This is more difficult in the winter when the sun is scarce.
We expected the installer to ask for specific circuits to power, like the fridge, etc. That didn’t happen. They connected everything to the battery, except power-hungry systems like heating, clothes dryer, etc. Now that the system is up and running it doesn’t require any maintenance, aside from washing the spring pollen from the panels.
The Outcomes
A week after the panels and batteries were installed, we were streaming a movie on TV when one of the lights dimmed for a split second. The movie continued, the digital clocks remained correct, and we shrugged it off. A few minutes later, we received an alert that said, “Your batteries are powering your home”. We had no idea! It was working! Because the batteries powered the TV and internet connection, we could keep watching.
Today we have phone apps and a tablet in our kitchen that display real-time data for the solar system: what the house is using and what’s powering it. It’s fascinating and satisfying. Our home is a generator! Sachi of course, watches the data every day and this time of year is exciting because we’re breaking records each week. On recent sunny days, we sold back twice the amount of power we used.
I see the romantic attraction to living “off the grid” like a homesteader in the wilderness, but that’s not the goal. What we want is a home and lifestyle that’s reasonably sustainable, self-sufficient, and balanced with convenience.
This article was published as an issue of my newsletter Ready for Rain
It should be no surprise to Ready for Rain subscribers that I share much of my life online. This tendency goes back to at least 2003, when I started blogging, and has continued since then.
Over the last decade, sharing photos and videos was fun, but not exciting. A few followers here, a few likes there. Instagram and other services helped me keep up with friends and share tidbits of my life.
That all changed in December of 2023 when I started sharing videos of the Solstice Wall project in 1-minute videos, mostly as Instagram Reels. To my surprise (and delight) the project went viral and changed my online experience, albeit temporarily.
Between December and March, over 15,000 people followed my account. One day saw over 2,000 new follows.
Who are they? Where did they come from? I have no idea. 🤷🏻♂️ The algorithm works in strange ways. My account is now full of strangers with high expectations.
The Most Viewed Post
In the middle of the project, I summarized the progress in a brief video titled “Let’s Review“. This post has been the most popular by far. Some interesting stats
1.5 million plays? Nearly 19k likes? This is not normal for me. A stat for the video still boggles my mind:
This influx of people led to sometimes hilarious discussions in the comments of a few posts. It gave me a front-row seat to how people use Instagram.
Many people were focused on the solstice idea and the sundial aspect of the project.
I appreciate snark and unvarnished opinions from internet randos.
Apparently, people don’t like using the “follow” button. Instead, they talk to the algorithm or request someone else to act on their behalf. So weird.
Why did it work?
A few theories… First, I wasn’t selling or promoting anything. I think people are distrustful when money is involved. Second, it was a story to follow. Once people saw the big idea, they were motivated to see it through and share it with friends. Third, it appealed to the Instagram Reels algorithm which showed the videos to a LOT of people I could not reach otherwise. Lastly, it was visually compelling.
This experience taught me that people love following a project from start to finish and it’s important to show them the expected outcome early in the process.
What now?
For all the effort, fun, and excitement, the online attention from this project had virtually zero impact on my offline life. As expected, I’m not earning income from it and no one has contacted me. It was a blip that came and went.
I feel a little awkward about the future of my account. The vast majority of my current followers arrived during the Solstice Wall project, and from here, they are bound to be disappointed. As I’ve said many times lately: I hope they like gardening!
A recent post about digging holes prompted over 100 people to unfollow me in one day. Over 1,800 have unfollowed my account in the last 90 days. I don’t blame them. Going from the Solstice Wall to hole-digging content is quite the leap.
What Matters
Social media is ephemeral. Ideas, projects, and memes come and go. Most of it is disposable and offers only a few seconds of entertainment. However, amidst the noise, there are real people and real connections. I hope the Solstice Wall project served as an introduction to me, a real person who does a lot more than art installations. I dig holes and catch crabs and obsess over plants. If a few new people feel a connection and stick around for all of me, that will feel like a win.
I continue to share videos of things I’m building. If you feel a connection, I’d love to share with you.
People see it as a kind of sundial. And the design is based on the sun’s movement and position. But because it’s based on a single day, the summer solstice, it’s more like a clock that’s only correct once per year.
I don’t consider it a clock or sundial. To me, it’s an installation that uses a single day of the sun’s movement as a template. It documents a natural rhythm.
I want the Solstice Wall to stand on its own, with no explanation required. I hope everyone who sees it feels a connection to the rhythm, even if they don’t know the idea behind it.
I’m sharing this process on social media. Follow along!
This article was published as an issue of my newsletter Ready for Rain
Since the beginning, I looked forward to having all the pieces of the Solstice Wall ready and installing it all at once. It was not, of course, as smooth as I expected. The panels on the wall needed to be painted multiple times. A few of the rays needed dowels.
It finally happened on February 11th, 2024. It took less than an hour to place the rays and tap them into the wall. To my surprise, the rays looked just as expected and didn’t need changes. I couldn’t believe it was finally done.
This article was published as an issue of my newsletter Ready for Rain
Sometimes I think about the amount of time and energy I’ve put into the Solstice Wall project. That goes for Sachi, too. I’ve taken the lead, but she’s been a part of every decision, and the endless brainstorming and problem-solving. Now that the project is days from completion, I’m both excited and a little sad.
As I’ve written many times in this newsletter, I believe happiness lives in anticipation. Since June of 2021, I’ve been anticipating the completion of this project and it will soon be behind me. Then what? I have plenty of things to look forward to, like warm weather and the garden coming back to life. But those require little creative effort.
This project has taught me that I get real satisfaction from taking on big creative projects that require learning and experimentation. I want ideas to brainstorm and problems to solve. I want to try and fail and try again. I want to learn about tools and materials and how to be more detailed and diligent.
Since early December, the work on the Solstice Wall happened in our garage. At the end of the work day, I looked forward to heading in there, putting on a podcast, and pushing the project forward. Whatever is next, that’s where the work will get done.
Current Status
Right now, the plywood panels that will hold the rays are mounted on the wall of our great room. Getting to this point was a relief because everything was built on the floor of our garage. I worried that I’d missed a detail or flubbed a measurement. I imagined the panels, which contain 79 holes for holding the rays, would not match up as expected. Then what?
The moment of truth was installing one of the longest rays, which stretches across three panels. Thankfully, the holes in the plywood matched the dowels in the ray and everything came together as expected. Phew!
I severely underestimated what would be required to complete this project. This, as Sachi will tell you, is not a surprise. My optimism gets the best of me. Here’s an example…
The rays will be held onto the plywood panels with 79 metal dowels. The dowels hold the rays off the surface and will be visible. Each one will also cast a shadow. It occurred to me that the placement of the dowels shouldn’t be willy-nilly. To be elegant, they needed to be carefully organized and aligned into neat rows. It sounds pretty simple, but it wasn’t.
The challenge had multiple variables. The rays relate to one another, their locations on the plywood panels, and now the dowels. To get the dowels to line up, I placed the rays on the plywood panels in the final form. Then I had to ensure the rays didn’t move while I measured and made 79 marks indicating dowel locations.
It was one of the most taxing parts of the project because, well, I’m clumsy. The chances were high that I’d knock something out of whack and not notice. For that reason, I put weights on the rays as I worked from one side to the other.
When it was all said and done, it was close. A few dowels were way off. A few were imperfect. Most were close enough. And is always the case, I needed to learn something new. This time, it was how to use wood filler and make it strong.
Next Steps
The plywood panels were attached to the wall with countersunk screws. All those holes have now been filled with spackle and need to be sanded down and hopefully disappear.
After a bit more cleanup, the panels will be painted our wall color. Once that is complete, the rays will be installed and we’ll be done! More on that soon.
I’m sharing this process on social media. Follow along!
This article was published as an issue of my newsletter Ready for Rain
We chose to use Baltic birch plywood for the rays because the built-in cabinets and benches at Flattop are Baltic birch. We both love seeing the plies and plywood is exceptionally stable.
For the Solstice wall, we wanted to make the plies even more obvious, so I started experimenting with stains. I found that the stain we used for our western red cedar ceilings and soffits worked well.
After more experimenting, I developed a simple process that created consistency in every ray. I applied the stain and then immediately wiped it off.
The results were startling to me and exactly what I hoped to see. The stain soaked into and darkened the wood pleid, while keeping the laminated strips nice and light.
As a friend said online, the plies look like a cookie.
Here’s a short video on the process of staining the rays:
This article was published as an issue of my newsletter Ready for Rain
In planning the Solstice Wall, I experimented with the tools I’d need to make it work. I don’t own table saws or drill presses, so I set out to find what would work. This introduced me to a variety of woodworking gadgets that I now consider essential.
One of the design ideas is using metal dowels to hold the rays off the wall so that they would cast more interesting shadows.
To make this work, I’d need a way to drill consistent holes in each dowel. The holes needed to be centered on the rays and at a specific depth. Freehanding it was possible, but I needed real consistency.
One of the early discoveries was a self-centering jig. This is a metal contraption that pinches a strip of wood and provides centered holes for drilling. It seemed like the perfect solution.
The next issue was hole depth, which also needed to be consistent. There are 79 dowels that all need to be the same length once placed in the rays. For this, I used a collar for a drill bit. With a simple set screw, you can place the collar on the bit at the exact location where the hole should stop.
It was the combination of these tools that got the project rolling. I used them to drill all the holes for the dowels, and holes in the plywood panels.
We set out to make the outcome as perfect as possible and an invaluable tool was a laser level. We didn’t need it to make things level as much as straight. We pointed it at the wall and the plywood panels on the floor to mark the shadow lines. It was exactly what we needed.
Another tool that impressed me was a track saw setup (Thanks, Jim!) A track saw makes it possible to cut perfect lines on long lengths with a circular saw. You attach a “sled” to the circular saw and the sled fits into a track that is placed on the plywood. The track guides the saw across the panels in perfect lines. We used it to cut the angled lines that make the plywood panels match our sloped ceiling.
Here’s a short video of the self-centering jig and bit collar in action:
I write books and run a company called Common Craft. I recently moved from Seattle to a rural island. Here, I write about online business, book publishing, modern home construction, and occasionally, dumb jokes.
I write books and run a company called Common Craft. I recently moved from Seattle to a rural island. Here, I write about online business, book publishing, modern home construction, and occasionally, dumb jokes. 
