A Look Back: Backpacking in Banff, the Prettiest Lake Ever, and the Town of Jasper, AB

In the last "A Look Back" Post, we'd survived an "encounter" with an elk and were on our way out of Jasper National Park and into Banff. We found, thanks to a friendly Parks Canada Ranger, an amazing backpacking route and stunning scenery.

Our destination in Banff National Park.

Instead of staying in another relatively tame campground, we opted to stop at the Columbia Icefield Visitors Centre to investigate overnight backcountry trips. It took us at least ten minutes to convince the friendly Parks Canada ranger of our desire to see the real Banff National Park and our willingness to walk more than one kilometer uphill. After he decided we were worthy of real advice, he pointed out Glacier Lake on a large map, describing views of one of the most beautiful, pristine spots within a day’s reach of the Icefields Parkway. More than convinced that this was our trip, we secured a backcountry camping permit and were on our way.

A Look Back: Matters of Pride, Camping with an Elk in Jasper National Park and the Columbia Icefields

Warm and wonderful in Jasper National Park.

In the most recent "A Look Back" post, I'd shared a journal excerpt from the first day of my journey from Denali National Park, Alaska to a new job in Philadelphia, over 4,500 miles away. After driving along the rest of the Alcan, through the Yukon, Liard Hot Springs and part of British Columbia, we stopped to camp in Jasper National Park. The journal excerpts continue with an account of our unexpected early morning visitor and moving on from Jasper into the Columbia Icefields for some of the most incredible terrain I'd ever seen.

I awoke feeling restless at 5:30am with an urge to use the facilities. I spend a good length of time arguing internally about whether or not extracting myself from the warm sleeping bag was worth it, or if I could manage a little more sleep until the sun rose and warmed the tent. It's one of those impossibly constant cool weather camping problems; one I was glad to have. Dan and I had switched sleeping bags on account of his being warmer and my body's inability to regulate its own temperature. I'd warmed sufficiently by that point to have shed my very top insulating layer, which included my big, marshmallowy Cornell Athletics sweatpants. (To the Athletics Office: I'm not sorry I didn't return them after graduation. After surviving four years of college swimming, I deserve them.) I'd shoved them to the bottom of the sleeping bag and a walk to the bathroom meant retrieving them. Ah, well.

Dan and the fire I finally managed to make!

I finally decided it couldn't wait and was off to the facilities in our Jasper National Park campground, complete with indoor plumbing. I made a silly comment to Dan about how we were roughing it. He gently reminded me that, despite our outdoor sleeping quarters, the bathroom was a shorter walk from our tent than it had been from my employee housing room in Denali just a week earlier. (I lived in one of a handful of beautiful A-frame housing units in Denali without indoor plumbing. If I wanted to pee in the middle of the night, I had to get dressed and head to the nearest bathroom, a relatively short walk away. Good times!)

I'd wanted to make a fire in the morning and was determined to do so before Dan got up. I collected an armful of dead spruce branches and thought I'd have a roaring blaze in no time. Wrong. After crouching near the kindling and fiddling with my lighter, all I'd managed to do was turn the pile of pine needles and bark from brown to black. I was about to surrender when I heard Dan stir in the tent. It had become a matter of pride. I must get the fire started! I must!! I flicked the lighter one last time and managed to ignite the bundle of wet sticks. Victory! It was almost as difficult to keep the little flame lit, but I managed to avoid embarrassment and ridicule by doing so...barely.

our early morning campsite guest in Jasper National Park.

We missed the 11am checkout time because a bull elk parked himself right next to our tent while we'd gone on a little jaunt into town and couldn't get near the tent to dismantle it without fear of being charged. Back into town we went for a wonderful breakfast of homemade bread and eggs. Aurora (my Toyota Corolla), even completely loaded down with all of our worldly possessions, is consistently getting 30-35 mpg. The elk still hadn't moved when we returned. I slowly and deliberately approached the tent and got close enough to unstake it. We moved it closer to the car, dismantled it, packed up and left, heading south toward Banff and the Columbia Icefields.

the beginning of the Columbia Icefields.

I thought I'd seen it all in Alaska, but I was remarkably mistaken. This section Canadian Rockies, save Mount McKinley, seems to be consistently taller than anything I've seen. The peaks are more jagged, the mountains more angry, and the landscape more intimidating the further we go. Instead of  relatively gentle rises from base to summit, these boast thousand foot sheer cliffs staggered from top to bottom like stairways for giants. The summits of each are extraordinarily obvious and the mountains exhibit obvious sedimentary layers. Most are over 3000m tall and as a result, each have their own little glaciers and ice fields. Most look unclimbable without a harness, lots of ropes, lots of people, and a certain level of disregard for self preservation. Small trees grow improbably in the smallest of flat spots. They stretch toward the heavens above deep blue lakes and rivers fed by the endless glaciers. It's just...inspiring. Do we have to leave?

In the next "A Look Back" post on May 13th, the journey continues through the Columbia Icefields and on a backpacking trip to one of the largest backcountry glacial lakes in Banff National Park!

A Look Back: Adventures on the Alcan

Sunset and Mt. McKinley on my last night in Denali. (2007)

I moved to Alaska in the summer of 2006 and lived there for a glorious 18 months. After taking a job back on the East Coast, the biggest decision I had to face was to choose between having my car and belongings shipped to Philadelphia, or to take some time off and drive the 4,500 miles cross country. I certainly didn't dream of selling the car.

And the decision was easy. At the end of the summer season in Denali National Park, I packed what would fit in my car, shipped the rest, and hopped in with my partner in crime for a two and a half week drive through some of the most awe-inspiring and boring parts of North America.. The last night in Denali and first day of driving were, at the very least, memorable. Road trips are the best.

Infamous John Allen, reading at Toklat. (2006)

We woke around 6am after a night of celebrations and bittersweet farewells at my favorite bar in Denali – The Spike. John Allen obliged my request for a hug, which might've been the best part of the evening. He's one of those people I really couldn't ever forget. The next morning, I was happily force fed my favorite biscuits, sans gravy at the EDR (employee dining room). Then we were on our way.

We hit Fairbanks around 10am and continued on to North Pole. Not the North Pole, just North Pole. The only thing differentiating it from any other town in the Middleofnowhere, Alaska is the fact that all of the utility poles are painted like candy canes. We drove around small roads in town just to see what the fuss was about, but couldn't figure it out.

The fall colors were absolutely delicious – a feast for the eyes. None of the photos I took did the birch trees and painted tundra justice by any sense of the imagination. It's times like this I wish I'd taken the time to buy a fancy camera and learn how to use it. Around each corner a new hill, sparkling gold, would jump out, framed by mountain ranges in the distance.

Somewhere in Northeast Alaska. (2006)

Aurora (my Toyota Corolla) was riding low, and still is. It'll be hard to find a mechanic shop that treated her as well as the shop in Denali. The entire length of the Alcan is subject to some of the largest temperature variations I've seen and was built on some of the most volatile, angry land in North America. The entire highway through central Alaska and the Yukon is littered with frost heaves. Some are marked with pink flags, others with small signs. It's as if the road crews surrendered to Mother Nature after she chided us humans for building a road where it doesn't belong. Even slowing to 40mph couldn't prevent me from being lofted slightly into the air more than once.

Dinner was brought to us by my MSR Whisperlite stove and a couple of packages of Lipton side dishes. We'd stopped somewhere along the Alcan after crossing into the Yukon near a river. As we noshed on our very artificial dinner, a native family ferried sections of a moose carcass across the swiftly flowing water in a small boat. The animal's chest cavity, both thighs, and two men fit in the boat, but barely. One of the young men stopped to chat, and I couldn't help but ask a million naïve questions. He explained how big of a task it was to call the moose out in the morning, how many shots it took to bring it down, and how long it took to skin and clean. The entire family waited in a big red pickup for them, and we politely declined when they offered us a look at the carcass.

Kluane Lake, Yukon Territory. (2006)

Evening descended as we passed Burwash Landing and Destruction Bay on Kluane Lake. Dan skipped stones on the lake while I couldn't do anything but sit in a pile of leaves and pick my jaw up off the ground. Stunning. There were no words.

We spent the night in Haines Junction. The inn wasn't anything special, and Aurora looked so small among all the giant trucks in the parking lot. I certainly wasn't expecting much for under $100 at the end of their tourist season. Hell of a view out the window, though.

The first day of a road trip like this is always the best. You're awake, excited, and haven't gone stir crazy from sitting in the car yet. This first day was the beginning of a beautiful journey, one I think everyone should take at some point in their lives. And I had friends in Alaska who did the drive every year as the seasons changed! Keep reading the A Look Back series for more Alcan adventures!

Four Ways to Have Awesome Winter Weekend in the Adirondacks

The Adirondack mountains hold a special place in my heart. Aside from being beautiful and close, I've had many a great adventure there. Until the past year or two, most of my adventures in the High Peaks region had been in warm weather. But there's so much to do in the winter, and so much fun to be had! After a trip up to Keene Valley and Lake Placid this past weekend, I decided I had to do the region's cold weather possibilities justice on the blog! Here are my four favorite ways to guarantee an awesome winter weekend in the High Peaks.

Climb Some Ice!

George showing us how it's done with one tool*

This past weekend, friend and ice leader extraordinaire George took me and a group of friends out to Chapel Pond Canyon in Keene Valley. Our first stop was the Mountaineer to rent gear, including an older version of the Camp Cassin C Comp mono point crampons for me and ice tools for George - the Grivel Quantum Tech and Matrix Tech. (For the record, the tools and crampons were amazing, though I'm not convinced I'm experienced enough to pass judgment on mono vs. dual point crampons!) We parked at Chapel Pond and started the approach, which took us around the edge of the pond through knee deep snow and into the sparsely forested canyon. Our destination was Positive Reinforcement, a beautiful NEI 3+/4- flow that can, as we discovered, accommodate three parties and four ropes.

George led right up the center of the formation and set up two top ropes for us to work on throughout the day. The first climb, set up on the far right side of the flow, was the easier of the two with plenty of stemming and resting opportunities. The second, set right in the middle, took us over a more sustained vertical section. I had to feebly yell "take!" to my belayer near the top of the second climb as the predictable pump and panic set in. Some day, I'll be able to climb 90' of ice without panicking! Two other pairs of climbers came in and set up in between us. Watching one party forgo ATCs for hip belays and Munter hitch knots made for some interesting conversations.

*a note on the photo - I bet George a beer that he couldn't climb the whole pitch with one tool. I upped the ante to a six pack if he could do it without falling. He fell once. Only one beer for George!

Ski Some...Ice?

A cloudy, but beautiful day at Whiteface.

While in the vicinity of Lake Placid, it seemed silly not to visit Whiteface Mountain. With a 3,000 foot vertical and 86 trails, it's one of the best skiing destinations on the east coast. Not to mention, of course, the fact that it's dubbed the Olympic Mountain after being home to the 1980 Winter Olympic Games. Whiteface is a beautiful mountain with terrain appropriate for all levels of skiers and boarders. My favorite runs are the long, meandering Wilmington Trail and the short blue square Silver Glades. Every resort should have a blue square glade run, in my humble opinion. I love zipping through the trees, but only when I'm sure I won't crash into one!

This was my second trip to the mountain, the first being in March of last year. Conditions were less than ideal; it was a busy day and most of the runs were incredibly icy. From what I've heard, this is pretty typical of the mountain and of course, typical of east coast skiing. The runs we did were pretty well skied off and all the snow had been packed into giant randomly placed bumps. My advice: get there early on busy days or visit on a weekday if you can. But the views were just as I remember - beautiful! 

Climb a Mountain

Aleya approaching the summit of Algonquin.

The Adirondack High Peaks region is a perfect place to learn and practice winter hiking and mountaineering. Last year, Aleya and I summited Algonquin (5,114') during a three day mountaineering course with the Eastern Mountain Sports Climbing School. The hike took our group of four 6-7 hours to complete and we summitted in howling winds and sub zero temperatures. After climbing a few High Peaks in the summer, it was amazing to see what the tops of the mountains look like in winter!

While our group was out ice climbing, Cornell swimming friend Jayme was out tackling Mount Colden (4,714'). Jayme and husband CJ are well on their way to becoming 46ers - an elite group of adventurers who've climbed the 46 highest peaks in the Adirondacks. Armed with snowshoes, Jayme and her group set off from the Adirondack Loj and hiked 11.2 miles round trip to the summit and back. Jayme reports, "It was a really nice day; just the right temperature.  Not so warm that we overheated in our layers, but not so cold that we felt we had to tag the summit and make a madcap dash back down for cover from the wind in the trees. Views from the summit were minimal, but the hike up the mountain was very pretty, with so much undisturbed snow.  I would love to find a sunny winter day to go back up.  It would be stunning." Jayme and CJ chronicle their ADK 46er adventures at Paperchasers Gone Wild.

Be a Tourist in an Olympic City

Lake Placid Brewery. Yum.

Lake Placid played host to the Olympic Winter Games twice, once in 1932 and again in 1980. If you're not up for climbing mountains, skiing, or climbing ice, some of the Olympic facilities and activities in town are perfect alternatives. Visit the Bobsled and Luge Complex for a short but thrilling ride down the bobsled track. Take a tour of the Olympic Jumping Complex, including a glass enclosed elevator ride to the observation deck at the top of the K-120 jump. (The "K" refers to the distance ski jumpers aim to reach to receive the maximum number of points for distance.) Drive out of town to the High Peaks Information Center to learn more about the region. And of course, be sure to visit the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery for their famous Ubu Ale.

If you've been to the High Peaks in the winter, what are some of your favorite activities? Have you participated in any mentioned above?

Fluffy Stuff and Face Plants - A Week of Skiing in Revelstoke, BC

Skeptical of Dan's giant powder skis. (D. Herscovitch)

It’s not easy being average. If you’re a beginner, you’ve got so much learning to look forward to, so many new things to try. If you’re a pro, you boldly attack the most difficult option in front of you knowing full well it’s not out of your league. If you’re average, you’re stuck. You’ve got more to learn, but are just within reach of taking on the stuff the pros do. You're above the beginner options, but not quite ready for the expert stuff. You’re just not there yet.

Though applicable to other situations, in this case I’m specifically referring to skiing. I donned skis for the first time four years ago in Alaska. Until our trip to Revelstoke, I'd never taken a formal lesson. The only comparable terrain I'd seen was at Alyeska, and I've been mostly on small hills in PA since. My first real ski trip was an eye-opening, sore-leg-creating wonder of an experience!

Revelstoke - Heard of It?

Until trip planning started, I hadn't. The town of Revelstoke, nestled in the Columbia Mountains of British Columbia, was founded in the late 1800's when the Canadian Pacific Railroad was built through it. It's a picture perfect little mountain town. Hardcore skiers from around the world have visited Revelstoke for years, and with good reason. The mountains are tall, steep, and breathtakingly beautiful, not to mention the 40-60 feet of annual snowfall.

Revelstoke Mountain Resort (RMR) is only four years old and thus one of the best-kept drop dead gorgeous ski resort secrets. With over 5,000 vertical feet to ski from top to bottom, RMR has the highest drop in North America. In addition to 54 runs, one of which is over nine miles long, short hikes take you to the North Bowl and Greely Bowl as well as the summit of Mount Mackenzie for some serious powder.

Lots of Snow, Lots of Avalanches

The beautiful terrain at RMR, avalanche-free!

After spending a beautiful night at the Hotel Eldorado in Kelowna, BC (best fish and chips ever!), Dan and I took off for Revelstoke. We spent the day playing car tourists, including a stop at Rogers Pass in Glacier National Park. Both Revelstoke and Glacier National Park are part of the larger Columbia Mountains, a stunning set of ranges covering over 52,000 square miles.

Before the trip, I watched two pretty cool avalanche control videos that illustrate both the power of the terrain and the incredible ability of area personnel to manage it. We’d heard of week long Trans-Canada Highway closures due to avalanches, and experienced it first hand when we attempted to leave Revelstoke to pick up friends in Kelowna. The highway was closed 20 miles outside of town for two hours for avalanche control, and we turned back.

That being said, of course all backcountry travel requires extensive knowledge of and experience with avalanche terrain. Without it, park rangers even recommend steering clear of what would normally be easy day hikes. I'm not ready for serious backcountry skiing yet, but regardless, due to our lack of avalanche terrain knowledge, any backcountry travel was out of the question. There's so much I wanted to see that we couldn't access because of our limited exposure to that type of terrain. Where I grew up and where I live, avalanches just aren’t an issue. But an avalanche course or two could open up a whole new world of opportunities, and those classes are at the top of my to-do list now!

It's Not Easy Being Average.

When the foot of snow fell on our first night in town, I woke up elated and ready to experience my first real powder day! Dan and I stuck mostly to blue runs that first day, though I did manage a serious face plant after getting my tips stuck in powder. The rest of our group, all experienced and talented skiers, arrived that night. As a result, all subsequent days involved harder, steeper runs and a lot more speed. Most of them would jump in and out of glades, fly down steep groomers, and talk about hiking up to the summit of Mount Mackenzie to make fresh tracks in knee deep powder. I did my best to hold my own, go as fast as I comfortably could, and even duck in and out of the occasional group of trees. But with a place like RMR at your disposal and a group of ballsy, experienced folks with you, it's not easy being a Type II skier.

In the Greely Bowl trying not to panic. (D. Herscovitch)

I spent a good bit of the week feeling intimidated by the terrain. Revelstoke is steep, plain and simple. And it snows a ton and a half there, which means a significant amount of powder. Though all North American ski areas have the same ratings for runs, the black runs out west aren’t comparable to black runs where I’ve been skiing. They were, as expected, much harder. Revelstoke doesn't use double black diamonds to signify the hardest of the hard runs, which means some black runs were more difficult than others. I did my first hike to a run ever in the North Bowl of the resort, and when we reached the end of the hike, the drop in to the bowl looked like a step off a cliff. But I did it, and it was amazing.

I fought feelings of guilt for being one of the last down each run, feelings of frustration because I wanted to keep up, but couldn't, and the occasional feeling of terror. But I also felt incredibly lucky to be with a couple of patient, talented skiers to watch and learn from. They'd give me pointers when I wasn't too frustrated to listen, encourage me when I made it down a run I didn't think I could, and they'd push me to try things I was too scared to do. I took my first lesson with friend Amanda the day before we left, and though I need at least ten more, I learned a few things that made me more confident. I even managed a long series of sweeping turns in knee deep powder without falling on the last day!

All in all, it was an amazing trip, and Revelstoke is a beyond amazing place. Who wants to go back with me?

A Look Back: My First Backcountry "Orienteering" Trip, Massasauga Provincial Park

Dan and I planned a four-day trek along a 30km orienteering trail in Massasauga Provincial Park. The park is accessible only by water and stretches along the Georgian Bay in Ontario. It was my first real extended backcountry trip. Who cares if I didn't know what orienteering meant?  I couldn't wait to just get away, but had no idea what I was getting into. My borrowed backpack was stuffed full of things I didn't need, and it didn't matter that my trip buddy laughed when he saw how neatly folded all my clothes were. It was adventure time.

at the end of one portage section, Massasauga Provincial Park

We hopped in the car and spent six hours touring the middle of nowhere between London, ON and our destination. After predictably missing our 2pm water taxi, we opted to rent a canoe from a little paddling center called White Squall. We could handle getting to our island in the Massasauga without a captained boat, right? After wandering around in the outfitters, I almost wanted to drop my Cornell degree track for a life spent canoeing and kayaking.  Colorful vessels lay stacked all around me, just waiting their turn.

It really was spectacular, except for the black flies. There were hundreds, no millions of them! Everywhere! My skin prickled for days after we got home in anticipation of microscopic teeth sinking in. The shop owner smiled and informed me you just get used to them gnawing on your flesh after a while.

Bug Hats, Portages and...Cabins?
We bid farewell to the car at the top of Canoe Lake in the Massasauga around dinnertime. A few locals watched us swatting flies while we unpacked, and they approached us to ask us if we'd brought mosquito netting. We looked at them quizzically, and they insisted we take a pair of what Dan and I affectionately dubbed Bug Hats. They're simple cylinders of mosquito netting with elastic at one end and camouflage fabric to hold it together at the other. Who knew we'd need them?

Dan and I with our Bug Hats...and bugs.

The first leg of the trip was a half hour cane from one edge of the lake to another where we picked up a portage trail. After the portage, we dropped the canoe back into the water and paddled toward an island that would be our home for the weekend; an island connecting Spider Lake with Canoe Lake. I couldn't believe we were able to discern the difference between one little island and another.

After what seemed like a million extra miles of paddling, we finally found the island and an unmarked trail as the sun was setting. We hiked up the portage trail with the canoe and ran into a makeshift house with all the comforts of home, though it looked as if no one had been there for months. It was made entirely of decaying fiberboard and sat on rickety stilts. The 50's era refrigerator sitting outside became our bear-proof storage facility at night. I couldn't fathom how they could have electricity to run it in the first place.

Where's the Trail? Eh, Who Cares?
We initially planned on hiking the 30km North Arm Trail, but orienteering trails with no markers at all are tough to navigate. Someone had put orange tape around some of the trees as markers, but the trail didn't look like a trail at all. We decide against getting hopelessly lost and easily passed the four days exploring the park from our base camp. We swam a little one of the days and discovered my lungs don't work in water that cold.

The view from our camp, Massasauga Provincial Park

The waterways wound around like an ancient maze of scratched cliffs and small outcroppings with windswept trees clinging to them. Each little bay and inlet invited us in. We explored Spider Lake by canoe and found several very small islands, even a few large boulders popping up in the middle of the lake. During our four day stay there, we saw less than ten people, and only when we left our little island.

We couldn't have asked for better weather, or a better site. Our tent was nestled into a bed of pine needles and a little rock outcropping nearby was perfect for sunset viewing. I'll definitely make a mental list, or an actual list, of all of the things I learned before I forget. But I believe I've forgotten some of them already...

This post is a journal excerpt from 2005. In reality, we didn't have a prayer of finding the orienteering trail. I was secretly glad when Dan agreed to take little side trips from base camp rather than getting completely lost in the woods. I came home with hundreds of black fly bites and a clear understanding of what orienteering means!

Revelstoke, Here We Come! (In Two Months)

Alyeska, where I learned to ski in 2007.

Normally, Mondays are days I don't particularly look forward to. But this Monday was...awesome. I booked my flight to Kelowna, British Columbia for my first real ski trip "out west." For someone who's grown up on the East Coast and spent the last few winters skiing in Pennsylvania, I'm not entirely sure what skiing "out west" entails, but I know it's going to be awesome.

I started skiing back in 2007 when I lived in Alaska, though you can bet it took me at least a month into real winter to try it at all. "You want me to hurtle myself down a giant mountain toward the icy Turnagin Arm on pieces of wood attached to my feet? Seriously?!" But try I did, and I discovered that those years of figure skating lessons paid off. I realized my instant, although uncontrolled, ability to parallel ski. (I figure skated until age 10, at which point I decided I was not, in fact, graceful, and swimming was much more fun.)

That winter, I spent almost every weekend at the Alyeska Resort outside of Anchorage. After a month of skiing, my "instructor" finally let me use poles, and I finally figure out how not to trip over them. I still don't plant them properly, though.

So, after much deliberation, waffling, and general arguing both internally and out loud, I booked my flight to British Columbia to ski at Revelstoke. Life's full of trade-offs, and I knew there would only be one big trip this winter. But I'm psyched that this is it! We'll spend a few days wandering around the Kelowna area, hopefully discovering a handful of outdoor adventures to be had. Then our little group will head to Revelstoke for several days of jaw dropping views and feet of beautiful snow.

I'm not going to lie, I'm nervous. As far as skiing goes, I'm about average, and I'm going to British Columbia to ski with a few folks who are, to say the least, incredible skiers. Black runs here in Pennsylvania give me a run for my money, and I didn't make it down a single black run at Alyeska without biting it at least once. A few days at Whiteface Mountain outside Lake Placid, NY last winter left me a little more fearless. But after several hours of steep skiing, my legs are jello, and concentrating enough not to fall is quite challenging. I know powder is akin to gold for skiers and boarders, but I have absolutely no idea how to ski in it. The closest I've come to skiing powder was sloshing through inches of fluffy snow that had fallen one day at Alyeska. That was three years ago.

Nerves aside, I'm beyond excited. I can't wait for the Canadian Rockies to take my breath away. I'm guessing just sitting at a window staring outside would be enough to keep me occupied for the entire week. But, this blog is called "Adventure-Inspired" after all, and I'm so looking forward to taking on the challenge of skiing in a brand new place, and learning as much as I can.

All of you skiers out there, what advice do you have for someone who's about to go on their first real, honest-to-goodness ski trip? I've got two months to get myself ready!

Getting Out to Play in Monterey County, CA

Checking out the view at Point Lobos State Reserve.

I wrote last week about how I can most easily find solace in the outdoors as long as I’ve got someone to share it with. While in California for the past few weeks, I’ve had a few small windows to get out and decompress. They’ve been enthusiastically welcomed and I’m thankful I’ve had people to share them with. Thanks to serendipitous connections and a willing coworker, I’ve ticked off two of what I believe are Monterey County’s must-see outdoor spots.

Hiking in Garrapata State Park

Parts of Monterey County are exceptionally hilly, and I’d been itching to explore the nearby landscape since my arrival. Good friend and fellow TerraMar Adventures guide Milo connected me with a classmate and her husband for a beautiful outing just south of Carmel in Garrapata State Park. Steph and Jon opted for a strenuous but beautiful four hour hike through redwood forests, over dry, windswept, sandy hills, and up to a spectacular view of the rocky coastline. It’s hailed as one of Monterey County’s top ten day hiking areas, and described by California State Parks as “Undeveloped and usually overlooked” with a "steep sampling of the Santa Lucia Mountains." Perfect.

The view, and the mist that socked us in.

After driving along Highway 1, a treat in and of itself, we parked and started up the redwood-filled Soberanes Canyon Trail. It was incredible to see the difference between the dry landscape we were heading towards and the abundance of greenery sprouting up around Soberanes Creek. A left on to the Rocky Ridge Trail brought us to the steepest part of the hike, climbing 700 vertical feet in just over ½ mile. As we ascended, the afternoon fog rolled in and blocked the coastline view. But watching the clouds fly past us and up over the hills was quite a treat. And we were lucky enough to catch the view on the way down. Four hours later, we were more than ready for a local brew and dinner at The Fishwife in Pacific Grove. 

Exploring Point Lobos State Reserve

The edge of Whaler's Cove.

A free afternoon this weekend was just enough time for a sampling of the variety of beautiful scenery Point Lobos has to offer. Called "the crown jewel of the State Park system," it has also earned a spot on the top ten best area day hikes list. 

Visitors are free to walk a few hundred feet from your car or miles and miles along wide trails. Most are family-friendly; there are no large hills at Point Lobos. and many trails are accessible by wheelchair. But, as I observed, it's also a great place for a very extended trail run! The park has more than earned its distinction; it's absolutely breathtaking. With Monterey Pine forests, miles of Santa Lucia Granodiorite, and a wealth of plant, animal, and marine life, I could've spent the entire weekend there.

Our first stop was the Sand Hill Cove part of the park. I rock-hopped, found baby crabs and watched a brown pelican fly past. After climbing up and back down the short trail to Sea Lion Point, the park roads took us down the coast further, then back through woods filled with We finished the afternoon with a short stop at Whaler's Cove, the site of a whaling station from 1862 to 1879. I went bounding up the Whalers Knoll Trail for a panoramic view of the cove just before the sun set. I came home with a camera full of photos and a big smile on my face.

Watching the sun set on Whaler's Cove.

They're two spots anyone visiting Monterey County absolutely must visit, and perhaps on my next trip, I'll get to the rest of the top ten hikes list!

Finding My Sanctuary

I'm the kind of girl who craves routine and familiarity. At least, I used to define myself that way. The need for it has certainly lessened over time as I've found ways to cope, and I've noticed a steady decline in my need to do so. It's not longer solely about getting comfortable in a new place as quickly as possible as it is to explore, see new things, and make new friends. It's a brand new challenge, getting to know an unfamiliar place.

When I was younger and relocated, either for internships in college or otherwise, I always had a few things I had to find in a new place to feel comfortable. First and foremost, I had to find a good, local coffee shop to write in. (Note: "local" meant no chains allowed, even regional brands.) Something about the aroma, the clientele, the collection of random flyers on bulletin boards, the two-year-old magazines, and the mishmash of nicked and scratched furniture always made me feel at home. It was like my sanctuary, my escape from the unfamiliar. And I had to have a place to write.



The day I learned to form thoughts into words on paper, I started a journal. The first one was a fabric bound book a gift from my Grandmother. Other mediums of choice ranged from composition books to five-subject college ruled notebooks to napkins, all entries organized in a specific fashion. Journals for traveling, journals for home, all with a purpose. I loved to write. I loved how free I felt. I loved how the companion I found in between the pages pulled the honest truths out of me and how futile resistance was. That companion taught me more about me than anyone else ever has. No expectations, no judgment, it just listened.



My box of "special stuff" can survive anything.

When our house in Ithaca burned down in 2007, all I could think about was whether the box of journals I'd packed up before moving to Alaska and stored in the basement was safe. That was my life. And they were. As I "grew up", I stopped keeping regular entries. I'd write when something important happened. I didn't have enough time, I didn't have anything to write about, the excuses just kept coming. But relocating meant needing to find familiarity in something, and I realized how important it is to be introspective, especially when it scares me. So I'd get out my journal in my little coffee shop and write.


I haven't moved in three years, and thus haven't had to think about finding coffee shops to write in. If I felt the need, I'd know exactly where to go. But I have a feeling if I moved, the things I'd seek out first would change. I don't seek refuge in journals often anymore, and if I do, it's more fun to sit at home with a cup of my own brewed coffee and a cat on my lap. I'd guess a climbing gym or local crag would be first on my list, closely followed by the nearest place to hike. Next would come a farmer's market. Last, but certainly not least, could come a good, healthy restaurant that serves local food.

One of the best things about keeping journals is they serve as your own personal history books. You get to look back and see how you've evolved and how you've changed. I'm glad to be able to share some of it with you!

How Colorado Stole My Heart, Part II - The Outdoors

As I mentioned before, two aspects of my long weekend in Colorado deserve their own posts, and this is the second of the two - my experiences outdoors. Between a 14,265' 14er and beautiful Bear Peak, I got my fill of beautiful mountains and banked a number of important lessons!

At the trailhead, Alec leading the way.

Quandary Peak, East Ridge - 14,265'
Less than 24 hours after I arrived, Alec and I were en route to the East Ridge route up Quandary Peak. Quandary ranks 13th among the 14ers in Colorado at 14,265', and is the tallest peak in the Tenmile Range. The East Ridge trail begins at 10,805' and covers just under 7 miles round trip. The trail head was already 4,000 ' higher than I'd ever been. It was a formidable task for my first full day in the mountains, but I was more than up for the challenge!

After the two hour drive from Boulder, we arrived to find what seemed like hundreds of cars lining the dirt road and overflowing from the small parking lot. That's the beauty and the curse of being in a place where playing outside is everyone's favorite past time; there'll never be a shortage of company on the easily accessible trails!


The weather couldn't have been more perfect. From the top, we had clear views of Atlantic Peak and Fletcher Mountain along with a handful of deep blue lakes. The eastern slope still had a bit of snow on it, too! I'm glad it was my first 14er.

...the Altitude
Being at altitude, generally considered over 8,000', affects every person differently. As this article describes, "the concentration of oxygen at sea level is about 21% and the barometric pressure averages 760 mmHg. As altitude increases, the concentration remains the same but the number of oxygen molecules per breath is reduced. At 12,000 feet (3,658 meters) the barometric pressure is only 483 mmHg, so there are roughly 40% fewer oxygen molecules per breath." Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) can plague even the fittest athletes while some are unaffected, especially when given proper time to acclimatize. Our bodies are remarkably efficient at adapting. We will actually produce more red blood cells to carry oxygen through the blood, and undergo other changes to help adapt.

I didn't expect to have an easy time with it and tried to stay keenly aware of what my body was telling me. The hardest part was trying to figure out if, at any point, the way I felt actually dangerous because I'd never felt any of the symptoms before. To my surprise, I was completely out of breath no more than ten steps into the hike. It was strange to feel winded without having gone anywhere! My pace was normal at the beginning of the day, but slowed considerably the higher we went.

All I could think about was how with every step I took, I was up higher than I'd ever been before, and hanging on to that feeling was what got me to the summit. I teared up at one point, thinking about how incredible it was to be so high! By the time the summit came into view, I had started a process where I'd count 30 steps and pausing to catch my breath over and over. I was nauseous at the top, but two and a half hours after starting, I was ecstatic to be standing at 14,265'!

The descent was downright painful. My feet felt heavy, I was dizzy, and by the time we reached the car at 10,850' I'd developed a migraine. Thankfully, the medicine I typically take for them did the trick. We packed up the car and drove another two hours through Buena Vista and into the San Isabel National Forest to spend the night at 10,000' before planning to attempt Huron (14,003') the next day.

We set up camp just outside of a the small "ghost town" of Winfield, but by 8pm I decided we needed to head down. I wasn't recovering as quickly as I was comfortable with and as a result of being lackadaisical about sunscreen application, I'd developed a pretty awful sunburn. So we reluctantly packed everything up and drove back to the comfort of 5,400' in Boulder.

Bear Peak -
The next morning, I'd recovered enough for a hike, but at lower elevation. Alec chose Bear Peak, which had been among Amy's recommendations for our weekend. Just a mile up the road from Boulder, the trail ascends up a beautiful wooded canyon to the summit. With a little hand over hand scrambling, we made it to a perch that overlooked Boulder to the east and a dark cloud covered Long's Peak to the west.

This day was a struggle for me as well. Despite having to gain less than 3,000' over the course of the day, the 7-mile hike in long sleeves and pants to protect my sun scorched skin in 90-degree heat really took it out of me. I assumed I was still recovering from the day before as well. But as always, the views from the top made the journey well worth it!

And the All-Important Lessons

Build in Time to Acclimatize - I went up to 14,265' 24 hours after coming from sea level, which essentially goes against everything I'd learned about preparing for a high altitude climb. I didn't give my body any time to adjust, and paid the price. If we'd done Bear Peak the first day, then driven to the base of Huron to sleep, I might have fared better.

Don't be Lazy About Sunscreen - Between the excitement and frenzy of packing up to go, I didn't pay nearly enough attention to protecting my skin. It's finally beginning to heal, but I could've avoided all of it with a little more patience.

Eat and Drink A LOT - I thought I did a decent job of drinking enough water and electrolyte-enhanced beverages, but I didn't pay much attention to what I was eating. One of the things Tiffany told me she'd learned was to eat and drink every time you stop, at least every hour. It definitely helps with the last bits of the ascent!

Climbing at Altitude is Pretty Uncomfortable - I already knew this, but now know first hand exactly what it feels like. That was a big part of the reason for the trip; I wanted to experience the discomfort and learn how to overcome it. It's all just part of the sport. I found that focusing on myself, on each step, and keeping positive thoughts in my head made a huge difference.

Give Yourself a Break - All of these mistakes aside, this was a learning experience. I went to Colorado to learn. And boy did I. But I'm a perfectionist and don't let myself off the hook easily. After going at what I felt like was a snail's pace, not recovering fast enough, and skipping the second 14er we had planned, I felt like I'd let myself down. I struggled a lot with feelings of inadequacy. But instead of beating myself up about it, I needed to take a step back and realize what I was able to accomplish.

* * * * *

As the title of this post suggests, I had an absolutely amazing time exploring Colorado's outdoors, and learned so much over the course of the four days I was there. I love how playing outside is a lifestyle there, and how many people embrace it. I'm depositing the memories and lessons into my memory bank for Rainier, and for the rest of my adventures!

How Colorado Stole My Heart, Part I - The People

When I started thinking about how to sum up my long weekend in Colorado, the summary split itself into two parts - the people and the outdoors. I was able to meet and spend time with some amazing folks, all of whom deserve their own post. And my experiences on the trails deserves its own post too, with plenty of room for reflecting on what I learned. So, here's Part I in the two part series about how Colorado Stole My Heart.

Standing in the doorway to BCM HQ. Photo by Alec Campbell.

Big City Mountaineers!
My first stop in Colorado was a place I'd been dreaming about visiting since I signed up to climb Mount Rainier - Big City Mountaineers Headquarters. Friend Alec and I arrived just in time to see a group of enthusiastic young men filling their Jansport backpacks with gear while their guides and mentors looked on. We watched from the doorway of the nearby gear shed, which was full of fun stuff from Keen, Mountain Hardwear, Merrell, and many other sponsoring companies. The basement of the beautiful little house near City Park was as full of gear and clothes, all meticulously sorted, like a little haven for the stuff (gear) dreams are made of.

Being able to see where the BCM magic happens was inspiring. The organization itself was founded by and is staffed by such passionate, friendly people, especially Brendan Leonard, Hillary Harding, and Elizabeth Williams. The enthusiasm in the office was almost tangible. Photos of past trips, maps, bookshelves full of guides, and BCM flags dotted the walls, all a testament to what BCM can do and has done for under resourced kids.

As a Summit for Someone climber, there couldn't have been a better way to truly connect with what I've been fund raising for than to meet the people who really make everything happen at their home base. I really began to feel as though the Rainier climb I'm doing in August means something. It's more than just me getting to the top and testing my own limits, it's about others having the chance to test theirs. And I knew all of this, there was just something special about seeing it all happen in front of me. Something really special. It was the perfect start to my Colorado adventure. A big thanks to Brendan and Elizabeth for the tour and the chat!

BoulderDinnerTweetup
As it turns out, a lot of really awesome people live in and around Boulder. Big surprise, right? The best part - a bunch of 'em are on Twitter, and we've all been "talking" for months. Any time I have a chance to get face time with people I've "met" on twitter, I have to take it. These friends write blogs, run businesses, go on amazing adventures, kick ass and take names on a daily basis. I couldn't wait.

We all met for dinner and beer Boulder-style at Southern Sun thanks to Amy's suggestion. And by "we all," I mean Amy, Bracken, Tali, Ben, Erika, and Josh. I spent the night with a giant smile on my face and feeling as though I was being reunited with a group of my best friends I never get to see. It never ceases to amaze me how a group of people who've met on the interwebz, essentially strangers before twitter, are able to converse and meld together so easily.

The food was pretty darn good too. I've been told I absolutely have to go back and try the tempeh reuben, which I'll add to my mile-long list of reasons to return.

Photo by Bracken Christensen. From left around the table -
Josh, Sarah, Tali, Erika, the author, Amy, and Alec.

New and Old Friends...and Idols
After a long weekend of hiking, sunburns and altitude sickness, I couldn't wait to visit Pearl Street in Boulder for dinner at The Kitchen. Alec, my host and hiking partner for the weekend, happened to have met one of the women I admire most in the climbing community in his four weeks in town - Majka Burhardt - and worked with her to organize a dinner for all us.

Friends Alec and Helen, Majka Burhardt and me!

Majka is an incredibly strong, driven and enthusiastic woman with an anthropology degree from Princeton, an MFA in creative writing, and was among the first five women to earn American Mountain Guide Association certification. I bought and read her first book this past year and have followed her blog since then, admiring her determination and strength through all she's experienced. And earlier this week, this lucky girl got to have dinner with her.

As I learn and grow as an outdoorswoman, I'm always looking for guidance from other ladies who've accomplished incredible feats and are making big waves in the community I'm excited to be a part of. I'm still fearful, cautious, and very much in need of encouragement when it comes to things I've never done before, like Rainier, and things I have, like rock climbing.

Majka had words of wisdom about careers, life, and dealing with the altitude sickness symptoms I'd experienced on Quandary Peak a few days before. Her words were comforting and encouraging, spoken with a strength that only comes from knowledge, experience and being a #badassclimbergirl. But, like normal people, we also all spent a while talking about how great the food was, how people living in Denver and Boulder differ, and ganging up on Alec! Although, between Helen, Majka and myself, I think he did pretty well for dinner companions :)

* * * * *

I couldn't have asked for a more incredible group of human beings to spend time with this weekend, and look forward to many chances to see them again in the future!

Joshua Tree Climbing Trip, aka #jtreetweetup

I've been sitting on several drafts of this post, and even skipped over it to write about my climbing this weekend. I found it near impossible to encapsulate such an emotional roller coaster of a trip with any degree of success when words simply wouldn't suffice. At least, no words I could come up with. After deciding perfect prose might allude me forever at the rate I was going, I decided that it's now or never.

20+ climbers. 4 days. Innumerable lasting memories. I can't believe it actually happened.

The first I'd heard about plans to have a #jtreetweetup, I was almost certain I wouldn't be attending. After all, it was a really long way to go for a tweetup. The furthest I'd ever gone for a planned twitter event was Irish Pub in Philadelphia! I remember thinking, "So, I'm going to get on a plane and travel over 2,000 miles to meet a bunch of strangers in the middle of the desert and sleep in a campsite with them for four days?" But it wasn't just a tweetup. It was a climbing trip. And they weren't strangers. They were friends, and a really incredible group of human beings.

After reading countless conversations between Eileen, Nina S. and Katie, it seemed silly not to at least consider it. Nina M. did a pretty great job of convincing me we'd be silly not to go, and given that it fell during Dan's birthday weekend, it seemed like a perfect way to celebrate. We picked flights, booked a rental car, and packed all of our gear for what would turn out to be one of the most eye-opening and rewarding climbing experiences I've had thus far.

Thursday - Getting There!
Dan, Nina M and I flew in to Los Angeles, then drove to Joshua Tree. It was an entire day of traveling, and the sun was setting as we entered the park. Eileen, with her incredible organizing skills, had told us all to meet at the Hidden Valley campground where she and Nina S had offered to get enough sites for all of us. But when there weren't enough sites, they secured a bunch at the Ryan Campground instead and left a note for us at Hidden Valley. I could believe we got there, the airline didn't lose our baggage, and we were able to find a little note pinned to the back of a bulletin board in the desert in the dark! The planets had aligned, and that set the stage for the rest of the trip. After fireside introductions and chit chat, we went to bed.

Friday - Hemingway and Gunsmoke
Dan and I were the first ones out of the tents, likely as a result of being on east coast time, the howling coyotes, and the yippy dog a few sites over who seemed to have his heart set on being a coyote too. The best part about that morning, without a doubt, was finally meeting Katie in person and getting one of the long-awaited hugs we'd been talking about! Without any previous knowledge of the park, we eagerly listened as plans to climb at Hemingway materialized. Thinking about trying to decide where to climb without everyone's help was really overwhelming!

I pulled out the bouldering book I'd brought and started flipping through it to pick out problems while we drove. I spent a good part of the morning bouldering with Tiffany, Randy and Katie. We made up our own problems, topped out several times, and created one that was hard enough that only Randy was able to send it. When he did, cheers erupted from our little group and echoed around the desert walls. Soon, the entire group of climbers on Hemingway was cheering!

I was excited to belay Dan while he sent his first 5.10c ever on Hemingway, and to watch George fearlessly lead on gear for the first (or second?) time. Watching such an incredibly talented group of people climb was inspiring.

The best non-hugging-Katie part of the day was a stop at Gunsmoke (V3), one of the late John Bachar's problems. It's the first of his I've seen that's within my ability, and it felt like I was touching an important piece of climbing history. Of course, I didn't finish it and heard stories about Bachar completing laps on it, but just trying it and being there made my heart smile. Watching Lizzy send it after so much hard work was fantastic, too. Luke's video of it is here.

Saturday - Echo Rocks and a Little Reflection...
We spent the second day climbing at Echo Rocks or in the near vicinity. My biggest accomplishment of the day was following Tiffany's mock lead of Double Dip, a 5.6 slab climb. I've never climbed a slab before, and it was pretty intimidating. I learned to stick my butt out while climbing to keep as much of my shoes in contact with the rock as possible, to shift my weight carefully, and to trust my feet. Tiffany belayed from above, shouting encouragement the whole way up while Dan shouted encouragement from the bottom.

Despite the fact that the climb was only a 5.6, it was a huge accomplishment for me. Accepting the fact that, despite the grade, I accomplished something important by doing it took me until last night to understand. I spent the whole weekend beating myself up for not sending any 5.10's, which are mostly within my ability indoors, when I should've been congratulating myself for facing my fears. I have a bad habit of putting way too much pressure on myself, setting high expectations, and comparing myself to others. (See?) I was scared. Really scared. But I climbed it anyway.

Confronting that fear, fear of falling, fear of whatever it is, is something I've realized I need to do gradually. Every climber, ever person is different. I don't handle fear, stress, or climbing itself the same way others do, and deciding I'm inadequate as a result of my fear is not the best way to overcome it. What I needed to conquer that long (for me), exposed (for me) slab climb was trust in myself and support from my climbing buddies. I got both on Double Dip, and now I understand why each was important.

Meanwhile, a good portion of the group tried and sent Heart and Sole (5.10a) along with a handful of other really difficult, really interesting climbs. Read Eileen and Katie's blogs for more info.

Sunday - The Lost City and Showers!
Dan, Nina M and I were the only ones with plans to stay the entire day, and would be the only two tents in the campsite that night. Most of the group opted to head to Gunsmoke for a final bouldering sessions, then head off to their respective homes while we teamed up with Teri, Teri and Liz for a trip to Atlantis. We said our goodbyes relatively quickly, and I was really bummed we didn't head to Gunsmoke. The quick goodbyes were almost welcomed, though. They delayed the sadness I'd associate with bidding farewell to so many wonderful new friends for a little while, akin to ripping off a band-aid, I suppose.

Atlantis Wall seemed as difficult to find as the lost city itself might have been, and by the time the three of us met up with Teri, Teri and Liz, they'd already found another group of climbers with ropes up. They were friendly and nice enough to let us climb on their ropes and anchors. Liz belayed Nina and I up a 5.7, not sure of the name, that was a mix of crack and face climbing. I loved it. Dan and Chad went off to work a 5.10 while Nina and I moved on to bouldering. Sunburned and tired, we headed into town mid-afternoon for a much needed shower at Coyote Corner and dinner at the Crossroads Cafe. We ran into Eileen there, and it gave us a chance to catch up with her a bit before heading back to the campground for our last, chilly night in the desert.

Monday involved an easy drive to the airport, a completely flawless flight, no lost baggage, and a ride home from Nina's great friend Emily.

* * * * * * *

I delayed this post for several reasons. First and foremost, I was afraid of all the emotions I'd have to face that I'd conveniently placed on the back burner during my whirlwind work week. I'd have to confront the fear I'd felt, what it prevented me from trying, how it affected my mood throughout the trip, and what it meant for my climbing. Second, and similarly, I'd have to miss everyone terribly. Finally, I knew whatever I'd write wouldn't be enough to describe how the trip came together, went off without a hitch, and will be one of my most memorable experiences.

But I confronted the fear, talked through the weekend with family and friends, and understood the positive things I learned and experiences I can take to my next great outdoor climbing adventures. And I confronted The Sad. Not knowing when I'll get to see everyone again, all 20+ of them from across the country and Canada, is hard, but I know it'll happen soon. And I tried to write as best I could what the trip meant to me. I wish I could write something little about every single person I met that weekend and explain what a profound effect meeting each one of them personally had on me, but I'm not sure that would be enough either. I'll just have to sit back, bask in the photos and memories, and bide my time until we all get to climb together again!

Note: the post-tweetup wiki with other blog posts and photo sets can be found here. All of my photos are here.