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Sunset on the Black Rock Desert

Black Rock Desert

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Originally uploaded by renowiggum.

On the advice of a friend, I have started using Flickr for my photos. Mostly because it has a handy photo upload tool that resizes my images for me, as the native 6.1 megapixel resolution on my camera is... quite large.

I have several photos of my trip to the Black Rock Desert up there, and would be tickled if you'd let me know what you think. I particularly like this picture of me. It shows the vast horizon, the astronomical reasons we came, and gives a sense of the incredible solitude up there.

There's a difference between solitude and lonliness. I experienced incredible ammounts of both as this night wound on. But I was reminded that I have friends who would make a trek like this with me, and for that I am grateful.

Woo!

No pictures here, but I wanted to express my joy that I now have a total of over 10,000 views of my pictures at Morguefile.com. That meaningless statistic made my day, mostly.

Feather Falls Trip

I had been wanting to take a hike to Feather Falls for several years. For the longest time, I had waited, hoping to put together a group that could include one or another girl that I could get to know better. But it never worked out, so I decided that I would just do it this year, company or no, rain or shine.

Feather Falls is in Plumas National Forest, near Lake Oroville, north of Sacramento. It's about a 3.5 hour drive from Reno, so I left early with an old friend of mine who came with me, despite the less than sunny weather.

The trail is well-maintained, with pit restrooms and paved parking at the trailhead. There is a map of the area, which gives some sense of the area around the falls. As the 6th highest waterfall in the United States, the 9 mile hike isn't as much of a deterrent as it could be.


Early on in the hike, I stopped about every 50-100 steps to take a picture. I had put off coming for so long, I was determined to record the trip. There were many interesting looking trees, rocks, and other things near the path initially.


There were also various forms of cold-blooded wildlife. Specifically, red geckos and yellow slugs. I did not get any pictures of the slugs, but they were about 3 inches long, two inches in circumfence, and... slugs.


The trail was great. After seeing various small streams giving seasonal waterfalls about, we approached Frey Creek. This waterfall was audible about a quarter mile away, and grew quite loud as we approached. I took a video of walking up to the falls, but don't have a convinient way to share it, so you get the picture instead.


There were several bridges, and other points at which streams were sent under the trail in pipes. But once in a while, we got to "ford the river," as it were. Matt told me he'd get an action shot of me jumping across one. It's best he didn't - I'm sure that it was a less than pretty sight.


This would be a view of Blad Rock Dome, which I think I read somewhere was worshiped by the Native Americans. But, it was cloudy. That was a bit of a shame, and had me wondering what, if any, view of the falls I would get.


After roughly 5 miles on the trail, we went sharply up the side of a hill, with an ominous rumble growing in the background. This was a steep hill, and it took a few breathing stops to get up. But there it was: benches, railings, and an overlook! We approached, only to find that the overlook was not for the falls, but for the river. It was, nevertheless, a good view. We got to chat with some other hikers on the trail, had our picture taken, and did other such things. But you don't get to see those pictures - they didn;t turn out as good as I had hoped.


Continuing on the trail, it narrowed sharply, and the rumble in the background continued to grow. Finally, we spotted the hikers ahead stopping and pulling out their cameras. Our treat was our first glimpse of the falls.


We continued down a couple sets of switchbacks, getting glimpses of the falls as we descended, but not toward the falls - that trail branched off over rocks slick with rain, and as my friend and I had very vivid memories associated with hiking over wet rocks in this general vicinity, we decided against that route. We finally came upon a well-maintained overlook, offering a view of the full drop of the falls.


After lunch, we climbed the stairs off of the overlook, beginning the hike back. We had taken the long (newer) trail on the way in, and took the shorter, older and (AS we learned) steeper trail on the way out.


I took few pictures on the way out. Mostly, I was just tired. I'd have sat longer at the overlook, but I was under a clever lean-to using my umbrella. Matt, unfortunately, was sitting exposed to the wind and rain. I did get this picture of some interesting-colored trees. I don't know what they are.


Frey Creek acted as the marker bisecting each leg of the trail. Lower Frey Creek had no falls on the scale of those above, but was a nice stream that we didn't rest beside nearly long enough. From the bridge where I took this, the final mile and a half is all uphill.


How far is the hike? I took this on the way in. I was glad to see it on the way back. Add about a half mile, roughly, on each side of this sign and its companion near the falls, and you;ll have an idea. Elevation gain: roughly 2,500 feet.


The way to Feather Falls, or in this case from the falls, is 11.4 miles of twisting, winding, up-and-down craziness. It began our 3.5 hour trek back to Reno. Biggest mistake? Not sitting down and stretching out my legs before hopping in the car to go back. When Matt and I got out to put some gas in the car about halfway through the return journey, I thought my legs had turned into stone. The very limited motion of clutch, brake, gas didn't do much to keep me limber.


All told, I'd go back. I'm glad I went, despite not having a female companion to do so with. I have spent too much time waiting for someone to do things with, and have not spent enough time just doing them. I'm trying to change that. This was a good step in that direction.

Camping at Boca

I love the outdoors. Most of the pictures you'll see me put up here are of trees, lakes, clouds, and the like, because that's what I like to print and hang around my house. Several years ago, I started going up to a local collection of reservoirs with some guys from my church. I was still in college, and they were probably seniors in high school.

It became a matter of habit to visit Boca reservoir (the foreground of the above photo) every Labor Day weekend, and soon on Memorial Day weekend as well. The more popular of these reservoirs is Stampede, which is better for boats, in a more forested area, and has more campsites overall - so we picked the less popular of the two in hopes of avoiding the rush of people. Boca being favored by fishermen because it is more shallow, and has a long tapering north end where the river pours into it - such that it is hard to tell where lake ends and river begins.

Memorial Day Weekend, 2005. It was colder than usual, and foggy. Very foggy. The first night, I didn't even take the cot outside, for fear of exasperating a sore throat I had the first evening. The man who did (with face obscured to protect the innocent) reported being colder than he may have been his entire life. I did so the second night (with a probably superior sleeping bag) and slept just fine, though there was frost on the outside of my sleeping bag the following morning.

I, however, enjoyed the chance to take some pictures with my new camera. Fog tends to give a very strong feeling of isolation, as it cuts you off from the rest of the world, but it also has an ethereal quality that I really like, especially as it starts to evaporate as the sun grows stronger.

It is also a tradition to play Risk, and I brought Lord of the Rings Risk on this particlar outing. I'd win more often at Risk, but hesitate to attack girls, especially if they haven't played before. So I usually end up in a tit-for-tat slugfest against the other guy(s), and having killed ourselves, the girls (who were working together the whole time) end up conquering the world.


Memorial Day 2005 had one other significant aspect that I was unaware of at the time. For a couple of years on Memorial and Labor Day, among the group of friends who would go was a girl I had very strong feelings for. But I am shy, and apt to try to be careful in how I approach such topics. By Labor Day, I knew that something had to change, but I did not know how it would change. She was not there that particular weekend, and I stayed by the fire late, after everyone had gone to bed and the fire had long since turned to embers. "Everything will be different." I knew I had to say something, because I thought I would explode if I did not. I knew it was a risk, because I had no reason to suspect things would work out - only the fervent hope that they would. But whatever happened, I knew it would come before another camping holiday.


Life goes on, and things you wish you could freeze, moments you would sacrifice anything to keep from changing pass away often before you knew just what they really meant to you. For me, Boca will always represent simple meals of chili, chili, and more chili; picking up heavy rocks underwater for no other reason than to do it; a time to escape the worries of the world with good friends; epic battles on the Risk board; the chill of the morning as we rushed to church on Sunday (often with the necessary "washing up" in the church bathroom); and the one place where I felt truly comfortable interacting with a girl I eventually got up the nerve to call, only to be met with the wrong type of silence on the other end.

When I think of heaven, I think of Boca. I may be the only person in the world to do so, but it is true. A place of unencumbered peace, where dreams may yet come true, and the disappointments of life in the valley dare not approach. I fear going back again for fear of losing the Boca of my dreams.