Ropes in the Sand…

1:30 I’m so ready after a fitful night of sleep anticipating my first travel across the ocean.

1:45 Hmm…my ride should be here.

1:55 Uh oh….James isn’t here yet.

2:00 I flip open my phone in response to Counting Crows singing about paved paradise. “I’m running late!!! I don’t know what to do!” Came Jame’s slightly concerned voice.

2:07 Finally he pulled in. Yes I’m anal when it comes to traveling.

Arriving at the church, groggy eyes and voices mumble on…someone’s Jamaica accent attempt spreads smiles and excitement across the group–better than caffeine at 2 a.m Someone mentions coffee and we all groan–there are no coffee shops open at 2 a.m. Sad day.

Bob, James and I hop–more accurately, we crawl–into James’ Toyota truck after a quick prayer with our team. The aroma of the sweetgrass sitting on the dash comforts our tired bodies as we begin the drive..still groggy, but a happy groggy.

The hours click by–I’m am not sure how I’m still awake. But my sense of duty to talk James’ ear off until we get to the airport is stronger than drowsiness.
As we chatter Bob is in and out of dreamland in the back seat.

The bag of Sew Your Oats Cookies from the local organic Durango bakery, Bread disappear silently–as does the bag of sweet homemade flatbread.

The excitement and ADD builds as the miles grind by. Who will we meet on the plan?
What will we encounter?
What funny stories will we accumulate?
What will the kids be like?
I hope they like the polaroids!
…
I’m not sure I like the word Polaroids.
The word Polaroids reminds me of an unpleasant ailment…

At the airport all goes smoothly–only one bottle of lotion wasted and one nalgene of filtered water chugged before security checks are complete.

The first thing the airline worker bees encountered in Dave’s bag is his blond Mullet wig…oh yah…we have a great team.

And now we wait for our flight…and hopefully sleep…but not much hope for the later.

Mancos Mush—this year shortened to a 60 mile (mid-dist) dog sled race drawing mushers from all over the nation. See article in the Durango Telegraph.

UPDATE on the action:

Dog sledding, it’s about as out of control as you can get…entrusting yourself to a little sled pulled by yollering puppies on a string. They run at 15 mph at top speeds, can get tangled, run over the handlers, get into spats that result in torn flesh, yet the sport is exhilarating.

There is nothing comparable to whisking along with your trusted canines along a backcountry trail. Silence but for panting breath and padding feet as you glide through evergreen and aspen stands.

The volunteers here were great—I met Frank and Diane last night at the Columbine Bar. I mentioned I was going to try to snow camp and Frank called me Pocahontas. “Don’t let John Smith in, I hear he’s pretty smooth.” “Let me tell you an Indian Joke,” said Frank as we stood shooting the breeze after the volunteer meeting. “There was an Indian who loved to drink his tea….they found him dead one day in his Teepee.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or call it offensive… Rolling my eyes with a smile I took a drink of my rum and coke.

The race was as chaotic as I expected…having been accustomed to dog events through my childhood competition in flyball. I was forewarned that coming to the mid-length event I’d be surprised at the dog breeding. Each musher has their preferred breed of dog – it’s called an American Husky. The breeding consists of Husky and any strain of hound or sporting dog to increase speed and trainability. Dappled long legged—almost awkwardly build dogs yowled and danced, chained to lines strung up alongside trucks.

The vehicular abuse seemed to be part of the sport. Dog pissed on the tires like they were accepted portapotties and clawed at the doors in excitement. As the mushers got them harnessed and ready some broke out in nervous fights, teeth barred as the handlers yelled at them to stop.

Running the dogs to the starting line was a challenge. The energy that they brought to the table was explosive. Lloyd was a dog sledder from Michigan, running dogs with him was a couple from the Midwest (Wisconsin and Illinois). Handler Lynn gave me a quick tutorial on helping them out…I held a mexican jumping bean of a dog team tethered side by side on the line. As they alternately jumped and snuggled me we got the rest of the team tethered and ready to go. The musher went down the line with each dog, giving him or her a warm hug and some words of encouragement, “Run fast boy ok? I know, you’re ready to go…” As the team was allowed to move forward we hauled back on the lines to help the musher control their speed up to the start line. Once at the line we had a few minutes to calm them and untangle them. Each team was let go at four minute intervals to prevent too much congestion on the trails and it worked well. “I like it,” said Kate, “I didn’t see a single soul on the trail after I passed Laura.”

“Is Wolfie running?” I asked a giant of a musher called Butch. “Well of course he is! he’s of an age where he wouldn’t handle it well if we brought him and didn’t let him run!” 6 time Iditarod dog Wolfie was tethered in the middle of the team. As they were taking off a fight started—Butch scolded in a harsh voice, “Wolfie! Knock it off!” The Husky leaned deeper into the harness and minded his own business through the start line.

The sport is as far away from obedience trained calm and controlled manners of the kennel club circles as can be. But the charm and usefulness of the sport is astounding. Teams today went 30 miles in 2 hours (at the longest). As I skied a couple miles up the trail I instantly admired the dogs and their mushers as I slipped backwards on inclines and huffed with fatigue on my last hill before I turn-tailed and skied back to my car.

Running with the adults was 14 year old Krista, her father, Yarla helped her prepare her team. She went down the line all smiles, giving much needed fuel of hugs and kisses to her dogs. She runs her dogs with here eyes set on the Junior Iditarod. “Yes,” said Yarla, “She wants to run the Junior Iditarod, but I’m not sure she’s ready. We’ll see…” Based out of Steamboat Springs, she has been mushing since she was nine. She came down the trail in about 5th or 6tth place that day…all smiles again she passed me on my skis. “Let’s go!” She urged on her dogs, “Good dogs!” she cooed to them as they slid on. “I passed a couple sleds,” she said eagerly to her dad. “Did you slow down on the hills?” They continued an analysis of her ride. “I didn’t know how long it’d last,” she said of her downhill run. “Now I know what to expect, I’ll run them down the hills…”

A newspaper reporter sidled up to Krista, bypassing her dad while they worked on feeding and watering the panting huskies. “Can I interview you for the paper?” the awkward reporter asked as he prepped a hand held recorder. She proceeded to spell her name. “How old are you,” he asked. “Fourteen,” she said, “WOW!” he exclaimed in a patronizing voice…”Krista,” Yarla interrupted, he motioned to the dogs. She grabbed a dish of water and made her way to the dogs as the reporter apologized for being in the way, their voices trailed off as she explained how she got started in Dog Sledding.
Her father stood by the sled smiling as he coiled up the lines of his daughters sled.

Everywhere I skied the mushers were all smiles, Butch and Wolfie, to my surprise, came in as the last team though they were not the last team to move out. There are two heats to the race, so tomorrow may hold a different surprise from the team, but coming in everyone broke up into meandering laughing groups heading back to town for an art display and a beer before the banquet. I’ve never been in a more happy-go-lucky place. Not a mean spirit in the bunch—as it should be with dog sports.
Kids skied around with snowballs flying, a toddler ran around with a broom while decked out in snow pants, stocking cap and mittens. Kids got free sled rides after the contestants took off. Good family oriented Karma.

SUPERHERO NAME GENERATORS!!!

My favorite from the list I generated online:
Holy Rain
Prayeria
Tidal Blastia

Something about the inane, childlike…sheer nerdiness of it is thereputic at times.
Happy super-hero-name-generating ya’ll.

I was reading in the Ecologist today and came across an article about religion and how it can get us back to a good understanding of nature and how to preserve it.

“The natural world is our Bible. We don’t have chapters and verses; we have trees and fish and animals…The Indian sense of natural law is that nature informs us and it is our obligation to read nature as you would a book, to feel nature as you would a poem, to touch nature as you would yourself, to be part of that and step into its cycles as much as you can.”–John Mohawk

Obviously–as the stereotype has often pointed to (somewhat correctly), the native americans belief system/religion has revolved around the earth and its cycles. They learned to respect and revere it because they were closely involved with its cycles, they drank from water easily fouled by neighboring tribes, they understood in the interconnectivity with the plants and animals around them.

Today we have lost the sacred connection through the reformation and mechanization of our cultures. Puritans banned solstice and may day celebrations on the grounds that it (may day) celebrated male fertility. But why should we not thank God for fertility? Why should we not thank God for the wonderous creation that he has laid down? There are bounds, the bible expresses some concerns that we not worship the creation more than the creator, and to live out our potential, that we follow certain principles in our lives…but how did we fall into legalism and loose the connection with our sacred earth? Then with the mechanistic view of Rene Descartes, nature became no more than dead matter and everything became matter, governed by mathmatics and chemical interactions. This, the article points out, is a very humanistic mindset–only humans make machines. In this mindset nature has no soul, nature is a resource to be developed and exploited.

“If you assume that nature is inanimate then nothing natural has a life, purpose, or value. Natural resources are there fto be developed, and the only value placed on them is by market forces and official planners. And if you assume that only humans are conscious, only humans have reason, and therefore only humans have true value, then it’s fine to have animals in factory farms and to exploit the world in whatever way you like, and if you do conserve any bit of the earth then you have to conserve it with human ends in mind. Everything is justified in human terms.” (qtd. Ecologist Sept. 07, pg. 41)

This mechanistic view has become a religion of its own, the author suggests…built on the “orthodoxy of economic progress.” A perspective that is now the global disease of modern cultures.

It seems that since the industrial revolution this viewpoint exploded into reality…Past the 1900s air pollution spiked, population spiked, water quality issues exploded into reality.

It is interesting the cycles of life that the world goes through…religion once brought man close to Nature as it drew him close to God. Then it walled him off from it through the stoic practices and philosophies from the puritans through fundamental christianity and neglect of other established religions.
Science seemed to do the same, by focusing on rationalism, matter, mathmatics, etc. it moved us into the industrial age of exploiting the earth and forces around us, but now it has driven us closer to understanding the earth. But it seems that science has branched off into industrial sciences and engeneering, and environmental and natural sciences.

Like this article suggests, I do believe the answer is to blend all these concerns and views to draw us back to the earth. Perhaps religion will be the driving force of this cooperation. Perhaps just allowing all the shackles of sciences, religions, etc. to fall away we will once again feel nature and instinctively draw our understanding back to it as a living creation that we are deeply connected to.

“In others words, we don’t need to be told by science, religion, or anyone that it is alive, valuable and worthy of respect and reverence. Deep down, we can feel it for ourselves. Many people have urges to get back to nature in some way, to escape to the hills…these imuplses are moving us in the right direction.”

“If people feel more conncected to the world around them, they might be less likely to accept its destruction” (42)

Different faiths outlooks on nature:

Bahha’ism: Nature is God’s Will and it its expression in and through the contingent world.

Buddhism: Nature is a teacher, a spiritual force, and a way of life.
Judaism: Torah prohibits harming God’s earth, humility in the face of nature “Ask the beasts, and they will teach you; the birds of the sky, and they will tell you; or seak to the earth and it will teach you;…”Job 12:7-9

Christianity: Genesis tells us that man was put on earth to care for it. Romans 8:19 has been interpreted to be an urge for christians to work towards a time when the earth will be liberated from its bondage to decay.

Hinduism: Vishnu made the universe to that every element is interlinked–disturbance in one part will upset the balance and impact all other elements. 3 principles of Hinduism include yajna (sacrifice), dhana (giving) and tapas (penance)….dhana especially entails that whatever you consume you must give back. All the principles emphasize the interconnectedness of life.

Islam: Man is appointed at steward of the earth and will be held accountable to it at the “Day of Judgment.” Qur’an wanrs against disturbing God’s natural balance: “Do no mischief on the earth after it hath been set in order” (7:56). Islamic law designations urban containment zones and hima, specific conservations areas.
*taken from Ecologist freelancer Laura Sevier’s article in Sept. 07 issue

I’m homesick. Took a full weekend of no work to let it fester. I’ll survive. Just need to keep busy.

It’s ok that I biked to work nearly 5 miles and almost got run over yesterday.
I’m alive.
It’s fine that I made my first latte for myself today at Durango Joes and forgot to drink it.
It’s ok that I put the wrong date on my time card at D-Joes…and forgot to clock out. For future reference I left at about 11:00.
I’m ok with the fact that I bought a new tank top and wore it all day, all-the-while forgetting to take off the sticky tag that sits on the front of my chest (even while working a couple hours at the Durango Telegraph–everyone seemed to have normal conversations with me.)

Es ok that I dropped my jacket while biking into town and had to walk into traffic to retreive it.
It’s just fine that I’ve been an airhead this whole day….

Because….

A. I made my first cappuccino.

And…

B. I’m LIVING in Colorado yo!!

The paths I walked last year are the same this year. The buildings I walk into, morning after morning, the river I sit by, sleep by, and wade in is the same Los Pinos…but something is different.
I’m somehow, calmer, more assured–but in my assurance I feel out of place. Like I’m playing another’s role.

This year I am no longer dependant on others for my emotional fulfillment. I have a closer walk with God than I’ve ever had–sustained by last years growth at Kanakuk and the bible study God let me lead during the year.

I sat on the mountain a couple days ago. Charging up the trail, overgrown with awakening flowers, I made it to a vantage point and fastened myself to the stub of a Ponderosa Pine and pondered this strange new feeling.

The late morning sun began to warm me up as my brain started to fly with thoughts:
This year I’ve been shoved out of the curtain of shyness into the fierce wind of the frontlines. I now have campers looking up to me to provide coaching and encouragement on the field of Ultimate frisbee–when I used to be the most non-competitive player on the team–I have been forced to be the seasoned vet of the ropes girls under Rachel Harmon, when I loathed being organized and verbally confident around peers. All this growth is good, like a seedling pushing up above the hard packed ground I’m developing strength that will benefit me later.

I’m excited, but not used to the peace that I’ve had coming into this. True, I’ve crumpled under the pressure once…but overall God has given me immense strength. I’m not used to dealing with things in a calm fashion…it feels alien to me.

Looking at my watch I grabbed my pack…and hit the dust of the mountain trail in my chacos. Making it down to camp I rolled through the gates in Montee (my montero mitsubishi). So strange to be in the same place, yet in a different state of mind, a different stage of life.

” alt=”Dusky oak” />
The fact that I’ve graduated still hasn’t sunk in. Several people over the weekend asked how I was doing in school, or questioned me, “So are you in college? Out of college? What?” I looked at them with surprised eyes, “Actually, I just graduated yesterday.” It feels like another language rolling off my tongue.

I went to a retreat with my mom this weekend. We worked on digging out our strongholds that we’ve let Satan establish in our lives. I walked back into my past and from that vantage point, thought about my future. My dad has been absent for a lot of my life. He’s been working hard to make a living so that we could have a good childhood, living on a beautiful acreage in the middle of rolling crop-covered fields. I’ve never really talked to my dad about personal things. He usually came home angry from a stressful week of truck driving. We dealt with his disconnection from society by criticizing him in horrible ways in defense as he would come home and snap at us about what we hadn’t accomplished around the house. It was a dirty, ugly past, but everyone has one.

Now I’m leaving. I’ve never really connected with dad, but I feel I need to; he’s apologized for his behavior in the past, but we’ve never talked about it much. But I don’t know how to talk about it really. We aren’t affectionate—never have really known how to be with my dad.

I came home today to put some stuff away in my old room and ended up getting stressed out about an issue my parents are having with their local church. Then I started to tense up as I realized I couldn’t use the Tahoe to transport my canoe for a week of stream assessment for the county. I started to drive back to my apartment, dismissing my parents’ invitation to look at the newborn kittens—“I’m not in the mood for kittens,” I said tersely. I got in my car and left. Halfway to my apartment I turned around…”That’s a really lousy way to end a weekend of not seeing my dad at all,” I thought. I walked back into the yard from my car and with deep breaths of the clean country air, I stepped into the shamble of a barn. Mews of kittens greeted me as my parents fussed over another cat that was giving birth to more kittens.

The wind was blowing over the wet fields and brought in the scent of more rain as I wandered into the grove to climb the old oaks. Scrambling up a hollow log I climbed my way to a bench shaped limb near the top of one knarled giant and watched the world get ready for bed. The rough bark felt so good on my bare feet, it was a homecoming caress for my favorite inhabitants of our property. I remember studying algebra and history perched in the arms of these patient oaks and maples.

Hand-in-hand my parents wandered onto the dusky path that dad blazed through the grove last year. They didn’t know I was there. It’s not often that I get to see my parents’ relationship blossom. I grew up despising their shattered relationship and didn’t think about it healing…But now I saw them, hand-in-hand, my dad taking care to lead my mom where the ground was even as her eyesight is not good and her balance shaky. Finally shining through to my distant mind were the years I’ve missed being at school and the things I miss because of my critical attitude when I did come home.

I sat in an old maple later as my dad drug sticks to a pile in the grove. He hoped to make the large pile of branches into mulch for the path. We chatted only a few words as he worked. The sparkle in his eyes warmed me. Flashing through my mind were the times my dad and I worked on the electric fence. Working outside with my dad composed the most rewarding memories of my childhood. Outside on the farm I felt like a useful, cherished partner. Outside with dirty work gloves shoved on my little hands, stretching fence over our 2-acre pasture summer after summer–I was dad’s little helper, his right hand girl. Drinking cold well water from the red spigot as the sun went down on our fencing frustrations I felt his approving glances as we walked in for a hard-earned meal.
I am starting to think that an awkward conversation about the past and our father-daughter relationship might be unnecessary. I’m just feeling the pain of leaving them and regrets of the past are just mine to work through. Roles have changed a lot since I was little. Now I worry about them, I want them to be happy, stay healthy, learn to love their lives again.

I sat in the tree near the barn…my dad came up to me and poked at my injured foot as I instinctively jerked my foot back. “How’s your foot?” he asked.
“Good,” I replied. “Hurts a bit, itches—suppose that means it’s healing…It looks better.”

“Hmph,” he grunted. “What are you putting on it?”

“Neosporin,” I said as I twisted off a young sucker branch to fiddle with.

“It’s not red?”

“Nope.”

“Good stuff,” he said and bobbed his head. “I’m going to go get some dinner.”

He turned and walked off.

“Me too.” I called out as I slid out of the branches to the cool black mud below.

I smiled and hobbled in after him.

I’m gonna miss this—this unique, quiet connection.

Reading “When all you’ve wanted isn’t enough.” by Kushner for a final essay….Here’s what Kushner had to say to me today:

“Something corrosive happens to the souls of people who stop caring about the quality of their work, whatever that work may be, and begin to go through the motions.”

Good quote to end the semester on….should have thought about it earlier before my GPA started to slide down.

Here’s my backpacker query…needs a few details filled in, but I wanted to get feedback…Matt…am I mentioning your photography in the right way you think? Is it ok that I refer them to your flickr site?
Let me know. Any comments welcome.

Backpacker Magazine
Associate Editor, Shannon Davis
Shannon.Davis@rodale.com

March 21, 2007

Dear Shannon Davis,

Eight backpacking companions, three days, and three day hikes to avoid the most populated trails in one of the most cliché states for Canyoneering. Over spring break a group of friends—several with little to no Canyoneering experience—converged on Escalante State Park for three days of pure adventure and freedom. Flying and driving in from Idaho, Alaska, Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas—with one driving down from Canada—they set up camp March 10 at nearly 4 a.m. and the adventure began.

Escalante is a well traveled canyon, drawing ____ visitors a year, and Canyoneering is an outdoor sport rapidly rising in popularity—all the same, remote canyons and trails can be found to avoid the crowds simply by walking a little further than the average Joe-schmoe. Each time we encountered footprints, one of our group would groan and our trek became one of finding the best spots, with the least amount of people and the sweetest technical rappels we could find.

I propose writing an Adventure department article of between 1,000 and 1,200 words detailing the three day-hikes our companion and informal guide, Taylor Tinsley, mapped out for us. Hikes that afforded us spectacular views and rappels, and very few people. It will hit on tips from rangers on finding the most remote spots, details on the canyon routes in terms of technical rappels, relaxing hikes, cold swims, and good spots to camp.

Matt Gaither has taken photography for this adventure article and a photo query should closely follow this one with his work. You can check out a few of the photos he took in Utah by visiting http://www.flickr.com/photos/25598754@N00/?saved=1.

Though summer is fast approaching, and the sweltering heat will start to pick up in Utah starting late June the Canyons are still a good place to explore. This article would fit well in Spring or Fall issues as these months provide the mildest temperatures for exploration—only hitting the 80s and 90s on the hottest days. Readers can use this article to follow our routes and day-hike routine or use it to put together their own routes—either way it will save them time in a state park that requires a lot of driving between trailheads.

I will be graduating with a B.A. Journalism/Communications degree in April from Waldorf College in Forest City, Iowa and have been published in “The Forest City Summit” as well as “The Waldorf Lobbyist.” From this modest start I am beginning my freelance career in Environmental and Outdoor Recreation Journalism and look forward too exploring how my journalistic skills could benefit Backpacker Magazine. I’ve enclosed my resume and some article clips. You can see more of my portfolio at http://www.kzowfm.com/~michelleduregger . Thank you for your consideration, I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,

Michelle Duregger
1540 220th St.
Garner, IA 50438
Cell: 515-490-9462
shell@duregger.net