Travel
Solo at Tahoe
1 tent, 13km hike, 1000 calorie breakfasts. No service, no pants, no worries.
This weekend I had the pleasure of camping at William Kent Campground. I'd felt cooped up for a long while, and I needed to clear my head. Taylor and I had originally planned on going together, but we thought it would be more ideal for me to try camping by myself for the first time. We've been going consistently in the cooler months, and I felt more and more confident every time. Was I still nervous? You betcha.
After a day of packing and cooking (with Taylor helping me prep...), I was off. While it usually takes ~3.75 hours to get to Tahoe from our home, it's closer to ~4.25 hours with the Tesla, and in real conditions 4.5-5.5 hours with traffic (if not worse—thanks, Sacramento). I left at a cool 09:30 to arrive by 15:00, making an additional pit stop at a clothing store because my dumbass didn't pack pants. To Tahoe.
I got checked in, had my usual lunch sandwich (and cucumbers with a dab of salt), and then it was onto something much more difficult than driving 4.5 hours: pitching the tent solo. After many failed attempts and several swear words in several languages, it was a beauty. I got the rest of my site set up, and it too was a beauty.
Besides sandwiches, I finally got the pleasure of cooking over the fire with a cast iron skillet—and I must say, this is living. My only complaint about camping was that I eat slow and the food gets cold fast. I don't mind sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag, I don't mind the lack of showers, I don't even mind the bugs or bears. But hot food is a necessity. I made a big pot of noodles with some spaghetti sauce (thanks Claude the LLM for the recipe and Luigi the human for the hint to use carrots), and created a diabolically good concoction. And it stayed warm for like 30 minutes while I ate in the majesty of nature's grace. For breakfast, I threw eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast into a skillet and called it good (it was good).
While I was only spending Friday through Sunday, I wanted to make the most of it. I went to bed early for myself (midnight) and woke up quite early (09:00) to get an early rise on the day. I never really touch my phone unless it's for my camera during camping, and this was much of the same. I solely use my Kobo e-reader—this time it was Dragon Ball manga and Game of Thrones: Clash of Kings.
I also managed to get a hike in on the Stanford Rock Trail. Again, my dumbass didn't realize that hiking a bike "rock trail" was going to be rough, but my feet were raw by the time I got back to my site. But I did manage a modest:
- 3h 35m
- 13.42km (8.3mi)
- 1,755 calories
- 1,014ft elevation gain (309m)
- 331 flight of stairs equivalent
On Sunday, I had to depart. After one last 1,000-calorie cast iron breakfast and some time of silence, I was back on the road for home. It's interesting how 70 hours of camping can give you the same sad feelings of leaving as a whole week or two-week vacation. Maybe that's the thing about nature—it doesn't count time in hours or days, but in moments where your mind finally stops racing and you remember what quiet actually sounds like.
📸 Photos are courtesy of iPhone Air.
Blackwell // 2025
Home is where memories eclipse photographs.
Recently I had the pleasure of visiting my parent’s home. Ever since I can remember, their place has been a lush, green sanctuary. Quiet—save for the birds, cicadas, and the occasional train rumbling past. No matter how many times I visit, I never feel like I capture enough photos.
One evening, lightning bugs began their dance just as the sun was setting. I tried my best to capture them, but photographs never quite do the moment justice.
I've always admired the clouds here, but this time they were particularly... monumental. The kind that make you stop mid-step and crane your neck back like a kid.
I made sure to walk the property and revisit all the nooks and crannies I'd discovered growing up. It's remarkable how different everything feels as you grow—the trees seem smaller, the distances shorter, but somehow the memories feel bigger.
I found myself thinking about all the animals that have come and gone through our property over the years. Beyond our rotating cast of pets, this land has always been a haven for creatures great and small: cats stalking through tall grass, dogs chasing their tails in circles, chickens pecking at invisible treasures, ducks waddling with important purpose, snakes sunning themselves on warm rocks, spiders spinning architectural marvels between fence posts, turtles making their prehistoric pilgrimages across the yard, birds of every feather, and hummingbirds—those tiny, furious miracles—hovering at the feeders my mother faithfully fills.
I visited the familiar landmarks scattered around our property too. The old shed, the creek bend, that one perfect climbing tree. They all look exactly the same, yet entirely different—like running into someone you knew in high school. You recognize them instantly, but time has added layers you're still trying to read.
Standing there, camera in hand, I realized I'll probably always feel like I haven't taken enough photos of this place. But maybe that's the point. Some things are meant to be felt more than captured—like lightning bugs at dusk, or the way home looks when you're finally old enough to see it clearly.
Last week I traveled back to my parents. After a rewarding yet exhausting month at work, travel, and COVID, I felt it was time to reconnect with nature.
My mom and I moved to Blackwell in April of 2001, where I would remain until I graduated high school. The house has belong to my dad’s family for over 40 years now, it bears a lot of memories in its wooden bones.
The house is as rural as they come: the closest neighbor is a mile away and the closest town fifteen, everyone asks how you are even if they don’t know you, sometimes cows escape and you have to corral them back to Donna’s house. It’s quant and rustic, traditional, slow-paced and remote. A place for me to be one with the trees.
During my stay I got lots of family time. My mom’s favorite past time is going for a walk down to the river. Dad and I have more of a TV dynamic, and we mean business. In the five days of consumption we managed to watch two 2hr movies and ten episodes of friends — regularly finishing up around 1am. My sister and I do the same thing we’ve been doing since she was young: video games, namely, Mario Kart and Smash Bros.
Along with my parents, there’s a lovely dog Marley and Satan-disguised-as-a-bird George.
When I wasn’t home with my parents, we were visiting extended family. A friend of the family Kim put up a barn with a disco ball. We played board games — and I played Settlers of Catan for the first time! We had our ceremonial steak dinner at Texas Roadhouse. Steak — and meat in general — is a staple of our home. So much so, we had it for five meals.
Along with steaks, my mom took time to make some Ukrainian staples: borscht and holubsi. I only have photos of mom making them. By the time everything was finished cooking I had a singular focus: food in my belly.
Besides family time, we were able to see some really iconic sites.
We got to see my Alma Mater Missouri S&T. I was proud to show my parents the same buildings I spent four years in. Toomey Hall, where I was part of the S&T Satellite Team, who recently launched a satellite into space! The library, where I spent so much time that I found the optimal nap spots. The computer science building, which finally got an expansion it so desperately needed. I also got to see my grandma’s house near the college; it felt like a genuine legacy moment.
It wouldn’t be home if I didn’t talk about the nature. Although we have a state park a mere five minutes away, the nature is plentiful right outside the door. Going on a walk you might see something new every day.
Now, I returned to the Bay Area. Refreshed, recharged, ready to tackle new problems in new ways. Until next time, Mom and Dad.