Keeping Promises

When my son David turned 21, I promised him that I'd take him out West someplace to go skiing.  It's always a good thing to give gifts that reward yourself as well, don't you think?  I had some time to consider options for the trip, since his birthday is in the summer.

The planning cycle ran a little longer than expected.  Since David is currently practicing Architecture in San Francisco, and scheduled to move back east this year, it seemed that it was probably now or never.  And the planning had ample time to gel, since his 27th birthday will be coming up.

(Feel free to join the Procrastinator's Union.  Know thyself.)

We decided to drive up from San Fran to Lake Tahoe, rumored to have skiing.  And just enough snow to do so.

The road to Tahoe is interesting 
once you get out of the bay area.  
(This is not the San Fernando Valley...
I'd rather be gagged with a spoon than go there.)

In a normal year, those cars would not be parked that close to the building.
The roof is designed to shed the massive amounts of snow expected.
However, the California drought has been limiting the snowfall for the last 4 years.

There are signs along the way extolling the virtues of tire chains.
But there is no need this March.

You can tell from the crowd that it was was not exactly beach weather.
Very pretty, nonetheless.

Cover artwork for David's next album.

The distance from dock to water level shows the effect of the drought.
But don't worry about Lake Tahoe going dry...
It's over 1600 feet deep.

The lake and surrounding areas are places of stunning beauty.

Looking down onto Emerald Bay from the south.

The haze makes it hard to determine where the lake stops and the mountains start.

This is the only island in the huge lake.
The large boat to the left provides scale.
Not sure I'd want to be out there, even with the sunshine.
The water is near freezing.

Tea, anyone?
Wealthy Mrs. Knight had the place built in 1929
so she could have tea with her friends on Fannette Island.
Vikingsholm, her mansion, is perched above the northern shore of the bay.
Perhaps next time.

The line you see halfway up is the road that skirts Emerald Bay.
"I'll watch the view for you," says Mary.  "You drive."

At Emerald Bay State Park, you can look far to the southeast to see
the aptly named Heavenly Ski Resort.

More mountains loom in the opposite direction.

There are postcard-worthy views at all compass points.

This is the view of Lake Tahoe I've seen for years, showing only Emerald Bay.
Very pretty, and very deceiving.
Yes, a great view, but it gives the impression Tahoe is a small water-filled volcanic cone.
The lake is actually over 70 miles around.

A multi-tiered waterfall runs through the park
past giant dead cedars.

Beware the wood gnomes that lurk in the park.

Also be aware that traffic out of the lake basin on the single lane roads
can be backed up for miles.
All the cars headed in the opposite direction are 
frustrated backtrackers.

But wait, this is about skiing.

My own identity-confused ski pass.

At fabulous ski mountains, where you pay fabulous amounts for a fabulous time, you get your very own radio-frequency-sensitive lift pass.   You don't need to dangle the thing in the wind and weather outside your clothing.  It's an EZ Pass for the ski lift toll gates.  Who says the ski industry is going downhill?

It's worth riding the lift if only for the view.

And when you get off the lift for the first time,
it's nearly impossible to keep yourself from taking a picture.

And this is the reason.

We had rented skis, and were unsure of the conditions.  It was warm, and although that is always nice, long experience has taught that when it is warm, there is always ice and lurking slush that grabs at your skis, attempting to plant your face in the snow.  So we were cautious as we headed down the first time.  At a quick stop halfway down, I asked David, "How is the equipment?"

"Much better than what I own."

"For sure."

More confident, we schussed the rest of the way down to the lift.  David is kind, and waits for me to arrive slightly later than when he reaches the bottom.

"Ya know, Dad, I was picking my way, but then I realized where the best place to turn is."

"Where is that?"

"Anywhere!"  Must be the altitude.  

The sun was out, but the snow was great, the skis were fine, and it was going to be a great day.  The higher altitude lifted my attitude.

A popular photo spot.

It's a perfect spot for a photo of me,
since I've always had trouble following directions.

Glade skiing...through the trees.
Looks easy, but not for the faint of heart.

These are ego-shattering moguls.
The fact that one might want to be a better skier to navigate the mogul fields
is not what bruises one's ego.
It's the 10 year-olds racing through them at twice your pace. 

Dave is skiing to Nevada.
No snow down in the valley.

He was stylish, but went back to wearing a hat after one run.
Brain-freeze minimizes enjoyment.

Occasionally, the lack of snow made some of the mountain inhospitable.

Plenty of room to ski,
or sit and admire the view.

And Heavenly is huge.

So big it straddles the border of two states.
I got a kick out of skiing from California to Nevada and back.

After a fine day, we had to take the lift down
because the trails down to the lodge were already in summer mode.

Skiing all day is a lot for old people.

But worth every minute.

Some Warmth For You

Yes, enough of the cold.  Time to look at a few warm scenes, even if you are currently being blessed with a bit of temperate weather.

I've seen frosted northerners wearing Sanibel Island T-shirts for many years, but never understood the appeal, other than the obvious fact that any point in Florida is well south of the popsicle line.  So when Rich and Theresa said, "Hey, let's drive over to Sanibel," I said, "Huh?  What'd you say?"

I really can't hear.  But whenever Mary slaps my head, I follow.  Wouldn't you?

The gulf side of Sanibel is a 12 mile long beach.
This is the northeast end, with the old ugly lighthouse.
No New Englander would ever build such a thing.

But some of the locals like it.

It's a great place to go after a day of fishing.

Most tourists care a lot more about the beach,
and want to get their pictures taken there.

Sanibel lives up to its reputation as the Shell Island.
If shells are your thing, it's worth shelling out to go there.

Looking around the northeastern tip of the island back at the bridge
that allowed our land craft to get here.

Any part of the island that faces the gulf
is a great beach to walk on.

You'll find lots of interesting stuff between your feet.

And you can do the "Sanibel Stoop,"
nicely demonstrated by this young man.

Since the island is on the Gulf of Mexico side, I suspect the surf is rarely high,
and the water is usually warm.
Great place for little ones.

But some just can't leave their city toys behind.

The day we were there, abalone shells covered the beach.
I am reminded of the Led Zeppelin song about them.
"Abalone, abalone, payin' your bills..."

The way they catch the sun is beautiful.

As are the weeds.

With all the condos close to the water,
where are all the people?

Who cares where the people are?
I need to trim my toenails.

But first, a closer look at the mother of pearl
abalone shell.

A star, a shell, a beach.

Mary models seashells by the seashore.

More of the stash.

Scallops.  One with barnacles.

I picked up the one on top to admire its beauty
when it bit me.
I jumped and exclaimed,
"Bastard!  I hope a bird gets you."

Shellfish and pasta?

Perhaps this bird will avenge my pinched finger.
No, I'll have to wait for another.

Bird 1, scallop 0.
Take that, you nasty shellfish!
Thank you, shorebird!
I will continue to feed your brethren in the north country
and dine very similarly to you.

Never saw this swirly backbone plant before.

The Sandpiper has seen the plant many times.

More great shells.

There are layers of the beach formed with differing shell and sand content.
Not the Grand Canyon, but the nice layering nonetheless.

Some people know how to relax.

If I did not think that I'd potentially be handcuffed
and thrown into a squad car for being too close,
I would have joined him.

So many shells, just under the surface of the water.
Another reason to join the little boy.

Again...where is everybody?

People paddling.
Does it matter what craft is being used?
Just off the warm beach, I think not.

Signs, signs, everywhere signs.
Did they thing we'd look up the ordinances immediately?

Yup.  That's where we were.
I think you should go there, too.

After a long hard day at the beach,
we headed to adjoining Captiva Island and the Mucky Duck.

The Mucky Duck is a fine pub.
Though this shot includes the essence,
it doesn't provide a hint of the expansive dining room
or the tasty food.

Regardless of the quality of the libations,
the location of the pub was stellar.

Quick now...which way does a Mucky Duck look?

You're right.  A fabulous western view.

You have to wonder if Texas is burning
when you watch the sun set from the Gulf coast of Florida.

That's it.  A great time on Sanibel Island and neighboring Captiva.  A great place for frozen northerners to thaw out for a while.  So great that Mary is making reservations for us to be there next year.  

I never thought I'd see the day when I'd forsake the snow for the warmth of the Alligator (but with sunny dispositions) State.  Maybe just for a little while.  But isn't that how addictions begin?