Highlights in Low Light

Day six begins at the beach, as I wake up and decide to get movin’. I figure that it should take me about three hours or so to get to Sequoia. I grab 198 from 101, and figure that there should be some gas nearby since I’m getting low. Nope. I turn onto 198 and see the "No services next 53 miles" sign just as my "low fuel" light goes on. But if I turn back, it’s going to add at least half an hour onto my trip. And there’s a real good chance that there’s enough left in my tank to go 53 miles (I mean, that’s less than 2 gallons even in the worst of driving). As I begin my trek to Coalinga, California I slowly begin to realize how much of the drive will be up the mountains. Well, I’d committed, so away I went.

It ended up fine, though I’m sure it was somewhat close. The first place I go to turns out to be this type of fueling station that’s new to me. It appears that you need to be a member of this "fuel club" in order to get gas. Apparently just having money isn’t enough for them, though at least it was one of those automatic places, so there wasn’t any attendant to laugh and point at me. I find a place just down the road, grab coffee at one of the only Starbuck’s in the nation that doesn’t have wi-fi (the whole reason I’d stopped), and carry on.

I stay on 198, stopping in Visalia to find a slightly more modern Starbie’s so I could drop a post and read about the Pack crappin’ on the Bears (which just seemed to make my new year all the better). As I’m driving through central Cali I’m amazed by how dense the fog is. Or smog. It’s really disgusting. The worst part was that having spent so much time earlier in a coastal rainforest, it didn’t immediately register that this wasn’t fog anymore. When you drive for two hours, and it’s so dense that you need your headlights on, it’s depressing.

Anyhow, I pull into Sequoia around one o’ clock. Pulling out my map and the trail info for where I was planning to hike, I realize that I’ve entered the park from the completely wrong end. Now, I’m not in a rush- after all, where do I need to be? Wherever the hell I want. It is a minor bummer, though, since it means I won’t be able to get any hiking in during the daylight. Of course, if I’d only know how much of a pain in the ass it would turn out to be...

General’s Highway, the main route through the park, is under construction. It’s already one lane in each direction, and between a couple of switch-backs it reduces to one lane period. Because of this they have a traffic light that stops traffic in each direction for 15 minute periods, allowing traffic to switch through. This already slows everything down, but to make things even better, the day before there had been a snow storm. This meant slick conditions higher in the mountains, and vehicles were expected to have either chains or snow tires. Minnesota being a little light on the mountains front, I don’t have chains but I do have all season tires that are well rated for snow and ice.

As it turns out, it was having a half functioning brain and a basic understanding of how to drive that made the difference. It appears that most people in California do not have these advantages. There were cars (even one with chains) stuck all over the place, with particularly wonderful concentrations in the really popular areas where dealing with oncoming traffic was even more pleasant. At this point I’m very frustrated, my anger tempered only by how awed I am by the massive trees around me (you don’t see them until you’re most of the way up the mountain). It takes me two hours to go just under 30 miles.

I stop at a viewpoint and make myself some venison minestrone, since I’m so freakin’ hungry (that's me bein' all sexy in front of my dinner >>) that I’m getting the jitters. I enjoy a nice view and the sun is starting to go down. Clean some of the garbage out of the car and enjoy my dinner. I finish and pull out, and only make it about another mile before the next pull out. I swing in on a whim and check it out. One of the best decisions of the trip.

It was an overlook of Redwood Canyon (the valley I had come to hike, no less), though I didn’t know it at the time. All I knew was that I was witnessing the single most beautiful sunset I have seen in my life. Layers of glowing orange, soft indigo, and warm red poured themselves over the landscape. To the north a ridge of sequoias were silhouetted, giant black fronds emphasizing the light behind them. It was silent, too. The road bent away in either direction, and the sound of oncoming vehicles was muted until they were right there, and then they were gone (what few there were).

The pictures don’t do it justice. First, I didn’t think to grab the camera at first- I was too awed by what I was seeing. I just stood there, watching the shades of color grow darker. It was a moment where I was seeing something so beautiful that couldn’t help but be joyful. It doesn’t fit with my feeling on the "Greater Scheme," but for lack of a better term, I felt closer to God.

When the sun had finally set, I headed over to the ranger station. Unfortunately, I’d missed their hours of operation and would have to wait until 9 am the next morning to get my backcountry camping permit. Now, you can only camp in designated sites in the national parks, but they’re situated amongst the national forest, where as long as you’re off the road you’re okay. Since the overlook was in the forest, I decide to head back there (it’s only a 10 minute drive). It’s a gorgeous spot, even in the dark, and I settle down for some sleep. Come morning, it's off to the ranger station and the trial...

...and then there's me getting ready to sleep in my car (again)...

...and me getting ready to go to bed- but happy because I'm on vacation.

New Year's Eve

At the Redwood National Park visitor station the guy working there told me that there were some good tidal pools to look at on Agate Beach, which was down at Peterson Point. Having never been to a tidal pool, and always having been fascinated by the prospect of seeing all that ocean life close up, I’m quite excited.

As per usual, something’s wrong, but this time I’m skeptical enough to catch it. See, while he’d told me Peterson Point (I’d written it down and all), it was actually part of Palmer’s Point State Park. The fact that it was a state park was another point he left out, and while having to pay a few buck didn’t make the difference between me going or not, it would’ve made it easier to know what to look for. As it was, what I was really looking for was alliteration with "P," so it all worked out.

When I get the Agate Beach, the first thing I’m impressed by is the nearly sheer drop the trail to the beach follows. It’s almost a cliff, and though the trail is only about 1/4 mile long it’s pretty much straight up and down. In fact, the steps at the end of the trial had been washed out, making it something more akin to a ladder than steps.

The pools themselves were a series of rough, rocky outcrops. There was definitely an abundance of life- mussels, clams, crabs, kelp, small fish, etc. Much of the time it was difficult to really see, though, as the water was pretty murky. I was also somewhat bummed that I never saw a single starfish or urchin, things I’d really hoped to take a look at. Unexpectedly, I did see a half dozen harbor seals that had some up and were sunning themselves on some rocks mid-way out. I never got close enough to get any real good pics of them, but it was pretty neat seeing them in the wild.

Leaving there just after one, my next goal was San Francisco. After all, it was New Year’s Eve, and I wanted to be on a beach down in that area. Flying down Highway 101, I continued to drive through redwoods for a good portion of the drive. And yes, I did drive my car through the redwood that has the road cut through it. And let me tell you, that’s $5 I’m never spending again. You see, it’s a private deal, and there’s really nothing else there except a gift shop. Combine that with the geriatric s.o.b’s in front of me, who I truly believe had put their vehicle in neutral and were moving forward solely under the power of my focused will, and it wasn’t impressive. I mean, c’mon, if you’re going to go 2 MPH (not exaggerating- I didn’t go over 5 mph the entire time I was behind them), get out of your damned car and WALK! Anyhow...

The drive down is uneventful, and I get into San Fran just after dark. I cross the Golden Gate Bridge (paying the $5 toll), and tool around downtown looking for a place to grab some dinner. Long story short- I don’t want to be in the city. I turn around and grab Hwy 1, say "later" to the city by the bay, and decide that the high concentration of beaches near Santa Cruz make that my next stop.

I get there a little before nine, and stop at the "Santa Cruz Diner" for a bite. There weren’t a whole lot of places open, and this looked as likely as any to have some form of decent seafood. It also looked about as nice as I could justify eating at, not having showered since I left. As it turns out, their food sucked, and the service was even worse. I grab a seat at the counter and wait over five minutes for one of the lazy bastards to greet me. And it’s not like they had anything going on- they just didn’t seem to give a damn. Yeah, I know it New Year’s Even, and you’re bitter about having to work, but ignoring customer’s isn’t getting you out any quicker.

After that, I head down the coast looking for a beach to bring in the New Year on. After having to pass on a couple that are closed, I find South Bend Beach and pay the $25 it costs to camp there overnight (the one time I almost thought a hotel would’ve been worth it). I make a few calls to wish people back in the good ol’ CST, and decide to catch some sleep before the New Year. After all, it’d been a long day after one of the worst nights of sleep in my life, and I was pretty dead. As it turns out, that was a fatal mistake. I wake up for my alarm, keep my eyes open long enough to wish myself "Happy New Year," and head back to sleep. Considering New Year’s really isn’t the greatest holiday for me, in retrospect I suppose that was as good as anything. Sleep (well) in the car, and start the next day hell bent for sequoias!

Leaving The Reds

After setting up the tent, with a mildly obstructed view of the ocean, I decide that dinner on the beach is in order. I grab my gear and head down to the sand. I’d thought about using ocean water to cook with, give some salty tang. Then I thought about how much sandy tang that would likely add, not to mention that I’d be dancing around 6' plus waves, I decided against it. Luckily they had water spigots, so that was not an issues. What was the issue was me not knowing whether I was near high or low tide, and deciding to play it safe and set up fifty feet up from where the waves were. That gives me time to move if I notice the tide’s going up and not out.

Now, let me tell you about rogue waves. A rogue wave is an uncharacteristically large wave that comes in much further that other waves. This is not tsunami level, though some are very large. Indeed, unbeknownst to me, relatively small rogues happen regularly. And easily go, say sixty feet further than the tide.

Now, there I am, fat, dumb, and happy, setting up my cookstove on the beach, listening to the surf, getting ready to cook some Italian Minestrone with garlic summer sausage. I have all my food in my day pack, which is, of course, open. I have my cook gear set about me, pot on stove, water in pot. Suddenly, I and all my belongings, are in six inches of water. Really, really, sandy water.

Everything is soaked. Sand is everywhere. My lighter is doused. I have sand in a multi-tool, and if you’ve every had that problem you can sympathize. Mentally cursing, I grab everything and head up well beyond the tide- 200' or so. I figure anything that comes in that far’s gonna get me either way and at least this way the sand under my ass is dry. I then spend nearly half an hour blowing/wiping sand off/out of everything, as I was luckily able to reclaim it all. It’s another half hour or so before I manage to get the lighter to work again. Dinner cooks, I eat, then clean everything and head back to camp.

I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’m not tired. But the sun is setting, and I packed no entertainment, and was too wet and cold to feel "imaginative." I decide that after the driving an early night won’t hurt. I get into the tent, and into my bag, and within two minutes I know the ground’s too cold for me to sleep on. I had figured that in a bag rated to 15 degrees, I’d be good in 40-50 degree temps, but I was very wrong. And the brand new sleeping pad I’d purchased was six miles away in my car. Good spot for it. Luckily, there are picnic tables at the sites, and I figure that it can’t be any colder, and I at least have a chance of warming it up.

Of course, I hadn’t counted on how uncomfortable sleeping on a picnic table is. I lay down and endured one of the worst, most uncomfortable, coldest, painful nights of sleep I’ve ever had. The only thing keeping me in the bag was the knowledge that the only way it was going to get better was after six miles of hiking, and that was not happening in the dark.

Needless to say I was up with the dawn, and oh so excited that (and this was no big surprise, but it was disappointing) none of my sweat-soaked clothes were even marginally dry. Nothing like starting the morning by putting on wet, cold clothing. Either way, I begin the hike back.
This time, "bridge out" be damned. I’m taking the shorter route (now that I know where it is), and if I have to swim across an ice floe, so be it. It’s damned near at the visitor center anyway.

As it turns out, Mineral Ridge was breathtaking. And not just because I’m fat and it was uphill.

Whereas Fern Canyon was full of, well, ferns and such, Mineral Ridge was almost somber. The massive trunks weren’t interrupted by as much undergrowth, and as such seemed even more massive. I would have taken many more pictures here, but is seems that my camera was starting to fog. The trip was easier, too, with only one tree downed the entire way.

Load the gear, hit the toothbrush, etc., chat with the ranger about trail conditions, and ask the guy at the visitor center where a guy can find some good tidal pools. Turns out that low tide’s in an hour and a half, and there’s some good pools about half an hour south. Ondole!
Next up: Tidal pools, San Fran, Santa Cruz, and the Beach.

Pictures!!

Yay! I'm back, so I'm going to start tossing out some photos. Here's one for what I written so far.

The Hike to Miners Ridge

Glorious. Simply glorious. If you want to know more about redwoods, check this out. Since I was getting a late start (I wouldn’t get on trail until just after 11:30), I opted for the trail to Miner’s Ridge, and the short trail there. Or so I thought. I cheaped out (and committed a cardinal camping sin) and didn’t pick up a trail map. After all, in Minnesota you don’t need them other than to plan a route- almost every juncture has a map. Not so in California.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Recently the appears to have been a rather significant wind storm in the area that knocked many trees down. This seriously impeded many of the trails, and closed some roads. Speaking to the guy at the visitor center, he gave me instructions for just take Mineral Ridge Trail, but it would start out as John Irvine Trail. Otherwise I could take the Fern Canyon Trail to the Catalinia Trail to Mineral Ridge. Again, late start so I opt for the shorter route. Seeing a "bridge out" sign early on, I continue assume that particular trail can’t be Mineral Ridge, and continue the John Irvine route. Which is Fern Canyon. And almost two miles longer than I thought.

Now, before I go to much further, I figure I will likely end up with a trail speed of about 1 mph. I’m sickeningly out of shape (indeed, as out of shape as I’ve ever been- illness aside), and expect to be crawling over trees, possible needing to bushwack to find trail, all along with unknown levels of elevation change. If I take the long route, that means six hours of hiking, which puts me setting up camp in the dark. This I do not want to do.

Early on I can tell that it’s going to be interesting. Less than a half mile into it, there’s a downed redwood. I highly doubt that anyone reading this has ever seen a freshly downed redwood. Something you must know about them- they don’t land, they EXPLODE! If I remember correctly, that was a problem that early loggers had with them to an extent, and even more so with sequoias. The reason this is important to me is because when you have that much biomass covering a trail, it is obliterated. Utterly. Being in a coastal rainforest, there’s no "oh, I see the path over there" at this point. So, I follow the path I see other people have taken. Forgetting my own understanding that people are idiots.

I eventually find the trail again, after discovering that what looks like a solid patch of this or that is often the deceptive covering to a three foot drop. I continue, amazed by the massive trees around me, and the lush ferns. My imagination goes wild, and I’m envisioning dinosaurs grazing. I’m picturing indians on the look-out. I’m picturing druids (D&D ones) on the look-out. I’m picturing elves. And yes, damnit, I’m picturing Ewoks. They’re not on the look-out. They’re just being Ewoks.

Yub yub.

I continue walking, climbing here, descending there, scrambling over destroyed redwood every fraction of a mile. At one point a particularly large tree has fallen over two separate sections of trail, and this is easily the most difficult passage. Considering the massive jumble of branches, chunks of trunk, and slick mud, I’m really happy I didn’t twist an ankle.

As I reach the Miner’s Ridge camp, I encounter my last down tree- lengthwise down the trail to the camp. Either way, I’m glad I can make camp. I check the time. Just after 2.
WHAT! I’m out of shape, went the long way, climbed up, down, and around fallen redwoods, and still managed almost 3 mph! Granted, that's pretty much par for the course, but considering what I was expecting to do, I was quite happy. What irks me is that I could have taken a much longer route, seen more, and still set up in daylight.

This is getting long, so I’ll cut it off here. More later.

Da Redwoods

Typing this I bring to an end Day 5 of my little escapade. It’s been quite the trip, though so far I’ve only posted about the first two days. We’ll why don’t I change that.
Day three began at a little after 4 am in a rest stop just down hill from the California/Nevada border. Despite having a ICM (ice caramel machiatto) with some extra shottage in Reno, there was no way I was going to make it to the coast. This meant that to be to the Redwoods National Park early enough get camping I would have to leave much earlier than hoped (hence the 4 am). Most of the drive was uneventful, though I have found that California could do better about marking where the highway goes. A sign saying "Highway X" is great, but if it’s at a "T" intersection and doesn’t give an arrow for which way it continues, it doesn’t do you a whole lot of good.

I digress. A few hours later I have passed through Redding, and am heading through the Shasta Mountain area. Now ,before I go further, understand that I am a giant nerd. It makes the rest of this much more understandable.

Anyhow, in "Shadowrun" the role-playing games (groans from the audience), this area is controlled by a powerful dragon named Hestaby. So here I am, watching the sun come up over Lake Shasta, and I can vividly picture some massive wyrm swooping along the canyon walls. Between the gorgeous mountain backdrop and the swerves around ear switchback, I could almost feel a dragon careening through.

After filling up in some mountain town where the window squeegees were frozen tight, I carried on. Let me tell you, I love driving in the mountains. If you do it like I do, which I don’t recommend, you almost get a workout, between your heart pumping and leaning your body into curves- because every bit counts when you hit a switchback 25mph over the speed limit. And let me tell you, they mean "limit." Sometimes I think that I’m screaming down like a mountain banshee only to realize that I’m doing the posted speeds. Of course, some times I’m also well over that.

Anyhow, I reach the coast around 10 am. It’s taken me 50 hours to reach. Figuring in the eight hour layover in Cheyenne, and the six hours of sleep I pulled at the rest stop, I came just about right on the drive time I figured. Of course, had I gone straight to San Fran it would have gone much quicker, but alas...

I pull into Trinidad for some quick grub, and have blueberry pancakes at the Trinidad Café. Good stuff. Around 11 I arrive at my destination. Redwoods. Since I’ve blabbed so much here, I’ll reduce eye-strain for ya and post that separately.

Our Story So Far...

Some of this I've just done as I go. Right now I'm in Visalia, CA, about an hour out of Sequioa National park. You'll all get photos eventually, but right now I'm just gettin' around to throwing a quick post out. More to come- fer damn sure (sorry, been listening to a lot of country music).

Mmmmmmmm, drivin'....
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Well, it’s now officially the end of day one. I’m parked on Rountop Road just outside of Cheyenne, and I’m not going anywhere until they reopen the interstate. The funny thing is, they’ve closed it now that the wind’s died down and the conditions are far better what I’ve spent the last two hours driving though. Let’s just say that my sphincter’s gonna be able to go Ironman after some of the puckering that I did on the way in here. Near whiteout conditions and following (and passing) semis at 70 mph. I’d really hoped that I’d be able to get past the front before the brunt of it formed, but no such luck. I started catching snow mid-Nebraska (thank God I made it through that Hell-hole), and it really hit just before wyoming. Anyhow, about 850 miles, which is a lot less than I’d hoped, but c’est la vie.

Nebraska was better than usual, however, since the high humidity made this really pretty fog around the lights. Also, the snow was rough. Even the state troopers are ending up in the ditch. Up-side is that means that I don’t have to worry about being pulled over.

So, the Cheyenne rest stop’s where I’ve been for the past five hours, most of it kinda sleeping(you know how it is trying to sleep in a car). There’s no way out of town- everything’s shut down. It’s a lot better than it was a few hours ago, but they’ve still got everything closed. This really sucks because I could be getting some good miles in right now. Since it’s nigh on 6 am back home and normally I’d be about mid shift. Oh well, the truck stop had Superman on the tube, so I was able to catch the last 20 minutes of that. Now it’s time to try to grab a few more hours of sleep in the parking lot and hope this shit clears up.
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I woke up in Cheyenne a touch after 8 am to a snowblower nailing my window in the "Loves Road Stop" parking lot. A gentle hint I’m assuming. Now, 13 hours and a thousand miles later, I’m on the border and grabbing the IHOP stuffed french toast that I’ve been craving for, oh, 13 hours and a thousand miles. Not kidding. Saw it on a billboard into Cheyenne last night and got a hankering. Of course, I figured that this could wait until I had to stop for gas, since there’d been IHOPS in every town up to now. As it is, luck put me into it as I stopped for gas and coffee and lo and behold there’s and IHOP tucked behind the gas station.

Notes of the day- I found it nearly impossible to not drive 100 mph through Utah. Not that is sucks that much more than say, Nebraska, but it’s all flat and straight. It just begs you to floor it.

Ah, that tasted as good as I thought it would.

NPR is my hero, since their "Science Friday" flew me through two hours of driving.

My cd player is not meant to be used continuosly for 10+ hours- the discs heat to the point that they smell like they’re on the verge of melting.

I’m listening to someone who’s obviously an RA bitch about resident lock-outs.

Salt Lake basin has a lot of possible campfire ring rock formations and this one giant solar system type partially broken monument.

Tonight I sleep in my car- tommorrow I sleep beneath redwoods.

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Well, that brings me through the drive to California. I'll letcha'll know more later, but I wanna hit the road again, and I'm getting tired of everyone who walks by ogling my computer. I put my headphones on just so they would stop bugging me. You'd think that they'd have seen a laptop in California before, even if it's only Visalia. Anywhoo, back to this weird fog/smoke/smog, whatever the hell it is I've been driving through. Next stop Sequioas! Wishing you all a Happy New Year!

Ps. If I spoke spanish my radio options would quadruple.

A nice little scene from Wyoming on Friday. Someone's house is on fire. Or maybe a garage or a barn. Bad day for them.

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Utah the flat. It was an excercise in self control to not go 100mph since it's all flat and straight. I settled for 95.