08 March Lake Temescal Bike Path

With the warming sun and longer days, the wild flowers are blooming along the bike path near our home. On this one hillside sandwiched between Lake Temescal, the park's corporation yard, the bike path and the drone of the southbound lane of Rt. 13, this crazy collection of yellow hybrid corn flowers bloom every year during this season. On the day we went by, the temperatures had dropped and the sun was just beginning to dip into the western ocean. You can tell by the curl of the flower pedals that the flowers are getting ready for a cold clear night.

08March22 - Rites Of Spring Racing with Stu

After some minor boat repairs - fixed the steaming lights half way up the mast had a great weekend sailing with Stu. We went out on Friday, for the afternoon, then anchored in Clipper cove, just north of the Bay Bridge on Treasure Island. Spotted a large loon last night motoring into our anchorage.

We started the racing on Saturday by crossing the start line third, but finished last overall. Our heads were fully into the race, starting easily an hour before start time, judging the wind, current, and our competition. We evaluated possible courses (they only tell you the course 5 minutes before the start) and were prepared for a handful. The stop watches count down, the guns are blaring, horns are blowing, and there is steady chatter on the radio from those racers with even less experience then us. Then all of a sudden it's down to 2 minutes and we are racing towards the start line, watching over our shoulders. All the boats in our class gel together and line up in turn stem to stern, trying for an advantage when crossing the line. We round the start line mark, tighten up the lines until they are singing like banjo strings and watch carefully to get the telltales streaming nicely behind the sail. GPS is re-calibrated marking off distance, and VMG (velocity made good) is monitored carefully - informing us when to turn and change course. For a while we are bunched together, then slowly over the first long leg towards Alcatraz, the fleet spreads out - each boat feeling its legs and stepping out in the brisk and building wind. One mark after another we criss cross the Bay, back to Berkeley, back to Angel Island, back to Berkeley, then around the end of the Berkeley pier and down to the Bay Bridge for a finish behind Treasure Island. Panting between very exhausting tacks I am done in after 3 hours of hard grinding. We sailed over 30 miles in glorious 20 knots of wind. We put the boat right where it needed to be...problem was, every one else in the class got there ahead of us. (You can double-click on any picture to enlarge it)

08March15 – Donner Summit with Ed & Eva

It always seems odd to be getting dressed in ski clothes with the flowers blooming and the spring time morning aroma hanging in the morning mist. The bags are all packed by the door and the open cooler is patiently awaiting its payload of goodies to help us make it through the ordeal ahead. We jump in the loaded car as others are grabbing their morning papers and headed off to work – except instead of driving west into the City, we drive east towards the mountains and the rising sun.

By 11:30, the temperature has dropped 30 degrees, there is over 15 feet of snow carpeting the winter landscape, and the cold wind is buffeting us and the car as we strap on the final layers of outerwear and ski gear in preparation for heading out into the blizzard for the day. At 6,500 feet, the clouds have lowered and have completely engulfed us. Heading north from Route 80 at the Norden exit, we follow the forest service road, untracked north towards Andesite ridge. The storm continues to swirl around us but the skiing is excellent. This is always the way, here in the Sierras – the best snow always in the eye of the blizzard. The trees are loaded with a fresh blanket of snow that already was sitting on top of the precipitation from two weeks ago. Along the steeper slopes I can sense the distinct sheer layer where the new snow sits atop a sun baked crust which in turn protects a very well consolidated springtime snow pack. In the gullies the accumulation is greater, and beneath the trees where the forest floor has been protected from direct sun, things are much better held together and consistent.

We’re already right at the ridge by 2:00 but the blizzard decides to drive us back below tree line. We traverse along just below the wind line at the top of the ridge seeking out this glorious ski line back to the meadow below. Here the large trees are widely spaced, with few small branches at eye level. The surface is consistent, except for a few open areas in exposed meadows where the wind has played havoc and left its well baked ridges. Finding the way would be easier from the top of the ridge, but the wind slab and pelting snow crystals just 50 feet higher makes that way a second choice. Soon we are linking turns and long traverses down the mountainside and remembering why it is we trudge so doggedly up the hill in the first place.

Saturday morning it takes us at least ½ hour to dig our way out of the house to the parking pad above, where another 20 minutes frees the car from its overnight entombment in the fresh snow. The almost windless morning has left a sparkling crystalline coating on the unblemished slopes. After parking the car by the Ice Lakes Lodge trail head we immediately head off-trail down the county road following the drainage from Serene Lake to the American River thousands of feet below. A quick turn off the road takes us to the old bridge, now almost completely obscured by the heavy snowpack. We are breaking trail slowly but it does not matter. Its quiet in the woods this morning, not even the woodland creatures have ventured out to leave their tell-tale tracks in the snow. Once or twice we cross pine martin tracks, but otherwise the woods are silent. Within 30 minutes we rejoin the trail system having bypassed both the climb and rapid decent of the Sunnyside trail. The storm returns in stages along with segments of bright sunshine. We continue out to Moriah Point with a short tea break at the warming hut just as the grey sky explodes into a full snow fury. We continue on past the warming hut as the weather front passes and get a glorious view of White peak and the Royal Gorge before turning back. I zip the flaps and drop about 1,000 feet off the point, the smooth snowy blanket tempting me unrelentlessly to continue downhill. In the snowy recesses of the back of my mind I am thinking that with each turn down the slope I‘ll need to heave myself back up through the drifts to the ridge above, but I can’t stop. Eventually the trees close in on me and there are no more turns free without a tree pruner so I stop to catch my breath. Pulling my skins out of the pack I radio up to the rest of the group that I’ll be along shortly and they head back to the hut to wait for me out of the storm.

Sunday breaks cold and clear with air temperatures in the mid-20’s. We follow the route of the old Sterling Canyon trail, breaking trail up the steep mountain slope. The views and at each turn are astounding as we gain elevation. We stick to the tress to avoid the biting wind which is building in from the southwest. I wonder why the resort has abandoned this trail in favor of other more benign routes. Perhaps it was harder to groom, or perhaps it is just like all the others, but in route finding on our own, and making smaller more considered turns closely following the bends and folds of the terrain it feels more intimate. We cross the main trail briefly, then continue up the ridge to Lola’s lookout. Now the wind has built to a furious roar and we carefully pick a route protected now from the north. The accumulation and drifting of snow on the ridge show a testament to the regular scouring by the relentless wind. The volcanic outcroppings along the ridge are brutally cracked and shattered by eons of abuse by the water and wind. None-the-less, we continue upwards drawn by the blue patches in the sky and the dramatic scenery. Now, on the ridge we are no longer protected and mercilessly the winds saps our heat. Still we trudge upwards. Occasionally stopping because the wind is preventing any more forward motion. At one point Edgar is blown off his footing and lands in a drift. Eva ducks and huddles, back to the wind, not knowing how to move forward. We make a quick decision and duck back into the trees on the leeward side of the slope and are almost immediately relieved of the wind’s strain. Hoods down we can converse again without yelling. Taking a quick survey of the terrain, we pick a good line and descend back down the mountainside through the open meadows and widely spaced trees. The snow is good here, light and consistent. In only a few minutes we are back on the lower trail and duck into another nearby warming hut for lunch.

Sadly after lunch we point our skis downhill and by 2:00 are back art the car, unstrapping packs, mittens, and gear like western gun slingers entering a saloon. By dinner we are back in the land of blooming trees and lush green hillsides. Again, it seems odd to be shuttling loads up the flower lined staircase to the house wearing mud encrusted crusted boots from the mountains. I empty my pockets onto the dresser with the detris of a weekend out – half finished bags of M&Ms, crumpled maps, loose peanut crumbs, and occasional small bits of woodland vegetation, having hitchhiked in the folds of my coat and cuffs of my pants.

(Notice the last picture shows my hack from last year to the Yakima rack which permits a full size roof top box to be used on a hatch back car without impeding the function of the hatchback. Any of you with hatchback and roof top boxes or ski racks know exactly what I'm talking about here. Contact me if you need details for how to make your own GetMyHatchBack !)

08Feb22 Alpine Meadows to Squaw Valley

(You can double-click on any image to enlarge it) The predicted winter storm materialized with a big bang this weekend. We snuck out early on Friday and skied north of Route 80 at Donner Pass - just off the snow park permit area at Norden - along Andasite Ridge. I was breaking trail the whole way, off the main ski trail, but it was glorious to be all alone in the woods with a fresh blanket of light snow covering weeks worth of melted and icy Sierra cement. My heart was pounding and I was gasping for air, but it was as if a strong cord was attached to my core and pulled me upwards. After each short break to catch my breath, I would be re energized and trudge off again in search of animal tracks and some recognizable feature which would permit me to know really where I was. Once we reached the more widely spaced trees on the watershed boundary it all came back to me and I was overwhelmed with a flood of memories from past trips to the same area. Once we reached our turn-around time, we skied fresh tracks off the ridge to the west, then followed the snowmobile trail markings back to the car.

On Saturday, we left right from the Alpine Meadows parking lot and began the ascent up to the saddle adjacent to KT-22 - hoping to drop off the north side of the ridge into Squaw Valley and shuttle back to Alpine with our friends Steve and Angela who were at Squaw for the day. About 45 minutes into our climb we encountered a film crew shooting an Ad for Sony in the back country - and as it turns out - on private land managed by a firm called White Wolf. Click here for their slide show The owner drove his snowmobile down to meet us and explained how the area is kept track free for film crews and that we'd need to turn around. After some friendly conversation while he subtly scoped out our back country skills, preparedness, and gear we explained we thought we were on forest service land and were headed for 5 lakes basin and the saddle. We showed him our threadbare map full of annotations from previous tours with estimations of the current ski area boundaries - all of which are not shown on the topo maps. He then explained there actually was a permitted trail crossing on the property for those who had been "informed" about 3/4 mile further down the road. We skied out his access road, walked back to the parking lot, repositioned our car and started up the mountain once again.

It was an amazing climb through the open rolling alpine terrain. We were cognizant of the copious quantities of fresh snow and picked our route carefully, sticking to the ridges and avoiding the terrain traps. White Wolf has started building a lift up the back side of KT-22, but the lift poles are the only evidence of that effort this time of year. We hit the shoulder just as we were instructed and found a trail sign attached to a lift pole. From here, we could easily see the remainder of the route into the lakes basin, and from there up through a stand of large fir trees to the saddle. All the while, KT-22 was looming over our right shoulder. The cliffs were already wiped clean of fresh snow, and the wind had been depositing cornices on the opposite side of the ridge. As we reached the lakes, the storm front hit, the wind picked up, and we were engulfed in a near white-out. We hunkered down in the tress for a standing lunch and spot of tea, then zipped all the flaps, put on goggles and climbed the last 25 yards to the saddle. From here - we could see nothing. As we removed our skins ("ripped leather") in the howling wind, we tried to study the almost worthless Squaw Valley trail map I had brought along to help us navigate the terrain after crossing in from out of bounds. Diane properly identified the proper saddle where we had crossed over and thusly discerned that were were standing directly above a cliff band, which in these conditions I very much wanted to avoid. Traversing to skiers right (east) we followed the trees along the edge of the the precipice and the terrain slowly opened up into a broader bowl. Staying to the edge we used the trees as guide posts and slowly felt our way through the clouds and swirling snow to lower angle terrain, and eventually to the remnants of a groomed trail. Now we were surrounded by similarly blinded skiers and snowboarders making the best of a difficult situation. As we continued to ski downhill, we dropped below the cloud base and then easily followed the ski trail to the Squaw Valley village base.

This tour has got to be repeated again in clearer weather. The views were stupendous all the way down to Lake tahoe, even though we only caught them for a glimpse.

Sunday morning found us even more buried in fresh snow. We dug out the cars and headed home. Route 80 was like the arctic with 60 mph gusts blasting clouds of snow across the highway. We crept along at 20 mph all the way to Applegate on the west side of the mountains where the chain control finally ended. Even though the drive home was 6 hours it was still aprt of our adventure and we had a great time.

08Feb10 – Sierra Summit with Ross

Even though last weekend was probably epic ski conditions, it was definitely looking like a epic driving odyssey, so we opted to go skiing this weekend instead. Ross had agreed to meet us in the mountains, which dictated that we go to Sierra Summit east of Fresno to split driving times more equally. Driving up into the foothills above Fresno, past Millerton Lake, the recent developments are transforming the landscape. A major casino at Table Mountain along with an associated golf course has triggered housing, road widening, and a spattering of roadside establishments where previously we could previously just see cattle and coyotes. An obvious advantage is that the road is great all the way up to snow line, and there is no real “crush time” from a casino – it seems to me once people go in, they never come out. There are only snow park permitted parking and limited commercial development in the National Forest on Route 168 above the unnamed hamlet of Prather.

(By the way, The ranger is pleased to have you leave car pooled cars at the ranger station parking lot for the weekend if you wish to carpool up to the higher elevations. )



As we climbed up the mountains, the snow just kept getting deeper and deeper. Once route 168 ends and the road becomes simply Lakeshore Rd, the pavement seems to end as well – replaced with a thick uneven coat of ice and snow. Both the Sierra Summit resort and the Lakeshore resort offer RV camping at significantly reduced rates – even including electrical hook-ups. With day time temperatures approaching 50 deg. F, camping out in the RV would be no problem. It was still going below freezing at night, but with prudent heat management in the camper we could have easily camped.

The drive from Oakland to Sierra Summit is about 4.5 hours – just about equal to the drive from San Luis Obispo. There are plenty of snow park permit areas along the highway, and it looks like wonderful ski terrain from a number of locations.

As it was, we made our reservations at the peak of the snow storms and opted for a small heated cabin with two twin beds, a bath room, and a kitchen at Lakeshore Resort. The resort has a Saloon, a general store, and lots of what appears to be partially operational snow related machinery scattered about. The snow banks had claimed all sorts of other machinery but there was apparently adequate horsepower to keep the snow gullies open between the major structures. Our cabin was mostly buried. There were all matter of snowmobiles scooting about and I imagine that they constitute the bulk of the resort’s winter income.



The ski resort is a small affair with a base above 8,000 feet and 8 lifts. It is very family friendly, with lots of picnic tables and a large terrain park. There are no high speed lifts, but that keeps the slopes relatively uncrowded. Most of the open slopes are groomed, and what is not groomed would be fantastic in powder conditions. We had to wait until later in the day to venture off piste, as the boiler plate was impenetrable until then. Click to jump to Sierra Summit Ski Resort

We are here at the very end of a remote highway in the belly of the high Sierra. From the summit there is no other development to be seen. The air is clear and quiet once away from the rumbling base of the resort. There are regular over flights of ravens and at the slope’s edge animal tracks are visible – perhaps seeking out the crumbs dropped off the chair lifts.





Driving back down the mountain we drove past Shaver lake which had not frozen over. The docks were still in place which leads me to believe it rarely freezes over. It did seem odd seeing the totally abandoned marina. Along the water’s edge my camera’s long lens pulled in the details of animal tracks.

08Feb02 - Big Basin State Park

After spending a few days at a company off-site retreat in Aptos, we headed into the mountains east and north of Santa Cruz to explore in Big Basin State Park. To get here from the Bay area, drive down 880 to 17 going west, over the mountains, then jog west on 9 and you'll loop around and hit the park.

Diane stayed home, and I made this trip with my work associate and friend Caspar Harmer, who is visiting from Australia.

This whole region was heavily logged in the past, but 100 years have allowed the forest to regain it's balance, and there are still some giant trees to be found.

We've been getting steadily pelted with rain for the last two weeks, so the minor brooks were creeks, the creeks were streams, and the streams were raging rivers. There was many trees down across the trails, but they were still easy to follow. In one spot, the trail passed up and along the waterfall's cliff face cresting over the edge - a normal dry path beside the quiet woodland stream. On this day the water had lept over the river's banks, and had expanded across the brink just to the edge of the carved stone steps of the trail. Luckily there was a cable hand rail to give us courage to proceed.

Once we left the ranger station (and its roaring fireplace), we put on our rain gear and headed up the mountainside in a full downpour. The rich greens and reds of the verdant forest floor were accented by the glistening of fresh rainwater. The heaviest of the rain was deflected by the forest canopy. There were mushrooms and fungus popping up all over adding gum-drop like accent colors to the mix.

The summit ridges of these coastal mountains are covered in sand and crushed sea shells - having been the floor of an ancient sea, which has since receded when the land uplifted.

On our way to the park, we passed through the quaint town of Felton, which boasts the tallest covered bridge in the country. It was indeed a very tall bridge, and I can only presume it used to support teams of horse drawn wagons carrying the over sized timber down to the rail spur for milling.

Our second day was spent exploring Henry Cowell State Park, a similar tract of land just down the road from Big Basin on Route 9 near the town of Felton. Throughout the day as we wandered among the giant Redwoods, Doug Firs, and Madrone and spying the moss covered remains of the monster tree trunks, we could hear the forlorn wail of a steam locomotive announcing its arrival and departure from some long ago abandoned logging settlement. We imagined the forest crawling with lumberjacks, sawing the wide trunks of these 2,000 year old trees in teams of two - often taking several days of full time work to get through a single trunk. We imagined the steam engine wail mixing with the tree's unspoken wail, as its' hard fought existence through forest fires, droughts, and the swirling winds of civilization were so unceremoniously terminated for the benefit of some gold rush inspired endeavor. We began to feel like the steam engine's whistle had been swirling around in this forest even though the engine itself had ceased to pull itself along the railway for over a century. Upon returning to the parked car we discovered, there actually WAS a steam engine operating, carrying tourists on daily trips through the redwoods - Roaring Camp Railroads. We had just missed the departing train, but this might be just the way to manage a one-way mountain bike shuttle trip next time we return.

Big Basin State Park

Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park

Roaring Camp Railroads