travels with janne

The last part
of our journey comprises a visit to Olympic National Park in the state of
Washington. We take the ferry from Victoria in British Columbia on the Canadian
side to Port Angeles in Washington on the American side. We stay with my cousin
in Port Angeles in her very sustainable, organic, fascinating and tasteful
straw bale house.

Although
the landscape on Vancouver Island was green things are about to get even
greener. Olympic National Park includes a lush temperate rain forest, the Hoh
Rain Forest. It is very, very verdant with lots of different plant species networking
with each other. We hike two different trails, altogether about five
kilometres. Lichen called witch’s hair is draped on the tree branches and lends
the dark and shady wood a bit of a spooky feel.

A squirrel
comes running full speed towards, its mouth full of pine cone. It stops only
long enough to evaluate our potential danger to him. Apparently, we pass the
test because he continues to barrel busily towards us. It turns out that we are
standing right in front of the tree where he has his hidey-hole for storing his
winter’s cache. Once he has delivered the pine cone he goes out to fetch more
groceries. He has no time to waste on chattering at us.

After the
hike in the rain forest we drive to the Pacific coast. We hike downhill for a
while to get to the beach. We have this wonderful place all to ourselves. There
is light, breeze, surf and sand. Quite a contrast from the lush, dark rain
forest. We explore for a bit, enjoying the feel of the cool sand between our
toes and admiring the driftwood. After hiking back upwards again we drive some
more and then stop to take the hike to lovely Sol Duc Falls.

Next day my
cousin joins us for a few hours of hiking on Hurricane Ridge. She has worked in
the national parks for years, so she knows every little nook, cranny and
chipmunk. We walk about 10 km and, thanks to my couin’s canny and experienced
eye, we see lots more than we would otherwise, including grouse, woodpeckers,
chipmunks and more squirrels. The real treat, though, is seeing salmon spawning
in the Elwha River. This river has only recently been liberated from being
dammed, so the fact that salmon are already spawning here is good news. We see
the male fish hover over the female and we see the female wriggle energetically
to get rid of and distribute her eggs. Neat!

In the course of 12 days we have driven 2860 miles (4576 km) through seven American states, spent 24/7 in each other’s company, often sharing one big room or two small tents, suffered the smell of each other’s hiker-hot feet, fallen asleep to the drone of each other’s snores, discussed the pros and cons of high-tech GPS and good old-fashioned maps (guess what I prefer), chuckled at each other’s foibles, marvelled together at soaring condors, eagles and falcons, been amused by chirpy little squirrels and chickarees, enjoyed the up-close rumblings of bison, been rendered speechless by awesome Bryce Canyon and giggled nervously when an American Air Force fighter jet headed purposely straight for us in Death Valley.

We are now on the last leg of the journey in which all four of us are together. Soon two of us will head for home while the other two will continue the journey for a week more.

For now, though, San Francisco calls. Although we have heard only good things about San Francisco, it is with some regret that we leave the wilderness behind to head for the city. None of us are city people at heart and only one of us (me!) was even born and brought up in a metropolis.

We leave Yosemite and cross the Sierra Nevada mountain range, having to make a detour because of yet another large and smoky forest fire. We stay at a totally cozy B&B south of San Francisco in Half Moon Bay, within walking distance of the Pacific Ocean. The rooms are pretty and the breakfasts sumptuous and flavoured with home grown herbs. The B&B is a nice oasis away from the hubub of the city.

We take the train into town and walk around. The Golden Gate bridge is modestly covered in a hazy gauze composed of a blend of city smog and wood smoke from the seemingly ubiquitous forest fires. We get a distant and hazy view of the island of Alcatraz and its defunct prison building where the infamous Chicago bootlegger, racketeer, gangster and mob boss Al Capone was incarcerated in the prohibition days of the 1930s.

We make our way through the babble of Chinatown. It is Autumn Moon Festival, so the streets are packed with people, vendors and festivitas. It is colourful, lively and exotic but somewhat claustrophobic.

We saunter around Fisherman’s Wharf, which is also packed with people. San Francisco seems to be a tolerant town with room for all sorts of folks: gays, fashionistas, hippies lost in a time warp, druggies, drunks, homeless, skateboarders, obese citizens delving into huge bags of junk food that seem to accompany them everywhere, and thousands of tourists like us. We walk and walk and then spend some moments resting on a bench and people-watching.

Next day, we say our goodbyes. Tove and Bjarne, my wonderful veterinarian friends from Denmark (who else would bend down and check the teeth of a strange dog when chatting up an owner you’ve only just met??) to tend to their four-legged clients, while Tove’s sister Bente and I fly north to Canada for a week more of exploring. So fear not! More nature adventures to follow!

We drive to the southern part of Yosemite National Park where we find Mariposa Grove, home to ancient and stately sequoias. How to describe these trees that withstand fires, drought and disease?

Statistics can only scratch the surface: the trees have the largest biomass in the world, they are the widest trees in the world, they produce two million viable seeds per tree – seeds that need fire to germinate – they can survive for more than 2000 years before toppling over from old age, and instead of resin they ooze a blood-red sap that contains tannin. The tannin is what seems to preserve and protect them so well. What is harder to describe is the feeling of awe and respect that these quiet giants command.

Silent sentinels

Fire and thirst have tempered you,

Warmth and rain have nourished you.

Flames have regenerated your seed,

And furred and feathered friends

Have spread your genes.

You have breathed the breaths of centuries,

And silently watched the histories of man and beast.

You have soldiered on,

Towering over generations of life and death.

You are the lifeblood of the Earth.

I am a mere ant that tries to embrace you,

A tiny human,

Insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

I mold my body to yours,

Wanting you to share your strength,

Feel your steadfastness,

Sense your loyalty to your place

And time in the Universe.

It continues to amaze me that in a highly developed, consumer-fixated country that is filled with 316.1 million people, 254 million cars and 12 of the world’s 100 largest cities, there is still space for undisturbed nature. Many of the areas in the USA comprising its most beautiful natural wonders are useless or difficult with regard to farming, forestry or factories, so they remain pristine and picture-perfect wilderness.

Thank goodness for that. After decades of living in densely populated and intensively farmed Denmark, being able to see miles and miles of unbroken and untamed nature is a true delight and feels like a luxury.

Yosemite National Park is one of those places. Bears and mountain lions hang out here. This is a land of stony landscapes, fragrant pines, and waterfalls that roar in the spring melt. Rounded and smoothed by aeons of weather, the greyish-white rocky domes and monoliths rise up like monuments to Mother Nature, beckoning hardy hikers and climbers to conquer them and photographers and painters to capture them. I drink in the spirit of Yosemite and do my best to capture the feel of the place in words and pictures.

John Muir, the inveterate explorer and admirer of the small and the large in nature, was good at that. He spent days, months and years of his life exploring, explaining, describing and delighting in all the things that Yosemite offered. His efforts were significant in paving the way for the American national park system, which includes Yosemite. His wonderful writings, such as the following quote, continue to inspire:

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn,” he wrote.

I could not agree more, although I must admit he was more adept at clambering and climbing the mountains, rocks and domes than I will ever be. Nevertheless, my friends and I hike up and down (mostly up, it always seems to me) the mountain trails. We follow the paths past twisted pines that hang on with their gnarled roots to the silky-smooth rocks and whose branches reach up to the azure sky. We enjoy the sight of the magnificent and famous Half Dome from several angles. We spot chickarees (Douglas squirrels), whose coats are patterned in such a way that the perky little animals appear feathered instead of furred.

Once past Las Vegas we again feel very alone in the landscape. We enter California and pass through hellish sounding places like Mercury, Devil’s Hole, Badwater, Furnace Creek and, of course, Death Valley. Not the cheeriest of names! The temperature creeps up to 44° C (111° F). The landscape is low – at one point (Badwater) we are even below sea level. Phew. It is a good thing we have air conditioning in the car.

We seem to be the only people on the road. In the sky, it is another story. The US Air Force hangs out here. They break the silence and the sound barrier. We get out of the car to stretch our legs and take pictures. Perhaps the Air Force guys think we are in trouble; perhaps they just want to tease us. At any rate, they dip low and zoom close over us. We scurry back into the car like rabbits heading for their rabbit holes. Top Gun returns and whizzes directly towards us. He skims so close over our car we involuntarily – and uselessly – duck our heads. After he passes, we breathe a collective sigh of relief and disbelief. Could he see our thrilled and nervous faces? Did he get a good laugh? I hope so!

We stay in Furnace Creek. One of my friends spots a coyote skulking across the road. We also see a sizable scorpion. That puts an end to walking barefoot. The starry heavens look like a velvet cloth sprinkled with diamonds. Next morning, I creep out of bed before dawn and head out on my own to take a sunrise picture of the sand dunes. By seven am the temperature is already 28° C (83° F). A sign warns that it gets even worse – life threatening, actually. After the Furnace Creek pit stop we continue on the road through Death Valley before hanging a right and driving northwards. Ahead lie cooler and greener landscapes.

We leave the miracle of Grand Canyon in Arizona and drive for endless hours through a bleak and desolate landscape. At the uneventful town of Kingman in Arizona we cross the iconic but likewise uneventful (at least at this spot) Highway 66, the historic road that led from Chicago, Illinois to Los Angeles, California.

This is where we swing north in the direction of Las Vegas. We decide to take a much-needed refreshment break. My friends have a hankering for experiencing the kind of dusty and remote small town diner that you see in American movies, so we go for it, leaving the highway and driving into the unknown and beyond. We discover a dinky little ghost town called Chloride, of all things.

We wander into the empty “Dead Ass Saloon”, where the beer (when there still was a bartender) cost 5 cents, the whiskey (misspelled wiskey) cost 25 cents and the hangings were free. Where the piano, painfully out of tune and with the white piano keys curling upwards like stale bread slices, sits silent. All that remains in this saloon are dust motes and the piano’s memories of good-time melodies.

We wander further down the empty main street – the only street – and see the old jail, bank and schoolhouse. As its name implies, the town of Chloride developed because of mining – with silver chloride and gold attracting the most interest. Also mined were lead, zinc, copper and molybdenum. The Santa Fe Railway used to make a stop here at Chloride, which once had a population of 2,000 people.

The mining petered out, the railway station closed and Chloride fell asleep in the heat. Now there are about 250 people, so the town is not completely bereft of life. There is food and drink to be had, and that is what we came for. We sit ourselves down in the grossly over decorated diner and order soft drinks. I drink a root beer float – yum! Just me and many other millions of North Americans like root beer, but not so my Danish friends. They wrinkle their Nordic noses and stick to Coke.

Thus nourished with soft drinks and ice cream we continue on our way through the hot and arid landscape. Suddenly there is water. We have come upon Lake Mead. The lake came about when the Hoover Dam dammed the Colorado River. The Hoover Dam is an impressive piece of engineering and well worth a visit, although the insufferable heat (42° C) makes us cut the visit to a minimum.

We then cross into Nevada, the sixth state we drive through. The landscape is still dry and lonely. In the midst of all this emptiness sits garish Las Vegas. Thankfully, my friends are not keen on taking a closer look and I have already been there (once is more than enough, in my opinion) so we take the highway around and past Sin City and continue northwards.

Magnificent.
Awesome. Breathtaking. Enormous. Gobsmacking. Mother Nature has really outdone
herself this time.

We have
arrived at Grand Canyon National Park.The depth of the canyon, the endless reaches
of it, the beautiful red and green tinges of the rocks – all of these things
interact to provide us with amazing view after amazing view. It is just so hard
to find words and snap photos that do credit to this geography.

Our first
views of the canyon are from the Lookout Studio designed by the talented and
imaginative Mary Colter in about 1914. It was modelled on the stone buildings
of the Southwest Pueblo Indians and decorated with Native American-type
drawings.

The Grand Canyon
has been depicted countless times in just about every tourist brochure,
advertisement and description of the United States. One would almost think that
this is the only place worth visiting on the North American continent. Well, it
certainly is pretty impressive and I can’t think of anywhere else I have seen
in any of the more than 40 countries I have visited that is similar to this
unique geological wonder.

But somehow
it feels to us like the Grand Canyon has been overexposed. In addition, the number
of tourists milling about is pretty high and we are not even here in the peak
season. The element of surprise and wonder is perhaps not as overwhelming as it
might have been. But no matter what, the Grand Canyon is astounding and huge. The
Colorado River has cut a gorge that is 446 km long, 1.6 km deep and an average
of 16 km wide. The power of water erosion is amazing.

Although it
is mostly rock, the area is not completely bereft of life. There are 90 species
of mammals (including mountain lions), more than 362 species of birds and 1750
species of plants that make this national park their home. We see mighty eagles
and condors soaring on the updrifts. We spot woodpeckers, goose vultures and
pretty blue Pinyon jays. Squirrels are ubiquitous, darting about, chattering
away. A lizard blends into the shade. We hike here and there, drinking in the
views. In the evening we treat ourselves to a delicious luxury dinner in the
classy El Tovar dining room.

This part
of the United States is a geologist’s dream. I must admit that rocks don’t
really rock me, but even I am impressed by the cliffs, canyons, escarpments,
valleys, buttes, pinnacle, peaks, hoodoos, fins and arches we have seen so far.
And there is more to come!

The next
item on our very detailed and totally planned itinerary is to drive the
relatively short distance from Bryce Canyon National Park to Zion National Park
and to find a particuar back country camping spot we have set our hearts on.
However, as Robert Burns so sagely noted, “The best laid plans often go awry.”

During our
planning stage, sitting around the dining table in the dark winter months in
Denmark, we (my fault, mainly) had forgotten to note that today is Labour Day.
This means there are gazillions of people in Zion. It is utterly impossible to
find a spot to park the car. The next village’s parking spots are also totally
filled up. We make a quick and unanimous decision: we drop Zion, and continue
to wend our way southwards to the Grand Canyon. That way we will also gain
precious time in our very tight timetable.

We snap
photos from the car as we drive through Zion. Of rocks with beautiful swirly
patterns. Of rocks layered like piles of pancakes. Of rocks with greenish and
pinkish tints. On the other side of the
park we set the automatic controls and zoom down the state highway at an even
speed.

We cross
the border and enter Arizona. Here we see the greenish Vermillion Cliffs in the
distance. We stay the night by Jacob Lake in the Kaibab National Forest. Next
morning we eat breakfast in a greasy spoon diner, sitting side by side at the
counter the American way before once again hitting the road.

We pass
through country that has been the backdrop for many a Western movie. John Wayne
was here. Navajo Indians were here – and still are. They now sell jewellery by
the roadside, in the shade of rocks that look like strange, large mushrooms. We
catch our first glimpse of the power of river over rock when we cross the
Little Colorado River. As it turns out, “We ain’t seen nothing yet…”