Red Rocks, Hot Sun, Cold Beer

From the mountains of Yellow Stone and The Grand Tetons we headed south to Arches National Park and Moab UT. After snow, hail, and freezing temperatures, the 100 degree climate of Arches was a welcome change…for about twenty minutes. The camp ground in Arches was full, but we were able to grab the last spot in a small camp ground a couple of miles outside of Moab called Moon Flower Canyon campground. It was a great spot, a narrow canyon of red stone shooting straight out of the sand, just across from the Colorado River.

We arrived in the early evening, set up camp, and tried to sleep in the uncomfortably hot Moab heat. Next morning we got up early, went into Moab to check out the progress of the World Cup and then headed into Arches to make the 3 mile trek to Delicate Arch. The ride to the trail head was an experience in itself, with huge rock formations jutting out of nowhere.




Balancing Rock

The trail to Delicate Arch was great, hiking up bare rock faces and through canyons with only rock piles to mark the trail. The final leg of the hike to the Arch was along a stone path overlooking a rock canyon stretching on for miles.


The final stretch of trail to Delicate Arch

The Arch itself was awe inspiring. A 40 foot arch of stone, jutting out of an amphitheater like basin.






Michael by Delicate Arch

After the Hike to Delicate Arch we headed to the Moab Brewing Company for some cool suds and World Cup soccer. It was interesting to see how the tap line-up at a place like Moab Brewing, where the temperature never drops below 103.2 degrees F (or something like that), compared to the tap selection in areas with a more reasonable climate. Moab Brewing had 3 wheat beers and 2 lagers on tap along with a stout, an amber ale, and a pale ale. All the brews, with the exception of the stout, were light, crisp, and had low alcohol content. A line-up geared toward keeping you cool and allowing you to drink a number of quaffables before the ABVs start to creep up on you.

That evening we headed back into Arches once the temperature had dipped down a bit. We cooked up some grub and played a few games of chess at the Devil’s Garden picnic area then made the drive out of Arches and back to our campsite.


Valeria alongside Balancing Rock



The next day we got up early and headed toward the Great Sand Dunes National Park, stopping in Durango along the way to grab a few brews at Ska Brewing Company (their Modus Hoperandi IPA was something special) and watch the Spain vs Honduras World Cup Match.

Sulpher has never smelled so...

I suppose I have always assumed, perhaps without much thought, that the closer you are to the equator the warmer the weather ought to be. Clearly the void in my reasoning was elevation, for even in my travels to Central America I have encountered near freezing temperatures atop high mountains. And so to my bewildered surprise, we traveled from Glacier south to Yellowstone National Park seeking a summery setting only to be confronted with the coldest weather we have yet to encounter on the Beerandtrees excursion. Yellowstone, globally famous as it is, was without a doubt the most crowded park we have been to. Even in the winter of summer, hordes of humans heap into the vast and diverse park seeking their own tales of viewed vistas and photographed fauna, clogging up the roadways as dozens upon dozens of visitors pile out of their vehicles to take their “own” pictures of...


Yellowstone, so named for the hue of the rocks bordering the central river in the region (Yellowstone River)


Though seemingly at peace, this stag had about 50 lenses pointing at him from the roadway. Not quite the desolate wilderness the image conveys.


This was actually my second trip to Yellowstone within the last 5 months (I went in February), and I was quite keen to see what the park was like when the wintry white was replaced by green grassy meadows. When I went in February, it was with a guide, as the only way you could enter the park was in a large snow vehicle. Todd, the guide, mentioned that you could usually tell what animal was lurking beyond the road based simply off of the quantity of cars that were piled up to see it. A true statement, as the more rare animals were met with herds of hopefuls wishing to capture in an image their trip to the wild. The obvious unfortunateness of this is that when a worthy animal stumbles out of the forest, traffic gets backed up as though you were trying to purge New York City at 5 o’clock on a Friday.


As though the car traffic wasn't enough, bison occasionally clog up the roadways as well.

We arrived at the park towards the dying hours of the night as we had driven the height of the state of Montana earlier that day, and were relieved to discover that there were two empty sites left in our chosen campground, if not the entire park. We pitched camp, made our famous rice, beans, veggies and chicken and commandeered our neighbor’s campfire as to avoid having to build our own. Despite the cluster ____ that was our campground, beyond the 40’ RVs and 12 person tents we found a small trail that led off into the woods culminating at a small river, overlooking a pristine meadow. There in the meadow we sat and watched bison and elk graze, away from the noise of tourists and the sights of power lines. The second time we came to visit this spot we noticed a small group of elk, who unlike many of the other elk in the park seemed to fear us, seemed to treat us as though they had never seen people before. For me, the time we passed in this area was a reversion to the 17th century, and it was not hard to fool myself into believing that these animals were living, breathing and behaving as they were meant to, as though to them humans were the unknown. It felt so much more real then driving passed bison and elk on the roads, animals to whom people were an afterthought, not a threat. Then we pulled out our rifles and shot all of the elk (kidding, but how appropriate would that have been).


Empty in the moment, this is the meadow

The following day we ventured out seeking a hike that we decided was located in a different section of the park from our domicile. After a couple of hours of driving around, unable to locate the trail we stopped at one of the hotel/lodge places and asked a very courteous concierge where the trail was. After posing the question, she began to laugh not with us, but at us, as the trail was located about 2 miles from our campground, now about 50 miles away. Rationalizing our aimless drive as a chance to see the park we drove back towards the correct area of the park, now some 6 chapters further in the 5th installment of HP (Harry Potter). We located and completed a quiet hike through some meadows and mountains and returned to our tent for a final night in Yellowstone.


Notice the mule deer about 30 paces in front of me, he led the way for a few minutes, not all that concerned that we were tailing him.



The following morning we woke to some pleasant sun shining down on us, scraped the ice off the windshield, packed up and drove south through Yellowstone directly into Grand Teton NP. Though just below Yellowstone, the temperature as we stepped out of the car was warm enough to warrant a shirts off camp set up, a pleasant change from the freezing formula of the previous few days. GTNP, a further extension of the Continental divide, is really a mix of Yellowstone and Glacier, and having just been through both of those we spent our only day in the area driving to Grand Teton Brewing. Visually a barn, Grand Teton Brewing is the perfect place to spend a sunny day sipping suds and playing a variety of outdoor games, namely horseshoes, corn hole and Bacci ball (Sp?). If ever you find yourself in the area, they are rumored to be adding a few disc golf holes, completing a plethora of social beer friendly activities. Though our trip to GTB was now a couple of weeks ago, their double IPA was to quote Tyler, “Real good, with good citrus hops supported by a malt backbone and a nice slightly funky dry finish” At long last, after perhaps a month in the official Northwest, we continued south towards what could now be called the home stretch of Beerandtrees.

Cold and Spatial Glacial Placial

We left Seattle the following morning, flipped on the Potter (Harry Potter books on Mp3 read by Jim Dale) and took off across Washington, Idaho and a bit of Montana en route to Glacier Multinational Park. Not wanting to deal with the unknown of crossing the border into Canada we stayed in the Montana section of the park. Glacier is split into an eastern side and a western side, divided by the rather magnificent continental divide. Joining the two sides is a rather famous road called the Going to the Sun Road, a rather ironic name given the heat of the Sun and the cold of the road buried under the load of the snoad.


Continental divide


Skipping stones in the larger Glacial lake in the Park

Turns out that the high elevation of the pass through the continental divide causes the road to be under snow for about 9 months of the year, giving us a three month snow free window which we missed by about three days. Despite the pass being closed, we were still able to drive along the road for about 12 miles and settle down for a couple of nights at the final open campground on the road. The following day we hiked to the Apgar lookout along an inclined trail which escorted us through acres upon acres of Mountain Pine Beetle torn forests.



It is believed (by scientists, people who study data) that global climate change has spurred a longer wild fire season which simultaneously burns sections of the forests and attracts and contributes to the reproductive success of these highly invasive beetles. This became relatively apparent as we climbed higher and higher and noticed the vastness of dead, yet not burned, trees spanning the mountains with rare patches of uninfected green conifers. Perhaps the best thing about a mostly dead forest is how easily colorful birds stand out, and it wasn’t long before we spotted a rather lovely Western Tanager whose orange head and yellow body stood out like an average height person in a group of Japanese tourists.

After a couple of nights on the western slopes we drove around the southern border of the park and re-entered the eastern side for a night. Notable experiences from this side of the park include a hike to see three different waterfalls, all concentrated just above a large lake, all massive in their own right, and all from different rivers, a testament to the colossal quantities of water that are released as the mountains drip dry in the pressing summer heat.





After the hike we attended a bear talk from a bear man who stressed that in order to coexist with bears we must understand what a bear’s world is like from a bears perspective, for a bear does not see, smell or hear things as we do, but as a bear does. Incidentally, the bear man who has spent many years working in Brooks Range in Alaska (hot zone for the study of Grizzlies) informed us that despite the popularity of bells to warn off bears, bears take neither interest nor offense to the rather insignificant sound of a bell, after all, what does a bell mean to a bear, nothing. (If you would like to learn more about bears, do some research or call 1-800 I AM BEAR)


Black Bear IN Glacier

The sun dropped the moon popped we slept, woke and crept out of Glacier heading further south towards what we hoped would be slightly warmer and drier weather.

Cry of the Wild Goose

Wild Goose Island, Glacier National Park

An interesting Island, and classic tune by Frankie Laine (which can be heard on the link below)

My heart goes where the wild goose goes, and I must go where the wild goose goes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTuLCECvWrY

Sun in the city that always rains

Dear Reader,
Due to an extensive romp in the National Parks along the continental divide we have been blissfully isolated from the electronic world and unable to update the blog, but do not fret! There will be a couple of updates on the way in the next few days, the first of which is about our visit to Seattle....

After a stint in Olympic National Park Michael and I headed towards Seattle, where my Aunt and Uncle Biff and Pat and Cousins Sammy and Joey live. We took a Ferry from Port Townsend to Keystone, stopping at the Water Street Brewing Company in Port Townsend for a quick bite and a brew. After taking the Ferry we made the short trip to Biff and Pat’s house, where we were greeted with a great dinner of lasagna and awesome views of the bay and mountain range beyond.

The next day we took a bus into town, where we walked around Market Street and stopped by Pike Brewing Company to get some samples of their stellar brews. The Pike IPA and strong English ale were especially quaffable. The IPA was especially well balanced mixing citrus hop accents with a strong but not overpowering malt backbone.

Wednesday we headed to Diamondknot brewery north of Seattle. They had a surprisingly large number of brews on tap (11) considering the size of their brew setup. A highlight of the pub however, were the urinals made out of old kegs, very classy.

Thursday Biff and Pat got us all tickets to the FC Sounders game that evening. We grabbed some pre-game brews at Collins gastropub and then headed to Qwest field along with the Sounder’s faithful, who could be heard marching toward the stadium from 3 blocks away.


Collin’s Pub


Sounders fans marching to the stadium


Sammy showing his unique and unwavering support for the Sounders

Saturday we woke up bright and early (6:45 AM) and headed over to The George and Dragon English Football Pub so that we could get a good spot between the TV and bar to watch the USA vs. England World Cup Match (GO USA). Since the pub was an English pub, it was not an all American viewing. The crowd seemed to be split exactly down the middle between Sam’s Army and the English faithful. Every few minutes a loud chant would erupt from one side of the crowd, only to be met immediately with an equally rawkus cheer from the opposing supporters. It was an excellent world cup experience.

That evening we went out for a tasty seafood dinner with the family, topping off a great visit to Seattle. The next morning we woke up bright and early again and headed for Glacier National Park.

Two pieces of truth with a bit of fake meat

Having spent the better half our transition day between Bend and Hood River touring BBC (Bend Brewing Company) and talking with their head brewer, we didn’t roll into Hood River until late. The weather forecast for the night and the following few days was discouraging to say the least, rain with a side of a cold front. Not wanting to have to set up the tent in the rain, we settled on a less that attractive campground with the intention of spending one wet night in the area, checking out the local scene the following day and then making our way towards Portland. Just after we finished cooking up an average pot of Mac and Cheese, by far our simplest and most mundane dinner of the trip, the rain began to fall. We moved inside the tent, exchanged some serious blows on our recently acquired chess board and dozed off, in a manner of speaking. The campground that we chose was conveniently located right off the highway, a fact which does not easily fade from the mind. Just as you could feel your eyelids begin to weigh down, and feel the sleeping sensation take hold of your body, an 18 wheeler would cruise by doing about 75. Had we not been sleeping in a puddle, and had there not been trucks flying by the seat of their pants some 50 yards away, it still would have been a pretty terrible night, for just as the lull of the trucks seemed to disappear, the low grumbling of a much larger locomotive would begin to shake the ground. After a few more minutes a train the size of Texas would come bounding around the corner roaring its horn, as though the tremors of the beast weren’t enough to alert you to its presence.

Somewhere in between the rain, trains and trucks we managed to pull off a couple hours of sleep; at least that was until the camp ranger woke us early in the morning demanding that we pay the camp fee, a sum which we were hoping to avoid having to pay. Now wide awake, we packed up the tent, wet and covered in mud and made our way towards the town area. Sandwiched between a large crop of mountains and the Columbia River Gorge, Hood River has a number of small points of interest namely homey coffee shops and restaurants, and a large wind and kite surfing scene. Beer wise, Hood River’s largest attraction is the Full Sail Brewery, which despite its popularity had an average beer selection, none of which really put the wind in our sails. Just before leaving Hood River we found a comfortable coffee shop and booked a Hotel in Portland, which is where our story will now continue, sort of.



As the hour grew dark and we twisted in and out of city lanes looking for the rendezvous point, everything slowed down. I was driving, I was the getaway guy. “514 Northwest San Sebastian St.” The address bounced around my head, just as it had for the last hour. That street was all I knew, it was all I cared about. “You wait outside the building, they get in the car, you take them to this address, and then you get paid, and if any blue and whites get in the way, well, use your imagination”. The boss’s vicious voice cut through my memory, egging on the lawlessness that had taken hold of my stay in Portland. Those were my instructions, all I had to cling to; and with the chaos corrupting the rest of the city I dare say I found solace in the directness of his approach. I didn’t know what the scheme had been, I doubt if anyone other then the boss actually did. That was how he worked, just enough information to do the job, never more, never less. My company was this strangely ominous cat named Tyler. He didn’t say much, if it weren’t for the random grunt or deep breath I wouldn’t have even known he was there. Lord knows what his role was, I was afraid to ask, but I could tell by his rugged beard and scarred nose that he did some dirty work, you know hands on, the guy the boss calls when he wants someone to be found once, and then never again. His demeanor as he strolled out of the warehouse, blood still dripping from his hands told me all I needed to know. “Where’s the rest of ‘em”, I asked foolishly as he ducked his head into the car, “Boss said to pick them up”, “there aint no them anymore”, came his rumbling response “one didn’t show, the other, well..” His pause told me all I needed to know

The long hand circled the face of my wristwatch faster and faster inflaming my nerves as though they were ablaze. Neighborhood after neighborhood, city block after city block, none of this seemed right, surly I didn’t make a wrong turn, not now, not when everything was riding on me. Just as the deafening silence became unbearable I spotted it, NW San Sebastian St. A few quick turns and a bat out of hell 180 pulled us right in front of number 514, Portland Park Inn. The thick reddish bricks and few windows made this place look like a prison, had there been bars over the windows it would have been a prison. Definitely the spot, I thought silently, a deep breath finally purging my insides. “Stop the car” Tyler spoke, though softly it was a command, not a request. I obeyed, any courage that had spawned in my recent weeks as a vigilante quickly coward in the presence of this guy, hands still stained in the deep red ooze that both gives life, and more to the point, takes it away. “We are going inside, park this thing over there”.

I parked, got out and followed as we worked our way towards a far corner of the building, maybe the office. At the threshold stood a thick dark man, hair covered in a red cap, with a black sweatshirt that added a couple inches to his chest. “You got a reservation”, he snarled as though ticked off that our presence had turned him away from the guilty and no doubt illegal pleasures that typically occupied his time. “Yeah, the names Siegel”, I replied bravely. It was easy to feel brave when I had a true American badass flanking me. After examining a monochromatic screen on the computer the man came back, his patience being stretched paper thin. “Alright 1 night; that will be 80 bucks”. “Already been paid”, I responded, imagining all the while that the boss wouldn’t leave me in the dark about the motel fee. “Nah she’d have told me” he snapped back, “I been working here two years, so I would know if you had paid”. Not having any idea who she was, or any clue as to why the length of his employment was relevant, I stuttered not knowing in which direction to take the conversation. After a few more minutes of verbal commotion, she arrived (she being the owner) and sorted out the matter. “Room 33”, she snorted, drool dribbling down her pig like snout as she tossed a key on the counter and pointed her stubby finger towards the opposite end of the complex. The blacktop mile to room 33 seemed more like a trek through a condemned soviet schoolyard than a northwestern metropolis. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see snipers lurking on the tar. Beneath the cover of the impending dusk, we crept into room 33, shut the door, closed the blinds and sat in silence for several moments not yet believing that we had made it through this impeccable gauntlet.



This last little story encompasses quite a bit of fiction as well as fact. The story is definitely a break from the typical Beerandtrees blog post, but I could think of little else to do to describe what needed describing. I wouldn’t venture to say that it represents truth, more so it is the theatrical version of how our first night in Portland came to pass. The fact sections of this tale, which I will leave up to the reader to identify, inspired such a seed of disbelief and chaos, that before I knew it a rather large plot had developed exploring the results of our decision to book the cheapest hotel in the greater Portland area hours before our arrival. This story seemed to be the only worthy buildup to one of the greatest successions of odd events and scenarios I have experienced during this trip. Now let us continue our journey through Portland focusing perhaps a bit more on actual occurrences than my imagination.

We spent the night hidden in room 33 cooking a deliciously scrumptious dinner, throwing back some brews, colliding on the chess board, and every so often peaking out the blinds, making sure that Valeria the Valkyrie was not succumbing to her severe surroundings.



The following morning we packed up, left the USSR, found a coffee shop and booked a new place next to Portland State University, a far more enticing area. Despite finding our new lodgings on Hostelworld.com, we were surprised to discover that it was much more like a hotel/motel/Holiday Inn. We had two queen beds, our own bathroom and a window that looked out over, no not an ancient communist union, but a pleasant street with plenty of foot traffic and a small plaza. I would like to take this time to give a shout out to the hotel/motel on the corner of 4th and Montgomery. SHOUT OUT (do you actually have to give the shout out, or is simply declaring that you want to give one enough…?)



Official Portland, not so much the setting of the first part of this post, is a beautiful city, a perfect balance of structures and green space, intelligent public transportation and perhaps most importantly, a population that really buys into the style of the city. We spent our three days in Portland checking out the enormous Powell book store, overloading on sugar at Voodoo doughnuts, dining at the variable street cars, soaking up the weather both rays and rain, and sampling the largest selection of craft brews in the country. Two of the most notable breweries were Rogue Ales and Hopworks Urban Brewery (HUB). Whereas Rogue is a much larger brewery whose Dead Guy Ale makes it all the way to the east coast, HUB is a much smaller bicycle themed brewpub and restaurant that seems to have filled a nice niche in the Portland scene, definitely the right place to grab a burger and a beer.


The line outside of Voodoo Doughnuts


Foodcarts

We ended our stay in Portland by checking out the Saturday morning farmers Market just west (or north, who knows) of our motel. Packed with scores of environmentally friendly this’s and compostable that’s, we bought some delicious strawberries and two fine tubs of soup, corn chowder and tortilla which fit nicely into our plans of heading North to Olympic National Park.






Upright Brewing stand at the Farmers Market (fine farmhouse ales)

That Babe Can Brew!

After another round of shenanigans with Alan near Klamath Falls OR we packed up Valeria and headed north. The original plan had been to spend some time up at Crater Lake but due to the fact that all the campgrounds were still covered in snow and would not be open for two more weeks we continued on to Bend OR.

We rode into Bend in the late afternoon and headed to the well respected Deschutes Brewery that has been around since the late 80’s and is considered one of the forefathers of the craft brewing movement. At Deschutes I had a pint of the classic Mirror Pond Pale Ale which was served cask style and really scrumptious. Not overly hoppy with a nice balance of malt and hops that was accentuated by serving the brew cask style. Then with my burger I had a pint of the Black IPA.

Black IPAs have recently become quite popular, especially on the west coast. Black IPAs are essentially IPAs brewed a bit of dark malt, with the intention of retaining the hoppy flavor of an IPA but giving the beer a pitch black color. I have to say I was not very impressed with Deschutes’ black IPA. The brew tasted like someone had poured half a pint of an IPA and then mixed it with a half pint of stout. It was not a bad taste, but in my opinion if you are going to brew a new beer style called a black IPA, it should not taste like two beers mixed together but should have its own unique characteristics.


Some of the taps at Bend Brewing Co.

The next day we made our second stop at a watering hole in Bend, the Bend Brewing Company. The brew master at Bend Brewing is Tonya Cornett who, in 2008, won the Brewers Association World Beer Cup small Brew-Pub of the year award; and after a flight of her handcrafted brews it was not hard to see why. Michael and I both had a sampler flight, which was tasty to say the least. All the brews were stellar. The hefewiezen was crisp, refreshing, and served with a slice of lemon instead of the traditional orange slice which was a great switch-up, the Irish Red ale was served on nitrogen instead of the standard CO2, which gave the beer a great creamy mouth feel that complimented the rich malty flavors and spicy hops nicely, and the Double IPA was dangerously drinkable but still had a great hop punch.


Tasting flight at Bend Brewing Co

Bend Brewing also had a black IPA on tap, the Eclipse Black IPA. I was a much bigger fan Bend Brewings black IPA than Deschutes version. Bend Brewings version of the black IPA truly was a style unto itself, retaining the bold hoppy aroma and flavors of a traditional IPA, accompanied by roasted dark malt flavors as well as hints of banana and clove. This is a beer that you could not get by mixing and matching IPAs with stouts, this beer commanded its own style. However...when we got a tour of the brewery from the Brew Master herself, she said her goal for the black IPA was to create a beer that would taste just like an IPA when you closed your eyes and drank it, but looked like a stout when you took a look at the pint. Apparently we have differing opinions on what a black IPA should be, but lets be honest, when are you ever going to drink a pint with your eyes closed!?

After finishing our tour of the brewery setup from Tonya in-between her brewing sessions we jumped back onto our trusty steed and headed north toward Hood River.