11,249 feet. Not ninety minutes ago, it had basked in the first rays of morning light before anywhere else, the sun spilling down from Mount Hood’s summit until it wakened the glaciers and, eventually, the forests below. Towering some 6,000 feet into the dizzyingly empty space above our heads, it’s a height difference that human minds aren’t fully equipped to understand. Judging with only your eyes, it might as well be 60,000 feet.
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A Tale of Two Winters
The Sierra Nevada—literally, “the snowy mountains”—has recently begun to challenge its very name. In the past twenty years or more, the cyclical nature of snow and sun in these mountains has become anything but cyclical.
A Brief History of Time
Honest question: What day is it? Away from the routines and patterns of home, it’s remarkable how something so familiar vanishes so quickly, each day seamlessly bleeding into the next, only the rising and setting of the sun demarcating one day from the next.
The Grand Staircase
One hundred miles north, far from the banks of the Bright Angel Creek on which we slept, Bryce Canyon National Park sits at the top of a geological feature few will notice. Known as The Grand Staircase, layer upon layer of sedimentary rock stretches from the high elevations of Bryce Canyon all the way to bottom of the Grand Canyon, telling the story of 600 million years of the planet’s history.
History Book
When you take your first step off the North Rim and onto the North Kaibab Trail, it is your first step into a different world. Gone are the ponderosa pine, traded for pinyons and eventually catclaw acacia, yucca, and all manner of cacti. The white Kaibab limestone yields to red sandstone which gives way to band upon band of other rock formations of varying colors and textures.
Flash
I can see the flash through my eyelids. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand....boom. From our snug little tent tucked into the trees it went on like this for an hour as I tracked the movement of the storm without so much as opening an eye, counting from lightning to thunder as it approached, passed above us, and then receded into the distance.
The Prestige
There are—apparently—two constants to the soundtrack of hiking atop the Kaibab Plateau in autumn: the telltale crunch of small, angular stones beneath each step; and the trembling of aspen leaves in even the slightest breeze, a sound that could easily be mistaken for gentle raindrops.
O Coffee, Where Art Thou?
Discombobulated. No, too strong. Confused. Not exactly. “I feel foggy headed,” says Ace, succinctly serving up the answer to my internal question as we sit down at a brief early morning break to remove our wind shirts. The question: what exactly is going on with my brain this morning?
Starting Line
Since I’d first heard of it in 2016, the Arizona Trail has captured my imagination. Completed only five years earlier in 2011, it stretches nearly 800 miles north-to-south down the length of the state, from Utah all the way to Mexico. Along the way, the vast and often unsung diversity of Arizona is on display
A Birthday Ode to Ace
Four years ago, I wrote this post sick to my stomach over a tearful goodbye as Ace went home to our house in Seattle and back to work while I continued on my hike of the Pacific Crest Trail. Rereading it now, I can still feel my insides turning over seeing how broken hearted she was to say goodbye for what we both knew would be a long time.
Benchmark
The wind that swirled and shrieked finally died away and morning dawned in our valley of death. The trusty dead trees we'd hung between had been more than stout enough despite their frail outwardly appearance. Most noteworthy was the sudden drop in temperature overnight, as the warm evening morphed into a cold chill during the small hours of the morning.
Death Valley
After making a circuit around the airspace above our hammocks, it landed, and then perhaps not believing its eyes, took flight once again on the same circuit. Upon its second landing in the same spot, it swiveled and tilted its head almost out of disbelief, staring down at me lying in my hammock. Apparently this owl hadn't gotten the memo that we'd be invading her home for the night.
Observation
Question: What's the best kind of hitch? Answer: The kind where you get one before you even start trying. After almost two full days of resting our feet, we walked along the wide paved shoulder of the one street that runs through the town of Lincoln, Montana.
The Winter Solstice of Hiking
Anything worth doing is worth doing right. And when you plan to have a short near-o into a town stop, you may as well do it with style and not even hike a single mile. It may not be the shortest day of the year, but it sure was the shortest day of hiking we've had on this trail (any trail?) and with the previous day’s miles having moved by faster than expected to put us here, neither of us was complaining.
Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde
Looking back at the hillside it was nestled into, surrounded by a maturing forest of pine, you have to shake yourself a bit to even wonder: that's an outfitter up there? Even as it shrunk into the distance, I had to assure myself that it had not been a mirage.
Gear Porn
I'm beginning to sense a pattern. Up until a few short days ago, warm weather and clear skies had been the norm since we'd returned to Montana. Two days south of Helena that all changed as the blue skies with long views vanished, replaced by a smoky haze that has stubbornly refused to move on down the road. Each Montanan we cross paths with tells the same story…
The Death of Puritanism
The world is infatuated with purity tests, or so it seems. And right when I fall into the obvious trap of thinking this must be a new phenomenon with blame to be placed squarely on the Facebooks and Twitters of the world, I stop and remember that: 1) almost nothing is new; and 2) being puritanical certainly is not.
Serendipity
It didn't go as planned, but not in the way you initially might think. Most of us are hard wired to assume that a departure from the plan is, by default, a bad thing. But some of the greatest aspects of thru-hiking are the unexpected twists of fortune that swing the other way, delivering you a surprise that you never could have anticipated when the day began.
The Day that Time Stood Still
When we'd dusted the sleep from our eyes and set off down the trail, the morning sun was ablaze as a scarlet fireball hanging low in the sky. A thick haze seemed to be everywhere, giving the impression that we might be entering an impenetrable fog at any moment.
Carcass Highway
If you feel like you haven't seen anything good, than you just haven't been paying attention. You also might think that even while paying close attention walking 25 miles of nothing but roads might be the time when that wisdom falls apart. Not today.
Angel from Montgomery
Standing at the kitchen sink, she gazes out into the stifling heat of a Deep South summer’s evening, the fire red sun hanging briefly against a gray sky before dipping to the horizon. A middle-aged woman wondering how another day locked in the same listlessness has come and gone, wondering “is this really all there is?”
Power Outage
Most every day on trail I wake up knowing that I'm right where I'm meant to be, but on rare occasions I barely wake up knowing where I am at all. Today was definitely the latter. Whether from a night of poor sleep or from the drain of yesterday’s roller coaster, I woke up with leaden legs and eyes that could barely manage to keep themselves open.
Mental Endurance
The moon was bright and clear in its corner of the sky as it rose above the shoulder of the mountain we camped high upon last night, but it didn't last--it too was soon swallowed by the clouds that cast a light but cold rain down on my tent overnight. When I woke this morning, little had changed and it was off again in full rain gear once more, hoping for the best.
Lake Tahoe Blue
Since yesterday morning, the PCT has coincided with the Tahoe Rim Trail, a loop that circumnavigates Lake Tahoe in the mountains high above. Surprisingly, there have only been pocket glimpses of the lake itself, but each time it appears its sapphire waters are unmistakable. I've resolved to dub the shade of its water "Lake Tahoe blue".
John Muir Trail 2015
An image gallery of photos from the John Muir Trail—the jewel of the High Sierra, running 210-miles from Mt. Whitney to Yosemite Valley. Start Point: Yosemite Valley, CAEnd Point: Mt. Whitney, CATotal Length: 211 miles
Gear
Gear. Other than perhaps food, it’s every hiker’s favorite topic of conversation. Sonnets have been written about less. Much of what is written about gear today focuses solely on finding the lightest possible items, with little (if any) discussion of the skills required to use that gear safely and effectively. I’m certainly an evangelist for...