Hiking and hiking and hiking.....

So we hike-biked blackmore today and I would like to share some things I learned. One. it is hard to mountain bike with a heavy milk crate on the back of your bike. Two. It is even harder to bike when the bungy cord hanging off the back of your milk crate gets wrapped up in your back wheel. Three. Leathermans are good. Four. It is hard to mountain bike with a heavy backpack on. Five. It is hard to mountain bike with five-finger shoes on tiny egg-beater pedals. Six. My kids are crazy fit and active and I shudder to think of what they will be doing when they are teenagers and pray to the recreation gods that I can keep up. And that they will carry the heavy packs.

Since we got home from our sailing trip my flip-flop-wearing-peak-bagging fiend, Aaron has been dragging us up every mountain that he can talk us in to. First we attempted to hike Mount Baldy in the Bridgers, a ten mile, five hour trek for fit adults, up crazy steep terrain. The trail basically heads straight up for about 2 1/2 miles where you hit the ridge line and are treated to spectacular views. From there you follow the ridge line all the way to the top of Baldy. Unfortunately, at about four miles in we had to turn back because thunderstorms loomed in the distance. But we made it to the top of what we officially named Mount Eaglet and the Fins.

Next on the list, Sacajawea Peak, the tallest mountain in the Bridgers at just under 10,000 feet. After bumping our way six miles up the super steep road to the parking lot we easily conquered the two miles to the windy top. Again, we had thunderstorms building, literally, from every direction and we had to high-tail it down. On the way down Aaron looks up and says "what's that mommy?" pointing to the clouds. Much to my dismay, there was a long finger reaching down from the storm front. It was definitely time to pick up the pace as we watched it reaching further and further down in a funnel cloud. There were reports the next day of a tornado in the Shields Valley that never touched down.

On a rest day, Aaron talked me into hiking the Triple Tree trail up to the highest point with him while Isaac rested at home with dad after having a cavity filled. We enjoyed a mom and Aaron afternoon discovering new things about this old favorite trail.

Mount Balckmore, a twelve-mile trudge, was his next objective. We decided it might make it easier if we biked the first part of it to make it seem a little shorter. After enjoying a lunch at the lake we set out hiking, taking breaks to play near the stream from time to time, and slowly making our way up. Everyone was getting tired, Aaron had a stomach cramp that he refused to let slow him down, when we finally reached steep wildflower-filled meadows and our energy soared as our hopes lifted at seeing what we thought was the saddle. After switchbacking through these gorgeous meadows it opened up into alpine tundra where we could at last see the real saddle and Mount Blackmore looming above. We pushed until we hit the saddle where Aaron burst into so many "oh my goodnesses" as he took in the stunning view. It was truly, breath-takingly spectacular up there. We stared down into two alpine basins, utterly gorgeous. Isaac kept exclaiming, "man, oh man, I wish daddy were here to see this, because I never want to hike up here again." At this point we had some clouds building and it was late in the day so we decided that we would go to highest point on the saddle instead of Blackmore which was so tantalizingly close. We must have been within a half mile of the summit, but we decided safety was more important than summiting and that the view probably wouldn't be much better than where we were. After soaking up the views for as long as we dared in the ripping wind, we headed down. When we neared the bottom Isaac declared that "he loved this hike because it was so long." I guess it takes him eleven miles to get warmed up.

So Triple Tree was Tuesday, Blackmore was Thursday, Friday was homeschool soccer, moms versus kids, and Saturday was Aaron's early tenth birthday party in which he invited all of is friends to hike Sacajawea Peak with us. Luckily, we are incredibly blessed and have amazing friends who also love to hike, so we set out with seven boys and six parents up Sacajawea for a birthday celebration complete with a cupcake stop and happy birthday sing-a-long along the way. Sunday was Isaac's early twelfth birthday party in which he invited all of his friends to mountain bike South Cottonwood Trail with us. The same group of boys and parents joined us for a hair-raising, lightning-filled bike adventure to celebrate Isaac's birthday. Monday we all collapsed in a heap of jelly as I began to get us ready for our next adventure, Boston via driving Sylvia across the northern United States. These guys are maniacs.

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Andrew + Michelle = Happy Marriage!

I am happy to announce that my brother, Andrew, got married to Michelle on July 30, 2011 and I was honored enough to be the photographer at the wedding. After a month of working on photos (and not the blog) when Jason wasn't on the computer, I am ecstatic to have finally hand over a beautiful set of photos for their beautiful wedding.

Congratulations to you both. I wish you a lifetime of happiness together.

Mount Baker

We spent the weekend in Bellingham after getting off the boat, visiting old friends and Mount Baker. Our goal was to hike up as far as possible so that Aaron could get a big view fix, but the road was closed lower tha usual due to a high snow year. We hiked along the road hemmed in by towering snowbanks to where they stopped plowing. After pondering our sandal and flipflop footwear we set up through the snow field to get a better view. Needless to say, our feet froze before we made it very far and glissading down was downright painful. Luckily we got some beautiful glimpses before our toes fell off. We all still have ten toes.

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Watmough's day of DOOM!

With another day of high winds in the forcast, from Spencer Spit we sailed through an uber-narrow pass towards Rosario Strait. When we got to the strait it was eerily empty. We were literally the only ones on the water except a cargo ship and a coast guard cutter. With high winds and choppy waves, we were only with our main sail and just a tiny scrap of the genny to balance her out. We smashed through wave after wave exhilarated, listening to calls for assistance from elsewhere in the islands over the radio, towards Watmough Bay where we thought we would be sheltered. Watmough is tricky to anchor in with it's rocky shores and cliffs, and a shallow sand bar lying below. We went in as far as we felt comfortable, although I remember being much closer to shore when we were on the Martha, to about a 16 foot depth and anchored. Unfortunately, it was not as calm here as we had hoped since the westerly wind was ripping over the ridge and pounding us. We hung out for about an hour on our rocky boat to make sure that the anchor was holding before we rowed (and rowed and rowed) to shore for quick hike up to the swing of doom where the boys had a screaming good time. Jason, however, was very antsy and kept trying to get a glimpse of the boat from the ridge top. Looking into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which had gale force winds, from  this vantage point, we could see that the waves were six feet and breaking into large rolling white caps. When we got back to the beach the boat looked extremely far away. We knew that we had anchored far out but she looked distinctly smaller than when we had left her, so we hurriedly hopped into the dinghy to row and row and row back. The boat was definitely not where we had left her. With all of the wind and waves she was heading out to sea. Luckily she was moving slow and we caught her. The bottom rises very quickly from 80 feet up to 16 feet when you enter Watmough. We must have dropped anchor right on that steep slope and it slowly slipped out of place. At this point we had no choice but to anchor here because the wind and water were rough and it was getting late, so we motored in as far as we dared and dropped anchor again. We carefully noted our position and made sure it didn't change as the evening howled on. The winds were forecast to last until 2am. As we laid in bed, I listened to the boat groan and creak with rigging shaking as she rocked back and forth, up and down, swinging and shuddering too and fro on her anchor. Jason somehow kept dozing off in between my "what was that noise?" questions. I kept crawling out of bed and shining the flashlight on the cliff to make sure our position held. Then I would crawl outside and shine the flashlight down onto the anchor line to see if it looked like it was slipping. It seemed an eternity waiting, but the forecast was accurate and I was able to get some sleep when it finally calmed down. I guess I may never be destined to get a good night's rest in Watmough.

WIND!

Still blissfully in the mode of the previous day's light breezes, I brewed tea and brought them up to the cockpit so that we could drink them under sail and bask in diesel free silence. With both of us a little oblivious to the amount of wind that surrounded us, I then raised the mainsail. The mainsail is fairly small and was not alarming. I then unfurled the huge genoa or genny and the boat heeled hard, burying the rail in the water, throwing all of the stowed dishes below flying, and spilling Jason's tea as it flew across the cockpit (luckily Isaac was holding my tea and it remained unscathed). I panicked, as we had never experienced this much wind before. After a few rounds of, "make it stop," we spilled the air out of the genny and I set to work reefing her as she flapped violently in the wind. As it turns out the wind was ripping along at 20 knots, with gusts up to 25. It only took one time for us to learn to pay very careful attention to the wind conditions before letting that much sail area loose. As we cautiously learned how to handle this much wind, we spent the morning pounding through waves towards our destination. We almost came through the day unscathed when, suddenly, Jason's hat blew overboard giving us an opportunity to practice our man (hat) over board drill. Alas, we were too slow as his hat sunk quickly to davy jones' locker. Hat, we will miss you, you served us well. With a small craft advisory forecasted for the afternoon, we found safety in a slip in Deer Harbor.

The next day we experienced similar wind conditions so we were very careful with how much sail area we put out. We decided to try to get a mooring ball at the relatively calm Spencer Spit for the night. This was our first attempt at snagging a mooring ball in the San Juans and as it turns out, it was bafflingly different than the ones we were used to in the Virgin Islands. As Jason brought the port bow up to the mooring ball we acquired a seal pup friend who appeared very lonely. I leaned over the boat and snagged the mooring ball with the boat hook while the baby seal swam all around it. I could not get the cable to come out and the boat hook got stuck as the boat continued to drift forward in the heavy wind. At this point I was completely panicked because I couldn't get the boat hook out and the baby seal was directly below it. I yelled for Jason to back up as the boat hook began to extend and bend around the front of the boat. My grip was beginning to loosen, I was terrified the hook was going to snap or I was going to drop it and hit the baby seal. I came very, very close to clubbing a baby seal. It was awful. Isn't that the worst thing you can do in the green cosmic universe? My karma would be ruined. All of my efforts to live a green life flashed before my eye as I watched the baby seal, who was so excited to see me, swim round and round the mooring ball, begging me to pet him. Luckily, my grip held, the boat hook did not snap, and as Jason backed us, I managed to free the hook. Whew!

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Whales

After three windless days of mostly motoring through the islands, day four finally brought wind, much to our relief. Hearing over the radio that the orca whales were near our destination, we happily tacked our way in that direction. While enjoying an afternoon cup of tea under sail, we spotted the hoard of whaling boats off in the distance so we sailed to a spot where we thought the whales may pass through, heaved to, and came to a stop, where we basked in the sunshine and waited to see what would happen. As we drifted through the water we saw whales in the distance, heading our direction. We were treated to a most spectacular show, as the whales passed within twenty feet of our boat, leaving us all in awe of being so close to such an amazing animal.

After a very satisfying afternoon of sailing and sunshine we pulled into a tiny slip at the impossibly adorable, somewhat corny, white steeple town of Roche Harbor where we bought fresh dungeness crab and shrimp on the dock. Back at our boat we feasted on our crustacean bounty up on deck without utensils, tearing the shells off, dropping them overboard to feed whatever lurked below, tearing off chunks of bread, dipping it in greek olive oil, and washing it down with local white wine. We must have looked like heathens to all of our neighbors. It is one of my most cherished dinner memories. Sigh.

Dinner was followed by a walk through town up to a mausoleum constructed by a Knight Templar. We wandered at dusk through deep dark woods in an old graveyard to a ring of pillars that towered over a stone round table ringed with stone chairs, each chair at the table a tombstone for a member of the family that rested below. One pillar remained unfinished to represent how man's work is never finished. We arrived back in time for the silliest sunset I think we have ever witnessed, complete with cannon fire and a loud-speaker announcement which paved the way for a musical number that accompanied nature's beauty as the boys hurled rock after rock into the water.

Back in the San Juan Islands

The sea continues to call to us and we found ourself back in the San Juans for an eight day sailing exploration of the islands and our skills, learning something new everyday and becoming more proficient along the way. Spending the first night in Rosario on Orcas Island, we set out for an evening hike, trying get as high as we could on Mount Constitution, the highest point in the islands, and running back down in the dim twilight. Our next stop was the fabled Sucia Island, one of the smaller remote islands not served by the ferry, completely dedicated to camping. From all that I had heard about it, I thought we would have the place to ourselves. Not so much. The cove where we anchored was very Virgin Island-esque in the number of people anchored there and on shore there were loads of happy campers. Sucia, geologically, is very different from the other islands with its dramatic undercut sandstone shores. With all of it's natural beauty, I can see why it draws a crowd. Prevost Bay on Stuart Island was our next stop. As we rowed our dinghy up to the dock here, we were greeted by a baby harbor seal resting on the back of a boat. She was the cutest thing I think we have ever seen (don't tell the chihuahua). Quick note on seal behavior. After a mother seal gives birth, she leaves the baby for up to three days to go hunting. In the meantime, the baby seal gets really lonely and hungry. As a result, this baby seal kept sucking on the back of the boat and then looking at us with the biggest, cutest eyes ever, breaking my heart every time. I really wanted to bring her home with us and have her live in the bathtub. After we tore ourselves away from this uber-cute distraction, we headed out on our hike past an insane "air-strip" complete with tiny airplanes parked amongst the trees towards our destination, a lighthouse perched atop a cliff. Between us and the lighthouse, however, lies the "car of doom." The car of doom is an old rusted out car crashed below the trail in the woods. Two year ago Captain Robert from Schooner Martha taught us the proper way to appreciate the car of doom, as he anxiously encouraged the boys to gather rocks along the way, in preparation of the rock hurling that was about to ensue. Having to keep with tradition, the boys giddily hurled rock after rock at the car of doom. It was the highlight of their trip. If we wouldn't have torn them away, they may still be there.

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