Anlerale

There are many reasons why I live in and love Orange County:
The weather is almost always perfect, there’s a Starbucks on every corner and almost any store you could name that exists west of the Rockies is within a 5 mile radius of my office.

Any those same reasons are why I need to get out of the County every few weeks:
You’ll hear people whine on local radio during one of our 3 rain storms every year, “I moved to Southern California so I wouldn’t have to deal with the rain!” Realty-TV attitude dripping from their mouth; there’s no unfamiliarity in this bloody place and all of those stores mentioned above have created a materialistic culture matched by no county that I’ve ever been to.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the weather, I love my coffee and the stores come in handy – but sometimes, all I really need is friends, family and some “anlerale”.

The idea for the trip had been berthed months earlier as my little sister Ali and her husband Mike decided they were road-tripping to Colorado over spring break to see my other sister Annie and her husband Pete. Pete and Annie live the life that most adventurers dream of: As the directors of the adventure sports ministry at camp Ad-Ra-Ha-Je in Bailey, Colorado, they live in a cabin at 9,000 feet in the Rockies and spend their time ministering to youth and taking them on all sorts of adventure sports adventures in the Rockies. My friend Katie was on spring break as well and the two of us flew out from California and rounded out the group of six.

Our itinerary was simple: pack as many outdoor sports as possible into our 4 day stay in the Rockies and experience some of the much-heralded “anlerale”

We piled into two cars and headed out for a day of climbing at “Bucksnort”. We crossed the freeway and taking the “back way”, we found ourselves on a dirt road following a meandering creek which cut its way through a canyon. Time hadn’t moved in this canyon in 50 years. Old log homes were perched on the hills, some occupied and some looking as though they might tumble down the slope and at a passer-by’s sneeze. Homemade bridges that looked like they wouldn’t support a squirrel running across doubled as driveways over the creek to the creek-side homes. As we rounded one corner, Pete pointed out “There’s the Bucksnort”.

Now, the rock and the saloon are both named the same – I’m not sure which came first. As we drove past the rickety old shack with neon signs in the window, I couldn’t help but salivate in anticipation of whatever the “anlerale” might bring me. We made our way to the rock for a day of 5.7 & 5.8 crack. Crystal-clear skies and 60 degrees made for some fantastic climbing, arm-wrestling and pipe-smoking. Even Ali got on some rock.

After a day of climbing, we drove a couple of miles back up the dirt road, pulled up to the saloon and made our way inside. The old wooden door creaked as we stepped inside. We were greeted by a moose wearing lipstick and a pool table that sat idle waiting for our post dinner game of cut-throat.

We walked in the dining area and were sat by the old German woman that I had heard so much about. We made her repeat every sentence she uttered at least twice. She combined almost every word she said. Sometimes we didn’t know if she was speaking in German with an English accent or the other way around. Trying to decipher what she said reminded me of the time I saw a Japanese guy who spoke no English try to special order something from a Polish speaking vendor in O’Hare airport in Chicago. To this day I (nor the Polish guy) knew what he wanted. At any rate, no one really knows how our German friend got to America or what she is doing at the Bucksnort.

“Wha’llyouguyshave?” she asked.
“What kind of beers do you have?” I asked.
“BudMillerLightHeineken[blah, blah, blah, blah…] Anlerale…”
I interrupted – “You have Anlerale?”
“Suredo” the old German said.
“We’ll have a pitcher of that” I said.

No one really knows of the origins or composition of Anlerale. Our best guess is that what our German friend is trying to say is “Antler Ale”. She informed us that the brew was locally brewed in Golden, Colorado. However, having a pitcher we were unable to confirm this by an address on the bottle. A Google search will reveal a plethora of different breweries with an Antler Ale. Which one our German friend served us will forever remain a mystery. Slightly hoppy and tasting similar to an amber – it was like Sam Adams meets Alaskan Amber: a full-flavored beer that fully satisfied our cravings after a day of hard climbing. We ordered burgers and stuffed our faces until completely sated and waddled our way into the pool room. We took photos, played pool, rubbed our bellies, discussed why the moose was wearing lipstick and thoroughly enjoyed our adventure at the Bucksnort

The Bucksnort Saloon is not a place you’ll find in Orange County. It’s not a place you’ll find on the side on any well marked road. To find places as authentic as this you have wander, or know people who have wandered.

So cheers to wandering and cheers to leaving Orange County and cheers to Anlerale.

Reflections on Joshua Tree

I don’t think there’s a place that I’ve visited that is as unique as Joshua Tree National Park. The adjectives that come to mind are serene, otherworldly, isolated, busy, timeless, calm, violent, intriguing... The Joshua Tree itself is a rare and unique beast. Growing only in the high deserts of Southern California, it looks jacked and perfect all at the same time. The Joshua tree was named by Mormon pioneers who when seeing the tree thought that it resembled what the Biblical Joshua would have looked like brandishing his sword for battle. Other plants in the Park include Yucca and various other angry plants. I pretty much decided that every growing thing in the park is angry. I’m not sure why that is, but let me illustrate.

Take for example the Joshua Tree – a labyrinth of limbs and outgrowths that follow no particular order. Every square inch of the tree is covered in pricks and points will make the toughest bloque scream. I think I’d rather take a bath in hydrochloric acid (HCL – thanks Mr. Bill) than tumble down the side of a Joshua Tree. Now look at the Yucca plan – giant pricklies (that’s the scientific term) on the end of each leaf. Now look at every other bush or tree that I don’t know the name to and they’re all angry. Each, outfitted with its own unique weapon of destruction. Look at the rock – the reason most people visit Joshua Tree National Park. J-Tree rock is the sharpest rock I’ve ever touched. Two hours on that stuff and your fingers will be screaming for a week – calmed only by an Anderson Valley IPA from the Crossroads Café – just outside of the park.

James and I got up on a brisk December morning and headed out for the 2 ½ hour drive to Josh. There are a couple traditions that must be observed: The Water Canyon Coffee Company and the Crossroads Café. The former is the morning caffeination stop which serves both to get the brain working and to induce the morning slide. The latter is the post climbing feast consisting of the Crossroads burger and a number of Anderson Valley IPAs (the number corresponding directly with the dehydration factor and the how bad your fingers hurt).

We bouldered for about 3 hours on Gunsmoke, the Piano Crack, and a few other problems of which we didn’t know the names and then went to find our campsite. The wind was howling so we tried to find a fairly sheltered place. We headed up to the tallest point in Josh and watched the sun set. The wind had to be blowing in excess of 40 miles per hour up there and with the sun setting – geez, it was downright bitter. Ok, now I can see why some plants might be a little upset. We headed back down the mountain, near frozen and built a raging fire to warm our bones. We drank some Anchor Steem
s, shared some Anchor Steems with our neighbors and passed out for a chilly night under the stars.

With sore hands, we got up the next day and built a fire and made some breakfast. We hiked up Ryan mountain which turned out to be a really good mellow hike – about 2 ½ hours round trip. We snapped some pictures, added a few boulders to the shrine on top of Ryan Mountain and headed back down and back to Orange County.

Book Review: The Worst Journey in the World

Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyon the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Tennyson,
Ulysses


I recently finished reading "The Worst Journey in the World" by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. ACG tell an heroic tale of loss and courage in Antarctica.

In March of 1912, Robert Scott, Titus Oates, Bill Wilson, Seaman Evans and Birdie Bowers perished of cold and starvation on their return journey from the South Pole. It had been a race to the Pole between the British and Amundsen and the Norwegians which had ended triumphant for Amundsen and his crew, and fatal for the British party.

On June 15, 1910, the Terra Nova set sail from Cardiff bound for Antarctica. The Terra Nova would return to Cardiff on June 14, 1913 with news of the defeat at the hands of the Norwegians and without their Captain Robert Scott and 4 of his best men.

The story is told by Apsley Cherry-Garrard; a 24 year old man at the time the Terra Nova set sail. ACG draws from his experiences and from others' journals to explain the facts, thoughts, emotions and the science behind 3 years in Antarctica. ACG lived to tell the tale of The Worst Journey in the World, which was not the race to the Pole, but the journey a year prior where ACG and Wilson traveled in the dead of winter, through 4 months of darkness and -78 degree cold, over crevasses, at times cheating death, for the sole purpose of recovering for scientific purposes the very first Emperor Penguin egg. ACG describes how at times during the Winter Journey he wished for nothing more than death.

All was not grief in Antarctica. ACG writes, "Those Hut Point [one of the permanent huts constructed in Antarctica] days would prove some of the happiest of my life. Just enough to eat and keep us warm, no more - no frills nor trimmings: there is many a worse and more elaborate life. The necessaries of civilization were luxuries to us...the luxuries of civilization satisfy only those wants which they themselves create."

ACG writes a gripping tale of life, loss, friendship, determination, adventure and science in Antarctica.

If you are a brave man, you will do nothing: if you are fearful you may do much, for none but cowards have need to prove their bravery. Some will tell you that you are mad, and nearly all will say 'What is the use?' For we are a nation of shopkeepers, and no shopkeeper will look at research which does not promise him a financial return within a year. And so you will sledge nearly alone, but those with whom you sledge will not be shopkeepers: that is worth a good deal. If you march your Winter Journeys you will have your reward, so long as all you want is a penguin's egg. - ACG

Yosemite; The Polar Journey

Factor #1: 5+ hours in vehicle

Factor #2: Friday is becoming Saturday

Factor #3: Euphoria about Yosemite

Result: Impersonations

Bear

Blowfish

Turtle smoking a cigar? (Work with me here. My second guess was a small Chinese woman with a bad joint)

Katie, Jess and I drove to Yosemite Friday night. The plan was to stay in Curry Village with about 17 of Katie’s friends in one tent cabin.

The tentative plan for locating the overstuffed tent cabin (There are probably 800 of these things in Curry Village a

nd opening the door to the wrong tent cabin could present an awkward situation) was for Natalie to leave a not on her car indicating which lucky tent cabin would be hosting 17 college students.

What actually happened was Natalie’s phone worked in the Valley, she texded us the cabin number(s) (thrift had given way to reason and two cabins were reserved) and we found our posse without a hitch.

For anyone who’s never been cross-county skiing, it’s not as easy as you might think. I’ve downhill skied for years and might fall once or twice in a day. On our 6 mile loop to Dewey Point, I face-planted, bruised my shin with my skis, whacked people with my poles and nearly took out a tree…or maybe the other way around, a la Sonny. We climbed up hill, fell down hill, dodged trees and skied through a huge meadow. As we approached the Point, someone commented, “Don’t ski off the point”. “Ok”, I said. I’m not gonna lie, I hadn’t really thought about skiing

off the point. We hugged the middle of the chute heading down to the point. When we arrived I looked back and noted that it really would have been very easy to ski off the point. With mounds and mounts of snow, it was impossible to decipher where the end of sold ground was and where a large overhanging snow drift began.

Our reward for 2 hours of work was a sweeping winter view from Dewey Point. After photos, high-fives, beef jerky, peanut butter, chocolate, carrots, and anything else that passers-by might hand out to us, we headed back. On the way out to Dewey Point, we stopped over

and over to dig our heads out of the snow after face planting. I’d say between 17 people, there where a combi

ned 1,237 falls (if you count the times where will gave out and people scooted, crab walked, or rolled down hills). On the way back, I witnessed 5 total falls. That’s a delta of 1,232 if you’re counting. I’m not sure what the difference was, but we raced back to the lodge.

Top 5 Reasons to visit the Valley during winter:

• Fewer Turons
• Bears are still in hibernation
• Coffee tastes even better when it’s less than 30 degrees
• Driving in ice
• Watching the stars in the meadow on hard-packed snow