Big Bear Paddlefest is this weekend - July 11 and 12 - at Captain John's Marina on the north shore of Big Bear Lake. Expo and clinics take place on Saturday and all races are Sunday. Beginning with a 10k Canoe and Kayak, 5k canoe and kayak, Kids Fun Paddle and a sprint Stand Up Paddle Board race. Prizes galore, vendors galore!
For more information, visit the official site online. Big Bear Paddlefest is part of Open Air Big Bear.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
A Man, a Snake, a Stick and a Spade
Every evening at 5:00 McGyver, our golden retriever, nudges his nose under an elbow or begins a low growl. Somehow he knows it’s time for his walk and he won’t take no for an answer. And every evening at ten past five we set out on a loop trail that begins in the National Forest two houses down from ours. In less than 100 yards our neighborhood fades and the pines take over.
It’s a forest full of life. Coyotes howl every other night and two weeks ago Scott saw a mountain lion basking in the sun not more than a mile from our house. We also have bears, deer, bobcats and rattlesnakes. Of all the creatures, it’s the snakes that get me. Three years ago, after a particularly wet spring, we found two in our yard. One we captured and released in the forest a quarter mile away; the other, a larger, older snake, slithered from our yard and into our neighbors. Neither of us saw it again. But I remember it was thick – over an inch in diameter.
That same summer, the people that own the property bordering our Forest, captured and killed four snakes. They cut their rattles off and nailed them to a post at the trailhead. A brief warning to 'Beware' was stapled next to the rattles. It was hand-written on a piece of lined paper that quickly faded to a sun-bleached white. We didn’t have a dog then but I ran the trail almost every morning and took heed.
Since that summer we haven’t seen any rattlesnakes in our yard or on our trail. But tonight, as I started my walk with McGyver, I came across a man with a stick and spade. He was crouched low, methodically poking at an overgrown sage with the stick. He moved deliberately, occasionally standing tall to peer down into the bush. I said ‘Hello’ and he motioned me to stop. He had been walking his dog Tilly when they came across the largest rattlesnake he had ever seen – an inch and half in diameter – sunning itself in the middle of our trail. He witnessed it move into the sage, quickly took Tilly home and returned with his weaponry. As he continued to poke at the bush I told him I was going to pass. He called over his shoulder, “Keep your ears open.” I nodded and suggested perhaps the snake had moved on, pointing to a pile of aging limbs.
As McGyver and I continued on our walk, I secretly hoped the man didn’t find the snake. I knew he would kill it. What if it was the same snake we had seen three years earlier? An old guy passing his time, enjoying the forest? While snakes give me the willies, I don’t wish them harm. I figure if I give them a wide berth, they will do the same. It’s a silent agreement I make every time I walk the trail and it seems to work. But, for now, I'll keep my ears open - though I'm not fond of snakes, I’m less inclined to carry a stick and a spade.
It’s a forest full of life. Coyotes howl every other night and two weeks ago Scott saw a mountain lion basking in the sun not more than a mile from our house. We also have bears, deer, bobcats and rattlesnakes. Of all the creatures, it’s the snakes that get me. Three years ago, after a particularly wet spring, we found two in our yard. One we captured and released in the forest a quarter mile away; the other, a larger, older snake, slithered from our yard and into our neighbors. Neither of us saw it again. But I remember it was thick – over an inch in diameter.
That same summer, the people that own the property bordering our Forest, captured and killed four snakes. They cut their rattles off and nailed them to a post at the trailhead. A brief warning to 'Beware' was stapled next to the rattles. It was hand-written on a piece of lined paper that quickly faded to a sun-bleached white. We didn’t have a dog then but I ran the trail almost every morning and took heed.
Since that summer we haven’t seen any rattlesnakes in our yard or on our trail. But tonight, as I started my walk with McGyver, I came across a man with a stick and spade. He was crouched low, methodically poking at an overgrown sage with the stick. He moved deliberately, occasionally standing tall to peer down into the bush. I said ‘Hello’ and he motioned me to stop. He had been walking his dog Tilly when they came across the largest rattlesnake he had ever seen – an inch and half in diameter – sunning itself in the middle of our trail. He witnessed it move into the sage, quickly took Tilly home and returned with his weaponry. As he continued to poke at the bush I told him I was going to pass. He called over his shoulder, “Keep your ears open.” I nodded and suggested perhaps the snake had moved on, pointing to a pile of aging limbs.
As McGyver and I continued on our walk, I secretly hoped the man didn’t find the snake. I knew he would kill it. What if it was the same snake we had seen three years earlier? An old guy passing his time, enjoying the forest? While snakes give me the willies, I don’t wish them harm. I figure if I give them a wide berth, they will do the same. It’s a silent agreement I make every time I walk the trail and it seems to work. But, for now, I'll keep my ears open - though I'm not fond of snakes, I’m less inclined to carry a stick and a spade.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Pine Knot Village Art Walk
The Pine Knot Village Art Walk is happening once again on July 4th weekend - both Saturday and Sunday from 10 until 5 p.m. in the Big Bear Lake Village. Scott and I will both be there and our booth will be located near United Woodcraftsmen on Pine Knot Ave. For directions and information, visit the Art Walk website.Stop by to say hello and visit. During the show we will be featuring our newest fine art prints, offering show specials and selling artist cards in featured collections of our work.
You can also visit Summit Photography online.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Living by your Word
Last week I spent some time with a friend who had returned for a visit. We had gotten to know each other while mountain biking and had reunited for a reunion ride of sorts. She reminded me of something I had said that she used for encouragement while enduring her first winter in her new hometown of Taos, New Mexico: “You can’t experience the weather unless you are out in it.”I don’t recall the statement, but I remember where we were when I had this notion – on a longish ride in an area called Holcomb Valley. Following a tangle of old doubletrack, we were bent on circumnavigating Delamar Peak. While out we encountered violent rain and hail and were caught on the edge of an intense thunder and lightening storm. As the wind picked up and the temperatures dropped, distant flashes of light cautioned us to find safe haven on the high side of a gully we were passing. I wasn’t particularly alarmed; I knew the storm was not overhead only that it was near. For 30 minutes the three of us huddled under the canopy of a low oak tree and dug out our warm clothes.
I knew my friend was worried and I made the statement as a way to comfort her, refocus her attention. In the hostility of pelting rain and hail there was such beauty in its power. The clouds had a roiling texture and artistic appeal. I told her I felt privileged to experience the weather from our protective cover.
I’ve always liked weather. And by weather I mean something other than a sunny, stable day like middle-of-the-night thunder storms or vicious afternoon winds. In fact, I once spent three days in a tent pinned down by weather: We were kayaking in Southeast Alaska when a typhoon from Japan brought gale force winds and six foot waves to our tiny Bay. In those 72 hours I quietly fell in love with my tent mate Scott as we fought to keep our shelter from collapsing on us. Another time, while climbing in Peru’s Southern Andes, our team became separated in a snow storm as we ascended a 15,000 foot pass. Snow covered the prints of our cavelleros and we fought to stay on course - up and over the pass, before descending into a dense fog. Moving quickly down the rocky trail, we came to a point where the fog disappeared and the sun streaked a surreal plateau as Alpaca grazed undisturbed by our presence. Later, reunited, we celebrated by soaking in a hot spring we discovered and indulging in pint after pint of cold Cusquenas.
Even working as a ski patroller I endeavor to enjoy whiteout conditions as I reestablish a length of bright orange boundary line. In the insulating silence of a fierce snow storm, my breath is the only sound I hear.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Dog Tired
You know it was a rough day when your 2 1/2 year old Golden struggles back to the car and then settles for only enough shade so he can close his eyes. "I think we broke him," I comment to no one in particular. I was tired too, perhaps even broken, but happily settled in the grass to enjoy the beer we had buried in the snow.Memorial Day weekend has always been about backcountry skiing in the Tioga Pass area and over the years our group has grown. We camp at Mono Vista RV Park mostly because it is close to the "Mobil" and the showers are only a buck. This year was a little different, Scott and I mixed in some mountain biking and resort skiing. Our friends skied the classics: Dana Couloir and Ellery Bowl. But we joined in on the tour of False White (11,200') on Monday. Its prominent bowl is an awesome spring ski adventure and the approach is not too heinous. I skied it a couple of years ago and the best part is there are a number of options once at the summit such as Fantail Gullies and Gaylor Peak.
We decided to bring McGyver along on the tour. He quickly bounded up the slopes, chasing the tracks of other animals. Traversing above the tree line, we took a snack break and checked out the Bowl. Behind us were views of Mt. Dana's steep face and the 'Lion's Head.' From our vantage point, we could see a number of skiers approaching the summit on the well-worn skin track. Heading towards the bowl Scott and I arrived at the base, took a look at McGyver and made the decision to turn around. Neither one of us wanted to carry our 70 lb dog out. Nick, Jenny and Matt continued to the summit.
We decided to bring McGyver along on the tour. He quickly bounded up the slopes, chasing the tracks of other animals. Traversing above the tree line, we took a snack break and checked out the Bowl. Behind us were views of Mt. Dana's steep face and the 'Lion's Head.' From our vantage point, we could see a number of skiers approaching the summit on the well-worn skin track. Heading towards the bowl Scott and I arrived at the base, took a look at McGyver and made the decision to turn around. Neither one of us wanted to carry our 70 lb dog out. Nick, Jenny and Matt continued to the summit.
As we skied the steeper gullies, McGyver zig zagged behind us. Following us turn for turn. On the long traverse back to the car, he broke through a snow bridge concealing a shallow lake. I am sure the cool water felt good but he barked at us to keep moving. His pace started to slow about a mile from the trailhead. He sat down to rest every 100 yards. Poor puppy!
At the car, we fed him the rest of his lunch and topped it off with a bit of beer. He lapped it up and collapsed. Waiting for our friend's to return, we followed McGyver's lead - lapping it up and collapsing next to the Creek.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Confessions of a Reluctant Rock Climber
I took up rock climbing at the urging of my friend Fred. He had signed
up for a class through SCMA (Southern California Mountaineers Association) and called every week to bug me about it. I had spent a lot of time backpacking and bagging third class summits in the Sierra's and was starting to develop an interest in ascending peaks with more technical routes.
I signed on and talked a mutual friend Andrew into joining. At first, I hated it. The course didn't focus on climbing, but rather on safety. I would attend the weekend workshops and go through the process - tying 8 knots under 2 minutes, cleaning a top anchor, rappelling with and without a device, prussiking up a rope and learning to rescue a fallen climber by extricating myself out of the system. We didn't do any climbing during the 10-week course. And throughout I would whine to Andrew, "I CAN do it, I just CHOOSE not too." Or utter "What is the point? I don't need to see what's up there." For the final we had to follow one of the course's leaders up a multi-pitch climb at Tahquitz - a beautiful 700 foot granite outcropping on San Jacinto.
Terrified and sure I would die, I mitigated my fears by choosing a climb that was easy, relatively short and low angle. Darrell would lead us up The Trough - a 5.2 four-pitch climb. From the start I just wanted it to be over. We moved slowly and I complained the whole way. At the top of the third pitch I think Darrell had had enough. He told us we would have to rappel down, that if we didn't we would be out here another four hours, hiking back to our cars after dark. I think he exaggerated the timing because he was done with my whining and Fred's fearful resistance. While Darrell set up the rappel - a double rope rap of 300 feet and 2 pitches - I remember looking down at the parking lot. Spotting my black VW Passat 1,000 feet below us, I made a silent pact with God: I promised him I would never climb again if he let me survive this day and return home safely.
With the confidence of my deal in place, I loaded the system, tied a backup prussik to the rope, waved good-bye to Fred and followed Darrell into the abyss. The first rap was 140 feet to a hanging belay. Tying into the anchor, I moved to the side and stuck my toes on the 2 inch ledge and tried not to look down. We were 160 dead vertical feet off the deck. Fred last, crowded onto our ledge. Darrell pulled the rope and set up for the final descent. When it was my turn, I finally took note of Fred: His face was ashen, his fingers wrapped tightly around the daisy chain anchoring him to the ledge. He whispered he would never climb again.
Halfway down, I decided to take in my surroundings - after all it was the last time I too would ever climb again. To my surprise I smiled. It was stunning. A bird sailed by just overhead as I said hello to a fellow climber sitting on a ledge 20 feet to my left. I took a deep breath and looked out towards the horizon and down at the snake of fire road on the slope below. I smiled again at the vertical world I hadn't noticed. Perhaps I had been hasty, I did enjoy the sport and I had chosen to climb.
Over the last 10 years I have pursued rock climbing and enjoyed it immensely. I have climbed throughout California - in Yosemite, Malibu, Joshua Tree, Mammoth Lakes, Big Bear, San Diego, Los Angeles and Tahquitz - and have also spent time climbing in Pennsylvania and Alaska. In years when my climbing is strong and consistent I even lead. And in years when my climbing takes a back seat to some other sport, I feel the pull of fear every time I tie in. Like today. Always nervous on my fist ascent, I move quickly to a spot where I stop and breathe. I look down and double-check my harness. I look back at the rock inches from my face and breathe again. Then I remember why I do this - the feel of the rock beneath my palm, the challenge of finding imperfections in the wall for the tip of my toe. I push through rediscovering my finesse and listen to the rhythm of my breath as I move higher - it's so base and time slows. The reward is always the same: Finishing the day dirty, covered in hard-won sweat and grime. Grasping a cold beer, hands caked with chalk. Swapping stories with friends. I get why I climb.
up for a class through SCMA (Southern California Mountaineers Association) and called every week to bug me about it. I had spent a lot of time backpacking and bagging third class summits in the Sierra's and was starting to develop an interest in ascending peaks with more technical routes.I signed on and talked a mutual friend Andrew into joining. At first, I hated it. The course didn't focus on climbing, but rather on safety. I would attend the weekend workshops and go through the process - tying 8 knots under 2 minutes, cleaning a top anchor, rappelling with and without a device, prussiking up a rope and learning to rescue a fallen climber by extricating myself out of the system. We didn't do any climbing during the 10-week course. And throughout I would whine to Andrew, "I CAN do it, I just CHOOSE not too." Or utter "What is the point? I don't need to see what's up there." For the final we had to follow one of the course's leaders up a multi-pitch climb at Tahquitz - a beautiful 700 foot granite outcropping on San Jacinto.
Terrified and sure I would die, I mitigated my fears by choosing a climb that was easy, relatively short and low angle. Darrell would lead us up The Trough - a 5.2 four-pitch climb. From the start I just wanted it to be over. We moved slowly and I complained the whole way. At the top of the third pitch I think Darrell had had enough. He told us we would have to rappel down, that if we didn't we would be out here another four hours, hiking back to our cars after dark. I think he exaggerated the timing because he was done with my whining and Fred's fearful resistance. While Darrell set up the rappel - a double rope rap of 300 feet and 2 pitches - I remember looking down at the parking lot. Spotting my black VW Passat 1,000 feet below us, I made a silent pact with God: I promised him I would never climb again if he let me survive this day and return home safely.
With the confidence of my deal in place, I loaded the system, tied a backup prussik to the rope, waved good-bye to Fred and followed Darrell into the abyss. The first rap was 140 feet to a hanging belay. Tying into the anchor, I moved to the side and stuck my toes on the 2 inch ledge and tried not to look down. We were 160 dead vertical feet off the deck. Fred last, crowded onto our ledge. Darrell pulled the rope and set up for the final descent. When it was my turn, I finally took note of Fred: His face was ashen, his fingers wrapped tightly around the daisy chain anchoring him to the ledge. He whispered he would never climb again.
Halfway down, I decided to take in my surroundings - after all it was the last time I too would ever climb again. To my surprise I smiled. It was stunning. A bird sailed by just overhead as I said hello to a fellow climber sitting on a ledge 20 feet to my left. I took a deep breath and looked out towards the horizon and down at the snake of fire road on the slope below. I smiled again at the vertical world I hadn't noticed. Perhaps I had been hasty, I did enjoy the sport and I had chosen to climb.
Over the last 10 years I have pursued rock climbing and enjoyed it immensely. I have climbed throughout California - in Yosemite, Malibu, Joshua Tree, Mammoth Lakes, Big Bear, San Diego, Los Angeles and Tahquitz - and have also spent time climbing in Pennsylvania and Alaska. In years when my climbing is strong and consistent I even lead. And in years when my climbing takes a back seat to some other sport, I feel the pull of fear every time I tie in. Like today. Always nervous on my fist ascent, I move quickly to a spot where I stop and breathe. I look down and double-check my harness. I look back at the rock inches from my face and breathe again. Then I remember why I do this - the feel of the rock beneath my palm, the challenge of finding imperfections in the wall for the tip of my toe. I push through rediscovering my finesse and listen to the rhythm of my breath as I move higher - it's so base and time slows. The reward is always the same: Finishing the day dirty, covered in hard-won sweat and grime. Grasping a cold beer, hands caked with chalk. Swapping stories with friends. I get why I climb.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
New Adventures of Old Cathleen
For numerous reasons, most beyond my control, I have jumped into using social media websites. Though this blog has been around for a bit, I now have a facebook account, am LinkedIn, tweet regularly, bookmark my favorite web musings and digg. Yeah, I admit it: I came late to the party but I showed up.
While I have always had a fair understanding of the power of social media, online networking and their application in a business sense, I had no idea of the magnitude. On a personal level I have 'reconnected' with people I knew in high school and even some I barely knew. The later is weird and surprising - finding out I have much more in common now with someone I never knew as a teen and are only 'friends' because we should have known each other as teens. It has been fun and not the time suck I was warned about - honestly.
The value of social media is vast and, as a writer and photographer, I cannot deny its power in generating a buzz even about my own skill set. Here is where I will insert my shameless plug: I am doing a 7 part series on social media for another blog (http://www.alderwoodgroup.com/TAG/Blog/tabid/67/Default.aspx).
Even more interesting is that in the last three days I have had two separate conversations about the value of Facebook. First, do I facebook or am I opposed and second, how do I use facebook? In both dialogues there was someone opposed to the whole notion of Facebook. Frankly, I think their views stem from the fact they aren't using Facebook or any other social media sites. Why wouldn't they be opposed and not see any value in it? The second conversation was a bit more intriguing and danced around the notion that none of us felt comfortable using Facebook to discuss the minutiae of our lives. I agreed but admitted that sometimes I felt compelled to post in kind - professing my love for pizza or my excitement at another mountain bike ride with my girlfriends.
My friend felt his Facebook account was necessary but not something he believed in. His friend said she used hers to post pictures - letting the images detail her life. I, on the other hand, just felt a little too private to boast about what I was up to 24/7. Had tried it once or twice but didn't feel too adept at it unless it related to some aspect of what I do for a living.
In short, while I won't be discussing the details of my day-to-day on sites like Facebook, I will blog about my love for pizza and a cold beer after a day of climbing at my favorite crag. And, at the very least, I am finding the more I engage with others online, the more I am liking this social media thing.
While I have always had a fair understanding of the power of social media, online networking and their application in a business sense, I had no idea of the magnitude. On a personal level I have 'reconnected' with people I knew in high school and even some I barely knew. The later is weird and surprising - finding out I have much more in common now with someone I never knew as a teen and are only 'friends' because we should have known each other as teens. It has been fun and not the time suck I was warned about - honestly.
The value of social media is vast and, as a writer and photographer, I cannot deny its power in generating a buzz even about my own skill set. Here is where I will insert my shameless plug: I am doing a 7 part series on social media for another blog (http://www.alderwoodgroup.com/TAG/Blog/tabid/67/Default.aspx).
Even more interesting is that in the last three days I have had two separate conversations about the value of Facebook. First, do I facebook or am I opposed and second, how do I use facebook? In both dialogues there was someone opposed to the whole notion of Facebook. Frankly, I think their views stem from the fact they aren't using Facebook or any other social media sites. Why wouldn't they be opposed and not see any value in it? The second conversation was a bit more intriguing and danced around the notion that none of us felt comfortable using Facebook to discuss the minutiae of our lives. I agreed but admitted that sometimes I felt compelled to post in kind - professing my love for pizza or my excitement at another mountain bike ride with my girlfriends.
My friend felt his Facebook account was necessary but not something he believed in. His friend said she used hers to post pictures - letting the images detail her life. I, on the other hand, just felt a little too private to boast about what I was up to 24/7. Had tried it once or twice but didn't feel too adept at it unless it related to some aspect of what I do for a living.
In short, while I won't be discussing the details of my day-to-day on sites like Facebook, I will blog about my love for pizza and a cold beer after a day of climbing at my favorite crag. And, at the very least, I am finding the more I engage with others online, the more I am liking this social media thing.
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