Umm. I'm back. Dallas is too weird not to talk about. Almost more entertaining than three months checking out the western U.S. So here's the deal: I'm living back at home (the home I grew up in) with my parents and my husband. You can speculate all you want about why. My extended family members love to play this game. The main point to focus on is that I'm 31 back at home. In Texas. At home. Same room and all.
Since living here, I find myself reverting to childhood monosymbolic talk. Like when I'm asked how my day is, I answer "fine." Or when I'm asked what I had for lunch, I say "Clif" (short for Clif bar). Or when asked how I did on a test (yeah, I'm back in school to boot), I mention "groovy." What's the deal here? Haven't post-pubescent years arisen a more loquacious tongue?
Before moving in with the parents, when Mac and I were in the staging area in Galveston, Texas, I read an article from a girl my age who also recently moved back with her parents. Things I gleaned from her monologue: She mentally transposed to childhood days. Meanwhile, her parents assumed her financial burdens. Which is weird, because this young woman had money of her own. And let me be clear that she, like I, love her parents. But there's something debilitating about moving back in with your parents at a certain age. And I've found that that age at the very least is 31.
Straight out of college, you still depend on your parents for a great deal - whether it be money, advice, or a soft pad to land on. So moving back during these early post-baccalaureate years doesn't count.
But at around 23-26, you start finding yourself. You get your first job; then your second job. You start to understand the meaning of STDs and SUVs. Your opinions start cart wheeling over previous thoughts. Psychologists call this period the Early Adulthood Years, when you replace the years molded by your parents into new ones shaped by outside influences. These are the years you're on your way to becoming you.
Soon after, around age 30, you reach the Middle-Adulthood Years, when you've evolved into a self-sustaining, independent free body. While you still heed your parents opinions, they don't dictate your decisions. Which is why moving back in with your parents during this stage retards your mental drive. Not to mention the sex one.
Which brings me to the present - sitting on my annie-anne-cum-leopard-print bed. The bedspread has changed along with my childhood decorations. The Robert Smith and Morissey posters have been removed, replaced with animal prints (my mom has a thing for wildlife) and a spit-free wall. The sea shells which kept their kelp-like smell gave way to miniature candles and picture albums. And the bean-bag chair I used to fall into after hours at the mall have been taken over by a rocking chair and Pottery Barn floor lamp. But one thing has kept its stead - albeit a little more weathered and leathery - me. And if I get thrown out before that ugly rocker, I swear I'll yell and pout and beat my fists until I get my way.
Middle-Adulthood, you'll just have to wait a little longer.
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
TRAVEL LOG - DAY to DAY
4.20
Depart SF around 5 p.m.
Mac slams 2 beers
Camp out at Harbin Hot Springs (i.e. serene hot springs for Bay Area-ites.)
Eat dinner at local brewpub in Middletown
Pass out next to bubbling creek in total bliss
4.21
Take an early dip in the baths
Eat a light breakfast
Give Mac Shiatsu treatment next to bubbling creek
Take another dip
Head up to Hopland and the Solar Center; have picnic
Drive through Jackson State Forest
Hike Casper Headlands and pygmy forest
Make camp at MacKerriche State Park, and indulge in a meal of pasta
4.22
Awake and hiked 10 miles of sand dunes
Pack up, drive up Hwy 1 to Humbolt Redwoods State Park and Avenue of the Giants
Hike the nature trails
Drop by Arcata's Co-Op and marvel at Eureka's disgust
Make camp at Prairie Creek at Redwood National and State Park
4.23
Wake up to oatmeal and tea
Hike 14.1 miles around Redwood State Park - West Ridge Trail to Friendship to Pioneer Trail
Discover Jenbalaya and 2nd smallest frog ever
Get a little sun- and beer-whipped. Explore town
Stay another night at Pioneer Trail
4.24
Awake to oatmeal, raisins, and wild elk roaming our grounds. RV people almost got attacked
Hike Lady Bird Johnson Trail in light drizzle
Pick up camp, drive to Crater Lake in Oregon. Made it to Oregon!
Crater Lake snowed in, but make it to Rimm Ridge to overlook the lake over lip of crater. 14-feet snow mounds make the journey cold and difficult
Make camp at Joseph Steward campsite at Lost Creek Lake on Rogue River - $10/night for campgrounds and free shower. We're in fucking heaven
Walk around, make pasta salad on warm evening. Campground almost uninhabited
4.25
Wake up, run 8 miles around Lost Creek Lake
Eat typical morning breakfast of oatmeal and raisins; weather warmed. Mac says every meal can be oatmeal
Pack it up, and head for lunch at Grady's Pass. Eat one of the worst bean burritos ever
Backtrack on the Rogue River to Sanuel H. Boardman Scenic Corridor
Hike to Harris Beach, rocks, and tidal pools - saw nada
Make camp at Harris Beach S.P. (surly, RV-ridden campground. $13/night)
4.26
Awake freezing, pissy due to late night RV entries. Move out fast
Hike Coast Trail (13-mile stretch of rugged beaches, coastal rocks, cliffs, hamlets, and conifers), starting at Cape Ferrelo
Check out Natural Bridges Cove
Travel up Hwy. 1 through Coos Bay (largest bay between SF and Seattle). Cool little harbor towns built along the bay
Make camp at Jessie M. Honeyman Memorial S.P. ($13/night), on northside of Oregon Dunes Recreational Area. Stay in ATV-prohibited area
Go into Florence and have fresh, wild seafood meal on the bay. Local, quaint town with wi-fi, good beer and seafood
4.27
Awake freezing-ass cold; take first cold shower (no hot water, dammit!)
Opt for breakfast in town due to freeze factor. Have bagel and coffee at local joint. Very local. Everyone knows each other and men played on Monopoly-sized cribbage board.
Hike oregon Dunes Natl. Rec. Area. Mammoth mountains of sand. Strangely, trees grew in dunes, along with gargantuan, biting flies
Run into RV, ATV camp; bizarre slice at true ugly Americanisms
Pack up and head to Cape Perpetua - a 3+-mile, high-trek hike. Offers the best vantage point of Oregon (800 meters above sea level). Tremendous, panoramic vies of untouched, rugged coast and coniferous forests falling into the ocean
Try driving North to Lincoln City, only to be disappointed by no campsites and overly advertised tourist town. Turn around to Newport and South Beach State Park.
Campsite offered no tent sites, so pay extra $4 for hookups in RV slot. Ridden with RVs, yurts, and an odd Christian youth group singing modern-day versions of cum-baya
Opt for another seafood dinner. Wrong choice - Mos.
But have beer at original Rogue Brewery in Newport. Fine, fine idea.
4.28
Awake, go for hike along beach. Decide to run despite cold weather. Nice run. Zero people on beach and jetty
Pack it up after typical desayunos, and drive up toward Cape Lookout and Three Capes Point, which (absurdly enough) provides handfuls of cape towns, huge rock formations, and rolling countryside. So far, my favorite part of Oregon coastline
Stop for a beer (rich, smooth IPA) at Pelican Brewery at Pacific City
Continue on on to Tillamook Cheese Company. Check out production facility and eat free samples.Curd wins
Make camps at Oswald West State Park. Must hike down to campsite with gear. S.P. provides wheelbarrows for the journey, which are all in use by the time we arrive. So we huff back and forth with our stuff. Lush campsite and isolation from the road are great. Total surfer camp, filled with young partiers and hikers
4.29
Awake after being woken up intermittently throughout night by young revelers screaming and partying. Hike to surfer beach, where we find early-morning adults and youths clamming. We learn how, which is very easy: Look for plum-sized dimple in sand, then dig. You'll find clams
Walk farther down beach to tidal pools. Magellan-sized find - scores of starfish, anemone, live coral. Explore and gape
Discuss whether or not to collapse revelers tents. Opt out, but decide to leave "little fucker" note for them instead
Travel to Astoria and Columbia River Gorge. Visit Maritime Museum
Eat at Subway 30 miles outside of Portland. A bit sketchy
Make it in to Portland in pouring rain. Check in at Days Inn City Center. My stomach feels upset
Meet friends in town - Eastern Portland; go to brewery, where I yak and yak from food poisoning or maybe stomach flu
4.30-5.2
Recoup from food poisoning, then check out town, hang out with good friends
Portland highlights: Austinish, circa 1990. Super cool, happy, hip town with multiple neighborhoods, liberal thinkers, loads of green space. City of roses, town of patios, good beer, chill peeps, green, mountainous views, and thriving
5.3
Leave Portland and Suz. Sad but excited to get going again
Head North on 5 to Mt. Rainier National Park. Views of the park on the drive hint at a snowy, high-altitude hikes
Take southside road to entrance - bad idea. Road closed due to weather, although no sign alerts us to road closure for 41 miles out
Turn around and attempt to enter park on westside. It works, but the only open campsite is being repaved. We're fucked again
Drive, circle, drive, circle. Finally decide on staying at cabins on outskirts of Rainier. All lodges tout overpriced rates, but Sandy offers outdoor picnic tables and hospitality
Eat camp food, drink wine at lodge. We're happy. Large, mini-bear-sized raccoon tries to steal our food. We engage in a ninny battle. Pass out in warm bed; only tenants at cabins for the evening
5.4
Awake and take it slow to get up. Enjoy oatmeal/raisins outside under warm sun
Talk with Sandy for awhile, then head up to Longmire Ranger Station (only R.S. open this time of year). Find out we're pretty much snowed out, but some trailheads open
Hike Rampart Ridge Trail 5-mile loop. Shows varying forest/rocks/ridge/water topography. Moderate, elevation hike where we get a great view of the mountain and valley. Hit thickets of snow, which we tromp through slowly
Picnic, then hike Carter Falls 2.5-mile trail. We cross large rock formations and rivers, hike through snow to glimpse strong, 40-foot high falls.
Leave Mt. Rainier since no more hiking to do without hitting snow
Spend night at Best Western SeaTac, on outskirts of Seattle. Smokers room - bad choice
5.5
Awake, try to use "fitness room." Get dressed, get out
Move to Dash Point S.P. campgrounds. Ahhh. Now we're happy to be back outside in Dewey, our tent
Drive to Seattle, visit tourist info center. This shouldn't be missed. See the sites - Pike Fish Market, Experience Music Project, Sci-Fi museum, Space Needle, Capitol Hill, UW. Seattle's big. It's bustling. It's water town
Eat and crash out in Dewey. Awake in middle of night to prepubescent boy screaming obscenities to friends. The peace of outdoors
5.6
Hike around Dash Point, situated beside Puget Sound
Pack it up, head North on HWY 5 to Tsawwassen, B.C. Wait in immigration for 45 minutes. Don't even have to show passports. We could stay in Canada forever without anyone knowing
Make the 3 p.m. ferry to Victoria. Drive Charlie on the car ferry. Rain has finally stopped
Arrive in Vancouver Island around 5 p.m., and go searching for campsites. Finally reach French Beach, near Soote in pouring rain around 8:30 p.m. Exhausted and frustrated, crash out in spartan yurt (after drinking wine and eating bad, stinking cheese)
Read a little, feel something drop on head. Flick it to Mac's side of the bed. He yells, "what the fuck was that?" It ended up being a yellow jacket, which stung him. Oops
We fall asleep
5.7
Awake to pouring rain, eat breakfast of champions, and pack up. Campground only provides pit toilets
Weather clears as we drive into Victoria. Reserve room at HoJo next to Galloping Goose Trail
Take run on trail to downtown Victoria. It's beautiful
Shower, walk trail to downtown. Check out giant totem poles, B.C. museum, wharf, Parliament buildings. It's Europe with an American flair
Grab a drink, head back to room, and cook dinner
5.8
Awake to warm room at HoJo, and eat cold cereal for once. Variation is nice
Go for a run around Galloping Goose Trail to Swan Lake. The bums seem really nice around the area
Come back, read, and chill
Take a walk to downtown Victoria, visit park and wax museum. Get a two-hour free history lesson from museum employee on parliament, politics, etc. of Canada. Walk out more knowledgeable about Commanding history, not wax anatomy
Eat dinner at home
5.9
Wake up, clean up, drive to Tofino, extreme northwest town on island - 5 hours from Victoria
Pass enormous cedar, pines, hemlock forests; bays, harbors, inlets, running streams; islands speckling the horizon. The views are magnificent
Outside of Pacific Rim National Park, pass black bear hanging over guardrail. Holy shit! We swerve, miss him, and ogle the beautiful beast
Make camp at Crystal Cove campground - private campsite with internet access, free hot showers, and a reading room. This is how camping should be
Walk 4 km to Tofino. Small, idyllic town full of B&Bs, motels, crab depots, and marine adventure tours. But where's the bar? Walk all over small hamlet to find only bar sits beneath Days Inn. So drink Spring beer on deck overlooking dock. Good God the scenery! I've never seen anything like it. Forested islands dot the horizon. The water is clear blue, sea lions pop to the surface, and boats and seaplanes can be heard in the distance
Walk back to camp and sleep through night
5.10
Owww! I awake to a pinched nerve. Dammit. I get up anyway, take a hot shower, and attempt to enjoy breakfast of champions
Hike around Pacific Rim National Park, a U.N. biosphere 30 km south of Tofino. This park offers one of the only remaining temperate rain forests in the world. Short boardwalk trails (the longest is 5 km roundtrip) provides insight to extremely diverse and exotic area. We walk the rainforest trails, bog trails, and shoreline trails. Each area offers something unique, like thick old growth forests falling into the Pacific; spongy, small cyprus trees; and 10km of coastline (at Long Beach). Along with black bears, cougars, wolves, sea lions, bald eagles, and gray and humpback whales, we realize what a special place this is
During the hikes, I hold my face up with my hand. I'm in extreme pain and hang out while Mac visits more trails. We head back to camp, where Mac feeds me while I drink a whole bottle of wine to diminish my ailments. It doesn't work. Around 2:30 a.m., I awake to a screeching headache and what I believe are bear paws. I'm not sure which is worse. Chug water and fall back to sleep after an agonizing hour of imagining big bears foraging our camp
5.11
Awake to a sore - albeit manageable - back. Walk to town, grab coffee, and head over to Seascapes Adventures, where we've arranged a day sea kayaking tour
Tour includes 7 kayakers and two guides. After a brief overview and getting into gear (which consists of a ridiculous-looking, cumquat outfit), we head to sea, in two-man kayaks. Mac takes the captain helm, in charge of steering the rudder. I take the boss power position, where I get to yell directions and pump us around
The morning current easily drifts us toward Meares island. Along the way, we enjoy the crystal clear waters, thickly covered islands, bald eagles, and ocean life. The guides give us a history and nature lesson, including how the area was once in danger of being logged. However, due to the huge tribal outcry, the Pacific Rim area was saved (which consequently is also why there are no bars on the island, Mac learns later from some Canadians).
Reach Meares Island, where we hike around, and eat snacks on the beach. The group is made up of mostly Brits, one Aussie, and us. It's roudy, outgoing, and shamefully fun
Head back in a pretty strong headwind, where we use all our strength to fight the current and white caps. It's great. We row over waves, beside huge islands, and migrating sandpiper flocks. We're drenched, but don't feel cold. We feel high and alive
Finish the tour with tea and a walk back to camp, where we take warm showers, and go to the only pub for another drink. One of my favorite days yet
5.12
Get up, run around reserve, pack up.
Drive to Horseshoe Bay, take 3 p.m. ferry to Vancouver
Stay night at BCRV - yep, an RV camp outside of Vancouver - in Barnaby. Although tent sites aren't open, we get to stay. The RV camp is pretty pimp. Includes free, hot showers, fitness center, hot tub, heated pool, free wi-fi, hiking/running trails. We check out weird, elder RV scene - comprised of white baby boomers. Apparently, RVs in Canada are a big deal as most plates come from BC.
5.13-5.15
Enjoy the sites in Vancouver, spend each night at BCRV camp. Visit islands, Stanley Park, Yaletown, Gastown, Pacific Spirit Pk, University of BC, and New Westminister.
Vancouver is a remarkably picturesque town with mountains, water, and huge parks all within arms reach. But where are the neighborhood joints? It seems like a huge sprawling and green city without many cool local establishments. We tromp all over town looking to no avail. Still, Vancouver gives us a good glimpse into Canada's chill, friendly, scenic lifestyle.
Pack up camp at BCRV (we're gonna miss you crazy RV holiday resort), and head east. Oh my god. This country resembles one gigantic national park. The highway (3E) carves through towering mountains, abound with snow and coniferous forests. They drape into running streams, lakes, and rivers. It's like parts of Oregon exploded - the Disneyland of vistas. We find out that BC, about 1 1/2 times the size of Texas, holds just 1/8 Texas' population. It's isolated, grandiose, and hypnotic. Most of the drive, we stare enthralled.
Finally, we come to Osoyoos, heart of BC's desert region. There's a desert region in BC? You betcha. It's hot (say 28 degrees Celsius). Watch-for-bear signs are replaced by watch-for-rattlesnakes innuendo. Forested, snow-capped mountains turn into stripped, brazen ones. People walk around in shorts, and adobe-style houses flank the scenes. It's New Mexico in Canada. We love it! Make camp at holiday campsite off lakeshore drive, right next to dammed-up lake beside running stream. We're all alone - no other campers. We eat and drink happily, and pass out with our tent screens open to welcome to the hot night.
5.16
Wake up, eat cold cereal for once in celebration of heat. Take 5 km walk to town, and walk with Bev, local Osoyoos resident, who dislikes tourists but offers nothing but typical Canadian graciousness toward us. We get the insider scoop about the heat (it's year round hot here), the lack in zoning laws (the town's getting torn up alright), and the hike in real estate prices (think retirement Mecca for Canadians)
We get to town, rent kayak, and row around lake. Mayflies, which look an awfully lot like mosquitoes, swarm and land on us like flies on shit. This cuts the kayak trip short, so we walk back to our camp without a bite on us (mayflies don't suck blood)
By now, it's damn hot - nearing 30 degrees and climbing. We apply, reapply suntan lotion. Eat lunch, go back to town, explore local wineries, and eat late dinner back at camp. Pass out
5.17
Wake up, go for scorching run (even at 6:45 a.m.) to town and back. Pack up, grab coffee, head out for long drive in anticipation of reaching states.
Reach BC/Idaho border. Border crossing harder coming back. Patrol officer almost nabs our fruits/vegetables from Canada. We slide by, and keep heading south until reach Montana
Make camp at Flathead Lake, largest freshwater lake west of Mississippi. Lake is runoff from Glacier National Park. It's lovely. Campsite is so-so.
5.18
Break camp, and get drive-through espressos, one of the best things we've found during our journey. WA, MT, OR, and CA offers these drive-through bars, but not CA. What gives?
Head south, and make it to Missoula, MT, home of University of Montana. Town shares many characteristics to Columbia, MO, my alma mater town. Quaint, small, situated on three riverbeds. And it's hot - record heat in fact. Glacier has been surging water and avalanches due to the intense sun. Another sign of global warming on this journey
Walk around and decide to try Mexican for dinner. Have cheap, typical college town meal. Too many beans. After dinner, try to walk off beans. See herd of kayakers playing on rapids on Clark Fork River, which bisects town. Make it back to camp for fitful night of sleep. Get woken by rain and hollers from crazy cat-bird-like creature
5.19
Still getting over bean-heavy dinner, make light breakfast. Let food settle, then run on trails along Clark Fork River. It's not so hot today, and the run proves wonderful.
Handle boring chores - laundry, tune up, etc.
Head to Moose Droole Brewing Co., and enjoy free beer tastings.
Eat dinner, pass out.
5.20
Wake up to rain. Pack up and travel south to Yellowstone. Yeah!
Swing through Bozeman, home of Montana State University. The town is pretty cool, young, and hippie like. Grab lunch in town. Make it to Yellowstone around 4 p.m., so we set up camp at base in Mammoth Springs. The grizzly signs scare us (ok, me), but that doesn't deter us from setting up camp.
Hike around Liberty Cap - stacked formations of limestones and fossilized iron deposits. Take nature drive toward Tower/Roosevelt.
Pick up Mark of the Grizzly novel at Yellowstone Ranger Station. Finish chapter in tent after dinner about wild grizzly attacking six campers in Yellowstone.
5.21
Wake up at 1:10 a.m. scared out of my mind. Can I get over the fear of the last grizzly chapter? Is there one in the camp, even though the chances are slim to none? Hmmm. Nope. Can't sleep. I'm freaking. Wake up Mac, and we move to the car for three hours as I get over my fear. But my god, the sky! It's huge. I've never seen so many stars. We're swallowed up by them. They appear to be touching the ground. Will I walk on them on the way to the car? Or run into a grizzly? Neither happens. Wake up in car and move back to tent at 4:30 a.m. as the birds start chirping and light dawns.
Decide I don't camp with grizzlies. Black bears, sure, but grizzlies are too unpredictable. I test Mac's patience once again. He endures.
Wake up around 7:30 a.m., and head out on nature drive. We see moose, tons of bison, elk, yellow-bellied marmots, and much much more.
Head back to camp, pack up, and set out for hikes. Many trail heads and areas are closed due to grizzly-heavy activity. Choose Lava Creek Trail. Start out on this 7.5 mile hike. Begins at creek, following water and shrubs. Beautiful grasslands and speckled mountains surround us. About 1 mile in, we come upon a pack of wolves. "Wolf!" I yell. Mac and I slowly back off. So do the wolves. We walk sideways, pick up rocks, and make lots of noise. Exhilarating! Wildlife at all corners really heightens the senses.
Take another trail - Beaver Ponds. 5.5 mile trail offers great depiction of Yellowstone - yellow stones, falls, caldera, meadows, thin forests, beaver lake, and shrubby grasslands. It's great. We make lots of noise on the hike to avoid bears. But we see some bear scat along the way. Always on the lookout.
Head back to Gardin, town at base of Yellowstone, and get hotel room. Remember, I don't camp with grizzlies.
Clean up and head out for our night nature drive. Wow! The valleys, grasslands, sheer rocks are beautiful. We see loads of bison, elk, etc. On the way to the falls, we run into a sow black bear and her two cubs eating on the side of the road, which is already littered with other oglers. It looks like the press corps for god's sake! Tourists with 200 mm telescopes and cameras line the side of the road to get shots of the uncaring bear. We feel a little dirty by doing the same thing. Luckily, a ranger's there.
Head back to town, eat our first meal of pizza, and go to sleep peacefully - like a cub
5.22
Wake up and drive south to Old Faithful. Revere the diverse views. Enter Old Faithful Village, which is surprisingly busy for the Monday before Memorial Day. Check into a Cabin at the lodge (still following the no camping with grizzly rule).
Visit Ranger Station, who says most trails are closed due to grizzly activity - again. Apparently, like in Mammoth, there are a lot of bison and elk carcasses.
Walk circuit of geysers and hot springs around Old Faithful. Sure, Old Faithful is cool, but there are many more spectacular ones. My favorite is about 2 miles north of Old Faithful on the trail. Its hues of greens, blues, pinks, and oranges run about 40 feet deep. We take another unpaved trail to Biscuit Basin. This trail is a bit sketchy, so we talk a lot, hoping to ward off a grizzly encounter.
Follow the trail back as the weather turns. We're downwind, which isn't good in bear country. But everything's ok. The geysers are wonderful. Get into car and see the rest of the geysers and hot springs - all shedding unique colors, smells, and sizes.
Finish the evening with salads and beer at the lodge.
5.23
Wake up to cold, rainy weather. We've taken all the trails open in Yellowstone, so decide to head South to Grand Teton after watching Old Faithful blow one last time.
On the drive south, we climb. The snowpack increases. We pass craggy forests, frozen lakes, rugged canyons, and then settle upon Teton. The Tetons shoot upward, unencumbered by foothills, on the Western Divide. They're sharp, snow-capped mounds of magnitude. We enter the southside, and visit the Jenny Lake Ranger Station. Again, most high-altitude (or even low-altitude) trails are snow covered, but we can hike around Jenny Lake. We decide to wait until tomorrow.
Drive farther south to Jackson, the town under Jackson Hole. It's richly laid out, accustomed to rich tourists and snow goers. Run 7 mile trail around Snake River in Jackson. The elevation nearly kills us.
Enjoy leisurely rest of day, walking round town, drinking beer, reading books.
5.24
Wake up, and head to Teton to hike my namesake lake. Dripping water, the glaciers surrounding Jenny snakes downward into crystal blue. Granite rock and sandstone mark the glaciers around the 8-mile loop trail. We encounter bear scat on the way there. Then we walk across the roaring river and up the falls. This lake has got everything, including handfuls of marmots. It's a perfect hiking day - clear skies and clear lake. Unfortunately, it's also the most populated trail in the Tetons, and we run into loads of hikers who took the boat across to the falls.
Leave Jenny Lake after a good 3 1/2-hour hike. Drive to Wind River Indian Reservation, where we visit Sacajawea Grave and see what life on a Native American reservation is like. In Wyoming, it's pretty sad. We took everything from the Shoshones, and gave them back a sliver of really crappy land. Damn us.
After feeling a little guilty, slovenly, and hot, we head to Sinks Canyon where, outside of the Native American Reservation, water flows again. Damn us.
Popo Agie River (pronounced popo shew) cuts the campground. We find a campsite beside this fast-moving water, and have to nearly yell at each other to hear over it. One of my top five campsites so far. Granite peaks and large boulders flank the grounds. Rock and water. Can't beat it.
We eat dinner, and Mac whoops my ass twice playing cribbage. I'm deflated and go to bed listening to water.
5.25
Wake up, fix breakfast, and walk on highway down to the Sinks, where water from the Popo Agie flows into a cave and literally disappears for two hours until it reemerges about 1/2 mile downstream. Geologists believe the water enters small canals and shoots - made from the same glacier that created its source - until it reenters the river again downstream. This is pretty cool.
We hike around Sinks Canyon, see wonderful sagebrush, wildflowers, and a few garden snakes. Then, we leave for the Flaming Gorge. Along the way south to Utah, we realize why Wyoming is the 50th most populated state. It looks and feels like Kansas on acid. Nothing's around. All I think as I drive is, "This is not where I wanna die. This is not where I want to die." We enter Utah, unscathed.
Enter Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area which, like its name connotes, is a huge gorge surrounded by red rock. We spend the night at Deer Run because there's a shower. We haven't showered in days and smell of rancid milk and dusty feet. Ohh the shower feels good. The camp hosts are super nice. We fall asleep with Mac reading Dean Koontz' Velocity.
5.26
Wake up, eat oatmeal plus a sprinkle of granola for variation, and head out in search of a long run. The best we can find is about five miles of rocky terrain. The elevation still hurts, and we cough and wheeze after a torturous go at it.
Take another shower. Ohh. This feels good in the dust. Pack up and head south to Dinosaur National Monument, which Woodrow Wilson tried to make into a National Park in 1915, only to be dismayed by the Carnegies and Congress. So it sits as a National Monument instead. The 800 acres of focalized sand dunes, red rock, and limestone reveal Jurassic age dinosaur fossils. Unfortunately, the carnegies, represented by a paleontologist removed many of the dinosaur fossils, but many still remain.
Hike around desert valley. View petroglyphs. Don't hike long because it's dusty and windy. Oh, and it's in the desert.
Drive to Vernal, pick up groceries for dinner at Jubilee, the local grocer. I've never received so many stares before. Girls look me up and down like I'm a slab of salami at a vegan bar. Is it the tat? Is it the hair? Is it the dirt? What gives. We try to find hummus, but that's too much to ask. We settle on avocado and lettuce. The checkout lady takes 15 minutes fumbling for the right code for all our fruits and vegetables. Meanwhile the guy behind us, getting a box of donut holes for dinner, sighs impatiently. Back in the parking lot, we can barely find our car in the pool of SUVs. Ohh Utah.
Make camp at the KOA (our second round at Kampground of America). Why the K, we'll never know.
Fix dinner, down some beer, then head out to find a bar playing the mavericks game. We're in Vernal, mind you - Mormon territory. Finding a bar is like finding Bush reading. But alas! It's not impossible. We step into the Brew Haus, our new sanctuary for the next four hours. It's super cool. According to the New York carekeeper (he calls himself this), this is just about the only place to buy beer in town. About five times throughout the night, he warns us of the po-po in town. We heed his advice and don't drink too much. The California plates aren't welcomed here.
Pass out to loads of KOA kampers around us.
5.27
Wake up, pick up camp, and head the hell out of Vernal toward Zion National Park. We pass flat countryside, American flags lining the interstate, and dusty small towns. This doesn't look promising for finding a beer in the next 2 weeks.
We make it into Zion National Park, which immediately floors us with its grand sandstone formations and checkerboard and ribboned rock. It's Memorial Day weekend (which explains the flags, we hope), so all the campsites are booked. We have a hell of a time finding a place to pitch our tent. But Mac hears about the bureau of land trust, which offers free campsites. We find it and make camp. Free lodging!
Walk to Zion visitor center, pick up backcountry permit, and eat/drink in Springdale (outskirts of Zion). The polygamy porter ain't bad. Crash out in our dusty - albeit free - campsite, where young Latinos kick up the dusty dirt with their ATVs. Pass out to four-wheelin' fun in reckless - albeit free - campsite.
5.28
Wake up, pick up camp fast, and head back to Zion visitor center. Get our packs ready for a 3-day long journey to the high country.
Eat a little breakfast, say goodbye to Charlie, and trek up the eastside of Zion National Park - Grotto Trail. We pass Angels Landing, red rock, and sandstone clusters. It's breathtaking. Two miles up, we finally lose the crowd and enter high country. We've reserved campsite 1, which is only 4.5 miles up, so we decide to book it to campsite 8. We trek the West Rim Trail, which overlooks peaks and canyons 8,000 feet high. Wildflowers - daisies, blue flowers, and cactus - are all in bloom. The views are magnificent.
It's hot. There's no water. But we reach campsite 8, 9 miles in. We're pretty beat. Unload our packs around 4, and spread out. Find watering hole. Thank God, because we're out of water in the desert. Eat pasta and pesto ravishingly. Deer feeding by us. Play cards, then crawl into the tent around 9. That's when we hear the herd of girls coming our way. They've reserved campsite 8 (oops), so we're in the way. Oh well, we decide to share the small space. They make lots of hostile noise, while we pretend to sleep like little bunniesw as they ramble on about nothing. We finally pass out, as I hear one of the girls say she's gonna leave her dishes out unclean that night. Uh-oh.
5.29
Wake up around midnight to something eating just outside our tent. Big surprise, with the girls' dirty dishes and all. It sounds big, but I assume it's a deer. Mac even hears it, who never hears shit through the night. We manage to sleep regardless.
Wake up with the sun, and move our camp away from the loud girls. Eat breakfast, then take an 8-mile hike to the end of the line (Lava Point). It isn't noteworthy, except for the horny toads. Return to camp, pack up, and strap on the pack for the 4.5-mile trek to campsite 1. We arrive, exhausted. Unload, eat, and pass out before 9 p.m. It was a rough, long, hot, wonderfully exhaustive day
5.30-5.31
Wake up and hike to base camp, crash out at KOA Eat at Applebees', only place that serves.
Next morning, pack to West part of Zion. It's less crowded. We only see backpackers. Drop our gear at our site, which sits adjacent to running water. Since dust envelops the area, a nice bath sounds good for later. But it's still early in the day, so we head out to see the natural arch. Hiking over boulders, rocks, and unmarked areas, we finally reach the overly anticipated and under-impressed arch. We turn around, and hike back to camp. So far, putting in a good 10-day pack.
Upon returning to site, we notice an infestation of little, grey biting insects. Which we later learn are midges. They bite, and their sharp teeth dig into our warm flesh with surprising fierceness. We spout out "ouches" upon each nasty bite, equivalent to a bee sting. So we weigh the options of either spending the next 15 hours beside the nasty midges or spending two torturous hours hiking back to the car and making camp at the KOA. We choose the latter, pack it up, and make a grueling death march back to the camp, with an eye out for mountain lions (it's sunset in the desert) and trying to keep ourselves upright.
We actually return in one piece, even though I almost lose it during the last mile in. We're really exhausted, but reach KOA unscathed (minus a few pussing blisters). And again, we return to Applebees for a large meal (after showering off the encrusted dirt). We eat until our jaws get tired and have a marvelous sleep.
6.1-6.13
During this period, we explore the rest of Utah national parks. Michel joins us at the RV resort park in Moab, Utah, where we set up base camp while exploring Arches Natl Park and try to endure the scorching heat of the summer desert.
Arches Natl Park: It's a small park with short trails, but if you're here to see how erosion, water, faults, and sentiment form interesting upside-down Us, this quells your desires. Engage in some early and evening hikes where the natural arches collect shadows of mountains, fins, and skyscraping red rock. Highlights: The Delicate Arch, the Parliament Arch. The diamondback taking a mid-afternoon nap. Moab's tolerance, watering holes, and organic foods. Especially Zak's pizza.
Canyonlands Natl Park: Like the Grand Canyon but redder. It draws a smaller crowd but offers spectacular views. Canyons in canyons, cut by the mighty Colorado. It's cooler than Arches, but it's still hot. Hike into the canyon - more like bouldering than hiking. Leave after encounter another midge infestation.
Bryce Canyon Natl Park: Extraordinary. Filled with spiraled sandstones called hoodoos, resembling pieces of a chessboard. Hues of oranges, reds, pinks, purples, yellows offset by green trees, blue skies. At a higher elevation than the other parks (albeit Zion), Bryce gives us temperate weather. Spend most time hiking northern part of park, where most hoodoos dwell. Hike story-booked named trails, like fairyland trail, rim trail (passing sunset pint, sunrise point, inspiration point), down into Queen's garden, and the Navajo trail. The hoodoos resemble widdled pencils made them from clay, then splashed with fiery colors. It's a small park, but worth a journey back.
6.14-6.21
We spend most of the next week in hotels and at friends' pads in SoCal. First stop: Vegas. Get a good scrubbing at the new Hooter's casino and hotel. It's quite nice, other than the Spring Break-like pool and bar. Plus, they pay plastic girls to hang out in bikinis by the pool. That's a good way to encourage me to hit the gym. Spend the next night at the Flamingo, where we score a suite. What a waste on two campers. Win $50 bucks at the casino. Spend the rest of the Vegas trip pampering ourselves, enjoying syn.
Drop by Hoover Dam. It's big, but the bigger crowds spoil the trip. Turn around and head back to Cali, which we've missed desperately. Especially the cultural acceptance levels. Also the weather and ocean. Even SoCal, an area I like to discount, gives me great pleasure. Love the visit to Venice Beach with sister Jill. Eat, drink, be merry.
On south the San Diego, stay with Seeley and Breck in their ultra-swag suburban environment. Then head over to Tempe to see the schools and assess its livability. On the way (we take the Mexican border route), pass by a family of immigrants getting arrested. What a drag. They actually succeed in crossing the desert in summer heat (it's 110 degrees now) only to get arrested by gringos in big hats. I guess the cops don't buy cheap strawberries like the rest of us.
In Tempe, Mac and I run from the ferocious heat. It's oppressive. We're depressive. Spend most days from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. in our small hotel room watching movies and taking siestas. But it's not the heat which really gets us down. It's also the area. Tempe teems with commercialization. You've got your standard Chili's, Ruby Tuesdays, and strip malls engulfing the area. And everyone's wearing polos and sipping bud light. We visit Scottsdale, because we've heard a lot of good things about the town north of Tempe. It's over hyped. Sure, Scottsdale seems pretty nice, if you're Caucasian, like over-using resources to keep fertile grass, and drive to swanky restaurants under the auspices of Chili's, Ruby Tuesday's, and Ra Sushi. We decide Tempe ain't for us, even if it looks perfect on paper. Maybe the heat hypnotized our friends into developing a penchant for the area. Or maybe we're just stuck-up San Franciscans who like soulful cities. Out we go. Charlie smiles upon us.
6.21 (longest day of the year)
Leave Tempe, driving north to Flagstaff trying to gain a little elevation and beat the heat. It works. Cacti turn to ponderosa pines. We find the local KOA, and pitch a tent. It's good to be back in filth. On the drive, we pass the Sodona inferno. Fires emblazon Arizona. Meteorologists call for the hottest summer ever in the area. Another sign of global warming?
After eating bad Thai (what were we thinking?), we settle for drinks at the Hotel Weatherford, an old, rickety hotel built in the early 1900s. The cool breeze sweeps over our sun-crusted bodies as young people drink and smoke. Finally, a little character in Arizona.
Crash out at the KOA in the Cococino National Forest
6.22
Awake and try to revert to our oatmeal breakfast. I finish half a cup before almost barfing. Why'd I think this mushy stew was so good again? Finish the meal with a Clif bar.
Hike up the Cococino mountains, in KOA's backyard. We climb steadily uphill, probably 1500 feet before reaching lookout point, a good spot to view the fire's haze, San Francisco mountains, and downtown Flagstaff. Return to camp and pack up.
Drive to Petrified Forest Natl Park and the Painted Desert. Hike Blue Mesa, cone-like mounds colored in blue, grey, white, and red stripes. Iron and carbon fused the colors over time. It's pretty amazing. Every group of people we pass (a 1-mile loop mind you), asks the same question, "Is it worth it?" It's a 1-mile jaunt for God's sake. Are you crazy? We've heard this question over and over again during our trip. We're talking one mile people, not a day at Disneyland, a place most people wouldn't flinch at passing. But when it comes to nature, a 20-minute hike must be pondered. I answer, "it's always worth it." Mac answers something less derogatory.
Spend night at Gallup, specifically at El Rancho historic hotel. It's Navajo country, and movie stars built this hotel for screening purposes.
Depart SF around 5 p.m.
Mac slams 2 beers
Camp out at Harbin Hot Springs (i.e. serene hot springs for Bay Area-ites.)
Eat dinner at local brewpub in Middletown
Pass out next to bubbling creek in total bliss
4.21
Take an early dip in the baths
Eat a light breakfast
Give Mac Shiatsu treatment next to bubbling creek
Take another dip
Head up to Hopland and the Solar Center; have picnic
Drive through Jackson State Forest
Hike Casper Headlands and pygmy forest
Make camp at MacKerriche State Park, and indulge in a meal of pasta
4.22
Awake and hiked 10 miles of sand dunes
Pack up, drive up Hwy 1 to Humbolt Redwoods State Park and Avenue of the Giants
Hike the nature trails
Drop by Arcata's Co-Op and marvel at Eureka's disgust
Make camp at Prairie Creek at Redwood National and State Park
4.23
Wake up to oatmeal and tea
Hike 14.1 miles around Redwood State Park - West Ridge Trail to Friendship to Pioneer Trail
Discover Jenbalaya and 2nd smallest frog ever
Get a little sun- and beer-whipped. Explore town
Stay another night at Pioneer Trail
4.24
Awake to oatmeal, raisins, and wild elk roaming our grounds. RV people almost got attacked
Hike Lady Bird Johnson Trail in light drizzle
Pick up camp, drive to Crater Lake in Oregon. Made it to Oregon!
Crater Lake snowed in, but make it to Rimm Ridge to overlook the lake over lip of crater. 14-feet snow mounds make the journey cold and difficult
Make camp at Joseph Steward campsite at Lost Creek Lake on Rogue River - $10/night for campgrounds and free shower. We're in fucking heaven
Walk around, make pasta salad on warm evening. Campground almost uninhabited
4.25
Wake up, run 8 miles around Lost Creek Lake
Eat typical morning breakfast of oatmeal and raisins; weather warmed. Mac says every meal can be oatmeal
Pack it up, and head for lunch at Grady's Pass. Eat one of the worst bean burritos ever
Backtrack on the Rogue River to Sanuel H. Boardman Scenic Corridor
Hike to Harris Beach, rocks, and tidal pools - saw nada
Make camp at Harris Beach S.P. (surly, RV-ridden campground. $13/night)
4.26
Awake freezing, pissy due to late night RV entries. Move out fast
Hike Coast Trail (13-mile stretch of rugged beaches, coastal rocks, cliffs, hamlets, and conifers), starting at Cape Ferrelo
Check out Natural Bridges Cove
Travel up Hwy. 1 through Coos Bay (largest bay between SF and Seattle). Cool little harbor towns built along the bay
Make camp at Jessie M. Honeyman Memorial S.P. ($13/night), on northside of Oregon Dunes Recreational Area. Stay in ATV-prohibited area
Go into Florence and have fresh, wild seafood meal on the bay. Local, quaint town with wi-fi, good beer and seafood
4.27
Awake freezing-ass cold; take first cold shower (no hot water, dammit!)
Opt for breakfast in town due to freeze factor. Have bagel and coffee at local joint. Very local. Everyone knows each other and men played on Monopoly-sized cribbage board.
Hike oregon Dunes Natl. Rec. Area. Mammoth mountains of sand. Strangely, trees grew in dunes, along with gargantuan, biting flies
Run into RV, ATV camp; bizarre slice at true ugly Americanisms
Pack up and head to Cape Perpetua - a 3+-mile, high-trek hike. Offers the best vantage point of Oregon (800 meters above sea level). Tremendous, panoramic vies of untouched, rugged coast and coniferous forests falling into the ocean
Try driving North to Lincoln City, only to be disappointed by no campsites and overly advertised tourist town. Turn around to Newport and South Beach State Park.
Campsite offered no tent sites, so pay extra $4 for hookups in RV slot. Ridden with RVs, yurts, and an odd Christian youth group singing modern-day versions of cum-baya
Opt for another seafood dinner. Wrong choice - Mos.
But have beer at original Rogue Brewery in Newport. Fine, fine idea.
4.28
Awake, go for hike along beach. Decide to run despite cold weather. Nice run. Zero people on beach and jetty
Pack it up after typical desayunos, and drive up toward Cape Lookout and Three Capes Point, which (absurdly enough) provides handfuls of cape towns, huge rock formations, and rolling countryside. So far, my favorite part of Oregon coastline
Stop for a beer (rich, smooth IPA) at Pelican Brewery at Pacific City
Continue on on to Tillamook Cheese Company. Check out production facility and eat free samples.Curd wins
Make camps at Oswald West State Park. Must hike down to campsite with gear. S.P. provides wheelbarrows for the journey, which are all in use by the time we arrive. So we huff back and forth with our stuff. Lush campsite and isolation from the road are great. Total surfer camp, filled with young partiers and hikers
4.29
Awake after being woken up intermittently throughout night by young revelers screaming and partying. Hike to surfer beach, where we find early-morning adults and youths clamming. We learn how, which is very easy: Look for plum-sized dimple in sand, then dig. You'll find clams
Walk farther down beach to tidal pools. Magellan-sized find - scores of starfish, anemone, live coral. Explore and gape
Discuss whether or not to collapse revelers tents. Opt out, but decide to leave "little fucker" note for them instead
Travel to Astoria and Columbia River Gorge. Visit Maritime Museum
Eat at Subway 30 miles outside of Portland. A bit sketchy
Make it in to Portland in pouring rain. Check in at Days Inn City Center. My stomach feels upset
Meet friends in town - Eastern Portland; go to brewery, where I yak and yak from food poisoning or maybe stomach flu
4.30-5.2
Recoup from food poisoning, then check out town, hang out with good friends
Portland highlights: Austinish, circa 1990. Super cool, happy, hip town with multiple neighborhoods, liberal thinkers, loads of green space. City of roses, town of patios, good beer, chill peeps, green, mountainous views, and thriving
5.3
Leave Portland and Suz. Sad but excited to get going again
Head North on 5 to Mt. Rainier National Park. Views of the park on the drive hint at a snowy, high-altitude hikes
Take southside road to entrance - bad idea. Road closed due to weather, although no sign alerts us to road closure for 41 miles out
Turn around and attempt to enter park on westside. It works, but the only open campsite is being repaved. We're fucked again
Drive, circle, drive, circle. Finally decide on staying at cabins on outskirts of Rainier. All lodges tout overpriced rates, but Sandy offers outdoor picnic tables and hospitality
Eat camp food, drink wine at lodge. We're happy. Large, mini-bear-sized raccoon tries to steal our food. We engage in a ninny battle. Pass out in warm bed; only tenants at cabins for the evening
5.4
Awake and take it slow to get up. Enjoy oatmeal/raisins outside under warm sun
Talk with Sandy for awhile, then head up to Longmire Ranger Station (only R.S. open this time of year). Find out we're pretty much snowed out, but some trailheads open
Hike Rampart Ridge Trail 5-mile loop. Shows varying forest/rocks/ridge/water topography. Moderate, elevation hike where we get a great view of the mountain and valley. Hit thickets of snow, which we tromp through slowly
Picnic, then hike Carter Falls 2.5-mile trail. We cross large rock formations and rivers, hike through snow to glimpse strong, 40-foot high falls.
Leave Mt. Rainier since no more hiking to do without hitting snow
Spend night at Best Western SeaTac, on outskirts of Seattle. Smokers room - bad choice
5.5
Awake, try to use "fitness room." Get dressed, get out
Move to Dash Point S.P. campgrounds. Ahhh. Now we're happy to be back outside in Dewey, our tent
Drive to Seattle, visit tourist info center. This shouldn't be missed. See the sites - Pike Fish Market, Experience Music Project, Sci-Fi museum, Space Needle, Capitol Hill, UW. Seattle's big. It's bustling. It's water town
Eat and crash out in Dewey. Awake in middle of night to prepubescent boy screaming obscenities to friends. The peace of outdoors
5.6
Hike around Dash Point, situated beside Puget Sound
Pack it up, head North on HWY 5 to Tsawwassen, B.C. Wait in immigration for 45 minutes. Don't even have to show passports. We could stay in Canada forever without anyone knowing
Make the 3 p.m. ferry to Victoria. Drive Charlie on the car ferry. Rain has finally stopped
Arrive in Vancouver Island around 5 p.m., and go searching for campsites. Finally reach French Beach, near Soote in pouring rain around 8:30 p.m. Exhausted and frustrated, crash out in spartan yurt (after drinking wine and eating bad, stinking cheese)
Read a little, feel something drop on head. Flick it to Mac's side of the bed. He yells, "what the fuck was that?" It ended up being a yellow jacket, which stung him. Oops
We fall asleep
5.7
Awake to pouring rain, eat breakfast of champions, and pack up. Campground only provides pit toilets
Weather clears as we drive into Victoria. Reserve room at HoJo next to Galloping Goose Trail
Take run on trail to downtown Victoria. It's beautiful
Shower, walk trail to downtown. Check out giant totem poles, B.C. museum, wharf, Parliament buildings. It's Europe with an American flair
Grab a drink, head back to room, and cook dinner
5.8
Awake to warm room at HoJo, and eat cold cereal for once. Variation is nice
Go for a run around Galloping Goose Trail to Swan Lake. The bums seem really nice around the area
Come back, read, and chill
Take a walk to downtown Victoria, visit park and wax museum. Get a two-hour free history lesson from museum employee on parliament, politics, etc. of Canada. Walk out more knowledgeable about Commanding history, not wax anatomy
Eat dinner at home
5.9
Wake up, clean up, drive to Tofino, extreme northwest town on island - 5 hours from Victoria
Pass enormous cedar, pines, hemlock forests; bays, harbors, inlets, running streams; islands speckling the horizon. The views are magnificent
Outside of Pacific Rim National Park, pass black bear hanging over guardrail. Holy shit! We swerve, miss him, and ogle the beautiful beast
Make camp at Crystal Cove campground - private campsite with internet access, free hot showers, and a reading room. This is how camping should be
Walk 4 km to Tofino. Small, idyllic town full of B&Bs, motels, crab depots, and marine adventure tours. But where's the bar? Walk all over small hamlet to find only bar sits beneath Days Inn. So drink Spring beer on deck overlooking dock. Good God the scenery! I've never seen anything like it. Forested islands dot the horizon. The water is clear blue, sea lions pop to the surface, and boats and seaplanes can be heard in the distance
Walk back to camp and sleep through night
5.10
Owww! I awake to a pinched nerve. Dammit. I get up anyway, take a hot shower, and attempt to enjoy breakfast of champions
Hike around Pacific Rim National Park, a U.N. biosphere 30 km south of Tofino. This park offers one of the only remaining temperate rain forests in the world. Short boardwalk trails (the longest is 5 km roundtrip) provides insight to extremely diverse and exotic area. We walk the rainforest trails, bog trails, and shoreline trails. Each area offers something unique, like thick old growth forests falling into the Pacific; spongy, small cyprus trees; and 10km of coastline (at Long Beach). Along with black bears, cougars, wolves, sea lions, bald eagles, and gray and humpback whales, we realize what a special place this is
During the hikes, I hold my face up with my hand. I'm in extreme pain and hang out while Mac visits more trails. We head back to camp, where Mac feeds me while I drink a whole bottle of wine to diminish my ailments. It doesn't work. Around 2:30 a.m., I awake to a screeching headache and what I believe are bear paws. I'm not sure which is worse. Chug water and fall back to sleep after an agonizing hour of imagining big bears foraging our camp
5.11
Awake to a sore - albeit manageable - back. Walk to town, grab coffee, and head over to Seascapes Adventures, where we've arranged a day sea kayaking tour
Tour includes 7 kayakers and two guides. After a brief overview and getting into gear (which consists of a ridiculous-looking, cumquat outfit), we head to sea, in two-man kayaks. Mac takes the captain helm, in charge of steering the rudder. I take the boss power position, where I get to yell directions and pump us around
The morning current easily drifts us toward Meares island. Along the way, we enjoy the crystal clear waters, thickly covered islands, bald eagles, and ocean life. The guides give us a history and nature lesson, including how the area was once in danger of being logged. However, due to the huge tribal outcry, the Pacific Rim area was saved (which consequently is also why there are no bars on the island, Mac learns later from some Canadians).
Reach Meares Island, where we hike around, and eat snacks on the beach. The group is made up of mostly Brits, one Aussie, and us. It's roudy, outgoing, and shamefully fun
Head back in a pretty strong headwind, where we use all our strength to fight the current and white caps. It's great. We row over waves, beside huge islands, and migrating sandpiper flocks. We're drenched, but don't feel cold. We feel high and alive
Finish the tour with tea and a walk back to camp, where we take warm showers, and go to the only pub for another drink. One of my favorite days yet
5.12
Get up, run around reserve, pack up.
Drive to Horseshoe Bay, take 3 p.m. ferry to Vancouver
Stay night at BCRV - yep, an RV camp outside of Vancouver - in Barnaby. Although tent sites aren't open, we get to stay. The RV camp is pretty pimp. Includes free, hot showers, fitness center, hot tub, heated pool, free wi-fi, hiking/running trails. We check out weird, elder RV scene - comprised of white baby boomers. Apparently, RVs in Canada are a big deal as most plates come from BC.
5.13-5.15
Enjoy the sites in Vancouver, spend each night at BCRV camp. Visit islands, Stanley Park, Yaletown, Gastown, Pacific Spirit Pk, University of BC, and New Westminister.
Vancouver is a remarkably picturesque town with mountains, water, and huge parks all within arms reach. But where are the neighborhood joints? It seems like a huge sprawling and green city without many cool local establishments. We tromp all over town looking to no avail. Still, Vancouver gives us a good glimpse into Canada's chill, friendly, scenic lifestyle.
Pack up camp at BCRV (we're gonna miss you crazy RV holiday resort), and head east. Oh my god. This country resembles one gigantic national park. The highway (3E) carves through towering mountains, abound with snow and coniferous forests. They drape into running streams, lakes, and rivers. It's like parts of Oregon exploded - the Disneyland of vistas. We find out that BC, about 1 1/2 times the size of Texas, holds just 1/8 Texas' population. It's isolated, grandiose, and hypnotic. Most of the drive, we stare enthralled.
Finally, we come to Osoyoos, heart of BC's desert region. There's a desert region in BC? You betcha. It's hot (say 28 degrees Celsius). Watch-for-bear signs are replaced by watch-for-rattlesnakes innuendo. Forested, snow-capped mountains turn into stripped, brazen ones. People walk around in shorts, and adobe-style houses flank the scenes. It's New Mexico in Canada. We love it! Make camp at holiday campsite off lakeshore drive, right next to dammed-up lake beside running stream. We're all alone - no other campers. We eat and drink happily, and pass out with our tent screens open to welcome to the hot night.
5.16
Wake up, eat cold cereal for once in celebration of heat. Take 5 km walk to town, and walk with Bev, local Osoyoos resident, who dislikes tourists but offers nothing but typical Canadian graciousness toward us. We get the insider scoop about the heat (it's year round hot here), the lack in zoning laws (the town's getting torn up alright), and the hike in real estate prices (think retirement Mecca for Canadians)
We get to town, rent kayak, and row around lake. Mayflies, which look an awfully lot like mosquitoes, swarm and land on us like flies on shit. This cuts the kayak trip short, so we walk back to our camp without a bite on us (mayflies don't suck blood)
By now, it's damn hot - nearing 30 degrees and climbing. We apply, reapply suntan lotion. Eat lunch, go back to town, explore local wineries, and eat late dinner back at camp. Pass out
5.17
Wake up, go for scorching run (even at 6:45 a.m.) to town and back. Pack up, grab coffee, head out for long drive in anticipation of reaching states.
Reach BC/Idaho border. Border crossing harder coming back. Patrol officer almost nabs our fruits/vegetables from Canada. We slide by, and keep heading south until reach Montana
Make camp at Flathead Lake, largest freshwater lake west of Mississippi. Lake is runoff from Glacier National Park. It's lovely. Campsite is so-so.
5.18
Break camp, and get drive-through espressos, one of the best things we've found during our journey. WA, MT, OR, and CA offers these drive-through bars, but not CA. What gives?
Head south, and make it to Missoula, MT, home of University of Montana. Town shares many characteristics to Columbia, MO, my alma mater town. Quaint, small, situated on three riverbeds. And it's hot - record heat in fact. Glacier has been surging water and avalanches due to the intense sun. Another sign of global warming on this journey
Walk around and decide to try Mexican for dinner. Have cheap, typical college town meal. Too many beans. After dinner, try to walk off beans. See herd of kayakers playing on rapids on Clark Fork River, which bisects town. Make it back to camp for fitful night of sleep. Get woken by rain and hollers from crazy cat-bird-like creature
5.19
Still getting over bean-heavy dinner, make light breakfast. Let food settle, then run on trails along Clark Fork River. It's not so hot today, and the run proves wonderful.
Handle boring chores - laundry, tune up, etc.
Head to Moose Droole Brewing Co., and enjoy free beer tastings.
Eat dinner, pass out.
5.20
Wake up to rain. Pack up and travel south to Yellowstone. Yeah!
Swing through Bozeman, home of Montana State University. The town is pretty cool, young, and hippie like. Grab lunch in town. Make it to Yellowstone around 4 p.m., so we set up camp at base in Mammoth Springs. The grizzly signs scare us (ok, me), but that doesn't deter us from setting up camp.
Hike around Liberty Cap - stacked formations of limestones and fossilized iron deposits. Take nature drive toward Tower/Roosevelt.
Pick up Mark of the Grizzly novel at Yellowstone Ranger Station. Finish chapter in tent after dinner about wild grizzly attacking six campers in Yellowstone.
5.21
Wake up at 1:10 a.m. scared out of my mind. Can I get over the fear of the last grizzly chapter? Is there one in the camp, even though the chances are slim to none? Hmmm. Nope. Can't sleep. I'm freaking. Wake up Mac, and we move to the car for three hours as I get over my fear. But my god, the sky! It's huge. I've never seen so many stars. We're swallowed up by them. They appear to be touching the ground. Will I walk on them on the way to the car? Or run into a grizzly? Neither happens. Wake up in car and move back to tent at 4:30 a.m. as the birds start chirping and light dawns.
Decide I don't camp with grizzlies. Black bears, sure, but grizzlies are too unpredictable. I test Mac's patience once again. He endures.
Wake up around 7:30 a.m., and head out on nature drive. We see moose, tons of bison, elk, yellow-bellied marmots, and much much more.
Head back to camp, pack up, and set out for hikes. Many trail heads and areas are closed due to grizzly-heavy activity. Choose Lava Creek Trail. Start out on this 7.5 mile hike. Begins at creek, following water and shrubs. Beautiful grasslands and speckled mountains surround us. About 1 mile in, we come upon a pack of wolves. "Wolf!" I yell. Mac and I slowly back off. So do the wolves. We walk sideways, pick up rocks, and make lots of noise. Exhilarating! Wildlife at all corners really heightens the senses.
Take another trail - Beaver Ponds. 5.5 mile trail offers great depiction of Yellowstone - yellow stones, falls, caldera, meadows, thin forests, beaver lake, and shrubby grasslands. It's great. We make lots of noise on the hike to avoid bears. But we see some bear scat along the way. Always on the lookout.
Head back to Gardin, town at base of Yellowstone, and get hotel room. Remember, I don't camp with grizzlies.
Clean up and head out for our night nature drive. Wow! The valleys, grasslands, sheer rocks are beautiful. We see loads of bison, elk, etc. On the way to the falls, we run into a sow black bear and her two cubs eating on the side of the road, which is already littered with other oglers. It looks like the press corps for god's sake! Tourists with 200 mm telescopes and cameras line the side of the road to get shots of the uncaring bear. We feel a little dirty by doing the same thing. Luckily, a ranger's there.
Head back to town, eat our first meal of pizza, and go to sleep peacefully - like a cub
5.22
Wake up and drive south to Old Faithful. Revere the diverse views. Enter Old Faithful Village, which is surprisingly busy for the Monday before Memorial Day. Check into a Cabin at the lodge (still following the no camping with grizzly rule).
Visit Ranger Station, who says most trails are closed due to grizzly activity - again. Apparently, like in Mammoth, there are a lot of bison and elk carcasses.
Walk circuit of geysers and hot springs around Old Faithful. Sure, Old Faithful is cool, but there are many more spectacular ones. My favorite is about 2 miles north of Old Faithful on the trail. Its hues of greens, blues, pinks, and oranges run about 40 feet deep. We take another unpaved trail to Biscuit Basin. This trail is a bit sketchy, so we talk a lot, hoping to ward off a grizzly encounter.
Follow the trail back as the weather turns. We're downwind, which isn't good in bear country. But everything's ok. The geysers are wonderful. Get into car and see the rest of the geysers and hot springs - all shedding unique colors, smells, and sizes.
Finish the evening with salads and beer at the lodge.
5.23
Wake up to cold, rainy weather. We've taken all the trails open in Yellowstone, so decide to head South to Grand Teton after watching Old Faithful blow one last time.
On the drive south, we climb. The snowpack increases. We pass craggy forests, frozen lakes, rugged canyons, and then settle upon Teton. The Tetons shoot upward, unencumbered by foothills, on the Western Divide. They're sharp, snow-capped mounds of magnitude. We enter the southside, and visit the Jenny Lake Ranger Station. Again, most high-altitude (or even low-altitude) trails are snow covered, but we can hike around Jenny Lake. We decide to wait until tomorrow.
Drive farther south to Jackson, the town under Jackson Hole. It's richly laid out, accustomed to rich tourists and snow goers. Run 7 mile trail around Snake River in Jackson. The elevation nearly kills us.
Enjoy leisurely rest of day, walking round town, drinking beer, reading books.
5.24
Wake up, and head to Teton to hike my namesake lake. Dripping water, the glaciers surrounding Jenny snakes downward into crystal blue. Granite rock and sandstone mark the glaciers around the 8-mile loop trail. We encounter bear scat on the way there. Then we walk across the roaring river and up the falls. This lake has got everything, including handfuls of marmots. It's a perfect hiking day - clear skies and clear lake. Unfortunately, it's also the most populated trail in the Tetons, and we run into loads of hikers who took the boat across to the falls.
Leave Jenny Lake after a good 3 1/2-hour hike. Drive to Wind River Indian Reservation, where we visit Sacajawea Grave and see what life on a Native American reservation is like. In Wyoming, it's pretty sad. We took everything from the Shoshones, and gave them back a sliver of really crappy land. Damn us.
After feeling a little guilty, slovenly, and hot, we head to Sinks Canyon where, outside of the Native American Reservation, water flows again. Damn us.
Popo Agie River (pronounced popo shew) cuts the campground. We find a campsite beside this fast-moving water, and have to nearly yell at each other to hear over it. One of my top five campsites so far. Granite peaks and large boulders flank the grounds. Rock and water. Can't beat it.
We eat dinner, and Mac whoops my ass twice playing cribbage. I'm deflated and go to bed listening to water.
5.25
Wake up, fix breakfast, and walk on highway down to the Sinks, where water from the Popo Agie flows into a cave and literally disappears for two hours until it reemerges about 1/2 mile downstream. Geologists believe the water enters small canals and shoots - made from the same glacier that created its source - until it reenters the river again downstream. This is pretty cool.
We hike around Sinks Canyon, see wonderful sagebrush, wildflowers, and a few garden snakes. Then, we leave for the Flaming Gorge. Along the way south to Utah, we realize why Wyoming is the 50th most populated state. It looks and feels like Kansas on acid. Nothing's around. All I think as I drive is, "This is not where I wanna die. This is not where I want to die." We enter Utah, unscathed.
Enter Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area which, like its name connotes, is a huge gorge surrounded by red rock. We spend the night at Deer Run because there's a shower. We haven't showered in days and smell of rancid milk and dusty feet. Ohh the shower feels good. The camp hosts are super nice. We fall asleep with Mac reading Dean Koontz' Velocity.
5.26
Wake up, eat oatmeal plus a sprinkle of granola for variation, and head out in search of a long run. The best we can find is about five miles of rocky terrain. The elevation still hurts, and we cough and wheeze after a torturous go at it.
Take another shower. Ohh. This feels good in the dust. Pack up and head south to Dinosaur National Monument, which Woodrow Wilson tried to make into a National Park in 1915, only to be dismayed by the Carnegies and Congress. So it sits as a National Monument instead. The 800 acres of focalized sand dunes, red rock, and limestone reveal Jurassic age dinosaur fossils. Unfortunately, the carnegies, represented by a paleontologist removed many of the dinosaur fossils, but many still remain.
Hike around desert valley. View petroglyphs. Don't hike long because it's dusty and windy. Oh, and it's in the desert.
Drive to Vernal, pick up groceries for dinner at Jubilee, the local grocer. I've never received so many stares before. Girls look me up and down like I'm a slab of salami at a vegan bar. Is it the tat? Is it the hair? Is it the dirt? What gives. We try to find hummus, but that's too much to ask. We settle on avocado and lettuce. The checkout lady takes 15 minutes fumbling for the right code for all our fruits and vegetables. Meanwhile the guy behind us, getting a box of donut holes for dinner, sighs impatiently. Back in the parking lot, we can barely find our car in the pool of SUVs. Ohh Utah.
Make camp at the KOA (our second round at Kampground of America). Why the K, we'll never know.
Fix dinner, down some beer, then head out to find a bar playing the mavericks game. We're in Vernal, mind you - Mormon territory. Finding a bar is like finding Bush reading. But alas! It's not impossible. We step into the Brew Haus, our new sanctuary for the next four hours. It's super cool. According to the New York carekeeper (he calls himself this), this is just about the only place to buy beer in town. About five times throughout the night, he warns us of the po-po in town. We heed his advice and don't drink too much. The California plates aren't welcomed here.
Pass out to loads of KOA kampers around us.
5.27
Wake up, pick up camp, and head the hell out of Vernal toward Zion National Park. We pass flat countryside, American flags lining the interstate, and dusty small towns. This doesn't look promising for finding a beer in the next 2 weeks.
We make it into Zion National Park, which immediately floors us with its grand sandstone formations and checkerboard and ribboned rock. It's Memorial Day weekend (which explains the flags, we hope), so all the campsites are booked. We have a hell of a time finding a place to pitch our tent. But Mac hears about the bureau of land trust, which offers free campsites. We find it and make camp. Free lodging!
Walk to Zion visitor center, pick up backcountry permit, and eat/drink in Springdale (outskirts of Zion). The polygamy porter ain't bad. Crash out in our dusty - albeit free - campsite, where young Latinos kick up the dusty dirt with their ATVs. Pass out to four-wheelin' fun in reckless - albeit free - campsite.
5.28
Wake up, pick up camp fast, and head back to Zion visitor center. Get our packs ready for a 3-day long journey to the high country.
Eat a little breakfast, say goodbye to Charlie, and trek up the eastside of Zion National Park - Grotto Trail. We pass Angels Landing, red rock, and sandstone clusters. It's breathtaking. Two miles up, we finally lose the crowd and enter high country. We've reserved campsite 1, which is only 4.5 miles up, so we decide to book it to campsite 8. We trek the West Rim Trail, which overlooks peaks and canyons 8,000 feet high. Wildflowers - daisies, blue flowers, and cactus - are all in bloom. The views are magnificent.
It's hot. There's no water. But we reach campsite 8, 9 miles in. We're pretty beat. Unload our packs around 4, and spread out. Find watering hole. Thank God, because we're out of water in the desert. Eat pasta and pesto ravishingly. Deer feeding by us. Play cards, then crawl into the tent around 9. That's when we hear the herd of girls coming our way. They've reserved campsite 8 (oops), so we're in the way. Oh well, we decide to share the small space. They make lots of hostile noise, while we pretend to sleep like little bunniesw as they ramble on about nothing. We finally pass out, as I hear one of the girls say she's gonna leave her dishes out unclean that night. Uh-oh.
5.29
Wake up around midnight to something eating just outside our tent. Big surprise, with the girls' dirty dishes and all. It sounds big, but I assume it's a deer. Mac even hears it, who never hears shit through the night. We manage to sleep regardless.
Wake up with the sun, and move our camp away from the loud girls. Eat breakfast, then take an 8-mile hike to the end of the line (Lava Point). It isn't noteworthy, except for the horny toads. Return to camp, pack up, and strap on the pack for the 4.5-mile trek to campsite 1. We arrive, exhausted. Unload, eat, and pass out before 9 p.m. It was a rough, long, hot, wonderfully exhaustive day
5.30-5.31
Wake up and hike to base camp, crash out at KOA Eat at Applebees', only place that serves.
Next morning, pack to West part of Zion. It's less crowded. We only see backpackers. Drop our gear at our site, which sits adjacent to running water. Since dust envelops the area, a nice bath sounds good for later. But it's still early in the day, so we head out to see the natural arch. Hiking over boulders, rocks, and unmarked areas, we finally reach the overly anticipated and under-impressed arch. We turn around, and hike back to camp. So far, putting in a good 10-day pack.
Upon returning to site, we notice an infestation of little, grey biting insects. Which we later learn are midges. They bite, and their sharp teeth dig into our warm flesh with surprising fierceness. We spout out "ouches" upon each nasty bite, equivalent to a bee sting. So we weigh the options of either spending the next 15 hours beside the nasty midges or spending two torturous hours hiking back to the car and making camp at the KOA. We choose the latter, pack it up, and make a grueling death march back to the camp, with an eye out for mountain lions (it's sunset in the desert) and trying to keep ourselves upright.
We actually return in one piece, even though I almost lose it during the last mile in. We're really exhausted, but reach KOA unscathed (minus a few pussing blisters). And again, we return to Applebees for a large meal (after showering off the encrusted dirt). We eat until our jaws get tired and have a marvelous sleep.
6.1-6.13
During this period, we explore the rest of Utah national parks. Michel joins us at the RV resort park in Moab, Utah, where we set up base camp while exploring Arches Natl Park and try to endure the scorching heat of the summer desert.
Arches Natl Park: It's a small park with short trails, but if you're here to see how erosion, water, faults, and sentiment form interesting upside-down Us, this quells your desires. Engage in some early and evening hikes where the natural arches collect shadows of mountains, fins, and skyscraping red rock. Highlights: The Delicate Arch, the Parliament Arch. The diamondback taking a mid-afternoon nap. Moab's tolerance, watering holes, and organic foods. Especially Zak's pizza.
Canyonlands Natl Park: Like the Grand Canyon but redder. It draws a smaller crowd but offers spectacular views. Canyons in canyons, cut by the mighty Colorado. It's cooler than Arches, but it's still hot. Hike into the canyon - more like bouldering than hiking. Leave after encounter another midge infestation.
Bryce Canyon Natl Park: Extraordinary. Filled with spiraled sandstones called hoodoos, resembling pieces of a chessboard. Hues of oranges, reds, pinks, purples, yellows offset by green trees, blue skies. At a higher elevation than the other parks (albeit Zion), Bryce gives us temperate weather. Spend most time hiking northern part of park, where most hoodoos dwell. Hike story-booked named trails, like fairyland trail, rim trail (passing sunset pint, sunrise point, inspiration point), down into Queen's garden, and the Navajo trail. The hoodoos resemble widdled pencils made them from clay, then splashed with fiery colors. It's a small park, but worth a journey back.
6.14-6.21
We spend most of the next week in hotels and at friends' pads in SoCal. First stop: Vegas. Get a good scrubbing at the new Hooter's casino and hotel. It's quite nice, other than the Spring Break-like pool and bar. Plus, they pay plastic girls to hang out in bikinis by the pool. That's a good way to encourage me to hit the gym. Spend the next night at the Flamingo, where we score a suite. What a waste on two campers. Win $50 bucks at the casino. Spend the rest of the Vegas trip pampering ourselves, enjoying syn.
Drop by Hoover Dam. It's big, but the bigger crowds spoil the trip. Turn around and head back to Cali, which we've missed desperately. Especially the cultural acceptance levels. Also the weather and ocean. Even SoCal, an area I like to discount, gives me great pleasure. Love the visit to Venice Beach with sister Jill. Eat, drink, be merry.
On south the San Diego, stay with Seeley and Breck in their ultra-swag suburban environment. Then head over to Tempe to see the schools and assess its livability. On the way (we take the Mexican border route), pass by a family of immigrants getting arrested. What a drag. They actually succeed in crossing the desert in summer heat (it's 110 degrees now) only to get arrested by gringos in big hats. I guess the cops don't buy cheap strawberries like the rest of us.
In Tempe, Mac and I run from the ferocious heat. It's oppressive. We're depressive. Spend most days from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. in our small hotel room watching movies and taking siestas. But it's not the heat which really gets us down. It's also the area. Tempe teems with commercialization. You've got your standard Chili's, Ruby Tuesdays, and strip malls engulfing the area. And everyone's wearing polos and sipping bud light. We visit Scottsdale, because we've heard a lot of good things about the town north of Tempe. It's over hyped. Sure, Scottsdale seems pretty nice, if you're Caucasian, like over-using resources to keep fertile grass, and drive to swanky restaurants under the auspices of Chili's, Ruby Tuesday's, and Ra Sushi. We decide Tempe ain't for us, even if it looks perfect on paper. Maybe the heat hypnotized our friends into developing a penchant for the area. Or maybe we're just stuck-up San Franciscans who like soulful cities. Out we go. Charlie smiles upon us.
6.21 (longest day of the year)
Leave Tempe, driving north to Flagstaff trying to gain a little elevation and beat the heat. It works. Cacti turn to ponderosa pines. We find the local KOA, and pitch a tent. It's good to be back in filth. On the drive, we pass the Sodona inferno. Fires emblazon Arizona. Meteorologists call for the hottest summer ever in the area. Another sign of global warming?
After eating bad Thai (what were we thinking?), we settle for drinks at the Hotel Weatherford, an old, rickety hotel built in the early 1900s. The cool breeze sweeps over our sun-crusted bodies as young people drink and smoke. Finally, a little character in Arizona.
Crash out at the KOA in the Cococino National Forest
6.22
Awake and try to revert to our oatmeal breakfast. I finish half a cup before almost barfing. Why'd I think this mushy stew was so good again? Finish the meal with a Clif bar.
Hike up the Cococino mountains, in KOA's backyard. We climb steadily uphill, probably 1500 feet before reaching lookout point, a good spot to view the fire's haze, San Francisco mountains, and downtown Flagstaff. Return to camp and pack up.
Drive to Petrified Forest Natl Park and the Painted Desert. Hike Blue Mesa, cone-like mounds colored in blue, grey, white, and red stripes. Iron and carbon fused the colors over time. It's pretty amazing. Every group of people we pass (a 1-mile loop mind you), asks the same question, "Is it worth it?" It's a 1-mile jaunt for God's sake. Are you crazy? We've heard this question over and over again during our trip. We're talking one mile people, not a day at Disneyland, a place most people wouldn't flinch at passing. But when it comes to nature, a 20-minute hike must be pondered. I answer, "it's always worth it." Mac answers something less derogatory.
Spend night at Gallup, specifically at El Rancho historic hotel. It's Navajo country, and movie stars built this hotel for screening purposes.
Friday, June 2, 2006
6/2/2006: Yellowstone: National Park or Suburban Safari?
For the past two weeks or so since my last entry, Mac and I have been religiously hitting the national parks. (We're finally able to explore some backcountry without moshing in snow within the first mile.) We're in Utah right now, after a five-day death march through Zion. But that's not what I want to talk about. Instead, I want to go back in time about one week and talk about Yellowstone, our country's first national park.
To set the tone, let me get it out there that I fear grizzly bears. It's an irrational fear, I'm aware. But nonetheless, a deeply seeded fear which pokes out at dawn, at dusk, in the middle of the night, when eating, when digging a hole, or upon any long hike. I became especially aware of this fear while in Yellowstone, one of the only U.S. national parks (along with Glacier and Grand Teton) that still teems with these powerful mammals.
Yellowstone doesn't only house grizzlies. It serves refuge to other big-game species, birds, and rodents - like black bear, bison, elk, ospreys, and yellow-bellied marmots. I came to Yellowstone for the wildlife, sure. But mainly, I came for the views - namely the renowned meadows, limestone, hot springs, geysers, and yellow stone. However, after visiting, I'd surmise to say that most other visitors come mainly for big game. Especially in the Spring, when most snow northside of the park (around Mammoth Springs) has melted, uncovering wildlife which didn't survive the frigid winter. And nothing awakens bears - or our gas-guzzling 4-wheel drives - from their winter slumber more than freshly decaying carcasses.
This is the Yellowstone we arrived in - predatory with bears and people. Upon arriving, we enter the visitor center to get the low-down on hikes and open trailheads. To our chagrin, the park has closed off most trails due to heavy grizzly activity. (Poke, poke goes my grizzly gut.) 'Grizzly activity?,' I retort warily to the ever-cheerful ranger. 'Grizzlies and their cubs carving up the carcasses. It's not prudent to get in their way during the grazing season,' says the smiling ranger. I miss what he says after that because the poking has made its way to my ears.
>But what the hell? We're in Yellowstone and Mac's looking at me pleadingly. So we set out on our hikes. About one mile in to the first one (Lava Point Trail), we encounter a pack of wolves - about 50 meters away in the forest. They wear dense, grey coats and move away as quickly as we pick up nearby rocks in defense. We both back off. It's exhilarating. Unfortunately, this somewhat threatening wildlife encounter proves to be the only authentic one during our time in Yellowstone. The other encounters occur in Charlie's black nylon seats.
Like the herd (of people, that is), Mac and I join our upright counterparts in the sitting position to view big game treasures. These wildlife drives generally occur at dawn and at dusk - the height of the feeding frenzy. While good hours for wildlife watching, these are even better hours for people peeping. Many congest the viewing turnouts, sporting 300mm lenses intent on seeing carnivorous beasts. Some simply stop their cars in the middle of the street, gawking at ranging bison. And others actually get out of their metal boxes to take close-range pictures of park animals.
The worst and best wildlife spotting happened at dusk during the end of one such drive. A black sow and her cubs were feeding beside the edge of the road. It might have been a spectacular event if we hadn't hit a wall of people gawking at the same wonder. We got out of our car, along with scores of others, and watched. The bear seemed completed habituated, uncaring about the flashing lenses or gasps and groans. When the sow made her way onto pavement, Mac grabbed me and we skirted out while the press corps kept turning their shutters.
This is the story of present-day Yellowstone: people ogling at wildlife from the sanctuary of their gigantic cars. On a grander scale, Yellowstone kind of reflects America - a sheltered area bordered by big fences and paved roads. Is Yellowstone real? Are we real? I think parts of both are. But I'm fearful of the future.
To set the tone, let me get it out there that I fear grizzly bears. It's an irrational fear, I'm aware. But nonetheless, a deeply seeded fear which pokes out at dawn, at dusk, in the middle of the night, when eating, when digging a hole, or upon any long hike. I became especially aware of this fear while in Yellowstone, one of the only U.S. national parks (along with Glacier and Grand Teton) that still teems with these powerful mammals.
Yellowstone doesn't only house grizzlies. It serves refuge to other big-game species, birds, and rodents - like black bear, bison, elk, ospreys, and yellow-bellied marmots. I came to Yellowstone for the wildlife, sure. But mainly, I came for the views - namely the renowned meadows, limestone, hot springs, geysers, and yellow stone. However, after visiting, I'd surmise to say that most other visitors come mainly for big game. Especially in the Spring, when most snow northside of the park (around Mammoth Springs) has melted, uncovering wildlife which didn't survive the frigid winter. And nothing awakens bears - or our gas-guzzling 4-wheel drives - from their winter slumber more than freshly decaying carcasses.
This is the Yellowstone we arrived in - predatory with bears and people. Upon arriving, we enter the visitor center to get the low-down on hikes and open trailheads. To our chagrin, the park has closed off most trails due to heavy grizzly activity. (Poke, poke goes my grizzly gut.) 'Grizzly activity?,' I retort warily to the ever-cheerful ranger. 'Grizzlies and their cubs carving up the carcasses. It's not prudent to get in their way during the grazing season,' says the smiling ranger. I miss what he says after that because the poking has made its way to my ears.
>But what the hell? We're in Yellowstone and Mac's looking at me pleadingly. So we set out on our hikes. About one mile in to the first one (Lava Point Trail), we encounter a pack of wolves - about 50 meters away in the forest. They wear dense, grey coats and move away as quickly as we pick up nearby rocks in defense. We both back off. It's exhilarating. Unfortunately, this somewhat threatening wildlife encounter proves to be the only authentic one during our time in Yellowstone. The other encounters occur in Charlie's black nylon seats.
Like the herd (of people, that is), Mac and I join our upright counterparts in the sitting position to view big game treasures. These wildlife drives generally occur at dawn and at dusk - the height of the feeding frenzy. While good hours for wildlife watching, these are even better hours for people peeping. Many congest the viewing turnouts, sporting 300mm lenses intent on seeing carnivorous beasts. Some simply stop their cars in the middle of the street, gawking at ranging bison. And others actually get out of their metal boxes to take close-range pictures of park animals.
The worst and best wildlife spotting happened at dusk during the end of one such drive. A black sow and her cubs were feeding beside the edge of the road. It might have been a spectacular event if we hadn't hit a wall of people gawking at the same wonder. We got out of our car, along with scores of others, and watched. The bear seemed completed habituated, uncaring about the flashing lenses or gasps and groans. When the sow made her way onto pavement, Mac grabbed me and we skirted out while the press corps kept turning their shutters.
This is the story of present-day Yellowstone: people ogling at wildlife from the sanctuary of their gigantic cars. On a grander scale, Yellowstone kind of reflects America - a sheltered area bordered by big fences and paved roads. Is Yellowstone real? Are we real? I think parts of both are. But I'm fearful of the future.
Monday, May 22, 2006
4/22/2006 Two Tiny Frogs and Eel River Porter
Our journey started out with Mac pounding two Negro Modelos while crossing the Golden Gate and us making it two-and-a-half hours North to Harbin Hot Springs, the ethereal baths of the gods (i.e. naked retreat for liberal-thinking Bay Area-ites).
After soaking, sobering up, and exfoliating our bodily fumes, we headed North along 101. The first revelation that we'd left our modern world in San Francisco came when I spotted a pinhead-sized frog in the pygmy forest off the Mendocino Coast. If you don't know what a pygmy forest looks like, imagine bonsai trees on plant steroids. The shrunken, Neon frog looked like he'd just shed his flipper for legs. Uncertain of himself, he took it slow and wobbly. We stared at him for a while, hiked on, and stayed the night off a 10-mile stretch of preserved dunes.
Dunes in California - like black bears in california - are a dying breed. Attempts at saving the dunes and the roads from erosion marked the area. But Californians like their beach houses and will do anything to save that million-dollar view.
My second revelation came upon following the turquoise, crystalline Eel River road up the Mendocino Coast to Humbolt County. This beautiful ravine, while impeccable in its natural state, is even better bottled. The label on an Eel River Porter says "brewed with the finest certified organic hops and barley." I'm on my second today and think the label needs a little marketing work to bring this beer to the masses. It should say, "the best bottled porter ever."
We picked up this wonderful nectar at the co-op in Arcata, an idealistic town which epitomizes everything good and bad about Humbolt County. Good because it touts environment, some of the world's best bud, and green-card toting, brown-bag carrying thinking individuals. Bad because it sits smack dab North of the desolate logger town of Eureka. The dichotomy reminds me of what Austin used to be like - Rednecks living with Hippies.
Third revelation: The second tiniest frog ever. Mac spotted this one in Redwoods National and State Park. Frogs, I believe (without cheating by looking at wikipedia), signify rebirth. The fact that we saw two says something, right? This induced a long discussion of amphibian symbolism among the world's tallest trees. California has been good to us
After soaking, sobering up, and exfoliating our bodily fumes, we headed North along 101. The first revelation that we'd left our modern world in San Francisco came when I spotted a pinhead-sized frog in the pygmy forest off the Mendocino Coast. If you don't know what a pygmy forest looks like, imagine bonsai trees on plant steroids. The shrunken, Neon frog looked like he'd just shed his flipper for legs. Uncertain of himself, he took it slow and wobbly. We stared at him for a while, hiked on, and stayed the night off a 10-mile stretch of preserved dunes.
Dunes in California - like black bears in california - are a dying breed. Attempts at saving the dunes and the roads from erosion marked the area. But Californians like their beach houses and will do anything to save that million-dollar view.
My second revelation came upon following the turquoise, crystalline Eel River road up the Mendocino Coast to Humbolt County. This beautiful ravine, while impeccable in its natural state, is even better bottled. The label on an Eel River Porter says "brewed with the finest certified organic hops and barley." I'm on my second today and think the label needs a little marketing work to bring this beer to the masses. It should say, "the best bottled porter ever."
We picked up this wonderful nectar at the co-op in Arcata, an idealistic town which epitomizes everything good and bad about Humbolt County. Good because it touts environment, some of the world's best bud, and green-card toting, brown-bag carrying thinking individuals. Bad because it sits smack dab North of the desolate logger town of Eureka. The dichotomy reminds me of what Austin used to be like - Rednecks living with Hippies.
Third revelation: The second tiniest frog ever. Mac spotted this one in Redwoods National and State Park. Frogs, I believe (without cheating by looking at wikipedia), signify rebirth. The fact that we saw two says something, right? This induced a long discussion of amphibian symbolism among the world's tallest trees. California has been good to us
Saturday, May 20, 2006
5/20/2006 Salvage This (imagine my big, white ass hanging out) Congress!
On most long backpacking trips, I try to avoid all things that boil me up - like politics and big cars. Since staying away from the latter proves impossible on a cross-country stateside road trip, I've chosen to at least neglect my obligation to read news.
So the other day, when I picked up a newspaper - a second-rate, small-town Montana paper at that - one of the stories pretty much undid the last four weeks of cum-bayas, nature walks, and meditation. Deeply hidden in the national news section on page 17 (between a story about Mother's Day events and the surging real estate prices) revealed a snippet on the House passing the Salvage Logging Bill (under the ubiquitously pleasing moniker "Forest Emergency Recovery and Research Act").
This bill, err act, proposed by Reps. Greg Walden (R-OR) and Brian Baird (D-WA), speeds up the environmental review process on some federal lands of downed trees caused by fire, weather, insect infestation, or other occurrence. Federal agencies would have to finalize fallen tree timber sales within 120 days (30 days for the decision and 90 days for the comment period).
In layman's terms, this means that, according to the bill's promoters, salvage trees are dead and therefore don't do a damn thing for the forest. Once down, they have no use. Accelerating the process in clearing these trees and turning them into usable timber before they rot helps regenerate damaged forests - or so supporters frame it.
While this seems practical, it's just not accurate. Downed trees provide life, regeneration, and essential nutrients to a forest - damaged or healthy. This isn't just how I see it. Science agrees. According to the Register-Guard, "169 scientists, including some of the nation's most prominent fire ecologists, warned that the bill could profoundly damage sensitive post-fire ecosystems by disturbing soils, causing erosion, removing wildlife nesting and feeding sites, reducing the nutrients and shade needed to help new trees to grow, and leaving behind debris that can increase fire risk."
Granted, as an American citizen, it's sometimes difficult to see the truth behind garbled, exploitative politics. Unless you've walked an old-growth or second-growth forest and seen these fallen trees, it's hard to imagine life that might come from them. It's hard to imagine hemlocks and elms growing on another elm's carcass. Or imagine that a bald eagle's nest can survive atop this new-life-from-death formation.
It's also hard to imagine what life in the forest would look like without these fallen giants. What kind of runoff, erosion, and more dead trees might occur without dead ones? What would happen to the soil if the acidity were removed? How could the full ecosystem (insects, birds, bears) evolve without proper nutrients or cover to promote constant growth? Fallen trees have as much a purpose to life as live, erect ones.
Sitting behind a desk and thinking about these things differs vastly from strapping on a pair of hiking boots and tromping through wilderness. But I don't expect every representative to be like John Muir, father of our national parks, who stopped theorizing and set out in nature to really understand its scope. All I ask is that our senators and reps at least respect science. But I guess that's way too much to ask.
I mean afterall, what can I expect from an administration that has set air and water quality standards back to 1960s standards? That has allowed oil drilling in preserved lands but banned endangered species acts? That has blocked out immigrants but wages war? That has ignored the Kyoto Protocol while tampering with scientific facts in the EPA Report on the Environment.
The atrocities are numerous.
So why do such laws continue to pass? Why does the House majority continue to neglect science and rubber stamp environmentally erosive laws? I think Walden, head proponent of the bill, gives the nonsensical reasoning best:
"As Americans, we like our wood products."
So the other day, when I picked up a newspaper - a second-rate, small-town Montana paper at that - one of the stories pretty much undid the last four weeks of cum-bayas, nature walks, and meditation. Deeply hidden in the national news section on page 17 (between a story about Mother's Day events and the surging real estate prices) revealed a snippet on the House passing the Salvage Logging Bill (under the ubiquitously pleasing moniker "Forest Emergency Recovery and Research Act").
This bill, err act, proposed by Reps. Greg Walden (R-OR) and Brian Baird (D-WA), speeds up the environmental review process on some federal lands of downed trees caused by fire, weather, insect infestation, or other occurrence. Federal agencies would have to finalize fallen tree timber sales within 120 days (30 days for the decision and 90 days for the comment period).
In layman's terms, this means that, according to the bill's promoters, salvage trees are dead and therefore don't do a damn thing for the forest. Once down, they have no use. Accelerating the process in clearing these trees and turning them into usable timber before they rot helps regenerate damaged forests - or so supporters frame it.
While this seems practical, it's just not accurate. Downed trees provide life, regeneration, and essential nutrients to a forest - damaged or healthy. This isn't just how I see it. Science agrees. According to the Register-Guard, "169 scientists, including some of the nation's most prominent fire ecologists, warned that the bill could profoundly damage sensitive post-fire ecosystems by disturbing soils, causing erosion, removing wildlife nesting and feeding sites, reducing the nutrients and shade needed to help new trees to grow, and leaving behind debris that can increase fire risk."
Granted, as an American citizen, it's sometimes difficult to see the truth behind garbled, exploitative politics. Unless you've walked an old-growth or second-growth forest and seen these fallen trees, it's hard to imagine life that might come from them. It's hard to imagine hemlocks and elms growing on another elm's carcass. Or imagine that a bald eagle's nest can survive atop this new-life-from-death formation.
It's also hard to imagine what life in the forest would look like without these fallen giants. What kind of runoff, erosion, and more dead trees might occur without dead ones? What would happen to the soil if the acidity were removed? How could the full ecosystem (insects, birds, bears) evolve without proper nutrients or cover to promote constant growth? Fallen trees have as much a purpose to life as live, erect ones.
Sitting behind a desk and thinking about these things differs vastly from strapping on a pair of hiking boots and tromping through wilderness. But I don't expect every representative to be like John Muir, father of our national parks, who stopped theorizing and set out in nature to really understand its scope. All I ask is that our senators and reps at least respect science. But I guess that's way too much to ask.
I mean afterall, what can I expect from an administration that has set air and water quality standards back to 1960s standards? That has allowed oil drilling in preserved lands but banned endangered species acts? That has blocked out immigrants but wages war? That has ignored the Kyoto Protocol while tampering with scientific facts in the EPA Report on the Environment.
The atrocities are numerous.
So why do such laws continue to pass? Why does the House majority continue to neglect science and rubber stamp environmentally erosive laws? I think Walden, head proponent of the bill, gives the nonsensical reasoning best:
"As Americans, we like our wood products."
Friday, May 12, 2006
5/12/2006 Vancouver Island: Where Biodiversity Still Flourishes
When we discovered that there was a U.N. biosphere reserve on Vancouver Island, we packed Charlie and headed north. And we weren't disappointed. I've never seen anything like this before. Clayoquot Sound Biosphere Reserve looks like tropical Panama, mountainous Northern California, and lush Alaska fused into one. It's one of the most unique places I've ever experienced.
The drive from Victoria, Vancouver Island, to the reserve led us through clear rivers, coniferous forests, snowy peaks, and curvaceous roads. (Not to mention that the average speed limit is 80 kph, so it took half a day to go 230 km.) Four hours into the drive we spotted our first black bear. He/she was hanging over the guardrail - the guardrail! - observing passing traffic. Upon noticing the black goliath, I might have hit cross traffic if there actually were any. The bear looked at us, and kept his coolness. He stayed stationary - two paws hanging over man-made steel - as we screeched slowly by. Whoa. I had a feeling I'd see amazing wildlife on Vancouver Island.
As the driver, I relished the ethereal citing until we reached Tofino, surfer/sea town north in the reserve. We decided to lodge at a private campground only a few kilometers from town center. That night, we walked into town looking for a bar. But we encountered our first realization of BC - this is First Nation country. In other words, the tribes (i.e. Inuit) dislike liquor. So getting licensed is rough. We settled on Days Inn Marine Pub - the only pub in town. But we didn't care. It overlooked the bay and splinter of lush islands spotting the horizon.
After a bellyfull of Canadian Spring lager and seafood chowder, we headed back to camp, keeping an eye out for guardrail-hugging black bear.
The next day, we hiked Pacific Rim National Park, which provides insight into the cultural and ecological surroundings. The reason the U.N. named this a biosphere reserve is because the 60 km region offers bog forests, one of the last temperate rain forests in the world, long Pacific beach fronts, tidal pools, and burgeoning, diverse wildlife. During our time in the region, we viewed black bear, bald eagles, starfish, hawks, sea lions, and loads of banana slugs. But we missed a lot - like humpback whales, jaguar, and wolves.
Over the next few days, we went sea kayaking, scared ourselves silly (ok, myself silly) listening to late-night phantom bear paws, made morning treks to tidal pools, and discovered why rain forests - even temperate ones - keep everything green. Minus the clandestine pubs, this has got to be one of the best kept secrets on our planet.
The drive from Victoria, Vancouver Island, to the reserve led us through clear rivers, coniferous forests, snowy peaks, and curvaceous roads. (Not to mention that the average speed limit is 80 kph, so it took half a day to go 230 km.) Four hours into the drive we spotted our first black bear. He/she was hanging over the guardrail - the guardrail! - observing passing traffic. Upon noticing the black goliath, I might have hit cross traffic if there actually were any. The bear looked at us, and kept his coolness. He stayed stationary - two paws hanging over man-made steel - as we screeched slowly by. Whoa. I had a feeling I'd see amazing wildlife on Vancouver Island.
As the driver, I relished the ethereal citing until we reached Tofino, surfer/sea town north in the reserve. We decided to lodge at a private campground only a few kilometers from town center. That night, we walked into town looking for a bar. But we encountered our first realization of BC - this is First Nation country. In other words, the tribes (i.e. Inuit) dislike liquor. So getting licensed is rough. We settled on Days Inn Marine Pub - the only pub in town. But we didn't care. It overlooked the bay and splinter of lush islands spotting the horizon.
After a bellyfull of Canadian Spring lager and seafood chowder, we headed back to camp, keeping an eye out for guardrail-hugging black bear.
The next day, we hiked Pacific Rim National Park, which provides insight into the cultural and ecological surroundings. The reason the U.N. named this a biosphere reserve is because the 60 km region offers bog forests, one of the last temperate rain forests in the world, long Pacific beach fronts, tidal pools, and burgeoning, diverse wildlife. During our time in the region, we viewed black bear, bald eagles, starfish, hawks, sea lions, and loads of banana slugs. But we missed a lot - like humpback whales, jaguar, and wolves.
Over the next few days, we went sea kayaking, scared ourselves silly (ok, myself silly) listening to late-night phantom bear paws, made morning treks to tidal pools, and discovered why rain forests - even temperate ones - keep everything green. Minus the clandestine pubs, this has got to be one of the best kept secrets on our planet.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
5/10/2006 (I think): Canada - Europe with American-Sized Cars
It took us 45 minutes to cross the Washington-to-Canada border. And this was Saturday, around 11 a.m., when you should expect crowds. But unlike the Mexico-America border, we weren't even asked for our passports or for a few bucks to wash our windshield. We could stay here forever, smoke buckets-full of marijuana without being sent to jail, and live cheaper than most places in the States (the current exchange rate is 7-to-1).
Canadians joke that America is the 9,000-square-mile border left behind. In many ways, they've got it right. I mean Canadians take things slower, enjoy more pacifistic politics, revere nature and the English queen, and don't even lock their doors at night. (Sure this comes from Michael Moore movies, but the Canadians concede to this social phenomena.) And then there's free health care, beautiful views, and the nicest people you've met on earth.
After spending three months living in Ireland, I had many complaints. Namely that the Irish abhorred diversity. They had terrific stout, rugged bogs, and were the nicest people in Europe, but it got boring there. Everyone was white and Catholic. I need more diversity to survive. That's where the Canadians differ. They offer benevolent spirits alongside great Thai food, Buddhist temples, and African art. Oh, and the scenery is spectacular. Other than the large cars and the occasional Starbucks, Canada (B.C. anyway), resembles Europe more than America.
Curious about Canadian politics, Mac and I engaged a history major working the floors at the Victoria Wax Museum - in Vancouver Island - about Canadian culture, politics, and history. The would-be 30-minute Diane-and-Charles wax tour led us through a two-hour lesson in B.C. Canadian politics.
Among the highlights:
There are many more differences between us and Canada, including three-plus party politics and adherence to the Kyoto Protocol. The interesting thing is that Canadians must learn American politics, while we just learn American politics. Why is that? What are we, egocentric or something? There's more to this world than America. God to Allah, let's hope so. I don't know if Canadians are right. But fuck, at least they're different, eh?
Canadians joke that America is the 9,000-square-mile border left behind. In many ways, they've got it right. I mean Canadians take things slower, enjoy more pacifistic politics, revere nature and the English queen, and don't even lock their doors at night. (Sure this comes from Michael Moore movies, but the Canadians concede to this social phenomena.) And then there's free health care, beautiful views, and the nicest people you've met on earth.
After spending three months living in Ireland, I had many complaints. Namely that the Irish abhorred diversity. They had terrific stout, rugged bogs, and were the nicest people in Europe, but it got boring there. Everyone was white and Catholic. I need more diversity to survive. That's where the Canadians differ. They offer benevolent spirits alongside great Thai food, Buddhist temples, and African art. Oh, and the scenery is spectacular. Other than the large cars and the occasional Starbucks, Canada (B.C. anyway), resembles Europe more than America.
Curious about Canadian politics, Mac and I engaged a history major working the floors at the Victoria Wax Museum - in Vancouver Island - about Canadian culture, politics, and history. The would-be 30-minute Diane-and-Charles wax tour led us through a two-hour lesson in B.C. Canadian politics.
Among the highlights:
- Canada operates under a Westminister System, a democratic system of government following parliamentary rule (i.e. parliament more powerful than executive branch). Constitutional monarchy; federal parliamentary democracy
- Party discipline in Canada controls most elections. MPs (members of Parliament, similar to our house representatives) follow and vote along party consensus. If one aborts party vote, votes becomes benign
- Head of state: Queen Elizabeth II; Representative in Canada: Governor General Michaëlle Jean; Prime Minster: Stephen Harper
- Cabinet: around 30 ministers appointed by prime minister
- Legislative branch consists of two parts: Senate and House of Commons (upper and lower houses, respectively). Senate limited to 104 members, appointed by governor based on prime minster's rec; House of Commons currently at a little over 300, elected by plurality vote, for no longer than five-year term.
- Government provides campaign financing for incumbent - $1 dollar for every vote. Only minor private contributions allowed for competitors. Makes incumbents slightly favored
- Marijuana decriminalized
- Health insurance is free. Although waiting lists for operations can last up to two years
There are many more differences between us and Canada, including three-plus party politics and adherence to the Kyoto Protocol. The interesting thing is that Canadians must learn American politics, while we just learn American politics. Why is that? What are we, egocentric or something? There's more to this world than America. God to Allah, let's hope so. I don't know if Canadians are right. But fuck, at least they're different, eh?
Saturday, May 6, 2006
5/6/2006 Travel Annals: Sandwiched Up, Snowed Out, Smoked In
It hasn't been all fun and games.
The first day we veer away from our typical PB&J lunch for a Subway sandwich (all veggie, mind you), I get food poisoning. The kind of food poisoning that rocks you five hours later, in a Portland brewhouse, when the waitress delivers bubbling spinach and artichoke cheese dip to your table. Thankfully, I made it to the loo, but not before I horrified the table with a look of panic, disgust, and dribble.
The projectile vomiting and severe shakes lasted for 48 hours, but not before I got a bite of that spinach-artichoke-cheese trigger. Looking back, it didn't look much better on the table than in the john.
Then there's been the snow factor. We've beaten the crowds at the national parks, at the campgrounds, and nearly everywhere. But for good reason. Most hikers and backpackers dislike snow packs. We entered Crater Lake Natlional Park - the deepest lake in the U.S. - only to encounter road closures and zero trail head openings.
Just two days ago, we entered Mt. Rainier National Park painfully. The south entrance was closed (without notice), and the only campsite at the mountain's base was being repaved. We found lodging, but expensively for $85/night. The next day, we trekked any open trail possible, and ended up footing snow up to our hips. At one point, I fell in, yelped "help!", and quickly dislodged my boot from its 3-foot hole.
Finally, there's been the lodging arrangements. I never realized how much I prefer sleeping outside in rolled-up nylon than indoors in cushioned beds. The Best Western unearthed this revelation. Online, the hotel chain touted a fitness center, sauna, indoor pool, warm bed, continental breakfast, and free paper for only $48. Whoa. Sounds like a deal, right? Well, we got rooked. The fitness center turned out to be three, 10-year-old machines. The sauna and indoor pool ended up being kid-infested urinals. The warm bed was in a smoker's room, where we coughed and hacked all night. And the paper was a USA Today. Ok. So the breakfast was pretty good, but it wasn't worth $48.
All that aside, we're in Canada now, on a car ferry to Vancouver Island. The air already smells fresher. The people seem more exotic. The geography appears more lush. And you can't bring RVs on the island. So things are looking up.
The first day we veer away from our typical PB&J lunch for a Subway sandwich (all veggie, mind you), I get food poisoning. The kind of food poisoning that rocks you five hours later, in a Portland brewhouse, when the waitress delivers bubbling spinach and artichoke cheese dip to your table. Thankfully, I made it to the loo, but not before I horrified the table with a look of panic, disgust, and dribble.
The projectile vomiting and severe shakes lasted for 48 hours, but not before I got a bite of that spinach-artichoke-cheese trigger. Looking back, it didn't look much better on the table than in the john.
Then there's been the snow factor. We've beaten the crowds at the national parks, at the campgrounds, and nearly everywhere. But for good reason. Most hikers and backpackers dislike snow packs. We entered Crater Lake Natlional Park - the deepest lake in the U.S. - only to encounter road closures and zero trail head openings.
Just two days ago, we entered Mt. Rainier National Park painfully. The south entrance was closed (without notice), and the only campsite at the mountain's base was being repaved. We found lodging, but expensively for $85/night. The next day, we trekked any open trail possible, and ended up footing snow up to our hips. At one point, I fell in, yelped "help!", and quickly dislodged my boot from its 3-foot hole.
Finally, there's been the lodging arrangements. I never realized how much I prefer sleeping outside in rolled-up nylon than indoors in cushioned beds. The Best Western unearthed this revelation. Online, the hotel chain touted a fitness center, sauna, indoor pool, warm bed, continental breakfast, and free paper for only $48. Whoa. Sounds like a deal, right? Well, we got rooked. The fitness center turned out to be three, 10-year-old machines. The sauna and indoor pool ended up being kid-infested urinals. The warm bed was in a smoker's room, where we coughed and hacked all night. And the paper was a USA Today. Ok. So the breakfast was pretty good, but it wasn't worth $48.
All that aside, we're in Canada now, on a car ferry to Vancouver Island. The air already smells fresher. The people seem more exotic. The geography appears more lush. And you can't bring RVs on the island. So things are looking up.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
4/25/2006 Tectonic, Turbulent, Taciturn Oregon
Samuel H. Boardman is my newfound hero. First Oregon Parks Superintendent in the early to mid-1900s, he helped preserve the Oregon coasts and found many of Oregon's state parks. Without him, I might never have seen the rocky beaches, rugged headlands, sea lion coves, 40 miles of dunes, natural tide pools, or unspoiled coastline which define Oregon's seaward geography.
But then again, I might never have encountered the guy wearing "Mad Dog Gym" T-shirt while riding his gas-guzzling dune buggy over those preserved dunes. Or woken up to Arctic-like conditions amongst handfuls of RVs. Or eaten a po-boy that tasted like a McDonald's fish-filet at Mo's restaurant on the bay.
Oregon can't be stereotyped. Sometimes it feels like Arkansas transplanted on the Pacific. Rivers cut into the ocean filling some of the world's deepest and cleanest lakes. And the locals speak a slow, simple dialect, giving fishing and geological rarities odd names like "gunkholing" and "spouting horn."
Other times, Oregon feels like a forgotten, uninhabited island ignored by the rest of the world. With more than 300 miles of untouched coastline, uncongested roads, slow-paced drivers, and state parks bisecting nearly every intersection, I constantly have to question why more Californians don't move a little north.
Oregon's secret is best kept by its locals. When's the last time you saw a "visit Oregon" ad campaign? Or knew that Oregon is the last of two states that still requires gas attendants to pump your gas for you? The people can spot a tourist as quickly as a bum can spot loose change. But instead of lunging for your coins, locals give you space, trying not to reveal their secret.
At a campsite hospitality center in Southbeach (midway up the coast), I got two older people to start talking up Oregon. But then they quickly reeled back, saying "we don't want you Californians moving here" in a joking but stringent way. After thinking about it, neither do I. At least, not southern Californians.
Monday, April 24, 2006
4/24/2006 Listen to the signs that say "Don't approach wild elk on foot."
This morning, we awoke to a small herd of elk - small meaning one buck and four doe - grazing in front of our campsite. We sipped tea as we gazed upon these gorgeous beasts munching on dewy grass. We weren't the only campers at the Pioneer Valley campground in Redwood Park. Swarms of RVs and a few tent campers also surrounded us. On the other side of the clearing between us and the elk were two RVs parked side-by-side.
From the RV side, we heard dogs barking. So did the elk, who were being barked at. Instead of wandering off, the elk decided to investigate the small creatures causing such a raucous. These elk weren't scared of shit. So they moved closer to the RVs - about 300 meters ahead of us. Slowly, the RV inhabitants - the type you might expect to slither out of an RV - began peaking out their metal doors.
Let me set the stage here. Our campsite is like a baseball diamond. We're at home base, the RVs in middle field, and the bathrooms on 1st. And the elk sit smack dab in the middle of everything at pitcher mound. In other words, there's no direct way to reach the bathrooms without passing the herd of elk.
After the elk investigate the barking, they decide to snack closer to the RVs. Apparently, elk have a penchant for cocker spaniels and mutts. The barking stops. The elks continue eating. And Mac and I continue sipping. Slowly, the RV peeps make their way to the bathroom without problem.
Then the fun starts. One of the ladies decides to take her cocker for a walk to the bathrooms. As she gets closer to the bathroom, the elk creep closer - the buck always in front. Each elk resembles the size of 4 large people dressed up in a horse uniform. They're taut, muscular animals which can run up to 35 miles per hour and "are unpredictable," or so the scores of signs state all around us.
About half-way to the bathrooms, the woman begins noticing that the wild beasts step in tune with her. She starts to speed up. The elk become more alert, pointing at the small furry cocker who's no longer barking but scampering in pace along with his owner who has definitely quickened her pace. At this point, the woman and her little dog have the elk's full concentration. The RV woman begins looking for her getaway plan, which happens to be a picnic table adjacent to the bathrooms.
Mac and I, still in mid-sip, look at each other and realize the immensity of the situation. This woman and her little cocker are about to get trampled - or raped - by the elk. So we get up and do our good deed for the day - we yell, hiss, and stomp at the beasts like real, warm-blooded mammals. The elk move away and the woman scurries off to the bathroom, where she hands her husband the leash and releases her undoubtedly loose bowels.
You'd think that was it. You'd think that yes, indeed, the signs are correct that say "elk are unpredictable animals that charge when approached on foot." Umm. Apparently not. One of the other RV guests - who, let's hope hasn't caught whiff of the cocker-elk episode- decides to get close to the elk for some pics. You can imagine the outcome. The herd herds him over to the notorious picnic table where the woman almost got mauled. Again, someone has to bail the guy out of the jam. But after doing our good deed for the day and realizing that these people need more than a good screaming at, Mac and I just keep on sitting and sipping. The man gets away.
Two things I learned from this morning: 1. Heed wildlife signs. 2. Never ever ever buy an RV. It reduces your IQ by at least 20 marks.
From the RV side, we heard dogs barking. So did the elk, who were being barked at. Instead of wandering off, the elk decided to investigate the small creatures causing such a raucous. These elk weren't scared of shit. So they moved closer to the RVs - about 300 meters ahead of us. Slowly, the RV inhabitants - the type you might expect to slither out of an RV - began peaking out their metal doors.
Let me set the stage here. Our campsite is like a baseball diamond. We're at home base, the RVs in middle field, and the bathrooms on 1st. And the elk sit smack dab in the middle of everything at pitcher mound. In other words, there's no direct way to reach the bathrooms without passing the herd of elk.
After the elk investigate the barking, they decide to snack closer to the RVs. Apparently, elk have a penchant for cocker spaniels and mutts. The barking stops. The elks continue eating. And Mac and I continue sipping. Slowly, the RV peeps make their way to the bathroom without problem.
Then the fun starts. One of the ladies decides to take her cocker for a walk to the bathrooms. As she gets closer to the bathroom, the elk creep closer - the buck always in front. Each elk resembles the size of 4 large people dressed up in a horse uniform. They're taut, muscular animals which can run up to 35 miles per hour and "are unpredictable," or so the scores of signs state all around us.
About half-way to the bathrooms, the woman begins noticing that the wild beasts step in tune with her. She starts to speed up. The elk become more alert, pointing at the small furry cocker who's no longer barking but scampering in pace along with his owner who has definitely quickened her pace. At this point, the woman and her little dog have the elk's full concentration. The RV woman begins looking for her getaway plan, which happens to be a picnic table adjacent to the bathrooms.
Mac and I, still in mid-sip, look at each other and realize the immensity of the situation. This woman and her little cocker are about to get trampled - or raped - by the elk. So we get up and do our good deed for the day - we yell, hiss, and stomp at the beasts like real, warm-blooded mammals. The elk move away and the woman scurries off to the bathroom, where she hands her husband the leash and releases her undoubtedly loose bowels.
You'd think that was it. You'd think that yes, indeed, the signs are correct that say "elk are unpredictable animals that charge when approached on foot." Umm. Apparently not. One of the other RV guests - who, let's hope hasn't caught whiff of the cocker-elk episode- decides to get close to the elk for some pics. You can imagine the outcome. The herd herds him over to the notorious picnic table where the woman almost got mauled. Again, someone has to bail the guy out of the jam. But after doing our good deed for the day and realizing that these people need more than a good screaming at, Mac and I just keep on sitting and sipping. The man gets away.
Two things I learned from this morning: 1. Heed wildlife signs. 2. Never ever ever buy an RV. It reduces your IQ by at least 20 marks.
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