fleming meadow

Outdoor excursions don’t have to be gorgeous. Sometimes they satisfy the initial craving, the taste for some tall trees and clean space absent of concrete. A hike might unclutter the brain and retrain your eyes to look upward. Perhaps you get a few shards of sunlight striking your skin, and you snap a few photos but they turn out ho-hum. You tuck your phone back into your pocket, instead watching your dog bound up the trail and wonder how you’ll find your car again. That’s essentially how this weekend went — it was both exactly we needed and nothing to write home about.

Living in a city is convenient. Groceries, booze, entertainment, and work are all within walking distance (or a short drive). And yet, cities are chaotic. Brake dust, honking, sirens, unsavory people and smells are also within walking distance. Don’t get me wrong — I’ve enjoyed the past few (many?) years of city living. My stint in the Bay Area was probably the best in terms of urban existence. I biked on a rusty Schwinn to work and class, walked past wisteria-bedecked homes for morning buns and coffee, or hiked up the trails that took you high above the city in less than half an hour. But cities thrive on romanticization, which I’m prone to. Having grown up in rural California, urban environments have always been thrilling and exhausting.

So, we drove east. Up past Placerville into the pine trees, through an irrigation district and past a man-made lake that quaintly framed the snow-capped Sierras. You guys, there is SO MUCH SNOW this year. It’s the middle of May and here we are with a winter storm warning and ski resorts that will be open through July 4th. I’m thrilled and nervous about the backpacking and camping trips I have planned this summer (whoops). All that to say, should you find yourself needing a respite from loud ripe odoriferous places, take a drive to the mountains for an hour or two. And then have a beer with some men in kilts.

Fleming Meadow Loop

• Length: 2-5 miles (depends on how lost you wanna get)
• Time: 1-2 hours
• Difficulty: Easy-Moderate
• Trail: I’m not sure which trail we followed and we never saw a meadow (we kept following the blue 8 markers), but this USDA map has a bunch of spurs from the parking lot we found. Don’t be deterred by the stripped van at the turnoff – we didn’t see anything sketchy at the trailhead. I’d like to come back and do the whole loop, but the doggo was hot and the husband wanted beer. So it goes.

 

phantom falls

C/O: Ferretti Photography

When my sister was about eight years old, she encountered nature’s wrath in the California foothills. It was summer, waves of dry heat radiating from the gravel in our driveway. The sky was bright blue, an occasional buzzard flying overheard and nary a whisper of wind in the oak trees. She had been flitting back and forth between the house and trailer with a friend, doing what eight-year-old kids do. A couple moments after their Kool-Aid detour to the kitchen, my mother suddenly heard a loud wail from the porch: “Snaaaake! I got bit by a snake!” Every parent’s worst nightmare, at least in our neck of the woods.

With inhuman speed my mom tore outside to find my little sister rocking on the ground, cradling her foot. She always had a propensity for drama, and at first my mom didn’t believe that the pin-sized puncture was actually a snake bite. She bent over to examine what was likely a stubbed toe, when she heard the heart stopping chh-chh-chh. A young rattlesnake slithered under the deck and out of sight, blending right in with the weeds and gravel. Wide-eyed, my mom told the friend to head home and threw my sister into the car. Living 40 minutes from the nearest hospital meant that risking a speeding ticket was far better than waiting on an ambulance. After four days in the hospital (two in ICU), my sister was pumped full of anti-venom and sent home to recover, watermelon-sized ankle in tow.

As hikers in the West, we (hopefully) all know the shape and sound of a rattlesnake. A slithering brown critter with a diamond back warrants a change of course, particularly when help is far away. I’ve never been bitten, but my sister’s experience forced constant vigilance whenever I’m out in the woods. Twice in the same backpacking trip we had close encounters with some very angry, very large rattlesnakes and realized just how far help was. (The snakes were 10000% scarier than the bears we saw on the same trip.) All this to say, when we went hiking a couple weekends ago in the green hills near Oroville, I jumped off the trail as a small, diamond backed reptile skittered in front of my toes. A caveat, should you decide to try this hike yourself.

The trail to Phantom Falls is packed, particularly in late spring when the lupine and poppies and fiddlenecks are in full bloom. Even with hundreds of people perusing the flowers and taking hyper-original insta photos, it never felt crowded. The trail winds through open grasslands with few trees, and includes the occasional cow (and cow pie). After a mile or two of enjoying the fleurs, the trail suddenly pops out on a bluff of volcanic rock to a bizarre and wonderful waterfall pouring over a cliff. It’s spectacular and unassuming – I’d never guess that a waterfall existed in the middle of cow country. Just keep an eye out for snakes, especially as the weather warms up.

Phantom Falls Trail

• Length: 4-5 miles (depends on one’s amount of perusing)
• Time: 2 hours
• Difficulty: Easy
• Trail: The trail skirts along the North Table Mountain Ecological Reserve at 2488 Cherokee Rd, Oroville, CA. Plug in the address to your favorite mapping application and it’ll get you there. There’s a small gravel parking lot at the trailhead, but you can also park on the side of the road as space allows. Follow the throngs of people as the trail winds west and down through the hills – it’s well marked. Dogs welcome on a leash (we saw tons). Swing by Chico after the hike and hit up the Sierra Nevada taproom.

qt

joshua tree national park

The desert is magical. The sky is bigger and bluer and more desolate. The landscape mirrors it in browns and greys, rocks and roots and ragged edges punctuating the flatness. It rolls and shimmers, tricks your eyes and alters distances. This place attracts all kinds of washed out hippies and hikers, LA bombshells taking selfies on long stretches of asphalt and weathered old men aching to warm up their joints. It’s amazing and terrifying all at once.

On our drive down to Joshua Tree, a monumental storm soaked California, making for dramatic horizons over Tehachapi Pass and through Lancaster. My nerves grew the further south we drove (I did not prepare for a rainy camping trip). The wind whipped our tent across the sand and the squirrels ate all of our Doritos, but we stayed dry, per the desert’s promises. Maybe my point here is be prepared for anything when camping in California in March – you never know what nature will throw your way.

We stayed in Jumbo Rocks Campground, which is basically a huge playground for adults. Take note – I only booked the site a month and a half in advance, which is quite late by California National Park standards. Still, there were lines of people every morning at the front of the campground, waiting to see if a campsite would open up. All you need to do is plan maybe a month out, and you too could have a place to sleep in Joshua Tree! Alas, those SoCal folks can’t plan, and still feel entitled to a campsite. Other notes – no water anywhere in the park and no flush toilets at the campground. Bring a couple 5 gallon jugs, wet wipes, etc etc.

Two of my camp-mates were avid rock climbers, and we spent much of our time wandering around big boulders and pretending we could climb (it’s much harder to boulder outside than in a rock gym). I attempted a grand total of 3 routes, and mostly admired the trees and landscape and wandered around with a goofy grin on my face. The desert does that to people. Some easy good rock climbing spots we found:

• The Manx
• The Womb
• The Blob

The hikes were alright – I think everyone goes to Joshua Tree just to take photos and/or rock climb. That said, when we got our asses out of bed early enough, the desert was beautiful in the early morning light (or late afternoon). Especially after a rainstorm, with big bulbous clouds skittering across the sky. A few fun hikes we did, when we weren’t hopping around the rocks with beer:

• Skull Rock Nature Trail (1.8 miles) – I know nature trails get a bad name because they are ‘easy’, but this was right outside of our campsite and was a beautiful introduction to the topography of the park.
• Hidden Valley Nature Trail (1 mile) – see comments above, except in Hidden Valley you get to ogle rock climbers doing insane shit.
• Ryan Mountain (3 miles) – a short but intense hike to the summit of the mountain, with incredible 360 degree views of the park, San Gregorio and San Jacinto.

skull rock

hidden valley

squad on Ryan Mtn.

Also worth noting are some of the weird ass businesses in the town of Joshua Tree, on the north end of the park. There is a WALMART (!!) (yeah yeah I know, evil megacorp) in JT, which is perfect for firewood and anything you forgot at home (coffee filters and beer, in our case). Other spots we found:

• Nomad Ventures – outdoor store right next to the Visitor’s Center with sweet hats, watercolor cards, and climbing books.
• Crossroads Cafe – free coffee refills and killer breakfast burritos. Enough said.
• Joshua Tree Coffee Roasting – great light roast coffee, but lots of LA attitude. Go sit on the patio and people watch for hours – there are so many amazing desert grandmas that go here.
• Stater Bros – grocery store with lots of ice and a great beer selection.

We stayed for four nights, which was the perfect amount of time to explore and see what we wanted to see. It’s a long ass drive from Sacramento, but I’m glad we finally saw it. A ‘welcome home’ present to myself after the miles and miles of green on the East Coast. Cheers, friends.

acadia national park: pt 1

The East Coast has been slammed with wintry storms this season. In March of last year, spring seemed eons away and I was perpetually shuffling around the house in slippers to combat the cold. A few brisk nor’easters hit Delaware in March, just as I was permitting myself to start vegetable seedlings and put away scarves and mittens. Nothing quite so sad as the reality that the snow may last through April, and spring is essentially a rainy extension of winter. As I sit on my deck overlooking the Sierra foothills, basking in sunshine and wispy tendrils of morning fog, it’s very easy to forget all of that. I’m headed to Joshua Tree National Park in a week for some camping and climbing, further embracing California’s dry and sunny winter as my easterly friends trudge onward. Sorry kids, West Coast has you beat.

In the hopes that some can start dreaming of summer adventures, I’m putting together a few posts on my favorite parts of Acadia National Park. Maine is the quintessential East Coast summer destination, in my opinion. Replete with quaint seaside towns, lots of delicious seafood, and messy kiddos running around with ice cream cones. We made the drive from Wilmington to Maine over 4th of July week in 2017, with a necessary stop in Freeport to visit the L.L. Bean flagship store. Despite being caught in the most epic rainstorm of my life, we made it to Blackwoods Campground by midnight and pitched our tent in a downpour. Don’t worry – the rest of the week was sunny and gorgeous. Blackwoods was perfect for easy access to other parts of the park – the free Island Explorer shuttle stops by the campground entrance, and there are some overpriced general stores and paid showers in Otter Creek (0.5 miles down the road). Caveat: reserve your site a few months in advance, since all of the campgrounds in Acadia fill up  when the weather is nice. If you’ve got other camp-y questions about Acadia, hit me up.

One of my favorite (and easy peasy) hikes in the park was Jordan Pond. It’s a tarn buried between some funky looking hilltops mountaintops, with lots of big beautiful trees and vistas at either end. The weird looking mountains to the northeast are called the Bubbles (which is supposed to be a fun hike), and to the west is Penobscot Mountain. Jordan Pond was perfect for an afternoon stroll, and swinging by the Jordan Pond House for some of the over-hyped popovers is also highly recommended. It can be a long wait for a table in the summer, but the beer selection is good and views are nice from the grass. Put your name in early and explore a bit while you wait.

Jordan Pond Trail

• Length: 3ish miles
• Time: 1 hour
• Difficulty: easy
• Trail: Take the Island Explorer shuttle to the Jordan Pond House stop (parking can be a pain in the ass, especially on weekends). Mosey down to the house amidst the throngs of people, and the Jordan Pond trail will be well-marked. It’s a big loop with a nice beach area at the north end, but you can turn around whenever you want. Moose loved this hike, in case you were wondering.

delaware water gap

across the gap to mt. tammany

Expectations. Rather, unreasonable expectations. Something I have always struggled with, and something that often gets magnified in times of change (like, er, right now). On a typical weekend, I’ve got my sights set high, ready for what will obviously be the best day off to date. Inevitably reality sets in once we pull away from the curb, red taillights bring the journey to a grinding halt, parking is a joke, and the destination might be less cool than what I read about online. Ugh, gah, le sigh. My hopes! Dashed again!

These kinds of days typically progress with me getting emotional and disappointed, my husband telling me something along the lines of ‘win some, lose some,’ and end with a beer on the deck. And about 90% of the time, the beer in the backyard is where I should have been all day anyway. I’ve been trying hard to be adventurous in this new place, to dive in and read up on the must-see experiences. I sketch up long itineraries that optimize travel distances with traffic timing and when that adorable coffee shop will open. Then when I come home sad or frustrated or missing home, I’m reminded that home is good and safe and comfortable and we don’t all need sexy Instagram posts to feel better about life, dammit.

Our trip to the Delaware Water Gap last weekend was one of these. Namely, it began with every good intention, and was then deflated by a hangry husband, insane Labor Day crowds, and limited parking. While this colored much of the actual hike, it was insanely beautiful and followed the Appalachian Trail (!!!) to the top of Mount Minsi. Let me extract some of the spectacular things about this day, like seeing the AT’s white blazes on every tree, hopping over a heeee-uge black snake that languished in the sun (um, poisonous? dunno!), and a beautiful panorama of the Delaware Water Gap and Mount Tammany across the river. The weather was gorgeous, the foliage was verdant, and our moods were less sour after stopping for some iced sugary coffee goodness on the way home. Bonus level: IPAs on the deck as the sun went down. Yep, sometimes it’s really good to be home in a way you didn’t expect at all.

Also, I think we’re not a day trip kind of family. Maybe weekend trips are better? TBD.

less than enthused

attempted enthusiasm!

In case you’re thinking of heading to the Gap on a weekend, I recommend doing the less popular Mt. Minsi hike in PA rather than Mt. Tammany on the NJ side (which was blown out). And if you’re like us and have done most of your hiking in the Sierra Nevadas, change your expectations and be ready for a pleasant stroll in the woods rather than cresting a ‘mountain’, per se…

Mt. Minsi

• Length: 4ish miles
• Time: 1.5 hours
• Difficulty: easy/moderate
• Trail: drive to Delaware Water Gap, PA. Head southeast down Main St., turn right on Mountain Rd., and after 0.1 miles you’ll see a dirt road on the left with a parking lot through the trees. Take the AT up (white blazes) and the fire road down for a nice loop.
• Best time to go: anytime except Labor Day weekend? But really, the late summer and early fall are nice because of lower humidity and fewer people. I suggest a Sunday or weekday for smaller crowds.

home, deck, beer. repeat.

photos: iPhone

on exploring

Well here we are, a month into our newly minted residential status as Delawareans. There’s only one box left unpacked, our furniture is in (mostly) working condition, and we’re finding a daily rhythm of work and hobbies and time together. Transitioning from student to employee is one thing. Doing it after moving across the country is a whole other ball of wax. Let’s just say we’re working on it. I don’t have many insightful or groundbreaking thoughts on the shift from West to East Coast, but have compiled a rudimentary list of daily observations as a (temporarily) unemployed person. Perhaps you’ll find something you like.

(1) Say hello. People are incredibly friendly, and I was honestly not expecting this. Having lived in the Bay Area for four years, sidewalk hello’s are a rarity to me. Yet whether I’m out for a morning run or swinging by the local thrift store, folks are content to chit chat about anything. Except humidity. I’ve realized that the subject of air moisture is a total nonstarter for small talk, maybe because recognizing it makes it worse? I wonder if talking about the cold in winter has a similar effect. Silly Californians.

(2) Walk everyday. This is best way to make a neighborhood yours. Up and down small side streets, across busy intersections, and down sidewalks of charming row houses. A grid is slowly forming in my brain, street names attaching themselves to landmarks, places I love versus places to avoid at night. Yesterday I stumbled into a small antique store smack in the middle of a row of residential homes. A very appealing rocking chair was lingering out front for sale–I will of course be returning today to investigate further.

(3) Join in. This is often the most terrifying part about moving to a new place, and it took me a while to heed my own observation. Folks in our neighborhood hang out in very public areas, whether it’s a bar, yoga studio, park. You won’t meet anyone by sitting on your back deck watching the cardinals, as lovely as that sounds. So, yesterday I finally took my own advice and wandered into an evening yoga session down the street. While I didn’t meet my lifelong Delaware soul sister (yet), it was nice to chat with some locals and socialize a bit. Baby steps, baby steps.

(4) Explore thoughtfully. This sounds stupid, but it’s been important for me to remember that we don’t have to see everything at once. It’s overwhelming living on a new coast with so much to experience and learn. New York, Boston, Asheville, Philadelphia–but traveling every weekend inhibits your ability to complete #2 and #3 above. Maybe you have a weekend at home to play frisbee golf and picnic in the park, and the following weekend you take a trip that knocks a few adventures off the list. But by no means feel obligated to see all of Philadelphia in a single day. Oyyy.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Enjoying slowly getting to know Wilmington and our new state, little pieces at a time.

brown’s ditch

The strange thing about summer is it flies. When you don’t measure the hours in a day by deadlines and the drive home from work, time becomes fluid and dissipates. I appreciate that I haven’t spent the last two months on a computer, pounding my head against a desk in some windowless cube. For a moment I was among the unemployed, waking when I wanted, hiking when I wanted–car permitting. It was mostly bliss, with some frustrations  and money problems woven into the middle. Can’t complain.

These photos are from the flume hike with my sister, a last hurrah in our beloved foothills before I hopped on a plane to the East Coast (more on that later). If you’re in the Oakhurst/South Gate area of Yosemite, check it out. It’s almost always quiet and empty.

Brown’s Ditch (aka The Flume)

• Length: ~3 miles round trip
• Time: 2 hours + time for swimming at the top
• Difficulty: easy
• Trail: take rd. 274 along the north side of bass lake until you reach the intersection with central camp rd. There will be a dirt parking lot on your right side (park there) and the trailhead is on the left side of rd 274.
• Best time to go: late spring/early summer. The flume dries up mid-summer, so go early.

exuberance with the sista.

photos: 35 mm film + iPhone | date: sometime in july

Hidden Canyon

It begins with an intimidating set of switchbacks, winding and twisting and slicing through the solid rock. Intrepid hikers disappear over the top, climbing up and up for an impossibly long time and instilling that dreadful feeling in your stomach, wait why am I doing this again? Scrubby brush and an occasional juniper tree poke out of the mountainside, contrasting against the red red rock. I wasn’t sure I wanted to scale a sheer mountainside again, especially after completing Angel’s Landing the day prior. Ah well, up we go.

Completely worth it. This was one of my favorite hikes in Zion, due in part to the numerous “GO BEARS!” we received. Fewer people, more nooks and crannies, lots of scrambling over and under like we were little kids in a massive jungle gym. All of Zion is an obstacle course, really. That’s what makes it so darn amazing and now my second favorite national park. Why did we wait so long to go?!?

We’ve been trying to soak up as much of the West as we can in our 89 days left in California. (It’s bizarre to see that on a page.) Zion and Bryce Canyon were amazing, particularly in the spring when wildflowers burst forth and the desert isn’t quite so harsh. I’ve frantically been lining up other camping trips to take around California before we leave: backpacking Rae Lakes through Sequoia and Kings Canyon NPs, Tuolumne in Yosemite, and hopefully some time down in Big Sur. Any other suggestions? Why is California so beautiful you guys?!

A few days ago I bought my first one-way ticket. To Philadelphia. For our moving date. Honestly I was disappointed because I expected it to be cheaper going one direction, but alas, this wasn’t true. Airlines are out to steal your money, but remain a convenient form of travel. This whole moving thing is slowly sinking in.

But for now here’s some details on this cool hike we did in Zion. Cheers.

• Length: ~3 miles round trip (but you can go as deep into the canyon as you like)
• Time: 2-3 hours
• Difficulty: Moderate/strenuous (very steep in the beginning and sheer drops, but levels out in the canyon with some rock scrambling required)
• Trail: Take the Zion shuttle to the Weeping Rock Trailhead, follow signs for Hidden Canyon
• Best time to go: Late spring and summer. We went in late March and the weather was perfect (chilly in the morning, warmer in the afternoon, no snow). I imagine this hike is pretty nice in the summer too, because the canyon stays quite cool.

Photos: iPhone | March 2016 (aka Spring Break baby)