Wednesday, August 12-Descent

The Sierra are fault block mountains. To visualize how they formed,
imagine a top loading washing machine with the lid closed. Now, open
the lid only an inch. See how the top of the lid slopes gently down to
the hinge? That hinge is located on the west edge of the Sierras,
along the central valley of California. The mountains rise gently from
that hinge getting higher and higher as you move east, away from the
hinge, then when you reach the edge of the lid there is a sudden drop
off. So it is with the east side of the Sierras. It takes only 6-8
trail miles to drop from the very highest peaks of the range to the
valley floor on the east side while on the west side it takes about
70-80 miles to accomplish the same thing. Of course this makes the
east side incredibly steep and the west side quite gentle. Both sides
of our flat washing machine lid, the sloping and the steep have been
gouged by glaciers and rivers over the millinium so those nice smooth
surfaces you have been visulizing are actually very rough with tall
ridges seperated by deep valleys. Sally and I were camped in one of
those deep gouges on the steep eastern face of the range after our
climb.
The east face catches the morning sun rise and all the glorious color
that comes with it. That fact would get us up early to watch the
colors and light play on the walls of granite. It was beautiful.
We packed up and headed for Whitney Portal 6 miles by trail and a
drop of 3600'. We parked the van there a week ago.
Took us until 12:30 to get out. Washed in the van and headed for
Bishop to meet with my brother, Ken. He was headed on a hike out of
Bishop into the Evolution Valley area and we were going to help him
stage his car at the trailhead at South Lake where they would be
exiting.
We had a great dinner in town with them, got gear ready, then hit the
sack.

Chuck

Tuesday, August 11-Surprising Summit

When I first conceived of this route for our hike my only concern was
getting trapped. To get started on the first day we had to climb over
an 11,700' pass. Once over the only way out was back over that pass,
or hiking the route and climbing over two even higher passes,
Forester at 13,200 and Whitney Crest at 13,600. These obsticals gave
me pause. If we could not accomplish the first the trip would never
get off the ground. Once in we had to scale the last two to get out.
There was no other way out, unless we considered hiking out on the
west side of the Sierras and then trying to find transportation the
300 miles back around the range to our car on the east side. If
something happened to Sally's knee or she was not strong enough to
hike the route or if the weather turned sour we would be trapped.
I was relieved when we made it over the first pass. We seemed strong
and my confidence was elevated. But, at the same time we were now
committed. We had to make it over the next two passes. Our van was
parked at our planned exit point, Whitney Portal. If we turned back
we would have to hitch rides to the van.
Day one finished with successfully crossing Kearsage Pass with no
discomfort in the questionable knee. Day two the knee was fine, but
fatigue became an issue. Day three was the big ascent of Forester
Pass, and although slow, we made a strong showing. Day four was a
mellow day
with gradual ups and downs. All systems looking great. Day five
required considerable climbing and descending, and the questionable
knee was tired, but performing well. That brought us to today, the
toughest day of all, ascending Whitney crest at 13,600'. Today also
carries an added temptation-at the crest you are only 2 miles and
1200' below the summit of Mt. Whitney.
Not knowing how we would do ascending the switchbacks up the west side
of Mt. Whitney, we decided to get a very early start. I set the alarm
for 4:30. The waning gibbous moon provided ample light to cook
breakfast and pack up the tent, quilt and other gear. It was cold, but
not below freezing with a light wind blowing. Just at the time we were
packed and ready to go the sun began to add it's early morning glow.
We worked our way up the rocky trail in the faint light. We had left
trees behind 1500' lower the day before. All remaining vegetation
disappeared within the first fifteen minutes of climbing. We followed
the switchbacks up this impossibly steep rock slope winding across
talus, bedrock and slab outcrops. Three hours later we made the trail
junction to the summit of Whitney. Decision time. The weather is
perfect. It is early morning. And as Sally said, "I have climbed over
12,000' feet this week, what is another thousand." So we put together
a summit pack and left our backpacks at the trail junction along with
about 50 other people's packs and headed for the summit.
The trail is impressive. It clings to the west side of the ridge,
dynamited from solid rock in places, built up with stone work in
others. The altitude is very noticable, as Sally could only manage 15
paces afterwhich she would have to stop to catch her breath. Also, she
was extremely cautious on the terribly uneven terrain, taking care of
her knee. It took us nearly two and a half hours, but at 11:15 we were
on the summit of Mt. Whitney, 14,496 ft above sea level.
We wandered through the crowd of 30 or more, took a summit photo, had
some crackers and cheese and a Snickers and just sat on the boulders
and enjoyed the cool air, warm sun and spectacular views. Mt. Whitney
is on the very easterly edge of the Sierra range. From the top you can
look straight off it's 2000' vertical east face into Owens Valley
11,000 ft below. To the north and west lie wave after wave of mountain
ridges and peaks. To the south the mountains begin to wither as the
Sierras decrease in altitude and breadth.
It took us a little more than an hour to return to our packs. We still
had 300' feet to climb to move from west side of the Sierra crest to
the east side. Once we cleared the crest we descended 98 switchbacks,
losing 1300' to "Trail Camp", a small lake where climbers camp before
ascending Whitney.
We found a secluded spot a couple hundred yards from the other 10+
groups of campers, put up the tent, ate dinner and prepared to try to
stay awake to watch the Persied meteor shower.

Chuck

Monday, August 10-Whitney Approach

This is ridiculous! We knew the John Muir trail was busy, people fly
from all over the world to hike it's length and that it is more of a
"social" experience than a wilderness experience, but . . . Come On!
This is ridiculous.
At Wallace Creek we walked up stream from the trail crossing quite a
ways to avoid the people. We saw no one all night and thought we had
the place to ourselves. We awoke at 5:30, packed and were on the trail
by 6:45 again. When we emerged from our seclusion to the JMT we found
three parties camped on the other side of the creek from us, just out
of our view but not more than ten feet from the trail. So much for
100' from water and trail when camping. But, in their defense you are
given conflicting orders when you receive your permit. "Camp 100' from
trail and water and only camp in established campsites.". Problem is,
most established campsites are right alongside the trail, so people
use them rather than seek out a more secluded established site.
We started our climb out of Wallace Creek, beginning our 8 mile
approach to the base of Mt. Whitney which we hope to climb tomorrow.
Before we make it the 4.4 miles to Crabtree Meadows we are passed by
at least 25 people. As we begin our ascent from Crabtree at 10,700 to
the base of Whitney at 12,000' we are passed by at least another 40
people. All are camping at Guitar Lake, the most popular backpacking
destination in the country (We are reminded of this as we pass thru
Crabtree Meadows. The area ranger has a tub of poop bags sitting by
the trail with a sign stating this fact and that you are to collect
your poop in the bags and carry it out with you when you exit the
wilderness. I am an old hand at this. Mt. Rainier requires the same.)
We huff and puff our way up to Guitar Lake at 11,500', a perfect jewel
of a lake nestled in the grandest glacial cirque I have ever seen. The
lake's name comes from it's shape, a near perfectly shaped acoustical
guitar. We knew everyone that passed us was coming here, and sure
enough there are10 groups camped around the lake. We climb above the
lake 150' vertical feet to a small pond on a shelf of granite to find
6 more parties. We finally ascend to 12,000' in the barren rock fields
to find a great place to camp - and four more parties. It is going to
be crowded on Whitney tomorrow!
Shame takes a backseat to cleanliness in the mountains. I had climbed
ahead of Sally to find a campsite and found a bivy site lined with a
rock wall right next to a little pond perfect for bathing. I dropped
my pack and went back to guide Sally in as she mounted the shelf. As
we approached our site a lovely lady with a gorgous figure was
stripped nude and washing herself in the pond. It certainly did not
offend me, nor was she worried as Sally and I approached. Oh, what
wildlife! Sally and I returned the favor a few minutes later with our
own bathing episode. I am sure unlike us, they averted their gaze.
There is nothing less attractive than middle age white bodies flailing
nude in a mountain pond. We spent the afternoon basking in our
cleanliness, Sally honing her ever proving uke skills and I writing
blog posts for the past three days.
With any luck, we will be standing on the summit of Mt Whitney
tomorrow . . . along with the 85 other people camped in and around the
Guitar Lake basin (not to mention the hoards that will be climbing
from the east side of the mountain, too).

Chuck

Sunday, August 9-Halfway to Whitney

We awoke to frost on the tent. As in all previous nights, it was well
below freezing. We slowly cooked and packed, washing our hair with
water heated on the stove waiting for the sun to reach us and melt the
frost on the tent. Once it did, I used a towel to wipe away most of
the water, stowed the tent on my pack and with one final check for
left items and a spotless camp we headed down the trail. We traversed
3 miles of spectacular open meadow where the drainage from Forrester
Pass and Shepherd's Pass meet. The two valleys combine to create a
landscape 3 miles wide, all at 11,000+ feet. Spectacular! We reached
Tyndall creek, then started up over a 700' ridge to drop into Wallace
Creek for the night. Nothing to report except hours and hours of
spectacular scenery, a few stops for food and a beautiful little
meadow once we dropped the 500' into Wallace Creek. Camp was at
10,600', so we were hopeful of a warmer night. We did encounter
something we have never encountered in the Sierras in August before -
Mosquitoes! We slapped our way through dinner, then retreated to the
tent to escape their onslaught. They hung on the bug netting looking
in, 50 or more. We had a nerd attack for a few hours while we read
"Math and the Mona Lisa" and had an animated"" discussion of Fibonacci
Numbers, the Golden Proportion and it's application to the pyramids
and the Parthanon. We fell asleep to sweet dreams of irrational numbers.

Chuck

Saturday, August 8-Forrester Pass

The focus of this entire day is getting over Forrester Pass. It is the
southern most pass on the Muir Trail and the highest at 13,200', if
you don't include geting over the shoulder of Mt. Whitney to exit at
Whitney Portal.
The original Muir trail, completed in 1916 did not attempt to go over
this pass, which is really just a notch in a 1000' cliff. The original
Muir Trail veered east one valley and passed over two less impossible
passes to end up at Tyndall Creek. Forrester Pass allows Passage to
Tyndall Creek directly, cutting distance and the number of climbs
needed. But, to build a trail suitable for pack animals, or even for
hikers down the north face of this cliff is a daunting task. But, they
surveyed the route well and by the late 1930's the trail was
completed. The approach from the north is a long gentle rise from
Vidette Meadow at 9800' through meadows, stands of timber and feld
fields to gain the notch. Other than back breaking work and
imaginative route location it is an "ordinary" trail. But, when you
now gain the notch (notice I am no longer calling it a pass) and look
down the south side there is no slope, just a 1000' near vertical
drop. The trail climbs up from the notch 10' to avoid the chute that
drops from the bottom of the notch, then switchbacks on constructed
rockwalls resting on irregularities of the cliff face. These first few
switchbacks are only about 20-30' long as that is all there is room
for. Then the trail traverses across the chute about 40' below the
notch and follows a ledge on the face of the cliff that has been
widened thru the construction of more rock wall supports. Finally,
about 400 vertical feet below the level of the notch the slope lessens
a bit from vertical and a more traditional trail thru rock fields sees
you to the bottom of the cliff.
Sally and I knew this pass had a reputation, but I thought it was due
to it's height, not it's gravity defying construction.
We were up early, 5:30, and on the trail by 6:45. The first couple
miles took us through stands of timber, open meadows and rock fields.
The meadows were heavily frosted, showing we were not just being
wooses about the cold. The eastern peaks of the Sierra Crest kept the
sun off us until some time past nine, a welcome relief compared to
climbing in the blazing sun.
At about 11,300 feet we passed the dad and sons we had seen camping
illegally at Bullfrog Lake. They had pulled off the trail onto a small
level spot to spend the night. They were up and preparing to leave. As
I walked by I noticed smoke rising from a campfire. In the Sierra
campfires are not allowed above 10,000' and signs remind every hiker
on the trail as they pass the 10,000 ft level.
To put it mildly, I get really pissed off when I see people breaking
the rules. I get possessive about these mountains. The rules are there
to try to preserve what is here. Building a fire requires firewood and
above 10,000' it is scarce. Combine that with the 100's of hikers that
camp in these valleys each week and the short growing season and you
have a recipe for destruction.
I fumed up the trail, counting to 10 over and over telling myself not
to be angry with him when he overtook us but to calmly remind him of
the rules.
We climbed into a beautiful glacial circue, then climbed it's headwall
and exited to the right to gain the ridge to the notch. The
lawbreaking son of a bitch and his kids caught up with us about
12,000'. I had calmed down a bit so we struck up a conversation. At
what seemed an appropriate point when we were talking about how
beautiful the mountains were I simply and calmly said "you know that
fires are not allowed above 10,000'". He replied a little sheepishly
with a tinge of defensiveness "I know" and I let it go at that. He was
from Washigton DC. I guess the city that makes the laws doesn't
impress upon it's natives that you are also supposed to follow them.
Anyway, Sally and I continued up another 400 vertical feet over half a
mile, then stopped for a drink of water. This is when we discovered we
had left her water bottle back at the last stop. I ran the half mile
down to get the bottle, and sure enough it was sitting on a rock next
to the stream meandering thru the heather. I quickly walked back up,
shouldered my pack and presently caught up with Sally. We crested the
pass at about 2:30, stopped to talk with a teacher leading a group of
kids on a 10 day 100 mile trip, then descended the clinging trail. At
the bottom of the cliff we found water so we stopped and cooked some
afternoon spaghetti, then continued another mile or two down until we
ducked off the trail and found a place to camp among the boulders near
a lake at 12,000'. We spent a chilly evening reading and playing the
ukulele before crawling under the down quilt for the night. It was our
third night of camping, and luckily, we had manuvered ourselves into
camping alone each night, a difficult task when hiking on the JMT.

Chuck

Friday, August 7-Cold!

We are used to summer in the Sierra. By mid morning you are hiking in
a thin shirt with very comfortable temperatures and early afternoon
means profuse sweating if you are working you way uphill. Not so this
hike. We awoke at Kearsage lake to a thick coating of frost on
everything. We slept late, 7:30, to let the sun rise above the eastern
ridge and thaw the ice on the tent. We cooked breakfast wrapped in our
fleece noticing it was severly colder than normal. Ordinarily, we
strip to light weight clothes to begin hiking. Not so this morning. I
left camp with fleece tights and a fleece pullover on. Sally did the
same. The snow they had predicted did not show, but the cold air did.
We descended to Bullfrog Lake, then to the lower lake. A man came
running out of the bushes near the lake to inquire if he was at
Bullfrog Lake and how to get to the John Muir trail. We answered his
questions, reassured him he was at the right spot and went on our way.
It occurred to me a minute or two later that he was not to be camping
there as all camping near Bullfrog Lake is banned due to overuse and
meadow destruction. A few hundred yards down the trail a sign
reinforced my thoughts.
We intersected the JMT and turned south, dropping into Bubbs Creek and
Vidette Meadows about 800' below us. At the valley bottom a trail
headed right 13 miles to the end of the road in Kings Canyon National
Park. We turned left and began climbing up the Bubbs Creek drainage.
We hoped to get a few miles up the valley, staging us for the grunt
coming tomorrow when we hike over Forester Pass at 13,200'. We set up
camp at about 10,200' in the early afternoon in a secluded grove of
trees, hopeful no one would spot us and camp next to us. Sally napped
while I read and explored the area. It was very cold in the shade, so
I moved my slinglite chair out in the sun to stay warm.
The GPS says we hiked 5.35 miles for the day, a nice non push day.
This meant tomorrow we would have to hike 5 miles and gain 3000' feet
to clear Forester Pass.

Chuck

Thursday, August 6-Kearsage Pass

I slept like the exhausted person I was. But, not long enough. We had
a big climb today, and we wanted to get up most of it before the heat
of the day. What I did not know at 5:15 in the morning as we drug
ourselves out of bed was there would be no heat of the day.
We had chuckled to ourselves in the Forest Service office as we got
our permit when they said the prediction was for snow in the High
Sierras. It was 96 at the office with clear sky. The heat hung on as
we shuttled to the trail head and it was only when we got out of the
car last night that the wind whipped around us and chilled our skin.
Still, we had seen wind on the east side before without snow.
This morning the sky was perfectly clear, but the wind was still
howling and it was cold.
We started up the trail in our fleece. Usually we peel them off after
10 or 15 minutes, but not today. The wind continued to howl and the
temperature dropped as we gained altitude. By the time we reached the
pass at 11,760' it was very chilly in spite of the sun high overhead.
We found a nook on the lee side of the ridge and chatted with a dad
and his late teenage sons, then shouldered our packs and headed down
the windward side of the pass toward Kearsarge Lakes.
As soon as we came off the ridge the wind was intense, whipping dust
and sand into our eyes. We descended quickly and soon got back into
the trees. We made our way down to the lowest of the chain of lakes,
hoping to avoid camping with the other 20 people heading in the same
direction. Our plan worked and we had the small laklet all to
ourselves. It had a beautiful campsite next to the lake and good
shelter from the wind.
All I was interested in was sleep, so we pitched the tent, had a quick
snack and crawled in about 2:30. 5 o'clock came to soon. I guess I was
tired. Cooked dinner, read a little, listened to Sally play the
ukulele and climbed back into bed for the night. The snow. Hard to
snow when there is not a cloud in the sky, but it was really cold,
already down to 36 by 8 o'clock. It would be a chilly night.
So, what is so cool about the Sierra mountains? Hard to describe. Of
course there are the soaring granite peaks rising to 13,000' all
around. But it is more than that. Those grey peaks are carressed at
their feet by gentle meadows, stands of pines, small alpine lakes and
tumbling, laughing streams. Each individually is impressive, but it is
the sum of all the parts that creates the magic of these mountains.
Yet, there is more. It is the light. The nearly ever present sunshine
that pours down, sparkling the water in the lakes and streams,
illuminating the meadows, creating contrast between the ridges and the
crevesses on the granite and bathing the landscape with it's uplifting
presence. On those rare days when the clouds dominate the sky one
realizes what a mood changer the sun is.
There is one more element and that is history. The Piute Indians
traversed these mountains east to west to trade. They established the
first east west passages. Then in the late 1800's the early explorers
made inroads into the valleys and up the peaks. Soon the conceived of
a north-south passage through the high country and began constructing
what would be the John Muir trail, finishing it just a few years after
Muir's death.
And it is John Muir who so elegantly described the Sierra in his
writing that brought attention to the fledgling nation the need to
preserve these glorious wild places.
All this was done before the invention of the car. The preservation
attitude and the public backing of these ideals was well established
by the time the highway builders tried to make toads across the
Sierra. Every attempt to pierce this wilderness with pavement was
squashed through public outcry. And so today the John Muir trail runs
220 miles through the very heart of the Sierra without a single road
crossing it.
It is all these elements that set the Sierra apart from the other
mountain ranges in the US and the world and that keep me coming back
summer after summer.

Chuck

Wednesday, August 5-Race to Relax

We are supposed to be relaxing. It is vacation time. In Europe we were
traveling and by definition this means moving everyday, seeing the
sites. But, now we are vacationing, which to
me denotes a slower pace, time to relax, take your time doing things.
Yet, we also want to get into the backcountry as soon as possible.
This means driving to the trailhead, positioning cars, getting packed,
etc. In our case driving to the trailhead became a longer drive than
we were anticipating.
We need to enter the Sierra's from the east side of the range, south
of Bishop. To do this we were to drive over Hwy 89 from Mt Shasta to
Susanville. We were ready to turn off I-5 when a message board above
the freeway alerted use that a 40 mile stretch of Hwy 89 was closed
due to forest fire. This forced us down the west side all the way to
Yosemite and over Tioga pass, adding about 4-5 hours to our drive. I
drove until 1am, pulled into a rest stop 120 miles north of
Sacramento, slept until 6am, then climbed back into the driver's seat
and continued our southward journey. We got to Bishop about 3 instead
of 11. I was sure all the hiking permits for Kearsage Pass for the
next day would be gone, but not so. We got our permit, stopped at
Schatz Bakery for the best Cherry Turnovers on the planet, then headed
south for the hour drive to Lone Pine at the foot of Mt. Whitney. We
contacted a mountain shuttle service enroute and arranged to have them
meet us at Whitney Portal where we would leave our van, and then drive
us and our packs to Onion Valley where we would start our hike. The
arrangements were secured so we spent an hour in Lone Pine readying
our gear, buying a little more food and renting an additional bear can
to hold our 9 days of food. We did all our packing while parked in the
McDonalds parking lot. The temperature was about 96 degrees. It was
hard to pack long johns and down coats while sweating in the hot
evening, however the forcast was for snow above 11,000 ft, so we
prepared for cold temperatures.
Our shuttle service followed us to Whitney Portal, a 30 minute drive
out of town and a gain of 5000 ft. We parked the van, secured it for
it's 9 day wait, then settled into the car and were driven back to
Lone Pine, then up Hwy 395 16 miles and up 5000' vertical ft to Onion
Valley. We arrived after dark and using flashlights set up our tent,
cooked dinner and were to bed about ten. I was exhausted. But, I
hoped once we were in the backcountry we would have more time to sleep
and rest.

Chuck

Tuesday, August 4-Here We Go Again

When last we met Sally and Chuck were sitting in the Newark airport
waiting for a plane back to Portland. They were not to be
disappointed. A ten o'clock plane whisked them away and deposited them
in the Rose City. A comfortable night's sleep at Sally's sister's
place, a visit in the morning with her mom, other sister and nephew
Rob, wife Tiffany and new son Tyler and we were in the Buick and
puttsing up I-5 to Toledo.
That was last Thursday. A whirlwind of watering, visiting, packing
food, and VW van repair and we are on the road heading south to
California and the Sierra Mountains.
Sally is at the wheel and I am stretched out in back thumbing my way
through this posting. Our goal is the Forest Service office in Bishop,
CA by tomorrow morning to pick up permits for hiking in the Kings
Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. We are sporting food for a ten day
backpacking trip from Kearsage Pass to Mt. Whitney, a distance of
about 45 miles by trail. We have scheduled about 4-6 miles each day, a
leisurely pace with lots of time for photography and siteseeing. Our
route takes over three passes, Kearsage at about 11,300 feet, Forester
at 13,200 feet and over the shoulder of Mt. Whitney, again at about
13,400 feet. The territory should be beautiful, with much of the route
at or above treeline.
We are both feeling a little porky after our gastronomical tour of
Europe, so the bear can full of food is skimpy on the calories. Sort
of like a forced march. We can't cheat on the diet because we don't
have enough food and we cannot carry anymore because the bear can is
full. We like to refer to it as spa week. We will definitely be
shedding a few pounds.
We come out at Whitney Portal at the base of Mt. Whitney next
Thursday, then drive north an hour and a half to Yosemite to meet John
Sanford's friends and family for a seven day backpack trip. I already
packed the food and dropped it off at John's. He will bring it down on
the 15th for distribution and carrying.
I will blog when I can during the hike. The chance is near zero of a
daily posting but I will store them up and blitz them all as I get
cell service, so check back every once in a while.

Chuck

Wednesday, July 29-On Time

Whoa. I was tired. Tried to sleep in this morning, but that is Sally's
talent, not mine. London time I got to bed at 5am and woke up at 11.
Local that was midnight and 6am. Laid around the hotel this morning
enjoying the cellular connection I had been without for 5 weeks.
Cruised the web, checked stock prospects, texted. Used the workout
room to lift weights and use the stair master, then showered,
breakfast and back to the room at 10AM. I picked up a good book in
London so we read for a while, took a nap and then caught the airport
shuttle to Newark airport about noon. Our flight is not until 5:30pm,
so it is a lazy day at the airport reading. It actually feels good
after the Europe trip. We were on the move everyday and really had no
time (gave ourselves no time) to sit around. So it felt good to sit
and read. About two the skies opened up and torrential rains
accompanied by intense lightning and thunder signaled impending flight
delays. Sure enough, by 4:20 we were bumped to 7:30. Then 8:30. 9:30.
10:00. Four intense thunder storms have pounded the field since 2,
each causing further delays, not because planes can't take off, but
planes can't land so there are no planes left to carry us away. So,
here we sit. We have been in the airport for 9 hours so far. How many
to go? Two at best, with no upper end in sight. For some perverse
reason I am enjoying it. I don't have anything really pressing, my
book is great, I have the Internet, texting and email to occupy me and
most importantly extreme temperature records are being set back home,
102 in Seattle, 106 in Toledo and high humidity. This air conditioned
airport with padded chairs and comfy carpet are just fine with us.

Chuck

Tuesday, July 28 - Close Out

It is hard to ignore an approaching change. For the last three days
Sally and I have been saying we have all day Tuesday to continue our
exploration of London. But now that the day is here it isn't free. The
trip has changed tenor. We don't have an open ended agenda. We don't
have unreserved days in front of us. The end of the day sees us
winging home and because of that all has changed. We must be
responsible again. We must meet someone else's time table. However
small, freedom has been deminished.
We started the day on a lazier note. It took us till 10 to get out of
the hotel. We could have left our packs at the hotel for a two pound
per bag fee, but that meant we would have to walk the three blocks
back to the hotel to retrieve our bags before riding the tube to the
airport. Instead, we opted to lock them in lockers at the train
station, as we did in Munich. When we arrived at the train station we
found the lockers were considered a terroist threat and in their place
a bag check stood. You turn over your bag like you would check your
coat at a hotel, take a ticket and reclaim it when you are done. One
difference. They X-Ray your bag before they place it on the racks to
make sure no bombs exist. Price? 8 pounds per bag. Rather than lug
them back to the hotel to get the cheaper price, we checked our bags.
Rode the tube to Notting Hill stop and walked to check out a street
side market called Portobello. It was a nice walk, and the shops were
interesting.
We walked back, took the tube to Hyde Park, walked through it and
caught the bus on the opposite side to Trafalgar Square with the
intention of walking to the Eye of London for a ride, a 400+ foot high
Ferris Wheel like viewing machine. We hoofed it to the base, looked at
the hour and a half line and decided it could wait for our next visit
and an early morning crowd beating start.
So, we found a place for lunch on Whitehall Street with a cute,
energetic, young Italian waitress (yes, she caught my eye). We
decided that anything else we pursued would be non productive, so we
returned to retrieve our packs and headed for the airport.
A little tenative after our last experience at the Virgin Atlantic
Airline desk, this time our reservation was confirmed and we were
issued boarding passes. The only hitch; Orbitz still had us booked on
tomorrow's flight as well as today's. To the end they could not get it
right.
I am writing this somewhere over the Atlantic. I have watched one
movie, started another, and have slept about half an hour. It is
12:50AM according to my body and London, but we will land in Newark at
11:00PM Newark time. I hope to get some sleep then.
It has been fun to record this trip each day. It afforded me a chance
to review each day and relive the main events. I hope those of you
that have plowed through all the episodes have not suffered any blunt
trama injuries from suddenly falling asleep at your monitors. No
cracked keyboards. No shattered mice.
One more day to go. Should be a lazy day waiting for a flight then six
hours across the country.

Chuck

Monday, July 27-Showtime

Ssssshhhh! The show is about to start. I am sitting in row Y, seat 6
reporting live from the show "Wicked" in downtown London. We are just
a few minutes from curtain draw. You can feel the anticipation of the
crowd as they find their seats. Speaking of the curtain, there is a
map of Oz on the curtain with the Emerald City in the middle and
important places like Munchkindland and such scattered around. A huge
dragon hovers at the top of the stage over the orchestra pit.
Sally and I returned to the half price ticket place about noon today
and found 2 tickets that someone returned. I don"t really believe the
"just returned" story, but the price was within our limit, so we got
them.
What else did we do today? Sally did not sleep well last night, so
she slept in this morning. I fought the morning rush hour traffic on
the tube to go to the Globe theatre for a tour while she slept. The
Virginia Street Station was blocked off when I arrived at quarter past
8, and like a pile up on a freeway, men and women in business attire
with concerned looks to their time pieces were piling up against the
barrier. There was no explanation on the reader boards, just a transit
worker at the top of the stairs blocking access. I tried another entry
around on the other side of the block, but it too was blocked. I
decided to catch a bus and was waiting for the correct number to
arrive when I noticed people were entering the tube station again, so
I headed down.
The pile up of people that had accumulated over the past half hour was
now making it's way to the platforms. It was sardines in a can. I
stood back as the first train came, figuring their appointments were
more important than mine. Through the windows it was apparent the
train was packed full as it came to a stop. Only a few got off and the
hoards on the platform began filling every nook and cranny on the
train. The last woman squeezing on had to stand pigeon toed to get her
toes out of the way of the door and was leaning in against the crowd
to avoid the door clobbering her as it shut. I wish I had the presence
of mind to video the whole scene, it was amazing.
The next train pulled in with more room and we all crowded in for the
ride.
The Globe Theatre is a perfect recreation of the original from
Shakespeare's time, complete with thatched roof (although there is a
sprinkler head every five feet along the peak of the roof incase of
fire).
I paid 10£ to tour the theatre, yet to watch a play as a groundling
standing in front of the stage would only have cost 5£. But, every
play was sold out, so a tour would have to suffice. I found the place
enchanting and if I ever return to London, getting tickets in advance
for a play there would be a top priority.
Sally was up when I returned at 11:30, so we headed out to the half
priced ticket kiosks and purchased the aforementioned Wicked tickets.
Mussels and fries at a Rick recommended restaurant lived up to
expectation and we were off to the British Museum. Wow! Talk about
looting the world of it's treasures! Mummies, whole friezes from the
Parthanon, Greek Urns and a million more pieces of ancient priceless
artifacts in a Louvre sized complex. It was impressive to say the
least. We rented the overview audio guide so we could sample
everything and not get overwhelmed trying to see everything, which
would be a multiple lifetimes task.
By 5:30, closing time, our brains were full and our eyes buggy. We
walked and tubed back to our room by 6:30, showered and dressed and
were out the door by 6:50 on our way to Wicked which was a 10 minute
walk away.
The story was fun, the stage props and costuming amazing, the theatre
great and the two leading ladies excellent. Now, I am no play critic
and I can count the stage productions I have seen on one hand, but at
times I felt the quality was equal to a Toledo High production. In
comparison, this speaks highly of Toledo's various directors and
actors over the years, because Tracy McFarlane and crew's portrail of
"The Butler Did It" and Marshall Hughes and Tessa Buswell's
performance in "Christmas Night" were just as compelling or fun. I
guess I expected more from a London production of a major play.
Still, we had a great time and enjoyed ourselves.
On the walk back food was on my mind. We stopped at a grocery for
bagels, cheese, custard and milk. Half a block from our hotel the Fish
and Chips hole in the wall shop we had been walking by for days was
still open. This seemed a sign to us, so we stopped in and got an
order to go. While waiting for the fish to come out of the grease we
got talking to a kid in his twenties with such a thick regional accent
from somewhere in London that we could only make out half of what he
was saying. We just shook our heads yes and laughed when he did and we
had a great . . . conversation?
The proprietor was from Croatia and his helper was from Iraq. We
discussed politics and life in England before we took our Fish and
Chips, now wrapped in paper and slowly staining from the grease and
headed for the hotel.
Our late night snack, our first TV watching in five weeks, a show
about the history of air travel in Brittain and zonk-our last full day
abroad was over.

Chuck

Sunday, July 26-The Clocks

Where in the hell are we? Does anybody know? My GPS says I am in
London. My map says I am in London. The TV says I am in London. The
Internet says I am in London. But, what if there were no GPS, map, TV,
or Internet? What if I were floating in a boat on the middle of the
sea 300 years ago. Now the question becomes impossible to answer.
Latitude, how far north or south of the equator? No problem. The
sextant can accurately tell us that, day or night providing the sky is
clear. Longitude, how far around the globe we are from a set
position? Not a clue. An accurate clock is needed to tell us that,
and 300 years ago none existed that could keep accurate time on a
rocking ship. That was, until John Harrison entered the scene. He
created masterful clocks, masterpieces of mechanics and art that kept
time perfectly while lookin' good. He built his first, the H1 in the
1720s and it is still running today.
Why the history lesson? You guessed it. Today we went to Greenwich to
see the H1, H2, H3 and H4, the clocks Harrison built. The first 3 are
still running, nearly 300 years now. He created a frictionless
escapement he called the grasshopper that reduced friction to the
point no oil was needed, therefore no wearing and no wearing out. So,
I stood outside the glass enclosure watching this magnificent brass
machine keeping accurate time 300 years after his maker first put it
in action. Looking at the clock was like looking into Harrison's mind.
You could see how he thought the problem through, how he solved it and
how he tried to improve with each new clock. You coulld even see tiny
holes he drilled, and then decided he didn't need. Very, very cool.
We had taken the boat down the Thames to Greenwich, the cockney
accented tour guide pointing out all the locations of interest along
the banks. The tide was out, so lots of beach was visible all down
this famous watercourse. We rode the boat on the way back as well, and
got off at Westminister, intent on visiting Churchill's WWII bunker,
but the $20 a piece admission price was too steep for the cursory walk
through we had planned. Instead, we headed for the bus and rode to
Leichester square to scope out discount play ticket vendors more
thouroughly, took a walk to Picadilly Circus, then tubed back to
Westminister to catch the organ concert at 5. Got there 15 minutes
early only to discover it was at 5:45, so we took a walk, returned,
waited in line and entered this grand, historic church. We were
interested in hearing this organ after listening to St. Paul's. We
also had an alterior motive, to see the abbey without having to pay
the $22 each admission fee. The concert was free. I was a little
disappointed I was not going to see Newton's tomb, but the price was a
lttle steep. So in we went and what should be sitting right in front
of me as I sat down? Newton's Tomb. I had thought it was in the
basement but there it was right in the middle of the abbey.
The recital was great. Midevil church with 1950ish Kavaleski on
steroids echoing nonharmonic dischords throughout the grand structure.
As we were walking into the church a somewhat elderly male usher
angrily told Sally that this was not a tour and to put her guide book
away. She had been looking for a place for dinner while standing in
line. After the recital he was shooing everyone out of the church
using the word please a lot, but neither his tone nor the words
wrapped around the please showed he meant it.
We took the tube to a restaurant recommended by our guide, Rick
Steve's and it was excellent. Meat pies, fries and vegetables and free
WiFi to boot.
While we dined the rain settled in for the night, so we donned our
ever present raincoats and walked the half mile to our hotel.
Am I getting old? By the end of the day I am whooped! That overall
body ache tires to the bone tired. Or is it the long days? 6:30 to 11
most days. It is not the clean, fresh air! Europeans have not
discovered that smoking is the cause of their high lung cancer rates,
yet. The air is awash with the smell that is now mostly gone from the
US. You would think with socialized medicine they would make an effort
to lower the costs by initiating an anti smoking campaign and reduce
the number of cancer cases, but I have seen no evidence of such. So,
the stink continues.

Chuck

Saturday, July 25-Murder and Mayhem

Showered and down to the basement for breakfast. The proprietor of
this Hotel is as kind and conciencious as a person could be as she
sees to our meal.
Out to the tube and off to the Tower of London. It is a beautiful
sunny day and the lines are only one person deep. We walk right into
the tower and wait on the bridge over the moat for our Beefeater to
begin his tour.
Dressed in their signature black and red uniforms, these guys provide
a very funny and entertaining review of the history of events in the
tower. Generally, they focus on beheadings, murders and aristocratic
misdeeds, painting a sorry picture of midevil England.
We wandered through the tower after the tour, checking out the crown
jewels, bloody tower and Henry VIII exhibit, then exited and tubed our
way to St. Paul's Cathedral, arriving about one. We used the audio
tour to familiarize ourselves with the history and architecture, then
popped out to the cafe across the street for a shared lunch of Lasagna
and salad.
We walked across the river for a look at the Globe Theatre and a quick
walk through of the Modern Tate Art Museum, then back to St. Paul's
for evensong, a 45 minutes church service with two short sermons and
lots of choral and organ music. We wanyed to hear the organ play in
this massive arena of marble and stone We walked to the front of the
church to get a good seat where we could enjoy the music and before I
knew it Sally had taken a Hymn book and we were walking up into the
nave and alter area heading for the choir seats. We were not going to
watch the Evensong prayer session, we were now a part of it. The padre
(got that from Clint Eastwood in Grand Torino) came in leading the
choir. For 45 minutes the church echoed in glorious song and pipe
organ and we were completely enveloped in it. We had a cheat sheet
telling us when to stand and when to sit, and we even sang along (I
mumbled along) with the organ and choir at the end. Why watch when you
can participate? We walked out of the nave back into the rest of the
church and resumed out normal, humble lives.
We caught the tube to the Leichester area. This is where they sell
half price tickets to the shows on the day of the show. There were
about 10-15 store fronts set up claiming to sell half price tickets in
bold glowing signs, so we picked the one with no line. It was now 7
o'clock with shows starting at 7:30. We had been discussing all day
what to see from the 20 or more shows to chose from. Our top choice
was Wicked, but our ticket vendor consulted his computer and told us
it was sold out (it is Saturday night). Sister Act, the new adaption
of the Whopi Goldberg movie was getting rave reviews and two seats
were available, so for 39.50£ each we bought the tickets. Now, with 25
minutes to showtime we were about a mile from the theatre. The Tube to
the rescue! Take the Northern Line one stop to Tottenham Court Road,
then the Central Line one stop to Oxford Circle and tada! In the door
with 10 minutes to spare.
The show? Fantastic. High energy and very fun.
Out at 10:30, two Tube lines, a short walk and a stop for a chocolate
bar and we were back at the hotel.

Chuck

Friday, July 24-London Bound

The alarm pokes us alive at 6:30 to catch an 8:30 train from Sterling
to Edinburgh. Caroline is up with tea ready. A quick bowl of cheerios
and we say cheerio to Laurel Cottage, throw our packs in Caroline's
Volvo and make the 25 minute drive to the train station.
We are early enough to catch the 8:05, so we climb aboard. Sally
sleeps the hour long ride. I am freed from the steering wheel for the
first time in a week and go to work on catching up on blogs.
We arrive in Edinburgh almost two hours before our train to London
leaves so we seek out a coffee shop in which to plan our London
adventures. Over a bagette and a Pepsi we contemplate our 4 1/2 days.
I wander down the street with iPhone in hand like a man on a beach
with a metal detector looking for an open WiFi which I find about 5
shoppes down. Standing like a street prostitute with my back against
the wall I pull up maps and facts about London, then report my
findings back to Sally in the coffee shop pouring over guide books and
making notes.
Did I mention it is cold? It is the 24th of July and we are sitting
on the platform with long pants, fleece coats and hats and freezing
our butts off. The wind is cold. Thankfully, our train arrives on time
and we are whisked away.
This is the first time we have had reserved seats since our inaugural
train ride from Paris to Laussagne so we have to walk the length of
the train to our assigned seats, banging our stuffed backpacks against
the seated travelers as we navigate the narrow aisle. Once there I
return to blogging while Sally researches and sleeps. It is the first
time I have Internet service on a train, so I take full advantage
researching tidbits of info. It would be nice to skype some calls, but
everyone back home is asleep with the eight hour time difference.
We pull into London's King's Crossing Station at 3:45 as advertised
and make our way to the tube, Victoria Line for a short ride to
Victoria Station. We purchase "Oyster" cards (I don't know where they
got that name) which are underground multiple trip passes that allow
you to just swip your card as you enter and leave the tube. Very
efficient, and handy.
We find our hotel, the Morgan, and are quickly shown to our ground
floor room. A quick shower, and we are hoofing it to Westminister
Abbey, Parliment, Number 10 West Downing Street and Trafalgar Square.
The early evening sun is shinning brilliantly as we approach Big Ben
from the west, affording magnificent photos. It is amzing hpw many
people there are! So this is where they have all been hiding. Our
travels have been remarkably uncrowded, until now.
A dinner of fish and chips (when in London, do as the Londoners do?)
along the way and a tube ride from Charring Cross back to the hotel
and day one of London comes to a close about 11PM.

Chuck

Thursday, July 24-Closing Off Scotland

All good things must end. I suppose this is true, although my personal
opinion is one good thing just blends into the next one. With this
thought in mind it is our last day in Scotland.
We enjoyed our breakfast of cereal and pancakes with bacon and eggs
courtesy of Lorna, then boarded our mighty fuel efficient vehicles for
a tour of Fyvie Castle, about 10 minutes from Geoff and Lorna's,
another one held in the national trust. Four families have occupied
this place since the 1400's, obviously many generations of each
family. In each room of the castle is an expert to explain the history
of the room and it's furnishings. Rich, fabulous, as we have come to
see. At one point we noticed a fourth of a rounded turret with a
radius of about 10 ft nestled in an open book corner between two wings
of the castle spanning the second and third floors. Inside it was a
bathroom obviously outfitted in the last 50 years. We tried to decide
what you would call such an architechural feature as the name turret
implied an outside corner rather than an inside corner such as this
one. The bathroom inside inspired such suggestions as a turd-it or an
addition with relief.
With the end of the tour came the ever present gift shop in which
Lorna bought Sally a Scottish version of the ABCs. We coudna a read
it, so we recorded Geoff reading and interpreting the text to all our
delights.
Our time with the Reid family had come to an end. Sadly, but with
great memories to treasure we said goodbye and headed down the road.
We puttered along these narrow, twisting roads and soon stopped at
Balmarrow Castle in the Dee side, the summer home of the Queen in the
highlands. 7£ each let us on the grounds to see how the currently rich
and connected live, for 6 weeks each summer. A quick tour of the
ballroom, then out to the grounds and the gardens, a historical video
and we were back on the road through Cairngoran National Park on our
way to Caroline's for the night. We got stuck behind a very irratic
driver, obviously not used to the narrow roads nor left side driving.
We suffered behind him for 20 minutes before a straight section let us
pass. Umeventfully, we traversed the last 30 miles and arrived at
Catoline's doorstep at about 7:30, nearly 2 hours later than we
thought we would be. Dave works offshore and had to leave for work on
Thursday. She had been waiting dinner, so I don't think we earned any
points with Magnus and Mae. A great dinner, clean out the car, a
beautiful walk through the local woods with Harvey, their Greyhound
and the evening and day were spent. We set our alarms for 6:30 to
catch a train from Stirling (hey Braveheart fans, this is where the
battle of Bannochburn was fought and won against the English) to
Edinburgh, then on to London.
Because we were out traveling, driving the countryside it felt like we
did not see Caroline and Dave much, although looking back we spent
three nights with them and toured Edinburgh together. Next time some
cycling and hiking to the top of nearby a "ben" are in order.

Chuck