A Snapshot and The Scoop: Tired, Homesick, and Sometimes Bored

I know this is going to sound crazy, especially coming from me, but sometimes I don't want to travel. Don't get me wrong, I love my trips and plan as many as possible, but sometimes I just don't feel like being on the road, or hiking, or camping. Yes, I want to travel far more than my desire to stay home, but sometimes exhaustion, homesickness, and even boredom make me wish to be with Jared and my fur babies within the comfort of our house. And oh, to have the luxuries of a hot shower and a soft bed! I will continue to travel, a lot, but I will never take being at home for granted.

14'er #3 & #4: Grays and Torreys Peaks

Ambivalent. I finally felt like we were getting into the flow of hiking mountains. Sure, it only took us two days and two 14'ers, but I was a lot more confident when contemplating the next challenge on our list: a double climb of Grays and Torreys Peaks. I knew the reverance of soft footfalls in the pre-dawn mists, the dread of incoming clouds that could mean rain or snow or an end to our hike, the exhaustion that muffles thoughts until you're no more than a body moving forward with internal inertia. I also knew the satisfaction of summitting using nothing but your own will power, and the renewed energy while climbing down, already thinking of the next hike. So when Torrey and I roused on the third day of hiking 14'ers I dressed with poise, imagining the views opening up around us as dawn broke the horizon.

I should have known better. Sure, dawn did come, but brought a fine drizzle with it that seeped into our clothes and only served to chill us through the first part of our hike. Hoodoo had started out in his customary spot on my shoulder, then decided he wanted to try the whole hiking thing himself and demanded to be put down. I obliged, though I was a little nervous to let him out of my arms, and we hiked a short distance until it began to rain. He promptly wanted back up, and I zipped him into my jacket when he tucked his head against my sternum. It wasn't long before I began wishing I could join him in his little bubble of warmth. Torrey and I had weathered rain, hail, sleet, and snow on Quandary the day before, but this rain was heavier, harder, and so much colder. We had left treeline at the parking lot and so had nothing to shelter us from the full force of the clouds opening up around us, and it was around that time that I became miserable. I can't do this ran through my mind on repeat, and when Torrey and I stopped near a trail sign by unspoken consent I was nearly in tears. I was freezing, beyond freezing, and knew my body and the cues well enough to know that if we continued the way we were I'd end up hypothermic before we reached the first summit. Not particularly wanting to deal with the mess and potential rescue senario that hypothermia would guarantee to bring down on us, Torrey and I huddled against the trail sign and hoped the rain would at least lighten up a little bit while I dug out every layer of clothing I had in my backpack. Hoodoo was not pleased to be dumped out into the rain, but it was only temporary as I tucked more layers under the protection of my rain jacket before scooping him back up and replacing his warm body next to my core. Like hell I was going to give up my own little furry heater.

Somehow or another Torrey and I got our wish by degrees as the rain lightened to a slow drizzle, though it was replaced by some of the most dense fog I've ever hiked through. We couldn't see more than twenty feet in front of us and we were especially careful not to lose each other or the trail as I began to wonder if summitting would be worth it. I realized I needed to decide what I wanted out of our goal to hike Colorado's 14'ers: did I want the views, the hike itself, or the summit? Perhaps I wanted all three, though in what percentages would have to be determined by each mountain. We'd had amazing views on Pikes, cloud play and a pretty hike on Quandary, so I supposed I could be contented with just the summits of Grays and Torreys, even if I was cold and wet and miserable and couldn't see a thing besides the trail in front of my nose.

I was in that state of mind when Grays summit popped up out of nowhere. Had I been focusing more on the trail rather than my own internal ramblings I probably would have noticed our hike was leveling off a bit, a sure sign that we were near the top, but as it was I was honestly surprised we'd reached the summit. Grays Peak certainly lived up to its name; there certainly wasn't much to look at beyond the soft swirl of water vapor that parted around us on invisible wind currents. We had the summit to ourselves (a rare phenomenon, if trail reports and my own experience are to be believed), and debated the merit of continuing on to Torreys Peak. A few hikers heading the opposite direction had described snow-covered scree and high winds with no view, and had opted to turn around after summitting Grays instead of heading for the second peak. Torrey and I decided we'd chance it, making our way down the saddle between the two 14'ers. The dip between the two was the windiest spot on the trail, though there wasn't as much snow as we feared. We leap frogged with another hiker pair, making small talk as we struggled up Torreys Peak together. Turns out one of them was from Colorado, but the other was from Texas (Houston) so her and I commiserated on the disadvantages of hiking mountains while living at sea level.

Torreys trail was loose, reminding me of walking on sand dunes where one step forward slides back a half step every time. My calves were screaming in protest and I rested every ten feet or so, but I was pleased to note I was no longer wet or really all that cold. Exertion and a lack of oxygen kept my heart pumping double time, drying my clothes with body heat and keeping my limbs warm. Even my toes were warm, tucked into two layers of socks and my trail shoes. My fingers, on the other hand, were frozen and it was all I could do to keep the feeling of pins and needles in them. My gloves, which had served me well on Quandary, did nothing to help, and when I began to lose the pins and needles in favor of numb nothingness I pulled out my spare wool socks and shoved them onto my hands. The pins and needles slowly returned, and when we finally reached the summit of Torreys Peak I had enough dexterity to push my camera's shutter button to snap a few pictures of the mist.

It was with a heady sense of relief that we left the summit and began the trek down. Hoodoo even poked his head out of my collar, and made it clear he wanted to get down and walk a little bit. Hoodoo hiked the entire way from the summit of Torreys Peak all the way to the saddle, then even further down the trail that would take us back to the parking lot. I only picked him up when I spotted a couple of dogs hiking the trail near us, though I put him back down once they had passed. Of course, as we descended the clouds lifted and we got an amazing view of the glacial valley spread below us, wide and bowed like a U. A glance over my shoulder showed Grays and Torreys Peaks silhouetted against the clouds and I almost wanted to return to the summits to get the views we'd been denied. The logical part of me shouted down the wishful thought and I returned my attention to the views in front of me and the kitten at my feet, keeping an eye on Hoodoo as we climbed down the mountains, making sure he was handling the rough rocks well. I didn't need to worry, and by the time we were back on somewhat level ground Hoodoo was keeping pace with me, although he would get distracted by a stray tuft of grass or the buzz of an insect. It was on his own four paws that we finished our trail, earning him a few claps and congratulatory scratches from a handful of hikers nearby. Really, I reflected as Torrey, Hoodoo, and I settled back into our car, the hike had been a smashing success, regardless of how it began. I might even be tempted to go back and do it again some day.

Read about the first two 14'ers here:
Pikes Peak
Quandary Peak

Interested in learning more about Hoodoo? Read about how I got him and chose him as my adventure partner here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Dancing with Cranes

Have you ever come across somthing, either reading or hearing about it, especially something you didn't know about or hadn't thought about in a long time, then all of a sudden find yourself looking at it? This happened to me on a springtime visit to Nebraska. I had just been reading an article about the Sandhill Crane migration that cuts through the middle of the state, and then the next day I found myself unintentionally in the midst of thousands of the birds! I'm not sure if it was irony or dumb luck, or a combination, but my dad and I spent a good 45 minutes driving backroads, bird watching. Regardless, it was super neat to witness and brought back fond childhood memories of visiting the migration with my family. Fun stuff!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Balmorhea

Welling up from the San Solomon Springs at the foot of the Davis Mountains in southwestern Texas, the waters at Balmorhea State Park weren't always contained in what amounts to a swimming pool filled with fish. The spring used to release into a wide wetland until the Great Depression, when FDR's New Deal created the Civilian Conservation Corp. One company was stationed at Balmorhea and it is their labor that created the state park as we know it today. Limestone and adobe buildings line the contained spring, who's waters are so clear you can see every little fish and turtle that calls the area home. The water stays a constant 74f, the ground temperature in the area, and it makes for a refreshing respite from the Chihuahuan Desert heat.

14'er #2: Quandary Peak

Rushed. Our day began in the type of darkness that can only be found beneath low, heavy rain clouds and thick evergreen forests. I don't even remember what time our alarms went off - I blocked out the clock and moved on autopilot as we broke camp and drove through a sleepy Breckenridge toward the trailhead to our second 14'er in as many days. When our car was the first to the lot, however, my bravado failed me as I tried to peer through the night to locate the trail, instead opting to nap a little while longer as we waited for dawn and (admittedly) more people. What is it about the forest at night that forces the little girl who's afraid of the dark to the front and center of the decision-making part of my mind? Torrey and I didn't have to wait long, however, before the lot began to fill and we finally felt safe enough in the crowd of peak-baggers to venture out into the pre-dawn forest, still shrouded in shadows of the night. Hoodoo took up what was to become his customary spot resting on my right shoulder, watching the world awaken around us as we began the day's ascent. Despite the toll Pikes took on us the day before we set a good pace, eating up the distance to treeline before the sun had risen above the mountains around us, though we couldn't see it; the skies had been weeping on our drive to the trailhead, and still threatened to do so even as they lightened to a dull grey.

Of course, it was above treeline, with no cover available, that it began to drizzle, then rain hard enough for us to pull out the rain gear and for me to zip Hoodoo up inside my jacket to keep dry. And then it started to hail, tiny little pellets that stung our faces. And the hail turned to sleet. Then snow. Somehow, though, we pushed on while keeping an eye to the skies - while the wet wasn't appreciated it was a storm we were worried about, being caught with no shelter when thunder begins to rumble. We did manage to get slightly distracted when we spotted a trio of mountain goats on the trail above us, heading our way. We scrambled off the trail as quickly as we could, putting as much distance between us and their path as the slick rocks and our own stumbling footsteps could get, though it still wasn't really enough considering they had a kid with them. As they drew closer we gave up on distance and just held still, trying to make like statues unworthy of notice. Clicking statues, as it turns out, due to my camera being attached to my fingers like an extension of flesh and blood. They passed further down trail with no incident, and we continued on our way with a new spring in our step from the cute encounter. I don't think Hoodoo even registered their presence, tucked into the front of my jacket as he was, huddled into my abdomen to avoid the rain/hail/sleet/snow and wind. Too bad, he probably would have had something to say about it (the kitten has something to say about everything).

It was also above treeline that we began to play in the clouds. When it wasn't rain/hail/sleet/snowing, the clouds swirled around us, obscuring first the path ahead, then behind, and sometimes isolating us on an island of granite in a soft, grey world. Rivers of clouds filled the mountain canyon beside the trail, flowing like the glaciers that had once carved their names into the rock. It was around that time that we got a good view of Quandary's summit, theoretically not that far from where we stood, though it would take some scrambling on slick granite to reach it. We slowed down considerably the closer we got, taking care with our footing on loose rocks and trying to keep the wind from knocking us over. Eventually though, after what at the time felt like forever but in reality would turn out to be our quickest ascent of the week, we summited our second 14'er and were graced by a brief moment of sunshine at the top.

I probably should have realized before we reached it, but I really had no desire to linger at the summit. In my defense I'd only ever been to the top of Pikes Peak, and usually reached the top via a vehicle, then had a warm summit house to shelter within if I got cold. I quickly learned on Quandary that Pikes Peak is an anomaly, not the norm for a 14'er summit. As soon as we summitted I wanted to turn around and go right back down to at least treeline, if not below. I wanted out of the wind. I practically forced myself to sit behind a rock wall built by others seeking a respite, choking down a handful of almonds and some water while I persuaded Hoodoo to come out of my jacket and explore a little bit. He, of course, didn't seem phased by the wind or the chill, hopping over the rocky summit like he was born into it, gaining himself coo's and excited whispers from fellow hikers who had never seen a cat on a mountain before. Before long, however, my fingers were frozen and both Torrey and I were ready to be done. We'd summitted, we'd met our goal, we just had to make it back to the car and call it a day.

It was on the way down, still above treeline, when it began to thunder. We sped up, already flying down the mountain so much faster than when we'd been going the opposite direction, and when a particularly long and loud peal echoed off the mountains around us we broke into a run, dashing for the safety of trees. I could feel Hoodoo bouncing indignantly against my chest and crossed my arms to keep him in place, earning me a disgruntled, if muffled, meow in response. It was either squish him, or trust him to hold on, and at the pace I was going if he'd slipped I would have run right over him before I could have stopped myself. So he got squished, at least until we made it back to treeline. He immediately clawed his way up my collar and settled himself on my shoulder, digging his claws in to the fabric of my jacket any time he felt me attempt to shift him. The storm that had been threatening us seemed to stall, and the sun even made a watery appearance for our last half mile on the mountain. Even with the weather Quandary treated us so much better than Pikes, and I'd be happy to make that summit again some day. Ya know, after we finsh the other 14'ers first.

Read about the first 14'er here:
Pikes Peak

Interested in learning more about Hoodoo? Read about how I got him and chose him as my adventure partner here.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Gila Cliff Dwellings

I will never, ever get tired of visiting cliff dwellings. Ancient Native American dwellings like those in Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument located in southwestern New Mexico dot the desert southwest, and though they share many similarities, each holds stories and a history unique to themselves. Most are built within sandstone alcoves, usually with a tiny little seep spring at the back that provides life-giving water, or else on a shelf above seasonal creeks that flood less often than they're dry. Occasionally though a series of alcoves and shelves are jammed full of stone and mud dwellings above a perennial stream, and it is there that you know the ancestors truly flourished. Time has erased their little farming plots, where they grew corn, squash, and beans, leaving only the grind stones and broken pottery behind to mark the passing of the years. The drier the area, the better preserved the ruins, and sometimes even the original timber support poles remain in place, though the roofs they supported are long gone. If you ever get the chance to check out cliff dwellings, don't pass up the opportunity!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Old Faithful

I think a visit to see Old Faithful is on just about everybody's bucket list, and for good reason. How many active, predictable geysers are there in the world, and how many of them are accessible to everyone without having to make a grueling hike? But to be honest, Alisha and I were going to pass on a visit, instead wanting to focus on other hot springs and geysers that would hopefully draw less crowds. That, and the fact that we'd already visited and seen Old Faithful with our family years back on our annual childhood family vacations resulted in not even having Old Faithful on the tentative itinerary for our Yellowstone visit this year. So when we woke up early and decided to see the geyser on a whim we hadn't checked the eruption times or anything other than marking its location on our park map, which meant we showed up half an hour late for the early morning eruption, or nearly an hour early for the next one. We decided to hang around and wait for it, pacing the almost empty boardwalk while trying to both stay warm and find the perfect photo opportunity. In the end I settled down on a bench that would put the sun directly across from me, meaning I would be shooting into the light when it came time for the eruption. When the crowds gathered and the tell-tale hiss of steam and rumble of water announced the geyser was gearing up to explode I started clicking away, and promptly quit when the eruption actually happened. There was something about being there, in that time and place, seeing what amounts to a quintessential Yellowstone experience in person, that caused me to stop and stare with my mouth opened in awe at the raw power of heat and water. I'm absolutely sure I even had tears in my eyes as I watched. It was only after a few seconds that I restarted snapping photos, but I will always remember the reverence I felt at being there. And to think, Alisha and I were going to skip this.

14'er #1: Pikes Peak

Drained. Torrey and I have been visiting Colorado on the third weekend of August every year since 2014, and this year was no exception. We met in Manitou Springs for the Pikes Peak Marathon and Ascent, and also began this year's week of mountain hiking at Pikes Peak, on the trail to the mountain's summit. Last year Torrey and I decided to accomplish personal goals of hiking all of Colorado's 14,000 foot mountains, and we had six peaks on our list to hit this year, weather permitting. We had a tag-a-long on this trip as well, my new little orange adventure kitten, Hoodoo! Yeah, we were planning on hiking six 14,000 foot mountains in five days, with a cat. As far as 14ers go, however, Pikes Peak might not have been the best one to start with.

We were up and on the trail way before it was socially acceptable to even be awake, hiking our first hour in the dark with only our headlamps lighting the way. A small handfull of other hikers were on the trail with us, both ahead and behind, and we leap-frogged each other for a while in the dark. It took a few miles before we settled into a comfortable pace, but eventually the miles seemed to melt by as dawn broke around us.

Hoodoo was fidgety on my shoulder, not quite sure what to make of the whole hiking business as we moved through the forest. He startled a bit every time a squirrel chattered at us, and stared over my pack at a doe and fawn who watched us from the side of the trail. He wanted down every so often and we would stop to let him, but he never wanted to stay on the ground long. I think both he and I were more comfortable with him on my shoulder for our first hike together. He paid close attention to everything around us, and I'm sure his kitten brain was busy figuring out exactly what was going on around him.

It wasn't until after our halfway point to the summit, where we stopped for a breakfast of hot oatmeal and cold mountain water, that I began to think maybe I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Torrey had hiked the trail several times before on her runs, but it was my first time, and I was exhausted by the time we hit treeline. Still three miles and a couple thousand vertical feet below the summit, I began to stop for rests more often, becoming shorter of breath and light headed. I knew the signs of altitude sickness, but was determined to push through, so long as I didn't become nauseous. Torrey and I sat down and had a serious discussion about whether we should push for the summit or turn around. We were not looking forward to hiking back down (remember, the summit is technically only halfway - we had to go down too), and the weather was a concern. Fortunately, Pikes Peak is one of two 14ers with a road all the way to the top, and in the end Torrey and I decided to head for the summit and wish on a star that we could hitch a ride to our car. 

The last three miles were some of the worst I've ever hiked. I was so tired my body was trying to fall asleep while still putting one foot in front of the other, and my light-headedness morphed into a pounding headache. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open and my feet moving forward, and I knew better than to try to look ahead for the summit; I'd only disappoint myself. Finally, finally, after thirteen miles and over ten hours, Torrey, Hoodoo, and I summited Pikes Peak. As we enjoyed the endorphine rush of summitting we ate salty fries and a cold drink from the summit house and happened to strike up a conversation with a couple of fellow hikers who we'd been leap-frogging all the way up. Turns out they had a ride waiting for them, and they offered us a ride down the mountain as well. We gratefully accepted and made small talk on the twenty mile drive back to Manitou Springs, where they dropped us off at our car with a wave and a wish for luck on the rest of our summit attempts. As we unloaded into the car, I couldn't help but admire the ultra runners who are insane enough to run up Pikes Peak every August in exchange for a shiny medal and a jacket. Having now hiked it myself, I don't think I ever want to do so again.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Ravens

I love ravens; they're wicked smart, mischievous, and down right hilarious. Their antics crack me up, like these two preening each other on a chilly summer morning in Yellowstone National Park. They and another pair were hanging around the boardwalk near Old Faithful Geyser, and I entertained myself by watching them while waiting for the eruption. Alisha and I had arrived nearly an hour early and had the area nearly to ourselves and the birds, who made no secret of the fact that they owned the place. They chased each other all over, cawing and croaking and otherwise disrupting the still and silent morning air. I wasn't smart and had only worn flip flops, capris, and a tank top covered with a light jacket, and the temperature was hovering somewhere around 45f, so I was freezing my poor toes off. I'm eternally grateful to these ravens for helping me keep my mind off my feet!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: When It Speaks, You Listen

Take a second look at the picture above. That shell-shaped cone, on the edge of Yellowstone Lake right in the center of the giant cauldera that is Yellowstone National Park, is a geyser. One of the first geothermal features Alisha and I saw while visiting Yellowstone this past summer, we didn't get to see this particular geyser erupt, but knowing that it could and how gorgeous it would be against the backdrop of the lake and distant mountains spoke to me in a way that I'm still not sure I understand. Sometimes things talk to you, and you listen, even if you don't comprehend what is being said. 

Hoodoo

Excited. Ok, confession time: you know that thing people do where they make shit up as they go along and hope everything works out for them? Yeah, I was totally doing that when I decided to take a cat hiking with me. I've wanted an adventure cat ever since I began travelling, and I already travel with my dog(s) as often as I can. I've hiked miles and miles with Callie and Ghost through forest, desert, prairie, and more, so I know what it takes to care for an animal while on the trail. Surely a cat couldn't be too different from a dog? It's not like I did it on a whim, though, either. I'd researched (blogs, outdoor magazines, social media groups, etc) for years on how to choose and mold an effective adventure cat, so I wasn't going in to this totally blind. I knew everything depended on the personality of the cat, who had to be chill enough that potential scary situations wouldn't make them run off, but also had to be outgoing enough to embrace changing scenes and conditions with ease.

For as long as I can remember wanting an adventure cat, I've had an image in my mind of a little orange and white kitten wearing a sky-blue harness, walking next to me along a trail somewhere. I don't even know where the image came from; perhaps I saw a picture somewhere once a long time ago and I picked it up and ran with it, or perhaps it was a dream I had and decided to make a reality. I have no idea. All I knew is that one day I would have my little orange kitten, and his name would be Hoodoo.

I had been having a really, really bad week when my husband came home late from work one day this past July. He was late enough that I had started to worry something had happened to him, but my relief when I saw him pull into our driveway shifted into curiosity when he pulled a carrier out of the back seat of the car. Now, in our life pulling a carrier out of the car almost always means I'm going to be thrilled; through our work and our own inability to say no to an animal in need we've had more than twenty different species of animals come through our front door, and I keep a running list of the number and types of animals we've housed permanently or temporarily. Seeing a carrier, when I knew all of our own animals were accounted for, meant Jared was bringing home something else for us to care for and I could hardly wait for him to get inside so I could coo over whatever he'd brought me. When I finally glimpsed inside the carrier, though, I stopped dead. He'd brought me kittens!!! As in, plural! I immediately sat down on the floor in front of the carrier and coaxed two nervous kittens out into the light, and nearly burst into tears when I realized one of them was a little orange tabby. The other was a light grey tabby seal point, and both sported adorable little ear tufts that delighted me. Usually Jared and I have a discussion about whether or not we're fostering an animal or keeping it, but I knew without even opening my mouth that these kittens were ours.

Hoodoo and his sister, Rey, took a few days to adjust to our household, but once they did it became immediatly clear that Hoodoo was the kind of cat who would make an ideal adventure kitty. He proved himself to be outgoing yet cuddly, and without any trouble he made friends with the others in the house. He became incredibly attached to me, to the point where he now follows me around the house and even comes when he's called. His favorite place is up on my shoulders and we've figured out a way for him to ask to be held when he wants up. I know it sounds crazy, but cats really can talk if you know how to listen! I had a trip to hike 14ers in Colorado already planned for the end of August, and it didn't take much to talk myself into bringing my kitten with me. A quick check with my travel partner, Torrey, and we were all set to take a kitten hiking with us! And it was around that time that I started to make shit up as I went.

Ideally you start adventure cats young, only a couple of months old when the world hasn't taught them to find comfort and safety in their own home. Hoodoo and Rey were only about 12 weeks old when they came to us, so age and a cynical world view weren't a problem. We were car camping in established campgrounds, and I was able to turn the back seat into something of a kitty refuge complete with a litter box, food and water, toys, a carrier/hide box, and lots and lots of blankets. Hoodoo spent the vast majority of his car time on either my lap or Torrey's, where he alternated between sleeping in the most adorable positions and playing with anything he deemed worthy. Hoodoo spent the first few days of travel either on my shoulder or in his own little travel satchel at my hip, as I was way too afraid to let him out of my arms. We spent a few days in Manitou Springs during the Pikes Peak Marathon, and we couldn't so much as walk down the street without someone stopping us to ask about Hoodoo. He soaked up the attention like a sponge, purring constantly and leaning into anyone who scratched his ears, even gracing a couple of special people by climbing from my shoulder onto theirs.

It was on the trail, though, that he really glowed. We were still learning during our first couple of mountains, but by our third and fourth (Grays/Torreys) Hoodoo and I had a mutually understood language that allowed both of us to be comfortable. Hoodoo spent most of his time on my shoulder and pack, shifting every so often to look ahead or behind as the miles passed. Occasionally he would meow in my ear and let me know he wanted down, so I'd lower him to the trail and he would walk along with Torrey and I as we went. He was always on a leash attached to my wrist, so he couldn't go more than six feet from me, but he loved walking along the edge of the trail, sniffing bushes and chasing flies. Our pace slowed down when Hoodoo was walking, but I didn't mind so long as there wasn't a threat of bad weather. When he was done walking he'd meow and put his paws on my knee and stretch, so I'd pick him back up and put him on my shoulder again. If it was raining, (snowing, hailing, sleeting) or too windy, Hoodoo burried himself inside the front of my jackets against my chest and stomach, sometimes popping his head out of the collar to look around, but mostly remaining hidden from the elements. I got more than a few weird looks from fellow hikers who noticed the lump under my jackets, which always turned to delighted surprise when Hoodoo showed himself. I had more strangers take pictures of me (I know it was of Hoodoo, but I was still in them by proxy) than I've had in my entire life. It was a strange feeling to be the center of attention when I normally avoid drawing attention to myself, but if one little adventure kitten could bring happiness to the mutual suffering of hiking 14,000 foot mountains, then who am I to deny it?

By the end of the week, with six mountains under his paws, Hoodoo was an old pro at Adventure Kitten-ing. He had no fear of the tent, curling up inside my sleeping bag every night except when he decided to be a holy terror and party at 2am. He knew how to handle the rain and wind, and had figured out how to walk next to me and keep the leash from tangling. The only thing that really seemed to bother him were dogs, and I made sure he was always secure on my shoulder any time we met one. (Because, honestly, I was nervous of the dogs too. Who knew if they were cat-killers?) With such a successful first adventure with a kitten in the mountains, we're already planning next year's trip. Torrey and I have a goal to hike Colorado's 14ers, and we'd love for Hoodoo to be the first adventure kitty to summit all of them too! Of course we'll be travelling lots more in between mountain climbing adventures, and I can't wait to see where my little orange adventure kitten and I end up next. 

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Close Encounters of the Armadillo Kind

A get away to South Llano River State Park in southwest Texas came with a cute little visitor in the form of a curious armadillo. I hadn't been at camp long after hiking a mile and a half from the trailhead to one of the five primitive sites in the park, and had thrown my gear all over the place as I set up for the night. One second I had my back to my picnic table, the next I turned around and found myself five feet from an armadillo who had come to investigate my stuff. Of course, I reached for my camera and managed to snap a few pictures of my visitor before it wandered off into the bushes, but I could hear it rustling around my camp for the rest of the night, and when I woke up in the morning there were freshly dug holes all around my tent. I hope it had a successful foraging night!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Chimney Rock

I know my Nebraska readers will know about Chimney Rock, but it is possible those from other states will know about this iconic landmark on the Oregon Trail, the great overland wagon trail in use during the pioneering days of our country. Dad and I stopped at the landmark on a trip to western Nebraska and we could practically feel the history of the area in the air. Dad and I like to travel to historically significant areas in the state, and as a National Historic Landmark we could hardly pass it up. We also couldn't miss it, as we could see the chimney while still many miles away from it.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you've ever seen Chimney Rock before!