All roads to Yosemite National Park closed

by Kraig Becker on

The National Park Service has announced that all roads leading into Yosemite National Park are currently closed due to excessive snow and ice, as well as fallen trees in the area. The roads were officially closed last night and will be reevaluated throughout the day today to determine when access to the park can be restored.

Winter storms hit the Yosemite region on Thursday dumping loads of fresh snow across the park. The valley floor reportedly received two feet of accumulation, which pales in comparison to other locations. For instance, Badger Pass received as much as eight to ten feet of new snow and Tuolumne Meadows also received six feet of fresh powder.

Those planning on visiting the park this weekend are encouraged to call the 24-hour road conditions hot line at 209-372-0200 to determine the current status of access to Yosemite. Additionally, all vehicles that do enter the park over the next few days are required to carry snow chains and be prepared to deal with rapidly changing conditions that could include more falling trees.

Yosemite National Park, located along the western slopes of California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains. It is a popular hiking and climbing destination throughout the year, offering more than 1200 square miles of landscapes to explore, including high peaks, remote valleys, and lush forests.

East of Africa: the Road to Tuléar

by Stephen Greenwood on
I sneak a glance at the side-view mirror to try and catch a reflection of my face; I’m trying hard to look at ease, but my tight grip on the door handle suggests otherwise. It certainly isn’t the worst road I’ve been on in Africa, but it seems that our driver is intent on moving as fast as the laws of physics will allow; navigating hundreds of hairpin turns with haste so that we can get off the road by nightfall.

Our driver recognizes my apprehension, shouting “Don’t be nervous!” before reaching to turn up the Jerry Marcoss album that’s playing in the truck. I take a deep breath and focus my attention on the scenery around me. It’s stunning.

We’ve been on the road for nearly 8 hours, and the mountainous highlands of Antananarivo have given way to sprawling golden plains that are fringed by large rock formations and orange-red dirt. There are unfavorable clouds in the distance, which causes our driver to shake his head as he slows down for the first time of the trip. A light rainfall begins to hit the windshield.

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The road to Tuléar is a voyage that remains unexplored by most of the tourists that come to Madagascar; it takes two full days of driving (at top speed) with a midway night rest in Fianarantsoa. The route is a grueling stretch of reasonably well-maintained asphalt that spans almost 1000km from the highlands of Antananarivo to the plains of the island’s Southwestern coast. It’s a two-lane road that often converges into a single lane for bridge crossings, but traffic is so sparse that there’s rarely an issue with oncoming traffic.

I scan the landscape for the simple mud huts that I was familiar with in Tanzania, but all the houses seem to be well constructed, two-story structures made of mud, brick, and wood. Their orange color matches the vibrance of the earth that they sit on, with most capped by neatly thatched roofs. They are by no means comfortable, spacious, or in many cases even wired for electricity; but so far there are no signs of shantytowns in the countryside. While Madagascar is still one of the poorest nations in the world, it seems that the standard of living in the rural areas is relatively higher than that of other places I’ve been to.

Every small town that we pass through has several staple elements: a large central catholic church complete (steeple and all), a diverse selection of roadside cafes, and painted signs with bold blue letters that spell out “CECAM” – apparently one of Madagascar’s largest micro-finance lenders.

On the outskirts of each small town, young boys stand near the road with a small hand extended. Next to them are shovels and mounds of dirt, which they have been using to patch potholes in the road, and which they hope will earn them a few hundred ariary. We oblige; it’s an impressive display of entrepreneurship for a service that is welcome and necessary.

The landscape continues to change; the golden plains and green hillsides turn into dry mesas. It’s like driving through the entire range of California’s landscape in a matter of hours; which makes it believable that Madagascar houses five percent of the world’s plant and animal species. For the most part, the land appears untouched and unsettled, the most beautiful of which has been claimed by the national park system. When Ravalomanana was president, he promised to protect over 60,000 square kilometers of land; a step up from the 17,000 square kilometers that are currently protected.

One of the larger reserves that we pass is Isalo National Park; home to 82 species of birds, 33 species of reptiles, 15 species of frogs and 14 species of mammals. The most dramatic sight from the road is Ranohira Mountain; a rock formation that almost appears to be monolithic, but is actually part of a small range called the Isalo Massif.

There’s enough time to briefly get out and take some pictures, but the driver emphasizes that we must get back on the road if we want to complete the last several hundred kilometers in the light; we have one last stop in a town called Ilakaka, where the sales team hopes to generate some lamp & panel sales.

I hop in the truck, thankful that the windy mountain curves have transformed into long stretches of road, and hopeful that we’ll only have to listen through the Jerry Marcoss album two more times.

Catch the previous articles in the East of Africa series here!

Who pays for rescue efforts when people are lost? Who should?

by Jamie Rhein on

A few days ago, Kraig wrote about the three hikers lost on Mt. Hood. At the time of his post, one of the hikers had been found dead. The other two were still missing. Almost a week after they set out on their climb, they are still missing and most probably are dead. Because of this tragic situation, the question of who foots the bill for rescue efforts has come up once more.

Back in 2005, then Gadling blogger Erik Olsen wrestled with the question about who should pay–the lost hiker who hopefully is found–or tax payers? Olsen’s musings came about after a hiker hurt his ankle while hiking in Colorado. Several fire departments rescued the hiker after he spent a night on the mountain. The sticker price for the rescue was $5,000. In this case, the fire departments wanted the hiker to pay.

Usually, the people who are getting rescued don’t pay anything. But is that fair? Rescue attempts can be pricey. Consider this: From 1992 to 2007, the U.S. National Park Service spent $58 million on search and rescue efforts.

This recent Newsweek article echoes some of Erik’s points. As the article highlights, the hard economics question of who should pay for rescue attempts has as many facets to consider as it always has.

While one might say that people who take risks by heading up a mountain top or straying off a path should pay up once he or she is found, there are other factors to keep in mind.

  • One is a concern that people may avoid calling for help until it’s too late out of fear for what a rescue attempt might cost.
  • Some risks are unknown. A beautiful sunny day could go sour if the wind shifts, for example. Should people be punished when nature is at fault?
  • A large portion of rescue attempts are made by volunteers, therefore the cost is curtailed.
  • When fire departments and military units are part of rescue efforts, they often have hours to log towards rescues. A real live rescue helps them meet their quota.
  • Sometimes a rescue attempt may be launched even though the hiker is not in danger. A seasoned hiker may be holed up somewhere waiting for more favorable hiking conditions while a family member is frantic with worry.

With the knowledge that lost hikers are part of the outdoor scene, being financially proactive seems to be the best approach for handling costs before they occur. Colorado, for example, collects a small portion of the money from state recreational fees to put into a fund that is earmarked for search and rescue.

In Alaska, people who are mountain climbing up Mount McKinley pay $200 for the privilege.

Although planning for a tragic situation is never pleasant, it seems that in this case, planning ahead for the ” just in case” is sound. Otherwise, at the worst possible moment, people will be faced with the question, “How much is a life worth?

Yellowstone opens for winter visitors

by Kraig Becker on

Winter may officially still be a few days off, but that hasn’t prevented Yellowstone National Park from opening for the season. According to the National Park Service, as of yesterday, all roads are now open for travelers who want to make the oversnow journey through the park’s scenic interior.

Visitors who want to explore Yellowstone, the nation’s first national park, in this manner will have to contract with a commercial guide service. Each day, up to 318 snowmobiles and 78 coaches will be allowed to roam the groomed trails from the South Entrance to West Thumb, and on to Old Faithful, with a few more trails opening up over time. Along the way, they’ll find miles of serene, snow covered backcountry that is as engaging in the winter as it is in the warmer months.

In addition to the trails opening, the Old Faithful Visitors Center opened yesterday as well, and by Friday the Old Faithful Snow Lodge, gift shop, and restaurants. The Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel will follow suit on Monday, December 21st, offering more places to stay for those looking to visit the area and play in the snow.

For those who would prefer to drive through Yellowstone, there are roads open for four wheeled vehicles as well. The highway from the North Entrance and from Gardiner, Montana, through the park’s Northeast Entrance, by way of Mammoth Hot Springs and Cooke city are kept well maintained throughout the year, although winter storms can make them treacherous at times. The drive is also highly recommended and scenic as well.

Australia’s Macquarie Island

by Andrew Evans on

Have you ever had an obese, wild baby elephant seal drop its head in your lap and slobber nose love all over you? It melts a heart faster than a Snickers in a microwave, really.

Macquarie Island (pronounced mak-worry) is Australia’s southernmost point, a tiny spit of an island some 940 miles (1,500 km) southeast of Tasmania. For you mariners out there that’s a three-day sail from Hobart-past the roaring 40s and into the furious 50s. The island is only about twenty miles long and two miles across-a lonely scrap of sub-antarctic landscape consisting of pointed grassy slopes and rocky beaches where mist lingers all the day long.

Discovered in 1810 by wayward sealers, Macquarie was kept a secret in order that they get rich quick from the magnificent seal colonies living on the island. In 1811, the first ship to arrive in Sydney from Macquarie carried almost 57,000 seal skins. Today, the descendants of these piles of skins still tumble along the salt and pepper sand, bellowing out the unique throaty growl of the adult elephant seal. It’s quite a sight. Forget all your images of Australia’s man-eating crocodiles and creepy snakes and spiders. Here is a different kind of nature reserve where the local attraction grows to 20 feet long, weighs more than three tons, and spends most of the day sleeping on the beach.Macquarie is not your typical vacation destination–there is no permanent human population and there are no hotels or restaurants (though the chef at the Australian meteorological station bakes terrific scones). Also, it rains pretty much constantly and on most days, the wind blows hard enough to knock you down.

What Macquarie does have is wildlife and a lot of it. Thanks to extreme isolation, very little human contact and strict conservation rules, the animals on Macquarie harbor no fear of humans whatsoever. While guidelines instruct keeping at least 30 feet from any wild animal, the sheer abundance of living breathing cute cuddly things makes it impossible. You try hard not to touch or interfere, but if they come to you, then just let them. Sit down on the beach and the baby elephant seals will flop their way towards you, sniff you out, then curl up beside you begging to spoon. Likewise, brown fluffy balls of baby penguins come teetering up to check you out, then start screeching for mom and dad. The cuteness factor trumps a million sneezing panda vids.

Four kinds of penguin live on Macquarie. The largest and most vivid are the elegant King penguins who are the slightly smaller cousins to the iconic Emperor penguins (the ones you and your kids know and love from Happy Feet). As a self-certified, card-carrying member of the penguin craze, I went berserk on watching all the action that goes on in Macquarie’s penguin colony. Even more amusing were the royal penguins, who waddle to and from shore shaking their bushy yellow eyebrows. The species is only found on this island and number well over a million pairs.

We later traveled to Lusitania Bay, Australia’s largest protected penguin rookery. From out of the white fog, the shore appeared like a dream sequence. At first I saw nothing except a buzzing black and white screen beyond the mist. Suddenly our little boat lurched forward and the beach came into focus: not hundreds, not thousands, but a hundred thousand or more penguins. An unreal sight and an unreal sound, that of an infinite chorus of nasally seabirds calling out in almost-unison. Penguins were diving and swimming all around us as well, bulleting through the golden ripples of waves. I’ve never felt so outnumbered in my life.

In the distance, a pair of old-fashioned rusty steam cookers sat on the beach as an eerie reminder of the island’s exploitative past. Once upon a time, men gathered up penguins and threw them in the pot to boil up some penguin oil, used to make rope and twine back in the day. The penguins triumphed, thank goodness, and today the island is a vital breeding spot.

I sailed to Macquarie on the MV Orion, an Australian expedition ship which–in the spirit of Gadling’s motto, goes there–or in other words, goes to the places where few ships ever go. (If you’re going to travel to one of the least habitable islands in the world, it helps to be traveling on one of the world’s most habitable ships.) As tourist interest broadens, the government still limits visits to under twelve ships a year. Extraordinary bird life attracts all the gung ho bird nuts out there, while map nuts like me are eager to get to such a remote place and see what we can see.

I feel immensely lucky to have traveled to this forgotten map crumb of Australia. I loved the penguins and friendly elephant seals and the giant killer whales swimming in the shallows. The brown-green kelp and chunks of ice on the beach added an extra twinge of exoticism, however it was the island itself that attracted me-a rare and lonely place at the bottom of the world that few know and even fewer ever visit.%Gallery-79934%