This year we finally got enough snow. Photo Vendula.

Above Sentinel Bowl. Photo Vendula.

The time before Christmas is usually quite hectic: school parties, presents for teachers, tree, family presents and similar preparation simply grow in a geometric series. With Lisa, there also was her theater performance, moved from November to December on account of the science camp. I have to say that this time it was quite disappointing, despite our expectations being already low. The school theater is for everybody, and the pieces typically include an armful of flower and animal characters playable by kindergarten children, and if they can't cope, then it's no big deal, for the plot gets carried by older, more experienced children, who don't suffer stage fright and don't mumble. Alas, roles for this year's Snow White were distributed by a different principle than talent or aptitude, and thus flowers and animals and dwarfs with a single line fell on Lisa and her peers, while leading characters woodenly stumbled through their actions. Well, at least it's behind us — Lisa was truly doing her best, even added a few (approved) sentences to her role to make it less arid. And perhaps it was as well that she got confronted with such a system "head-on" this early.

Mojave is a typical desert with little cactuses.

Then you suddenly arrive at beautiful rock formations.

Schools were in winter break mode already in the week preceding Christmas Day, and I had reserved a condo at Kirkwood way back in the fall. We were resolved to pray for MUCH SNOW finally this year. Our original plan counted on all of us leaving on Saturday and Hippo returning back home on Sunday with one of our friends, but these were turning us down left and right, until Sid had to reserve a seat on a bus. Public transport is practically non-existent here, and this privately run bus operates only inside the season, targeting ski resorts — you leave the Valley at five in the morning, by nine the passengers reach the slopes, at five in the evening the trip turns back home, and it's not possible to purchase a one-way only ticket. Still it emerged as the best of all possible solutions — driving up to the mountains with two cars, or having me take Sid back home and drive up again, made a lot less sense.

The crevice is getting narrower.

You have to climb on rings in the narrowest spot.

An since it did snow, just as we had desired, we were bound to drive with our subaru. It has an all-wheel drive, but much less space inside, and thus loading supplies for four days resembled a complicated three-dimensional puzzle. And the packing had got out of hand, since I forgot to include a camera. The rest went according to our plan; we had a lunch at Giant Burger and still managed to ski in the afternoon. Naturally one could expect that during first ski day of this year we would get exhausted quickly, but we lasted almost to the end — actually not having much of a choice, for we were only allowed to check in after four o'clock.

I chose The Meadows this time, with a hot tub inside the same building. Our favorite Base Camp has built a hot tub and a gym in an outbuilding across a creek, which is a hassle — and they often don't let in temporary guests. Meadows is, on the other hand, farther away from the ski lifts, so there's no obvious advantage. But we did check in and when we got joined by Kovars and Martin, it felt like in the good old times.

Our Sunday proceeded in a classical Kirkwood style, with an occasional glance at the weather, for it was forecast to start snowing, and Hippo's bus had to leave before that. Hippo has eventually left on it, and said he had a culture shake-up as he and the driver were the only two people there over twenty-five — which determined the selection and sound volume of the movies shown along the ride. The bus also strayed from its planned route a bit, and Sid got home by eleven in the evening, but he got there, and that counts.

A coyote.

Red Rock near Vegas.

It did snow on Monday, and I tried to ski with our kids, but the base was icy, covered by a heavy fresh snow — Kirkwood was boasting about powder; well, powder really looks quite different. Lisa's ski got stuck in the frosty cotton, and she threw a crazy flip, landing on her back and knocking her breath out, and possibly bruising some ribs. We gathered that there was little sense to keep on adding damage, and lazied the afternoon in the warm apartment playing cards and watching movies. Meanwhile the road maintenance crews closed Carson Pass to the east and Carson Spur to the west of Kirkwood, trapping a great number of people in the resort, who eventually had to overnight in the Day Lodge — a place designed to a day use and small breaks between skiing.

On the trail.

Shark's tooth.

We could relax in this regard, but on Tuesday no ski lifts would open, allegedly due to avalanche risk. Eventually I took Tom and drove to the other end of the meadow, to the cross-country ski center, and rented skis for him so that he could join me in a run around the meadow — it's about three miles, just to try it. Beat up Lisa got left behind at home whimpering with movies and a cell phone. I was quite prepared for Tom throwing tantrums on cross-country skis, slipping and discouraged by their functioning so different from down-hill skis, but he surprised me. He started a pace and moved — a pace, which may have been below my maximum speed, but otherwise quite nice. No teenage-style talk back had materialized either, and we had a great time. It's true that we did not depart for any large stretch, the meadow is practically level, and it sported maintained tracks — and we could drop over to the condo for lunch and have a tea and unfreeze a little.

On Wednesday it became necessary to pack and return the keys to our room — and then we could ski again. The snow layer was great, but it was a difficult skiing and Lisa still kept whimpering a bit; thus, we cut it off after lunch and set out for home.

At the end of the world.

Calico Tank.

Christmas happened, with traditional Czech fish dinner and potato salad dinner, and with presents under the tree — I even managed to re-watch my childhood's favorite fairy tale movie. It was a break for catching our breaths and planning another road trip. We roughly knew that we wanted to visit Hobbits in Henderson; and we made it varied by seeing Mojave National Preserve. Our friends Břeh's pictures of their Thanksgiving showed beautiful rocks and dunes, and so I quizzed Bára, where it was they went, for we did not recognize it — and what a surprise, we truly had no idea!

On Saturday we stuffed ourselves into our bus and overnighted in Barstow. In the morning, we continued along highway forty towards Needles instead on Interstate fifteen to Las Vegas — the preserve stretches just in the triangle formed between these two roads. The last part close to the Hole in the Wall was a dirt road, but we have much practice, and we finished it easily. The children went to check out the visitor center, we asked about a trail and off we went — first through a relatively nondescript desert, but then the trail led us to a rocky maze, and eventually to the famed HOLE — with huge steel rings set in stone, which one can use to climb one level up. The whole attraction is rather tiny, but very pretty, and we settled to have a picnic and even spotted a coyote among the bushes.

On the way to Valley of Fire.

Tom in Valley of Fire.

We found our hotel in Henderson and explored Red Rock on the following day. We wanted to return to Calico Tanks, a hike that had taken our breath away the previous year. There were quite a few more people here, perhaps because we came in early. Naturally it is a very favorite and rewarding location, and one does not wonder why. We were fortunate to catch a few minutes with the viewpoint crowd-less in the end, enjoying the charms of the desert.

The highpoint of this trip had been planned for the following day — Richard took us to a local outdoor shooting range, where we could try some of his weapons. I was mostly attracted to his Colt M1911 — a model which has been functional, used, and manufactured since the year 1911. I have to say that Mr. Browning had really pulled it off — after more than a hundred year, his handgun is still unsurpassed, and it feels very comfortable in your hand, and practical in use — and rather fool-proof, as far as safety goes — unless you're gripping it properly, an additional safety is not being depressed and it won't shoot. The boys were probaby more interested in Richard's Mauser, but that rifle is a bit too large and impractical to operate for me.

Scullcap (rock).

Kelso Dunes - the highest hill looks within reach.

We had just about time to take Richard to lunch in Boulder City, and then he had to go to work while we continued in our journey. Again we headed for a familiar place — yet this time without the crowds — on a forgotten trail in Valley of Fire state park. We had arrived to the spot earlier than last time, and thus we managed to hike higher and farther. On our way we followed cairns, leading us all the way to the top of the ridge, from whence one can see the highway again. The rock formations appear very fragile here, and perhaps it is well that not too many people get up so far — a crumbling natural arch, and a cracked ceilings of several small caves would probably disappear within a few days.

We had theoretically reserved our hotel room for two more nights, but we decided to shorten our trip by a day. Somehow, tiredness befell us, maybe a combination of mountains, Christmas, and another trip in a quick succession. But perhaps it was also another illness that Tom was contracting. We still spent a night in Henderson, but on 30th December we sped again toward Mojave — this time through Kelso and to its dunes. And we had naturally resolved to climb the highest dune, which seemed rather easy, as seen from the parking lot. Yet distances are deceitful in a desert, and the sand was very deep and fine, and the hike turned into quite a workout — certainly much harder than our usual walk in Death Valley, where we had never slogged so deep.

Hippo in the dunes.

Lisa did not mind to roll and then climb back up.

The children chose to climb the dune along its steepest slope; Hippo and I huffed on the round-about trail, and the kids easily beat us to the top. Going down again, we explored the "farting sands" — for some reason, sands in Kelso resonate when pounded. We tried to capture in on video, but nothing came of it, and you simply have to take us at our word.

We made it back home late at night, and Tom woke into New Year's Even with croup — in the end we were glad to be back in comfort, and not having to cope with a sick child on the road. Alas, the New Year pattern became a template for much of the next six weeks, and we were taking turns in being ill. But that story is for next time.