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! 

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.