Run DMZ

I haven't been able to get the tragic tale of a young woman and her father out of my mind. In case you missed it, the pair of experienced hikers summited Half Dome in Yosemite just as a rogue storm approached. They immediately began the descent, which is nerve-wracking on its own, when the skies opened and turned the "trail" of slate from dangerous to deadly.  The young woman, who was studying to become a teacher at Arizona State, was wearing new boots that lost traction. She slipped beyond the cables and plunged 200 to 300 feet, dying of a head fracture. These types of incidents, still uncommon, are unfortunately appearing in news feeds more frequently as hiking enjoys a moment. Last year a group of Half Dome hikers were trapped during a lightning storm that struck one of the hikers sheltering in a rock cave. Others barely made it down during the deluge. The thing that struck me with the most recent fatality is the role of trail congestion. The Arizona woman's father...

  Since 1919, one of southern California's most-posh-yet-most-primitive vacation spots has belonged to the Wrigley family (of chewing gum and baseball fame). The land today is dominated by the Catalina Island Conservancy , which controls 88% of the island to ensure it's never overrun by developers. This past weekend, I got to explore a portion of the primitive part with an REI-sponsored group backpacking trip from Two Harbors to Parsons Landing and back.  Training versus the actual trip My friend Mary and I began to train in earnest in early spring, when temperatures on trails were ideal in San Diego. Even into May and June, we typically had thick clouds to shield us from the enervating effects of full sun. This made it difficult to prepare for what the weather actually was over last weekend: hot and sunny. We knew we'd be carrying heavy packs, and in the last two months we weighed down our packs to 32 (me) and 38 (Mary) pounds of water and gear for our 5- to 6-mile treks....

To be able to sleep in and get in a long hike before life kicks into a higher gear is a true blessing. So many people were out and about last weekend, perhaps because trails were closed the three days prior due to tree treatments. Will be back here tomorrow (Thursday) with friends as the big backpacking trip approaches.

 I almost turned around early on the trail last Saturday, a bit creeped out by the lack of others despite ideal hiking conditions. I'm glad I didn't because I would have missed the field of yerba mansa in bloom about a mile from the Los Penasquitos "waterfall" on the South Trail. 

Thought it might be nice to resurrect Wordless Wednesday for the season. This is Eagle Rock, which we accessed yesterday via the Pacific Coast Trail in Warner Springs. The 6.5-mile hike had its challenges, from territorial cows and bulls to a snake in the middle of the trail. It heated up to high 70s, but that was a good thing for me and my heavy backpack.   

The beginning and ending tend to be what gets remembered most. We can recall the excitement and enthusiasm starting a new project, partnership, romance, home, family, or friendship. We also vividly remember how all of these end, whether naturally or suddenly. This robs us of the portion that really matters, where the mundane resides but without which progress comes to a halt. I'm talking about the middle, that part of a plan, relationship, or life where we actually devote the bulk of our time. It tends to muddle together because it doesn't leave quite the impression of the beginning and the end, what is known as the primacy effect .  That's why so much emphasis is placed on first impressions and final departures. But the middle is where we make our imprint, whether living up to a promise or proving people wrong. It's everything in the middle that determines how we are seen and remembered when it's lights out. Right now I'm in the middle of my backpack training ....

  I never considered how Bandelier National Monument got its name until a week after I'd left the abandoned cliff dwellings, the time-defying petroglyphs, the impressively preserved ruins, and one harrowing climb to an ancient housing complex that I wisely sat out. Despite these New Mexico lands serving as home to ancestral Pueblo people for millennia, once the cliffs and canyons joined the U.S. parks system, government officials chose to honor Adolf Bandelier, a Swiss immigrant and self-taught archeologist who studied this region and played a role in its establishment as a national monument to preserve the sites. That was in 1916 after the place had been vacated some 400 years prior by the indigenous populations that made a decent life out of honoring the elements surrounding them. A brochure you receive at the gate includes a message from the Affiliated Pueblo Committee: Spiritually, our ancestors still live here at Bandelier. You see reminders of their presence here--their homes...

I did something Saturday morning that I haven't done in years: nothing. I spent five glorious hours sipping tea and watching HGTV in bed while a flash-flood-inducing storm blew through. I took advantage of a rare lull in my life to force my body and brain into rest mode. I also did it because things are about to change for the next three months. I'm going to start training in earnest for a weekend backpacking trip on Catalina Island this summer. I don't know how I found the REI excursion, but I do know sessions were sold out whenever I checked. This year, I bookmarked the page, so when it updated, I was there. That's how I secured the first spot for a group backpacking trip on June 29-30, 2024. Three friends soon signed up, but one withdrew due to a shoulder situation and her sister backed out too. It's down to me and my friend Mary . I'm excited to have a new focal point to get out there when my body and mind want to be elsewhere. I'm also fortunate to liv...

Some mornings you wish to put on repeat. Yesterday's was one of them. At the start of fall -- the false fall, where temps dip a day or two and then shoot back up to unbearable -- my friends and I created a master list of hikes we wanted to do when mornings cooled for good. I created a Google Doc and "as an example" filled the first set of tables with a hike at Volcan Mountain near Julian, with breakfast at a downtown diner afterward. Julian , for the uninitiated, is a popular, post-Gold Rush mountain town with a quaintness we city folk crave. Nestled in the Cuyamaca Mountains, one of the area's bigger natural attractions is the Volcan Mountain Wildnerness Reserve . My longtime hiking pals Deborah and Mary and I carpooled to the trailhead in Mary's year-old Honda Passport. There was little traffic along CA 67, 78 and 79 at that hour and we found ourselves pulling on our packs and adjusting our poles at the same time a festively dressed group was embarking on a holi...

If calmness and serenity are important, I don't recommend visiting Muir Woods National Monument on a weekend. Parking is competitive, despite mandatory paid reservations. The entrance can be a clusterf*ck because of construction and because everyone wants photos in front of the iconic sign. Walkways are often congested because, of course, people need to stop to take more photos -- of them, not the redwoods. That said, if you like moody shots, this is an excellent venue. This is an excellent place if you live or visit the Bay Area. It just took me weeks to realize it. We arrived on a Saturday morning in mid-October, falsely believing that an annular solar eclipse might reduce car and crowd counts. But this is San Francisco: No one could see the sun -- let alone it being partially blocked by the moon -- through a thicket of fog. And fall is an excellent time to commune with California redwoods, so say the swarms that joined us. One reason Muir Woods is so popular, aside from the ob...

When I used to run with someone, I loved to talk. Not only did I get to dish and vent, but I moved faster as I did. It sounds counterintuitive, but my  VO2 max seemed higher during conversation. On one run with a trio of friends in New York's Central Park, I warned in advance that I am faster when I talk. Midway through our route, I offered one of my convoluted stories requiring backgound asides, plot recaps, and a quick interruption ("Hey, was that Meg Ryan who just ran by us?!") Fifteen minutes in, just as I was getting to the best part, one of the women asked me to please stop talking. I thought she was upset at my storytelling and fell silent. Afterward, she explained between big breaths that I'd sped up to a pace she could no longer hold. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked. "No one could get a word in edgewise," she responded. My inability to notice everyone and everything (except, apparently, Meg Ryan) around me reflected poorly on...

"Seven miles ahead to something truly amazing," the entrance station ranger said as we grabbed our map and fell into a caravan of cars, RVs, and trucks twisting their way toward the main attraction. After watching one rec van careen into the oncoming lane on a sharp turn and another continually crawl to accommodate cyclists without a bike lane, we opted to go the opposite way in search of better conditions to view one glorious hole filled with calm, clear, centuries-old snowmelt. This was our third attempt to visit the southern Oregon national park. The past two trips were thwarted by wildfires, now common during summer travel in the West. The first time, the park was open but smoke was so thick from nearby blazes that it made no sense to drive that far out of our way with limited visibility. The second time, two years later, it was a wildfire itself that closed roads to park entrances. Third time's a charm We decided at literally the last minute to turn off highway 97 to...

We’d just entered the Tokopah Valley Trail when a young family finishing their hike asked if we were heading to the falls.   “That’s the plan,” my husband said.   “Then I should warn you: There’s a bear about a mile in.”   After that, no one really cared about seeing yet another striking waterfall within Kings Canyon and Sequoia national parks. We were on a bear hunt.  This popular trail off the Lodgepole camping grounds, like most parts of the parks, is riddled with active bear area warnings. Don’t leave food or scented products in your car. Don’t wear yummy-smelling bug spray, lotion, or sunscreen walking to a scenic viewpoint. Watch where you eat. Watch where you step. Use those bear-resistant trash bins at all times. Don’t leave the outer public restroom doors open, so bears can get in. Don’t run if you happen to stumble upon one; instead, stand your ground. And above all, respect their space. This is their home, not yours.  All signs showed...

After staying dormant all winter and, so it appears, most of spring, I’m returning to Run DMZ.  My love/hate relationship with digital life continues. Other platforms I started and must now maintain exhaust me, especially when algorithms make it hard to find posts from actual followers. This blog has the deepest digital roots, even if its format and platform are long past their prime. So today I will try to breathe a little more life into a dying form.  Poppies along the Dixon Lake shoreline Wild winter = wildflowers extraordinaire  This winter was wild here in California, with waves of wet weather known as atmospheric rivers pelting hillsides, forging new tributaries, drowning wildlife, knocking out bridges, closing roads, flooding beach boardwalks, and providing one of the most beautiful springs on record.  All that rain might have canceled weeks, then months, of outdoor plans, but once the weather pattern changed from cloudy with a chance of rain to just cloudy,...

Occasionally, my brain and body rebels in most inconvenient ways. My mind refuses to stay on task with big deadlines approaching. It indulges distractions, like finding the right holiday photo card instead of finishing the library book due the next day. I get body aches and chills without a fever, nausea of unknown origin, headaches no painkillers can penetrate. Just weeks after a glorious trip to Maine, I suffered from all three ailments. I didn’t have the luxury of curling up on the couch or in bed for a few days to restore my health. So instead, I leeched mounting stress with useless flu meds, a few over-the-top outbursts, and one heart-stopping nightmare. This was not the homecoming I anticipated after my time in the Northeast, anchor of my ancestry and place I miss most each fall. At the invitation of a dear friend with a lovely vacation home, four of us ignored the first day’s rains to explore beautiful Bethel, followed by two days of the best hiking conditions – sunny and m...