Royal Springs Ridge after a storm

From Jan 2010 Royal Springs Ridge

The last storm rolled through like a pineapple express blasting the ridgetops with gusts topping 100 mph. The trees on the southwest side of the ridge look like they have been pelted by the highway snow blower, with plastered snow all the way up the trunks. At ground level, the snow is soft and shows the tracks of squirrels, birds, rabbits, and what I suspect is a bobcat. Followed the bobcat tracks to a den hole tucked under a fallen tree. Did not stick my head in to investigate.

From Jan 2010 Royal Springs Ridge

This tree has developed on the very ridgetop, tucked in between two lava rock outcroppings. There are no other trees right on the ridge, and this sentinel survives thanks to the protection of the adjacent rock. I sat in this notch and had lunch out of the wind.

From Jan 2010 Royal Springs Ridge

The storm was still swirling around the ridge top but as I dropped down to the meadow level, there was a brief break in the clouds and all these amazing shadows suddenly appeared. As soon as I got my camera out, they started to fade and within a few minutes the gloom and swirl of the storm had descended down all around me as well.

Backcountry Fall

The cold snow was mashed up under my glasses and I could tell my cheek was scored with tiny abrasions from rapid impact with sand paper-like like spring snow crystals. A minute ago I know I was gliding calmly down a wooded ridge above Van Norden Lake. But now, I was lying in the snow, arms outstretched in front of me with the tell-tale chill of rapidly melting snow seeping into my collar. I lifted my head to try and clear the fog away from my vision and realized I could not see anything because the gap between my dark sun glasses and my face was packed with snow. I pushed off the glasses with a oddly disassociated hand and arm and leaned up on my elbows to take stock of where I had found myself.

First thing I saw as my thermos, about five feet ahead of me. Ahhh- that explains the odd whoosh sound I heard moments before I hit the snow. My thermos must have launched out of it's snug pocket on the side of my pack and been projected forward as I came to a sudden stop on the slope. I'm thinking I'm glad it was stowed on the side of my pack, rather than the top, otherwise it would have impacted with the back of my head and had a totally different trajectory. But then, why did I stop so suddenly? Working backwards in time I tried to remember what had happened just before and drew a blank...well, actually I remember seeing that the gap between two small trees was closing rather rapidly upon my approach, and that I needed to bring my skis together and squeeze my elbows in so I could just fit through, but then total blank. Not good. Although, I'm sure I did not hit my head. I think ski falls in general happen so fast sometimes its normal to not have a clue what happened to make you fall and exactly what happened to you as you fell. In my case, everything must have happened in a blink of an eye.

So, I have surmised I fell down. Duh. No rocket science there. But, I was still mystified as to why. I am accustomed to falling occasionally on an open slope if I catch an edge, or if the firm snowy base supporting my skis suddenly changes to an icy crust. Now, thinking back, I can just recall hearing the snap/clink sound of a ski binding releasing. I peer over my shoulder and see that my skis are no longer attached to my feet. I am about 5 feet downhill from a narrow gap between two trees. This must be the downhill side of the gap I recalled earlier. But where are my skis? I roll my feet downhill and stand up, shaking the snow out of my coat sleeves and collar and give my head a twist to knock the remaining snow off my hat. Still no sign of the skis. Odd. I post hole back up the hill. No ski tracks here. I must have flown from the gap to my landing position without touching the snow at all. With some effort in the deep unpacked snow accumulated on the leeward side of the trees I made it back uphill to the gap - now more at eye level because of the sudden change in slope and see my two skis, side by side, parked just on the other side of the gap as if I had intentionally removed them there for a hot chocolate break. I reached through the boughs with my arm. No good. I could not reach the tips. So I stuck my pole out and try to poke at the ski to coax it to come towards me through the opening. Like puppies unwilling to come in from the beach after a good frolic, no amount of tugging forward on the toe piece would budge the ski.

I was concerned about sinking into the possibly unconsolidated tree well adjacent to the branches, so I plowed around the tree giving the downhill well a wide berth and panting arrived on the uphill side to conduct further investigations and to retrieve my wayward equipment. With a few swipes of my arm I discovered the problem. Submerged just a few inches under the powdery surface snow was a stubby tree stump just where I had attempted to ski. The skis were trapped, embedded ever so slightly by the ski tips into the furry bark below. I wiggled them one by one side to side and they happily popped out threatening to continue their ski downhill without me. Now the full story began to form in my still confused consciousness. I must have been carrying more speed than I suspected, hit the submerged stump dead-on, did a double ejection from the bindings, flew arms outstretched down the hill and impacted head first on the slope below. At least I now had a coherent story that matched the clues.

I reminded myself of how lucky I was, skiing alone in the backcountry. Any number of variations of these circumstances could have had a much more unpleasant outcome. Brushing off the snow, resetting the bindings, I clicked in and cautiously continued on my way down the mountainside. I knew the afternoon light would begin to fade soon and that I needed to keep moving to make my objective before darkness. As I was coasting down the more gentle slope below, I began the slow full body assessment I perform on others just after ski accidents to determine if anything else was out of kilter. Sure enough, as I palpated my upper left arm I felt a sudden tenderness in my triceps that up until now had gone un noticed. Hmm. I guess I re-injured that muscle. No biggie though - I had pulled that same muscle earlier in the season nordic skiing and it had been put back in service pretty quickly.

Looking around to pick a good route home and always on the lookout for a good photograph, I continued on my way through the mountain topography. It was beautiful. The widely spaced trees along the ridge left a wide open vista of the unfolding valley to the north. To the west the sun was beginning its orange drop over the mountains and towards the Pacific. The clouds overhead were turning blue, then purple, then gray as the daylight was sapped away into the mountain night. There were no sounds besides my heart beating and the clink of the bindings as I took each step forward. Now, here on the protected side of the ridge, the snow lay undisturbed and the the tracks of many woodland creatures crisscrossed between the trees leaving a trace of where they had foraged for food or chased one another about.

As I began to climb up a small rise on the ridge I realized that my left arm was becoming rather useless. It would not take any amount of downward force. The extra work of using one arm on the climb got me sweating, so I stopped to take off a layer. Ouch - now I realized just how sore my arm was becoming. I slumped the pack off onto the ground, stripped off the camera harness and gingerly peeled off two layers of clothing. After stuffing them in my pack, I tried to put my pack on in the usual fashion, but my arm was having nothing to do with bending backwards and twisting at the elbow - a normal maneuver which I can usually do in my sleep. No way I could figure out how to get both straps on without agonizing pain in my left arm. Ultimately, I skipped the arm altogether, and fastened the pack over my shoulder on the left outside of my arm using the sternum strap to keep if from sliding off. Now my objectives had changed. I needed to get off this mountainside on reasonable terrain and back to some assistance before this throbbing in my arm put me totally out of commission. The problem was, I was still at least 800 feet above the road and more than a mile from home. Thinking the problem through, I figured it would be easier to ski gently down the whole way, rather than to take the usual route of a steep decent followed by a flat slog back to the trail head. I could no longer see the end of the meadow through the trees so I took a single compass heading, combined that with the angle of the slope and adjusted my course to hopefully intersect the road right at the base of the mountain.

Now the shadows were growing very long and dim, so I stopped one more time to don my headlamp. This long downward traverse was taking me through a part of the forest I had not traveled in before so I was taking extra special caution not t become bogged down in a creek drainage, or other unexpected fold in the landscape. Just as the last glow of daylight drained from the dark sky, I emerged from the forest - right on target. I had landed right in the back of the parking lot for Soda Springs ski resort - now oddly lit with the sodium glow of parking lot fixtures. Using only my right hand, I strapped the skis together with a rubber strap, threw them onto my shoulder and walked the remaining 1/4 mile to the house in the dark.

Epilogue:
The emergency room visit that night diagnosed a torn triceps muscle with significant hematoma. A pressure splint and sling were applied. Follow-up will be four weeks in a sling with gradual physical therapy to maintain range of motion to prevent the scar tissue from adhering abnormally. Thank you modern medicine for narcotics!!!

Up Mt. Rowton (Lola's Lookout)

From View from Mt Rowton's West Ridge

From View of Tinker's Knob on the Pacific Crest Trail from Mt Rowton

With David's arm in a sling and trudging along in front on snowshoes we wander about in some of our favorite off-trail areas looking for scenic views. The sky was overcast with weather threatening for tomorrow. The sun peaked out now and again occasionally giving us amazing shadows and textures on the snow that remains from our holiday storm cycle. The southwest gales blasted those faces clean of snow and large chalky deposits remain on the north and east exposures. Dramatic cornices still cling to the ridgetops that we are exploring.

With David on snowshoes and Diane on back country skis and skins our paces are actually well matched, as David breaks trail going uphill and then cuts all the corners heading straight down the fall line in the stable footwear. We transect the Royal Gorge Trail system, as they make a lower grade approach to the same high points. We stay on the ridges and scout for lookouts - always on the lookout for animal tracks in the snow. Today, we see nothing larger than rabbit tracks, but the trail groomers tell of bear tracks newly visible in this new year's fresh snow.

Woodpecker comes calling

Mt Judah from new summit chair + Crows nest ridge backcountry ski

Winter Storm door has opened!!

Can you tell what's GREAT about this picture?

New Eva Galson Orchid Calendar for 2010

New Eva Galson Orchid Calendar for 2010 is now available on my RedBubble site.  This calendar celebrates Eva's passion for cultivating and photographing these amazing plants.  Images are available as individual greeting cards, or as matted wall art as well.  Click here to view details of each page.

Time to bring in deck furniture

Nov. 2009 - Pyramid Lake, NV

(click on center of image to view slide show...)


We stare blankly at each other as our worst fears are realized. We're miles from anywhere, on a spur road off an unimproved dirt road, at the edge of an abandoned lake the size of Lake Tahoe and the camper appears to be stuck in the soft mineral sand that we both mistook for a passable roadway. No need to spin the tires. Its evident from the motion of the vehicle and the effort of the engine that this dog just won't hunt. I turn off the engine and we both get out to inspect the damage and to brainstorm a solution. Already, my mind is racing ahead to scenarios - how far we'll need to hike before we can flag down some fisherman's truck that can take us miles down the dirt track to a pay phone where we can try to call a tow truck that is far away to begin with and suitably rugged to not get stuck themselves while winching us out of our mired condition. I think about our self contained bag of tricks. Diane starts rifling through the bench compartments for our folding shovel, but I know digging won't solve the problem. We're already well dug in. Whose idea was it anyway to venture this far afield at this crazy hour in hopes of getting a photo of the amazing sunset colors on a far off set of rocks perched at the remote end of the lake - oh yeah... mine.

Then it hits me - thinking of those desert island airstrips built in the far flung pacific islands - I need some sort of grating to put under the wheels, and then we can slowing roll onto it and piece by piece work our way back to solid dirt. Diane catches onto the idea quickly and stops looking for the shovel, now considering the various pieces of carpeting we have scattered near the seats at our feet. I dig into the "garage" our back door's storage compartment and pull out 10 pieces of plastic lego block we use to level the car on uneven campsites. I sink a few behind each wheel after pushing the powdery sand away from the mud flaps with my arms, jump back into the cockpit, and slowly backup. Perfect. The truck climbs happily onto solid footing - as if it too, was nervous about the floating that was happening in the powdery mineral pit. Now, I lined up a few in front of the rear wheels, and rolled forward 8 inches. Everything held. We were moving albeit slowly forward. So, that's how we crawled out of that dead end spur - Diane outside in the sage and sand slowly advancing the plastic lego panels in front of the wheels as I drove painstakingly forward. We'd drive onto a set, and then Diane would take the previous foothold and move it in front of the wheels for another 8" of forward motion. In no time, we were free and full of giggles, the smelly nervous sweat already evaporating from our clothes.

For the balance of our journey on this Paiute Indian reservation, Diane led out in front by foot when we got to questionable sections, scraping her feet on the ground to see if it puffed away in a powdery wisps, or if it held firm. Go girl!!

New 2010 Photo Calendars for sale

New Calendars for sale

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Greeting cards can be selected in any quantity from a singe or multiple sets of images.

Lake Van Norden - more sunsets

From Lake Van Norden, Judah moonrise

From Lake Van Norden, Judah moonrise

Hiking at sunset near Lake Van Norden. First photo is the moon rising at sunset, and the second is of Mt. Judah and Mt. Disney across Lake Van Norden.

Lost Trail Lodge

This time, we took the bikes to make better time and went exploring to find the Lost Trail Lodge. (Actually - if we had bothered to look at their web site, they publish very clear instructions for how to get there) - The lodge is actually easy to find if you know where to look - just 2.9 miles in Coldstream road - a forest service road that leaves right from behind the Holiday Inn in Truckee. The owner and lodge host, Dave, met us as we peddled up and offered us a cup of tea or coffee and proceeded to entertain us for 30 minutes with stories of great times at the lodge. This cozy, fully winterized and comfortable lodge is totally off the grid, with a well, and running water (read flush toilets) and sits surrounded by forest service land, within striking distance of some very exiting skiing and ski touring. The lodge is stuffed with knick-knacks of every sort - but of special note is a large collection of musical instruments - all in working order and available to guests to play if they know how. Dave is himself an accomplished musician and enjoys hosting musically themed events. We can't wait to return when snow is on the ground. Don't know why it took us so long to hook into this convenient and remarkable facility.

Crow's Nest Ridge Hike - October 2009

Hike from Pahatsi Rd. to Crow's Nest. Temperatures in the 60's, very calm air. Many signs of bobcat along the trail, but no sightings.

( Click on center of picture to view slide show... )

Mid October - Donner Summit

Last weekend brought our first house guests of the season (Don/Margaret and Maya/Mike). We worked out the kinks of sharing this house with others and made some great meals. The bird food on the deck continues to attract large flocks of stellar jays - all squabbling over the food like a bunch of gulls. The woodpeckers stick to the trees and the other smaller birds avoid the congestion on the deck. The night temperatures bring morning low-lying fog to Van Norden meadow, but the sun has been burning it off for pleasant conditions for fall hikes.

This weekend was the Sugarbowl National Ski Patrol refresher. Winter friendships from last season were rekindled, rivalries reestablished, and lots of good training occurred with a steady rotation through first aid scenario stations. Lift evacuation drills, avalanche rescue drills, and a general welcoming back to the Sugarbowl community.

From Oct Donner Summit 2009

Last week's season's first snowfal left 4-6 inches on the ground at the higher elevations. In the distance here is the Sugarbowl ski resort skot from Castle Pass on the north side of Rt. 80

From Oct Donner Summit 2009

Early morning fog on Van Norden meadow.

From Oct Donner Summit 2009

Castle Peak - from Castle Pass

From Oct Donner Summit 2009

From Oct Donner Summit 2009

From Oct Donner Summit 2009

09_October Desolation Wilderness - Summer turns to Fall

Thinking we'd get some great fall hiking in we ventured down to the southwest corner of Lake Tahoe and spent a few days exploring various trails that penetrate into the Desolation Wilderness. Eagle Lake, Grass Lake, Fallen Leaf Lake, Cascade Lake and more. Along the way we encountered the historically preserved Glen Alpine Springs Resort complete with it's own Soda Springs and Maybeck designed "fireproof" buildings a mile west and in from the end of Fallen Leaf Lake. We stopped briefly to chat with the owner and chief preserver and learned some interesting history about this area. On Saturday night, a heavy rain turned to snow and in the morning we had 3 inches of fresh snow to contend with. The shuttling clouds made a great backdrop for Emerald Bay.

(Click on the "play" button in the center of the image below to start slide show..)