My daughter and I began our Colorado backpacking trip in a gravel and dirt parking lot outside of Aspen.   Her husband dropped us off, and drove away leaving a trail of dust.  We began climbing almost right away, a long steep climb under tall trees and a blue sky.  I huffed and puffed and struggled with the elevation and with a heavy backpack.   It had been a year since my last trip in the Smokey’s of North Carolina.  We came to the first of three gates and read the sign prohibiting motor vehicles, motorized equipment, hang gliders and bicycles.  We climbed on and the terrain became rocky, with wide views of green mountains.   At the same time the trail leveled out some and I was able to enjoy the scenery.   We crossed our first snow patch, tossed snowballs at each other and continued on.

The trail climbed higher and higher, and we walked into a grove of Aspens.  Sometimes the trees were so thick it was nearly impossible to see through them, and with the trunks so white, it was a strange reverse image forest.  Flowers were blooming, tons of dandelions, along with columbine and yellow Arrowleaf balsamroot.  We turned a corner and the vista opened up to show snow capped peaks looming above us.  These peaks were extra exciting because our goal was to sleep beside an alpine lake, below the snow but still much higher in elevation than we were at that moment.  We climbed on.

 

At one stop we rested with a rushing river on our right and a grassy meadow on our left.  Anna, my daughter suggested we could set up our tent here if I was ready to stop.  Once my breathing returned to normal and my heart rate slowed, I assured her I was fine to keep going.  I just needed some water, snacks, and a few more minutes to breathe.  Now the trail followed the river, and the water in the river was moving fast, moving snowmelt down into the valley.  We knew from the map we would have to cross that water at some point, and we began to doubt our plans of  making it to the lake.  We climbed on.

The next steep section pushed us through another grove of white aspen.  I found myself stopping every few minutes to control my breathing.  Step, step, breathe, step, step breathe.   Anything can be accomplished in small doses.  I would make it to the top.  We stopped to rest on a large rock.  I sat down with my pack still on, leaned back and nearly blacked out.  I leaned forward again and the darkness in my vision receded.  I took off my pack, and we ate our lunch in the white forest.   Food and water helped and I was finally able to continue.  We climbed on.

 

The trail climbed to a rocky bluff, and from that bluff we had an excellent view of Snowmass mountain and Capital Peak.  This time we stopped just to enjoy the view.  Snowmass was huge, and still covered in a lot of snow.  Below the last snowfield we could see a long white line that eventually we realized was a wide waterfall.  It was hard to believe how much water was flowing from all the snow, filling rivers and ponds.  After a few bites of our trail mix we walked along a less steep pathway, and once again enjoyed the mountain views.  We came to a wide camping area close to the rushing river, and decided to make this our first campsite.  Someone had left a small fire circle of stones, and after setting up the tent we collected firewood.  We knew it would be cold at night, in June at such altitudes.  The only wood we could find was aspen and pine.  The pine burned quickly, and burned out before the Aspen could start.  When the aspen did catch fire it just glowed as an ember, no flames involved.  We finally gave up on the fire that had given up on us.  Anna started our little stove and I prepared the food.  Suddenly a strong wind blew and the dead embers flared up, creating a tall bonfire.  We jumped up to put it out, fearful because the fire ring was so small and the blaze so high.  Once the fire was out we returned to our dinner, to have another strong wind reignite the fire into another beautiful bonfire.  This time we poured all our water on the fire, stirred the embers and made sure they were cold.  I touched the wood before I was convinced the danger was past.  

 

Before bed we lay in the grass and watched the stars as they popped out.  It was cold but we bundled up, everything warm except our faces.  The darkness was deep and the stars many.  It was a perfect ending to day one.

 

In the morning we packed up and continued.  The plan was to hike to the end of the trail, for us, at an alpine lake near a high pass between Capital Peak and Snowmass.  We walked just a couple of hours before running into a beaver pond.  We thought we might’ve lost the trail, but continued on around the pond as the trail petered out in a meadow.  We could see tracks crossing a section of snow on a steep side above the water, but we stopped to have a snack and look at our map.  Across the water we could see a trail following the edge of the water, and after a few minutes we saw three backpackers emerge from the woods.  They walked beside the water until the trail seemed to lead them to a river outlet filled with downed trees.  We watched while they hesitated, looked around, then began trying to cross on the water logged trunks.  They were mostly out of sight then, but we could hear yelling as they crossed, and we heard one person fall in.  We donned our packs and headed that way, but they were gone by the time we stood at the log jam.  Evidently the trail crossed here.  The water rushed through the fallen trees, and I could not imagine how they managed to cross.  

 

We decided to set up our tents here and then try crossing without wearing the heavy backpacks.  If we made it we could turn the alpine lake into a day hike.  Once back at the logs I began to worry.  The water was very fast, at times deep, and we were going to have to return the same way later in the day.  Anna stepped out onto the logs.  She grabbed a tall stick to balance with, and to also use as a depth measure.  Slowly she stepped from log to log.  At times the water was shallow, at other spots it was 4 feet deep, at least.  Some of the logs wobbled as she moved onto them.  I started on the first log.  It moved and I almost lost my balance.  I took one more step out, used my staff to balance, and froze.  I just couldn’t do it.  At first Anna was going to go on, but in the middle she began to reconsider as well.  We returned to our campsite and relaxed instead.  Two marmots and a snowshoe hare, mostly dark colored at this time of year, visited the campsite.  We took our shoes and socks off and enjoyed the warm sunshine.

 

A man and woman came through, and headed towards the logs.  After a moment we heard a scream, and Anna ran to see if they needed help.  No one had fallen in, but they were halfway across, clutching each other in a death grip.  Very slowly, and loudly, they finally made it across the logjam bridge.  We returned to our sunny lazy day.  After our supper we walked back out to the water to look for birds and to enjoy the view.  We found four guys standing around at the logjam, their backpacks tossed into the grass.  They had larger packs than ours, and also carried climbing ropes, helmets and snowshoes.  Their plan was to hike up the pass and climb Capital Peak.  To do this they had to cross the logjam, and they were very unsure.  One of the men worried about breaking a leg, and said, “A broken leg would mess up the climb.”  

 

We chatted with them a while then walked off to enjoy the evening.  As dusk fell we walked back towards our tents and found 4 guys at the log jam, backpacks on the grass.  I said, “You guys are still working on the crossing?”  I got a very strange look, and realized this was a different and younger group.  They also had very large backpacks, climbing ropes and helmets and snowshoes, but also snowboards and skis.  Their plan was to climb up to Snowmass and ski down just after the sun rose. One guy said he wanted the golden time when the sun hit the snow and started melting it but not too much.  They had to be at the top by 7 AM.  Now it was nearly dark and they were unable to cross the logs.  They decided to reengineer the fallen logs into a safer passage, so with headlamps for to see by, they were walking out onto the logs, tossing them into better locations and walking out some more.  They had a blast, shouting and laughing as they tossed the logs.  One young man fell and scraped up his leg.  Blood was running down into his shoe, but his spirits were great.  He didn’t have anything with him to stop the bleeding, so Anna offered a bandage.  He followed us to our tents, talking about how he saved room by carrying only trail mix and Red Bull for food.  I gave him a crazy look and he said with a smile, “I’m young.”

 

Anna handed him some gauze and he held it to his leg, and wondered out loud how to make it stick.   She looked through her first aid bag to find tape and he admitted they had no first aid kit in all their things they were carrying.  Then he smiled, “I have saran wrap.  I just got a brand new tattoo and I have a roll of saran wrap to cover it with.” This guy had no first aid kit, no food to speak of but he was carrying an entire roll of cling wrap for a tattoo.  I laughed, amazed, and then felt bad so I said, “I know how it is to forget things, I forgot our hot chocolate.” 

 

In the end the guys decided to set up their tents, and get up early to cross the water and climb the mountain.  We heard them get up at 3 AM, shouting loudly and happily as they crossed the water.  I hope they had a great time, and survived the snowboarding, and I hope our friend kept his tattoo and cut clean.  We went back to sleep and didn’t get up until after the sun rose.  The hike out was so much easier,  the steep climb become a steep downhill, while hard to balance I was able to breathe.  Just as we reached the parking lot my daughter, who had planned the trip, told me this trail was considered strenuous.  I was glad to know that.  I thought it was just me.  We were met by her husband, bearing pizza and soft drinks, and we got to enjoy the trip again as we told him of all our adventures.  Great hikes are lots of fun the first time, but become even more wonderful every time we tell about them.  This was one of the best, and I am very glad Anna was patient with me when the elevation gave me trouble, and when I was afraid of the logs.  Colorado is beautiful.  

 Simple pleasures of life

 

I just finished reading Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, better known as the author of The Little Prince.  Wind, Sand and Stars is filled with his memories as a pilot in Africa.  He describes a life of adventure.  He enjoys the dangers of flying in a time when, as he put it, airplanes tended to fall apart in the sky.  He wrote many words on the idea of what it means to be living a life. To live is the point of being alive, and to live means more than waking up every day and simply going about a daily routine.  He felt sorry for people who didn’t struggle and fight for life, for those who didn’t sleep under a deep bed of stars alone on the desert floor, who didn’t know the sound of an airplane engine stuttering as it crossed tall mountain peaks.  He wanted the travail of life, the living of life.  I agree and yet I also love simple pleasures.

Recently my daughter, son in law and I crossed the country on a grand adventure.  We saw the Arch in St. Louis, attended a baseball game, drove through Kansas and Colorado, and backpacked for three days among the snow-capped peaks. This was, for me, grand adventure, living a life, and every bit as wonderful as it sounds.  But, another wonderful moment stands out, a simple one.  On the way back from this trip I spent a few nights at my dad’s house. One of those nights I strung up my hammock in his backyard, and slept under the stars, and under the leaves of the trees.  I listened to the neighbor’s rooster and to the strange call of their peacock.  I woke early, and ate dew covered blackberries just starting to warm from the sun.  Inside I shared a hot coffee with my dad.  This is the beauty of simple pleasure.

 

Saint Exupéry also enjoyed the simple pleasures.  He wrote long beautiful paragraphs about sitting alone on the top of a sand dune surveying the empty lands all around.  He described sitting under stars so plentiful he felt dizzy, and could feel the spinning of the earth through space.  I think all pleasures are simple ones.  It is when they become too complex, too involved, then they become manufactured and artificial, and at this point they are no longer pleasures.  Once we try too hard, the pleasure becomes the created moment.  The created moment isn’t real.  The stars are real, blackberries are real, simple pleasures are real.

Travel books

It is time to hit the road.  Adventure awaits, new experiences, new foods, and new trials.  The long straight road is a symbol of freedom and is also an inheritance from our ancestors as they crossed this country looking for better opportunities.  From pioneers looking for better farmland or hunting areas, to people fueled by gold dust fever, to youth looking to understand themselves better, the open road or the path west is in our blood.  Although many people enjoy relaxing vacations sitting by the pool or floating in a  crowded cruise ship, there are lots of folks wanting to simply move, see new places and experience whatever the rest of the world has to offer.  Travel books are the literature version of that need, that desire to just to and see.

The world is full of great travel books, opportunities to both enjoy the adventure and to see other places through new eyes.  I have never been to Africa, or most of South America, to Australia or to Europe, but through reading I have some ideas and feelings about these places.  One day I hope to experience other countries, but right now I can venture out all over our 50 states, and I can read about the adventures of others.  Travel books are as different as the people that write them, from John Steinbach to Tony Horowitz to Paul Theroux to Freya Stark.  I have read books about women biking across Mongolia, families taking a year off to see the world, men and women hiking long trails like the AT, and of men and a few women sailing around the world.  

If I were to write a travel book it would have to be from my own adventures, of course.  I have had the opportunities to drive across the country a couple of times, to camp in many of our states, to sleep in hammocks, tents, back of vans and a pop up camper.  On hiking trips I have met many brave souls out for their own version of living life to the fullest.  I want to write about these people as well.  Life is meant to be lived, experienced, suffered through and enjoyed.

Most readers have a favorite genre of books, whether they prefer literary works, mysteries or romance.  My favorite is of course travel.  I love all the types mentioned except romance, but every time I go to the library or bookstore I end up in the travel section.  A well written travel story can include all of the genre themes, as the reader learns about history, or revels in well written sentences, teaches a little about the mystery of the place, and maybe even can include a little romance.  Travel literature is life, with all the good and bad parts included.  

It is time to write a travel book.  It is always time to read travel books, and to get out and travel, but right now it is time to write.  Stay tuned, I hope I can do this.  

Last travel book I read was Land of Lost Borders, by Kate Harris, followed by a book on the Appalachian  Trail and a book on riding motorcycles across Europe and Asia.  I want to write as well as these people, to show the joy of travel, how hard it can be and what wonderful experiences and learning opportunities we can have.  Travel isn't always fun.  It can be hard, trying and exhausting, scary and just plain difficult.  I remember a backpacking trip so hard I wanted to cry, but so hard I was too tired to make the effort. Even so, now I think of that trip with fondness.  I am glad I went.

 If we are afraid of the rain, we will miss out on the wonderful experience of feeling raindrops on skin, cooling off after a long hot day.  If we are afraid of pain, discomfort or inconvenience, think of all that we will miss out on.  It is time to live.