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DVNP in 4WD

11/21/2017

It's been a while since I've been able to get away.

Last year was awesome, I had work and plenty of free time. I got away about once a month, doing two separate 10-day romps; one up the coast to Jalama, Santa Cruz, and some shall-not-be-named surf spots in between, another detailed below, from the Salton Sea to Joshua Tree to Mojave Trails to Mojave National Preserve to Death Valley and back to Ventura with a bunch of BLM land along the way -- full desert dust party!

I started Paramedic school full time in August after spending about three years gathering the credentials for eligibility. It's probably the only chance I'll get to earn this title, so I'm taking it seriously -- 31 hours a week in school, plus half that many more studying at home on my own time each week. However, there was no class scheduled for this week, the week of Thanksgiving, and I was confident enough in the knowledge base I've built up to take off for three days.

I had been talking to my friend Brandon Tran about a desert trip for a while. He's a master 4x4 pilot who had never been to Death Valley, and I had not been out there since I traded my awesome yet cumbersome E350 for the 4WD Mitsubishi Montero of which I'm now the proud owner, so it was an great opportunity for both of us to head out there and try some trails.

It's always a good idea to check the NPS website for warnings/advisories when possible before visiting a national parkland. Once Brandon and I started talking about a trip out to DVNP, I got online and noticed that Harry Wade Road had a warning posted cautioning drivers of patches of deep sand: perfect. This would be an awesome start to the trip. Harry Wade comes in through the south side of the park, near Baker, and is 20 or so miles of dirt and sand before reaching pavement on the valley floor. I had never taken it before and the deep sand warning seemed like the perfect thing for two career ocean lifeguards to be playing around in after years of testing the California Deptartment of Parks and Recreation's vehicles' capabilities while driving on the beach at work.

My co-pilot and girlfriend of 5 years, Sarah, and I left Ventura with two dogs, camping supplies, and two extra quarts of oil for the leaky Montero at 0400 on Sunday morning. By 0530 we had rendezvoused with Brandon's gang, consisting of himself and his girlfriend Erika, her sister Gigi, and his dog and gear, and were headed East out of LA shortly after. By late morning we were airing down at the beginning of Harry Wade, ready for a couple days of challenging dirt and adventure. The road in was not particularly challenging, and in fact, despite the "deep sand" warnings, neither of us used our 4wd capabilities on that first day. One thing that we were not expecting to encounter that turned out to be totally bitchin' nonetheless, was a place called Saratoga Springs. Now, I've been to my fair share of "springs" in the desert in the past, and while it's true that they can be something as fantastic as a pristine multilayer waterfall such as is the case with Darwin Falls, I've found that, more often than not, they're a mud puddle. Wet dirt where some hard layer of subterranean rock comes moderately close to the surface and groundwater kinda gets the topsoil wet. As for Saratoga Springs, well, it's legit. It's either a large pond or a small lake, depending on what you're used to, complete with full flocks of birds and apparently inhabited by fish, although we couldn't get through the reeds enough to see into the water.

The second day, we started the day off with an amazing sunrise at Zabriske point, eating little oranges while the sun exploded behind the lookout point. Then, we drove out to Rhyolite, a ghost town East of the park on the other side of the Nevada border, and came back through Titus Canyon before trying out Marble Canyon as the sun was setting.

Rhyolite was pretty cool, with the buildings mostly still standing and placards explaining their former purposes, but the real treat about it were the mine-riddled hills surrounding the townsite. We drove from mine-shaft opening to mine-shaft opening, looking inside and checking out the debris while letting the dogs run wild and free. There's an interesting and quasi-creepy, 24 hour open-air museum off on the lefthand side of the road when you're driving in that's worth pecking around at. Keep an eye out for wild donkeys grazing nearby.

Titus Canyon was a nice drive as always, although the road had been recently graded in preparation for the upcoming busy Thanksgiving week and the upcoming rainy season that tends to damage the road, which took a lot of the challenge out of navigating it. It's always worth a drive though. The geology along Titus Canyon Rd. is amazing. Starting as you crest Red Pass and head down toward Leadfield ghost town, you get a distinct sense of descending through chapters in the earth-rock yearbook as you dive into deeper and more complex layers of metamorphed superpositioning before ending the last three miles or so in a slot canyon, where the amazingly vertical walls leave no illusions as to the impossibility of attempting an upward escape.

Since Harry Wade and Titus Canyon were both in a little better shape than we had hoped, Brandon and I somehow managed to talk the ladies into letting us drive them across the valley to try and get into some 4 wheel trouble at Marble Canyon. We were hoping for some sand in the first few miles and we did end up getting a little, but nothing too challenging. The climb up the alluvial fan to the mouth of the canyon started getting a little exciting though! The road narrows and gets a lot rockier after about 10 miles. The sun was going down though and it was time for us to head back, so that's about as far as we made it. Despite cutting that particular run short, everyone involved was in agreement that there was undoubtedly going to be more exploring and possibly a night or two spent further up that road in the future.

On the last day, Brandon and his merry band headed out early, having to be back by mid-day to meet some obligations back home. As long as I've known him, he's always been prepared for adventure, and I couldn't have been happier for that fact than I was when I woke up with a rear right tire that was basically deflated. The PSI wouldn't even register on a tire pressure gauge. However, Brandon came to my rescue with an air compressor he had brought along, and although we were in agreement that there was a leak somewhere in the tire, it would hold air long enough to get us around for the day and back home. Even though our adventure mates had to split, Sarah and I had time to kill, and we did just that. We killed the hell out of that day, exploring only new places that we hadn't ever been before.

As I mentioned earlier, out of a dozen or so prior trips out to Death Valley, none up until this point had involved 4 wheel drive capabilities!! Now that we had a light-weight off road vehicle, there was nothing to fear. Serendipitously, Wild Rose Rd., which had been closed for the last 5 years or so due to storm damage, was recently reopened on the Southwest end of the park, and we decided to check it out. We left the valley floor relatively early on Tuesday morning, climbing west past Stovepipe wells before taking a sharp right halfway up the pass to check out Lemoigne Canyon Road. We drove about a mile out on the rough road that cuts perpendicular to the alluvial run-off before stopping for a cup of coffee and some quiet reflection amongst the rocks. As with almost any elevated location in the desert, we bore witness to a grand view that stretched down the fan and clear to the other side of the valley.

Leaving Lemoigne, we headed across the street to Emigrant Pass Rd. and set a course up to Aguereberry Point. We stopped at Pete Aguereberry's homestead which lays at the base of his gold mine, which he worked by himself for nearly 40 years! What a bad ass! We walked through his house which unfortunately was pretty beat up; the windows were broken, walls punched though, and appliances and toilets smashed in. I'd like to extend my sincerest of thanks to whatever assholes ever participated in ruining a cool old house. Pete's old car was out in front, also badly beat up and stripped, but it was still super cool to get in and check out.

Aguereberry Point is truly breathtaking, and difficult to adequately represent or recreate with words, so I leave the photos below to bare witness to its beauty for anyone who doesn't think they'll ever make it there themselves.

Our last scheduled stop was the Charcoal Kilns up Wildrose Canyon Rd. I'd seen pictures of them covered in snow and was excited to see them in person. They did not disappoint! I had for some unknown reason misconceived that there were only 3 or 4 of them up there, but there are actually 10 huge rock domes lined up at the top of the road! They all smell wonderfully of charcoal even though they haven't been used for decades after only being in service for 3 years.

We took Wildrose Rd. down into Panamint Valley, but before we got the the end of Wildrose Rd., and after we knew we were well clear of the park boundaries, we decided to scratch that "deep sand warning" itch that'd been following us for three days and switch over to 4wd one last time on the trip. I made a left turn, climbing over the bank on the side of the road and putting us into open, sandy desert. We wove through bushes for 5 miles or so, making our own overland connection between Wildrose Rd. and Panamint Valley Rd. The itch was scratched!

We took some breaks to get the blood moving at a couple of BLM lands along the way home, and stopped at Tom's in Rosamond for their Burger and Burrito special; a truly random connection we developed at some point in our past desert adventures, this has somehow now become a tradition on most of our trips (if Jesse's Pizza is closed).

Enjoy the photos and GET OUT THERE!!!!!!!!

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Space and Time; Traversing the Mojave

2/1/2017

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Still. Silent. Nothing moves.

            An F-16 sneaks up on you so low and loud that you literally land from your jump as it screams off into the distance, off to scare other unsuspecting desert travelers before returning to Edward’s or China Lake.

            Forty-five seconds later, silence resumes. You can hear the air molecules hitting your eardrum. You start to tune in.
            You hear a little scamper in the bush to your left. A small bird has made his way into it while you weren’t looking and is now rummaging around in the foliage for some reason or another. You watch it intently, curiously, but don’t discover any of the significant clues as to the motives its actions that you were hoping to uncover through your observations. The bird pecks a bit, hops around, and takes flight, off to the next shrub. You wonder briefly if he has a home. Does he visit the same bushes every day? Does he make consistent rounds, or wander? Maybe he has a ‘home tree’, like in Avatar. Perhaps he checks out as many bushes as possible per day, sheltering under a different one each night, before continuing the next day to an entirely new set of Jojoba, Juniper, Ironwood, and Creosote exploring. You’ll never know for sure. You wonder: is he afraid of the hawks? Are the ants afraid of the sparrow?
It’s amazing how many ants you see in the middle of nowhere. The entire Mojave must be undercut with one enormous ant colony; a vast network of tiny tunnels connecting the south end of Joshua Tree National Park to the Northern Death Valley territory, all right beneath us, all either just out of our zone of perception or just past what we give a shit about. Hiking near Kelso?...black ants. Changing a flat tire on a dirt road, 45 miles from anything helpful or useful?....black ants. Breakfast on BLM land in the middle of god-damn-nowhere?... completely swarmed by black ants.

We had a cooler full of jelly, salsa, eggs cracked and drained into a big water bottle, some vegetables, cheese, and all of our fridge’s stock of left-overs that we could put into tupperwares and plastic bags. Other less perishable food stores included potatoes, bread, peanut butter, and enough dried ramen packets to keep us alive if we were stranded for a week without help and unable to move. We carried 10 gallons of water in two large jugs at all times; 5 gallons in the car for use, 5 gallons on the roof as back up. We filled them both every time we came across free drinking water in National Parks or Preserves. A 5 gallon gas tank was strapped up in the cargo basket on the roof next to the extra water, along with a few other rare-use supplies.
We had outfitted the Ford Econoline 350 with a bad-ass DIY carpet kit just one week before. We had two 20deg. rated sleeping bags and a big comforter; a new twin bed from Goodwill built into our kit. The windows had curtains and we had a small cabinet with three drawers for storage of, top to bottom: 1) kitchen/food preparation, 2)“useful shit” like headlamps, toilet paper, and matches, and 3) entertainment, aka a bunch of books. We had a couple brick hammers and chisels for rockhounding stashed next to fishing poles, which we had brought for some reason that now seems ridiculous. Under the bed were kept a 1924 7mm Spanish Mauser, for fun, and a 12ga. Dickenson shotgun, for assholes. I wish I could say we didn’t have to even think about using the latter, but I’m not a liar.
Our journey was to take us from the Salton Sea to Death Valley via Joshua Tree, Mojave Trails National Monument, Mojave National Preserve, and any BLM land we happened upon along the way. Success came 10 days, three tires, and a new fuel vent valve later, with over 1100 miles between us and the beginning.
Our journey started near the coast in Orange County; the first stop was planned to be the Salton Sea. There are a few California State Parks campgrounds there, and I was hoping that, being a state employee, I’d be welcomed in to crash for the night without paying.
We took the 78 East, a route neither of us had been on before, heading inland from Oceanside and winding through miles of hills and various Native American Reservations. We saw a few fallen trees at one point, nearby which, serendipitously enough, happened to be a ‘Tribal Police’ law enforcement vehicle. I pulled over, walked up to the car, and asked the officer if it would be ok for us to pick up some wood from a downed tree. I explained that we had just begun a trip that would take us nearly two weeks to complete, and we were looking for firewood.
“I don’t see any problem with that, it’s just gonna sit there and rot if nobody uses it. Go for it.”
Sarah and I made quick work of loading the space under the bed in our van with smaller sticks, before I climbed up on the roof and tied down the larger pieces she was handing me. All loaded up, we waved a farewell to the officer and were on our way.
The mountainous passes were all heavily wooded, and I’ll always remember a town called Julian, which felt like it had been preserved as a functioning display of an older, slower, smaller “old west” community; an almost forgotten way of life.
From these wooded highlands we dropped in elevation, the dirt lightened in color while the foliage thinned. We passed through Ocotillo Wells just after dark, and never saw the Salton Sea that inaugural day. We did however, come across the largest gas station I’ve ever seen, just outside of the city of Mecca… get the jerky.
We rolled into the Salton Sea State Recreation Area late that night; I talked with a very nice kiosk attendant and explained that I was an ocean lifeguard for the state parks up near Malibu. She was happy to meet another parks employee, as we usually all are when we run into each other, and said I could crash in any of the unoccupied sites for the night, free of charge. I thanked her sincerely and piloted our ship towards the back of the campground.
The next day, the first real, full day of the trip, Sarah and I awoke well rested in the twin bed we had bolted into the back of our econoline. We looked at the lake a bit, and decided to drive south toward Mexico to find some bigger beaches. We briefly entertained the thought of just running across the border quickly for some tacos, especially since Sarah had never driven over the line before, but decided against it because of the firearms we had stashed under the bed. The small taco trailer just outside of La Fonda, parked so long that its wheels have disintegrated and it now sits on rotting hubs, would have to wait for us to visit during a proper surf trip in the near future.
After a day spent practicing our 35mm manual focus film skills with a $20 Craigslist Cannon SLR purchased a week before the trip at some places along the Eastern coast of the Salton Sea, we decided that it was time to move along to Joshua Tree National Park. However, when we were getting into the car, we noticed that the front driver tire looked terrible. I know it was something I should’ve checked out long before the trip, but it slipped past me; there was no tread left on the inside wall, and the inner layers of the tire were showing in some spots. We’d have to make a run into Indio and get it replaced.
Though not usually the most entertaining activity, we decided that having to chill at the tire store and wait for the replacement to be installed wouldn’t slow our roll (pun intended). We literally kept rolling, practicing cartwheels and handstands in a surprisingly large grassy area in the parking lot next to the service garage. I’ll never forget the looks people gave us as we, two adults in our mid-to-late 20’s, spun and flipped and had acrobatic contests with each other while we waited to get moving again.
We got the car back an hour or so later (they were busy), and made it to the Southern entrance of Joshua Tree National Park with about three hours of daylight left in the sky. We pulled over just outside the park to walk our dog, Brad, while we could, since dogs still aren’t allowed on hiking trails in national parks. We arrived at Cottonwood Campground about an hour before sunset; it was already getting cold and the sky was beginning to light up in a characteristically profound desert sunset. We set up the primus burner, made some food, and retreated into the van for the night, drawing the psychedelic curtains across the windows and turning on the lights so we could read.
The next morning greeted us with an amazing sunrise and a couple of new neighbors. I’ve forgotten their names, but the three men who occupied the campsite next to us were fantastic characters. They had arrived early that morning and offered me a shot of rum right as soon as I clambered out of the van. I declined, but walked over and hung out with them for an hour or so anyways, getting to know the group of San Diego guys who had fled their girlfriends and wives for the weekend to catch up with each other. They were full of awesome stories, including the time that one of them had been in a high-speed chase with highway patrol, police helicopters and all. It had ended up on the news, and when he called his brother to let him know he was in jail he got a reply of: “Yeah haha, I know. Everybody knows dude, it’s all over the place! Everywhere! Your boss already called the house and told me to tell you you’re fired haha!”
Leaving these guys to catch up with each other more during their day of what I imagine turned into continued communal drinking and reminiscing, Sarah and I headed out on a hike that left from a trailhead in the campground. It was three miles or so and led to an old mine, closed off but well preserved and in the process of being restored. After this, we packed up the van, bid one final farewell to our new friends, and headed out across the park. We ended up doing a few more hikes that day, in an attempt to lay claim to a couple of the ‘I hiked 10 miles’ Joshua Tree NP stickers that they were giving out in celebration of the National Parks’ 100 year anniversary. We ended up staying at Belle Campground that night; a small, beautiful campground that allows uninhibited access to cross country trekking into the surrounding wilderness.
Waking up that morning, we took a hike up near Skull Rock, climbing some larger rock formations and doing some breathing exercises, just for the heck of it. Feeling great, we continued with our walk and got back to the car to find that all of the parking spots surrounding our car, which had been vacant when we arrived, were filled up. We imagined the trail had become considerably more occupied, too, and were happy to have woken up early and gotten the silence all to ourselves.
After successfully collecting our stickers, we left Joshua Tree with the Mojave National Preserve on our minds. After pulling over at a few undisclosed locations along the way to pick some beautiful natural turquoise out of the tailings of old mines, we settled in for a day of cross-country travel. We passed through the Mojave Trails National Monument, beautiful in its own right, and continued along Route 66 until we got to the 40; I now know where Amboy, Ca., is located.
            We came into the Mojave National Preserve through the Granite Mountains, and ended up camping at an undeveloped campground past the end of the road leading out to the Kelso Dunes. The Mojave National Preserve is amazing for many reasons, one of which is that fact that they permit roadside camping “…in areas that have been traditionally used for this purpose and that have an existing fire ring...” (NPS Website). Basically, if you see a beautiful, flat, cleared out space you’d like to spend the night at, pull off and enjoy.
            A pair of headlights passed by our semi-remote camp around 2am. I was on guard, but they passed, and after staying awake for a little while to make sure they were gone, I fell back to sleep.
            In the morning, we got up, made a fire, and started breakfast. Our cast iron pan had a combination of beans and cheese in it, which we would use to fill small corn tortillas and make breakfast tacos. I had just gotten dressed, having stripped down and decided to take a towel-shower with some of our drinking water. We knew that there was a place to re-supply at the Kelso Depot Visitors Center, just 15 or so miles down the road, so expending a gallon or two of fresh water for bathing was not a concern. However, not long after I had donned my garments and just before our meal was ready, we were approached by a young man with a forlorn look on his face. I knew immediately that we would be helping dig someone out of the sand.
            My premonition served valid, and after a brief detailing of how he had gotten stuck, we got up off of our fallen log and followed the man to his car. We passed the end of the dirt road, where a sign said ‘4x4 ONLY’. The terrain immediately turned to sand. About 20 yards past the sign, we came upon a Toyota Corolla, buried to the frame. With the front bumper touching the ground and the wheels having long since lost any sort of traction, the situation was hopeless. Still, we tried to dig it out. I brought over a shovel from our vehicle and we even laid out the snow chains we were carrying in every attempt to remedy the guy’s situation ourselves. It was a desperate and ineffective effort. After 20 or so minutes of futile shoveling, I told the dude he was gonna have to wait for us to go and get a ranger that could come back and tow him out.
            This really threw a wrench in our plans, so to speak. We hadn’t packed up camp or eaten our rapidly cooling breakfast. We had wanted to take our time, leisurely getting started and climbing on the sand dunes before heading down to Kelso Depot. However, given the stranger’s circumstance and a desire to enact some sort of ‘good-samaritan’ effort in his name, we scratched the sand dunes from our itinerary, but decided we would still enjoy our breakfast in the warming sun. We did so at a slow and enjoyable pace before heading off in search of help. We got down to Kelso Depot, where I spotted a maintenance man with a radio. Figuring the National and State park systems weren’t too different in many respects, I asked the maintenance man if he could get a hold of a ranger or have one dispatched through his radio. He said “Of course I can! What’s going on?” …We told him about the Corolla stuck in the sand past the end of the Kelso Dunes access road. He rolled his eyes, “Yep. Happens all the time. I’ll head over there and have a ranger meet up with us, too. Thanks for coming to tell us.” We shook hands and he walked away, his radio chattering a female voice from some far off dispatch center. We were looking in the windows of the old Kelso Depot train station that now serves as the visitors center when we met Louise.
            Louise is a retired Natural Science teacher from San Francisco; a charming older lady. She, Sarah, and I talked for nearly an hour. She was waiting for the visitor’s center to open, and we were in no rush to walk away from an interesting character. She’s a tough cookie, that Louise. She’d been driving around the desert in her fully-outfitted 4WD Tacoma, which she used to get as far back into drivable territory as possible, so she could spend time alone in the sun, enjoying the natural world she had spent so many years teaching children about. Louise had sleeping quarters built in the bed of the truck, with a kick-ass shell on top. We talked about San Francisco, and our home of Ventura, comparing things like coastal weather, local governments, and homeless populations. We each shared stories about where we had been on our respective trips so far and where we were planning to go – Sarah and I told her that Death Valley National Park was on our list, and Louise said she was planning on going there, too. Eventually parting ways, we told her that we might spend some time camping off the West Side Road in DVNP. I had been there 5 or 6 times before, and remembered signage at the start of the various offshoots of the road saying “No Camping First 1 Mile”, meaning of course that you could camp anywhere you like after that. She was thankful for the information, strictly refusing to pay for camping whenever there was an alternative. We all shook hands and waved goodbye. Louis entered the now-open visitors center. Sarah and I replenished our water supply and proceeded towards the ‘Hole-in-the-Wall’ side of the park.
            We had been driving for about two hours, stopping to look at this-or-that. We had crossed train tracks and transferred onto a dirt road. We went through an amazingly densely populated joshua tree grove, and climbed up to a plateaued area on the approach to Hole-in-the-Wall. We were 60 miles from Baker and 66 miles from Needles when we blew our back passenger side tire. These were the two closest places to get the tire replaced, and after some deliberation, Sarah scanning the map while Your Humble Narrator was pulling off the flat and putting on a spare which we discovered was in grossly poor condition, we decided on attempting to reach Needles. Though it was a little longer, we only had about 3 and a half miles of dirt road ahead of us in the Needles direction, whereas we would’ve had to go over roughly 10 miles in the dirt to head towards Baker. With the terrible spare barely inflated (another thing I should’ve checked prior to departure, I know), we opted for the smoother ride toward Needles.
            We spent the rest of the day disrupting the normally smooth flow of traffic on the 40 East, driving 45 miles per hour in the slow lane with our hazards on. We got to Needles and, of course, it being a Sunday, the tire store was closed. We lucked out though, in coming across a gas station with a large flag reading “Tire Sale”, and decided to give it a shot. I made friends with the guy behind the counter, impressing him with my Spanish language abilities, and he sold us two used tires, one to replace the flat and one to replace that awful spare, for just over a hundred dollars – labor included. Sarah and I headed back towards the National Preserve that afternoon, confident that we could do anything together after keeping level heads and getting through a stressful day with nothing but smiles and laughter. I can tell you first hand that a jovial approach to a taxing situation makes it much easier to get through successfully. Even though it was difficult and nerve-racking, challenges like this – changing a flat on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and getting yourself to help without assistance – are a huge reason for making trips like this. You learn a lot about fixing problems on your own that you can’t learn at home. When there’s no cell service, no passers-by, no AAA to come help you out, you find a way to get shit done.
            That night, we camped roadside again, at an undeveloped campground beneath a bad-ass rock outcropping that had a cattle skull displayed near an enormous fire ring. It felt like it had been there forever, a large flat area with a stacked-stone fire ring as big as a full-sized dinner table, filled to the brim with ashes and charcoal. Thousands of nights of fires must have roared, flickered, and died here. It was basically something you’d see in a movie. There was a large supply of firewood there, some half-burnt, some totally fresh; we used the rest of the wood we had and some of the new stuff we found there to make a roaring blaze, celebrating our day and welcoming our new tire to the trip. We shared a bottle of wine and laughed at the day we’d had; between the Corolla guy, Louise, the flat, and the tire guy in Needles, it had been full of characters and adventure. Tomorrow we would head to Death Valley, but not before stopping at Turquoise Mountain, near Baker, CA.
            When we woke up, we loaded the remaining vagabond firewood on top of the car. We filled two used plastic bags with charcoal from our fire ring, as well as two other fire rings in the immediate vicinity, to have later for cooking. Driving further back into the park, we finally got to visit Hole-in-the-Wall, doing the loop hike before traversing the park-land one last time. We got gas in Baker, then headed East toward Halloran Springs and Turquoise Mountain.
We were hopeful as we got off the highway, picturing easy-to-find Turquoise just off the well-beaten path to Las Vegas. We were greeted by a road whose pavement was in such a terrible condition that driving it was worse and more troublesome than any dirt road we had been on so far. We found out later that apparently maintenance had stopped on the road some time in the 1920’s; it had been weathering for nearly 100 years without upkeep. We drove the road all the way to its end, coming up to an unmanned mountain top compound that looked like it was straight out of a 007-Spy movie. We had passed a dozen or so questionable dirt roads along the way, and any one of them could’ve been the path we needed, or could’ve led us into deep inescapably deep sand. Spending the whole day searching each one for turquoise veins was out of the question. We had neither the time nor desire to buy more tires. Abandoning our hunt for precious minerals, we did decide to take advantage of the desolate setting in the valley below the mountaintop, pulling out both the 7mm Mauser and 12ga., and firing off way too many rounds of each at targets we’d set up along the sides of the road. Nearly deaf and with sore shoulders, we bid farewell to that strange place, heading back West.
            We had some delicious and enormous lamb salads at the Mad Greek in Baker, before heading North towards Death Valley. We drove through another amazing desert sunset, and noted a plethora of BLM areas we wanted to come back and visit at a different time. Nearing Death Valley, we were attracted by a sign for some hot springs, and followed the signs to the small town, basically a village, of Tecopa, CA. We arrived around 6pm, and thought we might stay the night there, since there was a campground near the hot springs. The reception building was closed, and there was a sign saying to see the camp host for late arrivals. We went to the host’s site, where there was a large, old, red school bus parked near a small structure. A sign read something along the lines of ‘If I’m not in the bus, come out back to the white building and look for me there.’ Both the bus and shack were dark. The campground was relatively full, but nobody was outside, no one cooking or having fires, nobody moving around the grounds, not really any noise at all beside the rare car passing on the nearby road. The whole place seemed much too quiet, so we left the camp host alone and continued in the direction of DVNP. We got to the Texas Springs campground pretty late, around 9 or 10 if I remember correctly. We paid our fee and made dinner, having some wine by a small fire before getting to bed.
The next morning, we decided to explore the alluvial fans along the dirt trails of the West Side Road. We pulled off on Trail Canyon Road and went as far up as we felt was reasonable for our 2wd E350, pulling off at a “campsite”. We made sure we were off the gravel-and-boulder road so that other vehicles could pass if anyone else came by while we were hiking. We walked another three miles up the side of the fan, a steep grade, approaching the mouth of a canyon that was letting out from the Panamint Range. We never got that far, deciding to stop at one of the roadside campgrounds we came across. It was only about 65 degrees in the sun and we had lots of water, so we weren’t worried about exposure risks. There were large rocks to sit on, and someone had left a huge pile firewood consisting of both the fresh and only-partially-burnt varieties in the makeshift fire-ring there. We ate some sandwiches and explored the geology of rocks we found on the washes on the fan, finding cool things like garnets and photographing them. I took a ‘silence walk’, and Sarah took a nap on some smooth ground while our dog Brad layed down next to her and guarded her, not leaving her side the whole time, even though he was unleashed.
Eventually, we decided it was time to go, and packed up our food trash and water canteen. We also decided to take the firewood with us; between the initial “reservation wood” we were allowed to take and the ancient-campground score we came across in the National Preserve the night we blew our tire, we hadn’t paid for firewood the whole trip. This load would last us until we got home. We’d scavenged what was probably equivalent to 100 dollars worth of firewood. The wood filled my backpack and both arms, and Sarah had to carry two large pieces as well. Thankfully we were heading downhill now, and the heavy wooden load wasn’t as cumbersome as it would’ve been had we been heading the other direction. We were about half way back down when we spotted thin but thick cloud of dust rising into the air up near the mouth of the canyon.
I’ve read The Art of War by Sun Tzu many times and remember my lessons about reading rising dust patterns. Clearly, another car had driven up much further than we had, and was descending the alluvial fan back down into the valley. Once the car had come close enough to be seen, I kept an eye on them, noticing at one point that they had stopped about a mile behind us, near the campsite where we had just spent our morning.
It was about two unhurried minutes later when I realized that whoever was driving down the fan in that car must have been the owner of the firewood that Sarah and I were carrying – firewood that was now sticking well out of my backpack in every direction. If they saw our van near the bottom of the hill and came down any futher, they’d see us for sure, and upon getting to us would see we were making off with their combustible reserves. I looked back again and was dismayed to see another dust cloud, a sure sign that the truck was moving again. They were headed in our direction.
“Sarah! Double time!”
I had explained my conclusion to her as we began trotting a little faster down the side of the fan. We had about a quarter of a mile to go, with the truck now probably just over a mile behind us. We moved quickly; not carelessly, but quickly. We got to the van and frantically threw open the slider, the truck now close enough to be distinguished as a white Tacoma. We stashed the wood inside and shut the door. I grabbed the canteen and began to drink, trying to look as nonchalant as possible when the Tacoma pulled up to us.
Well, wouldn’t you know it, it was Louise.
We happily greeted each other and talked for a while. She was happy to have had the tip-off as to the roadside camping permitted along this side of the park. She told us that she had camped high in the hills at an old abandoned mine site, and was planning to explore the northern end of the park today, before getting on her way. I was in disbelief. The odds of us running into the elderly school teacher again, having not planned it in any way, are mind boggling. If she had left earlier that morning, or we had picked a different road offshoot to drive and walk up, or if we had been in the same places but on different days, we would’ve totally missed each other. I was happy to see her, and hoped it won’t be the last time. Sarah and I were relieved, as well, because her story of camping up in the mountains near an old mine site effectively told us that she was not the owner of the firewood. Nobody was chasing us down to re-claim it after all. It was ours to keep.
We treated ourselves to an afternoon without driving that day, getting a site at the luxurious Furnace Creek Campground. We set up an easy-up that I had found on the beach about a month prior, opened a bottle of wine, and played cards until the sun went down. We were heavily anticipating nightfall, as that night was supposed to be the peak of the Gemini meteor shower. The Gemini shower is the most plentiful and engaging annual meteor shower in the northern hemisphere, and Death Valley is world renowned for star gazing, being recognized as an International Dark Sky Park due to its isolation from light pollution. If everything had lined, up we would’ve had the meteor shower of our lives. However, our hopes for this were low, knowing long before we even set out on this trip that tonight, this magical shooting star feast, was to coincide perfectly with the month’s full moon. We stayed up anyways, eventually making a fire and having s’mores, talking and laughing long into the night. We looked up constantly, knowing that somewhere behind the beaming moon, hundreds of shooting stars were burning up in earth’s atmosphere; we did not see a single one.
The final leg of our trip was to be more or less freehand, as we had a number of maps detailing possible rock-collecting sites, and wanted to check them out in no particular order and without any specific time-table.
We left Death Valley in the morning, hoping to cover the distance between where we were and the town of Ridgecrest that day. We stopped a couple of times along the way, and made it to our destination by early afternoon. After we hit a grocery store, we drove out of town in the direction of Johannesburg, which would be our first ‘rock-hounding’ stop in the morning.
Spangler Hills Recreation Area is a BLM Off Highway Vehicle zone where camping is permitted. It lays about eight and a half miles outside of Ridgecrest. We saw the typical brown and white triangle sign that denoted camping, and pulled off. Spangler Hills seemed like a great place, with miles of interconnected, easy-on-the-shocks dirt roads and beautiful desert views. A couple miles into one such road, we noticed we were out of view of the highway and decided to stop near a fire ring we had spotted. We talked for a while, deciding together that this would be the last night of our trip. We were good on water, but only had four logs left. We decided to burn them all after we watched our last amazingly large desert sunset. I brought out the guns again, blasting rocks from roughly 75 feet away with the 7mm Mauser. It was a good night to end the trip on. We got into bed and fell asleep.
Around 1 o’clock in the morning, I got a funny feeling. I was wide awake for some reason. I tried closing my eyes a couple times, but five minutes later, I was still lying there, staring up at the felt ceiling of the van. Then I saw headlights for the first time.
Someone else, in a large and lifted white truck, had joined us. They had their brights on in addition to the blinding LED light-bar that was mounted on top of their cabin. They drove by once, slowly, and kept going. Apparently they were headed deeper into the OHV area, although why they arrived in the middle of the night remained a mystery. Before I could fall back asleep, they were back. They had circled around the back of the hill we were camped near and were approaching us again, from the same direction as a few minutes before. They slowed, then stopped, facing themselves and all their lights directly at us. We were lit up like a cartoon character in a jailbreak attempt. I woke Sarah up and told her what was going on. They remained parked, blasting us with lights, for way too long. They hadn’t just happened upon us, they were fully scoping us out. They were sizing us up and didn’t care if we noticed them.
I had been in a situation exactly like this once before. My brother Christian and I were camping at San Miguel, near Ensenada in Baja California. We had been there for two days and had two more ahead of us, if I remember correctly. We had set up separate tents near the Jeep Grand Cherokee I had driven us down there in. Long after falling asleep that night, I awoke to Christian yelling my name.
“Brendan! Hey, Brendan! Wake up! Someone’s here!”
Indeed someone was. Peeking out the mesh screening of my tent, I saw a large, red, older style Chevy pickup, blasting us with their brights. The motor was loud, almost as if there was no muffler on the vehicle, which was far from unheard of in Mexico. Christian and I, yelling over the roar of the intruders’ vehicle, collectively decided that there was no reason for anyone to be approaching us so late, apparently intentionally waking us up with bright lights and a loud car. The campground man had already come to double check our ticket, and the Federales themselves had even been by that afternoon to not-so-slyly ask us if we were “Marijuana smokers?”…we were being scoped out by some other party.
The truck stayed for about two minutes before leaving. I got out of my tent, gave Christian one of the larger knives out of the arsenal of cutlery I always keep in my tent on Mexican camping trips, and went back to sleep.
I had just started to dream when the roaring of a motor jerked me back awake. Christian was already talking to me when I regained consciousness.
“Brendan! They’re back, dude! What should we do?”
The truck was closer now, probably less than 10 feet from our tents. A malicious plan was being enacted, and we were the victims.
“Just chill, brotha! Let them leave again.” I called to him.
“I’m gonna go talk to them. This is lame!” He hollered back.
“No! Christian, don’t! Just chill and they’ll leave. Getting out of your tent is exactly what they want you to do.They’ll be able to size you up and down in their headlights and you won’t be able to see anything. You’ll be defenseless, just chill!” I explained.
We stayed in our tents, and after what felt like a lifetime, the truck drove off. They never came back that night, or any other night of our trip.
I never thought I’d see that trick again, but here it was, fucking up another night’s sleep, this time in the California desert, on a trip that had been easy-breezy until now. I quickly reminded Sarah of the time Christian and I were in Baja; she knew the tale already. We formulated the plan to throw everything that was still outside in the dirt into the van via the slider as soon as the white stallion with the LED bar took off again. In the meantime, I readied the 12 gauge, on the chance that they engaged us before we could split. We were miles from the nearest road or any help; I wasn’t messing around. I refused to let us get into some sort of Pulp Fiction ‘basement scene’ out here.
The truck started moving. It came closer, circling our little camp one time… much too slowly. It drove off in the same direction it drove off in before, deeper into the wilderness zone. We sprang into action. Everything was packed and the car was running within 45 seconds of their tail-lights disappearing into the night. I put the van in drive and immediately realized that the maze of dirt roads and trails that led us in here the prior afternoon was an inescapable labyrinth in the dark. We were lost out there. I saw the white truck cresting the hill again, coming back down towards us. We were taking the dirt bumps way too fast in our three-ton van. The white truck drove straight to where we were just camped and stopped.   An eerie chill passed over us as we realized they had intentionally honed in on our last known location. I hoped that the occupants of the other vehicle would walk around and take notice of the ridiculously large casings from the 7mm Mauser rounds I’d abandoned on the ground there during the shooting exercised I’d enjoyed upon our arrival and decide not to pursue us.
Huge rifle shells or not, for whatever reason, they didn’t chase us, and we somehow made it back to the highway. Without even thinking, we headed back toward Ridgecrest, towards lights and people, with our tails between our legs. We pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot and spent the rest of the night there. Sarah slept but I stayed awake the entire time reading a book, too shaken to allow another lapse in sentinel duties. We got a cup of coffee at around 5am and started off towards Johannesburg, now only about half an hour’s drive away. We passed by Spangler Hills one last time along the way. A jaw-droppingly beautiful but ominous blood-red sunrise loomed over the place that we had fled from 5 hours ago.
That day, we stopped at three different rock-hounding sites, collecting opal, jasper, and agates galore. We stopped at Tom’s in Rosamond for lunch, scorffing burritos and burgers in a celebratory return to “Real food!”. It felt fantastic to be ‘stuffed’, this had been the only food we hadn’t prepared for ourselves in 11 days, with the exception of the salads at the Mad Greek. It started raining about an hour away from our house while Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s The Lost Christmas Eve roared through the van’s stereo, over the squawk of the windshield-wipers scraping across the glass at full speed.
Sarah and I talked, already reminiscing about the trip, and wondering about the feasibility of just turning around and doing it again, in the opposite direction, beginning right then and there in Valencia. We would head East and North, back into the desert, back towards adventure. We would embrace the unknown that was waiting to be approached, confronted, and familiarized.
However, idyllic as it would’ve been, the check engine light had turned on about 400 miles ago, back in Death Valley, and needed to be addressed. A hot shower sounded good and there might be waves by now (there weren’t). We had 7 rolls of 35mm film to be developed, and bills would be waiting. We decided to continue home. We had learned as much on this trip as we had on the trips we had taken to Bali, Costa Rica, or Spain, and hadn’t even left the southern half of the state of California.

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Floating the Colorado

11/10/2015

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piedra blanca

1/24/2015

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The Los Padres National Forest is one of the most well operated public lands I've ever seen. Dogs? Sure. Leash? Not necessary. Can I camp anywhere I want? Pretty much. Can I make a fire? Yep. Can it be from wood I gathered out in the forest? You bet.

Last weekend, my girlfriend Sarah and I spent two days out in the mountains behind Ojai, backpacking, hiking and relaxing; escaping from the respective, collective stresses in our lives.

Setting out on a Friday, we drove up as soon as I got off work and got out onto the trail in the early afternoon. Less than two miles in, we stumbled upon a pristine, beautiful, couldn't-make-it-up campsite, on a raised bank, along a deep, quiet stretch of the river that runs along the trail heading south from the parking area. We were quick to put our stuff down and throw up a tent, basically claiming the site as fast as possible. Once that was taken care of, were off exploring upstream, walking along the leaf covered river sand and climbing the boulders that made up the bank. With only a little light left when we returned to our nearby camp, we had a brief and necessary dinner of re-hydrated beans, before blowing up our sleeping pads and unrolling our bags so we would be able to get to sleep easily when it got dark. After gathering and burning some conveniently proximal sticks in a small rock-pile campfire, we did just that.

The night was cold.

The next morning, feet numb, I got up at first light, determined to warm up with another fire. I happened upon a large group of dead ...something... a tall bush-like plant, with plenty of thin sticks to get started with. Once I had a good bunch of them going, I went back and grabbed some larger ones, which cracked and popped with to my delight. Around this time, Sarah arose, and joined me, just as I was putting my shoes back on after warming two feet near the flames. We had a breakfast of oatmeal and tea and let the fire die out as the sun rose higher in the mid-morning sky.

With this warmth, came comfort and courage. Courage? Yes, courage to jump into the river. It seemed like a good time to do it. The day was warm and getting warmer, and we were about to go on a hike, so, one at a time (for there was only one towel between us) we took turns, plunging into what I imagine was sub-50 degree (F) water. We both, in turn, dove in head first, held a short streamline, then sprinted back to the bank, to dry off and shiver ourselves warm. Half an hour later, we were both ready to get moving on that hike.

We took the trail further down stream, away from the direction we came in, where it opened up into a wide valley. It went forever, all the way to the sea, where the Santa Clara meets the Pacific near the Ventura Harbor. We didn't have the time to take it that far, so, about an hour after we set out, we headed back, to enjoy some time laying out on rocks and staring at the leaves that were still on the trees, listening to the faint burlabble of the river coming from a narrower portion up stream. After another meal of re-hydrated beans and rice, we talked for a long time about the philosophy of personal experience, perception, reality, and purpose.

We packed up around 3:30, and began our walk out, getting back to the parking area just after the sun had set. We headed back down and were home within an hour, and having only taken two days to complete such an unexpectedly rejuvenating adventure, you can be sure it won't be the last time these bones will lay down on that river bank.

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big sur

12/7/2014

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Big Sur... is not for surfing.

Can you surf there? Sure. Will you score? Probably not. Chances are, you'll drive around for hours, and see a lot of good waves between Cambria and Carmel, but you won't get any of them. "Keep Out" seems to be the locals' motto, and is posted on a locked gate at the entrance of just about every road with access to the coast. Sheer cliffs inhibit coastal access and wave quality alike along most of highway 1 once you get a little north of San Simeon.

Be prepared to get skunked surfing and get your mind blown by scenery in return. It's a fair trade off if you can get in the right mood for big trees and an unusual costal scene. I'm sure the cliffs along the highway are more stunning than I personally interpreted them to be, most likely because they reminded me of large scale versions of the road I drive to work in the summer (PCH between Zuma Beach and Pt. Mugu), which jaded my perception of their grandeur, and because I was upset at them for not being conducive to production of quality surf-friendly bathymetry.

After checking the Big Sur Rivermouth two days in a row and not finding any surf either day, I was over the mile-long, poison-ivy lined journey it takes just to check it. I did, however, catch two waves in Big Sur, at Pfeiffer Beach. Pfeiffer Beach is run by the forestry service, but your NFS Adventure Pass won't work here. Most parts of the Los Padres NF here are privately managed, so you have to pay an extra fee: kinda lame. Anyways, Pfeiffer Beach is well known for purple sand and rock arches, as well as being a dog friendly beach. I enjoyed strolling along the sand as the dog brad ran free. I gawked at the forces of nature that produced the rock arches just offshore and racked my brain as to what possible elemental-composition and geomorphic-time-proceses came to produce purple sand. It was during this time that I saw a surfable wave sweeping across part of the beach, in between two groups of rocks. I hadn't surfed in two days, and, frustrated and desperate, I locked up the dog and threw on my 5/4. I paddled out and looked over the edge on a few waves, trying to identify any submerged rocks and other dangers lurking below before I committed to going on the first wave. When I did, it was a short ride, just a bottom turn and a short burst down the line before pulling out. The second wave I had was great. A speedy, overhead wall. I held a late bottom turn, went high, got speed, and rushed down the line, past two sections, before pulling out. I was stoked and ready for a good surf.

After that second wave, about halfway through the paddle back out, I saw what I'd say was about a 5 inch fin coming towards me in a back and forth motion. With seven years of ocean lifeguarding under my belt as of now, I've spent literally hundreds of 8 hour days starring out to sea. I've seen enough dolphins to know what "not a dolphin" looks like. So I turned and scratched into the first whitewater mush I could catch and rode it all the way to the beach. I was on the beach starring back out at the water, wondering if it could have really been, you know - a shark, when two people came up to me and asked me "did you get out because of that shark?" I said yes, and went back to my car. Call me whatever you want, I still have two arms and two legs.

Most of my free time after that was spent hiking along the select dog friendly forest service trails, trying to avoid poison ivy and failing to keep my dog out of it. It was great though, once I gave up worrying about it, to stare upward in amazement at the gigantic living creatures that surrounded me for as far as I could see.

I managed to time my trip perfectly: in the middle of a 3 day rain storm. Every afternoon I entered my tent before 4 o'clock, with a book, and enough food, tea, and coffee to last me until the next morning. I would read for hours as the dog slept endlessly. Around 8am the next day, we would emerge, and drive somewhere new, searching for some adventure - anything new. On the very last day, the sun emerged, and I was happy to gaze upon a bright blue sky as I headed back down the coast.

One cool thing though was that I got to tick the "McWay Falls" box on my bucket list. I've seen pictures of the waterfall that flows out right onto the sand and is met by the undulating sea for so long, that when I finally saw it in real life, I stood there for 10 minutes in the rain and just watched it flow. I was smiling ear to ear the whole time as people scurried out for a photo and scurried back to their dry cars.

All in all, I have no burning desire to return to Big Sur. It's a pain to get to. The surf ain't fantastic; there are crazy waves, for sure, don't get it twisted. Surfing them is another story though. The trees are amazing, but there are much more accessible redwood forests in CA. It's an adventure though, that's for sure.

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montaña de oro

11/22/2014

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The Central Coast of our beautiful Golden State is truly something special. The hills become barren - in the best way possible - no houses, roads, not even hiking trails. Earth, plain and simple. Cattle farms are more the norm than cities or towns, and as we drive, my border-collie-mix lets his root nature show. He begins whining every time we pass a herd, grazing on vast grass covered hillsides. I roll down the window just enough for him to stick his head out (he's jumped out of the car before in fits of excitement). The flood of smells only feeds his enthusiasm, and his body literally starts shaking, every muscle ready to round up the lolling beasts. It becomes the norm for every part of the drive for the rest of the trip.

Montana de Oro State Park is a beautiful place near Morro Bay. It is tucked away in a eucalyptus covered headland that separates the Port of San Luis, at the north end of Pismo near Shell Beach, from the San Luis Obispo area. The large sand bluffs lead down to quiet coves and gravel beaches on the north end of the park, and to an immensely vast stretch of sand on the south side, which leads all the way to Morro Bay. Checking the surf requires a short jaunt across grassy sand dunes. If you've got the option, bring a backpack with water and some food, wetsuit and a towel. Surf the sandbars to the south, and when the tide switches, surf the rock-outcrop, directly at the bottom of the Hazard Canyon trail. If there's more than a few guys out, stick to the sandbar. If you choose to surf the peak, do your best to stay under the radar. It won't work, people will recognize you as someone they don't recognize, but at least it'll tone back the vibe you're sure to receive.

The small campground at Montana de Oro is tucked back into a pine shaded canyon, where deer and raccoons visit often. There are bathrooms and fresh water. Campsites have flat spots, cleared of all brush, thankfully including poison oak, and have firepits, tables/benches, and even a little cabinet to store things. A short walk will bring you to Spooner's Cove, a beautifully placid, dog friendly reprieve from both wind and swell.

The city of Morro Bay is itself a gem in the treasure that is the Central Coast. Small, but busy on the main streets, with coffee shops and surf shops everywhere you look. Every road leads to the iconic Morro Rock, where the sand-bar surf is unexpectedly phenomenal.

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joshua tree

11/9/2014

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Like any good and worthy adventure, this most recent trip out to Joshua Tree National Park started out with problems. Leaving around 1:30pm on a Friday, the trip out to the desert, which should have taken about three hours, took seven. Traffic was unbelievable. When we arrived, my girlfriend Sarah and I were politely informed that there were no more campsites available at any campground in the entire park. This, however, turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

Any unexpected situation always has a silver lining - something good in the unwelcome - and in the case of not being able to get a campsite, the silver lining came in the form of the bright light from a full moon.

Though we had planned on using the National Park's campgrounds, I brought an 80L backpack with us, in case we wanted to do some backpacking on our second night. It came in handy sooner than expected though, as our only options now were either to leave, or head into the backcountry.

After battling our way along a very frustrating and hectic drive to get there, we were not turning around, finding a hotel, or giving up in any sense. We had come to camp; to be outside when we fell asleep, woke up, and experienced our days. So, around 8:30pm, with the moon lighting up the desert like an opaque blue spotlight, casting dark shadows behind boulders and trees as it lit up the plains, we filled the pack with a tent, two pads, two sleeping bags, a small stove, and a gallon of water, and began to hike out into the desert.

From the Juniper Flats backcountry registration board, we set out along a trail leading West, across a vast, flat landscape, with no flashlights. The moon light in the clear desert air was more than enough for us to see everything we were doing, and enabled us to successfully hike over a mile out, off the trail, through the brush, and set up camp without ever using any other light source than that beautiful cosmic reflection. After struggling through seven hours of stop-and-go traffic to get there, the raw, moonlit hike was an extraordinarily welcome change of pace.

The night was cold, but bearable, and the morning brought beautiful warm light. When we could really see where we were, the expanse of the place we had come to in the night was finally graspable and magnificently striking. Awe immediately took over upon realization of one's relative size to other things on the planet earth, not to mention the universe as a whole.

We spend the morning looking around, starring out as far as we could see, and having a breakfast of oatmeal and tea before packing up and heading back. Once back at the car, we visited Key's View: an unbelievable mountaintop perch looking down across the Coachella Valley to Salton Sea in the South and the Santa Rosa Mountains in the West.

After sufficient time spent absorbing the stunning view, we headed to Lost Horse Mine. The four mile hike visits an abandoned gold mine, now preserved and awaiting approval as a Nationally Registered Historic Site.

After a nice lunch, we set out on an 18 mile off-road adventure along the Geology Tour Road. They were out of pamphlets, so we didn't actually get a geology tour. We did, however, take time to stop at an enormous pile of boulders. Climbing up their large (about 15 foot) faces and through small caves and tunnels, we made it out to a spectacular viewpoint. We sat on the giant, un-named, un-remarkable, relatively-similar-to-every-other-boulder-pile castle, and gazed out again, with a stark realization of how small the amount of matter and energy we are given to work with as a human being in a human body really is. After carefully descending from our temporary fortress, we finished the adventure, drifting the dirt turns and bouncing over rocks along the way.

Next, we took another dirt road out to the Pine City backcountry registration board, where we re-loaded the pack, and began hiking out in search of a suitable camp around sunset. With the sky still casting a bright glow over the land, we came to the top of a hill, found a flat spot, and set ourselves up for the night.

Before the sun's post-set-glow had dissipated, the visible arm of our Milky Way had begun to show itself shining bright directly above our heads. After hastily re-hydrating and consuming our freeze dried dinner, we laid back on the rocky ground and watched the Milky Way take over the sky. We starred for the better part of an hour, simply gazing at the endless speckled vacuum, and, you guessed it, attempting as best we could to really take in our incredibly small size and impact in the grand scheme of things. A few shooting stars later, with the nearly full moon rising and our heads about to explode from the gravity of the cosmic experience, we took to our sleeping bags and instantly crashed for the night. Luckily, warmer than the night prior, we spent the whole time sleeping, rather than shivering and attempting to do so.

5:30am the next day greeted us with the first hints of a two hour sunrise experience that would be as awe-inspiring as anything we had seen at Joshua Tree NP. Watching the light slowly brighten the landscape, then cut into the tops of the higher surrounding peaks, before finally coming to warm us, we looked out over the vast plain below our hilltop residence and realized that no matter how much air you breathed in, there would always be more and there would always be enough for tiny creatures like ourselves.

Later that day, we came down off our hilltop, drove around, checking out a few more giant, beautiful rock exhibits, and got back on the road heading home.

The trip took 48 and 1/2 hours. In that time frame, I don't believe I've heard of two people who gasped or sighed, trembling at the foot of the true realization and appreciation the raw beauty and power of the universe, more than we did.

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baja

10/8/2014

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It's about time there was something on here about surfing in Baja California. While the purpose of this blog is to connect people with ideas for outdoor adventures here in California, and Baja is obviously a state in the country of Mexico, it is close enough and accessible enough to deserve to be included here.

Baja Norte is a dream come true for Southern California surfers. The water is crystal clear (yes really), and the coastline in Baja is much more open to swell than So Cal is, because there is no blockage from the Channel Islands. Lineups empty out just 20 minutes south of the border, and as one might imagine, the further you go the fewer surfers you find.

Food and campsites are cheap and people are friendly. As soon as you can (Rosarito most likely), get off of the toll road and take the free highway. It's got cracks and some parts don't have lines painted on the road, but you miss a lot taking the toll road. On the free highway, you drive past and through all sorts of small towns along the way, and can stop for fireworks or coconuts much easier.

Most places have secure parking lots that cost US $5 / day to use, although there is really no need to use them. Starting off any social interaction with a smile and a wave will ensure you a pleasant journey through Northern Mexico.

Heading south from Tijuana, the first surf spot you will want to check is Baja Malibu. About a 15 minute drive from the border, Baja Malibu is an excellent beach break that has killer lefts on south swells. Park up top, outside of the neighborhood, and walk down the cobblestone road to the beach.

The next places to check out are the 3 right point breaks in Calafia. Mushrooms is a soft, bending wave; the point at the Calafia Hotel is a shallow right with a barreling inside section that makes one drool just watching it.

After Calafia comes the crown jewel of Baja Norte: K38. Just 38 kilometers past the border, you will find three A-frame waves, all walking distance from each other. Get off where you see the K38 surf shop sign. There are three places to park. The first is a dirt lot ($5), right on the edge of the beach. The second option, if you have a 4x4 vehicle, is to just park on the beach itself. The third option, and the one that we used, is to park under the overpass. I strongly suggest parking under the overpass if you bring a dog down with you, as it is the only shady place around K38. The waves at K38 are all time, and the main break, a hollow, running right hander on the northern side of the beach, has a slab section about half way through the wave that it's best not to underestimate. It is makeable, if you pull in and rush it. Mess up, though, and your stuck on a knee deep boulder while overhead set waves pummel you.

There are tons of small campgrounds along the Mexican highway 1. One that stands out, however, is the Los Alisitos Campground in La Fonda, 58 km past the border. Here, you can park on the bluff overlooking the ocean, and peaky, barreling beach break waves.

Further down, you get to the campground and excellent right point break at San Miguel. After that, there are the beach breaks of Ensenada. South of Ensenada, you have to do a lot more searching, but the waves only get better, the crowds, lighter.

Be respectful, speak Spanish whenever you can. Eat local food and purchase local crafts. Baja gets a bad wrap sometimes, but it is beautiful place full of love.

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jalama (again)

9/3/2014

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The magic of Jalama is a part of the Santa Barbara County Parks system. One of my favorite runaway spots in Southern California, where, even during the crowded summer season, you can get an afternoon all to yourself if you walk far enough down the beach.

Being out in the water here is a beautiful experience. Besides the outline of a few mysterious things perched atop a distant ridge over at the Vandenburg Airforce Base, the hills are untouched, rolling and golden. Deer come out of the brush and walk on the beach here, and even if you miss them, you can often see their tracks (with tracks of bobcat nearby most likely) running up and down the wet sand in the morning. There are seabirds; gulls, sandpipers, pelicans, and royal terns roam the shore in large groups. The marine life is abundant, from dolphins to seals (and an occasional big toothy fish), to surf perch to kelp forests to jellyfish to urchins and anemones and abalone - there's plenty to see.

The reason that I'm drawn to this place, however, is the surf. There is a rivermouth right in front of the campground that offers fast, fun, and often hollow rides, but the real treat is about a mile south (walking is the only access), where you can get a shifty, ledgy A-frame, where, on the right swell, the left will bowl and boil - a thick brown beast - and the right will stand and run - a deep blue wall, glistening in the sun.

The wind, well, anyone who's been to Jalama can tell you about it. It's often straight out of the NW, cold and strong. It comes up in the morning and lasts all day. It can be an onshore, howling, nightmare. There are stories of people going up there for 3 days and never getting in the water. Even though it's a bummer when it happens, it's still nice to get away, and it's times like those that make trips with cooperative conditions all the more special.

I made two trips up to Jalama this month, and both were graced with swell and offshore winds. We could go on forever about the afternoon two friends and I got Tarantulas all to ourselves for 4 hours (literally without seeing another soul in the water or on the beach), overhead (+- 8 ft.) and offshore at low tide, but I think that letting you mind-surf the photos would be more humane.

(Watch out for massive tar-balls on the beach and don't leave without grubbing a burg'!)

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catching up and getting going again

8/21/2014

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Alright alright alright. It's been a long while since I've put anything new up here. I know nobody reads this anyways, but it's therapeutic for me to let myself think people do (hah). The truth is... well, there are a few truths I suppose -- reasons why I have not been getting out and doing things in my beloved CA -- now that I think about it. The first, is that I've been having some personal issues, which are all my own fault, but which I have once again decided to put behind me, hopefully for good this time. Moreover, I've been working a loaded schedule, saving up, and traveling on a more global level.

Since last Spring, I've visited Mexico, Nepal, and Spain, for varying amounts of time.

In Mexico, my good friend Christian and I spend five days surfing and exploring northern Baja California in my '02 Grand Cherokee. We went as far as a place called Erendira, about 120 miles south of the border. We surfed K58 in La Fonda, and fell in love with the perfect right point at San Miguel. We explored the beachbreaks and backstreets of Ensenada, and ventured 20 miles down a dirt road to find a ghost town with a crumbling lighthouse and a beautiful right point set up. We ate like kings, feasting on tacos and shrimp burritos; whole chickens with tortillas and salsa. We spent entire days in the enormous lot at San Miguel, surfing, eating, resting, and surfing. We got the place to ourselves, head high and reeeling. It was magnificent.

Nepal was a trip that I did on my own. I needed a break from my life, so, I decided to take 20 days for myself, and fly to the other side of the earth. I've spent a lot of time exploring and learning proper meditation technique in the past three years, but really got serious about it this last year. In Nepal, I spent 10 days in meditative retreat at a place called Kopan. Kopan is a buddhist monastery in the hills outside Kathmandu, and every month they offer a 10 day meditation course. There were some buddhist philosophies that I disagreed with, but the meditation techniques I learned there are invaluable. I had more than one personal breakthrough in the short time I spent there, and quite honestly look forward to returning to Kopan one day. The rest of the time that I was in Nepal was spent in the Thamel district of Kathmandu, where I wandered the streets aimlessly, awestruck by culture shock. To walk around Kathmandu is truly a perspective-shifting experience all in itself.

My most recent trip to Spain was a crime of opportunity. The girl I'm seeing was doing a summer course at the Universidad International Menendez Pelayo, in Santander. This was the same town and same university that I spent 3 months in and at back in 2011, so naturally, when she told me she was going there, I had to plan a visit. It was nice seeing my old city, but I don't know if I'll ever go back. It's different to me now; the magic I knew there was missing. From Santander we went to Barcelona. I fell in love with the old city, with narrow, winding streets, barely big enough to drive one car through. Walking around, we would flip a coin to decide if we should go left or right, then leave the coin on the ground and continue on our way. If you are ever there, check out a bar called 'Nevermind'. It's worth a visit. From Barcelona, we went down the Mediterranean coast to Alicante, an awesome town with a beautiful harbor, an ancient castle (Castillo de Santa Barbara), and easy access to the small island of Tabarca, which is truly a treasure and a beauty (warm water, with 40+ft. visibility). From Alicante we headed to Madrid, the splendor and riches of which can not be denied, before we headed home.

So there you have it, this is what I've been up to in my brief absence, the presence of which, most likely, nobody has noticed. Below are a few pictures from these three international adventures. Enjoy.

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This is a blog about traveling in California. Spurred by a realization that escape doesn't require a plane ticket, it has been my recent goal to get away near home as much as possible. There are short stories of these little trips accompanying a series of photographs from each location. The goal is simple: pack a good adventure into a short time slot, and provide an account that might help other people looking to do the same.

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