If you asked me a year ago if I would be the ambassador for the Los Angeles chapter of the international hiking group, Hiker Babes, whose mission is to unite women who share a passion for the outdoors into a community, I would have laughed.
We ended up taking the Ice House trail to the 8,859-foot summit and hiked nearly 12 miles there and back.
I was able to understand the bride better as I got to know the other incredibly smart and caring young women.
We’re clearly out there. The mountains are also a melting pot of a variety of different people hiking native lands, and yet we are only now barely seeing these faces in popular media.
I wrote a poem with the LA River in mind, but I also drew parallels between the river and the highways that weave in and around Los Angeles.
I still had my eyes on other peaks but being able to freely trek to the top of Baden-Powell with friends that day was satisfying.
The most important thing you need to do in order to overcome nearly any obstacle is to take a step back and breathe.
Plastic bags blow in the breeze as cars picking up wind and speed push the delicately drifting thin pouches of non-biodegradable crude oil. It’s everywhere, but it doesn’t need to be.
As I looked down at the new shoes on my feet, I let my mind wander to think of the past ten years out on the trails. The old pair of shoes that I had stuffed into the trunk of a car had carried me through the cool woods of the northern forests of California, [...]
The look of shock and horror had crept up on her face. I sensed jolts of confusion from her as I spoke the words. “I would like the number four without meat.”