Backpacking Like Piglet and Pooh

Kael & Boden

I am a minimalist in almost every way. When I hiked the Grand Canyon I did the rim-to-rim in one day so I wouldn’t have to pack a bunch of crap in to camp and pack it back out. Light and fast – or, light and lighter. My camping trips were one-nighters staying awake all night by a fire, no tent or gear needed. So it should come as no surprise that I was 36 when I went on my first real “backpacking” trip. As with all things, however, anything worthwhile, anything worth having, seeing, or experiencing, comes at a price – and sometimes that price is throwing a load on your back and hauling it around for long distances. While minimal is good in some cases, it can be a cheap fare that holds you back from the unique, exquisite, and stunning landscapes found in remote places. I have since acquired an appreciation for backpacking and have come to associate it with something Edward Abbey said, “Walking makes the world much bigger and thus more interesting. You have time to observe the details.” It’s the details and mishaps of any excursion that provide the ingredients for reminiscing, but doing it on your own muscle and power gives it a unique flavor that makes the subsequent tall tales of adventure alluring to other would-be adventurers dreaming of similar feats.

One of those dreamers was my son, Kael. He was itching to have some adventures of his own and started asking to come along. Being new to backpacking I wasn’t sure what an appropriate age for a kid to start was, but 10 sounded good. The moment came when a friend of ours, Ty Larson, who always conjures up images in my mind of Seldom Seen Smith from The Monkey Wrench Gang, invited us to hike and backpack on top of Water Canyon. It is a popular, spring fed canyon on BLM land near Hildale in the Canaan Mountain Wilderness; a place not burdened by rules and regulations found in a National Park. It sounded perfect, not just because we would get to have a campfire, but because he was bringing his 10 year old son Boden along, who happens to be Kael’s best friend.

We met up at the Merry Wives Café, grabbed some last minute items and used the restroom, and then wound our way through the strange town of Hildale to the base of the canyon. Upon arrival it did seem to have one thing in common with a National Park, visitors. We were surprised at the train of people we got stuck behind and started to worry that we would be sharing the summit with a crowd as well. But our fears were allayed when we passed the waterfalls that separated us from the day hikers and put us on our ascent in solitude as the people and noise faded away behind us. The trail switched back and forth at a steady and gradual incline up the side of the mountain, and though I had been worried beforehand about their stamina, watching Kael and Boden scramble merrily up the trail made me reconsider my reservations about other trips. I listened to the banter and laughter between them and thought of A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh where Piglets asks, “We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Pooh?” And Pooh replies, “Even longer.”

Building bonds with other people happens in unique ways, many of the strongest forming either in childhood or by walking paths of daring and courage or trial and tragedy together in life. I wondered about the bond that was being built between Kael and Boden as they tested themselves against the mountain together. Would they be life-long friends? What else does life have in store for them? Such thoughts flickered periodically in my mind as I watched them ascend and then crest the summit. Joining them there, we looked out at a vista of redrock landscape stretching from horizon to horizon, framed by bluffs of Zion peeking out in the background. There were piles of wood and campsites all around looking out over the stunning view, but we had picked a blustery and cold day to camp on such an exposed cliff, and so grudgingly set out in search of a site with a wind break. We gave Kael and Boden the job of scouting out our campsite. Not long after embarking on their scouting exploration they came running back with news that they had found the perfect spot. Excitedly they led the way to their hidden hollow, pointing out landmarks and describing its characteristics. Within a grove of ponderosa pines, nestled in and protected from the wind, was a flat clearing. They had indeed found the second best spot to camp. Stepping inside the circle of trees was like stepping out of a storm and into a shelter. All was calm within, despite the howling wind and swaying branches above and around us, and after exploring look-outs and bush-wacking, it felt good to light up a fire and take a load off. As the sun went down and the fire cast a warm glow against the growing darkness, we cooked up some dinner and spun yarns. The boys poked sticks in the fire making smoke wands, and listened quietly to tales of military hardships and working-world trials. I could see their little minds turning as they watched and listened.

We talked into the wee hours of the night and watched the stars come out and felt the wind die down before turning into our tents. Though the wind loosened its grip of the mountain, the temperatures still dropped low enough to leave a thin layer of ice on our stores of water. Like most of my camping experiences, the night was long and miserable, but still left me laughing in the morning as everyone slowly peaked out of their tents grumbling and shivering in search of fuel and warmth. Once a fire was going, we took our time thawing out with coffee and hot cocoa and watched the sun slowly make its way down the trees. As we packed up our things and made our way back out to the look-out, we noted how calm and serene it seemed compared to the night before when the wind had dominated the landscape. We took in the expansive view on the summit, snapped some photos, and then descended back down into the canyon. The sun was bright and warm and the boys didn’t skip a beat, bouncing easily down the trail. Following behind them I thought, “Well done Seldom Seen Larsen,” it was an excellent first for Kael. As I watched the boys leap frog down the trail, still talking between themselves, I envisioned them in school on Monday, washed of sand and dirt, probably stiff and sore, better friends now for having walked some earth together with tales of their own to spin.

Hot Chocolate

The Summit

Smelling Smudge: The Divine Scent of Juniper

Burning Juniper Smudge

My juniper smudge came in the mail today. Forgive the Edward Abbey overload, but ever since I read his description of the scent of a juniper fire…

“The fire. The odor of burning juniper is the sweetest fragrance on the face of the earth, in my honest judgment; I doubt if all the smoking censers of Dante’s paradise could equal it. One breath of juniper smoke, like the perfume of sagebrush after rain, evokes in magical catalysis, like certain music, the space and light and clarity and piercing strangeness of the American West. Long may it burn.”

…I have had an intense desire to experience it (After reading that, don’t you too?) So, I finally broke down and bought one. Yes, yes, I could have just gone out in my backyard and picked a branch, dried it, and burned it, but that would make too much sense, plus, isn’t there some sort of smudging process I would miss out on (Oh yes, the being patient part)? Anyway, so I lit it this afternoon …and oh my God…yeees (Deep inhale, low sultry voice). The sense of smell, it is astounding, and here are some fun facts:

• Research has shown that smell is the sense most linked to our emotional recollection. So, when linked to a product, that can reap dividends (Witchy Mama will be stoked)
• Studies show that 75% of emotions are triggered by smell which is linked to pleasure, well-being, emotion, and memory
• The sense of smell is the first of all our senses to develop. Even before we are born, our sense of smell is fully formed and functioning.
• As it turns out, the phrase wake up and smell the coffee is truer than you would imagine. When you are asleep, your sense of smell shuts down. You can only smell the coffee after you have woken up.
• You can smell anew every month as your scent cells are renewed every 28 days, so every four weeks you get a new “nose”.
• Smell is the most sensitive of the senses. People can remember smells with 65% accuracy after a year, while visual recall is about 50% after three months.
Source: http://www.mirror.co.uk/lifestyle/health/20-fascinating-facts-sense-smell-1977351#.UvFEK7Qz1bc

Moral of the story? If you want to remember something, or be remembered, use a scent. If you haven’t tried Juniper, I highly recommend it.

Edward Abbey and a Cup of Coffee

          It was Edward Abbey’s birthday two days ago. I don’t typically make a big deal out of passed celebrity’s birthdays, but this seemed like a good one to talk about. I’m an Abbey fan, but not necessarily for his books, and while I know Abbey has a cult-like following, I am not a groupie. Sometimes an author writes in a such a way that their presence is a stronger force than the story they tell. This doesn’t happen to me often, but when it does, I am led to learn about the author, often more than I am led to read more of their literature, and this is true of Abbey. That being said, though not overly impressed with his books, I am interested in Edward Abbey, the man. Edward Abbey is a personality, and like him or not, that’s what you get in his books – and though I never knew the man, I think I would like the guy I meet there. What I like about Abbey is that he seemed to live true to who he was, he came across as honest, perhaps brutally so. He never struck me as a poser, a fake, or someone who hides behind platitudes, niceties, or flattery. I tend to like that in people, and while I am definitely drawn to nice people and don’t intentionally seek out the insulting ones, I do like knowing where people stand. I like genuine and he seemed genuine. But mostly I love his poignant thoughts, insights, and descriptions of the west, the desert, and the people found there. I quote him regularly. And last, anyone who can make me laugh is good in my book.

          Edward Abbey is synonymous in my mind with Moab and the desert landscape surrounding it. He is a self-proclaimed desert rat and his descriptions of the western desert are some of the best. Being one myself, I enjoy his experiences and can relate. In celebration of his life I wanted to share my favorite passage from Desert Solitaire. What I like about it is the unique juxtaposition of his personality with nature, the compromises he makes, the imposition of his principles in the context of reality, and the dichotomy of nature as beautiful and dangerous. I will try to cut parts that are not necessary to get the point of the story across. If you have read Desert Solitaire you will remember this part. Perhaps it made you laugh the way I did. Perhaps you are a coffee drinker and you understand the conundrum he found himself in the way that only a coffee drinker would. If this is your first read of Abbey, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Feel free to share your thoughts on Abbey and your favorite quotes.

          “As I mentioned before, I share the horsetrailer with a number of mice. They don’t disturb me and are welcome to my crumbs and leavings. My only reservation concerning the mice is that they do attract rattlesnakes.
          I’m sitting on my doorstep early one morning, facing the sun as usual, drinking coffee, when I happen to look down and see almost between my bare feet, only a couple of inches to the rear of my heels, the very thing I had in mind. He’s in the doorstep and in the shade where the ground and air remain very cold. In his sluggish condition he’s not likely to strike unless I rouse him by some careless move of my own.
          There’s a revolver inside the trailer, a huge British Webley .45, loaded, but it’s out of reach. Even if I had it in my hands I’d hesitate to blast a fellow creature at such close range, shooting between my own legs at a living target flat on the solid rock thirty inches away. It would be like murder; and where would I set my coffee? My cherry-wood walking stick leans against the trailerhouse wall only a few feet away but I’m afraid that in leaning over for it I might stir up the rattler or spill some hot coffee on his scales.
          Other considerations come to mind. It is my duty as a park ranger to protect, preserve, and defend all living things within the park boundaries, making no exceptions. Even if this were not the case I have personal convictions to uphold. Ideals, you might say. I prefer not to kill animals. I’m a humanist; I’d rather kill a man than a snake.
          What to do. I drink some more coffee and study the dormant reptile at my heels. It is not after all the mighty diamondback I’m confronted with but a smaller species known as the Faded Midget. An insulting name for a rattlesnake, which may explain the Faded Midget’s alleged bad temper. His bite, though temporarily disabling, would not likely kill a grown man in normal health. Even so I don’t really want him around. Am I to be compelled to put on boots or shoes every time I wish to step outside?
          I finish my coffee, lean back and swing my feet up and inside the doorway of the trailer. At once there is a buzzing sound from below and the rattler lifts his head from his coils, eyes brightening, and extends his narrow black tongue to test the air.
          After thawing out my boots over the gas flame I pull them on and come back to the doorway. My visitor is still waiting beneath the doorstep, basking in the sun, fully alert. The trailerhouse has two doors. I leave by the other and get a long-handled spade out of the bed of the government pickup. With this tool I scoop up the snake into the open. He strikes; I can hear the click of fangs against steel, see the strain of venom. I insist on herding him well away from the trailer.
          …the rattler slithers sideways, retreating slowly before me until he reaches the shelter of a sandstone slab. He backs under it. You better stay there cousin, I warn him; if I catch you around the trailer again I’ll chop your head off.”