O'Brien Creek after another California and back trip; new 747 route

The iconic Neihart Baldy that comes into view at trip's end

In the O'Brien Creek bottom willows.  Great snow bridges

Snow-covered outcrops

Pillows of snow overlay a boulder field

Gordon Whirry at a spring along the way

 Just when I had gotten in pretty good shape after our extended California trip, Katie's Dad took another turn for the worst and off we went to the Golden State again.

Fortunately, the driving was exceptionally good for a winter trip, all 1,100 miles of it.  Bluebird skies, snowcaps on the peaks and clear mountain passes.

I caught a flight home and left Katie there with the car.  It was the first time on an airplane in two years, since the pandemic broke.

While in California, the sun was out, temperatures rose into the upper 60s, flowers and flowering trees were blooming, and I hiked a few days in shirtsleeves in the nearby Folsom Lake State Park and National Recreation Trail.

When I returned I faced a couple of days of snowfall and temperatures that dipped to minus 20 in town.

When it broke, Gordon Whirry, Steve Taylor and I decided to take advantage of about six inches of new powder in the Little Belts, and hoped that the radiant sun would heat things up a bit, even if temperatures weren't expected to rise above the mid-teens --- and they didn't.

Jasmine, Jacquie and Sally and friends had broken trail down O'Brien several days ahead of us and they laid down a pretty good base, so skiing went smoothly.  We went down the 8-miles route in 3 hours and 30 minutes. The snow bridges across O'Brien were among the best I've encountered in the 40-plus years I've been doing this route.

I can't help but marvel each time I do this trip at how tall and full the trees are along the trail in an area that had been freshly clearcut when we started doing this trip.

Before we took off on our California trip I went back and retraced our tracks on the new 747 route that eliminates much of the groomed FS Road, dropping down to the O'Brien trail.

It was interesting being back in airports after a two-year hiatus.

I flew out of Sacramento, which was like a ghost town and where everyone seemed to abide by the masking mandate.  When I got to Salt Lake City to change planes to Great Falls, the number of those who wore their masks around their necks or below their noses was significant.  On the plane there were several who flaunted the rule.  Ah, Great Falls.  Ah, Montana.  I felt positively unsafe coming home.