Winter break Adventures!

Cold, burnt-out, and longing for adventure. Winter break could not have arrived any sooner. As much as I enjoyed fall term at SOU, winter break provides the breathing room I need to perform well during the next term. And the break of 2021 and 2022 was going to be especially fruitful. This was because a few friends and I were planning a road trip to a world-famous climbing destination. The destination is Joshua Tree National Park. However, this trip offered more than a mere destination to climb. I found myself wandering throughout the scenic splendors of California's mountainous and formidable High Sierras, glimpsing into the dry ocean of Death Valley, traversing through the Mojave, feeling the bulbous and gritty nature of Joshua Tree National Park, and overseeing a sunset amongst the Pacific Ocean. Though the beauty of these places cannot be understated, the stories that will not be forgotten will be the times with which I spent shivering, pondering, crying, laughing, and experiencing life with my friends. Because friends are the spice that flavor a setting.

Leaving Ashland, I didn't know what to expect. I knew that in two days the car I had packed, full of Outdoor Program crashpads, coolers and kitchen utensils, food, water, a tent etc., and maned by my lovely co-pilot Sarah and myself would be entering Joshua tree, National Park. We were going to meet up with a couple of other buddies to climb and sightsee for a few days. But, as all good road trips go, ours had some unexpected occurrences. First, we were running late before we had even left. Second, snow was starting to fall, and I knew there would be a large storm making the pass connecting Oregon and California.. well.. impassable. So, as we sorted through our gear and packed, I knew leaving meant full commitment to the trip. There would be no turning back because the snow wouldn't allow it. Oddly, I enjoyed this feeling. It felt like more of an adventure. Such as the ones I would read about and watch as a kid growing up. There was no turning back, only moving forward.

The predicament of commitment reared quickly. Setting off over the pass was quick and easy enough, but as we passed the behemoth Shasta Mountain, Sarah and I were treated with consistent seventy miles an hour headwinds that would throw an unvigilant driver clear off the road! I stopped once to use the restroom and found I literally had trouble opening my door against the surging air. On top of this, our goal was to make it to a friend's house near Tahoe to sleep. But with the new snow, we decided it would be too risky to make it through the pass by Mt. Lassen. Instead, we drove into the night, and car camped in a quiet and unsuspecting neighborhood of the central Californian dessert. We would attempt to pass through the Kern Valley and into the Sierras.

Parts of California are, to be blunt, pretty dull. The monotonous nature of the central farmland I5 passes, though with its "their taking our water" signs, is, in my opinion, not an exciting, majestic, or significant viewing area to write in the newsletter about. But, the Kern Valley is. The Kern Valley is located at the top of the Sierra National forest and used to be renowned for its rafting back in the day. Traveling east from Bakersfield, I passed fruitful citrus farms and headed into hills of granite that at first seemed unassuming. Quickly, though, these hills lead to an oasis. Littered with massive granite boulders, even non-climbers would gawk at and surrounded by an assortment of greenery, including dense and untimely versions of Joshua trees. The Kern Valley was an unexpected treat that broke up the mountainy of the scenery of my travels. It sparked conversations centered on the elation for our surroundings and anticipation for Joshua Tree. Sarah and I were stoked. But I had no idea what lay ahead.

Traveling east through the Kern Valley leads one to the Sierras. Funny enough, I did not know what that meant. I had never been to the Sierras and, to be honest, had never really wanted to go. They seemed like some over-hyped mountain range that Californians loved to glorify and brag about just because they are in California and because.. well.. that's what Californians like to do. But I was wrong. Upon leaving the Valley, I was shocked at the large two- to four-thousand-foot-high peaks that would abruptly appear. To my left, the tallest and most sheer granite peaks I have ever encountered, and to my right a flat and barren desert landscape of Death Valley. The contrast was unimaginable and further added to the grandiosity of the Sierra peaks. As I rolled into the small and humble town of Lone Pine, known for its cowboy charm and hostess of Hollywood westerns, I was further entranced with these granite mountains. We stopped at a ranger station to use the restroom and figure out where to camp for the night. Free of the cast of the car's chair, Sarah skipped rather merrily to the bathroom, and I checked out the flyers and signs posted. That's when I found out the peaks I was bug-eyed over were the ranges that included the tallest mountain in the continental US; Mt. Whitney.

Living in Oregon, I have always imagined tall peaks as singular cone-shaped volcanoes resembling Hood, Jefferson, or McLaughlin. Mt. Whitney is different as it is not a cone-shaped volcano but a sheer granite peak that sits just a bit higher than other sheer granite peaks right next to it. They resemble an unsuitable wall that would curtail even the tallest giants. Further adding to their scale is the contrast of the dessert that sits just east of them. The Sierras block any precipitation entering Death Valley, making the area bone dry. I didn't come to see either Death Valley or the formidable Mt. Whitney and its neighboring Sierra peaks. I came to check out a rinky-dink little sport crag with a few moderate climbs on what I had heard was bulletproof granite (ever since the last summer where I had experienced granite climbing in southern Idaho, I have become a little bit of a granite hound I guess). Now I was engulfed in a landscape so dramatic and foreign I could not have dreamed it into existence. And with the charm of the town of Lone Pine, I fell in love with the area.

That night in the Sierra's, Sarah and I pitched a tent in Tuttle Creek campground. Because it was off-season, the night was free. Fully equipped and maintained with bathrooms, flat tent areas, fire pits, and quite the view, I was elated! However, after a brisk run to get all the stagnant car energy out and dinner, the sunset and I were met with absolute and inescapable frigid cold. We settled into the tent, using crash pads to sleep on. Excited about the climbing tomorrow and further adventuring into the area I slept very light. However, when we awoke, the sun was just rising. This caused an inversion like I had never experienced before. Suddenly, Sarah and I were met with a frigid cold that numbed any skin shown to the world. Our cheeks and fingers were numb, and our tent was thrashed around as if it were a rattle being held by an upset baby. We dashed to secure our belongings and throw them into the car. Feeling the Escape shake and the cold penetrating our beings Sarah and I looked at each other, smiled, and laughed. Sarah then said, "no way am I climbing out there." And I heartily agreed. Though the crag was beautiful, and I love pushing myself, grit was not the intention of this trip. This was meant to be a vacation, and the conditions just weren't right. We left Lone Pine, but I knew I would be back again.

From Lone Pine, we traveled south through the Mojave Desert. The Mojave is an interesting place. Not exactly picturesque or seemingly inviting, it has its own charm. The towns all seem to be set in some apocalyptic dystopia similar to the ones of the game Fallout: New Vegas. It is dry and brown.. everywhere. But it is worth mentioning as it adds to the great contrast and diversification of California's landscape and highlights the felt effects of climate change. To the north of the Mojave is the Sierras with their tall granite peaks and large fir trees, to the west are the beaches that act as a barrier to the mainland from the ocean, and to the south is Joshua Tree, a huge oasis within a grand desert. The Mojave is deep brown and littered with rocks that at first glance appear to be what climbers would call "piles of chausse" or, in layman's terms, unclimbable and loose rock that breaks often. However, some of these piles of chausse are actual crags with some of the hardest sport routes in the world, such as Jumbo Love which sits at a stout 5.15b. More importantly, the Mojave hosts many dried riverbeds. I am not an expert on climate change, and I normally stand apolitical, but these riverbeds did make me face the sour truth that climate change is present and ongoing. Just as the forest fires Oregonians face in the summers, Californians have witnessed and felt the pain of climate change within the landscape they call home. Seeing the riverbeds was a reminder that sparked conversation and deliberation between Sarah and I that had us reflect on our impact on the various landscapes we seldom see or experience but touch with our modern lifestyles.

Finally, we arrive in Joshua Tree. This was the place we had spent many weeks prior planning to get to and dreaming about. Sarah and I, at this point, had spent well over fifteen hours in the not-so plush saddles of our "noble steed," my 2006 Ford Escape. Tired from the drive time, we were eager to leave the car. Sarah, being on the SOU Track team, had a run to do, and I was eager to explore. Joshua Tree was not what I had pictured. At first, I have to admit, it was a little lackluster. Having spent my time within the climbing destinations of City of Rocks and Smith Rock, I had expected Joshua Tree to be.. taller. Most routes at J-Tree, as climbers call it, are single pitch and traditionally protected. I wanted the glory of scaling large heights, not small little climbs. Soon I would realize the foolishness of my initial thinking. Soon I would feel the rock.

When we had arrived at camp Sarah and I were greeted with one of the warmest welcomes I have ever received. Hugs from Angelo Scarsi, a friend I worked with at the OP and had actually convinced me to spend the first portion of winter break in J-Tree. He was mad stoked with the landscape, and keen to get on the rock. So when Sarah went on a run, Angelo and I, laughing and giddy as friends after long car rides normally are, went exploring. We ended up actually doing a little light bouldering. As we crested to the top of the boulder, I looked west and was treated to a wonderful desert sunset. That was when I became absolutely stoked! The rock was amazingly bomber and secure, the crack we climbed up had really cool movement with a "sendsy" feeling layback, I was with great friends, and the landscape was beautiful. As we got down, I remember looking at Angelo and saying with a large smile, "Oh, this is going to be fun!" Now I could help but to run my hand along every inconceivable hold on every boulder or wall we passed. I could not wait for the next day. Angelo and I reluctantly started walking back to the campground. I think had we brought handlamps; we might have been out all night messing around exploring. But it was getting dark, and we knew we had food, brews, and stories to tell before bed. We all went to sleep that night excited for the next day.

I woke early in Joshua Tree National Park. I was ready to climb. I knew that the weather for that day was supposed to be bad, but as I watched the blue skies in the morning, I thought, "huh, maybe the weatherman got this one wrong," and "maybe this storm will just pass by us." Feeling no pressure, I let everyone sleep peacefully up until ten in the morning. That's when everything turned crazy. All of a sudden, the winds picked up, and rain started sprinkling down. Next, showers emerged. Sarah, Angelo, and I thought that we would go walk around and figure out the approaches to the areas we wanted to climb once the rain let up. But it continued to poor harder. We went into town to check out a climbing store, Nomad Ventures (if you are in the area, I highly recommend it), but the weather knocked out the power. Then we went to an old pioneer town. The whole drive there, we were met with rivers that had been dry roads mere hours beforehand. We were met at the touristy pioneer town with the same drenched story. We found a piece of laminated paper, and Sarah made a boat. I got out to float it down a raging stream. As I passed a local, I was greeted with a crackly "hey, high desert yacht club!" Laughing with the ridiculous nature of my situation of being wet and soggy within a desert, I set the boat into the "river." Just like my expectation to climb in J-Tree, it sank immediately.

Unanimously, we agreed to head to Angelo's Grandparent's beach house, conveniently located three hours away in Newport Beach, Las Angeles. Even more conveniently, it was dry and warm. Nothing sounded better. As I entered my tent to pack up my belongings, I was greeted with an inch and a half of standing water which solidified my decision to head west and regroup and re-plan our adventure. Again this experience wasn't about building grit but about relaxing and climbing with friends. So we packed up and drove away from Joshua Tree. I won't lie that I did feel a slight bit of regret in leaving so soon. That's when I remembered one of our goals upon leaving Ashland. We needed to get a picture of Sarah hugging a Joshua Tree for Amanda, another friend we regularly climb with back in Ashland who grew up in the area of J-Tree. Amidst the fury of the storm, we ran out to the best-looking tree we could see and took a picture which helped me realize nothing was lost. J-Tree would be awaiting my return, and I plan to spend much time within it. This trip, as all trips are, was it's own.

To cap our trip off, Sarah, Angelo, and I ended in Newport Beach. We all dried our gear, re-planned, and made the best of our situation. We spent our time joking nonstop. I do not think I stopped laughing the entire time I was in the beach house. We rejoiced in the pleasantness of the showers and the warm, dry beds. We watched so much Game of Thrones. And on our last day, Angelo showed us a killer taco joint, and we went bouldering right off the beach. Definitely one of the most picturesque spots I have ever climbed in. Angelo and I did some sketchy scrambling while Sarah shook her head at our foolishness. But it wasn't just the landscape or setting that was beautiful. It was the reality that we as friends were experiencing life together. We took the lemons that we were given, so to say, and made the best fruit-punch we could have. Was any of my road trips go as planned? No. But, there is not a chance that I would give up any of the time I spent with those friends making the best of our situation. It is these trips that put into perspective the fluidity of life. That I react to circumstance and nothing, no matter how planned out, ever goes according to plan. It is these trips that help me realize I play a part in how the world is. And it is the times I spend with my friends that's create the lasting memories I can write about and share.