Adventure Fist

It was almost exactly a year ago, that I found myself, like I do now, unemployed. A summer of working in the backcountry with the U.S. Forest Service had me haggard, smelly, and ready for some time in the big city. Only a few hours off the trail, not yet unpacked and still unshowered, a unique opportunity presented itself. I soon found myself aboard a private plane, buzzing south en route to sunny Southern California. The details of trip that lied ahead were completely unknown; the only sure thing was that fun was on the horizon.

Upon landing, I assumed I would simply wander off; toting my backpack, and taking things as they came. Instead, I was fortunate enough to be temporarily adopted by the kindest family in Orange County. The next week and a half I found myself exploring the area around the city of Laguna Niguel. Mornings were spent in local cafés sipping cappuccino. Afternoons consisted of beachside bike rides, climbing in local gyms, and cruising the Lexus up and down the legendary Pacific Coast Highway, passing through the oceanfront towns of Laguna Beach, Newport Beach, and Huntington Beach. Evenings passed by with food, margaritas, and great company. I was blessed with an opportunity to get to know an amazing family, and sample a place, and a lifestyle, that few get to experience. Sadly, all good things must come to an end.

My travels next took me south to the city of La Jolla, just north of beautiful San Diego. Compliments of a good college friend, a solid week was spent taking in the area. We spent the week enjoying the beach, eating at local farmer’s markets, snorkeling with sharks, and climbing on nearby rocks. I had the pleasure of wandering through the UCSD and Scripps campuses, visiting the Torrey Pines Gliderport, and hiking the renowned Black’s Beach. I could spend months in La Jolla, but being careful not to overstay my welcome, I decided it was time to head back north.

Another handful of days was spent in Laguna Niguel, as I rode the train back through. This time I had the luck of meeting up with family that I hadn’t seen in years. Stories were shared over dinner, and again, delicious margaritas. A lift back to the train station, and again I was headed north. That night, my ticket would take me as far as Santa Barbara.

It was dark when I stepped off the train. I knew absolutely nothing about the city. I made for the beach to find some soft sand to call a bed. A short walk out on the pier, and I quickly found myself with a new friend. A complete surprise to me, I spent the next week in Santa Barbara, crashing on couches and getting to know an incredible group of friends. I toured the area; rock climbing in the hills above town, perusing the downtown farmer’s market, and exploring the local beaches and marina. Evenings were spent sampling local restaurants, bars, and a magical place called Yogurtland. I fell in love with the city; it was hard not to in such great company. At the end, it was hugs and plans to meet up again soon.

The rest of the trip went well. Buses carried me north. A handful of days were spent with old friends around the city of San Francisco. A train took me east to Modesto, where I caught a ride home to the mountains. After nearly a month of travel, I’d experienced a vast stretch of California on only a few hundred dollars. More importantly I’d gotten to catch up with old friends, and make new ones.

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I’ve made a point of staying in touch with my new friends in Santa Barbara. Since our initial meeting, we’ve met up for climbing trips to Joshua Tree National Park, and taken in San Francisco’s Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival together. I’ve been fortunate enough to return to Santa Barbara a handful of times. Every trip has been beautiful, and I enjoy every second I can spend in my home away from home.

A voicemail tells me they’re heading to Yosemite. Finally, I have the opportunity to at least begin to repay their generosity.

We spend the first day catching up and climbing in Yosemite Valley. A request to go backpacking had me racking my brain for destinations. I decided on a hike back to Cherry Creek, via Kibbie Ridge. I know the trail well. This is the first stretch of the trip that Moose and I recently completed while crossing the Sierras. I was looking forward to actually spending some time in this area, instead of just blasting through. Even more so, I was looking forward to sharing this experience with good friends.

The hike goes well; a close call with a rattlesnake spices things up. Soon enough we’re enjoying the granite landscape of the Emigrant Wilderness. We spend our time swimming in the crystal-clear water of Cherry Creek and hiking along its banks. I sneak off with the camera for an hour or so. American pikas run through the boulder fields, and band-tailed pigeons alight in the trees around me as the sun sets. The evening is spent around the bon-fire with good company.

I snap a few photos of the scene. One shot stands out; my friend Eric stands in front of the fire while his fiancé Emily sits across from him. This is the first photo I’ve taken in quite some time that I’m truly proud of. This November I have the honor of participating in their wedding, where I will be presenting them with the first print of this limited edition photo. Thank you to all of my friends, in Santa Barbara, and across the map; life wouldn’t be nearly the adventure it is without all of you.

“You meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet. But sometimes you meet those people you can’t forget; those are your friends.”

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