Glacier Photos

"Today, for the first time in my life, I have seen Glacier Park. Perhaps I can best express to you my thrill and delight by saying that I wish every American, old and young, could have been with me today. The great mountains, the glaciers, the lakes and the trees make me long to stay here for all the rest of the summer.

Comparisons are generally objectionable and yet it is not unkind to say, from the standpoint of scenery alone, that if many, and indeed most, of our American national parks were to be set down anywhere on the continent of Europe thousands of Americans would journey all the way across the ocean in order to see their beauties.

There is nothing so American as our national parks. The scenery and wild life are native. The fundamental idea behind the parks is native. It is, in brief, that the country belongs to the people, that it is in the process of making for the enrichment of the lives of all of us. The parks stand as the outward symbol of this great human principle."

- President Franklin D. Roosevelt, August 5th, 1934, from Two Medicine Chalet in Glacier National Park 

Day 3 - Pale Pastures to Emerald Mountains

                I awoke to a slam: the type of sound you feel move your gut. I looked over to Corey’s bed and found him as startled as I was. The clock showed well past four AM. Corey asked if I had any idea what the noise was. I was clueless and groggily told him so. We were both temporarily worried, but were too tired to really care. I hope no one was hurt due to our apathy. Normally, adrenaline keeps me up for hours, but I was far too tired to stay up and investigate. Besides, there were numerous people in the rooms around us and I was sure that one of them would call the front desk and complain. Anyway, the room wasn’t on fire and there wasn’t a mushroom cloud outside the window, so there really wasn’t anything that was going to keep me awake any longer. Another night of interrupted rest was par for the course at that point.

The morning was much more pleasant. The wind present on the previous day had mellowed. I wanted to make a dash for the continental breakfast, but Corey had no interest in stale half-muffins and bad coffee. I am not one to say no to a free breakfast, so I protested. Corey offered to buy me breakfast if we could get on the road. I obliged Corey’s request; and as it turns out, he was spot on. I do not think the Travelodge-Elko spread would have been as satisfying that morning as a good cup of coffee was. We were on the road again.

Corey was, and surely still is, a great friend to travel with. I did not count the hours, but I imagine we split the driving about equally. Normally, I would drive the whole way as I feel it passes the time faster, but we were both exhausted; so it was prudent and necessary for us to drive in shifts while the passenger took intermittent naps.

Largest piece of driftwood ever found - Redwood

The drive from Elko, up until just outside of Bend, was mundane and boring. We were surrounded by rolling plains and small rounded mountains. Normally I would find the terrain quite pleasing, but after days of the same, I was tired of the scenery. I thought it quite interesting how quickly my brain adapted to its surroundings. I immediately understood the cliché sentiment that the grass is always greener on the other side. When it comes to the Cascade Range in Oregon, the grass actually IS greener on the other side. The East side of the Cascades is arid and dry; the West: a temperate rainforest. Henry later explained that moisture coming off of the Pacific Ocean moves inland, but is held up by the prominence of the Cascades; creating a situation where it may be raining and cool on the West side, while it is a hundred degrees on the East side. I am a huge fan of strange weather and Oregon definitely fell into that category.

After roughly eight hours, we reached the southern limits of Bend. Bend is widely considered the outdoor sports Mecca of America (Vancouver holds a similar status in Canada.) Bend is within minutes of great snow on Mount Bachelor, famous rock-climbing in Smith Rock State Park, rivers perfect for Kayaking and fly-fishing, and critically acclaimed single-track Mountain Biking. For the avid outdoorsman, there is arguably no better place to live in the entire world. I would estimate the number of roof racks on vehicles at near ninety-percent. Corey and I felt at home immediately. Within the first five minutes of entering city limits, we both agreed that we would move to Bend in a heartbeat given the opportunity.

Planker Sandwiches

We looked for a place to eat on Yelp and found a highly rated (and cheap) establishment on Main Street named Planker sandwiches. Planker was the best sandwich joint I have ever found. For ten dollars each, we both got a sandwich and an accompanying Pabst Blue Ribbon. Corey had a Cuban sandwich playfully named the pork belly. I was in the mood for a slightly lighter meal and ordered the Tuna salad sandwich. Our sandwiches arrived at the table and at first glance, it appeared that I had made the better choice. The tuna was served on a scratch-baked Brioche roll that was wonderfully sweet and pleasant. Corey’s pork belly looked flattened like a grilled cheese and was a foot long. It resembled a building material more than a sandwich, but I saw where the name Planker Sandwiches came from. Corey took one bite and a look appeared on his face like he had just met the love of his life. He offered me a bite and after I tasted it, I am sure that I had the same reaction. The combination of mustard, cheese, and caramelized pork was far more than I expected from any sandwich that resembled a 1x4 piece of lumber. It was perfect. We had only a few minutes to eat if we were to make the last tour at the Deschutes Brewery.

                When we stepped back out onto Main, a light rain fell that more resembled mist than the Texas thunderstorms I was used to. After I had shoveled down what felt like a half pound of sandwich, the rain was pleasant on my meat-fevered forehead. We fell back into the car and drove five minutes over to the brewery.

Corey and I arrived at the Deschutes Brewery with fifteen minutes to spare before the last tour departed. It was just enough time to have our four complimentary samples and chat with one of the tasting room employees. There are few things I enjoy talking about more than beer; especially with people who consider themselves hopheads like me.

A call to start the tour rang out and we were handed badges. An energetic and knowledgeable woman escorted us outside. She pointed out the new tanks that were being installed on the roof at that time. We walked into the old brew house and she told us how the beer was made. I had toured breweries before, so I found the generalities of beer making somewhat boring. Deschutes had a twist in store for us though. We entered the employee break room and were shown the “employee bathroom,” which was actually a small closet filled with taps of the various beers brewed just feet away. Each employee has a designated mug and is welcome to enjoy a cold one after their shift. Our guide also pointed out the snack station, which is manned by a gourmet chef that sells fresh, locally sourced meals to the employees at lunch time. Deschutes’ tour had a wonderful addition that I had not seen before. We were given samples of the dark and light malted barley used for the various beers. Also, there was a jar of dried hops passed around. Each of us took a flower and rubbed it between our hands until it disintegrated. Corey and I both sniffed our palms for hours afterwards. I thought I was in heaven with the smell of the fresh hop oil left on my hands, but then, our guide opened up the pearly gates for hop-lovers: the hop storage room. I stuck my head in and was immersed in the most wonderful smell. I asked our guide how much it would cost me to put a cot in the corner of the hop fridge. She told me that if they decided to rent out the room, there was already a waiting list. The rest of the tour took us through the brew house and over the bottling line. Deschutes runs the type of operation that should be the envy of most any brewer. I highly suggest that anyone who finds themselves in Bend go and see it firsthand. Corey purchased a sampler case after the tour and I grabbed three bottles of my favorite Imperial IPA (Hop Henge Experimental IPA was the name for those who are curious,) and we were off once again towards Henry and Kristin’s home in Amity, Oregon.

Brewhouse

Fermenting tanks

The area north of Bend is covered in tall firs, conifers, and other various trees that don’t grow naturally in Texas. Corey demanded we stop at the next tiny espresso stand we saw on the side of the road. I thought his request somewhat ridiculous, but at the time, I had not experienced how awesome roadside coffee stands in the Pacific Northwest really were. Our cute barista made fun of the way I said Nevada (Neh-vah-dah, which I still think is correct) and quickly dispensed two espresso shots for each of us. I will say, once again, Corey was right (don’t get too used to that admission Corey, you won’t hear it often.) Espresso stands dot the North the way food trucks dot the more trendy parts of the South. You won’t go more than two blocks in any Oregon city without seeing an espresso stand. After I tasted what they had to offer, I saw why.

The Deschutes National Forest surrounded us when we left the town of Sisters. If nothing else, we had successfully made it to the emerald forests of central Oregon. Unfortunately, clouds surrounded all but the base of Mount Bachelor, Three Fingered Jack, and Mount Jefferson (something that I would deal with through the rest of my time in the Pacific Northwest.) Despite the unavailable mountains, the forest around us was new terrain and was as interesting as any I had yet laid eyes on. After a few miles of descending elevation, we drove through a burnt portion of the forest. Most people think that forest fires are preventable tragedies. In actuality, fires are a very important part of the forest eco-system. The branchless trees around the road were filled in by smaller growth and told me that the area had likely been part of a controlled burn.

Deschutes National Forest - Burnt Portion

A river ran to the left of the road. It was a swifter body of water than any we had yet encountered. The proximity of mountains and their melting snow to the river probably was a major factor in the river’s current. We passed a dam and Detroit Lake opened up on our left. It was a medium sized lake surrounded on all sides by steep banks covered in firs. It was the most stunning lake I had ever seen. Corey remarked that we must return to the lake at a later time to do some exploring. I agreed and we drove on.

We were only hours from Amity. The thought of spending consecutive days in the same state thrilled me. I pushed the pedal down and climbed the last pass that stood between us and the end of the first leg of the trip. Life was good.

Day 2 - Chasing Angels

“Getting to the top is optional

 Getting down is mandatory” 

-Ed Viesturs

                The morning light came much earlier than I had hoped. Due to final exams and the following celebration, I had not enjoyed a full night’s rest in over two weeks. I rolled out of bed and dragged myself into the shower. The high water pressure in the hotel was incredibly soothing on my road-weary body. I felt the time spent staring down the dividing line weigh down my eyelids. Sleep grabbed hold of me and before long I drifted into a dream underneath the massaging jets of the Travelodge shower. I awoke a few minutes later to Corey's knocks on the bathroom door to remind me that we had only a few minutes to catch the first shuttle bus into Zion Canyon: an observation that would turn out to be much more significant than I anticipated at the time.

                Corey and I arrived at the visitor’s center at 6:45 AM. The sun peaked into the canyon and illuminated the park in a way that truly showcased the colors of the sandstone walls that gave Zion its allure. We caught the first bus with only minutes to spare. A recorded audio-tour of the lower canyon played softly over the bus’s loudspeaker. A man's voice told the story of Zion’s geological formation, its discovery, and its eventual designation as a National Park. Zion, we were told, meant sanctuary. I felt the name appropriate given the sheltered nature of the canyon, and its effect of distracting me from how long it took us to get there from Texas.

                Five other hikers of various ages and national origins piled out of the bus and headed across the street to the trailhead for Angels Landing. There was a young Indian couple, an older American gentleman, and an eighty-something-year-old man named Jan (yohn). Jan yodeled in Italian, but based on his accent and his bright-orange-colored-felt Australian cowboy hat, I assumed he was Dutch. We marched ahead of the party and started up the hike’s first major climb in altitude. Long switchbacks worked their way up the canyon wall and offered stunning views of the Virgin River, which foreshadowed what the overlook above was like.

Long switchbacks

                The morning air was cold and made our ascent of the first switchbacks a frigid endeavor. We hiked into Refrigerator Canyon, a name given for how chilly it remains - even when the rest of the canyon is scorching hot. We moved quickly across a flat section of trail that gave us a reprieve from the hike’s unforgiving switchbacks. After just five minutes, we were launched back up the canyon wall on the first of Walter’s Wiggles. Walter’s Wiggles is a series of twenty-one short and steep switchbacks. The engineering marvel was named for Walter Ruesch: the park ranger who created the trail to Angels Landing in the mid 1920s. We had gained roughly eight-hundred feet and hiked nearly two miles in forty-five minutes. We heard voices above us when we reached the bottom of the Wiggles. A wily older couple had set out earlier than the first shuttle in order to reach the top first. Unfortunately for them, they vastly underestimated how quickly younger hikers, like Corey and I, could cover ground. We flew up the two-hundred and fifty vertical feet of the Wiggles switchbacks and caught the couple at Scouts Landing, an overlook that offered views out onto Big Bend below. Our first glimpse of the rock-fin that made the last climb to Angels Landing appeared to our right.

Bottom of Walter's Wiggles

                Our goal was simple: be the first people to ascend Angels Landing that morning. I had seen pictures of the hike online where the ridge was covered with hikers. We had no interest in sharing the tranquility of the canyon with others that morning. The older couple wished us luck and we were off. We moved swiftly, but safety was of high importance. Since 2004, there had been six recorded deaths of those who fell from the ridge that made up the last stretch up to Angels Landing. After we finished our ascent, I opined that those deaths were either the result of recklessness, or being caught in the wrong place during a rain storm. There was no excuse for simply falling by accident, given the convenient safety-chain that hugged the interior portion of the ridge. Corey did not use the chain once during his ascent up the rock-fin, and missed no opportunity to remind me of that fact throughout the rest of the day. Our steps were deliberate and balanced when we crossed the aptly named, Steps of Faith, a part of the ridge where just one yard to the left or right would lead to a fourteen-hundred foot fall and certain death. After some slightly vertical climbing, we reached the top. The end, though it had been in sight for quite some time, finally evened with us in altitude.

Steps of Faith

                We climbed the last steps up to the Landing. I wished to let out a victorious yell, but I was far too out of breath. After I stopped coughing, my jaw dropped. Every direction I looked there were images as beautiful as any I had ever seen. I took a moment to burn the canyon views into my memory. I thought to myself that if there were angels, they certainly hung around the overlook that carried their name.

Fat Chipmunk that lives at 1400 feet above the canyon floor

                Swallows who nest on the exposed rock face buzzed our heads. They flew high above us then dove within feet of our heads. The whoosh of the birds that flew by told Corey and I that we were on the swallow’s home turf. Chipmunks scurried about and were skittish at first, but soon posed for my camera in an obvious attempt to get some of my Clif bar. I did not oblige them. One should never feed animals in the wild. Judging by how plump the chipmunks were, I assumed many people did not follow that rule.

                Corey and I sat on the overlook and snapped shots of the canyon for twenty whole minutes before the groups behind us made it to the top. Soon after the Indian couple finished the climb, Jan’s yodeling became audible. Jan warned to stay away from the edge and told us that he was headed back down already. We asked why he did not want to spend more time on the landing. He replied that his latest ascent marked the forty-eighth time he had made the hike. Jan was over eighty years old and confidently stated that he would surely make the hike a fiftieth time before he checked out. He turned around and headed back down so as to avoid dealing with the uphill traffic that increased in the mid-morning hours.

Above Scout's Overlook

More technical portion of the climb

                Corey and I took some more photos and meditated a bit near a stack of rocks. After nearly an hour above the canyons, we turned and headed back down the rock fin. I generally have found the hike down from high places to be more unnerving than the hike up, but that was not the case in Zion. The hike up had been so strenuous that I gladly welcomed a downhill trek. Back at Scout’s Lookout, a park ranger told a group of people facts about the canyon’s Condors and Swallows, which we were familiar with from our time at the top of the trail. We passed, what I believe, was about two-hundred hikers on our way back down the canyon. Corey and I agreed that we made the right decision to finish the hike before it was crowded. I could not imagine that we would have enjoyed the experience nearly as much had we been forced to share it with such a large group of people.

Walters Wiggles from the top

                After descending Walter’s Wiggles, we hiked back down the long switchbacks and reached the banks of the Virgin River on the canyon floor. Corey waded into the river and snapped some shots of Angels Landing in the water’s reflection. We walked back to the bus-stop and boarded the shuttle back to the visitor’s center. It was nearly noon. We had completed the five mile round-trip which climbed fourteen-hundred feet in just under four hours. Had we turned around immediately at the top, we could have made the trip in three. My legs ached and my stomach growled. We left Zion and stopped at a nearby burger joint.

Trees can grow anywhere it seems

                We had already spent more energy that morning than most do in a day, but we had a long trip ahead of us. With that notion in mind, we started the eight hour drive to Elko: a mining-town in Nevada’s high-country that was our day-two destination.

                Corey and I had no idea that Nevada’s north-eastern territory was covered with stunning mountains and wide valleys. We took a bit longer route that drove through a national wildlife preserve that lay in the foothills of a long, but not very tall mountain range. We saw one pronghorn antelope. A modest sighting considering how many run across the plains of New Mexico and Texas. The detour turned out to be fruitful though. As we drove toward a mountain range, a full-sized Golden Eagle left his perch next to the road and rose into the air. The raptor looked majestic in flight. The eagle flew high quickly and flattened out, likely in search of food.

One of the last sections of climb

                An hour later, we pulled into Elko and checked into the hotel. Elko is a place largely untouched by changes in architectural style since the 1960s. Large blinking casino lights and old neon hotel signs lined the main street that our hotel sat by. I was glad I decided not to book a room at a local casino, which appeared to be the same as it was in the days of the rat-pack. The town looked slightly run-down and the casino was no different. Our hotel was more like a dorm than anything, but it was just for the night, and we were simple travelers that needed little more than a roof and a couple of beds.

                That evening, we had dinner at the Stray Dog Pub. The pizza was good and the bartender was friendly. We made conversation with the bartender as Corey and I looked over pictures from that morning. It was hard for us to believe that just thirteen hours earlier we started the Angels Landing hike. It felt much more like it happened some time ago, or that it was all just a dream. I sipped my ale, rubbed my sore right leg, and looked forward to what the next day had in store.