Suicide Canyon

Right up front: No, I don't know why they call it Suicide Canyon, nor has anyone explained why the first rappel, a 190-foot drop, has been named "Lover's Leap."

One thing Suicide Canyon made clear to me was how canyoneering thrives in Southern California. This is one of the harder canyons to get to and, still, there was plenty of evidence of people regularly descending it. 

Starting near Tujunga Dam, the route quickly leaves an easy trail for a faint path that steeply climbs through brush and over loose soil and rocks. Think hand-over-hand in places that start to feel vertical. So precipitous that if you stop for a moment, you slide backwards. Eventually that tops out to a plateau of sorts covered by cat's claw and other vines that rip off flesh as you push through. My arms bled from cuts I strangely didn't feel. Not much of a trail here. We just relied on Rich's GPS to guide us to the drop-in point which was steeper and looser than the climb up.

But once in the canyon, the eight rappels were a joy to negotiate. Somehow, this canyon is just right. Tall, long rappels are interspersed with easier ones. Even during a drought, there's water here. Relaxing is the best word to describe Suicide Canyon. (When will I ever again get to put relaxing and suicide together in the same sentence?)

Suicide Canyon: The first rappel is in the sunlight and the approach through the thick brush is in the upper left of the picture.

Rich busting through the brush.

Cammy working her way down the loose, steep slope to the top of the first rappel.

Cammy on the first rappel.

Kevin checking out a vertical section on the first rappel.

Rich, midway through the canyon with (I believe) Fox Peak behind him.

Jerri's rappel device called the CRITR.

Kevin on a rappel near the bottom.

Cammy rappelling with Jerri belaying. Note the water seeping down the rock. During a drought!

Rich about to step into the mystery leaves (he isn't sure what's underneath; a pool of water, actually).

Jerri rappelling on the second-to-last drop.

The final, 170-foot rappel.

 

Calistoga

A few recent shots from Calistoga and the Napa Valley ranch that my family has owned for more than a 100 years.

Pasadena Glen

I've always said that a day of canyoneering, even in a difficult, not terribly scenic canyon, is a lot better than a day on a couch. This philosophy would definitely apply to Pasadena Glen canyon. It had been billed by others as a great canyon, the second best in the San Gabriel Mountains. It turned out to be an arm-scratching, poison oak loaded bushwhacking chore. And yet, for all that, it beat out sitting on my butt watching football. Plus, the company of my friends out in the wild makes up plenty for the deprivations we experienced. Now if only the poison oak sores on my elbow would stop itching . . .

The view from the Henniger Flat road looking down on Altadena and beyond.

Rich and Kevin climbing the Henniger Flat road.

Jerri sat on this mellow example of the rattlesnake family and lived to tell about it. I unwittingly stepped over it myself and was about 20 feet away when Kevin announced we had just missed a close encounter with fangs.

A new gizmo called the "Smooth Connector" that allows us to rig an anchor without a caribiner on the pull rope that can get stuck in the rocks. The last person down simply yanks on the rope, the plastic thingee pulls out and the rope is released from the anchor.

Annette working her way through a down-climb making good use of her hips.

Last rappel.

Mono Lake

Tufa, Mono Lake, California

Pasadena City Hall

The Pasadena Pops held a free concert on the steps of City Hall.

Rosarito, Mexico

Vezelay, France

It amazes me sometimes how I used to travel with a medium format film camera (Bronica SQ-A), along with a big bag of film, three or four monster lenses and a heavy tripod. And then when I got back home, I'd spend hours upon hours mixing chemistry and developing the film. And then a few more days making contact sheets and enlargements. My DSLRs and lenses aren't much lighter, unfortunately, but I don't spend all those hours in the dark anymore ruining my health with the photo chemicals. I now ruin my eyesight staring into a computer. At any rate, here are three pictures from a beautiful little town in north-central France called Vezelay, which is primarily known for the hundreds-year-old church there called Basilica of Sainte-Marie-Madeleine where supposedly there are some artifacts from Mary Magdelene. I'm skeptical. But the ancient feel of the village is wonderful and soothing in a strange way as if it appeals to some old memory from another lifetime. So I spent hours and hours with my Bronica and heavy pack full of equipment roaming about looking for compositions.