Tour de Mont Blanc: Rivers and Rocks

On the Tour de Mont Blanc, you were never far from some sort of river. There were streams you could leap over, deep gorges you had to cross via suspension bridges, sightings of waterfalls as you rounded corners and glimpses of icy blues and glassy greens through tree branches. Each day we crossed water at multiple points. These crossing were aided by bridges of all sorts--skinny bridges held by swaying ropes, ancient bridges of cobbled rock, wooden bridges recently painted and makeshift bridges composed of single boards balanced (sometimes precariously) over raised rocks. At times the river water was brilliant blue; other times it was milky green. When the water ran fast, it was frothy white; and at slower points, it was steely grey or muddied brown. The rivers crossed countries. They zigzagged and meandered; gushed and pooled. Sometimes the trail hugged the tour's rivers. Other times the trail furled away from them. But never for long. Each day, again and again, your travels were punctuated with that sound of water over rock (rushing, trickling, flowing, lapping).

Rocks were another constant. They rose up on either side of you, forming hillsides and distant mountains. They were underfoot--as small bits of gravel ground into dirt by the summer's hikers or smooth slabs of rock deposited during the Roman empire. Their colors were varied--bright orange, deep blue, liquid silver, nearly black, white with flecks of gray and gray with stripes of white. Rocks were assembled into teetering cairns, sturdy huts,  piled offerings to lost hikers, protective walls for windy summits and other, more frivolous arrangements. They made sounds--crunching, falling, jostling, echoing. Some were so large they took your breath away, while others were small enough to be examined in the palm of your hand. They were jagged and craggy; they were polished and smooth. They resembled things: stern faces, whimsical animals, little hearts or broken glass. There was no way to see them all but that didn't stop you from trying. 

This is my (small) tribute to the many rivers and innumerable rocks of the Tour de Mont Blanc:

They're forever changing; they've been around forever.

Fall Hikes

Hiking the Central Coast in October is warm afternoons, dazzling sun, jean shorts and sunglasses, trails to yourself, sweaty climbs, dusty paths, leaves underfoot, intervals of cool shade, dogs with long tongues, occasional yellow trees, blue skied vistas, fog rolling in, parkas on the drive home and a sound night's sleep.  This October we visited Loch Lomond Recreation Area in Felton (the day before it closed for the winter) and the Cruikshank Trail south of Big Sur.

Below are some photos from our fall hikes:

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I think the hiking is one of my favorite parts about living here. The weather is almost always perfectly suited for it. And there are hundreds of beautiful places to explore.  I only wish more places allowed pups . . . But I'll happily take what we can get because there's not a lot of things in life that beat a long, hard hike with your very best dog. 

Summer Camping Trip #3: VanDamme State Park, Mendecino

The last weekend of July, we drove up the coast to Mendicno for our third camping trip of the summer.  Although it felt a little like we were camping in the fall . . . We wore hats and jackets and built big, roaring fires.  In the mornings we savored coffee and in the evening we roasted pork sausages and sweet corn over leaping flames.

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We drove into Mendocino in the mist and the dark . . . After miles and miles of rolling hills and hairpin turns, the road finally emerged from the trees and suddenly we were hugging the coast.  We could smell the ocean air and see its blackness spread out to the driver's side.  Sometimes we were plunged into white belts of low hanging mist and for a couple moments it felt like we were under water . . . And then we'd come out and see beach and cliffs and ocean through the vagueness of night. 

It was a relief to arrive at the campground.  We arrived well after 10pm.  The camp host was jolly and sold us two bundles of wood.  We setup camp in the dark (for the second time this summer) and built a fire and poured glasses of wine.  Buckwheat scared a raccoon up a tree and then nervously paced around and tangled his leash.  We went to bed late and woke slowly the next morning.

The morning was gray (as was the afternoon and the next morning).  After coffee and cereal we ventured into the town of Mendocino, and then went a little further up the coast to Glass Beach in Fort Bragg.  Mendicino looked right out of Murder She Wrote (because it is).  In the grocery store our checker informed us that she had recently moved from Hawaii and was still waiting for the summer.  Someone in line chuckled and explained that if we wanted to see some sunshine, we should come back in October.

Over in Fort Bragg things were a bit sunnier but still cool.  We ate sandwhiches on logs and I gazed at the little bits of glass scattered in the sand.  Then we hiked along a winding path and stood on rocks and looked out at the blue ocean and felt small.

On our way back towards Mendicino, the boys were attracted by a sign promising a very large amount of firewood.   They bought all of it--filled the whole trunk of the car with it.  Back at camp we played Blongo Ball and listened to music and talked.  Mostly we hung around the fire.  And that trunk full of fire wood?  It all got burned.  And we were warm. 

  Below are some photos from our weekend in Mendicino:

On the Edge of the World (or Glass Beach)

(Speak Softly But) Carry a Big Stick

Looking Up the Coast, Fort Bragg, CA

Earth, Air and Water

California Coast, You're Really Something

Flowers and Coastlines

Views from the Trails Around Glass Beach

Coastal Living

Rooftops

A Trunk Full of Wood

And They Burned It All

Someday, I'd like to go back to Mendicino and stay in a cozy Bed & Breakfast.  And see the town and beaches in some sunshine.  Maybe next October . . .