Faded Memory

Faded Memory, originally uploaded by Childe Roland.

Just a shot from home.

Pathless Woods

It is late September, but the pavement of the road in front of my home is still radiating summer heat. Across that street the sand is hot, and the water of the Atlantic is still warm. I guess that is part of why I decided to head to the Cascades.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Lord Byron had it right, I think. For any man who listens to his soul, there is call to wildness. It is a call originating from God himself. It is a cry that that loudly proclaims "Look at what I have created and deny my presence". That presence is inexplicable and yet unconcealed.

I spent three nights in the mountains and valleys of Mt. Baker National Forest in the North Cascades. It was the first trek of its kind that I have attempted since my visit to Alaska over a year before. It was much warmer, and much rainier. However, the sun obliged me for a few hours on a couple of occasions.



The trek was not an easy one. It started off uphill and in the rain and remained that way for the better part of the first two days. Water managed to find a way into most everything I packed, regardless of waterproofing. While the rain did not penetrate my clothing, I was soaked through from the sweat of my uphill laboring. When I finally reached high ground on the third day, I realized all my efforts were worth my wet tent and tired back.

Ireland

Ireland: fun, rainy, green

Spent 9 days in a whirlwind tour of the Emerald Isle. Saw Galway, Arann Islands, Donegal, Dublin. The photo below is of Silver Strand beach, county Donegal. Enjoy.

Into the Wild (with a happy ending)

I just returned from a week in Alaska, backpacking through-out Denali National Park. Unlike Alexander Supertramp, I am obviously still alive after the experience. And I brought a friend. The disgustingly tall (6'8'') freak on the left is Joe. The shorter, more handsome guy on the right is me. Ok, when I take off the glasses, we are about even.

We spent 5 days and 5 nights in and around the mountains of the Alaska Range which runs across central Alaska. Mt. McKinley stands there as North America's tallest mountain, and is also known as Denali, (the High One in native speak). The vertical relief is higher than Mt. Everest, though it is not as high above sea level.

I forgot my filters and a lens stopped functioning during the trip, so the photographic quality this time around is a bit disappointing. I still had a blast.

A single road penetrates the wilderness of Denali National park, like a thin blade through a vast green heart. Back country campers must catch this road into the wilderness, and hike from the road into the taiga forests and tundra of the park. We took the bus for 40 miles the first day, and exited near Sable pass, beginning our journey south. As we hiked around the back side of Sable Mountain, the snow began to fall. We let our packs fall and decided to try climbing one of the smaller scree peaks above us.

As we climbed our sweat soaked our clothes from the inside, and the heat from our bodies melted the snow from the outside. The scree trickled down the mountain side in our wake, providing little good footing. Eventually we made it to a point where it would become dangerous to go further and headed back down. The return trip was more like skiing than hiking. Using the loose rock, we skid and slid back down to our packs in about a quarter of the time it took us to climb up.

Continuing on our way south, the snow turned into a light rain, which remained for the rest of the day. Coming around the south side of the mountain, we turned back east and headed for the Teklanika river. Upon reaching it, we took our first break of the day before heading south.



After sitting in the rain for a bit we headed south for a few more miles. The wind was high, but the rain finally came to a stop, so we took advantage of the lull to set up camp. We stayed in that spot for two days, hiking around and taking in the scenery. The wind was ferocious for two days, and we eventually headed back west, deeper into the park in search of Mt. Eilson. Here are some pictures from the rest of the trip:

Tierra del Fuego (Plains of Fire)

Glacier at Puerto Moreno.

The next morning we woke early, excited for our journey to begin. We had arranged for a rental car the night before, and while we waited for it to arrive, we invited anyone who was awake to come along. A Canadian, Khalil Rihane, who we had not really gotten to know yet, decided he had nothing else better to do and packed his belongings just as the rental car showed up to the hostel. Little did he know, he was in for a wild ride.

Soon enough, we were on the road and headed south. A note that will become important later in the story is that Felix had no license and didn't really know how to drive. On any account, I took first turn at the wheel and soon we were surrounded by the foothills of the Andes.

Our plan was to drive south, see the glaciers (largest in South America) at Puerto Moreno, and then drive into Chile. From there, we would have to take a ferry to Tierra del Fuego, and pass back into Argentina.

The weather quickly turned frigid as we continued south, and soon it was painful to get out of the car. I did not take too many photographs during the trip, and the ones that I did take were rushed in order to get out of the cold.

That night, we did not stop, because there were no places to stay before we reached the desert. Oil had recently been struck and men had flocked from all over Argentina in the hope of finding work. We back tracked over 100 miles in search of a town with a single vacancy. We were unsuccssful, so drove to the end of the tundra, filled our car with gas and hoped for the best. Civilization ended for the next 450-500 miles. We didn't know if we would be able to make it on a single tank of gas, but we decided to chance it.

All of us were exhausted, and after we had all taken a turn at the wheel, we decided to risk letting Felix drive. We were awoken to the sensation of spinning not much later. As I looked out of the window, I saw the world rushing past, spinning out of control. The road had turned to ice in the night, and Felix, having little experience driving, had continued to travel well over 90 mph regardless of the ice. I thought, rightfully so, that we were about to die. Miraculously, the car remained on all four wheels and we found ourselves in a shallow ditch on the left side of the road. 5th gear was no longer fully operable, but we were able to continue on.

I am going to keep this post brief for now, as I didn't write much in my journal during that time. The details are fuzzy as to what places we saw in what order. I will repost when my fellower travelers fill in some of the blanks for me. For now, I will leave you with this picture of Broos, right before we were arested by the National Park rangers for jumping the fence to explore around the glacier:

Waiting

Unfortunately, I don't have many pictures of the next part of our journey. I am waiting for my friends from abroad to send me photos before I continue. In the meantime, I will update on some more local photography:

A long exposure of the Naval Academy Bridge.

Back in Bariloche

When we arrived back in Bariloche (after a night of heavy drinking), we started researching our Epic Journey to Chile. Our first stop was to check out the Club Andino Bariloche (Andean Mountain Club). The guide there was quick to squelch our dreams. He pointed out the obvious to us: We were at the southern end of the world in the winter with little to no experience. We weren't convinced and kept prodding for more information. Finally, he told us we could do it, but we would need a guide and would have to rent or buy a lot of extra equipment. The total price was around 5000 pesos for the journey, which would take about two weeks. That bit of information was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Our next thought was to check out one of the more local trails that would take us closer to 3 days. We found the perfect trail head about 20 miles outside of town. The Frey trail would take us on a circuit that would last about two and a half days at a minimum, and with me always trailing back to take pictures, closer to three. We bought a map from the park ranger building in town, bought the food and gear we would need and sprinted after the bus headed for the trail head just as it was getting ready to take off.

Fortunately for us, a snow storm was creeping over the horizon, promising an exciting ascent. The first flakes started to fall as we unloaded from the bus at the ski resort adjacent to the trail head. The storm became heavy about an hour in and we were soon wading in knee to waist high snow. Luckily, a group of five more experienced climbers passed us right away, so we had a trail to follow. We would have been hopelessly lost other wise.

Keeping up with 6'5" and 6'8 hikers is a challenge, even in the best of states. It was not long before I was regretting the previous night's drinking, and lagging behind. Regardless, we made it to the top of the trail in 3 hours and 45 minutes, which was a full hour faster than the advertised time required. We were quite proud of ourselves.

When we arrived at the shelter it was really snowing hard, and we were hoping for a blazing fireplace or at least a decent wood stove to warm us up and dry out our soaking wet clothes. We weren't prepared to find a small cabin devoid of any heat. there was a wood stove about the size of two shoe boxes stacked one atop the other. It gave off heat in less than 2 foot radius and was absolutely useless for anything but drying socks.


The caretaker of the refuge was a member of the Andean Club, where we had earlier done our research for the trek. He was very kind, and for a small fee cooked us dinner and made us cups of hot chocolate. I think his name was David, but I can't remember for sure. He assured us that this was the end of the road for us. Without better gear and a proper guide, we would not survive the attempt to finish the 3 day hike. Despite his advice, Broos was determined that we weren't men if we didn't continue the next morning. It took a lot of convincing to get him down the mountain the next day.

When we woke up the next morning, I cooked up some pasta and what was left of our dried sausage for our breakfast. A warm meal was welcome after passing the night in a cold floor with only a thin mat between us and the ground.

After breakfast, we headed outside to find a dazzling blue sky. We all took pictures for a while and then said our goodbyes. The group that had passed us earlier the previous day struck out first, thankfully. Any trace of the trail had been obliterated by the storm the night before and we would never have found it.

We practically sprinted down the mountain, and after a while grew tired of following the trail. We were overlooking the valley, on the other side of which was the town we were headed for. A river meandered in the general direction we wanted to to, so we made or way away from the trail down the slope. Eventually we made it to the stream and started following it. The banks were at first low and the water shallow. Soon we found ourselves stuck in waist deep water with steep banks on either side. The water, while freezing, was refreshing. I was wearing way too many layers and steaming from the head every time I removed my cap and hood.

Shortly we arrived back at the ski resort and caught the first bus back to Bariloche. We were soaked to the bone, tired and happy. And we had a plan to make up the lost Chile adventure. We would take a road trip to Ushuaia, the southern most city in the world.