A New Hike – The Vineyard Trail

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Roosevelt Dam, Vineyard Trail

map courtesy of americansouthwest.com

Hiking Buddy E and I finally had the opportunity to take a real hike together a couple of weeks ago. We chose the Vineyard Trail which leaves from a parking area at Roosevelt Lake, an hour plus drive from Gold Canyon.

Now here’s the thing about the Vineyard Trail: it begins with some rather steep climbing. In fact, we had to gain some 1100 feet in the first mile and a quarter of the hike. Being ‘of a certain age,’ and having a kind of hinky hip these days, this took some amount of effort for me. E., however, is a gazelle. The footing was nothing to be happy about either – lots of loose stones and small rocks on the well-maintained trail. Not much of a problem going up, more of a problem coming down that steep part. We were lucky that we were on the trail only a week after about 5 inches of rain fell. The path would have been a lot more slippery had it been very dry, I think.

Now you know the only negative thing I can say about this hike. Otherwise it was Perfect with a capital P. On the way up we enjoyed stunning views of Roosevelt Lake and the gracefully arched bridge that spans a part of it.

Roosevelt Lake was created when Roosevelt Dam was completed in 1911. Both named for and opened by President Theodore Roosevelt, the dam was part of the Reclamation Act of 1902 which funded irrigation projects in twenty western states. The lake the dam created is 22.4 miles long and has a shoreline of some 128 miles. It holds a lot of water (1.6 million acre feet) and has a maximum depth of 188 feet. Best of all, it’s just plain beautiful.

Most of my attention and effort was given over to just getting one foot in front of the other on the steep climb, but I did notice (after E pointed it out) the lovely frost-bedecked moss, and the true succulents, which I have not identified. (help?)

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: people who think the desert of the southwest isn’t green just haven’t seen it.

This was identified on our hike description as a ‘radio tower.’ To us it looked more like a white board – something of a mystery, but a good landmark nonetheless.

This was a real ‘bear went over the mountain’ hike. That means that E would reach the crest of a hill and call back down to me, “Bear!” meaning that she saw not the wished for distant view but another hill to be scaled. (“The bear went over the mountain, The bear went over the mountain, The bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see. He saw another mountain, He saw another mountain, He saw another mountain,and that is what he saw” – children’s song set to sing-songy tune).

At last, though, we reached a high point with a lovely view off to the south. The trail leveled out for a while as we walked along a crest.

At a certain point there was bit more of a climb and a turn in the trail and then, Voila!

Snow-bedecked Four Peaks looking much closer than I had thought it was. What a sight. We don’t get snow here that frequently, but the aforementioned 5″ of rain was snow on the mountain tops, and it stayed for almost a week. Four Peaks is a highly visible landmark from many parts of the Phoenix Valley, but I had never seen it from this particular angle before.

We’d been walking long enough to feel a little peckish. And as if on cue, the perfect picnic site presented itself: a saguaro forest.

Our path led along the base of this handsome, ancient and undisturbed stand of cactus. We found an excellent flat spot and had a splendid meal in the shadow of these giants.

Shortly afterwards the trail led sharply downhill. Thinking back on how tough the up had been, we decided not to penalize ourselves with another difficult climb back by continuing down. So, feeling a little sad that we had not reached the end of the hike (or anywhere near it, as it turned out; it’s 6 miles one-way and I calculate we hiked in only about 3) we began to retrace our steps. The views were, obviously, completely different on the way back and were even more beautiful than before.

As we got back towards the dam we saw the Salt river snaking down its valley, with the picturesque Route 88 draped over its shoulder.
Soon we were presented with a terrific aerial view of the dam itself with the bridge in the background. Far in the distance you can barely see what I think is part of the White Mountains Range (or perhaps even Mt. Baldy?) – or I may be completely confused.

This photo gives an idea how steep the climb back down was – in many ways harder than going up. With the climb up the problem was simply catching one’s breath, going down had some tricky footing – so I spent most of my time looking down. Which was nice, because I saw some rather interesting rocks. This one got me wondering if it had been shaped by weather or by human hands centuries ago.

This one looks like what I see in the mirror every morning. Just kidding! I love the juxtaposition of sharp cracks and rounded shapes.I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk up our driveway hill when we got home, but I did! And then made my way immediately into a hot tub of very hot water. At the end of the hike I said to E, “I don’t think I could do that one again.” But you know what? I’m ready! Let’s go this weekend!!

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Barnhardt

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Barnhardt Trail, Hikin' dogs, Mazatzal Wilderness, Tonto National Park

The Barnhardt Trail winds about six miles through Arizona’s Mazatzal wilderness section of Tonto National Park. Starting at 4,200 feet elevation, it gains over 1,900 feet. If one were actually to complete the hike, which Hikin’ Buddy and I did not on our most recent foray, you would be higher than Denver. Which is one reason HB and I never complete this hike: the air is noticeably thinner and one of us becomes breathless rather easily.

HB and I love to tackle this trail – for us it is a bit of a challenge (well, for one of us anyway, the one who is not HB). It’s a haul to get there – about an hour and half north of where we live. But the drive up SR 87 from Mesa is gorgeous, the road undulating between rocky outcroppings and mesas. The driving distance means that Expatriate has to get up a lot earlier than her accustomed hour of rising – but it is well worth the sacrifice, for the scenery on the drive, for the company and for the hike. The greatest challenge of the day turns out to be trying to stay awake while HB nobly drives us home after our exertions.

Sections of the trail are flattish, but by and large it is up all the way.

Complex and colorful, manzanita grows along the trail.

Red rocks rise on the southern side of the trail. Every now and then a section of cliff collapses, leaving a river of red stones… easier to cross than a river of water, but giving one an uneasy feeling of possible danger.

Someone who looks like Frankenstein in Stone stands guard over the wilderness.

We ate our picnic on the rocky out-cropping that is sunlit in the photo. Yes! The one that is way up there.

On a smaller scale there is much to see underfoot, a variety of shapes, materials and colors that is endlessly interesting.

I keep thinking I want to understand geology, and even once attempted an online course on the subject. It told me much more than ‘what is this rock’, and it turns out I am little more than a ‘what is this rock’ person. I would love to tell you what this formation is, I’m sure it has a name. HB and I have dubbed it the M Rocks (me) and/or the W Rocks (HB). Whichever, if you ever doubted the incredible forces that the earth exerts, these rocks will make you a believer.

Barnhardt is relatively remote and not heavily trafficked.  We were surprised to encounter two other hiking groups, as it’s the first time we’ve ever seen anyone else on this particular trail. And we were even more surprised that both groups were accompanied by Hikin’ Dogs. Meet Herbie:

and Ballo:

After our hike we had a second picnic in a field. Mallow is blooming early this year:

A challenging trail, a good friend, a picnic, fine weather and a pair of Hikin’ Dogs. It doesn’t get any better.

Sedona

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Oak Creek Canyon, Sedona

Speedy and I went up to Sedona last week to visit friends who have moved there from the same Connecticut town where we used to live. As it happened we arrived on the evening of the full moon, and not just any full moon: THE full moon that would enjoy a total eclipse in the middle of that night (I stumbled outside to see it, but didn’t even attempt a photo. It was a luscious rusty blood color).

Sedona is famous as a site of many ‘vortexes’ (in Sedona they use that word for the plural, rather than the expected ‘vortices’).  There are plenty of people who believe that the earth’s energy comes together in a particularly strong way at a vortex and that standing in that energy field is benficial. John and Micki’s Metaphysical Site explains it all better than I can. Being something of a non-believer, I was surprised when we went to Bell Rock (whence the picture above was taken), one of the four primary vortexes of Sedona, to find that my scalp got all prickley. Power of suggestion? Or a different kind of power?? Who knows! Anyway, it was great fun to be there at sunset to admire the views and do some people-watching.

This handsome couple had just tied the knot:

 

I can’t think of a lovelier setting for a wedding, can you? Let’s hope that all the good energy will imbue their life together with great happiness. I wonder who they are.

The famous ‘red rocks’ of Sedona become even redder in the long evening light. Here are a few other shots from Bell Rock at sunset:

What a difference a couple of hours’ drive makes. Apache Junction must be almost a month ahead of Sedona in terms of spring-time blooms. Lupine, for instance, which grows wild on the side of the highway – down here it’s already come and gone. We took a hike through Oak Creek Canyon during our visit – on the way up the trail the lupine was still in bud. By the time we came down a couple of hours later a few hardy plants had opened their flowers.

Other plants were just beginning to unfurl their leaves and here and there the little violets were poking up through the leafy carpet.

I had not heard of Oak Creek Canyon before, and didn’t realize it was one of the most visited sites in Arizona. But just a few hours spent there makes it clear why – it is stunning. At the very start of our walk we came upon the ruins of Mayhew Lodge, sitting in the midst of an ancient apple orchard (and it’s apple blossom time).

The lodge burned down in 1980 leaving stone arches, foundations and paving, all of it picturesque. (Almost like being back amidst ruins in Italy. But not quite.)

The chicken coop somehow escaped total destruction. What lucky chickens once lived here!

The canyon, carved out by eons of wind and by Oak Creek, is beautiful. Hiking up it one crosses and recrosses the creek numerous times, and always there is a cathedral of rocks around you.

This rock reminded me so much of an ostrich:

 

A lot of the fun of a hike like this for me is looking for birds and insects to take pictures of. I’m not very good at it, but it is a challenge I really enjoy. We saw a lot of lovely little butterflies,

 

and two interesting wasps. The first is a very large and nasty one, the tarantula hawk wasp, a solitary wasp with an extremely nasty and painful sting. The females like to hunt tarantulas – hence the name.

At the other end of the size spectrum is the tiny, wingless red velvet ant. She’s not really an ant, she’s a wasp, and because she doesn’t have wings we know she’s a she. She also has an unpleasant sting, as hot as it looks like it would be.

Sweeter by far were the two birds we were actually able to see. The woods were alive with birdsong, but with so many trees and so many other people about it was really hard to get a bead on one. We were delighted to see the petit and colorful painted redstart, evidently not a rare bird in the canyons, but one we certainly don’t see in our Sonoran Desert.

The other bird we could see and identify is the stellar jay. He has a very dark, almost black head, and a bright blue body – just what a jay should have. This one, though, instead of having the raucous cawing shout that we normally associate with jays, had a melodious and throaty song, almost a warble – a real pleasure to listen to.

 

Because I had to stop every two minutes to take a hundred photos we really didn’t advance terribly far up the canyon. We did make it to an enormous rock that had come tumbling down from the cliff face above. What a noise that must have made when it landed.

All this strolling along taking pictures was hungry work. Chef Jim, pictured above, had a delicious dinner planned for us, but it required a bit of time and work. So having admired the large rock (one of us even brave enough to climb it) we turned around and headed back to the good food and company in Sedona, and to the magic of a full moon night.

 

What is it??

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Lost Gold Mine Trail

It’s been unseasonably cold in Arizona, down around freezing at night.  Today it didn’t go above 43 F (6 C) – which is bone-chilling for these parts.  My usual hiking buddy had a hot date with her kitchen and a bucket of paint, Speedy was otherwise engaged with football play-offs, but the desert was calling on this crystalline afternoon.  Someone had to answer.  Reader, it was I.

Because I was solo I chose a well-populated place to visit, the Lost Goldmine Trail (not as busy as its sister the Hieroglyphic Trail, but on a lovely Sunday, busy enough).  The first thing that happened was I encountered three Hiking Dogs, and was able to capture them for the ever-growing Hiking Dogs album.

Eddy

Stella

Sedona

The second thing that happened was that I began to see things that looked quite other than what they were.  So you tell me – what does this look like to you?

I’m not really a small cairn, I’m a______________

I’m not really a cholla, I’m a _______________________

And I’m not really another cholla, I’m a _____________

I’ll tell you my fill-in-the-blanks after you tell me yours…

Saguaro

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Saguaro cactus

Pronounced Sah-Wha’-Roh,  this beautiful cactus is probably the most recognized symbol of the American southwest (along with the rattle-snake).  Native to the Sonoran Desert, the saguaro often grows  in ‘forests’ like the one seen above.

It’s a slow-growing critter.  Night-blooming flowers form  in bunches on the tops of the arms from April through June, and the resultant red fruit produces seeds to make more little saguaros. The flowers (the saguaro is the State Flower of Arizona) are pollinated mostly by bats, and often stay open into the morning hours.

photo courtesy of Phoenix.about.com

The first arms don’t form on a saguaro until the plant is about seventy years old, so when you see a big one with a lot of arms, you know it’s old.  They can live for one hundred fifty years or more.

Saguaro babies like to begin their lives in the shade of nearby shrubs which give them protection from passing animals.

Once they’re old enough they’ll put out their first stubby little arms:

And if they’re lucky and get enough water and nutrients over the years, they will grow into the giant specimens that can be seen in the Tucson -Phoenix area, southern California and down into Mexico. Here’s a picture of one that began its life long before the electricity running behind it was harnessed.

Eventually, like all of us, these giants succumb to to illness or just plain old age:

It’s then that they share the secret of their interior architecture. Their bodies and arms are full of long pipes that hold any scarce water the plant is able to absorb during the rainy season. When they die, they look like a bundle of old bamboo sticks on the ground.

Birds like to nest in the saguaro, and for reasons I can’t quite fathom, hunters like to shoot them, so you often seen them with holes of one sort or another.

Victim of too many errant shots on the golf course

When a hole is made in its skin, the saguaro heals on the inside by forming a sort of wooden bowl that keeps the hot dry air out. The Gila Woodpeckers like to make fresh nest holes every year in the cactus. Other birds, such as cactus wrens, flickers and finches then can use this bowl as a nesting site.

While most of the saguaros lift their arms in surrender, every now and then you come upon a comedian.

It’s hard to imagine what would make those lower arms form in that way. Can you come up with a good caption for the photo?

In 2011 Curt Fonger made some wonderful photographs right here in Gold Canyon of a bobcat which had climbed to the top of a saguaro to avoid being caught by a mountain lion. You can read the story here and see other photos.

photo copyright Curt Fonger/solent

I love seeing the saguaros on hikes, but if I ever start talking to them, I’ll know it’s time to hang up my hiking boots.

Sinagua

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Native American Monuments, Petroglyphs, Pueblos, Rock Art, Sacred Mountain, Tuzigoot

It means ‘without water’ and if you’ve spent time in the Arizona desert, you know it’s appropriate.  The Sinagua were a group  of Indians who lived in the Verde Valley from about 1000 to 1400 AD or so.  What became of them is a mystery, though one theory is that they left their own pueblos and were absorbed into other tribes, perhaps after a long period of drought.

Photo of National Park Services informational sign.

Tuzigoot,  a fascinating restored Sinagua pueblo, is a National Monument near Sedona, overseen by the National Parks Service . (It’s also a wonderful word and fun to shout at unsuspecting strangers.)  At nearby Sacred Mountain you can see what the remains of Tuzigoot probably looked like before the Civil Works Administration put people to work on the site in the 1930’s.

It takes a lot of work and study to get from that to this:

During the Great Depression there were plenty of people looking for work in the region after the copper mines shut down.  From a work group of eight, the excavation party grew to forty-eight men who learned to be archologists by working this site without previous experience.

Photo of National Park Services informational sign.

Fussy work is women’s work.  The ladies got to take the zillions of pieces of pottery and so forth that were found at the site and piece them together.

Photo of National Park Services informational sign.

The appeal of the Verde Valley to the Indians is obvious – water!

It’s not hard to figure out where the river is.  The Indians lived on hilltops – I assume for security – but irrigated and gardened in the flats below.  More fussy women’s work – carrying water from the river to the pueblos above.  Here’s the path they may have taken at Sacred Mountain.

Not steep-steep, but give me a faucet with running hot and cold any day!

While the Sinagua didn’t read and write by our definitions of those acts, they certainly had a sophisticated method of communication: petroglyphs.  Found all over the southwest they presumably gave information about people, places, hunting, planting – all the important aspects of the Indians’ lives.

V Bar V petroglyphs

The guide at the  V Bar V petroglyph site, adjacent to  Sacred Mountain,  told us that one interpretation of this design is that the ladder shape traced the seasons of the year, culminating in the summer monsoons, depicted as a swirling circle. The sun hits different parts of the ladder at different seasons, so it may have served as a calendar. Maybe. The guide reminded us constantly that we have no way of knowing for sure what any of the petroglyphs mean.

V Bar V petroglyphs

The one above, the guide told us, may represent a woman, with the big circle under her left hand representing the new baby.  The oddly-shaped head may be showing hair coils, a feminine rather than masculine style.  On the other hand, our host returned to the site a couple of weeks later and filed this report: ” A week or so ago I went back tot he V Bar V with a friend from A. High School who was here on vacation with her family.  The fellow who was explaining the petroglyphs told a different story about he figure you included in your blog.  In his version, the figure is a shaman. The circle figure is a demon.  Just to the right of the shaman is a crack in the rock which the guide explained as being the entrance to the underworld.  He explained the story as the shaman sending the demon down into the underworld.  As he said, “Ask me any question.  If I don’t’ know the answer, I’ve gotten pretty good at making something up.””

 

Photo courtesy of JBH

This rock is fascinating.  Each afternoon the sun strikes the forward carved piece, placing a shadow on the rock behind; the shadow has the exact configuration of the nearby San Francesco Peaks – it’s a map! This photo was taken by our friend and host JBH.

About fifty Sinagua pueblo sites have been identified in the Verde Valley region, an area that encompasses the National Park sites of Montezuma Castle and Montezuma Well. (By the way, Montezuma wasn’t born until a century after the Sinagua left, and as far as anyone knows he never lived in the eponymous castle or drank from the well.)  One wonders how many other sites there may be awaiting discovery. I’m already looking forward to exploring again next year!

Hiking Dogs

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Hiking Dogs

Lucy

It’s great fun to see dogs out hiking the Arizona trails with their people friends.  Whether large or small, one thing they all have in common is a great big doggy smile; they all seem to love being out in the desert.

Most of the dogs we meet are family pets and have the usual background story. Every now and then, though, we meet a special dog, like Josie.

Josie

Evidently there are packs of dogs roaming wild in the parks.  They have either gotten lost or have been taken to the desert and abandoned by people who no longer want them.  It is natural for dogs to form packs, and that’s what these solitary dogs do.  Josie had been a pack dog, but had been injured, become infected, and was near death when a ranger came upon her and carried her out.  Her owner, a friend of the ranger, quickly volunteered to adopt Josie.  Friendly and affectionate, it seems that Josie knows what a lucky dog she is.  “She’s the best dog I’ve ever known,” says her owner, who feels pretty lucky too.

Sometimes we see pack dogs of a different type, and these I don’t photograph.  These dogs ride in a pack on their owners’ backs or chests.  Somehow, cute as they are, they just don’t belong in a group called “Hiking Dogs.”

I began photographing dogs on the trail a year or so ago, and at the beginning I didn’t keep track of where we were or what the dogs’ names were.  I’ve tried to be more careful about that recently, but sadly, some of the dogs I’ve captured are unidentified. Here’s a web album where you will find some more portraits of hiking dogs – select ‘slide show’, F11 for full screen (I’ll continue adding photos as I take them on future hikes, so check back again sometime).

Most of the people we encounter with their pets are delighted to be photographed, and almost to a one they tell their dogs, “You’re going to be famous!” when I explain the project is for a blog. Well, the dogs will never know that’s not true, will they!

Sage

Desert Reptiles and Other Critters

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Gila monster, rabbit in desert

They say there are rattlesnakes in Arizona.  HB can tell you I’ve gone out of my way to find one, but have been unsuccessful so far.  It’s one thing to see a snake in a nature center or zoo, but I think it would be quite thrilling to see one in its natural habitat; my friends here think I’m nuts.  HB and I did see a gorgeous gila monster on one of our hikes.  He was about  15 inches long and, HB tells me, very healthy, his chubby tail being the measure of his well-being. Gila monsters are venomous, and while they are sluggish, if you were to step on one by myself he would probably bite you.  And he wouldn’t let go.  You would have to get yourself to the hospital quickly, with the animal still attached.  That story would not have a very good end for either of you, especially the gila monster.

There are several varieties of small lizard resident in this desert.  This one was sent over by central casting – he posed fearlessly as I stalked him with my camera.

One of the best things I’ve come upon in the desert was this egg.  It’s about 2 inches long, and I have no idea whose it is.  I was stalking another, larger lizard when I found it.  Maybe it’s full of hundreds of wee snakes; or maybe a lizard will pop out one day soon.

We have seen javelinas (Arizona’s answer to cinghiale, though of a different family) and deer, but only on golf courses, which somehow doesn’t seem to count.  We’ve also seen countless rabbits on the fairways; golfing bunnies are very bold, much more so than their cousins who are still living in the desert, like this fellow:

It’s hard even to find him, isn’t it?

I’ve mentioned the birds and bees in an earlier post, but now that there are so many flowers in bloom there are also a great many butterflies.  Have you ever tried to take a picture of one?  They are fast!  No sooner do you get your camera turned on than they zip off to a distant flower.

A beautiful swallow-tail visited our citrus tree at home the other day, alit briefly on a glossy green leaf and then raced off.  It’s hard to know how something that looks so frail and delicate (and in fact is frail and delicate) can move so fast (between 5 and 30mph, according to The Children’s Butterfly Site.

The desert sometimes seems dry and lifeless, but there’s a lot happening out there, and it’s really fun to go hiking and look for the action.  Just be careful not to step on a snake or a big lizard!

Desert in Bloom

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cacti, cactus, desert in bloom

Watching the desert bloom is like reading a long book.  There’s a plot, but the action unfolds really slowly.  Desert plants are tenacious; they have to be to survive the extremes this climate throws at them.  And the flowers they produce seem to be pretty tough too.  They may look delicate, but they hang on, day after day, in temperatures that seem high to this sissy.

The story begins with the lupines, which are strong enough to break through the road pavement and flower on the highway’s verge.

This was one of the last, but they bloomed in an understated carpet along Route 60 for most of February.  The cheerful yellow California poppies bloom in broad swaths at about the same time.

Chapter two is the ubiquitous brittle bush which has tons of small yellow flowers.  The creosote plant, which smells like its name when the air is humid, also puts out a small yellow flower.  It makes a very amusing seed that looks like something an elf might use for a powder puff.

Chapters three through ten are all the small little plants that bloom on the desert floor.  They are so small that it would be easy to miss them unless, like me, you are sure you’re going to trip and fall, so you always are looking down.

The climax has to be the flowering of the various cacti.  The desert here boasts several varieties of cholla (pronounced choy-yah), hedgehog, pincushions, barrels, prickly pear, teddy bears, ocatillo, the enormous suguaro and others I don’t know or have forgotten.  A month ago the cacti had big fat buds, and waiting for them to open has been an exercise in patience.

Finally they have started and it has been worth the wait. The hedgehogs are the early show-offs.

There is a world of action in that flower.  Just before I took the photo a bee buried itself completely in the stamen, wiggled around for a few seconds, and then took off.  I think it was drunk. Meanwhile the little black and red beetle seems to be napping.  The white spider didn’t like the camera and scuttled away right after this shot.

It’s almost impossible to take a bad picture of these flowers; they make the most considerate subjects.  If you would like to see some more pictures of the desert in bloom, click here, or over on the right under Photographs (choose the slide show option).

The desert in bloom is not as wildly showy as, say, an English cottage garden at its peak.  And it’s different in another really important way.  Almost every plant in the desert will happily impale you with something sharp and unpleasant.  The dastardly cholla, whose segments stick like glue and work their way through hiking boots and jeans, the fishhook barrels with their barbed spikes, and all the others too, seem to be carrying some kind of huge grudge.  Even the century plant (agave), familiar to us in Italy, is a stinker.

I foolishly wandered over to stroke its smooth asparagus-like stalk, and one of the spines which reside at the end of each leaf went right into my leg.

No matter where you go in the desert, and no matter how lovely the flowers are, you are always going to find yourself between a rock and a sharp place.

The Best Thing We Ate This Week – Smoked Salmon

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Goldfield Mountains, hiking food, smoked salmon

Sometimes it’s not the food – it’s where you are and the person you’re eating with that makes a meal special and memorable.  My hiking buddy and I had our last hike together for many months on Sunday.  We returned to the Goldfield Mountains to search for an elusive trail that will now have to wait til November to meet my boots.  In lieu of the missing trail we opted to scramble up several rocky hills.  Lest you think these were gentle little mounds, here is the view of our car from our picnic spot:

Can you even see that little dot down there?

In any event, after our exertions we had a fancier than usual mountaintop meal.  HB (hiking buddy) brought smoked salmon, caviar and those wafer thin crackers that want to be Wasa bread but aren’t rough and tough enough.  I brought smoked gouda cheese (which come to think of it was a gift from HB), grapes and salted pecans.  Accustomed as we are to wolfing down sandwiches, this was a meal fit for royalty, and we enjoyed every bite.

The company was superlative, the views in all directions were breath-taking and the day was warm without being hot.  There is no accompanying recipe to this post; here’s what you do:  buy some great smoked salmon and a little jar of caviar, pack that with some crackers, fruit and nuts in your pack, remember to take plenty of water, and don’t forget a lemon (HB didn’t), find a high place, climb to the top with a good friend, and eat.  Buon Appetito!