Bucket Lists and Childhood Dreams: Floating the Colorado River

Successful. Did any of you make "bucket lists" when you were little? Back before you really understood what the purpose of a bucket list was, and you were just daydreaming about being able to do things once you grew up? Maybe it was just me. Anyway, ever since I've grown up enough to afford my own travels I've made a point to start checking those childhood dreams off of my bucket list. Alongside items such as rock climbing (done) skydiving (done) and scuba diving (not yet) I put down that I wanted to raft down the Colorado River. From the day I was first introduced to the mighty Colorado on one of our family vacations, I've been fascinated by it. With it's headwaters in one of my favorite parks, Rocky Mountain National Park, the river carves it's path through mountains and across the high desert of southern Utah, eventually shaping my favorite destination on the planet: Canyonlands National Park. From there, the Colorado River continues on to create places such as the Grand Canyon and Lake Mead, before being sucked dry into a sad remnant of itself somewhere in California.

July of this year I met my family in Moab, Utah in a throwback to our annual family vacations that I haven't been able to attend in six years. We hiked, took jeep trails, shopped, ate and camped. We got to enjoy several desert thunderstorms and wide open skies with limitless views. While trying to decide what to do with our last day together in the desert, my chance to float down part of the Colorado River finally presented itself! My siblings and I wanted to end our trip with an adventure, and as soon as river rafting was suggested, we were sold. We did what research we could from our phones while sitting in a restaurant with Mom and Dad, and decided to do a full day float with Adrift Adventures. We didn't really expect the rushing white water rapids of the mountains; we knew that in this part of the country the river was wide and deep and relatively slow, gravity and soft rocks being the main force that carved out the canyons in the area.

On our last day, Alisha, Austin and I headed for the rafting headquarters, loaded onto a bus to take us to our starting point on the river, and we were off! It was a bit of a drive up the gorgeous scenic byway 128, following the path of the river through a canyon, flanked by towering red cliffs. Finally we stopped and waited for our guides to get the rafts unloaded, getting to know our fellow floaters and taking in the views. At last, our call came and I all but jumped on the raft in excitement, I was so ready to check another item off of my list! Our guide shoved us off the bank, caught the current, and we were off! Instead of each member of the raft using a paddle to propel us downstream, which had been my only experience with river rafting to this point, there was only a single set of oars in the middle of the raft that our guide used to keep us pretty much where we needed to be in the river.

As with my experience with River Runners in Buena Vista, our guide Chris was totally laid-back, prefering to let the river take us where it wanted to, as long as we didn't get smashed against a cliff or something. The water was murky and as red as the landscape that slowly slid out of view around each curve in the canyon, usually calm and surprisingly cold. My brother decided he wanted a swim, and without further ado he jumped off the side of the raft. He popped back to the surface next to the boat and could hardly speak; the chill had literally taken his breath away. Of course, eventually he aclimated and swam around, splashing and talking with the others in our raft who had joined him in the river. My sister and I decided to stay warm and dry, thank you very much! We hit a few baby rapids in the course of our nearly 14 miles on the river, getting splashed a little and thoroughly enjoying the bit of adrenaline that accompanied each one.

Near the end of our day we pulled the rafts out at a nice little sandy beach and had lunch, devouring sandwiches and cookies like nobody's business. It's surprising how much energy it takes to sit in the sun and relax all day! We hopped back on the raft, nobody talking much as we all digested and took in more amazing views of the canyon walls shining rust-red in the sun. In what felt like no time, Chris was rowing hard to pull us out of the current and running our raft onto a beach creatively named Take Out Beach, and our float down the Colorado River came to an end. Alisha, Austin and I sat in some shade and waited for our guides to load our rafts, and it was just a short drive from there back to Adrift Adventure's headquarters in Moab. Guys, I've been able to check off so many items off of my childhood bucket list, and now I get to check of one of my favorites: rafting down the Colorado River. I think next time I'll have to do a multi-day float through Canyonlands itself. Add it to the list!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Ice Jams and Broken Trails

Marley and I enjoyed ourselves on a fair winter day in February 2014 while hiking in Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge near Valentine, NE. It was just the two of us on the trail, which took us down and up the forested bluffs paralleling the Niobrara River. Where the trail looped closest to the river, we found ourselves blocked by massive chunks of ice that had been shoved onto the banks. It was either turn around, or climb over the ice jam. Marley absolutely refused to get onto the ice, so in the end I picked his 75 pound butt up and carried him myself. I put him down right on the edge of the ice, made him stay and jumped down to snap this picture of the "trail." If I had known that I would be putting "trail" in quotes for many of my adventures throughout the year I probably would have reconsidered my New Year's Resolution....but I'm sure glad I didn't!!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a "trail" that you've hiked!

Think Sahara Desert, In Colorado

Delighted. When you think of Colorado, what do you picture? Snow-capped mountains, dark evergreen forests, the yellow fall foliage of quaking aspens, or picturesque waterfalls surrounded by fields of wildflowers? Do you ever picutre the tallest sand dunes in North America, invoking thoughts of camels and extreme thirst? There is an amazing little secret, tucked into a pocket of jagged snow-capped mountains and bordered by two life-giving seasonal streams, in central Colorado that looks exactly like every picture of the Sahara Desert you've ever seen, minus the camels. Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve is everything I've described, and so much more.

Sand dunes as tall as 755 feet above the valley floor shift in the winds of the valley, stretching some 30 square miles back into a little corner formed by intersecting mountain ranges. Medano Creek, a seasonal stream that gushes from the nearby mountains while snow is melting, but dries up to a braided sandy channel at the front of the dunes by August, encircles half of the dune field and is the reason the dunes exist. Without water, the great dunes would sail away in the wind, grain by grain. Medano Creek itself is incredible, and one of the only places in the world where the creek pulses in waves, like at an ocean beach.

Megan and I were able to spend an entire day at Great Sand Dunes National Park in June, and it was just as amazing as every other time I've had the chance to visit this little pocket in central Colorado. The first thing we did is put our packs on and hike to the top of High Dune, the tallest dune on the front ridge of the dune field. It wasn't easy, even with the mental preparation I tried to give myself and Megan. It's rather disheartening when for every step you take, you slide half a step backwards in the fine grained sand. Even after a heavy rain, which we watched from halfway up a mountain across the valley, the sand shifted every time we moved. Our hike had us mostly moving upwards, though we followed the crests of the dunes and sometimes dipped down briefly in the saddles between each dune. Up and up, over a mile and a half of scorching sand, combined with higer elevations and a hot sun.

I'm pretty sure Megan hated me for the majority of the hike, but I hope she'll admit that the view at the top was spectacular. We were surrounded by sand, stretching all the way back to the mountains and then down to the creek. The rain was still drying off, and the dunes looked marbled in differnt shades of tan from our vantage point. High Dune was the destination and turn-around point for most of the day-use people at the park, and the crest of the dune was crowded. Walking a little farther away, out into the dune field, you were completely alone. Get out of sight of the front ridge and you might as well be the only person on earth.

Megan and I headed back to the creek after admiring the views and resting for a while. We drove the park roads, me wishfully longing for the Point of No Return Road that I knew from experience that my car would never be able to handle. Megan and I chose to catch some rays along the banks of Medano Creek, laying out our towels on the wet sand and stepping into the warm, shallow waters of the creek if we needed to cool down. We meandered downstream, watching the fascinating pulsing waves flow around us. The creek pulses due to it's composition: fine grained sand. As sand is carried downstream, it gets deposited and builds little sand dams which pool water behind each dam, until the pressure becomes too great. The dam breaks, sending a small wave of water rushing downstream. In late June, the creek is no deeper than mid-calf, and the waves look like large ripples, but the phenomenon is still mesmerizing.

Megan and I spent a relaxing day at the dunes, polishing it off with an incredible sunset. While we didn't get to see the Sangre de Christo mountains behind the dunes turn their namesake blood red color, we got to experience a tranquil sunset filled with light and shadows. We were even treated to a thunderstorm as we drove back to our campsite, making me wish that we had camped at the dunes instead. I have every intention of going back sometime soon, and might even make Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve my first overnight backpacking trip. Now that would be amazing.

What I'm listening to: Ironfoot by Howard Shore

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Tiny Ledges and Water Monsters

Along the trail to Druid Arch, Cat and I mostly followed a dry wash along the bottom of Elephant Canyon in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. Near our destination, however, the trail left the bottom of the wash and climbed the steep cliffs that shaded most of our morning journey. Somewhere around 50 feet above the bottom of the canyon, the trail spit us out onto a little, teeny tiny sand and rock ledge. On one side, there was a wall of vertical sandstone a hundred feet high, while on the other there was nothing but a few shrub bushes between us and a pool of deep green water of unknown depth. I'm pretty sure the water actually cut out the sandstone directly underneath the ledge we were standing on, just like it had on the other side of the pool. Now, I've made it clear that I'm not afraid of heights, but I was a little uncomfortable on that ledge. Of course, I stopped long enough to snap a few pictures, but I can't say I was enthusiastic about having to cross that ledge on our return trip. Maybe it was because I couldn't see how deep the pool was, but I could only imagine some sort of water monster waiting to snatch any hiker who accidentally falls in. Or, you know, worrying about breaking my neck if I were to slip. 

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you would have had the courage to walk along that ledge.

Things to Think About: Family Vacations and Personal Travel Styles

Independent. I love my family, and since moving to Texas I see them a whole lot less than I ever have for the last 24 years of my life. I miss our Sunday dinners, meeting up for pedicures/drinks/lunch or whatever else we did as a family. Sure, I try to talk to everybody at least weekly, more if I have time, but it's not the same as actually seeing them and being with them. I finally was able to participate in a family vacation last month for the first time in six years, and while it was fantastic being back in our collective favorite place, Moab, UT, part of me couldn't wait until it was over. Now, I know that doesn't sound very nice, especially since I never see my family any more, so let me explain: I went from seeing my family all the time while I lived in Nebraska, to moving to Texas and never seeing them. I went back at the end of May for a week, but also had plenty of other people to visit, and we had a lot to do in the short week I was there. Otherwise, I've Skyped with them once, call everyone weekly or so, plus we have a running group text for all five of us, as well as Facebook.

Home for a few days

Then, I met up with my parents and siblings in the middle of the desert and got to spend quality time with them all before my little brother shipped off to basic training. Unfortunately, I think we spent too much quality time together. I have grown into a very independent person, and my travel style has evolved with me; I like doing whatever I please, whenever I please, wherever I please, and dislike someone telling me I can't go because they don't want to. I like to be doing things, moving from sun up (or before) to sun down (or after) and have no patience. At all. If I waited on someone to go with me I would never have traveled to as many places or have been on as many adventures as I have. With that in mind, I'd really prefer to not have to ok every activity with the majority or the person who is driving, and being at the mercy of others reminded me way too much of my teenage years, and I was forcefully regressed back to being 16 years old again. We held way too many arguments over stupid shit that doesn't matter, simply because we were hot or tired or way too damn similar and each of us is stubborn to a fault. Have I mentioned that I don't take orders well? Especially if I think they're stupid or redundant. It got to the point that for the first time ever, ever, while on one of my adventures, I just wanted to go home.

I actually ate real meals. Only because somebody else cooked!

There were several times where I refused to speak to anybody. Childish, maybe, but what do you expect when I feel like I'm being treated like I'm 16 again? I know, I know, I should have been a grown up and said what was on my mind in a nice, calm manner, but when you're cooped up in a fabric and metal box with a bunch of people for an extended period of time, rational thought goes out the window. It's probably a good thing that I didn't open my mouth and said what I was really thinking.

We all still love a good thunderstorm. That hasn't changed a bit!

Trying to be positive, I did learn several things about myself and my travels while on our family vacation. For example, while I love my family very much, I will likely never go on another vacation with the whole group. There are too many people (yes, five people are too many people,) too small of a space, and we couldn't get away from each other. Plus we all are just so stubborn that we butt heads all the time anyway. As anybody who has traveled with me in the last 18 months can attest to, my adventures start very early in the morning and end at or after sunset. I like to pack my day full, preferably with a hike or two plus some good driving/sightseeing. My family doesn't work like that. I understand that not everybody likes to travel that way, and I am aware that I might change my wants in the future, but right now I refuse to travel with people who can't or won't do things my way. It's not fun for anybody if we argue about what we're going to do and how we're going to do it.

I was so excited to share a hiking experience with my family.

The gist? I want to travel with less people or by myself more often. And by less people, I mean only one or two other like-minded people. I feel like I am very up-front with how I travel whenever somebody expresses interest in adventuring with me. I make a point to tell them that I get up early, am willing to drive very long hours with as few stops as possible, I hike a lot, and we likely won't be back to our campground until after dark. I always have a conversation before our trip to discuss meals, lodging (I strongly prefer tenting, btw) and to get a feel for how much they want to hike. I'm crazy, but not crazy enough to push someone past what they can handle. I'll scale it back if I'm hiking with a new person or with someone who doesn't have much experience. If they're a first time companion, we talk about comforts and abilities and I make sure they know that we have to have honest communication if we're both going to enjoy our adventure. I'm not interested in getting someone hurt; if I want to break a personal record I'll go alone.

Still was able to enjoy good times, despite our problems

Back to my family, even though we didn't get along all the time, I was sad to part ways. It will be a few months before I see them again, and going back to phone calls and texts isn't very satisfying. Alisha and I were able to spend one day longer together, and we explored several ancient Puebloan ruin sites that I'll write about later, but Mom, Dad and Austin headed back towards Nebraska when we parted ways. I do have to say, it was a very strange feeling knowing that we finished our family vacation and everyone was headed home, but their home is in Nebraska and my home is now in Texas. It was a nice trip, and it was incredibly difficult for me to leave the desert, but it was eye-opening in ways that I'm not sure I wanted to know. Things to think about, I guess.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: We Break For Sheep

Cat and I were about halfway through our hike in Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park in Utah when we found some shade under the ledge of a cliff and decided to take a break. We dug out our energy bars and took a seat, guzzling water and reveling in thecool rock-shade that protected us from the relentless sun. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, we were rewarded with an entire herd of desert big horn sheep peering over the lip of the canyon on the cliffs opposite us. They were clearly grazing on the sparse greenery, and showed just as much curiosity in us as we had regarding them. We watched them deftly jump along the cliff edge, and our break extended far longer than our usual rest period.

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you happened to be in the right place at the right time!

All Bad Roads Lead to Something Spectacular

Eager. To date, I have not found any evidence to refute the following theory: all bad roads lead to something spectacular. Sometimes it's just the drive itself, sometimes it's the scenery along the way, and sometimes it's the destination; I dare you to show me a bad road that doesn't have something amazing along the way. Of course, I have favorites, which I've pictured in this blog post, where I've also extensively discussed the topic of bad roads. My most recent trip, family vacation in Moab, UT, had me thinking about my theory again, and here I am obsessing over bad roads.

I love driving on the soft sand of beaches, adore the twisting, rocky tree-lined lanes in the mountains, but my heart belongs to the trails in the red rock desert, with one side overshadowed by thousand foot cliffs and the other side inches away from a breathtaking, fatal fall. There is something new around every canyon switchback, some new challenge, evidence of ancient human activity, or amazing views. You wind up the side of a canyon, following a route that doesn't seem possible but somehow is, opening up onto a plateau and a 360 degree view of the desert laid out below you. Or you meander down a tributary canyon into a boxed-in wash that could flash flood if there are thunderstorms within 60 miles of your location, adding to the thrill of the advenutre. You drive for hours, yet only travel a few miles, stopping at every chance to get out and take in the wide-open views: red rock, blue sky, and maybe a river or stream hundreds of feet below where you stand.

Your destination could be absolutely nothing, yet you haven't wasted your time. You could just be there for the road, wondering what lies around the next corner, hoping your vehicle can handle the slickrock ramps and steps. You could be headed to something amazing, like natural bridges suspended two hundred feet above the canyon bottom, that, if you're brave enough, you can walk across. Maybe the road is the scenic route between two points, and you had the option to take the short way, the path most people choose, but instead you opted for adventure and challenge and a little bit of the unknown. This is what it's like to live.

 I'll be driving my little Yaris into the ground, but soon, soon I'll get my Jeep and take these roads myself, go places that I can only dream about, unless I'm with someone who's car can handle bad roads. Going on four-wheel drive trails is something we've always done, on every family vacation, and this trip was no different. We saw parts of the Moab area that we'd never seen before, because we chose to get off the tourist-beaten path and take a little adventure. I can't wait to do it again.

What I'm listening to: The Woodland Realm by Howard Shore

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Badger Don't Care

Back in Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge Marley and I were driving on a dirt road across the prairie when we came across a prairie dog town. We spent a good amount of time watching them scurry around, going about their business. Marley wanted to get out and play so bad! I even put down the window for him. Just as we were turning around to go back to the hotel I caught a glimpse of something much bigger than a prairie dog: a badger was running between the burrow holes, trying to find a way in! I'd never seen a live badger in the wild, and was enthralled with how this one moved and behaved. It was surprisingly quick, but the prairie dogs were faster, always diving into their burrows at the last second, and popping up as soon as the badger turned it's back. Marley and I watched the badger for a long time before it finally gave up and headed for longer grass, where we lost sight of it. Not gonna lie, it was pretty neat!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about your first time seeing an animal and what impression it left.

Early Mornings and High Hopes

Expectant. When you wake up at a ridiculous time to arrive at a destination before sunrise, you'd better really want to see said destination. My sister and I were partway through our summer family vacation in Moab, Utah and we woke ourselves up and dressed while listening to the rest of our family sleeping in the camper. We quietly shuffled out of the pop-up and settled into my car, anticipating a spectacular sunrise as we traveled 45 minutes from our campground in Moab to the Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands National Park. Our hope (and an item on my photography bucket list) was to watch the sun rise underneath Mesa Arch, located along the uppermost rim of Canyonlands. We gave ourselves plenty of time to arrive, reaching the arch's parking lot with more than thirty minutes to spare.

We followed several other tourists up the sand and gravel path, chatting and not paying attention to where we were going. We realized, too late, that we had let ourselves be led by other people, and that we should have been paying attention to our path. Before we knew it, we had wandered off the marked trail, and had no idea which way Mesa Arch lay, and also no clue how close we were to the thousand foot cliff with no barrier to stop us if we took a wrong step. As we looked around, we saw about ten others looking frantically at their useless maps of the park, unsure where to go. Lisha and I decided then and there that we'd lead them to the correct path, to avoid damaging any of the fragile desert sand and crust. Carefully walking only on exposed slickrock, we located the carins marking the path to Mesa Arch, and got our group going in the right direction. It's amazing to think that, just in a few moments where we stopped paying attention, we were stumbling around in the dark with no idea which way the trail lay. It was a little bit sobering, and the trail itself is less than a half of a mile long. I can't imagine getting lost in the dark on a longer trail.

We got ourselves straight eventually, and joined a small crowd already at the base of the arch waiting expectantly for the morning skypainting. Lisha and I found some empty rock and claimed our photography territory, eager for a good spot from which to capture the arch and the rising sun. This photograph is something that I've been dying to get since I first heard of the magical time of day where the rising sun lights up the flat underside of Mesa Arch, turning it from purple shadows to fiery gold with the breaking of the day. I promised myself that the next time I was in the area, I would get up early, make the long drive up the plateau, and capture that picture. Well, I'd missed my chance the morning before due to a serious windstorm, and so found myself waiting in the pre-dawn light with my sister and a growing crowd of strangers, all of whom had their cameras directed toward the eastern horizon.

As dawn approached, we told ourselves that the arch was starting to glow a little, waking up after the long night and ready to reveal it's colors to us. And then the clouds that I had been eyeing nervously drifted over from the distant mountains. I thought for sure that we were going to be treated to a fantastic sunrise, complete with not just fiery stone and morning sun, but pink and gold clouds as well! The clouds moved at exactly the wrong time, and just as the sun broke over the horizon, for the magical couple of minutes that would be the only chance to light up the arch until the next sunrise, they enveloped the sun in shadows and our highly anticipated morning photoshoot was doused.

Alisha and I hung around a little longer than we needed to, not quite ready to give up the hope that we'd get a shot of the surrounding canyons bathed in the fresh light, but eventually we had to admit defeat. The path was much easier to follow once the sun was up, and we made quick work of the short trail back to my car. We headed down the plateau, wondering when we'd get the opportunity to come back and take another stab at dawn with Mesa Arch. I think I'll be going back soon.

What I'm listening to: To The Pirate's Cave! By Hans Zimmer