It all started with a wedding invitation. My cousin, who growing up was like a sister to me, was getting married in Denver. Of course I was going to go, but the question was how do I get there. I proposed a (frankly) ridiculous road trip to my mom, and she and one of my brothers agreed to join me on this grand scheme. If my memory serves me correctly, it ended up totaling around 2,500 miles driven in eight days. We ventured across the Nevada wilderness, traveled up through Idaho, traversed Yellowstone, drove across Wyoming in a terrifying storm, cutting through back roads in Colorado to make it to the wedding in the nick of time. I’ll never forget that Colorado had biblical level flooding that almost derailed our entire trip and nearly made us miss the wedding ceremony. Afterwards, we headed to Utah, crossed back over the unforgiving but beautiful Nevada desert to visit Yosemite, and then back home to Reno. My brother had also accompanied us on this trip, and he was in the throws of teenage angst. In all honesty I remember our incessant arguing and turmoil more than some of the beautiful swaths of the United States we saw. Nothing like a good ol’ family vacation to bring out the drama. But back to Zion. This is a place that holds great mystery to me, because I was only able to see the park on a short little drive through. Nothing more. We barely even got out of the car. But despite this, I can’t get this place out of my head. I’ve got my mind set on climbing those big walls someday.
Grand Canyon National Park. Arizona. March 2019
Oh boy was this trip an adventure. In my 27 years of life I had never seen the Grand Canyon with my own eyes. To call it grand is an understatement. It is truly one of the most awe inspiring examples of the power of water, and the mind boggling age of our planet. And I got to see what felt like the entirety of it. My friends and I departed at 7am from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon and in a single day, walked over 24 miles- with a 4,380 foot descent to the Colorado River and ended with a 5,760 foot ascent to the North Rim. That day was filled with 90 degree weather, and freezing rain and snow (and some of the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen). I have done some physically challenging things in my life, but this excursion takes the cake. I was plagued with blisters halfway through the hike, and I had literally no appetite. I look back at the last 4-5 miles that were hiked uphill in the depths of night, and in the rain and snow, and I am still surprised I was able to push through. There were some dark moments for sure. Our plan was to camp at the North Rim, but the weather had other ideas for us. We made it to the Grand Canyon Lodge at the North Rim around 11pm, hoping they’d have an open room but along with there being no power and no running water in the lodge, there was also no vacancy. Thankfully, the concierge, whom was sitting in the pitch dark, let us crash in the lobby. I have never slept on a more comfy couch in my life. This hike taught me several things. It showed me how much physical strain I can put on my body while still functioning. It taught me to get an earlier start. It taught me to not think of my bad knees as a hindrance, because they are capable of much more than I think. It showed me that those long through hikes I dream about embarking on are more of a reality. And it taught me that I am without a doubt, a type II fun kind of person, through and through.
Angeles National Forest. California. April 2020
Today’s post isn’t a memory. This story is unfolding in real time and parts are difficult to comprehend. One of my close friends found three dogs in a place you would never want to see dogs out on their own: a steep hillside next to a treacherous mountain highway, at least an hour from any type of civilization. These poor animals are lonely, scared, starving, and cold. My mind can’t work out any reason why someone would abandon animals in this way, but we are actively working on rescuing the dogs as quickly as we can, as we are in the midst of a winter storm that is threatening to drop up to twelve inches of snow in the remote area they are stuck in. I don’t have anything poetic to say. My heart just hurts. But it’s also uplifted from all the people that have offered helping hands despite the pandemic and fears resonating around the world. I feel like I’ve seen the best of humanity and the worst over the past week. I took this photo on the drive down the mountain on Sunday. We had just spent several rainy hours building a shelter for the dogs to hopefully use during the storm. It was eerily foggy and visibility was low, kind of like the unknown ending to this story.
Cape Lookout State Park. Oregon. February 2017.
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Some memories you avoid revisiting because of heartbreak. Because of unanswered questions. This is the first time since starting this project that I’m almost lost for words… so many mixed feelings stirring around in my head. I look at this photo that I captured and I see a beautiful scene in front of me, but also within the forested frame, I see the chaos and change that’s a constant reality on the rugged Oregon coast. Wind, rain, and sea throwing a never ending barrage of force at land’s edge. Nothing is constant so you damn well better enjoy the moment before it’s gone. This is something I’ve learned since then. It kinda feels like we are all living this lesson as a collective societal unit. It’s nice to not feel alone.
Death Valley National Park. California. December 2019.
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This was my first camping trip since I broke my leg in a mountaineering accident in August. I had been itching to get outside for months. This was also a trip to celebrate my 28th birthday, a birthday I almost didn’t make it to because of the accident. So it had to be a special one. The original plan was to camp in Big Sur. I made a joke when I first moved to LA that even in Southern California, I could never have nice weather on my birthday. In my hometown, it was always miserably cold and snowy. Now that I lived 500 miles south, the snow was replaced with rain, and it rained every year on my birthday. I knew I was taking some risks deciding to sleep outside in December, but I couldn’t help it. I was in dire need of some nature hangs. Long story short, we got rained out of Big Sur and I was feeling pretty depressed about it. I was scouring Google Earth in search of a last minute camping spot, and monitoring weather apps in hopes that the forecast would shine some sun on my camping prospects. Which is how we found ourselves in Death Valley, the driest place in North America. Despite my anxiety surrounding the effort to make this the “perfect” birthday campout, things just seemed to fall into place. I hadn’t made plans for what we would do during the day, so our time was spent exploring the park. And it was awesome. We off-roaded, drove through insanely huge mud puddles, saw some incredibly beautiful and spooky landscapes filled with Joshua Trees and fast moving fog, hiked along massive craters, and visited the lowest point in the lower 48. I also ate my body weight in KBBQ and cake in front of the campfire. I really couldn’t have asked for anything better. The perfect sendoff was spending golden hour at Zabriskie Point. The textures that exist in this eroded landscape are mind boggling, and I could have stared at them for hours, watching the changes as the sun moved across the sky. In all honesty, I know I could write pages about how stunning the landscape was that surrounded us, but the most important part of this trip was spending time with those I care about.
Yosemite National Park. California. September 2017.
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Yosemite is an incredibly special place. But you don’t need to hear that from me. My visits to Yosemite throughout the years hold some really awesome memories, all of them very different from one another. Some tales include hiking down from Glacier Point in the dark with a baby and a blind person, hiking 15 miles during the day and then night climbing in Tuolumne until 2 in the morning, dodging a boulder that had just fallen in the middle of the road (kinda ironic, being ran over by one several years later), building my first fire in the rain, watching Curry Village employees chase a ringtail cat around the lodge, and swimming in Tenaya lake in nothin’ but my underwear. Just to name a few. This particular trip is important to me because it was my first solo camping trip. Before I give myself too much credit… it was only one night. But it certainly was an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone and get to know myself better. I spent the better part of the day hiking around the interconnecting trails on the south side of the valley, and interacting with people much more than I had thought. I swear almost every person I passed asked me for directions. I must have been walking with an air of all-knowing trail knowledge about me. The second part of this trip was spent in the company of my best friend and her family, catching up from months of not seeing each other, and taking in a fresh breath of nature.
Carrizo Plain National Monument. California. April 2017
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This trip was special for a number of reasons. The first was getting to spend time with one of my best friends whom I rarely get to see because of the physical distance between us. The second was exploring a new part of California I had never seen before. And the third, which is elephant in the room, the goddamn flowers. And holy moly were there a lot of flowers. The spring of 2017 had what is called a Superbloom, and it's grandiosity was on full display in Carrizo Plain. An area that is almost inhospitable for 90% of the time. In recent years, my camping style has shifted. I have taken to driving towards wherever I'm wanting to stay and "figuring it out when I get there" late at night. This causes me both anxiety and excitement, and this trip was one of one of those "figure it out" moments. Danielle had scoped a potential spot (via the trusty internet), up in the hills off the main road, so we would meet at the bottom of the hill and drive up to search for a campsite. There was absolutely 0 cel service out on the Plain, and I arrived at 10pm, thinking Danielle wouldn't be far behind me. I was feeling anxious because I saw a lot of cars parked off the road and I was worried that all of the good camping spots would be taken. After several more hours of worrying (I'm so good at this), Danielle and family arrived. It was close to 1:00 in the morning. I should mention how insanely dark it was outside. No moon, nothing. I had been traveling on a dirt road for literally hours, dodging kangaroo mice left and right and hoping not to hit anything larger with my car in the pitch black. I straight up had no idea where I was. The narrow dirt road we wound our way up seemed to never end until it finally crested over a ridge. It was here that we set up camp, and it was in this spot that I woke up and nearly cried over the spectacular view in front of me. Wildflowers of every color as far as the eye can see. This place has now become one of my favorite springtime camping destinations when the earth decides to show its unique colors on a grand scale.
John Muir Wilderness. California. July 2018
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This backpacking trip was six months in the making. Sounds dramatic but it kinda was. I recall, clear as the sunrise on that early December morning, waking up in Alabama Hills before dawn. The early rise was in order to make it into Lone Pine to siphon some wifi from the local Carls Jr, and apply for some backcountry permits. 4 people, 4 phones and 1 computer later (all thanks to "Camp Counsellor Brian") permits were secured. Flash forward to the end of June. The plan was to spend 5 days out in the backcountry. To date this would have been the longest backpacking trip I had been on, and I was determined to be prepared. What does prepared mean? Packing way too much trail mix, apparently. I have never tried so hard in my life to get rid of unwanted food. The chosen trail was one I had hike before, but without carrying an extra 25 pounds. It was rough. But the solitude and scenery made it all worth it. I took this photo while exploring some of the surrounding lakes near where we had set up camp. The wildflowers had been hiding from me until this very moment where they decided to show up in full force next to a somewhat terrifying talus field. When writing this, I told myself not to talk about how the mosquitos were so bad that we all decided to bail out a day early. But despite my best efforts, these pesky insects somehow manage to creep their way into every conversation my friends and I have about this trip. But honestly, I'd gladly trade one million mosquito bites and subsequent PTSD to relive these few days out in the wilderness with my friends.
Convict Lake. California. December 2018
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Convict Lake holds a lot of memories for me. I've come to sit at its shore many times throughout the years, during good times, and not so good times. This visit was on a evening during a particularly difficult winter for me, feelings of loneliness ran high. Driving south towards Los Angeles, I was drawn to the lake to watch the colors change as the sun set. The clouds whispered to me the possibility of a colorful show, but I sat there until dark and it didn't come to fruition. It was freezing. The lake was as still as glass. I sat there, toes almost touching the water, and photographed the slowly darkening scene in front of me. It made me forget about whatever was troubling me, taking in the quiet stoicism of the granite peaks and crystal clear water. The beautiful scene was mirroring beauty right back. I didn't have a single negative thought for the remainder of the drive. There's some sort of magic in these mountains.
Glen Coe. Scotland. March 2019
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There aren't many words to accurately describe the beauty of this place. I had visited Scotland for the first time in 2016 and it had been calling me back ever since. This magical land my grandparents always talked about held a sense of mystery and awe to me. I had just spent the last 4 days having my mind completely blown by the scenery (and the wind) in the Isle of Skye, but it was time to head south to Glasgow. I was excited to revisit Glen Coe to show my mom and brother, who were with me on this trip. One of my favorite things about the drive through this scenic glen is the scattering of cottages that are completely dwarfed by the old volcanic monoliths behind them. I came to find out the "iconic" wee cottage in my photo is a climbers hut when I struck up a conversation with some mountaineers that were just returning home from the summit of The Bauchaille. I must have sat next to this river for an hour to capture the quickly changing skyscape in front of me as the sun dipped lower and lower. The next adventure will be to climb these mountains, as I like to imagine my ancestors did. How else could I have got the last name, "McAlpine"?
Malibu. California. October 2019
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This image reminds me of a still from a movie. I guess this whole day was sort of like a movie. Road trip with a scruffy haired boy up the California coast, windows down, music turned up. It was a week into the fall season but it was warm like mid-summer. I had just returned to LA three weeks before, still nursing a broken leg but now meandering around with one crutch. I was worried about the sand. walking on it and getting it on my boot. I need to learn not to worry so much. That evening's sunset seemed to last forever. Driving back into town, we stopped on a bluff and watched the beachgoers below, moving with the incoming tide. I didn't want this day to end.
Eastern Sierra. California. September 2016
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This was my first time camping at Iris Meadows. A beautiful spot along a creek where you sit nestled in between shaking aspens and impossibly large mountains. About a year later I came to find there is some fun climbing as well, but that was not on my radar in 2016. I was out for a fun weekend of Eastern Sierra exploring- visiting all the spots I love in the Bishop-Mammoth area. At the end of the weekend, my friends and I took a late afternoon hike a few miles into the Ansel Adams Wilderness. This spot has become something I have dreamt about ever since- as backpacking trip and goal to summit some of the amazing 13,000 ft peaks in the area. Maybe I'll actually swing it this year.
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This was my first time seeing a "real" glacier. Up close. Not just some distant spec on the side of a craggy mountain face. It was beautiful- The glacier emanated this teal-blue color, starkly contrasted against the black volcanic earth that was beneath it. The mountains beyond the glacier were covered with a light dusting of snow, and it truly felt like I was in another world. This thing was so massive that I was able to spot it from the road and guess it was a glacier before even driving up to the parking area. My friend and I saw small groups of people clad in brightly colored helmets hiking up to the glacier for a tour, and we wished we had done some research leading up to our day road trip to Vik. Guess I'll just have to go back.
Solheimajokull Glacier. Iceland. November 2016
Welcome!
Well, I’m starting this blog in the middle of a pandemic. I honestly never thought I would type these words.
In order to stay sane, and feel productive while the California shelter in place order is in effect, I created a pretty comprehensive to-do list that will most likely keep me occupied for at least a month.
One of the items on my to-do list while the shelter in place order is in effect, is to organize the photos I’ve shot on my trips throughout the years. At work, I am super on top of digital asset management but unfortunately that doesn’t translate to my personal photography. I usually get too excited after a trip and I end up memory card vomiting all of my files onto the desktop-and then leaving it forever. So. I’ve also decided to post one photo a day of some of my adventures and write about it. I’ll call it some retrospective journaling. I hope to come across some photos and memories that I’m excited to share, and revisit some rad adventures to pass the time until I can get back outside again.
