You can't succeed ... Friday, 8/28/20

... unless you try.  That's what the guy we met coming down from the top said, as we tackled the uphill.  So, okay, we gave it the gungho try today, escaping smoky Nevada City for the high country of the Sierras, specifically Castle Peak.  If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know this is our fourth time this year on the Castle Peak trail, and maybe our last (but, you never know!).

View at the top.

And I'm proud to tell you that these two 75-yr-old folks made it all the way to the top!  Our starting elevation was approx 7300' and the finish was roughly 9100', or an elevation gain of 1800'.  It was not easy; in fact, I read this morning that the trail is rated as difficult (no kidding), especially the last couple of sections.

That tall peak you see at right is where we were going.  But, here's how we roll at our house:  On the drive, we discussed going to Five Lakes, Summit Lake or Castle Peak, with no final decision.  Smoky air was our only consideration.  We waited till we got to Donner Pass and saw some blue sky to our north (Castle Peak/Summit Lake), and yucky sky to the south (Five Lakes).  North was the choice.  Once on the main trail, we got to a split -- left to Castle Peak, right to Summit Lake, I turned right, Jimmy to the left.  "I thought we were going to Summit Lake."  "I thought we were hiking to the top."  I'd found a penny at the Donner rest area, so I dug it out of my pocket, flipped it (heads to Castle Peak, tails to Summit) and it landed heads.  That's why we were hiking to Castle Peak today. 

Following the PCT trail to Castle Pass, it's an eight-mile R/T hike, and the first section through the woods is delightful.  Always uphill, but gentle, and it's pretty.  Out of the woods, at Castle Pass, things change and the trail gets steep and rocky.  Three young women (30/ish), above, came up behind us and we stopped to let them pass.  With long strides and young bodies, they "bounded" up the rocky slope.  Jimmy and I looked at each other.  "They're young."  "They'll get over it."  The red x is the trail (above and below).

Our turn.

We joked most of the way up to this point -- I can see our house from here -- Pretty soon you'll see the Pacific Ocean -- There better be a sign at the top:  You did it! -- I see the car down there [not] -- My hip hurts, carry me, and so on.  You see how hazy (smoky) it looks and, yes, the air we were breathing was not the best, but it was okay.  The higher we climbed, the better it got.  The smoke seemed to settle in low areas.  Here, we were just coming into the trees seen at the red x's (in pics above).  Look closely and you can see where we'd been.

Old and young, dead or alive, the trees of the Sierra are captivating.

We finally made it through the trees to the top.  Wait, this isn't the top?  There's more?  Yes, a couple returning FROM the top said, keep going another ten or fifteen minutes and you'll be there, but be careful, the trail is really steep.  Phooey.  Mountains are like that.  Behind what appears to be the summit, is another step, another peak, and behind that is yet another, and then at last:  The Summit.  Whew.  I asked for a photo; she said, sure.  Here we are, almost there! 

Tipped way over, 90 degrees, and still growing.  The tree!

Its trunk is at bottom, left.

I was sort of surprised to see clouds forming, but as we continued hiking, we appreciated the occasional cloud cover!  That sharp peak in the center is Basin Peak and below that, on the left out of sight, is Round Valley.  

Lots of loose gravel, dust, volcanic rubble,

and rough footing on both ascent/descent.

Scrambling up.

If you can see the head at the top of the rock (center), you know we're close to the summit.  The three young women were there, and when we finally stepped into view, one said, "You made it."  Yes, we did.  I asked for a photo and she obliged with two.  The first one in the post and the one below.

On top of the world, with 360° views, even under smoky skies, the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains surrounded us.  What a feeling!  It took us about two-and-a-half hours to make the four miles, with little stopping.  That's how treacherous the trail is.  We found one small flat rock among all the sharp volcanic stuff to sit on for a minute to admire the views and rest our legs.  Perched as we were on the rock, we could look straight down on either side, as in straight down.  We saw more trails winding along below.  Oh boy, more trails.  We stood up and shook hands.  "Good show."

Before beginning the vertical downhill, I said to Jimmy, "I'm terrified of this."  He said he was, too.  We each had a walking pole, which helped.  Okay, nothing to do but get to it.  So, we carefully commenced.  We slid and we skidded, found our footing, and we didn't fall and didn't get hurt.  I don't want to do it again.  Above, you might be able to spot portions of our trail, which goes around the black rock at right and then follows the ridge line before descending into the trees on the left.

Huh!  The clouds had amassed and suddenly we were sprinkled on!  We didn't mind.  I just didn't want to hear any thunder, but hadn't heard anything on last night's weather forecast about mountain T-storms.  Good.  After a bit the sprinkles stopped.  We kept on.  Six miles, two more to go.  Down, down, down.  Our feet hurt from all the rocks.

Look where we were (red x)!  Look where Jimmy is now (barely visible, center)!  Crazy!  We made it off the scree and rubble and into the woods, grateful for a softer carpet of pine straw and dust.  I was also grateful to know we had a refrigerator full of leftovers -- meaning, all I had to do was shower and warm up leftovers for dinner.  Funny what we think about.  It took us two-and-a-half hours to descend.  We were really tired by the time we got off the PCT and onto the main trail to the car.

As we neared the Prius, maybe a couple hundred yards away, an ear-splitting thunderclap crashed behind us, in the direction from which we'd just come, and raised gooseflesh on my arm a mile high!  Yikes!  Then another.  Why, just a few minutes ago (well, an hour or so), we'd been up there where it was now lightning and thundering.  Being on a mountain in a thunderstorm scares me as much as being in the same room with a spider!  Then, a few feet from the car, and big BIG drops began falling.  We got in.  We were safe.  We were done.  We were done in.  We succeeded.  Let's go home.

Does a bear ... Tuesday, 8/18/20

I sit here this Wednesday morning, still kind of reeling from our recent visitor experience.  Of course the windows and doors are closed to keep the blessed air-conditioned coolness inside and the stale, smoky conditions out.  There's no wind at the moment, and the sun is up there somewhere above the haze, casting eerie shadows below.  This will be another 100° day, one more day to hide indoors, like a blizzard in winter, only opposite.  The Jones fire continues to threaten, and we remain vigilant.  Our evacuee friend went home yesterday to her house after overnighting at our place, but many remain evacuated.  We're safe for now, thank heavens.  2020 has been such an ordeal for everyone in the world, I think, and then there's this:

Last night around 9:30, after watching a movie on TV, Jimmy and I retired to our computers on the dining room table to check on fire news.  The dining room is near the garage back door, which had been left open (the big garage door was closed).  I heard a loud noise.  "Jimmy, there's something in the garage.  Please go look."  And he did.  When he returned, he said (calmly), it was a bear.  I laughed.  Hahahaaaa.  "No, really, what was it?"  Really, he said, a bear.  WHAT?  I got up and turned on the flood lights, and -- sure enough! -- I saw a small/ish black bear running through the yard and over toward the neighbor's fence.  Up and over and it was gone.  But, in our garage?  WHAT?

This morning told the tale of the bear at our place.  Of course, it knocked over the bird feeder and bent the pole at its base.  I don't know if it'll straighten this time.  It left its calling card, thank you very much, before it amscrayed over the fence.

And what was that white thing over by the fence?  I retrieved a bag of flour that had been in our garage freezer ... WHAT?  The durn thing went in the garage, opened the chest freezer and stole a bag of flour?  It knew how to open the freezer?  WHAT?  Oh my gosh, I'm dumbfounded.  Flummoxed.  Looks like that garage door will be closed from now on!

It was hard to tell in the dark if the bear was full grown or a juvenile, and we wondered if it had a mama nearby.  Unknown.  Was it fleeing the fire?  Also unknown.  Bears are not new in our area, but this brazenness is.  Good grief.  What next?

When it's too hot outside ... 8/18/20

A Certain Weariness

I don’t want to be tired alone,

I want you grow with me.

How can we not be weary

of the king of fine ash

which falls on cities in autumn,

something which doesn’t quite burn,

which collects in jackets

and little by little settles,

discoloring the heart.

I’m tired of the harsh sea

and the mysterious earth.

I’m tired of the chickens –

we never know what they think,

and they look at us dry eyes

as though we were unimportant.

Let us for once – I invite you –

be tired of so many things,

of awful aperitifs,

of a good education.

Tired of not going to France,

tired of at least

one or two days in the week

which have always the same names

like dishes on the table,

and of getting up – what for? –

and going to be without glory.

Let us finally tell the truth:

we never thought much of

these days that are like

houseflies or camels.

I have seen some monuments

raised to titans,

to donkeys of industry.

They’re there, motionless,

with their swords in their hands

on their gloomy horses.

I’m tired of statues.

Enough of all that stone.

If we go on filling up

the world with still things,

how can the living live?

I am tired of remembering.

I want men, when they’re born,

to breathe in naked flowers,

fresh soil, pure fire,

not just what everyone breathes.

Leave the newborn in peace!

Leave room for them to live!

Don’t think for them,

don’t read them the same book;

let them discover the dawn

and name their own kisses.

I want you to be weary with me

of all that is already well done,

of all that age us.

Of all that lies in wait

to wear out other people.

Let us be weary of what kills

and of what doesn’t want to die.

Pablo Neruda, Extravagaria

Where have all the flowers ... Thurs, 8/13/20

... gone?  They've bolted and disappeared under the blistering California summer sun.  Those green-green grasses of spring are now a warm golden hue, not unattractive in their own right.  Of flowers, we saw nary a one, but I didn't expect to see any today on our hike around the Point Defiance Loop.  NorCal has gone far too long without measurable rainfall (maybe two months or more?), and every living thing is parched.  Oh, and by the end of our 3.5 mile loop hike, we felt the same!  Today begins a week of brutal 100°+/- temps, so we thought we'd better get on our feet ASAP, 'cause it ain't getting cooler any time soon.  Welcome to August!  Dog Days.

This morning we decided to come this way, toward the covered bridge on the South Yuba River -- at a lower elevation -- rather than drive up into the Sierras.  As expected, the heat was on, 92° (real feel:  101°) by the time we finished around Noon.  We've never hiked in these parts in August; we favor those mild, wonderful spring days!  Who wouldn't?  You see how dry the grasses are in these two pics, above and below.

Our trail began with intense switch back inclines, which made for a terrific aerobic workout (whew!), and we got the toughest part over first.  Overheated, too.  

No rain today!  Look at these blue skies!  Rolling grasslands and old Blue Oaks are typical of California savanna and make up the landscape in this section.  Our starting elevation was approx 580 ft, with an elevation gain of about 500 ft.  

Jimmy just crossed a small wooden bridge over a dry gulch and continues heading uphill on the singletrack trail.  A picnic table sits at the top of the hill, and we rested there for a few minutes to catch our breath, and guzzle water.  At the top, the trail merges with a dirt road where we started our downhill stretch.

This is where we began seeing the (North) Yuba River peeking through the trees.

Above -- I guess technically this Yellow Star-Thistle is a flower and behind the inset is a whole field of the durn things.  Wouldn't want to walk in (ow-ow-ow) there!

The water depth looked down to us.  In fact, as we descended and got closer to river level, we could see the bottom in many places.  The river wasn't in a hurry, it moseyed languidly along.

I thought for sure we'd see campers at the bend in the river.  Nope.  No one.  In fact, we saw only one other person (a guy running uphill!!) for the entire time we were on the trail.  COVID strikes again.

Now at Point Defiance and the confluence of the Yuba and South Yuba rivers, we were astonished to see how low the water was.  So shallow!  The last time we were here (April 2018), flood water covered the spot where I was standing today to take this pic.  Even the campsites were underwater back then.

Ooooh, and I found a giant mulberry tree in a nearby grassy cove, loaded with fruit.  As we approached, a couple of deer and a gaggle of geese took off in opposite directions.  They'd been having a nice snack.  So, I helped myself, too.  Even Jimmy sampled.  Then we parked our backsides at a picnic table to eat our protein bars.  A bit further on, we found a huge blackberry patch sprawling along the point, so we dove in (literally) and enjoyed a few.  Between both kinds of berries, our fingers looked like we'd been in a cat fight! 

Many people do this trail clockwise, but not us.  This part of the trail follows the South Yuba River, which was strangely quiet till we closed in on the covered bridge and then we heard "rapids."  Usually it roars through, but today it had no spark -- too shallow.  Here we had to clamber over boulders repeatedly as the trail wove its way through the oak and madrone woodlands.

I like the ripple effect.

Above is the famous (now-uncovered) covered bridge.  Crews are working steadily to brace it up and stabilize it for future foot travel.  Right now it doesn't look like anything!  We spied people cooling off in the water.   Ahhh, good idea.

Floating down the river on a Thursday afternoon ... 😃

Under reconstruction.

Longest single-span covered bridge in the world.

From the car bridge, Jimmy stopped so I could shoot this photo.  Not particularly of the bridge, but of the river.  In the eight years we've lived in NorCal, we have seen this river raging and many (many!) feet higher than the trickle we faced today.  So be it.  Rivers rise and fall, like dynasties, and we'll return come winter or spring, when it isn't HOT.

  

Over the Summit, Fri, 8/7/20

The 7,000+ ft Donner Summit in the Sierra Nevada Mtns can get 35-40 ft of snow a year and sometimes 40-60 ft. Snow drifts can be dozens of feet high. And then there are avalanches! When the transcontinental railroad was finished in 1869, it traversed these mountains. Snow sheds were built to protect the track (people and freight), first of wood (fire hazard), later of concrete. Still later, this track was abandoned; the trains moved along a track further south.  But the sheds remain.  Jimmy and I have walked inside these sheds a couple of times, but not all the way.  We've even brought friends and relatives to see/walk the sheds.  But, curious citizens as we are, Jimmy and I have wondered just how far the snow sheds run, as in how many miles?  Today we'd find out the answer.  Inquiring minds want to know ....

This is close to where we finished up, overlooking beautiful Donner Lake.  You see motor boats zipping through the blue water.  Donner Summit is to your left out of the photo.

But this is where we began, at the western end.  Rather than one very long snow shed, these are broken into sections.  The one above serves as an overpass for a local road.

Graffiti?  Yes, everywhere.  Some artistic, others just a "Kilroy was here" type.  We've decided that ladders must be hidden somewhere so the doodlers don't have to 'em lug up and down the mountain every time.  They paint high.  Two of the tunnels (snow sheds) were wet down the center as above, but the sides were dry, so our feet remained dry.

Light at the end of the tunnel?

If you're willing to do a bit of boulder-hopping, you can explore further.  Behind Jimmy is one of the sheds, but we were looking for a different trail along the willows, which we found and which led only to the next shed.  Oh well.

Free entertainment along the way, too.

Watching rock climbers always makes me catch my breath.

The trail by the willows was ablaze in summer flowers.

You see people atop the cliff next to red x in above photo?  We've stood there ourselves on past hikes looking down at the China Wall where we were standing today (below).  Makes for a nice, fairly lengthy loop hike.  More folks are hiking up the rocks bottom center.  The road is Historic Hwy 40, leading to Rainbow Bridge.

This might be the longest shed:  Tunnel 6, which ran 1,659 ft through the summit ridge at Donner Pass.  Truly, it seems to go on forever!  Jimmy stands at the China Wall base and the tunnel entrance.

Plenty of natural light in this section.  You see what I mean about a ladder?

Out the other side now, and gazing toward from whence we came.  The straight dark line is the long snow shed.

Butterflies (including attractive Lorquin's Admiral) on Western Hemlock.

The sheds were built into the mountainsides where possible.

Some are cathedral-like in their interior "design" and hushed atmosphere.  All are cool/ish.  Today we encountered throngs of visitors at the beginning.  The snow sheds had been advertised in the Sac Bee newspaper as a swell day trip with/for the kids, and, Holy Moly, they came in droves!  This was our first experience with COVID crowds.  Some wore masks (we wore ours when near anyone); many chose not to wear any.  As we suspected, when the tunnels and darkness wore on, folks got tired and bored with it and turned around, so we were left with relative peace and quiet, like above.  I used a flash on this pic.

Aha!  We got to the end.  No more snow shed, just a wall.  This was it.  Roughly two-and-a-half miles of tunnels one way.  That being said, initially many more miles of sheds were built, but all have been dismantled.  We had to go back the same way, which made it a five-miler.  Now we know.

I took a few photos on the way back (yes, we were walking on railroad rocks the entire time, hard on the feet).  This walk in these tunnels was really interesting, not for the graffiti, but for the history.

This entrance was kinda creepy, but the tunnel sides and roof changed as we went along, when the engineers switched to cement slabs instead of native rock.  Good thing the area isn't earthquake-prone.

Aiming for the tunnel entrance at the end of the gravel path.

Layer upon layer of paint.  In some places, we could smell the paint spray, so our masks came in handy!  First time we've ever smelled fresh paint.

The best one, in our opinions.

Here I've stepped out of a tunnel to look around, and I spied the previous tunnel entrance (red x).  Large openings were spaced every now and again in the tunnels (which made me feel better, I can tell you), probably to evacuate people if needed.  So ... that was our day.  Fun for us.  What'll we do next week?