Point Reyes is one of our favorite places to escape our work schedules and enjoy some time together. The days leading into this weekend away were especially hectic for both of us, and we took advantage of the time to relax and check out from our wired worlds.

We started our trip at the Point Reyes Youth Hostel and hiked along the Laguna Trail to the shores of the Pacific Ocean. Coast Camp, the home of our very first night in the backcountry together in 2001, was bustling with young families and giggling toddlers playing hide and seek. This camp seems ideal for introducing kids to backpacking since it’s a short walk with no elevation gain and right on the beach – perfect for sand castles and treasure hunts. We continued on the Coast Trail all the way to Arch Rock and then down the Bear Valley Trail. We were trying to maximize the length our hike to prepare for some upcoming trips.

Since we know Point Reyes well, we also wanted to explore some new trails. We tried Baldy trail for the first (and likely last) time as a route up to camp. It was completely overgrown with weeds, but we managed to whack our way through on up the side of Mt. Wittenberg to Sky Camp. Then we crashed. Matt and I hardly uttered ten words that afternoon between our nap schedules. We woke up for dinner just in time to enjoy a beautiful sunset and watch the fog slowly climb uphill.

The fog stayed overnight and provided a cool and quiet companion for our walk home Sunday morning. Along the way we stumbled on a grove of trees loaded with snoozing caterpillars in their cocoons. A closer look revealed thousands and thousands of these cocoons lined up in rows on the tree branches. Apparently we weren’t the only ones looking to Point Reyes for some down time and a little beauty rest.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in August, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Selecting a secluded backpacking destination for a popular 3-day weekend can be a challenge. Sometimes you discover the rare gem, and other times, you uncover why no one has ever heard of the place.

Memorial Day weekends are especially challenging for the Bay Area hiker. It’s too early for the high country and too hot for the low lands. The Redwoods are like Goldilocks’ perfect bowl of porridge: shady and cool, just right. Humboldt Redwoods State Park in particular looked to be one of our least crowded options.

The park ranger seemed confused with our intent. “Backpacking eh?” This was a car camper’s park, and it was noticeably her first time attempting the paper work for trail camp permits. When we inquired about water sources she said, “I think there’s water near Whiskey Flat…” Wait. You think there’s water or there is water? This isn’t exactly a casual piece of information for overnight travelers. We decided to take our chances, grabbed the permit, and hoisted our packs.

Our first night on the trail was spent amidst a grove of old growth redwood trees. They towered over the Whiskey Flat trail camp and filtered most of the sunlight so only a few green rays were available to life on the ground. These trees were thousands of years old and had been collecting a soft bed of debris at their trunks for, well, thousands of years. It turned out to be one of the best napping spots ever, and we enjoyed a quiet afternoon and evening together in the woods.

It’s a good thing we slept as well as we did that first night, because that was the last of the cushy trails and pleasant evenings for this trip. The next day we muscled up a poorly graded fire road over 3000ft to the top of Grasshopper Peak. We spent the afternoon exploring the fire lookout and checking out the view before setting up camp a few hundred feet downhill at the second trail camp.

The Redwoods are like Goldilocks’ perfect bowl of porridge: shady and cool, just right.

Grasshopper trail camp is on a windy ridgeline with few flat spots big enough for a tent. We discovered that our beloved Tarptent—while a joy to carry at only 2lbs.—it is not the shelter of choice on an exposed, windy ridge. Matt and I squeezed our heads together at the back of the tent to accommodate the slope of the site and our shelter’s limited aerodynamics. Dawn did not come soon enough considering our arrangement, the bitter cold, and the roar of nylon flapping in our faces.

I’d like to think it was the lack of sleep that led to the following morning’s navigation mishap. We packed up and sauntered down the trail a good mile or so before realizing we had taken the wrong trail out of camp. Luckily, we recognized the trail features didn’t match our map and did a 180 back uphill to our starting point. A further review revealed how close we’d flirted with disaster. Seven miles downhill the trail was closed. We would have had to walk back uphill for a fourteen mile day only to find ourselves at the same trophy campsite for an extra night out and a packet of ramen for dinner.

The trip back to the car was safe and uneventful. We imagined out loud where the day could have gone over pints of Racer 5 and burgers at the Bear Republic Brew Pub in Healdsburg. Although the trip probably wouldn’t make it in our Top 10, we really enjoyed Whiskey Flat and the training prepared us for trips later in the year.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in May, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Even the famed roosters of Key West sounded hung over that Sunday morning. It had only been a few hours since the last of the Spring Breakers had passed out, and we were waiting dockside to board a catamaran by the name of “Fastcat” with our camping gear in tow. I was feeling anything but fast myself and the busted-down rooster cries were an aching reminder of the previous night’s sunset booze cruise.

Many months prior to this day, my friend Sandi invited me to be in her destination wedding. Florida is not a place many Californians travel to for the hell of it. If we want warm beaches and a tropical getaway, we book non-stop flights to Hawaii or Mexico. If we’re willing to connect four flights from two different airlines, we’re either A) going somewhere they don’t fly the American flag, or B) planning to see someone who means the world to us. Matt and I both knew this could be our first and last time in the Keys and we wanted to seize the long weekend for all it was worth. I packed a bridesmaid dress, a curling iron, and a Therm-A-Rest. In addition to attending a wedding that would have made Martha Stewart jealous, we were going to bag a night on our own “private” key in Dry Tortugas National Park.

Judging from the number of green faces bolting to the back of the boat during our two hour ride, I think it’s safe to say we were all happy to see the outline of Fort Jefferson and leave the choppy, open water behind. Garden Key is planted near the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico and once served as a strategic military post to protect the Mississippi River trade routes. Fort Jefferson is a pre-Civil War era fort; a brick monolith that comprises 80% of the island complete with a real moat. During our campers’ orientation with Susan, the Ironman trainee come park volunteer, we learned all about the island’s history, how to have a low-impact stay, and what to do if unexpected company arrived in the middle of the night…as in a boatload of Cubans.

Susan went on to explain that nearly 1000 Cuban citizens make the risky 90 mile trip across the Florida Channel to land on this particular U.S. island each year. Their small boats, called “Chugs,” are crafted in secret using found materials and use low power engines that make a “chug, chug, chug” noise – hence the name. Current US policy gives Cubans rights that other immigrants are denied. If they are intercepted in water, they are sent back like folks from other countries. But, if they make it to land, they get to stay. Matt and I wandered over later in the day to check out a row of beached Chugs left behind by recent arrivals. It was a humbling moment. Each boat represented a life changing story for a group of people willing to die for a piece of our everyday American life. We quietly admired the ingenuity employed to build them and I imagined the determination these people must have had to brave the journey. It was a startling reminder of how much I take my extra ordinary life for granted.

If we were superheroes, being prepared would be our special power and checklists would be our weapon of choice.

The day-trippers returned to their boats around 2pm, and we shared the entire island with eight or so other sunburned campers and a few park volunteers. Life felt pretty far from ordinary. White sandy beaches were ours to enjoy and Matt managed to convince me that swimming in open water was not nearly as scary as I thought it was. In fact, it was downright enjoyable. We dried off, took the twenty minute walk around the moat wall and decided to check out the fort. Along the self guided tour we noticed the strong resemblance it has to Fort Point in San Francisco, especially the arching, brick corridors. Feeding our brains was hard work and we promptly spent the rest of the day together doing absolutely nothing. When we got around to setting up camp, we learned a few important lessons.

Matt and I are known in our circle of friends and family for our superior planning skills. If we were superheroes, being prepared would be our special power and checklists would be our weapon of choice. However, I’m starting to think that overnight trips involving chartered boats are our kryptonite. The stove was left on the dock for the Channel Islands adventure and our tent pole was conveniently left in our apartment’s gear closet for this trip. After spending a few minutes pondering “What would MacGyver do?” we fashioned a few stuff sacks around the tripod and discovered a new way to put up the tent. We also discovered that shopping for food while drunk the night before is a bad idea. At least we brought enough water. Surviving on hotdogs and off-brand energy bars really wasn’t so awful. Especially since we only paid $6 for our beachside campsite with an uninterrupted view of the Gulf of Mexico.

The following morning I took a walk around the island and found a quiet beach near the chugs facing east. It was nesting season and neighboring Bush Key was filled with Sooty Terns. Their calls carried across the short channel and their numbers blotted the light with thousands of inky squiggles. I closed my eyes, but the light’s intensity was no match for my eyelids. I could still see the warm colors of the morning moving in thick swirls – like gold stirred with a spoon. I planted my feet in the sand, calmed my breath and raised my arms to salute the sun. I’ve only been practicing yoga for a few months and this was the first time I tried it outside. It turned out to be the perfect way to say hello to a beautiful morning and good-bye to this amazing area.

Connecting with a place during an overnight camping trip is a challenge weekend-warriors are constantly facing. Turns out, our little mistakes, new experiences, and quiet moments helped make our memories of the Dry Tortugas last well past the trip home.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in March, 2007 (or thereabouts).

Most of our trip reports are written weeks, even (gulp) months after the fact. Not this one. I’m sitting in Yosemite’s Camp Curry dining room on December 29th, 2006 having just finished a medium sized Hawaiian pizza all by myself. Hush, if you slept outside in the low 20’s, attended a private yoga class, and burned straight uphill in today’s off-trail “adventure” hike, you’d want your own too.

It’s the week between Christmas and New Years and my wonderful husband is holding down the San Francisco fort without me. He had to work, I didn’t. I could have stayed home. I chose instead to contact Heather and Eliza of Wild Women Workshops and set up a custom individual retreat, complete with yoga classes, creative writing instruction, and hiking in Yosemite Valley. Honestly, this maybe the best thing I’ve ever done for myself, ever.

With 2007 less than a week away and the end of my third decade only two months out, I wanted some time to reflect and learn some new tools that would help me with my 2007 New Year’s resolutions:

• Become a calmer, more peaceful self.
• Be more present in my day to day life and relationships.
• Unleash the creative being I feel brewing within, and let ‘er rip.

I’ve camped in our trusty tent by myself for the past three nights, through a soaking storm and winter temperatures. Fortunately, I packed a ridiculous amount of toasty bedding and have gotten much better at controlling my imagination each time I hear a strange sound. Did I forget to latch the bear bin? Did I leave any food in the Subaru? Will the garlic smell on my fingers attract a furry bed buddy? Thankfully the answer has been “no” each time – hopefully tonight will be no different.

There were a few hitches. The cold rendered the butane stove worthless and the traditional camp stove is spurting white gas from two locations – not good. It might be missing an o-ring, I suspect it’s really just user error. Mental note: practice lighting the stove by myself even if Matt offers to cook. Good thing hot food and a community microwave are available just a half mile from camp. I also forgot deodorant and sunscreen. Not a biggie, I’m just a pink faced smelly stranger to most folks. My newly made friends, three year old Gio and five year old Reese, don’t seem to mind.

The mystery of Downward Dog was unveiled and I quickly realized I am not flexible – at all
Wednesday was my first yoga class, ever. At least I know how to breathe. Wait, even that was hard to follow. “How is she making that noise with her just her nostrils???” Fortunately, Heather and Eliza are exceptionally patient teachers and offered lots of smiles and encouragement over the past several days. This is definitely something I will continue when I get home. After each session I felt well cared for and connected to myself – these feelings are addicting and I can hardly wait to take advantage of the yoga classes and new mat I received for Christmas. Thanks Mary and Grant!

Heather also helped me become comfortable sharing my writing by offering a sincere and attentive ear. She provided writing “starts” we would both work on individually and then read out loud and discuss together. The imagination is a fun and thoughtful source of entertainment. Our writing settings also couldn’t have been more inspiring: fireside during a snow storm, and rocky perches above sunny Yosemite Valley. This was really good stuff.

During the “off hours” I’ve been practicing my photography. The beauty of still and frozen Yosemite has provided endless material to work with. But it hasn’t been easy. My biggest challenge in this Ansel Adam’s world has been to find ways to take the famous subject matter and make it my own: new compositions, secondary views, varying the depth of field. I think my favorites will be those made while turning my back to the crowds with their long lenses and tripods, to seek the Robert Frost “Road Less Traveled” type of photo. And this might sound crazy, but I’ve felt Ruth Bernhard’s presence with me on this trip. She passed away last week at 101, and was a legendary photographer who taught her students to really “see” nature in all of its infinite detail and wonder. I’ve thought of her when observing ice crystals on granite and melting drops of water on the pine needles. She would have enjoyed this place. Maybe she has been with me.

It’s 10pm and I’m going to be shooed out of the warmth in moments. It’s a balmy 28 degrees outside and I’m exhausted from this week’s adventures. One more night in the cold, one more day until I give my husband a giant hug and tell him how much I love him and appreciate his support of this amazing experience. Peace to all and a very Happy New Year!

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in December, 2006 (or thereabouts).