Photoblog: Family time at Juniper Springs

Tieton Love Affair

I spent my first night in Washington in Wenatchee National Forest. I found a little campsite that backed up to the Tieton River. It was far enough from the road that my van was almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

Perfect.

The photo above showcases my "front yard." It does absolutely no justice to the scale and detail of the rock formations that existed there. The photo below is the Tieton River -- my "backyard."

I was unaware of it then, but this campsite would become something of a home base for me over the course of the next few weeks. I didn't know it, but I had found a peace there that I had never known before, and that I will carry with me always. I began to uncover things within me that I didn't know were there. The river current, the wildlife, and the mountains that surrounded me would become the major catalyst in steering me onto the amazing life path that I am now walking upon.

Wide open spaces

Montana. I swear, this state is impossible for me to photograph. It's so incredibly vast, as if it were dropped onto North America from another world -- a world populated by giants and other creatures of myth. They don't call it "Big Sky Country" for nothing. Montana made my heart sing.

I camped at Ruby Creek Campground for a whopping $8 -- one of the only times I actually paid to sleep somewhere during my cross-country trip. The campground is located about 2 miles down a rough dirt road in the Ruby Creek Recreational Area. All of the photos in this post were taken from my campsite, with the exception of the first one, which was taken on the way to Ruby Creek.

The weather was nice; at least, nice to me. It was chilly and drizzling and the sky was filled with clouds. The campground has a creek running through it, and a river flowing beside it. It is also bordered by two mountain ranges -- the Gravelly Range to the west, and the Madison range to the east. I didn't even know that I was surrounded by mountains until the skies cleared the next morning.

Imagine waking up to THAT. :)

I looked around the van to see if there were any evening chores I needed to do before dinner time. The van was pretty clean and organized, so I set about the campsite, looking for interesting rocks. I set up a rock cairn on every boulder that marked the border of my site, and then I did a bit of bird watching.

A magpie! They're gorgeous in person. There was a pair of them foraging for food along the gravel lanes of the campground. I watched them for a while, and then cooked some dinner for myself.

Throughout the afternoon and evening, a herd of cattle periodically filed into view across the river. I watched the single file pattern of their mini-migrations, and studied how they interacted with each other. I knew that cows had close friends and that herds had a hierarchy, but I never had the pleasure of witnessing a herd like this firsthand and for such a length of time. 

Cows are cool creatures. 

I had a lovely time at this campground. The only other person there was the campground host, who I didn't actually see in the flesh. Just the way I like it. ;)

Snow!

Remember what I said about my campsite being so cold? Well -- it snowed!

I was awoken around midnight by what I thought was rain on the roof of my van. I looked out of my window, but it was pitch-black outside and freezing, so I shrugged and shivered and snuggled up back inside the warmth of my sleeping bag/fleece blanket combo.

Later on, around 4 a.m., the sky began to brighten, so I set about making my morning tea. Once it was ready, I started to take down my window shades and I could not believe my eyes: my campsite was blanketed in white. I put on my wool coat and my boots and went outside to explore my winter wonderland.

I took a walk a little way up the infamous forest road from the day before, and I took a bunch of photos of the van and my surroundings. Look at the snow on my solar panels! I was able to brush some off with my ice scraper/brush (glad I brought that along!) Luckily, the rest of it melted and fell away as I  drove down from the 10,000 feet of elevation I was camped at.

Waking up to snow in Wyoming was such an incredible treat. I can't believe the amazing experiences I've had in this state. I've said it before and I will keep saying it -- I cannot wait to go back there.

Riding out the storm on the Appalachian Trail

It was almost two years ago to the day that my mother and I set out on an overnight hike on the Appalachian Trail. Our hike would take us to the summit of Springer Mountain and back. I had previously completed this same hike on the approach trail in a single day; hopefully I can locate those photos to share them with you, because that experience was life-changing.

On this particular hike, we were able to take our time and enjoy the early summer scenery. The approach trail -- which is the first 8.5 'unofficial' miles of the Appalachian National Scenic Trail -- can be rough and altogether unforgiving; it's as much an exercise in mind as it is in body. Its natural beauty makes up for it, however.

Here is Amicalola Falls, sitting pretty at 729 feet tall; it's the tallest waterfall in Georgia. Amicalola is a Cherokee word meaning, "tumbling waters," and it is an apt name, indeed. The falls bounds over huge boulders and courses through a series of natural stone "steps" to the forest floor below.

We made it to the top of Springer Mountain between 2:00 and 3:00 PM. After a celebratory photo next to the southern terminus plaque, we took a short walk to the nearby hiker shelter to inspect the guest log and poke around. In the end, we decided to camp on the summit instead.

I picked out a good place to camp on the summit that appeared free of potential falling branches. My mother set up her tent and I put up my beloved hammock, and then we made and ate our dinner.

At around 5pm, some clouds wandered past us, dark and brooding. They eventually cleared away, leaving us with this absolutely gorgeous sunset:

We watched the as the colors went from that painterly peach-and-purple haze to a dusky indigo, hung our food bag, and then turned in to sleep for the night.

We were woken in the middle of the night by one hell of a storm! Lightning, thunder, the wrath of the gods was upon us on that summit. My hammock was literally bouncing in the wind, though I was safely ensconced under my trusty tarp and wrapped up like a burrito in my sleeping bag. It was a strangely lulling sensation, almost like being rocked to sleep.

My mother was not as comfortable, apparently; she was rather panicked, and kept calling my name. At one point, she hilariously and irrationally started blowing her whistle to "keep the bears away from our food." I will never get over that. I laugh to the point of tears whenever I think of it.

When we woke the next morning, we were greeted by cool weather and a flooded mountaintop. I had chosen our campsite well: our site was clear of debris, but all the surrounding tent spots were littered with large, fallen branches. We were lucky.

We broke camp and made our way back down the mountain. The forest was chilled and foggy; it was a peaceful descent. 

We stopped at one point and filled our Nalgene water bottles at one of the water sources on the trail. It was there that we encountered a fellow hiker who gave off a homeless-but-hiding-it vibe; there are actually quite a few homeless people who wander between the shelters on the Appalachian Trail.

I would love to explore more of the Appalachian Trail; my goal hikes are through the Roan Highlands, the 100-mile Wilderness, and the White Mountains. I'll be sure to update here when I complete them. :)

Have any of you hiked the Appalachian Trail?

Bliss, bears, and belligerence at Cloudland Canyon State Park

I thought I'd take a break from all of the Florida posts in order to share with you my experiences at Cloudland Canyon in Georgia. My older sister and I camped inside the park, and we had the whole campground to ourselves for the most part -- aside from a passing bear in the night and a very loud deer in the morning.

We chose a campsite that was situated near the babbling waters of a deliciously cool creek (seen in the photo below). We used the creek as a sort of primitive refrigerator by placing our drinks in the water and surrounding them with stones so they wouldn't be carried off by the current. It worked like a charm.

That night, as I lay in my hammock, being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the creek, I caught a flash in my peripheral vision. I blinked and looked around. I was suddenly filled with joy and awe as I realized that our entire campsite was populated by a host of fireflies! I called out to my sister and asked if she was seeing what I was seeing; her answer was a hushed, mesmerized, "Yeah...." 

They wafted about languidly, blinking their fluorescent buggy Morse Code to one another. I held out my hand at one point, watching as it became limned by the pulsing glow of each passing firefly. It was such a quiet, magical experience, and I am so grateful to have had it.

When I'm camping, I generally wake up once or twice a night; this trip was no exception. It was still dark; the air held that pre-dawn chill that clings to everything. I drifted between la-la-land and Cloudland, and at one point, that familiar, musky-greasy-dirty bear smell hit me right in the sinuses. I was too groggy to look around and investigate, but it was unmistakably derived from a black bear. I went back to sleep.

The next morning, I was trumpeted awake by a large passing buck. The scenario was pure comedy; I was sleeping face-down in my Warbonnet Blackbird hammock. The deer -- moving from the direction of the nearby creek toward the deeper woods -- walked behind the hammock, and loudly announced his presence to the world. My head shot up; I was instantly awake. My adrenaline was pumping, my eyes were wide. I probably looked ridiculous. I looked around and there he was; striding quickly and purposefully, head held high, the bastard. It was like being roused by a military bugle call.

After I exited my hammock, I stretched and looked around.... Oh.

Our black bear friend -- remember him? -- left us a present in the night as he passed:

It was fresh; still leaking sap. It wasn't there the night before. It was ten feet away from my hammock. Fun times.

 That morning, my sister and I took had a saunter on the West Rim Trail; the hike was fantastic. The trail takes you through several small ecosystems and skirts around the edge of the canyon, offering multiple opportunities to take in the weathered, tree-covered expanse that the park is named for.

This flower -- a hellebore, I think? -- smelled heavenly. I wanted to bottle its essence and wear it always.

It was such a great camping experience that the end of it was almost paradoxical. As we were leaving, I decided to fill up the gas tank at the first station just outside the park before we got on the highway. Long story short, for some reason, my fuel gauge didn't pick up on the fact that there was gas in the tank after I filled up.

I went inside to inquire about the pump, not thinking it could be my car that was the problem. The owner came out, tested the pump, said it was fine. He walked around my car, saw my out-of-state plates, and then proceeded to lose his mind, accusing me of trying to scam him and threatening to shoot my tires if I tried to leave. I remained eerily calm in the face of this sudden assault, and I stayed where I was, and I called the police. I ended up filing a report against the xenophobic asshole, and then we got back on the road to look for another gas station. A few miles later, my fuel gauge finally registered the fuel input.

I laughed.

Let me ask you this, dear readers: have you ever encountered hostile locals while you were traveling? How did you react to their abuses?