Tag Archives: Travel

Beyond the Northland

It Wasn’t Meant To Be

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We look forward to our stint as keepers at Crisp Point Lighthouse every year. It’s a very special place on its remote beach at the far eastern end of Lake Superior, where we camp at the base of the tower for up to five days and work in the Visitor Center. The best part is having the grounds and the flashing light all to ourselves at night, and witnessing the dramatic sunrises and sunsets that paint the sky behind the tower.

This year, with my cancer treatments, we had to cancel our winter travel plans to Florida and Costa Rica. Rich’s surgery and its aftermath further grounded us this summer. So it was with great anticipation that in late September we set out for Crisp Point. But we never got there. Mid-way through driving across the Upper Peninsula, Rich suffered a TIA, or mini-stroke, that exhibited itself with slurred speech, a weak left arm and impaired vision. Talk about scary! Fortunately, we had just switched drivers, so I was at the wheel. We turned around and sped back to the nearest Emergency Room in Ironwood, and then on to Essentia in Duluth where they admitted him to the hospital. We were very grateful to be back in the hands of his own medical team.

Fortunately, Rich’s incident was a transient occurrence – in fact lasting no more than 40 minutes – and left no damage. But the window for getting to the lighthouse had closed. To say we were disappointed is an understatement. It had been a goal all year long. Throughout each health challenge we strove to recover with Crisp Point as our payoff.

Enter the cabin. Back home again, I suggested we go to the cabin for a few days. Our calendar was empty due to the planned lighthouse gig, and on successive days we miraculously had no medical appointments. Rich felt hesitant, having just gotten out of the hospital, but agreed. Packing was easy. I reloaded our lighthouse food back into the cooler, slimmed down the clothes I had packed before, and collected a few items needed at the cabin. Off we went.

It was a beautiful sunny day, with nascent fall colors lining the road and deep blue water in the lakes we passed. As soon as we arrived, I hauled a lawn chair over to a sunny spot and opened a new book – a real book this time, not my Kindle. I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading, and continued all evening. I can’t remember the last time I relaxed like that! Rich was similarly occupied, stretched out in the cabin.

Throughout the next two days, we indulged our interests. Rich went out birding early one morning and hiked in Suomi Hills. I got in two bike rides and a long walk. We slept well in the deep silence of the woods, and enjoyed dinners overlooking the lake. When the wind finally calmed down at noon on our last day, I launched the kayak and savored the peace and silence as my paddles sliced through the water.

We both relished the warmth provided by a new mini-split we had installed in the cabin this spring. It seemed too modern for our modest 3-season cabin that we have heated with a wood stove for 34 years. But we decided that a few modern conveniences would make it easier to use the cabin as we age (as hard as that is to admit!). What a treat it was to have easy heat, and Rich especially appreciated not having to add logs to the fire in the middle of the night!

Despite the heat, I craved a fire in the fireplace. Rich was less enthused, so I decided it was time to develop my own fire-building skills. The first couple of tries it was a bit of a struggle to get the flames to catch, but by the third time I had a system down pat. I enjoyed my breakfast in front of a roaring fire each morning, and read by the crackling flames each evening. We were both happy!

It wasn’t the Crisp Point Lighthouse experience we craved, but it was a good get-away. We left doctors and hospitals behind, broke out of our normal routines, spent more time together, and just let life flow. That’s the beauty of owning a cabin. We can go whenever we please, at the drop of a hat, no matter the season. It’s our own little slice of heaven.

Crisp Point wasn’t meant to be for us this year. But you can be sure I’ll be poised to send in our request at the stroke of midnight when sign-up begins for next year. 

Tackling Lopez Island

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It’s finally time to break the silence. I’m sad to say this poor blog has been neglected while I took a time-out to focus my writing on CaringBridge to chronicle my cancer journey. It filled a need, to be able to focus on coming to grips with cancer, healing from surgery, and working my way through chemotherapy. But even more so to process my feelings, share my experiences, and connect with a caring community that supported me all along the way. I invite any of you to read my story and posts here.

Throughout this time I’ve continued to be as active as possible, first doing a lot of walking then adding cycling, gradually working back up to regular 25-mile rides up the shore. So when I was planning my trip out to Seattle to visit my son Erik and his wife Katie, I couldn’t help but think about last year when Erik and I cycled all of Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands. At the time, we pondered riding on Lopez Island next time, a prospect that loomed large as I packed. Could I manage it now? It had the advantage of being smaller and less hilly than Orcas, and I craved the opportunity to return to some adventure in my life.

Not only was Erik game, but he proposed an add-on. “Why don’t we go over the day before and camp overnight?” We arrived on the ferry in the late afternoon and made our way to Spencer Spit State Park. We had reserved a walk-in site on the beach, and oh what a gem! The local currents had created a sandy triangular spit of land that stretched across the gap almost to Frost Island. There was a log structure out near the end, and a pool of water in the interior. We quickly dropped our gear and set out to explore. We learned that the shape of the spit changes with the currents, but will never reach the far island due to the strong current in the channel.

We admired the sun setting over the trees behind us, then returned to our campsite to set up and make dinner before it got dark. The meal was extra tasty, as it always is in the simplicity off the outdoors with a tent. We bedded down with the lights of yachts bobbing on buoys just beyond our shore and the sound of waves lightly lapping.

Morning brought fog. After a hot breakfast and camp coffee, we packed up and stashed our gear in the car. As last year, our goal was to cover as much of the island as possible, and reach the shore on every side. We had found good cycling maps online that showed us the amount of traffic on each road and whether it had shoulders or not. We aimed to ride the quieter roads, that reached the extremities of the island.

Setting out, the fog was so dense that it obliterated all scenery. Looking out at the water was like seeing a white wall! From the park we crossed over to the east side of the island then headed south through Lopez Village and into more rural landscape. There were numerous farms (surprising to us – who farms on an island?), unique house architectures, and a flavor of laid back island life. Just 7 miles along, my back tire went flat. Erik changed the tube like a pro, and we were on our way again in short order.

We made our way to the southern peninsula of the island, out to Agate Beach where we reached the end of the road for the first time. We’d hoped to get out to Iceberg Point, but it was off limits to bicycles, so we made do with a picnic lunch overlooking Mackaye Harbor. Close up we could see boats anchored, but the fog obscured what we soon learned was a huge rocky outcropping beyond. Fortunately, starting then, the fog began to lift. We could still see it lurking in low-lying areas, but it soon became sunny and warm – a beautiful afternoon!

We tootled around that lower bulb of the island for much of the afternoon, exploring each small road until we could go no further. More than once we hit private land short of the shore. I hesitated at the top of a very steep hill, knowing that if I went down I’d have to come back up again. But the adventurers in us enticed us forward, only to find a dirt road not far beyond! We navigated that as well to reach a glass-walled modern mansion in the distance beyond the No Trespassing signs. And for the record, I did walk my bike back up that hill! It was well worth it though, for the quiet, woodsy small roads we traveled.

We had made plans to take the 4:15 ferry back that afternoon, and after checking the time we decided we needed to beat it back to the car. So we took the main road up the center of the island, which turned out to be fine despite its high traffic designation. We got back to the car with time to change out of our cycling clothes and mount the bikes on the car rack and head to the ferry. But we were mystified to find ourselves first in line for the ferry. It just didn’t feel right. Inquiring at the office, we learned that the 4:15 was strictly a walk-on ferry! Only then did it dawn on us that we’d picked that ferry in the early stages of planning when we didn’t expect to bring the car over. Oops!

We had plenty of time to kill before the 6:20 ferry, so we headed into Lopez Village where we loaded up on charcuterie items and headed out to Otis Perkins Day Park where we planted ourselves on a big log on the beach. There we were content to sit, soak up the sun, enjoy our little feast and take in the views of San Juan Island across the water – the very sights we’d missed in the morning fog.

We easily made the next ferry and enjoyed the setting sun as we motored back toward home. Feeling the sun’s still-warm rays, it was easy to bask in the warm glow of another successful island cycling trip. We covered 36 miles, hit all the coasts and saw the island in both fog and sunshine. What’s more, I did it – my body held up, I felt great pedaling through the miles, and relished the whole adventure. Leaving cancer behind. And the mother/son moments were priceless.

Of course, now we’ve set our sights on San Juan Island…

Troll Hunt

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What’s better than getting out in nature and enjoying the woods? Finding a giant troll nestled among the trees with his massive wooden hands wrapped around two thick trunks. Jakob Two Trees, in fact!

Jakob happens to reside in the heart of Issaquah, where our son Erik lives. We decided to make an afternoon activity out of finding Jakob and one more of the five trolls who are recent inhabitants of the Seattle area. He wasn’t hard to find. Following a wheelchair-friendly path into the woods near the community center, the string of curious walkers were a clue. Families meandered into the woods, children skipped, trees towered overhead and the city environs fell away. When a line backed up in front of us, we knew we were close. The beautiful fall weekend afternoon drew onlookers of all ages, and it was no hardship to wait and watch as we inched our way forward.

Like everyone else, we had to have our photo taken with our new friend Jakob.

Jakob and his buddies are the handiwork of Thomas Dambo, a Danish artist and storyteller.  Since creating his first troll for a Danish cultural festival in 2014, Dambo has received requests for troll installations all over the world, now numbering over 120. Those in Seattle and one in Portland were just completed in September, sponsored by Scan Design Foundation, which aims to promote Danish-American relations.

But why trolls? Dambo cares deeply about nature and uses his trolls to draw people into the woods. He hopes to spark their curiosity about the outdoors and think about protecting it. Trolls also provide the perfect vehicle for his love of whimsy and paying tribute to the troll folklore that was a significant part of his youth. To that end, he publishes a Troll Map that provides only a rough guide to the location of his trolls – preserving the fun of hunting them down in the woods.

Photo opp achieved, Erik, Rich and I wandered around Jakob to take in the detail of this massive troll. As I walked his eyes seemed to follow, peering at me from the side. We were impressed with his grasp of the trees, and the tangles of hair assembled into a giant ponytail hanging down his back. He sports a colorful collection of birdhouses for a necklace, and I wondered if any birds had taken up residence.

Danbo creates the faces in his studio in Copenhagen, and sometimes the more detailed pieces like hands and feet. The remainder of the 15-20 foot trolls are assembled on-site by his crew of 10 plus a slew of local volunteers. Everything is made from recycled materials, scrap lumber or locally available items from nature, such as driftwood, fir branches, moss and shells. We could certainly see that in Jakob’s hair.

Totally impressed with Jakob, we eagerly drove to West Seattle for our next troll sighting. We knew only that it was in Lincoln Park, and began to walk its many trails without any further guidance. Naturally drawn to the beach, we followed the long path that paralleled the water and before long spotted a crowd holding smartphones in the air. We had discovered Bruun Idun.

Standing with her back to the woods, she looks out over the Sound while playing her flute, an elaborate instrument with its origins in a piece of driftwood, shells and other ocean detritus. She plays a song to the orcas.

I was getting a sense for the unique nature of each troll, each with a different story behind it.

The trolls will stay in place for 3 years, possibly extended to 15 or beyond. The two we visited were merely weeks old, and I wondered how they might weather over the years. Apparently that is of little concern to Dambo. He knows they will not last forever. He’s more interested in the smiles they evoke in the meantime. But they won’t be left for nature to reclaim. It is up to each host site to determine when to dismantle their troll and recycle the materials.

With just that little taste, I’m eager to seek out the remaining three trolls in Seattle. I know I’ll be back to visit Erik and Katie, so it’s entirely possible I may get to see them. Back home in Duluth, the nearest trolls are in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the environs of Chicago. But rumor has it that Dambo is looking at Rhode Island and Minnesota for upcoming US trolls. I can just see one living just across the street in the Lester woods! My troll hunt continues.

Orcas Island by Bicycle

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“It’s not that hilly, Mom.” I should have known better. In all the years of bike touring I did with Rich, we learned to never trust a motorist to give us directions. “Just down the road” may be hours of cycling for us. They don’t feel a headwind, and hills just mean pressing the accelerator a bit harder.

Erik and I had both been to Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands before, but only by car. When I arrived in Seattle to visit him and Katie, he was keen for an adventure. “Let’s bike Orcas Island!” My memory included hills, but I willingly quashed the image.

That just left the weather. In typical Seattle fashion, there was plenty of rain in the forecast. Comparing different weather apps only proved it was a complete unknown, so we caved to our inner explorers and set our plan in motion. Rising at 4:30am to reach the ferry in time for a 7:30 crossing, we sped through the dark in eager anticipation. The sun was just clearing the trees as we boarded the ferry in Anacortes, which we took to be a good omen for the day ahead.

As if to reinforce my premonitions, the road rose steeply from the ferry landing. I had borrowed Katie’s bike, shoes, pedals and helmet for this outing. Normally not a big deal, but this was a road bike – drop handlebars and all, which I’d never ridden in my life. Struggling to clip into the unfamiliar pedals, find the gear shifters and figure out which was which, I floundered immediately and ground to a halt. Relieved that I didn’t fall, I walked the bike a short distance to the first flatish spot to begin again. I took off from there, and never looked back.

Our plan was to bike the island – all of it. We’d cover all the paved roads we could before the 5:15 return ferry. Our first priority was to bike out to the far end of the sound and down to the tip on the far side of the inverted U-shaped island. Full of ambition and energy we tackled the hilly terrain.

Away from town, the countryside was quiet and rural, varying from farms and pastureland to forested byways. Pausing briefly in Eastsound Village to take in the view, we pushed on to the opposite side, eager to get more miles under our belts.

At Obstruction Pass near the tip we took time to venture out the long pier, soaking up the calm surroundings and serene view. Little was stirring – some children in a kayak, a fisherman docking his boat. It felt far removed from the season of high tourism, reclaimed by the locals.

Retracing the road north, we ventured off to follow smaller roads to the east. With each turn we left behind more cars and population, eventually reaching a quiet harbor at Kangaroo Point. Breakfast was a distant memory so we dropped our bikes on the grass and perched on a huge tree stump to pull out our sandwiches. Time easily slipped away as we refueled and relished the sunshine and undisturbed view.

Determined to explore it all, on our way back to Eastsound we made a short detour to the top of the island to peer out toward the water on that side. Then a long-anticipated stop at Brown Bear Baking for lattes and a blueberry tart to energize us for our final leg.

With clouds gathering overhead, we forged on toward Deer Harbor on the west arm. Just as the raindrops began to fall, a large parking lot materialized and we quickly stopped to don our rain jackets. Undeterred, we pushed on, determined to complete our tour. The road followed the shoreline, both flattening out slightly and giving us wet views of West Sound and a marina populated with sailboats. When we reached the Deer Harbor Inn just short of town, we did a time check. “I’m not sure there’s a later ferry,” Erik admitted. Calling it good enough, we turned around and pushed our pedals back toward the ferry landing. Sailing down that final steep hill, we could see the ferry chugging up to the dock.

I can now say with confidence that Orcas Island is indeed VERY hilly. Each downhill came with the guarantee of an uphill to follow, and visa versa. But I wouldn’t have changed a thing. It was worth every ounce of effort to spend the day with Erik, to share the unrelenting ups and downs, to brave the not-so-bad rainfall, to sit side by side munching on sandwiches.

Now we’re eyeing the other islands…

Costa Rican Adventures

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“There’s just so much to see!” Jon had been researching for weeks, and compiled a bountiful list of hikes and options for day excursions during our stay in Costa Rica. Little did I know we had invited a tour guide as well as friends on our trip. I was only too happy to indulge his wanderlust and inability to sit still. Something about that resonated with me! While Rich indulged his birding options, Jon, Beth and I explored the countryside.

Jon had his heart set on visiting a chocolate farm, so we detoured en route to La Carolina Lodge to find the Tree Chocolate Tour. We were met by Axel and joined by one family for a very personalized tour of the farm. He introduced us to far more than the cacao trees, the grafting process and nature of hand harvesting required at just the right time. Axel cut up a ripe coconut for us so we could drink the milk and sample the fresh flesh inside. We tasted peppercorns right off the vine (hot!) and learned about the tropical plants throughout the grounds.

Down by the river we were dwarfed by trees hundreds of years old, their trunks the size of small cottages. Rain poured down on us and eventually penetrated the thick canopy, but we assured Axel we didn’t care. We were in the rainforest, after all. Getting wet when it’s 88-degrees and humid isn’t so bad.

Returning to the farm center, Axel’s enthusiasm and pride in the operation swelled as he led us through the steps to process the cacao into paste, powder and liquor, each piece of vintage machinery operated by hand. We left with ample purchases of hand-crafted dark chocolate and a greater appreciation for its origins.

Rio Celeste Waterfall was next on Jon’s itinerary. The touristy trailhead and rapidly filling parking lot at Tenorio Volcano National Park immediately alerted us to the popularity of this hike. It wasn’t going to be a secluded trek, but on the plus side the trail was easy to traverse and impossible to make a wrong turn. The density of the tropical trees and plants provided welcome shade and kept us constantly intrigued with the enormous leaves and colorful flowers.

Reaching the viewpoint for the falls requires a side-trail that zigzags down about 300 steps with a fake but sturdy Adirondack-style railing. We snaked our way down behind dozens of other sightseers, gradually drawing near the bottom platform where we too could take pictures with the tall stream plummeting into turquoise waters. The color was just as advertised, and the experience worth sharing with the masses of humanity.

Beyond the falls the trail involved more elevation and attention to rocks and roots underfoot, but it was well worth continuing on to see the burbling hot springs, blue lagoon, and the source of the river’s unique color. At the point where two rivers converge, the sources contribute just the right conditions for particles of a whitish mineral known as aluminosilicate in the water to be large enough to reflect the blue color in sunlight – an optical illusion, not a chemical one.

My Garmin recorded 4.2 miles for the round trip with 575 ft of elevation, which we drew out to a leisurely 3-hour hike.

At Heliconias Rainforest Lodge a 2-mile walk took us across three treetop suspension footbridges. Rich had preceded us there, in search of certain birds reported in the area, and he assured me the bridges would not challenge my queasiness with heights. He was right – the solid engineering behind them was apparent, and the high side rails with dense mesh fencing gave me plenty of confidence to cross with ease. My personal favorite was the bridge with a tree in the center.

We lingered to watch salamanders, a brilliant blue butterfly with a deceptive “eye” on the outside of its wing, and unusual flowers that trapped rainwater. We even looked for Rich’s elusive bird, without success.

For our finale, we hiked in search of yet another waterfall. This was in Rincón de la Vieja National Park, and was our most challenging venture. The round-trip hike to La Cangreja Waterfall registered about 7.5 miles with 1,300 ft in elevation. We started out under good shade, and were delighted to watch a group of energetic white-faced monkeys cavorting in the treetops above us. Well aware of our presence, they seemed to be performing for us – chasing one another, pushing trees to make them sway, even eating bananas directly overhead.

Super tall trees with viny roots and enormous root structures delighted us.

The closer we got to the waterfall, the more difficult the terrain. Looking for footholds among boulders as we progressed downhill was more challenging than clambering up them on ascents. The final rocky patch, however, delivered us to the pool at the foot of the waterfall – paydirt!

This one claimed to have aqua-blue water, but we glimpsed that only at the very foot of the falls. However, the bonus was having the site nearly to ourselves for a good period of time, and we were free to roam around the pool and sit on rocks to take in the scene.

When other hikers caught up to us, we decided it was time to move on. By then the sun had climbed high in the sky and the temperature soared. We had crossed open highlands on the way there, and on the return trip while traversing the shade-less dry land we baked in the relentless sunshine. Seeking out all shade-breaks to cool down and drink water, we made it back to the monkeys who restored our good spirits with their antics, in a nice shady spot.

We didn’t come close to exhausting Jon’s list, but relished the adventures we did have in Costa Rica. We will just have to go back for the rest of them.

A Sunny Retreat

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I have a habit of flying into snowstorms.  Three times in recent history my return trip from a winter excursion has been delayed a day or more due to blustery Minnesota weather.  I’ve become an expert at rebooking my flights.  The most recent was my return from Seattle, leaving me just 27 hours at home before departing again for the next trip.  Out with the ski clothes, in with the shorts and sandals.

This time the destination was Tucson.  Soldiering on at home while I skied up mountains with Erik, Katie and her mom Betsy, Rich was in need of a break.  He craved respite from this winter’s relentless snowfalls and wistfully reminisced about the sunny warm days we often spent in Arizona.  Despite the clench in my stomach induced by the thought of crowding in another trip, I agreed.  I’d had my fun, he should too.  And who was I to argue with visions of that blissful warmth?  Some hardship.

I decided I would treat it as a retreat.  We’d been there enough times to cover all the best sights and I felt no compunction to be touristy.  I had no must-do activities in mind.  Instead, I would use the time to soak up the outdoors by running, biking and hiking, enjoy eating out, and most importantly rejuvenate my inner creativity.  I was sorely in need of jumpstarting my writing, drawing and painting. That was something to look forward to.

We have a favorite “casita” in Oro Valley, cradled between the mountains with a back patio facing east where we dined each evening as the sunset painted the mountains red.  It was already booked on such short notice, but Rich found one nearby with the same stunning view in addition to a beautiful yard and pool we would share with the homeowners.  Our late afternoon arrival soon confirmed the perfection of his choice.

Normally, we do this trip in April, and although I knew it would be cooler this time, I feared I hadn’t brought enough warm clothes when the first few days started in the 30s and only reached the mid-50s.  Still, I reminded myself that it was a lot colder at home. But that argument wore thin on day 2 when we woke up to 2+ inches of thick snow!  While it was shocking, it was also beautiful and unique.  Our host told us they had seen this happen only twice before in 20 years, and Rich eagerly grabbed his camera to capture the desert under snow.

I did my usual – headed out for a run, using that as my opportunity to see the area blanketed in white and stop frequently for photos.  I wasn’t the only one, cars hastily parked on the roadside everywhere, doing the same.  Unlike Duluth, the walkways were clear and once the sun crept out from the clouds the melting began.  By mid-morning it was all fading into a wet memory.

One of Rich’s desert snow shots

As the week wore on, the temperatures steadily climbed.  Tucson has wonderful bike trails, and I recreated my long rides from past visits.  My favorite outing was timed to coincide with the Rillito River Heirloom Farmers Market.  I was chilled to the bone by the time I’d logged the 22 miles to get there (all on bike trail!), and I eagerly sipped hot coffee and relished a fresh scone as I perused the bountiful farm offerings, artisan crafts and food booths accompanied by local musicians.  By the time I left, I was able to shed all my warm layers and return in shorts and jersey – a long awaited treat.

Rich avidly pursued his birding and photography, scoring a number of rare finds as well as locating his favorite prey – owls.  That inspired me to keep my promise to pursue my own crafts.  Whenever possible, I requisitioned the little table outside our casita to do my writing, crafting several posts for my long neglected blog.  It felt like priming the pump, doing something rusty yet familiar, in preparation for other works I want to tackle.

I used my bike rides to scout out ideas for my nascent discovery of journal sketching and watercolors.  Keeping my eyes peeled for interesting cacti and plants, and knowing I couldn’t crouch on street medians or private front yards, I snapped photos in order to recreate the scenes later.  That was a no-no in the class I took last year, but sometimes you just have to make do.  After spending more time at that little table on the patio, I finally rendered one finished piece. 

Our final day delivered the picture-perfect Tucson weather I had learned to love – cool in the morning, but clear sunny skies and reaching the mid-70s.  I set my sights on re-exploring the third of the lengthy Loop trails, and headed down to the southern portion of the Santa Cruz River Park.  The miles quickly slipped beneath my rental bike tires as I plied the flat trail, out on one side of the wash, back on the other.  Cyclists from racing teams to slow putterers and e-bikes went by, all out to enjoy the beautiful weather.  By the time I returned, I had logged 50 miles.  A suitable finale, I felt.

And yet, I was reluctant to let the day slip away and craved at least a short hike before surrendering this locale.  After dithering over my options with unnecessary anxiety, I finally settled on a local park for a walk. Donning my running shoes and grabbing some water, I headed out to the car.  But I never got in.  What was I doing?  What was I trying to prove?  Hadn’t I just been bemoaning the fact that it hadn’t been warm enough to sit out on the patio to enjoy the view?  It was enough to turn me around.  Grabbing the Mother/Daughter journal that Karen and I share, I made my way over to the remaining sunny spot by the pool.  I settled in with pen and paper, first immersing myself in Karen’s latest entry, then contemplating my response.  Soon I was lost in thought, penning my entry, composing as I went with no option to hit delete or rewrite.  This had to come straight from the heart.  And it did.

Sometimes I need a push to get out of my comfort zone, to abandon my carefully laid plans and tendency to want total control over my life.  This trip was good for me, and Rich got his much-needed escape.  We spent unhurried time together in addition to pursuing our own desires.  It was just the sunny retreat I needed. Even though another Minnesota snowstorm was on the way…

Sharing Adventures

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We met at the same time our kids did.  Erik and Katie were on their high school Nordic ski team, Betsy and I were team moms – baking brownies, holding out warming capes for the kids in their spandex racing suits, riding the team bus and cheering at the meets.  As the spark grew between our young skiers, so did the friendship between the two parent couples.  Sharing a wedding ceremony between our children cemented the bonds for all of us.

When Amazon lured Erik and Katie out to Seattle two years ago, I wondered how they would feel about living in a temperate climate, leaving behind Minnesota winters and skiing.  Little did I know that it would only be the beginning of mountain adventures for them, including skiing, snowshoeing, ski mountaineering and (gulp!) avalanche training.  Enticed by the stunning snowy mountain photos, I spent a week with them last winter including a picture-perfect day snowshoeing on Mt. Rainier.  I was hooked – I had to do it again.  And I knew the perfect companion.

“Say Betsy, how about Moms trip to Seattle?”  That’s all it took.

The plan was to hike or snowshoe together during the week while Erik and Katie worked.  For the weekend, the kids had something special arranged – three days skiing in The Methow, the largest cross-country ski trail system in North America, in the Cascade Mountains.  Not only that, but they had snagged a cancellation for one of the highly sought-after ski-in huts for our first night. 

We left in the dark, bleary-eyed but excited at 5am.  By 10am we were at the trailhead, and loaded our overnight gear in a sled for the snowmobile tow service.  Mountains of sleeping bags, food, water and clothing zoomed off as we – accompanied by pooch Finley – skied up the trail.  I looked up at the surrounding peaks, snow laden and glistening in the sun as my skis slid over the snow.  It just didn’t feel real!

That first day was magical.  The grooming was impeccable and we skied companionably in a group taking it all in.  Our hut was at the top end of our portion of the trail system, dictating we climb most of the way to get there.  Our original plan had been to ski up to the hut, relax over some lunch then venture out again.  But it was far too enticing to just continue skiing and cover more of the trails.  We didn’t have a morsel of food with us, but our hunger for the trails was stronger.  Onward we went.

There are five ski-in huts in all and we made it a point to stop and explore the locale of several others.  The clear favorite was Rendezvous hut, with spectacular views.  It speaks for itself.

The trails are groomed for both classic and skate skiing.  The others classic skied, and Betsy skijored with Finley.  I chose to skate ski, vainly hoping it would help me keep up.  But speed was not of the essence on this trip.  It was all about the experience.

By the time we reached Heifer Hut, we had skied 27 kilometers and were ready to settle into our rustic quarters.  It was perched on the mountainside surrounded by stately pines.  Leaning our skis against the wood exterior, we eagerly went inside to explore.  A woodstove, bench and double bunks lined one side, and on the other was a kitchen area with a propane stove and a table with benches.  A ladder led to the loft where three more double mattresses awaited.  The propane lights reminded me of Coleman lanterns, and were supplemented with solar lights fueled by a tiny solar panel. With the woodshed and outhouse across the way it had everything we needed,

Getting the fire started was our first order of business, along with fixing some food.  Hot tea and snacks refueled us enough to unpack, claim bunks and stash our gear. Soon it was cozy inside, and we traded our ski wear for comfy cabin clothes.  The remainder of the afternoon and evening passed quickly, with hot wild rice soup and fixings followed by lively rounds of Hearts played around the table.

Erik and I were the first ones up in the morning, and donned snowshoes to explore the terrain behind the cabin with Finley.  We meandered in deep powder, sunshine and silence, the perfect start to the morning.  Katie and Betsy joined us, and Erik headed inside to prepare breakfast.  I think those were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten!

If reaching the cabin was all uphill, it meant our second day was the opposite!  Erik and Finley took off down the black diamond trail back to meet the snowmobile at the car while Katie, Betsy and I skied to a distant trailhead where we would meet them.  Erik managed to ski up to us en route, and we sent him off to get in some good fast kilometers (in prep for the Birkie), and he still caught us again just before we finished.  We completed the day with a low key snowshoe on Patterson Lake before heading off to our hotel in Winthrop. 

For our final day, we chose the opposite end of the trail system near Mazama.  There we skied in the valley, on trails that more closely resembled Minnesota.  The gentler trails passed through woods and open fields, where we were reminded of our locale with mountain views once again.  While we had encountered few skiers the prior two days, the easy access and terrain of this area invited many more skiers including families.  We skied a number of different loops before our departure time drew near. 

While we were sad to see the skiing and weekend come to an end, talk quickly turned to next year.  Betsy and I were hooked.  Clearly we have more shared adventures already looming in the future.

Adventure of a Lifetime

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The gift was from my son Erik and his wife Katie. They had just been to the Big Island of Hawaii and knew that I was enamored with all the fun outdoor activities they did on their trip. “This check is for you to pick your own special adventure,” they explained.

I spent hours researching snorkeling tours, kayak trips, sunset cocktail cruises and other ideas, eager to pick just the right one. Finally I settled on a kayak trip to explore sea caves. I was excited about the idea, knowing it was something I couldn’t do on my own and would be unique to this locale. Yet I just couldn’t make myself book the tour.

It was the High Surf warnings that haunted me. Easily prone to seasickness, I despaired that being tossed around in the high seas would unsettle me, and leave me heaving over the side of my kayak. The tour guidelines included children down to age five, and I tried to reason with myself. If a five year old can do this, surely I can? But those waves…

As our remaining days on the island dwindled, it became a now or never deal. I poured way too much nervous energy into my deliberations until Rich, tired of this game, gave me a giant shove. “Just book it, Molly. You’ll be fine.” So I did.

The day dawned sunny and I tried to convince myself the ocean was a bit calmer. Rich delivered me to the dock to meet my tour at 9:00am, and I took heart in the variety of fitness levels of the eight other participants. If they can do it, I can, I repeated. Our guide Jasmine oozed confidence and experience along with her associate Lila, as they gave us instructions for getting in the water and launching our kayaks. It was a stroke of luck that I was the odd person out, and given a single kayak to pilot – much to my glee.

We started out in the narrow calm bay forming a flotilla while Jasmine briefed us on the safety protocols and plans for our outing. Kim announced that she had her cell phone and would happily take photos. Having left mine behind (no more floating treasures for me, thank you) I happily added my phone number to her list to text the pictures. With that, we launched.

As we left the bay, the water became wavier and more turbulent, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The paddling and excitement was enough to keep my stomach calm, and I eagerly glided along the coast with the group. Reaching an inlet, Jessica waited for the kayaks to regroup, and we floated gently on the lightly rolling seas. Before we had time to proceed, movement in the water caught her attention.

“It’s a humpback whale!” she shouted. “We’re going to follow it!”

Sure enough, we could see spouting water and whale backs surfacing as they swam, close enough to easily recognize, but still in the distance. Before long, Jessica spun her head around and we did the same. “Over there! More whales!” And off we went in that direction.

When the action quieted, Jessica addressed the group. “This is amazing! Do you mind if we totally change our tour, and chase whales instead of going to see the sea caves?”

“No! Let’s do it!” came the resounding response.

As if to validate our choice, three whales swam right in front of us, alternately surfacing and blowing in a line, then flipping their flukes. We could hear the expelling air and they felt almost close enough to touch. Suddenly, Jessica jumped in the water with her face mask. “They swam right underneath us!” she exclaimed. Just the thought of those giant creatures below was thrilling.

The trio of whales stayed close by, swimming in the area. From a little further away, they waved their fins, expressing joy we were told. Jessica jumped in again and reported that she could hear them singing under water! That was enough to get me in the water, and I did hear their faint sounds. Was this really happening?

We continued to see whales throughout the three hours we spent out on the water. Away from the shore it was nearly calm, and we could easily spot them when they broke the surface. One whale even poked his head out of the water, which Jessica told us was called spyhopping.

Throughout all this activity, Kim doggedly snapped photos. This one – her best whale shot – epitomizes the experience!

Gradually the whales moved off and although they never got that close again, just experiencing the activity from a kayak was enough for me.

As we made our way back to shore, the wave action increased again and pummeled the shoreline with its breaking surf. We all had to dig deep to push through the water, sometimes riding the waves sometimes battling.

Once back in the calm bay, I could see Rich at a distance shooting photos as we returned triumphant.

I have Erik and Katie to thank for this grand experience. Without their gift, I am certain I would have given in to my fears and successfully talked my way out of that tour. But I couldn’t let them down. I had to use it for its intended purpose. And boy did I get their money’s worth. It wasn’t just a Hawaiian adventure, it was the adventure of a lifetime!

The Other Side of the Island

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It was time to move on. After 10 days on the “wet” side of the Big Island of Hawaii, lush with its tropical greenery, waterfalls and proximity to the active volcano, we had five days to spend in Kona on the “dry” side. Or as I thought of it, the side with the beaches and water activities.

We took the longer route along the south shore to see some of the sights. As we drove, the landscape changed back and forth between thick greenery and drier brown open land, with some in-between farmland. A visit to Punalu’u black sand beach revealed a beautiful setting with tranquil spots to hang hammocks beneath the palm trees, and lava formations to explore on the shoreline. In contrast, our trip down to the South Point took us through more barren land and a long, unpopulated road. I insisted we walk down to the southernmost point in the US, but other than bragging rights, there was little to see. Rich was far more enthusiastic about a roadside stand we passed.

Continuing up the west side of the island, we had splendid views of the ocean. But the real transformation happened as we neared Kona. We had left behind the quiet environs of the east side and entered the popular center of activity, evidenced by the long stretches of condos intermingled with beaches and parks. Traffic increased as well, as we shared this part of the island with more tourists than we’d seen so far. But it had its payoffs too.

Walking into our condo, I was immediately drawn out onto the deck of our 4th floor unit. The ocean pulsed beneath me as waves crashed on the lava shoreline and a gaggle of surfers floated out in the water awaiting the next big wave. The sun shone down, the palm trees graced the landscape – a picture of perfection! With a quick trip to the grocery store for supplies, we threw together dinner in time to perch on the deck to watch the sunset.

This is the water I had come to see and experience. With our own private viewing spot, we opted for take-out or cooking most nights to enjoy it in unhurried solitude. I spent my breakfast time in the same spot.

I was eager to get in the water and do some snorkeling and kayaking. But Mother Nature had other ideas. High Surf Warnings prevailed throughout our time in Kona, which thrilled the surfers who populated every beach around, and I found highly entertaining. But the big waves precluded more sedate forms of water sport. Even so, the big ocean still dominated our visit.

To date, my attempt to see sea turtles had been unsuccessful. Rich’s research turned up good reports at Kaloko-Honokōhau National Historical Park. After a mile long hike through unshaded terrain we reached the ocean. There we found large tidal pools and three lethargic sea turtles snoozing on the opposite side. We were able to get close without disturbing them. While Rich pursued birds, I ventured over to a nice beach, wishing I’d brought my swim suit as it was one of the few times we found quiet water.

We did manage to go snorkeling one time. I was interested in visiting Pu’uhonua O Honaunau National Historical Park, which had the added attraction of a good snorkeling spot right across the road. It is commonly known as Two Step for its relatively easy entry into the water. We carefully placed all our goods in the trunk of the car (theft is common at parking spots) and headed down to the beach with only our towels, car keys and snorkeling gear. We secured the keys in a waterproof pouch which Rich slid into the back pocket of his swimsuit, and closed the velcro tab. The two steps were as easy to navigate as advertised, and soon we were flippering through the water and ogling bright yellow fish in enormous schools. The longer we swam, the more we saw – black and white angelfish and larger fish with bright blue spots. We bounced in mild waves and enjoyed the view below, treasuring our time with the local fish.

When it came time to get out, our luck changed. We must have hit a particularly large swell of waves. As we approached shore, the surf threatened to press us against the rocks. Rich got caught in a crevice and the waves thrashed him about before he could gain hold to hoist himself out of the water. Just as I was struggling to approach the shore safely, he shouted out to me – “Molly, the car keys!” I couldn’t see a thing through my goggles, but grasped the reality that the keys had come out of his pocket and were miraculously floating nearby. With a lucky grab I had them in my hand, and managed to climb out during a lull in the waves. That was a rental car disaster narrowly avoided!

On shore I found Rich covered in blood, and loudly explaining to the shocked observers, “It’s not as bad as it looks!” Due to the blood thinners he takes for his heart, a tiny cut on his elbow bled like crazy, and the water spread it all over his arms and legs. As soon as I could get him a towel, he cleaned up quickly and we nervously laughed over the excitement. The tumble took its toll, however, shaking him up and leaving him bruised and sore. It’s a snorkeling adventure we wouldn’t soon forget!

We still made a visit to the historical park afterwards. A very informative video in an outdoor theater gave us background on this place of refuge. In ancient times, any Hawiian who broke the kapu – sacred laws – faced certain death, unless they could reach a spiritual sanctuary. There they sought absolution from a priest in order to return safely to society. Today it still serves as a special place of refuge. Rich chose to rest in one of the tented shelters while I walked the grounds – his own safe haven it seemed, to come to grips with his recent personal misadventure.

On a brighter note, we spent my birthday dinner at Magics Beach Grill, nestled oceanside where the sun made a colorful descent and the surfers persisted until dark. Just as the other side of the island should be.

Island Life

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Something changed mid-week.  Each morning we had been setting off to see all the fascinating sights this side of the Big Island had to offer.  My guidebook was well thumbed and heavily populated with sticky notes.  I didn’t want to miss a thing!  But as my list dwindled, so did my pace and I felt myself settling into my surroundings.  We had a heavenly retreat right outside our door, and that in itself was a Hawaiian experience.  Soon we developed a new routine, guided by whim and lack of agenda.

Rich happily followed birds around the guesthouse, mornings and late afternoons.  I returned to my favorite ocean road, which just begged me to run through the secluded tunnel of trees and finish to the applause of crashing waves.  By then I had a favorite coffee shop in town, the open-air Tin Shack Bakery and just had to stop to bring home a latte and fresh scones.  Life’s simple pleasures.

One day Rich received a text, alerting us that the next afternoon Kent would be holding band practice in his studio behind our guesthouse.  The implication was that we might want to make ourselves scarce, but instead we embraced the music.  The Lava Tree Band plays all original music that Kent has written since moving to the Big Island, and we sat on the porch of the studio to listen to “The Island of Mis-fit Toys,” much impressed.

Melanie had offered us a tour of the yard and its multitude of plantings, so we took her up on that while the music continued.  She walked us all around the expansive yard, explaining how Kent had cut back the jungle five feet all the way around, an arduous task.  Everywhere we walked, there were trees, bushes and flowers that Melanie has researched, lovingly tended and fostered their growth.  How quickly she has learned about tropical gardening and put her knowledge to work, including a greenhouse full of vegetables and spices to supplement their table.

Melanie’s work inspired me to follow my own aspirations which I’ve been neglecting.  Digging out my drawing paper and pencil, and I returned to a patch of anthurium to see if I could capture the spirit of its brilliant composition.  It was a rusty attempt, as I tried to regain my eye for detail and train my pencil on the paper, but it also felt good.  The next day I spent a delightful morning in the gazebo dabbling with my watercolors to finish the piece.  Time sped by as I labored, and I didn’t care.

I’d been eyeing the community swimming pool for some time, and finally gave in to the urge to swim laps.  There was no entrance fee, and the 50-meter pool was an oasis of blue lanes reflecting the warm sun.  The notice at the front gate told me the water temperature was 74° – most certainly “refreshing” compared to my usual pool.  I braced myself and took the plunge, then doggedly swam back and forth for nearly an hour before the swim team took over the lanes.  By then I was glad for an excuse to head to the warm showers.  But I did so feeling a little more like a local.

We were staying right next to Lava Tree State Park, and I felt it was time I took a leisurely stroll around its half-mile loop. There I could see the lava trees up close, formations that result from lava flows encircling the trees in its path, leaving behind molds of the tree trunks. I happened to bring along my sketchpad, and found a tree near the entrance with eye-catching pink blossoms to draw. As I stood sketching, someone passing by showed me the bananas forming at the stem, miniature compared to the flower. I added that detail.

For our final evening at the guesthouse we decided to take a picnic to Richardson Ocean Park.  Armed with take-out food from the grocery store, we found a picnic table right away with a nice view where we could watch folks snorkeling and enjoying the beach.  It was the usual mix of lava rock and some sand, and was said to be a good place to spot sea turtles, but none made an appearance.  We meandered through the park and settled on a convenient stone wall to watch the sunset – something we hadn’t seen due to being on the east side of the island.  It slithered down the sky with Mauna Kea clearly visible in the distance as the low rays shone across the bay.

When the sun disappeared, Rich was ready to leave, but I was still in the mood to linger and insisted we await the colors of the afterglow.  It was at that moment that Rich saw whales off in the distance!  Blowholes and a fluke appeared above the water, then all went quiet.  Shortly afterwards, they resumed activity at closer range.  Although they were still far away, we were able to see one humpback jump clear out of the water, followed by mama and baby playfully flapping their fins – much to the delight of the children watching next to us.  We had been rewarded for slowing down.

By then it was hard to take leave of our little guesthouse and move on to Kona. We had finally gotten the hang of the place, and even Kent and Melanie had taken notice of our more relaxed approach in those final days. We took that as a compliment, and confirmation that we had successfully adopted Island Life.