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!

Dinosaur National Monument

We underestimated the quiet. It's wonderful and lonely - unlike any solitude I've experienced. I haven't seen a true city in about a week (though the small towns in northwestern Colorado and northeastern Utah are of a higher caliber than I expected). It feels like meeting a stranger and finding you're good friends.

We chose the road less traveled and headed to Dinosaur National Monument at the end of last week. No one we met while in Fort Collins / Denver / Boulder had heard much of it, but we knew there were real dinosaur bones. We hummed the "Jurassic Park" theme song and went northwest. I'm telling you, it's desolate. We passed through towns like Steamboat Springs (it's one-part quaint, one-part Starbucks) and Maybell (more parts quaint). We left the city far, far behind.

The Colorado side of the monument is primarily for gorgeous views and camping. We stayed in Echo Park, which demands an hour-long drive down the canyon on a steep gravel road. Ben, who drove, compared it to an ATV trail. When we stopped in the visitors center to ask about it and get a map of the area, Ben asked if Echo Park was a worthwhile spot. "That depends on the car you have," the attendant said. "You'll need four-wheel drive to make it."

We stayed next to the Yampa River in the shadow of Steamboat Rock and the only thing we heard that night, despite the proximity of other campers, were the birds rustling in the trees.

The whole place feels a little ancient, forgotten (and protected) in a way. We were surprised to find the canyon doesn't have rock climbing bolts all over it. Some research confirmed our thought that the area is largely undiscovered. Steamboat Rock has one known route on it, I found, but it's aid climbing. I've never been in a place like this. There was nothing to conquer here, just quiet to observe. It felt like God made the canyon just for himself to enjoy and didn't really care if we ever found it or not. It's a very harmonious place - not peaceful, there are predators and prey. But the plants are there because the soil allows it and the wildlife is there because the plants allow it, etc. I know that's how ecosystems work everywhere, but it seems especially noticeable in an area that seems so uninhabitable to someone like me.

The Utah side of the monument is where the dinosaurs rest. Oooo dinosaurs. They need no introduction. They're so cool! There was a whole quarry with 1,500 visible bones, and these casts of whole dinosaurs that were discovered. Whole! In these positions! Incredible.

That was our stay in Utah. Now we're in the great Spearfish Canyon (South Dakota) enjoying the company of relatives and the views from the towering limestone cliffs. Pictures and stories soon to follow.

Boulder Canyon Climbing

Our adventures led us to Boulder Canyon. After hiking Long's we thought it was time to get out our climbing gear and see for ourselves what Colorado had to offer. Up to this point our climbing experience had been strictly on Minnesota and Wisconsin rock.

This is granite. We don't have many climbing spots made of this where we are from. In case you haven't ever felt granite, it feels like 60 grit sandpaper and it rips your hands to shreds in just a few minutes. This is the type of rock that is in Boulder Canyon. This picture was taken 1000ft above the canyon on a sheer face overlooking some 14ers. The view was priceless and something that few people get to see. Leading up to this particular adventure, however, was a week of searching and preparing for the right moment to climb something big.

We were directed to Boulder Canyon by a woman at REI who said it was one of the best sport climbing spots in the area. We drove in and found a national forest campground and decided to give the canyon a shot. After scoping out the area we found this waterfall and decided that this was a good place. We began climbing in the canyon and soon found out that it was stretching our limits of technique. After a few afternoons we felt like we were adapting to the walls. This boosted our confidence as well as our ambitions.

It always amazes me how bold people can be. Taryn and I placed our lives in the trust of these small metal and nylon pieces of gear called quickdraws. The most difficult part about climbing is trust. You have to trust your partner and your gear. This makes most of it a mental game played only by the people who can ignore their survival instincts. That being said, the thought of climbing large wall only drew us in. We found our large wall.

In a conversation with a few other climbers in The Sport Park, we heard about a moderate multipitch route not far from where we were (Multipitch basically means a high route that requires more gear than an average 40-60ft route). We decided to climb it late afternoon when the sun was not as strong. This photo was taken about 300ft up the wall and about 900ft from the road and creek. At this height there is no room for error. We had to be focused and relaxed. The climb wasn't extremely difficult but it wasn't simply a scramble like Long's was. For those of you who know anything about climbing, this route was designated a 5.9+ but for us short people it felt like it had a few 5.10a sections. By the end of the wall, our hands were starting to bleed and the sun was going down. This was not a good combo.

We thankfully made it to the top without any big falls. This view is just below the top as the sun was going down. It put things into perspective one more time. In Bear Grylls' autobiography, he talks about his reasons for climbing. He mentions that "technology can put a man on the moon but only the human spirit can put a man on the summit of Everest." Technology kept us safe on the wall, but the thing that got us there was our will and strength. I'm not trying to glorify human beings but I guess it was nice to be somewhere where we were free from modern thoughts. We are small, and hanging 400ft up by a 9.7mm rope reminds me of that.

We did the four rappels in the dark. Talk about trust.

Long's Peak

Road trips were an interesting part of my life before marriage. Often filled with talking, singing and thinking, they were a formative part of my life in college. I can't say it was very much of any of that as Ben and I drove from Madison, WI to Fort Collins, CO. There's really nothing to look at through Iowa and Nebraska and Ben's not much of a talker. In fact, I've never seen him read so much. I suppose we were saving up the life-changing discussion for what came next.

Thursday morning, we woke up at 1 a.m. and were hiking the approach to Long's Peak by 3 a.m. The first 2.5 miles were pitch black, and then we saw the dawn.

Long's Peak is one of Colorado's fourteeners and it's the tallest mountain in Rocky Mountain National Park at an elevation of 14, 255 feet. The hike from the ranger station to the peak is 7.5 miles, and it climbs nearly 5,000 feet in elevation. That's high for those of us who have spent our lives at sea level. The approach lasts about 5.9 miles. 

That's the view of the peak from the last bit of the approach. Websites and guidebooks call Long's Peak a "classic" climb. We've never mounteered before, so who really knows what that means. We know people have died climbing this mountain - one resource said there's an average of one death each year. Most people die from falling (or being blown off by the wind) or exposure. As morbid as it sounds, we were ready for the possibility of not coming off the mountain. Remarkably, we had a calm day all the way to the top. We were told by another hiker that the stillness was unheard of. The scramble up the trough was long and painful. Ben kept saying, "Don't look down." I was surprised to realize the height didn't scare me at all. How could it when the view looked like this?

The steep climb was made more fun by the occasional visit by a curious marmot. Ben fell in love, naming a couple and asking if we could take one home. There was even one to greet us once we reached the top.

It was practically sitting on our laps. It came up to us when we took out our lunches, so we shared some, and he stuck around. Evidently this mountain is well-climbed because these furry friends are not scared one bit of humans - unless you're like Ben and you harass them while coaxing them out from under rocks. Then they might chirp loudly and menacingly (which made Ben laugh). 

I don't know how to describe the feeling of reaching the top of a mountain after seven hours of hiking. I don't know how Ben put up with my slow pace and still managed to speak with patience and encouragement. Words aren't for everything, I guess. Sometimes there are only pictures and aches. Ben talks a lot about the power of nature. If you don't approach something like a mountain with a healthy dose of fear, you are underestimating the mountain. As we climbed and the wind stayed still, it reminded me of Elijah's experience with God on a mountain. Go read the story yourself (1 Kings 11-13). I think the point is that you do not simply climb a mountain. At each section, it was evident that we were only there because we were allowed to be.

It's storming up there today.