Keyton, Lola, and Katie

We recently took a little trip. Larry doesn't fly much, so he was very excited to get a window seat.



When we arrived at our destination, I found myself stranded with two small children. While I cleaned up the dinner dishes, Keyton introduced Lola to his favorite video, the ballet version of "Peter and the Wolf."



Larry and Keyton worked up a gymnastic routine. The blue monstrosity in the background is an air mattress, a college student version of the Murphy bed.



Lola worked on her eating skills.



And when we got back home, Katie helped me with my extensive yard work.

First Time for Everything: Larry's Planning Goes Awry

We've decided to spend spring break in Death Valley (again) to enjoy the sun and warm weather. When we arrived, this is what we found:

The next day looked like this:

Larry spent months planning this trip. He purchased and studied every map and guide book known to man. He had planned a motorcycle trip through Titus Canyon and was not about to let a little rain disrupt the plan. Larry got the cycles ready while I secretly decided the ride was a bad idea.

Despite the impending rain, we followed the almighty plan. We spent all afternoon racing to stay ahead of the storm.

The next day the plan called for a backpack trip up Fall Canyon, around the top, and back down via Red Wall Canyon. After my lack of preparation last year found us lost and out of water in Marble Canyon, Larry spent days finely honing his backpacking plan. He knew the route, had the maps, and even talked a ranger into disclosing the location of a top-secret spring. He was Callister-Quality prepared. The plan could not fail. We headed into Fall Canyon with upmost confidence.

Due to Larry's research, this 18' impassible dry fall and bypass trail came as no surprise. 

When the load got too heavy, Larry mercifully let me stop to rest.

The canyon was full of amazing things like a blue lizzard, plants growing out of cracks, and weird rock formations.

We trudged along, using the GPS, maps, and laminated copies from the guidebook to find our way. Nothing could go wrong with Larry so prepared. It was nearing dark when we came around the corner and found this unexpected disaster. It doesn't look like much in the picture, but we ran smack into another dry fall, this one 15' of polished dolomite with no easy way around.

Unable to get around, we made camp. Larry worked into the night reading maps, studying the GPS, and pouring over the alphabetized, color-coded, and laminated photocopied pages of the guide book he'd brought along. I pretended to be worried, but after screwing up my planning so badly last year, I secretly rejoiced at Larry's misfortune.  It looked like Larry's planning sucked, too, making us even.

The next morning, Larry risked his life scaling the fall and then pulled up the packs.

I played the grandma card and climbed around on the terrific trail Larry helped me find.

Whew, we made it! But wait--what's this? Another dry fall, again not mentioned in the books nor by the ranger. This one consisted of a jumble of colossal boulders wedged between sheer canyon walls.

We spent five hours trying to get around. We tried to climb the rocks in three different places. We tried to climb out of the canyon and go around. Each time, we came to a life-risking place and chickened out. Our friend the Chuckwalla advised us to give up, so we did. All of Larry's planning had failed.

While we walked out, the way we'd come, I asked Larry a million questions: How did it feel to be a failure? Was this the first time his planning had not paid off? Did this inspire him to do more planning next time, or less?

After a seven-mile hike back out, we reached the motorcycle shuttle only to find a minor mechanical problem. Grumpy Larry fixed it right up.

After abandoning our hike, we took the bikes into the Panamint Mountains for more exploration.

I rode with great caution and stunningly bad clothes.  I've set a goal to do something about both of these problems (but probably won't).

Along the way, we found all kinds of interesting things.

An abandoned mine:

Weird rocks:

Fossils:

Wildlife:

Petroglyphs:



Mysterious moving rocks at the "racetrack." Apparently howling winds slide the rocks over the dry lakebed when it's muddy or frozen.

We said good-bye to Death Valley for at least another year. As I work on this blog tonight, Larry's already making plans to return. He's found an photo journal online posted by some guys who made it over the dry fall that stopped us in our tracks. "If they can do it, so can we," he says and pounds the table.  "With a little more preparation," he tells me, "we can make it over next year." Apparently, more planning has begun.  Fall Canyon, here we come.

Olympic National Park Beach Backpack

It's been about a month since our last hike on the beach in the Olympic National Park in NW Washington, and we can't quit thinking about how beautiful it was. Once again, thanks to our district's reduction in school days, we have a four day weekend. We decide to return for a backpack trip. We'll hike along the coast from Ozette Lake to the Makah Indian Reservation (16 miles).



We contact a shuttle service to give us a ride from the Reservation (where we left the car) to the trailhead at Ozette Lake. The shuttle driver's name is Willie Nelson. I'm not making this up. He tells us that we hold the all-time record for earliest in the year request for a shuttle on this hike. Most of his business comes during warmer weather. This news comes as no big surprise.



It's after midnight when Willie drops us at the trailhead. The parking lot is empty. So is the ranger station. Larry sets up a luxurious camp on the ranger station deck, in front of the men's restroom. I'm assigned the task of guarding the toolbox during the night. The toolbox is a long story.



The toolbox story begins with this sign. Like a good Boy Scout, Larry is determined to save our food from the raccoons. He tells me to carry the toolbox in my pack. At first I am annoyed because the box is heavy, but soon I seen the positive side: the toolbox fills my pack. Sadly I will have room for little else. Larry will have to carry my sleeping bag, pad, and the tent.



Larry's next concern is fording the Ozette River, a task only possible at low tide. In order to get that far before the tide comes up, Larry forces me onto the trail before dawn and we hike with headlamps. I briefly wonder what it would be like to be with someone normal.



Eventually the sun comes up.



We make the Ozette River at low tide and cross easily. Below you can see Larry's packing method: if it doesn't fit inside, strap it up on top. The higher it goes, the happier he is.



We walk all day and see absolutely no one. We find easy-to-walk-on wet sand.





And pea gravel to slog through, sinking under heavy packs.



The small rocks provide better walking and are full of interesting variety.



There are also ankle-turning large rocks, a personal favorite of mine.



We find a camp spot mid-afternoon as the tide comes up. To continue to hike at high tide would be difficult at best, impossible or dangerous at worst. Boy Scout Larry gets right to work rigging up his raccoon proof toolbox hanging system. First, he salvages some rope from a pile of driftwood logs.



I find a perfect rock to tie to the rope for tossing over a tree limb.



Larry is very happy.



We watch the sunset from camp.





After we eat, Larry rigs the box shut with two nylon raft straps as well as two heavy gauge pieces of copper wire. "Let's see the little bastards try to chew through this," he chuckles.



He hangs the box in the tree where it swings gently in the breeze all night with nary a sign of raccoons.



The next day, we climb up, over, and through a chain of small beaches. Some have signs that warn of "Impassable Beachhead."  You can't make it around these points along the ocean; you have to go up and over.



I smell trouble, but Larry just straps more stuff onto his pack and tells me to get going.



Notice my lovely pack with everything packed neatly inside. The ropes are a permanent part of the trail and are very helpful for grandmas.



The view along the top is amazing.



As we peer over this cliff, I think of the news stories I've read where men push their annoying wives off cliffs and say it was an accident. I stand back when Larry asks me to come take a closer look.



We finish out the hike in a light rain. Larry loads a few more items on his pack and covers the whole thing with a flapping tarp. "Let's get out of here," he says.