Dan Schechter's blog

Three Rivers, January 2012

2012-01-29T20:59:00.000-08:00

Just before the start of the Spring semester, we managed to squeeze in several days of camping at Potwisha Campground, at the south end of Sequoia National Park. This was the maiden voyage of the new LMIC – it's very similar to our original LMIC, except that it has much more ground clearance and larger holding tanks:

We had wanted to camp up at Lodgepole, at 6500 feet, but the park service closed the campground during the winter. Nevertheless, we were pleasantly surprised by Potwisha Campground, a few miles east of Three Rivers. For much of the year, this area is too hot for us, because it is at roughly 3000 feet. But during the winter, it is cool during the day and cold at night. There are large oak trees throughout the campground, providing lots of shade. During the week, the campground was very quiet. (As one might expect, it was not so quiet on Friday and Saturday night.)

Wednesday, January 11: We took advantage of the cool weather to hike in the South Fork area near Three Rivers, an area that is usually too hot for hiking. We took the Garfield Grove trail. Although we eventually arrived at the grove, the trail was very steep, very long, with lots of poison oak (which fortunately didn't affect us). We probably won't take this trail again – it wasn't worth the tremendous expenditure of time and effort.

That night, the moon rose over the Great Western Divide, screened by some high clouds. (Remember to click on a picture to enlarge, and click back to get back. And you can double-click for a really big image.)

Thursday, January 12: We took advantage of the absence of snow and headed up toward the Giant Forest area. There was a huge construction project on Highway 198 leading to the park, which was inconvenient (but which held down the crowds substantially). On the way up, we had to wait for a while before passing through the construction zone – we stopped right below Moro Rock:

We took the High Sierra Trail from Crescent Meadow to roughly Panther Creek. There were quite a few old-growth sequoias on the trail from Crescent Meadow up toward the ridge:

There were wonderful views of the Great Western Divide; in a year with normal snowfall, we would never have been able to get out to this area (even on snowshoes) because of the avalanche danger:

Although the trail skirted along the edge of a cliff, it was very well graded -- good footing, with not a lot of climbing and dropping. Surprisingly, there was quite a bit of "bear scat" – the Ranger later told us that the bears had been restless due to the warm weather and the lack of snow. Late in the day, the shadows highlighted the ridges of the Kaweah Peaks:

That night was windy, cold, and clear –- we could see the Orion Constellation rising over the mountains. (For folks who like technical information about photographs, this was taken at an ISO of 3200 for 30 seconds.) I think that if you click on the picture and enlarge it, you will be able to see that some of the stars are bluish and some are reddish – these are their true colors, which are revealed by the long exposure:

Friday, January 13: We again headed up toward the Giant Forest area near the Gen. Sherman Tree. This area is usually very crowded but was almost empty due to the construction project, which discouraged many of the tourists. We took a six mile hike on the Trail of the Sequoias and saw only two other couples in six hours.

This is probably the best grove of old-growth sequoias we have ever seen – hundreds (if not thousands) of huge trees in an open forest. Looking up at the trees, it is hard to grasp their size. But the fallen trees are sometimes even more astonishing –- look carefully, and you can see that Felice is standing at the base of this root ball:

The weather was cool and dry; we stretched out on the soft forest floor inside the Senate Group and looked up at the circle of trees in the late afternoon light. The forest was absolutely silent and empty:

Saturday, January 14: In the morning, the National Park folks opened the highway unexpectedly, so we took advantage of this opportunity and hiked up to the crest of Little Baldy at 8000 feet, with terrific 360° views of the Silliman Crest and the Great Western Divide:

We had it all to ourselves for the first half-hour on top of the dome – it was exhilarating to see all of the areas of the park that we had hiked over the last several years -- Big Baldy to the northwest, Buck Rock to the north, Mitchell Peak to the northeast, Tokopah Valley to the east, Panther Gap to the southeast, and Moro Rock to the south.

In the afternoon, we hiked a portion of the Wuksachi trail, encountering quite a bit of ice. It was clear that in a season of high water, there would be several difficult stream crossings on this trail.

Aspens and Snow: Bishop Creek, October 2011

2011-10-16T16:37:00.001-07:00

(Remember to click on the pictures to enlarge, and then click back to get back.)

We had planned a brief trip up to the Bishop Creek area to see the fall color – but a few days before we were to leave, a surprise snowstorm dumped a couple of feet of snow on the Sierra. As usual, we decided to push on despite the snow, and we were very glad that we did.

October 7:

The drive northward on Highway 395 was spectacular – this is Mt. Whitney peeking out from behind some clouds:

In the mid-afternoon, we found a quiet campsite in the Big Trees Campground (right on the creek at 7500 feet). The aspens in this area were still mostly green at that time, with little frost or snow damage to the leaves. We unhitched and took the Canyonero up to North Lake. The road was a little tricky – very twisty and narrow, full of snow, slush, and ice, with a thousand foot cliff on one side of the road. (No problem, really.) But we were surprised at how much storm damage the aspens had suffered up at the lake – some trees were bare, while many others were covered in black or brown leaves. Normally, the reflection in the lake at this time of year is brilliant; this year, it was muted and more subtle:

Fortunately, Felice found a few colorful leaves that had fallen into the snow:

We drove back down toward Lake Sabrina (rhymes with "Carolina") at sunset – this is a view toward the Ancient Bristlecone Forest in the White Mountains, east of Bishop:

Bundled up against the cold, we watched the sunset from the dam at Lake Sabrina:

October 8:

We hiked up to Blue Lake along the east shore of Lake Sabrina. The creeks had begun to thaw after the storm:

Felice took a shot of the thick icicles forming in the shadows:

There was quite a bit of wet snow on the trail – we were grateful for our knee-high waterproof gaiters and our hiking poles equipped with big "powder baskets:"

From time to time, the trail broke out of the trees and we could see the Owens Valley far below:

Along the trail, the normally rough fields of dark granite boulders were softened by a layer of whipped cream:

It was exhilarating to be in the backcountry after a snowstorm – usually, this terrain would be unreachable:

Up at Blue Lake, we caught a reflection of Mt. Thompson and its glacier fields:

October 9: As we drove up to South Lake, we noticed that the aspens along the south fork of the creek had begun to change and had not suffered too much storm damage:

We slogged up to Treasure Lakes (above South Lake), through deep wet snow. There were several water crossings; although there were some bridges, the bridges were covered in snow, and it was a little tricky to cross the streams. Judging by the footprints on the trail, only one other hiker had previously reached the lakes after the storm, and he had encountered some difficulty in finding the trail. So we had to do a little bit of independent navigation from time to time, which added to the sense of mild adventure:

Mt. Johnson loomed over the lake:

Here is a quick video panorama of Treasure Lakes:

That evening, we proposed a farewell toast to the original LMIC; this was our last trip in it, since we have purchased a new one. From the way that Felice is bundled up, you can tell that it was a cold night -- after dinner, we grab our blankets and our books and our snacks:

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October 10:

After the strenuous hike to Treasure Lake, Felice's shins were a little sore from her snow boots, so we decided to hike below snow line in more comfortable boots; also, it looked like rain. (As we later discovered, it snowed in the higher elevations that day.) We drove north, up to Convict Lake, which is worth seeing once. The lake itself was nothing special, but the geology of the surrounding mountains was really amazing – waves of metamorphic rock tortured by the intrusion of the Sierra granite:

We were hoping to head up toward Mildred Lake, but the signage was poor, the chaparral was dull, and we decided not to push on. Instead, we hiked back around the lake. Felice reacted quickly when we ran across this torpid late-season snake:

We then headed south to McGee Creek. Ordinarily, McGee is a hot and sunny trail; but on a cold, cloudy, breezy day, this was a surprisingly delightful hike. A couple of miles from the trailhead, the aspens were almost at peak color:

Someone we met told us that the red aspens were genetically different from the yellow or gold trees – I don't know if that's true, but the red specimens were rare and spectacular, especially against the backdrop of snow and rock:

Even though we got a late start, we covered a lot of ground, with plenty of time to get to the beaver pond, three miles from the trailhead. The beavers had built a substantial dam, and their snow-covered lodge was framed by the aspens reflected in the water:

The McGee Creek area is very enticing – someday, we will get an earlier start and will explore the further reaches of the canyon. On the way back down, we got a good view of the up-tilted metamorphic formations in the John Muir Wilderness – if you look carefully at this picture (and perhaps enlarge it), you can see that the vertical ridges are really sedimentary layers that have been compressed into marble and other metamorphic rock; they have then been tilted 90° from horizontal to vertical, and the more-resistant layers now stick up above the softer, more easily eroded layers sandwiched between them:

Late that afternoon, we stopped so that Felice could take my picture near my very favorite road sign:

Just after sunset, we noticed that Mt. Morgan was creating a "banner cloud," as it disturbed and condensed the flow of moist cold air over the peak. This picture was taken with a 20 second exposure at f38, using a neutral density filter:

October 11: We headed back to South Lake for a hike to Long Lake and Spearhead Lake. The colors in the canyon below South Lake had really intensified:

The trail to Long Lake was pretty icy in the morning, since there had been several days of melting and re-freezing. We were very grateful for our microspikes – you can see them under Felice's boots in this shot at Long Lake, with Bishop Pass in the background:

It felt like quite an accomplishment to trudge through the deep wet slushy snow – imagine walking through miles of knee-deep mashed potatoes and gravy! You can see Mt. Goode and its glaciers behind us:

Incredibly, we encountered a frog hopping across snowfield -- he needed a little directorial assistance:

Before we left, we took a quick panorama video of Long Lake:

On our way down the hill, we noticed an "erratic." The big gray boulder perched atop the reddish cliff had been carried down by a glacier from the granite cliffs surrounding the lakes and then had settled on top of the rusty iron-bearing rock when the glacier finally melted -- this picture might be worth a click, so that you can see that these are two totally different kinds of rock:

(The French term for these odd rocks is "roche moutonee," or "sheep rocks" -- the French farmers thought that that the big rounded rocks in their fields looked like lost sheep. The glaciologist Louis Agassiz realized that the anomalous rocks must have been carried down into the meadows by ancient glaciers.)

The snow got sloppier and muddier as we hiked back down in the afternoon. The afternoon was so warm that we were able to enjoy cocktails by the creek at our campsite, a treat usually restricted to the summer months:

That evening, we watched the full moon come up over the mountains at Lake Sabrina:

I took a 30 second moonlit exposure of the mountains surrounding the lake -- this one might be worth clicking on:

Back to Big Meadows: August 2011

2011-08-24T15:51:00.000-07:00

(Remember to click on a picture if you want to enlarge it, and then click "back.")

We had a free week before school started, so guess what we did? Good guess: we ran off to the mountains again. We were hoping to score a "boondocking" site in the Sequoia National Forest somewhere north of Big Meadows, and we did. Our campsite (which we've used before) was on a big open granite knoll at 8000 feet, overlooking the skyline of the entire eastern Sierra. The access road was very long and very bumpy, but it was well worth the effort -- the campsite was absolutely silent, several miles from our nearest neighbor, cool and breezy.

Sunday, August 14: After arrival, our first order of business was to set up our two-person hammock. This was our first attempt to deploy it; the poor thing patiently traveled with us all summer, waiting for its moment in the sun. Unfortunately, despite great effort, I could never figure out how to stretch the ropes tight enough to support my weight:

But the hammock was just right for Felice, who reports that it was very comfortable:

It was then time for the afternoon cocktail ritual; we perched our lounge chairs on a convenient boulder with a view of the mountains:

That night, we watched the full moon rise over Mitchell Peak, directly to our east:

Monday, August 15:

Early that morning, before taking off for our first hike, I spotted a huge "balancing rock" on the slope below our campsite -- this rock is about the size of a large delivery truck:

On our way out from our campsite, we passed Buck Rock Lookout Tower at 8500 feet:

The rock itself is amazing -- a huge granite monolith, deeply scored by a crosshatch of erosion:

We drove out to the east end of the Big Meadows area, on the border between the National Forest and Kings Canyon National Park, and hiked up Lookout Peak. The hike was short but strenuous, and the views of the canyon below our boots were astonishing:

We then took a longer (and steeper) hike to the Deer Meadows area, hoping to get to the Deer Meadows grove of Sequoias. Although the meadow was pretty, the trail did not take us to the trees, which was disappointing. However, on the way out, we went up to the top of a nearby granite dome, and the views more than compensated for our temporary disappointment. Later that day, we came back to photograph the "balancing rock" in full daylight -- don't worry, Felice really didn't push very hard on the rock:

Tuesday, August 16: We hiked to Muir Grove, a perennial favorite, and walked around the northwest quadrant of the grove, far from anyone else. We relocated Felice’s favorite pair of trees, which she calls the "husband-and-wife" trees:

Not that anyone else would care, but the precise GPS location of these trees is: 36° 38.129, 118° 50.301. (Someday, I hope to come back to these trees in the winter on snowshoes, and we will need the GPS coordinates to find them.)

After we explored the back part of the grove, the afternoon got very hot; we made time for some swimming (actually, shallow splashing) in a remote section of Dorst Creek. Our Crocs (which are very light and easy to carry) gave us surprisingly good traction on the slippery rocks:

Wednesday, August 17: Feeling energetic and adventurous, we hiked to the top of Mitchell Peak, a steep climb with a gain of almost 2000 feet. We were amazed at the quantity of wildflowers; usually, by mid-August, the flowers have died off. These are scarlet Gilia:

The top of the mountain was breezy and cool at 10,300 feet:

Thursday, August 18: Feeling even more energetic, we hiked out of the Wolverton area on the Lakes Trail and made it all the way up to Emerald Lake, a round-trip distance of over 10 miles, with more than 2500 feet of net elevation gain. In the crevices of the the granite walls, there were occasional patches of damp soil that supported gardens of wildflowers:

There was still plenty of snow up at the lake:

This is a brief clip of the whole cirque:

This leopard lily posed obligingly in front of a snowbank:

On the way down, Felice was feeling brave, so we ventured onto the Watchtower Trail, a narrow ledge dynamited out of solid rock, with a sheer cliff right next to the trail:

The views from the trail were breathtaking. At one point on the trail, a huge boulder had fallen off the overhanging cliff and had wedged itself across the trail. We had to crawl under it:

Felice was very excited that she had conquered her acrophobia and had traversed the spectacular Watchtower Trail-- I doubt we will ever take the steeper "Hump" again:

Friday, August 19: I had a mild cold, so we took a much easier hike to Big Baldy. The views were pretty good, although there was quite a bit of smoke in the air from the Lion Fire in the southern Sierra. Later that day, we bounced around in the Canyonero looking for new boondocking sites near the Bearskin Grove, not far from Grant Grove.

Saturday, August 20: Sadly, Departure Day arrived. Felice once again displayed her uncanny prowess as the "Hitch Ball Wizard” -- somehow, she has the ability to coax the car into perfect position for hitching up the trailer, simply by gently waving her hands in the air:

Redwoods and Sierras: July 2011

2011-08-05T16:13:00.000-07:00

(If you want to enlarge a picture, just click on it and then hit "back" to get back.)

Every summer, we try to take an ambitious trip (usually in July). This year, we were hoping to go to the high country of Southwest Colorado; but in mid-June, I spoke to a ranger in the area, who said that the trails in the area were covered with 10 feet or more of hardpacked snow. So, a quick change of plans -- almost 2 weeks in coastal northwestern California, followed by almost 2 weeks in the Sierra. This was going to be a "consolation prize" trip; but as it turned out, it was a first-prize winner!

We headed north on July 3 and spent a delightful evening with Kim, Felice's college roommate, who lives in Stockton. On July 4, we arrived in Redcrest, at the north end of Humboldt Redwoods State Park, south of Eureka. The next day we took a lovely (albeit hot) hike in the Rockefeller Grove/Big Trees area, along Bull Creek:

July 6: We decided that biking would be cooler than hiking. We rolled slowly along Mattole Road and Avenue of the Giants, admiring the old growth:

Here's a quick video, so that you can get the feel of rolling through the shady woods:

Strangely, the most interesting parts of the bike ride had to do with people, rather than the trees. At one point, we veered off the main road onto a little dirt road that wandered next to the Eel River. At the end of the dirt road, in the middle of nowhere, we came upon a new white Mercedes coupe, decorated with wedding pom-poms. On the back window, the happy couple had scrawled "Newlyweds Plus Baby." The young mom was leaning against the car, proudly watching her new husband and her toddler as they stood near the stream in their bathing suits, happily tossing pebbles into the water. It was such a lovely scene that we just had to turn away -- because we didn't have the heart to tell them that the dad and the baby were standing in a waist-high patch of poison oak. (Our guess is that the rest of the honeymoon wasn't quite so wonderful.)

Later, we passed by an out-of-the way RV park located right on the river. As we rode our bikes into the park, we noticed that virtually all of the RVs were older motor homes, and most of the campers were old fishermen, sitting around enjoying the afternoon breeze. Out of idle curiosity, we stopped at one motor home to ask a couple of guys how they liked the RV park. One of them started to answer almost incoherently; he'd obviously been drinking. His buddy piped up, "Oh, don't mind him, he's already had a few." The first guy shouted, "Yep, the kids all call me Uncle Drunk, but that's OK, 'cause it's true!!" We decided that this wasn't exactly our kind of RV park, but our little dilapidated trailer would have fit right in.

Still later, we were riding back along the Avenue of the Giants. The afternoon had gotten pretty hot. As we came around a curve, we spotted a rather luxurious Honda three-wheeled motorcycle pulled off to the side of the road; an older, very out-of-shape couple stood next to the motorcycle in the shade. As we approached, we could see that they were each holding something in one hand. We stopped, and we realized that they were munching on honest-to-goodness Twinkies, complete with plastic wrappers. The older lady greeted us: "Howdy! Sure is hot, isn't it? We just had to stop and cool off." I wanted to say, "Yes, and nothing says cool refreshment like a Twinkie." (But I didn't.) It turns out that they were from Bakersfield and were unsuccessfully trying to escape the heat by fleeing to the redwoods.

July 7: We escaped the heat by fleeing to the coast. But first, we took a "dream jog" (Felice's words, obviously) through the forest at Bull Creek -- gotta get some exercise before a long car ride. The road over the mountains to Mattole Campground, a primitive BLM facility, was rough, long, steep, and twisty, but very scenic. The campground was almost deserted; the beach was just behind the trailer, over the dunes:

We hiked along the beach to the estuary of the river -- the wind was blowing so hard that the sand was exfoliating our legs. Later that afternoon, we took an exciting ride in the Canyonero (our SUV) up a very steep dirt road (hurrah for four wheel drive!) to a bluff overlooking Cape Mendocino. The wind was blowing at 40 mph; the campground is hidden under the bluff at the left side of the pictures:

We were sure that the fog would come in every afternoon, the way it does at home during the summer in coastal Orange County -- but amazingly, the skies were clear, even at night. As you might expect in such a remote and dark location, the stars were astonishingly bright and thick -- we could easily see the ropy texture of the Milky Way.

July 8: We took a series of short bike rides on quiet country roads. The area is not really well-suited to biking because most of it is so steep; and as we discovered, there is very little hiking in the area, other than hiking along the Lost Coast.

July 9: In the morning, we walked along the beach for quite a while toward Punta Arena. Here and there. backpackers had built driftwood shelters to protect themselves from the wind:

The Lost Coast was impressively desolate; it is amazing to find a huge stretch of California coastline that is completely undeveloped:

We hitched up and drove that afternoon to an RV park in Fort Bragg.

July 10: We had heard that there was primitive camping in Jackson Demonstration State Forest, just a few miles inland from Fort Bragg; the state Department of Forestry, which administers the demonstration forests, does not actively promote its camping facilities. Armed with a topo map and my GPS, we went "campground hunting" in the morning, hoping to leave the RV park behind. (Hunting around for "boondocking" or remote camping is always time-consuming, but that is part of the fun. It is very liberating to travel without a set schedule or destination.)

We found the obscure entrance to the state forest; we left the highway and drove down into the forest, over several miles of rough gravel roads. There were campsites along the road, but they were all marked "closed." Very discouraging. After crossing a small stream, we arrived at what appeared to be the "camp host" site, but it was abandoned. There was a large signboard indicating that most of the campsites were unavailable.

At this low point, a young forestry ranger drove up in his Jeep. He greeted us like long-lost friends and told us that there was a perfect campsite just waiting for us down the road and that he would escort us there. We followed him to a dream campsite: far from anyone else, and situated in a shady grove of very large second-growth redwoods. He proceeded to tell us that the campsite had its own outhouse (a luxury!), and that it had bear-proof trash cans. He told us that during the week, a "senior citizen retired annuitant" (his words!) would show up to remove the trash.

Best of all, the campsite was a "pull through" -- no backing up necessary. (We've become experts at backing up, but sometimes it's very nice to just drive right to the perfect spot.) We also discovered that our campsite came equipped with its own little stream and waterfall, perfect for our late-afternoon cocktail hour. And, by the way, the campsite was absolutely free -- the Department of Forestry does not charge for camping. Since the area was fairly close to the coast, it was delightfully cool and breezy.

After reserving this amazing site on the signboard, we zipped back to the RV park, packed up the trailer, hitched up, and drove back down into the forest. The trailer looked very small next to the redwoods:

The Department of Forestry allows campers to gather and cut downed wood -- so I whipped out my small bow saw, and Felice and I took turns cutting firewood:

Once we had gotten the trailer all leveled, stabilized, and arranged (which always takes a good bit of time and effort -- part of the fun!), Felice said, "I wonder if there's any decent mountain biking in this area." My topo showed that the little dirt road that led to our campsite followed a stream up into the hills, without gaining too much elevation. So off we went. Just beyond our campsite, we encountered a locked gate, which kept the nonexistent cars from using the road (but did not stop our bikes). This dream road continued for another several miles, alongside the stream; the road surface was covered in a thick carpet of redwood "duff" (leaf litter), cushioning our tires. It was a fantasy bike ride (if your fantasies run toward bike rides):

July 11: Based on a tip we had gotten from another pair of middle-aged mountain bikers, we went riding in the network of fire roads behind Caspar, California, a little ways down the Mendocino coastline. The roads followed the various forks of Caspar Creek; some of them were a little steep. It was shady and pleasant, with ferns and columbines everywhere:

July 12: We hiked through Jug Handle State Natural Reserve. This little park follows a series of wave-cut terraces from the beach back through a mature redwood forest. The trail began on the headlands:

Back in the forest, we came across lots of purple iris and some of the last rhododendron blooms of the season:

The streams were choked with horsetail ferns:

At the highest level of the park, a shallow layer of clay hardpan soil had stunted the roots of the trees, creating a "pygmy forest" -- imagine bonsai trees planted in small impermeable containers. Here, Felice (not a very tall person) is as tall as a fully-grown 100 year old redwood:

We went beyond the back boundary of the state reserve onto an abandoned plant nursery -- most of the plants were dead, but we came upon an astonishing patch of reddish-orange flowers within a fenced enclosure -- I have no idea what these are:

Near one of the abandoned greenhouses, I saw a truck with a faded logo for "John Podesta & Sons Nursery." When we got back home, I looked up the company -- it was defunct. I called the number that the company used to have -- I spoke to a very nice elderly lady,, who I think was Mr. Podesta's widow. She told me that he had passed away in 2006 and that she didn't know anything about the flowers at their former Mendocino site. A mystery.

July 13: We biked through Van Damme State Park on a gloriously windy day. We started out hiking on the headlands -- the color of the water was a deep turquoise:

Here's a quick video of the water swirling around the dark rocks:

The headlands were undercut by a few sea caves, some of which had become "sea bridges:"

This is a view toward the south from the headlands -- I used a fairly long exposure to blur the waves:

This short video (taken from a bike!) gives you the feel of riding through Van Damme:

At the end of the day, we enjoyed cocktail hour next to our own private mini-waterfall -- the sun was filtering through the trees and hitting the "falls:"

July 14: We biked through Russian Gulch State Park. Unfortunately, because of the state's budget crisis, the trails had not been maintained, and we had to carry the bikes over several large fallen logs -- quite strenuous. At the end of the bike trail, we parked the bikes and hiked to a lovely waterfall:

Felice wanted to get closer to the water:

She spotted two banana slugs engaged in some sort of a wrestling match -- she described this as yin and yang, but I can't tell who is who:

In case you're interested (and who isn't?), banana slugs are hermaphrodites. If you'd like to learn more about these fascinating creatures, go look them up yourself. I can't say anything more on a G-rated blog.

Later that afternoon, we rode along the Big River bike trail, just south of Mendocino. It was lovely; the trail was shaded and wound in and out near the river. Long ago, the river had been used for transporting redwood logs; in this picture, you can see remnants of an old wharf, on the left bank of the river, next to Felice's left arm:

July 15: We spent most of the day riding around the old logging roads within the Jackson State Forest. Very pleasant bicycling, mostly near streams, but not particularly remarkable. Once in awhile, we encountered logging trucks thundering down these narrow gravel roads. Later in the day, we took a drive up to Chamberlain Falls, also within the forest. The falls were nice, but nothing special. However, they were set within an old-growth grove of redwoods:

We made it back to the campsite in time for cocktails by our little stream -- although the afternoon was very chilly, we bundled up:

July 16: We drove down to the Bay Area and spent the night at Matt's apartment in San Francisco. We were delighted to discover that he has a very modern, well-appointed, and sleek washing machine, which got quite a workout from our bulging bags of recreationally-soiled laundry.

July 17: We spent most of the day walking around San Francisco with Matt and Greg -- I later measured our route on my topo map, and we covered more than 10 very eclectic miles, beginning with a farmer's market:

Late that afternoon, during martini hour, Matt revealed to us that he has been eating moderate quantities of baked (not fried!) pork rinds as a snack:

He argued passionately that they are high-protein, relatively low-fat, and lower in calories than a comparable serving of potato chips. (Remember, he's practically a doctor already, and he seems to know what he's talking about.) After a few deep breaths, we tried some, and we are ashamed to say that they were absolutely wonderful.

July 18: We drove from the Bay Area to the Berkeley-Tuolumne Camp, which is very close to the entrance to Yosemite on Highway 120. On the way, we spotted a patch of ripe sweet blackberries in the San Joaquin Valley and picked several containers full. Since this was the 37th anniversary of our first date (on July 18, 1974), Felice decided to celebrate by purchasing a half gallon of French vanilla ice cream. We found a nearby picnic table:

We pulled into Tuolumne late in the day, hoping to surprise Shelley for her 50th birthday. Rona, who was in on the gag, persuaded Shelley to come to Rona's tent to "check out her new tarp." Felice and I were hiding under the tarp:

Shelley then mentioned that she had just been thinking about us, since it was cocktail hour and she didn't have any of the fixins; whereupon I reached into my backpack and pulled out my trusty gin, tonic, and lime:

July 19 and 20: These were two typical camp days -- very relaxing, and not much happened. On the 19th, we hiked to Small Falls. The river was flowing very vigorously; it was a little intimidating. All of us swam across the stream to get up near the falls; Mollie bravely mastered her fears and joined the crowd:

Felice, Shelley, and Rona enjoyed tie-dye in the cool shade of the arts and crafts workshop:

Later, we all adjourned to the beach to enjoy cocktails:

July 21: We drove over Tioga Pass and headed north on Highway 395 to Obsidian Campground, a primitive facility in the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. It's located north of Bridgeport at around 8000 feet, at the end of a long rough gravel road. Although a lovely creek runs past the campground, there is no drinking water, which tends to hold down the crowds. (We hauled in 60 gallons, enough for a week or so.) The campsites are widely spaced and shaded by aspens and Jeffrey pines. Very quiet and peaceful -- just the sound of the wind in the trees and the water tumbling over the boulders in the creek.

Photos can't capture the unique magic of remote-country trailer camping -- the silent, cool, dark nights, the long relaxed breakfasts of eggs. toast, Starbucks coffee, and Danish pastry, the leisurely dinners accompanied by better-than-our-usual red wine. Yes, it is a lot of effort to prepare for these trips and to set up camp, but these trips are priceless.

July 22: We hiked up the Burt Canyon Trail, which takes off into the Eastern Sierra near the campground. We saw quite a bit of evidence of beaver activity:

The Indian Paintbrush was in full bloom:

This picture, taken just above the campground, gives you a taste of the wide-open high country north of Bridgeport -- the whole area has a very "Wild West" feel:

July 23: We hiked up toward Green Lake. Unfortunately, the trail is shared by hikers and horses. The hikers are mostly housebroken, but the horses aren't. The lake was surrounded by snowy peaks:

We wanted to get up to East Lake, but the outlet stream was flowing so furiously that we couldn't cross it safely. In the meadows, we saw quite a few of these flowers -- they are sort of like leopard lilies, but not quite:

July 24: We hiked the length of Lundy Canyon. We saw some of the biggest aspens we'd ever seen -- Felice (an inveterate tree-hugger) could not come close to getting her arms around them:

These intricate purple things grew in marshy areas -- we had never seen them before:

Among the dry rocks at higher elevations, we saw these little bell-shaped flowers:

Just as in Burt Canyon, we saw lot of beaver activity, but no beavers:

This is a beaver lodge:

All along the hike, the aspens shook in the breeze, providing us with both shade and sound:

Toward the top of the canyon, we spent a lot of time clambering around near the cascades:

At the very top of the canyon, we stepped carefully across a loose talus slope and then inched out onto a narrow ledge. We peered up at the waterfall thundering down from Helen Lake in the 20 Lakes basin area of Yosemite, far above us:

Late that afternoon, returning up the dirt road to our campsite, we got a great perspective on the valley of the Little Walker River; the campground is located in the patch of shadow at the left-center of the picture:

July 25: We decided to shift our campsite south, to take advantage of the great hiking in the Bishop Creek area. We scored a prime campsite at Sabrina Campground -- you can see the snowy peaks under the awning behind Felice:

Late that afternoon, we took a short hike near South Lake:

July 26: On a wonderfully cool and breezy day, we hiked up toward Bishop Pass, starting at South Lake, passing Long Lake, Spearhead Lake, and Timberline Tarns, and ending at Bishop Lake. This was a long and strenuous hike of almost 9 miles, starting at 9800 feet and ending at around 11,200 feet. The rocks along the trail showed unmistakable evidence of glacial scouring -- small rocks trapped in the glacial ice had scratched this large boulder, clearly showing the direction of the flow:

The views at Long Lake were literally breathtaking (perhaps in part because of the altitude):

This is a brief video panorama of the lake:

Along the arduous (but lovely) trail, the flowers kept us entertained whenever the trees blocked the view. These are Jeffrey's Shooting Stars:

These are leopard lilies:

And this is some sort of wild garlic or onion -- when the foliage or the flower is crushed, it gives off a mouthwatering aroma:

Some of the stream crossings were a little tricky -- many of the stepping stones were underwater. We ended up adding rocks to this crossing to make it easier. Thank goodness for our hiking poles -- very helpful when we were trying to balance on the rocks::

Up at Timberline Tarns, the snow banks were still ten feet high, casting deep blue shadows on the water:

The stream flowed into the tarns under a thick snow bridge:

Finally, we made it through the snow, above treeline, up to barren Bishop Lake, which required one of those ever-popular "boot shots:"

Kings Canyon, May 2011

2011-05-18T09:08:00.000-07:00

(Note: this blog entry includes a few video clips. You can click on them, or not; they are very short, about 10 seconds each, and the quality is not great because the blog program apparently "compresses" the files somewhat.)

After a long and dull semester, we managed to squeeze in a week of camping. The highway to Cedar Grove had just opened; there was only one campground available. We got a site right on the banks of the Kings River, which was in full spring flood. The campground was virtually empty.

Monday, May 9: We hiked to Mist Falls, one of our favorites. The first part of the hike is usually hot and dry, but the weather was mercifully cool and cloudy. On our way up to the falls, we posed in front of the Sphinx, which was snowier than we've ever seen it:

The high country had just received a dusting of snow:

The falls themselves were booming and roaring -- the ground was shaking under our feet:

The mist rose high into the air:

In this short video, I panned along the course of the upper cascade of the falls -- there was so much mist on the lower falls that we could not even expose the camera to the moisture:

As we sat by the falls, it started to snow -- big, wet flakes. We had never seen snow falling on a waterfall. It was magical. (Fortunately, we were properly dressed and were able to hang out near the falls, just watching the snow.) This clip shows the snow falling into the cascade:

On our hike back down the hill, the snow got heavier -- this short clip shows the snow falling against the backdrop of the dark conifers and the newly-leafed deciduous trees:

Tuesday, May 10:

The storm had passed; it was a cool, clear, breezy day. During many of our past trips to Kings Canyon, we had dreamed about riding our bikes from Boyden Cavern (at the bottom of the canyon) all the way to Cedar Grove, because the road runs right along the river. However, most of the year, there is too much traffic and it's too hot; we had fantasized about a cool day during the off-season, with little traffic.

That day finally arrived. The ride was a delight. The road was actually steeper than it looked, rising about 200 feet or more per mile, but we didn't mind. In a car, you can't see the full extent of the craggy cliffs rising above the river. The little orange dot on the bridge is me, in my stylish safety vest:

The river was thundering right next to us. Along the banks, there were quite a few red or pink bushes in bloom -- we weren't sure what they were:

We stopped off at every waterfall along the way, including Grizzly Falls:

The best part, of course, was the ride back down the hill, often at 20 miles an hour or better (which is pretty fast on a mountain bike). Later that afternoon, we changed into hiking gear and stopped off at Roaring River Falls:

In the late afternoon, we hiked through Zumwalt Meadows. We spotted a cinnamon-colored bear wandering around, foraging in the meadow:

Through the magic of zoom, this video clip makes it look as though we were right next to him -- we weren't:

He walked through the meadow, toward the river, and we backed away. We lost him in the woods -- where did he go? It turns out that he swam across the river! We saw him clamber out; he shook himself like a wet dog:

And then he looked back at us:

Late that evening, back our campsite, I took a time exposure of the river:

The spring flood had left reflective pools on the banks of the river:

Wednesday, May 11:

On the recommendation of a ranger, we tried the Deer Cove trail, which turned out to be hot, dusty, steep, long, high, and difficult. The trail was poorly maintained, with several blown-down trees blocking the pathway; we had to climb around and through them. Also, much of the forest had been destroyed in a fire. The undergrowth was growing back, but the trail was still very open and exposed most of the way. The hike was about 10 miles long (round-trip) with an elevation gain of over 3000 feet. As we got to the top (near Wildman Meadow), the trail was blocked with snow.

Although this hike was very strenuous, and not a wonderful experience, the views of the Great Western Divide from the top were terrific:

From the lower part of the trail, in the late afternoon, we had a great view eastward toward the high country of Kings Canyon. Don't be fooled by the wildflowers -- these were virtually the only ones that we saw on this hike:

Note that in the preceding picture, the upper portion of the canyon (at left) is U-shaped, while the lower portion (center) is V-shaped. I think that the transition from "U" to "V" may mark the lower edge of the glaciation.

Thursday, May 12:

In the morning, we rode our bikes from Cedar Grove to the end of the road, stopping off again at Roaring River Falls:

It was a sparkling morning, with fresh snow on the surrounding peaks -- the highway was completely empty:

On the way back to Cedar Grove, we took the River Road, a sandy and bumpy dirt road that winds pleasantly through the woods on the north side of the river. We almost ran over this rattlesnake:

Based on this trip, we are not sure whether we will spend more than a few days at a time, down in Kings Canyon itself. The day hiking is fairly limited, since the walls of the canyon are so vertical (and the base elevation is so low). In the off-season, the weather is delightful. In the summer, it can get very hot.

In any event, we then shifted campgrounds and drove west toward the Grant Grove area. We stayed in the northernmost loop of Azalea Campground -- it was almost deserted. That night, we walked through the grove in the moonlight. (These exposures took about two minutes; they might be worth clicking or even double-clicking. Be sure to hit "back" to get back to the blog.) This is the General Grant Tree, with the Big Dipper upside down on top of it:

Here are two other trees in the Grove -- I'm sure that they have names, but it was too dark to read the little signs!

Friday, May 13:

We hiked down into Redwood Canyon from Quail Flat. Although the highway was open, the dirt road down to the canyon was closed by snow drifts. So we just clambered over the snow and walked down the road, into the canyon. There was a surprising amount of snow down in the canyon. Since the trails had not yet been cleared, the footing was a little tricky. But it was delightful to be in the canyon under cool and moist conditions, as contrasted with the usual summertime heat.

We took our usual compulsory photos of Felice standing next to a Sequoia. The second picture is a detail cropped from the first:

In addition to those still photos of the trees, we've added a new twist -- a video clip panning up from the base of the tree to the tip, providing a different perspective on the immensity of the tree:

And we finish with Felice's obligatory "boots on the scene" shot, resting comfortably on the soft spongy bark of a Sequoia:

Mountain Home State Forest: November 2010

2010-11-24T21:32:00.001-08:00

We figured that we had time for one more short trip this fall, so we decided on Mountain Home Demonstration State Forest, an obscure park in the southern Sierras. The forecast was for a couple of days of good weather, followed by some light snow. We were prepared: snow chains, tools, clothing, everything. I talked to the ranger, who said that after the storm, he would close the forest on Monday, after we had left. He also told me that the campgrounds were technically open but that we had to bring our own water.

The park is located about 60 miles northeast of Bakersfield (i.e., nowhere) at about 6000 feet. There is no easy way to get there: access is via Balch Park Road, a very twisty and steep one-lane road about 20 miles long. It took us an hour just to get up to the park; I don't think we saw any other cars during that time.

We decided to camp at Frasier Mill Campground, since it provided us with the best escape route from the park in the event of an unexpected heavy snowfall. As we later discovered (after looking at the other campgrounds), it was also the prettiest campground. There is a little stream running through it (which you can see right behind the trailer in the picture below), and there's plenty of shade. There are young Sequoia trees throughout the campground, with some very large old-growth trees right nearby:

We were the only ones in the campground; in fact, we later discovered that we were the only campers in the entire forest. It was almost eerie. Late that afternoon, after getting our campsite set up, we drove down to the Middle Fork of the Tule River and hiked along the fire roads through some old-growth trees. That night, after dinner, we took a moonlight hike along a fire road through more old-growth Sequoias. The next morning, we hiked north along the river from Hidden Falls. The big trees were everywhere -- the little dot at the base of the tree is Felice. (If you can't see her, try clicking on the picture to enlarge and then click "back.")

We were the only hikers in the entire forest; we didn't see anyone else all day. The hike was fairly steep but very pleasant. The air was cool, almost cold, and the turbulent river was within sight or sound the entire time. All along the river, the giant Sequoias were scattered throughout the forest. We hiked about 3 miles up into the adjacent Sequoia National Forest, gaining about 1300 feet, and then turned around after lunch.

In the afternoon, we hiked about a mile downriver from Hidden Falls to Moses Gulch campground and back up again. When we got to the car, we discovered a note on the windshield from the ranger, telling us that the storm had suddenly become much colder, faster, and wetter and that he had to close the forest and the roads the very next day. We had to leave a day earlier than we had planned, and there was no way around it.

On our way back to the campsite, we stopped off at Hedrick Pond, just after sunset. The water was completely calm:

The next morning, while the storm was gathering (and just before we left), we took another hike through the big trees. Felice stood inside a hollow log near the trail:

The trail looped through a grove of Sequoias. This is called the "Adam" tree, one of the biggest in existence. As always, Felice is the little dot at the base of the tree:

We were sorry to leave, but it was the right thing to do (and besides, they kicked us out). As it turned out, the storm really was very intense, and we would have been snowed in. We probably would have had to abandon the trailer, which would have to stay there until the spring thaw (and it probably would have been crushed by the weight of the snow during the winter). The ranger told us that this very thing had happened to some other campers a few years ago. We will be back after the snow melts; there is a lot of hiking available in this area.

Yellowstone, Tetons, Utah & Arizona: October 2010

2010-11-08T15:19:00.000-08:00

(Remember to click on a picture to enlarge, double click to super-enlarge, and click "back" to get back to the text.)

Just one week after getting the "all clear" from Felice's surgeon (who admonished her to "take it easy" -- ha!!), we headed up Highway 395. First stop: Bishop, in the Eastern Sierra. On Thursday, October 7, we hiked up from Lake Sabrina (rhymes with "Carolina" and with very few other words). This was a strenuous hike to Blue Lake, with scattered patches of ice and snow and an elevation gain of about 1300 feet. (Note that this was six weeks to the day since Felice's surgery -- hence the six fingers in the picture.) The fall color was past peak because the recent storm had knocked off many of the leaves, but it was still lovely:

The snow from the day before was still clinging to the trees:

We were all alone at Blue Lake, at an elevation of about 10,300 feet:

The sunset that evening lit up the Sierra with "alpenglow:"

Friday, October 8: We woke up very early and got to see the sunrise reflected on the snowy Sierra:

That day, we drove from Bishop, all the way across Nevada on Highway 6. The two-lane blacktop road was almost completely deserted for virtually the entire day; it was cold, clear, and windy, with great visibility. We were amazed at how empty Nevada really is. Often, half an hour (or more) would go by before we would see another car or any other sign of human existence.

The geology of the "basin and range" terrain was starkly visible: major mountain ranges, oriented north and south, separated by deep valleys filled with sediment from the mountains. We intended to camp at Great Basin National Park in order to see the stars, but it was so cloudy that we pushed on to Delta, Utah, to an undistinguished RV park for an overnight stop.

Saturday, October 9: We drove from Utah all the way to Idaho Falls, Idaho, to another ordinary RV park. We took a long walk around the historic part of the town; the river (and its famous falls, which is essentially a long low concrete dam) were crowded with Canada geese. In the evening, we happened to be walking over a bridge when several groups of geese decided to take off over our heads:

Sunday, October 10: In the morning, we shopped at Wal-Mart and bought two bananas, among other things. (That sounds like a completely random observation, but it's not -- see the banana story at the end of this posting!)

We drove to West Yellowstone, Montana. We considered camping in a campground in Yellowstone, but we soon realized that the cold weather meant that all of the campers would be running their generators constantly, which is not very relaxing. (Paradoxically, an RV park can sometimes be a lot quieter!) Usually, the quietest alternative is "boondocking" or dispersed camping, but the National Park Service does not permit boondocking (unlike the Forest Service). So we settled in at Grizzly RV Park; as it turns out, since the weather was so cold, the campground was fairly empty. Our campsite was isolated from the other folks and was very quiet.

It was so cold in West Yellowstone that we had to disconnect our water hose every night; otherwise, the hose would freeze and burst. And because we didn't want to use the heater during the night (because it's noisy), the interior of the trailer was often in the low 30s when we would wake up each morning, with ice coating the insides of the window frames. We had no trouble sleeping; we were buried under a thick stack of blankets and comforters. The problem, of course, was in getting out of bed.

Monday, October 11: The early part of the day was rainy and misty. We drove to Firehole Falls in the National Park and hiked down a steep slope to the side of the falls. We were able to see trout jumping up into the falls, although we never saw one actually make it all the way to the top, and I couldn't quite catch the trout in the act:

(Someone asked me how we get these "blurred waterfall" shots. I attach a "neutral density" filter that darkens the lens, and I choose a very tight F-stop, sometimes as high as F 38. Since so little light is coming into the camera, I can then use a very slow shutter speed. It's not complicated.)

Later in the day, as it began to clear, we drove south toward the Old Faithful area. The bison were very accommodating, posing in front of a geyser basin:

We walked around the Fountain Fire Pots. These were very colorful "mud pots," bubbling like huge bowls of chili; it turns out that the acid in the water dissolves the minerals in the rocks, creating a thick soup of liquid clay:

Where the water was very hot, it was clear and blue because the heat kills all of the bacteria:

Where it was not quite as hot, the bacteria provided all sorts of gaudy colors -- we read that NASA is studying these tough bugs in preparation for the search for life on other planets:

We then went further south to Midway Basin, another "geothermal area" with colorful pools and steaming hot creeks tumbling down into the river:

Continuing south, we hiked in from Fairy Falls Trailhead and then scrambled up a hill to get an overview of Midway Basin; up above the steam, we could really see the colors in Grand Prismatic Pool:

At the end of the day, we went to Biscuit Basin, which contained several frequently-erupting small geysers and more of those blue pools -- Felice just loved those pools:

On our "commute" back to West Yellowstone, we saw a herd of elk near the Madison River:

Tuesday, October 12: The morning was very cold -- we took the coffee maker out of the closet and the cord was frozen. Look carefully at this picture:

The bison seemed to be well-trained, posing artfully in front of the geothermal features:

This was our day to explore the Old Faithful area. As usual, we suited up in full hiking regalia (boots and packs and poles). We marched through the Visitor Center and watched an eruption at around noon -- it was impressive, but the air was so cold that the hot water created a huge cloud of steam that blew right towards us, and we couldn't see much of the hot water. As the steam floated overhead, it condensed into light rain in the cold air -- I had to protect the camera with my jacket.

We then hiked up a hill to an observation area over the geyser basin; on our hike up the hill, a bison trotted past us on the trail, grunting and snorting. By the time we got down, it was time for another eruption of Old Faithful. This time, we found a great vantage point, upwind of the steam:

We then wandered around the geysers on the boardwalks, enjoying the strange formations until it was (of course) time for another eruption of Old Faithful. We decided that we needed some ice cream after so much hiking; while spooning down a carton of peanut butter ice cream on a bench near the General Store, we suddenly realized to our horror and vast amusement that we were not “hiking” -- we had been strolling and snacking on the boardwalks within a half-mile of Old Faithful ("Old Facefull") for several hours while dressed in our serious all-REI hiking outfits, looking like pretentious fools next to the tourists (who were sensibly clad in tennis shoes and jeans). We were painfully reminded of the old Monty Python sketch of the heavily-equipped mountain climbers on the sidewalk, crossing a busy London intersection. (If you haven't ever seen this, just Google "Monty Python mountain climbers" and click on the youtube link. You won't be sorry.)

Wednesday, October 13: In order to escape the too-civilized boardwalks surrounding most of the geothermal features, we took a hike in the back country. We first went to Fairy Falls. It is about 200 feet high -- see Felice in the lower right corner:

A ranger had told us that if we continued past Fairy Falls, we would come to a geyser basin; this basin is not on most maps, and it was not listed in any of the several guidebooks we consulted. The trail first took us to Spray Geyser. It was fun (but a little worrisome) that there were no Park Service safeguards keeping us away from the geysers; the earth’s crust in Yellowstone is very thin, and there is often boiling water just below the surface:

Near Spray Geyser, we saw a steaming creek; the bacteria had stained it a vivid yellow, and it smelled like a bad accident in an egg processing plant:

Following the creek upstream, we came to Imperial Geyser. It was almost continuously erupting from the center of a deep blue pool, roaring and throwing glittering jets of boiling water twenty feet up into the cold air:

Around the pool was a string of bubbling mud pots:

This was a magical experience -- we were completely alone, several miles from anyone else, in a clearing in the forest, surrounded by mudpots and geysers, growling and hissing and steaming and bubbling (and smelling like sulfur). The sandy grassland around the geyser was dished out by several "buffalo wallows," where the bison come to roll in the sand (probably to scratch their parasite-infested backs). We just sat there, for a good long while, taking in the show:

(Incidentally, someone asked me how we get shots of both of us when there is no one else around to click the shutter. It is very easy: I put up my tripod, we set up the camera with a 12-second self-timer, I push the button, and I run like a madman to try to get myself into the shot next to Felice. Some of the funniest pictures are snapped when I have placed the camera too far away -- I am often photographed in mid-stumble.)

On the hike back from Imperial, we came across a bison posing in front of the river. Unfortunately, I devoured a wonderful bison steak the last time we were in Canada, and I get hungry every time I see one of these delicious animals. I felt that this was a shameful and unworthy thought in a national park, but it was unavoidable -- think what my smoker could do to that magnificent roast:

Late that evening, we came across a lone trumpeter swan in the Madison River:

Thursday, October 14: We spotted an eagle in a tree near the Madison, on our way toward Yellowstone Falls:

We hiked to the base of the lower falls:

Not surprisingly, the mist combined with the slanting October sunlight created a bright rainbow:

The canyon walls were vividly streaked with mineral deposits -- hot springs had percolated up through the rock, leaving iron, sulphur, manganese, and copper, and then the river had cut down through the plateau, exposing the sides of the fossilized springs, which then had eroded into brightly-colored wedges:

We then took a back country trail on the south rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, through a geothermal area. The earth's crust seemed fragile -- there were mudpots and smoking fumaroles everywhere. (I read that half of the planet's geysers are in Yellowstone. I believe it.)

If you've never heard a mudpot puffing away, click on the video:

Friday, October 15: We took a long drive up to Mammoth Hot Springs, in the northern part of the park. The hot springs were eerie, a wasteland of dead trees and bubbling terraces:

Any object submerged in that mineralized water would quickly become petrified -- just ask this unhappy dragonfly:

Later, we hiked to Boiling River, where a thermal stream meets the Gardner River near Gardiner, Montana -- yes, the two are spelled differently. The hot river is at about 200 degrees and the cold river is at 50. The steam rises from the hot stream as it pours into the cold river:

We changed into our bathing suits and found out that if you get too close to the hot water, it is scalding. Too close to the main stream, and it is too cold. We located the "comfort zone" of 100 degree water and soaked in this natural jacuzzi for about an hour, surrounded by sage brush and cottonwood trees on a cool, breezy day:

On our "commute" back to our campsite, we watched a coyote hunting mice in a meadow:

Later, we ran into a herd of elk fording the Madison River:

The bull stood guard:

Saturday, October 16: On a rainy and cold day, we drove south from the Yellowstone area to the Tetons. All of the campgrounds were closed, as were all of the nearby RV parks and the lodges. Fortunately, boondocking was available in the nearby Gros Ventre National Forest; we ended up (with the ranger's permission) in a closed campground near Lower Slide Lake, just a few miles east of the Grand Teton National Park boundary. The cold wind cleared out the storm in the late afternoon:

This was a wonderful campsite -- silent, isolated, yet accessible via decent gravel road (rather than our usual rocky dirt road). Every night, the wind would howl around the trailer; we could hear coyotes wailing in the distance. Across the lake from us was a very peaceful-looking cattle ranch. Every so often, when the wind stopped, we could hear the cows mooing in the distance.

It was so quiet that one evening, while we were out for a moonlight walk, we heard a flock of Canada geese landing in the middle of the lake. I don’t mean that we could hear them honking, which is no great feat. We could actually hear the simultaneous splash as they all skidded to a stop, half a mile away.

Sunday, October 17: The morning was clear, windy, and very cold; it was in the low 30s inside the trailer. We were dressed, as always, like Siberian peasants:

I know what you are thinking -- "why didn't they run the heater?" When we are boondocking (without electrical power), the propane-powered furnace gobbles a lot of juice from our batteries, and it makes a lot of noise (especially at night) when it kicks on. We do have a generator, but we try not to run it very much, since the whole point of boondocking is to enjoy the silence. So we run the heater when we first get out of bed for a few minutes; we also run it in the evening, when we are getting ready to shower. Other than that, we wear lots of layers, including gloves and jackets, and we spread blankets on our laps during mealtimes. After all, it is camping, right?

Someone asked me what we eat on these Spartan camping trips. Breakfast is almost always scrambled eggs with a four-cheese topping, with toast and butter and fresh-brewed Starbucks coffee, followed by pastry. (No kidding.) Lunch is a peanut butter sandwich and an apple -- easy to carry on a hike. Dinner is usually something brought from home in the freezer, like smoked pulled pork or tri-tip or teriyaki chicken, defrosted and then sauteed in chopped garlic, along with toast and butter and a tossed green salad. We always serve good red wine (often a Zinfandel) -- we drink better wine in the trailer than we do at home. Why not?

Anyway, back to our travelogue: that morning, on our commute to the National Park, we were waylaid by the fall color and the Gros Ventre River:

The views of the Tetons from the Gros Ventre River Ranch were stunning:

It seemed almost as if the Park Service had deliberately placed old barns and cottonwoods in the valley, in order to frame the mountains:

We hiked from the Laurance S. Rockefeller Preserve to Phelps Lake, a pleasant but not very adventurous hike. Late that evening, we could see the Tetons reflected in Slide Lake:

Monday, October 18: Once again, we were detained by the views of the Tetons as we drove from our campsite toward the park. There was a ruined log cabin in a meadow just off the Gros Ventre road:

I climbed inside to shoot the Tetons through a window:

There were quite a few abandoned farmhouses in the Jackson Hole area:

Later that day, we hiked up Signal Mountain, near Jenny Lake. As we hiked down from the peak, we heard this unearthly metallic screeching, sounding something like a rusty gate amplified by a bad speaker system. We quickly figured out that it was a bull elk "bugling" to his herd.

Peering through the trees, we could see the whole herd (with the bull and his huge antlers) grazing in the middle of a lake bed. We tried to tiptoe toward them; they heard us immediately and ran away. After we had come down from the mountain, and as we were driving back to our campsite, we saw a black bear and her cub cross the road.

We could not get enough of the fall color against the mountains, especially in the late afternoon:

That evening, we were treated to another great sunset over “our” lake:

Tuesday, October 19: As we drove from our campsite to the Tetons, the road was blocked by a herd of bison. They refused to move out of the way. Several of them were happily (and comically) scratching themselves against convenient fence posts and roadside snow plow guide poles:

If you've never seen a bison chewing, click on the video:

We took a strenuous hike up Cascade Canyon, with a substantial elevation gain. Once we had made the initial steep climb, the floor of the canyon was surprisingly flat -- clearly a glacial “hanging valley.” From time to time, the stream widened out into little lakes, reflecting the skyline:

As we got further up toward Mt. Owen, we could see the wind gusts blowing snow from the peak:

Right near the trail, a huge bull moose was calmly stretched out in the bushes, chewing his lunch. The reddish bushes are huckleberries, which are very much like blueberries. But the berries are long gone, and the moose is eating the twigs and leaves:

Not far away, we came upon a mother moose and her calf:

The sun sinking behind the mountains provided us with a constantly-changing light show -- these are technically called “crepuscular rays:”

That afternoon, as we drove back to the campsite from the Tetons, the mountains were framed by cottonwoods:

As we approached our campsite, another bull moose crossed the road right in front of us and started munching on a small tree:

It took him a little while to react to us:

Here is a quick video of how he strips leaves from small trees:

Wednesday, October 20: The sunrise was reflected off the mountains:

On our way from the campsite to the Tetons in the morning, a herd of pronghorn antelope trotted near to the road. One brave creature came really close to us:

He obligingly looked up when we asked him to, as you can see in this video:

He then trotted alongside the car -- click on the video to watch a pronghorn in low gear:

Our hike on this day was into Garnet Canyon, a very strenuous hike (more than 8 miles round-trip, with about 2500 feet of elevation gain). It was exhilarating to hike into the rocky heart of the Tetons -- Felice is in the lower right hand corner of this picture:

We got way up to tree line at the 9000 foot level:

That evening, I tried some photography by moonlight, with long exposures. The picture of the trailer came out fairly well; if you look carefully, you can see stars above the ridgeline. (This photo may be worth a click.)

This 90-second exposure of the Tetons was a little blurred, probably because the wind was howling through the tripod. It was so cold that I had some difficulty with the camera batteries. It's amazing that the colors of the hills and the mountains are visible, even by moonlight:

(Someone asked me how we get these long exposures. I have an electronic cable release -- I open the shutter by pushing a button, count to 90 or whatever, and then close the shutter. It involves a lot of trial and error, which is really fun in sub-freezing temperatures and high winds.)

Thursday, October 21: Sadly, we had to leave the Tetons -- a big snowstorm was on the way. We jogged in the morning along a bike path right next to the mountains and then drove south through rural Wyoming down to Park City, Utah, for an overnight stop.

Friday, October 22: On a rainy day, we drove from Park City to Moab. Again, we considered boondocking, but we wanted to go to Arches National Park, and there was no really good boondocking nearby. We stayed at a nice RV park, just a couple of miles from Arches. The Colorado River was right nearby, flowing through a canyon of red cliffs:

Saturday, October 23: We hiked in Arches NP to Delicate Arch. Although there were a fair number of people on the trail, the hike was really worthwhile. The light kept changing, and our perspective on the arch kept shifting as we clambered around it and through it:

In the afternoon, we hiked in the Windows area of Arches -- this is Turret Arch, with a stormy sky behind Felice. I think this is my favorite picture of the entire trip -- it may be worth a click:

This is the other side of the same arch:

A brief rain shower put a shine on the red rock:

We trotted around to the east side of the rock wall, hoping for a rainbow (since the sun was in the southwest), and there it was:

At the end of the day, we walked through Park Place, a dramatic canyon of “fin walls,” the thin vertical remnants of larger formations. On the floor of the canyon, the water had sliced through marbled layers of sandstone -- each layer in this close-up is less than an inch thick:

Sunday, October 24: We hiked in Arches NP in the Devil's Garden area . The La Sal Mountains to the south had received a fresh coat of snow:

At times, the trail was pretty tricky; it followed the top of one of the “fin walls,” which meant that we had to walk carefully on a narrow ridge of sandstone (aka “slickrock”), with a drop on either side of a hundred feet or so:

Felice was able to overcome her vertigo, but we passed several people who could not go on. Double “O” Arch was at the far end of the trail:

Later that afternoon, the fin walls looked like Stonehenge:

Monday, October 25: On a blustery and rainy day (with some snow flurries in the mountain passes), we drove from Moab to Goosenecks State Park in the far southeastern corner of Utah. This primitive park is on the San Juan River, which meanders within steep canyons incised into the plateau. Our campsite was about a half-mile east of the small "park," which had almost no facilities. We were camped, all alone, on the edge of the canyon. Monument Valley is visible to the south, on the right side of the picture:

To our north were the 1500 foot cliffs of Muley Point:

The wind battered the trailer all night long. It was strange being in such a windy place without any trees -- usually, the wind rustles the leaves and sometimes roars or howls in the treetops. But southern Utah is pretty barren -- just low bushes and rocks. There was no roaring, and there was nothing to break the impact of the wind gusts.

Tuesday, October 26: We watched the sun come up and illuminate the canyons and Monument Valley:

Incidentally, "watching the sun come up" is not as rigorous as it sounds at this time of year and in this place. There is nothing obscuring the horizon, and the sun rises at about 7:30 during October in Utah, a very civilized hour.

We drove to the nearby Valley of the Gods, which is a primitive area maintained by the Bureau of Land Management. Unlike Monument Valley (which is tightly controlled by the Navajo tribe), we were able to hike freely among the rock formations. There were no trails, but we climbed up a dry wash to "Lady in the Tub:”

At the very top, we spotted a small cold rattlesnake, apparently asleep in his hole, all curled up. As we got ready to take his picture, he woke up and shook his rattle at us rather convincingly. We put the camera down and backed away slowly as he slithered deeper into his hole.

We drove the “Moki Dugway” up to Muley Point -- this road switchbacked up very steeply, with gravel hairpin turns and thousand foot cliffs on the side of the road. It sounds worse than it was -- we took it slowly, and it was no problem. Monument Valley was easily visible from Muley Point, at about 6200 feet:

This was “big sky” country, even though we were not in Montana. The horizons were endless; the air was ultra-clear. We could see mountains almost 200 miles away. (For example, we could see Humphrey’s Peak, near Flagstaff.) That evening, the sunset over the canyons was astonishing:

Wednesday, October 27: We left the Goosenecks and drove south through Monument Valley, not sure of where to go next -- Flagstaff? Sedona? Grand Canyon? We decided that this was the perfect season for the south rim -- not too crowded, cool and clear, and it was right on the way home. (We are still getting used to the idea of spontaneous travel -- it seems so strange and risky.) We decided to stay in the RV park near the rim, because the boondocking would have been 10 miles away. Late that afternoon, we had time for a hike along the rim:

There was a bright ice rainbow (sometimes called a "sun dog") near the sun:

We watched the sunset from Hopi Point:

The reflection of the sunset bounced around inside the canyon:

Felice forced me to hike back along the rim after sunset in the dark, which was actually very pleasant. Late that evening, after dinner, we again went to the rim to watch the moon rise. It was bitterly cold, with a very strong wind, gusting up to 30 or 40 mph. In this time exposure, you can see the moon rising, a few stars, and the surrounding trees blurred by the wind gusts:

Thursday, October 28: Nine weeks to the day after Felice's surgery, we took a very ambitious hike down the South Kaibab Trail to Skeleton Point. The round-trip distance was about 6 miles, with an elevation loss (and gain) of over 2000 feet. It was strange to be within the canyon, rather than looking down on it from the top. (Felice is holding up nine fingers.)

We got down far enough to see the river. (Maybe someday, we will hike down to Phantom Ranch, spend the night, and hike back up the next day. I think we could do it!) That evening, we watched perhaps the best sunset of the whole trip, which is quite a strong statement; given the wide open horizons and the clear skies, we watched the sunset almost every night:

Friday, October 29: In the morning, Felice forced me to jog on the rim trail; with an elevation of 7000 feet, the jog was fairly strenuous (but was actually kind of fun):

We started driving west, not knowing exactly where we would stop: Kingman? Needles? Barstow? Much to our surprise, we drove all the way home, almost exactly 500 miles, the longest drive we've ever made with the trailer. It took us 10 1/2 hours, door-to-door. No problem!

And now, as promised, the banana story: when we bought the bananas in Idaho Falls, they were green, but we figured that they would ripen. Three days later, they hadn't changed color at all, and we realized that the trailer was so cold that these bananas might last forever -- sort of like taking a vacation in the cold produce room at Costco. Here, then, is the photographic record of their eventual fate:

Redwoods and Cascades, July and August 2010

2010-09-05T18:02:00.000-07:00

Because Felice's surgery was scheduled for the end of August (which was tremendously successful, by the way!), we had to alter our plans: instead of a two-month trip to Canada, we toured the Northwest for almost a month. As Felice says, "If life gives you lemons, make lemon cream pie -- the heck with lemonade!" So, a week after the mid-July pre-surgery meeting with the doctor, we were out the door again, only two weeks after returning from Sequoia.

(Note -- since this blog post is very long, I have organized the entries by date. Feel free to skip around -- some of the detail is just for our own records. And remember that you can click on the pictures to enlarge and then hit "back" to get back to the blog.)

Wednesday, July 21: We drove to Stockton and called Kim, Felice's college roommate, on a last-minute whim. We enjoyed cocktails and dinner, and she generously gave us a mixed case of really excellent red wines -- we enjoyed the wine every night for the rest of the trip! This shot is a little out of focus, but it preserves the moment:

Thursday, July 22: We drove through Redding to Klamath. We discovered that Highway 299 is long and twisty, and it would have been better to cut over to 101 on Highway 20. That evening, we hiked along the coast on a cliff overlooking the Klamath River estuary; the resident pod of gray whales was enjoying the sunset as much as we were.

Friday, July 23: We hiked the James Irvine Trail in Prairie Creek State Park to Fern Canyon and back. This was a very long hike, with classic redwood groves. (I haven't included our photos of the redwoods in the Prairie Creek area. Ironically (or perhaps paradoxically), the trees were so dense, and the foliage so lush, that the photos weren't that great: it was too shady, and there was no way to get much of a perspective on the huge trees because there were too darn many of them!)

Saturday, July 24: We hiked the lovely Brown Creek Trail in Prairie Creek and then the Lost Man Creek Trail (which was not as lovely).

Sunday, July 25: We hiked the Boy Scout Trail in Jedediah Smith State Park, up near Crescent City. The redwood groves in this area were particularly beautiful, perhaps because they were not quite as dense as the groves in Prairie Creek:

We turned around at Fern Falls:

Monday, July 26: We drove to Vancouver, Washington.

Tuesday, July 27: As we were driving from Vancouver up toward northern Washington, Felice called the ranger station in the Mount Baker area to check on conditions. The ranger reported that there was still 15 feet of snow on the trails! So, on the spur of the moment, we took a sharp right turn to Mount Rainier and ended up spending the next 10 days there. We just could not tear ourselves away from the views of this magical mountain.

We camped in Ashford at Mounthaven RV Park, which was very close to the Nisqually entrance to the national park. On that first afternoon, we took a steep hike to Lake Christine. The mosquitoes were fierce, but the avalanche lilies were poking up out of the snow and mud:

Wednesday, July 28: We hiked in the Paradise area of the national park, up to to Panorama Point and the Muir Snowfields (at about the 7200 foot level). The route was a little bit tricky -- there were some icy chutes. Along the way, we were greeted by the obligatory marmot:

It was really exhilarating to get up so high on the mountain:

The mountain was very clear for almost our entire ten-day stay, which is apparently somewhat unusual. There were terrific views of Nisqually Glacier:

Thursday, July 29: We hiked up to Comet Falls. Just before arriving at the main falls, we came across this unnamed fall on Falls Creek, with a whirl of spray backlit by the morning sun:

Further along, Felice clambered down to the foot of Comet Falls. I stood back, away from the spray, to take her picture:

I could see that she was getting soaked; she seemed very excited, shouting and waving her arms. As she climbed back up, she was yelling she had been completely encircled by a brilliant double rainbow at the foot of the falls. I put down my equipment and my backpack and hiked back down with her. It was true: a double circular rainbow! As best we can figure out, this rare phenomenon was caused by a lucky combination of circumstances. First, we were at the falls right around noon in the summertime, so that the sun was nearly overhead. And instead of developing a deep plunge pool, the falls had filled in at the bottom with a boulder field, so that the spray shot out in a horizontal plane, surrounding us (and soaking us). The high sun angle, together with the horizontal sheet of spray, caused the circular horizontal rainbow. In addition, since the sun was so bright, the light within the rainbow was refracted twice, causing the double rainbow. Even though there is a rational explanation, this seemed like a miraculous phenomenon.

After getting thoroughly wet, we continued our steep climb up toward Van Trump Park, which is a fairly level meadow far above the falls. A group of aggressive gray jays (sometimes called "camp robbers" or "whiskey jacks") tried to take our peanut butter sandwiches right out of our hands. They didn't succeed, but they posed rather nicely while waiting for a chance to steal our food:

Feeling adventurous, we continued further up to Mildred Point, which was a very steep climb -- we had to use our hands at times. (But this was not a rock scramble -- the trail was loose dirt.) This portion of the trail was right at the limit of our abilities. (The entire hike was roughly 8 miles, with well over 2000 feet of elevation gain.) On the trail back from Mildred Point, we could see lenticular clouds forming over the crest of the mountain. These are essentially "standing waves," where the moist air condenses in the cold air at the top of the mountain. The cloud stays in one position, even though the wind and the moisture are continually streaming up and over the crest:

Parts of the trail were lined with bear grass, which apparently is actually eaten by bears:

Friday, July 30: Starting at Cougar Rock campground, we hiked to Carter, Madcap, and Narada Falls, ending at Reflection Lake, another long and steep hike. Felice was content to hang out above Madcap Falls while I played around with long time exposures:

The rainbow at Narada Falls was very intense:

In the late afternoon, the Nisqually River was in full flood, carrying meltwater from the foot of the glacier. We discovered that streams grew substantially during the course of the day, as the volume of meltwater increased:

Saturday, July 31: We hiked to Paradise Glacier. Although the Paradise area was very crowded, we quickly left everyone behind by venturing out onto the snow with our microspikes, which are light-duty crampons. It felt like our feet were suddenly equipped with four-wheel drive -- no more slipping on icy slopes! These devices were so helpful that we had to guard against overconfidence, which could have gotten us onto some dangerous slopes. The microspikes fit over the boots very easily:

Amazingly, we were all by ourselves at the edge of the glacier:

Below us, the fog and low clouds drifted in and out; the rugged Tatoosh Range (just south of Rainier) is visible through the clouds in the lower left corner of the picture:

On the lower portion of the trail, back in the clouds, the magenta paintbrush were popping up everywhere:

We frequently came across the pasque flower. Here is the flowering stage of the plant, which is not particularly remarkable:

But the seed head is really odd (and funny) -- it looked to us like the Lorax by Dr. Seuss. A ranger called it a "mouse on a stick":

Sunday, August 1: We drove from the southwest side of the mountain around to the north side. The road from Paradise down toward Stevens Creek was very rough; some of our cabinets opened, spilling clothing into the trailer, which has never happened before, even on rough dirt roads. (When the sign says "Rough Road" in Washington, believe it!) We scored an amazing "pull through" campsite in White River Campground, right on the river. The river itself was very wild: milky-white glacial melt roaring through a canyon of big boulders:

That afternoon, we first tried to hike to Emmons Moraine, but the trail had been washed out by a flood and we couldn't climb up the very steep rocky bank. Instead, we hiked up to Glacier Basin, which was a lovely meadow full of not-so-lovely mosquitoes. As we were hiking back down, I saw a bear cub emerge from the bushes in a meadow below the trail. We stopped. The mother and another cub soon joined the first one. This picture may be worth clicking on -- the cubs are looking right at us, very alertly:

We had to wait on the trail for quite a while, not wanting to cross anywhere near the mother (who seemed to be taking no notice of us). Eventually, the cubs ran off into the woods:

Sunday, August 2: We took a long hike to the Summerland area, which looked very much like the countryside in the "Sound of Music":

Above Summerland, we headed through the snow toward Panhandle Gap. The snowfields were melting rapidly, and creeks had cut down through the snow:

The snowfields were piled up against the rock ridges like enormous sand dunes:

The crest of the mountains had been scooped out by glaciers, leaving huge sunny cirques. If you enlarge this picture and look carefully at the snow near Felice, you can see pink snow -- this is caused by algae that grow at high altitudes during the summer:

Looking west toward Emmons Glacier, we could see another wave of lenticular clouds beginning to form above the peak. I think these clouds were sponsored by Nike:

After a strenuous hike, it was very pleasant to kick off our boots and enjoy our usual cocktail hour at our campsite, overlooking the river. Gin and tonic and lime, with three real ice cubes from our little freezer:

Late that evening, the mountain put on its final show of the day:

Tuesday, August 3: Starting in the Sunrise area, we hiked up to Skyscraper Saddle. The lupine were in full flower:

The views of Rainier from the saddle were the best that we encountered during our stay, which is quite a strong statement. The mountain filled the whole sky:

We later figured out that we were probably viewing the mountain under optimal circumstances. It had been a very snowy winter and spring, and it had snowed fairly recently. So although the trails had just cleared, the mountain and the glaciers were deep in snow. To see it any snowier, we would have had to visit on snowshoes.

On the way back down, we came across this helical yellow flower, which a ranger told us was “lousewort.” (Couldn’t they come up with a better name for such a cool flower?)

Wednesday, August 4: We shifted over to Ohanapecosh Campground, on the southeast side of the mountain. The campground was very pretty but there was not as much privacy as at White River. That afternoon, we hiked up the river to Silver Falls:

Thursday, August 5: We hiked the Eastside Trail, starting at the Deer Creek trailhead and heading south along the river. We did not see another person the entire day. The river was a luminous pale emerald-green, clear and cold -- but not too cold for swimming. We stopped off at Stafford Falls:

Friday, August 6: We finally (and regretfully) left Rainier and drove south to Mount Hood in northern Oregon, staying at the Mount Hood Village RV park. We took a great 5 mile jog in the Wildwood area, where the shady paths wind in and out along the Salmon River.

Saturday, August 7: We hiked to Ramona Falls. Some of the hike was hot and dusty, some of it forested, but it was worth it:

We scouted boondocking sites in the area, but it was overused and threadbare, probably because it's so close to Portland. We also discovered that virtually all of the campgrounds in the area are very close to the highway.

Sunday, August 8: We hiked in the morning to ZigZag Falls -- this may be my favorite picture of the entire trip:

Later, we hiked up to Umbrella and Sahalie Falls, taking the "counterclockwise" loop through alpine meadows in full flower. That afternoon, we scouted boondocking sites on the east side of the mountain. It was more of a quiet wilderness than the west side, but the roads were just too rough for our trailer. We then looked at the Summit Meadow area near Trillium Lake: great views of the mountain but still too threadbare. We finally ended up at Still Creek Campground, which was beautiful and shady, with a babbling creek. But we could hear the trucks on the highway far above us -- not a perfect campground.

Monday, August 9: From Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, we climbed to Silcox Hut and beyond, up on the west side of White River Glacier on the lateral Moraine. We made it to the bergschrund (literally, "mountain crack") near the head of the glacier at 8100 feet:

The hike was challenging because of the difficult footing: deep volcanic ash on a steep narrow ridge, with a lot of elevation gain. Incongruously, there was a ski area right nearby, with hordes of snowboarders zooming down the slopes.

Tuesday, August 10: We hiked to Tamanawas Falls, four easy miles along Cold Spring Creek. If you click on the picture, you'll see Felice in the lower right corner, giving you some idea of the height of the falls:

Later that day, we drove around to the north side of the mountain to the Cloud Cap area, on a long and rough gravel road through a huge swath of recently-burnt forest. Above the burn area, we started out on the Timberline Trail west toward Eliot Glacier, but the trail had been destroyed by a devastating flood. We turned around and headed east toward Cooper Spur. On a whim, we went off-trail and scrambled up onto the lateral moraine on the east side of Eliot Glacier. The lower portion of the glacier was a vast foggy expanse of mixed gravel and ice:

Later that afternoon, we checked out the Cloud Cap Inn, which is now used as the base of operations for the mountain rescue team. Several members of the rescue crew (and their families) were on the deck enjoying the view of the north side of the mountain; the fog had cleared and both of the glaciers, Eliot (left) and Coe (right), were looming above us:

Wednesday, August 11: We drove south to Chemult, near Crater Lake, and (with the help of the forest service rangers) we found an amazing boondocking site in a pine forest, just two miles from the north entrance to Crater Lake. We took a hike up to the Watchtower overlooking the lake in the late afternoon:

Thursday, August 12: In the early morning, I took this shot of our boondocking site from high up on a cliff. If you look carefully, the trailer is in the lower left-hand corner of the picture. The rim of Crater Lake is in the upper right-hand corner:

I zoomed in on Felice, next to the trailer, waving up at me:

We then hiked the Cleetwood Trail from the rim down to the lake, a 700 foot descent in about a mile. We took our obligatory "Boots Plus Fill in the Blank" picture:

Hiking down the trail, we made very slow progress because we were entranced by the astonishingly intense "iridescent indigo electric peacock blue" water. It is hard to capture on "film," but the following picture comes very close to catching the actual color. This one is worth a click:

A ranger told us that the color is caused by the unusual clarity of the water -- the sunlight penetrates to great depth, and everything other than the blue is absorbed. At the bottom of the hill, we saw people swimming in the lake, which seemed impossible (since it's snowmelt and it's 2000 feet deep). But apparently the top layer gets up into the low 60s for a few days the year, and this was one of those rare days. So we hiked back up to the top of the trail to the car, grabbed our bathing suits and our crocs, and hiked back down (a total for the day of almost 5 miles of hiking with a significant elevation gain/loss).

The sensation of swimming inside that color is indescribable -- the water was radiant and clear:

Friday, August 13: We drove from Crater Lake to Vacaville, California.

Saturday, August 14: We drove to Pt. Reyes. Along the way, we found a great blackberry patch -- Felice was telling Matt (via cell) all about it in this shot:

But if you pick ripe berries, your fingers are going to get purple:

That evening, Matt and Greg joined us for cocktails at the RV park in Olema:

Dinner for four in the trailer -- amazingly comfortable. Matt said it was like holding a dinner party in an airplane restroom. I think it was cleaner than that, but you get the idea:

Sunday, August 15: We hiked to Sculptured Beach. Along the way, we came across this wonderful flower; I have tried (without success) to find out what it is:

Matt timed this shot of us perfectly, with a good-sized wave approaching a rock arch behind us:

Over the next couple of days, we headed home. This was a terrific trip with a lot of strenuous hiking, both in terms of average daily mileage (between six and eight miles) and elevation gain (roughly 2000 feet, more or less). In retrospect, that was a very good thing -- Felice was in great shape prior to her surgery, which probably contributed substantially to her rapid recovery.

Buck Rock, July 2010

2010-08-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

We had big plans for this year, but we discovered that we are not completely in control of events. So, as a consolation prize, we took a spur-of-the moment six-day trip into Sequoia National Forest, sandwiched between visits to the doctor. Using our National Geographic topo map program and Google Earth, we spotted some potential boondocking sites north of Buck Rock, between Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park. We approached the area, unhitched the trailer, and scouted the sites with the SUV.

We found a really good place a hundred yards off a dirt road, on an open knoll at about 8000 feet, with astonishing views of the Monarch Divide to the east. The access road was very difficult -- we had to creep along for more than a mile at 5 mph to avoid damaging the undercarriage of the trailer on the rocks and the potholes. Worse yet, to get anywhere else from this campsite took us an extra half-hour each day of "commuting" in the SUV over extremely bumpy roads (far too bumpy for the trailer!). And hauling fresh water back to the trailer in jerry cans was a bit of a chore.

But it was more than worthwhile: the views, the privacy, and the silence. At times, the silence at our campsite was so profound that our ears hurt a little. All we could hear was our heartbeat, whooshing in our heads. Every so often, a bird would chirp or the wind would blow to relieve the silence. On any given day, we usually saw one other vehicle: a white forest service truck slowly driving up the road to the fire lookout tower in the early morning and then driving down the road in the late afternoon.

That first evening, we took a sunset hike up to Buck Rock, a forest service lookout at 8500 feet. [Remember to click on the picture to enlarge and click "back" to return.]

Felice climbed up on a boulder to watch the sunset:

That night, I played time-exposure games with my camera. Here is a five-minute star track -- if you click on the image, you will see that the tracks are slightly curved due to the Earth's rotation:

The next day, we drove to Lodgepole at the north end of the park and hiked to Tokopah Falls, encountering the inevitable marmot on a talus slope:

The falls were thundering; there had been heavy snow until late in the year, and it was in full flood:

It was so spectacular that I couldn't stop myself from taking many, many shots of the falls. Here is a time exposure of one section of the falls -- note the braided trails within the water, which can't be seen without a time exposure:

This is almost the same shot, but for somewhat less time -- note how the texture changes:

We have a tradition (borrowed from Shelley, Felice's sister) of taking pictures of notable places with our boots in the shot -- one foot is mine, and the other is Felice's:

It looks like we are about to slide into the river, but the rock was very rough and held us in place:

And now, just to mix things up, some little pink flowers along the trail:

After the hike, we "swam" in the Marble Fork of the Kaweah at Lodgepole. Since the water was fresh snowmelt, we didn't swim for more than a few seconds. Here is the sunset from our campsite that evening:

The next day was rainy, but we decided to hike to Weaver Lake anyway. (The picture-taking was dull because of the dim light.) That afternoon, it cleared up temporarily and we went swimming in Big Meadow Creek. I managed to get a shot of Felice and the trailer in our campsite, giving you some idea of how remote it was:

Almost every evening, the sunsets were mesmerizing:

It rained on and off that night; there are few things as cozy as the patter of rain on the roof of the trailer. The next morning, the storm clouds were just starting to clear over the mountains to the east:

This was the view from our front window toward the Obelisk, a rock formation on the north rim of Kings Canyon:

Later that day, we hiked through Evans Grove and down to 13S05, a fire road skirting the south rim of Kings Canyon. We passed a meadow choked with shooting stars:

We just had to take the obligatory “look how big these trees are” shot -- if you click on the picture, you will see Felice at the base of the tree. It is rare to get a view of an entire Sequoia tree:

We came across a leopard lily in a patch of sun, framed against the red trunk of a Sequoia:

That afternoon, we went swimming down in Boulder Creek, at the bottom of a canyon reached by 13S23 -- a very twisty and long forest road. A beautiful spot, but a tough drive. We came back to the campsite via the south side of Buck Rock -- the lookout tower is on the tip of the rock:

And of course, gin and tonic on the edge of the canyon to end the day:

The next day we drove down to Wolverton to tackle the Panther Gap/Merten’s Meadow hike, toward Alta Peak -- very long (for us), with a lot of elevation gain. But it was worth the effort. In the early part of the hike, we came across lots of flowers:

Then a big black bear wandered out of the woods and crossed the trail not far away -- he took no notice of us at all:

A few minutes later, a deer walked slowly alongside us, through a field of flowers:

Once we got to Panther Gap, the view of the Great Western Divide was stunning -- and the storm clouds were gathering:

At Merten’s Meadow, the flowers were out in full force:

There was quite a bit of lightning and thunder over the mountains across the valley -- we watched the storm for a while, listening to the thunder as it echoed back and forth between the mountain ranges. We marched quickly back down, since the trail was on an exposed cliff -- not a good place to dawdle when there is lightning nearby.

When we got back into the trees, we saw another bear, much smaller than the first. He was crawling around in some fallen logs, and then he appeared to get stuck -- he was draped over a large log and was wiggling back and forth. We felt sorry for him. Here he is, struggling to get over the log -- his head is toward the camera.. (I had to tweak this shot with a photo editor so that you could see him in the shadows; thus, the image quality is not great.)

But after watching him for a minute, we soon realized he was not stuck at all -- he was just scratching his tummy on the rough log! In a minute, he waddled slowly into the meadow, across the trail in front of us, and over a snowbank:

As we approached the trailhead, yet another deer came to pose nobly for her portrait:

On the next day, our last in the area, we made the required pilgrimage to Muir Grove -- you can see the ridge of bulbous Sequoias behind us, very unlike the sharply-pointed fir trees:

Since we had plenty of time, we decided to explore the whole grove, rather than staying on the fairly level east side (where most people stop). We were very glad that we did: as it turns out, the grove was very extensive, spreading west over a hill and down a gully. There were hundreds of old-growth trees, marching across the hillside, with very little underbrush. We were able to "bushwhack" carefully down the gully; it was steep but the footing was good. To celebrate, Felice and I performed a joint tree-hugging ritual:

The flowers lined the trail coming back from the grove:

Later, we went swimming (splashing) in Dorst Creek:

I think this is a great back-lit shot of Jeffrey’s shooting star in the late afternoon light. (I can say that because I'm not the one who took the shot -- Felice did.)

Just below Dorst Campground, there is a little tributary stream lined with ferns:

After sunset, but before dark, the mountains east of our campsite were a deep purple:

Central Coast, April 2010

2010-04-09T15:46:00.001-07:00

After a very long hiatus, we finally got to do a week of camping over spring break in the hills northeast of San Luis Obispo. The rain this year has been a little above average, so the creeks and waterfalls were flowing. (Remember to click on the pictures to enlarge and then click "back".)

This is "Big Falls," which involved a fairly adventurous drive with 13 deep stream crossings. The road often follows the creek bed; I was glad to have a relatively high clearance four-wheel drive SUV.

We stayed at a KOA near Lake Santa Margarita -- it was considerably more rural, rustic, and quiet than the typical KOA:

Unless you like hiking or mountain biking, there is not much to do in the mountains of eastern San Luis Obispo County:

We headed out Highway 58 to Shell Creek Road, a notorious hotspot for springtime flowers:

The road goes on for many miles through cattle country:

On another day, we went all the way east to the Carrizo Plain, on the edge of the San Andreas fault. There were carpets of phacelia:

The Carrizo was very wild and primeval -- it's what the San Joaquin Valley used to look like, before it was settled. Here's what phacelia looks like from 6 inches away:

Everywhere we went, the wildflowers put on a fine show. These are baby blue eyes:

I'm pretty sure these are "tidy tips":

These are shooting stars, which we have seen in the Sierra but never in the Coast Ranges:

The lupine deserve a category of their own -- there were carpets of them everywhere, smelling like Wal-Mart-brand laundry detergent. Some were bush lupine; others were growing on the ground:

I don't know what this is -- perhaps fireweed. We ran into it in the chaparral and sagebrush on a breezy hilltop, just after a rain shower:

The poppies weren't as overwhelming as we've seen them in other years, but they were still great:

On a stormy afternoon, we took our bikes to Montana de Oro State Park:

The waves were huge, about 15 feet, and they were smashing into the rocks:

Perhaps because it was spring, we saw a lot of wildlife -- flocks of noisy wild turkey, deer, skunk, a bobcat (we think), and a couple of foxes, who are not good about sitting still for the camera:

Toward the end of the week, we went mountain biking in the hills above Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. The singletrack was a little too rugged for us:

Throughout the area, the landscape is typically Californian -- grassy hills, dotted with old oak trees:

This last picture might be worth clicking on:

Northern Sierra: June/July, 2009

2009-07-23T16:18:00.000-07:00

For our 2009 big summer trip (almost four weeks long), we decided to do something we've never done: just take off for the northern Sierra, without any reservations or even any solid plans. (Four weeks!? Lots of pictures and text -- feel free to skim. Remember -- click on a photo to enlarge, and then click "back.") The big idea was to plunk ourselves down in an interesting area, explore it thoroughly, and then move on to somewhere else. We figured that since we can boondock in most parts of the the national forests, we didn't really need campground reservations.

Our first campsite was on Buckeye Creek, west of Bridgeport, in the Toiyabe National Forest. Getting to this campground required a trip of several miles over a rough dirt road, which kept the crowds down considerably (especially the folks with big rigs and loud generators). The campground was at around 7000 feet, warm during the day but cool at night. On our first evening, we were greeted by a thunderstorm rumbling over the valley to the east:

Since we were going to be gone for almost a month, we wanted to stay in some sort of contact with the world, instead of just disappearing into the wilderness. So we subscribed to a cell-phone based "data card" service, hoping to be able to check e-mail from time to time. It didn't work out very owell because the coverage was so poor in remote areas. For example, at Buckeye, we had to drive 10 miles out of the campground, into a cow pasture, before we could get reception -- it makes for a funny picture, but it was a hassle:

We took several very pleasant hikes in the Buckeye area; the best was a mountain bike ride up Buckeye Canyon, along the stream. The trail cut through a working cattle ranch and up into the backcountry:

This is a Mariposa lily along the trail:

Parts of the trail were very technical and difficult (sandy, rocky, and steep); other parts were gently rolling and pleasant. We were the only people in this entire valley -- we saw no one else for several hours:

As we would ride along, we saw a few coyotes in the far distance, catching mice in the meadows. It was a hot day and we decided to take a dip in the creek, which was swollen with snowmelt. When Felice stepped into the freezing water, she started to yell -- imagine the Tarzan call a couple of octaves higher, but slightly off- key. When she paused to catch her breath, all of the coyotes responded, howling back at their new Queen!

We also took a day trip to Sonora Pass, hiking to Secret Lake and then to Sardine Falls. There was still quite a bit of snow at the higher elevations in late June. And we were glad that we hadn't towed the trailer into the Pass. It was very steep, and the campgrounds were crowded and noisy.

We stayed at Buckeye for several nights and then moved on to the Markleeville area, over Highway 89 and Monitor Pass. I had thought that we were going to camp somewhere just south of Lake Tahoe. But as we were rolling down the west side of Monitor Pass, Felice realized that since the July 4 holiday was approaching, we would be better off in a more remote area. So on a whim, we headed away from Tahoe on Highway 4 toward Ebbetts Pass, with no idea where we were going to camp. (We knew that we couldn't tow the trailer over Ebbetts Pass -- too steep and too twisty.)

The topo program on my laptop showed that there was a creek paralleling the highway; and sure enough, we could see from the road that there were boondocking sites along the creek, not too far from Silver Creek Campground, at around 7000 feet. After some scouting, we found a very secluded site down a rough dirt road, right next to the river. This was the view out the front door of the trailer:

We spent the next several days exploring the Pacific Crest Trail, which crossed Highway 4 at Ebbetts Pass. When we first arrived, the wildflowers were just coming into bloom, and the display got better and better every day. One of the most spectacular hikes was out toward Reynolds Peak:

The terrain in this part of the Sierra was very different from the southern Sierra. Instead of huge rounded gray granite domes, the mountains were sharp reddish-brown volcanic crags. This particular peak (which I think is called "IXL," for some unknown reason) displays several layers of volcanic ash, which have been been tilted upward:

By coincidence, we happened upon a book sale at the library in Markleeville, and there was a book on Sierra wildflowers (with pictures). I did my best to try to identify all the flowers we saw. These pink flowers are "checkermallow," I think:

There was still a fair amount of snow at the higher elevations. We had to kick steps across the snowfields, being careful not to slide down the avalanche chutes:

The tops of the volcanic mountains had been eroded into "hoodoos;" this is near Raymond Peak:

These mountains were not composed of solid lava flows; instead, they were mostly volcanic ash and rock that had been cemented into blocks and layers. Here, you can see a block that has broken off the cliff, and you can see the different types of ash that have been layered on top of each other. I think that this type of volcanic conglomerate is called "breccia":

One of the key players on this trip was my new Magellan GPS, which enabled us to carry electronic topo maps and waypoints and then to find our way off-trail to points of interest that would have been otherwise inaccessible. (Felice commented that this was a new high-tech way to get seriously lost, much more efficiently.) On this hike, we were able to "bushwhack" through the forest to Dorothy Lake, at nearly 9000 feet. Here I am celebrating my GPS triumph in front of a huge snowbank:

The photos make the lake look lovely. In reality, it was infested with voracious mosquitos, who viewed me as their last best hope for a decent lunch. But the reflections in the lake were worth the suffering:

Our campsite during this part of the trip, on Silver Creek, was a delight -- the creek burbled busily in the background, the breeze blew down the canyon ruffling the cottonwoods, and the pine trees surrounding the trailer provided us with shade most of the day:

Almost every afternoon, we sat in our camp chairs overlooking the stream, sipping our small gin-and-tonics. Sitting in the semi-wilderness, with a few real ice cubes made in our own little freezer, was a huge luxury.

The next day we hiked along Wolf Creek. The trail was sandy and hot; but as a reward, we found a great place for lunch, right on the stream, with shade and a cool breeze and a cold wading pool. Given the heat, we decided to stay up at the higher elevations. We headed back to the Pacific Crest Trail and passed by Asa Lake:

The flowers were really starting to come out in full force by early July -- these are blue flax, according to my guidebook:

And these are "pretty face":

Velvety stickseed:

,
On this particular hike, we reached cool and breezy Tryon Saddle (overlooking Noble Lake to the north and Sonora Pass to the south) at about 9400 feet:

On our way back down through the meadow, we came across a pool full of tadpoles:

We took a few hikes on the west side of Ebbetts Pass over the next few days. These are penstemon, probably my favorite -- they are neon purple, and they grow in very harsh and dry places, seemingly undaunted by the difficult conditions:

We reached a high ridge above Wheeler Lake in the Woodchuck Basin area -- the knob was covered in flowers, all busily explored by tiger swallowtail butterflies. These are (I think) scarlet gilia:

Indian paintbrush was everywhere:

Later that afternoon, we tried to ride our bikes around Lake Alpine. The trail was impassable -- full of large boulders. The next day, we decided to try a different route to the Raymond Meadows area, using the GPS to cut across country and reach the Pacific Crest Trail by contouring across a mountainside. It was fun to plot a safe and workable trail on the topo and to leave "waypoints" on the GPS, so that we could find our way back. We quickly reached the volcanic hoodoos:

This is another view of Reynolds Peak:

We noticed these odd worm-like mounds everywhere. I did a little reading and discovered that these are gopher castings -- they deposit dirt from their tunnels under the snowbanks during the winter. When the snow melts, these "negative tunnels" are left on the surface:

After July 4, we decided to move to the Carson Pass area, south of Tahoe and northwest of Markleeville. I located several possible boondocking areas on my topo; we cruised past them, but nothing looked right. We turned onto a dirt road leading east of Highway 88, near the north end of Red Lake, just before Carson Pass. Some ATV folks were hanging out near the road. We asked them about boondocking, and they were very helpful -- they told us about a big meadow two miles down the dirt road where there were some other trailers.

We headed off down this road -- perhaps the roughest forest road we had ever driven, with rocks the size of pumpkins and potholes the size of a kitchen sink. At 5 mph, we trundled down this road, half expecting that the trailer would bottom out and that the plumbing fixtures would be torn off. But nice and easy does it. A long while later, sure enough, we came to the meadow. We could see that other folks had camped there in the past, but there was no one else around.

Hoping for complete solitude, we parked the car and hopped on our bikes to explore the area. Not far away we found what looked like a perfect campsite -- secluded, away from the road, next to a stream, fully shaded. This area was at about 8000 feet, so it was surprisingly cool, even though it was early afternoon.

There was only one little problem with our possible campsite -- it was down a steep hill, with a narrow entrance, and some big rocks on either side, and a narrow steep exit. (Yes, that's more than one problem, but never mind -- these problems will come back to haunt us later, as you will see.) After some very serious scrutiny, we decided we could handle it. Back to the car. Put it in 4x4 low gear. Creep down the twisting entrance. The car and the trailer start to slide sideways into the creek. But luckily, the sliding stopped, and we were tucked into a great little spot, very cool and breezy, right next to our new beach:

These were the little "rapids" we could see from the front door:

"Shooting stars" lined the edge of our little beach:

On our first expedition from our new campsite, we took a mountain bike ride up to Burnside Lake. It was almost too steep, but not quite. There was evidence of a fairly recent forest fire in the area. The next day was very windy. We took an ambitious hike from Carson Pass toward Round Top, a peak of over 10,000 feet. These mountains were only a mile and a half from our campsite, as the crow flies, if a crow flew straight up:

The wind was exhilarating -- but as we tried to climb Round Top, the wind kept increasing. A couple of guys coming down from the peak told us that they had gotten literally blown off of their feet by the gusts. We made it most of the way up:

From high on the mountainside, we could see a wide swath of the northern Sierra, including the Desolation Wilderness and Lake Tahoe:

The next day, we decided to try something a little less ambitious, a hike to Lake Margaret. The lake was pleasant, but the flowers were outstanding. This is Sierra columbine:

These are "mountain pride," a variety of penstemon:

I think these are polemonium:

These are Lewis monkey flower:

There were a lot of turquoise dragonflies at the lake, darting around the grass at the shore:

Our next hike was to Meiss Lake, also near Carson Pass. This might have been the most flowery hike of all. These are lupine:

There was a lot of iris blooming in the meadows -- Round Top and the Sisters, on the east side of Carson Pass, are in the background:

The Meiss Lake area was spectacular -- the trail drops down through a beautiful meadow, past a defunct "cowboy camp." The meadow is ringed by snowy hills. We got a little bit of cloud cover, for a change -- I liked the way that the striations in the clouds seemed to echo the strata in the layers of volcanic ash:

These are cinquefoil in a wet meadow:

What with the cold breeze and the views and the flowers and the altitude, we got a little carried away, but no permanent harm was done:

The yellow flowers are "mule's ears." They are all over the place in the higher altitudes:

That afternoon, returning to our campsite, I backed down our little "exit road" toward the trailer. I thought that Felice was guiding me, but I misunderstood her signal and got the car stuck in some bushes (which rudely poked through the open window into the car). No problem. I shifted into drive and gently gave it some gas. The right rear wheel promptly sunk up to the axle. I hopped out. The front left wheel was three feet in the air. Uh-oh.

We figured out that the "exit road" was not really dirt -- it was loosely compacted leaves, i.e., "duff." I was able to dig out the back wheel, put it in reverse, and get back onto the dirt, with no harm done. But we realized that it would be very hard to get the trailer out of its wonderful parking space.

That night, I had trouble sleeping -- what to do? The exit road was not only very soft -- it was steep and narrow and rimmed with big rocks. I realized that we would have to gently re-engineer the road -- removing some of the rocks, filling in the ruts, and actually paving the soft part with rocks and gravel.

The next morning, that is exactly what we did -- first gathering big flat rocks as a base and then filling in with gravel. I used my shovel to fill in the ruts and level the roadway. There were some small trees in the way, but we could not bear to cut them down -- I used ropes to pull them aside, temporarily. We planned our "escape" carefully, measuring the exit area with sticks and string. We hitched up, put the car into low gear, and carefully pulled the trailer up and out of the campsite. We set up our new camp just a few feet away -- not quite as secluded, but not on soft ground, either.

Since there was a huge bike race on the highway the next day, we decided to go exploring toward Blue Lake, using the dirt road that ran from our campsite on Forestdale Creek over something the map called "Forestdale Divide" at 9000 feet. When we drove to the top over an incredibly rough road, we hit an impassable snowbank:

So instead of making it to Blue Lake, we parked at the top and started our hike right there, using the GPS to connect up with the Pacific Crest Trail. We bushwhacked up the side of a mountain for some amazing views:

As it turned out, Felice's family was at Berkeley Tuolumne Camp, near Yosemite, so we decided to pull up stakes and surprise them. We stopped for the night at Calaveras Big Trees and took an evening hike in the South Grove area. These are Washington lillies:

This is our obligatory "Felice next to a Sequoia" shot:

The campground at Calaveras, Oak Hollow, was lovely, but the grove was nothing special, compared to those in Sequoia to the south. The next day, after an easy drive, we pulled into Tuolumne and had one of the staffers tell Roz that she had to come down to the office to clear up some paperwork. It took her a while to come down the hill, but the surprise was perfect:

The next day, we all went for a hike in Tuolumne Grove -- this is at 6000 feet, with a steep one mile hike down and back up again. But Roz was determined -- we took it slow on the way down and slower on the way up, with me pushing from the back and Felice pulling the walker from the front with a rope. Quite a courageous journey for both Roz and Eddie:

Zach, Felice's nephew, was deeply devoted to fly fishing:

The next day, Felice and I decided to hike in the Glacier Point area of Yosemite. From the top of Sentinel Dome, we could almost touch Half Dome:

On the trail (hot and steep) down to Illilouette Falls, we could see both Vernal and Nevada Falls:

The hike down to Illilouette was redeemed by a very lovely and secluded swimming hole, upstream on Illilouette Creek. The next day, we drove over Tioga Pass to the Mammoth Lakes area and found a pretty (but buggy) campsite at Coldwater Campground, at 9000 feet. We took a sunset walk around Lake Mary, with a volcanic ridge in the background:

Since we had done a month of high-altitude and (for us) high-mileage hiking, we felt we were ready for a bit of a challenge -- the Mammoth Crest, a long and steep and high route. We passed Crystal Crag on the way up:

Using the GPS, we went beyond (and above) the trail, reaching the 11,400 foot level. The trail took us past a cinder cone, over some pumice flats, and onto the edge of the Crest itself, overlooking the Mammoth Creek drainage:

The 360 degree views from the top were indescribable, ranging from the Mt. Whitney area in the south, to the Sequoia and Kings Canyon area in the west, to Yosemite in the northwest. These peaks are Mt. Ritter and Mt. Banner, along with the Minarets:

We were above Mammoth Mountain -- Felice is pointing down to the top of the gondola and the backside of the Cornice, the highest point on Mammoth:

That afternoon, after 10 miles of hiking. the monsoonal thunderstorms tried to chase us off the mountain:

We next revisited the Duck Pass area -- in June of 2008, we were forced to slog through snowbanks to get up to the pass. This trip was a lot easier. The flowers were out in full force; these are Alpine Columbine:

The thunderstorms started in the early afternoon:

The rain wet the rocks and made the flowers look even more luminous:

Note that those rocks are metamorphic. We were at around 11,000 feet, and I think that these are remnants of the original "country rock" that was uplifted by the Sierra granite. We did not see any metamorphic rock at the lower elevations. During the day, the rain squalls would come and go, and our ponchos came on and off:

The rain (and hail!) sweeping across the lake was very dramatic. This day, July 18, happened to be the 35th anniversary of our first date:

On our way back, we climbed a cirque overlooking Mammoth Lakes, while lightning flickered over the mountains south of Duck Lake. The thunder echoed around us in a circular pattern, reflected by the cliffs -- very exciting! That Duck Pass/Duck Lake hike was quite strenuous -- almost 10 miles, with almost 2400 feet of climbing.

On our last day in the Mammoth area, we hiked up to Emerald Lake and Sky Meadows. These are columbine on Coldwater Creek:

At Emerald Lake, Felice pointed out the cliff that we climbed (from the back!) up on the Mammoth Crest:

At Sky Meadow, we found a pretty waterfall, not described in any of the guidebooks:

We then cut across country (using the GPS) to the Mammoth Creek area, to Felice's favorite cascade above Arrowhead Lake:

On the last day of our trip, we stopped over in Lone Pine and drove up to the Cottonwood area, up Horseshoe Meadow Road. The road was spectacular, but the hiking was nothing special -- the forest was kind of sparse, and the mountains were not very dramatic. (We had gotten spoiled by all of the classic High Sierra scenery.) A thunderhead covered the sun as we left:

Big Meadows, May 2009: Thunder and Hail

2009-06-03T12:26:00.000-07:00

For our 31st anniversary, we took a five-day trip up to the Big Meadows area in the Sequoia National Forest, between Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. We scored a prime "boondocking"" campsite off of one of the forest roads, on a big open granite dome with terrific views of the Great Western Divide. (Remember to click on the pictures to enlarge and click "back" to get back to the blog.) During the summer, we usually look for more shade; but in late May and early June, we figured that the absence of shade wouldn't be a problem. (As it turned out, the problem was that we were exposed to lightning on this big dome!)

After setting up our campsite, we took a hike in Evans Grove, north of Buck Rock. This grove is hard to reach because the dirt roads are so rough; as a result, there was nobody else there, and it was very peaceful:

At the bottom of the grove, we took a loop trail that led us down to an old logging road or narrow-gauge railroad grade. (We could tell it was an old road because we could see the remains of carefully-built rock walls.) As you will see below, we later ended up revisiting that road from a completely different direction. After we got back to the trailer that evening, we could see a thunderstorm boil up across a ridge, coming right toward us:

It rained pretty hard that evening. (It is very pleasant to be inside a small tin box in a rainstorm at night.) The next day, we drove all the way down to the end of Highway 180 in King's Canyon and hiked to Mist Falls, a 9 mile round trip. During the hike, we came across two rattlers. The first one (below) was calmly crossing the trail. The second one was coiled on a rock pile, rattling loudly and poised to strike; I didn't stop to get a picture of that one.

The trail followed the Kings River. Because the snow in the higher elevations was melting fast, the river was roaring:

Mist Falls was thunderous. In fact, it was so violent that we couldn't get a picture of the entire cascade; there was so much mist in the air that the camera would've been soaked. We sat for a long time on a big granite slab next to the river. The slab was vibrating with the force of the falls.

That afternoon and evening, it rained again, with plenty of thunder and lightning. Amazingly, with all of this rough weather, we never got wet while hiking -- it seemed to hold off until we got into the car or into the trailer. The next morning, there was a fairly brisk hailstorm:

After the sun came out, we were treated to a double rainbow:

A little later, we headed out for a bike ride. In a campground along Tenmile Road, we found these snow flowers bursting through an asphalt walkway -- apparently these flowers aren't as fragile as they look:

This bike ride was one of the greatest routes we've ever taken. It stretched the entire length of Forest Road 13S05, starting near Hume Lake. The road generally followed the ridge line south of King's Canyon between six and seven thousand feet, giving us terrific views of the mountains north of the canyon:

After a few miles, the road came to the Lockwood Grove. In all of our earlier visits to the various Sequoia groves, I don't think we've ever been able to ride our mountain bikes right through the big trees. Here you can see how the grove marches down the hillside:

In places, the dirt road was fairly smooth; in other places, it was so rocky that we had to get off our bikes and carry them across the boulders, especially where the mountainside had tumbled down on to the roadway. Every so often, we came across another group of Sequoia trees.

All day long, it kept threatening to rain on us, but it never really did. But we saw plenty of lightning in the mountains across the canyon.

For some reason, the juxtaposition of the bikes and the trees was irresistible. We felt like ants:

After about 10 miles, and after passing the ruins of a logging camp, we came to what seemed to be an impassable swamp. There was a very dense grove of Sequoias, just to the north and west of Evans Grove. The ferns were just starting to sprout:

We thought we were going to turn back, but then we spotted a little trail across the swamp. Based on our previous visit to Evans Grove, I knew that the old railroad grade extended across the swamp to the east. We dragged our bikes across the ravine and through the swamp, and, sure enough, the old unused railroad grade was waiting for us on the other side. We rode for about another mile, passing more huge (and seldom seen) Sequoias. (This picture might be worth clicking on -- you will really get a sense of the scale when you see Felice on her bike.)

On our way back, we unfortunately took a wrong turn; the fire roads aren't always marked, and they look all the same. We headed uphill for a long time to Tornado Meadow, which was very pretty but which was not where we wanted to go. We eventually realized our mistake and headed back downhill to the main fire road. (The detour added almost 6 miles to our trip, which would've been fine except that we were tired by the end of the day. The total distance was about 26 miles, which is a fairly long mountain bike ride at high altitude.) Eventually, we came back to the Lockwood Grove; by then, the sun was out, and we could see the entire grove stretching along a ridge:

Here is a close-up of the ridge; you can see that the Sequoias are very different in color and shape from the rest of the conifers:

We couldn't resist one last shot showing the true scale of the trees -- the little dot at the base of the tree is Felice:

That evening, back at the campsite, the clouds cleared up just as the sun was setting. I'm not sure whether the phenomenon of ""alpenglow" is real or not, but these alps were glowing. (This picture might be worth clicking on.)

The next day, we hiked into Muir Grove. Since the access road through Dorst Campground was closed, we decided to ride our bikes down to the trailhead. We thought that we would be the only ones at the grove, since it was so hard to reach. As it turns out, there were two other groups who had essentially the same idea. But it was still very peaceful. We laid down on the forest floor in the middle of a ring of giant trees and looked up. These trees, which look slender in this picture, are actually 10 feet or more in diameter, and rise above us for at least 200 feet:

We took the time to explore a lot of the grove, going downhill quite a ways and then along the ridge to the northwest. Although we've been to the grove several times, we never realized how extensive is really is. The dogwood trees were in full bloom:

On the trail to and from the grove, the hillsides were carpeted with these little purple and white flowers, which were about a half-inch high. (If I can figure out what these flowers are called, I will edit the blog to include the proper name.)

On our way back, we saw a doe (a deer, a female deer) on the trail ahead of us, acting strangely. She walked about 20 yards ahead of us, stopping every so often to graze and then to look back at us. After a little while, we looked around and realized that a very young deer was following us. We figured that we had separated the mother from the child, so we stopped. The young deer then circled around us. The mother then approached her child, in a seemingly tender fashion:

Uphill, the child waited for her. She then charged up to the child and gave it a vigorous head-butt!

The child ran downhill in a panic:

This odd dance continued for a few minutes, with more approaches and more head-butting. We speculated that she may have been pregnant and may not have wanted to devote attention to last year's fawn. The yearling still wanted to be the baby of the family, but the mother was trying to drive him away, to force him to find his own food.

The next day, we hiked down through Redwood Canyon toward Big Springs, before driving home. There, too, the dogwoods were putting on a show:

Giant Sequoia Natl Mon: February, 2009

2009-02-10T17:05:00.000-08:00

In between two storm systems, we managed to find a dry weekend (at the end of January/start of February). (Remember to click on the pix to enlarge and then hit "back." A couple of these pictures might be worth clicking on.)

We headed up to Wishon Campground above Springville, in the Giant Sequoia National Monument northeast of Bakersfield. The campground (at 4000 feet) is right on the Tule River; the campsites are spacious and are all shaded by oaks. The first night, there was one other group in the campground. The rest of the time, we were alone:

Note -- the four mile road from Highway 190 to the campground is steep and narrow and twisty; and the highway is no picnic, either. Don't go up to Wishon in a big rig, and don't try it with a trailer longer than 20 feet. Your transmission will get a nice workout, both going up and coming down! Fortunately, there was no ice on the road -- that would have made it even more entertaining. Also, clearance inside the campground is a little tight -- watch those low branches.

After setting up the trailer, we took the SUV up a very rocky, muddy, icy road toward Alder Creek:

When the snow got too deep, we continued on foot -- there are quite a few Sequoias on or near this fire road. The next day we took Highway 190 up to Freeman Grove, at 7000 feet. The access road was buried in two feet of snow, so we hopped onto our snowshoes and trudged down into the grove. We had a huge snowy grove all to ourselves -- sort of dreamlike. It was really great to get off-trail and walk among "wild" Sequoias that are seldom visited by anyone; during the summer, we would have to stick to the trail, both because it can be harmful to walk on the soil near the trees and because the undergrowth would get in the way. In the winter, the brush is mostly buried in the snow. The color of the red bark was intense in the afternoon light:

Although the weather was clear, it was fairly cold, getting down into the high 20s at night. We tried to run the heater in the trailer as little as possible, both to preserve the battery and to preserve the silence -- we could hear the river roaring right next to us, and it was a pleasure just to listen to it all evening long. The inside of the trailer was a toasty 45 degrees -- we bundled up like Eskimos. Not glamorous, but comfortable:

On Sunday, we took a hike along the Camp Nelson trail, through the Belknap Grove and up toward the Wheel Meadow Grove. The snow was a few days old, and the water vapor in the air had collected on the snow crystals to form fragile "hoar frost:"

There were some tricky stream crossings -- we had to build a temporary log bridge across the river -- and it would not have been fun to fall into the icy water:

Once again, we saw no one else during the entire day of hiking -- just us and the big trees in the snowy forest. The black dot at the base of the tree is Felice:

The higher up we went, the deeper the snow got. Although we were not on snowshoes (the terrain was too rough), we were still able to make good progress in our waterproof hiking boots. Our gaiters (leggings) kept the snow out of our boots. All along the trail, the river tumbled over half-frozen falls:

Back down near the campground, we ran into quite a few red sierra newts -- it was the start of their mating season and they were crawling slowly across the path, stunned by the cold temperatures:

On Monday, before heading home, we hiked up from Wishon toward Mountain Home State Forest; in the mountains, we could see several large groves of Sequoias, but they were across the river and hard to reach. Right where Burro Creek empties into the Tule River, there were thousands of ladybugs swarming on the rocks and leaves:

In four days of fairly strenuous hiking and snowshoeing, we did not see anyone else on the trail.

Kings Canyon, November 2008: A Surprise Blizzard

2008-11-13T10:11:00.000-08:00

Although we've spent almost 50 nights this year in our trailer, we just had to try one more camping trip. So in mid-November we headed up to the Sequoia National Forest, in between Kings Canyon National Park and Sequoia National Park, for a four-day trip. At around noon on Friday, we set up camp in a remote area near Big Meadows; our nearest neighbor was about a half-mile away. This was not a campground -- the national forest allows "dispersed camping" (or "boondocking") in many areas. We had a wonderful view of the Great Western Divide. That afternoon, we hiked to a remote grove of giant sequoias (Evans Grove), north of Buck Rock. The dirt roads were very rough, but we had no trouble. The grove was lovely -- absolutely silent. We saw no one during the entire hike.

On the next day (Saturday), we took a long steep hike from the Wolverton area up to Heather Lake. The total elevation gain was over 2000 feet, and the total mileage was more than 9 miles. At the top of the route, there were tremendous views of the entire Tokopah Valley:

The lake itself was surrounded by snowy rocks, reflected in the water:

On the way back from Heather Lake, we tried to take the Watchtower route, which is a narrow trail along a cliff overlooking the valley. But we had to turn back because the trail was so narrow and icy:

(This picture does not really do justice to this trail -- immediately behind Felice, there is an icy chute about 18 inches wide. On one side is an icy rock wall. On the other side is a 2000 foot cliff. We did not cross the chute!)

As we finished the hike (on a safer route), it started to get pretty cloudy; the weather service had predicted a dusting of snow over 9000 feet and a few light rain showers below that elevation. We weren't too worried, since our campsite was at 7500 feet. Sure enough, late that evening, it started to sprinkle, making a lovely tinkling sound on the roof of the trailer. We were snug and warm inside our tin box, dressed like Eskimos and drinking hot tea.

After we went to sleep (under a comforter and four blankets!), it started to rain a little harder. Around midnight, the rain suddenly stopped; it was very quiet. At first, I was glad that the rain had stopped; I had been worried that the ground would become so muddy and soft that we wouldn't be able to tow the trailer out of the woods and back to the roadway. But after a while, it dawned on me that the silence might mean that the rain had simply turned to snow. Around 1:30 a.m., I crawled out of my nice warm bed -- the inside of the trailer was at about 40 degrees -- and peeked out the door of the trailer. Surprise! There was already about a half a foot of wet snow on the ground, and it was essentially a full-scale blizzard.

We had to make a decision -- what to do? If we simply waited it out until the morning, we could have been stuck in the snow -- my SUV and my trailer only have about 10 inches of ground clearance. If the snow got much deeper, we couldn't have towed the trailer out of our campsite. Remember, also, that this was not a campground -- this was just the wilderness. And the Forest Road leading to our campsite was not a maintained or plowed road.

So we reluctantly decided that we had to leave right then. It felt like we were being too conservative, and nobody wants to go outside in that kind of weather; but we thought it was the prudent thing to do. Without rushing, without panicking, we bundled up in our waterproof garments and headed out into the storm to pack up our equipment and hitch the trailer to the car. It was absolutely pitch black, and very wet and cold. Fortunately, we had headlamps; also, we have hitched and unhitched so many times that we could do most of the tasks blindfolded. A lot of our tools and equipment had already been covered by the snow, but we were able to find all of them. The hardest part was clearing the snow off of the awning, which had accumulated a thick, wet, sticky layer of icy snow.

When it came time to hitch up (after about an hour and a half of packing up), the car windows were completely covered in ice and snow. I was able to clear them off a little bit, but I could hardly see anything. Fortunately, Felice skillfully guided me back so that we were able to drop the hitch onto the ball the first time.

The next question was whether the car would be able to move the trailer over the soft wet dirt and through the deep snow. I put the SUV into "four-wheel drive low," the high-torque setting. No problem! Quite a relief. We were able to move onto the roadway and slowly drove out of the woods for a couple of miles to the highway. As we expected, the highway was not yet plowed (since the storm had been a surprise to everyone), so we drove very slowly through deep snow to the Grant Grove area of Kings Canyon National Park. It was sort of dreamlike -- the dark, deserted highway, the blowing snow, at 3 a.m., with the trailer trundling along behind us, pushing through the deep snow.

Since the roadway had been very cold prior to the storm, the rain had frozen to the pavement, creating a layer of black ice under several inches of snow. The trickiest part of the drive was on the banked turns, where the highway designers had intentionally tilted the roadbed in order to accommodate cars traveling at 45 mph. At 10 mph, however, the car and the trailer tended to slide sideways a little. No big deal, but it was interesting. (I had decided not to attach the anti-sway bar to the trailer, since I was concerned that if the trailer slid sideways, it would drag the back of the car along with it. I'm not sure that was the right decision, but we made it out okay.)

We toyed with the idea of heading down the hill to Fresno but decided that it would be safer simply to sleep in the trailer in the parking lot near the ranger station at Grant Grove. When we awoke the next morning, there was still quite a bit of snow and ice on the trailer, although it had rained again in the early morning hours (since Grant Grove is only at about 6500 feet):

In the morning, one of the rangers asked us what we were doing in the parking lot, and we explained. She told us that we had done exactly the right thing: other campers who had stayed throughout the night at Big Meadows had gotten stuck and had to call for tow trucks to get out, which was enormously expensive. So we didn't feel too bad about evacuating, even though we missed our lovely remote campsite.

And actually, to tell the truth, the "midnight blizzard fire drill" was sort of fun. It was a challenge, and I was pleased that we were able to deal with it in a calm, methodical way, without rushing, and without making mistakes. We had to force ourselves to follow our checklists carefully, even though our instinct was to scramble out of there before the snow got too deep. Plus, the whole experience gave us the spurious sense of being rugged individuals having a legitimate adventure. It was also fun to work as a team to solve the little problems we encountered.

So, instead of heading home right away, we went for a morning hike in Grant Grove itself. The low clouds and fog obscured the tops of the snowy trees:

We later took a hike through the North Grove area. If you have never seen a Sequoia up close, here are some indications of the actual size of these trees. It is difficult to find a place where you can take a picture of an entire tree from top to bottom; we found a couple of places along a fire road in which I could stand far enough back from the tree to encompass the whole thing. First, a long shot of one tree -- look for the little orange dot at the bottom of the tree -- this might be worth clicking on to enlarge, and then hit back to get back:

And, from the very same picture, here is an enlargement of the orange dot, i.e., Felice:

Also, here she is peeking through a cleft in a grouping of trees:

And here's a close-up of the cleft, again from the same picture:

To get another feel for the scale, here she is next to a tree trunk:

We decided to stay another night at the Azalea campground, which was very quiet:

We discovered that camping in cold and snow is not impossible or unpleasant, as long as the temperature does not drop much below 20 degrees. (Any lower than that, and the plumbing might be damaged.) We had plenty of electrical power, with two group 27 deep cycle batteries. We could run the propane heater during meals and when showering. The only problem was what to do with all of the damp clothing -- we hung it up on hooks, but things did not dry very quickly.

The next day (Monday), we took a hike through the Redwood Canyon grove. It was very wet and just above freezing; imagine the "refrigerated vegetable room" at Costco. But we didn't mind because we were properly dressed. There was even a little remnant of fall color on the dogwood trees:

Santa Cruz and Montana de Oro, October 2008

2008-10-16T17:32:00.000-07:00

We took a quick trip up to Santa Cruz in early October of 2008. We biked the Skyline to Sea trail in Big Basin and hiked up to Berry Falls:

Gold Falls was just a little further up the trail:

We also rode in the Forest of Nisene Marks and in the Henry Cowell Redwoods; this was taken on an early morning walk in Henry Cowell:

On our way home, we camped at Montana de Oro in the Morro Bay area. Although we did see some sea otters, they were not very close to shore. The wind was offshore and we could see the entire Big Sur coastline to the north:

The waves were smaller than usual, but they still surged and crashed on the craggy rocks:

Fall Color in Eastern Sierra -- Sept. 2008

2008-10-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

We took a quick trip during late September to the Bishop Creek area of the Eastern Sierra. On the first day, we took a short hike to Bull Lake (near South Lake), and Chocolate Peak was in the lake. (Remember to click on the picture if you want to see a larger version and then hit "back.")

We weren't able to hike as far as we had planned because we kept having to stop and admire the aspens. All of the pictures that you see here are unaltered -- this is how it really looked. The next few shots were taken on the east side of South Lake:

We could look down the cliff through the orange aspen and toward the turquoise water of the lake; if this scene had not been painted by nature, it could have been criticized as too garish:

The next day, we drove over to North Lake. From the road up to the lake, we could see Mount Darwin and Mount Powell:

The entire canyon of the north fork of Bishop Creek was covered in aspens:

The volcanic Piute Crags lined the north side of the canyon:

The south wall of the canyon was granite; there are so many big peaks in this area that this 12,000 foot crag near Loch Leven does not have a name -- how about Finger Peak?

Later that afternoon, it started to get stormy. Here is the same view of Mount Darwin (see above) on a cloudy afternoon, instead of a sunny morning:

The next morning was showery, which (paradoxically) seemed to make the colors even more intense:

(If you're wondering how we obtained the time exposure of the water, I use a neutral density filter, which allows me to slow down the lens speed.) After hiking along the creek, we went up to Lake Sabrina. The granite walls of the canyon were wet and dark:

As soon as we hit the trail, a thunderstorm rolled in over Mount Darwin:

The hike to Long Lake was a little soggy, but it cleared up for a few moments here and there:

The lake reflected Mt. Goode, a 13,000 foot peak (on the left) and Hurd Peak (on the right):

As we approached the 11,000 foot level, the rain turned to sleet -- note the stylish hefty bag:

The sun came out briefly in the afternoon, above Lake Sabrina:

During the night, there was more rain (and snow at the higher elevations). The next morning, we could see the top of Mt. Tom from the campground:

We headed up to the North Lake area again to do a different hike; once again, the view of Mount Darwin from North Lake Road was astounding, with snow in the higher elevations:

We were surprised to find aspens reflected in Grass Lake; none of the guidebooks mentioned them:

Later that day, the sun came out as we crossed Bishop Creek:

That evening, we drove south to the Lone Pine area, staying at Tuttle Creek, a primitive Bureau of Land Management campground in the shadow of Lone Pine Peak near Mount Whitney:

Perhaps not too surprisingly, the stars in the high desert were brilliant. Here is Jupiter, along with the Milky Way, over the Sierra crest:

(This was a 30 second time exposure, and I set the ISO to 3200. Apparently, with enough time, the camera can see colors in the Milky Way that are not ordinarily visible to the eye.) The next morning, we watched the sun come up over the White Mountains to the east and catch the Sierra to our west:

Eastern Sierra, July 2008

2008-08-04T12:33:00.000-07:00

We spent about a week near Bridgeport, Calif., camped at about 9400 feet in the Toiyabe National Forest. This was true "boondocking" -- no campground, no water, no nothing -- we had to bring it all with us. Very cool, quiet and peaceful (except for a few folks on dirt bikes):

Our first hike was up to the top of the Virginia Lakes Basin -- the area above treeline (about 11,200 feet) was wild and windblown:

The Lundy Lakes area was filled with waterfalls and wildflowers:

These are columbines:

I am told that this is foxglove:

These are leopard lillies:

We next hiked the Green Lakes basin -- we made it all the way up to East Lake in the Hoover Wilderness on a hot day:

We headed over to Tioga Pass in Yosemite and hiked the Twenty Lakes Basin, mostly above the treeline:

On our way south, we stopped off at Rock Creek. Mt. Morgan lies to the southwest of the canyon:

Our last hike was up to Kearsarge Pass from Onion Valley, a 10 mile round trip with a 2500 foot elevation gain up to 11,760 feet:

The trail was very well graded and maintained, but it was a big day for us. Felice relaxed by a stream while I took endless "wildflower & waterfall" pictures: