Every Bit The Journey

The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, and this is mine.

Montana Mountains

Category: Life

Skills – Socks, a Basic but Critical Item

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On October 15, 2017

In Life, Skills, Travel

Hikers and backpacker use their feet as a primary mode of travel. Despite all physical conditioning and preparation, unhappy feet will fail you and can make a great trip into a torturous experience. My son and I were invited as “seasoned hikers” to backpack with a Florida youth group one year. The group was new and had set a goal of hiking 50 miles in the Ocala National Forest their first year. While my son and I may have had slightly more experienced at the time, this was our first real long distance trek. The group had been planning and conditioning the boys for months, menus were planned, and then we were off! Well, despite the best laid plans, we encountered many issues from giant squirrels tearing into backpacks to get at food, and hiking through clear cut portions of forest under the heat of Florida’s summer sun, to starting at the wrong trail head. It’s the little things which make a trip memorable.

What had been planned as an adventurous week long trip ground into a miserable hike as we were just trying to get to the next water stop. To make a long sad story short, many of us ended up with larger than quarter size blisters on our feet. At the time I attributed the blisters to poor shoes and poor conditioning on my part. However with hundreds of trail miles now under me since, I can confidently tell you the problem was cotton socks (who wears wool socks in Florida!?). I remember at the end of each day my feet were wet from sweat. The cotton socks simply did not move the moisture away from my feet and the result was some pretty impressive blisters.

Your feet can sweat 1-2 pints a day, imagine pouring a 20 ounce bottle of water into each boot and then going for a long walk. If you can’t get the moisture away from and out of your boot, your feet will likely blister. It’s pretty much that simple. Cotton does wick moisture, however it does not release it well. Cotton clothing and socks will hold wetness against the skin. Wet skin under pressure will shear or tear and blister. Wet feet will also tend to get colder quicker and in cooler weather, hasten hypothermia..

Today’s wool, synthetics, and wool blended synthetics are amazing in their ability to keep your feet dry and happy. Some people will spend a lot of time looking for a great boot or shoe, but then short change themselves with cheap socks. When shopping for hiking socks, take a close look at what they are made from. Socks with any cotton – pass them up. Move on to the next ones. You should look for either 100% wool, a wool blended with some kind of synthetics or 100% synthetics. If you don’t like the typical itchiness feel of wool, try Merino wool. It’s a finer grade of wool and is less scratchy. Synthetics such as nylon and polyester, or made with CoolMax, Olefin, or Hollofil help disperse blister-causing perspiration and keep your feet drier and cooler. Consider socks that are padded in high impact areas, like the heel and toe, especially if you have a heavy foot strike or are prone to blisters in these areas. Pick out socks that have a tighter weave in the middle of the foot. This provides support and helps prevent slippage. Make sure you buy the correct size. This prevents bunching and slipping and the resulting blisters.

A great pair of hiking socks will wick away sweat, cushion impact, and protect against shearing forces especially at the heel, ball of the foot, and toes. Proper hiking socks are extremely important to your overall comfort and trip satisfaction. Leave the cotton for home wear or sock puppets. Take care of your feet like you depend on them to make it home, because you do.

The Watchmen

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On August 26, 2017

In Life

They sit in a darkened room, each bathed in the soft glow of a half-dozen large computer monitors, their windows to the outside world, watching, waiting, for you.

Each monitor providing a virtual world into which they stare, watching, listening to constantly streaming sound. Their headphones they wear not connected to music as you and I might have, but instead connected to dozens of radio frequencies and hundreds of phone calls. Calls pleading for help, radio responses and reports from responders … and more calls for help. The constant din of distress. This is the music they listen to, hour after hour. This is the symphony they direct. Music few will ever hear. Music no one ever wants to see.

Always more calls for help, it’s a never ending screaming sound in their ears. A mother discovering she forgot her baby in the car, after eight hours of work, in August. An unknown male body found in a ditch. A house fire. A cat in a tree. A boat sinking. A dog killed a child. A car crash. A drunk driver on the interstate. A kid brought a cookie to school – and it looks like a gun. Another car crashed, this time in to a bus full of school kids. Another burning building – this time it’s the BBQ place – the smoke is coming from their chimney. Stolen car. Gun shots heard. The drum beats on, continuously thumping, the deep dark beat of the community.

At first they listen, then try to calm, simultaneously dragging and dropping the nearest resource on their screen to provide assistance. “Help is on the way and will be there in two minutes ma’am.” Constantly watching the other screens, moving assets to try to fill response coverage gaps, “Unit 2, please move to Rivers and Ashley Phosphate and standby.” Handing calls over to fellow watchmen as the chorus plays, “additional assets are needed at this location.” A man shot himself in his truck. Another has a shotgun in a parking garage – distraught over a bad school grade.  A child stung by jelly-fish. A house broken into. A missing cat. A stolen bike. Another school yard fight. The drum beats on, continuously thumping, the deep dark beat of the community.

No one thinks of them, or the others. The emergency dispatchers, these watchmen. Nor the other first-responders, the police, the EMS, the fire-fighters, or the other dozens who stand on-call, waiting for the call. They stand in the shadows of our community. Not hiding, just forgotten. Out of the way. Some say a necessary evil. A hidden net of safety, waiting. Until something happens, then your call starts their flow of action. The conductor guiding the dance and music of the responders. “I need help! My wife is giving birth to our first child – in our car – with a flat tire!” a couple mouse clicks and EMS is activated and rolling towards them. “It’s going to be okay, help is on the way sir.” My father wandered off and we can’t find him.  A couple fighting – she is unconscious. A robbery. A neighbor too loud. My mother fell, again. I need a ride to the mall. The drum beats on, continuously thumping, the deep steady beat of the community.

In a darkened room they wait for you, to calm you, to help you. Yet sometimes … “I didn’t evacuate for the storm – I’m trapped inside and the water is rising – help me!” a pause before the reply “I … can’t ma’am … the hurricane is still raging, no one can get to you, the roads are blocked, we will try as soon as we can … ma’am? … are you still there?” Most don’t last too long, while their electronic windows through which they watch over you, record the story, the sound of the sonnets echo in their ears, like a bad song you just can’t get out of your head. “The pain is too much” says the caller as he pulls the trigger. The good ones last longer than most. Hoping, I think, every day they can get to save just one more life in the confusing concert of tragedy which plays out on the windows in front of them, every hour, of every day. They arrive for their shift, take their seat, and put on their headphones. My mother died last night, who do I call? My child didn’t come home from school today. I think my cat ran away.  Another body found – an old man this time, might be the one who wandered off last week. Another car crash, single car this time, but no seat belts worn. A plane just hit a building.

Dispatcher

Post & Courier photo of Charleston County Consolidated 911 Dispatch Center in North Charleston SC.

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Stone Stacking – Spiritually Art or Criminal Mischief?

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On August 19, 2017

In Life

This year I’ve read several different posts and articles about artful rock stacking, the most recent showed up in my news feed a week or so ago. This seems to be a hugely sensitive topic, bringing out strong emotional responses from people. Most lamented about how terrible, destructive, and sometimes criminal this practice is and how it messes with nature. Generally these types of posts seem to put out a lot of negative feelings towards the stone stacker. After reading this last post, I said to myself, “Really? just use some common sense people.” But I guess that’s part of the problem. At the end, the writer sums up a basic truth, “Most people are simply unaware that their actions are disturbing the natural environment.” Yet, I am left to wonder, is there a time and a place for such things?

I think one of the biggest issues with people is they don’t understand things any more. I’m sure you’ve heard some variation of a story about a person complaining because some people eat animals and how horrible and cruel it is to eat animals and people should just go to the grocery store for their meat because that’s where they make it. Yep. One of the jobs I had involved helping customers in a home improvement center. From my experience there, I can not tell you the number of people who walk in with an internet project idea they want to recreate, but have no idea how to stick two pieces of wood together. Seriously. Some have never picked up a tool and want to build a massive home project and are asking me “how do I do this?” Quite endearing. I try to help the best I can but the point is, I think people see these artful images of stacked stones and it invokes needed feelings of tranquility in them. So the next time they are out communing with nature, they get this urge to stack stones, maybe thinking it will enhance their experience. Little do they realize the sometimes negative impact of what they are doing. I think maybe, some folks see rock balancing as a zen form of self therapy. The others who proliferate a stream with their work are probably just a bit egocentric.

The reality is rock balancing can be inspirational when done appropriately. But this is a very, very, narrow window of opportunity. And from most of what I’ve seen, this level of “art” usually falls into the “cute – but stop it” department. Not to be too harsh about it, but trying to impressing others with your ability to pile rocks really isn’t how it works. To me, there is a more organic or deeper feeling and turning over a river bed to fill it with balancing rocks simply isn’t it. Seriously, please use some common sense folks. Walk softly, take pictures, enjoy nature, please leave the rocks alone. Sigh, with the Leave No Trace issues aside, I think to disrupt a pristine (or any level of use) wilderness area with this fad is just dumb at best, and criminal at worst. I really don’t need to (or want to) see it to enhance my out door experience, thank you.

Yet, every once in a great while, something surprises me. Recently on a day hike through the Narrows and Virgin River in the Zion National Park, I came across a stack of stones which caught me by surprise. Now you must understand, this section of the Virgin river in the Zion National Park is visited by hundreds and hundreds of people every day. All walking in the river bed as far as they can, and then back. The impact on the river is to turn over ever stone and stir the sand for several miles. This explains the silted look of the water down stream. There is no low impact aspect in this massively popular and amazing natural attraction, especially within the first several miles of the walk up river. Anyway, there were actually dozens of stone stacks in various parts of the canyon, some where done on sand bars, some even on the larger boulders. All definitely in the above previously mentioned “cute” category.

But yet, there was this one stack. It was a small, almost tiny” single stack of stones, set peacefully in a green, almost hidden, corner of a canyon wall. I was completely caught off guard by this total exception to everything I have just said about the general nature of stacked stones. And it should not have been there. The act was in all likely hood absolutely prohibited by park regulations under the “don’t mess with stuff” clause. But yet in the chaos of the hundreds of tourist stomping up and down the stream, it provided me a surprising balance to the activities around me. Absolutely and totally inappropriate, but yet somehow perfect. Almost sacred.

As I said, I guess I pull a deeper meaning from such things, so you just can’t pile rocks and have magic. In some cases, the custom of adding a stone at a memorial or grave marker is the same thing. Leaving a stone at a grave or someone’s marker, which I have done, sometimes ends up making randomly built small stacked carins or balance stones. For me these carry a special meaning. they say “I was here, I saw you, I remember you.” All along the Appalachian Trail, there are graves and markers for people who have either died or been buried in the mountains. One of the very first ones I remember coming across was in North Carolina. Hiking along the trail, it surprised me. It was just there, On a small foundation, build on the side of a hill, in the middle of seemingly nowhere, is a small bronze marker for Wade A. Sutton. It simply states he was a forest ranger who died fighting a fire “so you might more fully enjoy your hike along this trail.” I left a stone. I will continue to leave stones. Maybe the small stones, carefully balancing in the quiet, green, hidden in a corner of a busy canyon, were for me, telling me “I saw you here, I remember you.”

I do think about this stone thing, it’s such a precarious fragile thing. It’s a fool’s errand to think you can simply stack stones for others to appreciate. They will not. It is the stones not stacked by others which are most appreciated.

stones

just a stack of stones

Pike’s Peak – My first 14er

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On August 10, 2017

In Life, Travel

Two years ago I set a goal for myself to hiking Pike’s Peak. This past week I completed this goal hiking to 14,115 feet, summiting Pike’s Peak, and claiming my first “14er.”

When I first saw Pike’s Peak a couple years ago, I was enchanted by the amazing views of the mountain. Once I learned there were hiking trails to the summit I declared I wanted to hike to the summit. While you can, I didn’t want to simply drive to the peak. What fun is that? For some silly reason I thought hiking to the peak was more in line with the idea of the personal challenge I felt I needed at the time. So from conception, the idea was to hike to the summit. Fortunately for me, my three children (and their dear spouses) were all very supportive and offered to go with me on this adventure as well. Fast forward to August 2nd 2017 and now everything’s a “go.”

With all of the planning, scheduling, re-scheduling, and logistics of getting six people from two coasts to the same spot at the same time aside, I was very pleased we all arrived at our agreed upon predawn time at the Crags Trail-head on the West side of the mountain. As we all pulled in to the parking lot together, I was so excited and happy my family was hiking with me. I might even have been a little misty-eyed, but it was dark so no one will ever know. The early morning was chilly as we all hugged, chatted, and quickly donned our gear, made our final hiking preparations and last bathroom calls.

Our objective for the day was to hike up to Pike’s Peak, seven miles away and 4,110 higher than our starting elevation of 10,005 feet, and then hike back down. For gear, everyone had the basically the same or similar elements of their own. Everyone had some sort of day pack ranging from 20 to 40 liter size to carry extra layers of clothing, rain gear, trail snacks, 4 liters of water each, and between us the usually ancillary essential hiking items like flashlights, first-aid kits, maps, compass, etc. We hit the trail together just a few minutes after 6 A.M.

The Crags Trail leaves the parking lot and snakes into the woods for a short distance where the “664A” trail to the Devil’s Playground (and Pike’s Peak) spurs off and heads up through the tall pines and aspen trees. The morning is cool and with the newness of the trail, the hiking is fairly easy through this section. Generally the trail is a mix of straight incline and switchbacks. As we climb, the trees get progressively shorter and shorter as we hiked higher and higher. Watching the tall pines shrinking as we climbed helped mark our progress. The short stubby trees started to give way to grassy meadows. Somewhere around 11,500 and 12,000 feet the trees simply stopped. In this transition area we lost the trail for a moment (I think we zigged when we should have zagged) and dead-ended in an old camp site. After a couple minutes we were able to regain the trail in the grassy meadows above the treeline.

We followed the trail as it continued up through the grass meadows dotted with yellow and blue wildflowers. Once we had cleared the treeline the hiking became noticeable more difficult, the trail a little steeper and the air a little thinner. As the trail finally seemed to level off a little near 12,500 feet, we took our first break and rested a bit. Looking back over from where we had just hiked up were amazing views. The sky was clear and blue, the morning sun shining on the Crags to the North and other rock formations around us to the South. The view of the valley and the countryside to the West below us was breathtaking.

Rejuvenated from our break, we hiked on. The grassy meadows yielding more and more to simply small patches of sparse tundra. Eventually even the tundra simply fades away to just rock. The climb leveling off as we entered into the Devil’s Playground area. Apparently this area is so named due to “the way lightening jumps from rock to rock during a thunderstorm.” Awesome. I did not expect that. I was thinking more along the lines of “oh, rocks. The devil likes rocks.” Not “oh, dancing lighting.” Did I mention we were trying to summit prior to a forecasted rain storm?

Hiking on we passed through the huge rock formations, now within sight of the peak, I can even make out one of the buildings on top of the mountain. Because of the lack of vegetation now, the trail is hard to follow. Cairns start marking the way. Map check. It’s about 11:30 A.M., we’ve made really good time and are so close now. Literally within a quarter mile of the top. And 800 feet up. 800 feet up this huge rock & boulder incline. This huge rock & boulder incline with no discernible path. That’s not really true. There is a path. And it is marked with cairns. The problem is the stacks of rocks marking the path are made with the same rocks as the rock & boulder incline & mountain are made with, so it’s a little hard to see the path beyond the next cairn. The thin air helps make progress slow. Every step is a climb up the rocks. The exertion requires me to pause every couple of steps to try to pull more air into my lungs. As we are climbing this last painful piece, the sky is building up around us in preparation for the day’s forcasted storm. So there is this extra motivation to get to the peak before the dark clouds around us open up. We slowly pick our way, up through the boulder field, as fast as we can and make summit around 1:30 P.M., just ahead of the weather unloading. Still trying to catch my breath as I hobble over to the visitor center building for shelter, it starts snowing, hailing, and raining, with lightning and thunder beginning as we ducked into the building.

Sitting in the visitor center bathed in the afterglow of success (or maybe it was hypoxia?), was a little surreal. It is storming outside, snow and sleet and rain and lightening and thunder, and I’m panting like a fish out of water after my climb, I’m watch the seeming hundreds of tourist folk who had either drove or rode to the top as they scampered about talking and eating and acting as if everything is normal, like they were thousands of feet lower. I finally get enough air in me to enjoy one of Pike’s Peaks famous donuts and refill my water bladders in preparation for our hike back down once the storm passes.

Rested a bit, the main storm has ended and the sun is peeked through the clouds swirling around us. Now to hike back down. Leaving the visitors center, we start retracing our path down the mountain. Getting sprinkled with sporadic rain and sleet, we descended back down through the wet boulder field. We are able to get through this downhill piece pretty quickly, but this was probably the most dangerous section we encountered of the trip. Both my oldest son and I fell in the tricky rocks. My other son opted to hike around the boulder field along the road (he might have been the smarter of the group), but was informed by a ranger doing so was illegal. The rest of the descent went fairly smoothly and quickly. Tired, with sore feet, and with few bumps and bruises, we all came off the trail together just a few minutes after 7 p.m. Absolutely epic awesome and I would do it all again. We completed the round trip in 13 hours total, covering about 14 miles total, all of us earning and claiming our first 14er summit. Standing on top of my first 14er with my family, it was quite the journey.

The tundra along the trail to Pikes Peak
The new 14er hikers, all finished safe and mostly sound

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The end of hike meal

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On July 16, 2017

In Life

One of the joys I find in hiking is a celebratory meal at the end of the trip or section. As a group we would try to pick out some kinds of food everyone had been craving over the miles of trail and feast. Hikers burn an amazing number of calories per day. After a couple days on the trail it’s not uncommon for the conversations to shift to food. People will gush about their favorite foods, the way mom cooked it, the best restaurant, the strangest combinations (Easter Peeps & peanut butter sandwiches). I think part of this food craving talk is kicked off by a physiological need for the body to refuel and rebuild. I also think it’s part “happy place.” Sights and smells can trigger memories and emotions and foods are no exception. Its not that hike makes you sad but often when stressed people will seek food for comfort, they are looking for that happy place. I think there is a sweet spot a few days in to a hiking which occurs where your body is aching a little and you’ve hiking enough not to be able to eat more than you burn, and that’s when thoughts turn to food.

But it’s not just about the food either. I have done a couple solo hikes and had post hike meals (the food was fine) which were nothing more than the next meal and I’ve had amazing post hike meals at places where the pizza is little more than a pre-formed crust assembled by a staff with a less than mediocre care factor. It’s also about the company you break bread with. The magic happens with others to share the celebration of the adventure. To eat, drink, and be merry with, whether friends or family, the group setting for tales to be told, a meal to share, is the making of a celebration.  These are what I savor.

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The first step

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On July 7, 2017

In Life

Like every journey, you need to start somewhere, and for me this is the start of a new one. We all travel somewhere. Whether across continents or simply across the room. These stories, adventures, skills, and insights are what I offer to maybe make your travels a little more interesting. It’s a little difficult to explain all the things I’m thinking about right now, but my hope is you find these posts and ramblings entertaining at least, if not useful to some degree.

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