A Few Screws Loose

If you've been reading this blog long enough, you know that Owen and I are slightly obsessed with Death Valley National Park. For the past four years we've done an annual trip to the park over President's Day weekend. This year, despite how different our lives look during the pandemic, it was a relief that we could keep up the tradition.

Death Valley is the largest national park in the lower 48, and you could probably spend a lifetime exploring it and never see the same thing twice. We, however, were going back to a place we’d been: the Saline Valley. Two years ago we discovered it on a whim and were in awe. We were drawn back to it this year. The first day we hightailed it down to Inyo National Forest, just outside the park. I say hightailed it, but really it was 10 hours of monotonous, cold, windy highway driving. The reward came later that night: one of the most remote campsites we’ve ever had, and some of the best stars I’ve ever seen. The next morning, we drove into Saline Valley via the “easy” North Pass, which involved riding through a couple inches of snow in parts, and shook the motorcycle so hard that the screws to the headlights came out. Nothing we couldn’t handle though.

Secluded campsite in the National Forest

Entering Saline Valley via the North Pass

For the next two days, we enjoyed our version of a relaxing vacation, or as relaxing as it can be when you're motorcycle camping in the desert. For example, leisurely afternoon naps in the tent. Sounds fun, right? Sure, and it was also the only way we could avoid the violent wind storm that swept through camp. Later, we sipped on boxed wine, savoring it as long as we could since we only had space for two “juice boxes” in the motorcycle panniers. One morning, with vague directions from a fellow camper we discovered a fern wall with water trickling over it deep in a canyon. Our last night there, we conquered a fear we’d been trying to overcome for years: we went skinny dipping! Don't worry, there's no pictures! For a few blissful minutes we had the upper wild hot springs all to ourselves, until an entire crew of seven or eight Jeeps showed up to camp nearby. Making casual conversation with strangers while naked was definitely out of my comfort zone, but I survived.

Finally found the fern wall!

A trip to the Saline Valley would not be complete without meeting some of the folks that have made the Saline Valley what it is, people that have been coming to the springs longer than I've been alive. There were the “burned-out Burners,” someone who offered to let us stay in his house in Nevada if we were ever in the area, and an old timer who knew all the locations of old mining cabins in the park and had almost blown one up years ago when he set fire to a mattress. And of course there were the people with war stories about the various breakdowns and mishaps on the gnarly roads leading to the springs. We used those tales as an opportunity to ask as many questions as we could about Steele Pass, the road we’d take out of Saline Valley the next morning. 

We had been told several things about the Steele Pass route. There were lots of rocks, the road disappeared in many places, and there was a series of steps, also referred to as dry falls, that is dry waterfalls. Lastly, there were some sandy sections at the end, which Owen said he was actually looking forward to. The first few hours luckily the road never disappeared, but it was rocky with lots of loose gravel. I actually got off and walked a couple sections. Not easy in the heat. By the time we made it to the waterfall steps, we were already pretty spent. Rest was not in sight yet, though. We had to take the panniers and dry bag off, carry them down the steps (so the bike would be lighter), and rearrange rocks at some of the more precarious drops. Then all I could do was hope for the best as Owen navigated the bike carefully down. The steps are the most talked about challenge of Steele Pass, so it was pretty darn satisfying when Owen successfully cleared the final step.

At the top of the first step

The last obstacle of the route, and we weren’t even really considering it an obstacle, was the sand. Boy, were we wrong. We had ridden through sand before, but this was not sand. This was moon dust that went "poof" when we hit it and covered everything in a fine layer of brown powder. It didn’t take long for the bike to get stuck in a deep rut, and we used nearly all our remaining energy to pull it out. We were steps away from the tallest sand dunes in California and possibly North America, but I could not enjoy the views. I was over it. Over the ride, over the sand, over being dirty. We had a hotel room booked for that night, and I’d basically checked out in my mind and checked into the hotel. And then something happened that would jar me out of my bad mood, bringing all my attention back to the present. We crashed. 

Moon dust (on my right foot)

Eureka Dunes

Deep, deep ruts- not good

To me, crashing sounds dramatic. That’s the term Owen uses to describe it, but I think “fell over” is more accurate. We were going 15 mph max and fell over in the sand. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that the motorcycle fell on Owen’s foot. What I remember most is that he kept yelling "Get the Advil!" What he remembers most is that after the crash I stepped on his foot. In my defense, he was laying on the ground in an unusual position and I wasn’t expecting his foot to be where it was! Pretty quickly, my mind spiraled. We’re stuck in the desert and we can’t ride out. How do we get to a rental car? Where’s the nearest rental car? How do we get the motorcycle back to our house? How much is all this going to cost? Denali’s going to be stuck at the dog sitters. All that worrying did nothing to help, though. Because Owen got on the motorcycle, rode us to the hotel, and (spoiler alert) was able to ride us all the way home the next day.

Those 100 miles to the hotel were the toughest yet, not because the riding was technical but because we were completely beaten down. When we finally arrived I had one thing on my mind: food. We skipped right past the overpriced restaurant and instead procured junk food from the gift shop, then went back to the hotel room to gorge on wraps, chips, and a pint of ice cream. I’ll spare you the boring details of the rest of the trip, which involved a lot of highway driving to get home with a quick stop to help someone repair their car. I was so tired when we got home that I didn’t quite get off the motorcycle as much as fell off, which was a pretty fitting way to end the trip.

Trying to enjoy the views after a long day

Luckily Owen’s foot was just badly bruised, not broken, according to the x-rays. That didn’t stop me from going into full on caretaker mode for a couple of days, banning him from driving, running all the errands, and taking Denali for every walk. It was exhausting! Slowly he eased back into things and after a couple weeks of rest he was ready to go snowboarding again. For one snowboarding weekend in Lake Tahoe, we stayed at an Airbnb with a most unusual host who had epic stories about bear encounters in Alaska, had a pet pigeon who Denali did not get along with, and was into all sorts of conspiracy theories. It was a fine home base for a weekend in the mountains though and we celebrated the first day of spring with a beautiful day of snowboarding. While we never made it for a true powder day this season, I was able to cross something else off my bucket list: weekday snowboarding! I randomly had Caesar Chavez Day off, a Wednesday at the end of March, and went up to Tahoe for one last solo snowboarding day. For some reason I thought one solo day would magically improve my form and make me a better rider. It didn’t, but there was an unexpected bonus of riding solo: the (socially distanced) chairlift conversations. I got trail running intel from a veterinarian who runs with 5+ dogs at once, musings from an old-timer about how the mountain has changed through the years, and solid advice from a skier, that the most rewarding things in life are never easy. Come to think of it, it’s a pretty apt metaphor for my snowboarding. Even 10+ years into this hobby I still feel like a beginner sometimes, but the good days and good runs make it all worth it.

Girl power at my snowboarding lesson

A successful solo day

Since the skiing season ended I've mostly been doing little adventures nearby. I joined a women's running group based in Santa Cruz and try my best to keep up with the speedy ladies. Most of the activities though have revolved around Denali: play dates, dog parks, dog beach, and something called bikejoring which is essentially dog powered mountain biking. The American Kennel Club describes it as "not for the faint-hearted" and I would agree. I've been too chicken to give it a go, but happily bike behind as Denali pulls Owen along for a wild ride. We were supposed to go camping last weekend, but thunder-snow in the forecast derailed our plans. Here's to hoping I can get out soon before I become too much of a mountain hermit!

Trail running excursion in Marin with the running group

"Home" for the Holidays

It’s been so long since I last posted, mostly because I haven’t known what to say. How do I describe the holidays when it’s been over a year since I’ve seen a single family member? How do I write about the fun stuff, like snowboarding and trail running, when so many around me are struggling with job loss, health issues, and isolation? This is my attempt at putting words to the past few months.

Back in November, when public health officials were desperately urging people not to travel for Thanksgiving, Owen and I decided to go anyway. Why? Because where we were going, there wouldn’t be many people. We were headed to Mojave National Preserve, the largest unit in the National Park System, sprawling 1.6 million acres across southern California. Within the preserve there is no lodging (besides two campgrounds), no gas stations, no restaurants, and no stores. I had a feeling we wouldn’t be encountering crowds.

En route to Mojave

I was right. We pulled up to a campground midday on Thanksgiving and had our pick of sites. Over the next several hours we cooked a Thanksgiving feast, backpacker style: instant mashed potatoes, stuffing with turkey and dried cranberries, apple pie brought from home, and ice cream kept cold in an insulated mug. I wish I could say that we enjoyed it amongst a backdrop of the setting desert sun, but it was so damn cold and windy that we hunkered down in the car to eat instead. 

Exploring near the campground

Near aptly named Hole-in-the-Wall Campground 

We spent the next couple days exploring the park and hoping that our little Toyota Yaris wouldn’t bottom out, pop a tire, or get stuck in the sand. Dogs are technically allowed on trails in the park but two of the hikes I wanted to try seemed very ill-suited for them. One trail had a section so steep that there were rings bolted in the rock to pull yourself up. Somehow Denali used her four-paw drive and scampered right up the canyon. Another trail required descending into a lava tube on a steep, rickety ladder. Owen carried Denali in his arms down the ladder, and she seemed to enjoy being in the dark cave-like environment. Denali had no issues on our last hike to the top of a sand dune. In fact she enjoyed it so much she playfully grabbed a mouthful of sand, thinking it was snow! We decided to cut our trip a little short and drove through the night to make it home in time to buy a tree from our favorite tree farm. And with that, the Christmas holidays had officially begun.

In the lava tube

30 minutes to get up, 10 seconds to get down

Christmas was not its usual affair. We were not in New Jersey, we were not with our families, and we were not gorging on Jersey's finest pork roll, pizzas, and sub sandwiches. However, thanks to a secret Santa gift from someone who knows my cravings very well, I did get my hands on fresh bagels shipped overnight from New York. As much as we missed our usual traditions, spending the holidays in our little cabin in the Santa Cruz Mountains was not the worst place to be. Our wood stove was roaring most nights, our landlords generously shared mulled wine with us, and we recreated our favorite home cooked meals and desserts.

Someone found the Christmas cookies

Spotted this little guy in the middle of nowhere

In between the Zoom calls and virtual game nights, we went on a few microadventures. There was the spontaneous couch to 11 mile bike ride that Owen and I went on, leaving us unable to sit down comfortably for days. There was the double digit trail run Denali and I did, when I only wiped out spectacularly once. Then there was the day we drove seven hours to play in the snow for two. We even dusted off the snowboards and got in a day of riding. On New Years Eve, there was no Times Square ball drop at midnight (at least not on the west coast). There were no toasts with family and friends, no catch up the next morning with my mom and sister. But there was a midnight dance party with Owen and Denali, an impromptu drunken FaceTime call with Owen’s sister and her husband, and a late night walk under the stars. And for all that, I am very grateful.

My new trail running partner

Exploring the Santa Cruz coast

In my last post I wrote about a solo glamping trip I took this fall. What I failed to mention was that the primary reason I chose that particular glamping Airbnb, drove four hours, and shelled out a decent amount of money, was because it had a tub. Not just any tub, but an open air tub, out in the middle of the woods. I’m a bath person that doesn’t currently have a bathtub, so I was willing to go to some lengths to take a decent bath. The only problem was that when I got there, there was no hot water. There was no way I was doing a polar plunge when it was below freezing that night. Instead, when I got home I booked another Airbnb with a tub, and two months later, in mid-January, I finally got to enjoy a soak. 

Now that's a proper bathtub

January 29 marked the day I became officially in my “late, late 20s” according to Kelli, and I celebrated with a trip to Lake Tahoe with Owen and Denali. The area had just gotten dumped on with over five feet of snow and it was like being in a Whoville fairytale, everything shimmering in white and the trees frosted with powder. That is, until we tried to walk in it. What I imagined would be a quick, easy snowshoe hike out to Fallen Leaf Lake turned into an all day challenge. Our snowshoes could have been the size of cars and I still don’t think we would have floated on top of the snow. The upside was that we let Denali off leash, since there was no way she could take off quickly after squirrels/deer/birds/falling sticks that sounded like animals.

Fallen Leaf Lake

Lake Tahoe

Throughout everything, we’ve been enjoying the perks and quirks of mountain living. We learned about an infamous local known as the Naked Welder who apparently has some serious artistic skills. We got precious intel from our neighbors on how to trick an Uber driver into giving you a ride back to the mountains. And of course, it wouldn’t be mountain living without bad storms, closed roads, and power outages, right? In the four years we lived in San Jose, we never lost power for any significant amount of time. Now, it feels almost routine. At night, we don our headlamps, cook dinner outside on our backpacking stove, and eat by candlelight. If we’re lucky, we drink some melted ice cream for dessert. It’s not a bad arrangement. 

What was once a dry ditch

I'm posting this as we're frantically packing for another adventure. Hopefully I have more stories to share soon!

Mountain People

By now many of you know that Owen and I have moved to the Santa Cruz mountains. What you may not know is that it all started with a scam! Back in August, driven to near madness in our tiny apartment, we started the hunt for a new place. We came across a rare specimen early on: a nice three-bedroom house for $2,200 a month. That is unheard of here. We were ecstatic for about two hours... then we sat down to email the owner with some questions. His response was brimming with grammar mistakes, included a weird explanation about why the rent was so cheap, and concluded with a note that we couldn’t actually tour the inside of the house. A few minutes of searching later and we found another listing for the same house (the real listing) for $4,000 a month. Doh! 

We were still determined to find a new place, so the next promising house we came across we applied to without even seeing first. Pets were allowed but not preferred, so in our application I mentioned we had Denali, “a quiet, well behaved dog.” A week or so later, we were able to check it out. Turns out Denali is not well behaved when she’s visiting a new house filled with new smells. She was pulling on the leash so hard that we could barely slow down to get a good look at the place. We saw enough on our speed tour to know that we loved it though, and told the owners such. Somehow, Denali’s behavior didn’t deter them and we got it!

Not sure who was more excited to move- us or her

We had plenty of time- about a month- to prep for the move. I polled friends about their moving experiences, procured cardboard boxes from work, gathered supplies, and obsessively researched and took notes on the best ways to pack. That is to say, I did pretty much everything except pack. Finally, the night before moving day we could delay no more. Besides a few pesky items that just did not want to be packed, it was actually not that bad. I’m pretty sure it’s taken us longer to pack for some backpacking trips. The next day, loading everything into the U-Haul, was when the real work started. We tackled the hardest thing first: lowering our enormous couch off the balcony, which was the only way to get it out. Somehow we got it down without dropping it on my head. Things got a little easier once Owen reminded me of the proper way to lift heavy objects (turns out you’re not supposed to use your back) but it was still one of the most exhausting things I’ve ever done. 

Scoping out her new living quarters

After everything was moved out we went back to our old apartment one last time to clean and turn in our keys. If standing in the empty apartment that you’ve lived in for four years doesn’t make you reflect on your life, I don’t know what will. As excited as I was to move to the mountains, I still felt a little nostalgic leaving. It was our home during so many milestones, both good and bad, like getting engaged, surviving unemployment, starting multiple new jobs, getting married, adopting a dog, and sheltering in place. Starbird Circle, you’ve treated us well!

We’ve been in our new house for about a month now and in that time we’ve lost power twice, picked thousands of burrs off Denali, and I’ve gone on countless terrifying runs in the early morning darkness. We could not be happier. The past month we’ve spent most of our time settling in and exploring our surroundings. Our road is closed about a mile further down because a new bridge is being installed, but I can sneak through the construction fencing and continue along. There are all sorts of homes tucked into the woods and down in the hollows. One driveway has a menacing warning sign: “No trespassing. Thieves and looters will be shot on site and prosecuted upon survival.”  There’s a rustic lodge that isn’t currently operating but used to be a nudist colony. There’s a couple homes for sale nearby, some that are huge luxury estates, others that are little shacks practically falling off cliffs. In our general vicinity there’s a Christmas tree farm where locals walk their dogs, some great mountain biking trails, and a couple farm stands with ice-cold apple cider. Best of all, just a couple miles away there’s a little mountain grocery store that has everything your heart could desire: ice cream bars, fresh sandwiches, and wood-fired pizzas.

Hiking at the Christmas tree farm

Our driveway (it's steeper than it looks!)

We did venture farther out a few weeks ago, to Sonora Pass, the highest point on Route 108 which traverses through the Sierra Nevada mountains. We headed south on the Pacific Crest Trail with a plan to bag Leavitt Peak, then camp at a lake below. It was around 50 degrees when we started our trip and only got colder from there. I experimented with all sorts of combinations of hat, hood, and buff to try to keep my face warm as we fought through the wind on our way up to Leavitt Peak. Denali, for the most part, was completely unaffected by the wind and bitter cold. She was not a fan of the loose rock and scree though. Normally, she hikes out in front of us pulling on her leash. But on the sketchier sections she followed closely behind Owen, nervously darting through the steep parts. By the time we made it off the peak the temperature was starting to plummet so we raced to camp, wolfed down dinner and retreated into our sleeping bags. That night, the wind howled through the mountains and valleys around us, sounding downright evil. I donned almost all my layers and sealed myself into my sleeping bag. Nothing was going to make me get out of the tent until morning, bladder be damned. The next morning as we hiked out in even more wind, I realized that as much type two fun as we were having, it was probably our last trip camping in the mountains before the winter fully sets in.

We had our pick of lakes to camp at

Social distancing at its best on Leavitt Peak

Warming up in the sun

So what did I do with my free day off last week? I went camping in the mountains. I should clarify: I technically went glamping. I had some reservations shelling out a decent chunk of money to sleep in a glorified tent, but the experience was pretty grand. Sure, there was still all the usual outdoors stuff to deal with like bugs, freezing cold temperatures, and squirrels that sound like bears in the darkness. But there was also running water, toilet paper, a real mattress, a hammock, and a table to sit at. So will I stop backpacking and camping? Hell no. But I may not be as quick to dismiss glamping in the future.

I think I could get used to this...

My humble abode

Now it’s that odd time of year where it gets dark at 5pm and I start wondering how early is too early to go to bed. But honestly, I can’t complain. We’ve got nearly a cord of wood to burn in our woodstove, a supersized tub of hot chocolate mix, and a few good books. For the first time in awhile, I don’t mind staying in.

Another Day in Paradise

You know how sometimes the best trips get off to the rockiest of starts? Back in July we were all set to leave for a 10-day trip to the Pacific Northwest, except there was one little problem: Denali’s stomach was revolting. So we did what any couple desperate to escape a tiny apartment during shelter in place would do: we delayed our departure by a day and prayed to the husky gods that her stomach would settle down.

Something we did worked, and the next day she was back to her normal self. Our plan was slightly ambitious: we would drive up to northern Oregon, backpack the 40-mile Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood, visit our friends in their new house outside of Seattle, and then drive 850 miles home in one go. There were quite a few things that could go wrong, in addition to Denali’s stomach issues. We could have car troubles, a forest fire could start near Mt. Hood, the trail could be covered in snow, the river crossings could be impassable, the mosquitoes could drive us mad, Denali might not have enough stamina to finish, and the list of worries goes on. And there was that little thing called COVID that we needed to avoid too.

The Timberline Trail is one big loop and we started at the Timberline Lodge. We passed a few backpackers early on who were about to finish the trail. One warned us about an upcoming river crossing that required a “trust fall onto a huge boulder” and he looked a little shaken up. But most others seemed happy and serene, so I took that as a good sign. There were so many highlights those first few days. We hiked through dense Cascade forest, there were infinite streams for Denali to swim in, and we had view after view of all the nearby volcanoes. But if I’m being completely honest, the first couple days were also pretty brutal. We planned to hike the trail over five days, averaging about eight miles a day. I know that sounds pretty slow, but we wanted to be conservative since we weren’t sure what Denali could handle. What we didn’t account for was how heavy five days of food for two people and a dog would be. I don’t know exactly how much our packs weighed, but mine was heavy enough that I let out an involuntary groan each time I put it on. 

The trail was lined with wildflowers

Denali found a hidden waterfall

Classic PNW mossy stream

The river crossings also presented a challenge, as I predicted. We had an audience for our first major one: two backpackers were intrigued to see how Denali would get across, and we had no issues there. But many of the other crossings had logs, most of them precarious, narrow, and slick. The type that a human could possibly navigate carefully across with the aid of trekking poles, but we had no idea if Denali was nimble enough to balance on them. Our approach the first time we came across this scenario was to have Owen guide her across, holding her up by the top strap of her backpack, which she was not a fan of. For the rest of the major rivers, we usually let Denali cross in the water while we rock hopped or balanced on logs, and she seemed to have an easier time than us.

Cooling off in a glacial stream

Napping in the water during a quick break

On day three, we were determined to make it to the shelter at Cooper Spur, which was at one of the highest points on the trail and supposedly had excellent views of Mt Hood. Cooper Spur also had no water, and was situated at the top of a long, steep, sandy climb. Owen was hauling so much water up that hill that he couldn’t stand up straight and I burst out laughing, mostly from exhaustion, but also a little bit from watching him hike all stooped over. It was only after the trip, when I studied the elevation profile of the trail, that I realized why we were so tired those first few days: it was pretty much all uphill.

 

Taking a snow bath

The last two days, with all the major climbing behind us, we flew down the trail- sometimes almost literally. At one point, the sandy trail was too hot for Denali’s paws, so we sprinted through the sunny spots and rested in the shade. I have never sprinted with a full pack before, and let me tell you, it was not my most graceful moment. Our last night on the trail we celebrated with an epic three-course feast consisting of cheese and crackers for hors d'oeuvres, macaroni and cheese for the main course, and freeze-dried dark chocolate cheesecake for dessert, washed down with raspberry ice flavored water. It was all very gourmet, as you can imagine. 

Near the trail's high point

Almost at the trail's end: we did it!

We completed the loop early the next morning and with all day ahead of us we decided to take the long way to get to our friend’s house in North Bend, Washington. Using our trusty National Geographic Road Atlas, we mapped out a route in the mountains that steered clear of I-5. We drove along the Columbia River Gorge and then gorged at Backwoods Brewing Company where we made quick work to replenish any calories lost on the trail. We even got an unexpected view of Mount St. Helens. Things started to go south shortly thereafter. Turns out the scenic route was actually all National Forest Service roads, which were remote and beautiful, but perhaps not the best option when you want to cover 200-plus miles in an afternoon. After several hours of navigating pothole-ridden semi-paved roads and a mild temper tantrum from Owen, we finally arrived at Madeline and Evan's house. 

What I saw next can only be described as a bare-footed, bearded hobbit waving merrily from the entrance to his cabin in the woods. (In case you're wondering, that hobbit was named Evan.) We spent the next several days at their cabin living not that differently from hobbits: we ate and drank liberally, we wandered through the woods, and we caught up as only old friends can do. Denali was pretty content there too- she rotated between taking up their entire couch, sleeping in a dark, cool hallway she commandeered as her den, and searching for microscopic crumbs in their kitchen. One night, we prepared a meal so elaborate that according to the recipe it should have taken days to cook. We took a few shortcuts and you know what? It was still one of the most delicious home-cooked meals I’ve ever had. 

Making herself at home

I could not get over the view from their backyard! Photo credit: Madeline

Happy to be back on the trails. Photo credit: Madeline

That Monday, we had to do the grueling drive home: 850 miles and 16 hours including stops. The next morning, still pretty worn down from our long drive, I slept in a bit then logged onto my computer to start the workday. I had blocked off the first couple hours to tackle email. But something caught my eye immediately: a random, reoccurring 9am meeting had been placed on my calendar, organized by someone I didn’t recognize. Odd, but I figured I had been added by accident. I got back to the tedious work of sorting through hundreds of emails that had come in the past week. Eventually, I came across several emails from another person I didn’t recognize, giving me access to different systems I’d never heard off. Also very odd. Finally, I found an email that solved the mystery: I had been activated as a Disaster Service Worker, which is government-speak for saying I’d been pulled from my regular job to work on COVID-19.

I’ve worked in local government long enough to know about the Disaster Service Worker fine print. Hell, I’ve even taken training classes about it. But I never actually thought I would get assigned as a DSW. This may sound dramatic, but in that moment it felt like my world was crashing down. After four months of working from home and enjoying all the perks that come with it, I had to go back to the office full-time. It’s been almost two months since I was activated, and I’ve settled into my new routine at the Emergency Operations Center. Luckily I’m not working directly with the public. My role is behind the scenes, managing a volunteer database. There are surely some benefits to being in the office: free donuts every Friday, an ergonomic sit-stand desk, and the type of satisfaction from completing a task with my teammates that only comes from working in person together. As my new manager likes to say each morning, “it’s another day in paradise.” There's a hint of sarcasm there, but I still can't tell how much.

By now I’m sure you’ve seen the news about the wildfires here. A pandemic, civil unrest, and now some of the worst wildfires in history. What could happen next? My coworker likes to remind me that scientifically speaking, California is supposed to fall off into the ocean one of these days. In the midst of all this was Labor Day weekend. If you’ve read my blog long enough, you know that adventuring is pretty much mandatory for us on holiday weekends. So I scoured the fire maps, checked for closures, and finally settled on a place to go backpacking that wasn’t currently on fire or about to be on fire. Approaching the trailhead in the Carson-Iceberg Wilderness, I second guessed our choice. The forest looked like it had been torched by a wildfire just a year or two ago. We were supposed to hike to a gorgeous backcountry lake, and I worried it’d be just one big burnt forest, an image I was trying to escape from. The other cars at the trailhead were a good sign though, and we hit the trail hopeful. We made it out to the lake pretty quickly, and set up a near perfect basecamp overlooking the water complete with a rock for a makeshift kitchen table and a perch for Denali. The only thing missing was blue skies. The next morning we decided to explore Spicer Meadow Reservoir, which looked close on the map but in reality was about 300 nearly vertical feet below our camp. There was no easy way down, and having Denali made it a little more complicated. At one particularly precarious point, Denali tried to climb on our heads to get down. When we finally reached the lake, we were rewarded with a perfect swimming spot all to ourselves. 

Looking down at the reservoir

Somewhere in the wilderness 

Admiring her valley of squirrels 

So what's next? Are we packing up and leaving California, as some have suggested we do? Not yet. For better or for worse, we are not ready to leave this state and there are still adventures to be had.