On The Fly

Happy Labor Day weekend. Just checking in from the trail, folks, where I have apparently missed the dress code, the social norms, and possibly the entire point of our neighborhood park. I arrived this morning, armed with my trusty hiking poles, ready to commune with nature and improve my fitness. Within thirty seconds, I realized I was the only person who hadn’t seen the instructions posted at our community mailbox. Apparently, there are rules out here. Obviously, I just don’t know what they are. Let’s meet today’s cast of characters: The Golden Years Poop Patrol: Retirees are everywhere, enjoying leisurely strolls tethered to dogs ranging from small cows to waddling cotton balls. But the humans all share one accessory: a fistful of small plastic bags. It really makes you ponder the American dream. You grind for forty years to finally earn your freedom, only to spend your golden years harvesting Labradoodle shit from the neighborhood landscaping. Congratulations , you made it. The Adre...

In this episode, Finding Peace Beyond the Headlines. This afternoon, I sit by the open window as the house settles into a generous quiet. Beyond the screen, the backyard breathes. A gentle slope rises to a vine-draped fence, as if the earth has drawn a soft green curtain. A breeze stirs the wind chimes—no performance, just a few wandering notes—and birds move in quiet procession to and from the feeder, intent on their small, necessary lives. I haven’t stepped outside, and yet I’m there—folded into the rhythm of it all. Then, inevitably, my gaze shifts. Away from the trees. Toward the world. And the contrast lands. The headlines arrive like a tornado we didn’t ask for—except this weather has producers. Somewhere, I imagine, a meeting is underway: “Gentlemen, what do we have today?” “Well, sir, things are mostly stable.” “…That won’t work. Can anything be on fire?” And just like that, the day is rebranded. Chaos loops. Anger echoes. Division hums beneath everything. If a meteor doesn’t s...

“We’ve planned a 50 mile wilderness hike over six days in the Sierra’s every year for the past 30 years,” said the lean stranger with a warm smiling expression and a fully loaded backpack over his shoulders. "You guys inspire me to keep climbing! May I ask, how old you are?” “Sure, I’m 78. . . ” Unbelievable , I thought to myself, pausing to reflect, at how physically demanding the past few days of climbing switchbacks, scaling boulders, squatting lakeside to filter water, and simply doing the daily chores it takes to wilderness backpack in the Eastern Sierra’s. “How in the world do they carry enough food for six days, their packs look smaller than ours? We must be doing something wrong.” I commented to my companions. My muscles were strong, breathing easy, but for some reason I had been physically exhausted this trip. I suspect it all started with a beer! It was day three of our 2016 Sierra adventure. Finally accumulated to the elevation of over 11,000 ...

“Do you think I’ll need my gloves?”  “No doubt,” I said to Lori as we prepared to make the trek up the Mountain from Bishop, CA , on route 168, to the Bishop Pass trailhead at South Lake (elevation 9,620 ft). Bishop Pass Trailhead It was cold late October weather. 36 degrees when we parked the truck and stepped into the brisk, fresh Sierra mountain air.  The golden yellow fall colors of trembling Aspens surrounded us.  We never passed a single car driving the 20 miles from downtown Bishop past Parchers Resort (closed for the season) to our roadside parking. My first thought - where is everyone? Wonder if the trailhead is closed for the season? Nah, can’t be. The parking lot was gated . . . why? “ Last time I was here we couldn't find a place to park. There were bicyclists, people trout fishing Bishop Creek, and the resort was teeming with activity - this year no one. Weird!” Undaunted, we layered our clothes, strapped on our day-packs, adjus...

“My husband . . . Some people are tree huggers, mine is a tree sniffer.” “Try it. Right here,” as I touched the smooth bare russet wood of the ancient Bristlecone Pine. “This smells like Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey Whiskey, it’s like no other tree I’ve ever smelled. It’s an aromatic blend of pine, sweet honey, and wood.” I said to Lori as we hiked the four mile Methuselah Walk of the ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest . Lori laughed, “I doubt Jack Daniel's would advertise their Whisky with the slogan,” Try our special blend, smells like a Bristlecone Pine. The Bristlecone Pine (species Pinus longaeva ) is the longest-lived life form on Earth. According to our trail brochure, in 1957 Dr. Edward Schulman, searching for climate records in tree rings, increment bored a tree from this same grove. Upon counting the rings under a microscope back at camp, he nearly shouted at his colleague, “we’ve got a 4,000-plus tree.” It was later dated to be over 4,600 years old. Schulman na...

Still somewhat giddy from our adventure with the bear, we moved on. “Little Lakes Valley trail is very popular,” said Brendan. Expect to see more day-hikers than usual.” Trailhead parking was already full when we arrived. Quickly we found out why from one of the locals. “We love this place; it’s an easy hike with glorious views.” We consulted our map, and the elevation gain from the trailhead to Chickenfoot Lake was less than 600 feet. An easy climb. Obviously, many weekend visitors and fishermen came to enjoy the scenic beauty and fish the abundant lakes. I paused to admire the graceful arc of a fly-line as a fisherman stood casting his line to the edge of tall green grass at Marsh lake. The weather patterns changed constantly. Our hike began with intense blue skies, blanketed by wispy clouds and interspersed with low-hanging cumulous clouds that framed the mountain peaks. Human sounds faded. Nature took over; murmuring waters and leaves shimmered as the breeze lightly ca...

I awoke to the steady patter of rain on my tent in the black velvet darkness of our cozy mountain camp. Wrapped in my sleeping bag, I sat up and listened, there it was again, some strange sound. Anxiously, I reached for my watch and clicked the Indiglo light. It was just after 1:00 a.m. and sleep eluded me. What was that sound? Was it a Bear? The skies were ominous that night. The steady rain began at dusk, we had retired early camped near Chickenfoot Lake , in the Inyo National Forest, elevation 10,789 feet, in the Sierra Mountains just northwest of Bishop, California. This was the second night of our annual wilderness backpacking trek. Our evening conversation always centered on BIG , ferocious bears. It wasn’t that long ago campers simply hung their food in trees. Not anymore, the bears had wised up to that old trick. Proper precaution requires every scrap of paper, food, trash, toothpaste - anything that has a smell gets packed into the bear proof canister for the nig...

Little Lakes Valley “ Merde ! It’s only been five miles. My legs are dog-tired from carrying this backpack.” was the comment I mumbled inaudibly while hiking yesterday to begin the full regiment of training for this year's Sierra adventure.  Lori led the way for my first full backpack training exercise, “We need to get you out more these next few weeks; your trip is less than one month away.” “Wow, you’re right. How is it that all that work I’ve done, bicycling and hiking, is not enough? This getting older is a bitch!” We were hiking the Calavera Hills Nature Preserve in Carlsbad. I wanted to climb close to home to try out the new backpack. Granted, the 513-ft. Mount Calavera is not really a mountain at all but rather a 22 million-year-old volcanic plug—a mass of volcanic rock that solidified in its vent and feeding system millions of years ago. It is an excellent training area. This year, our intrepid team will explore  Little Lakes Valley,  nestled i...

Brendan on Buick Rock Ker-Plop! Was the dismal sound I heard surrounded by the rushing waters of the trout stream in the High Sierras, as my Coolpix digital camera sank to the bottom of the river. “Grab it quick, take the battery out, dry it off the best you can” shouted my fishing companion above the roaring waters. Immediately, I reached into the icy cold, crystal clear waters, grabbed the camera before it was washed away in the rushing current. The date, Friday, August 23, 2013. Our Sierra trips were as much about photography as they were about hiking, camping, and exploring. Now all I could think was, Damn! - So much for taking pictures on this trip. We had just arrived for our four day mountain adventure at Parchers Resort west of Bishop California at an elevation of 9,200 feet. Undaunted, we made plans to hike to Bishop Lake (elevation 11,128 feet) and establish a base-camp. This adventure began at the trailhead access point near South Lake (9,750 feet). However, today...