Just A Little More

May 18, 2012

I recently made a trip to my parent’s home in NC to see my sister graduate college. It was great to see my family again. I was fortunate enough to get to take a quick trip home in January, but this time I got to see my brother and two of my aunts, all of whom I haven’t seen in quite some time. Besides the glorious warmth, sunshine, and green (oh how I’ve missed the green), the best part of the trip was being back in the company of my family.

My husband has been deployed since December. With the exception of some fabulous friends that I’ve made in the past few months, I’ve been largely on my own since he left. Well, on my own in the sense that the closest any of my family is from me is NC (not including my in-laws in MN). Add that to a job I’m not too crazy about in a city that rubs me the wrong way and the equation is bleak.

Now, usually I’m a very independent person. I think there are several redeeming qualities of flying solo, at least for a while. I especially love running by myself, but sometimes it nice just go to out and do things alone. Most of my exploits are accompanied by my husband when he’s home, but even then we have times where we’ll go out and do our own thing and then meet back at the bar for beer, pizza, and conversation afterward. I like camping alone and I’m not afraid to go to a bar and have a drink by myself.

But my trip home was a brief reminder of how great it can be to be surrounded by loved ones. I’m usually not very dependent on my family, though as I’ve grown older I’ve come to appreciate them so much more. I also don’t rely solely on my husband for my happiness and sanity, although his presence certainly doesn’t hurt (I was already slightly insane before I met him). But the interjection of my recent vacation in the midst of our current separation really made me realize how tough it can be to go home to an empty house.

I’ve used running as a big distraction from all that has been going on. In the winter I spent a lot of time in the backcountry using my love for the mountains and the beautiful solidarity of it all to help. But now that the paths are thawed and the trails, for the most part, have dried out, I’ve turned my attention back to the one sport that has been with me for so many years and that I love so much.

I chose to start trying my hand (or foot, if you will) in ultra running because I think there’s a lot of lessons that can be learned from running such long distances. I admit, I still sometimes struggle to stay on track with my training, and building my weekly mileage to true ultra distances has been a slow process. But along the way I’ve learned the value of perseverance, will, and determination. Running far kinda hurts. At some point, things start to ache, your body’s fuel supply dwindles, and the mind begins to war with itself over whether or not to stop. You can push this point further along by conditioning yourself, but it’s inevitable that you will slow and eventually stop.

Eventually, my husband will return home. Eventually, I won’t live somewhere where it costs close to a thousand dollars to travel to see my family, or his. Eventually, this race will end. But this one is an ultra, and it’s a few weeks shy of only being half done. What I’ve learned from putting so many miles in on my feet, on the road and in the mountains, is that when things start to get rough, that’s really when your mind has to take the wheel and call the shots. Continuing on becomes a mind game. As long as you fuel the raging furnace with fat and sugar and basically anything edible, and barring substantial injury, your body will keep going. It’s the mind that has to tell it to do so.

Waiting out this period of separation from my husband isn’t physically demanding. Mentally, it’s exhausting. But my time in the mountains, on the cliffs, and on the roads and trails has helped me build the mental strength I need to make it through the next few months. It doesn’t really make it easier, just more tolerable. I’m lucky to have met some great friends. When he first deployed, I was truly alone here. Everyone that I knew in Alaska, with the exception of one, was gone- deployed too. Meeting new people really has helped, and for that I’m fortunate.

I’m also fortunate to have the back yard that I do. Even though Anchorage sometimes makes me want to pull my hair out, it’s possible to drive only a short distance and get away from it all. We’ve got the mountains on one side and the ocean on the other. If you can’t find something to do in your free time around here, there’s something wrong. With you, I mean.

You know, it really is amazing all the ways that making physical activity and the outdoors a regular part of my life has improved me. Not that I was a slug growing up. But once I broadened my horizons a little and moved out of Retirementown, USA, I grew a lot as a person. I went from shy, back-of-the-classroom, small town girl to someone who lives in Alaska, who puts on a military uniform every day, who is constantly pushing higher and farther, who wants to grow and learn and find ways to help others. Someone who can go months and months on end without seeing, touching, or hearing her favorite man on the planet, and who, despite some rough moments, is making it through ok.

Life is rough sometimes. It’s what we make of it that truly defines us.

What Outdoorsy Men Want

May 17, 2012

Outdoorsy dating. Popular topic. Today I want to write about something that no one really talks about. Usually I try to be equitable in my dating discussions but this one is pretty much targeted towards male behavior (Sorry guys. I love you!) and there’s just no way around it.

So I figure that my dating articles are popular because it’s something I’m good at. I don’t really have trouble dating. I date a lot. It’s pretty easy and simple and straightforward for me, which is weird because it seems so hard for other people. Most people would rather be dragged down the street in a box of nails by a team of Iditarod huskies than consign themselves to “dating” for any length of time. They are all just dying to fetter themselves to someone else until they’re sick of each other and have to go through a miserable breakup. Not me! I like to date, it’s good fun and I’m good at it. But on the flip side, other people seem to have no trouble going from dating to committed to married and to me that path is just a bridgeless chasm over a mysterious no-man’s-land of despair. So I do have trouble with that whole life partner thing but let’s have a look at the “help” I get from my male friends on that topic:

Speaking bluntly, you’re not ugly (in many ways), and I can’t figure it out how the hell you don’t have some crazy dude like Laird Hamilton at your side. I have a serious man crush on that dude. So, being your friend, and platonic admirer…from almost every angle…yes socially, mentally, recreationally, entrepreneurially, and yes physically (I won’t act like I don’t think you’re hot) I wonder, “what the hell Jill”. If I was Laird Hamilton, I would obviously not consider you friend material, but more so some crazy how-did-we-destroy-the-living-room scenario requiring ice, pain medication, chiropractic exam, re-hydration and the consumption of a bag of Cheetos or a carton of cigarettes on completion. I am glad you have some high-fu*****-standards and you have reasons for them, and notable ones at that. So I guess, keep it up. Don’t settle for sh**, and stay fit, cause you look good at every angle. Some bro-ha of the right odor, genetic make up, size-of-calf muscle, and retardedly awesome character will sweep you off your feet…

Admittedly, this is the friend who likes to send me fake emails from Brad Pitt.

So all my years of dating and all my time spent with dudes means that I have noticed a thing or two. One of the things that I’ve noticed is that outdoorsy dudes like to talk about the kinds of girls they like. The kinds of girls they talk about liking are thus:

1. Girls that can and will go out camping and fishing, and then clean up to look like supermodels. “Doesn’t mind getting dirty but cleans up real nice” or some variation thereof has to be the most used phrase on any dating site. While researching this article, I even saw a personals ad specifying that a woman should look good in a ponytail and baseball hat AND look stunning dressed up nice for dinner. I think that has to win the prize for most superficial requirements ever.

2. Girls who “crush” – good at climbing, skiing, biking, whatever. So good that they never, ever, ever, slow the dude down or need to be taught. Guys are ALL awesome at everything and damned if they’ll chain themselves to some tagalong chick. These same guys don’t really like the girl to be BETTER than them at anything, but that’s a discussion for a different post. Guys want a lady who will join them on their adventures without creating too much hassle. It’s lonely out there in the wilderness!

3. Low maintenance girls. You know, they don’t worry too much about hair, makeup, etc. Nothing’s more tedious than a world tour with a girl who can’t stop stressing about the adapter for her hair dryer. Note the dichotomy between this and item 1.

Really?

REALLY?

I ask in such an incredulous way because the sad fact of the matter is that dudes don’t REALLY seem to want a woman who meets those criteria. At all.

My fellow Geargal Mary has discussed the phenomenon of the man who sits campside, all sad because his wife doesn’t join him on his adventures. “If only I had a wife like you,” this kind of man mourns to his female camp partner, “I’d love to have someone who would come out here with me.” But the reality is that he chose to marry someone who doesn’t like the same types of adventures. OK – so does he REALLY want a woman to be there with him? From my own perspective, camping, moto-touring, climbing, and fishing with my guy buddies, it seems to me that dudes don’t prioritize these things as must-haves in their relationships. As a matter of fact it seems to me that dudes like to do these things as escapes FROM their relationships. Why else are most adventure trips populated so heavily by dudes?

I can’t write this article without referencing Andrew Skurka, backcountry adventurer extraordinaire, who stated on Twitter that he prefers “women who like expensive dinners” (perhaps a joke?) and posted this bizarre interview with his – though obviously good natured – decidedly urban girlfriend, complete with video showing her discomfort with a moderately steep mountain slope and a cringeworthy link to an equally awkward article at Women’s Adventure, which he seems to forget is referring to a different girlfriend. I guess when all the stories end the same it’s hard to tell them apart? Yikes. In the article, Andrew even states up front that he expects to give up his lifestyle for a woman someday because “[men] rarely stop this lifestyle on [their] own. It’s always a woman.” I guess there’s this whole other world I don’t know about, in which men are the adventurers and the women are at home making muffins and dreaming of the day they finally get that ol’ ball and chain around their adventurer’s ankle, hm?

Backcountry travel is a huge part of Andrew’s life but he doesn’t seem to want a partner that shares his passions and this seems to be par for the course for outdoorsy dudes. I have to wonder whether they really do want an outdoorsy girl; they rarely choose one.

I really don’t know many guys who have paired up with women who like the outdoors. Honestly I can only think of one or two male friends whose female partner is an equal in the outdoors; the rest of my dude cadre are great partners for me but, frankly, they’re only available as partners because they married women who aren’t into it. I try to get them to invite their wives and the offer is always rebuffed: “Nah, she’s not interested.” All my dude friends are rad and the vast, vast majority of them married women who don’t care to come out and play in the outdoors, and when they do, they only dabble. So what’s the deal?

As for me, I don’t think I could be happy with a partner who struggles in the backcountry or doesn’t like to travel; it’s too important to me to ignore. I can’t imagine having a partner who doesn’t share my lifestyle; I’d rather fly solo than give up my fun. So I just don’t believe most guys who say they’re dying to meet women who like to go on adventures, because their actions just don’t jive.

It seems the more a man talks about how much he likes the outdoors, the more likely he is to shackle himself to someone who considers an open-air shopping mall to be all the adventure she needs. What gives?

For the Life of Me

May 16, 2012

It’s been a rough past few weeks for casualties in the Army. I’ve lost three fellow classmates from West Point. One of the guys was a year behind me in school but he was one of those brainiac types (by WP standards, too, which is impressive) who took a lot of classes with my year group. He was in a few of my classes and I’m pretty sure he’s the only reason I passed physics. Another was our  star quarterback. We also lost two soldiers in my brigade recently.

Death is a reality of my job. After a somber and well choreographed memorial service for one of our fallen last month, a friend commented on how well the army does death. It’s a part of the business. It’s something we all expect; the inevitable consequence of our profession, that we will most likely lose a brother- or sister-in-arms in battle. It happens.

I’m not a stranger to the fact that the only certainty in life is death. But, for me, this realization doesn’t have a negative effect. I don’t live in fear of death. For me, the worst part about dying is what my loss would do to my family and those close to me. No, I’m not afraid. But no way am I ready. There’s way too much I have left to do in this life. Living with the constant reminder of death has made me appreciate life so much more. Knowing that something could happen at any moment just makes life so much more beautiful for me. Every day is a new opportunity; one that has no guarantee of being there tomorrow.

Every moment I spend with my husband is cherished. Even when I get annoyed or frustrated with him, I don’t linger on it because in the grand scheme of things, whatever he’s done to annoy me doesn’t matter. He probably didn’t even mean to. Every shared smile or sideways glance, every conversation, every moment we share together is experienced wholly and fully. I may not specifically remember every single one of them, but in the moment, they are all that matters to me and nothing in the world is more important. I’ve even come to love his grumpy face. As a dual military couple, we’ve spent more time apart than together in our 3 years of engagement and marriage. He’s deployed right now and although his job is relatively safe, you just never know.

This earth is a beautiful and amazing thing. There is no better way, in my opinion, to appreciate life than to step outside and into the backcountry. When I’m outside, I feel so alive! To have the sky above and the earth below. To glide through the snow or feel the crunch of dirt and rocks beneath my boots. To feel the wind in my hair or the rain on my face. To conquer, or be conquered by, the mountains. To smell the foliage and hear the calls of the wild. To feel the movement of my body, the breath in and out. How wonderful to be in the midst of so much beauty and life!

My life depends on this earth. It sustains me and nourishes me and allows me some semblance of calm in an otherwise busy and sometimes chaotic life. Every morning the sun rises without so much as a thanks. The soils provide me with the food I need to live, although if we don’t start changing the way we do things, that may not always be so. I don’t think enough people realize what a precious gift this earth is. It’s a shame.

We drive gas guzzlers, litter, and tear up the ground for more buildings/houses/parking lots without much thought. We slave away behind our computers all day, drive home, and veg out in front of the TV all night. All these things require energy that we get by depleting the earth of its natural resources. Some of it is, unfortunately, inevitable. My job is very computer intense, a fact that I greatly resent. But, according to my online running log, I’ve run enough this year to power 265 TVs and save 6 gallons of gas. And that’s just from what I’ve actually recorded in there (most of the time I forget). Since I don’t have a TV, I like to think that if I could harness the energy of my running and other outdoor exploits, I’d be able to supply electricity to my house for a few months. How cool would that be? I wonder how much damage would go undone if 265 people with TVs chose to be outside for an hour a day instead of behind the boob tube (as long as those people were respectful and mindful of nature).

Anyway, I’ll step down from my soap box. My point is, life is beautiful and wonderful and fun and fabulous and something that shouldn’t be taken for granted. Even when life is sad or frustrating or difficult, there is opportunity to grow and learn and become better. So many life lessons can be learned by going outside and watching the way the natural world functions. It’s a shame more people don’t take advantage of what we have. And I don’t mean in a depleting and damaging way. I mean in rejuvenating and revitalizing way.

Take the time to appreciate life today. Go outside and smell the roses (or bear poop, in our case). Hug your loved ones for no reason other than because you can. Take time to remember and appreciate those who have gone before you and those who have sacrificed their lives in service to their country. Be glad for another today and hopeful for another tomorrow. This life is what you make of it.

Sun Mania

May 15, 2012

After seven years of living in the rainforest, I no longer trust the sun. Even though this is my third summer living in a place of abundant sunshine, it is still a miracle to me to wake up with light streaming through the skylights of my cabin. For those seven years, the sun was mainly a mystery, hidden behind layers of dense fog and rain, thick as a curtain. Sometimes it was a tease, a sucker hole of blue tempting me out in my kayak just as the heavens closed in again.

What I’m trying to say here is that I’m no stranger to the rain. Enough days and months and years passed living in perpetual mist that I kind of forgot there was another world beyond my island, a world where people wore shorts and jumped into lakes and went camping without a complicated arrangement of tarps. I was perpetually shrouded in some form of rain gear. There was the lightweight “town jacket,” for heading to work or the grocery store on foot. Then I had the hiking rain gear, the best money could buy in lightweight pants and breathable jacket, because you sure couldn’t wait for the sun to come out to go hiking. For more serious expeditions, the multi-day ones where I hopped from boat to shore several times in a day and slept in a tent where nothing ever dried, I had the lighter rain bibs and matching jacket, bought in a kids’ size large because the unisex adult small was too big. And for the biggest, baddest trips of all, the torrential rain in an open skiff, I had the rubber Helly Hansens, where the choice was to sweat miserably or take my chances with the weather.

Back then I was seized with a sort of sun mania. Everyone was. If the sun came out, everyone left work. People dashed about wondering whether to kayaktrailrunhike or just lie in a patch of bliss. Slowly our bodies unclenched.

Even now, with a perfect string of unblemished sunny days, like peaches on a string, I still feel vestiges of sun mania. I drag my laptop outside with an extension cord. I lie on a blanket in the front yard like something washed up from the sea. I walk, as much as my healing back will let me. I still feel like the sun will desert me.

“You have to live above the weather here,” one of my rainforest friends said recently. But ultimately I never could. I can take a little rain now and then, but as beautiful as the place was, it is lost to me now. I am completely sold on sun. Yesterday I went to the glacial lake at the mountain’s feet and flung myself in, disregarding the water temperature of forty degrees. Then I sat down and soaked up every last bit of sun.

907

May 12, 2012

The other day I mentioned via Twitter that I’d once chased a bear away with a shovel. Alpinist Magazine (@AlpinistMag) retweeted my comment with the addition, “some things just sound 907. ‘I chased a bear with a ____’ is one of them.” Can’t argue with that.

So today was a seriously 907 day all the way around.

I woke in a state of anxiety, having committed myself to leading a mountain rescue training but regretting doing so once I’d learned that Alyeska Resort had 40″ of new snow on top. In a fit of denial, I packed two pairs of skis and boots and all my ski gear on top of my mountain rescue stuff just in case my search and rescue compatriots solved my dastardly training scenario quickly enough for me to dart down and get some turns, but I knew deep down it wasn’t going to happen for me this day. A patroller friend comforted me with, “It won’t be powder anyway,” which I thought was a nice thing to say but really didn’t make me feel better, because IT DIDN’T MATTER. Forty inches of snow in May and I wanted to ski it.

But a commitment is a commitment so I resigned myself to a day of SAR shenanigans. My angelic sense of martyrdom was rewarded with the news that the mountain wasn’t going to open for the day because of avalanche conditions (it appears to still be snowing down there), and I could turn all of my attention to the training for the day.

With the help of a truly selfless team member who agreed to sit in the woods half the day and even bring his kids to add extra difficulty, I’d set up a lost person scenario to test out my team’s ability to interview witnesses, provide containment at trailheads, and conduct a ground search. My team member, Herman, took his kids out into the woods to play “lost” and pretend they had missed the turn back to the parking lot. They were to stay put for a few hours, respond to whistles blown by searchers and, if found, Herman was to pretend he had a head injury and needed to be carried out by the search team. I gave the searchers some vague information about the “lost hikers” and let things play out.

The first part of the day went fairly brilliantly. The search managers fell for my ruse and sent most teams north instead of south, where Herman was, though the incident commander did in fact muse over whether a hiker could have missed the turn to the parking lot. I figured I’d let them all dangle for a while and set off with my own superhero searcher, Geardog, to give him a chance to make a “find” and to warm up from standing in the cold parking lot all morning. I’d asked a team member to toss a backpack into the woods for search dogs to find so I figured I’d give Geardog first dibs.

We found the backpack in short order and Geardog was so stoked to get a play reward that I decided to continue on down the trail and “find” Herman before consigning Geardog back to the car for the day. I had a good idea where Herman was and I knew Geardog could use more exercise, and I could make the find and get back to base quickly to move the scenario along. We hiked the trail to the turnaround point (the place I knew Herman didn’t pass) and climbed the hillside to get a better position for Geardog to scent our subjects. I had only bushwhacked a few dozen yards before I stepped into a fresh pile of bear dookie, reminding me that since I’d only intended to go a few hundred yards down the trail to find the pack, I hadn’t brought my own pack to which my bear spray was safely tied. I radioed base to tell them to look out for bears, and adopted a more “heads-up” stance as Geardog and I continued searching.

We found Herman without incident, chatted for a minute, then I headed back to base. As the day moved along, a few long-distance bear sightings were called in, one from a team on the next mountain over who could see a large brown bear making its way up the drainage. Must have been a cool sight.

Eventually Herman was found and all the ground teams converged on his location for some action. I wanted to get back out to do something so I went along, too, and soon enough we were packaging Herman up like a burrito to be carried out in a litter. We have a lot of medical types on our team and I’m not one of them, so I ended up entertaining Herman’s two ridiculously adorable daughters while the rest of the team worked. We were up on a hillside above Turnagain Arm and the Seward Highway, so we enjoyed a great view while we played (I figured those kids deserved a little play after sitting in the woods for three hours).

As the team worked to package our “patient,” I noticed a commotion below, down by the highway. Cars were quickly filling the pullout below our position, with drivers jockeying for space, slamming on the brakes, and otherwise making a mess of things. I observed a few drivers darting from their cars and racing towards the turnout, and quickly surmised that there was an animal there that people wanted to see. Soon enough horns were blaring and I witnessed a few close calls as the highway jammed up with stopped cars. Now, tourists get all excited about mountain goats and sheep, and they almost explode with rapture when they see a moose, but this was something else, I could tell. I suspected that there was a bear there and the passers-by were stopping to gawk. Watching the picture takers dart directly towards whatever it was they were staring at didn’t make me feel any better. Whatever the animal was, it was bound to feel pressured and to retreat up into the woods. Concerned that we’d be in its path, I radioed base but they couldn’t see what was happening.

After 30 minutes or so, the cars dispersed, which meant that their hapless photo subject had also dispersed. The search team had packaged up Herman and had a lowering system rigged for the litter when I saw it – a large, glossy, fat, highly agitated brown bear, cresting the rise below us and staking out a spot about thirty feet from the trail we planned to use to evacuate our subject. We were treated to an amazing sight; the huge bear silhouetted against the waters of Turnagain Arm, standing on a cliff edge overlooking the highway. Had a motorist happened to have looked up, they would have seen a once in a lifetime scene. We were thrilled, too, but the bear’s behavior gave us pause. The bear paced, snapping its jaws and darting around; generally looking like a bear we didn’t want to be near. We made the decision to end the scenario and unpackage Herman, though I did get a little laugh out of the fact that after I pointed out the bear, I looked over my shoulder to see most of the team right behind me looking at the bear, having raced over leaving burrito-ed Herman to fend for himself (almost – one stalwart individual stayed with him).

We watched for a while as the bear restlessly roamed, generally parallelling our path to the parking lot. Absolutely no one had a camera, which is why there are no pictures to go with this post. We debated whether to go or to wait, when one sharp thinker suggested we take the other route, away from the bear, then descend to the road and walk back that way, eliminating the chance of running into our agitated ursus horribilis. I radioed base to tell them they should expect a bear in their parking lot soon, and we departed in an orderly line for the highway.

Sure enough, the bear did in fact make tracks for our base/parking lot, which added a level of difficulty to our scenario that I hadn’t anticipated. From where we stood on the road, we could see the turnoff for the parking lot but not any of the happenings therein. I took a stance on the other side of the highway so I at least had radio comms to pass information to my team, and I saw car after car after car turning into the parking lot to get a look. The last straw was seeing a taxi turn in. As we waited, we found a half-opened can of salmon in the pullout, which is likely what drew the bear down to the highway. Later, the ranger told me that they had had consistent problems with this type of “baiting” recently. Look, I know Alaska is cool and you all want to see it, but it’s not a zoo and it ain’t Disneyland so a) don’t litter and b) don’t be a damn idiot and try to attract bears to the highway for easier tourist viewing. There are so many ways that that little can of salmon could have gotten people killed today.

Base kept telling us to stay where we were, and evidently this was because the sight-seers followed the bear, annoying it further and resulting in a few people being charged as they tried to approach the irritated animal to snap pictures. Base called for ranger backup and started ferrying cars to our location rather than risk having us walk into a volatile bear encounter. By shouting and blowing our whistles, we tried to stop hikers from blithely continuing along the trail, and they very nearly didn’t listen to us as they carried on with their two dogs running ahead of them, no bear spray in sight. Luckily they changed their minds and turned around – base told me over the radio that any hikers coming down the trail would make that bear feel “very trapped.” Our people were safe in their cars, but no one wants to helplessly witness a bear mauling, even if the maulee somewhat deserves it.

I was shuttled to the parking lot to pick up my truck, and the bear was still just a couple dozen feet away, fretting and panting right on the main trail we’d hiked to go find Herman. The ranger had cleared out most of the looky-loos but a few aspiring photographers remained, stalking the bear from the false safety zone in between the cars. Not wanting any part of that, we moved our vehicles down the road and debriefed there. We were all safe, sound, and unhurt even in the face of the unexpected, so a successful day it was.

But it wasn’t over yet, at least for me. I’d asked the other dog handlers to help out by bringing articles for me to hide for the dogs, and one of the articles was the backpack I’d set out to find with Geardog so many hours before. I’d left it in place in case another dog handler wanted a find. Unfortunately, it was a nice pack full of quality gear kindly loaned by one of the searchers’ husbands – it wouldn’t do to leave it out. As the instigator of the training and the only one with a clear idea of where the pack was, I agreed to hike in with the pack’s owner to retrieve it. It was a bit of a nerve wracker, hiking up a trail that a pissed-off grizzly had been occupying just moments earlier. Not only did I have my bear spray out, I had it unlocked and ready to fire. Thankfully, though, we retrieved the backpack without incident.

All in all I’d say it was a good day’s work. I didn’t miss out on any skiing, I did my duty to SAR team and community, and I didn’t get mauled by or even scared by a bear. Geardog got to work and we all had a fun day outside with our friends. We got to see a beautiful animal up close and personal from a rare angle, and we know for sure that winter’s over because the bears are awake and alert. And that’s 907.

Other Lives

May 9, 2012

There have been very few occasions when I would trade my life in for someone else’s. As shiny and beautiful as others’ lives may seem on the outside, there usually are the same subterranean faults lurking beneath.

There have been a few times, though, that I have wanted to dabble, stick a toe in, test this person’s life out. For instance, I once stood on a misty beach near Juneau doing something or another, and as I stood there a woman came out of the fog rowing herself and two kids in an ancient boat. She leapt from the seat and hauled the boat up above the high tide line, and she and her children marched up the beach past me. Obviously she lived “out”,  perhaps on some remote island, and they were coming in for their town visit. I was intrigued by her self-sufficiency and grace.

Another time a woman passed me on the fireline carrying her pack and two full bladder bags. These bags, for the uninitiated, are cumbersome rubber contraptions that hang without mercy from the shoulders and weigh, with the nozzle attached, about 45 pounds. Remember, she had two of these. The bags invariably leak a stream of miserably cold water down your shoulders and flop around like half-dead fish as you walk. At the time I was a rookie firefighter, struggling to keep up with the men on my crew, and she was an exception to the mostly male contingent that was out there then. She smiled at me as she passed, recognition of the firefighting sisterhood. In my mind she was tough in a way I wanted to be.

My last example isn’t really a person but a place. I’ve sometimes passed through sections of country that are wild and lonesome and alluring, and I’ve wondered what it would be like to change everything about my life so I could live there. Some of the interior villages of Alaska are like that for me. A little beach town in Tasmania. Places where you have to ski into your cabin in winter because the county doesn’t plow the road. Islands off the coast of Maine. Places like that.

It’s probably a traveler’s curse to feel this way;  my years of roaming have led me to always look over the next hill and around the bend. It’s also curiosity: what is it like to have a life different from my own? That is the superpower I wish for: the ability to dive into an alternate life and taste it, then to return home as morning comes, nobody the wiser.

Last Box Checked

May 5, 2012

Last week I knocked out the last of the 50 states I had not yet visited. As I mentioned before, I’d never been to Hawaii so when a friend invited me to utilize her guest room (and guest bike), I figured I’d go check it out. Most Alaskans wonder why I’d never been to Hawaii before, and I guess it was because it seemed ridiculously complicated for a trip that’s supposed to be easy. Too many islands, too many choices. I’m not great with too many choices, so I just pushed it aside as a destination. Once an invitation was on the table, though, the difficulty level fell away. I had a place to stay and transportation, so there was no need to choose an island or any lodging. Even the flight was direct. Easy enough.

I realize you all will think I’m about to regale you with tales of surfing, beach lounging, diving, and…whatever else people do in Hawaii. Sorry, no. I’ve never been one for doing the normal tourist stuff, so although I did get some beach time, I came home with a bizarre combination of bike-hike-swim tan lines instead of a nicely cultivated bikini tan. Ah well, it’s barely 40 degrees here in Anchorage right now so that tan will fade quickly enough.

While I’m slighly regretful that I didn’t do any diving, I am more than satisfied with my chosen vacation activities. The highlight was cruising Honolulu and Waikiki as part of an eclectic BMX gang. Let me tell you, BMX bikes are pretty excellent. They’re cheap, fun, and silly, but if you get good at the tricks it really does translate into better bike handling. Not that I got good at any tricks on this outing. But you get the idea.

One of the things I wanted to do was to ride bikes a lot, a mission which was well and fully accomplished. I rode bikes for fun, for exercise, and for transportation. I did learn, though, that when two former high-level bike racers tell you that the the hilly road you need to climb to get to the trails is really hard, it means it’s actually really hard. The second time I headed to those trails, I was passed on the hill by a truckload of DH bikers doing shuttles. When I got to the top, they were still hanging out, so I approached them to get some trail beta. They told me to meet them at the bottom and they’d shuttle me up, so I gratefully took them up on it and joined them for a half day of shuttling. I had some tense moments on the burlier trails, as I was on a light XC bike trying to ride with guys on big 8-10 inch travel bikes, but no bones were broken and I had a great time. I think I might easily become addicted to lift-served biking this summer at our new bike park.

The entire trip was a wonderful mishmash of riding, playing Ultimate, entertaining my hosts’ cat by working on his Jackie Chan wall-climbing moves, getting beach time here and there, eating at food trucks (if you are paying restaurant prices in Hawaii, you’re screwing yourself. The food at those food trucks is just as good and a hell of a lot cheaper. $9 for a swordfish steak, salad, and rice that would run $26-$32 in a restaurant, and Kalua pig tacos that would feed two for just $11). I randomly hit three stops on the Obama tour during my wanderings (his high school, Baskin-Robbins, and shave ice stand), followed a maze of bizarre yet highly accurate directions to secret local trails from a guy I met in the Anchorage airport before my outbound flight, found my way across Honolulu on a town bike at night on a lightless route that involved invisible curb cuts, literal leaps of faith, and a turn only designated by “corner where the stray cats hang out.” We hiked to a waterfall one afternoon, along the way passing tourists in sparkly gladiator sandals and gingerly-stepping Vibram FiveFingers wearers. I spent lots of enjoyable time with my Hawaiian hosts and even met up with an Alaskan friend who is living on a different island in Hawaii and happened to be on Oahu the same time I was by utter coincidence. It’s fun to see familiar faces in unfamiliar environments, and I get particular pleasure out of mixing friend groups and having everyone enjoy each other.

I was a little depressed by the tourist inferno, particularly on the beaches where the turtles lay eggs amidst crowds of picture-takers just feet away; and I tried stand-up paddleboarding and can report that it’s just as lame as it looks. In Hawaii they call SUPpers “fixie riders of the beach” and I kind of think of them as “snowshoers of the ocean.” But at least I tried it and had a fun time talking with the guys who ran the rental stand. I do enjoy meeting people more than I enjoy excursions or tourist activities, as it turns out. Next time I’ll do some diving; the snorkeling was pretty good but just made me sad that I couldn’t stay down for 45 minutes.

It was just the right mix of solo, group, and friend activities and I went home satisfied. After staying up late with my host on my last night, researching whether or not all rodents are in fact pear shaped, I was a little lacking on sleep but the first class upgrade on the way home made the redeye flight a little more bearable. Perfect.

So when I got back to Anchorage the first thing I noticed upon leaving the airport at 5am to walk to my truck was that Alaska smells like dust and car exhaust instead of flowers and ocean breezes. When I woke up from my half-day nap I stopped into the ski shop to pick up a few things. I told Fred, the owner, where I’d been and mentioned that going to Hawaii meant that I’d now visited all fifty states. He gave me “the look” and I assumed he was just surprised that I’d never before gone to Hawaii, but this time he was just expressing surprise that I’d visited all of the states, saying that not many people can say they’ve done that. Really? I guess I’m just always going to get “the look” for one reason or another.

While I’m getting “the look” I guess I’ll mention that I took zero pictures.

the dark side of solo

May 3, 2012

There’s a moment that I hope never happens to you. It’s when you’ve been happily running down a trail you’ve run many times before and your feet slip on a wet rock, because these trails are not wide and manicured and tame, oh no. They have teeth. Anyway at this moment you lie there and realize two things. One, that you are a mile from the trailhead and this is mid-week in May, and two, the overwhelming fragility that is your body in the wilderness.

 There is a dark side to independence and going solo and I know I flirt with that dark side often. I like to hike and run alone. There are many reasons for this but it is mostly this: It is the only time I get to be truly selfish (I can hear people who know me well snickering). But it’s true. I can hurtle along if I want to or I can go slowly. I only bear the responsibility for myself and not for anyone else who might be tired, hungry, or bored. Once I had a boyfriend who thought that going alone was a character flaw. This same boyfriend thought that because we didn’t chatter during our hikes, there was a problem with our relationship. But I never thought this. There is a zone I visit when I hike or run long. It’s a zone I need, because I can screen out work, obligations, and anything else that I need or should be doing.

In going alone, though, you shoulder risk, as I found out yesterday. Today I am hobbling around the house thinking that I should have just taken the darn Vicodin the doctor offered. And thinking about just how quickly a trail can turn on you.

I’m sure some people would say, don’t run on those trails. After all, our mountain trails aren’t for the faint of heart. You have to ford rivers, tiptoe over the rock-studded tread, wriggle under fallen trees. Your pace rarely reaches more than ten minutes per mile. If you slip off a rock like I did, you can fall onto your back. You can lie there, the minutes ticking down, and you can realize that only you can get yourself out. There’s something to that that I like even as I curse the pain and wonder when I can exercise again. Self-reliance. Too few of us face that in our normal lives. The wilderness forces us to do it.

 I choose to go out there and my body bears the scars. Here a long slash from falling down a talus slope. There a white patch from a bout with a fence. I’ve caught my hair on fire mopping up a wildfire and I’ve fallen more times than I have fingers. This is just another souvenir, a reminder of what can happen.

So I join the injured reserves and I hope. I hope it isn’t for too long this time. I hope that next time everything will go fine. I hope that fear of what could be won’t stop me appreciating what is.

Confluence

April 23, 2012

 

There is something magical and peaceful about a confluence of two rivers. Magical because you can be following one, swollen with snowmelt and chocolate-brown, and then come to the place where it merges with another, larger river in an uproar of waves and sound. Peaceful because you can pick your way on the cobble bar past where the two rivers still run side by side in a braid and then finally merge into one, more powerful thing.

The hike down the Imnaha River to the Snake is a sketchy one, full of eager blackberry and juicy poison ivy. In summer you can’t do it at all unless you have a death wish and want to swim through webs of ivy and thorns, baking in the one hundred and ten degree heat. Now on the edge of summer it is about perfect. You will probably come away with a delicate scatter of ivy on your legs since you refuse to wear pants, but the path is mainly clear. The Imnaha is nearly in flood stage and it is captivating to watch. Fall in and you would die, simple as that.

So you don’t fall in. You walk the five miles or so to Eureka Bar and head downriver past the camp of Boy Scouts and the two day hikers who are inspecting their legs for ticks. Once you pass the main trail to Eureka Creek you can  be all alone.

The two rivers have completely merged by now. There is no trace of the silty Imnaha where you stand on a small beach, your toes digging into the cool sand. But you know it’s there, deep underneath. You know it by the chilly current that was recently ice on the top of a mountain. You know it by the sand tumbling through the river bottom. And because nature speaks to you in metaphors you think of your own confluences; choices you have made on your own journey, whether it is to follow the past of least resistance or to try something different, go against the flow so to speak.

In the end though, it’s best not to think too hard. Those mergings are in the past. Better to look ahead. Pitch the tent on a bench above the river. Listen to the water rushing by on its way to somewhere. Breathe deeply.

In Appreciation of the Non-Dirtbag

April 23, 2012

My esteemed colleague Brendan Leonard wrote a piece about what it’s like to try and date while living a “dirtbag” climbing life. Having never really lived in my car before, I can’t relate, but I do know that the dirtbag lifestyle is one that we are all supposed to aspire to at some point as partakers of the outdoors. Odd, isn’t it, aspiring to live in a car. But really, many auspicious outdoor personalities have undertaken this rite of passage. Steph Davis is one who comes to mind; I believe she lived in her Toyota Tacoma for five years or so. Lots of people I know say they are eager to ditch their worldly belongings and move into their Subaru. It’s even one of Morgan’s goals for the next ten years.

Myself, I never had this urge. I have traveled a lot but always with an established home to come back to. Still, I understand the compulsion. Living unladen and fancy-free sounds pretty cool in a lot of ways. But it’s not the path for everyone, nor should it be. There are lots of us who live the outdoor lifestyle in an authentic and serious way while pursuing advanced degrees, building careers, and having families. Myself, I took the corporate route, getting an advanced degree and working up to starting and building my own businesses, purchasing a house, and creating a schedule that allows me my outdoor pursuits. The amount of work it takes to stay active while establishing a career and home is pretty significant, so I thought that it might be worth taking some time to appreciate the Non-Dirtbags out there, the ones who put in serious office time and then keep the momentum to get out and play in the outdoors.

With much affection for my dirtbag friends, all the attention paid to dirtbags results in overlooking the contributions and accomplishments of those who are office-bound and working hard. I think of my Twitter compatriot, Josh Montague, who relentlessly powers through long nights at the lab working on his advanced degree; my hardworking Yukon friends Tony, Sierra, and Jenn, who all work full time jobs, but still find enough time to be a thousand times more awesome than is reasonable; and the Geargals writers as well – Morgan works full time for the Army and Irene is a full-time Forest Service Ranger, wife, and mom to three. Morgan and Irene make sure to take the time to get out and enjoy the outdoors while meeting their family and professional obligations. That’s no small achievement.

While the plusses of living in your car are obvious – simplicity, cheap lifestyle, no need to really work much, long days of doing whatever you want – the benefits of establishing a career and a home are pretty good too.

1. Security. Sure, you can always go hunker in your car for the night, but nothing beats your own home. You never have to borrow someone else’s shower, pay for a storage unit, or wonder where you’re going to sleep when you’re not traveling. You always have a place to dry your gear and you won’t have to pick it up and stow it until you’re good and ready. It’s home. And that’s a great feeling.

2. Retirement. I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to retirement. It’s not that far away for me and, done right, it can be rad. Some people think that it’s better to take your retirement while you’re “young enough to enjoy it” but I say no, wait for when you’re older and you’re financially set enough to REALLY enjoy it. I think traveling the world without too much financial stress is gonna be way more fun for me, and I plan to stay fit enough to continue doing all the activities I love to do. Life’s not over after 40, no matter what the kids say.

3. Accomplishment. I know you can’t go climbing every single day if you’re slaving away at a PhD. Sometimes you have to study instead of play. But believe me, this sacrifice translates into character-building that affects everything you do. The PhD will be done one day, and then you can apply all that focus to climbing or skiing or camping or whatever you want. And you’ll know how to finish a project, because your academic achievement is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do in your life. Now that it’s done – congratulations! Now you can relax.

4. Flexibility. Guess what? Now that you have a comfortable income and a place to put all your stuff, you can go live in your car if you want to! I’m planning to do just that this summer; I’m on a project a few hours from home four days a week until September. The perfect arrangement to enjoy the dirtbag lifestyle while always knowing a shower, a full kitchen, and my cozy bed is just a few days and a bit of driving away. Conversely, if you’re living in your car but suddenly want to have a house – well, you’ve got some serious work ahead of you.

5. Money. The time you’re investing in your career or your home will pay off in the end. There’s always time to dirtbag it later.

So if you’re reading this from a cubicle, dreaming of the open road but knowing you have other stuff to do first, don’t despair. You’re not any less of an outdoorsperson and you’re still doing it right. Let’s all take a moment to appreciate the non-dirtbags in our midst.

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