If I Really Wanted Frequent Blog Posts...

... I could write them like this.

They are interesting, if short. It's almost like Orwell would have been right at home using Twitter.

A Little Sightseeing

Hilo, HI

I'm slowly doing a little sightseeing, here. I can't say that I'm getting out frequently, but I feel like I have plenty of time to see things. There's only so much to see, and I've got to pace myself.

It is an island, after all.

Well, that's not entirely why I haven't rushed out to see everything and anything worth seeing. I still not quite feeling settled, and that's limiting me to small excursions. I keep thinking that I'll get out and do something longer and more involved, once my car gets here and I get a permanent place to live. Once I have all my stuff, and I have permanent internet access.

Eh, excuses, excuses. Like not dancing because I don't have my shoes^[1].

On the plus side, I don't have to worry about things closing down for the winter. Back in Minneapolis, I always have to be concerned about the limited summer season limiting my activities. There's only so little time, for so many things.

It's not going anywhere, and I'll see it all by the time I'm done here.

[1] Of course, as anyone who knows me, I don't need much in the way of excuses not to dance when I'm on my own.

Relocated!

>
Originally uploaded by pschwarz.

Hilo, HI

I'm not sure this would be classified as travel, but I've relocated. Sure I'll come back to Minneapolis in the future, but for now I'm enjoying a change of scene.

In Hawaii, of all places.

More on the move and the job in future posts.

I've a little stretching to do to get back into writing shape. I need to rebuild the habit, so these entries may be slow in coming. Not to mention that I don't have access to internet outside of work...

Forthcoming Posts

Munich, Germany.

So, as it turns out, I forgot how much internet is a pain in the ass in Western Europe. It's pricy and hard to come by. Compound that with the fact that the German keyboard has a slightly different layout.

I've had to type every 'y' and apostrophe at least three times.

What does this mean, with respect to my posting more on this blog? I probably be doing a big dump of information in two or three long posts after I get home. Of course, Wi-Fi has been pretty common at hostels¹ here, so perhaps some ultra-portable computer might be a good idea for next time.

1. I finally figured out the best way to identify Australians. The pronounce the word 'hostel' with an accent on the last syllable, like hotel. Actually, it kind of makes sense...

Industrial Heart

Dortmund, Germany.

I arrived here in one of the industrial hearts of Germany, spending the Thanksgiving holiday with my friends. We wandered around in order to find a few ingredients for the big meal. Turkeys are not huge here, no sweet potatoes, pretty much just threw together a recipe for stuffing.

Should be interesting.

As for Germany (well, Dortmund, anyhow), it's pretty clean and efficient. Actually, it's amazingly clean and efficient. The train ride from the Düsseldorf airport was on time, to the minute, and so pristine you can eat of the...well...alright, not that clean, but pretty damn clean.

Dortmund is a pretty bland city, when it comes to architecture, but the Christmas market is shaping up to be something pretty spectacular. The tree easily rivals the one they put out in front of the White House, or Rockefeller Center. They start things up tonight, but we'll be heading over there on the weekend.

I'm starting to shape up my plans for the rest of the time here. I'm currently thinking about heading to Berlin for a few days, and then down to Munich. Other than that, not much else planned out.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wiping off the Dust, Kicking off the Rust

Minneapolis, MN

Man, it's dusty around here. All this stuff just lying around, collecting dust from all those readers coming through here, looking for some new content. Yep, the vast horde that is my readership is just kicking up all sorts of dust.

That's right, hordes.

So I've been away for a while. It's been tough, what with working and all. Imagine that, I don't get out as much as I used to.^[1]

Fortunately, I'll be heading back out into the world this week. It won't be for a long time, but it will be somewhere new (for me, anyway). I'm headed off to Germany on Tuesday. I'll be heading to a town called Dortmund, via Düsseldorf. That's about all I have planned for right now. I have two weeks in country, and no idea what I'll do with most of it.

Ah, to travel again. The more people ask me what I'll be doing the less comfortable I get. I prefer not knowing what I'll be doing. There's no pressure to see everything, or go everywhere. Not having a real agenda feels good.

It should be a good time. I'll take in some sites, enjoy time with my friends who've moved there, and try to do the usual: find a tango joint and see how the locals do it. Maybe even dance at one of those places. I do feel like I've a better grasp on this whole tango business.

At least I'll take pictures.

[1] Nor do I really write much, it seems. At least this is the 100^th post.

2006 in Pictures

2006 was a crazy, long, eventful year. Here's a handy little way of reviewing my year in pictures.

The Update

I'm going to deliver on something for which the readers have been clamoring . There have been cries for "where are you now?" and "what are you going to do next?" So here it is, the Update. The story that everyone has wanted to know. The answer to the question of "What now?"

Back to the world of the Ordinary.

I've been working at a full-time, salaried position (that's right, I'm a salaried man again) for ObjectFX. It is a good fit for a variety of reasons. The first is that they are a vendor for my previous employer. I was familiar with the basic operation of the software, and the expected results. Secondly, I was the second of what is now three former co-workers of mine that used to work at said previous employer. Third. It's about maps.

What's more fitting than that for a traveller.

Granted, they are only maps of the good, old U.S. of A., but it's still pretty interesting work. I get to use my math training more than ever. Of course, geometry was never my strong suit, but it's coming back with a vengeance.

I've also landed myself a pretty decent apartment. It's a great old place with an interesting layout. I took the lease over from a previous tenant, and I'm currently debating whether or not I should sign an new lease. It would force me to get all my things out of storage. I think if I did that, I could truly feel like I live in the place. Perhaps I'm resisting moving in completely. It would mean that the travelling is at it's end.

It would be nice to have all of my stuff, though. I'm starting to miss a few things. Mainly my whistling teapot...

I've also met a delightful, engaging, attractive, young woman named Jessica. The bonus? She tangos.

Where does all this Ordinary leave the blog? Well, the answer to that is that it will be put on extended hiatus. I don't plan to put it down permanently. It'll make a great archive for the stories, for one. Also, I don't think that I'm going to be quiting travel anytime soon. I'll be going new places soon enough.

I'll keep you posted.

Travel Burst

I recently spent a long weekend in Savannah, GA. It's a lovely, smallish city that lies on the Savannah River. The city center is full of beautiful, old pre-Civil war mansions, as well as a revitalized river-front of cotton mills - turned restaurants.

Further east lie a series of islands, some belonging to Georgia, others to South Carolina. We spent a day on Tybee Island, where many of these pictures were taken.

Savannah in late Fall has cool, but very manageable, weather. The island, on the other hand, was marred by high winds. This did not, by any means, ruin the experience.

The views from the top of the Tybee Island lighthouse were spectacular. From two hundred feet up, one can see for miles over the Ocean and the interior of the island.

It was a short, yet sweet and relaxed, trip to South. It wet the appetite for more travel. It already seems like it's been too long.

Heartland Tango

Heartland Tango Festival, originally uploaded by pschwarz.

It's been a long time since I've updated the blog. Mostly due to the fact that my vagabond ways are pretty much done with.

At least there is still some tango.

In early September I went to my first local tango workshop. It consisted of daily classes and nightly milongas for the full weekend (Friday, Saturday and Sunday). It was intense, exhausting, educational, and, most importantly, a damned lot of fun.

There were a three sets of instructors, with only one half of a pair from the Cities. One couple, Cecilia and Jaymes, reminded me of my favorite instructors from Buenos Aires. They had a fantastic report and lightweight, easy-going instructional style.

The weekend also got me started on improving my low-light photography skills. Namely by getting a friend to shoot them for me (as in the above photo).

Yet another thing to practice, practice, practice.

Off into the Sunset

Minneapolis, MN

I'm done with the travel game for the time being. I only have to find myself a place to call my own for more than a couple months, and then I'm settled. I'm stable, employed and sedentary.

So, now what?

Well, I still need to work on an afterward, I suppose. I mean, I'm still looking for a permanent place to live^[1]. I'm still getting the hang of this whole "working thing" again. The transition from all-the-time-in-the-world to maybe-six-hours-a-day-plus-weekends is been tough.

The other questions that still need to be answered are: what have I learned, and have I really changed as a person. I'll have to think for a while.

I can't wait too long. Otherwise, all reflection will get lost in the mundane in and out of the new day-to-day. It's funny how fast memory fades these days.

[1] If anyone knows of a great apartment, with low rent and available now, let me know. It would be much appreciated. Please?

Pretty please?

Please, oh God, Please.

Back in the Land of the Softies

Yosemite Tramp, Chapter 8

Vernal Fall
Originally uploaded by RobFargo.

Having made our way back down Half-Dome, we rested for only a moment before heading back down to the valley floor. There was a cheerful spirit while we packed up camp, having just played the crescendo of the trip's little symphony. I, for one, was ready to return to the land of the Softies.

Frankly, I just really wanted a shower.

We miss calculated, in part, the number of lunch items we would need for the second half of the trip. We only had two cliff bars a piece - not quite enough calories for another four mile hike. Considering that we were heading mostly down hill, it didn't seem to be too much of a problem.

The route down took us down Nevada Falls and it's lower half, Vernal Falls. We were immediately surrounded by Softies, heading up to the top of the falls, or further, to the top of Half-dome. Again, we picked out those who would make it and those who would give up. Even though we felt a little under supplied for the hike, we were always surprised by the hikers heading to the top with only a small bottle of water, mostly empty due to poor rationing.

Both sets of falls were quite beautiful. They lacked the majesty of Yosemite falls, but they made up for it in volume. Both rushed down to the valley with amazing forth, and spilled out of their usual beds. The hike down past Nevada Falls was lined by a half-mile of stone steps, making for uncomfortable climbing, with little shade in the noon sun. The hike past Vernal Falls was a different story.

The trail next to Vernal falls splits into a foot path and a horse trail. It turns out that the horse trail would be preferable to those who did not what to get soaked head to foot. The foot path is, for a large portion, just narrow set of rock stairs along side a cliff face, overlooking the water fall. The spray from the deluge is tremendous, soaking all hikers in an instant. A good thirty minutes of this leaves one drenched. The name "Mist Trail" seems like an understatement.

One of the other down sides of hiking this particular trail has to do with the softies. They have a tendency to be very heads-down hikers, so careful with their footing that they are oblivious to people coming down. This is particularly annoying when the people in question are carrying heavy packs and have limited maneuverability when it comes to dodging clueless hikers.

Once we passed through the drenching section of the trail, and were much closer to reaching the bottom, I was feeling particularly excited about leaving the back country. I found myself whistling, talking quite loudly about the impracticality of the softies, and passing people left and right as if I was a small sports car (albeit with a heavy load strapped to the top). I may have even skipped a little bit.

We happily made it down to the valley floor by about three in the afternoon. We made our way over to Curry Village, the part of the park with showers, a camp store and beer. Picking up a celebratory meal, and more Fat Tire, we prepared for our last night camping in Yosemite.

Overall, the camp experience in Yosemite was much different then last backcountry trip in Glacier National Park^[1] in the summer of 2005. That trip involved a straight, six day hike through the backcountry. Once we were two days in, there was always at least a two day hike to get back out. It required much more from us, since we had no choice but to push on, pain or no pain. Yosemite, on the other hand, safety and soft life was always a short hike away. We were never really more than four miles away from civilization.

While this closeness existed, we never let it change our backcountry experiences. It still felt like we were far away from everything and everyone. It was only more relaxing to know that if there was trouble, it was not going to be a terrible thing to get out of. I, for one, felt more relaxed and safe. In Glacier, once we passed that two day mark, and our party members knees^[2] began to go, I was always a little nervous. Nervous about injury, nervous about food and water, nervous about bears. Just nervous, really.

Without all this nervousness, coupled with my overly relaxed personality after spending two months in Europe, Yosemite felt like more of a vacation than a hardcore test of endurance.

Still, I had a fantastic time in both parks, and am looking forward to the next ridiculous camp adventure, as sold to me and other hapless campers by Rob.

[1] Which, admittedly, I haven't really written about. It was pre-vagabond time. It does get mentioned here and here, as well as in some of the other Yosemite chapters.

[2] Why is always knees? Why not a finger, or an ear? It seems like those little hinges are always causing all the problems for the rest of the team.

Half-Dome

Yosemite Tramp, Chapter 7

Three-thirty am. We woke to the deep darkness of a moonless, early morning. The stars were thick, dense, bright, and beautiful. The campground was quietly sleeping around us, as we crept out to the trail.

After the previous night's bear incident, we were all a little jumpy. Any noise, any twig snap, any strange crunching sound and flashlights flicked through the woods, landing briefly in the holes of blackness, only find them empty. With only one muffled cry of "eyes", the hike proceeded without animal incident.

The goal was to make the top of the mountain by sunrise. Given that we really only had about an hour after we left camp to make the nearly four mile hike, we didn't quite achieve this goal. Enjoying the sunrise on the side of the mountain, was still worth while. The way the rays of light descend over the range certainly reminded me that this amazing universe of random creation has some fantastic structures.

We arrived at the last quarter of the trail at about six in the morning. The surprising thing was that we were not the first group there. A group of hikers had woke left from the valley floor at midnight. They had hiked eight miles before most people in the valley had eaten breakfast. That, and they still had to hike back down to the bottom.

That last quarter of the trail is the hardest part. Of that group of four hikers, only one had the courage to take the top of the mountain. You see, it involves hiking up over eight hundred feet of elevation, with a very steep grade, using a pair of steel cables as hand-holds.

We sat for a few minutes and stared at those cables.

Half Dome cables
Originally uploaded by RobFargo.

We had come a long way for this, though. The climb had been the goal of the trip, the intended highlight, the true challenge of the week. There was no going back without conquering those cables.

At the bottom of the cables sits a pile of leather gloves for climbers to use. While climbing Half-Dome is a challenge, it still draws an amazing volume of traffic. That's the other main reason that we left so early. We didn't want to be dealing with traffic on those cables.

I grabbed a pair of gloves, grabbed the cables and started climbing. I had no desire to be stuck, frozen due to heights or the feeling of being exposed on the side of what was almost a cliff face. It turned out that I had less a fear of those things, and more a fear of tiring out. Climbing with the cables was nearly all arms. So I just kept going, with few pauses or breaks. I would climb from rest point to rest point^[1], pause for a moment, tell myself I was doing good, and head for the next one. One by one, all the way to the top, in under twenty minutes.

This left me at the top, alone, waiting for the rest of my crew. I waited a good ten minutes at the top, wondering, listening for their arrival. I later learned that they had worked incredible hard to make that top. Rob followed up the rear, acting as a drill sergeant to get Jen and Liza to the top.

On this particular climb, Liza and Jen are my heroes. Both of them were really in no condition to climb that mountain. Jen, with her bum knee, and Liza, with a back that had gone south of cheese, were in a lot of pain. Yet, climb they did and they reached the top.

We stayed up on the top for a about a half hour. Not long, given the difficult of getting to the top, but I, for one, was more nervous about the way down. I was right, in part, as the climb down took quite a bit longer then the way up. It's a lot more difficult finding footing when climbing down backwards (but there's no choice in the matter, there's really no way to go down forwards). It was more tiring as well, given that one is constantly lowering oneself to the then next foothold, solely with arm strength. I was very happy to reach the bottom.

We were buoyant, happy, cheerful, and practically floating down the mountain back to camp. It was only eight in the morning, and we were already passing throngs of hikers make their way to the top. People were surprised to see us already heading back. Knowing what we knew about the climb we all spent our hike back down picking out those who could and couldn't make it to the top^[2].

We were back to camp by nine in the morning. We still had the hike to the valley floor ahead of us, but at that point we were still bubbling with the thrill of our accomplishment. Nothing beats the feeling of conquering a challenge.

[1] These were two-by-fours laid between the cable poles.

[2] I know, we're bastards. But I really felt like we had earned it.

Short Hike

Yosemite Tramp, Chapter 6

After such a long day, we woke up surprisingly late (~7:30 - oh, so late as camp sleep goes) in the morning, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. We packed up and shuffled off early by nine.

Fortunately, having pushed on so much the day before, we didn't have very far to hike in the morning. Our destination was the Little Yosemite Valley, nestled in a shoulder between Half Dome, Cloud's Rest, and Liberty Peak. We were only about two miles away, so our hike time was short.

The Little Yosemite campground is just that: an actual campground. There were bear boxes, camp sites, and, most importantly, compost toilets. All the comforts of home.

The plan for the next day involved climbing up Half Dome early enough to see the sunrise from the top. We were pretty much left with a day to ourselves. Much cribbage was played, feet were soaked in the river, and naps were had. General laziness was the order of the day.

Leaving, really, not much to write about during that particular day. We ate dinner and went to bed at eight, looking forward to a three AM wake-up call for the eight mile hike in the morning. A quiet end to a quiet day.

...Until I heard some rustling outside the tent. It sounded like Rob had heard it as well, since he sat up to spy what was going on in our campsite. The only thing he said about it was "bear," loudly.

"Bear!" Pause. "Bear! Bear! Bear!. Ho Bear! Get! Hey, everybody there's a bear over here!"

I've never heard the word bear spoken so many times, nor about anything other than bears in the circus^[1]. This was, however about the bear that was eating out of Jen's pack, three feet away from the ladies tent. Three feet. Just eating pack, minding his own business. Three feet away.

He just looked up from the pack at all the yelling with a distinctly questioning look on his face. Who, me? He looked a little surprised and a bit guilty, like a four hundred pound five year old with his face covered in chocolate. He dropped his head with shame and lumbered off through the campsite. He then spied another pack, poked his nose in it, looked up and said "how about this one?"

Not the kind of thing Rob was looking for, so he throws things at it. Throws things! At the four hundred pound bear. Did I mention the four hundred pounds? It's a bear! A big, fucking four hundred pound bear!

Well, it turns out that the park rangers recommend this sort of thing. Yell at them and through small items at them. They take the hint^[2] and will usually leave. Although, I would have appreciated Rob not throwing my shoes at the bear, but I appreciated the fact that he kept his cool and got rid of the bear.

Looking back on it I'm a little angry that I didn't have my camera.

[1] Also know as the Russian Ballet. But I digress.

[2] Unlike unwanted house guests, gypsies, or Rocky Mountain Squirrels

Strange Exercises

Minneapolis.

For anyone who's been following this blog, I've been slowly catching up with the dailies of the Yosemite Trip. It's been a slow process, given that work and my social calendar has been preventing me from writing as much as I would like.

Alright, I admit it. I just can't seem to figure out from what part of the day I can take the time.

One thing that has been a strange and new exercise for me has been trying to write accurate descriptions from what has become older memory. I've also been writing in installments, making for a more detailed (but still relatively short) travel work. This chapter style has been rather enjoyable, keeping the subjects very small and easy to manage.

The reflection on the events, from the vantage point of weeks rather than hours, allows for the inclusion of things that may have seemed less significant at the time come to fruit. It has allowed for more honesty, as well. I have been able to examine the happenings and for a more rational opinion. There are also things that seemed more significant at the time, but really were just blown out of proportion due to exhaustion[1].

But the daily writing has suffered. I miss it. I feel that to get it back I need to quit my job and go back on the road. Fortunately, people tell me "don't quit your day job."

Thanks, critics, for keeping me gainfully employed.

[1] The other possibility being that I was still affecting some remnant "softiness."

It was widely thought that softiness was a switch: one is either a softie or not (referred to in the scientific literature as "hardcore"). Recent studies have shown that this is not the case. Studies of people being shown photos of situations (hotels versus campgrounds, for example) that should only trigger certain brain locations for softies, tended to have gradations of firing.

These gradations also changed as the subjects were directly exposed to softie or hardcore environments. The more recent the exposure to a soft or a hard environment, the shift more towards one end of the spectrum or another.

Splitting Up is Hard to Do

Yosemite Tramp, Chapter 5

We had a new plan for the day. With a bum knee, we needed to somehow make it an easy day for Jen. We had seen Four Mile Trail from the other side of the valley. It looked worse than Yosemite falls; a veritable switchback nightmare. After much discussion it was decided that the best route to take back up into the mountains was via bus.

Having missed the ticket window the night before, Rob decided to start the day out by running to the Lodge. This was a good two miles from the backpacker camp. At first glance, this might seem like a good idea: last minute tickets require action to obtain. As it turns out, this was a little detrimental. You see, the tickets for the bus cost twenty dollars a pop. It was a tour bus, complete with little bits of information, and full of softies.

Yose falls reflected in the Merced
Originally uploaded by RobFargo.

Rob and I decided that it would be best^[1] if we hiked up the Four Mile trail. We got everything sorted out by mid-morning, and parted ways with the ladies at the bus.

It turned out that we needed to cross the Valley on foot to get to Four Mile Trail. With all the melt and run off, the river running through it was flooded. Incredibly flooded. We had to walk through a good three hundred yards of icy water. Stupidly, we chose to do this in sandals. Keeping those wool socks on might have been a better idea.

The weird thing about softies is that they take pictures of this sort of thing. "Look at the guys hiking through the water with those heavy packs! Jeez, they're real serious over there. Make sure to get me in the picture with them, ma!" The frozen feet, on my part, froze my sense of humor as well. I sort of broke, and double pumped the bird at some grandma^[2].

I hope she got that photo.

We hiked up the trail pretty quickly after that. It turned out to be an easier hike, in terms of grade and number of switchbacks. The heat and our pace made it exhausting, though. We really pushed - minimal breaks and high speed walking. We were probably racing that bus.

We hit the top, only to find a visitor center, complete with concession stand. This was mildly disturbing, considering the hike it took to get there, but I suppose people could drive there. They need a destination, beyond a spectacular view.

The Face of Half Dome
Originally uploaded by pschwarz.

We reunited with Jen and Liza (who had, during the day, my camera - she took one of the best pictures of Half dome out of my set), had a sandwich and pushed on.

We still had a few miles to go to get out of the day-hiker zone where we could camp. We hiked along the beautiful Panoramic trail, which passed by a large water fall, and had views of Half Dome along the whole trail. Sloping down along a ridge line, it also provided fantastic views of the valley floor below.

We pushed on about as far as we possibly could that night (another three miles), collapsing at the first (and only) campsite we could find.

It was a bloody long day.



[1] I.E. we were cheap bastards.

[2] Ok, so it was actually aimed at Rob. The grandma in question simply got in the way of a misdirected double-pumping.

Honest.

Happy Fourth

Rhythm and Booms
Originally uploaded by alumroot.

Flickr is great. Any event or holiday, one can find a great photo for it. No one needs to take their one pictures any longer. It's the one stop memory shop.

Of course, if we all just quit taking pictures, who would be out there creating those memories?

Oh, the great conundrums...

Boulevard of Broken Knees

Yosemite Tramp, Chapter 4

Hiking back down the Yosemite Falls trail was painful. They had built all of these fake steps, as Jen called them, in to the steep switch backs. Going up, oddly enough, one doesn't notice them. The steps are wide enough, perfect for digging one's toes. On the way down, this is a different story.

You see, for most people, down steps need to be taken using the ball of the foot. This is the part of the foot that the majority of the weight is put on during walking. Without a step wide enough, balance is very difficult, requiring more attention to where the foot is placed. It's slow work and we had at least a mile of it.

I was quite pissed off at the trail.

I had less of a reason to be pissed at the trail than Jen. She blew her knee out. Fortunately for me, I did not see the actual moment of knee blowing. I don't really handle see friends pain that well, female friends in particular. I try to be as helpful as possible, but seeing any one on the verge (or actually over the verge^[1]) really puts me on the verge of sobbing like a little girl.

Yep, I'm a big old softie^[2]. Not the kind of softie that I'll describe in a minute, mind you. I hope I am never described in that fashion.

The best solution to that is really just send Rob and I ahead at our own pace. We made it down to the bottom pretty quickly, dropped our packs, took a drink of water, and headed back up. I'm really proud of Rob, actually. Even after some pretty long days of hiking, he still can be a gentleman.

We met back up with Liza and Jen after about fifteen switch-backs. In what took a little convincing, I was able to verbally wrestle away Liza's pack^[3], while Rob took Jen's (I don't think there was a lot of arm twisting there).

We made it back down after the first of two treks into the wilderness a little bruised and broken, but otherwise in good shape.

We had a bit of a run-around after that, riding the shuttles around the park. This allowed for some interesting observations of life for the valley visitors. It was soft and I mean soft. They had hotels, shuttles (who needs walking?), restaurants and bars. We had, well, the stuff in our packs. There were so few backpackers riding around on those shuttles that we became an oddity, another attraction for the softies to photograph. I'm still surprised we never heard the statement "get my picture while stand next to them." Probably due to the smell.

The advantage to this was that the have Fat Tire on tap at the bar. This is one of my all-time favorite beers, and I only ever seem to get it when I'm on a hiking trip. It would be great if they would distribute here in the Midwest, but then it might lose it's specialness. It's become a little gift, a reward for hard work and too much mileage.

Ah, a tasty reward.

[1] What the hell is the "verge" anyway? How does some get on the edge of it. It seems like people hang out on the verge all the time, so is it really wide? Another piece of evidence that it's a really big place is that there are a lot of people on the verge of things: a breakthrough, a breakdown, madness, happiness. Maybe they just like hanging out there, like "he's on the verge, man."

The Verge must be a pretty cool place.

[2] Softie, /'sof-tE/, Etymology: ¹soft.
1. a person who enjoys all the comforts of home, while surrounded by amazing natural beauty, which is meant to be explored and enjoyed through hard hikes, whilst carrying everything needed on one's back.
2. a softhearted or sentimental person

I fall under the second definition.

[3] In a fair, physical fight, I might put my money on Liza. The woman hikes on twelve Advil. She's a veritable pharmacopoeia.

[Note] Strangely enough, I didn't really take any pictures on this day. Probably due to the fact that we were climbing back down the same trail we took to get to the top in the first place.

El Cap Nap

Yosemite Tramp, chapter 3

The brilliant part of backcountry camping is waking up to the sunrise and feeling like the only people on the mountain. We woke to the sounds of the river rushing below our campsite. The air was fresh, crisp and cold. Damn cold. Icy cold.

Yet another night of freezing my ass off.

I spent my previous backcountry hiking experience freezing nightly, to the point of breaking out the emergency blanket so I could sleep. While I slept soundly, my traveling companions were more annoyed by the crinkle sound the blanket material makes whenever there is the subtlest movement. This year, I decided to go a different route: bring things designed for colder weather.

The whole of the trip a learning process of how to sleep in the cold, while still being able to carry ultra-light equipment. On the first night in the brush, I used a silk liner sheet, and wore a stocking cap. Still, I kept waking up every fifteen minutes or so. My feet were cold. Lesson learned: wear socks.

We had decided the previous evening to do the ten mile hike to El Capitan, as a day hike, instead of hiking to North Dome, which would have been a ten mile hike with full packs. After the hard hike the previous day, we decided that a day hike would be preferable. Besides, we really liked our little campsite.

We hit the trail after the usual camp breakfast of instant oatmeal. The trail itself was relatively easy with pretty minimal elevation gain[1]. We passed by snow pack, and flooded meadows. We were all still tired from the previous day, but the excitement of being in the backcountry - again, as if we were the only people there - speared us on.

We stopped off for a hike up one of the peaks along the way. Here I made the mistake of climbing around the outside of the peak, dangling myself above a long drop down the face of the mountain. It made for a great photo op, though. Liza and Jen stayed behind at the fork in the trail, only to get tired of Rob and my childish need to climb up everything. At least they left a note, made out of pine needles[2].

We found the top of El Cap in only a few hours. The top wasn't really much to see. It was a long, rocky slope with few trees and little else. We did find a very nice little wind shelter, built around a small tree, that had been put together by some previous camper. We sat in the shade of it's tree and napped for a while.

The hike back was uneventful, simply passing back along the same trail. We spent another evening pleasantly exhausted, enjoying yellow curry and cheesy rice, with cashews, a nip of Scotch, and a few games of cribbage.

[1] Only 800 feet. This didn't really seem like much after the 2700 from the previous day.

[2] Somehow, that seems very Hansel and Grettel to me.

Up the Falls

Yosemite Tramp, chapter 2

We woke up early in the morning to find that we didn't need to worry at all about rangers. The patrol rate of the rangers seemed pretty minimal in Yosemite. Glacier National park was crawling with them. They were almost as plentiful as the deer, and about as intrusive.

We needed to head over to the Wilderness Center to grab our permit and bear boxes. It seemed a bit odd that one has to hike in the backcountry with a personal bear box. These box turned out to be small canisters, with clever locking mechanisms, a little larger than a paint can. We needed two of them to cover our supplies for the first two nights in the backcountry.

In fact, we thought we needed three. The whole group seemed to develop a problem with knowing the exact day that a trip would end. Perhaps they caught it from me. So with an extra day's dinner, as well as all the breakfasts (yep, I forgot to even sort through those), we set out to climb Yosemite Falls.

Yosemite Falls trail is a microcosm of American terrain. It switches to and from pine forests, through desert sands, and misty trees. Each area delights the imagination, conjuring forth different persons who lay in wait just beyond trees. I half expected to see Clint Eastwood burst from the brush, with Eli Wallach close on his heels yelling "Blondie" at the top of his lungs.

The trail itself is probably one of the most difficult hike in the park. It involves hiking up nearly 2800 feet of elevation over three and a half miles. Much of this climb is done in a series of very step and very short switchbacks. How I hate the switchback.

We arrived after about six hours of climbing. We were all in pretty decent shape by the end but quite exhausted. No one was terribly interested in hiking too far from the falls. Fortunately, we stumbled upon a really nice campsite, complete with fire pit, just off of the river.

After a brief nap, we headed to the falls to enjoy a well earned meal. Dinner and a show, actually. The Air Force's show flyers seemed to be doing some practice formations over the park. With all that Californian desert, we couldn't figure out why they choose a National Park as their training area. Still, there are less interesting things to see during dinner