Category Archives: Travel

The Necessaries

Posted by dkrashb on

Our second hike in Vermont was on a gravel road that ran next to a stream.  The stream spoke the usual stream language, babbling to us as we walked.  Something we don’t always think about when we imagine the sound of a happily babbling stream is the way it seems to connect directly with our bladders.  Or, at least, mine.

I love the sound of running water diving and dipping and dropping over stones in a shallow bed as it makes its way downhill.  I love it less when I really need to use the non-existent facilities.  This is a case where perhaps the advanced hike might have been more accommodating–finding a private place at least 50 yards from water to go off and take care of one’s needs when walking along a relatively popular dirt road with a group of 15-20 people is not such a simple undertaking.  I endeavored to prove I still have good bladder control.  I made it to the turn around point, through the snack break, and about halfway back, but then we arrived at the juncture between the road and the stream.  The very thought of water rushing beneath my feet as it crossed under the road was more than I could bear.

I made a break for the woods and climbed up an overgrown hillside, bushwhacking my way to a private spot, trying to do as little damage to the hillside in the process as possible.  Fortunately for me, my selected site was in fact private and no one caught me in the somewhat awkward act of re-positioning clothing after the fact.

This, did however, evoke a memory from a long ago jeep trek up a mountain jeep trail near Ouray, Colorado in Yankee Boy Basin.  It was a trip I took with my father, brother, and elderly aunt to deliver my mother’s ashes to her favorite location in the world.  About half way up the jeep trail, my elderly aunt needed to use the facilities.  When I explained to her that there weren’t any facilities, she exclaimed, “What??!!!  They should have a bathroom if they’re going to let people come up here!!!”  The concept of wilderness was a bit lost on her.

I took her to find a spot in the woods.  I don’t think she’d ever walked through the woods except on a fairly flat and easy to follow trail before, let alone found a hidden spot to squat.  I found a secluded spot for her and walked around to another secluded spot for myself not far away.  About the time I was getting re-situated, I heard squealing.  I ran over to where I’d left my aunt and was greeted by two feet, pants circling the ankles above them, kicking in the air amongst the underbrush.  My aunt had fallen over backwards.  Now that is a sight I wish I could forget!

Thankfully, I managed to enjoy the hike in Vermont and leave un-traumatized.

Being Moderate

Posted by dkrashb on

At the New Life Hiking Spa, everyone gathers outside the front door and the staff announces the hikes each morning.  They’re categorized into “Nature Walk,” “intermediate,” and “Advanced.”  The Nature Walk being mostly flat, a non-challenging surface to walk on (like a gravel road), and only about 4 miles or so in distance.  The Intermediate walks have more ups and downs, and may require a little scrambling over rocks.  The Advanced hikes are more vertical and are on “unimproved” trails.

While I might have opted for the Advanced or Intermediate hikes, I was there more for the company of my friend and less for the physical challenge, so I was more than happy to do the nature walk.  Plus, I wanted to shoot and I figured I’d have more opportunities on the nature walk than on an advanced hike.

This happened to be the day for the most difficult Nature Walk of the week.  It had a long, slow climb in the middle of it.  This worked to my advantage.  I got to take my time shooting because the group wasn’t moving as fast as they would have been on a flat trail.  I had time to shoot and then run to catch up to my friend.

This was even more perfect than I realized at first.  I got a great workout by running hard to catch up (when I say running hard, I mean any attempt to run on my part is hard–I don’t run fast or far or at all if I can help it).  We would walk along together chatting until the next photogenic subject appeared.

I would have hated being on an advanced hike and feeling like I was holding other people up every time I stopped for a shot.

Plus, the road we walked was lovely.  We were afforded many views of the mountains and lots of pretty open fields full of wildflowers.  The only slightly traumatic part was the graveyard near the beginning of the walk.  We had to wonder what kind of message they were sending us by not only walking us past the graveyard on the way out, but stopping there for our snack break on the way back.  I loved it for the photographic opportunities it provided, but it’s a little odd to snack amongst the dead.

We extended the hike by going past the trailhead to another trail that led up a hill to a lovely view of the valley below and mountains in the distance.  One of our fellow hikers was starting to worry us with his heavy breathing, profuse sweating, and red face.  It was hard to believe the hike was that much of a workout for anyone, but it was a pretty good uphill, I guess.  We were concerned he had heat stroke.  In the end, he, along with the rest of us, did survive and we left no one in the graveyard.

Bright Spot

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After getting settled in and oriented on my recent adventure at a “hiking spa” in Vermont, my friend and I got ourselves together in time for the evening yoga class.  The yoga instructor was well-trained and seemed to know what she was doing.  She reminded me of my first yoga instructor in Columbus with a voice that combined happy with soothing.

Things were looking up.

We made it to dinner and things looked up indeed.  The dinner was really delicious.  There were two choices and I got the combo because I couldn’t pick between the two.  The portions were not as generous as I might have liked, but I consoled myself with the thought that it really wouldn’t be bad if I dropped a couple of pounds.

What was really exciting was the number of repeat customers.  All participants in the hiking spa sat at 4 large tables, so we got to talk to others who’d been there before and/or had been there for several days.  We got the low-down on the place and what to expect.

If the spa director is smart, he will start offering these repeat customers some sort of discount–they are his best advertisers.  One woman at our table was on her 10th visit to the hiking spa.  She is the one who told us it was more shabby than chic.  Her honesty made her more credible and her enthusiasm for the program made us more excited to be there.  She knew everything from the menu for each day to the hikes that would be scheduled.  I really think they should have hired her to do the orientations for new arrivals–we would have felt much more welcome and better informed.

In general, the people we spoke with at our table made us feel like we were joining a fun club with lots of cool people.  They were from all over the place–some from as far as London.  There was a doctor, a spa owner, a retail business owner, and a chemist who held several patents among the many different career choices represented.

The next morning, we got up early to attend the 7AM stretching class before breakfast.  When we walked out to the semi-permanent outdoor tent setup exclusively for the hiking spa fitness classes, the sun was barely visible through dense fog.  It was hard to tell it was nearly 7AM through the gloom of the fog.  The glow of the sun peeping through the thick fog made me happy I’d decided to bring my camera with me.

I would have preferred a short yoga class instead of  a boot-camp style stretching class first thing in the morning, but it was still nice to get unkinked before breakfast.  I just prefer to have calming music and be in a meditative state of mind over having a big, hairy guy leading us through marching in place and elementary-school-style stretches.  But, it definitely got us ready for breakfast.

 

More Shabby than Chic

Posted by dkrashb on

The word “spa” is an evocative word that conjures images of crystalline pools with gurgling waterfalls and people passing by serenely in bath robes, faces covered in green mud, on their way to their next massage.

Since the spa in question was called a “hiking spa” and the hotel was described as a “country inn,” I figured I wasn’t going to get a scene out Sex and the City.  I was, however, somewhat startled by the condition of the hotel, which another guest later described aptly as “more shabby than chic.”  She also called the program a “hiking camp for adults.”

When we walked into the lobby, I was still smiling from having had such an enjoyable ride to the inn via Gramps shuttle service.  The dark and tired looking lobby was not enough to deter my enthusiasm.  What did give me pause was the guy at the front desk who wasn’t the most welcoming character.

Having read reviews on the website where people said the staff seemed like friends, I expected a more enthusiastic greeting.

Everything about the lobby was dingy.  Even the light bulbs seemed dingy, casting a sort of gloom over what should have been a very nice, lodge-like space.  It’s never good when the hotel lobby looks bad.  If the hotel isn’t investing in keeping the first impression good, it’s guaranteed they’re not investing in the rest of the property.

As we navigated the dim halls lined with stained carpet, a putrid colored light flashed around a corner.  When we turned a corner, we were thankful we didn’t have epilepsy because we both would have had seizures instantly.

It was just a fluorescent bulb gone bad in the little room with the ice machine, but it made me think of Joe vs the Volcano and the horrifying office he worked in.  It was the kind of thing you expect to see in a horror film right before an axe murderer jumps out from behind the innocent victim staring into the light.

All of this actually turned out to be a good thing.  I was mentally prepared for a room that made me wish I’d brought my own sheets.  By the time I opened the room door, my expectations were so lowered, I was pleasantly surprised by the homey looking quilt (although it did have a few tears) and the large space.

In spite of the poor lighting and my lack of a tripod, I had to take a few shots. ISO 1600 made that possible.  I’m astounded by the second and third photo.  02 is straight out of the camera while 03 is the same image post-processed using only basic adjustments in Aperture.  I’m impressed by the recovery of detail in the fan and window, which were over-exposed in the previous image.  It amazes me what my camera will record.  I’m also impressed by the lack of graininess in the photo.  With my old camera, I’d start to see grain at ISO 400.

Drive-by Shooting

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Sometimes, I ignore what I’ve learned and regress to just snapping pictures.  They say the definition of insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different results.  I’m not insane.  I just sometimes decide the awful results I know I’ll get are OK.

Sometimes, I just want to take snap shots.

That said, there is something fundamentally wrong about pulling out a Canon 5D Mark III with a 24-17mm f/2.8 lens on it and shooting from the passenger side of a shuttle van through the windows while moving at speeds up to 55 MPH.  I believe it violates the 11th commandment:  Thou Shalt Not Waste a Really Great Camera by Using it Poorly!

It’s times like these I wish I had one of those little compact point-and-shoots that you can pull out of your pocket and look like a typical tourist.

On the flip side, I hauled 17 pounds of photography equipment with me through 3 airports to get this far and I sure as heck was not going to fail to use my camera.  Unfortunately, when I look at these images, I can’t say I’m glad I did.

What does one do with crappy vacation photos that are too ugly to use for anything but too evocative of memories to get rid of?  If you’re like me, you probably have thousands of pictures that you can no longer identify what the subject of the photo was supposed to be or the subject is obvious but completely blurred or has a street sign coming out of its head or is underexposed, but it’s the only photo you got of that really great subject, so you hang onto it for dear life.

Sometimes, it’s better just to delete.

I’ve written before about the joy of an uncluttered life.  And how that includes an uncluttered hard drive.  So, this is my pledge:  I’m deleting all of these photos.  Well, I might keep the Psychic Gallery one.  And the one of the ski runs.  And maybe the church.  Why is it so hard just to hit the delete key?

But, I digress.

Continuing my travel story from two days ago, having safely arrived at the Rutland, Vermont airport, we were greeted by our driver, Terry, from Gramps Shuttle.    (I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in there somewhere.)  He knew our names, he greeted us like friends, we laughed all the way to the hotel.

Along the way, I shot anything and everything that was even semi-interesting.  The sign for a Psychic Gallery really threw me.  I pictured an art gallery that displayed psychic events instead of art.  Or perhaps performance art installations involving levitation or telekinesis.  Or maybe just a collection of fortunes from Chinese fortune cookies.  Terry enjoyed contemplating what it was, but he didn’t offer to stop to find out.

It was just as well–it would only have resulted in more bad pictures.

Getting There

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When I was single, I went on a trip with a girlfriend once.  It was a ski club trip to Teluride, Colorado and there were about 50 of us on the trip.  I can’t recall ever getting on a plane to go on a get away with a girlfriend at any other time in my life.  Until now.

When one of my neglected friends back in Columbus decided it was high time for her to take a little time to have a fun for herself given that she’s spent about 30 years dedicating herself to making sure everyone else in her life was having fun, we decided to meet somewhere.

She suggested a spa.  I said, “Ahh!”  My friend suggested the “New Life Hiking Spa.”

I didn’t need to think it over–anything with the words “hiking” and “spa” in their name was too tempting to miss.  Plus, it’s in Vermont–one of the 12 states I’d never been to before.

The hardest part of getting our trip planned was finding time when we could both get on the phone.  We must have traded hundreds of emails and text messages trying to figure out an itinerary that would get us both to the Boston airport in time for a final flight to Rutland, Vermont so we could share a shuttle ride from there to Killington, our final destination.

When we called to make a reservation at the spa, the guy on the phone suggested we might find all the travel wasn’t worth it for a 3 night stay given where we were coming from.  He didn’t understand that it wasn’t about the destination.

I’ve never much believed in miracles, but I flew from Chattanooga to Atlanta to Boston while my friend flew from Columbus to Philly to Boston and we arrived within 30 minutes of each other with no lost luggage.

We had plenty of time to get to the Cape Air ticketing counter tucked amongst hundreds of JetBlue podiums and kiosks in Terminal C.  I can’t recall ever being asked how much I weigh when I checked in before.  They weighed everything I was carrying–I don’t know why they didn’t just have me stand on the scale, too, that way they would know I wasn’t lying and I wouldn’t have had to say my weight out loud while others were listening.

When we eventually got on the plane, it seated 9.  One passenger rode co-pilot.

I managed to take a few iPhone shots before having to shutdown my phone for the duration, but I longed for my 5D Mark III as we made our way over the mountains in the tiny Cessna with huge windows made for shooting.  I can’t recall ever being on a commuter flight that felt like a tour before.

In spite of a little turbulence and the great scenery, I managed to nod off, awakening just in time to see the mountains around Rutland.  It may have been my best travel day ever.

Ice Walk

Posted by dkrashb on

I find myself searching for photos of frozen things.  These are from a guided hike we did in the Maligne Canyon our first day out in Jasper on a winter trip a few years ago.

When the temperature is dropping to -25 fahrenheit, what better way to spend the day than touring ice formations?

We were nervous about our first hike in those temperatures–we weren’t sure we’d be able to stay warm in a group hike where we were constrained to the pace of the slowest hiker.  I decided to layer up.

I take layering very seriously.  For anything less than -10, if I’m not going to be moving quickly, this is my tried and true approach:

Layer 1:  quick-dry undergarments, including a long-line bra top that adds warmth all the way to my waist.

Layer 2:  panty hose

Layer 3:  silk long underwear, top and bottom

Layer 4:  Sock liners

Layer 5:  Under Armor for very cold weather top and bottom

Layer 6:  Wool long underwear top and bottom

Layer 7:  Fleece top and bottom

Layer 8:  Waterproof pants and heavy wool socks

Layer 9:  Down sweater up top

Layer 10:  Waterproof shell

To Top it All Off:  A very sexy balaclava with a super thick wool beanie over it.

Add waterproof snow boots with HotHands toe warmers, windblocker glove liners and a pair of waterproof down mittens and I’m ready to roll.

The most difficult part of all these layers is getting into them without breaking into a sweat.  Usually, I’ve soaked through layers 1-6 by the time I get to layer 8 and I have to carry layers 9 and 10 outside with me to cool off before putting them on.

The second most difficult part is walking.  If you have ever seen the moving “A Christmas Story” with the classic scene of the kid so bundled up that when he falls over, he is stuck on his back waving his arms and legs like an over-turned turtle, that’s what I feel like when I dress for really cold weather.  In truth, technology is pretty amazing these days so each layer is impressively thin for the insulating factor and I can walk pretty well.

I eschew cotton because of the sweat factor.  Cotton loses its insulating properties when it gets wet.  With fabrics that keep me warm even when they’re wet, I worry less about wearing too many layers.

Right at the moment, I’m looking out the window at heat lightning flashing in the sky and wondering how on earth I got from thinking about ice to thinking about wearing 10 layers of warm clothes.  The last thing I’d want right now is an extra layer.

But in Maligne Canyon, among the giant ice formations, I was perfectly warm with the cold air against the only exposed skin on my face, content to stand with my mouth wide open in amazement, blowing out clouds of frost with each breath.

Three Sisters

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Perhaps because I don’t have any sisters, I am particularly attracted to the area called Three Sisters in Oregon.  In this case, however, they are mountains.

The area is one of those places you don’t expect to see in the lower 48 when you grow up in the midwest.  I assume people who live in the Northwestern US know better.

Approaching the lava fields is astounding.  It’s as if some giant construction company in the sky dumped an enormous load of asphalt in great big chunks all over the landscape.  At the edge of a lava field, there is a miniature cliff formed where the lava suddenly comes to a halt.  I never would have predicted the transition from lava to none lava would be so distinct.  I guess having been to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, I expected the lava to have melted together in a single, molten form, freezing into a solid black river.  But in Oregon, the lava is in giant rock form.  I imagine a mountain spewing out black boulders like a BB gun aimed towards the sky.  The image is as mysterious as the reality.

Besides lots and lots of black rocks, the Three Sisters are offers spectacular views and many golden-mantle squirrels.  There are also some un-lava’d areas of forests that offer really good hiking.

We picked a short, flat trail that went to a couple of waterfalls.  This was mainly because my dad’s wife had a lot of knee issues at the time.  But, in the end, we were glad we picked the trail we did regardless of the ease–it was gorgeous.

The only thing that would have made that trail better was if it would have been easier to get a good angle on the water falls.  It was extremely challenging to get into a position where the falls were fully visible.  Not that I would ask anyone to cut down any trees to improve my images.

Perhaps the most amazing thing we saw was the biggest slug I’ve ever encountered in my life.  I don’t know if it was an actually banana slug or not, but it was bigger than some bananas!  I’m not a huge fan of slugs.  I know they serve their purpose and all, but it’s just not a species I find it easy to connect with.  But maybe it’s just a matter of size.  Looking at this 6-inch long beauty, I felt appreciative of slugs in a whole new way.

Back in the present day, we dropped Twiggy off to her parents today.  When we put the dogs in the car, they each picked their own seat and were sitting up side-by-side.  Of course, by the time I got my phone unlocked to take a picture, Tisen had laid down.  I also missed–it’s surprisingly difficult to shoot over one’s shoulder holding an iPhone while sitting in a car going down the road (I was not driving, just for the record).

Cross-Country, uh, Wrestling?

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Back in 2009-2010, we decided to spend two weeks in the Canadian Rockies over Christmas and New Year’s.  On this particular day of that trip, I’d managed to talk Pat into renting cross-country skis.

My logic was simple.  It was about -22 degrees Fahrenheit that day.  We were either going to end up sitting in the lobby of our hotel all day (and it was not the kind of lobby you want to hang out in) or we were going to find something to do outdoors that would keep us warm.

I don’t know of any outdoor activity that keeps a person warmer than cross-country skiing.  It’s the equivalent of going running with trekking poles.  You use every muscle in your body, including some you may not have known you had, and the only time you get a rest is if you happen to go downhill.

Since Pat had never cross-country skied before, we chose a flat, groomed trail listed as easy.  This may not have been the best idea–Pat never got to experience what gliding down a gentle hill feels like.  In fact, I don’t think Pat got to experience what gliding felt like at all–for him, cross-country skiing was more of a wrestling match.

As it turns out, cross-country skiing does not keep a person warm when said person must stop and wait for wrestling spouse to catch up every 5 minutes or so.  And, shocking as this may be, being impatiently waited for every 5 minutes or so does not exactly make the wrestling spouse enjoy his wrestling match more.  This was not one of those activities that turned out to be good for our marriage.

I’m better at being patient when I’m not cold and he’s better at learning a new activity when I’m not around doing it better than him.  The fact that he had never done it before and I had did not seem to make him feel any better.  It certainly didn’t keep me any warmer.

I did my best to pretend I was grateful he was taking so long because it gave me time to shoot.  It also allowed us to see some deer along the trail who didn’t notice we were there, possibly because they couldn’t perceive we were in motion.

The trail was 18K to the lake and back.  We had read that doing the first 5K was well worth it.  If we made it out 2K, I would be surprised.  But it was good we turned around when we did–the sun was already getting low in the sky by the time we made it back to our car.  Days are short up North at the end of the year and the darker it gets, the more bitterly cold it gets.

Pat determined we could have hiked faster and declared that we weren’t going to bother with cross-country skis anymore.  So far, he’s a man of his word.

Related articles

Snow Surprise

Posted by dkrashb on

Because I am taking a learn to row class 5 days a week and recovering from said rowing class the other 2 days a week, I have not been doing a lot of shooting lately.  As such, I have returned to my photos from our 2010 trip to Glacier National Park.

We stayed at Glacier Park Lodge a couple of nights at the end of our stay in the park.  Getting to the lodge is not difficult.  It’s an easy drive from West Glacier.  What is less easy is the long drive up the East side of the park to St. Mary’s Lake.

The memory of one early morning drive up the East side of the park still haunts me.  Montana has a “fence out” rule about livestock–if you don’t want them on your property, put up a fence.  Otherwise, they’re free to range.  While I don’t know enough about the advantages and disadvantages of this approach to argue for or against, I do know that it resulted in two dead horses spread across the road at about 7AM one morning.  As we drove past, my stomach lurched and I hoped they died quickly.  We were debating who one is supposed to call when there are two dead horses on the road when, a couple miles down the road, we passed a front loader headed at full speed toward the gory scene.  I had to look away.  The thought of the horses being scooped up in a front loader was a little too much for me.

But, on to happier thoughts.  When we awakened our first morning in the lodge, we discovered an unexpected snow had moved in overnight.  While Pat slept in, I wandered around the lodge looking for photo ops.

A red jammer was parked in front of the lodge loading up a group of senior citizens for a tour.  I perched up on a walkway above the scene and started shooting this historic vehicle.  About then, the snow started sliding off the roof of the hotel in enormous chunks.  One tiny lady (the top of her head is just visible through the window of an open jammer door if you look closely in the photo) got pummeled repeatedly by chunks of snow before someone ran over and shielded her.  I felt a little guilty standing there shooting, but I was quite out of reach.

When Pat got up, we drove to the small town nearby (Browning) in the Blackfeet Indian reservation (and yes, it is called “Indian” and not “Native American” there for whatever reason) where we found a trading post that sold rubber boots.  Pat bought a pair and we proceeded to go take an easy walk around a lake before driving up to St. Mary’s.

On the way to St. Mary’s, we encountered many cows on the road.  We also had to pull over so I could shoot some of the scenery with snow.  It might have been unseasonably cold, but it was beautiful.