TheQueen

On my first day of retirement, I cleaned the refrigerator.

Wait! This is not the way it's supposed to be!  Like it says in my favorite goodbye-retiree card, I'm going to Jupiter where I'm the Queen!

The day started out as planned.  I lounged in bed with coffee and a book as B. left for work.  Ah, sweet retirement -- no appointments, no commitments -- and my turn to send B. off to work as I loafed at home.  (B. plans to retire again, really, sometime soon.  Earlier this year I was going off to work and he lounging in bed.)  So there I was, as they say, footloose and fancy free. Well, I had promised to mop the kitchen floor, but that hardly counted. Our shiny, white-tiled kitchen floor shows every spot.  I have threatened to stop cooking, but am seemingly unable to give it up.  So I shove a wet rag around the floor with my foot, rubbing out spots until I just can't stand it any more. Then I give in to the mop. 

Presently I abandoned my book, and spent a most enjoyable hour planning meals and making shopping lists for this week's sojourn at our mountain cabin.  We've planned a month of day-hiking and traveling the northwest, starting with a trek through Mono Pass and down Bloody Canyon with our friends E & J.  What could be better than a great dinner after a great day in the mountains?

Lists made, I turned to the refrigerator to sort out items to take and items to discard.  We had already gifted our friends with sauces, cheeses and the like, so the contents were relatively sparse.   The transparent vegetable bins were nearly empty ... and littered with bits of dried leaves, dirt, and other unidentifiable debris.

"So," I said to myself (I talk to myself a lot, as you'll come to know), "I'll just clean the bins."  Well, this was not quite as simple as it seemed.  When I removed the bins, I noticed that the bin covers and the side walls needed cleaning as well.  And in order to get to the side walls, I had to dismantle the bin support structure.   I wrestled the unwieldy parts into the sink, washed, scrubbed, and dried. But then, as I put it all back together, I began to look at the refrigerator shelves.

It's astounding. I, who hate to clean, felt compelled. One thing led to another.  My refrigerator is clean. Jars and bottles are neatly sorted and organized, and B. will never be able to find anything in the fridge again.  The floor is mopped and shiny clean. 

I'm still trying to puzzle out the symbolism in my first morning as a retiree.  Is this just a winding-down phase?  Am I now going to become a clean freak?  Will I soon find myself cleaning out closets?  The garage?  Yikes! I might have to reconsider that post-retirement job offer.

 

The Challenge

As our boys grew up, we spent a fair amount of time enjoying outdoor activities. Once we dragged our Webelos to the top of Telescope Peak.  Another time we coerced our boys and some others of the younger generation into hiking the North Kaibab trail down as far as Roaring Springs ... and then back up. We’ve done many short hikes as a family, including many lovely trails around the June Lake Loop. So, you see, I am a sometime hiker.

B. is a longtime climber, hiker, and a mountain rescue veteran. He and our older son, Z., have done a number of strenuous hikes and climbs, including a 50-miler with the scouts and a climb of the Mountaineer's Route on Whitney. B. is one of a senior posse that still goes backpacking, although after this year's trek, they are beginning to think they might have to moderate their expectations.

Last year, as we began to practice for retirement, B. issued a challenge.  "How would you like," he asked me, "to hike the Milford Track?"  We were planning a trip to New Zealand for friend G.'s wedding, and were planning our after-the-wedding activities.  My response was an uninformed "Sure.  What's that?" And then when I read about the hike, I realized something very scary.  I was going to have to get into shape.

I began to regularly walk up (and down) the outside stairway of one of the tallest buildings at work: 6 flights of stairs, 12 or 13 stairs each.  Following an REI shopping frenzy, where I bought high-tech hiking clothes, a new pack, rain gear, and lightweight fleece, I began to climb those stairs with my boots on and my pack on my back. You can be I attracted a number of curious stares.

A month before our New Zealand trip, I was ready for a tryout. We joined a New Year's Day hike to Nightmare Gulch in Red Rock Canyon State Park.  This was billed as an "easy" hike.  However, true to form, the fast hikers headed straight uphill!  And, believe it or not, the rest of us followed.  It was an awful slog. I panted, sweated, and somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other. Sometime along the way, as I crested one ridge only to see another before me, I began to ask myself, “And why did I want to do this?”  This would become a pattern. 

And then, we finally we reached the top of the last ridge. The rest was easy.  A lovely jaunt along the top of the ridge, a hike past hardy souls camping in trucks parked here and there along the many old mine roads, a steep drop down a slope of loose rocks, and down into the gulch to a sheltered lunch spot.  There B. and I lunched regally on leftover sesame beef and rice from last night's dinner -- no sandwiches for us!  The walk down Nightmare Gulch was the highlight of the trip.  I'd hate to be there in the rain, but the results of rain and wind, the sculptured walls in many shades of red, are spectacular.

New Zealand 1st Installment - Queen of the Kava Ceremony

We flew to New Zealand via Fiji, with a 1-day layover, arriving in Fiji very early in the morning. It was pleasant to sit in the moist, breezy, February morning, waiting for the bus to our resort.  After a short bus ride to our resort on the shore, scoring a little breakfast, and visiting with the mynahs, we took the hotel bus to Nadi Town.  We were dropped off at a very nice shop with every kind of goods – nice clothing, huge kava bowls, bark paintings, cheap gimcracks labeled “Bula Fiji” in gilt letters.  Escaping with no more than a shirt for B., we decided to stroll through the town. 

At every shop entrance, we were invited to come in and see the finest goods for sale.  As we picked up speed, hoping to trot right by all the hustle, a man fell into step with us and introduced himself.  Let’s call him, for the purposes of this tale, Frank. As we strode along, Frank told us about his village, far from the coast.  He told us about the hospitality and customs of his village.  “Come with me,” he invited, “and enjoy the traditional Fijian hospitality of a kava ceremony.”  And he turned into a shop door.  We followed.

Gesturing us quickly to an alcove at the rear of the shop, Frank introduced us to his partner, Ned.  Ned welcomed us, seated us on stools, and proceeded to wash the kava bowl and prepare for the ceremony.  So there we were, Frank on my right, B. on my left, and between us and Ned the kava bowl, or tanoa.

Ned ceremoniously prepared the drink.  And Frank allowed as how I should be the “Queen” of the kava ceremony.  Ned and Frank taught us the rituals, clapping with hands cupped, the proper number of claps, saying the correct words, drinking the small bowl of kava, dipped from the tanoa, in one long draft.  And so we commenced.

After the first round, a third partner appeared, along with four very young tourists from Europe.  We formed a circle around the tanoa, Ned prepared the kava, and we all joined in the ceremony. Frank, still sitting on my right, insisted that as the Queen I should have a gift.  He reached behind me to a table of carvings, putting one in my lap. Once, he told us, there was no love in Fiji.  Marriages were arranged.  But now all is changed.  The carving, he explained to us, show the male and female and represent the coming of love to Fiji. The carving would bring luck and love to our household.

Well, what to do?  Before a third round of the ceremony should begin, B. and I excused ourselves.  I set the carving on a side table, ready to walk out of the shop.  “But,” B. wondered to me, “would we be offending local custom if we just left the carving?”  I hesitated.

Frank bounded out from the alcove, selected two necklaces, and proceeded to clasp one around B.’s neck and one around mine.  “These are my gifts to you. Let me wrap your carving,” he said, “and prepare the paperwork you will need for customs.”  Wrap it he did, and then presented me with a bill. And he asked for U.S. dollars.  And then suggested that I might want to give him something extra for his poor family back home in his village.

We dragged that dratted carving all over New Zealand and back home to California.  I keep it as a reminder that sometimes being the Queen is not at all what you expect.

There are lots of posts on the web about kava ceremonies.  I thought this one was nice. Rob Kay's Fiji Islands Travel Guide - Kava 

New Zealand Installment #2 – Auckland to Wellington

Like other volcanic islands, the North Island slopes sharply upward from the sea.  When in Auckland, therefore, it is very easy to locate the harbor – head downhill.  We spent only two nights and a day there, but I think we climbed that hill a dozen times.  The street, quite a wide one, must have been at a 6% grade at least.  Good training for the coming hike.

From here we bussed to Wellington, as the scenic railway train was sold out.  It was a nice trip through sporadic rain showers. As our reward for arriving early, we got the front seats and had a fine view.  The scenery ranged from bucolic farmland to desert to green but very steep and rugged hills.  Once arrived in Wellington, we were chauffeured by the newlyweds-to-be, G. & J., to the suburb of Johnsonville, where the wedding would take place.

Wellington, we discovered, is very hiker-friendly.  There are several well-known (although not so well sign-posted) Walkways.  The day after our arrival, being at the northern end of the urban area, we thought to tackle the Northern Walkway.

We started out, following the instructions in our Rough guide, taking the train one stop toward the city.  And we did indeed find the signs pointing to the walkway.  But the signs seemed to be steering us back toward the way we had come, toward Johnsonville. We walked a long way that way without seeing any signs at all.

What to do? After considerable dithering and retracing of routes and consulting of maps, we decided we could proceed on city streets until we overlapped the Walkway.  So we set off down Burma Street.  At Khandallah, we detoured to the local library, where a kind librarian gave us some rudimentary maps and directions.  With only one more unproductive detour, we did indeed find the Walkway.  We walked through Trelissick Park and down into the Ngaio Gorge.  The track was absolutely lovely – abundant foliage, gorgeous trees and flowers, and some steep ups and downs. And I without my camera, an oversight I did not repeat on the rest of our trip.

From the rim of the gorge, the yellow arrows led us up hill.  And up hill. And up hill yet again, on city streets.  And finally, up a really steep, narrow road. Marching blithely along, high above the city, we encountered a gent walking his two dogs.  We were, he told us, on the wrong track (might have been the Tongariru?).  He very kindly directed us to a steep downward trail that would take us, he vowed, to the Botanical Gardens. By now it was afternoon, and I was tired and cranky.  Why did I ever want to do this? 

We descended the steep track, slipping and sliding at times. We did indeed emerge at the botanical gardens, and they were spectacular.  The rose garden was surely worth the lingering we did there, especially the Aloha and Typhoon blooms. 

To finish out the day (the Northern Walkway is clocked at 13.5 miles, and no one knows how many miles we put into unintended detours), we stumped up the steep hill to the tram station, rode the tram down the hill, and hoofed it to the train station.  I was ready for a rest on the ½ hour ride to Johnsonville. 

New Zealand Installment #3 – Wellington – Otari-Wilton’s Bush, Northern Walkway Reprise

Thursday

Today a short hike, since the rehearsal dinner is tonight and we were making a late start.  We chose Otari Bush, one of two preserves in the city with native vegetation. This site, according to our guide books, is the more mature, and also has a botanic garden.  Fortified with a veggie pie from the local bakery, we rode the train to Crofton Downs station and hiked to the preserve.

We spent about three hours in the gardens and preserve.  There was such variety – forest paths, open meadows, huge flowering trees, an 800-year-old Rimu tree.  We entered through the gardens.  From there, trails led down to an open, grassy park area  and on to a number of loop trails on the steep opposing hillside.

The loop trails were indeed very steep in places.  But no switchbacks for hardy Kiwi hikers – instead they build steps!  I swear we climbed that hillside at least three times during the afternoon – at least my knees felt so. Here I also saw my first fantail.  They are flirty little birds who flit around catching the bugs you stir up as you stomp down the trail.  Their tails, when they pose most prettily, open just like a fancy lady’s fan.

  Friday

Today is the wedding.  We wake to overcast and fog, as we have most mornings here.  If the weather follows the familiar pattern, it will begin to clear around noon and be beautiful the rest of the day.  I gather that we have been very lucky not to have wind, as Wellington is known to be a windy city.

We got the gouge on route-finding for the walkway at dinner last night.  C. S.-S.  knew it well. We decided to backtrack the part of the Walkway we had missed.  So, we rode the commuter train to Kandallah, and proceeded north. 

 It was a lovely, cool walk, foggy all the way. I was quite enjoying myself until we started up Mt. Kau Kau – stairs again!

 As we ascended, the fog grew thicker: no views from the top of Mt. Kau Kau today.

  As we walked through the pastures at the top we crossed from field to field over several stiles, each of them a bit different.  This one, I thought, was most interesting.

And those beautiful purple bell-shaped flowers, beaded with dew, growing in the hedgerows?  Beware the deadly beauty --Foxglove, the source for digitalis. 

 

 

 

The wedding, by the way, was held in an old Anglican chapel atop a hill, and was followed by a high tea in the church hall.  The wedding party motored off to the Rose Garden in the city’s Botanical Gardens for pictures.  The rest of us caught up to them at … guess where … Otari-Wilton Bush, where there is a magnificent facility for parties.  The reception was a hit.  We danced until midnight. Many years of happiness, G. & J.!

New Zealand Installment #4 – South Island, Abel Tasman Park

Traveling in New Zealand is a delight.  Every major town or city has at least one information site, or i-Site.  The small white “i” in a green oval marks the spot. We had booked our major transportation and, of course, the Milford trip, before setting off from California.  But much of our tootling around the South Island was arranged on the spot but stopping in at i-Sites.

 The day after the wedding we took a taxi into the city to the ferry terminal, and rode a ferry from Wellington to Picton.   The trip was absolutely calm -- a blessing, I’m told.  In Picton we picked up our camper van … at least we thought we were getting a camper van.  What we got was a van with seats that reclined – no bedding, no kitchen equipment – but, oh well.  No wonder it was such a deal!A trip to the local Warehouse, a popular discount store, yielded all we needed.  After a further stop at a grocery store, we were ready to roll.

We drove west through steady rain to Nelson, where we stopped at an i-Site to book camp spots.  Then on westward, with the rain drumming on the top of the van and the wipers swishing, to the very gates of Abel Tasman Park.  During the last 17 km. of the drive, the skies really opened.  They don’t call it the “wet” coast for nothing! And that was Saturday.

Sunday dawned bright and sunny.  We treated ourselves to breakfast at the Park Café – a pile of yummy French toast with fried bananas and bacon, and a latté each. Feeling on top of the world, we asked at the café counter where we might book a jet boat ride. The plan was that we would ride the jet boat up the coast to Torrent Bay, and hike back along the trail. Here I learned something else about New Zealand.  Virtually every establishment catering to tourists can book you on any attraction.  Our hostess got on the phone, verified availability, collected the money, issued us vouchers, and sent us off down the road.

 And the fun began.  The jet boats depart from a low wood building with a wide verandah.  Outside the building, there are several tractors, each with a jet boat on a trailer in tow.  We were formed up, loaded onto the boats, and advised to buckle ourselves into the life jackets hanging over the side. Our driver fired up the tractor, hauled us down the road (!), and then backed down the ramp into the water.  (The tides in the bay rise and fall about 4-1/2 feet, and when the tide is out the tractors haul the boats out across the sands before they can put in.)

 Our driver gave us a bit of a tour, pointing out local landmarks and telling us a bit of the local history, like Split Apple Rock in the picture. It was a fun ride, although another time I would really be tempted to take the slow route via kayak.

The trail back was wide and well-maintained.  Tiny white petals from the crowns of flowering trees littered the shady paths, and there were many small grottos. The trail must have been an awesome construction job.  There are bridges and bridges and bridges, small and large.  Thousands of cicadas above in the canopy tap-tapped ceaselessly, a noise like raindrops falling on the leaves.  In some places the noise was almost deafening, and I was glad of my hat, which muffled the noise a bit. Add to the ledger 14km, including a side trip to Cleopatra’s Pool.  Then on to Westport for a hot shower and a sound sleep. On our next trip we will allow a lot more time at Abel Tasman. 

New Zealand Installment #5 – Westport to Haast

During the next two days (that would be Tuesday & Wednesday) our plan was to wander down the West Coast, taking in the sights as we made our way to Queenstown. We began with a visit to the seal colony at Cape Foul Wind, so named by none other than Captain Cook. He never actually landed there; evidently the weather wasn’t cooperating.  Today it was anything but foul, so in addition to the seals, we were treated to a lovely panorama of the beach.

We wandered slowly down Highway 6, with a brief stop at Punakaiki (Pancake Rocks and blowholes and our first weka-sighting), a short stop at Hokatika, and then on to Franz Joseph, where we stopped for the night.

 

 

 

 

The next day it rained, at times very heavily.  We managed to do a 30-minute hike up the valley to the terminus of the Fox Glacier.  The landscape in that valley changes regularly as a result of torrential rains and slides.  It’s an effort to keep the trail open.  The glacier is immense.  The little black vertical features you see in the bottom left of the picture – those are people –  and they're not supposed to be there!

We then made a detour to Lake Matheson, where we had a tailgate picnic and set off around the lake for a view of Mt. Cook.  Well, we had hoped to get a glimpse. 

It’s somewhere behind the clouds in this picture. The last 40 minutes of this hike I was huddled in my rain gear trying to keep the camera dry.  At least I now knew that my rain gear truly worked.

We drove on through extremely heavy rain to Haast, home of sand flies and ‘mozzies’.  If you’ve never met a sand fly, count yourself lucky.  They bite. It rained so hard and I was so wet that I talked Bob into a motel room and dinner at the local pub, Smithy’s. 

A word about the highway – it’s two lanes with an occasional passing lane, and not much in the way of shoulder.  The bridges are all 1-lane only, the longer of them having pullouts mid-way so two cars can pass.  And, of course, one drives on the left. 

The country is very rugged – imagine Big Sur with temperate rain forest vegetation and waterfalls everywhere and stormy, stormy weather.  It’s beautiful, awesome country.  The last bridge to be completed on this coast, the Haast Bridge, was completed only in the 60’s and it took 2 years to get it all in place.

August 2 – Mono Pass (North), Bloody Canyon, & Hydration Systems

 

Today with friends J. & E., B. and I hiked the Mono Pass Trail.  This is the inaugural hike of my retirement! The trailhead is east of Tuolumne Meadows at Dana Point.  The trail ends at the Walker Trail Head near Walker Lake.  So this is a two-car hike. We left our truck at the Walker Trail Head, which we found after only one wrong turn.  The drive there was in itself a lovely part of our day.  We drove around the June Lake Loop, then off on dirt roads toward Walker Lake and eventually, following the Sawmill signs, reached the trail head. Then we all climbed in the Subaru and headed for Tioga Pass; and Tioga Pass never disappoints.

We started down the trail at 8:40. As usual, B. was at the front and I at the rear.  J. & E. hiked between, and were careful to keep an eye out for me.  This was especially kind, as I know they could have hiked both B. and me into the ground.  J. just finished a 50K run, and E. a 50-mile run; he’s training for a 100-miler next month!

The weather was cool and the sky overcast – perfect for hiking – and this first leg was moderate. On the way up to the pass, we saw some battered asters, but in places the trail was swathed with low, dark-blue lupines. 

I had decided for this trip to haul out my hydration system in preference to carrying water bottles, although I did have a 20-ounce Gatorade in reserve.  First there was the fussing to get the tube secured with its little Velcro strap.  That accomplished, things were going well, until we began the gradual but taxing ascent to the pass.  One can certainly insert the bite valve into one’s mouth and drink while walking, but drinking doesn’t come easy when one is panting for breath.  I may have to go back to water bottles to have an excuse to stop on the trail!We reached the pass in 2 hours or so, and there met a couple of backpackers headed for the Mono Pass trail head, on the last leg of a trip that began in Lyell Canyon.  These would be the only people we saw on the trail.  After chatting a bit, the backpackers continued on their way, and the four of us detoured across the meadow to an old mine site. 

There are three buildings and at least two pits, one of them quite large.  The site is on a knoll above the meadows and a couple of small lakes.  You might think the miners chose the site for its views, although I doubt it.  We poked around the site, and sat on a flat rock in the sun to eat and drink, and to enjoy the views of Mono Lake far below, the meadows, and Mt. Gibbs.

From Mono Pass, the trail begins to descend rapidly, and in places, precipitously.  The footing is broken rock – hard on the feet – but oh! The views! And oh! The flowers!  Clearly there is more water on this side of the pass. 

 So, down we went, past the Sardine Lakes. At times the aroma of damp, bruised sage is almost overpowering. At the lower Sardine, we saw another sign of life: a tent perched precariously aslant on an outcrop overhanging the lake.  We heard music, but saw no one. Fireweed bloomed on the banks of the lake.

  Thunder muttered and mumbled distantly, and once or twice we were spattered by brief showers.  On we went, around rocks and over tree roots, toward and then away from the stream flowing down from lower Sardine Lake, and finally across a soggy meadow to Walker Lake.

The hike ends with a steep (!) slog up the side of the moraine to the Walker Trail Head.  Damp with rain and sweat, we celebrated the crest with a drink of water, and descended to the truck.  Add to the ledger five hours and nine miles of happiness, and one more trip to Tioga Pass to pick up the Subaru. Home to hot showers and Thai Chicken Satés a lá Steve Raichlen.

Retired Miles (beginning today, 2 August 2007): 9

 

August 4, 2007 – An Adventure on Unmarked Roads

B. and I started out for the trailhead to Gibbs Lake.  We didn’t make it.  We drove up and down U.S. 395 between the Tioga Pass cutoff and the north end of the June Lake Loop twice, looking for a sign for Horse Meadows – no sign.  So we (figuratively) tossed a coin and set off west on Oil Plant Road.

The pavement ends quickly.  A fairly good dirt road runs first by an encampment of several old trailer houses and numerous abandoned cars.  It then climbs the hillside, and forks left and right.  We took the right fork first and eventually arrived at a spot our small pickup just couldn’t negotiate. We assessed the terrain and decided this was a road to nowhere, so back down the hill, and then south toward a small campground we could see in the distance. Just before the campground, we turned west again, and drove up the hill until, once again, we just couldn’t go any farther.

The road was actually in fairly good shape, rocky in places and washed out in places, but all in all a fair 4-wheel drive road.  We began by paralleling the watercourse, birch leaves rattling in the breeze and adding their chime to the chuckle of water on rock.  We hiked on, ever slightly uphill, through pines soughing in the wind. Forty minutes later, we reached an open meadow, with a convenient barrier (don’t drive into the meadow!) that provided a great perch for lunch. After lunch, we continued uphill, skirting the meadow and crossing the stream a couple of times.  Finally we crossed a high meadow and again headed up hill toward what we believe to be Mt. Gibbs. The road ends, and there is no obvious use trail.  Hmmm – why the road?

As hikes go, this was an easy workout. It would be a great spring snowshoe trip. We were on the trail, including stops, about 3-1/2 hours, so we figure, conservatively, about 4 miles.

As we neared the campground on your journey highway-ward, we took a wrong turn and ended up stuck in soft sand.  A little digging, some pine cones behind the wheels, a good driver (B. knows his clutch!), and a push from me backed us onto the long grasses, where we were able to recover and head toward the forest service information center at the Mono Lake Visitor’s Center.  There we scored  an Inyo National Forest map, a Yosemite and surrounds map, and a Mono Lake brochure at the bookstore. Tomorrow we will find Gibbs Lake!

 But … who built this road, and why???

(Examining our new Inyo National Forest Map, we think we were in Bohler Canyon.)

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 13

 

 

August 5, Gibbs Lake

Hurrah!  We found Gibbs Lake!  Turning on the first westward road south of Tioga Pass Road, we soon passed a sign reading “Horse Meadow”.  We drove past the large lower meadow, and on as far as we could go on a well-maintained dirt road.  What stopped us was a very long, steep hill – really did need the 4-wheel.  We parked, donned boots and packs, and stumped up the hill, along beside Upper Horse Meadow , and on to the trailhead, about a mile. 

The sign at the trailhead says 3 miles to Gibbs Lake, not 2 like our guidebook.  And the trail is rated “most difficult”, with 1600 ft. elevation gain.  We soon found out why.  Most of the elevation is gained in the first 1- ½ miles, and there is one long, really steep hill.  The footing is good, however – dry, silty soil as a firm base, overlaid with tufts of dried pine needles and, in places, the crunchy detritus of pine cones of years gone by. 

As is our habit, B. forged on ahead.  I hiked through sun and dappled shade, listening to the occasional bird and the constant wind.  A particularly strong gust snatched a cone from a Ponderosa pine and threw it to the ground just beside my right hiking pole; it landed with a meaty “thud”. I squeaked, went briefly vertical, and quickly stutter-stepped on down the trail, riding a brief but exhilarating adrenalin rush.  Soon thereafter, a thirty-something fast hiker with his yellow Lab passed me, headed for Gibbs as well.

  The last ¾ mile of trail runs beside the lake outlet.  It rushes purposefully down its rocky bed, as if impatient to keep an appointment at its outlet into Lee Vining Creek, far below.  For a brief period, I lost the trail.  I took time to rest and think, and cast around, and finally discovered my error. By that time B. had hiked back down the trail looking for me, and past the place where I had stopped. Next time I’ll leave my pack right in the middle of the trail – he didn’t see it off to the side.  We did find each other, and proceeded up the last ¼ mile of trail to Gibbs Lake.  This is one trail that doesn’t open up.  You don’t see the lake until the very end. 

We indulged in lunch, a brief rest on a warm granite rock in the sun, and back down the trail.  On the way down, past 2 p.m., we met three parties hiking up to fish.  They were probably just a bit late in the day to be starting, but we wished them good fishing.  Add eight miles and 4 ½ hours of good hiking to the ledger.

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 21

August 7, Pfeiffer Big Sur

We arrived in Carmel around mid-afternoon on Monday, after an uneventful, and faster-than-anticipated transit from June Lake via Tioga Pass, Merced, Pacheco Pass, and Prunedale. 

Tuesday, then, we ventured down the highway to Big Sur, stopping first at Pfieffer Big Sur State Park.  Here we chose to do the Buzzard’s Roost Trail, some nominal 5 miles round trip.  We started at the lodge, crossed under the highway, and worked our way up the moderately steep path toward the ridge on the west side of the highway.   The way was nicely packed underfoot, and shaded by redwoods in some places, and by a variety of deciduous trees in others.  The trail comes to a loop junction, and, wouldn’t you know it, the first appearance of my nemesis, stairs!  There must have been a Kiwi trail builder here.

We took the steeper fork, to the right, and after some steep sections and a few switchbacks, reached the summit, where the views were, indeed, panoramic, although there were no buzzards in evidence.

We descended to the lodge, stopping along the way to admire Sycamore Creek. 

As we approached the final fork in the trail, I found the proof that Kiwi’s had indeed been here!

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 26

August 7, Waterfall House

Come with me on a journey in time.  It is the late 30’s, early 40’s, wartime.  You are taking some time out to recover from the fatigue of a very important wartime job. You've come to visit your friends, the Browns – former Congressman Brown from New York – on the Big Sur Coast, at Waterfall House. 

You have spent the morning riding the Saddle Rock Ranch with your hosts and their friend, Julia Pfeiffer Burns.  After an exhilarating morning in the pastures and a long, lazy lunch at the farmhouse, you return to Waterfall House, bathe, and attire yourself properly for tea.  Tea is to be served on the stone terrace below the house. You wander to the terrace to enjoy the views.

It is a warm afternoon. The ever-present coastal breeze rattles the palms and eucalyptus trees, and wafts the scents of exotic flowering plants and bushes from the terraced gardens below.

 To the north is a majestic, unspoiled stretch of rugged coastline, bordered by the cold, blue Pacific, shoaling around the rocky outcroppings littering the shoreline. 

To the south is a sheer, rocky cliff; and pouring forth from the cliff, below where you sit, is McVay Falls. The upstream water from the falls powers the Pelton wheel that provides electric power for Waterfall House.

From the house above you, an operatic aria drifts on the wind, sometimes clearly heard, other times obscured by the sounds of nature.

The ice clinks in your glass. A lizard scurries across the stones of the patio floor. The sun is warm. What could be more sublime?

 

Julia Pfieffer Burns, for whom the state park including Waterfall House is named, did with her husband work the Saddle Rock Ranch.  Congressman Brown began buying up Big Sur property in 1924, but I do not know when Waterfall House was built.  McVay did build a Pelton wheel that provided power to the region until electric transmission lines were brought into the region.  The rest of this account is pure fantasy. The photo of McVay falls is as it appears today.  In recent years a slide brought down a significant portion of the cliff face, eventually forming the beach.  There was no beach in the real view from Waterfall House.

August 7, Andrew Molera

We finished off our day with a hike to the headlands at Andrew Molera State Park. The trail leads past the campground.  The campground, tents only and no vehicles, is a wide pasture, obviously mowed for the summer. Each of the 20-odd campsites has a fire barrel and a wooden picnic table with a tall box on one end.  The box is storage for perishable items and is intended to discourage those night marauders, raccoons.  The camp sites are large, and most of the tents are tucked into sheltered areas under trees as protection from the ever-present coastal wind.  As we approach, three deer and a covey of quail emerge from the brush.  As we pass through, the campground appears deserted.

 The trail meanders on to a stretch of beach, and then up and around the headland.  There are hundreds of gulls on the rocks below the headland.  As we walk down toward the rocks, they scatter, only to reassemble on the opposite side of the headlands.

From the time (35 minutes each way) we’re estimating 3 miles round trip.  There are other trails in this park we’d like to do – next time.

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 29

August 9 – Pt. Sur Light Station

Yesterday we visited the Monterey Bay Aquarium, along with dozens of families and several summer camp groups.  I was particularly enamored of the schooling fish in the kelp forest.  The displays of jellies are something else I could watch for hours.

 

Today, we queued up to take a tour of the light station at Pt. Sur.  The station is a state park, entirely volunteer run.  To get there, we caravan through a gate and across a working cattle ranch, park at the bottom of the hill, and proceed upward on foot. Our guide carried a book of pictures from times past, among them photos of the railway used to haul supplies up to the top of the rock from the supply lighters that arrived three or four times a year.  There was no highway in those days, so delivery by sea was the norm. The consequent perilous unloading of supplies required considerable ingenuity. Our very knowledgeable volunteer docent guide gave us a real flavor of what it must have been like to tend the light, as well as a perspective on the marine life and weather.

Four families lived atop the hill, the head keeper allotted one house and the three assistant keepers each allotted each a section of a tall row house.  The light keepers tended the kerosene flame inside the Fresnel lens and the clockwork mechanism that displayed the light at the prescribed 15-second interval.  The families tended the one horse and one mule and one cow allotted to the station, at one time having to descend the rock to the barn at the base of the hill. (In later years, the barn was moved to the hilltop.) The families also had other livestock, but their husbandry required singular methods in the harsh environment of Pt. Sur.  For example, chickens had to be tethered lest they be blown off the rock!

 This is a tour worth taking.  For more information visit  Pt. Sur State Historic Park .  Oh, and one last tidbit -- the last time the Coast Guard inspected the light, they left it rotating in a counter-clockwise direction rather than the usual clockwise.  The historical society has received calls.

 

August 12-14 Anderson Valley

We stayed at the Anderson Valley Inn, a place out of time, tucked up on a shady hillside in Philo, CA.  Mein host, Bob, is a most genial innkeeper, and his wife Lydia and mother Clover are also good company.  The rooms are nicely done, and the grounds offer benches and nooks for sitting and relaxing.  The price is also right. If you’re looking for television, internet, and coffee in your room, this is not the place for you.  But, that said, there’s espresso and internet service just 5 miles down the road in Boonville, as well as good beer from the Boonville Brewery.  I like the amber ale, and B. likes the hoppy ale.   Dinner at the Highpockety Ox ("A Civilized Saloon"), accompanied by said beer, hit the spot on our first night. For more info on the Inn and the area, visit Anderson Valley Inn.

Bob recommended a couple of hikes, among them the Hendy Woods trail (posted separately) and a jaunt down to the shore at Elk.  He also recommended some wineries.  Top on his list is Esterlina, and of course Navarro is immensely popular.

So we walked (could hardly really call it hiking) in the mornings, returned to our room at the Inn to clean up, and then tasted in the afternoons.  The first day we started with Esterlina (call for an appointment) where we were instructed to tell them that Bob from the Anderson Valley Inn sent us.   We were treated to a personal tasting on the deck high above the Anderson Valley, pinot noir grapes flourishing in the vineyard below the deck.  The owner’s wife, Doris Sterling, poured for us, and she proved to be a font of knowledge. We really enjoyed her stories and she had the answers to all our questions. The Sterling family (Esterlina is the Latin for Sterling) has been growing grapes for several generations, and making wine here for 10 years.  The business employs the whole family.  One son does marketing, another the viticulture, and a third is the winemaker.  The wines were uniformly well made, and the setting was superb. The family also runs a Dry Creek winery, Everett Ridge, and owns a variety of vineyards.  For more info, see Esterlina Vineyards.

From there we descended the hill, where we made stops at Handley Cellars (looking for the gewurtztraminer I remembered from a long-ago dinner) and at Roederer for some bubbly.  Here our sommelier, Rett, promised to let us know how the estate pinot is shaping, once he concludes his experiment with multi-day decanting.

Next morning, we drove over to the coast to Elk.  Immediately we spotted the trail to the beach. As we strolled beach-ward, the fog began to roll in.  Whilst on the beach, two fellows wheeling a kayak on a bicycle-wheeled carrier offered us a hidden cave tour. We demurred; they unloaded the kayak and paddled off. Back on the bluff top, we elected to stroll through the town.  Elk? Greenwood? The signs all seemed to say Greenwood.  Mystery solved – we spotted a book in a local shop that told us this is the town with two names.  I wasn’t, however, curious enough to buy the book, so I still don’t know why the town has two names.

Back in the Anderson Valley, having enjoyed the drive on the Philo-Greenwood Road both ways, we stopped briefly at Navarro to taste and order Deep End Pinot futures, and then at Husch, where we much enjoyed that family winery’s offerings.

August 11, Pt. Reyes National Seashore

We spent the weekend with B.’s sister and her spouse, D. & Z., in their treetop villa in the hills of El Cerrito.  Ah, the joys of civilization – espresso, ethnic food, and good consignment shops. (Not that the same couldn’t be had in Carmel, but we had been much too busy hiking and sightseeing to partake.)

We left Sunday mid-morning for Crescent City, a long haul on the coast highway.  But we couldn’t resist the call of Pt. Reyes.  We managed a picnic at Drakes Beach , on the sunny side, and then took a quick walk out to the lighthouse stairs.  More visits definitely in order here – we could spend quite a few days hiking the trails and exploring the seashore. 

 

  And we could perhaps plumb the mystery of why the lighthouse is down 300 stairs rather than up?

August 15-17, Crescent City

The trip to Crescent City featured spectacular views from the winding Highway 1, through Sonoma County and on northward.  Crescent City itself doesn't appear to be much of a tourist destination, but its proximity to the Redwood National Park was a draw for us.

 The first afternoon we quartered the city, starting with a visit to the park information center, then to the lighthouse, a walk up Pebble Beach Drive (predictably the upscale shore-side residences) and then across town and back to our low budget motel.  The shore was beautiful, and the barking of seals at the harbor seal rookery on Castle Rock was the background music to a beautiful, sunny day.

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    Next morning we tackled the Damnation Creek trail, up over the ridge through the coastal redwoods, and then down, down 1000 ft. to Hidden Cove, a 2.5 mile round trip.  The vegetation changed completely once we crested the ridge.  Gone were the redwoods, replaced by spruce forest and sprangly undergrowth.  On the way down, we encountered an adult Pacific giant salamander of between 6 and 7 inches.  He was just sitting on the trail, and did not stir when we examined him or when we passed. 

 

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At the hidden cove, the creek seeps out of the rock and runs beneath the limestone rubble to the sea.  This is surely not your sandy beach!

For the afternoon, we took our picnic lunch to the trailhead at the Boy Scout Trail; whole grain bread, canned salmon with pesto, apples, cheese, and a tomato with salt and pepper -- a veritable feast.

Fortified by lunch, we set out on the 3.7 (or 3.8, depending on whether you believe the trail map or the trail sign) trip to Fern Falls, with a side trip to the Boy Scout Tree.  Fern Falls, as you might expect given the dry year, was less than spectacular.  .  The Boy Scout Tree was indeed big, as you can see from the photograph.

So, total for the day, 9.9 miles -- call it ten with side trips to the Boy Scout Tree.

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 39

August 13, Hendy Woods

Hendy Woods State Park is just up the road from the Anderson Valley Inn.  We drove through the park to the day use area at the end of the park roads.  Here several loop trails wind though the Big Hendy grove. As we often do, we started out in the wrong direction, and ended up near the campground.  We backtracked up the fire road and joined the upper loop trail, and walked for some 2 miles on the flat, springy trail.

 Along the way, we took a side trail to the hermit hut.  Here, in the latter part of the last century, an eccentric hermit lived for 18 years.  According to the posted articles, he was a gentle soul. 

The undergrowth here features lots of ferns, and a curious clover-like ground cover.  Both are common to the redwood forest along the Pacific coast. From my limited research, the clover-like plant is redwood sorrel.

 

August 17-19, Southern Oregon Coast

Our trip up the southern Oregon coast to visit our friend D in Waldport was a leisurely one, stretched over a two days.  We investigated the Oregon Dunes, poked around old town Florence, and enjoyed the Cape Perpetua lookout on our way to Waldport.

The Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area stretches over many miles, and there are beach accesses and campgrounds all along. We stopped at the Dunes Day Use area north of Reedsport, and did a short two-mile hike out to the beach and back.  This walk shows an excellent sample of the dunes habitat, slouching down the oblique dune bordering the access point, across the deflation plane with its mix of scrawny trees, scrubby growth and beach grass, and then over the foredune to the beach.

The foredunes are breeding habitat for the snowy plover, and the birds were there in abundance, running back and forth as if their dance were choreographed, up and down the beach as the surf advances and retreats.

And here was a first clue that the weather this summer on this coast is definitely not according to pattern.  The description for the dunes hike tells us that during the summer the winds blow from the north.  But not this year – both winds and swell definitely from the southwest.  This was confirmed by the rangers at Cape Perpetua when we stopped at the visitor’s center there.

Traveling ever northward, we made a brief stop at Darlingtonia Wayside to see the Darlingtonia, a striking plant. Insects are attracted into the opening under the hood of the plant, and then confused by light shining through transparent spots in the hood, making them think the escape route is upward.  They eventually slide down the plant’s slick throat, and are trapped there by downward growing hairs. 

Cape Perpetua was our next stop.  We drove up to the overlook, where we enjoyed the views and read a bit about how the road was built – another example of the extreme measures required to build the roads of the Pacific Coast.

Our friend D suggested a hike at Cape Perpetua that begins at the visitor’s center.  The wide trail climbs up and inland through the second-growth forest for 2.4 miles, and then loops back across several creeks and along the shore for an additional 4 miles. The trail is thickly carpeted with the dried pine needles, so our boots make only muffled thumps.  Along the paths we saw many fungi, including this “lobster mushroom.”   We later learned at the local famer’s market that this very good to eat!  D says that there are many chanterelles in the area as well.  Too bad he doesn’t like mushrooms.

We managed a good scour through the tidepools at Yachats and a visit to the farmers market on Sunday morning. We wound up our stay at D’s that afternoon with a drive along the shore in Yachats, where we saw several whales, and a nice dinner at the River House.

So, total for this leg of the trip – 2 miles in the dunes and 6.4 at Cape Perpetua – round it to 8.

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 47

August 21, Olympic National Park, Hurricane Ridge

We woke today to thick, gray mist outside our hotel window. This mist did not, however, deter the unlucky golfers, who having landed on the down side of the fairway, squinted uphill into the diffused light, trying to spot the flag on the green.

This is, the locals tell us, unusual weather.  They have been socked in since last November, but for a few sunny days.  It’s not he normal weather pattern at all.

We stopped at Park Headquarters to get a map and our bearings, and then drove up, up through the fog to the famous Hurricane Ridge. The visitor center here stands on a long, flat plateau carved from the meadows. When we arrived, visibility at the center itself was good, although the surrounding ranges were obscured by thick, puffy clouds.  Ranger Laura wouldn’t venture as guess as to when or whether it might clear. “Maybe next Tuesday? Maybe 5 o’clock?” she offered. “I’ll be off duty by then!”

 We began with a stroll on the High Ridge Trail. The trail climbs across steeply sloping meadows thickly sewn with harebells (also called the bluebells of Scotland). The views were conspicuously absent! The trail climbs steeply up for some 200 ft., and then loops back and down to join the Cirque Trail.  On the down side of the trail, we walked amid stunted, wind-sculpted firs hung with lichen. Broad-leafed lupines bloomed here and there.   A pretty doe and a young, velvet-antlered buck grazed by the trail, dining on goats-beard lichen. We continued along the Cirque Trail, the glacier-carved bowl completely filled with clouds, arriving at the far end of the visitor center parking lot to find this area now shrouded in mist. 

A cup of hot tea seemed just the thing, so we repaired to the cafe/gift shop.

Fortified by our tea, we drove on to the parking area for the Hurricane Hill trail, a 1.6 mile (one-way) trail, gaining 700 ft. to end at the top of Hurricane Hill, famed for its panoramic views. Here I made another mistake.  “Let’s,” I proposed to B, “hike just to the end of the pavement.” I was assuming, from the trail description, that the pavement would end after the first ½ mile wheelchair accessible stretch.  I was wrong!  The pavement ran all the way to the top. (Now that I think about it, the meadow trails were all paved – must be to minimize the impact in this wet climate, where muddy trails would wear and break down quickly.)

That 700 ft. gain came with several painfully steep stretches of trail, one at about ¾ mile and another in four long switchbacks as one approaches the peak. The mist, very thick in places, coats the fir trees with droplets of water.  When the chance ray of sunlight, diffused by the mist, backlights the branches, the droplets sparkle like diamonds. When the mist is thick enough, each tree generates its own rain. Imagine standing beside the tree, and listening to the syncopated tick-tick of water droplets wetting the ground, the rhythm line for nature's music.

The flowers were, as we were advised, very nice.  It seems to late in the year to see avalance lilys, but we did see Indian thistle and hordes of beautiful bluebells, and found a Columbia lily crouching in the tree-rain beneath a Douglas fir.

  Once again, we could only imagine the views.  It’s supposed to clear, according to the five-day forecast, on Friday.  We’ll see the views then!

So for today, a mile through the meadows and a 3.2 mile round trip.  Call it 4 miles.

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 51

August 22, A Word About Hiking Miles

Just so that you know, I’m counting actual, bona fide hiking miles, and leaving out the exploratory walks. B and I walk at least an hour each day that we don’t hike.  For example, on the day we arrived at Port Angeles after an 8 hour drive, we walked from the east end of town, where our hotel is located, to the downtown port area, where we enjoyed dinner at an Indian restaurant. This four-mile jaunt is not included in the "hiking miles" reported with our posts.

August 22, Olympic National Park, Hoh Rain Forest

From our base in Port Angeles, it is about a 2-hour drive to the rainforest. Highway 101 leads west past beautiful Lake Crescent, then along the Sol Duc River valley and south to the Hoh River park access road.  The access road runs by the milky, meandering late-summer course of the Hoh, draining the glacier melt from Mt. Olympus, some 35 miles inland from the park boundary.  The road leads us first through 3rd growth forest: a crowd of tall, thin gray poles, the canopy high above creating a gloomy prospect.  Further into the park, the road is bordered by 2nd growth forest: bigger trees, more variety, more widely spaced.  

 

One particularly lovely stretch near the park check-in point travels through a grove of alders, white trunks leaning from each side to join their foliage high above, a beautiful arch welcoming us to the Hoh River rain forest.

After our usual visit to the park visitor center, we chose to hike the Hoh River Trail up to Mount Tom Creek, a 2.9 mile one-way.  The trail actually runs east for 18 miles, gaining 3700 feet to the shoulder of Mt. Olympus.  It is this trail that the mountain climbers must negotiate even before starting their technical climb on the snow and ice.  Our section of the trail was pretty much flat, following the course of the river, so we fast-timed it, making the trip in just under an hour.

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We had the falls to ourselves for the 15-20 minutes that we lingered there.  On our way back, we met a number of people coming up the trail.  “Are there really falls up there?” one weary hiker asked.

As we finished up our hike, we were escorted down the trail by a cheeky squirrel.  He ran a short way down the trail, stopped, a looked back at us as if saying “Come on, come on.”  We continued in this way for several hundred yards. Do you think he might have been looking for a handout?

We decided to round off our afternoon with a ¾ mile walk through the Hall of Mosses.  At the visitors center, we were entertained by the displays of the many lichens that grow here.  This picture of a “nurse log” is a good illustration of not only the mosses and lichens, but the other plants and fungi that root and grow in this fecund forest. The most amazing sight, however, was a grove of maples: big, old trees shrouded in mosses and lichens.  We had spied maples earlier on the river trail, and identified them from the seed cases.  I had not expected maples in a rain forest!

So, total for today, 5.8 – round to 6 including the access to the trail.  And .75, again adding for the access to the rail and rounding to 1. 

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 58

August 23, Olympic National Park, Lake Crescent & Hurricane Ridge

This day was bright and sunny, Friday’s forecast weather arriving a day ahead.  We decided to start our day with a reprise of Hurricane Ridge, to find out what was behind the mist and clouds on our previous visit.  Not only was it clear up high (the visitor center is at 5000 feet) but also below – no bowls of clouds in the cirque today! The mountain right in the center of the picture is Mt. Olympus!

Our stated goal for the day, however, was Lake Crescent and surrounds, so we descended the ridge and headed out to the Mt. Storm King ranger station at the east end of the lake.  Here we hiked a short .9 mile trail to the Marymere Falls.  On the way back, we found the turn for the Mt. Storm King trail. This trail climbs some 2100 feet in 2.1 miles, and goes only part way up the 4700 ft. mountain.  We couldn’t find any more of a description than that, and there was no ranger at the station. We started up the trail, I most unwillingly.  “I’ll give it 15 minutes,” I told Bob.  Well, I did, and then I quit – just too steep, and no promise of views.  When I didn’t catch up with him as he waited, Bob also quit the trail.  We settled for a picnic instead.

Having some afternoon left, we decided to return to Hurricane Ridge.  How could we waste this fabulous weather and those fabulous views?  We retraced the High Ridge and Cirque trails, and trotted up the Hurricane Hill trail for a half mile or so, so give us 2 miles for that.

There were deer everywhere – feeding in the meadows, between two cars in the parking lot, crossing the road and trail in groups of 2 and 3. We saw mama grouse leading her brood across the parking lot.  She clucked and sang to them as she strolled sedately across the concrete and they worked their way down the hillside, using the meadow grasses for cover.  As mama was half way across, at some signal that I completely missed, the little grouselings took flight across the road and into the bushes at the far side of the road.  Mama continued on her stately way to rejoin her brood.

The views are so good, you can see all the way to Canada!

Miles for the day – only 4.

Retired Miles (cumulative since 1 August 2007): 62

 

Here's a little something just to contrast the views two days ago and the views today. The view in the second picture is Hurricane Hill!

August 24, Mt. Rainier

Today was a transit day, moving from Olympic National Park to the Yakima Valley.  We took the scenic route, and stopped by so the B could say hello to his old buddy, Mt. Rainier.  Rainier’s snowy crown, visible on a good day from Seattle, dominates the horizon. There are other mountains, but none so distinctive. The eye is inexorably drawn to this Prince Among Peaks, trailing his glaciers down rocky slopes and into the streams and rivers below.

 

August 25, Yakima Valley, Rattlesnake Hills Wine Trail

Today we sampled wines at four wineries in the Rattlesnake Hills.  They were chosen by B, based on description in the wine trail brochure.

Hyatt Vineyards, high atop the ridge, is an impressive site with manicured grounds, a well-appointed tasting room and, from outside, views of both Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams.  We were able to taste “house” and reserve wines side by side.  The reserve merlot is especially nice, although the house merlot also has its charms.  This was a nice tasting in a nice atmosphere, and the prices are astoundingly low.  Unfortunately the inter-state shipping laws are such that Hyatt does not ship to California.  You’d have to deal through a wine broker or online wine store.

Our next stop was Paradisos del Sol, a small winery with an eclectic list.  We tasted their list of six, beginning with a dry rose, proceeding to Lemberger reds and finally to a pair of sweet wines -- angelica and late harvest riesling.  Each of three pairs of wines was served with food matched to the wine – with recipes, too!  Our hostess Barbara, winemaker Paul’s wife and partner in the business, described each wine for us and entertained us with her commentary.  If all wineries ran their tasting rooms this way, they’d sell a lot more wine from their tasting rooms!

For our picnic spot, we selected Silver Lake, again high on the ridge. We again paired a “house” and reserve tasting.  The wines were good, the merlot being the best.  The tasting room staff was poorly trained; they didn’t give you vintage year when pouring (and it wasn’t published on the notes, either), despite being repeatedly asked, and didn’t have a lot of knowledge about winery operations or history.  Replies to questions were off hand and lacking detail.  This is a corporate outfit, and clearly not a lot of attention is going to the tasting room.  There is a café here, but it may only operate on weekend.  There were ads for a salmon dinner on Sunday’s between 1 and 4 p.m. We did picnic here on the grounds, where there is a small shaded terrace and any number of picnic tables with umbrellas to make shade.

Our last stop for the day was Portteus Vineyards, touted for specializing in red wines – and indeed, their tasting list included 16 different red wines.  One can taste the first eight for free, and the other eight could be tasted for a flat $5 fee, and some single wines from the list for $1 a taste: unless you were a case buyer, which meant you could taste the first 12 wines for free.  The list was all over the place; no way to pair “house” and reserve tastings. And the place was lively, with large groups of people coming and going all the time, and always too many people for the limited tasting facility.  I guess you could say the variety provides something for everyone, but we left feeling confused rather than satisfied.

August 26, Oregon Trail

Today we traveled from the Yakima Valley to La Grande, Oregon, taking the scenic route along the north bank of the Columbia River.  Once settled in our hotel, we backtracked a short way up I-84 to the Oregon Trail Visitors Center – this a small forest service center, not the big national center further down the highway. 

 This section of the trail is the Blue Mountain crossing.  The old stagecoach road is easy to see, as is the wagon trail.  These 120-odd years after the trail was abandoned, it is still easy to trace its path, worn deep into the earth, in places bordered by the rocks moved aside by the intrepid travelers. The path comes straight up the ridge; no switchbacks on this trail.  The top-heavy wagons would tip over if tilted to one side by the contour of the hillside.

Now the only sounds are our feet on the path and the wind in the trees.  But imagine what it must have sounded like to the travelers on the Oregon trail: wagons creaking; the thud of the ox team’s hooves; the crunch of iron wheels on tree roots;   the sounds of men clearing deadfalls, felling trees or levering up rocks from the path; the sounds of assorted livestock;  the murmur of conversation and the occasional shout or laugh of a child. And imagine the dust – that is mentioned in many of the immigrant’s diaries.

This site includes two short interpretive loop trails.  The Oregon City Loop Guide includes imaginative narrative that helps you imagine what it must have been like for the travelers.

August 27, Back Roads of Oregon and Idaho

Today we set out through the town of Joseph, Oregon, bound for Donnelly, Idaho.  Joseph turns out to be a little town with a manicured main street, very tourist friendly.  The most outstanding features, however, are the bronze statues dotted along the main street.  We grabbed a picnic lunch at Wallowa Lake, and then set out to traverse the Hells Canyon National Recreation Area. This is cattle country – free range.  We came across two cowboys on horses herding cattle from the low country up the road.  One of the cows took a fancy to our pickup truck and rubbed us a new dent !

We stopped briefly at the Hells Canyon Overlook off of park road 39.  It’s a pretty impressive canyon all right – and you can only see a bit of one end of it from here.

We crossed into Idaho by the Brownlee Dam, with the intent of taking a back road across the south end of Cascade Lake.  According to the map, this road should be paved. Not! We actually had some trouble finding the road. And once on it, somewhere we took a turn that sent us up the west side of Cascade Lake.  It turned out all right in the end.  We arrived in Donnelly late and dusty, but were warmly welcomed by friends D and G with a glass of wine and a hot meal.

August 28-30, Valley County, Idaho

B and I spent two full relaxing days here with old friends D & G.  In fact, we got to help G celebrate her 75th birthday! We dined royally on halibut caught by nephew N, and ate chocolate cake with homemade plum jam filling and chocolate icing.  A birthday feast indeed. And, after dinner, we spied a red fox crossing the property, white-tipped brush floating behind him – has to be a good luck omen.

Each morning we walked, by the lake and in the woods.  We visited here often in years past, almost yearly when our boys were young.  We got to help build the original cabin on D & G’s lot on the lake shore.  Things have certainly changed, and there are McMansions springing up along the once-dirt road; but the lake, the woods, and the property retain their peaceful, lulling charm.

 We visited the site of the Valley County Museum in Roseberry, and enjoyed seeing some of the old buildings and some absolutely stellar exhibits.  Here the wide valley opens up into pasture lands, and mountains loom to the east.  On this visit, the wildfires make themselves known in the banks of smoke stacked behind the row of peaks, and occasionally in a boiling cumulus of smoke as the fire burns high. 

We admired the blue ribbons that D & G had won at the county fair earlier in the month. G certainly has an eye for picking winners! We did some touring around – construction proceeds apace both in McCall up the road and at the Tamarack Resort across the lake.  And we topped off our visit with a stop at Gold Creek Hot Springs, where we dined in the gazebo on halibut salad (leftovers of the hefty hunk of fish grilled the night before, with some lime juice, cilantro, mustard, red onion, and mayo), wrapped in tender lettuce leaves.

This is just about as good as it gets.

 

April 2007, Grand Canyon, Phantom Ranch (Part 1, Down)

I was extremely fortunate to be offered a chance to hike into the Grand Canyon when another person dropped out of a party of four.  We hiked down the South Kaibab Trail and up the Bright Angel Trail.  Maybe another year we'll do the traverse, starting on the North Rim.  I'm definitely going back! What follows is from my trip journal with some pictures.

Friday, 4/20/2007 11:28 a.m.

 

Windy and cloudy.  We went to the Friday Farmer's Market this morning, we had indulged ourselves by splitting a chicken fried steak breakfast. It has taken us 1-1/2 hours after returning from the market to get stuff together and get ready to go.  I've been ready for 45 minutes, but ... no finger-pointing, eh?  Oh, wait ... just one more trip for B to get the checkbook and a book to read.  We leave at 11:35.

 

South and east to Barstow under cloudy skies we go, and now add a short hop on 15 and a long stretch on 40 under sullen skies. Across the Colorado River, then into Arizona -- an arresting view of river and mountains to the south.  Along the road we see spindly, wind-shipped ocotillo, with bright red blossoms at the tips.  On we travel through canyon country, and then, after Kingman, we climb to the high country.  Here are miles of wide valleys dotted with juniper shaped like giant artichokes and a few gnarled piñon pines.  Occasionally on the high points there are bands of spruce forest.  And so, finally, we arrive in Williams, AZ. 

 

Here we pick a small, no-name motel near the north end of town.  It's clean and comfortable, and just down the street from Safeway.  We walk down the street to the Safeway, a very nice one by the way, and buy goodies for tomorrow's lunch and assorted munchies for trail food.  Later, we cross the street to the Greek-Italian restaurant, and have a surprisingly good dinner.  Starter is a delicious cabbage soup (which I will regret on the trail tomorrow) and mains is a gyro plate -- pita and gyro meat, slim french fries, and greek salad.  We share dinner and it's too much even then!

 

The plan for tomorrow's breakfast is to revisit the Safeway, where there is a Starbuck's, and start the day off with a latte.  Lucky for me ... B makes the supreme sacrifice and brings the latte to me.  What a guy!

Saturday, 4/21/2007 5:47 p.m. Here I sit clean and showered. Next event of the day is dinner at 6:30 p.m. -- beef stew, cornbread, salad, and chocolate cake. The first sitting, at 5 p.m., is steak or vegetarian.

  So, I made it down the South Kaibab trail, although the last couple of miles I had completely run out of legs. Thank goodness for hiking poles! The views from the South Kaibab are marvelous, and much of the trail is exposed. Not a trail for acrophobes. We left the top at about 11:30 a.m., and the light was OK for the first couple of hours. After that the light was flat --- and so was I!

We went down, and down, and down some more. I managed to keep up with the guys for 2/3 of the way down, but then fell behind. Bob hiked back down the trail to find me, finally meeting me at the bridge suspension crossing the Colorado. The story is that the six steel cables for the suspension, each weighing some 2300 pounds, were carried one-at-a-time down the South Kaibab trail by 42 Havasupai Indians. Can you imagine? Of course I was tired and grumpy, so didn't enjoy the crossing or the rest of the hike along the river and along Bright Angel Creek to Phantom Ranch as much as I might have. I did arrive, however, in time to have a glass of wine before the canteen closed at 4. Sure, I can drink a glass of white wine in 10 minutes -- I'm no wimp!

Refreshed by water and a short rest, B and I strolled a short way up the North Kaibab trail, along Bright Angel Creek. This trail leads to the North Rim via Ribbon Falls and Roaring Falls. We didn't go very far, but it was pretty. Then back to camp and -- a hot shower!! We're on this hike with BW, a friend of my B's from Tucson, and his son, J, who will graduate from U of A this spring. We have a cottage for 4 - 2 sets of bunks, heater (which we don't need), sink, and toilet-in-a-closet. I got to come along because someone dropped out at the last minute. I am lucky.

As I write, I'm sitting at a picnic table in front of our cabin/cottage. J is snoozing inside, and BW is sitting on a bench reading the Wall Street Journal (two days worth!), which he hauled down here in his pack. Water runs through the grounds in an irrigation ditch, and Bright Angel Creek babbles its way along behind the cabin. It must be in the 70's.

This morning around 9, more than a vertical mile above us, B and I were caught in snow flurries at Yavapai Lookout. Temperatures moderated as the morning wore on, and by the time we reached the trail head at 11:30 a.m., weather conditions were fine for hiking -- sunny with a cool breeze most of the way. There were a fair number of hikers on the trail, including a group of scouts who intend going to the river and then back up the Bright Angel Trail to Indian Gardens, where they will camp tonight. One of the scouts looked just about as limp as me on the last stretch! We'll see if they're still at Indian Gardens as we pass through tomorrow.

After dinner we joined the ranger program (no campfires) -- Ranger Matt on Bats. Then to bed. Breakfast call at 0500.

April 2007, Grand Canyon, Phantom Ranch (Part 2)

    I'm having a little trouble with editors and posting, so I'm doing this one in two parts.  Wish me luck! And don't try to post words with accents -- makes the site do strange things with html.  So my lattes are missing the diacritical marks.

Sunday, 4/22/2007 At 0442, the alarm began to beep. Having prepared the night before, I roll out of bed; grab headlamp, shoes and clothes and head for the women's shower room to change and brush my teeth. Breakfast, served in the canteen family style, as was last night's dinner, is mediocre -- scrambled eggs (which I forgo), bacon, small pancakes, so-so coffee. Maybe I'm just not as hungry as I was last night? We're packed and off on the trail by 0600.

  Today I get to enjoy some of what I missed at the end of yesterday's hike, as we backtrack down the canyon, across the creek, and then across the river. The first 5 miles to Indian Gardens is moderate, and I manage to keep up even while taking time for photos. We stop once to rest, then on to the gardens for a longer stop. The Havasupai created the Bright Angel trail to reach this spot, where, with plentiful water, they would grow their crops. Today it holds a pump station, to pump water up to the south rim, and a campground. There's lots of fresh green growth, and the deer we see barely lift their heads as we pass. They really seem to like aspens.

At Indian Gardens, we agree that the guys will go ahead at their pace and I will follow at mine. It would be impossible to get lost (there are no side trails!) and there are lots of people on the trail, so I'm in no danger. As I leave the gardens, I hear ... yep, the boy scouts are still in camp. Today we will not see them on the trail. I stump along to the next rest stop at the 3-miles-to-go point. It's good to take the pack off for a few minutes. I take care to drink every 30-45 minutes and eat my energy bars. It seems to help -- I feel altogether a lot better than I felt yesterday at the end of the hike.

On up the trail I go, dodging mules, and trying to step across the 'bowls" in the trail that the mules wear between the log "steps" reinforcing the trail. Between 5 and 6 strings of mules, each with a guide and 6-8 mule-rider tourists, pass us on their way down. The mules go down Bright Angel (less steep and less exposed) and up South Kaibab. Aside from the dust, the dodge, and mule piss, I don't really mind -- it's good that people who can't hike can see the sights as well. But I will say that I have seen some distinctly uncomfortable-looking riders. Not for the faint of heart!

As I hike up from 3- to 1.5-miles-to-go, I see more and more people. Some probably shouldn't be here -- a few don't carry water and many do not realize how hard it's going to be to go back up. At 1.5 miles, there is a restroom. I take off my pack and sit at the base of the building on a flat rock.  Almost immediately, I am besieged by squirrels! They crawl up my pack, looking for food. I remove my left boot and sock, looking for a hot spot on the second toe. Sure enough, there's a blister. I try wrapping it with a handkerchief, but that's too bulky. Finally I tear a strip of plastic off the grocery store produce bag that holds my trail food and bind it. Ahhhh, relief! Meantime, I resort to throwing peanuts to the squirrels (strictly a no-no!) to keep them off my lap. But this backfires. One of them is so bold as to make a swipe at my ziploc bag of trail mix. Hastily, I pack up and depart. From here, the skies are increasingly gray, and there is the occasional sprinkle of rain, and higher up, light flurries of snow. Near the rim there is an entire Asian family, including papa in his leather dress shoes.

As I am almost at the top (I can see the Kalb Studio if I look up!), head down and stumping away, a figure appears directly in my path. Damn! Only after he speaks do I realize it is B, come to meet me. He takes my pack for the last quarter of a mile. We climb to the trailhead and stop at Bright Angel Lodge, where B buys me a latte. Ah - hot coffee and good coffee! B, BW and J reached the trail head at 11:05 a.m. I arrived just at noon. B got his own latte and dug out his warm clothes while waiting for me, as he was tired and chilled. He has largely recovered by the time he comes to meet me. I borrow his rain jacket for the walk to the car, as I am still damp (sweaty!) from the trail.

So, we pile in the car and head west, destination Needles, we think. We make a stop in Williams at our favorite Safeway to pick up some lunch. The food helps -- we need the fuel. And Needles is, indeed, where we stop for the night.

Monday, 4/22/2007 Breakfast at the local joint down the street, pack up, head for home. My calves are tight, and, yes, maybe my quads are a little sore, too. If I grit my teeth I can almost walk like a normal person. We are home before 10:30 a.m. B heads off to work, and I spend the afternoon on pictures and CDs, with the cat on my lap.