Labor Day Getaway

A Wonder in the Sand

This summer I worked as a hiking guide, so when I wasn’t taking guests up peaks and to high alpine lakes, I was either sleeping, climbing, eating, or talking about hiking in my weekly hiking presentation for Y guests.  Thus, my blog went into a kind of hibernation this summer since I was so busy.  But I am here to wake it up again with a post about a little trip I took over Labor Day.

Now that the tourist season has slowed down a bit, I managed to get away to Southern Colorado for a couple of days.  I went with a friend to visit Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve near Alamosa, CO.  This park holds a special place in my heart, since I spent most of my childhood with this park as my backyard (literally! I love being a park service brat).  I had visited this park only one other time since I moved away in 2000, so I was really excited to be going back.

Unfortunately, we didn’t make any campground reservations, so our hopes of camping at the Sand Dunes fell.  However, we found a BLM campground 8 miles away at Zapata Falls.  It looked like they had recently bulldozed the campground out of the hillside because there were loose rocks, no tent pads, and lots of wattles to slow erosion, but it was sufficient.  And it was free! This campground ended up being a great centrally located base for all the activities we planned for the weekend.

Wind Patterns in the Sand

On day one, Jess and I climbed the high dune (and I did it again the next day just for kicks).  Wavelike patterns and bands of magnetite snaked across the sand, and there were even some amazing plants that managed to survive in this hostile environment.  Even though we started early in the morning, the sand quickly warmed up.  I was so glad I brought water and my shoes.  By the end of the hike, I had put my sandals back on to keep my feet from burning! Over the weekend, Jess and I also went to the nearby Sand Dunes Swimming Pool…twice.  It was great to go soak in the geothermal waters and let the sand grains and grit sink away.  This was the pool where I learned to swim, and not much had changed:  the water still had that natural, alkaline smell, the tilapia still swam in the little outlet creek below the pool, and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains reared up to the east from the floor of the San Luis Valley like they have for thousands of years.

At the top of Mosca Pass

Jess and I also took a hike up the Mosca Pass Trail.  We hiked the 3.8 miles up to the top with our friend Kip, who met us at the Dunes and stayed for the rest of the weekend.  But once we got a little ways up the trail, I took them on a detour to an old copper mine. It had been at least 12 years since I had last been to the mine, so I was relying on the memories my 11-year-old brain made of the last hike.  I hoped I could find the mine again.  I scrambled up a steep slope of cactus and loose rock towards a cliff feature where as I kid I watched my dad’s Technical Search and Rescue Training.  Then I curved up around the left side of the cliff, and started to lose confidence in my memories of where the mine was located when all I saw was a slope thick with pinion pine trees.

A rock from an old copper mine

But I kept heading up, and then I found some evidence: a small piece of copper ore!  We were on the right track.  Soon Jess, Kip, and I came to the mine entrance.  Success!  Minus a bat flying out of the mine when we entered, all we encountered were a couple old cans, a cracked scapula, and some packrat nests.  The mine was in an L-shape, and it didn’t go more than 40 feet into the cliff.  Despite the mine’s size, I was happy with the little adventure we had, and even more pleased that my memories of coming here as an 11-year-old hadn’t faded to the point where I couldn’t find this place again!

Relaxing at camp

Besides exploring the mine and hiking up the High Dune and Mosca Pass, we spent a bit of time at the campground.  We gathered around the fire, cooked up some good meals, and tasted Kip’s friend’s homebrew, Cougar Saison (if you think the name is interesting, you should have seen the label!).  We also ventured into the nearby town of Alamosa to try the San Luis Valley Brewing Company.  I tasted a weird kiwi-flavored beer before settling on the Alamosa Amber to have with my burger and fries.  Good stuff.  I am getting interested in all the microbreweries in Colorado and am starting to think that all this beer-making is really an art.

By the time Labor Day actually came around, Jess and I were ready to head north again.  We said goodbye to Kip that Monday, but not without helping him deal with some car problems.  His fuel pump went out, so we helped him get his car down from the campground so he and a friend could tow his car to a mechanic.   Then Jess and I took I-25 back towards home.  As much fun as it was to play in and near North America’s tallest sand dunes, it was time to shower and get rid of that sand for good and get a good night’s sleep in a real bed.  But I’ll be back to my childhood home again soon.  Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve will always be a favorite place to go, and hopefully I’ll get to go again before the next Labor Day rolls around!

Kip and I at the entrance to the old copper mine

A Muir Moment

When you try to change any single thing, you find it hitched to everything else in the universe. –John Muir

Just Lately

I’m sitting in an environment conducive to writing:  there’s a warm fire in the wood stove, the dryer humming in the background, the snow falling lightly, and Rascal sitting by my side.  But somehow I’m finding it very difficult to write.  Lately I’ve been neglecting the more creative side of my life–the “writing, reading, singing, playing guitar” side.  Instead I’ve been focused on work, going to the health club, getting some housework done, and other not-so-fun but necessary things.

So I thought I’d take a break from that part of life and try to write a little.  And since I haven’t written in a while, you might want to know what’s been happening.  So here are some highlights from the last couple weeks…

I’m The New Master…of Hikes, That Is.  If you didn’t already know, I have decided that being a grant writer is not the best fit for me.  So I took a risk, quit my job, and am starting down a new path.  I accepted a job at the local YMCA for the summer, where I will be guiding hikes in the mountains and doing a little bit of environmental education.  I signed the papers this Friday and made it official!  My title is “Hike Master/Naturalist.”  I start in mid-May, and I’m looking forward to an active summer where I will be able to serve and work with a variety of different people and help them enjoy the outdoors.  I was one of two brand new people hired for the 17 hike master positions, so I feel pretty grateful to have gotten this job.  I’m chasing my dreams a little, and it’s kind of scary…

Sightings.  I love to watch wildlife.  When I lived near the Elkhorn Lodge last summer, I’d set my hammock up at the top of the hill behind the house and spend my evenings observing the world around me.  This winter I haven’t been so dedicated to wildlife-watching, but I have been pretty lucky to see some amazing animals.  How about seeing three different coyotes in one day?  I saw the first one when I was driving through snow flurries after work–I’m glad I didn’t hit it!  The other two I saw were probably a male and female; very healthy looking animals.  They were trotting through the aspens next to the creek at my office, probably hunting or looking for a den.  One thing I’ve observed is that when I see coyotes, I always see lots of magpies–they hop from tree to tree and follow the coyote.  For a while this puzzled me. But then I realized that this is because the magpies are scavengers–they know that when there is a coyote prowling around, there is probably a carcass somewhere.  It makes a lot of sense, and will help me to (hopefully) spot more predators like coyotes in the future.

There are a number of other things I’d like to mention/comment on–like my first organized fitness class, the heavy spring snows we’ve been getting, and Rebecca Black and her viral “Friday” song that’s so bad that I would rather listen to a screaming baby for 2 hours than endure her YouTube video again.  But that’s all for another day…er, night**. 

So until next time,

-A.

**Yes, it’s late.  I’ve got to stop staying up like this, otherwise I’m never going to pull myself out of bed before 7:30 a.m. ;P

These Fragmented Years

Winter is fading from the mountains.  Although we’ll probably have a couple more big snows before spring really starts to set in, I can tell that this winter season is on its way out.  The clumps of grass in the yard are turning green, and I saw a little woolly mullein plant courageously making its way out of the ground (I will let this exotic weed live for now, though).

The temperature was sixty-five degrees today and the sun stayed out.  I came home for lunch and sat on the porch in my camp chair, with Rascal on my lap and a sandwich in my hand.  After Rascal’s curiosity about the type of sandwich I had wore off, he decided to take a nap.  Once the sun warmed his black fur, he relaxed a bit and detracted his claws from my jeans.

Once Rascal removed his claws from my legs, I was able to relax a bit more, too.  While Rascal was deep in sleep, I was deep in thought.

It’s hard to believe I’ve seen almost a full cycle of seasons here.  I haven’t stayed in one place for this long since I left Nebraska in 2006.  I’ve liked settling into this little mountain town, and it makes me sad to think that I might be moving on in a couple months.  I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a solid sense of place.  You know, like ranchers or farmers or others who have spent their whole lives on one patch of earth, breathing and working, laughing and loving, living and dying.  They’ve established themselves, known a community, and called it home–for good.  I can imagine them remembering their lives by season, or by the coming and going of certain people in their lives.

But me? I remember my life by departures.  I’m the person that comes and goes.  It’s not that I’m unhappy with the way I’ve lived, it’s just different.  I fell into a pattern of living that was determined before I could really make decisions for myself.  When I was younger, my family moved around several times, stopping in Colorado, Utah, and Nebraska.  Now on my own, I’ve lived in California, Thailand, and in another part of Colorado. 

And while a part of me wants to plant my feet on a patch of earth and call it home, there’s another part of me that wonders what might still be out there.  So I’ve applied to jobs in New Mexico, Idaho, Alaska, Utah, and California.  I wonder where I’ll end up?

The trade off of wandering, though, is that it’s hard to make long-lasting, meaningful connections with people.  A friend’s blog got me thinking about this.  Everything’s fragmented.  You get to be a part of someone’s life for a season, and then you move on.  Perhaps you stay in touch, perhaps you don’t.  Having worked seasonally for a few years now, I am starting to see what this is like.  For instance, last summer I got to know four amazing, fun, strong women: Kelly, Dana, Sere, and Renee.  They were all “parkies” and worked either trails or resource management.  We choreographed a dance, held a Taco Nite, went climbing, and generally had a great time.  But they are in different corners of the States now, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.

This fact is a bit saddening, but I remind myself that I must live in the present.  I want to enjoy life in its richness and vastness, even if it is in fragments.  I think I’m okay with wandering for now, although comfortable days on the porch with Rascal on my lap make me second-guess myself.  Maybe someday it will be the right time to settle down for a while.  I’ll be able to see the seasons circle around more than just once, and I’ll get to know the people at Safeway who sold me the sandwich I ate for lunch today.  Maybe I’ll even have a cat (or a man, haha) to enjoy it with.

But for now, I am watching the winter melt into spring from this mountain town.  Although I’m a little anxious because I don’t know where these next few months will take me, I think I am ready for the adventure.

Until next time,

-A.

Two Months

I see it’s been a while since my last post.  Sorry, readers.  I plan to reconcile that soon.  You see, a blog is like a plant.  If you don’t water it with new posts, it dies.  And I like live plants and blogging, and I hope you’ll keep reading…I just need to post more!

Unfortunately, my blog will need to wait a couple days until I have the time to post something worth reading.  But this little note is just to wish you all a Happy St. Patrick’s Day and let you know that this blog is still (barely) alive!

Until next time,

-A.

The Last Frontier

Perhaps it’s a little premature to be talking about The Last Frontier in the blogosphere…but I live my life in the light of possibility.  And there are a lot of possibilities, let me tell you.  And there’s one in particular that has settled quite nicely in my mind lately: Alaska.

I’ve been playing with the idea of going to Alaska all summer.  It kind of started when I was backpacking in the Rawah Wilderness.  As a friend and I sat on a grassy knoll above a shimmering lake, she told me about her trip to Alaska that spring.  It sounded like the kind of place I would fit right in to–wild, beautiful, and a bit rustic.  The next day, when our conversation had died down on the trail, my friend asked me what I was thinking about.  “Alaska,” I said with a grin.  And I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since!

After she left for Florida at the end of the summer, we started sending letters back and forth.  Kind of like how you wrote those pen pals you might have had in middle school, but a bit more grown up.    I think all but one of her letters has something to the effect of “Alaska calls!”  She’s working hard to get me to come to Alaska with her this summer.  And I think her effort might be paying off…

Today I applied for a job in Denali National Park.  I am a bit under-qualified, I’m afraid.  But the job is just a safety net in case the fishing job I applied to doesn’t come through (and I really want to fish–a friend of mine is the foreman for a small salmon fishing operation near Kasilof).

Sometimes I feel like I have to defend my choices in life, because I probably care too much about what other people think.  I might be crazy to think about leaving a steady job in this economy, but I have dreams to chase, too.  I don’t think I want to be a grant writer.  Wherever I end up going, I’d like to live simply, do what I love, and be in tune with myself and the environment (thanks for the inspiration, LF).  Alaska–and the jobs I’ve looked into there–seems like it would be a good fit in that regard.

I won’t know anything about those jobs I applied to for a month or so.  IF I get any of them, work won’t even start until May or June.  And although Alaska looks promising, I know if I leave I’ll have a hard time saying goodbye to the Rockies and the town and people that I’ve come to love.  But for now, Alaska’s just an idea.  I’m glad to say that I’ll still be here for a while.

If you’ve managed to read this far, you deserve a pat on the back for sticking with me here.  Half of the time I write on this blog for myself, to clear my head and expend a little of my writing energy.  I know some entries are not the most interesting, but some days I’ll have some material that will appeal to a bigger audience than the one in my head.

Until next time,
Andi

Lucky Enough

It’s easy to take things for granted.  Take living in a vacation town, for example.  I live in a place that millions are only able to visit.  That’s pretty special, if you ask me.  But how often do I think about it or appreciate it?  Honestly, not too often.  But there are those moments when I am reminded of just how blessed I am to be here.  And as the late C.B. said “If you’re lucky enough to live in the mountains, you’re lucky enough.”  Here are some moments that reminded me how lucky I really am:

Under the Lamplight– As I drove home late one night after a committee meeting, I noticed something moving along the roadside.   At first I thought it was a coyote, but then the creature stopped–and I stopped–and I got a better look.  A little red fox stood motionless under the street light, its keen eyes peering into the darkness.  It listened and watched, on the hunt for dinner.  I think it noticed me, but the fox didn’t seem to mind my presence.  I stared at it for a long while, wondering which one of us was going to move first.  In the end, it was me who crept forward down the road.  I kept my eye on its dainty figure in my rear view mirror for as long as I could, admiring its rust-colored coat and its alert ears.  Just as I turned off on my street, the red fox trotted out of the lamplight into the darkness.  One day I hope our paths will cross again, the next time in full sunlight.

Ice Like Fire–  In the winter, this area often has wind that blows at gale-force from the mountaintops down to the valleys, where it forces its way into my room through cracks in the windows and doors.  But today I didn’t mind the wind so much, because it and the setting sun created one of the most beautiful scenes I’ve seen so far this year (and as fate would have it, I didn’t have my camera with me).  The sky was clear directly above the mountains in front of me, but the winds were high.  The winds gave the gray peaks a halo of ice and snow that the setting sun lit up like fire.  And at that moment it wasn’t the sky that was on fire, it was just the thin haze of snow above the ridgeline.  [It was breathtaking; my feeble words cannot do the scene justice.]  As the sun continued to set, the fire spread from the ridgeline to the clouds thousands of feet above.  The remaining light blanketed everything I could see with an orange warmth, before the mountains plunged into the cold dusk.

The Best Commute–They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I’ll let the following snapshot do most of the talking.  But what you need to know is that I usually walk to work, and on this particular morning–even though temperatures dipped to -12 degrees–I was very glad I made the trip.  It had just snowed, and I caught the sunrise and the stillness of snow in the pines (before the wind came to blow it all away!).  Click on the thumbnail below for a bigger, better image!

I do live in the mountains, so I think I am lucky enough.  These moments can prove it.

A Word on Writing

A few times in my blog I have mentioned a writer’s group that I like to attend.  Are you curious about what these writers actually do at these meetings?  Try out this exercise:

1) Pick out a random picture (or better yet, have someone else find one for you)
2) Study it for several minutes
3) Write about half a page about what the picture depicts…take it from any angle, whatever comes to your mind.  The point is to just get writing! 
4) After you have written about half a page, stop.  (If you’re really going to try this, then don’t read past this sentence until you’re done!)

Now, go back through and cross out all adjectives and adverbs.  Re-write (or read aloud) your 1/2-page without adjectives and adverbs.  What sounds better?  What version is more effective at getting your message across?  Which version is more precise?

My mentor’s point was that although adjectives and adverbs have a purpose, nouns and verbs are the words that move our language.  Use more of them!  But avoid verbosity.  In the words of the poet Robert Southey, “If you would be pungent, be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams.  The more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.”**

What follows is my attempt at this writing exercise; I stopped at step 4 like the directions said.   For inspiration, a friend handed me a postcard from a museum promoting their Titanic exhibit.  It showed a painting of the ship, cutting through dark waters towards its untimely destruction.  The result:

“Consciousness is like an ocean.  It’s mysterious and deep, and most of us go about our daily lives just floating on its surface.  But what lies underneath, beyond the reach of the fingers of light?  Sometimes in moments of reflection, my mind probes deeper.  What did I remember of my grandmother’s funeral in Lexington, and how did I come to have the Mickey Mouse watch that I treasured as a child? 

More often than not, I cannot recall such things on command.  Memories float up to the surface of my consciousness at odd times, such as when I am waiting for Carla to ring up my purchase of bread and Red Vines…”

So my paragraphs could use a little polishing, but it’s a great exercise.  There are many directions you could take this–perhaps what you wrote about (if you actually did the exercise) could lead to some publishable material!

**From Advice to Writers, compiled and edited by Jon Winokur (1999).

The Last of 2010

I’m happy to say that the last day of 2010 was a good one, for the most part.  I spent several hours outside, snowshoeing up to Emerald Lake.  But my friends and I didn’t get quite that far, because the wind was cold, biting, and blinding us with the snow it carried.  So Dream Lake was as far as we got.  We went cross-country on the way down, speeding our descent by sliding down steep gullies through the trees–which, although fun, made for some very cold behinds.  After warming up with some Irish Coffee and a roaring wood stove at the Rock, we discussed dinner options.

Our top two restaurant choices were completely booked…I guess we should have thought about going out for dinner a day or so earlier.  But then we found an Italian place that had some openings.  So, an hour later I was dining on some calamari, Tortellini with pesto sauce, and fresh rolls, accompanied by some good New Zealand wine.  Tiramisu was for dessert.  (Since it was New Year’s Eve, we decided to treat ourselves to a special dinner.)

Then it was back to the Rock to ring in the new year with three bands, who played everything from Britney Spears to the Grateful Dead (the more Grateful Dead, the better).  It hasn’t been that crowded in that establishment since the summer.  It was nice to see it so busy in the dead of winter, but it made me wonder where all the people came from!  Were they just holiday visitors, or did they live in EP?  And if they were the latter, where do they hide the rest of the time?

Anyway, that was it for December 31st.  I think I sent the old year off well, and I welcomed the new one with open arms.  I wonder what 2011 will hold?

Once Upon a Time…

My life is contained in a story that is bigger than anything I can imagine…the story of humanity and of the Love and Grace that will one day redeem it.  But my life is a story within itself, too.  Donald Miller, in his new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, put a fresh twist on the metaphor of our lives as a story–and made me think about my life in a way that I hadn’t before. 

“It’s interesting that in the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes, the only practical advice given about living a meaningful life is to find a job you like, enjoy your marriage, and obey God.  It’s as though God is saying, Write a good story, take somebody with you, and let me help.” (p.246)

Maybe I try too hard to find meaning in life.  It should be simple, really.  Maybe it’s just like what Donald said…I need to write a good story with my life, and I need to let the greatest Author give my story a few edits.  No word yet on anyone to take with me on this story, but that’s not the point here.  I’m here to live a good story.  Such a simple idea, and yet profound.  But what does a good story look like?  What will my story look like?  How do I write a good one myself? 

Well, this is just me thinking things out on virtual paper.  I’d say more, but don’t want to spoil things.  If you’re interested in this story metaphor, check out the book.