Salt Lamp in the Window

Willy is a welcome sight at the end of an adventure. 

In the heavy canopy forest on the east side of Glacier National Park it gets dark quickly once the sun starts to set. After a long day of adventures in the Montana wilderness, or anywhere else for that matter, there is nothing sweeter than seeing Willy sitting there waiting with three excited dogs and  an 8" foam mattress bed.

It is rather interesting how we came to this point. Pamela and I are both widowed. We met through our love of nature, the wilderness, and outdoor activity. I was an ultra trail runner and Pamela had been a triathlete.  Pamela introduced me to vintage trailers and within a short time we had purchased Willy, fixed him up and were volunteers at Glacier National Park. We have a house in Evansville, Indiana that was purchased thirty years ago when my late wife and I needed room for seven people plus two offices. You can imagine. It is quite large - slightly over 4,000 square feet.  Pamela and I obviously rattle around in such a large house and it is an interesting study in contrast to go from 128 square feet to 4000. But Willy is our home for much of the year and will be even more so when we go totally full-time this spring when Pamela retires.  But I digress.

This morning we had headed off toward the far northwest corner of the park to go kayaking in a remote lake known as Bowman Lake about six miles from the settlement of Polebridge and across the road from the Flathead National Forest.

Waiting for the Fourth of July Parade at Polebridge, MT. 

Oh, I have to take the time to tell you about Polebridge.  Polebridge is a community of 15 residence in an area known as the North Fork. It is at least 35 miles from the tiny village of West Glacier, which is only open from Memorial Day to Labor Day and further from Columbia Falls which is a town of 4,800. When we first knew Polebridge the last 25 miles was dirty road. To the chagrin of the residents of the North Fork some of that has been paved since then. Polebridge is totally off the grid. They get water from wells and electricity from three large solar panels with a diesel generator as backup. There is no telephone, television or internet. The central focus of Polebridge is the Polebridge Mercantile and the Northern Lights Saloon.  The Northern Lights Saloon is a log cabin which was the home that Bill Adair built in 1913. I don't know a lot about his first wife, Jessie but  when she died Bill married Emma who sought the Post Office contract and had the name Polebridge approved. Bill built the mercantile in 1914 which was run by Emma while he went fishing.  Today the mercantile includes a bakery that is so good that almost every seasonal employee at the park goes there immediately upon arrival. They have a Fourth of July parade that draws people from all over northwestern Montana. This past year there were almost 2,500 people there. In 2014 I was privileged to be one of the judges. A piece of plywood was put on a tractor fork lift with folding chairs for each of us and we were lifted above the crowd. Needless to say every entry got some sort of best in category. Most of the people here make their living from the wilderness. For example, one of the parade entries was a mule-team. Each of the mules wore a placard with sayings like "Bray for the wilderness".

Polebridge Mercantile and Northern Lights Saloon. (just beyong vehicles) 

There is a park gate near Polebridge at which point the dirt road splits. The left fork heads further north to the even more remote Kintla Lake with the right fork heading northeast to Bowman Lake. This is where the adventure begins. The next six miles goes from an elevation of 3,600 to a little over 4,100. It is loosely called a road, although I must be careful because the locals were proud that it had been graded. It still took us over 30 minutes in our 4x4. The year before the trip took 50 minutes in a 4x4.

"Road" to Bowman Lake

Bowman Lake is, of course, a glacial lake which is long and narrow. It is 7 miles long but only 2,640 feet wide.  It runs northeast-southwest and is flanked by the Numa Ridge on the north and Cerulean Ridge on the south while Numa Peak (9,003 ft high) above Baby Glacier, Mt. Carter (9,843 ft) above Weasel Collar Glacier, Rainbow Peak (9,891 ft) towering over Rainbow Glacier, and Square Peak (8,777 ft) provide snow covered scenery year around.

We put our kayaks in at the boat launch near the Bowman Campground. The water was like glass and the mountains reflected like a mirror. We didn't know our intentions when we started out, but the far end of the lake seemed to call us. Once we were away from the campground and boat launch it was as though we were the only people on earth. We took our time and lazily made our way to the far end. In the six hours we were on the water we saw only one other boat. That was one of those long, sleek sea-going kayaks. They whizzed past us on the far side of the lake. We hadn't gone more than another couple of miles when they came flying past us going the other way.  To us that seemed like a waste. We would literally stop, kick our feet out on the bow of our kayaks, lean back and just lose ourselves in the beauty around us. Look at the picture and tell me you wouldn't do the same.

Bowman Lake looking from the boat ramp at the southwest end of the lake.

The only reason that we returned when we did was that we knew that the Northern Lights Saloon opened at 4pm.  It only has five table and we wanted one.  When you are taking your time and having so much fun you forget that you really are working.  If you calculate our pace we were doing just under a 26 minute mile. Our kayaks are the small (6'), light weight calm water type that are amazingly easy to get moving. We loaded up and headed down the mountain to Polebridge.

Pamela at our table at Northern Lights Saloon
My back is against the far wall. 

The Northern Lights Saloon is a great restaurant. I'm a vegetarian and in that small 5 table restaurant they had three vegetarian offerings on the menu.  Our meals were delicious and went well with the Moose Drool brown ale which we drank from Ball jars.  Moose Drool is a Montana beer made in Missoula, Montana. We got to know the owner.  They had moved to Polebridge when their children were young. Now their grandchildren spend summers with them and have a hard time each year getting accustomed no television or internet. The power went off a couple of times during dinner, but no one was concerned.  You can't see them in the picture but there are also gas lamps. The couple at the table behind Pamela live near Kintla Lake another 15 miles down the dirt road. They were from Georgia.  Like so many people we meet in Montana, they had come to visit and never went home. There is a saying in the town of Whitefish. On the first day you do the tourist things and on day two you visit the real estate office.

Adair Homestead (1913) now the Northern Lights Saloon. 

After a marvelous day of Kayaking at Bowman Lake culminating with a great dinner at the Northern Lights Saloon we headed home. We had almost a 50 mile drive to get home. Besides about a third of it  being dirt roads, the speed limit was 35 mph most of the time.  By the time we were on the Going-to-the-Sun Road along the east side of Lake McDonald the sun was setting. As we approached Sprague Creek, where we live and work, it was dark. No night lights. No lights from nearby buildings or towns. It was dark . . . . except for our salt lamp in Willy's window welcoming us home.

There is nothing more exciting than an adventure in the wilderness.  Nothing gets your heart pumping and adrenaline surging more than hiking in the glorious mountains, gliding across remote mountain lakes, shooting a Class IV rapids, meeting a wild animal up close and personal or standing on top of a mountain you've just climbed. Nevertheless there is nothing that lifts our spirits more than three tiny dogs so excited to see us. Nothing gives us greater sense of welcome, of warmth and safety than to see the lights of Willy.

Like Pliny the Elder said, "Home is where the heart is." 

Iceberg Lake

Grinnell Point from Willy's kitchen window

It was one of those beautiful Montana mornings - cool and dry.  There is a local joke that Montana has two seasons - Winter and July.  Granted it was the end of July and we had had 30 inches of snow at 6,000 feet about three weeks earlier. We were now camped at about 5,000 ft in the valley between Mt Grinnell and Mt Henkel near Swiftcurrent Lake.

Willy camped under Grinnell Point

Pamela was outside with the G-3, our three old dogs with whom we share our 16 foot vintage trailer we call Willy. Ranging in age from 9 to 13, one of them is blind and two are deaf.  It is never permissible to turn your dogs loose in a campground but in the wilderness you stay with them at all times lest they become breakfast for some animal further up the food chain.  I was standing at the kitchen sink making coffee. Actually I was spending more of my time starring at Grinnell Point 2,200 feet above us. We had a perfect view from the kitchen window.

We had just finished our three month tour-of-duty as volunteers at Sprague Creek Campground on Glacier National Park's west side.  Now we were taking some time to explore the east side of the park.  The Many Glacier area is very popular and has many outstanding hikes. Don't tell anyone but the first thing we did when we arrived the night before was to head out to Fishcap Lake around sunset in hopes of finding a Moose. You shouldn't really be wandering around the woods after dark but we were almost to the point of desperation to see a Moose at Glacier.

Deer at Fishcap Lake

There are a lot of Moose at Glacier. There was one spot near Sprague Creek I visit frequently where there will be fresh skat (poop!) and all the signs of Moose but no Moose. The only Moose we had sighted were in other parks. We had been told that Fiskcap Lake always has Moose around sunset.  Guess what? No Moose.(1)  But it had been a nice hike and we watched a beautiful deer wading through shallow water.

Fishcap Lake looking southeast at Grinnell Point. 

The mountains on the east side of Glacier are very different from those on the west side. The west side is part of the pacific coast rain forest so the forests are dense with tall trees and a heavy canopy. The tree line seems to go higher on the west side but the reality is that where we live on the west side is the lowest point in the Rocky Mountains. We live at 3,200 feet. We tease the east side staff saying that they really have easier hikes and climbs because we have to start at 3,200 feet and climb to 8-10,000 feet while they start at about 5,000+ feet. The mountains on the east side of the park are very barren. It is much easier to see the thrust (2) from west to east.  It is as though you are looking at the raw end. There is a magnificent ruggedness to the east side that we don't have on the west side. Of course on the west side Lake McDonald is flanked by lateral moraine that is about 5,000 feet high. That is much more conducive to tree growth than the raw ends of a thrust. Some people think that we have more rain on the west side since it is called a rain forest but I was told that there is only .25" difference. The east side, however, has more wind which causes moisture to evaporate more quickly.

Looking east along the Ptarmigan/Iceberg Lake Trail

While we love the thick, lush forests of the west side wilderness, we were in awe of the rugged beauty of the east side and we were planning to spend the day hiking through this magnificent country. After breakfast, bedding down the dogs and dawning our hiking gear, we set out on the Ptarmigan Trail toward Iceberg Lake.

Heading in a northwesterly direction the trail climbs quickly from 5,000 feet to around 5,600 feet and then starts running along the side of Mount Henkel at that elevation. We broke out of the trees in little more than a half mile. The vistas were breath-taking. We hadn't been out of the trees too long before we were passed by a Ranger who was in a hurry. There was a bear jam up ahead and he had to break it up.

When we arrived on the scene about a mile and a half from camp the light cinnamon colored bear was 20-30 yards up the mountain from the trail. There were a number of hikers standing there watching it with the Ranger trying to get them to move along. We moved past the crowd and up the path a few yards we turned and watched.  The bear was ignoring the people. S/he had to know they were there. The Ranger thought it was a black bear. We had our doubts. You have to remember that Black bears - Ursus Americanus - can come in any color, just as can the Grizzly - Ursus Arctos Horribilis.  I don't like the Latin name for the Grizzly because it isn't a horrible animal, but I guess I have to live with it. To differentiate between the Black and the Grizzly there are six main points of difference - hump, ears, face, claws, paw print and coat.  The Grizzly has a hump on its shoulders from the massive muscle. Their ears are smaller and rather round, Their faces are dished. The Grizzly claws are as long as a human's fingers which gives it a different print, and its coat appears grizzled. Actually there are three names for the Grizzly - Silver point, Kodiak, and Grizzly. It gets the name Silver Point because the tips are actually a silvery white. That's what gives it the grizzled effect. In my own encounter with the two types of bear I find that the Black Bear appear to have just come from a groomer and the hair is all the same color. The Grizzly looks grizzled, almost unkempt and is usually multi-colored. The Grizzly also has a narrower rump with the Black Bear being more pear shaped. This particular bear was more grizzled and had small ears. There appeared to be a hump and it didn't have the nice wide rump of the Black Bear. Our money was on Grizzly.

Look west on the Ptarmigan toward the Ptarmigan Wall

It didn't really matter. Either way the bear was about 70-80 yards too close and the Ranger was undoubtedly concerned. Park rules are to stay 100 yards from a bear. A bear can run at 40 miles per hour. We have talked to Rangers who were chased by a Grizzly as they were riding their bicycles down a mountain. The Ranger said that the bear got so close to catching them that he could hear the bear's claws click on the asphalt. We were neither on duty nor in uniform, so we took some pictures, admired the bear for a moment and then moved on. We weren't worried about the Ranger. He probably went through that routine a dozen times a week.

Ptarmigan Falls

We turned our attention to the trail ahead that stretched out before us like a ribbon. There was very little elevation change in the next mile plus.  We were headed toward Ptarmigan Falls, hiking along between Mount Wilbur (9,321 feet high) and Mount Henkel (8,770 feet high) and ahead of us was the Ptarmigan Wall.  In the picture above, the peak in the distance slight left of center is Iceberg Peak and is 9,146 feet high. Our destination is the cirque lake right below that peak.

Ptarmigan Falls is where the Ptarmigan Trail parts company with the Iceberg Lake Trail.  It is just a bit over half way to Iceberg Lake. At this point we had hiked 2.7 miles and had another 2.1 miles to go.  If you take the Ptarmigan Trail you head almost due north in the valley between the Ptarmigan Wall and Crowfeet Mountains to Ptarmigan lake. It's a good elevation change in that 1.86 miles. You climb about 900 feet.  But that's nothing compared to climbing 575 feet up in 4,380 ft distance from Ptarmigan Lake to the tunnel. Once you have passed through the Ptarmigan Tunnel you are met with one of the most fantastic vistas in the park.  But our sights were on Iceberg Lake.

Mt Wilbur and the cirque around Iceberg Lake 

As we went our separate way from the Ptarmigan Trail, heading almost due west, we emerged out of the trees and in the distance we could make out the cirque in which lay Iceberg Lake. We stood for a moment in awe. That happens to us a lot when we're hiking through the Rocky Mountains. Below us was a deep valley about 500 feet to Iceberg Creek at the bottom. The trail would take us up another 400 feet and then go along the Ptarmigan Wall between the tree line and enormous scree field, crossing several snow fields.  It was still over two miles away but Pamela was determined to finish the course despite the arthritis pain in her knees.

Approaching Iceberg Lake

The reward was worth the effort. It was a perfect example of a cirque. The lake is the remains of a glacier. Even though it was the 21st of July the lake was still over 80% frozen with great chunks of ice, the icebergs, sticking up from the ice and snow covered lake. There were also icebergs floating in what little open water there was.

There must have been a dozen other hikers sitting around the lake taking in the beauty. It hadn't been a particularly hard hike but it had still been almost five miles of wilderness trail so the majority of hikers had taken off their boats and were lying on the large flat rocks that had been warmed by the sun.

Pamela and me just above Iceberg Lake

Even though we weren't in uniform our hats had the volunteer logo so people asked us all sorts of questions. Pamela enjoyed what she loves doing most; viz. telling visitors about the marvels around them. While she was explaining the geology of the area around us, one of the visitors tapped me on the shoulder.

Pointing to a dark spot on the side of an ice field about half way up to the 9,321 ft peak of Mt. Wilbur the visitor asked "is that a mountain goat?"

I got out my binoculars. "No," I shook my head, "it a crazy human trying to killing themselves." There on the steep ice field was a person without any climbing gear trying to make their way to Wilbur's eastern ridge.

We were distracted from watching the Mt Goat wanna-be by a family with three teenage children.
They were laughing and teasing each other as they removed their hiking boots and socks while still moving toward the water.  It seemed they had a challenge going on. Who could stay in the cold Iceberg Lake water the longest.  The winner stayed in the water just over a minute. But that prompted the rest of us to go wading.  After all how many people can say that they went wading in an iceberg filled glacial lake.  Of course none of us lasted more than a matter of seconds. Within 10-20 seconds your feet start going numb and it hurts. But everyone had a great time.

We stayed at the lake as long as we could but we  still had a 4.84 mile hike to get back to camp. Thankfully this close to the summer solstice it was quite light well into the evening.  On the solstice it really doesn't get totally dark.  But we did want to get back at a reasonable time. Feeling refreshed and very much alive we put our socks and boots back on, hefted our packs, and started back toward camp. On the way back we were treated to a sighting of a Ptargiman after whom the trail, lake and tunnel is named.  It sat unperturbed by our presence as we quietly passed.

As we approached Many Glacier several trails converge and we became part of a flow of tired, happy hikers returning after a day of adventure in the marvelous mountains of Glacier National Park all talking excitedly about their experience.

No matter how often we go out into the wilderness it is never old. Quite the contrary, each time is a greater adventure because our growing experience enables us to see more and more around us. This particular evening we splurged. Instead of cooking in Willy we went to the Italian restaurant at the Swiftcurrent Lodge that didn't have spaghetti. (That just makes me laugh every time I think about it.)  Returning home we succumb to the wonderful feelings of exhaustion and satisfaction. By 10 pm we were in bed knowing that we are among the luckiest people on earth for tomorrow we will do it again.


You ask me why I dwell in the green moun­tain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.       Li Bai (3) 


FOOTNOTES.
===================================
(1)  I have seen only one Moose in Glacier since this story and poor Pamela still hasn't seen a Moose at Glacier. To pour salt in an open would, we had a Moose Jam (where traffic is stopped and backed up because of people stopping to watch a Moose) less than a mile from where we lived and we missed it!
(2) A thrust is where a part of the earths mantle is broken by a fault and pushed or "thrust" up over the other side.
(3) LiBai  http://www.theclymb.com/stories/passions/mountaineer/5-great-poems-about-mountains/

Running the Badlands

Badlands National Park. 

There I stood. Desert in every direction. Nothing looked remotely like a trail. The only reason I knew where I had come from was that I have a good sense of direction and I still had the heading set on my compass. Otherwise there was nothing that showed the way back. I looked down at my topographic map and back up at the thousand shades of brown and grey that lay before me. I picked a physical feature in the distance that I should be able to keep in sight for at least a mile or so and took a heading. I would run toward that until I spotted the next red stake trying hard not to let the stake by which I was now standing out of my sight. I would be able to back-track from the heading I took, but having at least one stake in sight at all times was comforting.

This was the scenario more times that I can remember in the almost 10 hours it took me to make the 40+ mile run across the Badlands. I had planned on the run taking 10 hours and hoped that I could do it in under 8 hours because it was relatively flat. I thought I was prepared for everything and anything, but I wasn't prepared for there not being a distinguishable trail. The wind would blow the sand and ultra-fine silt across any foot prints or path. On the return leg there was no evidence that I had been there only hours before.  I had trained hard for this and so pushed on. The whole idea of the exercise was three-fold: (1) meet the challenge, (2) enjoy the wilderness, and (3) enjoy being alive.  It was more than a bit scary at times, it definitely kept my adrenaline pumping and senses alert, and was an absolutely phenomenal experience. Wow, what a rush!!!

Weighing in at just over 25 pounds
this pack is with me whenever
I'm on the trail or in the wilderness.

Preparation for this adventure consisted of running at least 80 miles a week carrying my 25 pound backpack that is always with me when I'm in the wilderness or on the trail.  (Actually it rides right behind the drivers seat the rest of the time.)  The pack contains a complete survival kit, appropriate food and snacks, a minimum of 5 liters of water, as many small bottles of water as I can find place for, along with safety-navigation equipment.  I have a ResQLink that my children got me the Christmas before my first big solo adventure. It is a GPS rescue beacon that is monitored by 200 countries around the world.  I have a steri-pen to sterilize water. The Ranger at the Badlands told me not to try using it. He said the silt at the Badlands can go through any filter and it would kill me. So much for the steri-pen. Of course I had extra shoes and socks, a couple of topo maps, three different types of compasses and my wilderness watch which does everything but breathe for me.

I trained running each day until running all day long was easy, natural and comfortable. On the way to the Badlands I would travel to a campground on day 1, run 10-20 miles on day 2, and 20-30 miles on day 3, then repeat the cycle. I stopped at two campgrounds on the trip to the Badlands. The first was in western Missouri near the Katy State Park. The park is 280 miles long and about 200 yards wide. It's a Rails-to-Trails project. My second stop on the way out was at Stone State Park just outside of Sioux City, Iowa. I could actually see three states but I couldn't run in them without finding a way across the rivers. In the week it took me to get to the Badlands I did almost 100 miles. I felt good and I felt ready.

A selfie on the table run. 

The day before the big run I ran a trail across a table to a butte that a Ranger had told me about. I wanted to get acclimated.  He was also a runner. When I asked about anything I should watch for he said "chiggers, ticks and rattle snakes."  "Are we in southern Indiana?" I asked.

The trailhead for my big run was about 4-5 miles from the visitor's center and 3-4 miles from where I was camped. There was a big sign "Do not go beyond this point without water, a map and compass!"

It was already in the low 90s when I started at 7am but I was comfortable. I was accustomed to high heat and humidity. Having done the table the day before, I had a feel for running in the desert. It is a very different feel from mountain trails. Being a minimalist my shoes weighed only 4 ounces and had only a 4mm rise at the heel. It was as close as I could get to running bare footed and it felt good.

A little over a mile from the parking lot I ran into a family - a mother and three children. Of course the first thing I noticed was that there was no sign of water, maps, compass or anything else to help them in the wilderness. I was blunt enough to ask them if they had water. "No," came the reply. "You shouldn't be out here without water," I said. "Oh, we're just parked over there."  They pointed in almost the opposite direction from the parking lot.  "That direction," I said as calmly as possible, "takes you away from the parking lot." Finally I said "I can't leave you in good conscience. I don't want to scare you but you are in a fair amount of danger right now if you don't know the way back and don't have any water."  I walked them about a quarter of a mile toward the parking lot and picked out a physical feature that they would be able to see the entire distance. "Do you see that peak?" They said they did. "Walk toward it. The parking lot is right there. Don't take your eyes off that peak."  They promised. I gave them one of my small 12oz bottles of water (this type of situation being why I carry them) and headed off on my run.

See the red stake? That was all I had to tell
me if I was on the "trail". 

The other thing which became immediately evident was that there was no place to get out of the sun. I have to admit that I kept thinking about whether or not I had enough hydration. In the entire 40+ miles I saw three places that I could have crawled into to get out of the sun. I didn't because I figured that I'd probably be sharing the space with a creature that wouldn't appreciate my intrusion. There were a few clouds in the sky.  I really strongly dislike wearing sunglasses. In the desert you don't go without sunglasses if you have them.  On those occasions that the sun went behind one of the few clouds I would stop and take off my sunglasses just to enjoy the sensation.

Just short of half-way into the run I came across another trail runner. (See. I'm not the only crazy one.)  We did find it ironic that two of us would meet this way. I was running from northeast to southwest and he was running southwest to northeast. He had done Leadville - the famous 100 mile ultra in Colorado.  We shared a couple of trail stories and wished each other good luck. I only wish that we hadn't met on the trail because it would have been fun to get to know him better, but we both had to get going.  I didn't see him on the return leg so he either took a different route or stopped at the turn point.

The "trail"

I learned a great deal about myself and the desert on that run. I learned that what I thought was my limit wasn't even close. I was accustomed to pushing my body to the max. Just 12 months before I had done the 45 mile Eagle Rock Loop in Arkansas. There I had 12 hours to run up the Little Missouri River, cross three mountains and return by another river. There was tremendous climbing in that run. Nevertheless the Badlands pushed me further. The heat and stress of keeping track of my location were the primary challenges. I didn't encounter any rattle snakes. They were smart enough to stay out of the heat.  The terrain was very uneven. Not that trails are like running roads, but as you can see from the pictures footing was always a challenge. I did have the better part of 10 miles crossing a large flat plateau, but otherwise it was uneven and rugged.  I learned that I was stronger and more resilient that I had thought. I learned that I could trust my skills. That is important.

Maps and map skills have always been a passion of mine. Pamela teases me because I'm always studying a topo map of any area in which we are camping or hiking.  I've studied topographic maps for so many years that I can identify a mountain that I've never seen because the topographic map tells me what it should look like. If you are going to go on adventures in the wilderness, I would highly recommend becoming proficient in using a compass and topographic map. In the Ozarks and other solo adventures that I had done the trails were all very easy to see. My map skills had never really been tested. Here they were severely tested and it gave me a sense of satisfaction and pride that they lead me right back to where I started.

Actually what looks like a trail isn't. There is
no trail in that direction at all.

Looking at what has been dubbed "badlands" I saw unbelievable beauty. Trying to comprehend the time and the forces of nature required to carve the tables, buttes and ridges was mind boggling. The beauty of nature's carving was breath-taking. I saw plants and flowers thriving in a harsh environment.  If I had been with Pamela, she'd have had me down on the ground taking pictures, but this was before we met and I only had my phone. By the time I arrived back at my car I understood the Badlands as a magnificent living eco-system. It has a unique beauty where a blend of a seemingly limited number of colors produces unlimited variety of scene and sensation.

The first definition of beauty that I came across on the internet was  "a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight" (1)   That isn't a bad definition. My experience in the Badlands pleased the aesthetic senses.  Having spent so many hours with only the desert wilderness around me I came to understand the Ann Lamott (2) quote. 

"If you don't die of thirst, there are blessings in the desert. You can be pulled into limitlessness, which we all yearn for, or you can do the beauty of minutiae, the scrimshaw of tiny and precise. The sky is your ocean, and the crystal silence will uplift you like great gospel music, or Neil Young."

Running the Badlands was more than a challenge or an adventure, it was a means of self-discovery. It was not only an activity through which I enjoyed being alive but it helped me know that I was alive. More than that, it was confirmation. It was acclamation. It was proclamation.  Getting out into the wild is a sure way of awakening that primordial being inside such that we more than sense, we live and know our oneness with the world around us.  

FOOTNOTES:

(1) https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=definition+of+beauty
(2) Ann Lemott. American novelist.

Looking out the window

Looking out my bedroom window

I sit and look out the window. Funny. It hasn't been that long ago that I would have been shaken with guilt for spending my time on such a frivolous activity.  Actually, it is hard to admit but there was the day when the last thing I would think to do would be to look outside.  Those days seem so long ago but, as I look back at the computer, I realize that for so many people, such a tremendously high percentage of the population, that is current reality. That makes me sad and so I again turn to the window.

Out there is where I know real life.  It sounds corny but it's true. I had always liked the outdoors as a kid. I was the youngest member of a group of Explorer Scouts that were known for seeking out the most outlandish, wild adventures allowable. Well, sometimes we used the 'receiving-forgiveness-is-sometimes-easier-than-obtaining-permission' approach, but not too often.

One November in the late 1950s we decided to take a canoe trip down the French Creek. French Creek flows into the Allegheny and that becomes the Ohio River at Pittsburgh.  The thing is that we lived in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains in northwestern Pennsylvania.  It can start snowing there in October and often does. But we were determined. David Smith, the group leader and my next door neighbor, had a canoe known as 'the tipsy orange crate.' Only a few of us rode with David because it was so easy to flip. One of the boys hounded David for over an hour to let him ride in the tipsy orange crate. Finally David gave in. I switched places with the boy. Shortly we hit some fast moving water made worse by wind and snow and the next thing we knew David and the boy were in the water. We all made our way to a spot along the bank and built a large roaring fire. It was snowing hard by this time. We created a human wind-break as the two wet adventurers stripped down to their skivvies and dried by the fire. Once they were fairly dry I again took my place with David and we made our way the remaining miles to where the trucks were waiting to pick us up.

Covered bridge across French Creek in western Pennsylvania

I had always loved being out in the woods or in the water. I took my children camping. When we lived in McKean, PA we bought 40 acres of hilly woods. It was our get-away place and we camped there whenever we could.  My children seemed to enjoy being out there. That was before the days of cell phones, so we were alone. Come to think of it, that was also the time of life when we lived on five acres. We had two horses in the barn, a quarter of an acre in garden and four hives of bees. We canned 1,000 quarts a year. The well in the barn froze every winter so I had to take water to the horses in 5 gallon containers on a toboggan. I had a well beaten path from house to barn. One evening I was late getting home. When I got out of the car I could hear my wife screaming. She had tried to help out and take the water to the horses. She fell off the path. She was only 5 feet tall and the snow was so deep she couldn't get out. The average snowfall in that area was 110" of snow by January 1.  But we thrived.

When had I closed myself off to the out-of-doors?  When had I given up really living?  I'm not going to bore you by attempting to answer those questions. Actually I'm not sure they're worth the effort because somehow I found my way back.

 Goofy 40 mile back-to-back. Cinderella's castle just before dawn
18 miles down. 22 miles to go.

The closest I can come to identifying a starting point for my new life was when my Grandson was looking for someone to do a Disney 5k with him. His Mother was running the Walt Disney World Marathon so she couldn't do it. His Father was facing knee surgery and his sister was at college. That left Grandpa who was, at that time, walking with a cane because of arthritis. It took me five months to be able to "run". My first 5k race was the day before my 63rd birthday.  The next January I ran the Walt Disney World 1/2 Marathon. Before I was done with road racing I had done the WDW Goofy (a 40 mile back-to-back race) three times. Then I discovered trails and the ultra-marathon (runs of >40 miles) became my passion. I ran on beaches, in mountains and across deserts. I was back in nature. My life was renewed.  My life was saved.

I was getting ready for my last WDW Goofy when I met Pamela.  Before she starts thinking she caused me to give up the Goofy, let it be known that I gave them up because of the cost.  It was costing $600 plus room, board and transportation to do the Goofy.  Pamela and I met because of our mutual love for running. Then we discovered our other mutual loves - all centered around nature and being out of doors.  We spent most of that January hiking and camping around western Kentucky.

Pamela hiking at Penyrile State Park

Camping in Willy at Land-Between-the-Lakes, KY
Primitive camping - nothing but a place to park.

I'm sure our families thought us nuts when we bought Willy together after knowing each other only a month. But the kids all agree that we are like the proverbial 'two peas in a pod.'  You have to admit that you must be really compatible to be pretty much attached at the hip and live in 128 square feet for 90 days without even an argument. In that first year we not only worked at Glacier National Park from the first of May to the end of July but we traveled 11,700 miles, camped 134 nights in 17 states, visited 10 national parks/forests, cycled 300 miles, hiked 450 miles, kayaked 20 miles and went scuba diving in a glacier lake where the surface temperature was only 40 degrees on July 5th. Life doesn't get much better, but it did.

In my last blog I quoted Henry David Thoreau. I realized that, just as he feared and worked to avoid, I had come dangerously close to coming to the end of life without having lived.  When I was traveling alone and doing the ultra runs I had a pop-up trailer. On the side, written in Irish, was my motto "Don't stop living before you die." It was written in Irish because that made people ask me "what does that say?" I loved to translate it for them.

My first trip to St. Andrew State Park in Panama City, FL I had my pop-up. I parked it so close to the water that my pull-out bed literally hung out over the water. I could lay in my bed and watched alligators cruise the lagoon. When I went back with Pamela she had just started snorkeling and was so engrossed in following a giant sea turtle that she didn't realize that she was going right out to sea. I had to grab one of her fins to stop her. Pamela fell in love with all of the sea creatures along the jetty. I encountered an enormous Goliath Grouper in a sunken ship and six Barracuda each as big as me. What marvels of life on planet Earth! What treasures!  We would walk or bike along the edge of the fragile dunes admiring and taking pictures of the plants. In the evening we would watch the sun go down in the placid lagoon then lay in our bed in Willy with the lights out listening to the sounds of life around us. And we were a part of that life. We had torn down the wall which homo sapiens have built around ourselves that makes nature something strange, foreign and threatening.

There is current research which believes that it has discovered that DNA has memory or carries memory. Perhaps we had somehow triggered a primordial memory that allowed us to return to being one with nature like our hunter-gatherer ancestors. People generally think of the hunter-gatherer as being poor and struggling, but that's only because we think we have to have so many possessions. Marshall Sahlins calls them the original affluent society.(1) They were rich in the treasures of nature around them. Each day we spend away from our sad, burdened, depressed, troubled modern society and in the midst of nature we realize how rich we really are. We are connected to all around us and we know our oneness.

Lake McDonald at sunset.  We live at the foot of the first mountain on the right.

Our campsite at Glacier National Park is only yards from the beautiful Lake McDonald.  From the very first evening we were there Pamela would go to a spot on the lake each evening and 'wait for the pink', the beautiful sunset.  We would sit and talk about the day and the wonders around us. We would share our thankfulness for being privileged to spend our days in the wilderness and the sense of oneness we felt with all around us. This was not a foreign, scary place. This was home and we soon knew that. I would refer you to my blog "The journey home" (2) where I share the experience of returning to Glacier.  Hiking trails and climbing mountains in the middle of 150,000 square miles of wilderness makes you aware that you are not the master of this planet but a part of its complex being. You understand your oneness with the animals, plants and land around you. You begin to see your place in the order of nature, where you really stand in the food chain, and how your footsteps on the mountain leave the earth changed forever.

As long as there have been philosophers there has been the ongoing debate on whether there is meaning to life and if so, what is it.  I'm not going to pit my puny intellect against the great philosophers of our age or any other age, so let me simply state observation and opinion. I believe that life has the potential to have meaning but we must give it that meaning.  In my thinking the jury is still out on whether there is any innate meaning to human life. Like other animals we are born because we are conceived and what happens in and/or to our lives is dependent upon a host of variables, most beyond our control. I won't argue that one can not give their life meaning without thinking about it, but I am of the opinion that most of us will not have one of those experiences in life that natural draws us into a meaningful life. If we have a meaningful life it will be because we determine that we want our lives to have meaning. We must determine the definition of meaning since philosophy can't actually agree upon a definition of meaningful. In their defense, it is an almost impossible definition therefore we must be the ones to decide. I strongly believe that experiencing a meaningful life is much less likely and much more difficult to achieve in our modern world where we are encapsulated in a stainless steel shell designed to protect us from reality and the world around us. If you notice people whom you would have to say lead meaningful lives, they have exposed themselves to reality, to the true nature of the world.

Nature is not other. Looking out the window it is easy to see nature as "out there" but that is not true. We are a part of nature - good, bad or neutral. I look out the window at the trees and the plants. We have a symbiotic relationship. We provide them with carbon dioxide and they provide us with oxygen. It is when we forget that we are totally dependent upon everything else in nature that we fail to have a meaningful life and we become the invasive monsters we are today. Our ancestors knew that they were a part of everything around them. The ocean, mountains, prairie and desert were their source of life.  They never had to think about environmental management or renewable living. They were part of the nature.

Looking out the window I see the trees and watch the dogs race around the yard and enjoying the openness. I am reminded of the nature I love and of which I am so joyfully a part.  The sunlight shimmering through the almost leafless oaks create an ever changing pattern of light that lifts my spirit.  The earth is preparing itself for its winter rest, and watching I know that we are one.

"There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but Nature more."               Lord Byron 

FOOTNOTE: 

(1)  Sahlins, Marshall. (1972) The original affluent society.  http://www.eco-action.org/dt/affluent.html. This essay is one of his best known and seems to have been published circa 1972. 

(2)  Vance, Russell (2015) Our Journey Home.  http://oldconservationist.blogspot.com/ 2015/10/our-journey-home.html

Walden Pond Full-Timers

It is already after 9am. Pamela had a meeting in Versailles, KY., a small eastern Kentucky town about 11 miles away. I stopped at a grocery store on the way home to pick up a couple of things I need for dinner tonight. The dogs are happy to hear me return. It is still quite chilly outside so only Atilla-the-Honey stays out very long. In fact, she's still sitting outside seemingly enjoying herself. Teddy, the elder of the three at 14 years old, is lying near the space heater. I had turned it on because it was only 54 inside. It's already up to 64, probably because I'm seasoning a new piece of cast iron cookware and the oven is on. It stinks, but it's worth the smell as well as the effort. Cubby, our 11 year old, has found one of the dog beds and is sleeping. He can always find the softest available spot.

Camped at Camping-on-the-Kentucky, Versailles, KY
A family campground right on the Kentucky River. 

A lot of people wonder about the life of those of us who are called full-timers. Pamela and I aren't official full-timers yet but will be in 183 days. Right now we're as close as anyone can be without being worthy of the title. We spend about 140 days a year living in our 16 foot, 35 year old trailer we call “Willy”. There are actually sub-groups among the full-timers. Most people hear the word “full-timer” and assume that we travel from RV park to RV park which are like small trailer cities. We are a part of the sub-set who rarely stay in RV parks and prefer the out-of-the-way campgrounds, either in woods, desert or on the beach, that are relatively secluded and not mini-towns. In the past year we spent one night in an RV park when we were driven off the roads of western Kansas by thunderstorms and tornadoes. We spent 2 nights in an RV park when we were trying to take my grandson to see Rocky Mt National Park and all of the park campgrounds were full. This sub-group is as likely to be boon-docking (camping where there is no electricity or water) as they are to be in a campground (usually a state park or privately owned) with utilities. We are a self-sufficient group capable of stopping and camping absolutely anywhere. When we are going a distance, such as our 2004 mile trip to Glacier, we pull into Flying J/Pilot truck stops late at night, climb into Willy and sleep, and get on the road early the next morning.

Willy at Sprague Creek where we live and work as
volunteers for the National Park Service for 4-5
months a year starting in May. 

You will find that this subgroup that I am calling “Walden Pond Full-timers” are frequently found doing volunteer work at state and federal parks, like we do at Glacier National Park, because we have that love of nature and a Thoreau-Walden Pond mentality; viz simplicity and close to nature. Some have found small private campgrounds in remote areas where they can live in anything from woods near a town to wilderness areas, deserts and beaches. Pamela and I are making a list of such potential places to stay. It is great fun and an adventure in itself to seek out and try small out of the way campgrounds. This past summer we helped a couple from Arizona who are also Walden Ponders. As a thank you they gave us directions to their secret spot on the rim of the Grand Canyon where you can camp with absolutely no one around and right on the edge of the canyon!

We are currently camped at a small family owned camp ground that will go on that list and we'll share with others. It is right on the Kentucky River. If you visit my FaceBook site – Old Conservationist – I've posted pictures. It is beautiful. It is the type of place we seek. You have to remember, such places are generally well off the beaten path. This place – Camp-on-the-Kentucky – is at least three miles from the nearest thru road and 11 miles south of Versailles, KY. Camp-on-the-Kentucky, like so many of the places we find, is down a small, narrow road which requires a good tow-vehicle and plenty of confidence and skill. The picture of the sign showing a steep incline for 2,000 feet doesn't tell the whole story. At the bottom of the incline is the Kentucky River. You'd better have a plan and some good brakes.

Pamela and I have been building up to being full-time Walden Pond Full-timers for two years. Making sure that you have the right trailer and the right tow-vehicle is most important. We love vintage trailers so we opted for a 1980 Fleetwood Wilderness that is 16 feet long. I wouldn't even look at anything that didn't have a double axle. That is for safety and stability. It also helps if you blow a tire when you're so far into the wilderness that it takes a tow-truck a day to get to you. As I said, we call our trailer “Willy”. Most Walden Ponders and full-timers name their units. They are not only your home but your survival. Willy has a full bathroom. That was something on which Pamela insisted. Our bed is slightly wider than a single, but we're comfortable. We have a dinette and my kitchen has a three-burner Magic Chef gas stove with nice oven and double sink. I'm the cook in the family and I love my little kitchen. I like my little Magic Chef much better than the fancy Jen-Air we have in

My kitchen in Willy. There are overhead cabinets that didn't
get in the picture. 

Evansville. Willy is fairly well insulated. We have been able to keep the inside temperature a comfortable 64-65 when it is snowing outside with just a space heater. We do have a good furnace but we've only used it two or three times. Actually the one time we used it was just because we were boon-docking and there was no 120V for the space heater. We could probably get it warmer inside but both of us are quite comfortable in the mid-60s. I spent the winter months of 2014 and 2015, while Pamela had to teach, restoring Willy. He will always be a work in progress but we have the inside pretty much as we like. I opened up all of the seams on the outside, removed any bad wood, and redid the entire outside. That included removing, cleaning and refitting all the windows along with removing and replacing all the roof vents and utility connections.We have our wilderness trailer. It is only 128 square feet, but we're comfortable in it and we can take it almost anywhere.

Mighty Moe and Willy at Guntersville Lake, Alabama
The great thing about Willy's size is that we can put him almost anywhere.

Our tow vehicle, which has been dubbed 'Mighty Moe', is a 2013 Ram 1500 4x4 with the large Hemi engine. It can tow up to 11,700 pounds. Willy only weighs in at <3,000 pounds fully loaded. Having such a powerful tow vehicle for a light trailer proved its worth the first season we had Willy at Glacier National Park in far northwestern Montana. We were heading back to the mid-west and spent the night at a very primitive campground in the Lewis and Clark National Forest in southwest Montana – e.g. Pit toilets and hand pump your water. The undergrowth pulled one of our brake wires. Because of the size of our tow-vehicle we crossed the Continental Divide three times and didn't notice that we didn't have brakes until Pamela noticed the wire dangling as we backed into a campsite. In fact we had actually safely taken Willy into the very remote and steep Teton National Forest area to camp without brakes because our tow-vehicle was bigger than needed. I would never recommend light and/or cheap for a tow-vehicle. Remember, you get what you pay for. A hefty tow-vehicle with a big engine, good tow package, etc., will more than pay for itself if you go full-time.

View from our campsite at Gros Ventre, Grand Teton
National Forest. 

We had just finished our 2014 tour of duty at Glacier National Park and were going to visit some other park areas on the way back to Evansville. One of our destinations was the Teton-Yellowstone parks. We knew that finding a campground was not going to be easy and a NPS Ranger friend had told us about Gros Ventre in the Grand Teton National Forest. As expected there were no openings in the National Park campgrounds. We headed into the wilderness, traveling over 20 miles on gravel roads, to the Gros Ventre campground. It is inhabited mostly by fishermen who are there for the lake which was created by the great Gros Ventre landslide. When we got there it was actually full but the host said that a manager had just quit and his site was empty. If we paid $25/night, as opposed to the normal $5/night in a national forest, we could have water and electricity. We took it. We sat on a small bluff just above the main campground with a panoramic view of the lake, slide and Grand Teton mountains about 25 miles away. If you have the Walden Ponder personality it pays to be flexible and adventuresome.

We like living in a trailer versus recreational vehicle. This is 100% a matter of preference. We know full-timers who live in trailers and recreation vehicles of all descriptions. We don't like the slide outs because they are always a potential source of problems which you don't want if you are in remote and primitive areas. Many of the slide outs also make it impossible to use the trailer unless you open them. That precludes stopping and sleeping at truck stops and national forest pull offs. We prefer the trailer for two reasons – (1) you don't have to buy a toad (small vehicle that you tow behind the RV) when you pull a trailer and (2) if something happens to your tow-vehicle you're not without a place to live. We knew full-timers whose RV engine had to be repaired. They had to rent a place to live and a car to drive until it was fixed.

Cozy Campground, Bridger-Teton
National Forest, Wyoming

Cozy Campground

Being a Walden Pond Full-timer is almost a calling as well as a life-style. John Muir once said, "the mountains are calling and I must go." We also love the sea shore, rivers and desert. Nature calls Pamela and me and, as a result, we have camped from Florida to Montana. We really enjoy a concert but if we had to make a choice we'd elect to sit quietly and listen to birds, the surf, or a brook and all the sounds around us in the wilderness. We love to go to art shows but if we were forced to choose, we know that there is no greater artist than Mother Nature. (Apologies to a dear friend who is a great artist.) Great cities have so many things to do and see, but as much as we might like to see and do those things there is no doubt in our minds that living close to nature is where we want to be.  We avoid interstate highways. We want to see the land. There is no right direction or right place or proper way to go. When we were talking about what we wanted to do between the time we left Glacier and had to be back for Pamela's school we came up with one plan, made five changes to that plan, and didn't follow any of them. Had we followed a plan we would have missed camping in the wild flower meadow at Cozy Campground, a lovely primitive campground along a gorgeous stream in Bridger-Teton National Forest.  There was no electricity.  There was a pump well a short distance from us. No security lights. When the sun went down the stars came out in all their brilliance.  

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”    

                                                                                                      Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Having returned to Evansville before finishing this blog, I had just backed Willy into his long-term spot.  A neighbor about my age was out walking his dog. He stopped.  "I was surprised to see you are still here," he said.  I told him that Pamela was going to have surgery and we would probably stay in Evansville until after the first of the year. "That's a long time for you guys to stick around here." He was being sympathetic. He knows of our love of the outdoors. "You guys sure know how to live," he said almost over his shoulder as he waved and walked away.  I stopped and thought about what he had said. He's right.