Planes, Trains, Boats and Buses...

And feet! Yesterday, Brian and I flew from PDX to Vancouver, BC, where we had a 2-day layover before continuing on to Thailand. The reason for the long layover is an even longer story, but suffice it to say that we booked our trip through cheaptickets.com, and...well, you get what you pay for, right? Lucky for us, Brian's friend Thomas lives in North Vancouver, and he was happy to host us.

The flight from Portland to Vancouver was a short one, and after being thoroughly interrogated by the customs agent, B and I retrieved our gear and made our way via train, boat and bus across the city to Thomas' house on a typically rainy day. We spent the afternoon exploring on foot and then met Thomas for some sushi. Thomas is an exceptionally talented musician, (Brian says, "He serenades my soul," which is a pretty accurate description of the effect of his voice), and we had the pleasure of hearing him play guitar and sing as we lounged last night in our sushi-induced food comas.

This morning we awoke to a beautiful bluebird day and of course, you can't let a sunny day go to waste in the Pacific Northwest. Brian and I walked to Lynn Valley Regional Park, which contains dense temperate rainforest, waterfalls and a suspension bridge dating back to 1912, with a backdrop of steep, snow-capped mountains. Gorgeous. 

On our way home, we stopped for some dinner and snacks for tomorrow's long day of traveling. After a debacle on the bulk foods aisle that resulted in $22 worth of mixed nuts, I'd say we're well-prepared for the next leg of our journey. 

On the suspension bridge over Lynn Valley Canyon

playing with water

30 foot pool

looking over the edge of the pipeline bridge

 

Movement

Transition. I am in a state of transition. Isn't everyone? Aren't we always? Things are constantly changing, and that's the challenge of life: continually finding a balance, trying to keep your feet on solid ground in the ebb and flow, the up and down that is life. Well, for me, it feels like almost nothing in my life is solid. 

I don't have a job, and I don't know what I want to do to earn money and pay my bills. I guess you could say I am a bit "lost." I do have some extremely vague ideas and they are this: (1) I don't think I want to practice law anymore, at least not in the private realm (I did enjoy public defense, and I think I would enjoy working for the government or non-profit); (2) Most of my thoughts on "earning income and being happy at the same time" lead to ideas and dreams of owning my own business.....and that is terrifying for many reasons, though not an inconceivable goal. 

I am also in the process of moving out of my room that I have rented for the past 10 months or so. Where am I moving, you ask? Well, nowhere. Okay, not exactly nowhere. I am moving my possessions to a friend's house for storage for about 2 months while I am in Thailand (Yes! Thailand! Exciting!). When I return from Thailand, life will be one gigantic question mark. For a girl who spent the first 26 years of her life in school, followed by 2 years of working hard as a lawyer, this is unsettling to say the least. I read this statement recently, and it sums up very well what I am feeling: "There is the excitement of open possibility and new beginnings alongside the fear of the unknown, and the removal of the old boundaries and rules of living."

Lately, I have been feeling very vulnerable around all of this uncertainty (freedom?). I have found myself feeling sad, irritable and restless without really understanding why. I was putting up walls and alienating my boyfriend, unintentionally causing pain to both of us. I decided to take some time to myself over the past few days to process and release the emotions and energy I was feeling and to try to find my inner balance once again. I ended up spending a lot of time talking to some of my girl friends - laughing, crying, hugging and generally losing track of time. It was everything that I needed, and I found that during times like this, when the ground below your feet just won't stay still, you can keep your feet grounded on the love and support of your friends. I am so grateful to have friends with whom I can be completely honest and open, with whom I can share my deepest fears and insecurities, and they will not judge me, but they will support me. Last night I came home from dinner with some friends, and I felt so full of love and gratitude, I wanted to burst. 

I don't know if I have quite found my balance yet, but I have taken some positive steps. I have written my intention on the refrigerator: "I trust that my body and my heart can deal with the size of what I am feeling." I am working on remaining calm as I allow my emotions to work themselves out, and I am not allowing my mind to become over-active with analysis or judgment of what I am feeling. I know that I am loved, and with that, I trust in myself and know that "All is well."

32 Days on the Road

A few days ago, I returned home to Bend from a month-long road trip through California. This was initially intended as a two week trip to Joshua Tree National Park, but as we worked our way up the California coast, monitoring the weather reports in Oregon, we couldn't come up with a good reason to hurry home. So, we decided to go to Yosemite instead. And once you're in Yosemite, you're only about an hour from Bishop, where climbing abounds at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains and the temperatures were prime. The following is a (not so) brief summary of our adventures!


Brian and I left for Joshua Tree on the day after Christmas and headed to San Francisco to pick up some German highliners that Brian had met in Moab last November. I was feeling excited to be on the road, out of town, heading to warmer weather and new places, looking forward to meeting new friends. This was my first visit to San Francisco, and even though it was a short stop, we managed to spend a morning walking around Haight/Ashbury while the Germans (they do have names: Lukas, Alex, and Christian) packed up their gear. Don't ask me how we crammed five people plus two weeks work of camping stuff, gear, and food into Brian's Honda Element. I don't know how it happened, but I soon found myself sitting in the front passenger's seat, holding my backpack in my lap, surprisingly comfortable, watching the San Fran suburbs pass by as we headed toward I-5 South. 


We arrived in Joshua Tree early the next morning, greeted by blazing hot sunshine, bluebird skies, and a Martian landscape dotted with boulder piles and trees that look like they escaped from a Dr. Seuss book. It's absolutely gorgeous. The main purpose of the Joshua Tree trip was highlining (and for Brian, filming). There were a lot of highliners converging on Joshua Tree at the time we arrived and herds of climbers spending the New Year holiday there. 

Joshua Tree National Park

I learned quickly that hanging out with highliners (at least in Joshua Tree) involves a lot of rock scrambling, sometimes in exposed or high places, and I realized that I did not have the experience that Brian and the others had. Where they ran up a slab, I would crawl up halfway, look down, try not to panic, sometimes panic anyway, and then take many deep breaths and ever so slowly work my way to the top. I also slid down the coarse, slabby granite wherever possible, which resulted in the seat of every pair of pants I brought with me getting worn through. I hit a sharp learning curve at the Space Station, which Brian and I climbed up to on our second day there. The Space Station is a large dish in the side of a rock face that overlooks the Hidden Valley camping area. To get there, you have to chimney up a large crack, then walk horizontally across a ledge, then down climb and either crawl through a hole or step around the outside of the dish to get inside. No rope or harness. Once you're inside, it's perfectly safe. I, who had never chimneyed nor down climbed, started feeling my heart race as I scooted across the exposed ledge. During the down-climb, tears were streaming down my face. I squeezed through the hole and eventually calmed down....it was a nice view, but I was just thinking about the exit and how I hoped that would go a little easier. I'll admit I wasn't very good company in the Space Station. I was congratulated on pushing through my fear, but at the time, I wasn't sure whether pushing through was due to toughness or unreasonable stubbornness. Either way, I did make it back down, and it went slightly more smoothly, though the exposed ledge still freaked me out. I wasn't proud of myself at the time, but looking back, I realize it was just too soon for me to attempt something like that. I think if I had gone up to the Space Station later in the trip, I would have been fine, but for me, it was not a good situation for learning to scramble and down climb. Over the next ten days, the growing pains subsided, and I became increasingly comfortable. Later in the trip, in Yosemite, I felt totally calm and comfortable rappelling down to a ledge across from Lost Arrow Spire, approximately 3,000 feet off the Valley floor, and I felt no fear learning to boulder for the first time in Bishop. All in all, I learned and I grew, and that's the most important thing.

Brian took this photo of me in the Space Station. I wouldn't look at the camera since my face was puffy and tear-streaked.

All smiles in front of Lost Arrow Spire, Yosemite National Park (Photo by Brian Mosbaugh).

The ten or so days in Joshua Tree were spent rigging highlines at different areas of the park. My level of participation included hiking to these areas, helping to carry gear, and hanging out laying in the sun, napping or reading. I did scoot out on a 90 foot highline, just to feel the exposure. It's a crazy feeling when both of your feet are dangling high above the ground. I have not yet mastered the "chongo" start, where you scoot out on the line and essentially get your legs under you and stand up without losing your balance, so I wasn't walking any highlines in Joshua Tree. I did go running one day, on what I thought would be a 5 or 6 mile run and turned out to be more like 9 and a half. It felt good to really be moving and I savored the time inside my own head. 

Eventually it was time to move on, and we said goodbye to our new (and old) friends, making tentative plans to see them again soon. After a stop for some mediocre burritos (proximity to Mexico is not indicative of quality of Mexican food) and a dip in the local hot springs, we migrated west to visit our friend Dave in Pasadena. The guys wanted to rig a couple highlines in that area, and I was looking forward to seeing my childhood friend Rachael. It was refreshing to take a hot shower and actually blow dry my hair (small luxuries), have some "girl" time, go out to breakfast, and explore LA a little bit. The visit was short but wonderful, and before long, I was back in the car with the guys, heading north.


Our next stop was San Luis Obispo. The guys rigged a highline in a beautiful area along the coast, directly over the ocean. Interestingly, there was also a nude beach down below. Appallingly, the area where the highline is located has become a nighttime rendezvous for people to party, do drugs, and who knows what else. In addition, creepy people go up there with binoculars to spy on the nude sunbathers down below. I have no idea why they feel the need to view the scene through binoculars rather than just hiking down to the beach to have a look. After hiking around briefly and noticing broken glass, several pairs of boxer briefs littered about, and one muddy snakeskin cowboy boot, I decided that I did not like the energy of the place and I decided to go spend the day down at Avila Beach (a different, clothed beach). It's sad that such a beautiful place was trashed by humans, but it's not the first nor the last place on our trip where we witnessed such a lack of respect.


After a night in San Luis Obispo, we returned to San Francisco and took Lukas, Alex and Christian to the airport for their return to Germany. Brian and I found ourselves once again on our own and traveling in a more spacious vehicle. We spent the night relaxing in a friend's apartment, sharing some wine and watching a few episodes of Lost (another first for me!). The next morning, I got up and went running in Golden Gate Park, which is just a block or two from our friend's apartment. Once again I intended on going for a short run, but it was such a beautiful morning that I didn't want to stop, and I ended up going about 8 miles. I took a nice, hot shower and Brian and I ate breakfast at an outdoor table at a vegan restaurant called Herbivore (yum!). We spent the day walking up and down the hills of the city, looking down the curves of Lombard Street, sharing a decadent sundae at Ghirardelli, and snapping some photos of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate bridge. We realized at that point that we could either drive up the coast and make our way back to Bend or head a couple hours east to Yosemite. Neither of us felt a need to hurry back to Bend, and the weather had just been so nice in California, so we decided to extend our trip just a bit longer and head to Yosemite. 


We left the city that night and drove to Yosemite, but we pulled over and slept in the car about a half an hour outside the park. The next morning, we woke before dawn, hoping to make it into the park before it opened, thereby avoiding the $25-30 entry fee. Brian never drives even slightly over the speed limit for any reason, so we reached the park entrance at 7:04am. The light was on in the booth and the sign said "Open," but the blinds were still closed. We held our breath. We saw the park ranger begin walking toward the booth. Brian paused at the entrance stop sign, coming to a complete stop, but then immediately accelerating again. I avoided eye contact with the ranger, but Brian exchanged a look with her and said she was smiling in a "you got away this time" kind of way. Whew! We made it into the park without paying and better yet, we got to the first viewpoint of the Valley right at sunrise. The first glimpse of El Cap, Half Dome and the rest of the Valley is so exciting, so beautiful, it takes my breath away. I hope to go to Yosemite again and again in my life, and I hope that first view always has that effect on me. We made our way to Camp 4, which was as empty and cold as a refrigerator box. There was no snow there or anywhere in the Sierras (even on Mount Shasta!), which was so strange, but at least all of park was accessible. That first afternoon in Yosemite, Brian and I hiked up to the top of Yosemite Falls, and then over to Yosemite Point and Lost Arrow Spire. The falls were frozen over each morning, with just a trickle of water coming down, but increased to a rush of water each afternoon as the sun warmed it. Brian and I rappelled down to the ledge across from the Spire and hung out, watching the Valley below as the sun dipped behind the ridge. This was Thursday, and on Saturday morning, our friend Tyler came down from Bend to join us in some adventures. He is a photographer and Patagonia is one of his clients, so he brought a bag of Patagonia clothes for us to wear during his stay. It was wonderful to have new clothes to put on, more warmth in fewer layers, and I enjoyed wearing color coordinated bottom layers, down jacket and hat. It's the small things, right?

Yosemite Falls

Having fun in Yosemite (photo by Brian Mosbaugh)

We also got together with Brian's friend Braden, who grew up in Yosemite and was in the area for the weekend. Brian and Braden spent two days rigging the highline at the Rostrum, as well as doing some filming and experimenting with a pulley system that Braden has developed for filming unique overhead angles. I practiced stepping out on the highline because this was one that did not require scooting out and doing a chongo start. Brian held my hand as I stepped out over the abyss, and I took a few steps and just tried to balance. There was a fun, easy trad route nearby as well, so after Brian showed me the basics on placing gear, I led my first trad climb. It was a short, but really fun climb. I also top-roped another easy route, but instead of practicing my hand jams, which was the purpose of the climb, I somehow smeared my way up the no-hold face. I guess this crack climbing stuff doesn't come so naturally to me, but oh well, I love that Yosemite granite makes it possible to, "when it doubt, smear."


Over the next week, Brian, Tyler and I hiked among some Giant Sequoias at Mariposa Grove and rigged another highline at Taft Point. We had been hearing some rumors about ice-skating at Tanaya Lake, which is located at about 10,000 feet elevation in Tuolomne Meadows. Braden also informed us that the skating rink at Curry Village in the Valley was selling their old rentals. We went to examine the mostly picked-over rentals, and since there were no pairs left, we settled on a men's size 7.5 skate and a women's size 8 skate. Close enough....and at least both had laces. We knew the forecasters were calling for a snow storm at the end of the week, so we headed up to the lake before the storm hit and closed off access. We were pretty excited - it was said that conditions had now allowed for high elevation alpine lake skating since the 1930's (usually this area would be buried under many feet of snow) - so we knew this was a unique opportunity. There was no camping up at Tuolomne, so we decided to exit the park, camp in the national forest, and return the next morning to skate. The sun set as we reached Tuolomne, but we stopped to check out the vast frozen lake in the dark. It's a huge lake. And it was frozen over with a thick layer of ice, probably about a foot thick. As we stepped out onto the lake, we could hear the ice shifting below us and feel its vibrations in our feet. It was so eerie, yet beautiful. The noise of the ice was like the noises that whales make below the surface of the water. And the vibrations made it feel like an ancient sea monster was moving below us. So amazing! The temperature had dropped with the sun and the winds were beginning to rip, so we moved on, a few miles up the road and out of the park. That night, we didn't even get out of the car because it was so cold. We skipped dinner, risked a bear break-in, and buried ourselves in our sleeping bags. In the morning, it was no less cold and perhaps windier. We headed for the park, only to find that the Tuolomne park entrance had been closed behind us! No worries, there was another, smaller alpine lake on our side of the gate. We spent a half a day at Tioga Lake, Brian and I each taking a spin on the skates and Tyler photographing. It was bitterly cold, and the winds were tearing the clouds to shreds. 

Brian skating on Tioga Lake, elev. around 9,000 feet (Yosemite National Park)

After a morning of ice skating, we moved on, having decided to go down and spend a few days in Bishop, California, which is about an hour from Tuolomne. During our ice skating session, the Forest Service had come through and locked a gate down below us, blocking access to the pass, and also trapping us between the National Forest gate and the National Park gate. As Brian and Tyler pondered the consequences of breaking the lock, I chased down a car and asked the passengers to call the forest service and let them know we were stuck. That was unnecessary, however, because a Park Service truck pulled up at that moment and offered to set us free. They smiled and shook their heads, muttering something about the Forest Service not doing their job and checking the area before closing the gate. Good thing we didn't break that lock....

We attempted to stop for a late breakfast in Mono Lake, but apparently that town shuts down on Tuesdays and Wednesdays (and this was a Wednesday). So, we held on until we got to Bishop, and enjoyed a delicious meal at Jack's before going bouldering at the Happies. What an incredible day, which began with ice skating in bitterly cold wind and ended with playing on boulders in t-shirts and watching the sky change from hot pink to orange to blue as the sun sank behind Mount Tom. The next day we went to boulder at the Buttermilks, and it's a good thing we did, because the ridiculous winds we had been experiencing made their way south and east. Just about the time we started to get tired, the clouds rolled in and the winds gusted, blowing dust in our eyes. Tyler had to head north that night, so we said farewell, and Brian and I retreated back to the pit to camp. 


The weather was iffy over the next few days, so we passed the time at hot springs, the local used gear shop, setting up a slackline at the park and watching movies in the car. We also randomly ran into Brian's friend Preston, who works for the State of California, tracking foxes in the Sierras. It was a funny rendezvous, because Brian and I had pulled over to check out a strange monument outside of the Bishop gun club. The monument is to some men who were escaped convicts, who were then captured and hanged by local residents. The monument is called "The Lynching of the Convicts." It's really strange. Anyway, we pulled back onto the highway, and then saw Preston driving next to us. We pulled over and Preston told us that he had recognized Brian's car but was confused as to why it was pulling out of the gun club. We spent the next few days with Preston, though the weather didn't permit climbing. Instead, we bought a 5-pound bag of gummy bears at the Smart&Final and played Slap Jack in the car. It may just be that I was cracked out on sugar, but I thought it was really, really fun.


Finally, the weather improved and we got to climb! The Buttermilks had been buried in snow, so we spent two days bouldering at the Happies and one full day at Owen's River Gorge. I had never bouldered before, and I loved it. You can climb as mellow or as hard as you want, and we did both. Brian taught me some bouldering technique and I got the hang of a few moves on some overhanging rock. Owen's River Gorge is awesome. I think it's beautiful, even with the power lines and random decrepit building. It was my first time sport climbing outside of Smith, and I loved learning a new style on different rock. I led the first pitch and made it up above the last bolt before I got a little confused on the moves and too pumped to hold on while I figured it out. I took a small whip, recovered, and made the last couple moves to the anchors. We climbed until dark, then hiked out and camped near the gorge. In the morning, we found the camping area to be littered with remnants of redneck activities: hundreds of empty shot gun cartridges (and a few live rounds), targets, skeets, rusted tin cans full of holes, and beer cans. We contemplated arranging the trash to leave a nasty message, but decided that then we would be stooping to their level. Instead we got some satisfaction cutting open the live rounds (just to be on the safe side) and pouring out the little metal bullets, and then we filled up about 3 and a half grocery bags and hauled the trash to a dumpster. 

Owens River Gorge

Home Sweet Home.

Evidence of rednecks.

The weather in Bishop was gorgeous and the forecast indicated that it was just going to keep getting better. Brian and I had the "well.....I probably don't really need to get back quite yet" conversation. We kept pushing our return date back, and probably would have continued to do so for a few more days, but we called our friend Corey, who was getting ready to move to Utah to work as an adventure guide. We realized that we were quickly running out of days to see Corey before he left, so we said goodbye to Bishop and the East Sierras and made our way north again. We stopped at one last hot spring, called The Crab Cooker, and it was a great way to wrap up the trip. It is a small pool, 4 to 5 people tops, with adjustable hot and cold pipes, and an excellent view of the Sierras, which, by the time we left, were covered with a layer of snow. 

Brian and me, soaking in some hot springs on our last day in the East Sierras.