Returning to Childhood Haunts

My hubby spent several of his formative years living in southern Humboldt County amidst the redwood trees and fog. So as we planned our travel route from the Pacific Northwest to Southern Utah, it came as no surprise that he wanted to take the coastal route and revisit some of his favorite childhood haunts. First up was Prairie Creek and Fern Canyon, which I blogged about already. These two destinations were places he'd taken me early in our romance and I enjoyed reliving those old times with him. Plus, seeing elk up close always makes me smile.

Our second day on the Northern California coast found us in places both familiar and new to me, as we continued along the pathway to Josh's childhood. Driving south on Highway 101, we hugged tight to the coastline and enjoyed sweeping views of rocky shores. Our first stop was at Patrick's Point State Park to take in the epic coastline and so I could pee while surrounded by wildflowers. (You know you would too if given the option.)

Pretty pink heart flowers spring to life on this Manzanita bush.

At Avenue of the Giants, we left the highway and meandered between the big trees and tiny towns enveloped within Humboldt Redwood State Park. A short hike in Founders Grove filled us with awe and harkened us back to both our childhoods spent measuring our smallness against the massive tree trunks. I recalled a grade school trip where it took all 28 of us kids holding hands outstretched to fully hug a redwood tree. And Josh and I laughed as we drove by scenes we'd photographed more than a decade ago on our first coastal California roadtrip together.

Josh's 6'3" stature is nothing compared to these old redwoods, which were much too tall to get all in the photo. You'll have to imagine them reaching three times as high into the blue sky.

The hollow in this tree is big enough to build a fort inside! Too bad that's against the rules here.

And then we pushed onwards to Redway, a small town where Josh's mom once worked in a bead shop. We drove down the narrow streets trying to identify the house he once lived in, before heading west on a winding road. The road ends at the bluffs of Shelter Cove, where we intended to camp in a public campground overlooking the shoreline that Josh had remembered fondly from his youth. To our disappointment, that campground had disappeared in the 25 years since he was last in Shelter Cove and so we made do with a grassy lawn set away from the bluff. (It was the only tenting option in town and we were much too weary to drive back inland in search of something else, although we wavered for a few minutes.)

Our campsite near one of the only trees in the park. It wasn't private but it was available and that was good enough for one night.

Luckily we came prepared with a nice bottle of sparkling rose from our favorite winery in Oregon's Applegate Valley. And so as afternoon turned to evening I joined Josh in his brown hiking pants and black soft shell jacket traversing the dark rocks that form tide pools just below the crest of Shelter Cove. Behind us yellow mustard flowers and purple prickly thistles climbed the exposed sandy hillside. And beneath my feet, gray polished pebbles filled my slip-on shoes as the sun warmed my shoulders. We listened to the waves crash and tumble against the rocks and a lone gull screeching on the breeze. The salty sea air filled my nose, displacing the earthy scent of redwood forest we'd left behind that morning. The world felt complete as I sipped my wine while watching a momma seal and her young pup play in the rollicking waters.

Seals and seal pups playing in the cold Pacific Ocean. This shot is from the next day at Seal Rock, just a short drive from our campsite, still in Shelter Cove.

Then, hand in hand, Josh and I climbed back up the cliff and returned to our campsite to make dinner and watch the fog roll in, hiding any view of the ocean and wrapping us in its chilly embrace.

Enjoying some Oregon wine from my sippy cup at the retired Cape Mendocino Lighthouse which now stands on the edge of Shelter Cove. I felt a little ironic drinking wine here as the lighthouse door sported a hand-lettered sign announcing Thursday AA meetings upstairs.

 

Milford Sound

The mountains of Milford Sound rise up jagged and craggy from deep blue-green waters. White wispy low clouds envelope the mountains' bare mid-drifts. As the clouds clear, we spot countless waterfalls ripping down from snow-capped peaks, carving gorges in the steep slopes of granite.

The mountains surrounding our boat are forested in swaths. The naturalist aboard explains that the barren rock faces were formerly forested. He also defines the difference between a Sound and a Fiord for us. A Sound is an ocean inlet carved by a river. A fiord is an ocean inlet carved by a glacier and thus the remaining hillsides tend to be steeper. Milford Sound is really a fiord, we learned, but it was misnamed by a sailor who didn't know the difference and the name stuck.

The other special thing about Milford Sound is that you can drive to it. In 1954 the 1.2 km Homer Tunnel opened, enabling tourists to drive straight through the mountain range dividing the fiordlands from the interior of New Zealand. There is only one such tunnel in the fiordlands, making Milford Sound a one-of-a-kind destination. And the journey to it isn't so bad either.

The two-hour drive from Te Anau follows a valley flanked by snow-capped mountains and divided by a river the color of turquoise sea glass.

The valley bottoms host swathes of pink and purple lupin this time of year, as well as swarms of biting sand flies.

We camped two nights in the valley beyond Milford Sound and were plagued by incessant attacks from sand flies. I covered myself literally from head to toe, sporting a ridiculous assemblage of clothing that included a mosquito head net and my jeans tucked into hiking socks. And still I emerged with plenty of incredibly itchy bites. I'd like to say that I resisted the urge to scratch, but anyone who knows me wouldn't believe that lie. In truth, I was covered with red welts seeping with pus and insect venom.

Fact: sand flies inject an anticoagulant into people so they can suck as much blood as possible. Also, only females sand flies dine on humans; the male flies content themselves with vegetable-based protein.

Still, we loved Milford Sound and were very pleased to have ventured out there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kicking Butt and Counting Flowers on the Kepler Track

Josh and I decided to spend Christmas hiking the Kepler Track. We knew we'd be away from family, far far away in New Zealand, in the summertime as opposed to our normal winter holiday season, and we figured where else would we feel at home than in the wilderness? So we booked ourselves on one of New Zealand's nine Great Walks.

Normally when we Americans think about taking a walk, it is a shortish excursion. But that is not the case in New Zealand where the term "walk" is really a euphemism for a "long, hard slog" or an "arduous adventure with great views" or what-have-you. Still, we were game and even though I hadn't been able to don my tennie shoes in over a month because of a massive scab bursting from the back of my heel, we set out on this wee walk/adventure.

Normally, one hikes the Kepler Track in a counter-clockwise direction, starting in Te Anau, then sleeping in the Luxmore, Iris Burn and Moturau huts before completing the loop back to Te Anau. Because we were late to book (only deciding two months in advance) we weren't able to hike in the usual direction or book consecutive night stays in all three huts. So our trek went as follows:

• Day 1: Take a shuttle from our hostel in Te Anau to the Rainbow Reach car park and hike a gradual incline for 22.2 km (13.8 miles) to the Iris Burn Hut.
• Day 2: Relax and recuperate at the Iris Burn Hut with day hikes to the waterfall and nearby river beach to be eaten alive by sand flies.
• Day 3: Hike straight up and then across a ridge for 14.6 km (9.1 miles) to the Luxmore Hut and then drag our exhausted butts on a side trip to the glorious and quite wet Luxmore Cave.
• Day 4: Hike 13.8 km (8.6 miles) mostly downhill to the Kepler Track car park and hitch a ride with some friendly expats back to Te Anau.

All and all, we covered more than 50 km (31 miles) in 4 days including more than 3,000 ft of vertical elevation gain and drop. Let's just say, I was beat at the end of each day and Josh came up with a new phrase for describing my end-of-day stride: the Zombie Waddle. Nice, isn't he? Alas, it was an apt description and I can't fault him for that, especially as he carried the majority of our gear.

Exhibit A: Josh's pack (at left); Mine (at right). Yes, he is a good husband. :)

In addition to the Zombie Waddle, I also found another way to pass my time on the trail--counting wildflower varieties. I found 57 different types in all! Yes, fifty-seven! That is not a typo. And they were all different, although some were less different than others--such as the small white daisy with the green center (top right) same same with the hairy yellow center (bottom right), larger version with a yellow center (top left) biggest version with a hairy stem (bottom left) and whatnot (unpictured plethora).

I also spotted several nearly microscopic flowers growing on moss and in what gardeners call bedding. Those came in little yellow varieties, white stars, white bells, white bells with red stripes, gray cactus creations, and a few other not-so-exciting-but-it's-still-a-new-variety-goddamnit! types.

My favorite was either this barely lavender beauty (lower left) or this bluish orchid-like flower (top right) or maybe one of these white ones, it was hard to pick!

Most of the flowers were seen in abundance, sometimes prompting irritation when I realized that I had already seen that one. A few were one-timers that I was bummed not to see again (or photograph the first time). Still the flower hunt kept me moving forward as my feet cried out for me to stop and my calves threatened to lock up and drop me on my face. Josh, meanwhile, maintained his chipper charm and pulled dozens of smiles across my face as we starred out on ever more impressive landscapes.

Yes, we really did hike through all these landscapes and more in our four day Christmas extravaganza!

 

Orchids!

This post is for my mom and all the other flower-lovers out there.

Our first stop in Fiji, once Josh picked up our rental car, was the Garden of the Sleeping Giant. This garden takes its name from the shape of the mountain where it is located, which some say looks like a sleeping giant. Surprise! It wasn't the name that got my attention, but rather the plethora of orchids it promised.

Allegedly home to thousands of species of orchids, I took it upon myself to attempt to photograph each variety.... a few more than once. Below is a sampling of what I deemed the prettiest, weirdest and most photogenic of those in bloom:

And, yes, even when I am traveling my need to organize things by color still persists. What can I say!? I'm just special like that.