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.

Summer Fade

Summer is sand in the car, freckles on our skin, sunglasses in photos, evenings at the Boardwalk, long afternoons poolside, sunshine past dinner, the smell of sunscreen, hikes on dusty trails, singing along to pop music, driving with the windows down, hands sticky from peaches, bonfires at dusk, skipping rocks from river banks, popciscles after races, star gazing on your walk home, brightly colored beach towels, waking up in tents, cooking on grills, crisp salads and cool slices of watermelon, thighs stuck to seats, big brimmed hats, grass blades indented on your palms, graham cracker crumbs and tangled wet hair.

We passed this summer in California--at the lake, at the river, in the woods, at the beach . . . It was filled with all the stuff that summer should be.  It was the first summer I didn't get to spend any time in Washington but I feel like we made the most of it.  And luckily, a little bit of home came to me this year (my sisters).  

Below are some photos from my middle sister's visit to Santa Cruz:

Summer was good to me . . .  But there's a chill in the air and it has me giddy. I'm ready for fall--I always am this time of year--for bare branches, steps that crunch, spices in my coffee, zipped up jackets, wet pavement, rainy blue dusks, heat on in the car, pumpkins on porches, piles of gourds in the grocery store  and a thousand other things.  So good bye California summer, I'm sure I'll be missing your pretty face real soon, but till then I'll be bundled up in a sweater and taking my marshmallows in hot cocoa.  

(photos 11 + 12 taken by C)

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.

----

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 . . .

Summer Camping Trip #2: Rocky Rest, North Yuba River

Towards the middle of July we went on our second camping trip of the summer.  Once again, we drove east.  This time to the Yuba River, and while it was another triple digit weekend in Central California, we made it without any car related incidents.   

There were 11 of us on the trip—eight people and three dogs.  The campsites were shaded and the North Yuba River was just through some trees and down a path.  Upon arriving, we immediately changed into our suits and made a beeline to the river.  We unfolded chairs on the water’s edge and slipped our feet beneath its surface.  Some of us waded out and submerged ourselves in its waters.  Others wandered down river to search out its fish. 

The water was cool and clear.  It contained tadpoles and frogs and snakes(!) and bugs and little fish (and presumably, also, some larger fish who were just not fooled by the casts and flies of our fly fishermen). The bottom of the Yuba was covered in smooth rocks and silty sands worn down by the flow of the river's waters.  Parts of the river ran fast and made you spin around and laugh in your inner tube.  Other parts ran slow and pooled in swimming holes that were perfect for reclining back, closing your eyes and just drifting ...

The camping trip was passed with hiking, swimming, fly fishing, gold panning, shade sitting, trail running, shore talking, chair lounging, rock hopping, doggy paddling and inner tube floating.  Our first full day, we carried our inflatables and chairs and towels to a little swimming hole and spent most of our day around there: exploring its shores, paddling across its width in various floaties and plunging beneath its waters to escape the day's heat.   

On our second day we headed to the South Yuba River.  To get there, we drove down a dusty, narrow road that kept winding and going down and winding and going down and winding until . . . it reached a dead end lined on both sides with parked cars. From there, we hiked (I did a little falling) down a shady path and then scrambled over rocks and rocks until we found another swimming hole suitable for passing an entire afternoon.  

After a couple hours on the South Fork, C and I had to head home (I had to work the next day) . . . but  I think we probably both left a little part of our hearts on the Yuba.  

Some photos our trip:

Up River.

Rapids and Rocks.

Lil Froggie Friend.

Straight Down.

River Gradients.

Friends Floating the River.

Spinning By.

Buckwheat and C on Float the Yuba.

Buckwheat Would Rather Brave the River than be Separated from C.

Back to the Swimming Hole.

In the Sun.

Lounging.

And Drifting . . .

Crossing the Swimming Hole.

Shore Exploration.

Darwin in the Shade.

Views from the Shade.

Dexter in the Shade.

Camouflage.

Back at Camp.

The Bird's Nest.

Buckwheat at Camp.

Evening Light.

Camping is Tuckering.

But it Also Makes You Smile.

Buckwheat Dons Crown.

Views of the South Yuba River.

River Activities.

Departing Views. 

It took me awhile to get this up--mostly because I feel my photos and words don't do it justice.  It was an amazing camping trip with some really good friends.  But I have a feeling will be back ... Until next time, Yuba!