Winter Warmer

Saturday, December 8th, 2012

Panamint Springs, CA

I was brought back to California as abruptly as I had left it. Humans aren’t meant to fly. We were meant to take long arduous journeys on foot from place to place. Instead we transport ourselves much faster than our natural speed would allow, disorienting us once we arrive at a far off land much too soon. My cat Edwood made the journey with me, and she continuously howled on both the flight from Boston to D.C and D.C to San Francisco, despite the xanax I had given her. However once on flat ground and out of a shoebox-sized kennel of torture, she’s adjusted very well to the transient life. 

            The first four days after my return were spent in my boyfriend’s damp VW van in Big Sur amongst sopping wet redwoods. It would rain one day and try to dry up the next, only to rain again the day after. It was time to find the sun.

            On the fifth day he packed up his VW, I my Honda, and we made our way off the coast and inland towards the desert. Neither of us knew that highway 58 towards Bakersfield was a windy mountain road. And neither of us knew that our road had no services for 83 miles, nor that there would be a blanket of fog and rain surrounding us as we descended into California’s valley. But we found all this out, and that the VW will stop running if it has to travel 83 miles on a ¼ tank of gas. My GPS told me that there was a miraculous shell station along a farming road. There was not. We ditched the van, Alma, alongside a field of freshly turned with soil that would stick to our shoes in clumps 2 inches thick.

            After getting gas in my car and buying one of those red tanks for Alma, we were on our way again. I woke up in the back of Alma on a residential street in Bakersfield to cloudy skies once again. Angered that such a flat, low valley would have any weather other than sunshine, I felt the need to press on until the weather I sought was attained.  We continued along 58 through small hills and more windy roads until, quite suddenly, the wall of fog ended and we were slung into the relentless sunshine that I had been seeking.

            The desert slowly presented itself, first in yellow hills speckled with green shrubs, then with Joshua trees playfully announcing themselves out of the earth, and later with not much to speak of but sandy soil. The road became straight and monotonous, yet soothing to the traveler who has constantly been turning their steering wheel in one direction, then all the way in the other.

We stopped at a Mexican restaurant in Olancha, which is essentially a converted gas station advertising jerky made from all different kinds of creatures.  The restaurant was across the parking lot from the jerky store and there was a window that looked out upon the desert stretching on and on. I felt as if the window had this scene painted on it instead of it being my reality. I admittedly still feel very uncomfortable in the desert.

            On we pressed and suddenly down once again. We had gained about 4000 feet on our drive and we needed to descend to 2000.  Edwood could not believe that a landscape could be so vast when she saw the overlook to Panamint Valley. She stood at the door of the van for an awe-inspired moment before coming outside.

            Panamint Springs resort is a privately owned restaurant, cabins, and gas station at the mouth of Panamint Valley, just across a mountain range or two from Death Valley. My boyfriend will live here and wait tables while I will be about an hour and a half south in Inyokern. They’ve given him a trailer to live in, which I see as a deluxe suite. The bedroom is one of those lofts and there is a kitchen nook, a bathroom and shower, a stove, and a couch, and millions of cabinets. That one can pee, wash their hands, take a shower, and then cook dinner in this thing is almost unfathomable to me. Luxury wilderness.

            Edwood and I will shove off tomorrow to begin my life as a cowgirl once again. 

Intermission

Tuesday, November 21st, 2012

Newton, Massachusetts

In 12 hours I was transported from my cross country adventure in California to the grayscale mundanity of New England. As I re-entered my childhood home on the busy suburban street of Newton, I felt that the last 5 months as a horseback guide, traveler, and newly created backpacker had vanished. I'd returned to my starting point quite literally, and I had to remind myself that this is only the intermission, and the show will proceed in about 10 days. California is still back there, it is not Neverland.

I haven't written a blog since I arrived at Yosemite in June, and I need to admit that the reason for that is I've been Living. I have begun to realize how much or little I am Living my life by the lack of writing I'll do, or the lack of reading, or the lack of painting. Living by my definition is a return to a more primal, more survivalist mode. When I produce knowledge in myself by reading, or oil smeared on canvas, or a journal entry such as this, I've noticed my life is usually a trickle in a stream bed. The 5 months I spent in Yosemite and traveling about the mountains, lakes, and coasts of California have been a flash flood.

The amount of flow in my life are neither good nor bad, they are similar to the ebb and flow of the waterfalls at Yosemite. People on my trail rides were automatically disappointed by the lack of water coming over Yosemite Falls this summer. I'd just turn in my saddle and smile, telling them that the summer is the dry season. Yosemite needed a break, it isn't able to turn on the water full blast all the time. I need a break too.

Now I don't want to brag, but, in California I got scratched up constantly by hay poking into my skin. I was usually lethargic from lack of sleep. Mules became my co-workers. My hair was usually tangled and my nails always had a layer of filth under them. It was the best thing I've ever done for myself.

My next adventure will take place in the high desert on a Horse Ranch. I believe that this will be a lonely experience save for the interaction I'll have with the horses. I plan on writing about these interactions come December. Please tune in if interested.

Yosemite National Park

Big Surà San Franciscoà Georgetownà Yosemite National Park

Monday, June 11^th, 2012

On my way to San Francisco I bought a bunch of fresh strawberries at a farmstand and meandered up route 1. When I arrived, my friend was still working so I drove around looking for thrift stores to buy a fleece at, inadvertently seeing a lot of the city in the process. I met another friend of mine at a bar for happy hour and my Bostonian friend met us there. That night became a bit of a culture shock as we went and danced at a club with a guy spinning techno. I felt very much out of my element, having not been surrounded by so many people and sounds in a little while.

After a S.F brunch of crab cakes benedict, I kept driving North, but now also East to the small logging community of Georgetown, CA. My friend is researching spotted owls there. She lives in a dorm-style cabin in the middle of a logging road with about 8 other people. It takes about an hour to get anywhere you want to go around the winding backcountry roads. On Sunday we went to a falls which had three sets of steep rocks with water cascading into pools below. We slid down the slickrock into the pools. The drop and the cold water made the experience incredibly refreshing.

Today I woke up without an alarm in the nick of time to head to Yosemite. I gathered my belongings, walked out of the research station and down a winding dirt road about a mile to my car. I got into my car, drove 5 hours down more winding roads, up some mountains, and into Yosemite Valley. Seeing half dome and other cliffs in the distance gave me goosebumps when they came into view from the East. It’s as if a higher power as touched this land and made it unique specifically for my eyes to enjoy.

So I upbruptly came to a halt on my tour of this country. But the journey is long from over, it has just changed it’s pace. The route will now be repetitive and there will be four legs carrying my body instead of four wheels. I will meet more people and I will gain more friendships. I’ve found another new home, for now.

Big. Sur.

Morrow Bayà Big Surà San Francisco

Friday, May 8^th, 2012

I drove North towards Big Sur, a destination on my itinerary since day 1. I’d had some high expectations for it because I watched a National Geographic special about it. As I reached my location, I realized that there would be no actual town to be had there. The road leading through it was the only one there, bordered by mountains to the East and ocean to the West. I stopped at a gift shop which had some hiking information and I decided to climb Mt. Manuel. Peaks are important for me to summit first thing upon reach a destination in order to get a good look around the area.

I found a campsite at Pheiffer State Park. The valley that it lies within featured redwoods and I was completely in awe of their size and their ability to change the amount of sunlight allowed through their canopies.

Once at the trailhead, I was eager to get to the topmost point of land. The path was a disaster. Created as a mountainside road would be, the trail meandered along the side of the slope instead of zig-zagging up as it should. Vegetation covered the path most of the way to the point that I couldn’t see where my foot was landing in front of me. Onward I climbed, determined to summit this S-O-B. And summit I did, with a clear view of the Pacific stretching out west and more peaks to the east.

On my way down I intentionally picked each type of wildflower that I could distinguish. I was convinced that since the trail was so poorly maintained, not many people traverse it and therefore the rule of “if everyone picked a flower” did not apply to me here. I got a good bunch together and that’s all I had to show for the day. That and a few sore feet and a good buzz from this beer.

I took a walk on the coast the next day and the views were overwhelming. Succulent covered bluffs leading down to the turquoise to cobalt blue water. The shallows were dotted with large rocks being baraded by waves every other moment. I realized then that Big Sur is more of a place to behold than to utilize. I couldn’t jump into the ocean because it was too rough and cold. The wind was also a constant factor near the shoreline. I suppose the price a human pays for the beauty of this place is that it does not care whether it pleases us or not. What a useful defense it has to remain wild! I was humbled by nature as I should be.

Island Packer

Point Maguà Channel Islandsà Morrow Bay

Wednesday, June 6^th, 2012

I found a State Park called Point Magu to camp at on Monday night. I slept beneath a gigantic live oak and though I could hear the sound of waves crashing along the shore, I couldn’t see the ocean behind the cover of trees. The next morning I woke up and made my way to Ventura in order to catch a boat to Channel Islands National Park, specifically Santa Cruz Island.

I had everything I would need for 24 hours loaded on my back. It was heavy. The ferry ride took about an hour and I watched dolphins surfacing on the open water. As the island came into view, I was taken aback by the lack of human-made structures upon the land. Since the island chain is a National Park, the only buildings on it are what were left there from a sheep ranch from the later 1800’s, and an old rusting oil rig.

I hiked to the top of the islands’ peak, which was actually a former volcano rising above the plane-like plateau of yellow grass and old service roads. A dense fog blew across the rising land before me and I truged through it until I was much higher up along the ridge. I thought of turning back when I began to see the outline of the sun attempting to burn through the marine layer. So I proceeded on until, fairly suddenly, the fog dispersed and what my eyes beheld was something to humble the bitterest of cynics. To my right, sloping down the ridge where I stood were rolling hills which stretched down to the cliffs and coves of the ocean beyond. To my left, a similar sight. I was in an elated state, completely separated from the anxieties and needless worries I’d had on the mainland.

The wind picked up that night back at the campground, which was nestled in a canyon. It bent my tent poles and woke me sporadically. Once the sun had risen, a ranger “knock knocked” on outside and told me that the only boat leaving the island was do so at 12 noon due to increasing wind. I took another walk along the cliffs edge overlooking the beautiful yet daunting pacific, until I had to pack up my things and return to my semi-reality.

On the return voyage, the waves were beginning to act up. I would estimate that they were 5-10 foot swells. Apart from being a little scary, the ride was exhilarating. The boat would ride upon the swells, then surf down the longside of the waves. As I was looking out a window, in a flash a pod of 8 or so dolphns dove through a swell, exposing the entirety of their figures for a split second before being submerged into the water and disappearing once more. I yelped, but I don’t think that anyone else noticed of were otherwise unimpressed by this chance and wonderous moment.

Once back to the parking lot and my car in Ventura’s harbor, the elation I’d felt on the island didn’t cease. I was at ease as I drove North through rolling hills of yellow grass and coastline of route 1. I came to rest at a State campground in Morrow Bay. There I found a bar in town on the hazy and blustery harbor, where I sipped beer and chatted with Drew the bartender about my island adventure and the road ahead.

SoCal

San Diego

Monday, June 4^th, 2012

After my encounter with the pacific I collected my belongings along with myself and proceeded to my uncles’ house. He, his partner and I drove up from San Diego to L.A  and went to the county museum of art for the day. The collection there varied greatly and I attempted to absorb the culture like a sponge. After this outing we made our way up the hills to an observatory which sat perched atop the steep ridges overlooking the city. The location provided quite a glance at a place that I have attained such an expectation for through the media’s influence over me.

Today we all took an urban trek through the lush and uninhabited canyons of San Diego until we reached a true Italian restaurant for lunch. I was delighted to be served a salad that wasn’t butts of romaine lettuce and shreds of dried out carrots or purple cabbage. Maybe I’ve become a snob, but dining where the management truly cares about their products is incredibly refreshing to me at this point. I left San Diego in the late afternoon with a new found appreciation for the relatives that I still feel a true kinship to.

Before today, I have never seen more of the Californian coast than small portions of San Francisco and San Diego. Malibu was everything and more than I’d hoped for from imagining the coast. It reminded me of my excursion to the Italian city of Salerno, just south of Naples. The place was gritty and desperate for survival on close inspection, but breathtakingly beautiful from afar. I ate fried clam strips and onion rings at Neptune’s Net. This place reminded me of P.J’s, a walk-up order joint on the coastal area of outer Cape Cod, with indoor/outdoor seating. Endless summer indeed.

Coast to Coast

Bryce Canyon--> Joshua Tree--> San Diego

Friday, June 1st, 2012

The thickness of silence in the desert made my ears ring. After departing from Bryce I drove a whole day in order to reach Joshua Tree. I had planned on going to Death Valley, but considering that I could barely stand the heat in Las Vegas, I'm glad that I skipped it. I was also planning on swinging by the Hoover Dam, but the traffic was backed up for 10 miles leading to it, so I made a u-turn.

I really already needed a shower and to wash some clothes yesterday, but the only campground providing both of those services near Joshua Tree did not in turn provide any shade. In the 100 degree heat I was wilting, even getting slightly delirious. I decided to skip both shower and laundry and proceeded into the park both low on water and on gas. I camped out at Jumbo Rocks and realized that I might not be thinking clearly as the sun set and the air cooled.

This morning I woke up to people rustling about my tent at 3am, on some nighttime hike. I held my mace close and it took me awhile to fall back to sleep. Finally I awoke at daylight, determined to escape the desert. As I drove south through the park, I was reluctant to miss the beauty there, but also heart set on reaching the familiarity of the ocean. I drove on, through more heat freight trains on route 66 until I reached the lush hilly country of Julian, CA. At last! I felt that I head crossed into the land of milk and honey.

I didn't stop driving until I saw the pacific, and even then, as I exited my car I kept walking toward the coast dropping my backpack and towel on the sand until my toes finally met the foamy bliss of cool saltwater. I must be a water creature. There is no reason behind my discomfort of being without a water source other than that my soul simply needs it. The sky is overcast unlike how I idealized my reunion with the sea, but I don't care. I am free.