Building Momentum

After many days of slowly climbing, we split off from our friend Brian in Mt. Laguna and continued on back into the desert. Here we found some of our first great payoffs from the days of climbing. As we came down out of the Laguna mountains, we overlooked Coyote canyon, a massive desert basin define by many colors of rock. As we continued through the heat we were encountered by a mother and her daughter passing out fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies to hikers. Never has a cookie tasted so good.

The following morning we witnessed one of the best sunrises to date, slowly illuminating the magnitude of the basin below. Energized by by the sunrise, we made a good 15mi to Rodriguez Spur. By the time we arrived the wind was blowing very hard and it was difficult to set up camp. We quickly made dinner and went to bed, but with sustained winds of 30mph no one was comfortable. As our tarp does not provide a closed shelter, we were subject to blowing sand the whole night through. Never have I unintentionally eaten so much dirt. Our tarp sounded like it was being beaten by a baseball bat all night long, so by the time morning rolled around, no one was anxious to get up.  The wind was still blowing, but we broke camp and made 8mi to scissors crossing. Nearby we took shelter at the Stage coach RV park. For a small fee we secured a shelter out of the wind with 6 other people. The "Gard Shak" was little more than a glorified shed with four cotts inside, but it was safe from the wind. We all slept like babies and hit the trail late the next morning once the wind died down.

Going into another dry stretch, we carried ample water despite rumors of a water cache 14mi in. As we wrapped around the hills of San Felipe, we found those rumors to be true after a long day of hiking. We camped near the cache and prepared for another long day.

By morning the wind was picking up again, but we made 5mi before stopping for coffee and breakfast. After another 4mi, we hit the 100 mile marker, something everyone was excited about. A mile down the road and we took our lunch siesta in the shade of live oaks at Barrel springs. After our siesta, we pushed on to Eagle rock 5mi further. Without a doubt this formation of stone resembles a bird of prey. After an 18 mile day we made camp just outside of Warner Springs, where our first resupply awaits. Here we will enjoy our first zero day of the trip so far, 109 miles under our belts.

The First 40 - Rediscovering the Art of the Siesta

Our family dropped us off early in the morning at the Mexican border. After a good breakfast, we began hiking around 8:00am. We started with a strong pace despite our heavy packs, upwards of 3mph. Our friend Brian decided to join us for the first four days as well. Bringing along a ukulele, he would serenade us as we took breaks in whatever shade we could find. At the time the heat of the day set in, we found ourselves in an area that had been burned in 2010 leaving no relief from the sun. After a 5mi stretch, we jumped on the first piece of shade that we found and did not move for several hours. As we rehydrated and ate our lunch, many hikers passed us by and joined us in the shade, lured by the sound of the ukulele. After the heat began to pass, we were able to hike a few more miles, where we found good shade underneath large oak trees. Upon reaching the shade, we threw down our packs, rolled out our pads, and fell asleep. An 11mi day under our belts, we did not wake until 5:00pm. At this time we began walking around, and found a good place to camp for the evening.

As there were no reliable water sources for the first 20 miles, despite challenging terrain with considerable elevational gain, we had to conserve water. We ate dried granola for breakfast the next morning, and began hiking around 7. Soon the heat began to set back in, and the 12L of water we had packed were running low. As the heat intensified our pace slackened, but we kept moving forward towards the thought of more water. Breaks became more frequent, and by the 8th mile I was showing signs of heat exhaustion. The last mile came ever so slowly, despite being downhill. As we wandered out of the high desert into the town of Morena lake, at the first site of a faucet we dropped our packs and began drinking. As we slowly recooperated over the next 4 hours, we watched as dozens of hikers slowly emerged from the desert, equally beaten by the sun. A 75 year old crusty character named Hiker Bill secured a few campsites and began taking in all the delerious hikers. As the afternoon progressed, we met humans from all over the world, Germany, Canada, Brazil, Norway & Switzerland. Despite the celebration of life, everyone was tucked in by 8:00.

Learning lessons froms day's past, we woke up the next morning at 4:30 and began hiking by 6 with extra water. By 9, we reached Boulder Oaks campground at 6mi. Still being early in the day, we decided to push on to the next campground that we heard was 4 miles further. By noon we had hiked over that, with no shade or campground in sight. Finally we stopped, set up the tarp and made shade. Three other humans joined us, taking up every inch of available shelter. By 3:30 we we're hiking again and made the last couple miles down to Cibbits campground.

Day 4 we woke up equally early and began hiking in the dark. Watching the sunrise as we began climbing mount Laguna was an excellent way to start the day. By 11 we hit the town, the first re-supply for many hikers. A town of 60 people, Mount Laguna also supports an outfitter where many dissaatified hikers buy more gear. As the next nine miles are off limits for camping, we will sleep here tonight and push off for a longer day tomorrow.

 Cheers from the trail!
Andy & Amanda

Cross Country Beginnings

The time has arrived. Hundreds of pounds of food, months of constantly dehydrating, planning, and organizing have led up to this. Tomorrow we set out on the 2,600 mile walk that will take us from Mexico to Canada. We've re-packed everything a dozen times, argued over what was needed and what wasn't. Soon we'll figure out the hard way. With a fully loaded pack, stocked with food for 10+ days, water and fuel, my pack comes in at around 70lb, Amanda's at 55lb. Together we carry around 40lb of food, 12 litres of water. We could carry less, if we planned to re-supply more frequently, but we've opted for 10 day / 200 mile intervals. While 20 miles a day may seem ambitious, hiking will soon become our primary form of entertainment, a way to pass the long days. With this in mind, we hope to achieve 20 mile days by the end of our second week.

We will be updating our blog on a regular basis, but we also greatly anticipate the solitude of the Sierra's. With this in mind, updates may be sparse at times, but it should only indicate that we are in the great company of pinacles and canyons, rivers and deserts. We will also be carrying a satellite beacon which will upload our current position to a live and public map. The link can be found on the right hand side of our blog. Feel free to leave comments along the way, they are always welcome as this will be one of our only means of communication with life off of the trail. I hope you enjoy everything to come as much as we do.

Cheers!
Andy & Amanda

Canyon Country - The Santa Catalina Mountains

Constantly teased by the appeal of the warm dry desert, as we moved back to Arizona to continue our training, we thought we'd take advantage of our surplus time to traverse the Santa Catalina Mountains outside Tucson Arizona. Starting off at prison camp just above Molino Basin, it was already hot despite our early start. We set off towards Sycamore Reservoir, sparkling and flowing fast in the sun. In that shady cottonwood canyon we ran into many day hikers taking retreat from the heat. Continuing down the Arizona Trail, we crossed canyon after canyon, making our way towards Hutch's pool. After catching our breath for a minute by the deep water, we continued up toward Romero Pass, eventually making camp in the scrub oak forest that meanders up with the creek. As we made camp, we spotted a few Coues Deer and a Cotamundi coming down for water. With the sound of moving water nearby, we slept like rocks, a 9 mile day under our belts. The next morning, we took a close look at the topo map and had to make some serious decisions. Our three day trip was quickly turning into a two day trip at our current pace. So we decided to take a brief side trip up the backside of Window Peak (about 6 miles round trip), revealing magnificent views of cathedral rocks, and eventually, the city below. As we approached the peak from the North facing slope, we hiked through decent snow pack, up to 15" in places, always a treat in the desert. After enjoying our new perspective on where we've been and where we were headed, we skipped back down to our personal wilderness, only to climb up to Romero Pass; here we split with the Arizona trail, as it headed North up the ridge to Mt. Lemon, and we dropped down the other side of the pass into our next canyon. The trail here was very ill-kept, at times a glorified drainage, wandering through thorny plants and downed trees, making another hard-won four miles before reaching Romero Pools. We hit the pools at sunset, providing for a glorious scene, as the strange light reflected off the fast moving pools. We made dinner in the remaining light, exhausted from a long day over summits and passes, 14 miles in all.  Normally a popular spot, we were lucky enough to pass that entire evening and morning without any human visitors.  With no trees obstructing our view, we had an unbelievable view of the stars before watching the full moon came up and falling asleep. The next morning, after a leisurely stretch and breakfast, we completed the 3 remaining miles to the Catalina state park trailhead. Winter never felt so good.

Enchanted Valley

Over thanksgiving break we departed for the east fork of the Quinault river in the southwestern region of the Olympic national park. Unfortunately when we arrived, we discovered that the road leading into the valley had been closed adding an extra 5 miles (one way) to the trail head. We departed on foot anyway, and landed at the campground just before the trail head. With the sun going down, and freezing temperatures imminent (lows in the 20's all week) we realized our cooking stove was still in Olympia; a beautiful moment for all to cherish. We hunkered down, ate our no-cook food and decided we best hike out in the morning. After all, starting a fire in a frozen (and recently flooded) rain forest is a difficult task. Hiking out in the morning we were lucky enough to sneak up on a very large bobcat, who couldn't hear us over the sound of the river beside us. We slowly followed him up the road, and then watched as he climbed down the river and faded in the distance. Also saw a family of river otters feasting on salmon fry in the shallows, a black bear cub as well. Luckily didn't see any human beings though.

 We got home Monday afternoon, re-evaluated our supplies (bought a couple bear canisters, a thicker wool blanket etc.) and then set out again first thing Wednesday morning, much better equipped than our first endeavor. This time we brought our bicycles for the closed forest road, and most importantly, walking sticks, something which would become as vital as our cooking stove itself. With the recent storms that hit the northwest, we quickly came to discover a trail fraught with numerous obstacles, from debris flows to down old-growth trees that often seemed impassable. Nonetheless we worked our way up the river counting the obstacles as we went. On black Friday we reached the height of our trip -enchanted valley. Surrounded by 5000ft peaks that rise straight up out of the valley floor, in the rear end of the valley one could see Anderson Glacier, the headwaters of the Quinault river. In the 1930's a couple of enterprising brothers built a two-story chateau for hikers and caravans. When the land was turned into a national park the building went with it, becoming a seasonal ranger station and emergency retreat for hikers in need. With recent changes in the river's course however, the structure had to be moved to prevent being taken by the water. We hiked around, found many amazing stones, and then made our way back to camp while the sun was still up. Saturday was a very long day, with nearly 15 miles covered over the 7 hours of daylight, not to mention 13 debris flows, 12 washouts and countless down trees that were traversed. We got home late that evening and discovered the true meaning of the Chinese fire drill: order chow fun and pad thai while starting a fire as quickly as possible in the trailer that's 37 degrees....

Canoeing the North Cascades - To Desolation Peak & Back

After a scouting trip to Diablo Lake in the North Cascades last year, we discovered on the topo that Desolation peak, the same one that Kerouac spent 3 months atop in 1956, was just around the corner. Since reading his Dharma bum adventures in high school, it had become a personal goal to climb Desolation. Evidently the time had come. Nestled just 6 miles south of the Canadian border, the “Easiest” approach to the trail head is via Ross Lake. However, this presented its own difficulties. There is one boat ramp with car access to the entire 23mi lake, and it resides in Canada. Without proper passports, we opted for the alternative. Put in Diablo Lake and portage up the dam to Ross.

The majority of our first day was spent driving up to the North Cascades from Olympia, at least several hours depending on Seattle’s traffic. We hit Diablo Lake in the midafternoon, locked down the truck and hopped in the canoe. There is something about the color of the water of Diablo Lake, a glowing emerald green, it is unlike anything else we’ve ever padded in. This is attributed to glacial flour, or powdered rocks associated with the movement of glaciers. This effect is intensified, as Diablo Lake is bottom fed by the dam, taking the coldest water where particulates have settled from Ross Lake. As a result, Ross Lake has a more normal hue of sea blue, and is also much warmer. That afternoon we made our way across the lake, setting up an early camp at hidden cove. I have to say, camping in the North Cascades is great, our permits were free, parking was free, and at every campsite we stayed (some very remote) they were equipped with bear boxes, picnic tables, and an outhouse. As far as I’m concerned it was luxurious. Especially when it’s a single camp, and you get it entirely to yourself –like hidden cove. After eating dinner we bedded down for an early morning departure to Ross Lake.

With first light we were back in the canoe, and paddling up the narrow canyon to the dam. Here there is a portage service offered that is well worth it. Teaming up with other paddlers, they charged $20 for the mile long trip with 500ft of gain. For single crafts they charge $30.  Being in the first convoy, we dipped into Ross Lake around 10:00 in the morning. We then paddled another 4 miles to our next camp at McMillan. The camp featured a nice long wooden dock that provided great views of the water as far as the eye could see. With fires raging in Eastern Washington, visibility was limited to a couple miles at best.

The going was very smooth as we met little wind and calm water. The days were hot, but jumping in the lake was a great way to cool off. The next day we explored the Devil’s Canyon on the way to our next camp. As soon as we entered the canyon walls, the temperature dropped dramatically and our breath became immediately visible. Everywhere we looked, the water was teeming with fish of all sizes. After a couple of tight maneuvers around a few log jams, we came to a small waterfall, marking the end of our route (see picture below). A couple miles further, and we landed at 10 mile Island, our next campsite. Across the water to the west, one could hear the constant roar of Skymo falls shooting down the cascade’s face. Drawn like a bug to the light, later that afternoon we paddled over and inspected the falls in person.

On day four we continued North to Cat Island. Here we would set up shop for a few days, acting as our base camp to Desolation peak. This is when the wind began making its introductions. The following morning we got up very early, paddled the mile to the trail head and started hiking. The trail was 9.6 miles long round trip, with 4,500ft of gain. It was steep, but eventually opened up into vast alpine meadows that gave views of the lake below, Canada to the north and glaciers to the south. On the summit still sits the same fire watch tower that Kerouac lived in, still used for the same purpose. The ranger happened to be off duty while we were there, so we had the summit to ourselves. We enjoyed it, ate lunch, took pictures and sang at the top of our lungs. Coming back down we drank up the last of our water, making for some thirsty miles. Eventually we came to a small spring in the mountain side, trickling out water with a slow drip. Patience vs. thirst. Probably took 5 minutes to fill a half-litre bottle. We made do, and continued on down the trail. By the time we made it back to the canoe, the wind had picked up significantly creating white-caps on the water. Reluctantly, we slumped into the canoe and began our very slow voyage back to Cat Island.

In the distance, we could make out one other paddler on the water, whom we both assumed was paddling towards us. As we trudged on and came closer, we realized they were going the same way we were, but the wind was prevailing against them. An older women paddling alone, she was barely dipping her paddles into the water. Despite the fact that we were hardly making headway ourselves, we quickly decided to throw her a line anyway, which she tied on to the front of her kayak. We began paddling as hard as we could, despite being exhausted from an already long day. Nonetheless, we made our way towards Cat Island, one stroke at a time. When we made it to the dock, the Women’s paddling companion was waiting for us, leisurely enjoying himself from land. He didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that this women had a migraine, and had zero interest in paddling in the wind any time soon. She briefly thanked us and then laid on the ground and took a nap.

Thankfully we had planned for a zero day on Cat Island. Even better, it happened to correspond with a powerful thunderstorm that rolled through the canyon. We took shelter, and enjoyed a day of nothing strenuous but listening to thunder echo. The moisture also drastically increased the visibility. All of a sudden our surroundings seemed brand new. The moss was greener, the peaks more crisp, the water more blue. However, the wind never stopped blowing against us, making our return south considerably more difficult. We spent another night admiring Skymo falls from 10mi Island, and then continued south to rainbow point. From here we made a day trip up big beaver creek to an amazing old growth cedar stand. Very rarely do I see this level of old growth left in a contiguous stand that stretches for miles. Two miles down the trail, the stand climaxes with 2,000-10,000 year old trees that line the wetland.

Our last day was spent paddling the 12 remaining miles back to the truck. We portaged back to diablo lake with a few canoe enthusiasts, whom we shared good conversation. After making it back to the open waters of the lake, we parked the canoe on a small island and jumped in one last time. We forgot just hold much colder diablo lake is. Jumped in, jumped out and dried off. 10 days paddling roughly 50 miles and 10 additional miles of strenuous hiking had come to a close. Till next time!

Through Paddling the Betsy River

When you drive a canoe across the country, you best make use of it. Especially if it means almost having your topper ripped off by a tornado in Iowa, but that’s another story.

After reviewing a couple local paddling guides, we settled on the Betsy river in lower northwestern Michigan. With ample experience paddling on the Salish sea, and little to none with rivers, we thought we’d start easy. The trip consisted of roughly 40 miles of meandering slow moving river taking us through wetlands and nature preserves.

The trip began at Grass Lake, the headwaters to the Betsy. Parting the bugs and reeds to get the canoe into the river, it was so slow moving we couldn’t determine the direction of flow. After getting our bearings, we made our way downstream honing our techniques for quick maneuvers around tight corners, bends and numerous logs. In hind sight a kayak would have been better suited for this endeavor, but we made it through just fine. The going was slow as we constantly adjusted our trajectory around the obstacles of low water in July. If there was any question about our compatibility as paddling companions, it would have quickly become evident on this day. Despite the buzzing veil of mosquitos that never subsided, we paddled on. Not all canoe side companions were a nuisance however; beautiful neon blue dragon flies swarmed the river in a few sections, occasionally so thick that they would land on our hand and shoulders as we paddled.

We made camp along the river that night, and then paddled another long day. We only covered roughly 20 miles in those two days, but we worked for every one of them. Instead of searching the banks for another suitable campsite, Amanda was lucky enough to have a family friend with property on the river. Unfortunately our only directions were street directions, so after paddling under the nearest bridge, we hiked the canoe up to the road and down the street to her friend’s house, arriving at sundown. After making our introductions, we cooked up some quick dinner and fell fast asleep. In the morning we were treated like royalty, as we woke up to fresh coffee and a vegan-gluten-free breakfast complete with coffeecake, hash browns and homemade strawberry basil jam. On top of it all, Bob & Tina helped us shuttle our vehicle from Grass Lake to our terminus. Feeling good, but reluctant to leave, we loaded up the canoe and continued downstream.

Another long day of paddling was broken up with an exciting find. Out of the decaying roots holding the river embankment, the largest natural reishi colony I have ever seen. In all fairness, I paddled right by it, but upon Amanda’s request to turn around a take a closer look, I was quickly jumping out of the canoe to personally inspect the mushrooms. Known to the Chinese as the mushroom of immortality, its medicinal qualities are too numerous to list. After covering ourselves, canoe and gear is spore dust, we paddled on, spreading it everywhere we went. As the sun was setting Amanda got stung by a flying insect on the neck, and we decidedly made for an early camp. That night we fell asleep to the sound of beavers hard at work, smacking their tails back and forth. Our last day we were able make better time down the river as we approached Lake Michigan. Along the way I spotted Inonotus obliquus (chaga) growing off of a birch looming over the embankment. Determined to take some home with me, I shuffled up the tree, hatchet in hand, and precariously hacked off a few small chunks. Incredibly dense, it’s comparable to stale hard-wood. Satisfied, we paddled our remaining miles, and took out before we hit the urban development of Elberta, where the river is united with Lake Michigan.