Swift weekend adventure

I spent a week in North Dakota, living at a hospital. My dad had surgery. After a week, he was back at home and under the expert care of my mom. I flew back to Nashville, met by Ben and our friend Brooks. They'd tied two kayaks to the top of our Rav-4 and put a small 6-foot play kayak in the trunk. Add climbing gear, camping gear, and food for three people. It was a tight squeeze, no doubt. We ate pizza on the curb, sweating just while sitting. The humidity down here is alarming. We drove a couple of hours and slept in a state park campground.

It's about a 4.5-hour drive to the Nantahala River. The fog settled just below the tips of the trees as the sun rose. As the early morning driver, I was enthralled. It was bright and lovely as we parked at the take-out of the river. We bought our passes and drove our boats to the put-in as it started to downpour. It took us a couple of hours to get our car and boats in the right spots, and it cleared up briefly in time for us to get used to the water. I was dumped in the first rapid. The cold water shocked me and I could hardly speak for the first minute, as I floated, feet downstream, butt skimming the rocks. Apparently the water in the Nantahala comes from the bottom of the dam, which keeps it frigid. So I made sure I didn't fall out again.

I wish I could have brought the camera on the river, but it wouldn't have survived. The fog covered the water, and despite there being hundreds of paddlers, you felt alone. It drizzled, but the rain was warmer than the water, which I sat in for the duration (my sit-on-top welcomed every rapid).

From there, the plan was to continue east. We stopped at a camp in the North Carolina country. Brooks worked at this adventure camp earlier this summer. We compared it to the summer camp in The Parent Trap - the programming sounded incredible. The land was gorgeous, surrounded by the Blue Ridge mountains. We cooked dinner in a shelter while it rained. We talked rock climbing with the camp director and learned North Carolina has seen record rainfall this year - more than 70 inches. The rock we wanted to climb would be soaked. The rocks we wanted to climb anywhere would be soaked. So knowing our chances were slim for the next day, we pitched a tent in one of several camp-out shelters on the camp property and we let the noisy critters put us to sleep. I finally got the pictures the next morning.

Oh the fog. Oh the mountains. They aren't as big as the west, but they're bigger than Minnesota. I will never tire of mountains.

The morning, though sunny, didn't prove any less sopping. We drove back to Bowling Green by way of Chattanooga. We ate burgers at Urban Stack and stopped at a sport climbing crag next to a waterfall. Spiders the size of quarters. We called it a scouting trip because now we know where to go and it's only 2.5 hours away. It was a crazy end to a whirlwind week, but it was great to finally get out and explore the south.

King of California

"The most divinely inspired mountains..."

This was our second trip to the Sierras. Our first journey was to hike the JMT. This trip was about finishing what we started last year. On our last day on the JMT, we were barred from the summit of Mt Whitney by a lightning storm. We walked off the crest and down the mountain with our heads held high and spirits ready to rest. With over a year past since our JMT hike we felt our desire to stand on top of Whitney had laid dormant long enough. Only this time, we wanted to climb her east face.

The East Face as seen from Whitney Portal

Mt Whitney is a stunning mountain from any angle. Driving from Death Valley, we were fortunate enough to witness the sun steadily creeping over the back of the mountain. We wanted little more than to start our climb after coming from a retreat off Castleton Tower so we decided to get our permits and hike to the base.

It's hard to capture the full beauty of this valley

We were both acquainted with the area enough to know our way around the mountain and its foothills so we paid little attention to specific directions to the start of our climb. We assumed that our climb started from the base of the ridgeline that leads to the summit. Any glance at a map and a logical mind could have figured this out so we trudged on up the trail into the night. We reached the base of the ridgeline at around 10pm and made camp.

A view of Alabama Hills at dusk

A view of the big dipper with Whitney's spine in the background

I didn’t sleep much that night. I was too excited about the anticipation of standing on the summit. I tossed and turned until the sun started to come up. As I stepped out of the tent that morning the view reminded me of how much I love the Sierras. I was able to capture this panorama of our campsite.

 

We got an early start to our day knowing full well the importance of haste in attempting big climbs but in our morning duties we failed to fuel ourselves properly. My mind reverted to our previous year’s jaunt in the mountains but my body could not keep up. We had gone from Death Valley, below sea level, to 13,000 feet in only a few hours. After several hours of grueling talus and low fifth class approach we realized our heartbreaking mistake. We were over 12 miles off course and at the same time, only a valley away.

Resting at a water stop on our approach to Thor Peak

Our navigational error had spawned only 1 mile into our trek when we failed to take the correct trail that led up the east face drainage. This trail was unmarked and as we found out later, not talked about much in online climbing resources. By 10am we stood on the spine of Thor Peak, just one spire over from the east face of Whitney. We were so close but our goal was blocked by a 500 foot rappel and another talus ravine that would have forced us to leave behind gear. With no energy or will to leave our expensive friends behind, we once again decided to throw in the towel.

On our climb down Thor Peak, I said to Taryn “I’m disappointed in myself for jumping into this but if ever there was a place to be disappointed, this is it.” In all my excitement of reaching the summit, I neglected to look around me and take the beauty in. Now was the time.

We hiked down the mountain unwilling, at least then, to make the difficult trek up the correct east face drainage. We wanted food and our nose bleeds to go away. On our decent we talked with a ranger who informed us of the correct location of the east face drainage trail. He said that we were the second party he spoke with that day who made the same mistake we did (only they corrected their mistake sooner). He also informed us that we did what is called the “Pinnacle Ridge Traverse”. In our post trip research we learned this ridgeline seldom sees traffic due to its out-of-the-way location. I thought that was pretty cool! After good conversation and company we parted ways with our new ranger friend and went to the first McDonald’s we found. Junk food always tastes better after days at altitude

We decided to move our focus to the Lake Tahoe area near Sacramento where we planned to meet a friend in a few days. This gave us a chance to climb big rocks without the debilitating effects of altitude that takes time to adjust to. Much like the main character in the song “King of California” our ambitious plan crumbled when faced with reality. It seemed my brother’s adage about nature never failed us on this trip.

She said my name with a country twang

Let me say first that moving is hard. It's been a couple of weeks already and we're completely moved in, but nothing prepares you for all the time you have in a day when you've unpacked every box and you're still looking for work (or, more accurately, waiting for the call back). One day I did four hours of yoga. And I've discovered I can do Sudoku. And I read a lot of news. None of these are bad, and I'll never have this kind of time every again, I'm sure. But it leaves me going to bed wondering why I even need sleep.  Anyway, I wanted to share some thoughts on moving to this new "city."

We drove 15 hours in one day then unloaded our Uhaul (graciously driven down by my parents) before calling it a night. Finally there is practical application for all the hours of road-tripping we've logged. It rained the next few days, but we did a lot of driving tours of the city and unpacked our entire 700-sq-foot apartment (which is a studio and is more of a duplex because we share a house with one other larger unit). We live downtown in a renovated house that is 106 years old. Our neighbors work at Western - same as Ben. There's a pizza place on the corner that we smell every night. We're waiting to try it. Bowling Green is small - its inhabitants highly varied. Downtown is small, but it does have a couple coffee shops, a breakfast place, several bars/restaurants, government buildings, a theater (not for movies), and a few consignment/boutique stores. The Daily News' office is there, too. 

It's charming. People read in the square over lunch and kids jump around in a fountain in the evenings. We run after the sun goes down and see some of the same people sitting on their porches. There are solid-colored brick buildings with colorful doors and lots of flowers. It's completely separate from the commercialized area of town with every chain restaurant you can think of and the mall which reminds me eerily of Roseville's in Minnesota - right down to the train. With the exception of Subway, which pretty much only opens for weekday lunch hours, I'm told. That's downtown between the candlestick maker and a clothing store. We found tattoed, fedora-wearing hipsters in a coffee shop that gave me a miel called the "Honey badger." It tasted like Spyhouse.

I've only just started taking pictures, but they're a great example of the fun surprise we get at sunset. From our apartment, the sun sinks right behind downtown, so anywhere we run or look orange, pink and purple dances in windows or behind church steeples. So...be charmed.

When Failure is an Option

We set out on our summer journey with high expectations and a lot of gusto. We intended to climb several of the “50 classic climbs of North America” hoping to gain experience and some good memories along the way. While this list is too mainstream for many of my hipster climber friends, for me it is a challenge and a roadmap to some of the most beautiful places in America. With our new destination of California set, we decided to make our way back to some of the places we spent time in last summer. The first of our stops was Moab, Utah. 

Looking Glass Rock

Our two intended climbs here were Looking Glass Rock and Castleton Tower. Both of which are Utah “must dos”. The first climb was rather easy and enjoyable and offered great views of the desert. The second proved to be much more of a psychological challenge than I had anticipated.

Slab climbing up a finger crack system

Taryn squeezing through the beginning of the famous rappel 

A very fun ride down

The first two pitches of the Kor-Ingals route up Castleton Tower were a breeze for me. I enjoy chimney, off-width, and crack climbing because of their physicality. The third pitch is chimney climbing but it felt like a different breed. The hardest part of the pitch was too wide for off-width techniques but too small to fit my body in. I was able to climb about 2/3 of the pitch with relative ease but I came to a spot where the rock was as slick as glass. With no friction or places to set gear I had to climb over 10 feet above my last protection. Exposed, tired, and angry that the rock wouldn’t give me any friction, I took a 25 foot fall. This was scary to say the least. I gathered myself and tried again only to take an even bigger fall. My ego and mind, not to mention my knees, were in pieces.

Castleton Tower at dawn

An early morning desert approach 

The view from the start of the climb

I ended up bailing on that route. We never reached the summit. I was disappointed with myself at first because the climb was well within my abilities. We had driven all this way only to be beaten up by a tower. 

Looking up at the beginning of the route 

Looking back I realize how fortunate this situation turned out. We are alive, unhurt, more experienced, and I think wiser. We were able to know when to call it quits and save it for another time. This is a lesson that I have learned many times before but every once in a while it is important to relearn. I’m glad we know our limits and when it’s best to come down. I hope that I continue to practice this lesson when the situation calls for it.

My brother always used to tell me how unforgiving nature is. He would say that no matter what plans you make, they never fail to change when you are in the middle of executing them. I’m glad he taught me this and I’m glad I got to see him practice this on our adventures. Sure we didn’t finish the famed Kor-Ingals route but at least we have some good whipper stories and a few decent pictures.

We will go back soon

On to California! 

Progress

We are back briefly in Minnesota before we make the big move to Kentucky. I thought maybe we would write along the way, but we had more fun just doing our thing. Hindsight will make for better word choice, as well.


As much as it irked me to have to change our plans at the last minute, I thought it interesting that we would retrace our steps from last summer...right down to the all-day drive through Iowa and Nebraska, reaching Colorado early in the morning and sleeping in a parking lot.

There is beautiful diversity in this country's landscapes. We dream of hiking abroad someday, of moving somewhere else to learn the language and culture and fall in love with a child. But we realize we could spend decades dedicating our time and resources to finding the wild places of the U.S. and still not experience it all. For every canyon or mountain we've heard of, there are many more that surround it.

I read an essay on adventure in the wilderness recently that centered on the notion that there are two kinds of mountain-climbers: those bent on conquering great heights and those who walk as if they stand on holy ground. I understood this intellectually last year and admired Ben for his reverence, but of all the progress I see in myself from last year to this, it can be encapsulated in the line I crossed from conqueror to pilgrim.

A year ago, I had something to prove. But like so many other things in life, you can't earn your way to a summit. Sure, you might stand on one. I stood on Longs Peak and thought myself rather large, seeing as I climbed it only a couple of days after the elevation made me wretch in our tent and one day after I fought off a fever with no sympathy from my husband. But there's no elevator from the top, and my legs nearly gave out on the hike back to the car. I had conquered nothing. I learned little, except that 16 miles round-trip is easy for some (Ben) and like hell for others (me). Over and over I told Ben to stop glaring at me because at least I'd done it. I hiked the same trail and climbed to the same height he did.

I lacked perspective. I looked around me and believed I deserved everything to get easier because I endured beyond what I believed I was capable of. It turns out that, when you do that (endure), you arrive at the base of another big mountain.

So is that good news or bad news?

I think realizing at the end of last summer that I had proved little as a conqueror set me on a 12-month course of doing nothing but learning. Learning that my perspective was small. Every adventurous idea Ben has seems outlandish to me until we pack up the car and set off, and I realize it's possible for real people. Being a realist will do that to you...it'll fence you in and you'll think that's sensible. People like Ben aren't "realistic" in our very human sense of that word. He believes the world is full of ways to turn crazy ideas into incredible memories - of making every day a great story. Why limit yourself to one thing when you could do everything? Why just get good at hiking when you could also slap on some crampons and mountaineer? Or collect the right equipment and climb straight up the rock, laughing at the switchbacks? Why not try it all? Why not float lazily down the river one day and cliff-jump 60 feet the next? I look at that and the first word that comes to mind is CRAZY. And the second is How many false jumps will it take me to actually leap? Because I want to try.

So as intangible as it sounds, I believe we can choose to see the world differently than we do now. I think I can do that. I think I've started to - I think that's what all my endless ramblings on this blog have been about. I think that's what I've concluded from reading books like One Thousand Gifts (website) and Love Does (video) and Lord of the Rings (“The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater.”). I can retrace my steps over and over again, but unless I see with new eyes, the results are the same. My enjoyment will still depend on the ease.

What should it depend on? I'm with my best friend doing physically, emotionally, and spiritually rewarding things. I'm alive. Creation is all around me. Every moment, pain or pleasure, is a gift to be experienced fully. Tedious or extraordinary. One pitch, one mile, one day at a time.

This year was different for me. I wasn't physically adequate, nor did I put away fear completely. But I hiked all the way up Mt. Whitney with a smile on my face. I was little-kid excited to see everything and just be there. Present. Being winded didn't upset me and seeing Ben hike ahead didn't mean he was calling me weak. And something wonderful happened. My muscles burned in all the right places and we got all the way up at an acceptable pace and we have a picture of the Big Dipper hovering above our tent. We didn't even get to climb Whitney's East Face because we had bad information on how to get there, and I'm actually excited that we'll get to go back and try again some day. It wasn't a failed conquest - it was just fun.

There's much more to come from our June trip. Pictures from the west will mingle with news as we embark on the biggest adventure yet: Kentucky.

For when everything changes in an instant

I like to plan. Loosely. In three years of off-and-running adventures from weekend camping to 10-mile races, I realize Ben and I operate on our own schedule. So the principle of "flexibility" comes fairly naturally to me. It might have been programmed into me as the daughter of an up-and-coming officer of the Air Force, but however so, I'm a very fluid person.

Last summer as we embarked on our three-month honeymoon, we knew the big things we wanted to accomplish - the John Muir Trail, a visit to our family in Oregon, a hike up Longs Peak - but basically we planned it along the way. So it surprised me when Ben and I had our summer '13 Wyoming trip mapped out a couple of months in advance. We already knew we wanted to climb all the mountains in the Cirque of the Towers and several routes up the Grand Teton. It gave us plenty of time to complete our climbing rack and figure out what we need to know for our first taste of mountaineering.

In light of everything I've just said, we really should have seen this coming:

Last week several factors completely canceled our already-planned trip. A wedding, a can't-miss/can't-reschedule doctor's appointment, and the fact that there's too much snow to climb anything in that part of Wyoming...as far as we could tell.

We tried to quickly rethink and replan after the first two hit us, but the wedding called us to California and the doctor kept us in Minnesota an extra five days. The snow - the fatal blow - dashed any hope of three full weeks of climbing in true wilderness. I won't lie to you. We mourned. We grieved a good three days. We went through all the stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. And then we pulled out the map and calendar and planned a new and improved and awesome-in-different-ways trip to California!

We leave tomorrow and throughout the rest of June, we will climb in the desert of Utah, the mountains of California, and the peaks of Colorado (in that order). We'll stand by our friend in Redding, CA who stood by us when we were married last year. And we'll be back in time to pack a trailer and move to Kentucky.

Big and small, we all have plans that don't work out. It's the nature of being human. And so we, like all other aspects of nature, adapt. Breathe in. Breathe out. Change. Call it open-fists or a loose grip or whatever you may. You have to adapt to enjoy life. The way I see it, you can either plan, encounter unforeseeable road blocks, get mad, feel entitled, and do nothing. Or you can hold onto a big picture and let the details work out themselves. In my experience, the second has opened me up to a lot more thankfulness and a lot more life.

Because we couldn't leave as early as we planned for our adventure, we were able to stay a few extra days at my parents in Bismarck. On our way back to Minneapolis (the opposite direction we planned to go, but a necessary one for the doctor), we stopped at a friend's lake and spent quality time with quality people. And now instead of feeling rushed between work and graduation and our big move and this trip, we've had time to focus and pack for California. I'm honestly thrilled that I don't have to hold the master list of things to get done and details to consider. I'd go crazy. I almost went crazy just packing today:

I think it is fundamental to anyone adventurous, artistic, entrepreneurial, inventive, passionate, and ALIVE to embrace change with flair. Setbacks happen. Dreams morph as they become reality. If you don't feel resistance, you're not doing it right. Fight for the big picture and close your fists around the details that really matter. Let go of the rest. This isn't a passive "let go and let God" way of thinking. Flexibility is not fickleness. It's equal parts "don't take no for an answer" and "it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." If you really care about where you're headed in life, it'll hurt when plans are canceled and people bail and the winter lasts longer than usual. Grieve. And plan again. Then enjoy your adventure all the more because now you know you're not just there by chance.

And check back often for updates on our Summer '13 adventure!