Overland

I have to say this right up front: I am not a big off-road driving fan. There, I said it.

We have a huge four wheel drive truck--10 cylinder Ford F250, Warn winch mounted on oversized bumper with brush guards, back bumper with extra guards that carry a second spare and gas cans--the whole nine yards. We use the truck in the winter sans-camper to bring home large pieces of lumber for home projects, haul Christmas trees, help new-found friends move (those jokes about having lots of friends when you own a truck? all true), take loads to the dump, etc. In spring we back that monster down the driveway, get the camper hooked in to the bed and we're ready to roll. In between using the truck for load capacity and using it for camping, it sits in our driveway looking all testosterone-y. The cost to fill a 28 gallon tank on a truck that gets 10 mpg in the city makes it a little prohibitive to use as a commuter car. Our carbon footprint is huge for about 5 weeks of the year. We do have a little solar panel on the camper to top off the battery, does that count for anything?

Our dirty truck on it's way to Prudhoe Bay, pre-monster bumpers

Anyway, I get really nervous when we have to put the truck in four wheel drive. I'm fine with graded dirt or gravel roads, in fact, I prefer them because it weeds out more than 90% of the traffic. But when we start bouncing over boulders, the bushes are screeching across the paint, and the truck feels like it might tip over from the angle, I tense up. It's not the money it would cost to fix the damage (ok, it's a little about the money) or the worry of getting stuck if we break down (we always pack a ratio of a months worth of food and water per day we plan to be gone). It's just uncomfortable. You know that tailbone jarring crunch you feel when you hit a pothole on the road? Well that's four wheel driving. Over and over and over.

Looking back toward Death Valley,  Johnson Canyon Road

The only reason I go along, other than marital harmony, is that it gets you to places you can't get otherwise. Once there, you can get out of the truck and hike even further out to where you otherwise wouldn't have been able to reach. We've been able to drive up some remote side roads in Death Valley, hike up narrow canyons and find petroglyphs left hundreds of years ago by Native Americans. I suppose you could hike all the way out 20 miles from the main road then 3 more miles up the canyon in 90+ degree weather to see them, but that would take a bit more fortitude.

Petroglyphs somewhere near Marble Canyon, Death Valley

We're getting ready for what's become our annual trek to Overland Expo in May. Overland Expo is a collection of people who, like us, want to get out and see the world by land, in whatever chosen conveyance. It's a three day weekend gathering that offers classes in technical driving skills, getting un-stuck from various situations, navigation, cooking on the road, first aid and more. But the most important thing it offers is a gathering of people with experience doing the things we'd like to do. It's a gathering of our "peeps."

There are people there who have driven around the world. Some with campers, some on motorcycles, a few even on bicycles. But those are the stars--most of us dream of doing those things but have done much shorter trips. Some haven't done anything yet but want to learn enough skills to feel comfortable doing it. My favorite part of the whole thing is being able to walk up to anyone, ask them where they've been and have a two hour conversation that doesn't involve eye-rolling and stifled yawns. It's a road trip version of Comic-con.

One of the many vehicles at Overland Expo

So this year we've signed up for an 8 hour class in Wilderness First Aid, getting unstuck from mud, and GPS navigation, among other things. Mark has dreamed for years of doing some sort of monumental road trip: circling the United States and Canada. Driving to the tip of South America. Circumnavigating the world. In order to do these things we're going to have to make some major life changes--rent the house out and be willing to live like college students again for starters.


I'm not sure we'll be doing any of these big trips soon, but at least we're getting some helpful training to practice closer to home. Not to mention providing something to dream about in those zoned out moments at work when it feels like looking at another spreadsheet will make your brain explode.

But What About Bears?

I'd be lying if I said I've never spent a wide-eyed night straining to hear the sound of bears rummaging around outside our tent. And I can't say that I don't think about bears when we hike in the mountains. But I'm not as worried as I used to be.

It's always one of the first questions I get when I tell people I like to camp and hike. "But what about bears?" they ask. Every time. Thing is, even if you do lie awake with a flashlight in one hand and a frying pan in the other, most likely you won't even hear them as they make off with your food. They are crafty and smart and surprisingly stealthy. Like everyone else in the world, bears are just trying to make a living. And if people leave tasty items out for them, could you blame the bears for helping themselves?

California only has black bear left, having killed off the last of the grizzlies about 50 years after we put them on our flag. I can't say that I'm upset about this. Don't get me wrong, if they were still around I wouldn't be voting to exterminate them or anything, but it does make sleeping in the Sierras a little sounder. Black bears (which are almost never black, at least in my experience) are smaller and more timid than Brown (Grizzly) bears. Small is just a comparison though, as black bear males can be over 200 lbs, all of it muscle and teeth. Over the years we've had many encounters with black bear and one memorable one with a grizzly. Even though everything turned out fine, I would still prefer a black bear over a brown bear.

We spend about a week a year camping in Yosemite and those bears know their stuff. They know what coolers and grocery bags look like. They know to check the locks on bear bins and dumpsters to see if they were left unlatched. They know which cars are the easiest to break into, and I even heard a story about a bear that broke into the same make and model car every time he saw one just because he knew they were an easy mark. They aren't picky about their food either; toothpaste is just as tasty as cookies, a nice Arrid Extra Dry can be followed up with a cold (or warm) Bud Light. We once came across a pile of bear scat composed almost entirely of Luna bar wrappers. Unfortunately people are idiots and leave things out even after the dire warnings they receive at the park entrance. So the bears get punished for being smart and the stupid people are still allowed to enter. It hardly seems fair.

Yosemite bears don't hibernate in the winter.

The easiest way to find a bear in Yosemite is to follow the crowd of people with cameras. It's kind of like middle school used to be when a fight broke out--a crowd gathers and gawks. The really cheeky bears don't let it bother them and continue eating whatever inappropriate thing they've found while the cameras snap away. Sometimes people just can't help themselves and start to follow the bear, which then gets nervous and starts to lope, and pretty soon there's a full blown chase. This happened once a few years ago when a bear was wandering through our campground. It started to run and actually ran right under Mark as he was lying in the hammock he had strung up. I didn't see it, but did witness the look on Mark's face right after it happened.

Black bear in Yosemite Valley

One night, we were camping up in Yosemite's high country at Porcupine Creek Campground, right off Tioga Road. It's a nice place to get away from the crowded valley; the campsites are spaced well apart and it's quiet. We had finished dinner in the dark and were just eating the last of our s'mores around the campfire when we heard, ever so softly, a squeeeeak. What was that? Then a scraping sound, barely audible. What WAS that? Mark shined a flashlight towards the camper and there, not 5 feet away, a bear was slowly dragging our firewood bag out of the bear bin (bad, bad us for leaving it unlatched, but to be fair we never thought firewood would be considered food.) Mark picked up his marshmallow roasting stick--one of those old fashioned metal ones with a wooden handle--and started banging on top of the bin, yelling "Get away from there! Get outta there!" Mind you, the bear still had it's head in the bin. The bear dropped the bag and started running away. Only afterward, as we were looking at the severely bent marshmallow stick (it hasn't been the same since) did it occur to us what the bear could have done if it had really wanted that firewood. Mark had been well within the swipe-with-a-paw range. For the most part, black bears are scaredy cats.

Grizzly bears are another matter. I've never had the displeasure of having a grizzly after anything of ours, but if I did I don't think I'd try the marshmallow stick defense. I think I would let the bear help itself and slowly back away. Have some food Mr. Bear, I don't need to eat every single day. Here, take my sleeping bag too, I'm fine without it. Isn't this nice weather we're having?

We saw a couple grizzly bears in Alaska, but they were at a good viewing range: at least a half mile away. We narrowly avoided an encounter when, just before we started a hike around a lake, the campground host happened to mention that a mama grizzly and her cubs were working on a moose carcass just up the very trail we were about to take. You might want to go the other way, she said.
Yeah.

Mama and her cubs from a safe distance, Harding Icefield,  Alaska

The closest we've come to a grizzly was purely coincidence. We were walking along St. Mary Lake in Glacier National Park, just stretching our legs after dinner. It was a warm night by northern Montana standards, in the 70s. We heard a little rustling in the tall grass along the trail and looked back just as a bear rambled out and crossed the trail behind us. Oh crap. We had our camera and got lucky enough to get a picture.

We stood really still and watched to see what it was up to. It meandered around a bit then walked right into the lake. It just wanted to cool off. It sat there a while, then hauled itself out and wandered up the hill a ways and started grazing around in the bushes. It was the coolest thing I have ever seen. A bear being a bear.

Bath time in Saint Mary Lake, Glacier National Park

Seeing large wildlife never gets old. I'll admit I'm still a tad scared but I think that's a good thing. You have to have respect for something that could rip your arm off but, usually, chooses not to.

Just makes you want to pet him, doesn't it?

Dog Gone

We have always been dog people. When Mark and I met, I already had a dog that I had found wandering the streets of Sacramento. Shortly after we started dating, he got a puppy that quickly became a small pony. Over the years we've always had one or two dogs filling out the family and filling up the house with fur and paw prints.

In 2007 we lost our last one to cancer and we found ourselves without a dog for the first time ever. While it was very sad, it made planning camping trips much easier. We could decide on Friday that we wanted to run to Tahoe for the weekend and off we'd go. No arranging for a dog-sitter or worrying about whether dogs were allowed on the trails if we brought them along.

Of course this came to an end when Mark, cruising the Sonoma County Animal Shelter website, spotted what would become what we now refer to as his Internet Date. It was puppy love. I wasn't so sure she was the one, but Mark was positive so we found ourselves once again being owned by a terrier mutt. Here she is:

Cute huh? Yeah, that's what we thought. All the way up until we brought her home.

We like to go to the shelter because we feel it's the right thing to do. We both work so we don't have time to get a puppy socialized and housebroken and all those very important things that make a dog a good roommate. Turns out, Tiga's former owners didn't have time for that either; feral would be the word for her. She barked at us, peed on the rug, chewed shoes, stole food, you name the bad behavior and she owned it. There was no way we were going to be able to leave her with anyone until we got things worked out with her, and we had already signed up for vacation time in just a few weeks.

After looking through our maps we decided the best place to go would be the Lakes Basin region in Plumas County in northern California. There are lots of options for camping and it's surrounded by National Forest land, which means dogs are allowed on the trails. (It's surprisingly hard to find dog-friendly trails in California. There are often rules restricting them to campgrounds and paved trails only, which is incredibly limiting for both the dogs and the people who are tethered to them.)

So, we packed up the camper and the dog and headed north. Thankfully, she liked to ride in the truck and was pretty happy tucked in with all our gear. We found a good spot, strung up a line and clipped her in with a carabiner so she could run back and forth on the line but still be on the leash.

Tiga, in the process of covering our jackets with fur.

When you decide to bring a dog camping, you sign yourself up for a whole new level of filth. Camping is not a clean hobby, and some dust and grime just goes with the territory. Usually, unless you're in a spot right next to the RV with the satellite dish and non-stop generator, you aren't any stinkier than your neighbor. But a dog just adds a certain something to the party. Bring an old rug for her to lay on and she'll lay right next to it in the pitch and pine needles. Bring her to the river and she'll find the only dead fish on the beach and roll in it. Nothing--not your clothes, your sleeping bag, your food--will be without dog hair clinging to it like powdered sugar to a donut.

We were used to this, but our other dogs had been much more sedate and a lot more refined in their behavior. They knew the drill and stuck to it. Tiga on the other hand...the Tasmanian Devil would have been a calmer traveling companion. We tried all our usual tricks to keep her entertained while we tried to cook dinner; walks, sticks, balls, time-outs. Nothing was working. So we hatched a plan; we'd take her on a long hike and make her so tired she wouldn't have the energy to be bad.

The next morning we made our way to the trailhead for Haskell Peak. Up a series of dirt fire roads, the Haskell Peak trail starts out in the forest, climbs up for a few miles then goes straight up to the rocky top of the mountain. There's a 360 degree view of multiple lakes and mountains including Mt. Lassen and Shasta. It was a beautiful clear day with temps in the 60s, perfect hiking weather. We had Tiga on a harness and she was pulling like a sled dog. I must confess I didn't really discourage her on the way up; I was a little out of shape and the altitude was getting to me. We got to the top and admired the view for a while, but it was really windy so we started back down after having a quick snack.

Tiga and Mark enjoying the wind in their ears on Haskell Peak.

Since Haskell Peak is located on National Forest land, logging and grazing are allowed. On our way up we had heard cow bells clanking in the forest, but hadn't actually seen any cattle. When we got back down to the forest level, Tiga was pulling at her leash as was becoming her habit. Mark pulled back on her to try to get her to settle down and suddenly the buckle unsnapped from the harness. For a split second, Tiga didn't know she wasn't attached to anyone. When we moved in to grab her she moved back, realized she was free, and launched away.

We had only had her for about a month and she didn't really know her name yet. She hadn't had much time to bond with us and she was never (truth to tell, she still isn't) that great at coming when called. So the chase was on. Mark dropped the backpack and took off after her. I tried circling around to where I thought she was headed, calling for her and cursing at her by turns. She and Mark had completely disappeared in the trees, but I could hear Mark crashing around and yelling up ahead. I could also hear cow bells much more clearly and suddenly realized Tiga just might be meeting up with much, much bigger doggies. And I didn't think they would be willing to play with her nicely. Crap.

This went on for just a few minutes, when I heard Mark yelling that he got her. She had stopped to dine on a fresh cow patty and Mark had snagged her while she was chowing down. Why again aren't we cat people?

We have learned since that double clipping is the best insurance against unplanned outings. Tiga has calmed down some since then and actually knows her name and gained some manners. But she still perks up and licks her lips when we drive by the "doggies" in the pasture.

Asking for forgiveness. Or a snack. Probably a snack.