An Almost Perfect...

Summer. 

Have you ever been on a good time roll where you looked forward to the gauzy light of dawn to appear?

Or a string of days yielding to weeks and eventually months where you sported a 24/7 grin?

A run of fun where your legs and lungs were taking you to places of such beauty, you'd almost weep with joy? Or just sit down to take it all in? 

That's the sort of summer I had. It was so great the Coleman Stove Cuisine I was creating tasted gourmet. Of course the Starbucks was hot and the IPAs were cold. Perfect. 

A few months ago, I promised to show you "America the Beautiful." If you were following along, you got a taste on what's out west of Interstate 25.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/07/five-years-ago.html

Mr Trump, I have news for you, America is still great. Any country that affords its citizens the right to roam around free as a migrating Arctic Tern is great. A country who invented National Parks, Monuments, Historical Sites and Wilderness Areas can't be all bad. We might need a few tune ups but not a major overhaul from a "Reality TV" game show host.

So after that political rant: What would have made my Almost Perfect Summer Perfect?

The companionship of a Wandering, Wondering Woman, that's what.

I'm on the move again.

See where this roll takes me. It might surprise you.

Cheers,

Jeff

Get a load of what's out west through these photos. There's so much to see...

A Coyote Ate My Lunch...

was the only event to mar our 60 mile Rae Lakes Loop hike in the John Muir Wilderness of the Sierra Nevada. Once again my brother from another Mother (AKA Brad) and I had a great adventure. It didn't even rain or White Death on us. Just skin searing blue skies and warmth. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ae/2015/04/my-brother-from-another-mother.html

And one skinny, mangy coyote. Gone were precious calories. I finished the hike on my hidden stores of fat. Hunger drove me up those two passes on the last day. It's true, food can be a great motivator. Just ask Pavlov's Dogs.

The Loop takes you through the Prime Cut of the Sierra. Once again, fame has a price. It's sort of crowded. Brad and I hustled to a few premier campsites. It was worth the sweat. Look at these drool worthy photos. 

I'm now in Fort Collins, Colorado after 1,020 miles of Barley the Van piloting in two days. I'm beat. However, there's no rest for this Wandering, Wondering Jew. I'll be on the move again come morning. 

I'll take a break later. Sort of...

There's too much to see. 

Cheers,

I hear an Colorado IPA calling me...

"Jeffy, Come here! Drink me!"  

The Sierr-ahh Nevad-Ahhh...

"Another glorious Sierra day in which one seems to be dissolved and absorbed and sent pulsing onward we know not where. Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality." — John Muir

Mr. Muir coined many insightful descriptors for the Sierra Nevada. I believe he pegged it when he lovingly nicknamed them the "Range of Light." 

I've been exploring the Eastern Sierra for over a week now. Old John was right, the rays are different here. Maybe, it's the way the sunshine reflects off the abundance of glacial scoured granite. Or maybe, it's the lack of humidity in this high mountain desert. For whatever reasons, even the Bristlecone Pines seem to radiate a warm alpenglow. It's so beautiful and best of all, heaps of it are under Federal protection. 

Not many American Mountain Ranges score three National Parks, two National Monuments and twenty Wilderness Areas. The Sierra Nevada can add highest mountain range in the contiguous United States to its impressive resume too. 

Look at a map. There's not many roads bisecting this steep landform from east to west. Many of those highways are mere 1.5 lanes thick. They'll  close with the on set of the season of White Death. I suppose Caltrans doesn't want to overtax local  Emergency Services and tow truck drivers. 

From the U.S. 395 corridor, a few asphalt intrusions nudge westward up along waterways. Usually, an impounded creek which is now a Los Angeles reservoir is the road's terminus. Luckily for people like me, trails take off from there. 

And hike is what I did.  Despite being in the most populated state in the U.S. (there's a tad less than 39,000,000 in California), the trails are well-maintained and surprisingly clean. On this Labor Day Weekend, families strolled about. Some folks were content to sit along a creek side and nap in the sun. Most were sporting an almost IPA inspired grin. It's all good. 

I'll now commit a Colorado blasphemy. I wish the Rockies were the Sierra Nevada. 

From Bishop, California 

Where did the summer go?

Cheers!

Jeff

Next to Last photo: as usual I purchased a fix er upper. 

Paul Bunyan and Babe...

the Blue Ox almost cut all of them. I'm talking about the Old Growth Redwood Forests. 

Before the advent of White Folks to the Pacific Northwest, there was an estimated 2,000,000 acres of these green Giants  found along a lean stretch of the Northern California coast. Now only five percent of the Old Growth Redwoods remain. Eighty percent of those are in preserves, three California State Parks and one Redwood National Park. It's all managed with the trees in mind. That's a good thing.

Between the 1880's and 1920's most of the damage was done. This was a different kind of gold rush, but money was still the motivator. In Eureka, CA there were nine active lumber mills in operation. The trees were being mowed down at an alarming pace. What took 2,000 years to grow was gone in a relative "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick" moment. That's too fast.

All that carbon based-carnage finally got people's attention. "Save the Redwoods League" formed and began buying up land that the loggers haven't yet violated. The State and Feds got involved too. God bless them! 

A few Redwood factoids:

Redwoods thrive in cool temperatures, fog and rain. Not exactly my pint of IPA, but it works for them. Then again, I never grew up to be 379 feet high. Yes, they are the tallest living things on Earth. All this mass from a seed equal to the size of one tomato seed. The cones are as small as the tip of your pinky. Their bark is around one foot thick. It's impervious to disease, insects and fire. Unfortunately, it's not impervious to greed and loggers. 

Walking amongst them is the closest I'll ever come to an actual spiritual experience. A feeling I never received when I sat in a Synagogue; listening to Rabbi Isbee drone on about the human experience. 

I'm not the only one who feels this spiritual connection. I've seen visitors stop to touch the bark of a magnificent specimen. Their heads are usually bowed and their eyes are shut tight. Seeing the Redwoods make many feel humble. Even me. 

Silence is the predominant sound here. Footsteps are muffled in the duff. The Redwoods seem to vacuum up excess noise. It's a dignified, cultured and regal forest. These trees wouldn't vote for Trump! 

I love them. 

So does the United Nations. Redwoods State Parks and Redwood National Park have been designated both a World Heritage Site and an International Biosphere Reserve. 

No wonder I heard so many people speaking non-English languages.

This place is a Must See. I'm not joking...

Cheers from the Sunny Sierra Nevada of California,

Jeff

PS. I'll leave you with a John Muir quote. That dude really loved his trees. He didn't even go to a Forestry College like I did. 

"Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, they would still be destroyed - chased and hunted down as long as fun or a dollar could be got out of their bark hides, branching horns, or magnificent bole backbones." 

Oregon's Cascade Range...

will never be confused with North Cascades National Park. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/08/waterfalls-are-standard-issue.html

For one thing, it's sort of gentle compared to its neighbor to the North. The terrain is rounder and more rolling. There's not many waterways. It's dusty! The exclamation points are the stratovolcanoes running roughly north to south. When you hike above the green carpet layer of needle-bearing trees, one can see the nearby volcanoes. They rise up above everything else. The peaks are so prominent, they name Wilderness Areas after them: Mount Jefferson, Mount Washington, Three Sisters and Mount Thielsen.

There would have been a Mount Mazama Wilderness, but a mile of its height went Big Boom around 7,700 years ago. The blast was 42 times greater than the 1980 Mount St. Helens eruption. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/08/on-may-18-1980-at-832-am.html

Now we call the water filled caldera Crater Lake National Park. The lake is 1,949 feet deep. Dude! That's deep! All those potential IPAs  come from rain and White Death melt. No creeks or rivers run into or out of the Crater. The color can be found at the paint section of any Home Depot. It's called "Ridiculously Blue." 

I painted Barley the Van's foyer in this easy-on-the-eye color. 

Come and see these Natural Wonders for yourself. It's all good, especially when the sun is out. 

This post was written in dank, dreary and clammy Crescent City, CA. I'm only here to hug Redwoods...

Jeff

"I must go down to the sea again..."

to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;"

Excerpt from Sea Fever by John Masefield 

It was in the early 80's when I first tried by weather luck on the Washington/Oregon coast. At the time, I was riding a bicycle burdened down with panniers. I endured rain mixed with mist and fog. The temperatures ranged from lower hypothermia to upper hypothermia. Of course there was a dank breeze. I survived on hot bowls of clam chowder, washed down with mildly boiling tea. 

On another miserable day, while slurping my soup,  I glanced at a local newspaper. Hmmm. The temperatures on the east side of the Coastal Range were summery. 

That day I rode up and over those small mountains. 

This time, I noticed a looming high pressure system bearing down along the coast. The National Weather Service went so far as to issue a "High Heat Warning," for the ocean viewing masses. No need for clam chowder and tea on this go-around. 

I began my sandy sojourn at Cape Disappointment, WA. I wanted to see the infamous "Graveyard of the Pacific." It's also known as the Columbia River Bar. A 3 mile wide by 6 mile long wet stretch where the Columbia River exits into the Pacific. Seafarers can expect standing waves, winds, nasty currents, shoals and other watery hazardous conditions. Since 1792, 2,000 large ships have gone beneath this blend of salt and fresh water. Many lives have been lost there. 

Now, large ships are captained in by specialized pilots. Their job requirement is to get the freighters safely through the Bar. The pilots are well paid for their efforts.

Cape Disappointment is also known as the temporary hang out for Lewis and Clark's Corp of Discovery. The Cape wasn't to their liking for a winter's stay. Eventually they canoed across the Columbia to what is now the Oregon side. It still proved to be a drippy winter quarters. It was named Fort Clatsop. They weren't happy campers there.

With the fine weather I kept moving south. Then a change came my way. In Newport, OR I reached for fleece and a sweatshirt. The fog and damp found me. At least it was toasty at the Rogue Brewery. My personal forecast for the following morning was chilly to damp conditions. My joints and muscles got sore and achy.

Hmmm. It was summer on the eastern side of the Coastal Range. Up and over, Barley the Van and me went.

Some things never change.

Last photo: No visit to the Northwest Coast is complete without a the tasty treat of a Banana Slug appetizer. I like mine sautéed in butter and garlic. Bon Apetit! 

Cheers,

Jeff