With as much traveling as we do, I think we still take for granted what a remarkable place we live. With the Pacific Coast in our front yard and the great Sierra Nevada out back, our local choices are almost embarrassing in their breadth and beauty. But like everyone else, the demands of work and life relegate most of our travels to weekend warrior status. We’ve developed keen systems for packing our gear, schlepping it to the car, and escaping from the city without hitting traffic. Not to brag, but we can pull together a Yosemite camping trip in under an hour. Our highly tuned sense of “Let’s get the fuck outta here” has led us down some interesting roads and trails.

In 2007, we planned four weekend trips to Yosemite, each one focused around a different day hike. In the end, two trips got cancelled due to life, but the others satisfied our craving for big granite and blue skies.

Four Mile Trail, Panorama Trail, John Muir Trail

The Four Mile Trail is a Yosemite Valley classic. From the valley floor, it climbs 3,000 vertical feet in just over four miles to Glacier Point, the classic overlook along the south rim of the valley. With a free shuttle and large visitor center at Glacier Point, the Four Mile Trail sees a fair amount of traffic. Most people opt to hike down the trail which is easier on the lungs, but far worse on the knees in my opinion.

We used the Four Mile Trail as a starting point for a half-loop of the valley. After the long, slow grind up to Glacier Point, we took the requisite ice cream break at the visitor center and continued along the Panorama Trail, skirting along the south rim of the Yosemite Valley. Views of Half Dome filled the skyline, and a few well-placed stream crossings afforded us the chance to dunk our hats and fill our water bottles. The trail eventually descended to Vernal Falls, where we met up with the JMT and the haggard hoards descending the last few miles from Half Dome. Weighing in at 13 miles with plenty of climbing, our little hike wasn’t easy, but it’s nothing compared to the slogfest that is a Half Dome day hike. Unlike those poor folks, we were fortunate enough to feel the rejuvenating powers of a mid-hike Hagen Dazs break. Every hike should taste so sweet.

Our highly tuned sense of ‘Let’s get the fuck outta here’ has led us down some interesting roads and trails.

Mono Pass & Parker Pass

Time and again, the high country of Yosemite is our venue of choice for quick weekend getaways. It’s not a short drive (about 10 hours round trip), but we can always find a campsite, and hiking choices abound. Last year, we were cheated out of our plans to hike to Mono Pass and Parker Pass. The reason why escapes me now, but it was near the top of our list in 2007.

After employing our patented alpine start, we reached Tuolumne Meadows in the early morning and grabbed a nice campsite. Saturday was spent resting at our site and touring a few of our favorite spots near Mono Lake. We grabbed dinner at the Whoa Nelli Deli and went to bed on the early side.

We got an early start on Sunday to avoid any late afternoon thunderstorms. From the Mono Pass trailhead, the trail passes through Dana Meadows before starting a slow climb through a wide valley. Flanked on either side by Mount Gibbs and the mountains of the Kuna Crest, the hike wasn’t short on views. We had lunch at Mono Pass and contemplated the trips we could launch from this spot on the edge of Yosemite National Park and the Ansel Adams Wilderness.

A few clouds were starting to appear, and we decided it was time to move onto our next objective: Parker Pass. Sitting less than two miles to the south, Parker Pass looks very different from Mono. The high windswept valley leading to the pass is rimmed on one side by the steep faces of Kuna and Koip Peaks. This was the first time I had seen the mountains of the Kuna Crest up close, and I was blown away. It’s always a treat to find something new in a place that is so familiar.

By the time we reached Parker Pass, the clouds were starting to look pretty serious. As soon as we arrived, we were headed back down the trail. The hike out was fast and deliberate, with thunder crashes behind us and a cooler full of beer ahead of us. Much of the trip home was spent planning imaginary trips in this “new” area. We’ll see what 2008 brings*.

*Spoiler Alert: Jody was pregnant a few months later and Autumn was born in September, 2008. This would be our final SierraSoul post. Our last big travel adventure was a three week trip to New Zealand in Nov/Dec 2007. We never quite finished that post for publication as our attention was elsewhere 😉

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. These trips took place in summer and fall of 2007 (or thereabouts).

From almost any run at Kirkwood, the mountains of Carson Pass spill out in layers of dark volcanic rock and white snow. For us, this little alpine dreamscape holds memories from so many trips past: snow camping in January, spring skiing in March, backpacking in August, photographing the fall color in October. No matter the season, we find ourselves returning to this slice of the Sierra over and over again.

Unfortunately, the record setting snow pack of years past was a no-show in 2007. After two consecutive years of 800+ inches, we came up with less than 400 in 2007. Some diehard in Michigan probably thinks us a bunch of pansies for complaining about 376 inches of snow, but surely we can’t be expected to ski hardpack…we have standards. Far too often this year, we found ourselves surveying the dirt patches to avoid on our next run rather than soaking up our favorite views from Chair 4. But all’s well that ends well. We made up for it a few months later when we spent a weekend tagging the summits of the area’s most interesting mountains.

Earlier in the summer, we had an aggressive plan to hike the PCT from Carson Pass (Hwy 88) to Ebbet’s Pass (Hwy 4) in one weekend—a little backcountry tour of Alpine County. When those plans fell apart, we started looking for another chance to spend some time the area. With a planned Mt. Whitney hike just a few weeks away, we decided to squeeze in some last minute training and tag a few summits over the weekend.

We left the Carson Pass trailhead early on a Saturday, after grabbing one of the last campsite permits for the area. The hike to Winnemucca Lake offered great views of Elephant’s Back, Round Top, and The Sisters—our objectives for the weekend.

Round Top is the most prominent peak in the Carson Pass area, with a craggy ridgeline that spills down from twin summits. From our campsite at Winnemucca Lake, the approach leads to Round Top Lake before heading up—aiming for the saddle between Round Top and The Sisters. Like so many Sierra peaks, the hike is a slog, but the views more than make up for the effort. From the saddle, we had clear views of five more lakes, including Lake Tahoe to the north.

Some diehard in Michigan probably thinks us a bunch of pansies for complaining about 376 inches of snow, but…we have standards.

The last bit of climbing to the summit of Round Top involves some class 2 scrambling. Jody muscled through, and we reached the west summit in the early afternoon. Not quite satisfied, I took a twenty minute detour to tag the eastern summit as well. Looking back at Kirkwood, I felt a little pang of satisfaction. I’ve been staring at this mountain for so long; it was nice to finally check it off the list.

On our way back to the saddle, we decided the short detour to East Sister was worth the effort…better bragging rights from the chairlifts this winter. A short scramble up was followed by a slow hike back to camp. The sky that night was clear, and the moon was dim. Stars put on a great show, and the Milky Way swept a giant arc across the dark sky.

Sunday morning greeted us with sore muscles and a bit of sunburn from the day before. The hike back to the trailhead is only two miles, but we had one more piece of business to handle before we could call it a weekend. After breaking camp, we walked up the gentle slopes of Elephant’s Back and tagged our third summit for the weekend—a personal best for us.

It’s November now (as I write this), and the seasons have changed. There isn’t much snow on the ground yet, but we’re optimistic. We need redemption for the dry winter of 2007. We need snowfall measured in feet, not inches. We need bottomless powder and endless blue skies. We need long rides up Chair 4—time enough to look at the big mountains of Carson Pass and casually mention that we’ve seen the view from top of each one.

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

Wheeler Peak was kicking my ass. It wasn’t even a good fight. I was on the ropes taking body blows, with three rounds left in the match. I had to stop every few minutes to suck wind and keep my heart from exploding. At least I knew what I was up against. The trail leading to the summit was clear; a long jagged scar climbing up the shoulder of this giant. I was learning in no uncertain terms that the last place you want to fight a chest cold is in the same ring with a 13,000 foot mountain.

Like most of our long weekend trips, this one started with a plan to find the biggest sky with the fewest people. We started eyeing a map a few weeks out and focused in on the usual suspects: North Coast, Eastern Sierra, and Death Valley. The idea of climbing something held appeal, and I remembered reading about Wheeler Peak, way out in the Great Basin. We checked it out on the map and knew we had found the right venue for a four-day trip.

Loneliest Road in America

We left San Francisco around 10 p.m. and pointed the Subaru east. We had eleven hours of driving ahead of us and a cooler full of Red Bull and snacks. Five hours later and just east of Reno, we passed through Fallon, Nevada and kissed civilization goodbye. U.S. 50 through Nevada is known as the “Loneliest Road in America”, and that title is no joke. For the next four hours, all we saw was jet black sky, blurred pavement, and a cadre of mutant jack rabbits darting across the road when we least suspected it. Somewhere east of nowhere, Jody took the helm, and I crashed. I woke a few hours later when we rolled into Ely. After the girl at McDonalds cleared up the correct pronunciation for us (it’s e-lee), we powered through the last hour of driving.

For the next four hours, all we saw was jet black sky, blurred pavement, and a cadre of mutant jack rabbits darting across the road…

Wheeler Peak and the surrounding Snake Range rise from the Basin floor like an island in the sky. Craggy peaks and densely forested slopes belie the flat, arid expanses of the Great Basin; so named because rain that falls here never finds its way to the oceans. It’s the hydrological equivalent of purgatory; an endless cycle of rain storms and evaporation. The Great Basin is littered with these micro-ranges of mountain terrain. One after another, from the Sierra to the Wasatch, they stretch across the Basin in defiance of their surroundings.

We pulled through the gates of Great Basin National Park in the late morning, and made our way to the end of the road: the Wheeler Peak Campground. There were more people than we expected, and we were lucky to grab the last campsite in the place. We set up camp and laid low for the rest of the day. I felt a chest cold coming on, but I thought the dry desert air would do me some good.

Bristlecone Pines and Lehman Caves

It wasn’t until we settled down with the park pamphlet that we realized there were some bona fide attractions in this modest outpost. In the shadow of Wheeler Peak stands a grove of Bristlecone Pines. Found only in the American West, these hardy trees can live for over 5,000 years. A couple of well know groves exist California’s White Mountain range, but we’ve never found the time to visit. Sunday morning we took a short loop hike out to the grove and spent some time photographing their gnarled masses. A small rainstorm persuaded us to return to camp, where we planned a visit to the park’s most celebrated attraction.

Lehman Caves is probably the main reason why Great National Park exists in the first place. Discovered in 1885, and exploited for decades afterward, the caves provided the park service with a known point of interest and developed Visitor’s Center. Nearby Wheeler Peak (the second tallest mountain in Nevada) and the Bristlecone Pines groves created a convergence of natural history worthy of protection. Although the park only sees 80,000 visitors each year, Lehman Caves seem to be the big draw.

With cameras in hand, we arrived in the evening for a “Photographer’s Tour” of the caves. A few weeks prior, cameras had been banned from the tours because, in general, a shmuck with a camera in a sensitive environment is a bad idea. The ranger who led our tour was noticeably impressed with the behavior of our group. Until this point, she had equated the term “photographer” with the point-and-shoot masses who wouldn’t think twice about using a stalagmite as a tripod. The fact that we weren’t thrashing our way through the cavern somehow impressed her.

It was dark when we exited the cave. As we drove back to camp, the hulking profile of Wheeler Peak encouraged us to call it an early night. My cold seemed to be clearing up, but we wanted to get a good night’s sleep before we started a big hike.

Wheeler Peak

Step, step, breeeeathe. Step, step, breeeeathe. People were passing us every time we stopped. I threw on a friendly smile and offered encouraging words, thinking of a way to call it quits and still maintain my dignity. Wheeler certainly isn’t a casual hike, but in the family of mountains we’d summitted recently, it falls somewhere in the middle in terms of intensity. My lungs had declared a full-scale mutiny, and my legs weren’t far behind.

My lungs had declared a full-scale mutiny, and my legs weren’t far behind.

Jody’s patience never waned. Her smile encouraged me along, and step by step we muscled our way to the top. The view stretched out in every direction—undulating ranges spread evenly across the vast basin. We spent some time topside, signing the summit register and talking to one of the hikers who passed us along the way. He turned out to be the Head Ranger at GBNP and was hiking Wheeler Peak on his day off. If this was my office, I probably wouldn’t be in a hurry to get away either.

Clouds were starting to build up around us, and we made our way downhill as fast as our weary legs would take us. We feasted at dinner that night, bemoaning the fact that we were headed home the next day. Our little island in the sky had been a great escape for the long weekend, and we weren’t looking forward to another eleven hour drive the next day.

Centroid

On the way home, we had daylight to appreciate the beauty and genuine weirdness of central Nevada. Random signs announcing the location of nothing in particular dotted the roadside. We crossed the old Pony Express trail at one point and, as we neared the Naval installation at Fallon, we passed a sign that pointed to the Naval Centroid Facility. The what? We scanned the horizon and saw nothing but sagebrush and a few nondescript buildings in the distance. Somebody thought it was important to point this out; something in the middle of nothing. A little bit like Wheeler Peak and Great Basin National Park.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of the thirteen holidays my office grants each year, Columbus Day is likely the most random and welcome of them all. Matt was not so fortunate. He took a precious vacation day, and we enjoyed a three day weekend during the Sierra fall color show featuring some of nature’s most colorful actors – Aspens.
We gave the backpacks a break and opted for some laid-back car camping at Kirkwood Lake, just across from our favorite winter ski destination. Since this was the last weekend the campground was open, we nearly had the place to ourselves. There were a few cars in the lot though, and a walk to the waters edge revealed secluded cabins accessible only by boat. We were green with envy. Something tells us these are not the kind of properties that show up online with the MLS! By the way, if you’re selling, we’re interested.

The Great Sierra Spirit granted us bluebird skies and crisp temperatures – perfect for photographing the aspens which coated the Carson Pass area with rich color. And it didn’t take long for us to discover that we were not alone. Hope Valley was teeming with sightseers eager to get that perfect shot. In fact, the sheer number of tourists and parallel parked vehicles along the roadside reminded us of last year’s visit to Yellowstone! The most memorable members of the crowd included a full motorcycle gang, complete with beards, braids, and bunches of black leather.

The crowds were hefty, but Sorenson’s Resort just past the junction of highways 88 and 89 resembled a shopping mall parking lot during the Holidays. The crowds flock for a reason. It seemed to be the epicenter of the fall color phenomenon. Imagining a more picturesque setting for wandering among the Technicolor trees would be difficult. The individual cabins nestle in aspen groves, complete with front porches adorned with Adirondack chairs, meandering creeks, and piles of firewood. Looking around yielded the very definition of cozy.

While appreciating the aspens was easy, we discovered photographing them was not. Books should be written on this subject. How can something so beautiful in person look so lifeless and cheesy in a photo? We tried backlighting, front lighting, wide angles, macros – you name it. While a few photos make us proud, most we’d like to disown. I wonder if our fellow tourists experienced the same issues… or, maybe we’re just aspiring perfectionists.

Regardless, walking through the flutter and whisper of changing aspen leaves far outweighs a snapshot any day. Mark your calendars for next year, and get thee to the Sierra in early October. You will not be disappointed, and you will likely be in good company.

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