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pecuniumThis year, when we went to Joshua Tree, it was cold.
Some of Maia's fellow students came along. They headed out Saturday, took a pair of rooms at a local motel, and joined us for dinner.
Maia does crochet. One of the women from USC saw her making a cowl (along these lines but with the bottom higher, and the skirting shorter) at school saw it and thought it was nice, but wondered why she was making it, after all this is California, not the mid-west.
After they got to Joshua Tree, she understood. When we were cooking dinner the temperature dropped into the upper 20s (farenheit). Food froze before one could finish it, rice was a cold crunch.
The OT sutdents had brought stuff to make "stew". Packets of foil, with moist vegetables, rested in the cooler area of the coals, and allowed to simmer. They were pretty good. My experiment for the weekend was making flip.
Dark beer, a small splash of rum, and maple syrup (because we'd not brought molasses) and then heating the mug with a red-hot poker from the fire. Being done, well after dark, it was easy to see when the poker (in lieu of a loggerhead) was ready. The beer foamed. The poker sizzled. First rule, the head on flip is hot, scaldingly. All the bubbles act as insulation.
The flip was delicious, but it wasn't warm for long. Which was strangely pleasant. The foam stayed warm, but the liquid beneath never got more than tepid.
I used Pusser's Rum, but any dark rum will probably work.
Maia, out of a perverse curiosity, had brought our two-probe, recording thermometer.
Inside the tent the temperature got down to 26F. Outside, it was 14.7F.
The day got into the fifties, and the walk was very nice. We have a standard hike, up Rattlesnake Canyon (no worry from the snakes in January, they are abed for the winter). The only scary part is the pitch above The Oasis, which isn't hard, but looks it.
The only excitement was from some other groups coming down, as we were going up. I was spotting for some of them, when one (kid, about 12, maybe 130 lbs) slipped. So I posted up, and caught her on my arm, letting her slide to my elbow, and stopping her. It's not that dangerous a pitch, and if she'd been wearing better shoes, she's not have slipped at all.
She'd also have been better off if she'd not had her butt on the rock. If one has one's butt off the rock (which feels less secure) a slide can be arrested by sitting down, and using it as a brake. If you have on the rock already when you slip, there's nothing to add.
Because Maia's friends were with us, we headed in earlier than we might have (which was fine with me, I don't care for getting back to camp when the sun is barely short of setting).
I was going to dutch-oven-roast a chicken, but someone had moved the ice-box (used to keep things from freezing the night before, the 2.5 gallon bottle of water which was left on the table [concrete] was frozen solid when we woke up) and it seems it wasn't completely closed. The chicken was frozen solid. I suppose I might have been able to spit roast it, but I didn't have a spit (the trick would be to thaw it on the spit at one distance from the fire, and then move it in to actually cook. Anyone who wants to make this possible should feel free to order a spit for me from Cowboy Cookware), so it came home (having been bought fresh) and got cooked in the oven).
Wasn't a problem, we had lots of food. The night was warmer, it only got down to 18.1F. Inside the tent was colder, (23.4F) because the problem with my sleeping bag had been fixed (it had been slipping off my shoulder, which might have been fixed, had we not been using a flannel sheet, and the silk comforter inside).
Everyone else left, and Maia, her mother, and I, went for a shortish scramble on Sunday, and headed home. We stopped for dinner at an Afghan place in Pomona. I forget the name, and it was only ok. First, it wasn't really an Afghan place. It had some afghani names, and a couple of lamb dishes, but mostly it was a theme, not actual cuisine. The shank I had was dry, and the braising liquid was boring. The bread was dull. The house dressing was good. A yoghurt vinaigrette, with some mint and lime, but that was the high point of the evening.
The coffee was pathetic, overroasted, over-extracted; it had that taste of stale ashtrays which is so common to powder grinds which have been treated badly.
Some of Maia's fellow students came along. They headed out Saturday, took a pair of rooms at a local motel, and joined us for dinner.
Maia does crochet. One of the women from USC saw her making a cowl (along these lines but with the bottom higher, and the skirting shorter) at school saw it and thought it was nice, but wondered why she was making it, after all this is California, not the mid-west.
After they got to Joshua Tree, she understood. When we were cooking dinner the temperature dropped into the upper 20s (farenheit). Food froze before one could finish it, rice was a cold crunch.
The OT sutdents had brought stuff to make "stew". Packets of foil, with moist vegetables, rested in the cooler area of the coals, and allowed to simmer. They were pretty good. My experiment for the weekend was making flip.
Dark beer, a small splash of rum, and maple syrup (because we'd not brought molasses) and then heating the mug with a red-hot poker from the fire. Being done, well after dark, it was easy to see when the poker (in lieu of a loggerhead) was ready. The beer foamed. The poker sizzled. First rule, the head on flip is hot, scaldingly. All the bubbles act as insulation.
The flip was delicious, but it wasn't warm for long. Which was strangely pleasant. The foam stayed warm, but the liquid beneath never got more than tepid.
I used Pusser's Rum, but any dark rum will probably work.
Maia, out of a perverse curiosity, had brought our two-probe, recording thermometer.
Inside the tent the temperature got down to 26F. Outside, it was 14.7F.
The day got into the fifties, and the walk was very nice. We have a standard hike, up Rattlesnake Canyon (no worry from the snakes in January, they are abed for the winter). The only scary part is the pitch above The Oasis, which isn't hard, but looks it.
The only excitement was from some other groups coming down, as we were going up. I was spotting for some of them, when one (kid, about 12, maybe 130 lbs) slipped. So I posted up, and caught her on my arm, letting her slide to my elbow, and stopping her. It's not that dangerous a pitch, and if she'd been wearing better shoes, she's not have slipped at all.
She'd also have been better off if she'd not had her butt on the rock. If one has one's butt off the rock (which feels less secure) a slide can be arrested by sitting down, and using it as a brake. If you have on the rock already when you slip, there's nothing to add.
Because Maia's friends were with us, we headed in earlier than we might have (which was fine with me, I don't care for getting back to camp when the sun is barely short of setting).
I was going to dutch-oven-roast a chicken, but someone had moved the ice-box (used to keep things from freezing the night before, the 2.5 gallon bottle of water which was left on the table [concrete] was frozen solid when we woke up) and it seems it wasn't completely closed. The chicken was frozen solid. I suppose I might have been able to spit roast it, but I didn't have a spit (the trick would be to thaw it on the spit at one distance from the fire, and then move it in to actually cook. Anyone who wants to make this possible should feel free to order a spit for me from Cowboy Cookware), so it came home (having been bought fresh) and got cooked in the oven).
Wasn't a problem, we had lots of food. The night was warmer, it only got down to 18.1F. Inside the tent was colder, (23.4F) because the problem with my sleeping bag had been fixed (it had been slipping off my shoulder, which might have been fixed, had we not been using a flannel sheet, and the silk comforter inside).
Everyone else left, and Maia, her mother, and I, went for a shortish scramble on Sunday, and headed home. We stopped for dinner at an Afghan place in Pomona. I forget the name, and it was only ok. First, it wasn't really an Afghan place. It had some afghani names, and a couple of lamb dishes, but mostly it was a theme, not actual cuisine. The shank I had was dry, and the braising liquid was boring. The bread was dull. The house dressing was good. A yoghurt vinaigrette, with some mint and lime, but that was the high point of the evening.
The coffee was pathetic, overroasted, over-extracted; it had that taste of stale ashtrays which is so common to powder grinds which have been treated badly.
