Outdoor Adventures

Maple Mountain Mania

Have you ever been granted the pleasure of snowshoeing up the side of a steep mountain on a cloudless winter day? Well, I was graced with just such a day and I’m here to share the experience cuz I felt it was worth my time to fill you in. So, even if you don’t live in a place that offers this awesome adventure, you can at least live it vicariously through me!

 

To give you a little background, my husband and I have two little boys that tend to make going on a day long backcountry expedition pretty hard. We can find a babysitter for a couple hours, half a day if we’re lucky… but to have a full day to ourselves to do whatever the heck we feel like is rare. Thus, we were pretty psyched for the opportunity to ditch our daily responsibilities for a day and take off like old school wild indians, charging the summit of some enormous peak.

 

The first couple hours of what was suppose to be the beginning of a spectacular day, were spent with car troubles and difficulty actually getting to the trail head, so by the time we actually started hiking mid-morning, we were rearin to go. 

 

It’s always a satisfying feeling once you’ve got your boots strapped on, gear saddled up, snowboard attached to your back in my case, and nothin but the crisp free terrain to explore in front of you. And it’s definately an added bonus to have a best friend along for the journey… Afterall, the best memories in life are the ones shared with the people we love.

 

So picture pine trees scattered across white dressed mountains, the brisk air moving in and out of your lungs, a best buddy or soul mate at your side, the sun generously sharing it’s rays with your face, and ice water and wholesome munchies to keep you fueled and ready for whatever action this beast of a canyon calls for. Does it get much better than that? Well, all depends on who you are I guess, but for me, this day was perfect, despite the imperfect beginning!

 

The first hour was a cake walk… well actually it was steep as all get out, but I was pumped up and soakin in every second of it. It may be strange to some, but I thouroughly enjoy the burn in my calves and the sweat accumulating on my chest and back as I pick a fight with nature. I feel at one with my surroundings, but at the same time I’m oh so aware of the changing and unpredictable elements that can have me smooth sailing one minute and waging a war the next.

  

After hiking in a pretty wide canyon for the first couple miles, the undefined trail narrowed into rugged switchbacks, with huge pine tree roots invading our path. Luckily the snow was deep enough that we weren’t too effected by it, but on dry ground, for someone with my 5’3 frame (well 5’2 and a half but you always gotta round up right?), I’d almost have to use all fours to climb over these monsterous trees. And it’s not like you have much of a choice to avoid the obstacles… the route at this point looks something like the track road runner plows up to reach the top of a mountain. You’ve got the width of about 4 feet to play on, with a suddenly steep abrupt incline to your right and a drop off into a deep ravine to your left.

 

Once you escape this confined track, it starts opening up into beautiful wide open spaces, furnished with sporatic aspens and unbroken sunshine. This was about the point that we lost any sign of the trail, but we didn’t mind since we’d both hiked this mountain several times before, and were familiar with the general direction of our objective. Instead of worrying about our whereabouts, we basked in the glow of the comfortable day, and talked about life, family and all the countless adventures we hope to go on.

 

After another hour or so, we found our way into a wide river bed and a perfect natural half pipe for skiing, which was our plan for the downhill. By now I was starting to feel a little phased by the physical exertion, but still happy as can be to be surrounded by God’s great Masterpiece.

 

One risk Dev and I chose not to take, was reaching the summit where there was potential avalanche danger… and getting a later start than expected, we didn’t want to be caught in the dark. So we settled for a lake, with staggered ridgid peaks spiring above us.

Not that our little expedition is comparable, but turning back that close to the top made me think of those books I’ve read about the courageous people taking on Everest, K2 or Kangchenjunga… and no I’m not talking about the pampered doctors and lawyers with 20 sherpas at their beck n’ call every step of the way… I’m talkin about those who earn the respect of the mountain by challenging it, even when within 2 miles of the summit they are forced to retreat their attempt and put their dreams on hold. You have to make decisions out in the wilderness, and you have to be willing to fall to the risks involved.

 

We had about five minutes to catch our breath before we had to head down, since the sun would be setting within the next couple hours and we weren’t sure exactly how our snowboard/ski ride down would pan out. For me, it was my first real backcountry snowboard venture. I’d gone hiking a handful of times to build small jumps and mess around, but I’d never scaled a mountain of this size just to throw myself down it, so for me it was an awesome ride. Devon, being much more experienced than me, might not have got quite the rush that I did, but I think for both of us it was definately a pretty memorable day!

 

The downhill involved doging trees which for me was like attempting to slide past an army of irritated bees. It seemed the more I flashed back to all the stories I’d heard about people doing a face plant into a tree trunk, the more paranoid I became, and the more worried I felt, the worse I did at playing it cool. Dev gave me a simple tip in the midst of my battle, telling me to “just pretend their people.” From then on out, I started thinking of the sporatic forest as aimless little kids at the ski resort who just discovered their feet are stuck in a pair of skis and there’s nothin they can do about it. I can weave my way past minature skiers, so why not trees?

 

Next it was ducking for random branches and bushes, sidehilling when the gully became too deep and consumed with thick brush; then the real test, trusting myself to control my momentum enough not to fall off the edge when it came to the switch backs and constricted alley way.

 

By the time we made it back down to the first mile of where all this craziness began in the first place, I was tired but craving more. The more ground we covered, the more addicted I became. That’s the result of most outdoor pursuits of adrenalin for me. It’s like little sparks of a thrill/bliss combo start firing off in my brain uncontrolably, and before I know it that buzz I’m feeling quickly transforms into a full blown high. I’m droppin 20 foot cliffs and racin up 300 foot rock faces solo, chuckin myself off massive cornices and doing back flips off a the canyon wall… okay, maybe those are just the images I create in my head. But either way, realistic or not, fabricated by imagination, composed of dreams or contstructed of the virtual experience, we are all here to feel something. Do you want to feel less afraid, or feel the fear and trudge through it? Do you want to be concealed from the world, or be vunerable but couragous, exposed but brave, open but aware? Do you want to be recognized for your business and career success, or your satisfaction as a human being who thrives off of adventure, taking risks, living life to the fullest and savoring the flavor of nature’s electricity and substance-free stimulation in the great out of doors? As Mark Twain put it, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” 

         

 

Feeling Alive

 

The crusty snow crunches beneath my heavy black boots as we set out on the undefined trail in front of us. We’re both packin a kid each, and on flat, dry, level ground a two year old on your back won’t phase you much. But on vertical, snow covered ridges, a two year old suddenly feels like a two year old grizzly cub who just packed his gut for hibernation.

I mask my face with ski goggles three sizes too big as the sun tares out of the clouds like it’s as anxious as I am to touch the towering peaks. Dev’s half a mile in front of me, or at least it feels like it, as I dig my feet harder into the iced over slush, trying to get a grip on the insanely steep ground beneath me. For a minute I can feel that hidden competitor inside of me, brewin up some steam and flexin my manly calves, ready and aimed to take on my opponent, a.k.a. the love of my life. But I catch myself before it gets out of hand. There was a time that I felt the need to prove something any time we went out of doors for a recreational activity of sorts. Then I hit, what I believe was some point of maturity, when I realized that my body is an incredible gift that can do pretty incredible things, but if I ever want to have a rival, it should be fighting to take myself out, so to speak. So with that thought in mind, I push onward and upward, without the goal to chuck Devon in a snow drift on my way up. (not that I could do that anyway)

As Kayde zonks out in the backpack with a bottle of hot chocolate hanging half way out of his mouth, I feel content with my little man cub droolin on my shoulder, and eager to have him learn about all the beauty that is to be found on this crazy planet of ours. I watch Dev with his kid-like energy as he bounces Talon on his shoulders, racing up the slope, hopping over rocks and bushes like a teenage tasmanian devil. I decide to lose the goggles and let my sun burned eyes savor the glistening snow.

I want to feel everything, the day, the brisk air, the warm light on my face, the troubles that sometimes stir and fester in my mind like a grumpy old man who can’t seem to block out all the neighborhood noise. I want to take it all in, let my worries saturate in the cold air for a bit, then watch em’ all blow away with a passing breeze. I want to become part of the “whole” of the mountain I stand on; Mother nature is blunt, naked, honest, deliberate, bold, direct. There’s no holding back or excusing itself for what it is. It is fulfilled in it’s purpose and divine in it’s creation. It’s dignified and proud, yet submissive and unassuming.

I’m so lost in thought, it takes a second to pull myself back to reality when Devon calls my name. He’s sitting high up on a revealed rock ledge with Talon climbing on his lap. My heart jumps as it does most days with the whole bein a mom of boys with an adrenalin junkie dad… but I guess it takes one to know one, although I definately claim to be the less insane version of Dev. Talon’s grinnin up a storm as I catch up, trying to pretend I have as much energy as him. Kayde and I plop down beside Dev when I realize the only thing we have to drink is cold hot chocolate. Anything milky is the last thing I wanna chug when I’m workin hard, so I settle for a chunk of snow melting way too slow in my mouth. I’ve gone over an hour now without any liquid but soon the snow becomes addicting. By the time one piece melts down, it wets my throat just enough to want another handful.

We’re back on our feet and to a place I officially declare as the “half way point,” when we hit the crux of the hike. About five steps into it I’m about ready to call it quits, but know I won’t. If we were on a slope before, we just hit the reconstructed Berlin Wall. For every two steps forward, I slide three back and I laugh at how ridiculously powerless I feel. There seems to be a two inch thick layer of ice on top of a two foot layer of the heaviest snow on earth, followed by another two foot layer of ice. Okay, I may be exaggerating a little but I tell you what this thing is a wild animal not wanting to be tamed and I suddenly feel like a gigantic buffalo stuck in the mud. Even Devon is showing signs of a struggle. And after our laughing good ol’ time on top of the unnamed rock we were just on minutes ago, now we are both shut up in silence by the belly of this beast. I wouldn’t mind some crampons, snow shoes, ski poles, heck, even a beefy stick would come in handy about now. But all we’ve got is our boots, bodies, boys and if we wanna make it up this sucker, we’ll need some guts and resolution.

I start focusing on one step at a time, instead of looking at what’s ahead. Slowly, ever so slowly I find myself gaining ground, and I’m suddenly captivated by the view behind me. The winter dressed valley below with smoking chimneys, white wrapped farm land, speckled shapes of kids playing out in their yards, an occasional car. Then across from us to the north, a crowd of deer making their trek sporatically up to where the land meets the horizon.

I half stumble to the summit, into the empty void and my legs collapse as I smile tiredly but proudly. Dev wraps his arms around me, while the boys squint their sleepy eyes at the sun as they realize we’ve stopped moving. I am comfortably satisfied with the fight that has been fought, and I close my eyes and pretend there’s not a world full of adversity to return to. I lean my head against Devon’s chest and meditate into a peace filled, undisturbed bliss where I am invincible and undestructible.  

My eyes flicker open as the alarm clock screams me out of bed. My legs, feet and back are definately feelin yeterday’s hike and I nearly break at the knees as I walk aimlessly toward the bathroom mirror, knowing there’s some reason why my day always begins in here. Tooth brush? Shower? Toilet? I fixate on my reflection. My blonde hair is knotted up in half formed dreads. I study my 27 year old face, with obvious evidence of sun and life, not wrinkles but experience. I don’t believe people get wrinkles anyway… we just earn ourselves imprints of wisdom, adventure, visual proof that we’ve been exposed to the elements, that we’ve undergone heart breaks and body aches, that we’ve made love and loved what’s been made, that we’ve not just existed, but really lived. I don’t have a lot to show for myself yet, still young, amateur, immature, and a novice in so many ways. But I will continue to seek out the next high mountain in my black boots with a kid or two on my back, the next rock overhang with trembling hands and a racing pulse, the next dirty decline on a mountain bike, the next forrest lined lake as I attempt to swim from one end to the other without passing out. I don’t have any spectacular level of skill when I venture out into the wild. I don’t feel like I am great because of some climb or hike I might accomplish. We don’t become great because of ourselves. But we do become great as we embrace the power of great things, great places, great people and great experiences. So live unexpectedly, conciously, abnormally, intensely, curiously, intentionally, and uncommonly, even ridiculously. Afterall, only dead fish go with the flow.

Getting To The Top

 

I lay motionless but awake in my sleeping bag, my blonde hair barely visible to the hovering birds. I can tell without opening my eyes that it must be early morning, 5 or 6 a.m. I would guess. But to sleep now is out of the question. I’m going over yesterday’s climb. One of my favorite things to do between dusk and dawn when rest won’t come, is to lay, seemingly unconscious, as my mind fixates on my project. I believe all spectacular achievements must first be conquered inside oneself before it can be mastered in the outside world. I am an amateur when it comes to the climbing world, but beginner or not, experienced or not, if you are passionate and willing to learn, there are no limits. As world-renowned professional rock climber Chris Sharma put it “The best climber is the one who is having the most fun. That’s the prerequisite for being a good climber. It’s not necessary to be climbing at a really high level. Just go out and push your own limit because in the end it’s all relative. It’s all just about your personal experience.” It’s laughable to think about my first climbing experience, but I am grateful for those first steps and what it taught me. I was sweating bullets for a good hour straight on a 40 foot 5.9 route, and not because it was super hot out but because I was scared spitless, not trusting the rope and trying to use my arms to do all the work. (I won’t tell you how old I was!) The only thing I knew about climbing at the time was that the people I saw doing it, on t.v. and in person, seemed to have really buff arms, so I figured they must be pulling their whole bodies up the 90 degree veritcal slant by their bulky biceps. One thing I know now about climbing is that knowing how to use your feet and angle your body in the right position will get you up a wall. A little muscle in your arms and hands won’t hurt, but climbing is a “whole body” pursuit, and in my opinion, it’s a mission for the “whole soul.” Me and Dev still remind each other to “be one with the wall.”  It’s a half joke, half truth, but it actually works when applied. Whenever I can get myself to “get in the zone,” to feel the spirit of the climb, to breathe in nature as I make my way to the top of the overhang, I am free. I might not do every move perfectly. I may not move flawlessly, but I am inspired and strong, determined and engaged, collected and infused with the greatness of my surroundings. Sometimes I work out a climb 7, 8, 9 times without victory until that last time when something clicks and I find the right hand hold, and I push myself up over that roof and into the sky, with the rock beneath my feet that is. And every time I work through something on the wall, I work through something internally as well. Especially as I have been learning to lead climb I have felt this. You look up this sheer, intimidating tower of rock, knowing that your safety and success depends wholly and solely on you and trust in the belayer. As you begin up the formation, hands shaking as you meet the first bolt, you’re thinking “No way I can do this.” Suddenly your grip doesn’t feel as firm, your feet are unstable on the tiny notch your hoping will hold. You swallow hard and inhale deep, almost forgetting to exhale. But you clip the rope to your draw and your body keeps moving up, sometimes against your will. The awesomely cool thing is, as you progress a little further up the block of nature, you get fiery, bold, spunky, not careless, but more confident. You start to believe you might actually get up this thing. Then you hit the crux (the craziest part of the climb) and your instantly knocked back down to reality as you cling tightly to the stone, as if you showing the wall you trust in it, will in return somehow make it hold on to you if you lose control. That is usually the point where you either get eager, rushed and reckless out of fear which consequently ends in a fall, or you pull yourself together, look at the next move that will get you a couple inches higher and slither your way past the climax and the world is yours! And all the while as I speculate each move, sometimes steadily, sometimes hastily, I can see and feel all the correlations to life. The feeling out of control. The feeling afraid. The feeling courageous and brave. The feeling of inadequacy and weakness. The shaking under pressure. The sometimes worrying onlookers might just think I’m defective and incapable. The feeling of gaining stability, consistency and resolve. The letting go of intimidation and clinging to what I know about myself, the belayer and the wall in front of me. The feeling of mastery and fulfillment. The knowing that when I do struggle, panic and collapse in exhaustion, I won’t fall to the ground. I might scrape up some elbows or break a little skin, but I’m not soloing anything here. The rope isn’t my salvation. If you’ve got the beefiest, sturdiest, best made chord in the world tied to your life as it dangles in the vacant dirt floor 100 feet below you, it’s no good to you. If you’ve got a dellusional, half seeing, unresponsive freak for a belayer, you won’t be much better off. In my case, my lifeline represents the God who created this awesome formation. And it is in Him that I trust with my very existence. It is Him who I know will break my fall, give direction where needed, but mostly allow me to make my attempt, try my strength and even get hurt when it results in learning something that will make me into a better climber. This is my project, my quest and the only way to get where I want to be is to work through each move, one step at a time. Excuse me for getting a little philosophical. Whenever I start writing passionately, before I know it, personal insight, intuition and impression start leaking on to the computer screen like an ant colony set free, weird comparison but true.