Blog Vanity

Inspired by Brooke's blog makeover and the realization that I'm approaching 50 posts on this blog, launched within the last 16 months, I thought I'd revamp the look. The most obvious addition is my new masthead, a picture of bristlecone pines out on the Markagunt Plateau up Cedar Canyon. As I've mentioned before, I love these trees and their old souls. I also may later change this to a desert picture because, as you know, I'm in love with Utah's red rocks.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the newer look, and pardon my dust as I tinker around a bit.

Aja Surprise

Ever think you know someone, and then they do something that totally surprises you? Well, here's my latest: My cat, Aja, AKA the huge, monster scaredy-cat, took on a neighborhood dog last week of her own free will! Well, that might be overstating it a little bit, but for an animal that runs for her life when Kevin and I make any sudden movements ("WOAH, you're getting up and walking around? Opening cupboards? Pouring water into a glass? Turning on the evaporative cooler? I can't handle this! I'll regroup in the entryway."), it was stunning behavior.

She followed me out of her usual backyard territory to the front yard as I was clipping the row of roses that line our driveway. She was sitting about 20 feet from me, between me and the gate to the backyard, when a dog I'd never seen before came happily panting his way up to me. It was a larger dog, about the size and color of a yellow lab. I sat there to pet him, and he rolled over on the lawn so I would rub his belly. Apparently that was the last straw for Aja, because she came trotting up to us and sat about three feet away, sitting in a very regal and dignified pose. I yelled at her because I had no idea what this strange dog would do with a cat so close (I don't think the dog saw Aja before that), and I started yelling at Aja: "Don't you know you're supposed to be afraid of dogs?!" But she just sat there, bold and assured.

That was before the dog jumped up and ran into the backyard, and Aja just looked up at me, seeming to say, "So, the dog's in my backyard, what are you going to do about it?" I picked her up and set her on the front porch behind our laurel bushes, where at least she had the sense to stay until I had chased the dog out of the backyard and into a neighbor's yard, and, wrestled my leather gardening gloves away from him that he had been holding in his mouth.

After that, the dog stood one house a way in the driveway, hiding behind a little 2-foot spruce bush and staring Aja down, while Aja sat on my driveway, hiding behind one of the rose bushes and staring back at the dog. That went on for a few minutes and I returned to my rose cutting. And then the dog came over to see me again, and I started petting her again, because hey, I'm an animal lover. This time, Aja was not cool with it. She was more aggressive and started moaning really deep in her throat and arching her back as she stood her ground. Now, back arching is meant to make cats look bigger than they are, but an 18-pound Maine coon mix cat arching her back, her fur all sticking up, looks just huge—I couldn't help but laugh. At that point Kevin came out of the house, and at my request picked her up to take her in the backyard and close the gate. She didn't go willingly, and she sat at the gate and meowed for Kevin to let her back out so she could defend her territory some more. It was so surprising to me that this normally panicked and freaked-out cat would be so set on defending her territory and her people. I guess she doesn't do sharesies with other animals, and that in itself shouldn't be too much of a surprise.

Epiphany in Devil's Garden

I've been wanting to post on hiking epiphanies for quite some time. You know, the experiences we have where we all of the sudden realize, "This is just so cool" and our lives are changed forever. My brother Matt describes his experience in Devil's Garden (incidentally one of my most favorite hikes), and I hope that he won't mind the shout out to him and his experience as described on his site.

The trail was long for short legs, and the few hundred feet of elevation gain had defeated my will. Another death march, up over the worn sandy path, over sandy rock. I hardly noticed the beauty of the towering sandstone fins on either side of me. The majesty of seeing Landscape Arch, the world's biggest, along with Dad's stunning revelation that a whole football field would fit inside that hole in the rock, faded quickly as the hike turned into a mental battle that I was losing.

I don't want to spoil his essay by including the epiphany, but I had to post this paragraph because it's something I could totally relate to. I remember hiking to Delicate Arch in the middle of the afternoon as a small girl, and hiking straight up that hill in the searing hot sun. I complained to my dad that the hike wasn't very cool, as it didn't allow me to crawl around and climb. Somewhere after that must have been my epiphany. I've been working on describing this experience for some time. I even wrote a personal essay several years ago about how I came to love this form of exercise, this quiet time, this family time, and communing with nature--although it's more than a sum of all these parts, isnt' it?-- and this essay was based around hiking experiences with my Dad. Maybe I'll dig that up and give it a tune up for some later time.

Hiking Etiquette

As I have been increasing the amount of time I spend hiking the last few years, and as my responsibilities have shifted since my childhood--now I decide where to hike and whom to hike with--I've been thinking a lot about etiquette, or rather hiking etiquette. Of course, I usually think of this when there's an apparent breach in the unspoken hiking etiquette contract: A large, noisy group fails to fall behind or pass my group when we're going the same direction, someone brings speakers to blast music on a wilderness hike, or someone carries on a conversation in his loudest 'outdoor voice,' that, despite the fact we are outdoors, could easily be handled at a normal volume. Then of course there's the man who let his boy use a rock to dig deep under a large-ish desert flower next to Landscape Arch, in plain site of many tourists, thereby completely exposing the roots and likely killing it.

Watching the plant being destroyed while the father looked on infuriated me. In lesser cases, such as the group-bunching one, I'm often left with that awful choice to either intentionally slow down or take a break, or to quicken my pace in an effort to get ahead. I usually choose the latter, which then creates anxiety when I stop for any reason, such as taking pictures.

All of these hiking false steps cause me some frustration, as it doesn't seem to match what going into nature is all about. I plainly hate crowds, and I try to plan my hikes when I'm least likely to encounter them (I've found Presidents' Day in February to be a great hiking day), and I also think that no hikers outside my hiking group is interested in what I have to say. In searching for hiking etiquette tips, I've found a lot of results that don't really match what I think etiquette is, e.g. "know your limits," and "take plenty of water." Those sound more like safety tips to me. I think that Miriam Webster's definition of etiquette applies to hiking etiquette as well: "the conduct or procedure required by good breeding or prescribed by authority to be observed in social or official life."
Maybe it does take "good breeding," or in other words learned behaviors, to know how to respect others, including natural others, we encounter in the wilderness.

I feel like my father did a good job raising me with the right principles of hiking etiquette such as letting hikers pass, staying off the crypto-biotic soil, "hiding our numbers" by walking single file, etc. I also distincly remember being a Girl Scout up at Treefoil Ranch and having a scout leader reprimand a girl for breaking a twig off of a tree. The leader told us that it hurt her to see nature be hurt, and while I was just as ignorant as my fellow scout, I learned that even small things like tiny branches on large trees need our protection.

I found a site whose hiking etiquette philosophy I agree with, as the author states:

There are three qualities that are essential to a wilderness experience: solitude, silence, and lack of evidence of human encroachment. In addition, the hiker should also seek to preserve the natural balance of the ecosystem through which they are hiking. If these are qualities valued by the hiker, then etiquette dictates that behaviors compatible with these values are adopted. Not only will this reduce the impact of your own presence on the wilderness, but will help to assure that hikers to follow obtain the same enjoyment and sense of exploration from the area as you did.

His six items for respecting solitude are also worth noting:

1. Take breaks and camp away from trails and other visitors. If the trail destination is a popular viewpoint, waterfall or mountain top, spend a few moments enjoying the view then, if you are planning a break or lunch, move off to the side to let other hikers have their turn. Please don't throw your pack down on the most prominent and visible area, kick off your shoes & spread out your lunch as if you owned the place.


2. Be courteous. Yield to other users on the trail. A general rule of thumb is that the person climbing up hill has the right of way.


3. Schedule your trip to avoid times of high use.


4. Visit in small groups. Split larger parties into groups of 4-6.


5. Respect other visitors and protect the quality of their experience.


6. Unless passing or being passed, try to maintain separation between yourself and other hikers.

In addition to these, Todd covers silence, minimum impact, and ecosystem health as aspects of desert hiking etiquette. All I can say is Amen, and I hope I can follow these myself.

Connectedness

"To be whole. To be complete. Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from." --Terry Tempest Williams