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.

16April09 - Relay Peak - North Lake Tahoe

(Click on any image to enlarge it)


Dallas Glass, a ski patroller from Mt. Rose, and avalanche forecaster has agreed to lead us today in the mountains north of the Mt. Rose Highway (Rt. 267). This is his stomping ground and he is exited about showing off the great terrain here on the NE side of Lake Tahoe. For almost the entire tour there are commanding views of Lake Tahoe and the eastern side mountains. The groups start up from Tahoe Meadows on the Mt. Rose Highway (Rt. 267). From left to right David G., David S., Tim F., Jeff K., and Dallas (elevator) Glass.

Relay Peak south summit from just above Tahoe Meadows. "This is where we are going" Dallas explains, and before I put my hands on my poles to begin, he is gone, rocketing up the mountainside - thus he is aptly nick-named from this point on as "The Elevator". We are sking higher than we are accustomed to and will top out at around 10,000 feet on the summit ridge.

Warm meadow snow sticks to our skins. We scrape off the snow and ice and apply "gobstopper" skin wax to preclude similar build-up later in the day. Even so, Dave S. manages to break a pole attempting to knock off the heavy accumulation. Jeff and he jury rig the pole by cramming a stick in the handle and top tube which lasts for the remainder of the day's tour.

We pick a protected ridge and begin the steeper climbing to the summit ridge. Even though Dallas skis a line straight up the ridge, the rest of us mortals make occasional kick turns to lesson the pitch. Here, Tim executes a "french" kick-turn, uphill leg first while mid-conversation with David - or is this mid-mountain yoga?


Dallas on the ridge as we ascend to 10,000 feet. The north summit of Relay peak is in the background. Relay peak is so named because of the large television relay station on the north summit which was used to bounce the 1968 Squaw Valley Olympics out of the Tahoe Basin and on to the rest of the world watching beyond.


David Stepner on the summit ridge - Washoe Valley in the distance.


Dallas heads south on the ridge looking for the best line down the west slope . Lake Tahoe and Heavenly Ski resort far off in the distance.


We go down now.. wonderful spring snow - long pitch - great views. Dave getting the rythm of brand new skiis on their first downhill run.

Jeff powers through one of many perfectly executed tele turns.


and there he goes... Wait for me!

Dallas follows Jeff. Using the small crumholtz (tree tops protruding through the snow surface) as turning marks he is looking downhil and spying his next turn.

The snow softens and deepens in the small gully into which we decend.

Tim launches off the summit.

Dave S.

Whoah, checking speed before the next turn, the surface here is thinner and the skis speed up with each turn down the fall line.

Ah, some deeper snow, or not. One more turn and then a dull thud and groan (not captured on film) as Dallas colides with a crumholtz. For a secod there all we see are the bottom of his skiis facing up hill - with no movement. This is not a good sign. "Dallas, are you okay" we all yell down - almost in harmony from all corners of the slope. A groan - " I'm not realy sure" muffled by tree branches we hear back. Dave S. is closest and activates his ski patrol persona approaching the scene. Dallas has untangled himself from the tree and his bindings and is inspecting the point of impact on his shin, just below the knee. Ouch, but just a bad bruise. A bit higher and the impact would have been with Dallas's bomber hard plastic knee pads, a bit lower, and possibly a tib/fib break. We are lucky this time.

We continue the ski down, into the meadow below and flatter terrain. Skins on, we begin the slog back up for more fun.

Now the soft snow is too steep to skin up - the thin layer of fresh snow does not adhere to the firm icy layer beneath and our attempts to traverse and skin up are foiled by repeated slides away from our intended objective. We chose to strap skis to packs, and boot pack straight up, our boot toes more firmly kicking into the mountainside.

We follow a route in the shadows of a tree line so the snow is not so soft, and we are shielded from the scorching mid-day sun.

We crest the ridge, then drop in on the southeast face for some more skiing. The snow becomes very slushy as the slope flattens. We begin the long downward traverse back to the meadow below.



Dave is bored skiing on two skis so he tries it on one during this daring maneuver.

Looking back up the south east face - if you enlarge this photo you'll see our tracks - both down and up.

Again, a wonderful slope transected by our joyful down tracks - this is the east facing slope we skied second on our way back to the car.


The Google earth approximate route