On hitting The Wall.

It's a long-distance runner's worst enemy: The Wall. The point where you are mentally and physically spent, where you cannot possibly continue, where you feel like you might puke and all you want is a warm bath and a soft bed.

And maybe a pizza.

And a kitty. Definitely a kitty.

During my marathon training eight years ago, I hit The Wall at 16 miles. I think that was the week our training run was 24 miles; somehow I pushed on for 8 more miles and finished the run. I had no issues while training after that training run, but interestingly (perhaps only to me), when I was actually running the marathon I hit The Wall at 24 miles. I never ran a full marathon again.

The Wall isn't specific to running. It rears its ugly head in any endurance activity.

Like, for example, editing 700 vacation photos. Or attending a five-day work conference. Or my most recent encounter with The Wall: hiking the Annapurna Circuit.

We had been trekking every day, at least 4 hours a day (and usually more like 6-7), for 10 days straight. We started at 840m/2756f*; each day we gained hundreds of meters in altitude. The air got thinner, the trees became sparse, our packs seemed to get heavier with each step. It was beautiful and exhilarating and exhausting. We were working toward a culminating ascent of 5416m/17,769f (also known as 3.4 miles above sea level) on Day 11.

Somewhere around Day 8 (4076m/13,372f/2.5mi**) as we got closer to Thorong La High Camp, I started to freak out.

Just mildly at first, so I kept it to myself - but really, 3.4 miles above sea level? Was that safe? Was it sane? Were we prepared - physically and mentally - for this? Were human beings really supposed to climb that high?

On Day 9 we skipped a side trek to Tilicho Lake because my old leg injury (from aforementioned marathon) had kicked in and I didn't want to risk the rest of the trek or WWOOFing through the last six months of our adventure. Was my *leg* prepared for an ascent of 5416m/17,769f/3.4mi?

The last hiking hour of Day 9 was the hardest hour we'd seen yet. It wasn't even hard hiking. It just sucked. We moved at a turtle's pace and stopped every few minutes to rest. At the frontier-like guesthouse (4200m/13,780f/2.6mi) we skipped cold bucket showers and laid around all afternoon in prep for Day 10 - a 725m/2379f climb - and the inevitable Day 11 pass crossing.

Day 10's ascent went surprisingly well but for whatever reason, at High Camp (4925m/16,158f/3.1mi) above sea level, all my emotions culminated into a gigantic wig out. I was terribly agitated all afternoon; I couldn't concentrate on conversations or crosswords or my book; I wasn't hungry.

I started to wonder if I had altitude sickness.

(I SO did not have altitude sickness.)

I actually sat under the blankets in the cold, damp guesthouse room for an hour, "what-iffing" and trying not to cry, while Patrick went around camp exploring. He was loving the physical and mental challenge of this trek... I usually love a challenge but I most certainly did not love this challenge. That didn't help my mood.

That night we attempted an early sleep for our 5am wake up but all I could do was freak out whenever his breathing was slightly irregular. "If either of us has a heart attack, how will they get us off this mountain?!" He barely slept; I barely slept. "What if our lack of sleep causes us to fall off a mile high cliff?" We didn't have down jackets. "What if we are hit with hypothermia or frostbite?"

We didn't have heart attacks. We didn't fall off cliffs. We were plenty warm the whole climb.

We climbed to the pass without issue and took celebratory photos. It was awesome.

I wrote most of this post two days after we summited Thorung La Pass but never finished it - I couldn't get past the whiny tone and I kind of wanted to forget that I had been so silly about the whole thing.

Today we learned of the lives that were just claimed on that same pass during freak blizzards. Those people didn't get their celebratory photos. Five weeks ago that could've been us.

So even though I still can't get past the whiny tone and I really want to forget that I was so silly about the whole thing, I am posting this to remind myself to be grateful.

Even when the moment sucks - even when the whole damn day or the entire week sucks - I am here. I am taking the sucky celebratory photo. And I am grateful for that.

----------------
* Isn't the metric system fun?
** Isn't this obnoxious? Just giving you a small taste of my world over the last 18 months.

I look how *I* feel.

To the three people who might actually ever read this blog... I have an announcement. Next week I will turn one-year-from-the-new-thirty.

While it might not be the-big-four-oh just yet, OH MY GOSH. Never before have I felt so very one-year-from-the-new-thirty...

My back and neck persistently ache. My hands are getting wrinkles. The silver stands out in my hair more every day. I really will need those dreaded progressive lenses at some point. The TV is ALWAYS too loud. I refuse to pay full price for anything.  Overspiced food and bad coffee give me heartburn. I go to bed early and get up early. And I absolutely do not understand today's youth.

None of this is a result of nine months of travel. It's a result of being one-year-from-the-new-thirty.

Friends my age are still having babies. I don't know how they do it. Finding the energy is one thing. Patience is a whole other story. Some days I barely have enough of that for myself, let alone my partner in crime, and heaven help anyone else around me (including those of the vertically-challenged, non-communicative, poopy-diapered variety).

Lack of patience isn't due to nine months of travel. I can only hope that my lack of patience is due to being one-year-from-the-new-thirty. Right? The whole "life is too short to waste on nonsense" thing that makes it okay for your grandma to do whatever she damn well pleases after eighty years on this earth thank you very much? (If not, I am just a jerk.  I hope it's the former.)

Friends older than me are having babies and I don't even have an address right now. This IS a result of nine months of travel. Once in a rare while, this makes me feel irresponsible and makes me wonder if I am missing something. Perspective comes in the form of a screaming kid on a plane, or the thought of sending someone to college when I'm almost 60... or the fact that I while I generally enjoy their presence I have actually never wanted to have children.  (Perhaps all I am missing is that nagging biological clock that other women seem to have?  I'm okay with that.)

Most of the time, though, this makes me really happy - mentally picturing where I am on the globe, tasting authentic foods, constantly being outside of my comfort zone, seeing things no one I know has seen or even heard of in some cases, knowing that at any given moment only one other person knows exactly where I am (whether we know exactly where we are or not). My friends have their priorities and I have mine.  And that's how life should be.

So I will ignore my aching back, and I will shush my quiet-but-ever-present fear of lack of steady income, and I will put off wondering what the hell I am going to do with myself when I do get home, and I will enjoy kid pictures on Facebook from across the globe.

And I will have a kick-ass one-year-from-the-new-thirty birthday somewhere in Spain.  Or maybe Portugal.

Almost ten years of blogging later, we're still not there yet.  But we're definitely enjoying the ride...

park güell

barcelona, spain

january 2014

2013 goals.

An early summary of the 1Q goals due to the aforementioned shit that has to get done.

• New soup recipe every week: check to the 13th degree - just click on "goals" or "potato and gluten free" to the left for an in-depth review of each.  The best results from this goal are that (a) I still totally love soup, (b) I absolutely love every recipe we made for very different reasons, and (c) I can't wait to share everything with our Canada hosts along the first leg of our trip.
• Spring cleaning: check, with much more to come in the next 2 weeks.  Much, much, MUCH more to come.  Gaaaaaaaaaa!
• Shamrock Run 2013: um... nine miles? Not so much.  Five miles?  Cake!  Good enough cake for me.

And as far as 2Q goals, I'm going to have to go ahead and relink the aforementioned link, and say that the following truths are self-evident for the rest of 2013 and leave it at that:

• An amazing time will be had.
• A photography experiment will be conducted.
• Much letting go of control will be done.
• And as far as the list, I'm looking to cross off 6, 12 and 16 for sure.  Possibly also 13, 15, 19 and 20.  Time will tell.

Happy 2013, friends!  Posts here will be fewer and far between.  Please check out the link above to keep up with forthcoming shenanigans.

Weekend at the coast - check.

The kayak trip was canceled (OMG I KNOW RIGHT, AGAIN?! or maybe that was just MY reaction) but since I'd booked a room and got the email message 12 hours before the trip and couldn't cancel the motel without financial penalty, I decided to make the most of the weekend at the coast.

Saturday morning I loaded up on carbs and caffeine at Kettleman's and headed out early to try to find some waterfalls around Wilson River.

it's a trap!

For the record, this is apparently the Bermuda Triangle of hiking trails. After wandering unsuccessfully for about three miles, I got really frustrated and headed back toward the parking lot. On my way I came upon someone squatting on the trail. (And by "on the trail" I mean ON THE TRAIL. Really? You're surrounded by trees and THIS is where you choose to squat?) That made me dislike this hike and area even more. So I headed to Kings Mountain.

Kings Mountain, if you don't know, is a training hike for the summit to Mt. Hood. I did not know this when embarking on the hike. I just knew it was "difficult" and there was a 2700 foot elevation gain in just 2.5 miles... which, in hindsight, probably really should've been a big clue. It ended up being one of the most challenging day hikes I've done in Oregon - possibly harder than South Sister (but definitely not harder than Misery Ridge).

It's been four days and my legs are still a little sore. That's how hard the hike was. It was worth it, though... the views were stunning despite the slightly overcast skies.

imagine the views on a clear day!

After the hike I checked into the cheap motel, settled in and cleaned up. Research showed that Munson Falls was nearby and only a .25 mile hike, which sounded right up my alley.

worth the short drive and even shorter walk

Next, I drove the Three Capes loop near Tillamook and made a few stops.

the aptly named Octopus Tree

After a well-earned fish 'n chips dinner and beer at a local dive, I headed back to the motel but got sidetracked by the moon.

I've got your full moon kayak trip right heah

Free cable entailed a Hoarders marathon on TLC, which I absolutely do not recommend under any circumstances. But eventually I found a Scrubs marathon and got to bed in more pleasant spirits, and Sunday morning I got to the Oregon Coast Aquarium right as it opened in an attempt to avoid the kiddies. I spent two hours enjoying the bizarre crabs, sea horses, fish and oh-so-AHDORAHBLE sea otters. The aquarium was surprisingly well done and I'd recommend it to anyone heading out to the Newport area.

{heart}

And then north toward home... but not quite ready to head home. Between the World's Smallest Harbor and the World's Shortest River, I found Drift Creek Falls. A short hike leads you to a really great visitor center and a really long suspension bridge, which ends at a really great waterfall.

"world's smallest" entry #1


Drift Creek Falls suspension bridge and falls

"world's smallest" entry #2

And finally, on the way to a 5-mile hike I happened upon Roads End beach and decided that was a much better use of my time than more leg torture.

Note to self: do not end the weekend lounging on the beach. It will wreak havoc on your mental perspective and make you especially cranky at work the following week.

The suspension bridge is actually pretty darned cool.

not worth five dollars
but with an annual pass
check it out for sure

Drift Creek Falls near Lincoln City

Into the wild.

Alaska blah blah blahg is up.

Working for the weekend.

It's no Iguazu Falls, but Central Oregon will do in a pinch...

I always forget how much I saw.

thursday marks a year
i went south for the winter
northern summer next

Not even close to a Friday five.

Five Maryland cities I had no idea existed, in no particular order:

• Flintstone
• California
• Berlin
• Bridgetown
• (wait for it...) Crapo

I knew about Oakland, MD but not until I first moved to CA and scheduled a flight (two Oakland options came up, to my surprise).

Last week during my visit, I saw an Oakland Avenue and a street named after a SE Portland volcano.

I suddenly had no idea where I was.

Hiatus...

... filled in here.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Deja vu.

5/18/1994 (before the 12-countries-in-7-weeks whirlwind backpacking trip around Europe): "SHIT we're really leaving in 3 days. How did this happen? I've never been so ready and so unprepared at the same time for something."

This year I think my official freak out will occur on February 1, but I suspect my thoughts will be pretty similar. At least last time I knew exactly where I was living when I got back, whereas this time I have vague notions of Portland neighborhoods that might suit me... but change is good.

Goooooooooals.

OK, I'll be out of town for a bit so I hereby bring you the ceremonial summary of 4Q09 goals.

• three Fugitives & Refugees things/month... well, turns out that when you write a book that becomes famous, tourists overrun the weird stuff and the owners close up shop or deny the public access to their weird stuff. But Portland is weird with or without famous author assistance, which basically means that I saw a lot of weird stuff over the past three months but there wasn't a lot from the book involved. So... 3x3=9, right?

look at how PC our graffiti artists are! I mean, it really warms the heart!

there seems to be a trend of turning free newspaper
stands into bizarre, colorful works of art

this was the extent of the "dear will" letter

they let us eat here

I think this has to do with kidical mass
~ Critical Mass for kids

the kitschiest shop - well, the only kitschy shop -
in the Pearl... I have spent hours in this store

someone decided that Die Hard needed to become an art project
and actually rented space for this tribute to John McClane

erm... nothing at all weird about Captain Bogg and Salty!
best kiddie pirate band in the western hemisphere!

Santa Douche at Anticon

• run 13 miles by 12/31... well, turns out that when you get the flu the weekend before your grand finale, you don't run 13 miles by 12/31. But I got to 12, which means I can get to 13, which I will do as soon as the flu and sinus infection symptoms decide to make their merry way elsewhere and I can get back to training. New 1Q10 goal is "by 2/17" and if it doesn't happen by then, it ain't happening... and it's all good.
  
• figure out "the plan"... well, turns out when you reduce your schedule to 3 days a week you can get a lot more done. Why did no one mention this before? I have everything from actual plans to thoughtful ideas to vague notions, all of which will culminate into a really great 3.5 months overseas. And I have a lot of shit to do by 2/17. New 1Q10 goal is "by 2/17... get all this shit done."
  

Next up, the year we don't know how to refer to ("oh-ten?" "ten?" "one-zero?"). Also known as, the most amazing year I have yet to witness. No goals till June at the earliest! I'm off to do some L-I-V-I-N.

Happy new year!

Heading south for the winter.

Last weekend I headed out to see what Klamath Falls, Crater Lake and some other nearby old towns were all about. Turns out, not much.

Crater Lake is pretty, for sure:


And they have a nice gift shop, and they keep the road plowed to the rim in the winter, and the post office at the visitor center closes at 2pm. That's about all I can say about Crater Lake. Other than, I hear it's lovely in the summer.

Earlier that weekend I headed a bit farther south on my way to Lava Beds National Monument and ran across this sign:

... and I got a little nostalgic. I then bought a couple of postcards and got charged sales tax, and the nostalgia went away. (I suppose if I'd pumped my own gas I could've brought it back?)

I did have a lot of fun in the caves though. There are about two dozen that they just let you wander through with a flashlight. The other caves I've visited (Sacramento, South Dakota, Colorado) required guided tours, but for this one I showed up, alone, around noon, and asked the gal at the front desk what she recommended, and she sent me off with two flashlights ("just in case") and a map with some stuff circled. Because it's winter there, the park was empty... and as a result the whole experience was pretty amazing.

Most of the caves are upright-walkable. Some you have to crouch in places, and a few require crawling. I didn't do the crawling ones out of respect for my knees (and my closet claustrophobia), but I definitely got deep underground in a few.

(Golden Dome)

In one of the earlier caves I was about 200 feet in, and I turned off the flashlight and stood in the dark listening to the silence. The wind was loud and gusting outside, and as a result the temperature was close to 25 degrees and close enough to freezing to my non-acclimated body. Inside the cave it was a balmy 55, slightly humid and... absolutely silent.

It was amazing.

And then I was reminded of recent mountain lion attacks in the area and I freaked out a little. "Surely they wouldn't just let people wander around solo if mountain lions were in the area. Surely. Right? I mean, this is a national effing monument after all, they can't afford bad publicity." And all was right again.

And then 25 years of pop culture kicked in. I saw a flash of the Indiana Jones scene where the water comes gushing through the tunnel, and I freaked out a little more and turned the flashlight back on. And then I saw flashes from The Lost Boys and I jerked the flashlight up to make sure no vamps or bats were lounging over my head. And then I remembered the cave scenes from The Goonies, which I'd watched on fuzzy cable the night before at the cheap motel, which is soooo not a scary movie but some of those scenes!... And then another two dozen scenes from Buffy ran through my head, and then...

And then I laughed at myself, appreciated the adrenaline rush, and moved on to the next cave. And? That night on fuzzy cable? The Lost Boys! I have seen it half a million times and could recite the lines in my sleep, but there was something serendipitous about the timing which resulted in my eyes being glued to the set the whole time despite having the next day to plan and Christmas cards to glue and emails to write. (Thank you, Joel Schumacher and the Coreys. Sparkling vamps my ass.)

These weekend trips have been experiments. I'm testing my tolerance after this recent revelation... So Eastern Oregon I planned pretty well. Southern Oregon, I knew where I was staying (and generally speaking, what was in the area), and I took some guide books, and that was the extent of the plan. Crater Lake was planned. The Lava Bed caves were not, I ran across them in the book the night before and they ended up being my favorite part of the trip.

The whole reason for the Southern Oregon adventure had to do with something I read in a guide book about 500 bald eagles nesting there in the winter. I'm not a big bird fan... Well, I'm a Big Bird fan but I'm generally not into birds. The bird refuges just across the border in CA did not excite me but they did interest me and I approached them as an opportunity to relax and to test my camera's sports/action mode. I ended up marveling at dozens of species of those amazing creatures - watching raptors float mid-air on their way to doing nothing, being guided through the auto tour by the same gorgeoous golden eagle, reminding myself to just sit back and observe and not worry about the perfect picture. That day I encountered three of the nine bald eagles recently seen in the area. Two are here:

Grungy and scrappy and scavengery and therefore worthy of being our nation's emblem? Sure. Creepily watching me as I ate my sandwich while taking tons of photos of them? Definitely.

So overall, I think the plan is working well. In a few weeks I'm heading down the 101 to Coastal Oregon. Other than having a few places of interest I'd like to check out, I'm going to wing it. And it's going to be amazing. This is the start of a whole new perspective, and I'm loving every minute of it. (I know, I know - I don't know who she is or what she did with Jen(n) - but I'm also not complaining...)

Really. Not in Kansas anymore.

Bush bumper stickers everywhere.  (Really?  Still?) 

 

Mosquitos and humidity (though just a bit of both, so I shouldn't complain too much).  A family reunion of sorts where everyone my age is on their third husband and/or fourth kid (and everyone except me is drinking a lot), where my mom actually said to someone I'd never met before, "Well Jen(n) never got married" - as though I was a 95-year-old spinstress pining away for lost love instead of a 34-year-old independent woman not remotely interested in that nonsense.  THANKS, Mom.

 

Dad's started in on the guilt about moving back east after reminding me to brush my teeth and explaining to me who Jay Leno was - he hosted the Tonight Show for a decade or so, in case you weren't aware.  This is before he turns the water back on after we've been gone all day, and after he unlocks the 19 locks to the house.  Fort Knox has nothing on this place.  If I had a car here he would offer to wash it.

 

Dial-up internet, 5 TV channels, Peets in the freezer from Christmas '07 because I forgot to bring any fresh grinds with me this time.  My second oldest friend has a kid.  (The oldest friend?  Not so strange that she's a mom.  This one kinda freaked me out though.) 

 

And the pool hall I loved as a kid is now a 7-Eleven.

 

Five days is plenty, me thinks.

Not in Kansas anymore.

How is it possible that my parents' house gets smaller every time I visit?  How on earth did I ever live in that tiny bedroom as a teenager?  We drove the route home from my old (also now tiny) elementary school after dinner and I remember it feeling like such a long walk 25 years ago...  A block with three houses felt like a mile.  Tonight it was a couple strides.

 

More interestingly, were my parents always this entertaining, or am I just appreciating them more with time and distance?  They have been married for 47 years.  Perhaps they are just appreciating each other more with time.  It comes across in their interactions with each other, with me, even with perfect strangers like the highly amused server at the restaurant who laughed at them mocking each other as they themselves laughed.

 

The moon in the cloudless eastern sky was amazing tonight.  I saw stars, I hear crickets.  I smell autumn.  It's not quite here yet, but it's close. 

 

Blue crabs and Old Bay seasoning are in my future.  This is a good thing.

 

I'm starting to think that five days is perhaps too short of a visit this time.

 

Penguin mania countdown: 243 days.

Early Wednesday three... Three favorite excerpts from my "Preparing for your adventure ship expedition to Antarctica" booklet I received yesterday, in no particular order:

• "There may be an opportunity for a polar plunge during the voyage, so we recommend that you pack a swimsuit."
• "Our expedition members are independent-minded travelers from around the world with a strong interest in exploring remote regions."
• "Fur seals are usually dangerous, therefore keep a greater distance than 5 meters from them at all times."
  

Marc-André Fleury is my God, right after Joss Whedon, but...

If you don't already know that I'm a bit of an atheist, well - I'm a bit of an atheist. I loosely follow the animism theory, that all things - from tomatoes to snakes to rocks to people - have souls and deserve the utmost respect. (Except ants. HATE. THOSE. ANTS. And maybe flying cockroaches.)

This weekend I found myself uncharacteristically praying on two separate occasions, for two very different reasons. In one situation, I'd hiked to the top of Smith Rock. Most of the way up was fine, but then I reached a point where I was hiking at what felt like a 65 degree angle, upward, for about 40 minutes. This plus hiking 12 miles in sand two days prior pretty much killed both of my Achilles tendons. (None of this really caught up to me until mid-day yesterday when it was too late - it still hurts to walk, but it was worth every minute, and yesterday at noon I got to do this for an hour:

... so there was that.)

Anyway, this part of the trek is called "Misery Ridge," and rightfully so. I am used to steep trails at high elevations, but the ones I'm used to have lots of trees and brush to cushion either side should an ankle twist or a rock trip you up. Misery Ridge eeks alongside the edge of the cliff with nothing between you and the ground ~800 feet below you, except nice hard dirt and a bumpy ride.

I have no fear of heights. However, I have a definite fear of falling. I think this is a healthy fear, but it does put a mental strain on hikes like this. The views were breathtaking:

And in the end it was easy enough to lean forward and left into the cliff, and I made it to the top with minimal stress and lots of great photos.

Only to realize that now, I had to get down. Shit.

The down trail also eeks alongside the edge of the cliff with nothing between you and the ground ~800 feet below you, only this is a much steeper fall. Going down, leaning back would likely cause the rocks under your feet to scatter, leaving you scrambling. But you do have the luxury of stairs on the loose, sandy, rocky trail:

... which actually made it even more mentally challenging. When I reached this staircase (about 1/3 of the way down) I stopped and prayed. It was more a cheerleader prayer - "if I make it down this cliff, I can do anything! I can do this!", repeat ad nauseum, but there was definitely some "please God" thrown in there for good measure.

As I knew I would, I made it down without even a slip. And I immediately made a mental note to interrogate my friend about this alleged July 4th weekend Mt. Adams climb and what I should mentally prepare for. Never mind physicalities - with a little preparation, I can get through those just fine. But what will mentally stop me in my tracks, what will be my wall on that climb? During marathon training and the actual run, it was always mile 16. On Mt. Adams, will it be the ice? The false summits? The 5,500th foot of elevation?

The other time I prayed was at the sports bar downtown on Saturday night. I just wanted to watch some hockey. I chose a spot at the bar away from everyone else, right in front of the TV, and fixed my eyes on the game, only speaking to the bartender when he asked if I wanted another beer or some food. Before I knew it, two drunken yahoos old enough to be (at least) my dad were bothering me, asking me every question under the sun, when it was clear that a) I wasn't interested in talking to them, b) I was just there to watch the game, c) I was not really interested in taking down your number so that we could have a drink "again" tomorrow and d) NO I WILL NOT DO A SHOT WITH YOU now go put the convertible top up on your car so your three dogs sitting there waiting for you don't get struck by lightening in this sudden thunderstorm you drunk asshat moron!

I love overtime. It's fun, it gets the adrenaline rushing, it brings out some good fights. However. In that situation, I prayed like hell for no overtime. And my prayer was answered, in a 6-2 smashing victory. So thank you, whoever pulled that one off. (Ahem, Fleury, ahem.)

We skipped Mt Rushmore too. Dorks.

Maryland -> California, August 1997.

Where the heck is Wall Drug? It's in South Dakota, along I-90 near the Badlands.

It's a bizarre little bumper-sticker place in the middle of nowhere, kind of like the Mystery Spot only without the gravitational anomalies. It's a kitschy highway rest stop, kind of like South of the Border only without the sombrero key chains. "FREE ADMISSION to this 76,000 square foot American Experience includes the Backyard with its Branding Iron Arcade, animated T-Rex, panning & mining experience for fossils and gemstones, Train Station Water Show & fun picture-taking props in a picnic area. Gourmet coffee shop! Pizza Parlor!" Now how much would you pay? But of course we had to stop, and we ended up spending way too much time there. Dorks.

Our next stop was the campground in the Badlands. We lucked out and got the last site in this bizarre little circle, then two of us hiked up to the top of the hill to take a picture. At some point we noticed a buffalo wandering (roaming?) about 50 feet outside the left side of this shot:

Our friend was in the tent napping. We feared for his life, but also for ours and therefore stayed put (dorks), and thankfully the buffalo roamed along. We didn't sleep much that night.

And then along I-90 in the Black Hills - some of the most amazing non-mountainous, non-canyony, non-national parkish scenery I have ever seen.


We toured the wind cave and headed up to Devil's Tower, where, upon realizing that to go up the monument we would have to pay $4/car, we just took a photo from afar. There were 3 of us in the car. It would've cost us $1.33 each to go up the monument. Dorks.

Kings Canyon backpacking trip, 2002.

About three weeks before my 10-year high school reunion, I went on a week-long backpacking trip with some friends - Silver Divide loop out of Lake Edison. I had only car camped before this trip so I was a bit anxious about the logistics, the altitude and the pace we would be attempting (average 8-12 miles/day with 35 pound packs). But, okay, whatever. The friends I went with had done these types of hikes a zillion times so I was fairly optimistic, and I'd been pretty active at the gym for several months so it seemed like a reasonable endeavor.

I remember being at their house the night before we left. We were packing up our gear, and when I tried on my stocked pack for the first time I felt the blood drain from my body. There is just no way I am going to be able to do this, I thought. But I kept my reservations to myself figuring I'd either find a way, or I'd hang out at Lake Edison for a week while they had their adventure. That didn't sound so bad either.

The first day out, my concerns were still valid. We started mid-day and only went about 4 miles but it was pretty much straight up and I was hurting. The second day was pretty intense as well, but on day three we left our heavy packs at the campsite to check out a few lakes nearby. A 5-pound pack for a few hours, after a 35-pound pack for three days? I felt like skipping. In fact, I think I did.

Minnie Lake

Day four and five we saw so many amazing lakes, it reached a point where we'd look up, say, "oh, look at that amazing lake," and keep walking.

Glen Lake, near Purple lake, which really is purple when the sun sets (photos do no justice)

On the sixth day we reached the top of a particularly difficult summit and I remember exclaiming, "I feel GREAT!" My friend said it was because my muscles and lungs had finally adjusted. I thought it had more to do with the constant lack of oxygen. But I felt ready and willing to go another week.

It was pretty much downhill (literally) from there, and on the last night we camped at Mott Lake.

Mott Lake

This could very well be my favorite lake ever. Not just because it was at the end of a grueling week... I can't say why, exactly, but the serenity I felt at this lake was like nothing I'd felt before. Not sure I've felt it since, either.

One of the friends has since parted ways but I still enjoy memories of this trip, and I often look back at my photos and at the map he gave me. It was definitely the most physically challenging activity I'd ever attempted - and I survived. (And step class at the gym the next week? Piece of cake!) It was also the most subtle natural beauty I'd ever experienced.

The other friend hiked the Pacific Crest Trail a few years ago, where 20-mile days were the norm for six months straight. I simply cannot imagine living through that and it fills me with pride to know that she did. So while I probably won't embark upon such a trek, I'd like to do another week(ish)-long trip at some point, perhaps in my dear Rockies. What say you, Ghost?

Monkey mania.

(Never washing that hand again...
just kidding, washing it immediately, but still...)

(Whenever a Very Bouncy Animal arrives
in the forest and you are told he has
just come, the thing you should ask is:
"When is he going?" ~ Winnie the Pooh)