September 2007 Archives
When the mood strikes, I like to check my logs to see what search terms brought people to my journal. What I've discovered is that if one writes about a wide variety of topics, then one will receive an even wider variety of queries. What I fear people have discovered is that if they ask the interwebs a question, they will be led far, far astray and end up here, which makes me feel awful.
In an effort to get them back on track, I thought I would try to respond to some of these queries and point them in a better direction. Like last time, I have kept the queries intact, but have changed the names and places to make this feel more like a question and answer session. Let's begin...
M. Hamilton from California queries, "update who started the lick fire".
Well, M. Hamilton, by the time it was fully contained, the Lick Fire had consumed 47,760 acres of land and more than half of Henry Coe State Park had burned. According to the Mercury News, a San Juan Bautista woman accidentally sparked the blaze when she attempted to burn a pile of paper plates in a barrel on her property north of the park.
K. Ridder of San Jose asks, "who was the main character in the show called early edition".
Gary Hobson. He was played by Kyle Chandler, who currently stars in a show called Friday Night Lights. Of course, I'll always fondly remember him as the unlucky bomb squad captain on Grey's Anatomy. If he had only gotten tomorrow's newspaper today, he could have called in sick.
Placido D. from Madrid wants to know, "did pavarotti lip sync in torino".
According to one of the guests on this radio show about the great opera singer's passing, Pavarotti only lip-synced once in 1992 during a pop concert in Modena, Italy. I hope that takes a load off your mind, Placido.
Bud S. from Wisconsin asks, "who won the baseball game on august 29 2007".
Bud, taking your question at face value, I would say you're going to have to be more specific. Reading between the lines, though, I would say you obviously meant San Francisco. On that day, the Giants beat the Rockies, 3-1, for one of their rare wins.
Teddy R. from New York queries, "hikers rating the difficulty of panorama trail in yosemite national park".
Teddy, I couldn't find a site that lets hikers rate the difficulty of trails, but for what it's worth, I'll give you my rating. It really depends on which direction you plan to hike the Panorama Trail. If you're starting from Happy Isles and hiking up to Glacier Point, then I would say it's a six on a difficulty scale of ten, based on the steep sections at the beginning (along the Mist Trail) and the end - the last mile or so is a climb. If you're hiking down to the valley from Glacier Point, then I would rate it a 4. There is some climbing involved after Illilouette Falls, but the rest of the trail is downhill.
JanSport389 types, "backpack fetish".
Jan, while I've heard of eyeglass fetishes and foot fetishes, I've never heard of a backpack fetish before. I've never really seen backpacks as accessories that add sex appeal, but maybe I'm just blind. It's surely conceivable that a backpack could make one person appear more attractive, mysterious, and even, dare I say, sophisticated to another person.
Hayden Panettiere? Eh.
Hayden Panettiere wearing an external frame backpack? Hawt!
(I can't wait to see what queries that response generates.)
I did a quick and dirty mock-up of AT-AT Park, which randomly mentioned in the last post as a solution to constant name changes the ballpark in San Francisco experiences. If it became a reality, it might look something like this...
Tonight, Barry Bonds plays his last home game as a San Francisco Giant. I wish I could be there to see him. I bet it will be standing room only at AT&T Park1.
Over the years, I have had a love-hate relationship with Bonds. He has been both a source of pride and shame.
When he came to San Francisco from Pittsburgh in 1992, I idolized him. The best player in the game - the two-time MVP, the son of Bobby Bonds, the godson of the great Willie Mays - had come home and was playing for "my" team. I believed he would be the one to carry the Giants all the way to victory and he very nearly did.
He brought the team close to the World Series four times in his fifteen-year tenure (1993, 1997, 2000, and 2003) and took them the distance once in 2002. That year, they were a mere nine outs away from the title when Dusty Baker took the ball from Russ Ortiz and effectively handed the championship to the Anaheim Angels. It was a heartbreaker. At the time, I wrote, "this was most likely Barry Bonds' first and last chance for a World Series ring". I still believe that's true.
While he has done more than his share to help the team, he has also done his share to hurt it. The suspicion surrounding his possible (some might say probable) steroid use has not only tainted him and everything he has accomplished, but it has tainted everything the team has accomplished, too. That cloud has robbed the fans and the team of a chance to fully celebrate his achievements. Any genuine recognition Bonds receives tonight will come from the fans. The team will do the minimum to appear appreciative, but it will do it only for the sake of appearances.
(There's also the fact that Barry is jerk, but that's small potatoes compared the issue of steroids.)
For fifteen years, Barry Bonds has been the one constant on the Giants. He has become synonymous with San Francisco. He is the last player left from the incredible 1993 team that won 103 games only to come in second place behind the Atlanta Braves. Back then, Bonds was the heart of a lineup that included Will Clark and Matt Williams. John Burkett and Billy Swift were the starters and Rod Beck was the closer. Dusty Baker managed the squad. With Bonds' departure, the last link to that era of Giants baseball is broken.
As a Giant, Bonds leaves a legacy of individual achievements. In the orange and black uniform, he hit 73 home runs in a season, walked 232 times in a season, hit 40 homers and stole 40 bases in a season, and was named MVP five times. He also broke the career home run record.
By the way, No. 756 is now going to Cooperstown with an asterisk on it based on the online poll held by Marc Ecko, the ball's owner. While I understand it's Mr. Ecko's ball to do with as he pleases, it's still disappointing to see him deface a piece of baseball history. I wonder if he'll make the equally classy gesture of taking a leak on the ball before handing it over to the Hall of Fame.
Just as Bonds caused mixed emotions in me these past years, his departure tonight does, too.
On the one hand, I'm glad he is going (relieved is probably a better word). He has had an amazing career, but it's time for him to go. The team has sacrificed a great deal to keep him on the roster. Now they can pursue younger, fresher talent to build a postseason contender.
On the other hand, I'm sad to see somebody who has meant so much to the team leave. If I could have my way, I would have Bonds retire as a Giant. I think it will be a long time before baseballs splash into McCovey Cove with any regularity and it will be even longer before San Francisco sees another player of his caliber. Most of all, I'll just miss seeing him play.
In the Mercury News, Mark Purdy wrote:
No baseball player in history has created as many simultaneous conflicting emotions as Bonds. But at AT&T Park this evening, there are bound to be more goodbyes than good riddances.
I hope there will be.
Goodbye, Barry.
1 Over the last seven years, the ballpark has had three different names: Pac Bell Park, SBC Park, and AT&T Park. While some have taken to calling it Telephone Park and others refer to it as Mays Field or China Basin (according to Wikipedia), I think they should sell the naming rights to George Lucas and have him name it AT-AT Park. It makes sense for three reasons:- It would provide name stability. The name wouldn't be affected by the whims of the latest corporate merger or acquisition. The park would have a name that sticks. Wouldn't that be nice?
- Lucas' companies, Industrial Light & Magic and LucasArt, are now headquartered at The Presidio, giving him a large presence in San Francisco's northwest corner. By establishing a presence at the stadium, located in the city's southeast corner, he would be balancing things out (or bringing balance to the Force, so to speak).
- The creative possibilities are so much greater with Lucas than with a telecommunication company. Instead of a giant soda bottle towering above the left field fence, imagine a giant AT-AT standing out there. The playground could be transformed to look like Hoth or Endor. Kids could get their pictures taken in snowspeeders or on speeder bikes. Instead of numbering the sections, they could name them after characters. "Oh, you're in seat 5, row 14, in section Boba Fett." They could sell bats painted as lightsabers. They could have "Hug a Wookie" night. They could dress Jabba the Hut in a Giants uniform. Okay, that might be taking it too far, but you get the idea, and I had better stop before I become disappointed that this vision will never become a reality.
I really can't get enough of John Allison's latest poster featuring Shelley from his hilarious webcomic, Scary Go Round. She just looks like she means business.
And if you're a fan of LL Cool J, the music video for "Mama Said Knock You Out" is on YouTube, of course.
I had hoped to blog the premiere of Heroes as it happened, but I'm apparently one of those people who gets so caught up in a show that I forget to type as the action progresses. Normally, I would rely on commercials to catch up, but since last night's show had "limited" commercial interruptions, that wasn't possible.
What follows are the notes (with timestamps) from last night's show. If you haven't watched it and don't want to know what happened (or, more accurately, what I think happened), then it's probably best to stop reading right now. Also, if you want a better or funnier recap of the episode, it's best to check out Heroes Wiki or Television Without Pity.
The notes begin below the fold...
If it wasn't for the Yosemite Blog, I wouldn't have heard the sad news of Phil Frank's passing, He was the creator of Farley, a local comic strip. He died earlier this month due to brain tumors. He was 64.
My first real introduction to Frank's work happened two years ago in Yosemite, when I came across "Fur and Loafing in Yosemite", a collection of Farley cartoons focused on the park.
I quickly fell in love with the cast of characters, especially the urbanized bear clan of Alphonse, Franklin, Floyd, and Bruinhilda. Every year, they'd find a way to make the trek from San Francisco to the park. I also couldn't get enough of Velma Melmac, the owner of the 36-foot Wapama motorhome and a Tojo Vac 'n Blo. She was glamping long before it was hip.
Last year, I couldn't resist buying Frank's next collection of Yosemite cartoons contained in "Eat, Drink & Be Hairy". It had more hilarity and more of the cartoonist's clever puns, like "a tents situation" and "a fur gone conclusion".
Reading his strip added laughter to my Yosemite experience and my life. For that, I'm extremely grateful to Phil Frank and I will miss him.
(This entry's title is courtesy of a random title generator.)
Today is the second day of fall. I would have posted on the first day of the new season, but between yard work and an intense feeling of never wanting to see the Movable Type interface again after such a harrowing upgrade experience, I didn't get around to it.
As far as I can tell, everything survived the upgrade except the banner. The latest version of M.T. allows users to select predesigned styles or themes for their blogs, which is convenient if you don't mind your journal looking exactly like somebody else's journal, but is a pain if you do mind and want to tweak the theme to add your own personality.
- - - - - -
It rained on Friday night and Saturday, which I must admit was a nice change of pace. The rain teased us Friday evening, giving us a thirty-minute preview of what was to come. It was as though it was simply testing the water, if you will - dipping its toe to see if the temperature was bearable. Five hours after the toe dip, the rain plunged right in and didn't let up until Saturday afternoon, making the last day of summer feel more like fall.
- - - - - -
Barry Bonds was on the front page of every local newspaper on Saturday. Headlines like "Bye-Bye, Barry" and "Gone" adorned the image of the rather dour looking slugger. The Giants are letting him go at the end of the season. I was stunned by the news. I had hoped they would finally release him to allow the team to move on, but I didn't actually expect them to do it. Bonds doesn't plan to retire, which means he'll be playing for a different team next season. It's going to be so strange to see him wearing a different uniform after fifteen years of seeing him in black and orange.
- - - - - -
The new television season starts tonight for the major networks. It's the season premiere of many shows, but the one I'm anticipating most is Heroes. I'm curious to find out what happened to Hiro, who was stranded in 17th-century Japan when we last saw him. I'm also curious to know what happened to Peter Petrelli. He was on the verge of exploding in the season finale, but from the previews, it looks like he survived (and used the explosion as an excuse to get a haircut).
The other show I'm looking forward to is the oversold Chuck, a new series by Josh Schwartz, the creator of The O.C. and Gossip Girl.
Chuck is a regular guy working at a computer store who gets mixed up with the NSA and CIA after he opens an email from an old college roommate (who happens to be a rogue CIA agent) containing top secret government intelligence.
I watched the pilot online (Yahoo! was offering a sneak peek) and it tickled my funny bone. In A-meets-B terms, the show is Ed Meets Alias. Zachary Levi reminds me of a younger Tom Cavanaugh.
While I like the show, I'm guessing the network will pull it in six episodes, which is four episodes longer than I expect Journeyman, the other show in NBC's Monday night roster, to live.
Please pardon the digital dust around here as I try to figure out what happened to this journal's templates.
I just upgraded to Movable Type 4.0 and everything is looking out of sorts, which is the only euphemism I'm able to muster at the moment.
Of course, if you're reading this via a feed, then you won't notice a difference... hopefully.
So far, the simple refresh and republish technique hasn't worked. I'm now mentally preparing myself for the next logical step: wading through the documentation.
It's going to be fun. I can feel it.
Wish me luck. I'm hoping to have all the bigaleeboos1 worked out in a few hours.
1 Bigaleeboos are critters that look like harmless template tags, but are really nasty buggers that wreak havoc on a blog. They also have a tendency to snip at fingertips, which is why I plan to wear gloves.
While I was hiking to the top of North Dome a couple of weeks ago, I kept humming "The Way I Are" by Timbaland to keep any potential mountain lions at bay. Empirical data from the hike shows that the humming worked. As a small thank you to Timbaland (and Keri Hilson), a clip of their song accompanies the video I shot at the summit and embedded here for your amusement...
Last weekend, M and I were in San Francisco. We parked near the Embarcadero and walked to Union Square. The building in the photo above was one of the many "urban mountains" we passed along the way.
While M shopped at H&M, I ventured over to the square. The open space was packed, but I found a spot to sit and read for a while. At the time, I was halfway through The Birth of the National Park Service: The Founding Years, 1913-33 by Robert Cahn and Horace M. Albright (the second director of the NPS). I found it amusing to be reading such a book in one of America's most urban settings.
Before leaving the city, I finally spotted an R2-D2 mailbox. It was probably more exciting to me than it should have been. Nobody else seemed to be interested in it, but I couldn't help but take a photo...
Roughly four months ago, I mentioned I was following the adventures of Ben (Stitch) and Lauren (Figgy) as they hiked the Appalachian Trail.
They have been going strong these past months and according to their last transcribed phone message, they are just a week away from reaching Mt. Katahdin in Maine (a.k.a. the finish line). They "only" have a hundred miles or so of their 2,174-mile journey left to go.
It has been exciting to tag along as the two crossed state lines (they hit New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Vermont in rapid succession), worked as A.T. boundary maintenance volunteers, and even celebrated their anniversary on the trail, marking down the miles all the while.
Figgy's ankle began bothering her this past week, but she hasn't let the injury stop her. It actually seems like the additional adversity has only strengthened the couple's resolve to keep going.
They've come so far and only have a little farther to go. My thoughts and prayers are with them as they hike steadily towards their goal. Go Figgy and Stitch!
"Tom Cruise runs funny."
M says this last night while we're watching Mission: Impossible III.
"He does?" I reply noncommittally. I consider myself a fairly good observer, but the way people run isn't something I typically notice when watching movies. Apparently, it's something M does.
From that point forward, I find myself focusing on the way Ethan Hunt (a.k.a. Mr. Cruise) runs – the way he kicks his legs too high and pumps his arms too hard, the way he leans back while keeping his back as straight as a board, and the way his eyes and stiff neck bulge as he exerts himself.
"You know, maybe he does," I finally say after watching him a few seconds. "He kind of reminds me of that sprinter, what's his name, Michael Johnson. He's like the shorter, whiter version of Michael Johnson."
As I say this, a horrible image of Cruise running in a formfitting sprint suit races across my brain. I shudder.
The longer I focus on him, the funnier he seems to run. Then it dawns on me that most of the movie is Tom Cruise running.
If you don't believe me, just take a peek at the pie chart I baked up based on a minute-by-minute analysis of the movie.
Of course, now I'm going to have to watch every other action movie Cruise has ever been in to see if he has always run this way or if his unique technique is only a recent development.
Proving yet again that I'm the last to know, I only just read on The Disney Blog that LEGO will be releasing Indiana Jones-themed sets in conjunction with the new movie, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
According to the comments on Brickset, there will be four sets based on the original trilogy released in January 2008 and four sets based on the new movie released in May 2008.
Also, the same company that created the LEGO Star Wars games will be releasing an Indiana Jones title based the original trilogy some time next year.
As a LEGO fiend and a fan of Indy, I'm stoked! The anticipation of it all is almost too much to contain.
If I want any chance of having enough money to enjoy it all, I better start saving pennies now in a jar labeled "Indy Fund - Don't break until 2008. Not to be used for coffee/Skittles/hiking emergencies. No exceptions!"
I watched last night's Emmy Awards because, well, it was the remote control's night off and the television doesn't like to be touched. That's what happens when your set develops a keen aversion to germs. I would have changed the channel, but it's always unnerving to see the television wipe itself down with disinfectant afterwards.
Instead of general rambling, like I did last year, I thought I'd try a more structured approach to summarize my sentiments using Hits and Misses.
Hits:
Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart: When the duo presented for Best Actor in a Comedy Series, they targeted the greenness of the Emmys, a point of pride with the Academy. Colbert came out using a leaf blower. After Stewart chastised him for using such an environmentally unfriendly device, Colbert revealed that it was powered using an alternative fuel: Al Gore's tears. Ricky Gervais won, but since he wasn't there, the pair let their pal, Steve Carell, accept the award on his behalf.
Elaine Stritch: She and Stan Tucci won for Best Guest in a Comedy Series. Instead of getting a chance to accept on live television, they presented. Stritch was hilarious. She and Tucci were on stage for no more than a minute when Stritch unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn. Then she had trouble reading the teleprompter and at one point said something to the effect that, "I'm not faking this. I really don't know what the hell I'm doing." Poor Stan looked lost the entire time.
Terry O'Quinn: The Lost star won for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama Series. I was rooting for either him or Masi Oka of Heroes to win.
Jeremy Piven: My favorite actor on a television show I don't watch (Entourage) won for the second time in a row as Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series.
Helen Mirren: She won for Best Actress in a Miniseries for Prime Suspect, a British show that airs on PBS. Unlike almost every other winner, she actually had to coax the orchestra to start playing so she could leave the stage.
Ellen DeGeneres: She was expected to introduce a segment, but ended up having to improvise for nearly a minute while crew members scrambled to get the teleprompter up and running. For a second, I thought she had actually taken over hosting duties from Ryan Seacrest.
Misses:
Ryan Seacrest: The show's host was affable when he was on, but he was rarely on. In fact, I think Wayne Brady and the Jersey Boys occupied the stage longer than Seacrest. May we please have Conan O'Brien back next year?
Kanye West: He and Rainn Wilson participated in an awkward singing contest that I'm guessing was an abbreviated version of Wayne Brady's show, Don't Forget the Lyrics. Wilson was brilliant, but it was five minutes the 3-hour-and-11-minute-long award show could have done without.
Theater-in-the-Round: At first, I liked the idea of a circular stage surrounded by an audience, but as the night progressed, it became apparent that Fox wasn't making good use of it and everybody who took the stage seemed uncomfortable with it. If used again, they need to have more than one microphone and camera. The best feature of the stage: the trapdoor in the middle.
The Jersey Boys: Their performance was amazing, but what Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons has to do with The Sopranos is still a mystery to me. Was Valli ever part of the mob? Did Tony Soprano ever sing falsetto in a quartet?
Tony Bennett and Christina Aguilera: The pairing actually worked, but the song, "Stepping Out With My Baby", was too stilted and mellow to provide much punch.
Sally Field: She was frenetic and flustered on stage as she accepted her award for Best Actress in a Drama Series. It was painful to watch as she shouted down the music and tried to finish saying whatever it was she was trying to say.
Censorship: At three points in the show, Fox interrupted the broadcast with some bizarre shot of the auditorium in silence. I initially thought it was a wrong camera cue. I finally caught on that they were using it to censor disagreeable material. They used it during Ray Romano's endless presentation, during Sally Field's acceptance speech, and just as Katherine Heigl won for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series (she apparently swore when her name was called). I believe bleeping or cutting the audio would have been sufficient to protect sensitive ears. Cutting away completely was just confusing.
(Or, Two Alternatives to Reading a Book About "Hypothetically" Committing Murder)
Back in August, I finished reading Nathaniel Philbrick's Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War. It's a book that succeeds in painting a realistic picture of the Pilgrim's voyage to the New World (at least new to them) and the Plymouth settlement. He is quick to dispel the myth of Plymouth Rock and the first Thanksgiving. As it turns out, the reality is more fascinating than the mythology.
Philbrick also makes an effort to present historical figures as honestly as possible. While men like William Bradford, Miles Standish, Squanto, Massasoit, Edward Winslow, King Philip (a.k.a. Mecomet), and Benjamin Church had their heroic (or villainous) moments, they were still real people.
Just this week, I finished reading Dave R. Palmer's George Washington and Benedict Arnold: A Tale of Two Patriots, a dual biography of two key figures in the American Revolution.
For the first half of the book, Palmer builds a case showing the parallels between Washington and Arnold. It's a compelling picture of two American heroes.
Both were personally responsible for keeping the rebellion alive - Washington as the commander in chief of the Continental Army, Arnold through his victories at Fort Ticonderoga, Lake Champlain, and both battles at Saratoga.
Both also had numerous enemies and detractors. Washington was able to defeat or silence his, but Arnold wasn't so lucky. After suffering a severe wound at the Battle of Bemis Heights, Arnold could no longer handle the slander or lack of recognition for his efforts and his thoughts turned to treason.
The second half of the book recounts Arnold's betrayal, the aftermath, and both men's legacies.
The last chapter is the book's strongest. In it, Palmer argues that for all of their similarities, character is the critical difference between the two men. To the author, Washington had the four qualities that define character: fortitude, temperance, prudence, and justice. Arnold had only fortitude. The lack of the other three ultimately led to his downfall.
Palmer ends with a most appropriate quote...
"Your thoughts become your words. Your words become your actions.
Your actions become your habits.
Your habits become your character.
Your character becomes your destiny."
If you're in the mood to read about early American history (and not more recent "hypothetical" history), I highly recommend both of these books.
As you can see from the table below, visits to a particular pearl milk tea establishment has risen dramatically this month.
| Month | Visits |
|---|---|
| January | 0 |
| February | 0 |
| March | 0 |
| April | 0 |
| May | 0 |
| June | 0 |
| July | 0 |
| August | 0 |
| September | 2 |
What could be the reason for the sudden spike?
Could it be the challenge of sucking tapioca pearls through a straw without choking? Could it be the vast library of fashion magazines and Asian comic books they have available for public consumption? Could it be the light and catchy Asian music videos they play that are enjoyable and addictive for all the wrong reasons? Could it be that I've finally caved to the craving for a coffee milk tea after nine months?
The answers are perhaps, no, absolutely not (but maybe), and definitely.
Further analysis will require a larger sampling of data. I'd better get on that.
Now, do I want that data with or without tapioca?
As illustrated in the informative and mostly factual table below, there are three ways to reach Yosemite's North Dome.
| trail head | One-Way Mileage | Elevation +/- | "Unofficial" Nickname |
|---|---|---|---|
| Porcupine Flat | 4.6 | -580 feet | The Baby Bear |
| Mirror Lake | 9.0 | 3,550 feet | The Papa Bear |
| Upper Yosemite Fall | 7.9 | 3,550 feet | The Papa Bear's Younger Brother |
With no intention of driving out to Porcupine Flat and never having been a fan of Papa Bear, I went with his Younger Brother.
Because I wanted to get the climbing done before the midday heat arrived, M and I tried to get a somewhat early start. We took the shuttle from Yosemite Village (Stop 4) to Camp 4 (Stop 7) and were at the trail head by eight o'clock.
The hiking conditions to Columbia Rock were noticeably different from those in April. Instead of a trail with constant traffic, we only bumped into three hikers along the way. Instead of darkening skies, there was growing morning light, which made photographing the valley difficult.
This was M's first strenuous hike in over a year (due to a foot injury), so we took it slowly. She went all the way through the first few switchbacks above the middle cascade before turning back. I was sad to see her go, but was proud she had made it that far.
I continued up the rocky and sandy switchbacks and reached the waterfall overlook by eleven. I didn’t venture to the edge like old John Muir, but got close enough to snap a few stomach-plummeting shots.
I dawdled at the top, enjoying the solitude while I could. For thirty minutes, not another soul appeared.
Knowing my destination was still five miles away, I picked up the pace, rapidly crossing a wooden truss bridge and following a winding, uphill granite trail towards Yosemite Point.
Like Columbia Rock, Yosemite Point is nothing more than a metal rail secured to an outcropping. How secure it really is, I couldn't say. I wasn't willing to lean against it to test the workmanship. I stood there longer than I expected, though, partly due to the sight of the trail below and the Lost Arrow spire.
From there, I continued on the granite trail to North Dome.
A quick aside: I'm not a fan of granite trails. The only indication of a path is usually a strategically placed rock (a.k.a. a marker). Of course, not all rocks are markers and that's where I usually run into trouble. I sometimes read too much into the rocks - perceiving patterns that aren't really there, divining direction from "markers" more likely placed by a cunning mountain lion than by a person.
With the help of a couple who had hiked the Baby Bear, I managed to stay on the trail. The path soon entered a forest and began an undulating course - down to Indian Gulch Creek, up a ridge, down to Lehamite Creek, up a ridge, down to Royal Arches Creek, and up another ridge. It was like riding a rollercoaster in the woods.
The trail emerged from the forest and became a cluster of granite switchbacks. At the top, I came across an Australian fellow who had just hiked the Papa Bear. He happily told me I only had a half-mile to go and then pointed to what was obviously North Dome.
I thanked him and raced to the summit. The view at the end was more breathtaking than I imagined. There was the valley, Illilouette Falls, Tenaya Canyon, Clouds Rest...
And, of course, Half Dome, front and center...
I spent about fifteen minutes at the top. I wanted to stay longer, but it was already two in the afternoon. Knowing the hike down would take nearly as long as the hike up (due to the steep and sandy switchbacks), I reluctantly left the dome.
I wish I could say the return journey was uneventful, with only one or two unremarkable slips, but somewhere between the Upper and Middle Falls, I took a tumble worth mentioning.
I had just achieved a comfortable downhill rhythm, using my poles for extra balance, when I came upon on particularly bad swarm of mosquitoes. Instead of planting my right pole, I swatted at one of the buggers while taking a step.
My right foot went out from under me, spinning me around. The sky fell away. My poles scattered and my right arm shot out, grasping air. My forearm scraped the rocks as I twirled and fell. The sweatshirt and snacks in my backpack cushioned the fall - the gummy bears and cookies getting the brunt of it.
Dazed, I ran a quick diagnostic. Beyond the scratched and bruised arm (call it a bad brush with Brother Bear) and a tightened right calve muscle, nothing else seemed to be amiss. I stood up slowly, brushed myself off, and resumed the descent with more caution and less mosquito-swatting.
I reached the valley floor in one piece around 5:30 p.m., just in time to see the shuttle leaving Stop 7 and heading for Stop 8 at the Yosemite Lodge.
Because I had promised to meet M at the village before six, my rattled brain figured my only chance of making it in time was to catch the shuttle.
Visitors in Camp 4 that day saw a grimy hiker sprinting through camp, crossing the road, and running through the Lodge parking lot to leap aboard a shuttle.
It was a good two-hundred-yard dash that I didn't think was in me. Thirty minutes later, my legs informed me that, in fact, I hadn't had it in me. I had actually purchased the dash on credit and would be paying for it the rest of the evening at an exceptionally high PAPR (post-adrenaline pain rate).
Friday was an impatient kid in the backseat of Mr. and Mrs. Weekend's minivan repeatedly asking, "Are we there yet?"
Saturday was the hysterical mother screaming, "Do you want a time-out? Do you? Ask that one more time and I... Okay, that's it, I'm pulling over! Five-minute time-out!"
Sunday was the matter-of-fact father saying over the cheering child, "See, if we had left him at the kennel like I suggested, there'd be no need to tie him to the roof rack."
That was my weekend - a blue Ford Aerostar speeding down the highway at 85 miles per hour. It just flew by.
M and I were in Yosemite from Friday through Sunday. The weekend after Labor Day is the time to go. Temperatures may be on the high side, but the number of visitors drops precipitously, at least the number of American visitors does.
The park had a definite international flavor this weekend. I heard no less than half-a-dozen languages spoken. In order of popularity, Spanish, German, English, and Japanese were the languages of choice.
An observational aside: Spanish-speaking visitors seemed to stay close to camp, large families hanging near the river and picnic sites. German-speaking visitors were often rugged young men who looked like they had spent days climbing or backpacking and were making a quick stop at the village store for supplies before heading back for more.
The big adventure on Friday was climbing to the base of Lower Yosemite Fall. It's the second time I've done it.
Last time, dozens of people were crawling over boulders and jumping into pools. This time, there were only two other guys bounding about. For a while, I had the entire waterfall to myself (if you don't count the mosquitoes).
From a distance, the waterfall appears to have dried up, but a closer look reveals the truth. Yosemite Falls continues to trickle like a giant leaky granite faucet.
Climbing in the waterfall is both fun and infuriating to me. It's fun because, well, it's like playing in a giant playground that has failed a safety inspection. Scampering over boulders large enough to crush you and everybody in your fave five is more than half the fun. Technically, it's 65% of the fun. The other 35% is the part where you survive the scampering unscathed.
It's infuriating because while I'm hopping from boulder to boulder, I come across discarded trash. People leave behind empty drink bottles, wrappers, socks, and other items. They treat what is one of the wonders of the world like a garbage bin. It's maddening to see.
I picked up whatever would fit in my backpack to recycle when I got back to the viewing bridge. It's apparent that some people still haven't gotten the concept of Leave No Trace through their heads. If I could, I would make the litterbugs spend a day picking up trash in the park.
On Saturday, I hiked to the top of North Dome by way of Upper Yosemite Fall. It was a 16.5-mile round-trip trek with views almost worth every step and slip. (A few less slips and it would have been completely worth it.) An entry packed with special features like words and photos will be up tomorrow.
Sunday was a day for relaxing and recovering. We moseyed around the valley and pretended to be posh at The Ahwahnee (as posh as one can be in hiking shorts and Tevas) before finally surrendering and returning the demands of the "real world" beyond the park's borders.
(Or, What Had Me Laughing and Bopping to the Beat Yesterday Morning)
Song on my mind... "Spring Love" by Stevie B
Springtime love is on my mind and I won't forget
The way we shared, the way we cared and I don't regret
When I heard this song, I had sudden flashbacks to artists like Jocelyn Enriquez ("Do You Miss Me?"), Angelina ("Release Me"), and Linear ("Sending All My Love") and a time when I listened to radio stations like Hot 97.7 and Wild 94.9 to hear something upbeat and repetitive. Freestyle was good studying music.
For your Friday enjoyment, here is the "Spring Love" music video I found on YouTube...
It took a day longer than expected, but smoke from the Lick Fire finally filled the sky yesterday. The sun was a beautiful shade of red-orange (not to be mistaken with orange-red) and the grayish haze gave the south valley an eerie look.
Thankfully, the smell of smoke was faint, unlike the heavily scented haze of the Angora Fire I hiked through in Tahoe not so long ago.
This morning, the sun was a fiery shade of red. Unfortunately, I didn't have my trusty camera with me to photograph it.
According to the news, the nearby fire wasn't the only reason for the pretty color show poor air quality. An 18,500-acre blaze burning in Plumas National Forest, known as the Moonlight Fire, was also a contributor.
The local newspaper reported that the fire in and around Henry Coe grew to nearly 19,000 acres overnight. Authorities claim the blaze is still 25 percent contained, the same percentage as last night, when the fire was "only" 14,000 acres.
The claim doesn't make sense to me. It would seem logical that the percentage would drop if the fire grew rapidly or jumped firelines (as it did last night). Note to self: research the method used to measure fire containment.
The article also said investigators determined the cause of the fire...
"Authorities said Wednesday that the Lick Fire was started by careless behavior at a private hunting camp near a spot called Booze Lake, just outside the state park boundary. They said someone was burning something in a barrel and the flames got out of control."
Cal-Fire's site simply states the cause as "Human", which is the polite way of saying "Idiot".
Update: For people wanting more in-depth and current information on the Moonlight Fire, check out InciWeb, a neat "interagency wildland fire incident information management system". They provide announcements, news, photographs, and maps of fires across the country, including this large one showing Moonlight's boundaries.
B and I were on the road to Aptos before 8 a.m. on Sunday morning. Traffic on Hecker Pass and Highway 1 was light. The entrance to Forest of Nisene Marks State Park is less than a mile from the freeway exit (coincidentally named State Park Drive).
The park is a haven for mountain bikers and runners, most of whom park their vehicles outside the entrance to avoid the six-dollar day use fee. Since we intended to start from George's Picnic Area, nearly two miles beyond the entrance, we paid to park.
The plan was to see the park's two waterfalls: Five Finger Falls and Maple Falls. We planned to hike the Aptos Creek Fire Road until we reached the Aptos Creek Trail, where we would make a quick detour to see the epicenter of the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. Due to a landslide last winter, the trail is closed beyond that point, so we planned to backtrack to the fire road and take the White Lagoon Road-Big Slide Trail to reach Five Finger Falls. From there, we would backtrack to Miller Pond Trail, cross the creek, and head north on Bridge Creek Trail until we reached Maple Falls.
It sounded good, which is why it was doomed to fail.
We had no trouble sauntering up the fire road. It's wide, well-traveled, and paved.
Beyond the gate at the Porter Family Picnic Area, the roads narrows and the pavement disappears. On this stretch, mountain bikers dominate. We saw a few determined runners, but no other hikers.
Redwood trees towered above us, providing a canopy of shade and keeping the temperature cool. Highs were expected to be in the low to mid eighties. With the exception of a few sunny spots, it never felt that hot.
According to the interpretive sign at the Loma Prieta Mill Site (elev. 320), the forest was heavily logged from the 1880s through the 1920s, so we were actually hiking through a second-growth forest and what once was a town of 400 loggers and their families. Today, there's almost no evidence that the community ever existed.
We made several stops along the fire road, taking photos of the creek and coastal redwoods.
After ninety minutes of steady climbing, we reached the trail head of the Aptos Creek Trail. We immediately crossed the creek and followed a winding path to the sign memorializing the magnitude 7.1 earthquake that shook California on October 17, 1989.
As we made our way back along the weaving and twisting trail to the fire road, I mentioned to B that for a straight line drawn on the map, the trail was awfully curvy. Instead of joking about it, I should have taken it as a warning.
We returned to the fire road and climbed a number of switchbacks until we reached what the map called the Top of the Incline (elev. 962). From the so-called top of the incline, the road continued to climb.
We reached the White Lagoon Road junction easily. According to the map, the Big Slide Trail clearly splits from the road. According to reality, the split isn't so clear. We followed what we believed to be the split until we reached a sign that gave no indication as to our location, but made it blatantly clear that no bikes were allowed.
From there, the trail became a steep, single-track path. It crossed ditches and hills and wound around trees. It dipped and banked and disappeared in places; the only hint of a trail being a strategically tied ribbon on a tree branch. Along the way, we encountered a mountain biker riding in the opposite direction, obviously ignoring the park's signage.
It took an hour to hike the 1.3-mile trail shown on the map. When we reached the junction, instead of finding the Aptos Creek Trail, we discovered a fire road and a trail sign identical to the one we had seen earlier. It was apparent we had taken a wrong turn somewhere.
From what I can piece together, somewhere along the Big Slide Trail, we accidentally strayed onto an unmapped bike trail and looped back to the Aptos Creek Fire Road. We had managed to hike a circuitous three-mile route to a point two miles north and 700 feet above where we had started.
At the time, we didn't know where we were, so we chose to hike down the road until we either came across a sign or a person. Twenty minutes later, we had seen neither. Instead, we stumbled upon an amazing view of Monterey Bay. We could see all the way from Moss Landing to Santa Cruz.
Around the next bend, we came across three mountain bikers resting. I was pretty sure where we were, but to be safe, I pointed at the map and asked, "Would this be Sand Point Overlook?"
One of the cyclists smirked and said, "Those are some powerful map skills you have there."
It took me a few minutes to appreciate his remark and the humor of the situation. I suppose that when I lost my sense of direction, I lost my sense of humor, too.
Anyway, the revised plan was to take the Hinckley Basin Fire Road to West Ridge Trail, connect to Big Stump Gap Trail, and hike to Maple Falls via the Loma Prieta Grade. It would be a three-mile detour, but we would at least see one waterfall.
We made it to Hoffman's Historic Site (at the Loma Prieta Grade Junction), but like the building we beheld, our drive to see the waterfall had collapsed into a heap of detritus.
It was after two in the afternoon and the prospect of more climbing didn't sound appealing enough to attempt, so we admitted defeat and hiked back to George's Picnic Area.
On my way down, I swore I would return to the Forest of Nisene Marks to see the original plan through and reach the two elusive waterfalls. Next time, no landslide, unmapped trail, or incline is going to stop me.
I leave you with my favorite photo from the hike. It isn't very good, but I like it.
Saturday - Monterey Bay Aquarium. Crazy busy. Otters, white shark, and jellyfish (listed in descending order of cuteness). Chocolate ice cream from Ghirardelli. Breakfast at Denny’s for dinner. Sunday - Forest of Nisene Marks. Runner, mountain biker, and redwood haven. 16-mile hike + unmapped trail + poor directional skills = 0 waterfalls seen. Excellent views of Monterey Bay. Warrants another visit. Monday - Breakfast at Alexi’s for lunch. Helped folks assemble patio gazebo. One-hour hypothetical project = Four-hour actual project. All Weekend - Played LEGO Star Wars II: The Original Trilogy. My favorite characters: Han Solo and Greedo. [Photos forthcoming.]
It was just after two o'clock yesterday afternoon when I first saw the plume of smoke in the eastern hills. I was in San Jose at the time. From where I stood, it looked as though the fire was somewhere between San Jose and Morgan Hill.
It's funny how distance plays tricks on one's eyes. As I traveled south on 101 yesterday evening, the smoke seemed to travel with me. By the time I got home, the fire appeared to be in Henry Coe State Park.
People in the neighborhood were congregated at street corners. I didn't join any of them, but I imagine most folks were conjecturing about what started the blaze, how big the fire was or would, or how many firefighters were responding. Perhaps a few were relating how they knew somebody who lived on one of the many pieces of private land surrounding the park.
As I took this photo, I wondered if the fire was burning through areas I hiked back in May, charring the landscape I had ventured through and photographed. (I could have sworn I wrote a trip report about my hike to Mt. Sizer, but apparently I didn't.)
According to the Mercury News, the Lick Fire (named after Lick Observatory, which is ten miles north of the fire) has burned more than 3,000 acres of brush and vegetation in and around Henry Coe State Park, near Booze Lake and Mt. Sizer. One would think they would call it the Henry Coe Fire or the Booze Fire for geographic accuracy, but that might make too much sense.
No fatalities have been reported and only one "out building" has been lost, but the fire is still zero percent contained, which means plenty of land will burn before it's through. I'm hoping the wind and weather will cooperate so firefighters can get a handle on the blaze.
Update: For the latest news and statistics on the fire straight from the source, check out Cal-Fire's Incident Information Page.
