Baja, Chihuahua, Victorio Statue, El Magnifico Misses An Opportunity

Since my last entry the Water Buffalo was cured of it's ills and I crossed over into Mexico.

The Buffalo was diagnosed with a fuel starvation problem caused by a bad ECU (the main engine control computer). The ECU would occasionally stop sending a signal to the fuel injectors, resulting in the cutting out which I was experiencing. The cure was replacement of the ECU. Apparently this is a common problem on these engines. The shop had a collection of these ECUs, all of them labeled with "cuts out or "stops running." Fortunately there's a shop in Los Angeles which refurbishes these units. Unfortunately, the part cost almost $1000. So far the problem hasn't recurred.

After stopping to acquire Mexican auto insurance and exchange dollars for pesos I crossed into Tijuana. Crossing the border wasn't what I had expected to be. I didn't have to stop or speak with anyone. I hardly even slowed down. I wondered if I somehow managed to slip through some place where I should have stopped. It seemed odd that the Mexican government wouldn't at least want to know who's entered the country, or have a chance to inspect incoming vehicles for contraband. I later discovered that I was supposed to have stopped and picked up a tourist visa. After paying a fine I later obtained a visa and a temporary vehicle import permit in La Paz.

After crossing I headed south on the main highway that runs along the length of the Baja peninsula. For the first 50 miles or so the highway is basically an interstate. After that however, it turns into a shoulder-less two lane road, filled with cars, 18 wheelers, buses, and RVs from north of the border (especially, it seemed, Canada). Driving on the road brought back pleasant memories of traveling to Mexico with my parents and siblings. Before my father died we travelled regularly to Mexico in an old van along a very similar highway. Us kids would play games and sleep on the floor while my parents took turns driving. It was a bit of shock to suddenly realize that, many years later, I once again was on a narrow Mexican road in an old van which I slept in. I had always looked forward to those childhood trips because I knew that at the end there were a bunch of cousins (there were twelve children on my mother's side) to play with.

More pleasant childhood memories came rushing back when I took a dip into the Pacific Ocean on a deserted stretch of beach I'd found. When I was a kid growing up in Texas my parents often took us to the nearby beach. I always enjoyed playing in the sand, but even more I enjoyed getting tossed around by the surf. I remember being very disappointed when I moved to Oregon and discovered that the ocean water was too cold to wade in. I ended up spending the night on the beach. Early the next morning five men showed up in a beat up truck and began picking up stones from the beach. After getting dressed I asked one fellow what they did with the stones. He said they sold them in a nearby town, from which they were shipped to Tijuana, where they were sold for use in the construction business. Picking up rocks seems like a pretty thin living, but I suppose they weren't in a position to pick and choose how they made their living.

On my way down the peninsula I took a detour to visit San Pedro Martir National Park. This park has the highest peak on the peninsula. The peak's name is El Pichado del Diablo (The Devil's Peak). I think it's a bit over 10,000 ft in height. I went on a three day backpacking trip, intending to summit the peak. I was surprised to find snow, water ice, forests with tall stands of cedar, and outcroppings of grey granite. The scenery bore an uncanny resemblence to parts of southern Idaho I'd visited earlier in my travels. I wasn't certain at the time, but I don't think I managed to summit El Diablo. After backtracking multiple times and trying various routes I managed to get to the top of a peak which looked like it could be the highest peak in the area. There was a pen at the top but no register. From the top I could see the Bay of California to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west. I gradually came to the realization that I didn't know where I was, wished I had the Nav Unit with me, and backtracked all the way back to the Buffalo. On the way back I saw a sign for an astronomical observatory. I figured it was worth a visit. After parking at a locked gate I hiked up to a building which housed a large optical telescope. It was from there that I finally saw El Diablo. It definitely was not the peak I had gone up. It was an impressive looking peak, reminiscent of some of the peaks I saw in the Idaho Sawtooths. I briefly considered making another attempt, but I couldn't identify a route from that vantage point, so I figured I'd most likely get lost again. I headed back towards the highway.

Continuing south, the highway cut inland into a vast desert filled with cacti. I spent a couple of days in the desert practicing animal trapping (didn't catch anything) before continuing on. After the inland desert the road briefly followed the Pacific coast. On a dirt road off the highway I found a hidden lagoon with a few fishing boats, a shack, and two trucks. I intended to stay for a couple of days and explore a bit, but I soon got myself stuck in the sand. How uncharacteristic of a water buffalo to be stuck in the mire, I thought. Seeing my predicament, a man drove out from the shack and spent the better part of his afternoon helping to get me out. His name was Narcisso. He was an older fellow, so I took to calling him "Don Narcisso" ("Don" being a title of respect). Afterwards he invited me to his shack for coffee. His shack was about the size of my van and was made out of old pieces of plywood, tin sheets, and pieces of plastic. I hung out with him for a couple of days, sharing coffee, chatting about various topics, and exchanging stories from our lives. He had been a fisherman for forty years, but couldn't work anymore because his knees had given out. He said making a living as a fisherman had become very difficult anyway. Too many fishermen and not enough fish, he explained. He now spent five days a week living in the shack to watch over the fishing boats while their owners were home for the evening. He never asked me for anything despite the trouble I'd put him through and refused to accept anything from me when I offered.

Soon after the lagoon the highway headed east, eventually reaching the eastern coast of the peninsula. A bit before reaching the east coast the highway passed near the town of San Ignacio. I stopped there to check out a campground which a Canadian fellow who I'd earlier met had recommended. He said he would be there. I've taken to avoiding places which require paying for a spot to spend the night (a practice which I learned is known as "boondocking" amongst the RV crowd), but it sounded like a good deal and an idyllic setting. It was indeed an idyllic setting. San Ignacio is a literal oasis in the desert. A desert spring had been dammed up, creating a small lake surrounded by reeds and palm trees. The campground was right on the lake. The Canadian fellow was there as promised. The campground was owned by a different ex-pat Canadian. It wasn't quite as good a deal as I'd been lead to believe, but considering what was included (use of a kayak, showers, WiFi, an excellent breakfast, and a real bed) it was pretty good living for the money.

The next day I reached the town of Santa Rosalia and for the first time saw the Bay of California (also called the Sea of Cortez) up close. Santa Rosalia wasn't much to my liking (it's an old industrial town), so I continued on. Later I would return to Santa Rosalia to take the ferry across the bay. The highway stays near the east coast for a good stretch. I spent a couple of days on some empty beaches between Mulege and Loreto before continuing on towards Loreto.
Near Loreto I met a Czech fellow (now living in Denver) named George. I ended up parking the Buffalo next to him and his wife's camp site. They were living out of their van, like I was. The day before I met George his wife had caught their van on fire. It actually looked pretty bad. A rear interior quarter panel had turned into a molten pile of plastic and she had suffered burns on her hands. Luckily she'd managed to put out the fire before the whole van was engulfed. Some of the wiring had been burned through, resulting in various electrical problems. I spent a morning playing electrical engineer and repaired the electrical system. They really appreciated this and often invited me over for dinner during the remainder of my stay there. George and I also went on a hike up a canyon together.

Later I went on a backpacking trip up into the same canyon I'd day hiked with George. I really enjoyed the canyon. It contained a series of minature oases formed by pools in the rock. There were occasional water falls and places where the water had worn a natural water slide into the rock. I dropped down some of the water slides into the pools. One night I had my first bivy of the entire trip. I managed to get lost and was unable to find my way to camp before it got dark. All I had were shorts, a t-shirt, and a fleece, all of which were mostly wet. My night out reminded of one of the definitions of a bivy: A place where you lie down and shiver for the night. It wasn't the most pleasant night of my life, but I managed to get by.

The place where I purposely spent the night was much nicer. I'd found the perfect spot under a garage sized boulder. The ground here was fine sand. It conformed very nicely to my body. Since it was under a monolith of rock it was dry. Further into the little cave under the boulder there was a perfect spot for a fire. Moving away from the cave but still under the boulder (thus affording protection from the rain) was a bunch of dried plant matter which I used as fuel for the fire. I slept between the fire and the fuel. No need for a bivy sack here. Even the sleeping bag seemed superfluous. When the fire got low all I had to do was move the fuel from one side of my body to the other. I found a few plants nearby that were edible. Some of them were actually pretty tasty.

On the hike back to the van I ran into some construction workers. They looked rather menacing at first. One of them had two tools that looked like ice picks in his hands. He initiated a conversation with me, asking me for a cigarette. Later another five or six crossed to my side of the street, one of them with a machete in his hand. We started chatting. They asked me all kinds of questions, mostly about what I'd been doing. I suggested that we stage a photo, with them holding the machete and picks in a threatening fashion. I would then send the photo and an email to friends and family, claiming that I'd been kidnapped. If anyone sent ransom money I'd split it with them. They all had a good laugh from it. I would have taken the photo if my camera hadn't run out of batteries. When I left I promised to return on the next working day to show them some of the photos. I did return, but I forgot to take a ransom photo. I think they enjoyed my visits. At least, it was a good excuse to stop working. Not that they needed an excuse. Even by their own account, they weren't actually doing much in the way of work.

After visiting the construction workers I continued south. I stopped in La Paz (where I fixed my permit situation), Cabo San Lucas (at the very southern tip of the Baja peninsula), and Todos Santos. Of these three I spent the most time in Todos Santos. This was a charming town on the Pacific side. It was a surfing hot spot. I mountain biked, hiked, and got into the water again. From Todos Santos I headed back north to Loreto. I had bought a dingy from the Czech fellow. I called it the "Sea Hawk" since that's what was printed on it. I rowed it out to an island, taking snorkeling gear along with a homemade spear. The water was very clear, and there were a lot of sea critters to see. It was like swimming in a giant tide pool. Despite all the creatures I didn't manage to spear anything. I had wanted to paddle further out and spend more nights on another island, but the on day I had set for this the wind had picked up and the sea got pretty rough. As it was, I'd had problems with the Sea Hawk's oars. They kept coming apart, usually at inopportune moments. It seemed like a bad idea to head out in such seas with the craft I had, so I packed up and headed north, returning to Santa Rosalia.

I planned on taking the ferry to the mainland (specifically, to the city of Guaymas) from there. The ferry was docked when I arrived. It's departure was delayed by two days due to rough seas. The ferry ride lasted about 13 hours, the first half in rough seas. The ferry was an old Norwegian vessel, originally designed for short river trips. Like many things in Mexico, it was being used for a purpose that it had not been intended for.

From the port of Guaymas I headed inland to the city of Hermosillo, then east across the state of Sonora, towards the city of Chihuahua. On my way to Chihuahua I planned on stopping for a few days in Copper Canyon, a national park. I had always thought that this part of Mexico was all desert. Guaymas and Hermosillo certainly were, but as I headed east the road gained elevation, eventually reaching the highlands of central Mexico. The desert gave way to pine forests, rivers, and waterfalls. There were patches of snow and ice on the roads. Before reaching Copper Canyon the Buffalo began overheating. I found two leaks in the cooling system. A local mechanic, who everyone referred to as "El Maestro" (the master), managed to fix the leaks using plastic cement and silicone. He charged me the equivalent of nine dollars (plus a few beers we split after he was done) and had me on my way the same day. An American mechanic would have wanted to replace the parts and would have charged me at least $100. I admired this fellow's resourcefulness. The last thing he was going to do was replace a part, which given my remote location would have taken many days to obtain. Even if the repair later fails it at least allowed me to reach a major city where parts are easier to come by.

With the leaks fixed, I continued on to Copper Canyon. The park is located in the highlands, and is actually a series of interconnected canyons, with many waterfalls, fast running rivers, and a few lakes and hot springs. It's a popular park. I hadn't seen any non-Mexicans since leaving the ferry four days earlier, but they were present in the park in spades. I explored the area on mountain bike, sometimes leaving the bike to hike through the rougher bits. Many Tarahumara indians live in the area. I often came across them and their remote habitations during my explorations. Some of them live in caves and rock overhangs that have been walled off. The Wikipedia article on the Tarahumara is pretty interesting. They are known for their ability to run extremely long distances. They practice a form of hunting which involves running after game until the animal becomes too exhausted to stay ahead of the hunter.
I would have liked to take a backpacking trip in Copper Canyon, but I wanted to be back in the US by mid February, which only allowed for a few days in the park. The canyons aren't as impressive as the Grand Canyon, but it's a pretty park nonetheless, and the Tarahumara added a unique aspect to the visit. Somehow I managed to miss seeing the 800 ft waterfall, the tallest in Mexico.

After Copper Canyon I headed for Chihuahua, a large city almost due south of El Paso, Texas. It was here that I found a statue of my namesake, apparently an Apache hero from the past who only had a first name. I also found a poster announcing a Mexican wrestling match, which is the photo at the top of this entry. I'd been looking for these throughout my stay in Mexico, hoping that I could find an event that offered an amateur night where El Magnifico could make his wrestling debut. Unfortunately the event announced in the poster had already been held. I'll have more chances when I return to Mexico in the spring. From Chihuahua it was a few hour's drive to the border crossing. I crossed the Rio Grande into Texas at Presidio, just west of Big Bend National Park, which is my next destination. I'm planning on spending a week or two in the park. I'd like to do some backpacking and might also pull out the Sea Hawk and float it down the Rio Grande.

Baja photos are here. Photos from Chihuahua and Copper Canyon are here. There's also a set of photos of vultures striking various poses here.

Hanging Out With The Boys

Well, I'm still recovering from the visitations of The Boys From Oregon. I hung out with Matt near Phoenix for a day. After that I drove to Palm Springs, California to pick up Al and Chris at the airport. We went off to Joshua Tree National Park for five days. While I was in the neighborhood I also visited Alex Nieto, an engineer who used to work for me back at HP.

I met Matt at his parent's house early on a Sunday evening. Matt was there with his wife Jasmine and their girl Avery. They were visiting Matt's parents over the holidays. Matt's sister, her husband Luis, and their boys were also there. The one night I spent there was pretty luxurious living. I floated around in a heated swimming pool, often sipping a glass of wine and consuming a variety of hour d'earves. Between stretches of catching up with Matt I played with the kids in the pool. Matt's mom and dad came by every now and then to top off our glasses and plates. Later in the evening I told stories from my trip.

The next day Matt, Luis, and I did a long day hike to the summit of Superstition Mountain. We started out in a wash, eventually heading up a canyon through a forest of Saguaro cactus. The trail was rough and steep but we eventually reached a high valley. From there we traversed, reaching a ridge. The ridge lead to a patch of rock pinnacles which marked the summit. The valley actually contained patches of ice and some standing water. Matt had hauled up a rope, so we decided to attempt one of the pinnacles. Matt lead up a short but highly exposed pinnacle. I followed in sandals while Luis took our photos. It was a sunny, bright day, apparently typical of Phoenix this time of year. All too soon we had to start down.

Throughout our hike, Matt, Luis, and I had discussed all the ways in which the various pointy plants could hurt us. I think the one we feared the most was a broad leaf yucca. These things remind me of a sea urchin, but on a larger scale. They were armed with large, blade-like leafs that came to a needle sharp point. We decided that falling on these leaves would be like falling on the end of a very sharp broadsword. It wouldn't be good. Luckily, we mostly avoided falling on the nasties. Near the end of the hike, however, Matt somehow fell on virtually flat ground, opening a massive gash on his hand in the process. Shortly after that we ran into a tarantula. We were back to the van by mid afternoon. I dropped off Matt and Luis, said goodbye to everyone, and headed for Palm Springs to pick up Chris and Al at the airport.

Things actually went very well. I picked up the boys and then headed for J-Tree. By midnight, on the first day of the new year, we had just crossed the park boundary. We found a place to park, fell asleep, woke up the next morning, then headed into the nearby town for breakfast. We had huevos rancheros cooked by a Cambodian lady and got pretty much what you would have expected. At least she also loaded us up with some New Year's Day "lucky beans." They were actually pretty good. Reminded me of tapioca. Since we'd just had our lucky beans we felt ready to try some of J-Tree's famous rock crags. Mostly we top roped on this first day. Despite not having rock climbed in quite a while, Chris pulled off some impressive moves on a higher grade route. After burning out our arms on the rock we found another campsite in the park and settled down for our second night.

Soon after parking the van the boys pulled out multiple slabs of high grade beef cuts from their luggage and proceeded to cook them. The boys thought this would be a surprise for me, but it was in fact all too predictable. Truth is, when you're with Chris and Al, eating well is an expectation. Really, its even more than an expectation. Its a state of existence. If you are ever for one moment not eating well, or don't feel like you're full, something has gone very wrong. The most likely explanation is that you are no longer with Chris and Al.

It was with this in mind that I had taken on the task of outfitting the crew for a three day, two night excursion into the desert. The only way this was going to happen was if we went "slow and fat." This means hauling lots of food and plenty of fuel. We made final preparations the morning after our steak-fest night. I took it as a positive sign when Chris suggested that there was no need for me to pack in the one liter bottle of El Tapatio hot sauce. A park ranger had really spooked the crew about water. She stated very authoritatively that there was no water on our route and that we would have to haul all of our water in. She also suggested that we do a day hike instead. We kept to our plan, but we went really heavy on the water. I think I hauled in about two gallons.

The plan called for us to hike to the top of Quail Peak, the highest point in the park. We started by hiking along a sandy plain through a forest of Joshua Trees. Chris quickly became the navigator, earning the nickname "Nav Unit." After a few miles on the plain, the Nav Unit directed us into a gradually steepening canyon. This canyon turned out to be full of water, both standing and running. It even contained ice, along with plants which are typically found in bogs. We joked that we should worry more about drowning and over-hydration than dying of thirst. Our first camp was set up in this canyon. Smoked oysters and water crackers were served as appetizers. The main course was tuna and couscous cooked in oyster sauce. The boys seemed pleased, so I called it a success. In celebration, I was christened the self propelled FMU (Food Management Unit).

After breakfast the next morning we started for the summit and reached it around noon. It was overcast but we still had a nice view of most of the park along with the surrounding peaks. We decided to further test our Nav Unit by hiking cross-country (no trail) to a mine shaft located on the map. After spending most of the day traversing we arrived at the mine. It looked pretty old, like early 1800s technology. Timbers framed the entrance. Another timber attached to an iron crank was presumably used to winch material up the shaft. This was the Lang mine, named after it's owner, Johnny Lang. After we finished inspecting the mine the Nav Unit took us down a canyon to the site of Lang's cabin. Little remained of the cabin. We camped near the site for the night. The second night's dinner was rotini and salmon garnished with fresh mozzarella cheese. I added tobasco sauce to give it a little kick. Another good meal, if I do say so myself.

The next day we woke up and continued hiking cross country, arriving back at the van in the morning. After resting a bit we attacked the rock crag next to the parking lot. Chris and I got a lot of good trad leading in. Chris again flaunted his climbing skills by making a 5.10 route look like something he could have lead. Having wasted ourselves climbing again, we headed into town for dinner. After another great meal we found a patch of desert at the outskirts of town where we spent the night. We were glad we had finished our wilderness trek earlier that day. A storm with strong winds and rain moved in that night.

On our final morning together we had another fine breakfast and then researched Johnny Lang. Turns out he was something of a troublemaker. I found a good story on him at this site. Amongst other things, Lang skimmed from his mining partners and made a habit out of killing and eating other people's animals. He also opened the first saloon in the nearby town of 29 Palms. We decided to hike in to another mine in which he had been a partner. This was the Lost Horse Mine. The weather was still nasty at the time but it was an easy hike. No doubt, the Lost Horse Mine was a bigger operation than the Lang Mine. It had machinery and a well developed water delivery system. It was during Lang's tenure as the night shift supervisor at this mine that he skimmed away some of the gold amalgam. Years later, Lang was found dead near this mine. His grave site was nearby. He'd left a note at his cabin which stated that he'd "Gone for grub." He must have been hungry as he had earlier eaten his burros. The coroner declared that he'd died of natural causes. He was in his seventies. Rumors are his fortune still lies buried out in the desert somewhere.

A couple of hours after our last hike I dropped off Chris and Al at the airport. On the way to the airport the boys christened the van the "Water Buffalo." This was in honor of Lao Tzu, an ancient Chinese philosopher and founder of Taoism. He was last seen a few thousand years ago, heading west into Tibet on top of a water buffalo. Hence the name.

Anyhow, the Water Buffalo had been acting up lately, as water buffalos often do. For a while it looked like it wasn't going to leave the airport passenger drop-off area. I decided to head to San Diego to find a good mechanic to look at it. It was the same intermittent cutting out problem it's always had, but the problem had occurred much more often during and after the J-Tree visit. I was hopeful that it could be remedied for good. As I neared San Diego I started wishing that I had the number for a tow truck. The problem got worse, to the point where it was continuously cutting out. I was doing 25 MPH on the shoulder of a twelve lane freeway at night in the middle of a rain storm, with the Buffalo backfiring regularly. It was sick for sure. I turned the hazard lights on and hoped no one would rear end me. I constantly worked the clutch and gas, coaxing the Buffalo to keep moving. I kept whispering to it: "Just a little bit further." I coasted into the shop's parking lot (the engine had died) on a Sunday night.

While I was in the neighborhood I visited with Alex. He'd just returned from his honeymoon. The married life and the new job both seem to be treating him well. We made plans to get together for a climbing trip once I've returned to Oregon.

Right now I'm waiting for the Buffalo to come up in the repair queue. Meanwhile I've been exploring San Diego by foot and tram. This morning I got a citation from the local transit police. I had purchased a two trip ticket, but it turns out its only valid on the day of purchase (which was the day before). As he was writing up the citation the officer asked me what my address was. I told him I'm living in a van. I read the citation after he handed it to me and noticed that under the address section it said "transient."

It was good to see the boys from Oregon. I enjoyed meeting Matt's parents and thank them for their hospitality. The desert trek with Chris and Al was memorable. The most interesting aspect for me was seeing Chris and Al come to the realization that the desert isn't as inhospitable a place as it's generally made out to be. I think Matt has realized this as well. It was a realization I had experienced myself only a few months ago when I first ventured into the desert. For sure, you want to keep your guard up, but all of those trips into the northwest's mountains still count for a lot. The desert has its own brand of beauty to offer and I think we all saw that as well. I really enjoyed the trad climbing too. One of my goals for my year off was to become a better trad climber. The time at J-Tree went a long way towards increasing my confidence leading on trad. Hopefully I'll be able to meet up with the boys again some time before my trip ends.

As soon as the Buffalo's been cured of it's ills and I've stocked up on some supplies I'll be crossing into Mexico. The ice climbing trip to Colorado with Tim is off, but we may still get together in the spring. As a result, I'm unconstrained until mid March. By then I'll need to be back at my sister's place in Texas to help with the bakery start-up. I plan on heading down the Baja peninsula, eventually taking a ferry across the Sea of Cortez to the Mexican mainland. After that I'll likely head east across northwestern Mexico, eventually crossing back in New Mexico or western Texas. I don't know how good my internet and cell phone access will be while I'm south of the border, so folks may not hear much from me over the next couple of months. I'll pass on a more detailed itinerary to Ann as it's developed and as communication opportunities arise. I'm looking forward to spending some time on a beach somewhere. I know I will also enjoy my time with the Mexicans.

Hope everyone had a good new year. I sure did.

Phoenix photos are here and J-Tree photos are here.

Viva Las Vegas! (and Don't Mess With Texas)

Since last time I've mostly been mountain biking and hiking around Las Vegas. The outdoor recreation opportunities near Las Vegas are surprisingly good. Just west of town, literally a two minute drive past the last suburban neighborhood, there's Red Rocks. This is a sweeping valley bordered to the west and north by colorful 1000 ft+ cliffs. Road riding is poplar on the highway that runs through the valley. There are plenty of hiking and mountain biking opportunities on old horse trails. Then there are the cliffs themselves, which are a popular rock climbing destination. Some of the routes exceed 20 pitches and require use of big wall techniques (eg sleeping in a portaledge hung on a vertical cliff). Beyond the cliffs, washes turn into canyons which lead up into a wilderness area. This a great area for wilderness backpacking. A bit further (maybe 15 minutes drive) northwest of town there is a mountain range with 11,000 peaks along it's crest. Old mule trails offer epic level mountain biking in the same area. The peaks themselves offer winter sport opportunities. There's a ski lift for downhill skiing and snowboarding, plus trails for cross country and snowshoeing. I ran into some local climbers who showed me a photo of a three pitch WI5 ice climbing route which is located in the area.

More than anything I mountain biked. I did a couple of all day rides, one of them with local riders I met. I think I actually preferred the biking in Vegas to Moab. The surface seemed to be more uniform. It's made up of packed granules of sandstone, sometimes embedded with boulders. It doesn't beat dry coastal Oregon clay, but it's pretty good. A plus is that it doesn't get ugly when its wet, which Oregon's clay often is. Most of the trails are old mule and horse trails which head out into the desert that surrounds Las Vegas. The abandoned mines along some of the trails reminded me that Nevada was and still is a place where people go looking for fortunes, but often come back with nothing. The trails spanned the range of difficulty. Some were better suited to long travel downhill bikes, but there are plenty of epic level cross-country rides as well.

While waiting for wheel repairs (I had to hike-a-bike for three hours due to mechanical problems) the mechanic told me about Bootleg Canyon, just southeast of the city. I arrived there on an early Sunday afternoon. It was pretty packed, with maybe forty vehicles in the parking lot. Bootleg Canyon is a mountain bike park, in the same vein as Blackrock near Falls City, Oregon. The trails are on either side of a canyon bottom. A road runs up the canyon bottom to the top of a peak. The canyon was used to smuggle spirits to Hoover Dam construction workers during the prohibition era, hence the name. The county owns the land and actually pays someone to maintain the trails. Part of the parking lot is paved. There is a covered picnic area next to the lot, along with flushing toilets, water fountains, vending machines, and even a dumpster for your garbage. On the weekends there's a shuttle that will run you to the top for a small fee. For sure, in terms of facilities, Bootleg is better than Blackrock. The trail surface was similar to the other Las Vegas trails. There's an extensive "stunt park" where you can practice dirt jumping, drops, and gap jumps. The trails were pretty good, but lacked the large stunts and ramps of Blackrock. My favorites were fast, roller-coaster like trails, with the occasional boulder for use as a take-off ramp. I rode here often with a couple of bikers (Louis and Brian) who I met in the parking lot. They were more novice bikers than I am, but Brian in particular got a lot better even during the time I rode with him. Brian turned out to be a pretty good (5.11) rock climber. He told me about Red Rocks and what it was like. I hinted that I'd like to go for a climb there, but I think he was really liking mountain biking, so we mostly did that.

I spent one day hiking in the Mt Charleston area I mentioned earlier in this post. I'd hoped to reach the summit of Charleston but was turned around by increasingly deep powder snow. Great for skiing, not great for hiking in leather boots without snowshoes.

I enjoyed the Las Vegas area. Besides the outdoor activities the food and lodging is cheap. The "anything goes" character of the city appeals to me. I was surprised at how diverse the population was. It seems like a place that, more than most places I've visited, represents all of humanity. Somehow they all manage to get along and run a prosperous city despite the barren environment. The city's youth probably helps. 100 years ago downtown Las Vegas was a natural oasis with no permanent human habitation. In Las Vegas, everyone is a newcomer, and there's plenty of desert for new arrivals. The city seems to exist solely because of its ability to stand out and attract attention from the rest of the world. More than any other city it's size, Las Vegas seems to me like a city founded and sustained by a single, simple idea. There's good reason that standing out in Las Vegas is more challenging than it is in most cities.

While the van remained in Las Vegas I flew to Houston for a ten day visit of family and long time friends. I left the van at the house of one of the locals I'd met in Vegas. The flight was cheap (another nice thing about Vegas) so not driving to Houston was a no brainer. It seemed like I mostly ate, slept, and talked to people while in Texas. I went on an almost daily bike ride with my six year old nephew, which I enjoyed. After telling him a Frank story I convinced him that wearing a helmet is a good idea. I met my nephew and his sister at their school one day for lunch. Inevitably, when they introduced me to their teachers and friends, the first thing they mentioned was "He eats dog" (see the "Thit Cho" story). I don't think their teachers believed them, but their friends did. Its funny to learn what my sister's kids consider to be my crowning achievement.

I also visited with Elmo, a high school buddy who is now a detective on the local police force. We tentatively planned on getting together in Colorado in late February along with another buddy. Elmo seemed to be doing okay until his in-laws arrived. After that the only place I saw him was in his driveway next to a fire pit with a beer in one hand and, more often than not, some dead animal (as Tim would say) over the fire. As a sign on Elmo's house says: "Texas Ain't For Amateurs." Elmo's wife had given him a 40" flat screen TV for Christmas. Of course, it arrived shortly after his in-laws did. As of the day I left Elmo still hadn't sat down and watched it. To make matters worse, the visit coincided with time off which Elmo had taken from work. It gets even worse (really) but I'll spare additional details. The bottom line is that, by Texas standards, the whole thing was a tragedy. If you don't feel that way then you aren't fit to live in Texas.

I enjoyed hearing Elmo's stories about the criminals he's dealt with. After hearing them I couldn't help but think how true the sign on his house really is. If you're going to commit a crime, my advice would be to stack the odds in your favor by doing it somewhere other than Texas.

While I was in Texas my sister and I spent a lot of time planning an expansion for her bakery business. We're going to turn her garage into a dedicated bakery. I'll be back in the Houston area in the spring (this time with the van) to help with the start-up. Right now I'm on my way to Phoenix. Matt is there visiting his parents. We plan on spending a day hiking in the mountains. After that I'm heading to Palm Springs, California to pick up Chris and Al. They're flying in from Oregon. We'll be spending a week rock climbing and backpacking in Joshua Tree National Park. After that I'll be heading into Baja, Mexico.

Enjoy the New Year celebrations. Recent photos are at this link. I've included the photo my mom probably doesn't want you to see.

More Canyons & Dunes

The past few weeks have become something of a blur. Moab seems like a very long time ago. I've visited so many places I'm having trouble keeping track of them all.

Since my last entry I've taken two additioal backpacking trips. The first one was along the bottom of a canyon. The canyon started out as a river bed which gradually dropped down, until the walls became fairly high. Besides the typical rock formations I came across a couple of abandoned cliff dwellings (with old corn cobs still lying about), and encountered pools of water big enough to swim in.

My next backpacking trip was into the Grand Canyon. I started out at the north rim and gradually made my way down a subsidiary canyon to the Colorado River. The trip involved a lot of elevation loss, something like 6000 ft. This trip was quite memorable. Topography-wise, the canyon I dropped into reminded me of the deep valleys I saw during my Ptarmigan traverse trip in the North Cascades. From a vantage point within the canyon, the rim, which is actually flat on top, can't be distinguished from a mountain range. Of course, there are no glaciers, but it's much colder at the top of the rim than at the bottom of the canyon. The bottom is a desert, while the rim top is a pine forest reminiscent of some of Oregon's mountain forests. There were traces of snow on the rim, and overnight temperatures on the rim were around 10 F. On the way to the bottom I passed through layers of rock which spanned most of the Earth's existence. The canyon bottom was initially dry but about a quarter of the way down a spring rushed right out of the bottom of a rock face. The lowest point was the wide, muddy Colorado River, which was spanned by a suspension bridge. Certainly, there's good reason for the Grand Canyon's popularity. My trip had been undertaken during what must have been the north rim's off season. Everything on the north rim was shut down for the year. Although it meant tolerating low temperatures, I had the north part of the park to myself. I didn't encounter anyone else until I got near the bottom, where people had hiked in from the south rim. The weather was mostly clear, with occasional high, wispy clouds.

More recently, Ann flew into Las Vegas for a visit. We went to Death Valley and Zion National Park. As most people probably know, Death Valley is the lowest point in the western hemisphere. It's extremely dry. The weather report I saw indicated less than one inch of rain year to date. Death Valley is another place with some impressive topography. Although the bottom sits below sea level, it's surrounded by peaks, some of which reach 11,000 ft. There is a good sized sand dune, many canyons, and the dry lake bed itself. As with the Grand Canyon, temperature and plant life depends mostly on elevation.

Sometime during the past few weeks I ran into a kindred spirit named Mr. Kim. I was taking photos at a park lot when I met Mr. Kim. He was walking towards me from a small group of vehicles. Mr. Kim was wearing what looked like army fatigues, including a cap. His fatigues seemed a bit too large for him. I started wondering what I had done to upset the authorities this time. Whatever it was, it must have been bad if they were sending the military after me. Mr. Kim came up to me and asked if the Westfalia (referring to my van) belonged to me. Mr. Kim had a heavy accent. I guessed he was of Korean ancestry. I noticed that the fatigues appeared to be genuine government issue. His jacket was embroidered with "U. S. Air Force" on the left and the name "Choi" on the right. The authentic looking uniform made it seem more plausible that I was in some kind of trouble. Unsure of whether I should admit to it, I told Mr. Kim that the van was mine. I was a bit relieved when he said that he also owned a VW Westfalia camper van, then proceeded to ask questions about my van.

Eventually introducing ourselves, we talked for a few hours. It turns out Mr. Kim and I had a lot in common. Mr. Kim had bought a van, left his job, and was on a road trip. He'd been on the road for three months and was now on his way home to southern California. Like me, he was doing most of the trip solo. At his wife's insistence he had bought a new van for the trip. We showed our vans to each other, exchanged stories from our trips, and shared "best practices" (good places to park your van overnight, where to get cheap food, etc.) I showed Mr. Kim photos from my trip. He was fascinated by them. Although we were both on road trips, it was clear that what I'd been doing during my trip was different than what Mr. Kim had been doing during his. At one point I said something that produced a strong reaction in Mr. Kim. It was like he had suddenly realized something. He tried to explain it to me, but I didn't fully understand what had happened. Later, bowing his head, he gave me his remaining food. I took it only because he insisted. He then requested a photo of the two of us. I accepted, but asked for a photo in exchange. After taking the photos we said our goodbyes. Mr. Kim thanked me, then bowed again, this time more formally, before returning to his van.

I've kept trying to deduce what it was I said that caused Mr. Kim's reaction and why he had reacted so strongly. I'm still bewildered as to what it was. Oh well.

Another memorable experience was spending a few days in a Navajo reservation. I guess I've never been in a large reservation. It was like visiting a foreign country, which is not what I had expected. It reminded me of trips to Mexico when I was a kid. Many of the Navajo continue to use their native language as their primary language. There were few non-Navajos in most of the reservation, so I stood out. The reservation looked more impoverished than most places I've visited in the US. I saw many street and parking lot vendors. I remember stopping at a parking lot early in the morning. Shortly after my arrival a beat up truck deposited an old Navajo woman, her grandson, a small folding table, and a folding chair. She set a bunch of jewelry out on the table and sat down, waiting for someone to purchase her wares. I assume she sits there all day most days.

I'm in Las Vegas at the moment. I'll be flying out from here in a week and a half to visit family and friends near Houston over Christmas. Between now and then I'll be exploring the wilds near the city. After returning from Texas I plan on starting my trip into Mexico.

The weather's been pretty nice in Vegas. Today was the warmest day they've had in a while. I heard that the northwest has experienced some nasty storms lately. Hopefully everyone's doing okay.

Happy holidays!

Photos from the past few weeks are here.

Biking and Climbing in Moab

Jeff arrived in Moab shortly after my last entry. We quickly caught up then proceeded to alternate our days between mountain biking and rock climbing.

We soon began to appreciate the area's main attraction: the weather. Through mostly sunny days we sampled the area's offerings of mountain bike trails and rock routes. Like most places, the quality of the trails and routes spanned the spectrum. From a purely technical standpoint, some I will not miss, others I would gladly repeat. One nice thing about many of the rides (and rock routes) is that the landscape is very open. There isn't much to block your view, and the scenery is pretty. From this standpoint, the rides and routes were mostly pleasant.

The riding surface was usually some variation of sandstone. The best riding surface was found on large monoliths of smooth sandstone the locals call "slickrock cowpies." It's a good description of what they look like. The surface is unforgiving if you fall on it, but the traction (when dry) is as good as it gets. Natural ledges in the stone turn the cowpies into a stunt park for bicycles. At the other end of the spectrum was sandstone in the form of sand. When piled up this stuff makes it feel like you're biking in molasses. It reminds me of biking in deep mud or snow. The deepest sand requires walking the bike. In between the two extremes are rocks and stones of various sizes. I got a lot of flats and wheel rim dings from our rides. I think it was a result of impacting hard surfaces with the tire. After finding the limits of Jeff's patience I started avoiding the rocks. This helped with the flats, but was less entertaining.

As with the bike trails, the rock climbing quality also varied. Neither of us had climbed harder routes in a while. We started off on lower grade routes and gradually worked our way up to a four pitch desert tower called "Castleton Tower", which was rated at 5.9. We had planned on doing this climb on Jeff's last day in town. Unfortunately, the day before our attempt we realized that we didn't have the right gear. We needed at least a couple of larger sized cams for protection. The best rock we climbed ended up being on a local crag called Wall Street. The Wall Street rock didn't have much surface texture, but it was very solid, and contained good cracks.

At the other end of the rock quality spectrum was a two pitch tower in Arches National Park called "Dark Angel". It had one route on it, also a 5.9, with a short bit of A0 aid. Like Castleton, Dark Angel is set in a scenic place. However, some of the rock on Dark Angel was horrid, especially at the start. I saw rocks instantly transform themselves into a cloud of powder when pressure was put on them. After releasing a large boulder I learned to stay off the worst stuff and be suspicious of everything I touched. Some flakes would bend visibly when I pulled on them. Jeff said leading on the bad stuff was the most scared he's been in a while. I could see why. The protection is only as good as the rock it's in. In addition to the poor quality of some of the rock, there were many moves which forced awkward body positions and squeezes. We concluded that the only reason the route existed was because it's the only way up a prominent spire. Hiking the few miles back to the van in the dark was a final (and fitting) kick in the pants from the Dark Angel.

Jeff started his return trip to Oregon this morning. It was good to catch up and spend time with him. As always, I've enjoyed exploring with Jeff. I think we both enjoy the uncertainties in life and the range of possibilities which that uncertainty entails. Good luck Jeff, whatever you do next.

As for me, I think it's time to leave the Moab area as well. I'll be meeting Ann in Las Vegas at the end of November. Between now and then I'll gradually make my way west through southern Utah and northern Arizona before heading into Vegas.

Photos from the past couple of weeks can be found here.

Cities, Arches, and Canyons of Rock, Nepalese Jewelry Peddlers

It's been a couple of weeks since my last posting so it feels like it's time for an update.

Since the last post I visited City of Rocks in southern Idaho, then drove more or less directly to Moab in southeastern Utah.

City of Rocks is a sport rock climbing area, in the same vein as Oregon's Smith Rock. Upon seeing it I thought the name was a good fit. It's kind of like the downtown of a mid sized city, but instead of buildings there's a bunch of rock formations scattered about. I'm not sure what elevation it's at but it must be fairly high, because it was snowing when I arrived in the late afternoon. The area is set in a high desert, surrounded by rolling hills which are actually rather high (~10,000 ft).

City of Rocks is in forest service land. The routes are very accessible via dirt roads and a network of trails. Some of the routes could literally be belayed from your car. There are many campsites and toilets in the area. The tiny town of Almo is within a 15 minute drive and has most of what you need.

As with the Bugaboos, the rock climbing season had pretty much wrapped up by the time I'd arrived. I saw one other party, which looked like some kind of school or guided group. I spent two days there, mostly hiking about and scrambling on some of the rock formations. I considered staying longer but took it as a sign to leave when it started drizzling on the second afternoon. I uploaded a couple of photos here.

Having spent much of the trip to date in cold alpine environments, often with snow, I was looking forward to a sunnier, dryer, and warmer climate. After yet another encounter with the authorities (they said I had parked in some kind of missile range) I arrived in Moab. The afternoon I arrived a thunderstorm came through, but since then the weather's been pretty much what I had hoped for. Most days it's been completely clear, with highs in the 70s. The sun gets just bright and hot enough to almost make me wish it weren't quite so sunny, but only for a short bit of time before it starts to cool off again. Nights are cold, around freezing, and usually clear.

Moab is at the center of a vast, year-round outdoor playground. Within an hour's drive are two national parks (Arches and Canyondlands), a 12000 ft mountain range (the LaSals), multiple sport rock climbing destinations (Indian Creek probably being the most well known), class V river rapids on the Colorado River, hundreds of miles of rough canyon roads for 4x4 off-road and ATV fans, and, of course, the famous slickrock mountain biking trails.

I've been here for a week and a half and feel like I've only scratched the surface. I was a but overwhelmed when I first arrived. There were so many possibilities it was hard to decide what to do first. I felt like a kid in a candy store. I decided to start exploring the area on foot. I spent a couple of days day hiking in the Canyondlands and in Arches. After that I went backpacking for six days, then scrambled up one of the LaSals peaks. I haven't even ridden the bike yet or pulled out my rock shoes.

Arches is a fairly small national park. The entrance is just two miles outside of Moab. It's very popular and has a very touristy, almost Disneyland-like feel to it. The main attraction is, of course, the high density of natural rock arches. All are accessible via day hikes and many don't even require that you leave your car for a good look. In the span of one long day I managed to get through all the day hikes in the park. I hiked into one arch late on a clear, moonlit night, which made it more enjoyable. It is, admittedly, a must see if you're in the area. Photos here.

Canyonlands is a larger, less popular park which is divided into two main districts. The first district I visited is called Island in the Sky. This is essentially a large mesa, mostly flat on top, about 10 x 10 miles in size, and a couple of thousand feet above the Colorado River on one side and the Green River on the other. On the south side of the island the two rivers merge. On the north side the island is connected to the "mainland" by a 40 ft wide neck, technically making the island a peninsula. The natives used to drive bighorn sheep through the neck and onto the island, making it easier to hunt them. Later, cowboys fenced off the neck, turning the island into a giant corral for cattle. On any side the island drops off steeply into canyons and water sculpted rock formations. The canyons look like photos I've seen of the Grand Canyon. The views from the top of the island are stunning.

My first backpacking trip took me on a loop, down the west side of the island to the Green River, up the Green River a bit, into a canyon heading east towards the neck, then back uphill on the north side of the island. For a region that gets less than 10 inches of rain in a year water was easier to find than I had expected. Trees seem to be a good indicator of a spring and pools sometimes lingered at the bottom of steep north facing walls. Some of the water admittedly looked and smelled rather foul, but boiling it will kill anything that might hurt you (so I hoped, anyway). The dead stuff might even be nutritious. It was on this excursion that I came across a rock formation called Zeus and Moses. These are two rock towers, the taller one with an overhanging block near the top. I hiked up to the base and noticed climbing gear on both towers. I later found route descriptions on the web. Moses, the taller one, has a route with 525 ft (eight pitches) of vertical. The descent involves three rappels on two 60 meter ropes. The route is rated a 5.11+, well beyond my abilities, but it looked like you could lower the grade by aid climbing some parts. I found a web page describing a mid air traverse someone had done between the two towers using 1200 ft of static rope. Island in the Sky photos are here.

My backcountry permit was good for a few more days. Wanting to make the most out of the $15 I paid for the permit I next headed to the Needles district of the Canyonlands. Although they're in the same park and just a few miles from each other as the crow flies, it's close to a two hour drive between the two districts.

The Needles are quite different from what I'd seen in Island in the Sky or Arches. I can only describe the rock formations as other wordly. I'd never seen anything like them, either in person or in photos. It often seemed like I was on another planet, maybe the desert planet in the Star Wars series. Like Island in the Sky and Arches, there were canyons and rock pinnacles, but the shapes were much rounder. Many of the formations looked like someone had taken different colored balls of dough, stacked them on each other, then waited a while for gravity to deform the balls into odd shapes. In some areas the formations were very regular, forming what looked to my eyes like a fortress of alien architecture. In other areas there were narrow canyons in the spaces between benches of rock, often with overhanging walls. Inside the canyons trees and plants grew. These canyons reminded me of the old TV series "Land of the Lost" because they seemed like places where you could hide dinosaurs without anyone noticing. Every now and then I'd come across Native American artwork and petroglyphs on the canyon walls. It only added to the feeling that I was in another, strange world. Hopefully the photos convey some of of what I'm trying to describe. I also uploaded a video clip. The photo at the top of this posting is from the Needles.

I later learned that these structures were formed when underlying layers of salt had deformed as a result of the weight of the sedimentary rock which had built up on top of the salt. The Island in the Sky canyons, by contrast, were formed by erosion.

I left the Needles planning on heading back to Moab. I expected to meet Jeff there the next day. Once I got a cell signal I discovered he'd left Corvallis a day later than planned. I headed in the opposite direction instead, towards the nearby town of Monticello, to pamper myself with some restaurant food after sleeping in the dirt for six days.

On the way to Monticello the van started cutting out intermittently. Since the engine wasn't completely dying I pressed on. Once I got into town the problem got worse. On leaving the local burger joint the engine finally died and refused to restart. I figured I might as well take a look at the engine and see if there was anything I could find wrong. After checking a few things I noticed that one of the vacuum hoses was in pretty sad shape. I pulled it off, put my finger over one end and sucked on the other. It definitely had a leak. I didn't really think that this was the cause of the problem but figured I needed to replace it anyway. Luckily there was a parts store just two blocks away. To my surprise the engine ran fine once I replaced the hose.

It was while eating a burger in the restaurant that I met the Nepalese jewelry peddler. She'd hit up the restaurant owner and his daughter first. Initially I thought she was a Native American conducting some business with the owner. However, when she was finished with the owner she came over to my table and introduced herself as a native of Nepal who was on a mission. Her accent was consistent with the region. I hadn't finished my food and for the moment my stomach had control of my brain, so I told her that I had no need for any jewelry before she had even finished opening her case. She then asked for a donation. Still eager to return to eating my food I gave her the first bill I pulled out of my pocket, a ten. She was still curious about something and asked me if I was familiar with Nepal. I rattled off what I knew about Nepal's recent history: For most of the current decade Marxist rebels had been fighting soldiers loyal to the Nepalese king in a bloody civil war. Recently they'd decided to stop shooting each other and were currently negotiating over the structure of a new government. She was surprised at what I knew, but still didn't leave. She then explained that in Nepal there are people who look like me (mentioning my hair) who are called hippies. She asked me if I was a hippie. I'd been living outside for a week in the same clothes, hadn't cut my hair in several months, and hadn't shaved since leaving Corvallis. I must have looked even more grimey and disheveled than I normally do. Still thinking about the rest of my food I searched for a response that would allow me to get back to eating as soon as possible. I finally told her that if I look like a hippie then, yes, I must indeed be a hippie. She thanked me for my donation then headed to the adjacent pool hall to look for more customers / donors. Later, after my stomach relinquished control of my brain I wished I had asked her what her mission was. The backwaters of Utah seem like an odd place to find a jewelry peddler from Nepal.

Since I had an extra day before Jeff arrived I decided to head to the LaSal mountain range after spending the night in Monticello. The turn off for range access is on the way back to Moab. The LaSals aren't an especially aesthetic range, at least close up. They're more like high elevation hills. There's no permanent snow on them and none of the routes have much in the way of exposure. Grass grows on the peaks almost to the summits. However, they form the backdrop for all the places I've mentioned in this blog entry, so I figured I'd might as well pay them a visit.

My original intent was to climb Mt. Peale, at 12.7k ft the highest peak in the range. After slogging up boulder fields, sometimes on all fours, and reaching a ridge line, I realized that I hadn't paid enough attention to where I was going. There was a steep rock chute immediately between me and the ridge that lead to Mt. Peale's summit. I had gone up the wrong gully. Mt. Tukuhnikivatz ("Tuku" for short) was in the opposite direction along the same ridge line. It was closer, and looked easier to reach. It's summit, 240 ft lower than Peale's, instantly became my new objective. More scrambling on boulders and a few small snow patches put me on top. The summit was marked with a wooden pole, a bivy trench dug into the boulders, what I think was a bear skull, and a pile of poop from some animal. It was pretty windy. Some ravens were hanging out just above me performing various acrobatic tricks in the sky. It was actually very majestic. It seemed as if they were surfing the wind, just for the fun of it, never flapping their wings. It was effortless. Every now and then I'd hear a loud swoosh as they dove and buzzed the summit. The things they did would put acrobatic airplane pilots to shame. I sat there and watched the air show until they headed off somewhere else. LaSal pictures are here.

As I post this entry I'm in the town of Moab. Jeff should be arriving later today. We'll be rock climbing and mountain biking in the area and will likely go back to the Needles for more backpacking. I should be in the Moab vicinity for at least a couple more weeks. There's still much to explore here, and it's hard to complain about the weather given the time of year.

Phantom Glaciers, Senior Climbers, Sawtooths, & Illegal Immigrants

Since my last entry I've visited Glacier National Park in western Montana and the Sawtooth Range in southern Idaho.

After successfully avoiding jail time in two countries I arrived at the eastern entrance of Glacier. There I learned that the road which cuts through Glacier was closed for maintenance. I had hoped to cross Glacier through this road. I quickly decided, mostly due to the immediately bad weather (see previous blog entry, Canadian police encounter section) to drive around the south end of the park and enter on the west side. While having breakfast in a small town on my route I learned that the wind storm had reached speeds of over 50 MPH overnight. The record wind speed for the area was around 110 MPH. Yikes! I thought only hurricanes and tornadoes reached such speeds in places other than high mountains.

Soon enough, I reached the west end of Glacier. My first stop after a night's sleep was the backcountry permit office. After describing my intended route, which involved backpacking to the continental divide, the ranger refused to give me a permit. He said there was too much snow on my route and that it would very likely snow more while I was out. It was overcast and raining at the time, snowing higher up, and the forecast called for more of this. Nonetheless, I was pretty upset at his response. I may never have the chance to visit this place again, I could always turn around if conditions warranted, and, after all, I had the most to lose from the venture. I took him up on his suggestion to check out conditions for myself (I think maybe he considered it a test) by doing a day hike to higher elevations. I picked out Mt. Brown, an 8500 ft peak with almost a mile of elevation gain. I got to within a few hundred feet of the top before turning around due to waist deep snow. Not for the first time I wished I had thrown my snowshoes in the van before leaving Corvallis. In any case, the divide was at a lower elevation, so I figured I could still get to it.

The next morning I showed up at the permit office, prepared with redundant arrays of arguments for why I should be granted a permit. My preparations proved to be unnecessary since there was a different ranger at the office. This time I made no mention of the continental divide and was granted a permit.

I did make the continental divide, although the snow was almost as deep as Mt. Brown. It was overcast and snowing or raining for most of my outing, so I didn't get to see much. My best day weather-wise was the day I hiked up Mt. Brown. On this outing I had decided to try my luck at fishing and trapping. Why buy food and haul it in on your back when there's food all around you? I didn't have a fishing pole with me so I made one. For trapping I made a snare out of dental floss, webbing, and some sticks whittled with a knife. A sapling served as the spring. I used peanut butter for bait. I set it up three times. Each time the peanut butter was eventually gone but the snare hadn't tripped. I'll need to make the trap more sensitive if I hope to catch anything. I think the problem was with how I had whittled the sticks and maybe also the angle of the pull from the sapling. I had similar luck with fishing, but I think the problem there was with the lure.

I have to say that Glacier was somewhat disappointing. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the fact that I had just visited the Canadian Rockies. The Canadian Rockies peaks seemed similar to Glacier's. Despite the name I didn't see any glaciers. I have heard that Glacier's glaciers have retreated substantially. After picking up the van's newly minted duplicate title in Kalispell I headed for the Sawtooths. Glacier photos are here.

The weather looked much more promising as I headed for Stanley, Idaho. The skies were blue and the climate became dryer, reminiscent of central Oregon. I passed through the towns of Victor, Elmo, and Corvallis, all in Montana. Soon enough I reached Stanley. Stanley is a tiny town (the city limits sign claimed a population of 100) located just northeast of the Sawtooth range at the north end of a broad valley. Surprisingly it had a public library, and even more surprisingly it had free wireless internet service.

It was while I was at the library looking for a Sawtooths guidebook that I met Bob Dargatz. Bob is a retired structural engineer, lifelong climber, and all around athlete who lives just outside of Stanley. At the age of 82 he still makes multi-day backpacking trips (often as a guide) into the Sawtooths and climbs 10,000+ ft peaks. He invited me over to his place to pick up a guidebook and map of the area. The Sawtooths were literally in his back yard. He said he typically left from his house when traveling into the Sawtooths.

Bob had a wealth of information on the Sawtooths. He gave me his guidebook, saying he'd just ordered the second edition, and his well worn USGS topo map of the north end of the range. The map was especially valuable, since Bob had marked climbing routes, alpine trails, good camping spots, and a secret hot spring on it. None of this information was in the guidebook or in the available maps. Judging by the fact that some of the routes on Bob's map were not mentioned in the guidebook I think he had put up some new routes. After sharing photos of our forays into the peaks Bob went on to tell various stories from his life. We spent the afternoon and evening together, forgetting to eat. I especially enjoyed hearing Bob's stories about World War II. He had served in the army, first in the Philippenes and then as part of the occupation force after Japan surrendered. For someone of my age, WWII can often seem like the distant past. Hearing vivid accounts directly from someone who had lived it made the war seem much more real. It turns out that Bob has ties to Corvallis. Prior to shipping out to the Pacific he had spent time in Camp Adair, just north of Corvallis. After the war he returned to attend Oregon State. While attending OSU he met and married a local woman. He has a brother in law in Philomath, just outside of Corvallis. Bob invited me to spend the night. Not having slept in a real bed since leaving Corvallis, I readily accepted. The hot shower was nice too. After breakfast the next day we parted ways, having exchanged contact information.

Now, about the Sawtooths. Sawtooths is a good name for the range. They're quite jagged looking, reminiscent of the North Cascades, but even more jagged. The range is contained entirely within the Sawtooths Wilderness Area. The wilderness designation means that the Tooths are well preserved. By law, no man made structures (other than trails and trail signs) are allowed in the area. There are no prepared campsites, you just camp wherever looks like a good spot. The only way in is by foot or by stock (horse, mule, donkey). The marked trails are well maintained. The area runs 32 miles north to south and 20 miles east to west. It has 33 peaks which are over 10,000 ft in height. Unlike the North Cascades the Sawtooths don't appear to have any glaciers of significant size, no doubt a result of the drier climate. Although it's studded with alpine lakes and rivers the valleys in the Sawtooths aren't as gouged out and fjord-like as in the North Cascades. This makes access and movement within the area easier, at least relatively speaking. The rock is pink and gray granite. The summit routes span the range of difficulty, from walk-ups to aid climbs. Judging by the guidebook, some of the peaks have only been climbed using aid techniques. Many of the peaks certainly look quite formidable. Warbonnet Peak, which seemed to be one of the most difficult peaks in the area, is an overhanging blade of rock shaped like a shark fin. The guide book says that you can drop a rock from it's summit and not hear it hit anything for nine seconds.

I spent six days in the wilderness. My arrival late in the season meant that there was snow covering many of the peaks, but it wasn't as deep as in Glacier or the Canadian Rockies. It snowed a couple of the days I was out but the last two days I enjoyed completely clear weather. I attempted two peaks, reached the summit of one, and visited some of Bob's unmarked trails.

The climb up the peak which I didn't summit (Mt. Regan) reminded me of Oregon's Three Finger Jack or Mt. Washington. Most of it was a scramble up a ridge, with the most difficult part saved for the last few hundred feet on the summit block. After arriving at the base of the summit block I went up what I later realized was the wrong route. I kept going up until I got to the point where I didn't think I could make further moves up, much less downclimb. Probably I went further than I should have. The proximity of the summit had suckered me in. Downclimbing what I'd gone up proved to be rather nerve racking. The fight was on in my mind. Panic was a beast making lunges at it's prey, while calm was the sword which beat back the beast's thrusts. Mostly calm won out, but the beast had it's moments.

Upon reaching safer ground I pulled out the guide book and realized that I had misunderstood the route description. The described route continued around the east side of the summit block, traversing along an exposed ledge on the northeast face. The traverse was filled with snow and I had left my ice axe and crampons in the van. It was clear from the description that the route is normally exposed rock. I gingerly made my way along the traverse, not entirely sure of what was supporting me. At the end of the traverse it looked like the route went up into a shallow diagonal couloir, which was also filled with snow. After contemplating the matter for a good while I decided to abandon the attempt. The second peak was a walk in the park by comparison. The route was obvious and the most difficult section had no snow or ice on it. The photo at the top of this entry is Mt. Regan reflected in Sawtooth Lake on one of the sunny mornings. More Sawtooth photos are here.

The Sawtooths was another place I would have liked to stay at longer, but my food ran out and besides, I had to get to an Oregon DMV before my trip permit expired. I hope to return some day to visit Bob and the Sawtooths again.

Speaking of the van, I picked up permanent Oregon plates in Ontario, Oregon, just across the border from Idaho. They're mounted now. It's nice to have the DMV odyssey over with. The only outstanding item with respect to the van is the permanent Oregon title. Ann should be getting it in the mail within 30 days. I'll probably just have her carry it with her when we she flies down to visit in early December.

Ontario was an interesting place. To say the least, I'm sure its far from the top of anyone's list of "must see" destinations. Its main claim to fame would probably be it's plethora of agricultural processing factories. There were many Hispanics there. I almost felt like I was somewhere in Mexico. While at an auto parts store I met a Guatemalan fellow. He worked in an onion processing factory for $8.65 an hour. He said it would take three months of work in Guatemala to make what he makes in a day working in the US. He asked me where I lived and what my job was like. He thought that he had a pretty good job but I think he wanted to see if things were better where I was. I told him that I lived on the other side of the state, in Corvallis. He said that he stays away from that part of the state (referring, I think, to the Willamette Valley) because its less friendly to undocumented workers and he's afraid of being deported. His family is still in Guatemala and they are dependent on the money he sends home. He was looking forward to returning to Guatemala soon and seeing his family, apparently for the first time in two years. On his next trip to the US he plans to bring his son (who just turned 18) with him so he can work here as well. After I told him where I lived he no longer seemed interested in what my job was like. He probably wouldn't have believed what I would have said anyway. He thanked me for translating between him and and the store's clerk, shook my hand, then took off in a van (which was of a later model year than mine), saying that he needed to get back to work. The tacos I had for lunch were the best I'd had in a long time.

A 100x pay differential seems like a huge incentive to come to the US, despite the risks and hardships it entails. If I believed that I could make 100x my pay in Canada I wouldn't have to think too long about heading up there. Instead of working for 12 years to be able to afford a leave of absence it would only take six weeks.

I'm in Boise, Idaho right now. I need to pick up a few supplies, make some gear repairs, and do a little research. My next destination will likely be City of Rocks, a rock climbing area just north of the Utah border in Idaho. After that I'm not too certain of my path. I'll probably head to somewhere in Utah, but it depends on if and when Jeff will be coming to Moab in southeastern Utah.