Finally finished choosing a set of photos worth posting from my last trip to Sri Lanka in May.

This was an exciting trip, starting with severe flooding that prevented us from getting from the airport into Colombo until Sanjiva and his Jeep staged a daring rescue.  Marilyn Jones’ superb All-Nighter Writer workshops were a big hit with the whole company, and we visited the chaotic marketplace of Colombo called Pettah for a sweaty, smelly, photo session.

Finally, we took a day trip up to Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage and watched the large herd storm through town for their daily river play time.  As much fun the second time as the first!

Then wound it up with a Desert Safari in Dubai during our stayover.

Sri Lanka photos here, and a few photos and a video from Dubai here.

[Writeen Tuesday July 27th, 2PM.  Complete photoset here.]

Just as we hit the trail Monday morning we found the trail blocked by a doe and her two spotted fawns.  They largely ignored us but managed to keep a modest distance from us as we inched quietly forward along the trail.

Our climb for the day was tedious as feared, constant uphill and switchbacks climbing out of the Lyell Canyon, but the temperature was mild and the mozzies continued to be absent after the hailstorm.  When we eventually reached a pass a cool strong wind was blowing and we chilled quickly.  We found a sheltered spot to cook some Ramen for lunch – which never tasted so fine – followed by a short hot-sun cool-breeze nap.

The trail from Lyell Canyon to Vogelsang crosses a high, empty plateau, with a couple of shallow lakes amid flat grasslands.  But peeking up around all 360-degrees of the plain were high country peaks both new and old to us – the nearest and therefore largest monoliths being Vogelsang Peak and Fletcher Peak.  Although this little-used trail was quiet, in mid afternoon we started to encounter day hikers venturing out from Vogelsang High Sierra Camp.

The High Sierra Camps are a series of white fabric tent-cabins which can be reserved in advance.  You can have your gear packed in or ride up on one of the mule trains.  There is a kitchen which prepares your meals and even a small camp store for vital supplies, where we stopped briefly to complete our map collection down to the Valley floor.

In front of the store lounged a portly gentleman smoking a pungent cigar.  I refrained from cracks about the clean mountain air – as I was starting to qualify as a toxic hazard myself – but it was clear “civilization” was increasingly upon us.

After a short stay we breezed out for a late afternoon summit of Vogelsang Pass – a beautiful rocky landscape and yet another beautiful high country lake.  Just before the pass, I came within about 10 feet of a well-camouflaged Ptarmigan, who watched us warily but refrained from flight while her single tiny chick darted this way and that in alarm. The pass snakes between some large bounders before opening suddenly onto a sheer dropoff and another dramatic canyon view with sheer cliffs, snow-shouldered peaks, lakes and waterfalls – our last real view of the high country.  It would be all downhill from here. 

The descent from Vogelsang Pass is stunning and manages to find a path down the near vertical face.  Our original route would have had us ascending this face as a completion of this section of the High Route and we were quite grateful to be reversing this challenging route!

We continued on until the sun started to disappear, but we persisted in our goal of shedding 1500 feet of elevation to gain the sub-9600 foot elevation at which we could again have a fire – less for mozzies this time but for warmth on the coldest night so far as well as simple entertainment factor.

The morning trail again held a doe and fawn – much more skittish then the last and quick to flee.  Perhaps because the steepness and ruggedness of the canyon provided only a single axis for easy flight.

The river we followed had grown in size through aggregation and by the time we reached Merced Lake were a booming torrent crossed by occasional bridges.  I felt that we had traced these waters from their source in the high snowfields through all the stages of trickles, brooks, and streams to their maturity.  The landscape had become a series of solid rounded blocks of granite rather than the shattered geography of the higher elevations.  We passed unexpectedly through an old-growth Redwood Forest in the protection of Morraine Dome, but also encountered the remains of previous forest fires in the area.

Trail traffic continually increased, including mule pack trains heading up to Vogelsang, as we continued down to Merced Lake, and an easy onward hike towards Little Yosemite.  Mercifully easy, as a blister at last began to develop and I switched for a time from my sturdy boots to Tivas.

[Next day.]

We settled in the Backpackers’ Camp at the foot of the Half Dome trail for the night, strange to be in such proximity to dozens of other campers, and the next day simply worked our way painstakingly against the upcoming traffic down the Mist Trail past Nevada and Vernal Falls.

Camp Curry on the Valley Floor provided all the immediate gratifications – pizza and a shower – and we toured on the Shuttle Bus down to El Capitan to watch the climbers on their multi-day climb up this sheer 3,000 foot face.

We caught the YART bus, a stunning 4 hour ride from the Valley, up through Tuolumne Meadows, over Tioga Pass, down to Lee Vining and the June Lake Loop back to our car at Mammoth Lakes just after dark.

Then we fired up our cell phones, checked in on the dearest internet we’d been separated from for so long, and that’s really about the end of the story ;-).

[Written Sun July 25th, 9:30PM.  Complete photoset here.]

Upon awakening to the rays of dawn crowning Mounts Ritter and Banner, I took a stroll and found our little oasis for the night surrounded in all directions by forbidding snow and rock – again our nightly resting places seem “prepared” for us.  It didn’t take too long to skirt the ridge and reach Whitebark Pass, separating the Banner and Ritter valleys.

Near the top were some amazingly gnarled and ancient Whitebark Pines for which the pass was named – and a steep snowfield dropping off to large and shapely Garnet lake.  Before steeling ourselves for the descent, we had our traditional “pass-repast” – a Sierra snow cone.  Two cups of ice from the ubiquitous snowfield, poured over with a tangy syrup made from a single-serving lemonade packet – a refreshing snack to reward our efforts.

The snowfield proved too steep to descend safely, and we began clambering on all fours down a rocky side chute, taking turns descending to minimize the danger of slipping chunks of talus, and gradually worked our way down through more modest snowfields to a flat boggy area above the west end of Garnet Lake.  We crossed this speedily and began our second, more gradual pass of the day, a saddle separating Garnet and Thousand Island Lakes.

The Thousand Island descent was stunning and gave us a great view of the expanse of the many islands of the famous Thousand Island Lake and of the face of Mount Banner immediately to the west.  Clouds that had been billowing larger all morning let loose with a handful of hail and a some minor rainstorms, and drove us to seek refuge under our tent fly for the lunch hour.

As we wandered among the magical ponds and islands at the headwaters of Thousand Island Lake, still rippling with drizzle, it became apparent to me that our pace would have to increase substantially if we were to finish the High Route in time.  With the deteriorating weather and the difficult Whitebark Pass descent still fresh in mind, Sanjiva was already expressing doubts about the next obstacle – 11,000+ foot North Glacier Pass – a north facing ascent to the shoulders of Mount Banner sure to be covered with a major snowfield.And with the volume of ice-cold water we’d encountered along our route the fording of the Merced River sounded none too enjoyable.

As we worked our way up the approach it was clear our fears were realized and although I was confident we could pass, Sanjiva’s concern over snowfields remained and we reset our goal.  Although I was disappointed there are other opportunities to complete the route and plenty of other beautiful country to see.  We decided instead to continue our own High Route on the east side of the range and work our way northward cross-country to a windy pass giving us access to the basin containing the Davis Lakes.

As we ascended north a strange and biblical sight appeared – a tree burning on the hillside.  We approached and saw a stand that had apparently been the victim of a recent lightning strike.  Even stranger, although we were well off the beaten track, a camp was set up next to the fire – a group that had summitted Mount Banner that morning and were trying to escape the mosquitoes further down.  Apparently they were taking advantage of the natural fire (no man-made fires allowed at this elevation) to dispel the mosquitoes.

We gained the pass fairly easily, and as we traversed our way through the moderate talus, we entered a wide long bench descending towards the lake at the head of the valley – a valley headed by Mount Davis and no less dramatic then the others we had encountered.

The bench became grassier and developed into a golf-course like series of magical vales, with bubbling alpine brooks winding their way through the lush vegetation.  We stopped for the night at one particularly appealing spot with a view of the surrounding mountains and a bellowing waterfall across the lower Davis Lake.  I should say here that at few points is the high country silent at this time of year – the roar of waterfalls is ever-present as water overflows each existing course and carves new ones.

Next day we continued our cross-country traverse along a bench on the west side of the valley until we reached modest Rogers Lakes.  Striking out north again, keeping cliffs on the left, we ascended another ridge and descended gently into a meadow with a broad stream emitting from the unseen Marie Lakes.  This meadow was the most beautifully “landscaped” garden we’d yet seen and we explored the shores and waterfalls, abundant wild flowers, and waded in the achingly cold water for an extended time.  Eventually leaving this eden, we traversed a level bench and joined at last the John Muir Trail as it rose gradually through a chaotic landscape of boulders and streams, home to a multitude of marmots.  We’d often round a boulder and startle one.  A long and tedious ascent through this strange unfinished area brought us at last to Donohue Pass, our highest point yet at 11,100 feet.

The traffic on the trail gradually increased, with the combined aspirants to the John Muir Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, weekend warriors descending the pass at a rate of one group every five minutes or so.   The descent quickly switchbacks down the side of the steep Lyell Canyon to a green swath of meadow with a wide, clear river meandering widely through it.  As we entered the meadow, a herd of horses and pack mules approached and surrounded us, looking for the best sandy pit to roll their pack-sweat away.  As evening was fast approaching, we continued down the valley at a brisk pace, stopping briefly under sheltering trees, when a thunderstorm spit at us.  Finally we spied a more significant squall racing down the valley and we dashed for some more thick trees as hailstones began to fall.  Through the squall lasted a short while, it dampened the landscape and cooled the gathering mosquitoes away.  The meadow turned boggy and we had to continue down the meadow farther than our tired bodies wanted to, but found at last a dry patch for out tent under a tree, with a nearby fire pit and a re-energized river flow.  A cheery fire helped warm and dry our spirits, and prepare them for the grueling 1800 feet climb out of the valley and back to high country tomorrow.

[Written Friday, July 23rd, 8:45 PM, Complete photoset here.]

I’ve long planned to attempt part of the Sierra High Route, as one of the premier wilderness experiences nearby here in California.  The route is largely off-trail, wandering at over 9000 feet elevation and crossing only a single road in its 195-mile length through the high Sierra.  For more than a year I’ve been planning to try a section, and after much scheduling, planning, and preparing gear, and recruiting a willing partner in Sanjiva, we at last solidified a start date.  This month the date finally approached, and we packed up and headed for the wilderness.

We donned our packs and left civilization at 4 PM from Devil’s Postpile (7500 feet) after getting permits and enjoying a late lunch in Lee Vining.  Miles of switchbacks ascending through rather dull forests faced us, and with each a further increase in altitude.  As dusk fell pestilential mosquitoes emerged and despite bug spray we opted to abandon our first nights destination of Lake Superior, in favor of a dry level spot in the forest from which we could launch a smoky counter-attack on the creatures.  We nurtured the small fire until about 10 when the mozzies had dissipated somewhat.

In the morning we opted to hit the trail and gain Superior Lake before breakfast, but failed to realize it was still several miles away, and there remained a good portion of the 2000 foot elevation gain from Devil’s Postpile.  Superior Lake is a mid-size lake with a ragged talus ridge to the north and a mixed forest to the south – a surprisingly beautiful first lake destination.

Above the lake we left the trail for a soggy series of meadows with meandering, overflowing streams.  A slightly less ragged slope led up from the meadows to our first pass – Nancy Pass (10,250 feet).  The slow climb with many stops, took the rest of the morning, providing ever more compelling views of the meadows and lake below as well as the ranges of the southern High Route.  However, these were nothing compared with the view that awaited us when we topped the narrow, steep pass – a view down steep talus and snowfields to the Minarets, Mounts Banner and Ritter, and plenty of vertical country in between.

The high altitude and lack of any acclimatization put Sanjiva in the slow lane, but with persistence, plenty of water and breathers, we had eventually accomplished our first goal.  But the verticality of the country before us was far beyond our expectations.  We had a long break and studied our maps hard – trying to reconcile our preconceptions with this awesome reality.

But as we descended an angled across our first relatively minor snowfields, we picked up a little speed, and managed to navigate a reasonable path around the mountains, talus, stands of trees, multiple creeks.  We found ourselves in some quintessential high country meadows, with the first of the wildflowers blooming profusely and buds springing from the recently snow-liberated earth.  Also emerging from the winter were some of the worst swarms of mosquitoes I had ever seen – slap a hand, kill five, slap the other hand, kill five more – leaving no time to slap the face!  Copious amounts of bug spray (which we realized later was three quarters of our supply) kept the devils from biting but not from buzzing up your nose and into your mouth.  We added acclimation to mozzies to the challenges of altitude and exercise.

Navigating some huge granite blocks around the base of the Riegelhuth Minaret – even the name seems straight out of Lord of the Rings – we came to the southern shore of stunning Minaret Lake, surrounded by the dramatic spires of rock known as the Minarets, a mountain known as Volcanic Ridge, and Mounts Banner and Ritter looming behind them in the distance.

We camped next to a tarn, with a view westward to the Minarets a few steps from our campsite.  Bursts of cool wind scattered the mozzies, a welcome relief.  As the breezes died and with no fires allowed, we turned in by about 7:30 and were asleep not long after.

I awoke around six and emerged to take some photos as dawn touched the Minarets around me.

We decided to forgo the dwindling bug spray and instead keep moving - circling the lake before breakfast. Minaret Lake is a beautiful lake with a little of everything – steep cliffs, isolated stands of trees, a crenulated shape with a large rocky monolith of a peninsula.  Warmed by our walk but stalked still by mozzies, we eventually opted on a rock for breakfast – and with moderate slapping a minimal exposure began to come to terms with these pests and enjoyed our meal.

Trekking up through the steep meadows, we followed a rudimentary trail up through the talus to a slot granting access to the next pass.  As we climbed we stopped frequently to keep tabs on a marmot scrambling around his domain and warming in the sun.  We also noticed deer prints following the trail with such diligence I formed a theory that the prints were a new tip style for trekking poles.  But as we emerged from the slot into a small valley we saw a proud deer nibbling among the grassy slopes on the far side.  We completed the climb to 10,250 Cecile Lake – with extensive snowfields and a few icebergs a lake still emerging from the late winter.  Talus and snowfields slowed our route around this lake, and we didn’t reach the outlet until noon – barely a half mile as the crow flies from our campsite.

These snowfields bore no recent footprints so we advanced slowly and strategically.  During one short stretch I followed some marmot prints, kicking in steps for Sanjiva, and shortly later looked back to find the marmot tracing the route and investigating these new appearances.

At last we came to the outflow of Cecile Lake and were shocked anew by the verticality of our onward route.  A waterfall tumbles down 500 feet to Iceberg Lake, still largely covered with snow and in such a steep shady valley that it promises to stay that way in keeping with it’s name.  The entire eastern edge was steep snowfields and there were no practical alternative routes than to simply cross them.

Descending a steep, loose slope described accurately as “unpleasant,” we inched carefully across the fields and eventually gained the far side.  As we were about to continue, we noticed a new form of wildlife – a hiker glissading (essentially skiing in just your boots) down the slopes we had so painfully skirted.  Soon his companion followed and they began racing across the snowfield at a rate at least 10 times faster than we had – maybe two hours versus 10 minutes.  As they passed us at speed we learned they had just started the route that day and only had three days planned to complete this whole section.  That kind of upped the bar on us and we made much better progress after that, following their tracks for an hour before they disappeared.

At this rate it was becoming clear that the High Route was kicking our butts.  I was starting at last to feel the “trail zone” kick in but Sanjiva was still suffering from both shortness of breath, leg strength, and challenging terrain especially snow.  Despite his grace in dealing with these issues, we started strategizing alternate (trailed) routes.  But for now we continued onward.

We skirted a ridge and ascended slightly to a wonderland of wide meadows, scored with a host of squiggly rushing brooks descending from the snowy peak above.  Some strategic scouting and impressive leaps led us gradually upward through a forest, and then to a relatively gentle, rocky climb among another multitude of creeks, towards the bases of Mounts Ritter and Banner, which soared above us, still snowbound but pouring forth cold clear water from every side.  We counted seven waterfalls large though to be called as such descending from the heights.

At the base of the mountains we turned away and ascended a gentle slope up past 10,400 feet and began to race the early sunset up the slope till we found a dry, grassy space perfect for out tent.  We raced to set up and barely beat the approaching shadows.  The sunset lingered for hours on the Minarets and the other mountains further to the east.  The nearly full moon rose before sunset over Volcanic Ridge, and the majesty of our surroundings charmed us into a short after-dinner stroll which revealed the Nydiver Lakes below us and our next destination Whitebark Pass a manageable distance away.  We watched the darkness complete its descent from our cozy tent, with the gentle brook irrepressibly gurgling long into the night.

Just back from a few days exploring Lassen National Park with my extended family.  Started with a climb of Lassen Peak (10,400 ft.), which sports views as far as Mt. Shasta.  Then explored some of the many volcanic features – lava flows, fumaroles and bubbling mud, cinder cones, lava tubes (no pictures of the latter.)

The late snows are covering much of the country about 8,000 ft., while the lowlands are beginning to swelter in the summer heat.

Complete photoset here.

Just returned from another trip to Sri Lanka – and although I only had a few photos of an outstanding sunset at Bentota beach and some amazing shadows transformed by a solar eclipse into trendy designer patterns, I also took the opportunity to belatedly upload a set from last September when Sanjiva organized a hike up from the southern lowlands to World’s End and Horton Plains.  Supposedly World’s End sports the most dramatic view (and lover’s leap) in Sri Lanka, and the surrounding Horton Plains contain a unique ecosystem.

We didn’t make it quite to the top, but did experience some steep climbing, amazing views and a Dr. Suess inspired landscape,

followed by a long winding return to civilization through an unbelievably steep tea plantation. 

The photos don’t do justice to the experience, but here they are anyway!

Photos from last week’s one-day stopover in Hong Kong on the way to Sri Lanka.  Spent most of the time trolling through the lively markets in Kowloon (flowers, birds, live fish, produce, you-name-it.)  Full flickr set here.

Publishing a simple song that’s been sitting in my inbox for many weeks, as the fall flurry of activity has ruled out any attempt at quite creative time. Finally finished this one only by getting out of town for a few days!

 

 Flurry [3:36m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Hiked to the Peter Grubb Hut maintained by the Sierra Club today with a small group of Girl Scouts.  Beautiful November weather after a dusting of snow on the peaks last night and a dusting of moisture lower down to bring out the subtle late fall colors.

Photos here.

Need I say more?

Jason and I will again be playing a half hour of music preceding Placer Nature Center’s great 4th Friday Lecture series.  It’s tomorrow, 23 October, music starting at 7PM followed at 7:30 by a speaker from the California Environmental Legacy Project.

Our set will include our eclectic selection of tunes spanning rock (from Jean-Luc Ponty), jazz (Pat Metheny), and contemporary bluegrass (Ira Stein, Darol Anger), but also will be heavy on our own material.  We’ll play a duet version of Off the Path from my album of the same name, and engage Jason’s new looping system for some unusual time-shifted improvisation on Girl That Broke My Heart and other spontaneous melodies.

I’ll contribute a copy of Off the Path to the raffle, so with luck you can fulfill your aural, environmental, and charitable senses all at one place.  Join us!

During another of my “day in Hong Kong” layovers I took a ferry to a local island that promised two quaint fishing villages – Sok Kwo Wan and Yung Shue Wan.

Not really as quaint as you might first imagine, in part due to the huge factory on one end of the island with smokestacks peeking over the hills from almost every vantage.  And the thick humid air and overcast didn’t help.

It was however interesting to me that with only a path between the villages, there’s no need and therefore no ability to have full size cars on the islands – just bikes, wheelbarrows and a few go-cart-pickups for moving construction materials.  The result of scaling a village to the human inhabitants instead of to their automobiles does make even a poorly planned, somewhat dilapidated community cute to some extent.

In the end the day proved enjoyable between the ferry ride along Hong Kong’s skyscraper-studded waterfront, walking the hilly footpath between the two villages, and enjoying a beachside seafood lunch.

Complete photoset here.

Had a nice hike partway up Mount Rose today, and snapped a few shots along the way.  Enjoy!

I realized as I was saving today’s podcast to a file that this date one year ago marked the first entry in my Spontaneous Reflections podcast.  Nice to look back and see regular progress and variety in the 35 improvisations I posted in the first year.  Off the Path, the album collecting the best of the fall 2008, continues to be dear to my heart, but I think there are some real gems since then as well.  You might detect a bit more rock influence lately in some of my favorites such as “Dry Hot Long Ago.”

I’m almost ready to start collecting them into album #2 – watch for it, and grab the free versions off my podcast while they are still available!

Most of my song names relate to a feeling or event in my life at the time I name and save the file (how’s that for a hard deadline!) and today’s was no exception - “A Year Gone By” fit both the occasion and the tone of the piece.  Enjoy!

P.S. keep those comments coming!  Each one motivates me to share more…

Choosing the simplest of chord progressions and melodies and challenging them to soar.

 

 A Year Gone By [2:37m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download