Yosemite in February

Death Valley - 2010

So, with a week off, Shannon and I headed out to Death Valley for some "summer" hiking in February. Despite having a rather disenchanting name, Death Valley is a beautiful place - at least in the winter!

The Mesquite Sand Dunes.

Climbing the dunes is harder than it looks!

Sunset from the Mesquite Dunes.

Climbing toward Zabriske Point.

My beautiful wife in Marble Canyon.

There were open mines everywhere! I scrambled down one hill, to find a sign at the bottom which said, "Stay Out, Stay Alive!"

Scotty's Castle! So the best I could gather is that a cowboy named Scotty swindled a rich banker into investing lots of money in a non-existent Death Valley gold mine. When the banker realized he'd been had, he decided to build a castle in the desert and call it "Scotty's Castle". Go figure.

Overlooking the valley from Dante's View.

Aha, when in doubt, consult a map!

On the Golden Canyon Trail with the Red Cathedral in the background.

Wandering through the hills. (Not all who wander are lost, but I might have been.)

Here I am lofting a snowball from Dante's View at 5500 feet toward Badwater Basin, the second lowest point in the Western Hemisphere at -262 ft.

Grilling sausages from Green's Sausage House in Zabcikville, TX. After a long day of hiking, they were especially delicious!

How to lose a truck in 2 days

Quinton is really a trooper. This summer, we hiked Yosmite Falls, returning well after dark, and wandering around the park for an hour looking for my car; a couple weeks ago, we took a 50+ mile bike ride, again returning in the dark (with no lights), taking some "short cuts", asking for directions, and eventually making it back to his place; a few weeks before, we went to Tahoe and hiked, then wandered up a lonely mountain road to spend some time contemplating life, looking at stars, talking about girls, and listening for wild beasts making hungry-sounding noises. And there have been other adventures along the way - such as me nearly getting dashed against a rock by an angry surf last weekend when a sleeper wave washed me off a rock I'd been climing on at Bodega Bay, and a hike Quinton and I took just down the road from my house in a wilderness preserve. On that adventure, we found wild grapes and berries along the way and enjoyed more than our fair shares. Surprisingly, I think we got out before dark that time. However, on that trip, we found out even parking can be exciting, as the parking lot entrance was closed, but the exit open. Since he was driving that day, I held down the tire spikes as he drove into the lot. :)

Well, this past weekend really makes those other adventures look rather tame.

It all started on Saturday when I finally bought a 4x4 truck.




With snow and inclement weather quickly app-roaching, Quinton and I decided to take it out yesterday for a spin in the Rubicon - an area bordering Desolation Wilderness in the Sierra Mountains.




Little did we know, the fun was only beginning. We'd been driving around the mountain for hours without taking much note of where we were or what trails we'd been on, when our path suddenly came to an abrupt end, leaving us in facing down a hill with little room to turn around. It was my first experience with ash, and we quickly learned that it offers no traction at all. We tried backing out, but dug in to the ash quickly. (A word about the ash: the area we were in was previously forest, mostly destroyed by the Kyburz fire two years ago, creating several feet of ash over the mountainside.)


Despite our best efforts (note the rocks), we were unable to get the truck turned around, and finally gave up around dusk. As previously mentioned, we hadn't kept much track of where we were, but after walking a half mile or so, sighted lights near Highway 50 about 2200 feet below and to the south. After calling Erik from the only spot on the mountain with cell reception, we started walking.


We wandered down some roads for a bit, but finally concluded that the only way we were getting to 50 was to lose the roads and head down the hill. We did. In the dark, through slippery ash, rocks, brush, and trees, until we reached a riverbed winding its way downward. Though it was filled with huge rocks that required some extreme navigating, we managed. I was glad then that I'd picked up a new flashlight earlier that day. Quinton managed without a light, guided by a couple sticks and some moonlight. I was impressed.

After a couple hours of trekking, we came out onto the road, directly across from the Kyburz hotel. Since we didn't have cell reception, we crossed the street over to the hotel and borrowed a phone from the kindly hotel manager, who seemed to get quite a kick out of our plight.


He offered to let us wash up in one of the hotel rooms, recently vacated by some hunters, and left uncleaned. The offer came in handy, as we were covered in soot.

We were safe, but the problem was, we really didn't know how we'd gotten the truck where it was, or how to find it. One point in our favor was that we'd seen a John Deere dirt mover about a mile down the trail. I was hopeful that the forest service could point us in the right direction. I wasn't disappointed. This morning, I made a few phone calls, and it "just so happened" that the other tractor driver on the mountain was in the office when I called. He gave me the number of the trail where the Deere was working, and after a visit to the forest service office and an explanation of the map, we figured out where the truck was. So we hopped in my Accord, and headed up the mountain again.


Of course, we stopped for pictures along the way!




I'd picked up a couple tow ropes this morning, but didn't have anything to tow the truck with. A friend of a friend sounded available, but he was in Sacramento, so I took off in search of the guy on the Deere. We'd seen his service truck on the way in, but hadn't seen the tractor itself. I hiked up the hill for a few hundred yards then saw the tractor plowing through burned trees, brush, and of course, ash. The operator was a nice guy in his 60's, probably, and after listening to our story, was kind enough to bring his service truck down to our hole, and pull us out. Had we been unable to locate the truck or get it out within the next few days, chances are, I'd never see it again - not before spring, at least. Snow is supposed to begin falling in the mountains this week. Believe me, I was preparing explanations for my insurance company and realizing how dumb they sounded. "Yeah, I lost my truck. No, I don't know where it is. No, I don't know what road I was on. Yeah, I think it was a trail. No, I don't have a clue where it is, or if it has a name." Glad I'm not making that phone call.

Hiking in the Sierras - Part 1

After a bit of a hiatus, I'm back! This weekend, Erik organized a trip to his family's home in the Sierras for the weekend, complete with hiking, canoeing, and spiritual exhortation. It was great to see some good fall colors - and even some fresh snow!


(For the record, the arm was to keep me from doing the bunny ears. What a party pooper! :) And if someone looks like he's falling over laughing . . . he was.)

During the hike, we visited three beautiful lakes. The second lake we visited is pictured above.

Hiking in the Sierras - Part 2

Here are some more pictures from our trip this weekend:

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Ending on a good note

Just as our trip began - on a musical note - so it ended, with Mozart's "La Clemenza Di Tito," which was playing that last evening in Geneva. (See the link for a Washington Post article on the very performance we attended. I don't think the review really does the performance justice, but given that I'm not exactly an opera aficionado, don't speak Italian, and didn't understand the French subtitles either, I may not be the most qualified person to comment.)

After a mad dash back to the hotel to change, we quickly (I mean quickly, in the truest sense of the word) changed into clothes that we hoped would pass muster at the theatre gates. Six people took a grand total of about ten minutes to get ready, and I must admit that the other five, including three girls, were ready before I was. Somewhere between trying three or four different not-very-impressive clothing combinations, burning my leg while attempting to iron my pants after putting them on, and eventually borrowing Paul's tee shirt (which I doubt is still his size), I fell behind. I kept suggesting that I should run to the airport and buy a sport coat for the occassion, but given the five minute time frame we were working with, my idea was nixed, even though the airport was practically across the street. So, coatless, in Paul's tee shirt, and, come to think of it, Brian's tie, I stumbled out of the hotel room into the waiting crowd of very impressive looking company.














Emily graciously agreed after some coercion to carry my oversized camera in her purse, but then somehow I ended up carrying the purse. It was all very confusing.

We ran across the street to the bus stop and stood patiently for several minutes there before realizing a still-smoldering cigarette was lying at our feet. We used our impressive collective intelligence to deduce that we had narrowly missed the bus. Not to worry; we would hail a taxi.















It didn't take long to flag down a passing five-seater with a spacious hatchback, and we were soon on our way again. The ride was pretty comfortable, and, luckily, no one fell out when the doors popped open (okay, so the four people in the back seat had to squeeze a bit). Paul managed to get the roomieset *seat* in the car back in the luggage compartment. Our driver, who refused to acknowledge the English language, finally understood we were looking for the theatre, and successfully took us on a most scenic route around Geneva, originally taking us toward the wrong place, but eventually getting us where we wanted to go in sufficient time for us to walk in and get some tickets in the same general vicinity. The thought occured to me later that the theatre house may have regretted letting us sit in the same section, but we quieted down after intermission, as sleepers need no translation.

After the opera, we found a little Mediterranean place, ordered a bunch of gyros, grabbed some ice cream and Doritos, and caught the last train back to our hotel where we sat around and talked about many things. More accurately, Brian and Nicole talked about many things. Emily calculated the financial liabilities of each of our group's members, and I crashed on Mary's bed.















Hoorah for Cool American Doritos!

A few hours later, we were packed up and on our way back to the States, all except Paul, that is. The Cool American stayed behind for a few more days, went back to Chamonix-Mt. Blanc, skied glaciers, took pictures of people falling off cliffs, and otherwise endangered his life. Happily, he too made it home a few days later, and safely to boot.

Many thanks to Paul for his organization of the trip, and to everyone who helped make it such an enjoyable time. Dean Magnuson and his family were awesome to hang out with, our bus driver was great, and there are so many more people I could mention . . . hotel staff, restaurant personnel, fellow hikers, border guards, and, of course, friends. To friends and memories, cheers!

Geneve! . . . Part II

Day 2 in Geneva -

After breakfast, we headed downtown to the Cathédrale St-Pierre, where those of us who actually enjoyed climbing hundreds of spiral staircase steps, paid a few Francs for the privilege.

The views were nice - not really stunning after everything else we'd seen in the past couple of weeks - but nice. I loved climbing the stairs, though! Unfortunately, I only took video clips of the stairs and don't have any stills to share. Here's a picture looking toward the North (I think) from the front of the cathedral:














Afterward, we went searching for the elusive theatre. After asking a couple dozen people, and following what seemed to be endless rabbit trails (replete with many miles of walking), we did locate it. It obviously isn't the main tourist attraction in Geneva. And, actually, in all fairness, we were looking for the extension, not the main theatre, which, given the fact that none of us were really very adept at communicating in German or French, did confuse things a bit.

After finally locating the theatre, we moved on to more interesting sources of entertainment, like sharing some quality time in the cemetery (gravestones not pictured, but they were just across from these trees):


















And "punting" around (well, sort of) in a ferry:




























Geneva has more flower parks than I've ever seen in my life. They were a great source of scenery for us as we hiked back to our hotel (or, madly rushed back to our hotel, as the case may have been).














More to come . . .