Wow, where did the time go? It has been a busy month since Emily or I last posted on here, and it seems keeping track of our adventures in blog form has fallen by the wayside a bit. Today is a library day, the first in the newest chapter of our BE OUT THERE adventure, so I'll try to catch you up to speed.
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Adventure. That's what is necessary. Excitement. Last week Emily and I climbed in Joshua Tree with some new friends we made while camping there. It was Emily's first time ever on ropes, and my first time in months. It was awesome. Pushing our limits and doing something new is exactly what we needed. The exhaustion and satisfaction that comes at the end of a tough day of climbing (or anything, for that matter) is priceless. We had a good time in San Diego, then headed north up the coast. We have spent recent days swimming in the ocean, playing catch on the beach, watching whales and dolphins play, and enjoying the company of friends, new and old. We camped ON the beach last night. In the sand. It doesn't get better than that. Tomorrow we'll surf, another new experience. Sorry for the lack of posting recently, but we're back in our groove. Emily is buying fresh fruit at a California berry stand, and then we're off to the beach for a day of boogie boarding and naps in the sand. Loving the coast. Living each day to the fullest. Being out there. Brian and Emily Steinbeck was right, “we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.”
We started this trip from Seattle with clear eyes, no plan, a whole lot of naiveté, and a car full of crap. 4600 miles and a handful of things thrown out the window later we’re…Wait, Emily, where are we? “Lake Mead.” That’s right, Lake Mead. The speck of blue on a map that sits behind the Hoover Dam. The Hoover Dam kind of sucks. It does. There’s no other way to put it. The Hoover Dam is a giant block of concrete that clogs up what would otherwise be the western end of the Grand Canyon, creating Lake Mead in its place, and allowing desert metropolises like Los Angeles and Las Vegas to exist. You can walk across The Hoover Dam, for free even, which is a rare fact among most tourist destinations. However, when doing so, you share the dam with hung over day-trippers, wasting daylight until the craps tables get busy again in Vegas. Day-trippers like us I guess. Lake Mead though. Or Reservoir Mead. Yeah, that sounds better. Reservoir Mead. Emily, why are we here again? There’s no hiking, really, at least none worth mentioning. In the summer it is a boater’s paradise, but we don’t have a boat. It’s warm here, for February: low 70s. But it’s warm in San Diego, and Tucson, and Mexico. The water is nice, always weird to see a giant lake reservoir in the middle of the desert. Except a quick swim upon our arrival proved to me the water is far too cold to spend the day lounging in my trunks (did I mention it’s February?). The truth is, we have no idea why we’re here. We’ve been wandering aimlessly, “wanderlust,” Emily calls it, and somehow we ended up at Reservoir Mead. I thought this trip would cure that sense of wanderlust. Or at least slow its pull on me. Our tendencies towards planning and exploring seem to contradict on a trip designed for spontaneity. I’m restless. It’s nearly impossible to explain: how could wanderlust not be satisfied when I could wander anywhere, anytime? Perhaps it’s the preconceptions about what this trip should be, or what the places should be. Perhaps it’s the anticipation of a full summer season as nomads. Is the grass greener on the other side? Will the next location bring that inspiration for “going hard” (pushing myself to hike and explore), rather than seeking normalcy in a coffee shop, or hitting snooze on the 7am sunrise? We planned to see so much on this trip. Completely reasonable for three months on the road. But instead of relishing each place, we want to push to the next, hoping it’ll be warmer or newer or something closer to vacation. It’s a lot of work to travel, set up camp, break down camp, cook, clean, survive. It’s not vacation. It’s the most freeing, privileged opportunity to see this country. To be young and adventurous and curious. But it’s not vacation. Despite this feeling, our report card is still outstanding. We snowshoed around Crater Lake; spent an afternoon completely alone atop an icy Yosemite Point; climbed in the Buttermilks of Bishop; hiked to the bottom (and back out) of the Grand Canyon; got a tan in the lowest point in North America; hiked the Narrows of Zion; and now I’ve swam in Stupid Reservoir Mead. More important than the places is the knowledge we’ve gained along the way. 1. The cold gets old. Fast. We have all the gear to stay warm in an arctic winter, but nothing beats stepping out of the tent in shorts. 2. Campfires are crucial. Especially with the long nights of winter to keep you awake past 7 pm. You know when you get too much sleep and you wake up feeling tired instead of refreshed? Well, that’s been our entire trip. 3. Desert sunsets are the best. Every single night the sky lights up for a free show out here. Right now I sit with a few beers, staring at purple mountains to the east, a few scattered pink clouds overhead, and a golden western horizon. I would rate this sunset as “average.” Sunrises are the same story. 4. Good books are important. They turn down days into learning days. Boredom into adventures. 5. It’s important to be outgoing and meet new people. Despite our introverted tendencies, one of the highlights of this trip has been meeting our new friend, Ryan, in the Grand Canyon. 6. It’s all about your attitude. A bad day in the woods still beats a good day at work, and it’s easy to forget that sometimes. So what is this trip if it’s not a vacation? A learning experience, I guess. A test of our resolve. I still don’t know. Maybe I was after wilderness. Ed Abbey said you can’t drive to wilderness. You can only walk, or crawl, and even then you probably won’t see anything. Fuck you Abbey. My wilderness includes the crying baby in the campsite next to us. My wilderness includes the cooler full of beer in the trunk. My wilderness includes the weekend in Sin City. And my wilderness certainly includes the 2am wake-up knock on our trailer window from a ranger wondering why we are illegally camped at this overlook. Excuse me sir? No, we didn’t see the sign. We were just taking a short nap, not sleeping, I promise. That’s my wilderness, and I love it. Yesterday I emerged from the Grand Canyon with 30 pounds on my back and a huge sense of accomplishment. All I can say is wow. This hole in the ground is so extreme, so turbulent, so truly old, and yet from the rim, so peaceful. I had no idea what the inner canyon held until we descended to the Colorado on Tuesday. If you've ever been to Zion or Yosemite, imagine that feeling of the valley looming over you. Huge walls of rock frame the meandering valley floor creating the amphitheater effect. When you're inside the Grand Canyon, what surrounds you is only a sliver of the entire thing. It's like being in a city and only seeing one block, but knowing it stretches for miles around you. While at the park I read it was once described as "a thousand Yosemites." And it truly is. We backpacked into the canyon for two nights, starting on the South Kaibab trail which was about 7 miles rim to river. At the bottom, there's a very impressive foot bridge for hikers and mules that spans the Colorado. It was built in the 1920s with steel cables carried down by hand. Our campground was quite luxurious, including flush toilets and drinking water! Nearby Phantom Ranch is nestled in the valley along the Bright Angel Creek. They provide lodging and meals to folks who brave the mule ride down. All kidding aside, it is a cool opportunity for people to stay inside the Grand Canyon who can't quite carry all the necessary gear. Brian and I camped next to a talkative, fascinating guy named Ryan for two nights. On our rest day, we did yoga by the river and walked around to stretch our aching legs. Down hill is even tougher on your body than up hill! On Friday we set off on the Bright Angel Trail at about 8 am. I was rearing to go, so we agreed to "hike our own hike" -- an important understanding for hiking buddies. AKA don't slow or quicken your pace for your group, just meet at check points. So the first 5 miles I was ahead on my own. The methodical swing of a trekking pole, the swish of my pack, the (attempted) evenness of huffing and puffing. Very rhythmic to hike alone. At Indian Garden campground we met for lunch and to slog the final stretch together. I knew we had a long day ahead, but was surprised to learn we were only halfway there. And not nearly halfway in the elevation gain. The hike was very hard. You climb impossibly vertical stretches of rock. Layer by layer, you climb millions of years in time over only about 5,000 vertical feet. As we reached the top, it was great to see other visitors day hiking the trail. Only slightly disconcerting were the women clad in white outfits with NO WATER asking how far we'd come and wondering aloud if maybe they should turn back. I tried to keep my park ranger commentary to a minimum, but inside was wondering how they could've possibly missed the thousand signs warning them of imminent death. I heard a great saying today... The only thing that can kill you in the desert is too much water or not enough. Luckily we had just the right amount to enjoy an amazing few days, staying hydrated on the shores of a normal flow Colorado. We saw our friend Ryan on the rim, celebrating his victory same as ours. His was even more impressive though: no tent, no stove. A simple day pack was enough for a sleeping bag and a 6-pack. I'm always terrified and proud of those kinds of backpackers. We hung out and ate Mexican food together before parting ways, plenty of laughter and stories exchanged. Today we pulled out the maps wondering where to go next. After seeing my excitement at the warmth it promised, Brian agrees to enjoy Vegas for a while before braving Utah's chillier weather. Tonight we sleep in a Lake Mead parking lot before hitting the big city tomorrow. Poolside here I come. As I write, Brian and I are perched at the edge of the Grand Canyon, celebrating one month on the road! We’ve spent the last week with my family in Cottonwood, AZ and are entering Phase II of this journey feeling rejuvenated and inspired. I promise to post more frequently to avoid the saga that ensues…
Where our story last left off two weeks ago, we were in Yosemite basking in the sun and snow-free valley that inspired a legacy of national parks. We were fortunate enough to climb to Yosemite Point (alone!), stand amongst the giants in Mariposa Grove, and enjoy the company of young climbers at Camp 4. We even had our first visitor of the trip: Reid wandered the valley floor with us all weekend. A computer science engineer now based in the Bay Area, he joined us for nights around the campfire and naps in the meadow. Brian and Reid have been friends since high school, but I’m lucky to call that guy a close friend from college too. The week ended with a spectacular Seahawks win against the Green Bay Packers. As the boys went hiking, I set up camp in the Curry Village pizza place for some football. (I can practically hear my father saying, “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?!”) What can I say, I love the Hawks. I was proud to watch that game as the only Seattle fan in the restaurant. Brian and Reid joined at the half and we ended our time in Yosemite with a joyous comeback. From Yosemite, we drove south and east over the Sierras. We had been camped at the birthplace of rock climbing for a week and felt that itch to climb a rock. Trad or sport climbing (the kind with ropes) is a bit beyond the scope of this trip, but with a crash pad we could at least work on our bouldering skills. A bunch of folks recommended Bishop, CA as a must-see on this journey and I’m so glad we took their advice. Bishop is like the Leavenworth of California, serving as a great launch point for outdoor climbing. I found used climbing shoes for $15 in town and we splurged on the crash pad: a thick, 3’ by 5’ landing mat placed at the base of boulders to avoid bruises and sprained ankles. With famous Schatz’s bakery items in hand, we drove into the hills to the famed Buttermilks for (attempted) bouldering. At this point I should mention that we couldn’t climb anything. Bishop has some world class bouldering and I can barely cling to the wall of a gym. Regardless, we spent hours in the sun attempting to get a foot hold with our big toe on a protruding piece of granite the size of a tic-tac. Enter our second guest of the trip: Ranger KJ! We became close friends and roommates over the summer working together at North Cascades National Park. She drove from San Diego to join us at Bishop, and her arrival brought a sunset of epic proportions. We ate chili gnocchi (like chili mac but with homemade chili and Trader Joe’s gnocchi!) and listened to Harry Potter audiobook as the stars came out. The next day we drove to Death Valley, which turned out to be a strangely bizarre and scenic park. First of all, it’s absolutely huge. Driving from one end to another would take hours. The mountains are on an unbelievable scale as they rise from the lowest point on the continent (282 feet below sea level) to over 11,000 feet. Included in the nearby Sierra range is Mt Whitney, the tallest peak in the lower 48. Highs and lows seem to be defining this trip so far. In Death Valley, there are no trees or variations in landscape to identify the scale of what surrounds you. The crumpled hills look like an easy scramble at midday, but loom massively over us at sunrise or sunset. The evaporation of lakes has left expansive salt beds and extra-terrestrial rocks as evidence. Not to mention the larger-than-life sand dunes that have accumulated at the base of the mountains from high wind. Watching the sunset from those dunes was certainly the highlight of visiting the hottest place on earth. Excited to see my mom and extended family, we drove in one stretch from eastern Death Valley to Cottonwood in northern Arizona. This past week has been so special as I enjoyed the rare opportunity to see my mom with my Uncle Paul, Aunt Avis, and grandparents all in one place. This quirky, loving, arguing, and teasing family was a joy to share with Brian. This visit brought the luxuries of home, Seinfeld, and showers. Showers being my personal favorite. We played outdoors at the Indian Mound (unexcavated pueblo site), Red Rock State Park, and Montezuma’s Castle. My mom and I hiked in Sedona, Brian napped in the hammock, we played poker with my grandpa and uncle, and even drove down to Phoenix for some Super Bowl madness! We walked around Super Bowl Central to witness the mayhem until my mom’s flight back home. Brian and I spent 24 hours in Phoenix, thanks to my parents for the hotel and Avis for a fancy Mexican dinner in Scottsdale! I felt like a movie star putting mascara on for the first time all month. I am counting my blessings to have such generous, thoughtful people in my life. I’m still feeling the sting from Super Bowl Sunday. We made a complete party of it though… Brian’s famous guacamole and 7-layer dip, pickle rounds, wings, skittles, key lime cheesecake, the works. We had at least three different bets going, including a 10x10 bet board, and I put together a Jeopardy game for the afternoon leading up to kick off. We had a blast all day, until the last play of the game. I needn’t say much more. I’m a proud 12 and can’t wait to cheer them on next season too! Thank goodness we didn’t need to fly home to a devastated Seattle. With a blue bird sky, we drove north to the Grand Canyon and Brian saw this magnificent place for the first time. Hoping for a permit to camp inside the canyon, we can’t wait to be out there. On our way south through Oregon and Northern California, we spent a couple nights in Walmart parking lots. Although convenient, I'd say we much prefer where we woke up this morning: Camp 4 at the base of El Capitan in Yosemite. On the historic register as the official birth place of rock climbing. Where coyotes act like pets and we can spend $5 a night to sleep like kings in the valley. Being in a place like this makes the trip feel back on track.
We arrived in Crater Lake exactly one week ago to a shockingly low amount of snow. As we approached through the national forest and climbed in elevation, the roads remained bare right up to the rim. Sunset greeted us as we parked for the night at the Rim Village. (It's become a game to see how often we can camp for free. If there's a sign specifically stating "No Overnight Parking" then we're out of luck, but otherwise, we've been pretty successful). I popped open the trunk of the teardrop and heated my mom's homemade chili with grilled cheese for dinner. Seated in camp chairs in the vacant parking lot, we watched the sky fade from pink to cloudy blue. The next morning, we offered bacon, eggs, and coffee to backpackers emerging from the trail. One fellow from California didn't even have a sleeping bag, and after some discussion of his plans to explore Washington, we gave him a space blanket. The visitor center provided the classic oval sticker for our bumper and its film explained the history of Mt Mazama blowing it's lid and filling the crater with deep, clear water. We set off around the rim for a short snowshoe that still turned our legs to stone the next day. We need to get in a little better shape for this endeavor! After seeing a great snapshot of what Crater Lake had to offer, we headed towards the border. The California border that is... Despite Brian's warnings, I was still shocked to see an international-esque checkpoint on our two lane highway. Feeling ready for a re-charge, Sharon and Ken graciously opened their home to us in Stockton, CA for a relaxing weekend. Everything from the basket of toiletries in the bathroom to the amazing steak and salmon off the grill... It was the 5 star treatment. These 49er fans even watched the Seahawks game with us on Sunday! That's true love. Thank you Sharon, Ken, and Missy for feeding us, treating us like royalty, and providing a wonderful place to plan our next leg of the trip. After a brief set-back on Monday and Tuesday, the trailer has new wheel bearings (and luckily) the same axle. About 2 miles from the Yosemite entrance, the trailer's lack of maintenance (and grease) proved itself and needed to be towed to a mechanic. We camped without the trailer the way we know best: with a campfire and our tent. Now the Nest is rolling just fine and we are still camping beneath Yosemite's gorgeous granite walls... And shockingly again, with no snow. The nights dip below freezing but daytime hiking in the sun is toasty. On Wednesday morning, we left from our camp site up the trailhead to Yosemite Point. 4.2 miles one-way, 3200 feet of gain, spectacular views of Yosemite Falls, and a leg straining uphill climb. Since the last mile was slippery and icy, we were alone at the top for an unbridled view of Half Dome. Last night I made pinto beans, rice, and grilled onions & peppers. We even had the luxury of avocado and sour cream! Day 4 without a shower, we are camped out in the historic (and very formal) Ahwahnee Hotel. I flirted my way into some wifi and we are resting these sore bodies. We plan to stay in Yosemite until the weather turns bad and the forecast is just endless sun. Monday was the first time I'd ever changed a tire. I expected it might happen on the trip. I didn't expect it to be Day 2, 100 miles south of Portland.
Sunday was an arduous but rewarding first day of the trip, consulting with Dan and Mel on what the trailer needed, driving terrified, filling the propane, purchasing the battery, setting up in the drizzly dark. We were so grateful to have them supporting and teaching us about their newly acquired trailer. We loved its protection from the rain and spaciousness and sense of "home base." But we were each internally questioning: Are the luxuries worth it? We spent a fun night camping with wine, Skip-Bo, and electricity. The next morning as we drove away, we verbalized those questions. We'd excitedly agreed to borrow a trailer we'd never seen, without remembering how much we love the ruggedness and (relative) ease of tent camping. Oh well, we thought. We were committed and sticking to the plan. About an hour later, I saw the trailer's tire blow out in the mirror. Luckily we had a spare and we were safe. Unfortunately, neither vehicle roadside assistance nor trailer insurance was going to help us out. Long story short, two hours later we were driving NORTH after flagging down passerby cars for a bigger wrench and trying not to scream. (Oh wait there was some of that). We were pretty defeated but felt clear on one thing: our plan was about to change. Dan and Mel graciously put the trailer back in storage and put enchiladas in our bellies. We even laughed a little bit and felt the accepting embrace of family. Lending us that trailer was an incredible gift but we had to test drive it to realize a few things. We knew it was too big for our car, too much for this trip's vision, and potentially beyond what we could handle. 24 hours later, we sat together at my family's cabin on Camano Island, 500 miles north of where we intended to be on Tuesday night. After a flurry of discussion and with help from my dad (the most proactive problem solver I've ever known) we had arranged to rent a teardrop trailer from a lady in Sedro Woolley for 90 days. I've dreamed of building a teardrop. They are simply a bed on wheels. No set-up required, just open the door and crawl in. Suddenly we had the ability to camp anywhere and avoid those "let's just go to a motel" moments. Our trailer vision was coming in more clearly. A tent was possible, but was it pleasurable? We decided to take the plunge and make this the trip of a lifetime. Rain, cold, snow, bring it on! Here's where we breathe deep and say thank you. To all friends and family for encouragement. To second go arounds. To the two kind souls who halted their journey to Eugene to help us on the side of the road. To Carol and Jerry for a lovely send off and reminding us not to be heroes. A very special thank you to Dan and Mel for riding that wave with us and not crying over spilt milk. I love your friendship. And to my parents: the king of planning and the queen of letting shit go (whether it's a change of plans or literal junk). We wouldn't be here without your contagious positive attitudes and support. As I write on Wednesday, we are back on I-5 pushing towards southern Oregon with the teardrop in tow. And more good news: after a call with Jim Lutz at Utah State, Brian and I are both employed starting in April as field technicians studying fire effects! Rarely before have I felt so much gratitude. Take two is off to a great start. On this first day of 2015, I marvel at everything we fit into those precious, fleeting days of 2014. The world around us has been tumultuous, to say the least. I often feel a sense of unraveling while trying to absorb the newest video or op-ed or headline. Fortunately, we filled our lives with people and places that braided each day into something meaningful and tangible. On nearly each day of 2014, the scale tipped heavily towards joy.
Brian and I made our postage stamp-sized apartment into a home. We embraced senioritis and spent the winter skiing/snowboarding at every opportunity. We finished (and presented) our senior capstone theses. We donned those caps and gowns, we toasted to the next chapter; we packed up our cars and we cried. The summers... What spectacular summers. I ventured to the outskirts of North Cascades National Park where I would make a temporary home with fellow rangers. I wore the flat hat and was given a stage to tell visitors about climate change, bears, edible berries, glaciers, and wolverines. Brian drove to Colorado and built trails with the Forest Service until receiving a call from his previous advisor who offered the dream job: establishing a forest dynamics research plot in Cedar Breaks, Utah. We came together to hike in the North Cascades, help celebrate Dan and Mel's marriage in Portland, and see the desert together in Zion and Las Vegas. We thrived apart that summer. But I still counted the days until my adventures included him again. Our lives were certainly defined by the seasons. When fall came, we moved to Bellingham to work and plan the trip of a lifetime. How fortunate that as 2014 draws to a close, we resolve to continue pushing to new corners of this country and ourselves. I recently watched an interview with William Cronon in which he describes the wonder of the national parks as a combination of the "immensity and intimacy of time." That rang incredibly true for me, as there's something indescribable about the timeless value of the natural world. I can only hope that 2015 continues to show us time incredibly well spent in the outdoors: immense, intimate, joyful. On past trips where time was a factor, Emily and I have planned out where we plan on sleeping and even what we are eating for each night weeks in advance. This time we want to change things. Inspired by Steinbeck and Kerouac before us, as well as some lessons we have learned thus far, we want to have nothing but options while on the road. We have three tiers of destinations: places we have to see, places we want to see, and places we haven't yet heard of. We're hoping to get a little help from people like you, as well friends we make along the way to fill in that third category.
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Hopeful stops along the way
Recommendations from others
We leave on January 4th and probably won't be back for four months. Follow us on here! "Not all who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien We are one month away from our Go Date: January 5th, 2015. This means a lot of explanations: why we're doing this and what we're bringing and our methodology for not dying. It means a lot of inventory, budgeting, and asking ourselves... Why ARE we doing this?
The answer is easy. Being out there is the most honest way to learn about the world, about ourselves. Plus it's just plain fun. Everyone thirsts for adventure, whether it be through skydiving or parenthood; a new career or exploring the neighborhood woods. Adventure, in its many forms, gives life its fullness and breadth. It gives us the most memorable memories and achy knees and brief pits in our stomachs and our widest smiles. Adventure has brought Brian and I to the far reaches of the West: Washington, Alaska, Montana, Utah, and beyond. It brought us the closest to each other and the farthest apart. To embrace our tendency towards outdoor adventure, this trip was born. We plan to celebrate graduation from University and the next phase in our life together. We hope to learn more about the west through the lens of America's treasures. We aim to exercise our bodies and our minds, because the inner science-nerds are bound to come out. And most importantly, we're keenly aware that this trip won't answer all of those classic questions we have about ourselves and what the future holds. Finding and facing all those adventures could never be accomplished in one trip, let alone one lifetime. For those horrified at our contradictory intention to be both homeless and professional adventurers, I hear you. I see you. I encourage you to be "out there" in whatever way feels great in your bones. To give in to the adventure around your next corner. And to those kind souls who worry about us, remember that we believe an adventure is only worth having if you come home safely to the people who love you. After the New Year, we'll pack what we need for 8 months and kick off (what we hope to be) an incredibly challenging and luxurious* journey across the American west. We hope you'll join us, B&E *To be clear, luxurious means we have fortunate enough to have the physical and financial means to do what truly makes us happy. We will be eating a lot of rice and beans, and will not be showering very often. |
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