Postcards from Yosemite National Park

The smell of things on the verge of change hung in the air.  It is unmistakable.  The waterfalls that were supposedly down to a trickle a few weeks ago are now completely dry.  The river beds are practically empty.  And if they are not yet, they would be soon.  It is a time of bated breath, of silence, of anticipation of what is to come.  It is a moment of suspension in that sweet empty space of .. nothing.  Like the fading notes of music, you cling to its last reverberations before it is finally gone, as silence, slowly but surely, like the creeping darkness, descends.  

The camp closes today and one can sense the itch, the restlessness to get on, to move on to what's next.  There is a sadness in the transition too, I guess.  At least, that's how I feel.  The grass has faded, the trees are ablaze. The morning chill is rather brutal especially after days and days of what felt like a promising endless summer.  Some places have already shut down for the season - chairs turned upside down, windows boarded up, campgrounds eerily empty.  It feels somber, lonely and hollow.  Change is inevitable, palpable, but how or what is coming, no one knows for certain.

However grim you might feel about change, I hope you have tucked away enough of the warm, delicious stuff to tide you over.

From Yosemite Valley after two nights of sleeping in a bag and waking up to deer antler-fights...  Farewell, Summer. Welcome back, Autumn.

Whiteout

Five feet of snow descended on the high Sierras last Sunday.  We were set out to ski, but the ski resorts were closed due to weather, so we resorted to Plan B: hiking in the wilderness instead.  The forest is already a magical place to begin with, but blanketed in thick, powdery snow, the woods are wrapped up in even more enchantment.

This is my first foray into video editing.  The footage is a bit shaky, but considering I took it with my phone (a Nokia Lumia 928), I'd say it turned out pretty well.

What's the most magical thing you've done lately?  

And speaking of magic, Happy Valentines Day!

Your Summit is Your Summit

I hiked to the summit of Mount Rose today.

It was one of my most intense and physically challenging (more mentally, actually!) day yet.  I was never an athlete growing up because I had asthma.  I was restricted from most sports so I pretty much coasted through adulthood pretty gimpy.  I never learned how to swim, I can't run, and I got sick a lot.  It wasn't until the asthma subsided in my mid-twenties after my move the States, that I started challenging the idea that I could not do things.  It was just not an acceptable way of life for me.  So slowly, I eased into physical activity and found yoga to be a natural fit.  Bit by bit, my audacity increased and so did my physical strength and I slowly started cycling on hills, sprint running (because I wanted to play pick-up ultimate frisbee - and I did), hiking long distances, skiing (I suck, but I still love it), and just this summer, lap swimming.

I have come a long way and we are so bad at this, but let me just say this:  I am proud of myself.  Extremely.

If you live in Reno, it seems like it's almost mandatory to summit Mount Rose at least once.  I think I might have made that up because I actually don't know anyone who's climbed it.  All week, I had the casual thought of hiking to the top of Mount Rose today since the weather will be gorgeous.  Absent of any other better offers, The Dutch and I made a go for it.  I did not research anything about this hike.  I just knew that it is possible and that I could do it - I have to.  I do interval training between swimming and running plus I rode my bike to work on Thursday (i.e. steep, seemingly endless hill on the way home).  I am on a roll, so why stop now?

As it turns out, I underestimated Mount Rose.

Mount Rose's elevation at the peak is 10,776 feet.  It is wedged between Reno and Tahoe, about 40 minutes south of Reno.  If you're familiar with the area, the actual mountain where the ski resort is is not Mount Rose.  The actual mountain is across the highway from it.  The entire distance, out and back, is 10 miles.  Sounds peanuts, right?  Well, what I did not read is that there is a 2,000 ft. elevation gain.  There is an easy ascend in the first 2.5 miles to the waterfall, but then you go down a meadow so it negates the minimal ascent prior to the waterfall. So, essentially, you're ascending 2,000 feet in just 2.5 miles.  Plus, the higher you get, the thinner oxygen is in the air. At almost 11,000 feet of almost entirely ascents (plus, we got lost so that added about 2 miles to entire hike), I was in over my head.

CRAP.

We never took breaks (my call) and the last mile of steep grades was excruciating.  I could seriously see the peak, only about half a mile away, but in my anger, impatience, and haste, I wanted to lash out and say, "I don't need to do this.  I want to turn back."  I guess this is what choking is.  And there must be a psychological explanation to it.

But I held my tongue.  One step in front of the other.  I am strong.  Breathless, but I NEED TO SUMMIT.  I could choose to turn around, yes, but then what?

And this is the profound beauty of a challenge like this.  No one asked you to do this.  Other people are not relying on you to summit.  You are only against yourself.  Your summit is your own.  Yours and no one else's.

I reached the summit, whole, and I had a moment.  I cried.  Yes, perhaps because of the 360 degree unobstructed and untouched beauty of the Sierras layered on top of each other, illuminated by the late afternoon sun.  Yes, perhaps, because I've never seen a vista like this in my entire life before, like I came upon something ethereal.  Yes, perhaps, because I climbed to get here, and not just jump out of a car.  But mostly, because I know myself more than I ever have.  A lot of times, our biggest trash talkers are ourselves and if we just shut up that naysayer inside that says, "You can't do it", chances are, you really can.

*** 

And now, some pictures.

The waterfall at 2.5 miles.

A teaser of what one might see up top...  Prod on!

The most nefarious 1 mile ever.  I almost quit on this bad boy. 

And there it is.  Top of the world. 

Start of the descent.

Golden.

Switchbacks.

The sun started to set and we have a long way to go.

Then it was dark.  We only had one headlamp and 2.5 miles left.  Trying not to panic. 

But we got to see the moon rise!

We made it!

2,354 Calories? Really?

Walk on the Wild Side

I am running again after a six-month hiatus caused by a knee injury.  I never was a serious or competitive runner but I had a wave of relief knowing that I am not permanently damaged goods.  After all, ski season is just around the corner and I would hate to sit this one out.

While I was "under repair", my physical activity was limited to cycling and swimming.  Since I wasn't yet able to do the latter, and since it's no fun cycling uphill in near-100 degree weather, I took the risk of going against orthopedic's orders and hiked long distances, sometimes, with ascents not to be scoffed at.  I lucked out that I did not further damage my torn knee parts (exhibit A: paragraph 1 above) while exploring the many stretches of desolated peaks and valleys in the region.

My favorite one was a hike to the surreal and dreamlike Winnemucca Lake, through a raging burst of wildflowers in the Carson Pass Trail (sidenote: if you're one of those who've picked up Cheryl Strayed's book "Wild", the Carson Pass Trail intersects PCT).

It was a clear day in July.  The sunshine was ridiculous and the fresh mountain air was so crisp, it was almost audible.  I have never been on a hike like this one before.  I have never seen wildflowers, usually so dainty, pull off such a tour de force.  The montage of bright and vivid colors could really put any portrait to shame.  Simply put, it was wild.  It was so larger-than-life I suddenly understood why Julie Andrews did what she did when she pulled a flashmob in "The Sound of Music".  

Enough of my blabber.  I will let Mother Nature speak for itself in the pictures but realize that I don't do its beauty justice.  

What is the wildest thing you've done all summer?

Growing Pains: Lessons from the Garden #3

You win some, you lose some.

Something has been enjoying these mesclun mix before me and I can't ID what it is/they are.  It's interesting that how the strawberries and the two-star lettuces next to it are spared.

I was almost driven by either insanity or obsession to catch the culprit - to no avail.  I tried scattering eggshells around thinking it will deter some creepy crawler (that's what they say online).  Obviously not.

It's rather interesting how grocery stores insulate us from the reality of agriculture and nature.  The produce they sell are "perfect", flawless, shiny, hole-free.  But what I am learning is that that's not how it really is.  Nature is as complex as it is diverse and unless you're spraying pesticide all over the place, bugs and caterpillars will find  their way to your garden.  They, like us, need to feed to survive, too, you know?  From an ideological perspective, I'm choosing my own homegrown, imperfect-looking greens because I know exactly what went in that crop.  Perfect-looking crops that have been inundated with toxic pesticides?  Too good to be true, so no, thank you.   

I'm implementing some organic and natural control methods for these annoying and anonymous critters.  but the best one I have tried so far is to simply have healthy plants sowed in nutrient-dense soil. Like humans, if plants' immunity is built up through adequate nutrition, water, and sunshine, I think they are still bound to survive, critters notwithstanding.

But I also acknowledge that there comes a point of surrender or acceptance that sometimes, in life, you win some, you just gotta lose some.

So I'm switching strategies.  I'm keeping these holed-up greens undisturbed and letting them, whoever they are, have at it.  It appears that their salad of preference is mesclun, which is a-okay since it is SUPER easy to grow from seed.  Call it a sacrificial lamb, if you will.

As long as at the end of the day, even though I let them have theirs, I can still have mine.

Fresh salad on the dinner table for two!

Bon appetit!