Archive for the ‘exploration’ Category

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

Mom needs a kayak

May 12, 2017

Yup, you read that correctly: it’s your answer for the annual Mother’s Day conundrum — and you still have two whole days to shop (or procrastinate).

Freedom. Power. Shopping. Those are the reasons why you’ll buy Mom (or your wife or significant other — or yourself or your daughter!) a kayak this year. Let me explain (note: this is one of those kayak-endorphin inspired musings that revealed itself to me as I plied the windy waters of the St. Lucie River, which will make more sense as the explanation unfolds):

Freedom: The realization that she can’t do anything she wants and she can’t do everything the boys do is something that slowly and insidiously seeps into a young girl’s consciousness. The result is often a home-bound woman frustrated by her limited choices and afraid to step outside the boundaries that society and the media have created. Those boundaries tell her she’s too old or too weak or it’s dangerous for her to do something like kayaking.

Of course the first problem with kayaking is “I can’t lift one of those onto my car.” But this video (link below) shows plenty of ways to get around that issue, even for a small woman. Where there’s a will …

Think about this: As we age and grow, true freedom evaporates for girls. We’re in the kitchen cleaning up after parties and dinners while the guys continue drinking and watching the football game. There’s little choice in the matter. We’re constrained by expectations of appearance in dress and manner, further eliminating choices and options. By adulthood, because we’re working and nurturing others or doing free work at schools and libraries many women are too pressed for time to do anything for ourselves. We’re too concerned about smelling bad or looking disheveled to participate in anything athletic, so we turn to finding cute outfits and cooking or keeping house as our outlets.

But eventually the beast emerges, hungry for freedom and choices that aren’t satisfied by retail therapy. A woman who’s been saddled with raising children, toiling under an ungrateful boss, and frustrated by time passing will inevitably implode.

Unless she has a kayak and freedom.

A kayak is a vehicle that doesn’t need roads and signs; it carves its own path to adventure and happiness. Travel quickly or meander aimlessly, the kayak doesn’t care. She may look for fish, for birds, for signs of spring or fall colors — or nothing but peace and quiet.

A in kayak Pittsburg NH  Freedom. Serenity. Power.

Power:  Women are generally discouraged from building or using muscle. “Let me do that for you” is a frequent phrase we hear for everything from lifting groceries to moving furniture. Call the handyman when a job requires lifting. Get a man to do that. Well, I’m calling BS — start with a kayak and pretty soon she’ll be doing pushups like Ahhhnold.

The sore muscles are a badge of honor after a long paddle. They remind you that you did it yourself, you propelled a watercraft and succeeded. You tamed the wind and were challenged by the tides, but you survived. Pretty soon the desire to tackle more physical challenges takes hold and the sky is the limit: a 5K run? climb a mountain? anything is possible.

Shopping: This is the gateway, it’s one of the ways a woman’s mind works when her options are limited. Bear with me: If Mom/wife/daughter is used to handling the family shopping, she will love a kayak because it opens a new world of choices and decisions. Cruise through a scenic harbor and she’ll begin to imagine herself aboard a variety of yachts or looking down from the balcony of a chic townhouse (whether as a Bond Girl or maritime skipper, that’s up to her). Glide by some cute seaside shacks and she’ll consider the scenario of running away from responsibilities to make a new life without the SUV and 9-to-5. She may be immersed in the suburban lifestyle now while raising a family but things will change eventually and unless she’s got some inkling of her next step (through “shopping”) the transition could be rocky.

It’s liberating to enjoy sights and sounds and sensations that aren’t loading up the car, getting kids to school, or the same old power walk around the neighborhood. You might have let the genie out of the bottle, but that’s OK because she will escape one way or the other.


Note to readers: if you’ve read this far, I have one small item of advice — DO NOT buy a tandem/2 person kayak. If she’s timid of the water then start on a quiet, windless day on a small pond in separate kayaks. Tandems simply accelerate the implosion that I warned you about.

Also, don’t buy a crappy $300 kayak. Spend the $1400 and get something above 12 feet with a bit of a keel. If she’s nervous about controlling it, get a rudder installed. Mom is worth it.

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.



Sail into my heart

July 14, 2016

We went out last night despite 35 knot gusts and 4 foot waves, and we got soaked. Sailing in the Old Sigh races on Wednesdays from Pocasset and into Buzzard’s Bay is my team sport. Four of us squeeze into a small racing boat, relying on one another’s skills for sail handling, strategy, and map reading to get ahead of the other four or five boats in our class.

We’d gasp at the cold slap  when waves came over the side then laugh uncomfortably as the water drained through the cockpit. Sustained wind over 20 knots took a little getting used to before we decided to use all of the sails but we settled into the angle of the boat, steadying ourselves against the opposite side of the cockpit with outstretched legs.

Later we high-fived when on a dead run with the stiff wind and our little Alerion surfed down the waves sometimes hitting 9 knots. And high-fived again when we crossed the finish line first in our class. We took on the elements and prevailed. (Photos were from a previous week with little wind and flat conditions!)

Sailing doesn’t look too exciting to most people. But when you get out there and the wind fills the canvas just right, when your bow cuts through the waves and begins a rhythmic rocking, there’s something magical about it. There are no lanes, no yellow lines painted that you have to stay within; you can point your bow across the bay or across the planet and just go anywhere there’s a little wind.

MemDay Wknd 2005 018

the family Winnebago (Catalina), too big for the kids to handle

We did that sort of exploring a lot when we had a big boat that was the family Winnebago on the water, but the kids had little opportunity to participate in sailing it so I dropped about $250 on a used sailboat they could handle. We lived in a town without a lake and the boat wasn’t an easy one to lift onto the roof of the van, so it sat in the back yard a lot. Still, they got out on it several times and learned a little about using the wind to get where they wanted to go. Now it’s in my backyard lake and they use it whenever they come down, bringing friends who have never sailed. Heck, even Mike, the Master of Maritime Disasters, has learned to sail in it and taught his son, too. Best yet is seeing my 14-year-old niece, a child of the big city, step confidently into the old Snark and take off across the lake.

These days sailing is probably relaxing for my daughters. They don’t know how important it was to me that they learned how to handle a boat.

I wanted them to take a little risk going out themselves, to decide autonomously how to use the wind and the canvas, to learn this mode of travel that reaches back into history, mostly unchanged. Knowing how to sail is like knowing how to drive a stick shift, or how to ride a horse: they may not use the knowledge a lot but it’s a feather in their quiver, a notch of confidence that they carry everywhere. You may stall a few times before you get the hang of it, but that’s okay. Now they can look into a harbor and know every boat is essentially the same, that they have the skills to step aboard and take any route they want to the other side of the world.

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.



3 to read: romance, resilience, resourcefulness

February 14, 2016

On Valentine’s Day I offer you a treat: three reviews of great books worth reading — no added fat, sugar or artificial ingredients.

The common theme is exploration and survival, and the books are Joan Druett’s Island of the Lost: Shipwrecked at the Edge of the World; Paul Theroux’s The Happy Isles of Oceania; and The Long Walk, The True Story of a Trek to Freedom by Slavomir Rawicz.

In brief, each of these books will exhaust the reader because there’s so much to  digest.

RESILIENCE: In The Long Walk, the author, Rawicz, was a Polish army officer falsely accused and sentenced to the Russian Gulag. Even the first few chapters of the book are so incredible and appalling that they’re unforgettable: frozen, emaciated prisoners taken to the end of the railroad in Siberia, then put on uninsulated trucks for hundreds more miles — and THEN forced to walk hundreds of miles chained together with little food, poor clothing and no shelter. They finally arrive at their prison, so far from anything that the urge to escape is muted by hours of painful work in the woods (with little food, poor clothing, etc). Until amazingly, Rawicz develops an escape plan, putting in motion the Most Epic True Survival Story I have ever read. He and others basically WALK 4,000 miles to India: through the Gobi desert, over the Himalayas (where there’s a bit of a surprise for the reader), skirting civilization the whole way to avoid being returned to the Gulag. If you like survival stories, this is a must read.

RESOURCEFULNESS: Druett’s Island of the Lost is my second favorite because there’s nothing like the sea to create extreme isolation and desperation. Back in the early 1800s, four men set out from Australia (or New Zealand? I can’t remember!) to scout a distant island for mineral mining. In the beginning the book is a little slow, spelling out all of the hoops they have to jump through to get a sponsor, secure and provision the boat, etc. Fast forward and they’re shipwrecked on the island with prospects for rescue unknown (weather, sea conditions are so awful there that it’s amazing they were rescued at all). Apparently this particular island frequently hosted shipwrecked sailors because there was some evidence of previous inhabitants — but sea lions comprised most of the population. Aside from having to approach massive sea lions and club them to death in order to survive (can you see yourself doing that??) one of the men kept a concise diary of their activities, including step-by-step accounts of repurposing parts of their boat to build a shelter, foraging for edibles when sea lions/seals were not in season (there were times that the creatures left the island completely), finding other shipwrecked sailors on another part of the island, building a new boat.. I was so impressed by the knowledge and skills they possessed that I was convinced that NO ONE living today would have been rescued alive from that island, as they eventually were. (Except if you’re Steve Callahan, who documented his survival on a life raft in the Atlantic in the book Adrift — also highly recommended.)

ROMANCE: The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux started out as a fun read because it’s a contemporary account of someone, like me, who seeks the unexplored as a solo traveler — and uses humor and wry observations to color his narrative. Starting in Australia, Theroux went to some of the least-traveled areas and talked to anyone he found, obliquely to explore the national identity of the enigmatic and apparently elusive Aborigines. With humor similar to author Bill Bryson’s (A Walk in the Woods), he has no schedule to keep, and lots to explore as he paddles a collapsible kayak among islands of the South Pacific, including visits to Tonga, Fiji, Tahiti, Somoa and many more seldomly-discussed nations, examining the culture along the way. Although I’m not finished reading this book yet (it’s about 600 pages and frankly his observations of different islands are starting to sound alike) I can say I’d recommend it for the physical and cultural exploration he does and for his interesting comparisons between our romanticized views of that part of the world and their current (circa 1992) realities. It’s refreshing to read an outdoors travelogue that includes many references to literature and history rather than dry observations (although his are more wry than dry).

Quabbin: worth going back

December 3, 2015

“Don’t pee your pants if you step on a rattlesnake!” That’s what I’ll remember about our big excursion a week ago. We were bushwhacking on a steep hill (around 500 feet) with lots of ledges and big rocks sticking out. Just after the rattlesnake comment, Mike told me he was disappointed at not finding any evidence of active porcupine dens or mountain lions.

Mountain lions? I thought about it for a second and realized it was no big deal, Mike was ahead of me and would get chomped first, giving me plenty of time to get away on my bike. At least there was a decent view from the top.

We finally did it after at least 3.5 years of talking about it: we returned to Quabbin.

What’s the big deal? First, I wondered if a return trip could come anywhere near the magic we experienced four years ago when we set out for our first “adventure date” here on a COLD day. Second, it’s not a short trip: it’s a few hours drive, and we wanted to spend all day exploring if at all possible. That’s a big time commitment when we’ve been so busy writing and editing books over the last few months. And, I think it’s fallen off his radar since he doesn’t have to impress me with his knowledge of these remote places anymore, as he thought he had to back then. I’ve got my own book about cool outdoor adventures now.


Quabbin is the reservoir that holds Boston’s water supply in the middle of Massachusetts. In the 1930s the state dismantled several small towns, relocating residents and graves (missing at least one!), tearing down homes and barns, to make way for the water that would collect when the dams were completed. It took about 15 years for the Swift River Valley to fill in with water, obscuring the remains of four towns and creating a 18-mile-long lake. It covers 38 square miles.

The result is a beautiful nature preserve surrounding the reservoir, 56,000 acres of watershed, much of which is accessible for passive recreation. And did I mention it’s beautiful?

This time we entered around Gate 35 north of Petersham where there are just a few roads. Last time we were a few gates away, further south and close to the former center of Dana, one of the towns flooded by the reservoir. Around Dana there are more roads, more evidence of the area’s former inhabitants.

Mike’s the map man, he planned the whole thing out and carried a ridiculous amount of paper in his pocket to refer to when we were biking. My approach is more like, “I glanced at a map, let’s go!”

This time we enjoyed a long, nearly flat dirt road right along the water, then up into the woods (coupla decent hills there) and back to a dead end where one of the rivers comes in, forming a lagoon. Very few people around. It was peaceful.

When we hit a dead end (road runs into the water) he crossed a brook near a waterfall and went into the woods, looking for the road that would connect with Dana. Meanwhile I wandered around an inlet of the lake, climbing over a big beaver dam and up into a cathedral of tall hemlocks.

Here and there were bits of evidence of human habitation.. ahem.. why are there always underwear in the woods??

On the way back we had a little picnic on the beach and actually soaked in some of the sun’s warmth (wow, in November?). As always we wondered why more people don’t take advantage of this amazing resource of peace and outdoor recreation .. maybe there are just too few people out here to make a dent in all of the open space?  Regardless, we won’t let another four years pass before we return — and maybe we’ll do it in summer next time, even though they don’t allow swimming.

It’s just too beautiful to not visit more often.


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