PCT 2018: Days 93-95, Crater Lake to Shelter Cove
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 93-95 from Crater Lake to Shelter Cove, mile 1,820-1,900.
August 5, Day 93
28.5 miles [1848.4 ]
Piss-poor drunken sleep, my mind was completely obsessed with leaving. Woke up in the same thought pattern I had fallen asleep to, like it was the same day. Listened to my own trail register advice which I’ve been writing for nearly two-thousand miles and Committed to packing. Gear on and sunrise breaking, I left a super-lame see-ya-later note for “Flipper & Friends”, then walked back to the restaurant with “Conflicted” for a cup of coffee. “Silver Fox”, a familiar hiker yet I’m unacquainted, paid for our brews; it was a wonderful gesture. About to leave when “Flipper” and Sam—honorarily “Sunburnt”—sat down for breakfast. Talked and hung out as long as possible, snagged a group photo for posterity sake; I can’t believe I know those hooligans from Philmont. Apologized for leaving once again, then “Conflicted” and I began hiking. I knew it was going to be smoky and thought about coming back rather than the marred view. The Lake sprawled much larger than I had imagined, much like my first visit to the Grand Canyon when I was 12—it must be even more incredible on a clear day. Tons of tourists and clean day hikers which was expected, it was fun being an utter bum and attracting looks and conversations about “those PCT hikers”. Took a lunch atop the Watchman and crushed the one beer I decided to carry, that didn’t last long. Cruised around the rim, slowly, it was at our backs. Met a total cutie at the highway water cache who only started yesterday and is planning on going to Washington; I called her “Locks”, maybe it sticks. “Brownstreak” caught up! He’s been behind since Tahoe, and not long after, “Sticky Fingers” showed up, looks like he’s not taking a zero either. Hiked behind “Goat Man” for five miles and talked the whole time about vanlife and taking life after trail to the next level—great guy. A fiery sunset swatting skeeters away. Coerced “Conflicted” into letting me use his stove for my gnocchi meal. “Sticky” gave me a spoonful of cookie butter and now I know what my first hit of heroin feels like. Tonight’s camp has faces I recognize and some I don’t.
“Conflicted” and Wizard Island.
State Highway 138, mile 1847.8.
August 6, Day 94
33.8 miles [1882.2]
Smoky night which turned into a damp and chilly dawn, my quilt had a fair bit of dewy condensation. The five or seven tents which were up last night had already dwindled to three before I was packed, strapped, and moving. It’s odd trailing a group of people “by myself”, but I guess that’s what the majority of hikers have already gone through. In the first mile “Sticky” caught up, he must have been looking for a friend too, and we did the morning-10 together. Had a good laugh beneath the base of Mt. Theilsen—”Stick’s” friend said it was “non-technical” and there couldn’t be a more sinister looking peak in the entire state; certainly Class 3 and above. Lunch with “Stick” and “Streak” where I had a pepperoni roll-up appetizer and tuna taco as a main. Kept a steady pace through meandering hills. Realized I’m going to hit 2,000 miles before Day 100 (what a positively gorgeous reduction) and I can’t stop smiling. Twenty a day is way better than counting chairs in a lift shack for eight hours. Crossed the Oregon high point which felt lackluster after all the trail’s had to offer, a fun milestone nonetheless. I pushed past Windigo dirt road after 6:20 P.M. and did another four, absolutely annihilating nearly 34 today and it feels great. Breakfast for dinner: a House biscuits and gravy, I still have lots of food left—oops, more tomorrow. Ha! Soaring spirits and another note from “Shocks”. Tomorrow, our trails cross.
“Sticky Fingers”.
Cowhorn Mountain, mile ~1878.
Sawtooth Mountain, mile ~1882.
August 7, Day 95
24.9 miles [1907.1]
Great sleep, got the lead out early and crushed 14.3 before 11 A.M. Finding my motivation since leaving Crater Lake has been an easy choice. Abundant water sources saw the vengeful return of mosquitoes which is kinda irksome. “Sticky” caught up to me by the afternoon and we cruised into Shelter Cove before 3 P.M. Despite having plenty of trail sustenance and picking up more, I was weak—like always—to resist real food and we split an absolutely FIRE chicken pesto pizza. I ate way too much, I haven’t hurt that bad since the AYCE buffet back at Harrah's. Waddled over to the lake, it’s gorgeous. Mountains are the purest form of escape but a large, secluded body of water does the trick. I realized kids who grew up in the Midwest and camped at lakes had a unique nature experience all their own, mountains or not. Uncomfortably stuffed my consciousness slipped like Altras on scree, it was warm and a cool breeze wafted through the shade; summer weather perfection. In my digestive haze, I met “Sassy-K” who remarked at my similarity with another hiker, then put it together and interrupted herself to mention that “Shocks” was probably looking for me. Adam is in great spirits and I’m stoked to see him. “Brownsteak” and “Conflicted” rolled in as well and all of us splayed out in the shade punch-drunk on mileage just like it was the Sierra. Everyone traded stories of Oregon-so-far. Decided it would be a rough night at the campground/resort and hoofed it back to the trail just as last light waned. Tipsy, full, and tired, we could have hiked another five but I found a good spot in less than a half-mile and everyone rejoiced. It feels good to hang with these four again.
Crescent Lake.
Breakfast snack.
New pad/old pad.
Chicken pesto pizza.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 96-99, Shelter Cove to Sisters
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 96-99 from Shelter Cove to Sisters, Oregon, mile 1,900-2,000.
August 8, Day 96
31.2 miles [1938.3]
I can’t believe I slept until 6:15 camped next to four other people and still managed to be the first one out of camp. First seven miles ahead, then I took a nice hour-long break at Maiden Peak shelter; I think I waited 30 minutes before “Brownstreak” sat down and ate a thawed microwave-burrito. It felt hard to find or make motivation, yesterday’s diet certainly did not help. Caught wind of trail magic at Charlton Lake and suddenly forgot about my sluggish woes. “Ducky”—2-for-3 on the trails—and his dad were super eccentric and holding court with at least six hikers. There were a pair of ladies, Hannah and “Sparkles” who were much more introverted and manned a grilled cheese station. I was lame and didn’t really chat much with our hosts past the usual profuse thank-yous, everything hurt and all I could see was food. Both parties were beyond well-equipped and more than a dozen hikers sat and ate to their heart’s content. I had two grilled cheese with fresh tomato and pickle toppers, Doritos and choc-chip cookies, plus a Coke and two IPAs. There were Ben and Jerry’s pints(!) but “Sticky” and I were stuffed once again and chose to split a Cherry Garcia. Pack on, waddled out, and found a pace and cranked miles out, passing dozens of scummy ponds between massive meditative lakes. Didn’t see anyone else and only two hikers passed me. Dusk set in and I thought I was behind, the trail was smooth, and I was angsty so I ran the last three in under a half-hour. It got dark and I set up—it’s officially my first night alone. It’s boring, nice, sad; I’m tired and proud. The mosquitoes at this lake are savage but I’m safe in my tent sanctuary just like everyone else.
August 9, Day 97
27.5 miles [1965.8]
All-over, a hard day. Good sleep after 10:30 P.M. once the few other late hikers settled in—looks like I didn’t camp alone after all. It also turned out camping by a lake meant no respite from mosquitoes and I packed in a constant orbit around my camp, never pausing to get bit. Hike was hard despite an easy downhill morning, I think I had strained a few ligaments on the arch of my left foot from last night’s panicked run to catch up. Thought a lot about being behind and how I just managed to reconnect with “Shocks”, I worried about being on my own once again. I thought I beat this? It was a hot afternoon and I found a decent stream in the shade which was a good excuse to wash socks and deduct 12-ounces of beer weight—I chilled it in the stream while scrubbing. Hot afternoon and being sore didn’t help. Turned out I was ahead. “Shocks” caught up and we took lunch, salmon taco, and split my other beer. The last few miles were pretty nice; South Sister is straight up epic and Mt. Jefferson looks dope—I’m ready to ski. Filled up at an extremely milky creek which filtered clear, don’t want to think about what it did to my filter. “Lost Dog” produced a quart-zip stuffed with bud from a trail angel and offered me a handful. Dinner was Velveeta salsa mac, then we set up in the meadow. “Conflicted” and “Sassy-K” said they both struggled; today’s terrain was tough and we all agreed it probably had something to do with the lack of views despite the last few spectacular miles. Out of spare power and it’s stressful, but it’ll work out. Less than 40 away from the 2K milestone—in under 100 days!
August 10, Day 98
30.1 miles [1995.1]
I must have set up on a queen mattress; the meadow grass and cold, wet air made for a glorious night of sleep. Another challenging day but the views more than made up for it; sparse, tortured trees, expansive meadows, streams and rocks, I would hike Oregon again for this stretch alone. Took a lengthy break at Sister Spring. “Conflicted” was a constant stream of gender pronoun jokes and I was nearly brought to tears with laughter; the best kind of breaks. Obsidian Falls was a nice surprise. Arrived at McKenzie Pass later in the afternoon and found a magic cache which had Doritos, Coke, and the juiciest, best peach of the entire season. Spotted “Coppertone’s” tell-tale RV and got a root beer float and took a nice sit. Nobody was stoked to figure out there were 13 more through some treacherous lava fields for a reliable camp. Found the courage to leave and struggled the entire time, each step pinched and stabbed, sharp rocks tenderized my poor feet, I would have rather walked through a pit of gnashing crocodiles. Rewarded, almost on a spiritual level, with a fiery sunset who’s rusted hues from smoke backlit ghostly, bone-white trees. It might well have been Mars. “Brownstreak” and “Shocks” caught up and we stumbled into Big Lake Youth Camp as the last bit of light vanished. I was immediately reminded of Philmont, all summer camps have a similar vibe: cute overall map, dining hall and meal hours, and someone who invariably exclaims “Hi, welcome to camp!” in a cheery and effervescent tone which borders too closely on psychosis. Directed to the “hiker area” and “Shocks” and I settled on a beach outcropping with a volleyball net. The sand feels great but I know everything will be soaked tomorrow morning. Oh well.
Mount Washington Wilderness and the Three Sisters.
North and Middle Sister.
Big Lake Youth Camp by stars.
August 11, Day 99
9.7 miles [2002.3]
As predicted, I woke up soggy on the volleyball sand near the water’s edge, a wall of low fog obscured the opposite bank of Big Lake. Huge windfall to have the hiker hut open a full hour earlier than posted. The shower I scouted yesterday was empty, no towels were hanging up, no one was loitering; I snagged the first one. Split a load of laundry, fueled up on coffee, and responded to the renter’s application. Ate at the dining hall and heard the clamoring of rowdy chow-hall kids and could feel myself drifting back to camp. I’m happy where I am but I can’t help but think about another summer, perhaps that’s always going to happen. Untoasted bagels two-ways; butter and tomato, then cream cheese and raspberry jelly followed by fresh strawberries and watermelon chunks and a side of yogurt made for a complete breakfast. Fully charged and clean, “Streak”, “Shocks”, “Conflicted”, and I headed a measly six miles to Santiam Pass, despite being offered a ride—everyone’s mood seemed to be in a hiking spirit. Crossed mile 2,000! Almost had a difficult hitch into Sisters before a pickup picked us up, I managed to konk out on the highway, wind and hair whipping me deaf in the bed. Hitch took us two miles too far which was stressful for “Conflicted” and I let him wind me up, plus it had been a few hours and miles since anyone had eaten. Found a lunch spot and had a chicken-bacon-brioche number with a 10-outta-10 habanero hot sauce (Aardvarks) and waffle fries. Used their free wifi and refilled my podcast feed. Temporarily sated, we made our last resupply for Oregon. Managed to reconnect with Sam Anderson and also got a surprise call from Pete Bergene. Hard hitch back to trail but I know now it always works out, easy to remember two beers deep dancing with my thumb outstretched on the side of a highway on a warm summer’s night.
“Brownstreak” and “Conflicted”.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 105-106 Cascade Locks and PCT Days
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 105-106, Cascade Locks, Oregon and PCT Days.
August 17, Day 105
0 miles [2146.8]
First time in my life I was up at the same time as dad in a hotel room. We went to the continental breakfast and had a nice conversation about winter living, moving, and possible future trails. Went to Multnomah Falls, it was slam-packed—a big tourist attraction—pavement everywhere, and felt busier than Yosemite in late June. Picked up a resupply at Grocery Outlet and Dollar Store. I was fairly stressed, too much coffee didn’t help, and the stores were vibrating with a raucous din. Got the essentials and repackaged. Made a detour by Bonneville hatchery and saw Smart-car-sized sturgeon. Remembered what Rinella said about anadromous and catadromous fish types, something I never would have retained in school. Swung by PCT Days for an hour and a half, there was simultaneously a lot and nothing going on, plenty of expensive gear I shouldn’t buy. Had a pint at Thunder Island and a smoked salmon spread, a reminder that tuna tacos still leave much to be desired. Checked into the hotel and went out for BBQ dinner which was bar none and hands down the best any of us had had in recent memory. Parents bought us our own room tonight. Smoked one and only joint with “Shocks”, then watched Oceans 11 and Rush Hour until well past hiker midnight. Anxiety into alleviation.
Multnomah Falls during a very busy time of year.
August 18, Day 106
4 miles [2146.8]
Today was a whirlwind of fun, I’m so glad we turned back! Another hotel continental breakfast and good conversation with fam. Packed up and drove back to Bridge of the Gods and our parents walked across with us. It’s always hard to hit the trail after a zero. Warm, humid, and with everything freshly washed, we began hiking. Got about two miles out and received two phone notifications from friends in town. Bruce was visiting and Mitchy had somehow caught up. Sat on the side of the trail fraught with indecision to keep hiking or turn around, I think we were both looking for the other to make the move. I’ll give credit to “Shocks”, we turned back and it was such a monumentally great decision. Hung out with Bruce, got free Alehouse pizza and a $2 PBR with all the other hikers who made it for Trail Days. Saw tons of acquaintances and friends including “Panda”, Darby (who informed me she accepted my offering as “Dirty” for a name), Mitchy, “Conflicted”, “Sticky”, and “Dutchie” who had miraculously received my pen parts and delivered them to me, huzzah. Drank all day, even the brewery was giving out free pints for hikers. Bought a salad and more beer for my last snack of the day. Sunset on the Columbia River was fantastic and I took my camera out until dusk. There must be 500 tents set up on the island. Going to be a hard night of sleep, but no regrets at all. A great ending to a first double-zero.
The world’s happiest pooch.
“Odin”, a US veteran.
“Sassy-K, Inchworm Sr.”
Sunset over the Columbia River, Cascade Locks.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 80-83, Mount Shasta to Etna
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 80-83 from Mount Shasta to Etna, mile 1,500-1,600.
July 23, Day 80
24.3 miles [1525.5]
Didn’t laze about in my tent in hopes of getting to the restroom before the rest of the hikers woke. “Flipper” packed while I hastily scrawled a sign to hitch out. Sounds like “Froggy” is going to do his own thing for a while too, I guess everyone needs their own time. Got picked up in less than five minutes and soon we were back on-trail. Completely sweat through my undies onto my pants, a personal swamp-ass record has been set, yesterday’s booze fest only made things worse no doubt. I was feeling good from a zero but after 20 miles all my ligaments and joints returned to their baseline dull aches. Despite the disgusting heat and slight hangover, I had a better day. In quieter moments I wondered why I didn’t hike out with “Conflicted and “TQ” and realized this was the first time I’ve let FOMO feelings creep in since starting. Don’t dwell. My pack feels heavy, I guess it always does. Is there a weight at which it won’t feel heavy? Saw “Dutchie” making camp and we decided to call it short by a few miles. “Penguin” arrived while I was making dinner. Had my usual tuna taco, this time with Doritos. Splurged on two Oreo dessert wraps. Today was just another day, don’t know why I was so worried. Big miles tomorrow, gonna crush it.
Castle Crags State Park, western face.
July 24, Day 81
30.4 miles [1555.9]
While we packed up “Dutchie” made the call to hike back to Shasta and go to the doctor for her feet. I could tell it was a hard decision, more than just hiking in the “wrong direction” for 25 miles. “Flipper”, “Penguin” and I soldiered on. Lunched hard; sipped a little vodka and got a five-minute doze. If there’s an afterlife I wish it was like Lunch. No one was stoked to make more miles after eating, still we cranked them out. NorCal’s scenery is mostly timbered views and volcanic rock, today no exception. Weather was outright enjoyable up until the last few miles before camp. Rain was imminent and I freaked out a little, this is my first day of real rain and I’m out of practice. Being wet sucks. “Flipper” invited us over to his tent (I can’t believe he’s using a Hubba Hubba) and we enjoyed family dinner at his place just as it began to come down in earnest. Each clap of thunder bolted me back to monsoon season at summer camp. We cracked the vestibule zippers and a few joints later the storm passed. It feels like I’m racing to Oregon, rightfully so, I’m beyond done with California. Thought about Adam and “Trash Bath” having fun without me which is silly. Silly and I know it. Absolutely crushed another 30, they still bring a sense of accomplishment. Furthermore, tuna tacos are still good. Thankful for lack of bugs and great friends—that’s all I need
July 25, Day 82
25.2 miles [1581.1]
Sleep felt nourishing but wakefulness came far too quick. I’m never ready for it to be over. Got my feet moving by 6:30 A.M. and it was hazy and smoky, clearing only a little by the afternoon. Water sources were plentiful, thank God. Everyone has Etna on their mind. Ran into “Shocks”, “Conflicted”, and “Trash Queen” at lunch which was a cool surprise. Dudes seemed whooped, “TQ” with bubbly spirits per usual. Broke today into three segments of eight miles—an easy day. I’ve noticed manageable chunks are now 6-8 miles when they used to be only two. Sometimes I’ll still check the map every 0.1 but I think everyone does. The sensation in my right thigh, or rather lack thereof, is becoming more concerning. The day went quickly. I’m wishing to be done and I might get my wish—slow down. There’s so much to enjoy which feels like a reminder more than a revelation. It’s been almost three months since I started at the border. NorCal has challenged me and I find myself longing for the Sierra like a dysfunctional ex.
July 26, Day 83
21.7 miles [1599.8]
Tossed and turned every few hours but slept decently. Fortunately our 18 mile hike to the lonesome Sawyers Bar Road was shaded. Popped out of the trees and saw four other hikers splayed out roadside—our group made seven. More than a half-dozen trickled in over the next half-hour, in that same time I saw only one vehicle pass by. I was slightly worried but I’ve learned there’s nothing you can do except be hopeful. Really stoked I held on to my umbrella, it was clutch while waiting for a hitch. The next two cars stopped to help which put the odds at getting a ride above a coin-flip, an unbelievable ratio. “Flipper” and I piled into the bed of a rusted-out pickup and found some squatting room among a pile of firewood, an opossum-sized live animal trap, and a few bags of trash (our company and effects excluded) and waved see-ya-laters to the remaining hikers, still I managed to doze off on the ride into Etna. Heat and winding roads are my cradle. Stopped briefly at the hiker hut to drop packs and take inventory. Ate at Dotty’s, had a patty melt on rye with stone-ground mustard and horseradish, intense flavors I haven’t tasted in weeks. I think city-Slice would give it a 10/10. Resupplied at Dollar General for a few buffer items, then walked back to the hut, it was hotter than balls. Finished repackaging my food just as “Flipper” came back to the table dripping wet, rummaging for his towel. “Sprinkler was real nice” he said while combing his beard, skin noticeably a few shades lighter. Forgot everything I knew about avoiding sprinklers and made a beeline for the stream while stripping down to my undies. I’m never paying for a shower—ever. Paid “Lionheart”, owner of the hiker hut, for a ride back to the trail. It was a glorious summer night and the weather was reminiscent of perfect late-summer baseball games, ones where the stadium lights turn on somewhere around the fourth inning. “Froggy” was camped by the road, we unfurled our ground cloths and joined him. The five of us talked past sunset until the stars began to sparkle, a slumber party I won’t soon forget.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 57-59, Sonora Pass to South Lake Tahoe
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 57-59 from Sonora Pass to South Lake Tahoe, mile 1,020-1,090.
June 30, Day 57
28.8 miles [1049.5]
Deuced, then bounced; this group is fast. Hiked the majority of the morning with “Trash Bath”, “Combo”, and “Sticky Fingers” and, much to everyone’s delight, “Brownstreak”, who had caught back up. We chugged through miles of incredible vistas, even this mountain of rocks with a lone gnarled and dead tree. Took a late lunch, borrowed needle and thread and used the opportunity to sew up the holes on my right shoulder. First rip and it nearly made it a thousand miles. “Sticky’s” friends who were in last night’s hitch have joined our group: Sarah and Kevin, who seemingly reject trail names, and “Trash Can” are all new faces from the past day. We were all chatting at lunch when a pair of JMTers or sectioners (they didn’t seem like thru-hikers) told us there was trail magic at Ebbet’s Pass ending at 7 P.M. The map said 11.9 miles away and it was a quarter to three. My new friends bolted, it was a mad dash. I didn’t stop at all except to pee twice. With two minutes to spare I stumbled over the highway, legs pulsating with small spasms. A group of hikers were lounging near a vehicle and a foldable table. There was a full-on pizza oven, a kind of ludicrous contraption you might see buried in the pages of a SkyMall, which fit over a massive portable propane camping range. I collapsed against a tree with the other hikers and tried not to look too desperate. Immediately, I overheard they were out of pizza. Sarah who must have beaten me by only five minutes shared her slice with me; I don’t think I’m capable of a gesture that benevolent. The kind family noticed us last few stragglers and told us they would “make something work”. Out of their ice chests came containers of a homemade soba noodle dish. It had cilantro, green onion, pineapple, Thai basil, cabbage, all doused in a spicy sesame sauce--the most fresh vegetables I’ve had in over a week. A moment of lucidity informed me I would’ve happily paid $26.89 for it a trendy LA fusion restaurant, already having eaten two meals of my choice that particular day. I licked my cup clean just as logs of fresh mozzarella and heirloom tomatoes were passed out. “Now who has the balsamic” I joked to the hikers, beyond satisfied at the provided bounty. “Sticky Fingers” leapt up with a mischievous and elated look, he struggled to hold back a grin. Shoulder-deep, his arm emerged triumphantly from his pack with and adorable single-serving bottle of balsamic vinegar. There was clapping. Snagged the remainder of the fresh basil and made caprese, sharing with anyone still hungry. My life feels complete. The remaining dozen or so hikers all amassed and we thanked our angels with dirty, sweaty hugs. “Your kindness can never be repaid,” I said squeezing tight, their eyes glistening and sparkling with love.
July 1, Day 58
20.6 miles [1070.1]
A sporadic crinkling of pads and tents began before the sun had risen. At some point I had acquired three packets of Folgers instant crystals, the tipping point in critical mass for achieving any type of altered state, and wiped out the straggling soba noodle from my cup and made a coffee-slurry. Reynolds and Raymond Peaks were a stunning sight and we crushed the first seven miles easy. Any moment of stillness I had was immediately filled with thoughts of the Harrah’s buffet—everyone’s going, hell “Dixie” put it on her top five. Managed to take a rare lead and hold it until lunch. I picked a spot at Lower Sunset Lake and left a note for those behind; when there’s a lake, there’s a reason to take a long lunch. Enjoyed the packet of kippers I had been saving while cold-soaking two bricks of ramen. Fruit Snacks have been a recent discovery and I must have inhaled four baggies of the little suckers. At that point the gang had arrived fully and we were all splayed out at the water’s edge, deep in lunch. A couple rolled up in their Jeep and began unloading two kayaks from the roof. They saw us, filthy and partly nude, in the shade and politely offered us water to which we politely declined. “Oh, well, in that case do you guys want some beer?” Everyone leapt up faster than I had ever seen, myself included, trying not to look too eager. Soon, a very unofficial rock-skipping competition broke out while a few joints were rotated around. “Sticky” and “TB” inflated their pads and paddled out about a hundred feet onto the lake, and with stunning success, lazily rafted. The dream had to end, we packed up and had a hilly, hot hike out, but intense mountain views were enough of a distraction. Gang got tired around 5 P.M., I was ready to hike further but opted to hang out. Had a campfire whereupon “Brownstreak” produced a two-inch cast iron pan out of his already minuscule Pa’lante. He sliced up a few fingerling potatoes and a clove of garlic, cooked it over the modest coals, dumped the whole affair into a Mountain House and passed it around. One of the rare times music seemed appropriate so I played a few bands out of my phone and everyone shared the sweets portion from their food bags. I offered up my whiskey and we all laughed until the embers slowly faded cold. My feet feel great, my muscles feel limber, I’m stoked for Tahoe and the 4th of July. And that buffet.
Mokelumne Wilderness.
Thornburg Peak and a distant Hawkins Peak, mile 1057.6
Therm-a-rest rafting.
July 2, Day 59
19.9 miles [1090.0]
“Trashcan”, the resident chief snorer and earliest-riser, made moves before 6 A.M. Carson Pass came and went, soon after we were at the information station where the kind staff provided thru-hikers with fresh cherries and ice cold Cokes. Took a few moments in the shade and people-watched at the busy Highway 88. Cranked out 15 more sticky, stagnant, sweltering miles, the buffet, part motivation and part hallucination, was the only thought on my mind. Made it to Highway 50 where we promptly split into groups and tried to hitch. I hopped in the back of a pickup with “Trash Bath” and “Combo” knowing full-well the other half of our group would catch up. Had to grab a second hitch to get closer into town. A few miles down the road, “TB” casually mentioned he was looking to re-up and our driver shot us all a knowing glance and whipped a u-turn, making a beeline for his apartment. After meeting his friendly dog and eating some normal brownies, we continued back into town, pockets full of therapeutic cookies and a fat baggy full of recovery. Gang reconvened at Taco Bell and decided we couldn’t possibly wait another day for the buffet. We headed towards the hotel and looked for a place to stealth. Directly behind the Harrah’s parking lot was a small wooded area which seemed secluded enough. With responsibilities taken care of, “TB” smoked us all out in preparation for our feast. Achieved a nearly uncomfortable level of high, I was paranoid my horrible stench was unable to mask the smell of drugs. None of us were Diamond members so we patiently waited in line, having arrived ten minutes after opening. Once the velvet rope had been lifted we hurriedly walked into the farthest region of the dining area, with the other hikers, as to draw the least amount of confused, comatose stares from the other patrons. I didn’t know what to expect but I knew I wasn’t about to load up my first plate in giddy, childish delight, slopping together whatever my lizard brain was craving. Weak. There’s one rule at a buffet: when the door’s close. After much restrained contemplation, I took a warmed plate and stood in line for prime rib, opting not to live up to my namesake when I was being served. I slowly enjoyed each jus-covered morsel, satisfied by how much it didn’t taste like tuna. Sarah was impressed by my singular first choice, her plate considerably less of a postmodern mess than “Trash Bath’s”. Red meat begged for a salad, on my second plate I heaped together as many fresh vegetables a bed of spinach and romaine would allow for and doused the whole affair in ranch which was an unbelievably nice vacation from olive oil. Having sated two of my biggest food urges (fresh meat and veg), my tastes turned ethnic and I had a wonderful chili pork stir-fry alongside a cold shrimp dish. Fairly certain I went back for another go-round, but in my binge, I can’t remember. Fifth course was dessert, I had an eclair and a handful of chocolate covered strawberries. Somehow I skipped sushi so I decided to sample their selection with my post-meal coffee. Any remaining room and/or neurosis which told me to get my money’s worth was filled with bread; empty, free calories I can get anywhere. Waddled behind the casino and set up camp. Full with a capital “F”, ready for a legendary zero.
Moon set over Elephants Back.
Carson Pass, mile 1074.9.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 1-4, Campo to Julian
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 1-4 from Campo to Julian, mile 0-80.
May 5, Day 1
20.5 miles [20.5]
I am absolutely stunned at how beautiful it all is. Met Ian and got my portrait taken, he says he'll be at the northern terminus sometime in October. Twenty minutes into our hike, we crossed the first of many milestones; mile-marker 1. It was hard not to smile. Two miles in, we double-backed into Campo for water. I later realized Hauser Creek was 15 miles away and the two liters of water I initially brought wasn't even going to last 10 miles. Saw a dozen or more hikers and found myself jumping to conclusions about their abilities. They probably knew about the lack of water sources though. Before Morena Mountain, we met “Charlie”, a weathered man on a motorbike. “You guys know you're crazy, right?” We chuckled and declined his offer for water—that lesson already learned. Adam seemed to be a wizard with Guthooks; kicking myself for not trying it out sooner. “The malt shop closes at 8 p.m., that's my goal” he said dryly as the sun was setting. At 7:59 p.m., we arrived wet and tired. Split a shake and french fries. Can't help but think this wasn't 'deserved'. Today was a butt-kicker, I've got to remember to drink more water—take care of yourself.
Adam basks in the glory of mile 1.
Railroad tracks, mile 3.
“Charlie”, somewhere near Morena Mountain.
Sunset over Lake Morena, mile 19.3.
May 6, Day 2
19 miles [39.5]
First full day on-trail! It got intensely hot quickly; tomorrow we're going to need to start earlier. A few miles in we stopped and chatted with a woman who introduced herself as “Nona From Nowhere”. She waved a bag of peanuts still in their shells at Adam and I. “You guys got names yet?” We shook our heads, smiled, and introduced our real names. “Hey Illinois, want some peanuts?” she said to Casey, the girl we'd been leapfrogging all morning. A big grin covered her face, “you know, I'm a Triple-Crowner,” she said wryly. “I angel a little bit up in Vancouver—you'll see me later.” She bid us a safe journey and we thanked her for the peanuts. The rest of the afternoon was rather uneventful. In the evening, when I went to put away my umbrella, I was stunned to find my second hiking pole was missing. It must have snagged on a branch and been stripped from my pack. My music was far too loud to have heard anything. Adam and I double-backed for more than a mile to no avail. Bummed to have lost a piece of gear so early, but I can't imagine a day when I won't need the umbrella. For now, #onepolepatrol.
“Nona from Nowhere”, has hiked all three long-distance trails in North America.
Adam near Cottonwood Canyon, mile ~24.
Kitchen road, mile 30.2.
Sunset over Troy Canyon, mile ~38.
May 7, Day 3
20 miles [59.5]
Started the morning strong with a Snickers bar. Made it to Pine Tree Lodge for some biscuits and gravy and a fresh espresso—I couldn't resist. Briefly stopped at the Mount Laguna general store; got a Budweiser and some chips. What a quaint little town. Today was also my first trail magic! At Roadside Lookout, we met Andrew and Jamie, who gave us ice-cold sodas and regaled us with stories of just how bad Scissors Crossing was going to be. Got moving after a nice long break, cool breezes made today tolerable. Filled up water and crushed the beer at Penny Pines Point; this carry has to last until Julian tomorrow—28 miles. After the sun had set, I took of my shirt for the last few miles of the day. Refreshing evening air filled the canyon as stars slowly began to appear.
Kwaaymii Point, mile 53.3.
Sunset over Granite Peak, mile 56.5.
Oriflamme Canyon sunset, mile ~57.
Sunrise trailhead campsite at night, mile 59.5.
May 8, Day 4
20.9 miles [80.4]
I'm getting better at waking up earlier; today we started hiking at 6:40 a.m. Although it seemed like there was only a few hours of tolerable hiking weather before it got insanely hot. The entire slog to Scissors Crossing was novelty-hot. My water tasted about 95 degrees. Every few miles I saw a full, unopened Lifewtr, each bottle scrawled with “the desert is a cruel bitch” in Sharpie. There were rumors of a guy who didn't carry enough water and had to turn back—apparently these bottles were his offering. Finally we made it to Scissors Crossing, I Was nervous how my fist hitch was going to pan out. Five minutes later, we were zooming into Julian with our new friend, “Monica from Santa Monica”. Hikers in town said pie couldn't be missed; but we opted for jalapenos and sausage at Romano's instead.
Near Julian, California, mile ~63.
Romano’s Pizza in Julian, California.
Dirty, blistered feet.
Hike On?
PCT 2018: Days 5-8, Julian to Mike's Place
Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers days 5-8 from Julian to Mike’s Place, mile 80-127.
May 9, Day 5
17.6 miles [98.0]
Wow, I had the hardest day. At 2 a.m. Adam woke up with an 8-10-inch long centipede under his quilt, biting him. Like a scene from a horror film, I chased that f@&*er around, dispatching it with flurry of impassioned heel-strikes. I'm not sure now how I feel about cowboy-camping anymore. Neither of us got much sleep after the event. Today's entire hike was exposed. Alien. Wind hotter than hair dryers constantly caught my umbrella, whipping my hand and head, pulling me backwards. All that would seem tolerable, but all day yesterday I had a pain in my right knee upon extension. Tonight, three miles away from camp, I paused for a breather. When I went to move, it felt like a knife had pierced my kneecap, locking my leg in place—9/10 pain. All I could think about was 'failure'. I can't let it consume me. We made an early dinner and I chugged 1,000mg of acetaminophen. Adam insisted on taking my pack for the remaining few miles. What a champ. Eat more, drink more, go slow; you must.
San Felipe Hills, California, mile ~86.
Small natural cave, mile 96.1.
May 10, Day 6
11 miles [109]
Crossed a big milestone today—mile 100. Exited Anza-Borrego and San Felipe Hills, it feels like I'm finally out of another desert. Tried to stay on top of hydration, but nonetheless, my knee hurt all day. Luckily we only planned on making it to Warner Springs—11 miles. I spent way too much time thinking about the implications of injury. Found our way to the Community Center and was surprised at what they had to offer. We both took bucket showers and laundry which were much needed. I also purchased a pair of two-ounce flip-flips which are going to be a big score for camp-life and future showers. Made a small trek to the Post Office to pick up our resupply box. Stopped at the golf course on the way back; there was a closeout sale on junk food. Score. One of the employees was clocking out; she offered us a ride back in her bitchn' 80's Tacoma.
Eagle Rock, California, mile 106.2.
Hiking through Warner Springs Meadows, mile 103.4.
Adam hitches in a pickup truck on Highway 79, mile 109.5.
A very nice Angel from Warner Springs Golf Grill.
May 11, Day 7
0 miles [109]
We took our first zero today; not stoked about needing the rest so early on. I don't think Adam wanted to stop but it's clear he's worried about me. Fortunately, we both got to sleep in due to overcast skies. I wore my puffy all day; finally a nice day in the desert. We used today's downtime to rethink gear, trying not to get sucked into social media. I bought a much needed hooded shirt from 2 Foot Adventures since my right nipple had been rubbed raw by my cheap button-up. This is a major boost in my quality of life. Adam realized his pad popped in the wake of the centipede kerfuffle, but at the end of the day, a Z Lite found it's way into the hiker box. Adam snatched it up—huge score! We also ordered odor-proof bags to store food after a rogue crow took a packet of ramen from our resupply box when I wasn't looking. Finished the day with a life-affirming footbath and ate dinner in the tent.
May 12, Day 8
18 miles [127]
Got an early start leaving Warner Springs; I can finally wake up and pack camp in under 40 minutes. The entirety of today's hike was overcast! Gorgeous Bay Area clouds blanketed the sky which kept me cool during our 18 miles of rolling hills. My knee felt much better for the first nine miles or so, but soon after, a dull and constant pain returned. Challenging. Fortunately, we stayed at Mike's Place tonight. “Off-Trail” made us feel at home by giving us beers and cooking legit wood-fired pizzas. He even offered to let us cook—Adam made a spectacular 'za. Hung out with a dozen other hikers we had seen the past week and reminisced about our short time on trail. Possible chance of rain tonight.
Leaving Warner Springs, mile 109.6.
Adam makes pizza at Mike’s Place, mile 127.0.
Lost Valley, California, mile 118.6.
Hike On?
Photoshop Tutorial: How to Edit a Portrait or Headshot Workflow
This tutorial will cover my typical post-processing workflow for a portrait or headshot using Adobe Photoshop and Bridge.
Photoshop Tutorial: Portrait Post-Processing Workflow
This tutorial will cover my typical post-processing workflow for a portrait or headshot.
Hey gang! Over the years, I’ve learned a ton of valuable information from online tutorials. Videos are more popular than ever and I watch a few each week to keep learning.
However, I started back in the days of written tutorials—’tuts’ as we called them. Perhaps I’ll make more of these (let me know in the comments), but this is #1.
For this tutorial I assume you already have a working understanding of Photoshop and Bridge. These techniques translate to other image-processing programs like Lightroom and GIMP.
NOTE: You should already be aware of adjustment layers, masks, and blending modes. This tutorial will help you perfect those techniques.
The Photo: Before and After
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The photo I have selected is Will McKinney at Clear Creek, Philmont Scout Ranch from 2016.
This portrait is typical for me, in that:
Focal length is between 50-150mm; this is at 65mm. I prefer 100mm.
One light; the sky. And the available light is fading quickly.
Bounce-fill; which happened to be the stark backside of an Area of Responsibility map. Or if you are unfamiliar with the Ranch, a 2x3’ laminated map.
Friendly Crop variations. This image looks great at 2:3 all the way to 1:1. There’s even a good landscape option in there as well.
You can check out my portfolio for more great examples of these types of portraits.
Part I: Shooting
What made this a non-typical image was its under-exposure. It’s really, really dark.
Why?
I was forced to shoot at the far-end of the settings I normally choose. You can see my camera settings just below the histogram. I knew these settings would yield the sharpest, least-noisy results possible; something I’m always striving for.
Usually I go with a soft clam-shell light at 100mm, lighting the face around f/6.3, ISO 100 and a sync-speed which drops my background -1 or -2 stops. I use the Photek Softlighter II and it’s a dream. But that didn’t fit in my backpack on this occasion.
This was shot with natural light. It was 7:30PM, and Clear Creek is nestled in the pines. There wasn’t much I could do but work quickly.
Raw image, no adjustments, straight out of camera.
‘Basic settings’ panel in Camera Raw 9.1 with no adjustments.
REMEMBER: Camera settings are not secret formulas. You’ll find your own style and flavor after practicing.
With a good pose from Will and some great luck, I got a suitable capture. I checked the LCD and saw a sharp image and an acceptable, albeit dark, exposure (no crushed blacks or clipped highlights).
Back at the computer after an exhilarating summer,
I’m ready to begin.
Part II: Camera Raw
50% zoom level; the image is sharp and noise is manageable.
After importing and selecting the file in Bridge, I open Camera Raw Editor to apply some global post-processing edits in order to get the file ready for Photoshop.
The goals of this process, for me, are:
Good exposure. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Generally a little brighter than the intended end result.
Vibrant colors. Colors are easier to select, change, and modify if they are vibrant and well-saturated. Usually my image is too colorful after this stage.
Dodge and burn. Camera Raw Editor has great gradient and brush adjustments. I find myself making a slight vignette, even though there is a panel for that as well.
(Click images to enlarge.)
Fig. 1: Camera Raw panel settings after adjustment.
Fig.2: Adjustment brushes before and after.
Fig. 1, from left to right: in the Basic panel, you can see the exposure and shadows have been greatly increased. In the H/S/L panels, I increased the color saturation, and in most cases, darkened the luminance values. In the Camera Calibration panel, the shadows have been tinted magenta, and the blue channel has been shifted slightly.
Fig. 2: Lastly, I use the Adjustment Brush (K) for any local effects. I darkened his coat and hat and changed the white balance slightly. I brightened his face, eyes, and other deep shadows above his ears. A common technique for me is to use a -50 Clarity brush to subtract contrast from less-important details. Less contrast, less eye-pull. Check out the before and after of the adjustment brush effects above.
The processed Raw image.
NOTE: After doing this process a few times—many times—you’ll begin to understand what type of file you are ultimately striving for.
I remember wanting to copy all of the edits like I was following a strict baking recipe. It’s better to think of photo editing techniques like stove-top cooking rather than baking. David Hobby of Strobist makes the analogy like adding salt to soup: season to your taste.
After a quick coffee break, I’m pleased with the outcome and ready to move on to the next step; Photoshop.
Part III: Photoshop
Open File
Photoshop is where I take care of any pixel edits, toning, and local color/contrast adjustments. It’s easy for me to get carried away with all of the options available, but follow a typical plan-of-attack.
First, I start with an Action I made. It’s pretty basic, here’s what it gives me.
A duplicate layer (Ctrl+J). It’s a great idea to work on pixel edits on a separate layer for possibly future-recovery.
Two Curve Adjustment layers, one light curve and one dark curve, each with blend modes set to ‘luminosity’, and both placed in a group. More in Step 2.
Selective Color Adjustment layer, as well as an empty layer with a blend mode set to ‘color’ (used rarely), and placed in a group.
The file is opened and a custom action is run, leaving me with five new layers in two separate groups.
Step 1) Pixel Edits
I recall a college professor saying, “every photo needs spotting”. I always start with pixel edits. No sense in fine-tuning something if physical parts of the image are going to move around.
Generally, I remove specular hot spots. I quickly zoom in and out of the image, and anything which catches my eyes I subdue or clone-out.
Will is blessed with a great complexion; I didn’t have to do much of anything for his skin.
His hat needed work. Lots of little stains and things to catch your eyes. A mixture of Patch Tool (J) and Clone Stamp (C) on the duplicate layer are perfect for small jobs like this. There was one minor bokeh flare in the top left. This was a very easy retouching job; I wish most of my images were like this.
Check out the .gif to see the effect; it’s subtle, but noticeable on the hat and coat fringe camera-right.
NOTE: This is a great reminder why it’s a good idea to nail the shot in camera; it makes your life easy.
Step 2) Curves, Light and Dark
Dodging and burning comes from the days of film. In the digital age, I have found a solution which works for me. You’ll see variants of this technique, some which preserve colors better, but I’m partial to my own method.
A Curves layer, making an aggressive curve downwards, darkening your overall image.
A Curves layer, making an aggressive curve upwards, lightening your overall image.
Invert (Ctrl+I) both masks to black to hide their effects and set each to a blend mode of Luminosity.
Any edits on these masks affect the luminance value of the pixel while preserving the hue value.
Then comes the magic. I have a Wacom Tablet, which means I can paint my effects; it’s really fun and easy. I set myself a nice soft brush, low opacity and flow (10-20% each), and begin painting white on the black masks. White reveals, black hides.
This is what my ‘Darks 1” layer looks like.
This is what my ‘Lights 1” layer looks like. The eyes are most noticeable.
NOTE: The more aggressive your curves adjustment, the more sensitive and lightly you have to paint on the masks. 50% opacity on a brush with a steep curve like the one shown above will yield very heavy, obvious results. Build up the effect with light, low-flow brushstrokes.
Sometimes, I start zoomed out and attack big areas with a large, soft brush. Sometimes I start zoomed in with a small, hard brush and paint in fine details. It depends on the type of image. I spend double the amount of time darkening my images as I do brightening them as evidenced by photos above. Most of the time this entire step takes between 5-30 minutes.
Step 2.5) Additional Lighting Layers
If I am unsatisfied with the results from the step above, I'll add additional luminance adjustments. These are usually targeted Curve Adjustments which I paint in with my tablet.
In particular, I felt this image needed:
A masked Curve layer to darken his capote (coat), set to Luminosity blend mode.
A masked Curve layer to darken his hat.
An Exposure Adjustment, brightening the overall image. (Not shown).
This layer darkens his hat
This layer darkens his coat.
Here’s the effect of all the lighting layers.
That’s a big chunk of work. Time to move on to color toning.
Step 3) Selective Color adjustment Layer
Next, I move on to the Selective Color Adjustment. This affects the overall tone as well as individual colors.
How does it work? The ‘Colors’ flyout menu offers the user a selection of nine ranges for adjustment; six color and three luminance. Each of those is broken down into 4 sliders; Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, Black—CMYK.
Subtracting a value adds the color’s inverse (kinda). So, the inverse of Cyan, Magenta, Yelow is; Red, Green, Blue. I’ll exclude K/Black since this controls the luminance value (sorta).
Let’s look at the upper left panel, ‘Blacks’. Using the logic above, you can see that while Cyan has been subtracted, Magenta and Yellow have been been added.
Selective Color Adjustment options (Magenta not shown) and their edits.
The effects of Selective Color Adjustment.
NOTE: This will make more sense if you just play around with the sliders. Be brave. Start with ‘Neutrals’; it will be easier to see what effect the changes have on your overall image.
Take a look at the .gif above. You can see an overall shift increasing red/magenta and a decrease of cyan.
Step 3.5) Additional Color Layers
Just like step 2.5 above, if I’m not satisfied with the Selective Color Adjustment, I’ll add additional color tweaks in the forms of Hue/Saturation and Curve Adjustment layers.
I made four major adjustments:
A Hue/Saturation layer to darken and de-saturate his red shirt.
A Curve layer for the green cast on his hat.
Two layers to correct skin tone:
Hue/Saturation layer to shift the reds in his face more orange, and desaturate slightly.
Curve layer tweaking the final skin tone; less blue in the shadows, more red in the highlights.
A global Curve as a final color toning layer (before/after .gif is shown).
1. Hue/Saturation layer for the red shirt.
2. Curve layer to tweak his hat.
3. Here’s the before and after effect of both layers.
4. A Curves Adjustment adds yellow to the midtones and highlights, and adds cyan to the shadows.
The bulk of the work is done. Time for a few finishing touches.
Step 4) Final Lighting
Sometimes, I’ll add another round of ‘Darks’ and ‘Lights’, which usually contributes a subtle vignette effect. This particular image seemed to need the moodier light, so I kept going.
I added two Curve Adjustments, one to lighten and one to darken (sound familiar?), see photos below. Both layer’s blend modes are set to Normal.
A final darkening curve layer.
A final lightening curve layer.
Before and after of the final lighting layers.
We’re in the homestretch.
Step 5) Sharpening, Saving, and Exporting
After finishing my cold coffee, it’s time to save, export, and share my work. Here’s the general process I have for sharing to social media:
Image Size; 1200 pixels at 72 dpi is perfectly fine for most anything online. If I want to post to Instagram, I’ll save a version at 1080 pixels wide.
I find for downscaling, bilinear interpolation (the last menu at the bottom) works the best at preserving sharp details without looking crunchy.
Smart Sharpen; a radius of 0.4-1.1 pixels with an amount from 50-110 percent is usually what I end up choosing.
Save for Web; JPEG, with a Quality setting that gets the file below 500K. (Not shown).
This means I’ll always have the original file at it’s largest dimension in case I need to make prints or any adjustments in the future.
Image Size dialogue box.
Smart Sharpen dialogue box.
the final image:
Final edit.
And that’s my workflow for editing a portrait or headshot.
I really hope this helps some photographers and Photoshopers out there. I remember learning how all of the tools worked for a program, but not knowing how to use them to get what I wanted. Seeing other creator’s processes was vitally important in finding my own artistic style.
I hope this helps!
Thanks!
Well gang, hope you enjoyed.
If you have questions, ask in the comment section below. I promise to respond and if I get enough similar questions I’ll make another tutorial.
Let me know what you liked and please share with a friend.
The Road Trip Day 1: Barefoot in Monterey
6:37a.m.; I beat my alarm clock by three minutes. A softly rising sun streamed through my bedroom window while I quickly dressed. Coffee brewed and poured...
Pacific Coast Highway, California
May 7, 2015
6:37a.m.; I beat my alarm clock by three minutes.
A softly rising sun streamed through my bedroom window while I quickly dressed. Coffee brewed and poured, and with a few more weepy goodbyes from my parents, we piled in the car and headed off.
Opting for the scenic route, we chose to drive along California's famous highway, the Pacific Coast Highway, or as hip locals say, “the P-C-H, dude”. Miles evaporated while excitement and tunes freely flowed throughout our vehicle.
Lunch time sped up on us.
Pizza lunch on a table in San Louis Obispo, California.
After a quick reference from Yelp, we pulled off the highway and headed for Pizza Solo in San Louis Obispo. We opted for a bacon, chicken, and pepperoni pie. #treatyourbodylikeatemple. It got snarfed down immediately.
Back on the road.
We headed further North. With Los Angeles a considerable distance in the rear-view mirror, heavier and darker clouds began to permeate the sky.
After another hour and a half, it was time to get out, stretch our legs, and check out the beach.
A peaceful moment at Arroyo Laguna State Beach.
It was a spectacular afternoon.
This is the first time I have ever traveled along the PCH. California natives, mostly retirees, regularly discuss driving its entire length.
There was no shortage of amazing coastal scenes. Mile after mile of winding and soothing coastline filled the windows.
Here's an excerpt from my journal:
“The [trees] looked a lot like snarled Bristlecone pines. Dunes and mountains were covered in colorful native brush. Steel blues, muted mustards, and olive grasses adorned the rolling hills. The entire time, hugged by the crushing ocean—jagged rocks breaking through the madly frothing surface of sapphire and turquoise foam.”
Another hour of winding and cruising later, about 70 miles before our hotel, we made one more stop.
There weren't any signs, but there was a large pull-off area on the opposite shoulder. We parked, hopped out, and inspected our surroundings.
What a scene to be rewarded with.
The three of us silently stood still and enjoyed a cool sea breeze. A gentle rumble of breaking waves below us kept an even tempo.
Carter gently reminded us we still had a bit farther to go.
A unique erosion control method.
We arrived at our hotel just as it stopped sprinkling. After a quick unpacking, we went downstairs seeking dinner recommendations. The lobby had complimentary wine and cheese.
Dinner options were within walking distance. Not soon after setting out, my homemade moccasins were thoroughly soaked from the soggy pavement.
I removed them. Socks too. The concrete was cool and wet.
We continued searching for something other than pizza.
Hey, want a ride?
Turn it around:
Stick your thumb out:
The Road Trip Day 2: Foggy Mountain Monoliths
Woke up with yesterday's cloudy skies still hanging around. The coastal air was crisp. We packed up and drove with the windows...
Yosemite National Park, California
May 8, 2015
I woke up to yesterday's cloudy skies still hanging around. The coastal air was crisp.
We packed up and drove with the windows down. Today's journey was less than 200 miles and we had a camping reservation. The goal was to head out early, take our time, and enjoy the views.
Slowly, we gained in elevation. The temperature kept dropping.
Welcome to Fish Camp.
It was cloudy and ominous all day.
Upon arrival at Mariposa Grove, we were surprised to find at least three inches of snow on the ground. Water dripped from the trees, plunking loudly on our car's roof. We each took turns peering through the sunroof watching large droplets splash on the glass.
We got out and took a walk.
It was cold!
Yesterday's overcast delight spoiled me. I hope I brought enough warm clothes for the entire trip.
Caleb Jennings enjoying the cool air at Mariposa Grove.
With temperatures hovering in the mid 30's, there was talk of finding an alternate plan. We were not prepared to camp in the snow.
The decision was to find and rent a room for the next two nights. After all, we are on a vacation.
Headed to Tunnel View via Wawona Tunnel.
After exiting the park, we found a room with a reasonable rate. Camping would have been rough; my sleeping bag is only rated to 20 degrees.
Dinner was Mountain House pasta primavera and a generous glass of whiskey. I lost two cribbage games.
Tomorrow's plan is to hike the Mist Trail.
Hey, want a ride?
Turn it around:
Stick your thumb out:
Summer 100: #11-20
The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our...
Summer 100: #11-20
11/100
The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our last full free-day for several weeks, we hastily threw on civvies, piled into the minivan, and barreled down highway 64 towards ever-popular Taos. The twisting mountain road snaked ahead of and behind me for miles. We rounded a corner and a sweeping view of Mt. Baldy reveals a fresh coat of snow from last night's storm atop its usually stark 12,441' peak; an unfamiliar sight. Our gasoline-powered DJ booth sped onward. The traffic sign seems to be more omen than warning.
12/100
Exiting the winding mountainous road from Angel Fire, we descend into Taos valley, stopping at everyone's favorite pizza joint for some much needed lunch. We chatter and joke, anxious for our Program Counselors who will be arriving tomorrow en masse, bringing with them the start of a second full week of training. First aid training, astronomy training, ATV training, our waitress asks for my order and I am pulled back into the conversation. A warm and quenching summer breeze floats lazily through the cottonwoods, cooling my damp forehead. Our afternoon's grub arrives – pizza, pesto, porter – perfection.
13/100
With a forceful yank, I relieve my sweaty skull from the confines of my glossy black full-face helmet. Our first four hours of ATV training is proving exceptionally challenging and the unyielding sun's rays are not making our lessons any easier. Lunch break arrives and we start the long retreat back to the Dining Hall. My breathable pants *zip-zip* against my ankles while my camera collides with my kidney in-step. A small scurrying raisin/creature grabs my attention. I stooped down to discover this little guy trying to seek refuge from my lumbering shadow. He crawled into the dense grass and proceeded emulate “pebble” with great results. Gingerly with a twig, I coaxed him from his grassy enclosure. Exposed, he froze, most likely admiring his own reflection in my lens two inches away, granting me a few moments for a portrait session. The meatball sub had a hard time matching my level of satisfaction for nailing the shot.
14/100
I feel myself start spiraling into a pit of paperwork, angst, and laundry. It is far too late to be awake. The omnipresent sodium vapor lights bathe everything in a sickly shade of orange. Jittery, I decide to check on the stars and go for a walk to calm my nerves. So far, it seems 75% of the time I look up at the sky, there are clouds, tonight being no different. Distant light from the small town of Springer feebly beams back towards the cosmos. I shuffle back towards the confines of my tent and try to forget about the lack of time and the abundance of paperwork which lies ahead of me.
15/100
The low, scraping afternoon sun begins to set after our second full day of ATV training; only two more days remain before we earn our instructor status. My staff this year mostly consist of first years, my buddy Jimmy being the exception, who worked with me for a few weeks back in 2011 because of the fire closures. Reunited, we are stoked to spend the summer with each other and deliver awesome program. Having someone who understands you and anticipates your next move is a valuable asset to have. As Jimmy and I walk back to the mess hall, we joke about the coming summer. "We're gonna kill it", he says. I agree. Bring it on.
16/100
In a blur, the second training week passes and we find ourselves loading up the suburbans with our worldly possessions en route to Zastrow, our home for this summer. We arrive and I hop out of the vehicle and survey my vast new land; there is much to explore. For now, we must unpack and clean. Everything. After a few hours tackling the kitchen, I take a water-in\water-out break. On my way to find a rock, my eye catches the glimmer of a winged bug. He was sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the path; something didn't feel quite right. I reach for a stick, the tried and true method, and give it the gentlest of pokes. Slowly, he wiggles his limbs. I timidly pick up the stoned bug with the stick and transport him to greener and safer pastures for a little rest. I retreat to do my business and when I return, he is no longer there. Making friends on day one.
17/100
I grab one of my staff, Gordon, and we leave on a small two mile hike to set up our Geocaching course. Although several days have passed since our arrival, the newness of camp has yet to wear off. The diversity of the flora at Zastrow is some of the most unique I have seen across the entire Ranch. We finish hiding a cache and our course leads us to a vista overlooking our entire home. We admire the view for a minute and head down the gully into a shaded patch of old pines. The ground is dense and sponge-like with compacted and decaying needles. I see a branch with a rotted out knot and notice a Gambel oak leaf nestled comfortably inside; something about it seems oddly poetic. I set a waypoint in the GPS. I must return.
18/100
Break-time ends and we leave the grove of trees. Our GPS units take us back out into the open, back out under the sun. The scenery begins changing again as we find ourselves scrambling up the side of an arid rocky hill. The pines and cottonwoods are gone, replaced by creosote bushes and rocky mountain juniper. The hill is very steep now and I turn my attention to the ground. A cactus! Not just one, but dozens of petite, ankle-sized cacti hide all around. Some species are even flowering. I make a mental note to warn all future Croc-wearers who wish to complete the course. Forests and deserts, what next?
19/100
The sun and temperature have both reached their peaks as we finish hiding the tenth and final cache and start our return trip back to the cabin. In a small wash, I notice a bit of blue winking back at me amid the coarse gravel. Crispy like thin jerky, I find an expired Sagebrush lizard who's once brilliant azure stripes have now quickly begun losing their luster under the harsh light. I stand back up and brush the impacted grit from my fleshy kneecaps and jog to catch up with Gordon. A lone cloud lazily drifts by in the late afternoon heat. Hopefully it brings company.
20/100
A dark and ominous gray has been swirling above camp for the last few hours. I put a few paces between me and the cabin, drinking in my surroundings. There's a coolness to the air and the wind has started to shift directions, as evidenced by the flagpoles. Down the road I notice a few visiting staff hiking-in to visit. Their timing appeared to be perfect; there's definitely a storm a brewin'. Our warning is over and a few drops begin hitting me on my scalp. The New Mexico rain is cold, bringing with it hailstones which increase in size before our eyes. The thunderous assault on the tin roof is deafening as the hailstones reach the size of Brussels sprouts. Tree limbs crack and fall under the unrelenting force, a river of water is now surging through our road. As suddenly as it came, the skies finally cease and we race out from under the safety of our porch. My province has been covered in stunning white - limited edition. Jessica and I quickly hurry to the bridge, anxious to see what camp looks like on the other side. The Rayado has grown nearly half a foot during the intense 15 minute storm.
Summer 100: #31-40
Our road winds to an end and, from across the meadow, I spot a familiar quaint cabin. Nestled at the foot of the tree line in a spacious meadow, Urraca is one of 35 staffed backcountry camps on...
Summer 100: #31-40
31/100
Our road winds to an end and, from across the meadow, I spot a familiar quaint cabin. Nestled at the foot of the tree line in a spacious meadow, Urraca is one of 35 staffed backcountry camps on the Ranch, offering a challenge course and infamous evening campfire. We reach the cabin and packs are quickly dropped, boots are extracted, swings are swung, and cookies are eaten. My sweaty clothes attempt to dry while I swing back and forth. I notice their Camp Director, Jake, heading for the campfire ring, the sun beginning to set over the mesa. He epitomizes camp-staff spirit, wearing garish sweaters and responding to silly questions in equally silly voices, his positive attitude is force to be reckoned with. The show begins and I grab a seat in the front row with my back to the fire warming my still slightly damp shirt. Seems the sweater thing is practical too.
32/100
The show comes to a close and the scouts pack up and head back to their campsites, for many of these weary traveler's bedtimes have been surpassed. For the staff, however, the night is young and quiet. I grab my jacket and head over to the storage shack where the rest of the staff has started to convene out in front. Cookies and cigarettes are being passed around in some sort of ironic attempt to negate the copious clean air and constant exercise. Silently, we scan the sky, searching for shooting stars and satellites. The milky way beams down upon us; a Cheshire Cat grin. A warm glow emanates from the local town of Cimarron, we are less than three miles away from civilization. I crunch on some stale cookies and recall I was helping raise the flags earlier today. A distant memory becoming rewritten by time and miles.
33/100
The air and ground have gone cold, drugging us with slumber. Most of the staff have decided to turn in for the night, some still buzzing back and forth between the cabin and their tents, caught in bedtime ritual. The last light disappears behind a canvas flap and the three of us remaining take out our sleeping bags and make our way to the cabin to bed down for the evening. My tried and true plan of borrowing a pad has backfired due to the amount of guests; not an inch of free foam for miles. Painfully, I lay my bony waist and shoulders on the wooden floor. Suddenly, I am not sleepy anymore and I sense the other two aren't going to sleep for a while either. Beyond the tin roof, stars deftly streak by while we feverishly talk about camp politics and future positions. Running out of steam, the calm of sleep beings to wash over me and my comrades. I attempt to reflect on my first free day as I feel my eyelids droop with insurmountable weight.
34/100
I wake feeling far more refreshed than I had anticipated. The sun has just barely risen over the mesa, compelling me to start packing my gear. A quick breakfast of strawberry Pop-Tarts warmed in cowboy coffee is scarfed down before we bolt. Our goal is to make it back to basecamp before 8:15 A.M., before the select few vehicles departing into different regions of the backcountry leave the dock and are gone for the day. Boots on, we smoothly and efficiently sail down yesterday's struggle, stopping only to shed warmer outer layers. I notice a caterpillar rapidly inching through the unprotected dirt, long wiry tufts wildly sprouting all over his miniature body. I smirk and figure we are ahead of schedule for early birds. The trail starts to become wider and flatter as we press onward. We are getting close.
35/100
The four of us make it back to our parked cars in record time, still on-target to intercept the suburbans in basecamp. I make it to the dock and join up with some other recreating staffers who are planning on bumming a ride which loops through the camps in 'central country', the middle of the Ranch. I find out the driver for today's run is Stephen, one of four Backcountry Managers. He is one of my superiors and thankfully aggressively friendly. I jump at the open spare seat, knowing the ride will be nothing short of an experience. The doors slam, low gear is engaged, and we take off like Indy's Jeep, bumping, rattling, and crashing through narrow and winding dirt roads while popular 90's Disney soundtrack songs are played at eleven. I find myself sitting next to the CD of French Henry; Corey , a man with an intensity which marathons and ice hockey cannot satisfy. I poke my head and arms out of the window and enjoy the cool mountain air rushing over me. This certainly beats hiking up steep hills.
36/100
Having made all but one delivery, the nearly empty suburban crashes toward our last camp on the schedule; Crater Lake. Nestled between Fowler Mesa and Trail Peak lies this hospitable logging camp set in the early 1900's. I met up with John to see how the summer was treating him. From the cabin we survey the lake, it is nearly the fullest it has been in three years; hopefully an indication the subsiding drought. The air is cool from the altitude, the warm sun bursts through patches in the dense puffy clouds. Although our meeting is brief, his casual demeanor tells me everything is going well. I make a mental note to pass along the positive sentiment to the CD who will most likely be at the bar tonight along with everyone else. The suburban's few passengers and I climb in and continue back towards basecamp, our excursion close to ending. It's looking like I might even have some time to take a shower today.
37/100
The breaking sun hits my tent wall waking me instantly. Begrudgingly, I throw on my uniform and shuffle off towards the dining hall. I walk in, politely turning down familiar warm gruel from the kind and chipper staffers, making a beeline for the fresh fruit cart. I sit down at a table with a few people I recognize and hear them calmly talking about their plans for the day. Discussions of “a real breakfast, Taos, and The Gorge” pique my curiosity, and I inquire about any open seats. Fortunately there are a few and we plan to reconvene in just little over half an hour. I quickly bus my dishes, retreating to my tent to change into my civvies and grab my essentials. Wallet and sunglasses, jacket and camera, my pre-flight check is completed and I exit my tent once again. While en route to the parking lot, I spy a few white poppies sunning themselves. Not being a morning person, my last full free day has thankfully started off well.
38/100
Bellies full of huevos rancheros and sopapillas, we leave the greasy spoon and pile back into the minivan. Our next stop is Earthships Taos, completely sustainable and eco-friendly homes intended to minimize if not eliminate man's dependence on local utilities and fossil fuels. We pay the admittance fee and take a very short self-guided tour through the magnificent structure made for the public. Most of the science and intriguing machinery which keeps the place running is kept behind closed doors with polite “Staff Only” signs. We exit and find a few houses in various stages of being built and put on our best impressions of “politely-curious tourists” to sneak a bit closer. Rammed-earth walls dense with balding tires and aluminum cans stacked in haphazard patterns seem to be the building material of choice in most of the structures. Trash sits in neatly organized piles waiting to have its purpose recognized.
39/100
The gang continues to inspect the roof and my attention drifts to the horizon and its contours. Walking down the steep embankment of tamped dirt, I wander out past the parked cars and trash collection heaps. The western face of Wheeler Peak distantly looms while dust devils errantly spiral into a vast cloud-covered sky. Grasshoppers loudly crack and snap, drunkenly flying from one bush to another. A warm breeze flows through my damp button up, nudging me and the group back into our van. Chatter about “The Gorge” continues to build; thankfully our next stop shall put an end to my curiosity.
40/100
A massive bridge spans a gaping chasm as the sun shimmers and glints in a muddy ribbon of water far below us. I feel very silly when I realize we are at the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. Parking the car, we venture out onto the magnificent steel and concrete arch. Suddenly, I become acutely aware at the lack of substantial railing between stable ground and dangerous void. My palms immediately begin sweating. Knowing that I am safe, I sit down, hang my head and feet between the bars and try to erase the bridge from my mind. Thousands upon thousands of years of evolution is responsible for the dryness in my mouth and the queasiness in my stomach. I remind myself of the simple fact I have never been scared of heights, but my subconscious isn't fooled. It seems my fear is rooted in the nothingness.
Summer 100: #41-50
Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant...
Summer 100: #41-50
41/100
Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant memorials; it becomes increasingly obvious the bridge has had a history with suicide. Firmly, I grab the waist-high railing and peer over the edge, it looks to be over 500 feet. I immediately remember a time when I dove off a mere 15-foot cliff into moving water. Time took forever. I notice my friends taking their own moments of reflection and angst. Thankfully, the herds of geriatric tourists clutter at the edge of the bridge's span, their fears granting us an unadulterated experience of the abyss.
42/100
Large cumulonimbus clouds heavy with rain have been forming all day. Looming, they begin to overtake the sun; the red gorge walls cease casting harsh shadows, giving us an entirely new view. I spot a distant shopping cart camouflaged among the rocks and remember the nearest grocery store must be over ten miles away. Nearly a two hour drive from camp and with rain imminent, we decide to leave early and enjoy the scenic route home. Before heading for the car, I stop and take in the grandeur a final time, planting myself at the vertical intersection of river and bridge. A modern-day solution for a stream crossing. The wind begins to gust and the temperature drops another five degrees; time to go.
43/100
Our winding descent back to basecamp flies by, the late afternoon sun lights up the valley. The journey ends and we pull up to the dirt parking lot and try to find an open space in a sea of dusty second-hands. We meet up with some more friends who are in the process of making dinner plans. A few more people begin trickle in while a few others toss a Frisbee back and forth. Sean, the Camp Director of Whiteman Vega, mumbles something about “later”, as he tinkers inside his currently non-operational leviathan truck. Car trouble is always a hassle, but when the nearest parts shop is an 80 mile round-trip away, fixing things becomes a headache. The sun has begun to set and I know he won't be too far behind us.
44/100
Jumping in the cars once again, we venture into Cimarron for another meal out; a new barbecue joint has recently opened up in town. We cruise, windows down, along the four-mile straight stretch of road, it is the main access in and out of the Ranch. Wind loudly whips through my hair and ears while setting sun-rays bathe the car and mountains in warmth. Nicole, the Camp Director at Fish Camp, has graciously volunteered to be our sober driver for the evening, a favor and chore any good staffer will reciprocate. Surprisingly, in our numerous years of shared tenure, this is the first time we have hung out socially. I suddenly realize the car is full of people who fit the same description. Most of us have to be at back at our respective camps the following afternoon. However tonight, we celebrate; our camps haven't burned down...yet.
45/100
We pull up along the familiar stretch of town in search of this new barbecue joint aptly referred to as “Smokehouse”. Quickly spotting it, I can't help but notice this is the third restaurant in five years to occupy the same space. Still, my hopes remain high. We park, place our orders, and wander out to the patio to wait and relax. The food and mosquitoes begin to arrive. Paperwork is bemoaned. Sauces are ranked. Days-off recounted. We finish and all give each other a knowing and silent nod; it is time for the bar. All satisfied to have found another eatery, we exit. Looking up, I notice the store adjacent to where we parked, Buffalo Nickel, bares a sign with their painted name and date, 1909. The mortar and stone have definitely seen more than three restaurant changes.
46/100
Plopping down atop the small table kept on the porch, I scan my hot and dusty territory. Camp operations functioned smoothly during my leave of absence, however, a few staff members haven't been getting along entirely well. Their recent flare-up has given me a unique challenge to sort out and I take some time to process. A small scout with legs black from sweat and dirt quietly rummages through the swap box, a receptacle for trading unopened and unused food. Camp is unusually calm for such a warm afternoon, perhaps crews destined for us have decided to take an extended lunch break. Noticing a small scurrying dot on the long concrete slab, I swat away buzzing flies and get down to examine close-up; eight eyes stare back at me. Although not yet large enough to tackle our overwhelming fly problem, I sweep my new friend to safety. Fortunately, my code only allows me to kill things which have wings and legs with a value greater than two.
47/100
I awake to the clamoring sounds of departing crews on our porch. Their combined excitement, boots, and brotherhood before 7 a.m. are far too raucous without sufficient waking up. Postponing my coffee ritual, I quickly throw on my whiffy 4-day-old shirt and tattered Arborwears and take off for the quiet ATV course. Unexpectedly, the entire landscape is overcast, gray with moisture. Heavy, cool air clings to my jacket while dew sparkles and glints; nature's chandelier. Every leaf, flower, and blade of grass is covered in damp stillness. The silence I so desperately crave has finally greeted me. Good morning.
48/100
Finishing my walk, I pause at the fence line to catch my breath before descending into camp. I glance at my watch; everyone should be awake and functioning, but past experiences tell me I need to double-check. The newness of camp has definitely started to wear off, June gloom is upon me. I make my way back towards the cabin and try to work out a few more ideas to help my staff get along better. Coach, chef, cheerleader, counselor; these are some of the many job requirements I find myself needing on a daily basis. Entering the kitchen, I notice a few staff members absent. Grabbing an apron, I offer eggs to those who are hungry. It's time for a change.
49/100
Crews come and go as does cloudy mornings and rainy afternoons. It seems like I blinked and July has arrived, the last six days have been long and similar. Last week's moth-in-ear-canal and today's first ATV crew are major events my mind strings together in some sort of surreal movie storyboard. Our two ATV Specialists, John and Jimmy, grab as many chest protectors as they can and prepare to head up to the course in order to instruct our first group who just arrived. I know they are as nervous as I am, but I reassure them today is going to be a fun test to prove what they already know. They disappear past the bridge and I return to a half-dozen new crews and unfilled forms which need my attention. I wish I could debrief them about how the course went, but my meeting on the 4th has forced me to leave camp a day earlier than I had planned. Eight miles of steady uphill lie ahead of me, monsoon season has just arrived and getting caught in a storm is not ideal. Camp remained intact during my last set of days and I know the same will be true for this set. My staff have started to become more confident and I don't think it's my imagination.
50/100
Once again, I am awoken by overly zealous scouters. I lie swaddled in my sleeping bag, fearing to move my limbs. In my haste to leave camp yesterday, I neglected to bring any water or snacks. Today, I should be a veritable Tin Man. Fish Camp's double hung windows emit a dim blueish glow and I sit up to have a look outside. It's completely socked in! Slowly, I get up and dress myself and wander into the kitchen and attempt to find something to eat. Nicole confirms our departure time, the goal is to head into basecamp via Phillips Junction to meet up with a few other CD's. I decide to take a walk around camp to try and warm up my aching bones; the weather is far too inviting and mysterious to hitch a ride back to base. I walk along the Rayado, in between aspen and yarrow, my knees and back begin to loosen. The stillness is invigorating.
Summer 100: #51-60
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular...
Summer 100: #51-60
51/100
Setting off into cool morning air, our day's journey begins as we walk down the road's narrow, furrowed lanes. I am quite familiar with this particular road, having hiked it many times throughout my years spent on the Ranch, but I have never witnessed it like this before. Fog is a rare treat during the summer months and I struggle to contain my excitement. Looming pines glare down upon us, their boughs and trunks disappear into gray murkiness. Dense, moist silence amplifies the babbling Rayado and crunching gravel beneath our boots. Each crest and fork holds the possibility of an entirely new landscape. I sense our destination is getting close, but in this light, how can I really be sure?
52/100
Continuing along the hazy highway, my mind drifts and quickly I find myself obsessing about tomorrow's conclave. Throughout the summer, there are two mandatory all-day meetings Camp Directors and Backcountry Managers attend, our first one is tomorrow. Undeniably I am destined for hard plastic and cold florescence. Less than thrilled, I set my sights on celebrating Independence Day the day after, surely this will keep me motivated. I trudge onward, not even having reached Phillips Junction and already I have flipped my decision on accepting a ride; yesterday's water-bottle incident continues to teach my tendons new lessons. Hydrate, or, well...
53/100
I take another swig from my Dr. Pepper and Wild Turkey, excusing myself from one of today's many barrel races; yesterday's meeting feels like a hallucination. Opting out of unsavory and crowded bathrooms, I wander past our parked cars and into the adjacent school's baseball field. Styrofoam cups and tumble weeds collect in overgrown dugouts, this dugout being no different. Hot, noon-day sun beats down upon me, occasionally interrupted for a gentle, warm breeze which floats through the rodeo grounds. Fourth of July is shaping up to be a spectacular day!
54/100
After a quick detour through the food booth, I make my way back to my uncomfortably angular bleacher seat, chili dog in hand. Pickle-flavored sunflower seeds and kettle corn flow freely while our section cheers during the ensuing cattle roping event. Yips of “c'mon now!” and loud whistles emanate from the grandstands. Evening plans are quickly and effortlessly hashed out; the annual fireworks show over Eagle Nest Lake is a crowd favorite and not to be missed. And there's always the bar on way home. Blissfully, we chat away our afternoon in shade from the awnings, occasionally glancing up at the massive blue expanse. Who needs a beach?
55/100
The vast majority of backcountry staff are busy at their respective camps, however, plenty of staff who work from basecamp have a flexible afternoon and can attend the rodeo. Next to me is Jamie, an old friend who has continuously worked in Health Lodge, now called Infirmary due to some important legislature. I remember back to 2011, she was fortunately at camp and helped administer first aid to my index finger when I stupidly sliced it wide open with my pocket knife. In 2012, we both sat front row at the very same rodeo and snapped photos of the Mutton Busting event. Last year, she visited camp frequently to shoot guns, bake cookies in our wood-burner, and transport altitude sickness cases. This year, a group of us have plans to see a show at Red Rocks, an experience which has been on my checklist for quiet some time. I look around, stories and anecdotes of people I know unfold before me like a virtual pop-up book. Standing, we applaud the rider who just took a nasty fall; Jamie looks relieved to be off-duty.
56/100
I begin to take notice of some of the locals and realize my wardrobe is woefully ill-prepared. Shiny belt buckles and alligator shoes equally compliment coordinated pearl snaps and Stetson's. Grizzled, weather-beaten cowboys sit between cheering and supportive rodeo moms; young teens can be spotted canoodling in the extremities of the bleachers while fifth and sixth graders rope and wrestle each other in front of the grandstands. The Maverick Club Rodeo has been ongoing for over 90 years and it looks as though the entire town is here to show their support.
57/100
I sink my rear into the footwell of the bleachers, back resting against the rigid metal seating; it has always felt more comfortable to sit this way. Reaching for my empty beverage after already having tested its lack of fullness several times, I realize my afternoon has blown by, similar to the clouds which we had all watched earlier. Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the event. Pounding hooves and powerful whinnies can be made out over the chatting crowd and rambunctious children. And if I concentrate, even a whistling lasso or two can be heard.
58/100
Helping to bridge the gap between Backcountry and Ranger departments are Ranger Trainers, or RT. They have numerous responsibilities, but being a Liaison for a camp is a universally agreed upon perk of the job. I have known Stuart for a few summers and this year he is our Liaison. Whether in uniform or not, high-waisted shorts and Chacos seem to be a personal requirement. Taking advantage of Zastrow's accessibility, he has visited a few times; checking in with our staff and always making a point to discuss photography and cameras.
59/100
We park our car on the shoulder of a familiar mountain road and gather our blankets and jackets during waning moments of dusk. A winding trail of car lights slowly descend into Eagle Nest; one of the few places to see a fireworks show. Munching on chips and Twizzlers, we joke and laugh the remaining light away. A solitary flash and distant bang alerts us to the show's arrival. Two years ago, I remember seeing the fireworks explode directly over the water; its receded bank a visual testament of continued drought. Bruce Springsteen crackles over a distant cell phone speaker. Conditions may change, but the ritual is still just as familiar as it ever was.
60/100
Already another week has elapsed at Zastrow. Program has been functioning smoothly, only one day of rain has soured dutch oven cobbler-cooking. Our greatly anticipated National Inspection team was here yesterday; nothing of demerit stood out which we took for success. I even managed to squeeze in a concert at Red Rocks last night to celebrate, thanks in part to my flexible staff. Camp is momentarily empty during part of our evening program and I take advantage of this brief silence to appreciate the “blood-moon”. Its radiant orange hues slowly turn to a familiar bright yellow, as if ingesting all available light while it ascends. I transport myself to last night's saga, remembering it even watched over us while we were “collapsing and screaming at the moon”.
Summer 100: #61-70
I sit down at my cluttered desk after showering by lantern; it had been a few days since my last. Paperwork, letters, camera gear, shards of...
Summer 100: #61-70
61/100
I sit down at my cluttered desk after showering by lantern; it had been a few days since my last. Paperwork, letters, camera gear, shards of information constantly migrate on its surface, always in some state of disarray. I organize it in the mornings, but by nightfall, my hard work has seemingly been negated. I invert my headlamp into my water bottle and distance myself from the oil lantern. Although each room is fully-equipped with electric lights, a blessing and a curse, I find the constant thunking of moths against florescent tubes rather irritating. Under a bluish glow, I attempt to pen a few more letters, finally finding myself starting to relax. My days off are just around the corner once again; I make a mental note to make more notes for my staff during my leave. Already, two moths have invaded and drown in my bottle; perhaps it's time to go to sleep.
62/100
Efficiently, I pack my backpack and bolt for Jimmy's car only after thanking him profusely for its use. Although driving will save me roughly 25 miles, my slapdash and incomplete plan involves a fair amount of hiking during “danger hour”; monsoon season is currently in full-swing, especially during late afternoon. I make decent time on paved highway and carefully roll through a few miles of washboard road. Cloudy skies above me don't look promising, but regardless, I park at Ponil's parking lot and start walking. Miraculously the weather holds as I arrive at Pueblano, and as if on schedule, so does the downpour, washing away any desire I had to continue onward. I decide to spend the night, fortunately I know a few of the staffers. Sam and I worked in the same vicinity last summer, our paths crossed a few times. He shows me the work which went into cleaning their once musty and dusty tie shack; it looks great.
63/100
Set in 1914, Pueblano is one of two logging camps which offers spar-pole climbing, something which I still have yet to do. Although the rain has passed and clear skies prevail, perhaps there will be better weather next time- typical New Mexico. Jacob and I catch up on how our summer's are panning out. For the last few seasons, he worked in the Ranger Department and we chat about the transition to Backcountry. Everything seems to be going well, despite mid-summer cabin-fever. Loggerball, like baseball in reverse, is just about to start; staff are infamous for having an untarnished record against campers. He tries to recruit me for their evening game, but earlier, I had strategically offered to cook dinner for camp. Definitely a spectator sport.
64/100
Beneath my head the floor rumbles, a familiar sound of clamoring boots jolts me awake. A quick glance out a dusty screened window tells me dawn on my first full day has already broken. Three...two...one...a half...counting down silently, I force myself to sit up and begin packing; my daily schedule manifests with each piece of gear stowed away. Nearly finished, I scrounge around, finding my usual provision of strawberry Pop Tarts. I venture outside to warm my bones in the sun and begin aggressively hydrating. Along the river bank, tall grass droops under the weight of morning dew. Another gorgeous day, huzzah.
65/100
My last bite of breakfast disappears as I venture towards the staff tents to begin lacing up my boots. I find Patrick doing the same, getting ready to relieve a fellow staffer from early spar-poles; today was his rotation to sleep in. My staff have asked for a similar schedule despite already having one of the latest wake-up times for a backcountry camp. The South Ponil Creek quietly hums in the background while we sip our coffee. Strapping on my pack, I stow my cup and bid the magnanimous musical men farewell before quickly cross-referencing my map. I have not taken this trail - I am not going to get stuck in the rain.
66/100
Although not steep, the trail steadily gains altitude. Up, up, up, I feel as though I should be nearing my destination. My silent prayers seemingly answered, the trail crests and before it sprawls a familiar looking meadow. Miranda's trade tent is a distant white speck, dwarfed by the foothills of Mt. Baldy. I summited the 12,441' peak in 2012 and take a moment to lean against a rock, attempting to absorb some of the grandeur. A knot of excitement forms in my stomach as I reminisce over the difficulties and stupid choices which went into climbing Baldy, or for that matter any mountain. I remember my unlikely hiking buddies and how we randomly met. I remember not bringing enough food or water I remember trying to outrun dark and ominous storm clouds while quickly plunge-stepping down loose boulders. I think would do it again. Maybe next year. Maybe.
67/100
Large, puffy clouds float East high above the expansive meadow; it seems as though today's afternoon storm has passed by. A few other visiting staff and I sit and talk inside the dimly lit cabin, calmly enjoying our lack of responsibilities and current emergencies. After a hearty meal of stew and fresh baked bread, the evening's activities are ready to commence. Everyone makes their way down into the meadow as the sun begins to dip below the contour line. Three teams are efficiently split up while rules are briefly discussed. Five bases are pointed out and home rock is flipped to determine first team up to bat. When the rock drops, madness ensues; let the games begin! I may not have been able to keep all of the rules straight, but one thing remained clear from their game-ending chant: neighboring camps who request meat products better not be harboring any vegetarians.
68/100
Sunrise happens much too early at Miranda. I fumble dumbly, finding my wristwatch under a sock; the time reads 6:24. It's supposed to be my day off. I awake inside the cabin to find a few people already sweeping and convince myself to begin dressing. As I begin to pack, I remember making plans with Carter to hike today. First, I decide to investigate a large grove of aspens along their meadow while the low morning light illuminates the pale trunks. Wild flowers, large saplings, fallen trees, everything is drenched in dew, even my pants and spare pair of shoes. Up ahead, I hear him chuckling and pointing to his monstrous custom moccasins, a muzzle-loader over one shoulder. “Totally worth it”, he proclaims; a sentiment I slowly find myself agreeing with on many different levels.
69/100
The learning curve for throwing a 'hawk firmly into your target is steeper than expected and staff spend a fair amount of time sharpening the ever-dulling blades. Frequently inside the cabin, a rough scraping noise emits from rusty files being drawn across tomahawk heads. I find Nick at the dining table utilizing a spare fifteen minutes to stay ahead on maintaining program supplies. For mountain men, everything seems to be about preparation. A well-oiled gun, sharp tomahawk, sturdy shoes, each item needs to be in top shape for tracking down big game. I see a crew awaiting instruction from the porch; he doesn't hesitate in sticking his first throw.
70/100
Each consecutive summer I work, I recognize fewer and fewer staff who started the same year I did. I remember the day I met Karl; it was the last week of summer and he had been transferred to our camp, helping us prepare to close down. Now, down at the end of their long and greasy table, I see him unfolding a small swatch of cloth and gesturing for me to join him. I sit down opposite of him and notice a few stacks of numberless cards, dried meat, and a rather large tomahawk. He quickly glosses over the rules; there's a twinkle in his eye. I have always known Karl to be a bit mischievous. I cautiously decide to play along.
Karl Hubbard Miranda Philmont Scout Ranch Cimarron New Mexico.
About the Blog
Justin Kernes is a photographer and writer who thrives in the great outdoors.
From 2010-2017, he worked in the backcountry at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
In 2018 “Tiny Slice” successfully thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
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Photos and stories from my thru-hike of the PCT. This post covers day 111, Goat Rocks and my 30th birthday.