Two-Heel Drive

The details:

250,000 to 500,000 circulation
WINNER
Backpacker: Jonathan Dorn, editor-in-chief, for April, May, September issues.

National Geographic rakes in the most awards; no surprise there.

Every time I pick up Backpacker, I find myself wanting to go on a camp-out. Every time I put it, down my brain returns to “comfy beds were invented for a reason and day-hikes ain’t so bad” mode.

I do have to give the magazine props for not filling its pages with heavy-breathing profiles of adventure athletes. Most of the time Backpacker is downright useful, which reminds me, I should go looking for something useful to post on the blog this morning. (Useful is dull as dirt, which is why I try not to overdo it).

The one thing I never, ever hike without is a wide-brimmed floppy hat. I need the brim to keep the glare out of my eyes and the top to keep my bald spot from getting scalded.

This is approximately the model I have, from Outdoor Research. It’s light, packable, reasonably rugged and easily laundered back into a condition worthy of leaving in the house.

OR also makes a “Seattle Sombrero” that I happen to own as well. The Seattle version is a Gore-Tex-lined rain hat that does kinda/sorta keep the head dry until you work up any kind of a sweat — which is inevitable because it doesn’t breathe worth a hoot. But it is handy to have around during the rainy season as long as you don’t do anything athletic.

I see a lot of backpackers wearing those hats that drape down to your shoulders — I can see how they’d be more practical than slathering on sunscreen constantly. I admire the folks who don’t mind spending big bucks for a cowboy hat they’re going to get all sweaty and nasty on the trail, but I guess I’m too practical to go that route. But they do look dashing.

There’s not a whole lot more to say about hats, I suppose, but whatever you’ve got, be sure to share with the group.

This thread at the BAHiker.com discussion board is getting more timely as summer approaches: how to cope with the sun and heat.

You could just spend all your time hiking under forest canopy, but there’s always something to be said for getting out in the sunburn zone, especially if you’re into taking nature pictures, which tend not to come out so well when taken in the depths of the redwoods. A thoughtful post from Fasthiker:

I try to cover up as much as possible when it’s especially hot. I have one of those goofy looking sun hats with an oversized brim by “Sunday Afternoons”. I bought my current one at REI. Under the hat I have a bandana to keep the sweat out of my eyes. The hike is so much easier when I don’t have the sun or sweat in my eyes.

I also try not to roll up the sleeves on my long sleeved shirt. I currently use the Mountain Hardwear Canyon Shirt. Sometimes I can’t help myself and uncover my forearms.

I hate sun block which is why I cover up as much as possible. I sweat a lot anyway. Sun block just makes we sweat a lot more until it gets washed off. On the other hand, I’d die in long pants so I always wear shorts unless it gets down toward freezing.

Then, of course, you have to keep drinking something on a regular basis. You’re more likely to drink if you have a water bladder.

Of course, the first time I used a bladder on a real hike I got dehydrated. I was drinking every 15-20 minutes but wasn’t drinking nearly as much as I thought. Those narrow tubes take a fair amount of effort to get a relatively small amount of water.

Once you get dehydrated all you can think about is drinking more water. You drink until you can’t hold any more. This prevents you from eating. When your stomach empties out a little, you drink some more rather than eat.

Many have noted before how you have to be careful with water bladders — if you wait till you feel really thirsty, it may be too late, but you also have to guard against over-hydration (See “Hyponatremia: Losing your water balance.”)

Hmm, maybe it would just be easier to hike in the shade.

The poll on wildlife encounters generated some interesting feedback, such as:

From Gambolin’ Man

A few weeks ago, toward the early evening around 6 pm, I caught a prolonged first-time ever (in the Bay Area) glimpse of a Great Horned Owl flying and the settling to roost for about three minutes on a tree limb, at Briones Reservoir. Luckily, I had my binos handy, to zoom in on this wondrous animal. It was quite a sighting!

Has anyone ever spotted one of these guys in Bay Area Wild before?

Winehiker responds:

gambolin’ man,

I was 9 years old and walking one morning with my 4th-grade class on Cabrillo Avenue in Santa Clara from Bowers Elementary to a concert at Juan Cabrillo Middle School. We all heard a sound coming from a tree lining the edge of Bowers Park and looked up to see a Great Horned Owl - the first owl many of us had ever seen. Fortunately our teacher knew what it was, but in retrospect, its size - and its eyes - made it unmistakable.

I later saw a Great Horned Owl get hit by a jeep on the road out of Canyonlands NP. I knew I couldn’t do much about it, but I stopped anyway, put on some gloves, grabbed some newspaper, and removed it from the roadway. I saw the light fading from its luminous yellow eyes, and it died right there in my arms. I buried it that evening in camp, but I still keep one of its primaries to remind me of that morning in the Utah desert.

ChefLovesBeer shares:

I did have an interesting encounter with a skunk last year. I sleep under a tarp. That means things can crawl under them. I woke up to a skunk chewing on my snack bag.(no bears in the area) It is hard to decide how to scare a skunk away in such a small space. I shooed it out of one side of my tarp. Moments later, it was back in the other side. I had to pack up after it came back three times. Nobody wants to get skunked.

Indeed.

Rest of the comments are here.

(There used to be a poll here asking people which wildlife they’d seen, but I took it down because it seemed to be causing system difficulties. I’m leaving the text intact because the questions generated interesting feedback).

I haven’t seen any bears and wolves (the latter of which I’d just as soon never see, truth be told. Wolves are too much like people).

I have seen one juvenile mountain lion — it had spots and a long tail, and was trotting across Calaveras Road one morning when I used to live up that way.

My favorite coyote encounter happened at Henry Coe State Park. I was hiking back to the park HQ in the rain and came upon a coyote out for a stroll. It did a big shake just like every wet dog does, sending water flying from its fur. I couldn’t have been more than 20 yards away.

My best skunk story didn’t happen to me; it happened to a guy I used to work with. He was walking on the Mercury News’ outdoor exercise path around dusk when he got too close to one without noticing. By the time the word “Skunk” made it to his brain, he’d already been sprayed. Turns out you don’t have to bathe in tomato juice, he says; there are other methods that work without buying gallons of V8 (here’s one that allegedly works).

I also used to work with a woman from Alaska who had no respect whatsoever for bald eagles — there are enough of them in some places up north that they’re considered a nuisance or pest.

Saw this on Craigslist yesterday:

Senior editor position:

Wilderness Press is looking for a seasoned in-house editor to hit the ground running in this full-time position. The ideal candidate will have top-notch editorial skills and experience project managing a book from raw manuscript to printer-ready files, as well as an excellent sense of how the titles fit with the company’s larger objectives. The ability to prioritize is essential. Skills and interests in acquisitions and sales and marketing are desirable. Personal knowledge and enthusiasm of the subject areas we publish, including hiking, backpacking, and outdoor adventuring, is important. The editor will report to the Associate Publisher and be a key member of the production team.

Yes, I asked: two and a half years of hiking-blogging don’t qualify: they need somebody with actual books to their credit. Not much like putting out newspaper sections, unfortunately.

But I figure if somebody who reads this blog knows somebody who knows somebody who’s done this kinda work, posting this might be a favor WP might repay when I decide to pen my masterpiece.

And if not, well, WP is Berkeley-based and has helped a bunch of local authors get their books published, so they deserve a little free publicity.

The cool thing about Wilder Ranch State Park is how you get from one side to the other: Tunnels under Highway 1 connect the coast to the backcountry. The map shows two intended for human traffic, and those who’ve been following along will already know that if there is a third, deeply inadvisable tunnel to the other side, it will be the one I find first.

This is the right tunnel, which connects the Ohlone Bluffs Trail to the Baldwin Loop Trail. I noticed it from about a half-mile away, satisfied that I’d found my way to the other side after about three hours of making my way up the coastline. Then it faded from sight after a bend in the trail.

I turned left on the first trail that seemed to be going in the proper direction, expecting to see the white-framed tunnel, above. Instead I got farther and farther down an old ranch road till I hit a little stream, with a large, concrete-lined tunnel under the highway off to the right. Naturally, I had to splash blindly all the way to the other end (good news: GoreTex works!) before I concluded beyond all doubt that it couldn’t possibly be the correct tunnel. Then I had to splash blindly all the way back, all the while expecting either a) snakebite from a bathing rattler; or b) attack from a rogue Vietcong tunnel rat.

I know what you’re thinking: I walked up four miles of gorgeous coastline, past two beaches known for attracting naked sunbathers, and the best I’ve got is this wrong-tunnel routine?

Sorry, God can’t always provide nudists on command (even though it would encourage timely prayer, though I suppose praying for prune-skinned, potbellied old white guys to put some damn clothes on doesn’t really count.)

But anyway, the story on Wilder Ranch, for those who’ve never been: The coastline is pretty, though perhaps only an 8 on a 10-point spectacular-vista scale. The Marin Headlands and Point Lobos are nicer. The backcountry is mostly open in an area where you’d expect a redwood forest. If you don’t mind walking in the blazing sun and stepping aside for mountain bikers (I don’t, actually, but I know some people are finicky), stringing together a beach/backcountry hike is most likely the best way to experience Wilder Ranch.

So, let’s see some pictures from Sunday:

The main thing is to avoid the urge to get right up to the edge of a cliff for a peek at what it looks like down there. It looks like a beach, OK? And now I’ve saved you from an untimely demise. Hey, it’s what I do.

There are many seabirds.

And Canada geese with their goslings.

There’s much agriculture nearby, though most of the tractors are in better condition.

I think if I were an artist I’d title this “Canadians at America’s Edge.” Or something.

A bit of continent makes a determined stand against the ocean. Let’s be nice and think for a second that it stands a chance.

Coastside daisies (note to all you keepers of wildflower pages, could you please add this one? It took me a half-hour to figure out what it is).

Lots of false lupines blooming.

This is Four-Mile Beach — which must be much farther than four miles by trail from the park HQ because it took me three hours to get there. OK, I took some detours and I walk at a crawl but I’m not that slow. Depending on the breaks, Four-Mile is more like six.

So, if you go this route in a grand loop, you take the Ohlone Bluffs Trail all the way back to Highway 1 and turn left when you see a “Trail” sign with a hiker icon. It goes down a little single-track and the tunnel shows up in a couple minutes. If it doesn’t, you might be on the way to my wrong-turn tunnel.

Once you get to the other side via the proper tunnel, you pass somebody’s farm house and wander up to the Baldwin Loop Trail. I didn’t really know which way I wanted to go, so I just turned right at the first single-track trail that seemed to be heading in the approximate direction off the park HQ.

I ended up on a trail nearly overgrown with tall grass and flowering weeds.

This was where I figured meadow hiking isn’t so bad, if it’s a nice meadow. It helps to have cool Pacific Ocean breezes.

Eventually this little spur reconnects with the Baldwin Loop Trail, which makes its way up the hillside, where I found a junction that led to the Twin Oaks Trail, which worked its way back down the hillside and connected with the Wilder Ridge Trail, which went back to the HQ. Saw lots of wildflowers on this side, among them:

Lots of miniature lupines.

And these interesting weeds, which I couldn’t identify.

Forget-me-nots blooming in a rare shady area.

A blue-blossom bush along the Wilder Ridge Trail.

More of those false lupines.

One last look at the backcountry terrain, before taking the other correct tunnel back to the HQ.

So that’s Day One. I’ll have to go back next weekend to explore more of the backcountry for Day Two.

Selected Wilder Ranch links:

• Yelp.com user reviews.
• Jane Huber’s Bay Area Hiker page.
• California State Parks page.
• Virtual Parks page with QuickTime VR panoramas.

View Larger Map

I spent Sunday at Wilder Ranch State Park, a couple miles north of the Santa Cruz city limits.

The rest of the pictures are here.

I’ll chat up this hike later, but I figured I’d throw some pictures up for y’all to gaze upon.

A travel writer mentions what happens when people try to retrace the steps — and recapture the shots — of Ansel Adams.

The first step on an Ansel Adams-inspired trip to Yosemite is to visit the gallery run by his family. It is in the park’s central area called Yosemite Valley, and displays and sells Adams’ work as well as photos taken by several contemporary artists. Before Adams died in 1984, he spent years living in a house behind the gallery and leading workshops there. Now others teach the workshops, and the gallery is managed by Adams’s grandchildren. The gallery’s staff leads free camera walks three days a week. The gallery also shows a free film about Adams once a week, rents out cameras and tripods and sells keepsakes and guidebooks.

I ordered three books written by Adams from the gallery’s Web site before my trip: Adams’s autobiography, his collected photos of Yosemite and a step-by-step explanation of some of his works called “Examples: The Making of 40 Photographs.” By the time our plane landed in Fresno, Calif., I felt well-equipped to step inside Ansel land.

But Yosemite does not often appear as it did at the moments Adams tripped his shutter. Nor is it easy to stand where he stood and capture the same images.

“I’ve had people say they are kind of disappointed,” says Glenn Crosby, the curator of the Ansel Adams Gallery. “They only know the park through Ansel’s eyes, and he was only showing you the keepers. The park is not always as dramatic as his work.”

I have to wonder: who the hell are these disappointed people?

Yeah, Adams was one of the greatest photographers to ever snap a shutter and his images certainly rise to the definition of fine art. But if you can stand in Yosemite Valley or at Tunnel View (to say nothing of hiking into the High Country) and experience disappointment, how can you possibly imagine yourself perceptive enough to appreciate the tiny fragments of it Adams captured in his pictures?

Cameras were invented to preserve the memory of visiting places like Yosemite, but no picture can convey the experience of being there.

OK, rant over. Actually, the article offers a nice overview of the relationship of Adams and Yosemite and is worth a read if you’re thinking of visiting.

Steve Sergeant interviews Captain Bligh, Nellie Bly and Scrambler, the family who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in 2004, chronicled in the book “Zero Days” (since trail season is officially under way it’s OK to call ‘em by their trail names).

Mary, AKA Scrambler, was 10 when she hiked the trail with her mom and dad. Though she seems like an obvious role model, listening to the interview makes it plain she’s quite a remarkable individual — bright like the sun and wise far beyond her years — almost too exceptional to make the case “well, anybody can get their kids to do something like this.” She was the star of a presentation her mom and dad gave for folks at the Mercury News in the spring of 2005.

Try to avoid the urge to wish you had such great kids; they hate it when you do that.