My Perennial Favorite: Hiking Oak Canyon

             Hiking Oak Canyon is like taking a stroll down memory lane. This is the hike that draws me to hiking, the one that sticks somewhere in my memory, embedding it with idyllic images of jumping across streams, swimming in the only water hole in town on warm spring days, climbing rocks just big enough to be challenging, and collecting tadpoles in empty water bottles. Starting at Mission Dam, you head west and cross the bridge that always smells. After crossing the bridge, you follow the river towards the 52. There are multiple trails to choose from, crisscrossing the river in a haphazard system. Any of them will work, as long as they stick close to the water. Avoid heading too far east or you will likely be climbing up Fortuna Mountain. If you venture too far to the west, you will be squarely in the Grasslands Crossing territory. Sticking to the river, however, leads you directly to the things that comprise my favorite childhood memories.

THE FIRST BRIDGE

            Shortly after you cross the bridge and start heading in the direction of the 52, you come across the tree where I learned to climb trees. I remember climbing this tree as a child, but my favorite memory of this tree is much more recent. A couple of years ago, my mom, Logan and I were hiking this trail. On the way back to the car, my mother decided that she was going to climb this tree with a specific goal in mind: to pee off the branch and into the river. Thankfully, no one stumbled across my mother peeing from a tree branch, but I laughed so hard that I almost had to climb the tree myself.

            Past the pee tree, several small wooden bridges have been added recently. Although they detract from my memories of hopping from rock to rock in order to cross the stream, Logan loved these bridges. He is convinced that a troll lives under each of them and we spent several minutes at each bridge trying to scare up some trolls. Surprisingly, we never managed to find a troll. Logan, ever the pragmatic child, decided that the trolls must be out having a troll picnic, because what else would self-respecting trolls be doing on a half blustery, half sunny Sunday morning?

            After crossing several bridges, Logan started inventing his own bridges. This log served as a helper for crossing a tiny canyon. Logan gleefully ran across the log several times, and then, as soon as I took my attention off of him, the crushing thud of a child having the wind knocked out of him echoed off the rock walls of the canyon. Scott was directly behind Logan, who wasn’t crying yet, and he rushed towards Logan to help. My first inclination, however, was to take pictures of Logan hanging from the log by his chin.  Logan never did cry over this fall, and he insists that I print the pictures of him laying prone across the log for his picture book. Like mother, like child.

LOGAN HANGING FROM HIS CHIN

            Within full view of the 52, past a couple of winding, tunnel like passages, and several smaller “waterfalls,” you find the crowning glory of this hike.  The largest waterfall I have found in this area, complete with a swimming hole large enough for small children and large dogs.

It was far too cold to swim today, but sitting on top of the rocks, listening to the gurgle of the water as it cascades of the smooth, worn surfaces, and enjoying the cool breeze blowing through the canyon walls at a surprising rate, I can’t help but return to the mentality of a young girl first learning about the joy of the natural world.  It is amazing to me to watch Logan explore the same areas that I feel such nostalgia for, and react in the same ways I remember reacting.  We’ve hiked here before, and Scott seemed bored by the canyon. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that he doesn’t have the same ingrained love of winding trails and chaparral smells as I do. The trees here don’t remind him of his childhood and he doesn’t have a history of swimming in the swimming holes I make us trek towards. Although I am sure that I would enjoy hikes that don’t have a history for me, the history makes them a richer experience. Sharing the ingredients of my own childhood and reshaping them into the recipe of Logan’s memories is a privilege that I am grateful for. At the same time, I wish that Scott could look at the natural world with the same childlike wonder that Logan and me do.

SCOTT PLAYING WITH HIS NEW PHONE

            After reaching the waterfall and taking a snack and photo break, we headed back down the trail. Logan was tired, so he took up residence on my shoulders for a good portion of the way back.  The lure of dozens of caterpillars crossing the trail was too much for little man to resist, though, and he came down from his perch long enough to collect six or so of the speedy squirmers. Caterpillars in hand, we began the search for a good “clubhouse” to eat lunch in. And, of course, the pee tree is the best “clubhouse” in this area of Mission Trails. Logan and I ate our peanut butter sandwiches cradled by the ancient tree. Scott preferred to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Peanut butter sandwiches, by the way, are my default hiking food. I highly recommend the fresh French bread at Albertsons for making excellent peanut butter sandwiches. I am pretty sure that Jen concurs about the simple joy of good French bread and peanut butter after hours of walking. Now, if you can eat that bread perched in a tree, accompanied by a cuddly toddler, I am not sure what faults you could find with the world.

LUNCH IN THE PEE TREE

            After lunch, Logan and Scott “fished” in the river and let me luxuriate in the pee tree. With music in my ears, my favorite tree under me, and that cool, persistent breeze all around me, this post picnic moment was definitely the highlight of my week. This hike hardly qualifies as a hike. Really, it is a stroll in the park. At the same time, it offers things that we often miss in San Diego: a river, waterfalls, sprawling oak trees that are perfect for climbing, and cool, rock sheltered crevices even on the hottest of days. During the spring, the tadpoles beckon to children. During late winter, the waterfall is at its best. In between, in fall and summer, this hike is less enticing. That said, I think this is my favorite local hike for little people. Now, if only I didn’t spend as much of the hike picking up other people’s McCafe trash. 

RELAXING IN THE PEE TREE

Snowboarding: Wait-That’s How Your Supposed To Do That?!?!

The day we left Minnesota, I took that lesson I swore I would. It was 17 below (I kid you not), my snot was freezing, and I really didn’t want to keep falling, so I stumbled over to the ski and snowboard school.  They set me up with a lesson with one other person-we were the only people crazy enough to be learning to snowboard in such stupidly cold weather. Remember that magic carpet that sent me sprawling in the lost blog? Well, my kid, if elderly, instructor taught me how to use it. No more falling there! Then, he thought I should try some heel side turns.  Let the falling recommence! I fell so hard, and so many times, that by the time we even loaded onto the lift I was convinced I didn’t want to snowboard ever again.

             And then, miracle of all miracles, I got off the lift without falling and was in love with the sport again.  Down the hill we went, linking turns like pros, and I was suddenly convinced that I might actually stand a chance of surviving my first attempt at a jump.  Oh, friends, don’t worry, I haven’t actually worked up the nerve to try to jump. No, I am just beginning to think it won’t kill me. Taking a lesson was the best thing I have done in a long time, my decrepit instructor re-taught me things I swore I was doing correctly and spent a lot of time fixing my form. It turns out that when you stand just right, snowboarding is easy. And fun! And it hurts a lot less.

            Of course, as soon as I was sure I could, indeed, become a professional snowboarder, I hit a rock, fell on my back, arched my body off the snow and fought back tears. Oh yes, that, my friends, was my tailbone hitting the ground so hard that I gave up for the day. Well, I didn’t have a choice, my lift ticket was expired and my compadres were ready to leave. But, in all likelihood, I would have left anyways. I could barely sit through the car ride home, and I nearly danced when I realized I would now get to sit on an airplane for close to four hours with a bruised tailbone. I survived, but eight hours of class a day is becoming challenging. My butt would definitely rather be snowboarding. 

How I OWNED Buck Hill- And Other Tales of Snowboarding

          Somehow I scored a couple of hours to myself- these days those are harder to come by than (fill in the blank with your own inappropriate comment). After starting the laundry, contemplating washing the two-day-old gel out of my hair and deciding against it, reading a random magazine I found in the trash, and staring at the wall wondering what I did during my free time before a child and a husband, I figured I should update you all on life in Minnesota. Well, to state the obvious, it is freezing here. Where, oh where does all of this g-darn snow come from? And, is it really possibly to live when it is one degree outside? My initial response is of course not, you must be flipping nuts, but then I look outside, realize it is one degree out there, and check my pulse. Still alive, so it must work out somehow.

            Enough about the cold, you say? What does this have to do with your B.L.L., you ask? Well, let me make the connection explicit for you. What element of the B.L.L. could I possibly work on while stuck in a snowy winter wonderhellland? Oh, that’s right, snowboarding! On Monday, Scott’s mom was kind enough to watch Logan overnight for us. (Hello, that is about the only possible reason I’ve discovered for living in Minnesota: having someone to occasionally watch Logan overnight.) I was so sick, probably feverish, and hacking up a lung, but somehow decided that snowboarding was in order. Scott and I suited up, drug the gear out to Buck Hill, and hit the slopes (if they count as that).

            I should point out that before we hit the slopes, I was dancing around claiming I was going to OWN this mountain-mainly because it wasn’t a mountain! Buck Hill is aptly named, seeing as how it hardly actually qualifies as a hill. Really, it’s a little lump in the otherwise flat, frozen landscape of the Minneapolis suburbs. Logan and I routinely walk up bigger hills on our way to the grocery store.

I KNOW, THIS PICTURE BLOWS, BUT IT GIVES YOU AN IDEA OF THE SCALE OF BUCK HILL

            As it turns out, all of my bravado just led to a harder fall. Have I mentioned my trouble with lifts yet? I tend to fall off of them. Last year I even tried to ride one back down the mountain instead of getting off of it. They sort of terrify me, so I was thrilled when I saw a magic carpet (escalator) up the tiniest of slopes. I thought, “Yes! I won’t have to fall right away!” Oh my goodness, was I ever wrong. At Mt. High we rode the magic carpet holding our boards. Here, they made you strap one foot in first. I strapped in, skated onto the magic carpet, and KABAM! Down I went. The attendant ran on, and tried to help me up. After attempting to stand, sliding on the snowy carpet, and giving up, I asked if I could please just remain on the ground seeing as how I was obviously just going to fall off when we got to the top. He refused, and helped me stand. Let me just say, I HATE that magic carpet. I almost fell half a dozen more times, did fall off of it, and swore I would never ride it again.

            After regaining a little dignity, I tried to strap my other foot into my binding but was so stiff from my cold that Scott had to help me. If you need one, not being able to strap into your own board is a good reason to not snowboard while sick. On the flip side, my feverish body loved being in the snow. I stood up, and started slipping down the hill. MINNESOTA SNOW IS FAST! The slope wasn’t very steep, but it was super slick, and I couldn’t get on either my toe or heel edge, I just slipped my way down. After a few minutes of this, I sat down to cry. Like a baby whining for their mother, I bawled, “I need my sister! She is my courage.” Scott wasn’t pleased that he wasn’t my courage, and offered to be my drill instructor instead. I am so used to Jen barking orders at me, demanding that I get off my butt and “stop being a wiener” that Scott’s attempts at being a drill instructor actually worked. I survived the baby hill and was ready to try the lift.

            As usual, I fell off the lift, and had to scoot out of the way, but hey-after that embarrassment, I made it down the hill without falling! For round two, Scott stayed close to me, enjoying the opportunity to count my falls. I was attempting to finally get on my heel side and conquer the S-turns that have plagued me since last year. Each time I got close, I fell flat on my back, and Scott shouted out the next number as I laughed hysterically. About halfway down the hill each time, I gave up on turns and just enjoyed the fast ride. The snow is so different here, I was speeding down the hill, and it was so much fun!

            Scott was complaining of frostbite, so we headed inside to have my board adjusted and take a hot-cocoa break. The guy in the rental shop was kind enough to change my bindings from goofy to regular. Ok, I tried, got confused, Scott asked for help, and then he came and fixed the disaster I was starting. However it happened, my board was adjusted. I’d been suspecting that I might not be goofy-footed after watching how other boarders held their weight. Although it was awkward at first, and felt backwards, the next run was so much easier I even accidently ended up on my heel side several times without landing on my back. And, miracle of all miracles, I stopped falling right off the lift! The snow was so fast, I wasn’t falling at all, and I wanted to ride all night. It was, however, 8:30 and twenty degrees out. Scott was cold, and had been a trooper waiting for me on the slopes. He literally skied circles around me a few times, and, when he wasn’t joyously mocking my falls, he was cheering me on, so I figured I should listen to his concerns about losing his toes and nose.

            I left a little closer to my goal of jumping. Although I am feeling more confident on my board, I also left vowing that I was going to take a lesson while we are here. Now, if it would only get a little warmer, I might actually be able to follow through with that vow.  I can’t wait to get home and take the boards out with my sister. Oh, and FYI, I love my new boots but am still experiencing a little bit of heel lift. Watch out Tim at Sports Chalet, I’ll be back. 

I can't snowboard because..... my heels are too narrow???!!!??

            Previously, I’d mentioned that I had issues with my new snowboarding gear. It turns out that my heels are narrow. After spending about two hours working on this problem with me, the incredibly patient and helpful Tim at Sports Chalet Mission Valley found me a pair of boots that worked like a charm. Well, once he inserted a magic combo of shims, and lifts, and glued them in place, the boots worked like a charm. We adjusted my bindings, strapped these new bad boys onto my board, and WALA- the board actually responded to me. The problem, it turns out, was that my heels were lifting out of my boots. Although my boots were technically the right size, my heel is apparently too narrow for most boots. After countless, and I REALLY mean countless, combinations of boots in three different sizes, shims, inserts, and whatever else poor Tim could think of, we solved the problem. Now the board actually lifts when I shift my weight.

            I didn’t have my receipt, I bought the boots over Labor Day, and I’d used them and Sports Chalet still did a simple boot swap for me. They can look up anything you’ve purchased if you use your Action Pass (their equivalent of a Ralphs Card) and they don’t make an issue out of it at all. This probably sounds like an advertisement, but it seems like I so rarely receive good customer service that I can’t help but sing their praises. Tim and Sports Chalet may have saved the season, and an element of the B.L.L. for me. 

Stelzer Park

VIEW TO THE SOUTH FROM THE BOULDER CAVE

            I’ve visited this park in the past and remembered it as a vast, brown, anti-fun place. I must have visited in August.  This time, the park was awash in lush green and reminded me of a fairytale river park. Although you have to pay three dollars for parking, there is a pretty awesome playground, complete with two tire swings, as well as a small campground to cushion the blow of paying to park.

LOGAN DOES NOT GET THE CONCEPT OF FOCUSING BUT HE's ALREADY LEARNED THE HOLDING OUT THE CAMERA TO SNAP A PIC OF YOURSELF TRICK

            When Logan and I hike alone, I always have to choose hikes where I am fairly certain I could carry him for the entire distance. This two-miler is a good fit for hiking with kiddos. Afoot and Afield in San Diego lists two options for hiking in this park: the hike up the hill, or the hike by the river. Our friendly hiking author, Jerry Schad, promised a boulder cave atop the Stelzer Ridge Trail, so Logan and I chose that one.

            Like Kwaay Paay, this trail offered substantial amounts of mud to play in. In the areas where water trickled off the hillside and onto the wide, well maintained trail, caterpillars were scurrying in the mud, seeking a quick drink. These guys were the speediest caterpillars I have ever encountered and they fascinated Logan. We moved his peanut butter sandwich into the same bag as mine, poked a small hole in the Ziploc bag that had previously housed his sandwich, and collected far too many of the fuzzy black bugs. Finding and catching our new pets and supplying them with food, as well as opening the bag and asking them “are you okkkkaaayyy in there” occupied both of us as we meandered up the hill.

            Again, like Kwaay Paay, there was a point where the trail that had previously been easy completely changed. We turned a corner, and found a sign warning us about a steep slope. Man, that sign WAS NOT lying. The decomposed granite was slick and Logan lost his footing multiple times. The grade was too steep and loose to safely carry him up, and he was really proud of himself for almost reaching the top “all on his own,” so we slipped our way up the hill, holding hands, with him occasionally dangling in the air, hanging from my hand.  Every ten feet or so, he took a seat, checked on his caterpillars, added a new stick or leaf to their food trough, and sang the pirate song.

 DOESN'T THAT FACE MAKE YOU WANT TO EXPLORE THIS CAVE?

            At the top of this slope, you can turn right to find the boulder cave, or head left to reach the summit. As the summit was only a few feet higher than our current point and the boulder cave was an enticing picnic location, we headed right. The trail to the boulders is very narrow and slightly unnerving with a kiddo in tow. Thankfully, it was a short time on the narrow trail and we were quickly hopping down into the “cave.” This tiny boulder cave isn’t grand by any standards, but it makes this short walk rewarding for little people. Logan took out his camera and snapped a couple dozen photos, and then insisted I try to squeeze through a tiny hole to see if there was any pirate treasure deeper in the cave. I tried, was rewarded with a bang to my knee, and turned back to find Logan serenading his caterpillars. “Yo ho yo ho a caterpillar’s life for you. You eat and drink and poop in the mud. Yo ho yo ho a caterpillar’s life for you.”

            After enjoying our gourmet peanut butter sandwiches and baby carrots, exploring the tiny cave, and picking our way back across the narrow path, Logan and I were ready to slide back down that slope. His shoes, however, were not. The velcro decided it couldn’t take another refrain of the pirate caterpillar song, and jumped ship. With one broken shoe, Logan became captain of my shoulders for the walk back down the hill.

            Now, if only I could find size nine shoes to replace his broken ones….. Poor kid is stuck in size ten shoes because the four stores I checked were all out of size nines. In every style. Explain that!

Snowboarding-Mt. Baldy

           

           The first step in crossing “land a jump on a snowboard” off the B.L.L. was to bring our new gear (purchased dirt cheap at the Sport Chalet Labor Day Sale) to the mountain and try it out. Well, actually, the first step was to buy shady, but also dirt cheap, lift tickets off of craigslist. The next step was to haul the gear and shady lift tickets up to Mt. Baldy and pretend like we belonged there, shady lift tickets and all.

            We were a little concerned about going to Mt. Baldy because several reviews insisted that the resort was not for beginners, and we are definitely beginners. That wasn’t our experience at all. It was beautiful, clean, and fun, if a little bare bones. The lifts are definitely outdated, but they didn’t bother me. For the most part, everyone was friendly, even the guy who ran me over with his skis. Overall, I think I preferred Mt. Baldy to Mountain High.  At least I didn’t try to ride the lift back down the mountain this year. If for no other reason, Mt. Baldy wins in a comparison for me based on the lift exits alone.

THE AMAZING VIEW FROM THE TOP OF LIFT ONE

The long and the short of it, from my perspective:

Part way down the first run I was already exhausted and had pulled that muscle that runs from your ankle up the back of your calf on each side! FYI, Scott assures me that this muscle is actually called the “heel to calf muscle” in scientifically minded circles… a quick Google search was unable to back that assertion up. [EDIT: The husband finally admitted to being full of  you know what after initial posting] In any case, between my bindings, boots, and board, something wasn’t fitting or working right.

Jen’s board, on the other hand, is awesome. I know this because she was kind enough to switch boards with me so we could determine that the issue was, indeed, my gear, and not my ability.

Matt lost the toe strap on one of his bindings-bummer! But-no injuries to speak of, and I’m pretty sure that is a big improvement on his experiences last year. To be honest, I rarely see Matt on the mountain, except in a blur as he passes me several times during the day. I’m guessing that means he is progressing well though and I didn’t hear any major complaints about the gear.

Katie-frankly, I’m not sure how her day was. The girl didn’t complain, or gloat, so it could have gone either way. I don’t think she was a fan of the lifts though.

The Outlook:

         So, magic eight ball, will we be able to land a jump by the end of the year? Outlook is good. Jen wants me to state that she is “amazing at snowboarding…the best you have EVER seen including Shaun White.” I’ll take a slightly more conservative approach, and just say that we both made it down slightly more advanced runs than we were trying last year, without falling, and we can now stop when we need to. If Scott could land a jump last year after one lesson, I’m pretty sure that we can manage a tame one by the end of this season. 

I’ll leave you with a question to ponder. Is hitting a REALLY icy patch, spinning in uncontrollable 360’s until you hit a pinecone, and then somersaulting backwards down the mountain BADASS or simply BAD? My neck says bad… part of me hopes it was badass. 

Calcite Mine and Slot Canyon

Getting There:

            Jen and I sort of planned a route in advance, to avoid getting lost. Unfortunately, that planning did not stop Scott from shouting about buying me a GPS every couple of minutes as Jen uneasily guessed at directions from the pages torn out of our Mom’s Thomas Brothers’.  In the end, we took the 8 out to the 79, drove through Cuyamaca, hit up the 2 to connect us to the 22, and DID find our desired location without getting lost.

             Along the way, our poor dog, Kali, got carsick. If you know us, you know that Kali has learned to open the back door so it should not be a big shocker to learn that earlier in the day, she managed to slam her own paw in the car door. Ok, not really, but someone would have you believe it was her own fault, so the poor thing was stuck in the back of the Jeep, on winding roads, with an injured paw. The circumstances culminated in dog vomit on Scott’s backpack-oops! Who put that back there with the dog?- and a quick stop to clean up in Julian.  As we wound our way down Banner Grade, Jen offered to sympathetically vomit when we discovered that Kali had again been sick. Thankfully, Kali declined the offer, and we continued on our way.

            Big kudos to Jerry Schad for telling us that there is a parking lot for our planned hike at mile-marker 38 on S-22. We definitely would have missed it if we were not looking for that mile-marker. However, Mr. Schad, I feel as if your editors dropped the ball on this hike. To begin with, I would have loved to know what side of the road we were going to find this mystery parking lot on. The other big editorial oversight….well, I’ll get to that one later, because it resulted in DRAMA!

The Hike:

            After driving two and a half hours-oh yeah, you read that right, we crammed two adults, Scott, a toddler, and a dog into the Jeep for a nearly three hour drive and all survived the experience- we were happy to stretch our legs. Kali was so relieved I thought she might rear up on her hind legs and dance… or, perhaps, simply learn how to hug us? Thankfully, she didn’t try to kiss us with her vomit-mouth. Why is dog vomit frothy? Anyone out there able to solve that mystery for me?

            The hike begins by dropping down from the view-point pullout onto a well-worn Jeep road on the desert floor. Logan ran down the hill, holding his aunt’s hand, and likely singing in joy. Kali was still a little unsteady, but her limp, from the aforementioned self-inflicted wound, was finally gone. The first part of the hike rises and falls on the old Jeep road. The total elevation gain and loss from the hike is 800 feet, so it is a paltry climb, half that of Cowles Mountain; that didn’t stop Scott from asking, “does this hill ever end?” Within the first half mile, we were hearing a refrain of “how much longer,” from our slowest hiker… and I’m definitely not referring to the toddler.

            The ultimate destination of this hike is the Calcite Mining area. During World War II, the mine supplied optical grade calcite for gun and bomb sights. There is a display at the trailhead that supplies some information about the mine, and I regurgitated that information to my hiking partners as we walked. Apparently, they had been more interested in the amazing view from the trailhead, as opposed to systematically memorizing the text on the display. To each their own. 

            As Logan’s interest flagged, I enticed him to keep walking with a promise of treasure at the end. Logan quickly translated “treasure” to “gold” and asked if he could steal the gold from the “minders” at the Calcite Mine. I tried, my very best, to explain that strip mining does not involve the cavernous mines that he saw in Oregon. That, my few readers, did not work out well. Even less effective was convincing him that there were no more “minders” here. Even my excuse that “minders” got to go home on weekends did not work. Every hiker who passed us became a “minder” intent on finding the “Calcite gold” before us.

            Hey sister, remember that hike where you filled Dad’s backpack with iron railroad spikes? Yeah, you know the one. Well, Logan filled his pockets, my pockets, and part of the dog-vomit backpack with “Calcite Gold” treasure. I couldn’t help but think of that railroad hike.

LOGAN SHOWING OFF HIS "CALCITE GOLD"

The Slot Canyon: Take One

            Afoot and Afield in San Diego recommends taking a little detour at around 1.5 miles. Here, you turn north, into a slot canyon. This is the canyon that defined this hike for me as a kid. Where my sister remembers the mining site and area around it, I remembered the curving walls and caved in boulders that are characteristic of this awesome example of a slot canyon. 

 JEN CARRYING THE VOMIT BACKPACK AND WEARING THE AWESOME SALMON SHIRT

THIS SHOULD DEF BE OUR CHRISTMAS CARD!

           Logan did not need any motivation to scurry along this path, poking his head into small outlets and climbing over minor impediments. Then, as he rushed around a corner, we heard “OH NO!” Those are never words you want to hear from the mouth of a three year old, but this time they were rather comical. 

When we caught up to our speed-hiking toddler, we discovered a minor boulder impediment. And by minor, I mean I nearly died climbing up it. Ok, to be fair, I’ve never been skilled at climbing, or, frankly, not falling. There are scars on my legs that tell stories of me falling down hillsides and impaling my shins on sticks, among other tales. Jen scurried up the boulder no problem. We handed Logan and Kali up, again, no problem. Then it was my turn. I started to climb, and Scott decided I needed a push. Well, he pushed me the wrong way, and I barely clung to the boulder, coughing, sputtering, and kicking my cold into high gear. End result: one near-death experience and Logan’s newfound habit of hunching over the ground and mimicking mommy whenever he needs to cough.

            The path up the slot canyon ends in a couple of stacked boulders that blocked our way out. Supposedly, skilled climbers can find their way out through this canyon. We, obviously, are not skilled climbers and turned around to hike back out. Kali was proving to be a great hiking dog so we let go of her leash. This was the best plan ever, because Logan chased that dog for the rest of the hike. At one point, afraid she would trip over a bed of rocks, Logan shouted “Kali, watch were you’re goin…..” THUNK! Yeah, he face-planted as he warned Kali to watch were she was going.

            Notably, Scott spent a long time in the slot canyon wondering aloud about where all of the calcite was, if this chasm was, indeed, a calcite mine. You know, he has lived in San Diego for a long time now, and has been a part of my family for almost as long, and sometimes I forget that he doesn’t know San Diego. This was, really, his first trip to Anza Borrego, unless we count that time that he walked 50 feet and threw up, so yeah, lets call it his first time in Anza Borrego. He believed me when I ran out of ways to explain strip mining and let Logan believe that the slot canyon was THE mine. It took a few comments like “Chris, I’m not seeing much calcite here” for me to realize that I’d hoodwinked not only the toddler, but also the husband. Now that I’ve embarrassed my husband, let me embarrass myself!

“From Wiener, to Bigger Wiener, to Complete Wiener, to Little Winner”           

            My sister, in addition to providing the awesome pictures for this entry, also provided that sub-title for this section. She inspired this section by continually calling me a wiener as I tried, and failed, to gather the courage to jump off a rock. There is generally a point in the climbing gym that Jen is yelling at me that I am only four feet off the ground and I need to stop being a “wiener” and just climb. This time, she was telling me to stop being a “wiener” and just “JUMP gosh darn it!” 

SCOTT IS ABOUT TO MOON US, I THINK...

In retrospect, this rock may have been the same one that inspired my near-death experience on the way up. As the pictures show… it isn’t even close to being terrifying, but it certainly reduced me to “wiener” status. I tried, and tried, and tried to jump down. Each time, I managed to wedge myself between the rock and the wall and push myself back up instead of dropping the few feet. 

PUSHING MYSELF BACK UP

When, eventually, I jumped simply because I could not take the chorus of “wiener” emanating not only from my sister, and husband, but also the toddler, and the dog (who can now not only slam her own paw in the car door, but also speak in German/English apparently), I discovered that this was no victory, that rock is in fact, barely off the ground! It was a true FML moment.

CONQUERING THE ROCK!

Back to the Main Hike

            The last half-mile up to the mining site is not noteworthy. To the northeast of the mine itself, is an awesome, pockmarked rock. Locomotive Rock, as it is called, was a little steep for us to bring Logan up, and we were worried about the time. We chose to have a little picnic at the road end instead and let Logan fill some more pockets—you know, those back ones, that toddlers never see--with “calcite gold,” and then turned back.

DON'T YOU JUST LOVE HER "CREEPER" GLASSES!

The Slot Canyon: Take Two

Now we get to the beginning of the end, and the drama, and my issue with Jerry Schad’s editors. The book recommends turning south at the same spot where we had headed north before to explore the slot canyon. This brought us into another end of the same canyon. Supposedly, at the end of the canyon, there would be a place to turn right and reconnect with the old Jeep road. I have a hunch that there isn’t an actual trail to turn right on, but you are supposed to turn right anyways, and the guide left that detail out.

            In any case, we must have missed the right turn that the book mentions because then there was the part where we got lost in the desert, in the dark, with a tired toddler...

CHECK OUT LOGAN'S TRIUMPHANT FIST PUMP!

A Revision and a Reward...

The Revision... 

There is NO WAY I can hike my way through Afoot and Afield in San Diego before 2011 expires! This isn’t just my normal self-doubt speaking, it is impossible! The back cover kindly informed me that there are 220, yes, 220!!!, hikes in the book. Even hiking every day this summer, I couldn’t fit those all in with school, student-teaching, and Logan. So, the goal is revised. I plan on covering at least 80 of those hikes this year with a 30 month goal for the entire book. Some basic math:

220 hikes

30 months

Average of 7.33 hikes a month to stay on track.

I’d have to hike all weekend, every weekend to make that happen. However, that doesn’t account for breaks from school and holidays, so I feel pretty confident that I can complete this goal in 30 months. Now, lets all just cross our fingers and hope I am still living in San Diego for the next 30 months.

The Reward...

In my first post I posed the question of how to pay for everything on the Badass Lifestyle List. I’m working on better solutions to that, but for now, I give you…

Wait for it…..

It’s worth it……

B.A.L.L.S. (BadAss Lifestyle List Savings)

Yes, somewhere in me resides a fourteen year old boy….

Kwaay Paay Summit

VIEW OF WEST SIDE OF KWAAY PAAY PEAK

           Do you ever feel like shooting for the moon? Apparently I did when I set this entirely unrealistic goal for myself: hike my way through Jerry Schad’s Afoot and Afield in San Diego. This goal, of course, is in addition to the “Badass Lifestyle List.” Right. And, all of this in the year that I should be finishing my teaching credential program and looking for a job? Right.  Sure. Ok, enough self-doubt, on to the rationale and first hiking re-cap. I’ve often thought that it would be cool to hike my way through the veritable Bible of San Diego hiking, and in order to complete the El Cap portion of the Badass Lifestyle List (B.L.L.), I’m going to have to do A LOT of hiking anyways, so why not just finish off that other goal while I’m at it?

            So, I’ve officially added another goal to the list of things to accomplish in 2012. It is a good thing I really like to cross things off of lists. Eventually I’ll figure out how to put the goals in the sidebar so that I can cross them off on the blog, and not just mentally. I wouldn’t get nearly as much satisfaction out of this project if I didn’t get to actually cross each item off the list.

            With the list growing, it was definitely time to get started on crossing things off the list. Sunday was almost sunny, ok, it was cloudy and dismal, but occasionally the sun was coming out to play, and I figured that was as good as we would get in this unusually wet winter. Scott had a headache and I was charged with getting Logan out of the house for a couple of hours, the lists were pressing on my mind, and it was almost sunny: it was time to hike!

            We had to start close (it was already one) and we had to start short (how far can I actually carry Logan if he doesn’t like hiking?). Mission Trails was the obvious choice to take care of the close requirement, and the shortest hike I found at Mission Trails was Kwaay Paay Summit. Upon arriving at Mission Trails, I immediately messed up the short part by choosing the WRONG trail head for Kwaay Paay. It did, actually, bring us up the summit, but added about half a mile on to the total length of the hike. We started in the Bushy Trail parking lot, and the book suggested starting right inside the gate to the road between Mission Damn and the Visitor’s Center. After the rains we’ve been having, it shouldn’t be surprising that the trail was muddy, but somehow it took me off guard when Logan decided to roll, yes, roll in the first large mud puddle.

            Hiking with a three-year old is an exercise in bribery perfection. “Can you make it to that rock? I bet we will find something really cool there!” “Oh, there was nothing cool at the rock? Maybe the next tree will have a spider on it!” “No spider? Ok, fine, cookies if we walk for 100 steps!” Eventually, Logan found his own motivation. He just wanted to find “cool” things to take pictures of with his new camera. In Logan’s world, “cool” things are apparently… his shoes, dirt, fence posts, the sky, my arm, my nose, my fingernails, his fingernails… you get the idea.

            250 pictures later, we turned a corner and KABLAM… “We have to climb that? Carry ME!” And that was just my reaction! About three-quarters of the way through this 1.5 (or 1.75 if you can’t read a map, like me) mile trail, we stumbled right into a steep, slick grade. Logan quickly learned the word steep, and told me that steep must mean “scary” and that he had no intention of climbing up that hill. We took breaks every 20 or so step (have you ever measured the length of a three year old’s step? It can’t be more than six inches!) but eventually we made it to the top. Once there, we were rewarded with views of Santee, La Mesa, Tierrasanta, the Mission Trails Visitor Center, and Fortuna Peak. The views were pretty cool to me, but Logan liked the playground of conveniently placed rocks. We took more pictures at the top, watched a few rock climbers struggling on the western face of the summit, and decided it was time to start back down the trail.

            Logan, however, was done with the hike shortly after beginning the descent. He slipped on the loose granite on the steepest part of the hike, survived a brutal face plant only by dangling in the air by the arm that was firmly attached to my hand, and sat for a good cry.

He got to ride the rest of the way down on my shoulders. Once we bypassed the steep section, sidestepped the flooded parts, and photographed a few caterpillars, it was definitely time for some music. Every once and a while, Logan and I will be doing something that shouldn’t seem noteworthy, but suddenly seems idyllic. This was totally one of those moments. Walking down a trail on a cool January day, surrounded by the sights that characterize my own childhood, Logan sat on my shoulders sharing my ear buds, and we rocked out to A Rocket to the Moon. Yeah, there was singing, there was shoulder dancing, and, there were other hikers looking at us like we were crazy. If only those people could hear me when I am running down the Fortuna trails at breakneck speed (if you are a snail!). I wonder what kind of looks they would give me then.

            In the end, this hike is definitely do-able with a toddler. And, well worth doing. If only for the fact that my sleep-resistant little boy fell asleep before I actually turned the car on. Yep, in the one minute it took me between getting him in his car seat and getting myself settled in the front of the car, he was passed out. 

The beginning...

I didn't have any really great resolutions for this year, aside from not eating brownies for breakfast anymore, and I was wondering what my goal for the year would be. Then, my sister told me her resolution: "to be badass!" I immediately informed her I would be copying her stellar resolution, only to find out that the Matt was actually the originator of this gem.  Even though my main goal was to avoid those brownies (and cheesecakes, cookies, scones, cupcakes, etc.), I had a small list of things I wanted to accomplish during 2011. They are pretty discrete events though and didn't seem to constitute a "resolution" that would last an entire year. Last year, Jen and I intended on creating a 2010 bucket list but forgot about it part way through the year; this year we were going to succeed at that goal. So, combining the resolution to "be badass," my discrete goals, Jen's goals, and our 2011 bucket list, Jen and I sat in Panera, shivering every time the door opened thanks to my poor choice of seats, and brainstormed our "2011 Badass Lifestyle List." 

The 2011 Badass Lifestyle List

Go white water rafting
Go zip-lining
Hike El Cap with Matt and Scott
Yosemite
Learn to do jumps on a snowboard
Finish the Panera run without stopping
run a half marathon in under three hours
Go atv'ing
Snorkeling "somewhere pretty" and La Jolla does not count
Go horseback riding
Try a new food a month
Volunteer 24 hours

With the goals set, the only question remaining is how will we pay for it?