May 13, 2012.

10.6+ miles | 3300′ ele. gain | 8.5 hours

I needed a win. My past two hike attempts had been thwarted by snow before making the summit. Yesterday I ended up on Whetstone Mountain’s ridgeline, surrounded by trees and mired in wet, sloppy snow. Today I knew I’d hit snow again but I had hoped for some kind of miracle.

On a whim, I decided to make an attempt at Dome Rock from the Tumble Ridge trailhead. I’d spent the last night camped near the Opal Creek Wilderness so it wasn’t too far of a drive.

The first bit of the hike follows an old road, then the trail begins in a hurry as it hurtles uphill to the right. Soon it became a rather typical Cascades trail, traveling in sections of long, straight lines capped with hairpin switchbacks. The forest was bone dry and the understory was full of the usual suspects: salal, trillium, rhododendron and various types of ferns. A couple of hours into my hike, I entered a brushy clearing that was mostly covered with snow. I didn’t realize what I was walking on top of until I crashed thigh deep into it, slicing my knee open pretty good as my leg grated against the hard-packed ice. Oops…the trees I’d been walking among were blown down in spots, forming a tenuous bottom layer that the snow draped across. I crawled out of the hole, took two steps and plunged in with the other leg. Gaahh! Not smart. I carefully leapt out of the snow into the mud, where I could tend to my wounds and get my snowshoes on.

Not 15 steps later I found the other end of the trail as it exited the snowfield and entered the (dry) woods. Stubbornly, I kept my snowshoes on as I crossed the dirt trail and the occasional patch of snow. I was surprised to come across a trail sign at what appeared to be a crossing of an old road. The sign said Rt 22 4 1/2 miles. Funny, according to the Sullivan book (my only map and route description) I should have crossed a road already. I had it in my head that at 4.5 miles I’d be at the Dome Rock junction and I would have to go right. I stopped and tried to align the terrain I was standing in with the book and my interpretation of the book. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me where I was. And since this was a last-minute hike decision I had no real topographical map of the area.

There were footsteps leading along the road to my right so I headed that way. I followed the road for awhile until I decided that it was definitely not the right way. I turned back and stopped again at the junction. Maybe I’d go left this time. I walked towards a prominent snow slope, gleaming in the hot morning sun. Quickly tiring of the road walk I assumed the slope led up to my destination so I made random switchbacks to gain elevation and hope for a view. As I climbed I felt less and less certain that I was on the right track but I pressed on anyways. After some struggle I made it up to a snow-covered clearing and dropped my pack. I sent a SPOT OK signal so I could check it out on the map when I got home. I don’t travel with a GPS.

At this point I’d all but given up on this hike. I sat and ate my summit brownie that had sat stashed in my pack since yesterday morning. Sigh. I enjoyed a bit of shade and the occasional brush of wind as I pondered my situation. I noticed at the edge of my peripheral vision a rocky, nearby peak that may have been my destination. As I fixated on this peak I tried to convince myself that it was too far away and there’s no way I could get there through the trees. I packed up and retraced my steps a bit until I stumbled across a sign of the trail. Walking along the now seemingly obvious trail I popped out onto the road at the 4 1/2 mile sign in no time at all. Utterly confused, I dropped my pack again and started rebuilding a 3-D topographical model of the surrounding area in my head. I could not resolve incongruency between the the book, the sign, and the land I was physically standing on. Some piece of information was wrong, and I knew the ground beneath my feet was the only thing guaranteed to be right. I took some deep breaths, chose a strategy to stay found, and gave it one more shot.

I knew that I tend to grossly overestimate how far and how long I walk when I’m “lost” and not looking at a clock. I then adopted a strategy to take pictures of certain features so I would have an objective measure of time. Fortunately I started my hike at 7 am so I had lots of time to meander through the woods. I followed the trail up to the last spot that I knew for a fact I was on the trail. Then, I stopped to take my time-stamped picture and think rationally.

Originally I had been thrashing around in snowshoes because I thought they would provide some flotation and support on the snow. However, the slushiness of the snow combined with the constant sidehilling made the snowshoes a hazard. I left them on my pack this time. This would also ensure that I would not mix up my old tracks with my new ones. Besides, the deep footprints were much easier to see in the snow so I could leave a breadcrumb trail to follow on the way back.

I noticed that occasionally, trees along the trail would have a small rectangle of pink paint adorning their bark. This, combined with some random pink or yellow flagging and the usual signature tree cuts, provided enough evidence to piece together the trail bit by bit. It was slow going and methodical, but I finally felt like I was progressing, and I no longer felt the anxiety of being lost.

When I reached tricky spots where I thought I’d have difficulty seeing the trail upon my return, I dug my heel into the snow to carve big arrows pointing back the way I came.

At last I reached a sign marked “Dome Rock.” The carved letters were so weathered that the sign was barely legible. The tree had grown over the entire upper lip of the sign. Now there was only half a mile to go, in some direction. Again I carefully observed my surroundings. Soft, relaxed eyes seemed to do the best job. I spied the spur trail and a bit of pink tape just to the right of the main route. Walking uphill I saw what appeared to be a well-defined ridge with nothing but blue sky beyond. I was lured up to the ridge, where I caught a view of the summit pinnacle. From here it looked like a straightforward walk up to the summit rock formations. Sweet! I bobbed in between the trees along the ridge after deciding the unpredictable cliff-top cornices were too dicey for me. Once I saw a vertical rock wall ahead of me and an obvious ramp to my right I knew I was back on the trail. Switchbacking up the rock the anticipation built up inside of me like a popcorn kernel ready to explode. I flew up one last, steep snow slope and crested the rocky top only to be blown away with a spectacular 360° view.

Expletives filled the air uncontrollably. Inappropriate, maybe, but since I was the only one for miles and miles it did not matter. Oh, I was so thrilled to finally get the view I’d worked so hard to attain! Nothing could sap the joy of this moment. I tossed down my poles and pack, found a comfortable seat and tore off my soaking wet socks and shoes. I spent the next hour resting in this former lookout sight, imagining the rugged building that once stood here, and marveling at the rare perspective this location offered on the central Cascades.

It was nice to have dry feet for a little while, but inevitably the wet socks and shoes had to go back on. I begrudgingly abandoned my treasure of a view and retraced my tracks through the snow to the Dome Peak trail junction. Before leaving the summit I packed my half-liter Nalgene with snow to make a weak Gatorade slushie. Yummm. I knew it would be a terribly hot walk downhill. Portland was supposed to hit 90° today, and even at nearly 5000 feet of elevation I could feel the summer-like heat.

From here the trail seemed much easier to follow, perhaps because I’d become familiar with the terrain or perhaps because I had a much more relaxed and positive attitude. I’m not going to lie, it could also have been related to the flagging, paint, footprints and snow arrows.

Once I was almost back to the junction of mass confusion I checked on my water supply. My giant Camelback was almost empty. I packed that with snow as well, being careful to fish out the pine needles, and went on my way. I discovered that blowing the water out of the Camelback tube can be just as important on a hot day as on a cold day; each sip of fresh water was ICE cold and immensely refreshing. With exceptionally high morale I floated down the trail on light feet, all the way back to the road that I started on many, many hours ago. I looked forward to reaching the road because a giant creek was flowing right beside it.

Just before getting to the car I dipped off the road, stashed my gear and doused myself with ice cold creek water. That was the cherry on top of this hike. And, did I mention I did not see a single person all day. GRAND SLAM!

Who would have thought that this simple 10 mile walk would have brought such adventure and excitement? I truly enjoyed this hike. Well, not every moment of this hike was wondrous, but in the grand scheme of things this will be a hike to remember. I’d imagine even a mundane mid-summer trip up this trail would be magical as well since the trail is pleasant and the view is postcard-perfect.

May 6, 2012.

about 16 miles | 5000′ (?) ele. gain | 8.5 hrs

I’d earned a nice long walk in the woods after having a productive grading session on Saturday, so I chose an ambitious route to Devil’s Peak via the Hunchback trail. Sources estimated the mileage to be about 18 miles and over 6000′ of elevation gain. I wasn’t sure what the trail conditions would be like, so I packed snowshoes and a good amount of water and got an early start.

The Hunchback Mountain Trail was no joke: sections varied from very steep to ominously flat and very steep again. There were lots of ups and downs, which was nice for me because it required the down muscles to jump in and do the job when my up muscles got worn out. The trail was mostly in the woods, with a few mediocre viewpoints. The air was surprisingly cold for the forecast, and I’d wished I would have brought some warm gloves with me.

Within a couple of miles, I began seeing patches of snow on the trail and before long, the ground was completely covered. I got flashbacks of my last trek in the woods and felt prepared since I brought my snowshoes! The snow never ended up getting very deep, but it was wet and soon my Gore-tex shoes were saturated. As the sun rose higher, snow bombs dropped from the trees. I found my sun hat worked nicely; it deflected the bombs from sliding down my shirt or beneath my glasses.

I walked along in quiet solitude, following the occasional bit of pink tape, dreaming up a story to explain the snowshoe tracks in front of me. Someone had been up here recently; probably yesterday. The tracks all pointed uphill so I’d guessed a solo backpacker had come up to camp for the night. I imagined I’d run into the tracks’ owner once I got higher. A male, most likely. I’d figured between the ages of 35-55, in pretty good shape for hoofing it up here alone. I couldn’t explain why this person had worn snowshoes in what couldn’t have been more than an inch or two of snow underfoot. As the miles passed, the story in my head became more filled in with detail.

As I entered a small, open meadow, the tracks suddenly left the trail and headed to my left. Weird. I continued along, thinking that this must be near the person’s campsite. But soon, I came across snowshoe tracks facing in the opposite direction. Hmmm…

Cruising along, I revised the story unfolding in my head. My eyes glanced up from the ground and fixed upon a figure. It was a man in his late twenties, standing just ahead on the trail, eyes open wide. I said hi, smiled, and he shouted “Oh My God! I’m lost! Can you help me?”

Bewildered, I thought for a minute that he must be joking. Great, all the times I harass people about giving me a hard time about hiking alone and here I am, face-to-face with the one in a billion chance of running into a psychopath in the woods. Surely it doesn’t go down like this.

But the fear in his eyes and in his voice assured me that this poor guy was truly disoriented and in need of help. I calmly asked him some questions and pieced together the real story. He had hiked up Saturday with plans to stay at the Devil’s Peak fire tower. He got confused in the meadow and lost his way trying to find the tower. Fortunately, he had a tent (and about 30 pounds of extra gear) so he tent-camped overnight. This morning, he had been walking in circles for hours and had recently texted his girlfriend that he needed help. She had contacted search and rescue.

Yikes. I made sure he was set on food and water. He wasn’t injured, and appeared to be capable of walking back out to the ranger station, where we had both started our respective journeys. I accompanied him back down the trail about 5-10 minutes, past the meadow of confusion, to the point where both our tracks overlapped. I said goodbye when we were both comfortable that he could make it back safely, then I turned around and continued towards Devil’s Peak.

I couldn’t get the look on his face out of my mind. Before we parted ways, he gave me his girlfriend’s number to call to let her know he was okay. There was no signal in the forest but up at Devil’s Peak, we thought I’d be able to send a text. I did my best to ignore the labyrinth of snowshoe tracks and stay right on the trail. It became more difficult to navigate as the snow got slightly deeper. I lost the trail in a moderately sloping hill littered with blowdown so I bushwhacked up to a high point where I was sure I’d be able to get a better perspective. No luck. I wandered back into the woods, crossed a stream, meandered across another side slope leading to the ridge and was foiled again. At least this time I reached an open area with a phenomenal four-volcano view, cell signal, and a peek at Devil’s Peak. I decided to call it a day and unpacked my lunch.

I texted the number in my phone and within two minutes I received a call from the sheriff. A SAR team had been mobilized and they were waiting in the parking lot for the lost hiker. I gave them as much information as I could, then began to doubt my decision to leave him behind.

I begrudgingly said goodbye to the only nice view of the day and to Devil’s Peak, which lay probably less than a half mile away (plus a huge drop and re-gain in elevation). I carefully made my way back to the trail, fearing that I’d get myself lost. The snow bomb landing areas looked an awful lot like footprints, making it difficult to simply retrace my steps. I breathed a sigh of relief when I found the meadow and then booked it down the trail in hopes of catching up with the other hiker as soon as possible.

The snow made quick and efficient movement easy in some areas and challenging in others. The hill climbing back up to the Great Pyramid Junction felt agonizing. At the top of the hill I ran into two other hikers, taking a break at their turnaround point for the day. We shared some information about the situation and I was glad to hear that the hiker was still trucking along safely. On the way out I passed two other groups of hikers who also reported that he was moving along.

Now practically at a run I raced down the flat portions of trail and stepped carefully over the steep, muddy slopes. At about 2 miles from the trail head I crossed paths with my friend and was happy to see him walking and in relatively good spirits. We chatted for just a short time before running into the SAR team, taking a rest on the trail.

The 6 members of the SAR team offered him food and water, took his pack, and had him sit down on a foam pad to rest. We all took a breather and talked for awhile as they radioed back to base and got ready to haul back downhill. With just about 1.7 miles to go there was still a significant amount of elevation to lose. They were all carrying overnight packs to be prepared for any situation.

We both walked out with the SAR team, which moved VERY slowly and methodically. Walking that slowly made the steep downhill feel like nothing So this is how out-of-shape people do this, I thought…

We arrived at the parking lot around 4:30 pm, and I was relieved to be back at the car. It was quite a surreal day. I am sure that if I hadn’t randomly been up there that this man would likely have spent another night camping since it would have taken the SAR team several more hours to hoof it up to where I found him. I am glad that I was at the right place at the right time.

What lessons can be learned? I think the hiker did some things right and some things wrong. He did realize the gravity of his situation and called for help once he thought he was unable to rectify the problem on his own. He did not stray too far from the existing trail, and he was ON the trail when I found him. He was just so mentally out of it that he didn’t know where he was.

What decisions could have been different? For starters, he appeared to be inexperienced at backcountry travel, especially alone. I think he could have picked a shorter and more obvious goal for a solo overnight trip. Secondly, at the first sign of losing the trail he could have stopped and reassessed his objective. He didn’t have a GPS and I am not sure if he had a map. Since he was prepared for overnight tent camping, he could have set up camp and done a quick search for the trail to Devil’s Peak in the morning, with more sunlight and more energetic legs. Third, keeping your head is so important in these situations. He was not mentally there when I found him. He was likely dehydrated and not eating enough food. He was tired, stressed, and out of sorts. After initiating SAR he might have hunkered down in a sunny spot and relaxed, took his pack off, melted some snow, and let his brain re-focus.

I am so glad there’s a happy ending to this story. Devil’s Peak, I’ll get you next time.

April 14, 2012.

Siouxon Creek Trail > Horseshoe Ridge > Siouxon Creek

10.8 miles | 2600′ ele. gain | 6:15 hr

This hike came together quickly after a recommendation from a friend on Thursday night. I found myself a hiking partner on Friday and we met up on Saturday to try this wooded loop near Mt. St. Helens in the Gifford Pinchot Forest. Although we arrived just after 8 in the morning, there were already several cars parked at the trailhead. I was hoping to avoid people this day (as usual) and was curious about what all these folks were up to.

Less than a quarter mile from the trailhead we found most of the car’s owners camped along the river, with kids and dogs aplenty. We happily cruised by along the beautiful, green river and admired the abundance of mosses, ferns, and early spring blossoms covering the forest floor.

At about 1.25 miles we arrived at the junction with the Horseshoe Ridge trail. The trail, which had been gently rolling downhill at this point, suddenly rose steeply as it gained the ridge. The trail was brushy and narrow. Our pace slowed down and as we climbed we were pleased with the lack of snow on the ground. Knowing we’d be gaining over 2500 feet in elevation, I was prepared to hit snow at some point in the day, but it seemed to be perfectly clear.

The ridge was more scenic than I’d imagined. There were occasional breaks in the trees that would have provided an excellent view if we hadn’t been socked in with clouds. As we sat at an early viewpoint, I half expected to see a beam from a lighthouse and a low bellow from a foghorn; it felt like we were perched upon a coastal bluff. The air was chillier than I’d hoped, so we didn’t dally at our non-viewpoint long. As we ambled along the ridge, we began to see the occasional patch of snow on the slopes to our left. I was thrilled that it was over there and not over here.

Our bliss was short-lived, however, as the snow ultimately took over the ridge. As we continued our walk, the trail roller-coastered up and down underneath several inches (or more) of wet, sloppy snow. Hoping that the snow would be patchy and inconsistent, I chose not to put my gaiters on. Hours later I would regret that decision.

Up until we reached the junction with the logging road, Sue and I were able to follow the occasional pink ribbon in the trees and old footprints in the snow. We never felt like we got that far off track.

At the junction, however, the tracks disappeared. A pile of downed tree boughs and scattered human garbage indicated that some slob had made camp here and didn’t pick up after him (or her) self. I didn’t see any frozen limbs sticking out of the snow so I assumed this person got out safely and just had no regard for fellow hikers making their way to this camp. We searched the woods for any sign of a trail, looking for cut branches and depressions in the snow. I found myself saying things like “this looks trail-y” and so the two of us pressed on in hopes of completing the loop. At this part of the hike, a logging road essentially paralleled the trail so we had some sense of where we were.

Once we left the safety blanket of the logging road behind, it was a search for sawed tree limbs and a logical path through the snow. I plodded ahead in fits and starts, keeping the ridge to my left, rushing ahead when I found a clue and slowing way down when I felt off track. I kept checking back with Sue to get confirmation that it felt like we were going the right way. I only had the hand-drawn map in the hiking book to guide me, and I had forgotten my compass today. I’m not sure that it would have helped anyways. Our amicable conversation had ceased to exist during this miserable section of the hike. I think we were both bemoaning the challenging nature of walking in unpredictable and unforgiving snow as well as not entirely being certain where we were or how far we had traveled.

Miraculously, and after what felt like many hours of carefully following faint clues of the trail along the wooded slopes, we made it back to solid, dry ground. We rejoiced as our soggy feet and tired muscles touched upon easy walking. I’d had enough postholing/sidehilling for a lifetime.

We stopped to have a snack once we got back to Siouxon Creek. That was enough fuel for the hike back to the car. Along the way we passed several groups, almost all of which were walking with white dogs. A small portion of the riverside trail was washed out, and pink flagging on nearby trees served as a warning to tread carefully. We arrived back at the car just after our planned return time that would get us back to Portland for Sue’s evening event.

You’re welcome, to anyone who attempts this loop soon. The trail has been tracked out for you. Just remember to bring your snowshoes so you can avoid the major suffer-fest we had up there.

March 27, 2012.

Longs Peak Trail > East Slope of Mt. Lady Washington and back, give or take
about 8 miles | 3880′ ele. gain | 6 hours

The low snow year in the Front Range made this hike accessible to a couple of travelers who didn’t pack for mountain climbing. Sue and I left the empty trailhead in trail shoes and all the clothes we had in our carry-on luggage. I had brought a compass and first aid kit in anticipation of getting out on a hike. We borrowed some handwarmers and one set of hiking poles from Sue’s mom, and felt we were ready to take on this 13,000 foot peak.

The trail was immediately snow covered but the surface was hard-packed. Sue and I split up the hiking poles so we each had one and hoped the traction of our shoes would be good enough. In less than an hour we reached the start of the alpine tundra, as designated by a handy sign. It reminded me of being back in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We followed the trail as best we could, then retraced the steps of the last folks who came up this way and were nice enough to pack the snow down. We finally left the last tree behind and came out into a wide expanse of rock and snow. The wind was blowing consistently at about 10 mph but the sun was warm, which made the wind bearable.

The route description on SummitPost said to go up the boulder-strewn east slope to the top. This was going to be the easiest navigation ever. We left the trail where it became lost in intermittent snow and vegetation patches, tracing a straight-ish line through the massive boulders towards the top of the peak. To our left towered Mt. Meeker and Longs Peak, which we could barely see over the broad slopes of Mt. Lady Washington. My whole world was now filled with boulders. Bits of snow lingered between them; I zig-zagged back and forth among the rockpile, avoiding snow, and looking back to make sure I hadn’t lost Sue. As we ascended, the wind got steadily more noticeable and the air temperature dropped. I stopped every now and again to add another layer or cinch down my jacket’s hood, until all my layers were on and no more adjustments were possible. My legs were getting cold but my core was toasty warm.

Finally, I could see more sky than rock and I knew the summit ridge was close. I yelled down at Sue that we were almost there, but she had to come up really close to hear me since the wind was blowing so hard. We topped out on the ridge and were immediately blasted with a wall of fiercely blowing wind. Based on NOAA’s wind speed estimation chart, I’d say the average wind speed was about 35-40mph with gusts another 5-10 mph more. It became difficult to walk and my face felt frozen.

Sue and I made slow progress along the top. I could tell that this was not Sue’s favorite place to be but I was loving every second of it. Soon she made some hand signals to me that she would not go any further. I gave her a huge smile and big thumbs up as I continued along into the wind. I had to walk sideways with my hands against the rock and my back to the wind so I wouldn’t get blown off my feet. Occasionally I needed to stop and let the gusts die down a bit before taking another step. It was SO AWESOME! I could see the top of the peak, and I knew once I descended a bit I would be out of this hellish wind. As I pushed on I felt incredibly alive and present in the moment. I remember briefly turning into the wind to get a different view and it literally took my breath away–the wind was whipping so hard I couldn’t breathe. Another few sideways steps and I found myself just below the summit boulder, which is where I stayed to take some photos, scream into the wind, and check out the most amazing view of the Diamond on Long’s Peak. WOOHOO!!!!

Sue was probably freezing her butt off waiting for me, so I retreated as fast as I could back to where we parted ways. We decided to follow the north ridge down, since it was less steep than the eastern slope. The downside of this route was that we were not buffered from the forceful winds blowing in from the west. I utilized the crab walk technique to descend into less windy terrain. I had to stop for a bathroom break on the way down and noticed the skin on my legs was bright red from being assaulted by the wind. Nuts! We were both happy to make it back to the trail and into the more predictable 10mph wind, where we sat, de-layered, and ate some snacks.

I was absolutely amazed that we hadn’t seen anyone so far this entire day. The mountain was peaceful, enjoyable, and majestically scenic. A short walk along the trail brought us back to the junction where the trail went down to Chasm Lake. From there we had excellent views of the three peaks: Lady Washington, Longs and Meeker. It was really hard to turn around to go home. Sue led us out along the trail, or long staircase built into the moraine, until we lost the trail in snow. We followed footprints through deep snow that led us into the woods a very different way than we came up. Luckily, the prints brought us back to the trail proper and we made it back to the car in no time at all. The snow was packed pretty hard and was very slippery, so Sue took the poles and I used a fallen branch as a stabilizer during the last segment of our walk.

There were only a few cars in the lot when we returned. We passed two dayhikers as we descended into the forest. I still can’t believe that we were able to find solitude near Long’s Peak. Everything I’d read about this area mentioned the popularity and the crowds.

I’d say that, by far, this hike was the highlight of my Colorado trip. Having beautiful weather, some excitement from mother nature, spectacular views, a great hiking partner, and solitude made this trip one to remember. I can’t wait for another opportunity to explore the Rocky Mountains in Colorado.

See the photos from the entire trip on Picasa.

March 26, 2012.

About 7 miles of casual walking through the park…trails ? ?

On day 3 of my Colorado vacation, Sue and I drove down to Colorado Springs to have lunch with my grandmother and then explore Garden of the Gods Park.

This free city park has 15 miles of hiking trails, rock climbing, a visitor’s center and extensive “Trading Post” as well as gorgeous desert scenery in all directions. We left the car at the Visitor’s Center and walked along the Gateway Trail to the popular central area of the park. From there we joined up with the Central Garden Trail, which was teeming with visitors. Red, orange and white rock formations rose into the sky around every corner. Rock climbers scaled these vertical walls while casual tourists slowly ambled beneath them. We escaped the crowded loop and continued southwest along the Scotsman/Buckskin Charlie Trail with the intention of traversing the park.

Cool rocks beckoned off-trail visitation. One of these rocks had a piton shoved into a small pocket. I am sure the local climbers have explored every inch of the rocks out here. As the sun shone and the wind blew, we continued our journey with the Siamese Twins trail. The Siamese Twins was a rock formation that contained a small window; on a clear day we would have gotten a view of Pikes Peak through there. But, the haze from the wildfires blurred any distant vistas today.

A little more walking brought us to the Trading Post. We went inside to look at all the trinkets and treat ourselves to ice cream. We hung out in the sun for awhile, wishing we could store the Vitamin D for our inevitable return to gray Portland.

The last stop was Balanced Rock, which we drove past on our way into the park. This place was under attack by tourists big and small. Sue patiently tried to get a person-free shot of Balanced Rock while I explored the features on the other side of the street. I discovered an old stairway built into the adjacent rock feature, which must have led to some old view point or gift shop. The bottom of the staircase must have been removed to prevent people from climbing up there. Nearby was a sign warning of the dangers of climbing without knowledge or gear, referring to the fatalities that have occurred at the park. With all sorts of tasty rock so accessible to the average person, it’s not surprising that many accidents happen there.

We’d now seen all the major features of the park and simply had to make our way back to the car. We took essentially the same way back, except that we followed the other side of the Siamese Twins Loop and took the trail to the west of the driving route to connect back with the Central Garden. We got slightly different scenery and a bit more shade this way.

The crowds had died back a bit so it was slightly more comfortable to weave our way through the main rock features and take pictures.

Although it seems the park encourages people to drive from parking lot to parking lot in order to see all the sights, Sue and I had a wonderful tour of the park on foot. We actually got quite a large stretch of trail to ourselves once we walked away from the major points of interest. This is a gem of a park that I would love to visit again if I find myself in this part of the world in the future.

See the photos from the entire trip on Picasa.

It’s time for a shameless plug for one of my side projects.

For the past several months, I’ve been actively pursuing a major career change. In the flurry of excitement, I sprouted the idea of starting a nutrition newsletter in which I would compile nutrition research around a given topic and supplement it with original and cooking ideas. The newsletter is a great way for me to stay engaged with writing, learn more about food, and educate people about nutrition and health. I have been publishing a newsletter every 2 or 3 weeks, picking up a few new subscribers each month.

If you would like to see what I’ve been up to, check out the archive. Even better, sign up to receive the newsletter via email. The next topic is “What’s for Breakfast?” and it will be coming out next Tuesday.

Here’s a snippet from a recent issue:

Fats in the News
What’s the latest research say about fat? It seems like the experts can’t make up their minds. As of today, this is what we know to be true in the world of nutrition science.

Previous themes included: The Gluten-Free Craze, Probiotics, and Eating on the Go.

Enjoy, and spread the word!

December 27, 2011.

Deschutes National Forest > Glass Buttes > Horse Ridge Natural Area > Portland

* Click the map above to zoom in *

A couple more checkmarks

The snow never came down during the night, so I didn’t need to make a dramatic escape. I rose just after the sun did, planning to backtrack 50 miles before heading home for good. One of my goals of the trip was to tick off several “Unique Natural Features” listed in the Oregon Gazetteer that I had not yet visited. Glass Buttes was listed as a site rich with obsidian; this was the traditional obsidian warehouse for American Indians. They collected the precious rock to make arrowheads. I was excited to visit this place, since I was actually this close. I’d never had any reason to travel this stretch of road before.

I followed my scrawled directions to Glass Buttes and was greeted by a barbed-wire fence with an equally uninviting gate. I got out of the car and looked for an alternate entry point, but nothing was obvious. I was rather disappointed in all the extra driving to get here, but I didn’t want to be accosted by some angry landholder accusing me of inappropriately accessing private land. The wind was blowing, hard, and the cold morning air was being driven right through me. Hungry, I busted out my camp stove and whipped up a steaming batch of oatmeal. In the comfort of my car I polished off my warm breakfast while squinting through the sunlight at the beautiful butte rising up from the flat desert.

Defeated, and with many miles left to travel before reaching Portland, I turned and left. Nothing stood between myself and home, 200 and something miles away. Or, so I thought.

Horse Ridge Natural Area was my last shot at hitting a “Unique Natural Feature.” Located not far out of Bend on highway 20, I would be driving right past it in an hour. The familiar brown sign greeted me as expected, letting me know I had a patch of public land to investigate. At the Horse Ridge Trailhead, there was a map of the roads and hiking paths leading to, but not inside, the Horse Ridge Natural Area. That was good enough for me. I packed a very light bag and set off at a good clip up the trail. I walked for about 30 minutes before swinging around 360 degrees to take in the views and then returned the way I came. It was a pretty area, but I was set on getting back to town at a reasonable hour, and before the working crowd was heading home.

I was surprised to see, as soon as I hit the road again, there was a pointer for Oregon Badlands Wilderness. What! I had no idea this place existed! As my car careened into the lot, I poked my head out the window to read the trail signage. Damn. There were many miles of hiking paths there. Had I known, I definitely would have spent a day slogging around these trails. Luckily, the Badlands aren’t too far from Bend, making it not so hard to get back here. Endless adventures await me…

Reflecting upon this trip, I have made a few observations.

1. Traveling alone gives me precious detox time, where I can free my mind from work responsibilities and life’s other obligations. It provides an opportunity to reconnect with what’s important, and lets my mind filter out thoughts that do not serve me. As “dangerous” as some people think it is to camp and travel alone, I find this time critical for my own happiness and well-being.

2. Leaving some space for flexibility in a travel schedule affords time to take advantage of opportunities that come up. Scheduling every last detail hampers curiosity.

3. Adapting to the hand dealt by nature is a great way to utilize and develop problem-solving skills. I was not expecting the temperatures to drop as low as they did on this trip, so I had to pull many of my old winter camping trips out of the bag, and I discovered a few new ones. Being confronted with challenges is an enjoyable way to forge new connections in the brain and keep the mind sharp.

4. Most importantly, I absolutely love everything about these trips: experiencing solitude, feeling connected with nature, practicing survival skills, learning new things, and seeing new places. I am distressed that most people don’t understand why I need to get out there, and I am sad that many folks will not have these experiences out of fear. I hope that by telling my stories, I will inspire someone to try something new, and push him or herself just out of the warm, cozy comfort zone for the sake of personal growth and learning.

Read previous entries…
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 26, 2011.

Antelope Reservoir > Charbonneau’s Grave > Pillars of Rome > Pete French’s Round Barn > Diamond Craters > Crystal Crane Hot Springs > Burns > Deschutes National Forest

* Click the map above to zoom in *

I didn’t have much on my agenda for today, so I pulled out the Oregon Gazeteer and the bible as written by William Sullivan to look for places to visit. I came up with a couple of notable sites on the way to Burns. Along the way, I also followed interesting-looking brown signs. It ended up being quite a full day.

First I detoured to Charbonneau’s grave in Danner. This middle-of-nowhere homage to Sacagawea’s son is graced with an American flag and treasures laid out around the gravesite. In the distance, cows mooed and dogs barked. There was a nice little sign explaining the life of the man, and a groomed walking path tracing a circle around the site. It was a charming way to start the day.

Next I traveled to Rome, where a lonely cafe was open for breakfast. I walked in and took a seat among people who all appeared to be related to each other as well as the man working the counter. I was served some weak coffee and, eventually, a decent breakfast. Tom and Jerry played on the TV overhead. Folks stopped by, said hello to everyone at the counter, then proceeded to serve themselves coffee or walk back into the kitchen. It turned out everyone in this town was related to each other.

My next stop was the Pillars of Rome. These tall, beautiful rock walls were easy to find with the directions I’d printed from the Internet. There’s no official pullout or trail for viewing, so I thought I’d find a good place to park the car and then wander around once I got close. It turned out that I was trespassing on private land, which I figured out as soon as a beat up, old, yellow pickup truck came driving down the gravel road where I was walking. A gritty old man in the truck asked me what I was doing on his land as I humbly explained that I thought I was on public land. The map labeled much of this land as belonging to BLM, i.e me, and it was really confusing for me to figure out what was and was not okay to be exploring. I apologized and turned back towards my car. I was disappointed, since it was such a beautiful morning and I was enjoying a pleasant walk.

A little flustered, I hit the road again to drive for another long stretch. I noticed a marker for Pete French Round Barn, which sounded dreadfully boring, but it was another excuse to get out of the car. As I approached I noticed a sign for a Visitor’s Center, and it was open! Hooray for human contact (and a cold beverage).

I was welcomed into the gift shop by an old man who turned out to be a font of local knowledge. We talked about all sorts of things: the Barn, Diamond Craters, ranch life, government bureaucracy, his family’s heritage, and the education programs at the Visitor’s Center. I was enthralled. I walked around the Visitor’s Center to see the historical collectibles on display, then flipped through the myriad of books for sale. I had to force myself to buy only one. This place was great! On my way out I asked for some pointers before driving to see the local sights and he was extraordinarily helpful. If you’re ever out this way, be sure to say hello to Dick Jenkins.

The Round Barn awaited my visit. It was an impressive-looking structure, with rustic wooden planks and stone walls. The barn was used to train horses back in the day. They say this barn was one of the first with this unique circular design. While I didn’t know the first thing about training horses, I still thought it was a mighty beautiful building.

Onward to Diamond Craters. There would always be more lava to be seen on these trips. With my Diamond Craters Auto Tour booklet in hand, I drove to stop #5, where I began my tour. At each stop, I got out of the car, walked around a bit and read aloud the geological description printed in the booklet. I had fun being my own tour guide, weaving down more gravel roads and hiking through Oregon’s past all laid out on display.

Just like the day before, the cloud cover made it nearly impossible to get a decent picture of the lava. Plus, the features at this site were so enormous, I thought the best way to experience it would be from the air. Nonetheless, I stopped dutifully at each viewpoint, read the text, and looked around. It would be one of the last opportunities to experience such a quiet, desolate location before heading back towards civilized life.

But the day only got better from here; next stop: Crystal Crane Hot Springs. These springs were developed but not resorty. There was tent and RV camping available in addition to rental cabins. The natural pool outside was available for a nominal access charge of $3. I opted for the private room with a tub for just a few dollars more. The outdoor pool was swarming with kids and I knew that would not be a relaxing time for me. Inside the room was a long aluminum tub with a faucet pumping in water from the hot springs. I got it to a nice, hot temperature, stripped off all the disgusting camp clothes I’d been living in for the past 5 days and got in the water.

It was the most relaxing hour of the trip. I emerged from the tub refreshed and excited. My admission fee also included access to a shower. Squeaky clean, I hit the road for a dinner stop in Burns.

I’d read somewhere that Burns was slated to be the next Bend; an old working-class town turned resort destination. A short drive through town proved that this prediction would not likely come true in the near future. Most everything was shut down, and I daresay some tumbleweed likely blew across the road as a lonely banjo played. There were a few chain restaurants and banks, plus some local shops scattered here and there. I couldn’t find any sort of downtown strip, so I parked and walked into the only store that had lights on, Gourmet & Gadgets. Inside were shelves full of unique and handy kitchen gadgetry, from stand-up cookbook holders to colorful wire whisks and top-of-the-line cookware. There were jams, baking mixes, fancy chocolates, and hot sauces. There were cookbooks, knife sets, and decorative kitchen kitsch. It was like walking into heaven. It was almost closing time, however, and since I knew I wouldn’t be buying anything I didn’t want to waste the proprietor’s time by browsing the aisles after 5pm. I made one purchase, a packet of candy cane hot chocolate powder, and then departed. I knew that would come in handy later in the evening.

At the local bar, a dive for sure, I ate an enormous burger and fries and then split town. The sun had set long ago, so I was left to find a suitable campsite in the dark. My first stop was no good, so I set my sights on a faraway gravel road that led into the Deschutes National Forest. I figured it would take me at least 2 more hours to get there. Fortunately I was making my way through a 10-disc audiobook; that kept me company for the long haul.

It felt like forever, but finally I made it into the depths of the forest. Wood was abundant; it took me 5 minutes to round up enough wood for two nights of campfires. The wind picked up as I started the fire and intermittently, light snow drifted down. Surprisingly, the temperatures were in the low thirties and it felt like summertime. I was melting in the multiple-layered cold weather suit I was wearing. I sipped my minty hot cocoa anyways, as the wind brought with it a bit of chill. I was worried that I’d get stuck here, trapped in a web of snow-bound gravel roads, and so I slept in my car that night. That way, I thought, I could leave at a moment’s notice.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 25, 2011.

Leslie Gulch > Jordan Craters > Antelope Reservoir

* Click the map above to zoom in *

Christmas morning. As a kid I remember anticipating rushing downstairs to see the lights blinking on the tree, shiny presents piled up under its branches. My brother and I were allowed to dump out the contents of our stockings before my parents woke up, so we ate candy and played until the sun rose and my parents awoke from their slumber. We’d open presents and then wait for the cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven. There was a mad sugar rush that started early and lasted for the entire day.

On this Christmas morning I awoke with a different excitement. For breakfast, I snacked on the various dried fruits and other treats my parents mailed me the day before I left Portland. I didn’t want to fiddle with the stove on yet another subzero morning. I drove back out to the cabin and parked at the entrance to Dago Gulch for one last hike before leaving this pristine canyon wonderland.

I stepped out of the car, already forgetting how cold the air was. I stuffed my head into a balaclava, put on the obligatory Santa hat, zipped up the pink puffy and walked quickly up the old road. It was so cold I had to walk quickly to stay warm. I had heard about the bighorn sheep population that resided in Leslie Gulch but I very much doubted I would be able to see any wildlife at a pace like this. Oh well, I was happy to be able to walk around a bit, knowing that today would be a crazy driving-down-gravel-roads day. I never liked walking on roads, so after about 15 minutes, I called it good and turned back towards the car. I’d realized that I’d forgotten my camp chair back at the campsite, which meant nearly 10 miles of backtracking and two more trips over the worst part of the road in my car. Poor Scion. My head wasn’t in it. As I was furiously marching along the road, I heard something big flush out of the bushes to the right of the trail. Startled, I looked up to see two coyotes booking it up the side of the canyon. I stood there, frozen, as I watched the graceful beasts get as far away from me as they could. There was no time to take a picture, since I knew they’d be gone before long. I watched them disappear into the brush, and then continued marching back to my car.

I drove for a couple hours, swinging through Jordan Valley for gas, then spending more time with my good friend the gravel road on the way to Jordan Craters. Jordan Craters is a BLM site that includes a relatively recent basalt lava flow. The only notable feature on the tour brochure is Coffeepot Crater. The last mile of the road to Coffeepot Crater is recommended for 4-wheel drive vehicles but the Scion rose to the challenge again. In the parking lot I fired up the stove to melt what little ice I could extract from my Camelback so I would have enough water for a hike. After knocking the pot over and spilling half of my precious supply, I ended up with about a half-liter to ration throughout the day.

The official marked trail system at Jordan Craters is one mile long. I decided to spice things up a bit by doing some cross-country travel. The landscape was mostly flat, with the one large hill near the parking lot serving as a landmark. I started to the right of the hill, walked along the edge of the lava, then turned to walk across the lava’s surface. It reminded me of a long-forgotten asphalt basketball court that had buckled and cracked through years of disrepair. I stooped to look at the shapes created by the ancient lava flow: streams, holes, bubbles, clamshells, ribbons, pockets, and waves. Hopping from one fold to the next I found myself feeling much like a little kid, exploring this alien landscape.

When I had my fill of the lava field I veered back towards Coffeepot crater. The Sullivan guide mentioned a way to get down to the bottom of the crater, but it looked sketchy from every angle. I jumped the gun and began following what looked like a faint footpath into the crater. All the rock was loose and slippery; even the vertical rock walls looked like they could crumble at any second. I’d wished I’d had a helmet with me, although if any rockfall hit my head I’d probably be in big trouble with or without a helmet. Once safely at the bottom of the crater, I walked around on the shifting piles of gravel, rock and debris. It was really cool down there; the video doesn’t do it much justice. In my exploration I noticed what looked like a moderately sloping path up the talus to the crater’s edge. So, that’s the trail, eh…

At the surface I took two more detours: one path led straight back into the lava field along another swath of grass, and another path led towards a row of spatter cones visible from the road. The cones made interesting shapes as they jutted up from the black waves of lava. They were colorful, too: red minerals were much more vivid in these amorphous projections of lava. The footing was not as nice near the cones, and I’d pretty much had it with my adventure. After taking some pictures I made a run for the road and walked back to the car.

Lots more driving brought me to Antelope Reservoir, where I’d camp for the night. A small BLM campground sat perched on the edge of the beach, with three open campsites available. I was really excited to have a lake full of fresh water to resupply my empty bottle, but my excitement dimmed as soon as I stepped out of the car. I could hear that the lake was frozen. Hoping I was wrong, I grabbed two bottles and walked across the rocks to the lake shore. Crap, I was right. The whole thing was frozen solid.

I walked back to my campsite with a new plan. I emptied out a nylon shopping bag and went back to the lake to gather ice. In no time I had smashed enough ice along the frozen water’s edge to fill up the bag. Back at the picnic table, I fired up the camp stove and began the mundane task of melting ice, then pouring it through my high-tech bandana filter to extract the pebbly bits from the water.

While all that was happening, I scoured the area for wood. Dried, sun-bleached sage branches lined the beach. There wasn’t much big stuff to gather, but after some creative harvesting I managed a reasonable pile of fuel for the evening.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.

December 24, 2011.

Lake Owyhee > Owyhee > Succor Creek State Recreation Area > Leslie Gulch

* Click the map above to zoom in *

Remote gravel roads

I left my spot along the Owyhee River and began the long, dusty trek back to town for gas. Not knowing exactly how large Adrian was, I drove slightly out of the way, to the town of Owyhee to fuel up. Soon after, it was back onto gravel roads as I disappeared into the vast desert.

I drove and drove among sagebrush, dust, and cattle. Here and there a large ranch would dominate the landscape, but even the largest of these would be dwarfed by the rolling hills and canyons. My route took me through Succor Creek State Recreation Area, which wasn’t really a destination as much as a scenic drive. As soon as I entered, it was clear why this area had been designated as such. It was absolutely stunning. Sheer rock walls bolted straight up from the riverbed, shading the narrowest parts of the canyon. Small pullouts here and there were wedged between the road and the river, providing much appreciated shade in the summer months but dreadful cold in the dead of winter. I kept driving. At the far end of the area, the canyon widened and a gravel spur led to a larger picnicking area with a restroom and several picnic tables. I stopped here and walked around a bit, trying to coax the scenery to imprint a little more strongly in my brain.

The desert has a way of making me feel very insignificant. The landscape goes on forever. Gravel roads, unmarked, branch off from the main road in every direction. I can only hope I’m following the correct path. Road signs can be several miles apart, and at a rate of 20-25 mph, quite some time passes before seeing another road sign. Getting lost out here would be a nightmare.

I was relieved to find a pointer for Leslie Gulch in the middle of nowhere. Only 15 more miles of gravel and I’d be at my nighttime destination. There would be a couple of hikes along the way as well. The gravel here went from bad to worse and then back again. The washboarded sections were so insanely bone-rattling I had to slow down to nearly 5 mph just to prevent all the bolts from wiggling out of my car frame. I felt a little nauseous after passing over each rough section.

Oh, to stretch the legs

I’d read that a four-wheel drive vehicle with high clearance was recommended for driving the last 8 miles to the campground. I had hoped that wasn’t true as I approached the road in my little blue Scion. At the cabin located about 4.5 miles from the campground at road’s end, a shallow, nearly dry streambed cut right across my path. I was afraid I would bottom out and get stuck so I got out of the car to check it out. It looked like if I stayed to the far left, I could make it. Fortunately I was right, and so I continued along the road until my first hiking stop.

I deferred to William Sullivan’s Yellow Book for descriptions of where to go hiking in this spectacular canyon-tastic area. My first stop was Juniper Gulch, a 0.8 mile out-and-back style hiking trail with its own parking area and sign. I put a bar, some water, and layers of clothing into my backpack for this quick little jaunt. I also carried binoculars in hopes of spotting some of the resident Bighorn Sheep herd.

I followed the trail up a dry wash as it darted in and out of the shade. It was freezing cold under the shadow of tall, rock walls and blistering hot in the sun. I hadn’t felt warm for days so I took my time strolling through the sunny spots. This place reminded me of Canyonlands in Utah. It was gorgeous. At the end of the line, the trail petered out and so many choices lay before me. I was faced with a maze of rock outcrops, sandy slopes, slot canyons, hills, and brushy patches. I scampered around a bit before recognizing how incredibly easy it would be to get lost if I went much further. Plus, I’d only packed for a 1.5 mile hike so I had few supplies. Oh well. I dropped my pack on a wide swath of rock, took my down jacket and shoes off and did some kickass desert yoga underneath the full force of the afternoon sun. It felt glorious to be able to move around so freely. I was so enamored with the place I took a video to try and capture the beauty and quiet of that moment.

Next stop: just a mile up the road, unmarked Timber Gulch awaited my arrival. I parked at the single-car pullout and followed the dry streambed according to Sullivan’s directions. There is no official trail here, but it is easy to walk along the drainage as it ascends to a cirque of tall rocky cliffs above. I climbed higher and higher, getting a sweet view of the landscape around me, until topping out beneath a massive, orange wall. Here I sat and basked in the sunshine just a little bit more, knowing I had another long, dark night ahead of me. I looked and listened for any sign of life, but I observed nothing. Before leaving this place I scrambled up just a little bit more to a viewpoint that allowed me to see across the other side. Armed with a map, time, and some more supplies, I could have wandered around this area for days without running out of stuff to do. But my current level of preparation set me up for just a couple of short jaunts and I retreated to my car.

Please, sir, may I have another?

I drove the remainder of the road to reach Slocum Campground at the far end. This was one of the most picturesque car-camping spots I had ever seen. Several of the sites had picnic tables covered with metal canopies, an excellent respite from the hot, summer sun. Being December, I chose a site sans canopy to settle in for the night. I had just a few hours of daylight remaining and the two short hikes I’d just completed left me hungry for more. I knew I could sneak one more in before resigning myself to camp chores. A path wore through the brush behind my campsite, leading into a canyon just in the distance. This hike was also listed in Sullivan’s book, although the single-sentence description wasn’t all too helpful. I hiked up the broad valley along another dry streambed. A grassy hill rose to my right and more vertical rock formations appeared on my left. I continued along until the left-hand side narrowed into a steep, impassable V and the right-hand side opened up to another broad valley. I chose to go up the slope in between the two in a dual effort to get a view of the narrow canyon and to chase the sun-kissed ridgetop. It was cold in the shade.

Climbing uphill quickly took the chill away and I found myself stripping off layers as I clumsily clambered up the loose rock and slippery grass. I stopped frequently for breath and water as I haven’t had to work very hard for days; my body was out of practice. Once atop the ridge I saw many more opportunities for exploration, but my time was short. I piled the layers back on, waited for SPOT to send a locator message, and snacked on the enormous bag of sesame sticks my parents had sent me for Christmas (yes! no reindeer sweater for me!).

Going back down the steep hill was the hardest part. My ankle protested the entire way, ignoring my angry pleas to “suck it up.” I was glad to reach the dusty river bottom and cruised the mile or so walk back to camp from there.

Dead or alive

I scrambled to gather firewood as the daylight waned. There were really no trees in sight, but there were plenty of sage bushes everywhere. The problem with sage, I found, was that it’s not that easy to tell if it’s living or dead. I scoured the area, yanking on branches here and there to find material to burn. Over 50% of the time, I ran the same dialogue in my head:

Sage: “I’m not dead!”
Me: “What?”
Sage: “I’m not dead!”
Me: “Yes, you are.”
Sage: “I don’t want to go into the cart!”

Damn. So it went on like this for the next hour, walking to fill my arms with mostly dead sage, depositing it into the growing pile near the firepit, and walking further still to find another crop of fuel. The pile looked huge but the gnarled and twisted branches provided only the illusion that I had collected quite a bit of material. I knew I’d burn through it in no time.

Soon after I started my evening campfire I grabbed a huge log stump, that someone must have been using as a seat, to throw in the fire pit. This was my last-ditch effort to trap some heat and prolong my sorry burn pile. It was a great decision because that sucker eventually got burning and was releasing heat for much of the night.

It was this night that I perfected the sleeping cocoon. I used the same set-up as the night before, but tossed an old army surplus wool blanket over the cocoon, including my face. This kept the frost off my sleeping bags plus it kept the cold air off my face. The hood of the 15 degree bag puffed up just tall enough to create a shelf for the blanket to rest, therefore keeping the blanket just a couple of inches off my skin. I let the yipping coyotes lull me to sleep.

Continue the story!
Dec 22: Small Town Oregon
Dec 23: Chasing Ghost Towns
Dec 24: Breathtaking Desert Hikes
Dec 25: Lava Landscape
Dec 26: A Hodgepodge of Delights
Dec 27: Go West

See the entire photo set on Picasa.