Sailing Tarka: April 2012

We left San Diego without any real plan as to where we would end up next. California, unlike most of the other states in the US, has very limited free or affordable camping. Campsites in the state parks run $35-$55 per night which simply doesn't fit in to our budget. We headed back to Joshua Tree National Park. We had left there at the end of January and would now revisit the climbing mecca two months later with the promise of night time temperatures that would stay above freezing.

When we drove into the infamous Hidden Valley Campground there wasn't a vacant campsite in the whole place. Luckily, just as we had begun to accept defeat, a young man named Bud approached us. He told us that his camp mate was leaving that evening and he welcomed us to stay.

Over the next several days we realized two things. Firstly, it had been way too long since we had climbed last and our muscles and tendons were still on beach mode. Secondly, Bud was a strong climber. A very, very strong climber. In fact, he had just finished an American Mountain Guide Association course. In the summers, he crewed on Yosemite's Search and Rescue team. From the moment that we came in to his life, Bud seemed to have only one goal: to watch us climb as hard as we possibly could for as long as we possibly could- and then climb harder and longer.

Bud and his girlfriend Joy became our new climbing companions. They broaden our Joshua Tree horizons and we explored climbing areas within the park that we hadn't even know existed before meeting them. We tore up our hands on the crystallized granite and two weeks later, as I'm typing this, I can still look down at the last remnants of scars and scabs that serve as a reminder of our time there.

After Joshua Tree, Juliet and I decided to skirt the Eastern Sierras and make our way up to Bishop, a small town at the base of the mountains known for its climbing. Time only allowed us a couple of days there and so we spent our time hiking to the sunny climbing spots during the day and sleeping at the Pleasant Valley Pit at night.

Some spring storms had closed off many of the passes through the Eastern Sierras. We headed North of Bishop for several hours until we reached Hwy 89 which nearly skirts the southern edge of Lake Tahoe as it winds its way through the mountains. The drive was among the most scenic we had done thus far and we both felt the craving to engage in some snow sports. But by the end of the day, we found ourselves in sunny Santa Cruz among surfers that never seem to age.

We had met Allen in Baja at a well regarded surfing location. He would run bare-footed down the beach in the morning and stop to chat with us. We told him of our road trip and how we would soon be making our way back North to follow the spring weather. He immediately invited us to stop and visit him in Santa Cruz if we happened to be in the area. Our time in Santa Cruz was everything we hoped it would be. We caught a show, drank locally roasted coffee, went to the farmer's market, studied the local surf break, traded stories on the beach, explored the town's bike lanes, and witnessed a spontaneous jam session. The trek to Santa Cruz was well worth it and Monterrey Bay was just as beautiful as we had hoped. But we had a schedule to keep and so had to leave.

Juliet had a friend who had lived in Duluth when he was in the Coast Guard. As our luck would have it, Jake and his girlfriend Leah now lived in Emeryville, a small town sandwiched between Oakland and Berkley. They welcomed us in to their home with open arms which we were very grateful. They showed us the art of silk aerials, let us taste home-brewed beer and kombucha, took us to a local climbing crag, showed us Art Murmur in Oakland and the University of California- Berkley campus, and brought us to a play. We were only there for three days but there never seemed to be a moment of down time. On our way out of town, we walked through parts of the Golden Gate Recreation Area. Winding up our time there, it only seemed fitting that we leave over the Golden Gate Bridge.

Somewhere between the Bay Area and Oregon there is a dramatic shift in climate and culture. Northern California feels a bit like Minnesota, only the trees are bigger and the mountains more pronounced. This is the land of the mighty Redwoods. The people that live here are few and far between compared to the densely populated coastal areas of Southern California. However, there is also a distinct down-to-earth vibe that the people radiate and we are happy to be getting a small taste of this area.