from laguna quilotoa to chugchilan | andes, ecuador

Dear Zander, 

When the pick-up truck driver came to a jarring stop in Quilotoa, and we hopped out of the bed, my first thought was, "my ass is numb," but my second thought was, holy crap what are we getting ourselves into? The hike from that blue-green, translucent crater lagoon in the Andes mountains back to Chugchilan, our itty bitty remote village whose name I don't think we ever pronounced quite right, finally began to seem like the big deal everyone had tried to tell us it was.

Uncharacteristically, I was nervous about the hike. My stomach was complaining at 9:00am when we got to the lagoon, and we know better than to second guess queasy stomachs when we travel. We were both exhausted. We'd hiked - what? 15 hours in 3 days up to that point at some crazy altitudes. The clouds were heavy and thick with a coming storm. Our only map was the hand drawn guide Edmundo had given us. What if we got lost? We'd have no way "out" once we started; our way back was our feet.

We voiced all this, and to tell you the truth, I thought you'd be cautious (and smart), and suggest that we enjoy the crater and catch a bus back to town. But instead, you reminded me (kind of indignantly, even!) that we had traveled by way of about 15 different buses to get to this remote part of the Andes, almost lost my hiking shoes but miraculously got them back, and spent a small fortune to stay at the lauded Black Sheep Inn just for this hike. For this one hike. And you said, so we're here, let's do it.

So we did.

...when you started singing, "Gangster's Paradise" as we hiked between sky-high, narrow crevices in the mountains, and you didn't remember all of the words - and neither did I, but we rapped on anyway, I loved you more.

...when you cheered me to the finish of that three hour downhill climb like you were at a Redskins game and RG3 was scoring the winning touchdown with seconds left because you know how much I despise downhill hiking, I loved you more.

...when we started climbing all the way back up right after we had reached the valley, you said, "Uphill hiking is the worst," and I responded, "We're perfect for each other because when you're down, I'm up," and you laughed at my horrible joke, I loved you more.

...when I admitted that to get through the steepest section of the entire hike, I pumped myself up by singing "Eye of the Tiger," but I couldn't remember the tune, so I sang Katy Perry's "Roar" instead, and you stared at me for a long moment before saying, "Rocky would knock you out for that," I loved you more. (Remember that part? It was at the very end, and there were horses, no... sheep? Pigs? Some animals and a "farm" mentioned on the guide, and we weren't sure, but the route was a shortcut?)

...when I started writing and singing - out loud - love songs to the green benches that appeared every time we needed a break, and you never once recorded it to blackmail me, I loved you more.

...when the older man passed us in his work clothes, sweating and thirsty, using the route as so many of the locals do - as their walk to work, and you gave him a full water bottle from our pack, I loved you more.

...when we stumbled back into the Black Sheep Inn dirty, exhausted, and proud with accomplishment, I loved you more.

...and when we silently, telepathically agreed never to talk about how the 70-year-old couple that we befriended and had hiked the route that same day had beaten us back... well. We're not talking about that, now are we?

Love, 

Cyndi

15,953 feet on cotopaxi volcano

I cried when we reached the shelter at base camp. I'd gone into our hike on Cotopaxi volcano thinking that the altitude would make it tougher but not that much tougher. We'd only be gaining 1,000-1,500 feet of elevation while hiking, and that should be nothing for me. I didn't anticipate how hard the altitude would make every step.

We reached the dirt "parking lot," where our bus let our group out to start the ascent, and I knew something wasn't right. I was the tiniest bit dizzy, my stomach the tiniest bit topsy-turvy, and my vision felt out of sorts. I felt off, and I felt it immediately. I slowly drank some water, trying to mentally calm down. I took in breaths slowly, hoping it was just nerves and the anticipation of the altitude more than the altitude itself.

Zan and I started hiking and found ourselves squarely in the middle of the pack. The guide told us if we reached base camp with enough time, we'd hike up to the glacier. We all wanted to see the glacier and picked up our pace. Even with an accelerated pace, we weren't moving quickly.

Within 10 minutes, I slowed down to a snail's pace. I would take three or four steps and need to stop to regain my balance and clear my sight. I was breathing hard and the dizziness came and went in increasingly stronger spells. Zan told me to turn back more than once. At some point - about halfway to the refuge, I started to agree with him. I knew I'd regret turning back; I'd always regret turning back. On the other hand, altitude sickness is very real and scary. I kept taking a few more steps. And then stopping for a slow sip of water and to reconsider. Step, step, and reconsider.

And then it began snowing. The trail turned from black volcanic ash and rock to pure white in a matter of minutes. The snow came down like hail, pelting us on every surface. We shielded our faces and talked through the storm. By that point, I felt nauseated. We'd long ago lost track of the majority of our group. Through the storm, we couldn't see anyone ahead of us or behind us. We walked and stalled like that, getting colder by the minute, until a group of three men, not with our group, rounded the switchback and neared us.

"You're only about 10 minutes from base camp," the guide said, pointing to a blanket of white in the distance. Clouds and the snow obscured our sight of camp, but it filled me with hope and renewed determination. Ten minutes with the long switchbacks meant we didn't have much more to gain in elevation.

We kept on like that, with Zan encouraging me, reminding me to take it slower. My biggest problem was starting out with a burst of energy, which exacerbated my headache and other symptoms. Hiking so slowly I didn't think we'd ever make it, we rounded the switchbacks one by one, until finally, the refuge came into view.

We climbed the last small hill and stumbled inside, desperate for warmth and tea. Tears pooled in my eyes. The feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed me. After a few cups of coca tea, my body started to adjust a little better, and we went outside just long enough to watch the snow storm end and the clouds break the tiniest bit. The entire volcano was covered in white.

We were standing at 15,953 feet on one of the highest active volcanoes in the world. The descent was straight down and we half walked, half slid down in the snow, the whole group re-energized from the break and the view. We weren't able to make it to the glacier because the storm made conditions hiking further up dangerous, but by then none of us cared.

We rode back down the volcano on mountain bikes; Zan was the first one down, and I was the second to last. I slowed for potholes and bumps in the ash road, and meandered to the side about 100 times to take pictures.

We booked our day trip to Cotopaxi on a whim and the recommendation of another traveler the night before. Like most unexpected things when I travel, it was a highlight of our trip.

if you go...

day trips run about $65 with a reputable group, English-speaking guide & lunch

it's doable independently - look up bus times from Quito & be prepared for freak weather

a great guide for climbing cotopaxi on the cheap

wear: hiking boots, layers, wicking & waterproof, gloves, hat

it's possible to climb to the top of Cotopaxi, but it's a technical hike with crampons & other gear

about 2-3 hours from Quito

top 5 | niagara falls, ontario, canada

I skipped town for a long, glorious, four-day weekend and crossed the border to the land of hockey, free healthcare, poutine, ice wine, and Robin Sparkles - Canada! Zander and I stayed in the town of Niagara Falls, used AirBnB for the first time, took a billion pictures of the Falls themselves, got soaked on the Maid of the Mist, drank and bought enough wine for an army with a drinking problem, and had a helluva good time. I thought I'd start the barrage of posts about our trip that will surely end up in this space with a new feature - the top five experiences from our trip.

Thanks, labor movement for Monday's Labor Day holiday! (Or, since I was in Canada - Labour Day!)

Seeing Niagara Falls, duhh! 

My "near death selfie" was my most popular picture on Instagram and Facebook all weekend..... and I'm confused at that because molars, ew! I think you can even see a filling back there. But I go with it!

What can I say that hasn't been said about Niagara Falls? The sheer power of the Falls is awe-inspiring. I was transfixed by the color of the water - it's a brilliant emerald with white wake and deep blues and light greens interspersed throughout. When I looked straight down, it made me think that this is what Earth probably looks like from space. It's that spectacularly beautiful and unlike anything I've ever seen.

Zander and I had so much fun at the Falls our first night (and the other times we saw them). We were silly with each other and in our photos and playfully competitive about who was taking the best shots. Okay, I use "playfully" lightly - it was nearly a to-the-death battle.

Hiking at Niagara Glen Nature Reserve 

Niagara Falls is a cheesy tourist town. There are chain restaurants everywhere you look, buffets everywhere you turn (is there anything worse?), souvenir shops are a dime a dozen, and seeing the Falls is a lesson in patience and anger management. You can't hiccup without stepping on a baby, was my experience. But if you want to experience Niagara like a local, there are so many ways to do so. Hiking at the beautiful Niagara Glen Nature Reserve got us away from the crazy, overpriced, crowded areas and on an unmarked trail that led us to the Whirlpool - a swirling vortex of water that mixes dead center between Canada and the US. We bouldered, tossed water that had just come from the Falls on our sweaty faces, and let Theo lead the way with his nose. It was, simply put, the best.

Niagara on the Lake (photo courtesy of Zan!)

I have so much to say about Niagara on the Lake, a small town that sits about 25 minutes from Niagara Falls in the Ontario region. The town has been voted the most beautiful in Canada and the one with the best wines. There are 30 wineries around the periphery and even within the town. We had one of the best meals of our lives at Trius Winery. It started off with a complimentary glass of bone dry sparkling rose, and I almost married it and that winery on the spot. And that was before the truffle fries with homemade ketchup. 

Playing tourist 

I loved being a tourist in Niagara Falls. I loved it so much that when we stumbled across a small souvenir shop near our AirBnB apartment with a close-out sale, I bought a "Canada, Eh!" hat and a Canada fanny pack without thinking twice. I bought them so fast I wondered if I was even really being ironic. And of course, I bought Theo a whole line of Canadian-themed bandanas. When Zander and I discovered Clifton Hill, the tourist destination in Niagara Falls, we embraced it, too. We played laser tag (I won!), raced through a laser maze (Zan won), bought fudge-covered rice krispie treats, and almost - almost - rode the Ferris Wheel. When in Niagara....! (I kept the fanny pack. Oh, please.)

Traveling with Zan 

Zan and I had some pretty intense ups and downs in Mexico, and I'm not just talking about our cases of Montezuma's Revenge. It was our first international trip together, and while we had a blast, we had some kinks to work out. This time around, we did a much better job of compromising. So much so that it rarely ever felt like there were compromises to be made. We were on the same page. At one point, delirious from exhaustion after a 15 hour day and probably as many miles on our feet, I nearly cried with how happy I was to be with this guy. I have a man and a dog who are up for just about any adventure I throw at them, and that feels better being lucky or winning the lottery or other romantical cliches - it feels like I found my match.

catch up on my trip on instagram

and facebook

a day at cunningham falls state park

When Zander and I decided to spend to spend Saturday at Cunningham Falls State Park in the Catoctin Mountains (Maryland), he thought I knew that we'd been there before. 

Cunningham Falls State Park has a lake, campgrounds, and a 78-foot cascading waterfall. At only slightly over an hour outside of D.C., it's a great place to get out of the city and the summer heat. A mere 20 minutes after we laid our towels on the sandy beach bordering the lake and hunkered down to catch some rays and possibly zs, a bored male voice came over an invisible loudspeaker instructing all visitors to exit the water and sand areas due to a thunderstorm spotted in the area. We packed up our bags, put back on our top layer of clothes, laced up tennis shoes, and went to find the waterfall.

From the lake it's a short hike to the waterfall with two route options: a fire road walk that'll have you there in less than half a mile, or a slightly more advanced mile hike through a wooded area. We took the latter. We both wanted a longer, more strenuous hike, but I've been battling a stress reaction in my right leg, and Zan is recuperating from a tendonitis flare up in one of his knees. We were a pathetic sight, both half-hobbling through a hike that would normally only be the start of one for us.

Less than a quarter mile in, Zander reached out for my arm and quieted me. My eyes followed his gaze to a lone deer grazing ahead. We dared to step as quietly as we could to get a closer look. The deer caught sight of us and cocked its head quizzically, then returned to grazing, unfazed. Thunder rolled in, drawing us out of our trance, and with a last look of wonderment, we silently walked past.

As we came upon the waterfall, I mentioned to Zan that the area looked familiar. His eyebrows rose and his mouth opened and shut a few times as if he wanted to say something, before finally reminded me that we'd been here before. We had hiked in Catoctin (our first hike together), but I just assumed it had been to a different waterfall. At least I don't have to worry I'm developing an accurate sense of direction.

As the rain poured down and the thunder settled in overhead, I kicked off my socks and shoes and scaled the boulders of the waterfall. DC had a recent streak of five 95+ days with swamp-like humidity, and I could've moved in to the crevices and caves on those boulders for the fresh air, cold rain on my skin, and the sound of the rushing waterfall - noticeably picking up speed with the storm. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon on the lake, rolling our eyes at the the rules reinforcements blasting from the invisible loudspeaker every few minutes. I felt a bit like I was in the arena in The Hunger Games... except my biggest foe was hordes of children.

I'd go back. But I probably wouldn't remember I've been there before.

If you go...Cunningham Falls State Park

Entrance fee: $5-7/person ($5 for Maryland residents)

No dogs allowed (sorry, Theo!)

Follow signs to the William Houck area of the park for lake access

Multiple grills/picnic tables available for public use

Kayak/canoe rentals: an insane $20/hour

Amenities: Restrooms/changing rooms, concession stand, vending machines

hiking overall run falls in shenandoah national park

Within the first mile, the rain came. It dripped on us slowly and steadily as we checked our steps on the open trail. A few hundred yards ahead, panting from the gradual incline, we entered a tree cover. The forest spread out around and over us. The trail rested damp and soft beneath us, pulling our shoes in and resisting our steps up. I heard the rain, soft and whispering, landing gently on leaves and rolling down their crooked edges before landing on my hair, my shoulders, my shoes. I tilted my face toward the branches above, spotting only slivers of the sky far beyond. I stuck my tongue out like a kid in a snow storm, and watched the trajectory of a raindrop before it landed squarely in my mouth. Theo shook himself off, stuck his tongue out, too, and ran again ahead of us, looking back only as if to say, "Aren't you coming, Mom?"

Overall Run Falls holds the title of the tallest waterfall in Shenandoah National Park. Like the majority of Shenandoah's waterfalls, you reach it by hiking down. Depending on where you start, the trail clocks in between 4.8 - 6.5 miles roundtrip. It can be done as an out and back or a loop hike. I always prefer loops so that's the option we chose. The first several miles vacillate between gradual decline and steep decline, with the final .5 mile to the falls themselves being a series of rock stairs and very steep decline. Zander and I joked, well, this'll be fun to climb back up. But really - it kind of was. That's twisted, right?

What started out as a planned 6.5 mile hike turned into an a nearly 8.5 mile hike. We went the wrong way and ended up here in Fern Gully. All in all, it was a pretty detour.

Zander recently saved a baby bird in my backyard. In the middle of an intense game of fetch with Theo, he yelled out to me inside, asking me to quickly bring him gloves. I tossed him a pair, scared he found a dead... or alive snake (it's always snakes with me). I watched him sprint to the edge of the yard, gently reach down and ever so carefully lift something up. He stood listening for several moments, his head cocking from side to side. A cacophony of chirps hit my ears at the same time they did his. The birds grew increasingly louder until Zan figured out from which direction they came. He walked that way and set the baby bird in his gloved palms on the grass above the rock wall at the edge of the yard.

He saved another baby bird on our hike. This time he spotted it on the trail and asked me to move Theo out of the way. His sniffing scared the poor thing. Zan put the little guy in the palm of his hand and waited again to hear his parents cry out. I hope they both made it home safe. And this tangential story is just one of the billion reasons I love that man.

We backtracked a mile and found the correct turnoff for Overall Run Falls. Within that mile, the indecisive skies finally chose sunshine, and the temperature rose 10 degrees in the next hour. The sun shone, light filtered through the trees, and by the time we reached the falls, we wished we could swim in them.

After 2+ miles hiking down and crossing a few streams, we arrived at the lower falls. There are two waterfalls on the Overall Run Falls trail - the lower and upper. When you near the falls, a trail sign point you in the right direction. At that point, the lower falls is within .2-.3 miles. Hike down another .2-.3 to see the Overall Run.

 

I handed Theo's leash and my water bottle to Zander and walked toward the rock cliff at Overall Run Falls. At the edge, I folded down until I was on all fours. Finding natural handholds, and gauging the distance from the cliff edge to the rock platform immediately underneath, I slowly descended. It was only a span of 10 feet, at most, but it felt like 40 in that moment. A small rush of adrenaline ran through me. Maybe this is a hint of what it's like to rock climb. I squatted down on the ledge, shrubbery poking at my biceps and thighs and took picture and after picture, trying to capture the falls and the mountains beyond. I thought briefly about jumping - the pool beneath the falls was right there! I could see it! Beneath 100 feet of rocks! I climbed back up, Zan let out a deep breath, Theo licked me hello, and we unpacked our picnic lunch, eating with a view.

Trail directions and tips 
 
PARK: Matthew's Arm Campground - the overflow lot

TRAIL DIRECTIONS: Take the blue-blazed Traces Trailhead in the overflow parking lot for .6 miles to the Tuscarora-Overall Run trail intersection. Make a left on this trail. (We made a right, and that will take you to Hogback Overlook - you can also start your hike here, if you prefer. It's at mile marker 21.1.) Until this point, the hike is wooded, and dense with a gradual incline. The falls are 2.8 miles away once you veer onto Tuscarora-Overall Run trail. You begin to descend into the valley at this point. At 1.1 miles, you'll come to another trail intersection for Matthews Arms. Continue straight/right to reach the falls. At 2.7 miles, you'll reach another intersection - again, continue straight. The falls are .5 miles at this point. The trail veers steeply downhill; there are wooden steps for a section. At .2 miles on the left is the lower falls. Continue another .2-.3 miles down to see the large falls on your left.

Hike back up the way you came. After you ascend the .5 miles back up and reach the trail intersection, head right toward Matthew's Arm. At the second intersection in another 2 miles, head left for Matthew's Arm. Before the second intersection is a fast-moving stream and small falls (when there's water). Turn right at the final intersection back onto Traces Trail and retrace your steps .6 mile to the parking lot.

TIPS: The falls are best after a heavy rain or in the spring. In the summer months, the falls run dry. The view is spectacular year round. Winter months, when the water has frozen, is also a good time to see the falls.

RATING: We loved the falls and the view, and the woods were pretty for a while. I'm glad we hiked it and saw the tallest falls, but I'm not gunning to do it again. I give it a 6 out of 10. 

A LONGER VERSION: Combining Overall Run with Beecher Ridge from Hiking Upward

And now... more pictures.

travel tuesday | climbing mt. fuji

Today, I'm heading back to Japan, in pictures at least. To the tip-top of Japan. To above the clouds, and below the sky. To the point where exhaustion gives way to accomplishment. To Fuji-san, or Mt. Fuji, for we English speakers.

Standing at 12,388 feet tall (3447 meters), Mt. Fuji is no short order hike, though it is the most climbed mountain in the world.

Nearly anyone can summit Mt. Fuji. You don't need mountaineering equipment, oxygen takes, or extended time to acclimate, and it only takes about 8-10 hours in total (only! ha!). It's possible to hike it as an out-and-back, and most people do it that way. But don't take that the wrong way. Old Fuji is a bastard of a climb. 

The traditional way to climb Mt. Fuji is to start hiking at sunset and climb all night, until at long last, you see sunrise from the summit, above the clouds. I stubbornly chose to do it this way, starting on the same day that I visited three temples in Kyoto and spent 6 hours on trains. I hit a severe, dangerous wall of exhaustion. I don't recommend that.

Hiking Fuji at night felt Biblical to me. I think that's an entirely strange comparison, especially to make in Japan, but I have no better words for it. The mountain looms foreboding as you step out onto it, and the night grows darker when it's already black. The only light you see are the headlamps of fellow trekkers, a luminescent, bobbing glow snaking up into an the ethereal unknown. In my exhaustion and delirium, the story of the Three Wise Men came as naturally to mind as my want for rest and water, and I thought, this is probably what their journey looked and felt like, some 2000 years ago. Less poetically, climbing Fuji-san at night engenders a feeling of tight knit community through a common cause and goal.

 

The ascent to the top of Mt. Fuji is marked by stations. There are nine in total. Instead of hiking through the night, many trekkers opt to rent bunk-bed style futons in huts located at the 8th station. The 8th station is a blessed bastion. You can purchase hot ramen, tea, water, and generally rest your tired eyes and sore feet before pushing through the final, steep climb to the top. I do recommend these huts.

At the base of the mountain, and at souvenir shops for miles surrounding it, there are opportunities to purchase walking sticks. At each of the nine stations on the mountain, the walking sticks are stamped with proof of your tenacity and endurance. The stamps are imprinted with hot irons, emblazoning the stick and emboldening the trekker to make it that much higher. 

There is a Japanese proverb that says, "A wise man climbs Fuji once. A fool climbs it twice."

Trekkers on the mountain take rest on rocks, bits of dirt and gravel and hardened lava. Sometimes those people have a foot in the path, or their pack falls onto the trail. In the 12 hours I spent on Fuji-san, not one person was rude, or told someone to move. I only heard kind words, spoken to others and to me. Climbing Mt. Fuji epitomizes the Japanese spirit - community, a helping hand, kinship.

Truth be told, climbing Mt. Fuji is my greatest accomplishment and regret in my time in Japan. I tried to do too much in too short a time, and I faced the consequences: I crashed and burned (and fell asleep in a bowl of ramen) at Station 8, so shy of the summit I could see it in my reach. I may be a fool - I know I'm a fool - but I'll do it again someday.

if you go... 

climbing season is in july & august

starting point: Kawaguchiko 5th station on the Yoshida Trail

from Tokyo, take a bus from Shinjuku to the trail head at the 5th station

 bring layers; it's cold at the top even in summer 

mt. fuji walking stick: 1000Yen (~$10-$20) / stamps: 200Yen ($2-5)

climbing guide

my other posts on japan...

cycling the 70km shimanami-kaido 

my hometown: yamato, hikari, yamaguchi