Mt. St. Helens--Again

 St. Helens from the north; we climb from the south and stand on the rim at the center top; the bulge in the crater center is the lava dome

After summiting Mt. St. Helens some years ago my friend and I decided we should do it about every five years or so, just to see if we still could. It's a brutally hard climb for me. Others who have strong constitutions and fabulous lung capacity breeze up the slopes easy as I climb a flight of stairs. But that is not my gift, and really isn't even within the realm of my capability. I do it anyway, in my own snail-ish plodding way, because: active volcano plus geology freak = must experience.

I climbed successfully for the first time about 1997, then 2006 and 2011. Back in 1994 I got maybe halfway when climbing with a group of high school students. The wind was terrible that day and when snow began to fall we aborted the attempt.

In 2016 it was time to try again, but my knee was giving me trouble so we put it off. This year I was not excited about making another effort, and didn't think it was possible for me to summit. But what the heck, why not give it a go.

My friend and I camped overnight at Climbers Bivouac, same as we have done previously. We hit the trail at 5:30 a.m. and watched the forest gradually grow light as the sun rose. The weather was biting--probably in the 30s, and crazy windy. Never fear, I wore a thin wool long-sleeve base layer over my shirt, base layer leggings under hiking pants, a thin wind-proof shell, wool socks, hiking boots, gloves and head cover.

 let's hit the trail!

sun's up!

After about 2.5 miles on the upward forest trail we began the climb through the rocks.  Out in the open the wind shoved us around. My sunglasses kept the blowing ash and cinders out of my eyes. The huge rocks take a ton of energy to navigate. My short legs keep me from leaping gracefully from rock to rock like a mountain goat. I'm more of a lumbering groundhog straining to heave my bulk up to the next level.

Out of the rocks and about a thousand feet from the summit, I bonked. My blood sugar hit the basement which startled me, because I had been eating the right foods at regular intervals all the way up. My progress was halted within sight of the goal. Elated climbers were lined up on the rim above. So close and yet so far.

After a rest I resumed the climb with a sensible tried-and-true strategy. If I put one foot in front of the other and counted out 100 steps between rests, and didn't think about how far it still was to the summit, then it could be done. And the strategy was successful! It seemed like an eternity, but there I was on the rim gazing down into the smoking crater. Forest-fire haze closed the curtain on the usual views of Mounts Adams, Hood and Rainier. But still, what a glorious place to be.

 summit!

On the descent we slid quickly down the ash slope, then came face to face with the rocks. It's even less fun going down through them than coming up. This time we skirted below them on the west side until the forest trail picked up to the east. The climb up took 6.5 hours, an hour longer than my longest previous climb, and 1.5 hours longer than my personal best. The descent? Probably 4-5 hours.

As usual we celebrated our success at Burgerville USA in Woodland, Washington. When the server asked if I wanted whipped cream on my hot fudge sundae, I thought: "Heck yeah! I just expended a zillion calories climbing MSH!"

Will I do this again? C has his instructions: if I ever talk about climbing MSH again, he is to take me out to the back 40 and put me out of my misery.

Burning Man For Nerds: Totality and Solartown (part 1)

Create thousands of campsites, invite tens of thousands of campers with a multitude of cars, add enough gear to fit out a small nation, fly in 400 small planes and executive jets, trek a collective millions of miles, line up hundreds of porta-potties, blend the air with smoke from local forest fires, drive in a fleet of food trucks, throw in scores of bicycles and a couple of imposing NASA satellite trucks.  Stir all together for an extended weekend, then toss that batter out into the desert around Madras Oregon to bake.  Voila!  You have Solartown USA!

11 of our family enjoyed the experience of living in the miracle of Solartown for three days and two nights, for the sole purpose of viewing our first total eclipse.  Our six months of planning paid off as we lacked for nothing.  We even bought a canopy to shield us from the August sun, and it was worth every cent.  We transported all of our food and water, pillows, sleeping bags, tents, chairs, camp-stove, etc.  No outrageously expensive hotels for us!  And no standing in line for meals either, although a few times the porta-potty lines grew long.

 our campsite: 3 tents, 2 cars, 1 canopy

We camped among thousands but it did not feel like we were in a crowd. With one exception that I witnessed, every soul behaved, most kept to themselves on their 20’x20’ campsite, and we were all united in one nerdy purpose: that two minutes of totality on Monday morning, August 21.  I expressed to our camp neighbor that I hadn't known if this event would resemble "Burning Man" or what.  She said, "It's 'Burning Man' for nerds!!"  And she was right-on.

Solartown was birthed on a Kentucky blue grass seed farm, so we were not camping in hot dust, yay.  The grass was killed in 15-foot swathes to create roads between the rows of campsites.  Each campsite was divided from its neighbor by a one-foot strip of killed grass, to create a vast green checkerboard of 20’x20’ spaces.  The sites were tight, but we got lucky by discovering a row of sites that were (mistakenly, we presume) half again as large.  That made for a more luxurious area for our group, which brought three tents, two cars, and a 13’x13’ canopy.

 photo from our drone shows the layout of Solartown; we had 2 adjacent sites for our group

Our local media relentlessly gushed with gloom and doom predictions of 12-hour traffic jams, gas supplies sucked dry, empty grocery stores, etc.  Yet we breezed down to Madras, leaving at 5:30 a.m. Saturday, and made it there in the normal 2.5 hour driving time.  We filled up with gas at Warm Springs, no problem.  What a pleasant surprise.  Contrast that to heading home on Monday afternoon.  Though our traffic-y trip stretched to nearly 4.5 hours on that leg, we relaxed and felt it was a small price to pay for the marvelous experience of viewing a total eclipse.  Madras, population 6,000, certainly knew how to roll out the red carpet for its nearly 100,000 geeky visitors!

Here's a remarkable thing about those who inhabited Solartown: they did not trash the place.  Is that the Oregonian in them?  Well, tons of them sported license plates from CA, WA & BC. On Monday late afternoon after about half the campers had cleared out, I exclaimed that there was not a single piece of garbage left in the campsites. Everyone put their trash in a sack, then either took it with them, or set the sacks in a central spot for collection.

We're looking ahead to totality in New England in 2024😃

 another view of Solartown

 before departing for home

the local fairgrounds featured push-pins and a map to show where visitors originated

Burning Man For Nerds: Totality and Solartown (part 2)

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What can I say about viewing the totality of solar eclipse, except to use every superlative there is?  Magnificent, humbling, breathtaking, spectacular, striking, spiritual, sublime, impressive, awe-some, exquisite. All of these words fall short of describing the experience. I marvel at God's creations each and every day. This aspect of the Creation will always be tops for me.

I have been in several other partial solar eclipses, first when I was about seven or eight years old. There were no eclipse glasses back in the day, so our neighbor cut a hole in a shoebox so that we could watch the progress of the moon covering the sun. 

In February 1979 there was a total eclipse in NW Oregon where we live now, only we didn't live here then. We got close to 99% totality at our home in SW Idaho. It became quite dim outside, streetlights came on, and the air had an eeriness about it. Until this August 21st, I thought our 1979 experience was pretty amazing.

But there's an enormous difference between totality of a solar eclipse, and a 99% experience. They are actually two different things. Knowing what I know now, I would journey far to participate in totality. It's worth whatever effort or cost is involved.

To note the growing darkness, feel the evening breeze kick up, reach for jacket, gape at the sun's flaming corona, behold planets and stars in all their shimmering glory, in the middle of an August morning.

 our granddaughter with her custom made eclipse glasses, easy for a 3-year old to manipulate

 eclipse has begun!

totality

One bonus about our experience that made me supremely happy, is that everyone in our family participated in viewing the phenomenon.  Three of our children and four of our grandchildren were with us in Madras, Oregon. One of our daughters lives in SE Idaho in the totality zone, and her family watched it with a gathering of friends and relatives.  Our daughter's family in Finland watched NASA's online broadcast that originated from the campground where we were staying, so in a sense, they were with us. I'm elated that everyone felt as strong as I did about embracing this (possibly) once-in-a-lifetime event.

Watch our eclipse experience here

[see part 1 to hear all about Solartown in Madras Oregon]

My Trump Card

Joshua Trees are thick in the Mojave

In the mid-1970s our family lived in the Mojave Desert while Craig worked as an engineer on top-secret military projects at Naval Weapons Center. I did a lot of reading during those years about that lonely, wild, and breathtakingly beautiful part of California.

Besides being the historic home of tribes of Mojave Indians who had all but disappeared, early explorers had passed through the desert and nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains. Rich veins of ore were discovered, giving the rugged area a legendary mining heritage--gold, silver, lead, zinc, borax, and other valuable deposits came out of the Mojave and surrounding mountains. In my extensive reading I became familiar with mine locations and major players in the industry in the 19th century. Cerro Gordo was the big daddy of mining operations in the Sierra Nevada.

Fast forward 25 years to the 1990s. My sister Alice and I spent a few spring vacations camping in the wilderness of Death Valley. We drove for miles off-road, set up camp, cooked over our fire, endured violent "banshee" windstorms, hiked, and enjoyed the dramatic scenery. Those trip are among my favorite memories ever.

our Echo Canyon campsite in Death Valley

This one spring we stayed a night in Lone Pine, a town near Death Valley, the first night of our camping trip. I don't remember why we didn't camp out, but we might have gotten up near Death Valley too late in the day to find a place to set up for the night. Anyway, we grabbed some dinner at a small diner, and got to talking to the folks at the next table. We mentioned to one fellow that we were interested in seeing the old mining town of Cerro Gordo. He said the settlement was now privately owned, but that he --Tom--  was close friends with the owner --Dee-- and that it was ok if we drove around the road barrier she had set up to keep looky-loos out. When we got up there we should tell her that Tom gave us permission.

The next day we did it. Drove out to the foothills, drove around the road barrier, and the SUV crawled up the steep, windy dirt road to the old mining camp high in the mountains. As we pulled into Cerro Gordo a woman, who turned out to be Dee, flew out of one of the old houses demanding to know what we were doing there--didn't we see the barrier down below? We blamed our presence on Tom. Dee exclaimed she was preparing for weekend guests and didn't have time to have tourists around. She saw a couple of our children in the car and decided she had a moment to give us a quick look at one of the old houses and off we went.

the mining boss's house

In the front room of the house Dee related a nutshell history of the Cerro Gordo Mines. I glanced around and saw a man's photo hanging on the wall. When she paused I blurted out, "Hey, that's Mortimer Belshaw!" She was struck dumb for a few moments. Mortimer Belshaw was the man who made Cerro Gordo profitable (and himself wealthy) by figuring out a way to get Cerro Gordo silver hundreds of miles south to Los Angeles. Well, remember the extensive reading I referred to above? Belshaw was a star player in Mojave-area history, and I had not forgotten him. I had played my trump card, I had passed GO and collected my $200. And I'm really glad he had an outstanding name that was easy to recall.

Mortimer Belshaw

Well, a startled and amazed Dee thawed out right there in front of Belshaw's photo; I had apparently been the first person ever to recognize the man. She gave us a tour of the rest of the house, and then declared we could take our time looking around the town as long as we stayed away from the mine shafts. We lingered, explored, and even bought a couple of local history paperbacks in the dusty cluttered museum. On the way down the mountain the SUV had trouble; even in low gear and with Alice's foot firmly on the brake, it was hard to control speed--the road was that steep. Poor Alice had to buy a new transmission after that trip, but it was worth it to have a once-in-a-lifetime trip to remote, secluded Cerro Gordo.

5 SOBAD Years

5 years ago my friend ML organized our first annual women's backpacking trip, which has come to be called SOBAD--Sisters Of Backpacking Active Divas.  I'm not sure on the 'A' word.

SOBAD has a core of 4 of us who head out every year the Thursday after Labor Day, for 3 days.  Others join in now and again.  We bring our own breakfasts and lunches, then take turns doing dinners for the group.  We have a purification system for water, and we're prepared for every variety of weather.  At night we tell stories and sing silly ditties around the campfire.  ML packs a small handgun for emergencies that may or may not involve bear, cougar or humans.
 
Inaugural Year, 2008--We hiked the Eagle Creek Trail, the premier hiking trail in the Columbia River Gorge.  It's 13 miles to the top at Whatum Lake, with a 4000 foot climb.  The first half of the trail, up to 7 mile camp, is lined with amazing waterfalls: Metlako Punch Bowl, Loowit, CrissCross, Tunnel, etc..  You know how far you've come because of those landmarks.  The second half of the trail, from 7 mile camp to the top is the opposite.  It's much drier, the scenery is pretty much fir trees the whole way, so it's harder to know when you're almost there.  I carried 35 pounds that year and learned my lesson.

front: MJ, LAB, ML, Suzanne; rear: JB, BP, KO

Tunnel Falls

2009--Goat Mountain, north of Mount St. Helens in Washington, about 20 miles total.   A very steep and scenic climb on the first day took us through meadows of bear grass, and stunning views of the collapsed north side of Mt. St. Helens.  The trail wound through the volcanic blast zone, then we would turn a corner and be in what we call "leprechaun land," verdant green and shady, untouched by volcanic trauma.  We camped by a small lake the first night, and by a creek the second.  On the third day I knew something was wrong with my right foot; every step was excruciating and I was afraid what that might indicate.  Turned out to be a stress fracture, so for the next month my foot was in a walking cast.  And I had surgery that November.

Suzanne, ML, MP, KO, CC

blast zone in the distance

2010--I missed this year due to having visitors at home.  Waaaa.  I hear one of the days was miserable due to a deluge.


2011--The Tanner Butte trail begins at Eagle Creek and heads west from that point.  Altitude gain on this trail is about 5800 feet.  Much of the trail winds through huckleberry heaven, which means bear country.  We passed a fresh deer kill being preyed upon by swooping turkey vultures, and walked like pants on fire to get away from there.  We did a lot of singing on the trail to discourage any bears who might be around.  Refreshing Dublin Lake was our first camp.  The second night we nooned at Big Cedar Spring, then camped at 7 1/2 -mile camp.  To get there we had to step rock to rock across a wide rushing stream wearing our packs, which was a little dicey. 

Suzanne, KO, ML, CC

 snacking on huckleberries

2012--Dickie Creek to Big Slide Lake east of Estacada, out and back, 20+ miles.  We let men join us for once.  Craig on the first day and Jeremy on the second.  This trip was different in that we did not move our camp.  Both nights were spent next to the lake.  On the second day we hiked up to a fire lookout on top of a scenic mountain.  The coolest thing about this trail was evidence of major geologic disruption.  There were enormous rock slides in several spots that we picked through.  The "big slide" couldn't have happened all that long ago as there were only small trees growing through it.  You need 10 billion rocks?  Come and get 'em.

CC, KO, ML, Suzanne, CW

campfire at Big Slide Lake

2013-next year will be the mother of all backpack trips (for us old ladies).  We'll need an extra day--4 instead of 3--we're going to circumnavigate Mt. St. Helens, 29 miles . . . so much to look forward to!   Being out in the wild with my friends and family is one of my favorite activities!

Vermont Adventure

Middlebury Vermont . . . the quintessential New England village. Snow white, pointy-steepled Congregational Church, tree-sy village green, 19th century mills, gushing waterfalls that once powered those mills, 200+ year-old university, prehistoric two-story Ben Franklin five-and-dime store. Church bells ringing on Sunday, traffic moving 20 mph, John Deere lived here, tight country roads with one-way bridges, Robert Frost's farm just down the road, and a writer's group called Bread Loaf.

I spent a delightful two weeks here in 2008 with Bridget's family. They were living in student housing for the summer while Jeremy taught Arabic at Middlebury College. Bridget was expecting child #2 at any moment, and I came to help out. Every day and usually twice a day I took Meme via stroller on humid, drippy walks downtown to the library or the Ben Franklin, or to watch the surging, muddy falls. Meme loved churches and occasionally we'd stop to explore inside one of them.

 looking north on Main Street

Because Bridget's family was living in student housing there was no room for me there. The price of hotels/motels was quite high here so I decided to camp out at a family-owned campground a few miles down the road, for $20 per night. I brought along my Fred Meyer $13 tiny tent, a homemade fleece sleep sack, bought a pillow in Middlebury, and was all set for a 2-week camping adventure. 

But I didn't plan on the rainiest summer that living Vermonters had ever seen. Who could have guessed? And it wasn't just a deluge; these daily/nightly storms were full-blown t-storms, the clamor of a violent bowling match played in the heavens while Zeus hurled lightening bolts at the Titans. Some nights it was so thunderously deafening (and frightening) that I had to take ambien to sleep. The water flowed in sheets through my campsite. The falls in Middlebury attracted crowds who had never seen them surging so strong. 

Middlebury Falls

And despite the torrents I managed to stay dry inside my faithful tiny tent. After a couple of nights tiny tent wasn't leaking, but I feared it soon could be. With a pile of hefty bags and a roll of duct tape, I fashioned a waterproof cover for it.  Not even a drop of water would dare get in this tent. And not one ever did.

I still use my sturdy tiny tent for backpacking trips. And I enjoy the satisfaction of having done a bold and crazy thing, and living to tell about it. And saving a ton of money in the process.

 Bridget and baby at Porter Hospital in Middlebury

Cape Kiwanda

on Cape Kiwanda looking north toward Cape Lookout

This scenic spot on the Oregon Coast near Tillamook is not well-known. It certainly doesn’t have the draw of Seaside with its attractions for teenagers, or Cannon Beach which is known for restaurants and shopping (ugh). We all have our favorite pleasant beaches and this is mine. Kiwanda's broad soft sand beach mingles beauty and solitude with active tide pools, frolicking whales, squirrely seals and daunting sand dunes, and waves that thunder against the cape at high tide, all set around the remnant of an ancient rich-hued sandstone headland.

exploring the tidepools below the cape

We spent three days camping at Kiwanda last week. From the camp a short trail leads through a woodsy dune onto the beach. At low tide a walk around a rocky point leads north to the hamlet of Tierra del Mar. Cape Kiwanda itself is a mile south, though it deceptively appears to be short walk away. Along the walk to the cape the steady predictable rhythm of advancing and ebbing waves is serenely soothing. It’s not always peaceful here; enormous land-bound logs lie against the dune, thrown there by fierce winter storms. Occasionally we see hang-glider-ees hauling their load up the dune, then launching, and we watch as they gracefully soar, arc and drift onto the sand below.

images created in the sand by wave action

Sahara-style dunes give way to the cape itself, parts of which are brushy or grassy. Steep precipices abound and careless people have entered the great cape in the sky from this area. I’ve included photos of the view both north and south from the cape. Pacific City, home to the dory fleet, lies on the south side. Dorys come and go and are fun to watch. Incoming, they skid through the waves at high speed and only cut the engine when they reach shallow water, then glide smoothly to a halt on the beach. Running full-speed down the dunes is a blast, except when we tumble and get a head full of sand. Low tide reveals dozens of different creatures making a living off each other on the rocks and in the pools. Last week a couple of whales were spouting off the cape.

low tide under the arch

We plan to camp here again this summer!

a view of Pacific City from the cape