Hawai'i or Bust: Adventure Travel with a Toddler

Summary of our trip:

No fancy adult beverages with a little umbrellas served to me on a tropical beach.

Come on, motherhood hasn't changed me that much. ;-)

kk gets her beverage - also sans little umbrella (i should make an album of epic nursing photos...)

We've been home a month and a half, and if I don't bang out a trip report right now, it's never going to happen. And I really do enjoy looking back and reminiscing about our dumb/ sketchy/ awesome adventures.

So let's do this. Q&A style. No edits or drafts, start to finish, in one take. Ready set go!

So how was Hawai'i?

Type 2 fun, all the way.

Where did you go?

We started on The Big Island. Made a big clockwise arc around the island, going north from Kona to Spencer Beach Park, up to Pololu Valley, down to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park via Hilo, then back to Kona via the Saddle Road and Mauna Kea. We camped at Spencer Beach Park and Namakanipaio campground (outside HVNP).

toddler's first hike!

Yes, we saw lava, from a distance.

what do a toddler and lava have in common?

Next, we went to Kauai. Camped at Salt Pond Park (3 nights), the unfortunately named Camp Slogett in Waimea Canyon (2 nights), Polihale State Park (1 night), Lydgate State Park (1 night).

did you know that kauai is infested with wild chickens? ear plugs not optional.

Overall, we moved around WAY too much. Way, WAY too much. But we definitely enjoyed our rad minivan rental! Can't wait to get myself one of these sweet rides. (Shut up, Tim.)

i probably should not post this online

How were the flights?

To Hawaii: 11 hours. We had an entire row, 6 seats, to ourselves (!). I hit up the dollar store and wrapped up little trinkets in tissue paper; these provided entertainment not just for the plane ride, but for the subsequent car rides, monsoon afternoons (see below), and hours in the backpack carrier. (We are bad parents.)

To New York: 9 hour red-eye. It was rough. I survived it the same way I survived labor and delivery: white knuckles and ruthless badassity. In other words, KK slept in the front-carrier, and I didn't move a muscle for 5+ hours.

at least someone is getting rest, part 1

February must have been a great time of year - escape the Northeastern winter!

The weather was amazing by Upstate NY standards and awful by Hawaiian standards. We spent some time highish up, so it was anywhere from 60-80 during the day to 35-50 at night. Most days had at least a little rain, which was fine... until the day we were stuck in a flipping monsoon, in a tent, with our toddler.

stake down that tent, holy smokes!

Speaking of that toddler, adventure travel with a toddler is HARD (but totally doable). One of us was always on kid duty, and the other was on camp duty, so there wasn't really any rest.

dave on kid duty; i'm on stove duty. yes we cooked all our meals except for 2.

Wait, what do you mean by camp duty? You camped for 2 weeks with your toddler? WTF is wrong with you? Why didn't you stay in a resort or something?

Pitching a tent/ cooking on a Whisperlite/ bathing in the ocean;
yes;
I don't know;
they're expensive and more importantly, eww.

Um, so how was camping with a toddler?

Let me preface this by saying: previous to parenthood, we rocked a sub 4-pound ultralight single wall 2-person mini-tent. I cut off the dang handle of my toothbrush and measured the weight of my gear in grams (yes really). I did gear, in the sense that I did as little gear as possible.

The secret to camping with little kids is: embrace the Gear-with-capital-G. Our tent weighs 16 lbs (because it fits a 10-lb queen-sized air mattress, because this is how you get a toddler to sleep in a tent). It has a 6-foot peak height (because you need to stand up straight if you're rocking a baby at stupid o'clock). I am simultaneously mortified to roll into camp rocking such a beast and THRILLED that the toddler has space to play when it's monsooning.

This tent and associated 10-lb queen-sized air mattress are backcountry "mom jeans."

And lemme tell you... once you go elastic waist, you don't go back.

one of us is wearing pants with elastic waist, i'm not telling who

Ok, gimme more details. HOW do you camp with a toddler?

Sleeping

• Bedshare and breastfeed at night - or the potent cocktail of sleep deprivation and frustration will make you lose your f****** mind. Oh, and everyone in camp will hate your guts because your kid is wailing all night long. Get out the boobs, snuggle up, and doze until the roosters wake everyone up (that's another story).
• White noise machine. KK sleeps with one at home, and it provided an important source of continuity and routine in camp, as well as muffled the sounds of people laughing/ dogs barking/ music playing. Ours runs on batteries, which we charged in the rental minvan as needed.
• Accept that you are going to get marginally acceptable sleep. But hey, if you've survived parenthood this long, you're used to that.
• Also, instant coffee. Because ain't no one got time for the fancy sh!t.

at least someone is getting rest, part 2

Clothing

• Just like an adult: a hat on the head is worth two layers on the body.
• Also just like an adult: "cotton is rotten." Stick with fleece, nylon, polyester. (If you have a daughter, be prepared to dress her "like a boy," or as I prefer to say, "like a boss." The segmentation of "girls" and "boys" activities and associated apparel starts immediately after birth. Initiate feminist rage.)
• Fleece snowsuit takes the place of a sleeping bag.

dadadadadadadaaaaaa

Feeding

• Watching a camping toddler eat goldfish crackers is like watching a great white shark swim through a school of surfers. It's total carnage and you're going to be finding pieces of goldfish cracker in your sleeping bag for many years to come. Something about the fresh air stimulates the appetite. You can never ever ever have too many packs of goldfish crackers.
• Clip-on high chair + combo placemat/bowl = ability to feed kid without kid wandering off or eating seagull sh!t off the picnic table.

never underestimate the power of cheddar cheese

Hygiene

• Don't use cloth diapers. Just don't. Disposables. Really. I don't care how much of a dirty hippy you are, just trust me on this one.
• Repeat after me: a little dirt never killed anyone, as long as you wash your hands after diaper changes and before eating. No, you are not going to give your kid a bath every night. KK got 2 baths in the 2 weeks we were out. Wipe 'em down with a washcloth and call it a night.

lost one of these sandals around Koke'e. this is why we can't have nice things.

Expectations

...

...

...

Wait, why didn't you write anything under "Expectations" above?

It deserves a section of its own, because the hardest thing about this trip was managing my/our expectations.

In our 2 weeks, we had 3 hiking days. THREE (3). Those 3 hiking days were all sub-6 mile days. This is, um, not a lot of hiking. Especially for flying nearly 1/3 of the way around the world. And no backcountry nights at all. Buh bye, Kalalau Trail. 

Previous to KK, Dave and I could run ourselves pretty hard. It was NBD to pack up camp, drive a couple hours, slam out a hike, set up camp, and crash - rinse and repeat the next day.

This time, we were dealing with ANOTHER PERSON who had her own feelings, needs, and desires. (IMO, this is the key distinguishing factor between a baby, who would be as obliviously and happily drooling at the North Korean DMZ border as your kitchen table, and a toddler, who is the human equivalent of the Doomsday Clock at 11:59 p.m.).

i have opinions

On this trip, we had to limit our driving to KK's afternoon nap. When we hiked, we needed to take regular breaks so she could scoot around and stick her hands in the mud and play with our noses. We couldn't have dinner at 9:30 p.m. We had to stop for goldfish crackers, diaper changes, more goldfish crackers, another layer of sunscreen, dear heavens why more goldfish crackers. 

moar goldfishhhhhhhh

 We couldn't "just push through."

Not that we didn't try. It blew up in our faces: it was HARD. And then we learned our lesson, regrouped, and continued on. 

My mantra since becoming a mother is: JUST GET OUT THERE. Counterintuitive as it seems, at this point in young KK's life, it actually does not matter if the trail is 6 miles or 0.6 miles. It doesn't matter if I climb 2 pitches or 20, if those pitches are 5.6 or 5.11. Doesn't matter if I'm camping in Hawaii or my backyard.

Children learn what they live. If I wait until KK is old enough/ strong enough/ communicative enough/ potty trained/ whatever to show her there is more to the world than our living room - it's too late. She's enough, just as she is right now. And to be honest, she doesn't know or care for the difference between a desolate beach at the end of the earth and our cozy living room - as long as her loving parents are there with her.

not poop, but would love her even if it were.

Each of her small experiences builds on the previous. If we want to hike 2,659 miles on the PCT as a family 8 years from now, then I need to go hike 3 miles in Danby State Forest with her tomorrow morning so she sees me pee in the woods and knows that is a normal thing that ladies do when they need to go.

So fine: we only hiked 3 days. Fine! We hiked 3 days in an incredibly beautiful and special corner of this One Great Dewdrop - and we did it as a family. Never thought I'd write those words.

hey mom :o)

Dang. That's deep.

Yeah, I would say motherhood is about as deep as it gets.

pele: goddess of fire

polihale: the end of the earth

home: is wherever i'm with you

46er!!! ...And the Next Adventure

On Saturday, May 23, 2015, I hiked to the top of Nippletop and became an (unofficial) 46er.

However, this trip report begins at 11:00 a.m. on Monday, December 29, 2008. Bear with me: I have a story to tell. It's a tale of adventure, struggle, character - and yes, it's also an old fashioned love story.

So here I am, the baby face of 6.5 years ago: I'm standing in lightly drifting snow, figuring out how to put on my snowshoes, fresh out of their eBay box. I've got my Columbia jacket I've had since college, with its thin fleece lining and non-water-resistant shell, and a pair of my mother's old wool mittens from Sears. The cap is already partially frozen onto my waterbottle. I am drastically under-prepared and dramatically over-excited, because it's Day 1, Mile 1 of my second winter hike ever, and my first High Peak experience.

I'm hiking with two friends and the guy I started dating seriously just a month before. The trail goes straight up, and it takes us 3 hours to go 2 miles because we stop every 1/2 mile. It bitterly cold on the summit, and savage winds make mincemeat of my sad jacket. But just like that, I've hiked my first High Peak.

Cascade Mountain, 12/29/2008

Then my boyfriend reminds me that we're not turning around just yet - there's a second summit "over there." I realize that anyone who hikes 46 of these beasts must be certifiably insane, plus possess powers of stamina, balance, fortitude, and power that I would never have. I was frozen to my core, my knees ached, and the roar of the wind took my breath and left me fearful - and exhilarated. I was so small on that mountain, yes, but I also was something that mattered, someone who could remain standing while the wind roared.

Why did I return to those mountains? Stubbornness? Curiosity? Something to prove? Adrenaline rush? Fear of missing out? A budding love of the wilderness? I don't know, because my first experience was kind of miserable.

But I did return.

Sometimes with friends...

Rocky Peak Ridge, 2/23/2012

Sometimes alone...

Phelps Mountain, 3/3/2013

But usually with that boyfriend. That boyfriend, who took me up the Trap Dike, over Colden, then up the back side of Algonquin to traverse the MacIntyre Range on my first ever backpacking trip. (Let's just say that he was trying to kill me, and if I survived, I'd make a decent girlfriend.)

Algonquin, 8/16/2009

Some of his "adventures" were my misadventures, and especially in the early days, I didn't always love him when we were in the mountains. But as the miles passed under our feet, we learned to work as a team. My developing backcountry skills gave me confidence to voice my opinions and needs. He learned to give appropriate feedback and recognition. And eventually, there were no more misadventures.

We hitched our lives together on the summit of Mt. Marcy, highest point in New York State: a fitting place for our love, born in the wild.

Mt. Marcy, 6/15/2013

Without noticing, I had hiked 28 of the High Peaks and had become one of those certifiably insane hikers who can start a one match fire and who carries a toothbrush without a handle (saves 15 grams!). 28 down, 18 to go - and then I thought I might finish, because what the heck: I, and he, and we were having fun.

Finally: the morning of Saturday, May 23, 2015. Today I finish my 46. I'm hiking with some friends, and of course, my husband. As we gain altitude, I start to see the back side of the Great Range, Haystack there, Colvin and Blake in front - memories from so many miles of trail, each peak an old friend now. Speaking of old friends, those hiking partners from my first High Peak trip are married, with a baby son, and live across the street. It's a bluebird day - reminds me of my wedding day - in fact, there's Marcy.

After 6 years, 4 months, and 25 days, 275 miles, 117,000 feet of elevation gain, 18 distinct trips spanning 27 calendar days, 3 pairs of hiking boots, 50 pounds of trail mix, and an infinite number of black fly bites, I summited at 12:45 p.m.

After 46 of these, there isn't much to say. It was a lovely day, and this adventure was complete.

Of course, the completion of one adventure always marks the start of the next one...

P.S.  Completing the 46 on Nippletop was a total coincidence - but it does make me chuckle.

Months of Plenty

There was plenty of summer left after we returned home!

Set up garden beds, built deer & rabbit fencing, mulched and composted, built ADK bridges over the inlet and outlet streams, and a zillion other little things:

Did some work inside the house, too:

 

But there was still plenty of time for wildflowers and hammocks, climbing trees and weeknight campfires:

Birthday parties and goat roasts:

Went back to work, fully embracing the fact that I really, truly, absolutely am not an indoor cat:

And to top it all off, a sport climbing "herd" trip that didn't get rained out:

The first few leaves in the back woods are turning yellow.  There is a hickory directly across from my window; I can't wait for it to turn brilliant.  It will.  I know it will!  First autumn in our home.  Still finding all of the new things.

By all standards, this was an epic summer.  And for the first time in long time, there's nothing big on the horizon.  No Peru, no New Zealand, no trip around the world, no homelessness, no career change, no Nicaragua, no wedding, no home buying, no road tripping.

Just wildflowers and gardens, campfires and hammocks, birthday parties with funny hats and virtual candles, goats on fire, and the happy hum of my treadmill.

And slip n' slides.  Definitely slip n' slides.

(Come find me, adventures!)

Slowing Down on the Olympic Peninsula

The first few weeks of this trip were really hectic.  We'd hike or climb during the day, then drive, finding a place to crash when the sun was low in the sky.  Dave set camp while I cooked; we'd eat, clean up, and crash.  In the morning, the tent came down as the sun came up, and we were on to the next adventure.  With the big Yosemite adventure smack dab in the middle of the calendar, we had so many places to visit, and so little time left.  So we'd go faster and harder.

It rained in Washington.  Not very hard - but constantly.  Big mountains hid in the clouds, and I never did see Rainier, except the visitor's center diorama.  

I spent a few days damp to my core, wrapped in layers of fleece, trying to stay warm.  The car smelled like wet hiking socks, slug mucus, and last night's rice and beans.  All of our gear was sitting in puddles of water in contractor bags.

tent floating in 3-4 inches of water

It was mildly miserable, just uncomfortable enough to make us realize that our deeper discomfort from constant running-running-running-faster was totally self-inflicted.

tent covered in 3-4 inch banana slugs

The Olympic peninsula wasn't on our original itinerary.  But people kept mentioning it, again and again, with intensity.  It was special, they said.

A special rainforest is a good place to wait out the rain.

Time to slow down on the Olympic peninsula.

There's nothing to see except what's close to the ground.

There's nothing to do except that which we are doing right now.

There is time to look at moss.

There is time to count the blades on a fern.

There is time to stand in the rain.

ruby beach

There is time to be with wildflowers.

There is time to make friends with a slug.

There is time to hike ten miles up to a mountain pass, even when you know you won't see anything in the clouds at the top.

There are plenty of mossy green streams on the way up for your eyes.

We camped in the Olympic National Forest,

...walked along Ruby Beach,

......took 2 hours to meander the ¾ mile “Hall of Mosses” trail at the Hoh Rainforest, and

.........hiked to Marmot Pass on the east side of the peninsula.

And I can say I agree with every person who mentioned this place.  It's special, very special.