Frosty Mornings

In a deep sleep, I'm suddenly startled. Groggily, I blindly search for my iPhone on the nightstand to turn off the alarm. Looking out the window, the surrounding redwood trees are just silhouettes masking the rising sun. The apple trees having lost their leaves a while ago stand naked in the orchard across the way.

Rolling out of bed, I shuffle into my pants and throw on my down jacket to shake off the goosebumps. Cold but warming up, I make my way out the front door only to slip on the frosty deck. Nearly wiping out, I regain my balance and and carefully tip toe to my truck.

Frosty sunrise

Surf gear loaded, I excitedly hop in my truck to get the heater going only to realize that every window is frozen. Talking to myself, I unload the contents of my glovebox.

"Where's my ice scraper?"

Finding the little red plastic putty knife at the bottom of the glovebox, I begin scraping my truck windows. With each scrape my hands become more numb and begin to turn into crippled claws. Satisfied with the frost removal, I hop back in the truck, put it in gear, and I'm out the driveway.

A short time later down the road, I'm at the overlook for one of the local surf spots in Mendocino. Looking down from the cliff, old redwood sinker logs sit on the beach as a reminder of the logging era that's been long gone. Just beyond that, there are a few peeling waves coming through to the beach and nobody is out.

Framed

Indecisively I sit at the vista point for a few more minutes debating to brave the cold or not. Hearing a large diesel truck pull into the parking lot, I turn around to see it's my friend. Giving him a thumbs up through the windshield, he throws me a shaka back. Without a verbal cue, we head down to the beach knowing that we have a buddy to share a few waves with.

 Open air living

 Downtown Mendocino

 Standing among giants

Stars

A Break In The Rain And A Hike Through The Redwoods In The PNW

It's my first real winter in the Pacific Northwest for the past few years and it has taken some time to get used to. The days are shorter but they feel longer. More time is spent inside keeping warm by the fire dreaming about sunnier times than outside braving the bone chilling wind and rain. Looking out the window brings about a melancholy feeling as the world outside is saturated in dark grey. Due to the heavy winds it has been raining sideways forcing water beneath the redwood shingles and flashing directly into the house. We try our best to batten down the hatches but nature always wins.

Finally noticing a break in the rain, I grabbed my fleece and camera and bolted out the front door like a golden retriever that's excited about life. After being cooped up in the house for the past couple of days I was beginning to feel like a caged bird. Hopping in my truck, it roared to life as I headed up into the redwoods.

The golden hour in Mendocino

Swinging my legs and letting them dangle off the seat of my truck, I look down to make sure there isn't a puddle awaiting my feet. Satisfied I grab my camera and head out into the redwood forest. Walking along a deer trail, the overhanging sword ferns paint my jeans with water drops as I walk through them. Taking a deep breath the wet air is crisp with heavy notes of earthy smells.

 Dwarfed

A burnt out Redwood from within

Walking down the mountain side into the valley floor the air temperature suddenly drops. The damp air cuts through my clothes like a knife. I'm suddenly much colder now than I was in below zero Alaska. Chilled but continuing on, I savor these last moments outdoors before hunkering back down to prepare for the next set of storms that are arriving.

The creeks and rivers are flowing

 Rain pouring down the rain chain

The rain gauge shows 4.5 inches of rain in the past three days

Chasing Swell Down The California Coast

It’s currently 10PM on a Sunday as we drive along Highway One. Heading inland to reach the main freeway, we are shrouded by heavy fog as we twist and turn through the redwood forest. Navigating the road with expertise, my friend at the wheel is focused on making good time to Berkeley.

“Dude, we are going to score.”

Tall, with short, curly, dirty blonde hair, my high school friend Alex is well built from years of working in Alaska on fishing vessels. Contacting me the night before, he asked if I wanted to head South to chase a swell to Santa Barbara. Looking at the swell forecast for Northern California, the charts were dark red indicating that abnormally large waves were on the way. Looking at the individual buoys along the coast, some were reading thirty-seven feet at seventeen seconds. However, down the coast the waves were forecasted to be perfect and well groomed due to protection from the Channel Islands. How could I say no?

Reaching Alex’s sister’s house in Berkeley at midnight, we shuffle up the steps and unlock the front door. Walking into the upstairs unit, the burnt red cedar floors aged with footsteps creek as we walk on them. Making our way into the living room, the décor is fit for an Urban Outfitters catalog. The antique crème yellow gas stove boils water in the corner while a Van Morrison LP spins on a record player in the background. Too tired to explore my new surroundings I begin to doze listening to Van Morrison and the housemates talk about their PhDs in art history. It’s a hipster’s paradise.

With the IPhone alarm ringing in my ear at 4:30AM, I try to ignore it as long as possible. Shutting it off, I whisper over to Alex, “we are going to regret not getting up right now. “ Climbing out of our sleeping bags, we pack them up and shuffle down the cedar staircase in darkness. Not seeing the fixie at the front of the door, I trip over it on the way out.

Reaching Rincon in the early afternoon, we pull into the massive parking lot. Every space is taken in the parking lot and all of the street parking is nonexistent. After some shuffling we find a spot in the overflow parking lot.

Looking at Alex I say, “Seems like we aren’t the only ones looking forward to the swell arriving today. I think all of Santa Barbara and Ventura called in sick.”

“Just keep your head down and look mean when you're paddling for waves.”

“I think we should get a honorary award for driving almost the entire coast of California to surf this swell.”

Suiting up, we grab our boards and head to the beach in search of a few waves with far too many people. Mentally and physically preparing, Alex and I paddle out into the subtropical water with two hundred other people looking for the same thing. It’s what we do for a few perfect waves.

Check out the last trip to Santa Barbara California

The North Pole Of Alaska

Stepping outside into the frosted world, the wind whipped into the sleeves of my jacket immediately chilling my skin. My heavy boots slightly resembling an astronaut's, trudge heavily through the snow. At thirty below zero my eye lashes begin to freeze together and with every inhale and exhale, my throat slightly burns as the water vapors freeze to the inside of my throat.

Looking up at the tree line, the sun barely touches the tree tops at noon. The winter days seem to be in perpetual twilight as the soft light casts a sunset glow across everything. The surrounding trees frozen with icicles shine as if they were strung with hanging diamond ornaments.

It's almost like a fairytale, everywhere I look is a photo worthy of a postcard. The extremes of the North Pole are so harsh that the surrounding environment keeps me in awe. Taking a break from staring aimlessly at the scenery, I embrace the harshness and step further into the woods in search of nothing.

Glowing

Snow Pup

They have the North most everything...

Perched On A Mountain Side

Climbing and winding up the mountain side, we could feel the tires losing traction on the steep, poorly paved road. Every time we hit a pothole, the Tacoma would lurch forward in anticipation of the upcoming road. The ancient oak trees and surrounding chaparral were dyed gold from the low lying sun on the ocean. Coming out of the oak forest we see the road cut into the hillside high up on the mountain. Pointing the direction for Ryan, I tell him that's where we need to go.

Glancing back down the steep mountain side, highway 101 is but a line in the distance and the oil rigs begin to glow like campfires in the ocean. Out in the distance, the Channel Islands feel close enough to touch them. San Miguel. Santa Rosa. Santa Cruz. Anacapa. Santa Barbara Island. Their cliffs and coves are etched from the island's silhouettes by the sun's last light.

Recognizing a turnout in the road, I tell Ryan this is the spot. Stopping the truck we get out and the cold mountain air immediately whisks through our clothes. Lowering the tailgate, we have a seat and momentarily sit in silence. Eyeing Santa Barbara in the distance, we seem close but feel far away on top of the Santa Ynez mountains. It's times like these where we begin to realize that with a little exploration our backyard can be pretty cool.

Sunset

Sunrise

Open air camping

Rise and shine

Cause we never go out of style

Playing the air(pad) guitar

Choking Down MREs (Meals Ready to Eat)

Stepping out of the Tacoma in Northern California, my two friends Austin and Justin have just arrived from San Diego. Looking at Austin's Tacoma, I give him a quizzical look because it's lathered in dirt and dust.

With a huge grin on his face, Austin says, "yeah... we found ourselves on a dirt road for a little while."

Laughing, I bring Austin and Justin into my grandma's house to talk about our upcoming trip. We are backpacking into the Kings Range and my grandma's house is the meeting place before driving to the trailhead.

Stepping into the house, the smell of food wafts around the house. The oak kitchen table and floral couches give a homey feeling. It's what you would imagine a grandma's house would look and smell like.

"So this is basecamp grandma?"

"Dude your grandma is classic! She has lunch prepared for us and baked goods?"

Finishing lunch we're back on the subject of backpacking. Pulling everything we need out of our backpacks, the floor now looks like something detonated across it. Camp stoves, fuel bottles, water filters, and clothes are scattered everywhere.

Bringing up the topic of what we want to bring for food, Austin states that Justin brought a box of MREs.

"What's a MRE?"

Austin looking at me ecstatically says, "you don't know what a MRE is? It stands for Meal Ready to Eat! It's what the military eats when they are deployed away from their basecamp."

Taking one from Justin, I look it over. Vacuum sealed, the tough brown plastic casing that covers it looks bomb proof. Bold letters streaked across it state what kind of meal is in it. Pasta and vegetables. Grilled chicken. Beef teriyaki. Bean burrito.

The MRE

Stuffing our bear cans.

Commenting to them, I say, "these look pretty legit. I've never bought backpacking meals before and if the military uses them, they can't be bad. Lets open them up to reduce weight and we can stuff them in our bear cans."

Taking a break from sorting our backpacks, we start tearing open the MREs like a little kid opening Christmas presents. Each one has different snacks and desserts inside.

"I got M&Ms!"

"No way! Jalapeño cheese!"

"Snickers Munch Bar? I've never even heard of that but it sounds awesome!"

Stuffing our bear cans full we load our backpacks and get on the road.

Hiking into the night.

The next day after we hiked in, we prepare an MRE for lunch. Austin opening the cheese comments,  "this doesn't look or smell right." Grabbing it from him, I smell it, take a bite and gag, "that's the most foul thing I've ever eaten!"

Austin grabbing the Snickers Munch bar takes a bite and spits it out. Laughing and spitting chunks of candy bar out, he says, "this is horrible." Looking at the wrapper he reads out, "The Snicker's and Mars corporation! That doesn't even exist anymore. Come to think of it, I haven't even seen a Munch bar before!"

Pulling it out of the wrapper he takes a long look at the candy bar and says, "It's all yellow and old looking, it doesn't even look edible."

Justin pulling out an actual meal begins to open it. Putting his finger in the container he tries it. There's no expression across his face. "It's not terrible. It tastes like plastic and salt but this one is edible...", he says.

Grabbing the packaging and looking at it more closely. I begin to look for signs of how old the stuff is. The packaging looks old but there aren't any dates. By no means is it fresh. I begin thinking it's from the Cold War or Vietnam.

Setting the packaging back down, I take a look to see what we have in our bear cans. My heart sinks a little. It's stuffed with MREs and we are backpacking for another four days. Sitting down, I try my best to eat the MRE and enjoy it because we don't have anything else for lunch and dinner.

Mornings.

Evenings.

Getting Lost

"Dude I'm surprised that we haven't backed out yet."

"It's not too late to turn around now..."

"I'm surprised we are so committed."

Ryan and Christian, two friends I met at UCSB freshmen year were ecstatic at the idea of a backpacking trip. Making the long haul up from Southern California they were ready with their gear for an adventure.

After changing plans multiple times due to weather, we came back to the original plan - backpacking the King Range in Northern California. With dawn around the corner, we stepped outside and let the cold crisp air bite into our bodies. Loading our packs into the Tacoma, Ryan looked at his watch and comments, "we need to get on the road now otherwise we won't make no pass."

In the truck, trying to find a radio station without static we cruise Highway One in the dark. As the One veers inland, the first sunlight softly shines through the towering redwoods and fog. Climbing out of the fog into sunshine we drive along a high mountain pass. The fog below looks like a dark grey ocean as it sits in the valleys around us.

Three hours later we make it to the trailhead and unload our gear. A small rusted car drives by with it's windows rolled down. Smoke wafting out of the window eventually reaches us.

"Dude I love this place. It's nine in the morning and they are already smoking joints." I laugh in return to Ryan's comment.

The car drives around the parking lot and parks by us. The man stepping out of the car in grimy clothes comes over and asks if we want a photo taken. Saying yes, Ryan hands him his camera. With the three of us posing with our packs, the man says, "One... Two... Three.. Say Weed!" Handing the camera back to Ryan he looks at the three of us and says, "have an epic!"

While the man is walking away, Christian looks at Ryan and I and retorts, "have an epic? What does that even mean?"

Grabbing our packs we make our way down to the trailhead. Stepping onto the beach with our fifty-five pound packs, the black coarse sand gives way as our boots sink in ankle deep. Each step is slow and exhausting.

"This is gnarly..."

Having done the hike before, I reply, "it gets worse, we only have ten more miles of this. We have to make it to no pass in time before the tide gets too high."

Slowly making our way along the ankle deep sand, it eventually gives way to grapefruit sized cobblestones. Walking across them our feet slide out from underneath us with the sound of crunching ice. Each step is a potential for a rolled ankle.

I jokingly comment, "what's worse, walking in ankle deep sand or these cobblestones."

Ryan laughs but Christians looks at me and says "shut up, I think my IT Band is going out."

Stopping and unloading his pack in a sandy region, we look at his knee. The tendon on the side of his knee is slightly bulging out. Grabbing my first aid kid I grab a Motrin and hand it to him. Finding my Ace elastic bandage I begin bracing his knee.

"You good."

"Yeah I think so."

Continuing on I'm a little worried looking at Christian's knee. Limping in the sand like Forest Gump, he hobbles on swinging his leg around on each step. I'm thinking about how it's bad to push it but we have to continue on. We are in no pass. There is no turning back. There is no waiting. If we don't continue we will get trapped by the tides.

A couple more hours pass by as we slowly make our way along the coastline. Eventually we spot our destination. A large expanse of headlands at the edge of the mountains lined with towering evergreens. Deer graze along the oceanfront while whales spout and jump several hundred yards out at sea. Logs line the beach where people hunker down between them for protection from the wind.

Stoked that we've finally reached our destination we set down our packs and sprawl out on the logs. Stretching out Ryan asks, "do we need to make our camp now?" "No we can wait for a little bit," I say.

With dusk approaching we put on our headlamps and begin preparing dinner. Looking around we see other camps along the headlands do the same. Glowing fires begin illuminating their camps as their headlamps flick to and fro like searchlights. As it gets later, campfires and headlamps begin to disappear.

Hemingway...

"I'm going to sleep so good tonight."

"Yeah I can't wait to pass out."

With the North wind picking up, sorely I crawl into my tent and my down sleeping bag. It's going to be a cold night.




Some other photos from the trip

Where mountains meet the sky and shadows meet the light.

Welcome home

 Style points...