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This page contains an archive of all entries posted to Hardwear Sessions in the Community category. They are listed from oldest to newest.
Design Room is the next category.
Many more can be found on the main index page or by looking through the archives.
This morning, Freddie Wilkinson revealed that he's recently began writing for the Huffington Post's "Green" page. He has a nice opinion piece on China's "Olympic" summit, and another on "Yard Sale economics."
These pieces show a different side of Freddie. if you've enjoyed Freddie's pieces on climbing, you'll like these pieces.
"Urban farming" is the hip new thing.
Maybe it's the economy. Or maybe Americans are just going through a "green" phase. Suddenly, urban farming is everywhere--it's in the news, in magazines, on television. Artists are getting on the bandwagon, too. Urban farming is so trendy that the New York Times even ran an article about hip young urbanites who replaced their lawns with home orchards. Composting is sexy now.
The urban farming concept is simple: grow good food close to home. Advocates of urban farming argue that the practice eliminates unnecessary fuel consumption, reduces our carbon footprints, and encourages good eating habits. For some families, a successful kitchen garden helps stretch the paycheck. Some families even manage to supplement their paychecks by selling extra produce at local farmers' markets.
In these hands, gardening becomes more than a leisure activity, rejoining the household economy. Before the 19th century, only the very wealthy could afford to keep decorative gardens. You and I would have spent our time digging around in our kitchen gardens, growing herbs, fruit, and other edibles to supplement our diet. Certain garden forms--such as the English cottage garden or the Italian courtyard garden--once existed not for pleasure, but for sustenance.
Today, advocates of "urban farming" hope to take us back to gardening's utilitarian roots. Whether we call them "urban farms," "kitchen gardens," "Victory gardens," or some hybrid of these terms, these spaces are supposed to produce useful things, like food.
Last fall, when I first came across Sunset's One Block Diet blog, I dismissed the project as an albatross. The idea of a one-block diet seemed completely out of line with our contemporary lifestyles. In this age where tomatoes come from Mexico and peaches from Chile, how can we ever hope to eat food grown and processed within "one block" of our homes?
In her introduction to the One Block Diet, Sunset editor Margo True rhasphodized over the "pleasures" of local food. Margo then outlined the Sunset project: "We're using our garden expertise to grow, in a plot about the size of a large backyard, just about everything we'll need for a feast we'll cook at the end of summer. It's the ultimate made-from-scratch meal."
Margo means well. But she kind of turned me off.
Who has the time to grow their own food? Press their own olive oil? Make their own cheese? And who has the money to shop exclusively at the farmer's market, or search out all-organic produce? Plus, she sounded so bossy, and I don't deal well with authority.
I read a few blog entries, and then moved on. I dismissed the One Block Diet as another lark. Oh, the foibles of the wealthy, living high down in Menlo Park, with all those Silicon Valley multimillionaires. I grumbled to my friends that if I had retired at age 28, I, too, could grow all my own food and start my own organic olive farm. Instead, I spend 40 hours a week in the office, sharing my life with a computer screen. When am I supposed to tend my garden?
Something changed this spring.
This weekend, dry lightning ignited a swarm of wildfires in Northern California. By Monday morning, Cal Fire (the California agency responsible for tracking and fighting wildfires) counted approximately 90 small fires in Mendocino county, and another 75 in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest. (View Calfire's map of current, active wildfires.)
Fires burned closer to home, in Napa County, in Santa Cruz (the third devastating wildfire in recent weeks), and in Brisbane, a small city south of San Francisco.
Last night, we drove up into the Berkeley hills and sat near the top of Grizzly Peak, "just because." (We were also out on a hunt for banana cream pie, but that's irrelevant.) From Grizzly Peak, we could see an enormous plume of smoke rising from the peninsula. It was the smoke from the Brisbane fire.
By Monday morning, the Brisbane fire had been contained, and firefighters reported that their containment efforts, aided by cooler weather (and the return of the Bay Area's usual summer fog), were beginning to rein in the Napa and Santa Cruz fires.
As of this moment, the air is still hazy with smoke, a reminder of fire's undeniable place in the California landscape. It is not a pleasant experience. The particulates cloud the air, sting the eyes, and settle in the throat. As global warming continues and Northern California's climate grows hotter and drier, scientists expect more wildfires in our region.
By Will Meinen
It pretty much rained the entire month of May here in the Rockies, so I headed South to Utah with my buddy Brent for a relaxing trip up some classic Zion big walls.
It's still snowing in the Canadian Rockies. I'm headed to Squamish, BC for some sunshine and granite cracks on the Chief.
Enjoy the video.
Going camping on a rocky island? Not sure how to keep your tent from flying away? You could try this technique:
Anders Holmberg took this photograph while camping/kayaking on the west coast of Sweden.
Everyone loves comic books. Our friends at IDEO sent us a wonderful little comic book detailing their adventures during "Operation Tahoe Fondue Drop." I won't spoil the fun for you. To read the comic book, open the PDF (click on the link below) and enjoy!
Shivering on the summit of Mt. Russell.
A few weeks ago, a reader sent us this photograph. Read about the climb--and the shiver bivy--on the Alaska Mountaineering School's blog.
By Cynthia Houng
The American West has never been a lush, verdant place. From the Plains west, we enter a land of little rain. The Pacific Northwest, with its temperate rainforest and ample moisture, is an exception.
California is famously arid. Here, in the San Francisco Bay Area, the average annual rainfall is a scant 20.4 inches a year.
This past March and April were some of the driest on the record. March was the 6th driest March in 89 years. As of this week, the East Bay Municipal Utility District (EBMUD), the water district that supplies Mountain Hardwear's offices--and my house--with water, began rationing water this week.
The EBMUD would like to reduce overall water use by 15 percent. Although California received ample snow this winter, spring has been unusually hot and dry, and water reservoirs are low.
These new restrictions on water usage, coupled with the possibility that we are entering another extended drought cycle, made me reconsider my gardening practices. This past weekend, I sat down with a nice fat stack of books on gardening in dry climates, and tried to make sense of my options. I was determined to start my own kitchen garden this summer, but the new water restrictions added a new wrinkle to my plans. And would the food that I grow at home truly be better for the environment than what I pick up at the store? Would I really leave a smaller carbon footprint?
Barn Owl, by John James Audubon, courtesy of the Huntington Library
By Cynthia Houng
Last week, we came across an owl pellet on our front patio. After a bit of research, we decided that the pellet probably came from a Barn Owl (Tyto Alba). Smooth, with bits of embedded fur and bone, the owl pellet reminded me of petrified dirt.
We haven't seen the owl. Not yet.
Owls are actually quite common near rural residences, and will even nest in some suburban neighborhoods, but their nocturnal habits render them elusive. I've caught occasional glimpses of barn owls, flying low at dusk, diving for prey. With their heart-shaped faces and duff-colored wings unmistakable, especially here in northern California, where we have no other large, light-colored owls. Once, walking alone, one flew towards me, swooping low overhead, and for a moment we looked eye-to-eye. It's easy, once you've looked into a barn owl's face and seen those marble-like eyes and that almost human face, why the barn owl is also known as the "monkey-faced owl."
Yesterday, Ueli wrote a little about camp cuisine.
Today, we want to know: what do you crave at altitude? What do you eat when you need to keep going?
Leave us a comment with your favorite foods--and a recipe or two, if you like--and let's find out what folks eat when they're on a big summit push.
And no, your office desk does not count as "altitude."
By Cynthia Houng
Illustration from James M. Hutchings's 1888 book, In the Heart of the Sierras.
When the snow begins to melt, a strange, brilliant red plant makes its appearance. Growing in singles or clusters, with fleshy, sword-shaped stalks like an asparagus, the snow plant forms a dazzling contrast to the drab brown leaf litter.
Without chlorophyll for photosynthesis, the snow plant is a saprophyte--it feeds on decomposing leaf litter, much like a mushroom or other fungus. The plant's botanical name, Sarcodes sanguinea, means "the blood red flesh eater," an apt description for this unusual saprophyte. Snow plants below to the heath family, but most heath plants make an honest living through photosynthesis.
At maturity, a snow plant ranges between 12 and 20 inches in height. After flowering, the plant sets seed and the stalk slowly dries to a dark reddish-brown. The snow plant was first described in English in 1851 by John Torrey, from a specimen collected by John C. Fremont.
Native to the western United States, the snow plant is distributed between the Siskiyou Mountains (Oregon) and the Sierra San Pedro Martir (Baja California). In the Sierras, snow plants appear in early spring, and bloom from May through July. Broadly distributed in California, they are often found growing in communities dominated by yellow pines, red firs, or lodgepole pines, and are most common between 4,000 and 8,000 feet. Snow plants appear to form symbiotic relationships with the mychorrhizal fungi that occur in pine forests.
Today, the snow plant is uncommon and should not be disturbed. In California, Sarcodes sanguinea is a protected species, and seed and plant collection are both prohibited by law.
Have you encountered this plant--or something similar--on your hikes? Leave us a comment and tell us about your find.
A few weeks ago, we highlighted KQED's report on mercury in the San Francisco Bay. This week, KQED follows with a report on mercury consumption. Should you eat that fish? This report might help you figure things out.
Nature finds you in unexpected places. I often hike in Wildcat Canyon, a park close to Mountain Hardwear's offices. On Sunday, I went on a solitary hike and chose an unfamiliar shortcut. The path, a deer path that arched down into a drainage basin that sometimes holds vernal pools, was overgrown. Weeds and thistles obscured the horizon. A snake crossed the path, and then, later, small brown voles scurried for cover.
In that overgrown jungle, I came across a set of deer tracks. Here and there, the grasses had been tamped down, the weeds' thick stems broken by some large creature.
I heard a rustling by the path, and the tall grass started to quake. Coyotes live in Wildcat Canyon, and I hoped it wasn't a coyote.
By Cynthia Houng
This spring, a team of researchers from San Francisco State University (SFSU) started the Great Sunflower Project. Alarmed by recent declines in the populations of bees and other pollinators, Professor Gretchen LeBuhn (Biology) wanted to learn more about the status of urban pollinators. But how to conduct a survey of pollinator populations in an an urban environment, where "habitat" consists largely of discrete private spaces? How does one monitor backyards and gardens?
LeBuhn decided to enlist an army of volunteers.
The Great Sunflower Project is deceptively simple. In exchange for a packet of sunflower seeds, volunteers enter their garden's location, describe their garden, and promise to plant the sunflower seeds. On designated weekends, volunteers count the number of bees (and other pollinators) that visit the sunflowers, and submit their bee counts online, at the Great Sunflower Project's website.
I signed up this week, and hope to receive a seed packet through the mail soon. To help SFSU researchers eliminate unwieldy extra variables, volunteers should only use Helianthus annuus, an annual sunflower native to the Plains states.
Beware of the San Francisco Bay's shimmering waters. There's mercury in those waters.
How did all that mercury get into our bay?
Most of the mercury dates from California's Gold Rush. 150 years ago, mercury was an essential ingredient in gold production. Miners "cooked" the raw ore with cinnabar, a mineral that contains mercury, and extracted pure 24 karat gold.
Watch Part One of KQED's special, "Mercury on the Bay:
By Will Meinen
Something magical happens in the mountains every spring. The temps warm up, the days are longer, and the possibilities are endless. Ice climbing, rocking climbing, alpine climbing, skiing, or biking. Whatever tickles your fancy.
A couple weeks ago we had planned to jumpstart the rock season by doing a quick road trip to Skaha. Located in the beautiful Okanogan Valley of British Columbia, Skaha is always a treat because of it summer-like temperatures (when the Rockies are still in full winter mode) and because of its beautiful granite cliffs (never take limestone for granite).
A day before leaving for Skaha, I had caught word that Fernie had gotten a foot of fresh snow and they were expecting more. I called Brent and asked him what he thought about a couple days of powder skiing before climbing granite in our t-shirts. He loved the idea, and that night we packed my truck with skis, goretex, goggles, rock shoes, and quickdraws.
By Nathan Friedman
I tiptoe my skis to the edge of the cornice, peering down to get a glimpse of what I'm about to drop in. As I look over the edge, our guide comes flying past with a quick "I'll see you down a ways" and launches the drop off the cornice. Three turns later and he flies around the corner and out of view hundreds of feet below us. I back up, gather some speed from the short approach, and drop off the cornice into a field full of snow with only a single track snaking down it.
By William Meinen
Classic Ice Climbs of the Rockies: Hydrophobia
It's usually around Thursday that I start to get squirrelly around the office and start making phone calls to find a partner to climb with for the weekend. My buddy Andy Gallant must have felt the same way because he called me before I had a chance to start my search through the Rolodex.
"Wanna try Hydro?"
"Let's do it!"
Hydrophobia is an ultra classic ice climb tucked in the Front Range mountains. The climb in and of itself is sheer and magnificent. A true marvel. The difficult access to the climb steps it up to a whole new level. 4x4 mandatory. Don't even bother trying it with anything less than 12" of clearance. A winch and tire chains are very helpful with the multiple river crossings and steep hill grades. With the climb and the access combined together it really becomes a unique adventure, hard to compare against anything else.
On Monday, April 7th, 2008, pro-Tibet protesters climbed the Golden Gate Bridge's South Tower and unfurled Tibetan flags and banners reading "Free Tibet" and "One World, One Dream, Free Tibet 08."
News coverage of the protest from the San Francisco-based station KTVU:
Officials arrested the protesters--but the group garnered considerable local and national publicity, especially in the wake of violent pro-Tibet and anti-China protests in Paris, France. In Paris, protesters attacked the Olympic torch bearers and managed to briefly extinguish the flame.
Read about the protesters and their message on the San Francisco Chronicle.
By Will Meinen
Last year while gearing up in the Yamnuska parking lot with Brandon Pullan, I noticed two older gentlemen who had just arrived in a sweet vintage Mercedes Benz sports coupe. As they got out and removed their alpine-coiled the ropes and circa '70 backpacks, I knew these gents had been around the block. Brandon was quick to inform me that it was none other then Andy Generoux and Urs Kallen. These were true legends in the Canadian Rockies, both with a huge list of significant first ascents.
Half a year later Brandon and I attended an Urs Kallen slideshow hosted by the Calgary chapter of the Alpine Club of Canada. Urs presented "The Bold and Cold 25"; his selection of his 'approved' alpine routes of the Canadian Rockies. Many of the routes were on my tick list. I talked with him after the show and soon he invited Brandon and me over for beers.
Several weeks ago Brandon and I headed over to his house with a case of cold brews. When Urs opened the door, he told us we could save our beers because he had a fridge full of fine imports already waiting for us. As soon as we stepped inside we each received two beers and headed into his 'climbers-only lounge'. As we headed up the stairs, he informed us he had not let many people in this section of his house. As the door opened it revealed a small room in his attic filled with archaic climbing gear, black and white photos of his climbing adventures and book shelves filled with enough climbing publications to fill a small library. Three chairs and a small round table sat at the end of the room. We all sat down and Urs Kallen told it like it was, over the course of our beers.
By Cynthia Houng
How many times have I driven down 108 towards Yosemite, and passed straight through the Sierra foothills? Focused on the mountains, we've seldom stopped along the way. When we have stopped, we've stopped to climb. I don't know the foothills the way that I know the high country. Until recently, I've largely known the landscape as a series of picturesque vignettes, glimpsed through a moving car.
This year, we picked up a book on wildflower walks in the Sierra foothills, and decided to start exploring. One sunny afternoon, we stopped at Knights Ferry, to walk along the banks of the Stanislaus River. We picnicked near the visitor's center, and walked the historic covered bridge, before venturing into a wonderland of wildflowers.
Blue lupines covered the hills. There were bush lupines, four or five feet tall, and there were spider lupines, a small, delicate type with spider-like leaves. A pair of golden eagles circled the water before returning to roost on the cliff. Here and there, we found patches of baby-blue-eyes, California poppies, brodaia (a lily-like bulb with small blue flowers), wild geraniums, purple vetches, and yellow buttercups. In the far distance, dark rainclouds hovered over the Sierras--a late winter storm, gathering over Yosemite Valley.
Continue reading "Early Spring Wildflower Walks in the Sierra Foothills" »
Sometimes you really do get lucky. The SF Chronicle reports that last month's wolverine sighting near Lake Tahoe wasn't a fluke.
Researchers have released 2 more photographs of wolverines, and believe they have over 50 hair and scat samples. Biologists will compare the samples with skins of California wolverines. If all goes right, DNA comparisons between these skins and the newly collected samples will reveal the Tahoe wolverines' identity. The wolverines' scat and hair should reveal their geographic origins. Until then, biologists cannot confirm that the wolverines are actually endemic to the Sierra Nevada. Some have suggested that the wolverines might have escaped from a captive population. While that is unlikely, scientist can't rule out that scenario without more evidence.
View More Photos from Malcolm's Excellent Adventure
By Malcolm Kent
Total madness. That's what I think when people say to me 'mixed ice climbing, that's easy, thats just like aid climbing, all you have to do is hang your arms off ice axes'. If only it was that easy. Then routes like 'Steel Koan' would have been repeated, routes like 'Illuminate' would have three or four ascents and routes like 'Jedi mind tricks' would have been done spurless. Oh, wait a second 'Jedi' was almost done spurless. Anyhow, it's not that easy, in fact hard mixed lines, are just that. Dead 'ard.
Continue reading "Malcolm's Excellent Adventure -- Trip Summary" »
View More Pictures from Chamonix
By Malcolm Kent
There have been a few colder days over the past week, but nothing anywhere near close enough to bring back the ice climbing conditions. As we watched the cascade d'arpennaz fall apart, piece by piece we decided it was time to go investigating.
Many years back I had a chat with Ian Parnell and he told me about a crag not too far from Chamonix where you could get in a bit of mixed/drytooling. He called it 'crag-x', which meant nothing to me, but I remembered vaguely where it was. After chatting with Jeff [Mercier], I put 2 and 2 together and figured that we should try and find where it actually was. Jeff's directions led us to a health and beauty spa in Le Fayet. Neither me or Rob could find any sign of crampon marks or tool placements in the ladies' changing rooms, so we figured we were better off walking up the gorge.
Eventually a slightly spooky trail took us to a small rock wall by the river. The crag was called the 'Dry Spa' and the topo told us of a dozen or so routes with French rock grades. It was an odd looking place started by one Mr Bruno Surzac. To be honest, I wasn't completely taken by the place, but at the same time I felt like I was engaging in some climbing history. This was the kind of place where people came to in the early days of leashless tooling in an attempt to train for hard mixed routes, without hacking at decent rock that could be used for sport climbing. Because of that it felt quite hidden and secretive and used by a small number people who were determined to train for mixed climbing all year round on real rock.
By Cynthia Houng
From a distance, the trees appear draped with lace. White lace, spun by expert fingers, then looped over the almonds' grey branches in exuberant swags. Up close, it's not lace, but thousands of tiny, delicate white flowers. The almond trees are in full bloom, and the bees are here.
Look carefully, and you will see stacks of small white boxes, no larger than a banker's box. White, rectangular, they house the honeybees responsible for pollinating acres upon acres of almond trees. If the bees do their job, the almond farmers can look forward--provided that the weather cooperates--to a nice, healthy crop. If the bees fail, then hard times are in order.
Almonds are a major cash crop in California, and 120, the road to Yosemite, is lined with almond orchards. Around Oakdale, the landscape changes, and almond trees and processing plants begin to appear by the side of the road. A full 100% of San Joaquin Valley's almond crop relies upon honeybee pollination. In early spring, local hotels fill up with beekeepers, some traveling thousands of miles, coming from as far away as Florida. Some 2,200 tractor-trailer loads of bees arrive in the San Joaquin Valley during the almonds' bloom period. Anxious growers survey the bees--and reject those that they deem too weak to perform their task.
Bees are expensive. The Almond Board estimates that "bee rentals" comprise some 20% of a grower's annual expenses.
Most years, the pollination business is fraught with anxiety. Almond trees bloom early, towards the end of February and beginning of March. Spring rains and uncertain temperatures mean that the bees may or may not have enough time to complete their task before the almonds finish their bloom. Too much rain, too much cold, and the bees sit idle in their boxes.
This year, however, colony collapse disorder has thrown a new wrench into the delicate process.
On Sunday morning, Katie Moriarty discovered something very unusual when she began sifting through footage captured by her digital camera. Her camera, operated by heat-and-motion sensors, had captured an image of a wolverine.
Moriarty, an Oregon State graduate student, uses the cameras to track martens, a weasel-like creature that inhabits pine forests. Neither she nor her colleagues at the Forest Service's Pacific Southwest Research Station ever expected to find a wolverine. The last confirmed sighting of a wolverine was in 1922. Sunday's sighting occurred in the Truckee area.
The wolverine (Gulo gulo) is a close relative of the mink and the weasel--and thus a distant cousin of Moriarty's martens. Solitary hunters, wolverines need large swaths of territory to support themselves. They are omnivores, and will sometimes attack caribou, deer, and other large prey. With their thick, lush fur (once prized by trappers), wolverines can survive in a range of cold climates, from alpine forests to open tundra. Wolverines range from northern Europe and Siberia through North America. They were once found as far south as Indiana and Illinois. They were never particularly common in the Sierra Nevada. Francis Farquhar, an early president of the Sierra Club, described the wolverine as "powerful and fearlness and [he] never retreats." In Farquhar's estimation, the wolverine was "not to be trifled with."
By Cynthia Houng
Spring is the time to catch California's wildflowers. During this narrow window between the winter rains and summer drought, wildflowers put on a spectacular show. In East of Eden, John Steinbeck waxed lyrical over the Salinas Valley's gold-stippled hills. In Steinbeck's time, tidy-tips, California poppies, and other native flowers blossomed in drifts, transforming the South Bay's rolling hills into rich tapestries of color.
This year, ample rains and warm temperatures promise another heart-stopping wildflower season. Our wildflower season typically runs from March to May. Treat yourself to a wildflower hike. You won't regret it.
Track the wildflowers online:
Desert
Anza-Borrego State Park's Wildflower Update -- this week's flowers include desert lilies, ocotillo, lupine, brown-eyed primrose, fishhook cactus, sand verbena, desert evening primrose, phacelia, desert canterbury bells, etc.
Death Valley National Park publishes weekly wildflower updates.
Desert USA aggregates wildflower reports from the Southwestern states.
Closer to home
Here in the Bay Area, the Marin County, East Bay, and Monterey Bay chapters of the California Native Plant Society sponsor guided wildflower hikes and other activities.
Those new to California wildflowers will enjoy the Marin County California Native Plant Society's handy Bay Area Wildflower photo gallery.
Mt. Diablo State Park, located in East Contra Costa County, is one of my favorite wildflower spots.
The park contains a surprising variety of microclimates, from dry chapparel to moist deciduous woodland. In previous years, I've encountered everything from the common (shooting stars (Dodecatheon hendersonii, paintbrush (Castelleja affinis)) to the rare (Mt. Diablo Fairy Lanterns (Calochortus pulchellus)).
If your wildflower hikes inspire you to make room in your garden for California's native plants--and you just happen to live in the Bay Area--consider signing up for the annual "Bringing Back the Natives Garden Tour." The tour highlights exceptional East Bay native gardens, and you're sure to come away with lots of ideas.
By William Meinen
After spending several weekends, back to back, bolting the Rehab Wall, Brandon Pullan and I decided it would be nice to get on something a little bit longer. The way I see it single-pitch climbing isn't really climbing. It's training for climbing.
I hadn't been on anything too big since the cast came off, so I was stoked. As I flipped through the trusty guide book I came across the Coire Dubh Integrale:
"An ultra classic mini alpine climb. It combines ice, rock and snow, all at a moderate grade and high quality. Several waterfall ice pitches lead to snow gullies and rock bands. Fossilized rock accepts trad gear in the crack systems. Winter alpine climbing, without the miserable bivy and long approaches that are so common to the sport."
Continue reading "Rockies Classic: Coire Dubh Integrale 5.7 WI-3 550M" »
We're trying out this newfangled social networking thing. We've made a Mountain Hardwear page on Facebook. We hope you'll have fun with our new page, and we hope that the page helps us get to know you just a little bit better.
By Dawn Glanc
I was climbing yesterday, Friday February 22, 2008, outside a village called Saint Christophe with some other guides. After completing the first pitch, I was at the belay, just standing there with my friend Lissa. Her husband, Adrian, was up one ledge above us. I was waiting for Dylan to come up so he could take photos of the second pitch. Adrian had just built his belay and then shouted and alarming "ICE!"
A piece of ice about the size of a small pillow came from above all of us, almost out of no where. It happened so fast. It first hit the ledge Adrian was on, then came right at me and Lissa. We both tried to duck out of the way but the ice smacked me in my left cheek and then left forearm.
By Dawn Glanc
February 15, 2008
After an easy flight and a short bus ride I arrived in La Grave, France on February 9. The purpose of the trip is to ski and climb the amazing terrain here in the La Grave area.
