Category Archives: Travels

Celebrating the new year in hut heaven: Champagne toasts at Maine Huts & Trails

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We set off for Poplar Stream Hut on a perfect December afternoon.

We set off for Poplar Hut on a perfect winter afternoon.

At Poplar Hut, nestled on a hill in Maine’s Carrabassett Valley, the staff sets out the champagne glasses at 9:30 p.m.  By 10 p.m., most guests will be fast asleep in their bunks, worn out by an afternoon of snowshoeing, cross-country skiing or hiking into the hut.

But the party continues for those dedicated to the stroke of midnight. They sip on beer, wine or softer beverages, while pursuing wild games of Bananagrams and Settlers of Catan.  Completing jigsaw puzzle becomes a communal activity, and then everyone settles into the comfy couches by the fireplace or in the upstairs reading room, waiting for the clock to strike midnight.

The countdown begins. At midnight, instead of watching the ball drop in Times Square, we cheer as a crew member ceremoniously lowers an old ball of a wasp nest tied to the ceiling.

This is my first overnight visit to Maine Huts & Trails, and I’m wondering what took me so long.

Two feet of fresh snow made for nice soft cross-country ski conditions, with no scary ice to contend with when skiing downhill.

Two feet of fresh snow made for nice soft cross-country ski conditions, with no scary ice to contend with when skiing downhill. Shown here is the junction at the Narrow Gauge Trail (a popular rail trail, to the left) where it intersects with the Maine Hut Trail to Stratton Brook Hut. The trail climbs about 1,000 feet in 4.7 miles from the Airport Trailhead, making for a good workout. A shorter 3.1 trail with less elevation gain departs from the Stratton Brook/Route 27 trailhead.

Maine Huts & Trails operates four “huts”  — really more like backcountry lodges  — in western Maine which people can visit by foot, ski, bike, or snowshoe.  Poplar Hut opened in 2008, followed by Flagstaff Hut on Flagstaff Lake (2009), Grand Falls Hut on the Dead River (2010), and, in 2012, Stratton Brook Hut, located on a knoll with views of the Bigelow Range and Sugarloaf Mountain.  The non-profit organization eventually hopes to build a dozen huts stretching across Maine’s woods up to the Moosehead Lake area.  Theoretically, skiers, hikers, and bikers can travel from hut to hut, which some do, while others visit for a night or two.  In the winter, the huts also make a great lunch destination for a cross-country ski or snowshoeing day trip.

Previously, I had visited cozy Flagstaff Hut for lunch on a summer boat excursion with Jeff Hinman of Flagstaff Lake Scenic Boat Cruises. But I’d been under the mistaken impression that an overnight hut trip in winter was too much for kids to handle, and thus had put off a winter visit for several years.

When we finally set out on our cross-country skis, we traveled under near-perfect circumstances: two feet of snow had dropped on the Valley that week, making for soft if imperfectly groomed skiing trails (with post-dump grooming still in process). The temperature, by winter standards, was mild, around 30 degrees. The three-mile ski up to Poplar (gaining 500 feet of elevation) was definitely challenging, but we had all afternoon to get there, and the prospect of a bunk nap before dinner.

Dinner was a slow-cooked roast beef and assorted side dishes, along with a delicious roasted veggie-lentil loaf for vegan/vegetarians (Note: backcountry huts of all kinds always make amazing vegetarian meals; you can count on at least one crew member being a serious vegetarian cook). The  chef had piled the champagne cupcakes with way too much frosting and I ate every bit of it (knowing I would need the energy for the next day).

New Year's cheer at Stratton Brook Hut (I got so caught up in my puzzle-building that forgot to take pictures while staying at Poplar).

New Year’s cheer at Stratton Brook Hut (I got so caught up in my puzzle-building at Poplar that I forgot to take pictures there). Behind the fire place are several cozy chairs and a couch.

At Poplar Hut, as I talked to folks gathered around the tables, I was struck by the variety of guests there: the creaky and the lithe, the young, old, and middle-aged, and both novice and experienced backcountry travelers. Because the huts offer many choices and routes, they make backcountry experiences accessible to all kinds of people.  Yes, you do have to work a bit to get here, but most of the huts aren’t that far from roads, even though they feel remote. We skied into Poplar on the 3-mile Maine Hut Trail, but could have snowshoed the same route, or on a shorter, 1-mile(-ish) trail from another trailhead. Visitors do need to bring a sleeping bag, but you can have your gear shuttled from hut to hut, as we did on Day 2 and 3 of our visit.

On New Year’s Day, we enjoyed a breakfast of buckwheat pancakes, eggs, and bacon and good coffee before setting out for Stratton Brook Hut, about seven miles away. Because of  the heavy snow, we ended backtracking on the Maine Trail Hut to the Narrow Gauge Trail, where we eventually headed up another Maine Hut Trail to Stratton Brook Hut. Other trails follow different routes, but would have been difficult to navigate in 24 inches of unbroken snow.

We arrived at Stratton Brook Hut around 2 p.m. I was ready to move in.  Stratton Brook is built on a little piece of heaven situated between Sugarloaf Mountain and the Bigelow Range. Great views abound. (I definitely want to look into the volunteer caretaker program when I am retired).

Hut view

View of the Bigelow Range from inside Stratton Brook Hut.

That night, the crew cooked up a feast of balsamic chicken, plus the requisite dessert: a berry cobbler that tasted summer fresh.

Sunrise at Stratton Brook Hut.

Sunrise at Stratton Brook Hut.

At Stratton Brook, we had our own little bunk room and slept well, rising in time  to get out for views of the winter sunrise.

For breakfast, we enjoyed more pancakes and eggs and conversation with a group from New Brunswick, Canada.  The night before, we had embarked on another puzzle project and could not leave without finishing. But we were in no hurry — the sled took our gear, we enjoyed our coffee and puzzle-building, and then geared up for the ski downhill to the Airport Trailhead.

View of the Bigelow Range from the trail that leads to Stratton Brook Hut.

One last view of the Bigelow Range before skiing down the trail. Like many, I am not a confident cross-country skier on descents, but found the 1000-foot gradual descent manageable with my ski-pole-between-the-legs braking technique. If conditions were icy, we probably would have chosen snowshoes.

So, now I’m a member of Maine Huts, and already making my plans for next year. Or maybe sooner!

Sources and resources

For a family, staying at Maine Huts & Trails is a splurge, as the per-person price adds up. However, I consider the huts a good value: the $130 weekend/holiday rate per night includes three meals, with a 50% discount for kids ($65, including teens).  One day of ski tickets at nearby Sugarloaf Mountain, with no meals or lodging, would cost about the same for our family of three. I don’t mean to pit one experience against the other, just to show that the huts are reasonably priced for the experience they offer. Sunday-to-Thursday rates are about 30% less, and members get a 10% discount, plus a variety of other discounts, including some steep “flash-sale” discounts.

Travels in Japan: French fries, pancakes, and pickled plums

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The summer flew by, with hikes, kayaks, and swims, plus a long-anticipated trip to Japan. For the first part of the trip, we travelled with a small group of teenagers as part of an exchange program our town has with a school district in Aomori Prefecture. Later, my son and I travelled about on our own. Here’s a start to a series of posts on that trip, this one focused on some of the contradictions and quirks of modern Japan.

In Oirase, Japan, I visited a class at a community center where women gathered each week to learn or polish their skills in wearing a kimono, once everyday wear but now mostly reserved for weddings and other big events. Except in Kyoto, where we saw many young women and men and women out strolling in kimonos or summer yukatas.

In Oirase, Japan, I visited a class at a community center where women gathered each week to learn or polish their skills in wearing a kimono, once everyday wear but now mostly reserved for weddings and other big events. Except in Kyoto, where we saw many young women and men and women out strolling in kimonos or summer yukatas.

Our visit began with breakfast at the Mercure Hotel in Narita, home to Tokyo’s airport. For the teenagers: pancakes with maple syrup and a heap of french fries, topped off by pain au chocolate, buttery croissants, or cereal, and fresh fruit or salty pickled plums. Those who wanted to mix in more traditional could select grilled fish, miso soup, tofu, noodles, cabbage slaw, and more pickles.  Eggs for everyone, along with cafe-quality coffee produced by a single-serve machine that brewed coffee, latte, and cappuccino with a press of the button and no throwaway plastic cups. Why don’t we have these at home?

At the hotel, hallway vending machines were stocked with beer along with cold green tea, sodas, and water. Over time, we learned that the bottle with the green Japanese maple leaf, not the bottle with the rain drops, contains water rather than some sugary flavored version of water. On the street, sidewalk vending machines didn’t offer the beer, except in Kyoto, where I spied one in the Gion area.

Japan is really hot and humid in the summer, but nobody drinks water, or at least not the way Americans do. Temperatures were 95 or higher almost every day of 17-day visit. We never left our lodging without full water bottles and were constantly refilling at vending machines. But crowds of Japanese tourists seemed immune to the heat, at least when it comes to drinking water. We soon took up the Japanese habit of wearing towels around our necks to absorb sweat.

In Japan, shinkansen — the bullet train — whisk passengers hundreds of miles in a couple of hours, but  I needed to go to the Japan Rail office in person to make train reservations and collect my paper tickets. A dot-matrix printer buzzed with the transaction. We were traveling with Japan Rail passes used only by foreign tourists; passengers paying an ordinary fare can buy their tickets online. Even so, I had to wait in line quite a while as many Japanese passengers managed their reservations and purchases in person.

In Oirase, at this traditional inn, or "ryokan", you can still dial for a taxi.

In Oirase, at this traditional inn, or “ryokan”, you can still dial for a taxi.

Japan is high-tech but in many ways remains an analog society. Old-fashioned cash is king, and the vast majority of businesses and tourist attractions only accept cash.  Banks offer rows of ATM kiosks for people to do all their banking electronically, but it’s hard to find a bank staffed with people, so if you have lots of dollars to exchange for yen, as I did, it’s difficult to do so in a bank (to get the best exchange rate).

Vending machines stock many brands of iced coffee (and sometimes hot coffee) for about $1.20 a can, but in a café, a teacup-sized coffee runs about 500 yen, or $5.  Refills are not free and I soon realized that I did not want to spend $10 on coffee a couple of times a day. Unless coffee was included as part of a meal, I enjoyed my coffee canned. Prices are strangely high for some items, like $5 apples, but you can get a delicious filling bowl of ramen for the same price.

At our AirBnB in Tokyo, we recharged in an air-conditioned studio apartment, but began to swelter as soon as we stepped into the hall, because such public spaces are often AC-free. We were glad that our host provided a pocket wi-fi device to keep us connected as we travelled around the city because public wi-fi is not common in Tokyo. However, on the upper reaches of Mount Fuji, wi-fi ruled, maybe because people love selfies and posting them from the mountain.

Travellers can drop their luggage off at a Seven-11 and ship it almost anywhere in the country for next day arrival for about $30. But if you arrive at your hotel before check-in, don’t count on getting into your room, no matter how empty the places seems. Hotel staff will gladly store your luggage, but rules are rules in Japan  — 4 p.m. means 4 p.m.

In Kyoto, we stayed at the Shunkoin Temple guesthouse, which was located in the xxx temple complex, a vast walled working religious community with many private and public temples. Here, cars park in front of our temple, although by evening, all cars were out of site and we could walk these narrow "roadways" and enjoy the site of the mainXXX temple lit up with hundreds of paper lanterns.

In Kyoto, we stayed at the Shunkoin Temple guesthouse, which was located in the Myoshinji temple complex, a working religious community with many private and public temples, some dating to the 14th century. Here, cars park in front of the Shunkoin gate, although by evening, the cars were gone, and we could walk these narrow “roadways” and enjoy strolling around Myoshinji temple lit up with hundreds of paper lanterns.

In the older sections of cities, sleek cafés with their $5 coffees sit cheek-by-jowl next to restaurants where a chain-smoking owner grills yakitori chicken on a single burner portable gas stove, as future chicken meals peck around in the back courtyard.

In Kyoto, a picture in the window of American-style pancakes drew us into the Frog Cafe, owned by an elderly woman with a vast collection of frog and other knick-knacks. She explained, in Japanese, that we should only order one set of the pancakes. A bit puzzled, we complied, and a few minutes later she set down a plate of pancakes topped with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream. That definitely enough dessert at breakfast, although we did order some toast after our ice cream. Of course we couldn't leave without a present for "the boy."

In Kyoto, a picture in the window of American-style pancakes drew us into the Frog Cafe, owned by an elderly woman with a vast collection of frog and other knick-knacks. She explained, in Japanese, that we should only order one set of the pancakes. A bit puzzled, we complied, and a few minutes later she set down a plate of pancakes topped with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream. That definitely was enough dessert at breakfast, although we did order some toast after our ice cream. But we couldn’t leave without a present for “the boy.”

Ice cream and pastry shops are favorite afternoon hangouts, but nobody in Japan is overweight. Also, it is easy to eat well without cooking. You can get a fabulous take-out meal at the local supermarket, and a pretty good one at a 7-11 or Lawson convenience store. French-style bakeries with Japanese twists, like edamame baked into pastry twists, are the best.

Public trash cans are few and far between, but litter is non-existent. You never have to hunt for a public restroom — they are everywhere and always clean, which we definitely appreciated as we drank our gallons of water.

Before traveling to Japan, I had some trepidation about visiting a country where the signs would be incomprehensible to me, and few people speak fluent English.

Although it’s true that your average person doesn’t speak much English, in Japan, I learned, it’s never hard to understand something, or to be understood.

Information at train stations, for example, is always posted in both Japanese kanji and English, and recorded English messages on trains provide clear direction on the various stops and connections.

But most of all, Japanese people want to visitors to enjoy their country and most will do whatever they can to point you in the right direction.

Tokyo will host the summer Olympics in 2020. Tempting, very tempting.  Must remember to bring my neck towel.

 

The loneliest road in southern Utah

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As the road changed from pavement into dirt, and the canyon walls pressed in on both sides, it seemed that we were heading deep into a wilderness where we might be stranded by a broken axle or punctured tire. We hadn’t seen another car, or person, for miles.  My son wondered aloud, nervously, if we should continue as we bumped along the packed dirt road in our rental SUV. What would we find at the end?

Our rental car looks pretty lonely on the Scenic Drive towards Capitol Gorge.

In mid-February, our rental car looks pretty lonely on the Scenic Drive at Capitol Reef National Park in Utah.

I pulled out the map, which showed, at the end of the road, a parking lot icon. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “Look, there’s even restrooms.”

The walls of Capitol Gorge close in, at times less than 20 feet apart.

The walls of Capitol Gorge close in, at times less than 20 feet apart.  Capitol Reef National Park is part of the “Waterpocket Fold,” a 100-mile long north-south wrinkle in the earth’s surface.  The rough  terrain of the Fold presented a barrier to 19th century pioneers, who eventually discovered Capitol Gorge (above), a crack in the fold through which people, animals and wagons could travel through more easily.  Just beyond the Gorge, a small group of families settled at Fruita, along the Fremont River, with the last resident leaving in 1968.

And indeed, when we reached the parking lot, we found signs that sometimes, this place is full of people: picnic benches, rustic restrooms, a well-trodden path to the Pioneer Register. But on this day, no people, not even a park ranger’s vehicle. On this late afternoon in February, we might be the only visitors in Capitol Reef National Park.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration.  In these 378 square miles, at least three other people were exploring. Earlier, at a Highway 12 pullover, we had met a father and two sons traveling in a rugged camper with monster wheels, heading towards Cathedral Valley, the remote section of the park that gets few visitors, even in the summer. Then, I envied them, for the solitude, but now, here we were, alone, feeling like pioneers.

The sun was setting as  we drove back to Torrey, where we were staying at the Sky Ridge Inn  bed and breakfast.  On the Scenic Road, not a single car or hiker.  But as we approached the campground next to Fruita, an abandoned Mormon pioneer settlement, I spied a single vehicle and a tent. A small campfire burned in the twilight, making the scene a little less lonely. Or maybe more so.

I’m guessing that in the summer months, when the park gets most of its 668,000 annual visitors, solitude at Capitol Reef feels hard to come by, even if it nowhere nearly as crowded as Zion National Park (which gets 2.9 million visitors).  Families pick peaches, cherries, apples and pears in the orchards planted by the Mormon settlers. Everyone stops to look at the Fremont petroglyphs carved on a rock wall, and almost everyone completes the 2-mile round trip hike to Hickman Bridge.

Exploring at Hickman Bridge.

Exploring at Hickman Bridge, a popular destination on a one-mile hike from the road.  On this morning hike, we did meet one small party on the trail but otherwise had the place to ourselves.

However, even in peak season, Capitol Reef offers plenty of lightly travelled backcountry nooks and crannies, canyons and trails.  I can’t wait to explore them when I come back.  Even though our visit to Capitol Reef was short, the park was my favorite of the three we visited in southern Utah.  The landscape here feels so vast and grand, that it almost makes me feel like I might become a grander person just by spending time here.

Another view of Hickman Bridge.

Another view of Hickman Bridge.

Lots of fun nooks, crannies, rock formations and otherworldly geology on the Hickman Bridge Trail.

Lots of fun nooks, crannies, rock formations and otherworldly geology on the Hickman Bridge Trail.

Good-bye, Capitol Reef, I'll be back some day as a vagabond retiree in a souped-up camping van.

Good-bye, Capitol Reef, I’ll be back some day as a vagabond retiree in a souped-up camping van.

Winter wonderland: Among the hoodoos at Bryce Canyon

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When we stop to pull off jackets, I take in the snow-draped hoodoos towering above us. What was it like for Mormon pioneer Ebenezer Bryce to wander into this amphitheater for the first time back in the mid-1870s? Did he believe that he had found some version of God’s country? Or did he view the slots and twists created by the hoodoos as obstacles in which his livestock might get lost?  Undaunted, he made Bryce his workplace, and built a logging road into the heart of this place named for him.

Descending into the hoodoos on the Navajo Loop Trail. We brought microspikes in case the trail was icy but didn't need them.

Descending into the hoodoos on the Navajo Loop Trail. We brought microspikes in case the trail was icy but didn’t need them, as ice and snow had mostly melted off the trails.

 

Up on the rim of the Bryce amphitheater, visitors gather to take in the spectacle of the Bryce Amphitheater.  At the major stops on the 18-mile scenic drive that winds towards Bryce Point, buses full of Chinese tourists, visiting during their New Year’s holiday, empty into otherwise empty parking lots.  But here on the floor, where Bryce once logged the pine trees, and less than mile from the rim, we are the only hikers on this warm February morning.

February view from the bottom of Bryce Canon, which isn't really a true canyon but a X. Two weeks earlier, a storm had dropped almost two feet of snow here, but it had mostly melted on the canyon floor. But there was still plenty of snow on the high plateau, and the Park Service offers a snowshoe hike to winter visitors.

February view from the bottom of Bryce Canon, which isn’t really a true canyon but an amphitheater formed by headward erosion (rather than erosion from a stream or river) . Two weeks earlier, a storm had dropped almost two feet of snow here. Snow still blanketed the top of the 9,000-foot plateau.  The Park Service offers a snowshoe hike to winter visitors.

 

The National Park Service worries a lot about visitors numbers. This being America, more is always better, especially because some bureaucrats in the Park Service believe that more visitation translates into political support that yields the increased appropriations needed to support more visitors.

National park visitation statistics are a complex beast. At some parks, declining visitor numbers cause concern while at others, increases in visitation create problems. In Utah’s five national parks, however, attendance is steadily rising, with visitation to Bryce Canyon almost doubling from 2006 to 2015, from about 890,000 in 2006 to 1,745,804 in 2015.

On the Navajo Loop Trail, just below Wall Street, where the hoodoos close in to form narrow passages. The passage through Wall Street was closed due to danger from falling rocks (the winter's warm-cold-warm cycles wreaking havoc), so we had to retrace our steps on the Navajo Loop.

On the Navajo Loop Trail, just below Wall Street, where the hoodoos close in to form narrow passages. The passage through Wall Street was closed due to danger from falling rocks (the winter’s warm-cold-warm cycles wreaking havoc), so we had to retrace our steps on the Navajo Loop.

 

If today was a summer day at Bryce Canyon, a wall of visitors would be crowding the rim, shooting pictures. Here on the Navaho Loop Trail, I would be confronting a small army of day hikers, backpackers, and walkers in flip-flops and sandals

Today, on this winter morning, our family of three wanders among the hoodoos, and wonders.

Winter sunrises in mid-February are a little chilly, but not really not that cold..

Winter sunrises in mid-February are a little chilly, but not really not that cold, with plenty of space to shooting photos.

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Morning view of Thor’s Hammer.

 

 

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More hoodoos and their relatives, eventually to become hoodoos, as erosion wears away the sandstone.

 

 

Sources and resources

For more information on Bryce, see the Bryce Canyon site at the National Park Service.

Bryce Canyon Lodge offers limited winter lodging in one building, while the Ruby’s Inn complex — a world unto itself — has plenty of lodging options, including an indoor swimming pool.

For more on the human history of Bryce Canyon, see the National Park Service’s  Bryce Canyon Historic Resource Study. Bryce Canyon is named for Ebenezer Bryce; he did not “discover” the canyon, but settled in the vicinity in the 1870s. and built his road.

We also visited busy (but not summer-busy) Zion National Park on this trip, and, after Bryce, experienced the wonder of being the only park visitors at Capitol Reef National Park, outside of Torrey, Utah.

 

Closing the door on Angel’s Landing

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This time, when I gave up on trying to climb to Angel’s Landing in Utah’s Zion National Park, I knew I wouldn’t be trying again. The third time won’t be a charm; I won’t cross the hike off my bucket list.

A view of the knife-edge abutment known as Angel's Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

A view of the knife-edge sandstone ridge known as Angel’s Landing (late-morning light). Yes, it is as skinny as it looks, at least in a few tricky spots.

Yes, I was disappointed as I descended the steep chained-covered sandstone to the line of hikers waiting to climb up. I knew that the view from  Angel’s Landing wasn’t 100% more magnificent than any other in the park.  But I had been primed to claim the hike as my own, after chickening out on a visit to Zion eight years earlier. And if I couldn’t do it now, eight years deeper into middle age, I never would.

The hike to Angel’s Landing is the most popular in Zion, despite being named by Outside magazine as one of the world’s most dangerous. The trail is a 1/2-mile long offshoot of the West Rim Trail (with a total distance of  2.5 miles from the bottom of Zion Canyon).

Climbing that last half-mile to the Landing requires scrambling up a steep sandstone face, using a set of chain ropes for support while navigating a constant stream of hikers coming and going. Once hikers surmount that first pitch, they move on to other challenges, including spots where the ridge narrows to a width of five feet, with 1,000-feet drop-offs on both sides.  Near the Landing, hikers step up a narrow stone staircase, where a chain railing offers the illusion of safety.

Eight years earlier, I’d known the risks and calculated them small – yes, five people (now six) had fallen to their deaths since 2004, but thousands made the trek each year. I had hiked steep trails all over the world. Piece of cake.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter's Wiggles, first crafted by the Civilian Conservation Core in the 1930s. A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

Looking down at the switchbacks known as Walter’s Wiggles, first crafted by the National Park Service in the 1920s.  A bit of an incline, but pretty easy for seasoned hikers.

On that end-of-March 2008 visit, the park was bustling with visitors eager to explore the canyon on the weekend before the road closed to cars for the season (from April to October, shuttle buses moves visitors in and out of Zion Canyon). My friends and I hiked towards Walter’s Wiggles in a stream of humanity, including several parents pushing strollers.

At Scouts Landing, where the Angel’s Landing trail shoots off from the West Rim Trail, my friend Natasha said she knew her limits; she was happy to relax on the rock slabs while three of us continued on.

Following behind my two friends, I began to scrabble up the sandstone slope, placing my feet in toeholds carved by thousands of hikers and grabbing the chains for support. About halfway up, I froze. This felt dangerous. If I slipped, I might tumble to my death, or severe injury. Yes, thousands had done it, and only a handful had died, but I was a mother. I had a young son waiting for me back at home. I couldn’t afford to die. I turned back.

Now, on this second attempt, the young son was a young man. Our family of three made it up the first pitch, but the climb was nerve-wracking and not much fun. When my husband announced, “I don’t need to do this,” my son agreed. After five seconds of thought, I concurred.

Carefully, we picked our way down the slope back to Scouts Landing, where a volunteer ranger was doing a talk on California Condors, whose numbers had once dwindled to fewer than 25. An active breeding-in-captivity program has resurrected the population, but these massive birds with a ten-foot wing span, the largest in North America, continue to die off, mostly due to lead poisoning from ingesting lead bullets. About 71 condors fly around Arizona and southern Utah, according to the U.S. Forest Service.

South of Zion, at the Vermillion Cliffs National Monument in Arizona,  condors are released into the wild every year and monitored for movement, with attempts made later in the season to recapture the birds to test for lead poisoning. If wildlife biologists are able to catch lead poisoning early, they can treat it. But sadly, every season, they find too many magnificent dead birds.

After listening to the talk for a few minutes, my husband suggested continuing on the West Rim Trail. From Scout’s Landing, we hike for ten minutes or so to an overlook with a good view of Angel’s Landing. Instead of the crowds congregating below us, we were alone, although eventually an older couple joined us. The man had a pair of serious binoculars. With the binoculars, we could make out figures standing at the far edge of Angel’s Landing. We could see other scrambling up another steep pitch that looked very perpendicular.

“Now that how did that hiker get on that pinnacle?” the mans asked, pointing to a narrow pinnacle jutting up from the canyon floor.  “He must have needed ropes and gear to get up that.”

Squinting, I could see something – a figure perched on the pinnacle’s edge, possibly a hiker sitting and dangling his legs. My husband asked for the binoculars.

“That’s not a person,” he said. “That’s a bird.”

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

California Condor in flight, with tracking tags. Photo via Wikipedia and Creative Commons.

And then, liftoff: a massive California Condor spread its wings and dove into the shadow created by Angel’s Landing, then began to soar upwards in slow circles.

As its circles became wider, the condor drew closer to our view-point. When its wings tipped at an angle, the condor almost looked like a drone coming in for a landing. And then the condor swooped low to the ground, preparing to land, about 20 feet in front of us.

At the last second, the bird picked up a thermal and soared upwards. We watched its ballet for several minutes, until the condor soared downriver through Zion Canyon.

On Angel’s Landing, the hikers were intent on the sandstone slope, clutching the chains, making sure to plant three points of the body on the ground at all times.  They had to focus; they couldn’t afford to let their eyes and minds wander. That’s what I love about hiking–how it demands my full presence in the moment. But at Angel’s Landing, I couldn’t have the hike and the condor.  Something to remember the next time I have to give up or turn back. Where will I see my next condor?

Twlight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion, with the trailhead right behind the Visitor's Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party here at the party -- the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, being President's Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were "gated out" of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

Twilight view of The Watchman, a warm-up hike we did upon arriving at Zion; the trailhead begins behind the Visitor’s Center. On this February visit, we saw one other party on this late-afternoon hike — the advantage of visiting Zion off-season. However, this being President’s Day weekend, the park was busy, and on Sunday, we were “gated out” of Zion Canyon because the canyon had reached its car capacity (we did get in later that afternoon).

 

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After being turned away from the Zion Canyon gate, we drove through the Zion Tunnel to the East Entrance and explored a bit of that side of the park, including the Canyon Overlook  hike (at the East Entrance gate). Although this scene suggests solitude, this short trail was busy with hikers, including many families and young children.

One advantage of a Zion lock-out is that it required us to explore other areas on the eastern side of the Zion Tunnel. Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around. We did try to get to Observation Point trail from Zion Mountain Ranch, but the dirt road you to take to get to the trailhead was muddy and rutted and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental.

Not an official trail here, just a fun spot for climbing around on the eastern side of the park. We attempted to get to the East Mesa Trail, the easy route to Observation Point which starts out as a dirt road at Zion Mountain Ranch, but the road was muddy, rutted, and/or snow-covered and too much for our rental SUV. The hike to Observation Point, whether from the canyon floor, or via the back route we scouted, is a great alternative to Angel’s Landing.

Sources and resources

“Frequently Asked Questions” for Zion National Park. National Park Service.  Note that more people have died at the bucolic Emerald Pool (typically from slipping and falling) than at Angel’s Landing. Also, a map of Zion hiking trails (most useful as an overview and NOT a trail map).

Outside Magazine‘s list of the world’s 20 most dangerous hikes. Note that New Hampshire’s Mount Washington is on the list along with Angel’s Landing.

 

Remnants of the Gilded Age at Brave Boat Harbor

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Kittery Point, Maine — I dip my paddle in the water, push the kayak into the channel, and glide away from the causeway.  I’m paddling into the marsh, heading out to Brave Boat Harbor for high tide.

At least once each summer, I paddle these quiet waters, squeezing my trip in between the tides and the rest of life.  Even though I’ve paddled the marsh many times, I always feel on the brink of a discovery that might be significant,  even if only to me.

Back in the 1600s, Brave Boat Harbor was a significant discovery for the explorers and early settlers who first came here. The shallow harbor provided safe anchorage from the angry Atlantic.  But the entrance is narrow, and the surf makes passage tricky. Hence, only brave boats dared to enter.

Today, I am floating level with the marsh grass on an incoming moon tide.  The astronomical high tide gives me longer window to explore the marsh, but typically I count on three hours around the published high tide (e.g. if high tide is at noon, I can set out at 10:30 a.m. and plan on returning to the causeway by 1:30).  I’ve learned the hard way that if I linger too long in Brave Boat Harbor, I will end up scraping mud, or stranded.

The marsh is close to home, but feels remote and wild. I spot a kingfisher, skimming across the grass and up into the trees.  A family of snowy egrets wades on the flooded plain. In the distance, the surf thuds at the harbor’s entrance.

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A great blue heron lifts off along with a snowy egret. The egrets, once a source of plumage for ladies’ hats, were  on the verge of extinction but now are  common site on the marsh.  They are here  not by accident, but because thoughtful people took action to conserve the marshes on Maine’s southern coast.

This marsh isn’t wilderness. As I navigate the series of S-turns towards the harbor, I can see the occasional house on its perimeter. But this marsh, officially designated as the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge, offers refuge both for me and the birds and animals who dwell or pass through these waters and grasses.

Fewer than a hundred years ago, the marsh was a domestic landscape. For three centuries, horses and oxen dragged people and tools across these spongy fields so that farmers could harvest the grass for animal fodder. In the channel, human-made rocky paths once allowed animals to safely cross the mucky bottom.

Then, during the Gilded Age, when droves of tourists  began flocking to Kittery Point and York Harbor, workmen sunk pilings deep into the mud of Brave Boat Harbor to build a trolley trestle. For fifty years, the Portsmouth, Kittery and York (PK & Y) Electric Railway delivered vacationers from the ferry landing on Badgers Island in Kittery to York Harbor, with the clattering trolley cars traversing the marsh eight times a day during the summer months.

The PK & Y electric trolley doing a run on the trestle built through Brave Boat Harbor.

The PK & Y electric trolley doing a run from Kittery to York Harbor on the trestle built across Brave Boat Harbor (New England Electric Railway Historical Society).

This hand-drawn map shows the Routes of the different trolley lines in Kittyer and York, including the Portmouth, Kittery and York Electric Railway (PK & Y) line that hugged the coast and then crossed over Brave Boat Harbor. The trolleys ran until 1923, when the new Memorial Bridge facilitated the rise of the automobile (Seashore Trolley Museum Collection).

This hand-drawn map shows the routes of the different trolley lines in Kittery and York, including the PK & Y line that hugged the coast and then crossed over Brave Boat Harbor. The trolleys ran until 1923, when the new Memorial Bridge facilitated the rise of the automobile (Seashore Trolley Museum Collection).

As my paddle pushes the kayak forward, the vegetation changes, with less saltwater grass and more of the sedge-like salt meadow grass that was harvested for hay. The current stills as I approach the harbor. I push the boat around another bend and into the flooded pool, the still water tinted pink from the clouds above. Even though I’ve been out here many times, this moment of gliding into blue emptiness of Brave Boat Harbor always feels exhilarating.

Black cormorants roost on the line of rotting pilings. The birds stand with their breasts thrust forwards, their necks held high, as if standing at attention. At the harbor entrance, between Rayne’s Neck and Sea Point, small waves crash.

Relatively few kayakers venture out here. On this day, I spot a three or four others, but on the rocky beach,  I eat my lunch in solitude.

The trolley trestle falling into the marsh. The trolley stopped running in 1923, almost 100 years ago. I wonder how long these historical remnants will linger.

The remnants of the trolley trestle falling into the marsh.

Almost 100 years have passed since the trolleys stopped running. The pilings won’t last forever. Many have withered to anonymous stumps. People who aren’t familiar with the marsh’s history don’t know where they came from, or why they are there.  A few older folks in the region still recall riding the trolley as small children, but in a few years, all human memories of a bustling Brave Boat Harbor will disappear.

Here, these shorter pilings sit on a bed that would

Here, these shorter pilings sit on a solid bed built up to support them. The bed usually forms a low barrier but was flooded during the full moon tide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exploring these remnants of history of the marsh enriches my time here.  Still, I’m glad the marsh is a quiet place today, one that offers a mental escape from a mind intent on relentless planning and doing.

Kayaking here is a meditation in letting go. The ebb and flow of the tide dictates my itinerary. If I ignore the tide, I will end up stuck in the muck. If I note it, I glide on an authentic source of flow.

Sources and resources

The Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge was established in 1966 in honor of its namesake, although Rachel Carson did her work further up the coast, near Boothbay Harbor.  The Refuge protects 50 miles of marsh and coast in southern Maine.

For more on the Memorial Bridge and its relationship to the rapid decline of the Gilded Age “big hotel” era in Kittery, Maine, see my post, On Bridges and the Jet Set.

Experienced kayakers might enjoy the loop paddle through the marsh and around Gerrish Island to Pepperrell Cove and up Chauncey Creek to the causeway.  However, you need an ocean-worthy kayak to do, as ledges off Sea Point create waves and  swell.  It’s not a paddle for novices, and I wouldn’t recommend doing it alone.

 

 

Island living, Adirondack style

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Heading through wild rice towards the locks connecting Middle Saranac Lake to the Saranac River.

Heading through wild rice towards the locks connecting Middle Saranac Lake to the Saranac River. The rice was planted years ago to create better duck habitat for hunters but now has become a nuisance invasive species.

In July, an opportunity arose to camp with a friend for several nights on a quarter-acre island on Middle Saranac Lake in New York’s Adirondack Park.

My friend warned me that she didn’t do a lot on the island. We could kayak, cook, swim, read, nap, and stay up late by the campfire. If the wind whipped up, as it often does on Middle Saranac, kayaking was probably off the list, along with the campfire. If it rained, reading would be confined to various contorted positions in my tent.

Island living might be cozy and relaxing – or claustrophobic and boring. Was a quarter acre island big enough for a maniacal traveler?

After a day spent driving and packing up my kayak, I paddled across the lake, reaching the island at dusk. That first night, swimming in the dark beneath the Milky Way, the island hardly seemed claustrophobic. Here was an entire universe!

Island 72 and its neighbor

Island 72 and its neighbor, both part of the Saranac Lake Islands Campground.

It took me a day or so to adjust to the idea that I had no place to go and nothing to do. The weather helped reinforce this nothing-ness, as the wind had picked up during the night. Tall white pines thrashed above the clearing where we had set up camp. Throughout the day, gray clouds threatened rain. On the western end of the lake, we could see gray sheets of rain falling, but in the end, only a few sprinkles blew over the island.

I covered the list of activities: cook, read, swim, nap. In the early evening, when the wind died down, I kayaked over to Hungry Bay, passing a few remote campsites and waving at a couple of people on shore.  The exercise and the solitude felt good.

We built a fire and stayed up until midnight, on this island with nothing to do.

The next day, the lake was glassy, the wind almost non-existent.   After breakfast, we pushed off in our kayaks and paddled west and then north towards Weller Pond, which is connected to Middle Saranac Lake by a narrow passage.  En route, we passed a couple of  occupied campsites, but mostly had the lake to ourselves, especially once we entered Weller Pond.

Back in 1931, writer Martha Eben came to Weller Pond to camp and stayed from late spring through the fall. Martha was an invalid, suffering from tuberculosis, when her Adirondack guide Fred Rice transported her to the campsite in a bed he’d fashioned inside his canoe. When they arrived at Fred’s camp, he installed her in a comfy bed set up beneath the pines.

Then in her early 20s, Martha had been suffering from tuberculosis since she was a child. Her family had sent her to Saranac Lake Village for rest and treatment at Edward Trudeau’s Adirondack Cottage Sanitarium. In this era before antibiotics, tuberculosis was progressive and deadly, but in the 19th century, physicians in Europe had learned that rest, isolation, and good nutrition could slow the progress of the disease and sometimes even cure it.

Fred Rice and Martha Rice, from an undated photo in the Adironack Register (Historic Saranac Lake).

Fred Rice and Martha Rice, from an undated photo in the Adirondack Register (Historic Saranac Lake).

Martha had endured several surgeries (probably procedures aimed at collapsing a lung so that lesions and cavities could heal) as well as stays in other facilities. She finally decided that she’d had enough, and hired Fred Rice to take her to Weller Pond and take care of her in the wilderness. Her adventure was an extreme take on the idea of the sanitarium: that rest, fresh air, and wholesome food would bolster the body’s immune system to fight the infection.

At her campsite, Martha rested, read, and sat with Fred by the campfire. They weathered rainstorms, chilly nights and Fred’s generally bad cooking. Fred took her out in his canoe on fishing and animal-spotting expeditions. Martha learned to peel potatoes and gradually was able to take on some of the cooking.

By the time late fall arrived, Martha’s health was restored. Enamored with her simple existence at Weller Pond, Martha returned to the woods with Fred for six seasons (and eventually ended up spending winters in Saranac Lake Village with Fred and his wife). Ten years into her adventures, Martha learned that she was free of tuberculosis (although she died what we now consider the young age of 58 from congestive heart failure, a condition likely exacerbated by her damaged lungs).

In the 1952, Martha published The Healing Woods, the first of three books about her Adirondack experiences. What strikes me in reading Martha’s book is that she focuses on her adventures and not on her condition, which hangs in the background, sometimes limiting her activity but never her enthusiasm.

Lily pads in what Fred Rice called the "slough", a swampy area in the passage to Weller Pond. We took a lovely detour up into Little Weller Pond as well and encountered many lily pads and sunning turtles, just as Martha had.

Lily pads in what Fred Rice called the “slough”, a swampy area in the passage to Weller Pond. We took a lovely detour up into Little Weller Pond as well and encountered many lily pads and sunning turtles, just as Martha had.

I’m sure Martha had her days when she felt tired and was tired of camping –- sitting out days of rain in which everything gets wet is tedious no matter how much you love the outdoors. But she omitted complaints and frustrations from her narrative, instead choosing to write about her discoveries and her wonder as she learns about life in the woods. She deliberately chooses to focus on the positive even if she sometimes felt negative.

The experience of the woods that Martha conveys is much the same as ours today. Weller Pond still feels remote and wild, removed from the hum of cars along Route 3 as it passes by Middle Saranac Lake. We see one other paddler, an ambitious guy intent on exploring every nook and cranny of the shore. Paddling through the lilies in the slough, we spy turtles lazing on rotting logs and hear redwing blackbirds singing.

On my third morning on the island, I woke up to a glassy lake. I had to go home, but could have stayed longer. Instead of doing nothing, I’d enjoyed three days of being more fully present in my experience.  That’s island living, Adirondack style.

My friend Michelle kayaking back to the island after a visit to the locks connecting the lake to the Saranac River. Ambersand Mountain rises in the background.

My friend Michelle kayaking back to the island after a visit to the locks connecting the lake to the Saranac River. Ampersand Mountain rises in the background.

 

Sources and resources

The Healing Woods, by Martha Reben. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1952.

Saranac Lake Islands Campground, operated by the New York State Department of Environmental Protection, offers 72 boat-access campsites scattered on the islands and show of the Saranac Lakes.

For more on Martha Reben, see “Martha Reben” on Historic Saranac Lake.

Beautiful desolation at Lake Aloha

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“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.“~John Muir, Our National Parks (1901)

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners/

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners.

Could I still carry a fully loaded backpack and not be crushed by its weight and the forces of middle age?

Well, I knew I could do it. The real question was, could I carry a full backpack and enjoy myself?

The occasion was my friend Natasha’s 50th birthday. The destination, Lake Aloha in the California’s Desolation Wilderness, near Lake Tahoe.

I made my checklist – tent, pots, Bearikade container filled with three days worth of food  — and scrutinized each item for its weight. Over the past couple of years, I’ve replaced various pieces of old gear with ultralight equipment – like my 15 oz Z-Pack sleeping bag – but still couldn’t quite commit myself to the raw food/no stove ultra ultralight approach. For me, drinking cup of hot coffee or tea at a remote campsite is part of the wilderness experience. But could I do without a book, a journal? I couldn’t.  I threw both in and strapped on the pack for the trip to the airport.

When I arrived in San Francisco, heavy rain was falling –a totally unanticipated event in this drought-ridden state. On-and-off heavy downpours continued as we drove to Echo Lake, where we planned to take the water taxi to its upper end.  On our drive, we debated options: stay in a cabin or lodge for the night? Head out in the rain?

At the Echo Lake store, we learned that the cabins across the way were not yet open, but a water taxi was loading up.  We rapidly re-organized our stuff, pulled on rain gear, and jumped in boat.

When we set off from the trailhead at the upper end of Echo Lake, my pack didn’t feel terrible. By then, the rain had stopped, and the leftover dampness tamped down the dusty trail that I remember from previous hikes here. The air felt fresh and the usually dusty sage brush smelled sagey. Orange paintbrush and pink phlox bloomed beside the trail. As we walked among the ponderosa at Haypress Meadows, the grass glowed vibrant green.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to arrive at Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was starting to clear.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was clearing.  There, we found the perfect campsite, tucked in the trees 100 feet back from the lake (per the permit requirements), but just steps away from a granite peninsula that made for a fine lakeside kitchen and lounging platform. Mid-week in June we were the only campers here for two nights, although we encountered many heading up the trail from Echo Lake on Friday.

I was glad I remembered to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade bear-proof food canister, especially after I realized I had locked the swiss army knife in with the food. The meal was a delicious dehydrated Thai curry from Good-to-Go, a little start-up food company at the end of my street in Kittery.  Real vegetables — green beans, hunks of cauliflower — sprung to after soaking in boiling hot water for 20 minutes. As we ate dinner, a mother duckling and her five ducklings paddled by.

I left Kittery at 3:30 a.m. by sunset was enjoying a late sunset dinner at Lake of the Woods. I'm glad I remember to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade food canister, especially after we realized we had locked the swiss army knife in with the food.

I left Kittery, Maine at 3:30 a.m. and by sunset was enjoying a late Pacific Time dinner at Lake of the Woods.

A bottle of champagne only weights a couple of pounds.

A bottle of champagne only weighs about 1.5 pounds, so we threw it into the pack. Happy Birthday, Natasha!

As the sun set, my friend and I toasted with the champagne we’d brought (along with our books) and continued our non-stop conversation about our families, jobs, mutual friends, politics, books, Morocco (where we both served as Peace Corps Volunteers), and a hundred other topics.

I was definitely enjoying the moment, but confessed that I wasn’t fully immersed in it, because in my head, I already was planning another backpack.  “I know what you mean,” Natasha said. “I’m feeling greedy for more of this.”

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a low-tech reservoir formed by a series of five small dams constructed over the years to assure a consistent pool of water in the summer months. But these are small stone and earth dams.

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a group of small lakes and puddles stitched together by five dams into a shallow reservoir. As visible in this photo, the water was quite low for this time of year when it is typically filled with Sierra snowpack runoff.  The Lake is a popular destination for backpackers, but also makes a fine destination for a day hike, about 10 miles RT from upper Echo Lake .

That first night, more rain fell, but we were warm and dry in my tent. The next morning, after our backcountry coffee , we set out on the trail for Lake Aloha.

The 64,000-acre Desolation Wilderness, one of the nation’s most popular, is well-travelled. Gold miners once prospected here, without much luck, and cattle grazed in Haypress Meadows, before receiving official wilderness status in 1969 (although the area had been less restrictively protected for many years as part of the El Dorado National Forest).

In general, the Forest Service struggles with the idea of wilderness. Can an area threaded with hiking trails truly be called a wilderness?  Purists want to abolish trails and all man-made structures (like dams or shelters) in federal wilderness areas. However, a wilderness with no trails or trail signs and which is travelled by thousands of hikers is one in which many people will get lost.  Thus, all major trail junctions have signposts with arrows, but the trails are not marked with blazes or cairns.

Without blazes and cairns, it is fairly easy to lose the trail in the Desolation, but not hard to navigate back to where you thought you were, as long as you have a good map. We learned this truth early, when we missed the junction for Lake Aloha, and found ourselves confronting a large granite wall at the far end of Lake of the Woods. A couple of rocky slides looked like they might be climbable without the risk of death, but, having children back at home, we opted not to scramble up steep rock cliffs.  A short backtrack, along with our map, led us to the trail that threads up and through a meadow before descending to Lake Aloha.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands -- lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and jumped in, briefly, to the icy cold but refreshing water. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands — lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and waded in to the icy water for about 2 minutes. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

In sharp contrast to its landscape, Lake Aloha conjures up hibiscus and jasmine and other lush tropical flowers. By mid-summer, the straggly stands of paintbrush and other wildflowers will have wilted, and this will be a landscape of granite, dust and scraggly Sierra pines.  But in early June, the walking along and above the lake was easy.  We set aim for Heather Lake, just beyond, and had lunch there before turning back to our base camp.

Again, we lost the trail. Instead of climbing to the meadow, we found ourselves looking out at the granite landscape of the Desolation Valley, with Pyramid Peak in the distance. We knew that Lake of the Woods was below this ridge and not far, but didn’t want to take our chances on bushwhacking to the head of a steep rock wall.  A short backtrack led us to the trail junction and we were on our way.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

Back at the campsite, we finished off the champagne and stuffed ourselves with a chipotle three-bean chili before retiring to the tent.

Towards dawn, I woke up to the chorus of coyotes howling and yipping up on the ridge. Tucked in my sleeping bag, inside the thin walls of a nylon tent, I was exactly where I wanted to be. Although I had carried in more gear than I needed, I felt lighter than I had in years.

While exploring the Desolation Valley, we found this horse sculpture with a view of Pyramid Peak.

Before packing out, we explored the territory behind Lake of the Woods and found this sculpture looking to Pyramid Peak

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down from Lake Aloha to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Sources and resources

The Desolation Wilderness is laced with over 150 miles of trails, and offers many great options for both day hikes and backpacks.  On an earlier trip, we enjoyed a dusty and hot family hike to Tamarack Lake (from Upper Echo Lake).  Swimming at Susie Lake is a great reward after a three mile-ish hike in.

Visit the Desolation Wilderness website for information on trails  and permits.

Although the 19th century writing reads slow, anyone who hikes in the Sierra needs to spend a summer slowly savoring John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra.

Three generations, ten springs of exploring Cape Cod

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For ten years now, I’ve made a spring pilgrimage to Cape Cod with my son and mother, for a few nights over the April spring vacation week or on a weekend in May. We take advantage of off-season rates at the Ocean Edge Resort in Brewster, and participate in certain must-repeat rituals, like shopping at the Brewster Bookstore, eating ice cream outdoors at JT’s Seafood Restaurant, and playing Marco Polo in Ocean Edge indoor pool, where my mother is probably the oldest guest to ever play that game.

But each time we visit, I try to find something new and different that fulfills this simple criteria: the activity or destination must be something that all three of can do and enjoy together. Not a kid thing, like jumping on trampolines (although we do that too). Not an adult thing, like visiting an art museum. Over these ten years, my son has grown from a toddler to a teenager while my mother has become a bit less spry, but each spring, we still find some new way to enjoy being together.  Here’s my list.

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Stony Brook herring run, Brewester –  Every spring in late April/early May, thousands of herring return from the ocean to Stony Brook, where they push hard against the current to jump up a series of “steps” towards the Mill Pond, where they spawn, and begin the cycle anew.  Native Americans once harvested herring at this site as did the Mayflower descendants who settled in Brewster in the 1660s. During the “Brewster in Bloom” festival during the first weekend in May, the grist mill at the site is open for tours. (The mill is open on a regular basis in the summer, but by then, the herring are gone). Technically, the visit to the herring run is one of our must-repeat rituals, but it is a highlight of  every trip, and thus gets top billing on this list.

At this point, we have outgrown the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History , also in Brewster, but have enjoyed many visits there, looking at the exhibits, participating in activities and watching birds through the museum’s binoculars and spotting scopes.  The museum trails through woodland and across the sand dunes on a boardwalk are manageable for everyone from toddlers to slow but steady walkers.

We loved our rollicking ride in a Chevy Suburban over the steep dunes of the Province Lands with Art’s Dune Tours, out of Provincetown.

On the dune tour, my then 9-year-old son experienced the Province Land dunes as I once did: they were massive mountains of sand. As an adult returning forty years later, the dunes loom as large, either because they've shrunk, or I've grown. But still great fun to ride up and over these soft mountains.

On the dune tour, my then 9-year-old son experienced the Province Land dunes as I once did: they were massive mountains of sand. As an adult returning forty years after my childhood visit, the dunes didn’t loom as large, either because they’ve shrunk, or I’ve grown. But it was still great fun to ride up and over these soft mountains.

Spring is usually too cold to sunbathe and swim, but many opportunities exist to explore the Cape Cod National Seashore, which offers ranger talks and other activities year-round, with extra events added during the April school vacation week.  We have walked on trails at the Nauset Visitor Center in Eastham, listened to stories of shipwrecks and the collapse of a massive parking lot at Coast Guard Beach during the Blizzard of 78, and wondered if Pilgrim Spring was truly where the Mayflower passengers first found fresh water after their Atlantic voyage.

Also part of the National Seashore, the Cedar Swamp Trail (trailhead at the Marconi Station parking area in Wellfleet) gets its own shout-out because it is mysterious and beautiful, especially after a heavy rain, when walkers feel as though they are walking on water as they traverse the boardwalk through the dark swamp. The Seashore also offers talks about Marconi Station, where, in 1903, Guglielmo Marconi transmitted the first official wireless message across the ocean.

In Yarmouth, the Edward Gorey House, where the writer, artist, and designer lived for many years, is intriguing and delightful.

The Edward Gorey House in Yarmouth is full of whimsical sculptures, art work and odd things, and includes a scavenger hunt for kids.

The Edward Gorey House is full of whimsical sculptures, art work and odd things, and includes a scavenger hunt for kids.

Whale watching, Provincetown (aka Ptown)– Starting in early to mid-April, many species of whales, but especially humpback and the endangered right whales, hang out just off the tip of Cape Cod as they migrate into the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary. Whale watch season begins then, with boats going out when the weather is at all reasonable (chilly, but not stormy).  On our April excursion with Dolphin Fleet Whale Watch, the temperatures climbed to the low 80s as we watched humpback whales  and right whales frolic just offshore of Race Point Beach.

Whale watch cruises run out of Provincetown starting in April, when Great Blues and Right Whales congregate off the tip of Cape Cod. You can also see their spouts, albeit just barely, from outer Cape beaches like Race Point. On our whale watch, we saw a live Right Whale lounging amidst the fishing boats in Ptown Harbor. It almost looked like a submarine surfacing.

Celebrating the start of whale watching season in Ptown. Watchers can also see whale spouts, albeit just barely, from outer Cape beaches like Race Point, where the Park Service often has rangers stationed with spotting scopes to share with visitors. On our whale watch, we saw a live Right Whale lounging amidst the fishing boats in P-town Harbor (to the left of this wharf). The whale almost looked like a submarine surfacing.

Pilgrim Monument and Museum is also a fun place to visit while in P-town, although it’s not an official member of this list, since my mother can no longer climb the many stairs to the windy top.

We explored the town cemetery during the ghost-hunting tour, hoping and fearing that a ghost might talk to us.

We explored the town cemetery during the ghost-hunting tour, hoping and fearing that a ghost might talk to us.

In Barnstable Village, the Ghost Hunters Tour, offered by the Cape and Islands Paranormal Research Society, gave the three of us plenty to talk about, especially when tour leader turned off the lights in the 1690-era old Barnstable jail (where visitors can spend the night on a CIPRS overnight adventure).  This tour included lots of interesting history and light walking, although my mom sat out the part where we walked around the dark cemetery with electro-magnetic detection devices and tried to commune with ghosts.

Seals, seals everywhere! The ever-changing sandy beaches of Monomoy Island, off Chatham, have become a seal mecca, with hundreds congregating there year round. Seal cruises are more of a summer activity, but Monomoy Island Excursions, out of Harwichport, run cruises on weekends after May 1 if they get a half-dozen or so passengers.

After May 1, X and other captains offer seal tours out of Harwich and Chatham to see the pack at Monomoy Island. But don't expect to see the Great White sharks that now frequent the area during the summer months -- our captain goes out twice daily in July and august and has never seen a Great White.

After May 1, seal cruises are offered from Harwichport and Chatham.. But don’t expect to see the Great White sharks that now frequent the area during the summer months — our captain told us that he goes out twice daily in July and August and has yet to seen a Great White.

Finally, the Cape offers numerous places for walks and short hikes on countless beaches and woodland trails; one of my favorites is the walk in the sands of Morris Island within the Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge in Chatham.

I’m not sure how much longer these trips to Cape Cod will continue as my son moves on to high school. What’s certain is that this ritual of spring has carved memories and created bonds. Maybe one day I’ll be a senior citizen with a grandson or daughter and, like the herring, will return to Stony Brook once again.

 

 

 

Up in the air at Kluane National Park, Yukon Territory

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The plane was waiting at Haines Junction airport.

At the Haines Junction Airport, our 1980 Cessna. Planes sure do have a long lifespan.  I’m glad I didn’t know that we were flightseeing in a plane that pre-dates the personal computer. If only well-maintained computers lasted this long.

The clearing weather presented both a threat (mostly to our wallets) and an opportunity.  As we pulled into Haines Junction, we debated our options.

The circle was nearly complete.  Along with my 13-year-old son, my Alaskan friend Elizabeth and I had traveled from Juneau to Skagway, and over White Pass to Carcross and Whitehorse. Canoed on the Yukon River and soaked in the Takhini hot springs.

Should we venture out to the Kluane-St. Elias Ice Fields — the world’s largest non-polar icefields and the largest protected natural area in the world? The plane was small, the price steep. Plus, after packing so much in already, might we fail to appreciate the awesomeness of the ice fields?

I reminded myself — and explained to my son — that as a living-on-the-edge 20-something, I had emptied my bank account to take a similarly expensive flight to Glacier Bay National Park. Although it’s  possible that I’ll get to Haines Junction again, I had to admit that it’s not likely. Hence, we went for it.

We began our flight over brown green alpine slopes where we could see specks of Dall sheep grazing, but soon began to fly up these glacier rivers into the heart of the Kluane ice fields.

We began our flight over brown green alpine slopes where we could see specks of Dall sheep grazing, but soon began to fly up these glacier rivers into the heart of the St. Elias-Kluane Ice Fields. Below, rivers of ice, trimmed with layer of gray silt.

As the plane buzzed its way deeper into the remote ice fields, the pilot pointed out different peaks, including Mount Kennedy, named for JFK after his assassination, and climbed in 1965 by his brother Robert — the only mountain Robert ever climbed.

robert kennedy photoThe expedition was the first attempt to climb Mount Kennedy. The highly experienced team included Jim Whittaker and Barry Prather, both part of the first American team to climb Mount Everest. Senator Robert Kennedy had been invited to join them, although he had a fear of heights and had never climbed any mountains (not even Mount Washington).  He accepted the invitation, he said, “for personal reasons that seemed compelling” and he “returned with a feeling — apart from exhaustion — of exhilaration and extreme gratification.”  Despite attempts to keep his participation a secret, word leaked out. The climb became a huge media event (for more, see newscast clip and other resources at the bottom of the post).

Robert Kennedy left several JFK mementos on Mount Kennedy, including his watch, a copy of JFK’s first inaugural address, and several PT boat tie clips.

This is either Mount X or Mount Kennedy, named for JFK. Bobby Kennedy climbed Mount Kennedy (which is a major alpine expedition, not a hike) and left his brother's watch and some other artifacts on Mount Kennedy.

I took this photo near Mount Logan.  I believe it is Mount Kennedy (which is a subpeak of Mount Logan), but am not positive. What I am sure of:  if you find yourself in Haines Junction on a clear day, the flightseeing tour is a not-to-be missed experience.

In his Life magazine article, Kennedy wrote about how impressed he was by the climbers’ measured courage.  The climbers told him that “politics was far more dangerous than climbing.”

A view of Mount Logan, Canada's highest at X feet. In the distance (but not in this photo), we could also see Mount Elias, the second tallest mountain in the US.

A view of Mount Logan, Canada’s highest at 19,551 feet, which puts it second in line behind Denali in North America.  On the tour, we also glimpsed Mount St. Elias (in Alaska), Glacier Bay, and the Pacific Ocean.

Today, scientists study the ice fields to learn more about climate change. This past summer (2014), bad weather stranded a group of Japanese scientists for two weeks after their pick-up date, at the camp pictured below:

In the heart of the ice fields, Japanese scientists who had been conducting research were stuck on the ice fields two weeks after their departure date due to bad weather. The scientists had just been flown out that morning.

A view of the research camp.  The stranded scientists were picked up earlier on the day of our flightseeing tour. Note the plane tracks on the ice fields.

A "close up" view of the research station. Note that one person is still down there, and hopefully still sane after spending two weeks of waiting out the rain, fog and snow.

A “close up” view of camp. Note that one person was still down there, and hopefully still sane after spending two weeks of waiting out the rain, fog and snow, in very close quarters.

A moulin in the ice field.

A moulin in the ice field. A moulin is a vertical shaft through which water melts and flows to the bottom of the glacier, where it serves as a puddle-like lubricant that facilitates glacial motion. You don’t want to fall into one of these things.

Beautiful puddles.

Beautiful puddles.  Bitterly cold, but they bottom out on the surface of the glacier, unlike the bottomless moulins.

Heading back to Haines Junction, using the glacier as a path.

Heading back to Haines Junction, and following the glacier as a highway.

The plane landed at the Haines Junction airfield like a feather dropping to the ground.  Behind the pilot, one passenger was suffering from the effects of motion sickness (it was messy).   Even so, he was grinning along with the rest of us.  Definitely not too much awesomeness.  How could we go to Kluane National Park and not take a dip in the lake?

After our flight, we camped at Kathleen Lake Campground, a $10 bargain that mentally reduced the cost of the flightseeing tour.  The next morning, we took a dip in the lake, where average summer surface water temperature hovers around 52 degree F (11 C), just a few degrees less than what we are used to, but cold enough to render The Seal speechless.

Heading down the Haines Highway to pick up the ferry in Haines, Alaska, we passed by Dezadeash Lake. Although just a few miles south of Kathleen Lake, Dezadeash is a shallow bath tub known for its warmer temperatures (up to 65 degree F/18 C in summer) and many migratory birds, including Trumpeter swans.

Trumpeter swans on Dezadeash Lake.

Trumpeter swans on Dezadeash Lake.

Links and resources

Kluane Glacier Air Tours operates out of the Haines Junction Airport.

“The Strange History of Mount Kennedy,” by Sean Sullivan at The Clymb.

“Our Climb Up Mount Kennedy,” by Robert Kennedy.  Reproductions of images and text from Robert Kennedy’s April 9, 1965 Life magazine account of his climb.

Below, news report Senator Robert Kennedy’s climb up Mount Kennedy.