World Equestrian Games, October 8-9, 2010

Abby and I arrived at the Kentucky Horse Park on Friday. We cruised the trade fair and watched some of the exhibitions. This is Molly, the pony who was abandoned in a pasture in St. Charles Parish after Hurricane Katrina, then was taken to a rescue where she was attacked by a dog who injured her leg. Her leg was amputated and she was fitted with a prosthetic leg by the veterinary hospital at Louisiana State University. She was wandering around loose, eating grass, while kids piled around her. What a good-natured pony:
Riding a mechanical version of Cat Ichi, a quarter horse cutting stallion from Texas:

Show jumping on Friday night:

Saturday was the marathon phase of combined driving. The teams of four horses negotiate eight obstacles. The time in each obstacle is crucial, though the time between obstacles appears to be largely irrelevant. The drivers blaze through each obstacle, then after driving through the finish line for an obstacle, may halt to adjust equipment, or walk or trot slowly toward the next obstacle. A German team negotiating obstacle 5, the Stone Garden:

Dutch driver Ijsbrand Chardon in the last obstacle, the Spring:

The driver before Chardon was a Canadian driver who drove conservatively - he seemed to be fairly new to this level of competition. Chardon drove so aggressively that by the last obstacle, he was just a few minutes behind the Canadian, who had started twenty minutes before Chardon. Saturday night was the show jumping final four, where the top four riders

after several days of competition ride each other's horses over a short course. I was cheering for the 28 year old Saudi rider, because I loved his spicy mare and because it is nice to see some new blood in this sport. He took the silver medal.

Portugal, September 11-18, 2010

I think we can all agree that trips organized around the planned consumption of alcohol are the best ever, so when Amy and Ben invited us to join them for wine and port tasting in Portugal, we jumped at the chance. We arrived on Sunday, picked up the car, and drove to Porto. A quick lunch stop in Coimbra, home of the University of Coimbra, founded in 1290 and one of the oldest universities in the world:

On to Porto, where we dumped our bags at the hotel and promptly headed across the river to Vila Nova de Gaia, the town across from Porto where most of the wineries that make port are located. We headed to Grahams, maker of the 20-year tawny that I tried for the first time in Foreign Cinema in San Francisco, which got me hooked on this whole port drinking thing. On Monday we walked around Porto for long enough to seem respectable, before heading back to the river for more port tasting. Nice architecture in the city center of Porto:

This kind of stuff suggests to me that Portugal is still mourning the loss of her empire:

The Douro river in Porto. On Monday we had dinner at the Taverna dos Bebobos on this quai - DANGER DANGER DANGER! I think the sardines they fed me were poisoned.

Tuesday we left Porto and drove upstream to the part of the Douro river valley where the grapes that are made into port are grown. Traditionally the grapes were pressed, then the wine was shipped downstream about 100 km to Vila Nova de Gaia in flat-bottomed boats of the type in the above photo. At the Ramos Pinto winery we saw some footage of one of these boats headed downriver through some pretty impressive rapids. The river was dammed in the 1960s and the wine is now shipped by truck (not nearly as romantic). The cultivated hills of the Douro river valley:

I was sick all day with food poisoning, so I spent the day that was pretty much the highlight of our trip hanging my head out the car window like a dog, trying not to throw up on the back of Ben's head while he was driving, and most regrettably, NOT tasting port. We stayed Tuesday night in Ourem. Wednesday we headed to Batalha to see the monastery built to thank the Virgin Mary for Portugal's victory over the Castilians in 1385. My food poisoning seemed to have worked itself out by Wednesday morning. Giving the all-clear sign in front of the monastery:

The tombs of King John I and his queen, Philippa of Lancaster, whose marriage cemented an Anglo-Portuguese alliance that continues to this day. So cute, the hand-holding statues:

King Duarte I, John and Philippa's son, started work on a separate chapel, intended as a mausoleum for his family. Duarte I died young and later kings lost interest in the Batalha monastery in favor of the Jeronimos monastery in Belem, so the chapel was never finished. Still, the Unfinished Chapels are the prettiest part of the Batalha monastery, as illustrated by Noam shown here demonstrating his love for Manueline architecture:

From Batalha we headed to Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in mainland Europe, where we grabbed lunch, then to Cascais, a delightfully low-key seaside town:

Wednesday night we stayed in Setubal, south of Lisbon, on the Sado river estuary:

The last two days of our trip we spent in Lisbon. Below is the church of Sao Domingos, which was damaged in the 1755 earthquake and a later fire. You can see where large sections of stone fell away during the earthquake, leaving the columns looking rough, it was cool:

At the park at the top of the Elevador da Gloria (a funicular):

Sailing in Escanaba, MI, September 3-6, 2010

We flew to Detroit on Friday, met Hannah, then flew on to Escanaba. Detroit airport has a cute little red people mover train INSIDE the terminal building - pretty cool. Saturday the weather was a little iffy for sailing so we enjoyed the splendors of the upper peninsula instead. We headed down to Cedar River to see the baby sturgeon, then stopped for lunch at the Lighthouse Pub. We waited there, sucking down beer, for the day's whitefish delivery to arrive - it was worth it. Noam is showing off his new Huckleberry polo shirt, awarded only to those who serve with distinction aboard the Huckleberry:
Just inside the door of the Lighthouse Pub is one of those racks with brochures advertising the local outlet malls and dinner-theaters-with-jousting. We picked up a local driving tour which promised old growth forest at nearby J.W. Wells state park. The ranger at the entrance gate looked at us blankly when we asked about old growth forest (stupid lying brochure) but we still paid six bucks and hiked there. New growth trees at J.W. Wells:

Determined to get our six bucks worth from our state park pass, Dad turned north and floored it, determined to make it to Fayette historic state park before they closed. Fayette was the site of a Jackson Iron Company iron smelting operation from 1867 to 1891. The people have moved away, but many of the town's buildings are restored, though sadly not the two story outhouse that once graced Fayette's hotel. Snail shell harbor, where Fayette is located:

The smelting furnace at Fayette:

Sunday we sailed in the Little Bay de Noc. Behind the wheel of the Huck:

The upper peninsula of Michigan is known for pasties, a dish originally from Cornwall which is sort of like a calzone but is filled with meat, turnips, and rutabagas instead of melted cheese and things that taste good. Several times we drove by the fine eating establishment Dobber's Pasties, which had a sign out front with the changeable letters arranged to read something like "Yooper soul food. Now serving gravy." I begged to go there, and dad, Hannah, and Noam finally relented on Sunday. Highly recommended. Monday dad drove us to Milwaukee where we had lunch with mom, then headed to the airport to fly home.

Red Mountain Basin, August 20-23, 2010

Campsite inventory and obliteration at Disappointment Lake. Yay! I got to lead my longest string ever, three mules, including Leon, who often carries our food in bear-resistant boxes because they are heavy and he is big. Leon seems to have a sense of humor - he will ram you with the corners of his boxes and he appears to know exactly what he was doing. At one point when we stopped for a minute, we left him dallyed on Trooper's saddle horn, and he positioned himself at an unlikely angle, apparently so he could dig the corner of one of his boxes into Trooper's ribs. Me and my string:
Trooper and Franky taking their morning nap:

Piglet and Leon:

Red Mountain Basin is gorgeous, but the trail up there is steep and unforgiving, which you can tell from the place names up there: Hell for Sure pass, Devil's Punchbowl, Disappointment Lake. Below is beautiful, and entirely un-disappointing, Disappointment Lake:

Sunset from our campsite near Mount Henry:

Why why why would you carry a boarding pass this far? Unfortunately this special person burned his or her name, otherwise I would have sent it back to him/her with a request to please obliterate his/her fire ring in the future and pack out half-burned trash.

Self portrait with a tiny blue sliver of Devil's Punchbow in the upper left side of the picture:

You can't really tell from the picture, but this granite was so slick and steep it made my toes curl. Thank goodness Franky knows what to do:

On our last morning, frost in the meadow while we took down the fence and dispersed the piles of horse and mule poo:

Crown Lake, August 16-19, 2010

Campsite inventories and obliterations at Crown Lake. I'm sitting on Franky, Coco is carrying the tools, and Lisa is carrying some bear-resistant boxes. Coco likes to lean on the rope, which I did not enjoy at the time, but now I am amazed at and thankful for how strong my lats are after a summer of dragging her around.
Crown Lake from the overlook, Wishon's best view:

Our campsite, near the overlook:

On the last work day before we rode out, I felt the beginning of a cold, so I stayed in camp and rested. It was a good decision - the rest of the crew found a boy scout toilet to obliterate that day. I was not sad to miss that. I have the best luck when it comes to boy scout toilets, there are thousands, nay, millions of them scattered throughout the Sierra National Forest, and I always manage to just miss being there when they need to be obliterated. The last night, we burned the toilet and roasted marshmallows. Below, Franky and I are both very disciplined about hydrating:

The Kern River, August 14, 2010

We drove to Bakersfield Friday in order to meet the Kendalls first thing Saturday morning for rafting. Rafting on the lower Kern River, zesty!
Saturday night we camped with the Kendalls at Tillie Creek, right on Lake Isabella. Thanks Dan and Lesli for feeding us! Our only contribution was my culinary discovery of the summer: feta cheese, herbes de provence, and a can of kidney beans can make any vegetable in your fridge into a respectable salad. We counted bats, zombie satellites, and shooting stars. A good time was had by all.

Woodchuck Lake to pick up trash, August 7, 2010

We collected a bunch of trash while obliterating camp sites at Woodchuck Lake in July. On Friday I dragged Noam, Juliet, Lukka, and Tioga up to Wishon to pick up the trash cache on Saturday. Sorry for the shameless butt shot, but here is Tioga, loaded with 94 pounds of trash:
We started referring to Zach-the-intern as "Mr. T" due to his passion for transplanting things into the middle of the obliterated fire rings. Mr. T lovingly attending to his plants:

I guess it got a little hot. Here are the same plants, a few weeks later. Sad!

Juliet stopping for a drink at Woodchuck Creek on the way back to Wishon with the trash:

Noam, Lukka, and Tioga, faithfully cleaning up the wilderness:

This is how the three equids felt on Sunday about the 18 mile round trip up steep, rocky trails to Woodchuck Lake:

Sunday was an eventful day at Wishon. Gary, who feeds the mules when Micki is out in the backcountry, came racing down to my cabin to make sure I wasn't killed by a baby bear that his dog treed right by the fire pit. About an hour later, a HUGE dead tree toppled over into the river canyon, right in front of me. Sunday afternoon, after Noam left to drive back to the bay area, I sat on the rock by Wishon and watched this weather blow in over the reservoir:

Kaiser Wilderness, August 3-4, 2010

On Tuesday I helped Micki pack gear into Nellie Lake for a group of people she referred to as "ologists" - the scientists checking the health of the meadows where cattle graze in the Kaiser Wilderness. Nellie Lake:

We had planned to camp with the ologists, but we would have had to high-line the horses and mules and the ride wasn't really long enough to get them tired enough to behave on the high-line all night. We rode back out and camped where there was a corral near the trailhead. Wednesday we went back in to pick up the ologists' gear. We stopped just short of the lake to climb up to the top of a hill which the cattle permit-holder told us was near the top of the Kaiser Wilderness and had nice views. A rock with grinding holes:

Micki lamented that she was "out of shape." To me, being IN shape means I can make it through 2/3rds of my ancient VHS Jane Fonda's step aerobic workout tape without pausing the tape more than twice to catch my breath. To Micki, based on the way she scrambled up that hill, being out of shape means she is only fit enough to top ten in a Long Course Triathlon, not an Iron Man Triathlon. Gorgeous views at the top:

I did my best to keep up with Micki, gasping for air and sweating, but eventually lost her. Hmm, what to do? I had no water, no radio, and only a vague notion of where we had left the horses and mules. Lucky for me, when I am exhausted and walking uphill, as I was while chasing Micki, I generally count my steps, so I had an idea of how far we had come. I circled back, went what felt like way too far, raced back and forth a few times trying to decide what to do, then sat down on a rock and reconciled myself to the idea that I was lost. It was an amazing experience really, I considered several options, then decided I needed to head back uphill to try and see where the horses and mules were. After I went about twenty steps, there they were - I have never been so happy to see Piglet the mule. I had to sit down for a minute to shed some adrenaline, then I realized I had to figure out the mysterious fire-box (the radio) that hangs on my saddle so I could call Micki and tell her I wasn't dead. Just as I found a tone that I could transmit on, she popped out of the bush, shouting my name. (She assumed I had passed out at the top of the hill.) We continued up to the lake, where Lisa the mule spooked at a bear box and kicked out, catching my arm at the very end of her kick. I spent the rest of the afternoon subjecting my arm to various stress tests to verify about every five minutes that it was not fractured. In spite of all this, I did enjoy the Kaiser Wilderness.

Thursday I helped Micki and her crew pack up the mules and horses and leave from the Maxson trailhead at Courtright Reservoir. A group of people were unloading and packing up their jeeps for a trip down the Dusy-Ershim OHV trail. I love this picture, it looks like I am about to take off four wheeling in the Prius:

Muir Trail Ranch, July 31 - August 1, 2010

Noam and I drove up to Huntington Lake on Friday and stayed at one of the hellish frontcountry campgrounds there. Just as I was dozing off, I was awakened by a banging noise, which Noam described as "two cretins with a hammer." Saturday we drive up to Florence Lake to catch the first ferry which was delayed for nearly an hour, in classic Florence Lake ferry style, while the captain cleaned her refrigerator.
A meadow on the hike from the ferry to Muir Trail Ranch:

I had forgotten where the cut-off trail to Muir Trail Ranch was, apparently, because we walked right by it. We turned this in to a happy mistake by pretending we had intended to do this in order to hike a triangle up Sallie Keyes cut-off, down the John Muir trail, then back to the trail ranch. Noam on the John Muir trail:

Score! I found this bag of trail mix on the trail. Noam expressed disgust that I intended to eat it, which I scoffed at, but truth be told it is still sitting in my food box at Wishon and I am as yet too chicken to eat any of it. If I bake it into chocolate chip cookies it will be sanitized by the heat, right?

Tent cabin #1, otherwise known as the Tenthouse Penthouse, our accommodation at Muir Trail Ranch:

After checking in and resting for a bit, Noam and I crossed the San Joaquin river on the log jam below to check out the natural hot springs and warm lake in Blayney Meadow across the river.

The log crossing was a little sketchy because you had to drop down about five feet to get on it, and it was high over a fast and deep part of the river. I crossed it on all fours, and I don't care who knows. On the way back, we opted to just ford the San Joaquin instead at the shallowest, widest spot we could find. I thought it was challenging and I had water shoes and a walking stick, I have no idea how Noam made it across in bare feet with no stick. The warm lake was beautiful, right at the foot of Ward Mountain, warmer than the river though not particularly warm. At the hot springs we first met Molly and Steve, two hikers who we would run into at the ferry the following day after they decided to give up on finishing the John Muir trail. They were so fun to talk to that I ended up driving them all the way to Fresno so they could rent a car to go retrieve their car from Whitney Portal on the eastern side of the Sierra.