First Canoe Trip of the Season

On the 16th of August, Paul, Ethan and I set out on our third canoe trip together. As we drove up the Gunflint Trail to the summer cabin of our friends, Nick and Diane Schommer, I noted that the wind was blowing strong through the forest. I commented to Paul that I hoped it would not be this windy on the water.

Nick, Diane, Christopher (their son), Natasha (their daughter), her husband Ladric, and their poodle sent us off with good wishes after taking photos. Our adventure began. In less than fifteen minutes, we had more adventure than we bargained for, and almost more than we could handle.

The winds had not abated in the slightest. When we got out in the middle of East Bearskin Lake, we were hit with the full force of powerful trailing winds that sent rolling swells after us. The swells lifted the stern, driving the bow deep into violent troughs and making it almost impossible for Paul, in the stern, to control. Each time the bow drove down, we took on an alarming amount of water. Quickly, we were in danger of swamping. At one point, the wind whipped us sideways to the swells, the worst possible position to be in. Paul and I paddled furiously, finally putting ourselves back on course but still not in much control. I shouted that we had to make for shore, which was frighteningly distant.

When we finally made it to shore, we were safe but not out of the woods. The wind was still furious, and there was no good place to land the canoe. Paul and I had to get out in hip deep water and bail. We finally continued, staying very close to the shoreline. We still couldn't gain much control, even though Paul, the stronger paddler, was in the bow and I, more experienced at steering, was in the stern.

We finally reached more protected water and arrived at our portage. I have never been so glad to get on solid ground and have never enjoyed carrying heavy gear through the forest on a portage as much as I did that day.

It was the most dangerous situation I had ever experienced in my Boundary Waters trips. Throughout the entire episode, the sky above was sunny and blue, deceptively peaceful.

With all the excitement packed into our first hour and a half, the rest of our trip was peaceful and rewarding. We spent four nights at two lovely campsites on Alder Lake. Ethan shouldered more responsibility than ever before, and did a good job. We gave him several opportunities to paddle, and he showed good form and determination. We swam, explored nearby lakes and Johnson Falls and told campfire stories. Each of caught at least one fish, with Paul catching the largest.

We paddled out in a steady rain, but with no wind.

Remember: You can click on any photo to see it full screen. Click on the "X" in the upper right corner to return to the text.

Paul and Ethan on Alder Lake

Johnson Falls

Paul and Ethan having a good time at the falls

A peaceful evening

My mood is always good in the wilderness.

Don't you try this. Leave it to the pros.

End of the trip, wet but happy.

Rocky Mountain High

We were on the road again last week. This time we traveled to Denver and Steamboat Springs to reunite with friends from my seminary days fifty years ago. Fifty years ago! Kevin Somerville was a classmate of mine through high school and into college. He and his wife, Diane, were our hosts. We were joined by Brian Harrington and his wife, Joan, whom we've known almost as long as Brian and Kevin. Brian was four years ahead of us in seminary.

It was a week of "catching up" one one another's lives, telling stories and lots of good conversation. We also managed to drink good wine and eat grandly. Brian, Joan, Carol and I treated our hosts to a fine restaurant meal in Steamboat. (I don't think anyone uses "Springs" in conversation.) But I think it's fair to say that the cooking we did for one another matched and maybe even bested the good restaurant fare.

Along the way, we found time for some great mountain hiking, bike riding, sightseeing, and neighborhood walks back in the big city of Denver.

When our brief time was up and we all went our separate ways (even Kevin and Diane went to the airport on Saturday morning), I think we all felt that this wouldn't be the last time we saw one another.

Remember: You can click on any photo to see it full screen. Click on the "X" in the upper right corner to return to the text.

Breakfast on Kevin & Diane's Patio

Dinner in Steamboat

Mountain Trail

Lake Dumont, Rabbit Ears Pass

I just don't get why everyone thinks snowmobiling is so much fun.

The Desert Queen

Desert Contrasts

(Remember that you can double click on any photo to see it full screen.)

It was around noontime as I found a large flat boulder that would suit my purpose. I climbed up, opened my pack and spread out my lunch: two chunks of gruyere cheese, some sliced pepper salami, a peanut butter sandwich, sweet craisins and plenty of water. A feast! My lunch spot was in a desert canyon. I was alone as can be, because I was far from any trail.

I had started my hike at an unmarked back country trail at the side of a washboard dirt road a mile off the paved National Park road. The trail was an easy walk through the joshua tree-studded hills. I anticipated seeing no one, and no one was who I saw.

Desert Solitaire

Thirty minutes into my hike, an old metal cattle gate blocked the trail. The fence that once complemented the gate was long gone. I stepped around the gate and continued, the only sounds being the wind that had blown in the night before and my boots crunching on the desert gravel. The wind was chilly and blunted the edge of the desert sun.

Keep out?

The rough dirt road I had taken to get here is called Desert Queen Mine Road, and I thought this trail might lead me to the ruins of the Desert Queen. I knew that a man named Frank James found gold here in 1894. Jim and Bill McHaney took over the mine when one of their hired cowboys shot and killed James. Bill Keys eventually took oversight of the mine from the McHaney brothers. The Desert Queen proved elusive to me. (I did find it later, a mile down the road, at a well-marked parking lot with a bathroom.) On this hike,I did find two shafts - deep, dark, forbidding holes in the ground with a flimsy piece of US Park Service wire staked around their perimeter; but no sign of any mine buildings.

To my disappointment, the trail ended after about a mile and a half at a ridge overlooking a canyon. I wandered along the ridge for a while, reluctant to leave. Finally, I turned and walked fifty yards in the direction from which I had come, but I still didn't want to go back. I returned to the ridge, arraigned a few flat rocks into a noticable cairn, stepped off the trail and descended toward the canyon. I walked about twenty-five yards and turned back to look for the cairn. It was still visible, reassuring. I piled more rocks and continued. Each time I gathered rocks, I was careful to nudge them with my booted foot before reaching to grab them with my hand. My eyes told me there was no place for a rattlesnake to hide behind these relatively small rocks, but why take chances?

My excitement rose as my pace slowed. I went deeper and deeper into the canyon, farther from the trail, building my cairns. I came upon a wash, a dry stream bed, that stood out like a superhighway in the barren chaos of sand and rock, and I followed it. I saw animal footprints but no sign of human passage. I continued on for about a half hour until I reached the canyon floor. I didn't need as many cairns in the wash, but if a fork or a turn appeared, I was careful to mark my direction.

Eating my luncheon feast, I had achieved my goal. Nobody in the world knew where I was. Hell, I didn't know where I was. This wasn't northern Minnesota canoe country, a place where I am familiar with the challenges and dangers. This was the desert, strange land. My heart rate picked up a bit. I fought the urge to cram food into my mouth, pack up and head back, on the double. I chewed slowly. I breathed deeply. I let my eyes roam across the stark beauty surrounding me. I sat there until it felt okay to leave.

Strange Land

All I had to do now was retrace my steps, cairn by cairn. I started back up the wash and completely missed my first marker! Take it easy, I told myself. Breathe. It's there. You marked the trail yourself less than an hour ago.

And it was there. The second cairn, as well as the rest, were all where they were supposed to be. Some were easier to spot than others. Rocks in the desert, even when stacked by human hands, still look like rocks in the desert. I threaded my way up the canyon wall and back to the trail. At the car, I scratched out the first draft of this journal entry as I sipped a bottle of cold Corona.

When I had returned to the ridge and found the marked trail, I paused a moment and looked back into the canyon. Next time, I promised myself, I'd go farther.

POSTSCRIPTS
* A nice California red wine to go with that Dinty Moore beef stew? That's what I planned, since I was carrying a bottle Carol and I had purchased in Carmel. Of course, I had forgotten a corkscrew; so, bottle in hand, I wandered the campground asking for help. The first couple I asked had the same problem - a bottle of wine and no way to open it. It wasn't long before I got what I wanted, though. A woman walking her dog (a retired teacher, no less!) heard my plight and took me back to her campsite, where I met her husband and got my bottle opened. George and Ruth invited me back after dinner when it would be dark enough to stargaze through George's telescope. I took them up on their offer and got to see the rings of Saturn and other amazing sights.

** One night was so windy that I took the tent down, piled rocks on it and slept in the car. It was a long night. A few years ago, in Arches National Park, straight line winds had torn the rainfly and bent a tent pole; I didn't wish to repeat that incident.

*** There is, of course, no water in the desert. The visitor centers at the north and south entrances to Joshua Tree National Park have spigots where campers can fill their canteens and jugs with water. At the west entrance, a gift shop across the street from the visitor center has a spigot for common use, donations gratefully accepted in the glass jar on the counter by the cash register.

At the entrance gate at the western entrance, there is also water. When I stopped to fill up there one day, I discovered that the spigot was governed by a mechanical regulator. Insert twenty-five cents for fifty seconds of usage. I was annoyed, but I paid my two bits. In this little episode lies the kernel of the story that defines human settlement of the southwest. Whose water is it? Water is a topic here, not one easily entered into, but one on everyone's minds. I saw it in the angry road signs along Interstate 5 as I drove through the irrigated farmlands of the central valley. I saw it in the eyes of the park ranger when I made a light comment on paying for the water. I saw it in Palm Springs, with its golf courses and the ubiquitous restaurant mist sprayers. I heard it in a woman's comment that Palm Springs has an aquifer beneath it with all the water that will ever be needed. The problem of water will not go away, inspite of the denial shown in the woman's comment. In fact, most people agree that it will only get worse. For a stark and fascinating look at the politics and realities of water in the American southwest, pick up a copy of "Cadillac Desert."

That's it until my next trip. May all your journeys be good ones.

Self-Portrait of the Journalist

Self-Portrait #2

No Camera Necessary

The third night of my stay was decision time. I had said from the start that I'd go to Joshua Tree and then wherever I wanted. Death Valley was a possibility, as was Sequoia National Park and a return to Big Sur. By day three, the decision was easy. Death Valley? Too long a drive. Big Sur? Ditto. Sequoia? Too cold. So that was that. I stayed.

The next morning I moved out of Jumbo Rocks campground, which, with about a hundred and fifty campsites, was beginning to feel like a Walmart parking lot. I moved a few miles down the road to White Tank campground. It was like discovering Paradise. There are only fifteen sites, no room for big RVs. My new site was nestled among boulders that offer coziness and character (and shade!). To the west, I had an unmarred view of the mojave desert.

Evening view from my campsite in Paradise

I celebrated my move by driving to the town of Joshua Tree and having lunch and free wi-fi at the Park Rock Café. Then, lest I get too soft, I took a strenuous hike to Forty-Nine Palms Oasis.

Good lunch & free wi-fi

Forty-Nine Palms Oasis

The next day, I took another break from the desert and drove to Palm Springs. Palm Springs is Carmel-by-the-Sea all grown up and moved to the desert. I had a good hamburguesa mexicana (with lots of guacamole!) and two chilled Dos Equis on a patio too cute for words - trellised vines, flowers and checked table cloths. After lunch, I took in the Palm Springs Art Museum, which all by itself was worth the drive. For me, it rivaled the Musée d'Orsay in Paris and the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.

I took the day off from photography, so if you want pictures of Palm Springs, you'll just have to google it yourself. Speaking of not taking photos, I've taken plenty this trip. You're seeing a tiny fraction of them. But I have not taken many photos that I may have taken a few years ago. I've come to understand that you just can't capture it all. There are many times in the wilderness, whether it's on a sunny desert trail or in a canoe on a pristine northwoods lake, when a photograph cannot do the job, when it is sacrilegious to try to capture the beauty of nature's cathedral. One just has to stop moving and and fill one's mind and and senses and be grateful for the blessing of being there.

Listen to the wind, to the song of a cactus wren or the late night howl of a coyote, to the splash of a fish leaping for dinner, to the scampering of a critter in the rocks. Inhale the fragrance of blooming flowers, or the smell of bacon cooking on an open fire. Feel the ache in your tired legs as you reach the summit or in your weary shoulders after a day of paddling a canoe. Feel the desert sun's warmth on your back and the relief of a drink of water. Feel the chill as you force yourself out of your sleeping bag in the morning. Pick wild blueberries and eat them right on the spot. And look. From a mountaintop, look at the desert that stretches to eternity. Look up at the infinite blue sky. Look down at the flower by your foot, at the lizard scurrying under a rock. Study up close the spines of a cactus. Marvel at the play of sunlight on quivering aspen leaves.

Look at your sun-darkened skin. Listen to your breathing. Feel your heart beat. Take it all in. No camera necessary.

Mojave - 1200 feet = Colorado

The Colorado desert

Walking across the skillet of the Colorado desert in early afternoon is not for everyone, even on a March day, when temperatures hover around eighty in the shade. There is no shade to be found here, however. I had been walking an hour from Lost Palms Oasis, with another hour of hiking before I reached my car. I had plenty of water and snacks, and an orange I was saving for a special treat. I felt great. This was the longest and best hike of my stay in Joshua Tree.

Yucca shadow

I had gotten up early to drive thirty miles from the northern part of Joshua Tree to the southern region. My purpose was twofold: to see the difference between the two desert ecologies and to take the 7.2 mile hike to Lost Palms oasis. The elevation dropped twelve hundred feet, and I left the higher mojave desert to explore the Colorado, a portion of the Sonoran desert. During the drive, Frank Morgan's saxophone magic flowed like warm honey from the car speakers. I passed a pick-up truck going north and hauling a powerboat.

As I worked through my last liter of water, my thoughts drifted off the trail and back in time. Whenever I'm in the southwest, I wonder how the first white men survived. What was it like on horseback, looking across the vast expanse of desert, seeing no sign of life, wondering where the next water could be found? The Cahuillas Indians used every plant and animal to advantage as they carved out an existence in the desert.

Ocotillo cactus blooms in the Colorado desert

The bad land of the Colorado desert


The rare lizard that remained still for a photo

Cholla cactus in the mojave desert

The Colorado desert struck me as somehow more harsh than the mojave. It seemed more bleak, more forbidding and more dangerous. I think that the miles of Joshua trees, which are found only in the mojave desert, somehow soften the environment. They stand there, like comical Dr. Seuss characters, posing, begging a photograph. "Look at me! Take my picture!" There is, of course, nothing frivolous about the mojave. The Joshua trees are beautiful; perhaps their beauty helps to mask the dangers that every desert holds.

"Take my picture!" "No, take mine!"

I encountered people on the trail frequently enough, but when I reached the last two tenths mile, a steep descent into the canyon that held the oasis, I was suddenly alone. Loose gravel and a steep slope made the going tricky; it was a long way down. Once in the oasis, I wandered deeper into the canyon until I found what I was seeking - solitude. I had lunch on a rock shaded by the massive desert fan palms. A cool breeze played the palm fronds like some exotic instrument. A cactus wren sang somewhere in the green bushes. I found what I had come for.

Lost Palms Oasis

Lost Palms Oasis

That night, a coyote visited my campsite, more interested in my trash than in me. I caught him in the beam of my flashlight as he pranced left and right, as light on his feet as Gene Kelly singing in the rain. He stopped and looked right into the light, wary of the source, I imagine, but not wanting to give up on his find. I asked him to leave, and he did.

Bill Keys, Desert Homesteader

Early farm machinery

A water source in the desert

A chicken coupe, or maybe a sedan.

On my first full day in Joshua Tree, I reserved a spot on the ranger-led tour of the Bill Keys Ranch. It turned out to be a highlight of my visit.

In the early twentieth centurey, Bill worked the land for a Connecticut banker who never paid him. When the banker died, Bill got the ranch as payment for his two years of employment. Bill built dams, trapped what rain water there was, irrigated a plot where he had a thriving garden - tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers and more! In the middle of the desert!

He met his future wife, Frances, at a high society function in Santa Barbara and won her away from her fiancé. (Bill was not only resourceful but very competitive.) Bill and Frances raised a family and homesteaded the land for over sixty years!

Bill, in his sixties, got into a dispute with a new neighbor over land access. The man ambushed Bill, but missed his shot. Bill didn't miss his, and killed the man. There were no witnesses, and the judge didn't believe Bill's account; so Bill ended up with a ten-year prison sentence. He served only five years, because a prominent writer at the time befriended him and hired lawyers to plead Bill's case. The writer was Erle Stanley Gardner.

Bill got a ranch of a couple of acres and turned it into a thousand-acre spread before he died. His sole surviving son, Willis, now in his nineties, still comes once a year to serve as a volunteer caretaker for a few weeks.

Bill and Frances Keys are buried on their ranch in the mojave desert, homesteaders for eternity.

Bill Keys' story is too large for me to tell here, but perhaps I've whetted your appetite for more information. In addition to the link above, there is a book entitled "Growing Up on the Desert Queen Ranch" by Willis Keys.

A Peek Inside the Ranch House

One of the wells on the ranch

Water still collects in a stream bed on the ranch.

Save everything, if you want to survive in the desert.

Joshua Tree National Park - The Mojave Desert

The Joshua Tree

A whole bunch of Joshua Trees

Exiting I-10, pointing the Hyundai north on California 62 was like flipping a switch. Exit California. Enter desert. Wind farms - hundreds of windmills swinging in a lazy ballet, Comfort Inn, Ramada, billboards proclaiming appearances by Cyndi Lauper; Abba; Earth, Wind and Fire and lesser lights, casinos glittering like nuggets of prospector's gold in the morning sun, traffic streaming, always traffic streaming - all this was behind me like the night.

Ahead in the bright sun lay unadorned vastness - mile after mile of rock, sand and scrub. In the emptiness, I approached a crossroads with an improbable traffic light. This had to be some joke, certainly, of a bored or disgruntled Department of Transportation bureaucrat. It was green, and I raced through without touching the brake pedal. Whew!

I passed a couple towns. No Radissons here, no Denny's, no Starbucks. Instead there was the Hat Rack Motel, the High Desert Inn, the Happy Cooker, C&S Coffee Shop, Cactus Mart (Dig your own and save!) I passed a rock shop; now there was a salesman. Behind me, in the west, lay two snow-covered peaks, visible in the days to come the desert floor of Joshua Tree National Park.

Only a day before I had driven through the central valley of California, flush with emerging avocados, artichokes, lettuce, and much more. The power switch at the CA 62 turnoff from the interstate might also have been the Off switch for the technology that irrigates the farms of southern California and the golf courses of the Southwest.

I passed the western entrance to Joshua Tree in the town of the same name in favor of the north entrance at 29 Palms. Both towns are tiny, scratching out an existence providing services to park visitors. Twenty-nine Palms has an edge; it is home to a huge U.S. Marine training base.

At the entrance gate, I received a shock in the form of a sign announcing CAMPGROUNDS FULL. The attendant reasured me that the sign was posted at six a.m. and that people were leaving in droves, not to worry. She was right. Minutes later, I was setting up camp in Jumbo Rocks campground, the largest and noisiest in the park. I had a relatively private site nestled in the boulders, only steps from a ridge where at the end of a day of hiking I could sip a Corona and study the desert.

I ate lunch and set out on my first desert hike, a good workout climbing Ryan's Peak. I had arrived.

Halfway up Ryan's Peak

The mojave desert from the top of Ryan's Peak

Day's end in Joshua Tree National Park

A Virtual Drive Down California's Central Valley

So, what's it like to drive Interstate 5 from 'Frisco to L.A., you've always wondered. I can help with that. First, double click on the photo above. Then, stare at it for several hours. You are allowed to listen to a book on tape while you're doing this. You are permitted to listen a second time if you wish. Sitting at your computer, you will feel as if you are not moving at all. Of course, you're not; but the sensation at 75 mph is quite similar. At hour number three, you'll notice that the mountains do not appear to be any closer than they were when you began.

Of course, I know you won't try this little experiment; but if you do, I know that after eight minutes you'll check your emails or sports scores or you'll just walk away from the computer. Lucky you. This was actually the good part. I hit Los Angeles, fearing the legendary traffic, but it wasn't so bad. Then I turned east, away from downtown, thoughts of the high desert creeping into my mind. Whammo! Traffic! Miles and miles of traffic! It was daylight when I entered the mix. I drove until the SUVs and sedans and Mercedes and pickups and vans faded into an infinite line of taillights.

So I didn't make it to Twenty-Nine Palms, the northern entry to Joshua Tree, as I had hoped. Close enough, though. The sun is just up as I write this. To the east beyond the palm trees and the Chuckee Cheese next door, the mountains beckon. The blue sky is cloudless. Two hours to go, more or less. Hiking by lunch time. I'm outta here.

Marc-and-Carol-at-Carmel-by-the-Sea

Our latest hang-out is Carmel-by-the-Sea, just down the road from Pebble Beach, for all you golf enthusiasts. Carmel-by-the-Sea has a few-too-many-hyphens-for-Carol-and-Marc, but it's their town and I guess they can do what they want with it. Truth be told, however, we are really enjoying ourselves here amongst the millionaires. We splurged a bit and chose a really nice B&B, Edgemere Cottages, just one block from the beach.

The garden at Edgemere B&B, as seen from our apartment.

Marc and Carol living the good life in the garden.

We spent our first full day here hiking in Point Lobos State Reserve. We didn't hike every trail, but we gave it a good try. It was stunningly beautiful. Wait. Didn't I write that about Big Sur? That's our vacation - one stunningly beautiful vista after another.

On the North Shore Trail at Point Lobos.

Devil's Cauldron, Point Lobos (Not for the thoughtful canoist).

Monterey Cypress at Point Lobos

Carmel (I'll skip all the dashes; you know what I'm talking about) is a bit like Brigadoon. You step out of the real world when you turn off Route 1 to enter this idyllic community. There are more cutesy shops and restaurants per capita than anyplace I've ever been to. And the art galleries! How many art galleries should one village have? In my humble opinion, the answer is about one-fourth the number that clutter this town. I don't profess to know a lot about art; but I know what I like, as they say. Somehow, the zillion galleries in Carmel don't have anything that I like. Surprisingly, it's not off-putting, however. It's just so darned pleasant to stroll around town.

And actually I found a photography gallery that was full of exceptional works (even better than mine). I could have picked up a remarkable framed black and white or two for a thousand dollars, or magnificent color photo for only five thousand. But, you know, the shipping is just such a hassle.

We start our mornings with a walk along the shore before breakfast.

After our day at Point Lobos, we spent a day in Monterey, visiting the Monterey Aquarium and a small gallery featuring some wonderful mid-twentieth century California paintings and a small but impressive photography exhibit. After seeing the photos, I wanted to just go back to my computer and delete all of my pictures.

The Monterey Aquarium was very nice, but after all the hype, we were a little let down. Our hostess at the B&B, Gretchen, gave us free passes, saving us $60! That eased the disappointment for us.

The jellyfish exhibit was spectacular.

More amazing than the jellyfish, for me, was the dragon seahorse exhibit.

The dining is Carmel is very good. Gretchen serves a fine full breakfast, and the restaurants don't disappoint (if you spend a little time researching; there are as many restaurants as art galleries). Here's a big surprise: be prepared to spend a lot to eat out here.

Today was a kick-back-and-relax-in-Carmel-by-the-Sea-day. Rain moved in from the sea, so it's just as well. Tomorrow, Carol returns to the world of work, and I head south for Joshua Tree National Park. I hope to be able to blog, if my campsite has wi-fi. Stay tuned.