Overanxious rangers, freezing fishing mission, and hypermiling to Chimacum

When Kelly and I set out on our five day backpacking trip to high divide and the seven lakes basin we were expecting rain but had high hopes. There had just been a storm and there was supposed to be another one coming in during our trip. There was a typical overcast mist in the air as we entered the ranger station in Port Angeles. We asked if there was much snow on high divide yet, the backcountry ranger shrugged and said "not much". He routinely typed out our pass and handed us the bear canisters and we headed on our way. Just as we were going to pull out of the parking lot though he came marching up to the car.
"So looks like you got some weather coming in on Thursday. You looked at the weather report?"
"Yeah, I saw that there was a bit of a storm coming in" I replied.
He smiled a bit unconvincingly "Well you got warm clothes I see...waterproof jackets...so if you get caught in a snow storm ya know, just hunker down."
That made us a bit more uneasy...we didn't really want to "hunker down" in a snow storm at 5000 ft. Our first two nights were at a bit lower elevation though. We figured we would just go those two nights and see what the weather is like.

As we arrived at the trail head just a bit above Solduc resort the weather was alternating between rain and mist. Random tourists trudged off the trail wearing multicolored see-through ponchos, getting their picnics out under umbrellas. As we set off for a short hike to Mink lake we passed the ranger station and noticed that we were being followed by what seems to be another overanxious ranger. He was very polite and in a round about way asked for our wilderness permit and made sure we had bear canisters. Just like the other ranger he seemed to think we were a bit crazy to be going camping in...oh no...rain! He also sort of listed items offhand that we would need...but that he could obviously see we had.
"I see you got your pack covers and rain gear there. That's good. Warm clothes?"
Can't blame him, probably get a lot of people who come completely unprepared for the drastic changes the northwest weather can make. We tried to put him at ease and then headed up the 150o ft elevation gain to our first campsite.

It felt real good to be hiking with a heavy pack again. Tiring, but good. I had never seen so many different kinds of mushrooms at one time before. So many huge obviously poisonous ones, a few golden chantrelles and countless others. As the rain pattered on my shoulders and seeped into my hair I hit the zone of thinking about everything while at the same time not thinking about anything. We stopped occasionally to munch on delicious wild blueberries.

When we got to Mink lake the vision in my head came true. There was a big opening of blue sky directly above the water. The vegetation on the edges of the lake glistened bright green with the reflection of the sun in water droplets. During camp set up Kelly and I realized just how cold it was. Just a week earlier and I think we would have missed the cold snap. The good thing is that there was no one else anywhere near us, we had the place to ourselves. After a burrito dinner we got in our sleeping bags and fell asleep to the sound of raindrops dripping from fir branches.

The morning hit us cold but rainless. So we quickly ate our oatmeal, drank our coffee, stocked up on water and set off to make tracks over two small passes before ending at deer lake. We got up into snow encrusted alpine meadows. And it stayed mostly rain-free the entire hike. We were hoping to see a bear but a deer and a grouse would have to suffice.

When we got to our campsite I made some coffee with a bit of whisky in it and I set off to try my hand at fishing. I hadn't fished in about a decade...no idea what I was doing and so I didn't catch anything. But had a good time yelling at the stupid trout to get on my lure.

Kelly and I looked up at where we were supposed to be headed, high divide, and it looked fairly covered with snow. And there was supposed to be a good storm coming through the next day when we were planning on hiking on the highest part of the ridge. Not much to our liking, so the next morning we headed back out to the car, satisfied in our decision not to get caught in a snow storm.

----------------------------------------------------

I did get another chance at fishing though. Last Saturday Stefan, Joss, Homer and I set off on a little fishing day trip to Silver lake. As we pulled up the the trailhead I looked down at my gas meter just as the little E light blinked on. We had been driving for what seemed like ages since Quilcene and apparently, Stefan informed us, there isn't even a gas station in Quilcene, the nearest one is in Chimacum. Hmm...that was stupid, it appeared that on our way back from the hike we were going to run out of gas. I have never run out of gas, I like to think that I am enough of a forward thinker to fill up when it gets low. I guess I kinda forgot to do that this time. We decided to deal with it later.

We set off just before a bunch of Asian guys about our age who were grossly underprepared. They seemed to all be wearing basketball trainers, shorts and cotton tee-shirts. And the one day pack between them could not have contained much. Joss set out ahead to see if he could bag a grouse while Homer, Stef and I trudged up the seemingly unending, very steep mountainside. We played leapfrog with the unprepared group and as we increased in elevation it seemed to start to get very cold. A few groups of smart-ass middle aged folks came down wearing full-on, warm raingear commenting that we should look out for the group of boys ahead of us. Also commenting on our intentions.
"Going fishing?" no, we are just carrying fishing rods...
"Oh the lake is frozen."
Good one buddy. Real funny. Hopefully he was joking, I think we all half believed him at first.
Once the group of underprepared Asians heard there was a lake they were dead set on going also. Luckily when we got to the turn off for Silver lake we mentioned to them that it was about another 2-something miles to the lake. Oh did I mention that by this time it was snowing? I think the distance and weather convinced them to turn back.

After what seemed like much more hiking then we were expecting we made it to the lake. The trees all around were crusted with snow. As we started fishing the ends of our rods were icing up and generating frost. Made it a bit harder to cast.

Stefan caught the first one and expectedly, instantly started gloating about it.
"Well, real fishermen do it this way.", etc...
Joss and I started getting some serious bites and it wasn't before too long that I dragged one in. Joss got two right up to the edge of the lake and then they flapped off the hook just at the last minute. And Homer would never get a bite when he was looking at his bobber, but everytime he left reaching distance of his pole we saw the bobber start to dip and he would run back just as the fish stopped biting at his bait.

Needless to say the later it got in the day the colder it got, so about 5 o'clock rolled around and we were all freezing, so we set off back up and over the ridge. The last mile before the parking lot was covered by trees and super dark. We were in ankle rolling town, roots and rocks threatened us on every step. We clapped to scare off the bears and cougars and planned our methods of killing four attacking bears at once.

When we finally made it down to the car we looked at the gas gauge and Stef made the prediction that we would definitely would make it to Chimacum if we "hypermile" the entire way. So I basically glided down the entire road to Quilcene in neutral and then took it real, real easy on the uphills, gathered as much speed on the downhills as possible and we ended up making to to Chimacum with .2 of a gallon left. Success! After a healthy dinner of gas station fried chicken and jojos I went home exhausted but satisfied.

Breaking the block -- The weekend of awesomeness.

I have been having a hard time getting myself to write on this thing since we got back from Ecuador. So I am just gonna go for it, it may be a bit of mental splatter though.

Was it two weekends ago now...three? Well I meant to write about it. About the weekend of complete awesomeness. So it all started with our friend Andy deciding to come visit us on his few days off from Orkila. Then it turned out that Emily was also on Orcas and so hitched a ride. This also inspired Ethan to hitch down the next day as well. Meanwhile James is over in Port Angeles and Danielle on her way to visit him from Seattle. Wizzard hears of all of this and...boom! on a plane and getting picked up by Danielle. This is just a recipe for an amazing weekend on the Peninsula.

We played games and music the first night in our little cottage accompanied by Heather, Kevin and Spencer. The next day I had to work a double (the usual thursday) but James, Andy, Emily and Kelly reverted to their childhood roots as they scared each other all over Fort Wardon...and Andy has plenty of pictoral and video proof of it. That evening was host to an epic Clue: Master Detective battle. We wore masks and all...and if I remember correctly...no one won.

On Friday we packed it up and headed out to James' tent village on the Elwha river. Once there we were finally all assembled and we loitered about throwing and kicking various items around as we all caught up. After a simple sandwich lunch we set off to the Olympic hot springs. After a short hike and a quick but enthralling game of pooh sticks off a very small bridge, we made it. Most of the pools were either too small, too algaey, or too occupied for all of us. But with a bit of patience the best pool opened up and we swooped in to take it. It was amazing to be with so many incredable people in a natural hot spring in the olympics, drinking whiskey and playing mini games of "let's see who can hit that first" or "see if you can get a rock to sit on that log from over here". Happiness is what I would call it.

That night we had a brat and veggie barbeque and hit the sack early. Because the next morning we got up and headed to the Hoh river basin. The only temperate rainforest in the U.S. (and North America?). James and I donned hard shell kayaks (the one that I recently purchased) and everyone else was in an inflatable kayak, creating a fleet of duckies! James valiently and successfully led us all down a super fun and beautiful section of the river with only two unintended flips! River kayaking is amazing. So much different then Ocean. All you are doing is trying to avoid rocks and trees while keeping your balance in the boat. But it is so much more complicated than that. And it gives you such a rush and a sense of accomplishment...much like rock climbing.

After the paddle we headed back to Port Townsend for a bit of a rest before we headed out to Spencer's Robot vs. Ninja going away party. Spencer is known for throwing good parties and having a great time. I know I always do when I'm around him. He is in NY now doing what he loves and what he needs to do to get the knowledge to do what he wants to do later in life...aren't we all? Anyways, the party was a blast, a crazy shmorgasborg of costumes and beer pong and well, insanity. I think that is the only way to sum that up.

I think I really wanted to write about that weekend because it was so eventful. Other than that I have been working a lot waiting tables and cooking food down at Water St. Also kayaking a bit and climbing a fair amount. Going to bars, playing poker. But nothing quite that eventful. I have about 2 more weeks of it then it is on to eventfulness again! October holds a lot of potential in it. Backpacking, kayaking, coast and a road trip all beckon to Kelly and I...almost there. We will update again when something happens.

Spring/Summer Omnibus Update

(And by August 10th, I mean August 18th)

Oh my, it's August. 4 months have passed since the last update, which is completely inexcusable. Because things have been happening. Interesting things. Important things. To whom, exactly, these things will be found important or interesting remains debatable, but they are things nonetheless, and here is a list of them:

April-June

• Mike and Kelly return to lovely Orcas Island, WA to teach environmental education and be merry for the remainder of the spring
• We jump right into the beauty of the San Juans with an overnight paddle to Sucia Island with some wonderful friends.
  
• Wilderness First Responder certifications are bestowed upon us. We can now splint broken femurs with kayak paddles and build litters out of sticks and jackets. The most important lesson of all, however, is the discovery that fake blood is hard to separate from Gore-Tex.
• We bravely survive the Orkila Swine Flu Week of Doom, during which children were sent home on quarantined buses, suspect staff members were sequestered to separate houses, the wearing of masks and gloves became commonplace, and swine jokes ran rampant. The week culminated in Immunity Olympics ceremonies, wherein we were reunited with our infected brethren and our spirits were lifted through the running of relay races.
• We rejoice in the availability of kayaks and go on many-a-paddle. Cascade Lake provides a great place to learn new skills, sans salt and extra-cold water. Mike soon perfects his roll. Kelly needs a bit more practice.
  
• While transporting kayaks to said lake, we realize that the car looks damn sexy with boats on the roof.
• New friendships are formed, old friendships are strengthened, and some friendships are divided over the Pabst v. Rainier debate.
  

June

• With the Spring OEE season over, we head back to Port Townsend to enjoy the summer and save a little money. The Olympic Peninsula sure is hard to beat...
• On our first day back in town, we head out to Boom Fest, a giant community potluck/party and reunite with just about everyone we know. Hooray for summertime.
• We head to Leavenworth, WA with Leif and Freya for a few days of rock climbing and sunshine. Kelly actually climbs up a rock for the first time ever, starting with a trad crack route. She also realizes that she needs much more arm and finger strength. And a cute chalk bag.
• Kelly and Mike both make triumphant returns to the food service industry. Huzzah! Such is the way of summer employment in PT.
  

July

• Summer carries on with a good balance of work and play: a few adventures in the mountains, some climbing here and there, and little-bit-o-kayaking.
• Kelly heads to the far-away land of Fort Worden State Park for a week to be an instructor for the Port Townsend Marine Science Center's marine biology camp. She gets to hang out with some pretty awesome kids and do lots of class teaching, tide pooling, critter poking, and peanut butter sandwich making. She also turns 25.
• Meanwhile, Mike heroically hones his mechanic skills when the starter in the car dies. Two days are spent replacing it. Next up: oil change.
• A heat wave strikes the Pacific Northwest. Air conditioning doesn't exist in PT, and a week is lost in a haze of sweaty lethargy.
  

August

• Kelly starts to write a blog, but it takes her over a week to actually post it. Typical.
• A hint of monotony begins to set in, but is thwarted by a whirlwind reunion of friends, the Olympic mountains and their hot spring, the Hoh River, Clue, robots, ninjas, and much more. Just what the doctor ordered. A full report to come soon.
  

Riverdancing grandmas and hat pumping islanders

Northwest rain spits on the windows of the ferry. After travelling for almost 24 hours, including sleeping on the floor in the LA airport, we arrived in Seattle. Immediately when we got to LA we felt we were in a land of giants. White giants. Americans are big, not necessarily fat, they just have very large frames. All of a sudden everyone can hear us, everyone looks like us. Everything is much cleaner, even in LA. As we taxi in the plane I make a comment about the clothing choices surrounding us.
"What are we in leather jacket town. In the midst of a leather jacket gang?"
Kelly and I chuckle with sleep deprived delerium. We both wish Leif was still travelling with us, so he could add to the trademark nonsense critisism that has been the form of communication for the past 2 months. A few minutes after the comment one of the leather jacket mafia looks at me and says "where are you from?"
Crap. He was standing right next to me...people can understand me now, time to start censoring my thoughts again.

We are greeted in Seattle by over joyed parents, my mom and Roger picked us up with Waterfront pizza in hand and huge grins on their faces. Can't really ask for a better welcome. Of course we take our requisite REI trip and Kelly and I wearily try on running shoes. When we finally make it home, instead of resting we have to go immediately to our storage unit and start packing, we only have one day in Port Townsend before heading up to Orcas Island. Our brief time in PT is dominated by sushi, decent beer, packing and visiting. We grab a cup of coffee with Alex and we talk about culture shock, motorcycles, instant coffee, future plans, cribbage legacies...it is good to be back, strange, but good.

When we get to Orcas Island we are greeted by a new face. Thomas asks if we are here for the WFR and we reply that we are, however we are also here for the next two months to work. We have to move our car, there is a group here, nothing seems to change. As we move our stuff in we are greeted by a few familiar faces but mostly new ones, all friendly, it feels like we all already know each other. There is a bond that people who have or do work here share. Whether you have met each other before or not, similar to the bond of people who grew up in PT, there exists something unseen, something cosmic. We sit around in the living room and catch up/learn each others stories. We get excited about the WFR and future kayak plans. Talk about slacklining and learning to roll a kayak.

Less than 18 hours after we arrived we start taking the intense 80 hour wilderness medicine course that is the WFR. After a day of learning how to approach and assess injured hikers, the whole staff almost takes trip to see a ska show down at the Lower. Less than 3 days ago we were surrounded by short ecuadorians speaking a foreign language, carrying bags of live chickens and small trees on trails between villages. Now we are in a dimly lit pub surrounded by friends and tall dreadlocked islanders. Surrounded by hippie chicks in flowing skirts and colorful scarves, old ladies who dance without abandon, throwing down the charlton and riverdance moves. Half myself feels like I have just entered a foreign country and half feels as though I have come back home.

Ciao!

And we´re off! After saying good-bye to Leif on Sunday, Mike and I wandered around the deserted streets of Cuenca, killing time until our 9 pm bus (our last bus ride!). We arrived in Quito early in the morning, then spend most of Monday napping, milling around the hostal, watching movies, etc. Mike had a case of what seems to be food poisoning, which conveniently surfaced during the overnight bus ride, so it was a pretty low-key day. Now we have 24-hours of plane travel ahead of us, including a night in the LA airport. After arriving in Seattle we´ll have a day and half to head to Port Townsend, re-sort through all of our belongs, pack up the car and head to Orcas Island! Wilderness First Responder starts on Saturday. It will be a whirlwhind of a transition, but I´m excited for what´s next. Back to teaching and island life!

It´s hard to believe our three months are over. This place no longer seems foreign, and has even started to feel like home. There is much to reflect on and process. For now, though, it´s time to go hail our last cab ride.

Parque Cajas

It is 7 AM and the smell on the bus is strawberry flouride. Febreeze chemical stench masking vomit. On the way out of Cuenca I watch the city turn to suburbs, then from small pueblos to houses scattered among rock and rolling hills. We enter Cajas national park and follow the twisting road to the ranger station. Leif, Kelly and I set out for this hike as early as possible because the park is known to loose visitors in afternoon fog. The trails are rumored to be poorly marked. Compass skills are recommended.

The lake at the base of the ranger station is surrounded by intricate rock formations jutting out of light green hills. As we make our way on the sendero the morning sun pokes through the clouds and the green algae that dominates the lake is lit up. We walk through small forests with twisty, peeling red trees. Something out of fairytales. The ground is alternating between spongy wetland vegetation, rock and firm soil. Small streams feed the lake.

We get to a fork in the trail and the route that we want to take (to the top of a near by peak) is signed in the direction we just came from. There is a small trail heading up the peak, straight up. However this is the paramo and the tufts of tan grass are all separated by veins of brown dirt making trails appear everywhere. We continue up anyways and the trail becomes more obvious. Raising our feet high with each step our quads work hard to get us up the steep ascent. We are all breathing hard, we are at 4,000 meters (more than 13,000 feet). We are almost scrambling up the loose dirt and rock. I take a detour to boulder over a small rock. Leif goes bigger and climbs up short face. All along the hike up Leif and I spot great rock climbing potential. Decent boulders, huge walls.

We make it up to a ridge and the view of Cajas opens up. Spotting the landscape are tons of small lakes connected like a web by rocky stream beds. Green hills accented by sharp rock raise above the lakes like fingers to the sky. Past the small valleys of Cajas formed by glaciers we can glimse larger peaks, mountains in the distance. Blue sky lines the horizon in most directions.

The ridge is covered with boulders and the trail winds between and over them. Once at the cumbre we take a victory photo and find a boulder for lunch. As the meal of tuna and veggies sinks in, I have a lay down on the hot rock and cover my eyes from the sun.

On the descent the trail loses form, we find ourselves in the veins of the paramo with out a clear path. Instead of turning back we decide to go forward, to blaze through the unrelenting grasses and pricker bushes. Pretty much every piece of vegetation is spiky and the grass is slippery beneath our boots. A deer bounds away from us. We can see the road so we head over the hills in its direction. We squish through a small wetland, the ground giving way with each foot like a natural crash pad. I spot a family of very large tadpoles and we investigate for a moment.

Leif and I come to the edge of a small cliff but there seems to be a way down following a crumbily rock wall. With a hand on the wall and the other out for balance I half walk and half slide down the hill. The grass makes you slip, the rocks give way, and the dirt falls apart making it a difficult task to descend. But we make it down and into another wetland. The wetland floor is dotted with strange plants. Red fingers, tiny multicolored flowers.

Strangely we actually reconnect with the trail and follow it down a stream bed and through one of the small fairy tale forests to the lake. So we complete the hike with our requisite half an hour detour and get to the road to wait for a bus. After waiting for about twenty minutes, throwing rocks at the paint line on the road, a bus appears. And for no apparent reason it does not stop. So we wait for another hour. Leif and I boulder on a near by rock, we play add-on and try to create problems to work out.

Siga No Mas

Thanks to Mike and Leif for taking on the daunting task of blogging about our trek. Good men. And thorough.

And if you haven't quite had enough, here are a few of my highlighs from the trip:

• I was quite proud of my asthmatic lungs for chugging along and getting me up the mountains. I certainly wasn't running up the switchbacks, but I managed to make pretty good time. Altitude? Pshaw!
• In fact, the only time that I did feel the lethargic pull of altitude sickness was on day 4, when we weren't even up that high. I felt tired and nausious and had a 2000 meter climb ahead of me. I spent 4 hours hiking very slowly and stopping every few minutes to dry heave. Not the most fun, but at least the weather wasn´t too hot. The situation was remedied by lots of coca tea and sleep, and the next day I felt great.
• It was really awesome to pass through lots of different microclimates, and every day was diverse. All of the changes in vegetation gave us a great sampling of Peru, even though we only trekked through a relatively small area.
  
• You gotta love hiking and camping with the local farm animals! Pigs, chickens, dogs, cows, mules, etc. are always roaming around, and cows and bulls meander across the trails. On the 6th day I had a showdown with a very large bull with very pointy horns that was in no hurry to move off the narrow trail. The muleteers always throw stones at them, so I tossed a couple in his direction, but that only prompted him to turn to face me directly. The bull gave me a long stare, and I kind of just milled around trying not to provoke it, hoping it would just move on. When it started shaking its head around at me I got a little nervous. Fortunately the muleteers weren´t far behind, so when they came along the bull got hearded off into a field, where he mooed loudly at us as we passed.
  
• Aside from the evident awesomeness of Machu Piccu, one of my favorite parts about our visit there was the people watching. Seeing hoards of tourists of all ages and nationalities get hearded around by tour guides was highly entertaining.
  

Anyway, moving on...

After our whirlwind two weeks in Peru, it was time to head back to Ecuador. The wee village of Vilcabamba provided the perfect respite from the stresses of travel and the drone of big cities. The sleepy little village is quiet, relaxing, and surrounded by gorgeous mountains. Our 5 day stay in the Valley of Longevity (so called because of the high number of centenarians there) was not particularly eventful, which made it wonderful. German-owned Hosteria Izcayluma, 2k out of town, had comfy beds, plenty of hammocks, a variety of leisure activities, and a restaurant that had a panoramic view of the valley and served huge plates of excellent, cheap food. Ohhh, the food! We went straight for the German specialties (just a tad bit tired of rice, veggies, and white bread) and never looked back. Goulash. Stroganoff. Homemade spatzle. Mushroom sauce.

Oh, and we went hiking, too. Between our daily rounds of feasting we did manage to take in the natural splendor of the surrounding mountains. First up was a 4-hour hike along the ridge of Mandango, and oddly-shaped little mountain that rises above the village. After a hearty breakfast we set out into the hot, sunny morning and made our way up some steep switchbacks to the top of the ridge. 360 views of the surrounding valleys and villages, blue sky, blazing sun, soft green hills. We hike right along the ridge on a narrow trail (less than two feet wide in some spots, with fairly steep drops on either side). The little tufts of grass that cover the hills form interesting patterns in the surrounding landscape, which is dotted with cacti and agave. After a couple hours the trail leaves the ridge, passes through a farm with lots of cows, then intermittently dissapears as we follow a little stream. It had been raining alot in the days before we arrived, and parts of the trail are washed-out. An hour of scrambling through rocks and mud, and zig-zagging back and forth across the river. We make it back to the main road sweaty and hungry, and head back to the hosteria to make sandwiches for lunch, lounge in hammocks, play cards, relax, watch an afternoon thunderstorm.

Izcaylums seems to have monopolized on the trail system around Vilcabamba, having marked paths that loop around different parts of the surrounding area. There was a 6-hour hike to a waterfall that sounded appealing, but one of the girls who worked at the hostal told us it wasn´t all that great, but that there was a really cool spot where two rivers convege that we could hike to in about an hour. We could follow one of the marked trails to the spot where it meets up with the waterfall trail, check out the river, then continue on if we wanted. So we set out with map in hand, of through quaint little parts of the village, past houses and farms, over a few landslides (and one spot where the road had completely collapsed), down to one river, across a little footbridge, and into...someone´s yard. We slogged around through the tall, pointy grass that concealed the mud underneath, searching for the trail. No one was inside the house, so we poked around the back only to find a labrynth of banana trees and a fence. A mule brayed at us. We turned back. After some bushwhacking and a little scrambling we find what seems to be the trail, which we follow along until it too dissapears. We check the map again. We see where the trail should lead to, but there´s no way to get there. A steep drop-off and tall grass. After two hours of going nowhere we decide to turn back, feeling a little defeated. No river frolicking for us. Oh well...We head back to town for a burritos and ice cream, then back up the road to the hostal for more relaxation.

For Mike and me, Vilcabamba was our next-to last stop on our three month journey. We knew we wanted to head up to Cuenca for a few days before leaving from Quito, but it was hard to leave such a chill place. We debate about staying for another day, but ultimately decide we should move on. Because there had been so much rain, the roads to Loja and Cuenca had been riddled with landslides. There had been a break in the weather, though, so we waned to take advantage of passable roads while we could. During the 8-hour journey we definitely witnessed some sketchy areas (landslides, huge cracks in the road, chunks of road that were undercut and missing). The trip took and hour longer than it should´ve, but I´m glad we made it.

Now we´re kickin´it Cuenca, which is considered to be Ecuador´s finest city. Lovely colonial buildings, tiled roofs, cool markets and cafes. Sunday night we´ll take an overnight bus to Quito, spend a day in the city, and on Tuesday we´re off! Crazy...