Tag: hiking

Columns

Warm birthday wishes

Cindy Hval

I flew to the desert on a plane with no name

It felt good to get out of Spo-Kane

If you sang that terrible parody of America’s 1971 hit in your head while you read it, you are my people.

And you are old.

I can say things like that now because earlier this month, I celebrated my 60th birthday.

As the milestone approached, I told my husband the only thing I wanted was to go someplace warmer. Since Spokane’s average monthly temperature in February is 32 degrees, that gave us plenty of options.

While investigating destinations, our choice became obvious. Friends who winter in Oro Valley, Arizona, have been asking us to visit for years, and aside from spending time at the Phoenix airport on my way to somewhere else, I’d never been to Arizona.

We booked the trip. When we left Spokane, the high was 28 degrees. When we arrived in Oro Valley, the high was 85. I found my someplace warmer!

After checking into our hotel, we set out for dinner at an iconic institution with a devoted following. That’s right. I visited In-n-Out Burger for the first time. A huge line of cars waited at the drive-thru, so we opted to dine in. I enjoyed an excellent cheeseburger and some mediocre fries and left satisfied but mystified by the fanatic fandom of this chain.

Derek understood it.

“It’s good, it’s fast and it’s cheap,” he said.

The next day, we drove to Dan and Connie’s condo. Derek graduated from Saguaro High School in Scottsdale, Arizona, so he might have grown a tad tired of my constant cacti commentary.

“Oh! A tall pokey one! Look! Short squatty ones! Hey! That one’s giving us the finger!”

A purple prickly pear near our friends’ front door tickled me.

“You can’t escape the Lilac City,” I said.

After a lovely lunch on their patio, we took a sunny stroll along a nearby walking/biking path. My cacti enthusiasm waned when Dan pointed out a fluffy-looking specimen.

“Don’t get too close,” he warned. “That’s a jumping cactus.”

Turns out Connie found out the hard way about the Jumping Cholla when her arm barely brushed one. She ended up pulling several painful spines from her arm.

It might be cold in Spokane, but at least our plants don’t attack us.

Later, we enjoyed a sunset dinner at a restaurant at one of Tucson’s 40 golf courses. Our patio table faced the Catalina Mountains. Their beautiful maroon, gold, amber and pink tones were nothing like the snow-shrouded Selkirks we’d left behind.

We dined outdoors for every meal except breakfast and always sat at a table facing that breathtaking vista. You can’t do that in Spokane in February.

The rest of our trip was spent exploring with our friends and on our own. Dan and Derek visited the Titan Missile Museum and the Pima Air and Space Museum, while Connie and I lunched at another golf resort and then toured model homes to see what’s trending in home décor.

She dropped me back at the hotel so I could do one of my favorite things – read a book by the pool.

Derek and I spent a morning at Gates Pass at Tucson Mountain Park, where I sustained a hiking injury. OK, I tripped over a curb at a scenic overlook and scraped my elbow – same thing!

The stark landscape with its vast solitude, the play of the light at different times of day, and the brilliant blue skies fed my soul while the sun warmed my skin.

Rejuvenated, I returned home to embrace the start of my sixties. We arrived just in time for Spokane to get an entire winter’s snowfall in three days.

Before this trip, I’d never understood the desert’s allure. I love the four seasons of the Pacific Northwest – but as I shoveled heavy, wet snow from our driveway, I thought of our friends sipping coffee on their patio.

Maybe you have to be a certain age to appreciate the resilient beauty of the desert.

All Write

Overcoming Obstacles to Enjoy the View

Cindy Hval

Like a prehistoric behemoth reaching mud-stained claws to snatch errant hikers and shove them into its gaping maw, the uprooted tree made a menacing obstacle.

Who knew when it had toppled? Its exposed roots jutted toward the branch-strewn trail, and drying mud made the ground soft beneath our feet.

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“I think we can get around it, just watch your step,” my husband said.

Edging forward, I said, “I’m sure glad I took that selfie before we started this hike.”

Derek paused and dropped the branch he’d been holding out of my way.

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“You took a selfie? But I took a photo of you next to the sign at the trailhead.”

He’d told me to smile, but feeling contrary and eager to start the hike, I’d squinched my eyes shut and bared my teeth at him.

I shuddered.

“Just think if we don’t make it out, that would have been the last photo our kids would have of their mom!”

I was teasing. Mostly. Our situation wasn’t dire, just a bit more challenging than we’d anticipated.

After 24 hours of luxuriating in the pools at Quinn’s Hot Springs and eating sumptuous food at the resort’s restaurant, Harwood House, we were ready to burn some calories and take in some Montana scenery that didn’t involve questionable choices in swimwear.

The sprawling Lolo National Forest offers plenty of hiking opportunities, including Iron Mountain Trail No. 242, just a few miles from Quinn’s.

It’s deemed a moderate trail, and we’re moderate hikers. The initial grade proved a bit steep, and there wasn’t much of a view at first – just lots of greenery and pretty wildflowers neither of us could identify.

“Uh oh!” Derek muttered.

We’d turned a bend and found the trail littered with rocks. Carefully, we picked our way across the shifting stones.

Little rocks are more treacherous to footing than giant boulders. No one wants a romantic getaway to end with a sprained ankle or a trip to the emergency room.

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Some enterprising individual had taken creative license with nature and stacked a small cairn near the overlook.

Onward and upward we pressed, and now the fallen tree and its detritus offered another possible roadblock.

“We could go back,” I said, doubtfully.

Derek surveyed the carnage.

“Nah, let’s at least try to get to the first viewpoint.”

So I carefully picked a path and he followed.

Minutes later, we reached the viewpoint and gazed down at the churning brownish waters of the Clark Fork River. Surrounded by mountains and pines, we wondered how our intrepid forebears had traversed the “road” with loaded wagons drawn by teams of horses or mules, hauling silver ore from the mine to the river far below.

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Iron Mountain Road was in use until 1910, and must have originally been much wider than the trail we’d just traversed.

We could hear the distant hum of traffic on the highway hidden somewhere below us as we watched the river, swollen by recent rains, rolling in the distance. Pine branches danced in the slight breeze. A hawk wheeled silently in the sky above.

It felt good to take a break from watching our feet and watch Mother Nature instead.

The hike reminded me that it’s not always big obstacles that cause the most harm. Sometimes it’s the pesky little annoyances that trip me up and rob me of my equilibrium.

Because I work in a deadline-driven industry, I’m often guilty of keeping my head down, eyes on the project in front of me, only occasionally peering up to see what new task is around the bend.

That’s why it’s so important to sometimes simply stop. To rest. To take a deep breath, look up and enjoy the marvelous view.

 

Columns

A Matter of Perspective

Cindy Hval

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Derek and Cindy Hval at the beach in Crescent City, California

When your youngest child who recently graduated from high school with honors utters such a simple wish, well, what parent wouldn’t want to fulfill it?

Sam is 18, and the window for family road trips is rapidly closing. His desire to see the redwood forest quickly became the focus of our family vacation.

Derek looked at maps and I booked hotels, and last week we returned from a trip that included the ocean, Shakespeare, waterfalls, the Columbia River Gorge and of course, ancient trees.

First I’d like to know what happened to all the Volkswagen Beetles? Every road trip from my childhood resulted in sore shoulders as my siblings and I played “Slugbug” or, as we called it, “Bugslug.” Our kids played it on family trips, too. But we traveled hundreds of miles and didn’t see a single Beetle till we returned to Spokane.

It’s probably just as well, because Sam was the only kid on this trip and you really shouldn’t punch your parents. Or your kids.

We picked Ashland, Oregon, as our central destination, making the grueling drive in one day. Smoke shrouded the landscape across Washington and into Oregon.

Speaking of Oregon, we thought the recently-passed gas law meant we could pump our own gas. Nope. Apparently, it varies by city or county. Derek opted to try at every fill-up, but was rarely successful.

Ashland is home to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Derek and I had enjoyed a trip there several years ago, and had been anxious to return. We wanted Sam to see a play and mulled the options. The outdoor Allen Elizabethan Theatre is iconic and offers a fabulous experience, so we bought tickets for “The Book of Will,” which was slated for that theater during our stay.

The smoke-filled skies had me worried. The theater had canceled several performances due to poor air quality. Our hotel clerk said in the event of bad air, they move the play to the high school auditorium. Not at all what we were hoping for.

But first the redwoods. The Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park is just a two-hour drive from Ashland, so we crossed our fingers as we set off from the smoky city in the morning.

As we crossed the border into California the skies cleared. Who knew we’d have to drive to California to breathe fresh air?

We wound our way through the primeval forest, carefully avoiding gawkers who pulled over on the side of the narrow road to take pictures. Stopping at the Hiouchi Visitor Center 9 miles east of Crescent City, California, we picked up a map and directions to Stout Grove, a half-mile loop walking trail.

The stillness of the redwood forest is surreal. The immensity of the towering trees, the soft sunlight filtering through ancient branches, adds a unique hush, making the grove seem more like a church than a forest.

Indeed, a short time later while exploring a side trail, I happened upon a partially hidden makeshift memorial – a small cross made of sticks and a photo of a bearded man. I imagine this must have been his favorite place.

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Sam and I did get the giggles counting how many times Derek said the word “huge.”

Crescent City is a short drive from Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park. We cruised into the sleepy town looking for a lunch spot with an ocean view.

“Why don’t you drive that way?” I suggested to Derek, pointing at the ocean in the distance.

Amazingly, the street ended at small parking lot with steps leading down to the beach. Even more amazing, we had the whole beach to ourselves! From old growth forest to tide pools, sand, waves and driftwood in 20 minutes.

After beachcombing, we found a harbor-side restaurant, and a chorus of barking seals serenaded us while we ate.

The smoke was clearing in Ashland the next morning, so we spent the day shopping and walking through Lithia Park. I hesitantly made reservations at an outdoor dining spot, but I needn’t have worried. We sat down to dinner under brilliant blue skies and later, stars twinkled above us as we watched the play in the outdoor theater.

In fact, the only rain we encountered was a light drizzle at Multnomah Falls on the way to Hood River the following day.

The rain didn’t dim the beauty of the falls, but it did close the path to the highest point.

We spent the last day of our trip exploring downtown Hood River, and then relaxing in the sun and the wind on the beach, marveling at the windsurfers, riding the waves.

Like most busy families, we’d started vacation tired and stressed. Each of us wrestling with worries both big and small.

But something happened.

Was it when we sat on a piece of driftwood, staring out at the vast blueness of the Pacific Ocean while the waves lapped the shore at our feet?

Was it when we walked through the silence of the ancient redwoods while the sun filtered through the foliage of God’s cathedral?

All I know is the cares and concerns that once loomed so large seemed to shrink, to lighten, to dissipate into the wonder and beauty of nature.

It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?

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Cindy and Derek walk through the redwoods