One for Dad

Captain Mike Temple at the helm

I wouldn't be the person I am today if it weren't for my Dad. My love for the outdoors and photography started young, and he was the one who introduced me to both. One of my first memories is hiking through the redwoods at Kruse Rhododendron State Park with the family, stopping every so often for him to set up his tripod to take pictures with his camera. He had converted an extra bedroom in our house to a darkroom, developing and enlarging photos as a hobby. When I turned 10 I got a small Brownie camera for my birthday and he helped me develop the pictures I took of the dog and my brothers in funny poses.

In the early years, he'd take my older brother and I camping, I think to get us out of Mom's hair for the weekend when my little brother was a baby. I remember waking up in the canvas Army surplus tent, that smell of mildew and damp grass mixed with campfire smoke drifting in through the flaps. He was an expert breakfast maker and we'd always have scrambled eggs mixed with linguica cooked up in a huge black cast iron pan.

He had a small Honda motorcycle for a long time, and as soon as I was tall enough to reach the pegs, I would go on rides with him, usually out towards the coast. We'd stop along the way and pick up lunch and eat it at the beach. My favorite meal on one of those trips was when we shared a big hunk of cheddar cheese and some Hostess cupcakes. My mom would never have served that for lunch and it felt like we were getting away with something.

A few years down the line we met some friends at a lake and they brought a little sailboat. Dad and his friend took turns tacking back and forth over the lake and he was hooked. He bought a 22 foot trailerable sailboat and from then on, it was sailing on the weekends and vacations. We would go to Tomales Bay on the weekends and launch it at the marina at Inverness, sailing up and down the long skinny bay.  We had a little dinghy so when we stopped for lunch, he'd throw us kids in and tell us to row to shore and play on the beach for a while.

Vacations were spent towing the boat to whatever destination Dad had read about during the year: Lake Shasta, Lake Berryessa, even the San Juan Islands one year. Sometimes we'd sleep on the boat but if it was an option, we'd boat-in camp, rowing all the gear to shore and setting up camp on the islands.

Of course 22 feet gets pretty small with three growing kids, and anyone who has ever had a boat knows that it's necessary to trade up whenever possible; so as the years went on, the boats got bigger. Since the larger boats weren't trailerable he'd berth them in San Francisco bay. In the summer, we'd motor up the San Joaquin River and spend three weeks baking in the sun in the Sacramento Delta, swimming and reading to pass the time. I pretended to complain, but really, there's nothing better than being able to go swimming whenever you want, hopping into the dinghy and rowing to shore for popsicles. I often think about that when I'm sweltering away in town during the summer now.

As the years went on, the boats got bigger, but his crew started to disappear. One by one we went off to college, got jobs, got married and he wasn't able to handle the boat by himself comfortably anymore. He traded down for the first time, selling his sailboat for a little cabin cruiser that didn't require raising sails and clambering around the rigging.

When he wasn't out on the water, he was tooling around on his cherished Moto Guzzi motorcycle. He even had a little trailer that hooked up to the back and he'd take it on road trips, meeting a group of friends he had gotten to know from the Northwest who called themselves the "Wet Leather Riding Club".  He was still a camper at heart.

Dad and his trusty Mamiya C22 in Yosemite, with Mom, brother Kevin and Mark.

When Mark and I bought our camper he and Mom were the first ones we showed it to when we brought it home. He poked his head in and said it looked like a lot of fun. We talked about camping trips we'd like to make, and asked his advice about tools we should bring, upgrades to make, etc.

In 2003 we had a long-planned trip to the Tetons and Yellowstone lined up, but Dad was in the hospital with some serious health issues. Mark and I couldn't decide if we should call it off or not. I went to visit him before we were to go and told him we were going to cancel. He said we should just go, that he'd still be in the hospital, so why not just go?

While camping in the Tetons, we got the call from Mom--come home. We left right away and drove straight to UCSF Medical Center from northern Wyoming, a fifteen hour trip, making it there by 9:00pm just in time to say goodbye.

I felt pretty bad about going on that trip for a long time. But after a while I realized it's what he would have done. Why sit and worry when it won't make any difference? Why not enjoy what time you have while you can?

In 2004 we made a five week road trip to Alaska, a trip my Dad had always wanted to make but didn't have enough time to accomplish. We had a lot of fun, saw some amazing things, and took a lot of great pictures. I used all of the skills he taught me: driving, photography, camping, even knot tying. I know Dad would have had a great time on that trip and we made sure not to waste the opportunity to have fun, just as he taught me.

So thanks Dad. I couldn't do this stuff without you.

Macy's & Mesas: Four Corners and Mesa Verde NP

After leaving Overland Expo on Monday morning, we caravanned into Flagstaff with our friend Mel for what has become a standing tradition: breakfast at Macy's European Coffee House.

Flagstaff is to Arizona as Portland is to Oregon, a funky, hip island in the midst of a retiree sea. It's got a hippy vibe that goes along with the college town atmosphere. And when in Flagstaff around breakfast time, you simply have to go to Macy's.

Now, I don't drink coffee, but from the expert opinions of my fellow travelers the coffee is pretty darn tasty there. My main obsession is sticky buns, which they bake on the premises to the approximate size of your head. They also have some pretty awesome waffles that are cooked up fresh to order, with a topping of butter, syrup and fruit. Just what the doctor ordered after eating dust for four days straight. Mark, Mel and I ate until we couldn't eat anymore, then sat there dazed for a bit, our stomachs not sure what to make of all the deliciousness.

Macy's roasts their own coffee blends. This one had me stumped the first time through--I mis-read the label as "Wiener Massage." Their coffee is good, but that would be quite a promise. 

All good things must come to an end though and we had to say goodbye to Mel, with promises to get together again before another year goes by. He was headed back to southern California and we rolled out of town toward the Four Corners area and Colorado.

Four Corners Monument not only divides four US states, but also marks the boundary of the Navajo Nation and the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe reservation. Although I understand that subsequent measurements have put the actual boundaries a little to the east, it's still pretty cool to stand in a place where four states come together, even if it's only in a symbolic way. We took the required shots of us standing in the spot, then turned our attention to the various vendors that surround the monument. It was close to 2 o'clock and our breakfast had long been digested.

The monument is surrounded by four long rows of cement cubicles,  and I assume the vendors rent space to sell their wares. One of the stands was offering Navajo fry bread tacos, and that sounded like a great idea. A young lady took our order and disappeared into the back, which was an area behind the cubicle partitioned off with tarps. She made the bread to order on a little camp stove, and piled it high with ground beef, lettuce, tomato and cheese. Very tasty, and not the least bit greasy.

Notice the dark clouds
gathering behind us.

Had to get going if we were to reach Mesa Verde National Park in time to get a campsite, so off we went towards Cortez, Colorado. We were still being buffeted by the ever-present wind on the road, but up until this point it had been sunny. As we traveled north we could see the clouds were building and getting darker.

We reached the park just five minutes before the visitor center closed. Since Mesa Verde is home to fragile archaeological sites, it's not the typical National Park--you can't just wander around at will poking around the cliffs--you have to sign up for tours to see most of the cliff house areas. Each guided tour costs $3.00 and they typically leave every hour. We squeaked in and signed up for the 9:00am tour the next day for Balcony House, then a 10:30am tour of Cliff House, all we'd have time for since we had to leave the park by noon the next day.

One of the beautiful sculptures outside of the brand new
Visitor's Center at Mesa Verde

Mesa Verde is huge; the campground was 4 miles from the entrance, with the main attractions 17 miles beyond that. We were warned to allow an hour to get to Balcony House from the campground in order to make our tour appointment in the morning, and we had just lost another hour crossing into Mountain Time, so we thought it best to get to bed early that night. Found a spot in Morefield Campground, the only campground inside the park. May is actually early in the season in Mesa Verde, so about half the campground wasn't open yet. We had no trouble finding a nice spot among the oak trees that were just starting to leaf out. The clouds looked pretty ominous but it wasn't raining so we broke out the camp stove. Just as we started it up the first rain drops plinked down, then it started to pour. Then the hail started up. Then we decided we'd cook inside.

Pea-sized hail
(not conducive to cooking outdoors)

In the morning we got up early, packed up and headed further into the park. Up and up the road wound around the mesa canyons and to the top. The clouds were gone and the views were stunning. We made it to the entrance to Balcony House with a little time to spare and watched the ravens catching thermals in the canyons below.

The view down canyon, Mesa Verde NP

Our tour started with all the dire warnings about the steep cliffs, the tall ladders, the high altitude, etc. etc. Interestingly, we were told to leave all food items behind, and in fact the ranger made one guy spit out his gum. Any crumbs or sweet drinks that are spilled can attract rodents, that in turn start digging, undermining the walls; effectively ruining the ruins. Although he presented it in a humorous way, our guide was very serious about this. He had a vested interest in the park; he was not just a Park Ranger, he was a Navajo interpreter and his ancestors had most likely inhabited the very houses we were to visit.

Ranger Clyde Benally gave the most outstanding tour we've ever taken in a national park (and we've taken many.) He began by making us look around and try to find what we could use to clothe and feed ourselves. He explained what was used to build the houses and how the Ancient Puebloans got to the cliff faces in the first place. But the most incredible part of the tour was his explanation of the beliefs and spiritual elements of the people. He used the example of the Circle of Life--how the generations passed on stories and wisdom from one to another creating an unbroken chain leading through to this day. Toward the end he spoke to us in Navajo, which is a haunting language that sounds nothing like any other language I've ever heard. We had a couple of rangers-in-training along on the tour and all I could think afterwards was: boy, are you guys screwed. How could a regular Joe Ranger ever live up to that?

The trail down to Balcony House

The ladder leading up from the trail to Balcony House

Grinding stone, Balcony House

Interior Balcony House

To exit the ruins, we had to squeeze out through a very narrow tunnel then go up another ladder and a flight of stairs. I understood why the ranger who sold us the tickets looked us over before offering this tour; if you weren't in fairly good shape you'd never get out.

Up and out of Balcony House

After that, the tour of the Cliff House was a bit of a letdown. It's much larger in scale, but it's also been picked over by generations of pottery hunters, "archaeologists" who tore the houses apart, took ancient artifacts and generally mucked up the ruins for future generations. It didn't help that on our first tour there had only been ten of us and this one was a tour bus mob of elderly folks mixed with families fresh from the lodge. Sanctity always suffers in a crowd it seems.

The Cliff House, in a rare moment of calm

Unfortunately, we had a lot of ground to cover if we were to make it to Great Sand Dunes National Park by evening, so after exploring the museum and gift shop for a bit, we had to leave. Yet another item on our list to visit again. We're really going to have to concentrate our efforts on winning the lottery so we can spend more time exploring all these wonderful places.

On to Overland 2013

After spending the first night of our trip in the Mojave desert, we were ready for our annual trek to the Overland Expo. As it was in 2012, this year's Expo took place south of Flagstaff at Mormon Lake Lodge and campgrounds. Mormon Lake itself is actually mostly a field--an intermittent lake dependent on the amount of rainfall it receives during the year. The last few years have not brought much rain, and the "lake" is mostly deeply cracked earth and some tough grasses.

When we arrived we found our friend Mel had already secured a nice spot in the campground for our little group, and he had joined forces with some other people he had met along the way. This, I think, is the best part of the Expo. Every year we meet more and more people, gathering together the next year, comparing notes about where we've been, where we'd like to travel, and of course, what new equipment we've added to our "rigs". The Expo itself is a chance to learn more skills in off-road driving, map reading, cooking, and offer the vendors a chance to market their latest creations to us. Something to learn, something to buy, and a whole lot of people to share stories with: 6000 as a matter of fact.

So our group consisted of our truck anchoring one end, two Jeeps and a truck with roof-top tents in the middle, a Suburban with a really nice ground tent, an all-terrain tent trailer, and later, a few backpackers that pitched a small tent on the grass finishing out our "circling of the wagons." This is the beauty of overlanding: size really doesn't matter. You can travel in a rental car with a backpacking tent and have just as good (if not better) an experience as in a monster RV.

After extensive study and beer consumption, decided to call ourselves "The Group"
Logo, official flag and business cards to follow.

Had a nice potluck meal the first night and caught up with last year's adventures over a huge pile of food. That's another advantage to the Overland Expo: you might not get a shower for four days, but you will never starve. As a group we represented 6 states and two species: Hawaii, Kansas, Georgia, Washington, Arizona and California. (The Hawaiian's cheated; they didn't actually drive to the expo. They were stationed in Kansas temporarily and drove from there. We let that slide after they invited all of us to visit them once they get back to the islands.)

Mr. Jackson, our canine representation

Friday morning Mark and I had our first class: Wilderness First Aid. We thought it was about time to face the fact we are no longer invincible, and if something happened 100 miles from a hospital and out of cell phone range perhaps we ought to brush up on our first aid skills.

Our first lesson: if you have a heart attack, you're screwed.  Yes, our incentive to cut back on the bacon was doubled by our instructor, who told us the chances of surviving a major heart attack beyond the reach of professional aid are pretty darn poor. You can learn CPR, keep perfect compression rhythm with the BeeGees "Sayin' Alive" and give mouth to mouth all day long, but if you have no means to get the heart started again, you're toast.

Well, fine. Mark and I agreed to save our myocardial infarctions for closer to home (we shook on it.)

So then the class moved on to what we might be able to fix. We learned tourniquet techniques, splinting, stopping blood flow and applying bandages. Clearing breathing obstructions, cleaning wounds, diagnosing head injuries, and over and over and over, stabilizing the neck and spine. This was a constant theme during the course, as it is one of the few injuries that if ignored, there's no do-over. Our instructor, Kristina Hall of Sweet Otter Training and Certification (http://www.sweetotter.com), drilled this into us by choosing "victims" and having the rest of the class stabilize and diagnose the injuries. It was a great way to hammer in our lessons and make it a bit more real. Plus it was a huge advantage to have your "patient" help you when you forgot a step. I can only hope the next injured hiker we come across will be so helpful.

After a full day of stabilizing necks and dressing wounds, we were tired and hungry. Back at the field/campground, the wind was showing no signs of stopping, so it was sausages with a fine coating of dust for dinner, along with a bottle of dusty water and some dusty carrots. This was becoming a theme...

Saturday's roster was all vehicle skills classes. First up: Terrain Management. We brought the truck over to the course and couldn't believe our eyes when they showed us what we would be driving through. We walked the terrain examples they had created first, with the instructors pointing out the trouble spots and explaining how every vehicle would need a different plan to make it through, largely dependent on wheel base, turning radius and weight distribution. We, of course, had the heaviest, longest vehicle there. Looking into the gaping pit they called "terrain" we were doubtful. So we watched as, one by one, the Jeeps, Land Rovers and small trucks made their way over the course. Each vehicle had a team of two; a driver and one person outside feeding hand signals to the driver (marshaling.) We agreed it would be best for Mark to be in the truck, so I by default, was to marshal. The instructors helped both of us along the way and, unbelievably, we made it though without a scratch. Here's the proof:

Instructor giving his reassuring talk.

 

  

 Taking the plunge

Cutting it close

So far so good...

Marshaling Mark out of the pit

A spectacular exit on three wheels

This is a picture of relief, if it can be captured in a photo.

After that, the rest of the our classes were a piece of cake: driving through mud, cross-axle terrain, GPS and mapping skills. The truck was even called upon to do a few recoveries when a Jeep and a small truck got stuck on the course. Every once in a while it pays to have the biggest vehicle.

That night the wind was even stronger, if that was possible, so we decided to splurge and go out to dinner at the lodge, followed by a movie at the Overland Film Festival. Anything to stay out of the blowing dust for a while. Every night before bed we had to wipe our arms and legs down with a damp towel to keep the layer of dust from rubbing off in our sleeping bags.

The ever-present wind blowing across the campground area.

Sunday was a lazy day spent wandering around the vendor's stalls, chatting with everyone and checking out the assortment of camping vehicles. The array of equipment is pretty staggering: everything from bicycles to motorcycles to gigantic Unimogs were on display. It's funny though, the more we looked, the happier we were with our set up. This was reinforced by the fact that our rig is paid off and what we might spend on a new one could be used for our next big adventure. And on that note, we researched an outfitter that sets people up with Land Rovers in Africa for a self-driven safari. Next year perhaps?

Self propelled adventure (too much work)...

and a bit bigger than we're willing to go.