Unusual Seismic Recordings from Mount Rainier Glaciers

This is Steve Malone with the Pacific Northwest Seismic Network located at the University of Washington in Seattle. We operate seismographs throughout the Pacific Northwest and have three located high on Mount Rainier. We often record seismic events from all of our glacier-clad volcanoes that we associate with glacier motion, i.e. "ice-quakes." However, since about May 20, we have detected a strange set of these events coming from the upper Winthrop Glacier. We are calling these small events "clones" because the seismic waveforms from one event are near-duplicates of those from other events indicating a repeating source. They also seem to occur at very regular intervals.


The interval between events is often as short as every 3 minutes but changes from time to time and has been as much as 15 minutes between events. We think that their magnitude (on the Richter scale) is about M = -1 (i.e., 8 orders of magnitude smaller than the Nisqually earthquake of 2001).



So, what are these puppies? We think they represent small periodic slips at the bed of the glacier. Perhaps there is a large rock embedded in the bottom of the glacier and as the glacier moves it scrapes this rock along the bed, only a few mm in each slip. But why are they so regular in time? Maybe water pools up-hill of the rock until it slightly lifts the glacier allowing the rock to more easily slip and this then drains that small pool of water starting the process over. We think that water has an important influence on glacier sliding but don't understand the mechanism very well.


How can you help? Anyone climbing Rainier on the east side (upper Emmons or Winthrop Glacier routes) may see or hear things that would help us pin these suckers down. Please let me know of anything you think may be out of the ordinary (sounds, sights, feelings???). Particularly those of you who have been in this area before and can compare what may be different from previous climbs. Our best guess where these originate (based on stacking 4000 individual events to get the best relative seismic wave arrival times at six seismic stations and using a 1-D seismic velocity model with station elevation corrections, blah blah blah, other scientific mumbo-jumbo) puts the location at 46.85950 north 121.7610 west (i.e., 2.5 km WSW of Camp Schurman or 3.4 km NNW of Camp Muir or about 600 meters up from the top of Russell Cliffs).

To see these suckers yourself check out our "webicorders" at: http://www.pnsn.org/WEBICORDER/VOLC
and click on the date-time for one of the high Rainier stations (RCS, RCM, STAR). The small blips that have about the same size and shape are our "clones".

Send email to: steve@ess.washington.edu or give me a call (206-685-3811)


Steve Malone

The Dream? The Adventure!

I don't know what climbing, specifically alpine climbing, means to anyone including myself. I can no more tell you why climbing is so important and good for me than I can tell you how the universe was created or what "life" is.


But I know it started as a dream, a wish for adventure and a ability to comprehend what I saw in nature as something more than just special.

No matter what I climb, the type of terrain or how much I enjoy the moment it is all related to being in the mountains eventually and alpine climbing.

I get teased sometimes about my obvious boot fetish. Couple of things happened recently to bring me back to the original "dream", cold feet and why my desire of wanting to climb so badly.

The boot fetish is based on the reality of spending a lot of time out doors as a young kid. My parents hunted, fished and skied. Of course all that slowed down when they had kids..at least until we (the kids) could walk. And by walking I don't think we had to be able to walk far before we were off on their adventures. From my childhood I remember three things from those adventures, cold feet, how I liked heights when everyone else got scared and how much fun it was to be in the snow.

So the boot fetish should be easy to understand. I had cold feet from day one!

In the late 1950's the lookout shown above was the first place I remember seeing, and others talking about, climbing. I can remember my Dad walking with me out to the lookout and back hand in hand on that set of stairs. I was in the 2nd grade. Imagine my surprise to find out the Needles had its, "first recorded technical climbing is April 1970, Fred Beckey, Dan McHale, Mike Heath climbed the South Face of the Warlock, an 8 pitch climb rated 5.9." That ascent is of course a a full ten years after me seeing climbers in the Needles.

The view of the Needles from the lookout.


That was 50 years ago and I still get a thrill remembering the journey. It was another 10 years before I was to actually climb. But not because of a lack of desire. As I aged I remembered the thrill of that simple visit to the Lookout and the awe I had for the guys climbing on the rocks.

Learning to ski held my attention as did dirt bikes, basketball, football, bicycles, guns, knives and swimming. In the late '60s and early '70s our high school library carried a French magazine called "Paris Match" and even though I was taking French I couldn't read much of it. But, my Oh my, the pictures! Rene Desmaison made me WANT to be a alpine climber. Add a subscription to National Geographic my Grandmother gave at Chrismas every year since I was born (really, since I was born) and how could I not WANT to climb :)


" Readers of Paris Match read his dramatic reports and a radio audience measured in millions shivered with him during a live broadcast caught in a storm on the north face of the Grandes Jorasses......

In the 1960s when many of the so-called “last great problems” in the Alps were being addressed, Desmaison played a leading part in solving them. One attempt on the unclimbed Central Pillar of Freney, high on the Brenva face of Mont Blanc, became a France v Britain race. A team including Chris Bonington, Ian Clough and Don Whillans had a day's lead and were attempting the difficult overhanging crux of the climb when a group led by Desmaison appeared, attempting the same pillar by a nearby line. Bonington recalled that the corner crack they were trying to climb was too wide for their pitons but too small for the protective wooden wedges they were carrying. A request to the French for suitable gear met a firm and not unreasonable “non”, as the same gear was needed on their own route. Bonington and Whillans persevered, overcame the crux and dropped a rope to the rest of their team which the French then asked to use to ascend the difficult pitches. The rope was left, but seemingly failed to find a mention in French accounts of the climb.

Desmaison's closest brush with death came in the winter of 1971 attempting a new route on the Grandes Jorasses. With Serge Gousseault, a newly qualified Chamonix guide, the two climbers became trapped by violent storms sweeping the mountain face. After six days of slow, difficult climbing the weather had closed in. They reached a summit cornice, an overhanging lip of snow and ice, only a short distance from safety but were unable to move, hanging from pitons in a festoon of ropes. Rescue helicopters twice arrived above them but failed to understand Desmaison's signals for help. On the 12th day Gousseault froze to death and it was two days later that Desmaison, near death himself from cold and dehydration, was air- lifted to safety. Two years later he returned and completed the climb, once more arriving on the summit in a storm. "
René Desmaison, French mountaineer, guide, author and film-maker, was born on April 14, 1930. He died on September 28, 2007, aged 77

So between Desmaison and Gaston Rebuffat, another French Alpinist with a penchant for photography, writing and good climbs I was hooked long before I ever owned an ice axe.

Skiing, when I started, most still used leather boots. And the boots could be used for walking as required as well as skiing. Not cutting edge technology by any means even then but a whole lot of fun. Not a lot of difference between skiers and climbers then from my limited perspective.

Then while in high school our family moved to a little town just east of Mt. Adams. From our new home you could see Mt Hood, Mt Adams, St Helens, and of course Mt Rainier!

Now I just had to learn how to climb mountains! Of course I had no clue just how much mountains and climbing would come to influence the rest of my life.

A duplicate of my first "climbing" boots, age 14. Army surplus, alpine troop, ski and mtn boot. Bought in Lewiston Idaho with paper route money shortly before seeing Mt. Hood up close for the first time.

That was my start. Yours?

Aftermarket Dynamo Lights: a Clean Look

When setting up dynamo lighting on a bicycle with no provisions for it (i.e. no internal routing or special braze-ons), there is always the question of how to route the wiring so that it looks "clean." After all, no one likes to see black wires coiled around a frame's fork and tubes. When setting up the lights on my Rivendell some time ago, the Co-Habitant and I developed a nice method that is practically invisible, and I've been meaning to share it. So when we recently did the same to my Bella Ciao, I made sure to document it.

This method assumes that your bicycle is equipped with fenders, and that you are installing both a headlight and tail light. I will also assume that you already know how to connect the lights themselves; this is not meant to be an electrical tutorial.

The key to our method is using as little wiring as necessary - running it in a straight line parallel to existing stays and tubes, as opposed to coiling it, and securing it with colour-matched zipties. It's a simple idea, but colour-matched zipties really do blend in with the bicycle when all is said and done. You may be surprised to learn that they are available in all sorts of colours - from bright rainbow hues, to neutrals such as clear, white, cream, taupe and gray. We use small gray zipties to route the wire from the tail light along the non-drivetrain side fender chainstay.

In natural light, the result looks like this.

We then proceed along the non-drivetrain side chainstay, using a larger colour-matched ziptie. This frame is a sort of pale military green, and this beige ziptie blends in nicely.

Continuing the same underneath the bottom bracket.

In natural light, the wiring really does "disappear" when routed in this manner, staying close to the chainstay.

If your frame already has shifter cable braze-ons on the downtube as this one does, then you can simply attach the wiring to the shifter cable itself (small black zipties this time). Otherwise, use two large colour-matched zipties for the dwntube, like we did here.

For the headlight, you will need to leave enough wire so that your ability to turn the handlebars is not constricted. We prefer to achieve this by creating a coil here. To do this, simply wrap the wire tightly around a pen or a stick.



And voila, there is your coil. Notice the additional ziptie along the shifter cable, just to keep everything neatly in place.



Finally, use the same colour-matched zipties along the fork as you did along the chainstays, routing the wire to the hub as tautly as possible.



Even frames with internal routing often lack provisions for the fork, and here I find it especially important to find zipties in a colour that blends in with the paint - otherwise it can look as if the fork is cut into pieces, its elegant curvature disturbed. I am using my camera flash to show the process, but in daylight this really looks quite unobtrusive.



In natural light up close.



And from further away.



Having used this method on three bicycles now, I am pleased with it and don't particularly covet frames with provisions for internal routing. Nothing has ever come loose, and visually I am pretty happy with it. You are welcome to use our method, or to share your own.

For the technically inclined gear geeks

I have been thinking my ski skills are much improved recently.



Then I thought a dose of reality was do. Call it a gut check or soul searching. Your choice.



For various reasons I waxed and took a pair of 207cm Rossignol 4Gs out for a spin yesterday. The skis are like new and when purchased in 1993, state of the art. Reality checked inonthe first turn. A few runs later and I was enjoying all the good things about an old school GS race ski. Solid under your feet. They carve like a Samurai sword and they are stiff enough to plow through anything.



Conditions were literally falling apart at Alpental yesterday. Snow turning to water the moment it hit you. BIG slide evidenceeverywhere inside the ski area and a foot or so of heavy snow generally cut up where it wasn't simply avi debris.



Truth is, almost perfect conditions for a snow board. But even they were finding the avi debris problematic.



The 4Gs were fun, but hard to turn prior to building up some speed (warp speed). Damn scary by comparison to a fat ski (or snow board) in the deep wetsnow. Pretty fun blasting through the chop though. It was the kind of day most of us simply didn't bother skiing BITD. Too much work and too easy to sink a tip and get seriously hurt.



Enter my 196cm Dynafit Huascaran. First turnwas easy. Mindless actually with almost exactly half the boot technology on. The previously frightening experience in the chopped up junk became almost (almost) playful by comparison. The entire mountain opened up to me...almost as much as it had been to the snow boarders. The Dynafit ski almostdoubles the surface area on the snow. 115mm under foot as compared to 67mm under foot. And the Dynafit is so much easier to ski in the majority of conditions I see on the hill.



And to be honest of all my skis this 196cm Huascaran isn't the easiest ski I own to ski.



So truth is my skiing skills haven't found a magically fountain of youth and improved skills. Instead I am lucky enough to see the gear improve enough that it haseasily made me a better skier. Imagine what you might be able to do!



"What would Trevor do?"



Dude, he'd change to a fat, rockeredskis.



http://www.denverpost.com/extremes/ci_11874810



More gear geek info here:



http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive//04/the-power-of-gear-how-technical-equipment-redefines-our-relationship-with-extreme-environments/275177/

Black Bear crossing the Pigeon River

I caught this guy swimming across the river just upstream from the mouth today while kayaking on the river. This was the third time I've seen a bear swimming across the river!

All things Rainier...

More information about the climbing routes and access to them is starting to pour in from our vast network of contributors (you could be one too)... And from the latest reports, getting up and down the Glacier Basin trail won't be so easy this year. Today, the NPS trail-crew leader said, "My initial impressions, given the several feet of snow, is that the route will be impassable to most people and will likely require the full replacement of about one mile of trail." There's more on the Glacier Basin trail in the Updated Route Conditions.

The Seattle PI (in the Getaway Section) did a nice feature on spring access to Mt Rainier. The story covers what's happening, safety, and what visitors may expect once the park reopens. But the best part of the story is that they managed to tag this blog as "all things Rainier." Nice!

Last week, I revisited Camp Muir for the first time in three months. Things there seemed as normal as ever when it comes to spring access... However, things will be different this summer with the new guide services on the mountain. The most notable change will be that the NPS ranger station is moving to the Cook Shack (which is much more centrally located in camp). Also worth noting are the changes to what guide service will be operating out of what facility... AND that there will be a few new weatherports at Camp Muir... When the dust settles on the plan, I'll post more information. In the meantime, the reservation office has been quite busy churning out permits. If you've submitted a climbing reservation, there is a good chance that your confirmation is already in the mail. Pictured right is Seattle Times photogragher Erika Shultz, image by Mike Gauthier.

In other mountaineering news, Phil Ershler (longtime guide for International Mountain Guides) and his wife Susan recently released a book about their quest for the seven summits. In 2002, they became the first known couple to complete the circuit. The Seattle PI did a really nice piece about them, and some of the trials and tribulations, that went on behind the scenes.

Seaside Tandem

Over the weekend we wanted to take our bikes to Cape Cod and cycle on theRail Trail. Unfortunately, our lighter bikes are at the shop and the Pashleys are too heavy for the car's rear rack. Browsing the rail trail brochure, I noticed an advertisement for tandem rentals. Tandems! Within seconds, I was making a reservation.



Our tandem was a modern Fuji mountain-road hybrid, with an aluminum frame and carbon fork. With our mismatched beach attire and sunscreen-streaked faces (it was a hot day) we didn't exactly look glamorous, but it was quite an experience!



Tandem bicycles look charming and fun, which makes them seem easy to ride. I assure you that they are not! Despite Sheldon Brown's detailed description, we did not expect it to be so challenging. The tandemists must learn to coordinate their pedaling and coasting patterns, pedaling cadence, and even their body movements, so as not to disbalance the bicycle by leaning in different directions. This takes some time! Steering, shifting gears, and turning corners require considerable skill.



The person at the front of a tandem is called the Captain, and the person in the back is the Stoker. The job of the Captain is to steer and balance the bicycle, and to control the gearing. The job of the Stoker is to provide extra leg-power on the pedals and maintain the balance.If you are the Stoker, the Captain's back will be your view (inches from your face), unless you turn to the side!



The Co-Habitant was a natural captain and could even ride the tandem stretched out from the rear pedals.



I could not, but I was a good Stoker!



One of the benefits of a tandem, is that it can go very fast. Once we got the hang of operating the bicycle, we were flying on that thing, grinning with delight and leaving other cyclists in the dust. Overall, I prefer to ride an individual bicycle, simply because I like the control and independence. But on occasion, a tandem would be so much fun. It's a tandem!

Forbidden East Ridge Direct ..

Part II
"The Descent"

Steve's glory from the summit (photo by Steve Machuga)

Josh and Matt had told us that it took them about one and half hours to get back to the notch from the summit using the East Ledge descent. They said it was five rappels and then there were cairns on each rib on the traverse back. Most people avoid this descent because as Nelson states "climbers find this 3rd and 4th class descent route to be loose and stressful." Josh and Matt gave us confidence that we should have no problems with it. Plus at 7pm our only other option was to continue down the west ridge, which could not have been faster. If all went well, we should be back at the notch before the sun set.

Steve belayed me quickly back to the summit rap anchor. This was a mess of old slings on a horn on the ridge. The horn appeared sound enough, but we decided to add a sling as all the slings seemed old and tattered. The first rappel appeared to be the steepest. And we could see the next two rap stations from there.

I headed out first careful not to put too much weight on the anchor. About halfway down, Steve yelled to hurry up as it was 7:20pm. We made it to the next anchor which was no less scary than the top anchor and proceeded to rappel. A few raps down and we had difficulty finding the next rap stations. Steve led off on the next rap while I stashed the rack in the pack. By the time we were done with five raps it was a little dark and we could not see any cairns on the first rib. A lot of the beta and the climbeing ranger stated that the big mistake most people make is not descending enough. So, we made a sixth rap.

Still no sign of a cairn on the rib, we decided to head east. Perhaps we'd see it on the next rib? While not fully dark, it was a little too dark to see anything resembling a ledge that is what the route is supposed to traverse. So we carefully picked our way east as the sun set on us. We headed to what appeared to be a cairn on perhaps the second rib over but the ground got too difficult to reach it. (So we assumed it was not correct.) We saw a rap anchor nearby and were able to reach that. Anchored in, we rested our minds a bit, but wanted to keep moving. Now under head lamp, we made another rappel. Steve liked what he saw at the bottom and told me to come down. Once at the end of the rope, there were some larger, more comfortable ledges to stand on. We eyed the next rib and saw easier terrain going to it. We headed toward it.

Once on the rib, we identified a cairn. We were on route. But now it was dark and losing the route could be easy. The terrain and especially the ribs were rocky with many horns and blocks. A cairn could easily hide among all the other spikes on the rib. We continued slowly eastward toward the next rib. The night scrambling was stressful. We took a few minor breaks on larger ledges to rest our brains and take in the beauty of the sky. Unfortunately, there were no spots suitable for a bivy. No ledges were large enough to really sit or lay on, and none offered anchors to tie into. With a possibility of rockfall, our safest option was to keep moving off this technical terrain.

We neared the next rib and could see what looked like a cairn. But by headlamp it could also have been just a horn. We discussed it a bit. Then we headed toward it. It was yet another cairn. We were still on track!

We attempted to maintain a level crossing to the next rib. Going was slow. We kept looking up to the ridge to see if we were under the "solitary gendarme" that marks the start of the route. We reached the next rib to find another cairn. We were still on route and we appeared to be under the gendarme. Time to head up.

Having talked to the ranger and Josh and Matt they all stated that most people take the gully back up to the notch, but that it is preferred to stay on the rib just west of the gully as it is easier terrain. But where we were currently the gully offered the best terrain and we started our upward climb on grassy ledges and blocks. People had clearly been this way, but it did not necessarily look like a well traveled path. After some distance upward, we regained the rib again as that offered easier terrain. We were getting excited. The climbing was getting more stressful. The last bits to the ridge crest were probably low 5th class that we had to solo to make it to the top. Once there, our hearts sank. We headed up too early. We were at the location that marked the end of our fourth pitch earlier that day. (Or technically the day before.)

It was around 1:30am and we had four pitches to climb to return to the relative safety of the notch. We were out of water and hadn't drank any in hours. Nor would we be anywhere soon where we could replenish. We could build an anchor and huddle together until daylight, or we could climb out while we still were running on adrenalin. We sat about a bit admiring the stars and lights of Bellingham before making a decision. (Who knew you could see Forbidden from Bellingham?) The ridge was cold and windy, we wouldn't get any real rest, so we decided to climb. We both felt relief to finally be anchored back into the mountain again.

Steve suggested we lead the same pitches we led earlier as we may remember them. (It seemed like a week ago that we were on the ridge in the daylight. It made our South Early Winter Spire climb seem like last month!) I told him I remembered this pitch to be exposed. He told me it wouldn't matter as you couldn't feel the exposure in the dark.

So I took the rack out of the pack and racked up to lead a pitch on the ridge in the dark. As my headlamp illuminated the terrain it came back to me. Climb over this horn, traverse this rib, over another horn. I was determined to get it done. I stumbled upon the anchor where Steve belayed me on the pitch earlier. It was a sling someone left there. (Perhaps from retreating?) I backed it up with a cam set in what appeared to be a solid crack and yelled "Steve, off belay!" Later we would find it funny that we were using our names being the only people on the mountain. I brought Steve in and we contemplated the next pitch.

We were on top of the first large gendarme on the route. The way off was a steep 5.7 downclimb. We couldn't exactly see which way would continue on the ridge or start us down the face. Luckily for me it was Steve's turn to lead out. Unluckily for me it meant that I would follow the downclimb, which means I would have the danger of leading it. I told Steve to place gear early and often. He led off down the gendarme and off to where his headlamp darted about a bit here and there. Steve was low on gear and trying to build a suitable anchor. After a while of his headlamp darting, he finally yelled "off belay." And I was on my way.

When we were both on top of the gendarme, we contemplated numerous scenarios to get down it. One of which was both of us rapping off the anchor on top. (I told him I didn't like the anchor enough for that.) Another was for him to lead off on the down climb and for me to set up a top rope on the anchor to down climb it. This still relied on the top anchor too much and would also mean leaving gear. A similar option was to rappel off the top anchor after Steve down-climbed the pitch. If the top anchor failed, the top piece of gear should hold my fall. Well, we (or was it I) decided that downclimbing made the most sense. Assuming I didn't fall, there would be no reliance on gear. So I started down.

The climbing down the gendarme was marked by short difficult moves with good stances to finish. Steve placed gear so I would be roughly at a piece for the more difficult moves and should be able to still reach high to remove the gear at the good stances. I got to the first piece, a slung horn, and downclimbed below it. I had difficulty removing it and was about to leave it when I finally had success. Down to the next piece I continued. This continued for a bit until I got to a large slung block. Steve yelled up, "Leave the triple if you have to." I pulled the carabiner off the sling and used it as a hold to climb the next section. A few more lower angle moves and I was at Steve's position ready to continue.

I took what he had left of the rack and didn't bother to trade out the backpack and I continued down. The going was steep. I didn't remember this as well as the previous bits. Then I found a rock with a scar on it that Steve "was heading for" on his first pitch the previous day. I was on track. A bunch of steeper moves and I was back at the belay from the top of our first pitch. I brought Steve down and he arrived at my location with the sentiment that down climbing is hard. Yes, especially in the dark. We discussed where he should head. (We both figured walkable terrain was not too far below us.) And he headed out.

After a few slower moments I was paying out rope quickly. Steve reached walking terrain. Now he had to find an anchor. He built an anchor and belayed me in. We were back at the notch with our stashed gear.

It was around 4:30am and we had been moving for 22 hours straight. Shortly after reaching the notch we heard rock/icefall lower down. We decided to wait until daylight to continue. It was nice to be out of rock shoes for the first time in 19 hours. We put all our clothes on, and just hung out at the notch, glad to be on safer terrain.

My pics are here.

Moving On :: Back in the Lower 48

Wednesday, September 1st - - It was cool this morning when I woke up but there was sunshine and blue skies overhead, for which I was very thankful. After finding free wifi (at a Safeway grocery store!) in Smithers and spending an hour uploading and scheduling blog posts, it was almost eleven o'clock before I was on my way once again.

Yesterday I had gotten to the end of the Cassiar Highway and turned east onto the Yellowhead Highway (Route 16). The last two hours on the Cassiar I saw perhaps two dozen vehicles. That number was surpassed in two minutes on the Yellowhead. It was as though I had turned the corner and gone into a whole different world. Not only was there more traffic, but the landscape was different too. There were still mountains and forests but there were also open areas of pasture and farmland. Houses, and buildings, and utility poles lined the highway for miles. Towns! And traffic! Civilization? Instead of watching out for bears and moose and other four legged critters I had to watch out for other drivers.

I continued east on the Yellowhead Highway to Prince George where I turned south on the Cariboo Highway (Route 97). There was road construction on the Cariboo, which caused some delay but it wasn't too bad although traffic was backed up for quite a ways. In one section they had completely torn up the road bed and it was a big mess. Concentrating on getting through that area I caught a glimpse of something walking along the side of the highway. I couldn't hardly believe my eyes – it was a black bear! And a pretty good-sized one too. There were no construction workers nearby so no one was in any immediate danger but still, it was there amongst all the noise and traffic, out in the open, and I could see it in my rear-view mirror as I drove on.

A short time later I stopped at the Canyon Creek Campground and RV Park in Hixon, about 35 miles south of Prince George. It had been a short driving day, only 265 miles. And it was only 410 miles more to the U.S. Border.

I would be remiss in not mentioning the fact that today - September 1, .. - marks the beginning of the second year of this incredible journey. One year ago I embarked upon an odyssey that has taken me places I had only dreamed of and some places that I had never heard of...

==========

Thursday, September 2nd - - It was another chilly morning. Cloudy but no rain. Continued heading south on the Cariboo Highway to Cache Creek where I turned west onto Trans-Canada Highway 1. By the time I got to Cache Creek at two o'clock the temperature had risen to 74 degrees – the warmest temperature I'd seen in three weeks! And it felt good. At 4:30, even though I was only about 60 miles from the U.S. border, I stopped for the night at the Telte-Yet Campground in Hope, British Columbia - it was 77 in the shade! Awesome. After paying for the campsite, I had $10 in Canadian currency left and figured this would be my last night in Canada, so I walked across the steet to Dairy Queen and had a banana split to commemorate the occasion!

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Friday, September 3rd - - Sunny skies once again. Left Hope at 9:30 this morning and got to the Sumas, Washington border crossing at 10:45 along with lots of other vehicles. I lucked out and got into a fast-moving lane - it only took twenty minutes to get through. There was no fancy sign, like in Alaska, welcoming me back – just this electronic billboard flashing its message...

I was “home” again, and happy to be here!

Kitten in Towels

"But, Mom! Warm, clean towels make such a nice bed."

Petzl Lynx?

They are being delivered now. I saw them in several stores in the Rockies while on a road trip this week.

Everyone made a point of saying, "stock is limited".

Ketch-in-up at Hetch-Hetchy

I've been "on the move" for much of the last 12 days since leaving Salt Lake City and have been off the grid for most of that time. I'm happy to say that I did indeed make it to the Coast of California but first I made a little stop at Yosemite National Park before moving on. The campgrounds in the valley were all full but there was plenty of room in the campground at Hodgdon Meadow at the North entrance to the park and I had no trouble getting a site for two nights.



Having heard about Carol's adventures (on Facebook - she hasn't written about them on her blog yet) in going to the Hetch-Hetchy section of the park, and never having been in that area, I thought I'd see if the drive was as harrowing as she described. I'll have to admit that, even in the mini-van, it was rather exciting with the sharp drop-offs and narrow roads. But I do believe that her trip down those roads was probably more than a little exciting - down right frightening - in that big old truck of theirs!





I did come across one turn-out where I was able to stop and take a photo of the dam and reservoir, but you have to look really close to see them! They are there, in the center of the picture.





From the same spot, zoomed in a lot. The Tueeulala and Wapama falls (on the left and right, respectively) can now be seen.






The reservoir and the falls.




That "dark spot" on the other side of the dam is a tunnel which takes you to the trail-head for several trails leading to the falls and beyond. I did walk about a mile along the trail but it kept going up and up and my legs kept getting shakier and shakier!






The view of the valley beyond the dam.

All photos taken on April 29, ..


The drive back up to the main road was far more intimidating than the drive down to the dam. Yes, I tended to creep a little closer to the inside walls and away from the outer edges that seemed imminently closer than they had been!

Death Valley :: Desert Flowers #1

Annual totals for registration

If you look at the past 5 years of registration on Mount Rainier, you'll notice that the numbers are declining, from 13,114 in 2000 to 8,927 in 2005. However, when you look at the trend over the past 15 years, 1998-2002 appear more as a spike. Certainly, the sport gained a lot of momentum during the 90's. Here are the numbers.

On a another note, Washington State D.O.T. have their hands full on highway 123 (that's the road between Cayuse Pass/hwy 410 and US 12 and the Packwood area). Access along the east side of the park may be delayed this spring if there is a lot of road damage; stay tuned...

Christmas Cartoons

Watering

This is Tuffee helping me water the horses.

A Moveable View

Staying by the sea, I notice how unaccustomed I've become to a stationary view of any kind. Back in the city, the windows of my apartment offer vistas of a brick wall, a narrow alley, a tangle of branches and telephone wires. And I usually keep the blinds closed when I work anyhow; there is too much commotion outside.



But now I sit on this porch, just yards from the water's edge. A vast harbor is stretched out in front of me. The surface ripples of the cerulean water are like a silk scarf fluttering in the wind. Lobster buoys bob up and down. Now and then a fishing boat goes by. A family of swans travels back and forth along the shore in perfect peloton formation.



It is peaceful and almost improbably beautiful. And as I try to work, I find that it drives me nuts - the unchangeability of it. I am not used to looking at scenery so... passively. My eyes focus on the right outeredge of the harbor, where the rocky shore curves and disappears from view. As I study it, the curve begins to look hard-etched and forbidding, willfully preventing me from seeing beyond the bend.



In fact, I know - roughly at least - what lies around the bend; I have been there many times. A hilly back road winds along the shore's edge sleepily. There is a small patch of dense woods along the cliffs, then a gravel garden path, a wild rocky beach, an abandoned coast guard's tower... Soon I am visualising each of these landmarks in great detail, picturing them as they look when I cycle past them. I laugh at myself, realising that I am enjoying this mental game more than looking at the view in front of me.



I close my laptop, get on my bike and take off just as the sun begins to set, heading for the hilly back road that will take me around the bend. No one else is here. The road narrows and steepens dramatically and I get into my lowest gear. With each pedal stroke I see more and more of the landscape that was hidden from view as I sat on the porch just minutes earlier, and this fills me with an absurd sense of fulfillment. I reach the top easily, unhurriedly, and there sits the patch of woods with its narrow mossy path to the edge of the cliff. I keep going, coasting down the steep hill now at what feels like flying speed, passing all the landmarks I'd recalled. The mysterious garden path, the wild beach. And I remember now also the old sprawling house with a beautiful garden and the "bunnies for sale" sign taped to the green fence. After the coastguard's house I stop and turn around, my urge to experience a movable view satisfied. It seems silly now to have taken this short ride for no reason at all, but I am pleased.



I roll up to the porch as the last of daylight disappears. The vast harbor is still there, its fluttering silk surface now a deep indigo. A green light flickers in the distance. A stray boat is being rowed ashore. The swan peloton is making its last round. I get my coffee cup and turn on the porch light, ready to settle down in the stillness. But I know the moveable view will call out to me again tomorrow, even though I know what's around the bend.

Yuccas & Sandia Mountains

This nice view of two different yuccas some gray sage and the Sandia Mountains with a little of Rio Rancho inbetween was also taken on Southern Blvd. in Rio Rancho.

Dragon

The dragon that the firefighter is standing on represents the forest fire that the firefighters fought.

Dark Clouds Overhead

Storm clouds have moved in towards late afternoon each of the past few days. Sometimes rain falls, sometimes it doesn't. Southwest Montana July 12, ...

Hidey Hole Under the Rock

From one side you could really see the hidey hole or small cave that was under Teakettle Rock. It makes you wonder how many wild animals have hiden there during all the thousands of years since that volcano spit the rock out and it cooled. Bobcats, mountain lions, coyotes, wolves, skunks, foxes, and of course mice and rats. And did any Native Americans, or cowboys, or outlaws, or even kids wait out rain storms in it. I saw no sign of it at this point. The sand didn't look like it had been disturbed that much except by where Tuffee went in took a quick sniff and came back out. No I decided not to craw inside. The though of the other kinds of creatures that could be in there kept me out. Like spiders, scorpions, and other bugs. There could have even been a snake in the far back corner but I didn't think so. Mostly it was my old, decrepit body that said if you get down and in there you might not be able to get back out.