It’s been five days since I got back from Siau Island, and I’m still peeling off the layers of the trip — both physically and mentally.

Coming back from a place with a 14 hour time difference isn’t a gentle reentry. Two days. Five flights. Legs that forgot how to work. A heart in physical pain from missing my dogs. And those cheerful 3 AM wake-ups while my brain reboots its circadian software.

But the reunion with Jess and Ridge made it all worth it. I honestly wondered if they’d miss me much. I’d arranged four people to cycle through the house while I was gone — three of them solely tasked with feeding, walking, and worshipping the dogs. But the second I stepped into the basement library and saw their wiggly joy? Yeah. I was missed. We've been making up for it with long walks, mountain outings, and movie nights — where I bring the popcorn, and they help themselves without a hint of shame.

The trip itself? Unforgettable. I camped on an uninhabited white-sand island with turquoise water so bright it looked Photoshopped. I saw a volcano throw lava into the stars — actual fire in the sky — and then heard the delayed sonic boom roll through like nature was showing off. The people of Siau were kind, curious, and generous — even with Google Translate as our shared language.

No surprise I’m already thinking about going back. Maybe April or May 2027, when the locals say the seas are calmest — assuming my health holds. But that actually gives me extra motivation to take care of myself. And that gives me and the dogs time for some stateside mountain exploring, backpacking, and cabin escapes.

A few practical things I learned:

Air conditioning and hot showers make a huge difference, especially after snorkeling or diving all day. This was the first trip I had both in Indonesia, and I appreciated it more than I expected.

Pack extra cameras. Seriously. Small digital ones or used GoPros make incredible thank-you gifts for local guides. I brought a few this time, and it felt like the least I could do for people who were hauling my gear and helping an old guy have an adventure.

Tip well. The staff and guides took amazing care of me — not just logistically, but personally. I want to give even more next time.

Rethink the flight path. I’m planning a direct flight from Denver to Tokyo next time. From there, I can catch a Scoot Air connection to Manado. Yeah, I’ll have to grab my bags and go through immigration in Japan, but it breaks up the trip in a way my body will thank me for.

Don’t sleep too much on the plane. I know, everyone tells you to sleep. But sleeping bolt-upright in an economy seat is basically leg sabotage. I learned to get up every hour or so, stretch, pace the aisles like a confused ghost. It helps.

Stay at the Grand Luley in Manado. It’s a four-star resort with an unreal breakfast buffet and an absurd price tag of $39 per night (thank you, exchange rate). Plus, Bunaken Island is just a 20-minute boat ride away for easy day trips. Only leave the Luley for Siau when the weather forecast is good.

And finally, yes — being away from Jess and Ridge was the hardest part. But the care team I hired spoiled them rotten, and we all bounced back fast. Now it’s business as usual: I’m their whole world, and they’re mine.

(click on photosbelow for larger image . . . - Esc or clicking outside of image will close it)

above photo of crab on anemone taken from Verti on Siau Island (https://www.youtube.com/@VertiSangkilang-x6u) )

So. You vanished for 22 days. Something about volcanoes, coral reefs, venomous sea snakes under your chest—whatever that means.

We thought you were dead.

What’s ahead of us? Walks along the river, Colorado hikes and backpacking, and those cabin and camping trips you always overpack for. Utah’s red canyons. Montana’s Beartooth and the wild country west of Yellowstone. We don’t know where we’re going, but we know we’re going with you.

#bordercollies #dogreunion #colorado #mountaindog #montana

I made it home—early, miraculously. Global Entry zipped me through Seattle’s immigration in under five minutes, bypassing an ocean of travelers packed like sardines in zigzagging lines. Definitely worth the interview and background check.

My first thought after breezing through? Can I catch an earlier flight? Alaska Airlines doesn’t make that easy on the app, but a quick call worked. I was rebooked nearly five hours earlier, bag checked, and on my way to the new gate just twenty minutes after clearing customs. Instead of getting home around midnight, I walked through my front door a little after six. Victory.

Ridge and Jess were waiting. Ridge lost his mind with joy—wiggling, whining, throwing himself against me. Jess was more reserved at first, almost hurt, like she was punishing me for leaving. But ten minutes later, she melted. We loaded into my little white pickup and hit the park, launching glow-in-the-dark balls under a new moon sky. Then a stroll through Sierra Trading Post to pick out celebratory treats. It doesn’t get more “Dad’s home” than two border collies riding shotgun, noses out the windows, reclaiming their territory.

But my mind is still half in Indonesia. I’ll need time to process the wild beauty of Siau Island—lush jungles, volcanic peaks, and crystalline waters teeming with life. One night, I watched an eruption of lava arc into the night sky and scatter like fire among the stars—and a moment later, the volcanic thunder followed like distant cannon fire. I saw creatures I never imagined: elusive tarsiers in the canopy, a venomous sea snake gliding right beneath me on my final swim—on the one day I wasn’t wearing a wetsuit. Smart.

There were real risks—slippery rainforest trails in the dark, splintered wooden boats with no ladders, sharp coral underfoot. At 73, these moments test your limits. Getting back into the boats from the sea was tough—hauling myself over the side without a ladder took some effort. Hearing instructions in noisy airports with hearing aids that aren’t miracles, and seeing an older version of yourself in every bathroom mirror. You adapt. You push through. My guide, Verti, literally caught me when I slipped toward a ravine one night. I owe him.

I left him a gift—a high-quality camera with an underwater housing, one of my best. He was overwhelmed. He’s already sent me stunning underwater photos via WhatsApp, taken with his new camera. The joy in his messages makes it clear: it was the right thing to do.

Tools helped too—like Google’s Live Transcribe app, which turned airline counter chaos into readable text. But the biggest adaptation is attitude. You go anyway. And in doing so, you live a little larger.

Visiting four schools on Siau was one of the great highlights. Sharing photos and videos of the American West—Utah’s canyons, Montana’s snowy forests, the high peaks of Colorado, and the Diamond P herd in West Yellowstone thundering toward evening pasture—sparked wide eyes and even cheers from students. The teachers were gracious, the kids curious and kind. Everywhere I went, people smiled, waved, honked, and helped. I never felt like a stranger.

But I missed my dogs more than I expected. Toward the end, the ache got heavier. Ridge even grew taller while I was away—he passed Jess in height. Now we’re back together, hearts aligned, like nothing ever changed.

There’s a kind of love that doesn’t fade with distance—just waits. My border collies and I share that kind. Strong enough to stretch across oceans and jungles, anchored in daily rituals: river walks, coffee shop visits, evenings on the couch with the TV humming and the dogs on the adjoining couch, right where they belong.

I’ll be 74 next month, and I don’t know what the next decade will bring—but I do know this: life feels fuller with Jess and Ridge nearby, quietly present, as if they know they’re my steady pulse in a changing world. They are my joy, my compass, my everyday reason to keep moving forward. And whatever time we have left, we’ll spend it well—chasing light, taking walks, and loving each other like always.