This year’s Memorial Day Weekend adventure wasn’t quite as monumental as last year’s engagement story, but having said our I do’s, and enjoyed a week’s worth of beach bliss in Belize, Matt and I were ready to tackle our first backpacking trip as “The Pritchards.”

Exercising our patented ‘Three Day Weekend Alpine Start’, we beat the Friday traffic mayhem and left Saturday around 2AM, bound for Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park – about 45 minutes north of Eureka. By 7am we were napping in the parking lot and waiting for our friendly park ranger to take care of permits and fees.

The National Park Service and the California Department of Parks and Recreation co-manage a group of parks that contain 45% of California’s remaining redwood old-growth trees. But here’s a jaw dropper: Only 4% of the redwood old-growth trees from 1850 still exist in the state. That’s right, 96% were logged to support post Gold Rush progress. Fortunately, due to some forward thinking environmentalists during the turn of the century, efforts began to save what was left. Although logging continued in much of this area up to the 1960’s and 70’s, Washington has set aside these parcels to be enjoyed by generations to come.

After coming to and getting our papers in order, we were off and up the Miner’s Ridge Trail headed for the coastal backcountry camp by the same name. Walking in a redwood forest has a calming effect that is difficult to describe. It reminds me of wrapping up in a thick blanket to close out the sounds of the world. Our footsteps were barely audible as we tread on the deep cushion of composting organic material. Only our clearly-out-of-shape wind sucking could be heard through the stillness of the morning as we worked our way up to the ridge. (That whole wedding thing really bit into our conditioning this year.) The air was damp and cool, and everywhere we looked, foliage had intertwined with its neighbor, each dependant on the other for survival. This would be a great place to come if you have some serious thinking to do.

As it was, all I could think of is, “Wow – I can’t believe we’re married!” over and over again. The ridge slowly dropped as we approached the Pacific Ocean and the distant roar of waves crashing into shore began drowning out my thoughts.

Occasionally there are campgrounds that make you wonder why people drop hundreds of dollars on a room with an ocean view. Miner’s Ridge is one of them. Between the shade, space, picnic table, and knockout view of the Pacific, you have to wonder if there is any better way to spend $3? After setting up camp, Matt and I walked down to the warm sand and proceeded to catch up on the Z’s we missed the night before.

Occasionally there are campgrounds that make you wonder why people drop hundreds of dollars on a room with an ocean view. Miner’s Ridge is one of them.

The next day we hiked north on the Coastal Trail and discovered Fern Canyon. Stepping into this green jewel is like walking through a prehistoric portal. In fact, this space hosted the film crews of Jurassic Park, although it’s hard to imagine anyone in Hollywood having a clue of its remote whereabouts. The small canyon features a narrow, winding creek bed with 50ft. fern lined walls. High above, towering redwoods allow only filtered light through the foliage and back to the shallow water. The various intensities of green and lushness of the ferns are absolutely memorizing. This park has a not-so-subtle way of hinting how delicate it is and makes you feel very small.

As we wound north, the muddy trail grabbed at our boots and we were reminded that Spring was enjoying her stay. We came upon an earthy, barefoot group of early twenty somethings who recommended we lose our boots before trying to cross the last meadow to the Ossagon Creek campground. Dodging unforeseen obstacles below the tall grass while mud squished through our toes wasn’t our idea of fun, so we kept our boots on and picked our way trying to keep the damage to a minimum and met up on dry land.

The second night’s accommodations weren’t nearly as luxurious as Miner’s Ridge. Since the campground was below the dune, we didn’t have a view, our picnic table was a catapulting death trap, and the pit toilet was more than a little scary. Times like these, it’s better to go without and enjoy what nature provides – not what tax cuts can’t maintain. We admired the soft grassy bed we would have for the night and enjoyed another afternoon of napping on the beach and watching the local residents: sea lions, crabs, and pelicans.

During our midnight drive, Matt mentioned to me he had never seen an elk before. I had read that Prairie Creek was home to a few hundred Roosevelt Elk, but didn’t have the heart to wake him up as we passed a herd grazing in the early dawn mist. However, while cooking dinner that night, I glanced at Matt and saw his jaw drop and his eyes fix on a young buck who had decided to come and check out what was on the menu. As he walked towards us, we had the split thought of how close is too close. We fumbled for our cameras to capture the photo op staring right at us munching on a mouthful of grass.

We packed up early in the morning and headed home. Again, the lack of conditioning thing came and kicked us square in the ass. The hike back to the car was long and to cap it all off, we had not packed enough food for this portion of our trip. Hungry and exhausted, we followed a portion of the trail that appeared to be a very old road of some kind. Then we saw them.

Colossal gray stumps huddled on the east side of the ridge bellowed a dark note in California’s history. The solitude and silence made us feel as though we were walking on sacred burial ground for these 2000 year old giants. Covered in ferns, cobwebs, and debris, we estimated the last loggers left this old-growth grove with all they could carry about 50 years ago. The ‘road’ was nothing more than a wide, rugged trail and it was hard to imagine how they hauled out portions of these trees that were at least 10-15ft. in diameter. Touched, and determined, we continued.

We reached the car before noon and treated our empty tummies to a healthy dose of pizza and beer in Eureka. While we were able to beat the traffic on the way out – there was just no getting around it on the way back. We took turns at the wheel and were able to glide on home just before dark. Another packed three day weekend was chalked up on the board, but the first of many as husband and wife.

This post is part of the SierraSoul Archive. The trip took place in May, 2004 (or thereabouts).

We knew our trip would be nothing less than an adventure as we stood in line at the American Airlines ticket counter at SFO. It was 5:00 AM and both of us had our eyes glued to the display case housing the ‘forbidden’ items. Our exact stove and fuel bottles were smirking at us from the other side of the Plexiglass; their twins carefully nestled in our packs. We knew there was a chance these items could be trouble, but we had done our research with the airline and FAA, thoroughly removed all fuel from them, labeled the items, and decided to let the sleeping cookware stay where it was, hoping to see it when we unpacked at the tip of South America.

After 1 1/2 years of planning we were finally on our way to Patagonia. Cookware or not.

Our travels took us on 5 flights through 6 airports: SF to LA to Lima to Santiago to Puerto Mont to Punta Arenas for a total of 20 hours in the air. If you thought American planes were cramped, consider checking out Lan Chile for some real fun. The cool colored fabrics and New Age meditation type music might help some people relax, but poor Matt was wedged between his seat and the one in front like an NBA player in a child’s desk at back-to-school night. At least the in-seat DVD players helped take our mind off the cramped quarters and the stewardess’ incessant, “Permiso!” as they attempted to thrust full meals in front of us every 2 hours. “Honestly, no tenemos hambre!”

If the design of the Punta Arenas airport was any indication of the type of weather we were about to encounter… we were in for it. This building looked like it could survive in Antarctica. Hell, throw in an earthquake too – it would still stand strong with its 3 whole gates. A quick check in baggage claim to see the stove and fuel bottles still in our packs (whew!), we hopped into a cab and headed for town.

Punta Arenas sits on the Straits of Magellan (yeah as in the first guy to sail around the world in 1520) and is the oldest and largest city in Patagonia (about the size of Salem, OR). After settling into our hotel, we went out to paint the town and promptly discovered the local cocktail of choice: the Pisco Sour. A cross between a margarita and the Brazilian caipirinha housed in a champagne flute, this is a tasty way to start a vacation. We were also able to pick up bus tickets to our next destination and cruised the main street for dinner along with our escorts; nomadic bands of stray dogs looking for the same thing. Check out this site if you have time…they’ve even been given names!

For $15 the amenities included a bed and a door and some sheets that had a funny aroma…

The next morning we embarked on the first of many bus rides to Puerto Natales. On the way, we were amused to see the bus stop and watch salty ranch hands get off in the middle of nowhere, hop over a fence, and start running across a field headed for some house we couldn’t see on the horizon. This is sheep ranching land and it didn’t take long to figure out why the area is known for its wool, after seeing an infinite number of these creatures grazing in the open green.

Puerto Natales is surrounded by snow capped mountains, water, and fishing boats, and one can’t help but think this must be what Alaska looks like. As the gateway to 2 of the most popular parks in Patagonia, this town is packed with trekkers all looking alike in their hiking boots, packs, and Goretex. We all might as well have been wearing bumper stickers on our foreheads screaming “TOURIST” – there’s just no blending in with the locals with that kind of gear. The stray dogs (they have them here too) also knew these folks were their best candidates for handouts and followed us all about town.

We decided to save a little money that night and settled in at Hospedaje Laury after looking into 5 different hotels at $90 a night. For $15 the amenities included a bed and a door and some sheets that had a funny aroma… but the couple was friendly and patient with our limited Spanish. At 7AM we boarded a bus full of fellow TOURISTS from all over the world and were finally headed into Torres del Paine (pronounced Pie-nee) a mere 4 days after leaving home. I will never complain about the 4 hour drive to Yosemite again.

Torres del Paine National Park

A few things became crystal clear about pack traveling when the bus dropped us off at Lago Pehoe for our boat ride to the other side:

• Always have your pack ready to walk with from the bus. (We had a duffle bag of things that would need to be strapped to the outside of our packs.)
• Don’t just have your rain cover on your pack, TIE it on.
• The full zip rain pants are worth every penny over the half zip version.

It wasn’t just raining when we got off the bus, it was a solid flow of water coming from a giant bucket in the sky, angled by a jet wind. And we were attempting to fuss with our gear. As Matt likes to say, “Like a monkey f*#$ing a football.” It was that awkward of a moment and this land had already humbled us with its crazy weather. We couldn’t stop glancing at each other and giggling… just what had we gotten ourselves into?

The term Paine means “pale blue” in Tehuelche (language of the original natives) and describes the color of the many lakes and rivers in this region. As we traveled across the water in a catamaran, we were stunned by the color of Lago Pehoe: a milky blue green color that you would expect to find in a paint collection by Martha Stewart. Minerals delivered by glaciers and suspended in the water create the color and our pictures just don’t do it justice. After an hour spent staring at the water and recouping inside the vessel, it was time to go back outside.

We stepped off the boat and received a baptism of Patagonian proportions. “Blessed be the rain, and the wind, and the Holy Shit it’s snowing sideways!”

For the first 20 minutes we were convinced that when people asked us what Patagonia looked like, we would have to say, “The inside of my hood.” As we hiked up the trail leading to Lago Grey we could see a white wall of snow barreling down the canyon ahead of us. We literally counted the seconds until the wave came crashing with its stinging sleet in our faces. But eventually things let up and we had to start shedding layers to accommodate the sunshine.

Once we reached the ridgeline we were treated to our first sightings of real, live icebergs. These were giant chunks of floating ice that had calved off of Glacier Grey (our destination) and had floated to the far end of the steel colored lake. The trail leading to the glacier was not the well-maintained path we’re used to in the Sierra. In many cases we were climbing down waterfalls and using ropes to keep our balance on the steep slopes. I was traveling slowly with my knee injury from October, but Matt had hit ‘the zone’ and machined forward towards camp pounding his knees on the final downhill stretch. I struggled behind, tired now, and thirsty.

The Wet Campground (Campamento Grey) Nights 1 & 2

By the time we reached the sandy campground, and rushed to get the tent up in the rain, it was clear that Matt was in trouble. His left knee was in worse shape than mine now and all he could do was lie in the tent and try to let his body heal itself. We were in a group campground next to the water’s edge and a mere 30 minute walk from the glacier. I went about getting the necessities in order and walked to the lake to find an ice spattered shore (hmm we could ice both of our knees tonight…) and began to pump water for dinner. After the third pump of nothing, a cascade of black gruel splashed into the container. I was speechless… hadn’t we dealt with enough today? Was it the new replacement filter or the silt infused water? I was exhausted and near the edge of losing it. “One thing at a time,” I told myself, “find a different water source and get dinner ready.” My fingers were frozen from pumping (I did find a different source) and it took a solid 5 minutes to get the stove lit in the damp, chilly air. That night we ate two dinners and were relieved to finally snuggle into bed.

We stepped off the boat and received a baptism of Patagonian proportions. Blessed be the rain, and the wind, and the…Holy Shit it’s snowing sideways!

The next morning we packed all of our gear up to head back to Pehoe. Just before we took down the tent, Matt’s knee said, “Uh it ain’t gonna happen today Buddy.” This would be the first of our two rest days in the park and the beginning of our mission to set the world’s slowest record for the completion of the ‘W’ shaped circuit around the Paine massif. Most groups finish the trek in 4-6 days… we took 8.

After we unpacked, the penetrating cold started to sink in and Matt and I headed to the Refugio (a mountain style hut at the campground where you can make reservations for indoor accommodations) for a hot drink to warm up. The smell inside was a combination of incense, smelly socks, and wood smoke… but it was warm and we were happy to be there. The wood floor was scarred from years of use and people were playing cards, chess, and reading books on the benches. After listening in on conversations in English and Spanish, we headed back to the tent to nap and read the day away.

The next day was Thanksgiving and I was first out of the tent to see an iceberg the size of a greyhound bus floating by camp. It was on its way somewhere and we were too. Matt powered through and we headed back on the same trail we came in on, this time with tremendous wind gusts at our back that threatened to topple us both over. At one point I crouched down, afraid to walk because it would mean having only one foot on the ground. The nylon I was wearing roared like a jet engine around me and I huddled in place to keep from falling. The wind was so strong that it whipped up sections of water from a small lake on our hike and we were able to take some snap shots. Check ’em out below.

The Windy Campground (Campamento Pehoe) Night 3

Back at the beautiful blue lake where we started, the wind became our next obstacle to contend with while trying to put up the tent. Each campground seemed to have it’s own personality, and this one was windblown. For this reason, a community cooking room had been established so that people could prepare and eat their meals in peace. This campground also had ‘hot as home’ showers and it had been 4 nights since I had washed my hair. This was the most delicious shower I have ever taken.

While I was in the shower, Matt had discovered the local ‘vino in a box’ El Gato Negro at the small, adjacent Amalcen (store) to accompany our Thanksgiving dinner of lasagna, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits. That night we met a cast of characters that we would continue to bump into along the rest of the trip and share stories with about our experiences on the trail. Rob was from Colorado and was the only other American to share in our holiday… but we made sure to share with all regardless of nationality and gained popularity with the fellow Germans and other foreigners with our chocolate bars, vino, and surprisingly successful fried cinnamon biscuit venture. Matty’s culinary talents don’t end at home folks. That night was full of great stories, hearty laughs, and new friends… truly Thanksgiving as it was meant to be, regardless of where we were.

The wind had died a bit by morning and we were treated to a whole different weather pattern in the park on our next section of trail. It was a warm and balmy day with spring around every corner. We saw multitudes of wild flowers, butterflies, birds, and lush areas with flowing streams and green grass. Imagine a mountain fresh scent laundry commercial minus the clothesline.This little hike was surprisingly tiring for me considering the short distance (too much vino from the night before??) and I was thankful but fearful of the rickety suspension bridge that crossed the river into our next campground. I remember thinking, “I wish this trail bridge was in my Dad’s territory…don’t look down, don’t look down”

Continued in Part 2

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

The Critter Campground (Campamento Italiano) Night 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Crowded Campground (Campamento Chileno) Night 7

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

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

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

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

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

Headed Out

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

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

Continued in Part 3

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

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).