Montana Moments

The headwaters of Quake Lake

 Winter means a slower pace of life, with more time to do things like watch the sunrise slowly color the Gravelly Mountains or take the dogs on long, snowy excursions.  On Christmas Eve we got to do both.  With Bubba happily stationed on the couch, we drove south towards West Yellowstone and stopped just short, pulling off at the turnout above Quake Lake.  The dogs were quickly off into the trees while we fumbled with our cross country skis.  Life is much simpler when you have built in studs and four-wheel drive.

The first half of the ski was a clumsy and awkward affair.  Neither of us are particularly proficient on skinny skis, and the undulating terrain didn't make things any easier.  By the time we reached the half-way point we were about ready to chuck the silly things off the bluff.  But since that would mean post-holing our way back to the car, we had no choice but to stick it out.

Then something happened.  It started to snow.  And suddenly everything seemed a little easier.  We slid across the snow with white flakes whispering down, alighting on thick pine trees and hushing any noise besides our heaving breathing.  The dogs were in heaven - darting after rabbit tracks, bounding across snow banks, and driving squirrels up into the trees.  It's hard to have a bad day when faced with wagging tails and lolling tongues.

Back at the car we were all worn out.  The skis made it back to the shed in one piece (this time...), and the dogs were soon curled up in front of the wood stove in post-romp bliss.  As the sun dipped behind the Gravelly Mountains and spread pink fingers across the sky, we settled in for Christmas Eve.

Christmas has come and gone, and now here it is New Years Eve.  It's amazing how quickly it comes around every time.  2014 saw us spend an entire year in Montana, introduced us to our newest mutt Mojo, got us through another action-packed summer season, and now leaves us poised on many new adventures.  Here's wishing everyone a joyous and exciting new year!

Happy New Year!

Snow Safety

While some folks may complain about the cold and the dark that comes with winter, there are those of us who enjoy it as one of the finest seasons to play outside.  With cold comes snow, and with snow comes a whole new set of variables.  With this in mind I spent last weekend attending an avalanche level 1 course at Bell Lake Yurt in the Tobacco Root Mountains, about 45 minutes northwest of Ennis.

Since we haven't had much snow since the storm over Thanksgiving we were able to drive to the trail head, where the six of us students and two instructors attached climbing skins to skis and splitboards, briefly reviewed beacon protocols, and set off up the trail.  It was icy and thin to begin with, the snow gradually deepening and softening as we climbed higher.  We stopped at opportune times to discuss things like terrain traps and getting a group safely through avalanche paths.  About three hours of hiking later we reached Bell Lake Yurt, elevation 8500'.

I've always had a soft spot in my heart for yurts, and this one was no exception.  There were bunk beds along one wall, a wood stove that we soon had cranking, and a fully stocked kitchen complete with propane stove along the other side.  It fit the eight of us and our gear just fine.

 That first day we stayed close to the yurt, learning about our beacons and practicing rescue scenarios.  It's one of those skills you pray you never, ever have to use, because it means things have gone very, very wrong.

The next morning we awoke to gray skies and howling winds, typical of an approaching front.  We hiked up to the lake and skirted the edge to the opposite side, and headed up a small ridge.  Along the way we stopped to dig some snow pits and learn about various tests to evaluate the stability of the snowpack.

 Digging a pit gets faster with practice...or so they tell me.  My team got the prize for the most precise measurements and smoothest walls.  We were also the slowest.

Hooray for digging!

We toured up, stopped for lunch, rode down, then climbed a different slope to dig more pits there and enjoy some open tree skiing.  For many people this was their first time touring, hiking uphill with sticky skins attached to skis, and there was a lot of hands-on learning of how to navigate around sharp turns and over thinly-covered obstacles.

 The last descent of the day brought us right back to the yurt.  We stripped off sweaty layers and boots while our guides and teachers got the fire going and started on dinner.  It's a good thing the curry was pungent because eight steamy bodies makes things real funky really fast.

Home sweet home.

Puzzle time while waiting for dinner.

 Our last morning dawned quiet and snowy.  We had gotten a good four or five inches overnight, and as we lay in bed we could hear large slabs sliding off the roof as the wood stove started pumping out heat.  This was the day we discussed route selection, and our job was to plan the day's itinerary, taking into account the current conditions and all we'd learned over the weekend.  We chose to explore an area to the northwest of the lake, and set off following our trail from yesterday.  Once there we decided it was too thin to comfortably ride, but we still had some good discussions of terrain.

Drew, yurt owner and instructor, pointing out some terrain features.

From there we traversed across the bowl and I was introduced to split skiing.  A snowboard is great for riding down hills, but it doesn't do so well once the terrain flattens out.  For situations like this it's more efficient to keep the board in two pieces and ski across those flatter areas.  Fine and dandy if you're a skier, but there's a reason I snowboard instead.  It was something akin to watching a penguin on roller skates.  

Hiking across the lake - I'm the little blue gnome.

 The five inches at the yurt translated to eight inches in the basin, and we had a blast making fresh turns all the way back down to camp.  Then it was time to pack everything up and make our way out.  The first section had a good pitch to it, with more fun powder turns even with a fully-loaded pack.  After that, I got to practice my split skiing for two long, agonizing miles.  I was the last one to the trail head, wobbly and tired but still alive.  I celebrated my win by joining some folks at the Pony Bar, then meeting up with Carl at Norris Hot Springs to soak away my aches.  It was a fantastic weekend for both the body and the mind.  Now all we need is a little more snow...

Weeeee!

Christmas Tree Hunting

It's a yearly tradition.  Dig up a saw from the dregs of the garage, load up the dogs in the truck, and head out in search of the perfect Christmas tree.  The road this year was a solid sheet of ice, so we parked as soon as we could find a good spot to turn around.  Off we went into the woods.

Carl has experience in the tree business so he has a more discerning palate when it comes to finding the perfect one.  We followed game trails up one ridge, tromped through snowbanks down another, hiked across meadows to check out a tree only to discover it was bald or dying on the other side.  

 The dogs provided moral support for the search.

 On the last leg of the circle back to the truck we found one that looked good.  Just to be sure, we walked around it and then back and forth a couple times.  Yup, at'll do.

 Since Carl is still in recovery from his shoulder surgery, I was in charge of the felling operation.  Thank goodness I had so much supervision or I'd still be out there hacking away.

 Success!  Thus began the triumphant hike back to the truck, tree in hand.

 You can't help but smile when you're out here.

 The final gauntlet to the truck required us to traverse the Snowy Cutbank of Extreme Danger...

 ...and cross the Icy Road of Certain Doom.  The dogs were, once again, extremely helpful.

 Back home we got the tree inside, upright, and even decorated.  It was fun pulling out all the ornaments and going through the memories; there were things remembered from our childhoods, ornaments we'd bought while together, and others that were a total mystery to both of us.

 Happy holidays!

Sacre Bleu!

It was dark when I arrived in Paris. Since I hadn't had time to plot my escape from the airport, I opted to bite the bullet and take a taxi to my hotel. After waiting in line in the plastic-enclosed walkway, I was ushered up to a small black sedan. Out creaked the oldest taxi driver in all of Paris. He stood about as high as my shoulder and wasn't a day under 86. Dubiously, I showed him the address, and after several reassuring hand gestures I threw my bag in the trunk and got in. 

The traffic was horrendous and as we waded through the red tail lights I could hear the driver swearing furiously under his breath. Once he realized I spoke some French he launched into a full-blown diatribe about Parisian drivers. I nodded along and then we sank into silence. About 30 minutes into the drive he eased over to an off ramp in order to park and retrieve the atlas from the trunk. Apparently he had never been to that hotel before, let alone that part of town. After one look at the microscopic font and the thickness of his glasses, I grabbed the map, found the correct page, and turned it back over to my fearless driver. 

Reassured that we were headed in the right direction, he found an exit of the right name, then a boulevard that was in the ball park. After we a stopped to check a road sign, we hailed a local taxi and affirmed the correct alley was just around the corner. We both threw up our hands in triumph at the sight of the hotel's illuminated sign. There was much mutual congratulating as we unloaded my bag and bade each other good night and safe travels. 

The next morning I found my way to the train station and onto the correct train. 2 hours later I disembarked at the quiet little station of Montbard, and was met by a gentleman from the barge, waiting to whisk me away to my family. They were all waiting either on the barge or the lock it was passing through, aunts and uncles and mother and grandparents waving and hallooing like I wouldn't recognize them otherwise.  The last time I'd seen them all was at a Mariners game in Seattle, and now here they all were in the French countryside. Let the wild rumpus begn. 

A Greek State of Mind

It's amazing how fast a week goes by. Even though the pace of life is generally slower in the Greek islands, somehow time just flies.

Another trip has come and gone. At the beginning of the trip you meet a group of people who are complete strangers and by the end you know all about their children, how they react to stress, and what makes them happy. You all share this intense experience, and then it's done. For the most part people go their separate ways and it all fades into memories and photo albums. The ephemeral quality of this community doesn't make it any less real or valuable, it just leaves you slightly breathless and disoriented. It takes me a couple days to find my feet again. 

A week ago we were hiking down the Samaria Gorge and I had the pleasant experience of finishing the hike in full daylight, a first for me. Everyone was feeling strong and energized, so I got to fall back and take in the scenery, including the rabbits and quails tucked into backyards on the way into Agia Roumeli.  We saw plenty of kri-kri, and made sure not to feed them. 

Another day brought us back to Loutro, one of my favorite places. Conditions were absolutely beautiful for paddling and we made it to the port town of Sfakia for lunch.  In Loutro there are several restaurants lined up along the shore that all serve grilled meats. They have several spits turning at all times, rounds of pork, whole chickens, and goats with the heads still attached. The aroma is mouthwatering and wafts across the water at night. 

We had good weather all the way to Plakias, and then things changed. The wind came up, clouds rolled in, and the second to last morning was blustery indeed. The paddlers experienced just how fast things can build on the Libyan Sea. Everyone arrived at our stop in Palm Beach in one piece, but that was the last paddling of the trip. The sea was a mess of whitecaps with winds howling in from the north and rain squalls blowing through. Our last night in Gallini was punctuated by torrential rain showers and brilliant rainbows, as was the next morning. It was a beautiful way to say goodbye to Crete. 

It's hard to say goodbye to Crete, with its lovely people, amazing scenery, and incredible food. I'll be going back every chance I get. 

Island Life

I'm sitting in the hotel lobby in the tiny town of Loutro, watching the topaz water and listening to the resident parrot meow and whistle. This picturesque little village is inhabited in the summer only and basically serves as accommodations for tourists in on the ferry or by foot along the coastal trail. There's no better place to sit back and ponder great things. 

To get here we started on the south central coast in Matala.  I'm one of two guides for a week long inn-to-inn kayaking trip on the Greek island of Crete. Our seven guests are from both coasts of the U.S. and Canada, and include a doctor, a lawyer, and two psychiatrists (sounds like a bad joke).  It's definitely a working vacation - the food is amazing, the scenery is beautiful, and the days are long. In addition to hiking or kayaking all day, I get to do massage as well. Tonight the table is set up on the roof of the hotel overlooking Loutro. We'll be here tomorrow was well, the continue our way down the coast. 

The first day of the trip we visited the ruins at Knossos. It's a Minoan palace built by King Minos of legend. It would have been nice to see the Minotaur because that would have meant fewer tourists. The site was excavated and then reconstructed according to one man's vision in the late 1800s, with garishly painted frescoes and concrete columns. It gives a hint at its previous splendor. 

The next day, after paddling to two neighboring beaches, we hike the bluff above Matala to watch the sun fall into the sea. The island you can see is Paxamadia, and according to legend it's the place where Daedalus and Icarus were imprisoned by King Minos. It's fascinating how chock-full of mythology Crete is. It's home to the cave where Zeus was born, the Minotaur's labyrinth, and numerous other legendary spots. I still haven't figured out exactly how such spots are determined. 

After leaving Matala we drive to the north coast, then climb up the rocky spine of the island to the head of the Samaria Gorge, the longest in Europe. The 10 mile hike turns into something of an ordeal when people aren't prepared to lose 4,000 ft of elevation over rough, rocky terrain. For the second time I ended up guiding people out in the dark. The look on their faces when we reach the seaside village of Agia Roumeli is the definition of relief. 

Now here we are in Loutro, taking a breath and putting our feet up. It's as beautiful as I remember, although there are lots more people wearing hiking boots and carrying packs. There's a national trail that runs along Crete's south coast that seems to be garnering more attention, particularly among Europeans. It has the feeling of a place that's just being discovered and is soon doomed for a ranking in the Lonely Plantet guide book. 

The Layover

I spent most of my 24 hours in Paris getting lost and then finding myself again. First was the journey to my hotel, tucked very much out of the way down an alley in an out of the way part of town. Then I tried to find the largest museum in the world via what seemed like the largest underground mall in the world. Today I had better luck navigating the metropolis, yet still ended up hiking for an hour across the city instead of using the metro. But gelato and pain au chocolate? No problems finding those.

Rue Hechette, near Notre Dame

Exploring the beautiful garden at the Musee Rodin

Celebratory "found my hotel" salad

Summer, Condensed

While it happens every year, it seems that this summer went by particularly fast.  The last snow graced the mountain tops June 28, and the first one whitened them on August 24.  We've had two hard frosts in town and there's a nip in the morning air that feels like fall. 

June 28, fresh snow on the Sphinx

 Even though it may not feel like it, we did fit a bunch into the very short season known as summer.  Carl's family came west for their reunion over the 4th of July and we got to show them all the wonders of living in southwestern Montana.  They quickly came to realize that things are very far apart here.  We marveled at the wildflowers atop the Gravelly Range, experienced the 4th of July festivities in Ennis, and soaked in the Norris Hot Springs.

Wildflowers on top of the Gravelly Range

Carl's dad Ed worked at a fire lookout in the 60s outside of Butte, and we took a field trip to find the trail head.

 The wet and late spring resulted in a really low fire year for Montana while the rest of the West was burning up.  All that smoke did result in some spectacular sunsets.

 We fit in excursions whenever we could - having three dogs is enough to keep anyone busy.

Monkeying around up Papoose Creek

Swimming and paddling at Cliff Lake, one of our favorite places

Oh, yes, and we both have jobs, which are particularly crazy during the summer.  While Carl was kept busy managing folks on the Madison, I was planting, harvesting, and selling pounds and pounds of veggies for restaurants and the farmers market.  

Harvested 80 lbs of golden beets in a day - whew!

One weekend we ditched our responsibilities and took our van out for a spin to White Sulphur Springs, site of the Red Ants Pants Music Festival.  We did indeed dance our pants off to the likes of Corb Lund, Brandi Carlyle, and Jason Isbel.

 Come August I got to be in charge of two high school interns who helped out at the greenhouse and the farmers market.  It was great having extra hands around, and they may have even learned something.

 August means winter is right around the corner, which means firewood.  Lots and lots of firewood.  While Carl was busy felling trees, I was stuffing my face with wild raspberries.

And now that the summer season is over, we got ourselves some new toys - inflatable stand-up paddle boards.  As a last hurrah we pumped them up and took them to Ennis Lake to see how they worked.  We discovered you need a couple extra PSI when you add 100 lbs of wet dog.

Now that fall is closing in, I'm glad the squash plants are all frost-bitten and dying.  The leaves are turning, the geese are flocking, and it's time for a new season.  I leave in two days for my working vacation in Greece, and when I get back it will be time for flannel shirts and boots, warm soup and the wood stove.  Bring it on!

Axolotl Birthday Bash, or Better Late Than NeverM

So Carl had a birthday.  In June.  And apparently I got so busy with things that I completely forgot to actually post all these wonderful pictures.  Highly ironic, given that we are once again seeing snow in the highest elevations.  Enjoy the flashbacks.

Raining out?  No problem - just roast your s'mores in the fire place.

Good morning, Madison Range.

Outdoor bacon grilling

Mojo's first overnight trip

Off for a walk in the sage brush

Thistles, invasive yet visually striking

Columbine

Scotch bells

Awesome mystery fungus

Mmmmmm, dinner

Wet, tired pups at the end of another awesome Axolotl stay