Dispatch from Le Châble, Switzerland

I'm getting into the swing of this a little more. I got my stuff organized yesterday and I got a good night's sleep last night (the end of jet lag, I figure). Breakfast hasn't been a problem, including today, with the usual selection, and my taking mueslix, orange juice, a few slices of excellent bread with cream cheese and jam, and coffee. There were about a dozen people for breakfast.

Malcolm was headed south on the next leg of the Tour Mont Blanc (TMB), while Rob was taking the bus to here, Le Châble, to get a jump on the climb I'll take tomorrow, to Cabane du Mont Fort. He only has a week, so he wants to stay in the mountains.

Because, I suppose, I've left the TMB, the numbers of hikers are way down. With the exception of two trekkers just entering Champex as I was leaving, I didn't see another all day, at least along the trail. While I was having a beer (OK, two -- I was re-hydrating) this afternoon, a couple I'd last seen at the Fenêtre d'Arpette (the fellow had taken my picture) walked into the café. Seems we're on the same itinerary.

The day began as the others have, with clear skies and warm temperatures. (I have a report that this will continue through Friday.) I strolled through town, which seems to be doing very well, thank you, with a number of nice-looking resort hotels and another being built right in the center. There is a lake, with paddleboats, rowboats, and canoes for rent -- and fishing, as evidenced by the fishermen this morning. It's a small lake, though, so I wonder how many fish there are.

At the edge of town, I plunged down a steep, if not killer, path which alternately crossed and followed the old road to Champex (there was an interpretive sign). Soon the path moderated and I began to see views to the east, from above Osières, up the Val d'Entremont. Absolutely gorgeous! At the head of the valley is the famous pass of St. Bernard and flanking it are the Grand Combin massif and Mt. Vélan, on the Italian border. The sunbeams, the glistening snow, the green pastures: it all made me glad I wasn't carrying a film camera.

The guidebook's directions were very useful, but I got a bit confused above Sembrancher, at St. Jean. I tried the path to the right, then the one to the left, hitting gates on both, and never seeing the chapel, which was hidden in the trees at the top of the bluff. No road to it that I could see. Rather than return to the junction for the third option, I went through the gate, and down the meadow, where I saw a pedestrian sign. I followed that down to a wide path, which came from that third option. It was straightforward from there.

Sembrancher is a nice little town -- I made a circle of it, to the amusement of some street-hangers-out -- and headed out. The path went on roads past houses (one man was mounting his horse for an afternoon's ride with his friendly dog), the power station, and out into fields of corn along the La Dranse de Bagnes, draining the next valley on my journey. From there, I climbed through woods, around a ridge-edge, and back down to the river, where I learned what Kev, in the guidebook, described as "working Switzerland." I'd thought he was referring to the views of roads and farms (and sunbeams and greenness) from the ridge along the La Dranse d'Entremont.

No, he meant this -- and I have to agree, it was interesting. As I walked along the river to Le Châble, I passed a small logging landing, in the river bottom; a road expansion, again, into the river; a gravel pit, partially converted into a large dirt bike track; a municipal composting operation; and several other operations that I couldn't sort out. Accompanying these were a series of big display boards describing the various demographic, economic, and political aspects of Switzerland's regions. Why along this road, on which I saw nothing moving? I don't know.

I have a large room in the hotel, so I dried out my clothes, took a shower, and am charging up the electronics, as the next two nights are in mountain huts. As the day was easy, I had time to wander around town, too, and replenished my Swiss franks (do mountain huts take VISA?) and enter a grocery store to buy some fruit, bread, and cheese -- another milestone.

I had a superb dinner at a very nice and expensive) restaurant up the hill a ways. There weren't a lot of people eating there, so it was quiet and I got to use the no smoking section (there isn't always one). I had a big, varied salad and a wonderful entrée of a bunch of little perch fillets, wonderfully cooked and seasoned, on a bed of vegetables, including cooked potato wrapped in cabbage.

At this point, the wheels began to come off the cart of good feelings. I returned to the hotel to find it locked and empty. Ringing did not work. I looked, the only lights on in the whole building were in my room. I thought to call and easily found a phone both that would take a VISA, but there was no phone book -- all of my such information was locked in the room, of course. So, I went next door to Max and Milly's B&B, where I heard English spoken earlier. The guy there (was it Max? If so: Thanks, Max.) knew the people who ran my hotel and even had their mobile number (since no one answered at the hotel). Only a few minutes later, the owner showed up and let me in. The door was supposed to be left open.

Phew! Still a bit crabby, I entered my room and noticed that my PDA was still charging, which was strange because it was nearly done a couple of hours earlier. When I unhooked it and tried it out, it wouldn't come on. Damn!

I have a lot of information I use on the card in the PDA and am recording much of the information about the trip on it, as well, not to mention writing these posts up each night. While the PDA isn't essential, like a rain coat and hiking boots are, it is important.

My previous annoyance, once diminished, now returned. Fortunately, I brought paper backup for writing and was pretty sure I could remember where I'd planned to stay by referring to the guide book. Still, it was annoying.

Sept. 10 from Hotel du Giétroz, Le Châble, Switzerland: map, 821m; accum. 48 km, 2657m gain, 2873m loss (2694'; accum. 21.7 mi, 8717', 9426')
Updated for spelling, links, and photos on 10/30. Updated photo link on 7/29/20.
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Dispatch from Champex, Switzerland

Breakfast was the start, with mueslix and milk, bread and jam, and, of course, coffee.

A little more organized, I got an earlier start today, heading up before the sun had come over the steep walls of the valley. I walked up through town, past the cat staked out in it's little patch of grass and weed, in the same place it was last night when I walked past it. The trail starts up the hill just past the center of town and gains what must have been the original road up to Col De La Forclaz, just above town. The current road takes a longer and gentler route, but the old road makes a nice path, less steep than yesterday's.

After a while, it gains a level path, the width of a single lane road, that contours along the valley-side, with a pretty trough of water running on it's inside. This is a bisse, which moves water from one valley to another. It made a wonderful path, smooth and level, with evidence of frequent maintenance everywhere, with benches and chairs and even a fanciful waterwheel that makes a knock sound. This pleasant path took me to the Chalet du Glacier, from where the real climbing begins.

Now, well into the valley, the Trient Glacier comes into view. It's a remarkable sight, with a big ice fall at the horizon, which hides a huge icefield behind it. The trail climbs and twists its way up the valley, inching up the east wall, still in shade, for the first couple of hours. This is a tough climb, 1082m above the Chalet below and it took me more than the three hours mentioned in the guide.

There are compensations. The most substantial are the growing views to the north and south, especially the Trient Glacier, sparkling in the sun. And at the pass, the Fenêtre d'Arpette (2665m), the window opens to the east, where Grand Combin shows its snowy mantle and even the Matterhorn made a brief appearance.

A chough was working the pass as numbers of people clambered up from each side and headed down the other. This is a main route of the Tour Mont Blanc, so there was quite a bit of traffic. Along the way up, I caught and was left behind by Rob, the Dutch fellow with whom I'd shared dinner and breakfast in Trient. I also met an American couple, who are doing the Haute Route, though a non-Kev (the guidebook author) variation. Beautiful, wild country, reminiscent of home, but bigger.

The trip down was tricky at first, but soon resolved itself into a nice walk down an alpine valley, which ended in a farmer's field (cows, bells), then the village of Arpette (whose window I'd just descended from), and another stroll along a bisse, this one larger and steeper, with quite a number of strolling weekend vacationers, into the lake resort town of Champex.

The Pension en Plein Air, where I'm staying, is quite nice and is located at the end of town that I entered (tired, I was glad of that). The room I'm in is bigger than last night, but with only six beds. Partial walls and curtains offer more privacy, too. I was able to post three dispatches (the first two of which had bad map references, so I'll have to fix those and add them later). Another fellow, an Englishman named Malcolm, who was also at Trient last night, joined Rob and me here.

Dinner was for only seven of us (there are other options in town), so it was less a production than last night. It was good, starting with a Caprese-style salad and bread, continuing with a nice plate of ham with a mustard dressing, sauted vegetables, and scalloped potatoes. Dessert was a plain, panna cotta-type slice with blueberry sauce. Malcolm and I had a nice conversation with a Dutch couple, who are also doing the Tour Mont Blanc, but in the opposite direction from Malcolm.

Sept. 9 from Pension en Plein Air, Champex, Switzerland: map, 1466m; accum. 35 km, 2553m gain, 2124m loss (4810'; accum. 22 mi, 8376', 6969')

Updated for spelling, links, and photos: 10/29. Updated photo link on 7/29/20.

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Dispatch from Trient, Switzerland

Today was the first full day of hiking, 12 km and about a thousand meters of climb and descent. I had a nice breakfast in La Couronna (bread and jam, mueslix, cheese, orange juice, yogurt, and caffe noir).

The trail starts at the railroad tracks (the train in this valley is called the Mont Blanc Express and runs about a dozen times a day), at an underpass. From there, it climbs into the woods above town and begins to traverse up the valley. The trail is wide and well-graded, but steeper on the climbs than is the standard where I usually hike, unless it's a crazy climbers trail, like most of those that I trained on in August. These aren't that steep. After about an hour, the trail drops down into Le Tour, the last town in the valley.

Le Tour is small, but busy, as a lot of people use the trails above town for hiking and mountain biking. An added feature is the availability of a lift, to Charamillon, which is halfway, and another, which takes you almost to the pass. No reason to climb to get stunning views of the peaks that line this valley, including, of course, the white-crowned glory of Mont Blanc.

Of course, no lift for me, so I started up the trail, which switchbacks up a giant alpine meadow, in full late-summer lushness. I took a breather at the lift station halfway and prepared for wind at the pass. Another push and I was at the pass, the Col de Balme, (map, 2204 m), which was basically teeming and not as windy as I'd expected. There were large groups of distance hikers, small groups of day hikers, and lots of mountain bikers.

Now, I could see my way down, which zig-zags alongside a chasm running down from the pass to the east, again, through lush meadows, at first, and then into the trees, where it really started to drop. On, into Switzerland!

My left knee had felt a little loose coming up and even earlier, before I started walking, but a couple of hundred meters of downhill snubbed it right up, and I had no trouble with it. In about an hour and a half, I entered the small town of Trient, where I have a dormitory space for the night.

I got there pretty early, I guess, as I had pick of the bunks in my room of ten. But by evening, there was a crowd, though my room had only seven people with twelve bunks. Must have been forty at dinner. I've entered the core of the Tour Mont Blanc. There's even another guy doing the first week of the trip I'm on -- and there may be others, for all I know.

Dinner was good: bread, cheese, soup; salad; "meat" and rice with peas; ice cream. The meat's in quotes not because it was bad, but because I didn’t know what it was – some finely-ground meat rolled in bacon and cooked in a dark sauce. It was good.

Oh, yeah, and another day of perfectly clear skies.

Sept. 8, from Relais du Mont Blanc, Trient, Switzerland: map, 1279 m; 21 km, 1167 m gain, 925 m loss (4196'; 13 mi, 3829', 3035')

Updated for spelling and links: 10/29. Updated photo link on 7/29/20.

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Dispatch from Argentière, France

Today started, of course, with breakfast. The three people with whom I shared my room (who entered sometime the night before without making a sound I heard) were there -- bikers from Germany -- as well as the two older couples from the UK I met yesterday, as they finished their Tour Mont Blanc, and four others from the UK, probably climbers from their outfits.

After that I packed up, checked out, stashed my gear, and headed over to the Téléphérique platform for a trip up to Aiguille du Midi. I paid and got in line. When the line moved, I was the last one for that trip -- they literally closed the door behind me. Each car holds 65 to 70 people. At this point in the day, around 9:30, there was an almost 50-50 split between climbers and tourists.

The trip was amazing. The first segment runs up the lower valley, first in woods and then above the treeline, all of it very steep. The next segment is stunning. It starts on a ridgetop and then runs across a glacier and then it starts to climb, steeper and steeper, up a slope of ice and, increasingly rock, as the ice can't accumulate on such steep rock. At the end, it is heading straight up into the station.

The station is on one point. A catwalk -- broad and planked -- takes you to another. From there, you can take a smaller gondola lift, across the huge expanse of glacier to Italy. This is where the climbers head onto the glacier, too. There are a series of terraces for viewing. All of this is accessed in tunnels cut into the granite of the peak. You can reach to very top of the aiguille by an elevator, which takes you to platform at 3842m (12,605'), where you have a 360 degree view.

It was breathtaking, literally and figuratively. Rising 2800m in 20 minutes makes those first several minutes an effort to get enough oxygen. But the views! The views! Mt Blanc, all those famous aiguilles -- some of the most famous granite in the world -- enormous glacier fields, the triangular Grand Combin. I kept turning in circles. I could even see the Matterhorn, or Cervin, as it's known here. It looked a long way away, small enough that it didn't draw my attention very strongly, with so much else to see.

I spent about an hour, trying every viewpoint, watching climbers all over the area, looking at today's and tomorrow's routes, and glorying in this vantage point, gained so easily and built with such stunning courage.

At the bottom, the line was twice as long as it had been when I got there two hours before.

I returned to the Vagabond, where I'd stashed my gear in the gear locker, and prepared for the first walk. I started by walking through town. That was a treat, as I bought an iced cream cone along the way for my lunch. I liked that no one gave me and my pack a second glance, not with so many other walking sticks and mountain bikes and ice axes and fleece clothing in site.

And, what a way to start a hike: walking through a charming little town, high in the Alps, where so much mountaineering and skiing history has been made, eating an ice cream cone (coffee and coconut, for the record).

The walk started along streets and then I came to a segment that followed the river through Bois du Bouchet, a nice flat, park-like trail among the trees. I joined the road again as it crossed the river and followed it into Les Praz and down a hotel service road to a path along another river, next to the golf course. Crossing that river, I followed the river, now climbing a little to a junction, where the trail turned away from the river and climbed up onto the slope for a while before leveling out and proceeding into Argentière after several kilometers.

As I arrived in town, near the rail station, I realized that I didn't have the address to the hotel (an oversight that I forgot to address), so I headed up toward the center, in the hopes of finding the tourist information center. At the point where I saw the sign to the TI, I looked across the street and saw the hotel. It is centrally located, for sure.

The hotel is quite nice, especially after the rustic and off-season routine in the Vagabond. It is old and substantial, well-kept, but not fancy. I have a single room with a bath. The best is that there are towels, so I can shower in the morning. My room has a view of Mont Blanc, which is beginning to light up with sunset.

I had a beer at the Bar Rusticana down the street (they're all waiting for the rugby match with Argentina tonight -- I can hear shouting through the window). I had dinner at the Sports Bar across the street. The bartender noticed me looking at their board out front and waved me in. Worked. There were a bunch of English-speakers of mixed heritage in there, as well as three or four dogs. It was an unexceptional meal, but a lively spot.

So far, I've spent quite a bit of time around English speakers, though no Americans (there were a few in the téléphérique this morning). Both of the workers at Le Vagabond were English, as were eight of the twelve guests at breakfast. That's not mentioning the handful of workers -- all UK -- who hung around the young women working there, appearing for happy hour and for morning coffee. Similar at dinner: both workers and at least the eight guests there when arrived, though they weren't all from the UK.

Sept. 7, from Hotel de La Couronne, Argentière, France: map, 1266m; accum. 9 km, 238m gain, 0m loss (4154'; accum. 5.6 mi, 781', 0')
Updated for spelling and links: 10/22.Updated photo link on 7/29/20.
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Dispatch from Chamonix, France

The trip over here went very well. All the flights were on time, no airline weirdness interrupted the smooth flow of travelers. No security weirdness (though something was missing in Frankfurt -- I could have left the terminal without checking through passport control; on the other hand, the Swiss passport control didn't even look at my passport -- just a glance and a wave). As is usual, I was unable to sleep on the plane, but as long as I stayed hydrated and kept the blood sugar up, I was fine.

I arrived in Philadelphia around 4 PM yesterday (Sept. 5), Frankfurt at 10:30 this morning, and Geneva at 1 that afternoon. The Chamexpress delivered me to gîte Le Vagabond by 4:30.

Although Frankfurt was cloudy, we left the clouds as we flew south to Geneva and, though I was on the wrong side of the plane, I got a wonderful view of Mont Blanc and her sisters. As amazing as that view was, it was even better to catch glimpses of her growing larger and taller as we approached by car. From town, here in Chamonix, Mont Blanc is simply stunning, magnificent, and dominant. It is just amazingly close, rising steeply from the creek that runs through town to the highest point in Europe.

Vagabond is funky and fun. It's an old building with stone and stucco walls and wooden floors and finishing. Most of the windows are new and double-paned. The bar is right under my room, but I'm tired enough that I don't expect any trouble sleeping tonight.

Chamonix is a very charming little town, and well-equipped for its size (Chanel, Rolex, as well as ski wear), with lots of restaurants and stores. I had a beer in the bar (strictly for hydration purposes) and then had a nice fixed price, Savoyard dinner of salad, wine, Croûte Montagnard, and a Nougat a l'Italienne at Le Bartavel.

Tomorrow, weather permitting, I plan to take the Téléphérique to the Aiguille du Midi.
Sept. 6, from Gîte Le Vagabond, Chamonix, France: map, 1028m; accum. 0 km (3373'; accum. 0 mi)
Updated for spelling, links, and photos: 10/22. Updated photo link on 7/29/20.
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Where is the Haute Route?

Here's a map of the trip. You can zoom in and follow it from left to right. The little yellow houses are the places I'm staying, while the green hikers are points of interest.


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Haute Route: Getting Psyched

The last piece of advice Mark Jenkins has for those of us starting out in this adventure business is this:

Psych up your body and mind: "You will hate yourself if you’re out of shape. Besides, training for a big trip is a way to get psyched."

I took this one to heart. Besides all of the specific preparations (looking at maps, arranging transport and lodging, thinking about gear and how to stay in contact with friends and family), I spent some time making other kinds of mental preparation. I read a couple of books about the Alps, each useful in its own way. The first was The Alps: Europe’s Mountain Heart (Nicholas and Nina Shoumatoff), which was a useful and broad overview of the range, its geology, origins, climate, flora, fauna, and human history, including economics, literature, art, music, and the gradual discovery of the Alps as a special place, a place to visit – much as I’m doing. Very serviceable, if a little academic-feeling. The second was The Alps: A Cultural History, by Andrew Beattie. It’s written in a freer and more fluid style and was a fine second course. It covers the landscape and its history, but really hits its stride in the sections describing the place of mountains and the Alps in Europe’s imagination and the different waves and kinds of visitors who helped to define the place.

Along the way, I decided to revisit Thomas Wolfe, who wrote some interesting passages on Munich and the Oktoberfest, with which I will close my trip. As a young man, I’d read all of his novels and remember being transfixed by their power and poetry. A few years ago, I read a collection of short writings that reintroduced me to his writing. The problem is, he wrote essentially the same saga a couple of times, and I had to pick the novel that included the passages I remembered about Germany. As it turns out, I think I picked the wrong one. The Web and the Rock includes the story of the protagonist’s trip to Germany at the end of his stormy New York love affair, but it is perfunctory and not the one I remember. Along the way, I found myself alternatively transfixed by the power of his writing (the long series of scenes that tell the story of a black man – this is 1920’s North Carolina – erupting out of a seemingly normal and well-adjusted existence into a homicidal spree, ending in his lynching, were stunning), and annoyed by the careless, repetitive, and excessive over-writing of some of the passages. I may have to read them all again, but not before I leave for my own encounter with Oktoberfest.

I also worked on my body. This will be a strenuous hike, two weeks at a stretch with no rest days (unless enforced by the weather or abetted by public transportation) is a lot of walking. My base exercise is walking, so at the beginning of the year I resolved to average 100 miles a month leading up to the trip. This week, I topped 800 miles of walking the dog, walking the sidewalks at lunchtime, walking to and from work, walking errands around town, and hikes in the Olympics and Cascades. That part arranged, I began to notice that there’s quite a bit of up and down on this trip, while there is very little in my day-to-day walking practice. So, my concentration this summer has been to add conditioning hikes up some of the local steeps.

Here’s a summary:

April 14 – Mt Walker: 2000’ gain to 2800’. 2 mi up, 6 mi round trip. 2:25 overall. Totally socked in on top. Not sore at all.

June 16 – Mt Si: 3667’ gain to 4167’. 8 mi round trip. 3:05 walking, 3:30 overall. Totally socked in on top. Sore the next day.

July 1 – Mt Aix: ~4500’ gain to 7766’. ~11 mi round trip. ~6 hours walking, 7 overall. Views of Mt Rainier, Mt Adams, Mt St Helens, Mt Stuart, and the Goat Rocks. Not sore at all.

July 29 – Mt Rose: 3500’ gain to 4300’. 2.9 mi up, 6.4 mi round trip. 3:25 walking, 3:40 overall. Totally socked in on top. A little sore the next day.

August 5 – Wagonwheel Lk: 3250’ gain to 4150’. 5.8 mi round trip. 3:00 overall. Views (from the ridge above the lake) of Mt Washington, Mt Ellinor, Mt Lincoln, and Mt Cruiser. Sore the next day.

August 12 – Lake of the Angels via Putvin Trail: 3700’ gain to 5200’ on ridge above. 8 mi round trip. 5:25 overall. Socked in on top. Not sore at all.

August 19 – Mailbox Peak: 4000’ gain to 4841’. ~8 mi round trip. 4:10 overall. Totally socked in on top. A little sore the next day.

As I was coming down this last trail, I decided that I’d had enough of this kind of conditioning, especially the kind that provides no views and leaves a bag full of wet clothing at the end of the day. So, now my preparation is to rest for the next couple of weeks. I’ll keep walking, but I’m done “conditioning.”

I learned from this that much of the soreness I felt came from the intensity of the hike, which comes from either the steepness or the pace. Reducing the pace reduces the intensity and, with it, the soreness. With the work I’ve done and knowing that I can control the intensity, I should be able to hike without being bothered by sore muscles.

I’m psyched.

Haute Route: Going Where And Going Long

The next two points Mark Jenkins made about getting out into an adventure in the January issue of Outside magazine are these:

Go where you want to go, period: "If this is your big escape, don't be cheap. Do what you want."

Go Long: "Two weeks is the minimum. Any less and your head will never really disconnect from the office."

This isn’t so much an escape, but it is my trip. It’s possible that I could have found someone or ones to go with me if I’d changed the trip or the date. But, it’s only possible and I didn’t want to chance not going at all.

As soon as I read the description, I knew this was the trip for me. Miles of walking. Huge mountains with lots of high country. Starting at one of the premier centers for mountaineering in the world and ending at another, each with amazing history and drama. The huts and towns aren’t strictly necessary, but they do mean that I don’t have as much to carry, which is always a good thing.

I’ll be gone about three weeks, of which two weeks is walking, a few days in Munich, and the rest in travel overhead (though the train through Switzerland to Munich should, weather willing, be scenic).

Haute Route: Find the Right Partner

The first point Mark Jenkins makes about getting out into an adventure in the January issue of Outside magazine is this:

Find the right partner: "Everybody will say, 'Great, amazing, I want to go'; 90 percent won't. Line up a number of potential partners and hope that one will come through. If they don't, go anyway."

As thinking about this trip rattled around in my head through the several years between its germination and now, I collected names of people I thought would be interested and would make good companions. I talked to many of them about it, as well. By the start of this year, I had a group of over a dozen people whom I thought would make good companions for a trip like this.

Because I’m a member of the Mountaineers, I also thought about advertising within the club, but outside of the regular scheduled trip listings. In addition, others suggested that I list the trip as an international trip, of which there are several each year. In the end, I opted not to use either of those ideas.

It is important to me to have actually traveled with or hiked with the prospective participants. A phone conversation or a day hike aren’t really useful substitutes for spending this amount of time with someone, in knowing how committed they are to the trip or how they’ll act under the stresses of travel and trails.

Many of the people who sign up for my Mountaineers trips expect to be led more than I was willing to do for this trip. I don’t have the expertise in the region, nor in international travel, to serve as a typical leader. The international trips the Mountaineers list are planned and arranged by the leaders even more than a typical hike or backpack, with specific itineraries and a package price. I was looking for active, independent participants, willing to make their own arrangements to got to and from the hike, not tour members.

So, I contacted my collected group. They considered the invitation and, one by one, the eventually declined. For a time, I wondered if I had made a mistake by not casting the net wider. Perhaps I should have. But I spent no time thinking that this threatened my trip. After all, “if they don’t [come through], go anyway.” I’ll have to be my own “right partner.”

Test Post via mail-to-blogger

I've been trying to test the mail-to-blogger feature for months, now, but haven't been able to actually create the e-mail address needed for this. I read the support forums, but didn't see this problem. So, I sent a message to support and got a reply back (which I inadvertently deleted) which promised some action. Didn't hear for weeks and, as of last night, it still didn't work. So, I looked at the support group forums again. Still nothing useful, so I posted again and I sent another message to support. Still didn't hear anything, but now I can define that secret e-mail address. Don't know if my messages had any impact, which is not a good kind of support experience, but I'll take the functionality.

So, here goes...

An Internet Moment

I’d ordered an item from a local on-line retailer and had been following its progress using one of those handy package tracking sites. There was a gap in the record when it left Texas and headed out across the desert toward the green Northwest, so it slipped my mind for a day or two. When I next went to check it, I noticed that the last entry had the word “delivered” in it. Wait! It’s here? So, I opened the front door and, sure enough, that sneaky UPS guy had slipped past the canine alarm (she has a real thing for Brown) and dropped off the package in the last 30 minutes.


I had to check the Internet to find that out what had just happened on my front porch.

How do you say “Haute Route”?

Don’t know how to pronounce it, but in a month, I’ll be there, walking it. The route I’ll follow is the summer, hikers’ version of the famous ski mountaineering route between Mt. Blanc in France and the Matterhorn in Switzerland. I came across a description of the route years ago, in an Outside magazine article, and it’s been simmering in the back of my brain ever since. After missing a couple of earlier opportunities, I decided last year that this year was it.

The route begins in Chamonix, France and ends in Zermatt, Switzerland. It works its way into and out of valleys, over passes and alongside glaciers, skirting the northern side of the spine of the Alps between Italy and France-then-Switzerland, climbing up and down over the ribs bracing that backbone. The route is approximately 115 miles (187 km) long and amounts to over 37,000 feet (>11,000 m) of climbing, though none of it is technical. I plan to take two weeks, stopping each night in a town, village, or at a mountain hut.

I bought the recommended guide and read it through a couple of times. I loaned it out to friends I thought might be interested. I bought the maps recommended by the author and pored over them. (Beautiful maps, by the way.) I read every account of others who had made the trip that I could find. Along the way, I added the idea of taking in the start of the Oktoberfest in Munich, once the walking was over. And, as the year began, I started planning the trip.

This is quite a different kind of hiking than I’m used to, in some ways. The biggest difference is that most of my hiking and backpacking here in the Washington is in relative wilderness. If I’m to be out for several days, I won’t see anything approximating civilization for that whole time, unless I happen to catch a view of a distant town from some ridge top along the way. There is almost never a town or accommodation along the way. Nor is there ever anything like the public transportation that many of the towns along the Haute Route offer. These differences offer an increase in comfort and flexibility that, combined with the rich mountain history and the amazing scenery of the region, should make this a trip to remember.

Because of the relative availability of civilization, I won’t have to carry a tent, sleeping bag, stove, fuel, or cook set. At first, I thought that meant I’d be carrying essentially day gear, but with the travel to and from the end points of the walk and plans to spend a little extra time in Germany, I’ll have more. For instance, if I don’t want to wear my hiking boots every day of the three weeks I’m gone, I’ll need to carry another pair of shoes. Since I won’t be in the wilderness all of the time, I think I’ll need to observe higher standards of clothing cleanliness than a regular wilderness hike requires. That means more clothes.

And, since I intend to post dispatches to this blog along the way, as the availability of the requisite technology permits, I’ll be carrying a fair amount more in the way of electronics than I would bother with in the Cascades.

Over the next month, I’ll write about my preparations, starting with some advice I gleaned from another issue of Outside magazine, from Mark Jenkins, who was my favorite of their regular columnists, until they let him get away.

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival – Saturday

A little delayed in finishing this, as it’s more than a week ago, but I thought I’d finish up, even so. Saturday’s schedule was heavy with zydeco bands, especially on the stage with the dance floor. I can appreciate zydeco – and there were some good bands – but I sometimes tire of washboard polka, even with lyrics in French. There were plenty of other fans, though, and the dance floor was teeming with sweaty dancers. So, after a good sample of the beat, I spent most of the afternoon wandering the grounds and sampling the two larger stages, where there were other delights to be heard.

I got to hear the last part of Buddy Flett and The Bluebirds, who played excellent, electric blues, though I note from their Web site that their latest CD features acoustic work. They were rocking for this set and I want to hear more.

I’d not heard of Teresa James before that day, but I was glad I did hear her then. That woman can sing. She has a strong, earthy voice and can pull both the humor and the, well, the blues out of a song. Her band, the Rhythm Tramps, was an excellent support. Another find of the festival for me.

We took the street car into the Pearl district for a dinner at the Bridgeport Brewpub, where we met our friend’s son and had a nice dinner. We closed out the festival with the Dirty Dozen Brass Band and, best of all, Mavis Staples and the Staples Singers. Whew! What she lacked in voice, she more than makes up for in soul. And, as she performed, she took the time to remind us of what life was like for so many of our citizens while this music, her music, was being developed. It was a fitting closing to a wonderful experience. Great friends, great site, great music.

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival - Friday

We spent the better part of the day at the Festival, under hot skies moderated by a good breeze. While we waited for the "Delta Music Experience" cruise to begin, we wandered the grounds. S signed up for green power and cruised the samples at the Kashi booth (this is Ecotopia, after all). The Front Porch stage was hosting an amazing little band, fronted by Gunnar Roads (is that his real name?), a boy who looked to be fourteen, singing and playing guitar. The harmonica player also did some singing, but the kid was the hook. He could use some seasoning (maybe even a voice change) for the singing, but he played a pretty good blues guitar. I later saw him on the workshop stage with several other guitar players, hopefully soaking up what he could of their experience.

I enjoyed the cruise, up and back on the Willamette, on board the Portland Spirit. There was more security here (MARSEC 1), I suppose because we were on a boat, different and less flexible regulations applying. Once on board, that little unpleasantness was quickly behind us and it was music (and three bars) and scenery for the rest of the afternoon. We started on the top deck, for the scenery mostly, where the band was the Dylan Thomas Vance Trio, an acoustic slide guitar, violin, and drummer band. They played a rootsy, Appalachian-flavored blues vigorously and with passion. Vance played guitar and sang in a fine, deep voice, while the violin player really made that bow work. I bet he changes a lot of bow strings. The drummer did all his work standing up, using a series of drums hanging from his shoulder. Very good.

I listened to Too Slim and the Taildraggers, with Henry Cooper, for the return journey. I'd heard of them for years, mostly on Seattle radio adds, so it was cool to finally hear them, and up close. Very good rockin' blues -- a tight little trio, with Too Slim singing and playing a mean slide guitar, and a bass player and drummer. Henry Cooper joined for half the set, singing and playing a more blues-flavored slide guitar, too. They more or less repeated that set later that evening in the park.

There were a lot of people dancing on the cruise, but none of them could keep up with what looked to be a ten year old boy -- team jersey, long baggy shorts, and blocks of shoes -- who bopped and bounced and shimmied for the whole set, amazing everyone. His parents seemed amazed themselves, though this can't have been his first experience dancing. Too Slim, who was playing right in front of the kid for the whole set, seemed amazed himself, and gave him a Taildraggers logo t-shirt at the end of the cruise.

That evening, aside from Too Slim and Henry Cooper's set, was dedicated to some names from the past. Savoy Brown, who's name I only vaguely remembered from the sixties, played a really excellent set, I thought. The front man, Kim Simmonds really seemed to link up with the crowd, told some insightful stories, and played in a way that suggested that he was still in it for the music, rather than after that past glory. He played both old, some of which were familiar, and new songs.

The night's closer for us (though the Festival continued) was Eric Burdon and the Animals. I had never really connected with his music back in my youth, but he and his excellent band put on a good show. My youthful experience with his music was not, apparently, shared by most of the people around me, as they enthusiastically cheered and sang along to several of the old favorites. One neighbor remarked that "I've got to get our of here" was the unofficial anthem of his high school class. I enjoyed it, more for another example of how one can have a long career in music if you stay with the music. (Old hits don't hurt, but you'd better keep them fresh.)

Portland Waterfront Blues Festival – Thursday Night

I remember two things about the last time I attended the Portland Waterfront Blues Festival, in the late eighties or thereabouts. The first was seeing the somewhat grand, old man of British blues, John Mayall and his band.

The second is that I first saw and heard an Andean band. They were playing in a margin of the festival, but had drawn quite a crowd, and I was transfixed. I loved the exotic sound, the mix of roots and new, and the cheerful energy of the music. Not so different, in some of those ways, from the blues. Musically, that is the real memory of my first Festival.

From that time, and for the next several years, bands of itinerant musicians with lutes and little guitars and black derbies could be seen all over the country. I wonder what happened to them.

Thursday night's highlight, for me, was seeing Joan Armatrading. I've always admired her song writing and singing and it was good to hear that her voice is as strong as ever. She plays a mean guitar, too. I had a cassette of Me, Myself, I that I wore out. Time to get a CD or two.

I Can't Improve on the Professor

From Howard Zinn, on Alternet (thanks to Rick on OlyBlog):

On this July 4, we would do well to renounce nationalism and all its symbols: its flags, its pledges of allegiance, its anthems, its insistence in song that God must single out America to be blessed.

Is not nationalism -- that devotion to a flag, an anthem, a boundary so fierce it engenders mass murder -- one of the great evils of our time, along with racism, along with religious hatred?

These ways of thinking -- cultivated, nurtured, indoctrinated from childhood on -- have been useful to those in power, and deadly for those out of power.

Ashland 2007 – Day Three

Our final day was a day of comedy, starting with As You Like It, though it played a little darker than usual. The Depression era costumes and folk-blues songs helped to enhance the sense of hardship in the forest of Arden, even while the usurped Duke reminds his followers of the blessings in their situation. As usual, the company worked both the text and the situation – even without a clue from the text – for laughs.

Breaking our vow to eat at all new places, we had dinner at the Standing Stone Brewery for dinner. Outside, there was a jazz band playing, the same band as last year this time. They were very good, but left too soon.

As we like to do, we closed with a farce, Tom Stoppard’s On The Razzle, a confection, dedicated to the expression of every kind of joke, verbal and physical, available to the playwright. It was very funny, if not particularly lofty. A surprise for us, Emily Knapp, who appeared in several Harlequin productions a year ago, or so, played the Shop Assistant and the French Maid. This is the third young person we’ve seen in Ashland, whom we’ve also seen before in Harlequin productions.

Ashland 2007 – Day Two

Yesterday afternoon's play was Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard. This was the first time I've seen this play. I like Chekhov – one of my favorite speeches in drama is from Uncle Vanya (Sonia’s first speech in Act 1). I liked the interplay of character and situation, as the economic destruction of feudalism, begun with the "catastrophe" of the emancipation of the serfs, continues. It was not as emotional as yesterday's productions, but I don't usually find Chekhov to be particularly emotional. As a playwright, he's more of an observer of humans – of his characters – rather than a manipulator of his audience.

We had a nice, English pub-style dinner at the Black Sheep Pub. It's a big place, on the top floor of the big brick building (which appears in very old photos of Ashland) on Water Street. The menu hit all of the pub-food marks that you'd expect and there were a few English beers on tap, too. I had a Newcastle Brown and some good fish and chips. J had a steak and kidney pie and a glass of red.

The evening's play was our first foray into the world as reconstructed by August Wilson, the beginning of his grand cycle (which I just realized has no over-arching title; refreshing) of twentieth century, African-American history, Gem of the Ocean. It was fascinating and beautiful. The characters of Aunt Ester and Solly Two Kings were beautiful and wonderful recreations of historical archetypes. They represented, respectively, the African past and it's present uses, and the continuing (continuous?) struggle, in the present, to come to inherit and make use of the promise of freedom. Their solemn and warm affection bridged these two elements and created a powerful collaboration. And when Greta Oglesby, who played Aunt Ester, sang, there was nothing to say but, "Wow."

Ashland 2007 – Day One

We were privileged to be able to spend another long weekend in Ashland for our annual visit to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The drive down here was so uneventful that I don't remember much of it at all. Talking books and good weather can do that.

We're staying in the Shrew's House, a bed and breakfast along Siskiyou Blvd. This is the first time in a B&B in several years and, interestingly, the first season for the proprietors, too. Last year, they were making their annual visit to Ashland, and staying across the street, when they needed an extra night, so they tried this place. As it happened, the place was for sale and, one thing leading to another, they bought it and moved here four months ago. Nice folks.

Staying here at the same time is another set of nice folks, a pair of couples who have been coming to Ashland for decades. They've been staying in this B&B for ten years. We've had some nice breakfast table conversations and, in one of the nice elements of a B&B stay, the owners will sit down and join us, too.

As for theater, our first day was an excellent start. The afternoon play was Tracy's Tiger, in the New Theater, put together by a collaboration of OSF folks from a novella by William Saroyan. I love Saroyan and have learned to trust adaptations and translations that they do here, so I was eager to see it and was not disappointed. There was great music, wonder, philosophy, and it affected me deeply. The notion of people "having" tigers, as we have a shadow on a sunny day, following them around and representing their bolder nature, made for excellent theater. I loved the characters of Nimmo & the psychiatrist, both played by Michael Hume and every time the bird started to sing, I teared up. I loved the play and the performances.

The evening's entertainment was The Tempest, in the Elizabethan Theater. This is a beautiful and complex play, superbly done. Derrick Lee Weeden makes a powerful Prospero. He speaks so clearly and acts so smoothly that new layers of the text become available. The theme of slavery was strongly and expertly developed, with Calaban (played by Dan Donohue, in a welcome return to the OSF) brutally constrained and tormented, as befits the greater fear Prospero has of the earth and the solid. Ariel, though more gently constrained and motivated also by love for her master, still chafes at her bondage, though her master values her gifts more highly, matching as they do his own predilections.

Our restaurant theme this year is to eat in new places this time. For Thursday night, the night we arrived, that was Pasta Piatti, a "new world Italian" place on the main drag. We'd walked by it many times, so this time we went in. We had a very nice meal with friendly, professional, informal service. Recommended.

Friday, between plays, we had dinner at the Peerless Restaurant. It's more expensive, but with the garden table on a nice evening, very friendly greetings, excellent service, and wonderful food (with espresso to finish!). Literally peerless? I’m not sure, but I'd have to put it near the top of the list for meals we've had in this town.

Assunta Femia

Nearly thirty years ago, my then-wife and I took our baby H, just a few months old, to visit my friend M in the Haight, in San Francisco. We spent a few days exploring that historic neighborhood and the larger city. One evening, we planned to go out to a movie (A Dream of Passion, with Melina Mercouri and Ellen Burstyn), so we needed someone to stay with H. I wasn’t sure how we’d find someone near by, but M brought his friend Assunta over, who calmly assured us that he was prepared for and comfortable with the task.

I remember him as a slender man, dressed in a long, narrow skirt, with long, dark hair. He talked about his love of pumps and his experiences as a gay man in parochial schools. Somehow, he both charmed me and reassured me that H would be fine in his care. And it was so.

I sometimes return to that evening and think of how I came to trust this man, so different from me, so quickly, and for such an important duty. Beyond the recommendation of M, he manifested a courage and an integrity that I found immediately reassuring.

A couple of months ago, M told me that he had recently died and passed me a link to this obituary. Reading it, I see even more evidence for the trust that I placed in him that evening, long ago. Thanks, again, Assunta.