Live In Hermosa

Neighborhood Grinds is the black hole of first dates

2010-10-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

Citizens of the South Bay:

Don't doom your blind first date to failure. Avoid Neighboorhood Grinds like the plague for those hope-filled adventures with members of the opposite sex who have an intriguing online dating profile.

Trust me on this one. It won't work out. I've seen it again and again and again.

Under different lights she'd be clever, fun and gorgeous--better than you expect. In any other environment he'll be an engaging, witty and attractive gentleman--the quintessential keeper.

But, all potential goes out the window in this place. Maybe there's something in the coffee.

It will undoubtedly go down like this.

She'll ramble about absolutely nothing for 90 straight minutes. He'll sit there and nod quietly like a lost puppy.
She'll gesture wildly. He'll tap his foot nervously.
She's probably psychotic. He might have Asperger's.

And if you're going to get dinner, go to a fucking restaurant that serves real food. The awkward silences as you each bite into stale panini bread that crumbles all over your shirts won't help the case for a second date.

Plus, you both will annoy me.

With concern,

Patron.

PS If you image google "terrible first date", Sean Hannity shows up on page 3. Think of him next time you consider of blind dating at my coffee shop.

Hello father time, it's me, James.

2010-10-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

I think I blinked away 3 months of time. I had so much to do and then *poof*, I'm here...still with so much to do. Just a big hazy blur in the rear view mirror.

Now I'm sitting in a coffee shop. For the first time in forever.

In front of me is the marked up script that's calling me to finally revise. LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP IGNORING ME! YOU'RE SO CLOSE! But it needs sooooo much work. Do I have the patience for you?

I turned it upside down so I won't have to look at it. But red ink bleeds through the last page. So much red ink. Goddammit I bled all over this thing and now I don't even want to look at it.

I move it to the other side of the table...behind my laptop.

A neatly stacked pile of 30 pages sits underneath--the first act of a caper script I started way back when. It's a pretty damn good start. Why did I ever stop working on it?

I crane my neck to the left. My red-inked opus stared back like a lost puppy.

Oh, that's right, for you.

I push the new script aside. Cant dive back into something big.

I know, I'll check my macbook desktop? Always something good abandoned there!

There's the short I started last month!

This could work.

*clicks open* reading....reading....reading....

This is terrible. Was I drunk....or....well let's leave it at drunk. Must have been drunk.

Flipping through my notebook--good idea--bad idea--awful idea--fantastic idea--that'll never work--

Hmmm....commit to something new. There's an idea.

Did the red-ink script just bark at me?

Oooo! here comes my sandwich--a tasty grilled turkey panini with brie and fresh spinach on the side. This will be tasty! Exactly what I need. Obviously I can't create and eat. Let's see what's on the Huffington Post...and facebook and...

Hike09: Half Dome (Part 2)

2010-08-09T19:54:00.000-07:00

Did you miss part one of this adventure? Check it out here.

It was starting to get seriously warm. Thankfully relief came from shade created by the biggest trees I'd see the entire hike. Beyond that, the next section wasn't particularly interesting compared to other sights on this hike. No waterfalls. No cliffs. No rocks. Just a walk through the forest. Well...a walk up through the forest.

I had a decent a pace going--passing small groups along the way. It was great! I'd be back to Liz in no time. The decent pace turned into a poorly planned one when the heat caught up with me on a sunny stretch about a mile up. My tongue could have been out panting for all I know. I took a seat, drank a few big gulps of water (still had 3L left, so far, so good), and continued just a wee bit slower.

I eventually reached a trail junction. The John Muir trail continued straight--only 200 miles or so to Mt. Whitney! I opted for the other way....

For the 8th time Mr. Sign, I don't need a permit on a Tuesday. But thank you, AGAIN, for the reminder. And what happens if after hiking 7 miles you notice this sign for the first time? "Oh forgot the permits, honey! Let me just run back to the car!" Maybe 'Don't LOSE your permit' would make for a better message at this point. With that word 'forget', it's almost as if Mr. Sign is laughing at the poor saps.

Walking on, things were much as they had been since I'd last seen Liz. More forest. More up. I saw a gathering of people on the side of the trail a mile or so from the summit. Turns out this is the last place to find water on the hike. This is how all those super athletic types carrying a single water bottle make it. Reminds me to take a sip. My bottle is almost out. Off comes my pack. Ahhhhhh. That felt nice.

I look at the "spring". It reminds me of the bubbling mudpot water hole from Survivor Africa. One guy has this filter pump contraption sucking precious liquid into his camelback. It's gross. I fumble with my bag as members of the Water Filter Clique ignore me. Out comes one of my untapped 1.5L arrowhead bottles. I transfer liquid into my drinking bottle, secretly wanting them to be jealous of my unmudded water. That feeling vanishes when I pick up my back again. Uhhhhg. Oh great, now they ALL look at me. Yes, I did make a grunting sound. I think I'll be hiking now. I continue up the hill secretly wishing I had a filter pump and less cargo. See what happened there?

The switchbacks ended as the trail made a straight, steady climb up through the last bit of forest. Is this the hard part? I stopped for a breather 2 or 3 or 10 times.

"You're almost there!" Oh good. Thank you! I smile. A couple hundred more yards and I still don't see "there". The panting picks up again. And another breather.

Again I hear..."You're almost there!" Yay! I want to be almost there! Another couple hundred yards...what the...

Yet again...this time from a man as old as my grandfather who looks like he just stepped out of a cabin for the first time today...."You're almost there!" "FRACK YOU, OLD MAN!"

But then finally, through the trees....there it is....

Here the trail left thick forest and wrapped up and over a broad granite ridge. Is this the much fabled sub-dome climb? The old man said I was close. But it was way too easy. Hmmm. In any case it gifted me the first fully breathtaking altitude view of the hike. A nice strong breeze also helped cancel the hot sun for the first time since leaving Liz. After a short and unchallenging climb past this scenic viewpoint the trail became fairly flat--weaving through a handful of scattered pine trees.

And then I hit a wall...

800 steps on the face of the sub-dome were all that remained between me and the half-dome cables. Eight. Hundred. Steps. In the sun. With no shade. Some small. Some a foot high. Deep breath. Time for energy beans.

I back-tracked to the last shaded area before the steps. It looked like the camp of broken dreams. Small groups of people napping--waiting for friends and family who continued on. Others chatting. A few seemed a bit impatient as they wondered aloud where their people were. I thought of Liz. I hoped she was OK. About 90 minutes had passed since I last saw her.

With the trees and the curve of the trail, you don't see the view in the image above until you've already climbed a few steps. It was amusing watching people make the 180. As I started to climb the steps, I actually heard a "Oh, hells no!"

"Oh, hells yes, sir. Oh, hells yes."

I took my time. Everyone did. Not that it was possible to progress too quickly. Precarious footing, exhaustion, and stand-aside pauses for those coming down kept things slow. Fortunately, I got to see this each time I took a breather break...

When I finally stepped up onto the top of the sub-dome I stopped in awe of the final challenge ahead. I'm sure I looked like a frozen jackass with my mouth open.

I composed myself and convinced someone to document the moment...

Yes, it really is as steep as it looks. That's not an optical illusion.

A very disgusting pile of used gloves is available at the bottom for those who neglected to bring their own. The long armed dish gloves are my favorite. Who packs dish gloves for something like this? I guess it's better than bare hands, but still.

In case you thought holding on to metal anchored into rock on one of the highest points in the area during a thunder storm was a good idea...

I didn't end up taking out a camera while hanging for my life on the traffic-jammed walk up...so this is the last shot before the summit. That's a lot of people. And none of them were moving. The problem is that there's barely enough space for one person to pass through each set of poles. Factor in those coming down and the packs most people were wearing and it's a tight squeeze. When someone going up freaks out and can't move--or more likely--becomes totally and completely exhausted, there's no way to go around. You just have to wait. Everyone has to wait.

It was almost exactly noon when I touched the cable for the first time. Feels like 5:30 rush on the 405 with a jackknifed tractor trailer. Would have been nice to arrive earlier, but what can you do? Well, wait. You can wait. The climb gets really steep really fast and before long you're figuring out the best way to stand to conserve energy between short bursts when the pack moves. I tried the side stand. I tried the lean forward. I tried the two hands on one cable. I tried the stand backwards. None of it works. It's not easy to hold yourself up on a 45 degree rock face. Making matters more frustrating are the occasional superstars who think they're special and show off by climbing up the outside of the cables. To return to our freeway analogy, it's the jackass in the Escalade speeding past traffic in the break down lane. Yes, I know that's legal in MA, but this highway has no guardrail.

I noticed gaps between people higher up the cables. Why aren't those people moving!? Oh wait....I see.... Stand on one of the wood planks between the poles and wait before you can advance to the next one. Much better..for a minute.

The higher you climb, the steeper it gets. What was an easier technique closer to the bottom becomes a downright single option necessity by halfway up. Even with the rickety pieces of wood to stand on, it's insanely tiring as the strength needed to pull myself to the next pole become increasingly difficult to find.

At a few spots you climb over ledges in the otherwise smooth rock.

About 75% of the way up, I hit empty. I did not have the gas to move another step. Just my luck...some large person higher up was having a 100% freak out. Thank god (for me, not her). I closed my eyes and tried to draw energy from somewhere in my body to make this final stretch. Deep breath.

Rat tat tata tatat tat tat rrrat tata tat tat...

I open my eyes. A water bottle bounces down the dome along the edge of the cables. It hits a bump in the granite and flies away from us--rolling very fast to the sheer face of half dome and then....it was gone. Somewhere, almost 5,000 feet below, there must be a big pile of water bottles. I thought back to the people climbing up outside the cables. Is that what happens to a body that falls? Gulp. Another big breath. And off I go...

It's clear ahead. Non-stop. Pull. Pull. Pull. Gasping for air. Gasping. Pulling. It's leveling out! Finally! I made it! Yay! Ugh! Tired! Heart attack! No, I'm just being dramatic. Tired. Never been this spent. I stumble through the pair of poles and through the points where the cables bolt into the granite. I lean on a rock and ignore the majestic beauty around me to let my body catch up to my heart beat. Or is it vice versa? My head is spinning. I have no idea.

In a few minutes I felt normal again. I checked the time--1PM. An hour just to get up the cables. Yikes. I don't think I'll be back by 2.

And then it hit me. I made it!

Time to explore. This is what I saw...

Looking east...

Looking down into Yosemite Valley to the west. Just left of center is El Capitan. Yosemite Fall can be seen in the distance center right. The rounded formation on the center left is Glacier Point.

We drove up to Glacier Point (7.214 ft) the day before hiking. Here's a reverse angle... Rock climbers go up the sheer face. While sitting for a snack break, I watched a few climb up over the ledge. It took them about six hours to make the climb...so just a wee bit faster than me.

Again facing west but behind the Diving Board. Apparently the big thing to do is climb out to the very edge for the super dramatic photo almost 5000 feet above the valley floor. I'll get mine when Liz and I complete the trek together next time.

A clearer view to the east. The high point nearly touching the clouds on the top right is appropriately named Cloud's Rest (9,926 ft). Somewhere in the mess of rock in the far left is an overlook on Tioga Road called Olmsted Point.

We drove Tioga Road into Yosemite two days earlier. Here's the reverse view from the 8300 ft overlook--just a bit lower than the Half Dome summit. This gives a better angle of the sub-dome in the foreground than the Glacier Point perspective. From where we parked for our hike to this overlook, it's almost 40 miles. By hot air balloon it's probably less than ten.

The summit was much broader than I expected.

I wonder...who was the first person to stack rocks for absolutely no reason on the top of a mountain? If I Godzilla this tower, would the rocks be stacked up again tomorrow? But what if the stacker is up here now? I could be tossed over the ledge if I'm caught. Better just leave it be.

There wasn't much vegetation at the top but these wildflowers found a way to creep through a crack in the granite.

A better view of Upper Yosemite Fall...

After what felt like minutes, an hour had passed. Too easy to get sucked in. But I didn't need any more time. I had the chance to take it all in from all sides. I walked around a bit. I zoned out a bit. I had a few snacks. Liz was waiting. I needed to go. From the top it looked like traffic might have eased a bit...

Yeah...no. Not the case at all. Traffic was just as suck. Going down however, is a billion times easier than going up. At one point when I was stopped, a caravan of highly prepared Asian kids went down on the outside of the cables. They used this double carabiner technique to lock in and clip around the poles--never fully disconnecting from the cable. And they moved with this perfect precision....lock on, lock off, lock on, lock off, lock on, lock off. There were six or seven of them in a line and it was an almost zen-like contrast to the show-off assholes going up. I didn't see a tumbling bottle disaster in their future.

I passed an interesting college-aged couple going up. He was waring shorts and no shirt. Whatever. She was decked out in a full late 70's/early 80's red, white and blue bikini with some sort of bright colored headband. We were all logjammed at the same point and the guy in front of me asked if she was Danish. He said she sounded like she had an accent. I didn't hear one and she was borderline offended. "I'm American! What Dutch girl wears a patriotic bikini!?" I wanted to ask 'who dresses like an extra from a Sugar Ray video for a 17 mile hike?' but kept that one to myself since the clog was starting to clear.

After passing the Retro Beach Team, it was smooth sailing . 3PM now. These hours are falling off fast. And I still had at least 4 miles to Liz. It started with a stretch across the sub-dome and then back to the 800 steps down.

The sub-dome is much of the same going down. It's hard to pass people. The footing is tough. And if you don't like heights, you're screwed since there's no where to look but down.

After the sub-dome, I book it down the 3 miles of wooded trail that gave me heartburn going up--past the muddy watering hole, past the John Muir Trail junction. I picked it up to a jog in some places. Felt nice to let gravity pull me down. They say it's terrible for your knees but I didn't care...hopping around slow pokes with excuse-me and pardon-me yells half a dozen times. I had someone waiting for me, afterall.

On this section, a girl with a clipboard who I assumed to be a National Park Foundation volunteer was sitting on a boulder next to the trail--keeping notes on who was coming and going. 550 people had walked past her so far--already more than the 500 limit on the friday-sunday permit days. No wonder there was traffic on the cables. Last year they saw over 1200/day on a holiday weekend. Yikes. I couldn't even imagine. Looks like Mr. Sign might have value every day next season if they start requiring permits daily.

I hiked back into Little Yosemite Valley excited to see Liz again...only she wasn't there. No one was there. Hmmm....

Well...there was this deer...

I hiked another mile to the top of Nevada Fall...what would I do if Liz wasn't waiting. It was nearly 4PM at this point...six hours after I last saw her. Did something happen? Is she OK? Could she have walked back to the car?

I rounded a corner and there she was. Smiling and well rested.

I apologized for taking so long. And we shared tales of our adventures. For Liz that involved hanging out by the waterfall, writing, calling her mother--yes her phone worked--I looked at my brand new iPhone4 and saw that there continued to be no signal. She had tried to text me multiple times. I never received a single one. Odd.

At that we started the journey back down to our car, moving pretty fast the whole way. Liz annoyed an older woman who refused to let us pass and a family with six kids that walked at a snail's pace through the pouring rainy chaos below Vernal Fall.

With a mile to go on the last section of pavement to the trailhead, we looked like battle-worn refuges compared to the cleanly dressed families, elderly couples and running children scampering about. Liz's poles clanked the pavement with each step--drawing strange stares by those who were confused by the idea that people actually go hiking in a National Park.

Finally...we touched ground on the valley floor...

Our ride was still almost a mile away--a long, slog of a mile. The closed parking lot from the morning was now open and mostly empty. We reached the car at 6PM--12 hours after starting. According to the pedometer I had walked about 19 miles and I felt it. The car looked like an oasis--our chariot to a hot shower, a hot meal and a soft bed. As we loaded up, a couple passing us on bikes yelled over, "How was it?"

"Awesome. Perfect. Exhausting."

Hike09: Half Dome (Part 1)

2010-07-22T00:22:00.000-07:00

4AM is early. Even when you know you need to get up, it's early. Even when you're excited for the day ahead, it's early. Damn early. Bleary-eyed doesn't quite grasp the visual of the two of us stumbling around a dark, unfamiliar cabin at that hour. Yet we still managed to get our pre-packed gear into the car.

No McMuffin stop would be available this morning, so we made our own breakfast sandwiches the prior night--easy to heat quickly right before running out the door. An hour after rising we were in the car driving to the trailhead about 40 minutes down a curvy mountain park road that at times (thanks to construction) became gravel. As we reached the trailhead parking, our first moment of concern hit us. The roadblocked lot was full--ALREADY!--at quarter to 6AM. We U-turned and found a spot along a road half a mile away. With this minor glitch, we'd already extended our journey by a mile before taking a single step.

We left the car and started our bonus road hike to the trailhead (Elevation 4093). There were plenty of people out and about. Judging by the sizes (or lack) of packs, some were clearly embarking on much longer treks with others just on a morning stroll. We found the Happy Isles trailhead and stopped for a bathroom break and confirmed to each other a plan that had been decided a few days earlier.

Liz wasn't going to summit today. A couple nights earlier she re-stressed the ever-troubling hip in Mammoth. It sucked. The disappointment was overbearing but after a long conversation, we couldn't talk ourselves into making it a realistic option. So the plan was Liz would hike to the top of Nevada Fall and hang out there and in Little Yosemite Valley while I continued on the second half of the hike. We knew her part of the trek would be no walk in the park...it's quite the climb itself so getting there would still be an accomplishment--but resting for a few hours would give her hip time to relax without stressing it into any danger zone. She brought a journal and a book to pass the time--not that the views and nature couldn't cut it alone. Did I say a "few" hours? Heh...well, more on that later.

Off we went, up the trail--or path at this point as the first mile is paved. Paved might sound nice in theory but I'd almost rather walk up steep dirt over steep pavement. You can dig into dirt and earth with each step. (I didn't say loose talus--that stuff blows.) Apparently it was paved for access well before I was born, although pushing someone in a wheelchair up this hill would be a nightmare.

The sheer glacier carved cliffs around us looked gorgeous at this hour with long shadows and a very early morning yellow hue painting the walls. Didn't see many animals but heard a symphony of various birds making sure the world knew they were awake.

We climbed along the edge of the Merced river for a mile that felt like two until a break point came at a bridge (elevation 4464) down river from 350 ft Vernal Fall. A great place for a breather, this bridge is probably the stopping point for a good number of people exploring this corner of Yosemite valley.

At this hour though, no one around us seemed to be up for such a short trip. (From experience with my parents when they visit, I'm sure a few east coast early birds who hadn't adjusted to the time difference were in the mix too. "It's 9AM, my time!")

Across the bridge is the last potable water on the trail. I refilled my water bottle--14 miles of hiking remained between now and when we'd reach the water again. We--of course--used the bathroom and started up the Mist Trail. The pavement ended and before we knew what was happening we were walking up a trail of constructed steps along the edge of a granite cliff with a raging river below and a massive waterfall ahead.

A little side bar---we originally planned to hike a day earlier on our first full day in the park, but Yosemite valley was a scorching 98!!!! degrees. Zoinks, that's hot (and it felt it.) So we spent the day checking out sites that didn't require strenuous effort and had a few afternoon drinks at the Ahwahnee hotel bar. It wasn't supposed to be quite as hot today, but 90 or a bit more wasn't out of the question. The higher country where we'd be mid-day is about 10 degrees cooler, so a bit more manageable. This day started out cool. As we started this section of the trail around 7AM it couldn't have been more than 65 degrees with a crisp breeze helping to make it feel even cooler than that. They call it the Mist Trail for a reason as we very quickly discovered.

Before you have a chance to see the fall up close, you hear the roar and shortly after that the moisture starts to dance on your skin. We took a moment to secure and seal our bags (including cameras--sorry for the lack of images on this section). We had a few cheap ponchos with us but decided not to bother. I thought it'd be a better plan to store my long sleeve in the bag and let my t-shirt (not cotton, thank god) get wet. How wet could we get?

It should be called the monsoon trail. After rounding a corner near the base of the falls the onslaught of drenching begins. The rock steps are soaked. Pools of water are everywhere. We. Got. Wet.

At a halfway point, a little rock outcrop provides a bit of shelter. We were both shivering worse than an alleycat in a hurricane. On we forged through the second half and, as if turned off by magic, the waterfall rain comes to an abrupt end. After a hundred or so mercifully bone-dry steps, we reached the top of Vernal Fall (Elevation 5062). Glorious.

Looking back down on the mist trail...

We took a short snack and camera break and plowed ahead. Still climbing, the grade wasn't too severe...calm before the storm of sorts. By the time we got to the Silver Apron Bridge (elevation 5204) to carry us back over the Merced below Nevada Fall, we had completely dried off thanks to the rising and warming sun. It wasn't yet what I'd call hot, but the sun--now rising above the ridges--was strong. I put on my lightweight long sleeve for cover and protection. (Today was the first time I'd worn long sleeves on a hot weather hike). Liz already had hers on.

As we got closer to Nevada Fall a bit of mist filled the air, but now being on the opposite side of the river, it was just a minor cooling vs the drenching earlier. After a short section we were out of the wet breeze--but caught an impressive double rainbow in the mist cloud. This guy would have loved it.

The next section carried us up a steep stretch of granite switchbacking steps up the cliff's edge next to Nevada Fall. There was a lot of stop-and-go up this breathless section until we eventually huffed over the final ledge up to level ground. A short 1/4 mile detour took us over to a fantastic view from the top of Nevada Fall and then we headed back to the trail to continue on to Little Yosemite Valley where there's a campground and plenty of open space.

The campground was about a mile up the trail and the elevation gain isn't too severe. Unfortunately the gain was condensed over the first 1/4 mile...so Liz's hip pain and exhaustion started to catch up. She told me to go on knowing that I needed to keep a good pace. We kissed goodbye and off I went--expecting to see her again in a few hours. (A few....riiiiiight.)

Approaching Little Yosemite Valley (elevation 6095), I passed a mule pack going the other direction. I stepped aside as 10-15 mules with three riders passed me with a dusty wake. I always wondered how they transported supplies up to the remote ranger stations and campgrounds. And there was the answer, marching right by. I stopped at the last bathroom on the trail. The ranger was unloading toilet paper that I assumed were just delivered by the mule pack. I'd never seen so much TP at a toilet. Inside there must have been 25 rolls with another several dozen stowed in a riser up above. And I was in only one room of this big four-seat composting commode. Guess those deliveries don't come daily.

Back to the trail I went and just as I was about to begin the last 3.5 steep miles to half dome--lo-and-behold--there was Liz, approaching the campground behind a few slow hikers. I smiled. The chance for an additional goodbye was nice. We kissed again. "See you in a few hours for real this time," I said. "Be safe and careful," she replied. I nodded. "A few hours. If I'm not here, I'll be at the top of Nevada Fall." And with that I was off. I checked my phone....no signal. She better be there when I get back. Doesn't look like I'll be able to call...or text...or anything. The clock on my phone said 10AM. Few hours? We threw around 1PM as a possibility. I said let's plan on 2.

I wouldn't see Liz again for over six hours. Did I just ruin the cliffhanger? Or did I just tease the intensity that remains?

Hiked so far...almost 6 miles up 2,000 feet.
Left til the summit....almost 3 miles and another 2,800 feet.
And then the fun hike down.

To be continued....

The adventure continues... Check out part 2 here.

HIKE08: Ontario Peak

2010-06-25T12:05:00.000-07:00

Liz did it. She bought trekking poles.Kind of funny watching her practice with them around our living room. With some MacGyver velcro action, we found a way to attach the collapsed poles to her pack.

Packed up the night before and set the alarm for 5AM!!. Yikes. Yeah, that early. It's good practice for our planned departure for Yosemite.

So there we were, back at Ice House Canyon. Ready to tackle Ontario Peak. While not as high as Baldy and a bit more gradual, the hike to the top would carry us up nearly the same elevation for a total hike over 13 miles.

We were on the trail by 730. That extra hour or two makes a huge difference in the weather, the crowd, nature. Very nice overall. Our trek up to the saddle was uneventful save for the fact that Liz was moving at warp speed compared to other trips sans poles. The flow in the creek was a less than we'd last seen, but the wildflower count along the trail had increased with bright pinks, yellows, reds and whites.

Things were going really well we were maybe a mile into new territory. My knee started to bug me and Liz's hip began acting up yet again. We took a breather at Kelly Camp for the sake of her hip, it might be best for Liz not to push through the last 1000 feet of trail. She hung out and I made a quick run for the summit. The decision was certainly sound as the last bit carried up a very steep hill without much shade.

Loved the view. Ontario is on the edge of the range so you get a better view down into the vast mass of civilization than you do from Baldy. I'd still trade it for the panaramics of Baldy any day. I could see it staring back at me from across a few canyons.

I looked at my phone and had a cell phone signal for the first time since we started walking. I called my parents' house to wish dad and grandpa a happy father's day before turning back.

It had been about 50 minutes since I left Liz so I started to run down the mountain. This wasn't hard and the switchbacks weren't over dangerous cliffs so I felt confident on my ability. At the top of the last stretch before where she was waiting I shouted her name to say I was coming. She said she yelled back but I didn't hear her. I stumbled back into her only 25 minutes after I left the summit. And my knee---it was killing me! Don't run down a steep hill with a sore knee, kids.

Liz was in great spirits...just on the cusp of wondering when I'd return. She led the way 6 miles back to the car. It took us less than 90 minutes. Did I mention she moves fast with those poles?

On the way down, we spotted this...what's the word? hive? nest? not sure....well, we saw A LOT of ladybugs.

So overall a good day. We both arrived home happy after another successful hike.

Unfortunate news came two days later. Liz woke up monday unable to even move her leg on the side of the sore hip. She visited the doctor on Tuesday. An x-ray fortunately confirmed that there was no crack or fracture, but the doctor wasn't satisfied and recommended against a big hike in a week. Well, shit.

HIKE07: Mt. San Antonio (Old Baldy)

2010-06-21T21:48:00.000-07:00

(Hike date: June 13, 2010)

Four weeks.

That's a long time without practice when you're training for something big....at least big for a couple schlubs who could be in better shape.

First, we had a busy weekend. We talked of doing a shorter local hike, but it simply wasn't in the cards. So be it. The following week we did split family time. I was in Baltimore and Liz had mom in town in LA. And then there was a little illness and Liz's birthday to contend with.

Two options...ease back in or go big. Only two more weeks until Yosemite. Easing back might not cut it. Big it be!

The first thought was a hike up Mount Baden-Powell. It offered a challenging--but not TOO challenging-- 9-mile hike in an area of the Angeles NF we'd never visited. After investigation we learned that the most direct driving route to the trailhead was still closed from damage and rock slides after last year's Station Fire. That would mean a 2 1/2 hour drive each way. Pass.

With that we looked back to the Baldy area (again, I know). We didn't really want to explore from Ice House Canyon again after starting there for the last two hikes. So....um....go....big?

Big means Mount San Antonio. Or as almost everyone commonly refers to it--Mount Baldy or Old Baldy.

A few fun facts for this adventure...

The summit of Old Baldy breaks through the clouds at 10,068 feet. This beats our previous high water mark to the top of Timber Mountain by almost 1700 feet. But more impressively...the highest ground either of us ever previously set foot on in our lives was the top of Haleakala in Hawaii at 10,023 feet--and we didn't hike up that one.
Old Baldy is the third highest summit in Southern California. Topped only by Mount San Jacinto near Palm Springs at 10,834 feet and Mount San Gorgonio near San Bernardino at 11,499 feet. Future peaks to bag!
Our hike carried us up nearly 4,000 feet of elevation...exceeding our previous gain by nearly 1000 feet.
The top of Half Dome is "only" 8,800 feet.

So...

On the day before, Liz made the genius decision to purchase a light long sleeve shirt designed for sun protection as well as one of those "buff" things popularized by Survivor a billion years ago. Best decision ever as sun wasn't at all a factor this trip. (Good thing because everything else would be!) Not sure why we didn't go the extra protection from hike one. Better now than never.

We followed our normal routine and set out all our gear and clothing the night before. Set the alarm for 630AM and made it out the door by around 7. With the stop for fast food breakfast and a prehike bathroom break, we were passing the trailhead a bit after 9. The hills were filled with hundreds of Our Lord's Candle in full bloom.

The trail begins up a moderately steep road to San Antonio Falls. The falls had a decent 60-foot drop but the flow wasn't all that impressive. I imagine it'll be dry in a few weeks.

We followed the road a bit more until the trail forked up a steep hill with no sign or marker. If a few guys ahead of us didn't take this route, we may have missed it. (A few feet up the trail they asked us if this path was the correct route--little did they know. "Of Course!" we answered with faux authority.)

I signed our name in a register at the start of the real trail. How long it takes authorities to check this register if someone goes missing? Would my scribbled name be printed in the LA Times? With that macabre thought, we started up the trail....and UP was all we would be doing for the next 4 miles to the summit. The climb would be almost 1,000 buttkicking feet/mile.

We weren't very far when the first sign of trouble arrived--Liz started complaining about pain in her hip. This same hip that gave her problems on our Timber Mountain hike nearly a month earlier. Uh oh. We had a LONG way to go. We chatted about options. She could continue, we could both go back, or she could go back to the car and take a chairlift to meet me halfway back down the mountain 8 miles from here. Giving up wouldn't bode well for our future plan, so Liz decided to fight through it and we kept going...although very slowly with many stops. We decided it didn't matter how long it took as long as we made it the whole way.

I spotted a small green building waaaaaaaaay up the hill. (this pic was zoomed a bit)

That building marked the half way point in distance and elevation to the summit--an old Sierra Club Ski Hut used as a refuge for backcountry skiiers and climbers in the winter. With Liz's injury, it took us over 2 hours to get there. It was a stretch up switchbacks through several distinct climate zones--gorgeous scenery the entire way.

As we arrived at the Ski Hut all the many hikers who passed us going up were chilling out, stretching out, and taking a well deserved breather. We found a spot in the shade and did the same. After a snack and outhouse visit, it was decision time.

Continue or go back? We decided to struggle through the second half--expecting it to be much of the same. The summit towered above us at the top of the extremely steep, crescent-shaped Baldy Bowl but the trail leading away from the ski hut looked like an easy stroll that avoided the steep climb. We imagined, no, *hoped* it just followed a longer route that slowly worked up to the top. We were wrong.

The trail deceptively continued along an almost leisurely route with an easy scramble through a boulder field. Liz declared here that she could definitely handle it and wasn't giving up, pain or not...until we started going up--VERY up--with very little switchbacking for relief. One trail guidebook referred to it as the hiking version of San Francisco's Lombard Street. The author wasn't far off. And it came in three stages--with each stage hiding the increasingly difficult stages that follow. We survived the first heavily wooded section and took a break on a small oasis of flat. From this perspective we saw the steep loose gravel ahead.

As the pain level reached a new level of intensity for Liz, she set short goals for herself---"I'll go to that bush or this tree." Then another break followed. Then a few more feet and another break. But we kept going up. And up. And up.

Yes, it really was this steep...

This primitive footing made for more difficult travel for those going down. We saw a few people slip and fall. Over half the other hikers had those damn poles--something Liz may need to invest in for the sake of her hip.

The final stretch was damn intense haul up a final very steep section surrounded by patches of lingering June snow.

As we stopped for one of our frequent breaks, a guy with a huge backpack passed us and cheerfully said he's pouring beer at the summit in 30 minutes--encouraging us not to miss out. 90 minutes later--after many tears, declarations of defeat, and a little bit of frustrated anger--we summited Mount San Antonio. (Unfortunately our beer-hauling friend was leaving JUST as we arrived.)

SUCCESS! I turned to Liz and she smiled for the first time in an hour. All the pain and frustration from her body disappeared with triumph.

Around 30 people were hanging out, chatting, eating a late lunch and resting on the broad wide summit. Everyone up there couldn't have been more friendly. One guy offered to fill our water bottles for the walk back (we came prepared--so I politely declined). Not exactly sure why he hauled a heavy 2 gallon water jug up the hill.

The 360 degree views were stunning. Strolling around the summit you can see deep into the Mojave on one side, into the Central Valley on another and back to LA from yet another. A bit off to the east and southeast we could see the only two higher points in southern California.

For a couple moments the winds picked up to a strong, chilly, invigorating gale. Piles of rock gave shelter to those staying longer (or even overnight).

It was getting late so we hung out for only about 25 minutes before heading back down the Devil's Backbone trail on a different side of the summit. While a challenge on our knees, it was nice to be going down and much like our last hike, Liz's hip issues were less of a factor on the descent. She passed on the "you're almost there" encouragement we were given earlier to a few hikers struggling on their final steps up.

After the first section, our trip down leveled out along the ridge line for a mile or two. With solid ground beneath our feet, our pace picked up greatly. Along this stretch I spotted this fantastic tree...

Eventually we found ourselves on the namesake section of the trail--a pointed ridge with very steep hills down on both sides. Fortunately, the trail itself was nearly flat so it never felt dangerous despite the steep drops. This little lizard was about the billionth of its kind I spotted on this hike--only one to pose for me.

The end of a chairlift was a sign that we were getting closer and we followed a ski trail back to the lodge at Baldy notch. This plan worked perfectly well at first but the last section of trail was just a steep wide swath of gravel with no switchbacking foot path to be found anywhere. This took forever. We watched a few hikers ahead of us slip down the hill. Only after did we realize there was a longer, far-less-steep fire road option. Oh well.

We took a break for a snack at the Baldy Notch lodge. It was nearly closing time and the sun was getting low. Decision time yet again on this Choose-Your-Own-Adventure hike....walk 3 miles down a boring fire road to our car....or take a chairlift down and walk another 1/2 mile. As it was 5PM on a Sunday and we had an hour drive and work the next day, we opted for the chairlift. Cheating? Maybe. But we walked up and halfway back down by our own power so I don't feel bad about it. (That said, the $10 each for the three-minute one-way ride is highway robbery.)

After a short skip to the car we were done. Our long day filled with struggle and triumph came to a close.

Now about Liz's hip...and what's that?...is my knee getting sore?

Two weeks to go...

Wow...they REALLY want you to know what could go wrong...

2010-06-12T23:06:00.000-07:00

The National Park Service recently posted a nine-minute video about the Half Dome Hike. Seems to be squarely aimed at convincing the unprepared to stay away. Fortunately that's not us, but all of you who don't quite know what the heck we're aiming to do in two weeks should check it out...

Watch the video here on nps.gov

HIKE06: Timber Mountain via Ice House Saddle

2010-06-12T22:54:00.000-07:00

I'm so far behind! I want to be up-to-date before our next big hike tomorrow, so this update will be light on prose. Fortunately, it was much of the same as our Ice House Saddle hike...only this time we went an extra mile to the top of Timber Mountain. The sun was much warmer than our last visit (and most of the snow was gone too.) Great hike. Liz pulled a muscle on the way up and had to fight through the pain for the last two miles of ascent. I don't know if it's the yoga or what, but she kicked that pain's ass and we triumphed. We originally talked about going all the way to Telegraph Peak, but that would have added another three miles to our round trip. We ended up clocking 11.2 miles, making it our longest trek with the greatest climb (3,400 feet) to date, so no need to overdo it.

I'll make up for the lack of commentary by posting a few really big images...

Hazy view of the San Gabriel valley a few thousand feet below...

Old Baldy still had some snow...

We took the same longer way down as last time. No scary hillside snow...

Some of the Our Lord's Candles we saw last time were now in full bloom...

The warmer weather made for more melt and stronger water flow. Perfect for a little break...

OK. That's it. More soon...

HIKE05: Ice House Saddle

2010-05-20T17:59:00.000-07:00

Confidence up, we flipped through the hiking guidebook with a mission to find something a bit more challenging. Never been to the Baldy area so seemed like a good enough time as any. Got up early and started the 60 mile drive out to Claremont and into the Angeles National Forest.

Up a curvy road into the mountains we drove, discovering a tiny village surrounded by towering snow-capped peaks. At the end of the road is the small Baldy ski area, open on our visit for one last weekend of skiing and snowboarding. It was late April so the snow was long-gone at the base, but people were still making spring runs on a trail or two a couple chairlifts up the 10,064 foot mountain properly known as Mt. San Antonio. There are a few different hiking trails up to that summit, but we had heard you needed equipment for the dangerous snow and ice (we're definitely not there yet), so we opted for another nearby trail that crested at a 7,555 foot saddle between several higher peaks.

We found the Ice House Canyon trailhead at a crowded parking lot around 4900 feet. We got started a bit after 930 with temps near a chilly 45 degrees. A bit cool for just a sweatshirt. (We left the house an hour earlier with temps in the 60s). Once we got going, the workout warmed us up and the sweatshirts peeled off. We definitely wouldn't have that sun and heat issue on this adventure.

The first section of trail follows the banks of a fast flowing snow-fed creek along the base of Ice House Canyon. We passed ruins of the original Ice Packing business and a series of waterside cabins. The sound of flowing water was nearly deafening as it roared around massive boulders through a series of cascading falls. As the trail makes a steady cliff-side climb, majestic pine and cedar trees provided plenty of shade.

We saw a few families with power cardio hikers mixed in early in the day. The farther we got, the thinner the crowd as we encountered the same people again and again--passing and talking to a very friendly Asian couple many times. (I hope I'm making these kinds of hikes in my 60s!) Many of the other hikers we saw were carrying poles for support. Silly poles, who needs em?

Among the many boulders passed, saw a few with very interesting sedimentary geology...

2 miles up the trail we entered the Cucamonga Wilderness--a pristine 12,000 acre protected area. At this point we we started to find snow cover on the slope across the canyon. Our path remained dry--but that would soon change.

Just under a mile from the saddle, the trail goes into switchback mode for the last 1,000 feet of elevation gain. At first there was a patch of snow here and there. A hiker walking down told us it would all be covered before long, but we should be ok to reach the saddle--and higher would require that same equipment we didn't have. He told us poles would help, but he hated carrying them. We agreed. Seriously, who wants to carry poles!?

The trail became increasingly precarious the higher we got as the path of footprints followed a steeper grade than the gradual switchbacks hidden under the snow. Fortunately, the snow was hard and icy making it manageable (albeit slow) to continue up the hill.

When we reached the top--well not really the top, "notch" is probably a more accurate term--we found a small sun-drenched clearing with a few fellow hikers taking a lunch break before heading back down. Signs indicated a web of trails extending to the surrounding peaks from this major junction. Of course, all those trails were covered in snow--and not snow with a worn path of footprints. Thanks to the sun exposure, the saddle was an oasis of dry land surrounded by snow in every direction. Good time for a snack.

We sat down and enjoyed some trail mix and an energy bar as we watched a large raven (by our best guess) foraging for food. Our older-Asian-couple friends crested the trail and we shared some pleasantries about the perfect crisp, cool weather. The husband recommended we continue to Telegraph Peak (8985' and almost three more miles each way) when the snow melts. Another day...

After some rest we started the decent back into the canyon. Snow cover made wayfinding a bit difficult at times. In a few spots trees were marked to help. One particular marking failed in that regard...

When we neared the end of the thickest snow, I decided it was time to enjoy what we so rarely see in Southern California. Yeah, my pants were wet, but it was fun. They dried quickly but I ended up with big chunks of ice trapped under my belt--only realizing it a mile later when my ass still felt strangely chilled. Ghetto AC.

We opted to mix things up going back by taking the Chapman Trail--a 2-mile longer alternate route with a gradual ridgeline decent. It was a nice contrast walking along this higher, dryer trail. The path crossed quite a few very steep stretches of sliding loose gravel. Thank god we were on the sunny side of the canyon because this would be quite dangerous in the snow, until...

We rounded a bend back to a north facing wall and found ourselves once again crossing snow--only this time we were very high up and one wrong step would send us sliding down nearly a thousand feet. We followed the footprints where possible--this much less traveled trail wasn't as well worn as the other one--but in a few places the foot markings were only on the top of a very hard, icy surface. The best plan was to lean into the hill for the best hope of avoiding a slide but it was difficult and frightening. Sure wish we had those damn poles.

Mood change from before first crossing and trapped between crossings:

After each stretch of snow we thought we were done, only to discover more around another bend. Trapped between two long croppings of the white stuff, Liz entered a panic. Going forward -- scary. Going back --definitely scary. We put that recent yoga training to good use and calmed down with some breathing exercises. Then, another couple--the only other people we saw on this part of the trail--passed us and advanced through the last bit of snow. After they survived, we got it together and forged on. And with that, the snow was no more. We saw that couple again in the parking lot. Apparently they were as freaked out about the snow as we were--they just didn't want to stop and dwell on it.

After our little moment of extreme sport, we continued to a backcountry campground before switchbacking down into the canyon. We passed some weird neuvo-hippies hanging out next to a little stream with two dogs. They gave us the evil eye. Or maybe they were high. Not sure.

We saw a lot of interesting vegetation on the way down including these yucca cousins called "Our Lord's Candle". This strange plant grows for a few years until it dies in a massive stalk of a flower bloom (inspiring the candle name). And yes, if you fall into one, the spiky leaves are very hard and DO hurt.

Walked along the creek again for the last stretch--noticing something we missed going up--the fast water was crystal clear. Truly gorgeous. The base area had filled with larger families more interested in an escape than a long hike.

In the end, we cleared 9.2 miles and 2700 feet of elevation gain all in about 6 1/2 hours (we can work on the speed as we go) I told Liz how proud I was of her for pushing through it with the only moment of "I can't" being tied to a snow crossing that was legitimately scary. It was a fantastic day and we both felt great. Amazing how far we've come since the disastrous hike near Santa Ynez only a month or so earlier.

We rewarded ourselves with a tasty burger in a little Baldy village restaurant before trekking back to Hermosa Beach. Slept well that night.

Moving on all fronts

2010-04-30T01:33:00.001-07:00

All the off-again, on-again stress of the last few weeks wasn't really all that helpful for maintaining any semblance of a regular training routine. So we decided to kick start with something neither of us had ever done before....Yoga.

It's one of those things we've talked about forever but never actually motivated to make happen. There were concerns about not being good enough, sucking, classmates and instructors laughing at us, etc. (in the preverbal nutshell--we were both very self-conscious.)

We tracked down Lyfe--a studio in walking distance from the house that had a few beginner classes each week and headed over there--yoga matts in hand. It was certainly a little strange at first, but the instructor spoke to us before class and new we were green. Once the class started, there were only two other women, the instructor, Liz, and I. Not too bad at all. We worked our way through all the basics. Forms were corrected often, but I think we "got it" by the end of our session. My only problem was my sweaty hands were sliding all over the matt for 'downward facing dog'. Our instructor, Theresa suggested a microfiber towel. I picked one up a few days later and low-and-behold no longer had the issue for week two.

We wrapped up the session with about ten minutes of meditation. I'm not very skilled in techniques for successful meditation, but the quiet time was all I needed to decompress and release the stress. Walking out, we were both sweaty and sore...and both excited about returning again.

We tried a different instructor, Michele, for session 2. She focused a bit more on flow over form--which was nice because they're equally important. I'm glad we had a minor form background going in.

I could see myself continuing to take classes with either one. Going to try and keep this up weekly for a few months and maybe bump it up to twice/week if it's proving as helpful as I think.

In either case, stress coping and breathing skills learned from Yoga will be key to our success moving forward. Core strengthening is a very impressive bonus.

Liz and I both plan muscle strength training and cardio (I bike, she takes classes) beyond the yoga. We're getting ourselves into a pretty damn nice groove.

Long hike planned for this Saturday...not sure where exactly we'll end up quite yet, but it'll be challenging once again. And I think we'll do just fine. I couldn't make it last weekend, so liz took a solo Temescal Canyon run (something she'd never done before) It's easy for fear to cripple an effort to accomplish a task that may involve unpredictable panic. I think we're past that. We're both very excited about our trek on Saturday. More reports to come.

OH...and we bought hiking socks! No blisters.....I hope! Better be no blisters for twenty bucks per pair.

HIKE 04: Temescal to Will Rogers with Will Rogers loop

2010-04-30T01:33:00.000-07:00

We took some time to regain our bearings and decided to jump back in with a familiar trail that we knew we could handle.

The Temescal Canyon gateway trail is a popular workout loop in Pacific Palisades. It's a taut 3 miles with an impressive 1,000 foot fast climb. And it's usually very crowded with a random mix of trail runners, day camp groups, and over dressed elderly Asians. (I have no explanation for that last demographic that has been well represented every single time I've been on this trail.) This has been our go-to spot for a 90 minute exercise hike for the last year and a half. But 3 miles is just a biiiiiiiit too much of a step back for our goals, so we opted for something a little more involved.

Spur trails from the canyon loop connect to a network of trails that lead to the backbone and into Topanga State Park. But most of that is in bright sun--not the best plan for our bounce back hike. Instead we opted for a less busy trail that connects Temescal to Will Rogers. It's a fairly short four-mile out-and-back hike with a ridge to climb each way. Looking for a bit more than 4 miles, we added the mile-long fire road path within Will Rogers State Park. In total, it was about 6 miles from car door to car door. Not terribly challenging to help sooth any anxieties, but still more than a walk in the park to help transition into future hikes.

The weather was unseasonably cool for April--high 60s at most--as we set off from our car past cabins that could easily be a set piece for an 80s horror movie. (and maybe they were.) We veered away from the crowds on the popular route and started climbing the stairs that make a gradual climb up the valley's edge. It had rained earlier in the week so the trail was on the verge of overgrowth, but not so much that we needed to turn back.

On the way up we passed one couple with a pair of off-leash dogs. We always see a few on this trail. And they're almost always off-leash even though it's not technically allowed. If we ever actually get a dog ourselves, I'm sure we'll be back up here with the pooch often.

Once the trail switches back a few times climbing through shady vegetation, we crested the canyon ridge for fantastic ocean view across the Palisades. On this day, it happened to be foggy and hazy. On a clear day you can see a view that extends from distant snowcaps to Downtown LA to Hermosa, Palos Verdes and Catalina. We continued along the bright ridgeline, passing a water storage structure, before decending back down into another valley.

The trail narrows a bit for the switchbacks down--a bit steeper and more condensed than the earlier climb. Eventually we dropped into a lush, cool valley that I recall holding its green color even in the dry months of late summer. On this morning it was almost jungle-like.

We followed a dry stream-bed until the trail made a run along the back fences of a few million-dollar houses on the ridge above that sat on properties extending all the way to the canyon floor--the last of which had a decent sized stable in the back. A group of workers were clearing bush from a hillside behind a different house. The groaning of their gas-powers machines broke up the sound of birds we had heard up til that point. With fire an ever-present danger, their work is essential. But looking at the overgrowth surrounding both neighboring houses, I wondered if the effort was futile--or if a neighbor feud was in the works over this issue.

The trail crosses a cul de sac with no reason to exist and continues up another hill, passing a few houses, before emptying into a field on the edge of Will Rogers State Park. Unlike the our walk to this point, Will Rogers is sunny, pristine, bright, landscaped and structured. The central focus of the park is a polo field and the historic ranch home of the actor who originally lived here. Horses are everywhere and there's a gorgeous sloping lawn that's always filled with picnicking families, couples and friends. We wouldn't be bothering with any of that.

Instead we walked the leisurely loop along a wide gravel fire road to Inspiration Point at the apex of the park. It's a bit of a climb, but nothing intense. At the top, we took in the panoramic view and reflected on where we go from here.

As we started the walk back out of Will Rogers, a family warned us of a snake on the trail a mile ahead...we never saw it. (And they didn't say rattle, so we're pros when it comes to snakes now anyway!) And about halfway we heard what was undoubtedly a swarm of bees but wisely didn't stick around below to investigate.

In the end, it wasn't exceptionally challenging and the weather was far more friendly than anything we can expect ahead, but it was exactly what we needed--an adrenaline boost in the ass to get us over our little speed bump in the Los Padres National Forest.

HIKE03: Los Padres NF Davy Brown Trail

2010-04-30T01:32:00.000-07:00

NOTE: So I've been a little delayed in getting this one up, and that delayed me getting up the posts that follow. The whole day was iffy as you'll see. Two important things to note--1. it didn't ruin the rest of our time in wine country and 2. we've since bounced back with a few more low key hikes and strategies. We're preparing for a big one again on May 1st. So...read on....

This was our first hike outside the home field. We had been hearing about great hikes up in Santa Barbara county and planned this little trip to coincide with a wine tasting weekend. Not sure what to expect, we left the house at around 9AM and began the 130 mile drive up to the Los Padres National Forest. With traffic reasonable, we got up to the area a little after 12.

I was a little overly ambitious in my plans--opting for a 9 mile hike with 2,000 feet of elevation gain. As we drove up the windy 1 1/2 lane road into the hills above the Santa Ynez valley, Liz made it clear that she didn't have that kind of adventure in her. So we flipped through a Santa Barbara hikes book I purchased a few days earlier and found the Davy Brown trail. It was a one way hike that would total about 6 miles with 1200 feet elevation gain--shouldn't be a problem. Only difference was this time we'd be starting at nearly 4,000 feet and hiking down into a valley.

The start of the trail began in a hilltop meadow. At our back, breezes were rolling up the canyons from the vineyard-filled valley below.

We walked a hundred feet at most before the trail started its steep decent into a wooded canyon. Here we passed a obligatory hiking landmark--the broken gate.

At this point, the shade was a blessing as the cool breezes from the trailhead had vanished. Loved the fact that it wasn't the same ole Santa Monica Mountains environment. Bigger trees. More green. And a damp little bubbling creek originating at a spring near the summit. Plus, we had the whole thing to ourselves.

After a few short switchbacks, the trail shifted to a fairly straight creek-side shot down the hill. The dirt transitioned to a narrow path built on broken bits of rock along the edges of a sliding shale hillside.

When we stopped to take a look at a few strange trees growing from the wall of rock, I almost tumbled down the hill while backing up to take a picture. Yikes. It wasn't anything especially dangerous but I would have been walking back with some nasty scrapes of loose gravel burn.

This was when it dawned on me that we forgot to hang our parks pass permit. Ugh. So annoying. We'd probably get a ticket. Could we fight it by showing the pass? Who knows. Should we go back? Might be a ticket already. So why bother. Onward...

About a mile down we encountered a marker for Edgar B. Davison--the first ranger to work in this forest (I think) and creator of the Davy Brown trail. According to our map, his cabin site was supposed to be across the creek. I didn't see anything. Maybe "site" literally means site in this case.

An alternate trail that reconnects with Davy Brown farther down the hill forked off here. We continued on the main trail but planned to take the alternate back for a change of scenery. We passed more large trees (some fallen) as the elevation continued to drop. The larger ones are tough suckers--bark covered in scorches and scars from past forest fires. Closer to LA, trees seem to rarely grow large enough to live through our seasonal firestorms. Reminded me of the giant sequoias a few hours north. Those trees of course dwarf what we saw in Los Padres, but I vividly remember seeing and learning about their battle-worn bark and the burn history it reveals.

Other smaller creeks merged into the one we were following--adding to the waterflow as we continued down. What began as a bubbling sound grew to become a louder hum with each step. It was great--until we suddenly entered an entirely different--what's the word? "ecozone"?

The thick forest narrowed to barely wider than the creek bed while the trail shifted over to the familiar sun-drenched sight of dry chaparral. This sun was hot and the air was still. But we were going down, so progress continued with little effort--stopping occasionally to take a few pictures of wildflowers and other desert flora. Unfortunately, our persistent enemy was already creeping onto Liz's skin.

Down, down, down we continued eventually stumbling into a respite from the sun in an area with huge boulders and a few cascading waterfalls. Stopped for a quick snack and break before moving on.

The sun was starting to make Liz uncomfortable around the fork where the alternate loop reconnected with Davy Brown. We had a choice to make...continue to the bottom of Davy Brown where the trail ended at a campground--maybe another mile down that we would have to walk up again--or take the alternate trail and loop back. Shadows were growing long so we decided to go for the loop. About a quarter mile up the the trail we came to realize that 'alternate' must be a kind word because no one had taken this path in a very long time and it was almost entirely overgrown. We could continue--but that introduced the possibility of losing the trail. Not good. So we walked back to Davy Brown and started ascending the way we came down. This was where things started to turn ugly.

The walk up was steep. The sun was hot. And when we got back to the boulder where we stopped for a bite, Liz started to panic that she might be on the brink of heat stroke. We were in the middle of nowhere, hadn't passed a single other person since we left the car, and had no cellphone service.

Knowing how Liz reacts to the heat along with the allergic impact of the many gnats and pollen along the trail, I was less concerned that her fears of the worst were true, but very worried that the panic could seriously hamper her ability to hike 2 miles up a steep hill. I did my best to create calm and we came to decide that walking back up the hill was really the only option.

The hike up through the sunny chaparral was long, slow and miserable. Once we returned to the protection of tree cover, Liz worked through the panic and we were able to continue, albeit slowly, back to the car with little additional struggle. As we approached the trail head, a serious hiker couple passed us en route to the cars--the first two people we saw all day. I couldn't help but wonder how long they were following our struggle up the hill.

We crested the hill with the canyon breezes from earlier blowing into our faces. Ahhhhh.

Fortunately, the car wasn't ticketed.

The day ended with less than 4 miles of hiking.And now I'm left with very real and serious concerns about future plans. It's supposed to be enjoyable--even when it's hard--and it's going to get A LOT harder (and hotter) than this. Will I be doing it solo? That's not what I want. But at the same time I don't want to drag anyone into a situation with the potential to be dangerous.

On the drive out we stopped at one of the most amazing wildflower blooms I've ever seen. Indeed a very nice--and calming--end to a very weird hike day. California Poppies and Lupines...

We followed the hike with a delightful couple days of wine and good food.

The next weekend Liz was still recovering from a nasty flu so we didn't hike. This past weekend beerfest kept us off the trails. I'm not sure what comes next, but there are only nine weekends between now and when we have that cabin booked at Yosemite. Maybe that's why I was a bit anxious to write this chapter. Could it be that uncertainty? Regardless, it's part of this journey I set out to document.

As our adventure with Davy Brown proved--you can go from high to low very, very quickly. We just need to find that spirit and drive to climb again. Love the cliches.

Onward...

HIKE02: Hondo Canyon

2010-03-25T01:14:00.000-07:00

We had a busy Saturday planned, so we got off to an earlier start than last time. After a quick stop for our normal pre-hike McDonald's breakfast to go, we were on the freeway by 9AM.

This week's target was to tackle a new hike for us that followed a four and a half mile section of the Backbone Trail out of Topanga State Park. One of our local trail books suggested approaching the hike as a shuttle trek (Take two cars and drop one off at the end) where you only walk downhill. That wouldn't meet our needs so we ignored the advice, took only one car, and started at the bottom. At nine miles for the round trip, up nearly 1,500 feet on the walk out, this would be our longest trek to date.

We didn't know much about what awaited us, but it turned out to be a delightful walk that I haven't stopped recommending to friends who regularly day hike in the Santa Monica mountains. Three things became clear as soon as we started...

First, the parking was merely a pull-off with space for maybe six cars so the trail wasn't likely to be too crowded (plus it was free!) Second, it began as a wooded narrow path along a small creek. (not a fire road!) Third, at the start we passed a pleasant group of three women who were completing their walk. (also round trip) They gushed about the perfect trail ahead--but more importantly they were all wearing shirts with this symbol to the left, so clearly they MUST have known what they were talking about.

The trail weaved in and out of a strip of heavy trees and a grassy meadow. I have to imagine that come summer it will all be dry and ugly, but none of that was a concern today.

With the early sun low, heat wasn't much of an issue on the way up even when there wasn't shade. About a quarter-mile in we crossed a collapsing cement bridge over the creek. Liz decided to do a tap dance. I couldn't tell you why. Energy was high at the start.

Wildflowers were in full bloom most of the way up. Perhaps one day I'll actually learn how to identify a few. We've been seeing some of these for a few weeks now, just not quite this prominently blooming.

As we continued, the trail flattened for a bit away from trees on a ridge high above the creek below. We could hear it flowing strongly but could no longer see it. Unlike Malibu Creek that flows at a minimal trickle all year, I'd be surprised if this one wasn't dry by summer. Across the canyon was a house where some pot-growing off-the-grid old Topanga hippy probably lived. A few hundred yards from the house sat a chair under a solo tree beneath a bleached red rock cliff. That's the life.

Around this point we walked up a steep hill through another meadow and Liz was starting to become impatient with the sun and our uphill climb. She asked me how far I thought we'd gone. "Maybe a mile?" I replied. Her face didn't paint a comforting picture for our journey ahead. Fortunately, we dipped back into the shade of thicker trees shortly after so the concern was brushed aside. We passed through a damaged gateway, curious about what this fence once tried to keep out.....or in.

A man with a dog passed us going up. Dogs aren't allowed on this trail! The nerve! (I'd do the same if we had one.) He was the first person we saw after the hike-symbol shirt women. From here the trail transitioned to switchbacks as we climbed the hillside. And we faced a big chunk of the total elevation gain over a one and a half mile stretch. It was tiring, but the shade was nice--something lacking on the 1,000 foot over one mile gain of the short Temescal workout trail that I enjoyed through the Autumn months for a quick morning hike.

We passed our friend with the dog heading back down just as the trail left the protection of tree-cover for chaparral and grass. If he made it to the top already, we couldn't be far.

Almost there...

Finally, we crested the top and walked a little farther to an overlook that would be our turn-around point. We'd been ascending for over two hours so the cool breezes rolling up the canyons from Malibu were a nice pick-up. Once we reached the overlook, Liz decided to follow her bottom-of-the-hill tap dancing and celebrate by jumping on road gate. The view inland to the north wasn't as clear as I've seen, but we could still see mostly across the valley so no complaints. It looked better in person. Isn't that always the case?

The houses at the top of the trail are a bit nicer than what we saw earlier in Topanga Canyon. I doubted an old pot-growing hippy lived in this one.

At the overlook we encountered a few bikers and a weird dude that wouldn't move his arms off the Backbone Trail map as we tried to view it. I considered taking a picture of him, but thought better of it after looking into his soulless eyes for half a second. We each had a peanut bar and started our descent. (By the way, our longer hikes are requiring something more than a little old peanut bar at the mid-point. Need to remember to up the energy food for next time.)

Shortly after we returned to the steeper tree-covered switchback section, Liz was walking a few paces ahead of me on the trail. Just as she stepped over a rock outcrop on the path, we heard the loudest, most unsettling sound I have ever heard hiking.

Listen to it.

Liz and I do what anyone who has never encountered a rattlesnake would do....we each run in opposite directions. As I had yet to step past the rock covering this creature, I was the one who ran the wrong way. Fortunately no one was around to laugh at our precarious situation. With about 40 feet separating us, we determined it had to be a rattlesnake BUT probably wouldn't attack us velociraptor-style. I ran back to Liz and the damn thing did it again. This time I didn't stop, leaped over the rocks and we were on our way back down again. And no, we have no photographic evidence of this as I wasn't about to stuff a camera into the damn thing's lair.

Along the journey we did see plenty of other small lizards on trails, on rocks, and pretty much everywhere. The little buggers are fearless.

We made good time booking it down, but by the time we were about halfway our old and constant enemy--the sun--decided to make a play at us. After the switchbacks, much of the morning shade had disappeared. It was manageable going down, but I wasn't jealous of the half-dozen or so people we saw heading in the opposite direction.

As we approached the bottom, I think the last couple we passed were on mushrooms. She had to step into the bushes and look away as we passed, he couldn't stop giggling when while attempting to say hello, and they both looked like background players from Jesus Christ Superstar. It was an appropriately cliche final encounter for our first hike out of Topanga Canyon.

By the time we reached the car, we had been hiking a bit over four hours. We were out of water and hungry. Stopped at a sketchy market for an immediate recharge and continued our non-stop Saturday afternoon with a late lunch and a birthday party in BFE.

Liz woke up on Sunday so sore that she could hardly move and my feet had a few blisters. I'm still unsure how we'll manage to extend our trips to longer hikes that are more sun-drenched as the weather continues to warm. We'll see as the journey continues.

Next week this show hits the road with a stop in Santa Barbara county.

HIKE01: Malibu Creek State Park--Lost Cabin

2010-03-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

Word has it that Malibu Creek is one of the most popular State Parks in the Los Angeles area. All this time, and we've never even been there.

We got started a bit later than usual--didn't leave the house until after 9, meaning we didn't reach the park until a bit after 10. Upon arrival we were greeted with a nice $12 fee. Gotta love the California budget crisis.

Not too crowded as we headed down the path on this first really warm Sunday morning of the year. The park stretches along Malibu Creek between high hills of sand stone and volcanic rock.

The "trail" began by way of a wide gravel road following the creek. Ugh. Not a fan of gravel road hiking. It's pretty common in Southern California as many trails double as fire roads. Or maybe many fire roads double as trails. I'm not exactly sure. In any case they're usually hot, shadeless and tiring. The saving grace here was the ample shade provided by large oak trees along the path. Can't complain about any local trail with shade as they're not as common as I'd like. I can manage, but with her fair skin and red hair, sun is a truly major concern for Liz. I'm sure I'll write an entire explanation of our effort to fight that challenge soon...

About a mile in, the gravel road climbed over a ridge and the trees disappeared. Uh oh. Fortunately, we quickly dropped down to the water level and the wide road narrowed to a narrow path. OK, this is a trail.

We crossed a bridge that showed evidence of flooding from the heavy rain this winter and then continued on a rocky, muddy scramble at water level. Saw a paddle boat stuck in a tree--more evidence of the flooding and especially incredible since Malibu Creek runs at barely a trickle in the summer months.

The path opened up again when we stumbled on the site where M*A*S*H was filmed.

A couple signs with photos, two rusted out trucks and a replica of the directional post from the show marked the location. Most of the trail up to this point had been flat so we originally planned to fork off on a short spur that climbed 900 feet. But we had only walked an easy 2 and a half miles and wanted a workout. There was a lake and damn ahead if we soldiered on. After taking a wrong turn, we never found the lake and the damn was hard to see thanks to an annoying fence. We did annoy a couple enjoying a picnic alone at the end of the trial when we sat for a snack before heading back.

The sun was getting heavy by the time we got back to the M*A*S*H site. We really needed the uphill workout so I convinced Liz that we should still take that spur. By this point the sun was getting to Liz and she didn't really want to continue. I pushed her, probably a little too much, but we made it to the top to be rewarded with cool breezes and an empty hillside painted with wildflowers.

We didn't see a single other person on the Lost Cabin spur trail. That was nice. As soon as we reconnected with the main trail the park's crowds started to become more apparent. Watched a man try to push a stroller over the ragged rocks near the flood-stranded paddle boat. It wasn't working. He turned around just as we passed him. And there was a kid sitting in it. Is that abuse?

The closer we got to the car, the more families we saw. Each one seemed to have more children running amuck. We stopped in a visitor center for a cold drink and I swear the place was filled with thirty bebes screaming and yelling and thowing food. At least 80% of our walk had been relatively peaceful.

We walked the last bit on the opposite side of the creek unaware that no bridge would carry us over the water at the end. From what we heard, you can usually walk across without stepping into the water. Should we back and around? That would mean about a mile more sun and Liz was done....I was too. Took off the shoes, pulled up the pants, and splashed across. A couple stairs and we were done. It was nearly 3PM.

8 miles. 900 feet elevation gain. 4 1/2 hours. Tired and sunburned. We have a long way to go.

I can do that.

2010-03-17T23:22:00.000-07:00

There are many more difficult day hikes in this world than the 16-mile round-trip trek to the top of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park. I have't been to those places. I haven't seen those challenges first hand.

50,000 people hike to the top of it every year, so what's the big deal? Well for starters over 3,000,000 people visit the park...making it about

Yes, it's iconic. (It was on the California state quarter.) Yes, it's on the list of hikes everyone is supposed to conquer. But I never was much of a hiker so lists like that mean very little to me. I enjoyed it, but I'm not the intense kind of granola outdoorsy type as a lot of other people I know. I don't even really like to camp. So simply put, it's just one of those things I've wanted to do for a very, very long time...from before I even saw the incredible granite monolith with my own eyes for the first time seven years ago.

On that first trip, we had no realistic expectation to get far as we were sickingly out of shape--I weighed over 30 pounds more than I do now. With a need to feel at least a little active on our first trek to the valley, Liz and I walked up the first mile or so from the parking lot to the base of Vernal Falls and it practically killed us.

On visit number two, I was on a revival road trip of sorts with my old friend, Ryan Howe. My physical condition was only a bit better, but we somehow pushed ourselves 3.5 miles up the trail--ending at the top of Nevada Falls. This was a grueling 1,900 foot climb up along the cliffs of two massive waterfalls. It was a gorgeous hike but we were both drop dead exhausted by the end. (I recall nearly falling asleep eating pasta in the cabin that night). And the top of Nevada Falls isn't even close to half the distance or elevation to the top. Plus, it doesn't involve the dreaded cable climb (we'll get back to that one another time).

Ever since that trip I've talked about wanting to go back--this time prepared--to make the entire journey. It presented several challenges--1. We needed to take up hiking. 2. We needed to find the time to get back to Yosemite (it's over six hours from our house), preferably in the late Spring or early Summer before the waterfalls calmed to a trickle. 3. We needed to prepare ourselves with increasingly difficult and longer hikes.

We moved on the first challenge last January. Around the time that Barack Obama was inaugurated, Liz and I bought our first hiking shoes and a daypack. We started going on short nearby hikes of a few miles. But our options were limited and without a trip planned we had no reason to progressively push ourselves. While four-mile hikes might be great for exercise and fresh air, they weren't going to get us up Half Dome.

There were a lot of conversations with no action and Half Dome was starting to feel like a lofty crazy idea. Liz went to Boston for the summer and by the time she returned it would be way too late to be ready before the trail closed for winter. We often make plans and don't follow through. It's a problem we have and the goal (and trip it required) was only becoming more emblematic of that with each passing day.

That changed a few days before Valentine's Day when we talked about it seriously once again. Liz took that as a cue to frame a picture I took on our first trip and give it me. She said, "We can do this." And we've been realistically moving forward to make it happen ever since.

It's crazy how fast things move the moment you commit to the decision in your head. I don't know why I don't act in such a way more often. Soon we pulled out a couple Los Angeles hiking guidebooks and started tagging trails for preparation. And two weeks ago I booked a place for us to stay at the end of June. Finally, an end date.

Time for a subplot.

2010-03-17T01:14:00.000-07:00

The main reason I've been showing the blog so little attention lately (beyond my laughable ADD) is that I haven't been happy with the focus. It was a lot of the wedding...then a lot of DJ GIRL...and then, well, just a bit of a lot.

So for the next few months I'm going to try and keep things more on track. We can call this a detour, a subplot, it doesn't really matter. It's just something to share. Don't worry...when I soon sell that next script or DJ GIRL moves into full production, I'll be happy to break format a smidgen just for you.

So here's what I'll be focused on reaching for the next few months:

The basics:

Hike Distance: 14.2 miles (22.7 km) round trip via Mist Trail
16.5 miles (26.5 km) round trip via John Muir Trail
20 miles (32 km) round trip via Glacier Point
23 miles (37) km round trip via Tenaya
7 miles (11 km) round trip from Little Yosemite Valley campground

Half Dome Elevation: 8,842 feet (2,650 meters)
Total Elevation Gain: 4,800 feet (1,600 meters) from Yosemite Valley

Hiking Time: 10 - 14 hours

I'm with Coco

2010-01-14T17:22:00.000-08:00

EmptyLA

2010-01-05T10:59:00.000-08:00

All roads are open this year...like seriously open. I find the refreshing emptiness of my constantly busy city to be strangely exciting. Maybe it's a glass half empty / half full thing.

Refresh to cycle through the images. Or go to emptyla.com for more from photographer Matt Logue covering this rarely seen side of Los Angeles.

Testing 1...2...3...4.....

2010-01-05T10:52:00.000-08:00

Oh good it's still working.

Welcome to 2010. I expect nothing short of a great ride this year.

Top Movies of the Decade

2009-12-18T01:47:00.000-08:00

Here's my list...subject to change as I think about it more...

First Tier
1. Lord of the Rings Trilogy (YES, IT COUNTS AS ONE)
2. Children of Men
3. Almost Famous
4. No Country For Old Men
5. Dark Knight
6. Kill Bill (ALSO COUNTS AS ONE)
7. Traffic
8. Moulin Rouge!
9. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
10. 3:10 To Yuma

Second Tier
11. Memento
12. 500 Days of Summer
13. Star Trek (2009)
14. High Fidelity
15. Y Tu Mamá También
16. Lost in Translation
17. Man on Wire
18. Sideways
19. Bad Santa
20. Coraline

Contenders INPO:
Being John Malkovich
Hotel Rwanda
History of Violence
Wall-E
Finding Nemo
Zodiac
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Iron Man
The Incredibles
Dogtown and Z-Boys
The Departed
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Pan's Labyrinth
King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
The Hangover
The Wrestler
Bourne Ultimatum

Instant Children's Classic?

2009-12-16T17:15:00.000-08:00

Waiting for the Brendan Hines and Felicia Day "Elementary Morals" tour...

Sneak Peak

2009-12-12T15:22:00.000-08:00

On the 1st day of christmas an ugly statue fell...

2009-12-07T11:19:00.000-08:00

There's some debate as to if this was rude or not...

I'm pushing my cart through the Vons grocery store minding my own business on a brief trip to pick up some steaks for dinner and wood for the fireplace.

As I roll it past a table with a Christmas display, the tablecloth catches the wheel of the cart and pulls this horribly ugly nutcracker statue off the table.

SMASH

It breaks into a ton of pieces that spread across the floor. I totally did it, but at the same time not really my fault because the tablecloth was hanging onto the ground just asking to be pulled by my vagrant shopping cart.

I had pushed my cart around an older man who was standing next to the table talking on his cell phone and when the fugly statue met its demise he turns to me with a disgusted glare and proceeds to make a very exaggerated effort to step over the mess and walk away.

Really? You can't even acknowledge what happened.
Acceptable human responses would be: "Are you OK?" "Need some help?" "Want me to tell someone?"
Or in the very least walk away without the glare followed by the over-the-top stepping-by-the-mess show.

I was kinda stunned. Yeah, it's a little embarrassing to cause a $10 hideous gnome elf to explode on the floor of a grocery store...but is the old dude's judgment of me needed too? Have you never dropped something!?

Of course being the ass that I am I yelled to him, "Walk away, sir! Walk away!"

I picked up some of the pieces and a few seconds later a friendly store employee walked over and told me he'd take care of the rest.

As I later pushed my cart to the checkout I passed him again--he was still on his phone--glaring at me some more. Overheard as I passed: "...and then he yelled, walk away..."

Damn right, I did.

So...rude or not rude?

Preparing for the heart of the beast...

2009-11-25T17:32:00.000-08:00

After ten years in LA, I'm about to do something I've never done since moving here--a trek back east for Thanksgiving.

And to make it even more interesting I fly in a few hours in the midst of the travel hell that is the day before Thanksgiving.

Here's to hoping the travel gods are on my side. (and if they're not, that the bar is well stocked AND well staffed) *Wood squarely knocked*

The adventure begins as soon as I get away from this fantastic, awesome, lovely job. (Seriously, it's 5:30....this must be the only office in LA that didn't have a half day today)

And off I go...

So if one day you have a kid who grows up and sets the rug on fire...

2009-11-24T17:50:00.000-08:00

I had a nice productive weekend. I started with a solo hike on Saturday morning. Then spent the afternoon editing with Darrin to bring this re-hash phase of our little project to a near end point. Sunday I cleaned up the house and got a good amount of writing done in the afternoon.

As the sun set it started to get cool fast so I picked up a little pack of wood and a bottle of wine at Vons on my way home where I planned to settle in to watch Dexter and the Curb finale.

I started the fire. I opened the wine. I grilled a burger. I turned on the TV. Nice end to the weekend...

A bit later when the fire begins to die down I throw on another log which unfortunately didn't seem to catch the flame. I take the fire tongs, open the chain mail curtain and grab a mostly burned glowing log on one end. As I lift it up it snaps in half causing one end to crash back into the fire and toss a handful of glowing chunks out into the room. OH NO!

I'm frozen for a few seconds. What do I do!?

I actually started to reach for one...but reason stopped me before I scar my hand.

I take the tongs and attempt to grab each little piece. But the problem is fire tongs are hardly precise machinery so it takes forever to get a decent enough grip on the golf ball sized chunks. After I FINALLY get them all safely back into the fireplace I look down at the rug to find three two-inch dark, crushed spots of charred, melted rug with a few other smaller spots from the tinier embers.

Lame.

We got this rug new when we moved into our new place.

It really tied the room together, man. And the scarring totally throws the feng shui of our interior design out the window.

Stupid fire. Stupid, stupid fire.