Archive for the ‘hiking’ Category

Gear up with decent equipment

February 25, 2018

Good gear is always a challenge to find, particularly on a budget. Here are a couple items I’ve been able to count on recently and would endorse:

Something fun: Akaso video camera. People have been telling me for a few years that I should get a GoPro camera. Sure, that could be fun, but for the longest time these gadgets were financially out of reach for me (falling well below bike maintenance costs on my ledger!). As much as I dislike the big online retailer that starts with “A” (oops, I used to work for them) — I found this Akaso mini video camera for under $100. It came with rechargeable batteries, has been reliable and is so much fun to fool around with!

Underwater videos have been my favorite part, because the camera came with a zillion mounts and accessories, including a waterproof housing. I can’t really get good mountain biking videos on it yet because I haven’t tried the helmet mount (I tried a handlebar mount and thought it was too shaky and tried clipping it to the chest strap of my backpack but got too much footage of my knees rather than the trail ahead of me). My issue is that it’s really hard to tell if it’s recording when you’re looking at it through a snorkel mask and the waterproof housing. They could make a bigger flashing red light on the screen or something. As a result I’ve taken lots of footage that looks like I’m in a washing machine and missed lots of footage of cool underwater things because it’s off when I think it’s on and vice-versa.

I’d love to upload the actual video (especially of Mike swimming with the fish in our favorite Florida spring, above right) but I’m not on the premium plan here so you’ll have to use your imagination.

Good shoes. Seriously, don’t skimp by buying cheap sneakers when you have a lot of hiking or even city shopping to do on a vacation. I like Salomon as a brand because they are rugged and last a long time. I tried out these new “Sense Pulse” style shoes (on left) just before we went to California and Hawaii last fall and I haven’t regretted it.IMG_20180224_181126_971[1]          IMG_20171019_145929_308

My partner, on the other hand, bought cheap sneakers before the trip. I think they’re Avias (on the right in photo above). Don’t make this mistake (I need to underline that and put it in bold too!). The Avias were worn out and lost all structural integrity by the end of the trip. We’d done some hiking, perhaps 15-20 miles, plus plenty of just around town walking, but that’s nowhere enough use to destroy a pair of decent sneakers — it’s the brand, the cheap construction, that is at fault.

You think I’m exaggerating? Look at the above photo of the soles, taken roughly a week after the trip. Our shoes were both brand new before the trip. I hiked a bit more than he did during the trip — and mine still look like new while his are destroyed. It was a bad decision to buy cheap shoes, and he’s paying the price (ask his podiatrist). Now that I’ve walked and run about 100 more miles in mine they’re starting to show some wear, but the upper is still intact and strong. I would buy this model of Salomon again in a minute.

Of course you still have to find the shoes that fit your feet correctly in order to get the best use of them. Not every Salomon sneaker is right for my bony feet. I decided to start running again this winter and again, just like last year, had to try on a million pairs of shoes that didn’t fit perfectly before I found some that do (I refuse to relive the toenail incident I caused by wearing too-narrow Hoka Cliftons last winter). The aqua pair of Salomons in this photo (next to my worn-out Missions and newer Sense Pulse) just didn’t work for me. It’s like dating — I knew they weren’t for me as soon as I laid eyes on them. Too narrow, not made of the same rugged materials as the others. Oh well, they’ll work for someone else.


A solid pack. When I was working for Eastern Mountain Sports I stocked up on backpacks using the employee discount, and it was a good investment. I can’t even estimate how many miles are on the tough Fen model pack I have. It goes everywhere I go, from biking trails to skiing to travel. At times it feels a bit heavy but the construction has been solid and it’s not practical to bring more than one for slight variations in use or conditions. It has a waterproof pocket built in to protect things like my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when I’m hiking in the rain (hello, Kauai).

My only significant quibble with this pack is that the mesh side pockets aren’t deep enough to keep a good size (20oz) water bottle from falling out. It has gear straps that enable me to lock my packable rain jacket or sandals in those mesh pockets but they don’t work for the water bottles unless the bottles have a loop to thread the strap through. (Yes, I’m available to work as a gear tester, just say the word!)

IRM postcards 1.27.18 148

And although I don’t think it’s x-ray proof, the TSA hasn’t confiscated stuff out of the bottom of it like my spare fishing knife — maybe they just know it will take all day to empty the pile of snack bars, Nuun tablets, pens, foreign coins, notes, etc. etc. to get to the contraband?? Every now and then I actually empty it to wash it. It’s like Christmas, finding my iPod shuffle and the odd seashells in the nooks and crannies.


Mountains and Sea, Part II

November 11, 2017

Nothing makes a person feel more alive than ambling along a trail and having a bear pop up from behind a log 25 feet ahead. It’s like getting an electric shock.

The first time this happened to me was just last month when we were in Sequoia National Park in California. We knew it was possible and even likely to encounter bears there, but that knowledge didn’t quite control my instinct to run when I saw the first one. Mike and I have spent lots of time in remote places in New England yet never run across bears along the rivers we fish in or the back roads we bike on (he has, I haven’t).

We apparently missed the memo that our third day in Sequoia was Bear Day. It started with bears crossing the road ahead of us on our way to the trail. Then the one popped up from behind the log — and promptly ran away, before Mike even got a good look at him. Later we saw an adult black bear with a green tag on his/her ear rooting near a busy trail intersection (poor thing is so used to paparazzi that it’s like a Kardashian of the mountains, paying the camera-toting tourists no attention). The last time it was the same green-tagged bear again, but too close for comfort, and we were the only ones around.

In the last incident the bear again ignored us and kept rooting around some logs. He was too close to the trail to pass him with a decent buffer of safety. He seemed to know we were there but didn’t care — and we didn’t want to test his patience. We waited until the bear made some progress across the trail, then began hurrying him along by clapping and making noise. He headed up a hill to one side of the trail, so we passed, keeping a wary eye on him. We weren’t far away when the bear veered back to the trail behind us. Mike was alarmed, thinking the bear decided to follow us. I just wanted to put more distance between us and the big animal. Then we ran into a guy going in the other direction, toward the bear. We warned him and everyone else we saw in the next half mile. Their reactions were similar: “oh cool, a bear!” And they all headed toward it. Yikes.

A couple days before we had been on a very remote trail through mountain lion country. It was another 7-ish mile (round trip) hike through boulder fields and twisted bristlecone pines to (of course strip down and jump into) freezing cold Weaver Lake at 8,700 ft. I whistled and clapped every few minutes to let the critters know we were coming. It  didn’t take long before I got really sick of hearing myself whistle and clap but not seeing a mountain lion is probably a good thing.

This is the second installment of my trip report. We spent a second week stalking ocean creatures in Hawaii — how peculiar that we tried so hard to avoid large mammals in the California mountains but sought them out in Hawaii. Mike even swam alongside a couple seals and emerged from the water a little freaked out by how close he had been.

Solitude was what we sought on this trip, not so much communing with others, whether mammals or reptiles. It was easy to avoid crowds and tourist traps in these places — just step away from the pavement! At Sequoia National Park we did three days of significant hiking and only saw people when we were near the big named trees (the General Grant, General Sherman, etc). Funny thing, that’s where the bears were, too! In Hawaii, completely empty beaches were easily located but the one significant hike I took (Kalalau Trail, see my previous post) was way too popular and crowded.

There’s something extraordinary about being alone (together) in remote places. It’s serene, sublime. Getting a feeling for the terrain, the scope of the wilderness, and the astounding size of the sequoia trees requires time and patience. Sharing the wonder and awe with someone who appreciates the natural world (and doesn’t whine!) is a rare thing. If we never take another significant trip like this I will always remember those days, unplugged, meandering through the woods and looking up at the big trees.

me an dmike on rock sequoia

Now here’s a shocking revelation: I think I liked the Sequoias more than Hawaii. Here’s why: the Kaweah River. This frosty, fast moving river shoots out of the tall Sierras — headed, I’m pretty sure, for people’s lawns and faucets in the LA basin. But Sequoia National Park’s lower elevations near the Three Rivers gate gets the best of it. We spent a day here, hiking in from Buckeye Flats campground to find the perfect flat rock for warming up after a plunge in a deep pool. There was no one else around: no voices, no car engines, not even an airplane overhead. The campground was closed, so we were a mile or more from the park road. How often in life are you in a place that peaceful, secluded, and fun? If you can’t think of a recent time you’ve done something like that, go NOW before it’s too late. You won’t regret it.

mike dive into river sequoia peaks in background.jpg

Mountains and Sea, part I

November 1, 2017

It’s impossible to compare our two destinations: Sequoia National Park and Kauai, Hawaii. Which did we like better? Which was more fun?

Sorry there’s no simple answer. It’s more than a matter of sea turtles vs. black bears, crowded or uncrowded. The two places are about as different as you can get.

One thing they had in common is that it was possible to get away from people in both locations, and that’s something we like. We don’t travel to eat at restaurants or to visit museums. On these trips we’re going for the natural beauty of the destinations, to feel a part of the landscape and to be as far from deadlines and demands as we can get. When judging by this criteria we certainly succeeded.


I’ll try not to bore you with a multitude of photos of beautiful empty beaches, but on the east side of Kauai they are plentiful. Too far north and too far south the beaches are much busier. We stayed in between the busy areas in a town called Kapa’a, (which we didn’t know how to pronounce until nearly our last day) where a wonderful 4-5 mile paved bike trail follows the old pineapple railroad route right along the beach. Our guesthouse had an arsenal of beat up beach cruisers to choose from. Since we had done a lot of hiking in the Sierras, biking fit the bill here.

Underwater in Kauai

One disappointing aspect of Kauai was the absence of coral. Mike has been to Maui where he says the coral was beautiful, but we spoke to some local folks here who pointed to Kauai’s frequent rainfall and subsequent runoff as one significant reason why there’s little coral found here. We saw some large sea creatures like seals at Poipu (south) and turtles at Anini (north) but there were few places to snorkel and see other sea life (Poipu beach near the Sheraton was one of the best places we found for tropical fish, and there’s also a beautiful hiking trail along the edge of a cliff there).

Before I prattle on about the trip and its logistical challenges let me slow down and say swimming with sea turtles is incredible. Watching colorful tropical fish feed on rocks and hide under ledges is amazing. We had some fun boogie boarding — and we got trashed by huge waves but walked away.  And I even got to chase wild pigs around in the yard of the place we stayed (trying to get a photo of them, which was very amusing). So any critical comments that follow should be kept in context.

mike and turtle 2 oct 2017

Hiking in Kauai

My assumption was that we’d hike in the Sierras and swim in Hawaii but we managed to mix both in each place. To my surprise there are many hiking trails in Kauai’s mountains. I’d hoped to do the Giant’s Chin for its views of the coast but we ran out of time. Also, stretching across the west-northwest coast of the island is a canyon with many hiking options but we only nibbled at its edges.

My big kahuna on this trip was the Kalalau Trail that departs from the northernmost accessible beach in Waineha on the north shore and hugs the sides of steep mountains along the coast. In October it’s muddy — very muddy! The day I hiked it we had rain squalls every 30 minutes or so. While not unexpected and not unpleasant, it turned the trail into a morass of slippery red muck that will quickly cake up the lugs on your shoes and turn them into skates. The conditions made the right gear so important: quick dry wicking fabrics (never cotton!) and decent shoes with deep lugs; a hat, sunglasses, and a pack with some food, water, and other supplies (more on this below).

As tempting as it was to dive in and hike it, Mike only did the first half-mile due to a foot injury, and that was smart. This trail is hyped online and every day there’s a lot of people making their way along its rugged route. The majority only go to the secluded beach at the 2 mile mark which doesn’t seem far but the conditions slowed me to 2 mph, about half my normal walking speed.

Just before the secluded beach is a river. I carefully removed my sneakers and carried them across, only to realize that there was no way to scrape the sticky muck off them. Therefore every subsequent river crossing (there were many) was a welcome opportunity to lighten the heavy load of mud on my shoes as I wore them through the water and was happy they remained comfortable and drained quickly (they’re Salomon Sense Pulse).

From the beach, the historic valley is another 8+ miles, which I would not have made it to in my allotted time, so I chose to hike in toward the mountains to a waterfall about 3-4 miles away. This trail was quieter, following the river through some heavier foliage and past thick bamboo groves. I hit my turnaround time before getting to the base of the waterfall but I didn’t mind. It was enough hiking for me, with 2,800 feet of elevation gain.

I’m planning a separate post on the interesting and alarming gear observations from the trip, but I want to return to the topics of the backpack and preparedness. I’ve done plenty of spur-of-the-moment hikes without putting a lot of thought into it, but in these 7.25 miles I ran out of water right at the end. I generally have a few packaged snacks buried at the bottom of my backpack just in case. So I was adequately prepared but so many other people weren’t. Lots were suffering through the choice of flip flops for the trail, which didn’t perform well in the mud. Most weren’t carrying water or supplies. Then I met three women on the trail carrying a baby in nothing but a diaper, headed for the secluded beach they’d heard about. That was not just ridiculous but irresponsible. I warned them in no uncertain terms that the trail was poor due to the rain and then I went a little further: “I wouldn’t take a baby in there,” I said sternly. I hated being such a spoilsport but seriously folks??

That evening the property managers at our place told us about friends who got stranded on that secluded beach when rain in the mountains made that river rise and impassable. That night 60 unprepared, cold, and hungry people spent a night on that beach, they said. Who thinks of those possibilities?

At some point in the future I’d like to go back to Kauai to hike. I would like to be prepared and have the right gear and enough time. It’s a beautiful trail and a rewarding hike, but it deserves to be done right.

napali coast kauai

Flip Flop to Costa Rica

February 4, 2017

This Central American country had been on Mike’s bucket list a long time. He showed me magazine articles about traveling there in the first month we were dating, but it remained the elusive, exotic goal for a few years.Costa Rica surfing

We were there a year ago this week. Was it amazing, was it worth the wait? I’ll let you make up your own mind.

First, we had visions of dipping our toes in the Pacific as soon as we got off the flight, but that evening we were instead schlepping chicken and canned beer from a street vendor to an unanticipated overnight in a city hotel room. That’s because we’d arrived too late to make the drive to our guest house by the sea. And because the car rental agency had abandoned us when we got stuck at an airport. Travel in Costa Rica is still pretty third-world. Our hostess had warned us that the 30+ mile trip from the airport to her guest house near Manuel Antonio National Park would take two hours or so, depending on traffic. I didn’t believe her until we were zig-zagging around food vendors who walked in traffic with bags of snacks for sale. Or maybe it was when we got on the main highway and discovered it was only one lane wide.

Narrow roads are the norm in Costa Rica, and I won’t exaggerate but I need to be clear. They’re often twisting, steep lanes where it’s risky to walk or drive because cars come at you at top speed only to skid to a stop just as the Grim Reaper has his hand on your shoulder. Once we arrived in our little village we decided we wouldn’t travel far for that reason. But this location would be just what we needed for relaxation and access to what matters: great waves on a long stretch of beach on one side of the peninsula, a calm lagoon for snorkeling on the other.


The first thing we discovered is that the calm lagoon contained very little sea life. We had hoped to snorkel to some coral or pretty fish or SOMETHING to look at,  but there was very little. The water was also MUCH warmer than expected (yeah, I know we were close to the Equator but this is the largest ocean in the world..). Swimming was barely refreshing because of the ocean temperature. Everyone told us it was a warmer than average January, but isn’t that what we’ve been hearing everywhere?

The surf side of the peninsula was pretty spectacular. Big waves rolled in across a sandy break. We could walk for miles along the beach, right to the national park entrance. We both rented surf boards and had a great time practicing that (despite the bandage-covering-stitches-and-wrapped-with-duct-tape on my hand).. until Mike caught some waves that were a little too big and got freaked out (what’s sport without near death experiences??). But the sunsets here were to die for!

[I wasn’t joking about the lines at Manuel Antonio National Park, nor the monkeys]

Our outings included a morning in the National Park (honestly my assessment was a resounding MEH because of the crowds, the heat, and the damned monkeys). It was scenic but a chore to shuffle through with a million other people looking for sloths sleeping in the trees, and much of the park was closed to hiking without a permit and a guide, which was disappointing. When we took a sanctioned hike around a not-so-crowded peninsula to see cliffs and jungle we were accosted by a couple nasty monkeys on a bridge who wanted snacks. Also had a nice conversation with a giant iguana that got between me and my stuff on the beach — those suckers look lazy but can move really fast!

Another interesting day trip was to zip lining recommended by our hostess at the guest house. It included a bus ride with a ton of other American tourists into a very scenic area of the interior of the country (about an hour each way). We weren’t disappointed by the big trees we were frequently jumping off of! My issue (and this isn’t a minor one) is that the crew here made the quickest, most cursory equipment checks I’ve ever seen. I haven’t done a lot of rappelling or rock climbing or zip lining, but I know that  the way they were slapping on the carabiners that were going to hold a person 125 feet above a river isn’t enough of a safety precaution. I was nervous much of the time on this side trip but tried to put a good face on it. Also, I couldn’t help but analyze the return on our investment: we saw a beautiful area, we can say we did zip lining, but the reality of it was a lot of driving and standing around and perusing the base camp’s butterfly exhibit with a total of about 45 minutes of actual zip lining thrown in.

One of the aspects of the trip that we revisit is that we met some great people. Our guest house had a common room with kitchen that allowed us to relax and interact with couples from Europe, Canada, and the US. We had sundowners at a bar one night and met a naturalist who works at a local hotel and was very fun and interesting to talk to. There were people on the beaches who enjoyed sharing their suggestions and travel tips. All in all, the people were friendly, unlike the monkeys who were cute for about a day then got pretty annoying.

[Monkeys were cute for the first day or so.. and grocery shopping in foreign countries is so amusing to me!]

This blog item might sound cynical — Costa Rica is beautiful, but go with your eyes open. Don’t expect American-level facilities or infrastructure. Don’t try to pack in too much.

We had fun but we’re not in a big hurry to go back unless I decide to do the cross-country MTB race… which would probably result in the Grim Reaper REALLY getting his hands on me. (Check out this story!)


An exotic domestic trip you’ll remember

January 30, 2017

Winter getaways are so sinfully fabulous: you go back to the office after a week or so with a mild tan, refreshed attitude and a secret smile about “something I just thought about.” Yes, that means the absolute best part is that your coworkers wish they’d done the same rather than blowing their vacation time on an extended Labor Day weekend stuck in traffic.

Here’s one to do, and it’s incredibly simple: Puerto Rico.

Want to be out in the sun, to enjoy a tropical vacation without going broke, and not have to endure the snobbery of resorts? PR has it all, plus surfing and mountain biking and easy-to-navigate services. And, there are ways to avoid the crime that the little island was once known for.

[It took us about an hour to end up bushwhacking to a beautiful rocky overlook on Day 1.]

Jet Blue flights are pretty inexpensive to the island (you don’t need a passport!). We took a late-night flight to save a few bucks (Orlando-Ponce). The island is small enough to travel the perimeter by car in a day (but why would you?), so distances are easy to cover as long as you avoid San Juan-area traffic. Don’t expect high rise beachside resorts here (maybe in San Juan if that’s what you like) — better yet, skip them entirely! We found a lovely AirBnB accommodation that allowed us to enjoy home cooked meals on the wide veranda with other guests and offered local info from the owner.

Our route was Ponce-Guanica-Aguadilla, running from the south-central coast to the northwest coast on Route 2. If I were to go back (yes I would), I’d love to spend more time around Aguadilla, a small city with a decent airport and great beaches/surfing nearby, including the surfing hotspot Rincon.

In the south, the coast has small waves and from what we could determine, not much to look at when snorkeling. There are many mangrove islands offshore that make an interesting destination if you rent a kayak (just don’t rent a tandem, a.k.a. “Breakup boat” with your partner unless you’re prepared for all of the possible ugly ramifications). Guanica’s coastline in particular is bounded on the east and west by nature preserves, so the water was clear enough to see the sea urchins lurking on the bottom, waiting to stab bare feet!


It only took a couple hours to drive from the Guanica area to Aguadilla on a Saturday afternoon. The main highway is 2 lanes in each direction but goes directly through several towns including mid-sized Mayaguez and Rincon. There are lots of opportunities along the way to stop and check out beaches or surfing but we were rewarded for waiting until we reached Aguadilla and Borinquen.

Weekdays were the best time to access beautiful stretches of beach, long rolling waves and some colorful snorkeling around Aguadilla’s Crash Boat Beach and Surfer’s Beach.

[Crash Boat Beach above]

[Surfer’s Beach above]

We also visited the north shore’s premiere surfing beach, Jobos, on a stormy day when the waves were crashing over offshore islands of lava rock in spectacular fashion. The beachside bars were empty and Mike’s memories of the place included being swept out past the surfers by a killer current. He learned later that more people die at Jobos than any other beach on the island due to the current. He made a joke about it at the Coast Guard gathering he spoke to but few people laughed (ahem).

Please note: Undertow and currents at these beaches aren’t funny! If you go, scout first and use caution. Crash Boat Beach had a great gradual break but the undertow would leave you at least a quarter mile south if you had a good run on a wave. Many beaches have  waves that can land you on rocks.

If you’ve read this far, I’ve got a reward: the best hike you can do in the NW of PR. Go to Surfer’s Beach and take the little bridge on the northern end to a trail. Here you’ll begin a spectacular jungle and cliffside journey to the remote, secluded Coast Guard beach, which is the sort of strand of sand and palm trees that your Caribbean dreams are made of.

The day we went, the surf was pounding the rocks. While it made for a spectacular walk, it cut off access to the beach at the end and was a little worrisome as we’d gone out with just enough time to get back during daylight (nothing new for us!).

The route was just challenging enough to make it worthwhile, the scenery was gorgeous, and there were some huge, spectacular lava rocks where the surf spume roiled and hissed. Plus, we saw a huge iguana on the trail on the way back. It was hard to keep moving as I wanted to take so many photos. If you go, you MUST try this hike.

Fall hikes: Look out above!

October 2, 2016

Without April’s muck, May’s black flies, July’s thunderstorms, and August’s crowds, hiking in the fall can be sublime. Consider dry conditions, warm sun, and quiet trails for opportunities to see animals foraging for berries and nuts. Think of the golden late-afternoon sun warming yellow and orange foliage.

Then consider that the seasons change faster up north than at home. The ranger wasn’t joking when she admonished my daughter Grace and I that the summit we sought last weekend was 20 degrees cooler than the trailhead where we began, and the wind chill up there (at 10-15 mph) made it colder than that. We laughed at the warning sign posted at the trail head. C’mon, the sun was shining, we had food and water — what could possibly go wrong??


We’d chosen the trail to Madison Spring Hut because the 4,800-foot ascent was spread over a 3.8 mile trail, making it a relatively gentle hike. Compared to Mount Monadnock’s 3,600-foot scramble/climb in just a mile (white dot trail) it was a breeze. And then it got breezy.

As we climbed under the protection of a canopy of trees, we stripped off layers. I wondered several times if I hadn’t over-packed, as my backpack seemed to bulge with food, survival essentials like headlamps and gatorade tablets, extra clothing, and even waterproof matches. Surely I wouldn’t need most of it. My biggest concern was avoiding blisters caused by the new boots I’m still breaking in. The one thing we were slightly troubled about was our water supply, as we each carried a large bottle of water (and I had another bottle of Gatorade in my pack). We were counting on refilling at the hut, but the ranger at the trail head told us the hut was closing for the season that day and “might” be able to provide some. Neither of us liked that situation and it might have made us hike a little faster to get there before they closed the doors for the last time. (We had water treatment drops too but I’m not crazy about that option — we’d used it in Peru and didn’t die…)

Many of the people we met coming down were dressed for much colder weather. My brain took notice but didn’t completely register the reason: of course it was colder at the top, much colder. Given my experience at the Kinsmans a couple years ago, it should have hit me like a brick. But there was no snow on the ground to make it completely undeniable and duh, I was enthusiastic and enjoying myself so it never sank in.

When we broke out of the treeline, I looked up and saw thin clouds sweeping quickly across the summit. We were briefly showered in a light sleet when the wind blew. Windbreakers were in place before we approached the hut, but I could already feel myself cooling off rapidly. The northern side of every spruce tree was white with frost.


As we approached the hut, a sign to the left showed the trail to the summit of Madison (5,300′) to the left. I figured we’d go inside, get our water and have a snack then continue over the peak and down another trail … but it wasn’t to be.

Inside the hut, everything was boxed up and being inventoried. The kitchen was being cleaned by the AMC staff. And I quickly realized that the staff were not wearing hats and Patagonia down jackets because they’re young and hip but because the hut was just as cold as the outside temperature minus the wind. It was unheated. Still, we were there for water and a snack, which we immediately refilled and consumed. Then things unraveled.

It doesn’t take a genius to recognize signs of hypothermia. I could barely eat and had trouble holding my water bottle to my lips for a drink. Grace immediately got me a hot cup of tea from the staff but it wasn’t quite enough. I stripped my wet layers off and put on dry clothes, then a down jacket and hat (look at that, those “extra” supplies in my pack were actually necessary!). I was still shivering uncontrollably. Grace put on tights under her pants, then extra layers. We were both shaking. I was amazed at how quickly the symptoms started and that they wouldn’t go away (multiple cups of tea later).

“Well, let’s hit the summit and head out,” I said to Grace. She shook her head. “No, we need to go back down. This is close enough to the summit today.”

I felt like a kid who had been denied a treat. I wanted to say we’d summited a 5,300′ mountain. It was only a few hundred feet away — we could SEE people climbing it. She pointed out that we could see people climbing it because the approach was completely exposed — to the wind, sleet, and whatever else. I knew she was right. Dammit.


We took some pictures and hiked out. Thank God the trail we’d chosen was gradual as I was a little shaky at the beginning. Then we had a little Nutella and pretzels to celebrate, and made it back to the car in no time. And without injury.

Hike carefully out there. And don’t think that you have to go to the big mountains to enjoy beautiful scenery — there are at least 52 mountains in New Hampshire with gorgeous views that are more accessible than those over 4,000 feet. See this list for ideas.



I miss winter

April 8, 2016

It’s not a popular statement to make, I know. Nor will friends sympathize when it’s revealed that I was swimming in warm ocean waters off Florida for a couple weeks in March. But I miss winter, I really do.

April sucks, there just isn’t another way to put it. We had snow last weekend and a monsoon yesterday. The temperatures are soaring into the 40s for the weekend, a good 10-15 degrees below normal for this time of year. Spring keeps making promises and breaking them.

(above, exploring Ames Nowell State Park in Abington for the AMC hiking book)

If I had a choice between two adversaries, I prefer the one that’s more direct and perhaps predictable. That’s why winter is better than spring: you know it’s going to be damned cold, so you’re mentally prepared to have your face stung and your nose hairs frozen when you step outside. There’s little guessing at what to wear, there’s no hunting around for gloves that are only needed for a few minutes one morning a week because in winter you need them every time you go outside. Which is why I own dozens of pairs of gloves.

More reasons:

  • frozen ground that supports my bike vs. tire-sucking mud
  • trails that are unbroken vs. the unpredictability of flooded streams that are much more difficult and time consuming to cross
  • layers: putting them on and taking them off — and carrying those that are shed. ugh.
  • black flies: they’re coming. and there’s nothing you can do about it.
  • visibility: do we really need leaves when we’d rather enjoy the full, 20-watt-bulb strength of the sun this time of year?
  • animal tracking*
  • the trail race I signed up for is happening way too soon, and it’s going to be a muddy, layer-carrying, cold, why-did-I-do-this experience

*April is so .. equivocal. It’s a little of this and a little of that. In April I won’t be skiing in the woods, finding coyote tracks that, hmmm, are just fresh enough to make me look over my shoulder and make my skin prickle with anticipation and fear.

(above, views from the Mt. Major winter hike)

Also, this winter I had a great hike in 32 degree weather: Mt. Major, south of New Hampshire’s Lake Winnipesaukee. The conditions were just right to make me want to keep moving yet enjoy the distant views of the lake and dream about going back in summer when the blueberry bushes that cover the summit will be bursting with fruit. I wanted to go back and do more of the 52 with a view (see map view here) during the winter — but I ran out of time. It was a much better experience than my attempt to bag the Kinsmans in the snow, which turned out to be a lesson in humility.

(When I saw these photos of my bike leaning against trees I thought twice about posting them.. but I was so juiced about riding in the snow that I actually did a lot more riding than just posing it for photos. A bonus about winter riding: I can tell when I’m going in circles because of the tracks!)

There was sadness seeing my skis in the corner of the living room when I got home from Florida. It felt like they were accusing me of abandoning them, of cheating winter. Now I’m having second thoughts.



I can’t wait for June, when I’ll be able to complain about the heat.



Making Reality a Dream

April 1, 2016

A few years ago I was hungry for new adventure, ravenous for the thrill of adrenaline-pumping experiences. I sought out new trails and eagerly logged them here on my blog.

Then life and a significant relationship got in the way, bending my ambition to better suit us rather than just me. Instead of biking, running and skiing dozens of new trails a year I was getting more adept at the few that were convenient to his house or mine… I began to feel the sluggishness of complacency weighing me down. I pined for the wonderful chill of getting lost at dusk, of knowing (from fresh evidence) that coyotes were probably watching me ski in circles in the woods, trying to find my way out. I missed the bruises and the excitement of crashes that only fellow mountain bikers enjoy.

Then last fall a project came up: would I update a hiking book that he’d authored many years ago? He was too busy schmoozing Hollywood stars who made a movie of one of his books. Fine, I thought, this is my opportunity to blow out the cobwebs and explore tons of trails, just what I needed!

I immediately booked several hikes with local groups, hoping to get most of them done before snow made it impossible without snowshoes.


The first one I did was the Skyline trail (above) in the Blue Hills back in November, and I was shocked to find the trails very crowded on a mediocre day. Crowds, what? I didn’t sign up for that!

But the reality of updating a hiking book isn’t quite so dreamy as spending all my time out on trails. He said it’s a waste of time to revisit each of the 30 trails described in my half of the book. Just confirm the details of the descriptions and maps with the rangers on-site .. and spend more time being productive on other projects. That was a great reality check from the efficiency expert but a big letdown at the same time.

Still, the book needed a handful of new trail guides created, so I geared up to visit each and earnestly record my impressions of the wildlife, the history, and the enjoyment of the destinations accurately and completely. The book was still an excuse to get out and hike, bike and ski new places again, just not as radically as I imagined.

One was Massasoit State Park, a woodsy area including several ponds between an airport and a golf course that the state apparently stopped funding as a park more than a decade ago when a storm blew out power to the old campground. I’m assured the park is being funded again, thanks to a handful of local residents who made enough noise to be heard in Boston, but for now you’re flying without instruments because the trail markers are nonexistent and there are trails in places where none exist on maps. Still, the glacial hills and absence of root-strewn trails made it great mountain biking, especially the zippy waters-edge trails around the small ponds.

Another of my “new finds” for the book is an interesting 1,600-acre parcel in Hanson controlled by the state Division of Fisheries and Wildlife, called Burrage Pond. It consists of white cedar swamp, open reservoirs, defunct cranberry bogs, active bogs and woods. Because it’s so flat and wide open it has a distinctly different feeling than Massasoit, and bird watching there must be great in season. I loved skiing the overgrown causeways between the old bogs, it was like going through a tunnel.


This definitely wasn’t my dream book, but it’s a start. Maybe my next will be about crossing Patagonia or the Continental Divide. For now this one may suffice to help fund those future trips. And it got me out to some new places during the dull winter months. Now I just have to keep the momentum going.



Peru — trip #1

October 19, 2014

Stop saying “that was a trip of a lifetime” because that makes it sound like my last big international adventure — and I swear it won’t be.

It was my first trip to South America, but 10 days just scratched the surface of so many destinations and opportunities there, not to mention the fabulous welcoming people, inexpensive travel and gorgeous landscapes. I used to love visiting Europe and wouldn’t sneeze at doing it again but seriously? Screw $50 lunches and people who’d rather spit at you than help you, I’m looking south from now on.


I signed up with Bioandean Expeditions about 10 weeks before going, and started running harder to train. Despite a couple bike crashes and stuff I felt like my aerobic capacity and leg strength had improved enough to tackle the trip — part of the issue would be altitude, the other the significant 4 day hike we planned to do. And I couldn’t be upstaged by my 20 year old daughter and translator, Grace, who was flying from Rio, Brazil to meet me.

Let’s get the useful information out of the way first: altitude sickness feels like a hangover. We attempted to acclimate in Cusco, Peru for a couple days before the trip, walking up and down the city’s stair-lined streets and sampling local delicacies like grilled alpaca.We tried to stay away from Cusquena, the local beer (the “black” version is really good) but they had great 2-for-S/12 deals on 620 ml bottles in our hostel bar (it’s the approx equivalent of $4 for 4 beers)… so by day three I had the altitude headache AND THEN we got picked up by a van at 4am to start the trek and the twisting turning roads took a toll on my stomach as well..

So my antidote to altitude sickness was puking on the side of the road with 10 groggy strangers watching from the van. After that, I never had another altitude sickness headache or any symptoms. I’m just wondering how to market that cure — relabeling bottles of Ipecac?

The challenge: 4 days of trekking

Cusco is at 11,000 feet; our trek with Bioandean would take us to the Salkantay pass at 15,000 ft in two days, then down into a jungle and back up Machu Picchu (7,900 ft) and Huaynapicchu (8,900 ft). The days were divided roughly into 7 hours, 9 hours, 5 hours and 3 hours of hiking respectively. Our guide said the first three days amounted to about 35 miles of walking. (He had no estimate of the number of photos I’d take… 368??)

the pack horses knew what they were getting into but did we?

day one: the pack horses knew what they were getting into but did we?

The first day included a lot of steep uphill climbs into the foothills.. and our guide had said this was “easy peasey”?? Not really, but it provided some insight into the psychology of getting people to do what their bodies might balk at. He warned us repeatedly that the second day would be really tough, three hours straight up, then two hours to the lunch spot and 4-5 hours downhill. Gulp.


me and my trekking partner, 20-year-old Grace who is living in Rio

me and my trekking partner, 20-year-old Grace who is living in Rio

So at the end of our first 7 hour day, the group (a Dutch couple, a Brit, a Swiss woman, a Brazilian couple and four Americans including Grace and me) had chatted and bonded and despite the aches and pains, relaxed over dinner (I must say the Expedition company provided excellent food for us along the way, carried by pack horses). A few expressed concerns about the 3-hour uphill forecast for the next day.

a tiny outpost along the way -- the Andean 7-11 selling drinks and candy bars (no slurpees)

a tiny outpost along the way — the Andean 7-11 selling drinks and candy bars (no slurpees)

The morning of Day 2 included a great breakfast of pancakes decorated with flower designs (in syrup) and accompanied by hot fruit cocktail. We had hot cocoa and nescafe coffee and wedges from a big round loaf of bread smothered in butter and marmalade. Carb heaven for hiking! They passed out snacks of apples and packages of cookies for us to carry to our first break spot, a lagoon high in the mountains, about 2 hours into the hike. The weather was cloudy, literally. We were up in the clouds. Clouds are misty and cool, but they made for dramatic scenery as dark jagged peaks were briefly revealed when the clouds were wispy.

Reaching the summit

Now I have to get a little philosophical. There’s hiking, and then there’s hiking. This trip was definitely both. When you’re setting out, you’re just hiking, putting one foot in front of the other, burning fuel, enjoying the scenery. But when you’re feeling new muscles  with every step, when you’re walking alone through the mist for an hour or so with nothing in particular on your mind, when you realize that the rocks around you have been there for millennia, the activity becomes a meditation. You don’t think about emails and relationships and the bills you have to pay. You focus on the three feet of muddy, rocky earth in front of you and the peace and calm all around. Of course the cocoa leaves our guide taught us to chew might have nudged this illumination along.

the snow-capped mountains were just the icing on this meditative trek

the snow-capped mountains were just the icing on this meditative trek

Around this point, we reached the summit we’d sought. It was more than a physical achievement and I’m not ashamed to say between getting there and the amazing Incan ceremony our guide led us through (prayers to the Pacha mama and the protector mountains) brought a tear to my eye, not to mention that it was accomplished alongside one of my daughters. If you don’t have a transformative experience on such a trek, I have to ask if you are capable to having one at all in your life — if you’d know a transformative experience if one ran you down?

Getting beyond the aches and pains was one aspect of the transformative achievement. Believe me, after a couple days of long hikes on this sort of grade (both up and down) one becomes intimately acquainted with body’s many muscles and ligaments. In a moment of humor, our guide Tony said, “If you are sweating it’s your fat crying.” I’ll keep that simple sentiment in mind.

The jungle

Day three, we had descended back into a reasonable climate with clear skies and had a good night in a family’s campground/back yard. Like most of these remote outposts they sold bottled water, beer … and for the first time, hot showers for about $3.50. After my shower I bought two beers off a little girl of about six who was sent into the family bodega because her mother couldn’t be bothered.

Here is where we discovered a serious disconnect with the world: our group of hikers had collectively spent thousands on wicking clothing, high-tech boots, telescoping poles and breathable rain gear to do this trip once while some of our guides made the trip over the mountain many times a month in jeans and sneakers. No joke.

the high tech gear that a couple of our guides wore (and they do the mountain several times a month)

the high tech gear that a couple of our guides wore (and they do the mountain several times a month)

Instead of the Lord of The Rings scenery we had on the back side of the mountain, we were now in lush jungle with waterfalls cascading across the path and beautiful flowers everywhere. Swarms of orange and black butterflies flew overhead. And then came the bugs. Grace had warned me about the mosquitoes and she wasn’t kidding — the little monsters could do a number of any amount of exposed skin. They weren’t in our faces, but for those who dared change to shorts they quickly chewed on legs and ankles, leaving itchy, nasty welts.

our final campground where hot showers were $3.50

our final campground where hot showers were $3.50

The jungle is where our guide, Tony’s, skills shone: he had answered many, many questions about history and culture (and Quechua language from Grace) along the way, but he clearly enjoyed discussing the plants and animals of the jungle. He cut us each a portion of mare’s tail (looks like bamboo) so  we each had a “flute” to play while another group trekked through (obviously not having as much fun as we were). He warned us against drying and smoking leaves of a particular plant with medicinal properties because other tourists had done it and “were stoned for a week” — thanks, I hadn’t thought of that!

plant used in ancient brain surgery, Tony said -- don't smoke the leaves!

plant used in ancient brain surgery, Tony said — don’t smoke the leaves!

We split from the rest of the group (who were on a 5-day cycle) and took the train to Aguas Caliente, the town at the base of Machu Picchu. It was a smart move as the alternative was a three-hour hike along the train tracks. The mountains here changed from steep and conical to steep and pointy with sheer rock walls plunging to the Urubamba River.


the jungle trek was long but much easier than the mountains

the jungle trek was long but much easier than the mountains


we experienced a series of climate changes on the trip, ending in the steeply conical mountains near Machu Picchu

we experienced a series of climate changes on the trip, ending in the steeply conical mountains near Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu

Everyone back home was focused on Machu Picchu — “you’re going to Machu Picchu!” — but it was just the terminus of the trip, not really the high point. We did the tourist thing and got up at 4am to Grace’s alarm playing the theme song to “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” How appropriate. It’s about a 20 minute walk in the dark to the gatehouse that opened at 5am to let hikers cross the bridge to the steps up the mountain. Tony had warned us that his last count totaled 1,600+ stairs and it was definitely on our minds as we started out with hundreds of others in the pre-dawn hours. It wasn’t much fun to join this herd and move up the steps as one giant caterpillar with thousands of legs after our wonderful, isolated trek in the mountains.

getting to Machu Picchu means climbing at least 1,600 stairs

getting to Machu Picchu means climbing at least 1,600 stairs

Machu Picchu was not the serene hike we were used to, it attracts thousands of tourists a day

Machu Picchu was not the serene hike we were used to, it attracts thousands of tourists a day

Then the buses started, disgorging dozens of tourists at the site so by the time we reached the top at 6am there was already a long line to get in. No surprise it’s on the UNESCO list of endangered sites.

Of course the historical and archaeological aspects of the site were staggering, but so was the number of tourists. Tony gave us a great personal tour, including the temple of the condor, the Intihuatana stone that acts like a compass, and the history of Yale professor Hiram Bingham’s location and excavation of the jungle to reveal the walls and terraces we now see.

I don't mean to downplay the beauty and impressiveness of Machu Picchu but it wasn't really the high point of our trip

I don’t mean to downplay the beauty and impressiveness of Machu Picchu but it wasn’t really the high point of our trip

Our last uphill hike was to Huaynapicchu, the gorgeous spiked peak that overlooks Machu Picchu. It took some fortitude (and snacks) to prepare. Our legs were quite sore from the days of hiking and the morning of ascending steps, but realizing that only 400 people a day are allowed to climb to this secondary peak, we knew we had to do it.

There are few ways to describe the steps to the top of Huaynapicchu. Scary is one word. Rustic is another. They clearly don’t have the same liability concerns that American tourists sites have. We could have fallen off the side of the mountain at any time and tumbled the 1,900 or so feet to the Urubamba river — and nobody would even know. When we reached the top there were even more scary, tiny steps — ladder-like — alongside the stone structures at the top. And a cave we climbed through on the quest for the summit.

Finally we found a place to relax at the summit, right where the “path” to the exit was literally a crease in a sheer rock face. The view of Machu Picchu was great, about 1,900 feet below us, but the prospect of unclimbing all those stairs (first Huaynapicchu to Machu Picchu then down to the town) was painful to consider. We conjured a vision of pizza and beer and got going. Fortunately there was a woman along the way selling big slices of bundt cake (no joke) which was a good way to fortify.

descending from Huaynapicchu -- you wouldn't want to stumble or you'd end up in the river about 2000 feet below

descending from Huaynapicchu — you wouldn’t want to stumble or you’d end up in the river about 2000 feet below

My opinion: GO. See the places, enjoy the people. Get away from the good old USA for a while and unplug from the up-to-the-minute news. Gain some perspective on life from ancient cultures. But let the journey be your destination.

Happy Flu Year to you

January 1, 2014

A couple days inside with a flu is enough to make anyone feel crappy. Particularly during the post-holiday period. Add to it that today’s New Year’s Eve and we’ve got the formula for a sorry ass situation in the making.

life feels this way sometimes

sometimes I’m just not feeling it

But I decided to turn that frown upside-down! Yessirreee.

First, I let my phone battery die in order to avoid all those happy party shots and new year’s greetings (or worse yet — if none are texted to me!). Then I dug out my calendar and decided to tally up my notes for the year. Turns out I enjoyed runs, skating, skiing, snorkeling, hikes, mountain biking, SUP, swimming, kayaking, fishing, yoga, spinning classes and weight lifting an average of 18 times a month. And I didn’t even count a couple of trips when we were just enjoying ourselves on auto pilot.


I’m glad I kept this calendar of ups and downs through 2013 because I might have just assumed —  influenced by the chill and ache fluctuations over the past couple days — that the year averaged on the sucky side. Upon closer inspection, I see notes about beach days and remember SUP’ing for hours around Narragansett RI. Things like “90 min bike S.Woodbury/run around pond/swim” go a long way to ease the discomfort of sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket. And then there’s the mid-July day that’s marked “All Day Adventure on the Ammonoosuc” and it’s impossible to discount the year as a complete suckfest.

No day is truly that bad when I’ve spent an hour or two out in it. Tomorrow I’m starting the year with one resolution: to improve my average.

“I only went out for a walk and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.”
John Muir

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