Of Dragons, Dicks, and Rockfish

The other day I found myself ungracefully sprawled across a piece of plywood on the foam of the biggest crash pad to be found this side of the continental divide. Ok, well maybe not the biggest but you get the point. 

As I hastily pull my hair into a messy braid only Katniss Everdeen or Pippi Longstocking could be proud of, I reach for the wood glue only to find it held captive by the fellow Atlantan-turned-Montanan climber beside me.

“What do you want it to be?” he asks. “What do you want me to draw?’”

I throw a cursory glance his way as I think only to realize that he’s already drawn a giant dick with wood glue on the layers of matting we are about to overlap and release a stupefied laugh. He grins, we slather the glue across the sheet, flip the folds of fabric onto each other, smooth them down, and repeat.

When I returned from expedition this week, this girl didn’t anticipate spending multiple days in a row inside under fluorescent lights voluntarily working as manual labor. The plan was actually be as far as possible away from town backpacking for a week in Waterton International Peace Park after a laughably rainy dayhike involving a considerably long break spent drying in a chalet & hitchhiking home.  

After I found said ladies a ride to their car, they blasted off towards Canada. As I packed my bag to join, a friend shot me a text asking if I wanted to help a compadre finish up construction on his new bouldering gym of a dream in Whitefish instead.

Call me crazy but I tend to say yes to things on a whim based on instinct. Some might call it spontaneity, others “trusting your gut.” If something doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. If you’re drawn towards something (or someone) for some inexplicable reason, dive on in as the reason will surely become clear later. Jobs, hitchhiking, adventures- this applies to all. Our ancestors used to rely heavily on instinct & intuition without causing the downfall of man, why shouldn’t we?

Anyways.

Instinct steered me to the gym rather than trail and necessity plopped us in the middle of its floor.

So there we landed on the crash pad, glue and brushes in hand, dispersing the hastily drawn outlines of dragons, dogs, and dicks into oblivion to become a part of something bigger: the foundations cushioning the falls of many climbers to come. While I was only a part of the process for the last few days leading to their opening, the passion and dedication of the team that has worked tirelessly since May to make climber concept become tangible T-Nuts and holds is inescapable in the very best way possible. 

Today we got to sprawl across these untrammeled and almost finished floors, tomorrow and in the weeks to come it will be innumerable groups of friends sprawling while waiting their turns for a go on the next route. There will be peals of laughter and cheers as previously unknown folks-turned friends become (very much still alive) fallen comrades rocketing off the wall after topping out. There will be tall tales told amidst the crowd enthralling all with renditions of adventures past and mutterings of adventures future.

Today this is a bouldering gym in construction, tomorrow it’s a community of outdoor badasses.  Yes this is a shameless plug for the group of folks at Rockfish who deserve it and your money for all their hard work. No, they don't know these words are being written. It’s not even open yet and I can already tell it will be my second home this winter (don’t tell my ski boots I’m cheating on them with climbing shoes). Only one question remains to be seen: will it be yours?

Twenty Minutes, Two Miles

At the end of the day, what do you want your last thought to be when you go to bed?

Do you want it to be about your regrets? Things you wish you hadn’t done? Things you wished you’d had? That rattlesnake you saw slithering through camp as you contemplated sleeping under the stars?

I’m young. I don’t have all the answers. Nor do I pretend to. 

I lead expeditions with and for veterans with disabilities via No Barriers USA. 

I travel.

I hike.

I experience life through as many lenses as there are people on the trail every single day.

Today I emerged from the Gila. This journey was not about me though. No, today we emerged. 19 individuals turned into one infallible rope team. The fibers of our respective twines bound into one cord. A cord with enough give to allow for growth but enough strength to hold steadfast in times of need. 

We talk a lot on these trips. Sometimes it's about me, mostly it’s about others. It begins with talk of struggles, fears, families, dreams, pasts, tears. Tears morph into laughter, laughter bolsters strength, strength ushers in hope. Hope for the present, visions of a future. Futures where fears hopefully aren’t the guiding principle and where goals are attainable no matter the barriers- no matter if they are twenty minutes or two miles away (you W2S folks know what I mean).

Today we emerged from the Gila. A rope team. A family

I often feel a loss at the end of these trips— not because I am sad but because my heart is so full it does not know quite how to function as it processes all those moments from days preceding. All those smiles, grimaces, tears, leaps of faith (or leaps away from snakes hunting frogs in hot springs), and mounds of undeniably unfiltered & unfettered laughter.

When I look at my life, I lead a pretty simple one. 

I don’t have a house, I don’t even have a rental place to live (by choice). Hell, right now I don’t even have an official storage unit— merely a space in a friend’s garage to place what physical belongings I do have. 

Many of us stock our success based on the physical things we are able to afford— homes, cars, vacations, computers. The list goes on for all the belongings we collect over the years. We think that if we can just afford that next greatest thing our voids will be filled.

If all my belongings were to catastrophically be demolished tomorrow though, I know I will be ok. Why? 

These expeditions.

This rope team. My rope teams.

More dear to me than physical goods are the memories, the connections to others fostered along the trail, in the heart, and on the mind. Those “others” whose presence in my life allow me to do what I do. Those who have made & continue to shape me into the person that I am whether they realize it or not. 

When I fall asleep at night, my last thoughts are of you all. The ones who have made me laugh and the ones who have challenged me. The ones who have filled my heart to the brim overflowing. The ones who were willing to open up & embrace growth. 

Here’s to you, Gila Misfits. 

From Me to You

Broken.

A word with so many negative connotations many of which signify endings, crash & burn scenarios, impossibilities, incapacitations, inabilities to fix.

Let’s look at the cold hard facts: we live in a world of consumerism at its finest. It’s a beautiful thing in a stupid way- you can get anything you want from anywhere in the world pretty much whenever you want it. It seems like many of these things are designed to self-destruct after a predetermined amount of time. They last just long enough to get you hooked then crumble beneath your fingertips so you’re forced to buy more rather than go without. They crumble, they disintegrate, they BREAK.

To Break. Breaking. Broke. Broken.

Break-ups, break-downs, break-aparts. You can break up with a way you’ve chosen to lead your life, with another human, with a dream. As a result, you can break down. Hell, your car can even break down- though let’s be honest, that’s preferable to having a house burn down or something else along those lines. 

All of these leave you with a loss: a loss of lifestyle, of sanity, of relationships, of goals, of beloved items of gear that you’ve run ragged across innumerable adventures.

But.

That’s right: But. In these losses, these departures we also find arrivals.

You can break down a scenario to glean a way to deal / cope / approach (choose your favorite). You can break up with who you used to be and move on to be a better human. Sometimes the objects you break apart turn out to be easter eggs full of delicious things someone hid in your car as a surprise while you were out.

You can break objects, you can break your soul, your heart, your body, your bones.

Perhaps, instead of mourning the loss people should celebrate that there was something, whatever it may be, solid enough to break & notice said break happening in the first place. Breaking takes some sort of force & where there’s force there was probably a good bit of life lived to cause the snap.

. . . 

Rumor has it a gal you probably know broke a leg this spring. Rumor has it the break was caused by  diving headfirst- both figuratively AND literally- into something new on an awesomely bluebird day with pockets full of fruit-snacks & chocolate surrounded by stupendous folks. Ten points, endless rolls of ace wrap, and usage of well-worn crutches to anyone with a guess as to who.

Yeah, a bone broke (not cleanly)… The beauty of it? Bone regenerates with time and in that time bonds are formed. Bonds of new bone, of family, of new relationships, of steadfast old friendships. Bonds that might not have gotten as much attention as they deserve had you been able bodied. Sure, being bed-bound is not ideal but it sure does show you who cares. From one friend willing to spend a chunk of their ski day in the emergency clinic with you then ski your borrowed helmet back up to another on edge because she heard your identifying age & initials over the ski-patrol radio to the boyfriend who helps you gingerly move enough to get situated at their house only to drive back into town & pick up painkillers for you. To that same one who accompanied you to every doctors visit to make sure they know not recovering fully is NOT an option, listened to your mother tell stories of that time you were a weirder kid than you are now, and taught you to play chess because what else do you do with a bed-bound gimp? I could continue with this list but I digress.

A broken bone: an active person’s worst dream? Nah. The richness of life that can stem from it is worth its weight in gold- or in this case, titanium.

A few weeks ago that girl started to walk unaided by crutches or boots. This week that girl started to guide hikes. Next week that girl might get to start trying to run again. There's still some work to be done but this bionic woman is getting back on track.

So consider this a big thank-you. Kudos to every single one of you who helped out from near and afar. It takes a village, as they say, and this village is a bastion.

Somewhere, USA

Somewhere, nowhere, anywhere, EVERYWHERE… dependent on the day.

Favorite place? My FAVORITE place? That’s a loaded question. Favorite place for what? For living? For working? You’re going to have to be more specific if you have hopes of getting any semblance of an answer. I get asked this occasionally. We all do. Usually it pertains to Glacier, sometimes to the world.

The answer? If we told you, we’d most assuredly have to kill you. Or lie. Trust me when I say we’d prefer to do neither.  The only way we’ll spill our secrets is to take you there… but first we have to make sure you’re capable of cherishing it.

__________________________________________________

We all have places we hold near & dear to our hearts. Some because of memories past, some for aspiring memories future. Maybe the best days of our lives happened there, maybe our hearts were shattered & rebuilt amidst their humbling presence. Wherever your respective place(s) may be, all of ours are united by something: they are beloved &, for many, secrets kept close to our hearts.

I have a favorite place. Many actually. Some are fleeting, others are for life.  Some I even have pictures of that I’ll share with the people I trust most- the people who might be able to appreciate them in a way akin to my own. Rarely I’ll let the location seep forth, more often I’ll make them figure it out themselves. Make them earn it. Half of the adventure is the process undertaken chasing these spots.

Fleeting favorites you ask? That seems rather fickle. Frankly though, we simply can’t let every location we visit permanently latch itself onto our list of “favorites” for what meaning would such a label hold if we did?

The true forevers are those whose names you daren’t utter above a whisper.

The true forevers are those you actually want to capture in that journal you’ve brought on every trip for the past few seasons yet somehow been “too busy” to write in except for those adventures that matter most.

These places are the bastions of strength getting us through long workdays. They’re the places that take our breaths and minds away when we least expect it- a miniscule thought & we’re instantaneously transported across oceans.

.  .  .  

We all have forever favorites. A few are longstanding love affairs, some are newfound passions, one in a million take the pinch-me-is-this-real fairytale form. Though we love them all, we feel fortunate to find that fairytale not just on the pages of books but in real time.

It’s a place of pure magic, a place that makes you believe anything is possible.

Though we will not tell you its name, we will tell you that it’s found at the corner of flawless & awe-inspiring. It may be hemmed in by hallowed walls but its essence will soar well beyond their confines. If you’re like me, it won’t have cell service nor will it be reached by car. Its trailhead is tucked in amidst unassuming tumbleweed down roads long-since-forgotten. Its path leads you straight into the heart of “did I inadvertently tunnel to the other side of the world” territory.

To embrace it you must be willing to be inspired, to accept that such a place really does exist. You must succumb to having your life changed for an eternity by mere moments. You must be willing to be humbled.

__________________________________________________

Every so often we come across a person we would like to take to this place, these places. We connect with them in such a way that why wouldn’t we want them to be privy to these steadfast spots?

Yet, these instances cause us pause. Part of what makes these spots the fairytale they may be are the pre-existing experiences attached. The ones you had when you first set foot within them. By introducing another factor into the equation you risk marring the memories, you risk introducing an alternate ending to the story. What if they see your megalith as a mere pile of stones? Ah, but what if they don’t?

“We shoot backcountry bloggers” reads a bumper sticker slapped to the side of a stop-sign on a country road in the middle of Somewhere I Love, USA. For all the places sacrificed in magazines, there is a plethora of spots that remain anonymous. Still, we fear our favorites might end up antagonistically splashed across the pages of Outside or Backpacker for a paltry sum of money. Be warned: if you choose to be responsible for such a divulgence, it may be taken as a personal affront to those of us who tipped you off. We will hold you culpable for your cavalier actions.

Those who know me know one of my favorite adages is “it’s the places that make you come but the people that make you stay.” Sometimes, just sometimes, though it IS the places themselves that hold you captive and the people accessories to help you remember them by.

What is (are) my (our) favorite spot(s) you ask?

If we’ve shown you a picture, consider yourselves amongst the privileged few. You need no name, only patience. You’re probably already on the short-list to visit.

All In

Life.

When we look back at the things the past year has brought us, all of the incredible characters we’ve met, all of the places the winds have carried us to (and all of the winds themselves that almost tossed us off of ridgelines & bridges…), all of the incredible moments that we simply would not have been physically able to witness from the confines of “normal” and we realize that yes, the crazy adventures are worth it.

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. It was a few countries ago that I was last on here. But here’s what’s been rolling around in my head (and probably yours too, even if you’re not willing to admit it):

Buy a plane ticket that costs a good portion of your income.

Make it a one way.

Make sure it takes you somewhere you’ve wanted to go so badly your whole life that tears well up when you finally set eyes on it.

Then buy another that starts in an airport under construction and lands at one in the mountains with a runway roughly the length of a football field.

Hold your breath as the plane on that particular leg of the journey takes off and lands.

. . . 

Trudge up to an elevation that give you headaches and makes you want to puke. Keep walking on anyway.

Wonder about all the people who have walked the trail before you.

Start a silent dance party in the middle of a mountain memorial with a group of travelers you’ve never met as you catch your breath from a steep climb.

Slide down a rock with a couple kids you just met. And unabashedly love it.

 . . .

Watch someone get chased by a monkey.

Then unknowingly cross an invisible line and find yourself getting slapped by that same monkey.

Laugh about it.

. . .

Wander the dirt streets beneath a web of tangled powerlines and have faith you will find your way back. Somehow.

Barter with someone who doesn’t speak your language. Get egregiously ripped off (by local standards). Try to barter again five minutes later and three vendors down.

Take a ride in a rickshaw to somewhere far from where you're staying then realize they misunderstood how long you wanted to be out and argue over payment.

Stand on a rooftop and look at a city that is literally every color of the rainbow.

. . .

Eat so much rice, SO much rice that you balk at the thought of facing it for months afterwards.

Discover how good orange flavored oreos taste in comparison.

If you can't bring yourself to eat yak, at the very least pet one.

 . . .

Take a busride that makes you put your seatbelt on not because of the law, but because the road is rough enough that you might just actually fall out of your seat if you don’t.

Ride in a dugout canoe and realize it has a leak in it right as it sidles up to a crocodile. The meat-eating kind.

. . .

Hop off the dugout with a local and get a quick two-second stampede away from a one-horned, feisty rhino with a reputation for picking a fight.

Make sure you have an escape plan for if he decides to charge you.

Even if your “escape plan” turns out to be to jumping into that crocodile filled river two feet back and five feet down from where you currently stand.

Walk down the road next to an elephant.

. . .  

Get lost in a misty jungle weathered by monsoons and stumble upon tiger prints right next to rhino prints right next to sloth bear prints.

Jump out of bed in the middle of the night to watch a rhino eat outside your thatched roof mud hut. Listen to them rip grass from the ground and foliage from a tree.

Watch the shapes of elephants emerge from the morning mist.

. . . 

Unlock your heart, offer it up, and let yourself experience what it means to be vulnerable in the presence of someone who is more than absolutely worth it.

Spend a birthday, be it yours or theirs, with your best friend somewhere wild and remote.

Fight for what you want. Stick to your guns.

. . .
Whatever you do, wherever you find yourself: throw yourself into it, don’t give up, soak each experience up for all it’s worth. 

Make it count.

Go.

I dare you.

Measured By Mountains

MEASURE (v.): meas-ured, meas-ur-ing, meas-ures

1. To ascertain the dimensions, quality, or capacity of
2. To mark, lay out, or establish dimensions for by measuring
3. To estimate by evaluation or comparison
4. To serve as a measure of
5. To consider or choose with care; weigh
6. Archaic: To travel over

________________________________________________________

Some people measure their lives by the money they make, the number of promotions they’ve gotten, number of houses they own, number of kids they’ve had. Others measure their lives by the number of people they’ve kissed, the number of rivers they’ve kayaked, the number of seas they’ve touched, the number of countries they’ve visited, the number of days a year they have free to go on walk-about.

This life, MY LIFE, however, is measured by mountains.

The Sawtooths, the Tetons, the Beartooths, the Bitterroots, the Cabinets, the Lewis’, the Livingston’s, the Rattlesnakes, the Sapphires, the Missions, the Swans. The Wasatch, the Escalantes, the Cedars, the La Salles. The Sierra Nevadas, the Cascades, the Appalachians, the Blueridges, the Brooks, the Chugachs, the Alaskas, the Andes, the Dentelles, the Alps, the Kilimanjaros (ok you got me there… Kili’s not really part of a range- it’s just a three peaked volcano), and soon the mighty Himalayas.

So many ranges that my mind can scarcely remember the names of every one let alone recall the surplus of summit names with memories attached within them.

So much life, a whirlwind of life, takes place within, on top of, at the base of, and even away from (but still thinking about) these ranges. An incredible amount. They have a certain je ne sais quoi, a certain something about them that holds your mind captive. They keep you returning no matter how many thousands of miles you attempt to stray from them. The farther you stray from one, the closer you get to another… and rest assured another will almost always appear just at the moment you need it most.

.  .  . 

Some folks think if you’ve seen one mountain, you’ve seen ‘em all and to them we kindly say “Good Riddance.” Those of us who know better chuckle, we shake our heads for a moment then push thoughts of them in addition to everything on the kitchen table off to the side, and plaster our plethora of maps across its surface to pour over every inch in perusal of the next adventure…

….and each successive escapade only leads us deeper down the rabbit hole exposing every new ridgeline, river, valley, cirque, and cwm to explore.

We thrive on the trials that come with hoofing heavy packs up a pass. We thrive on the moments of sheer sogginess stemming from the unexpected squall hiding behind a peak until that most inopportune waist-deep river crossing moment with no hope of respite from raingear. We thrive on the cacophony of colorful jokes that arise from folks huddling under small tarps during multi-hour hailstorms. We thrive and often even enjoy.

We know you must take the lows to earn the highs. We know we must serve our time within Mother Nature’s tempestuous troughs to stand atop her mighty crests. We know (though we don’t always act in accordance with) that the wilds are nary a place for pompousness. We accept the humility humanity must have to survive, to coexist with the wildness on this earth. We take comfort in the solace our surroundings give us, we take solace in the unknown adventures these places throw at us, we take solace in the raw experience that is this life.

When it comes down to it, we are all merely a collection of moments, of experiences, of memories, of emotions. We are the smiles, the tears, the laughs, the grimaces, the aches, the pains, and the thoughts flitting through our minds and across our faces. We are the adventures we undertake and the challenges we surmount. We are the places we live amidst, the people we live amongst, and the mountain ranges we meander through.

“Now here’s what I believe: real adventure is not polished. It’s not the result of some marketing budget, there’s no hashtag for it. It burns brightest on the map’s edges but it exists in all of us. It exists at the intersection of imagination and the ridiculous. You have to have faith. It will find you there. And when it does, remember there’s just one question…”*

…..what do you measure your life by?

* Kyle Dempster, The Road from Karakol

Trains, Planes, and Automobiles

Trains, planes, and automobiles (and motorcycles… and bicycles…. and flippers… and feet)

Montana, Georgia, Montana, Idaho, Hawaii, Idaho, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Idaho, Utah, Idaho, Montana, Idaho, Georgia, North Carolina, Georgia, Idaho, Montana, Utah, Nevada, California, Nevada, Utah, Nevada, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, Montana, Utah…France.

By this point you are probably wondering what on earth is this and why are there so many mentions of Idaho? Montana we can explain but Idaho? And Utah? And why the hell is France tagged on there?

The story of this offseason.  Or About a Boy. Or Adventures in Homelessness. Or how to go back and forth between as many states in the West as you can in the miles between two oil changes.

Offseason.

The offseason is a mystical period of time where seasonal workers don’t have to work. Ok, let’s be honest, when they DON’T have work. Some choose to drag their summer seasons on as long as possible and do odd-jobs for their companies until their tents are drooping from the weight of snow and they grow weary of getting stuck in a snowbank driving out of the campground simply because there are not enough folks still around to keep the loop readily accessible despite snowfall.

Others choose to rip the bandaid off as the first snow flies (and, in the case of this fall, before the government closes), making the yearly exodus to find cities, to find “civilization.”

The vast majority of the time, re-entry to society tends to be a little jarring. A little bumpy, one might say. Dependant on the person and re-entry destination of choice,  it can fail quite terribly and one could end up downtown drinking every night under the pretense of “catching up with old friends.” For other, it’s more graceful—a fun job, a good living situation (read: cheap with lots of other seasonals to split rent with), and some free time to spare for hunting, fishing, skiing, boarding, yoga, and watching every season of every show one can get their hands upon for free on Hulu or Netflix.

Seasonal.

SEA-SON-AL.

For those of you unfamiliar with it, here are the phases of being seasonal guide:

1.     1. You land a job in a location where you would be using your vacation time to visit. Life is grand. It doesn’t really matter if your job is glorified bus driver and janitor or not.

2.     2. Season one goes well, you decide you will definitely come back the next year, no matter what…

3.     3. Before you know it, your season is done… you return to society for a few days, a couple weeks, a month only to realize you’d rather flee back to your seasonal location.

4.     4. Before long, you have figured out a way to spend the whole winter in the area. Check.

5.     5. Turns out, winter in the area is long. Incredibly long. And isolated. But at least you have wolf tracks to follow out your front door?

6.     6. Next winter, you overcorrect your mistakes of last winter and do exactly opposite. You fall madly in love with someone, you don’t get a job, you proceed to travel 6 months of your life away and have some of the most brilliant adventures of your life in said places with said person.

7.     7. You realize you have no idea what to do with the one carload of belongings you own while you are traveling and proceed to stick them in a storage locker in a state you have a few ties to. But mostly you pick the state because it’s cheaper to fly out of for adventures, you will be flying out of there anyways for the place you begin to work for because your off-season is a little too long to stay sane, and your best-friend/travel buddy/love tends to spend a lot of time there.

      At least that's how many of my seasonal friends' lives tend to go.

This offseason has been spectacular to say the least. More than spectacular. Not only because of the places this one has sent me to but also (and mainly) because of the people that have been sent into my life.

Here’s to the moments of belly-ache laughter, the “oh S*** where the hell are we” times, the crowd pleasing boot-dances, the joyous weddings, the snorkels, the oxygen depriving free-dives, the multiple plane rides you almost missed, the sand-filled shoes, the canyon bottoms that turn into streams while you are out, the whirring of bike pedals, the roadtrips, the many instant mashed potato meals (and first ever MountainHouse meals),  the snowstorms that shut down cities you frequent, the warm desert sunshine, the redrock rainstorms, the knife-edge ridgeline hailstorms, the double rainbows, the tropical sunsets and the snowy sunrises, the excitement of catching up with old friends, the excitement of creating new friends, the enveloping bearhugs, the passionate kisses, the few oh-my-WHAT I have to pack up my life and prep to work abroad somewhere to be determined for an amount of time to be determined tears, and the ear-to-ear enthusiastic about life smiles of offseason 2014.

Here's to all of you who contributed, be it a day or a month (or 3 or 4 or 5) to its wondrousness.

Here's to many more to come.

For now, however, this offseason must come to a close and this seasonal worker has returned to work.