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!

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.

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

Sanjiva and I spent a couple of days last weekend knocking around the Five Lakes Basin near Yuba Gap in the northern Sierra Nevada mountains.  Photoset here.  Primary goal was to test our equipment and techniques for potentially more strenuous adventures.  Crooked Lakes Basin is a high-reward area, with most trails having a lakes per mile ratio of greater than one.

We started off however quickly traversing the Crooked Lakes Basin and Sand Ridge on our way to the Five Lakes Basin that lies beyond – new territory for me.  We had great views of Downey Lake and the terrain between the Grouse Ridge Lookout and Lake Spaulding.  The mule ears were prolific and covered the exposed hillsides with yellow.

We cooled off at the first of the Five Lakes, and continued up the trail towards the granite cliffs hoping to find more of the Five at the base – but it turned out the pristine lake wasn’t one of the Five and was named Glacier Lake.  Although there were a few parties camped around the lake, the prospect of watching night fall over the lake and the Black Buttes beyond was too tempting and we also pitched camp there.

The rising sun found us climbing the ridge and scaling the Black Buttes, from which we had some amazing panoramic views, and a look into the basin on the south side, including Beyers Lakes and Baltimore Lake. Looks like another cool place to explore.  Here’s a map.

Between the climbing the mountain, traversing scree and snow fields, and some short stretches of vertical, I hope Sanjiva got a good sense of the joys and challenges of being off-trail.

After a long descent, with a bit of boot skiing, we had breakfast and broke camp, heading cross country back towards the Five Lakes Basin, and skirting the cliffs looking for more alpine lakes.  Near the lakes we encountered more streams, waterfalls, and meadows, and followed them down past several of the Five Lakes before retracing our path along Sand Ridge and cutting cross country once more through the Crooked Lakes basin to my favorite one.  We camped on top of the rock outcropping – the “eagle’s nest”, warmed ourselves by a tiny fire and watched the satellites and shooting stars before turning in again.

The morning brought a quick hike out and home so Sanjiva could catch his flight back to Sri Lanka. All in all an excellent trip – about 15 miles almost half of which was strenuous cross country work.  Within that short span we saw a microcosm of the Sierra high country and discovered that even this remote edge of the Sierra holds many charms.

[Photoset here.]

Our adventure started as all adventures do in Sri Lanka, with a long drive on progressively smaller roads.  Until the roads give out completely. Sights spin by at a breakneck speed - elephants on a flatbed, chaotic towns and open-air markets, lazy cattle wandering free – too fast to comprehend let alone photograph well.  At a couple of points the ride was so steep and bumpy that the rear hatch of the van failed and a couple of packs tumbled into the road to the alarm quickly turning to amusement of all.

The end of the road in this case was the tiny village of Palabathgala, near Ratnapura, and the eleven of us, plus guide, were deposited at the bottom of a staircase into the rain forest, leading up up and up into a misty escarpment. Already the grey skies were dripping on us.

This is the long way up to Adams Peak and the temple of Sri Pada, a pilgrimage popular I suspect not only because it is said to have Buddha’s footprint, but because it’s just so dang hard to get to. Our path starts with unremitting steps up into the forest. Every hundred the count is etched into the concrete - 1000, 2300, 3900. The humidity is intense and I adopt an old man pace to keep from overheating. Step, breath, step, breath. It works pretty well and although I’m towards the back of the pack my heart rate stays low and my legs still feel strong. However my strategy for keeping dry fails. Not only am I drenched in my own sweat, buy when a drizzle starts I throw my windbreaker over my head and drape it over my pack, leaving my arms cool. But any moisture on the pack quickly transfers to the inside of my windbreaker, and mixing with my copious body moisture my windbreaker is quickly thoroughly soaked inside and out.

After an hour or two, we arrive at a small army base just as a monsoon downpour starts, and take brief refuge as it turns our stairway into a temporary torrential waterfall and then disappears just as quickly as it came.

Finally somewhere near step number 5000, the cement ends and the original rock steps begin. Still unremitting, but somehow the uneven steps are easier to navigate. Maybe it’s because you have more choices than a fixed stairway provides.  Or maybe it just occupies your mind more.

After hours of this we reach a rocky river, spanned by a spiderweb of white threads. It is apparently a custom for new visitors, to weave a thread into the web. All of us newbies partake in this custom (photo courtesy of Udeshika). This is a good spot for lunch and we break out out lunch packets - rice, curry, cal, sambol, all wrapped in plastic and then newspaper - a traditional lunch favorite here.

Then hours more of stairs, as we climb right up into the clouds. The temperature drops to a pleasantly chilly range, but the humidity remains so high everything remains soaked. At last we reach a few nondescript buildings, vendor shacks deserted now on the off season, and dry out a little.

We engage the sole visible resident for some hot water and relish in a hot beverage as only the perpetually wet and cold can.

We’ve been climbing stairs straight for about 5 hours now, and I am rather surprised that this village represents not the end, but the official start of the Adams Peak Climb! Three more hours to go and it’s already after 4PM when we leave. I stride out, glad to have saved my strength for this part. But it’s not long before I’m taking a short rest after every 20th step, then every 5th, and then at times after each one. After approx 20,000 steps (a nearly 2000m climb), I’m in summiting mode - don’t think about the rest of the trail, think about the next step.

This section again has concrete steps, and even rails begin to appear, as the stair grade gradually increases from 40 degrees up to 70. The wind is whipping the clouds against the mountain, and although the wind is fairly dry, as we ascend the wind strengthens and blasts us with more and more rain. The vegetation has changed from jungle to cloud forest, eerie twisted shapes draped with moss in the blowing mist. Sometimes Adams Peak is above the cloud layer and while my hopes were never strong that we might emerge into sunshine, it became clear that the summit was being blasted by 40-50 mph winds. We climbed, clinging to the rail, as the stairs wound between granite outcroppings and sheer cliffs whose true extent remained hidden in the mist.

At last a structure emerged from the mist at the top of the near- vertical ascent and as the wind tried one last time to part us, or at least any gear not tied firmly down, from the mountain, we entered an alleyway between two buildings. A man emerged from a tiny cell and showed us to a small cold monastic cell where we could spend the night. A change of dry clothes raised everyone’s spirits and shortly we all moved up into the caretaker’s cell to squeeze onto his bunkbeds, drink another round of hot tea, and chatter away with him animatedly in Singhalese. I just sipped happily as the singsong swirled around the warm cell and mixed with my exhausted daze.

Now we’ve had our dinner packets - despite being tasty my post-extreme appetite is small and I can’t do much more than sample. With another round of animated chatter we laid mats in our cell and have lined up like sleepy sardines to await the morning.

[Morning]

Well, that night felt like Survivor – with each person having a share of the floor approximately two feet by five, cramping legs, whistling wind and rain, chilly enough to cause shivering, bumping into each other as you turn, occasional snores, and someone scraping through the door to use the bathroom every 45 minutes or so.  I listened to music on my iPhone almost all night, but dozed off a few times for a total of maybe two hours of sleep.  The whole experience felt like something from a 19th century Himalayan explorer’s tale.

The traditional climax of a Sri Pada trip – viewing the sunrise – fell victim to the continued mist and increasing rain.  But after some bread and jam for breakfast we visited the temple.  My preparation for the elements – a complete poncho over clothes and pack – disintegrated in seconds in the howling wind – but I dutifully rang the bell once representing my first visit, and fled.

Guess what came next?  Yes!  More stairs!  We took a different (shorter) route down, leading us down the other side of the mountain.  After coming off of the peak and emerging from the cloud, the steps moderated into a broad trail, and we followed a narrow valley filled with manicured hedgerows of tea.  Dozens of waterfalls sprang from the escarpment, and the rain started to ease at times to provide us broader views.  At last we returned to motorized civilization at the village of Nallathanniya, had another hot syrupy tea.

And as all Sri Lankan adventures ended, so did this.  Hours of the most jolting, harrowing driving on narrow, steep, windy roads, leading us inexorably back to Colombo, a shower, dinner, and late that night to the airport, and eventually home.

Sanjiva and I went on a hike yesterday, from the confluence to home, and despite this being my own backyard, we discovered some new things – especially doing some cross-country and bouldering around the abandoned Auburn Dam footings and the newly restored river and kayak park at the former China Bar Rapids.  And after the rain of the past couple of weeks there are quite a few full-fledged waterfalls along the route.  Very cool!

Flickr set here.

It’s been a busy fall – not much time for taking pictures.  Or uploading them promptly!  Now that we’re in vacation mode, I’m looking through some of this falls photos.  Here’s a small set from a hike with family members up to Donner Peak in early September.  Some amazing rock formations…

Just posted a few snapshots from a Saturday day hike to Loch Leven Lakes, a wonderful and fairly accessible bit of the High Sierras.  Haven’t been there in a while, despite it being a fantastic place for some bouldering with the kids.  It was good to get above California’s persistent smoky haze for a few hours (though later in the afternoon even the high country took on a smoky hue.)

Had a great though brief visit from Paul, during which we toodled around the north end of Tamales Bay, bordering the Point Reyes National Seashore, the site of one of our successful backpacking trip a couple of years ago.  My primary goal, the Drake Estero, was closed for Harbor Seal pupping season, but we had good fun anyway.  Flickr set here.

Also uploaded and organized some existing shots from plane windows.  Looking out the window is by far the best part of flying!  Flickr set here.

For an end-of-summer blast, an elite selection of Marsh family members returned to the Crooked Lakes Basin for an overnight backpacking trip.  Photos are now online here, joining the set from our last visit a couple of years ago.  The air was a little smoky from recent California wildfires, but it was fun to revisit a place and to dig up new subjects and try to do better on some shots I’d done before.

[Pictures here.  Now geotagged.]

We arose early on our final day - we needed to attain Shi Shi Beach and a water source there before we could rehydrate our breakfast.  The tide was again low so we had little trouble navigating the final gateway to the smooth wide sands of Shi Shi Beach.  As the driftwood at the high-water line was deep in shade at the forest’s edge, and would be for hours, we spread a small tarp on the damp flat sand, made stools of our bear canisters, and tucked into a random array of our remaining food.  My policy is never to pack food for your final lunch - by then you’d rather just hold out for the first cheeseburger.

I discovered that my camera had enough power to take a shot - but not to save it on the SD card - so I used the miniscule internal memory to take one final shot of Gen and Anna on the beach (sorry, marked friends/family only in flickr as are all my shots of friends/family - yes, you’re missing about 30 pictures out of the set if you’re not on my list.)

What can I say about Shi Shi?  It protected its secrets well, and who am I to tattle?  I’ll just confirm that it was a worthy destination, though attaining it was strenuous enough that it didn’t leave much time to enjoy its charms.  In the end the journey is always the greatest reward, and Shi Shi can be celebrated as the catalyst of a remarkable and magical expedition.

Along the length of Shi Shi we passed a number of tent encampments starting breakfast fires tucked up against the forest. Shi Shi wasn’t as deserted as the previous two days had been.  Already we were returning to civilization.  At the end of the beach one final steep climb up a cliff led to a couple of miles of forest trail, gradually straightening, widening and becoming less muddy, and eventually developing into a quite civilized set of boardwalks and bridges before depositing us in a car day-park a mile of paved road from our car.  This trail took us from the wild where time is marked by stride after stride, by tides, shadows, sunsets, and the song of the soul, and returned us again to the precise increments of omnipresent second-counting LCDs, per-minute roaming charges, miles per hour, ferry schedules.  We will learn to appreciate these things again, and ease gently into that world of objective time with a dinner reservation for a seafood extravaganza.

But part of us will always remain in that narrow strip of land between the flat sea and the towering stone along this extraordinary piece of wilderness.

Aug 13th 6?AM

[Pictures here.]

The third morning proved that each new reward had to be earned.  It started easily enough - a leisurely awakening and breakfast still put us on the move with morning shadows stretched across the long stretch of tide-scrubbed beach before us.  (In Shi Shi time that’s "long shadows o’clock AM" I think.)

After a few hours pleasant walking the beach terminated abruptly in the final and most rugged set of headlands.  By now the tide had risen enough to block our continued progress.  We were forced (oh poor us) to stop and entertain ourselves on the beach for four or five hours - exploring, reading, napping, roasting tortillas over a tiny fire, sketching, inventing a game involving knocking over the other player’s shells with increasingly heavy rocks, and even an impromptu softball game.

At last the waters began to recede and like a time lock grant us entrance into an extended section of seaside boulders.  We began a slow tiring clamber over and around these boulders, choosing between smooth and slippery at the water’s edge and rough and dry but steeply jumbled farther up.

This supposedly short but seemingly interminable stretch did eventually terminate in a small cove circled by stacks, and we decided to split our team - some of us going up a a steep incline (assisted by ropes) and over the neck of a small headland, and others taking advantage of the still-lowering tide to skirt it.  I took a panorama looking back into the glaring light at the cove and it’s guardian sea stack.

The cove on the far side proved the last passable section for a while.  The scramble had taken us hours and Shi Shi beach seemed to be receding faster than we could approach.

Again ropes appeared to climb the bluffs to a section of trail around this impassible stretch of coast.  The trail wound through the ancient forest, on a spongy bed of needle loam that seemed yards deep in spots.  At times spectacular views would emerge, glimpses down the cliffs a hundred feet or more to rocky coves.  At times you had to climb down those same cliffs to small coves littered with driftwood, and then climb back up the other side.

At this point Shi Shi’s protective magic was out in force.  My camera battery began to fade, sometimes shutting down the camera before a photo had been saved.  Luckily I had a backup battery.  Unluckily it was completely dead too.  Now I know why pictures of Shi Shi seem rare!  You have to leave behind civilization and its servants Time and Technology to enter its secret realm.

At last we left the lush highlands and descended into a wonderland of stacks, arches, and caves called the Point of Arches.  We crept along the seaweed-slickened tidepools, entering one cove through a portal bored right through a headland.  Our slow and strenuous progress (over four hours to go under three miles) without much break was taking its toll, and with the sun minutes from sinking and more slick rocks ahead we opted to stop for the night right where we were - one headland "shy" of Shi Shi Beach itself.

After a scramble to set up tents on the sand as far from the tideline as possible (which wasn’t much) before dark fell completely, we took stock of our surroundings.  A more beautiful place could not be imagined, even after the high standard of the previous night.  House-sized boulders were plopped into a narrow strip of sand, backed by cliffs dense with overhanging vegetation, and rocky tidepools filling the cove at the evening low tide.  Each end of the cove extended westward in a series of sea stacks (I count 17) far out into the water, framing a fantastic sunset that stretched out for almost an hour.  My camera revived just long enough to take 2 parts of my planned 3-shot panorama.

The stars emerged brilliantly again, and after an awesome dinner (recipe follows) we roasted the remaining marshmallows by a cozy fire with our backs to the cliffs, our faces lit by the firelight as we gazed upward and outward, pointing out satellites and Perseid meteors to each other, and at last climbed into our tents and gratefully slept our exhaustion away.

Jon’s freezer bag Pulao: Put 1.5 cups of minute rice in a freezer bag with a few tablespoons of raisins.  In a dry skillet toast a few tablespoons of sliced almonds, a tablespoon of dried onion, about a teaspoon of Madras curry powder, half a teaspoon of salt and garam masala, a dash of cinnamon, cloves, and chile powder.  Add this mixture to the bag.  To cook, pour in 1.5 cups of hot water and let it sit for a few minutes.  Top with some chicken from a foil packet or can.  Season liberally with hunger and exhaustion and a good view, and enjoy!  Makes enough for about two people.

Aug 11th ??PM

[Pictures here.]

I love the fact that I don’t know what time it is, and could only guess accurate to a couple of hours based on the fact that the sun set some time ago.  Our progress took us increasingly into magical places, where time itself seemed to flow in waves like the tides that measure our journey.

But back to the day’s beginning.  After a leisurely awakening and breakfast, an even more leisurely clamber over some of the small sea stacks and tidepools made accessible by the negative morning tide, and an extended repacking and goodbye to half our number, I was stunned to find that the midday high tide had returned to fill the rocky bay.  At last we started down the beach. The tides are the only reason to pay attention to clock-time at all, as many of the headlands we skirt will be blocked during mid-afternoon’s high tide.

The clouds, perhaps lightened by the few sporadic attempts at drizzle during the night, had given way to a warm sun.  My pack felt heavy (it was nearly double my ultralight ideal of 24 pounds) and the beach was narrow and rocky.  We regularly encountered snags fallen across the width of the beach like whale skeletons, and we were forced to squeeze between these decaying ribs.  This only heightened the fact that we were free from trails and just walking on untracked sandy beach.

Seals (or more likely sea lions) sunned themselves on the tips of disappearing rocks until no rock was visible at all - just a seal floating on top of the calm water, holding head and flippers high to keep them dry until the tide irresistibly steals their claims.

A foretaste that we were in store for a steadily increasing dose of wilderness magic came as we approached a headland and came upon petroglyphs of orcas - smooth half-inch grooves in the face of a rock where the headland and beach meet.  The ancient markings looked practically fresh compared with the ancient landforms surrounding us.

Gen led us on a steep almost-trail toward the base of some rocky monoliths called Wedding Rocks.  The hands-and-feet path failed to place us at the summit, but instead wound between two of the monoliths and then stopped abruptly.  The narrow fern-filled gap was only a few feet wide, and faced a precipitous drop down the far side.  This summit proved just big enough for us to remove our packs and gobble crackers and cheese for lunch.  Our food is all stored in bear canisters, which are round and just the wrong size to get a bear claw or jaw around.  And also just the wrong size to handle with human paws.  We were careful not to let any of our canisters fumble away from us and down hundreds of feet on either side!

Sated and cooled, we descended from our tree-top viewpoint, availing ourselves of conveniently located ropes for the final scramble to the beach, which proved a bit wider and softer than our prior ones.

This beach widened even further at Cape Alava, where the water, protected by sea-stacks so large as to be given island names in their own right, became as still as glass.  What sounded like a motor we finally concluded was a constant hum of crowds of sea lions half a mile away.  The luminous mid-afternoon light reflecting off this mirrored surface, and the glowing of the humidity-laden air itself, provided an amazing foreground for the dark gray and green rock and forest formations offshore.  This magical glow would persist for the next two days - giving every step and action a fairy-tale quality.

Around the corner of the Cape, the beach remained wide and soft, tempting some of us to hike barefoot in the edge of the murmuring surf.  Time continued to ebb, flow, pause, to be measured in thoughts and light and feelings rather than in our everyday objective numerical quantities - a cause, or an effect, of an otherworldly aura that settled over the afternoon.

The tide was receding enough for us to skirt another headland, but a series of ropes leading up and over a narrow neck engaged our sense of adventure.  The far side of the headland increased still more in beauty and interest as the cliffs rose on our right.  Sea stacks rose offshore capable of inspiring Japanese gardeners to retire in humble awe.  As we approached the mouth of the Ozette River, seagulls and shore birds massed by the thousand.  The river felt warm and clean as we forded it’s modest flow with little risk.

As the north side of the river was our planned destination for the night, we headed up the beach to see what camping spots we could find, and immediately came across a spot more perfectly situated than we could possibly have envisioned.  It lay just behind the highest driftwood, with a view westward to the ocean and the Ozette River mouth, framed by a spectacular cliff.  The sheltered eastern side sloped down in a gravelly slope down to the penultimate bend in the Ozette River.  The camp site itself was a grassy patch between these two views, backing up on the north side to a point of forest. The spot was equipped with a fire pit, well placed logs for benches, and even a charmingly crude driftwood table.  We knew instantly we had found one of the best camping spots ever.  The universe had shown us where we belonged after a day far more strenuous than the mileage would suggest.

A quick dip in the cool river, a long stone-skipping competition, delicious hot soup cups for dinner, and a stroll down the beach surrounded by wheeling flocks of shorebirds, followed by an extended sunset, would have been sufficient to cap the perfect day, but we exceeded that definition of perfection by lighting a cheery campfire, roasting marshmallows, and watching the slow emergence of brilliant stars (a rare Washington treat.)

It was clear from the camaraderie of our party, the humor, and the frequent pauses to simply feel the wonder of being here, at this time out of time, with each other, that this was destined to be one of our most precious backpacking memories.

The closer we get the more the ancient landscape heightens our senses and lightens our spirits, in a way I’ve experienced only sporadically on other expeditions.  Does this Tolkeinesque spell flow from the reclusive Shi Shi Beach, concealed behind an impressively craggy headland a few miles north?  I would not be surprised to encounter elves tomorrow.

Aug 10th 9:30PM

[Pictures here.]

I think it must be about 9:30, but since I haven’t brought along a watch, I have no confirmation that it’s not much earlier or later.  Dark fell some time ago, but here at the western-most point of the continental US and the Pacific time zone, and with Canada lurking just out of sight to the north, and with a sky darkened by clouds, I don’t know if my sunny California estimate of dark at 8:45 holds.  The surroundings of tall firs and rainforest ferns, salal, huckleberry, abutting a coast of perpetually damp tide- and kelp-blackened boulders present an exotic palette to my summer-desiccated California senses.

We’ve come to this remote corner of the country to fulfil a long-standing desire - to backpack into a beach reportedly one of the most beautiful in the world - Shi Shi beach.  Far west of Seattle, behind the craggy masses of the Olympic Range, lies a stretch of coast protected from development by its remoteness and harsh landscape - where the steep temparate rainforest descends sharply to the Pacific.  This stretch of coast alternates beaches and coves with jutting headlands holding their positions against the relentless advances of their salty foe - the seemingly insignificant but constant forays of waves given crushing force by tidal surges twice a day, and compounded by furious winter blasts.  Over relentness geologic time scales, many of these headlands have faltered in their defense, leaving isolated sentinels of rock offshore bravely standing against their ultimate fall.  Among this rugged seascape, nestled just under Cape Flattery - Washington’s top-left corner - lies miles of coastline accessible only to the dedicated and adventurous.

I worked in Seattle for 10 years and never managed to explore the length of the beach although once a day hike took us to the northernmost end where a beach backed by rocky cliffs and illumined by a champagne-colored mist charmed us with it’s beauty and mystery.  We’ve wanted to return ever since to penetrate farther into that mist.

This year we had some time for adventure and since I spent a fair bit of time in the Sierras last year going farther afield was appealing.  To spend some time with my daughter (in Germany for most of last year’s adventuring) by doing something unusual and challenging, Shi Shi Beach bubbled up at last to the realm of possibility.

Shi Shi presents some obstacles - there is very little trail on this stretch of coast, requiring beach walking, one eye on tide tables to skirt the headlands, fording of a river, and even I’ve heard some ropes to help clamber over headlands even the lowest tides can’t accommodate.  What’s not to like?

In our party are my wife and I, my daughter Genevieve and her friend Anna from Germany, and my brother.  For tonight only we’re also accompanied by my other daughter, my sister-in-law and her two kids, and another friend.

We’re starting at Ozette Lake trailhead, heading generally north for about 20 miles over the next four days.  From Seattle starting with the 9:30 AM Bainbridge Island Ferry, stopping for permits and bear canisters at the Olympic Wilderness Information Center in Port Angeles, most of our party was on the trail before 4, but the car shuttle my brother and I did delayed our start until 6PM - a long day’s driving (did you imagine Seattle was close to the Pacific Ocean?)

This first night was a short 1 hour (3 mile) hike though a mossy forest to Sand Point, a popular overnight destination.  There are quite a few campers here (it is after all a Saturday night in August) but we expect to leave almost all behind as we trade the trail for coastal rambling.

We enjoyed foil packets of Indian dishes while leaning against driftwood on the beach.  Though the sky is layered in cloud we watched the subtle shifting of unnameable hues of blue and gray, and a few flashes of orange over the silvery-smooth bay, which turned out to be a satisfying sunset experience even without actually seeing the sun.

Now I’m certain we’re somewhere into the double-digits of PM as I scrawl these recollections.  The sleepy murmurs and goodnight songs of my companions have faded away, leaving only the soft crashing of the surf and the strengthening breeze in the fir tops, to lull the wildness to sleep - and to include me in it’s mothering embrace.  Tomomrrow, we leave the trail and strike out north along the beach, to immerse ourselves ever deeper into the wilderness in search of the elusive Shi Shi beach.

Finally getting some of my photo backlog organized, starting with our spring break camping trip to the Anza Borrego desert east of San Diego.  A barren place, but with lots of gems of interest tucked away for those willing to seek them out - from palm oases, petroglyphs, rock formations, blooming ocotillo stands, the rare and mysterious elephant trees, ghost towns, hot springs.  Quite an interesting place, more interesting than my photos were able to capture, but like the desert I think there are a few gems hidden within nonetheless!