PRITCHARD LIFE

Back to Natales

As our bus pulled into Puerto Natales, we made the easy decision to spend a couple of bucks on a nicer hotel. Nothing against Hospedaje Laury, but when you’ve only had one shower in eight days, a private bathroom is a nice touch. We found Aqua Terra Lodge. It might not be the most authentic place in Puerto Natales, but we can both attest to the fact that it is one of the most comfortable. We only had one evening in town, so we had our work cut out for us. After acquiring bus tickets to El Calafate for the next morning, we dropped our laundry off at Servilaundry, got some cash, did our grocery shopping, and looked for a place to eat dinner.

After wandering around aimlessly for a half hour, we finally settled on a tiny restaurant on a side street – Mom and Pop kinda place. We were the only people in there and the husband and wife that ran the place didn’t speak a lick of English. No problem, Jody ordered the spaghetti, I ordered the steak, and we also asked for an appetizer that we thought was going to be some type of sausage. Five minutes later, we see a plate full of odd-looking shellfish arrive at our table. Neither Jody nor I are big fans of seafood, especially shellfish, especially very weird looking shellfish. Ummm, we can do this. Afraid that we would deeply offend this nice couple if we didn’t eat our food, we both choked down one of the little suckers, trying our best to repress our gag reflexes. This just wasn’t going to happen. I’m ashamed to admit that it was my idea, but it seemed genius at the time. “Hey Jody, spoon a bunch of these things into that bag they gave us at the drugstore.” Jody stared at me liked I was high, but eventually when the coast was clear, she shoveled half of the plate of what we had concluded were “clams” into the bag, and stuffed it in her pocket. We suffered through the rest of dinner, anxious to know whether they were on to us. We couldn’t get out of there soon enough – Jody with a bag full of juicy shellfish sitting in her warm jacket. We left as soon as we could and decided that from now on, the litmus test for any bad meal is whether it is just “bad” or “clams in the pocket bad”.

Argentina, Ho

Reveling in our cultural ignorance, we settled down for the night and rested well in our comfy bed at Aqua Terra. Early to rise, we jumped on the bus for El Calafate and made our way to a new town, and a new country for that matter. The trip was uneventful, save for Jody misplacing her Chilean tourist visa. El Calafate was a bit unexpected. It’s a relatively small town in the middle of nowhere. With easy access to Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, it has become some type of nouveau-swank mountain town. There is a bit of Bodie, CA mixed with a bit of Whistler/Aspen/insert mountain resort town here. We had a tough time finding a place to stay, but eventually we stumbled onto Hospedaje Sir Thomas. Only a couple of blocks from the main drag in town, Sir Thomas is a very clean and comfortable hospedaje that is run by a charming, young couple.

…from now on, the litmus test for any bad meal is whether it is just bad or clams in the pocket bad.

Over the next two days, we did enough eating and shopping to last an entire trip. I like to call our time in El Calafate the “Gastronomical Safari.” We ate at three fantastic restaurants for dinner and each night we felt like the bar had been raised a little bit higher. On our first night we tried Mi Viejo. This is a classic steakhouse, featuring excellent beef and lamb, along with seafood and pasta dishes. They also have a decent selection of Argentine wines and a good dessert menu. The following night, we upped the ante and ate down the street at Casimiro. A bit more refined than Mi Viejo, Casimiro is another excellent steakhouse with a very impressive wine list and impeccable service. The starters we had would have made an ample meal, and the grilled vegetables were excellent as well. The only bad thing we can say about Casimiro was that our Chocolate Soufflé was a bit overdone. But if you’re at the end of the earth and you’ve just enjoyed one of the best meals of your life, and you even consider complaining about the preparation of your chocolate soufflé, you deserve a good ass-kicking. After Casimiro, we really thought it would be tough to find a better meal in a town of this size. But low and behold, on our way back through El Calafate to Puerto Natales, we enjoyed probably the best meal that either of us can remember. We stopped in at Sancho. Again, beef is the specialty in this area and we didn’t want to offend. The steak I ate was a no-B.S. 2.5″ thick, butterflied down the center, stuffed with bacon, and covered with a gruyere cheese sauce. It was cooked to perfection. Jody ordered the Filet Mignon with peppercorn sauce and they brought out a plate with 2 filets. It really did border on the obscene. The starters, the wine, the dessert – it was all unbelievable. All three of these dinners were about the same price and included wine, steaks, sides, and dessert and each of them barely went over $50 US, including a very generous tip.

While in El Calafate, we signed up for a one-day bus tour out to the Perito Moreno glacier, in the southern portion of PN Los Glaciares. The Perito Moreno glacier is thought to be the only advancing glacier in the world – 30 km long by 4 km wide and 60-80 meters tall at its face on Lago Argentino. When a snowflake falls on this glacier, it takes 300 years before it is churned out on the other side. It is truly a magnificent sight. The tour included every single view of the glacier that you can imagine. We also decided to pay the extra few bucks to take a boat ride past the face of the glacier. I don’t know that the boat ride really gets you a much better view, but cruising past a 240 foot wall of ice, and watching chunks calve off into Lago Argentino while sipping on bad Scotch poured over glacial ice, is a pleasantly surreal experience.

BFE, Argentina

The next day we headed to El Chalten. We were both ready to get back onto the trail and El Chalten is the launching point for treks into the Fitz Roy area of PN Los Glaciares. The ride to this dusty outpost is quite an experience. It’s dirt roads the whole way – dusty, bumpy, dirt roads. I swear our driver was on a mission to set some sort of record as he launched over berms and fishtailed the bus around corners. Five hours later we pulled into El Chalten. We couldn’t decide if this was a very small town or a very large trailhead. We had an informative and stern talking to by a friendly ranger named Alejandro at the entrance to town. He advised us about the layout of the park and the need to stay on trail and pack out every bit of waste. It was a good talk – something I wish they did here at US National Parks. After our talk, the bus dropped us off at the far northern end of town – near the trailheads to Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy. We were surprised to see that only one other couple hit the trail right away. Everyone else checked into a hotel or hostel.

Our first destination in the park was the D’Agostini campsite, near the base of Cerro Torre. Torre is one of the most famous mountains in the world, especially within mountaineering circles. Infamous may be a better way to describe this daunting giant. Imagine a granite spire with routes as difficult as El Capitan, dropped in the middle of one of the harshest climates on earth. It wasn’t climbed until 1970, and only then amid divisive controversy over the means used to do so. The hike to D’Agostini was pleasant. The climbing was front-loaded and the weather was nice. At our first stop along the way, we ran into two guys doing a little day hiking to break up their bike tour. One of them had ridden his bike from Santiago (about 1200 miles away) – quite a distance, no? Actually, compared to his partner, this guy was a lightweight. The Japanese man he was riding with had started his trip in Alaska! He had been riding for 2 straight years! Holy shit, indeed! We were humbled. After chatting for a bit, we got moving, and watched as the clouds closed in over Cerro Torre and our soon-to-be camp. We spent almost 24 hours camped below Cerro Torre and never got a glimpse of its famous profile – it was shrouded in thick clouds the entire time. We weren’t surprised. Climbers ambitious enough to attempt Torre show up with months of provisions, ready to wait out the storms; hoping for just a few days of stable weather.

Five hours later we pulled into El Chalten. We couldn’t decide if this was a very small town or a very large trailhead.

The next day we kept moving on to Campamento Poincenot. Before entering the park, we had planned to hike back to El Chalten before moving over to Poincenot. Most of our guidebooks and maps indicated that the trail linking D’Agostini to Poincenot was closed. During our orientation by Ranger Alejandro, he assured us that the trail (officially called Sendero Laguna Madre e Hija) was open – and had been open for 7 years. This was great news but once again called into question the accuracy of our guidebooks. Along the trail we ran into a group that spoke English and were advised for the second time to do the hike up to Laguna de los Tres from Poincenot. We continued along the steep trail and crested at a lush area near beautiful meadows and countless butterflies. Before long, we were hiking along the southern edge of Lagunas Madre and Hija. These picturesque lakes really begged for some exploration. But the winds made us feel like we were hiking in the jet stream, so we continued on to Poincenot.

Campamento Poincenot lies at the foot of another giant – the namesake of this sector of the park: Cerro Fitz Roy. Fitz Roy is the tallest mountain in the park, topping out at 3405 meters. Like Cerro Torre, Fitz Roy is a distinguished mountain with a summit that is among the most coveted in the world by serious mountaineers. Originally named Chalten (Telhueche for “smoking mountain”), it was renamed Fitz Roy by Charles Darwin. Darwin is thought to be among the first Europeans to ever see the mountain and Fitz Roy was the captain of Darwin’s ship – the Beagle. Fitz Roy was first climbed in 1952 by a French expedition led by Lionell Terray, of Annapurna fame. Terray had this to say about Fitz Roy and its surrounding peaks – “When in the peace and warmth of my home I let my spirit wander, recalling so many images and adventures, the peaks of Patagonia seem to my mind so unreal, so fabulously slender, that they seem to belong to some crazy dream.”

Continued in Part 4

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

Despite our relocation, the weather hadn’t budged. The majority of the Fitz Roy massif was still hiding deep in the clouds above. There is a certain feeling that comes from camping below such a massive mountain. It is a humble feeling. A feeling that you are truly in the shadow of a giant. We decided to stay put for a couple of days, hoping that we might catch a glimpse of Fitz Roy if the weather broke. That break came at 7 AM the next morning and lasted only an hour. We slept right through it and only heard about our misfortune from our neighbors that had been up early to do the hike to Laguna de los Tres. We decided to spend the day kicking around camp and waiting for another break in the weather. By 3 PM, the sky was still dark gray and we decided that it was now or never. We threw together our day packs and headed out across the Rio Blanco to Laguna de los Tres. At least the difficultly of the trail didn’t come as a surprise. We could see it from our camp, carving a scar straight up the hillside below Fitz Roy. The hike was tough and snow was beginning to fall, but our packs were light and we made pretty good time. Laguna de los Tres was more like Ice Cube de los Tres. It was totally frozen over and we still had no view of Fitz Roy. We decided to descend the moraine to the edge of the lake and hike around the side. What we found was quite a treat. We had an amazing view of Glaciar Sucia and Lago Sucia directly below us. These two had been hidden to us until now. The color of Lago Sucia was hard to believe. We took several pictures before deciding it was time to descend. During the hike back down, the snow started to fall even harder and we got back to camp just in time.

One More Sunrise

We planned to hike out to El Chalten the next day, so our last chance for a view and pictures of Fitz Roy was the next morning. Up at 4:30, I left Jody in the tent and made my way in the bitter cold to a clearing where I was able to frame the morning light against the clouds lifting from Fitz Roy. Finally – it’s about damn time! Four days of waiting to take these pictures and after shooting my first roll, what do I do? I have the mother of all brain-farts and open the back of my camera before rewinding the film. Doh! Through some act of Divine intervention, I only ruined three frames.

The hike back to El Chalten was pleasant, with a nice side trip to Laguna Capri. This area would make a great campsite for a future trip. We descended into town and setup camp at the free Madsen campground. After ditching our packs, we made the walk into town for some food and some beers. At one point, we were looking to burn some time and the weather turned on us. We found ourselves in a little bakery where we were able to buy a bag full of delicious pastries and a couple of Cokes for about $2. The gastronomical safari continues! After a big pizza dinner, we crawled into our tent and got some much needed rest.

Our Last Night in the Tent

At some point during the night, it began to rainhard. Sheets of rain, driving wind, all of that good stuff. Our bus was rolling out of town at 6:30 AM, so when our alarm went off at 5:30, we knew we had our work cut out for us. I have to say that I was pretty damn impressed with our skills. We were able to get dressed, pack our packs and then take down the tent from the inside out, all in about 30 minutes. Taking down the tent from the inside out allowed us to keep the fly up while we packed the rest of the tent. At the last minute, we took down the fly and hit the road. It worked like a charm and we stayed relatively dry considering the torrent outside. Another dusty ride back to El Calafate passed and we checked back into Hospedaje Sir Thomas. All of the Christmas gifts we had bought for family and friends on the first swing through town were waiting for us. We were able to enjoy another day of shopping and the incredible dinner at Sancho that I mentioned above. Of course we also had a few more ice cream cones and some random chocolate treats to get our fill before heading back to Chile the next day.

The day we left San Francisco, we had a general idea of where we wanted to go, but no set itinerary. As the trip went on, our plan became more well defined and we had laid out the rest of our days in a very clear order. From El Calafate, we did a marathon bus trip back to Punta Arenas, with a 1 hour stop in Puerto Natales. It was a boring day, with few highlights, but it got us back into Punta Arenas with enough time to schedule a trip to the penguin colony the next day. Arriving in town without a hotel reservation made our first hour kind of interesting. The first place we tried had only a mediocre room with two beds and the price changed depending on who we talked to – it seemed a bit shifty to us. We kept looking and before long found ourselves at the Hotel Mercurio – the same place we had spent our first night. They only had a room for one night and we would need two, so we kept looking and soon realized that we might be camping with the dogs in the town square if we didn’t find something soon. Eventually we realized that we would have to move hotels after the first night.

Penguins, Penguins, Everywhere

Our trip to Isla Magdalena didn’t leave until 4 PM the next day, so we had most of the day to wander about in Punta Arenas and continue our Christmas shopping spree. That afternoon, we made our way over to the dock where our boat picked us up for the trip. It was exciting to be taking a trip on the Straights of Magellan – as far as famous waterways goes, this one is up there. To one side, we could see the South American mainland and to the other was Tierra del Fuego, the island that represents the terminus of the continent, with Cape Horn at its end. The massive ship we were on eased its way toward Isla Magdalena at glacial speed. With giant sea birds circling overhead in the overcast sky, the midnight black water had an ominous look to it.

Before we got to the island, I wasn’t really sure what we were in for. When you have a chance to see penguins in their natural environment, you go see penguins. It beats the hell out of the zoo. Several options for touring penguin colonies existed and the boat trip to Isla Magdellena seemed like the best option, not to mention quite a bit more interesting than another bus ride. Isla Magdellena is actually a national preserve and is managed by park rangers. All of that being said, I didn’t know if we were going to spend our hour on the island searching high and low for the 3 or 4 penguins that decided to show up this year. Our first view of the beach put any such concerns to an end. There were hundreds of penguins on the beach alone. As we began to hike along the trail, we soon realized that there were probably tens of thousands of penguins on this one island. These Magellenic Penguins are on the smaller side, at 16 – 18″ tall. Their visit to Isla Magdellena is part of their natural migration pattern. It is primarily a breeding ground for them. The entire island was covered with thousands of “nests” that were essentially holes burrowed into the hillside. Every nest had a curious penguin or two that would poke its head out to see what all the fuss was about. It was an interesting time to be there because we really saw the entire spectrum of their mating process. From the loud, honking mating calls, to mating pairs that already had one or two chicks in their nest, we really saw a bit of everything.

Goodbye Patagona, Hello Santiago

The next day, we sadly brought the Patagonian portion of our trip to a close and boarded a plane bound for Santiago. We had one night and all of the following day to explore Santiago, before our red-eye flight back to Miami. The friendly, but drunk, gentleman on the plane from Punta Arenas gave us some tips on where to eat and what to do while we were in Santiago. We stayed at a nice hotel (Hotel Eurotel) in the Providencia area of town. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves in the thoroughly “gringofied” section of town where the dining and partying options looked like something you might find in Orlando. Much too hungry to care, we settled on a place for dinner and washed down our food with about 5 Pisco Sours each. We stumbled back to the hotel that night and found that 10 AM came way too fast. After checking out and leaving our bags with the bell hop, we set out to do more shopping of course. When we finally decided that we really couldn’t haul any more loot home, we stopped by the tourist information office and asked what we should do for our last 4 hours in Santiago. We were directed to the large municipal park in the city center (think Central Park or Golden Gate Park). The park was a great way to spend a warm, sunny day. We bought a ticket for the Funicular and took a ride up the mountain where we gained a great view of the entire city. From the Funicular, we continued our tour of odd transportation systems and jumped aboard the sky tram that whizzed us across the park, 80 feet above the ground. We got off halfway to have some ice cream before proceeding to the end of the line. By now, we were only a few blocks from our hotel and we grabbed dinner on our walk back.

Going Back to Cali

The flights back home were pretty uneventful, but they sure were comfortable. We had empty flights the whole way and scored an exit row for the Santiago to Miami leg of the trip. Back on US soil – almost. There was a bit of a hangup coming through customs when they tried to figure out why a shoe box covered in duct tape with a rope handle strapped to it weighed about 15 pounds. Because we had 13 jars of El Calafate berry jam inside, of course. That box full of jam had traveled halfway around the world to serve as stocking stuffers for our family and we weren’t going to leave it behind. The agricultural inspector eventually gave it a thumbs up and taped the box closed with some “USDA INSPECTED” tape. We thought it was a nice touch.

One last flight and we were back in San Francisco. It brought to a close an incredible trip – one that was far beyond any expectations we had. We both had an amazing time and think that a return trip is inevitable. Few places in the world have such a raw, but beautiful setting. The trip was also full of firsts and personal records for us. Among other things, it was the longest backpacking trip we’ve done, the first international backpacking trip we’ve done, the first South American trip we’ve done, the first ice bergs we’ve seen, the first Condors we’ve seen, the longest distance we’ve ever hiked at once, the best steak we’ve ever had, the first wild penguins we’ve ever seen, and far and away the craziest weather we have ever experienced. Patagonia is a place that burns its image in your memory, and we know our trip will not soon be forgotten.

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

It was a long weekend. Tough, awesome, and long. I was determined to get one of the mountains on my California 14er challenge out of the way this year. Other trips and conflicting schedules pushed our window of opportunity out to mid-October. By any measure, White Mountain is the easiest 14,000′ mountain in the state to climb. Using the word climb is a misnomer. Gaining the summit of White Mountain requires no more technical skills than one would need during a day hike at the local state park. In its defense, it is 14 miles round trip and tops out well above 14,000′. So it may be a day hike, but it is certainly not your average day hike.

White Mountain is not only of interest to hikers and climbers, but to scientists as well. The University of California manages several facilities on White Mountain for use in high altitude research, including a small lab on the summit. Because of this lab, there is a rocky, dirt road that winds its was all the way up the mountain. This makes route finding idiot-proof. The hike generally takes a direct route to the summit, with the most noticeable elevation gain occurring during the final 2 miles, in series of seemingly endless switchbacks. Considering the height of its trailhead, White Mountain sees more than its fair share of climbers with AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness, aka Altitude Sickness). In less than 35 miles, visitors are whisked up from the Owens Valley (elevation 4,000′) to the Barcroft Gate trailhead at nearly 12,000′. Since we were going to try this in one whirlwind weekend, we wanted to make good use of our time.

Jody and I left San Francisco on Friday evening with a stockpile of gear and food and headed out to Eileen’s house in the Valley. We got to bed relatively early and were out the door before 7:00 on Saturday morning. From Eileen’s, we headed to Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite for a day of playing up high. We didn’t do much – just hiked around a bit and generally enjoyed a relaxing day in a nearly empty park. More importantly, we were trying to squeeze as much acclimatization in as possible. Early in the afternoon, we got back in the car and went over Tioga Pass and then headed south to Big Pine. From there we picked up 168 and started going up. The last 17 miles of road to the trailhead are all dirt and all very rough. We heeded the numerous warnings about this road and took it very slow, not wanting to repeat the flat tire episode from our Trinity Alps trip.

We arrived at the trailhead relatively unscathed and setup camp while we still had available light. We saw a couple of orphaned climbers who were left behind to suffer in their AMS-induced stupor as the rest of their party did the climb. Moaning, vomiting, and staring off into space didn’t look like much fun to us, so we agreed to keep ourselves on close watch the next day as we made our own attempt. We had friendly neighbors at the trailhead camp and traded chocolate for tacos as the light grew dim and the wind picked up. It was a pretty cold night and a bit restless as well.

We rolled out of bed and broke down camp at 5:00 AM. On the trail by 5:30, we hiked the first few miles in the dark, with just a bit of moonlight to illuminate the road. After two miles, we reached the Barcroft Lab and both felt good enough to keep going. A few steep switchbacks led us up to the observatory just as the sun was rising; offering up some of the most surreal light I’ve ever seen. We took a few pictures and kept moving. We trudged along at a slow, but steady pace, forcing ourselves to eat and drink as often as we could. Despite the thin air, we both felt pretty good.

From the observatory, the road descended and cut a long, but direct, route across the arid landscape; up to a plateau near the 13,000′ mark. At this point, the wind was blowing hard, but the summit was in plain view. Another unfortunate descent took us to the base of the switchbacks where we began the long, arduous task of trudging up the rocky road. As we climbed up, everything seemed to slow down. Not only did our pace slow down, but everything around us had a slightly dull quality. I’m sure it was just a bit of hypoxia, but it was kind of a cool feeling.

About a half mile from the top, with the summit hut in plain view, I looked up to see a pack of Bighorn Sheep cruising down a rocky ridgeline a few hundred feet away. Just a few minutes later, we came across a lone ram, intently checking us out and walking within 50 feet of us. We were totally amazed. That was by far the coolest wildlife sighting we’ve ever had. A bit stupefied by what we just saw, we kept moving and reached the summit a few minutes later. It was 10 AM and we had been hiking for four and a half hours. To our surprise, we were the first to sign the summit log that day. A few minutes after we arrived, one of our neighbors from the trailhead camp cruised to the top – he had done the hike in only 3 hours. After taking some pictures and eating a bit of food, we took one last look at the amazing view of the Sierra crest and began our hike down.

The descent was pretty uneventful – just a long slog back to the car. It never did warm up much – I kept my jacket and hat on all day. I would not want to do this hike on a warm day. There isn’t an ounce of shade on the entire route. It was a windy, chilly day for us, and that was just perfect. During the hike down we got a better look at the landscape. The high desert environment of White Mountain is beautiful in a harsh, caustic sort of way. There is very little plant life to speak of and only a few animals here and there. The scenery has a lunar quality to it.

We arrived at the car in the early afternoon and got going as soon as we could. The nasty dirt road was just as nasty on the way out. We took our time again and suffered no casualties. From Bishop, we had another 6 – 7 hours of driving ahead of us, the only highlight of which was a great dinner at the Whoa Nelly Deli in Lee Vining. Back to San Francisco just after midnight, we brought to a close a very exciting and very tiring weekend.

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

In February of 2002, I suffered an unfortunate accident while skiing at Alta, Utah. Actually, “skiing” might not be the right word – walking on the deck of the lodge would be more accurate. I slipped on ice, I fell hard, I dislocated my kneecap (sublexed my patella). What it lacked in glory, it made up for in monumental pain. It brought my ski season to a screeching halt. While no surgery was required, my sofa-bound approach to rehab left me with a seriously weakened right leg and head start on a sedentary lifestyle. After four months of doing nothing, I decided that if I didn’t start building my legs back up soon, next year’s ski season was in peril too.

In June, I pulled out my dusty steed and began by doing a short, 8-mile ride through Golden Gate Park three times a week. It felt great to be active again, but after a couple of months, I decided that my training needed some direction. I signed up for a three month stint with Carmichael Training Systems. While I wasn’t always impressed with the attention given by my coach, I did like the program she setup for me. For the rest of the fall, I was riding longer distances and getting out 4 times per week. By the time the ski season rolled around, my knee was still not 100%, but it was good enough to enjoy 12 days on the mountain.

My goal to start riding again in April came and went and it was June by the time I started a new program with CTS. This time I decided that I needed a more concrete goal. Getting in shape and strengthening my leg is a fine goal, but it’s a bit nebulous and not easily defined. I decided that I would try to complete a century ride by the end of the season. It was a big goal for me – much farther than I had ever ridden before. But I knew plenty of people that had done them and I like the non-competitive nature of these rides. I worked with a new coach at CTS this year and was very happy with the attention and dedication they had to my program. All of my questions were answered and they really tried to fit a program around my goal. Choosing a ride was difficult. It needed to be late in the season to allow for ample training time and I really wanted something in Northern California. After talking my friend Shannon into joining me, we decided on the Tahoe Sierra Century.

The Ride

To be honest, the ride intimidated us a little bit. After putting in 1,300 training miles over the summer, the distance wasn’t really the problem. It was the amount of climbing that had both Shannon and I worried. 5,500 feet of climbing was spread out over 4 major climbs. And the entire route was above 6,000 feet. We both tried to include as much climbing as possible into our training regimen, which helped enormously.

Shannon, Jody, and I drove up to Truckee the night before the race. Work schedules and last minute details en route had us checking into the Holiday Inn Express at about midnight. This wasn’t an ideal bedtime the night before a big ride. 5:30 A.M. came very soon and we stumbled through the motions of getting ready. The start time for the ride was listed as 7:00 to 8:00 A.M. Knowing that we had a big day ahead of us, Shannon and I wanted to get on the course as early as possible. We were among the first to arrive at the start area at Squaw Valley. It was still dark outside. After checking in and receiving our shwag bags, we grabbed our bikes and started to get ready. The guy next to us in the parking lot, a Chicago transplant named Don, was a first timer as well.

At 7:15, Shannon, Don, and I set off into the bitter cold to get this thing underway. The first section of the ride took us out to Highway 89 and south through the Truckee River Canyon toward Lake Tahoe. The sun was still hiding behind the steep walls of the canyon and the bitter morning air brought with it numb fingers and lethargic legs. The sight of Lake Tahoe was welcome, as it meant that we were out of the dark and could finally start warming up. The route veered east around the north shore of the lake and within a few miles, we were already at the Carnelian Bay rest stop. We were all very impressed with the spread of fruit, baked good, and assorted drinks that were available to us. After quickly fueling up, we got back on our bikes and headed off towards the first big climb of the day.

According to local lore, Greg Lemond holds the record for this climb at 14.5 minutes. Our time was somewhere north of that.

When we reached Kings Beach, the route headed north on Highway 267, towards Brockway Summit. The first climb of the day came and went without much fanfare. It was tough, but totally doable. Sometime during the climb, our new friend Don decided we were slowpokes and he sped off in the distance. Despite Don’s desertion, finishing this ride was beginning to look like a more of a reality. A long, fast descent down the backside of Brockway took us past Northstar and into Truckee. We skirted around the perimeter of the city and headed into the hills north of town. We took our time at the second rest stop, knowing that the toughest climb of the day was on the horizon. Again, we were greeted with smiling faces and a well stocked rest area. This was a great ride

The second climb of the day was absolutely punishing. From the second rest stop, we headed back towards Tahoe Donner and began a step ascent up Alder Creek Road. The suffering took a turn for the worse as we merged onto Ski Slope Way and got our asses thoroughly kicked by an obnoxiously steep residential street that just kept going. After some heaving and whimpering, we topped out at 7,350′. We were toast and were only forty-something miles into the ride. A mercifully long descent led us through Truckee and around Donner Lake to the third rest stop of the day.

About this time, Shannon and I realized that we were definitely bringing up the rear of the pack. That was OK by us, but we decided to get a move on to the lunch stop before too long. The 3-mile climb up Donner Pass road was tough. The sun was high in the sky and the grade didn’t relent. Switchback after switchback led us up what was arguably the most scenic, but also one of the toughest sections of the ride. According to local lore, Greg Lemond holds the record for this climb at 14.5 minutes. Our time was somewhere north of that. After cresting Donner Pass, we began the 12 mile descent past Sugar Bowl and Soda Springs. Roughly following Interstate 80, we made our way down Donner Pass road to the turnaround at Cisco Grove and the nearby lunch stop. The 14 year old girl fixing sandwiches at the lunch stop looked a me sideways when I asked for a peanut butter and cheese sandwich, but she made it for me nonetheless.

Shannon and I muscled down our lunch and reluctantly headed back onto the course. We had an easy, but long 12 mile climb ahead of us before we were in the home stretch. My body was beginning to feel the effects of the ride and soon my back started cramping really bad. I couldn’t take deep breaths without the muscles in my upper-mid back spasming, squeezing the breath out of me in a cruel cycle of suffering. I thank Shannon for her patience on this portion of the ride as we inched our way back up Donner Pass, leapfrogging another pair of riders that were also having a tough go of it. By the time we reached the top of the pass, we were among the last 25 riders still on the course. Thankfully, we only had 20 miles to go and it was all pretty easy.

A fast descent back to the Donner Lake rest area and a quick refueling got us back on the course without much delay. The final 15 miles of the course was like a race to get it over with. Riding through Truckee and back down Highway 89, we kept an average speed somewhere around 17 MPH, despite the slight incline. We just wanted to be done. Soon enough, we found ourselves turning right onto the Squaw Valley access road for the final 2 miles of the day. We rolled in nice and easy and smiled from ear to ear as we finished our first century. But wait! We were done with the ride, but my bike computer was only registering 99.8 miles! There is no chance I’m going to do a century and not see that third digit on my bike computer turn over. A quick lap around the parking lot solved that problem and we headed to the van for some well deserved rest. Total ride time – 7 hours, 45 minutes. Total time on the course – a skoach over 10 hours. Umm, we took a lot of breaks.

A pile of pasta, a few slices of pizza, and good beer brought some life back into my body. Both Shannon and I were very impressed with the overall quality of the ride. It was well organized, well supported, and the route was absolutely beautiful. It probably wasn’t the best choice for our first century, given the challenges of the route, but that made finishing it that much sweeter. Time to start training for next year.

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

Labor Day weekend. The symbolic end of summer. The last three day weekend to get outside and enjoy the summertime sun. For us, it was an opportunity to explore new terrain and tune up in preparation for our Patagonia trip. The Trinity Alps was our destination and we were excited to see something new. Located in between Interstate 5 and Highway 101, northwest of Redding, the Trinity Alps Wilderness is a rugged, beautiful, and less crowded alternative to the Sierra. Our plan was a 3 day, 2 night romp through the Caribou Basin area.

Looking to avoid holiday traffic and trailhead crowds, we opted for an alpine start to our weekend, leaving San Francisco at 2 AM on Saturday morning. With minimal traffic, we reached Redding in a little over 3 hours. After filling up on $2/gal ARCO gas (love it), we headed west on 299 and made it through Weaverville just as the sun was rising. Another 40 miles north on Highway 4, put us at the Coffee Creek ranger station where we picked up a Wilderness Permit. The trailhead is only about 20 miles from the ranger station on Coffee Creek road, but 15 of those 20 miles are unpaved and a bit rowdy in a little Subaru.

There were a lot of cars at the trailhead and we encountered several groups along the trail to Caribou Lake. The route to Caribou Lake has two versions – the shorter, steeper Old Caribou Trail, or the longer, flatter New Caribou Trail. After driving all night we opted for the New Caribou Trail, which still had plenty of climbing to keep it interesting. The trail was long and a bit rugged in spots, but after 5 hours of hiking we saw the dark, blue waters of Caribou Lake below us. Of the three lakes in the area (Caribou, Lower Caribou, and Snowslide), Snowslide Lake is the first one you reach. Tired and thirsty, we dropped our packs at the first site we came to and decided it would be just fine for the evening. After pumping some water and setting up camp, we actually realized that we had scored a great site. It was large, shady, near the water (but not too close), and had a great big granite slab that we could use to cook and spread out our gear.

The rest of the day was spent taking naps, taking pictures, and tending to blistered feet. A delicious chicken fajita dinner and excellent lakeside views made the decision to stay put a simple one. Originally, we had entertained the idea of hiking over Caribou Mountain and off-trail to Little Caribou Lake. But we were quite happy right where we were and neither of us fancied the idea of doing a hard hike the next day. Instead we got some rest and spent Sunday exploring the area. We hiked up to Caribou Lake and spent the day swimming and relaxing in the sun. The area around Caribou Lake proper is beautiful, with small waterfalls and “gardens” and incredible views of Sawtooth Ridge.

Another relaxing night gave way to an early morning departure back to the trailhead. Our goal to put the worst of the climbing behind us before the sun beat down paid off, and we made good time back to the car. We reached the car a little bit before noon and headed back towards Redding. About two or three miles down the dirt road from the trailhead, the left rear tire on the Subaru decided to go flat. We still had about 10-12 miles of dirt road and 80+ miles to Redding. After swapping out the tire for a donut-sized spare, we gingerly eased down the road and made it to Redding at 4:30. It was 107 degrees. Finding a place to buy tires in Redding at 4:30 on Labor Day can be quite a challenge. Les Scwabb was closed. Costco was closed. The good people at Kragen’s offered us a bit of advice – Wal*Mart. Now, I basically hate Wal*Mart and everything that they stand for, but I was pretty damn excited to see the greasy faces at the Express Lube and Tire center that day. The abhorrent business and labor practices of Wal*Mart came through in a pinch. While the tires were being installed, we found a Red Robin and asked the hostess to seat us as far from everyone else as possible, lest we offend them with our surly odor. After 2 hours (about an hour longer than you ever want to spend in Redding on an August afternoon), we had full stomachs and a pair of the finest Goodyears that Sam Walton had in stock. A friend later told me, “Anytime you get to hike 20 miles, sleep outside, and deal with Redding locals all in one weekend, I think adventure goes without saying.” I would have to agree.

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

I love DEET. It took a weekend trip to the Sabrina Basin for me to realize this point. After receiving an undisputed ass whoopin’ at the hand of 5 billion hungry mosquitoes, I began to embrace the miracle that is N,N-diethyl-m toluamide, in all of its stinky, nasty, plastic-melting, carcinogenic splendor and glory. During our trip over the July 4th weekend, we also learned a critical lesson in the use of DEET-based insect repellants. For the repellent to work effectively, you must bring enough to last the entire weekend. It is a simple, but important bit o’ wisdom that eluded us during our preparation for the trip. Half of a bottle seemed like it would be fine. We were wrong. A point made abundantly clear to us by the swarms that awaited our arrival.

So far, I’m making this trip sound much worse than it actually was. Itching and scratching aside, we actually had a great time. Our original plan was to arrive at the Sabrina Lake trailhead early, after driving through the night and picking up our permit in Bishop. Once on the trail, we were going to hike up to Blue Lake and spend the first night there. The next day, we would proceed to Hungry Packer Lake and set up camp before exploring the area and possibly hiking up to Echo Lake. On Sunday, we would hike out to the car and head home.

We left San Francisco at midnight on Thursday night. In an odd twist on the norm, Matt did most of the driving, and we made it over Tioga Pass and through Lee Vining just as the sun was painting the sky brilliant shades of deep blue and orange. Expecting high temps and a lot of people, we wasted no time getting to the trailhead and heading out. The elevation of the Sabrina Lake trailhead is 9,000 feet, so you find out very fast if you are in shape or not. We took it slow and found the hike to Blue Lake to be a bit shorter than we had originally thought. The distance indicated on the map was 4.6 miles, but I have a tough time believing that it was much more than 3.5.

After arriving at the lake, we promptly lost the trail and made a sketchy downclimb and stream crossing to get us headed back in the right direction. We were thankful to find a nice campsite amongst the granite boulders that surrounded the western shore of the lake. It was barely 11AM when we arrived, so after setting up camp and scouting out our surroundings, we settled down for a well-deserved nap. Two hours and twenty degrees later, we woke up sweaty and groggy. I was determined to cool off and Blue Lake was looking very inviting. Taking a look at the snow capped peaks that surrounded us, Jody concluded that I was nuts and she decided to watch from shore as I made my bid for membership to the High Sierra Chapter of the Polar Bear Club. It probably took me 10 minutes to get myself all the way into the water. I don’t know what the temperature of the lake was, but I’ve been in Tahoe quite a bit and it felt about 10 degrees colder than that. There’s something a bit surreal about dancing on the fringes of hypothermia when it’s 80 degrees outside. I made a quick lap out to the island in the middle of the lake and headed back to shore before I froze solid.

Fisticuffs nearly ensued during a pre-dinner nap when a curious squirrel tagged Jody on the head to see if she wanted to play. Jody was less than amused. As it was the 4th of July, we had a special dinner of Hotdogs and Potato Salad. We ate a couple of candy bars for desert and spent the rest of the evening taking pictures of the lake and mountains around us. As the light faded, we came under heavy attack from the mosquitoes and were eaten alive by the little bastards. We were using the bug spray sparingly because we realized that our 6 oz bottle of Cutter Backwoods wasn’t going to last the entire weekend. We would be lucky if it made it through the next morning. That night we made the decision to head out a day early and spend our extra day exploring Mono Lake or the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest.

There’s something a bit surreal about dancing on the fringes of hypothermia when it’s 80 degrees outside.

The next morning we packed up camp and made our way down to the car. The heat was getting to us and we took our time hiking down. Once in Bishop, we stopped for lunch at a BBQ place and decided to check out Galen Rowell’s Mountain Light Gallery, which was right across the street. I knew his gallery was in Bishop and I had always wanted to check it out. It looked like our decision to bail was going to have some upside after all. The gallery was incredible and we probably spent an hour and a half taking it all in. As someone who is just beginning to get into nature photography, it was a special treat to view so much of his work up close. I have been reading a few of his books and some of his archived columns on the Outdoor Photographer website. I really appreciate his approach to photography which combines a strong scientific understanding of light and the natural world with the vision of an artist.

After the gallery, we paid a visit to the White Mountain Ranger Station and came to the conclusion that it was going to be too hot and crowded to enjoy the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. Before leaving Bishop we made one last stop at Vons to buy the biggest can of DEET we could find. Muskol 40 % DEET bug spray – it’s a beautiful (and totally disgusting) thing. We got back in the car and headed north to Lee Vining and the Tioga Gas Mart. This is one of the weirdest places I’ve ever been. Aside from being a very large gas station with a sizeable store inside, it has to be the only gas station in the High Sierra with a trapeze on the front lawn. And while all of that is well and good, the truly magnificent part of the Tioga Gas Mart is Tioga Toomey’s Whoa Nellie Deli. For the uninitiated, this is the single greatest gas station restaurant in the U.S. Having toured this great land by converted school bus just a few years ago, I can make this statement with the confidence of a person that has eaten more than his fair share of gas station meals. This was our second time visiting and we were totally impressed once again. How many gas stations serve Grilled Salmon Salad and Herb Crusted Pork Tenderloin? Not many! If you are ever driving through Lee Vining and are hungry for a great meal, do not pass this place up. If you are driving through Lee Vining and aren’t hungry, stop anyway and sit there until the faintest notion of hunger crosses your mind. It is located on highway 120 West, at the intersection with Highway 395.

With full stomachs and a few hours to kill before picture taking time at Mono Lake, we headed over to June Lake for a little R&R. After we cooled down and knocked the dust off with a good swim, we got back in the car and began looking for an alternate approach to the South Tufa area of Mono Lake. A ranger at the Mono Basin Ranger Station had suggested a different route that would give us a good view of the largest tufa formations without the crowds that can be found at the designated South Tufa viewing area. We found the dirt road the ranger was talking about and promptly put Jody’s off road driving skills to the test as we turned off down one of the side roads that leads directly to the lake’s edge. Ignoring the warning signs that clearly indicated loose sand, we continued down the road until we realized that dodging sage brush and fish-tailing through sand berms was a bit more than the Subaru was built for. On the way back we came very close to being stuck several times as we spun our way through some very deep sand. I kept telling Jody she was doing great with the driving and she kept pretending to believe me. I was absolutely convinced that we were going to have to be pulled out by a truck. But as a testament to her driving skills and my bullshit skills, we made our way back out to the main road without serious incident.

A few miles down the road, we found a good spot to stop and spent the better part of an hour taking pictures of the tufa formations as the sun set behind us. It was dark by the time we left the lake and we had no idea if our “secret” campsite near Crooked Meadow would be available. We found this campsite a year earlier when our spur of the moment Labor Day plans landed us at Mono Lake without campground reservations. It has a long and dusty approach, but the upside is huge. The Subaru redeemed itself along the bumpy, dirt roads leading to the campsite and we were happy to find that we had the place to ourselves. A good night’s sleep refreshed us and breakfast at Tioga Toomey’s put a smile on our face before a long drive home. It was not the trip we planned, but it was definitely one worth remembering.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in July, 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).