Jun 24, 2002

An exceeding high mountain
The view from the top of Mt. Whitney
Two weeks ago, a group of Waterloo grads made it to Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states. That's actually a bit of hyperbole, since it only ranks 28 in the list of tallest mountains in North America.
We started on a Friday evening, with two minivans driving seven hours to Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. After camping out for a few hours in tents and the vans, most of us were up by 4am. By 5am we were on our way to the Whitney Portal Trailhead. While we started out as a group, we had pretty much split up into a number of smaller groups after the first 4 miles.
A 15 hour hike generally gives you plenty of time to think. When you're not thinking 'how much further to the peak?', you may ponder some of life's more interesting questions. Like 'why the !@#$ am I doing this?'. I don't know what the driving force is for climbing up a mountain. In essence we hiked 22 miles that day, and ended up at the same campsite we started at. By 3pm, we made it to the summit, which at 14,493 feet, is about half the height of Everest. It's not like you're actually reaching an especially high altitude - anyone who's been on a 747 has probably been three times as high.
Halfway to the peak, you're already thinking about going to sleep by the side of the trail. The air is thin enough to give you vertigo after hiking a hundred feet, and it was cool enough for snow and ice to wander across the trail in patches. Climbing up the switchbacks become a matter of just putting one foot ahead of another until you reach the summit. By the time you reach 4,000 ft., the air is thin enough to make your head hurt. Winds are howling around you, and the trail gets rough. You have to pull out the fleece and the winter gloves. You look up to the summit, your head pounding and feet aching, the final two miles seem to stretch incredibly further than the first nine.
Somewhere along the way you realize just how rugged nature is - piles of rocks that have been around for hundreds of thousands of years. Snow that never melts. Trees and shrubs and even grass have stopped growing a few thousand feet below you. The glare of the high altitude sun blazes around you throught the cloudless sky, burning as it ripples off the icy surfaces of the lakes pooled below you.
When you look down from the summit, you realize the incredible beauty behind the piles of bleak rock, veins of ice crawling down the mountains, and half-frozen aqua lakes whose surfaces are in wrinkled with floating ice. In every direction around you, the Sierra Nevadas break the horizon while the wind bites into your skin. "What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun?" What is changed by climbing up a mountain? Compared to the age of rocks and ice, what lasting value do any of man's accomplishments have?
"Be happy, young man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart, and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgement." Forget the pain, hunger, and cold on the way up, it all disappeared with the thrill of being at the top.

Jun 13, 2002

Days gone by
There are times when life simply flies by in a blur, like the cornstalks whizzing past as you hurtle down the pavement cutting through the midst of them. Maybe you're preoccupied with the traffic, maybe you're driving too fast, or maybe you've just been mesmerized by the little yellow lines flipping by regularly one after another, like days in a neverending calendar.

It was the Memorial Day long weekend May 24-27. Since Lancer and Corgan went down to E3 the week before, the rest of us up in the Bay packed ourselves up and prepared ourselves for the grueling long weekend traffic down to L.A., our rental Windstar merely an ant in the trail of crawling metal stretching 300 miles down to LA. We left San Jose, Friday night at 5pm, which was probably about the worst time we could have left. We arrived at the L.A. Westin Airport hotel seven hours later. Our two Priceline rooms, at $70 each a night, had plush pillows, clean comforters, and fancy double-headed showers. The hotel also happened to be hosting a Gaming Conference, with all the included characters.
Where are those guys?
The Getty Museum
Our first destination on Saturday was the Getty Museum. We met up with the Ottawa crew by the tram from the parking to the museum, about an hour after they were supposed to arrive. We spent the first half of the day wandering the galleries in the off white pavilions, wandering through the manicured gardens and topiary. After a lunch of grilled chicken and fig sandwiches and mozzarella, tomato and basil calabrese at the Garden Terrace cafe, we finished up at the museum and drove along Mulholland Drive, through the Beverly Hills, and up to the Hollywood sign. The sign itself is supposed to be off limits, although there's a relatively rough off-road trail that makes it accessible to those willing to make the hike. When you get to the 45 foot tall steel letters, you realize there really isn't much there, just a bit of garbage here and there, evidence of people having had their fun.
Browsing the galleries.
White
After getting up to the lonely landmark of the oppulent and taking a few photos - trophies of our conquest - we hiked back to the cars where some of the less adventurous were napping. We drove back down to Rodeo Drive; it was almost 6pm and the designer boutiques were closing up. After swinging past the far-too-expensive storefronts, browsing through the assortment of fancy automobiles parked on the street, and stopping for a few photos, we took a walk to the Ottawa guys' hotel, allegedly three blocks away. Make that extremely large values of three. Arislan eventually swung around to pick us up (since those guys were too lazy to walk and had fittingly decided to drive).
Doesn't look so big from here?
Where's Waldo? ...er DX?
We had an evening snack at Factor's Famous Deli. It was 8pm, but it was ang evening snack regardless, since our actual dinner reservation wasn't until 10pm. Factor's served the typical deli fare; a few people had sandwiches or salads, the rest of us sat around and munched on the assortment of complimentary pickles. The sandwiches were mouthwatering, but the muffins they served were probably bought elsewhere.

It was just one of those days where you seemed to be constantly eating. Sticking food in your mouth and chewing and swallowing all so you can just do it again. The real dinner came later at Lucques on Melrose Ave for Asmodean's birthday. Reservations were made a day in advance, and that got our group of 12 a 10pm seating, which required a $20/person deposit. The decor was a subdued hip - white linens and modern furniture surrounding an exposed brick fireplace and chimney. At 10pm, the restaurant was in full swing, the tables were packed and we had to edge between seated diners to get to our table. The menu was simple, appetizers, entrees and a selection of sides. None of the mad five course menus you find at other posh places. A few people ordered appetizers but most of us just went for an entree.

The spring lamb itself was done well, it was cooked to medium for a tender yet still bouncy consistency. The peas and fava beans that garnished it seemed out of place, not adding much in flavour nor presentation. The soft-shell crab was deep fried, very similar to Japanese restaurants, with little to distinguish it. The crab's always good, but it would have been better served had it been drained - they're fatty enough on their own. Service however, was subpar in a few respects.

We returned to the Ottawa crew's hotel room to serve up the gag cake imported from San Francisco. The cake didn't quite make the trip intact. I thought it was from my poor driving in the long weekend traffic. In reality, when the trunk of the minivan was opened on our arrival to L.A., the cake had made a somersault from the top of the pile of luggage, off the rear bumper and onto the floor. It was in surprisingly good condition after the exercise.
Come Here, Grandpa
The orignal plan for Sunday was to visit San Diego (maybe to visit the Zoo or the beach or Legoland. The weather report was rather cool for the beach, and neither of the other attractions seemed to make the 3hr drive worthwhile. It occured to me that we could go to Evergreen Baptist Church in the morning, but we were unprepared and didn't have directions. We ended up looking in the yellow pages, and ended up at Our Saviour Lutheran Church in Westchester, being the first place I could find the directions to. Three of us made our way to the ordinary little community church. Five minutes before the service, we got into the church despite the fact that it was almost empty. No celebrity pastors here, but it was certainly wasn't the usual. The congregation had about 20 very friendly seniors, the service was very orthodox, and on that particular Sunday, included a recitation of the Athanasian Creed. We stayed for donuts and recommendations to visit the Hollywood bowl before we left.
Ain't this the life, boys?
We joined the rest of the crew for a relaxed Sunday brunch basking on the patio of the Rose Cafe in Santa Monica, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing volleyball on Venice beach. A friend of my Dad's took me out for dinner in the Chinese neighborhood, Monterey Park, later that evening. First time I've had anything remotely Shanghainese since coming down to California. Dinner was followed with taro ice and red bean ice. We met up with the other guys again after dinner, and drove down Sunset Blvd. in search of nightlife. After passing by a couple of hiphop clubs with lines extending for hours and exorbitant covers. Somehow we ended up at some club near Sunset and Cahuenga (no one seems to have caught the name before entering), best described as goth, retro and new wave. Both the costumes and characters were colourful, to say the least.
Santa Monica Beach
Since we didn't have anything planned for Monday (other than the drive home), we lazed the morning away in Santa Monica, where buskers entertained in the avenue full of shops and restaurants, people crowded the midway on the pier, and the beach stretched forever in both directions. We had Thai for lunch, and simply strolled through Santa Monica taking in the sights and sounds of the beachfront. It was our last stop in L.A. as we picked up our cars from the parking complex and headed back onto the 405 to make our way home.

A week later I was skipping out on work early on Friday yet again. Instead of heading to the city, I was headed out to Yosemite National Park. After years of National Geographic articles and photos, I was finally going to see the park for myself. Somehow, that magazine made every locale exotic, whether it was a rainforest, a bustling city, or a farm in the Midwest. Road trips in California tend to be scenic, passing the sea, or rolling hills, mountains, desert, or even fields packed with cows.

This trip only had the four of us, so I drove my own car. The traffic was relatively light for a friday evening, probably because it was a long weekend just before. After stopping at In-n-Out for dinner in Merced, the sky was getting dark. The passengers busted out the notebook and popped in Ocean's 11. While they watched the flickering screen, I watched the flickering mountain top ahead of me, as blades of lightning lit up the night sky around the silhouette of the Sierra Nevada range.

It was 23:00 by the time we arrived at Curry Village in Yosemite. The tent cabins we reserved were made of heavy canvas draped around a wood frame. Although pretty secure against the elements, the tarp didn't do much to block out external noise. It's like sleeping with a hundred unseen campers. A cough here, a sneeze there, a creak of the bed. The dirt path crunches softly as someone walks past. Sounds of people getting up and about starting ringing through the camp by 5am.
Goodnight...
By 9am everyone's ready to go. The sky was cloudy and the wind was cool. We head to the trailhead on our way up to Half Dome. The hike is 16.4 miles (roundtrip), ascending 4,796 vertical feet. We're already an hour behind our intended start time as we make a breakfast of Doritos, Nutri-grain bars and Gatorade. We started the trail, guessing at which peak the trail lead to. In late May, the rivers running through Yosemite are mostly in full swing, carrying down the winter melt. We passed Vernal Falls, and the higher up Nevada Falls, both roaring with icy white water.
Nevada Falls
Eventually the rocky trail smoothed out into a softer forest trail, and we covered most of the distance shaded by trees. We spotted a wolf, a deer, and numerous rodents and birds. Dark blue Steller's jays would occasionally appear and fly ahead of us. Toward the top, the trees thinned out as we approached the bald rock that was the summit. Two heavy cables were strung to assist hikers up the 45° incline up the final few hundred feet to the top.
Our spirit guide
By 16:00 we had all made it to the top, although it seemed as if everyone else had already left. The sun was peeking through some of the clouds as we spent a few minutes savouring the victory and the view at the total elevation of 8,836 ft. When we started heading down, it was clear the steep steps up to the summit had taken their toll. Our pace was slow despite the downward incline. Two of us had gone somewhat faster, and we stopped by Nevada falls and rested, watching the sun drift slowly towards the mountains, casting the rocks rising above the valley in an orange glow.
The view from the top
Sunset on Nevada Falls
We hurried along after that, since no one had expected the hike to take so long - none of us carried a flashlight and the light was dimming fast. By 21:00 we were mostly traveling by the starlight that trickled in through the trees, and had split up into two pairs since we were going down at different paces. Behind us came a few lights swinging through the darkness, we waited as a large group of Hispanic hikers met up with us. They had spotted two people headed down the stock trail (as in, a trail for horses). I had hoped it wasn't the other two members of our group - they must have been further behind since the flashlights were actually pretty close behind us. We took a shot down the horse trail for a few minutes, but didn't find anyone. If anyone had actually headed down there they were going at a fast pace in the dark.
Horses on the trail in the morning
We returned to the fork, where two guys from the other hiking group volunteered to search the stock trail while the rest of us headed on to the bridge at Vernal falls. We waited in the dark, staring up into a deep blue sky specked with stars. Someone in the other group said a prayer in Spanish for our missing friends. The two guys returned in half an hour, they hadn't seen anyone on the trail. We continued slowly down the trail. By the time we got to the bottom and got a ride back to Curry Village, it was already 22:30.

If the lesson learned wasn't 'don't overestimate your group's pace', then it's 'park rangers will not come help you'. Throughout the evening I called the park ranger dispatch a number of times. It seemed her job was to pacify callers. We spent the next few hours trying to hike up the trails with a dying flashlight in hopes of finding them. We tried calling out, but any voices were simply drowned out by the river. Finally, the dispatch agreed to lend me a few fully charged flashlight, but the park rangers didn't come to deliver them till 01:30, by which time I was already exhausted. After assurances that they wouldn't suffer hypothermia in the wind, we resigned to parking by the trailhead and sleeping until morning broke.

We went back to Curry Village to call the park ranger at 5am before heading back up the trails. After searching the two mile loop from the trailhead to the end of the stock trail, we managed to find the two of them sitting satisfied in the Food Pavilion, after having survived the night in the wilderness, making it down sometime during the morning, and polishing off a buffet breakfast. After grabbing a Red Bull for the road, we made our way home.

The weekend after that I hiked Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 states and Hawaii, but I'll leave that story for another day.