Travels Continued 15

 
MONDAY, MARCH 21, 2022  
Bog Skiing

As I mentioned a couple of travel posts ago, it may have been a great year for long-distance ice skating, but it has been a terrible winter for cross-country skiing—Stockholm hasn’t had a single skiable day all winter.  We’ve actually had snow on the ground for a lot of the winter, which is pretty unusual in these globally warmed days, but there’s never been more than a couple of inches at a time.  While we did get to cross-country ski two days while visiting our friends in Värmland over New Year’s, we just hadn’t gotten our fill for the year so last week, we booked a last-minute rental car and hostel room and drove 4.5 hours northwest to Orsa Grönklitt in the province of Dalarna.  

Carl and I went cross-skiing in Orsa a few years ago and while we generally don’t tend to repeat places, Orsa was the closest good cross-country skiing to Stockholm according to the snow report.  We didn’t feel like driving much further just for a weekend, so Orsa it was.

Orsa's cross-country trail map

 
And despite the repeat, we had an absolutely fantastic weekend of cross-country skiing.  Not being in good cross-country shape and in order to experience new-to-us areas of the resort, we chose a few different trails around different bogs.  It turns out that I love skiing on and around bogs—the trails are flat, the views are open, and you get varied terrain in the forest and out in the open. 

One of the trails at the edge of the bog and me loving the bog and the sun

The fabulousness of the weekend was augmented by fabulous weather.  It was sunny nearly the entire weekend making for sparkling snow and dramatic views.  We even had reason to wear sun glasses two days in a row, not a common occurrence in wintry Sweden to say the least.  There was a breeze, but no strong winds.  The temperatures were not too cold and not too warm.  The snow was perfect for skiing—not at all icy and not too melty.  It was perfect, end-of-winter weather for lazing about in the sun, and we took full advantage with three long breaks—morning fika, lunch, and afternoon fika—both days.  We stomped down the snow, sat on our skis, and enjoyed the sun for an hour or more at each break.  It was glorious.

Despite our long breaks, we almost reached our record for cross-country skiing distance.  Our record is 28 kilometers in one day we skied 25 kilometers (15.5 miles) on both Saturday and Sunday.  Carl and my distance record is not very impressive compared to most Swedes’ (the 90 kilometer-long Vasaloppet, the world’s largest cross-country ski race, took place the same weekend just a few towns away) but we’re pretty pleased with ourselves anyway.  My body, however, was maybe a little less pleased as I came home with a cold and with sore muscles that made it hard to walk for days.

Carl and I ski ski skiing

 
Our weekend in Orsa was almost definitely our last cross-country mileage for the season, sniff sniff!  But at least we do have a tour-skiing adventure in our near future to look forward to, so it’s not time to be depressed about the end of winter fun quite yet.  

We are ski twinsies.

  
SATURDAY, MARCH 12, 2022  
Val d'Isere On and Off-Piste

Carl and I are recently back from a week of skiing in the French Alps at Val d’Isere.  As usual, we traveled with UCPA which is a relatively inexpensive, very sport-oriented all-inclusive organization.  We’re otherwise not all-inclusive people, but you can’t beat UCPA’s price for a week of off-piste skiing with a guide!  This year we traveled with our friend Jessica who has also accompanied us on several other ski adventures to Chamonix, Serre Chevalier, Argentiere, and Flaine (as well as kayaking and hiking adventures too!).

 
We chose Val d’Isere simply because it was UCPA’s only destination with double rooms (most of their rooms are hostel-style with bunkbeds sleeping 4-8 people) that we hadn’t been to before.  While we have been to Tignes, 

Skiing into Tignes from Val d'Isere

the adjacent and connected resort, the trail system is so vast that we only ventured into Val d’ Isere one day, so this time, we explored the Val d’Isere side more-or-less from scratch.

The UCPA center and drying ski clothes in our tiny room.

We arrived in the middle of the night but were up early the next day to maximize the ski day.  The day dawned sunny with clear views of all the surrounding peaks.  There were so few people out on the slopes that it almost felt like we had the whole resort to ourselves.  We skied and skied and skied, laughing and singing with joy at the marvelousness of it all.  We ate lunch in the sun on the slopes and ended the day with a hot chocolate on the mountain.  

It snowed the whole night, but by lunch the next day, the weather had cleared for more sun and beautiful views.  The snowstorm meant that we spent our first day of off-piste skiing in about a foot of fresh powder which was so much fun.  While I am improving with every trip, I still haven’t quite gotten the technique down for off-piste skiing and my bad technique means that I exhaust myself on every run.  I know exactly what I need to do differently, and I am getting there, but my improvement is much slower than I would have hoped.   

By the end of the second day of off-piste skiing, I was utterly exhausted.  And by the end of the third day, I could literally almost not ski at all because my legs were so tired.  By that point, I had to give up on the off-piste skiing and join an on-piste group.  Disappointing, but my legs just couldn’t take any more!

Carl was also exhausted but his form is so much better than mine and he managed to stay in his advanced off-piste group through to the very end.  His group was a bit crazier than mine—while we skied similar terrain, Carl’s group did more climbing to access runs while my group did only a very limited amount of walking.  Carl is also much better about taking photos while off-piste skiing, probably because he isn’t quite as out of breath as I am, so almost all the off-piste photos are from his group.

 

Almost the entire rest of the week continued being amazingly sunny with amazingly clear views of the surrounding peaks.  On our last day, however, a bank of clouds moved in creating a total white out.  On the piste, I literally had to ski from one pole marking the side of the piste to the next as I couldn’t see more than one pole at a time.  The white out lasted for a couple of hours but then the sky started to clear, and the resulting play of clouds around the peaks was incredibly atmospheric and beautiful.  

Unlike most of France’s purpose-built resorts, Val d’Isere was an actual village before the advent of ski-tourism, and the village center still features a number of historic buildings and the original medieval street network of winding alleyways.  

Most modern development has been restrained in scale and the village must have some rock-solid zoning ordinances (pun originally not intended, ha!) because all of the modern buildings still use heavy timber and stone and even have slate roofs.

A newer building in the village

In celebration of the beginning of France’s spring break period, the resort sponsored quite a beautiful, moving show one evening.  First, all of the village’s 160-odd ski instructors (including UCPA’s guides) paraded down the resort’s world-cup black slope into the village while holding torches.  Even though they were skiing slowly and zig-zagging down the slope, it was still really impressive that they could hold the formation while skiing in the dark and on an ungroomed black run.  The end of the parade was marked by an explosion of fireworks, and the fireworks show went on and on and on.  I knew there would be fireworks, but I wasn’t expecting anything on this level as the fireworks just continued and continued and continued.  It was one of the most impressive fireworks displays I have ever seen, and by the end, I was getting a little teary in gratitude that I got to experience such an amazing sight in such an amazing place.    

 

We ate most of our meals at the UCPA center where the meals, with the exception of the cheese buffet, are less inspiring, but on the last night, Carl, Jessica and I booked a table at a nearby traditional restaurant and enjoyed a meal of oozy, gooey cheese and house white wine.  I’ve never had raclette before, and it was so fun and tasty!  Despite being ridiculously full after eating all of that cheese, we managed to squeeze in a small desert and shared Génépi  (a liquor distilled with mountain herbs) ice cream.

 
I really liked Val d’ Isere.  Like most French ski resorts, the terrain is practically never-ending and the skiing amazing.  The Alp peak views are likewise impressive and breathtaking.  A bonus is that while you don’t usually have to take a ski bus, there are convenient buses running literally every five minutes which helps to get to far flung areas of the resort quickly.  But Val d’ Isere combines all of that with a charming, walkable village as well as a laid-back vibe.  I can definitely see us returning, some day, with or without UCPA.  

Carl skiing.  No pictures of me skiing this year :(

 
On the flight home from Geneva, we were treated to clear views of the Swiss Alps.  So sad to leave these beautiful mountains!

   
SATURDAY, JANUARY 29, 2022  
Long-Distance Ice Skating on Pråmleden

Before I write about our most recent weekend adventure, I’m going to write a little about long-distance ice skating in general.  It’s definitely not something I was aware of before moving to Sweden.  I recently googled it, and long-distance ice skating seems to have originated in Scandinavia and hasn’t really become a thing anywhere else, except Holland where long-distance ice skating on canals was a big thing until global warming got in the way.  Now the Dutch travel to Sweden for their yearly ice-skating kick, much like Swedes travel to the Alps for their yearly downhill skiing fix.  It makes sense that it’s not a big thing in, say, Malaysia, but why not Minnesota or Canada?  

I’m guessing it has to do with a) it takes an obsessed soul to make it a thing and b) insurance.  While the hard-core long-distance ice skaters skate on the water right after it has frozen and before it gets covered with snow, that really limits the ice-skating season.  Here in Sweden, a combination of municipalities and volunteers plow long-distance ice skating trails on the lakes so that it’s possible to enjoy the sport even after it has started snowing.  Even if the ice has to be thick enough to hold a snow plow which really minimizes the risk of someone falling through the ice and drowning, it’s hard to imagine an American municipality taking the risk of inviting its citizens out onto the ice, and it’s even harder to imagine a private citizen taking that risk given the American lawsuit culture.  Which is unfortunate, because long-distance ice skating is really, really cool!

Even with the plowing, long-distance ice skating is a finicky sport.  The ice has to be Goldilocks perfect.  If it’s windy when the ice sets, the surface will be wavy instead of mirror smooth.  If the snow is wet when it lands on the ice, it binds with the ice making a rough surface.  Depending on circumstances, the plow blades may or may not be able to smooth the ice again.  If the snow melts after falling and then re-freezes, double ice can form where there’s an air pocket between ice layers.  The upper layer isn’t usually thick enough to hold so you fall through the top layer to the more solid layer below, making for terrible ice skating.  The thicker the ice gets, the more it cracks, so after a couple of months of cold weather, the ice can be too cracked for pleasurable skating.  And as people skate on the ice, their poles dig up small chunks of ice, and after a while the ice gets too divoted for good skating.  

Left: silky smooth ice.  The various formations of air bubbles in the ice are pretty fascinating!  Right: Bumpy ice under the double ice--terrible ice skating!  Different kinds of ice are often found on the same lake.

 
Despite all this, long-distance ice skating is a popular sport in Sweden, probably because it is a good foil for cross-country skiing.  Years with lots of snow and good cross-country skiing tend to be bad years for ice skating, but years with a scarcity of snow tend to be good years for ice skating.  Last winter was our best cross-country skiing winter yet, but we didn’t ice skate at all.  This winter we’ve had snow on the ground for much of the winter though never enough for skiing, but we’ve done a record amount of long-distance ice skating.  

My relationship to long-distance ice skating has been a shaky one until this year.  First of all, it is really hard to get over my fear of falling through the ice and not being able to get back up.  Despite knowing that a snow plow made it across the ice, I am still instinctively afraid.  Secondly, long-distance ice skating absolutely kills my feet.  It’s not the boots, it’s just that the muscles in my feet get so tense from the delicate balancing act that sometimes I’m nearly in tears with pain.  Being afraid of the ice doesn’t exactly help my feet to relax, either.  Long-distance ice skates also requires a totally different technique than regular ice skates, and my ingrained muscle memory for skating in figure skates makes it difficult to transition.  But really, I think the biggest problem has been the short ice-skating season.  Most years, we go ice skating once or twice, and just when I and my feet are starting to get adjusted, the season ends.  I’ve never gotten over the threshold to actually enjoy long-distance ice skating, however much I’ve wanted to.  Until now! 

This year we were able to go long distance ice-skating on several plowed lakes around Stockholm.  One Sunday we even did a little “tour”, skating on one body of water (Edsviken, the first time I’ve ice skated on salt water!), walking about a kilometer over land to the next body of water, and then skating the entire next lake Brunnsviken.  That tour was 22 kilometers (13.5 miles) long, by far the longest distance I have ever covered on ice skates.

I'm on the left and Carl's on the right.  We're ice skating on Edsviken in Stockholm, Carl with Ulriksdal Palace in the background.

 
So now to our trip:  Most years, because we know the cross-country skiing isn’t reliable in Stockholm, we book a weekend trip a few hours north for a cross-country fix.  This year we booked a room at Högbo Bruk (a historic ironworks) which is known for its cross-country ski trails, but since there is practically no snow this year, we needed to either cancel or find something else to occupy the weekend.  A quick glance at our Sweden-to-do map revealed that Pråmleden, or the “Barge Trail”, was nearby.  

 
Historically, this particular area of Sweden was home to hundreds (maybe even thousands?) of small and large ironworks.  The area also features an almost endless network of stream and lake systems which made transporting both raw materials and the finished product easier.  Pråmleden is on one such lake system that used to be trafficked by barges.  In the summer, it’s a popular canoe route, and in the winter, three of the lakes in the system are plowed making a 21 kilometer path on the ice (plus a little less than a kilometer of walking distance between lakes) from start to finish.

Most of the snow on the lake had melted and all that remained were the plowed walls alongside the ice-skating trail.

 
On Saturday, we started at the north end and made our way southward.  For the most part, the ice on the first lake was mirror smooth.  We decided that if “corduroy” is the desirable downhill ski snow texture, then “velvet” or “silk” ice was the perfect kind of mirror-smooth ice for ice skating.  It took me a few minutes to convince my feet that skating was a good idea, but soon enough we were swooshing along at a pretty good speed.  The first lake is about 6 kilometers long, and then you have to get off the ice and walk about half a kilometer to the next lake.  The lakes are connected by a stream, but the fall between the lakes means that the stream is usually not skateable.  We enjoyed a quick fika break before putting our skates back on. 

  
The second lake was almost as velvety as the first lake, and after another 6 kilometers we reached the end of that stage of the trail.  The small historic ironworks of Silfhytte was right at the end of the second lake.  We walked around a bit looking at the slag stone buildings and the lock between lakes before strapping our skates on again.

The remains of Silfhytte, a small historic ironworks.

The third lake is the longest at 9 kilometers.  We were already going to break our distance record, so we didn’t feel like we should push it and skate the entire third lake.  We stopped at a small island after about 3 or 4 kilometers and ate our picnic lunch before turning around and retracing our route back toward our rental car.  In the middle of the middle lake, we stopped on an even tinier island for a chocolate break.  

Tiny island.

 
By the time we got back to the first lake, we realized that we probably could have skated the entire Pråmleden and back without too much trouble.  Since we had extra daylight and some extra energy, we tacked on a couple of side loops to our carward journey.  By the end of the day, we had skated 35 kilometers (22 miles)!  We were pretty excited to have skated so far, and I was so thankful to have finally, finally crossed the threshold from hesitant to strong long-distance ice skater.  

Me skating the Pråmleden "Barge Trail"

Back at our room, we showered and napped an hour before heading out again to dinner.  The restaurant at Högbo Bruk was unfortunately fully booked, so we made our way to the nearest town where we had a reservation at The Church.  The restaurant’s menu wasn’t super creative but the food was good and dining in an old church was super atmospheric, even if I would have chosen a different interior decoration style.

We debated the options but Saturday’s ice skating had been so fantastic that we decided to repeat the experience on Sunday, this time starting on the opposite end of the trail that we hadn’t gotten to the day before.  When we got onto the ice, a car drove onto the ice!  There are official department of transportation ice roads in the north of Sweden, but this one was not an official road.  I guess it was a local taking a shortcut.  Over the course of the day we saw a couple of other cars shortcutting on the ice.  Kinda crazy! 

Yes, that is a car on the ice.

I was thinking that my legs would be up for maybe 15 kilometers of skating after our long day the day before, but after a leisurely start, the skating felt really good.  Sunday evolved into a gorgeous sunny day which also helped our energy levels, and before we knew it, we had completed the 9 kilometers of the southernmost lake.  We crossed over to the middle lake and again, we were at the end of that 6 kilometer stage seemingly within seconds.  We stopped at another tiny island for fika in the sun before finishing the middle lake and continuing on to the third lake.  

Me skating on Pråmleden, in the sun!

 
By this time I was starting to feel a bit tired, but the skating was feeling so easy and we were “almost” to the end of the trail and I really wanted to keep going.  Carl was feeling about the same way, so we decided to be crazy and go for completing the entire trail in one day.  This is not a big feat for an experienced long-distance ice skater, but for us, we’d be breaking our distance record yet again.

Carl skating Pråmleden.

 
We made it to the end of the trail without much ado and turned around again.  Close to the end of the first lake, we stopped on yet another small island for lunch in the sun.  Soon we were on the second lake, but the sun had set behind the trees.  At the end of the lake we would have liked to stop for another fika break, but the light was fading so we needed to keep moving.  We were still feeling good, tired, but good.  But the dusky light made skating a little bit more difficult, and I missed a crack in the bad light.  My skate caught in the crack and I crashed onto the ice.  Luckily, I didn’t really hurt myself and I was soon up and skating again.  During our race back to the car before dark, I missed another crack and almost fell again, but I was able to clumsily save myself from falling.  By the time we got to the car, we were pretty ready to be done, though jubilant at having skated 42 kilometers (26 miles) in one day!

Finishing at dusk.

  
The southern terminus of Pråmleden is at Stjärnsund, a relatively large ironworks that looks very, very charming.  In planning a shorter day of skating, I had hoped to explore the historic village, but alas, our ice-skating frenzy took over those plans.  Stjärnsund is something to look forward to another day, especially after my boss mentioned that her wedding was in Stjärnsund and that it is a wonderful, charming little place.  Maybe a summer trip is in order, there certainly is a never-ending supply of interesting historical sites in the area, not to mention the Pråmleden canoe trail!
 
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26, 2022  
White Christmas, White New Year's, and White Epiphany

This year, we lucked out with a white Christmas, a white New Year’s, and a white Epiphany.  Carl and I took a longer three-week vacation from work despite having no big trip planned.  We did have some quiet time in Stockholm, but after five blissful, unplanned days, we began our mini tour of white Sweden and  took the ferry to Gotland to spend Christmas with Carl’s parents and aunt. 

  

On Gotland, at Christmas, the emphasis was on food.  To Swedes, Christmas dinner is as loaded with special dishes and food traditions as Thanksgiving is to Americans.  And on top of that, Carl’s parents have developed a three-night long feasting tradition where the traditional Christmas smörgåsbord is enjoyed on the 23rd (known as Little Christmas), lobster is enjoyed on the 24th, and a feast of wild game (this year was deer) on the 25th.  All of these meals were delicious, not that I would have expected anything less from Carl’s talented mom!

Not food :)  A traditional Gotland house and Carl walking in the forest below his parents' house.

 
When not eating, we did a lot of walking and enjoying of the white fluff.  Despite being so near the Arctic Circle, a white Christmas is by no means guaranteed so we enjoyed it to the fullest.  I had never seen the Visby ring wall in the snow, so on Christmas Eve, we walked through the blasting wind to see the towers.  

Christmas Day found us walking in the Hall-Hangvars nature reserve, first through a beautiful forest and eventually down to the water and a small historic fishing community.  

And on the 26th, we walked a loop on the beach by Carl’s parents house before lunch and then in the cliffside Södra Hallarna nature reserve in the afternoon.

It wouldn’t be a trip to Gotland without stopping in a few medieval churches, and on Christmas Day, we made the rounds to a few nearby churches.  As usual, I was taken by the camel-like form of Lummelunda Church as well as by the grandeur of Stenkyrkas tower.  

Left: Lummelunda Church. Right: Stenkyrka Church

But I was most impressed by the exterior portal carvings at Martebo which portray Jesus’s life.  I find it interesting that his crucifixion is portrayed so much smaller than the devil and alligator threatening from the opposite side of the portal.  (I don't remember an alligator in the New Testement?!?)  These sculptures even have remnants of their medieval painting.

Martebo Church

 
After four lovely days on beautiful Gotland, we took the ferry home and prepared for our next little trip.  

Goodbye Gotland!

We rented a car and packed it completely full with winter toys and cat supplies and then drove with Gordon about six hours northwest to the province of Värmland.  

Driving through Värmland

I have never been in Värmland before so now I can check another province off my list!  We drove to the tiny town of Sysslebäck which is very close to the Norwegian border where our friend Ulrika greeted at beginning of the driveway with a glowing candle.  Patrik and Ulrika have more or less moved to a farmhouse on a narrow sliver of land that has been in Ulrika’s family for generations.  The house had been used every now and then for a week in the summers, but it has been more-or-less uninhabited for decades, so it has been a lot of work for P&U to make it livable.  But now it is clean and cozy with a newly installed woodstove.

Värmland is usually significantly colder than Stockholm, and while there wasn’t copious quantities of snow, they did have just enough for a couple of the cross-country skiing trails and many of the downhill runs to open (I think there was a good bit of snow-making involved in both!).  Långberget is a well-known cross-country skiing destination and is just a few miles uphill from P&U’s place.  We spent two great days skiing the trails.  The first day was cloudy and foggy and the trails were atmospherically gloomy, 

Cross-country skiing at Långberget in the fog.  Thank you to Ulrika for the photo of Carl and I on the right!

but we had bright sunshine and beautiful views on the second day.  “Bright sunshine” at Christmastime has to be taken with a pinch of salt, considering that the sun is so low in the sky that it rarely makes it above the treetops.  Even so, the sparkling weather made for a very beautiful day.

Cross-country skiing at Långberget in the sun

 

We celebrated New Year’s Eve with a feast of sous vide moose and delicious deep wine.  Closer to midnight, we moved outside to enjoy a bonfire in the snow.  Sitting on reindeer skins and clad in our warmest clothes, not to mention fueled by a good deal of champagne, we sat out in the snow and under the stars for two hours!  Midnight came and went with a smattering of local fireworks, and we continued to talk and relish the fiery winter wonderland.  It was a magical beginning to the new year.

No cooler needed if you have snow!

 

Our late night and champagne consumption meant that we were a little slow getting moving the next day, but Carl and I made it onto Branäs’s slopes by around 10am.  Patrik and Ulrika came a little later.  It was a cold day, it had been a while since any of us had skied, and none of us were in top form, so it took a while for us to get back into the flow of downhill skiing.  But once we got going, Carl and I didn’t want to stop!  

View from the slopes at Branäs.  Thank you again Ulrika for the photos!

Patrik and Ulrika, who have the luxury of living a few miles from a ski resort and having season passes, left for a late lunch and a bit of couch recovery, but Carl and I skied until dark.  By that point, we were absolutely famished so we stopped for burgers on the way back to the house.  Not just any burgers, but a moose burger and a boar burger, so, so tasty!

 
On our last day in Sysslebäck, we went out for a wintery walk in the woods.  The snow was deeper than any of us expected so the walk ended up being a bit more exercise than we first had bargained for.  But it was so beautiful in the trees and by the river.  

Patrik was exhausted from walking through the snow!

Our stay culminated with an evening sauna by the river.  We sat in the sauna chatting for a couple of hours, but the heat was alternated with frigid dunks in the Klarälven river.  Carl and Ulrika completely submerged themselves in the river repeatedly, but I didn’t quite get all the way in.  The others even managed to walk barefoot in the snow between the sauna and the water, but my feet were in so much pain after trying it once that I had to use sandals afterwards.  Despite being a bit of wimp in comparison, it was yet another magical evening that I won’t forget.

Me emerging from the river.  Thank you Ulrika for the photo!

The next day, we left Gordon behind with P&U 

Gordon was a bit depressed when we left him behind, but he quickly recovered and enjoyed napping on Ulrika's fuzzy electric blanket, on a reindeer skin, and by the fire.  More photos from Ulrika.

and drove about 3 hours further north 

Snowy drive to Fulufjället

to Fulufjället National Park where we tour skied a loop, tenting in the snow along the way.  Given the extremely short days, there wasn’t enough daylight to ski very far.  Our longest day was 14 kilometers, but the other 3 days were considerably shorter.  We may not have gotten a ton of skiing in, but snuggling in a cloud of down in the tent was very cozy and we enjoyed the quiet downtime reading through the long evenings.  

Getting started just below treeline and camping the first night at treeline.

The park consists of one low mountain that doesn’t really have a peak.  Instead, the mountain is a large, relatively flat plateau dotted by lakes.  

Fulufjället's plateau as seen from a frozen bog below.

Treeline is at the edge of the plateau, and while there is some low growth of trees and bushes trying their luck a bit higher, most of the plateau is a windy white wonderland.  

 

Unfortunately, we didn’t have great weather at the start of the loop, so we weren’t able to see much of our surroundings.  But the last day was much clearer and we were able to get a feel for the plateau.  

The low low sun of Dalarna in the winter.  The photo on the right was taken close to high noon.

I think that Fulufjället would be a lovely place to while away a summer week—I can just imagine lying in the grass beside a lonely little lake, warmed by the sun.  Such dreams always leave out the realities of droves of mosquitos and lashing rain, but one can dream, right?

We tented two of the three nights, but the middle night we decided to cheat and stay at a little backcountry cabin.  We approached at dusk so we were pretty sure that no one else would show up with reservations.  Unfortunately, it turned out that the cabin was officially closed due to Covid, so the park hasn’t stocked up the cabin with firewood.  There was a small bundle of wood, but we left it in case someone else was in an emergency situation.  Despite the lack of warmth and crackle, we had a cozy evening in the cute little cabin, and it was a nice reprieve from the wind—it was quite windy the entire time we were out skiing (although we have definitely been out in worse wind before).

There was just enough snow to ski on, but we discovered that the snow hadn’t quite covered some of the creeks.  One snow bridge across one creek lasted just long enough for us to cross, but then it completely collapsed after us.  It would have been cold if we had fallen in that creek, but it wasn’t a big enough creek to constitute a real threat—the water wasn’t particularly deep or moving particularly quickly.  So while we could see that the snow bridge was a bit thinner than desirable, we took the risk and lucked out.  A while later, in an area that we really hadn’t expected a creek, I began to slide backwards.  It turned out that Carl, who passed first, had collapsed a snow bridge over an invisible creek.  I slid backwards into the creek, but was able to climb out before I got wet.  My skis got wet and icy, however, so we had to stop to scrape the ice from them before continuing on.  

Another consequence of the limited snow was having to navigate through acres of stones without tearing up our skis.  Slow going.

 
Our last night ended up being the coldest night we have yet experienced in our winter tent.  We didn’t have a thermometer so we don’t know exactly, but based on reports from nearby weather stations, it was probably about -15 degrees C (5 degrees F).  We could tell that it was chillier than we were used to and it took a little while for me to warm up in my sleeping bag, but we were both warm enough during the night.  Carl didn’t even have his sleeping bag all the way zipped!  On our last morning, we awoke to bright sunshine and clear views.  It was a bit sad to leave the trail just when we were able to see the surrounding landscape.  

Our last night's cold camp and heading back down into the trees on our way out.

 
The park is best known for its waterfall where a stream literally falls off the plateau.  Njupeskär is the highest waterfall in Sweden.  After we finished our tour-skiing loop, we did a little 4km day hike to see the ice fall.  It was pretty scenic, especially with the different colors of ice.  

Njupeskär Waterfall

 
We then drove back to Sysselbäck where Patrik and Ulrika welcomed us with hot showers, delicious moose pizza, and warm beds.  The next morning we re-packed the car with all of our adventure gear and the cat and drove back to Stockholm.  Gordon hates car rides and was a nervous wreck for the entire six-hour drive, so it was lucky that the weather and the roads were reasonably, if not totally, clear of snow and ice so that we could make decent time.  

Back in Stockholm we had two days to recuperate in front of the fire before climbing back into the hamster wheel of work and everyday life.  Our Christmas adventures were small and relatively local in scale, but they were lovely.  We had so much fun seeing friends and family, playing in the snow, and getting to do three different types of skiing, not to mention enjoying everything from the snowy beach to the snowy mountains.  Thank you to Ylva, Anders, Eva, Patrik, and Ulrika for everything!  

We love our touring skis and are so glad that we finally invested in our own!

 
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2021  
Möja

Carl and took the ferry out to the archipelago and spent the long weekend of All Saint’s camping on the large island of Möja.  When the ferry dropped us off Thursday night, it was dark.  We had scoped out possible tent sites with Google’s satellite map and it didn’t take us long to find a flat, moss-cushioned spot a bit off the trail despite the darkness.  

We spent Friday hiking and mushroom picking.  We “off-roaded” the first part of the hike and found tons and tons and tons of autumn chanterelles as well as a few other edible mushrooms.  

Once we joined the trail, our speed picked up and we didn’t see as many mushrooms, though I’m sure they were just off the path.  

Möja is large enough to have a few of inland freshwater lakes, and we had a quiet fika beside one of them.  We were out at the edge of the open Baltic water for only a brief period before the trail took us back into the forest, and we had lunch on the top of a granite knoll in the middle of the forest.  

The last few kilometers of the day were on Möja’s main road.  At 6 km long and 3 km wide, Möja is big enough that there are a few cars on the island.  There weren’t that many cars passing us, but there were a number of winterized golf carts, four wheelers, and WWII era motor bikes wizzing by.  

(Not only does Möja have a road and a few cars, but it is also one of the few islands to with enough permanent residents to support a year-round store.  Möja is also unique in still having a professional fishing crew—fishing used to be one of the main sources of income out in the archipelago but water pollution and over fishing meant that the Baltic has not been able to support many fishermen since the 1970’s.)  We were back at the tent just as it was getting dark, and we read for a couple of hours before making a simple pasta dinner.

Saturday was dedicated to exploring Möja’s small east coast villages.  

Each one has a different vibe, but they are all small, and most of them don’t have any commercial activity other than a lone restaurant.  We had fika on Berg’s dock 

and lunch at a tiny beach near Löka.  The day was unprecedentedly sunny for November, and we spent a good bit of time lazingin the sun, reading and drawing before heading on.  

In Ramsmora, we went to the tiny Roland Svensson Museum—he was an artist who spent every possible moment out in the archipelago documenting the landscape and the old-fashioned way of life.  He was curious about other more remote archipelagos such as the Shetland and Faroe islands.  His books inspired Carl and my trip to the Shetland Islands a few years back, and we have inherited a couple of his drawings and lithographs, so it was really interesting to see more of his work and to learn more about his life and his methods.

The major highlight of the trip ended up being Saturday night dinner at Jeppe’s.  We were two of fourteen diners that had booked a six course meal at the candle-lit restaurant that evening.  Three Michelin-rated Stockholm chefs were out in the archipelago guest-cooking at the tiny little shack of a  restaurant for the weekend, and the food was divine.  The meal was inspired by the traditional French kitchen but featured local Swedish ingredients like rose hips and elk.  Each course was perfectly paired with a wine—several from France, but there was an Italian Borolo and California bubbly as well.  The whole experience was such a memorable treat, and comparatively not all that expensive!    

It hasn’t gotten super cold in Stockholm yet, but it’s chilly enough that we took lots of warm clothes and sleeping bags.  With all of our fancy winter gear, we didn’t suffer from the cold at all.  However, we took an older tent, and when it started pouring early Sunday morning, the tent leaked.  Our sleeping bags and gear got wet enough that we would have been uncomfortable if we were staying longer, but we were heading out on Sunday, anyway, so it didn’t end up being a big deal.  We had hoped to do another hiking loop on Sunday and to take the evening ferry back into town, but it was still raining when we woke up, so we lounged in the tent snoozing and reading until it was time to pack up for the lunchtime boat back to Stockholm.  Gordon was certainly happy that we were home in time for a lazy evening in front of the fire!

It was a lovely weekend on Möja.  I was able to mentally disconnect from work and from life and to enjoy the moment.  It was great to be outside and to see a bit more of the archipelago.  And eating those mushrooms this week has been quite tasty! 

 
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 28, 2021  
Weekend in the Big Bog

Last last weekend, Carl and I met up with our Malmö friends Susanna and Johannes in Stora mosse nationalpark, or Big Bog National Park.  The park is toward the southern end of the Swedish peninsula and was a 4.5 hour drive from Stockholm (including an unusual amount of Friday night traffic).  While national parks in northern Sweden are ginormous, the parks in southern Sweden are quite modest in size, but modest is certainly bigger than nothing!  Stora Mosse has for example a grand total of 50 kilometers of trails, and over the weekend we hiked 30km (19 miles) of them.

 
Stora Mosse is a big bog.  Much of Sweden was bog at one point in time, but many of the bogs have been drained by digging extensive canals to channel the water away or reduced in size to create more viable farmland.  This occurred slowly throughout the millennia, but it was in the 1800’s and 1900’s that Sweden lost most of its bogs.  Even Stora Mosse was once much larger, and today only the most central part of the bog remains.  The bog is a part of a larger lake system and it drains at one end into a creek which flows to a lake.

 
The Big Bog is dotted by higher hummocks of dry land where trees can grow.  These hummocks are actually covered-over sand dunes left over from the time when the area was covered in a large lake, and there is also a ridge of sand cutting through the bog allowing a linear forest to grow.  Two of the larger hummocks were farmed, and there are two remaining farmhouses in the park.  Both are now unassuming hostels where you can book an extremely cheap room and get a key code over email.  You never meet the caretaker, and the farmhouses have no electricity, plumbing, or heating.  They are, however, abundantly charming with a wood stove in the kitchen that quickly boils water, a fireplace in the living room, wood stoves in the bedrooms, kerosene lamps, and lots of candles.  We stayed at Lövö, and the surrounding landscape was incredibly beautiful with the rolling pastures and giant oak trees.  Because of the rolling hills and the trees, you couldn’t see the bog from the farm despite being surrounded by it.  

The farmhouse/hostel at Lövö

 
Susanna and Johannes left their kiddos with Johannes’s parents for the weekend so that we could focus more on hiking than playing and splashing in the bogs.  On Saturday, we followed a trail through the forest along the sand ridge 

and eventually made our way out onto the bog itself.  The park’s 50km of trails must be at least half on bog bridges!  As always, I loved the wide open spaces.  It was not the dry, sunny day we had hoped for, but at least it didn’t pour down rain on us.  

 

We picked a few mushrooms including several coveted porcinis as well as some lingonberries along the way, but the trip’s most exciting foraging find were cranberries!  The cranberries were much larger than the commercial cranberries you buy in the US, but every bit as flavorful and tart.

Porcini, yum!  Cranberries, ym!

 
That night, we grilled out at the hostel and thankfully the rain held off while we were out cooking our moose and elk sausages.  Yum!

On Sunday, we explored in a different direction, and this time we were out on the bog for the vast majority of our hike.  The weather was sunnier and drier and the views across the autumn-colored bog were just beautiful.  At the end of the day, Susanna and Johannes had to hurry back to their kids, but Carl and I stayed a while longer and enjoyed a sunny afternoon fika out on the bog.  

 

Since we had a rental car, we stopped at Ikea on the way home to buy a bunch of candles, stocking up for the fall and winter.  We always intend to stop whenever we have a rental car, but we rarely have the energy for it.  Despite our stop, we even made it back to Stockholm in the nick of time to return the rental car before they closed—much easier than dealing with parking and returning the car before work on Monday morning.  

Thank you Susanna and Johannes for a beautiful, great weekend!  What a great suggestion to meet up at Stora Mosse!       
 
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2021  
Officially an Architect

I’ve always thought that you can’t be an official architect if you’ve never seen the Parthenon.  Even when I finally got my license in Texas, I didn’t feel like a 100% official architect.  But finally, I’ve seen the Parthenon, and now I feel like I can call myself an architect without the quotation marks.

The Parthenon and I in full tourist/Corona gear

 
Both Carl and I worked a lot of overtime this spring, and in the wonderful Swedish system, we were able to use the time for an extra week of vacation this fall.  Greece has been on our list for forever, but with our usual vacation cycle of July (too hot, too many tourists) and Christmas (rainy, mostly closed), we haven’t had much opportunity to make it to Greece.  

Random images: Greece is crawling with half-wild cats.  The sunny archeological sites are crawling with tortises.  And sometimes, the cats stalk the tortises.

 
We flew from Stockholm through Munich to Athens (with masks of course) and luckily didn’t have any problems with our European vaccine passports and getting into the country.  We spent the first half of the week in Athens  

Athens from the top of Lykavittos Hill

and stayed in an apartment just a few blocks from the historic center.

The apartment's bed had quite the view of the shower

I was expecting a chaotic city, but I was surprised at how relatively orderly and how European the city felt.  Yes, I know, Greece is in Europe, it’s even in the EU, but I was expecting much more of a middle-eastern chaotic flavor.  Athens was also much greener than I expected, with verdantly green squares and parks on hills offsetting the dense grid.  

However, the city is dirtier than many European cities, and it is just covered in graffiti, and there are an overwhelming number of abandoned buildings—some modern, but also heartbreakingly many that are of historic value.  

But on the other hand, the dirt and graffiti and abandonment somehow fade into the background of the city’s charm, which mostly stems from the enormous number of cafés, bars, and restaurants with beautiful outdoor seating amidst all the luscious greenery.      

Athens has so many layers of history, and so much vibrant contemporary culture, that you’d need months to really take it all in.  On this trip, we focused on ancient Greek archeological sites and museums.  The top highlight was of course the Acropolis.  We unknowingly timed our trip with European Heritage Days when archeological sites all across Europe have free entry, so we were able to climb up the Acropolis twice.  The first time was early in the morning when there were relatively few tourists.  And then again in the evening to experience the buildings in a different light and to watch the sun set from the heights.  

Parthenon at sunset

At this point in my touristing career, I’ve seen a good number of excavated Greek archeological sites.  Those were all in the provinces and there were Roman layers on top, but they were impressive due to the scale of how much there is to see: entire cities.  The Acropolis is just one zone of ancient Athens, and today there are really only three-ish buildings still standing-ish.  So here, it’s not the scale that is impressive, but the siting. 

The Acropolis from Filopappou Hill and from the Temple of Zeus (with Hadrian's Arch in the foreground)

It really doesn’t get any more dramatic than the sudden, steep outcropping of the Acropolis which is visible from much of the city, even from our apartment’s rooftop terrace! 

View of the Parthenon and the surrounding neighborhood from our apartment's rooftop terrace

In prehistoric times, the Acropolis was used as a fortress.  With time, it became a religious site.  There were several earlier temples that were destroyed by wars, and the Parthenon, 

the Erechtheion, 

the Propylaia, 

and the Temple of Athena Nike 

are just the most recent incarnation of the ancient Greek temples that have inhabited the Acropolis.  

 

They are also the culmination of a long, ever more refined building tradition and are thought of today as the most exquisite examples of ancient Greek architecture.  Just as the Greek language has been the basis of so much of our language today, these buildings have certainly been the basis of so much of (all of?) our architecture today.

After the Greek and Roman empires waned, the Parthenon was used as a church.  And later, when the Ottomans conquered Greece, it was turned into a mosque, the Erechtheion was used as a harem, and the Acropolis was again used as a fortress.  The Parthenon was basically intact until 1687 when a canon fired by attacking Venetians exploded the gunpowder that the Ottomans had stored in the building.  And then Lord Elgin brutally plundered the temple’s remaining sculptures, sawed them up into packable chunks, and shipped them off to England in the early 1800’s.  It’s so heartbreaking that the building survived for 2000 years and that it’s really just in modern times that it has become a ruin.  Even so, the assemblage of white marble buildings up on that high plateau does not fail to impress.    

 
In architecture history class we studied the Acropolis’ processional path and the siting of the various buildings.  But it wasn’t until I visited that I really understood how powerful the processional path and the non-rectilinear siting are.  While the buildings themselves are perfectly square, they are not perpendicular or parallel to each other and instead are at angles to each other.  There are no obvious alignments or symmetries in the site planning, and I, like every architect before me, am so curious about how and why the buildings are situated as they are.  

I was also intrigued by the sheer scale of the earthworks involved in building the Acropolis and its buildings.  The Acropolis with its sheer sides was already a natural barrier, but the cliffs have been supplemented by extremely tall walls, some of which are 3500 years old.  In addition to providing added protection, the walls also serve as foundations creating a level surface for the buildings to sit upon.  One corner of the Parthenon is supported by at least 50 feet of man-made stone foundation atop the living rock.  The Acropolis looks fairly flat on top, but it’s a manmade illusion.  I’ve always associated such astounding earthworks with ancient American builders, but apparently the Greeks were shaping their land, too.  

Acropolis walls

Another impressive building was the Temple of Hephaistos in the Ancient Agora because it is so well intact.  While the Parthenon is impressive in scale and siting and beauty, Hephaistos gives you a much better feel for how Greek temples actually looked and felt.   

Temple of Hephaistos

The built evidence is disappointing and today consists only of the foundations of the various Council buildings, but the Ancient Agora was also fascinating as the cradle of democracy.  It was here that an ancient oligarchy and monarchy were overthrown in favor of an early type of democracy.  Astounding.  And we’re still struggling to keep oligarchy at bay, 2500 years later.    

Literally the foundations of democracy

 
We saw sooo much that was beautiful, interesting, and noteworthy  in Athens that I can’t possible recount it all.  But the other most memorable highlight was the Anofiotika neighborhood on the lower slopes of the Acropolis.  Here, exceedingly narrow paths wind up and down the hillside between tiny cottages.  The paths are packed with an impossible density of verdant greenery.  

Anofiotika neighborhood

And every now and then, you catch a glimpse of Athens spreading out below you into the distance.  It was an incredibly charming and atmospheric place to wander.  

View over Athens and to Lykavittos Hill from the Anofiotika neighborhood

When our time in Athens was up, we took the subway back out the airport and rented a car.  We were expecting driving in Greece to be intense and chaotic, but it was just as orderly as Sweden, the major highways were extremely well maintained (although expensive!) and the roads were surprisingly empty.  We were grateful for all of the English translations on the road signs!  

We headed about four and a half hours north of Athens to Meteora, an area where the crazy geology allowed for an even crazier cultural history.  Here, time and erosion have created sheer pillars of stone that are about 500 meters tall.  These pillars rise out of a dense forest.  Around 1000 A.D., monks started dwelling in caves in the area.  And around 1200 or 1300 A.D., when Christianity was no longer the flavour du jour, they started building monasteries atop the pillars.  These monks were serious climbers but without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing shoes.  

Meteora's pinnacles

The guidebooks and images of Meteora all focus on these pillar-top monasteries.  And they are astonishing, especially considering that there was no way up but to free climb the sheer cliffs.  It must have taken enormous courage to make the climb, much less to orchestrate the construction of buildings atop these tiny peaks.  But what I hadn’t realized before we got there, and what we actually ended up thinking was even cooler, was that many traces of the ancient cliff dwellings are still visible today.  And some of these cliff dwellings were developed into full-blown cliff-side monasteries which are impossibly scenic.   

Cliff-face monasteries in Meteora

The cliffs are pocketed with natural caves of various sizes, but I think that the monks dug deeper into the stone to enlarge certain cliffs.  

so many caves!

Some built stone walls to enclose their spaces.  

These caves didn't require climbing gear to reach.  They were surprisingly deep, with some caves sheltering several buildings.

In other taller caves, the monks built wooden platforms at various levels to create more floor space within the cave.  The levels were connected by a series of rickety ladders.  In other cases, smaller individual caves were connected with even more rickety ladders hung on the cliff face.  Accessing these cave systems would have been scary enough, but dwelling on rickety platforms and climbing around on the ladders would have been a trial of faith every day.  When will the platform give way?  Only God knows.  We were really thankful to have our binoculars with us so that we could spy out caves and remnants high up above us.

Left: Caves with wooden platforms and connecting ladders.  Right: Looking up at a wooden platform high up in the cave.

  

Today there is a road connecting the base of all the monasteries, but there is still a millennia-old network of monk’s trails.  Carl and I spent two days day hiking on the trails, “discovering” cave after cave and “stumbling” upon monastery after monastery.  One hike down a ravine ended up being quite the scramble, 

We managed to scramble down this ravine

and another hike up a different ravine turned out to require climbing ropes and equipment (in these modern times at least) so we had to turn around and retrace our steps.  

Here the trail ended, and climbing ropes were needed.  We had to turn around.

But most of the hiking ended up being relatively easy despite a lack of published information and the extremely poor map we were navigating with.     

Most of Meteora's trails were manageable!

The pillar-top monasteries range from one large building with a small chapel 

Left: Moni Varlaam monastery.  Right: Moni Agiou Nikolaou monastery.

to entire villages of buildings.  

Left: Moni Megalou Meteorou monastery.  Right: Moni Varlaam monastery.

Today, stairways have been cut into the cliffs so visitors don’t have to climb up rickety ladders anymore.  We visited three of the monasteries (sadly two others that we passed by were closed to visitors at the time) but actually, seeing the monasteries from afar was more interesting than actually visiting them. 

Access up to Moni Agias Triados monastery

We knew that Meteora would be amazing, but it completely exceeded our expectations despite the wet, misty weather and was by far my favorite part of our trip.  I think this is due to the fact that it was a combination of our two favorite pastimes—hiking and historic culture—and partly due to the fact that we could “discover” the caves on our own.  We felt a bit like Indiana Jones.

A cave chapel that we "discovered" on one of our hikes

It didn’t hurt that we stayed in a relatively luxurious hotel (well, luxurious for us anyway) with impeccable service, a beautiful room, and a balcony overlooking the village and many of the caves.  And, of course, I always love mountains.

Meteora's pinnacles and Kastraki village in the mist

After Meteora, we drove back toward Athens and stopped at Delphi for two nights.  When I was little, my grandparents took a long trip to Greece and Turkey with an archeologist guide.  For years and years afterward, every time I visited them,  I begged my grandfather to give a slide show from the trip.  I was totally hooked on archeology and ruins and ancient cities and architecture as a small child, but I don’t
remember many specific names or details of the sites that they visited.  However, I do specifically remember that my grandfather said that Delphi was one of his favorite stops, largely due to the dramatic siting in the mountains.  Ever since then, Delphi has been high on my list, and now I’ve finally gotten to experience this favorite place of my Grandfather’s.  

Delphi is truly beautifully situated on a mountainside with dramatic cliffs above and a never ending olive orchard deep in the valley below.  The archeological site is important, interesting, and pleasing in of itself, but without the mountain scenery, it would be “just” another Greek ruin.  The surrounding landscape adds a whole extra atmospheric dimension to the experience.  

While the Acropolis was the religious center for Athenians, Delphi was an independent religious center respected by many different Greek factions.  Each faction tried to outdo each other by building the most opulent treasuries and offering the most stunning sculptures to the Oracle.  In this way, Delphi became extremely wealthy, not just from tithes (interestingly 10% just as in the Christian church) but also as a mecca of art.  

Delphi was never an independent city-state of its own; its entire raison d'être was religious—it was the center of the world according to Greeks.  In fact, the name Delphi shares a root with the Greek word for womb, which in addition to being interpreted as a beginning, also points to an even earlier worship of Mother Earth.  It was here that Gaia’s son Pytho (a dragon-like serpent) was killed by Apollo, allowing both the Olympic gods and humankind to flourish.  Apollo was punished for the murder, but also celebrated as a hero.  

This cone-shaped sculpture is the Omphalos, the navel of the world

 
I am fascinated by how literal the myth is.  “First we worshipped Mother Earth and her offspring.  Then there was a war between them and the new gods, the Olympians.  The Olympians won and now we worship them.” Every culture and religion seems to have a very similar myth, and so many of these myths even feature serpents.  What is the story of the Garden of Eden if not the end of a more primitive cult where one was at one with the earth and the beginning of a new, more advanced cult where more symbolic gods who were separate from the earth were worshiped?  It seems that the basis of so many cultures and religions is that humankind is separate from and superior to the natural world.  It’s the foundation of our environmental crisis today, at least 3000 years in the making.  Anyway, this myth is the theme for many of Greece’s temple pediments, including the Parthenon, and one of the major battles of this mythical war was played out here, in Delphi.  

Like the Parthenon, the Temple of Apollo has had several incarnations.  The earlier temples were destroyed by war and earthquake.  In the most recent incarnation, the “Sacred Way” zig-zagged up from the entry gate (the holy precinct was walled off from the more pedestrian part of Dephi, much of which has not been excavated) to the Temple of Apollo, to a theatre,  and eventually up to a stadium where the Pythian Games took place.  Like the Olympic Games, the Pythian Games were one of four Panhellenic Games that acted like a world championship in the Greek sphere.      

Delphi's theater and stadium

Delphi, being on a mountainside, also features a good bit of earthworks and retaining walls to make flat platforms, especially for the large Temple of Apollo where the Oracle of Delphi lived.  Here, the retaining wall with its jigsaw blocks reminded us of Inca stonework, except with smaller stones.  Both civilizations must have understood that the interlocking stones created stronger walls, especially in earthquake zones.  

Inca stonework?  Nope.  Greek!

And also like the Acropolis, Delphi’s site planning is interesting in that none of the buildings are parallel/perpendicular to each other.  Even the Temple of Apollo is not parallel with its own platform.  On the Sacred Way, you approach the various buildings and monuments obliquely, never head-on.    

Both in Athens and in Delphi, I found it extraordinarily amazing that so many inscriptions in the stone have survived and are still readable after 2500 years.  If you read Greek, that is.   

Ancient inscriptions at the Acropolis and at Delphi

  

From Athens, one would have reached the Sanctuary of Athena Pronea just before Delphi.  This small district of temples and treasuries was an important stop for Athenians to pay their respects to Athena before continuing on to Apollo’s precinct.  No one knows the function of the Tholos, but like the Parthenon, it is considered one of the climaxes of ancient Greek architecture and it is one of the few ancient Greek monuments that we had to learn by name (name, date, location, architect) in architecture history class.  It’s extra interesting because of its unusual (but not unheard of) circular form, and because of its mysterious function.     

 

It’s a little unfortunate that we visited Meteora before Delphi.  After our experience in Meteora, it was hard for Delphi to compete.  But if we had visited Dephi first, I think that it would have astounded me a lot more.     

In Delphi, we stayed in a mediocre but quite cheap hotel, but we did have a balcony with a glimpse of the sea and overlooking the valley below with its endless olive grove, Greece’s largest according to LP. 

 

We saw three major highlights during our week in Greece: the Acropolis, Meteora, and Delphi.  But the fourth highlight was the food, the drink, and the dining atmosphere.  I’ve already mentioned all of the beautiful, atmospheric patios, streets, sidewalks, and street-staircases that we dined on in Athens, and we continued that trend in Meteora and Delphi although it was colder and a little less lounge-inspiring by that point in our trip.  Food and drink in Greece is more than half as expensive than in Stockholm, and we probably ate and drank about twice our normal consumption.  The food was so delicious, and because it was so inexpensive, we tried all kinds of dishes.  Each meal was a three or four course extravaganza.  We also tried all kinds of Greek wines and retsina (wine mixed with a pine resin) as well as of course ouzo, tsipouro (a brandy), metaxa (dessert wine with botanicals and brandy), and our favorite, mastika, a sprit distilled from pine resin.

Random photo: We saw sooo much beautiful and fascinating sculpture in Greece, both out at the archeologcal sites and in the museums

From Delphi, we drove early on Sunday morning back to the Athens airport, returned our rental car, and made our direct flight home with plenty of time to spare.  I cannot wait to explore more of Greece.  This trip was the tip of the iceberg, a small appetizer.  When?  I don’t know.  But someday.  Definitely.         

Sunset from our hotel balcony in Delphi

      
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2021  
Summery Svartlöga

Carl and I joined his Aunt Eva for an August weekend way out in the archipelago at her cabin on Svartlöga.  This year, Eva rented a different cabin than the one we have visited in past years.  This year’s cabin is a good bit bigger but still of a simple standard with no running water or electricity apart from what the solar panel provides.  It had a generous, sunny front porch, perfect for lounging in the sun and enjoying the birdsong, and for gazing at the moon and the stars.  The cabin is one of several small cabins on the grounds of a lovely arboretum.  The only downside to the cabin is that it doesn’t have a wood stove like the previous one!  

We left work early on Friday afternoon to catch the ferry out.  We arrived on the island at the beginning of dusk which was just enough time to walk to the cabin and get situated before it got completely dark.  Eva brought tons of traditional Swedish crawfish for our Friday evening feast.  The crawfish were super tasty and it was lovely to get caught up on the year’s events (we hadn’t seen each other since Christmas), to sing snaps songs, and to generally enjoy the festive yet cozy atmosphere of the cabin and the meal.  

random photo: the heather was in full bloom

 
A crawfish dinner doesn’t require a lot of preparation time, but it does take a while to eat and savor and we went to bed late.  The next morning, we all slept in then sat reading on the sunny porch, enjoying the warming sun and the stress-free vacation vibe.  We eventually got dressed and Eva took us on a tour of the pretty arboretum grounds.  Such a lot of work for the caretakers!  

After the walk, we had a simple but tasty lunch out on the porch, and then Carl and I went for a longer walk around the island.  We were hoping to find mushrooms but we only found two edible ones, and not all that many inedible ones, either.  The summer had clearly been too dry out on the island for mushrooms.  We gave up on mushroom hunting after a while and instead explored a couple of new-to-us tracks through the woods to the water.  The afternoon had gotten cloudy but it was still warm enough to sit by the water and enjoy the view.

That evening, we enjoyed a mushroom feast despite the lack of mushrooms—Carl and I had brought dried mushrooms from the previous year just in case.  Again, we had a lovely evening chatting and enjoying a good meal together.

Sunday morning dawned sunny once again, and we had another relaxing morning of reading out on the sunny front porch.  Still disappointed about the lack of mushrooms, Carl and I decided to retrace some of our mushroom route and to pick the stone bramble berries (stenbär) that we had skipped the day before.  

We managed to pick about a liter within about 45 minutes, at which point we walked over to the always charming village 

and harbor.  We lounged in the sun by the water, and Carl even braved the cold water, cool temperatures, and breeze for a short swim. 

   

After another simple but yummy lunch on the front porch, it was sadly time to leave the cabin in order to catch the ferry home.  As usual, the weekend flew by.  It was another lovely but all too short weekend on Svartlöga.  Thank you Eva!

Svartlöga is carless.  These are a couple of the island's main roads.

       
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2021  
Hiking the High Sierra Trail and Summiting Mt. Whitney: Summer Vacation 2021 Part II

After we waved goodbye to Emma and family after a wonderful weekend of front country camping and hiking, (see below), Carl, Chad, Tom, Aaron, and I set off on our backcountry adventure.  We hiked Sequoia National Park’s High Sierra Trail which is 73 miles (117 km) long.  The trail culminates by summiting Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous 48 states at 14,500 ft (4420 m).  Because of the high elevation and the climbs up over a couple of big passes and of course the climb up Mt. Whitney, the trail isn’t just an easy walk in the park.  Never-the-less, it wasn’t the most demanding backpacking trip ever: the trails are rarely steep, we hiked reasonable distances, and we were well acclimatized.  

Getting a backcountry permit for the High Sierra Trail is no small task.  The permits were sold out within a nanosecond of them going online last winter.  We were overjoyed to have clicked just in the nick of time, but we were nervous that our trip would be cancelled due to wildfires or Covid.  Thankfully, everything went smoothly and we were able to enjoy one of the most memorable adventures ever!

The High Sierra Trail is further complicated by the fact that it is one way.  You could make a loop out of it, but then you’d have to carry almost two weeks of food.  The drive from one trailhead to the other is seven hours one way, a little much to ask a family member or friend to do, even if you against all odds happen to have one close by.  There are shuttle options, but given the distance, they are very expensive.  We paid $800 for our shuttle—it’s not something that Carl and I would have done by ourselves, but splitting the shuttle five ways seemed doable. 

We had seen signs posted around the park about a missing hiker on the High Sierra Trail, and when we got to the trailhead, there were two rangers posted there to ask hikers to keep an eye out.  We passed a number of rangers and volunteer searchers during the first day of our hike, and all of them asked us if we had seen any signs of the missing hiker.  We didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so we unfortunately couldn’t help the effort.  The search had already been going for five days, but they were still actively combing the slopes on foot and searching from helicopters.  The search was scaled down after 12 days, but there were still search and rescue teams out until the hiker’s body was recovered three weeks after his disappearance.  So tragic.  There are no published details about why the hiker went missing or how (or when) he died.

Established in 1890, Sequoia is America’s second national park.  It was formed to protect the Sequoia groves from continued logging and originally did not encompass the Sierra to the west of the groves.  It was the first national park created to protect a living organism instead of a landscape or geological feature.  In the 1920’s, interest for the Sierra grew and local Susan Thew traveled through the mountains on horseback, taking numerous photos of the mountains’ splendor which she mailed to every single Congressmen as a lobbying ploy.  It worked and in 1926, Sequoia was expanded westward.  There were no roads or official trails into the Sierra, and the park superintendent made an unprecedented decision: instead of making the interior of the park easily accessible to tourists in cars as had been done in many other of the national parks, he envisioned a High Sierra Trail leading from the Giant Forest to Mt. Whitney.  His two requirements were minimal damage to the land and minimal elevation gain and loss.  While the latter goal was accomplished admirably, the relative flatness did require a great deal of blasting, so I’m not sure that I’d say that the first goal was met.  I don’t think we’d build the trail in the same way today.  Or that we’d even attempt it today.  The trail was built in the 1930’s by the indomitable CCC, the Civilian Conservation Corps.         

The High Sierra Trail starts in a sequoia grove, but it quickly climbs out onto and traverses a very steep mountainside called Eagle View.  It was an eagle’s view all right, we had stunning vistas to the river valley below us, to the mountains on the other side of the valley, and even ahead of us along the Great Western Divide.  The views were hazy, though, so I was hoping for a bit of rain to clear the air.  The mountainside that we were traversing was so steep that many sections of the trail were blasted from the cliff face.  According to the park website, “During 1930, a trail crew working with an air compressor and rock drills spent nearly the entire summer blasting a 1-mile (1.6 km) stretch of trail through this area.”

Eagle View and the blasted trail, Day 1

 
A few days before, we had talked with one ranger who had told us that it was extremely dry and that we shouldn’t count on any streams for water.  The day before our hike, another ranger told us that many of the smaller creeks were dry, but that the larger streams were running.  Once out on the trail, we were relieved to see that the latter ranger’s prognosis was correct: some streams were dry, but there were enough streams that we didn’t have to carry more than a couple of liters of water at a time.  

This was a relief since we were carrying 9 days of food as well as heavy and bulky bear containers.  We really didn’t need the tremendous extra weight of carrying multiple days of water!  While my pack didn’t feel light by any means, it was actually the lightest backpack that I have carried for many years.  Without snowshoes, lots of warm clothes, winter gear, an ice ax, or crazy amounts of fuel, my backpack weighed only 42 pounds (19 kg), much less than my usual 48 pounds (22 kg) or my record of 57 pounds (26 kg).  (All of these weights are without water.)

Halfway through the first day, my feet started killing me.  I have had a lot of foot pain in my current pair of boots for a few years now, and I was really kicking myself that I hadn’t remembered to buy new insoles.  On top of the screaming, aching balls of my feet, my socks were bunching up under my heel, giving me an excruciating bruise.  But we still had a way to go that day, and my feet continued to be excruciatingly painful for most of the rest of the trip.

In just a couple of days, we would be crossing over those mountains in the distance.

 
Toward the end of the day, the trail descended from the steep mountainside into Buck Canyon.  There was a good campsite at the bottom, and we debated staying the night.  We were all exhausted, but the next day promised to be long and even more challenging with extreme amounts of uphill.  We decided to push on just a bit farther, up to Bearpaw Meadow, about 1000’ (300 m) higher.  By the time we got there, we were all DONE.  My feet were in so much pain that I was practically in tears.  It started to rain for the second time that evening as we were looking for tent sites in the fairly crowded camping area, but we managed to set up our tent without the interior getting too wet.  Once the rain thankfully stopped, it took every ounce of my effort to get up out of the tent and to eat dinner.  

The trees of Bearpaw Meadow campsite

At 11.5 miles (18.5 km), our first day was one of our longest days, both in terms of mileage and in terms of time because we stopped a lot, adjusting and trying to get comfortable with our packs and in our boots.  However, most of the day’s walk had been relatively flat.  Given how utterly exhausted I was at the end of Day 1, I was quite nervous about Day 2, which promised to be another challenging hike with lots of elevation gain and a relatively long distance.  However, the climb up proved to be steady but not steep, and the beauty surrounding us made every step a little bit easier.

In the morning, Carl and I woke up Chad, Tom, and Aaron by singing Happy Birthday to Tom, first in Swedish and then in English.  We tried to keep it quiet, but we probably woke up about half of the other campers, too.  Sorry about that, but we just had to celebrate Tom’s birthday morning!  

Day 2 dawned sunny and clear, and with each step, the scenery became more and more dramatic and gorgeous.  From Bearpaw Meadow, the trail climbed a bit through the forest then traversed another steep mountainside.  Parts of this section were blasted, and the views across to the granite spires on the other side of the valley were stunning.  

Starting out from Bearpaw Meadow

 

The trail then went down a bit, crossing a white water river in a ravine (thank goodness for the new bridge, the twisted remains of the old bridge were still down in the abyss!).  

Yay for a new bridge!

 

From there, it was up up up and away!  We all hiked at our own pace.  I didn’t find the trail very steep, and as long as I kept a slow but steady pace, I didn’t need to stop.  However, I did stop a lot to take lots of photos, so that probably helped me catch my breath!  Most of the trail up to Hamilton Lakes was exposed, but one downhill section was through a grove of live oak trees that provided shade and reminded me of Texas.  There were a lot of colorful lizards sunning themselves and then scuttling into the rocks as we passed.

Just under Hamilton Lakes, the trail crosses over the valley’s stream just above where it tumbles off a cliff.  It was a gorgeous spot, and from the stream you could even see the spires high directly above us that had been invisible to us until that point.  

Hiking up to Hamilton Lakes

Carl and I arrived at Hamilton Lakes before the rest of our group, and it didn’t take us long to strip off our clothes and get into the water.  The hike up to the lake had gotten hotter and hotter—the sun was direct, the trail exposed, and the temperatures were higher than what we’re used to in Sweden.  We stayed in the cool, refreshing water until we started shivering.  At that point, it felt good to sprawl out on the warm rock and to enjoy the sun warming our skin while gazing across the turquoise lake to the pass above.  Later in the afternoon, we would be crossing that pass!  The thought was a bit overwhelming.

Hamilton Lakes.  We'd be crossing the pass above Hamilton Lakes the next morning.

 
Chad & Co. caught up to us as we moved to the shade and started eating lunch.  After a relaxing meal and lots of comparing the map to the mountainside we were about to climb up, Carl and I got into the water again, this time with our clothes on.  The sun would only get more intense as we climbed up above treeline, and we were worried about overheating.  Our wet clothes and hats acted as a natural air conditioner, cooling us off whenever the slight breeze blew through our clothes.  

The climb up was intense, but again, never very steep.  Those CCC boys sure were good at creating steady but not steep trails!  First, the trail switch-backed up the slope.  There were only a few trees, and we stopped every time we got to shade—but it only amounted to three or four short breaks before we were completely above treeline.

Hiking up toward Kaweah Gap with Hamlton Lakes below.

 
Further up the trail, it became quite dramatic again.  Originally, a suspension bridge had crossed a side canyon and avalanche chute called Hamilton Gorge.  The bridge was swept all the way down to the lake in an avalanche just a few years later, so the CCC came back to blast another section of trail through the cliff face.  

Blasted trail along Hamilton Gorge

The cliffs here are so steep that part of the trail is completely overhung by the cliff, and another section is in a tunnel through the cliff!  The views down into the canyon were dizzying, so steep and so far down!

Blasted trail along Hamilton Gorge with Hamilton Lake below

 
After the side canyon, the trail traversed the mountainside, steadily gaining elevation and heading toward the pass.  The landscape was fairly dry and rocky, but every small trickle of water created oases of abundant greenery and dramatic wildflowers.  I can only imagine what this landscape looks like at the height of wildflower season earlier in the summer!  At a couple of streams, we stopped to fill up water and to re-wet our shirts and hats.  

 
Just below the lower Precipice Lake, we hit a magic elevation where I could no longer comfortably walk uphill and drink water at the same time.  At the lower lake, we stopped for a snack and watched a very curious and cute marmot.  

The views out over the valley, over the Hamilton Lakes where we had swum at lunch, and to the granite spires all around us were just incredible.

Hamilton Lakes far below.

 
Just when we thought the scenery couldn’t get any better, we arrived at the extremely dramatic and unique Precipice Lake.  In all of my years of hiking in alpine environments, I have never seen a more dramatic alpine lake.  The water was perfectly clear and a gorgeous, deep turquoise.  Sheer cliffs rose from the back side of the lake, forming a vertical amphitheater around the lake.  The cliffs were striped black and grey and there were several thin waterfalls running down the cliff face, providing tinkling background music to the majestic setting.  There were snow fields on a shelf halfway up the cliff, and from there, the cliff rose into granite spires.  The cliff towered at least 1,600 ft. from lake to granite spire.

There was one lady at the lake when we arrived, but soon Carl and I had the entire landscape to ourselves.  Once again, we stripped off our clothes and dove into the water.  Carl swam about halfway across the lake before turning around, and after a brief swim, I sat on a shelf, submerged in the water, for about 10 minutes.  The water was cold, but it felt sublime and invigorating after a long, sunny, taxing climb. 

Precipice Lake

 
Our goal for the day had been to cross over the pass and to camp at an alpine lake on the other side, but Precipice Lake was just too unique and too majestic to leave.  Carl and I made the executive decision that we’d stop for the night and celebrate Tom’s birthday in this incredible place.  We scouted out tent sites and found some already cleared spots just uphill from the lake.  The sites were definitely not the requisite 100’ from the trail, but at least we were using previously established sites...  We set up our tent and took tent photos before going back down to the water’s edge where Carl painted and I journaled.  Every few moments I’d look up and be completely awe-struck anew.

Carl and my tent had an amazing view of Precipice Lake.  Chad & Co.'s tent had an amazing view of the valley and peaks beyond.

 
By the time Chad & Co. joined us, some clouds had moved over the pass and were shading the sun.  It was no longer super appealing to get into the cold water, but they managed some swimming anyway.  After they set up their tent, we all fixed dinner down by the water.  After we ate, we walked a bit over the glacial berm holding the lake so that we could see out over the valley and watch the sunset behind the ridge far across the valley.  The clouds which had shaded Chad & Co.’s swim ended up providing a gorgeous sunset show.  We were all giddy with endorphins and with the view—as the light on the mountains got more and more colorful, we exclaimed over and over about how unbelievable the scenery was.  Our photos look totally Photoshoped, but the light really was that pink and glowing!

After sunset, the clouds dissipated and the sky was clear and glowing, practically pulsating, with stars.  Carl and I slept in our tent without the rainfly, and we fell asleep looking at the millions of stars above us and the swirling arm of the Milky Way.  There were even shooting stars to complete the magic!  It was a fitting end to a magically beautiful day, a day I will never forget.  

The next morning was also clear and beautiful.  Carl and I decided to leave camp early and to eat breakfast up on the pass.  We still had about 500’ of elevation to climb before reaching the pass, but the climb was over about a mile and not at all steep.  On the way to the pass, the trail passed through a series of magical, hidden valleys with magical, hidden lakes.  The valleys were surprisingly green and seemed to house a large number of chirping birds and other creatures.  We watched one marmot eat his breakfast, moving from one patch of grass to the next, nibbling here and then nibbling there.  Apparently the grass is greener over in the next patch!  

Magical hidden lakes and valleys on the climb up to Kaweah Gap.

 
Up at the Great Western Divide at Kaweah Gap at 10,700’(3260m), the highest point of our trip so far, we put on warm jackets and made ourselves coffee, tea, and oatmeal.  Clouds were blocking the sun on the other side of the valley, and there was a brisk breeze blowing through the pass.  It was chilly but not uncomfortably cold.  The view from the pass was beautiful, looking down into the Nine Lakes Basin and out to the Kaweah Peaks beyond.  The clouds made the view a bit hazy, but it was dramatic none-the-less!  After our breakfast, Carl and I painted, journaled, and explored the pass until Chad, Tom and Aaron joined us.

Breakfast up at Kaweah Gap looking down into the Nine Lakes Basin.

 
We left the Great Western Divide and hiked downhill together, singing songs, chatting, exclaiming over the gorgeous valley, and getting lost in our own thoughts about the beauty surrounding us.  The valley was extremely gentle, with a bubbling stream, large grassy fields, and stretches of trees.  Above us, the slopes were a dramatic world of granite swirls and towering granite spires.  It was a landscape out of a fairytale, and felt like the absolute most perfect place in the world to live in a small cabin.

Hiking down from the Nine Lakes Basin

The trail eventually came to a beautiful, open forest where the trees were spaced far apart and where there was no undergrowth except grass and very low bushes.  The openness of the forest also seemed like it came straight out of a fairy tale.  

Granite granite everywhere.  Views of the peaks through the open forest.

 
We rock-hopped across the river 

and then continued on the gently downward trending trail until it stopped trending downward.  From here, the trail angled up the mountainside, sometimes in a denser forest and sometimes providing views across the valley to a whole range of mountains and valleys beyond.  At the top of the climb, we were tired, hot, hungry, and hurting.  It was time for a break, and we stopped for lunch where we had both a breeze and a view.

We reached the Chagoopa Plateau and once again hiked through another fairy tale landscape of a completely open forest.  Here, the soil was very sandy, and the trees were a different species and even more spread out.  It was just gorgeous.  We started hearing some rumbling in the background.  At first we assumed it was fighter jets as we had heard and seen a number of them flying through the park over the last couple of days—Fresno has a couple of air force and national guard and naval air bases.  But when dark, heavy clouds started accumulating, it was soon apparent that the rumbling was thunder. 

 
The trees alternated with giant, grassy meadows with mountain views.  At one such meadow, we stopped for water.  My feet were again in excruciating pain, the sun and breeze were beckoning a nap, and I was convinced that we wouldn’t be able to hike the remaining two miles to our campsite at Moraine Lake before the rain came, so Carl and I stopped for a chocolate break and a meadow snooze while Chad & Co. booked it toward the campsite, trying to beat the rain.  Our snooze in the meadow was one of the most relaxing experiences of my life.  The sun was cozily warm, but there was the perfect amount of cool breeze to keep the sun from getting too intense or hot.  There were bees lazily buzzing about, but there were no other bugs landing on me, buzzing in my ear, or making me itch.  The grass was dry and soft, and I was snuggled into the crook of Carl’s arm with my head on his chest.  The mountain meadow view was gorgeous, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open.

The consequences of our meadow snooze ended up being pretty severe, but I still assert that it was worth it.  We got up from our snooze and continued on the trail, hiking gently downhill through more gorgeous open forest, keeping as brisk a pace as my aching feet allowed in hopes that we might possibly make it to camp before the rain since it still hadn’t started raining yet.  But about half a mile from Moraine Lake, the skies opened up and it just poured.  And hailed.  We probably should have tried to wait out the rain under a tree as the trees were actually providing pretty good shelter from the rain despite the heavy downfall, but we decided to race on to the camp.  It felt to hot to stop and put on raingear, so we just let ourselves get soaked.  

We were absolutely soaked through by the time we got to Moraine Lake, and the campsite at the edge of the lake was pretty much a big puddle.  We said a quick hello to Chad & Co. who were dryly ensconced in their tent, then searched for a tent site.  We did manage to find a spot that wasn’t flooded and started to set up our tent.  The interior of the tent was getting wet, and we were rushing.  With the pounding rain, we couldn’t really hear each other.  And thus we made a fatal mistake, and when I thought I heard Carl say that he was ready, I accidently thrust a tent pole through our rainfly, making a gigantic rip in the very top of our rainfly.  Suddenly, we had no shelter from the elements.

No problem, I thought, I’ll just stand above the tent and hold the rainfly closed while Carl sets up the tent under the rainfly.  It can’t possibly rain for much longer, and when the rain stops, we can sew up the fly.  I stood out in the chilly rain in my sopping wet clothes for another 20 minutes, and the rain wasn’t giving any signs of relenting.  I was freezing and starting to shiver and my teeth were starting to chatter.  I told Carl to fold up the tent under the rainfly, that I needed to come in under the rainfly and that we weren’t going to be able to set up the tent until it stopped raining.  We sat on the bare, wet ground under the rainfly for about another 20 minutes, and the rain was still not letting up.  By this point, we were both shivering cold and our fingers were starting to get numb.  Clearly, we needed a Plan D.

So we took the rainfly down, went down to the lake, and sat on a rock, out in the open rain, and sewed the gaping hole in the rainfly.  Thank goodness that we had learned this lesson on a previous hike and had a sewing kit with us!  The rock was deliciously warm, but we were still shivering violently and had no feeling in our fingers.  The sewing was slow going, and we were going to need to sew the seam several times if there was any chance of it holding.  Eventually, I was shivering so violently that I couldn’t hold onto the needle, so I finally gave in and put my rain jacket on.  I had been holding off in order to keep the inside of my rain jacket dry, but that wasn’t an option any longer.  With my jacket and after a bunch of jumping jacks on the beach, I was just warm enough to take over the sewing from Carl again.  It was just about dark by the time the rain fly was sufficiently sewn.  

We borrowed an extra pack cover from Chad & Co. to keep water off the exposed and very not waterproof seam in the rainfly and were finally able to set up our tent.  The tent was soaking wet on both the inside and the outside, and we stripped naked and got inside.  We used our pack towels to dry the inside of the tent as much possible, then sat naked, shivering in the tent, waiting for the inside to air dry enough to start putting on clothes.

These photos are actually from the next campsite.  The sewn up rip in our rainfly and protecting the rip from rain with a pack cover.

 
Eventually, we were able to put on warm, dry clothes, to unroll our sleeping pads, and crawl into our sleeping bags.  It was still raining, and our rain gear was too soaked to go out and cook and eat.  Being bear country, we weren’t supposed to eat in our tent, and the last thing we needed at that point was to attract the attention of a bear.  A break in the rain finally came, and Chad & Co. used it to cook their dinner.  They offered to cook for us, too, but the rain started up again and we just didn’t think it was worth it to get our warm clothes wet by putting on our soaking wet rain jackets.  Instead, we decided to go to bed hungry.  I wasn’t actually starving, and I was exhausted from the hiking and from our misadventure with the tent.  Going to be without eating didn’t seem so bad.

Day 3 was filled with incredible, beautiful experiences, and then it went quickly downhill.  Even so, under the circumstances, we were pretty lucky.  We were lucky to have a sewing kit and enough thread to sew the giant gash shut.  We were lucky that there was no wind and that the pack cover was staying in place and keeping water off of the exposed seam.  We were lucky that the temperatures hadn’t been any lower, and that the inside of the tent actually dried sufficiently well.  And despite the trying end to the day, I still maintain that it was worth getting to nap in that exquisite meadow.

The next morning was not as dry as we had hoped.  We woke up early as usual and hung everything up to dry, but it ended up sprinkling on and off all morning.  Moraine Lake was quite pretty, first with mist swirling over its surface, then with reflections of the distant mountains on its mirror surface.  We took it easy and snoozed in the tent before enjoying a relaxed breakfast looking out over the lake.  We then spent a good bit of time adding another couple of layers of stitches to the rainfly seam.  Eventually, Carl and I headed out on the trail while Chad & Co. continued to hang out at the lake for the rest of the morning.

Moraine Lake

 
From the lake, the trail was very gentle at first and skirted another absolutely gorgeous meadow with the poetic name of Sky Parlor Meadow.  

Sky Parlor Meadow

From there, the trail dropped steeply into the Kern River Trench.  From the top, we had superb views 

down the long glacial valley, and the view was made more dramatic with all the layers of rainclouds swirling about the ridges.  Many switchbacks and close to 3000’ (915m) later, we reached the bottom of the Trench with aching feet and knees.

The Kern River Trench and the Kern River

 
The trail more-or-less followed the river upstream and after a confusing stream crossing, we reached our day’s destination.  Day 4’s hike was short, only 7 or 8 miles (11 or 12 km).  After three long days, we needed a shorter day.  And, we needed a hot spring!  When we arrived at Kern Hot Spring, there was no one else there.  Carl and I set up our tent on a bluff above the river and then raced down to the spring which is just at the river’s edge.  A crude concrete tub catches the 115 degree F (46 degrees C) water before it trickles into the river.  The tub fits two people head-to-foot pretty comfortably, and we lounged in the water until it just got too hot.  At that point, we dunked ourselves in the very chilly river.  After we got back into the hot spring, Chad & Co. made it to the spring and soon joined us.

Kern Hot Spring

 
Shortly after Chad & Co. arrived, at least 20 other people hiked into the campsite.  When our group was all too hot to stay in the water, we got out and let the others take their turn in the spring.  After hanging out in the river for a while, eating snacks, and enjoying the view, we eventually made our way up to our camp and made dinner.  By the time we finished eating, we were all having trouble keeping our eyes open, but we just had to go soak in the hot spring one last time.  Aaron decided to go to bed, but the rest of us squished into the tub like sardines in a tin and we sat there soaking, chatting and watching the stars come out one by one for quite a while.  Eventually we were too hot and too tired, so we went to bed.  The rushing river just below our tent provided lovely background music while we fell asleep.

Day 5 started out sunny, but we were so deep in the glacial valley that the sun didn’t reach us until almost lunch.  The day’s hike started out gently as we followed the river upstream for a number of miles.  Occasionally, the trail would climb up a bit onto the mountainside before rejoining the river.  This part of the trail had been completely burned out by a forest fire, and quite recently, probably the summer before.  There were no ground cover plants growing yet, and the trees were solemn spikes with no branches reaching up into the sky.  The ground was covered with black char, and if you touched a tree trunk, you got black charcoal all over yourself.  The entire valley, from one cliff to the next, was burned, and the burned area stretched for several miles. 

Burned area along the Kern River

 
Until Day 5, we only saw a very few mosquitoes.  I don’t think I have ever experienced such a total absence of mosquitoes in the middle of the summer—it was magic!  We could sit outside, even in the mornings and in the evenings, without getting a single bite.  There were no mosquitoes plaguing us when we stopped for breaks.  We didn’t have to hide away in the tent, and we didn’t have to massacre a bazillion mosquitoes every time we got into the tent.  But at one tricky river crossing where we had to balance on a log high over the rushing water, we got attacked by mosquitoes.  It still wasn’t to the level of Northern Sweden or of the Wind River Range in Wyoming, but it was such a contrast to the completely mosquito-free days we had enjoyed up until then.  Luckily, the mosquito zone only lasted for about a mile, and then the rest of the trail was almost entirely mosquito free again.  

 
In addition to being just about mosquito free, the entire hike was also nearly wind free.  There was often a light, unsteady breeze, but a hard wind was completely absent.  There wasn’t even much wind when thunderstorms blew through, nor when we were above treeline.  It was a completely different experience than hiking in Sweden to say the least, and the lack of wind was supremely welcome, especially considering our tent’s dependence on a pack cover lying on top of the rainfly, and especially when we were in exposed areas above treeline.  The lack of wind meant that we could sit and enjoy the exposed viewpoints without freezing.  It was amazing!     

We soon left the mosquitoes, however, when the trail started climbing out of the Kern Trench.  After a short climb, we sat on a bluff for lunch and ate enjoying views into a beautiful side valley that enticed for another hike another year.  

Lunch view

However, a thunderstorm soon blew in.  First, we started hearing thunder in the distance.  A cold wind blew through, and then we could see the dark, menacing clouds moving toward us.  It started raining before we were finished eating, and soon we were in the midst of heavy rain and lightning.  Luckily, we were still in just enough trees that we didn’t feel too exposed to the lightning, but we did get soaked.  Again, since we were hiking steeply uphill, Carl and I thought it was too hot to hike with rain jackets on, so we were quite drenched by the time the rain slackened off.    

After gaining a lot of elevation on the side of the Kern Trench, the trail turned up a side valley and started following Wallace Creek uphill.  At this point, we started looking out for somewhere to camp that was both flat enough for our tents and where the creek was relatively easy accessible.  The next known campsite was at the top of the creek, but we were tired and had hiked our requisite 10 miles (16 km) for the day.  Plus, after the hot spring, we were ready to camp away from the crowds of hikers.  After not too long, we saw a possible spot.  Carl and I left the trail to explore, and the site met all of our criteria, plus it had a phenomenal view to the Kaweah Peaks on the other side of the valley.  We had pulled a bit ahead of Chad, Tom, and Aaron, so Carl and I made another executive decision to stay here for the evening.  Chad & Co. didn’t have any complaints when they hiked in a little while later and found us setting up our tent.

Camped along Walace Creek with views of the Kaweah Peaks

 
By this point in our trip, it had been a week since we had showered.  We had done quite a lot of swimming in lakes and soaking in the hot spring, but we hadn’t used any soap for a week, and we were feeling pretty nasty.  We stripped down and splashed into the shallow pool at the bottom of a waterfall, then carried a bunch of water well away from the creek to soap up and rinse off.  It was a bit chilly, but by far not the coldest bath I’ve had while hiking, and afterwards, it felt magical to be so clean and smooth!

That night, we made dinner and chatted and enjoyed the fantastic view out over the valley to Kaweah Peaks and the marvelous sunset colors beyond.

In the morning of Day 6, we continued uphill following the creek until the High Sierra Trail joins the John Muir Trail (another bucket list trail!).  There was a beautiful meadow where lots of people were camped at the trail junction, but I am so glad that we stopped where we did—we had a much grander view and it was nice not to have any neighbors.  From the junction, the trail continued uphill to a low, tree-covered,  and undramatic pass—there wasn’t even a view from the pass!  Just before the pass, Carl and I stopped for a snack break and to enjoy the view, since we could tell that the pass would be a bit anticlimactic.  We were hoping to see Mt. Whitney in our binoculars but it turned out that the view faced slightly the wrong direction.  

 
After the pass, we followed the trail down, then up again.  It was pretty but unremarkable terrain—I was so set on making our way to the base of Mt. Whitney that I didn’t really notice much of what we were passing through.  But at the beginning of Crabtree Meadows, we finally got a view of Mt. Whitney!  We had been hiking toward the peak for six solid days, but it wasn’t until Crabtree Meadows that we got a view of her!  We stopped and ate lunch while gazing at the view, and Chad & Co. caught up with us.  It was so fun to finally bask in the Mt. Whitney view together!  We spent a lot of time trying to puzzle out the hiking trail—the mountainside looked just about vertical and it was hard to imagine where the trail could possibly climb up.

Our first view of Mt. Whitney!

 
We took a bunch of group photos with the peak in the background, then hiked the short distance into the Meadow to the ranger station.  Crabtree Meadows is just gorgeous with open areas alternating with sparsely treed areas, and the ranger station cabin is jealousy inducing in its cuteness (again, I just love National Park architecture!) and in its setting.  I would just love to spend a year or two hiking and skiing from the cabin!  We all took turns at the Crabtree Meadows toilet which was an open seat at the edge of the meadow because it was the last chance to dispose of our human waste without having to carry it.  From here on out the other side of Mt. Whitney, we’d have to use and carry wag bags (wag bags are really just extra thick ziplock bags for carrying human waste).

The ranger station at Crabtree Meadows

 
Unfortunately, the ranger was out and had been out for a few days, so there was no updated weather forecast to help us plan our hike up Mt. Whitney.  We’d just have to wing it.  We continued hiking toward the base of the peak and about half an hour after we left the ranger station, we ran into the ranger who was on her way back down!  She was able to give us an up-to-date weather report, and it seemed to good to be true.  The next day would be mostly sunny but with a chance of afternoon thunderstorms, but the day after, the day we had planned to summit, the weather was forecasted to be sunny and dry.  I was getting really excited about our climb but didn’t want to count our chickens...

The hike from Crabtree Meadows up to Guitar Lake was epically beautiful.  Ever time we got to the top of a glacial cirque, the view of Mt. Whitney and its neighboring peaks just astounded.  We passed the beautiful Timberline Lake which, as its name suggests, was just below treeline.  After passing the lake, we didn’t see any trees and hardly even a bush for a couple of days.  We continued up and up, and I was starting to feel the elevation.  Suddenly I needed to stop every now and then on the uphill sections despite the trail being relatively mild in steepness.  

Getting closer and closer to Mt. Whitney.  Timberline Lake.

 
We made it to the top of the last rise before Guitar Lake and the Mt. Whitney and Whitney Ridge view opened up even more.  We could see down into the lake and the entire sheer mountainside rising from lake to the pinnacles.  We still couldn’t make out the trail and how it was possible to climb up that vertical mountainside.

Guitar Lake

 
Dark clouds were starting to gather on the horizon, so instead of waiting for Chad & Co., Carl and I scuttled down to the lake to find a campsite.  There were quite a few tents dotted around the lake; we could see at least 20 or so and there were at least that many hidden behind boulders, but we found a lakeside spot where we were hidden from view from most tents.  We set up our tent a mere meter away from the water’s edge and with marvelous views across the lake to Mount Hitchcock and above us to the Mt. Whitney pinnacles.

Our tents below Mt. Whitney on Guitar Lake

 
Our hidden location proved a bit hard for Chad & Co. to find but they did find us eventually and set up their tent before the rain came.  It started to sprinkle and we all dove into our tents, but the rain never became heavy and the sprinkles only lasted a short while.  Carl and I left our tent and sat at the water’s edge reading, writing, and drawing while Chad & Co. napped.  It was a glorious afternoon and the views were incredibly stark and dramatic, especially up to Mt. Whitney’s cloud-enshrouded pinnacles.

Mt. Whitney's pinnacles

 
Afternoon turned to evening and we cooked out by the edge of Guitar Lake, continuing to enjoy the views.  The valley opened up to the west, and there we watched the sun set and a brilliant play of colors over the Kaweah peaks.  We even saw alpenglow, a deep pink light reflecting onto the Mt. Whitney ridge after the sun had already set.

Sunset at Guitar Lake

 
That night, I got up about and hour before dawn to go to the bathroom.  I could see several headlamps moving slowly up the mountainside above us.  Because Mt. Whitney is such a long climb both up and then down again, and because the area is prone to afternoon thunderstorms, the general wisdom is to start the climb up before dawn.  Seeing the headlamps showed me where the trail ascended up the impossible-seeming mountainside, but in the morning with daylight and binoculars, we still couldn’t pick out the path up or the path across the ridge.  

Day 7 was a rest day for us.  We were at the highest elevation of our hike thus far at about 11,500 ft. (3505m).  We slept in and enjoyed a lazy breakfast with the glorious views.  We braved the cold water and took short swims, then dried off in the sun.  

Swimming in Guitar Lake

 

We watched the curious, brave marmots approach our camp and repeatedly shooed them away.  The slopes around Guitar Lake were inhabited by a large number of fluffy marmots, and they were quite habituated to humans and seemed eager to steal our food.  The marmots have a bad reputation of getting into tents and ruining gear in their search for food, so we took turns leaving our campsite to explore the surrounding area. 

Carl and I left first, taking our lunch to the other side of the lake to enjoy the Whitney view from a different perspective for a while.  The sun was intense and we covered up, not wanting to get burned.  I was worried that we were “wasting” this sunny, windless day on our rest day and that the good weather wouldn’t hold for our climb, but there was nothing we could do at that point but enjoy.

Mt. Whitney and Guitar Lake from another angle

 
The marmots spent all day continuously peeping back and forth with each other.  Suddenly, their chatter increased to a much more intense level.  Chad was the first to notice that the marmots were warning each other about a coyote that was sniffing around the meadow quite near us!  We had heard a number of coyotes baying the night before, and now we watched one sniff and trot its way around the lake.  We were able to watch it for about 10 minutes in the binoculars until it got too small to follow.  I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually seen a coyote in the wild before, and it was incredible to get to watch it trot along, sniffing here and there, but not catching anything to eat.  The marmots had too good of a warning system that day.

That evening, we sorted and strategized with our gear and tried to pack as much as we could.  We’d be leaving camp at 3 a.m., so we needed to be as organized and as efficient as possible in the morning.  We cooked and ate dinner, and Carl and I ate our biggest meal of the trip, trying to carbo load before the big climb the next day.  We were torn about going to bed—we needed to get to bed early to get as much rest as possible before our early start, but the sunset was gorgeous again.  Carl and I stayed up until the sun set, but we did go to bed before the afterglow had finished.  

I had been sleeping poorly the entire trip, and the short night before our Mt. Whitney climb was no exception.  Chad & Co. got up at 1 a.m., but Carl and I got up at 2 a.m.  An hour to get up, pack up the tent and all our belongings, and to eat breakfast is extremely tight, but we were right on time for our 3 a.m. departure goal.  We started up the trail with our headlights blazing.

We woke up to a perfectly clear night and no wind.  The sky was awash in stars and the Milky Way band was very distinct.  There were even shooting stars to complete the magic!  Slowly zig-zagging our way up the mountainside in the dark with more slowly moving headlamps both above and below us felt like a procession, a rite of passage.  With the elevation, we couldn’t move quickly, but Carl and I didn’t stop a lot.  He loved hiking up in the dark with the views of the starry sky, but I felt disoriented.  I didn’t like not being able to see the valley below—I knew that there was a severe drop-off to the side of us, but not being able to see the plunge made it seem all the more threatening.  I was slightly dizzy from the effort and the altitude, and looking up to see the stars made me feel even more off balance.  All in all, I could agree that the nighttime hike was romantic and theatrical, but I would have preferred to do the hike in the daylight when I could enjoy the ever more dramatic views of the valley below us.    

The trail switchbacked above Guitar Lake and the higher Hitchcock Lakes.  Even here, the trail retained a moderate grade, rarely feeling very steep.  Our rest day at high elevation really helped and while I felt the effort and the altitude, the climb never felt extremely tough.  We hadn’t known what to expect or how long the hike would take us.  We had budgeted eight hours for the ascent but it only took five, and well before I expected, we arrived at Trail Crest, the point where the summit trail diverged from the east-west trail over the pass.  

Trail Crest was humming with activity as it is the meeting point for people summiting from the east and the west sides of the peak.  Almost everyone drops their bear canisters and extra gear here.  Some people even dropped their packs, but we had been warned not to do that since the picas are known to chew on pack straps to get at the dried sweat salt.  I was tempted to leave my wag bag behind, but I was worried that a pica would tear into it, making it a disgusting mess to carry out.  In the end, my smelly wag bag summited Mt. Whitney with me—despite the ziplock mechanism, it was decidedly not odor proof.  I’m used to carrying my used toilet paper out of the backcountry, but this was the first time I’ve had to carry my poo out, and it wasn’t all that pleasant.  But, on the other hand, the dry, rocky landscape would have been absolutely disgusting without the wag bag requirement, so I didn’t mind too much.  

Signs at Trail Crest (taken on our way back down the trail)

 
From Trail Crest, it was a short hike up to the ridge where we arrived in time to see the sun rise.  It was freezing cold, literally, but the views out over the valley on the other side of the Whitney Ridge were incredible.  Once reaching the ridge, the trail continues to head uphill, staying just on the western side of the ridge.  The drop down into the valley below is a sheer 2000 ft. and from Guitar Lake, we assumed that the trail must be on the other side of the ridge since the western side seemed impossibly steep.  But we were wrong and the trail continued along this sheer mountainside.  It seemed like there was nothing but the piled up boulders below keeping the trail in place! 

Sunrise on the way up Mt. Whitney!

 
With every moment, the daylight became brighter, illuminating the incredible views around us.  Suddenly the imposing Mount Hitchcock was a mere ridge below us, and we could see ridge upon ridge of Sierra behind.    

Shortly, we arrived at the Pinnacles.  From Guitar Lake, we had gazed up into these spires, never dreaming that the trail actually cuts through them.  I’ve experienced moments of trail like this, but never such a long, exposed, engineered stretch.  With their dynamite, the CCC boys managed to turn a granite jungle gym into walkable path, a feat of engineering at great elevation and height above the sheer drop and no doubt great danger to the men involved.  It must have taken at least an entire summer to build this section of trail, meaning that the trail crew must have camped up here through extreme wind and stormy weather.  

Hiking through Mt. Whitney's Pinnacles

 
Just walking through the pinnacles on a windless day felt exposed and dangerous.  One little stumble would be fatal.  But luckily, none of us faltered.  While a bit shaky, we were awed and overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding us and the crazy trail we were walking on.  Even Chad, who is the one of us most prone to vertigo, didn’t get too too affected.

More pinnacles! Right: A sheer drop on either side of the pass.

After the pinnacles, the trail continued climbing on the western side of the nearly sheer ridge.  The trail was mostly free of boulders (thank you again CCC boys!), but every now and then we had to scramble around or over a few boulders.  Given the perfectly cleared nature of the trail, it was obvious that these boulders had slid onto the trail well after the CCC had left.  I found myself beseeching the powers that be that there would be no earthquakes or rockslides that day.

Hiking along the ridge to Mt. Whitney's summit

 
After a while, the trail climbed up off the ridge and onto Mt. Whitney’s hump.  Here, the steepness tapered off but now the elevation meant that we couldn’t walk very fast, and we even found ourselves taking a break or two despite the gentle slope.  

Almost to the top of Mt. Whitney...

But soon enough, we could see the stone hut at the top, and with joyous steps we continued up.  Carl and I got to the hut and stopped to wait for Chad & Co. – we didn’t want to summit the last few feet without them!  In the mean time, we put on our down jackets and rain gear and gloves.  Luckily, there was very little wind, but it was a bit below freezing and quite cold.  The puddles had a thin layer of ice.

The weather research hut at the top of Mt. Whitney

 
Chad, Tom, and Aaron soon joined us and we all proceeded up to the tippy top of Mt. Whitney at 14500’ (4420m).  It’s far from a solitary experience—there were about 50 other people coming and going while we were at the summit—but the views are nothing but magnificent.  I got a little emotional and teary—we were here!  We had hiked all the way across the Sierra and successfully summited the highest mountain in the contiguous 48 States!  I was with my beloved husband and my bestest friend and even a couple of newer but no less loved additions to our group!  And it was gorgeous!  It was my first 14er, and the highest 14er of them all, no less!  We could not have had better luck with the weather which was sunny and still and cloudless and nearly without haze.  The sun even began to feel pleasantly warm.  And the views.  Wow!  Just.  Wow.  

All five of us made it to the top of Mt. Whitney!!!

 
We were so high above the surrounding peaks that it almost felt like we were in an airplane looking down at the Sierra.  Granite ridge after granite ridge, peak after peak, alpine lake after alpine lake stretched in every direction. We could see at least 100 miles in every direction, probably more.  We could see the haze of the Central Valley and Fresno on the other side of the Sierra where we had started our journey.  

We could see the desert and well into Death Valley to the east.  

And to the north 

and south of us, 

endless Sierra.

We took a number of summit photos and then witnessed an engagement.  Again, I got emotional and teary.  What an amazing place to get engaged!  Luckily, no one dropped the ring into the heap of boulders that makes up the summit of Mt. Whitney.

We explored the peak which is rounded and quite large, not at all as spiky as it seems from below.  I studied the views in every direction, trying to memorize everything.

We then ate lunch, at like 9 a.m., just below the peak, sharing treats like coffee and Reece’s Pieces, all the while exclaiming at the views.  I got all emotional and teary again when a group of somewhat older Japanese gentlemen made it to the top and spontaneously formed a hug circle.  Summiting Mt. Whitney, and maybe the thin air, sure made me a softy that day!     

One of my favorite moments of the trip happened during lunch.  We had been singing a few Whitney Houston tunes on the hike leading toward the mountain, and at the top, we burst into “I Will Always Love You,” singing at the top of our lungs, out of tune, but bursting with joy of the moment.  We did not care that everyone was staring at us, or that we sounded terrible.  That song will never be sad for me again.  It will forever remind me of that glorious day on top of Mt. Whitney.

The weather was so fine that we probably could have stayed on the peak all day without a storm blowing through, but we did still have a long way to hike, and we wanted to be cautious just in case a thunderstorm did suddenly build.  Lightning has killed its share of people on Mt. Whitney, and we did not want to be among its victims. So we started heading down.  

Descending Mt. Whitney

I had had a pounding headache at the summit, but somewhere within the first hour of descent, the headache disappeared.  We retraced our steps, but this time, the light was bright enough that we could see the views into the valley below and beyond with clarity.  

It was a stunning hike down the ridge, 

through the pinnacles, and further down the ridge.  

 
Back at Trail Crest again, we stopped to pick up our abandoned gear and repack our backpacks.  We sat for a while, enjoying the view and the sun and chatting with other hikers.  

Repacking our packs at Trail Crest

Soon it was time to continue, and the trail was a bit menacing by beginning steeply uphill.  It was only about a quarter of a mile to the pass, but it was a tough climb as we were physically and mentally exhausted by this point.  But on the other side to the pass, the trail began to descend quickly, giving magnificent views of Mt. Whitney and the ridge we had just descended.

Trail up to and view east from the pass above Trail Crest

 
From the pass down to the first alpine lake at Trail Camp, the trail descends through the dreaded, infamous 100 switchbacks.  My feet had been ok on the initial descent, but now they got more and more sore with every pounding step.  There had been some talk of descending all the way to Outpost Camp, but going one step farther than necessary now seemed utterly impossible.  The lower we descended the slower our pace got.  By the time we arrived at Trail Camp, my feet and knees were screaming in pain.

Down 100 switchbacks from the pass at Mt. Whitney

 
We kept passing people that were on their way up.  Were they crazy to be ascending Mt. Whitney this late in the day?  Didn’t they know about the thunderstorm danger?  Yes, it was clear so far, but you never know.  And didn’t they realize how far up they still had to hike?  Why didn’t they stop at Trail Camp?  None of the hikers seemed to be enjoying their walk.  It was hot and excruciating work so late in the day. 

At 12,000’, Trail Camp is above treeline and has a direct view up to Mt. Whitney.  The sun was beating down on us, and there was no shade.  Unfortunately, the lake was algae-y and uninviting.  And we were so exhausted that we couldn’t sit upright.  After a giant snack, we all retreated into the shade of our tents and snoozed.  I was still woozy when we got up a couple of hours later, and none of us had the energy for much banter.  

Our tent at Trail Camp, below Mt. Whitney

 
Under other circumstances, Trail Camp would have been an incredible place to hang out.  But we were exhausted, and the lake was unappealing.  There were around 30 tents dotted about and people walked through our camp repeatedly to get to the relative privacy of the boulders behind our tents.  Worse of all, there were used, abandoned wag bags half hidden in crevices here and there.  It was disgusting, and I felt so disappointed in my fellow hikers that could do something like litter their wag bags.  At the same time, though, what are hikers that are just starting out at Whitney Portal supposed to do?  Are they supposed to carry their used wag bags for 7 or 10 days before exiting through another trailhead?  It was easy enough for us to carry our wag bags out as we only had to carry them for three days.  But they were smelly and gross, and I can’t imagine how disgusting they would have gotten after a week of the California sun.  

The sun sets early at trail camp, and we fell into bed exhausted.  It was so clear that Carl and I slept again without our rainfly.  It was magical looking at the stars over Mt. Whitney’s summit, but I was too exhausted to look for very long.

On the last day of our hike, we once again got up before dawn.  Carl and I got up at 4 a.m. and our group left camp at 5.  I was disappointed to leave before the sun rose because I had seen glorious photos of the glow of sunrise on Mt. Whitney’s cliffs, but we had a shuttle to catch and a pancake breakfast to eat before that.  We only had to use our headlamps for about 30 or 45 minutes, and it was soon bright enough to navigate the trail without them.  The trail down from Trail Camp is gorgeous, following a stream through a series of canyons.  I could appreciate the beauty, but I still felt pretty numb from our overwhelming and exhausting day on Mt. Whitney.

Hiking before sunrise to the trailhead at Whitney Portal

Soon enough we reached the trees, and the trail continued to descend.  And descend.  The bottom third of the trail was switchbacks on a dry, hot, dusty slope.  It wasn’t a very pleasant hike on the way down, and I can’t imagine how unnerving it would be on the way up.  Unlike our start on the High Sierra Trail, the start from Whitney Portal was agonizing in effort with very little reward in the way of scenery.  I was so thankful that we had been able to end our trip with Mt. Whitney instead of having to begin with this crazy climb and elevation gain!

Sunrise on the hike down to Whitney Portal

 
Just when it was beginning to feel like we’d never reach the campground and café at Whitney Portal, we did.  The first thing we did was to dispose of our smelly wag bags and all of our other trash.  Then we took off our boots and put on luxurious, breathable, unconstricting sandals.  And then we took photos with the trailhead sign.  And finally, it was time for our pancakes, bacon and beer.

We had been salivating about the pancakes, bacon, and beer since hearing about them the afternoon before, but no one warned us about the portion sizes.  I was expecting two small-to-medium pancakes to accompany my eggs, bacon, and hash browns, but the pancakes turned out to be about 16 inches in diameter and an inch thick.  I’m not exaggerating.  Even after our long, strenuous hike, there was no possible way that we could even come close to finishing our food.  Aaron took his leftovers in the shuttle, but I was so stuffed that the idea of eating any more of that pancake nauseated me.

Our shuttle driver arrived almost on time to pick us up, but within minutes of getting into the van, we were all terrified for our lives and it was obvious that he was the worst driver ever.  The terror continued for the next SEVEN hours as we would our way around and over the Sierra and back to our car in Sequoia NP.  The shuttle driver did not even consider obeying speed limits and at times drove exceedingly fast. He passed slower vehicles in dangerous and inappropriate places, sometimes cutting it so close that oncoming cars were honking their horns at us and slamming on their brakes in order to avoid crashing into us.  He often drove in the middle of the road, even around blind curves, and hardly moved back over when meeting cars, many of whom were honking at us.  He drove over the curb on at least three occasions.  At one point in the Central Valley, we were talking about the orange groves we were flying past, and he slammed on the breaks, pulling of the side of the road in a trail of dust into an orchard.  He got out and picked us several oranges off the trees, stealing not just the unripe fruit but also some foliage.  He tailgated other cars so closely that you couldn't see the next car's license plate.  Toward the end of the trip, he stopped for beer (he did not consume any of the beer during the drive to my knowledge) and did not properly secure his beer cooler—the full cooler of beer fell over onto his arms from the passenger seat while we were going around a sharp curve above a sheer cliff with no guardrail, and we nearly ran off the road into the abyss below. Then he started to nod off, so I started an aggressive chat campaign, asking all about his life and wife and career.  There was not a moment that we did not fear for our lives during the trip, and it was with some surprise at having survived as well as sheer relief and shaking legs that we said goodbye to the driver at Crescent Meadow.

The shuttle driver tried to convince us to join him for a beer at the trailhead, but all we wanted to do was to leave him behind and head toward a shower.  On the drive down from Crescent Meadow back to Fresno, we couldn’t stop talking about what a terrifying experience that drive had been and it took Whitney to take our minds off the petrifying shuttle drive.  Once we got into cell range, Tom streamed Whitney Houston songs and we all sang as loudly and as passionately as we could.  When we got to Emma’s house, we were literally dancing in the street and shouting the lyrics to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”

Back in Fresno, Carl and I resumed our routine of errands, appointments, and trying to squeeze in as much family time as possible.  Chad & Co. stayed in town an extra day, and we all took my mom out to a last BBQ dinner.  It was so sad to hug Chad, Tom, and Aaron goodbye in the BBQ restaurant’s parking lot, it felt like the end of an era.  Our adventure was officially at an end.  And after a few more days of errands, appointments, and family time, it was Carl and my turn to head to the airport.  Our (separate) flights home were luckily uneventful and even more luckily, we both had the luxury of having the entire row to ourselves on the trans-Atlantic flight.  

The High Sierra Trail is well-known in American backpacking circles, and it is a bucket list trail for many adventurers.  Even though it traverses the Sierra Nevada from west to east and is almost entirely within the Sequoia Kings Canyon Wilderness, it is in many ways not a wilderness experience.  For one, there are all the blasted sections of trail.  And for another, there are quite a lot of people on the trail.  Despite the strict wilderness permitting system with its elusive, restricted number of permits, the trail felt almost crowded at times.  We saw numerous people (in the range of 10-30, upwards of 100? on Mt. Whitney) every day, and the designated campsites often hosted 10 or more groups.  Bear boxes and clear and thorough signage are additional markers of civilization.  I wasn’t expecting a Sarek-like experience (no trails, no signs, no bridges), but I wasn’t expecting so many people.  Needless to say, I am thankful for the permitting system—without it, the backcountry would be completely overrun.    

None-the-less, the High Sierra Trail was extraordinarily beautiful.  I highly recommend it to anyone who can get a permit!  The varying elevation, from 6,500’to 14,500’, means that you experience a number of different ecosystems and landscapes, all of which are interesting and stunning.  The trail is challenging due to the elevation and the amount of food/weight you have to carry, but the gradients are some of the mildest I have ever experienced.  And the lack of mosquitoes and intense wind made the experience so much more enjoyable—I am assuming we just got lucky, but maybe summers are always so perfect in the Sierra?  Regardless, the scenery compounded by the climax of summiting Mt. Whitney at the end make for a truly spectacular trail.  It’s no wonder that the High Sierra Trail is such a classic.  Experiencing all this with Carl, Chad, Tom, and Aaron made the adventure doubly memorable and meaningful—I love you guys!  

 

TUESDAY, AUGUST 17, 2021  
Fresno and Sequoia National Park: Summer Vacation 2021 Part I

Carl and I are recently back from our summer vacation.  We flew to Fresno, California to hang out with our families and to meet up with our friends for a backpacking adventure in the Sierra.  Because Carl had a big voucher to use from a cancelled trip last year and that airline was far from the cheapest between Stockholm and Fresno, we were on different flights.  Our flights were on the same day, departing and arriving only an hour apart, yet it felt like ages between our hugs goodbye and hello.  The flights were packed like pre-Corona times, so by the time I arrived in CA I was sore, exhausted, and SO ready to be anywhere than on an airplane.  My grumpiness was not helped by the fact that the movie selection seemed uninspired, and there wasn’t much new since last summer.  Twelve-and-a-half hours and nine time zones is a LONG time to sit squashed on an airplane without any good movies.  

 
Needless to say, it was great to finally arrive in Fresno, but with our arrival came a fun but exhausting whirlwind of activity.  We hung out with my mom, took her dog on long walks, refinished a chair, took her to various appointments, and ran about a zillion errands for her and for ourselves.  We went to the Japanese gardens one queit afternoon.

And another day, we took a daytrip up into Sequoia National Park to look at General Grant, the world’s second largest tree by volume.  Grant and his neighbors were massive, truly amazing, unreal in their immensity.  Our apartment almost fits in the base of Grant’s trunk twice over.

 

We also hung out with Carl’s sister Emma and her family in their beautiful home and went out for a lovely dinner with Emma and Ryan.  We ran another zillion errands preparing for our grand adventure—buying hundreds of dollars worth of groceries and sunscreen, stopping by REI a couple of times, etc.

I picked up my bestie Chad and his partner Tom and their friend Aaron at the airport past midnight about a week into our trip, and the next day, we all took my mom out to a crawfish-and-lobster boil lunch.  It was an amazing meal and quite a memorable experience, one that I will cherish.

And then, it was time to drive up to Sequoia National Park for our big adventure!  While it was fun hanging out with family in Fresno, it was lovely to slow down the hectic pace up in the mountains.  We didn’t do much lazing around at all, but still, the tempo was entirely different than running around town.

In order to acclimate to the elevation and to spend more quality time with Emma and family, we planned a front-country car-camping pre-adventure before our backcountry backpacking grand adventure.  We (Emma and family, Chad and co., and Carl and I) stayed at Lodgepole Campground at about 6700 ft (2050m), and immediately when driving through the campground to our site, I couldn’t help but exclaim that it was so American!  Campgrounds in Sweden have almost nothing in common with American campgrounds (well, they look a lot like KOAs but that is an entirely different phenomenon than national park campsites): Swedish campgrounds are to cornfields as American campgrounds are to English romantic gardens.  If you know what I mean.  You probably don’t, but the gist is that in Swedish campgrounds you’re all lined up on a grassy field like sardines in a tin, while in American national parks, everyone gets their own little semi-private space along scenic, winding roads.  Once you’ve gained a broader perspective, even the bathroom buildings in American national parks are charming despite all the grimy, damp concrete due to their cottage-like exteriors and their omnipresent brown coloring.      

Aside from its Americanness, the campground was quite pretty with arrow-straight old-growth Lodgepole pines and a babbling river running through it.  There was even a waterfall with two perfect swimming holes, one below and one right above the waterfall, and absolutely crystal clear, cool water.  Perfect for rinsing and cooling off after our day hikes, especially considering that the park’s showers were still closed due to Covid.  
 

Emma and fam’s campsite was ground zero for meals.  They own quite the car-camping set up with multiple Coleman stoves, a collapsible kitchen and a large Dutch oven, and since campfires were banned due to drought and fire danger in the park, they even borrowed a tailgating grill.  With this kind of equipment, we couldn’t help but make gourmet meals with the likes of grilled peaches with an oatmeal crumble topping, slow-cooked BBQ chicken, scrambled eggs with sausage and bacon and broccoli and onion and red pepper and cheese, grilled corn on the cob (a luxury for us Swedes), banana boats stuffed with chocolate chips and mini marshmallows, and no-fire s’mores with Nutella and marshmallow cream instead of Hershey’s and roasted marshmallows.  Yum!  Our meals were often accompanied by board or card games and always complemented by good conversation and much laughter.  It was a special few days.   

We had two bear sightings while staying at the campground.  The first was a skinny mamma bear and two cubs foraging and playing on the other side of a dry river bed.  The second was a big, lumbering bear that wandered right through the campsite and just a few feet from Emma’s daughter who was asleep in a hammock!  Neither bear sighting felt threatening; while the bear wandering through the campsite was a little too close, the bear was not acting aggressively or even paying much mind to all of the campers clapping and banging on pots and pans to make it go away.  

 

Our first full day in Sequoia, Ryan planned out an incredible day hike for us.  It’s the kind of day hike that is so beautiful and memorable that it’s hard to believe that we were only a couple of hours from the car; usually that kind of scenery takes days to reach!  We started at Wolverton trailhead and hiked steadily but never steeply up to the Watchtower, a granite bulb jutting from the side of a mountain with thousands of feet of sheer drops on three sides.  The views down to the valley below were dizzying and the views across to the bowl of granite mountains beyond was incredibly beautiful.  

From the Watchtower, the trail continued upward on the side of a cliff—parts of the trail had been blasted through the cliff face.  We soon reached Heather Lake and tore off our clothes for a swim in the cool, refreshing water.  Carl swam all the way to the far side and back, but the rest of us just lollygagged in the water near the shore.  After drying off a bit and getting dressed again, we completed the loop back to the trailhead.  In total, the hike was about 8.5 miles (13.5 km).

 

The next day, we took it a little easier since we’d be starting on our grand backpacking adventure the day after.  We took the park shuttle up to Mono Rock, another jutting granite bulb similar to the Watchtower but with views both the Central Valley and to the mountains forming the Great Western Divide.  Mono Rock is easily accessible to tourists and has concrete staircases leading up to the viewpoint, but the views are not diminished due to the presence of tourists!

 
From there, we hiked back to the trailhead at the Giant Forest Museum.  The entire 4.5 miles (7 km) were though exquisite groves of giant sequoia trees.  Being slightly off the main tourist track, these trees are not fenced off and you can get close to the trees and really feel their immensity.  All 8 of us hugged one sequoia and we didn’t even come close to encircling it.

Next up was an obligatory visit to General Sherman, the world’s largest tree by volume.  You can't leave a national park named for the largest species of tree on earth without seeing the largest tree on earh!  The sequoias just don’t stop astonishing.  You never get accustomed to their scale.  Or their age. 2-3000 years old!!!

 
Our last morning at the campground, we got up before dawn and had a last breakfast together before Emma and family had to get back to Fresno and go back to work and such, and before Carl and I and Chad and co. began our grand backpacking adventure on the High Sierra Trail.  I’ll be posting about our hike soon!

       

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