New Home 2.0: The Great Arrival of The Ravishing Mrs. TB

 Today marks the formal arrival of The Ravishing Mrs. TB.

For the record, this brings us together (more or less - see below) after approximately 10 months of living apart.  Not consistently, of course - I had made a few trips back and she had made a few trips here and we met at least one time at third location (San Diego).  But by and large, we have been apart.

I have to admit it will be a little bit odd to have someone living in the house with me again.  10 months is enough time to develop your own habits and ways of living -  - my meals, for example, are probably atrocious by the standards of dining in that they tend to consume as little time as possible to make and eat.  And while most of the things are put away not everything is and I have become comfortable living with the disarray (That, also, will likely change).

I say more or less - she is going back to New Home 2.0 in February to take care of some last things before the move, then will be gone a few days in March, then down to Old Home to help her mother, then out to New Home in May, then in June... you get the idea.  "Great Arrival" does not mean "Final Arrival".

It also means - by default - that her former employment will have ended.  Fortunately through my relocation, she has a twelve month support program for resume help and a job search - although she has joking referred to the upcoming year as her "adult gap year".

Still, after 10 months, it will be nice to have here.  Although, I suppose, I will probably have to sit down and really "eat dinner" again...

2023 Mt. Goddard: Rule Of Five

 Thanks for coming along on the 2023 Mt. Goddard Hike.  It is always a joy for me to do this, both because it makes me process things from the hike in a more and it allows me to relive the hike again (this time, from the comfort of my home).  It is also a joy to be able to share these places with you.  

(Note:  All the pictures in today's post are pictures of plants I took across varying days of the hike.)

As longer time readers might now, I try to build a "lessons learned" from these sorts of things, which I call The Rule Of Five, a handy idea I took from a sales and business consultant named Jeffrey Gitomer who borrowed it from an old NCR sales handbook. I like it because it is simple and short - and in theory, can be counted on the fingers of one hand

1) Guides are invaluable:  I have said this the Grand Canyon post-script  as well, but this trip both reminded me of it and made it more real.  Yes, guides are the ones that lead us to places, but the very best sort of guides - and a guide could be a mentor, parent, teacher, or even a friend - stay with us through the parts that are difficult, quietly encouraging us and urging us on.

2) We really can do more than we think we can do:  This, too, is apparently a note I made in 2021.  In this case, I was simply forced to go forward - even at 50 step intervals - because there was no other choice.  As it turns out, I was able to finish the hike.  It was just that I did some days much more slowly.

3) Keep going:  If you cannot do 70 steps, do 50.  Or even if 30 steps are all you can do, do that.  Going slowly is never the end; coming to the point of stopping to advance is.

4)  Make the most of the view you have:  In my mind as I was preparing myself for this hike, I tried to visualize myself at the summit of Mt. Goddard.  Visualization has a lot of research behind it in terms of success; what it does not account for is when things like the physical inability to do something manifest themselves.  In those cases, there is still a view to be seen - just perhaps not the one we were planning for.

5)  Just go:  Too often I do not try to do things for the silliest of reasons:  I do not feel ready, I do not know that I will have the money, I do not know that I am capable, it is a silly idea.  Certainly not everything can be done right away, but "right away" is not the same as "never".  If we continue to find reasons not to do things, eventually we will not try anything at all.

Again, thanks for coming along with me.

Next week, we will be returning to Greece and pick up where we left off - at the monasteries of Meteora.

2023 Mt. Goddard Day 6: Post-Corral Creek To Courtright Reservoir

The last day of a hike is almost always the same:  everyone is up early and ready to go.  I am sure it is for various reasons:  getting that food one has been picturing in one's head as a reward for the hike (mine is a vanilla shake), getting a shower, getting back to loved ones.  In our case we had a second incentive:  the gentleman we had left behind at this campsite had hiked out and gone home and taken with him the bear can that had our breakfast in it.  Thus, beyond the remnants of snacks we carried with us, getting out was also our road to food.

The day was thankfully clear and bright and was the first day of the hike that we did not have any rain,  although the signs that it had rained while we were gone were present: the trail was much muddier and streams were running a little higher.

In what was a bit of an unusual practice for me, I struck a conversation with one of the guys on the hike I had not really talked to before.  He was a pilot but he did not start out as one; talking to him about his journey and how he got there was interesting and really made the miles fly by.

By 1100 AM we had all cleared the trail and were ready to head back.

Heading back is typically the same experience for every hike:  to a greater or lesser extent, the vehicle smells like a badly maintained high school locker room.  Everyone is generally quiet, either in reflection or sleep or looking at pictures - and then the buzzing and pings of phones fill the air as we come back into range.

Civilization has returned to find us.

Lunch is usually at a local place.  We sit and wolf down calories (sadly, they did not have shakes at a reasonable price) and reflect, sharing pictures or being surprised by what has gone in the world while we were away.

In this case after lunch we went back to the cabin we started at where we get to indulge in that most pleasant of activities, a hot shower.  You cannot believe how good a hot shower feels after 5 days of not having one.  With that, we all begin to slip away one by one as we head back to our lives and the "real world".

The drive back takes about 4 hours.  The Outdoorsman, The Brit, and I chat about the hike and the high and low points (Interestingly, The Outdoorsman shared that one thought he had when we were going up the Wall was who would be "better" to lose: myself or The Brit.  We all agreed that based on who he would have to report to - with The Brit my sister and his daughter - I was the logical one to lose).

The yellow square in the picture above is Mt. Goddard from the trailhead.  It always amazes me when I am able to find pictures of where I have been from the starting point; it seems so far away.

It is always good to hike, but it is also always good to come back home.

2023 Mt. Goddard 5b: King River to Post Corral Creek

 As we put our backpacks on and headed out into what would be the last leg of the hike for Day 5, our guides let us know what the plan was.  We would all start out together but the guides would move to the front and head on, once to stand a stream crossing (and make sure we got across), the second to get to the camp site and begin getting dinner ready.  With the rain increasing in volume, we headed into the forest.

The forest was thick - thick enough that what was a fairly intense rainstorm became a light series of drops, except where the tree cover cleared out.  Within half a mile I found myself hiking by myself, due not to any kind of illness or ill-feeling but rather simply the speed of my hiking: too slow to keep up with the fast hikers (and those with long legs), and quicker than those that were sauntering.

As I continue on, I ran into the stream with The Commissioner waiting.  After looking at the options and risk for crossing without getting my feet wet, I simply walked through the stream.  I was done (and, it seems, am done) with excessively going out of my way to avoid getting my feet wet.  Feet and boots dry.  Risking taking your backpack in as well seems like a poor gamble.

The Commissioner smiled.  Good choice, he said.  It is what most hikers do.

With that, I continued on.

The rain continued.  The Commissioner eventually caught up to me and passed me by.   And once again, I was alone.

And then, I began to freak myself out I was lost.

The pictures here do not do justice to how I remember that part of the hike.  It seems far lighter than I recall it being, and does not account for the continuing rain and the fact that the trail did not seem as clear cut as it does looking at the pictures now, from the safety of a warm house in the daylight.  But as I continued to march on in the silence of the trees and dripping of the rain, I sincerely began to fear that I was off trail.

I was concerned enough that I actually started taking an inventory of what I had on me in terms of food, water, and shelter (which was pretty good on all counts).  How long would it be before someone realized I was lost?  When would they come?  At what point in the gathering gloom would it be good to conclude I was lost stop to make myself easy to find.

I know. It seems a bit ridiculous now.  I can only attribute it to a combination of being tired, just coming off being relatively sick, being alone, and being assailed by a lack of confidence - in my confidence of finding my way, in my confidence of my ability to choose.  This had not been quite the confidence building trip I was thinking it would be.

And this is the point where some actual self growth happened.  Rather than take counsel of my fears, I decided I needed to do something.

Long-time readers may be familiar with FOTB (Friend Of The Blog) Eaton Rapids Joe.  He has one of the finest analytical minds I have ever met - he reads widely and analyzes things thoroughly.

What, I wondered, would ERJ do.

ERJ would think logically about the situation.

My thinking then ran like this:  The rain had started just as we were entering this last stretch.  The trees above prevented a lot of rain from getting down but were allowing some, so the trail would be wet - but not too wet.  Therefore, if I found places where the trail was damp but had been stirred up, it should mean that people had been hiking on it recently.  As I had encountered no-one yet, it seemed probably that the only people disturbing the trail would be my hiking team.  Keep looking for the disturbed trail and I would find my way to them.

Turns out it was a pretty solid choice (although to be fair, a bracelet with "WWERJD?" [What Would Eaton Rapids Joe Do?] is probably a limited market and thus not the great sales idea that popped into my head right after this experience).

I would be lying to say that chain of logic alone resolved my fears.  I was still tentative in my treading, and still in the back of my mind the "You are Doomed!" leitmotif was playing - conveniently with a soundtrack in a minor key, indicating danger around the corner.  But I kept on, until I found the hiking stick left to indicate the turn.  One last slog through Post Corral Creek and I was back the campsite we had left four days earlier, but really seemed like a lifetime ago.

To celebrate, the rain fell even harder as I made camp and we went through the spectacle of starting a fire (again, The Brit and his fire making skills came through) and even into dinner.  Although that turned out to be okay; our spirits were high on our last night in camp as we had completed the loop.

Tomorrow, we were for home.

2023 Mt. Goddard Day 5a: Rainbow Lake To King River

Day 5 came with a glory of sunrise (as you may have seen on Wednesday's post) and, thankfully, no rain confronted us - which as good news, as was the fact that our hike would be (for the most part) downhill).   The less good news was that it would be the longest mileage, over 14 miles.  The goal was to reach our original campsite, the Post Corral Creek. 

 

Last look back towards Mt Goddard:

The descent was, for the most part, pretty straightforward. The trees, shrubs and plants grew more plentiful as we continued down.

We descended into what was effectively the King River Canyon, where the river became our boon companion over the next several miles.

The hiking along the river was much more up and down as we followed the contour of the trail and the landscape. The good news was that we were back into maintained trail territory; we passed at least two sets of hikers, the first time we had seen anyone other than ourselves in two days.

This years' rains and snow made for some green, large Alpine meadows.

Our halfway point was a stop along the King River, where we spent about 30 minutes relaxing.  Overall my stamina held up well during the descent and there were no signs of anything like Altitude Sickness, likely a combination of the descending altitude and finally getting acclimatized.

Just as we were getting ready to head out, the rain clouds started to roll back in.  It appeared we would spend the rest of the hike in one final rainstorm.

2023 Mt. Goddard: Black Cap Wilderness

Typically in writing my hikes, I go in chronological order of days, not in locale.  But for this location - Rainbow Lake, located in the Black Cap Wilderness, I am making an exception.  The views here were beyond magical; they reminded me of Tolkien's writing in The Silmarillion of when Arda was young and untrammeled by evil.

These pictures are evening and morning of Days 4 and 5.  This, for me, made the whole hike worth it.

 

2023 Mt. Goddard Day 4c: Confusion Pass To Rainbow Lake

 After a celebratory snack at the top of Confusion Pass (it always seems like we are eating at the top of passes), it was time for us to continue our journey - in this case, a long descent into Black Cap Wilderness.

The descent here was all on snow and ice-scrubbed granite, with none of the greenery that had both lightened our way and softened the steps going down the Hell for Sure Pass.  Step, step, start to slip until one gets one's walking poles under one, step again.  Progress was, for me, slow again as I carefully picked my way down the mountainside.

We took a break about halfway at the Alpine Lake above (no record of what the name is).  The lake was serene, but barren like Martha Lake, deprived of any greenery surrounding it.  I do not think that many people understand just how essentially barren the high Alpine country can be.

As we passed the lip of the lake, the outflow became a cascading stream down the granite face as we continued to descend.  Trees - Pine trees - began to appear, solitary survivors in a rock landscape.

Each of us came to the last lip, and suddenly we were at the top of Rainbow Lake.

One comes to appreciate the appearance of Alpine meadows as one hikes the High country of the Sierra Nevadas more and more.  Coming down, they come to represent the equivalent of a desert oasis - not in this case of water, but of vegetation and greenery and life.

By the time we arrived at camp, the rain had appeared and gone, so camp sites were staked out not only with the general eye to the levelness of the site, but to the likelihood of being flooded in a downpour.  Our planning was put to the test when it rained, just after we had started a fire and were making dinner.  We huddled under trees while The Brit masterfully managed to keep the fire going through the rain and into dinner - at which point we put all the wood we could find on it.  A fire after a long day of hiking and rain is not to be underestimated.

For the first time in three days, I was able to eat dinner and interact with the group.  Even for myself as general introvert, the comradery and interplay was welcome, after two days spent effectively trying to recover.

And the sunset...well, you can see for yourself.