Gloomy Gorge Recon Jan 18

Gloomy Gorge!!! A canyon so impressive I vote the official name should have "!!!" in it! For years I have heard it whispered as one of New Zealand's great unexplored canyons and I always considered it with the same level of respect. A distant goal that maybe I would tackle after some brave souls made a daring first descent...

I guess that view changed recently and I decided I would be at least interested in having a look at the bottom to satisfy my curiosity. With incredibly low river levels and a keen partner, we decided to scout the bottom of the gorge to try to get a feel for the level of involvement and danger involved in a descent. If we went up the bottom, we would always be able to return the way we came. If we could go a long way we could subtract that length and time from the total for the rest of the canyon, such that the risks would be less on a first descent. We also aimed to get a sense of the obstacles and how dangerous the hydraulics were with these low river levels.

Unfortunately the approach is a long 3 hours up the wide West Matukituki Valley, passing through farmland for the first half. It does not help knowing that the first 2 hours is on a 4WD track...Amazingly it was possible to keep dry feet all the way up the valley. At last Gloomy Gorge came into sight. The great chasm cuts a deep and narrow tear in the hanging valley of the Maud Francis Glacier on the flank of Mt Aspiring to reach the West Matukituki at Pearl Flat below.

     Gloomy Gorge cutting through the bush at right

      Going up the bottom

After enjoying some lunch in the sun we started up the gorge, noting the significant amount of water, even at so low a flow. Before long a tributary entered and Gloomy Gorge lost about a third of its volume above. After some rock scrambling we approached a double waterfall over 20m high. The water ripped and spiraled and roostertailed down both sides, but between them it was possible to climb up the bedrock, precariously slide across a slippery slope beneath a giant boulder, and pop out through a narrow hole to find ourselves at the top of the waterfall. We continued on passing several more climbing obstacles and avoiding the hydraulics. The canyon narrowed dramatically, a few places overhead being only a foot wide. We reached a long pool and a 4m waterfall and paused to consider how to surmount this obstacle. The current would be hard to swim against. I figured out that the current pressing into the right wall could actually work to our advantage- instead of spitting us out of the pool it forced us into the rock. This meant we could push off the rock with our hands and use them to traverse sideways. Alain managed to climb a rather slippery 6m boulder, and I followed using the rope he rigged. We did our best to keep moving and stay warm in the glacial melt stream. A couple more corners and obstacles and we reached the canyon's final abseil a 17m waterfall we would not be able to climb. The canyon looked similarly narrow as far as we could see. Many large boulders chocked the canyon overhead, testament to the canyon's narrowness.

We made it up the canyon a little over 150m and 50m vertically which leaves about 650m of inescapable and committing canyon with a 300m vertical drop. To accomplish this there could be a couple large waterfalls and probably many in the 10-20m range. The canyon would be hundreds of meters deep for much of its length with any prospects for escape basically nil. We saw some unpleasant and potentially dangerous hydraulics, but we were always able to avoid them. It is hard to say whether we would have similar luck in the rest on the canyon. Needless to say our scouting trip was successful and if the rivers stay low this season, this might be the year to mount an expedition and push the canyon from its top. It is going to be one hell of a canyon.

Jackson Head Jan 17

I had a productive 14 hour marathon day of fieldwork in the Cascade (first two pictures) which included running around on an enormous landslide looking for exposures of the material through the mature forest. The rivers were incredibly low which made for some great stress-free crossings. A highlight was visiting the "Empty Tarn," a mostly dry pond with mysterious rocks from a variety of sources- all within the landslide though.

With good weather, low swell, low tide and remarkably well-behaved sandflies, I took to the coast around Jackson Head to check out the strangely deformed rocks. I crossed over to Ocean Beach on the DOC track then headed south along the coast passing several big sea caves before reaching a deep water gut I would have had to swim if I wished to keep going. I was hoping to find evidence of uplift along this coast, such as uplifted sea caves. I turned around and walked back to Ocean Beach. I ignored the DOC sign saying "Danger...Jackson Head is impassible..." and continued rock hopping my way along the coast. There were a few interesting scrambling/climbing bits at the Head, but I managed to pass it with little difficulty, and stay completely dry. Around the point large sharp boulders of limestone made for slow but interesting travel. It was a beautiful stretch of coast, and a good day for it.

        Empty Tarn. All of the fore- and mid-ground were landslid from the hill at center distance, over 2km away!

         Jackson Head

Hometown Trail Run Jan 3

Distance: 10.5 mi

Elevation Gain: 2782 ft

Trails: 90%

Time: 1:58 hr

Soundtrack: The Arcade Fire

"No Entry" Signs Ignored: 4?

I guess this is the anti-Travels post. I spent a bit of time in my hometown over the holidays. I might as well muse a bit.

Hometowns are a strange thing. Like oneself, they grow and evolve and change, and at the same time perhaps they do not change at all.

Our house was a part of a tract that was one of the first drops of suburbia in the hilly area. The hills were flattened, houses were built. I remember as a young kid being pushed up and down piles of dirt in a wheelbarrow in the backyard of my parent's newly acquired home. I remember not having a back fence and the grassy hillside beyond that cattle grazed on. I remember walking dirt roads to a concrete stock pond to catch frogs. I remember seeing horses on the same dirt roads. The nearest grocery store was 4 miles away. We built a fence. The cattle disappeared. Houses were made more homely. Yards were landscaped. I grew. The sprawl grew. New paved roads appeared with more houses. A park appeared down the street. Then a fire station. The nearest grocery store was less than a mile away. I grew. I built treehouses. Treehouses were torn down by the Neighborhood Association due to safety reasons. Wooden playgrounds were replaced by plastic. Chicken wire was placed under fences to keep out rattlesnakes and bunnies. I grew. A whole shopping center sprung up within walking distance with joys like Target, Toys R' Us, a movie theater and frozen yogurt.

As a kid every addition was an exciting move in the right direction. Kids like the smell of progress. But more people mean more "wildfires," and their numbers seem to have increased with the population. Freeways slow from the traffic. More lanes are added. Cars get bigger with increasing income. A toll lane is added. The freeways still slow with traffic. Either I lost my kiddish ability to spot frogs or their numbers have declined. Rarely do I see roadrunners or blue-tailed skinks or alligator lizards or any of those other joys of my childhood. These days just about everything you could possibly want from a store can be had within a short driving distance.

Now my hometown has just about reached suburban capacity with few open tracts of land left. It has achieved continuity with other cities on three of its sides. The land on the southeastern side is currently protected as a private land trust preventing spillover in that direction for the moment. Occasionally cattle still roam out there. Mountain lions are still abundant in the area, as are coyotes and rattlesnakes. Fortunately many of the original valley slopes and floors between neighborhoods have been left as open space, providing wildlife corridors to roam from one place to another, and surprisingly continuous trail running opportunities between residences. These grassy slopes and oak-lined valleys were so important to me growing up. I cannot imagine how I would have turned out without this land to catch lizards, to find fossilized leaves, to hollow out bushes into forts, to toboggan down hillsides in the grassy spring. Still I appreciate them. Driving the streets give no impression that it would be possible to run over 10 miles mostly on trails through the middle of this suburbia.

It has been a great place to live and grow up and I couldn't possibly complain about it. I was privileged with everything I had and I think I have always felt that way, even as a kid. Despite this, it is a place I would never chose to go back to live. It has so evolved with traffic and self-interest. I have changed too. The first few days of a visit I can easily satisfy myself with the endless sun, vibrant smog-fueled sunsets, tasty food and specialty wares I do not have here, but after that I crave simplicity. For now I am happy with my birdsongs, rain on a tin roof, commuting by bike, never bothering to lock my house or car, and being 20 minutes away from places no man has ever set foot. Again, still very privileged.

Long runs are one of the best opportunities for me to think, probably second only to my daily bike commute and solo hiking. The last full day in my hometown I awoke early to run the long trail loop above. Being a day before my departure to New Zealand, I was thinking of going back after being away for a month and all the work I need to do to finish my PhD.

Below is a poem I wrote after a similar run on an evening back in 2008. Funny how different my thoughts were then, fueled by tinges of selfless acts observed, a slight feeling of self-righteousness, and the uncomfortable uncertainty in my own life at the time. It is a bit harsh and one-sided no doubt. I am pretty sure it is called  "You Are The Flood You Are Drowning In."

The dam breaks as the clock strikes 5
Releasing the floods back to their homes


They race or crawl past the thousand screaming billboards
Offering suggestions of the latest need, gimmick or distraction
Lit cigarettes and empty bottles discarded into the air
For they have lost their usefulness
Maybe a selfish thought slips in as this happens
Or maybe no thought at all


They pull into their neighborhood
Past the superficially identical houses
The manicured lawns, mailboxes and street lights
The sprinklers watering the plants from somewhere else
And the sign announcing "Oak Glen," "Sunny Springs," or some French name
Cleverly dreamt up by a marketer who has never seen the place


Or maybe the house is bigger
Behind a gate and fence
And down a long private driveway
High on a hill with a million-dollar view
As if the height protects it from drowning
In the expansive sea of smog and city lights


Home at last they turn on the tube
Because life is more fun to watch than live
And distractions ease the mind
Of what it is to be human
And what is still missing

Red Cones Dec 30-31

We set our hopes high on Iva Bell Hot Springs in the Fish Creek Valley behind Mammoth for a nice place to spend New Years. The mountain was clear of snow (except for snowmaking) and we had it on good authority that there should be little to no snow in the backcountry. However, the road to the usual trailhead was closed for the season and the other common route would have taken longer than a day to reach the springs. Not to be deterred, I discovered a reasonable cross-country route linking two trail systems while Google Earthing. After importing key points into my GPS, we were good to go. We had snowshoes, but decided against bringing them as we expected all south facing slopes to be free of snow. The town of Mammoth Lakes only saw one dump of several inches of snow about a month before. We were warned that since that dump there had been exceedingly high winds that had downed many trees.

We were kindly dropped off at Twin Lakes and set off along the icy bike path, across the bridge between the lakes, through the campground and up the steep hill to a road we could take back to the paved road. We reached Horseshoe Lake in little time but were quickly slowed by the snow conditions. Snow had melted around many trees, but between them the soft snow could be as deep as our calves or knees. Initially we took a stepping stone like approach, wading from tree to tree on the sunnier south side of ridges. Before long we just worked our way in as straight a line as we could, using my GPS to navigate. We crossed Mammoth Pass and rather than being free of snow, we found a greater excess. The trip was already evolving in our mind as I could see our pace not quite adding up to our goal. 

The backcountry had been completely ravished by the wind storm unlike I had ever seen before. In places 50% of the trees were down. Between the snow and trail markers on downed trees, the trails were nearly impossible to follow and we ended up hiking almost the entire way across country. Trees were stacked 3 high across trails in places. I can't comprehend how much effort it is going to take to re-open these trails. Despite trying to improve our pace, we were slowed by the deteriorating trail conditions. Occasionally I found a trail sign, which was a surprising reminder that we were still more-or-less following a trail.

We had lunch at picturesque spot on the edge of Crater Meadow (noting it would be a reasonable campspot) and chose a circuitous cross country route towards the PCT. At about 2:30pm, we called it- there was no sign of conditions improving, even with a decrease in elevation, it would take us more than a day to reach the hot springs, and with snow my route would potentially be unsafe. We returned to the meadow and set up camp with the plan of hiking back out the following day. I hiked to the top of the cinder cone nearby for sunset- great views of the surrounding valleys and the Minarets. Going down the cinder cone was much more enjoyable.

        Crater Meadow

We had a superb morning once the sun crested the mountains and baked our tent. We enjoyed the warm, lazy, bug-free morning as long as we could, and then reluctantly hiked back. With a better handle on the route and determined to get back, we made it back to Twin Lakes in just under 3 hours. We stopped at Lake McLeod on the way back to play on the ice.

We caught the last shuttle bus to town and eventually found ourselves feasting on a tasty bacon-drenched pizza at Nik-N-Willies in town. Our New Years was suitably mellow and we were both asleep by 11pm. I'd love to give this particular route another shot sometime. Although realistically it might be several years before I get back and the trails have recovered.

 

Thanks to Roger, Kacee and the kids.

Champion Mine Dec 28-29

This would be my third visit to the Champion Spark Plug Mine, a great little secret tucked halfway up a mountain gully in the morning shadows of White Mountain Peak. The mine became important during World War I when andalusite was needed for the manufacture of spark plug insulators. Despite the remote location, the mining company managed to set up two camps complete with bunkhouses, a cookhouse, showers, a laboratory, a blacksmith, generator facilities and even electricity, which was considered advanced for its time. The mine actually consisted of numerous diggings, adits, shafts and stopes over a rather large area. This interesting deposit has produced over 50 different minerals, including a few that were the first mineral occurrences in the US, and the first description of woodhouseite, an unusual sulfate phosphate mineral named after C.D. Woohouse, the mine manager and later a geology professor at UCSB. The mine was shut down in 1942. The land became National Forest and a group of keen local volunteers and mineral collectors took over as stewards of the mining camps. They have done an amazing job keeping the camp in great condition and there are a half dozen cabins that can be comfortably slept in on a first-come, first-served basis.

The access road I normally took was blocked and it took us a couple minutes to get the lay of the land and work out how to get back to the road that would get us there. The van carefully crawled up the steep alluvial fan and then clung to the side of the rocky wash. It valiantly delivered us to just before the lower trailhead, where we packed and set off on foot. We followed the mine's old mule trail adjacent to the remnants of weathered old telephone poles. On the way we passed a wide assortment of interesting rock types. And the views of the valley below improved with each step.

        Almost to the camp.

         View of the Volcanic Tablelands in the Owens Valley with the Sierra

         Nevada in the distance.

The trail is never too steep, but very steadily gains 2000ft of altitude to the Black Eagle Camp. We were fortunate to be the only others around at the time of our arrival so I very happily claimed the Champion Hilton (above) as our own. This cabin is set off from the others a bit and is perched on the edge of the flat such that it has the best view from its porch. It has curtains, candles, a kerosene lamp, a closet of sorts, sheleves, two tables, two beds, an extensive library, some food and alcohol left, even a small rock collection, and a poster of minerals on the wall. It is certainly the pick of the litter.

I showed Sara around the camp. We checked out the other cabins (it was not hard to convince her we had the best one), the mess hall with the great wood-burning oven, the core shack, the museum with its many curios, the outhouses, the hall, the workshop, the horseshoe pit, the hammock, the heated shower set-up and lastly the camp's spring to gather some water. I hung the "Occupied" tin can lid on the door and we settled in for the night. The modest stove heated the small cabin perfectly. We got the cabin nice and toasty with minimal wood.

In the morning we hiked up the often narrow trail to the upper camp and mine area at almost 9000ft elevation, prospecting for shiny, colorful and well-formed minerals along the way. I led Sara along the adit that traverses just inside the main cliff to the spectacular oval window that looks straight onto the Black Eagle Camp. I could easily spend a full day in this area, but we had other places to get to and Sara was determined to lunch in Bishop. Reluctantly we packed up and left. Hopefully it is not too long before my next visit.

        Vulcanite Camp (Upper Camp) with the adits and stopes of the main
        Volcanus workings.

        Black Eagle Camp viewed from a mine tunnel.

Thanks to the Black Eagle volunteers for maintaining this special place.

Eastern Sierras Dec 27-Jan 2

 

With record low snow in the Sierras thus far this season, all the mountain passes normally closed were still open and did not require chains. Tioga Pass has not closed by late December for the first time since 1980! We hoped we could take advantage of the low snow conditions to get to some places normally reserved for Summer or Fall without contending with the crowds.

We drove up the wide fault-bounded Owens Valley between the White-Inyo Mountains and the Sierra Nevada. Here the great Basin and Range province of Nevada extends eastward toward Utah. The area boasts textbook examples of fault movement and glaciations and eruptions, and an equally fascinating human history of Indian tribes, miners, cowboys, vagrants, interned Japanese-American citizens, of disappearing lakes and water politics. Today the area is an outdoor wonderland with an almost endless list of activities that can be had.

We spent the first night amid the rocks of the Alabama Hills, a favorite site of old western due to its close proximity to Hollywood and its far away feeling. We camped at the base of a giant rock that looks like some sort of evil deep sea fish. Great spheroidally-weathered rockpiles of granite rise from an apron of gruss with the great rocky skyline of Mt Whitney (14505ft/4421m), the tallest peak in the lower 48 states, and other high peaks of the southern Sierra Nevada.

Like its bigger brother Joshua Tree, the Alabama Hills feature some superb climbing on sharp, friction-y high desert granite. Limited by time, we explored an intricate scrambling route I knew of  to access the top of The Loaf (incidentally where the background image of this blog was taken), a prominent rock formation, then hiked to one of the famous arches which can be made to perfectly frame Mt. Whitney. Even these short ventures were enough to rough up the skin on our palms.

We continued north and had a great overnight trip up to the Champion Mine in the White Mountains (separate post). We then spent a night in the cozy home of my relatives in Mammoth Lakes. The following morning we were kindly dropped off at the road block near Twin Lakes and began our hike towards some backcountry hot springs (Red Cones). Our plans changed, we ended up having a quiet New Years in Mammoth. The next morning we drove out along the Green Church road in search of a new year hot spring dip. After driving past several busy ones, we settled on Little Hot Creek, a particularly hot concrete-lined pool adjacent to an interesting geothermal area. We had good conversation with the few other soakers and Sara enjoyed an overdue back massage.

Then onward our faithful bus crawled up the steep grade of Tioga Pass Road. Geologically, you get the impression that the road should not be there...and given just a bit of time or the right natural disaster it will not be. In places the road crosses unstable moraine deposits with no bariicades or side rails to protect from the 1000 foot drop below. That said it is a stunningly impressive climb up from Mono Lake to the divide. Several frozen lakes were passed. We drove on through the spectacular Tuolumne Meadows area where great granite domes rise above verdant meadows and forests. We could not resist stopping at Tenaya Lake and joining the spectacle of kids, families, full-grown adults and even dogs, playing on the ice. Particularly entertaining where two kids on ice skates pushing a stroller and a dog excitedly chasing after a sliding chunk of ice as his body spun three different directions. For our part, Sara and I played ice bocce for a while.

We arrived at Yosemite Valley well past dark and set up camp (set up van?) beneath a starry sky speared by the outlines of pines trees wrapping overhead. The last morning, we did our best to postpone the inevitable drive back to southern California and the end of a very fun trip.

Santa Barbara Dec 17-21

Sara and I loaded up my brother's graciously loaned 1986 Volkswagen Vanagon for a few days of surf, sun, friends, and nostalgia in Santa Barbara. The van came fully decked with 2 beds, a table, a stove, a refrigerator, good speakers, a festive wreath, Christmas lights, and even some mistletoe. Once I figured out the gears/clutch and adjusted to the lack of power steering, we were on our way at a peak speed of 55 mph as cars and even semi-trucks passed us by on the freeway. At intervals Sara would light up the Christmas lights with the hope that it eased road rage that might be directed at our slow speed. Eventually we made it to SB with an hour or two to spare until sunset and meeting friends, so we did a little top roping at Fire Crags, a smallish sandstone crag with great climbing and a commanding view. We climbed until sunset and then met our friends at their cozy cabin home beneath the oak trees. We slept cozily in the van amid the dark night and the sound of frogs and owls.

The next morning we did some bouldering at a sandstone boulder garden called The Brickyard perched near the crest of the Santa Ynez Mountains. I climbed some old favorites and a classic V3 I had never achieved before. We then headed down the mountains to meet some friends to surf the infamous point break of Rincon. The surf was not amazing for Rincon, which fortunately meant the water was not too crowded. I had a great time catching some long waves.

After a slow morning we decided to go for a surf at my go-to break, Devereux. Here tar naturally seeps out of the ocean floor, leaving clumps floating among the seaweed and on the beach. I got tar on my board and on my wetsuit and on my hands. Who would have thought it would be possible to be nostalgic for tar? Later we caught a beautiful sunset in front of my old house at Elwood then spent the evening at another friend's place. Too tired to go anywhere else, we slept comfortably park in the driveway.

We drove along the coast then cut through the range at Gaviota. We turned off the Pacific Coast Highway on to the windy 16 mile country road to Jalama Beach County Park. The beach is on a lost coast of sorts, bounded to the south by private land and to the north by Vandenberg Air Force Base. It features a very decadent campground with a general store world famous for their mouth-watering Jalama burgers. It's a favorite spot for surfers, and windsurfers when the wind picks up. We set up our van and easily slipped into carefree camping mode. The weather was beautiful.

The last day of our trip we decided to hike to Point Conception, the great elbow in the coast of California that has been the site of many shipwrecks and beached whales. Here too tar seeps out of the rocks in abundance so we took care to avoid. Along the way we gathered shells and colorful rocks and kept an eye out for the elusive petrified whale bone, which erodes out of the soft cliffs and makes resistant beach cobbles. For a winter solstice it was wonderfully warm and I enjoyed the sun's warmth on my bare skin and the sand between my toes. I climbed around a slight headland to reach the secluded beach just north of Point Conception. Here I found a cobble bank at the back of the beach enriched in high-quality petrified whale bone. About 10% of the cobbles had the distinctively patterned elongated cell networks of whale bone still preserved after several million years. Clearly no collectors had scoured this stretch of the coast in quite a while. As the sun lowered we reluctantly turned back, packed up, and said goodbye to this special place.

        Notice the tar-coated rocks

We broke up the drive back with a nighttime dip in Gaviota Hot Springs, then a tasty Mexican meal at Freebirds, before an endless drive back to Long Beach.