elisabitch.

Still Hiking.

Fri, 01 Jul 2011 16:39:55 -0400

Hi from Mammoth. I realize that I have completely abandoned my journal here, as writing while out in the wilds feels too similar to homework. I was doing okay at uploading a photo every day to my flickr account (www.flickr.com/photos/elisabitch) while in the desert section, but once I lost cell reception in the mountains, that too has fallen by the wayside. Now I am just building an impressive bank of photographs on my camera, which presents another set of logistical hurdles before their public release. Oy.

I will say this: The mountains are incredible. There is so much snow and water, but carry enough food and stay flexible. Stop if you’re pushing or getting pushed around too much. Sit still and let the show begin — coyotes hunting in the snowy meadows, deer grazing, marmots coming up to check you out, a pika nibbling his lunch. Rock fall on the hillside, shooting stars overhead in the big night sky, water roaring under the snowbridges. Such beauty.

When we came into Mammoth, several hikers were in a tizzy over the conditions ahead. Fear factory up and running… We are tuning it out and going to see for ourselves — so far, it sounds more or less like more of the same, and so far it has been manageable. Yes, it is sometimes a lot of hard work. But SO worthwhile.

Go for the thru-hike, as 2000 PCT Alum Joe told me this week… We’ve got this, be patient.

Thanks for the pie, Mom’s Pie!! Delicious! Julian, CA.

Thu, 28 Apr 2011 14:39:31 -0400

Thanks for the pie, Mom’s Pie!! Delicious! Julian, CA.

Me, backpacking.

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 00:04:56 -0400

Me, backpacking.

Pacific Crest Trail Association (link).

Tue, 29 Mar 2011 02:12:09 -0400

Pacific Crest Trail Association (link).:

As the remaining weeks dwindle before I leave to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, I urge those of you who are unfamiliar with it to read more about it at the website for the PCTA, an organization that issues thru-hiker permits, aggregates updated trail conditions and other pertinent information that I will rely on this summer, and organizes trail maintenance along the 2650 mile trail. And you will also find a resource where many of your questions will be answered — factoids, numbers, maps, the like. Go now, read up.

Let It Snow.

Sun, 20 Mar 2011 20:43:00 -0400

At the beginning of the month, I drove up to South Lake Tahoe for a snow skills course, offered each winter by Ned and Julie of Mountain Education. The course is structured around active learning — within minutes of meeting at the trailhead, the group straps on their snowshoes and hoists their packs, and proceeds down the trail in an awkward procession through the snow. Immediately, Ned begins to unload massive amounts of relevant, useful information — how to break a trail in the snow, how to “read” the topography to navigate toward a goal, how to bail out and find civilization, and so on. And so it goes for the next five miles, uphill downhill through the woods and over frozen lakes. Hip flexors? Got em.

Once you set up camp along a ridgeline next to Tamarack Lake, Ned brings you down to the edge of the outlet, where you learn how to safely approach the creek for water. Dinner is cooked, in your tent or vestibule if the weather is nasty, and you tuck in feeling a bit intimidated by what the next day holds: ice axe training! In the morning, the sun is shining, though the weather report promises snow. You grab your ice axe, a foreign object until now, and head over to a steep hill below the ridge. First, the fun stuff: glaze the hill with your butt! Just like children (or lemmings, depending on how you choose to look at it), you systematically take turns sliding down the hill to pack down the powder. Ned even has you go down on your back, head first; the blue sky is giving way to the precursory storm clouds, you notice, as you ski down blindly. Then comes the axe, useful for self-arrest, self-belay, cutting steps — generally things you hope to avoid along the trail, as they suck up massive amounts of time and energy. One by one you skid down the hill, clutching your axe, and with varying degrees of style and grace you come to a satisfying stop on the hillside. There, not so bad after all.

The weather holds, so the group grabs their maps for a quick jaunt before dinner. A quick hop skip and jump, and the group navigates to the neighboring lake, held in a snowy bowl under its namesake peak — the line between the lake and the mountain is erased under the snow, and coupled with the evening light, your depth perception is tickled into thinking that white spot where they meet is neither near nor far, but simply infinite.

The snow starts falling as you cook dinner. The tents are all cinched down with dead man anchors, though the silnylon still catches in the wind as the light fades. With a warm belly, you fall asleep in the weather, curled around a bottle of hot water at 8pm. The wind picks up, the snow sets down, and at some point during the night you have to pee so badly that you shove your feet into your wet boots and step out of the tent — to pee in the vestibule. No matter, the snow has completely covered it come morning, when you awake to a new blanket of whiteness pushing in the walls of the tent. A tent neighbor comes to shovel it out a bit, and then you sit and wait inside. First goal: stay warm and dry. Make tea, eat a pop tart. Eat a Clif bar. Make chai. Wait. Tidy up your personal affects. Wait. Crack jokes. Feed your tentmate a packet of emergen-C, withhold water. More laughter, more waiting.

Suddenly, a slight break in the weather. You break camp, and shove the wet gear into your packs to head home. Along the way, you find evidence of other people who had also been camping out nearby — though you would have never known it. Snowshoe tracks following the creek bed lead the same direction as the group. Camaraderie and new confidence is enough to stave off the discomfort and tiredness we feel, and we backtrack over the frozen lakes while conversing over our ambitious plans to hike for an entire summer. Each of us, so different, motivated by such unique reasons, have something solidly in common: a goal, that if completed in one summer, will put us into a group smaller than that of those who will summit Mount Everest this year.

For several weekends each winter, Ned and Julie Tibbits lead groups of interested parties into the Desolation Wilderness to equip them with skills best learned by doing. The experienced guidance and knowledge they have provided the trail community over past years, and on a donation basis, is absolutely invaluable and unparalleled; the goodness they provide within the trail community is so great, and I feel sincerely grateful to have had an opportunity to meet them and spend a weekend in their company. From start to finish, the weekend is full of helpful information that integrates seamlessly into mindful action, and I know that I will have more realistic expectations and therefore a more enjoyable experience this summer directly because of my time with Ned and Julie.

Visitor’s Permit.

Tue, 08 Feb 2011 03:03:07 -0500

Visitor’s Permit.

On Good Fortune.

Wed, 02 Feb 2011 01:47:40 -0500

To complement the quote on Providence that my dad sent me, I must write a bit on good fortune. I will start with the short version: I live a charmed life.

The long version goes like this:
I grew up in northern California, in a little town called Nevada City, which is nestled in the Sierra foothills between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe. No, it’s not in Nevada. I’ll gloss over the details of my childhood, except to say that I have a wonderful family — my parents are both supportive, caring, intelligent, interesting people, and I’m luckily stuck plop in the middle of two sisters. My older sister has been living in Europe for the past eight years, cultivating a life there with her sweet husband; my younger sister is currently taking up residence in my living room while finishing school and following her dream as she interns for FWS’s Condor Rehab program. Growing up, armed with crackers and salami and my engineer father’s “state of the art” video camera, we were dragged through the woods of northern California in the name of family togetherness. I won’t even go in the caravan road trips to such venues as the Grand Canyon and Canada, where we threw CB radios into the mix and upgraded the experience to a “vacation”; meanwhile, our peers were staying in hotels at Disneyland and actually enjoying themselves (“are we there yet? I have to pee!” over the radio and license plate bingo were certainly not in their consciousness). My parents appreciation for dirt paths and bumpy roads, propane-fueled gadgets, and unparalleled wild vistas far superseded any joy offered by pricey destination packages peddled by travel agents and glossy television ads alike.

So we grew up without fences, barefoot in the woods, learning to swim in hot springs, enjoying real snow cones with maple syrup on our snow days and a growing collection of freckles in the summertime. I knew what I was missing out on — my uncreative girl scout troop took me on my very first trip to a mall before Christmas one year, wherein I bought a stuffed bird that played a sad version of a bird call when pressed. But I remember the time my little sister packed dresses for a pack trip into Hoover Wilderness, and the banana slugs on Vancouver Island, the sensation of the sleeping bag lined truck bed jostling under my bum, and all of the snow-bent tree trunks that we played horsey on with much greater fondness. I think of those experiences as a part of me, as woven into the fabric of me. I firmly believe that my parents “got it right” on that front — I’m even somewhat grateful for the intrusion of my dad’s video camera now when I watch our family trips on DVD, despite the opportunity it obviously presented us to perfect our eye rolls and glares long before puberty.

I’ve been living in Santa Barbara for over a decade now, and I love it. I hightailed it from my hometown after graduation, hoping to be close and far simultaneously, and largely because we used to spend Christmases camping on the beach here. I’ve come to appreciate the chaparral and sand fleas in their own right, especially come winter when the sun actually shines. Sure, it’s expensive here and most of my peer group are forced to export themselves in order to find gainful employment elsewhere, but I’ve been quite lucky to have stability on both fronts. Not that life doesn’t have its ups and downs, but you know that proverbial little black cloud? It’s like I have a sunshiny cloud instead.

At one of our recent weekly girl nights, my girlfriend Stevie invited a male friend of hers who reads Tarot cards. Typically we make dinner and drink wine and catch up, so this was a departure from our norm, and one that I hadn’t anticipated. I’m not one who subscribes to mysticism, but I was willing to play along — superstition has a little footing after all, and I’ll be the first to throw salt over my shoulder if I spill it. After each of my friends had sat with Laszlo, asking questions about love and money, I took my seat and cut the deck. Naturally, the trail was on my mind as I drew my cards, though Laszlo had no background info on this. He laid out my cards, and told me it was a beautiful reading. He told me there was someone who had been bad with money, but there was stability now. In my consciousness, I feel like things in my life are very good; in my subconscious, they are even better. In the past, I have struggled, but I have always taken the higher ground. In the near future, I will carry a burden, but it won’t be unbearable. My role in it will be the magician, I will be resourceful and use the tricks up my sleeve. I will leave something behind, but I will be ready to let it go. Any challenges I have I will overcome, they will not be impossible. The outcome will be a success. And so I have been blessed by the cards.

My lucky break, I guess. I wake up and am grateful to be alive, grateful to know what matters to me and to be able to revel in it and pursue it. I am surrounded by amazing people — my family, my friends, the woman who picked us up the other morning when we decided to “loop” a hike (thanks, Robin!); I am blessed with their support and guidance, and it means so much to me to be believed in unconditionally. Providence, in conjunction with the Universe, has provided unequivocally for me, and I am the beneficiary of overwhelming goodness. This hike is a culmination of those family camping trips in the meadow and each lucky break I’ve been afforded along the path to where I am now. Once I decided to make this hike really happen, I feel like everything has fallen into place more or less perfectly. It just adds to the excitement! And I’m off now to go knock on some wood…

Providence.

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 21:18:51 -0500

“But when I said that nothing had been done I erred in one important matter. We had definitely committed ourselves and were halfway out of our ruts. We had put down our passage money—booked a sailing to Bombay. This may sound too simple, but is great in consequence. Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, the providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way. I learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets: Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!”

-William H. Murray, The Scottish Himalaya

Thanks, dad :)

Reminders.

Fri, 21 Jan 2011 02:31:00 -0500

Relevant background info: I’m dating a guy who doesn’t like to hike. Don’t misunderstand, he’s outdoorsy and loves trail running, mountain biking, rock climbing, the like. But walking is just too… slow. Needless to say, this creates a smidge of a rift when weekends come around and we both are itching to go play outside. This past weekend, Nolan indulged me and we planned a last minute backpacking trip out in the Sespe Wilderness to take full advantage of the amazing weather southern California has been having.

Friday night I came home after work and packed up for the overnighter. It became immediately apparent that I need a better way to organize all the camping/backpacking gear I’ve amassed over the years. As I went back and forth between dresser drawers and kitchen cupboards and garage shelves for the items on my trip list, I started thinking about how much easier things will be when I’m out in the woods with only the contents of my pack, of how simple it will be once I remove choice as an option. But in these planning stages, choice is a necessary process — discriminating now will make my life easier this summer! I don’t have all my gear and clothing systems worked out yet, so each item in my pack was deliberated over. Being only ten miles in to the hot springs and only one night out, I knew that I would be just fine if I forgot something or something failed to meet my needs (I was prompt to find the loophole on this, but more on that later).

For the first time I weighed many of the items in my pack, and while I wasn’t really surprised at their weights, I definitely started to think about their particular value as far as usage. Mind the ounces and the pounds take care of themselves, as Nolan always reminds me. Regardless, I stubbornly packed the BushBuddy and the Snow Peak canister stove, just for comparison in the field. I also packed up my new Marmot Helium 15* down bag, and threw on my funky snakeskin Dirty Girl Gaiters to test out for the first time (both were awesome!!)

After picking up Nolan from work, we drove out behind Ojai to the trailhead on the Sespe River. The trail criss-crosses the river for ten miles or so, with some gentle ups and downs, and cuts mostly across the exposed hills just above the creekbed — in 2006 a wildfire burned the area, leaving even less shade than the chaparral offered before. The creek has nice holes to dip into, especially in the spring and summer when the temperature rises a bit. The last time I hiked out to Willett hot springs, the temperature gauge on my pack read around 115*, but that was last June (and silly me, it was way too hot to enjoy soaking in the hot springs anyway!); this past week the area has been enjoying temperatures in the 70s and 80s, following a couple of storms — just about two weeks ago this trail was under a blanket of snow! Needless to say, the knee-high creek crossings were brisk, and I was excited to soak in the hot springs after the hike in.

We made pretty good time, reaching Bear Camp (the half-way point) with ease; we passed a group of younger people, all carrying larger packs than ours, and I felt pretty pleased with myself that I’ve learned how to pare down my pack. There were several parties out on the trail, including a large group of boy scouts, but once we arrived at Willett it seemed relatively quiet. There were a few other groups camped out around us that evening, but no one with much proximity to the site we camped out at. After getting water from the creek (finally used my Steripen, for once — hold that thought), and setting up the tarp and the kitchen, we walked a half mile up the hill behind camp to the hot springs, which we found unoccupied and inviting. The water was an opaque milky green, almost like a hot glacial bath, and we soaked in the tub as that sun set and the bats dipped down around us. Across the river canyon, the last of the snow was clinging to the backside of the Topatopas, lit up by the nearly full moon. A beautiful evening, and the best foot rub ever! After our soak, we made dinner on the BushBuddy woodstove (all the soot was a bit too messy in practicality for my taste, honestly) and shared a bottle of wine we’d packed in using a Platypus wine bladder, and then retired to bed with the sound of toads clumsily crashing through the foliage around us.

The next morning we packed up, and agreed we’d just chug water and carry a liter between creek crossings — totally reasonable for this hike. We started back toward the car, passing a few other hikers along the way, watching a group of three coyotes make their way up the creek from up above, and reveling in our good fortune at such an incredible weekend. Again we made good time and were in good spirits, and made it back to the trailhead without incident. My pack felt great, my body felt capable, and I only had one hot spot on my heel from wearing my running shoes which I normally don’t use for hiking. A nice little twenty mile weekend to break up the work weeks! Triumph.

But there was one nagging thought: My Steripen failed to emit any visible light while I was treating the water. Admittedly, despite owning it for the past three years or so, I have hardly used it, and I didn’t re-read the instructions. I simply packed a backup set of batteries and threw it in my pack, even passing on taking Nolan’s water filter instead — I knew we’d have clear water sources, and this was the perfect situation to use it. All the indicator lights were functioning perfectly, and I couldn’t remember if it actually produced any visible light during treatment because I so rarely used it. Well, once I got home, I pulled up the website. Oops. The good news is that it comes with a lifetime warranty. The bad news is that it appears we drank several liters of unfiltered water. Chalk it up to user error (read: laziness), but I’m hoping we get off with just a warning ticket, so to speak. All in all, we’ve had a few nice storms push things through, and the water is definitely moving, so I’m thinking that this is as good a time as any to drink the river water, but it’s definitely a reminder to pay attention… I’m also reminded that I need to supplement my first aid kit with a few antibiotics and whatnot!

All said, it was a lovely weekend, and I’m grateful that Nolan joined me in walking slowly along the riverbed :)

Hiking buddy, post- Matilija hike. Happy new year!

Fri, 07 Jan 2011 00:01:23 -0500

Hiking buddy, post- Matilija hike. Happy new year!

Whatever the Weather.

Sun, 19 Dec 2010 02:05:00 -0500

I talked my friend and neighbor into a wet hike today, despite/in spite of the rain; we dressed to get wet, yet be warm, and were two of very few souls out on the trail this morning behind Montecito. Tracey had never hiked in the rain before like this, and she made me promise her a trip to the local tasting room, Municipal Winemakers, for some hot mulled wine after the hike. I, of course, was happy to oblige! Win-win.

It was so nice to be out, as I really had been planning a longer day hike for today until the forecast became dismal. It was also fun to have the company, and I think Tracey was excited to approach a hike from the mindset that she could be out in the wet weather and still enjoy herself. I simply gave her instructions to wear synthetics and a brimmed hat, and she showed up with bells on and ready to hike.

The Cold Springs trail starts in the creek bed and then eases up into the chaparral as it climbs into the foothills behind Santa Barbara. Because of the lack of shade cover, I actually prefer to do my “front country” hiking in the less desirable weather — fog is especially lovely, though it squelches whatever views of the Channel Islands you might hope for. After over eleven years living here, however, I think I’ll be able to supplement the foggy overlook with a few images from my overactive imagination :) You’ll have to use yours in viewing the photo of Tracey on top earlier today.

Hiking in the rain is also a bit of a treat in southern California — it’s not like we get a huge accumulation of precipitation around here. The earthworms were out en masse on the trail today, their lithe bodies exposed in the trail — though you’d never suspect their panic to look at them momentarily as you tried to step over them in their apparently careless sloth. Besides the worms, and the lack of traffic on the normally busy trail, what really stood out to me was how loud the sound of the rain and the water dripping from the sycamore and oak and bay laurel was, complementing the gurgling of the still only moderately flowing creek. It was really delightful, the juxtaposition between the chaotic stormy weather and the lazy quiet heat along the same trail I hiked last weekend with Laurie and her daughter.

I came home and had the most amazing hot shower I can remember in ages — reminiscent of the baths we took as kids after playing outside for hours on snow days. The water hit my skin and the heat started soaking into my bones and I felt so completely, presently, helplessly content. What a joy living is.

Where the Heart Is.

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 02:40:00 -0500

Sitting here wearing striped woolen socks with my little cat, Juju, and listening to the gentle rain synchronize with my dripping kitchen faucet; wondering if my roof will leak with this storm in my antiquated apartment. The weather report on my phone is a solid wall of water, with no respite until sometime near the end of next week. Though while the phone reported steady precipitation today, my experience claimed otherwise — drizzles intermingled with some bona fide rain drops, at best. After picking up the children from their last day of school we stopped by the local farm, devoid of customers for the weather, for their help in picking out a little Christmas tree for my house, and while there we managed three laps around the leftover corn maze from Halloween. It was so nice to be out with the children, freed from school and schedules for the next few weeks, and in the fresh damp air, our boots in the puddles and the wet plants brushing against us as we turned circles in the forgotten maze, our voices hushed by the tall cornstalks as we tried to find each other. We came out soaked, refreshed, and toting a darling little tree… all in all, hugely successful.

Last night I met my girlfriends for dinner, to celebrate the holidays and graciously reflect on the past year together. We went around the table, each offering up what has stood out to them or what they are most thankful for; naturally, we all agreed that we cherished each others’ friendships. There was gratitude for our relationships, to be employed steadily in this economy, our health, our growth. But I’m most thankful that because of all of those factors, the year ahead presents me with opportunities. I’m grateful that I have friends and family who support my choice to hike, who express their excitement and interest and enthusiasm to help me accomplish this. I’m grateful that I have had a steady job for these many years so that I could pay off my debts and save up some money and then quit it to go on this hike. I’m grateful for strong feet and a sense of balance and clear eyes to take in the grandeur of the world around me. I’m even grateful for the challenges that have tested me, that have broken me, so that I could grow into the person who has the courage and the will to even consider undertaking this adventure. The momentum is building, and each day the anxiety over the small stuff is giving way to the resolve that I am going to do this hike, and that I’m going to do my best to finish it.

So last night I waited for Whitney (named after the famous peak, which her mother hiked while pregnant with her) to sink a few martinis into her belly, and then we talked details. Whitney is applying to graduate programs for the autumn quarter, and in the meantime, she is planning to sublet my apartment while I’m gone. At first, this commitment made me panic, as in “if I agree to let you live in my house, which I would need to do to hike all summer and have a home to come back to, then that means I really have to leave”; a few days pass, and suddenly I begin to accept that the Universe has just put the perfect solution on my doorstep, and I’d better shape up. Now I just feel so relieved to know that someone I know and trust is willing to commit to covering my rent for six months — and water my plants and mind to my fourteen year old cat; I am so lucky to have such great friends! Thank you, Whitney, for your flexibility and willingness to help me do this. I’m grateful that I have a village behind me, because I could never do this on my own.

First Training Hike.

Wed, 15 Dec 2010 02:11:05 -0500

Part of planning and preparing for this epic adventure has been slightly counter-intuitive: instead of making more time to go out and play/practice/work out (I prefer to think of it as play), I’ve spent the last year picking up shifts at a local brewery on top of my full time job as a nanny. My good friend Laurie has been quite the catalyst in helping me make a one-season thru-hike a reality; her family owns the incredible Island Brewing Company in Carpinteria, CA. Laurie and I used to get together, usually with a couple of our girlfriends, and go on an evening ride weekly through the foothills behind Carp or Ojai. This was about the same time I was putting together my daydream to hike the PCT, and at that point I still had a considerable amount of debt to pay off on my car and credit cards. While my nanny job pays well enough and offers me a lot of stability, the cost of living in the Santa Barbara area is considerably high; while I had enough to get by and live comfortably, I didn’t have enough wiggle room to really make a significant dent in my debts. This is where Laurie became instrumental.

Like my Monday night “Girls’ Night”, which has been tradition for a few years (!) now, our Tuesday night rides served as an opportunity to catch up with my girlfriends and reflect on the past week and the coming weeks with the caring insight of my friends. I’d chat with my friends as the miles of asphalt counted up and minutes of dusk diminished, and the fresh air and speed sated us physically. There was Diana, the Ironman competitor, who taught us technical tricks and how to draft on her recovery days, and Cindy, who I could always depend on to match my pace perfectly. Fran would drop in from time to time to remind us of how slow we really were riding, and occasionally a guest rider to liven the group dynamic. But at the beginning, it was Laurie and I who hatched the plan to ride, and from that a season of memorable weekly rides was born.

On one particular evening, while pacing Laurie, I half-jokingly told Laurie that if she ever needed any help at the brewery, I’d be happy to pick up shifts. Thank God she took me seriously. She threw me into the mix, trained me on hooking up kegs and dominating the register and mostly pouring the perfect delicious beer, and then set me free to cover shifts at will. Suddenly, I had a little extra cash in my pocket… which meant I didn’t spend the money in my bank account… which meant I could put a chunk of change toward my debt… and then, over time, the debt evaporated. Ta da! Laurie saves the day!

But the story doesn’t quite end there. For several reasons, the weekly bike rides fell apart. First, the ruthless Daylight Saving Time does no one any favors. Cindy and I had a falling out. Diana and Fran got serious about training for their next Ironman. And then, best of all, Laurie got pregnant.

That was nearly a year ago. This last weekend, before a shift at the brewery, my sister and I joined Laurie in taking her eight-week old daughter Alia on her very first hike. We met at the Cold Springs trailhead, and swaddled Alia up in her Ergo carrier, and we set up the trail through the creek bed. We passed several other hikers, coming and going in the unseasonably warm weather, all who remarked cheerfully on the peaceful babe hitching a ride through the woods. When Laurie first announced that she was pregnant, I warned her that babies are for everyone — she has taken to motherhood like a duck to water, and it was so fun to watch her beam with pride when everyone swooned over her beautiful daughter and complimented her on bringing her out at such a young age. The entire time, I couldn’t stop thinking that this is how it should be. We followed the creek up through the foothills, in and out of the shade, while Alia stared up at what must only be fuzzy patterns and shadows to her young eyes, perfectly content in her carrier. Just exactly how it should be.

I am so lucky to have Laurie (and her family, as well as the IBC family I’m now a part of) in my life; I can’t wait to share many more adventures with them, and in so many ways because of them.

PS. Check out the brewery at http://islandbrewingcompany.com/ and of course stop by for a beer if you’re in the neighborhood!!

Wonderland.

Fri, 03 Dec 2010 13:30:11 -0500

I would say that it’s a peerless morning tucked up next to the Wonderland of Rocks, except that yesterday morning was just as flawless. The air is still, even warm, and silence reverbs in the ears in that satisfying way. We are the only group camped out in Indian Cove, at least at this end of the campground, and have been enjoying the solitude. Yesterday we climbed the Feudal Wall, having our pick of routes where usually it resembles a climbing gym. The rock is hungry, and my skin sacrificed a few layers during our private session on the wall. In the evening we scrambled up Chipped Rock, which flanks our campsite, and enjoyed a few moments of softening light at sunset overlooking the jumble of the Wonderland that cradles Indian Cove. Dinner was spent at Crossroads Cafe in Joshua Tree, with the robust crowd of dusty climbers and quirky art adorning the walls. An early bedtime as the air became brisk, and now another morning to ourselves and more rocks to climb…

Big Deal, Buckminster.

Tue, 30 Nov 2010 21:56:16 -0500

This past week I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather with an upset tummy — just in time to miss the Thanksgiving gluttony, which is both a blessing and a curse; after a few days of white bread and ginger ale, I’ve begun to go a bit nostalgic for anything slightly colorful, let alone savory. Instead I’ve been feeding myself with information: backpackinglight.com’s gear swap forum, searching for an ice axe on sale (done! found a CAMP Corsa at mountaingear.com for $78, which is about as good as it’s going to get I reckon), and I even finished an entire book in one sitting (albeit, it was not hiking related in any sense, but an accomplishment nonetheless). I’ve also had plenty of time to ponder what I would do if I were knocked out by a bug while hiking, and rest assured, if I can power through a day at work with children (I’m a nanny) while calorie-deprived and running a fever, I am pretty confident I’ll probably manage a few miles forward in the woods. Well, one can hope that children prime your pain threshold in a useful way, anyway.

Now that my lifeforce has been sucked dry by a microscopic villain, I’m getting a few things together tonight for a long weekend in the desert. After work tomorrow, I’m heading out for Joshua Tree — a place I’ve been several times over the past few years, but which is accessible enough from home in Santa Barbara to make weekend trips realistic, as well as a great winter escape when the rest of the local wild places are enshrouded in a layer of snow. Granted, there are plenty of beautiful areas in my backyard which are at their best any time except the summertime (San Rafael, Sespe, Dick Smith wildernesses), but Joshua Tree also seduces with the promise of incredible climbing, and plenty of it.

So into the car goes the climbing gear, the camping gear, a new Patagucci NanoPuff to try out in the brisk air, and of course a loaf of white bread…

I’ll leave you with a quote from Ed Abbey:
“There are some good things to be said about walking. Not many, but some. Walking takes longer, for example, than any other known form of locomotion except crawling. Thus it stretches time and prolongs life. Life is already too short to waste on speed. I have a friend who’s always in a hurry; he never gets anywhere. Walking makes the world much bigger and thus more interesting. You have time to observe the details. The utopian technologists foresee a future for us in which distance is annihilated and anyone can transport himself anywhere, instantly. Big deal, Buckminster. To be everywhere at once is to be nowhere forever, if you ask me.”

Fortunate.

Tue, 02 Nov 2010 22:28:31 -0400

Fortunate.

Milestone.

Wed, 27 Oct 2010 22:17:00 -0400

I paid off my credit card tonight.

I feel incredibly proud and empowered to know that I am so much closer to living without debt (there’s a bit left on my car yet). Soon, I’ll be net positive! It felt like such an impossible task when I looked at my credit card statement last year, and yet, nearly nine thousand dollars later, I feel all that much richer.

Counting down.

Tue, 28 Sep 2010 00:00:00 -0400

About a week ago I was talking to a friend of mine, who suddenly got very animated when we started talking about The Impending PCT Attempt. When I hushed them, citing that it was months away, I soberly realized that those many months are quickly dwindling. Six months. Just SIX months! I’ve got some work to do.

While I’ve been toying with the idea of hiking the PCT for many years, it was about two years ago that I really started to seriously consider doing the entire trail in one season. Up until that point, it always seemed like too large an undertaking. Originally, it was just a faraway thought — it was something “other” people did, retired or rich or crazy or committed to living on nothing people; then my mom gave me a book that had been written by a woman who had section hiked the entire trail over the years (“One Hundred Mile Summers” by Eleanor Guilford), and I thought how impossible it would be to spend my entire years’ worth of vacation time every summer to hike for the next thirty years, though inspiring. But the idea sat with me. I thought of my grandmother, Lotte, who hiked with a group of women long into her sixties despite her losing fight with breast cancer; I finally bought my own camping gear (as opposed to using my family’s, now eight hours drive away in northern California) and dragged my then-boyfriend out into the rain on a trip up Big Sur (with no campfires for the fire danger, ironically); we talked about the realities of hiking, of being uncomfortable, of expectations; I read John Muir’s “Mountains of California” while sitting next to an empty upper Maggie Lakes on a perfect Labor Day weekend; I got a second job to pay off my lingering debts from college, decided upon a reasonable time line for paying it down and then saving some up; I became unreasonably emotional when a hiker I’d never met blogged about dropping off the trail, or finishing at the border; I talked and talked and talked about it, garnered more support, and started to believe I could really do it; I celebrated my 29th birthday at ADZPCTKO surrounded by the hikers whose blogs I’ve been religiously reading for the past few summers; I read and re-read reviews, bought more gear, seam-sealed my tent, and I picked 2011 as the year.

So there. Game on.

But now, just six months away, it’s difficult to not have doubts. Can I really save enough money? Can I really, really, really quit my stable job after five years? What about my apartment? Can I really honestly hike 2650 miles in one season? Yikes.

To honor Lotte, actualize the dreams that Patrick helped me believe in, and inspired by John Muir’s legacy.
I’m excited. 2011.