Bearizona!

NOTE: This is the 10^thpost of a multi-part series chronicling my family's two week vacation in the summer of 2010.

For links to the entire series, click here.

(You read it right. Not Arizona, but Bearizona. Read on and you will see why!)

Leaving California, we had planned to make it to Grand Canyon National Park and find a place to pitch our tents at or near the park. But we had lingered longer visiting family and left later than planned. Darkness overtook us on our eastbound drive miles before we reached the highway 64 exit where we would leave Interstate 40 and head north to the Grand Canyon. Because we had no idea if there were any vacancies at the campgrounds in the park, we chose to stay in Williams, AZ.

Evidently many other weary travelers chose to pass the night there as well. We passed numerous motels with signs proclaiming "No Vacancy" as we drove into and through town. But once again, our Lord above was there to provide for our needs that night. We eventually came to an Econolodge with still un-rented rooms.

The next morning we arose and indulged ourselves with the complimentary deluxe continental breakfast offered by the hotel. A rack near the front desk offered dozens of free brochures tempting tourists to spend their money on nearby attractions. Most of these advertised Grand Canyon related adventures: take the train to the Grand Canyon, take an airplane ride over the Grand Canyon, fly in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon, ride a mule to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, etc. But we were particularly drawn to a brochure describing a very different experience.

The title "Bearizona!" headlined the brochure with pictures of several species of wildlife. Scanning the description on the front, it became clear this was a drive-through wildlife park, just recently opened. Though we had been blessed with the opportunity to see numerous species of wildlife in their natural environment at Yellowstone, there were several species listed on the Bearizona! brochure that we had not seen. And, there were babies! The ad promised baby black bears and baby grey wolves awaited us in the wildlife park.

The wildlife park was located just off I-40 at the same exit (Highway 64) we needed to take to get to the Grand Canyon. So it wasn't even out of our way. An added bonus was the price. The advertised entry fee to view the wildlife was $11 per person. The Bearizona! brochure made clear the fee would increase to $22 per person in the 2011 season for several reasons. The park had opened only 5 weeks earlier than our arrival and construction was ongoing. Because some containment areas were yet to be completed, certain wildlife species were not yet available for viewing.

At the park entrance we paid our fee and received more literature and a map of the park. We were also warned that we were not allowed to leave the vehicle on our tour, and that all windows should be kept completely rolled up once we entered the black bear enclosure. The young lady at the booth promised we would hear these warnings again as we progressed through the park. She also let us know we could drive through more than once if we desired.

So off we went.

The most impressive species we viewed on the drive was certainly the black bear. Though we had spotted one in Yellowstone, it was too distant to get a really good look (or a good photo). Here, we were able to get really close and get several good pictures of several bears. We even witnessed two bears mating. Other species were less impressive, including the American burro and the Dall sheep. But one thing we had not seen at Yellowstone was a White bison. Here they had several. These were smaller than the brown buffalo we had seen so many of in Yellowstone, but still interesting to see.

White Bison

Dall Sheep

American Burro

Black Bear

The really neat thing about driving through was it allowed us to get so close to the animals. At Yellowstone, we could only observe them from a distance. But here we were mere feet away from the beasts. Not that the experience here was better than it was at Yellowstone, or worse. It was simply a different experience, and that made it worth the money we spent to get in.

But the best part was yet to come. The drive-through circuit through the park ended at a parking lot bordered by a gift shop, restrooms, snack bar, and the baby animal enclosures. There were wolf pups and black bear cubs in two exhibits set up much like those you would find in a city zoo. The wolf pups were beautiful, but they dozed the entire time we were there. The napping canines provided little in the way of entertainment. The bear cubs were a different story.

The two black bear cubs were different colors, one black and one brown, with two distinct personalities. While we were there, the black cub never stopped moving. Running or pacing from one end of the enclosure to the other most of the time, he strayed from that path only to launch a playful sneak attack on his brown cousin. The brown cub on the other hand ignored his black playmate unless such an attack occurred. It seemed to prefer entertaining itself by climbing trees, or playing with the pine saplings inside its domicile. But, once distracted by his simple toys, his black companion would soon engage.

We passed quite a bit of time here watching the two baby bears wrestle and play. If they had been the only animals in the park, it would have been well worth the money to come and watch. We took a lot of photos of the bear cubs, and the short video near the top of this post.

We could have stayed hours longer and watched the adorable, frolicking cubs. They were so much fun to watch. But one of the seven wonders of the world awaited us a short distance to the north. So we pointed our Blazer toward the Grand Canyon and moved out.

Our hike (and more) in California

NOTE: This is the 9^th of a multi-part series chronicling my family's two week vacation in the summer of 2010.

For links to the entire series, click here.

We awoke in our tents with our vacation now back on track. Not exactly the original track, but on track just the same. We'd reserved our campsite for two days and now the plan was to make a day hike up the Summit Lake/Warren Lake trails. After a breakfast of link sausage and scrambled eggs, cooked on our now well-used camp stove, we were headed back to I-80 and the trail head.

Traveling west from Truckee, we took the Castle Peak/Boreal exit and turned left under the interstate. About 100 yards south another left at the intersection carried us to the parking area at the Pacific Crest Trail head. The weather was perfect, not too cold and not too hot. About 70⁰ Farenheit.

Since we were now only planning a day hike, gearing up was pretty simple. Lunch and extra water went into my pack and the girls got away with carrying only one small water bottle each. My wife strapped on a fanny pack with more water bottles and her camera. Finally, we marched from the parking lot to the trail.

But the snow drifts quickly made it difficult to recognize the trail. We picked our way alongside the interstate, working our way east toward the closed rest area because we knew the trail passed close to it. After a couple of hundred yards the trail still wasn't obvious and we'd yet to locate the tunnel that passed under the highway. I decided to trek back to the parking area and double check the trail map posted there before going any farther.

As I approached the parking lot, I noticed other hikers had arrived since our departure and were in the process of gearing up. After a short conversation with one of these gentlemen, we were back on our way. He had informed me we simply hadn't gone far enough. The tunnel under the freeway was about a quarter of a mile from the trail head. So we pushed on, following in our earlier footsteps. Only 50 yards or so past where we'd turned around, we spotted orange tape hanging from the trees marking the difficult to discern trail.

Apparently left by a previous hiker, remaining on course was now a certainty and we soon found ourselves at the narrow tunnel under I-80. We passed through the shaft with the roar of cars and trucks driving overhead. But soon after exiting the subsurface passage, we were once again enveloped by the peace and serenity of the mountain forest.

A short, steep slope made its way across a small stream created by runoff from melting snow and past the closed interstate rest area. There we found a sign marking the intersection of the Pacific Crest and Warren/Summit Lake Trails. Veering right, we left the Pacific Crest Trail behind.

For the most part, the trail was easier to follow here than it had been when we embarked, but snow drifts still covered large sections. So we relied on tracks of those who preceded us, but even these were few. The trail had yet to see heavy use this year and the process of melting and refreezing had helped to dissolve all but a few traces of human passage.

But, as usual, the Lord above took us under his wing. A mountain biker passed us as he made his way down the trail and his tracks were easily spotted in the snow drifts under the trees. Until the forest gave way to an open, rocky slope, we had little trouble keeping on the trail.

Once we emerged from the trees and onto a section of the trail consisting of a boulder field barren of trees, the cyclist's tracks disappeared. For the most part the trail was still easy to follow. But we did accidentally venture off course at one point.

Following what looked like the trail led across another small runoff stream, so we made the crossing. This one was a little wider and a little deeper so I stood in the near-freezing flow with water midway up my shins to assist my wife and daughters across. Taking their hands in mine, I slung them when they leaped so they could avoid wet and frozen feet.

We continued through the jumble of boulders along the apparent trail, but after 100 yards or so I became concerned because I'd seen no sign of human traffic since we crossed the stream. For the second time on our hike, I decided to backtrack, this time scouting for a possible turn we'd missed. Scouring the slope on our side of the stream, none existed. But once again, God placed His hand on my shoulder and pointed me in the right direction.

Another party of hikers, apparently much more familiar with the trail than I was, passed by and veered left just before reaching the running water we'd crossed. The turn I'd missed was before the ford! So we back-tracked and crossed in the same manner as before.

It was then we saw where those ladies turned, through a narrow slot between two boulders. Even then it didn't look wide enough to be the trail, but once we passed between the two huge rocks we soon encountered plenty of sign of two-legged passersby. We were back on the trail and back on our way.

From here the trail was easy to follow, with or without tracks, until we reached the intersection where we had to make the decision--Warren Lake or Summit Lake. It was now early afternoon and late season snows had already made it plenty difficult finding our way this far. So we decided to take the shorter path to Summit Lake.

This proved a good decision because from the intersection to the lake there was even more snow than we'd already encountered. Other hikers' tracks made it fairly easy to follow, but without them the trail would have been difficult to recognize. The less-traveled path to Warren Lake would have almost certainly been a nightmare to navigate under these conditions.

Once we arrived at Summit Lake we ate lunch on some huge boulders by the shore, then shot some photos and headed back down. With some regret I passed by the turn to Warren Lake, but that hike would have to wait for another day. As we turned back toward the trail head, I quoted General Douglas MacArthur's 1942 farewell to the Philippines uttering, "I shall return!"

We made our way back with little trouble. The trail was now familiar and the hike was all downhill. Though our hike hadn't gone as planned, and we weren't able to reach our goal, we realized God had been looking out for us. The hard winter had increased the difficulty level of the hike. The volume of snow still covering the trail would have made it hard for someone familiar with the route to navigate, but we had never traversed it. He kept us on a safer path, and still allowed us to enjoy the beauty of the northern California mountain forest.

Heading back to our campsite, I couldn't help but still feel a twinge of regret, but I now knew everything that had happened to delay and aggravate me was for the best.

We arrived back at camp with plenty of daylight to spare. My wife wanted to do a little sight-seeing so we drove south to see Lake Tahoe. We tried to find a place to park and walk along the lake, but vacant parking spaces were nonexistent late on a summer afternoon. After a few minutes in the bumper to bumper traffic, we found a place to turn around and headed back to Truckee. Then a stop at the grocery store to resupply and we headed back to camp and settled in for the evening.

The next day we repacked the Blazer and headed south. We planned to drive to Moreno Valley where we'd spend two nights in a motel and visit family in the area. The route carried us along the northeastern corner of Lake Tahoe where, this early in the morning, parking wasn't quite the scarce commodity it had been the day before. We easily found a spot to park at the state beach access and ventured closer to the water for photos.

We didn't linger long because we had about 600 miles to travel. So we headed south once again. A few miles down the road, on the eastern shore of the lake, we did stop at an overlook where my wife and I got out and followed a short path into the rocks leading toward the water. We took a couple more photos here and hiked back up to the overlook. On the way back to the parking area we found a sign explaining just how clear the lake is. It said in 1873 a white plate lowered into the water could still be seen from the surface at more than 100' deep. Lake Tahoe is certainly another of God's marvelous works of art we are blessed to enjoy in these United States.

Back on the road, we made a left turn onto US Highway 50 and headed toward Carson City, NV. We filled the Blazer's gas tank in the capitol of the Silver State and pointed our ride to the south on US 395. When we again crossed into California, there was more beautiful scenery to enjoy, but we'd have to save that for another trip. Family members were expecting us to visit the next day in the Los Angeles area. So we cruised past the sights and pushed on through the central California desert.

The stark contrast between this barren environment and the lush mountains we'd left to the north made it difficult to believe we were still in the same country, let alone the same state. Long gone were the 60⁰-70⁰ temperatures we'd enjoyed on our hike to Summit Lake. On this drive, the Blazer's outside temperature display read up to a scorching 111⁰ at times as we made our way south. The desolate landscape seemed unimpressive compared to what we'd fallen in love with earlier. At one point, after hours in the seemingly endless fiery emptiness, my daughter roused and asked "When are we going to get out of these ugly mountains?"

We finally did make it to our destination, the Comfort Inn at Moreno Valley. After a shower and a good night's sleep we would get together with my uncle who lived in town the next day. I had yet to make contact with him at this point, but my mother (his sister) had let him know we'd be in town the next day. But after supper and a shower, I gave him a call.

Once on the phone, he insisted we stay in his home. I'd already made reservations for this night and the next, and we were settled in and ready to get some sleep. Not wanting to hurt his feelings though, I agreed we'd sleep that night at the motel and cancel the reservations we had for the next. He gave me directions to his home and we agreed we'd all go to the beach the next day.

The next morning I rose early and did laundry at the hotel. The machines actually worked correctly here so the debacle in Carlin, NV a few days earlier wasn't repeated. Once the girls were up and about, we took advantage of the deluxe continental breakfast served at the Comfort Inn. Then, we were off to my uncle's house.

His directions were good so we easily located his beautiful Spanish stucco situated in the middle of a neighborhood surrounded by grassy hills so typical in southern California. It was a beautiful home with plenty of space to accommodate the four of us and my aunt and uncle. When we arrived, he was packing his van for the beach.

We unloaded our gear after the hugs and greetings that occur between relatives who haven't seen each other in a good long while. Then, a short tour of the house and we piled into his vehicle for the 70 mile ride to the coast. He chose the scenic route rather than the overcrowded parking lots (aka freeways) of the greater Los Angeles.

The Ortega Highway wound its way through the hills between our origin and destination. This narrow two-lane highway carries travelers through the Cleveland National Forest and over mountains that offer spectacular panoramic views of the valleys below. The picture below was taken from an overlook on the scenic byway above Lake Elsinore.

We finally arrived at the beach to find the weather much different than we expected. Leaving Moreno Valley, the mercury was already reading near 100⁰ by mid-morning. But a hurricane had recently passed by the Baja Peninsula and was working its way north. The tempest was impacting the weather on the coast, leaving cloudy skies and temperatures in the low 70's. Still, we had a nice picnic lunch and the girls can now say they've taken a stroll on a southern California beach.

After a couple of hours, we were all ready to head back. Once back in Moreno Valley we stopped by the clubhouse of my aunt and uncle's homeowners' association. There the weather was more conducive to sitting in the sun and swimming in the pool. That evening, the sun fell from the sky and put an end to a wonderful visit with family that I rarely ever get to see.

The next morning we rose and had a delicious breakfast, spent a few more hours with my aunt and uncle, then packed our Blazer again and headed east. We were now in the last few days of our vacation and planned to visit the Grand Canyon the next day. We crossed the blazing Mojave desert looking forward to the cool air of the Arizona mountains. Near Needles, CA the outside temperature indicator in the Blazer reached 116⁰. But then we crossed into Arizona, fueled the vehicle in Kingman, and made it to Williams where we found a room in the Econolodge.

Our adventures in California had come to an end, but dawn would break the next day and open the door to the new experiences awaiting us in Arizona.

California. Finally!

NOTE: This is the 8^th of a multi-part series chronicling my family's two week vacation in the summer of 2010.

For links to the entire series, click here.

When we finally finished drying our clothes at the truck stop in Sparks, NV, we piled back in and pointed our Blazer west on Interstate 80. Even though we were already hours behind schedule, I still hoped to arrive at the trail head in time to start our hike and find a place to camp along the trail. But it wasn't to be.

Our destination was a hiking trail my wife and I had discovered about 15 years earlier. At that time, I was driving a truck for a living. She, I, and our two dogs all rode together in the cab of 1995 long-nosed Peterbilt. We were carrying a load of landscaping stone from Idaho to Stockton, CA and our route carried us along I-80 through Donner Pass. We stopped at the interstate rest area just west of Truckee, CA to walk the dogs. That's when we stumbled across a sign marking the hiking trail to Summit Lake and Warren Lake. From the rest area, we walked with our dogs for a little over a mile and arrived at Summit Lake.

That day, all those years ago, we didn't have enough time to continue the additional five miles to Warren Lake so we turned around and headed back to the truck. As we pulled out of the parking lot of the rest area, we swore to each other that one day, we'd return and make the hike to Warren Lake. Our trip this summer was planned to make good on that oath.

Long before we reached the rest area we'd hiked from so long ago, signs on Interstate 80 informed us the facility was closed. Fortunately, I'd done a little research the night before and knew there was another access to the path via the Pacific Crest Trail at the Castle Peak/Boreal exit on I-80, just west of the closed rest area. We arrived at the trailhead and found snow still covering much of the trail.

The sun was now sinking lower and lower in the sky. My wife suggested we abandon our plan to camp on the partially snow-covered trail and search for other accommodations that night. Reluctantly, I turned the vehicle back toward the freeway and admitted to myself our Warren Lake goal wouldn't be reached on this trip. With a long face, I resigned to return to Truckee and head south hoping to find a campground where we could pitch our tents.

Lake Tahoe lay several miles to the south and I thought we'd be able to find a place there. But only two or three miles south of Truckee on Highway 267, we passed a sign informing us a left turn would take us to a campground. As we turned off the road, we noticed a small lake to the south at the base of a north-facing wooded slope. A half-mile or so from the highway, another road intersected our path and led to the lake. A sign there indicated the road would lead to the Alpine Meadows Campground.

The campground was situated in a large clump of pines on a hill just north of Martis Creek Lake, the lake we saw on our way in. We stopped at the self-service pay station at the entrance and learned that for $16 per night, we secure any vacant site we chose. Climbing back in the car, we drove around the paved loop and realized, though primitive, the place was nice and clean with a cozy feel. We decided to pay for two nights and attempt our hike again the next day.

As usual, it turned out the good Lord had his hand on our shoulder, guiding us, the entire way. Things were now looking up, much brighter than only a few minutes before. And they'd quickly get even better. The next day when we actually set out on our hike, we'd really come to discover He had delayed us for our benefit. The long day may have interrupted our plans, but God knew what was best for us the whole time and refused to let my stubbornness get in the way.

As we drove into the campground, we noticed a small cave high on the side of the hill above the lake. Once we had our tents pitched and finished a camp stove supper of Spaghetti-O's for the girls and canned beef stew for me and my wife, she and I decided to make the short hike to the cave. Our daughters, anxious to charge their cell phones using the electrical outlets available in the primitive restrooms, chose to remain behind.

We walked back to the campground entrance and down the drive of the lake access. To skirt the body of water that separated us from the hill, we angled toward the base of the mountain of rocks and boulders that cover the Martis Creek Dam. We could have chosen to climb out of the draw to the top of the near side of the dam and walked the road that traversed it, but took the more adventurous route around the end of the lake and climbed the steep, brushy slope leading to the cave above.

The road we didn't take led across the dam and the length of the hill that held the cave we wanted to visit. But from our position on the slope, it didn't appear to lead to the cavern. So we switch-backed our way up the mountain via game trails and breaks in the brush. Then, once we'd worked our way to within 20 feet of the elevation of the cave, we saw the trail leading down the finger of our hill to the road we'd crossed on the way up.

Oh well, we took the road less traveled I guess. And we were nearly to the cave.

Now we followed the trail along the side of the hill to a point directly below the mouth of the cave. As we drew closer, the regulations regarding the storage of food in bear country I'd read at the campground came to mind. I began to wonder if we might be planning to invade the living quarters of an animal we'd rather not disturb. But we'd come too far to turn back without checking out the alluring hole in the wall of this mountain.

The trail ran along the side of the hill about 8-10 feet below the floor of the cave, but the rocks provided an easy climb into the yawning gap in the cliff above. Just to be safe, I threw several rocks into the cave from below in case some surly beast resided inside and didn't want visitors. But my thrown stones drew no response from the empty cavern.

So we climbed up and into the opening. It was nothing spectacular, not deep at all. Others had apparently been drawn to this spot judging by the tracks and markings left behind. But as we looked back across the small lake to our campground, we were glad we'd decided to make the impromptu trek.

We made our way back to the campsite as the night overtook the day. During the descent, we were blessed with seeing two otters paddling playfully across the lake. We were too far from the swimming creatures to get a decent picture, but the sight of them was yet another gift from God. Walking on, it became clear He was in total control and we were meant to pass the night here according to His plan.

The next morning we'd try the hike we had looked forward to for the past 15 years.