I am currently on a four state photography trip to the Southwest. For those who are interested, I will posting brief updates throughout the trip.
Update: I have deleted the brief updates and am now recounting the whole story with images: see 'Desert Daze - A Southwest Adventure' above.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Last Night (and next morning) in Killarney - Part X
(scroll down to start with Part One)
After a day of inconsequential rambling (still immensely enjoyable, my bumper sticker would say “A day of inconsequential rambling in Killarney is better than a day spent doing almost anything else anywhere else” or something like that), I return to the campsite for The Last night in Killarney. I’m celebrating five wonderful days spent here with a blazing campfire, a bottle of wine and crackers, cheese and pepperoni.
There is a saying when sitting around a campfire that ‘smoke follows beauty’ – I don’t know where this saying came from but, if it’s true, I must be friggin' gorgeous tonight. No matter where I move, the smoke follows! But nothing other than the fact that I must leave tomorrow can bother me, smoke or no smoke, I love it here so (gee, can you tell?)
Parting is such sweet sorrow – but, while the fire dies out and I finish the wine, I’m already plotting my next trip here – next fall, a little earlier to catch more fall leaves. I hit the sack. I wake up to a clear day and decide not to head out until early afternoon for two reasons: (1) I don’t want to leave and (2) I do want to avoid the crazy daytime traffic of Toronto on the way back.
I decide to visit the Killarney graveyard for the first time ever. I had driven past Cemetery Road many times but had never checked it out. I like cemeteries, especially old ones, so I decide to explore it. Given that people have been living in the town of Killarney for many years, I am surprised to find that most of the graves are newer. I suspect there is an older graveyard somewhere else that has run out of room, maybe next to one of the churches in town. However, what really catches my eye is the birth date on a headstone at the foot of a fresh grave –it’s the same as mine. Whoa! That puts me in mind to express gratitude for my life - he’s already gone. I doubly resolve to get back here next fall.
After my cemetery visit, I go for my third hike of the week to the Georgian Bay shoreline– it’s just so incredibly beautiful here, the sexy pink granite, sculpted by weather and waves, the myriad small islands dotting the bay with their charmingly crooked trees
and the horizon that doesn’t end – blue bay as far as I can see.
As I am gazing out into the bay I suddenly sense a presence - a deer has come to visit. 
She seem as struck by the scenery as me, she just stands and looks out. Then she turns and fixes her big, beautiful eyes on me; I see no trace of fear. We both enjoy the view for a while then head back from where we came – her to the woods, me to my vehicle.
I finally decide to start the loooooong drive back, it’s always seems to take much longer than the drive here. The worst part is the section through the bustling city of Toronto – it will be a rude awakening after five and a half quiet days spent communing with nature. I stop at a few shops along the main highway, not wanting to leave the area. But eventually I can delay no more.
Soon all the signs that civilization is not far start to appear – the highway widens from two lanes to four, then to six. A McDonalds appears on the horizon, then a shopping mall and finally endless houses and development. I wish to get through Toronto as quickly as possible but I am not in luck – the traffic ahead of me turns into a sea of red brake lights and soon we come to a dead stop. We crawl along for about an hour covering barely a mile. We finally reach an exit where everyone is being shuttled off the highway, a sign says some about “emergency repairs.” In all three lanes? Must be one heck of an emergency.
After a day of inconsequential rambling (still immensely enjoyable, my bumper sticker would say “A day of inconsequential rambling in Killarney is better than a day spent doing almost anything else anywhere else” or something like that), I return to the campsite for The Last night in Killarney. I’m celebrating five wonderful days spent here with a blazing campfire, a bottle of wine and crackers, cheese and pepperoni.
There is a saying when sitting around a campfire that ‘smoke follows beauty’ – I don’t know where this saying came from but, if it’s true, I must be friggin' gorgeous tonight. No matter where I move, the smoke follows! But nothing other than the fact that I must leave tomorrow can bother me, smoke or no smoke, I love it here so (gee, can you tell?)
Parting is such sweet sorrow – but, while the fire dies out and I finish the wine, I’m already plotting my next trip here – next fall, a little earlier to catch more fall leaves. I hit the sack. I wake up to a clear day and decide not to head out until early afternoon for two reasons: (1) I don’t want to leave and (2) I do want to avoid the crazy daytime traffic of Toronto on the way back.
I decide to visit the Killarney graveyard for the first time ever. I had driven past Cemetery Road many times but had never checked it out. I like cemeteries, especially old ones, so I decide to explore it. Given that people have been living in the town of Killarney for many years, I am surprised to find that most of the graves are newer. I suspect there is an older graveyard somewhere else that has run out of room, maybe next to one of the churches in town. However, what really catches my eye is the birth date on a headstone at the foot of a fresh grave –it’s the same as mine. Whoa! That puts me in mind to express gratitude for my life - he’s already gone. I doubly resolve to get back here next fall.
After my cemetery visit, I go for my third hike of the week to the Georgian Bay shoreline– it’s just so incredibly beautiful here, the sexy pink granite, sculpted by weather and waves, the myriad small islands dotting the bay with their charmingly crooked trees
and the horizon that doesn’t end – blue bay as far as I can see.
As I am gazing out into the bay I suddenly sense a presence - a deer has come to visit. She seem as struck by the scenery as me, she just stands and looks out. Then she turns and fixes her big, beautiful eyes on me; I see no trace of fear. We both enjoy the view for a while then head back from where we came – her to the woods, me to my vehicle.I finally decide to start the loooooong drive back, it’s always seems to take much longer than the drive here. The worst part is the section through the bustling city of Toronto – it will be a rude awakening after five and a half quiet days spent communing with nature. I stop at a few shops along the main highway, not wanting to leave the area. But eventually I can delay no more.
Soon all the signs that civilization is not far start to appear – the highway widens from two lanes to four, then to six. A McDonalds appears on the horizon, then a shopping mall and finally endless houses and development. I wish to get through Toronto as quickly as possible but I am not in luck – the traffic ahead of me turns into a sea of red brake lights and soon we come to a dead stop. We crawl along for about an hour covering barely a mile. We finally reach an exit where everyone is being shuttled off the highway, a sign says some about “emergency repairs.” In all three lanes? Must be one heck of an emergency.
I eventually make it through Toronto and then home, it just take three hours longer than usual. But nothing, not even gigantic traffic jams can take anything away from this wonderful Killarney visit - these memories are untouchable and the best part is, I can recall them any time I choose.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Killarney Part IX: Ravens and Wolves and Bears - Oh My!
The timber wolves are howling tonight! What a wonderful sound – to me, the wolf howl embodies wild-ness itself. That's why I'm sitting here in the frigid woods tonight –to be at one with the night sounds of the wild. I have given up on this type of endeavor at most campgrounds – all you hear is other campers – but here in Killarney the place goes pin-drop quiet at dusk – there is real respect for nature and for fellow campers who come here to experience the quiet sounds of nature - so rare in this day and age.
It’s so quiet I can hear my own heart beating. You don’t often find this kind of tranquility in today’s society, where noise is accepted, expected and sometimes even desired – people can get uneasy when it’s ‘too’ quiet. Here, I can clearly hear every beautiful sound – a faint rustling of the leaves, the far off trickling of Chikanishing Creek and something, probably a raccoon, slinking through the woods. A group of ravens nesting nearby for the night starts up a conversation uttering a whole mélange of strange croaks, squawks and squeaks. I wonder what they’re saying - probably just ‘good night’ to each other.
So now I’ve mentioned wolves and ravens – so what about the bears, you ask? Well, I admit, I added bears to the title because it was catchy; I will see none of them during this particular visit to Killarney. But I have, however, seen or experienced direct evidence of them many times here in the past. I'll never forget the time I went hiking for the day and inadvertently left a cooler outside. It contained only beer and ice, but the bears didn’t know that. They know that coolers often contain food and therefore all unattended coolers must be investigated. I returned to beer and ice spilled out all over the ground and a cooler lid lying in the dirt with a deep puncture mark in it – the bear had evidently pried off the lid with its teeth.
Then there was the time I literally smelled bear breath. I was tent camping on this occasion and after a long day of hiking and a hearty meal, I retired groggily to my tent for some well deserved shuteye. I was pleasantly dozing when I awoke to shuffling sounds just outside. And intense sniffing. That’s when I smelled him – or rather, his wild breath. He was alternately sniffing and snorting, his nose evidently reporting to him that there was a human inside and he wasn't sure what to do. Fortunatelty, he must have decided that I wouldn’t make a good snack or that I was probably too much trouble because humans refuse to willingly become food and will fight back. In any event, he soon shuffled off snorting and huffing back into the woods from whence he came, but sleep didn’t come easily for the rest of that night.
Back in the here and now, I gaze up at a sky positively glowing with stars, as only can be seen in this magnitude in places like this where there is no artificial lighting for many miles around. Finally, as much as I am enjoying the night’s charms, I tire of shivering and my teeth chattering, so I go inside. While falling asleep, I plan to shoot the morning sunrise from a vantage point high up on a bluff near my favorite campsite.
I wake up about an hour before dawn. I go outside to pee and check out the current conditions and I see that all the stars have been blotted from the sky as if someone had closed the observatory roof – it has clouded over. There will be no magic light this morning so I go back to bed. When I wake up a couple of hours later the sky is an uninspiring gray, but at least it’s not raining. I hang around the site organizing my stuff (getting ready for the inevitable return to society), eat a leisurely breakfast and then slowly sip a couple of cups of tea - a very relaxing morning when compared to the pre-dawn starts of the last few days.
Finally, in the late morning I amble over to the La Cloche Silhouette trail, which starts only a few hundred feet from my campsite. I have no set agenda today; I will just wander wherever my wanderlust takes me. Almost immediately, it takes me off the trail - the wild north shore of George Lake is calling me. I bushwhack to the edge of a steep cliff and search for a way down. I find one and scale it down to the edge of the water. The view from here is spectacular - precipitous white cliffs plunging into the brilliant deep blue water as far as the eye can see.
The area surrounding the place where I am standing itself too is beautiful; soft white pines drape overhead and picturesque boulders decorate the shoreline with stretches of pink sand beach in between. If it were (much) warmer I would strip down to my birthday suit and plunge into the inviting water, but it’s decidedly not a possiblilty today. So instead, I sit down on a big chunk of quartzite and revel in this little piece of heaven, gazing dreamily out at the lake and the small islands dotting the horizon.
The gentle sound of lapping water and soft breezes singing in the treetops provides the soundtrack for my reverie. I think about how comfortable I am in Killarney, how it all feels so natural, it’s like I am at home here.
NEXT - Part X - The Last Night in Killarney
It’s so quiet I can hear my own heart beating. You don’t often find this kind of tranquility in today’s society, where noise is accepted, expected and sometimes even desired – people can get uneasy when it’s ‘too’ quiet. Here, I can clearly hear every beautiful sound – a faint rustling of the leaves, the far off trickling of Chikanishing Creek and something, probably a raccoon, slinking through the woods. A group of ravens nesting nearby for the night starts up a conversation uttering a whole mélange of strange croaks, squawks and squeaks. I wonder what they’re saying - probably just ‘good night’ to each other.
So now I’ve mentioned wolves and ravens – so what about the bears, you ask? Well, I admit, I added bears to the title because it was catchy; I will see none of them during this particular visit to Killarney. But I have, however, seen or experienced direct evidence of them many times here in the past. I'll never forget the time I went hiking for the day and inadvertently left a cooler outside. It contained only beer and ice, but the bears didn’t know that. They know that coolers often contain food and therefore all unattended coolers must be investigated. I returned to beer and ice spilled out all over the ground and a cooler lid lying in the dirt with a deep puncture mark in it – the bear had evidently pried off the lid with its teeth.
Then there was the time I literally smelled bear breath. I was tent camping on this occasion and after a long day of hiking and a hearty meal, I retired groggily to my tent for some well deserved shuteye. I was pleasantly dozing when I awoke to shuffling sounds just outside. And intense sniffing. That’s when I smelled him – or rather, his wild breath. He was alternately sniffing and snorting, his nose evidently reporting to him that there was a human inside and he wasn't sure what to do. Fortunatelty, he must have decided that I wouldn’t make a good snack or that I was probably too much trouble because humans refuse to willingly become food and will fight back. In any event, he soon shuffled off snorting and huffing back into the woods from whence he came, but sleep didn’t come easily for the rest of that night.
Back in the here and now, I gaze up at a sky positively glowing with stars, as only can be seen in this magnitude in places like this where there is no artificial lighting for many miles around. Finally, as much as I am enjoying the night’s charms, I tire of shivering and my teeth chattering, so I go inside. While falling asleep, I plan to shoot the morning sunrise from a vantage point high up on a bluff near my favorite campsite.
I wake up about an hour before dawn. I go outside to pee and check out the current conditions and I see that all the stars have been blotted from the sky as if someone had closed the observatory roof – it has clouded over. There will be no magic light this morning so I go back to bed. When I wake up a couple of hours later the sky is an uninspiring gray, but at least it’s not raining. I hang around the site organizing my stuff (getting ready for the inevitable return to society), eat a leisurely breakfast and then slowly sip a couple of cups of tea - a very relaxing morning when compared to the pre-dawn starts of the last few days.
Finally, in the late morning I amble over to the La Cloche Silhouette trail, which starts only a few hundred feet from my campsite. I have no set agenda today; I will just wander wherever my wanderlust takes me. Almost immediately, it takes me off the trail - the wild north shore of George Lake is calling me. I bushwhack to the edge of a steep cliff and search for a way down. I find one and scale it down to the edge of the water. The view from here is spectacular - precipitous white cliffs plunging into the brilliant deep blue water as far as the eye can see.
The area surrounding the place where I am standing itself too is beautiful; soft white pines drape overhead and picturesque boulders decorate the shoreline with stretches of pink sand beach in between. If it were (much) warmer I would strip down to my birthday suit and plunge into the inviting water, but it’s decidedly not a possiblilty today. So instead, I sit down on a big chunk of quartzite and revel in this little piece of heaven, gazing dreamily out at the lake and the small islands dotting the horizon.The gentle sound of lapping water and soft breezes singing in the treetops provides the soundtrack for my reverie. I think about how comfortable I am in Killarney, how it all feels so natural, it’s like I am at home here. NEXT - Part X - The Last Night in Killarney
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Crack at Dawn - Killarney Part VIII
I awake with a start, pale light is seeping in – oh no! Did I oversleep? I look at the clock, it's only 1:30, it's a crescent moon that is bathing the forest in dim light. Now I'm wide awake. I turn on the light and busy myself with preparations for the day ahead. At about 3:00 I start to feel sleepy again, so I go back to bed - and this time oversleep for real!
Luckily, my 1:30 prep session has me ready. I throw some gruel down my throat, quaff a cup of tea and shoot out the door. I arrive at the trail head about an hour before sunrise, it’s going to be difficult to make my goal - to be at the top of The Crack for sunrise - considering it's a good hour-long hike in full daylight and I’ll be starting out in the dark.
My headlamp does its job well on the mostly level first leg of the trail and I am able to make good time. I reach Kakakise Lake and stop for a moment. It’s a still morning, the only sound I hear is my own breathing. The lake is just beginning to reveal itself in the first light of day. Somewhere out in the distant mist a loon announces with an eerie warble that dawn is coming.
Luckily, my 1:30 prep session has me ready. I throw some gruel down my throat, quaff a cup of tea and shoot out the door. I arrive at the trail head about an hour before sunrise, it’s going to be difficult to make my goal - to be at the top of The Crack for sunrise - considering it's a good hour-long hike in full daylight and I’ll be starting out in the dark.
My headlamp does its job well on the mostly level first leg of the trail and I am able to make good time. I reach Kakakise Lake and stop for a moment. It’s a still morning, the only sound I hear is my own breathing. The lake is just beginning to reveal itself in the first light of day. Somewhere out in the distant mist a loon announces with an eerie warble that dawn is coming.
From here, the hike increases in difficulty, an uphill slog over rocks and roots and in the woods, it’s still dark. Taking it slowly, I make my way up to the top of first incline and pop out of the forest into dim light. Then, almost immediately, I am back in the forested hollow and need my headlamp again.
As it gets lighter and lighter, I make better time. My desire to watch the sun rise over the Georgian Bay from the top of The Crack energizes me; I practically bounce across the rough field of broken quartzite leading to it's mouth.
The Crack is filled with giant boulders; I pick my way up and over them with care, a misstep here could lead to a significant fall. The thirty pound camera pack swaying on my back doesn't help my balance, but I make it to the top without incident. I turn around just in time to see the first sliver of sun revealing itself – perfect timing!
Coming soon – Part IX: Ravens and Wolves and Bears - Oh My!Monday, January 12, 2009
The ‘Whew’ Factor
One of the people with whom I correspond regularly mentioned that, in a recent blog entry of mine, “once again there was a ‘Whew’," meaning that I take chances, some risks when I adventure - it’s true. She said, as far as she was (and most rational people are) concerned, “It's better for me to experience the whews vicariously. The 'Wow' factor, rather than the 'whew' factor is more me. Thanks for giving [me] both." ‘Wows’, not ‘whews’ for her.It's definitely 'whews' for me, which often lead to the 'wows'. After spending years of my life not feeling fulfilled and nagged by thoughts that there is something specific I am here on earth to share, I believe I have found it – my appreciation of the profound beauty of our natural world and love for adventure. My friends and family know that, should I die doing this, at least I have died doing what I love – and I sincerely mean that.
When I ‘adventure’, I am not foolish. I take calculated risks, meaning I assess situations based on experience and confidence in my physical abilities. For example, most times I hike alone, sometimes far away from the possibly of rescue. I do not take a cell phone or emergency beacon with me; those modern conveniences would ruin the sense of adventure for me. I know that many cannot understand this - when I tell people I refuse to carry such equipment when I hike alone, they invariably look at me as if I have a screw loose. “What if you get injured?” they say. Honestly, I never even consider that, I keep myself in the best shape possible and have the confidence borne of 35 years of experience.
People who have read the story about the guy who, while canyoneering alone in Utah, got trapped by a boulder and had to cut his own arm off to escape, say “That could have been you!” and it’s true - to some extent. I am not apt to perform seriously risky maneuvers with thirty pounds of camera equipment on my back. I usually keep it reasonable. I am skilled at finding alternative routes or other ways to get to places I really want to be. Or, occasionally, I have to admit defeat when I know something’s beyond my technical abilities, I tell myself “It wasn’t meant to be.”
All the same, when I am hopping from slimy boulder to slimy boulder amidst a rushing stream, creeping to the edge of a precipice for a better shot (that's me in the red in the picture above - Photo: Mike Reade), hiking in the dark with just a headlamp to be somewhere at sunrise or snowshoeing through frigid fields of ice in the dead of winter, there is a chance I could suffer a debilitating injury. Nevertheless, it’s a chance I need to take - that blood pumping adrenaline rush that comes with a little danger is part of my muse, that which inspires me and makes me feel alive. And, there is the fact that I am still here to talk about it.
That said, there was this one day in Utah…
Coming soon – The Day I Almost Died, Twice.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Killarney - Rocks, Logs and Lakes (Part VII)
>>>>if you haven't already, please read parts 1 - 6 first (scroll down to the bottom), the story will make much more sense...
Killarney Rocks! I really can’t say enough about the rocks; it’s what sets the place apart. The defining La Cloche mountain range is composed mainly of beautiful white quartzite, which explains why it is still here after 3.5 billion years - it is a very hard, erosion resistant rock and only a few gemstones like ruby, sapphire, topaz and diamond are harder. Quartzite is quartz sand that has been metamorphosed (by heat and pressure.) It breaks through, not around, the quartz grains, producing smooth surfaces when broken or split instead of rough granular ones; a field of the angular slabs looks to my eye like a quarry of unfinished headstones. Quartzite rocks do not easily settle or pack making negotiating a field of the stuff tricky, it can shift under your feet at any time. Add to it that the smooth faces can be slippery (especially when wet) and you know you will need to pay attention when hiking through it.
It can be difficult to take a good photograph of a scene dominated by white quartzite because it fools the camera’s internal light meter into thinking that the scene is more brightly lit than it really is. (Same thing happens with snow pictures.) The exposure may need to be manually adjusted to compensate, which causes another problem – other elements in the scene may now be overexposed.
Killarney Rocks! I really can’t say enough about the rocks; it’s what sets the place apart. The defining La Cloche mountain range is composed mainly of beautiful white quartzite, which explains why it is still here after 3.5 billion years - it is a very hard, erosion resistant rock and only a few gemstones like ruby, sapphire, topaz and diamond are harder. Quartzite is quartz sand that has been metamorphosed (by heat and pressure.) It breaks through, not around, the quartz grains, producing smooth surfaces when broken or split instead of rough granular ones; a field of the angular slabs looks to my eye like a quarry of unfinished headstones. Quartzite rocks do not easily settle or pack making negotiating a field of the stuff tricky, it can shift under your feet at any time. Add to it that the smooth faces can be slippery (especially when wet) and you know you will need to pay attention when hiking through it.
It can be difficult to take a good photograph of a scene dominated by white quartzite because it fools the camera’s internal light meter into thinking that the scene is more brightly lit than it really is. (Same thing happens with snow pictures.) The exposure may need to be manually adjusted to compensate, which causes another problem – other elements in the scene may now be overexposed.
The other fascinating rock type in the park is pink granite. The color can range from slightly pink to a deep, almost red in places depending on how much pink potassium feldspar it contains. This stuff is sexy and I don’t just mean because of the color - it tends to weather smooth and rounded – the undulating deep pink shoreline along the Georgian Bay is particularly striking.
OK, so enough already about rocks – back to the hike. I climb out of the chasm somewhat disoriented, looking for the trail. At this point, it passes through a field of quartzite and the only trail markers here are cairns of quartzite, which of course, blend into the landscape; they can be difficult to spot. I stumble back and forth through the field, still not finding the trail. Finally, I go back to the edge of the chasm to see where the trail lines up on the other side; I see that it is about a hundred feet upstream from where I am and now I have no problem picking it up on this side. I trip back through the field of quartzite and then the trail enters the woods.
I pass by several babbling brooks; at one of them I spy the remains of an old ‘lincoln log’ type cabin – now reduced to just a few rotting notched logs. I sense some real history here, the large tree now growing in the middle is evidence it was built quite some time ago. I vow research it to learn more when I return home. (Update – I couldn’t find anything at all about it.)
Next, I pop out of the woods along the shoreline of beautiful Acid Lake. It gets its name from being one of the most naturally acidic lakes in the park causing the water to be incredibly clear, but nearly devoid of life. I was looking forward to getting here, this is one of the most scenic parts of the entire hike. The trail is sheltered by pine trees and the footing beneath is soft, pine needle duff, quite a contrast from the usual rocks and roots. The lake is not big, but is very fetching; it’s dotted with tiny islands and an impressive quartzite ridge wall rises up behind it. On a warm day, this would be a great spot to stop and lollygag; but it's decidedly not a warm day today and the wind is still blowing; I linger just long enough to take in the view while I stuff an energy bar in my mouth.
The trail then crosses the Acid Lake outlet over a steep beaver dam - a real tightrope walk. If you slip here, you will either: (a) fall into the lake or (b) fall about six feet down onto the rocks of the outlet creek. Neither one sounds like fun to me, so I pick my way across carefully. From here, the trail re-enters the woods; I walk for about five more minutes and then decide I’ve had enough for today - I want to have enough time to go into town for a shower and get back to cook dinner before dark.
Fast forward three hours: hot water and soap suds are cascading down my body washing away three days of grime and sweat - what a lovely feeling; I’ll never take a shower for granted again. Now well-scrubbed and warm, I return to my campsite in great spirits. I pour myself a glass of wine and prepare dinner in fading light. After a good hike, food always tastes delicious, it doesn’t much matter what it is. On the menu tonight is Italian sausage, squash and homegrown tomatoes – yummmm! Under the influence of clean, well-fed and a couple of glasses of wine, I decide that tomorrow morning I will attack THE CRACK. Since I want to be there for sunrise, a good portion of the hour long hike will be in the dark.
Next - “THE CRACK at Dawn”
Friday, January 2, 2009
Starting The New Year Out Right
It’s a chilly one this first morning of 2009 – two below – but, as is often the case when it’s this cold, the sky is clear and sunshine is calling me outside.
After a power breakfast of four eggs, a bowl of raisin bran with extra raisins, a banana and two cups of tea, I am off to my favorite, close-to-home escape – the Zoar Valley gorge. There isn’t much snow, most of the three feet that was on the ground here just last week melted away during a warm spell, so I won’t need snowshoes, just warm clothes and my trusty hiking boots. (My hiking boots feel like a natural extension of my feet; I rely on them completely. Whenever I am climbing a cliff, descending into a steep ravine or hopping from rock to rock to cross a creek, all with thirty pounds of camera equipment on my back, I know I can count on them to provide excellent traction and ankle-saving stability. That’s why it is so worth it to me to spend big bucks on a high quality, proper fitting pair, not to mention that, despite all the hiker miles I log, they last a long, long time - my boots truly become my good friends.)
Today I will hike the north rim trail to enjoy the numerous views, visit my Favorite Frozen Waterfalls and end up at The Throne (more about The Throne later). There are no other human footprints here, just those of the four legged variety – deer, coyote, rabbits and fox are among the ones I notice. My own private wilderness. The muddy water is roaring deep down in the canyon but otherwise it’s very quiet, not a breath of wind. One by one, I pass all my favorite landmarks: first, the Family Clump, a group of about ten large trees all seemingly sprouted from the same roots, yet with separate trunks but very close together.
Next comes the Knife Edge Ridge, an anomaly really, a lone spine of earth descending all the way down to the water below with sheer cliffs surrounding it. Why it hasn’t eroded away like everything else around it, I don’t know. The view from the top of the ridge is awesome – the serpentine gorge winds away from you in both directions and the massive fluted cliffs across the way are decorated with icicles and a dusting of snow highlighting the fluted textures.
As far as I can tell this area along the rim where the trail is has never been logged - there are some monster trees here - mostly oaks, beeches, hemlocks and a tree with deeply furrowed bark that no one that I’ve brought here has been able to definitively identify. There is one red oak that I always visit in particular; it’s so impressive - at least six or seven feet wide at its base. Somehow I can feel its vigor, its alive-ness. It has been here a long, long time - based on articles I have read, I would estimate at least three to four hundred years, six to eight times longer than I myself have been here on earth.
The footing is slippery up and down the frequent ravines, about six inches of fluffy snow hides a layer of loose leaves below and it’s easy to start sliding. At times, I find it necessary to walk sideways, using the full length of the boot sole to dig in for traction. A few times I must plunge my bare hands into the cold snow to arrest a fall.
But nothing compares to the slipperiness I will soon encounter. At the bottom of the steepest ravine is a creek featuring my Favorite Frozen Waterfalls. They’re my favorite not because they’re big - they aren’t, just a few feet tall, nor because there’s anything really unusual about them, they are certainly pretty in a diminutive sort of way, but because in winter, beautiful ice formations form on and around them, especially after a thaw then a quick re-freeze like happened in the last couple of days.
It’s treacherously slippery down here and I’ve forgotten to bring my new Kahtoola Microspikes (think ice chains for the feet, you slip them on over your boots when you need them.) And besides the slickness, the ice isn’t very thick, just a skin really, and I break through each time I try to cross it, coming dangerously close to getting a hot foot – or a very cold foot in this case - definitely not recommended when it’s this frigid out.
Despite the dangers, I manage to move around enough to shoot a roll of film, then cross the stream and move on to my last stop for the day – The Throne. The Throne is my name for a large, flat rock that juts out of the side of a cliff - the best seat in the house. Perfectly sized for a couple of rear ends and backpacks, the 270 degree view of the river and cliffs is breathtaking. In the summer, it’s safe to reach and there is no better place in my estimation than here for a little back-of-the-beyond picnic. Today however, the throne is covered with snow and I don’t want to get too close to the edge when it’s this slippery, so I take in the view standing about ten feet back.
By now the sun is getting low in the sky (short days this time of year!) and it’s time to begin the hike back. I amble slowly, not really wanting to leave this paradise. I take in all the same views and admire all the same landmarks that I did coming in - I never tire of them. When I pop my head out of the woods at the beginning of the trail, I see the sky is aglow with a beautiful sunset - a most fitting end to this little adventure – I feel I’ve started out this New Year right!
After a power breakfast of four eggs, a bowl of raisin bran with extra raisins, a banana and two cups of tea, I am off to my favorite, close-to-home escape – the Zoar Valley gorge. There isn’t much snow, most of the three feet that was on the ground here just last week melted away during a warm spell, so I won’t need snowshoes, just warm clothes and my trusty hiking boots. (My hiking boots feel like a natural extension of my feet; I rely on them completely. Whenever I am climbing a cliff, descending into a steep ravine or hopping from rock to rock to cross a creek, all with thirty pounds of camera equipment on my back, I know I can count on them to provide excellent traction and ankle-saving stability. That’s why it is so worth it to me to spend big bucks on a high quality, proper fitting pair, not to mention that, despite all the hiker miles I log, they last a long, long time - my boots truly become my good friends.)
Today I will hike the north rim trail to enjoy the numerous views, visit my Favorite Frozen Waterfalls and end up at The Throne (more about The Throne later). There are no other human footprints here, just those of the four legged variety – deer, coyote, rabbits and fox are among the ones I notice. My own private wilderness. The muddy water is roaring deep down in the canyon but otherwise it’s very quiet, not a breath of wind. One by one, I pass all my favorite landmarks: first, the Family Clump, a group of about ten large trees all seemingly sprouted from the same roots, yet with separate trunks but very close together.
Next comes the Knife Edge Ridge, an anomaly really, a lone spine of earth descending all the way down to the water below with sheer cliffs surrounding it. Why it hasn’t eroded away like everything else around it, I don’t know. The view from the top of the ridge is awesome – the serpentine gorge winds away from you in both directions and the massive fluted cliffs across the way are decorated with icicles and a dusting of snow highlighting the fluted textures.
As far as I can tell this area along the rim where the trail is has never been logged - there are some monster trees here - mostly oaks, beeches, hemlocks and a tree with deeply furrowed bark that no one that I’ve brought here has been able to definitively identify. There is one red oak that I always visit in particular; it’s so impressive - at least six or seven feet wide at its base. Somehow I can feel its vigor, its alive-ness. It has been here a long, long time - based on articles I have read, I would estimate at least three to four hundred years, six to eight times longer than I myself have been here on earth.
The footing is slippery up and down the frequent ravines, about six inches of fluffy snow hides a layer of loose leaves below and it’s easy to start sliding. At times, I find it necessary to walk sideways, using the full length of the boot sole to dig in for traction. A few times I must plunge my bare hands into the cold snow to arrest a fall.
But nothing compares to the slipperiness I will soon encounter. At the bottom of the steepest ravine is a creek featuring my Favorite Frozen Waterfalls. They’re my favorite not because they’re big - they aren’t, just a few feet tall, nor because there’s anything really unusual about them, they are certainly pretty in a diminutive sort of way, but because in winter, beautiful ice formations form on and around them, especially after a thaw then a quick re-freeze like happened in the last couple of days.
It’s treacherously slippery down here and I’ve forgotten to bring my new Kahtoola Microspikes (think ice chains for the feet, you slip them on over your boots when you need them.) And besides the slickness, the ice isn’t very thick, just a skin really, and I break through each time I try to cross it, coming dangerously close to getting a hot foot – or a very cold foot in this case - definitely not recommended when it’s this frigid out.
Despite the dangers, I manage to move around enough to shoot a roll of film, then cross the stream and move on to my last stop for the day – The Throne. The Throne is my name for a large, flat rock that juts out of the side of a cliff - the best seat in the house. Perfectly sized for a couple of rear ends and backpacks, the 270 degree view of the river and cliffs is breathtaking. In the summer, it’s safe to reach and there is no better place in my estimation than here for a little back-of-the-beyond picnic. Today however, the throne is covered with snow and I don’t want to get too close to the edge when it’s this slippery, so I take in the view standing about ten feet back.
By now the sun is getting low in the sky (short days this time of year!) and it’s time to begin the hike back. I amble slowly, not really wanting to leave this paradise. I take in all the same views and admire all the same landmarks that I did coming in - I never tire of them. When I pop my head out of the woods at the beginning of the trail, I see the sky is aglow with a beautiful sunset - a most fitting end to this little adventure – I feel I’ve started out this New Year right!
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