Today I made marionberry jammers! I used the Grand Central Bakery cookbook that the MacRae/Rowans gave me, and a jar of jam I picked up at the Made In Oregon store in the Portland airport.
For the non-Pacific Northwesterners, this is a marionberry (90% of which are apparently grown in Oregon):
You buy jammers at this place called Grand Central Bakery, which apparently only exists in Portland and Seattle. In other words, a marionberry jammer is not really something you expect to see east of the Cascades, much less in Cambridge. But today I got a slice of Oregon.
Tasty jam:
Before baking:
The finished product (turned out really well!):
Yuki and I made a little party of it:
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Three Awesome Things!
1. VOLCANO
There is a volcano erupting in Iceland, under a glacier called "Eyjafjallajökull." Take a guess on how that's pronounced, then click here to see how close you are! The glacier looks like this (or did, before the eruption):
Below is a video of the eruption. The last 30 seconds or so, with the rivers of lava, is the best part.
2. CLEAN CLEAN CLEAN
Today, my housemates Ken and Karl and I flipped out and cleaned the living room and dining room, and the condo looks so much more spacious. It's wonderful. I also filled 9 trash bags with old stuff from old first-floor residents, but barely made a dent in the piles of junk. Someday, that place will also be clean! Someday.
3. ROCK OUT
My band (me, Larissa, and Hubert) is apparently calling ourselves "Soap Yourself" these days, and we wrote a new song for Song Fight! Click here and then click on Soap Yourself to hear our song, entitled "Robot Ninja Zombie Bear." (The mix is a bit muddy, yeah, we know. We need a mixer. Donations accepted. :)
I sleep now.
There is a volcano erupting in Iceland, under a glacier called "Eyjafjallajökull." Take a guess on how that's pronounced, then click here to see how close you are! The glacier looks like this (or did, before the eruption):
Below is a video of the eruption. The last 30 seconds or so, with the rivers of lava, is the best part.
2. CLEAN CLEAN CLEAN
Today, my housemates Ken and Karl and I flipped out and cleaned the living room and dining room, and the condo looks so much more spacious. It's wonderful. I also filled 9 trash bags with old stuff from old first-floor residents, but barely made a dent in the piles of junk. Someday, that place will also be clean! Someday.
3. ROCK OUT
My band (me, Larissa, and Hubert) is apparently calling ourselves "Soap Yourself" these days, and we wrote a new song for Song Fight! Click here and then click on Soap Yourself to hear our song, entitled "Robot Ninja Zombie Bear." (The mix is a bit muddy, yeah, we know. We need a mixer. Donations accepted. :)
I sleep now.
Labels:
cleaning,
Eyjafjallajökull,
iceland,
songfight,
volcano
Saturday, March 13, 2010
South Sister, Oregon (An Illustrated Guide)
This is a blog post for people who like looking at pictures of mountain hikes...
It's time to start talking about mountains in this blog. Mountains are one of my great passions in life. They are important enough for me that I avoided applying to graduate schools in Illinois because it's too darn flat there. I wouldn't survive.
We'll start small. Today's post is about South Sister, the first "real" mountain I ever climbed. There are many definitions of what a mountain is, but nothing standardized, so everyone seems to define them differently. When I say South Sister is the first "real" mountain I climbed, I roughly define "mountain" as meaning "at least as awesome as the Cascades." It's certainly the first mountain I climbed that has a year-round glacier. I say this is "starting small" because it's a completely non-technical climb, at least in the late summer.
All of this is nitpicking, though, so let's get on to the mountain itself:
The mountain looks very far away at this point. Section 2 is the most relaxing of the sections. It passes by a lake!
By the end of this section, you are standing at the beginning of the big ascent.
Section 3. The rocky trail upward. This section continuously ascends the side of the mountain. It is covered in pale rocks and small trees. The following picture shows a random guy from flickr at the beginning of section 3. If you click on the photo, you can see the large version. The reddish cap on the mountain, if you can see that part, is section 4. Distance-wise, section 4 is short. Section 3 is from where the guy is standing up to the beginning of the red section:
The way up from here is entirely "scree," or "talus." It's crumbly volcanic rock, and at times, the way is a bit steep. You take a step forward and slide a bit back, so the way is tiring at times. Here's another view:
It's time to start talking about mountains in this blog. Mountains are one of my great passions in life. They are important enough for me that I avoided applying to graduate schools in Illinois because it's too darn flat there. I wouldn't survive.
We'll start small. Today's post is about South Sister, the first "real" mountain I ever climbed. There are many definitions of what a mountain is, but nothing standardized, so everyone seems to define them differently. When I say South Sister is the first "real" mountain I climbed, I roughly define "mountain" as meaning "at least as awesome as the Cascades." It's certainly the first mountain I climbed that has a year-round glacier. I say this is "starting small" because it's a completely non-technical climb, at least in the late summer.
All of this is nitpicking, though, so let's get on to the mountain itself:
(Image courtesy of USGS/Cascades Volcano Observatory)
There she is. 10,363 feet. Sparks Lake is in the foreground.
The unfortunate thing, from a blogging perspective, is that South Sister probably looks just like any other mountain to the majority of people reading this. Until I climbed it, South Sister looks like just another Cascade volcano to me, too. But the interesting thing that happens when you spend a day climbing a mountain is that you get to know its shape very, very well. You grow to respect just how huge these mountains are. When you finish climbing a mountain and look back up, you know every step of the route you took, and you see the mountain in a whole new light.
So, to me, South Sister looks both beautiful and nostalgic. Looking at pictures of it makes me want to climb it first thing tomorrow.
South Sister has some neighbors, which I haven't climbed. It is part of the Three Sisters:
South Sister is on the left. The others, predictably, are Middle Sister and North Sister.
To the southeast is this guy, Broken Top, which is covered in talus slopes:
(Image courtesy of USGS/Cascades Volcano Observatory)
Route to the Summit
I was going to title this section "The Climb," but alas, Miley Cyrus ruined that possibility.
The standard route to the summit has four sections. It takes about 10-12 hours. Unfortunately, I can't post my own photos because my hard drive with the photos died, so we're stuck with random photos from the internet.
Section 1. Uphill through the trees. I've climbed South Sister twice (one with kchen, a guy some of you will know!), and both times we started the hike around 8am. Prime mosquito time. There are tons of mosquitoes in the first section of the climb, so it usually turns into 45 minutes of speed walking/jogging while constantly slapping the bugs off your arms.
Section 2. The flat section. This section begins when you emerge out of the woods and get a beautiful view of the mountain.
By the end of this section, you are standing at the beginning of the big ascent.
Section 3. The rocky trail upward. This section continuously ascends the side of the mountain. It is covered in pale rocks and small trees. The following picture shows a random guy from flickr at the beginning of section 3. If you click on the photo, you can see the large version. The reddish cap on the mountain, if you can see that part, is section 4. Distance-wise, section 4 is short. Section 3 is from where the guy is standing up to the beginning of the red section:
Here's the view from part-way up section 3, looking back. If you click on the photo to see a larger version you can see the path stretching away along the flat section:
Section 4. The scree (talus) slope. At the beginning of this section, there's a nice glacial lake:
The way up from there looks like this:
The way up from here is entirely "scree," or "talus." It's crumbly volcanic rock, and at times, the way is a bit steep. You take a step forward and slide a bit back, so the way is tiring at times. Here's another view:
If you look straight down, it looks like you're walking on Mars sometimes:
The way up taught me a lot about pacing on uphill climbs.
The Summit. The summit has chipmunks who would very much like to eat your snacks:
There are piles of rocks arranged into windbreakers that shelter areas to sit and camp. I should try backpacking up there and spending a night on the summit crater... Here's the crater, with a year-round glacier and Oregon's highest lake, Teardrop Pool:
Most people hike around the crater before beginning their descent. You can even hike down to the pool itself, but it's very cold.
Here are some views from the summit. The view of Middle and North Sister:
The view of Broken Top from the summit:
The Descent. The descent is mostly relaxing. An extra pair of socks is strongly recommended, because the descent down the scree slope gets lots of rocks and dust in your socks. "Conveniently," the warmer part of the day, when the mosquitoes take some time off, you're up above the mosquito-infested forest. By the time you make it back down to the forest (section 1), the mosquitoes are out in force again. Both times I've made this climb, I've spent the last half hour of the looong day running downhill through the woods, brushing at my arms constantly. I hate those mosquitoes.
Closing Notes. As I've said, the climb takes 10-12 hours. Most people drink about a gallon of water. I drink about a gallon and a half. Bring that extra pair of socks for after descending the scree slope. Bring some bug repellent. Let me know if you would like to climb this mountain! I will climb it with you.
(Image courtesy of USGS/Cascades Volcano Observatory)
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Trip Report: Ostrich Land!
Time for something a little bit different this week. I visited UC Santa Barbara this weekend, and while I could go on at length about my experiences there, I am only going to talk about... Ostrich Land!
And here are the beautiful, fluffy, terrifying ostriches I got to feed:
I'll leave you with a picture of me as an ostrich-riding Native American woman:
Woo Hoo! Ostrich Land!
Ostrich Land was a spur-of-the-moment detour away from our planned wine-tasting trip through the hills north of of Santa Barbara. I had never seen an ostrich or an emu in person before, that I could remember, and let me tell you: Ostrich Land was 10 minutes of concentrated awesome.
Here is an emu, which is kind of small compared to an ostrich:
And here are the beautiful, fluffy, terrifying ostriches I got to feed:
Ostriches have amazingly powerful legs (apparently they can kick you as hard as a horse, and can trample you if they try, though this information is second-hand). They also have strong beaks that can take away the food bowl if you don't hold on with both hands.
Yes, they like to bite.
Fun ostrich facts that I learned:
- Ostriches have long eyelashes
- Ostriches give birth standing up, so their eggs have extremely hard shells that you need to break open with a little chisel if you want to eat the contents
- You can eat ostrich eggs! If you scramble an ostrich egg, it can feed multiple people.
- Ostrich is a red meat. People eat it.
- Despite discussion of ostriches as food, Ostrich Land does not kill its birds. There is a big open area that the ostriches and emus can run through! You can see the free-range area in the background of the above pictures.
I'll leave you with a picture of me as an ostrich-riding Native American woman:
Sunday, February 28, 2010
K2, and an Introduction to Ski Mountaineering
This week's blog idea started with the thought: "Has anyone skied down K2?" K2 is the world's second-tallest mountain, and is considered to be much more difficult to climb than Mount Everest. It has a fatality rate of around 25%, second only to Annapurna among the 8,000+ meter mountains. Here it is:
Pretty. (Note the talus slopes in the foreground.) To get an idea of the difficulty of the mountain, this is from Wikipedia:
The first woman to reach the summit was Wanda Rutkiewicz, of Poland, in 1986. The next four women to reach the summit were all killed in climbing incidents — three of them died descending from K2 itself, among them fêted British mountaineer Alison Hargreaves in 1995, and Rutkiewicz herself died on Kangchenjunga in 1992. This led to the legend that K2 carried a "curse on women".
...
After Eun-Sun Oh in 2007, Cecilie Skog became the tenth woman to have summitted successfully (on 1 August 2008) but her husband, Rolf Bae, who was climbing with her, died during the descent along with 10 other climbers in the 2008 climbing accident.
So, has anyone skied it? Almost.
Last August, an American named Dave Watson made a nearly-successful attempt. He got to within 400 meters of the summit, managing to reach the top of the deadly "Bottleneck" of K2, and skied down from there. He was the first person to ski the Bottleneck, and this isn't too surprising. The Bottleneck is a narrow, steep (50-60 degrees) slope. Dangerous seracs hang over one side of the route. Seracs are blocks of ice, formed in glaciers, that look like this:
In steep routes, their main purpose appears to be falling at unpredictable times and squashing people. The biggest accident on K2 occurred in 2008 and killed eleven climbers, and six of these deaths were due to falling seracs at the Bottleneck. Two of the serac-related deaths were due to a serac cutting ropes and stranding people in the "death zone." The death zone (where the Bottleneck is) is the altitude at which the air is so thin that the body uses oxygen faster than it can take in oxygen. It's the altitude at which death is guaranteed if you get stranded there by, say, falling seracs.
Back to Dave Watson. He reached the top of the Bottleneck in the death zone next to the wall of seracs amid "chest deep" snow (first-hand account here). It was getting late, so he skied down K2 from the top of the Bottleneck. To quote from that source:
"As all of the other climbers were rappelling down the ropes, Watson prepared for his first turn down the 60-degree face, 10,000 feet above the team's basecamp. "Committing to that first turn," he writes, "was incredibly exciting." "
Hmm. No kidding.
After reaching base camp and realizing he wasn't dead yet, Dave Watson decided he was going to try to ski from the summit this year: 2010. Be sure to look for news of his next attempt. (Only so many times you can try this sort of thing before luck catches up to you and you get killed by a falling serac... knock on glacier.)
The sport of climbing mountains and skiing down is called ski mountaineering, and it's reasonably common on the less-technical mountains. I've seen ski mountaineers on Mount Adams, WA, and would like to try skiing that route myself. But there are, obviously, those who go ski mountaineering on the insanely technical mountains as well.
Kit Deslauriers was the first person to ski down the seven summits (the highest point on each continent), beating out Davo Karnicar by less than a month. Kit Deslauriers has an excellent website with pictures of her ski mountaineering. Click here to see the photos.
I'll leave you with a couple of pictures of ski mountaineering on Everest. Note the oxygen mask in the second photo.
Pretty. (Note the talus slopes in the foreground.) To get an idea of the difficulty of the mountain, this is from Wikipedia:
The first woman to reach the summit was Wanda Rutkiewicz, of Poland, in 1986. The next four women to reach the summit were all killed in climbing incidents — three of them died descending from K2 itself, among them fêted British mountaineer Alison Hargreaves in 1995, and Rutkiewicz herself died on Kangchenjunga in 1992. This led to the legend that K2 carried a "curse on women".
...
After Eun-Sun Oh in 2007, Cecilie Skog became the tenth woman to have summitted successfully (on 1 August 2008) but her husband, Rolf Bae, who was climbing with her, died during the descent along with 10 other climbers in the 2008 climbing accident.
So, has anyone skied it? Almost.
Last August, an American named Dave Watson made a nearly-successful attempt. He got to within 400 meters of the summit, managing to reach the top of the deadly "Bottleneck" of K2, and skied down from there. He was the first person to ski the Bottleneck, and this isn't too surprising. The Bottleneck is a narrow, steep (50-60 degrees) slope. Dangerous seracs hang over one side of the route. Seracs are blocks of ice, formed in glaciers, that look like this:
In steep routes, their main purpose appears to be falling at unpredictable times and squashing people. The biggest accident on K2 occurred in 2008 and killed eleven climbers, and six of these deaths were due to falling seracs at the Bottleneck. Two of the serac-related deaths were due to a serac cutting ropes and stranding people in the "death zone." The death zone (where the Bottleneck is) is the altitude at which the air is so thin that the body uses oxygen faster than it can take in oxygen. It's the altitude at which death is guaranteed if you get stranded there by, say, falling seracs.
Back to Dave Watson. He reached the top of the Bottleneck in the death zone next to the wall of seracs amid "chest deep" snow (first-hand account here). It was getting late, so he skied down K2 from the top of the Bottleneck. To quote from that source:
"As all of the other climbers were rappelling down the ropes, Watson prepared for his first turn down the 60-degree face, 10,000 feet above the team's basecamp. "Committing to that first turn," he writes, "was incredibly exciting." "
Hmm. No kidding.
After reaching base camp and realizing he wasn't dead yet, Dave Watson decided he was going to try to ski from the summit this year: 2010. Be sure to look for news of his next attempt. (Only so many times you can try this sort of thing before luck catches up to you and you get killed by a falling serac... knock on glacier.)
The sport of climbing mountains and skiing down is called ski mountaineering, and it's reasonably common on the less-technical mountains. I've seen ski mountaineers on Mount Adams, WA, and would like to try skiing that route myself. But there are, obviously, those who go ski mountaineering on the insanely technical mountains as well.
Kit Deslauriers was the first person to ski down the seven summits (the highest point on each continent), beating out Davo Karnicar by less than a month. Kit Deslauriers has an excellent website with pictures of her ski mountaineering. Click here to see the photos.
I'll leave you with a couple of pictures of ski mountaineering on Everest. Note the oxygen mask in the second photo.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Trip Report: Skiing on Loon Mountain
I've decided to add trip reports to my blog, but I'll keep them short unless they're awesome. Today I went skiing with Andrew on Loon Mountain in New Hampshire! It looked like this, with fewer clouds:
Time to introduce the euphamism that Peter L. invented: "finesse." Instead of saying, "This slope is icy crap," you say, "Well, this slope lends itself to finesse." Makes ice a lot more fun to ski on, actually. So, how were today's ski conditions, you might ask? Well, they lended themselves to quite a lot of finesse. I even went on my first finesse-filled double-black diamond! (All previous ones had nice snow did not lend themselves to much finesse.)
The view was pretty, though, and much fun was had.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Welcome to Talus Slopes!
Talus Slopes is a blog that I am starting as part of the Iron Blogger project. The idea is that I make at least one post a week, and if I ever miss one, I am required to donate $5 to the Beer Pool. Then once a month or so, all the Iron Bloggers go out for subsidized beer!
The initial focus of Talus Slopes will be outdoor expeditions and extreme sports of interest. Expect discussions of beautiful mountains, backpacking routes, natural wonders, and people jumping off cliffs with skis on their feet. As the blog goes on, I may branch off into discussions of other excellent activities I am passionate about, such as music and roleplaying.
(On that note, a shameless plug: my band that just formed up wrote a song last week for a competition called "Song Fight." You can read about Song Fight here. Go listen to my song by clicking here and clicking on my band name, "Soap Yourself." If you don't think the song sucks too much, consider voting for it!)
Finally, a bit of information about the title of this blog. A "talus slope" is a slope of accumulated rocks, generally formed at the base of cliffs. I learned about the term on a backpacking trip through Jefferson Park with my friend Eli A-J. The route directions told us to hike until we saw a talus slope, and then turn. As neither of us knew what the term meant, we had some fun speculating on how "talus-y" each of these slopes looked. Since then, we've become fans (perhaps even connoisseurs) of talus. Here are some characteristic talus slopes (click for larger images):
The initial focus of Talus Slopes will be outdoor expeditions and extreme sports of interest. Expect discussions of beautiful mountains, backpacking routes, natural wonders, and people jumping off cliffs with skis on their feet. As the blog goes on, I may branch off into discussions of other excellent activities I am passionate about, such as music and roleplaying.
(On that note, a shameless plug: my band that just formed up wrote a song last week for a competition called "Song Fight." You can read about Song Fight here. Go listen to my song by clicking here and clicking on my band name, "Soap Yourself." If you don't think the song sucks too much, consider voting for it!)
Finally, a bit of information about the title of this blog. A "talus slope" is a slope of accumulated rocks, generally formed at the base of cliffs. I learned about the term on a backpacking trip through Jefferson Park with my friend Eli A-J. The route directions told us to hike until we saw a talus slope, and then turn. As neither of us knew what the term meant, we had some fun speculating on how "talus-y" each of these slopes looked. Since then, we've become fans (perhaps even connoisseurs) of talus. Here are some characteristic talus slopes (click for larger images):
Pretty, aren't they? Maybe it's just me... Well, welcome to Talus Slopes! Enjoy your stay.
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