I wanted to get outside one last time before 2010 ends, and settled on Joshua Tree for it's proximity to my parent's house, lack of snow, and absolutely stunning scenery. My best plans were nearly compromised when Southern California got dumped on with several weeks of pouring rain. What was originally going to be 3 days in the high desert was downgraded to a single day. My brother joined me overnight, and our folks came out during the day and early evening for a hike up Ryan Mountain and beers around the campfire.
Bryan and I got to camp early and found a nice spot that was backed by a massive boulder pile, ensuring that were there an earthquake, we would be completely squashed under the weight of a million tons of stone. We did a little bouldering and scrambling around the rock piles, which consisted of Bryan smoothly scaling sheer stone faces while I kept falling off.
When our parents got there, we headed to the Ryan Mountain trail-head for a sunset hike. The temperature dropped quickly on the shaded side of the mountain, but the scenery was more than worth it. The Ryan Mountain trail is a pretty easy 1.5 miles, going from around 4K feet elevation to around 5.5K. As you crest over the spine, you have views in every direction. I love high desert. It looks like you are on some foreign planet, completely devoid of life.
After getting back to camp, we shared a few beers, and then Mom and Dad headed home. Bryan and I stayed up, discussing plans and New Year's Resolutions (or their lack), the benefits of the Falcon Punch * and appropriate recipients of it, and we drank more beer. Or I did, rather. Bryan was drinking like a pansy. This is why his Falcon Punch will always suck.
Eventually we stumbled off to bed. I don't think it froze that night, but it was cold enough, surely in the mid 30's, but three layers of clothing proved sufficient for comfort. Upon waking the next morning, a fire was surely in order, followed by coffee/hot chocolate, and some more boulder hopping. It was Christmas Eve day, and we headed back to Palm Desert early. A brief but very enjoyable trip.
* Falcon Punch, N. The act of jumping off from your f-zero vehicle, charging and engulfing your arm with flames so that punching an unexpecting person to his/her mortal doom would cause the breaking of a hole in the space-time continuum and creating a beam of light so great the goddamn galaxy doesnt have the balls to show anyone....
About 5 hours into the Cactus to Clouds adventure, probably the most difficult single day of work in my life. I was accompanied by my comrade, Kalvin, and the "hike" would span 22 miles, 14 hours, and well over 12,000 feet of elevation change. Here I am looking out over the desert floor where we started the day at 3:00 A.M.
Salman and I woke early, powered up with coffee that looked like the black gold spewing from the Gulf, and hit the road by 3am. Destination: Bishop, California. Another battle we await with blood and victory in mind.
Breakfast consisted of the finest of fast food restaurants alongside the 395 freeway. The soundtrack a mix of heavy metal, reggae and angry rap.
Wilderness permits and bear canisters were obtained, as doing it the legal way can have its benefits. With hours to kill before the rest of our band of marauding vikings and ninjas joined us, we set off for the Bristle Cone Pine Forest. The wilderness area houses the oldest living things on the planet, with some of the denizens having existed 2,000 years before a wandering Jew named Jesus decided he was the son of God. They look it. Gnarled, weather-beaten and scarred, these trees have borne witness to more than we can comprehend.
Here below, I sit next to one of the kings
Suitably daunted from our brush with immortality, we headed back to Bishop to buy a topographical map, snickers bars, beer, and other necessities. I took a long nap. My brother Bryan and his much more cheerful girlfriend, Britney joined us at the Motel 6 that night, while Kalvin stumbled in around 2am. Joined by Dan, Nate, Squire and his dog the next morning, we were more or less ready to stake a claim on the rugged back-country of Kings Canyon. First though, there was the urgent need for coffee. We stopped at the Schats Bakery, where we uniformly ordered a "schat in the dark," or a coffee with espresso shot if you want to be boring about it.
Finding the South Lake trail-head without any major injuries or a single death, we yawned, stretched and slapped at mosquitoes before taking a "before" shot with everybody fresh-faced and excited.
I sincerely wish that it was possible to get to the top of a mountain without going uphill, but it never seems to work out that way. Uphill. Always uphill.
Dan demonstrates
Of course, if you could get here without effort, then everyone would do it, and it would probably end up looking like the 405 freeway or some similar atrocity. I suppose views like this make a little sweat, effort, grit, desire, and drive worth it.
Going from sea-level to a 12,000 foot pass has its issues, and after a break to deal with elevation headaches, we conquered Bishop Pass, took advantage of her and promised to call some time.
While the pass clocks in at 11,970 feet, those of us who had never been above 12,000 quickly scrambled up a nearby ridgeline to notch the milestone. Not much air up there. Bishop Pass was the highest point of the trail, and we hiked another 6 miles through Dusy Basin and into the stunning Laconte Canyon. Our campsite stared deep into the dark chasm of the valley and up towards some of the most imposing peaks that I have seen in person. Storm clouds gathered and settled over us, soaking us down with random thunder and rain storms. When the sun did prevail, we were treated to incredible views over the jewel of Kings Canyon. Dark red sunsets settled over the peaks, making it look like the mountain of fire in Tolkien's Mordor.
We stayed here for two days, absorbing record levels of mosquito bites, honing our poker skills to world-class levels, lying on our back and staring at the swirling clouds, and of course, drinking whiskey and discussing immortality. While Kalvin was proactive and explored the depths of the canyon, the rest of us waited and the heavy rains would make the crossing impassable on our later attempt. Reason enough to do shit when the opportunity presents itself, and not after.
In order to get a bigger bite out of the higher elevation that the Dusy Basin would provide, we broke camp Saturday morning, and waved good-bye to the formidable scenery that we had been provided.
Dusy Basin is bowl-shaped terrain surrounded by dozens of 12,000-14,000 mountains, some of the highest and least accessible in the lower 48. I say this unequivocally; I have never seen such beauty. We set up camp alongside one of the nameless lakes in the area, surrounded by granite and territorial marmots, snakes, and a yellow-legged toad.
Kalvin with a garter snake
Nate in man vs. marmot
The rest of the day was spent exploring the many ridgelines, having snowball fights, jumping into lakes made of snow-melt, skipping rocks, and avoiding any thought of responsibility.
As the sun fell, we smoked Dominican cigarillos and watched falling stars and bright planets, while Kal pointed out different constellations. One would be hard-put to find a better way to spend 24 hours.
All things must end though, and we broke camp the next morning. A few miles back to the Pass, and another 6 up the South Lake trail. Negra had sore paws, and Dan generously let her perch in his backpack for a first-class ride down. And that's it. We returned to the car, searched desperately for any somewhat-less-dirty clothes under the seats and returned to Bishop. We ate Mexican food, and enjoyed indoor plumbing. I was pleased to note that the old adage is true, and beards do grow longer whilst in the mountains. We said our good-byes, and we went our separate ways.
Thanks to Dan, Bryan, Britt, Kalvin, Salman, Nate, Squire and Negra for an incredible trip, and "cheers" to Will and Clara, who were there in spirit.
As Linda mentioned a few minutes ago on G-Chat, my posts lately have been a bit "somber." I think she meant "depressing," but she is too polite to say so. I guess she has a point, so it is with some pleasure that I announce that I have an adventure a'brewing. Two days hence, I and my outlaw brigade will set out from the urban streets of Los Angeles to wage bloody war on the mountain crags and dark forests of Kings Canyon National Park.
We will leave the noise, stress and chaos of the city for the sweet silence of the California high country. We are well-equipped with flasks filled to the brim with medium-grade whiskey, obnoxiously large knives that we will have no use for, hearts full of grit, and motivated (strangely) by the soundtrack of Rihanna's "Hey Mr. DJ."
I don't want to go too much in detail, as I am sure that I will be writing a trip recap afterward, but suffice to say, there is one 12,000 foot pass on the first day, and plenty of 13,000 and 14,000 foot peaks in the vicinity of our base camp. We will almost assuredly see a few marmots, and I am really hoping for a bear-free trip. Bears scare me. Fortunately, I am armed with Ally's "I love bears" good-luck t-shirt. I believe this will keep me safe. Sadly, she has not made an "I love Mountain Lions" shirt, and this worries me.
In any case, I need to pack all of this stuff from my living room floor to my backpack, but I has a procrastination. Besides, I'm not leaving for another whole day or two. I will get in touch upon our safe return.
"...the 21st Century American man spends an estimated 90% of his time sealed off from nature - in an office, at a desk, in his house, behind the wheel, on the couch watching TV, or in bed sleeping in air that's often artificially cooled and dehumidified. ...we need to get out more."
When I was growing up, my parents insisted that we were outside for as long as the sun was up. This rule was to be adhered to, even during vacation, summer breaks, and weekends.
At the time, my Dad was working construction, repairing re-po houses in order for the banks to put them back up for sale. His hours were heavily dependent on factors outside of his control, including the availability of materials, distance of the site from home, and the complexity of the job itself. As such, Bryan and I never knew when he would getting home on any given day. Woe to he who was caught in the house when he got home if the sun was still up.
We got pretty creative at finding things to do. Bryan dug and built dirt jumps to take his BMX bike on while I played a lot of basketball in our driveway. We also had epic wars involving acorns as projectiles, and the battles would span our entire neighborhood. Long sticks stuck in our belt scabbards were our swords, used primarily for settling duels and maintaining justice and order in our kingdom. This was considered a good idea until our friend Scott fell off his horse (a bike) with the stick stuck in his belt loop, nearly impaling himself on it. By decree of all the neighborhood parents, we were instantly demoted from cavalry down to infantry over the incident.
Now an adult (in age if not maturity-level), I spend most of my time indoors. I suppose a lot of it is unavoidable when one considers what a "job" looks like in this day and age. Don't get me wrong, I am not idealizing the pre-internet days as some golden era, but if our generation spends a lot of time inside, it makes you wonder for the next one. Thanks to my parent's insistence, I had this great head-start on an appreciation for the outdoors, and still, I spend most of my day in front of a computer screen. For kids who grew up with the internet from day 1, I wonder if they will even realize that something is missing.
"On a deep, atavistic level, we know where we belong. And it's not at a desk."
Eight days from now, I will set out with some close friends for Kings National Park in the Eastern Sierras. We will start in the town of Bishop, picking up the South Lake trail, and cross over Bishop Pass (11,960 feet) into the isolated Dusy Basin. We will set up a base camp at one of the many nameless lakes in the area, and set out on day hikes and adventures from there for a few days.
I can't emphasize enough how badly I need this break from noise, computers, traffic and city. While it doesn't happen immediately, you slow way down within a few days on backwoods trails. There are no electronic beeps or reminders, you get back to a natural cycle of sleeping and waking with the rising and falling of the sun, and have more time to think and consider, as opposed to responding and reacting.
Maybe we'll bring back a pet marmot.
* Note - all quotes are from this month's Men's Health article "Wild Side."
How about you? Any favorite backpacking routes or trails that I should add to the list?
This weekend is going to be awesome. Ted, Clara and I are heading up to Pyramid Peak, the highest point in the Desolate Wilderness. The decision prompted an ill-advised shopping spree at REI, where I spent a good portion of my yet-to-be-received tax return. I got some good shit though. Water-proof boots, snow shoes, long underwear. All sorts of stuff that will make me look like a lumberjack at worst and a Viking/Ninja/Alpinist at best.
The route is described as the greatest vertical climb in the Tahoe Sierra. The trek will climb 4,100 feet of elevation in just over 3 miles, and we will get to use the snow-shoes and other bad-assery.
It's important to call "shotgun" when you are driving in Jai's car. That's because she has seat warmers and they are awesome. I was all hopped up on caffeine and death metal when I met up with Jai and Shawna for our bi-weekly trek. They were looking pretty fired up themselves. That was a little surprising, since I knew they had spent the night previous at a salsa club, probably downing tequila shots and rubbing up on Latin men named "Enrique."
We headed out, and I, by way of preemptive "shotgun" call, enjoyed the kickass seat warmer. Shawna then pulled a slick one by feigning car-sickness, a horrible malaise that can only be cured by sitting in the front seat. We made a quick stop on a turn-out, and I spent the rest of the drive pouting in the backseat.
Jai picked a hell of a pretty hike this time out, and we spent a few hours hiking under a green canopy that hugged the Northern California coastline.
We passed a large puddle in the middle of the trail that was full of newts. They were horny little bastards. Of the 25-30 we saw, probably half of them were getting down. A few piles of 3 or 4 at a time were going at it. Shawna blushed. It was cute.
We arrived at the highlight of the trip; a series of waterfalls that lead out of the forest and flow off of a steep drop-off ending on the beach and into the Pacific Ocean.
We tripped and stumbled our way down the steep, dirt trail leading to the beach, where we could eat our sandwiches and drink our whiskey. Shawna and Jai nearly died. I blame Enrique.
I finally remembered to bring my flask. Jameson Irish Whiskey, Boi!
After that, we stumbled back up the hill, flopped about dramatically by the waterfalls, and headed home. There was an excess of estrogen, and I learned all sorts of useful information about women. Seriously, I am enlightened. And I owe it all to these two.
One of my friends is part of the volunteer Search and Rescue team in Marin that I had planned on joining this year. Because of my upcoming move, that won't be possible, but I did get to take part in one of their training sessions last night. Clara, Ted and I drove up near the west peak of Mt. Tamalpais, and then sat around freezing our respective asses off while waiting to get started. Clara and I considered murdering Ted for his gloves and beanie. We restrained the impulse, mostly because we were depending on him for teaching us how not to get lost in the mountains that night.
Once the whole team was gathered, we were split into groups of 6-8 and given a series of coordinates in the area. From there, we needed to plot the points on a topographical map, plot a course that wouldn't take us over any steep drop-offs or ravines, and then get to each point using a GPS and/or compass.
Other than the fact that we got to learn some cool Rambo shit, it was a full moon, and it was a rare opportunity to be up in the Marin highlands at night. When we weren't laughing about something immature, it was dead silent, and you could see for miles all around. Some of the coordinates took us on some off-season "trails," although we intersected with the main road a few times.
We managed to make it back to the command post without any injuries, casualties, or getting too far off course, and were greeted with hot chocolate and boxes of beef-flavored cup o' noodles. It was a good night. Got to do some night hiking, got to use my beloved head-lamp, got hot chocolate (!), and got to learn some new skills.
Inspired by Lorien's New Year's Hike and Cigar festivities, I set out early (moderately) to hike the east peak of Mt. Tamapais. I brought a dominican cigarillo and, lacking a normal lighter, a blue-flame torch. With the lack of planning that is fairly typical of my life, I remembered to buy some water at the last stop before heading up to the national park. I parked up by the ranger station and picked up the trail at the Pantoll trailhead. Compared to some recent hikes and expeditions, the trail to the summit was very relaxed, sloping gently upwards, and allowing for some spectacular views of the Pacific Coast. On clear days, you can see all the way to the Sierra Nevada mountains, but this was not a clear day. It was still pretty though, and the cloud layer looked like the ocean, with taller hills breaking through the fog and resembling dark islands. Like a jackass, I packed the lighter at the bottom of my day pack, allowing it's tip to get broken off by the water bottle. So, no cigar at the top. My flask, typically reserved for Irish Whiskey or Bourbon, was contaminated with vodka...a favor for a friend, don't ask. I emerged from the trail to find that a road and parking lot was present from the other side, so there were actually quite a few people huddled around the scenic area a few hundred feet from the top. Of this large group of people who had driven all the way there, few folks pushed up the last 0.2 miles to the actual peak. It always surprises me how short a distance people venture away from the parking lots of beautiful places...it's almost like they want to say they have gone somewhere, without actually having the experience of doing it. "Been there, done that, got a T-shirt" comes to mind. It's even more disturbing in a section like Mt. Tam, which is a very mild uphill route.
*steps off soapbox*
The view from the top was pretty sweet, and even on this cloudy day, the Pacific stretched far past the capability of my vision. I tried to take a picture of myself with the view as a backdrop, but the short arms that hinder my boxing also makes these self-portraits difficult. There wasn't a whole lot of wildlife that I could see, probably because of all the people, but I did see a large hawk, quite a few squirrels, and I surprised a large bobcat on the way back. Typically, they are very skittish and avoid people, and he was only the 2nd that I have ever seen outside of captivity. Overall, this was a nice hike that I would do again, and it was good to be able to find some degree of wilderness so close to the Bay Cities.
East Peak Elevation: 2,572 feet Out & Back Mileage: 7.96 miles
"The view from San Jacinto is the most sublime spectacle to be found anywhere on this earth!" - John Muir
I was being driven to the airport by my Mom after a nice visit in Palm Springs when I noticed the mountain for the first time. Fueled by a weekend of reading "Backpacker" magazine and possibly too much caffeine, I said to myself, "I should climb that." I almost immediately let everyone know that I was going to do just that.
After basking in the glow and warmth of everyone's praises, I decided it would be a good idea to look into the logistics of the expedition. I was greeted with the following:
Disheartening. To make sure that I didn't die alone, I enlisted the company of my friends, Will and Kalvin. I made sure to tell them about the beautiful views and pleasant scenery that were sure to await us. As far as the dangers, why worry them needlessly?
Unfortunately, Will was unable to make this particular adventure, so I picked up Kalvin around noon on Friday. We employed full use of the carpool lane and mocked the commuters stuck on the 91 freeway.
My Mom, Grandmas, and Aunt Dory welcomed us with steak, salad and other goodies. Other goodies like beer.
The Cactus to Clouds trail begins in Palm Springs on the desert floor. The main problem that befalls many people aiming for the summit is the punishing heat of the Palm Springs desert. To avoid this, one needs to hit the trail early enough to climb several thousand feet of elevation before the sun comes up. Kal and I woke at 2am on Saturday morning. My Grandma Bev had prepared the coffee for us, and it turned out to be the equivalent of rocket fuel. Tasted like it too. With approximately 18 times the caffeine content of a mere mortal's coffee, Grandma's concoction had Kal and I babbling like school girls on the ride to the trail head.
The first step was near vertical, and the trend continued like that for the rest of the day. We had close to 3 hours of hiking in almost complete darkness. Fortunately, we were armed with head-lamps and a near-full moon. The little light that we had made the cliffs and peaks seem like we were on another planet.
The sun rose over the horizon around 5:30am. It was stunning.
It was pretty, but it also increased the sweat factor considerably. We were lucky that it wasn't one of the 100+ degree days that Palm Springs was famous for, but it was definitely hot enough. That reminded me to be on the look out for rattle snakes. Several had been spotted on the trail in the last few weeks, another detail I didn't share with Kalvin. (I later found out that Kalvin used to trap and play with rattle snakes as a kid in Texas, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway.)
Up, Up, and Up. The vertical climb of the Skyline Trail is one of the steepest in the United States, and we, well, we noticed that.
The thing about mountains is that every time you get to the top of a ledge or peak, there is another one just beyond that. Several times, we thought we were staring at the peak that would mark 8,000 feet and the end of the Skyline trail. We were wrong about this a lot. Actually, we took several wrong turns, scrambling up loose rocks and shale, and generally doing quite a bit of backtracking. Kal injured his knee on one such occasion, and basically toughed out the rest of the trip with a makeshift walking stick and a large dose of testicular fortitude.
Whenever I got tired and wanted to rest, I would tell Kal that I wanted to take a picture. We got some good shots in this way.
The lack of oxygen at high elevations affects different people differently. It obviously affected the two of us with delirium and idiocy. We decided that marine-style chants would make us feel better.
Martin: "When I say 'aint no, you say THANG, 'aint NO!" Kal: "THANG!" Martin: "AINT NO!" Kal: "Thaaaannnng!"
This continued on for far longer than I would like to admit.
After 11 miles and 8,000 feet of elevation gain, we completed the Skyline Trail of the desert to the Aerial Tram Station. Exhausted, we feasted on beef jerky, a granola bar and water, staring enviously at everyone else's superior rations. I considered murdering two friendly guys who we met on the trail for their burritos.
After about a half hour of procrastination, we continued on. Another 5.5 miles would take us to the summit. We met some really nice folks on this part of the trail, including Dave G, Florian and Hikin' Jim from the Mt. San Jacinto message board.
After one last hard push, we scrambled up the last cliff to get to the summit. The view was amazing, and lived up to Muir's praises.
The 5.5 miles back to the tram station sucked. No other comments really necessary on that. The beers and buffalo wings at the tram restaurant restored our good humor. After a good 14 hours on the trail, we arrived back at our car, and I managed to get us home without running into anything solid enough to cause damage.
Asleep by 8pm, we both slept like the dead.
I'll do this again...maybe.
We left the next day, making sure to give a final salute to the mountain on the way out.
