Intense Sierra

The landscape of the Sierra Nevada mountains can arguably be considered the most beautiful in the world. I don't usually like comparisons of beauty - something absurd about it - but the Sierra have certainly had more impact than any other landscape.  

In the 19th century a Scottish immigrant to America named John Muir fell in love with the Sierra. He spent years exploring its secrets and being moved by its ravishing splendor. His passion led him to write powerfully about nature, and to lobby his government to protect the area from commercial development. The spiritual quality and enthusiasm expressed in his writing became the catalyst for the National Park Service, the first of it's kind in the world. The idea caught on in other countries. Therefore, every protected landscape on the planet owes a debt to John Muir and the Sierra. 

Freya and I began climbing into the Sierra like many of John Muir's mules must have done - thinking, 'crikey, these packs are heavy!' We had 6 days of supplies, sleeping gear, tent and various other bits. Fortunately, the miles pass under foot quite easily in such grandeur. 

That evening, under the campfire, I was reminded in a deep experiential way exactly WHY I love these hikes so much. These is something magical about spending several hours with someone without any type of potential distraction. Without phones. No television. Nothing. After the initial cascade of topics, there is always a pause. A silence that, once accepted, allows the connection to broaden. Sometimes that path is inane, like lists of Hollywood favorites, and other times the conversational tour leads to moments of deep discussion, of hopes and fears, that deep texture of life. Captivating. 

The next day we started climbing into the Sierra proper. Each mile brought us to higher elevation, and into thinner stretches of trees. The day was warm, and the sun kept us eager to find the trees when we could, for their shade, whilst also grateful for the stunning vistas. 

Poor Freya was struggling a bit. She had 27 mosquito bites (to my 4!?), and she was struggling with the weight. After several hours and about 12 miles of steep mountain hiking, we took a lunch break. This involves falling asleep in exhaustion under some dark trees for an hour or so. When I woke up I realized that Freya had spent that hour quietly weeping to herself, overwhelmed by the pack, the sun, the mossie bites - the trail. 

We were in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing I could do but guide her to soldier on. As we hiked her knee began to bother her more, which is an injury for which she's seen orthopedic specialists. Twice I saw her fall into the rock, her shins and knees and body battered. Each time, she dismissed it as a slip and bravely vowed she was fine. 

I've fallen into the rock from exhaustion before. I know how it feels and looks. As brave as she was being, we needed to change something. After another 8 or so tough miles of this, we came to a road. I hitched us a ride to Murkleeville to regroup. 


There I was able to go through our bags and find nearly 10 kgs (~20 lbs) of unnecessary pack weight!! That, plus our water strategy of carrying nearly 2 liters at all times, even though we were passing a stream every 20 mins (doh!), meant we could and should've been hiking with much less weight. I felt more than a bit careless.

Armed with a new strategy, we headed back to the trail the next day.  With a bit of luck we got an amazing hitch-hike from Scott.  He has spent 21 years as a fire-jumper - the type of chap who voluntarily parachutes into forest fires.  He had plenty of amazing stories to share with our rapt ears and, before long, we were on the outskirts of the Yosemite wilderness, ready to hike again.

This time we'd try a new adventure. In the past, I'd always had some clever technology to clarify our location on the map. This time, we were going to hike using trail maps and my handy compass. These maps and trails are well-labeled, so really not a big deal... but it doesn't tell you where the actual campgrounds are like the sparkly app maps. This little omission would prove a little dicey.


As we began the second leg of hiking, we both had strong legs. Getting rid of 15kgs+ makes a big difference! We had a spring in our step, even on the inclines, and the miles were unfolding before us like we were motorized.

We came across deer and streams, fields and mountain scapes, all with a cool breeze on a pleasantly warm day. If you were to draw some Disney cartoon of the perfect hike, it would look like our day. Freya enthused that she could finally understand why people loved hiking.

The most spectacular part of the day was Tuolumne Falls.  Powerful and remote, we had the dual pleasure of being right up close and alone with it. 

My soul annoyance with Yosemite is how crowded it is along the main trails. I realize its good that so many people are being exposed to nature. And that its equally impressive that some of them hike a couple of miles from their cars and into the woods. Bravo. Seriously. But on this hike, I'd longed for the sense of adventure of being remote, and these back trails gave us just that.

After a long day of hiking we decided to camp before a planned summit of Mount Hoffman the next morning. Just as we found a place, the booming crack of mountain thunder shuddered around us, and we knew one of the famed Yosemite storms was closing . As we had no official tent site reference points on our map, we had to invent one. The best we could find was beside a large wall of granite, amidst some trees, between that granite and a stream. More experienced hikers are already snickering, I'm sure.

With timely precision we erected the tent. Freya's training had been effective. Just as the hail stone began to fall we sat inside, cozy and pleased with ourselves, with the pounding storm lashing our tent walls, content with our precision.


Until after about five minutes and we looked down. We noticed the floor of the tent moving. We both jumped back in surprise. Here and there, in fact everywhere, the entire floor of the tent was being undermined by an immense flow of water. It was like nothing I'd ever seen. Like a river. I now deduce all of the rain from the entire mountainside had to go somewhere, and the earth beneath us was the only path between that mountain and the nearby stream, which was filling up fast.


The mini flash flood was picking up forest debris so quickly that the side of our tent became a dam, and the detritus of the wild crept up the edges of the side of the tent. In places, water leaked through the bottom. Everything was getting or soon would get soaked. Quickly, we realized we had to break camp and move in the middle of this storm. It's a good tent, but not designed for surfing!

Fortunately, the storm subsided as we packed everything and dug ourselves and our tent out of the dirt. The whole storm may have lasted 30 minutes, but in its wake most everything was either soaked or wet or damp, and lots of it muddy. So of course, even after shaking everything out, our packs were even heavier than before.


The next day we headed to Mount Hoffman, which was a long 8 mile ascent. For some reason my legs were stone, I couldn't find my energy gear. Freya had hers, bless her, and kept encouraging me with bright calls of, 'Come'on dad, you can do it!'.  Having hiked and climbed more mountains than..., well, I smiled at the deep irony.  Ok, dear.


We finally got to the base of Mount Hoffman, and even though my legs were thick, we agreed to summit it. We started in with a strong pace, and I quickly returned to those familiar feelings of summit fever - buoyed along by the imposing mountain.


Just as we got to the shoulder of the mountain, with the last bit of scree to clamber up, maybe 45 more minutes of climbing, Freya declared she couldn't go on. In addition to her knee, her hip was now bothering her. Scree can be hard going, especially on your legs, so I knew there was no choice but to turn back. With our heavy bags, and her now carrying two injuries, I also knew it was time for another break.


Fortunately, before descending, we had time to enjoy some extraordinary views of Yosemite - resplendent even for an overcast day.



So we hitched a ride to Lee Vining, CA. Little side note - I have a little hitch hike dance that I've now used across four continents, three decades and at least 100 rides. From Kenya to California, if you ever want some tips on getting rides while hitch hiking, let me know.

We are now on a rest day. Freya's hip and knee are both still bothering her. I'm a little lost now as to what to do. At twelve years old, one is not generally advised to push through pain. There's too much stuff changing. So we'll see what each day holds.


All I can say for sure is that we will remain spontaneous and ready for adventure.

One Last Beginning

The run of life in rural America saunters along with a languorous gait, full of the patient confidence of a big fish in a small pond. There's both a charm and sadness to the deep commitment to parochial mores. Of course, as a city mouse vs country mouse comparison, the observation is cliche. But even so, the experience is not. 

These days, the country mouse has a President. I had thought here in rural California, these country mice might have a more worldly view. Not so. We have seen part of Trump's America here, too. 

Fortunately, America is a diverse and complicated place. Our hosts for a couple of days pre-hike, Dan and Laurie, would inspire the trendy salons of NY and London with the breadth and depth of their interests, wisdom and joie de vivre. Ben and I met Dan when he picked us up while hitch-hiking in 2014. Dan and Laurie are both school-teachers, and despite the battles they face every year with parents who lobby that the biblical creation story be taught in school, rather than that suspicious scientifically based theory of evolution, Dan and Laurie continue to fly the flag of liberal ideals. 

Yes, these days science is on the liberal v conservative agenda. 

Fortunately, Dan and Laurie shared the secret that not only seems to be the source of their clarity, but also promises to be the key to Freya and I letting go of our up tempo lives, full of schedule and devices and social media and general fears. Here, at the foothills to the majestic Sierra Nevada which Freya and I are about to enter, Dan and Laurie are deeply connected to the simple beauty of life. They are part of this land. 

Each evening during dusk at this time in summer, several hundred bats fly over their back porch. Upon this back porch sit four reclining chairs, angled for maximum viewing pleasure. Just as the blue is bleeding from the sky, as the glimpses of a red horizon dapple through the tall pines, we take our seats. And the nightly parade begins. 

Some may fly 50 ft above the porch, but others, playing their part with the insects that might pester their faithful audience, fly just a few feet from us. Hundreds of them. Swooping and turning with the incredible precision that only bats have, we hear glimpses of their barely audible sonar targeting the hundreds of insects each bat will eat every evening. Mostly it's quiet. And mesmerizing. 

This combination of curious and captivated seems to fill a lot of how Dan and Laurie live their lives. And how this land invites us to enjoy it. 

We've also had the intense pleasure of visiting with other friends, like Scott and Joanne and Dean and their kids, doing some wake boarding and cliff jumping and rock skipping - all those great American lake pastimes. Such fun. And all of it serving to recalibrate our internal beings into being right here, right now. 

The word from the trail is fascinating - lots of fresh water, lots of hikers and wonderfully verdant landscape, due to the record snowfall last year. There's also more bears this year, more mosquitoes, and a searing average temperature. Most of our hike is above the tree line, so we'll be exposed to the hot sun for many hours every day. And picking up the packs, oh my word, I forgot how heavy they have to be for these hikes. I'm a little worried on Freya's behalf. She strong and tough and all these things... but... [gulp]... these things are heavy. 

We're off tomorrow morning. For those with Google Earth and a few minutes, our route includes Echo Lake, Sonora Pass, Tuolumne Meadows and Yosemite. We looked at the landscape on Google Earth yesterday, and we are SO excited.  I'm told there is little to no phone reception on this trail. 

The meditation / prayer that we enter this hike with has been inspired and set by this little preamble: 

May every step of the hike, every meal, and every pause for breath, be filled with the open-minded curiosity that allows us to be mesmerized by each moment. 

Freya's First VLOG

Starting to Prep for Freya's Adventure

Freya and I starting to Prep for the next big adventure. Getting excited. Important days. Less than two months before we depart.

Freya has suggested we do a vlog for our trip - mine is the only blog she's ever heard of; I guess dad might be slightly out of step with the times.

So this is my first stab at a vlog.  Its made using some video editing software app for iPhones called Videoshop.  Pretty nifty stuff (even if I exhaust all the sound effects fairly quickly). 

Hope you enjoy.

😋 

Final Leg

Crested Butte is a small town that sits within a saddle of mountains that act as a barrier to a quick drive from Denver.  Those mountains provide some great skiing, among other alpine sports, so if you're willing to travel a bit further than Aspen or Breckenridge, a hidden treat awaits you. 

Perhaps its most extraordinary feature is the Center for the Arts - a size and scope you’d expect to find in a small city.  The town had 1500 people in the 2010 census, and you could probably fit them all in its arts centre.  At a squeeze.

The design of local homes employs natural materials, like cedar and stone, with smallish yards and welcoming sidewalks, all within a short walk of its Main Street.  People amble down the streets.  As far as I can tell, it only lacks bluebirds chirping and Andy Griffiths patrolling its streets.

Above the town is the mountain, and in the summer they’ve cleverly re-jigged the slopes for mountain biking.  The downhill treks are segmented into difficulty level, from blue beginners to double-black diamonds, just like skiing.  Except with mountain biking, with its lack of soft snow landings, the double-blacks look truly insane.  So we donned our safety gear, and gave it a go.

We were both surprised how demanding a downhill bike ride can be; after each run we were feeling it all over!  But also loving it - Charlotte got better and faster with every run.

That evening, we were treated to a light show.  A huge storm rolled over the mountains, and about three in the morning we were woken by the crack of thunder.  We peered out the window, and were rewarded with nature’s own disco.  Like a massive strobe light, the lightening brightened the mountain silhouettes with eerie regularity.  Crack, boom, ahhhh.  It was easy to imagine why people once thought such storms were the product of gods fighting one another.

The next day we headed for more white water rafting, this time down the Royal Gorge.  These were more Class 4 rapids than we’d done previously, and it was such a successful trip we decided to try kayaking.  For beginners, they rent ‘duckies’ – inflatable kayaks which are easier to keep afloat than classic kayaks.  Charlotte was a natural, and ended up going for a swim even less than me!  

We both so thoroughly enjoyed the kayaking that we went back for another day of it.  Great fun.

Our final 14er would be Mount Huron.  In many ways, this would have been the easiest mountain we’d climbed.  It was a simple hike, with only 3500 feet of elevation gain, and about 5 miles to the top, on a trail that was easy to follow. After the sublime joy of the Mount Sneffels sunrise summit, Charlotte and I decided to go for another, so we started climbing early.  This time, the weather was a factor.  It was cold. 

By the time we got to the ridge of the summit, just before 6am, the winds were blowing about 50mph, with a wind chill below freezing.  We hadn’t expected this.  Charlotte didn’t even have gloves, and we both lacked the right clothing.  I gave Charlotte my gloves, and we plodded along to the summit.

The last ¼ mile probably took us 45 minutes, with each step feeling like a little achievement.  Just pressing against the wind was its own task; advancing against it cost extra.  By the time we got to the summit, we were spent.  We found a bit of rock to act as a shield, lay in each others arms for warmth, and just fell asleep.

           

I've just woken up.  Uggh..

When we woke up we’d missed the official sunrise, but didn’t care.  We scurried down the mountain, just eager to warm up.  Oddly, we both agreed later it was one of our favourite experiences, just because getting to the top had been such a challenge – perhaps the toughest one.  Rewarding, yes; sublime, no.

That was our final day in the wild, so we returned to Denver with a couple of days to explore the city.  We stayed at the 11th Avenue Hotel and Hostel, which was celebrating its 111th birthday.  This place is a bargain.  About $50/night for a clean hotel in the centre of a major city - who can complain about that?  Its only downside is communal bathrooms, but you have privacy once inside, and we spent most of the day out and about anyway.  I wish hostels were more common.

Denver has heaps to do.  We loved the 16th Street Mall - it's like an American version of Las Ramblas in Barcelona, except without all the birds.  We really enjoyed Denver - it's meant to be one of the fastest growing cities in America, and always ranks as one of the happiest places to live, and we could see why.

To keep active, we hit the batting cages where Charlotte was, you guessed it, a natural.  Within an hour she was hitting like a champ.

We watched the mighty Mets beat up on the Rockies...

Got a little playful in some shops...

And overall just enjoyed the heck out of our time there.

So that's it, round two of the Rites of Adventure were finished.  What an amazing trip.  True - it didn't go as we planned.  It was better than that.

Glorious Colorado

The Black Canyon of the Gunnison is the steepest gorge in the US, so named because the cliffs are so sheer that sunlight struggles to find its bottom (some parts get 33 minutes per day!). Other canyons in America are longer, wider and deeper, but none combine the depth, sheerness, narrowness and darkness of the Black Canyon. 

At certain points the cliff walls descend in a sheer drop for almost 3000 feet - more than double the Empire State Building. 

I've never had a problem with heights, but this was heart-stopping, vertigo inducing to peer down. My pulse was racing after this little peek away from the protective fences. 

We explored the park, and were then treated to yet another amazing sunset. 

Duly mesmerised, we camped for a night in the park, very careful not to do any sleep-walking. 

The next morning we headed off to Mesa Verde, a long 5-hour drive to Southwest Colorado, and home of the former cliff dwelling Pueblo Indians.  

I'd visited this park with my own family back in 1977, and I'm not sure if the archaeological record has created new insights, or if I just remember it poorly, but this was even cooler than I remembered. 

Firstly, there are hundreds of these dwellings, if only a few big ones, and these weren't even the biggest dwellings the Pueblos had at the time. They were an industrious tribe, with advanced agriculture, building techniques, and cities with tens of thousands of people, all in the arid desert of the American Southwest. Charlotte and I were captivated. 

After spending so many days, camping and travelling from site to site, (by the way, I've stopped mentioning all the wildlife we've seen because it's daily - we've seen over a hundred deer...!) we then headed for a little break in Durango. 

Durango is yet another charming Colorado town with heaps of character. Like the other places we've fallen in love with, they seem to have a ban on chain franchises on their Main Street. From the design of the buildings, to the privately owned shops themselves, it just feels like  you're walking through an American town from the 1950s, albeit with wifi and good coffee. 

This is consistent throughout various towns we've visited, including Silverton and Crested Butte. If they have a Walmart or McDonalds, which some do, they're not located (allowed?) in the centre of town. 

It all just reaks of a welcoming, genuine charm and style.  Obviously, the tourists coming for the mountains creates the economic platform for discerning zoning laws, so this is even possible.  But I've visited so many tourist destinations where local design is so full of plastic commercialism (Egypt, Cannes, St Tropez, Miami..., er, all of Florida, to name a few) that it spoils the experience. 

Colorado is exceptional. 

Ironically, by the time we got to Durango we felt almost 'beautied out' - theres only so much time you can spend standing agape, full of mesmerised wonder. Luckily, I knew just what we needed. They had an impressive rec centre, and Charlotte and I just love games, so we decided to spend a couple of days competing at ping pong, fusball, eight-ball, racquetball, basketball...

 

...and working out. 

For the record, Charlotte is now much better at basketball than me, but I can still lift more weight than her. 

After that little sojourn, we were ready for another fourteener. Mount Sneffels was on the cards, so we pitched camp before another glorious sunset...

...and decided to go for a sunrise summit. This would mean waking up at 2:30am, and climbing the mountain in the dark, with only our headlamps to guide us. 

This is easier said than done. At night, the limited perspective that a headlamp creates means that trails can be hard to follow, especially trails over rock, which are sometimes hard to follow in the day. 

We got lost two or three times, and although we thought we'd found the trail again, we ended up clambering up a huge 300 metre long, steep incline of loose scree, which meant that for every step forward our feet would slide back half a step. Disheartening. Not knowing whether we were on the right trail meant that I kept looking out for signs of potential Avalanche, but it never got that steep, fortunately.  It wasn't until daylight and the down-climb that we realised this part of the trail was just rough - we were in the right place, although we found a firmer route to descend. 

Fortunately, I'd got the time of sunrise wrong, so despite out wayward efforts, we still got to the saddle just before sunrise. 

So we got to sit back and enjoy Mother Nature do her thing.

Again, the photos don't do the experience justice, but here's a few anyway. 

Interesting note. For some reason, on this particular day, there was no wind in the mountains. None. So as day broke, as the light began filling out our vista with each craggily detail, as our world came into view, we were in complete, overwhelming silence. It was beyond magical. It was like watching life begin, without fanfare or distraction.  So pure and simple. 

We felt so incredibly blessed. 

Off-road Antics

Mount Yale was intense. The next day, our entire bodies seemed to lag, so we were pleased to wake up in Salida. We enjoyed perhaps the best overall breakfast, and finest omelet, I've ever had at the River's Edge restaurant. 

It was a non-hiking day, so we sauntered slowly around town, and what a treat. About half the shops in town were art 

galleries (half!) and only a few carried the  generic painting-of-mountain-scenes I expected. Most were filled with truly creative interpretations of classic western art - industrial sculptures of Dream Catchers, abstract mountains, and my favorite, sculptured busts of mystical monsters, a la The Gruffalo. 

This town had modern soul, with style, whilst keeping an authentic foot in the past with consistent, border-town architecture.  Charlotte said it looked like a movie set; I was just smitten.  If time allows, we'll be back. 

After I enjoyed a great coffee (they made my Cortado beautifully),

we had a schedule to keep, and were soon en route to the Garden of the Gods. Rarely could such a grand name live up to expectations, and my first impression was that this one fell right in the middle of hyperbole. 

The visitor center and trading post were packed to the gills like a Disney amusement park.  I hate Disney.  To share some perspective, I once took my kids to Disney Paris on the hottest, busiest day of the summer just to ensure they would inherit my disdain and never ask me to take them again. They haven't. 

So it was with deep foreboding that I began the safari-like drive around the park. 

Once again on this trip, it was Charlotte who proved to be right as the Gardens of the Gods were beautiful,

and so well spread out that the crowds failed to undermine the enjoyment of them, especially once we were out of the car and enjoying them up close and personal. 

Yes, that's Charlotte in front of the fingers, and then both of us before another. 

Our plan was to hike Mount Bietstadt the following morning, so after an hour dallying with the gods, we drove south.  To Charlotte's joy we found some dirt roads, and she got her first chance behind the wheel. 

Unfortunately, about a mile after this photo, we learned what the guidebook meant when warning, "we recommend a serious 4x4 vehicle for this road".  I gave the F150 truck we'd rented, a 2-wheel drive, every opportunity to prove the guidebook wrong, but to no avail. We had to turn around and find our next adventure, which was a pretty nice drive anyway. 

That night we stayed near Alamosa, a town whose entire purpose may be to prove that not all Colorado towns are charming. 

The next morning we visited the Great Sand Dunes. Unlike the Garden of the Gods, which is one of these geological curiosities which took millions of years to create, the Sand Dunes are a relatively modern phenomenon. 

Through a councidental combination of rock type, dominant winds, water flow and climate, the tallest Sand Dunes in America abut the Rockies. 

It's visually arresting, and really neat to experience - Charlotte and I had a fab time. 

We then headed for Handies Peak which would be our next 14er.  The summer storms found us, and the road to the trailhead was as exciting as it looks,

but by the next morning the skies had cleared.  We were soon huffing and puffing our way up our third 14er,

which was, in places, just covered with more glorious wild flowers. 

The last mile may have been the steepest yet, even a bit scary at times, but as usual, the views at the top were just amazing. 

The local red sandstone combined with the lush Colorado green,

to create a stunning vista. 

We'd started the climb quite early, so we had some time to kill, and decided to drive around some of the local roads and enjoy some views.  Little did I know we were also giving our truck the chance to redeem himself, as we soon encountered more feisty 4x4 road conditions. 

I'm pleased to share that our truck was the only non-4x4, or non-ATV for that matter, at the top of Cinnamon Pass. 

 

Some motorcyclists said they were 'stunned' to see our little F150 make it over some of the rocks we did. 

which made us proud. Until we noticed what our efforts had done to the tires. 

Whoops. 

We're now back in Gunnison, and half way through our trip. Two weeks today we'll be back in Denver, so we've about to review our plans for the rest of the trip. 

As soon as Charlotte wakes up.