White Russians & Golden Aspens

Really had a great time with my Mom & Dad last week.

Monday night bowling.
Dark beer.
Onion rings.
Coffee.
Golden aspens.
Frigid alpine water.
Red wine.
Coffee.
Bugling elk.
Pink sunsets.
Kind Coffee breakfast.
Trail Ridge Road.
Alpine tundra.
Sprinting moose.
Coffee.
Waterfalls.
Ice cream.
White Russians while looking for moose.
Movie night with Chinese food.

I'd call it an awesome trip.

Sandbeach

Craving the woods.
Craving rocks and roots and dirt beneath my boots.
Craving the soft stillness of the midnight forest.
The smell of my pack like sweet perfume.
The sound of my trekking poles clicking and clacking against earth.
The sensation of crisp mountain air against my bare skin.
The sun rests behind the peaks, and as I crawl into my musty tent...
I am at peace.

A Note From The Present

For those of you who do not know, I will be working at Rocky Mountain National Park this summer.  I arrived to the park yesterday and moved into my house (which has neither internet nor cell reception).  I will be primarily stationed at the Wild Basin Entrance Station, one of the more remote and less visited areas of the park.

I'm already blown away by the beauty of this place.  The snow alone impresses this Georgian native, not to mention the mountains, lakes and abundant wildlife.  Seeing the variety of backpackers setting out for their treks makes me miss the Trail life.  But then again, I'm always thinking about the Trail life.

Due to the lack of internet, I will do my best to keep updating last year's AT journal.  I really wish to keep posting the entries.  If nothing else, so that I may have an online archive of the journey.  I appreciate you guys for following along, both during the trek and now afterwards.

Happy trails.

"Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Here grow the wallflower and the violet. The squirrel will come and sit upon your knee, the logcock will wake you in the morning. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill. Of all the upness accessible to mortals, there is no upness comparable to the mountains." - John Muir

Seriously... there are elk everywhere.

 

Ktaadn

Anna climbs the "Greatest Mountain," finishing the last few miles of the Appalachian Trail.

Breathe deep that yet sweet, lucid air

Every day, multiple times throughout the day, I think about the Trail and miss being out there.  This song sums it up pretty well and always brings a few tears to my eyes.



So find some ground, lace up your boots, start walking
And you will find reason
Enough reason to believe

McAfee Knob / photo by KitFox

Photographical update

Haven't had much luck posting videos lately. I probably have about ten or so lined up waiting for a good wifi hotspot.

Doing everything from a phone can be a bit frustrating at times, but then I have to remember that I am blogging FROM A TELEPHONE. Life ain't so bad.

The White Mountains have been breathtakingly difficult and rewarding.

Here are some photos from the past week or so. In no particular order.

A Patch Of Autumn

A journey into the higher regions shows that Autumn is on its way.  The aspen leaves are beginning to change from green to bright yellow, and other trees are boasting their oranges and reds.  It is a welcoming sign that excites me.

It can still be hot here in the desert, but our average highs are getting cooler, and soon Autumn will reach us in the desert, as well.

This season especially reminds me of home: the crunchy leaves, morning frosts, cozy fires and hot coffee.  It will be interesting to see the transition of Summer to Autumn in the desert and compare that to the familiar Georgia Autumns I know and love.

Here's to crunchy leaves and cacti colliding.

A patch of Autumn

"The Mountains Are Calling"

"...and I must go."
-John Muir

The desert is beginning to cool down a little.  Instead of highs in the upper 90s and 100s, it's been in the mid 80s.  A nice change, actually.

But I still crave the mountains.

The cool, refreshing mountain air.  Lush greenery.  Cold mountain streams.  Aspen trees!  This is what I especially enjoy.

I decided to check out Grand Mesa National Forest, about a three hour drive from Moab into Colorado (recommended by Miss Anna Tucker).

I hiked the 10.3 mile Crag Crest trail along the summit of the mountain forest.  About five hours and breathtaking at every turn.  The aspen leaves are beginning to turn from green to bright yellow for Fall, and the clear mountain lakes reflect a bright blue mirror image of the surrounding trees.

The desert is great and glorious in its own right, but the mountains are bliss.



Note:  I also had the added bonus of editing this video in a Chick-fil-a in Grand Junction.  However, I must have been so enthralled with my Georgia lunch that I forgot to add a quotation mark in the end of my video.  A small, yet disturbing grammatical mistake that is not worth correcting.  Many apologies to my grammar OCD friends (and sister).

The BearCow

Watch the video introduction before further reading...

[and crank up that volume]



This was actually my first time camping solo, and I'm so glad it finally happened. The La Sal Mountains are beautiful and provide a refreshing place to escape from the hot desert down below. But here's the lesson I learned on this solo trip:

Trust, and do not panic.

As you may have noticed in the video, I was accompanied by some sort of large animal throughout the night. For the first six hours of darkness I was kept awake by approaching sounds: branches snapping, heavy breathing, snorts, growls, rumbles, sneezes, footsteps and some other noises I can't even classify.

Earlier I had heard the cow. A large bull, to be more specific. I had never heard an animal, let alone a cow, make that sort of sound before. Very weird. Somewhat terrifying.

I knew it was the bull in the beginning. I saw him approaching and he was making typical bull moans and groans. I was just a little paranoid that he would get startled and maybe trample my little tent with me inside. I kept yelling and blowing my whistle (feeling like a lame little boy) to scare him off. Eventually (and by eventually, I mean several hours later) he sauntered off and I slept for about an hour.

Then I heard it.

The distinct sound I often work so hard to imitate in order to scare my friends.

Bear.

I sat up in my sleeping bag and strained my ears. Maybe it was just the lonely bull again, coming back for a midnight story from the boyscout he met earlier. I kept listening.

No moaning. No groaning. Just heavy breathing with a few snorts mixed in.

BEAR.

I began yelling. "GET OUTTA HERE! GO!" *whistle blow* "GO AWAY BEARRGH!"

My voice began to waiver, because this guy wasn't leaving.

I begin to pray (Why don't we do this at first? I'm often guilty of waiting until a desperate moment to call upon my Creator). I pray for the thing to go away. To leave me alone. Lord, give me peace. Keep me safe.

The heavy breathing continues, and it sounds closer than before. I can't see him but it sounds like he's moving towards the car.

Where the food is.

"GET OUT OF HERE BEAR!!"

I set off the panic alarm to my car.

Panic.

What am I doing? I can't even see what it is. I haven't even looked. I'm basically hiding in my tent, unwilling to see what is really out there.

My shaky hand grabs my light and begins to unzip my shelter. I peer out into the dark night and see nothing.

Nothing but stars. The sky is full of them. More stars than I have ever seen in my life.

Two stars are staring at me from the bushes.

Twinkling. Blinking. The head turns and lets out a long, deep sigh.

The bull.

Asleep in the bushes. Snoring. The poor guy is just trying to sleep, while I'm honking my horn, blowing my whistle and yelling for my life.

Relief pours over me, and I realize my lesson for the day.

Trust.

Why did I abandon the idea of my prayers being answered? I prayed for peace and for protection.

A snoring cow. Hm, looks pretty peaceful to me.

I feel like an idiot (and still do, kinda), but that doesn't matter because I look up at the sky again.

The most awesome sky I have ever seen.

Thank you, Lord. And thank you, BearCow for helping me learn that lesson.

You don't need to push that panic button.