Tag Archives: Hiking Choices

Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Hiking and outdoor beauty, Spiritual Well Being

Turning gray with dust

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You see, I tried washing my hair this morning to no avail.

October 18, 2020: Andrea and I traveled two hours up a dirt road yesterday – to a ridge dense with lodgepole along the Colorado Trail behind and beyond Purgatory Ski Area – almost to Rico. We hiked for a couple hours and then returned via the same dusty road, coughing and sputtering and sneezing whist reminding ourselves to keep sipping from hydration packs. Arriving home, we exited her trusty 4-wheel drive truck, stomped our feet at the door and entered our apartment. We smelled like dust. In our wake, the kitchen smelled like dust.  My hair, freshly washed before setting out, was grey and smelled like dust. As I brushed out my hair – billows of dust scattered everywhere. I thought of my Mom and her stories of traveling the Alcan Highway in 1953. Her hair turned so gray from the dust – she said – that the inn keeper thought she was Dad’s mother when they found a room and stopped for the evening. She remedied this by washing her hair in water dipped from the nearby stream. Her hair returned to dark brunette. I tried washing my hair this morning to no avail. I’m still sporting long shimmering gray over light brown locks. Maybe I need to fetch water from a stream?

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The mountains rescue me

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She had not planned to hike that day. After all, her feet were sore. Her shoulders hurt. She had hiked twice the day before – and it was her private get away – her chance to rest and rejuvenate. So, hike she would not.

She pulled on her dark indigo Levis instead of hiking pants and buttoned up a flannel shirt for the third day in a row simply because it looked good with the Levis and she was headed into town. Perhaps, she thought, some shopping, a stop at the real estate office and then maybe brunch before meeting a friend. It seemed prudent to grab her hiking poles as icy patches lurked in the shadows and town was perched on a steep hillside. Likewise, she slung a water bottle over her shoulder as proof against altitude sickness, and swapped Teva sandals for closed-toe Chacos. At the corner, she turned left instead of right, thinking to check the snowpack at a popular trail access point. She stretched a knit headband over her ears, zipped her down jacket to the chin and positioned her purse as backpack instead of shoulder bag. Half mile up the trail the sun was shinning. Her feet no longer hurt. “I would like to go up to the high bridge and see the gorge this time of year,” she thought aloud. Reversing course, she veered to the south and marked a path through compacted snow, sometimes walking on top, sometimes sinking abruptly to her knees in drifts, twice crawling up inclines packed to ice by previous hikers. Crawling. So much for the new Levis. And how about the YakTraks left dangling in the backseat of the car? The sun continued to shine. The coniferous trees began to respond with fragrance. Her down jacket became a waist wrap. Soon she was overheating in a long-sleeved flannel shirt with no other base layer to strip down to. She sipped from a stainless steel water flask. She took selfies at the bridge. She strode back into town with renewed vigor, found a real estate agent and took a look inside a cozy cabin. She enjoyed an early lunch with a friend and took a healthful, healing soak in hallowed hot springs of the ancients.

It was the best day in recent history and nobody had to rescue her. The mountains did that.

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Unexpectedly, a much-desired, long Saturday hike

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I worked on Saturday. It was not my sixth day of work because I did have actual Fourth of July off.

I seized an opportunity to take our customer service specialist, Brandice, and make a Cannonville / Escalante delivery and introduce her around. For efficiency and beauty, we took Cottonwood Canyon Road full-well knowing we would probably need to return via the highway due to gathering clouds.

It rained while we were in Escalante. But when we returned through Cannonville, the skies, ground and roadways were dry and there was a sunny path of blue sky down Cottonwood Canyon. Knowing from experience it would put us home 40 minutes earlier, we took it.

To give some perspective, Google says it is 160 miles Page to Cannonville via the paved highway and 46 miles via Cottonwood Canyon – albeit slow going and winding dirt road.

We exited the paved road south of Cannonville at Kodachrome State Park and proceeded 18 more miles to pass the turnoff for Grosvenor Arch. So far, so good. A couple raindrops hit the windshield. Bear in mind, we are already more than 20 miles in for a trip we believe is 46 slow miles – oh wait – now they tell me it is 56 miles – from Grosvenor to highway 89. Anyway, we went UP the washboardy hills and UP more washboardy hills and then descended into an area nick-named “Candyland” because of the colorful rock formations. It was beautiful. But then, the descent down the slightly rained on slope was slick. Moreover, it stuck to the new tires like clay, making them perform like bald tires. We slid sideways in the 15 – passenger van. There was a slight but muddy ravine on our right. Enough! We knew we would have to stop and wait this out. Typically the road dries out fast – by the next day. It was six pm. We were expected home.

When it stopped raining, I climbed to the top of the nearest steep and muddy hill until I got one bar of cell service. I texted the boss. No immediate answer. I called the boss. He picked up on the fourth ring. Can you back up north? He asked. No. The dark rain clouds had now cut us off behind.

I’d love to say I’ll be there in 90 minutes, he said, but I am at Antelope Point (ten miles the other side of town) and I’ll have to go by home and get my rescue equipment.

Can you call Brandice’s husband and let him know? I asked. Affirmative. Text me the phone number.

Brandice shouted me the number from the distant van. I slid back down the hill and we enjoyed a nice tailgate repast of veggies, fruit and guac. I hiked back up the hill to see if there were further messages. Nada. But, the road looked pretty good from that vantage point. While I was hiking, Brandice had been busy peeling mud from the tires with a sharp rock. We began inching our way down the road in 200-yard segments. Here is how it worked:

I ran ahead to reconnoiter and then signal Brandice forward to a specific place. As she drew near, I ran ahead once more to see if all was safe around the corner. In this way, we avoided sinkholes and slippery narrow slopes. Sometimes we waited 15 or 20 minutes for the road to dry out.

Meanwhile, the boss texted his location. He was now on the dirt road. His pathway was dry. For several miles. Then he hit the muddy, fish-tailing mid-section.

By the time the Martins came over the hill we had made a few miles progress in the van. Yes. Martin plural. When the boss Martin met us, who should pop out his passenger door but Martin the husband of Brandice? Two shovels and a garden hoe made quick work of clay removal from the tires.

Being the grown-up boy scout, WFR and general all around MacGyver that he is, the boss leap-frogged van and Trooper through the sketchy places while I picked up slack on the passable. We made it home by 10:00 pm.

Aside from the embarrassment of having to call for help, I had a fabulous adventure in a beautiful place. You see, the clouds and rain made it a glorious temperature for hiking – up the hill for a cell signal and up and down the road for blazing a trail – in one of the most beautiful places of this region.

Unexpectedly, I got my much-desired, long Saturday hike.

But, still and all, I have a new rule for myself: No dirt road driving when there is rain anywhere in the state. – – Until we get knobbier tires on the van.

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Health and Long Life

Two headlamps is always a good idea

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4:48 pm

Without slacking my pace I turned and headed back up the wash the way I had come. I was at least an hour out from the car and the sun would set before six. Twenty-five minutes later I arrived at the spot where I first said, “Just one more bend, I’ll just go around one more bend and see what’s up ahead. We wouldn’t want to turn back now, Self, when there might be a lake inlet just around the bend.”

It was Super Hike Sunday and I started my hike late, very late, after lunching with friends. Once I circumvented the white pothole pour-off via the mini-talus slopes, I set off at a good clip down the level wash that is Wire Grass Trail. I wanted to hike until I saw something beautiful, until I felt good, until I was winded, until I no longer felt fat from lunch and the many desserts I have comforted myself with this week.

I did see something beautiful. An arch. I interrupted my momentum only long enough to take a picture. More beauty. I wanted more. I began to feel good again. I never did get winded so I kept on, chasing the sunlight and then chasing the shadow, always, always aware of where the sun was on the horizon.

At 5:58 pm  on my return trip I reached the slope where I first clocked the sun at 3:45 pm to gauge if I really had time to do the hike. That was the moment I realized I needed two headlamps. I know, I know, one should be enough, but I have been using my headlamp for early morning walks and I left it setting on the table when I shouldered my daypack; that daypack where the headlamp should -and usually does-reside. Knowing that it is still too early in the year to get much daylight after 4:00 pm, I thought to turn back near the beginning of the trailhead when I first realized my headlamp was home in the kitchen. But I also knew I carried a small flashlight tucked into the first aid kit.

6:03 pm said my cell phone when I arrived at the car. The sun was down, yet still remained the daylight. Whew! It’s not that I am afraid of the dark, I’m just afraid of feeling helpless, afraid of causing someone the bother of coming to find me. I am feeling fine. My toes are sore. My biceps ache from swinging my hiking poles, but I am not winded. It’s going to be a great spring for hiking! For putting one foot in front of the other; for not slackening my pace. How about you?

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To swim or not to swim and other weekend choices

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In terrain so barren the ephedra is stunted, the crypto sparse, and even though it is the desert, the cactus few and far between; she took a hike. A rejuvenating and fulfilling hike. She found places of beauty and refreshment in The Coves. And when her hike was done, she shed her shoes and walked from the beach out into Lake Powell to take a swim. It was all completed by 9:00 am – orchestrated to avoid the heat of the day and thus make the refreshment and rejuvenating as effective as possible.

In the first place, she parked at the Wahweap swim beach and followed the paved path on the edge of the lake past boat ramps, boat rentals, and a state line sign. She was now in Utah. Judging by the iconic Lone Rock formation immediately ahead, she figured if she climbed the hill to the west she would be able to see her apartment – which was still in Arizona. She did. Her home looked to be only a mile away as the crow flies.

For a moment she contemplated running on home, enjoying a big breakfast, and then hiking back for her car and the swim. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll start from home and hike this direction. I’ll bring my beach towel. I’ll hike back wet.”

Accordingly, her Sunday morning plan was to hike down an arroyo, swim in the northernmost vicinity of Wahweap Beach and then hike back for a weekend style breakfast. She found a place to crawl under the fence and made her way to the dry creek bed, not sure if the trail she followed – and those she saw on the opposing canyon wall – were coyote or human, but confident that the descending runoff she chose was the most direct route to the lake. “This is nearly a slot canyon in places,” she mused as the gray rock walls rose ever more steeply on either side. And then, abruptly, she was on the precipice of a 30-foot waterfall. Time to skirt.

Back up the creek bed and on the wildlife trails, next a mile or more atop a windswept sand dune replete with familiar tracks of small mammals and reptiles. At last she came to the lake, or a finger of it, expanded back up the canyon by the final July surge of Rocky Mountain snowmelt. No beach here. Not another soul in sight. Possibility of cliff-jumping without being caught; also without your paralyzed body ever being found. She followed the edge of the cliff until she came to another fence. The grass was not greener. Every imaginable brand of ATV track decorated the hillside. And what was that? The mouthwatering aroma of Sunday morning camp breakfast. “The beach,” she said, “Is right over that hill.”

From the rocky crest she looked down on the secluded, but crowded beach. Directly below her, about half the length of a football field, two portly men of approximately 60 went about their morning activities on a houseboat. An assortment of other watercraft parked side by side like pie wedges of the tiny bay. “Nah,” she said, “I’ll not crash the party and swim today. I think it’s time I went back home and cooked myself a good breakfast.”

Family

A hike in honor of my brother’s birthday

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I took a hike in honor of my little brother’s birthday. How could he possibly be 59 when I am still young and fit enough to exchange a 2-mile hike for 6 miles on a whim? Six miles is a feat I could not have pulled off when I was half his age, by the way. But age has its privileges and its victories!

“Where do you want me to hike in honor of your birthday?” I asked.

“You know the area better than I,” he responded. “You choose.”

Owachomo Bridge is the oldest and most fragile of the natural bridges. My brother is not the oldest nor the most fragile in our family, so that’s out. Also, Owachomo is a short hike, less than half a mile round trip. Not a fitting distance in honor of a brother – or my day off.

Sipapu Bridge is most fitting, I thought. It is the second oldest bridge after Owachomo and the second largest natural bridge in the United States. Of the three bridges here in the monument it is the most symmetrical and beautiful. Besides, Sipapu means “place of emergence” and my brother is obviously the more emerged member of our family. But Sipapu Trail is also steepest and lies in shadow. We have been advising visitors against Sipapu for the past week because of the cold and melting snow.

Kachina Bridge, the youngest of the three bridges at Natural Bridges National Monument, is so named because of the Kachina symbols found in the petroglyphs in the area surrounding the bridge. Petroglyph hunting seemed fitting for my brother’s birthday. Destination decided. Three quarters of a mile down. Wander around a bit taking pictures of petroglyphs. Three quarters of a mile back up. Easy Peasy, right?

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My roommate expected me back in a couple hours. I was pleased with my total time of four hours. She will learn not to trust in my early return with an open day, a prepared daypack and (most importantly this time of year) strap-on YakTrax.

Trail Diary for a brother’s birthday hike: Made it down the slippery slope to Kachina in excellent time. Found the Petroglyphs and wanted more. Did a bit of exploring. Found more Petroglyphs. Wandered up the canyon toward Sipapu. Remembered that Horse Collar Ruin was somewhere up this canyon. Kept putting one foot in front of the other. Canyon often in sun and just as often in shadow. Passed Horse Collar Ruin where I had hoped to find sunny spot to eat a snack.  Sunny spot occupied by other hikers. Found fabulous pictographs – an entire congregation of high-fives – just beyond Horse Collar Ruin. Rounded the bend and saw Sipapu up ahead. Ascended Sipapu Trail. Steep ascent, manmade staircase. Snowy and icy in spots. Crossed the road to Mesa Trails. Mud slippery and sloggy across the mesa. Ate apple and peanut butter while slipping and sliding. Successful and satisfying hike in honor of my brother’s birthday. Returned to residence to be greeted by Bear’s Ears Monument news. Well now, that rather upstaged my efforts.  Happy Birthday, Brother!

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Character, Emotional Health, Health and Long Life, Travel, Uncategorized

Self-talk about choices

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Self? I think it’s time we have a little talk about choices; specifically the choices you made today and what we can glean from them. First off, I’d like to point out the positive choices you made on this, your last day of vacation. Though the day appeared sunny and I-70 was clear, this time of year it was a good idea to drive directly through the tunnels and over Vail Pass without stopping to dawdle.

From the trail to Hanging Lake
From the trail to Hanging Lake

Once safely over the passes, it was an even better idea to stop and hike to Hanging Lake. Hanging Lake is always a memorable experience. I know you are an experienced hiker. I also know you are in better shape than any of the previous four or five times you’ve made this 1000 ft ascent. The day was warm down by the parking lot and you contemplated changing to shorts and a tank. I commend you for making the right choice. Jeans are tough and made to last; never mind they also absorb and retain water quickly – particularly snowmelt. Smart Wool socks are also essential this time of year. Good job, Self! Tossing your black hoodie in the car seat and donning a black Loki jacket is also worth points. Not only is a Loki jacket versatile – what with the built-in mittens, adjustable hood and pull-down face mask- a Loki jacket also gives you credibility with the serious outdoor crowd.

But Self, I have to ask what you were thinking when you left your hiking boots under the seat and laced on your aging hiking sneakers. The promoters who quipped, “bald is beautiful,” were not talking about tennis shoe treads. And another thing; what is the purpose of keeping your Yaktrax in the car if you don’t tuck them in a pocket when you set out? Of course you needed nothing of the kind for the first fourth mile of paved bicycle trail.

The trail to Hanging Lake begins with a stroll on concrete bicycle path along the Colorado River
The trail to Hanging Lake begins with a stroll on concrete bicycle path along the Colorado River

Nor did you think to go back for boots and ice grips when you saw the rating of difficult at the trailhead, or began to encounter snow a third of the way in.

DSCN7255bridgesnowpackedYou did not give up. You pressed on, picking your way over rocks and increasingly long icy patches. What have you learned from this?
You made it to the top. You enjoyed the magnificent view.

DSCN7264hanginglakeapril5But on the way down?

You learned to stop trying to save your butt and to let your butt save you. Forget about dignity and walking upright. You embraced the most useful ranger advice you ever heard; don’t be afraid to sit down if you need to. As a result, you protected your elbows, knees and skull from fracture. You sat down at will instead of unexpectedly. You used every last miniscule muscle in your body. And you made up a new winter sport, sliding down snow packed trails while paddling with your hands That was a full-body workout, Self. Congratulations, you are in better shape than you have ever been. Today, your feelings are alive. You are self-aware–of every muscle and bone in your body.