Looks like I haven’t updated this thing since May - oops! - but for once I have a legitimate excuse…we’ve been on too many adventures! Just in case I never get fully caught up (I literally have thousands of photos to go through, but the weather is too nice to stay inside), here’s a handful of the pics I’ve already processed from our trip to our sunny almost-neighbor to the south, California.

Karen (who also took me to Tank Lakes last year) invited Tisha, Josie and yours truly to the Sierra Nevada for a grand lakebagging adventure in June/July. Unfortunately the unusually high snowpack forced us to change our plans a little bit, but I think we managed to make the most of what we had.

First stop*, Yosemite! We hiked the Mist Trail, did the whole touron thing, were blown away by the granite awesomeness of the whole place, and, on the way out, saw one of the famous Roadside Bears o’ Yosemite. (I have yet to see a bear in Washington, but I saw six(!) of them in Whistler the week before we went to California.)

After camping at Tioga Pass (man alive, what a gorgeous drive!), we made our way east of the mountains to Mono Lake where we marveled at the tufas and took a well-deserved dip to escape the heat. It has such a high saline content that you just float on top without any effort at all (I usually float well due to my high blubber content anyway, so it was a double win for me). Definitely the coolest swimming hole I have ever found.

Next we drove south to the Bishop area to go backpacking up by Big Pine Lakes. The lakes were melted (huzzah!), gorgeous, and I broke my previous altitude record when we hiked up to 11,000 feet. I was surprised that I didn’t get a headache or feel nauseated when we were camped so high, but I was wheezing like crazy for every step I took. Luckily the scenery allowed for lots of “photo breaks” where I could rest my hyperventilating lungs.

The main part of our trip was a three-day backpack to Thousand Island Lake. Our original plan was to spend four days on/near the John Muir Trail, hiking a loop that would get us to all sorts of gorgeous lakes, but since most of those lakes were still frozen, we camped by Thousand Island and were content with rafting among the icebergs in the lake, doing a short dayhike to Garnet Lake, chatting up lots of Pacific Crest Trail thruhikers and photographing marmots.

Some marmots were more interested than others - this one came right up to the camera when Karen was trying to take our photo!

I absolutely loved this trip; the High Sierra is like miles and miles (and miles and miles) of the Enchantments, and I already want to go back. I’ve been wanting to hike all 211 miles of the John Muir Trail ever since I started hiking, so maybe I can convince JK that we need to do that next summer.

*ok, technically our first stop was a six-hour layover at a sketchy gas station where our rental car broke down and we were approached by an assortment of hillbillies and tweakers who wanted our candy. But let’s try to forget that part of the vacation.

For our spring trip/annual vitamin D booster this year, we decided to go to Hawai’i instead of Utah. I really, really love the red rock desert, but from now on I think all of our spring breaks will be spent in the South Pacific. Man alive, it’s awesome down there.

Anyhoo, we decided on the island of Kaua’i since it’s known as the adventurous isle, and definitely the best island for hiking…but we didn’t end up doing much hiking at all. We quickly decided that it would be foolish to not spend as much of our time as possible fully submerged under water, snorkeling with all sorts of non-shark ocean dwellers.

We did manage to sneak in one backpacking trip between all the strenuous beach trips; the (in)famous Kalalau Trail.

The first time I read about this hike was in an article in Backpacker Magazine entitled America’s 10 Most Dangerous Hikes. You would think that would give me, an incorrigible exposure wuss, pause, but I am used to reading guidebooks from Washington, where any minor trail inconvenience is described with a sense of impending doom. The Kalalau Trail goes up and down and up and down, hugging the cliffs along the majestic Na Pali coast. Pssht, I thought. How bad could it be?

Luckily I came to my senses when I found photos like this on the intertubes a couple of weeks before our vacation. I realized this would be no place for me to freak out/freeze up/stagger around like a nervous drunk, so we (I) decided that we would only hike to Hanakoa, a mile before the sketchy stuff starts, and camp there.

In the end, I was relieved when we made it to Hanakoa and could relax. The trail itself is not that challenging, but the heat and humidity were really getting to me. Since my body pretty much consists of a series of tubes filled with Norwegian blood and enveloped in copious amounts of insulating blubber, it’s clear that all my time on a tropical island should be spent in the water or in the shade of a coconut tree. Anyway, it was heavenly to take a bath in creek and hike up to beautiful Hanakoa Falls.

The next day, we packed up our things and headed back towards civilization - but we weren’t ready to leave quite yet. We still had a night left on our permit, so we decided to camp on Hanakapi’ai Beach, a mere two miles from the trailhead. The weather didn’t feel as oppressive on the hike out, so we spent more time admiring the gorgeous views of blue, blue water, green, green plants and red, red flowers.

We set up our tent in the purdiest campsite we’ve ever seen, then set about sunbathing, cooling off in the creek, playing with the beach cats and generally just loving life.

Sunset and sunrise? Magnificent.

On the third morning, we packed up and made quick work of the remaining two miles. Our immediate reward was a cleansing swim on Ke’e Beach and a strawberry smoothie from the roadside stand. All trailheads should have access to tropical beaches and fruit snacks.

All in all a great trip - in an ideal world I would be less of a nervous idiot and actually make it all the way to Kalalau Beach, but alas, even the slightly eroded section on the way to Hanakoa made me all shaky and stumbly.

Along the trail, we ran into several of the year-round beach dwellers (real live hippies!) heading out on resupply trips. Barefoot and carrying nothing but tiny rucksacks with some water, they all looked so peaceful on their journey. I’m sure the fact that they were all stoned out of their minds had nothing at all to do with their blissful existence, but still, it felt kind of poetic when I was lumbering along with my huge pack, struggling with my emotional baggage and my actual baggage. We could all be more island-like.

In an effort to a) get in better shape (so I can go on our summer backpacking trips without throwing up my lungs) and b) keep the blues away, we’ve decided to start hiking with TNAB again. Yes, the Thursday Night Afterburners, a motley crew of mountain renegades who run up trails at ridonculous speeds while normal people are sitting on their couches eating ice cream and watching The Office.

Our first post-Hawaiʻi (yes, Hawaiʻi! More about that later when I get my photos up…) TNAB destination was Rattlesnake Mountain East Peak. We’ve been to Rattlesnake Ledge a dozen times or so, but this was the first time we ventured beyond the ledges. Since we got a late start, we summited after the main group had already started descending, but we all reconvened at the Pour House in North Bend for Blue Moons afterwards.

Next up was Bandera Mountain. This was my third time up this trail since September, and I am growing rather fond of it. I’ll have to go back some time in July when the beargrass is out.

Anyhoo, the sun was shining and I was wearing shorts for the entire hike, which made me happy enough to almost forget about my racing heart and seizing muscles. Once we hit the snow line, JK raced ahead while I followed at a more leisurely pace. It was still 30 minutes faster than when we went in February, so I’ll count it as progress!

The sunsets are what really make TNAB hikes stand out, and we were treated to quite a doozy as we started hiking back to our cars. The combination of great views, strenuous exercise, sunshine, beer, fresh air and great people = natural Prozac. Mission accomplished, at least for a couple of days. :o)

I heard rumors (aka whining on facebook) of a massive snow dump in the Cascades while I was in Norway, so JK and I decided to cross-country ski up Amabilis Mountain on Sunday. Apparently we should have done more research, since there was barely any snow for the first 1.5 miles and the white stuff we encountered the rest of the way was hardly fit for skiing (although I could just be saying this to cover up my lack of skiing skills).

I was also totally unprepared for how deliciously warm it would be. It was amazing! I rolled my pants up (and cursed myself for wearing my black ninja clothes instead of a t-shirt) and went on to stockpile enough vitamin D to last me all week.

After optimistically putting our skis on and dejectedly having to take them off again about seven times due to the random whims of the pathetic snow cover, we got annoyed and decided to forge ahead, snow or no snow:

Once we hit continuous snow, the rest of the trip was a breeze. This little mountain has a lot of views for minimal effort. We soaked up some more sun at the top while eating cowboy cookies and taking in the scenery.

Skiing back down was like trying to push myself forward through some sort thick, gloopy paste, but (miraculously!) we made it back to the car without a single fall.

This was a great little cross-country ski tour even for a novice (I fear I am forever entrenched in this category); it’s a gentle uphill all the way, which fortunately also means it’s a gentle downhill on the way back. According to my GPS, our loop was 11 miles with 2,500 feet of elevation gain.

Park at the Cabin Creek Sno Park (you need a groomed trails pass in the winter when there is actually snow that can be groomed). North of the freeway, ski (in our case, walk) Forest Service Road 4826 until you get to the sign for Amabilis Mountain/FS 4822. After two miles or so, you get to a junction; both roads lead to the top.

As if the day wasn’t good enough already, we stopped and had phở on the way home. Aah, Washington, how I have missed you.

To celebrate my newfound ability to walk, Wellie and I took JK up Bandera Mountain this weekend (Wellie and I visited Bandera with Jasper and Dani in September, but JK had never been). The (lack of) snow was just as perverse as in the rest of the Cascades this “winter”, making a summit that would normally be beyond my capabilities in February a mere walk-up. In all honesty it felt like it was May or June (we both said it reminded us of Mount Persis last year), and I was kicking myself for not having the foresight to wear shorts.

The steep boulder/bear grass hillside was covered with a slushy, slippery layer of snow, so I was happy to have my hiking poles and Yaktrax - we met several traction-less hikers who had turned around due to slippage. Wellie made good use of his K9 crampons.

‘Twas a Moste Excellente Sundaye Outinge, especially since the sun decided to grace us with her presence. And because JK brought summit chocolate. And because it felt fantastic to go out and make my hindquarters sore after three weeks of injury-induced sofa sloth. Huzzah!

Since 2010 is turning into the Year of Cabin Trips, we kept the tradition going by spending the weekend in and around Washington Alpine Club’s Guye Cabin by Snoqualmie Pass. The cabin is much bigger and fancier than I expected it to be - if we didn’t have two annoying little dogs (naah, I like ‘em), we would probably spend quite a few nights up there.

Anyhoo, the objective of the weekend was to learn about avalanche rescue (and, more importantly, avalanche avoidance) and snow shelters as part of the WAC’s Winter Backcountry Travel class. It was a very fun, informative, and inspiring (as in I will do anything I possibly can to avoid having to dig my friends’ lifeless (most likely) bodies out of the snow) weekend. I’m glad I’m taking an avalanche class this early in my snow travel career, before I’ve had time to do anything really stupid.

Other noteworthy happenings this weekend: the sun was out. We needed sunglasses. And sunscreen. Hells yeah!

We didn’t walk around much this weekend, which suited my gimpy foot perfectly. All the resting seemed to have helped, so on Monday I decided to join JK for our regular three-mile dog walk around the neighborhood. My foot cooperated nicely until mile 1.5, when all hell broke lose. At that point I didn’t really have much choice but to finish the loop (in hindsight I should have ignored my overzealous, cabin fever-ridden soul and chosen a shorter route to begin with), so I grumpily limped back home.

Two more days of rest and icing later, and it’s feeling better again. I’ve also made a conscious decision to be less pissy about the situation since that’s not going to help me, my foot, or the poor fools I interact with on a daily basis. I’ll also take the grumpiness as a good sign, since it means I actually want to be active - a big improvement on the couch-loving Ingunn of yesteryear.

…not that there’s ever a good time to get injured. Still, it would be nice to be able to enjoy this unseasonably amazing weather after weeks of grey skies and drizzle. Even the cherry blossoms are out! I would have killed to be able to go for a run today.

Instead I am stuck on the couch playing Farmville and watching NBC’s craptastic “coverage” of the Olympics (you would think that living a hop and a skip from Vancouver would ensure the ability to watch the games live, but noooo).

Anyhoo, the top of my foot started hurting last weekend while I was snowshoeing, but I didn’t really think much about it until I went out for a run the next day. It got worse and worse with each step, stabbing pain every time I pushed off with the balls of my foot (which, as I learned afterwards, I shouldn’t be doing when I’m running anyway). Apparently I sprained something in the metatarsal region of my left foot and I’m just going to have to ice and rest (and curse the gods and everyone around me) until it gets better.

Of course (since I am both stubborn and, let’s be honest, rather lacking in the brainal department), I went hiking this weekend. In my defense, a friend from Norway was in town and we started planning this trip in October. It was just a short hike up to High Hut to spend the night, an equally short hike back to the car the next day, and then a very short snowshoeing excursion to Paradise so the boys could go skiing and snowboarding.

Sadly, the spectacular views we had been hoping for were replaced with rain, clouds, fog, blizzards and general shittiness - nothing like our last trip to High Hut. Still, it was better than staying home and playing Farmville…even though it probably prolonged my recovery time. Damnit.

Please excuse the whining nature of this post; I am currently deficient in endorphins, vitamin D and serotonin (and have spent an inordinate amount of time harvesting virtual asparagus), and I am clearly feeling the effects.

I’ve been waiting for someone else to write a trip report from this thing so I could just post some photos and add a lazy link to their writings, but everyone seems to be afflicted with the same bout of winter laziness.

A couple of weeks ago, our group of intrepid hikers (including one snowmobiler and a flock of four-leggers) migrated east of the crest to spend a long weekend at the Table Mountain A-Frame Cabin. Faced with a harrowing 7.5-mile road walk to reach our destination, those of us who weren’t burdened with overloaded pulks chose the shortcut over Diamond Head (cutting 2.5 miles while only adding 300 feet of additional elevation gain).

The lardier of us (no offense, Jasper!) huffed and puffed up the steep slopes feeling every ounce of our overnight packs (tents had been replaced with wine and fresh produce for this glamping experience). The summit itself was treed and offered no dazzling views, but as we made our way down the ridge, Tahoma and a very pointy Mount Stuart dominated the horizon.

I choose neither to recount nor remember the remaining road walk up to the cabin.

Safely ensconced in the a-frame, food was eaten, games were played, drinks were drunk and dogs were used as pillows. At some point during the first night, we realized We Were Not Alone. For some reason I still cannot fathom, I leaned over and shined my headlamp into the vault toilet. I was surprised to see two mice scurrying about in our waste (feasting on undigested pieces of corn, no doubt), but a perusal of the guest book told us that our smelly new pets were known as the Pooperine and his sidekick, Poopacabra.

The next day we set out on a never-ending snowshoe to Mount Lillian. Most of us gave up and returned to the cabin to drink, but a handful of travelers made it to the summit. They’ll have to write about that themselves.

More food was eaten, more drinks were drunk, more games were played, and more offerings were made to the Pooperine.

On the last morning, our group split once more - the peak baggers set out to conquer each and every bump in the vicinity of the cabin, while the rest of us enjoyed excellent sledding and mini skiing down a nearby hill.

I choose neither to recount nor remember the 7.5-mile road walk back to the trailhead.

Special thanks to Andrea, Tisha (and their respective menfolk) for arranging this fabulous trip, and to Steve for risking everything in order to safely transport our beer to the cabin…and to everyone else for making it such a great weekend.

For information on how you can book a night in this Moste Excellente of Mountain Dwellings, look here.