Jun 27 2010

Mt Wrightson hike

When we bought our house in Tucson while we were still full-timing in the Airstream, I explained to everyone that we never intended to spend summers here. Now, three years later, here I am in ARIDzona in June, when daytime relative humidity runs in the single digits and every day is 100 degrees or hotter.

But I really don’t mind, as it turns out. Yes, it’s hot, but I don’t spend my days standing in the direct sunlight. And in Arizona there’s always a cool respite at the top of a nearby Sky Island, high above the desert floor.

Brett is in town for a few days. We have to head out for business this week, but it is traditional that when he comes to town I abuse him as much as possible by taking him on a tough hike. He lives in Florida you see, and as such he is altitude-deprived. No mountains. Last year I took him up Picacho Peak, which is a short (2 mile) but challenging trail, especially when the temperature is above 100 during the hike, as it was that day.

He survived that and came back again, so this time I brought out the big guns. I’ve wanted to hike Mt Wrightson ever since I first read about the trail to the summit. It’s about 30 miles south of Tucson, not far from Green Valley. The hike starts at 5,400 feet and ascends rather steeply and steadily up to 9,453 feet. In addition to being a hike that “everyone should do once,” according to one hiking guide, it would also be the first time I’ve climbed a mountain over 6,000 feet. Brett, for his part, was game for anything.

Being at relatively high elevation, the temperature at the trailhead was only about 80 degrees when we started, and for the rest of the hike things never got much hotter, since we were ascending most of the day. That was the good news. The bad news was that the dryness of the air only gets worse as you go up. We both consumed about 100 ounces of water, and ran out about halfway during the descent. All of that water went out through the pores and we were never sweaty, thanks to immediate evaporation.

Mt Wrightson was almost my undoing. I haven’t spent much time at altitude lately, and I haven’t been hiking much lately. At about 8,500 feet I started to hit the wall, and the problem was simply that I couldn’t get enough oxygen. My rest breaks become more and more frequent. Suddenly, I felt rather old, and it didn’t get better when the 20-something hardbodies from the local university started passing us like we were geezers. It worse when, during a gasping break around 9,000 feet, a woman passed us on her second complete ascent of the day. Now that’s just wrong.

As people always say at the end of a brutal hike, “the view was worth it.” But I’ll be honest with you. The view was spectacular in every direction, but it wasn’t worth it. What made the strenuous 10.6 mile hike worth doing was simply the feeling of achievement. Now I’ve hiked to nearly 10,000 feet. Now I’ve seen a hundred-mile panorama from the tiny summit of Mt Wrightson: Tucson to the north, Patagonia and Sonoita to the east, Green Valley and the copper mines to the west, and the mountains of Mexico to the south. Now I don’t ever have to do it again.

Hiking down again, of course, is much easier. But I could have done without running into the woman who was on her way back up for a third complete ascent in one day. At that point Brett and I were both feeling every bit of the late-40s man, complete with twinges in the knees and muscles begging for Advil. The uber-hiker woman didn’t look too happy either, on her way back up again, but she at least had the excuse of being (A) about 22 miles into it; and (B) obviously, completely insane.

When we landed back in Tucson, it was about 102 degrees but we were told we missed the real heat of 109 earlier in the day. So I guessed we picked the right place to be on Saturday. The rest of the evening was recovery: showers, re-hydrating, a quick trip to Bookman’s for cheezy paperback sci-fi novels to read during evenings of our business trip, a pair of burritos from Nico’s Taco Shop, and a really early bedtime.

Mar 28 2010

Desert bloom at Picacho Peak

As we had hoped, the rainfall this winter is turning the desert into a virtual carpet of green. Little yellow flowers are lining the hillside with long yellow streaks punctuated by tall saguaro cactus. Once your eye focuses on the details, you can see blue lupine (?) everywhere, and tiny white flowers just now budding in the shadows beneath taller plants.

After a morning of pancakes out by the Fabers’ Bambi, I collected all the excuses for why nobody wanted to do the full hike to the top of Picacho Peak. No matter—there is a shorter, easy hike (0.7 miles) up to a low saddle with an excellent view that almost everyone was able to do. Eleanor stayed behind to do battle with that virus, but Emma, Craig, Ken, Petey, Rick, and Mike all came along. Even for folks over 70 years of age, and those with questionable knees, the hike was easy thanks to plenty of photo stops along the way.

I mentioned yesterday that this was an official Tin Can Tourists event. We were surprised to get visits from other TCT members who had read about it in the newsletter and decided to drop in on Saturday afternoon, just to see what was up.

Three guys with a 1960s Silver Streak motorhome swung by, and another guy came by with a custom hot rod. We also had a visit from a nice couple who left their converted GMC bus at home. If we organize more TCT events in the future I’m sure we’ll get a chance to see that bus. That’s motivation for me right there—I love to see the buses.

The TCT crowd is an exceptionally nice and diverse group of people, which makes camping with them a really great experience. There’s always something to talk about and stories to hear. That probably explains why we never did get away from the campground for that Dairy Queen Blizzard … but in the evening there was the traditional campfire (courtesy of Rick and Judy’s wood) and birthday pie in honor of Eleanor. Too bad she was back in the trailer snoozing again. We’ll do her birthday again later this week when she can properly enjoy it.

The Caravel test has been a success. Yes, it’s very small and we have to work around each other to function in the trailer. But it still works as well as it did the last time we camped in it five years ago. Better, actually, since it no longer leaks or smells funny. The larger refrigerator is more usable, the beds are more comfortable, and we’ve learned in the intervening years how to pack it properly so we can actually fit what we need. I was really wondering if we’d come out of this weekend planning to sell it. Instead, we’ve got a plan to go camping again in two weeks up in the Chiricahua Mountains, where the national forest campgrounds are too small for our 30-foot Airstream.

Mar 27 2010

A Blizzard at Picacho Peak State Park

The phenomenon that passes for winter in southern Arizona has ended, and that means it is prime camping season down here in the desert southwest.

This spring is expected to be particularly fine. A Pacific El Nino effect brought us storm after storm (amounting to a few inches of rain here), which is inspiring the colorful desert flowers to bloom with vigor. Plus, the special funds that pay for state parks were raided by our state politicians so that two-thirds of the meager Arizona state park system will be closing this year. So time is running out for everyone to visit the state parks. After that, you can just keep driving on I-10 to California, if they have any parks left…

So, a few weeks ago I extended an invitation to the Tin Can Tourists to join us at Picacho Peak State Park for this weekend. Besides the flowers and the imminent doom of the parks, I wanted to climb the dizzying Picacho Peak one more time and hopefully bring Eleanor and Emma up too. We also wanted to camp in the Caravel for the first time as a family since 2005.

Alas, reality stepped in, in the form of a virus. Two weeks ago we went to a karate tournament, where Emma picked up two 3rd place medals and both she and I picked up a souvenir case of food poisoning (we think) and a cold virus. We spent the next two days unpleasantly — I’ll spare you the details — and the following week going through what turned out to be a particularly tough cold. A week later we were both entering the final grim stage of borderline sinusitis and then of course Eleanor got it and the routine started over again. So we arrived at Picacho Peak yesterday afternoon with Eleanor in a fairly limp and weakened state, and me with a distinct lack of breath that made it clear I would not be leading a hike up the mountain.

Well, despite all that the park is looking fine. There are little yellow flowers everywhere, as well as a blue flower that looks sort of like a cross between a bluebonnet or lupine. I’m not strong on flower identification, but it’s all pretty, so who cares? The bloom is definitely not at peak yet, and it would be well worth anyone’s time to come visit the park over the next couple of months. By June, the flowers will be in decline and the park itself will be closed.

We have six rigs here: ourselves in the 17 foot 1968 Airstream Caravel; our friends Ken & Petey Faber in their latest project (a 1961 Airstream Bambi, 16 feet of cuteness); Betty in her kit-build teardrop; Craig in his 1969 Newell motorhome; Judy & Rick in their late 80’s Airstream Sovereign 23; and Mike & Rosemary in their late-model Airstream. Some friends of Betty’s are also here in another teardrop trailer.

Nobody seems to be planning to hike to the summit. We are the youngest in the crowd, and everyone else has an excuse involving knees, lungs, viruses, or a strong commitment to a sedentary lifestyle. I think if I went today I would be quite alone.

So instead we brought two cans of Batter Blaster and a pair of griddles, and we will be making pancakes for all at 8:30. After that, we shall let the day unfold as it will. There is “nothing” to do here except hike, take pictures, socialize, explore the new visitor center, picnic, make campfires, paint (as Petey is doing in her Bambi in the photo at right), read trashy novels, take tours of each other’s trailers, nap, and make pancakes. Oh, and there’s a Dairy Queen at the rest area a mile away … can you say “Blizzard”?

So don’t feel badly for us. Life is good in the desert these days, despite bacterial and virus infections, and we are all pleased to get to try out our baby trailer again. Although I have to admit it doesn’t seem all that small compared to the 16-foot Bambi next door, and the tiny teardrops parked just up the hill. I’ll report further on life in 17 feet later this weekend.

Jan 20 2010

Sunny rainy days

Ironically, as I sit down to write up this blog which is eventually going to discuss solar energy, the weather here in Tucson is astonishingly wintry. Three Pacific storms are blowing by this week, each one bringing more rain and wind than the previous one. Last night we heard the unfamiliar sound of heavy rain pounding our flat house roof in the desert, and this morning we woke to crystal clear air, sidewalks and driveways scrubbed clean of dust, a few downed palm fronds, and beautiful views of snow in the Catalinas above 6,000 feet.

Webcam image courtesy of UA Computer Science Dept.

Even when our forecast looks like this, it’s usually sunny most of the day in Tucson. They get excited about rain here, for obvious reasons, and a “winter storm” has an entirely different meaning than it does in the rest of the country. Here, it means wind, a little rain, and maybe a thunderstorm. “100% chance of showers” doesn’t mean rain all day; it means definite rain at some point in the day. Freezes are rare except in the mountains.

Normally after a big snow we’d go sledding in the mountains, but Emma has one foot in a cast that can’t get wet, and she can’t climb snowy hills anyway. Broken fifth metatarsal, nothing serious. And we’ve got carnies in the driveway, and I’m afraid to leave the house unguarded while they’re here. (Just kidding, they’ve been good courtesy parkers).

So instead of karate, hiking, biking, and sledding, we’re forced to some sedentary activities like cheap Tuesday night movies and Tucson Roller Derby.

The ladies of TRD put on a good show Saturday and now Emma is sporting a cast covered with the autographs of roller derby queens, which is just extremely cool. Not everyone has the autograph of Bev Rage, Furious Oxide, Pinky McLovin, Hellbent Betty, Zippy’s Takeout, Dirty Duchess, Blanka Trohl, and others on their foot.

The breaking of the metatarsal also means we’re staying home for a little while. So, it’s time to clean up the inbox and respond to various inquiries. Yesterday, blog reader Vernon wrote to me about solar panels:

Rich, it seems that I get more real world data from your blog than most ‘data’ sources… Have you ever logged hour-by-hour amp output from your 230 W solar system under ideal conditions? I see your daily totals and they seem well below the system theoreticals … Thanks!

I often watch real-time amp-hour output from the panels and I’ve found that theoretical output is not very useful in the real world. There is huge variation depending on sun angle, time of year, time of day, cloudiness, dust on the panels, and shading from trees. There’s also some loss inherent in the wiring. As a result, on a sunny day at noon we might generate as little as 8 amps, and as much as 12 amps.

The rest of the day the output will be considerably less. In December, even on a clear day, output will generally run less than 3 amps until 9 a.m., and after 3 p.m. Thus, on a clear winter day we might generate just 25 amp-hours per day. On a partly-cloudy day, that can be cut to as little as 15-20 amp-hours, which is not much at all.

But under “ideal conditions,” we can generate quite a lot more. In late June or early July with full sun and 16-hour northern daylight, we could certainly produce more than 60 amp-hours per day.

We’ve never been able to measure our true total potential capability because, ironically, you generally need the least power in summer when it is most easily generated. Thus, our batteries are always full by 2 or 3 p.m. in the summer. Once the batteries begin to reach full charge, the system stops absorbing power and we have no way to determine accurately how much more power we might have been able to store.

Winter is the relevant challenge. That’s when you have short days, low sun angle, and much higher power consumption due to increased furnace and light requirements. It takes a powerful solar charging system and good weather conditions, to generate and store enough power to make up a typical day’s use.

It is for this reason that I recommend serious boondockers go for much more panel capability than the standard 55-watt installed as part of the Airstream “solar package.” You want to have the power to get through a couple of partly-cloudy winter days if you camp during that season. Having tilting capability on the panels will also boost power production considerably, but this is difficult to implement on an Airstream. The best way to look at it is that solar generally just makes your batteries seem bigger.

The other piece of the solar equation is the capability of your solar panel controller. Most solar controller incorporate good charging, so that when you have sun the batteries can enjoy the maximum capacity available. However, when you go plug in (whether to campground power or a generator) your factory-installed power converter kicks in, and those are often pathetically bad at recharging batteries. Read about our experience here. It makes sense to replace the factory converter/charger with a better 3-stage charger if you are going to use a generator to top off your batteries in addition to solar.

Nov 22 2009

The pecan harvest

One things leads to another in a most interesting way, if you care to think of things that way.

Follow me on this, if you can. It all started a week ago, when I fixed up my old beater bicycle so that I could go for rides around Tucson. Yesterday I hopped on that bike and took my first substantial bike ride in many years. Tucson has a very nice multi-use paved trail along the Rillito River, 11 miles in each direction, which I happily rode to the very end.

The trail ends abruptly at railroad tracks. I stopped to rest and drink water, while watching the long freight trains scream by. An older man was walking along the tracks with his dog, and we started talking. He’s retired, but volunteers extensively and writes Christian novels. I heard about the time his dog was bitten by a rattlesnake (a distinctive fang scar still on his snout), and the places they walked together.

He pointed out a grove of pecan trees across the tracks, on the east side of Interstate 10, in which he often walked. The pecan grove is owned by a local gravel company, but as long as he stayed clear of the gravel pits and helped keep the orchard clean of trash, they let him walk his dog there. “The pecans are ripe now,” he told me. “You may as well go pick them before they all rot.”

So this morning Emma and I drove over and found the trees. We had never been in a pecan grove before, so it was mostly for the novelty of picking pecans that we went. With Emma on my shoulders, it was easy to pick a partial bag of pecans in fat green husks. We took just enough to have a small batch to eat, since at the time we weren’t sure of the proper procedure for cleaning or roasting them.

Pecan husks split nicely along a natural segmentation into quarters. We proudly took our bag home and demonstrated for Eleanor how to husk them. And then we realized something: pecan husks stain your fingers dark brown. Permanently.

I have probably the worst-looking fingers in the family because I shucked more pecans than anyone, but all of us have degrees of stained fingers now. Nothing removes the stain because it penetrates the skin, like a henna tattoo.

Normally I would find this amusing and nothing more, but it just happens that next week I am scheduled to attend a major RV industry conference. I’m going to shake hands with our current and future clients — or at least, I would if they would want to touch me. I may have to walk around with my hands behind my back, like Prince Charles, although body language experts say this is viewed as untrustworthy. Well, is it better to look like I haven’t washed my hands since I mucked out the stalls?

I suppose I could have a t-shirt imprinted that says, “Pecan Farmer.” Or I could look on the bright side of this: now I’m less likely to catch a cold while I’m up in the frozen north on the business trip. Or I could wear gloves and pretend I’m afraid of germs — or just unfathomably fashionable.

Apparently abrasive cleaners can have some effect, eventually. So, having fixed up my bicycle last week means that I’ll be scrubbing the skin off my fingers every day this week. And that’s how one thing led to another.