A Snapshot and The Scoop: An Indulgence

Is it really a trip to the Buena Vista area in Colorado without a stop at the St. Elmo ghost town and a visit with a bunch of adorable furry friends? (The answer is no, btw.) Torrey and I had cut our mountain climbing short by a day and found ourselves with free time to indulge. We began with a visit to St. Elmo, a ghost town on the slopes of Mount Princeton where mining operations once created a booming industry. When the railroad moved away from the area and the mining dried up, the town was abandoned by all but a dedicated few, who have worked hard over the years to preserve their little corner of Colorado history. The town has few permanent residents, aside from the three species of squirrels that live near a pile of old railroad ties at the town center. I've written about these cuties before, and I'll continue to write about them every time we visit. #sorrynotsorry

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Few of My Least Favorite Things

Let's talk about how much I dislike makeshift log "bridges" over rushing mountain streams. And let's also talk about how much I dislike crossing said bridges during the day when I can see, let alone having to cross them in the pre-dawn pitch black darkness of a mountain forest illuminated only by the beam of two headlamps while also being dive-bombed by bats who are attracted to the insects flitting around in the light of said headlamps. While I acknowledge that many of our summit bids in our goal to climb all 14'ers in Colorado will require us to continue beginning our hikes before dawn, that doesn't mean I have to like it. There is nothing creepier than a forest at night, and having to cross a bridge where one false move will send you plunging into icy water that promises to ruin your hike for the rest of the day while it is still dark, well, those are a few of my least favorite things. But we did it, despite my hesitation and grumpiness, and our summit bid was successful. I guess I'll just have to get over it, because I know there's more yet to come.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pick Your Line

When you have no trail to follow, and it's really more about just taking the next step on your way up, you follow whatever route you can find in your bid for the summit of a mountain. Torrey and I were busy climbing 14,000 foot mountains again last summer, taking on Class 2 mountains that required some scrambling and boulder-hopping to get to the top. On this particular mountain, Yale, we reached the shoulder of the mountain and the end of the trail; we had to find our own way across a steep boulder field, haphazardly marked with carins from previous hikers, all of whom had their own skill levels and comforts with exposure (meaning how close they were willing to get to falling off the top of a mountain). Torrey and I each found our own way, with me sticking as close as possible to the middle of the boulder field, but not so center as to be quite at the top. I wanted to be able to hold on to boulders on both sides of my body, not just on the left or right. Boulder-hopping is a slow process (for me at least) due to the desire to make sure the rock I'm about to put my foot on won't roll away under my weight. Twisting an ankle on a remote mountain would be dangerous, and if the rock rolls off the side and takes me with it, the fall would be lethal. We carefully picked our way across the boulders, passing carins every now and then but mostly ignoring them as we found stable footing on our own. Reaching the summit has never felt so good.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Altitude Sickness

This right here is what altitude sickness looks like for us. When we're so close to being on top of the world, and have to all but curl up into ourselves to breathe through the nausea and headache. Altitude sickness can actually be very dangerous, even lethal, and though neither Torrey nor I have ever had it get to the point where we were in danger it has certainly been rather uncomfortable. It's also not something I'd want to go through alone - if I'd been hiking on my own I would have turned around and headed back to camp long before we got to this point, but we had each other and it kept me at least going forward, albeit with lots of breaks every 10 steps or so. It seems every year we climb mountains my altitude sickness gets worse; I never had a problem when I was younger, and only since moving to Texas have I noticed an issue with mountain climbing. I'm still looking for a treatment/cure that works for me, but until then I'll keep climbing mountains anyway!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Alluvial Fans

Turkey Flats, located in Joshua Tree National Park, is a prime example of the formation of alluvial fans that occur down slopes of mountains. Comprised of sediments such as gravel, sand, rock, alluvial fans form when those sediments are washed down mountainsides then spread out once they hit the base of the mountain, filling the basin with soil that once covered summits and slopes. Broad and fan shaped, alluvium is typically deposited at the mouth of canyons. The finer-grained particles spread out farther from the mountain and can hold water better than the coarser sediment, supporting plant life such as creosote bush and bunch grass, while cacti cling to the bare slopes above.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Desert Shrub

Swollen with water from winter storms, the ocotillo sprouts its waxy little leaves all over the many arms of its branches and attracts insects to its engorged, cracked, woody stems. Resembling a bunch of thorny dead sticks reaching toward the baking desert sun for most of the year, the ocotillo bursts into leaf and flower during the rainy season in the Sonoran Desert. Technically considered a shrub, the ocotillo can easily be mistaken for a cactus when it doesn't have its leaves or flowers thanks to the sharp spines that cover every inch of its multiple arms. It's during the wettest seasons of the year that its true colors shine, and what an incredible sight it is!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Silver Bell Mine

The Silver Bell Mine, pictured above, is one of a few old prospecting locations scattered throughout Joshua Tree National Park. Once used to extract gold, lead, and copper from the surrounding desert mountains, the mine reached its peak in 1917 and was eventually abandoned in the 1960's. Reports from the height of gold fever showed the mine had low gold value, but rather high copper value - worth about $90 a ton.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Organ Pipe Cactus

The Sonoran Desert might just be one of the most biologically rich deserts in the world. I mean, where else can you find both Saguaro cacti and Organ Pipe Cacti in the same place, not to mention the innumerable other cacti, shrub, and grass species that thrive in this green desert. While yes, technically the Sonoran is a desert, the cacti here get absolutely huge - take the Organ Pipe cactus in the picture above as an example. While not quite as tall as a saguaro, the organ pipe cacti certainly earns its cred as a huge cactus strictly from how wide it gets. Its many arms sprout from one base, focus more on taking up space than growing up high. It's still the second tallest plant for miles, and I was giddy every time I saw a new fantastically-shaped cactus. If I could grow them where I live you bet your bottom dollar I'd have a yard full of these babies!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Palm Tree Oasis

Palm trees and cottonwoods are not exactly what you might expect to see in one of the driest deserts in the country, but it's no mirage. Surrounding a natural spring, a dozen palm trees and a few hardy cottonwoods populated a small, sheltered depression located in the lower elevations of Joshua Tree National Park. Walking among the palm trees, allowed to grow wild and therefore unmaintained with their palm fronds still attached, was like walking into a jungle. Even in the winter the topmost fronds were vibrant green, and the soft bubbling of the hidden spring echoed through the small pocket of stone and wood. One of few natural springs in the area, the oasis attracts plants and animals alike who need the water to survive the harsh desert climate.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Ohio & Erie Canal, An East Coast Epic Story

No longer in use, the remnants of the Ohio & Erie Canal preserved in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, is an overgrown yet potent reminder of America's past. Once the main mode of the transportation of goods, livestock, and sometimes even people, canals throughout the upper Midwest and Great Lakes regions served their purpose in providing safe, accessible ways to move supplies in controllable fashion, without having to worry about the pitfalls or meandering direction of the local rivers. Locks strategically placed in intervals helped keep the canal levels steady, and special boats built to fit exactly within the confines of the narrow canal were towed along by mule teams on dry ground. It's rather startling to see how ingenious people can be if given enough time and motivation, and the canal system still around today stands in as proof of human tenacity.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Wrong Side of the Barrier

You know that sinking feeling in your stomach when you realize things are just not going your way? Yeah, that's how I felt when I realized I was on the wrong side of this road block when trying to leave Chiricahua National Monument as I fled a brewing blizzard in the higher elevations of the park. Fleeing snow storms seemed to be the theme of this year's winter trip, despite the fact that I was in the desert for crying out loud, and aren't deserts supposed to get little to no precipitation??? I had been exploring the scenic monument road which took me to elevations above 9000 feet within the park, but I didn't even get out of my car at the top - I took one look at the inches of snow already on the ground and one glance up to the tops of the towering pine trees that I couldn't even see, and hightailed it (safely) back down. I passed a ranger going up while I was all but crawling down the slick mountain roads, and although I didn't know it at the time they were checking for guests and presumably kicking us out due to the storm. I was the only one stupid enough to be up there in the snow, though I was on my way down, so they followed some ways behind me. I thought for sure they'd locked this gate and I would have to wait for them before I could leave, but closer inspection showed me it wasn't chained and I could push it open to get through. I closed it behind me, of course, though I doubt anyone else would try to go up the mountain in a blizzard. Ah well, you live and you learn.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Spot of Light, An East Coast Epic Story

Imagine going into a cave with a small, flickering source of light that may or may not burn out and leave you to scramble in the dark, hoping to find the way out . . . or else. Prehistoric Indians did just that as they explored Mammoth Cave, located in central Kentucky in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. They used the cave for shelter and as a source for minerals, gathering reeds from the nearby river, bundling them together, and hoping to have light for an hour or so. Of course, they brought multiple torches with them, but still! I love visiting caves, but I can't imagine going through one without a guaranteed source of light. Props to them!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Cholla Garden

Imagine my delight when, while driving the park road at Joshua Tree National Park as I was heading to lower (warmer) elevations, I rounded a curve in the road and was faced with a wide swath of cholla (choy-a) cacti! Labeled a Cholla Garden on the map, I'd noticed it when I first looked over the park information upon arrival, but I hadn't paid attention to where exactly this garden was, nor did I realize I was approaching it as I fled the higher elevation snow storms. I absolutely had to stop and wander the lined nature trail through the natural garden, full to bursting with cholla after cholla packed into a relatively large area. I definitely spent more time among the cacti here than I had spent outside my car in the entire rest of the park, but I was hardly complaining. I love cacti, and I'm always thrilled to see cacti gardens wherever I go. I even have a little cacti collection at home, started way back when my family and I first traveled to the desert southwest in 2001.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Lakeside Beach, An East Coast Epic Story

The final Great Lake I visited last summer was Lake Ontario, and I'm honestly a little disappointed I didn't get to touch it. I made a point to walk a bit in both Lake Michigan and Lake Erie, but the little state park I stopped at in New York, Lakeside Beach State Park, was situated on some cliffs above the lake, and it was impractical (at least from where I was standing) to try to get down to touch the water. Instead, I meandered along the edge of the cliffs, accidentally interrupting a group playing disc golf (which I thought was rather brave - what if you threw the disc off the cliff by accident??) as I wandered. I could see where the lake deepened, where the waves turned from murky brown to the deepest of blues, and watched a few boaters take on the choppy, windy waters. Next time I'm in the area I'll be visiting the remaining two Great Lakes, Superior and Huron, and I'll be sure to step foot in Lake Ontario, just to say I did.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Blown Away

Before this winter I had never experienced the sensation of almost being blown off my feet, but I certainly experienced it during my visit to Joshua Tree National Park. I really honestly thought I might be blown off the mountain top with the force of the winds whipped up by the winter storm lashing the park, to the point where I was bent almost double trying to make myself as small as possible and brace against the wind. I had driven to the park's highest elevation reachable by vehicle out of curiosity and the desire to at least see where the park roads took me, even though I wouldn't be hiking. The winds were blocked by a pile of boulders in the parking lot, but once I'd cleared the boulders I had to stop to regain my footing as I almost got blown over. Needless to say, I only stayed on the mountain top long enough to note that I really couldn't see shit due to the snow storm, snapped a few pictures anyway, then hurried back down to my car as I was pushed along by the gale howling at my back. I couldn't get back to the warmth and stillness of my car fast enough.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Presque Isle, An East Coast Epic Story

My solo East Coast adventure last year took me to three of the five Great Lakes - Lake Michigan, Lake Erie, and Lake Ontario. My stop on Lake Erie was at Presque Isle State Park, a little spit of land featuring a gorgeous drive, bays and beaches, and an old lighthouse with its own courtyard. I arrived after closing time so was unable to tour the lighthouse, but greatly enjoyed my drive around the peninsula, making sure to get out a couple times to wet my toes in the lake and enjoy the breeze. I saw people boating, paddle boarding, kayaking, and swimming, which of course made me wish I'd brought my swimsuit along so I could go for a dip without ruining one of the few changes of clothes I had with me. There's always next time!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Contact Zone

In the photo above we have the evidence of volcanic activity, earth upheaval, stream action, and erosion all in one place. The lighter rock was once magma buried deep within the earth. It pushed its way into the surrounding rock - the darker gneiss (pronounced nice) - where it solidified and crystallized into the granite we see today. Upheavals deep within the earth's crust forced the gneiss and granite to the surface, where a far wetter climate than what's present today cut the rock into a valley with a stream that carried sediment away. All of this occurring over millions of years, today showing us the contact zone where molten rock once met solid stone.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Disconnect

There are very few things while travelling that make me as happy as I get when I see a Wilderness sign. Signs like this mean I'm leaving the real world behind, leaving cell service and internet and roads and cars and, for the most part, people, behind. I get to disconnect, get away, ignore reality for a little while and instead focus on myself, my hiking partner, and the world immediately around us. Because really, this IS reality, being in the moment and aware and self-reliant. If something happens out there, its up to you to figure it out, with no guarantee someone can come to help you. For some people, I dare say even most people, that can be a scary realization: that you're completely alone. But not to me. I thrive in Wilderness, I find my center, my mind calms and I don't have worries or anxieties over anything other than setting up camp before a storm pops up, and making sure I place the bear canister far enough away from the tent. Out there, I can get up with the sun and go to bed with it too, I can eat enough to fuel me through my day, I can sit and watch the world turn around me. I really can't wait to be out there again.

A Snapshot and the Scoop: "Action!"

This may look like an ancient ruin, but it was actually part of a movie set built in 1965 for "The Professionals." Recognized for it's incredibly geologic formations, many movies and commercials are filmed within the Valley of Fire State Park boundaries, which has caused park rangers to have to carefully manage who gets permits to film so that no lasting environmental impacts are made. I won't lie here, I rarely watch movies and have not seen any of the ones filmed in the park, but just the physical reminder that things like this exist is pretty neat!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: My Spot

Last year's mountain climbing adventures actually left us with quite a bit of time on our hands, and we spent one afternoon just driving around, exploring Colorado by car. It was getting towards evening and we were on our way back to camp when I realized where we were - near the town of Salida, and not too far away from a favorite childhood haunt. I began looking for the turn off, going completely by landmark memory from I don't even know how many years ago. We drove past the road and I knew it immediately; I flipped a u-turn and, with mounting excitement, took the turn. Not far up the road, just inside the national forest, I found it: one of my family's favorite places to camp in Colorado, revisited year after year, affectionately named "Natasha's Spot." I'd had My Spot marked on nearly every map of Colorado I owned up until we all grew up and stopped being able to go together on week+ family trips and lost track of it after that. I hadn't even realized Torrey and I were driving close by until something about the drive jogged my memory, and at that point I knew I'd have to find it just for memory's sake. It was almost exactly how I remembered it, with the little creek rushing by and a wide empty space that perfectly fit a large tent, or a small camper. There was an additional fire ring now, two instead of just one, but the little gravel beach with the boulder overhanging the creek was still there, and I could all but see my younger self along with my sister sitting there for hours pretending we were surviving in the wilderness all on our own. I could smell the smoke from an early evening pine-wood campfire and taste the grilled potatoes my mom was so fond of making on every camping trip. I could hear my dad shuffling outside of the camper at night on us kids' side, pretending to be Big Foot and scaring my sister so bad she made me sleep against the outer wall (because what else are big sisters for but to protect you - and be eaten first?). It was way past berry season in late August, but I wondered if the strawberry patch was still there, a short (sketchy) walk across the swift stream. I don't know exactly how long I stood there among the trees reminiscing, but Torrey left me to dwell in my memories for a little while with a content smile on my face as I walked around and around, touching everything and taking way too many pictures of a few compact yards. If we hadn't had plans the next day with an already established base camp I probably would have asked if we could set up there that night, but there's always next year.