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...

Early Storms

Stepping out of my truck onto the soggy sand, I grab my rain jacket and quickly pull it onto my body. The cold South wind cuts through my clothes like a knife cuts through butter. The wind carries the rain horizontally into my backside as my hands furl from the slight discomfort.

Without a soul in sight, I say to myself, "Feels like Fall is here..."

It was a gloomy day on the Mendocino coast. The sky and sea were of the same stormy grey. The only difference was that the ocean was sprinkled with whitecaps from the offshore wind. Continuing down the sandy trail, I try to avoid the puddles that obscure the pathway. It doesn't help. My efforts are in vain, and my Vans become soaked. No longer caring, I continue down the path with puddles and all.

"I need a pair of rain boots..."

Making it to the headlands edge I find the familiar log with the engraving R.I.P Frank. Perching myself upon the log I scan the shoreline for any rideable waves. Minutes go by as I stare out at the ocean. I'm hoping to see something rideable even though I already know it's not going to happen.

 Soaked and cold, I accept defeat that I won't be getting any surf today. I tell myself it will be here another day as I step back through the puddles.

"Man... it would be awesome to have rain boots..."

September Sessions

The fog crept in like a cat eager to pounce on it's prey. The last of the summer heat fought to keep the fog at bay but was slowly losing as dusk approached. Walking down the headlands trail, I spy a perfect wave breaking at the river mouth. This confirmed what I had thought I'd seen while driving along Highway 1. A combination of South swell and the right amount of sand in the bay has created the waves I've been waiting for.

Sprinting back to my truck, I eagerly start pulling on my wetsuit. Looking around I notice the amount of transients hanging out in the parking lot. Leaning on their cars, they casually talk with one another while passing around a joint. I remind myself that this is normal in NorCal during the late Summer early Fall. Grabbing my board I make my way down to the beach.

Walking across the sand, I continually see little lefts breaking across the beach. One perfect wave after another and nobody's out. The water an ominous dark color changed from the previous arctic blue hinting that Fall is just around the bend.

Sliding into a few waves I spy another surfer heading down the beach. With a sense of urgency, I paddle harder back into the lineup to enjoy a few more minutes to myself. In the distance I hear a familiar voice call out, "Wyatt!"

Turning my head I see that it's a friend that I grew up surfing with named Holly.

"Hey! How have you been?"

"I've been great! I was about to drive South but it looked like a lot of fun here."

"Yeah, there's no use in driving when there are waves closer by..."

Seeing a wave in the distance, Holly spins her board around and paddles into a wave. I follow suit and slide into another glassy wave behind hers. Kicking out next to Holly, I can't help but laugh. Amidst my laughter, I'm only able to produce a few words.

"Wow, this is amazing!!"

Holly reciprocates with a smile that seems to say, "I know."

Brew Dudes

It sounds like a miniature space shuttle about to take off. The continuous drone of the propane burner releasing gas keeps the fire alive and well. The heat escaping from beneath the pot singes my leg hairs causing me to pay attention to where I place my legs.

I still couldn't help but daydream though. The aromas escaping from the pot would bring back memories to my earlier childhood. When I was younger I would joyfully dance around my dad as he stirred the massive cauldron with his wooden paddle. Climbing on a step stool, I would peer into the pot to try and watch the experiment happening. Staring into the medley, the sweet smells of the crushed grain would waft upwards making my mouth salivate. The bitter smell of the hops would make me relax.

"Wyatt! What's the temperature at?!"

Sensing that I was in another world, I drift out of my memories. Grabbing the thermometer out of the honey colored liquid, I read the temperature.

"Umm... It says 160˚."

"Good! Keep checking the temperature. We don't want that mash temperature to go down."

Taking a break from other adventures, I'm fortunate enough to help my dad brew his next batch of beer. It's something that I've wanted to participate in since I was a little kid. Until recently I was always too young to help other than to be at the sidelines.

My dad picking up the wooden paddle stirs the contents around.

"You know, brewing beer consists of three things. Keeping things sterile. Boiling water. And waiting. It doesn't matter if you brew two gallons of beer or ten gallons of beer. It takes the same amount of time. I learned that quickly when I first started brewing."

The finely milled grain which adds the body to the beer.

Bringing me over to his makeshift desk, he explains how the recipe works. Adding ingredients at different times changes certain properties in the beer. The same ingredients can create different beer styles depending on what time the ingredients are added.

"I keep all of my beer recipes so that way I can make small changes and be consistent. Look at this last batch. The alpha acids are different then the set of hops we're going to use this time. This means we are going to have to account for the change by either adding more hops or adding them into the beer at an earlier time."

I nod my head in agreement. Bits and pieces make sense but it seems like a lot of alchemy. Going back to the thermometer I check the temperature. It seems to be the position I'm most qualified for at this point in my brewing career.

My dad has years of recipes on tiny sheets of scratch paper

Several hours later, we begin siphoning the golden liquid into a glass carboy. The top is sealed by a sterilized rag to keep unwanted bacteria out. My dad hands me a coffee cup of the siphoned liquid and tells me to try it. Taking a few sips, it has the characteristics of a flat beer. The sweet malty flavors are strong but the bitterness of the hops helps to balance the flavors.

"What do you think? Is it well balanced?"

Taking the coffee cup from me he tries a sip. Enthusiastically he says, "Yeah, this is going to be a good one."

The golden liquid

The yeast cultures waiting to be added

Traveling Through Central America - Three Months In Four Minutes

It took a while, but here is an edited compilation of our three months in Central America. It's only some of the places we went to during our travels. Enjoy!

This is the start of our trip through Central America traveling through Mexico, Panama, Costa Rica, and Nicaragua starting with the Mexi Log Surf Contest.


Plan for more posts in the near future.