A Snapshot and The Scoop: I Love Me A Good Desert Thunderstorm

This July my family and I spent a few days hanging around Moab, UT, soaking up the desert sun and the red rock country that surrounded us. One evening we decided to drive to a viewpoint that overlooked a couple of districts of Canyonlands National Park. We arrived amid clouds, distant lightning and the threat of rain; in the distance, on all sides, we could see the storms dumping rain on the canyons. We spent an hour at the viewpoint, watching the storms roll in, hoping to get a good shot of some of the near constant lightning. Everywhere we looked, it was storming, except right where we were standing. There is nothing on the planet like a good monsoon over the desert canyons, watching lightning fork across the dark sky and deep red rocks, listening to the resounding thunder echo against the cliffs. The smell of rain, carried to us by the updrafts from the canyon floor below, energized us and kept us there longer than we would have stayed had it been hot and sunny. We stayed until sunset, and when we could no longer see the canyons stretched out below us we left. And the storms continued on.

Leave me a comment below and let me know if you've ever had the pleasure of witnessing a storm in the desert (from a safe distance).

In The Footsteps Of The Ancients

Enchanted. If you don't feel awe while standing in the shadows of ancestral ruins, there might be something wrong with you as a human being. No matter who you are, some aspect of the ruins of another culture's community calls to you; maybe that explains people's fascination with ghost towns. Alisha and I were in Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, spending our evening exploring the ancient Puebloan ruins scattered throughout the canyon alcoves and atop mesas. We had signed up for a guided tour of Balcony House Ruins, one of the ranger-led progams that took you down and around a large alcove ruin. The last tour of the evening, we knew we would be able to take our time and not rush through the area so that the next group of tourists could see the place.

Our tour guide was a local, a Native American who had grown up just outside of the park's borders and who's reverence of the place was tangible. He spoke of the ancients, his ancestors, with respect, and his perspective on what the ruins were like when they were humming with life was one that I've never had the pleasure of experiencing. I've only ever received the cut and dry version, what the "experts" think each area, each tool, each building was used for. He led us through the ruins and instilled in us all a sense of respect for the place in a way that I've never felt before. He was by far the best tour guide I've ever had.

Now, the trail itself to and from the alcove was easy. Except for the ladders. I hate ladders, and we had the horror of climbing up a single 30ft wooden ladder that was bolted to the cliff face in order to reach the alcove. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough. we actually had to climb up three more 10ft wooden ladders to get back to the top of the mesa and the parking lot. But I did it. I dutifully put my hands and feet on the rungs and willingly trusted my life to a couple of wooden poles nailed together by man. I'd really rather not do it again. And let me tell you how relieved I was to get to the top!

Alisha left early the next morning, but I still had time to explore. I signed up for the first guided tour of Cliff Palace, another ruin in another alcove, yet all part of the same extended community of the area. Our tour guide was not nearly as interesting as the ranger we had at Balcony House, and he seemed almost bored, as if he didn't really want to be there. Dude, a little enthusiam for your job would go a long way. After a while, I couldn't help but tune him out. He spouted off facts straight from the guide book, and his opinions about the uses of certain buildings and of the kivas were ones that were prevelent in the '90s. "Ceremonial or religious purposes." How about everyday life? Just because it's not something we're used to seeing doesn't mean it wasn't part of normal, everyday life for the ancient people. Ceremonial, indeed. I wanted to see the ruins up close, or I wouldn't have even bothered with the guided tour. That's generally the only reason I ever take a tour: to see something I couldn't see on my own.

Again, the trail to and from the alcove was easy. Down some metal stairs, along a winding trail set above the canyon bottom, and along the front of the alcove. This time, we actually saw some of the hand and toe holds the ancient people had pecked into the rock face, which was their way in and out of the alcove. We took a slightly easier way out of the canyon, though we still had to climb up a short ladder (that really wasn't so bad) to reach the top again. It was worth the tour just to see Cliff Palace up close, but I could have done without the guide. Sometimes, however, ya just gotta deal.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Being on the Road Always Manages to Surprise Me

This gorge caught me totally by surprise. I was driving along somewhere around Taos, NM in what I thought was a relatively flat valley between two mountain ranges. I saw a sign for the Rio Grande Gorge, but it didn't even register; I was focused on the road I guess. The next thing I know, the earth dropped away from me on all sides and I was driving on this narrow little bridge across a deep, dark gorge, whose river looked like a thin silver ribbon from my vantage point. I looked around, amazed, and pulled over in a dirt lot at the far end of the bridge along with a few other travellers and several vendors setting up for a day of hawking their goods. I walked along the narrow sidewalk to the middle of the bridge, and peeked over the railing. Six hundred and something feet below me, the Rio Grande roared down the gorge it had carved for itself across the mountain valley. I stared down, trying to comprehend how this had caught me by surprise. Apparently I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings at all. After drinking in the view, I wandered back among the first vendors of the day, looking at Indian jewelry and pots, fry bread and knives, then headed back to my car to continue my journey. Really, its little stops like this that make being on the road an adventure of its own.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time a roadside attraction suprised you.

Another Check On The Bucketlist: The Manitou Incline

Worn out. I guess that's what you should feel after you climb 2000 vertical feet in under a mile. This August, while near Pike's Peak, Colorado cheering on one of my best friends as she ran the half marathon up the mountain, I took some time and completed my own challenge: The Manitou Incline. The Incline was an activity that had been on my mind for over a year, ever since researching things to do the last time I went to Pike's Peak. I was in no condition to attempt the climb last August; I had literally just had a liver biopsy done the day before I went to Colorado, and was told to take it easy or risk internal bleeding. So no Incline. This year, however, I was determined. I was going to complete the climb, come hell or high water.

2/3 the way up

The Manitou Incline was once a cable tram route up Pike's Peak, a 14,000ft mountain on Colorado's Front Range, just west of Colorado Springs. It consists of hundreds of railroad ties laid out in steps straight up the side of the mountain. There is a "bailout trail" about 2/3 the way up, for those who can't or won't finish the Incline, and a connector trail at the top for Barr Trail to take you back down the mountain on more friendly terrain. The actual Incline, however, is brutal.

I hated those stairs....

I started my climb at dawn, both eager to start and just wanting to be finished before it got hot or rainy. You never know what weather the day will hold while among the mountains. I parked, then hoofed it to the trail head along with a hundred other people, all wanting to test their mettle against one of the most strenuous hikes in the country. I had a pretty good pace going at first, where the ground only sloped upward at a gentle angle and I still could breathe. And then I began going up. Straight up.

Almost there...

The railroad tie stairs were uneven, some wide and some narrow, sometimes stacked two or three high right on top of each other. More than once, I was using my hands as well as my feet to cling to the side of the mountain because whenever I tried to stand up straight, gravity and exhaustion threatened to send me tumbling backwards down the mountain. I pressed on, stopping every twenty feet or so to attempt to catch my breath. Some of my fellow climbers had brought speakers with them, listening to whatever music they needed to get to the top. I have to admit, listening to Volbeat blasted at full volume did wonders for my energy level, and I definitely tried to keep up with that group as we worked our way up the mountain.

From the Top!!

Eventually, though, they stopped to rest and I kept going. The bailout trail was on our left, and I overheard them seriously debating skipping out as I passed. I kept going, resting frequently as I tried to regain my breath. I crested the false summit, something I had been prepared for but others weren't. People had really thought they were at the top. I pushed myself harder, knowing I really wasn't too far from my goal. I all but crawled to the top, using my hands to keep me on my feet as I refused to slow down or take a break. I knew what the large group all standing around, cheering their various buddies on meant. I was almost there! I went faster and faster, and when I finally reached the top I all but collapsed onto the nearest rock. I rested for a while, watching the relief in other's faces as they finally reached the top too. After I regained my breath, I wandered down the connector trail to the Barr Trail. Going up would take me to the summit of Pike's Peak. Down led back to the parking lot. I headed down, taking my time and enjoying the type of mountain trail that I'm used to. I was, and still am, so proud of myself for accomplishing the Incline! The Manitou Incline landed itself in my top three most difficult adventures ever, and you know what? I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The Barr Trail. Much nicer. And easier.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Taking a Stroll Over Gemini Bridges

A bumpy 4-wheel drive road led us over desert ridges and through dry washes. We bounced along, taking in the red and white rocks and the silvery green desert sage that surrounded us. We reached our destination, Gemini Bridges, and Dad, Austin and I got out of the truck and walked a short distanced to the bridges. Both bridges, carved by flood waters, wind, ice and gravity, hung suspended a hundred feet over the canyon bottom, fifty feet thick but maybe only five feet wide. We weren't the only ones admiring the bridges; several others were taking turns walking one by one across the top of the bigger one, and I knew I just had to do the same. I convinced my brother to hang back and snap a couple photos of my dad and I as we paused halfway along the bridge. Looking down over the edge made me feel really small, and now looking at this picture I feel even more so. I think the only reason you can see Dad and I is because we were wearing bright clothing! Compared to the bridge and the canyon, we were insignificant, and our combined weight was nothing to the thousands of pounds of rock that we stood on, even though we were technically over thin air! I walked back and forth over both bridges a couple of times, relishing in the adrenaline rush I got whenever I crossed over the thinnest point. What a feeling!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you'd have been able to walk across either of those natural bridges.

What Happens on the Trail...

Friendly. A magical thing happens when you step off the pavement and onto a hiking trail: everybody becomes a friend. No matter where I hike, long or short, everybody becomes more polite than they would be if I were to walk past them on a city street. Even I become more polite; I smile at people, make eye contact, and at least say hello. Do you think I'd do that to the random John Doe I pass on the streets? I may like traveling alone, but I'm actually pretty shy when it comes to conversing with random people. I'd rather keep my mouth shut and my eyes downcast, afraid to catch someone's eye and have to acknowledge another human being.

And yet, put me on a trail and I become the nicest, most friendly person you meet. I'll happily share my water or snacks with you, make sure your hike is going well, and assist with blisters or other minor injuries if I have the supplies and you don't. Aside from being a nice person, I want the people who take the time and make the effort to get out and hike to enjoy doing so. I've had my fair share of shitty hiking; they're few and far between, but bad hiking experiences do happen. If I have something in my pack that will make your hike that much better, I will happily share it with you. And I've had the pleasure of finding that a lot of other people on the trail share the same thoughts as I do.

When I first started hiking, way back when I was a kid still living with my parents, and we were hiking while on a family vacation I noticed that a lot of people greeted each other while on the trail. Usually something such as "good morning, how are you," but sometimes these pleasantries morphed into conversations about the remaining trail, how far was left before the destination, and more than once inquires regarding where each member of the conversation was from, how long we were in the area, ect. From a very young age, I've witnessed and participated in being nice while on the trail. Even if you're tired, you still smile at the other person and acknowledge their presence with a simple nod.

As I've gotten older, especially since I started hiking on my own, I've noticed some differences in "trail people" depending on how long the trail is. Now, this is also dependent on where the trail happens to be, whether it's in a popular park or a small, out of the way forest, but I've found the following general rules to hold true: Short trails usually have too much traffic. There are too many people, too many tired children, moody teenagers and harrassed parents. People are less interested in what others are doing, and couldn't care less if anybody is having a better or worse time than they are. Sure, you get the few hikers who smile and nod, but that's the most you should hope for. When you're on a long trail, it's rather unlikely to meet other hikers. If you do cross paths, every single person is polite, concerned, and willing to stop for a short chat. These are the people who want to make sure everything goes ok for you, even though you're a random stranger. But your chances of seeing someone else decrease as your trail length increases. It's the medium length trails that seem to have the highest amount of friendly people on them. The mid-length trails are long enough to keep the bored/tired/unhappy people off of them, but short enough to put you into contact with people who will make sure you don't run into much trouble, or who will help alleviate any problems you do have.

Of course, nearly everybody will tell you to hike with at least one other person, preferably a group of people, but that's not always an option. I never let the lack of a partner stop me from hiking, and I'm more than willing to tackle a long trail with a slim chance of seeing another human being for the length of it. When I do hike alone, though, people tend to become more concerned and almost always stop for a chat. They make sure I'm ok, have enough water/snacks, that my feet are good and that I'm not too tired. I usually get more warnings about the trail ahead of me, usually pertaining to rocky/slick areas, thin bridges, or drop-offs. I appreciate information like that.

I've made it perfectly clear that I love hiking and that I have no intentions of stopping. I recently broke my distance record, and have plans to hike even farther and longer than I ever have before. Moving off of short trails has left me a happier person, mostly because I don't have to deal with people who aren't invested in their hike. To hike a medium-long trail, you have to really want to. And you know that the others on the longer trails want to be there too, which makes you that much nicer to them. Who knows, you might even get to talk to someone who gives you your next adventure idea. Where do you think I get my crazier ideas?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: White Sand, As Far As You Can See

Mounds of white stretched as far as I could see, looking like a blanket of snow lay across the valley. The morning sun was shining brightly, promising to bring a hot summer's day to the desert. The white sand was pleasantly cool under my bear feet as I made a short trek from my car onto the dunes, eager to duck down below the front crest and feel like I was the only person on the planet. White Sands National Monument in New Mexico preserves the largest gypsum dune field in the states, and for good reason. The dunes aren't incredibly tall, but the sparkling white sands are amazing to see. I didn't get to spend much time among this geological wonder, but did drive the whole road through a small part of the dune field, and got my toes into the sand as soon as I found a parking lot that didn't have any cars in it. Some day, I want to backpack through these dunes, spend a night among them and witness a sunrise while nestled between two crests.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you'd spend the night tucked away from it all.

On The Lookout For Dinosaurs

Nervous. We arrived late and put up our tent by the light from my car's headlights. It was pitch black under the trees, with the sounds of the bayou pressing in on us. I was with a few of the interns from Tiger Creek, taking a camping trip to Caddo Lake State Park on the Texas-Louisianna border. One of the girls had never camped before, and because I think it's a shame if someone hasn't experienced the great outdoors in that way, I promised I'd take her camping before her intership was up. I ended up taking all of the summer interns to Caddo Lake in two groups, one group in July and the other in August. The first time we went to Caddo was because I wanted to check it out and try canoeing; the second time was to camp and do some more canoeing. Confession: Both times I went, I wanted to see alligators!

Our July trip was short and sweet. We arrived at Caddo around dawn and did a little bit of hiking, then rented a couple of canoes and set off for a watery adventure. Now, I've explained before that I don't like boats. Like, at all. So it was a huge step for me that I even wanted to get into a canoe, and have that canoe floating on the surface of a bayou. I was pretty apprehensive about getting into the boat. Oh, and did I mention that the bayou and connected lake, the only natural lake in Texas, is known alligator habitat? There are signs all over the place warning against swimming.

Canoeing was actually fantastic. We kept close to the shorline, watching the cypress roots carefully for alligators. We really, really wanted to see one! Not so much right under our canoes, but from a safe distance. I'm sure we did paddle over plenty of them and never knew it. From the lake, the July group and I explored the nearby wildlife refuge and enjoyed our lunch. It was an abandoned military base, and honestly it was a little creepy. We didn't stick around too long before heading home.

The August camping trip was quite the experience. Camping right next to the bayou definitely made us aware of all movement outside of our little circle of lantern light. We were brave enough to go looking for alligators, hoping we'd get lucky at night and catch one or two in the beam of our flashlights. We stood on a floating dock, listening to the night sounds surrounding us, staring up at the stars and keeping an eye out for gators. We went to bed and actually slept very well before getting up and doing some canoeing of our own. I had brought Callie with me, and she was a rockstar in the canoe! She just watched the shore pass by like the rest of us, eventually laying down and napping. We headed home after that, with me hoping that the next time I visit I might get lucky enough to see some of those relatives of dinosaurs. Bring on the gators!

A Snapshot and the Scoop: A Beautiful Place To Pitch A Tent

I recently spent a week camping at Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee. Alone. It was absolutely amazing! I camped right against the forest, and was the only person on my loop in the campground. The camp host made her rounds every afternoon, and stopped to check on me a few times. In our chats, she asked me if I had met the campground resident. When I looked confused, she explained that there was a black bear that had made his home around the campground, who was being tracked by biologists to make sure he didn't get into trouble. So far, he'd left everybody alone, and they'd only seen him a few times. With a friendly reminder to make sure I left no food out, the camp host went on her way and left me to cook my dinner. You'd better believe I cleaned up every scrap of food and disposed of it in the bear-proof dumpster away from my camp site. I never had the pleasure of meeting the resident bear, and honestly, I'm ok with that. It really was a gorgeous campsite!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a favorite campsite you've stayed at.