22May2009 | North Cascades

From North Cascades

Entering the North Cascades National Park we emerge from the deep green redwood forests of Oregon and Washington and the snow capped peaks begin to show themselves.

From North Cascades

We cross the Skaggit River to look for skiing at higher elevations.

From North Cascades

Crossing this rivlette on a red cedar log bridge - a single log spanning 40 feet kept our feet dry. The snow fed creeek was clear and cold.

From North Cascades

From North Cascades

Route 20 winds along the Skaggit River Gorge, which has been dammed in three places - Ross Lake, Diablo Lake, and Gorge Lake in the 1920's to make power for Seattle. The forests have grown back, but the salmon run has been desimated. Efforts are underway throughout Washington and southern BC to mitigate the dam's impact on fisheries.

From North Cascades

From North Cascades

We head out to the east side of the park, higher elevations and find the snow we are seeking. The dramatic jagged peaks hold snow late in the season, but late afternoon warm temperatures and clear skies make for many wet snow avalanches - visible on many steeper slopes.

From North Cascades

From North Cascades

We depart late in the afternoon for a gentle tour up a wide canyon. Signs of recent avalanche activity are all around, so our alert is up and we pick our route carefully. Here, Diane crosses a slide path created probably just the day before. We begin to get a bit spooked as we hear falling rocks from far overhead. But, it turned out to be skiers descending from a high traverse tour called "the Birthday Tour" - a one way shuttle trip between Blue Lakes parking area and the hairpin turn on Rt. 20 where we parked. We subsequently met up with the party and had a nice chat as our paths crossed on the way back to the road.

From North Cascades

From North Cascades

From North Cascades

We hear a distant roar, and look around. Nothing is moving in our valley, but as we crest the low pass to return to the car, we can see flashing lights on the highway. A slide has come down blocking the road - our camper on this side of the slide, with us. Our campsite and tomorrow's exit from the park on the other side. We prepare for a long wait, make dinner for another ski party we met on the trail - as their car is on the far side of the slide and they, like us are trapped until the road is clear. We swap stories and get to know one another, and within 2 hours, the heavy equipment has arrived and cleared off a single lane through the snow. We make our move and are on our way.

From North Cascades

Waterfalls cascade all along Rt. 20 this time of year and as the sun begins to slide into the woods, they light up in alpenglow and the orange mist scatters on the hot roadway.

From North Cascades

(Photo Credit - Dan Turner - one of the skiers we shared dinner with. This mountain goat was perched atop the ridge at 7,500' along the "Birthday Tour")

Old Maori saying...Turn towards the sun...

Old Maori saying:

"Turn towards the sun and all your shadows will fall behind you."

We shall not cease from exploration - T.S. Elliot Quote

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

–T.S. Elliot

May 11 2009 - Virginia Lakes Spring Skiing

Slide Show:



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May 9, 2009 – Cairns – A Timeless Syntax

Piled stones, balanced a few high, made of all natural and locally available materials, assembled with no special tools besides a basic intuitive and empirical understanding of balancing objects, stones held together by gravity and their unique interlocking and granular surfaces, arranged in a way just different enough from the natural order of things that they stand out to the human cognition system and communicate a clear message – this way forward and that way back.

The syntax of this message has remained unchanged since our ancestors ventured out of the trees and began to explore the great savanna. The simplicity and elegance of this human gesture, to pass information from one human to another, whom may be separated by time, community, affiliation, language, and geo-political perspective. Most other long standing forms of cross dimensional communication require complex keys or technology to create, decode, perceive and understand. But the cairn is one of the purest, self defining autonomous objects the human species has ever devised.

One can exist alone with a certain symmetrical power but limited impact. There is even a current resurgence in the building of stand-alone cairns. If you visit a river bed or beach with polished stones where other people have been recently it is not surprising to find these precariously, but artistically stacked stones. They attest to the patience and special prowess of the assembler but beyond their fundamental artistry and isolated beauty they have little more to say to the observer. The real art in my opinion, is in the process and vision required to assemble these stackings.

But, when one isolated cairn is considered with a community of other cairns - essentially networked, they become very powerful as a persistent communication system. Follow these stackings from one to another and you will be led to a new place predictably. Follow them in reverse order and you will be able to return from whence you came. In an uncertain world, with confusing and sometimes unrecognizable landmarks, such networks of cairns offer a calming relief.

Another beauty of the cairn system, is that there is no need to see in advance or in retreat more than a single cairn. It supports the NOW. They allow the traveler to experience what is here and available immediately without the need to anticipate the future or to remember the past. There is not the need for an overview, and the message delivered is not an abstraction of the way – it IS the way. Other forms of maps require the map reader to be several levels of abstraction away from the reality of their actual experience in order to make use of the device. Consider a trail map – it is first off – two dimensional, not three, and that limitation alone assumes a basic cognition and abstraction skill. Then, it is not really represented by points, but by lines –a path that leads from here to there. Immediately upon viewing and comprehending the user sees what is ahead for quite a ways. Now, granted, for certain kinds of travel over certain types of terrain this is indeed essential in order to properly prepare for the journey. However, when considering a simple single day’s outing over basically navigable terrain, the map can rob one of the true exploratory experience. Under these circumstances, I much prefer the NOW of the cairn and the connection it gives me to the long traditions of my nomadic tribe.

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

May 8, 2009 - Dry Gulch Slot Canyons GSENM

Another 15 miles down a washboard dirt and clay road through open range land left our filings jarred and a fine layer of brown silt over much of the interior of the cabin – dust must be blowing in through the rubber porthole gaskets or other vent openings. Off to our right the Kaparowits Plateau grew taller and more awe inspiring as it dominated the views on that entire side of the road. The running boards each held shovels of fine red dirt, and the wheels had turned brown. The camper swayed to and fro as if a child were playing with us in a giant sandbox as we bounced slowly over the uneven roadbed and negotiated the larger rocks and ruts in the road. It felt like we were at times driving across the diameter of a giant sand record, with groves placed just so to harmonize with the springs in our vehicle to set everything bouncing. We slowed to a crawl, and hugged the side of the road in hopes that the soft sand under one set of wheels would help dampen the beating the other set of wheels were taking. At one point a low wash was filled with deep white powdery mineral (like borax, or gypsum) that previous drivers had left parted and rutted like a snow covered road right after a storm. We waded in and immediately felt the sway and drift of the wheels as if they were catching somewhat, but floating somewhat. Keeping the wheels turning, and our momentum moving forward we sloshed through this sand pit without getting wallowed down or stuck.

At last, we came to an unmarked spur off to the left and crossed our fingers that the odometer reading and the advice we were given were both sufficiently accurate to guide us to a trail head instead of some backcountry dead end – or worse some narrow rutted roadbed with soft sandy shoulders from which we would have difficulty backtracking, much less turning around. Almost immediately we came to another fork in the road – both options equally unused. No one had mentioned the second fork. We discussed our impressions, turned the wheel left and launched ahead. Luckily after about 5 minutes we arrived at an isolated opening in the sand and scrub where it was obvious others had parked.

A loosely marked trail led us down over the slickrock to a dry wash several hundred feet below, where other written reports had indicated to us that a collection of slot canyons terminated. Peck-a-boo slot, spooky slot, and dry wash slot all had names on written descriptions, but with no trail markers – or even a well worn trail we needed to follow our noses to find the often hidden openings of these magical routes.
The first slot we selected was called Peek-a-boo Canyon and involved climbing up from the wash about 12 feet over a dry sculpted sandstone overflow where a few footholds had been carved to assist with the entry. Well, try looking up 12 feet, and imagine climbing up near vertical sandstone, smoothed by fast rushing water for a millennium, with no cracks or deformities, using only rounded footholds and no handholds into an unknown and invisible ledge where more gymnastics undoubtedly awaited. I boosted Diane on my thigh, and then followed her up. After reaching the first pour over however, Diane decided she was not going to be able to get down the following pitch, so we retraced our delicate maneuvers and regrouped on the sandy dry pool where we started. I decided I was going to go in and have a look around anyway and climbed back in. While I was setting up the camera for a few shots another intrepid adventurer walked up and told us once through the canyon, we could climb out and hike back to the start over the top. Diane took up a seat in the shade and I ventured forth to explore the unknown vowing to meet up again within an hour.

What I experienced inside this amazing grotto was a quiet, softly lit cathedral of undulating sandstone curves with a sandy pocketed river bed. I climbed over and around finely crafted dry pools, spill overs, and long ago evaporated whirlpool “keeper” holes. The walls overhead sometimes overhung, often sloped in parallel directions, but not vertical, always one tilt or another. The walls were etched with grooves from eons of water and mud rushing down as it accumulated from the mesa overhead, swirling around laden with sand, and stones, and boulders, and tree limbs. All that debris is now gone, and all that remains is the lithographed sandstone telling the tale.

With the walls relatively close together I could usually “jamb” across the narrow cavities to climb up and over the geologic obstacles. Other times I had to “smear” up the smooth surfaces, hoping that just about the time my friction wore out I would be able to reach a sharp enough handhold that I could reset my feet. It was not desperate, but I was alone, and I did not want to abandon Diane for too long.

The next slot we tackled was called “Spooky” slot and it was indeed a bit spooky. This canyon had an easier entrance, but was longer than the previous slot, and rapidly became so narrow that we could only pass sidestepping, with our packs off and held to one side. A few steps like this would have been interesting, but traveling this way for 1/3 of a mile was exhausting. Again, the walls undulated back and forth, in a sinuous fashion, and the warm light filtered down to where we were squeezing without any direct rays getting anywhere near the bottom. Like in a cave, with an open top the air flowed regularly down as if it were water, a mild 60 degrees - cool, but well suited to our level of exertion. Occasionally we came to a swirled out open pocket, where the eddies of water had carved out a spherical or circular pool 4 feet wide. We took these opportunities to rest, drink, eat snacks, and marvel at our surroundings. Often the closely spaced walls were not vertical at all, and we would need to lean over, front or back continuing our awkward sidestepping. Even with this close spacing of the massive rock cliffs front and back, I never really felt claustrophobic. With the fresh breeze blowing, and the warm glow of the light, we would just stop and rest and marvel at the situation we had put ourselves in. Bigger people would definitely feel more constrained. Finally, the slot became so narrow and small we could no longer make forward progress. To boot, overhead falling rocks had filled in the open top making a jumble of chock stones into a 3D vertical maze. Luckily, just overhead, the slot widened a bit – this is of course why the chock stones had gotten stuck in their tumble down the canyon. The way up must be our exit route. We climbed straight up, the growing chimney, moving around one rock, then over and up and around the next, until after a few minutes of exhilarating climbing we emerged into the polar white sun-blasted desert – looking down and back it was hard to imagine there was even room down beneath the jumble of rocks for someone to pass, but as we heard voices, grunts and giggles waft up from the tumble, we were assured that indeed there were people down there, and they, like us, were on their way up to percolate to the surface just as we had. It is not hard to imagine, how one, not informed about this grotto pathway below, would experience the appearance of a human from such terrain as magical.
We found ourselves in a non-descript sandy wash (that drained in wetter seasons through the slot). Searching for a logical way back to our start point without having to reverse engineer our subterranean trip, and spied the remains of soft footprints in the sand and following our inner compass, and the fall of the land, we soon spotted the dry wash from which we had started our journey and merrily hiked back to the mouth.

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

May 6, 2009 – Calf Creek and other delights

The sun has dipped below the ridgetop and we finally have some relief from the relentless sun. These days the temperature swings from the low 50’s at night to low 90’s during mid-afternoon. We’ve taken to rising early, getting a morning activity in, resting or driving until later afternoon, and then hiking again into early evening. There is still a golden reflection off the Navajo Sandstone cliffs above our camp on the bank of Calf creek as I write this.

Here in the Grand Staircase National Monument, the distances are deceiving, as there is no item in the landscape by which to judge distance. Hikes we think should take one hour take three. Ridges we think are 1,000 feet high turn out to be much smaller once we approach. Only the size of the majestic and well weathered cottonwood trees give things away when they are within our view. The sandy soil leaves clues as to the previous evenings activities with deer, kangaroo mice, desert hare, centipedes, lizard, and coyote tracks visible especially by the creek’s side. The swallows chirp and swoop around their Cliffside airy mud nests, and there are many other interesting birds calling from the woodland – we just can’t seem to identify them properly. The silence and openness of the landscape is very soothing, and we often hike wordlessly for long periods of time, listening to the wind, the birds, the babble of streams, and the rustle of darting creatures in the underbrush. We are slowly learning how to travel in this park. There are fairly well graded dirt roads, sometimes marked, sometimes, not leading off from the main 2-lane road that runs along the park’s northern boundary. We drive down one of these roads to a fairly recognizable landmark, park the car, and amble off up some sandy wash or streambed, or gorge. The paths are not formally maintained or marked, but in this desert soil, tracks are not easily hidden. Today while exploring up one such drainage, we had to cross the stream countless times without the benefit of bridge, or log, or sizable rocks. We just waded in, with stick in hand to probe the depth of the channel, as we inched our way across. Even though the air temperature is hot, the water is remarkably cold – evidence that its source is from below ground, or some much higher elevation. For me each crossing was a challenge, as my ankles began to get painful and ache from the cold about mid-channel. We drove down the “Burr Trail” which was not really a trail, but a coarsely paved road following the bottom of a deep sandstone gorge. Towering brown and orange buttresses rose on both sides of the road with alluvial fan deposits of coarse sand and stone coming right to the shoulder. The gorge bottom was often no wider than 20 yards. This road continues south to the far end of the park, crossing the waterfold pocket– some significant geographical feature we as of yet have not found a description or photo of. The “trail” terminates in Capital Reef National Park near the shores of Lake Powell, where the Escalante river joins the Colorado. We can’t seem to get good information on how rough the road is at its terminating end, so we turn around and head back north.

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

May 4, 2009 – On a ridgetop – off BLM road 420 –Grand Staircase/Escalante National Monument

The wind is howling all around us, and the camper is gently rocking in response to the wind’s caress. We’ve moved inside to escape the grit being carried in the air, but the view is no less stunning from inside the cabin. To my right, just 30 feet from where we are parked, is a deep gorge of over 1,500 feet leading my eyes to the horizon with variegated layers of alluvial deposits off the ridge tops. This gorge is all hues of blacks and grays, with pinion pines gallantly clinging sporadically to the slopes wherever water has had a chance to pool and the roots have had a chance to dig in deep enough to afford sufficient foundation for the plant’s precarious existence. The narrow draw at the base of the canyon winds back and forth as it climbs towards the canyon’s head. Through the binoculars we can see down into the wash and large boulders often choke the narrow water course, making shade for stands of ash and willow bushes. The Morman’s Tea plants offer some yellow color, and Indian paintbrush dots the river’s edge with dashes of bright red. Directly ahead of us – off 90 degrees from the view I just described is a high desert plateau, stretching at least 20 miles to the horizon. This is the “upper landing” of the “Grand Staircase” imagined by the namers of this monument, spread out before us.

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

From 12 May 2009 - Southern Utah

Beyond the plateau, the escarpment of Bryce Canyon National Park is illuminated by the reflected light off the bottom of the clouds. In this direction (and elevation) the rocks are primarily red and rust colored. Out the left side of the cab we look to a closer horizon, that suddenly comes to an abrupt end as the slope plummets beyond to the Vermilion Cliffs National Monument and ultimately the base of the Grand Canyon.

This morning we explored the Cottonwood canyon, a slot canyon 15 miles further down the rutted dirt road. Once we had forded a streambed - concerned about getting stuck - the rest of the drive was bumpy and a bit nerve racking as the narrow roadway and its very soft shoulders pushed its way up, over and down the undulating high desert landscape. For a few hours we wandered by foot down the base of an ever shrinking canyon, dotted with wildflowers, butterflies and swooping swallows making their siren type calls. Small lizards darted into the shadows just ahead of us and we stopped often to study the tracks in the dried mud canyon bottom. The canyon bottom narrowed to just over 10 feet, with sculpted walls towering above seeming to reach the clouds. At the bottom of the walls we could see recent evidence of water erosion and scouring, but as our eyes scanned up the height of the orange and brown walls we could see more plants taking hold, and side canyons being formed I imagined holding hidden pools. Our campsite tonight is just the opposite – wide open and on the roof of the visible world.

Yesterday we camped at Kodachrome Basin State Park in southern Utah, just beyond the edge of this monument. This basin is remarkable in and of it’s own right, with fluted rust and tan colored geologic features rising from the end of a canyon. In the space of a few minutes we see a cottontail rabbit, a desert hare, and some unusual birds we have yet to key out. Our campsite neighbors saw two antelope crossing the road on their way in. However, like kids on the beach looking out over a vast ocean, the high desert plateau and hidden slot canyons of GSENM called to us from all the vista points.

This adjacent “monument” (actually a tract of land of 1.9 million acres – the largest US national monument outside of Alaska) which was finally brought under federal protection between the two Clinton terms of office is relatively undeveloped compared to other federal parks of this genre. Roosevelt originally envisioned this area (actually a much larger area) as a national park, but local logging and mining interests blocked this designation until the mid-90s. Several conglomerates had proposed to strip mine coal from this region, and had already begun systematic logging in preparation of the building of roadways and other infrastructure. It is now managed by the BLM rather than the National Park Service, so a very different approach has been used to make it accessible to visitors. There are only a few visitor centers, and no paved roadways penetrate into the heart of the park. Instead there are a collection of undeveloped dirt tracks which, depending on weather and previous traffic, are passable to vehicles such as ours. Once onto the dirt roads, camping is “distributed” – not in formal campgrounds. We are allowed to camp anywhere as long as there is some evidence of previous campers at the same site. Taking advantage of this liberty, we’ve driven the camper out an unremarkable dirt road – a small spur off a more traveled dirt road, until we came to this overlook spot and decided to stop here for the night.

May 1, 2009 – Oakland to Crystal Springs Campground – West Fork of the Carson River

The day broke overcast and cool, with the fog swirling around the trunks of the redwoods trees just outside our bedroom window. Beads of dew and mist clung to the window panes but the birds still managed to sing and announce the beginning of a new day. Swinging my feet out of the warm bed onto the cold wood floor I poked them around hopefully for the slippers I vaguely remember stashing by the bedside last night when I so absentmindedly collapsed into the sheets.

Today was destined to be a good day – a travel day – a day to depart from the City and head out to destinations not yet decided upon, but decidedly non-urban, and hopefully warm. We had researched a handful of locations in south western Utah – all well suited to our desire to be free of snow and fog and precipitation and surrounded by unobstructed vistas and big open sky.

By the time we had made our final preparations, and closed down the house it was 2:00pm, but with a freshly baked loaf of banana bread filling the camper with a rich, soothing aroma, and our sights set on two weeks of adventure we gladly joined the stream of building traffic departing the Bay Area heading eastward.
The windshield was plastered with pounding rain, and the coastal hills looked green, moist, and a bit stunted after an unusually dry spring, followed by an intense heat wave, followed by this week’s chill. Wooded fences and sides of farm buildings showed their weeping stains as the water saturated the upper portions, leaving the bottoms pale by comparison, anticipating a drenching like a parched desert explorer within sight of the lake’s shore. The cows lounged peacefully, but equally waterlogged beneath the outstretched arms of the Live Oak trees – I think hoping the rain would bring new life to the fields they had already pastured in.

Driving at 60 mph, heading out with a purpose felt good after two weeks at home. Once my ski patrol work had been completed, we had returned to Oakland and a house quietly whispering deferred maintenance wishes in my ear. Before the first afternoon at home was over I had begun dismantling the front steps redwood railing in an effort to determine why it was so wobbly. Before dinner, I had a pile of rotten railing wood stacked all akimbo against the garage wall, three neat round holes in the dirt where the posts used to be, and one pesky water leak from a decrepit pipe running to the ever drippy hose bib in the garage. Almost a week later, I had managed to fill two of the holes with fresh concrete and shiny new post bases, but the third hole remained a raw wound in the landscape, with its troublesome, still drippy pipe just on the side in an adjacent hole. No magic instant hardening covering, patch, wrap, paste or putty was up to the task of bonding to a 60 year old rusty water pipe. This project had turned sour, like milk in a cat’s bowl left out in the sun for too long and there simply was no easy way to get this angry genie back in the bottle. I put all the tools away, swept the dirt off the stairs, and walked away from the whole thing – promising to deal with it once I returned from this trip.

As we crossed over the Altamont Pass, even the carbon fiber and aluminum windmills looked waterlogged and droopy, hanging still in the motionless air. Each one seemed turned a different direction, as if they were seeking the smell of the cooling west wind that more often sweeps these grass covered passes and which would bring them life and purpose.

We tuned into the local weather forecast on the radio, studied the map as we drove, and called the highway department in an effort to plan how best to cross the Sierras. This storm was a cold one, bringing buckets of rain down low and snow at the higher elevations. Having wintered on Donner Summit near Route 80, we were determined to cross over to Nevada via some alternative roadway. We selected Route 88, which crosses Carson Pass just beyond Cables Lake at over 8,500 feet. The National Weather Service called for increased precipitation as the day progressed with temperatures falling well below freezing at the higher elevations. Our original plan was to spend the night right at Carson pass on a forest service road spur near Red Lake, but with fresh snow accumulation of up to 12” expected, we did not want to get snowed in, or stuck, on our first night out. With no real views to be had near the summit anyway due to the low clouds, fog, and heavy rain, we continued eastward right over the pass, dropped a few thousand feet and stumbled into the empty and freshly opened Crystal Springs Campground (recommended to us by the campground host at Hope Valley) right on the shores of the now swollen Carson River.

With outside temperatures hovering just above freezing, we warmed the cabin cooking quesadillas, and enjoyed our fresh banana bread for desert as twilight turned to darkness. The rushing river sounds drown out any road noise from the highway across the valley. It is good to be out on the road again, and I look forward to falling asleep to the patter of rain on the skylight window right overhead.
Tomorrow we continue east to wide open spaces and will select a small road on which to cross the Owens Valley. We are hoping with distance from the coast, we will achieve the warm temperatures and sunshine we are seeking.

From May 2009 Crystal Springs

From May 2009 Crystal Springs

Summary slide show from 2008/2009 ski season

Click on link below to watch a summary slide show from the ski season's best photos...



Enjoy!!

22April09 Wildcat Canyon Regional Park

Wildflowers are blooming and the temperature is balmy. A strong east wind carried sweet aromas of wildflowers, sage, and farms as we explored Wildcat Canyon Regional Park on Wednesday afternoon. This vast greenbelt area lies north of Berkeley/ElCerrito, and south of Susuin Bay. The grassy hills conceal the built-up alluvial land closer to the bay.

Wild Lupine and California Poppy carpet the hillsides.

Unidentified snake crossing the trail.. Anyone can help me identify this guy?

Looking south over the green hills.

Butterfly on coyote poop.

Walking on the fire trail.

Then the low thump, thump thump of a helicopter disturbed the quiet. The bird swooped in low and hot, then did a steep banking turn and reversed course. It circled us, then fired up the siren. I was just beginning to formulate what was going on when a mountain biker popped up from the roll behind us. He swerved left, swerved right, then hopped off the fire trail onto an adjacent and intersecting single track. The helicopter swooped in again, in hot pursuit of the biker. They both dropped behind the rise ahead of us and we scampered ahead to see the resolution. See the fields of wildflowers beyond,

The chopper set down smack dab in the middle of the trail ahead of the biker (who was no having to peddle up hill). By the time I got this shot off, the park ranger was out of the bird, biker was kneeling down by his bike. You can see the faint single track trail beyond the helicopter. The two stayed in conference in this position for a long time, then a 4WD truck drove over the rise and blocked off the biker's escape route.

Ticket issued, the biker hiked back up the trail to where it joined the road, hoped on and rode off, even as we tried to catch up to hear his side of the story. The rotors whirred, and the chopper lifted off the meadow and circled us as it flew up and away.

Bird of Paradise on our front hillside

18April2009 - Back in Oakland

We meticulously packed the car so every square inch was full, making last minute additions by rolling windows down and then up again from the drivers seat, with one person holding contents in place. We had a floor lamp secured to the roof top bike rack, and a large duffel strapped to roof as well. One last sweep over all the rooms of the house and a final pull on the front door and our winter adventure was coming to a close. Water was pooling at the edges of the driveway, as the massive accumulations of snow were finally succumbing to rising spring temperatures. We could hear chickadees in the trees, and the steady dripping from roof eaves.

One short side trip to drop some stuff off that did not fit in the car at Jeff's house and we were on our way. As we dropped in elevation the temperature rose until we hit the valley floor when the dashboard display topped out at 90 degrees. We were sweltering after 5 months in the cold, this seemed unbearable. Traffic came to a stop on 80 for no perceptible reason somewhere out in the Delta, so indefatigable Diane unfolded our dog-eared map and rerouted us on a meandering path through Rio Vista and a variety of other bucolic Delta towns. We drove unhindered over the raised levees, and old draw bridges - spying delta speed boats and jet skis plying the waters all around us. We chatted about how we would amuse ourselves in the coming months and continued to sweat even with the air conditioner running.

Then, before we knew it, the green rounded hills of the East Bay loomed ahead and we followed the narrowing highway gorge into the Caldicot tunnel. Due to the east wind and the odd atmospheric conditions, even crossing under the hills did not produce a drop in temperature and we pulled to a stop in front of the house at 90 degrees. We were greeted warmly by our neighbors as they offered assistance to haul our winter packings up the 45 steps to the house. Box by box the dining room filled and the car emptied until everything had made it up to our hillside perch. Looking around I wondered how we were going to find a place for all this STUFF, when the house already appeared full. Moving back into an occupied house was certainly a different experience from moving into an empty house - like we had done at the beginning of the ski season 5 months ago.

New bird sounds filled the house as we opened the windows to air things out. The aroma of the blooming grasses and flowers wafted in with the fresh air - the sweet jasmine among others alerting and exiting our nostrils after months of only woodsmoke and sweaty ski clothes. Our feral cat returned, demanding to be fed, and all the deferred chores seemed to be calling out to me as I tried to relax on the deck and simply absorb the significant changes this day had produced. The camera batteries were exhausted, so I simply hung it back up on it's familiar hook in the closet, shut the door, cleared off the bed from piles of unpacked clothing and went to bed.

17April09 - Pacific Crest Trail & Donner Lake Run

The snow has been melting around the house. The first floor windows are now exposed to the sun - HURRAY! - even though the north and west sides still have deep deposits. On the west side, the snow tunnel is beginning to show daylight through the thin remaining frozen crust. I suspect by tomorrow we'll have a porthole through to daylight on this side as well. The temperatures are already in the mid 40's when Tim picks me up fr today's tour.

We hitch a ride on the Lincoln lift and head down the Pacific Crest trail south towards Squaw Valley. The Eastern slopes call to us - we look for a break in the heavily corniced ridge - and find the perfect spot for our first run down in the Grade A choice corn.

The snow holds well - evidence of wet slides are visible on the steeper sections - but this early in the day the surface has not warmed enough for that to be a threat to us. Down to the meadow 800 feet below.

No rushing today - but the conditions won't last as the temperature is rising rapidly. We skin back up for another run. The ridge we came down is in the background here. We study it carefully during the climb - thinking of where we'll come down next.


During the climb we come across this sign - posted high on a tree by the Sugarbowl Ski Patrol - Our feelings are just the opposite. We MUST hike back the way we came - but not to escape - but to ski the run again.

Up to the ridge again.


You can see the heavily corniced ridge line. We stay well back and can often see the glide crack forming where the cornice has already begun to separate from the rock base and begin it slow (or perhaps dramatic) separation from the underlying rock.

This is a shot up of the route I took for the second run... Just off the summit, to lookers right of the big cornice there was a small spot on the ridge where there was no cornice, but a clear break onto the steep slope below. I skied down the steep ridge lookers left of the gully - watching the slope carefully should it begin to move. I had escape routes to each side of the ridge, and chose skier's left at the end, and came out between the two rock spires at the base of the gully - heart pounding almost as fast as right after the climb up...

We take a short lunch break, and begin to skin back up again. Another view of the amazing line down from the ridge. Whoo Ha!



This time we arch around to skier's right and climb up the shoulder of Mt. Judah. The wind and sun have eroded the snow on the summit, so we follow snow leads at the very top. Donner Lake in the distance - our final destination this afternoon.


Skiing the ridge below Judah to the radio reflectors.

We've left the summit of Judah and are touring over the ridge to connect to Donner Peak.


The ridge of Judah is also heavily corniced - an avalanch here a few years back reminds us to stay clear - especially in this warm weather.


Boot packing up to the summit of Donner Peak

Donner Peak summit.



Skiing down the"Lake Run" - beautiful conditions - exploring the route - roll after roll - reading the terrain to find a fin and safe route down to Donner Lake level where Diane should be awaiting us with a ride home back up the mountain. Looking back up at Donner Pass beyond Tim.


At last - a coyote - I've been seeing tracks all season. This guy was surprised to see us and trotted along to get out of the way. I barely had time to grad a quick shot before he crested the hill and shot out of view.


One more pitch and we are down to the road. We can see the houses in the trees below and are looking for a fun way down. I spot Diane's car at an open intersection. What a great tour to end the season with.