Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Rain, Rain, Rain
Monday, December 27, 2010
A Different Kind of Hike
The ocean looked quite rough today in Ft. Bragg. Huge waves crashing into the rocks. I have yet to see any surfers up here. When I drove down the coast many years ago, I remember seeing surfers everywhere, north and south. Maybe there just aren't enough people living in this area to produce a crop of surfers.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Logging Road
This particular day, I was looking for a trail, but all I could find was an old logging road. I probably was not supposed to be in this area, but I did not see any signs indicating that I was trespassing. So, I seized the opportunity to walk amongst some redwoods and other conifers, and travelled along an eyesore of a clearing that allowed loggers to find and haul out their booty.
Who was flying above the trees to offer another greeting? The raven of course!
Friday, December 24, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Marmot
That is until I hiked the John Muir Trail in August 2009. My first encounter with the Marmot, I can't recall. They quickly became a fixture on the JMT however, and I never tired of seeing them around. I think I was quickly drawn to their inquisitive nature. Whether it was walking through a meadow, or over a high rocky pass, I always got a blast at seeing them run up onto some rock to see who was trespassing on its property. Sometimes they would just watch, sometimes they would retreat into their homes, (a medium sized hole in the ground, usually under a rock,) and sometimes they would let out a high pitched whistle, voicing their displeasure.
I could never help whistling back to them, although my whistle was more of an acknowledgement.
Their homes are built in the most scenic places on the planet. They tend to stick to the high altitudes. They hibernate during the winter. Often, I will see them basking in the sun, warming themselves on a rock. If Reincarnation is an option in the next life, I'd like to return to earth as a Marmot.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Raven
When hiking around LA, every time I reached a peak and would look out over the city, or into the rugged mountains of the San Gabriel's, I would search the skies for birds. Usually I would see one from a distance and wonder, "Is it an eagle? Is it a hawk?" To my disappointment, 99% of the time I would discover that it was just a raven. "Oh, it's just a raven."
This routine seemed to unfold time and time again.
While on the PCT, the routine changed a little more. While hiking along a high mountain ridge somewhere, the question became, "Is it the raven? Yes, it is the raven!!"
They have become constant companions in every mountain range my feet have stepped upon. Without fail, despite the weather, despite the elevation, the raven has been there to offer its greetings when hiking through and over the mountains. Now, no longer a pest, I am happy to offer my greetings as well. I still cringe however, when I see such magnificent beasts eating trash in a filthy ally. "Don't eat here," I want to say. "Head for the mountains!"
Friday, December 17, 2010
Pacific Storm
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Coyote
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One of my first encounters with a coyote occurred almost ten years ago. I was driving through Joshua Tree National Park for the first time, on a cross country adventure from my home state of Maryland. While driving into the park near sunset, I saw a coyote that appeared to be injured, lying in the middle of the road. As soon as I stopped the car, the coyote stood up and walked over to my door and stared at me. After a few seconds, it dawned on me that he was begging for food. I can't recall whether I gave him anything, but several miles down the road, the same thing happened again. Another coyote was lying in the middle of the road, and as soon as I stopped the car, he walked up to my door, begging for food. "Crafty little beasts!" I thought to myself from the safety of my car. At the same time, I was also surprised to see that they were no larger than a medium sized dog.
During that trip, I remember camping several nights and hearing the howl of the coyote and his companions in the middle of the night. At first, it stirred feelings of fear. Are they going to attack me in the middle of the night? As I became more accustomed to the sound and realized that they were probably more interested in things other than the weary camper, I began to enjoy hearing the howls and yips in the middle of the night. Usually I'd wake up, think "Ahhh the coyote," and then go back to sleep.
While living in LA, I used to practice playing my guitar in my car in the zoo parking lot. My car provided a sound proof box, the zoo lot provided a quiet place away from my neighbors, who I'm sure would have quickly grown weary of hearing me play. Anyways, there were a pair of coyotes that would come down from Griffith Park each night, and scowl the parking lot for food left over from zoo visitors. As I would sit and play, I would watch the coyotes scan the lot with their noses, find a small bag of leftover fast food in a vacant parking space, pick it up, run into the woods, and then return a few minutes later after they, I'm assuming, devoured whatever leftover food was in the bag. I would see them from time to time during my hikes around the LA area. Usually, it seemed as though I was greeting an animal brother.
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While we were getting ready to sleep, I commented to Answerman that I was starting to feel my city layers peel away, that it was refreshing to begin connecting to the wildness inside once again.
"Oh I've been there for quite some time," was Answerman's response.
Indeed he had. While visiting in LA before the PCT hike, he was the only person I saw walking around town in bare feet.
While we were talking, there was a distressing yelp coming from one of the nearby mountains. It had not yet come to the fore-front of our consciousness. We continued to talk while the sound remained constant in the background. When we finished our conversation, the sound became more prominent.
"Do you hear that?" I asked Answerman.
"Yeah, sounds like a coyote," he responded.
"Sounds like it's injured " I replied.
The sound was a very high pitch cry, almost like a shriek. It continued on for several minutes. As I climbed into my sleeping bag, listening to the cries and staring at the stars, I envisioned the coyote stuck in a steel trap. Just then, we heard BANG! BANG! BANG!
Answerman and I remained quiet. The evening sky was silent except for the low rustle of the wind through the grass.
"That's it," I said.
I felt a sadness for the coyote. Was it the one I saw earlier in the evening? Was it one of his brothers, sisters, or his mate? At that moment, I felt more kinship with the coyote, than the man who ultimately took his life.
Tales From the Trails
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Valley View Trail 2
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Valley View Trail
Monday, December 6, 2010
Short hike before work
Friday, December 3, 2010
Food
Indie and I had numerous discussions while hiking the trail. One thing we talked about was food. By food I'm not referring to Spam, trail mix, or Mac and Cheese (although we did discuss burgers, ice cream and pizza cravings!), I'm talking about food in the forest. On one hand, I felt empowered by the sense of freedom and independence the trail life bestowed on me. On the other hand, a sense of discouragement arose inside the more I realized how dependent I was on store bought food. Other than raspberries, fish, miner's lettuce, huckleberries, and deer, I was clueless to identify any sort of food source while hiking. Just as learning the names of numerous wildflowers in the San Gabriel's opened my eyes last year to the variety of plants in the forest, I imagined how empowering it would be to see the woods as my grocery and hardware store, rather than a blank canvass which it so often seems to be for me. The only way that mental shift could occur would be to know the uses of the plants.
When Indie and I were hiking in Oregon, we crossed paths with a group of Ukrainian men picking mushrooms in the forest. Each man had a 5 gallon bucket filled with shrooms. They were growing everywhere. Indie, who is also Ukrainian, described how many of these people are taught as kids to identify the mushrooms in their homeland. Because they can be so lethal, the knowledge must be exact. Oh, to have that understanding! We often discussed how nice it would be to throw some fresh forest mushrooms into our dinners at night!
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