Wheeler Peak

We are in Great Basin National Park: isolated, quiet, majestic. Very few visitors to this place near the border of Nevada and Utah. Twenty of us are here, camping with Michael Ellis and the group is very compatible, aged 50's to 80's and coming from Northern California, Oregon, and Long Beach.










Several days into the visit, after wonderful walks to the tree line and above, Michael has planned an optional climb of Wheeler Peak - thirteen thousand and some odd feet high, and I am among the eight that raise our hands around the campfire the night before. By breakfast, the group is reduced to six due to some injuries from the hike yesterday. We rise early to set off on the trail by seven, due to concern for possible afternoon thunderstorms.

The last time Michael was here he was on the exposed ridge in a sudden lighting storm, and he is NOT going to let that happen again. Now it is a beautiful day, and an easy first mile starting at 10,000 feet through meadows and aspin groves, but the mountain looms in the distance. The upper sections are very exposed, and the route follows a ridgeline that is easy at first and then steeper and steeper as we proceed.


The six of us stretch out along the trail - a quick count indicates that there are more bad knees than there are climbers. Soon after the trees thin out near 11,000 feet, Melody checks in by walkie-talkie to say she is turning back. Now the trail is just loose rock of all sizes and footing is tricky but Michael is powering ahead, wanting to reach the peak and celebrate with his hula hoop before his knee gives out. Richard, Lee, Jane and I plod along, offering encouragement to each other. We are also spurred on by Melody below, and now by Michael from the summit, but it is slow going.

For a while, I am in the lead and it is easy to loose the trail - just rocks on top of rocks. Now we can see the summit, but it doesn't seem to be getting any closer - this is not good. Somehow we do get to the top, the last little bit goes quickly -  Michael is ahead, waving is up with is hula hoop. The view is spectacular - Wheeler is at least a thousand feet higher than anything to the horizon.

After a few group hugs and photos of The Wheeler Peak Five, as we have been dubbed by Richard, we pick our way back down on tender knees. We all knew this would be the hard part, and it is. We survive, but somehow it is longer going down than it was going up.

Ely, Nevada

I spent last night in Ely, Nevada - in route to six days camping in Great Basin National Park. In the morning I have time to spare before 8:00 breakfast at the B&B, so I take a walk down the street to the train museum. Very interesting. This turns out to be one of those places I could spend all day. I wander through the train yards and my camera has no problem finding  matter. The morning light is quite nice. Down the tracks away is the engine house where I find a group of engineers prepping a classic steam engine for a 9:30 tour. The three of them tinker with gauges, tighten bolts, and generally clamor all over the beast. The structure is just chocked full of interesting stuff, and I really could spend an indefinite amount of time wandering with camera, but I need to make breakfast before it closes at 9:00

Home from Spain and France

I have some impressions for the trip - pretty random, actually. Everywhere that we were in eastern Spain and southern France, there were swallows swooping, diving and calling. It unified the trip in a nice way. In France, I decided it would be nice to try to photograph them, but that was just about as hard as it sounds. When I returned home, what I came to realize is that many of the pictures that I took of bell towers, or trees, or whatever managed to capture swallows in flight anyway. So much for trying too hard. 

In Spain, everywhere we went, people were focused on the European football championship. Groups huddled in front of bars or cafes that had televisions. I came to discover that Spain is the defending champion, and every game, including their rivals was closely watched. During one peaceful day at the beach, there was suddenly a roar from all around us as people with radios responded to a score in some crucial game. UPDATE: Spain defeated Italy 4-nil in the final!

The lavender in France had not yet reached its peak, but it was still pretty spectacular. At every field, cars would be pulled over and people would be out to photograph the display. It was a highlight of the trip.

I loved the company that we found along the way. In Spain we met Mary and Brian and had dinner with them nearly every night during our walk. Interesting conversation each night. In France we had the company of Naomi and Peter in the friendly town of St-Saturnin-les-Apt. Thinking back, that reminds me of how different all the villages in Provence are from each other. One was positively unfriendly (sign: 5 euros to take pictures of my flowers!) with universal bad vibes. Another was so heavily restored and pretty that was sort of a Stepford Wife of a village. "St-Sat" was just right - a bit quirky but very much the community. Market day there was very nice, with bountiful ideas for dinner.

 

Street musicians made for some pleasant diversions everywhere we went. Now, in addition to the pass-the-hat contributions, most of them have professionally produced cd's to buy. I have several now, but regret not having bought one from the two flamenco guitarists in Barcelona - they really were quite excellent. I discovered they are Tiberio Eduardo and Adrian Roman - if you look for them on YouTube, it is wort it.

Post Cards

In Spain, I bought a few post cards with all good intentions of sending back home to friends. They are, of course, still sitting in the bottom of my suitcase (with the Spanish stamps).
To make up for this shortcoming, I realize that just about every picture that I have taken over the past few days looks like a post card - Provence is just that spectacular. So maybe I should include a few in the 'internet journal'.