Jay Anhold 11/17/20 Jay Anhold 11/17/20

Hot Spring Etiquette

In search of hot water…

You’ve come here because you’ve magically stumbled across this nook that is my repository of photos and memories or maybe we ran into each other or maybe your friend met me and recommended you check this out.

Hot Springing is a bug. I’ve seen an uptick of articles and lists of where they are and how to find them. There are far worse things to resign yourself to, but bathing isn’t too bad of a hobby. Your going to end up in some magical places and you will meet some of the coolest, chillest, out-right neat people on your journey. You’re going to meet creeps and perverts, a delightful mix of bikers, vagabonds, mountain folk, old-timers, hippies, hipsters, rockers, celestials, and road-trippers. It’s always best to come prepared for adventure. Some consider themselves a casual hot springer and some make destination vacations to sit in a pool of warm water - often for weeks at a time (the vacation not the sitting in a pool).

1. Finding hot springs is a lot of work. There are books on the subject. They are found on maps. Sometimes these two do not overlap. Do your research on the roads and the amenities in the area. With your research go prepared for the situation. Be ready for disappointment; and be ready to turn back if conditions are not advisable. Be ready to bask in some awesome places. Be prepared to put in the work to find the good ones.

2. When you find that awesome spot… don’t share it on your media. Don’t share it without understanding who you are telling. Like, literally… don’t share it with just anyone. If I share where every single one of these are, you’re going to end up telling someone and that’s how it spreads. There are pristine springs out there and there are springs that could use a permanent dumpster or a fire pit full of trash. People are assholes. Don’t be one. You did the work, the research, and figured it out. That’s the beauty.

3. Do not park or camp on top of the springs. You should be at least 100 feet from a source or pool. Some springs have drive-up access. You should park away. You should encourage others to do the same. Sure, the road goes right up next to the pool… doesn’t matter it’s still not advisable to park on the springs. Animals use the areas and excessive use deters them from getting to the water. Vehicles can disrupt the sources and in other areas the surface may be poor enough for you to break through the surface. It is wet and muddy - they are springs of course - and you should minimize impact to the areas always. Unfortunately there are many a great spring that are now just okay because they are trampled.

Park away and the lands remain pristine; animals come; and you get views like these.

4. Hot springs are living landscapes. The springs are hosts to many organisms, some in the water some out of the water. Grasses, flowers, bugs, fish (FISH!!), birds, rodents, animals, people. The water you sit in is literally moments old, but they are host to a plethora of organisms that have evolved to enjoy and like that hot water as much as you. Respect the land and the springs.

5. Naegleri fowleri WILL KILL YOU. Yes, it will kill you. Otherwise known as a brain-eating amoeba, it likes to live in warm water, like ponds, rock pits, mud puddles, warm rivers and ponds, untreated swimming pools, aquariums and… yep, hot springs. But it is a simple thing to not catch. Just keep your head above the water. This amoeba takes a natural path through your nasal mucus membranes into your brain. From there it kills you in a matter of days. There is no cure. Keep your head out of the water and water out of your nose. (I know of 2 springs that this has been found tested in recently [update November 2022])

6. Google is your enemy. Actually, search engines are great for finding springs, resources, camping options, and directions. But with the ease of the search engine comes the ease of access. Some of the best places in my catalogue are poorly mentioned or documented - often for a reason. Locals, ranchers, and stewards try their best to keep some springs off of the internet. Some areas are on private land; some areas are so remote that you need to do your own research before going in else you may find yourself in a pickle. Bring a paper map and compass. Know how to use them. Cell service is non-existent at the better springs.

7. Practice self-reliance. Bring what you need. Do some planning. TELL SOMEONE WHERE YOU ARE GOING (ideally the general area, remember rule #3) and equally TELL SOMEONE WHEN YOU PLAN TO BE BACK. Rescues are NOT cheap, and you should never be dependent on pressing help on your SPOT beacon. That is an absolute last resort in a real emergency. Being cold or uncomfortable is not a reason to call. Bring a shovel, some extra clothes, and food and water for at least three extra days. The weather changes, road conditions change, or you may find yourself bouncing down a road only to find your 3 hour drive was moot as the springs are now buried… been there… done that; or the road is completely washed out - done that too…

8. Not every mission will be successful. Sometimes you get bunk information. Sometimes you head out only to find that those before you messed things up so bad that the landowner shut things down, or worse, buried it. Be prepared for disappointment. Make it fun, though. Let the next person go on the same path of discovery, it builds character.

9. Bring the right things. You’re going to be springing. Bring clothing adequate for the season. Bring your towel. Bring a bathing suit - some springs are au-natural some are bathing suit required. Bring a robe. Bring a full-size spare (or two). Bring chains in the winter. Always bring a shovel. Bring at least 1 gallon of water per-person per-day. Bring food along. Bring a headlamp. Bring clothes you don’t mind getting trashed in case it gets dirty. Bring a friend. Bring a lover. Just be prepared.

10. Bring multiple shoes. Mucking around in shin-deep mud probably isn’t what you want to do in your daily shoes. Bring an extra swimsuit if your hot spring hopping. Who likes putting on a wet swimsuit?

11. NO SOAP. Save your bathing for the showers. Some springs have showers, rinse off before getting in. Rinse your feet before getting in to a tub or a trough. Keep the sand out. NO SUNSCREEN. Sunscreen changes the pH of the springs, soap changes the pH. It effects the water negatively. Please, save the body lotion for after you’re done soaking. Your skin will dry from the minerals in the springs, but wait until you’re done for the day or plan for at least 3 hours between soaks for body/hand lotion to soak into your skin.

12. Don’t hog the hot tub. Don’t be a spring hog. If a queue is forming, be polite and allow others to get in. Limit your soaking to 15-30 minute blocks. This is especially important at busy springs. Set the tone and others will follow; don’t be afraid to speak up. It’s unwritten, but most people will be polite and rotate. You will always need more water, or adult sodas. Sometimes I’ll sit next to the spring and join in on the conversation, you’re polite, personable, and eventually someone needs to get out to pee…

13. Don’t pee in the springs. Don’t leave Baby Ruth bars in the pool. It’s unsanitary. Get out to do your business. Pack out your toilet paper. No one likes to see white flags everywhere. If there isn’t a dedicated toilet be sure to walk far away before you poop. Dig a hole at least 6” deep (deeper is better). If you wouldn’t be comfortable sitting on the spot after you’re done, it’s not deep enough.

14. When it comes to gates and private property, leave it as you found it. Gates are meant to be left in the position you found it. Mostly they are closed on ranch land; to keep the cows from getting out or in. Ranchers get pissed when they have to chase cattle; BLM or National Forest Service gets pissed. Springs get closed or worse. Obey no camping signs, and PLEASE STAY ON THE ROAD - community trails damage areas and land owners have full right to shut things down.

Spencer Hot Springs, Nevada. (This one is well known, it’s a good stopping point on a middle-of-nowhere adventure.) — Spencer Hot Springs (Platform), Nevada.
(This one is well known, it’s a good stopping point on a middle-of-nowhere adventure.)

15. Leave it better than you found it. If you’re new, please enjoy yourself. But please don’t trash a place out. No one is going to clean up after you. Seasoned springers can see a project or a chore that is needed at a place. Watch them, learn from them. Valves don’t repair themselves. Decks don’t get built on a butterfly fart. It is work from people who love the area to keep the springs in good working order.

16. Use common sense before plunging in. Springs are living (see #5). This also means temperatures fluctuate. Natural bottom springs are more prone to temperature surges, but so can tubs. A spring that was cool a few months ago may have been affected by an earthquake or just might have a natural cycle. If there is a tub then you know that they are frequented often - tubs often have a way to control the flow of water and hence the temps. Natural springs can fluctuate and if you’re not careful they can hurt, maim, or kill you - the Hot Creek by Mammoth, CA is a prime example of dangerous temperature swings and also why it’s closed for soaking. People have died there. Check the temps before easing on in.

17. At many springs, the first ones in set the precedent. This is certainly an unwritten rule. When it comes to dress code at a hot spring, it is entirely dependent on local customs. It’s the norm to come up on a spring and find everyone in the nude; just be ready to deal with it. We all have bodies and they’re all in different shapes. People who are there before you earn the right to set precedent and overall vibe, and the same goes if you’re the first in. There’s nothing sexual implied by bathing in the nude. That being said, if you show up and people are nude and you don’t want to be, no one will ever force you to strip down, but definitely don’t expect everyone else to put clothes on. And, if you show up and other people are in suits but you have your heart set on rocking that birthday suit, ask if everyone is okay with it first. A good rule of thumb is to bring a suit, just in case. I will say that getting naked in a hot spring is basically a rite of passage. Deep down, you know you want to do it, so just go for it!

18. If the spring is occupied ASK before taking photos. Else leave your camera or cell phone in the car. Unless someone else instigates it just let it be. You’ll have other moments or another time to take that photo. Do not, under any circumstance, take photos of naked people. You’re bound to start a conflict. At most places you can wait long enough to snap a photo of the pools without anyone in them.

19. Leave the glass at home. (I write this with a cut on my foot…) No glass at a pool is the same reason for no glass at a spring. If your beer is in a glass growler leave it at the car and go for refills. Draining a swimming pool or Jacuzzi is easy. You can’t empty a dirt hole. Just don’t bring your glass.

20. Leave the tubs in good order for the next people. Some tubs will be empty when you find them, leaving you to fill them for your soak and for you to empty them when you leave. Another practice is to drain and refill after you’re done, but you’re always best inquiring into local custom. Others will have the flow abated a bit to leave them usable for the next crew. If a source is super hot, remember that it takes a few moments to heat things up but often hours to cool down. Tubs named Lobster Pot, Crab Cooker, Hot Pot, or anything alluding to heat are most likely always scalding at the source. If you drain them and fill them they’re going to be unusable for hours; best to regulate the flow back to low for the next people to adjust to their temperature.

21. If you must post the shot, leave out the name and most certainly do not geotag the spring. Yeah, I enjoy sharing the stoke as much as you do. And often I do post up an incredible shot on social media, but I most always leave out the name and always leave out the location. If your friends are inclined they will ask. Trust me, they will ask. There is no reason to share publicly where most springs are. Now, some are well known and are known enough that they are everywhere on the internet. There’s enough information for pretty much every soak out there. See rule #2.

22. Be a steward. Pick up trash. Pitch in for tub maintenance. Don’t answer the question “where is this?!” when you see it asked about your photo. Don’t bleach springs without knowing the local etiquette. The springs are living (number 5); bleach kills ecosystems.

Have fun. Springs are a wonderful place. Whether there alone to just relax and unwind, read a book, enjoy the scenery, and select company; or there with a group of friends to chill out they are there to enjoy. People have been flocking to hot water sources for thousands of years. It’s not a new thing - maybe new to you - but others have come before you. Take the time to soak it all in, learn a bit, share some insight with others, and do things at your pace.

Jay Anhold 2/1/18 Jay Anhold 2/1/18

It's all about the bike

Mostly, I guess. It's mostly about the bike.

A little over a month ago I was thrust into an acquaintance that ultimately led me to Lucky Wheels DIY Motorcycle Garage in downtown Los Angeles. It was here on a quiet Saturday night that over 1,000 people came to check out an all-women's motorcycle show. Put on by Alicia (The Moto Lady), this event had 27 bikes made by or for women. It was pretty cool to be able to geek out over motorcycles while sipping on PBR and listening to some pretty cool one-man bands. There was a forging demo and a welding demo. Mostly it was neat to see over 600 bikes blocking the street and the incredible support the biker community has for this. Sadly the cops shut it down, but not before everyone was able to have a fun evening.

Jay Anhold 11/20/15 Jay Anhold 11/20/15

Four AM

The thunder cracked, breaking the deadening silence of the snowstorm. The white sky was alight in a myriad of blues, greens, and a tinge of neon yellow. The wind stirred the snow piling up around me. Sitting in a curled ball on my rope and backpack in a small cave, I looked over at my climbing partner. Eric’s face was pale, eyes wide, and he was shivering – from both the cold and unfiltered fear. I was trembling; my eyes darted around as the sky exploded violently around us. We were isolated and dependent on each other.

There are three types of fun you will encounter in life. Type one fun is having fun while you’re doing something and in hindsight it is memorable and fun enough to do again. Type two fun is not fun while it’s happening, but upon reflection – maybe weeks or months later – is something that you’d agree to do again. Type three fun is the type of fun that’s decidedly not fun while it’s happening and in retrospect is something that you will not seek out to do again. This story is about the third type.

I awoke well before the sun started to rise. Having forgone a tent in favor of a bivy sack, I had an unobstructed view of the sky. The stars were vividly present in the pre-dawn theater before me. There was a thin layer of crunchy ice that sloughed off as I moved around. The alarm went off at four, signaling that I should awake. I was excited for the day and as the skies lightened I crept from my sleeping bag, dug around my pack and started piecing the stove together to make some coffee. A marmot chucked as if to say hello. Its chirp echoed among the boulders around the glassy surface of the lake. As the water boiled I took a reading of the temperature and barometric pressure. The pressure was low, but was stable from last night’s reading, if it were too low or dropped rapidly we would be in for a storm.

Yesterday, setting up camp we chatted with the other parties camped around the lake. Every afternoon this week like clockwork it rained lightly for 40 or so minutes. Being observant of the changing conditions is something I am attuned to, having spent many summers backpacking with my family in the far reaches of these mountains. The skies were clear, the air dry and crisp, there was no wind. It felt good to be alive.

Eric had never been backpacking before this trip. He hadn’t even been above 10,000 feet. We sipped on coffee eating bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon from a pouch. I explained the effects of altitude and what to expect as we climbed higher. Eric was excited. I was excited! We watched the other climbers as they ate breakfast and sorted gear for the day. They were taking different routes up the mountain and we looked forward to sharing the summit with them. The lightly clouded sky changed to a cotton candy pink as the sun crept up towards the horizon.

After tidying up the camp we gathered our equipment and rope, shouldered our packs, and started the approach to the technical climbing. The exposure was unnerving from the start. The first few steps are over an 1,100 foot drop. I had that sensation in my stomach you get when you peer over the edge of a tall building; I didn’t want to trust myself, my experience, or my equipment. At the top of the sixth rope length, some 3 hours later, I looked at the barometer again, it had dropped a bit from this morning but the pressure was still okay. The sky was clear and the tufts of wind were occasionally teasing us, throwing around our pack straps. The climbing was fun yet still challenging and the views of the mountains and valleys around us were monumental.

In the distance we could hear a rumble. It became louder, clearer, and more distinct. Soon a roar was upon us as an air force fighter jet flew by. Looking downwards upon the pilot we were certain he was unaware of our presence. His helmet was white with red stripes and as the aircraft turned we could make the outline of the shoulder patches on his flight suit through the canopy window. He accelerated eastward through the peaks out towards the desert. Suddenly the aircraft dropped. Not in a controlled way, but like something pushed down on it. It remained level in flight but must have dropped a thousand feet or more. Eric commented how awesome the moment was and how inexplicably bad-ass it was to see the plane drop like that. But I had an uneasy sensation come over me and thought to myself, “oh shit...”

I glanced back at my barometer; the pressure was starting to drop. It was 2:00 and we still had 800 feet of precipitous rock to climb straight up, and the only way off the mountain now, was by going up. The mountain was solid in most places, but there were toaster-sized, microwave-sized, and refrigerator-sized blocks of rock precariously balanced along the route. Pulling one off would start a cascade of showering rocks down the 4,000 foot face of the mountain. There may be other people below. Severe injury or death loomed around us as we moved. We continued to climbed strong, smooth, and delicately, but we really needed to pick up the pace. The gentle drafts of wind gave way. The winds started to gust, sending the spare loops of our climbing rope slithering wildly away from the cliff.

Eric and I met and climbed in New England, but never anything long or committing enough that required a start at dawn in order to get down before dark. We were strong and conditioned, but not acclimated to climbing above 13,000 feet. At this altitude there is half as much oxygen in the air and we had to take our time catching our breath between pitches. Every move sapped the energy out of us. Something that I knew would be trivial at sea level, where we lived, was draining up here.

The clouds quickly enshrouded us, black as the devil's soul.

Rain started to fall; the clouds pregnant with malice were heaving and churning. The situation was becoming desperate; I told Eric that we needed to move quickly. We scampered, now climbing rapidly at the same time. Big. Fat. Drops. Of water started hitting my helmet, the pitter-patter drummed out of tempo. There was a small stone hut on top of the mountain that we could seek shelter in, and we needed to get there fast! I set the pace in front and Eric trailed not too far behind. The wind pressed against us, causing me to grip the rock face tightly. We were efficient. We were quick. The temperature noticeably dropped. Hail began pelting my face. I saw an opening beneath a boulder and headed towards it. Snow started to blow sideways from the clouds that surrounded us.

An explosion rang out like a sonic boom. I felt it resonate deep within my body. My hair stood on end. Grabbing our packs and the rope we made two piles, curled our bodies into balls and squatted on them. Looking back out from the rocky shelter we watched as the clouds screamed by in the jet-forced winds. Out in the distance a clanking sound could be heard, not unlike an anvil being drug across a vault floor, scraping and clawing in resistance. Branched lightning lit up the sky; its blue and white arms zigged and zagged through the air in front of us, we watched it strike the pinnacles and ground below us. The clash of thunder and lightning shook us further into TERROR. Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! My whole body was shaking. We were right in the orchestra pit as the electrical storm continued its psychedelic symphony around us. Snow pelted my face. The winds screamed past as bolts of lightning raced around us and continued down the face of the mountain. Thundersnow they call it.

This… is type three fun. I’m here on a beautiful mountain in the Sierras quivering, utterly terrified of the weather around me too afraid to move, and too paralyzed to think straight. Meteorologists would give an arm or leg to experience this weather phenomenon. I’d have traded my firstborn to be off this mountain, right now.

We were soon joined by a couple from Quebec who were on another route on the mountain. Jacob and Rebecca had been caught exposed several hundred feet below. Rebecca’s face was pale and her eyes were wide open, her lips were bluish, and she was violently shivering. Her condition scared me. She stumbled incoherent, borderline hypoxic and hypothermic; she was in rough condition; Jacob told me they didn’t have insulated jackets; only rain shells. At this point the only safe way down from the mountain was to go up and over the top. The small stone shack at the summit offered better protection than the shallow rocky cave that we now cowered in. It was three hundred feet away, up through slippery snow covered rocks, through the angry skies that surrounded us.

The winds abated a bit. The roaring and crackling had moved away from us; though booms were still resonating against the steep mountain walls around us. Jacob urgently yelled that we needed to get to the stone shack. With a newfound urgency Eric and I grabbed our things and the four of us raced to the summit shack, cowering at every resonating boom of thunder echoing around us. When we finally got Rebecca into my bivy sack she trembled, shivering and crying. What little snacks Eric had left he gave to Rebecca. The boarded windows on the hut let little light in. The wood covered floor was dusty, the room smelled wet, and musty. Eric, Jacob, and I sat on the floor shaking from the cold and talked about how we would get off this mountain. Rebecca was feeling the effects of altitude sickness and Hypothermia. Jacob wanted desperately to stay until the storm quit, but I knew we needed to get her down off the mountain as soon as we could. A gust of wind rattled the old wood door against the wood pin hinges.

It took us three hours to get down to camp. Not much was said. The four of us roped up at the top, ill-prepared to be on a mountain with a foot of fresh snow in the middle of summer. The rock under foot gave little traction and a few slips happened. Our nerves were shot. We inched downward at a painfully slow pace. We were cold and hungry. It’s hard to think straight on an empty stomach and we got off route and had to backtrack a few times. Rebecca’s condition improved as we descended, but she was still weak. The trail further down was muddy and loose underfoot; all of us inched along. By the time we approached base camp the four of us were utterly drained. The other climbers saw it and a few came over to offer to cook and help us settle in. I didn’t care much about the stars that night or my neighbor the marmot. I don’t remember falling asleep.

Jay Anhold 7/31/15 Jay Anhold 7/31/15

Growing Up

I curled my toes over a rock outcropping, staring at the alpine pond we had come across still half-shrouded in ice. The warm Sierra sun shined through the trees, illuminating the verdant grasses around the pond in an almost magical way. The air was still and silent; crisp, cool, yet warm and inviting. I could hear my heartbeat; I could hear the rustling of clothes being stripped off by my friends. The anticipation was palpable. It was juncture in time that the path of my life transitioned.

Standing deep within the mountainous amphitheater I stretched out. After a good 3,400 foot climb I was ready to get the sweat off of me. Reaching over, I placed the last bit of clothing I was wearing across a branch in the sun. There wasn’t a bet or a challenge; it was a more of a polite invitation. My mind raced backwards to a moment years ago.

Can I recall the last time I ran and leapt into a body of water? Or waded through a grassy alpine meadow simply because it felt wonderful? I have grown up, it would seem. I think it started when I was a teenager, uncomfortable in my own skin; becoming too afraid to look uncool. I was never cool, but I always thought I’d fit in somewhere. It was a divergence to a pre-programmed life of work and becoming content to sit on the sidelines where it was comfortable.

A bird chirped. A shoe was dropped. The trees fluttered a bit. I looked across the pond gauging my swimming skills in the icy frigid waters in front of me. It was a playful day filled with waterfalls and an icy cool dip. I remember as a youth splashing and playing in the lake by the family cabin. Jumping in and out of the water, diving down and playing with the grasses, rocks, and plants until I was utterly exhausted. It was fun and I didn’t want to stop it.

Now many years later, standing on the bank of an alpine lake in my 30 something year old body with my insecurities, I plainly saw the decisions that I could make. I could sit along the shore in the sun enjoying the company of my romantic infatuation, entwined, reading a book, and being observant of my surroundings. I’d be comfortable. Warmer, for sure. I’d avoid the fear that comes from standing naked alongside an alpine body of water that you’re about to jump into. There’d be nothing abnormal or inherently wrong with staying on the shore enjoying the afternoon, like a grownup.

I saw the symbolism in the moment. I saw the paths diverge and knew where I was; I’d been at this intersection earlier this year faced with some serious decisions about my life and where I wanted it to go. Do we sit content on the sidelines watching others have fun exciting moments and adventures? Or do we dive into the cold water, braving our fears, feeling alive, and embracing life around us as we were when we were too young to be “grown up?”

I jumped in. The cool snow-fed water encircled my body, the chill immediately raced to my core. I was clean-ish. I felt alive. As I turned around and let my head breach the surface I saw a playful spark of inspiration come across her face. I’m sure the others at the lake weren’t ready to see a grown man and a grown woman jump naked into the lake, unafraid, secure with each other and infected with a youthful playfulness that is often lost when we grow up.

Click through the following images to follow the photo story.

Jay Anhold 5/15/15 Jay Anhold 5/15/15

Weekend Power-Backpacking

As the patrol agent slowly came by I prepared myself for my usual rant and rhetoric with overly assertive peacekeepers. Though, it was raining - no pouring out - and I was on the move. I casually passed and with a smile, nod, and a polite wave the Border Patrol agent continued casually down the road. Here I was at the often ballyhooed start of the Pacific Crest Trail. Alone with all but Maura, my ride, in the sleet/rain/hail/maelstrom from the sky. Before you ask, no I’m not hiking it… all… this year. Maybe someday in the future, but not now.

I was off for a weekend as a section hiker on this marvel of a trail. I was to experience the first 42 miles of this 2,650 mile trail; though it reduced to the first 33.5. I’ve hiked several sections of this trail throughout the years either as part of a backpacking trip in the Sierras or as day hikes elsewhere. Sometimes my time on the trail was nothing more than a footprint as I crossed it on a cross-country trek and others I spent hours on this well-trodden path. This would be the first time I’ve ever set out to hike exclusively on the trail.

Kind-of last minute, though not really, I was invited to join my neighbor Mary on her restart of hiking this magnificent trail. It is a neat opportunity to get out and hike the southern desert section that is so close to home. My trip started with an early morning shuttle from Maura to the southern terminus of the trail early Friday. It was raining, cold, and windy; but that didn't deter me. If you've ever been out backpacking you learn to be prepared for these conditions and eventually learn to embrace it. Because of the rains the crowds I'd otherwise expect weren't on the trail. I passed three couples and a group of three guys from Montana on my day hike.

Twenty miles in a day isn’t for the faint at heart and definitely isn’t something you should just get up and conquer “off the couch.” It’ll kick your ass in wonderful and magnificent ways. This section of trail is the first patch of lengthy distance without water. Knowing this, I had 4 liters of water and 1 liter of electrolyte drink strapped to my back, oh, and some snacks and lunch right around 15 lbs. But yeah, my misery was the wet feet. My reprieve was that I was meeting the core group at Lake Morena that evening; and with them was the rest of my camping gear. I was going to go light for the remainder of the trip with a pack that weighed around 18 lbs total.

Walking down this well used path I felt at home. People are friendly. 20 miles is big, but not insurmountable. I made it to Lake Morena at 3:51 PM in the rain. 7 hours 51 minutes on the trail with a few breaks. Hauser Canyon is pretty and things weren’t all that bad, though the uphill comes at the end of a powerful hike and is all uphill. I wasn’t pushing too much as there wasn’t a real need to. I was going to take the two following days to do the 23 miles to Mt Laguna with Mary and Co. As the experienced one I knew they’d be looking at me for tips and tricks to make future excursions more pleasant.

Starting at the o-so-early time of 8:00 we made our way north from Lake Morena along the gentle sandy trail, under a bridge and along a mostly flat valley before stopping at Boulder Oaks campground for a snack and a water break. From here we would start our way up in to the mountains. Our trail soon turned further into the mountains where we were presented with pleasant grades and beautiful vistas and valleys that make up eastern San Diego County.

Suffice to say that we didn't make it all the way. Because of the weather and other obligations the group of 12 reduced to three (including me) before we even started. A combination of wet, cold, and the dreaded bonk kept us from going further than Cibbits Flat campground. Nestled in an oak grove adjacent to a running stream, this quaint campground was a welcome stay and perfect to end a good trip. Mary and Norma had a good time and were able to shakedown on 13 miles of good trail. There's already plans to do another trip. Maybe something in the Sierras this summer, where learned skills will be honed.

Jay Anhold 4/21/15 Jay Anhold 4/21/15

Superelevation

On a chilly Tuesday evening in April I made my way down the block to a field across the ravine from the parking lot for the Zoo. Having read about it and seeing track I was excited to find out that there were races and that this oddity wasn't just a training ground. San Diego is home to one of four Velodromes in California and one of 28 in the united states. It is here that you can witness the sport of track bicycle racing.

On a chilly Tuesday evening in April I made my wayto a field across the ravine from the San Diego Zoo. Having read about it and seeing the track on a few rides, I was excited to find out that there were races and that this oddity wasn't just a training ground. San Diego is home to one of four Velodromes in California and one of 28 in the united states. It is here that you can witness the sport of track bicycle racing. Every Tuesday and Friday night from the time change in the spring to the fall a few dozen individuals compete in a few styles of races for an end-of-season trophy.

Here's a sport that we've seen a time or two in the Olympics. Folks on fixed gear bicycles chasing each other around a track to see who is the fastest. The rules are simple. No passing on the inside, and don't come in last. With banked corners and specialized bicycles the riders can reach speeds in excess of 40 mph when they are sprinting. While not as fast paced as NASCAR and with fewer crashes, the racing is still exciting to watch. There has been a venue in San Diego since 1916; though the location has changed a few times. The current Velodrome in the Morley Field Sports Complex was opened in 1976 and has been in operation since then. With a maximum bank of 27˚(called the cant or superelevation) this 333.33M (1094ft) concrete track has been host to several esteemed competitions. It is known as a winter training ground for the US Sprint team and Olympians because of our mild climate.

As one of the first modern sports, Velodrome racing has been around since the mid 1800s and is still going on regularly. Today's tracks mostly share a common design; though some are not ovals, all are banked. The angle of the bank is what allows the speeds observed in the racing. There are many types of races and most riders cycle between 22 and 27 miles in a night.

As a spectator it's a perfect week-day or Saturday night retreat. Everything about it is BYO... from food to beer to friends. It's a good place to geek out over bikes as there are tons of bikes to ogle over. The best thing is that it's free to watch! For the curious there are classes available and bikes are included with the class. Write-ups elsewhere mention bands and sometimes donated/free food and beer for the masses. This little niche of fun in San Diego is off the regular beaten path, but is a spectacular sight to see.

Jay Anhold 4/8/15 Jay Anhold 4/8/15

Saline Valley

As I drove up past the information board two people came into sight holding hands, the couple was taking a casual stroll down the road in the 100° heat. I had arrived at this oasis in the desert, a welcome home for hipsters, hippies, and freethinking types comfortable with everything around them. The first people I interacted with were two women towing a trailer behind their SUV which had inconveniently broke down in the middle of the road, I got out and helped them get on their way and found my way to a campsite nestled in the mesquite trees. Over my shoulder I watched as the burros chomped away at the foliage and over the gentle breeze laughter rang out from the children playing in the shallow pond in the distance.

In northwest Death Valley is a blank spot on the park service map that is not really mentioned in detail. The rangers are reluctant to talk about it, and directions are not readily published. It is out here that a unique community has formed. Saline Valley was once inhabited by the Timbisha Shoshone Indians and their petroglyphs are scattered around the valley depicting their stories; the settlement was abandoned in the early 20th century about the time European settlers appeared in earnest for mineral exploration and salt mining. The valley was a regional mineral resource with borax and almost pure salt being mined from the lakebed, and gold mines poking holes in the rugged mountain sides. Running from 1913 to 1936 the tramway that transported salt from the valley to nearby Owens Valley was the steepest ever constructed in the United States, the remains of the salt operations and tramway are still visible.

The Saline Valley salt works and tramway.

Aside from the history and the rugged beauty of the area, the real reason I came this far was to visit the hot springs. It is a committing trip requiring 4wd, desert sense, and some fortitude. The rugged rutted and severely washboarded road serve as a filter to all but the most committed and prepared; though the occasional misguided tourist finds their way in. Flat tires are common and though I was fortunate to not suffer any casualties I heard of at least 9 vehicles with flats and one vehicle/trailer combo getting three on the way in. There was a cracked oil pan on one truck and a van full of Japanese tourists who arrived almost out of gas. The camp host has the necessities to bail people out of tight binds but he is not a service station. If it weren't for him there would be much more crises and unwanted press.

A Model T Ford driven down from Oregon. A fitting vehicle for the roads and area.

The springs weren’t unheard of, but in the 1960s a semi-permanent encampment was constructed at the lower and middle of the three springs. In the early 1990s when the National Park Service annexed the area into Death Valley National Park the camps were disbanded and the area cleaned up. This area is not listed on any of the NPS maps, or most any other map, it is found via word-of-mouth or diligent research. There are articles from big-name newspapers and turn-by-turn directions posted on blogs elsewhere, but I’m slightly disinclined to give my take on directions as it doesn’t need to get overly crowded.

The community here is welcoming and though it is cyclic with people coming and going, there are plenty of folks who have been coming here for decades that know each other. The people range in occupations from lift attendants at nearby Mammoth Mountain to students, doctors, professors, engineers, musicians, and retirees. It takes a certain type of person to get here and everyone is of that mindset regardless. It was interesting to see people come in, like me, for the first time and watch them start to take it all in. It’s a trek to the springs, but one that has pleasant rewards. After hours of travel through kidney-wrenching washboard and rocks, the palms and pools in front of you - with the open expanses of the desert as the backdrop - are a welcome satisfying relief and sight for sore eyes, butt, and back. There are multiple pools for soaking, lawns, showers, a communal dining area, and sinks for dishes. I quickly made friends and felt welcome as I bounced around from group to group listening and learning about the area and hearing wonderful stories. Jumping in and helping out with chores where I could surprised many of the community that has been coming for years, but I understand just how this place keeps on going. Everything is maintained by volunteers, whether it is maintaining drainage ditches, cleaning bathrooms, trimming the palms, or cleaning up the pools everyone is encouraged to pitch in.

Floating in a tub fed by a warm crystalline spring while staring off at the Inyo Mountains was relaxing and rewarding. I haven’t really unwound from the trials and tribulations in my life for a very long time, and was really able to really unwind and relax. The common grassy area was always buzzing with folks coming and going. People did their own thing, sitting in groups talking, playing games, sunbathing, yoga, and meditating. It was a pleasant experience just people watching and relaxing. This hidden gem in the desert will forever be a destination of mine.

Jay Anhold 3/13/15 Jay Anhold 3/13/15

My Mountain Life Cofession

I’ve been climbing, backpacking, and skiing for longer than I can remember; yet perhaps my reasons for doing so have varied over time. Early on, the simple practicality of it was to get out and enjoy the mountain lifestyle with my parents, but now there is plenty of evidence that I do it for the moments of exultation and sheer joy. To say that there aren’t moments of fear and timidity would be a detraction to the real dangers involved. Whether seeking out the easiest passage through mountain barriers or figuring out a perplexing puzzle on a sport route, there are indeed few in this world who may be tempted to clamber higher for no more reason than the thrill of the morning, or for elevation and prospect and the satisfaction of doing what few have done before. The few who understand this are climbers like me.

I’ve been climbing, backpacking, and skiing for longer than I can remember; yet perhaps my reasons for doing so have varied over time. Early on, the simple practicality of it was to get out and enjoy the mountain lifestyle with my parents, but now there is plenty of evidence that I do it for the moments of exultation and sheer joy. To say that there aren’t moments of fear and timidity would be a detraction to the real dangers involved. Whether seeking out the easiest passage through mountain barriers or figuring out a perplexing puzzle at an airport, there are indeed few in this world who may be tempted to clamber higher or further for no more reason than the thrill of the morning, or for elevation and prospect and the satisfaction of doing what few have done before. The few who understand this are adventurists like me.

I have been inspired for this obsession by my parents and owe them for it. My first foray into the wild bounds and into the mountains started at six-months old, where, secured to my mothers’ back I was taken into the Sierra Nevada and it was there among those mountains that my life, obviously, was forever influenced. The lunacy took hold, however, slowly at first but gathering momentum as I grew up. I distinctly remember reading and looking at my father’s Freedom of the Hills over and over, in amazement over the cartoonish diagrams and vast information contained therein, and secretly yearned to get out and experience what those cartoons were depicting. When given the opportunity I took it upon myself to experiment with various methods and slowly learned how to keep myself safe. I was young, naïve, and invincible; impervious to anything that would have killed me or caused me harm and every foray into the mountains was always about having fun and making the most of the moment.

A time came when I could see myself living in the hills free from the constraints of urban life, able to do as I pleased and go where I wanted to. The mountains, valleys, and great precipices were becoming my home. Then reality sunk in and I was off to become a productive member of society. It was here that I was able to fully embrace the climbing culture and slowly make my way through the ranks to the mediocrity of my life now. I tackle many climbing obstacles routinely though reaching the top of a mountain generates challenge and excitement, regardless of the route taken. I recall a time when climbing the many peaks, ridges, and precipices was but a remote thought.

It is experiences that bring people together, create memories, and bonds us to those who we explore with. Without interaction we might be left wandering aimlessly amongst the hills in confusion as to what to do. I have been fortunate enough to find natural beauty in some incredible places with very memorable people. Through my travels I have gained a wealth of knowledge that would have taken centuries to acquire on my own had it not been for the insightful interactions with the many experienced people with whom I've come across.

My draw to the outdoors is the commitment to the unknown and what it may bring. I have experienced countless adventures and general outdoor pursuits on five continents and numerous countries; and have explored beyond what I ever dreamed of. Each place has a familiarity to it while at the same time being a completely new experience. I know that the farther I get into this mountain lifestyle there becomes more that I could learn. It’s often not about the movements, but about the journey getting there. And so far it’s been an interesting one.