Upper Huachuca Peak Trail

I finally got out and did a real hike today. Fort Huachuca has opened its trails for hikers and I had to bite. At 9:04am Sadie and I were on the Upper Huachuca Peak Trail to hike this 8400' hill. It was in the upper 80s with a humidity index of around 25%, bordering on uncomfortable for me.

This trail is accessible only by going on Fort Huachuca and then driving up through the old post on Christy Avenue to Huachuca Canyon. Then it's another bumpy 3.6 miles, half which any sedan could maneuver through, before the trailhead is to the left (south) of a fork in the road. The trail sign is hidden a bit; you'd have to know it's there.

I hadn't been here in years, perhaps five or six years now. I remembered very little except for the water running down the trail. The erosion on the actual road, though, has gotten so bad one would need a monster truck to make it to the old parking area of this steep but pretty trail. I could see the residue of previous rains washing debris across the trail, creating heavy groves in the trail. I certainly would not want to be hiking here during a deluge.

I felt slow and uncomfortable in the heat/humidity. Three people near the start resting off the trail warned me of a black bear that was in the area; a military policeman had warned them personally two hours earlier. I never saw it, although there was plenty of bear scat on the trail. With Sadie with me, I wasn't worried.

It took me an hour to make it that first mile where the trail intersects with the Crest Trail! Granted, I stopped a lot to photograph trees and flowers, but was I really that slow? After hiking higher elevations in California just two plus weeks ago, I wasn't expecting this.

I met one man around my age coming down the trail. Talking to him was an excuse to rest some more. He retired a month ago and wants to get back in shape. He never made it to the peak. The four women he hiked with made it to the top and I met them 1/4 of a mile from the peak as I was ascending. They were talking so loudly for so long they didn't even see me coming, and then they moved on and continued their chatter. Their voices would have alarmed bears and snakes for miles!

The pungent smell of wild onion surrounded me as I neared the peak. Or was that the more noxious onion weed? I pulled a few plants out and saw the small bulbs. Onion weed doesn't have bulbs nor does it smell like onion. (It just looks like it.)

I made it to the scrub oak-thorny bush covered peak right at noon. I was feeling sweaty and sat at the old foundation of what once was a lookout tower here. I ate some trail mix and gave Sadie some chicken jerky. She looked tired, too, and the incoming overcast sky didn't seem to alleviate her discomfort. She didn't drink much, either.

What surprised me from my vantage point is how little of the burn area is visible from Huachuca Peak. Miller Peak to the south looks good, except for the burned eastern slopes. The fire must not have crossed over into the western slopes as I had feared. That is good, as the forest looked quite good here.

My last time up this peak was last fall coming up the steeper and longer McClure Canyon. I think I prefer that hike over this one as it's more remote and McClure canyon has a spring in it. It's overgrown but at least it is not eroding off the hillsides.

The Basic NCO course plaque from 2001 is still there, facing the west. I am glad I wasn't in the class that had to shlepp that plaque up the trail.

I could see and hear rain cells toward Mt Wrightson and the Whetstones and didn't want to linger long on top. We descended the same way, crossing through a fagrant field of wild onion near the peak before returning to the alligator juniper-oak-pine forest along the trail. I picked up two old aluminum cans; trash was minimal here. I was more worried about watching my step as my right knee was hurting and I had to look closely at the many crevices and rocks in the trail.

A couple coming up as I was 1/2 mile from the finish line warned me of a rattle snake around the next bend. I never saw it. Perhaps my heavy stride made the snake think an elephant was approaching and scurried off.

I made it back to the truck by 2:30pm. By now the sky was looking dark above and to my west, but the drive down the canyon road was dry. It didn't rain until around 6:30pm.

French Joe Canyon (Whetstone Mountain range)

We never got any rain from Hurricane Don. The rain we did get was monsoon related and happened late last night.

So, after some gardening with Kevin in the morning, I decided to take our recyclables to the Whetsone drop-off site in the early afternoon and while there hike in French Joe Canyon. The mission was to check out any water in the pools. We started just before 1:30pm. I ended up finding water pools and small waterfalls and followed the water uphill to its source. There was more water than expected! I could have gone longer but it was already 3:45pm and I needed to get back down; by 5:30pm in town a small rain cell exploded over the area.

I was surprised to see the water. The first waterfall was dry and I almost turned around here, but the dogs were having fun and I needed some exercise.
Although nowhere near as wet as it was early last year, there was plenty of lush green growth. And I saw plenty of wildife and fauna. I came across several young common puffball fungi, later spotted two young garter snakes hiding in the second pool, then later spooked two Great Horned Owls away before I could photograph them, and later still spotted what looked like a medium-sized orangy lizard skither behind me. I also saw several swallowtail butterflies and a few other insects.

It turned out to be a lovely day for a hike. Although it was very warm in the sun (temps today were in the upper 80s) and the two older dogs were getting tired, they always livened up when we got to the next pool. Sara dunked into the water up to her neck several times. She usually just wants to get her belly wet.

I wore my water sandals but there were times the light footwear wasn't enough. There are a lot of shindaggers here that poked into my ankles. Black lichen along the rock slabs also was very slipperly. Even the dogs slipped a few times.

And I should add that I saw no one here. These mountains are popular with illegal border crossers as the remoteness keeps the USBP agents out. The only form of life I saw was while entering the foothills off the highway. A full-sized pick-up truck saw me coming and pulled over until I passed. The driver was a young Hispanic man who didn't wave or look at me through his dark-teinted windows.

The dogs were exhausted when we got back to the mud-covered truck. It's now four hours since I have been back and all three are sleeping soundly.

French Joe Canyon is a little-known canyon in the Whetstone mountains north of Sierra Vista. The access road from Highway 90 is unmarked. One turns west on a dirt road just a few yards north of mile marker 300. Several other unmarked ATV roads intersect the main road into French Joe Canyon. The driver must stay oriented to the mouth of the canyon going west. Once over the cattle guard it's straight down the road and into a small oak-covered parking area large enough for 2-3 cars. The first quarter mile are along the old mining trail, but after that it's either following the drainage or rock hopping like I did.

I estimate today's exploratory hike was 4-4.5 miles long. It took us three hours out and back.
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After the Fire

I had thought about hiking up Huachuca Peak yesterday, but early rainclouds at 9am kept me at home. Instead, I took all three dogs with me to the Coronado National Memorial, the only area right now open to hikers and close enough for me to take the dogs for walks. The road west of the Visitor's center was closed due to mudslides so I parked the truck at the park entrance sign and meandered around the burned foliage, never straying too far from the truck. Both USBP and Forest Service signs saw me walking nearby and didn't stop me, which I hope means I wasn't trespassing.

The dogs were happy to be out of the truck finally and ran outside to sniff and pee. This gave them just enough exercise to burn off some excess energy. Barely an hour later they were hot and panting and glad to be back home.

I must say that the forest is looking better than I thought. Granted, the southern part of the Coronado National Memorial, where the fire started, did not bear the brunt of the fire; that was further north in Ash and Stump Canyons. But I was surprised at two things: how much green was already coming up, and how much water damage had already occurred. I drove past two black mudslides and we haven't even had a true deluge yet!

The soil here is heavily saturated. Water seeks its own level so new drainages are now being formed. I followed one drainage, well hidden from USBP, south toward the border. I made sure I didn't stay long in this drainage as I didn't want to alarm the USBP parked nearby. I had never walked off-trail here and thus wasn't aware of the many well-hidden terrain features illegals prefer. No wonder this place is heavily surveilled! The drainage I followed for a bit with the dogs meandered southward. Heavy soil erosion was evident here, and there was evidence of former hiding areas for illegals: melted plastic bottles still littered some of the burned areas.

I spotted one burned javelina skull with bones scattered in the sand. Had it died before the fire or because of the fire? There were also many burned mesquite and oak tree stumps, charred remains of cholla and prickly pear cacti. The hardiest of the succulents, the agaves and yucca, did well.

The first signs of regrowth are herbacous plants. Grass and soft-stemmed vines are already up and blooming. And so are those nasty fireants. The many burned yuccas and agaves will continue to regrow, with the burned outter spikes eventually dying off for the new growth. Many of the oaks will linger, but some are already shooting up new stems. With new grass will come the rodents and deer, and with that the raptors and coyotes. By next year new seedlings will have emerged and soon thereafter the forest will look the same, only younger and healthier, so all is not lost.

I do, however, fear more mudslides. If the mud that I saw has come from the few storms we have had this season, it won't be long before larger
tracts of land see more disasterous damage from one day of heavy rains.

Being back home

Sometimes the nicest things are the simplest things. It felt so good yesterday not to have to drive anywhere, spend any money, or stress over time. After a three-hour nap I was up again at 7:30am and inspected the garden. As expected, the crops are doing well. I ate two strawberries and as many tomatoes as I walked the plots.

The rain we have been getting has done the garden good. The sun-burned photinias are back to new, green growth, the cut-down oleanders are in a vegetative growth spurt, and the beaver cacti that froze to death during the February freeze have sprouted new pods from the root base.

The two apple seedlings Nelly gave me before the trip have grown nicely, too! One of them is now 12 inches tall (or the size of a standard bottle of beer).

The only thing that isn't coming back is the Bermuda grass. We have more bald spots in the back yard than we have grass. The Texas sage is in purple bloom and the lantanas are coming up. And most surprising of all, the rose bushes are now in new lush growth and looking healthier than ever!

Sadie also came back to life as soon as we came back. After a thorough sniff-through from the other dogs, she wanted to play ball with me and came into the office with the tennis ball in her mouth. I was too tired for a few rounds and she put playtime on hold.

Later in the afternoon, before what I thought would be a rainy downpour, I took all three dogs on a three-mile walk around the hood to check out the flooding around Miller Creek. The creek, which is a seasonal creek in our area, was not running but damage from the flashflood from the 21st was still evident: weeds that normally stand tall were washed sideways and coated with mud. The faint smell of wet charcoal still lingers in the air, too, and several homes along the creek had their wire fences wash away or under by the deluge. Sandbags and stacked haybails surround some of them. However, shrubs and cacti that froze to death earlier this year are all regrowing.

The ground along the creek is heavily saturated from the rain, and walking through there isn't easy. Amazing how water seeks its own level. Our street is fine but one street north of us had the gullies wash out, too.

It finally rained long after I fell asleep last night, with the light on and the Kindle still in my hands. I had wanted to spend a few hours reading but instead fell quickly asleep. My body rhythms had been slightly off these last few days and my body needed time to catch up to normalcy. Today I finally feel normal and watched the sun rise behind the rain clouds, with the invigorating smell of creosote and sage around me. This is the aroma I love so much about the desert, and the aroma that will always send me back to the desert I love so much. This place is home. It doesn't matter how many roadtrips I take or how many places I explore elsewhere, my home is here in the desert. My heart is here, and where the heart is is home.

San Jacinto State Park and points east

I slept soundly last night. Camped at just around 6000 feet, the night was warm and no condensation had settled on the windows. I got up, had a can of coffee and washed my hair. Looking over my state wilderness permit I learned that NO DOGS are allowed in the San Jacinto state wilderness, and a $5 permit is required for any hike in the state wilderness. These permits must be pre-dated and are for specific trails only. This was just too much for me. Ranger Roger, with whom I spoke at the Idyllwood Ranger station, said that hiking in the National Forest around San Jacinto Peak was allowed.

"The hiking is free there but you must pay $5 to park."

This was too much for me so I drove off the mountain, stopping briefly in the town of Idyllwood with its usual coffeeshops, bars, diners and giftshops before hitting the hot valley again on CA243, a scenic and curvy road through the wilderness that meanders back to Palm Desert via CA74.

I stopped briefly to walk the Cedar Springs trail in the Kenworthy wilderness, but smoke from the nearby Eagle Fire, a 4000-acre wildfire burning 7 miles east of Warner Springs in San Diego County, began to filter into the the Coachella Valley. The smoke slowly gave me a headache, and we resumed our drive around the mountain on CA74, stopping at vista points to gaze over the dry hills and read plaques describing the ancient peoples of these peaks. We were clarly back in the hot desert. These mountains and vallies were home to the Cahuilla Indians, and a small Santa Rosa Indian reservation bisected the landscape.

At 10am, driving down the dry hills, I learned that the sultry British blues singer Amy Winehouse was found dead in her north-London home. She was notorious for cocaine use and other drugs. She had a powerful voice. What a loss. The media had reported about her drug and alcohol use for years, yet noone stepped forward to help her.

CA72 curved around the dry mountain range and ended up in Palm Desert, where I stopped for two hours to download pics at the Coffee Bean Cafe where I got on the internet. The Coffee Bean Cafe is a nice corner cafe whose clientele were well-dressed people. A group of three elderly Polish men sat across from me the entire visit chatting in Polish. A morbidly obese but very friendly local

woman who struggled with walking and who waited at the front door for her friend to drive up and pick me up, recommended I go to Palm Springs and check out the Cheesecake Factory. She apparently has spent many trips there. "The shopping is great, too!" she added before stepping out into the hot sun.

I was now tired of the roadtrip. It was time to head back home, and Sadie was getting near the boiling point waiting for me. I continued my drive on CA86 which straddles the Salton Sea on its eastern shores, past date palm orchards and green strips.

Salton Sea, I discovered, is a "dead" see whose shores are littered with the remains of dead fish, tiny shells and abandoned cabins. If there was life here it was back in the 1950s, when there was no care about agricultural pesticides. The place was so bad it was a photographer's delight, and three men ahead of me from Los Angeles told me the same thing. One of the young men, bareback and glistening in sweat, said they drove in earlier from LA just to see this forsaken place.

The heat radiating from the sand was making me hot. I kept Sadie in the shade of the truck, but for her sake didn't stay long. All around me were abandoned cabines, discarded furniture, beer bottles and dead things. Hard to believe that there is a recreational area of the lake on its western shores. I wouldn't want my dog drinking from this water! One abandoned pink trailer with "California: Live Free or Die" must have died in its attempt to liberate itself. The carcasses of old busses and cars also littered the abandoned homes around here.

Oddly enough, there must be enough food here to keep the pelicans, plovers and gulls full as there were plenty of birds along the shore. The entire region seemed desolate and neglected, yet this was still home to many Mexican and native American farm workers whose tiny shacks were shaded by towering palms. People with money would not come to this place

I wanted out of this hellhole and took CA86 south through the just-as miserable towns of Coachella, Salton City and Brawley, brifefly drove into Calixico along the border and resumed the drive as close to the border as possible. The town on the Mexican side, Mexicali, seemed much larger, and many USBP vans patroled the fenceline. I didn't see anything suspicious but didn't want to stay long enough to find out. The many agents here were indicative of much activity.

The sun continued to blaze down on us. Sadie looked miserable. It was over 101F and the air conditioner barely kept us cool. We were now on the homestretch, with Yuma Arizona now on highway directional signs.

The Imperial Sand dunes popped up 30 miles west of Yuma. In the heat there were still ATVers riding across the naked sand, leaving trails of sand dust behind them. But other than the dunes there was not much else here. The fake town of Felicity, with its church on a hill proclaiming to be "The center of the world" stood out from a small and barren apartment complex. There was no sign of life and the landscape looked just as barren.

Things began to change as I entered Arizona at 6pm. I called Kevin to give him the news, but then called again two hours later when a sandstorm rolling in from the south brought in a short obstacle but a beautiful orange sky and later more dramatic storm clouds as the rain came. High winds followed. This is where I pulled into the McDonald's in Gila Bend (which also featured free WiFi which I used) and resumed my drive at 10pm, just as the news announced another multiple shooting in Flagstaff and the latest home pool drowning of a small boy.

I made it home at 3am to a light falling of rain. Sadie came back to life as we entered the home. Sara and Sammy did their usual somersaults. Life was back to normal but I was so caffeinated I couldn't get to sleep until 4:30am, when Kevin got up for the day. I was glad to be home again.

Santa Barbara and Simi Valley

A heavy warm fog awakened me. Sadie had eaten the leftover chicken legs overnight and thus had nothing for breakfast.

I drove back to the mission area for some photographs but the fog dimmed the lighting a bit. However, the fog was refreshing and I wanted to hike a bit with Sadie. First we walked around a small park just up from the mission, but later discovered the Cold Springs Trail off East Mountain View Drive. This tu

rned out to be a lush three-mile loop hike up and down a foggy mountainside. We couldn't see the ocean at all.

This is a popular trail, judging by the people I met early in the hike. One group of older hikers gave me a trailmap of the area that took me right to the trailhead. Although we had no oceanviews, I enjoyed this little trail as an excuse to get some exercise before hitting the highway again, this time fighting more traffic.

I stopped at a farmer's market where I bought three pints for $6 and practically ate half of it within an hour. We continued on toward Ventura, where, within five minutes, a parking cop came by to inspect the parking fees. I had only been walking five minutes, enough time to cross the street to see the mission and come back. These California parking cops are serious!

My next plan was to hit Simi Valley and perhaps see the Reagan library, but on my way there along USHwy101 I found a Barnes and Noble bookstore where I stopped to download the photos from yesterday's drive and this morning. Sadie seemed quite content to remain in the truck while I worked on the photographs.

By 1pm the fog finally began lifting.

Leaving the Monterey Bay Area

21 July

Last night I told Karen to make sure I was awake when she got ready for work. At 5:30am I was taking a shower, and a few minutes later she had water ready for my coffee, a Guatamalan blend that was quite tasty. We talked for another 20 minutes at her table as classical music piped through her cabin via her wireless internet and we departed at 6:30am. For the first time I felt that queasy feeling one

gets before departing a dearly beloved or good friend, and she definitely is a good friend. I promised to keep in better touch with her and to perhaps come back next summer, on my trip to Oregon.

A heavy fog once again was over the bay area. Luckily, though, the morning traffic was light and I never hit that notorious inbound-Monterey traffic jam on Hwy 1. Mexican farm laborers were already working hard in the cabbage fields right off the highway at 6:50am. I made it to Monterey before 7am, stopping only to gas up at the Moss Landing Valero gas station for $3.65 a gallon, the cheapest I've seen in the M-bay area

I parked outside the soon-to-be-closed Border's Books in Seaside to get on the WiFi and busy away with photo downloads. I had to wait until 9am to have Dennis arrive at his job to say good-bye to him, then drove into Monterey to say good-bye to John. We couldn't chat for long, but he thanked me for inspiring him to bike more so many years ago (sometime I honestly don't remember telling him), and now I must try to get back into cycling myself, and what better place than Monterey, which lies at sealevel?

As I drove off I said in parting "Take Care, John." John replied "See you later, Connie!" His reply caught me off guard, but John's perpetual optimism always had.

I lingered in town in the morning, walking along the "Path of History" and Colton Hall, where the state's first constitution was signed in 1849, and approved by the US Congress the following year, making California the 31st state. Its constitution mandates that all documents must be written in both Spanish and English, due to the many Mexicans who became legal citizens of California when it was granted statehood. The homes around Colton Hall and the Monterey Public Library where I lingered for a few hours, were built in the Mexican era of the 1830s.

I stayed in the library just past noon, delighting in the sounds of talking toddlers and teens around me. The MPL had always been very active in reading and activity programs for young people, and today was no different. However, by noon I knew that I had delayed my departure once again--as I am known to do--and finally joined Sadie for the drive south along Big Sur. My return to Arizona has now begun, with my arrival there Sunday. I plan on stopping tomorrow at the Salton Sea Rec area for the night and hit that hot drive across the Mohave first thing in the morning. I am ready to go back home.

Santa Cruz and Karen

I slept well overnight, despite not getting to "bed" until 12:30am in the heavy fog. Sadie slept well, too, and didn't bark at the soldiers walking past us early in the morning.

The blue sky and sun greeted me again, after a two-day absence.

Sandy was leaving the fitness center as I walked in, telling me she was heading out to teach swimming. I did my morning routine here, dried my hair. This i

s a wonderful fitness center which seems to cater not just to the military personnel, but to the many foreign workers at the defense Language Institure. A lot of the women around me looked Asian or European.

I took off for the Bagel Bakery, although the long line reaching the door discouraged me from eating there. The slow service has always been an issue for this place, but it never kept me from going there. By 10am I was on the road to Santa Cruz, with most of the day free until Karen would get off work at 4:30pm

Traffic was heavy going back into Monterey, but Highway 1 was light heading north, pass Moss Landing and the agricultural fields labored by Mexican farm workers, often with stately housing developments within view.

I headed for the famed boardwalk, but only stayed for 30 minutes to take photos. Sadie had to stay in the truck as the boardwalk is not dog-friendly. It was crowded enough for a Wednesday, and the screams and cheers from tween girls reminded me of the times I took my own kids here. I then continued on to the famed Pacific Avenue in town where some of the most interesting people can be seen lingering in the downtown district. Many of the older bearded men look like the 1960s and 1970s Vietnam War draft dodgers who flocked to this city when Santa Cruz was the notorious safe haven for draft dodgers. Street musicians decked out in frilly attire to the begging homeless and youngsters all could be seen here, and only the ticking parking meter kept me from staying longer. I got back to the SUV just as the parking nanny drove up behind me. My meter had already expired.

In my days of living in the Monterey Bay, I had always enjoyed coming to Santa Cruz. I liked its liberal attitude and progressive ways, but many of these same liberals were also some of the rudest people I had encountered here. On top of that, many seemed to shy away from regular personal hygiene.

I then drove back toward Karen's little cabin off Larkin Valley Road, heading south a few miles. Again I stopped at La Selva beach to watch surfers, lovers and passers-by. Sadie had no interest in the ocean and napped behind me, quite content to rest in the shade while "Mom" ventured off for more photos.

The many wetsuit-clad surfers seemed to spend more time waiting for decent waves to come ashore than they did actually surfing, and only one young man seemed successful at riding any waves.

I got to Karen's little hide-out at 3pm, with more time to wait in the shade. Instead of reading my Kindle, though, I also napped, not realizing that Karen's neighbor and landlord, Steve, had noticed me parked off-road and was worried about my suspicious vehicle parked there for so long. Karen told me later than this little road had been burglarized two years ago by a drug dealer, and Karen lost many precious items in the break-in. I don't blame Steve for being concerned.

Karen drove up at 4:20pm. That's when the hugging and smiling began. We chatted nonstop, first on her small deck overlooking a foggy bay, then later at Seascape Beach but we didn't stay long because Sadie hated the beach, then again at an upscale restaurant in Watsonville where she treated me to a very tasty Mexican meal. There was much to catch up on, from her three trips to Paris to her love for all things French (she even reads French classics in French) to her desire to spend more time in solitude than among chatty hiking mates, her love for photography and Photoshop to gourmet cooking and eating. She hasn't changed much, and her passion for all of the above is quite infectious.

Her little cabin is no more than 600 square feet, but lovingly decorated and light. I told Karen I could live in a place like this, as long as I had another 600 square feet for storage.

We chatted at first over beer with our meals, then reverted toa delicious red Soquel wine as the hours passed. It had been years since I had wine, and it wasn't until 11pm when I took Sadie outside for a pee break, than I realize I had caught a wine buzz.

Sadie was well-behaved but seemed restless in the small home. She left the cat Princess alone, and when we finally settled for the night on her couch, Sadie slept next to me on the carpet. Fog had shrouded the home as predicted, and the waning half moon lighted up the trees just enough to add mystery to the woods.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Just a reminder that I am jotting notes down and will add the photos when I'm back home in Arizona. I'm on the road and don't have the time to dedicate to a more detailed journal. My writing is choppy when I'm on the road. I plan on completing it when I have the time before school starts up again. I have lots to edit, revise and delete.

Heavy fog

This morning I woke up early to the sounds of cawing seagulls. a heavy fog, the same fog that rolled in yesterday evening, lingered. I remember this cold fog from my days living in the Monterey Bay area (1996-2000) and I hated that cold wetness, but this fog also accentuates the aroma from the many cypress trees that dominate the landscape here.

I showered early at the fitness center, recognizing Ms Sandy from my days when I was stationed at the POM. She didn't recognize me until she asked me for my last name, and then she recalled the years she and I exchanged paperwork whenever a battalion needed reservations for a gym or raquetball court date. She's been working as a swim instructor since 1994 but said that even after 26 years in the civil service, her base pay of $900, after taxes, could not support her here. "I'll have to keep on working unless I can find another job" she said.

The high cost of living here, and the heavy state taxees, kept me from making this place my forever home, too. I like it here, but I think the disadvantages of being here for the long run would force me out again. Yes, the landscape is beautiful and the flora is amazing, but the taxes and this constant evening cold would depress me all over again.

The cold fog changed my morning plans of hiking in Carmel Valley, so I used the weather as an excuse to wash cllothes at the 24-hour laundromat next door to the Bagel Bakery I frequented so much during my stay here. I didn't order a "toasted plain bagel with Swiss cheese" and instead ordered a double shot of cappuccino ($3.41) which the young man steamed too hot that it scalded my tongue. I was able to access the WiFi from the laundromat and was able to continue my email as the first load dried. The clothes didn't look that much cleaner than before, though, but at least they smelled clean.

I finally left the laundromat at 10am when I realized the fog wasn't going away and I wasn't doing anything else productive. I headed south on Hwy 1 to Carmel, then Carmel Village on county road G16. The trailhead for the Los Padres Dam/Carmel River trail was 16 miles away, through the old paved road that surely was once a farmer's road in Steinbeck's days. The narrow, curvy road didn't allow for fast speed.

We made it to the trailhead at 11:21am and proceeded toward the dam. For a "river trail" this was a hot hike at first, walking along a wide but exposed maintenance road to the dam. Then the trail continued to the north of the dam along a high ridge, through mostly sunny stretches for another mile before I reached the trail intersection for Big Pine and Bottcher's Gap that led uphill. I took the other route to the left, or south, toward Carmel River Camp. This was a single track through shaded forest of live oak and manzanitas. I had done this trail years ago, but this section didn't look familiar.

I am glad I took the guide book with me, as we lost the trail after the first creek crossing across Danish Creek. Here the trail looked less maintained. We crossed another creek shortly thereafter, but here a massive former flood zone had washed away the trail. The bad thing about using old trail guides (mine was from 1998) is that it's not always accurate! We walked around in the shallow creek for a bit, but I opted to turn around as the trail was lost. Sadie enjoyed the cool wetness but also seemed glad to go back.

We probably didn't hike more than four miles in what was a hot and humid hike. What a contrast to Monterey, which was still shrouded in fog when we returned to the peninsula at 4pm. I drove up to the Veteran's Memorial Park to hike the Huckleberry Hill hike (1.8m) to at least say we got our six miles in today.

The Huckleberry Hill Preserve of Monterey Pine is a small tract of land that borders the Defense Language Institute. I had taken troops up through these woods for hill training, but since 911 access to this preserve is closed from the military post. The trails are really maintenance roads for the California Water Company, and today the upper trails were nestled in fog. On a clear day one can see the ocean.

The rest of the day was spent quietly with Sadie. I stopped to get ice for the food I bought yesterday at Trader Joes. The marine layer was moving back in over the peninsula and the chills returned; time to put on the layers again!

I returned to the laundromat to download photos and answer email as once again Pacific Grove was shrouded in the evening fog.
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5 July-25 July

I am on the road with Sadie across California. The notes I have been posting during this time are mere notes to keep my memory of this great trip in my mind. Further details and photographs will be added when I am back in Arizona.

Monterey Bay

The morning was quiet. Sadie barely moved. I heard no noises reminding me that I was surrounded by troops. I had my first shower on this trip at the Price Fitness Center and realized that nothing has changed since I left the base in late 2000. A few more security walls have been constructed, keeping civilians out, but all else remains the same. Even the tame muledeer are still browsing near Huckleberry Hill, a small patch preserved for the fragile Monterey Pines, and are oblivious of the traffic. They looked up at me as I passed by but didn't seem concerned.

Even the town hasn't changed. I quickly became oriented and knew where to go. I may have forgotten street names, but landmarks guided me along.

It was nice to be back.

I was on my way to Santa Cruz when I realized that one of my old friends here, John, once worked as a landscaper for the city cemetery. I drove there, looked at the old tombstones (some dating to before 1850 when California became the 31st state) and drove around the complex trying to find him. What would he look like, I asked myself? Would he be recognizable? I was ready to ask the manager if John still worked here when he saw me first and approached me with a "Connie?" His beardless face revealed large white teeth and a smile. I came up to him as well, relieved that the search was over. We hugged.

John seemed happy to see me, which was a relief, and we ended up talking for almost an hour about the old days here when we went hiking, camping and walking around town for those years we were close, in 1997-98, before he bought a home in Marina and was no longer my neighbor. He then fell in love with a woman he met while in Costa Rica. He's married to her now, with a little boy and it's his little boy Joseph he talked about the most.

I was nervous. I had no script and wasn't prepared. How does one summarize one's life in bullet sentences after a nine-year absence? What to focus on? John wanted to know more about Erin and Eric than about me, and I was able to talk freely about them. I don't carry photographs of my family in my wallet--a habit I picked up while in the army--and promised John I'd send him pics of them via email. At least now John has a computer and uses email!

"I have become the All-American Joe!" said John, referring to his clean-cut hair and beardless face and wedding ring on his left hand. This was the John I never expected to see, but it's a John who is happy with his new life.

I couldn't stay long as he had to work and I didn't want to be in the way. It was nice to see him again after all these years; his shorter hair and beardless face would have confused me had he not recognized me first. His marriage has given him greater self-confidence. Before, he hid behind his long hair and beard. His voice and demeanor hadn't changed much at all. He seems happy with his life.

The morning had passed quickly now. Another friend I wanted to look up was his friend Dennis, an older man and fellow army retireee who now works at an autoshop in Seaside, a town that borders Monterey and the former Fort Ord. I spent a few parties with both John and Dennis in "the old days." I drove over there after leaving the cemetery, only to be told that Dennis had left for work. Now where to? I stopped at Border's to check my email, wrote to Karen about getting together, and then decided that Sadie needed to get some exercise. She had been waiting patiently in the truck for me. I drove back to Monterey and then Pacific Grove to check out my old apartment on Ransford Avenue. My old German neighbor Lieselotte still lives there.

I knocked on Lieselotte's door but she didn't answer. Her old doghouse in which "Baby" once slumbered is still there in the courtyard and is now part of the landscape. Her lace curtains still adorn her windows. I knocked several times but she never came to the door. I then opted to let her be and walked across to the little strip mall I'd frequent and where the Bagel Bakery is. It's still there, along with the 24-hour laundry, Stone's Pet Shop (a 60-year family business), Breakers (a small eatery), and Noble Roman's Pizza. Nothing had changed here.

I opted to take her to Asilomar Beach in Pacific Grove, a dog-friendly beach that orders dogs on leashes (according to the posted sign) but which few people seem to practice as every dog except Sadie was off-leash. This beach is a busy beach that always has groups of people on it. Camp fires once were allowed here, but not anymore. I used to come here and sit on a rock near the waves just to listen to the water. Kelp washes ashore here and then dries in the waning tide.

Sadie did not like the beach. It was perhaps the loud, crashing waves, or perhaps the taste of salt water made her queasy, but the entire length of the beach she pulled on the leash and wanted nothing to do with the water.

Families and dogs were all over the small beach, and a half dozen surfers were out trying to catch a few measely waves. Kelp lay on the beach in high mounds, but kelp is something the locals don't seem to mind. One dead starfish also rotted in the sun. A cool breeze followed us.

I wanted to walk longer, take a few miles along the trail that parallels the shore but Sadie was not interested. So we returned to the car. Now where to? I drove back to Monterey, and managed to pull into Dennis' workshop just as he was leaving. He looked the same except older and a bit heavier around the middle, but he recognized me right away. It's no fair that Dennis got word from John that I was in town! And as usual in Dennis' fast-paced worded enthusiasm, he told me as much news as he could pull out of his head.

I wanted to talk longer, but he had a commitment to a volunteer organization that works with dementia/Alzheimer's victims. He takes afflicted people out to eat twice a week and tonight was one of those nights. Again, I didn't want to be in the way and we departed at 5:40pm.

I stopped at Border's again for more photo downloads. The forecasted marine layer had moved in as the sun set. By 7:30pm the fog was heavy and cold, the kind of fog that used to depress me here as it continued into the summer. I remember the summer of 1999 was especially cold.

My day was now over. I drove around old Fort Ord where now stands a new stripmall with an REI and other stores, surrounded by abandoned and rotting army barracks that once housed the 5th Infantry here. Instead of tearing the buildings down to make way for new construction, the old barracks have been surrounded by chainlink fences. There must not be any money to totally raze the eye sores off Highway 1.

The last thing I did before we camped for the night was walk around my old neighborhood. This neighborhood at night was always quiet, so I took Sadie on a half-mile walk through the dark streets. I had often walked the dark streets at night after a quick visit to the nearby Block Buster's which still stands, but never learned the names of any of the streets. Every home along this stretch is a showroom house, with elegantly landscaped gardens and stately mature cypresses towering the area. Few people seem to live in these open-curtained, well-lighted rooms, but parked cars in the small driveways point to life inside these homes.

The damp cypresses were especially fragrant tonight, but so was the biting cold. Sadie walked next to me, seemingly unmoved by the exercise.

On our return walk back to the truck we came across a young buck standing in a driveway. I thought it was a lawn ornament, but instead the animal was frozen in fear by the sight of Sadie, who quickly confronted the animal. At first the two made awkward dance movements, but then they butted heads, then Sadie barked and then the buck started snorting and going toward me before it leaped to the side with Sadie in hot pursuit. This is not what I wanted! I couldn't call Sadie because I didn't want to create a ruckus and have the sleepy Seniors yell at me. Pacific Grove enforces its quiet hours pretty seriously. Both buck and Sadie darted off three houses down, but then the buck jumped into a narrow alleyway and Sadie had no option but to return to me.

This was enough excitement for me. I returned to the Presidio, and now had to take the long way back in as the Taylor Entrance closes at 10pm. The cold, heavy fog continued to roll in all through the night.

Leaving the Sierras

17 July

It was a cold morning. Sadie barked at something at 4:45am. I didn't get up for another hour to pee. By sunrise I was awake and read more of Eric Foner's book as Mary slowly got up.

We departed at 8:15am. I decided instead of hiking right away, to get on the road and make it as close as possible to the Monterey Bay. Instead, we both left together and our last combined stop was at Sonora Pass (9676') where Mary took a photo of Sadie and me. I was still wearing my purple fleece pants I had slept in. It was cold and windy at the pass!

It was the last I saw of her after we hugged and contined our drive. It was a gorgeous drive across the Stanilaus National Forest, a forest I had never been in before, as the road meandered slowly downhill toward the San Joachin Valley.

At 10:20am I stopped in the small town of Strawberry. The Strawberry Inn advertised free WiFi so I decided to stop here and download my pics. I ordered a cappuccino at the bar, tended to by a young blond Czech whose accent sounded Polish. I was his first customer of the day as I got my electronics set up, although I couldn't find my sD chip that held my White Mountain pics. Where had it gone? And where was my Canon S90 charger?

The time quickly passed. I got hungry, but lunch wasn't served until 11am. Then by 11:30 the pregame to the World Cup finals started and the crowd quickly grew. Twenty years ago no one would have cared for women's sports, let along soccer, and here the bar was filling up with a spirited audience that stood when the US national anthem played. The women played against Japan and both teams played their hearts out. Japan eventually won in double overtime, but by then I was on the road again facing the valley traffic.

I wanted to stay in the foothills as much as possible, but instead of staying on CA49, I missed the turn for that and stayed on CA120 west, driving right toward the Bay Area that I wanted to avoid. It was hotter here now, and more heavily trafficed. Small towns were separated by short stretches of farmland, roadside vegetable vendors and golden hills. There were also three small fires off the road, a sight and smell I don't want to see anytime soon! The dry grasses across California and the high winds in the valley could make a wildfire very possible.

I was in unknown territory. I drove into Oakdale and took a southern turn that took me through more suburbs I had never heard of before. Certes, and all I wanted to do was get on the road toward Hollister/Los Banos, towns that were at least familiar to me.

I couldn't enjoy being back in the coastal area yet as I hadn't come to familiar grounds yet. I found the road to the San Bautista reservoir, where golden eagles are known to fly over, but by now the high winds were getting dangerous and I had to concentrate on the road. Although the land around te lake was dry, I found this place beautiful, as the golden grasses swayed in the winds in wavelike formation.

Even Los Banos and Hollister, when I drove through the towns, seemed so different tthan from what I remember, namely even larger with more cookie-cutter homes right on top of each other.

It was getting late and I wanted to see the ocean before it got too dark. When I made it past Watsonville I had to decide where to go: toward Santa Cruz to find Karen, or Monterey to find my other friends? My first choice was Santa Cruz, but traffic prevented me from pursuing that. I pulled into the La Selva beach and saw the ocean at 6:51pm. This is a small beach bordered by huge cypresses, the landmark tree along the central coast. I had reached the Pacific Ocean in time!

Now I was stoked. Although La Selva was not a beach I went to often, I decided to make it to Monterey afterall and overnight at the presidio. After a few awkward turns on country roads that meandered around fields of strawberries and red cabbage, I reached the Monterey area and saw the sun set over Pacific Grove and Lover's Point, another landmark that I often walked to from my apartment just for exercise.

I never felt the euphoric "I'm Home!" feeling when I got out of the truck to walk around Lover's Point. A sign posted stating NO DOGS was ignored by several visitors who had their Chihuahuas with them. Except for the nameless strangers around me, everything else looked the same to me, and driving around the area reaffirmed to me that very little had changed since my last trip to the Monterey area in May 2002. I may have forgotten the streetnames, but I remembered the major landmarks.

Bodie, CA

16 July

The forming mining town, now ghost town of Bodie, CA is the destination that Mary picked out for today. This was a prosperous mining town in the 1870s and 1880s and some of the best gold was mined here. It lies at 8400' near the Nevada border, nestled in the Bodie hills. I was all for it as this was a quiet day for Sadie.

I had slept well the night before, wondering why the camp was so quiet with all the young people around us. Mary said otherwise, being awakened by screaming teens around 2am, most likely from a bear wondering around. I didn't hear a thing! The hike the day before had exhausted both Sadie and me.

We left the French Creek campsite and drove on to Bodie, stopping in Lee Vining for breakfast at Nicely's, where the friendly and efficient staff is all Latino. Afterwards we stayed a bit in Lee Vining, where I was rebuffed out of the Visitor's center where I was kurtly told only members of the Mono Lake Committee could use the internet. All I wanted to do was download my photos on my laptop! I went to the Latte Da coffee shop next door to do that, although the internet was not available. I chatted briefly with a young mother from Seattle, whose daughter Sierra goes camping with her here.

We were finally on our way around 11am. Mary stopped on the north end of Lee Vining to gas up: $4.79 for a gallon of gasoline!

And then we resumed our drive north on US Hwy 395 to CA270 east, a heavily frostheaved road through the pretty Bodie hills to the state park, where a long line of cars waited patiently at the entrance. The price of entrance was $7 a person, and $2 more for the printed guide.

At first the crowds turned me off. We arrived at 12:10pm. Sadie must have been very tired as she pulled constantly as I wandered around for photos. After 45 minutes of her pulling I decided to put her back in the truck where she rested in the shade. She seemed more content there, as we resumed our walk around the well-preserved ghost town. There certainly was a lot to photograph: old cars, old mining equipment, flowers and seagulls, bluebirds and barn swallows.

The later it got the nicer the place became, as the tourists departed and the sun cast a mellow shade on the old wooden structures. We opted to take the 3pm guided tour of the stamp mill, a tour we both enjoyed as the guide, dressed as Mrs. Theodore Hoover, took us around the place.

We finally left the place at 4:30pm. We both agreed Bodie was a place worth seeing at least once. It was now time to head north on USHwy 395 to Bridgeport for dinner and then the Sonora Pass exit (CA108) and look for a camping site.

Bridgeport was a nice little town. The flora around here started resembling the high Lake Tahoe area, as the vallies widened and happy cows grazed along the road. This was all new territory for me and I was soaking it all in.

Dinner for the night was at Pop's Galley in bridgeport where I ordered a simple spicy chicken sandwich for $4.99, the special of the day. I also had a Corona. Sadie stayed in the truck and rested in the shade of a tall cottonwood. I let her out to relieve herself (unfortunately she chose the green grass of the county courthouse!) before we drove on. We were now on the final strech of our combined trip. Our last goal was finding a campsite on a Saturday night. We lucked out when we got the second-to-last spot at Leavitt Meadows campground, right over the rushing West Wilder Creek.

We finalized the shared bills, chatted some more, and then called it a night. I stayed up late to read, finally, from my Kindle: "The fiery trial of Abraham Lincoln" by Eric Foner. I was up till 11pm, knowing that tomorrow began the start of my return to Arizona, driving the long route toward the California coastline.

White Mountain, 14,276'

The rising sun was glistening through the frosty rearwindow asa I got up. It was cold, and Sadie had snuggled as closely to me as she could during the night. I had slept through, only noticing chilly feet when I got up. Mary was already walking around taking pictures, and I managed to capture the setting full moon over the Sierras.

I put Sadie in my white down jacket from last year's Mt Whitney summit. She seemed to appreciate the added warmth. Mary told me yesterday's stubbed toe still hurt enough for her not to want to summit with me. I ate a near-frozen banana. Sadie and I took off by ourselves at 6:11am. I had no idea if or how long it would take us for the hike. Mary said not to worry, she would enjoy the solitude reading.

We made it to the University of California-Barcroft science station at 7:09am, a small research facility composed of two sections, a higher and a lower station. Once we made it to the higher station 30 minutes later, we could see White Mountain, a copper-brown summit of multiple hues protruding from the rest of the ranger; it was no question where White Mountain was.

But there wasn't much "white." All the water on the trail was below Barcroft Station. Sadie didn't seem to mind, and I didn't see her drink from the ice-covered water. She seemed more interested in the marmots that popped up everywhere, chirping to their colonies to warn them of this weird-looking, down-jacket wearing animal.

The winds were icy but the sun was warm. I was in my fleece jacket and in the same pants from yesterday. My coolmax cap was all I had on my head, but my hands were covered in gloves.

We had to descend twice before actually reaching the base of the mountain. One man, Dave, who had started his hike at 1am to see the sunrise, was coming down at 8am. An hour later I met another woman, also solo, who watched us catch up to her up the switchbacks before she decided her pace wasn't fast enough to make a timely summit and then turned around. These two people were the only ones I met on the ascent, as the trail continued switching up the mountain.

Sadie spotted three bighorn sheep near the summit. I was too slow at getting my camera out. How can these animals survive at this elevation? No harder than the kestrels, ravens, ants, beetles and alpine flowers I encountered.

The views from all directions were spectacular. Green crop circles were to the east and west of me as I ascended. Mountains were in all directions, but the Sierras dominated the western horizon. What awaited me at the summit kept me going, and Sadie showed no elevation sickness whatsoever.

In fact, she beat me to the top by a few minutes! She made it to the weather station at 10:31am and I followed almost two minutes later. It was windy there, and an American flag blew in the gusts. I awarded Sadie with her beloved "Happy Hips" chicken jerkey as I sucked on some cold gummi bears. I drank some water not out of any thirst, but because I knew I had to.

Bristlecone Pine Forest

Sadie slept well last night and didn't stir. I let her out at 4am to pee and again at 7am when I got up, and the second time she had a solid bowl movement.

We were out of site 11 by 8:30am, driving out of Sagebrush Flats after nine days. Dora and Gerry weren't "home" so our departure was quiet. Only our angler neighbors were aware of our leaving.

Dragonflies bumped up against the truck as I drove into town. Mary said later she nearly hit a deer again. The dead deer from a few days ago was already well-eaten, according to her.

We stopped in Bishop for breakfast at Jack's, stopped at the Looney Bean Cafe for a quick WiFi check, got gas and then went up to the Bristlecone Forest again. Mary wanted to check out Silve Canyon road, an old, narrow dirt road that takes explorers to the ridge of the Bristle Cone Forest. I was game for this. This is where Bighorn Sheep are known to cruise by. And what an adventure this was! It started out mellow enough as we entered the canyon along a small creekbed lush with birdlife and green trees. We crossed the creek several times and meandered up the canyon before we could see the valley in the distance grow further and further away. Mary was up front and I was behind her, watching her carefully stop many times to photograph the scene. But at one point we both must have realized that what we were driving up was not just some dirt road. This was a treacherous drive and we could no longer turn around! We were more than half-way up this road when the grade got steep. Mary's Subaru couldn't quite make it at the speed she was going without acceleration and I pulled back wondering if my Ford Escape would make it, too. It took me three attempts to overcome that switchback and my nerves were frayed. The scenery around me opened up to peaks and rocks and that cool mountain air. No doubt this was a beautiful drive. It took us almost two hours to make it to the top. We pulled over at an overlook and relaxed. Sadie peed. "Thank goodness we didn't do this at night!" said Mary, who was no more frazzled by the adventure than I was. I needed a break from driving at this point. Mary drove on to the visitor's center and I headed out to Patriach's Grove to walk off some tension. I stayed on the main road despite signs leading to other canyon drives along the way. There were several other cars parked at this make-shift parking area. People wanting to see the Patriach's Grove had to hike a mile in thanks to one small but tricky patch of snow on the trail. Sadie and I walked up one mound of brittle rocks to an overlook before starting on the hike to the Patriarch Grove. This was a nice, fairly level walk on the road to the trailhead, ideal for someone needing a quick break from driving. We were alone despite people in the distance and explored both short trails at the parking lot. The widest tree here, the Patriach, is worth seeing along the shorter .5-mile Nature trail, replete with information signs for the curious. This is a worthwhile photograph opportunity. Sadie and I also completed the 2.5-mile loop across the parking lot, the Discovery Trail. This is also a worthwhile visit but nowhere near as exciting as the Methuselah trail we did several days earlier. My little sidetrip to these two trails took no more than two hours. Mary and I agreed to meet at the parking lot, and I drove back there to rest and wait. Other people were still coming to explore, including a man with two big setters who were aggravating Sadie who was resting inside the truck with me. I read a bit and napped as well. When Mary finally joined me an hour later she was hurting from a cut toe she suffered while walking around the Shulman Grove area. She had been wearing her open-toe sandals (not a good idea in this brittle area!) and had her foot wrapped in a gauge. The cut had stopped bleeding, but the injury meant she wasn't feeling up to any more walking today. "I'll know tomorrow morning if I feel up to hiking up White Mountain with you" she told me. The day was now turning to late afternoon, then dusk and finally sunset. We parked at the trailhead for the White Mountain trail, along with a few other cars whose drivers were getting acclimated to the elevation. I wasn't sure what to expect for the night other than much colder and frostier temperatures. It would be a long day and I needed the energy. Once the sun set I stayed inside the truck with Sadie. My focus was to get as much sleep as possible, as tomorrow I would need it. So would Sadie. http://www.fs.usda.gov/wps/portal/fsinternet/!ut/p/c4/04_SB8K8xLLM9MSSzPy8xBz9CP0os3gjAwhwtDDw9_AI8zPyhQoY6BdkOyoCAGixyPg!/?navtype=BROWSEBYSUBJECT&cid=stelprdb5129900&navid=100000000000000&pnavid=null&ss=110504&position=Not%20Yet%20Determined.Html&ttype=detail&pname=Inyo%20National%20Forest-%20Special%20Places

One very sick Sadie

Sadie has had diarrhea for four days. This morning's bout was especially runny and smelly and I told Mary I had to take her to a local vet for a check-up. Had she contacted giardia? I had seen her eat horseshit a few days ago.

Mary talked to the campground hosts for a vet recommendation and they referred us to Kathleen Sexton in Bishop. That is where we went at 10:45am, and Dr. Kathy was sitting in the waiting room reading a book when we came by, and attended to us promptly. As I thought, she suspected giardia and gave Sadie a shot, then prescribed some pills for her. I have to keep her on a 24-hour fast. That will be hard to do!

Sadie seems OK now, with fewer bouts of the runs as she sits quietly in the truck. I'm at the Looney Bean Cafe in Bishop as I write this, charging up all my camera and laptop batteries, even my Kindle, via the outlets. It's also Kevin and my 7th-year anniversary.

Weather is pleasant, with cool temps in the upper 70s. The big news on NPR have been the death of Betty Ford (I didn't realize she had been still alive!), the assassination of Wahid Karzai, half-brother of Hamid Karzai of Afghanistan, and the still-lingering debate in Congress over raising the debt limit

We thus took a "Zero Day" of hiking and instead drove 20 miles north of Bishop along a dirt road described as the "Petroglyph Road," ancient rocks formed 760,000 years ago on which ancient peoples carved interesting diagrams. Sadie remained in the shade of the truck while we stopped at three locations to photograph the ancient art works. The White Mountains were to our east, the Sierras to our west, and in the middle was this Volcanic rock formation, and US Highway 6, which ends at Bishop after 3205 miles across the country, ends here. A fertile strip of land grew crops and curious cows.

We then ended up returning to the Looney Bean Cafe where Mary ordered an ice coffee and I charged more camera batteries. Sadie rested in the truck. I think whatever antibiotics she was given tired her out. She deserves a day of rest.

South Lake toward Treasure Lakes

Today, 12 July, was my day off of sorts. I hung around Bishop and downloaded pics at the Looney Bean Cafe in town before hiking a short hike at South Lakes. Snow kept me from going further than two miles along the pretty trail, but that was fine with me as that allowed me a chance at Happy Hour at the Whiskey Creek Saloon in town.

More later...

Blue Lake at Sabrine Lake Basin

We had a quiet morning, enjoying breakfast and washing up. Mari and Steve finally left for their trip to coastal California while we planned on an eight-mile hike at Sabrina Lake west of Bishop. I was tired from yesterday's long hike but came along, and I am glad I did. Blue Lake is worth a visit, and it's another dog-friendly hike to 10,000 feet, shaded by trees and cool streams. Sadie did amazingly well after yesterday's hike. Mary drove this time as I rested. My legs were clearly tired and I felt fatigued all day, even at the busy trailhead where I wasn't sure how I would do today. Mary was in the lead the entire hike while I took many short stops to regain some strength. This was a busy trail with views of Sabrine lake almost the entire length, and it was a popular hike with many other dogs as well. People were canoeing on the lake itself. From out viewpoint we could see the excess water in the lake, which was clearly over its banks all along the lakeshore. But more striking was the aquamarine hue of the water. This alone was worth hiking to see. Mary was in good form today. Even the few creeks we had to cross through higher up were effortless for her (and Sadie). Since it was a warm day I walked through the water, knowing that the boots would dry in a few hours. What a wonderful hike this was. When we finally left the lakeview to begin the hike to Blue Lake over a ridge, we were now in alpine forest and more snow and exposed rocks. I was slowly regaining some strength as I felt energized. The trail had leveled off nicely. I could walk again! An older man was raking leaves off the trail, with his water dog nearby. He had carried a rake along just to do his part in trail maintenance, he said. I had never seen anyone rake a trail before, but here it made sense: the wet leaves would otherwise cause unsuspecting hikers to slip and fall. We saw the man's completed work on our descent later. When we finally arrived at Blue Lake the views reminded me of the many small alpine lakes I encountered along last year's John Muir Trail. Blue Lake is a small alpine lake carved out of glacier rock. Pines and granite line the shore. Deep boulders are visible inside the lake as the water is so clear. There was some snow here in the shaded areas but there was more cold, rushing water than there was snow...and with the water came the many mosquitoes. We had found our point of solace and rested at several spots along Blue Lake. It was an ideal spot to take a nap and contemplate life's beauty. We could have perhaps hiked some more but I was satisfied with this shorter hike as tired as I was. I am glad I made it today with Mary. Another plus to today's hike is watching the scenery on CA168 as we slowly made it back into the valley. This is an active earthquake zone, and I could see a major faultline protude in the foothills.

North Fork of Big Pine Creek

Mary and I had talked about getting up early for a long hike but when we got up she complained of a "GI" problem and opted to take a Zero Day. That took the pressure off me to get ready, so I lingered at the camp site, chatted with Mari at the neigboring site about working for charter schools, and eating a hearty oatmeal breakfast. I decided to hike up the North Fork of Big Pine Creek trail right at our campsite--no driving 100 miles to a trailhead!--and taking it easy. Little did I know I'd do a 14-mile loop trail under ideal conditions.

We made it to the trailhead at 10:09am where we shared the busy trail with many rock climbers, day hikers and backpackers wanting to spend a few hours at the higher peaks. This trail meandered along the rushing creek at a gentle grade, passing groves of Jeffrey pines, then lodgepole pines, aspens and other trees. I didn't need to carry water for Sadie as there was plenty along this shaded trail.

We made it to the loop intersection at 1:30pm, where I opted to hike counterclockwise to Black Lake first, a mile uphill. I could see First and Second Lake to my south, lakes I would pass up again on the return loop later in the day.

More later...

Kearsage Pass up to Matlock Lake

The morning was lazy, involving laundry and route planning and looking at pics. We didn't get on the road to Independence until almost 2pm.

And what a beautiful hike!

More later

Baker Creek Trail

8 July

It was a hot day. Today's choice was Baker creek Trail up the road and off the North Fork of Big Pine Creek, but despite the name this was a hot, dry and very exposed hike.

We took our time getting ready since there wasn't much driving involved with this one. Our breakfast was casual, but I felt tired as last night was my first restless night I had. I didn't have the energy for a fast or long hike, but that was still preferable over hanging around the campsite.

The trailhead was crowded for this hike. We parked near a corral that took us along a low ridge, with the cree and higher campsite below us. I kept stopping for Mary so she could catch up with me, but later she was doing the same thing. I was thirsty and had to rest a lot, and Sadie showed signs of fatigue and heat exhaustion. I worried more about her than with me.

We met one man from Minnesota who was coming down from what he said was a cold and wet overnighter at "Sixth Lake," the last and highest lake along the North Fork of the Big Pine Creek trail. He was wearing shorts but no shirt and smiling from ear to ear. He most likely was feeling more comfortable now than when his tent was baraged with hail and cold rain the previous night.

The Baker Creek Trail is reached at the 1.4-mile mark when it branches off the North Fork trail and heads up in switchback fashion up the ridge some more. It's all exposed here in the morning sun, and rather brutal in the heat. The Palisades poke out the higher one goes on this trail, but for a trail that has "creek" in its name, this is perhaps the dryest trail in the Sierras!

The Baker Creek is several miles on the trail past the moraine meadow. We never made it that far, but once we made it over the first ridge the trail then descended into a pine forest and dip back up through an old timbered area full of mosquitoes and flies. By now Mary was ahead of me as I stopped more to let Sadie rest. She was clearly resting on her own and telling me through her body language that she needed to rest.

The "spring" on this trail turned out to be an algaic green pond shrouded with snags and bugs and hidden by other trees. It wasn't a water source I would recommend for through-hikers, let alone a dog. Fallen trees had eroded the trail here and I lost my way. We should have walked back to where we first lost the trail but instead we went uphill through dense thorny brush until we were high enough to see the trail. It wasn't that far from us and little time was lost, but now we were on another open and meandering trail to false summits covered in large boulders. The landscape went from pine to scruboaks and moraines and expansive vistas.

We thought we would never get to our destination! Mary was getting tired, too.

We finally made it to the top of the hill in the mid afternoon. And what a vista it was.

"Absolutely gorgeous!" said Mary, and I had to agree. The snow-capped peaks were several miles to our southwest, but we were there on that high moraine to ourselves. Sadie found shade under the boulder and Mary and I snacked on our lunch and admired the beauty before we turned around and walked back the way we came.

The vista along the Baker Creek trail here was alluring. Maybe on another trip here to the Sierras I'd do this hike with the intent of making it to Baker's Creek. That part was not on the map Mary had.

We didn't come across as many people on the return hike. I was tired, so were Mary and Sadie, and when we got back to the campsite, I lay down in the truck and fell asleep at 7:30pm, rather early for me but there was nothing else to do. Plans to stay up for a while to read my Kindle didn't materialize; I fell asleep faster than expected.

Bristlecone Pines

7 July

I wasn't sure what Mary wanted to do today; it was a spontaneous day. We got into town at 11am after a lazy morning, but then she wanted me to go off-road around the foothills, without a map to guide her. She had never been in this area and didn't bring a map.

Before we reached the official town limits of Big Pine, Mary told me to pull off-road on a dirt road and that is what we did. For two hours we drove around sandy roads in the foothills, on roads better suited for ATVers than Ford Escapes. Most roads were not marked, but we stayed on what looked like the busier roads following a general southern direction. Some smaller canyons emptied here with lush green cottonwoods and other water-loving trees, but where we were it was hot and dry.

I enjoyed the adventure but most roads ended up in dead-ends, and it was time to see real stuff. I didn't want to be in this isolated place and have truck trouble, or encounter a rattlesnake. We never saw other people until two hours later, when two men in a full-sized pick-up pointed to the road that would get us back to US Highway 395.

In the afternoon Mary suggested to see the Bristlecone Forest 24 miles east, so off I drove. I had been here before and knew my way and it is a pretty drive. These White Mountains are quite a contrast to the taller and wetter Sierras to the west. I was intrigued with this place the last time I was here, but didn't stay long due to time restraints (I was on the return drive to Arizona after finishing the John Muir Trail).

Today, though, we did it all. We arrived at the small visitor's center for information. The original visitor's center was burned in a forest fire in 2008. Two rangers work out of a single-wide trailer that also houses the small gift/bookstore. I bought the annual National Parks Pass, chatted with the young rangers and then decided to hike the 4.5-mile Methuselah trail, on which the oldest recorded living thing is. The Methuselah tree, which is over 4900 years old now, remains anonymous due to previous sabotage by hikers. We saw several trees we wondered about, but never located ~the~ tree.

The Methuselah trail is a pretty loop hike, even prettier and shadier in the afternoon shade, that meanders around an elevation of 9000-10,000 feet. It starts and finishes at the visitor's center. The elevation kicked my butt! It took us three hours to complete this hike. And although dogs should be leashed, the few hikers we encountered did not make putting Sadie on a leash a requirement for me. She stayed right by my side. The elevation had affected her, too.

There was another couple from Ventura that we kept running into, but generally we were on our own. The vistas from the Bristlecone Forest are mostly toward the east. Distant fertile crop circles can be seen in the valley, but up close the terrain looks very barren. Some of the trees have mystical-looking branches on them that give them photogenic qualities (especially against a dark sky!). Our many stops to photograph trees slowed us down even more. Mary is as prolific a photographer as I am, and she takes good photos, too.

It was after 5:30pm when we got back to the truck. The visitor's center was closed and only a few cars remained. It was also remarkably colder now that the sun was easing low over the western horizon.

"Let's go drive down the dirt road to Patriach's Grove!" suggested Mary, and I obliged. This was a fun drive over a generally well-graded dirt road wide enough for two cars to pass. I couldn't drive the posted 25mph speedlimit because I was constantly being told to "Stop here!" so that Mary could photograph scenes. The scenes were truly beautiful and I was photographing them, too. The high meadows were turning dark green while mountain sides were turning purple and peaks were glowing in reds and oranges. It was, as John Muir said, a "Range of Lights." Having few drivers around us made this experience all the more enjoyable.

"Absolutely gorgeous!" Mary would say, something I'd hear the rest of my time with her.

What we didn't know is that once we got to the Grove 12 miles away, the last mile of the road was closed due a snowslide. People were forced to park at a make-shift parking lot near the road's interesection with the main road. It was another four miles to "End of the Road" and with sunset approaching fast, I suggested we go there.

There were more dramatic and sudden color changes. We made it to the gate just in time and saw the last of the sun set over the Sierras. The view wasn't as spectacular as I had expected (most likely because we were a tad late) but once here and standing at just below 12,000-feet, it was cold. Sadie pranched around with new energy, Mary chatted with what looked like a well-wrapped distance runner/hiker spending the night at the trailhead parking lot for an early ascent the next day.

By now I was invigorated. The hike and the elevation had "lifted" my senses, and although I was cold, I was feeling reborn. Mary was, too, but now it was dark and we still had quite a drive down the dark mountain and into town. The three-feet snowbanks along part of the road now appeared golden in the truck's headlights. For a day that started with no plan, it ended very satisfying.