Riding out the (Natural) High

 Owen and I have been on some pretty incredible adventures this year, and we knew the motorcycle trip to Alaska would be hard to top. Luckily though, I had a few trips up my sleeve and we have been able to spend the past two months riding out the high.

Over Labor Day, we headed to northern California to backpack the Lost Coast Trail, a 25 mile section of coast so rugged that they diverted Highway 1 around it. We took a shuttle to the start of the hike so we could do it as a point-to-point trip, with our car waiting for us at the end. On day one, we got out of the shuttle, took our first steps on the sand, and just kind of looked at each other, like, this can’t be the trail? Beaches are for swimming, sunbathing, reading, maybe going for long walks, but backpacking? We weren’t so sure.

The realities of hiking on the sand

Once we got over the initial feeling of being totally out of place, we were pumped because it was so different than any other backpacking experience we’d ever had. We explored an abandoned lighthouse, searched for starfish, and slid down sand dunes when we lost the trail. As the sun set, we scoured the bluffs for a flat spot to camp, and almost gave up hope, when we stumbled upon the ideal site.Turns out, it came with a catch: there was zero protection from the wind that blew in during the night, and between listening to the tent fly whip around and anxiously hoping that nothing would snap or tear, we barely slept. Thankfully the Hubba Hubba (actual tent name) held up just fine.

Epic night one camping spot

On day two we encountered the first of two major sections of the trail that are impassable at high tide. Luckily, we timed it right and avoided the perilous fate of being battered by a rogue sneaker wave or trapped between cliffs and ocean. We did have some issues following the trail, though. It wasn’t always obvious when to stay on the bluffs and when to climb back down to the beach, and at one point we found ourselves needing to rock climb down a short section, which I’m pretty certain was not part of the official route. Nevertheless, we continued onward and by the end of the day found another great camping spot, complete with our own “infinity pool.” By that point in the trip we smelled pretty ripe so we stripped down and washed off in the pool. Not five minutes after we dried off and put our clothes back on, a group of hikers walked down the beach.

Enjoying the view while trying not to roll my ankles

Our infinity pool in the sunset

On day three we navigated another section that was impassable at high tide, and this one was a little more interesting. Even though we arrived nearly right at low tide, there were a few rocky outcrops that we had to time with the waves and run through to avoid getting wet feet. The last few miles of the hike were challenging for a different reason: sand, sand, and more sand. While most of the trail is interspersed with dirt paths and rock hopping, the final stretch had zero firm ground. The only thing that kept us going was the fact that there was a tub of peach rings in our car, waiting to be devoured.

A much needed rest

By the middle of September, once our screaming calf muscles recovered, we were feeling antsy again so we planned a last minute motorcycle camping trip out to the Sierras. The last time we had left for a motorcycle camping trip, it was for our 18 day trip to Alaska, and I was worried we might not survive. By comparison, this short trip felt like a walk in the park. We rode on Ebbetts Pass Scenic Byway, and that afternoon we actually did go for a walk in the park, in Calaveras Big Trees State Park, to check out giant sequoias. We continued through the mountains and found a quiet place to camp in Stanislaus National Forest.

Calaveras Big Trees State Park

Enjoying the twisties on Ebbetts Pass Scenic Byway

Since we were in no rush the next morning, we goofed off and practiced picking up the bike after laying it carefully down. Newsflash: I cannot lift that motorcycle even one centimeter off the ground. Owen, on the other hand, lifted it with relative ease. I guess I’m not the muscles of the relationship after all. Early morning temperatures in the 50s slowly rose to the 90s on our way home, so we cooled off with the best burgers and icecream from a small roadside diner called Jimtown Frosty.

Departing camp

We found fall colors!

The last couple years I’ve become enamored with the mountains out west, but a part of my heart will always belong to the Jersey Shore. When I was growing up my family spent a week every summer at Long Beach Island, but it’s been four years since we were all there together. So when I found out that my mom, dad, and sister were planning a beach week at the end of September, I knew I wanted to join. What sealed the deal was actually our trip on the Lost Coast Trail. Every time I heard the waves crash along the shore, it brought me right back to Long Beach Island. I booked my flight to NJ a couple days later.

Perhaps the best part was that my parents had no clue I was coming. Kelli knew, though, and in the hours leading up to my arrival we went into full-on spy mode to make sure my parents wouldn’t intercept any texts and spoil the surprise. My favorite texts: “Soar eagle soar!” and “Eagle has flown over the nest.”  Kelli coaxed my parents on a bike ride to a nearby bakery minutes before I rolled up in my rental car. When my parents saw me, my dad said something along the lines of “What the hell am I looking at?” and my mom stopped completely in her tracks and would not stop crying.

The 48 hours I was at the shore could not have been more perfect. We went on no fewer than five bike rides each day, some so leisurely that we got passed by runners, others under the cover of darkness in which we pretended we were in a biker gang. We played a fierce game of mini-golf, bundled up for long walks on the beach in the wind, and even investigated a haunted house down the street with binoculars. No proper trip to New Jersey is complete without enjoying a bagel, so I made that my last meal before heading back to the airport. Hell, if I wasn’t traveling so lightly I would’ve filled my entire bag with bagels.

During my very first trip to Yosemite, we stopped at a popular overlook and lined up to look through binoculars at the Half Dome cables where hardy souls were hiking up the steep rock. After that trip, I vowed to go back and hike Half Dome myself. Well, nearly two and a half years and three unsuccessful permit attempts later, Owen and I finally arrived at the park on a Saturday morning in October, permit in hand, to conquer the thing. If you’ve never heard of Half Dome, it involves a long and grueling hike, capped off by scaling 400 feet of slick, nearly vertical rock using nothing more than two cables and all the upper body strength you’ve got.

We planned to hike Half Dome as part of a 3 day, point-to-point trip through the park. Because our route was point-to-point, we relied heavily on the graciousness of others, meaning it would not work unless we could successfully hitchhike one way. We’d gotten a ride once before in the park, so we had a decent game plan. We went to our spot and even brought pen and paper with us to make a sign. It worked! Within 15 minutes we got picked up by a retired guy from southern California. There were a couple of red flags at first: Owen had to kneel in the back of his van because there was no seat for him and the driver stopped multiple times to take photos, sometimes for 20 minutes or more. There was also some miscommunication about his route and we actually got out of the van at one of his photo stops to try to get another ride. But finally we figured out that he was in fact driving right by our trailhead, and it was smooth sailing from there.

The first day’s hike was easy but we had a bit of a surprise: it snowed! For a few minutes, I was in blissful holiday mode, daydreaming of Christmas trees and crackling fires. When we stopped to make camp though, and my body cooled down, I went into survival mode and wolfed down dinner as fast as I could, knowing my warm sleeping bag was waiting for me.

First snow of the season

Night one campsite

Day two was, in my mind, a trial run for Half Dome. On the agenda was Clouds Rest, a mountain which is known for having a decent amount of exposure leading up to its summit. I figured if I couldn’t handle Clouds Rest, there was no way I’d be able to deal with the exposure on Half Dome. Luckily, I passed the test: the drop-offs didn’t bother me and I easily made it to the summit, where we ogled at the granite wonderland around us.

Approaching Clouds Rest

One of the many reasons why I love backpacking is because I can pig out, take naps and still feel superbly accomplished at the end of the day. After descending from Clouds Rest on miles of switchbacks, we did just that, snacking on cookies and then dozing off in the sun. There is nothing finer.

We planned to summit Half Dome for sunrise, so that night we camped as close to the base of the mountain as we legally could and turned in early. The next morning, before our alarm had even gone off, we heard laughter echoing in the forest: Half Dome day hikers getting an early start. I knew it was go time. After a couple dark miles under a blanket of stars, we finally arrived at Sub Dome, the last part of the hike before the cables. Beyond Sub Dome lay the cables, and three headlamps were bobbing in the dark climbing what looked like a vertical face. This whole trip, I had been telling myself that Half Dome couldn’t be nearly as steep as it looked, and I told myself that one last time as we powered up Sub Dome. At last we reached the cables, and stopped only briefly to don gloves before we began the climb. It turns out that I was wrong about one thing: the climb was even steeper than it had looked.

Angles in photo are steeper than they appear

We survived, in case you were wondering. But as someone who isn’t a huge fan of heights, climbing the Half Dome cables was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. We talked to a few people after the climb, some of whom were doing it for their second or third time, and they shrugged it off like it was no big deal. I watched one guy practically slide down the cables because his shoes had so little traction, and he was totally unfazed by it. I was not one of those people.

What mostly kept me going on the climb up was how much regret I knew I’d have if I chickened out. Owen and I climbed in a methodical rhythm, stopping every 15 feet or so when we reached wooden boards. I knew if I stopped too long to rest I’d psych myself out so I hauled myself up as fast as I safely could, with a couple complaints from Owen to slow down.

As the cliche goes, oftentimes the journey is more important than the destination, and that’s how I felt when we reached the summit of Half Dome. Yes, we arrived right at sunrise, and yes, there were 360 degree views of granite washed in early morning light. But no summit view could compare to the adrenaline I felt on the climb itself. Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew we had to climb down, and I didn’t want to put that off forever. Luckily, Owen was on the same page so after an hour up top we gathered our courage and got back on those cables. The key to my success on the downclimb was refusing to look down. I focused on the rock in front of me and nothing more. Finally, when Owen gave the green light and we were only 20 or 30 feet from the bottom I turned around, looked down, and knew that we were going to make it. The day wasn’t quite over yet- we still had several hours of hiking ahead of us to make it back to our car, but it didn’t really matter. We had conquered Half Dome!

Atop Half Dome

I freaking did it!

Finally daring to look down

Since then, we have kept busy pretending that it’s fall here by going apple picking, baking apple pie, and drinking apple cider, but in reality it still very much feels like summer. As we have come to learn, in California sometimes you just have to create your own seasons.

The upside of having no seasons: blissful trail running year-round