Trail Report: Black Butte

Heading north on I-5, just as Mt. Shasta comes into view, there is something that looks a bit like a massive pile of dirt in comparison.

{via}

Turns out, this pile of dirt (which also happens to be a volcano that last erupted an estimated 10,000 years ago) has a trail that leads to its summit, from which you are awarded with fantastic views of both Mt. Shasta and Mt. Eddy. Mr. Petite Peaker and I chose this less-traveled hike for the tail end of our trip to the northeastern part of the state. (I'm doing circles around Mt. Shasta. Some day, I'll do the magnificent fourteener itself.)

This a short but steep trail, kept in the moderate range because it is only about 2.5 miles each way. For the first 1.5 miles or so, it will seem like you are slowly winding your way around the mountain, almost making an uphill spiral. Once Shasta is behind you, Eddy will come into view. Just as you start to wind back around, the trail turns steeply and becomes a series of switchbacks on the Shasta side of the mountain for the last mile or so. There are parts of this portion of the trail that could be called a class 2 rock scramble, though for the most part I'd label this hike "class 1 annoying." Make sure your ankles are strong and your footing is sure! (Also: avoid if you are an arachnophobe.)

One of the smoother parts of the trail, with a snow-covered Mt. Eddy in the background
(and a shorter peak on Black Butte)

At the summit, there is the foundation of what used to be a more complete fire lookout tower, long since airlifted away. The views are breathtaking, though the graffiti made me a bit sad. Leave only footprints, people. Leave only footprints.

Mt. Shasta

The final approach with Mr. Petite Peaker ahead of me

Yes, that's a 420 smiley face with a joint - we missed the memo

Trail Report: Mist Trail After A Snowstorm

A couple weeks ago Yosemite National Park announced that the Mist Trail had opened. With our current drought, this early opening wasn't too surprising - and I was thrilled! I could see via the webcams that both Half Dome and Clouds Rest still had snow on them, and I was eager to make my way to the top of one of these iconic landmarks and photograph the remnants of winter. (Yes, the John Muir Trail could have been an option earlier in the season, but nothing beats the scenery along the Mist.)

We planned our day hike and were set to go when the heavens opened up and dumped much-needed water and snow on the Bay Area and Yosemite. We opted to go anyway, but we had to alter our plan. For starters, rain and snow plus freezing temperatures meant that the Mist would be treacherous in the dark with potential ice-covered stone steps, so we had to scratch our plan to start from the trailhead before 5AM. We also didn't know what we would find higher up on the trail, so with the later leaving time and the unknown trail conditions, we had to resign ourselves to a plan to hike to the top of Vernal Fall, Nevada Fall, and ultimately into Little Yosemite Valley - but no Half Dome or Clouds Rest. I'm a weekend warrior and had to allow enough time at the end of our hike to drive home and get enough rest before work the next day.

Without the stress of needing to make it to the top of Half Dome or Clouds Rest, I found myself really enjoying this hike and taking time to stop and smell the roses - or, in this case, stop and enjoy the snow.

Along the only paved part of the trail, from trailhead to the Vernal Fall footbridge

Yosemite Fall from the bend in the trail

Oh my goodness. We left the trailhead around 7AM and were immediately greeted by an almost unfamiliar landscape, despite having done this trail more times than I care to count now. It is an entirely different experience after a snowstorm!

Mr. Petite Peaker crossing the Vernal Fall footbridge - and making fresh footprints!

Though the change of scenery was surprising, what was perhaps more so was the quiet. For our entire hike to the top of Vernal, we didn't run into a single hiker - completely unheard of for this trail! I'm not sure you could plan this time of solitude along the Mist Trail. Above Vernal we ran into a grand total of five backpackers before stopping for lunch in Little Yosemite Valley.

Vernal Fall makes its majestic appearance

The rising sun peeking through the trees at the top of Vernal

The steps up to the top of Vernal were a little icy but not any more slippery than they are when the waterfall is at its height. We made our way up and then continued along the Mist Trail to the top of Nevada.

Putting fresh footprints on the Nevada Fall footbridge and marveling at the back of a bright and snowy Half Dome showing us a sliver of its top

We seemed to be ascending with the sun! If you are familiar with how difficult some of those Nevada Fall steps are, you may think they seem even more difficult in the snow (and you'd be right).

Top of Nevada Fall

Sadly, after we lunched in Little Yosemite Valley, we opted to return via the John Muir Trail. This was a decision I knew we would have to make as we were ascending the tricky area to the top of Nevada, but goodness knows I still wanted to cry when Mr. Petite Peaker uttered those three words, "John Muir Trail." Though we plan on thru-hiking all 215 miles of it, I am not a fan of the JMT in this area. One blogger (I wish I remembered which one) likened taking the JMT instead of the Mist on the way down as "sacrificing your toes for the sake of your knees," which feels pretty accurate to me. 

That being said, the JMT was significantly easier on the toes since it was snow covered. And, there can be no question that the best views of Nevada Fall are from the JMT. 

Nevada Fall from the JMT

When we returned to the junction with the Mist, we found that rangers had closed down the Mist due to treacherous conditions. Also on our descent, we ran into many, many hikers on their way up the JMT to the top of either Vernal or Nevada, so we considered ourselves blessed to have left so early when the Mist was still open, the snow was still unmelted, and the trail was serenely devoid of other hikers.

We arrived at the junction to find our path up, the Mist Trail, closed - and the trees along it had totally shed their snow!

Right back where we started from: the Vernal Fall footbridge, some six hours after we started on this adventure, had replaced its snow with tourists

This was an amazing hike. I was reminded of the words of John Muir, who said that "In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks." We planned this trip seeking to stand atop Clouds Rest; what we received instead was a blissful hike through familiar places made brand new to us. If ever you have the chance to hike through Yosemite after a snowstorm, don't pass it up!

Success, Redefined.

I just finished reading Learning to Breathe by Alison Wright. While the book itself wasn't my favorite, Alison's remarkable story of recovery after experiencing what should have been a fatal accident is gripping at times, and she gleans some great lessons from her tragedy. Among her words of wisdom, this one probably screamed at me the loudest. I hope you find some inspiration from it, too.

Click on image to enlarge

Trail Report: Kilimanjaro (Part 2)

I promise in Part 3 I'll get to the actual hiking experience, but I thought it was worth one more pre-climb post!

Arriving at the Kilimanjaro airport was a somewhat odd experience. It's actually a very small airport that accommodates huge international flights, mostly filled with hikers and safari-goers. Getting through the airport to our driver, Muslim, was a little chaotic!

On our first full day in Tanzania, Muslim picked us up around 10 in the morning and took is to meet Muhammad, the head of our hiking outfitter. What a huge hearted man! He told us of his daughter, who was born with a mitochondrial disorder. He would like to someday open a center for special needs children as there are currently no resources for parents like him in Tanzania.

Muhammad told us that the most important thing to leave Tanzania with isn't memories of the safari or the mountain, but gratitude for the infrastructure of our home country. Things like public restrooms, paved roads, and safe sidewalks are things that we take for granted but need to appreciate. Their presence ranges from inconsistent to nonexistent in Tanzania.

I thought of the difference between impoverishment and deprivation. I think surely Westerners must come to East Africa and take in what they label to be an impoverished society, when maybe the society is just deprived of many of the things that we claim we cannot live without. Maybe we are deprived, too - of things that the East Africans have - and we don't realize it. Maybe it is possible for both of us to be rich, and it has nothing to do with what we own and everything to do with what we have. I'm coming to learn that these two things are very different.

Women carrying bananas into Moshi to sell

Trail Report: Kilimanjaro (Part 1)

We returned from Tanzania about a week ago and my head is still spinning from the surreality of it all. I want to vomit some of these words up (because that's what it will be - vomited words, not graceful or lovely at all) before I lose them entirely, so here it goes.

Sometimes the biggest part of the journey is in the "getting there."

I am deathly afraid of flying. I couldn't even think about any mountains until I got through 24 hours' worth of flights. But oh, how strange life is sometimes.

On the longest leg of the flight, Los Angeles to Amsterdam, I was seated next to a young Jesuit priest from France.

Now, I have been to mass before. But this was my first up-close encounter with a be-collared priest. God does have a sense of humor!

Gregory was very friendly, wanting to communicate (probably to practice his English). He thought my name was Josephine. He made some niceties in English when I sat down, but I was feeling ill from the thought of what was to come. I am not a friendly flyer.

He spent the flight meticulously studying English over his laptop, entering words into a spreadsheet and reading their definitions carefully. But he was learning words like wholesome and rote, words that may be useful on paper but fail to roll off the tongue in everyday speech. I continued to look at his computer screen as he moved on to "truism" but he must have felt the weight of my eyes for he turned to me and said,

Josephine, ça va?

And I tell him I'm okay, but I don't tell him what I'm thinking: I'm better because your presence is strangely comforting. Because I know that "presence" and "comforting" are not on his carefully typed English spreadsheet as of yet.

And I drift peacefully to sleep.

Eventually I awake and he is eager to engage in more conversation. I learn that he has been in the Bay Area (and then Los Angeles) learning about the people, and in particular, evangelicals. (This makes me chuckle.) But something he said struck a cord with me. Little did I know how important it would be to carry this with me to Tanzania (and beyond):

Loneliness is the greatest poverty.

I was impressed with this string of English words, obviously contemplated as heavily as their content would suggest. He was speaking of his time in San Francisco, among the homelessness. But he wasn't speaking of their lack of material possessions. Gregory's eyes took on a sad expression and he repeated,

There is no poverty like that which comes from loneliness.

In Tanzania, I learned to look at poverty differently. I learned to avoid dismissing the people as "impoverished" by the standards of my First World, privileged existence. I learned that Kipling is alive and well when maybe he'd best be forgotten.

Where is Kilimanjaro in all of this? Closer and farther away than you might think. Stay tuned for Part 2 :)

10 Tips for Successfully Hiking Mt. Kilimanjaro

As one of the Seven Summits, Mt. Kilimanjaro is a very popular destination for mountain enthusiasts worldwide. It is the tallest mountain in Africa at 19,340 feet and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world. I was fortunate enough to be able to reach the summit recently. If you are preparing for the mountain, here are some tips, perhaps a few that are beyond those typically mentioned in guidebooks.

1. Know yourself. More specifically, know your weaknesses and prepare accordingly. Are your hands prone to getting cold? Then go ahead and invest in the warmest gloves available. Does the monotony of putting one foot in front of the other daily for 6-7 hours straight drive you mad? Then splurge on that solar charger so you can listen to music or audiobooks every day you're on the mountain. You'll be glad you did. This hike is tough enough without experiencing avoidable problems.

2. Flex those psychological muscles. You've probably been preparing your body physically for months, but it is nearly as important to prepare your mind. One think I would recommend is doing a six-hour hike starting at midnight. When Mr. Petite Peaker and I did this last year with Yosemite's Half Dome, I was shocked at how much more difficult it was. Obviously, the physical demands didn't change (aside from how the cooler temperatures impacted our bodies), but the mental challenge of just walking steadily up without seeing any of the scenery was enormous. Summit day on Kilimanjaro is torturous partially because of the darkness, but well worth it. Just be prepared.

3. Do your squats. There are no proper toilets on the mountain, and regardless of what route you take, you'll be on it a minimum of five days. If you take the Marangu route, you'll be using outhouses and holes in the ground and you'll be stepping through human feces in order to reach the place where you assume the squatting position. It is not a nice feeling to be stepping in feces and then feel your legs start to quiver in protest and threaten to give out on you. Be comfortable with the position and with using the great outdoors. (And my goodness, do try to aim!)

4. Water is oxygen. Well, not exactly. But drinking a lot of it can help prevent acute mountain sickness, or AMS. At the same time, you will most likely tire of it (and the flavor might be a bit strange). Bring drink mix packets to break up the monotony.

5. Don't hide your symptoms from your guides. They have done this trip dozens of times or more and they are truly experts. Many have been educated at a mountaineering school and all of them know the dangers of AMS, which can be life-threatening. Don't worry; they aren't going to force you to turn around if you have a small headache. It is in their best interest for you to make it. But let's be honest. People die on Kilimanjaro. Fortunately, it isn't often, but the day I summitted, a man died of heart failure trying to make the climb. Porters tried desperately to resuscitate him, to no avail. We saw another man being carried down on a stretcher and another one being carried by piggyback by a porter who was running as fast as he could down the mountain. These three events happened within a span of two days. This mountain is no joke. Take your symptoms seriously, tell your guides about them, and let the experts determine the degree of seriousness.

6. Define your own success. Reaching Uhuru may be your goal, but it isn't the only way to succeed. Reaching Horombo or Kibo is a fantastic accomplishment. Making it to Gilman's Point or Stella is a tremendous feat. And let me tell you something: As someone who is terrified of flying, my success story was written when I boarded a plane to Tanzania.

7. Know that the weather is unpredictable. Like most people who do the climb, I went during the dry season. Because the first vegetation zone you'll hike through is rainforest, I did have wet weather gear - but not enough. I wasn't expecting to get rained on in the moorland or trudge through mud in the alpine desert. I wasn't expecting a blizzard at the summit or a meter of snow to be dumped on Kibo. I got by fine without gaiters but could have used some additional socks and another pair of waterproof (not water resistant!) rain pants. My Ahnu snow boots worked well for the entire hike, and because they are taller than traditional hiking boots, my legs were better protected.

8. Protect your body's largest organ: your skin. The equatorial sun can burn you badly, and though it probably goes without saying, it doesn't matter whether it's cloudy or not. And as you ascend and the atmosphere thins, there's nothing to protect you from the worst sunburn of your life if you didn't self-protect by slathering on the SPFs. Likewise, if it is windy and cold at the summit, you will get a nasty windburn. (Ask me how I know.) A balaclava to protect your face while traveling through the snow is a must.

9. Pole, pole: Never hurry on Kilimanjaro. You'll probably hear the command "pole, pole" ("slowly, slowly") from your guide incessantly. It will probably be an easy command to follow at high elevations (when I heard this said to me during the final summit push I merely gasped, "Oh, don't worry!"), but you need to apply this mantra at lower elevations and on flatter areas as well. If you tire yourself out before the hard stuff, you'll lessen your chances of making it to the top.

10. Don't go from airport to trailhead. Most packages allow you the option of adding a safari either before or after your climb. I highly recommend doing this, and doing it upon arrival and before your climb. While you could be adventurous and do a camping safari (sleeping near ravenous lions! go you!), the rest and relaxation that a driving safari offers is a good way to recuperate from a long flight (24 hours in my case) and see more of Tanzania. Remember: Tanzania is more than a mountain. It is a beautiful country with many tribes and languages and cultures. Re-train your Western eyes to avoid judging "pastoral" as "impoverished." A French priest who sat next to me on the plane to Amsterdam (yes, God has a sense of humor) told me that loneliness is the greatest poverty of all. The Tanzanian people are (at least the ones I encountered) warm, welcoming, and persistently in the company of others. Don't insult the culture by seeing the mountain and not the people. Take time to enjoy the people before trekking up a pile of earth.

Trail Report: Mt. Eddy

We are definitely in the midst of the hiking off-season, when high-elevation treks are generally impossible without ice axes and crampons. Since we have also had a very dry run in California, though, I thought it might be worthwhile to see if there were any modest peaks that might be possible to bag (without technical equipment) in preparation for our Kilimanjaro climb next month.

Enter Mt. Eddy, the highest peak of the Trinity Mountains in the Klamath range. This mountain is typically ignored in favor of its more famous (and impressive) neighbors, Mt. Shasta (the highest peak in the California portion of the Cascade range) and Mt. Lassen (the first peak over 10,000 feet that Mr. Petite Peaker and I bagged!), but at 9,025 feet, I thought it just might be doable in the (as-of-yet) drought conditions of this winter.

I found relatively little information about the Eddy hike online, and nothing about current conditions. Calls to Shasta-Trinity National Forest went unanswered. The Wikipedia entry for Eddy mentions "heavy snowfall," but when I researched the Mt. Shasta Ski Park, I found that it is currently closed due to lack of snow. So we packed our day packs in hopeful anticipation of a ten-mile hike and started our four-hour drive at 5:00 AM.

I pulled to the side of the road while on I-5 at dawn to capture the sky and the incredible formations of the migrating Canadian geese.

To reach the trailhead from I-5N (we were traveling from the San Francisco area), exit Edgewood-Gazelle (exit 751) and turn left onto Stewart Springs Road. The road was a little bit icy, but it was nothing compared to the ice and slush that awaited after we turned right onto Forest Road 17. (This is the road we were trying to contact the National Forest about; it can be closed in the winter due to icy or snowy conditions and such a closure would have made our trek impossible.) Continue uphill on this road for about ten miles to the trailhead.

At the trailhead, a Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) sign marks the trail, though there is no mention of Mt. Eddy. Head toward Dead Fall Lakes.

The easy first portion of the trail, headed toward Dead Fall Lakes.

The trail was an easy three miles to the first of the lakes, which was completely frozen and looked great for ice skating. We ran into three couples who were doing a loop around the lake; they then headed back and we ran into no one else on our way to the summit or on our return trip.

After passing by two more lakes (also frozen) higher up and several icy/snowy patches, we came across the summit trail junction (the first mention of Mt. Eddy) and made our final ascent. If I were to label the first three miles of this hike as "easy," I would categorize the remaining two to the summit as "moderately difficult," though I may have felt differently if there were no ice. There are frustrating switchbacks at the end, at a point where it looks like you could just jog straight up to the summit - but it's steeper than it looks, and I have no doubt that the switchbacks are helpful.

Mr. Petite Peaker throwing stones on the second frozen lake; yes, it's really solid!

The third and final frozen lake we encountered, with the summit in view.

Don't get discouraged at this point; though the summit looks to be a long way, it's less than two miles from here.

The first mention of Mt. Eddy. Shortly after this point, you'll reach the switchbacks of the final stretch.

The summit of Mt. Eddy was cold and windy, but snow free. (Snow could be seen on other parts of the summit ridge.) The view of Mt. Shasta was absolutely stunning, perhaps even more so because you don't get this view from the trail at all - you have to set foot on the summit for the tremendous payoff.

With our backs to Mt. Shasta, looking out at the ridge from the summit of Mt. Eddy.

That view!

Mr. Petite Peaker found the summit marker after I had given up hope that we'd find it.

Though stunning, Mt. Shasta also made me sad. It should not be so dry in January. We need some major snow and rain to come our way in the next few months!

Two musts for a great hiking trip: an incredible view and an even more incredible trekking partner.

The five-mile return trip to the trailhead was pleasant (though it felt long), and all in all this was a very worthwhile day trip and hike, especially at a time when there is little snow and my lungs were craving some heavy use.

Hello, 2014

We said goodbye to an incredible year and are looking forward to whatever 2014 may hold.

As the sun sets on another year, what are you looking forward to in the one that is to come?
(Photo taken from Muir Beach in Marin County, California on January 1, 2014)

I'm not big on resolutions (who keeps them, anyway?) but I do love the feeling of starting anew and thinking about goals for the next year. None of my wish list items for 2014 are material; they are all adventures. Some are already booked and on the calendar (we are headed to Tanzania to hike Mt. Kilimanjaro in February!) and some are awaiting warmer weather (Mt. Elbert and Telluride's Krogerata, both in Colorado and therefore conceivable road trips, are pretty high up on my list).

But I am reminded, time and time again, that beauty is in my own backyard, too. Whether you live in California (like I do) or Wyoming or Turkmenistan or anywhere else on this incredible planet, you need only open your eyes to take in the loveliness of nature.

And along those lines, more than any peak that I'd like to bag in 2014, I'd like to achieve more loveliness within. As I strive to spread more love to those around me and in my different spheres (home, work, play), I hope that this blog can be a place of inspiration and encouragement for any who may stumble upon it.

Wishing you 365 days of love, laughter, and beautiful landscapes.  

From the Muir Beach Overlook