Wednesday, March 28, 2007

One Down, What's Up Next?

I've recently discovered a brand new hiking tool. High tech, and you can almost use it without a manual. No, not a GPS unit, although I can envision that being very useful. But personally, I love the maps. Back in my past I did a little Orienteering, which is cross-country route-finding using maps and compass, finding waymarks hidden out there and punching your card with little unique punches to prove to everyone that you did indeed find the waymark. I guess that sport might be changing with the advent of GPS, for now they could look at your cookie-crumb trail to see where you had gone and if you had indeed gone to the right spots.

No, the new high tech tool is Google Earth 4. Sitting at my desk I can relive a trip by going back there with Google Earth and navigating over the same terrain. I just went back and looked again at the Paria Canyon trip, retracing the route up from its terminus at Lees Ferry. I had forgotten how much the canyon had opened up the last couple of days of the trip. It was more a valley than a canyon. But I could find where we had camped, and it was neat to be able to zoom out a little and to see the surrounding terrain. When you are following a river, you don't get to see much of the country beyond the riverbanks, which in this case were sometimes a thousand feet high. I had used Google Earth 3 prior to that trip, printing out a straight-down view so we could follow the many twists of the canyon. Ha! The resolution of the images was so inferior last year that it was almost useless. You cannot believe how many turns that river takes, and when you are in the river bottom, you tend to lose your sense of direction, especially when each bend is different, some 90 degrees, some 180 degrees, some 270 degrees, and most some subtle variations in between. Plus there is no sense of scale, and you couldn't be looking at the scenery and where you were stepping if you were charting your progress on piece of paper when the actual scale was a day's walk equals an inch or two. But now the Google images are mapped onto a 3D model, and the image quality is vastly superior. It is almost like being there.

I was surprised at how the canyon changed as I followed it upriver. Doing it with Google Earth takes minutes. Doing it on foot takes days. For a while I was "flying" at an altitude of a couple hundred feet, which worked great. But as the valley became more of a canyon, the shadows hid much of the detail. When a tree is photographed from above, its shadow heightens the 3D effect. But when a canyon wall casts a shadow, all the trees in that shadow lose their definition, so the images are less distinct. Plus as the canyon walls get increasingly vertical, satellite photographs don't show much detail. It is like taking a photograph of a wallpaper pattern with the camera held up in the corner of the ceiling and the wall and pointed straight down -- good view of the floor, but lousy view of the wall. So I had to settle for the straight-down view, and was amazed at how narrow the gorge became and how many twists and turns it takes. Then when you get to the junction with Buckskin Gulch, which joins it from the west, it is like looking at a crack in a large cement floor. Hard to look in those cracks. But that is what makes it such a unique place.

One other unique geographical feature of the area is "the Wave." Just Google "the wave, utah," and you will see what I mean. We didn't get to see it, as the rangers control very tightly how many people get to see it each day. As I recall, the number was 40, 20 of whom had their permits in advance, and the others got them in a daily in-person lottery at the ranger station. Hard to go that route, as you are pretty much out in the middle of nowhere, a difficult location to just "drop in" to see if you're lucky. But Google Earth shows you where it is (follow the Buckskin Gulch westward, and it is on the outside corner where it bends northward), which complicates the rangers' lives, as they currently only give directions to the chosen few.

But that was the first trip, and the question was what else could we do? Well, Melinda's brochure provided some possibilities. Like a trek to Nepal. No, too extreme. I mean you don't go from your first week-long backpack trip to a month in the Himalaya, do you? But we ended up making a jump of almost the same magnitude. The name Haute Route seemed vaguely familiar. Sounded like I should know about it. Ah yes, a trek from Mt. Blanc/Chamonix in France, through the tallest part of the Alps to the Matterhorn/Zermatt in Switzerland. There are actually two versions. The original is the more direct route, up and over and along glaciers. Serious stuff, roped up, ice axes, long and hard days. The second version is the Walker's Haute Route, which Melinda was offering. 180 kilometers of hiking, over 11 passes, gaining over 12,000 meters of height, losing over 10,000. Now the kilometers figure is deceiving, as that sounds like a long way, but is just over 110 miles, not exactly trivial, but 110 isn't like 180. But so is that meters figure deceiving, in the other direction, for that is over 39,000 feet. At any rate, a big trip. But the Alps! I've always been a sucker for mountains. And how long would this take? 16 days? 13 of them hiking? Oh, the potential agony of all of that. But that is less than 10 miles a day. Well, it was probably sold out anyway. What, there was room for two more? So with some trepidation we signed up. And discovered hiking as it SHOULD be done.

Long distance hiking, or trekking, is an entirely different activity in Europe, mainly because there is no need to camp. In fact, in Switzerland, at least, camping seems to be officially discouraged. Instead the model is to hike from one town or village to another, and stay in hotels, inns, dormitories, etc along the way. If your route is such that you don't come down to a town, they have cabanes up in the mountains that cater only to the hikers. Included in the price of your stay is a hearty dinner and a breakfast, so none of that food/stove/dishes bulk and weight to carry. No 4-5 pound tent. No sleeping pad/air mattress. No sleeping bag. We're talking less than 25 pounds of pack weight, not 35-40. And a whole lot less hassle. Warmth at night. Electric lights. Warm showers.

Now I have a new problem. How am I going to get fired up over the American hiking model when I have become seduced by the European model. Well, if I am going to be able to see the backcountry here in the U.S., I will have to learn to like it.

Meanwhile, Melinda has gone electronic, so her brochure has been recast to appear on the Web. While it looks pretty slick, her operation is very much a one person effort. All she is doing is trying to break even leading trips all over the West for the Sierra Club, and on her own in other parts of the world. An upfront disclaimer: this year I am helping her by leading a repeat of the trip we took last year. So look over her site: GoodwatersAdventures.com. And come back for a report on some aspects of that trip last year. Again, it has had a significant effect on me.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Just a Little Ahead of the Curve

I heard part of an episode on Forum on NPR this morning. The subject was the aging of the Baby Boomers, who are now turning 60 at the rate of 1 every 8 seconds. Their level of self-absorption and non-conformity and all of that herald some significant changes. The idea of being "old" is not a comfortable one, and part of our struggle is transitioning from the end of our working careers into the rest of our lives. But we are fighting the very notion that aging is happening to us, in spite of the considerable evidence that it is. This is another reason for the attempt to get into hiking, to take advantage of the decent physical shape I've been lucky enough to maintain, and to find an activity I really enjoy that brings with it exercise and lifestyle benefits. Now I hear that being validated, that the true Boomers (I'm barely a pre-Boomer) are going to be doing the same thing.

Back to the Sierra Club trip. I've taken several motorcycle trips through Utah, and the southern part of the state has some great "blue roads," those non-interstate winding routes that follow the contours of the terrain. There are stretches of canyons in Utah that are barely identified on the maps, have no signage or parking areas, that would, in any of about 40 other states, be proclaimed state parks at the very least. So the chance to get off of the road and to see something remarkable there had some real potential.

So I fell for the Sierra Club description:

"A backpack trip down the Paria River Canyon should be on everyone's list of things to do before they leave this world. Unsurpassed in beauty, remarkable in color and form, it is an experience that you will savor forever. Unlike the Grand Canyon, which can be overwhelming in its vastness, the Paria is intimate and has a gentle subtlety in its beauty. The deep-red sandstone walls of the canyon, finely sculpted by the ages, offer a feast for the eyes and a healing quiet for the soul."

Together with the fact that hiking 38 miles along a river meant a week-long downhill journey, it was an easy sell. If anything, the description falls short of describing the place. Intimate vs. vastness. This part of Utah features what they call slot canyons. Being in them it is difficult to tell how deep they are, but it has to be a few hundred feet. Intimate almost means claustrophobic, as there are spots in Buckskin Gulch, which merges with the Paria, where you can touch the opposite walls of the canyon, one with each hand. The Sierra Club web site's pictures ring true, but fail to convey the dramatic nature of much of the trip.

It was an interesting group, and I was the only male. Each morning we would evenly divide by weight the common supplies, notably the food and cooking gear, add our share to our own gear, and head off down the river bank. Which meant that within a span of between 2 and 10 minutes, we'd be walking in the river to get to the other side, or, if there was no side, we'd keep walking in the river. Each afternoon we would stop and set up our tents, usually near a spring, and a couple of the party would have cooking/cleanup assignments which rotated through the group.

Now I had done some camping in previous years. Ruth and I went on a series of Backroads trip, of the hiking/camping variety, and they were great. Backroads is an outfit that features lavish brochures, with a variety of destinations as well as a variety of activities, whether bicycling, hiking, kayaking, "multi-sport," etc. They also offer a variety of accomodations, from camping at the bottom of the scale to inns at the top. But their camping is of the "pamper" variety. They provide the tents, they set them up, take them down, provide the air mattresses, etc. All you do is carry your bag from the van to the tent and unpack/pack. Carrying your own food? Oh no, the van (or one of the vans) pulls the trailer with the food and the stove and the pots and pans and dishes. They provide the food, cook it, do the dishes. They take you to your hike and pick you up at the end. It works really well. My personal recommendation is to try it. True, you do have to sleep on the ground, and the nearest flush toilet is more than 10 steps from your tent. The inn option will solve both of those problems, but much of the sense of a shared adventure is lost when the group leaves the inn dining room to go to their rooms. On the camping trips, there can be a campfire, and who wants to go sit in a tent when that is going on. On our first Backroads trip, in the Canadian Rockies, the campfire never happened, as it didn't get dark until 10 pm that far north. We didn't realize how important the campfire was until a Yellowstone/Teton trip had one each night.

But it is another world when you are out there on your own, carrying your food/shelter/clothes/etc on your back. No flush toilets in the Paria River Canyon. In fact, you have to bring your used toilet paper out with you. Kind of a different world. And those packs get heavy, although as the trip goes on the food burden gets lighter, and your shoulders get used to it. In short, we had a great time, marred only by the fact that upon getting in our van for the long ride home, the engine had a recurring hesitation, and it was a weekend with garages closed, even in 24-hour Las Vegas. Turns out some rodents were munching on the ignition wires during the week we were in the canyon. Tip: throw some food particles under the biggest gas guzzler in the parking lot.

It built up our confidence, and more importantly, got us on the mailing list of Melinda Goodwater, our guide. Seems she does several Sierra Club trips each year, but then does a few longer trips on her own. We soon got her one page brochure in the mail. So if one trip is good, two must be better, right? We will see.

Monday, March 26, 2007

The Start of Another Journey

Blogging! This just what I need at this point in time -- another potentially addictive activity when, 3 feet away from me, in a file drawer under the right wing of the desk, my 2006 income tax info awaits, and the TurboTax Deluxe 2006 folder is peeking out from underneath this window at the bottom of the display. But there is still time for that, right? No, this is more important. I feel the need to reach out, to connect with someone out there to share this new obsession that I tell myself is good for me. I mean it is healthy, satisfying, interesting, enlightening, challenging, doesn't hurt others, and seems to keep things from becoming too complicated. Surely others will enjoy it as well.

You see, I am trying to adopt hiking as my dominant physical activity. Right now my physical exertion is centered on playing golf. No, not the fat-cat-in-the-cart version, but the walk and carry your own bag variety. I play 4 to 5 days a week, 18 holes, starting early in the morning and finishing by 11. So that is sort of hiking, 5 miles a day, but hardly a taxing workout. Golf is a strangely addictive game, and I am playing it well enough, I guess, but I am not disciplined enough to really work hard at getting a whole lot better at it, and no one ever really gets to the point where they are satisfied with their game, anyway. But I have always liked doing physical activities, mostly outdoor ones, and have even achieved a reasonable level of competence at a couple things, notably skiing, competitively racing Hobie Cats, even orienteering. But something has kept me from really embracing hiking. I like to do it, but the multi-day backpacking step has been a big one.

I live in the heart of Silicon Valley. The golf course is in sight of the intergalactic headquarters of the Internet, the ever burgeoning GooglePlex. Our weather is about the best on earth, and the local topography is just severe enough that the real estate developers have been unable to build on all those local hills (some would call them mountains), so local hiking is available. And I have found over the years that the best way to get away from the masses is to take a walk, preferably up a relatively steep hill. 100 vertical feet is a real deterrent to those masses at the Mall. I could realistically set out from my driveway loaded with a backpack, and while the first 4 or 5 miles would be rather alienating, fighting the commuters in their BMWs or SUVs, I could spend the next week in the Santa Cruz mountains, following creeks, passing through redwood groves, climbing ridges, drop down to the Pacific ocean, and, chances are, come down with a nasty case of poison oak. But I haven't done it yet. I need a push. It is just a little too much work. Too much to carry. No computer to spend time in front of when it gets dark.

But early in 2005 my wife Ruth and I tried to break the logjam. We tried to sign up for a Sierra Club trip, a week long backpack trip that looked ideal, down the Paria River Canyon on the Utah/Arizona border. Well, it wasn't early enough in 2005. That trip sells out fast. So it took another year, but in 2006 we pounced, and we got it. Come back again for that story.