Great Basin National Park

July 26, Great Basin National Park. After driving two days across some of the most terrifyingly scenic roads in America, we arrived last night at Great Basin National Park.

History/geography lesson: The Great Basin is an area that covers Nevada, western Utah, Wyoming, eastern California, and part of Oregon. It is called the Great Basin because there is no outlet to the ocean. All the water drains and stays right here. It's mostly desert. And there used to be a giant inland sea here.

Terrifying driving lesson: You may or may not realize that our trailer weighs about three times as much as the truck that is pulling it. Just take a brief moment to think about the physics of that. Works pretty well on, say, the NYS Thruway between exits 48 and 45. But we have driven steep, twisting, mountain roads continuously for 1200 miles in the last week. That seem to allllways have a cliff on the other side. And I just need to drive through Kansas. Or sleep. I'm seeing “8% grade downhill next 10 miles” road signs in my deepest nightmares.

When we were driving in yesterday, we learned that there is a nearby wildfire, and the potential for a monsoon. And so we set off today determined to cram as much into one day at GBNP as we possibly could. And so we did. And it turns out that both the fires and the monsoon have missed us, but we've done everything we wanted to do. And so we are leaving. Tomorrow is Mom's birthday, and her choice is to scram and head east into Utah. We don't actually know where we are going or what we are doing yet, and every campground is closed for the night. So tomorrow will be slightly disorganized spontaneity.

But today we visited two visitor centers (because, seriously, what else are you going to do there?), hiked to two alpine lakes and a grove of bristlecone pine trees, took a cave tour, went out to dinner, watched another film on caves, and would have gone stargazing but it's too cloudy. 

And so what exactly is so special about bristlecone pines? First of all, they are beautiful, all twisted and gnarled but with this amazing color of tans and browns and oranges and reds that exactly matches both the rocks and the sunset of the high desert. Second, they are the oldest living things on Earth. Trees in this grove are five thousand years old. Do you know what's not 5,000 years old? Christianity. The Roman Coliseum. The Acropolis and the Parthenon of Ancient Greece. The Pyramids of Friggin' Giza. Yet these trees are here, still alive, and still immune to disease, and fire, and even rot after they finally die. (Seems like we could learn a thing or two from them.) 

The folks here have compared overlapping ring patterns in living and dead trees, and have found downed or dead bristlecones here in the Great Basin that are nine thousand years old. And this is what was happening when those trees were born.

Our hike was 4½ miles, which shouldn't have been too much of a workout after a month on the trail, but we suddenly found ourselves at more than 10,000 feet of elevation, and were about fifty feet onto the trail before we were all sucking wind and wondering why this seemed like a good idea. We must have stopped to rest every 100 feet. But, no matter the terrain, who was always out front? Who did everyone else have to always play catch-up with? Yes, that's right, it's the folks who got into the park on their Golden Age Senior Pass.

Our afternoon tour of Lehman Cave was fantastic and fascinating. It was as much history as geology, as we learned that Mr. Lehman ran the cave as a for-profit venture for 50 years before the park service got involved. And ran it with a “if you can break it, you can take it” policy. So nearly every stalagtite and -mite has been broken off, including some that required picks and sledgehammers to fracture. 

Still, it was fascinating, especially for Izzie, who is too young to remember any of her previous cave explorations.

We are heading east into Utah tomorrow and don't know where we are staying or the state of 3G/4G/LTE/WiFi. So maybe we'll see you soon?

Nevada

I get so lonely, baby, I get so lonely...

Today, for the second time, we drive US-50 across Nevada, the so-called loneliest road in America. It seemed a lot less lonely this time. We are parked just east of Baker, NV, and are literally on the border with Utah. We play this fun game with the kids where we jump back and forth across the state line. Even better is that it is the time zone, so we keep leaping from the future into the past and vice versa.

Sunset, not fire. Revel in its beauty.

Unfortunately, we were greeted here at Great Basin National Park by a roaring 12,000 acre wildfire and the threat of an impending "high quality monsoon moisture." Which is great, because if you're going to have monsoon, you don't want to be stuck with the cheap WalMart monsoon. And so we are going to try to cram three days of living into one tomorrow - caving, hiking, bristlecone pine visiting - just in case we have to get outta Dodge. 

The Mighty Redwoods

Hi there folks! Since our regular posts stopped due to lack of cell service and wifi, I don't know if anyone is actually reading this. It all seemed so much easier while in the routine of writing every morning or evening. But we have had some exciting times in Redwood National Park, which we are currently eleven hours away from.

Monday, July 21. Today we reacquainted ourselves with Redwood by tackling one of the biggest dayhikes in the park, the James Irvine/Miners Ridge Loop. This is one that we did five years ago, and it was like visiting an old friend. An old friend who makes your feet hurt. The official mileage is 6.5 miles but just going by our feet we know that's not accurate. Dad's GPS app said 8.something miles and mine had it at 9.2 miles. We saw every cool thing there is to see with the Redwoods on this hike… trees that are 350 feet high; trees that are just a shell of bark for 200 feet but are still alive and growing at the top; trees that were broken, then grew horizontally, then were broken again, then grew up, giving them a lightning-bolt shape; trees that you can climb under and through. After the long hike, we rewarded ourselves with a 40-minute drive up to Crescent City and our favorite NoCal seafood restaurant, the Chart Room. Which is closed on Mondays.

Tuesday, July 22. We have kind of a steadfast rule which is that you never follow a big day of hiking with another big hike, and so this was the perfect day to go to Hidden Beach. Hidden Beach is a beautiful spot in the shadow of one of those massive, magnificent rocks that sit on the beach or just offshore in the Pacific Coast. (If you know if there is a name for those massive, magnificent rocks that sit on the beach or just offshore in the Pacific Coast, hit me with some knowledge.) It's a great spot for climbing on rocks, light saber dueling with driftwood, and viewing life in tidal pools.

We spent the rest of the day at the campground picking wild blackberries. From four nights and three whole days, we have at least four gallons in the freezer, and probably ate another 1½ gallons. Once again, Isabella is the grand champion of berry picking.

Wednesday, July 23. Sneaker Beach, Ladybird Johnson Grove, and Fern Canyon. For our final day in Redwood, we visited three essential parts of the park: the Huechel Visitor Center, at “Sneaker Wave Beach”, as we call it; the Ladybird Johnson Grove; and Fern Canyon. I'll let the pictures do the talking. I figured out how to do vertical panoramas on my iPhone just in the nick of time.

Thursday, July 24. Drove the frightening & exhausting Route 99 out of Redwoods. An 11-hour driving day to Truckee, California. Tomorrow we arrive at Great Basin National Park. We have made a slight alteration to our calendar. When we planned this trip, our first out west in five years, we wanted it to be a “greatest hits” vacation of visiting some of our favorite places. But the past few days, while very enjoyable, have made us realize that we don't just want to rehash old vacations; we want to explore and see new places. So we are bypassing one of my favorite spots, Rocky Mountain National Park. Instead we are adding time to two places we have stopped at once before that deserve much more attention: Great Basin and Capitol Reef.

We're back! Sort of...

Hello friends and welcome back to the Gownezio blog! As mentioned before, we never know when our next stop we be sans wifi or cellular service, so we don't always know when we are going to drop off the map. We have spent the past four days seeing much of the natural beauty that the state of Washington has to offer. We are now in northern California at Redwood, but still have practically no signal. We have driven to Crescent City for dinner and are making use of the LTE service!

So, I invite you to please bring your seats and tray tables to their upright position, as we have a lot of ground to cover.

Wednesday, July 16. When last we met, we had stopped for the evening in Ellensburg, Washington (hate it), home of Central Washington University. Took us two solid hours to find a decent restaurant that wasn't closed due to it being the college off-season. And it's a, uh, little known fact the the streets of Ellensburg's famed downtown and historic district were laid out by a Boston native who felt that the original streets were way too simple. Yearning for something more reminiscent of his hometown, he created a system of streets and traffic patterns guaranteed to frustrate and befuddle all those who dare enter. True story.

So we packed up our things after one glorious night in Ellensburg, and headed west to Mount Rainier. Well, we were supposed to head west, or east; it's all very confusing. We had to stop at the RV store down the way, and were about 10 minutes behind Mom and Dad. We got out of the store and drove as quickly as was prudent to try to catch up to them. When we travel in caravan Mom navigates and we follow their big RV. Knowing that at some point we had to turn south to get to our destination, we wanted to be sure to catch up. It was about 40 miles out when I asked Liz to check the atlas. And it turns out that the road to the south was east of Ellensburg, and we had made an 80-mile round trip for nothing. There may have been a few tense moments. The boys were both in the RV with Mom and Dad, 80 miles ahead of us, and we only had Izzie. When I say it was tense in the car, let me just say that Isabella was silent for a sustained period of time. Those of you who know my darling princess should now fully appreciate just how serious the situation was.

As we drove toward the mountains, it seemed as though each mile was more lovely than the last. (*Side note: Liz and I thought it was pretty cool that one day we were on I-90, which runs almost past our house, and the next we were on US-12, which runs through our former haunts of Ann Arbor and Saline, Michigan.) But we reached a point, as often happens on mountain roads, that each mile was almost more terrifying than the last. Frequently on these roads, you will see yellow or orange signs with some variation on the “Warning: Falling Rocks” theme. In Washington, these signs simply say ROCKS in huge letters. As we were driving the cliff face up toward White Pass, we were beginning to have a good chuckle about all of these signs. Put on “Rocks” by Imagine Dragons. But then we noticed that the barricades were changing. On the mountain side, they had gone from no protection to standard concrete highway medians. Then, they added gabion, the stones-in-a-cage retaining wall for reinforcement. Then, the gabion became five feet tall and about eight feet thick. Then, we began to see where massive boulders had hit and deformed the gabion, sometimes pushing it and the concrete barricade six to eight feet and into our lane. Then, finally, the landslide hit. Fortunately, it was about 5 seconds and 150 feet in front of us. It started with just a trickle and a puff of dust and then, suddenly, we were blind from the dust on this cliffside road with cars coming up behind us. After a minute or two the dust cleared, and we continued on our merry way almost as if nothing had happened. Except that we don't make fun of ROCKS signs anymore.

We arrived at the Cascade Peaks RV park, which was just lovely. They have seven HUNDRED sites, but I don't think more than fifty of them were filled. We got to go on mile-long bike rides with the kids inside the campground. And it was up against the river, and just wonderful. Despite the rockslide and getting lost it had still been a relatively short drive, and the campers were set up by early afternoon. We headed into the park to (the aptly named) Paradise, spent some quality time at the visitor center, and then hiked around a bit on the snow-covered trails. Sarah and Isaiah joined us at the campground at about 8:00 pm, after driving to spend the day in Seattle, after Googling the address of another campground of the same name in Seattle. Oops.

Thursday, July 17. Today we went back to Paradise to hike to the Nisqually Vista. This is a really great spot where a glacier and avalanches and rockslides have carved out this massive chute, and there are waterfalls and water just pops out of the rocks in some places. We missed out on our next hike because the parking lot was full; but luckily there was space for us at the Grove of the Patriarchs. The prime feature of this 1000-year-old forest is the 200-foot-tall cedar trees. At “The Big Cedar Tree” all nine of us got in a big circle and stretched and stretched until we finally touched.

To get to the biggest trees, you have to go over a suspension foot bridge. We have done a bunch of these in the past couple of weeks, and they are always a little sketchy. At this one, there was a big traffic jam in both directions, as you are only supposed to have one person on the bridge at a time. Sarah and Isaiah decided it would be better to just ford the ankle-deep stream; except that it turned out to be waist-deep instead.

THERE IS A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE. Mom and Dad like to sleep in. It's a rule. But the nights are getting shorter and shorter and we have a new guest joining us on our travels. And he is bold enough to walk through the middle of their living room while they are sitting there, but too smart to take the cheese from the trap.

For Friday, July 18, Mom had recommended a hike for us that was, according the book, “the best day hike in Washington.” When she showed me the description, I read “Nachos Peak Loop”, and knew that it was the best day hike in Washington. It turns out that it is actually “Naches Peak”, and there is not, in fact, a taco truck at the top. You can imagine my disappointment. The hike started out all along the road, and it was pretty, but the road was there and the cars and the noise and blecchh. But soon, we started moving uphill. And it might just be the best day hike we've done. We gained a thousand feet of elevation, and the children (yes, those children) never stopped smiling. Never a complaint, never a moment that they didn't think it was the greatest thing ever. Amazing views of Mt. Rainier and it's neighbors, as well as Mt. Adams off in the distance. So good that when we got to the end, we turned around and did it again. No, that's not true.

A funny thing about visiting mountain and forest regions: mountains and forests are sometimes there instead of the roads you need. As the three-eyed-crow flies, our campground was equidistant between Mt. Rainier and Moutn St. Helens. But we were actually looking at a five-hour round trip from our campground to MSH. And so we got up on Saturday, July 19, and moved camp to Castle Rock. Our campground is one of these places that gets 9.5 and 10 ratings in all of the camper guides, but is just a parking lot. It was nice enough, though, but with one thing different: trains. There's a requirement, I think it's a zoning thing, that all RV campgrounds have to be within a ½ mile of train tracks. But this train was in the campground, right at the end of our row, three campers away from us. And came through every 10 to 12 minutes. But I digress.

We loaded everybody in the truck and head for Mount St. Helens. This is a special place for me as my mom worked as a camp counselor here in the 1960's. In my house, the imminent eruption in 1980 seemed to be always on TV. And it made quite a lasting impression. A few years ago we did make it to the eastern side to view the once-lovely Spirit Lake, where Mom's camp was. And it is just devastated. This time we made to the western side of the mountains and the visitor center. I can think of few places where the power of nature is more evident than here. But it really is amazing how life has come back, from the plants and trees to the large animals like elk and mountain lions. MSH could definitely be a full-day trip, and it's highly recommended if you ever find yourself in the Seattle-Portland corridor.

Sunday, July 20. Said goodbye to Sarah & Isaiah after eight days with us. Drove through Oregon to Klamath, California, and Redwood National Park.

Why, hello there

Hi everybody, we are spending a lovely few days here in Washington at Mt. Rainier and then at Mt. St. Helens. We have everything we could ever ask for except the ability to blog. Happy birthday yesterday to our bro Marc Strauss and today to our Dad, Poppy, the Doc of Rock! Sunday we move to Redwood National Park in Northern California, and we will get caught up with all of you soon. 

A Long, Hot Day

Tuesday, July 15. Today we said goodbye to Glacier and made our way southwest toward Mt. Rainier. Our stop for the night is Ellensburg, home of Central Washington University, and the most contrived, bass-ackwards streets you're likely to find. Spent ten hours on the road. First half, stunningly beautiful – mountains, lakes, streams, then buttes, rocks; second half of the drive, eastern Washington. This is, seriously, the ugliest photo I took all morning.

Hot.

Smoke.

Had finally closed in on our destination when we learned that the smoke from the large fire that was obscuring the horizon was also obscuring visibility on I-90, and it was closing. It is HOT here; cooler where we are heading tomorrow.

Avalanche Lake

Monday, July 14. Avalanche Lake has always been the standard by which we have judged all other hikes, views, and experiences. I am so excited to tell you al about our visit to it today. But first, a question: How many of you have ever been hit full-on with a blast of bear spray?

Soooooooooooooo, we got to the end of our hike, and we were getting ready to get in the car, and a few of us were heading for the restroom, and suddenly, there was a tickle in my throat. Nothing bad, just a little tickle. Coughed a bit. Then more. And more. And even more. And then, suddenly, I couldn't breathe. My eyes and throat and nose and tongue were on fire. And I thought I was going to die. I turned back and tried to warn people off, but I couldn't speak. I tried to grab a deep breath, but breathing made it even worse. I had just a short irrational moment when I thought, “Boy, golly, a remote wilderness park sure is a strange place for a biological weapon attack.” And I thought I was going to die. But then I realized that some genius had discharged their bear spray. Probably thought it was bear repellent and was spraying it on their clothing. After all, you spray bug spray on yourself to keep the bugs away, right? The awesomest part was when the parents in the family ahead of me gave the most disparaging look, like, “Why is this jackass coughing so ridiculously loud like he's about to barf up a lung?” And then the cloud hit their children first, and they started coughing just like me. And then the parents looked at them so disparagingly, like, “Why are you imitating this jackass who is coughing so ridiculously loud that he sounds like he's about to barf up a lung?” And so I got back to the truck, and got water poured into my eyes and even up my nose and rinsed and spit and it was just soooooooooooooooo much fun. And so here's the short version: Bear spray is the real monkeyfighting deal. I am so glad I carry this with me. Because if a bear is attacking me and gets hit with this, it is going to think it is going to die. And it will wonder why someone has chosen a remote wilderness park for a biological weapon attack. And it is going to forget all about me. Unless I accidentally blast myself, in which case it is going to die laughing, and not think I'm even worth the trouble.

Avalanche Lake, 2014

Avalanche Lake, 2009

Our first visit to Glacier National Park was in 2003. We arrived here in West Glacier, and the first hike we went on was the hike that the rangers most highly recommended to us: Avalanche Lake. I don't recall exactly how many days we were here, but I do remember the next few successive days and nights: One night, as we looked toward the park, we could see a glow beyond the hills; the next day and night, we could see the flames on the hill nearer to us; and, on the morning of the third day of the fire, we woke to a smoke-filled campground, were told that the park had been closed, and we had to evacuate. (Side note: the drought and fire of 2003, which began while we were here, continued through September. By the end of it, 136,000 acres burned, and this week we have hiked through much of what people here simply call "The Burn.") But before any of that happened in 2003, we went on the hike to Avalanche Lake. It is a hike that takes you on a not-exactly-easy uphill stroll through some truly beautiful woods. And then, at the top, the forest suddenly, unexpectedly opens into this paradise of water and stone. A beautiful lake, sitting in a cirque, with 500-foot-high waterfalls everywhere.

This is our fourth time in Glacier, and we have been here for 10 days and have seen some amazing sights. But Avalanche Lake still takes our breath away. On our first visit, Gabe was two years old, and Dad took a photo (on film! that had to be developed!) of Gabe, Liz, and I standing on a rock not far from the shore of the lake. In 11 years, we have added two more children, and have always taken this family photo.

Mom & Izzie, 2009

Mom & Izzie, 2014

The Avalanche hike is 3 miles each way, and it is 600 feet of elevation gain. Not a slog, not a schlep, exactly, but enough to let you know you are working for it. My favorite part of the hiking part of the hike is saying to the uphill hikers, “Man, the second part of this hike is waaayyyy better than the first half.” It is an interesting benchmark, as it lets you know how other people are doing. Some happily say, “Yeah, I can't wait for that!” While others don't respond in quite such a positive manner. 

Kieran's uphill quote for the day: "I'm not a happy hiker, but I'm not going to complain." Sold.

Glacier isn't the only place I want to visit, but I think I can safely say that it is my favorite. We have spent 10 wonderful days here and have seen nearly everything we could ever want to see. In the morning we move to an overnight stop in Washington State, and will spend the following four days enjoying at two other mountains, Rainier and St. Helens.

Polebridge & Going-to-the-Sun Road

It was in the darkest hours early Sunday morning when they came. Silently, they moved o'er the pathways and byways, ever through the darkness. With greatest stealth, they crept through the deepest darkness, until they were upon us. And then silently, ever so silently, they opened the door to our camper, and slid inside. And upon awakening Sunday morning, I so glad to see Liz's sister Sarah and Isaiah, the Tag Team of Taste, the Duo of Dining Delight, the Couple of Culinary Cuisine.

[I sure would like to insert a photo here but I forgot to take any photos.] All nine of us got up yesterday and headed for Polebridge, on the northwestern side of the park. Almost nobody comes out here, but those who do are greatly rewarded. Polebridge isn't on the edge of the wilderness; it truly is an oasis in the middle of wilderness, 30 miles from the nearest park gate, visitor center, or lodge. I actually hated the last time we went, and had planned to abandon the family on this particular day. But it is home to two amazing buildings that sit right next two each other: The Polebridge Mercantile & Bakery, and the Northern Lights Saloon. Imagine driving an hour on the bumpiest road you've ever ridden, just to get to a bakery that is absolutely worth the trip. And then having brunch, outdoors, at a little saloon... that is better than the bakery. We sat at a picnic table underneath a glorious old tree, surrounded by mountains and wilderness, and had a brunch that consisted of eggs, hash browns, prime rib, biscuits & gravy, Bloody Marys, and more. But the crème de la crème was the French toast, which was the best I've ever had. After lunch we (well, Sarah and Isaiah) dropped $60 at the bakery on kolaches, bear claws, croissants, and more. We had planned a great hike down the even worse road a bit; but soon realized that while bellies this full would probably appreciate a nice walk, we would never survive the ride to the trailhead.

So we headed south, made our way to
Going-to-the-Sun Road, and experienced the most beautiful drive in America. We returned to Logan Pass, where we had gazed upon 10-foot-high snow drifts and had many, many snowball fights a week ago, and were stunned by how much the snow had melted. But don't worry, there was still plenty enough for a snowball fight. We had been concerned last week that we didn't see any mountain goats or bighorn sheep, but yesterday they all showed up precisely on time for their photo

appointments. For the first time, we saw the bighorns moving as a herd, with at least fifteen of them together. And once we left, just as Sarah was lamenting not getting to see mountain goats, Gabe shouted, “There they are!”, and we passed next to a mom and her kid. It was really cool seeing how the glacier lillies, little yellow crocus-looking flowers, pop up and bloom the very minute that the snow is off of them. They know that time is short. And winter is coming.

After a long day of driving, we came back home for dinner, and then Liz, Dad, Isaiah, and I went to to the Glacier Distilling Company, makers of whiskeys, vodka, and gin, who have the same local-source ethos as Sarah and Isaiah. That means almost everything is made with rye, which I don't particularly care for, but we did have a lovely malt whiskey, Wheatfish (because, you see, there's an area here known as Whitefish), which was fantastic.

Lake McDonald

Gabe has learned that his teenager card will be revoked if he keeps smiling in photos.

This is Liz. It is Mark's union-mandated night off from writing the blog. Today the Gownezios achieved yet another successful split in the kayaking/hiking subsets.

We dropped Mom and Dad off for the Lake McDonald Trail, a 6.6 mile one-way hike, moving from Fishing Creek area on the west side to the Lake McDonald Lodge moving toward the east side. The plan was for us to paddle around for a while and drive to pick them up at the end of a 4 mile Park Ranger access road. More on that later.

We put the kayaks in at the Fishing Creek picnic area. I, for one, put aside thoughts of my first-born child's college education fund today, and consider the money on kayaks, paddles, life jackets, car racks, etc. money very well spent! We had a most excellent paddle along the western shoreline of Lake McDonald. We saw areas of the park burned in our first visit here in 2003. It was pristine paddling, especially quiet but for the one motor boat on the lake and Isabella's cute and constant narrative. When reaching our lunch point, we actually caught up to mom and dad on the trail, paddled in a bit, chatted, and enjoyed the hike/paddle that no one in the entire park seemed aware of but us!

After lunch, the children jumped out of the kayaks and swam around our little inlet for 20 minutes. It was teeth-chattering cold. Gabe explored the use of the paddle outside the kayak, Kieran and Izzie explored keeping warm in snow-melt temperature waters. Good fun was had by all. On the way back to our put-in, Izzie and Kieran took naps and then swam a bit more while we loaded the kayaks on top of the truck. Though we worked hard, we were a little late in getting to our pick up rendezvous.

 Unfortunately, a park accident kept us from crossing a critical bridge to our pick up point. Mom and Dad's 6.6 mile hike became a 9.5 mile schlep... the last bit with the biting flies was the worst. It was all exposed to the sun, and most of the trail was through chest-high grass. Mom and Dad sang every song they have ever known to let the bears know they were coming. Otherwise, mom categorized it as “a butterfly heaven with flowers and wildlife that was the most isolated hike we have ever taken!”

A drive back home for pizza and other deliciousness from Glacier Grill. Yummy! And well deserved after today's adventures!