Off the Beaten Track
Sandy Barker's Travel BlogArchive for Adventure
Gap Year
There is an Aussie rite of passage that is not really part of American culture. This rite is also shared by the Kiwis, Brits, Irish and even the South Africans.
It is the ‘gap year’, where young adults leave their home country and go on grand adventures. They almost always end by moving back home with their parents, because the are spent – financially, often physically, and sometimes emotionally. For many (myself included) the only thing better than the gap year, is coming home from the gap year.
So, what are the Americans doing when the English, Irish, Kiwi and Aussie youth are gallivanting around the globe, tending bars in London, backpacking through Scandinavia, volunteering at refugee camps in Haiti or getting blindingly drunk with other intrepid gap yearers? Many of them go to college – an American rite of passage, some join the workforce, and some do take advantage of their youth, their savings account and the best wishes of their loved ones, and go on a gap year adventure.
When I left high school, I did not go to college – or uni, as we call it – right away. I had blown my final exams, because at seventeen I was essentially burnt out from 2 years of 4-6 hours a night of study. When I announced about 3 weeks before the final exams that I wouldn’t be sitting them, my parents informed me that I would. Fine, I thought, but I won’t study. And in a rare act of defiance, I didn’t. I did okay on these exams, and was accepted into the University of Western Australia. But I didn’t go. Instead, I lounged around on my dad’s couch with my unemployed best friend, cashing fortnightly dole checks.
My dad’s tolerance for this behavior wore thin after a surprising 8 months (I would have kicked me off the couch in 8 weeks!), and I went out and got a job. At a grocery store. As a ‘checkout chick’. I do not know how my parents felt about that at the time. I was a bright girl, and working in a supermarket wasn’t exactly my dream job, but, I was only 18. I didn’t know what my dream job was, and so I settled for something easy and close to home. I quickly rose through the ranks, and by my 19th birthday, I was the manager of the checkout chicks (and guys). It went to my head a little, but the power put shine on a job that was otherwise quite dull. By that time I had also locked onto the dream of going to college in the U.S. so, I was saving frantically to move there.
By the end of that year I was living in LA – with my aunt and uncle. And so began my gap year.
My aunt and uncle are only 10 years older, so the living situation was actually much cooler than it first sounds. Even though I was under-aged, we would have fun nights out at bars and pubs. I never got carded like I do now; people cared less, or the laws were less stringent, but for whatever reason my 19-year old butt sat on many a bar-stool that year.
I got a job at the local AMC cinema, where I met my boyfriend and a gang of best friends. I added two other jobs to the mix, as I needed to save cash for tuition. I worked in an auto parts store and a Blockbuster. The worst of my jobs was Blockbuster. My manager was the same age as me and a complete tool. Had I known anything about karma at the time, I may have understood the irony of the situation.
My best job was at AMC – all the free movies, popcorn and diet Coke a girl could want! Plus, my boyfriend and best friends were there.
The auto parts store was kind of smelly and often boring, but I learned a shitload about cars. Men can be real assholes to a pretty girl who works behind the parts counter, so I learned my stuff fast. “You do not need new jets for your carburetor because your car is fuel injected. You’re just being a jerk and trying to trick me. Next!” Booyah!
I worked seven days a week, and took little time off. Amongst all the shifts – some of them back-to-back, I found time to go to Rosarito Beach, Mexico, Big Bear, and to Palm Springs. I was only 19 so I thought that these were exotic locations. Life was seriously fun.
I did eventually get to college after a year of working three jobs, and having fun with my friends and boyfriend. I did a semester at BYU (yes, that BYU) which was both amazingly great and completely depressing.
Amazingly great:
- My oldest friend, Jules, was also at BYU, and we have a lot of fun – even now
- I lived in the dorms and adored my roommate
- My girlfriends and I went dancing two or three times a week. (Provo is not like the town in Footloose, even though the original film was shot there.)
- I had French class 5 days a week and j’aime Francais!
- I got good grades with little effort
Completely depressing:
- My boyfriend lived in California
- I was very poor, so would accept dates just to go to a movie (see point #1)
- After three dates, most guys would propose
- It was cold and snowy (winter semester)
- I was so poor I would do my roommate’s laundry if she paid and I could throw my clothes in with hers
- My non-French classes were ridiculously boring
- Did I mention that I was poor?
The semester came to a close, and I was destitute. My time in the dorms had come to an end, I had no money and no job, and my boy in California broke things off. If I’d had a dog, he would have been hit by a car. Things were grim. I talked my way into a job – and an advance on my paycheck, and crashed at a friend’s place for about 6 weeks. Aside from the dancing, which continued 3 nights a week (the Ivy Tower: Wednesday, ladies night, free entry, Friday, free entry before 8, and Saturday, $1 entry), I was miserable.
It was time to admit to myself that my little adventure was over. Jules was heading home to Perth, Australia, and so would I.
I called my mum. Collect. “Hi mum!” “Hello, sweetheart.” “I want to come home.” “Oh that’s wonderful!” and then because she knew me well, “How much money do you have?” “$5.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Okay, well I will call your dad and we will work something out.”
And she did, and we did, and Jules and I flew home together in August 1990. She moved back in with her parents, and I moved back in with mine (my dad and step-mum’s place). And so ended my gap year.
Perhaps I was not as intrepid as today’s 19 year-olds. But in mine I went to two countries, learned French, lost the 30 pounds I had gained sitting on my dad’s couch, lost my virginity, learned to drive on the LA freeways, found out the difference between an alternator and a starter motor, refused several proposals, and survived being homeless and unemployed.
I did okay. ; )
In fact, I am proud of my 19-year-old self. She was gutsy and passionate. I remind myself to tap into her when I am feeling scared or indifferent.
And just because they make me giggle, have a look at this series of videos entitled “Gap Yah“.
Heatwave in Seattle
by bangladeshihindu
I have a confession to make. I am one of those women you see at the gym who reads magazines on the cardio equipment. I have another confession. I feel superior to other women who read magazines on the cardio equipment, because I am working on level 20 while they are usually on level 4 or 7.
I don’t necessarily think that I am a better person, just that I am getting a better workout. And something I have discovered about reading while working out, is that once in a while I am endowed with a true ‘ah-hah’ moment.
These are rare while I am reading Hollywood gossip, and really I only read those magazines for the pictures, not the articles. Sometimes, though, someone leaves an Oprah, or a MORE magazine at the gym and I end up reading something that actually changes me a little. I return home with a renewed sense of purpose, an inspiration or a fresh perspective.
It was one of these moments that led me to hot yoga. I was deep in the heart of an Oprah magazine. “’Adventure’ doesn’t have to mean trekking through the jungle or bungee-jumping. Being adventurous is to deliberately move outside of your comfort zone,” I read, heart-pounding, face red, and sweat pouring.
That night my girlfriend, Carlie, sent me a text. The week before we had talked about how she did hot yoga, and how I wanted to try it. This was the moment of truth, my moment to be adventurous. “6 tomorrow morning. Meet you there?” I replied, “Sure!” before I could talk myself out of it.
So, I took my nearly 41-year-old tight hamstrings to hot yoga.
I loved it. I loved being hot. I loved stretching myself – both literally and figuratively. I enjoyed the low candle light and the relaxing, but very hip music (nary a whale call or a raindrop to be heard). I thoroughly enjoyed a rhythmic and strengthening hour of Vinyasa.
Allow me to interject with the brief (and sporadic) history of “Sandy and Yoga”.
- I can’t remember when I did my first class. It was the 90s.
- I had a crush on a beautiful, sexually-ambiguous Eurasian yoga instructor in Sydney, so I attended his classes each week for a whole month.
- I do a series of sun salutations before I fly.
- I lived with a yoga instructor, who chided me about doing weights and running, until I did a perfect jump-back from Crow to Plank, which finally shut her up.
- I fell in love with ‘Body Balance’ classes, which combined yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates choreographed to music. Those fed my body and my attention-span-of-a-two-year-old mind, but I moved to America where there are no Body Balance classes.
- I did no yoga for 18 months, and became stiff and sore more frequently than stretching at the gym could combat.
- I tried hot yoga and signed up for two months unlimited attendance.
- I go here three times a week and I feel great.
Thank you, Carlie, for leading me on a new adventure.
I do sometimes question if I love the yoga, or the fact that it is hot in the studio. Living in Seattle, I am rarely hot. Showers are hot, of course, but I mean with my clothes on. Most of the time I am focusing on ‘not being cold’, so the yoga studio offers welcome relief. Still, hot yoga is something I have always wanted to try, but never did ‘til now.
That makes it my adventure du jour. Next is participating in a flash mob…
When the pieces come together: Part Two
Our accommodation the first night of our weekend was with a lovely lady called Barbara at her B&B in Port Angeles, Ocean Crest. We arrived just before dinner and she showed us to our room. It was very comfortable, had its own bathroom, and just next door was a little sitting room for us. Barbara was thrilled to hear an Australian accent, as her beau is keen to take her to Australia next year and she was full of questions.
She took us through our dining options for the evening, and made reference to ‘Twilight’ several times. I then noticed the Twilight paraphernalia featured on a bookcase. Apparently, there is a book out there called Twilight, and quite a few people have read it, and many of those people come to the Olympic Peninsula to see where Bella (the heroine) and her vampire lover, Edward ‘live’.
The story is set in Forks, Washington, and we were 60 miles away, but that didn’t mean that the Twilight business is not thriving in Port Angeles too. It was our first taste of how far reaching this phenomena is.
We opted not to go to ‘Bella Italian’ – a favorite amongst Twilight devotees, but instead chose a seafood restaurant on the water. It was a good pick and I had Dungeness crabcakes (Dungeness is just up the road from Port Angeles) and Ben tried razor clams. Both were delicious, especially the unusual razor clam, which is large and meaty and quite a bit sweeter than crab. After dinner we discovered a cozy wine bar, and sat down to taste some California reds. We would have stayed longer, but one of us would have had to play ‘skipper’ and it is just no fun watching your love drink lovely wine while you sip water.
Barbara, a pro in the B&B business for eleven years, not surprisingly made a fabulous breakfast the next morning. While we enjoyed pancakes, eggs and bacon, we heard more of her story – recently divorced, but seemingly happy – and about her son who runs a resort out near Forks – yes, the Forks of the novel, Twilight.
We kept a close eye on the weather through breakfast. That morning we were supposed to be going kayaking on Freshwater Bay. However, I awoke to a very stiff and sore shoulder, so Ben was going it alone. Even though check out time was 11am, Barbara had generously offered for me to stay on and ‘chill out’ until Ben got back around 1pm.
As I ate, I looked out at dark clouds and incessant rain, and a niggling thought popped into my head: ‘It’s still officially summer’. I pushed aside the disheartening thought about the demise of my favorite season. I needn’t be selfish, as I wasn’t the one who would get very wet. Luckily when I called the kayaking place to cancel, they said they only had the two of us booked, and it was probably best to call it off all together. Ben seemed very happy about that.
Instead, we decided to go wine tasting. (Hooray!) We said a fond farewell to Barbara, and as we drove out of the driveway saw this little lady:
Doe a deer...
We then went to Camaraderie Cellars and Harbinger Winery. Both had some lovely wines, which were presented by lovely people. We killed a couple of hours, and made some dents in the plastic, but you have to when you taste good wine that you can only get at the cellar door. Wine tasting at cellar doors is a ‘regret-less endeavor’ only if you buy what you like when you’re there.
We were a chatty pair as we drove again past Lake Crescent, and on towards Forks. We would stay that night at Manitou Lodge, which sits nestled in the coastal rain forest, just west of Forks. A couple of hours before check in, we pulled up outside Three Rivers Resort and Cafe, also just west of Forks. We knew that the cafe (owned by Barbara’s son) had its own ‘vampire menu’, but it was at this time that the whole ‘Twilight’ obsession started to hit home.
Inside the cafe is this sign:
Treaty line
which I am sure people thought I was photographing because I am a fan. I’m not; all I know is that the books – and now a film – exist.
We later learned that next weekend is a huge celebration in Forks to mark Bella’s fictional birthday. Her birthday part is being held in a church, because, as you all know, vampires can’t go into churches.
It is an intriguing pursuit, this whole Twilight obsession. It has me more than a little curious, so I have asked Ben to put the film on our Netflix cue. I am not too keen to read the book, but I will check out the film. At least we can say ‘We’ve been there”. We ate our burgers – which were terrific – and played two games of Yahtzee, both of which Ben won – but only just.
After lunch and a short drive we were at the coast at LaPush, Washington. It was spectacularly beautiful, but the most inhospitable I have ever seen the Pacific.
A storm was raging, waves crashed and the whole scene was of gray debris.
The town itself was not beautiful, rather a lonely, decrepit town I can imagine is only visited because of the views from it shores.
It was time to go to our accommodation, so we headed away from the coast and deeper into the forest. Manitou Lodge is the sort of place that actually looks like its name. It is big and rustic, with stone and timber walls. On entry we were faced with a giant staircase and a grand room with a long dining table, four leather couches and bookshelves lined with old books and games.
It is a place that could be either the scene of a horror movie, or the backdrop for a mini adventure. I was hoping for the latter. We were shown to our room, the Lady of Guadalupe:
Both of us were keen for some indoor R&R, because the rain outside was unrelenting. After I nested for a few minutes, much to Ben’s amusement, I chose to have a hot bath, and he chose to read about Seattle a hundred years ago. Both of us enjoyed these solitary pursuits, and then we came back together, and headed downstairs to see what we could see.
We scoured the bookshelves for games or interesting books, all while maintaining our library voices. There were 4 other people in the grand room, and all were reading, so we whispered. We then hit the jackpot with a 600 piece Star Trek puzzle.
I looked at Ben as though asking, ‘Are you game?’ and he looked at me as though replying, “Okay.” We cleared some space on the table top, and began our task. Five hours, one and a half bottles of wine, two cheese croissants, and a bag of popcorn later we called it a night.
There were many pieces missing – we guessed about 50 – and it was too dark in the grand room to discern between dark blue and black, so we left a few patches unfinished, but overall it was a hugely successful and fun endeavor. Whenever either of us found the place for a tricky black piece with a sliver of color on the side, we earned a ‘well done’ and a kiss from the other.
We grew new-found respect and appreciation for just how clever the other is (keep in mind that we already had heaps of both, so this is saying a lot). The hours flew by. I can highly recommend puzzling as a good bonding experience for couples who are rained in on an adventure holiday.
This is how we left the puzzle for anyone keen to finish it:
Puzzled
The rain was still with us the next morning as we bid farewell to Vampire Country. We had survived!
We were driving the long way home, south, then east, then north up into Seattle. It would take about 4 hours if we didn’t stop, but of course, we wanted to stop. We chose Ruby Beach. It was a fluke, because there are a dozen places to stop and see the ocean on the drive, but we’re both glad we got to see this:
And these examples of natural graffiti art:
We ‘souvenired’ some of these pebbles, and they now sit proudly in our home. My favorite is the perfectly round stone Ben found. It is 6 inches across and now sits next to the television. I should also mention that we got very wet on this excursion. We both had waterproof jackets, but the rain and wind were in full force – it was wild and woolly – and we spent the next hour of driving, drying off. (Well worth it though!)
The rest of our drive went by quickly, although we did realize about 2 hours down the road that I had left my perfect pillow in the Lady of Guadalupe (they’re sending it to me). Lunch was breakfast at Denny’s. It is kind of a cheesy place to stop, but is always clean, and the breakfast is great. Good ol’ Denny’s didn’t disappoint, and gave us the energy we needed to get home.
We packed a lot in, but as I said before, the success of the weekend was as much about what we skipped as what we saw. Wine tasting is a much better way to spend a rainy day than kayaking.
As always, thank you to my darling Ben. He is the best travel companion (and life’s companion) this girl could ever hope for.
And the boys want to know where we’re all going next…
Tahoe and Squirt are ready to go
When the pieces come together: Part One
What makes a perfect weekend? What are the essential elements that must come together to create a weekend of ‘Kismet’?
Well, this past Labor Day long weekend we discovered that the perfect weekend can be as much about what is omitted as what is included.
The night before our departure I suffered a night of insomnia. They come up from time to time, and usually at inopportune moments like this one. I awoke to a rainy morning, an achy neck, a recurrence of a niggling sore throat I have been fighting for weeks, and a bad mood.
Ben was a trooper. I was a trooper. We managed our morning like seasoned travelers and were showered, fed and packed without too many snippy words. We loaded the car in the rain, and made the early ferry (7:55am) with several minutes to spare. We would ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island, then drive across the island and over a bridge onto the Olympic Peninsula.
The boys were excited.
Anticipation
I wanted either coffee or sleep. I opted for sleep and soon discovered that the fully reclined passenger seat of Ben’s car combined with my awesome pillow (which I take with me everywhere) is the PERFECT way to travel long distances. I was out like a light.
When I emerged from my coma, we were in Port Townsend, a pretty town on the north-eastern tip of the peninsula. My friend, Todd, had tipped us off that it is was a great spot, so we detoured off course to fit it in.
Driving in we saw this:
Oops
The weather in Port Townsend was what my dad would call ‘wild and woolly’. [It is an expression I have grown up with, so I know that it means 'really windy and a lot wet', but now that I have written it into this post, I am wondering how the 'woolly' part comes into play.] It had stranded these two boats on the shoreline, and when we got out of the car, it threatened to blow us out straight back of town.
We opted for a safe haven in the form of the nearest coffee shop, where we drank tea, and ate American-style scones. Ben asked for soy milk, but we were informed that they didn’t use soy milk, because it is VERY bad for you. Sure. Okay. Whatever you say.
After tea Ben suggested we walk through the town a bit. For me the day was only just coming in to focus, so I said yes, despite the weather. I needed to wake up fully.
In Port Townsend
We discovered some gorgeous architecture that has been lovingly restored, and many galleries. I bought a few little trinkets – gifts mostly – including a giant sand dollar from the curio shop. It now sits with our African Goddess and our Indian Elephant – three continents represented in one corner of our living room. The people we met were lovely and chatty, and I know this is a place I would like to go back to sometime soon.
Moving on from the windy town, we made our way south and then west towards Port Angeles. We would be staying at a B&B there later in the day, but it wasn’t even lunch time yet, so we pressed on towards the Sol Duc Hot Springs.
Lunch was an impromptu stop at Granny’s Cafe, an old school diner on the main highway.
Catsup and Creamer
I believe it is solely for this reason that people stop there to eat, and has nothing to do with Granny, the food, or the collections of ‘things’ that fill every horizontal surface.
Intriguing
Moooo
The food was, at best, passable.
Fed, we hopped back in the car, still on course for Sol Duc Springs, and took a detour to Lake Crescent, where we saw our first glimpse of sun that day.
Driving to Lake Crescent
The Lake is in the Olympic National Park, but holiday homes pepper its shore. From one angle I could have sworn I saw how it must be at the height of summer, even though the true temperature was closer to 58F (15C).
Lake Crescent
As we left, the rain came again. After winding around the south side of the lake – a beautiful drive – we turned off the highway and into the central part of the national forest. We overshot the hot springs and drove instead to a trail head for, among other destinations, Sol Duc Falls. It was only sprinkling lightly, but had clearly rained heavily at some point, because the trails were dense with mud.
Just as I pointed out a beetle for Ben to avoid stepping on, there was a sharp pain in my hand. I quickly pulled off my glove, thinking that maybe a spider had nestled in there over the summer, but no. A yellow jacket hornet had stung me through my glove and it hurt like hell. A quick detour back to the car to dress my wound, and we retraced our steps back towards the falls. We were rewarded for our efforts – and my pain – with this spectacular sight.
Ben at Sol Duc Falls
And looking further down river:
So lush
We made our way back to the car while I watched carefully for attack hornets. Back at the car we met a lovely group of middle aged people who had been stranded by a dead car battery. Fortuitously for them we happened to be parked right next to them, and could give them a jump start. “Thank goodness,” said one of the women. “We were so worried that the people on either side of us were off trekking for days on end.” She had no way of knowing that trekking for days in the rain is my closest idea to hell, but we all agreed that our car’s proximity to theirs was ‘great luck indeed’. Sometimes you meet the nicest people.
Feeling good about our small act of kindness, we drove a short distance, grabbed our swimsuits and paid admission to the Sol Duc Springs Resort.
I kind of knew when I saw first the ‘hot springs’ – essentially giant hot tubs stuffed with tourists and their splashing children – and then the filthy change rooms, that it would be a short visit. I was disappointed for many reasons. Mostly, I had looked forward to the hot springs because my neck, shoulders and upper back had been chronically sore for days. It was becoming hard to sit, sleep, stand and move – which pretty much didn’t leave much time when it didn’t hurt.
I had also been to the hot springs in Aguas Calientes, Peru, which were beautiful, exceptionally clean, and set into the side of a mountain, so my expectations for the Sol Duc Springs were high.
The stench of sulfur did nothing to ease my aches, and I wished it was a better experience all around – especially for Ben, who was experiencing a hot springs for the first time. I stayed in as long as I could, but when I saw the 30th strand of hair float by, and then a band-aid, I got out, quickly showered and dressed. Ben was not too far behind me. Before leaving I filled in a comment card, and as this post goes to press, I received a lovely email from the management apologizing for the state of the facilities and offering a free pass for us both on our next visit. Hmm. Thanks, but we’ll think about it.
It was time to head to our accommodation for the night and I looked forward to getting clean and dry and out of the outdoors. Sometimes, Adventure Chick. Sometimes, Princess. Princess was ready for a bath!
Part Two: Where Vampires Dwell
Geocached up
So, I have landed a new job.
As soon as my work visa is sorted, I will be working for Groundspeak, who run Geocaching.com among many other things.
Geocaching, as a recreation, was new to me when I applied for the job. I researched it, and decided that not only did I want to work with the people at Groundspeak, but that I wanted to become a geocacher. And so I have.
Ben and I signed up right away – when I was mid interviews. He has one of the fancy schmancy phones that does everything – including answer the phone – so we were all geared up with GPS technology. We created an online profile, and searched for caches based on our zip code.
Voila! Over 500 caches popped up within a 5 miles radius. Um, yeah, let’s narrow that down a bit.
We chose one and headed out from our apartment towards the Seattle Center. Unbeknown to us, we had picked the day of a huge festival to find our first cache. Our first task was to navigate our way through the throngs of people all desperate to get their hands on freebies, corn on the cob, or beer in plastic cups.
We rounded a corner and headed down a ramp, finally easing away from the crowd. You see, when you participate in geocaching, you want to keep a low profile. No one wants their cache raided or stolen by ‘muggles’ (they have appropriated the term from the Harry Potter series), so you have to ensure that you are discreet.
Down the end of the ramp, and around the corner, the GPS assessed that we were ‘there’. Now it was our job to find the cache within a 15-25 foot radius, not knowing exactly what we were looking for, and all the while trying to appear like we weren’t looking for anything at all.
It didn’t take long. Ben took a chance on venturing a little way into the garden bed and it paid off. The cache was a sealed Tupperware container, and enclosed was a log book, which we signed, and a few trinkets. We took nothing, but left a coupon for free yogurt.
Success.
We were quite pleased with ourselves, despite the fact that the ratings for difficulty and terrain were both 1/5. Still, we were no longer non-geocachers. We went to a film that afternoon, and when we got home, logged onto our profile and shared our success.
Since then we have sought three other caches, two of which were successful. The third is located in a small nature reserve in West Seattle. We chose it because we had yet to get out to West Seattle, and it was deemed a 2.5/5 for both difficulty and terrain. We wanted to kick it up a notch.
We discovered a few things that day.
Firstly, geocaching gets you out of the house, which is a particularly good thing when you realize that you are still in your pajamas at noon on a Sunday.
Secondly, if you choose caches in places you haven’t been to before, then you get to go somewhere new! This may seem obvious, but it is delightful, nevertheless, to go somewhere you haven’t been before.
West Seattle gave us this view of our neighborhood.
Queen Anne from West Seattle
We also discovered the joy of finding a cache that someone else cannot find. While we were looking for a Rating 1/1 cache close to where I took this photo, we saw other people looking for the same cache. They were following the readings on their GPS, trying to be surreptitious, and left after they had looked in all the same places we had. Only we decided to keep trying after they left.
At that moment I looked down and saw a small piece of paper next to my foot. I picked it up; it was a fortune from a cookie. It said “Your short-term goal will be realized soon.” I showed it to Ben, just as he put his hand on the cache. Cool!
The last thing we discovered that day was that you can try too hard.
We went in search of the 2.5/2.5 cache (that is 2.5/5 for difficulty and terrain). We had some notes from the previous finders, and we had the location in our GPS, but under the dense canopy of trees, the GPS was rendered next to useless.
It got us in the general vicinity, but we could never seem to get close to the cache, no matter how deep we went into the woods.
At one point I had climbed down a steep incline, fought my way through giant ferns, knocked down about 5o spider webs, and traversed a fallen log that was 8 feet off the ground on its far side. Nothing. And the only way out was to repeat all of that in reverse.
After more than an hour we were both dirty, sweaty and a little baffled. We went back to the main path, and even tried a couple of other small paths. None of them could get us any closer to the location marked by the GPS.
Ben emerging from a path
We called it a day.
We walked back to the car, drove back across town and when we got home looked up the cache. One note said, “The position of the cache is visible from the main path.” We had tried too hard. We had been searching for a cache that would have been rated much higher than 2.5/5 for either terrain or difficulty. We had dug holes, looked in trees, and gone WAAAYYYYY off the path.
But we’ll go back. I want that cache!
So, as I wait for the visa thing to be sorted, I am learning many wonderful and interesting things about all aspects of the geocaching world.
I have learned that in Western Australia there are 1818 caches. I have learned that most people I know in North America are geocachers themselves, or know someone who is.
I have also activated the Geocoin given to me by one of the founders of Groundspeak during my final interview. (Thank you Brian). I have set its course for the UK, and then Australia in the hopes that it will find its way back to me here. Isn’t that cool?
And, courtesy of my new boss, Jenn, I have my own geocaching profile now under the profile name, Sandy (for those who have accounts too – they’re FREE!) . At the moment I share all my caching information with Ben and our joint profile. Perhaps we will always cache together, as we are loving our mini adventures, but this gives us the chance to broaden our individual horizons too.
So, this is a little insight into my new world. I hope to see you out in it.
Hawaii H2O
Every day we were in Hawaii we were either in the water or out on it, sailing, snorkeling, paddling and swimming. Ben even tried surfing, and we both had a bash at paddleboarding.
Some of the highlights:
Sunset Cruise (Maui). Our first night on Maui we got on a sunset cruise, which was romantic and fun, and reminded us exactly why we love Maui so much.
Back in Maui!
We got our sea legs pretty quickly.
Sea legs
The views of the coastline were beautiful, but it was this that blew us away at the end of the evening:
Sunset from Maui
We enjoyed our ‘champagne’ out of plastic cups, and dancing to old tunes (no easy task on a rocking yacht), but mostly were both we thrilled to be back out on the water. Our holiday began with a bang.
Beach bumming (Maui and Kaua’i). We didn’t spend too much time just laying on the beach with the occasional dip in the sea. We spent just enough. We got our Vitamin D, we chilled out, and we got a little tanned.
Our resort's beach on Maui
We even brought our ‘boys’ down so they could get the sun they’d been missing in Seattle.
Ben with Tahoe Bear and Squirt
(Yes, I know they aren’t real, but don’t tell Ben.)
On Kaua’i we got secret directions to Secret Beach. It took us a couple of U-turns, but we found it. When we arrived, we were the only ones there.
Shhhh. Secret Beach
The view back along the coast was incredible.
View from Secret Beach
And Ben is becoming quite the body surfer.
Body Surfer
The water is an incredible color! We did read later, much like the information we discovered after our hike in Waimea Canyon, that the rips off the coast of Kaua’i have been responsible for a few casualties. There was one moment when I looked up from my book, and couldn’t see Ben in the surf. My heart leapt into my throat, mostly because we were alone, and I would not be able to rescue him without drowning myself, but he waved and called out from further down the beach.
Snorkeling Molokini Atoll (Maui). This trip took most of the day, and began by sailing out to the atoll on a double hulled catamaran.
On our way to Molokini
Once there, we geared up, and got to the business of snorkeling one of the clearest and best snorkeling spots in the world.
Underwater by Ben
Ben took some terrific underwater shots:
Angel Fish by Ben
by Ben
by Ben
Our next stop was ‘Turtle Town’, where we swam with the sea turtles. At first I was doubtful we would see any, but I spotted the first one, followed it with Ben until we found a much bigger one, then we followed that one. I saw 4 turtles, and one of them was only a few feet from me. Ben has some terrific shots on his Flickr page of our last jaunt with the sea turtles (April 2007), so check them out.
I love sea turtles. They have such grace, and seem so wise (perhaps because some of them are over 100 years old). The native Hawaiians believe they are spiritual guides. I know that I feel a special kind of peace when I swim with them.
Kayaking Waimea River to a waterfall. This was a terrific afternoon on Kaua’i where we paddled up river about 2 and a half miles,
Kayaking Waimea River
tied up our kayaks,
Parking lot
hiked another mile into the rain forest to the waterfall,
Through the mud
Hike through the rainforest
Awesome scenery
and then swam in it.
Was only a little chilly
Our guide was a Hawaiian native who happily works for the family-run business. Terada knows her stuff, and loves her homeland. She tackled the hike (through mud, streams and over rocks) bare-footed. And she filled the hike with lots of interesting information about the terrain.
We hiked out on a different path, where we saw this waterfall.
Water feature
We loved the whole thing; it was a terrific excursion.
Happy travelers
Sailing up the Napoli Coast (Kaua’i). We took a sunset cruise off the coast of Kaua’i that took us up to the Napoli Coast (accessible only by boat or by foot).
The coastline is THE most beautiful I have ever seen. Our skipper took his time, and pointed out landmarks along the way. I think its beauty speaks for itself.
Aqua Agua
The Queen's Bath
Archway
And yes, the water really was this brilliant aqua color. We could 80 feet to the ocean floor, and watched sea turtles swimming between the boat and the shore.
Cave
Ben wants to hike to this cave and camp here on our next trip to Kaua’i. I’d be up for that.
Watertrickle
After we turned back, and the sun started to set, our skipper saw some spinner dolphins leaping out of the water not too far off our bow. He made his way over there, and Ben got some terrific footage as they swam off the wake of the bow.
Spinner Dolphins
I felt like a little kid. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Delighted
Boarding (Surfing on Maui and Paddleboarding on Kaua’i). Ben had a go at long board surfing on Maui. He took a lesson with two other guys, and while they practiced their moves on land, they looked a little like the ‘Surfettes’.
Boy band or surfers in the making?
He stood his first go, and continued to ride the waves. Not bad for a guy who grew up landlocked!
Catching his first wave
Hanging 10 (off the board)
Paddleboarding was a whole new sport. You stand on a specially designed long board and paddle. You can catch waves, but must change to the surfer stance, and it takes a lot of practice. Ben had a lesson, and the next day taught me. On my birthday we spent a couple of hours paddling around Kalapaki Bay.
Paddleboarding
Lounging at the pool. We spent little time at the Marriott resort pool, but we made a point to swim, spa and sun ourselves. Wouldn’t you?
3 of 5 swim-up spas
Pool with views to the beach
Hawaii was a brilliant time. We squeezed every moment out of our time there. And it is always a pleasure to travel with my best friend.
Ben
Sand
Hawaii: The high life
Let me set the scene: 8 days in Hawaii, 4 on Maui, 4 on Kaua’i. We mixed it up: relaxation and adventure. We saw new sights and revisited a couple of favorites.
We spent a lot of time up high.
Ziplining (Maui). This is a relatively new past time, where you hook onto a steel cable, launch from a platform, and ‘zip’ over a canyon to a landing platform on the other side.
Adventure Chick ready for action
We had two guides for the excursion, Junior and John, who were a well-practiced comedy duo, and handled our diverse group with deft hands. The first one to launch off the first perch was a little, round woman who was visibly terrified. John talked her through it, and then the rest of us lined up, one by one, and crossed the canyon.
Ziplining
I was nicknamed ‘Giggles’, because I laughed every time I crossed. It was just exhilarating. We did 8 crossings, ranging from 350 feet to 1100 feet. The trick on landing was to get feet on the platform and run out the momentum.
Ben coming in for a landing
The views were incredible.
View from the final crossing
The lookout where we had morning tea revealed the next valley over. Spectacular views, but I doubt I would have ziplined across something so deep.
Views up the canyon
Adventurers
Hiking the North Maui coastline. Not only was some of the hike precarious (sheer cliffs – I took the ‘long way’ a couple of times), the road to get there was too. For about 20 miles, the road is a single lane winding along the coast. There were a few times where we had to hug the edge to let another car pass. The ‘pay off’ was mind-blowing landscapes and cultural phenomena.
Right on the edge
Our guidebook mentioned that there is a spot on the North Maui coastal drive where travelers have left hundreds of stone piles. The guidebook also says that these piles of rocks have no cultural significance. This may be true of the ancient Hawaiians, but for the travelers who make it here and leave their own ‘mark’ on the landscape, the sculptures have taken their own significance. It is like ecologically friendly graffiti.
Stoners
The day before we did the hike, we drove past on our way to the beach. I was intrigued.
Picking my way through the 'ruins'
The next day we left ours atop a cliff.
Eco-friendly graffiti
The rest of the hike revealed a landscape so unusual, that we felt like we were on set of a Sci-Fi movie.
North Maui Coastal Hike
Nature's Gargoyles
Molten Mt Rushmore
Wasteland
The rest of this hike will be featured in the next post: we were on a quest to find two blow holes, the second of which sometimes blows water 100 feet in the air.
NouNou Mountain Hike (Kaua’i). Our first day on Kaua’i we followed our noses to NouNou Mountain, where we could trek up high and get a lay of the land.
The trail was deemed a ‘moderate’ hike, and for two reasonably fit people, we certainly worked hard for the 45 minutes it took us to climb the trail. The terrain was rugged, so challenging, and there were a few shortcuts that were little more than tree root ladders.
Rugged trail
We stopped to admire the view. The day was heating up, and we were working hard.
View from the half-way point
We pushed on to the top, not really knowing how much further it was.
The view of the coastline, towns and farms was spectacular.
Kaua'i Coastline
Not much further we got to the apex of the mountain, with views back to the rest of the mountain range. We turned around and headed back to the car, satisfied that the hike would ‘count’ as our exercise for the day.
The most unusual aspect of the hike was the soundtrack: roosters crowing and cows mooing. Cows, understandably, because dairy farms fill the valley. The roosters and chickens are harder to wrap my mind around, because on both Maui and Kaua’i the chickens are wild. Yes, wild.
Mama and babies
No matter where you are, on a kayak paddling down a river, in your room at the resort, on a sunset cruise, roosters all over the island(s) are staking their claim with cries of ‘Cock a Doodle Doo’ – morning, noon and night. We even noticed the following headline on the front page of the local paper on Kaua’i: What’s Up With the Chickens? Indeed! If you want to know the full story, read this article from Go Visit Kaua’i.
Waimea Canyon (Kaua’i). This is called the Grand Canyon of Hawaii. Some of the canyon is lush and green, and other parts are more like the actual Grand Canyon. We spent a morning driving up onto the rim of the canyon, stopping at various view points.
Lush valley of Waimea Canyon
Hazy mist burning off in the morning sun
A girl with a view
And at one lookout I noticed this sign, covered in stickers by people who were clearly ignoring, well, the sign.
DANGER!
At the top of the canyon, we headed off road to take on a 1.5 mile hike. The landscape was lush, and diverse.
Gnarly
conifers on Kaua'i
And then the trail started to disappear. We turned around not long after this.
LOST!
We read later that people have gone missing in Kaua’i because they get lost on hikes, think they are walking on solid ground, but are walking on outcrops of plant life that overhang canyons, and then fall down cliffs and die. Yeah, glad we turned around.
Back at the car, there were more fowl.
Cock a doodie!
We kept driving, and at the very top of the canyon is a view of the Napoli Coastline. Just gorgeous!
Napoli Coast
View from Waimea Canyon Lookout
As well as the outdoor adventures that took us to great heights, we were also living the ‘high life’. Our room at the Marriott Kaua’i was a beautiful suite with this view of Kalapaki Bay:
Kalapaki Bay
View from our room
Yes, beautiful. Even with the sound of roosters.
Next post: Hawaii H2O
back on the horse
On Saturday, April 4th, Ben and I made the drive from Vancouver to Whistler in good time, despite the copious roadworks. Our accommodation in Whistler was ready for us at 9am – 7 hours before check in – which suited us perfectly, because we could change for the slopes in our apartment rather than the car park. The sun was warm, and the day would yield blue skies, which was stark contrast from the -12C weather I’d experienced my first time there in 2007. We had prepaid our rentals and ski passes, so were geared up and ready to ski by 10:30am. Not bad for leaving Vancouver at 7:30.
The only thing tainting a perfect morning was my nerves. I always get a little nervous before skiing, because I am relatively new to it, but these nerves were making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the steep runs of Whistler Mountain. I haven’t skied many places, but when I skied Whistler in 2007, I felt liked it kicked my butt. The green runs were steeper than I had experienced before and the bottom half of the mountain was icy, which means a novice spends more time slipping and sliding than skiing.
“Are you okay,” asked Ben, noticing my apprehension.
“I feel like I did right before we went sky diving.” I wasn’t kidding, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not talk myself out of that fear.
We rode the gondola to the top of Whistler and Ben had already said that he would ski part the way down with me on the green runs ‘to warm up’. I was happy with that, and by the time I was actually standing on my skis and could see the powdery snow, I was feeling more calm. The run started well, mostly because I have had quite a few more hours on skis since my first time at Whistler. Add to that the gorgeous weather, powdery snow, and a grinning boyfriend skiing next to me, and my nerves dissipated. “I can do this,” I thought as I handled slopes that would have scared me not too long ago.
Then it happened: I started having fun.
I let myself pick up speed. I tried more parallel turns (nearly there), and I took bigger chances than I usually would. I was loving it, and even laughed off a clumsy fall, which happened when I overturned and headed down the mountain backwards. I also managed a terrific parallel stop which amazed me. I didn’t know I could do that!
Ben skied off in between trees, because he can, and was pulling off a spectacular cross-country maneuver when the edge of my uphill ski clipped something hard, crossed over my other ski and I fell face forward down the slope. I put my arms out to break my fall, and ‘pop’ went my right shoulder, which is a horrible sound to hear when you fall. More horrible was the pain that shot from my shoulder to my neck and down the length of my arm. I rolled onto my back, and lay there, swearing. The swearing part was involuntary, because it was the kind of pain that makes you feel a bit nauseous.
Ben came back and helped me to my feet. He retrieved my wayward ski and helped me back onto it. He wiped off the outside – and inside – of my goggles, and I reassured him that I was okay to keep going. I cursed my clumsiness, and we got back to the business of skiing down the mountain.
The thing was, we had skied most of the soft, powdery snow. Fairly soon after my fall we hit the mid-mountain runs which were icy and more steep than those at the top. And not only did my shoulder hurt, I also started to feel the after effects of the fall. Physically, the adrenaline was wearing off, and I became shaky and weak. Mentally, I lost my ‘mojo’. All confidence was gone, and when we turned on to trails I previously would have attacked (in my clumsy, novice way), I was scared again.
We got to a major junction where Ben could get on a ski lift to more challenging parts of the mountain. I kind of begged him to ‘go on without me’. I wasn’t being dramatic. I just didn’t want to completely fall apart in front of him. He seemed disappointed, and I wasn’t sure at the time whether it was ‘for me’ or ‘in me’, but perhaps it was a little of both. He got in line for the lift, and grateful to be on my own, I continued on my way down the mountain. ‘Snowplough’ featured heavily on my descent, even though I have been beyond that for some time now.
I skied 2/3 of the way down, and came upon a gondola station where I could ride the rest of the way to Whistler Village. As I leaned against the bench in the gondola I let my tears of frustration fall. I had a stern ‘get back on the horse’ talk with myself, and I knew that if Ben was disappointed in me – even if only a little – it could not compare to how annoyed I was at myself.
At the bottom of the mountain I splashed water on my face, looked hard at myself in the mirror and shook off my feelings of self-derision. I killed time before lunch with Ben by mooching about shops, and when I entered l’Occitane, I was greeted by three Aussie accents. I spent about half an hour having a chat with lovely young ex-pats who were good company, and let me try lots of different products. When I left for lunch I was feeling – and smelling – better.
Over lunch, Ben and I decided that we would start the next day by riding the Peak to Peak gondola that runs from the top of Whistler to the top of Blackcomb Mountain. There were green runs from there all the way down Blackcomb, so I could rest up for the rest of the day and then start fresh in the morning. I was committed to getting back on the horse. I spent the afternoon alone, but not lonely, nursing my aching shoulder. We then spent a lovely evening which included the resort’s hot tub, drinks by the fireplace of a wine bar, and a gourmet Japanese dinner.
I slept carefully, mostly on my left side, keeping my right arm close to me like an injured wing. When I woke on Sunday and tried to do something simple, like pushing the covers off me, I knew I wouldn’t be skiing that day either. My should and upper arm hurt worse, and showering, drying myself and especially getting into a turtleneck all presented challenges and required help from Ben. To put myself, a relative novice, on skis for the day would be irresponsible. Damn it!
I thought of wasted money and wasted opportunities – to ski again with Ben, to improve my turns, to ski under blue skies. I so desperately want to get past the part where skiing is somewhat challenging and even a little scary and onto loving it. It did occur to me to stay in our lovely apartment and read, but that thought did not last long.
I suited up for a day in the snow, and rode to gondola to the top of Whistler with Ben. We then boarded the Peak to Peak gondola, which holds the record for the longest span between towers (3 kms).
The ride gave us incredible views, including those from the window in the floor of the cabin.
Once on top of Blackcomb, I took a few shots and Ben kissed me goodbye before skiing off.
I headed indoors for a hot cuppa. I wrote most of this post in a notebook while I sipped a hot mocha and looked out at a breathtaking view.
When the table next to mine filled with three families who shared a total of seven children under six, I made a beeline for the door. (I knew I could not listen to much more whining about who got the most M&M’s.)
The ride back across the Peak to Peak was just as enjoyable, and I met a lovely Mexican couple who put me onto Arnica (a natural remedy) for my shoulder. I sought it out when I got to the base of the mountain, but two days later am still achy and sore. More rest, some anti-inflammatory pills, and keeping up with the Arnica will hopefully have me back to boxing class next week.
The rest of our time away was wonderful. We had evening drinks outdoors because the weather was so mild –
and took a morning walk along a trail through the woods before we left.
I got over the disappointment of not skiing, and am keen to hit the slopes again soon – mostly likely in Washington, if we can make time before the end of the season. My turns are coming along, and I really want to get better. I will ski Whistler again some day, but for now she remains the victor. She is beautiful, but she kicked my butt again.
And we called her ‘Kylie’…
Our GPS on this trip through California and Nevada had an Australian accent. In a land of chewy ‘R’s and rounded ‘O’s, a flat-tack Aussie accent was incongruous, yet welcome, “Make a roit tuhrn in three quahrtehs of a moile.”
We got used to it, as I am a native Aussie speaker, and Ben is learning the language, even adopting key phrases such as ‘on the mend’, and ‘have a think’.
We called her ‘Kylie’, a quintessential Aussie name. When she got us out of a pickle, or she insisted when we disagreed with her, only to discover that she was right all along, we affectionately called her ‘Kylz’. “Good on ya, Kylz. You did good.”
And even though she was an Aussie in a strange land, she pronounced all the names of towns correctly, and knew that ‘Yosemite’ does not rhyme with ‘Vegemite’, even though it looks like it should. “Yoi-se-mitt-ee,” she declared boldly – and correctly. It was because she had done so well for 4 of the 5 days we were travelling, that her first and only slip up stuck out like dogs balls.
Lake Tahoe, is pronounced with a long soft ‘Tahhhh’, followed by a rounded ‘ho’. Imagine our amusement then, when Kylie announced that we were turn left onto ‘Lake Ta-ho Drive.’ Her version of the lake rhymed with ‘Cat-hoe’. I suppressed a giggle, because I didn’t want to embarrass her. But every time she said it – and she said it a lot, considering we were there for two days – the giggles started to escape. Poor misguided Kylie; someone should have told her. I just didn’t want it to be me.
But you say Ta-ho, I say tomah-to. Regardless, it is a stunning place to visit.
It IS touristy, there is no denying that. The shorelines are lined with places to stay, from 5 star resorts to cheap and cheerful motels. And every fast food restaurant chain on the planet is represented at least once.
The southern end is a hub of activity and the invisible line between Nevada and California is clearly visible in South Tahoe. The casinos blink and dance along the main drag, and then noticeably stop. I am sure if we’d been walking we could identify the line in the sidewalk, and stand with one foot in each state.
The northern end of the lake is a little more subdued, with more wildlife visible from the main highway, and more residences than the south. The western road between the two winds up into a mountain range, and curls past small lakes. At one point in the drive on the second day, we drove along a mountain ridge, with a drop on either side of the road. South of us was Cascade Lake, and north of the road, was Emerald Bay on Lake Tahoe. “Every mountain road should be like this,” declared an impressed Ben. “You should always be able to drive on the ridges.” Magic.
Emerald Bay
Our visit fell in the shoulder season between summer sailing and on-the-lake fun, and winter skiing and snowboarding. The locals were storing their quad bikes and jet-skis, and dusting off the snowmobiles. As I mentioned in a previous blog, road-works were in abundance. It was as though the precious few weeks between the summer and winter seasons was the only time that the work could be done. “Quick! The skiers will be here any second now!” Tahoe had more people in hard hats than in sun hats. Worse still,the signs said to expect delays of up to 30 minutes. Fortuitously, we never waited that long, but I felt for locals. They can sigh with relief as the tourists disappear, only to then get stuck in traffic.
We had other things on our mind, however. We had come to eat, see, do and enjoy.
So,we did!
Our first night was at a Marriott resort, where we happily handed our car over to valets, and availed ourselves of the pool. The weather was unseasonably warm, so to throw on my bikini when I was expecting to be wearing jeans and a sweater, was a welcome surprise. Ben got into the pool, and taunted me until I joined him. I am an ‘inch by inch’ girl when it comes to getting in a pool. On a very hot day I will dive in, BUT that day was just ‘warm’. I went with the inching, and then we frolicked a bit, as we do when in the pool together. G-rated, of course. There were children present.
We had armed ourselves with brochures, which we looked through as we dried off on our loungers. We were keen on some sort of sailing excursion, and thought of riding the Zipline at the top of the mountain, but the gondolas to get up the mountain weren’t running the next day. Quad biking! We could go on a quad bike ride, an activity I loved so much in New Zealand last year, I described it as the most fun I had ever had outside.
It was getting on the afternoon, and I really wanted a cocktail. That meant it was time to get dressed in proper clothes and seek out some fun. We got recommendations for two restaurants, both ‘beachside’, and decided to head to the furthest one. The temperature had dropped quite a bit by the time we got there, so I was a little dubious about the offer to sit outside until I saw the outdoor heaters. Sitting practically underneath one, I was toasty warm.
It was 10 minutes before the end of ‘happy hour’ so we asked to see the cocktail menu. They didn’t have one, and if we wanted happy hour cocktails, we had to go inside to the bar. No problem. Only when we got to the bar, happy hour cocktails were beer and an alcoholic slushy. Hmmm. We went back outside, sat at our warm table, and asked for the wine list. Things improved vastly. The wine recommended (an Aussie red) was delicious, and so was the food. Best of all, though, was the sunset over the water, for which we had a ‘ring-side’ seat. Spectacular.
Without the warmth of the heater, the cold bit into us as we raced back to the car. We decided to stop for more wine, and this was when we became a trio. Next door to the liquor store was a place that sold alpacas (not the actual animals, but stuff made out of their hides). And there amongst the strings of white alpaca bears suspended from the ceiling, was a little dark grey bear. His face was quite extraordinary, and I knew at once that he had to come with us. His name is Tahoe – original, I know.
That night, while I conducted my ablutions, Tahoe got up to all sorts of mischief. He is a very naughty bear, with a wild and crazy Afro.
Ben’s pic of Tahoe
The next day was the day for quad-biking and a sunset cruise on the lake. Only I took one look at my outdoorsy clothes and hiking boots, and had another idea. I broached it before breakfast. “Um, I had a thought.” Ben looked at me, curiously. “Yes?” “How about you go quad-biking, and I stay here and go to the spa?” I tried to sell it with my best smile. He looked crest-fallen. “But you love quad-biking. It was your idea.” I knew that. And I knew that if I went it would be fun, but I sooooo wanted to just relax and be a girl that day. We went for breakfast, and came back to our plans on a full stomach. Ben would wait by the pool with a book while I had my girlie spa fun, and then we would drive to the quad biking. I would then go check in at our cabin, and come back for him. Then we would go on the yacht for the sunset cruise.
The day went to plan, and the drive to the quad bike trail was beautiful. It was there that we rode the crest of that peak, and saw Emerald Bay and Crystal Lake. I dropped him off and headed north. I had Kylie to guide me, even though it was only one turn at a major intersection and impossible to get lost.
I pulled up outside “Rustic Cottages”, and it was my turn to be crest fallen. I thought back to our beautiful little rustic cottage in Hokitika, New Zealand. This place fell short – very short – think Danny DeVito. I checked in, and went to our cottage. It was so small inside that there was literally 18 inches between the bed and the walls. I could hear traffic from the highway, which wasn’t surprising considering it was 12 feet away.
I showered, and grabbed a change of clothes for Ben, in case he was covered head to toe in mud when I collected him. When I walked out to the car I noticed a semi-circle of Adirondack chairs facing the highway. I looked at what would be the view from the chairs: a hotel across the road, and glimpses (I mean specks) of Lake Tahoe water. Sigh.
I stopped for water and snacks, for the ride between the quad bike trail and where we were going was an hour, and my man had been doing manly things. He would need sustenance. I pulled up at the trail, and there he was, cleaner than I thought, but with the smile I knew would be on his face. “Hi, Babe,” he said leaning over to kiss me hello. “Have fun?” “Yeah,” but then he added, “It would have been more fun if you’d been there.” Point taken. I felt a twinge of disappointment in myself, and for him, but I also felt relaxed – and clean – which I liked. I shook the conflicted feelings while Ben told me about his adventure.
We decided on a late lunch/early dinner at the second restaurant recommended the previous day. It was a good call. The view was not as nice as the night before, but the food was even better. Fish tacos take on a whole new meaning when they are served on a soft tortilla, and the fish is spiced just so. Delicious!
We wanted to be sure to get to the pier on time, so made our way with Kylie in charge. 15 minutes later we were there with an hour to kill. Ben ordered a Corona from the bar – in a can, but still served with lime – and we alternated between watching beach volleyballers and their dogs, and two ‘tweenies’ swimming in their jeans while their grandmother tried to call them out of the water.
More enticing, however, was the view. The sun was low in the sky, and waves lapped gently at the grey beach.
“Want to go for a walk?” We walked away from the pier, and Ben tossed sticks to two volleyballer’s dogs. I leaped up onto a big rock plonked in the middle of the beach, and tipped my head to the sun. Nice.
With an eye on the time, we wandered back towards the pier, where a crew member introduced himself, the captain and importantly the bartender. He made a few lame jokes about life jackets and then we could get on board. There were bean bags on the deck, and a few people opted for these prime spots. I headed to the back of the boat, and as we pulled away from shore, the wind started to whip through my hair. Ahhh. It felt so good to get out on the water again. It always did. And because Ben and I met on a yacht, any chance we have to sail, we love. It reminds us of a Grecian summer two years ago when our lives changed.
We eventually moved forward to the front of the boat, where it was colder, but the view was more magnificent. Large splashes of water came on board soaking a few railing-huggers and their cameras. But we stayed close to the cabin, and snuggled into a beanbag and under a blanket. We sipped our cheap champagne from plastic cups, and munched on pretzels. The sun sank behind the mountains we had driven through – twice – earlier that day, forming a ragged silhouette against a dark blue sky. Planets popped out first, and then the stars. We could hear wind in the sails, and the crash of the hull against the water as it pitched and fell. Tipsy from the champagne, we spent time just listening and looking, and then one would quietly say something to make the other laugh. It was heaven.
As we headed back to shore a couple of hours later, I noticed that my hands were numb. Ben went below for hot chocolate, which is my favourite drink when I am cold. We stayed on deck a while longer and then waited out the rest of the trip below deck. People still queued at the bar for drinks as well pulled up at the dock – they were included in the price, and I guess they wanted to make the most of it – but we were sated. It was a chilly walk back to the car, where Tahoe waited patiently.
What a wonderful day it had been.
I did, however, forewarn Ben about the ‘cottage’. We had a bit of a laugh as we tried to maneuver around each other, eventually deciding that the traffic in the room was better if we both just stayed in bed. 7 hours, a ticking heater, traffic noises, and an intrusive street lamp later, I awoke feeling less than rested, and completely over our rustic experience.
I finished packing as Ben went to settle up. “Uh, he’s got a whole breakfast happening over there.” I looked up from the bags. “He’s making waffles and everything. It’s included.” Homemade waffles! Suddenly, I loved “Rustic Cottages”. We made our way over to the dining room, where we got to make our waffles fresh. I ate two whole waffles, knowing that the sweet sticky goodness would backfire on me later in the day, and not caring. YUM!
Tahoe rode up front with me as we made our way back to lovely Reno (ah-hem). The tiny prop plane that had brought us was there at the gate, waiting to take us home.
I had more faith in it than the first time I had seen it five days before. “I have been on buses bigger than this plane,” I said before we got on. The engines whined loudly as it took off, as though it was trying with all its might to get off the ground. I ignored it, and played my favourite video game on Ben’s I-pod.
Snow was expected in Tahoe the next day, but that didn’t concern us. We were heading home.
Playing
Some days you feel like a little kid. You get to play. You laugh a lot. You wonder at the world.
Our second day in Yosemite was like this.
We awakened refreshed and peeked out the curtain to see just what we’d hoped for: blue sky. We feasted at breakfast – isn’t that why you stay at a Bed and Breakfast? – and were out the door before nine. We had so much more to see!
We had decided to drive through the nearby town of Mariposa (Spanish for ‘butterfly’), and up into the park via a different entrance. The drive was even more spectacular than the day before, and we coupled it with a Bill Bryson audio book to keep us company. His take on the world is hilarious. Between laughs I looked out at the ever deepening blue of the sky, and I just knew this was going to be a good day.
There was a little bit of excitement on the drive, when we had to detour around a giant rockslide that had buried about 300 meters of the road. The detour meant crossing the river on a single lane bridge, and then repeating this process when we were passed the rockslide. I made a mental note to pay more attention to those signs. “Rock Slide Area,” they say. Until that detour, I would get a mental image of rounding a bend and seeing little rocks sliding down a playground slide. “Weeeee,” they would cry as they launched off the end. No, this was serious business, and we both wondered aloud if anyone had been caught under it.
A few miles out of the park we pulled over for our first photo opportunity. We had a great view back down the valley we’d just driven, and the river was doing battle with the giant boulders stemming its flow. Impressive. We climbed a big, round, wet rock and looked up and down the valley. We didn’t know then to save our exclamations for the really cool stuff we had yet to see, but we both took in the fresh air and rocky view.
Then we had to get back down the big, round, wet rock. “You just have to trust your shoes,” said Ben, helpfully. “See?” He demonstrated a little flat-footed shuffle down the VERY STEEP, ROUND, WET rock. I looked down at my trainers, wanting to trust them, but not. When Ben turned around to see how I was doing, and saw I was in the same spot with a look of apprehension plastered on my face, he came back for me (good boyfriend!), taking my hand and encouraging my own little shuffle. It worked. I made it. I am still alive!
“How good are my shoes?!” I asked as though I had done it myself. I made a mental note that I had used my ‘Damsel in Distress’ card for the day, and I would have to get myself out of any further pickles.
We drove a few miles on and into the southeast entrance. This was when the ‘very cool’ stuff started to appear. We actually had to drive through a rock! I should say that the rock had a giant hole blasted out of it, but it was still a rock and we drove through it.
This part of the park was even more beautiful than what I had seen the day before. Because we were entering the valley floor, the road only climbed a few hundred feet, rather than the few thousand we had accomplished the day before. This pleased us both, because Ben had a head cold and the change in altitude had played havoc the day before, causing him great pain on descent. The other advantage of this route was that things got really pretty, pretty quickly, except for the roadworks.
We ignored the roadworks. We would come to consider them ubiquitous in days to come, as after we had spotted the first lot, we realised they were EVERYWHERE. This was the only disadvantage (and in the scheme of things, it is a small hiccup) of travelling during the shoulder season. “It’s October 1st! Quick! We gotta get these roads perfect before the ski season! Hustle!!” Lake Tahoe, we would discover, was far worse (and there is only one road all the way around – when they close a section and say ‘Go Back’, they mean drive 3/4 around the lake instead of 1/4 – nice!).
Disregarding the smell of asphalt, we climbed from the car to begin our playdate with nature. The river bed was down a small slope, and when we stood on the sandy bank, we could see promises of views to come: cliff faces played peekaboo with us behind the tree line. We could only smell good things down there, away from the road, like river water, and damp earth, and things that lived. The air was a little chilly, but we were the only ones there so we took a few minutes to enjoy it and take some photos.
See?
At the most awe-inspiring photo opportunity yet we learned that the valley floor is essentially flat. Apparently this has to do with the glacier and ancient lakes and sediment, and other scientific stuff. At the risk of sounding a bit dim, I am only slightly interested in that – too many reminders of ninth grade science, which was taught by the dreadfully dull, Mr Lullfitz (He lulled us into fits of boredom – get it?) Back in the valley, I was more interested in the enormous and imposing El Capitan.
Wow. I could not stop looking. It is grand and handsome and I reacted in a similar way when I saw The Coliseum. Just ‘Wow’. It is about 1900feet from the peak to the valley floor and it is a sheer cliff face. People climb it, but it requires sleeping in a sling attached to the cliff face. Um, no thanks! We stopped a few times to see it from different angles, and it became even more imposing. El Capitan dominated the natural skyline, and like Giant Grizzly was in Mariposa Grove, was clearly the patriarch of the Yosemite Valley.
BIKES! We wanted to hire bikes, so we drove to the heart of Yosemite Village, and parked up. The bike hire place was well equipped with many to choose from – all red – and all upright, single gear, back-pedal to brake bikes. Splendid! We suited up in always fetching bike helmets and with slight wobbles, rode through the car park to the nearest bike path. Fortunately, riding a bike is like, well, riding a bike, and within minutes we had the hang of the primitive beasts.
The park has 9 miles of paths for bikes, and they meander along the valley floor through forests, alongside river beds, and over bridges. We stopped intermittently to view the vistas, hike a trail, and even to visit the Ansel Adams gallery. ‘Gallery’ is probably a generous description of what is essentially a gift shop, but the work of Adams and other landscape photographers was incredible, capturing Yosemite in every season, and at all times of the day.
It would be great to go back and see it under snow, or in the bloom of Spring. As it was, the marks of Autumn were everywhere, green giving way to gold and burnt orange. The autumnal changing of the trees is something I haven’t experienced much living in Sydney. But even Ben, who grew up with four distinct seasons each year, commented frequently about how beautiful the leaves and fields were. The colours!
Once passed the gallery, and out of the hub of Yosemite Village, the bike paths opened up, and so did we. We rode with abandon, giddy like kids, in the awkward positions required by the primitive bikes. To get any purchase on the pedals we either had to bend like a ‘C’ over the handle bars, or sit bolt upright, and lean back a little. We laughed at ourselves, but mostly, it just felt good to feel the sun on our skin, the wind rushing passed us, and the muscles working to move us forward.
We took a detour to see Mirror Lake. We had to park the bikes at the bottom of a (mild) hill, because the hire bikes were not allowed any further, and walked the rest of the way. “We’re biking and hiking.” I offered. Ben countered with, “We’re bikers who hike, and hikers who bike.” Oh yeah, we were hard core adventurers. We strutted ahead of a family, young children tugging reluctantly on their parents’ hands as they were pulled up the hill.
Three guys walked towards us, carrying backpacks and camping equipment. They had obviously not showered for a few days, and were a little battered and bruised, but had huge grins on their faces as they talked loudly amongst themselves in a Germanic language. I looked down at my nice, neat ‘sporty’ ensemble. I didn’t even have any dirty smudges yet. So hardcore!
We got to where Mirror Lake should have been, and looked around at other disappointed faces – some of which were red from the exertion of cycling up the hill. We took a little trail, hoping that just on the other side of that huge boulder there would be SOME water. Nope. But there was a fallen log in the sun, and while Ben went for a wander into the dry lake, I sat and snacked on nuts and berries (well, Craisins). Ben returned, camera at the ready, just in time to capture my bonding moments with a little squirrel.
“Hey, Lady, you got any food?” the squirrel boldly asked as he sniffed the air, and me. He jumped up on the log, one paw holding the pine nut he was nibbling, and one paw scratching his rump. If he’s broken out a little can of beer, I would not have been surprised. Now, I have read those signs. I know that you NEVER feed the wildlife. I looked at my bag of raw almonds. Surely, a raw almond would not kill a squirrel. I thought of the monkey in the Perth zoo, who on a field trip in 10th grade, stole my pencil and ate it right in front of me. I had nightmares for weeks about that poor monkey dying from lead poisoning. No news articles appeared in the subsequent weeks, so I had to believe that he had lived.
An almond was definitely closer to the natural diet of a squirrel than a pencil was to that of a monkey. I put the almond about a foot from my body, and the sassy squirrel collected it, stuffed it in his mouth and looked at me expectantly.
What had I expected? Of course he would ask for more. I had to accept that he was smarter than me about these things. I held out another almond. This time he plucked it from my hand, and shoved it into his mouth. I watched as his little cheeks filled up. As someone who lived with the junior high moniker ‘Chipmunk Cheeks’, I started to feel a kinship with this little guy. When it was clear to him that no more almonds would be forthcoming, he popped an almond out of his cheek, and proceeded to peel it with his teeth. Who knew that the skin of an almond was so offensive?
He peeled it as a human bites the kernels from a corn cob. Then he spat out the skin, and took big bites until it was gone. He repeated this with the second almond. I was mesmerised. I had never seen this before, and I have to say that it is far more satisfying to watch than a monkey eating a pencil.
We moved on.
We were pretty much just following signs and playing our day by ear, so we headed towards the lookout for Vernal Falls. We could park and hike as we’d done before, and were keen to see a waterfall, even if it would only be a trickle. The hike along the riverbed sounded promising; we could hear water rushing. We stopped to take a shot of us amongst it all – my favourite shot of the trip – but we didn’t know then that maps are deceptive, and we still had a long way to go – up!
We started on the path to the lookout to Vernal Falls – not even to Vernal Falls itself. It got steep quickly, and it stayed steep – for nearly a mile. We approached it like hardcore adventurers would – with gusto. Neither of us wanted to admit that it was tough, until I slowed a bit. “My calves are on fire,” I confessed. “Really? This isn’t tough for me at all!” replied my boyfriend. He was kidding. It was a strenuous 35% climb, but it was unspoken that we would finish it.
Finally we rounded a bend, and there it was, a decline! Not only did the path dip down towards the bridge from which we would see Vernal Falls, the tree canopy thickened, and we emerged into an oasis. There were dozens of people milling about. This was where (actual) hardcore hikers started their trek to Vernal Falls, which we could see in the distance, trickling down a cliff face.
“Don’t read this,” said Ben covering a giant sign warning against the perils of feeding the wildlife. I thought back to the monkey again, and imagined the fresh headline, “Stupid Australian kills rare Californian squirrel”. I laughed it off.
We took photos, had a snack, and headed back along the track to our bikes. A mile feels a lot shorter when you’re going downhill. On the way down we passed an endless stream of pink-faced people, some of whom were twice my age. We encouraged the few who were close to their destination, and pitied those further down the trail.
When we hit flat ground the couple ahead of us stopped dead in their tracks. Something had run across the path in front of them, and they were watching it. We moved up closer, observing the immediate silence. At first I thought it was a raccoon, but no, it was a bobcat. About one and a half times the size of a house cat, it was stalking something further into the forest. It was aware of us though, as it threw a look back over its shoulder and stared at the four of us. We didn’t move. It’s face was marked like a Tabby cat, but its eyes were far more intense, and its fur fanned out around his face like a mane. He went back to his prey, and skulked away into the forest. We walked on.
Back on our bikes, we rode the long stretch back towards where we’d started. Photo ops abounded, as we flew through dark forest paths and into the bright sunlight of the valley floor. There was one section of the ride where we were the only ones on the path in either direction and we were flying up and down the gently undulating path. We were playing, grinning like kids, and a little breathless when we stopped for a stop sign.
“We can do another loop if you like, add a few miles to the ride?” Ben agreed and I led us on paths that criss-crossed the valley floor, through dry fields of grass, and across bridges made of railway sleepers. Eventually, when we’d covered all the paths there were – and some of them twice – we pulled up at the hire place and dropped off our bikes. “That was fun!” Ben agreed – and he is a cyclist with two high tech bikes sitting at home in Seattle. Despite our wobbly start, we made friends with our big, clunky bikes, and they took us on an unexpected adventure.
I drove us out of the park, enjoying the winding roads, and little traffic. We stopped in Mariposa for a late lunch / early dinner at an odd cafe just off the main drag. “What did you guys want?” was our reception. “Uh, food? We came to eat,” was my reply, toned to impart that I thought her question was both stupid and rude. We ordered but they were out of half the menu, so we ordered again. Finally plates of food arrived and we ate ravenously. After ‘dunch’, we stopped at a grocery store and stocked up on delicious treats for later, when we planned to drink a bottle of wine on the deck of the B+B while the sun went down.
Some hours later, when the sun had dipped below the mountains in the distance, and I was starting to feel the cold, we drained our glasses, abandoned the Adirondack chairs, and went inside. We would leave in the morning, driving from there through the park and up to Tahoe. More adventures to come for the hardcore biker/hikers.
