OUT THERE!

Considerations for a New Year

2011-12-29T06:17:00.000-08:00

I've always liked the beginning of a new year. It's a time of goals. I've learned a little about goals over the years. The most important thing I've learned is that some people are never happy because they do not reach their goals. I have learned that reaching goals or not reaching them has nothing to do with happiness. I have two little quotes I have picked up from reading "Way of the Peaceful Warrior" by Dan Millman: "You cannot attain happiness, it attains you." And "Happiness is not just something you feel. It is who you are." My main goal this year is to "be" happy. The peaceful warrior goes on to explain, that we should act happy, be happy without a reason in the world.

I was taught years ago that a goal not written is only a wish. Once you write down a goal, you own it, especially if you are going to write it on a blog or other public forum. Most of my goals are simple. Most of them are never written for the public. Most of them are personal. This year, however, I'm going to write one goal here on my blog. Again, it is simple in nature, but important to me personally. Here it is: Run the Bear Lake half marathon in June.

With this goal now written, I will begin training on January 3rd. The exact details of training are written down. The plan is formulated. All I need to do is carry it out. I now have ownership. The discipline begins.

Thanksgiving Road Trip

2011-12-02T10:03:00.000-08:00

South Rim Grand Canyon (Desert View side)

Dead Horse Point, Utah State Park

Dead Horse Point

Natural Bridges National Monument

Windy, narrow, gravel, steep road off of 2000 foot high plateau down into wide valley near Mexican Hat, Utah (Mokee Dugway, Hwy 261)

Grand Canyon

Monument Valley

Near Monument Valley

Grand Canyon South Rim

Catching the sunrise at Grand Canyon

Serene calm right before sunrise

THE RIM

We stand on the South Rim

Waiting for sunlight.

Tourists gather

like so many ants

at Yavapai Point.

Upright like small stone

columns, they're motionless

on the overlook,

while trails of others

try to wedge in for a view.

Raven caws clash

against the constant

murmur of human voice

blending as it echoes

off Bright Angel Canyon.

Slowly, the temple tops illuminate:

Vishnu, Zoroaster, Shiva;

the scene brings silence.

Shadow-curtains drop

exposing layered limestone,

Kaibab, Redwall, Tapeats,

too many types to remember.

I walk away from the crowds;

find a spot alone.

My mind mingles with the majesty.

I become a condor

soaring out over the edge,

carried high by updrafts of solitude.

Chants of the Anasazi

beckon me to listen.

I think I hear.

I think I see.

I can't comprehend.

Growing Where Planted

2011-11-09T06:24:00.000-08:00

I've always enjoyed reading, but I'm not sure my comprehension level is all that good. When I read, my mind will wander. My eyes and brain are seeing the words but I find I can also think of other things while reading. Because of this feature, I often read things and come away with thoughts that may or may not be in total harmony with what the author is trying to say.

Recently, I read a book by Jon Gordon titled, "The Seed." The subtitle is, "Finding Purpose and Happiness in Life and Work." In an acorn shell, the book is about Josh who has lost the passion and happiness at work. His boss gives him two weeks off to find out if he really wants to work there or if he wants to move on to something else. Josh ends up visiting a corn maze with some friends. As they race to find the end of the maze Josh gets lost. As he is pondering and searching for a way out, he runs into an old farmer who asks him if he is lost. Josh confides that he can't find his way out of the maze. The farmer then asks if he is lost in life. Josh admits he is. The farmer gives Josh a seed with the instruction to find the right place to plant it and his purpose in life will be revealed. Josh remembers back in his past to times when he was happy. He travels back to where he attended college and worked in a restaurant. He remembers the happiness and fulfillment of those times but also realizes that he can't go back and determines the past is not the place to plant the seed. He then looks to the future and considers changing jobs. He has some offers and entertains one that he thinks will bring the satisfaction, passion, and growth he is looking for. A plane delay keeps him from getting to the interview and he decided it might be a sign that it was not the right move. Josh ends up discovering that he needs to plant the seed in the present. That he needs to find his passion and purpose with the here-and-now. He goes back to his employer and tells his boss he is ready to do the best he can with the job he has and to rekindle and maintain the passion for life right where he is.

"The Seed" has more wisdom and insights and I discovered that I sometimes get in the same dilemma as Josh. I think at times we all have a little Josh thinking in us. I know I've looked back to the past and wondered how to capture the passion and happiness that was there. I've also spent time worrying about where I am in life and if I missed my mark. There is nothing wrong with planning for the future, setting goals, and dreaming. In fact, planning and goals are essential. But I realize that the present is where the passion and purpose of life really takes place. There is nothing we can do about the past--it's over. Oh, it's fun to remember and it's important to look back and learn, but we can't live the past. We can't live the future either--not right now. What we have is today. Today is the place to plant our seed, to live the passion, to experience the happiness of our lives.

I've decided that without knowing it, I've planted my seed in the outdoors. It is the place I have found and continue to find my passion. I know I find happiness outside. I have found peace, serenity, and beauty in simple things. Planting my seed outdoors has given me the ability to see. I mean this in a humble way. It's hard to explain but I will try.

In my early twenties, I spent most of my ventures alone. The majority of this time was in pursuit of trout. I loved the solitude of finding an overlooked creek or stream and spending the better portion of a day fly fishing. During these forays, I found myself not only concentrating on the water, the bugs and the trout, but eventually noticing other things. It took practice but as I moved and hiked along the streams I learned to take in the trail (always looking for snakes), quickly scannng the streamside brush, looking toward the hillsides up to the ridges and peaks and then back to a focus on the trail or stream. With the first initial glancing, I would quickly gather information about terrain type, vegetation, and weather. If I noticed something of particular interest I might pause, focus, and concentrate on it for a minute. In an almost subconscious way, I would register what I was seeing and log it away in my brain. If I felt I needed more detail about what my eyes and mind were picking up, I might actually stop and spend time thinking and analyzing. Along with this "seeing", I began to use my ears more too. I knew what type of water was around the next bend in the river by listening. Each different stretch of water could be identified by the sound it made. The quietness of a long smooth stretch, the bubbling giggle of riffles, the soft pound and pour of plunge pools, and the loud laughter of rapids soon became very distinguishable by hearing alone. I no longer have the keen hearing that I once had and pinpointing the sound of a distant coyote howl is more difficult. But I still love to listen to the sounds found in the mountains and deserts.

I've had to smile to myself a little bit as I've been hiking with my wife a lot more. We would get to a place on the trail where we would take a rest and I would comment to her about a particular footprint in the mud or the sound of the bees as we passed through a group of wildflowers, or maybe the woodpecker that was clinging to the side of a dead aspen tree, or the hawk that soared up over a ridge; many of these things she had not noticed. As we hike now, I have started to point them out as we go. While I'm not good at knowing all the names of these things, I do try to identify them when I can. Most often, I will point them out for their beauty or for the fact that they are just there. I might use common generic names--a hawk is a hawk, a red, orange, yellow or purple wildflower is a wildflower, an evergreen tree is an evergreen tree. I hope to get better at specific identification, but I don't think it is necessary or as important as knowing the relationships these things have to us as human beings and to the environment in which they are found.

I planted my seed in the outdoor world, I think in part, because it is a place I don't feel judged. Even though nature can be inhospitable at times, I always feel welcome.

BLOOMINGTON LAKE

2011-09-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

Beautiful Bloomington Lake.

Still a little snow in September.

The Hikers. (Notice the moose in the background lake.)

My Gorgeous daughter and her doggie.

Beauties.

High as the pines.

Bloomington Lake.

Aspens. One of my favorite trees.

The shallow lake on the trail to Bloomington Lake.

Spin around the pasture.

Moose

The Market.

BEN LOMOND SUMMIT (9,712 FEET)

2011-08-21T21:55:00.000-07:00

Just as we (my wife and me) reached the summit of Ben Lomond and looked out over the valley floor of Ogden City and her surrounding cities, we were buzzed by a single engine plane. We waved at its occupants. They took the easy way to the peak. We hiked in 8.2 miles from the trail head at North Ogden Pass. From the peak we were able to see mountains in Nevada to the west, Cache Valley (Logan area) to the North, Ogden Valley (Huntsville, Pineview Reservoir) to the southeast, and most of the cities along the Wasatch Front to the South. There was several large patches of snow at the peak area, a surprise for a hot, late August day.

Ben Lomond Peak.

The wildflowers along the trail and on the ridges and meadows were vibrant and plentiful. I want to get better at identifying wildflowers. After checking with a book, I'm sure we saw, Sticky Geranium, False Lupine, Lodgepole Lupine, Indian Paintbrush, Mountain Bluebell, Showy Daisy, and Kinnikinnick to name a few. I noticed a few different varieties of evergreen trees. I'm not an expert but I think I identified Douglas Fir and Bristlecone pine.

Indian Paintbrush.

The trail was lined with wildflowers.

One group of evergreen was fascinating to me. The hill they were growing on was somewhat steep. The trail cut through them and the shade and coolness in the air was a pleasant relief from the sun. Almost every trunk on these trees looked like it started to grow out of the slope and then suddenly decided to bend skyward. This created a bend in the base of the trunk. These were stout trees. Most of the hillside was hard and rocky. The roots of some of the trees looked to be growing out of the rock. As I examined the roots I could see where they were intermingled in the rock and soil. I imagine they ran deep beyond the exposed rock and soil to support their weird bends and reach the thirty and forty foot height.

Along the ridge. Ben Lomond in far background.

A mix of colorful wildflowers.

After coming out of the small grove of pines we hit two long switchbacks through thick brush with an almost imperceivable gradient. The end of the last long switchback brought us to the top of the main ridgeline leading to the summit. The summit was now visible in the distance as well as a nice view of the valley floor below. We paused at this spot and took in the vistas. Just to this point was worth the hike but our goal was to make the summit so we started along the west facing trail just below the ridge.

At the summit looking south to Mount Ogden.

We had heard that a herd of mountain goats roamed the rocky cliffs of Ben Lomond so I had my eyes peeled. I had never seen a mountain goat in real life. Seeing one would be a first. We stopped at a rock outcropping to snack and hydrate. A couple of hikers caught us and after exchanging greetings they told us they had seen a couple of goats down the trail. The news of the goats got me looking with more effort. As we came to the next area of trail where I could look down into the high meadows and rocky cliffs, I spotted a couple of the goats. They glowed with whiteness against the gray rocks and green brush. Further up the trail some other hikers had climbed up some rocks and were talking about a group of goats they could see. I climbed up the rocks and looked over the edge. A group of about twenty goats were nervously moving along the hillside. They finally dropped down into the rocks on the cliff and disappeared. I knew these goats could climb and run in some rough terrain, but watching them climb around the steep rock face of Ben Lomond's cliffs left me amazed.

Ben Lomond Peak as viewed from the valley floor.

Heading up through the pines.

Bright yellow wildflowers.

Rocky switchback trail leading to the summit.

Gorgeous gal at trail sign.

9,712 feet.

Summit sign-in box. North Ogden below.

Looking North from summit. Cache Valley in the distance.

August 20, 2011. Snow at Ben Lomond Summit.

Beautiful Vistas.

Gun display and destination summit in background.

Most of the mountain ridges were covered in wildflowers.

Willard Peak in background.

Looking south along the Wasatch Front toward Salt Lake City.

ROY DAYS 5K and UPCOMING EVENTS

2011-08-09T08:27:00.000-07:00

Had a blast running the Roy Days 5K Saturday the 6th of August. It was a tough little run. I haven't kept up on my training this year and knew going into the run that I would be a little slow and sucking some wind. I ran with my bro-in-law, Mark. There was 119 men runners and about 300 runners overall. Mark and I placed 53rd and 54th overall, which isn't too bad for a couple of "older" gentlemen. Our time of 26.21 was off a bit but something we can work on. Our next adventure is a 17 mile mountain bike ride from Logan Canyon to Bear lake.

My wife and I have a hike planned to reach the summit of Ben Lomond (North Ogden Peak) in a couple of weeks. We are trying to be at the summit at dark so we can watch the Perseid meteor shower from the top. We will then hike out in the darkness. Stay tuned for a detailed report.

Fly fishing? I have not been in a position to get out like normal. Hopefully, that will change. My favorite time to be on stream is fast approaching. School will start soon and all the kids and campers will be out of the mountains for the most part---then it's prime time for me.

PERFECT JEWELS

2011-07-23T08:16:00.000-07:00

Lately, it seems, everything is coming in "small". I had a small window of opportunity to sneak out on a small creek in search of small native cutthroat trout. Even though it was only a two hour adventure, it was much needed.

My wife loves to go on these little outings. They usually involve a short hike or stroll through the woods. We try to identify wildflowers and trees. We look for sign of animals. Most importantly, we look for the places trout hide.

As we turned the corner on the trail, the sound of the creek became more noticeable. It is such a pleasant sound and brings a calm feeling over us. It feels as if my ears are like lungs and inhale the trickling, bubbling, and cascading rhythms of moving water. These small creeks have a different sound than the larger rivers. To me it is inviting. It's more of a whisper, "Here, come sit and visit with me." The larger rivers call out with power and authority, "I'm mighty and powerful and if you don't respect me, I'll kill you!" Both have a pull on my spirit, but the soft tones of the creeks have my heart.

SMALL BEAUTIFUL JEWEL

HITTING SMALL POCKET WATER

I consider the small native cutthroat in these creeks as jewels. One of the definitions of a jewel is: a precious person or thing. The small trout fit this definition for me. A jewel is also described as a treasure, a gem, marvel, find, godsend, prize, blessing, and masterpiece. There is no question I could find a way to explain the trout in any of the aforementioned ways.

LITTLE CREEKS ARE
NICE PLACES TO SPEND A COUPLE OF HOURS

To explain the pursuit of the trout (and the experience of each outing as a whole), I would use the word "perfect", although most fly fishermen will tell you that all things concerning fly fishing are far from perfect. Yet, I find upon reflection, when afield, and as I smile to myself as I reminisce in moments of quiet ponder, that what I feel is a form of perfection--not that it is a reflection on me as a person, but rather, a reflection of the environments where fly fishing takes me, and an inner peace I find in those environments. In its way, that peace comes home with me--eventually runs out, and then needs recharged with another outing. In Norman Maclean's book, "A River Runs Through It" he mentions this perfection. "So on this wonderful afternoon when all things came together it took me one cast, one fish, and some reluctantly accepted advice to attain perfection." He goes on, "When I was young, a teacher had forbidden me to say "more perfect" because she said if a thing is perfect it can't be more so. But by now I had seen enough of life to have regained my confidence in it."

I tend to believe in what Maclean writes. When I get the chance to spend time in the places I love, doing the thing I love (fly fishing), either alone or with the person I love most--I don't know of anything "more perfect".

HIGH AS A KITE

2011-07-23T08:10:00.000-07:00

The summit of Frary Peak (Antelope Island). We flew a kite to symbolize that even when we reach a goal or summit, there is often a way to go higher!

On the trail. Frary Peak behind us.

Indian Paintbrush

The marker at the summit.

Wasatch Front and Great Salt Lake in the background.

More wildflowers and gnat bites on the legs. Ouch!

One of the islands famous residents.

Hot babe wading. Fremont Island in background.

Goofing around. Elephant Head in background.

I guess I better explain the penguin (for those who are unfamiliar with why we carry it with us). Our son is on a two year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He is in Georgia and Florida. His favorite animal is the penguin. We take the penguin on our adventures as if we were taking him (yes, we miss him). We then share the pictures with him. Flying the kite from the summit was to let him know that he (and all of us) can reach goals and then extend just a little higher.

MALAN'S PEAK MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND HIKE 5-28-11

2011-05-30T15:31:00.000-07:00

Evening Hike

2011-05-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

We climbed the switchbacks until we were up to the Bonneville shoreline trail, then dropped down into the canyon where the small creek swelled with snowmelt. After 20 days of almost nonstop rain, it was good to be out. We were on a quick evening hike to see the lower falls in Adam's Canyon. As we neared the creek, we could hear the water as it plunged over the fifteen foot falls. It's not a spectacular site, but with the runoff it is a little more dramatic than normal. The water was just a bit off-color, similar to the look of packaged hot chocolate with too much water added to it. The sound of the crashing water was constant applause.

This hike is not a long hike but the switchbacks are nice for a quick workout. The cold spring weather and the coolness of the evening air made the mist coming off the falls feel chill. Getting totally wet was not an option on this hike. On a hot summer day, standing under the falls, or at least close enough to get the cool mist would be a welcome relief.

Last year we hiked up Adam's Canyon to the upper falls. I wondered what the upper falls would be like this year with a much higher volume of water pouring out of the mountains. It's probably worth the effort. I also heard a story about some type of cabin above the upper falls. From what I've heard, it's an older structure. I'm not sure who built it or why it would be in such a remote and rugged area. The cabin whereabouts and history would make a good research project.

We hiked down before the sun was fully set. Clouds on the western horizon hid the sun from view. Gaps in the cloud cover provided streaks of blue, gray and silver illumination down on the Great Salt Lake, Fremont Island, and the Promontory mountains. I always get giddy satisfaction when I see beauty and when I feel a sense of accomplishment, even when that accomplishment is something as simple as a hike. I've always been satisfied to live in the Great Basin and along the Wasatch Front. Everything I've come to love is near. I am humbled and honored to call this place home.

Meniere's Disease and Exercise

2011-04-19T09:48:00.000-07:00

I was diagnosed with Meniere's disease 26 years ago. It can't be cured and doctors struggle with what causes it and with solutions to prevent it and even remedy it's severity. Meniere's disease affects the inner ear. Symptoms vary with individuals but most have a fullness feeling in the ear, tinnitus (constant ringing), clicking, dizziness, hearing loss, and drop attacks. I have gone through periods of each symptom. The worst has been the drop attacks. A drop attack is when the world turns upside down very fast. The sensation is one of falling quickly to the ground and that is exactly where you find yourself. Because these attacks happen so swiftly, it is often difficult for people with Meniere's to work in jobs where they are on ladders or high places with the chance of falling. If the attacks come regularly, it would be difficult and scary to drive a car. Luckily for most sufferers, the drop attacks are infrequent. I've had about six such attacks in the last 26 years, two while driving a car. Both times I have had my wife take the steering wheel from the passengers side until the major portion of the attack is gone. This usually only lasts several seconds, but the spinning sensation can last for hours and sometimes days.

My early struggles with this disease were difficult. It is a hard disease to diagnose and all other possible problems need to be ruled out. I had to go to specialists and had to rule out damage to the ear drum and a tumor. Once I was cleared of those two things, I spent years trying to maintain my hearing and remedy the fullness and dizziness. As is common with most sufferers, nothing has worked. I have had to learn to just live with it. I have had good years and bad years. Sometimes the symptoms will last for weeks and sometimes just a few days. I have been trying to understand what might trigger the episodes and attacks. Most of my struggles come with changes in barometric pressure from storms, stress, allergies, too much salt, and not enough rest.

The worst part for me has been the dizziness. I've been able live with the hearing loss, the feeling of fullness, and constant ringing. I'm not sure those who try to talk to me or whisper in my left ear appreciate having to repeat things, but I'm able to live with that part. The doctors tell me that with each attack, I will lose more hearing. Hearing test indicate that I have already lost my ability to hear certain higher tones. When I'm suffering an attack it is estimated that about 80 percent of my hearing in the left ear is gone. When not suffering the estimate is around 40 to 60 percent loss.

Why am I telling you all of this? The last few years I have been trying to stay in better shape. I have been running, riding a bike, hiking, and walking a lot more. Last year I felt really good. My theory is this: as we age and get sedentary, it can affect our bodies in adverse ways. I think the exercise has flushed my body of salt retention, provided better blood circulation, increased metabolism, and helped with oxygen and lung capacity. Last year as I pushed myself, I did not have Meniere's attacks or severe symptoms as bad as years past.

This past winter I didn't stay on my schedule like I wanted. I enjoyed the holidays and told myself that I could get with it when spring arrived. Well, spring has been taking its sweet time getting here and I find myself suffering from an episode of Meniere's. It will be interesting to see how it responds to the physical activity. Can I run it out of my system? Did the physical activity of the last two years really help with the symptoms? I'll be finding out.

Back in the Saddle

2011-03-26T11:06:00.000-07:00

I just got back from the first bike ride of 2011. It felt so good. The wind was a bit chill, but it was soon forgotten as my body warmed to the tempo of pedaling. Did I say it felt good? I could feel my leg muscles working; different muscles than those I feel when running. On the hills, I stood on the pedals and felt the power of putting extra weight on the down stroke of the motion. I could feel my heart rate picking up, and sweat starting to build on my back between the shoulder blades. In my mind, I could imagine the extra fifteen pounds I put on this winter start to leap from my body and float away with the wind. I pedaled harder and turned a corner making sure the weight could not follow. The first ride always makes me feel like a kid again. It makes me feel like a dancer. I sometimes rock back and forth letting my mind and body feel the motion.

I didn't want to overdue it. It was a pleasure ride more than a workout. I looked around. High slate clouds covered the sky. I looked to the east and saw a panoramic view of the Wasatch Mountains. They stand majestic above the valley floor, snow-covered and uninviting to those who are wishing for summer. Still, a nice sight. I noticed that the willow trees in many neighborhood yards have a tinge of green with the first leaf buds starting to test for warmth of springtime air.

I thought of my favorite mountain bike trails, still buried beneath feet of snow. It will be a couple of months before I can ride them. I will be ready.

The bike is parked in my backyard right now. I know I will have the urge to get on it again before the sunsets on this day.

DECLARING SPRING!

2011-03-19T12:53:00.000-07:00

I'm declaring Spring!

It's not official yet, but I'm declaring Spring is here. What snow may fall here in Utah will melt quickly in the valley. The temperatures are starting to stay around 50 during the day. Reports of Blue-winged Olive mayflies hatching on some of the rivers is welcomed news.

There's a bunch of snow up in the mountains and the ski resorts will probably run until Father's Day depending on how they planned their insurance this year, but I'm starting to plan my outside activities and that is always a good thing.

As always, I will be posting on my blog the little adventures I experience. I'm planning a few hiking, mountain biking, kayaking, and fly fishing activities.

I've already started my training runs to make sure I'm in shape to enjoy what the Rocky Mountain Region has to offer. Let the fun begin!

Uphill

2011-03-19T12:50:00.000-07:00

Uphill

Sherm's store stood at the top of the street,
the place all of us kids took our turn
being accused of stealing.

It was there, we lined up on our bikes,
racers and long distance riders, no need to pedal,
gravity provided speed, three, two, one, go!

Heads over handlebars, we leaned low,
gravel grinds, then flips, ricochets
and pings off frames, pelting ankles.

Spokes spin to a blurr, fast and fun.
Stern looks of determination
rode off our faces with smiles.

Finally, feet touch down miles from the store.
Pleasure replaced with realization,
as we turned and stared uphill.

TONIGHT'S SKY

2011-01-17T19:09:00.000-08:00

Tonight's Sky

An upside down fire
hangs on the horizon.
Drops of splattering rain
cannot put it out.
A setting sun provides the darkness
to douse the feisty flames,
and billowing clouds of cumulus smoke
rise against the evening sky.

On my way home from work tonight, I had to pull over and watch the sunset. The bottom of the smaller clouds were whisps of hot color, reds and oranges aimed downward like flames in reverse. Like brillant burning coals, the clouds darkened as the sun disappeared. Soon, I was left with the vision of darker plumes of smoke rising into the twilight. I grabbed a crinkled paper bag on the passenger's seat and penned the above poem. It needs work, but the rough draft catches the feeling of the moment.

ROBERT'S POETRY

2010-12-24T21:51:00.000-08:00

The poetry you view here are works in progress. The poems will go through several revisions which may take months or even years.

OUZEL

The constant squatting,
a dance to the gurgle
of miniature waterfalls;
the Dipper disappears
by diving, then bounces
up out of the water
dry as charcoal.
He hops from rock to rock,
and checks moist mats of moss
for meals of midges,
stoneflies, caddis, and mayfly nymphs.
The Ouzel, like an aquatic insect,
emerges from the water,
sprouts wings, and flies away.

CREEKSIDE

The flowing water calls out
from rocks of color,
where trout hide,
and sun flies back to heaven;
where the constant ring
of ripples, runs, and cascades
roll through time and space
and never stops.
From a hundred miles away,
it still sings.

EARLY STORM

This morning, sunlit salmon clouds
migrated across sky seas,

weaving through dark, cold rapids
trying to get back to their place of origin.

When they hit the rapids,
rumblings shook moisture to the ground,

and bright glare glanced off their skin
connecting earth and heaven.

THE LIBRARY PARKING LOT IN FALL

In the summer it's just black,
and most often hot and dry.
White paint provides places of order,
a border, and stay within the lines, please.

In autumn, the artist always works.
Branching palettes of crimson, yellow, and orange,
await the crosshatching strokes of gentle breezes.
Paint is tossed in the air.

The wind lays layers of lacquered leaves,
sealed by rain upon an asphalt canvas,
blending color upon the plainness,
and providing art for a season.

A DAY IN THE BASIN

All is quiet, except for the sound
of warm air heated by solar light
rising up past my ears.
Then, the crunch of boots pressing down
on dry grass, the snap of aspen branches,
and the startled flashes of red wings clacking against
a backdrop of green and gold.
These are not the sounds I seek,
or the vision of color for my eyes.

Moving forward, I hear my way over beaver-hewn logs,
stopping in small clearings, tasks to perform.
Connected ferrules of graphite become an extension of my arm:
Can I touch the sky and stir the clouds?

A spool of amber locked into place
while loose coils fall to the ground,
chaos before control.
Monofilament is threaded through snake guides,
the quick click, click, click of metallic drag
is a locust whisper waiting for reply.

Through an opening in peach-leaf willows the world changes.
The sky is yellow and the landscape blue.
Rich pine is oxygen.
There is a connection between arching rod,
tight line, and wild crimson slashes.
Life and death in my hands.
Some have predicted I will die in a place like this,
swift and sweet.
Right now, I come here to live.

NOTICING

2010-12-16T23:05:00.000-08:00

I'm the kind of person who jumps from one interest to the other. The only thing that has held my interest in a constant manner is fly fishing and fly tying. Some how, these two things got in my blood at an early age and have stayed with me. Other interests tend to come and go, then gain my interest again after months or years.

I've had an interest in poetry for a long time, but never seriously studied it. A few months ago I decided to do some poetry study and reading. I have been checking out arm loads of poetry books from the county library. Some of the poets I struggle reading. I have read poems by poets that seem to be nothing more than drunks throwing words on a page. The words and sentences make me squint like I'm looking into the sun; I want to turn my head and look away. If these poet's purpose is to confuse, then they have succeeded with me. I often find myself shaking my head and asking what and why?

I have found some poets and poems that I do enjoy. I enjoy many of those who have written poems about nature. I love the imagery that these poets use. I like the poems that help me see, hear, smell, and taste the things they write about. I like the poems that make sense. I'm not opposed to trying to figure something out, but too much poetry that is more like some type of riddle can make me think too much when I'm not in the mood to think. Sometimes I want to read poetry to feel the words, to hear them roll around in my brain, to see in my imagination what I see when I read the words. I have the same problem when it comes to card and board games. If it is a game where I have to think too much, then it's not as fun and relaxing to me. I want to play the games of chance; roll the dice and take the results. Then there is no ego involved and the smartest and fastest don't always win. I don't mind reading poetry that makes me think and feel, but the simple stuff that is easy to understand is what I like right now.

Along with the reading and studying of poetry comes the desire to write it. I have written a few poems (or what I thought were poems) over the years. I have this desire to write more now. I have been looking for ideas and with my love of the natural world, that is where I look for and often find inspiration or ideas for what I want to write. I find myself looking and trying to see things in more detail. I think I am beginning to notice things that I have taken for granted in the past.

The last few days as I have driven to work, I have noticed an amazing thing. As I drive east towards the mountains at 7:45 AM, the sun at this time of year is still behind the mountain range. The light from the sun provides a glowing backdrop. This glowing, as I call it, changes color, depending on atmospheric conditions. If there are high clouds, the glowing can be a warm color, somewhere in the spectrum of yellow, orange or red. If the atmosphere is bright, clean, and clear, the glowing is more to the blue spectrum. If cumulus clouds are hanging around the mountains the bottoms are usually a pale mauve or deeper purple color. If stratus or cirrus clouds are present, they can take on several colors. I've seen them look the color of pink salmon meat or purple cotton candy.

Lately, what has stood out is the way the sunlight at that time (7:45 AM), taps the tops of each high peak along the mountain range. I can't see the sun because it is still below the mountains. The mountains stand as giant shadows of darkness with just enough dawn light to make out the faintest of details. The light from the sun, however, shoots through some of the back canyons and illuminates the very tips of the peaks all along the front range. My eyes follow the highlights along the tops of the ridges jumping from one peak to the next until I am slapped awake with the light that grasps the majority of one of the prominent peaks and rock faces on the north end of the mountain range. This peak and its rocks are covered with snow. The sun's focused light makes it stand out in clean brilliance. I can't stop my eyes from following the sun's rays skipping along the ridges and teasing me to follow until my eyes and the sun's light slam into the rock face of this majestic mountain. I have lived here my whole life, but my search for ideas and inspiration for a poem have opened my eyes in a "new" way. I like it.

I have a plain paper journal that I will be using to write down the things that I see, hear, smell, taste, and feel as I wander around, or just drive to work. When I get brave, I will share some of these things on this blog. Maybe the musings will turn into poetry.

Winter Tricks

2010-11-26T10:54:00.000-08:00

Winter came blasting in on Tuesday afternoon. The prediction was for a blizzard. The snow rode in on some good wind, and it was cold, but the actaul snow (at least in my area) was only about an inch deep. To be honest, I've seen worse storms. The snow storms that hang out for a day or two and pile up valley snow are the ones I dislike. My back is getting too brittle and weak for the shoveling.

It is cold. The Arctic air associated with this storm is bitter and a month or two early. I'm looking at two options this winter: a long and cold winter, or an early winter with an early spring. I bet you can't guess the one I'm hoping for.

Time to trick my mind. I'm going to listen to some good Hawaiian music. Let's see where are those lyrics:

Palehua

E kahea mai ana
'O Palehua e
Wahi lani ha 'ole
Ke kuahiwi kaulana
Wehe i ka lani
'Auhea wale ana 'oe
'O Palehua e

Calling to me
Is Palehua
A heavenly place
Unforgettable
Famous mountain
Unveiled to the heavens
Hear my call
Oh Palehua

---words by Amy Hanaiali'i

WHITE ROCK BAY LOOP (ANTELOPE ISLAND)

2010-11-07T16:43:00.000-08:00

Rock solid hikers.

I couldn't think of a better thing to do on a fine Saturday morning and afternoon than help take a group of young men on a hike, so we loaded up in a few vehicles and drove west from the Wasatch Front and entered Antelope Island State Park.

Antelope Island State Park is close to the cities along the Wasatch Front. Within a half hours time we were unloading and preparing to hit the trail head. Our original idea was to hike 2.6 miles to the top of Beacon Knob. At the top of the knob we would raise a group flag, eat a light lunch of sandwiches, chips, and cookies, take in the views, and then hike back down. Each hiker was to carry a portion of the lunch and was responsible to bring their own water bottle with water.

I was so excited to get the group hiking that I misread the map and lead the group out into the White Rock Bay area. This trail would still lead us up to Beacon Knob, but it would add 2.5 more miles to the hike. When I realized my error, I stopped the group and asked them to vote on our options. We could continue around the loop or we could hike to the ridge below Dooley Knob and hike back out the same way. The group voted to hike the loop.

It was a perfect day. The morning chill was soon toasted away by sun peeking out through layers of high clouds. Within minutes of hiking, jackets and sweat shirts were shed and water bottles were being emptied.

I was impressed with the attitude of the younger hikers. Not one of the hikers complained about the added distance to our hike and everyone seemed to enjoy being outdoors.

Raising of the flag.

When we made it to the top of the ridge just north of Dooley Knob we stopped for lunch. Each person placed the portion of lunch they were asked to carry on a group of flat rocks. Sandwiches were prepared and then eaten as we rested on the rocks.

The view from our lunchroom was wonderful. We could see to the east and view most of the Wasatch Front mountains from Brigham City to Salt Lake City. To the west was vast areas of the Great Salt Lake and western mountain ranges in the west desert. The White Rock bay valley we hiked through gave us a good perspective on how far we had hiked. The straw-colored valley was dotted with the visible dots of antelope which provided smiles and a realization that the island was named right.

Looking back at the Wasatch Front from Antelope Island

Hiking toward Beacon Knob

As we came around the corner at the base of Beacon Knob we were met with an obstacle: a group of six bison were standing on the trail. They were in no hurry to move so we decided to leave the trail and walk around them. I have read that bison can run up to 30 miles per hour so I told everyone to give the bison plenty of room as we maneuvered behind them. We were walking out through the dry grass keeping an eye on the bison when two other people came up the trail from the opposite way. This startled two of the bison, one being a large bull. Both bison turned and started to run toward our group. We scattered down the hill with racing heartbeats! I looked back and was relived that the bison had stopped.

We hiked down through a rocky hillside and eventually picked up the trail again. The trail head where we had parked was now in sight. When we got to the trail head where we started I looked at the map again read the mileage of the White Rock Bay loop was 7.5 miles. I figured with the shortcut caused by the bison that we cut out about 1/2 mile so our complete hike was 7 miles total.

Bison

It was such a good day for hiking, I don't think anyone in the group minded that we added the extra miles to the trip.

ALTITUDE! MOUNT OGDEN HIKE 5100' TO 9572' IN 6 MILES.

2010-10-17T13:50:00.000-07:00

Base of Beus Canyon, the beginning of the hike.

"I'm going to dance down the top of this ridge!" I yelled to my wife. I did a few fancy steps, threw my arms in the air and ended with a worn-out grandgete. My wife then followed and danced her way down a section of the Mount Ogden saddle. We both had dreams of dancing across the mountains and this effort would fulfill that dream. The dance moves were part of our veneration to the mountain. We reached our goal to make it to the peak and had to let the exhilaration we felt fly, if only for a moment, off the tops of those ridges.

Beus Creek looks like it comes out of this boulder.

Our hike began at the trail head near 47th Street in the South Ogden foothills, just south, and a little above the Dee Event Center. The trail is called Beus Trail but only follows the bottom of Beus canyon and its creek for a little over a mile. About a half mile into the hike a footbridge crossed Beus Creek and the trail splits. If you take the trail to the left you will come out along the face of the foothills on what is the Bonneville Shoreline Trail. To get to the summit of Mount Ogden via Beus Trail, you cross the bridge and stay in the canyon bottom with the creek.

The canyon bottom is loaded with ferns. In the early fall they are changing from lush green to straw yellow; dense and thick, they often cover the small creek and hide it from view. The only sign that it is still there is the pleasant sound of trickles and small plunge pools. Small creeks make great hiking companions and we enjoyed Beus Creek's singing as we made our way to the last crossing before heading south toward Burch Creek Canyon.

As we came up the gradual incline out of Beus Canyon our eyes were hit with a view of Burch Creek Canyon. The north facing slopes mottled with dark, rich stands of fir trees. Burch Creek Canyon looked rugged and deep on the north face. We would follow the trail on the south facing slope which was covered with scrub oak and maples. The trail had now turned to the east and would continue this direction gradually taking us near the top of Burch Creek Canyon and what looked to be a barren mountain top.

Scrub Oak and Maple

Scattered among the green oak and maple were their friends and family already preparing for a winters nap. Red and orange and yellow leaves lighted by afternoon sun added a frivolous feeling of one last party before snow and cold turned things to black and white. Hiking in the midst of such color with the warmth of the sun removed the daily stress from my soul and I began to live in this exact moment and transcend my worldly cares.

As we approached the top of Burch Creek canyon, the trees and brush gave way to mostly rocky terrain. Some small sagebrush and tufts of grass grow where they have gained a hold, but dirt and rock now called out with each footstep. I don't know my rock well, but I think I recognized granite, quartz, and maybe feldspar. Some of the rocks had twinkling's of iron pyrite that made me wonder if we were fools for hiking to the summit and back in one day. Through the summer we had talked to others about the hike trying to get details about its difficulty. Some people told us it was easier to hike to the top and then take the Snowbasin Ski Resort tram back down the opposite side. We decide that we were in shape enough to hike to the top and then come back down the same way, a twelve mile adventure. About half way to the summit, I wondered if we would make it back before dark or if we would have to turn around taking nothing for our effort but a pocket of fool's gold.

The lower trail followed the side of Burch Creek Canyon.

At the top of Burch Creek, the trail switches back toward the west. I could tell that a nice view of Ogden was over the next hill so I paused and took my wife's hand so we could experience the view together. We looked out over the valley and began to point out the different landmarks. The Promontory range in the western horizon stretched from north to south ending at the shores of Great Salt Lake. Fremont Island, Antelope Island, Gunnison Island, appeared as dusty patches of land floating in the hazy expanse of an inland sea.

Getting close to the top of Burch Creek Canyon.

Looking back toward Ogden

Continuing forward and upward, we were now on the Mount Ogden Saddle. The ridge that would take us to the peak. The radio towers at the peak were now in view. This gave our hearts a boost of adrenalin and our minds a shot of faith. With the goal in sight, we knew we would make it. Our only concern was getting back down before dark.

We sat down and ate our lunch and drank water. We rested for half an hour and then started the last mile to the top.

We met two couples coming back down and exchanged pleasantries. They must have started their hike at dawn. They thought we were still about an hour away from the summit.

Approaching Mount Ogden Saddle

I loved the view from the saddle. We could look to the north and see Ben Lomond Peak, look to the west and see the Promontory Range and other western ranges, and look to the southwest and see the Oquirrh Range. To the south we could see the valley floor and towns strung out in the narrow band of land between the mountains and the waters of Great Salt Lake. We were almost too high and far away to pick out landmarks looking south but we knew we were seeing such cities as Layton, Kaysville, Farmington, Bountiful, and North Salt Lake.

Looking back toward Layton and Great Salt Lake.

Viewing north along all the mountain tops gave us a new perspective on the ruggedness of the Wasatch Front. We marveled at how quickly the mountains shoot skyward from the valley floor. I have heard people talk about how barren and colorless they seem to be. But on this hike we realized that they have their own beauty. They may not be as green and lush as mountains found in surrounding states or mountains in other parts of the country, but the Wasatch Front has a simple beauty, like a women who puts on just the right amount of make-up and dresses with simple elegance, the Wasatch Range is dressed and made up just enough to be alluring. The mountain changes with the seasons and a careful eye will certainly see the white and gray coolness of winter, the fresh greenness of spring, the warm, dry rock of summer, and the flame-orange of fall. Each season with its invitation to see glamour, to look deep into her eyes as she reveals her secrets.

Gun display. Ben Lomond Peak in background.

Our destination, Mount Ogden in background.

The last mile or so of the trail follows just below the west facing slopes. Eventually, you turn east and hit the ridge that the summit sits on. We were a little disappointed to find at this point a rocky service road coming up from the Snowbasin side of the mountain. I knew there was some type of building at the summit, as well as the radio towers, but some type of primitive yearning in me wanted the place to be wilderness. Looking down over the ski runs and buildings of Snowbasin reminded me that we were not that far from civilization and that in the winter, the back side of Mount Ogden is a winter recreationist's haven. In about three months deep snows will bury the summit and the east slopes will be full of parka clad figures riding and sliding up and down her terrain.

We scrambled up the broken rock and made it to the building, the towers, and a helicopter landing pad. We stood on the pad and looked east viewing the Morgan Valley and its surrounding mountain ranges, then looked back to the west and viewed the Ogden Area and as far as we could see to mountains in Nevada.

Double barrel! Nearing Mount Ogden.

There were a couple of plaques and geologic survey markers at the summit. The plaques looked to be placed there by students and faculty from Weber State University in Ogden with history of the hike. Also present at the summit is the disturbing signs of civilization--names scratched into the face of the plaques and marks made with black spray paint on the rocks.

Service road from Snowbasin ski resort side of Mount Ogden Peak.

At the summit. Morgan Valley in background.

After spending a little time for pictures from the summit, a hug, and a kiss, we decided we needed to get off the mountain before dark. We glanced one last time out over the valley, letting the wind blow through our hair. I closed my eyes for just a minute and imagined I was a hawk soaring above the ridge, dipping, spinning and quickly rising up and over each canyon. I rode the wind out of Burch Creek and into Beus Creek, then over to Strong Canyon and up Waterfall Canyon, then up into Malan's Basin and down into Taylor's Canyon. I opened my eyes and the dream was over. I had to hike out the same way I hiked in. I guess, it was the giddiness I felt from making it to the top that made me take off running along the ridge. Since I didn't have the wings to carry out the hawk dream, I did the only thing I could do--run! I looked back at my wife and that is when I realized I also had a dream to dance across the mountains. It was a dream she has had too. That's when I yelled back to her. "I'm going to dance down the top of this ridge!" And we did!

At the summit. Ogden Valley in background.

Markers at peak. Holding up a 1 and 0 for 2010.

Markers with a little history about Mount Ogden.

Looking DOWN at Ogden city.

Contemplating the hike back down.

We made it. Mount Ogden with Ben Lomond Peak in background.

STANDING IN ST. CHARLES CANYON ( WILD MOUNTAIN HONEY)

2010-09-26T22:06:00.000-07:00

In Autumn, slowness awakens,
and grasshoppers sit on asphalt roads,
lethargic from night's cold,
waiting to pop like sausage and grease
on a hot skillet.

Bees lumber with aching wings
sore from summer flight;
nestling deep in late season wildflowers,
fragrance mild and sweet.

Aspens shiver and leaves glide to the ground
providing quilts to warm the earth
before the final cover
of fresh blankets of snow.

Fast flowing water, once jumping, catching air
looking for clouds, now climbs over rocks
pausing for breath and gathering strength
before moving on.

Time is changed,
and sunlight mellows
as voices disappear.

The slowness has arrived
the air thick with quiet
it drips off everything
like wild mountain honey.

Random Shots of Respite

2010-09-12T21:40:00.000-07:00

Blue Pond Spring

One of My Favorite Dirt Roads

Small Grey's River Fine-spotted Snake River Cutthroat

Preparing to Feed a Live Hopper to a Small Stream Cutthroat

Riding the Old Cruiser

Bear Lake Scenic Overlook. The End of a Great Day.

Hanging in the Mountains

2010-09-12T19:50:00.000-07:00

Green Canyon

Riding Double

Dirt Road to Solitude

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

A Beach to Ourselves

2010-09-12T19:33:00.000-07:00

Beach Boy and Girl

Strollin' Along

The Water is Fine!

Meeting the Breakers

A Couple of Nuts (Phylbert)

Beach Beauty!

Running a Barren Beach

2010-09-12T19:16:00.000-07:00

Circle W Ranch

Opening to the Ice Cave

Sun and Shade

Resting in the Coolness

The Aspen are always Watching (See The Eyes)?

Discoveries Close to Home

2010-08-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

My wife and I have been spending time exploring places close to home. It's been a real eye-opener. The Indian Trail is literally twenty minutes from our home. We have known about this trial for years. It is one of those places that you always drive by on the way to some other destination and say, "One day we ought to hike that trail." Well, one day finally arrived!I have to throw out a plug to those who have maintained this trail. It is in excellent shape; almost no litter and the bridges, shelter, and stabilized erosion and cliff areas are a nice touch. Thank you!

We decided to start our hike at the trail head in Ogden Canyon and then end at 22nd street. We left a car at the 22nd street parking area and then drove to Ogden Canyon. This would allow us to come out over the ridge looking west toward Ogden valley. If we planned our time just right, we would enter the last part of the trail just as the sun was setting. We hiked quicker than we thought and ended up entering the valley with the sun an hour before actual sunset. Still it was nice. We were able to view Ogden valley, islands and mountains around the Great Salt Lake, and watch a ground squirrel sit on a large rock formation with exact stillness.

I will not give a detailed point by point of the hike. I'm sure that description can be found on other blogs or hiking web sites.

What I hope to do is give you a sense of the wonder and excitement we felt for finding a treasure so close to home. We hiked on a Friday afternoon. We did not run into another person until we came out on 22nd street. The whole time we were in the back canyons and switch backs, we had the trail to ourselves. I was a little surprised by this. Our timing must have been perfect. Most people were still at work. Those who were off work, were probably golfing, swimming, or dining out. I really enjoyed the solitude I felt as we entered the shadowy east facing side hills. In fact, most of the trail was in the shade. It gave the feeling of being in a primitive area. As I hiked I thought about the native Americans (Indians) who used this trail. It is told that they used it because the mouth of Ogden Canyon and parts of the canyon proper were impassable in the spring when Ogden River was full of snow melt. I wondered if they spent the night in the coolness of the canyon or if it was just a means of getting from one place to another.

The area is rugged for the most part. The only place that looked like an area were they might camp was in the small canyon as you start the hike. There's a small tributary that flows down this area and into the Ogden River. As we hiked through this area we saw two tents set up. In front of one of the tents was a sign telling us that the area was reserved for a Boy Scout troop. I thought of how the Scouts would hike into the area, build a fire, cook their dinner, and then tell campfire stories. I love campfire stories (especially the scary ones) and envisioned myself telling the Scouts about the Indians that used to camp on the very spot they were camping. I would tell them that when the white man came the Indians were forced to move higher into the rugged terrain of the surrounding mountains. I would tell them that on occasion an Indian is spotted by a hiker or that sometimes they would come down to people camping and trade. I would tell them that it is best to go to bed when told and stay in their tents--no running through the forest after dark. They never did find the one man who wandered up the trail after dark one night several years ago. All they ever found was his day pack.

Crossing a large rock slide area.

My hiking partner in the foothill area. Her beautiful hair blending with the grasses.

The switchbacks are not bad and after getting to the top of the trail we found the emergency shelter and got a view of the valley through the opening at the canyon mouth. We were now at the highest elevation of the trail, something like 6100 feet. I glanced over to the opposite mountain and wondered how we would cross over it. I could see no trail from this vantage. I guess I wanted to see a trail that just went up the side of the mountain. What I soon realized is that each side canyon had a trail that went back within it and then back out of it on the apposing west side. We went up and out of several of these side canyons as we made our way west toward the city of Ogden. That is what made it possible for us to stay in the shade the majority of the hike. It wasn't until we neared the mouth of the canyon that the trail slipped lower on the ridge and came out in the foothills and sage and sun.

I shared this trail with my wife and we both felt a peace and serenity under the large evergreens. I also had an awareness of how short our lives are. I imagined that the age of some of those trees was well beyond the allotted time I will spend on this planet. Their size also made me feel small and insignificant to a degree. Oh, I knew a good chainsaw could do some damage, but standing by some of the trunks made me feel powerless.

At one point we stopped for a snack. We could look down and see vehicles weaving their way around a corner on the canyon floor. It gave us a feeling of depth. I will admit, at that place I pondered what it would feel like to fall from such a place. My stomach twisted slightly. Even with that thought, there was never a place on the trail where I felt that sort of danger. I knew that I would have to be horsing around doing something stupid to end up falling.

I'm sure there are days when this trail receives pressure. It has to be a popular hike being so close to Ogden and the surrounding towns. I was glad that we hiked alone. As we came out of the canyons and into the foothills, we paused to look at the man made waterfall at the canyon mouth. It's nice, but because it isn't natural, its appeal is diminished for me. Still we stopped and looked. We took out the binoculars and scanned the valley. Then turned them to objects in the distance. Fremont Island, Antelope Island, Little Mountain, the Promontory Range and Willard bay were all scoped out. That's when we noticed the ground squirrel perched motionless on a large rock. I thought it rather odd that it was so still. Statuette like it looked out over the sage brush hills just above Rainbow Gardens. As we turned to finish our hike down to 22nd street parking area, a red fox walked across the trial. I watched as it walked up into the rocks and brush just ahead of us. I made a few squeaks on the back of my hand and it froze. I could see only its head poking up above a rock. My wife came down to see if she could see it. Eventually, it walked up the side of the hill and into the brush. It wasn't until we got home that it dawned on me that the reason the squirrel was so still is that it was probably watching the fox come up through its territory.

Cliff area.

Looking toward Ogden from the 6100 foot level.

The emergency shelter at the top of the hike.

Large evergreen trunks make me feel small.

There's a red fox in there somewhere.

We drank the last few drops of water and then drove up the canyon to our other car. There was no sunset to see from the foothills. We had worried about hiking in the dark and made a poor estimate on how long it was going to take to complete the hike. Had we known, we would have spent more time in the deep, cool shadows of the canyons. When we met a home, we discussed the thins we saw and the feeling we had. We vowed to do the hike again, with the knowledge we have of just how long it takes to go from one end to the other. While the solitude was nice, we might just share the trail with someone else the next time we go. What do you say, you in?Happy hiking!

Learning (maybe, hopefully).

2010-08-13T11:25:00.000-07:00

This quote is from Ted Kooser's book, The Poetry Home Repair Manual.

"This chapter and the previous one have scarcely touched on the complex study of prosody, a word I've intentionally avoided above because it sound so stuffy, but which is the proper term for the science of poetic forms. Science is OK, but as you know, heart is better. Here's something to reflect upon from Trepliov's last speech in Chekhov's The Sea Gull: "I'm coming more and more to the conclusion that it's a matter not of the old forms and not of the new forms, but that a man writes, not thinking at all of what form to choose, writes because it comes pouring out of his soul."

I urge you to write from your soul no matter what form you choose because That's what really matters. You want to write poems that connect with others, that can show your readers new ways of seeing, understanding, and enjoying the world. Again, you can define those readers however you wish. But whether you are hoping to reach one very special reader or a broad general audience, write from the heart and let your poems find their shapes (forms) as you proceed, then perfect what you've written through careful revision."

Footbridge at Curtis Creek

2010-08-12T18:41:00.000-07:00

Dry, hot air descends from hawk's wings,
pushing rock and road-base dirt
through an open canyon.

Follow the creek sounds,
ears alert on a silent afternoon.

Vibrations transferred through air, soil and water,
are absorbed as lateral lines move upstream
for cover of sunken brush.

The trail of powdered sugar dust
lifts around footprints,
the telltale sign of recent visits.

A wooden footbridge
made for crossing
better used for sitting
is vacant of traffic
not of memories.

Training and Fitness

2010-07-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

I was a runt. As a sophomore in high school, I was 5 foot 3 inches and weighed a whopping 89 lbs. Little tiny guy. I started to grow but weight didn't keep up with length. By the time I was in my early twenties I had stretched out to 6 foot 2 inches but was skinny, like 130 lbs skinny. I thought I ate a lot and mom would warn me to be careful because as you get older you will gain weight. I didn't believe her. I was active. I played a lot of basketball, golf (walking the courses, not riding carts), and I meandered up rivers and streams all day without eating. Weight wasn't a problem. Those who knew me said I could use a few pounds.

Well, mom was right (don't you hate that--moms are always right). I started to put weight on at age 30, but like people had told me, I could use a little. At 40 more of it came. I had given up playing competitive basketball and only golf a few times a year. I was a fly fishing nut and that is where I concentrated my efforts. But fly fishing doesn't really get the heart rate going--except, the anticipation of going and hooking a nice trout. Other than that, fly fishing wasn't burning the calories.

A few years back, I took up running and mountain biking. My highest weight was 206 lbs (still not bad but more than I wanted). I worked down to about 180 lbs a few years back and was able to maintain that for some time. This year I wanted to get down to 175 lbs and stay there. I rode my bike and ran more. Before I knew it I was down to 164 lbs--maybe a little too skinny again? I have felt good. I am able to run 11 miles fairly easy and 3 to 5 mile runs are very easy. I guess in a way I'm bragging. I just feel good for a 52 year old man.

My beautiful wife decided to get into the fitness act too. She has always played soccer so it's not like she wasn't fit. I am so proud of her. She has been working out, stretching, and watching her diet too. Today, she announced to me that she has lost 30 lbs! She looks (and feels) wonderful. I remember telling her when we first got married that I loved her for who she was and not necessarily how she looks (although looks are important to us guys--don't deny it). I told her that I would love her even if she struggled with weight. I still believe that. But, I do have to brag, she looks fit! Hopefully, for both of us, the training and fitness will pay dividends of strong hearts and lungs and add a few years to our lives.

FOOTHILLS

2010-07-25T14:21:00.000-07:00

SHE ROCKS!

The foothills of the Wasatch in Utah are hot, dry places of sweat in late July. Salt and water drip from the skin and soak clothing. The urge to rip the stickiness from the skin and run sunburned and naked for the shade plays upon the mind. A constant, moaning voice speaks from inside. It calls out for water. Water to drink and water to splash in. Open-mouth breathing dries the tongue and throat. Lips shrivel and chap. If not prepared the heat will stop you in your tracks, turn you back, or keep you from hiking all together. Stay home.

I have always loved the heat. As a young boy, I ran through hot sagebrush hills. Most days I was a jackrabbit, twisting, turning, stopping on a dime. I could leap over junipers. Some days, I was a hawk. I soared on warm, rising air high over rocky cliffs, then up and out of sight over mountain peaks. I wouldn't come back until I opened my eyes, stood up, and brushed the dirt off my backside.

While laying there in my dreams, I could feel the sun. It tanned my face and arms. It baked me into the earth. I remember staying outside all day, the scorching brightness dehydrating me until my head pounded. Too young, and as I got older, too dumb to take water, I spent hours melting. I would fish for hours, tempted by the clear water to drop to my knees and sip.The only thing stopping me was the threat of giardia. Eventually, with age, I smartened up enough to carry a bottle of water or two.

My wife and I started out on a local foothill trail right in the middle of the afternoon a few days ago. Cicada were whining loudly only stopping when we got close to their hiding place. Yes, I'm talking July in Utah! We were in a searching mood. We planned to explore the first part of the trail to test its difficulty. After a mile of hiking, we decided that the trail was not as difficult as we suspected. We had sucked down our water bottles (see wisdom with age) and talked about plans to do the complete trail on another day, either early or late to avoid the heat (see more wisdom with age). This particular trail takes about 4 hours one way. Most people who hike the trail will leave a car at one end and then drive to the other end, make the hike, and then drive back to the trail head for the other car. We decided that's what we will do.

From the top of the trail we will be able to see most of Ogden and surrounding towns. Someone told me that from the top, we will be able to see all the way to Nevada. I'm excited to return. I think I'll run up the foothills, twisting, turning and stopping on a dime. When I get to the top, I'll rise on a thermal wind, up over the cliffs and then soar out over the peak.

SHY POETS' SOCIETY

2010-07-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

I've always been a little nervous and shy in sharing poetry. Here are the reasons:

1. Macho men don't read or write poetry--especially while eating quiche.
2. Is it written correctly?
3. Is it any good?
4. People who can misinterpret the meaning or epiphany.
5. Don't I have anything better to ponder or do?

MOMENTS

Leaf shadows dance on concrete walks
Waiting to leap into my eyes as sunbeams on clear water
South winds, warm with magic, create the setting
Appreciating the moment creates the mood

ADAMS CANYON

2010-07-22T05:39:00.000-07:00

I run into babes like this while hiking--note to self--hike more!

The water mist was wonderful

Dave Alvin "Everett Ruess"

2010-07-14T09:01:00.000-07:00

I was born Everett Ruess
I been dead for sixty years
I was just a young boy in my twenties
The day I disappeared.

Into the Grand Escalante Badlands
Near the Utah and Arizona line
And they never found my body, boys
Or understood my mind.

I grew up in California
And I loved my family and my home
But I ran away to the High Sierra
Where I could live free and alone.

And folks said “He’s just another wild kid
And he’ll grow out of it in time,”
But they never found my body, boys
Or understood my mind.

I broke broncos with the cowboys
I sang healing songs with the Navajo
I did the snake dance with the Hopi
And I drew pictures everywhere I go.

Then I swapped all my drawings for provisions
To get what I needed to get by
And they never found my body, boys
Or understood my mind.

Well I hate your crowded cities
With your sad and hopeless mobs
And I hate your grand cathedrals
Where you try to trap God.

‘Cause I know God is here in the canyons
With the rattlesnakes and the pinon pines
And they never found my body, boys
Or understood my mind.

They say I was killed by a drifter
Or I froze to death in the snow
Maybe mauled by a wildcat
Or I’m livin’ down in Mexico.

But my end, it doesn’t really matter
All that counts is how you live your life
And they never found my body, boys
Or understood my mind.

You give your dreams away as you get older
Oh, but I never gave up mine
And they’ll never find my body, boys
Or understand my mind.

2010-07-06T19:47:00.000-07:00

More Ruess

2010-06-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

"Everett Ruess---a bold teenage adventurer, artist, and writer--studied and lived with Edward Weston, Maynard Dixon, and Dorothea Lange. He traded prints with Ansel Adams. He tramped around the Sierra Nevada, the California coast, and the desert wilderness of the Southwest between the age of 16 and 20, pursuing his dream of ultimate beauty and oneness with nature. Then in November 1934, at age twenty, he mysteriously vanished into the barren Utah desert."

---Flap jacket of: Everett Ruess A Vagabond for Beauty & Wilderness Journals

"He could be logical, then illogical. He could laugh and sing, could play-act, could assume roles, or could brood in sadness, silence, and isolation. But above all, Everett Ruess could see in a way that far transcended the mere act of vision. His reactions to the wonders of Nature went beyond what we could assume to be normal experience, to the point where he could resonate to the light waves that struck him from all points in the landscape. His was a strange gift that set him apart from aquaintances, friends, and relatives. Many people can feel emotion as they gaze upon some of the mere sublime vistas of canyons, desert, or mountains. But rare indeed is an Everett Ruess, who could sense beauty so acutely that it bordered on pain." (16)

Everett Ruess: A vagabond for Beauty
Edited by W.L. Rusho

Ruess was not only discovering the beauty in nature, but he was discovering things about himself. In one letter to his brother he explained, ". . .I am nineteen and sensitive, but it is small consolation to be told that. I have been discovering new moods, new lows, new and disturbing variations in myself and my feelings for individuals, and for people as a whole. . . . After various turnings, twistings, and recoils, I still have not been able to find any proper oulet for my feelings. Perhaps there is none and perhaps it is necessary for my feelings to die of weariness and refusal. I won't apologize for my emotions because I don't feel completely responsible. I can trace certain reactions in them when I am analytic, but I do not care to now. I don't expect you to understand them any more than anyone else, nor would it matter much if you did, because it seems to be up to me."

Everett Ruess was a deep thinker for his years. I don't know if any of us ever stop the inner wranglings of who we are, how we fit in, and how we contribute to life. Those questions may be masked or hidden in a variety of pursuits.

In our outdoor pursuits are we seekers of beauty? Does our inner being somehow blend with the outer beauty of nature? Do we see ourselves as "man in nature" or do we see man as an outsider?

Disappearing

2010-06-24T07:44:00.000-07:00

I have been deleting some of my blog posts. I feel like a hack.

Today, I wish I was Everett Ruess. I want to walk into a landscape and disappear. I'm not sure I would choose the Escalante area for my diappearing act, although I do love the red rock country of southern Utah. I see myself walking up a stream and disappearing around a bend. The breeze picks up, the aspen rustle, and I'm gone.

Summer Run

2010-06-19T08:38:00.000-07:00

I think summer may be officially here. I'm so glad. I was able to run this morning wearing shorts and a tank top. The morning sun was just up above Mount Ogden. It felt so good! As I ran I envisioned my mountain run I'm going to do. I thought about the rugged rocks and the cool mountain air. I tried to calculate what my average miles per hour will be. I thought about dripping sweat and sucking down water and Gatorade. I thought about what kind of music I want to listen to while I run the mountains. Maybe I don't want any music. Maybe listening to what the mountain has to say will be music enough. The first part of the run will parallel a small creek. Watching sun light glisten off the water and the gurgle of baby rapids will be pleasant. The road will leave the creek and I will have to climb the steepest part of the road through an aspen grove and then summit near a pine forest. Then it will be about 10 miles down through thick stands of trees interspersed with open meadows and sage and juniper hillsides. Eventually, I will see Bear Lake through the V-shaped canyon. After leaving the mountain, I will run about two miles through a small town, population about 200 people and end up at my dad's summer home.

The only thing I haven't thought through is the actual date. Maybe sometime in late July around Pioneer day. I could dedicate the run to my pioneer forefathers who walked and rode horseback or wagons through this area. Maybe I'll wait until it's cooler. Maybe September when all the campers are gone and the kids are in school. Decisions!

I have been able to clear my mind and release emotional "baggage" on lone fly fishing trips. Mentally, I can project worries, stress, and frustrations into the water and watch then float away downstream. I'm hoping to release some emotions on this run. At the summit, I will send these emotions skyward. I hope they will be caught up in billowing clouds. The billowing clouds can carry them away and drop them as rain in another place. Heaven knows I've rained my share of tears.

Up a Notch

2010-06-13T21:31:00.000-07:00

I just watched the weather report and this insistent rain is going to stop. Finally, I will be able to set my goals and accomplish them. I have been running in a drizzle for what seems like forever. I have cut back on my distance. It's time to turn it up a notch. If I'm going to run over the mountain sometime this summer, then I have to change a few things. I need to increase distance. I need to eat better. I need to get more sleep. My mind has been wandering all over the place the last couple of months and it has been affecting my sleep. Time to change.

I've got to get mentally ready too. I have one fear about this mountain run: cougar! Since this is a solo run, I have been thinking about and dreaming about being attacked by a mountain lion. I know the chances of an attack are slim, yet it is on my mind. I have seen cougar sign in the area and that sparks my imagination. I want to have long periods of isolation on this run----nothing but me and the wilds. I just don't want it too wild. Besides, having a cougar as a running partner ruins the solitude.

RAGGING FLOODWATERS!

2010-06-10T07:49:00.001-07:00

The wet spring (raining yet again today) and the transition from cool temperatures to hot a few days last week has the rivers, streams, and creeks bank full and flooding in some places. I hate when this happens. To help stop the flooding, big backhoes end up in the rivers dredging them--not a good thing for pristine trout habitat. I know what's more important, trout habitat or human habitat? I took several physical geography and geology classes in college and we discussed the pros and cons of building homes in flood planes, alluvial deposits, and mountain side slumping areas. If I remember right, it just wasn't the smartest thing to do. I wonder if the landowners who were so adamant that fishermen stay out of "their" streams and helped pass House Bill 141 last legislative session ( which keeps fishermen out of public waters flowing through private land) are happy to have their privacy invaded by sandbaggers. Funny how the tables can turn. Maybe the flooding is God's way to show them they were being selfish?

I hope they don't have to get into the middle Provo River and dredge. That area was ruined back in the early 80's and the last few years it was rebuilt to put the river back into its historical, meandering bed. Sandbagging is in full force on the upper Weber. I drove past the lower Weber today and it is bank full and chocolate flavored. The Ogden is prime for kayaking and running silted green. On a good note: the Logan , Blacksmith, and streams and creeks up north seem to be okay--so far.

I'll be dreaming of late summer and fall fishing, patiently waiting for the waters to drop. It seems I have to be patient for lots of things this year--waiting for the waters to recede and waiting for the air to clear. Patience!

Trout and Fly Chandeliers

2010-06-07T18:53:00.001-07:00

I've been building custom trout chandeliers for the last couple of years. Each one is a handmade original. I have fun making them as it is another way to create. I give people their choice of trout (brown, cutthroat, rainbow, brook) and also their choice of fly on the shade. The one pictured has three brown trout around the metal band and stoneflies on the shades. It has an old iron rustic finish. With three 60 watt candelabra bulbs it produces a warm, comfortable light for a dining room or nook. The light is a perfect compliment for a cabin, summer home, or room with rustic decor.

NOTELLUM CREEK

2010-06-05T20:11:00.000-07:00

Popular fly fishing writer John Gierach says , The secret places are the soul of fishing." I agree. I have had and still continue to hold a few streams and creeks secret. They are not secret because the trout are big, which seems to be the thing most fishers are after, but they are secret because they are special. I'm not going to go into detail about what makes them special, because special to me may seem rather insignificant to you. What I will say, is that I have had experiences in these places that mean something to me personally. It could be something as simple as spending time alone and cherishing the solitude, or as simple as spending some time there with someone I enjoy. Or it may be as simple as loving the way the water looks, the sound it makes, the environment it runs through, or the species of trout found there. These streams and creeks are not necessarily secret because they are out of the way or not known to others. All of these creeks and streams fall under the name: Notellum Creek. I'm not the first to coin the term, but I use it. People have asked if I went out fly fishing over the weekend and I will tell them, yes. "Where did you go?" they will ask. "Notellum Creek," is often my reply. It's not the best answer if you are looking to win friends and influence people. In fact, I would guess that I have ticked a few people off with my answer. I have to explain, the reasoning for my answer. In the past I have shared some of my secret places with "friends". I have sworn them to secrecy and asked them to not tell anyone else about the spot. They commit to it. On one occasion I took someone to a "secret" spot and asked them to keep it a secret. The next weekend they were there with two buddies. The week after that, his buddy was there with a couple more people, and then a few weeks after that, there was nine guys on this little gem of a creek. Way too many people for its size. One day I will go back there and see if the crowds are gone.Today, I was able to share a little spot with my wife. We have been here a few times together. She likes it. Today, we planned to fish for a couple of hours and then keep a couple for lunch. The water was a little high and the trout not as willing as they are in the fall, which is usually when I fish this area. I did manage to catch a few and we kept one for lunch. It wasn't much, but building the stick fire, cooking the trout in tinfoil, and sharing it was fun. Twenty-six years ago I took my girlfriend to a little creek to catch a trout and cook it in tinfoil. My Blazer got a flat tire on the dirt road. I had no spare tire. (I know, I know, Boy Scout Motto: Be Prepared.) We ended up walking down the road to a girls' camp and asking if anyone was going to town. Three lady leaders said they were going back and we bummed a ride to the nearest town to use a phone and get help. I called my brother and he and his wife came to the rescue and brought us a spare tire. We ended up going home so they could follow us in case something happened with the spare. Walking down that dirt road with that girl was comfortable. She never complained. I ended up marrying her. Strange as this may seem, with all the fishing I have done, I never did cook a tinfoil trout for her. I've brought a few home and cooked them, but with my admiration for trout, I have mostly practiced catch and release. Today, I cooked her a tinfoil trout.Being outside makes me frivolous. It keeps me young. I swear, these secret creeks are the fountains of youth!

COOL EVENING MIST

2010-06-03T21:54:00.000-07:00

Standing too close to the waterfall was like taking a cool, misty shower. Not a bad feeling on a hot summer day, but a little too refreshing in the evening. Still, the mist flying into the air from the waterfall felt good. It was invigorating after a short but strenuous hike.

At the beginning of the hike the young men received clues to a "mystery item." There was three sets of clues. None of the young men were able to discover what the item was until the final set of clues was given at the falls. Finally, one of the guys found the item: moss. It was growing in the rock crevices near the waterfall. Everyone had a good time. The views out over Ogden valley were beautiful. I expected a little more water at the falls, but it was still a nice sight. Hearts were beating and lungs were filled with clean mountain air. I learned a bit about the young men and the leaders by watching them and listening to them. Each person in the group has something to offer. It's a fun challenge to watch, listen, and observe their behavior. When i got home I grabbed a notepad and jotted down a few of these observations. The notes from each activity and outing will help in developing a program that will be rewarding--something that will be fun, but also stretch the imagination, the body, and the soul. I like the fact that those who participated set a goal to make it to the falls and then reached the goal. The rewards have to be pointed out until each comes to an understanding of what the rewards are. The rewards do not always have to be a prize, a gift, or something material in nature.The rewards of this outing were simple: Beautiful views, the waterfall, Ogden Valley vista, the creek, trees and rock; the reward of setting a goal and reaching it; the feeling of friendship; the exercise, and hopefully, a feeling that as human beings we belong here. As we hiked out, the sun was starting to lower in the horizon, but not low enough to shatter into color. I could tell it would be a great sunset, but we needed to get the young men back home. Besides, there will be other times for sunsets.

Waterfall Canyon

2010-06-02T08:02:00.001-07:00

Tonight I get to use some of my new found knowledge about moss. I'm taking a group of teenage boys and other leaders on a hike. It's a short hike, but a tiny bit challenging. The trail leaves the foothills and heads quickly up a canyon and ends at a 200 foot waterfall. It's a neat sight this time of year. The mountain snow melt is in a hurry to get to Great Salt Lake. The water leaps off the cliff and into the air--mist and rainbows mingle before splashing into a very shallow pool at the base.

I will be handing each young man a paper with hints and descriptions of moss. Just enough info to keep them guessing what the mystery item is. When they discover what it is, we will gather around the moss and talk about its characteristics and find a message in how moss can be a metaphor for things in our lives. The younger boys will also be trying to identify 10 native plants and sign of 10 native animals.

I hope to capture some pictures of the adventure.

Vision

2010-05-31T08:47:00.000-07:00

"In great deed something abides. On great fields something stays. Forms change and pass, bodies disappear but spirits linger to consecrate ground for the vision place of the soul. And reverent men and women from afar and generations that know us not and that we know not of, shall come here to ponder and to dream and the power of the vision shall pass into their souls."

---Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, 1828-1914

READING

2010-05-29T09:16:00.000-07:00

http://www.andyandrews.com/theheartmender/
© 2009-2010, Andy Andrews. Used by Permission. Originally posted on AndyAndrews.com.

This isn't really outdoor related, but it can be related to the outdoors. I know that seems like an odd statement, but the principles in Andy's books are about how we see life and how we react to what life gives us or takes away from us.

I'm a big fan of his books and just want to share.

Quick Trip Ogden River

2010-05-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

When I left home the weather was nice, warm and sunny. It was a beautiful spring day. The past couple of weeks have been one rain storm after another. I'm not complaining, the moisture is needed. It was, however, making it difficult for me to make a quick trip for a little fly fishing. Not so much the rain but the wind. Casting a small 3-weight rod and line in wind is not the most pleasurable experience.

The closer I got to the mouth of the canyon the more threatening the sky looked. Clouds were bunching up and darkening as they tried to climb over the Wasatch Range. I rigged up and started to fish. This was to be a casual outing, nothing serious. I didn't even take waders. I was going to spend a couple hours of relaxation and just enjoy the river.

It wasn't long before the rain started to drizzle, then within minutes it began to come down with a little more authority. I had no rain gear. I could feel the rain start to soak through my shirt. I kept casting.

I have made a little deal with myself, that when I go on a fly fishing adventure, I will try to never get skunked. I will at least stay until I catch one fish. It's kind of like the deal I have with shooting basketballs. I will never leave the court until I make a swish on my last shot. So, I stood in the rain and cold long enough to catch a couple of trout.

The rain began to wash debris into the water and the raindrops were plopping on the water surface making it difficult for the trout to see a small drifting mayfly. I had to resort to a movement technique to get their attention. I would skitter the fly and then actually let it sink under a little and swing it as a wet fly. Both of the fish I caught grabbed the fly on the swing.I could have stayed longer, but it was a cool storm and I wasn't prepared for it. My hands and legs were getting cold. I could feel a slight breeze penetrate my back through the wet shirt.

I had accomplished what I came to do and that was to see the condition of the river, check for stoneflies, and catch a trout of two. With that accomplished, I could go home refreshed-- little wet, but definitely refreshed.

CLOUDS of IMAGINATION and REALITY

2010-05-13T12:09:00.000-07:00

I'm amazed at the things I see on my way to and from work. As I look out the window of my vehicle, I notice things. I notice how clouds are lighted from a rising sun and how they are lighted from a setting sun.

Last night the clouds were stacked up in the western horizon. They were giant mountains. They towered over the small dark mountain ranges on the backside of the Great Salt Lake. They were illuminated as large snow covered peaks shooting heavenward. I estimated them to be 20, 000 feet high but they could have been higher.

I like the way they surrounded the basin. The bottoms a brilliant, glaring white; the tops bright but not with as much glare. The middle sections interspersed with gray, blue and a soft tangerine. I know they were on the move--both upward and across the sky. From my vantage, they were motionless, far enough away that I could not detect the movement or the wind that carries them to unknown destinations.

I imagine the moisture within the clouds rising upward and freezing and then falling as hail. I imagine the rain pelting the foothills and mountain tops as the clouds lessen their load before sailing over the ridges and peaks. I want to feel the release of latent heat as the winds blow down the slopes of rain-shadow valleys and disappear into nothingness. I imagine the spark of lightning and the burst of sound as thunder ricochets off canyon walls.

I stand in cloud dressed canyons, weeping rain, cold upon my skin; a refreshment from summer heat. I listen to the rumble of colliding energy. The power of the storm settling into the fiber of my being. I feel the hair on my arms and back of my neck rise with goose bump skin, and have my heart race with fear as flashing thunder mingles with my soul.

Drenched from wet wading a stream all day, and standing in a drizzle all evening, I strip off my clothes and hang them on a rope stretched between two trees. I pitch my tent and go to bed early, the darkness of the storm adding to my ability to slumber.

Awakened by light, I look out of the tent and witness the full moon guarding the forest. Moonbeams reflect in raindrops and hang on aspen leaves, waiting for a breeze before jumping to the ground. I check my watch. It's only midnight. I nestle back into my sleeping bag but it's too light to sleep. My eyes dilated with visions of stars and trout.

I hear the morning alarm of chirping birds and rush from the tent to my clothes. Still wet, and heavy with coolness, I put them on. Black skies have given way to blue. Soon the sun will be drying the earth. I add a few tears to the moisture as I grab my fly rod and head for the stream. I walk into the water, wipe the last drop off my cheek and begin to cast. In my heart, I long for a friend. I know it won't be long before one rises and welcomes me to a new day.

TRUE FRIENDS

2010-05-11T21:59:00.000-07:00

One of my old fly fishing buddies visited me today. We remembered some trips and experiences we shared on the water. I realized I missed things about him. His laugh was refreshing. He made me laugh hard today, something I haven't done for a while.

There was one time on the Ogden River when we decided to count the fish we caught. It was a hot summer afternoon and we started fishing below an area we call "the rock." Within a couple of hours of fishing we had caught and released somewhere in the area of 50 fish between us. As we walked past the Oaks establishment, we decided to get an ice cream cone and eat it on the bank of the river. As we sat eating the ice cream and discussing what great fly fishermen we were, a trout rose up and took a natural insect off the surface right in front of us. We looked at each other and simultaneously said, "did you see that?" I suggested that my friend slip his fly out of the keeper and swing it out into the river and see if the trout would rise again. He did and on the first drift he hooked a nice brown. My friend began to play the trout and tried to hand his ice cream cone to me. "You hooked the fish so you have to catch and release it," I said. "I'm taking a break and eating ice cream." My friend shoved the ice ceam in his mouth and played the fish. Periodically he would lick the melting ice cream and then shove it back in his mouth and play the fish. He did this several times while I just sat on the bank and laughed. Finally, with ice cream stuck in his mouth, he was able to release the fish. He turned and looked at me in disgust. "You should see yourself," I said. "You have ice cream all over your face and dripping down your beard." I continued to laugh. My friend finally said a few choice words and then burst into laughter himself.

These were the kind of stories we remembered. I was glad that my friend had stopped in to see me. We talked about hitting the giant stonefly hatch on the Ogden River in a week or two and then fishing hoppers on the Logan. We have not fished together for about five or six years. Life just seemed to send us in different directions. It will be fun to reunite again upon the water. Friendships do not dissolve. Time may take friends in different directions, but eventually it seems, true friends can always pick up where they last left off without missing a beat.

THE FOOTHILLS OF FERNWOOD

2010-05-05T21:50:00.000-07:00

My daughter was the guide on this little outing. She invited us to hike along the foothills above Layton. A place called Fernwood. It is part of the Bonneville shoreline trail that follows the hills along most of the Wasatch Front. It was nice to spend some time with her and to see her excitement for being outdoors. My wife, my son and his girlfriend went with us. My daughter guided us up the small canyon and onto the trail. We then followed it dipping into a couple of narrow canyons with small creeks, cold with snowmelt. I had a sore arch on my right foot and stopped at one of the creeks, took of my boot, and submerged my foot in the cold water until it was numb. It felt so good!

We took our time. We looked up at the peaks and out over the valley. We studied the creek water and spotted deer along the ridges. We talked. We had quiet times of thought and reflection. We found a degree of peace and harmony that we sometimes don't have in our "normal" lives.

We joked, laughed, and enjoyed being out. The trail is easy. My daughter has hiked straight up the mountain in this area, but this hike was leasure. We strolled along the foothills. We talked about coming back and building a fire in the trailhead firepit and making Somores. I could taste the chocolate and dripping marshmallow surrounded by Graham cracker as we discussed it.

My daughter stood on a rock and lifted her arms skyward. She was queen of the hill. She was a great guide.

Shadows were getting long. Evening was approaching. We decided to stay long enough to watch the sun set. From this trail the sun would go down directly behind Fremont Island in the Great Salt Lake. There was just enough cloud cover to splatter the yellow and orange hues across the darkened Island and west desert mountain ranges. When the sun goes down and I'm in the outdoors I can get a little crazy. It was good to be "OUT THERE" with members of my family.

HOLD YOUR HEAD UP

2010-04-27T08:17:00.000-07:00

And if it's bad
Don't let it get you down, you can take it
And if it hurts
Don't let them see you cry, you can make it

Hold your head up, hold your head up
Hold your head up, hold your head high

And if they stare
Just let them burn their eyes on you moving
And if they shout
Don't let them change a thing that you're doing

Hold your head up, hold your head up
Hold your head up, hold your head high

-----Argent

I'm approaching my outdoor activities this summer with the above lyrics in my head.

Life is too short.
Love lots, smile big, laugh with your heart and know that all is well!

Link to Troutseeker

2010-04-15T16:33:00.001-07:00

http://www.troutseeker.blogspot.com/

Sure Sign of Spring

2010-03-23T22:11:00.000-07:00

I parked my truck in a small dirt turnout. I've parked here often. I park here when I visit the Ogden River as a friend. I walk up the path on the parkway. The path that others walk, run, or bike for exercise. The path that some use to relieve stress; a place of meditation. I notice the buffer between the path and the water. I'm glad it's here. When the developers were building the parkway path, they were asked to keep a buffer zone: A strip of brush and trees that would help keep the area somewhat natural. The buffer zone of trees and brush serve several purposes. The brush and trees provide shade to the river corridor which helps cool the water, helping the trout population. The lower overhanging brush also provides shelter and hiding habitat for skittish trout. Birds, animals and insects use the trees and brush for similar purpose. The buffer zone provides a defense against fertilizers and pesticides that are used on the nearby golf course, parks, and gardens along the parkway. The buffer adds a wildness to human perception.

I'm nearing the part of the river where I can walk into the trees. I leave the path here and make my own. I wander down maybe fifty yards off the path and find a large tree near the bank. It's a tree I have leaned on for several years. I come to this spot and use the tree's trunk to rest my shoulder and hip on. In this postion, I am able to stay put for about thirty minutes, maybe longer. If I'm on my lunch hour, I have about thirty minutes of observation time. If I'm not working, I will sometimes stay longer. Today, I have about thirty minutes.

I'm watching for the sure sign of spring. I look at the water. My eyes focus on the rhythm. I see the main current. I see the micro-currents. I see the seams where slow and fast water rub together. I look beyond the surface tension and notice stream bottom rocks. They are dark, moss colored and interspersed with clean stones that sparkle with multi-colored ambient light. Camouflaged against the bottom rock, but visable to a trained eye, I see a trout. I have seen this sight year after year as a seeker of trout, still my heart races and I hold my breath. Slowly, I exhale. My heart skips a beat, its pace returns to normal. I tell myself with an internal voice that I belong here. I'm not an intruder. With that thought, I blend both physically and mentally into the scene. What I have come to witness can now unfold.

Tumbling, skidding, and then floating motionless, I see a small grayish mayfly carried on the laminant flow. With small flutters it moves against the current and lifts to the air. I strain to see it gain altitude and then lose it as it becomes part of the sky. Upstream, I notice more mayflies each in their own struggle to become airborn. In the tailout flat, at the end of the seam I am watching, my peripheral vision catches the splashy rise of a small trout; then another, and another. The small trout are hurried. They rush to their meal with youthful aggression. The rise is showy; the mixing of spray and audible splash. Each rise turns my head.

Peering into the seam where I spotted the first trout, I see that it has moved closer to the head of the run. It is in prime position to sit in the slower current but close enough to the seam to pick off any mayflies conveyered downstream. Soon, more mayflies are riding the current. Trout are working the surface regularly. I focus my attention on some of the larger ones. They feed easily. Stationed close to the surface now, they are easy to spot. Their motion is slow and deliberate. They sip. A gentle rise of the head, an opening of the mouth, and a quiet slurp. Sometimes no noise at all.

I have to leave. On my way back to the truck, I jump. I grab at a mayfly but miss. I watch one as it lands on a streamside rock and quickly drop down to my knees and grasp it by its wings. I hold it. I look at its body and see a tinge of olive mixed with the gray. Its wings gray-blue. Its eyes orange. Its legs kick and wiggle. I try to toss it into the air, but my fingers have damaged its wings and it falls. I feel bad but realize that I am part of nature too. I justify my actions by convincing my mind that I took only one mayfly while the trout and birds take many. Some mayflies are stillborn and some are crippled--it's part of life.

A cool breeze slides past my face as I enter the parkaway path and head for my truck. It is a transition time. I glance up. Gray clouds give way to patches of blue to the west. Parting clouds above allow sunlight to dance for just a moment upon this section of earth. I feel my feet upon the path, the sun upon my forehead, and hear the water's song. This is my ritual. Spring is here!

CHOMPING AT THE BIT

2010-03-13T15:44:00.000-08:00

Some horses will chomp or chew on the bit when they are impatient or bored. I have been waiting for a good spring day so I could get outside. Like a horse chomping on a bit, I have been impatient and bored with the winter. Finally, A good day comes along and I ask my wife if she wants to go hike in the foothills above Ogden. She said yes, and we drove to the Bues Creek Trailhead. We decided to make it a short hike, maybe spend two or three hours on the trail. Earlier in the day I had run 12 miles non-stop so I wasn't looking for a real workout. We just felt like getting outside, breathing fresh air, and spending time together. I expected it to be a little muddy, and for the north facing slopes and trail to have a little snow. I also figured the south facing slopes and trail would be free of snow at the lower elevation and dry. That is the condition we found.

The Run

2010-02-25T16:11:00.000-08:00

Okay. I opened my mouth and now I have to live up to what came out of it. Last summer, I did the mountain bike ride over the mountain. I thought it was 13 miles. I decided I will run it this year. I've been running for almost a year now and can do 5 miles easy. I've done a couple 8 milers and a couple of 10 milers. So I figure if I keep training I should be able to do the 13 miles of dirt. Today, I go on Google Earth and actually mark out the route. Surprise! The road is 17 miles long. So, now I'm training for a 17 mile run. Details will be forthcoming. I can do this!

Be Prepared

2010-01-08T20:58:00.000-08:00

Be prepared. That's the Boy Scout Motto. I knew it. I thought I lived by it, at least while venturing out into the wilds. I had been a Boy Scout. I had some great leaders. They taught us right. I earned the Eagle Award. I studied wilderness survival manuals and even took a college level class on the subject. The Eagle Scout oath says, "give back more to Scouting than it has given to you." So, when I was asked to be a leader of 14 and 15 year old Scouts about 15 years ago, I decided to try to give back as I had pledged.

At age 14, Scouts move into what is called Varsity Scouting. They can still work on regular Boy Scout advancement, but the program moves into what is called "high adventure." There are high adventure camps run by Scout Councils. These camps provide activities such as canoeing, kayaking, white water rafting, rock climbing, and hiking. A leader can pay fees and take his group to these organized camps, or he can plan and carry out his own high adventure camp.

We (the young men and I) decided to plan and carry out our own camp one summer. It would be a three day, two night adventure. The highlight of the camp would be a 6 mile hike into a prestine lake in the tops of the mountains in Idaho. The plan was to spend the first day setting up camp and playing games and having a good time. The second day we would hike into the lake, spend the day and then hike back to our base camp. A 12 mile round trip hike didn't seem too tough while planning it out in our minds and on paper.

We decided the first weekend in August would be a good time for the camp. That would give the young men a good adventure a few weeks before heading back to school. Plans were made, food and gear was purchased, and we left town for St. Charles canyon near Bear Lake, Idaho. We would be camping at the top of the canyon in the unimproved camp area. This area was at the start of the trail that would lead us to Bloomington Lake.

After arriving and setting up camp, the games began. If my memory is right, the guys were divided into two teams, boundaries set, and a very long game of steal the flag was started. Everyone enjoyed the game. Sneaking around in the pines and quakies, running and jumping over brush and boulders tested everyone's athleticism. After the game, we cleaned up and started dinner. The meal of chicken fajitas was easy to prepare. A quick stir fry of chicken strips, onions, and yellow and red bell peppers was topped with salsa and wrapped in a warmed tortilla.

As darkness of evening fell, a nice fire was built and everyone sat around the fire and told stories and jokes. I had become accustomed to telling one or two scary stories in hopes of making the young men think twice before venturing out of the tents in the dark of night. And I did remind them that we had some hiking to do the next day so getting a good rest would be beneficial.

Morning came quick. The summer had been a little warmer than normal and the weather forcast for the weekend called for temperatures about ten degrees above average. This would mean that we would be hiking in 80 to 90 degree heat. I checked with each boy and made sure they had a water bottle. They did. I wasn't sure one water bottle would be enough so, in keeping with the be prepared motto, I put a couple of larger bottles of water in a day pack and strapped it on my back in case some of the boys ran out. We had decided to carry one pack with all the fixings for our lunch, which we were going to eat at the lake. The plan was for each person to take a turn carrying the food pack. It wasn't heavy. Lunch would consist of sandwhiches and chips.

The terrain wasn't that bad. But hiking in the heat had the guys sucking on the water bottles frequently. A couple miles into the hike and I was filling empty bottles with the spare water I had brought. At this pace, the water would be gone before we made it to the lake. A couple of the older boys and faster hikers asked to go ahead. I gave them permission. A move that worked out okay, but one that I look back on as a bad move. I should have kept the group together. What if they had made a wrong turn and become lost?

Hiking 6 miles along the top of a mountain without trail indicators giving an idea of how many more miles we had to go, began to play on our minds. I guesstimated that we had about a mile more to get to the lake. We had run out of water and some in the group were very thirsty. That last mile was a hot, dry one.

We made it to the lake but we were not out of danger yet. The lake is cold and clear. The water looks refreshing and clean, but there is always the possiblitly of getting giardia, a parasite that can cause some severe stomach and intestinal disorders. I knew we would not be able to hike the six miles back. We were tired and thirsty from the hike. The mental side of the situation is what would keep us from making the hike back. I told the young men that I would ask other visitors at the lake if any of them were camped at St. Charles and could give me a ride down the dirt road and over to St. Charles canyon. I would then drive the car back up to the lake to take them back. I told them I would bring a big cooler full of water. Some of the guys had metal canteens. I told them that if they needed to drink to build a fire and boil the water in the metal canteens before drinking it. I found a ride out and left them with the other adult leader.

I returned with the water and all drank their fill. I asked if they boiled the lake water and they said no. They drank freely right from the lake. I was worried that someone would get sick. We made it safley back to our base camp and again had a nice evening around a warm fire. The next morning we broke camp and returned home. I called the medical clinic and asked a nurse how long I needed to check with those who drank from the lake to make sure they didn't get the parasite. She told me to give them a couple of weeks and if no one got sick, we were in the clear. Amazingly, no one got sick from the lake water.

As with most adventures, you can come way with a learning experience. I learned that you cannot put too many activities into one day. Trying to hike into the lake and then back the same day was just too much. The other lesson is to always have a water purifying devise on all outings. Taking a chance drinking lake water or stream water can be risky and should only be done in a wilderness survival situation or last resort. Reviewing what being prepared means is always a good thing.

After Storms

2009-12-16T07:33:00.000-08:00

There was a quiet as I drove to town. Something in the noise of the last three days of storms had confused my thinking. I had to stop and get a picture of what the snow storms had done to the mountains. More important to me, I think, is that the blues I had been feeling from slate skies was leaving as the blueness of the heavens appeared. I could hear the quietness of the scene even from the city.

I have hiked most of the canyons along this range. I've never been to the top. In the back of my head I have that as a goal this next spring or summer. Up one of these canyons is a nice waterfall. It's a popular hike in the spring as snowmelt flies off the mountain testing its wings against gravity. Right now its a frozen trickle sleeping under a covering of ice. If summer comes quick echoes of shattering glass will fill the daytime air. If summer sneaks into the canyon the soft sound of distant rivers will grow with the heat. Those concerts are a couple months away but it's fun to dream of having tickets and getting a good seat.

After taking the picture, I pulled my truck into a parking lot and maneuvered it so that the sun was coming through the side window, warm on my face. I wanted to feel heat. I started to read a book and enjoy the light. I'm not sure how long I had dozed off, but was awakened with a pain in my neck. My chin burried in my chest. Strangely, the book was still in my hands and opened to the page I had been reading. I start the truck and decide to drive over to Ogden River.

I like to check the winter water flows in the Ogden River. The canyon section below Pineview Dam can run quite low. The gradient of the canyon, the plunge pools, and the introduction of warm water from hot springs in some sections keep the river from icing up too much. As is normal, the flows are low. I see a couple of brown trout nosing around picking midge pupae from just under the surface. Their slow and deliberate movement ever so gently disturbes the water and takes the mirrored meniscus from realism to impressionism.

I have a hard time seeing color during the winter. I see brown, black, shades of gray and tan, olive hues and some blue in refected sky and transparent snow. I dream of trout. They can add the colors: butter yellow, orange, and red.

Plunge pools mix air, movement, and sound. Water with little motion in long, slow runs suddenly drops and migrates through boulders and rocks, churning with life before mellowing into the next section of quiet flow.

When the trout are still, the reflecting lines of tree trunks reconnect and angle out over the water reaching for the bank and disappearing into the snow and landscape.

There is a feeling of peace that comes to me. Year after year of inspection, I find that nothing really changes here only with the seasons. Come spring and summer shades of green will appear. I have learned to appreciate that color. It's beauty and significance has been added to my life, hopefully to never leave.

Follow the Heart

2009-12-11T16:56:00.000-08:00

Dark comes early evening, late Fall, in Utah's west desert. I didn't care. I needed to get away. I took a dirt road leading into the sunset. The western vista was nothing but tints and shades of plum and pomegranate. The longer I drive, the darker the shades.

I have to clear my mind. Heading into remoteness one of my ways to do it. You could say I was running from issues, but I was taking them with me, and looking for a place to bury them; a place where no one else would find them--a place with few footprints.

I turn left at a fork in the road and take the lower road along a volcanic outcropping. The broken rock blacker than dusk. Soon, the sky and rock will blend and become one. I turn off the main dirt road onto a very poor turnout and follow the rocky base of an old railroad grade for several hundred yards. I park and immediately hike up the ridge and into some rolling hills.

The sun is just below the horizon but still casting long shadows of sage and rabbitbrush like long arms with hundreds of reaching fingers. I walk with a quick pace dodging the fingers as they try to grasp my ankles. Ahead, I see a set of rocks that invite me to sit, think, and listen. I angle up the side of a sloping hill, reach the rocks, and sit down.

Now what? Dig a hole? Bury my heart? Listen? I decide to listen. Coyotes howl and yip, organizing for the evening hunt, or more likely, notifying the packs of my intrusion. Surround sound at its best. I've heard this yipping and howling often, but I am never able to determine how many coyotes are involved. It always sounds like hundreds. I read once, that after a coyote howls, he is unable to howl again for some time. If this is true, then there really are hundreds of coyotes around me. Eventually, all the singing stops, and all that remains is silence. Stillness.

From my rock seat, I look around and realize I can't see distance anymore. I see blackness. I'm out far enough that there is no ambiant light. No city light pollution. No moon. Dark!

I stand and try to see a landmark. Just as I knew would happen, the sky and rock have mixed together. Which way did I walk from the truck? How far have I walked? This doesn't happen to me. I am lost! All the things I have learned were running through my head. Did I leave a detailed trip plan at home? No. Did I bring the minimum amount of survival gear? No. It was just a drive and a hike to get away. I had nothing but a pocketknife. What good is a pocketknife in this situation? All I need to do is locate my truck and get out of this black landscape.

What have I learned about traveling in wild places? What have I learned to do when lost? I remember the number one survival tool is the mind. Remain positive! No need to panic. The truck is out there. I couldn't have hiked that far. Relax. Stop. That's it stop. Now think.

There's the Big Dipper. Follow the two stars on the bottom of the dipper out in a line until it hits a bright star. There it is, Polaris, the North Star. That direction is north. So what? I have no clue from which direction I came. North is meaningless. Or is it? Let's see. I know I hiked uphill facing the setting sun, that would be west. I know that the area I'm in is approximately forty-one degrees north latitude so if I was walking toward the setting sun I must have walked from the north--so the North Star is helpful. Stay calm.
I remember I drove along an old railroad grade for a few hundred yards. All I have to do is walk down the hill until I hit the railroad grade and then follow it northward until I see the truck.

I reach into my pocket to make sure I still have my keys. I pull them out and remember that my key ring is a single LED mini-flashlight. Added security. It's light isn't much, but surprisingly bright in a very dark desert. The light improves calmness and slows adrenaline.

I come off the hill and find the railraod grade. Angling toward the North Star I head down the grade. It seems I walked much farther than I remember. I pause to question my direstion. Surely, I did not hike this far. Think again. Follow your mind or follow your heart? I dislike that question. That question is one of my most difficult. Think! Thinking has to do with the brain. Something doesn't feel right. Feeling has to do with the heart. I've already done the thinking. Follow the heart. Heart says, keep going in the direction I'm going. I do and find the truck.

I get into the truck, drive out to the main dirt road, and head out of the desert. It's a little over two hours drive. As I finally get out of the sage flats and up over the last small range of mountains, I can see thirty or forty miles into the distance, the gleaming lights all along the Wasatch Front. My mind now clear--I'm heading home.

Winter Reading List

2009-11-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

I have a few books I picked up at the public library to help me get through the longer nights of winter: The Maytrees, and The living, by Annie Dillard, River Walking, by Kathleen Dean Moore, and Where the Rain Children Sleep, by Michael Engelhard.

I have a habit of starting a book and often never finishing it. The book has to really grab me and make me think or I lose interest fast. I still struggle with fiction but trying to be better at reading it, thus the first two book of fiction by Dillard. Each of the mentioned books have nature as a theme. If I find anything interesting I'll let you know.

Winter Notes from Montana by Rick Bass

2009-11-20T16:56:00.000-08:00

I bought and read Winter Notes from Montana, by Rick Bass several years back. With winter coming to the intermountain area, I decide to read it again. I like some of the stuff Bass writes and this read is okay. It's written in a journal format. Bass, a writer, and his girlfriend Elizabeth, an artist, have migrated around looking for the perfect place to settle and pursue their interests. They end up in an area near Yaak, Montana by the Canadian and Idaho border. It is a remote place, hard to get to; a place with no electricity. The perfect place for a hermit or hermits. I guess you can still be a hermit and live in a place with other hermits?

This little book is different. Some of it I don't enjoy, even though I plod along reading every word. I find that I am trying to feel what Rick and Elizabeth are feeling. I search the words for a deep meaning and follow the description of the most menial of activities such as cutting, splitting, and stacking wood. I am searching the words for the same thing they were searching: a meaning in life outside normal social posturings.

The past couple of years I have been questioning my ventures into the woods and my lone adventures up my favorite rivers, streams and creeks. Early in my life, I had the dream of living in a small, remote town. I considered a hermit like life. But I also knew that I liked the company of females and finding a gal that would live that kind of secluded existence would be almost impossible. I was already finding it difficult to find one that would put up with the need I had to wander for a whole day at a time. I did eventually find such a woman and it has been wonderful. She lets me spend a lot of evenings and Saturdays in the places I want to be. She has made me the envy of my male neighbors. They stand in their yards and scratch their heads, or at least tip their heads to me, as I drive off for a summer's evening of dry fly fishing while they navigate a lawnmower.

As I have been reading, this statement by Bass jumped out at me: "I'm suppose to be a hermit, but what a half-assed hermit I'm turning into: running away to the woods in order to discover that I love people, friends."

The reason this statement jumped out at me, is because the timing of reading it. It never really stood out to me years ago when I first read the book. This time, however, it really stood out. I have been "feeling" a need to connect with people this past year in a way that is new to me. So to read that Bass, a person who was seeking a more solitary lifestyle, would discover this need to love people and friends, early in his adventure to get away, is interesting to me.

A co-worker of mine used to tell me that humans are social animals. He tried to explain that we need the interaction in order to remain whole. I tried to take the opposite view and explain why, but never could explain it in a worthy manner. It's hard to explain feelings. I'm going to try.

While I still enjoy a certain amount of solitude, especially when I fly fish, I am finding that having someone along on "some" adventures can actually add to the pleasure and give me someone to analyze the experience with. It can give me someone I can look in the eyes and notice that theirs are as wide open as mine, or that their breathing is quick, or that they just took one big breath too, because of the thrill of the experience or because of the shared vista. Like I said, feelings are hard to explain.

I guess the bottom line to all of this, is that I hope to share more of my wanderings, my hikes, my fly fishing, my other "adventures" with those I love--family and friends. Hopefully, some of them will want to go with me, but if not, I know that I can always go alone, and that means no matter what, I'll be in good company.

Winter Solstice

2009-11-16T20:50:00.000-08:00

My alarm went off at 6:00 AM. I listened to the news for a minute and then the weather report. I rolled over and thought to myself, "winters here." One winter, I ran in the cold. This winter I have decided to hit the gym or run on a treadmill. Breathing in the cold air makes me cough. I don't like it.

I've been running all summer and became addicted to it. I run for several reasons. I run to keep fit. I run to think. I run to calm my mind. I run because I can. I was running 3.5 miles every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and most Saturdays unless I had some other outing planned on the weekend. Then I went nuts. I started to run 3.5 miles every morning except Sunday. And then I started running 3.5 in the evening too for a total of 7 miles per day. On the evenings I didn't run, I would ride my mountain bike. I would put in 10 to 20 miles a night including some hill work. Like I mentioned I was going nuts. I was running in the summer heat. Some evenings the temperature was 90 plus and I would run. I actually loved it. The sweat dripping into my eyes and burning. I couldn't see. I wiped it away as best I could and then would look for a yard with sprinklers. I would run into the sprinklers and wash the sweat and salt from my body and then run again. Eventually, I started to wear a sweatband and it helped keep most of the salt out of my eyes. I was overdoing it and started to have a problem in my left leg something called the IT band. I had to stop for two weeks to heal and now I have cut back to 3.5 miles every other day. I want to maintain that through the winter.

I'm not a winter person. I get cabin fever. It seems every year it comes earlier. I'm already dreaming of summer. I wouldn't mind winter so much if I had a nice warm place to hole up where I could just write, paint, draw, and tie trout flies. But since I have other responsibilities, I have to travel out into the cold, white, but mostly grayness of winter.

In the past I have tried to trick my mind as a way to get through the cold months. I look forward to the winter solstice. I watch the calendar and wait for December 21st. The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year. It is the day the sun is farthest to the south of my location. It means the sun will start to move to the north and as it progresses to the north the days get longer and eventually warmer. The long, cold nights are on their way out. I can't wait!

I'm going to try to enjoy the winter more this year. I have a few days planned to go after mountain whitefish. They are not as lethargic as trout in the winter and will give me some much needed fly fishing pleasure. I used to go after them with my brother. Cold, winter afternoons all bundled up and standing in the river, laughing, smiling and knowing that we were the two toughest, and smartest, and best looking men in the world. Man, I miss those days!

I've got some other ideas I want to try to help me make it through the winter. It seems long all ready and it's just beginning. Five weeks to the winter solstice and I'll be fine!

SEVEN MILES TO SOLITUDE

2009-11-02T13:58:00.000-08:00

Daddy Stump was already on Antelope Island when Fielding Garr was commisioned by Brigham Young to build a house and manage the Church's cattle ranch there in the fall of 1848. Daddy Stump had it right. The old mountain man had a crude cabin made of juniper wood and a dirt roof at the base of one of the steep canyons on the west side of the island. No one knows how long he had been there, but he was living in complete solitude at the time. Daddy Stump's solitude was interupted with the beginning of the ranching and Stump actually helped in driving cattle to the island for the Garrs.

Daddy Stump left the island sometime around 1855 for a remote corner of Cache Valley and then mysteriously disappeared. Not much more is known about him. Whether Daddy Stump was his real name, or exactly where his cabin was built on the island, and where he ended up, or what happened to him in Cache Valley is not known. Daddy Stump Ridge a long, high ridge on Antelope Island bears his name, a reminder of a man and his solitude. It was this solitude that I sought when I drove the seven miles across the causeway and entered the landscape of the island.

The island's bison dotted the landscape in several areas. I was careful to keep my distance as they are very wild even though accustomed to human visitors.The day was dark and gray with low overcast skies sometimes covering Frary Peak, the final destination of my hike. Frary Peak at 6,596 feet above sea level provides great vistas of Great Salt Lake, Wasatch Front, other islands, and mountain ranges west of the island as far as Nevada.From Buffalo Point, I gazed out over White Rock Bay at Fray Peak and mentally prepared for my lone expedition to the summit.I left the trailhead and started up the first incline. I hiked fast. I felt good. I had energy and wanted to burn it from my system. Heartbeats quickened and pounded hard in my chest. Adeneline motivated my legs into a steady motion and my thoughts turned to a summer of running an biking that now made my spirit grateful for the training. As I entered a boulder strewn field, I looked back and noticed Dooly knob backdropped by slate stratus clouds blocking the Wasatch Mountains and Ogden City from view.I continued to hike and gained in elevation. Remnant early snow, and a cool breeze reminded me that fall would soon give way to winter.Part of the trail is tough. There are sections where I run. I had trails like this in mind when I bought the orange trail running shoes. They are light, yet sturdy. I like to run in them. I punished my feet, my legs, my knees, my back, and my brain. October, the month for hauntings, witches, and axe murderers. They don't scare me. That's not why I'm hiking and trail running. Okay, maybe the hauntings give reason to run. I hiked to Frary Peak as fast as I could. By adding the running, I can leave the hauntings at the lower elevation; down by the salt water where nothing can live except brine shrimp and flies. From the peak I can see. I wish the trail didn't close at dusk. I wish I could stay past dark. At night I could see the glow of sparkling city lights all along the Wasatch Front. I saw a glimpse of this when I stayed on Fremont Island at night. The view of the lights is rewarding. It put me in place. The realization of so much human activity within the narrow band of land between lake and mountains. It made me notice the quiet, stillness and sometimes eeryiness of solitude. Thoughts of disappearing like the banished grave robber, Jean Baptiste--the exile of Fremont Island, and ghost upon the Great Salt Lake brine can start new hauntings. Baptiste's ghost has been seem walking along these salty shores. If you stay overnight in the campgrounds listen for the footsteps and mournful whispers.At the summit someone built a rock altar of sorts, or maybe it was a stone throne for the king of the hill to rest and take in the extended view of his kingdom.I am always amazed on my lone trips. As the sun set into the western mountains, I turned to view the highlighted Wasatch Front and saw someone against the rocks watching me. I could see no features in his face, no definition in his outfit or gear that would give me hint of who he was. He just stood there against the rocks and stared at me as I stared at him. I wanted to say, "Who are you?" I didn't. I wanted to respect the silence of the day. I had not spoken verbally. In my mind I had had numerous conversations. The thought occurred to tell the stranger of the excitement of the day; the things I had seen, the feelings I had felt. But as I stood there looking at him, I had the feeling that he already knew.

FALL COLOR LOGAN CANYON

2009-10-31T18:28:00.000-07:00

WELCOME

2009-10-31T13:07:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my new blog. Instead of publishing non-fly fishing related topics on my Troutseeker blog, I decided to post them here. OUT THERE, is usually where I am found--or in most instances where I go to not be found. This blog will be dedicated to the other outdoor pursuits I enjoy. I will be posting about hiking, mountain biking, canoeing, kayaking, running, wandering and wondering about nature and the outdoors. This will be the place I come after an outing or when I just want to muse or dream about the serenity and beauty I find in the natural world. Since I live in the Intermountain West, most of the posts will have to do with this area. You will find me in the mountains, deserts, and places between. As my header sub-title says, I hope to make this "a place of wistful inquiries and dreams."