Hike started at the Paria Townsite, about 30 miles east of Kanab. The townsite was an actual town until 1900 or so and then was later used as the site for some (purpose-built) sets for a few western movies (of which I’ve only seen The Outlaw Josey Wales). Headed up the Paria River and through the canyon until I got tired and set up camp. Camp looked like:

Pretty area. Nothing really in terms of landmark, must-see stuff, but otoh, I didn’t see anyone else in the canyon/on the river at all over the 16-or-so miles I hiked. Kind of a muddy river. Spent maybe 20-percent of the time actually in the river (max: knee-deep). Was probably a good thing I took poles.

Ended up doing this hike because I didn’t really want to do the “big hike” I’d signed up for (Buckskin Gulch and the *Arizona* Paria). Mostly because four days was going to be too long to be sleeping on the ground and too short to have a good time on a 48-mile slot canyon hike through a river. I’ll do it on purpose some time, take my truck so I can park at one of the Utah-side trailheads, and go in at Wire Pass and out at White House. Some day.

bkd

They were pretty fantastic and there were a lot of tourists. Frex, here’s half of the parking lot:

It’s showing fewer than half the cars that were there. Kind of amazing given that you’re driving 28 miles down a washboardy dirt road. OTOH, the Prius made it, so it’s obviously not a big hurdle.

When I got there, there was a huge family group just heading down the trail. It was grandma’s birthday. Probably 40 people ranging from age 0 to maybe 80. The posted maximum group size is 12. They wore a lot of University of Utah gear. Draw your own conclusions. Mine involves West Valley City, one of those 2 1/2-year missions to Russia, and a ward where there is no Sunday school.

Headed down the trail:

You can actually see the entrance to Peek-a-Boo Gulch in that photo, but you’d have to know what you’re looking for. It’s just a fold in the rock, about halfway up and 25% over from the left. Waldo and so forth. Here’s what it (the opening) looks like zoomed in:

It goes toward the left. Anyway.

Catherine at the B&B had given me instructions that involved starting the loop by going up Peek-a-Boo. By the time I got down there, though, I’d caught up to The Family Group and, thinking that a narrow slot canyon might decrease the usual joy I receive at listening to the cries of a hundred ten-year-olds, I kept going toward Spooky Gulch.

Which, after the fact, I think was better anyway. It’s narrower, but a whole lot easier to get into.

Here’s the one place I had to get down on hands and knees and crawl along the dirt like a common lizard:

And then things got narrower.

So I think that was the narrowest spot in the canyon. I had to walk through their sideways and, even doing so, the rock walls were compressing my chest as I slid through. It’d probably be less dramatic if you squatted down a little bit, but I didn’t do that. (I had to take the backpack off in order to fit through sideways.)

This would kind of be a bad hike if you were claustrophobic. Or, like, stout.

After a while, you come to parts of the slot where you have to scramble a little. Here’s one:

Not sure if the photo captures it, but you’re trying to squeeze through some tight spaces while climbing up “steps” that are chest-high and not crack your head open in the process. It’s kind of fun. Here’s another little hole I had to climb through (photo taken after climbing):

While you’re walking through the gulch, there are some spots where the sun gets down to the bottom of the slot, others where you can’t see the sky. It’s interesting. The rock formations are cool and weird, Seussian even.

Oh, and it’s sort of awkward (especially in Spooky Gulch) when you hear someone coming down the canyon when you’re going up. There aren’t a lot of convenient passing locations.

Not too long after the arch, you exit Spooky and you’re up on a flat, red-sand plain. According to the directions I got from the B&B hostess, I needed to turn left at a right angle and keep walking until I found Peek-a-Boo Gulch. Catherine, the hostess, suggested that I err on cutting the angle too acutely rather than too obliquely, since if I missed the end of the slot I’d end up wandering through the desert for a couple weeks before probably dying.

Here’s what the route between the gulches looks like:

I figured that so long as I followed the footsteps, at least I’d see where other people had died of dehydration before doing so myself. Didn’t work out that way, of course. Here’s the top of Peek-a-Boo Gulch (close to the top anyway):

So, yeah, then you basically just go down there. Peek-a-Boo Gulch isn’t quite as narrow as Spooky, but it’s got a few more unusual features. Here’s a hairpin turn I thought was cool:

Yep. Then here’s a cool arch+light situation:

It’s kind of hard to get into good positions to take photos in there sometimes. Here’s a bridge overhead:

And then you’re just about at the bottom of Peek-a-Boo, where it gets kind of interesting. There are a couple of big pot holes that you have to either long-jump or climb down and back up. Fortunately there were some people around there so that when my long jump fell a little short I got a hand-up so I didn’t have to retreat down into the mud. These potholes are positioned between some pretty cool arches:

And then this is how Peek-a-Boo ends. Or how it begins if you start here:

So it’s pretty close to straight up from where I’m standing to where the green jacket guy is, and then it’s pretty much straight down from where I’m standing to the bottom of that wall. And at this point, I was wondering how it is that this is such a *tourist* hike. Seems like a lot of narrow squeezes, pull-ups, having to trust your entire weight to the friction between the soles of your boots and a near-vertical wall, and stuff like that to be such a tourist hike. Oh well. Maybe it’d be way more crowded without those features. Or maybe way less.

Catherine also suggested heading up Dry Fork as sort of a cool-down after Spooky and Peek-a-Boo. It was nice, not nearly as dramatic, but: nice.

It does open up a little better and let a little more light in, though.

Then once you get to the top of Dry Fork, you head cross-country looking for the parking lot.

Really cool experience, something I hadn’t done before, worth doing, etc.

bkd

It’s spring now, but anyway:

Wall Street, Closed

Thor's Hammer, I think.

This is probably too many photos. Whatever. They're all uploaded already.

Top of Queen's Garden trail.

Truly.

A tree.

It was from this spot that I added the new used car to my insurance policy.

Amphitheater.

I don't remember if this road was inside the park or not.

So that’s a lot of photos. You can see them at “full size” by clicking on them, you know, if that’s your thing. Most of them are from a little hike I went on down the Navajo Loop and connecting to the Queens Garden trail. Pretty and short and a little icy and steep at the top of Navajo. For some reason, probably because they’re mean, bitter people, the Parks Service closed the Wall Street trail — which is sort of the whole reason to come to Bryce. I mean, you know, that and the hoodoos, but whatever.

bkd

Red Canyon is in Southern Utah. It’s a little place that’s west of Bryce Canyon, which is a bigger place. Maybe. I haven’t measured. Bryce Canyon doesn’t seem all that big to be honest. While at Red Canyon, I hiked the Cassidy Trail up and then hung a left onto the Rich Trail (thinking this would help with my finances) and then, at the appropriate time, took the Ledge Point Trail.

It was snowing much of this time and about 50-percent of the trail was under snow. When I got done with the Ledge Point, I tried to keep going up Rich, but was thwarted by accumulated snow and an inability to figure out where the trail was supposed to go. It had all been so much easier when I could just follow the creek bed. So then I turned around and walked back down to my econobox.

Some photos, sure:

Ledge Point!

Some red rock, trees, and snow.

Snow, falling.

What the hike lacked in length, it made up for in cold, snowy conditions and gray skies.

And FWIW, here’s what Highway 14 looked like on Monday.

I suppose I could have bought chains before leaving Cedar City.

Excelsior, I guess,

bkd

It’s cool that they close the pre-dawn gate once they’ve allowed enough cars into the park to fill the parking lots. Wind: strong. Dressed: warm. Slept in car while waiting in the parking lot: maybe half an hour. Sky started glowing: 6:10. Looked like:

This. It's Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa (the Big Island) in the distance. Well, stars also in the distance. The implied sun is also distant.

Photos taken: 450 or something like that. For the entire day, not just the sunrise. Entire photo-day: spent at Haleakala.

I’m not a connoisseur of sunrises, so I don’t really know why this one is special, or if the particular one I saw was, in fact, special. It’s interesting to note, though, that the sky starts glowing 45 minutes before the sun actually crests the horizon.

The sun, actually cresting the horizon.

To the naked eye, it was already broad daylight, though, no matter how that photo looks (I have some much darker ones taken much later — heck, I can take an under-exposed photo *any* time of day; it’s a talent I have).

The sun: exposed.

I don’t know much about sunrises, but watching it at Haleakala brought me to a stark, sudden realization: the sun is one big ol’ bright, fiery round thing. Seriously.

Should've just uploaded this one and not the previous one. Oh well.

They also have an observatory at the summit that looks like it’d be a cool place to work. And windy! I didn’t see anyone working there, though.

No one.

Once the sun got finished rising and I walked around the summit a little (there were pink clouds, and a few rocks and ridges), I headed down to the visitors’ center and the crater to go hike along the Sliding Sands trail. It’s the trail that the now too-famous Maui Revealed guidebook says is The One Trail on Maui. Like, if you only hike one trail, it should be this one.

The top part of the trail.

Silver sword plants along the trail -- none in bloom.

I hiked to that place out there where the trail ends, Ka Luu o ka Oo. I think.

The bottom of the non-crater crater.

The crater within the crater.

Scourges of the park trails.

*Swirling* Sands is more like it! (Har!)

Seriously: if you could get a big river flowing off of that ledge? Dang near perfect. Alas.

Evidence that I was there.

• It’s like walking on Mars (I imagine).
• Except with oxygen and reasonable temperatures.
• It’s also sort of like being at Death Valley.
• Only it’s in Hawaii.
• It’s kind of a tourist hike, although the more of a tourist you are, the sooner you turn around.
• I also wish there were a rain forest at the bottom of the crater. I’m hoping to get final edit on all future terraforming activities.

Pretty scenery, so long as you like rocks (and sand). I ended up hiking maybe five or six miles total. Thing about the hike is: the best views are at the top. So the further down the crater you go, the more repetitive it becomes and the more you’re going to have to hike back up. It was pretty and, especially for what I’m used to seeing in Hawaii, unusual. But it seemed like the more effort you exerted, the less you got back from it. Diminishing returns is what they call that.

Done typing,

bkd

I’m wondering if the Valley hike is prettier. I hear it’s easier. And I can’t quite figure out if the “13 crossings” hike is just the valley hike. Probably won’t do either.

(It’s not, I checked. But for some reason it’s hard to find information on “13 crossings”, only random people saying how great it is. It turns out it’s another “great Maui hike” that’s sort of inaccessible because it’s all on private land or some nonsense. And how can anyone in good conscience close off prime hiking trails, insist that you can only access them through a certain company, and then allow people to be charged $125pp just to go on a dumb hike?)

Most of the trail looks like this. And you don't ever make it to the top of the ridge in the distance.

It also mostly looks like this.

They have trees like this there. Think they're "cook pines".

This waterfall was in the distance -- it might be where you go if you pay $125 or trespass or whatever it is you do with the 13 thing.

The view from (near) the top.

With jade,

bkd

It’s inside Olympic National Park, in the Elwha Valley area-thing.

Here’s the picture that I’ve decided I want to have show up at the top of the homepage (until I post another article at which point it will be replaced by that article’s picture):

You can almost *smell* the goblin!

Right, so that’s the Goblins Gate. Or Goblin Gate or Goblin’s Gate. I’m guessing the Parks Service doesn’t really know either, so I’m not gonna worry about it. Point being, it’s the best part of the hike and the only real Sehenswürdigkeit there. IMHO. Basically there’s this river and then it makes a sudden right turn and immediately after making this right turn, it has to go through this narrow part where the goblin is. But about half the river misses the turn altogether and has to seethe in fury, churning anti-clockwise in desperate agony just because it ended up in the wrong lane a half-mile back and there weren’t any signs saying that it was going to have to make a right turn eventually.

It’s like driving on the east coast.

Here’s a picture of the seething. It may not look angry, but, trust me, if you could *see* the undercurrents here…

It's like trying to get out of the Qualcomm Stadium parking lot.

So the part on the top of the photo is the raging vortex.The main river is coming from the left. That little stream pouring into the vortex is just a little stream that pours into the vortex. It’s not a good photo.

Here’s another picture of the gate, which I liked, and in particular a rock that makes up the gate, which I liked.

Already pictured.

Other than that, though, the hike was like a well-written eulogy: gloomy but coherent.

There are trees and moss and clouds. It’s dark. In most places, yes, I’d call it a tree prison. Here are some trees with moss.

But mostly the hike's not this pretty.

Just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression there. Mostly there are trees on either side of you and nothing to see but trees. When you’re down on the river, all there is is a river and then some mountains covered in clouds.

I suppose it might look different with better weather.

When I got off this trail, I decided to go down the nearby Mills Lake access trail. The lake will disappear soon as it was created by a dam that’s getting busted in the near future, though probably not by Lancaster bombers. The parks service isn’t that cool. The hike down to the lake was short but strenuous (read: steep). At the bottom, you mostly saw a river (the lake is further down as it turns out) and mountains covered in clouds.

There’s also this little fellow:

It's 15 feet tall!

IMHO: the only remarkable thing about this waterfall is that you have to walk through a knee-deep creek to get to it. The water there is cold in the winter. It had probably been snow a couple hours before I stood in it. I probably should have taken a photo of me standing in it. Battery was low though. Barely even got this shot off. And now you get all the benefit of being there without the hassle of having to later chip ice off your boots just so you can get your feet out.

And then I left there and ate at Wendys in Port Angeles on the way home. Am still amazed that you have to pay $4 to get over the stupid new Narrows bridge. Man. Seems like renting a private helicopter to airlift you over the Sound would be about the same price and, if you scheduled it in advance, potentially more convenient.

Nice to get outside though.

bkd

Went to Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park or Parks over the weekend — left Thursday, came back Saturday. Camped for a couple nights. Hiked a little bit, took pictures of trees (see previous post), drove in concentric, ever-widening circles, wore rain pants in anger, used the new generator, and failed to strike up a conversation with a deaf girl from New Hampshire (based on her license plate).

Some photos, not so much of trees this time:

 

Note rain gear — the pants were more effective than the jacket. The Marble Fork is the riverlet down below — the falls up above there were cool and flowed over marble, but they were hard to photograph in a way that makes them look appropriately cool. This hike is at lower elevation, so: no snow, no trees.

 

Higher elevation, thus: snow, trees. I’m happy for my truck when it gets to do real truck things, like drive in the snow.

 

Sure it was too wet to sit down and sure I was eating off of a frying pan with a pocket knife and a spatula, but you have to admit that’s a pretty properly fried medium-rare sirloin.

 A bear box at the campsite — sadly, no bears were inside.

 

An Indian head on a sign for a national park named for a Native American of the Iroquois tribe who lived 3,000 miles away from the park, around which is gathered an Indian family, from India, one of whom has just cracked his head open on the black metal arch holding up the sign and is bleeding profusely. 

Good:

• The last mile of the trail to Marble Falls hike was pretty nice.
• And I was impressed with myself for taking rain gear in my pack up to the falls since it was really sunny the whole way up. I like impressing myself, although it’s easier to do than it probably should be.
• I was not responsible for the parks service having to kill any bears (I don’t think).
• The rural area just to the west of the park (Hwy 180 and Hwy 245) was really pretty with steep green hills and wildflowers — didn’t look anything like California.
• Slipping around on snow-covered trails to see really big trees is more fun than it probably sounds.
• Successfully tested my power inverter and generator.
• The steak was good.
• I found chocolate Charleston Chews and Full Throttle Fury at the Christian camp general store at Hume Lake.

Bad:

• The first 2.5 miles of the trail to Marble Falls was full of the same scrubby chaparral that we have in Orange County and that makes me never want to hike here.
• The Potwisha Campground that I stayed at lacked charm. And the neighbors’ kids lacked boundaries.
• What with the snow and all, most of the A-grade hiking trails were inaccessible.
• $18 a night for camping just seems steep to me, especially when you have to spend all your time there worrying about whether or not you’ve hidden all your food from the bears.

The bear boxes are kind of a downer. So long as you’re obeying the rules, you can’t really do stuff like take food with you into the back of your truck that you may or may not eat before falling asleep, for instance. It really had me ticked off that I was having to go so far out of my way to keep the bears from raiding the campsite until I saw what the bears were doing to keep us out of theirs. Boy, do we owe them bears a big ol’ Thank-You.

Good trip, though. Should go again some time when the snow melts and I can hike up to the lakes and waterfalls.

bkd

Seriously great, though. I don’t know that there’s a kayak+hike experience ending in a waterfall with a swimming hole that I *wouldn’t* classify as great. But probably there is. But I like kayak+hike experiences that end in waterfalls and swimming holes regardless.

 

The paddle in to the landing was 2.5 miles long and, due to “strong” current, the last 100 yards were the hardest. This seems pertinent. Upstream you have the wind to your back. Downstream it’s in your face. Evens things out.

 

The focus is fine. There’s just that much spray here. The waterfall fell harder than did the water at Hanakapiai Falls (yes, > 9.8m/s/s, exactly). Not as deep, but the water was warmer for swimming.

 

It *almost* looks secret from this perspective. IMHO.

I also went to Kilauea Lighthouse yesterday. Got some photos. Maybe I’ll post them some time. More likely, I’ll never post about this vacation again. But on the plus side, at least I didn’t use the word “vay-cay”. Man. I need out of Marketing myself.

bkd

I’m starting with the payoff. Or one of the payoffs. Of the trail. That I went on. Where I nearly died of dehydration. Again. But, for you, payoff with no work. Inasmuch as this photo constitutes “payoff”. Now I wait with baited breath to find out whether DDF feels this is a photo that anyone could have taken. I can never tell myself. I think these are mostly Na Pali cliffs, though, fwiw. Taken from the trail heading out to the Nu’alolo Lookout. I like the colors. Think it sort of looks like something the happy trees guy would’ve painted. Wish he were still around. And that I remembered his name. Rather than just his hair.

 This photo looks better on my laptop screen at full-size. It’s the trail that goes out to the lookout. At this stage in the ordeal, I was not yet aware that it was to be an ordeal. That came later. I may or may not talk about it further down in the post. Mal sehen, nizh wahr?

 Sometimes I think I’m clever for taking “pattern” pictures. Anyone could’ve taken this photo. Looks way better at larger resolution. Sorry.

Signs at the trailhead and later on the trail indicate that the trail is watched out and potentially lethal. The washed-out lethal parts weren’t that washed out or lethal, although there were probably three steps that I took that seemed like they could’ve resulted in immediate and unrevocable death. But it hardly seemed dangerous. FWIW.

Seriously, the payoff here was fantastic. Unfortunately the lighting was way beyond anything I knew how to deal with. Plus all the shots I got look so darn pedestrian. And I’d never sweated so much in my life:

 Ah, sweet onset of dehydration!

On the plus side, once I got to the other trailhead (too lazy to go look at the name of the trail I took back to Koke’e Road — something with an A at the beginning), I figured I was good as dead if I didn’t get a ride for the 1.5 miles back to my car at the lodge. So: first time ever hitchhiked (in the United States). And successfully. Nice adverb.

When I’m on vacation, I’m constantly worried that I’m doing it wrong. And it doesn’t help when everyone assumes there are two in my party. Bah.

bkd

Meanwhile, photos:

 

I hiked the Cougar Crest trail there. Not exactly challenging, but it delivers pretty well on what seemingly every hike at the lake delivers on: nice views of the lake. From the campsite to the spot on the Pacific Crest Trail (that the Cougar Crest Trail fades into eventually) it was maybe 7 miles round-trip.

 Evidence that I may have been there.

That has to be one of the trickiest golf courses in the country.

 Across a causeway from Big Bear Lake, this is actually Baker Lake. Not sure they needed to give it its own name.

Another view of “Baker Lake”, including the walkway that goes across the marshes there.

Anyway. Again, for being so close — really pretty. Would never have suspected that an area as nice as this would’ve been up there given the dry brown death atmosphere of the Saddleback Mountains here closer to home. Definitely worth the drive up and anyone living the area should definitely go there once.

Er, IMHO.

bkd

PS, I should probably stop with the search engine-bait post titles. I think Google’s punishing me for something I thought about last week.

Went up to the North Shore today and hiked up to Hanakapi’ai Falls. It’s sort of like you’re going on the big Na Pali hike, except that after two miles you chicken out and turn left (instead of doing the 11-in, 11-out of the full two-dayer). One of the best hikes I’ve ever been on, though and an 8-mile round-trip.

Above is a view of the Na Pali shoreline. It’s neat. The trail is sort of like the Rubicon Trail at Lake Tahoe, except with the Pacific Ocean instead of Lake Tahoe and with a whole lot of tropical vegetation instead of a bunch of scrubby, dried-out pines. (I liked Tahoe.)

The ground here is mostly red clay and pretty slick. The part that isn’t clay is generally rock and pretty slick. When hiking, you get to make a lot of small decisions and contingency plans, e.g., “if it turns out that rock’s slicker’n a four-term senator, which direction should I lean in order to ensure that I don’t fall 300 feet to my death?” Stuff like that.

I don’t have any interesting pictures of the trail being slick.

Here are the falls (*is* the falls?):

Hard thing to get a good photo of. Especially when you forget to bring your waterproof case. There’s a cold, large pool of water at the base of the falls, though, that we swam across to get underneath the falling water. Floating on your back and looking up at the curve of the canyon wall with the icy waterfall dropping onto your face is a recommendable sensation. Seriously.

If you’re in the area, this one’s highly recommended. Only issue with the hike was the number of other tourists who were also on it. There were 8-10 other people up at the base of the falls the entire time we were there and the trail was crowded with folks all the way up and down it. What I want is an 8-mile hike to a 400-foot waterfall made exclusively for me. With good traction on the entire trail and warm water at the base of it.

Maybe next year, but with my vacation luck, probably not then either.

bkd

PS, here were some dolphins we saw (lower-left is one jumping, upper right is a nearly-invisible-at-this-photo-size pod of them). Do they get offended if you call them “dolphins” rather than “porpoises”?

Here’s the most picturesque scene from my last hike in the OC:

Not pictured: me nearly dying from dehydration in the vertical assault to reach this cherished view. No joke — all the classic symptoms (nausea, exhaustion). And not even this new laptop’s display can make the steep gully view down into Irvine seem cheerful.

Anyway — this post is belated. I visited my parents in Northeast Tacoma over Labor Day weekend. Spent one day up at Mt. Rainier, about a 90-minute drive from their house, much of which was beautiful in and of itself. You forget how green Washington is until you go back there. Some photos to prove my headline thesis…

(I didn’t have to leave the car to get this view. And what’s that puffy, white smog on the horizon…?

Above is the view from the trailhead at Sunrise (one of the two main park lodges at MRNP).

Burroughs Mtn. Trail — this was the view back on the trail from “Burroughs Mtn. II”.

The clouds just wouldn’t get off the peak, but man it was pretty up there.

Right-oh.

bkd

(Plus all the hiking trails in the OC are just charred remains now anyway.)

Once I got to the mysterious “Four Corners”, where the Bear Canyon trail loop starts heading back to home base, I was a little confused at finding, actually, *five* corners. I guess if the forest rangers coulda done math, they woulda become rocket scientists rather than forest rangers. OTOH, you’d think they’d still be required to be able to count effectively. Meh. From Four corners, I decided to take the Sitton Peak trail, which led me to Bluewater Canyon:

Which in its own right was a little confusing given that it was the only canyon I saw on the hike. And, as you’ve noted, it wasn’t named “Bear Canyon”. Just after this photo of your correspondent was snapped, I came onto this prize:

Hopefully whoever is missing the wing already knows about it. And I guess I was happy not to find the rest of the plane anywhere nearby.

Heading back to base, I took the “Bear Ridge” part of the loop trail back. It was The Big Payoff for the trip, the part that made the whole thing worthwhile — for Orange County. (Note: the hike is technically in Riverside County. And it’s *especially* nice for *Riverside* County.) The ridge gave some nice, broad views over mostly green hills that served to suggest that SoCal might actually once have been a wild, western place. Here’s a token photo:

No idea what it’s of, but the artistry is unquestionable.

On the downhill slope, I finally saw the airplane that I’d heard buzzing above me during the last hour or so of the walk. No pictures, sorry, but it turned out to be a P-51, which made me happy enough to salute. He looped the plane right after that, which I suppose was his return-acknowledgment. He was probably looking for a missing wingflap.

And then about a half mile from the parking lot, I all but stepped on this happy little fellow:

Pretty sure he’s a gopher snake. And a right lazy one at that. Every time I see a snake in California I get kind of excited that it might be a rattlesnake. But every time they end up being just gopher snakes. Maybe it’s for the best.

bkd