Mirror Lake Video

Kevin and I celebrated our country's independence last week by going on a picnic with my family in the Uintas. Despite my attempts to get some pictures of me and Kevin at Mirror Lake, it wasn't meant to be. Our camera setting for some reason kept appearing mysteriously on video, and even after we adjusted it, we kept shooting video. Oh well.

Here's a video of Mirror Lake that I took on purpose:

I'm pretty sure the quality is not the best--my family was discussing that there's a reason video doesn't take up as much memory as expected on a regular digital camera. However, the unplanned audio of my family members makes me laugh. It's very typical.

"Natural Home," My Epiphany Story

As I promised a few posts back, here's my own epiphany story. I wrote this personal essay at the end of graduate school, so its present-day references are a little out of date. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Natural Home

“This is the most beautiful place on earth,” declares Edward Abbey. “There are many such places. Every man, every woman, carries in heart and mind the image of the ideal place, the right place, the one true home, known or unknown, actual or visionary… For myself I’ll take Moab, Utah. I don’t mean the town itself, of course, but the country which surrounds it—the canyonlands. The slickrock desert. The red dust and the burnt cliffs and the lonely sky—all that which lies beyond the end of the roads.”

My father has such a passion for the wilderness, both for Abbey’s desert, and also the looming and ominous mountains that grace the landscape along the Wasatch front and high Uintas. “The Winters,” I called them as a child, which I had interpreted to be an appropriate name for the place with clear wintry lakes and muddy meadows—meadows where my dad once tied some fishing line to a big stick so that I could “fish” my five-year-old heart out. I didn’t know for myself what magic, what deep intrinsic value these places held, but I could always sense from my dad’s excitement that the Utah wilderness was someplace special. It was his enthusiasm, and not my own, that reflected in my young countenance.

Saying that as a child I did not quite appreciate my natural surroundings would be an understatement. Yes, I often played along to the family’s excitement to go to “the Winters,” or Moss Ledge up Big Cottonwood Canyon for a picnic, but when it came time to actually leave the car behind to walk a mile or two beyond the end of the road, I would begin to loathe the whole experience. My legs would ache, sometimes with dull pains and sometimes with sharp ones, and I’d long to lie down right there on the trail or be carried. My dad would try to distract me with his wild observations. “Look at those holes in the sandstone cliffs, Alisa,” my dad pointed out on one desert hike in Arches National Park. “Those are made by little birds. You know about woodpeckers? Well, those holes are made by rockpeckers.”

Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. Rockpeckers? If there were so many holes in those rocks, how come I’d never seen one flying around or drilling into a rock? But my dad wouldn’t hear my objections. He insisted on their existence and talked about them ad nauseum, maintaining that if a rockpecker stayed in one place too long, it would create one of the famous arches. So I gave up and believed him, all the while forgetting my tired legs. Instead, I remembered the fun I had had back at the Devil’s Garden picnic area with my brothers, using small worn holes to climb up onto a fin where a large empty pothole was exposed, baring the names of many narcissistic tourists. No, it wasn’t glamorous. But to a young girl, I thought it was as cool as stitches, Nintendo, or anything else that was possessed by only a privileged few. Thinking of the fin and my newly discovered pothole, I sighed and said, “I wish there were something to climb on this hike, Dad.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. “We’re climbing right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but I mean climb. Like with my hands and knees. You know, getting close to the rock and finding new places.”

“But there are lots of places on this hike to do this,” he insisted. He pointed to some little places on the trail where the sandstone naturally formed some layered steps. I tried to get down on my hands to climb them, but, as I had suspected, the inclines were far too shallow to require the use of all fours. Pretty soon I just gave up and began walking with my head down, my eyes pointed only at my feet, thinking again of how tired I was, how hot the desert sun beat down on me, and how long it was taking to get to this stupid arch.

I continued hiking this way for some time on the vast mountain of slickrock, when I was interrupted by my dad. “Hey Alisa, here’s a good place to climb.” I looked up from my feet for a moment. The trail had swung around a large fin: to my left was a steep drop off, and to my right was a sandstone wall, pretty steep, but concave and curved out like a little bowl.

“Oh, Dad, I don’t want to climb anymore,” I whined. “Let’s just keep going so that we can finally get to the arch.” I sensed this journey to be the longest of my existence.

“Just try it,” he insisted.

Through talking on and on about rockpeckers my dad had already proven that he could outlast any of my objections, so I decided to humor him and climb up the silly wall. He gave me a little push, as I struggled to find hand and footholds that would give the needed stability to my climb. After climbing up just a few feet, I realized why my dad had sent me up this wall. There was an arch up there! I scrambled up to the arch as fast as I could. It wasn’t very big, just an “Alisa-sized” arch, as my dad would say, and I couldn’t wait to get up and sit in it. As soon as I approached, I realized that there was even more than one surprise in this wall. The arch that I had just climbed to held a perfect view of another, more magnificent arch—Delicate Arch, to be precise. From my little Alisa-arch, I could see the majestic and freestanding arch sitting perched, like a small and obscure fin, over a huge, large, and deep sandstone bowl. For the first time, I was struck by an odd feeling, a feeling of deep awe, quiet reverence, and understanding. This is why my dad loved this place.

Where would we be without fathers—those to guide us, to show us the true and beautiful, to teach us to love and appreciate the weathered trail, the craggy landscape, the dry, desert air? My dad used to tell me about how his dad brought him to these places, to Arches, to the Uintas, and how these early beginnings planted in him a deep-rooted love for the wilderness. I believe that this love takes root when we realize that “home,” in its ethereal and metaphorical sense, is not four walls: it is often what lies where there are no walls except the dome of the sky and the edges of cliffs, where we are exposed to the elements, to feel, to see, to look beyond ourselves; where we allow ourselves to be taught by the true guides, the ones with which God has provided us. Abbey was right. We all have in our minds an ideal image of home. As I look around my humble cinderblock apartment, my present home, I realize that it would not be complete without the visual reminders I have placed in each room, the pictures of my favorite wild places, where I first learned what is was like to truly understand.

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

To Grandpa

Grandpa, I'll never forget our meeting six years ago. You welcomed me into the family with open arms and inaugurated our meeting by telling me some of your favorite corny and somewhat dirty jokes.

Thank you for taking such an interest to Kevin throughout his life. You have made things easier on him, and I know you felt he brightened a room when he came in. It has been so wonderful to spend time with a person who feels the same way I do about him. I was priveleged to get to know you so much more because of the special relationship the two of you had. Kevin would have done anything for you, and we'll never regret spending our Saturday afternoons with you over the last two years or going on those trips to Pipe Springs, Page, or Cedar Canyon.
I have never met someone who cared more about people than you did. You had friends wherever you went, and you did much more for your customers than sell them cars: you befriended them, you gave them your favorite books, and you often covered a car payment for them. As one person remarked on your obituary guestbook, "Is there anyone in Southwestern Utah you haven't sold a car to?"

I'll never forget the message you delivered about never giving up. I remember when we were at the Gateway Mall to watch that young man come in after completing the 26-mile Salt Lake City Merathon on crutches and how you cried when he reached the finish line and would not be satisfied until you had met this wonderful person who refused to let his disability limit him. Grandpa, during your last few days last week, our family sensed that you didn't want to die, that you were determined to overcome, to not quit. You did not quit, you stuck it out to the end, you crossed the finish line, and you're off to your next new adventure. You're the champion of all people. I love you, Grandpa.

Moab and Fisher Towers

Last weekend Kevin and I snuk away for a one-night stay near Moab. I've blogged earlier about favorite places, and how Arches is special as the place that I returned to time and again and where I learned to love nature. In an effort to explore more and more of Utah's wilderness offerings, we've been more adventurous, and for that reason it's been two years since I visited my favorite places here.

Kevin and I came down early on Friday without stopping and arrived at the Arches National Park visitors' center to get our Fiery Furnace hiking permit. We hiked in the Fiery Furnace for a couple of hours and spent the rest of the afternoon on the Devil's Garden primitive loop trail. I'll talk more about these hikes in another post.

That evening, we set up our tent at the campground, one just outside of Arches, and went into Moab to get some dinner. We've adopted the Moab Diner as our favorite place to eat there after having a bad experience during the annual Jeep Rally where it was very hard to find good, timely service at any restaurant, and a local we spoke to said she always ate at the Moab Diner. So far it and its Kokapeli Chicken have been good to us. After dinner we went into some of the shops around town and eventually wandered into a used bookstore where I became fascinated by the rare book collection. I really like old books and the way they look, and this one had an original publication by Joseph Conrad as well as the original Harpers publication of Trilby, a novel I read in my senior seminar on the Pre-Raphaelites. It's a truly bad novel, but seeing the Victorian original was cool. We went to another store to look at their rare book collection, this time a lot of regional geographic literature and Ed Abbey books. I didn't buy anything, but I enjoyed this experience more than going to the gift shops and seeing the same old souvenirs at every store.

We went back to the campground and showered, played two-person spades, and fell asleep on our new-ish air mattresses. I love having these little backpacking air mattresses, and cannot imagine camping without them. I mention this because I was raised with a very different philosophy about camping--no mattress, no pillow, no pajamas--just your hiking clothes on. Now it feels like I'm in luxury!

We woke up early that morning to drive toward Moab, but to turn after the Colorado River to follow it up northeast of Arches National Park to get to the Fisher Towers and Onion Creek area, BLM land that I haven't hiked on since I was a child. We turned off on a dirt road to get to the Fisher Towers trailhead and started our hike about 9:00 a.m.

It was beautiful starting out in the shade of the towers as the sun gradually crept up over them.

It was a perfect time to start the hike while there was still plenty of shade. There were song birds singing everywhere, and the flowers were out full strength. It was so green at this time of year, and throughout the hike we had great views of the Colorado River, the towers, and the small canyons that descended away from the towers. I think that it would be very fun to explore these small canyons sometime.

A video of the view about 1/2 mile in from the trailhead.

One of these towers is called the Titan, and Kevin was telling me about how National Geographic sponsored a team of climbers to navigate up this tower a couple of years ago. This is also the proclaimed favorite spot of one of their world photographers.

Kevin at the end of the trail. It was a little over 2 miles one way out, but you can see that the sun had already come out by the time we reached this overlook.

Graduation, At Last!

As part of my catching up, here are the pics from Kevin's graduation from law school earlier this month. It was a very nice graduation, and Justice Goldstone, a former South African judge and international leader, spoke wise words about the importance attorneys play in the way national and international policy is shaped.

Kevin waiting to take class pictures.

The attorney and his wife. I love being a law wife! I've been able to meet some amazing people through this, such as law school friends Dave and Christina, and also dignitaries like Justice Clearance Thomas (at least I got to almost eat dinner in the same room with him at a faculty dinner).

My parents, my husband, and me.

All of Kevin's original family.

Catching Up

I haven't posted for quite some time, but this week I intend to catch up. On the 11th Kevin graduated from law school, on the 12th we had a fun family BBQ at our place--our first larger party ever at our house--to celebrate Kevin's accomplishment. We've been busy with getting the yard up and enjoying our roses in full bloom. We went to Moab, on which I have pictures to post later, and did my top two favorite Southern Utah hikes (Devil's Garden and Fiery Furnace) as well as one new one (Fisher Towers). Life's been crazy, but maybe we can settle down into more of a routine as Kevin studies for the bar.

Coyote Gulch in May

It's May. It's graduation time for Kevin, and it's busy short-academic-term time for me, where I teach two nights a week at a local university on top of working my regular job (which happens to be in a very exciting and engaging point on the current project timeline). Despite everything we have going on (or maybe because of it), we are going to take a trip this month to Moab and Arches. I haven't been there in May for a long time, but I'm expecting it to be hot. Last May Kevin and I were in Chesler Park with my brother, Matt. The May before that, we were in Coyote Gulch. I thought I'd write about that Coyote Gulch trip here to psych me up for more May weather hiking, and remind me of the things I don't want to do as well.

Warning: I made several stupid decisions on this hike. I should have known better. I should have carried more water, for one. About three times the water I took (I only took a liter). I should also have not decided to do the whole hike (14 miles) on a whim, and without eating lunch first.

That May, Kevin and I, along with our good friend Olsen, went down to the Glenn Canyon and Escalante area to do some hiking. We wanted to try an area we had never visited before, and with summer fast approaching, we felt like we were running out of time to visit Southern Utah in decent temperatures. After driving through Escalante and traveling 45 or so miles along a dirt road (in a small Honda Civic, nonetheless) to the most remote area of Utah I’ve ever been to, we reached the trailhead for Coyote Gulch, a popular backpacking hike in the area. It was past 1:00 p.m., but we decided to walk a little ways into the gulch to see what it was like. It wasn’t until later that we decided to do the whole 14.5 miles, which left us racing to finish before the sun set and worried about our water supply.

The first part of the trail is very sandy, but it quickly turns into this sandstone marked with cairns that are placed quite far apart and in about 20 different directions. The trick is to locate and head toward “the Crack,” which is the only way to get down into the gulch.


Here's a pretty part: A small waterfall along the Coyote Gulch trail. Once we descended to the water, the hike continued mildly upstream. This was after we'd been down to the first arch (Steven's Arch) and the place where the Escalante River joins up. Here I made the (poor) decision to keep hiking, rather than go back the way we came to the car. It was beautiful, though, and I was drawn in by the siren.

Kevin and I in front of Coyote Natural Bridge.

Jacob Hamblin Arch, where our route in the actual gulch ended. One thing that made me worried as we progressed along this trail was the notorious climb out. The trail book we were reading called this "the most challenging part," and the Glenn Canyon ranger we talked to told us about this cliff right off, making sure we were up to the challenge. That has somewhat of a psychological impact on climbers, as a 45 degree angle cliff was more of a psychological challenge than anything else. This is the side of the 100-foot fin that we had to scale to get out of Coyote Gulch. At first we thought we could just walk right up this part, by the dirt and plants. Only later did we realize that we had to climb straight up the cliff, farther to the right. One of my coworkers had done this with a bunch of older kids and teenagers, and they had a rope they used more as a security blanket. I think that would have helped in this case.

Eventually we made it out alive and back to the road, where we were picked up by a passing car who drove us to the parking lot. Strangely enough, they were looking for another hiker we'd met in the gulch, one who had been kind enough to filter us 2 liters of water on the spot. Never had nasty carbon-tasting water been so good. When we got to our car, they asked us if we had anything to drink, and we were more than happy to hand over a whole gallon of water we had in the trunk, hoping it would somehow return the favor their friend had done for us.

We had planned to camp along the Hole in the Rock road that night before heading to Calf Creek the next morning. After our experience, we decided to get a motel room. After all, we'd earned it.

Zombies

Last night I went to a writers' group with some friends from work. Our assignment was to write on zombies, a subject I know very little about as I haven't seen any zombie movies. So by the time I got to work yesterday, I hadn't written anything. I also wasn't feeling too well as I had weird dreams the night before that left me with a headache. I could hardly keep my presence of mind with the throbbing pain I was experiencing, so I just kept asking questions. It made me feel like a zombie!

While I am no creative writer--I'll admit that straight up--I have always enjoyed the occasional haiku. I can write haikus because I can count. It's that easy. Here's my zombie headache haiku:

Left brain is throbbing
Can't think, can't work now
How are you doing?

Fortunately, at the beginning of writers' group we had a 15-minute writing warm-up to get going, and I was able to write something. I took my inspiration from the Hoodoo formations in Bryce Canyon, those tall crumbling towers.

Hoodoo Army

Brain dead, rock hard, and breaking off in pieces. The crumbling red stone walls are cracking, arching, expanding, shrinking. Orange muddy water etching away the solidity, leaving tall, lumpy, dusty figures. Lifeless yet living, the living dead. Glaring heat survivors, baked, fried, cemented before awakening. They remain motionless, only shrinking by the inch every few years. Eating the sun, sucking the wind, repelling the rain and its destructive drainage, they reside in a lifeless desert--a stupor. All they need to amass their zombie army is to wait, to stand in the presence of ever-eroding walls.

Paria Dunes

One day, I want to hike Buckskin Gulch.

Oh that the desert were my dwelling place,

With only one fair spirit for my minster.

That I might forget the human race,

And hating no one, love her only.

-Lord Byron

No More Class

My mother-in-law tells me that when Kevin was five, he was very excited to go to kindergarten. She'd prepared him by talking about all the things he'd do in kindergarten, the daily schedule, etc. He went the first day and had a blast, but the next day, instead of getting ready for school, she found him sitting in front of the TV in his PJs. She told him that he needed to hurry and get ready for kindergarten, to which he replied, "No, I don't need to go to kindergarten today. I've already been." What a rude awakening that he would have to do this not only for a second day, but for 12 years of public school, college, and beyond.

Tuesday Kevin had his last classes for law school. Congratulations, Kevin. Hey, it's been a long time coming, but you can finally say you don't need to go to class; you've already been.

Kanarra Creek

On of my brother Mike's top Southern Utah hikes is Kanarra Creek, a BLM-managed slot canyon 12 miles south of Cedar City outside of Kanarraville. There's a dirt road past Kanarraville and a little hike (half a mile?) to get to the slot canyon. In the slot canyon, there are several waterfalls, one of which stopped us from ascending further, even though there was a rope there. Kevin and I hiked this with my brothers, my sister, and her husband in July 2005, and for such a short hike had many adventures, including a large rattlesnake next to the creek in the lower canyon and a dead battery in my brother's van to greet us when we came back.

This country is gorgeous, and the area is lesser-known so it was fun for my family to go there as a group. I don't typically like getting super wet, but I put up with it for this one, much to the amusement of my brothers. Sorry, this video is on its side.


Here are two videos of the area in the slot canyon that finally stopped us. My brother-in-law got up this rope, but he'd spent half the previous year roofing and had a lot better upper body strength than the rest of us.


One thing that you can't totally see in this clip is how the water comes down from the side, so the rope is practically hanging in part of the waterfall. Also, loud, rushing water can be a bit distracting.


This is the largest clip, but most rewarding. The makeshift log ladder was pretty slippery and wet, so it required some caution. While I'm making my way down, Matt takes in views of the slot canyon.

Literature Analysis, Revisited

My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

On ny daily walk today, I randomly remembered an experience I had as an undergraduate in a 200-level literature class that involved this poem. The class had about 20-30 students, and I remember I got into a debate with the rest of the class (or the vocal 6 or 7 of them) about the intention of this poem. At first glance, I see what the rest of the class saw, which is about a boy remembering a fun roughousing episode with his father. On second glance, I view this poem as a frightening experience--the boy being beaten by his drunken father--childishly turned into a more pallatable experience or the "Papa's Waltz." There are several litotes, understatements such as "such dancing was not easy" or "could not unfrown itself" that not only are intended as understatements, but I believe imply that the opposite is actually very much the truth. In addition, the words like "death," "beat," "clinging," "caked hard," and "held my wrist" seem to imply a sense of desperation, or not being in control. Despite these evidences, I don't think I was able to convince anyone that this poem did not describe a charming childhood memory.

Ah well, I guess that upon reading this poem nine years later, I can safely say that my opinion about its meaning hasn't changed, except that I feel even more strongly that this poem shows a child's attempt to make sense of a scary situation by putting it in the context of a dance. Is that a good thing? So much for my Walt Whitman stance that a poem should change my view for a day, if not for a few hours.

Furguson Canyon (and Top Five list)

This last weekend I went hiking with my dad and one of my brothers up Furguson Canyon, just south of Big Cottonwood Canyon. It was just a short hike, a couple of hours, but enjoyable to do a little mountain hiking so early in the year. I was amazed how quickly the canyon descended on us, how soon the rocky cliffs seemed to form around us. I grew up looking into this canyon, and never realized how navigable it was, as I was always more focused on the larger Cottonwood canyons. The house I grew up in had a swing set in the backyard, a real park-style swing set with tall metal poles that were buried in the ground. To unwind after school, I used to take my walkman out and swing on the swings, facing east, looking straight into Furguson Canyon.

I had been up this canyon before with my dad, when I was 8 or 9 years old. I remember the rock climbers there--there are some excellent beginner rock climbing spots not too far up where it's not too difficult to reach the top of the cliff through other means and secure the ropes before the climb. There were rock climbers there again, and it looks like a lot of fun. Made me think I need to start developing additional upper body strength if I'm going to attempt that.

During our hike, we each discussed our favorite Utah hikes. I am not a huge fan of top five lists because I dislike picking the last two and leaving everything else off the list, but my brother pressed me to come up with a list of my top five Southern Utah hikes. Here's what I came up with on the fly:

1. Fiery Furnace, Arches National Park
2. Chesler Park, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park
3. Devil's Garden primitive loop, Arches National Park
4. Bell's Canyon/Little Wildhorse Canyon loop
5. Peekaboo/Navajo/Queen's Garden, Bryce National Park

I had forgotten about Calf Creek in Escalante, which really should be there as it is an amazingly fun hike. Also, I'd have to do Coyote Gulch and Upper Muley Twist Canyon in different weather/hiking conditions to see how I'd fare when more prepared.

Photo Shoot, Downtown SLC

The marketing manager at work scheduled short photo shoots with everyone for our new company website. I had mine a couple weeks ago, and the pics are in. Incidentally, I think they chose to go in a different direction for the site, thinking it would be too personal to have our photos and bios posted publically. It was fun to get these taken, though, and it gives the area around my office a more artistic look. When I look at these, I can almost forget that bums go to the bathroom in our stairwell.

April Flowers at Temple Square

Oh my heart is in bloom like a lilac tree

And my heart like the sunlight gloweth

She has but to glance and my lilac tree

And lo, into blossoms it goeth

And my soul has the wings of a nightengale

It lives with the lilac flowers

In extasy singing its wondrous lay

Of joy in its perfumed bowers

F. Schumman