Little Jimmy. 5/11 thru 5/12 2013

My son and I shouldered packs and left late in the day for Little Jimmy trail camp.  An hour drive and a few miles of southbound walking on the PCT led us to a sleepy spot in the pines, camping amongst a few PCT thru hikers.  An simple local getaway to spend some time talking and sharing a fire.

My son was excited about the other hikers as I was explaining the history of the PCT to him on our walk in.  Rounding a bend, we ran into Midnight Chocolate and three other thru hikers.  After a short chat with them, my son was positively amazed that someone could walk from Mexico to Canada.  I can see the gears turning in his head.  Soon he says to me “I could totally see myself just checking-out and walking for a few months when I’m a little older.”  I smile as I notice a renewed spring in his step, followed by a barrage of questions about PCT resupply, logistics, and other general info.  I assure him we can start doing longer trips together.  On our way out we met and walked with Baxter and Wildcat for a few minutes, a couple that further impressed thru hiking on him.  He’s been talking about doing a long trip all day.

My son likes trekking poles now. They seem to help him pick up his pace. This is good, as I don’t like carrying them much anymore, yet can use them to erect our shelter.

 

The pantry.

Fruit. Fruit. Fruit.

 

 

 

 

Following the Herd.

Or not.

Surfing a week ago was an excellent reminder of the pervasive herd mentality amongst us humans.  While driving north, we witnessed all the big spots: Sunset, Topanga, Malibu…all overrun with the typical crowds.  Yet we found waves just as good with nobody on them.

Why?

We were willing to take a chance and not find surf.  We were willing to be creative.  We we’re willing to walk a little bit further.  We were willing to get up a little bit earlier.  We were will to drive a little bit more.

But most important, we were willing to go to places that people don’t talk about, places that aren’t “surf spots”, places that don’t appear in the reports or register amongst the internet chatter.  Accordingly, we don’t write reports and post pictures that can identify these places.

Because the herd seems capable of only going places it has been told about.

Which has me thinking about all the local beauty that surrounds me, the little canyons and peaks and surf breaks that don’t get much attention, little gems that sit silently waiting in my own backyard.  The tiny walk-in campgrounds that are easily accessible for overnight trips, yet are just out of reach of the majority of the herd.  Small, unnamed rock outcroppings and points that can generate a fun wave without attracting crowds.  I think about all the little places I’ve seen that have been on my radar for years, yet for some reason, have failed to get back to for further exploration.  David Chenault touches on this in a recent post here.  I was especially struck by this idea: “The second principle is that while living somewhere which makes you always want to travel is bad, living somewhere that is so good you never want to leave is worse.”

I think I have found a very happy medium here in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains.  My son and I will shoulder packs and head out this afternoon on a short backpack to check out another local spot we’ve never seen.  Hopefully the drive and the hike will have thinned the herd.

Chasing the Swell.

Phone calls are made, numbers discussed , plans are hatched.

This is serious.

A friend who knows a guy who supposedly knows the spot gets called, though the accuracy of the information divulged is immediately deemed suspect.

Checking tides, checking buoy readings, checking wind.  Commence the pseudo-scientific mix of meteorology, decades in the water, crystal balls, and personal theories bordering on the superstitious and possibly insane.  Hypotheses are formed and exchanged, backed by observation and weather numbers stolen from NOAA websites, only to be debunked on the spot by other hypotheses, conflicting data, and the inevitable experience trump card.

“So then where do you think everyone’s going tomorrow?”

“Everyone else will likely be thinking ___________ is going off.  So we’ll surf _________ instead.  You can’t see it from any parking lots, roads, or cliffs.  You have to commit to the hike before you know if it’s working. But based on these numbers, we should have solid gold, all to ourselves…”

More predictions, omens, speculation, and concerns about kelp and rocks and a negative low tide.

Then it is decided.

“What time are you coming then?”

“What’s good for you?”

“You tell me.”

“Anything.”

“Then be here at 4:30 and we should be paddling out at grey light.”

“Ok.  4:30.”

The car is loaded, the coffee timer is on, and dry oatmeal sits in the pot, an empty bowl and spoon on the counter beside it.

All this on a workday.

No matter.

Worldly obligations quickly fade as I restlessly replay waves and wipeouts while lying in bed and waiting for sleep.

Adventure Boy! out looking for answers…Salton Sea, April 6, 2013.

Bones and bones and bones…

Do you smell sulfur?

 

Adventure Boy! in Death Valley. March 28-29, 2013.

Where the Hell is Trona?

Happy New Year!

Adventure Boy! in Joshua Tree, December 31st, 2012.

Adventure Boy! at the Beach.

Oh boy, crabs!

Will Adventure Boy! escape?

 

 

 

Surfing the Islands.

John, Danny, and I took John’s boat out to the Channel Islands yesterday…Surfed for 6 hours straight, not another soul in sight.  Dropping in on clean blue waves; crystal clear kelp, urchins, and rock below, calicos scattering beneath the board.  Enough said.

(Unfortunately, not owning waterproof camera = no surfing pics.)

A pair of Wegeners…John’s Bluegill on left, my Wegg at right.

Homeward bound.

Untitiled Figures (clay sketches).

Figure 1.

Figure 2.

Figure 3.

Figure 4.

Figure 5.

Figure 6.

All pieces in series are ~6″ in height.  Glazed and salt fired stoneware, cone 5.  All are quick studies for life-sized pieces I plan to build.

Spouted Bottle (dimpled)

Spouted Bottle (dimpled).  7″ height.  Glazed stoneware, cone 5.