Five girls! Won't it be fun?!

In January of 2006, four other girls and I had planned to backpack along the PCT, and instead stumbled upon Newcomb's Ranch in the Angeles National Forest, where we spent the night sheltering from the hypothermia-inducing sleet outside. Darren the bartender wrote in our journals, played us his accordion, made us shots, and gave a moving lecture on why Los Angeles is the greatest place on earth. (I still half believe him.) It was a tremendous evening, after which we continued on our way, bumbling through the nearby trails, sunbathing in the sand, and doing some minor bouldering.

Memories of Newcomb's stuck, though, and when Eisha mentioned it as part of her weekend bike rides, we realized that it was the scene of my favorite college epic, an epic that I drearily retell at every opportunity. On my visit to LA last weekend, we made the pilgrimage, this time with a full tank of gas, yet another mistake we'd made before. The trek felt far too domesticated: I had a bland omelette, Darren's girlfriend, now living at Newcomb's, took our order, and the sky outside was gray but not particularly menacing. Gone was the puppy dog eagerness of my friends ("Five girls! Won't it be fun?" was the way Jenny invited our shivering crew inside to spend the night), the two am trip into the woods to rescue our camping gear, the overwhelming feeling of unexpected warmth and hospitality, and the $29 check for all our dinners, our drinks, and our lodging. This was just lunch.

And then, snow started to fall insistently. Unperturbed, we sat still, enjoying our hot drinks, and the hike we'd been planning looked more and more dubious. It was already three. I was wearing jeans and a rain jacket -- not the best gear for a winter snow storm; Eisha wasn't much better off. So we wandered out of Newcomb's, slightly too full, wondering half-heartedly what kind of walk we could take, drove a little ways through the snow, and parked the car in what looked like total isolation. We hiked an unmarked trail to Bandido Camp, and then down the Silver Moccasin Trail. The boulders we'd scrambled up six Januaries ago were dusted with snow. It was peaceful, almost stunningly quiet. And it was cold. Rembrandt insisted that we keep going, and we were happy to be goaded into going further than we'd expected and prepared for....

...until it began to get dark. We booked it back to the car, as I felt more and more like a stray hobbit on a journey designed for hardy dwarves. It was the right feeling for a day at Newcomb's: a little bit of risk, just enough, but far less than I could convey in the (now even longer) saga. We made the necessary stop at Newcomb's on the way back, had a good round of hot chocolates, and trundled safely home.

Mendocino

A disclaimer that recent trips have not been camping related and that most of these photos are borrowed....but at any rate, they were all exploration-centric. We've been on a cute B&B kick, and Mendocino is the perfect place to indulge such a kick.

We stayed at The Andiron Inn in the "Play" cabin, full of vintage board games (PerQuackety!) and complete with Whoopie pies on our arrival. The breakfast toast bar far transcended the humble status of toast, happy hour was fun, and the starlit hot tub in the grove was fantastic; best of all, though, were the goats (Peanut Butter & Jelly), who are friendly and perpetually in need of a rub and a treat.



The town of Mendocino was lovely...gifty and gallery laden, sure, but also right on some coastal cliffs that we eventually explored after we tired of buying candles and ogling expensive beach wood items of dubious functionality.



Fort Bragg, home of the Skunk Train, was a little more down to earth. We went for a run along the old railway trail, a gorgeous ocean-side track that goes on for miles along a secluded coast line. We ended by running back to the Trestle Bridge (near "Pudding Beach")...more striking to see from a distance than to stand on, but important to stand on, nonetheless.



And...the best ending for a run... we tried the beer sampler at North Coast Brewing Co. over soup and sandwiches.



Our second run was perhaps even more lovely, because so secluded. We ran into Russian Gulch State Park from the beach parking across the street from the entrance, up through the park, and onto Fern Canyon Trail.



"And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow"
W.B. Yeats

San Quentin Village...

...has the most lovely neighborhood beach I know. On Sunday evenings, I see dogs chasing balls, brave toddlers playing in the water, and grown-ups sitting and watching, soaking in the view of the San Rafael bridge, whose hurry one can't really hear for the sounds of the water.

Lights on bridges at dusk always remind me curiously of the Geoffrey Hill lines:

"Over, across, the Pennine scarps and valleys

motorway lights -- festal suspension bridge,

high arching nocturne. I grasp the possible 

rightness of certain things 

that possess the imagination, however briefly"

Without Title

Port Townsend Adventures

Port Townsend, WA is sheer small-town neo-Victorian loveliness, nestled on the Northern Sound. Water, water, everywhere -- water on both sides of your route as you drive up, water so grey against a sky so grey that the whole world might easily be water. There is something incredibly peaceful about a monochromatic world.



It is also home to some wonderfully quirky bars...The Pourhouse, right on the edge of town, is a bring-your-own-food bar, well stocked with brews and games, a totally new experience for me. We brought apples (Washington apples are so wonderful!) and bread and cheese, and were only a little disappointed that it was too gusty outside for ping pong.



We were only there for a few days, but the downtown area is truly lovely, full of inventive, silly, and sweet toy and furniture stores, and home to the best used book store (of its size -- can't really beat Powell's) I've ever seen. There was even a section for decorative tiling projects!



And the running terrain? The hills are tremendous; part of the town is on a cliffy craig, and part is at sea level. So traversing town means running up a cliff.



We ran out to the Fort's lighthouse from downtown. Never have I been more glad of my Virginia Woolf training: Nick asked if we should go all the way to the lighthouse, and -- despite being tired -- I thought "of course, of course we always have to go to the lighthouse when we can" and said (more simply) "yes." It was shut up, but the beach just west of it was rugged, branch strewn, and framed the many shades of grey in sight for the most sensational view of the trip. Hurrah!

Dinkey Lakes

 Yosemite was overflowing, and even backcountry permits looked impossible. Nate saved the day with Dinkey Lakes, a chain of gorgeous lakes nestled into the rocky crags of Sierra National Forest. Our lake (Cliff Lake -- get there via the Cliff Lake trailhead at Cortright Reservoir) was particularly lovely: strikingly clear, reflective, and just warm enough for swimming. 

On our first day, we hiked the 5.2 miles in, each of us lugging our own impractical camping "needs" with us: eggs, bacon, beer, wine, fresh bananas, apricots, apples, oranges, grapefruits, onions... Anson was the most practical, leaving his treasured Dorritos and shrimp chips in the car for the ride home. The thousand foot  ascent made me almost regret the liter and a half of wine...but not quite. 

Arriving at Cliff lake was a triumph....

...as was dinner that night, which would be totally do-able even for more serious backpacking endeavors. We boiled couscous and added diced salami and green onion near the end. Seasoned with red pepper flakes, salt or soy sauce, and perhaps a drizzle of olive oil, it hit the spot.

Apricot crumble and a star-filled night sky followed for dessert. 

The next day, Nick and I had misguided plans of doing some marathon training, but the terrain was truly terrible: rocky, unpredictable, and often slippery. In fact, it proved tough to stay on-trail at high elevations, with poor markings and a universally sandy terrain. So we tagged along on our friends' day-hike. The "relaxing" hike they had planned turning into an all-day march through the chain of lakes, with occasional bush-wacking to get back on trail. 

Anson presciently dubbed the forest Mirkwood. It was always a mistake to leave the trail, however tempting the environs might be. But we were lucky to be in a group, and to have a water filter, a compass, and a map. Rescue patrols were searching for Larry Bishop while we were there, who (it turns out) spent two days alone stuck on a cliff face after losing his way down Dogtooth Peak. He survived in a fantastic rescue effort. 

Having hiked all day and seen most of the lakes at least twice (I liked Swede Lake best), we were once again hungry. After a swim and beer/wine hour by the lake, we cooked alpine pasta, boiling pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and freeze dried mushrooms and corn. We drained the water when the veggies were soft, and mixed in cheese, chorizo, and green onions. 

It was delicious. Banana boats with marshmallows and chocolate and peanut butter pieces for dessert. And more stars, along with a slightly fuller moon. Amazing. 

Hiking out the next day was much easier than in. We were less my massive bag of wine, eight cans of beer, and a dozen eggs. We washed the dust off in the reservoir, but not for long. There were the shrimp chips and diet coke waiting for us in the bear box at the trail head, ready to be devoured. 

Camping Snacks

This summer has been filled with breads and pizzas...not ideal camping food. In hopes of getting inspired to leave my computer and go out for a day hike, I made buttermilk crackers last week from Wooden Spoon, my favorite bread book (so far, all hikes have been urban and undeserving of crackers) and granola bars (ditto). But both are incredible snacks for any occasion. The granola bars are sweet, chewy, and relatively healthy. Thank you, Ezra Poundcake.

Ingredients:

1 2/3 cups quick rolled oats

1/3 cup oat flour (or 1/3 cup oats, processed till finely ground in a food processor or blender)

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 to 3 cups of any mix of dried cranberries, cherries, blueberries, raisins, apricots, pecans, peanuts, walnuts, sunflower seeds, wheat germ, flax seeds, coconut, sesame seeds, dried apples – even chocolate chips

6 tablespoons butter, cut into pieces

1/3 cup peanut butter or any nut butter

1/3 cup honey

1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract

1 tablespoon water

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly grease an 8×8 pan.

In a large bowl, combine the quick rolled oats, oat flour, cinnamon, and your choice of fruits and nuts. Set aside.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Stir in the peanut butter, honey, vanilla and water. Heat just until combined. (Do not boil.)

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry, and mix well. Transfer to the prepared pan, and press down firmly using wet fingers, a rubber spatula coated in nonstick spray or wax paper.

Bake the bars for 30 to 35 minutes, until they’re brown around the edges. (The center firms as it cools.)

Cool the bars in the pan for 20 to 30 minutes, then place in the refrigerator for a few minutes to finish cooling.

To Serve: Once the bars are cool, use a serrated knife to slice the bars in the pan. They can be wrapped and stored for up to a week. 

Cracker recipe & pictures to come. 

Brentwood Fruit Picking

For two people who love fruit as much as we do, this trip was long overdue. It turns out that going to Brentwood, CA is rather like going to Napa or Sonoma, with fruit subbed in for wine. The orchards have clubbed together just as the wineries have up north, with a free map geared to steer you from orchard to orchard. And if you run out of steam picking, there are fruit stands everywhere -- we brought home mulberries, blueberries, and onions.

Orchards are friendly to pickers who like to eat while they pick (which my parents and most U-Pick strawberry places I've seen certainly are not). So we strolled among the cherry trees at Nunn Family Farms, sampling tree after tree until we found the perfect tree. And then we found another perfect tree, and another, and another. The abundance...of cherries, of trees full of cherries, of toddlers running down fallen cherries...was unbelievable.

Round two was apricots, where we had a few Seinfeld moments ("Not like the risotto, George") as we ate apricots warm from the sun. It was like eating molten jam, and it was good.

On Friday, we went to Kirby Cove, which is one of those places that I see and regret not having known about it before. It is the perfect place to take out-of-towners for stunning views of the Golden Gate, the city, and a taste of the Marin Headlands.

Park at the first lot on the left on Kirby Cove Road, and check out the view from the fort before heading down the track that leads down to the beach. The beach is small, secluded (save for two geese), and has brown-black sand and funny caves all around.
 

And...especially because the walk is short...
be sure to take a picnic to match the view.

Last weekend, we went to Joshua Tree for mind-blowing night skies, desert flowers, bouldering, running, hiking...and eating. Eisha and I are hoping to expand our (somewhat lacking) ability to feed ourselves well while camping, and car-camping in J-Tree was the grand beginning of our culinary quest.

We may have gone overboard in this endeavor. Marinated thin cuts of beef, veggie packets, roasted bananas with marshmallows and chocolate, and (Anson's almost successful experiment) roasted ice cream cones full of marshmallows and chocolate.

Beef Marinade:
3/4 cup soy sauce
3/4 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup water
1 garlic clove, minced
2 green onions, chopped
1 tablespoon Asian (toasted) sesame oil
2 pounds Korean-style short ribs (beef chuck flanken, cut 1/3 to 1/2 inch thickness across bones)

Virginia Woolf said that it's impossible to "think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well." All well and good, but one cannot dine well if one has not played well. It was a tall order to get hungry enough to eat all our sensational food -- but we managed. We hiked to an abandoned gold mine closed in the 19th century, our trail sparkling with fools' gold the whole way up; we climbed a brief mile and a half up Mount Ryan to see the world laid out before us, stubby tree after stubby tree. Nick and Eisha and I ran on the road from our campsite (Hidden Valley was a great place to stay), as well as on a few trails. We all scrambled over all the boulders we could muster, including a gleeful sojourn for Eisha in the eye of Skull Rock. 

The flowers we found along the way were lovely -- unexpected, often hidden -- familiar ones like daisies and evening primroses and cactus blooms, but also the truly peculiar -- flamboyant yucca blooms, and a plant with poppable flowers strongly reminiscent of bubble wrap.





Our night skies were stunningly clear....a lovely excuse to stroll and chat after our feasts. The rocks were still warm from the hot day. 

What a lovely way to start our cooking extravaganzas...we have set a high bar for our Yosemite trip in July! 

On Sunday, we went exploring...to Sunol Regional Wilderness in Fremont, where Little Yosemite waterfall is currently roaring, the wildflowers are full-blown and beautiful, but best of all: the hills are covered in lush, green grass -- lolling grass, perfect grass, peppered with tiny purple flowers, pansies, California poppies ... and cows, who are the best lollers of all, arising rather awkwardly should a hiker stray too close. (We did, but there were no casualties.)

We hiked up Indian Joe, a rolling trail that winds creek-side high up the hill through rocks and shady dells, before turning onto Rocks Road to climb further up, and then going back down Cerro Este, which dead-ends at Little Yosemite, the waterfall. It's amazing that the Fremont hills -- looming green and empty above the strip-mall-ish interstate off of 880 -- can create a sense of total isolation...from the top, there's not even a house in sight -- just green hills rolling on forever, punctuated with two tiny barns.

The hike distance was four miles, but the hills were rather strenuous. Hiking is best in the spring, when the hills are still green, and the flowers are out. Plenty of water, and definitely capacity for a weekend-long trip (though not much more). We'll be back for gourmet backpacking sometime next year.