The Other Shoe Drops: The Aftermath

Stunned. Hiking in a brewing sandstorm is not the smartest thing I've ever done, but it was either make a break for the car or try to wait out the storm while injured with a jumpy cat who freaked out every time something brushed his fur. The car was less than a mile away, and though I could see the gusts of wind curling around the glittering, airborne sand, see it whipping even more off the tops of the dunes, I braced myself and forced us to go. Hoodoo found his feet and walked next to me, so close he nearly tripped me up, trying to use my legs as protection against the wind and stinging sand. It was not a good situation. I could hardly see the trail markers, and some of them even appeared to be blown over and broken off, so I had to search for a glimpse of orange among the frenzy of white before I could continue. Sure, I thought I knew the general direction of the parking lot and the park road, but I was not stupid or desperate enough to strike out cross country on a "shortcut" to try to get back faster. Not in a sandstorm, not in a desert.

It was while searching for one of these markers that I saw a dark figure on the top of the next dune, pulling a sled while trying to shield herself from the flying sand. I guessed it was Erika and shouted at her, waving my arms. I saw a trail marker next to her as she shifted to wave back, and made my way over. Once within talking distance I explained what had happened, that I was leaving, and strongly suggested she return to her car and wait out the storm before hiking to the campsite she'd be occupying by herself that night. She agreed and we turned to the trail, moving as quickly as we could across the dunes toward safety. Hoodoo began to stall again, panting hard as the wind became more intense. Erika offered to let him ride on her sled if he'd stay put, and once I'd lifted him on he lay still, trying to use her gear to hide from the wind. It was with no small amount of relief that we finally spotted the parking lot, and nearly ran for our cars. I all but threw Hoodoo into the backseat and slammed the door closed, needing him to begin calming down before I could drive. I was able to breathe again once we were safe, though I had already bled through the bandages on my hand and wrist, not to mention the mess that was my leg. Erika helped me clean up and reapply bandages, and we chatted a bit about the wisdom of camping while the storm was going, worrying about the other couples still out among the dunes, weathering the storm in their tents. She intended to wait out the storm in her car, maybe drive the dune road and sight-see that way.

I was sorely disappointed to cut my weekend short, though I knew beyond a doubt that it was the right thing, the only thing, to do. Once I hit town I called Jared and my family, letting them know I was heading home and explaining what had happened. Hoodoo had bitten my left hand, two puncture wounds on my palm and one on top of my thumb. He'd also bitten my right wrist, with a deep tear on the top of it and a small puncture on the inside. His claws, though I had trimmed them short the day before we left, had done a number on my arms and legs and it was those I had to thank for the long gashes on my leg that left it coated in blood. Less than an hour after the ordeal my right wrist began to swell, becoming progressively more painful until I couldn't use it at all, and I began to suspect an injury beyond the cat bite. The panic and shock were beginning to wear off, adrenaline had run its course, and it was well within the realm of possibilities that I'd sprained or even broken it in the frantic moments when I had been flying through the air. Cat bites can be nasty, more often than not leading to infection, and I already knew I needed antibiotics just to be safe. I've been bitten by cats before, I've had the pain and swelling associated with them, but whatever was going on in my wrist went beyond my experience.

It was with no small amount of relief that I pulled into my own driveway around 1:30 am, cradling my right wrist against my chest. It had not been a fun drive home, with Hoodoo still jumpy and myself in more pain than a couple of ibuprofen could control. I couldn't let him on my lap, though it broke my heart to deny him when he tried to climb onto me for comfort. He jerked around every time something touched him, and I couldn't trust him not to cause a wreck while I was driving. The bites on my hand and wrist didn't stop bleeding for hours, and I had to stop several times to reapply bandages, with one hand barely functional, and I was still flecked and spotted with blood, though I'd cleaned up the best I could. I left everything but my cat in the car and after dropping him just inside the front door headed straight to the bathroom. A thorough one-handed shower got me cleaned up, and I fell into bed, upset and disappointed, ready to forget the whole weekend. I had set out trying to run away from everything, and only ended up with more problems to show for it.

**Notes: I found out the next day they had evacuated the park due to the severity of the sandstorm, so we wouldn't have been able to stay even if we'd wanted to.
*I had my surgery (the thing that started all of this) on the Tuesday following this disaster of a trip, and spent a couple days ignoring my wrist and the fact that I couldn't use it. I finally went to see a doctor four days after the incident, had x-rays taken, and was told it was a sprain and an infected bite. I was sent home with antibiotics for the bites and a splint for the sprain. I had a follow-up  appointment with an orthopedist because I still couldn't move it without excruciating pain that also kept me from sleeping well without the use of medication two weeks after the injury. Turns out it was a little more than a sprain and a cat bite: multiple torn tendons and a possible fracture in the small wrist bones near the base of my thumb, plus the cat bite (which was still open after more than two weeks). I was put in a brace that immobilized my right wrist and thumb and told the only reason I wasn't getting a cast was because of the bite complication, and I had to remove the brace daily to clean the bite and change the bandaging. As of the date this post is published, I'm still in the brace.
*This is the first time I've been seriously injured while on a backpacking trip, in more than five years of travelling. Yes, it sucks. No, I won't stop travelling or backpacking, both with others and by myself.
*Hoodoo calmed down by the following morning and is back to his usual chatty, affectionate self. I still plan on mountain climbing with him and Torrey at the end of August.
*I still haven't pulled out my tent to assess the damage in a less panicked atmosphere (it takes two hands to set up), but I'm willing to bet patching it won't be an option. Guess I'm in the market for a new tent.

This is the final of four parts to the story. Queen of Avoidance, the whole reason I went on this trip in the first place, is here. The Calm Before the Storm is here, and The Storm is here.
Fair warning on part one, Queen of Avoidance: It is incredibly personal, and not strictly necessary to get the whole story of my time at White Sands. It's more of an explanation of why I headed to White Sands, and like I said, it gets into my head. Also, warning for talk of birth control, menstruation, and other reproductive-related topics.

The Other Shoe Drops: The Storm

Panicked. I have no idea what time it was when Hoodoo woke me. I had closed the mesh walls of my tent to keep him contained while I slept, and I woke up to him meowing softly while pressing his face to the zippered door. I tried to shush him, coaxing him into the sleeping bag with me, even grabbing my headlamp to see if there was anything on the surrounding dunes that had his attention. Finally, when none of my attempts to quite him worked and he got progressively louder, when I began to worry about him waking our neighbors, I clipped his leash on and slid out of our tent, determined to walk him away from the others before he became a nuisance. We walked a little way under the stars and the light of a half moon, gilding the dunes and scrubs with silver, strong enough to cast shadows as we picked our way across the bowl. Hoodoo did his business while we walked, and spent a few minutes chasing gently bobbing grass heads as we passed. Eventually he quieted and we returned to the tent, but I was wide awake and didn't bother trying to sleep again. I had deliberately left my watch behind and my phone was powered down, so I had no idea what time it was, but knew in the way songbirds know that sunrise was not far off.

I was really there for the sunrise. Sure, sunset is magical and generally dramatic, but sunrise is solitary. It is soft, and quiet, and the world is still mostly asleep, Earth still breathing slowly and deeply in rest. Where sunset is burnt orange, hot pink, and deep blue shadows, sunrise is lavender, and pale yellow, and maybe even a touch of muted green. Sunrise is walking lightly as shadows recede, watching insects begin to stir. I couldn't even be annoyed with Hoodoo for waking me up, not once the sky began to lighten in the east and the stars began to fade.

Once the sun was up properly, though, I didn't linger. I packed up quickly, heading out just as my site mates were stirring. I walked back to the car, Hoodoo trailing behind, in the newly minted day, stopping occasionally for more pictures as we retraced our steps from the previous day. I wanted to spend a second night out there, a second sunset and a second sunrise, which meant hustling to the visitors center and queuing up more than an hour before they opened. I wasn't even the first one there. Two other couples around my age were already waiting on the benches by the front door when I arrived. Another single girl, Erika, joined us, and eventually we all began chatting as you do when you're all waiting for the same thing. Hoodoo was a nice ice breaker, and eventually we learned we'd all traveled from Texas for the long weekend, and none of us were born in the state, but just happened to end up there. Eventually the doors opened and we all got sites near each other, with Erika and I pairing up to share a site. She headed into town to grab some supplies while the rest of us headed out. We walked together, chatting, watching Hoodoo trail alongside us, stopping to get the sleds of their camping supplies up steep dunes, and we peeled off at our designated sites with friendly words about letting each other know if we needed anything throughout the day. I set up slowly at a site different from the one I'd been at the night before. Though we'd set out an hour earlier than I had the previous day it still got hot, and Hoodoo and I retreated into the tent for a nap while we waited for Erika to get back from town. I drifted off with the tent doors open, listening to the canvas doors flapping in the breeze.

I don't entirely know what happened next. I woke up in the air, the tent around me stretched like a sail, the few pieces of gear I'd brought into the tent with us flying around and Hoodoo in an absolute panic. I immediately went to grab his leash, confusion limiting my thoughts, and felt a pressure close over my left thumb. Somehow or another I ended up back on the floor of my tent, on the ground, twisted around myself, my gear, and my thrashing cat. My confusion left me as the gust of wind subsided and my tent collapsed in on us, trapping Hoodoo and I in a tangle of nylon canvas and aluminium poles. He panicked even more, clawing and biting blindly in a desperate attempt to free himself, tearing out of the tent while still wrapped up in his leash and harness and a jacket I tried to throw over him. As he freed himself a second gust caught us, whipping sand into our eyes and inflating the tent again. I was ready for it this time, grabbing my backpack with one hand, still laden with gear, flinging it onto my tent to keep it grounded while I tried to contain Hoodoo. Somehow, perhaps because of the great rents in the fabric or the tangled poles, somehow the tent didn't fully inflate again and lift off the ground, and I was able to get Hoodoo untangled as he took shelter under the frame of my pack, making himself as small as possible. Blood coated his leash and fear leapt into my throat, terrified that he'd been hurt. It took a few seconds for me to realize it was I who was bleeding profusely, droplets from my left hand and right wrist slicking anything I touched and being flung into the howling wind, a stream of it running down my left leg painting the white sand red. It took a few more numb seconds for the gravity of my situation to set it: I was badly hurt, had a ripped, collapsed, bloody tent, and a panicked cat who was in no way going to calm down while a sandstorm blew up around us. I have no idea how long the winds were blowing while I napped, just that I'd woken up to a building sandstorm, a dangerous situation in itself, and I no longer had even a slight shelter to try to ride it out. I needed to leave. Immediately.

Fortunately, one of the couples I'd met that morning were camped nearby, just a single dune separating us. I had to literally drag my poor cat, refusing to walk and panting with fear, too scared to leave him alone but unable to touch him, as I climbed to the top and shouted down for help. They too were sheltering in their tent but came out as I called for them, and when they reached me I was nearly incoherent, trying and failing to contain my own panic and shock as I explained I needed to leave, but needed help packing. I had a jacket wrapped around my hands in an attempt to stem the blood, but left my leg freely dripping, and I'm sure I was quite a sight, holding a bloodstained cloth, a bloodied leg, barely able to speak. I had to force myself to take deep breaths, though that resulted in swallowing the sand still flying through the air. They got the gist, though, and helped me stuff my torn tent and the few items I had pulled out before my nap into my pack, and helped me get it onto my shoulders. I left them with my number to give to Erika, hoping I'd meet my site mate on the way back to the car but still wanting her to be able to contact me if we missed each other. I had the camping permit and we'd agreed to share a few things for dinner, and I needed to get them to her if she planned on camping. The couple pulled out their first aid kit and helped me bandage my hands before I set off, and I thanked them and wished them safety as I headed back to the trail, back to the car, into the storm.

Read part one, Queen of Avoidance, here
Part two, The Calm Before the Storm, is here
And check back next Sunday for The Aftermath
Fair warning on part one, Queen of Avoidance: It is incredibly personal, and not strictly necessary to get the whole story of my time at White Sands. It's more of an explanation of why I headed to White Sands, and like I said, it gets into my head. Also, warning for talk of birth control, menstruation, and other reproductive-related topics.

The Other Shoe Drops: The Calm Before the Storm

Appetent. White Sands was not what I expected. Well, some of it was, like the crystalline white dunes stretching into the horizon, and the coolness of the sand kissing my bare feet as I wiggled my toes under the surface, and the excitement I felt in my bones at being back out in my element. But I was definitely not expecting the trouble I went through to get a campsite, nor the double line of people trying to get into the park. I had arrived right as the visitor center opened the Saturday of Memorial Weekend, which, apparently, was not early enough. Just as I walked in to the building to get a backpacking permit one of the employees announced they'd filled the allotted permit sites for the day, and both my face and my stomach dropped. Then the employee suggested grouping up, no more than six people in a group, if any of the permit holders were willing to share their sites so others might be able to camp. My hopes soared, and I took a chance, calling to the room at large that I was alone, just a single camper, if anyone was willing to share. I figured I had a better shot at getting someone to share with me than a group of campers, or even a pair. I was thrilled when an older couple waved me over to them. We introduced ourselves, and I let them know I had Hoodoo with me, which began a round of exclamations and questions from those in the vicinity. The next thing I knew, the three of us were headed into the park to begin our stay.

I headed out along the campsite loop before my site mates. I was practically ready to go as soon as we hit the parking lot, but took my time gathering the little things, eating a pb&j, and generally not being in a rush. I'd accomplished the goal of securing a site, now I just needed to set up before it became unbearably hot. I'm not sure what the pair were doing, it looked like packing and gathering, but I let them know I was headed out and I'd see them when they got there. The camping at White Sands is in no way developed, but it's also not exactly backpacking either. There are ten sites available, all walk-in only, anywhere from a quarter mile to a full mile away from the designated parking lot. The sites are entirely primitive, with only a couple orange marker posts in the ground letting you know you're standing where you're supposed to be.  Hoodoo and I followed the orange markers along the loop, trailing behind another group of campers hauling sleds stacked with camping supplies for their night on the dunes. I had my backpack cinched over my shoulder and around my waist, with Hoodoo attached to a leash looped around my wrist. He rode on top of my pack at first, then trotted alongside me, stopping every now and then to roll in the sand. It didn't take long to reach our allotted site, but both Hoodoo and I were panting by the time we did. I had vastly underestimated how early it got hot out on the dunes, with no shade to speak of, and hurried to set up my tent in an effort to provide a hiding place from the sun.

That afternoon was spent napping and sunbathing. When I set out for the weekend I had no intention of doing anything more strenuous than walking to my campsite, and I was making good on my promise to myself. My site mates arrived after some time had passed and set up their tent far enough away from mine that we might as well have not been sharing a site, which was absolutely fine with me. It was hot, but a slight breeze blew through the dunes, ruffling the tied-back doors of my tent as Hoodoo and I stretched out under the shade of my rain fly. I like to write when I'm camping (part of last Sunday's post was written while surrounded by white sand) and I had my notebook propped on my knees as I let my thoughts flow. I was rudely cut off, though, by my pen running out of ink. And, go figure, I'd forgotten to pack a spare. I always pack a spare pen! I resorted to reading instead, stroking a napping Hoodoo, and staring off into the limited distance I could, surrounded on all sides by high white walls of sand. When the sun finally dropped behind the closest dune, casting our site in glorious shade, I began dinner preparations and got out my camera. I've written about it before (here) but sunset on the dunes is as close to a magical experience as you're likely to get in this world, and I was anticipating it with something like butterflies in my stomach. Before long dinner was finished and I had slung Hoodoo over my shoulders to head out and find the perfect spot for watching the sun leave the sky.

Of course, everyone else camping on the dunes had the same intentions, and I watched as dark shapes emerged from the bowls of dunes all over the place as we all climbed to a vantage point. There were plenty to go around, and I wasn't bothered as I walked toward the dropping sun, keen to make sure nobody could get in front of me as I staked out a place. Eventually I settled on the western slope of a dune as it dropped into a scrubby bowl, shrugging off Hoodoo and fiddling with my camera. Hoodoo played with his leash as I turned my lens to the sun, every now and then moving to photograph my ridiculously adorable cat as well, blazing an even deeper orange as the sun died. Sunset did not disappoint, and I walked slowly back to my tent after almost an hour and a half with a memory card full of pictures and the last glow of day silhouetting the western mountains. Leaving the tent doors open, I settled back in the soft light of desert stars and drifted off to sleep.

Read the first part of this story here, and check back on Sundays for the next two parts!
Fair warning on part one, Queen of Avoidance: It is incredibly personal, and not strictly necessary to get the whole story of my time at White Sands. It's more of an explanation of why I headed to White Sands, and like I said, it gets into my head. Also, warning for talk of birth control, menstruation, and other reproductive-related topics.

When Time Hangs Suspended

Pensive. I hadn't meant to rush things so much. I was on my last day of winter travelling before I had to head home, and I woke up near Tucson, AZ surrounded by saguaro cacti. I left the area around noon and made my way east, vaguely thinking I might stop at White Sands National Monument in south-central New Mexico to catch the sunset, maybe find a place to stay overnight. If I'd been thinking while I packed for the trip I would have brought my backpacking gear with me and stayed in the park, but I hadn't thought I'd need it. I can't say I'm a huge fan of winter camping anyway. I drove pretty much without stop to get to White Sands before the park closed to incoming traffic, though the gate would allow visitors to leave after sunset.

I barely made it, but I got there ten minutes before the entrance gates closed. I briefly chatted with a ranger about maybe camping on the dunes anyway, but I didn't feel like carrying most of my stuff in my arms, plus keep track of Hoodoo, at sunset through the dunes. In the end, I made my way with a crowd of other visitors along the park road, intent on getting to the end and claiming a spot to watch the sun sink beyond the distant mountains.

On a whim I stopped at a gathering place for a ranger-led sunset hike, thinking I might go with the group and watch the sun set from wherever the ranger took us. Everyone was, of course, smitten with my little orange adventure kitten, and he got plenty of pets and ear scratches as the group swelled. The ranger started the hike, with me tailing behind to keep anyone from stepping on my cat, and we began our walk up the nearest dune. It was around that time Hoodoo decided he wasn't interested in going with the group and put the brakes on, forcing me to wait for him while he sniffed around and made it pretty clear he didn't want to go in the direction of the group. It only took me a few minutes to give up and give in to him, abandoning the group hike, scooping him up, and loading him into the car.

I was still determined to see the sunset over the pure white sands of the dunes, though, so I drove to the end of the park road and parked next to the sea of white sand, slinging the cat over my shoulders (his favorite place to chill) and grabbing my camera before starting to climb. I'd forgotten how much walking on loose sand sucks! One step forward, half a step back, every single foot a fight to gain. Eventually we made it to the top of the closest dune and I was surprised and distressed to see how far the sun had already sank towards the horizon, so I flat out broke into a run, trying to get away from other visitors crowding the dunes closest to the parking lot.

Eventually I stopped, having gone far enough to satisfy myself, setting Hoodoo down on the sand while I fiddled with my camera settings, looking for photo opportunities. If you ever get the chance or desire to see the gypsum sands of White Sands National Monument, I highly recommend you do so, making sure to stick around for sunset. Even better, stay overnight in the park (backpacking only, no established campgrounds) and catch the sunrise as well. I have yet to stay overnight, but I tentatively have a plan to do so this year. The sunsets there, though, rival any I've seen. The sinking sun dyes the white sands shades of gold, and if you're lucky enough to have a few clouds in the sky their orange glow reflects onto the deep shadows cast by the dunes, bathing everything in light. And when the sun finally sets behind the mountains, when time hangs suspended in the desert air, and the light in the sky begins to dim, more shades of blue than you can possibly name play across the sand. 

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Living on Cacti

Did you know there are birds out there whose whole lives revolve around cacti? Take the Gila Woodpecker, pictured above, for example. This little bird nests inside cavities in saguaro cacti, they eat the bugs that live on and near saguaros, they raise their fledglings and learn to fly off of saguaros. Can you see in the photo how this little one is perching on the top of the cacti? How freakin' neat is that!? While I was busy snapping photos of these birds in the early morning sun at Saguaro National Park near Tucson, AZ, Hoodoo was busy watching them intently with the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. Don't worry, he was on leash and I would never let him hurt a bird, but it was kind of adorable to watch. My adventure kitten being a real cat! He wouldn't have gotten too far, though, we were absolutely surrounded by cacti of all kinds. What a great defense mechanism, huh?

Happy First Birthday, Hoodoo!

Celebratory. Look, I'm not gonna lie, this post is mostly (read: entirely) me bragging about my cat again. It's his first birthday, and he deserves to be celebrated! Because for real, I have a cat that not only tolerates travel, but actually enjoys it. I have a cat who jumps into the car, who meows until we can go hiking, who chills on my shoulders when he doesn't want to walk. Hoodoo waits patiently for me to put his harness on and snuggles up in sleeping bags while tucked into a nylon cave. He also parties most nights at 2am unless I wear him out on a few miles of trail, but he's always ready to go the next day.

While I can't say he enjoys getting wet, he doesn't mind it in the way most cats I know do. He's down for some snow play and handles rain like a champ, and even delicately crosses streams that are in his path. He was a boss while climbing mountains at just a few months old, he showed off in the desert, and he handled getting frozen into our tent during a snow shower by purring next to my belly in our tent. He had no fear while exploring rivers and forests, and it seems his only two dislikes on the planet are wind and strange dogs.

This is a cat who crawls onto everybody's lap, who purrs and chatters constantly, who makes himself at home no matter what far-flung place I take him to. He's happy sleeping on my lap for 12 hour car rides, or playing in the dirt at our campsite as we settle in for the night. He's already visited eleven states and seven national park units, spending long hours and thousands of miles in a car. He has his spots in the house and the car and the tent claimed for himself, but plays it cool if you displace him. I've never met a cat like my little orange adventure kitten, and I probably never will again.
My kitten turns one year old, and I can't wait for many more years full of adventures and cuddles.
Happy Birthday Hoodoo!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Kitten's First Beach

I went to the beach! While spending a weekend on the Gulf Coast of Texas there was no way I could pass up camping on a beach. Callie has been to the beach with me a few times, but this was Hoodoo's first trip . . . and it didn't really go well. My cat has no problem with water, but he really doesn't like the wind, and guess what happens on the beach. When he wasn't distracted by blowing feathers and flying bugs, Hoodoo made it pretty clear he had no desire to hang out in the wind. He was fine in the tent and behind something blocking the wind, but if he was exposed he meowed his displeasure. The only exception to that was just before sunrise, when I went for a walk with him and Callie before the world woke up. Hoodoo was thrilled to chase the bubbles in the surf, even braving a small wave that wet his paws. He pounced at the washed up sea grass and pawed at shells and took more than a few swipes at Callie when she shook the saltwater out of her fur after taking a dip. All in all, though, I probably won't be taking my cat back to the beach unless I can stop the wind, but I suppose there has to be some places that Hoodoo just isn't a fan of.

Leave me a comment below and tell me if your pet has a place that they don't seem to like. Where is it?

Saguaro

Admiring. There really is nothing quite like waking up surrounded by giant cacti. Even if the temperatures hovered around freezing, even if I slept in my car on the side of the road because I arrived too late to get a campsite and I was not about to drive any further in the dark, even if I barely slept due to a combination of chill and worry. When dawn began to light up the sky and the silhouettes of cacti arms solidified out of the frosty air, there was nowhere else I would have rather been. My visit to Saguaro National Park in southern Arizona was the result of my stubborn streak: I want pictures of saguaro cacti for the walls in my kitchen, and I would much rather take the photos myself than buy someone else's. So I made a trip out of it this winter when I was already in Arizona helping with the Grandmaster Ultras, taking off on my own for a few more days of desert bliss once the race was finished.

I had a few hours to kill between dawn and the park's visitor center opening, but I made good use of my time. I have well over a hundred photos of saguaro cacti to take my pick from for printing and hanging, and to be honest I'm not sure how I'll decide. I was able to take Hoodoo with me on the park's pet-friendly nature trail, where we explored the desert flora and watched a couple of coyotes from a distance.

I also drove the park's scenic loop, stopping at a short trail to some petroglyphs where I left Hoodoo in the car while I explored. (Don't worry, I would never do that if it were hot out! As it was winter, he was safe and comfortable in the car.) It was pretty neat to walk among the cactus forest, even if it was only for a short hike.

Saguaro is actually divided into two parts, East and West, so once the visitor center opened and I purchased my customary magnet and park patch I headed over to the other side of Tucson to visit the second unit. I stopped at the visitor center despite already having my souvenirs, thinking I might as well. Then I hit the park road loop, driving the cactus forest and day dreaming about hiking.

I spent the vast majority of my time taking pictures of cacti, which of course is the draw to the park, but the next time I visit I won't bring Hoodoo with me and plan on hitting the trails for as long as possible. I traced some amazing trails that I would love to backpack someday, really getting to know the park and everything it has to offer.

Desert Castles and Cat Walks

Joyous. When chasing wintertime sun and heat, you head south. This was exactly what I was doing when I decided to take a side trip to Montezuma Castle National Monument as I drove south from Zion National Park (where I had spent the night tent camping with temperatures around 10 degrees). I had been cruising along pretty well on the interstate south of Flagstaff when I noticed signs for Montezuma Castle. Being me, I couldn't pass up a visit to a national parks unit so close to my route, so Hoodoo and I got off the interstate to make a stop. We weren't disappointed! While I always enjoy seeing Pueblo ruins, especially those built into alcoves like the one above, this little national monument gets extra points because I could bring Hoodoo on the short paved loop trail to the views!

Bringing a pet on national park/monument trails is almost unheard of, due to a number of factors including resource preservation, wildlife safety, public safety, and the pet's own safety. There are a few units where pets are allowed (looking at you, Great Sand Dunes!) but for the most part pets are restricted to the roads, parking lots, and established campgrounds of most parks. When I checked in at the visitor center I asked the rangers if pets were allowed. When they confirmed, I got probably a little too excited and told them about Hoodoo. Well, who doesn't love an adventure cat? The ladies at Montezuma Castle certainly did, and they came out to meet him. He was perfect, walking on his leash even in a group of other visitors as we made our collective way along the path. He paused to sniff everything (I swear he's more like a dog than a cat!) and took his time wandering down the trail, but we weren't in a hurry. The sun felt great, it was warm enough for only a light jacket, and we were close enough to our destination near Tucson that I didn't feel the need to rush. And the ruins of Montezuma Castle? Icing on the cake of a gorgeous walk.

Back to the Desert

Refreshed. Why I decide to travel anywhere further north than my home in Texas during the winter months, I'll never quite understand. Sure, I grew up with winter, I know what snow and ice are, those howling winds on the plains that aren't slowed down by things like trees or hills. But I moved to Texas four years ago, and while I go back to visit I don't exactly have to deal with winter weather much anymore. Except when I decide it's a good idea to travel anywhere other than south during those chilly months. I kept reminding myself that I was fine, that the cold wouldn't be so bad, that I could handle the wind, and that's how I found myself exploring Monument Valley along the Arizona/Utah border, just having driven out of a snow storm to finally see some blue sky and a blazing sun, though not without the reminders of winter's bite. 

I've visited Monument Valley once before, many years ago on one of our first (the first? I'm no longer sure) two week family vacations we began to take when we were younger. We'd arrived in the dark and woken up surrounded by giants. This time I was returning without my family en route to Littlefield, Arizona to help with the Grandmaster Ultras run, and I was traveling in the winter. I knew as soon as I stepped out of the car I would miss the blistering summer heat I so associate with the red rock cliffs and canyons of the Colorado Plateau, but I made myself do it. I almost sat right back down and slammed the door against the wind. Instead I tucked Hoodoo into his sweater and braced myself, hurrying to the visitor center as fast as I could. 

I got a bit distracted on the way to the shelter of the building. Monument Valley is a tribal park, run by Navajo guides who cherish and protect their sacred land. The Navajo government built a park so tourists like myself could experience the awe-inspiring tablelands towering above the desert floor, and with it they created a viewing deck next to the on-site hotel and gift shop, where you can see some of the towering red rock formations unimpeded. I spent long enough on that deck that I couldn't hold my camera still any longer from shivering in the wind, and hurried inside to warm up and get my bearings. 

I brought Hoodoo onto the deck before taking our scenic drive. He was a spring baby, and while he'd met snow on mountain tops last summer he's never seen so much at once. I was sure to lead him over to the sparkly white stuff and let him sniff around to his heart's content, where he surprised me by jumping right into a pile. Apparently he doesn't mind the cold! The wind, however, is not his friend. When he was finished exploring the deck we hopped back into the car and made our way to the scenic loop, a dirt road winding into the valley among the monuments.  

Despite my protests, I do enjoy traveling during the winter. It's off-season in most places, which means there are less crowds. Indeed, while there were a few visitors in the park at the same time as I, finding solitude on the drive was not difficult. Out there, I could have been the only person on the planet. Out there, grazing the bases of towering monoliths, I could feel myself relaxing, could feel the desert welcoming me back. 

Grandmaster Ultra: Day Two and Tear-Down

Impressed. Day two at the aid station began with voices. I was more than a little disoriented waking up to find the RV ceiling a few inches from my nose, bunked as I was in the little bed above the driver's seat. Johnny, our ham radio friend, was chatting with Torrey and Carrie, something about the runners and their locations, or something. I'm still not quite sure. It took me a good while to wake up enough to realize I'd slept well past the two-hour time limit I'd set for myself, and dawn's first light was leaking across the horizon. Even that realization wasn't enough to get me out of the cocoon of blankets wrapped around Hoodoo and I, but when Torrey started making pancakes I dragged myself to the table. With dawn brought other runners who had slowed down overnight but were eager to make up distance with first light. We kept up a stream of warmed food, and Johnny provided a thermos of (real, not instant) coffee. Let me tell you how those zombie-walking runners perked up when they heard we had real coffee!

It wasn't too long after I woke that we had a bit of an emergency pop up. A call from another aid station came over the radio for medical assistance, possibly an ambulance or even a life-flight. Over the radio chatter we gathered a male runner was lying on the ground, though it was unclear if he was non-responsive. It was clear that he was not able to be transported in a bumpy side-by-side ATV, though. Through Johnny and Base, they got an ambulance on the way to the area from wherever the closest hospital was, and I flagged down a race volunteer who happened to be driving by on an ATV on some mission of his own. He agreed to return to base and guide the ambulance to the aid station with the runner, and it was with nerves on edge that we kept an ear to the radio, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't too long after that the volunteer returned with an EMT buckled into the passenger seat of his vehicle, flying down the road past us to get to the runner. Maybe five minutes later a car drove towards base, driven by one of the aid station's volunteers (who happened to be another aunt of Torrey's, and a nurse), with the runner and EMT in the back seat. The last I'd heard (though I didn't ask after we left the race) was that he was still in the hospital recovering from hypothermia and a few related issues. I sure hope he's okay now!

The second day of the race saw a few other injuries, including a broken arm, a few busted faces, and a myriad of other bumps, scrapes, and bruises. The course was not kind, featuring rough, ankle-twisting rocks that seemed intent on tripping tired runners. It was no surprise we had a some runners go down, a few on more than one occasion. Fortunately, only the one gentleman was hospitalized that we heard about, so we'll take that as a win. In addition to the exhausted runners from the first day, a new set of runners began the morning of the second day, consisting of those running shorter distances. Our aid station was busy for a time as those fresh runners passed through, but a lot of them breezed by without stopping, intent on the finish line only four miles away. Unfortunately, the new day also brought new weather, and we had to contend with a few flurries of snow showers that were sure to make the runners miserable. It cleared up as the day went on, and as the runners began to wind down we had a few linger in the warmth of our RV, not quite ready to face the chill again.

We met some truly inspiring people. Women who I want to be when I grow up, including a 48 hour racer (read: run as far as possible within the 48 hour time limit) sporting bright pink hair and fantastic tattoos with her own book out in bookstores, a 50 K racer with a bright personality who insisted she'd get lost on course and begged us to help keep her straight and who came back once she'd finished to hug each of us and thank us for being out there (she only got turned around once, and it was on the other side of the course from us), and a woman who was running (and finished!!) her first 100 miler. Can we talk about persistence for a second? Because holy cow, I want to have even half of the will power of these women. Then there were those who stayed long enough to have conversations with, where we met a man who had lost his wife, found ultra running, and carries her picture pinned onto his backpack every race he does. I'm not normally emotional, and I made it through most of his story about losing his wife to cancer and all that entailed with interest, but as soon as he pulled his jacket aside to show us her picture and explain that he never remarried, even after nearly 20 years, because he was still in love, I lost it. I took one look at that picture, at the love I could see in his eyes and hear in his voice, and let the tears flow. It took a little while to get myself back under control after that one. We definitely felt the gratitude of most of the runners that day as they wrapped up their races. Nearly every one of them thanked us personally, taking the time to ask our names and praise us for volunteering to help out, thanking us for being out there and providing what we could for them. Those who came in to our RV, to warm up or to rest or to use the restroom, all gave Hoodoo a little love if he was out and about. The cat even curled up with the people who came in to nap for a few minutes!

As the sun set and the desert cooled even more we lit up the RV and laid our trail of glow sticks, beckoning runners to light and food and warmth. Johnny and I spent a while communicating with the other aid stations and base, trying to get a list of those who were still on the course and those who had dropped out or finished. In the end, with extensive cross-checking, we got a list of a few names to watch out for as night settled in around us. Johnny was invaluable in this, as we were able to keep track of who had passed what station, and could judge about when they should reach each point on the course. I realized I was worried about those men and women, cared about their safety and well-being, most of whom were entering their second nights of running/walking, most of whom had been awake for that long, and most of whom were exhausted. We took a great deal of care in marking what time each person arrived at our station and what time they left, radioing in to base to let them know when each was on their way to the finish line.

After pulling a 20-hour day, I finally passed out after trading Torrey and Carrie our watch chairs for the bed. I felt like I'd barely laid down when I woke up to the sound of vehicles driving the road, noting that dawn had come and gone and the sun was well above the horizon. Torrey and Carrie were asleep on the other bed, which told me our last runner had finished the race. With quite words we got up and packed the supplies, most of which Torrey and Carrie had done while I'd slept. We drove back to base, where tear-down was a subdued affair, exhaustion a physical presence among the group of race directors and volunteers. We cleaned the RV then helped clear the supplies and waited for runners to come pick up their drop bags. I hung around and chatted with Carrie, Torrey, and her family, as we traded stories from the aid stations and talked about the race overall. Every one of those runners amazed me, and I have nothing but respect for them and their ability to even attempt to do something so grueling. I told everyone this just before I left to continue my desert adventures for a few more days, and I'll say it again now: I had a wonderful time volunteering with this race, and it's inspired me to look into volunteering at other races closer to home. I think I've found yet another annual trip to add to my growing list, and now I can't wait until next year!

Miss Part One? Read it here!