The Critter Campground (Campamento Italiano) Night 4

During the trail lore of the night before, we had heard about a guy who, while camping at Italiano, had stored some food in his tent and woke up to a mouse on his chest in the middle of the night. Determined not to make the same mistake, we hung our food up in the infamous duffle bag and battled the clouds of airbourne bugs by constantly waving our hands in front of our faces. This campground was alive in every corner. Even the decomposing log we set our tent next to seemed to be crawling with spiders and ants. Our art of jumping into the tent without allowing the bugs in that we developed at Henry Coe State Park came in handy at this place.

Campamento Italiano was also the most abused campground I’ve ever seen. There were no pit toilets available and behind every tree and next to every rock were wads of toilet paper people had not bothered to pack out. This was especially disturbing to see at the river’s edge on my way to pump water. Just how many backcountry zero impact rules can you break at once? Although most people in the park drank directly from the rivers, lakes, and streams, this sight confirmed that we would continue to filter our water for the duration of the trip.

That night we met up with a German couple from Thanksgiving who had hiked up the French Valley and they strongly encouraged us to take the time to see the incredible view. We decided to get up early and day hike up the middle section of the ‘W’ and were treated to a clear, sunny morning with incredible views to the snow capped mountains and the ‘backsides’ of the Torres and Cuernos. The sun was melting portions of the hanging glaciers on and near Principal and little avalanches thundered down the valley. Matt and I played the ‘who can find the avalanche’ game whenever we heard the tremendous booming in the distance. We were able to get some snap shots of these that you can check out below.

By now, Matt’s other knee had checked out and we found ourselves with 1 good knee between the 2 of us. We headed back to camp, and while packing up our stuff, we ran into Rob and his Aussie buddy (whose name I couldn’t pronounce then, and can’t pronounce now.) We gave the same raving reviews of the day hike the German couple gave us and headed out on a warm afternoon towards the windswept rocky icons of the park – the Cuernos.

The Postcard Campground (Campamento Los Cuernos) Nights 5 & 6

Although the weather was the best we experienced while in Patagonia, the short hike between these two campgrounds took its toll on both our knees with tough climbs and descents through the ravines. The going was rocky as we traced our way along the lake’s edge, pushing our way towards the green tin roof of the refugio shining in the distance. We were both exhausted and I took a clumsy step and tumbled forward. The weight of my pack slammed my hurt knee into the rocks. This was the first time I’ve ever truly fallen while backpacking and my mind gushed with the panicked “what if” game. Relieved to find that my biggest trouble was the turtle like position I had rolled into, I cried for Matt to help me release my hip belt. Memories of our ’99 spring break getaway to Mexico and Kerry and Ted telling me that I look like a turtle when I drive, popped into my head. For the next several days, I was reminded of this fall each time I knelt down in the tent by a nasty turtle-like green and blue bruise.

By the time we reached the refugio, Matt and I were ready for a serious break. We decided to take advantage of the excellent site we were able to score and stay an extra day. While resting at the picnic table next to the tent (truly roughing it here…) we were treated to our first sighting of condors swirling around the 3 rocky Cuernos or ‘horns’ above us. Even from our vantage point, their wing span was enormous. And for another first, Matt finally decided to get in on the refugio shower thing. To celebrate (ok we didn’t celebrate that – well maybe I did) we had dinner ‘out’ at the newly constructed refugio and enjoyed dinner on a tablecloth with real napkins.

After dinner, we walked to the lake’s edge, hoping to catch a sunset. With only gray skies on the horizon, we gave up and hiked back to camp. Just before hopping into the tent, the sky began to turn incredible colors, and Matt grabbed his camera and bounded down to the lake before I knew what happened. While the sun was setting on the distant mountains, the moon was rising above the Cuernos creating one jaw-dropping Patagonian sky.

The Crowded Campground (Campamento Chileno) Night 7

Although we had half intentions of hiking out of the park this day, we were graced with a fortuitous wrong turn and found ourselves staring down at Hosteria Torres and up towards Campamento Chileno. Having already completed a good portion of the necessary climbing, we decided to carry out our mission and finish the last leg of the ‘W’ in what would be a solid 8 days.

The trail into the Ascencio River Valley and gateway to the base of the park’s namesake granite Torres clung to the side of the hill and provided views that reminded me of the High Sierra in springtime. The refugio rested next to the river and looked like a frontier outpost complete with waving flag and pack horses. The adjacent campground was a postage stamp piece of land and a parking lot of tents. We found a corner to call our own and prepared an early dinner. We had big plans for the morning.

With a 3:30 AM wakeup call, Matt and I were on the forested trail a short half hour later with headlamps… Our goal: to reach the base of the Torres by sunrise. Although it was dark, we could see the starry sky was clear and hiked onward with the Southern Cross at our backs. Our excitement began to build as dawn approached and we knew that today, our last day in the park, the weather was finally on our side.

Eventually we reached a clearing and stared in awe at the giant boulder field in our path up to the base of the 3 granite peaks. Matt and I set our knee pains aside, and began a race with the sun as we clambered up the rocks, picking our way uphill as fast as we could. When we were about half way up, light began to paint the Torres red and we tried to move even faster until we stood breathless at the sight in front of us.

That morning, we were the first people to reach the base and see the sunrise. If only all wrong turns ended in such a spectacular show! This truly was an incredible moment and will live in our memories as one of the most amazing sights we’ve seen. As our American friend Rob described the hike when we met him again on the trail, “I’ve seen national parks on 4 different continents, but this one, this one takes the cake.”

Headed Out

While in this park we met a lot of travelers who were backpacking, but not many backpackers who were traveling. Spending 8 days on the trail without rushing through to the ‘next thing’ or the ‘next place’ afforded us an opportunity to really feel and experience Torres del Paine in all her different moods… something I can only wish anyone who visits this park, or any national park for that matter, can have the chance to experience. Just don’t feel like you need to injure your knees ahead of time as an excuse to move slowly. Simply enjoying the time outside is reason enough.

The morning’s high carried us back to camp to grab our things and down the hill to catch a bus out. On the bus ride back to town, we were able to snap some photos of guanacos grazing at the side of the road (a llama relative – or at least they look like it) and a panoramic shot into the park… not bad from a moving bus on a rocky dirt road eh! Looking at it, it’s hard to believe we walked around all those peaks!

Continued in Part 3

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in November, 2003 (or thereabouts).

Nestled just below Sonora Pass on hwy 108, Kennedy Meadows pack station is the gateway to the Emigrant Wilderness, and for the adventurous, it also can serve as a launch point for Yosemite and other areas in the Sierra. As someone who grew up in a home with two paintings of Kennedy Meadows Lodge and family pictures taken around the stables, lake, and river tacked to a bulletin board, I welcomed the opportunity to go back to the place that meant “summer” for me.

My friend Kerry (from the infamous Yosemite bear episode) came down from Oregon to join us on our first ever ultra-light backpacking trip. I’m not sure that “ultra-light” truly describes our packs for the weekend, but by eating food that didn’t require heating, and sleeping in Matt’s snug little North Face Litespeed tent (Kerry chose to go tentless and sleep under the stars), we were able to shave some pounds off our packs.

I completed the seven mile trail to Kennedy Lake by horseback when I was 12, and retracing our steps up the trail brought back many memories, mostly how much easier it was by horse. For some reason we were all really sluggish on this trip despite our numerous rests for photo stops. Backpacking with two photographers provides several advantages; first and foremost is an opportunity to hang out, check out fabulous scenery, and catch our breath without admitting we’re tired.

After reaching the upper portion of the trail where it flattens out a bit, we we’re treated to an incredible spring meadow with wild iris and a view into snow covered Soda Canyon. Pictures just can’t do this view justice – it’s breathtaking and was a welcome oasis after having climbed up the steep rocky gorge. As we closed in on the lake, we were treated again to an even more incredible scene – a meandering river with luscious meadows, wildflowers, and the same snow covered bowl in the distance. Time seemed to stop as we stared – this is the stuff backcountry heaven is made of.

The next morning we decided to get closer to the lake (which turned out to be more of a wide spot in the slow moving river) and the three of us gingerly walked trying to keep our impact to a minimum. After a small stream crossing, Matt met his match – a mud hole ate his legs up to the knees. Not being able to resist the chance, Kerry and I snapped some quick pictures of his predicament between our laughing fits. Matt was not nearly as amused as we were (he laughed later), and headed back to camp to attempt drying his boots. The trip back with the wet boots meant blisters and by the time we reached the lodge we all were looking forward to putting on our Tevas.

Barefoot on the porch of the lodge, we ate our ice cream, and I began to think that my parents had probably sat on the same bench doing the same thing almost 30 years before. “It’s It” in hand, we sat in the shade and enjoyed summer in the high Sierra not quite ready to battle the drive back to the Bay.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in October, 2003 (or thereabouts).

Venturing to the Snow Mountain Wilderness is an adventure in itself. It’s one of those places in Northern California where you pause and say, “Wait, seriously, we’re still in California?”

It was a sunny spring day as we headed up I-5 north towards Williams. The fields were green, the sky was blue, and we had the windows down. Only a small section on the 360-degree horizon looked like a dark grey shadow Dr. Evil might call home – and that’s where we were looking to spend our weekend backpacking.

As we grew closer it became clear that Snow Mountain would indeed live up to its name. Swirling grey clouds and white slopes stood out in the distance. “So, uh… we’re planning to summit that today eh?”

“Hmmm…”

In the meantime we made the turnoff past Williams and were headed down some seriously fun backroads. Our little Subaru got to enjoy the glory of SUV commercials zipping around corners, over huge bumps, next to steep cliffs, and past meadows of purple wildflowers. The only traffic was the random cow that stood on our side of the fence and a few white farm pickups. Two hours of this and we’re beginning to think, “How do people get groceries around here? With an icechest?”

As we closed in on Snow Mountain we were introduced to one of the favorite pastimes in this area – dirt biking. The crowd seemed a close relative to the more familiar snowmobiling variety often seen in the habitats of Tahoe. On our way to the trailhead we passed hoards of pickups with trailers and kids that couldn’t be older than five racing in head to toe protective gear sans training wheels. When driving in this area just be aware that there are more bikes than cars and they don’t always stop at crossings. I myself had a close call with a full grown male around a hairpin turn.

You may be thinking right now, she sure is spending a lot of time on the ‘getting there’ portion of the adventure, but when the Falcon Hiking Guide spends over one full type written page on the “Finding the trailhead” section you’re bound to spend some quality time in the car trying to remember if you restarted your trip tic at the last turn in an attempt to match the written instructions.

Then we hit the snow. It started with a few inches and some slushy spots. Eventually it was eight inches deep and getting worse. The road hadn’t been plowed and the trusty Subaru was getting pissed. After a stop in a broad section of road, Matt and I considered our equipment: No snow camping gear, no snowshoes, and no shovel. We made the responsible decision to turn around and identify Plan B. There would be no summit today, and Matt’s next book had one more chapter.

Plan B introduced itself as a descriptive paragraph on the back of a map Dad ordered for us from the local Ranger Station: Deafy Glade and the Bath House Trail. It was only 20 minutes back and a good distance below the snowline. We packed up our things and headed down the two rugged miles of lush forest and flat trail to our campsite.

Maybe it was the tough work week, or maybe it was the rain, but we slept about 14 hours that night and woke up feeling like champs.

Then it started to rain. This was actually a welcome event because in our two years of backpacking together, including a full 2003 season of snow camping, we had never experienced poor weather. That’s if you don’t count the jet engine winds of our second night snow camping where we were sure our poor tent would end up down the valley with us high tailing it for the car. But just like we stuck that night out, we pulled out our rain gear and settled in for a long afternoon’s nap.

Maybe it was the tough work week, or maybe it was the rain, but we slept about 14 hours that night and woke up feeling like champs. The silence of the vacant forest, and sound of the rain gave us a chance to relax together and enjoy one of my favorite things about backpacking… doing nothing.

We did take a few walks around – down the South Fork and back – took some pictures, splashed through some puddles, and picked up trash. We picked up a lot of trash that weekend. Apparently the regular visitors to this place hadn’t heard the phrase “zero impact” and discarded all kinds of items including diapers, shot gun shells, beer cans, and toilet paper. I hate seeing other peoples’ toilet paper shoved into the nooks and crannies of the backcountry. Pack it out folks – that’s what ziplock bags are for! All told, Matt and I collected the better half of a dozen cans, 3 shot gun shells, a few plastic caps, and several pieces of knotted wire. The diaper is still there and will be in 50+ years if someone doesn’t climb down the hill to get it.

We may have been too early to summit Snow Mountain, but it was a great trip to relax and enjoy the weekend. On the way back we were treated to spectacular views of this rugged country as we drove down to spring in the Central Valley. And no trip through Williams around noon would be complete without sandwiches at Granzellas, a family tradition I was happy to introduce Matt to for about the 4th time. He grinned at me as I saved the second half of my sandwich for lunch the next day. I would have driven here for the sandwich alone.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in May, 2003 (or thereabouts).

As I wiped the tears of pain from under my sunglasses with a dusty and now muddy hand, I tried to retain some thread of the ‘tough mountain chick’ status Matt had jokingly given to me earlier. Too late. Sobs started to bubble from within and I was just too exhausted to care. No trail had ever brought me to tears before and my thoughts turned to the park ranger’s comment, “People don’t train in Coe Park for the Sierra, they train in the Sierra for Coe Park.” At that moment the High Sierra seemed a cakewalk compared to Coe.

This was our second trip to Coe and our first overnight trip without snow for the 2003 season. It had been two years since our first visit and that was barely enough time to forget the unbelievably steep trails and intense wilderness experience that lives just down the street from the Bay Area. I’m sure you’re thinking, “…And they went there on purpose?… Twice?!” But that’s the thing – these same steep canyons that brought me to the brink are a challenge full of rewards that make the temporary misery worth it and provide an excellent spring training ground and kickoff destination for a season of backpacking.

Early spring is by far the best time to visit. We spent Memorial Day weekend of 2001 trekking through the area and it was fairly dry and very warm. This time we went in late March and were treated to an amazing array of emerald green hillsides with blazing poppies and other wildflowers. Our destination was Los Cruzeros camp, a small campground with roughly three sites 5.8 miles and all downhill from the park headquarters.

On our way we spent a mile in “The Narrows”, the aptly named canyon where the East Fork of Coyote Creek meanders its way over giant boulders and loose rocks. Although the map doesn’t show a trail here, it is possible to pick your way up creek, just prepare for the trip. After being warned of multiple creek crossings, I chose to put my boots in my pack and wear my Tevas. Had I to do this again, I would have kept my Gortex boots on. By the time we reached camp, my ankles were weak and wobbly numbers from supporting the awkward positions it took to scramble over the rocks with a full pack on my back.

I think my very favorite part about Henry Coe is the abundance of life. Between our two trips we’ve seen wild turkeys, a dead boar crawling with an entomologist’s gold mine, snakes, fish, a turtle, and all the regular players, including every kind of bug one could imagine. This is definitely a location where you’ll master the art (if you haven’t already) of jumping into and zipping up the tent in Olympic record time. There are also a ton of different types of plants, grasses, and trees providing homes for all of these creatures. It’s fascinating to just pause and pay attention to all of the things moving around you.

People don’t train in Coe Park for the Sierra, they train in the Sierra for Coe Park.

Our campsite was next to the creek on a grassy flat and, up to this point, is my favorite place to stay in the park. There was shade to nap in, flat places to cook, rocks for sitting on, deep pools to wade in and our neighbors were reasonably removed allowing the sounds of the creek to fill the background noise. Although the days were warm, the nights were perfect and an especially welcome change from the snow camping we did all winter. Between the ‘walk’ in the narrows, the warmer temperature, and the crickets, we slept really well that night.

Since our destination was “all downhill from the park headquarters”, this meant the trip back was predominately, well, uphill. In an attempt to tame the climb, we chose a route back that would keep us mainly on dirt roads with the thought that these would be gentle enough to at least accommodate a vehicle… a Hummer perhaps. The fire roads literally went straight up a hillside and tested the joints in our feet and the fit in our boots. The angle between my shin and toes was reduced to pie sliver, and my wobbly ankles from the day before screamed in indignation. Once we conquered a hillside and celebrated by enjoying the view from the shade of an Oak or Ponderosa Pine, we pushed on only to find the road take a nose dive straight down a distance equal to what we had climbed and rise again even higher. Who knew land this rugged could be so close to home?!

Between the spring sun and a trail that paralleled the Dow Jones average over the course of a century, I unknowingly was sending my body on a crash course. I drank constantly from my Camelback, but it wasn’t enough. The water felt like it was souring my stomach and I took my time between sips. Between switchbacks I would pause, face downhill to rest my ankles, and charge ahead swinging my arms in exaggerated arcs in an effort to coax my feet to take another step. If only I were a puppet and they were all attached… My head started to pound and tears were welling up. I knew exactly what I had done to myself – dehydration started to take over and all I wanted was some Gatorade, juice, or anything else besides warm filtered creek water. I was sure if I kept drinking that I would be sick and lose any valuable fluid I still had left.

At the top of the last major hill, I motioned to Matt that I needed to sit and rest and we crashed under a giant oak. I tried to catch my breath and wipe the dirty tears from my hand onto my shorts without appearing too woozy to the passing day hikers. Seriously, Half Dome was easier. After we were able to rest a bit and I drank some more, we started paying attention to the tree we were sitting under. Hundreds of acorns filled the gaps between the tree bark and looked as if they had grown on the tree that way. A squirrel had made cubby holes of the trunk and branches to store its food as if the tree was a giant pantry. Check out the pictures of this tree below.

By the time we reached the Park Headquarters, I was done. I pounded some juice and slept the entire way home. The following days I was sick. Really sick. Without enough fluids, my digestive system started to shut down and I couldn’t process any of the water that I needed so desperately. Lesson learned. Keep drinking no matter what, and bring flavored mixers if the water isn’t too tasty.

Despite the roughness of this trip, I imagine we’ll keep returning to Coe. Its ruggedness is addicting and I can’t imagine a place so full of life with spring. It just makes you want to be and stay outside.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in May, 2003 (or thereabouts).

“This is right now. This is right NOW!” This thought kept repeating itself as I stared with tear filled eyes the size of tennis balls down at Matt. He was balanced on one knee in the middle of a rocky dirt road that clung to a cliff above the Santa Barbara Channel. The last 12 hours suddenly made sense.

The idea of backpacking in the Channel Islands was born while driving up to ski on the dawn of a February morning. Memorial Day weekend finally came and we drove all night to southern California to board a boat in Ventura accompanied by 60 teenage Boy Scouts. Amidst the mayhem, Matt and I found an unoccupied piece of standing space at the fore of the boat and faced the salty morning air ready for our big island backpacking adventure. I glanced back at the dock and had a fleeting thought as we pulled away from the security of the pilings. “Whatever happened to the stove fuel?” It would seem that the red MSR canister had been separated from our other belongings as requested by the crew, and placed on the dock instead of the appropriate metal bin. Matt’s facial expression will forever be imprinted in my memory.

On our way across the Channel we passed a humpback whale (my first sighting) and watched Santa Cruz Island appear in the distance just as the California coastline disappeared. Much to our relief and entertainment, the circus of Boy Scouts and their brave adult counterparts would be calling Scorpion Bay home for the next few days – we were going to Prisoner’s Harbor. For forty-five minutes, we watched the endless line of people unload a ridiculous quantity and variety of equipment from the hull of the boat including full sized cots, giant Rubbermaid bins, and loose Coleman sleeping bags. Perfectly equipped for the one-mile walk into the campground. Way to introduce the boys to real camping, scout leaders!

Happy to be leaving the action behind, (and to see that none of our equipment was mistakenly unloaded) we took the boat out of the bay and headed north along the island’s coastline. On the way we joined a school of dolphins near Coche Point in the midst of their morning swim. I had never seen dolphins in the wild and was thoroughly entertained with how they played in the water, riding the compression wave created by our vessel. I tried to take pictures, but nearly every shot features the remnants of a splash and the horizon of a gray sky against a gray bay. But there would be another opportunity to take pictures near this Point.

Just before we docked, the park ranger on board, who distinctly resembled Ned Flanders, told of the trail options leading to the Del Norte campsite. The first option was the dirt road that wound it’s way to our destination. The second option was the Del Norte trail that had not yet been cleared for the season and was overgrown, and very difficult to navigate. Ranger Ned clearly identified the road as the best way to get to camp… (“oakily doakily” I thought) and warned us of the wild pigs on the island that we might encounter in overgrown areas like the trail. However, during lunch, and a good mile into the road, Matt studied the map and persuaded me that the more adventurous route should be our choice. I resisted, but after my sandwich, saw the funny gleam in his eye. He REALLY wanted to take the trail and he was by definition our most experienced navigator.

Funny thing about the Channel Islands… everyone starts at the same place – on the beach. If you want to go anywhere, you go up – straight up. And if you choose the Del Norte trail as we did, you go straight up, then straight down, straight up, and then straight down, and then, yes – straight up once more. We climbed in and out of drainages, through fennel covered trails, and nearly lost our way at least once. Everywhere we looked we saw signs of these mysterious wild pigs. The fennel and brush were completely plowed down in areas and their dung was… everywhere. But there were no pigs. There was an eerie Lord of the Flies vibe about this place. You could feel them, just not see them. I half expected a surprised pig to jump out and start chasing us. After all, what the hell were we doing on his trail anyway?

By the time we crawled into camp, we were tired. Our 1 AM start that morning from San Francisco, and our trek on the ‘adventurous’ route had left us exhausted. I should also mention that on the Channel Islands, you’re responsible for packing all of your water. This added the ingredient of very heavy packs to the mix. The second couple on the boat had apparently abided by Ranger Ned’s suggestion and had taken the only nice campsite in the place under an oak tree. We wandered around until choosing a location to stomp down the grasses and fennel making room for our tent and a well-deserved nap. Our only wake-up call would be to take pictures when the light was just right.

Just before the light turned amber, Matt and I started to walk back towards the cliffs. He had bought a new camera and was always wanting to play when given the chance. I kept asking if he was satisfied with the view and he hesitated, said no, and we kept walking further from camp. We walked until we overlooked the area with the dolphins earlier from the day – Coche Point.

While Matt was taking pictures and trying different techniques with adjusting the tripod, I wandered, taking snapshots of my own, and sat down in the gravel road to enjoy the view. Matt periodically asks my opinion in photography matters, so when he asked me to check out his composition, I didn’t think twice and peered through the camera. A gorgeous sunset painted on the rocks framed with a sparkling bay below. I heard Matt ask me to give him a hand (yes he actually said that) and when I looked down to tell him I thought everything looked great, our lives changed.

On his knee, in the middle of a road scattered with sharp gravel, above the Santa Barbara Channel, with amber light all around, Matt held the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. This was right now. He was asking me to marry him.

The next few moments are a blur, but I know there was a wild, “YES!”, tears, and a giant hug. We were getting married! The stove fuel mishap, the funny look in his eye about the trail, the ‘picture taking episode’, it all connected.

We walked on a path of clouds back to camp where we told our neighbors about our engagement and had them take our picture. As the sun dipped away and the stars came out, we sat and ate our engagement dinner – a half eaten sandwich, Power Bars, and a bottle of champagne Matt had so thoughtfully added to his lightweight pack. (He had also packed 2 collapsible backcountry champagne flutes that will be making an appearance during our wedding.) That evening as we lay on our bed of flattened grasses, the pigs decided to show us just whose territory we had invaded. They snorted and ran by our tent – still invisible, but most certainly present. We snickered. Nothing says romance like pig snorts in the dark.

And nothing says commitment like an 11-mile hike up and over the crest of Santa Cruz Island. Our packs were heavy, but my steps felt light that morning. All of the times I had resisted thinking about what it would be like to plan a wedding with Matt came crashing down. I let the brain candy of thoughts weave through my mind and asked him questions on things I had always wanted to ask. Was it now ok to tell him how I wanted to marry him only 3 weeks after dating? Hmm… maybe I’ll give it a few days yet. First we’ve got to get to Scorpion Bay, and I don’t need him second-guessing his decision to ask.

The hike to the other end of the island was beautiful and tough. Along the top of the ridgeline, through wispy fog, we were sometimes treated to views of both the Pacific Ocean and the Santa Barbara Channel. It felt as if we were walking across the back of a giant sea creature suspended in time. The highlight film from the weekend would have included us making a wrong turn near lunch and correcting our path by crawling under a barbed wire fence. (Matt shimmying on his tummy in the grass was priceless.) And our long walk home through the Mars-like red dirt and rock on the backside of the Montanon ridge looked like a scene out of a bad science fiction movie. We were exhausted and out of water by the time we reached Scorpion Bay.

After an endless supply of power bars and an 11-mile hike, I was determined to eat a hot meal that night and decided to make friends with a neighboring church group. I made a 7pm appointment for stove time with Dave (our neighbor) and we scarfed down 5 servings of Mountain House lasagna without chewing. Part of winning Dave over was mentioning our engagement and he made the first official announcement about our future marriage out loud to his fellow campers. My tummy was full and I was a beaming bride-to-be; sticky cheese fingers and all.

That night we slept under a grove of Eucalyptus trees (minus the pig lullabies) and had a restful morning waiting for our boat back to the mainland. Alone together on an island for three days meant we had a big secret to share on our way home, and upon arriving back to the mainland we pulled out our cell phones and started sharing our story.

Read Matt’s version of this story.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in May, 2003 (or thereabouts).

This is where it all began. Up until April 2001, Matt and I spent our first four months of dating, sharing stories, and professing our love of the outdoors and spending time outside. Yet we had not actually gone anywhere together in a place requiring hiking boots. Our first adventure led us on a 3-day weekend excursion to Marin County’s Point Reyes. Only 45 minutes from San Francisco, this National Park gem is right in our own backyard. We made reservations two months in advance (this is a very popular local site on the Northern California Coast) and began the process of planning our first trip together.

This is when I discovered Matt is a map dork. A navigation, compass hungry, triangulation wiz, map dork. It’s an endearing trait that keeps him entertained, and us from getting lost – generally considered a Martha Stewart “Good Thing” of back country housekeeping. We picked up the first of many to follow Tom Harrison maps and planned our route, meals, and packing list. Packing for this trip was a showdown to see what actually hid in our individual mountain toy chests as we compared our equipment, deciding who’s stove was better, who’s tent to take, and who’s cook kit weighed less. Our secrets revealed, we planned our itinerary and prayed for good weather.

It was pouring Friday morning. Not just a drop here and there, but the kind of rain I’ve only seen in California that drenches in blinding sheets of solid wetness – this is a lot coming from someone born and raised in the Northwest. Oh, and there was lighting too. Matt and I laughed uncontrollably as we picnicked in the safety of my Civic in the Rouge et Noir Cheese Factory’s parking lot, munching on sandwiches and my new love, breakfast cheese. We each looked at each other with testing glances to see if the other would cave in – neither of us wanted to show the other even of hint of weakness. Game on.

By the time we arrived at the trailhead and got our packs on, the sun burst through and birds started to sing. Once we arrived at the beach, I realized what all the fuss was about. Point Reyes is a stunning, sparkling, haven on the Pacific Coast. The sand was warm, the water 50 shades of green and blue, and the arcing beaches of Drakes Bay stretched out as if to throw it’s arms out and say, “Ta-Da!”

Our first night was spent at Coast Camp, a walk-in campground with grass, waist high shrubs, and a giant oak just off the beach. We were by no means roughing it. At Site 5, a picnic table, food storage locker, and grill – yes a BARBEQUE greeted us. The only thing missing was a cooler of beer! Perhaps the roughest thing about this place was avoiding the aroma of the ripe crew at the group campground on our way to the water faucet and pit toilet. All the while, Matt and I were talking about how this would be a great destination for first time packers due it’s proximity to the trailhead, amenities, and reward of destination. After a dinner of freeze dried Mexican chicken and rice in tortillas, we took a romantic stroll on the beach at twilight, and we’re lulled to sleep with the sound of waves crashing in the background, that, and Matt’s snoring.

Bagels for breakfast, and a broken camp, Matt and I headed south along the beach towards our next destination: Sky Camp. Sky Camp is actually almost directly above Coast Camp by about 1000 ft. on the side of Mt. Wittenberg. But to only hike 4 miles in one day seemed like cheating. Wanting more of an excursion, and to look like a badass in front of the other, we hiked along the beach, then a bluff above the rocks with dried grasses, California Poppies, Ice plant, and poison oak lingering by our feet. I should mention here that Marin County is chock full of poison oak. Dress accordingly and be mindful of where you’re stepping and resting your hands for balance.

We were able to piece together a nearly 8 mile hike by taking the Coast Trail south until it met the Sky Trail and followed it up the hill. This provided us with glittering views of the entire bay and even the Farallon Islands out in the distance. These islands are about 25 miles offshore from Point Reyes and consist of three groups of mountain peaks governed by the Point Reyes Bird Observatory where research on wildlife including Great White Sharks is conducted.

Sky Camp greeted us with the same luxuries as its brother down below and gorgeous, panoramic views. Although there was running water, Matt and I were sure we had heard somewhere it would be a good idea to filter our while at this site. Looking back now, there was probably no need, but it did provide us a chance to feel tough and test out our new Pur Hiker water filter. We dined on Mountain House Lasagna (by far, still our favorite freeze dried meal) and Matt taught me how to play cribbage as we sat at our picnic table enjoying the sunset. Because Sky Camp is fairly exposed on the side of the hill, it tends to cool down and get damp with fog very quickly. I get chilled easily and wished I had had a thicker hat and an extra layer. Next time.

Sunday morning we hiked out through the portion of the park burned in the 1995 Mt. Vision fire. This is an eerie zone where 90% of the Bishop pine forest was destroyed and ghostly silhouettes stand stark against a friendly blue sky. It was early in the season and the trail had not yet been cleared, so we took our time picking through the overgrown bushes and vines of wildflowers. By the time we got to the car, any concerns we had about the other’s true love for the outdoors had been erased.

We drove towards our well deserved burritos with no music and sat in silence, content, and happy with the world.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in April, 2001 (or thereabouts).