Beer and Trees

Red Rocks, Hot Sun, Cold Beer

2010-07-02T14:41:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-07-01T13:47:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-24T10:23:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-24T10:09:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-12T23:39:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-06-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

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.

Reservoir Dogs

2010-06-02T11:36:00.000-07:00

I left sweet Valeria and the road-trip crew on May 21st in San Francisco. I left to go to Oregon to work, as planned, but was still unsure what that would entail. I was to be an aquatic colonial bird surveyor, working as a contractor for an organization that will remain nameless. But the work would be in south-central Oregon, characterized by the looming Cascades to the west, agriculture, and of course, marshes and lakes. Our 7 target species: Forster's Tern, Black Tern, Franklin's Gull, Eared Grebe, Western Grebe, Clark's Grebe, and White-faced Ibis.

I slowly began to adjust to life without QuafferT and ImmortalM. With a long list of wetlands to visit and a car loaded with my belongings, my field partner and I set off... and aside from a pair of crises: a broken-in passenger window and a broken-down starter.. things began to become routine. 1.) camp at a site 2.) wake up and survey it 3.) figure out how to get to the next site.

But the sweet truth was that I didn't have to be weened quite yet. The Valkyrie triumvirate did have one last hurrah! ImmortalM and QuafferT were planning on stopping by for a couple days to check the work out and relax on Memorial Day weekend. So, on the 30th of May I hailed down Valeria in the teenie town of Bonanza, Oregon... a town consisting of a general store and a smattering of houses. We caravanned out to Gerber Reservoir to search for a spot to camp. Passing by a few widely scattered camps we settled along the border of pines overlooking the reservoir. With a fourth member present, my co-worker Smeagol, a unique opportunity had presented itself: photos of all 3 of us in action. Oh the excitement. Oh the potential.

The first few hours of the evening consisted of decisions about the fire. We were blessed with a massive pre-built fire pit, so the opportunities were endless. Conversation focused on how to get two separate cooking stations going while simultaneously keeping a reserve fire in the center.

Another piece of luck fell upon us during our fire-work: the nearest group of people left their campsite! This could mean only one thing. A RAID!!!!! We charged down the shoreline to the other camp, scouring the earth for precious items, for anything that would assist us in running our own camp. A treasure trove lay around their fire pit. Huge, split hardwood logs and more importantly... bars of metal!!!!!! We carried everything we could and began re-building our fire stove. Man had discovered metal, and it assisted us greatly.

Needless to say, we had a thoroughly rousing evening. We scoped out the roosting birds and faraway people, and later on the full moon and stars. We sat around the fire and laughed our heads off, drank hot chocolate, and of course.... duked it out in marshmallow battles until we passed out from the sugar lode.

The game plan for the next day was to go out together to one of our work sites, check out some birds, and play adventurer. We headed to an expansive, flooded flat... stretching far off in each direction and filled, excitedly so, with nesting birds. As we arrived we saw one of our target species, black terns, flying buoyantly over the field. Along with them flushed willets, phalaropes, and yellow-headed blackbirds... while in the distance stood immense sandhill cranes.

So. We headed out into the marsh to look for black tern nests. We trudged like Vietcong across the rice fields.. stopping to examine what we discovered along the way.

And we discovered nests. Below, a tern nest... confirmed as the protective adults swooped and screamed over our heads. A quick photograph and we got away to prevent any further stress..

Here's another nest still under construction.

And for icing on top of the cake.. how about a Bald Eagle nest? Here's one of the adults screaming at us. No one got scalped.

For some reason I can't upload anymore pictures to this post so I will stop. But I'm sure ImmortalM And QuafferT will add some more about our galavanting as they see fit. I, on the other hand, will pack up my computer here in Klamath Falls, slide it into my backpack, toss the backpack into a backseat crevice, and start examining the DeLorme Atlas for directions to the next site.

Back into the Wild

2010-06-01T12:45:00.000-07:00

Leaving San Francisco we drove to Sacramento for what would be our last stop in civilization for the next week. We spent a relaxing evening with Tyler's Uncle David in Fair Oaks, a suburb of Sacramento, strolling along the American river after a wonderful meal at Sudwerks, a German style brewpub. While the original plan was to leave Sacramento and head through UC Davis en route to three breweries, Russian River, Anderson Valley, and Bear Republic, we were overwhelmed with the daunting task of sipping suds at three separate breweries, and then finding a place to camp for the night. Our solution was to nick Bear Republic from the map, and focus on two highlight breweries for the trip. For an account of these breweries see the previous post by Quaffer T.

As we pulled out of the Anderson Valley parking lot we drove towards a campground on recommendation from the barmaid. We found the campground, pulled in and then pulled out as we were confronted with a 35 dollar price tag for a single night. Up to this point, having traveled through some of the most famous natural sites in our country, the most we had ever paid for a campsite was 20 bucks, so the idea of dropping 35 bones on a soggy plot of dirt seemed a bit beyond acceptable. As we continued driving, stopping every 20 or so minutes to check on other overpriced campgrounds, we came to a very unfortunate conclusion; California, having failed their econ class, jacked up the prices of state campgrounds in an attempt to boost the economy. Well I can name two individuals that will not be helping that cause. Disgusted, we decided to drive all the way up to the Redwoods hoping that a National park would be cheaper then State parks. At two o’clock in the morning, dazed, sleepy and confounded we made a dreadful error, an error which would cost us, guess how much, 35 dollars. We pulled into an overpriced campground with the intention of sleeping in the car and leaving the site before anyone could try and charge us anything. Unfortunately we overslept and were charged 35 pieces of American parchment to spend a less than comfortable night stowed in Valeria the Valkyrie.

The morning was slightly overcast, but as we followed a gravel road along the coast in search of a free campsite the sun began to peer through the cloud cover. On a tip from our National Parks guide, we found a beautiful campsite nestled just above the quintessential coastal gravel road. The campground had 10 primitive sites divided by thick vegetation and high grasses. Our misfortune from the night before seemed to have turned as the occupants of the most desirable site left just after we arrived. The site was separated from all of the others, situated at the bottom of a small grassy trail, with great morning sunlight and a grove of Birch trees that provided the afternoon shade.

Just through the birches was the glimmering reminder of our proximity to the ocean, and as the sun passed the overhead position and began to fade lower and lower, its light danced over the rippling tide casting a wonderful light show of deep reds and pinks over our copse.

Our time in the Redwoods was relaxing, and with the comforts of our exquisite and more importantly free campsite to return to we spent most of our second day hiking a trail called Tall Trees. This hikes claim to fame is the exposed 5th tallest tree in the world, and the more elusive tallest tree in the world. Having recently spent time in the Sequoias we had great criteria on which to compare the two parks.

For me, while the robust mass of the sequoias is unfathomable, the lush biodiversity of the redwoods tilts the scale in their direction for the award of “best large tree park” (awards will be handed out at the end of the trip). Redwood National Park receives up to 100 inches of rainfall every year which lands them comfortably in the temperate rain forest category. Everywhere you look life thrives, from the trees the push the 400 foot mark to the endlessly connected patches of over-sized ferns. “Never has a deep breath gone quite so deep as one taken in a rain forest”. Alas the rain began to fall, and we finished the tall trees loop experiencing first hand why life lives.

Three days in the redwoods came to end with a vibrant sun setting along the deep waters of the Pacific. As the sun seeped just below the horizon the clouds above were illuminated and guided our path back to our campsite for one final schluff (sleep), aided by the majestically complex song of the Winter Wren

Beer Mecca

2010-06-01T12:10:00.001-07:00

Tucked into the sloping hills of Napa Valley wine country in the town of Santa Rosa, Russian River Brewing Co. is brewing up adventurous, envelope pushing, and delicious brews.

The current tap line-up at Russian River Brewing Co.

Russian River is best known for their Double IPA, Pliny the Elder: A velvety, hoppy, hand grenade of a beer that provides thirst quenching and refreshing hop bitterness with none of the lingering astringent, soapy, flavors that can arise from too much overbearing hops. This incredible balance is achieved, in part, by the use of the yeast Brettanomyces. This yeast (commonly known as Brett) is not normally used to produce beer, or wine, is typically considered a danger to brewing process, and a flawed flavor in most end products. In fact, many of the vinters from the local wineries will not step inside the brew pub for fear of accidentally smuggling some of these little beasties back to their winery. While many brewers fear Brett, it is used beautifully by the Brewmaster at Russian River to add a subtle, balancing, barnyard funk to Pliny the Elder that ties together the hops and malt, and smooths out the back of the palate, making this 8.0%ABV beer quaffably quaffable.

The oak barrels used for aging the Belgian quaffables

Along with excellent examples of big bold American style ales, Russian River also brews a wide variety of Belgian style beers that are aged in oak wine barrels previously used by local wineries (one of these brews being consecration, which we had at Toronados in San Fran). Not only does Russian River brew great beer, they also serve up some great thin crust pizzas like the salami, garlic, artichoke hearts, feta, and pesto pizza I had with my tasting platter.

From Santa Rosa we headed further North to Booneville where we visited the Anderson Valley Brewing Co. (AVBC). Another well respected California brewery, AVBC is represented by their mascot, the “Beer”, a Bear Deer hybrid that presides over their tasting room.

The Beer

Due to rainfall we didn’t get to play a round of disc golf on their own private course out behind the brewery, but we did get to sample some tasty brews and support the USA mens soccer team in their match against the Czech Republic. AVBC makes some stellar beers, such as their ESB and Amber ales which are great session beers. They also have some great big beers, their Abby ale and barrel aged sour barley wine were definite standouts. The sour barley wine (which gets its sour flavor from an assortment of yeast and bacteria) was aged in old oak bourbon barrels. The sour and tart cherry flavors from the barley wine, mixed with the vanilla from the bourbon barrels produced visions of tart, slightly sweet, cherry syrup drizzled over a bowl of vanilla ice cream as I sipped this intense brew.

From Booneville it was up to the Redwood National Forest on the north coast of California.

Valeria overlooking the Coast

CALIFORNIA CONDOR, GRAND CANYON

2010-05-28T12:24:00.000-07:00

Lost in the archives, a video of California Condors in the Grand Canyon has surfaced. Enojy

Here is a video of a critically endangered California Condor at the Grand Canyon. Condors were prevalent along the southern rim near Bright Angel Lodge, where we saw up to 5 individuals riding the thermals. Tyler, Michael, and I could be seen sprinting up and down the rim trail in search of the best vantage points.

Much more likely to be confused for a small airplane than any other bird.

A quick word from the West

2010-05-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

Reporting from Crescent City, just north of Redwood National park. Rain has been a constant, but every once in a while the sun will break through and let us dry off for a bit. No Ewok sightings yet around the Redwoods, but we did spot a growler of Pliney the Elder that looked surprisingly like R2D2, which we quickly caught and quaffed.

Not an inch of ground, branch, or stump goes unused. Life drips from everything.

Until next time...

Welcome to the Bay

2010-05-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday the 19th we headed into San Francisco to meet up with a friend of Michael’s and check out the Haight-Ashbury district, where Magnolia’s Brewpub is located. After walking around and seeing the sights (and smells) of the district we dipped into Magnolia’s for a brew and some food. Magnolia’s had a great selection of cask beers, which was a real treat.

The brews on tap at Magnolia's

Cask beer is the traditional style of serving ales in England. The beer is kept in wooden casks for serving. There is active yeast in the cask, which naturally carbonates the ale, giving it a less carbonated but creamer mouth feel (this is especially noticeable since cask beer is served at cellar temperature). When the cask is ready to be tapped a hole is made in the top of the cask, along with the tap hole, so that a vacuum won’t be created when the tap is used. Along with preventing a vacuum from forming, the extra hole allows oxygen to enter the cask and mix with the beer. This means that there is a short life-span for cask beer, but it also means that the beer changes over time as more oxygen enters the cask, causing the beer to evolve in both flavor and mouth feel.

The best part about the beer selection at Magnolia’s is that they had a couple of beers, like the Blue Bell Bitter, which were in both a cask and a keg. This made it possible to really see the differences between cask beer and keg beer. Michael and I split pints of the Blue Bell Bitter, one pint from the keg, one from the cask. We both preferred the cask version to the keg version. It was creamy, crisp, and refreshing, even though it was served at a substantially warmer cellar temperature

Beer decorations at Toronado

After a beer at Magnolia’s we grabbed some Thai food and headed to Toronado. Toronado is a world renowned bar with over 30 beers on tap. There was a wild, loud, vibrant energy and tons of exotic beers, mostly from Belgium and The West Coast. One highlight was a Russian River Brewery beer called Consecration. A strong, dark, and slightly sour Belgian style ale aged in red wine barrels. It almost tasted more like a red wine than a beer. There was a pronounced sour tartness along with plenty of tannins, all balanced by subtle and spicy hop bitterness, making it a great beverage to sip slowly.

Alan contemplating his glass of Consecration

Thursday we spent the afternoon in the Mission district with my cousins Leasie and Adrianna. We grabbed some huge burritos from Taqueria Cancun and headed to Dolores Park to eat and do some serious people watching

Thursday night we had dinner at my Uncle John’s, which included prime rib, grilled asparagus, and plenty of Pliny the Elder which is so quaffably quaffable it is hard to put into words.

Saturday we headed to Beer Revolutions in Oakland and met up with Eric Sabo. They had a relaxed, everyone welcome atmosphere with 12 beers on tap. The tap line-up included Drakes Denogginizer, a triple IPA that was so well balanced and tasty you couldn’t detect the 10% alcohol hiding in the background waiting to pop your head off.

Next it is up to the Redwoods on the northern coast of California, with a couple of breweries along the way of course.

An account of the American Southwest

2010-05-22T11:16:00.000-07:00

One of my greatest problems with humanity is that in order to become an active member of a community you have to abandon the vibrant imagination that guides your life as a child. Things through the eyes of a child are brilliant; they are explorative, as though in the early years of your life you paint portraits with colors not known to adults. Anything can be possible when you think about it without the nagging presence of rationality or consequences. The change that most children go through towards adulthood is an important transformation, but I can think of few individuals who have not from time to time, perhaps even subconsciously, wished that they still believed as they did when they were a child, that to fly you simply had to tie a cape around your neck and jump.

Beyond some very basic responsibilities (eg, food, water, etc.), this road trip has given us the opportunity to live life as children again, to imagine and wonder, ponder and wander, to unleash our imaginations on an immensely geographically and culturally diverse world. It seems fair to suggest that our only real responsibility outside of taking care of ourselves (arguably all that keeps us tied to the regiment of normal life) is updating our blog; a task that becomes more difficult as we pass in and out of internet access. And so it came to pass that from May 10th thru May 17th we were without internet access, concurrently loosening the chains that bind us to the outside world and abandoning (albeit briefly) the avid readers of Beerandtrees. This stretch of time took us through veritable gems in the American Southwest, some touristy, some overwhelming and some hidden in the last gasps of winter.

Though not even two weeks ago, it seems like ages since we left Santa Fe and took off towards the Grand Canyon. The drive took several hours, but with Jim Dale reading the second installment of Harry Potter over the speakers we were there before we knew it. I used to dread long drives, even the not so long ones. The two hours from Asheville to Charlotte seemed like such a nuisance, now eight hours in the car passes like a deep breath. Our destination was a campground just outside of Grand Canyon national park called Ten-X (I guess they named it after the Billy Blanks workout video that they filmed there in 2004…?). Despite the abundance of dry firewood warmth was hard to come by. The freezing nights forced most of us into all of our clothes and the five person party tent was sidelined for our smaller warmer tents. Were it not for the cold, the area was beautiful, an oasis of thick vegetation minutes from perhaps the most famous hole in the world.

The Grand Canyon was majestic and breathtaking and all of those other award winning words, but it wasn’t perfect. I found it to be a lesser version of its own legend. I suppose its major flaw is that once you have seen it, you have seen it; there is only so much of it you can see before it becomes what it is. The best piece of the Grand Canyon was the California condors.

These relics of the last ice age were introduced to the Grand Canyon within the last two decades and now there population has climbed to a few scores of individuals. Standing at almost 46 inches from foot to head with a wingspan of up to 12 feet, these gargantuan vultures soar atop the warm air currents that rise through the gorges. We watched these gliding aerialists ride the wind in utter astonishment for sometime, encapsulated by their flight techniques. Alas, the cool weather discouraged the Condors and we continued on soon ending our time in the Grand Canyon.

We departed from the Ten-X campground early in the morning noticing the extra space in the trunk, as we were wearing all of our clothes. After two nights in the cold, warmer weather would definitely be in our near future. On the menu for the day, get to Joshua Tree in southern California after a brief stint in Flagstaff, AZ sampling the local liquid.

Joshua Tree, the park, was named after Joshua Tree, the tree, which was given its name by a group of Mormons (of course). Upon arriving in this barren land in the 19th century, they noticed these very peculiar trees that seemed to “reach up towards the heavens”, reminding them of a biblical tale in which Joshua “reached up towards the heavens” (wikipedia).

We checked our national parks guide book and decided to stay at a camp ground called Jumbo rocks. I don’t know about anybody else, but there is something about the idea of JUMBO rocks that gets me really excited. It must be that reversion to childhood, but the probability of climbing on huge rocks is something that I will always look forward to. We arrived at Joshua tree long after the sun had set and spent the first half hour setting up camp and making dinner. As there was very little artificial light in the area our first encounter with the jumbo rocks was limited to the strength of our headlamps. When we stumbled out of our tent early the next morning we were confronted with acres of enormous rocks and boulders scattered across the landscape as though there had been an unsophisticated battle between tribes of giants. We spent most of our first day in the area climbing through crevasses and scaling small cliffs, pushing ourselves to the limit until the limit pushed back a little bit.

After two nights and as many days, we departed Joshua Tree with some great pictures, great memories and the lasting lacerations strewn across our hands.

We quickly grew tired of the warmer weather and the never ending presence of swamp back (if you know what swamp back is then you know, and if you don’t know then you don’t want to know), and took off towards the higher elevations of Sequoia National Park and Kings Canyon National Park in Central California (two separate parks, but they are connected and are run as one park). Again we turned to our national park book to get a tip on a great campground, only to determine that this early in the year there were only two campgrounds opened. As we ascended the mountain towards our refuge we began to notice small patches of snow on the side of the road. As 3000 feet turned to 4000, and soon after 5000, the small patches of snow turned to large patches and before we knew it we were engulfed in feet of snow with only the cleared road to guide us. We were planning on spending three nights in the park and did some laps around the campsite before settling on the most isolated and protected site. The presence of a small family of deer upon our arrival was a signal that this was the right site for us. While the snow was a hindrance, it also served to be our greatest ally. Several of the recommended hikes in the area were at the bottom of a descending two mile road, which at its entrance was lost behind a wall of cold wet white stuff (snow).

We started hiking down, at times staying atop the thick snow, often times sinking down a foot or so, but as the road dropped in elevation the snow thinned and soon revealed a perfectly suitable gravel road. This road eventually led to a trail that would take us through the largest grove of Sequoias in the world, and thanks to the intimidating snow at the beginning of the closed road we had it all to ourselves. The sequoias are immaculate, they are huge and old and for the most part fireproof. They tower above the landscape, and there thick and soft bark graces the forest with a dashing burnt orange flavor. They grow in population by dropping hard compact cones, which germinate in times of fires and form new trees. In times without fire, these cones along with a thick straight stick make the perfect wilderness baseball set. I find baseball to be mostly boring, but the void in the game can definitely be filled by a setting of millennia old trees. Though the birds aren’t very sophisticated spectators, I would prefer their commentary any day to the mundane repetition of Strrrriiiiike.

After a few innings we continued on spending most of the day lost in thick groves of Sugar pines, Ponderosas and Sequoias. I suppose the worst part about the Sequoias is that they are almost impossible to capture in a single image. Their mere size and density makes getting a sufficient angle on one almost impossible, but perhaps that is what makes them so intriguing. You have to actually see them to see them; no picture will ever suffice.

Moving from each of these parks to the next was like a dream, a dream in which you are never sure what is going to happen around the corner but the butterflies in your stomach tell you it must be amazing. Although we only had a few stops in this vast region of the United States, the geographic settings that we passed through were foreign and enlightening. Deserts high and cold, low and hot, huge gashes in the earth that support unreasonably large birds and an enormous forest plucked out of a Dr. Seuss story. If there is anything that aides the childlike feelings that begin to circulate as you move into the unknown it is the presence of things that remind you quite plainly of your small size. Huge birds, enormous trees, jumbo rocks and one of the biggest holes in the earth, that is what I will remember about these places, but also the grounding feeling of knowing that my time on earth is very temporary but these experiences are immortal.

Our longest period of successive National parks was inspiring, but as it came to a close it inspired us to get back to civilization to bathe properly. We took off towards San Francisco (Berkeley) to stay with Tyler’s cousin Leasie, celebrating what would be the last few days with Alan (silent K) as he would be leaving Beerandtrees to go birding in Oregon.

Santa Bruz CA

2010-05-19T16:35:00.000-07:00

We got into Santa Cruz around 10 am and grabbed something to eat at a local taco shop and looked around for some local breweries. We found the Santa Cruz Mountain Brewery at 11, but they couldn’t start serving beer until 12 and the bar tender wasn’t there yet anyways.

We walked around the complex where the brewery was located while waiting for the bartender to show up. The brewery was in the same area as a couple of wineries and while we were walking around we saw the Bear Republic Brewery picking up 2 giant open oak fermentors from a local winery.

We returned to Mountain Brewing around 11:30 or so and helped the bartender set up the bar stools and tables, then we had a sampler and a pint.

Some solid brews, the IPA was in the English style and not a West Coast IPA which was nice; much more balanced between hops and malt, not a hop bomb like most West Coast IPAs. The Barrel aged Stout was also interesting, it was aged in old Shiraz wine barrels. This imparted both a distinct tartness and a strong tannin sensation on the side of the tongue. It was nothing like a beer aged in bourbon barrels, which gives the beer a mellow vanilla flavor. Maybe there will be more of this style of aging to come when we hit wine country in Northern Cal.

An Evening in Kings Canyon National Park

2010-05-19T15:38:00.000-07:00

Some pictures from our campsite in Kings Canyon

Our own personal snow bank cooler

Dinner

Keeping Warm

Joshua Tree: The Mojave Desert

2010-05-18T11:41:00.000-07:00

Joshua Tree was a spectacular place. At first glance it seemed barren and rock-strewn, but upon closer look, it was a never ending jungle gym and nursery for beautiful plants. Here is some of the Mojave vegetation around our camp.

Sandra Jane's Santa Fe

2010-05-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

Arriving late Thursday night in Santa Fe our crew somehow managed to find my Aunt Sandra and Uncle Steve’s house out in the red hills speckled with low green shrubs and trees. Grateful to have returned to civilization for a short while we slept in late and spent a lazy morning drinking coffee, checking up on news, and doing laundry.

Friday afternoon Sandra took us to Tia Sophia’s for some authentic enchiladas with Christmas chili (green and red chili topping). Then we went to the Marble Brewery tap room (the brewery is in Albuquerque) that looks over the main plaza. Marble Brewery’s big red ale was juicy, sweet, and hoppy; and their double IPA was well balanced with a great malt backbone and citrus hops.

After some samplers at the Marble Brewery we headed to Madrid and had a beer at the mine shaft bar and took a hike around the area. On way back into Santa Fe we stopped at the Santa Fe Brewery and had a full sampler of 9 beers including their awesome State Pen Porter.

For dinner we went to il Vicino pizzeria and brewery where Alan, Michael, and Steve had pints of the slowdown brown ale and I had a crisp clean pigtail pils. Washing down our thincrust pizzas with a pigtail hit the spot. The slowdown brown was well balanced with some dark chocolate, good malt, and a subtle hop bitterness.

Saturday we went with Sandra to the farmers market in the morning then took a hike to Picacho peak where we got a great view of Santa Fe. Luke came along for the hike too.

That night we celebrated an early Mother’s Day with Steve’s Parents at the 2nd Street Brewery. The brew highlight was definitely the Citra pale ale. Crisp, with great fruity and mango notes that supposedly come from the new Citra hybrid hop grown in Oregon.

We would like to send out a big thanks to Sandra, Steve, and Luke for the hospitality, cheers!

Past Meets Present in Carlsbad Caverns

2010-05-08T22:38:00.001-07:00

Carlsbad Caverns, southern New Mexico - Silent K

A cactus blooms. A hawk kites and wheels with ravens. A lizard dashes across the pavement. White sand fills the desert washes and spreads across the road. The desert looms its head in a prickly carpet of ocotillo, cholla, and creosote. Life is sparse to the untrained eye... and...

after a winding road through desert we arrived at a massive parking lot. A one-story welcome-center stretched across in front of us, with ramps and arrows telling us where to go. We were most certainly at Carlsbad Caverns National Park... and, thanks to our national park pass, we were allowed to enter free of charge. Sifting through and eventually shunning the various guided tour opportunities, we selected the natural entrance route, which would take us through a brief stretch above ground before entering through the cave's mouth. Along the pavement we meandered, musing over the warning signs that stood at every bend. Turning the corner we arrived at the mouth(note the handrails and manicured pathway):

Whipping in and out of the entrance were many cave swallows who were nesting on the crevices inside. Here we handed our ticket stubs to a ranger woman who once again reminded us of the fact that this is no walk in the park, that you will have to descend eighty stories, and that Yes, people have had to have been carried out of the caves before. L.M.A.O... So we continued into Moria. What's next in Moria? Of course! A warning sign:

The cave system was immense. Beginning above ground, we ended up 750 feet below the ground, passing through chambers 4,000 feet long, 625 feet wide, and 350 feet high. But, thanks to the artificial lighting and placards, the situation was not quite so dire as it was for the Fellowship of the Ring.. here is a photo, taken by ImmortalM.

Despite descending hundreds of feet in near darkness, our self-guided tour continued status-quo. Every few steps we saw something incredible, attempted a photo, and then continued. Here's the proof:

Below is a photograph of Whale's Mouth, or something like that.

Here are the Lions' Tails. Don't try to call it something else. That's what they are. The label said so.

For some reason, this one didn't have a label. Obviously it's The Nipple.

But let's be honest. Even if you are touring a natural wonder, you still get tired, no matter how captivating something is. We wind up needing something more. Like... a bottomless pit. Or.. perhaps something more traditional. The final bit of our tour had the most amazing treasure at the end:

Is that what I think it is?

Indeed... adding to the mineral content.

Well... I guess a bathroom isn't that bad! You can't expect everyone to empty out before the journey down.

At least that's it for the modernity... Right??????????

No. In America, you need a cafeteria and shopping mall as well. 800 feet below the surface. Lmao.

So... Carlsbad is USA in a nutshell. A natural wonder was discovered. It was exploited for its natural resources(bat guano). It was tamed and turned into a tourist trap. And finally, it was made available to every possible human, all for a very nice fee. Thankfully, with a strong enough mind you can take it in for all that it is, and enjoy the caverns' enduring qualities. Such as its cave cricket:

But in the midst of all of this... the most stirring sight of all was a HUMAN remnant. A shocking reminder of the DIFFICULTIES that our ancestors had to deal with... and the PROGRESS we have made... Something simple. Something of the past. And to me, something much, much, preferred. A ladder used in the early 1900's to drop deep into the darkness.

At the end of our 2 hour tour... we took the minute long elevator ride to the top, got a drink of water, and continued on our way. We put on La Roux... and as we drifted back across the desert, north to Santa Fe, I got lost again...

German Assault Vehicle in Big Bend

2010-05-08T22:34:00.001-07:00

On the morning of the 5th, as we were getting ready to take a hike up the lost mine trail, a large gray military looking vehicle with wheels as big as Valeria took off from the Chisos basin camp site. We figured it must be some kind of National Park service vehicle, until it drove by our camp site and we saw an old couple in civilian clothes piloting this monster of a machine.

Later that day when we were down in the Rio Grande Basin we saw the behemoth again in another camp site.

The Mercedes Assault Vehicle was rocking an Alabama license plate and a German bumper sticker (right below the driver side window). Maybe Mercedes is trying to expand into the RV market?

A day in the Life of "Big Bend"

2010-05-08T21:49:00.000-07:00

As the morning light began to creep through the cliff crevasses surrounding Chisos Basin, we began a full day in Big Bend national park. Situated along the Rio Grande, the temperatures in Big Bend can leap well past 100° F, a fact which became instantly apparent as the sun finally cleared the enclosing stone fortress. We shed our warmer clothing, downed the rest of our morning stimulants (coffee, tea, and breakfast burritos) and made our plan for the day. At first we had to deal with some National Park issues. Since we had showed up so late the night before we hadn’t paid the park entrance fee or the camping fee, both of which we could take care of at the ranger station near the campsite. Have you ever seen someone that you were sure was a fake person, someone that seemed either too good to be true or too eccentric to be authentic? I have, twice. The first was a real estate agent in North Carolina, and the second was the ranger at Big Bend National park. His appearance from foot to neck was conventional, slightly stocky, perhaps a tattoo or two, nothing out of the ordinary. From the neck up was another story. His fading brown sunglass/ eyeglass hybrids sat atop a stout nose enclosed by sharp bleached blonde sideburns and a soul patch that would make even James Brown bow down. If his appearance wasn’t enough, just wait until your eyes wandered slightly south and came across his official gleaming nametag “Fozzy Trauster”. Fozzy was the real deal; he was everything you could hope to find in a National Park ranger, style, charisma and an extensive knowledge about the park. After we paid our park fees, we asked Fozzy if he had any recommendations for a not so long, not so short trail. “You should take the Lost Mine Trail; I have really been diggin’ it lately”. His suggestion turned out to be a great one. Within about 100 yards of the trailhead Alan spotted an adolescent black bear wandering down the trail right towards us, a great start to our first National Park visit.

Sign at the beginning of the trail

The landscape was really amazing, a harsh and dry climate, softened by thick shrubs and rows of cacti. Varieties of birds provided a sweet melody and stunning aerial entertainment as we switch-backed along rocky ridges. After a couple of hours the trail came to an end at a spacious rock outcrop. At the pinnacle of this trail was an enormous stone formation which we decided was an exact representation of a gorilla wearing a Native American headdress.

We feasted on PBJ & H’s (PB & J plus honey) and took in the incredible view which at this elevation stretched all the way to the Rio Grande, some 20 miles away.

After our morning hike, we hopped back in Valeria the Valkyrie, and drove towards the southern side of Big Bend along the coast of the Rio Grande. The temperature, as expected, climbed up to 107° as we approached the Mexican border. The infernal heat really made the idea of hanging around the river quite undesirable, but we stayed long enough to snap some photos and cross the Rio Grande at a shallow spot. Once we made it to Mexico we realized that it was in fact Cinco de Mayo, and what better way to celebrate a Mexican holiday then by crossing into the country itself.

The final stop along the Rio Grande was at an exceptional Canyon called Santa Elena Canyon. This gap in the immense cliffs along the Rio Grande flanked by a small trail provided the perfect refuge from the wicked sun.

We strolled serenely along the river enjoying the presence of stealth like swifts and pretentious pyrrhuloxias, eventually returning to our car and soon after the comforts of our campsite. As the sun fell beyond the outer cliffs, we prepared dinner, drank some Shiner beer and reflected on a great day. In our time in Big Bend we had seen some wild wildlife (including many varieties of birds, pronghorns, peccaries, deer, a bear and a skunk), soaked up some strong rays, and seen some new and spectacular sites.

"It must be some piece of a NASA spaceship”

2010-05-07T11:40:00.001-07:00

If you have ever had the “luxury” of driving through Middle America, then it stands to reason that at some point you have seen a vast setting of windmills. From a distance these windmills lure the same illusion as ants crawling on the ground. At first it seems there are just a few, maybe a dozen, but the longer you look it becomes clear that the ground is crawling with a colony, the hillside littered with windmills. If these vast stretches of windmills don’t quite impress, it may be because it is hard to grasp the immense size of a single unit.

In the drive from Austin to Big Bend, we were “fortunate” to pass large realms of these windmills. At some point in the drive, just as we crested a hilltop and gazed upon the next stretch of highway, we saw off in the distance a large motorcade of “oversized load” vehicles. I am used to seeing large tractors or mobile homes occupying the bed of these beastly trucks, so the sight of a gleaming aerodynamic structure took us by surprise. “It must be some piece of a NASA spaceship” we hypothesized. It wasn’t.

What we had come across were the blades of these enormous windmills being transported. Each one of these blades which sit high on the windmills must have been 80 feet long, tipping the total height of the structures at about 250 feet tall (Statue of Liberty height - 305 feet). Seeing these blades up close really gives some dimension to seeing hundreds of them along the horizon.

Salt Lickin' Good Fancy Lawnmowers

2010-05-07T10:39:00.000-07:00

On the night of the 3rd we decided to check out the Monday night nightlife in Austin on the famous East 6th street. On the recommendation of Alan’s friend Jesse we first headed to LoveJoy’s Bar which is a grungy dive bar that brews its own beer (including a cask ale) and has a great selection of local Texas beers on tap.

I had a Fancy Lawnmower Kolsch style ale from Saint Arnold brewing in Houston TX that was clean, crisp, and super drinkable; just what I would want to drink while driving around on a John Deere. Michael quaffed a Full Moon rye pale ale from Real Ale brewing co. in Blanco TX.

After LoveJoy’s we wandered up and down 6th Street looking for drink specials and packed dance floors. Neither of which we could find on a Monday night.

Tuesday we had breakfast tacos at Torchy’s Tacos with Josh Rudow. Piled high with eggs, bacon, cheese, and salsa one taco alone almost sent me into a food coma, but we weren’t done eating yet. From Torchy’s we drove straight to the Salt Lick in Driftwood Texas, famous for their open pit BBQ which we washed down with Rio Blanco pale ale from Real Ale brewing co. They grill some ridiculously good beef brisket and pork ribs, but after just eating a massive breakfast taco it took some serious work just to finish half the plate.

After a huge breakfast and lunch in the span of two hours we hit the road for Big Bend National Park.

Out of Austin, into Africa

2010-05-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

May 4th - Day 5

Out of Austin headed west, the forest began to open into a live oak savanna and a fresh spring blanket of flowers. And this is a perfect for what? Admiration? Yes. Pick-up trucks? Yes. Random pee-stops? Yes.

Gazelle? Mhmmmm...

Sure, why not!

Gulf Cos' Crabbin

2010-05-03T18:18:00.000-07:00

On day three of our trip we left what we hoped would be the last of an epic storm in the Southeast. What we at first believed to be a hiccup in the weather of the low lying plains of Tennessee and Mississippi turned out to be an atrocious combination of flooding and chaos that thus far has taken the lives of almost two dozen people. Our final decision in a plea to avoid anymore bone shaking thunder and saturating rain was to head west. We took the advice of a former Louisianan (and Tyler’s high school biology Professor), Bill Sanderson, and left Lafayette destined for highway 82. This stretch of pavement escorted us along the Gulf Coast through endless marshes and bewildering bayous. Just before we hit the coast we passed through an area littered with enticing gravel side roads, and as this is an adventurous group, we took one. At first it appeared as though there were high grasses on either side, but the grasses soon thinned and before we knew it we were surrounded by water on a road 10 feet wide. The Valkyrie (our car) was being pushed to the limit on the gravel path and with no sign of a turn around in the distance we decided to back up, slowly, and continue on down 82. All was not lost down the gravel road though, Alan spotted a pair of Mottled Ducks and a migrating flock of Sandpipers

While the day started with the simple task of escaping the storm, it ended with the more difficult assignment of catching our dinner. Southwestern Louisiana is crawling with Blue Crab, and if you know how and where to catch them they can make for a tasty treat (or a delectable dinner). Unfortunately (for us, fortunate for the species), you can only catch and keep males. Males are distinguished from the females by a small patch on their belly that looks well, rather like a penis.

Crab fishing 101 - as described by Tyler to Alan and me
Supplies - String, chicken necks, a net, and a cooler

Chicken necks thawing on dashboard

So, you tie a chicken neck to about 20 feet of string and attach the other end of the string to a rock. Toss the neck into some shallows and wait. When you feel something on the other end of the string tugging at the chicken (and you will feel them tugging), slowly begin to reel the chicken in. If this is done properly the crab should follow the bait almost all the way to the shore, at which point an awaiting teammate will slash the net across the water. The slashing motion should mimic that of Eowyn from Lord of the Rings slaying the Nazgul. If you are successful, crab will be on the menu for the night.

We purchased a net and some chicken necks from a small store along 82 and began to get hyped for the hunt. After three stops along the marsh, with Zydeco and Swamp Pop thumping over the radio, we had snagged our booty.

As we continued our trek westward en route to a campsite in southern Texas I was overcome with the feeling that despite our short time along the Gulf Coast we had experienced an authentic part of the Cajun lifestyle.

As a result of what is now one of the largest oil spills in history, Crab fishing has been banned on the Gulf Coast. It looks like we may be some of the last to legally catch Blue Crab in Crab country for a while.