& www.trekker magazine.com An interview with surfboard builder Mark Brög reader contributed & experience driven Spring 07 • No. 02 hiking road running mountain biking road biking travel triathlons surfboard building climbing photography Soul Shaper: The Craft of Surfboard Building A Bike Tour of the California Coast + Into the Dunes: A Nigerien Journey + Sierra Solitude + Africa’s Tallest Trek + Mt. Shasta, Dad’s Little Everest + Featured Photographer: Kipp Downey TREKKER MAGAZINE Palos Verdes 41st Marathon Details Inside
A Bike Tour of the California Coast + Into the Dunes: A Nigerien Journey + Sierra Solitude + Africa’s Tallest Trek + Mt. Shasta, Dad’s Little Everest + Featured Photographer: Kipp Downey
TREKKER MAGAZINE
Palos Verdes 41st Marathon Details Inside
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TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07 A note from TM.In an experience based publication, where we encourage our readers, who are in essence our writers, to “put their experiences on paper,” it is not uncommon to have a split-themed issue (having published two issues of TM, nothing is common). In Issue No. 02, we do exactly that. While a majority of articles revolve around a central theme, big hikes, our cover features a photo of surfboard builder, Mark Brög. After seeing the final outcome of the Brög interview, the idea of a split-theme was a no-brainer.
Brög’s philosophies and experiences, not to mention his amiability, made for a fascinating interview (pg 12). So naturally we wanted that on top.
But as of press time, with winter waning and spring just around the corner, the hiking season is gaining buoyancy in our minds. This plays into our big hikes theme, since it is the seasons in between that mark so many opportunities to conquer the elements. With the Sierras, the San Gabriels and the Santa Monicas all in our back yard, the selection doesn’t get much better. In preparation for the upcoming hiking season, this issue touches on the Sierras, with a Mt. Williamson hike review (pg 24). We also have a great photo essay, “Dad’s Little Everest”, which accounts Michael Ruiz’s crampon-stamping adventure to the summit of Mt. Shasta with his father (pg 22). Finally, we have Joanna Laubschner’s experience climbing to the top of Kilimanjaro in, “Africa’s Tallest Trek” (pg 20). Following this theme Marcie Samuele lends a hand to those looking for some hills to train on. She traces out a wonderfully challenging run throughout Palos Verdes (pg 8).
Of course, staying true to our title, TREKKER MAGAZINE, we include much more. Travel with Jennifer Wallace on a 4x4 adventure to Niger (pg 16). Follow along with Nick Johansen on an eight-day bike tour of the California coast (pg 6). We also have a triathlon primer (pg 10) and our first column: an account of one woman’s first attempt at a marathon (pg 10). I’d also like to offer a thank you to budding photographer, Kipp Downey, for sharing some beautifully serene beach-themed photos (pg 18).
Please enjoy No. 02, and feel free to tell us what you think:
Contributing Writers - Michelle Creedon, Nick Johansen, Joanna Laubschner, Michael Ruiz, Jennifer Wallace, Tyler Wallace
Contributing Photographers - Scott Buetzow, Lisa Collins, Kipp Downey, Nick Johansen, Joanna Laubschner, John Post, Michael Ruiz, Marcie Samuele, Rocco Samuele, Jennifer
Wallace, Tyler Wallace
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� • TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07
It started as a simple conversation between good friends over a few frosty beers at a local watering hole in Manhattan Beach.
me: “I’m thinking of riding my bike down the coast in a couple of months to raise money and promote awareness for a few important charities. I’m planning on carrying camping and cooking gear with me and was thinking it should take me just over a week to ride the 550 miles, door to door.”Scott: “Brother, I’m in! When are we leaving?” me: “Do you have a bike?”Scott: “No.”me: “When was the last time you were on a bike?” Scott: “I haven’t been on a bike in over five years.” me: “Umm, do you think you can find a bike, do some training and leave on a tour in two months?”Scott: “I’m going to start looking tomorrow. Hey, do I have to wear those spandex shorts?”me: “Wear whatever you want, but make sure it has butt padding.”
A couple of days hadn’t gone by and Scott already picked up a bike and was riding all around town to get his legs moving. It was time to contact the charities and organize how the donations were going to be made in the name of the ride. Both Scott and I selected charities that were important to each of us. The foundations included the Lance Armstrong Foundation, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, UNICEF, the Surfrider Foundation and Invisible Children. All of these groups do outstanding work and were excited to be a part of our ride. We planned to pass out flyers during our trip, but a majority of our fundraising was to take place prior to departure, with our friends and family.
After communicating with the foundations, we began planning our tour. We needed to determine how many days to ride, where to camp, what route to take, how much food to carry and what tools and spare parts would be required. During a pre-ride packing/planning meeting, we determined that our gear needed to fit snuggly into our rear panniers, or bike bags, and onto our rear bike rack, thus turning our 20-25 pound bikes into 50+ pound rigs. We planned out the route mileage, elevation profiles and campsites, just in time to receive a letter regarding a closure to the Pacific Coast Highway just south of the little foggy surf town, Pacifica. Online satellite images and local area maps and rangers were key in determining an alternate route along the coast. Unfortunately, the alternate route involved climbing over a 1000-foot ridge on a gravel fire road that may or may not connect through to the town south of Pacifica, Montara. The adventure had begun and we had yet to mount our bikes.
Greater San Francisco Bay AreaDay 1 / Sunday, May 28thOur tour began in our childhood hometown of Novato, California, located in Marin County, which is approximately 20 miles north of San Francisco. We were ready to go once we got Scott’s rear wheel un-strapped—that is, after he looped a belt around his sleeping bag and through the rim of his rear tire. Oops. It felt good to ease the pre-ride nerves with a few good laughs.
The ride started with a tour of our home county, with great views of Big Rock Ridge in Novato, Mt. Tamalpais in Mill Valley, anchored sailboats in the waters of Sausalito and the rolling grass-covered hills of the Marin Headlands. We talked with a few cyclists as we rode through Sausalito, and each inquired about our travels and asked if the credit card in their jerseys and the clothes on their backs were enough to join the tour.
After a quick snack at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge, we pedaled on toward one of our favorite surf spots in the Bay Area, Ocean Beach in San Francisco. We watched jealously, as a few surfers caught some great waves near the rocks at the north end of the beach. At the same time we could see the ridge to the south that was the northern-most border of Half Moon Bay. We devoured a couple of delicious sandwiches from a small deli in Pacifica and started for the base of the much-anticipated fire road. The road led us most of the way over the ridge, as it turned out to be more paved than gravel and dirt. The descent involved navigating a narrow, single-track trail--not necessarily road bike terrain. We crossed a few hikers and bikers who had a good chuckle at the off-road segment of our tour. We made it to Half Moon Bay in time to pick up dinner at a local market and set up camp in the Half Moon Bay State Park before sunset.
Day 2 / Monday, May 29thWe woke up to a foggy morning in Half Moon Bay. Enduring the brisk air, we were on our rigs by 8 a.m., heading south to visit some relatives in Aptos—a small town just south of Santa Cruz. Highway 1 is snug along the coast on this stretch, so the ocean views were endless as the highway climbed along the rocky bluffs.
Scott got his first flat tire just north of Santa Cruz, and after a quick patch job, we headed off the route toward the coast. We toured the coast to Steamer Lane, one of the best surf spots in northern California. While riding by the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, my bike’s rear cassette came loose. We happened to find some friendly local cyclists who helped point us to one of their local gems, The Bike Church—a co-op bike shop. Here we ran into the supposed drummer, apparently now a homeless cyclist, from the Doobie Brothers offering us tickets for their show that night. Although the offer was hard to pass up, we were off to have dinner with my Uncle Jim and Aunt Anne. After an incredible dinner with them we rested for the road ahead.
Majestic Pacific Coast Highway in Big SurDay 3 / Tuesday, May 30th We began the third day of the tour early, in anticipation of the longest riding day planned—a 75 mile ride to Andrew Molera State Park in Big Sur. Our route through southern Santa Cruz, western Salinas and eventually Moss Landing, led us along single-lane agricultural roads. We passed a number of strawberry fields as we shared the winding road, lined with large euca-lyptus trees, with tractors and large produce trucks.
San Francisco to Los AngelesA Bike Tour of the California Coast
words and photos by Nick Johansen with photos by Scott Buetzow
Sp/07 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • 7
When we reached Sand City, we grabbed some lunch and decided to navigate an alternate route, in order to follow the coast of the Mon-terey Peninsula, including the “17 mile drive” and other sites like Ghost Tree. There, white sandy beaches were mixed with beautiful rock formations along the shore. In the afternoon, we bought some groceries in Carmel and started heading south on the infamous Highway 1 stretch, which we traveled from mid to late afternoon.
Our first view of Big Sur occurred when we left the wooded hillsides of Carmel Highlands, which is approximately ten miles north of Big Sur. With the sun nearing the horizon, we occasionally stopped to take in views of the glistening ocean and steep, green-grass covered mountains. We had already reached the planned mileage for the day in Carmel, as the trip around the peninsula added approximately 20 miles to the route. We were grateful to have reached Andrew Molera State Park with some daylight left so we could do a little explor-ing along the coast to locate a surf break we had heard about. After an exhausting day of biking and traipsing around the area, we cooked dinner on the stove in our food storage locker, used to block the westerly winds, and ended the day with a big bonfire.
Day 4 / Wednesday, May 31stThe day that marked the halfway point of the tour in terms of days, but in terms of total miles we were just shy. Since we only had 35 miles of riding planned for the day, we took our time, and checked out sites along the way. A refreshing swim in the Big Sur River prepared us for one of the biggest climbs of the trip—up to the town of Big Sur. We stopped at the local market, grabbed a couple of sandwiches to go and got back on the road to find a place to eat with a nice view of the ocean. A long descent after our climb brought us to our lunch spot, shared with a few motorists who had stopped to enjoy the views. The roads were surprisingly empty, which made riding on the narrow highway pleasant. We could not have asked for a better day; the sun was out and there wasn’t any of the familiar “Big Sur fog” in sight.
We reached Plaskett Creek campground in the early afternoon, which allowed plenty of time to setup camp and do some exploring down on the beach. The campground is located on the eastern side of Highway 1, overlooking the rocky coast below. We spent the afternoon bodysurfing in the frigid water and sleeping in the white, fine grain sand. A couple of friends, Doug and Roy, drove up from San Luis Obispo to camp with us that night and Doug planned to ride to San Luis Obispo with us the next day. The bonfire was roaring soon after the sun went down.
Day 5 / Thursday, June 1stDay five started early and the highway was empty; in two hours we saw one car. Our destination was Doug’s ranch, just south of my college town, San Luis Obispo. As we left the mountainous region of Big Sur, we had remarkable views of rolling headlands, spotted with groves of eucalyptus and occasional California oaks. There are many great surf spots along this stretch of coast, and the proof was in my sore neck. We had some long-awaited tri-tip sandwiches at a local Cambria barbeque restaurant just before noon, and then we were off to San Luis Obispo. We reached San Luis Obispo in the early afternoon and grabbed a few cold beers at a favorite watering hole, the Frog and Peach Pub on Higuera. As planned, we feasted on more barbeque at the Thursday Night Farmers Market while soaking in the small town feel and listening to some great local steel drum musicians.
Central Coast Vineyards and Southern California BeachesDay 6 / Friday, June 2ndThe last three days of the tour started at the ranch in southern San Luis Obispo with stops in Gaviota State Beach, McGrath State Beach and ending in Redondo Beach. The ride south out of San Luis Obispo brought us through the agriculturally rich town of Guadalupe, where we had lunch at an awesome little deli on the main drag. Our route along Highway 1 traveled through numerous vineyards and large plots of land dedicated to growing tasty California grapes. We arrived in Lompoc in the early afternoon, and after a smoothie, a stop at the market for dinner supplies and 38 cents of gas for the backpacking stove, we were off to tackle our last big climb of the ride, putting us just above the windblown beach at Gaviota. As we cooked dinner that afternoon, using the walls of the Gaviota store to block the strong offshore winds, we met two other cyclists who had just come down from San Luis Obispo as well. It turned out that they had left San Francisco the same day we did and rode a similar route; although this was the first time we crossed paths. We ended up sleeping under the stars that night, as the winds proved much stronger than our $25 dome tent.
Day 7 / Saturday, June 3rdWe began with a tail wind and a quick ride down Highway 101 into the town of Goleta, just north of Santa Barbara. After a scenic ride through the tree-lined side streets of downtown Santa Barbara, we got a killer burger and some beers at the Santa Barbara Brewing Company on State Street. Our destination for the day was supposed to be Sycamore Canyon, just south of Port Hueneme along Highway 1, but instead as part of the recovery from the 80 miles of the previous day, we decided to stop in McGrath State Park in Ventura.
Day 8 / Sunday, June 4thOn our last day, we woke up to more sunshine, and hit the road with an eagerly anticipated stop at the county line for some bodysurfing. Southern Ventura County offered views of orderly rows of lettuce and strawberries planted on manicured farm lands occasionally broken up by rows of eucalyptus trees for wind-breaks, to keep the nutrient rich soil from being blown away. As we approached the southern Ventura county beaches along Highway 1, Scott got his third and final flat.
After fixing his flat, we hit the water for some great waves and a refreshing rinse. We continued on south along Highway 1 and found the north end of the Strand in Malibu. At this point, we knew we had made it, as this was a common turnaround for some training rides we had done prior to the trip. After a quick lunch in Venice and a stroll down the infamous Venice walk, we headed for the finish line in Redondo Beach. Our significant others and friends gathered to welcome us home with some carne asada tacos and beer. We told stories from the road, and Scott and I agreed that the tour was one of the best adventures either of us had experienced. We also decided to finish of the remainder of the southern California coast at some point in the near future. TM
� • TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07
Getting there: Miramar Park is located on the southern end of the Esplanade, where the Esplanade turns into Paseo de la Playa. There is a large parking lot whose entrance is located off of Paseo de la Playa, but a fee is required to park there. Street parking is also available on neighboring streets, but come early on weekends, as the spots fill up quickly.Difficulty: Runing the hills of Palos Verdes can be very strenuous. Notes: It’s always a good idea to take water.
The Dirt. Trail BriefS.
Training for Hikes: Palos Verdesby marcie samueleIt almost seems pointless to train for hikes that take you 10,000 feet above sea level here in the South Bay, where the roar of the ocean is our alarm clock. Although running with the sand squishing between our toes is one of the reasons why we all moved to this area, climbing out of the grooves of the lifeguards’ tire tracks isn’t going to qualify as “hill” training for high-elevation hikes. Therefore, to best condition myself, I repeatedly turn to the relentless hills of our over-sized neighbor—Palos Verdes. Even though the modest elevation of Palos Verdes falls well short of thin atmosphere hiking, it provides the stark vertical gain necessary to whip your legs into shape.
Whether you are part of a running group or you are venturing solo with little white headphones buried deep into your ear canals, there are a variety of routes, both road and trail, with differing distances and elevation profiles throughout the Peninsula. To map your own course, www.usatf.org allows a cyber-solution, a map in which you can virtually follow your exact route with your curser and calculate each agoniz-ing, uphill mile. The site, which is operated by USA Track and Field, also contains elevation maps broken down per mile for your custom run as well as detailed routes earmarked as “favorites” by those who have run the hills before you.
A preferred course of mine measures just over five miles in distance, climbs an overall 489 feet and is mostly road running. Starting at Mi-ramar Park and running toward Palos Verdes, the route immediately inclines for the first mile up Paseo de la Playa until it intersects Palos Verdes Boulevard (PV Boulevard). Turn right onto PV Boulevard and enjoy a bit of decline as the road naturally leads to the bike path. This is a good place to relax your arms, take a few deep breaths and rejoice that the first uphill of the run is complete.
As PV Boulevard naturally leads to the bike path, the bike path naturally leads to the sidewalk of Palos Verdes Drive (PV Drive). Once you are through the four-way stop (the Palos Verdes Fire Station is to your left) the sidewalk ends and your feet endure the newly blacktopped road for the next one and half miles up. A bike lane provides some protection from the continuous flow of traffic, but run with caution, as this narrow bike lane is also a parking lane for residents of the street. Just when you are annoyed with dodging vehicles and your legs are convinced it is time to walk, Paseo del Mar veers off to your right and immediately declines from PV Drive. Paseo del Mar continues to veer right until the ocean is all that is visible and you are reminded of why you chose to run this course. At this point you begin looping back toward the South Bay. After flattening out, Paseo del Mar intersects Via Arroyo, where a right turn onto Via Arroyo leads up to Via Almar. A left turn onto Via Almar signifies that the third and final uphill of the run looms ahead. Motivation must be high going into this final uphill, as PV Drive lay at the top.
A quick left turn onto PV Drive is reason to celebrate, as the remainder of the run is downhill. Again, follow the sidewalk to the bike path and the bike path to the boulevard—it should all look familiar at this point. But instead of retracing the route back down Paseo de la Playa, continue straight down PV Boulevard. Although the sidewalk ends, a grassy path begins, providing some cushion for your road impacted knees. A final left turn onto Calle Miramar begins the final descent to Miramar Park. As you sprint the last half mile and reunite with your car, be certain to have a pair of slippers for the drive home, your feet will thank you.
Tr
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please see masthead on page 5
Tyler Wallace on Sullivan Canyon Loop
Mou
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Getting there: Take the 405 North to Sunset Boulevard West. Make a right onto Mandeville Canyon, and the first left on to Westridge Road. Trailhead located at the end of Westridge Road.Parking: Left onto Bayliss from Westridge (Be careful where you park. Only certain sections of Bayliss Road allow parking.)Difficulty: Moderate (The uphill is very easy, but the single track down hill is rough in spots. The ride is about 10 miles.)
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Sullivan Canyon Loopwords by tyler wallaceLooking for a great morning ride that won’t take all day? Try the Sullivan Canyon Loop. The trail is located just north of Los Angeles in the Santa Monica Mountains and can be reached in as little as 30-45 minutes from the South Bay. Although the loop has been coined “the most heavily traveled mountain biking trail in the Santa Monica Mountains” by www.singletrackmind.com/index.html, it is also described as a must do in the Santa Monica’s. However, as you pack your daypack with water and energy bars, be certain to pack your patience, as you will be guaranteed to share the trail with hik-ers and trail runners along with fellow bikers.
The drive in from the 405 is a windy tour of some spectacu-lar homes. The unique designs and architecture will help you stretch your neck as you peer around each bend. A bit of cau-tion though, there are a lot of turns to be made before getting to the trailhead and some of the streets are not well marked. So be certain to pay just as much attention to the road as you do to the homes.
One of the best things about this ride is its elevation profile. Almost all of the climbing is contained within the first half, leaving the second half for some memorable downhill. A rel-atively constant grade allows you to get into a good rhythm since the majority of the climb takes place on the Westridge fire road, which is not overly technical. But if you prefer more of a challenge with increased difficulty, there are a number of options to climb single-track sections that follow alongside the fire road.
An additional point of interest on this trail is found near the top of the fire road. There is a small historic site where, at one time, the US Army fielded Nike anti-aircraft missiles, used to protect the Los Angeles area from bomber attacks. Once you reach this site, most of the hard stuff is behind you. There-fore, this is a prime opportunity to take in views of the canyon to the south and the San Fernando Valley to the north. The shaded picnic tables provide a great place to scarf down an energy bar, and the wood plank bench will feel soft compared to your bike seat.
From the Nike site, the ride continues west, up Mulholland Drive—a fire road at this point. After approximately 0.8 miles you’ll reach an intersection to the left, which is Sullivan Ridge fire road. Cruise down Sullivan Ridge for about 0.5 miles un-til you see a sign on your left for Sullivan Canyon trail. Now comes the fun stuff—single-track, downhill! This is a great section; full of memorable turns, bumps and washes. Be care-ful during the decent because it’s sometimes difficult to keep your speed in check when you’re having that much fun. Be courteous and aware around blind turns, and keep things somewhat sane because the condition of the Canyon’s single-track varies significantly with weather. Large amounts of rain can wash out sections of the trail leaving some challenging obstacles. The trail also splits in sections, offering large, un-wanted drop-offs for those who aren’t paying close attention or are carrying too much speed.
Eventually, the single-track lets out into a large gravel area with a cement road (Queensferry Road) leading out. The short climb out gives you and your crew a few moments to share stories prior to arriving back at the car.
10 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07
It’s amazing how a new pair of running shoes can motivate me to achieve a goal I always shrugged off as non-attainable. In the past, I never considered being fitted for a new pair of running shoes because I always let price drive my decision. But now, with more than 10 years of running in my repertoire, my non-runner husband convinced me it was time to say good-bye to department store discounted running shoes. Three months after the $110 purchase of my ultra-comfortable light blue thunders, I committed myself to navigate 2�.2 miles of the city streets of Los Angeles.
Although a novice to the marathon world, with one click of my mouse on the LA Mara-thon web registration page I knew my run-ning schedule needed to endure some major changes. The days of daily four-mile jogs were behind me and I had to learn to love eight-mile runs interspersed with bouts of sprints. My weekend mornings would now belong to my running shoes and the road, thus substi-tuting my morning ritual of sipping coffee in my pj’s to gulping water in my sweaty running clothes. I needed a strict training schedule to keep myself motivated to train effectively, so I frantically scanned the numerous pages of the “Marathon Guide” in a running magazine until I found it; a 1�-week, six days a week training schedule titled, “Marathon Training Plan for Slackers.” Although not a self-pro-claimed slacker, the details of the schedule seemed doable, so it replaced my traditional calendar for the next four months.
The first five weeks of training did not bring too many outrageous changes to my running routine, except the necessity to ignore my ex-cuses of not wanting to run after work. Then the next five weeks hit me like a ton of bricks. I was expected to run eight miles daily and increase my long runs up to 20 miles. And although I have managed to stagger through most of those runs, I have yet to find the drive to conquer a 20 miler. Five weeks away from the marathon, I am a bit weary because it seems unfathomable for my legs to carry me through 20 miles, let alone a 2�.2 miler. Will I finish?
The next issue of TM is due out in May 2007, at which point we will see if I triumph… TM
When residents of the South Bay are graced by a weekend, many are eager to hang up their high heels and ties in exchange for their wetsuits, padded bicycle shorts or running shoes. Even before the sun rises on Saturday or Sunday, many are out swim-ming the chilly waters of the Pacific, cycling the continuous, unforgiving hills of Palos Verdes or running their own personal marathons. In this hub of exercise addicts, it is no surprise that there is a rising trend to participate in the athletic prestige of a triathlon.
A typical triathlon consists of swimming, biking and running, in that order, for some set distance. The most common triathlons are a Sprint Tri, an Olympic Tri, a Half Ironman and an Ironman; the name of each alludes to its distance. A Sprint Tri, which does not need to be sprinted, usually covers the shortest distances: 0.5-mile swim, 12.4-mile bike and 3.1-mile run. At these distances, the Sprint tri is a great introduction to the sport. An Olympic Tri is often used as a qualifier for bigger races and lends to a competitive atmosphere. You don’t need to be a professional to participate, but with a 0.9-mile swim, a 24.8-mile bike and a 6.2-mile run, an Olympic tri may require some training. A Half Ironman is for the more serious. With distances of a 1.2-mile swim, a 56-mile bike and a 13.1-mile run, the race alone takes a good portion of a day to complete coupled with the necessary training. The Holy Grail of triathlons is the Ironman. With distances of a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride and a 26.2-mile run, the Ironman is not for the light of heart. So whatever your ambition may be, there is a tri to fit it.
Triathlon Event Distances in miles Notes
Swim Bike Run
Sprint 0.5 12.4 �.1 A great intro to the sport
Olympic 0.9 24.8 �.2 Competitive
Half Ironman 1.2 56 1�.1 Getting difficult
Ironman 2.4 112 2�.2 The Holy Grail
If you are a novice to the tri world and want some fellow South Bay triers to train with, your options are numerous. For swim-ming you have the ocean, the pool or both. During the summer, both the Hermosa Beach Pier and the Manhattan Beach Pier are meeting points for groups motivated to brave the chilly ocean waters. If you prefer a pool, there are many groups, often led by a coach, that meet in the mornings and/or evenings at both public pools (Torrance’s The Plunge) as well as health club pools across the South Bay. For biking you can pick a workout group by distance, pace, type of workout, favorite coffee stop…you get the point. You can choose to head south and get a hill workout in Palos Verdes or head north for some mileage up to Santa Monica and beyond. For running, again you can pick a workout group by pace or mileage. A popular group is the Club Run L.A. group (sponsored by Nike) that meets both in Hermosa and Redondo Beach and has been known to bring in hundreds of train-ees. They have “official pacers” from seven minute miles to 12-minute miles with multiple distance options. In addition, there are morning, lunchtime and evening groups, as well as weekend groups that are sponsored by local running shops.
If your interest is peaked and your motivation is high to try to tri, you do not have to travel far to test your personal endurance. Early in the tri season is the Redondo Beach Triathlon, a super sprint tri course, in June and late in the season is the Hermosa Beach Triathlon, a sprint tri course, in October. If you feel your body will perform better away from home, your options remain plentiful. To name a few: the LA Danskin Women’s only tri, which is beginner-friendly while maintaining a competitive edge (www.danskin.com), the Wildflower Triathlon, located in the Central Coast, is the 2nd largest triathlon in the nation (www.tricalifornia.com) and the Vineman Triathlon in Napa, which offers both half and full distance Ironman tri courses. With so many options, the only thing to do is get out there and enjoy the water, the wheels and the pavement under your feet. TM
words by Michelle Creedon
Have you tried?A triathlon primer.
Column:Light Blue Thunders.Preparing for marathon no. 1
words by Marcie Samuele
12 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07
soul shaperFrom outside the locked front door of the Soul Performance Surfboard Factory, I can hear the loud buzz of an electric planer. Mark Brög, the head surfboard shaper/builder and owner of Soul Performance Surfboards, is inside using tools of the craft and his bare hands to work a polygonal slab of foam into a meticulously customized work of art. As I peer through the metal grating of the front door and down a long hallway, the buzzing stops, so I pound on the grating and yell, “Brög! Hey…Brög!” The buzzing starts up again.
Transforming a surfboard blank from lifeless foam stock into a beautiful, handcrafted surfboard takes years of experience and an encyclopedic knowledge far beyond the realm of surf-ing. That is not to say that the craft is any less noble when performed in a garage or spare bedroom, it simply takes time to accumulate the experience of a professional shaper.
The buzzing stops again. “Brög!” as I continue to pound hard on the grating, “Hello!”
Brög rounds the corner and unlocks the door to his factory, “Hey man, come on in.”
Watching Brög shape is like watching Pollock drip paint on a canvas. He steps back and examines the board from various angles, using floodlights to investigate the board’s curvature. He then steps forward, grabs a tool and shaves off more un-needed foam.
Brög has been surfing and shaping for over 25 years, and has been a lifetime resident of the South Bay—although he has trav-eled the world seeking extra tidbits of shaping expertise. He is a man made for this line of work, and he shows it in his passion for surfing and the craft of surfboard building. His pursuit of surfboard creating warrants that subtle distinction, Brög is a builder, not just a shaper.
Brög and I discussed the challenges to becoming a profession-al surfboard builder, his personal experiences along the way and the philosophies he has acquired over the years. It is clear that the road to becoming a professional surfboard builder is one that involves an unwavering dedication and passion that runs deep. In Brög’s case, it comes from the soul.
An interview with Soul Performance Surf Shop founder and surfboard builder Mark Brög
What was your motivation to start creating surfboards?My Dad said, first you have to boogie board, then we’ll get you a soft board. After that wore off, I wanted to get a hard board. We then found out how much they cost and my Dad suggested I just make one. Since I was a crafty, model-builder type, and materials were a lot cheaper than buying a new board, I went down to ET [Surfboards] and got my first blank. Eddie let me watch a board getting shaped and the glassing process. So I bought the materials, went home and gave it a shot.
How did the first board turn out?Pretty crude, but it worked. It was a 5’7” twinfin. We made the fins out of balsa wood and glass stone. It was nicknamed the “Jail Board”, because it had an 80’s black stripe airbrushed across it.
Do you still have it?No, it didn’t survive. I stripped the glass off and tried to reshape it…it wasn’t too successful [he laughs].
How did your shaping progress from there?I’m still learning different techniques. You can only watch so much, then you have to apply it. I was able to go down to ET Surfboards and watch the shapers shape, and then I’d go home and apply it. I would get a blank and try to do it on my own, go by feel and what I’d seen. I’d start cuttin’ away and stop before I did too much damage.
Why is shaping important to you? You don’t do it just to pay the bills…No, no! I would be working a different job if I needed to pay the bills [he laughs]. The best part is it’s creative. Every board is different. It’s an interaction between giving the client something that will make them happy and something positive to do with their life, and giving them some of my positive energy and something they can enjoy. I try to be the link between people wanting to be happy and becoming happy. Hopefully I’m that medium person.
What is it about your process that makes you different from other shapers?The shaping process has taken me a long time to develop. You don’t become a good shaper overnight. I’ve traveled to spots around the world, surfed different waves, shaped in different countries and interacted with many people about shaping. That dedication is what it takes to differentiate between a shaper and a scraper.
The most successful shapers have good communication skills. You have to have a combination of being good and having tact. You can’t go too extreme in either direction. It’s important to have both of those. I’ve become really good with people, or at least people say that. I really enjoy talking with people now. Before I used to be really quiet and shy. I used to only be into the detail. First comes the passion. If you’re into it because of the passion then hopefully it will pay off in the end.
I really had to earn the respect of the people who taught me how to shape. I had to put in a lot of hard work, for free, for years, to have them accept me and show me anything.
Whose respect did you have to earn before they would teach you? The first guy’s name is Bruce Grant. He is one of the premiere shapers because of his experience level. He was taught by some of the great, early shapers, and knows how to shape wooden boards. He has a vast archive of templates and design materials. The shops he’s worked for, the surfers he’s interacted with...[he shakes his head] He was the first guy who said, okay Brög, you can sit in my shaping room and watch me shape. So I sat and watched, and that was my lesson. And maybe later I could ask some questions.
I did finally get a job making surfboards, when I was about 16. My parents would drive me out to Torrance to work at Paradise Surfboards, that’s where I met Bruce.
I met another awesome guy through that same business, Steven K. Ing. He was a full-blooded Hawaiian, who was shaping boards from Hawaii for Paradise. I went out to the North Shore in Hawaii for a couple of weeks, when I was 17, and stayed at his house. I got my first taste of the North Shore; long enough to think I was dying.
Someone once told me, every surfer has to make a pilgrimage to the North Shore.
Also, I made boards at a local shop with designer, shaper and builder, Jeff Biggs, who is still in Torrance making beautiful surfboards. I made boards at Jeff’s shop for a number of years. It was a good relationship.
I moved down to Hermosa Beach and met Wayne Rich, who is the second owner of Jacobs Surfboards. He was a master woodworker, craftsmen and a fanatical perfectionist shaper. He really pushed me to new levels with shaping and was very demanding of my perfection and attention. He was the last person who really pushed me over the edge to stay focused.
With that series of people to keep pushing you to learn and develop your own technique, you get to the point where you’re confident to make decisions and repair your own mistakes. Because sometimes shit happens and you have to know how to fix it. A true craftsman knows how to fix his own mistakes.
Hats off to those guys, Wayne Rich, his partner Raymond, and Woody from Hawaii.
There’s a girl from France, Valerie. She owns Ocean Safari Surfboards in Anglet, France. I went to her shop to shape boards on different occasions. It was great developing that relationship in France, because I really like surfing there, the people are friendly and it was a good opportunity to work, meet people and interact in a foreign country.
Then I went to South Africa, and shaped with Errol Hickmen from Aloha Surfboards. He was a really nice guy who taught me a lot.
Another shaper in J-Bay, Dez Sawyer, the shaper for Blue Hawaii Surfboards also helped.
It’s kind of like a little community brotherhood, you go into town and say, “hey I’m a surfboard shaper”, then they invite you into their shop to talk. Once you’re in, you’re in, but getting in is hard. It’s fun but a lot of hard work.
So you have all of this experience, but how difficult has it been to get where you are?To become a shaper is an almost impossible task. For me to become a shaper I had to do so many other things. I’ve had to become an entrepreneur. In the meantime, I had an awning cleaning business, pressure washing and finish carpentry. I have a degree in welding and I’ve worked for various artists along the way. I worked for John Dill, he’s not a shaper, but an artist. Learning how people express themselves and create has been a part of it.
For me it was always about making the entire board—not just being a shaper, but a surfboard builder. To be a surfboard builder you have to know how to shape, how to airbrush, how to use resin, how to use fiberglass and how to sand it, how to use the glossing resin and how to buff the board out. You have to know about fins, how to shape a fin, how to attach a fin, how to fix a broken fin, how to fix a broken board, a broken nose, a buckle, a rail ding, a delamination and how to apply colors to all those things. It’s taken literally 15 to 20 years to experience all of those scenarios at least 10 times.
It’s a constant series of events and you slowly get better. I’m still not a complete expert. To be good at surfboard building, there are so many other things to do as well—what it takes to run a factory. Like if the ventilation breaks on the roof, and I have to go up there and fix it, I have to get all of my tools, go up there, pull this bearing and replace an electric motor. You have to know how to do electrical work, stuff I never thought I’d need to know how to do, but if it’s not working, this factory is not working.
Two weeks ago the air compressor broke, and it seems like a small job, but to take the old one out, put the new one in, wire it, make sure all the plumbing fittings work—there are just so many systems involved to make and repair a surfboard it’s just mind boggling. Why does it cost $30 to get a ding fixed? Because it takes so long to do it; just to fix a ding you need resin, sandpaper, catalyst, wax, tape, ventilation, air, a place to do it and insurance [he laughs].
It’s amazing you can charge only 30 bucks.Exactly, so people don’t see there’s this whole other side to doing this one repair. So, you see, you can classify one person as a surfboard shaper, but you can classify someone else as a surfboard builder. To be able to do all the processes is the highest goal. I got myself up to that point, and my wife Sheryl stepped in with the business end of it, because I’m the artistic, people person, but I’m terrible with numbers. That’s my downfall, ah, pay me next week…and that doesn’t go when you got kids. My wife has streamlined the bookkeeping and keeping track of money. It’s a total art form in itself. It deserves just as much respect as what I do, if not more, because without her I’d still be living in my factory where I used to live. Although I loved the bohemian, creative side of it, it doesn’t work so well 10 or 15 years later when you’re 40.
Someone walks through the door, and they want a board shaped, how do you come to the conclusion as to what they’re looking for?I have a varied stock of boards in the shop so everything from high performance, to a 5’7” board for a kid, to a 10-foot board, and everything in between. I’ll ask them where they surf, how they surf, what 14 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07
kind of board they ride, and see what boards they pull off the rack. Usually there’s a board in the shop that we can use as a basic template. From that point it’s easier to start the custom shaping process, and we’re in the realm of what they’re looking for and I can make suggestions. I can start asking them quite a few questions. Once I know what their needs are and their criteria, then I can tell what stuff goes and what stuff won’t work. I’ve gone through all that trial and error, so that’s why it’s helpful sometimes for someone to come here. I’d be more than happy to help them. We can get them the best board possible…for them, as soon as possible. I can save them that hassle.
You’ve shaped a lot of boards in your life—which one is the most memo-rable?The most memorable…it was my favorite board ever. I left it in France. My plan was to sell the board and come home with a couple hundred more dollars, but after coming home and trying to recreate that board, I really started to appreciate it. I had so many good sessions on it. I just shaped a board that’s as close as I’ve ever got to it. I’ve had four or five boards since then. It’s hard to make a magic board. Yeah, so this one board was a 6’2”, square tail, single concave, tri-fin, with a little bit of extra nose rocker, it was just a great all-around board.
Have you ever shaped a board for someone and thought, I don’t want to sell this thing; I just want to keep it for myself?Yeah, there have been a few of those too. You put so much into it, and it’s just a beautiful board, you just keep putting all this energy into it.
That’s why a lot of people who are novice or entry level clients, who get boards from me, probably ben-efit the most. Most of the other entry-level boards are such crap, because they start at such a low level. But with my beginner boards, I put in the parameters of a beginner board, but I put high performance into it. And that’s part of the Soul Performance name—to make sure all the boards react as quick as pos-sible and are fast and durable. I put just as much love and attention into a hybrid board, or a beginner kids long board, or a girl’s board. In fact, those boards get more since that is my niche or forte.
You know it’s not all perfect. It’s a handmade product. It’s my soul and my energy; I have bad days and tired days. I don’t know how you can measure that. I think it’s in the board. I think that is the difference. They’re handmade. There are flaws.
You shape kiteboards as well, so what’s the difference?A kiteboard needs to be a little bit stronger, since you jump. They need to be a little bit flatter and thinner, since you’re traveling at a higher speed. Kiteboard profiles are subtler, that’s what helps the board stay attached to the water. Construction techniques are a little bit different.
How long have you been shaping kiteboards?I started kiteboarding in 2002. I started making kiteboards in 2003/2004.
I kiteboard. So that experience feeds back. The cool thing about kiteboarding is you’re strapped in, it’s nonstop, your plugged in and constantly feeling the board. Where as with surfing, the ride only lasts a couple seconds. It’s very helpful to thrive off that energy. I love surfing, snowboarding and going fast, and kiteboarding has fit that criteria. Going super fast, on the water, in the ocean, in the wind, with the dolphins and fish, it’s just a super avenue to explore.
Do you have any advice for aspiring shapers?Just give up now [he laughs sarcastically]. No, no…all surfers should at least try to shape one board. It’s cool to go through that experience on your own and it helps surfing. You understand more about why boards work. I want to open that avenue up to people, to get people to make more boards. It has helped me out in my life. Especially, since there’s such an influx of overseas pop out boards. If I can teach about 10 people how to shape boards in the South Bay, who will just make their own boards, so their friends don’t have to go out and buy boards, that would be my way of putting a bandage on that bleeding artery.
Have you shaped boards for women?Yeah, that’s one of my specialties. Since I met Sheryl I really started focusing on women’s surfboards about 10 years ago. Other than the different parameters, you have to be a personable shaper; women need to be listened to more than men. I’m trying to be that person with my wife [he laughs] and my clients. I listen to their concerns. I don’t see surfing as this male dominated sport. If people appreciate what I’m doing, I’m willing to work with anyone.
Anything you want to add?I just want to mention that the fiberglass work here at Soul Performance is great. Good glasswork really makes it a good product. Here we do the whole board start to finish.
Shaping is my calling. There’s something special about creating and giving people something. Surf-boards are a unique situation where you can have a collaborative, creative toy that people can enjoy. It’s a different arena for expression. TM
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In Niger, I spent the majority of my time relaxing in the shade, seeking refuge from the desert sun. But I seldom sat alone, since the intense sun had everyone searching for shade. Several people would congregate around me talking and drinking customary hot tea. The other main activity I pursued was lying in bed. Sometimes I covered myself with a wet pagne and hoped a breeze would sweep across my body to keep me cool. This was my activity of choice as I recovered from an inevitable bout of diarrhea. During either sedentary activity, sweat seeped from every pore in my body and I feverishly drank as much water as I could. One day, under a tree, Kasuwa, Asama’u and I talked, sweat and drank water together. It seemed to be a predictable day in Niger for us until our conversation turned to the Sahara. Instantly, we began brainstorming all the possible ways to travel deep into the desert.
After a few weeks of planning and bargaining with several drivers for the best deal, the three of us piled into the back of a 4x4 stocked with extra water and gas, our small bags and a dead sheep for dinner. Our driver, his mechanic and a cook occupied the front seats. The six of us committed to venture deep into the Sahara from the sub-Saharan city of Niamey, in search of sand dunes.
The road went from blacktop, to rough blacktop, to rougher blacktop, to no blacktop over the course of our journey. Eventually, we found ourselves on a road that was marked on the map as a solid dark line, but in reality consisted of only a few tire marks in rocky soil. We bounced along in the back of the 4x4 listening to my U2 tape play over the car speakers, until the road spit us into an area known as Dabous. We got out of the car and our driver, Moussa, led us down a small path to sandstone rocks. Hidden among the rocks were petro-glyphs of lions and giraffes, thought to be between 6,000 and 9,000 years old. The most stunning carvings were of two giraffes, each about twenty feet high. In the hot desert sun we walked around them, contemplating the people who stood there so long ago.
Back in the car, we continued down the rough road and soon began to descend into Talak Valley, which is where Moussa informed us we would be camping for the night with his friend. We continued to drive through the valley for about an hour without any sign of a settle-ment, village or even people. Curious if his friend truly existed, I asked Moussa where we might find him. He explained that the friend and his family were nomadic and were expected to still be traveling around the valley. Moussa appeared unconcerned that we hadn’t found them at that point. With luck on our side, we crossed paths with another nomad who directed us to the family’s location.
We spent the evening around a large campfire singing, clapping and dancing with the family to celebrate the end of Ramadan. The firelight shone on about twenty cheerful faces, all members of the same immediate family. The father had four wives, as many Muslim Nigerien men do. Each wife in Niger has, on average, eight children, so it’s not uncommon to see a cluster of four huts – one for each wife – sur-rounding a central area with many children of all ages running about. This nomadic family was no exception.
The young girls in the family wore their best clothes, some showing off their high heels. I sat with them in my dirty skirt, stinky t-shirt and old flip flops, trying to fit in. After a few hours of drumming, singing and dancing, I noticed unfamiliar men’s faces appearing in the sur-rounding brush. Apparently, other nomadic men in the valley heard the drumming and came to investigate the scene. The young women tried to impress these men with their latest fashion, and I giggled with the girls as we caught the eyes of inquisitive men peering through the brush.
The next morning, we ventured further into the Air Mountains, eagerly approaching the sand dunes we longed to see. We drove through the afternoon and at last reached the endless dunes of the Sahara. The shadows and ripples were breathtaking. I walked barefoot through the sand along the ridge of the dune. The sand initially burned my feet, but as my feet pushed through the surface layer of the sand with every step, it was blanketed with cool sand that had not been touched by the fiery sun. The desert called to me to keep walking the ridge at the same time Moussa called to me for dinner. Motivated by hunger, I returned to our small camp at the base of the dune.
After a bitterly cold night sleeping under the breathtaking display of stars, we crammed back into our 4x4. Our destination was Timia, an oasis town. Driving hours through the desert provided us with nothing but monotonous scenery so we were caught off guard when palm
Niger is one of the lesser-known nations of Africa and lies just north of Nigeria. Over twelve million inhabitants live in its dusty Sahara or agricul-tural sub-Saharan land. It’s one of the poorest countries in the world with some of the most beautiful and giving people. Daily life is unpredictable, with unexpected challenges presenting themselves to locals and anasaras (foreigners) alike. This is life in Niger and this became my life when my plane landed at the Niamey International Airport with only a few hours left of my twenty-first birthday.
Into the Dunes: A Nigerien Journey
words and photos by Jennifer Wallace
Sp/07 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • 17
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trees suddenly appeared directly in front of us! We pulled grapefruits, oranges and pomegranates off trees and quickly ate them to satisfy our hunger. Moussa took us a short distance further through the dry riverbed to a waterfall snuggled back into a cluster of rock. I ran into the cold water and splashed around like a child. It didn’t seem possible to have that much water in the middle of such a hot desert, but that disbelief didn’t last long. The water soothed my body, refreshed my spirit and convinced me that the Timia oasis was not a mirage. (Instead, Timia was a touch of heaven few have the chance to visit.)
Leaving the oasis the next morning was bittersweet. I wanted to remain surrounded by fresh water, fresh fruit, no electricity and beautiful people. Nevertheless, we packed the car, took some fruit for the road and started on the journey back to our lives in Niamey.
After just a few hours into our rough ride home, Moussa stopped the car, grabbed his map and promptly got out of the car. Looking frus-trated, the mechanic and the cook followed him. They laid out the map on the hood of the car and began discussing rapidly in French alternate routes. The three of us travelers noticed the commotion and joined them to help solve the problem. “Ce sont les bandits,” the driver said. Shoot, we thought. We had heard how bandits attacked cars driving through certain valleys in this area. After long contempla-tion, we changed direction and Moussa and his mechanic led us on a ten-hour detour around the short, bandit-prone valley.
On our detour, we noticed something on the horizon. As we got closer, we realized it was a broken down truck on its way to the market; the truck was half full of people and half full of animals. It had run out of gas on this less frequently traveled route in the middle of the Sahara. They had been there for two days, hoping someone would pass by and help them. A short distance from their truck was a slaugh-tered sheep, which they were forced to kill the night before to help them survive the wait. All the passengers were huddled in the small sliver of shade provided by the height of the truck. We shared some of our extra gas, made sure they were all right and went our separate ways, humbled by the interaction.
By the time we completed the lengthy de-tour, we knew it was impossible to make it all the way back to Niamey that day. Moussa decided to spend the night in the city of Agadez, where we could continue to celebrate the end of Ramadan at a vil-lage festival. After the festivities ended, we spent the rest of the evening drinking tea, talking and sweating together. As we head-ed back to Niamey the next morning, I was struck with another horrible case of diar-rhea. I spent the remaining twelve hours on the road dreaming of the next chance I would have to squat over a dirty latrine. Once again, Niger had presented me with an unpredictable, unexpected challenge. TM
1� • TREKKER MAGAZINE • Sp/07
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Laguna Morning // February 2005Morning fog covers the shore, as Laguna Beach lay silent before the crowds.
Sp/07 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • 19If you’re interested in being the TM featured photogrpaher contact us at [email protected]
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It stands at 19,341 feet and is the world’s highest freestanding mountain. Never in my life did I actually think I would hike Tanzania’s Mount Kilimanjaro, but somehow last February I found myself mustering up enough energy to snap a photo with my dear friends, Michelle and Molly, while we stood proudly atop “The Roof of Africa.”
We decided to take seven days to hike the mountain. This allowed us extra time to acclimatize for our final push to the summit. We had chosen the Ma-chame Route, which was said to be a bit more difficult than the Marangu Route, but enabled us to spend our nights in tents rather than huts as well as provided us with views of Mawenzi Peak. We passed through five different ecological zones, each with its own climate, plant life and animals. Each night drew a little colder as we continued to higher elevations. Many times I would forget how high we had climbed, having to take a second to look out over the blanket of clouds below us.
I remember the anticipation in the tent the night we summited. We were instructed to get as much rest as possible for our final ascent later that night, which was scheduled to begin at midnight. At 15,091 feet, the air already felt thin and it was difficult to maneuver around the site. Michelle and I shared a tent so we spent most of the day bundled up in our sleeping bags, trying to mentally prepare for what was about to happen. To be honest, the first five days of the hike were easy. We hiked at an extremely slow pace and took many breaks. However, we knew the final ascent was going to be a different story. Having read many accounts of people that had summited, I knew what was to come was not going to be easy.
Even after months of preparation, Michelle and I still couldn’t help but spend much of the afternoon figuring out the perfect combination of apparel. We joked about lots of things in an effort to keep our minds at peace, for we knew that only half of the people that attempt to summit actually succeed. And although safety was our top priority, neither of us traveled to Africa only to get to 15,000 feet! We finally decided to sleep for a couple of hours, but we were
Africa’s Tallestwords by Joanna LaubscherTrek
Sp/07 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • 21
interrupted by a nasty storm that seemingly hovered directly over our tent. So between the loud thunder, the bright lightening and the snow pelting the side of our tent; it wouldn’t be fair to call it “sleep.”
While I tried to remain as calm as possible, I lay there silently and tried to imagine what the climb would be like. So many questions popped into my head. It was all so surreal. Would we even be able to attempt the ascent because of the storm? Would I make it? What if I couldn’t breathe? What if I get sick? It seemed like forever from the time we booked our flights to the night at the Barafu Campsite. All of a sudden there I was, experiencing the very thing I had imagined so many times.
Our guide “woke” us up just as he said he would at 11:30 p.m. My heart rate immediately skyrocketed, not only from the adrenaline rush, but also from our attempts to layer up at 15,000 feet. I opened the tent and immediately felt the bitter cold hit my face. With the wind chill, the temperature was below zero and the snow continued to fall. Molly, Michelle and I met in the dining tent for a snack before we started our journey. I couldn’t believe we were about to climb to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. We secured our packs and put into play all the tricks our guides had taught us. I made sure my pockets were full of food already broken up, because later it would be too frozen to bite into. I put my camera next to my body and kept my water as insulated as possible. We gave our guide the thumbs up and we were off.
It was a little intimidating knowing that it would take anywhere from six to ten hours to reach the top. But as we started up I thought for sure the adrenaline would carry me through. Our guide, Lionel, led us out of camp, followed by Molly, myself, Michelle and two other guides. We had only hiked for about 15 minutes when we started to hear murmurs from ahead. Through my hat, my hood and the wind it was hard to make out what was being shouted. We all looked up, only to see a large boulder picking up speed as it rolled down the mountain. We jumped out of the way just as the rock took a bad bounce into one of the guides behind us. Luckily, it hit the Nalgene bottle attached to his belt and he was not injured. If we weren’t awake before, we were now.
We were a little chatty during the first few hours. The air was thin, but not so bad that we couldn’t share a thought every now and then. The storm was off to our right and the lightning offered us just enough light to see the peaks in the distance. We had been keeping a good pace, but just when I thought, “No problem, we’re totally going to make it,” little challenges started to pop up. All of our hydration packs froze and headlamps died, Michelle was getting sicker by the minute and the wind picked up significantly, making it almost impos-sible to bear the cold. I started to lose feeling in my fingers and toes and the adrenaline rush was long gone. I kept wishing for the sun to come up, in hopes that it might provide even the slightest bit of heat, not to mention, it would signify our fifth hour into the hike.
We continued on and I was really starting to worry about Michelle. We were all dehydrated and exhausted, but she had vomited several times and was very pale. Our steps had reached a turtle’s pace and I felt like I could actually fall asleep if I closed my eyes long enough. It was then when I looked up from the trail and realized we had reached Stella Point at 19,012 feet. It was here that we started eating the snow, hoping it would quench a little bit of our thirst. Normally at this point the guides would allow us to stop and take a short break, but because the wind blew so hard and the temperatures were dangerously cold, we had to push on. The sun began to rise, but it didn’t do much in terms of providing any heat. However, it did allow us to see the Rebmann Glacier flanked to our left.
From there it was only ��0 feet to Uhuru Peak, but because the air was so thin our pace wouldn’t allow us to get there in less than an hour. I can remember feeling tired and thirsty and being jealous of those that passed us on the way down. The words “I’m gonna make it!” echoed over and over in my head while I fell back a little from Michelle and Molly. As I approached the very top, I stopped for a second. I looked around to take in every view, feeling and emo-tion. My eyes started to tear up, but I was too exhausted to do much crying. I was so proud of us and the indescribable beauty of it all overcame me. As I stood next to the famous sign with pride, I smiled while thinking that I’m one of the lucky few that made it to “The Roof of Africa!” TM
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PHOTO ESSAY: Mt. Shasta, AvalAnche Gulchwords and photos by
Michael Ruiz
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PHOTO ESSAY: Mt. Shasta, AvalAnche GulchMy dad Carlos, brother Daniel and I are in snowshoes moving up to our base camp at Helen Lake. We stop
and gaze at the mountain peaks below and then look up to the mountain peak standing 14,162 feet above
us. My dad recently turned 60, and this is our first venture into mountaineering. We made the decision
to climb six months prior. We trained by running the hills of Palos Verdes and the steps leading from
the street to the sand at Ave C in Redondo Beach. We imagined what the hike was going to be like while
making tracks up Sand Dune Park and getting strong at The Yard in Hermosa Beach.
Now here we are, faced with the reality of having to make it to the top. At base camp the rock forma-
tions that seemed like small boulders take the shape of large monoliths growing from the snow. The
sky is deep blue, as clouds periodically wisp by, giving a surreal appearance of a painting.
The next morning there is an uneasiness while we are putting on our crampons. We stepped onto the
mountain, and it began throwing down rock and ice. We kept a consistent pace, French stepping our way
to the top. Climbing Mt. Shasta has been our biggest adventure to this day. But now, my dad has Mount
Rainier in his sights. The training begins again.
Thanks to Dave Cressman, president of Sierra Wilderness Seminars, for teaching us much needed moun-
taineering techniques. SWS offers several different programs to get you to the top. We chose a pri-
vate three-day course with Dave and then made the climb solo.
01 // Mount Shasta, 14,162 feet. My dad calls it his little Everest
02 // The summit of Mt. Shasta. If you look closely you’ll see the registery box.
All you have to do is hike down and write your name—hopefully the pen isn’t frozen.
03 // My brother and dad sorting through their gear, preparing for the climb.
04 // Large ridges of rock that guard Avalanche Gulch.
05 // My brother and dad trekking in snowshoes to base camp.
06 // My dad making his way to the top. At 60 years, he’s the youngest guy I know.
07 // Hanging out with Dave from Sierra Wilderness Seminars. We could not have made it with out his
training.
08 // My brother making his way to base camp. As we approached, small boulders became large outcrop-
pings. 09 // My brother Daniel cruising up to the top. We were all still smiling at this point.
10 // A self portrait with the “Heart” of Avalanche Gulch behind me.
11 // This is one of my favorite photos, taken at the top of Red Banks. When I reached this point, I knew we
had found something special. Thanks Dad and Daniel, for all the support.
Dad’s Little Everest
Sierra Wilderness Seminars“Experience the Adventure”
The alarm sounds at 3:45 a.m. As I roll over and sit up, I find my head pounding and a back muscle tender. Yesterday, while loading my backpack into the car for the drive to Owens Valley, I managed to strain a muscle. Sitting on the edge of my bed at the Portal Motel in Lone Pine, California, I await the start of a challenging weekend in the Sierra.
I have been reading about Mt. Williamson’s complexity for months, including the loose boulder fields, the deep basin called Williamson Bowl and the final ascent, first up a steep chute lined with imposing spires, followed by a class 3 chimney climb near the summit. Our chosen route had taken shape in my mind as a “technical hike”—not quite a mountaineering route, but more challenging than a traditional hiking trail.
I know that the mountain will demand a lot out of us, but two main concerns clutter my mind. First, some of the trip reports written by previous Mt. Williamson hikers recommend an ice axe to ascend the chute near the summit. Our group has elected to bring trekking poles in lei of ice axes, since we are not trained in ice axe techniques. The chute leading to the summit is steep, so if the snow and ice is predominant and the chute is too dangerous to climb without an ice axe, we will simply turn back. This was a topic of discussion a few weeks ago and each of us is in agreement. Second, we are concerned about the class 3 chimney near the summit. Our entire team has seen photos, and some reveal a climb that pushes the limits of a class 3, ropeless climb.
I open the door of our hotel room to find two burly motorcyclists, strapped from head to toe in black leather, loading gear onto the back of their bikes. These guys have the same idea as us: get out of Owens Valley before the sun starts cooking the valley floor. Yesterday, at 9:00 a.m., the temperature was a scorching 106 degrees.
We trudge like zombies over to the High Sierra Café for a bite before driving to the trailhead outside of Independence. I smother my eggs in Tabasco and gorge myself with an extra side of bacon, knowing that Cliff bars and trail mix will be the staple of default for the next three days. Aside from a few jokes about the pain that lay ahead, we mostly eat in silence. After months of preparation, Mt. Williamson is finally here, and although my back is tender, I think I can tough it out for the duration.
We cram our backpacks, poles and boots into the back of Basil’s Pathfinder and drive ten miles north to Independence where we can access the Shepard Pass Trailhead (elevation, 6,300 feet) just outside of town. Reaching the trailhead at 6 a.m., we slip on our 30-pound packs, pop off a few quick photos and begin the trek up and out of the valley heat before the sun rises high.
The trailhead begins pleasantly, following Symmes Creek for about two miles, with a few creek crossings. Unfortunately the creek level is high. To avoid getting our feet wet, each crossing requires removing our boots, wading through ice-cold snowmelt and then laboriously wiping the grit from our feet before lacing up again. We laughed when Nick started the hike in his sandals, but he smirked at us fools from the other side of the creek, as we repeated this process a number of times.
Our fresh legs make short work of the first steep ascent, which ends as we hike up over 50 switchbacks to a saddle. This is where we get our first glimpse of Mt. Williamson. It is hard to believe its summit is two very long days away. Following a short rest, we begin the 600-foot descent into Shepherd Creek Canyon. It is such a pleasant relief to be descending at this point, but it will surely be a bane to hike out of this mess when we’re trekking for the car in a few days.
After sinuously ascending out of Shepherd Creek Canyon, near mile eight of the hike, we finally reach the lush, wooded wilderness of Anvil Camp at about 10,000 feet. The sun is baking us from directly above and we are well ahead of schedule—it is only noon and we have been on the trail for six hours. After a lot of deliberation, we decide not to camp here, since much of the day remains. We will push on to Shepherd Pass, about two more miles and 2,000 vertical feet. We take time to wash our faces in Shepherd Creek and rest in the small noontime shadows of nearby trees. In this manner we avoid the midday heat, and continue our hike at 3 p.m.
After hiking against the flow of Shepherd Creek and through The Pothole, a large expanse of gargantuan boulders above the tree line, we finally see it: Shepard Pass. Solid with icy snow, Shepard Pass looms about 600 feet above us. Thankfully, we have crampons to kick-step our way to glory.
There is something rewarding about the mechanical motion of crampon work—repeatedly stamping your feet into hard snow pack. It is an exhausting pleasure of snow hiking. We kick-step thousands of times before reaching the apex of the pass. Having hiked the better part of 11 hours on day one, we have reason to celebrate, so we pass around freeze dried chicken and rice like it’s holiday dinner. The decision to camp atop Shepherd Pass will pay off handsomely tomorrow. Not only will we have a much shorter hike on summit day, but we will also sleep at 12,000 feet, giving our bodies a chance to acclimatize.
Mt. Williamson, the second tallest peak in California at 14,375 feet, is considered by many to be one of the more strenuous hikes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. As one of California’s Fourteeners—the state’s mountain peaks that rise above 14,000 feet—Mt. Williamson is a massive spectacle. Its daunting face towers high above Owens Valley and casts a proverbial shadow over the midpoint between the cities of Inde-pendence and Lone Pine. Mt. Williamson is not as celebrated as its sister mountain just six miles to the south, Mt. Whitney (elevation 14,496 feet), the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states. Mt. Whitney’s immense fame makes Mt. Williamson somewhat of a colossal secret. The route we have selected, an approach from the East via the Shepard Pass Trailhead, is not a mountaineers’ route, but rather a strenuous hike. The four of us, Basil, Nick, Tyler and myself, will backpack for three days across the route first navigated in 1903 by Conte, Butler, Gould, Parker,
Cosgrove, Elston and Eels, with two nights of camping high on the mountain, and three days on the trail.
Sierra Solitude(California’s number two, Mt. Williamson)
words and photos by Rocco Samuele
Info // Distance: Approximately 24 miles // Name: Shepherd Pass Trailhead // Elevation: 14,375 feet // Note that the Big Horn Sheep Zoological Preserve can only be hiked between December 15 and July 15 //
Sources: Porcella, Stephen F., Burns, Cameron M., Climbing California’s Fourteeners, The Mountaineers & www.scaruffi.com/travel/williams.html
Sp/07 • TREKKER MAGAZINE • 25
The top of Shepherd Pass offers a serene view of another of California’s Fourteeners, Mt. Tyndall (14,019 feet), and the top of the ice chute we hiked up a few short hours ago. Vegetation at this elevation is scarce, and snow is deposited in every shadow. We fill up our water con-tainers in a partially frozen lake, above which is perched an enormous slab of frozen snow, the size of a tractor-trailer. I’m sure its plunge will be a spectacular event, but the final crystals of ice clinching the slab need a few more sunny days to release (see photo on page 3).
A few other hikers are spending their evening on the pass as well. They are exhilarated after reaching the summit of Mt. Williamson that day, and are sharing their experiences. It is clear that tomorrow will be a great challenge, but I am exhausted, so sleep is foremost on my mind.
We rise the next morning around 4 a.m., eat quick, lean meals, and march to the south, toward Mt. Williamson. We can’t actually see Mt. Williamson yet, but we know it is just over the horizon, beyond Mt. Tyndall.
After a mile of hiking, with Mt. Tyndall to our right, Mt. Williamson’s summit starts to appear from behind a large vertical face to our left. It is tremendous, but to my surprise, there is no snow. That is great news since we may not need ice axes after all.
With Mt. Williamson in front of us, we hike across a relatively flat expanse to the rim of the Williamson Bowl. Basil turns to the three of us and says, “Nothing I’ve read has prepared me for this.” The Williamson Bowl is breathtaking. It is a gaping chasm in the earth. It cradles five lakes, the furthest of which is named Lake Helen of Troy—a fitting name for a lake in such a tumultuous environment. If one were to watch the glacial evolution of such a place at high speed, it would surely be the equivalent of the Trojan War. At this point, there is no trail to follow, so landmarks we’ve read about in many trail reports will guide us the rest of the way.
We cross a tremendous land bridge, descending about 400 feet into the bowl, and pass the first lake. The air is about 50 degrees, and we hear an unsettling sound, the rush of an avalanche far off in the distance. As each of us scans the surrounding peaks for visual evidence, Tyler spots it, but I can’t get my head around fast enough. We move on.
We are now getting our first glimpse of the Black Stain. The Black Stain is a large, prominent watermark on the rock, which can be used to indicate the correct chute to ascend. It is ominous because it marks the final leg of the journey, or the beginning of the most difficult section. We use one of the lakes to fill up our water containers one last time before entering the chute.
It’s about 8 a.m. and the Black Stain has grown enormous. From a mile back, it didn’t appear that large, but from just underneath you can see water trickling down the steep face, drizzling deposits along the way. After leaving the hard snow surrounding the lakes, we start scrambling up loose scree to the base of the chute. We climb side-by-side, so as not to send rocks tumbling down onto one another. This is a frustrating stretch of the hike, since large sections of rock shift with each step. For the first time, we are aligned with the chute above, and can see that our route maybe covered in snow. I am concerned that without ice axes we may need to turn back.
We finally make our way to the base of the chute, which is the start of the hard snow pack. It’s around 9:30 a.m. and the shadows from the towering arêtes and spires keep the ground cold enough to harbor plenty of ice. We try putting on our crampons to carefully step up the chute, but it’s simply too steep, and a fall would reap grave results. Tyler and I notice that the south side of the chute is not covered by snow, and that we may be able to climb a series of short rock walls as a bypass. So, we begin. The 1,000 feet of vertical climbing is not difficult, with vertical sections no larger than seven feet. I feel a slight sense of vertigo, instilled partially by the high elevation and partially by the visual surroundings.
Midway up the chute two members of our party decide the climbing is too much—so they turn back. I’m considering turning around myself, but Nick and I decide to press a bit further. We finally reach a sheer rock face that we are not prepared to climb, but at this point the chute is friendlier for crampons. We kick-step our way to the base of the class 3 climb, the chimney.
Looking back down at this point is remarkable. You can see what you just ascended, a steep, unrelenting chute, and the impressive Wil-liamson Bowl, over 1,000 feet below. The climb through the chimney is not difficult, especially for those with free climbing experience, but it is another mental hurdle to conquer before you reach the top. Nick and I are careful to think our way through this section, as not to make a clumsy mistake, and we spot each other wherever possible.
Topping out the chimney, we emerge on the Summit Plateau, where we are presented with three summits. Two of which are red herrings. The “real” summit is to the south and requires another 30-minute scramble up large boulders in deep snow.
After navigating a sinuous trail above the Summit Plateau, we find an arrangement of dark gray rocks and the summit marker. It is noon, and I’m at one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, with California’s second tallest view. Mt. Whitney, Mt. Langley and Mt. Russell seem like a stones throw away. Looking out to the horizon, Mt. Whitney is the only mountain taller, and the Williamson Bowl below looks deceptively quaint. Keeping to our strict schedule, we take a moment to soak in the Sierra skyline and begin the journey back down to the Summit Plateau. I replay the entire hike in my mind, but this time in reverse: we have to climb down the chimney and the 1,000 feet of the chute, then back out of Williamson Bowl, and gingerly step down Shepard Pass and a lot more to follow. After all the reading I’ve done to prepare for this hike, I remember one detail distinctly—the killer—the 600 feet at the very end, when all you want to do is go down, and all you can do is go up.
I will remember Mt. Williamson partially because of the formidable journey and the many beautiful vistas, but mostly because we were alone during the hike. We shared this vast mountain with only a handful of others. Mt. Williamson’s beauty and solitude make the summit well worth the pain, and there are so many more Sierra peaks and trails to be explored. TM
