July - December 1994: What I Did on My Mid-life Vacation

One of many trip reports under the SilGro home page for Alan Silverstein and Cathie Grow.
Email me at ajs@frii.com.
Last update: August 12, 2024
(Previous trip report: 1994_0521-22_GrandCanyon.htm)
(A Fourteener trip report.)

Introduction

In 1994 I completed 17 years as a Hewlett-Packard (HP) software engineer followed by a half-year sabbatical, a "non-compelling leave of absence." I needed a break; I wanted a vision quest. Here is one way to tell the story of what I did, and why, and especially, how it felt.

This is a long report. It reflects the breadth and depth of my time away. To capture the flavor of this special period in my life, its fullness and intensity, is not easy to do in a few words. Perhaps to understand you must vicariously experience the same long journey? We'll see.

I'll tell the tale tersely as I can, and I'll leave out much. Human memory is a series of still photos. To make this story a travelogue, I must set those images against a backdrop, a tapestry of many threads. Hence, here are brief snapshots atop a timeline, overlaid with occasional deeper excursions -- remnants saved from writings during my time away. If life is like exploring a maze while trying to avoid the exit, I certainly followed an extraordinary and fortunate trajectory!

Some numbers... I undertook 14(!) overnight outings of 1 to 11 nights each. Trips included driving, camping, hiking, backpacking, houseboating, canoeing, flying, trail work, and a road rallye... Two nights on mountaintops. West coast, Gulf coast, "north coast". I spent 68 nights in a sleeping bag and three in motels. Put 12300 miles on my car. My vacation script received email from 629 unique addresses...

So you ask: How was it? In short: Many surprises -- few disappointments -- no regrets. Best decisions made at each point along the way. Experiment successful, regardless of the outcome. A few revelations, herein shared. Time did not "go by fast" at all. Coming back, it does not yet feel compressed to a thin layer of temporal sediment. Perhaps with luck, it was a passage? Time will tell.

It surprised people that I still read my email, listened to vmail, and visited HP occasionally. It was OK. I just wanted to subtract "objectives" from my life, not the rest of HP. And that's how it was.

Contents:

• Introduction
• Prelude
• July 1: Launch
• Travel Events...
• 1: July 11-21: Montana!
• 2: July 30 - August 6: Alpine Trailbuilding
• 3: August 10-12: Timber Creek, Rocky Mountain National Park
• 4: August 19-28: Lake Powell and Fun Enroute
• 5: August 30 - September 1: Wild Basin, RMNP
• 6: September 2-6: Canoe Colorado River
• 7: September 9-11: Gorge Lakes, RMNP
• Sidebar: Email Sent That Evening
• Sidebar: September 20, Email to a Friend
• 8: September 26-27: Overnight on Signal Mountain, 11262'
• 9: September 30 - October 2: Road Rallye Radio
• 10: October 7-14: Grand Gulch Backpack
• Sidebar: Email Sent Later
• 11: October 21 - November 1: California Or Bust!
• Sidebar: Various Email Letters Recapping the Adventure
• 12: November 6-9: Fly to Lake Powell
• 13: November 19-28: Deep South
• A Quiet December at the Center of the Cyclone
• December 2: Email to a Friend
• December 8: Email to a Friend
• December 19: Midnight Ruminations
• 14: December 28-29: One More Fling
• Return to Here and Now
• Appendix 1: LOA Revelations
• Appendix 2: Afterthoughts
• Appendix 3: 2023 Retrospective

This year I can attend the 60th annual Glacier Waterton Hamfest. And take my daughter Megan Silverstein, age 11, on a rare long road trip. And leave home on a Monday! "This doesn't suck at all."

Monday: First stop, Blue Forest near Green River, Wyoming. If only we could find it! Poor directions, 40 miles of searching the wrong backroads; rolling prairie, oil wells. Sleep at Slate Campground on the Green River.

Tuesday: Get better directions, go ten miles more. Touch the bare Earth all day; collect ancient beautiful petrified wood. Overnight in the boonies again on BLM land off remote Burma Road -- gorgeous. Set up tent on the edge of a bluff.

Wednesday morning: My FTO runs out, my LOA officially begins... The Point Of No Return. A nice hike to the Burma high point. Colorful badlands -- in Wyoming? Ancient terrain; some perspective. Work doesn't matter; my LOA, too, is as nothing.

Astoria Hot Spring. Shop in Jackson. Camp in Teton National Park at Gros Ventre. Jenny Lake, wow; and watch the shadow of the Grand Teton sweep across us and the planet. Camp near the Phibbs from California, offer them watermelon, stay up too late talking, use new Coleman lantern the first and only time in the next six months, annoy neighbors.

Thursday: Incredible day, we sweep through Tetons and Yellowstone NP, 18 stops, all manner of wildlife -- bison bear moose elk deer people and more people. Coulter Bay, Willow Flat, Lewis Falls, West Thumb, Old Faithful of course. Firehole Lake, Fountain and Artist Paint Pot hikes... A cool, wet day for July. End up soaking in the Boiling River, 45 deg north -- along with the Phibbs. Continue north, where to camp? End up miles away at Snowbank Campground -- near the Phibbs. Small world. Nice people. Megan makes a pen-pal.

Friday: Gotta make miles to Glacier NP for the hamfest. Scenic route to Bozeman over Trail Creek Road, yakking with the Phibbs on CB. Museum of the Rockies, goodbye to the Phibbs. Through Helena... What a huge, beautiful (just in the summer?), empty (always?) state. Rolling hills, wildflowers. College Avenue (US 287) continues on into a thunderstorm at Browning, and finally to the Three Forks commercial campground just west of the continental divide on the south side of Glacier NP. A long, wonderful drive.

Saturday: Lay up for two days. Eat, drink, and be merry with old friends; make new friends. Eight hundred amateur radio folks. Share site 51 with 14 people. Bill Vodall lives near here. Bob Proulx and Sue Wolber fly up from Fort Collins -- fun! Maria Espejo, Peruvian Inca from Calgary, loves to hike, can handle severe hang-from-hands bushwhacking, goes high on a hill with me to see the scenery, 5.5 hours afoot. Grizzly scat near camp, but no bears sighted, whew. A four leaf clover in my travel journal, and I wasn't even looking. Megan enjoys the freedom of the huge campground.

Half a month gone by already! I should be meditating, sleeping, figuring it all out. No way -- external stimulation!

Sunday afternoon: Bill plays tourguide. Onward to West Glacier, Apgar, east over the incredible Going to the Sun Highway. Logan Pass, a mountain goat in the parking lot. Bill takes Bob and Sue back to the airport; I take Megan to St Mary, then Many Glaciers. A 4000' grassy slope dotted with mountain goats; the mind cannot grasp it. Just take a picture and keep going.

The very same day, back across Going to the Sun again, west, sunset up high, wow. No traffic now. Wash the car under the Weeping Wall. Surprise Megan by opening her power window from my side ("Dad!"). After dark, radio follies in Apgar, rejoin Bill, change of plans, end up late camped by Doris Creek near Hungry Horse Reservoir, exhausted.

Monday: Bill shows us remote Polebridge, west of Glacier. Nice long hike up Cyclone Mountain, lookout tower, awesome view, a rainbow into Cyclone Lake! Huckleberries grow on trees! Well, on bushes. Much face stuffing. Overnight at a genuine hostel in Polebridge.

Tuesday: Megan swims in glacial Bowman Lake... brrr! Yields an all-time favorite photo. All three canoe an hour on Lake MacDonald. Finally we reach Bill's tiny home town of Kevin, MT, and stay with his folks. Two am, and we're still up talking.

Wednesday: Oil field tour, then we leave Kevin. A short excursion to Canada with Megan; we find a water park. I almost have to leave her at the border, wearing a wet swimsuit -- no proof she's mine!

Cruise south, heading for home, lots of stops... Like Missouri River in Great Falls, and the airport in Lewiston, recalling the 1979 total eclipse. Last night out is in the boonies again, BLM rangelands east of Roundup. Curious cow chorus with breakfast, then a B1 bomber encore.

Thursday: An hour and a half down the road I insist we wade in the Yellowstone River at Forsyth looking for agates. ("Dad, do we have to?"... "Dad, do we have to leave now?") An enjoyable 1.5 hours though we don't find much. Still, one big pretty six pound chunk of petrified wood escapes downstream decay in our safekeeping.

Say, we could actually make it home tonight... Megan votes "yes!", so we do it. Ten or so hours later, she's sleeping in the car as we reach the driveway. Nearly 2700 miles are behind us. Trip one, done, but I'm not counting them yet...

(Even this verbose, I leave so much unsaid...)

Time passes. It's nice not having to go to work. Still, surprising, I seldom find myself actually enjoying the feeling. The roads and stores are still crowded... It's just like real life without working. And still more I want to do than I have time for. And do I ever fill the time! Boating, house chores, grubbing out overgrown bushes, dump runs, rock polishing (thanks Steve!), flying (Pingree Park three weeks post-fire, thanks Sue!), swimming, ...

I realize: With a structured life I try to do too much, but my expectations are at least somewhat constrained. Not having to work, I expect my time to be infinite and free, which is absurd. There are still limits on both my time and energy, but none on my fantasies... And this is a rude awakening.

Friday: Supposed to meet in Leadville at 9 am tomorrow; three hour drive. Hmm... Leave home tonight. Car camp at Officers Gulch off I-70. Say what, road closed? Uh oh, I'm tired. Carry backpack a hundred yards past the gate, into the camp area. Sleep on the asphalt corner of a parking lot, undisturbed.

Saturday: The group comes together very very slowly this morning in Leadville. I could have driven from home at a reasonable hour. It dawns on me how low-key, low-budget, shoestring an operation this is. Suddenly my presence feels more important.

Eventually about 11 of us set out up the Missouri Gulch trail. Also two Forest Service rangers and a two-mule pack train. Weird feeling; this will be my longest backpack trip ever. Seven nights at or above 11200', no outside contact. Heavy pack, though all the food is carried in by mules. Also carrying pulaskis, shovels, monster pry bars...

Pull into camp ahead of most of the gang. Search for decent camp spot. Not really many flat spots! Settle on a "penthouse" location barely big and level enough to lie prone, in trees, high up the hill. Help establish camp and haul water from the creek -- an all-week routine ritual.

Surprise: The group decides the very next day is our first of two days off. Who needs to rest? I meet Michael. We decide to spend Sunday night on top of nearby Mount Belford, 14197'. Its northwest ridge is the object of our trail building. We'll join the crew Monday morning on the way down.

Sunday: We head out of camp straight east up the mountainside toward Pecks Peak, 13270'. A few gorgeous old bristlecones here, high above current timberline. Wait out a lightning storm, 1.5 hours perched on backpacks. Continue past an old mine. Reach Pecks. Wait out another storm, 1.5 hours on the 13200' saddle to Belford. Par for the course when climbing to spend the night. So we'll barely make the top for a disappointing cloudy sunset... But isn't that rainbow gorgeous?

On top, it's a wet night, and the highest area is a rough limestone block, too craggy. Find a more comfortable spot a record distance for me from the summit. It will do, and I'll count it. I demonstrate the joys of tarp camping to Michael. We stay reasonably warm in a light, cold rain, and actually sleep well.

Monday: At 0400 it's 35 deg out. Michael suggests we visit Mount Oxford, 14153', for sunrise. Ah hell, why not. Down 700' and back up, we just make it in time. Arkansas Valley filled with golden mist. Serious God-beams. The usual.

Rather later we return to Belford, the only way home, gather our goods, and boogie down the mountain. By binocs we barely observe the trail crew leaving camp. It takes a long time, 1.5 hours, to descend to meet them. We put in our best effort building trail before being cut short by early afternoon lightning storms.

Most evenings at camp are the same. Early dinner, clean up, pump water, gets cold and sun sets about 8:30 pm. Surprisingly busy, not mellow, but long nights of welcome sleep.

Tuesday: Another work day. Early start by team consensus. Just getting to the site at 12200' (and above) is nearly an hour's walk. Michael and I continue to work hard creating switchbacks through tough rock cliffs onto Belford's northwest ridge. Again we are cut short in the afternoon by threatening weather; later this time though.

Wednesday: Another rest day. After four days of hard exercise I'm pretty tired. But Missouri Mountain, 14067', beckons for a second visit. We forego overnighting on it, so we leave early at 7 am.

Michael and another guy are stronger and get ahead after an hour. Fair-weather cumulus today -- no rush. I decide to meander solo straight up the north face. Sensuous scrambling! Pass by the left of the "prominent C-shaped snowfield." I'm on top by 1030, what a kick! Three and a half hours from camp, not bad for a tired, old guy.

Tremendous view. Visit east to the subpeaks overlooking Elkhead Pass, 15 minutes each way. I might as well proceed south to Iowa Peak, 13831'. I join up with another CMC trail-worker. It's a nice ridge-walk down and up. Forget about Emerald Peak; too late, too tired. We make our way northeast off-trail back down, around Missouri, and up to Elkhead Pass, trying not to lose elevation. Over the saddle, down the trail to camp, we arrive an hour and a half later, just as it starts to rain.

Every evening everyone is social. Every night everyone is sleeping long and hard, exhausted. I brought a walkman and some tapes, but don't find time to meditate much.

Thursday morning: Michael and I join Nancy on willow crew. Time to kill willows! Get even with them for always being underfoot. We cut thick branches from deep underneath to use for stakes to hold back rocks, and for greenery to help revegetate trampled sections below the ridge. Kill willows! Forest Service approved!

Hauling huge bundles up to the ridge from the valley floor is grueling; the physically hardest thing I've ever done.

That afternoon Michael and I return up the ridge to 13400'. We close off an ugly eroded detour. Then mark and build several hundred feet of trail rapidly with our bare hands! It will need more work, but it's a great improvement.

Friday: The group is back up high on the ridge, killing tundra at 13000' to turn an eroded social track into switchbacks. It's a paradoxical feeling digging up the virgin hillside. I must trust that it's for a good cause. Sure is fun attacking the hill with pulaskis and crowbars! I'm muscle-tired but not sore... "Brain/body disconnect."

On the way up, an unforgettable sight. A four-gallon bucket falls down the long hill from way above. I can't catch it as it soars and bounces above my head at high speed. It lands 1000' below in a rock pile. I retrieve it later, on the way home, curiously undamaged.

We are once more weathered off the exposed ridge early. But the storm passes. We get in some time on the switchbacks again at 12200' before calling it quits. I've finally had enough trail building, don't care that it's not all done. Another crew arrives in a week, leave them some fun.

That evening I watch the sunset alone sitting high above camp on a bristlecone snag. Ominous clouds, a bit of rain. Full of emotion; full of music I didn't hear earlier in the week. It's been a long, unusual adventure. I count 14700' total vertical gain, and I feel it.

Saturday: Let's pack and go home. Burn pancakes for the group again. Help assemble the mule train. Then 53 minutes gets my tired body to the trailhead; eight straight days of exercise. Unwind back to my car at Leadville; buy Mexican food for some of the crew; and head home to rejoin the world -- and my (ab)normal life already in progress in my absence. It feels weird. Drop a coworker in Denver, and I'm home in time to square dance that evening! Trip two, all through. Seventeen messages await on my voicemail.

I wonder how my daughter is doing. My ex-wife faced an increase in her lease. She gave it up August 1, is homeless now, staying with friends and tent-camping, with my daughter and her other daughter, a toddler. I'm relieved, they're fine... I can't believe I'm doing this, but I invite them to camp in my back yard, use my bathroom, ah hell sleep in my living room, on and off for the next month and a half till they can move into a new apartment, but only when I'm home. It's weird. We get along OK, but it reminds me just how incompatible we are.

Well I'm home again. August already and I've "only" done two adventures. Occasionally I actually appreciate not having to go to work. But strangely, most of the time I feel pretty busy and it's just not on my mind.

Wednesday: We pack and go to the RMNP backcountry office in Estes Park for a permit. Too late in the day (as usual), not much available... Settle for my first west-side backpack. First day, three miles to the Timber Creek site. It's a nice trail!

Alas, as usual Megan starts strong but peters out after a couple of miles. I end up carrying her pack and egging her on into camp, two hours from the trailhead. It's a pretty spot deep in the woods. We get there before dark, but not by much. Megan gets cold and sick after dinner. No fun.

Thursday: After sleeping in, a doe wanders into camp while we disassemble. Megan is impressed. Onward at 1145 another mile in one hour up to the Jackstraw site. It's pretty too, with a view. We arrive just in time to sit out rain under a tree. Then pitch camp, then wait out a second, hellacious storm inside our tent.

Afterward, urge Megan another mile-plus on up to Timber Lake, 11040'. It's gorgeous... I trick her into walking around the lake... And we see an enormous bull elk, recumbent, regal, velvet dangling, munching on vegetation. I think she's impressed again!

We return to camp in time for a nice dinner; 1530-1800 on the round trip. Ten cold minutes on a rock at 1 am buys me just four Perseid meteors, then quick back in a warm sleeping bag!

Friday morning: Pack out in three slow hours. Megan's reward is Taco Bell, mini-golf at Cascade Creek, and swim and hot tub at the Chilson Center in Loveland. Trip three is history, and I'm starting to keep count... We're home too late to turn around and join the singles group at Lake McConaughy for the weekend though.

Now another week at home. Time passes, not too fast, but feeling frittered away. Fun and free though. Part of me thinks I should make more of the time, part is happy just being lazy, part is eager to get on with the next travel outing. Soon enough...

Friday afternoon: Head out with John Yockey in my Subaru. As usual, loaded to the max with food and supplies. First stop, HP, ditch four boxes with Doug Baskins... Second stop, Breckenridge! John's parents and other relatives have a trailer and condo up there. Fun!

Saturday: After breakfast with the family, cruise west. We decide to boldly go where we haven't before, 12 miles off the main road to Goblin Valley State Park in Utah. It's a really cool place, full of hoodoos (weird standing rocks) and gullies, and even caves. Quiet, too. We hike for an hour to explore the rocks and admire the sunset scenery. Clouds clear; a quiet night sleeping on slickrock under a bright full moon with a few friendly neighbors.

Sunday morning: We still have some spare time. Detour to spend over an hour cruising up and back Little Wild Horse slot canyon. Then rush down to Bullfrog Marina at Lake Powell. The usual conniptions locating, securing, and loading houseboat Wildwind and gathering all her crew (a small bunch, just six of us) and we're off! Before 3 pm even.

We make it all the way to Flying Eagle Cove by the Rincon. That night I introduce Myrna De Milt to moonlight sailing... Ahhh... Sneak up to the rear of another houseboat. "Pardon me, have you any Grey Poupon?" They know the ritual: "Get your own damn Grey Poupon!" Back at 0130, but this is worth losing sleep for.

Monday: A fine day to hike up nearby Flying Eagle Arch, one hour one way. Except it's bloody hot. We all survive, though some of the more adventurous go further afield, run out of water, and return on vapor. Post-recovery, push the houseboat on to Cottonwood Canyon. A lovely side-channel is all ours.

That night I sail alone to the Colorado and back... Three hours of solitude. Wind dies, must paddle partway home. The silvery dark, mirror water, bats about, is indescribable... As usual.

Tuesday: I grab Myrna to explore on foot around Cottonwood. We find neat-o Moki steps, a huge cave, and a colorful pool. Later as Wildwind passes Hole in the Rock, she's up for that hike too, so I join her. Average pace, 42 minutes up, 35 down, and it's hot.

Rejoin Wildwind and take her into Cha Canyon up the San Juan River. A nice place, except enroute, the generator starter motor catches fire and fries a bunch of 12V wiring! Par for the course, I swear that boat is haunted. (It's not really the ghost's fault, the story is longer and more embarrassing, so I exclude it.)

Doug returns with others in his ski boat from a long run to Halls Crossing Marina to pick up a water ski he had special delivered to the lake(!) They're so excited they don't even notice the burned insulation.

Wednesday: Next morning and afternoon I attack the problem and make wiring repairs while the others hike up to Anasazi pictographs. Fifteen dollars of marine phone calls convinces me no parts are available at Bullfrog or Wahweap. Can't pull-start the beast either, so still no generator, but we learn to survive without it. "You don't need _____ to have fun at Lake Powell."

We boldly go way further up the San Juan to Piute Bay. A new place for me. It's huge and it's nearly deserted. We moor in an unnamed drainage east of Piute Canyon. It's so nice we stay two nights. There are wild donkeys here... Also lots of petrified wood of mixed quality, some excellent. Sunset sailing till the wind dies, paddle home for dinner...

Thursday: I solo the sauna, a four-hour round trip jaunt high up the drainage to reach some solitary cottonwood groves. It's wondrous and very very hot. Brutally hot, 95 in the shade. (Ham radio adds a margin of safety.) More spectacular petrified wood. Donkey signs abound, but no donkeys sighted. Walking out is special, serene, surreal.

Later we ski-boat to explore barren Neskahi Wash. Bob asks for a lift upwind with his sailboard and sail. We drop him off in deep water... And his sail sinks! We cannot find it. Name this area "Lost Sail Bay". Bob is unusually downcast.

And yet later that same day I go for a three hour long solitary sail to explore an island, then north across the big bay. Two miles from Wildwind, in my 11' styrofoam sailboat, in a swimsuit, with a hand-held radio, in sight of Navajo Mountain, I make a marine operator phone call to Florida to wish my mom a happy birthday. This is just too cool!

Driftwood campfire on the beach... Damn, no marshmallows, just gummy bears.

Friday: Drive back out to the main channel and to the Escalante River mouth. Go up? Why not! Moor five miles upstream, in a nice big sound cave across from "Dougs Sound Cave". During the day, while a volunteer drives Wildwind, some of us ski boat down to Rainbow Bridge, Twilight Canyon, Music Temple Canyon... Once again the evening is hot, and the air calm too. Rain sprinkles about 4 am. Move to the bow end of the houseboat roof, under the cave; go back to sleep.

Saturday: Better head toward home. Passing by Slick Rock Canyon, some of us take Myrna to visit the Anasazi ruins. Her first time at the lake, she sees a little of everything! Handle logistics at Halls Crossing Marina (sewage, ugh). Moor for our last night at a cove off the main channel east of Stanton Canyon... Steak again.

Sunday: Clean up and drive home day. One 320-mile stretch non-stop, and John and I are back by 2230. Trip four was fun, sure, but my LOA is nearly a third over. Do I need to pick up the pace? (Grin.) A mere 36 hours later, I'm on the road again...

Reconnect briefly with my life at home. Then head out on a Tuesday for a two-night solo backpack trip. The goal: Ogalalla Peak, 13138'. It is on the continental divide at the (new) south boundary of RMNP. It is for me the last of 20 (21?) peaks in the park over 13000'. It is also quite remote.

Tuesday: Pick up pre-reserved permit (and two others) at the Backcountry Office. Hit the trail at 1345. Not sure if I want to be here, but go with the flow, it feels right. Is this all there is? Isn't this enough? Shut up and hike. Soak up the scenery.

Cover six miles, five of them quite familiar, in four hours, to a lonesome campsite at Upper Ouzel Creek, 10600'. Pretty good time since I'm deeply tired. Sleep 11 hours.

Wednesday morning: The last day of August. Hike 0700-1615, mostly cross country. A challenging journey through fog and two snowstorms(!) Pass Junco Lake, glacial granite, scree and scramble up to the divide at a saddle, 12440'+. Then a long uphill haul to the nearly virgin summit. Hi-yo! I made it! Nuts, winter-type bad weather closing from the northwest, can't stay long as I'd like to celebrate. Nature is indifferent.

Head down at 1035 as snow starts. Warm blizzard conditions, weird landscape, mild disorientation. Follow carved east edge of the divide back north to the saddle. Admire "snow suit" stuck to hair and sweater; half an inch on the rocks. Weather clears, it's still early. Hmm... Continue north to Ouzel Peak, 12716'. A nice mellow place for a long lunch. The snow is already melting.

Down further north, find a safe way to descend toward Pipit Lake. Easier than last time coming off Isolation Peak, just a bit further north. But... Why go down yet? Continue northeast, high as possible, somewhat up, to well-named Isolation Lake, 12000', at 2 pm. Pass old bighorn sheep skull and spine; brutal reality. Admire remote alpine glacial lake. Try again to make sense of it all, to even see it all, to soak it up, to take it away with me: Can't be done.

All day long cloud lays on the plains and rolls up the valleys. Now fog envelops the lake again. Cool soft wet white and mirror water. All too soon, time to go. Paradise remains but I must depart.

Head down directly to Bluebird Lake. Hope and find an easy route on the north edge of the canyon. Snow starts again. Some thunder in the valley. Boulder down a foggy fantasy world; cross verdant tundra; descend a rocky stream through lush greenery; all without bearings.

Suddenly, finally, out of the mist, the edge of a lake appears below. I hope it's Bluebird, but can't tell until circling around a third of the north shore to the outlet. Yes, I'm nearly home. Relief, joy, glorious solitude as fog lifts slowly and the storm moves on.

Back to camp by 1615, still early. Eat well. Sleep 12 hours!

Thursday: Pack out 0820-1120, mosey home, see Megan. Her mom is in a motel. Trip five, survived, alive, full of wilderness memories, over a mile of vertical gain. Unpack, dry out, repack, because...

Friday: The very next day. Way west again a week after Powell. Yee-haw, freedom! Even driving the interstate can be fun. Plan A: Drive to Grand Junction to buy Mike Berry dinner and then camp on his floor. Oops, one small snag. I-70 is closed near Glenwood by mudslides! Fast decision is required. Conservatism wins. Plan B, drive north out of Fort Fun at 1440, then via Steamboat Springs (finagle free shower at the hot springs), Craig, Meeker, it's a slog... 2240 into Grand Junction, yeesh!

Saturday: Buy Mike breakfast instead, when I meet the canoe folks. White Water Canoe Company again, I like them. Big group this time, 26 people I think. Shuttle my car to the takeout at Westwater, Utah. Put in canoes at Loma, Colorado, at noon and we're off! A new stretch of river for me, about 25 miles of it.

First afternoon, a long break to group hike Rattlesnake Canyon. Narrow and bushy, a taste of Grand Gulch to come, though I don't know it yet. Up to one of the arches. Way cool! But very hot.

All the way Bernie Kendall, fearless leader of WWCC, keeps saying how nice ice cream would be. "Shut up, Bernie!" in chorus. We stop in the shade of an overhang. Bernie pulls out of his huge pack... A cooler... Full of ice cream sandwiches. Two for each of us! Hard frozen in fact! Now this is class.

Canoe down river... Big rain, what the hell, getting wet is part of the game. Stop on an island of lovely wet cobbles as a monster rainbow fills the sky, one of the best. Dinner, copious as usual, and a good long sleep, in tent.

Sunday: Whiter water. Poison Oak and Black Rock Rapids in particular. Nothing serious, but a challenge. Continue to learn canoe subtleties from capable partners. Camp for the night at Shale Rapid... Learn how hard it is to surf in a canoe! Big standing waves; I try over and over. Nearly succeed several times, briefly. No dumps in the rapids; I guess I know something anyway.

A fast hike with Bernie as leader, up and out the south side to look way down on it all. Back by dark. Sleep under the stars tonight near the river bank.

Monday: Dewey morning. Drift across the Utah border, marked on a canyon wall. Ute Trail steps ascend nearby. Arrive Westwater, desolate river access point, 1430... Help clean and load canoes. Friend Doug Baskins is indeed here post-rafting downstream! Other canoers go home, but I stay for the night, join Doug and friends for dinner... Mellow. I could use a shower, but a cold soak in the river will suffice. Sleep under the stars tonight near the river bank.

Tuesday: Rock hunt in Morrison formation near Westwater for a couple of hours... Nice septarian veins. Make the long drive home, 10 am - 5 pm. Trip six was a kick. Invite my ex out to dinner with the kids, and they move into my living room again.

I could use a break from traveling, so I take one; three nights anyway. My calendar records trivia... Harvest, workout, farmer's market, other shopping; read my email; shop some more. Mow, pack, and hey, I'm on the road again!

Second of three pre-arranged permits; a great cross-country adventure to Little Rock Lake, the only designated backcountry site in RMNP with no trail to it. Two ways to get there: The long way from Milner Pass with little elevation change, or the short way from Trail Ridge Road, across Forest Canyon, with a big drop/gain and horrendous bushwhacking. Ron Miller's done both and recommends the first. Still, a killer!

Friday: On my way from Milner Pass just after 2 pm. First hour on trail is easy toward Forest Canyon Pass, 11280'+. But overcast and lightly raining... It ends, yay. Hmm, where's the best point to depart south? This'll work... It does. Not bad, a grassy route, some willows, acceptable. I can see the peaks above the Gorge Lakes in the distance. They remain in the distance most of the afternoon... It's a long, long trek south.

Strange noises. Can this be elk bugling? High pitched and melodic. Yes indeed, there be elk! Who want nothing to do with me, and stay well clear. Many more sighted through the day, various distances, one huge lone bull. (Our friend from Timber Lake?)

How best to get to camp? Hold elevation and go longer around big valleys, or drop and rise directly? Some of each. Boggy creek crossing. Walking stick helps. Up the next hill. What's this? Bog everywhere? On a hillside? Try to avoid it awhile. Hopeless. Give up and wade through. Sigh, half a mile of hidden muck. Not getting there as fast as I thought!

Cross another creek. Now down in trees. Time for serious map reading... Need to round a ridge, pass a little lake, drop to camp next to the outlet stream of the Gorge Lakes. Bushwhacking begins. Hiking on intuition. Still should get there before dark. Had better get there before dark. Stay high, way high. Aha, drop down to the little unnamed lake! I dub thee "Locator Lake". (Later confer; Ron Miller already claims the name "Lion Lake" for wildlife he sighted.)

It should be easy from here. No, still a long way, slow going... Eventually get a view out, triangulate. I'm half a mile too far east... Descend more westerly now. Added distance, wasted time. Pine needles and twigs in my hair, in my pockets. Slow progress. Hard work. Joyous though.

Suddenly drop into the well-worn campsite from above, an odd direction. One last bush push and I'm there with an hour of light to spare. Amazing, I thought it would be hard to find! Six miles, 4.5 hours, 1000' of gain (feels like much more).

Big dinner, fill water, no wasted time tonight, get to bed! Far away above I see and hear the cars on Trail Ridge Road... They have no idea.

Saturday: It's a weekend in the "real world." Nobody here but me. A bit tired, and it dawns overcast. Hell with it, go explore anyway. 0800-1904, yes over 11 hours, visit and touch all nine named lakes stacked in or near the Gorge, and two of three unnamed puddles in the area too, just for grins. The weather does not precipitate, it actually improves. I am blessed.

Little Rock Lake is nearby. Touch it (icy wet cold) and move on. Rock Lake isn't far. But rockhopping and bushwhacking is immediate. Progress is slow. Doubts about the ROI, I'm tired, will my investment yield suitable return? (Yes it does.) Tough getting up and through timberline... Wild, wild country.

Strategic error. I take the easier (hah) way toward Doughnut Lake. Should have checked the map. Pass up a little puddle too, and it ends up the only one not visited. About 1000' to gain, I'm at the Doughnut, it's lovely, but Love Lake was closer, and it's now the wrong way. On the return I must decide whether to bag peaks or lakes, can't do both...

Up and over northeast and northwest down to slightly lower Arrowhead Lake. Words do no justice, and the photo is merely awesome. Glacial shield rock, color-turning tundra, old snow, waterfall... Down and around. Start northeast toward Love Lake but, forget it, now that it is a long way out and back. See it later if at all.

I'm waking up a bit. Easier going now, mostly on rock, I love this terrain. Climb northwest to Inkwell Lake, mountains abound and surround. On up northerly, the long way, more scrambling, to Azure Lake. Touch a little unnamed surprise pond on the way. Good thing I went this way and found it.

Azure is high and divine. Lunch break. Where's my visor? Not to be found. What was that splash I heard earlier? Go around the west side of the lake, big boulders, get up high... See it floating serenely across the water. Well it needed washing anyway I guess... Meet it on the southwest shore. Ever so mellow it sails into my hand. Nice and cool now too.

Revisit Highest Lake? At 12400', the top water body in RMNP, but I've been there once before, last year. It was frozen over in September! Curiosity exceeds calmness. Might as well make one more big step to the last plateau... So up I go... It's fast and easy and I'm there and the lake's all green and clear now, this year, wow. 1 pm, top of the day (savings time), top of the Gorge Lakes.

Suitable contemplation on the glory of Life the Universe and Everything (LTUAE; to be revisited later in this tale)... I can't really capture it at all. Too vast, too rich. The memory grows more wonderful than the experience.

Should I continue up to nearby summits? Julian and Terra Tomah, I'm virgin to them, but more vertical is involved, and unknown challenges downclimbing back to camp. No, leave them for later and go see Love Lake. Time to head down, regretfully...

A different route, close to Cracktop, looser and snowier. Much caution, no hurry, to easier terrain. A huge boulder on the slope is a nice place to kick back and nap for ten minutes. Awake as always to vast, silent surroundings. Ephemeral, I cannot linger.

My last chance to ascend 1100', the "easy" way to Julian; forget it. My route leads back to Inkwell Lake, the south side, around to the east. A cliff falls down to the water. Go up and over, maybe 100' more hard work, but so sweet the scene. Back in the drainage, a straight shot to the north side of Arrowhead, some bushes to dodge but it's not hard. I'm as surprised to see the small herd of bighorns as they are to see me.

Around the north shore, a long way, then a tough haul up to Love Lake at 1610. Mostly out of trees, but willows are a pain too. Onward east and up to the last puddle with no ID... Another long break here.

It's late. I can drop through the forest to camp a winner, no sin in that. But Forest Lake still beckons, out of the Gorge in Forest Canyon, around the corner south, a navigation challenge. Oh, go for it. (Was there any doubt?)

An hour of bushwhacking gets me there. First down to the creek, then way around from it. Try to hold constant elevation. It's definitely not easy. Several times I consider abandoning the effort. But there is enough time and I have a flashlight, I might as well. It's tedious. Finding the outflow creek helps, and leads me to the placid lakeshore at 1810.

Beautiful reflections in calm water. Late day colors. Wish I could stay longer, but I must be home before dark. Retrace my route a ways, then continue on the south side of the creek... Starting to get bouldery, better cross. Lo and behold, salvation, the short trail from the campsite to the creek! I'm back in time for dinner, and 15 minutes before sunset. Log 3000' of gain today.

Sunday: Arrives too soon. But home beckons. Pack and leave at 0730. Fight the trees for the right to climb the hill... Find a lost camera, almost functional, in a most unlikely spot deep in the woods. Other human debris noted too, sigh. Come across Locator Lake the easy way this time... But it took so long to get there!

Onward north, but this time take a lower path to avoid the bog. Some success with this strategy. More up and down though. More elk too. Finally I see one before he sees me, and I actually witness him bugle. Wow, what a treat. More elk. More boggy hillsides. More terrain than imaginable between hither and yon.

Ultimately a view down a cliff into upper Forest Canyon. The pass looks so close, but it's not. I'm strong and patient but it's so far yet. No rush, enjoy the ride, go out of the way to sightsee. Seek and find the source of the Big Thompson River high in two pools, surrounded by deep marshy grass. And then the pass, and the lovely trail home!

Cruise down; see people, the first in two days. Life is good. Reach my car at 1230. Five hours for about six miles? Par for this course. Drive home, soak at the health club, call it a weekend. Trip seven was heaven.

Two weeks at home during prime Fall time? Who'd have guessed? Well, not entirely at home. One trip to Denver for a pre-trip meeting; one hike partway up Horsetooth Mountain with a school group, turned back by weather; and one train ride west out of Laramie. [Must have been Laramie to Centennial and back with the Alternative Singles Group -- by 2023 the tracks are long gone!] Grander plans -- another RMNP two-night backpack -- canceled by bad weather and lack of enthusiasm... Instead, make 60 pounds of gorp and fold 30 maps for my daughter's Eco Week school adventure!

And -- help my ex-wife finally become homeful, as she moves into a nearby apartment. Great relief. Co-parenting will be easier than ever before.

The season's almost over. Am I or not going to overnight another summit? OK, Signal Mountain, long on my list, isn't very high in Colorado context, but it's a bear to reach, 6+ miles and nearly 3500' of gain on the well-named Bulwark Ridge. Just outside the northeast corner of RMNP, a barely bald summit with a great view.

Monday again: The rest of the world is off to work. The weather looks nice... Solo hike the long path in just over four hours, feels good, move fast. Gorgeous quartz crystals here, more than I've seen anywhere else, among the golden fallen aspen leaves. It's a long slog with a full pack on an eroded trail through silent forest... A peaceful place. A small dip down, then up and around the south summit (leave it for morning) to approach the main top of Signal Mountain. Nearly virgin, rather rocky, but I can sleep by the top this time.

Damn it's hazy! Unexpected smoke from far-distant fires blurs the view northwest into Pingree Park and its fascinatng recent forest fire scar. But sunset is nice. Venus flashes green going behind Mummy Mountain. Estes lights glow bright white. Ham radio is fun. Paul, KG0CZ, tells me there's a shorter way up the mountain from a 4WD road. Oh well, good night, Paul.

Tuesday: The night is long, the wind howls constantly, 20 knots or more; 39 deg feels chilly at muted sunrise. A rising red rubber ball. Not much reason to linger, other things to do, down I go at 0850. (Why did I not spend a day in meditation?)

A brief passage to the south peak, 11248'. Admire myriad metal markers marching across the tundra. The legislated edge of the national park is linear, out of place on an irregular world.

Hoof out, glide out, 0935-1300, not a soul in sight, even at the trailhead. The crystal quartz is everywhere on this mountain, white, pink, orange, black. I have a lifetime supply to tumble, so I gather little more, but it's tempting...

Trip eight was... great? Well it could have, should have been, but it was hard work too, tiring, cold, a bit lonesome. Sore calves to show for it.

Three more days at home. Recuperate, repair, repack. I'm starting to get the hang of this lifestyle. Many goals going unpursued, but I can sleep in when I want. Sometimes I even revel in the freedom. Oh, I finally buy an answering machine after months of shopping... Is this freedom or an albatross?

Bob Proulx and Sue Wolber help each year with a road rallye down in the Wet Mountain Valley. I haven't been down there in years, climbing Fourteeners. Sounds like fun, this year I'll participate. The weekend is fast-paced and short on sleep.

Friday: Afternoon departure from Loveland HP. Ride along with Sue and Bob. Lots of laughs, it goes fast. Meet others, dine in Colorado Springs. Crash for the night at a free campground by Royal Gorge; lovely lights of Canon City.

Saturday morning: My LOA is half over and I'm aware of it. It hasn't been like I thought, but nothing much to complain about either. Lots of time behind; lots of time left. Seize the day, live in the moment.

We meet the crew at the high school in Westcliffe. Not many race cars this year, just eight, and nearly twice as many ham radio operators alone. Much overhead, methinks, for a small event. But the logistics are nearly the same no matter the size of the field.

I am assigned to ride radio shotgun with daring Dan Williams, a chiropractor from Broomfield. But this weekend he's a Race Marshall, in his newly-purchased 200 HP rallye-legal car. After a while I realize how lucky I am. The car resembles the stock vehicle like a rhino reminds one of a cow. Gutted interior, no wasted weight. It growls like a Sherman tank, feels like it's rolling on treads, but accelerates like a rocket and screams like a banshee. Raw power. Has a "nitrous" switch. "That's a joke," he says. Another label reads, "Do not open windows above 160 MPH." I believe it.

After lunch, safely ensconced in extreme bucket (low center of gravity) seat and five-point harness, we're off. Our mission is crowd control along the race legs -- 15 in all, each several miles long, dirt county roads closed by the sheriff. Through the long afternoon and evening, we manage a little racing ourselves, as fast lead or fast sweep, or just having fun on sections closed to the public. "I need to get familiar with the car," says Dan. He likes it a lot. I can see why!

The radio ops go smoothly too. They're fun and effective. I learn the staying power of my mag mount antenna!

We hike a hill to watch one leg of the race. Gorgeous sights of the east side of the Sangre de Cristo Range. Clouds above snowy jagged peaks, above dark forests speckled with aspen gold. Race cars roaring below.

Sunday: Two am finally finds me zonked out in my sleeping bag in the common room of a rented condo building. All too soon Sunday morning finds us enjoying a great free breakfast put on by a local civil club. And then the long haul home with Sue and Bob again. Lots more radio frolic with other ham volunteers. At home by 4 pm, take a rare nap. Ugh, waking up is unpleasant and surreal. Trip nine was one of a kind.

Now I take four days at home to harvest raspberries and do other things of lesser consequence. Well not really -- I taught optics at my daughter's school, and I passed my first treadmill stress test with flying colors and various itchy spots from the electrodes. Some relief there, but what the heck is going on with my blood chemistry? (Ongoing saga. Mortality and all that, you know; LTUAE (Life the Universe and Everything). Try not to think about it. Postpone it. Keep playing.)

Time to pack again? Well I signed up for the next trip way in advance, lucky to be on it, new terrain for me to explore. Go for it, get into it, I'll enjoy it.

Friday morning: Depart for Denver. Meet trip leader Pat Berman and off we go in her 4WD to Blanding, southeast Utah, by way of Moab. Sleep out, pretty cold, at Devils Canyon campground.

Saturday morning: Join with two others in Blanding. Spend the day in a preliminary exploration halfway down the road to Natural Bridges NM. Locate and walk three or so miles up South Mule Canyon and return. Lots of Anasazi ruins and drawings. Moderate bushwhacking. A warm-up, a taste of things to come, nearly five hours afoot.

That evening the rest of the group assembles at Kampark in Blanding. "The Seven Dwarves", we decide. Our first dinner together, at the grassy campsite surrounded by desert and debris. Final assembly of heavy backpacks... Including group food and gear. Final showers.

Sunday: Awake in the desert. Time to leave behind the twentieth century. This includes ham radio. Nobody out there to talk with, no point in carrying it. I take my camera though.

Some vehicles shuttle to the Collins Canyon exit point, but I'm with Pat to the Kane Spring Ranger Station. Learn that the main branch of Grand Gulch runs over 50 miles down to the San Juan River -- which then meets and becomes an arm of Lake Powell. Zillions of dry side canyons. The main channel is usually dry too, an intermittent stream. This system doesn't reach up to drain any high peaks that hold winter snowmelt.

Bad news: The main gulch should be soon evaporated from the last rain, and occasional springs are questionable. Water is a big concern. Carry all we can, cut the trip a night shorter, be prepared to push on to the end. We do sight many small muddy pools. We could have stayed longer, but are never sure, as we walk, what is ahead.

We'll enter a south fork, Bullet Canyon. Seven miles down to Grand Gulch proper, 20 more down to Collins, and a quick exit, two miles up and out, still 17 miles upstream from the San Juan.

We wait for others at Bullet trailhead, 6400'. Nervous about what I'm carrying and what I'm not. Leaving behind lots of stuff, like a tent and long pants. Survive with tarps and polypro, hope they're dry and warm enough (they are). Decide to take my Leatherman tool -- 8 oz -- not needed once, but that's OK, good karma. Capacity for 1.5 gallons of water -- 12 pounds -- will it be enough? Carry my favorite aspen branch walking stick. Nice toy, very handy...

We launch just past 10 am. Quick drop into Bullet Canyon from the north rim. I'm already slower than the group. Never was fast with a full pack, never went this far before with one either. Nervous feelings. We blow by the first couple of ruins without seeing them. I don't care, they're low on my list, I'm here for the canyons not the artifacts... But this changes. The ruins grow fascinating, enigmatic, captivating.

Down the canyon floor we walk. This is easy. A big "pour-off", dry falls in slickrock... This is hard. Then it gets worse. Virtually no trail. Big boulders choking the deep canyon. Up and down, around, up, down. Whee!

Bushwhacking begins, gets steadily worse for the next day. All trails here are primitive. Surprising jungle down in the depths, the desert basement. Fortunately few plants have thorns. Everyone's bare legs are scratched and scraped.

All the rock here is sandstone, even on the canyon floor. This drainage doesn't reach any other kind of material.

The canyon twists on forever, hiding itself behind each bend. I learn that to know my position, I must carry the map in my hand and keep constant track. I enjoy this game, so I do it for the rest of the trip. It helps me find ruins and other features.

Happiness and relief on reaching a campsite below Jailhouse Ruin at 1515. Five miles behind us in 5:10; 25 more ahead. The water supply here is "good". That means a few clear, deep pools full of living things. "This, boys and girls, is why we carry water filters." Pump up plenty.

Weather is typical for Utah in fall -- warm days, cool nights, dry, dry, dry. Still time for a hike before dinner and dark. The jail cells in the rock wall are really turkey pens, I think. Like all Anasazi ruins, silent, full of mysteries. Ancient by human standards...

The Old Ones left here by about 1280 AD, probably due to drought. What do the circles painted high on the wall mean? Why is it so torturous and dangerous to reach the second level balcony? What stalked them so they had to live high in these crevices? Why did they mark so little on the walls in 200 years, 10 generations; and what do the curious designs mean?

There's more time left this evening. Scramble up the slickrock high above the ruins. Cautious clever passageways through cliff faces. Emerge on a naked isthmus of rock; cross out to an unclimbable knob. Sheer drops abound around. The view is precipitous and panoramic. Hundreds of feet to the valley floor. Return to camp in just 23 minutes; incredible.

Monday morning: The outside world should be at work today. Is there another existence? The Anasazi knew of none. Or did they travel afar? Life here is all canyon walls and depths, bare and essential. But -- spread out one person's pack on a hangar floor -- separate everything -- behold what Twentieth Century Man must carry for safety and comfort! All neatly nested, hierarchical by day, inaccessible; scattered at night like detritus.

We break camp at 0830 and resume the journey. Today we'll meet the main stream of Grand Gulch. Actually in less than two hours after exploring another ruin. At the junction it's lush and overgrown; another world hiding below the canyon rim. The main gulch is littered with harder pebbles, not sandstone, but chert, agate, flint. It must drain other kinds of formations. But it's so lush here I don't notice the change for awhile.

Ditch our big packs, take our lunches, go see the Green Man panel and some ruins enroute. It's 1.4 miles up the main gulch with a short sidetrip into Sheiks Canyon. We down comestibles on a boulder in the shade admiring the mystery of the artwork high over our heads.

How did it get there, 30' up a cliff? What does it mean? So many unknowns. We're free to speculate. I vote for rickety scaffolding (there are no tall trees here). I think each member of the tribe was allowed just one drawing or handprint in a lifetime, perhaps a rite of passage or of initiation. The artwork does not confirm or deny. The ghosts are silent.

We reshoulder our full packs at the Bullet Canyon junction and pick up the pace at 1340. Now comes the thickest of the thicket. We wind and push, up and down, through and around, looking for the easiest option when there is any choice. The gully floor is irregular, the water channel a brush-filled crevice, the trails are braided. Progress is slow and difficult. A wrong turn leads to frustration. It is some miles before the wash widens to become a highway.

Still it is fun and fulfilling to walk through this wilderness. There are social moments and quiet times hiking alone. Choices to be made, to follow the streambed around a curve or a sandy shortcut trail up and down.

Pass Green House Canyon; hard to even see the entrance through the tamarisk. Pass the Totem Pole, a sandstone spire. It's interesting, looming ahead for a while. No blisters yet, maybe I can do this after all! Still the mind boggles at the distance yet to cover. We stop for the evening near the Step Canyon mouth; 6.1 miles walked today plus the lunchtime sidetrip, in 7:40.

The few good campsites are taken. We settle on the south side under cottonwoods, just across from and west of the side canyon, a bit lumpy, but acceptable.

There's water nearby but it's brown and unappealing. Twenty minutes of hiking, nearly a mile up Step Canyon, takes some of us to little Necklace Spring -- really just a clear perennial pond with a muddy bottom. Great pains not to stir up our water source! Pump, pump, and return home for dinner as it's getting dark. Another long night of needed rest.

Tuesday morning: The group explores rock art on the west wall of Step Canyon, then the Two Tier Ruin on a high ledge just east of its mouth. Spectacular architecture for building with rock and mud. Like most ruins in the Gulch, there are still corn cobs, pottery sherds, and stone tools on the ground. Some are neatly placed on random rocks, on display. Some sherds and tools are even noticed on the canyon floor, in the streambed!

Pot pieces are up to an inch across. They're surprisingly thin for hand-made goods. Perhaps they needed to be light, or thicker walls shattered when fired, or the pottery mud was scarce and carried from afar.

At 1015 we depart our camp west, downstream to Dripping Canyon. There we drop packs and explore nearly a mile north to another little spring in the creekbed. Likewise at Cow Tank Canyon, no spring here, but a glorious huge curving sandstone wall above a deep narrow shaded floor. More rock art. And, petrified wood appears in this drainage! Not very good stuff, but interesting. We see pieces of it all the way down to Collins.

The drainage widens past Step Canyon. A stronger streambed appears. Now most of the walking is on firm sand and pebbles, with only intermittent overgrowth and detours. This is a slow but welcome change. Further downstream it gets even wider, sandier, softer. We choose our paths more carefully, now seeking firmer footing.

We pass Longhouse Ruin without exploring; at this point time feels short. We pass our journey's halfway point. Next attraction is the Big Man panel. We're miles from anywhere modern, at the center of a lost civilization. A steep sandy scramble takes us to the life size caricatures, surrounded by odd shapes and patterns. More mysteries.

Press on to Pollys Island, an old oxbow. Another 6.7 miles traversed today, just in the main gulch, in 6:15. I'm getting used to this way of life.

Camping spots are limited again. I decide to sleep out in the open, on a slickrock terrace just above the streambed. Garden level. Strangely enough this means it will be colder tonight than higher up, but it's worth it. Two others join me.

Precious water is available here in numerous small potholes on the rocky floor of the wide canyon. It's brown and unappealing. We learn from others that it's evaporating fast. Also that dogs and llamas bathed in it today. Filtered through a cloth, pumped through a filter, it's palatable, it's water, the stuff of life.

Before dinner I go out exploring again. (The group wonders what the hell I'm on to have such energy.) The map shows the Government Trail climbing a short way up Pollys Canyon. It doesn't, the map lies, I ascend anyway. The slickrock scrambling is fun and challenging. Carrying only a camera, I reach the canyon rim at the trail's drop-off point just before sunset. The panorama is afire, beyond description, beyond belief.

I've been at the bottom less than three days, yet there's a curious claustrophobia. I don't perceive its presence until it's absent. I look out from the heights to distant well-known summits. The serpentine canyon below is exquisite, miniature; pastel curves, and beckoning green on its floor. I wish I could stay longer, but I must go. I run down the trail in nine minutes to the streambed and stroll back upstream to camp for dinner. "Five stars," I tell the others. I was gone just 45 minutes.

Wednesday morning: There's frost on our sleeping bags. The group is asynchronous; we'll meet a mile down at Wrong Side Ruin. The others hike the Government Trail. I bushwhack, full pack, around Pollys Island, the old oxbow. Huge sage bushes slow the going. One lone hidden panel displays over 60 handprints, different colors, different sizes. A greeting? A warning? A lost message across the lonely centuries.

We meet and disperse again from the ruins. If there is no water down the canyon, we'll rest in the evening and hike out tonight. I save my energy and plod slowly. Follow the streambed in quiet meditation, skip the shortcuts. Twenty minutes behind the group at the Big Pouroff lunch stop. Massive drops, huge pools. The gallon of water in my backpack feels silly, but it's insurance; I don't mind it any longer.

We visit more ruins in a low cleft. "2804 Grand Gulch Boulevard," I muse. My speculation continues. Why here, not there? Why such small rooms? Why this apparent textile mark in the mud wattling?

At Bannister Ruin at 3 pm there is water in the streambed. A small pool, but it's clear liquid. It suffices to spend the night. I don't mention to anyone the dead worm at the bottom, it doesn't matter. Our camp is now nearly 25 miles from the Bullet trailhead. We walked 6.8 miles in 6:25.

Bannister Ruin features a roofed kiva in good condition. Also an upper level with a single-log railing! Now unreachable. They must have had a ladder.

It's early yet and I feel strong. I take off to explore the heights above on the other side of the canyon. Traveling light again. It's a slickrock puzzle. Find a way to the first level just above camp: A quarter mile down the canyon and walk back on the next shelf. Then up a gully to the next layer and go downstream again. Look for passages that zig-zag through the cliffs.

I come to where I'm sure I'm done. One big slab leans against the sheer wall. No other route clears this cliff band in either direction for a mile of visible canyon. Check it out... It's easy! Up to the next layer. And up again.

I reach relative flats high above the gulch. I can see the distances again. There are higher islands set back from the edge, but no immediate access. Lo and behold, there are fresh boot tracks here! Where did they come from? Not the way I came.

The return to the ground floor is fast and uneventful. The entire outing took just 1:40. Dinner is simple and filling once more. I decide to sleep out again, not under trees, but up on a terrace below the ruins, across from the group.

It's the last night of this mind-bending adventure. It's also getting late in my sabbatical. I spend some time alone in the dark sitting among the ruins, under the moon, watching the Earth turn. Try as I might, I cannot hear or see the people that dwelled here so long ago, not even their ghosts or echoes. They must have experienced many such nights. The scene is the same.

Thursday: We head for our exit point. I feel strong, good, and peaceful. We regroup at our low point, 4800', the Collins Canyon junction.

A short walk downstream sans packs shows us the Narrows. Here an oxbow was abandoned only yesterday in sandstone standard time. The entire gulch passes through a slot higher than it is wide.

Back to our packs, we begin the trudge up and out Collins Canyon. It's "only" a 300' gain in two miles. It goes by slowly and feels long. Emerge at vehicles by 1145. We were in the depths ninety seven and three quarter hours; a lifetime.

I walked over 40 miles total, but gained only 2000'. Visited eight ruins, saw three more. Images still digesting. Bushwhacking I didn't expect. So many questions about the Anasazi, without answers. Cool curves, overhangs, gorgeous river cobbles downstream. Ruins perched high. Stars, cool air settling at night, little stagnant pools...

Retrieve our vehicles at Bullet. Pat and I shower at Blanding and decide to press on for home. Great dinner at the Dinosaur Cafe in Fruita. Denver 0005, I'm weary. Pat lets me sleep on her floor.

Friday morning: We go out to breakfast together. A bit surprising since we had some friction through the week. Trip ten, a nice end.

Now I'm back from Grand Gulch, reunited with my daughter and my house. I'm tired of the travel routine, but there are still places I want to go and things I want to do. Moonstone Beach beckons. Study the calendar and decide on two more big adventures... Followed by a quiet December wasting time at home, preparing to return to work.

Take one week to regroup. More raspberries, unfrozen late this year, ambrosia. Rake, sweep, wash, sew, work out; the patterns of life. The days pass without recollection or aspiration. I'll meditate more in December -- deeper, anyway.

Friday: The day arrives, my four-wheeled spaceship is loaded. I feel quite low about leaving, not at all excited, more lonesome and fearful -- of cold nights, of being attacked by strangers. It takes one day to get over that.

Hit the road at 3 pm. Stare into the sun for many miles. Resolve to drive west earlier in the day! Pass through Rock Springs, Wyoming. Big detour off the highway, a bad omen? No, I'm just keyed up. Spend the night in the boonies near the Firehole region of Flaming Gorge, dead end of a cow loading road, 6000'. Winter is coming. It's cold, but I'm dressed for it. Should warm up as I head down and west... Yes?

Saturday: Load and go in the dark. Pass hunters on the dirt road. Good thing I'm not still sleeping back there, it would have been a rude shock. Greet sunrise on the shore of Flaming Gorge. It's lonesome and barren; yellow, not red. Cruise back north to the Blue Forest to rockhound for a day. I've given away hundreds of petrified wood chips to school kids and others, and I need more. It's a fun thing to do, an open-ended treasure hunt on the boundless prairie, 7.5 hours of wandering.

Depart before dark, boldly go on to places I've never been. Take back roads almost all the way from here to the coast. Drive into the sun again (sigh). Find Fossil Butte National Monument... There must be someplace legal to car camp here... There is, out the dirt road back door of the monument, 7900', oops I'm high again.

It's cold, clear, calm, dark, and starry. Two satellites cross in my binoculars; an orange moon rises. My water bottle freezes in four hours, but tents are for wimps. Sleep warm enough, arise before sunrise.

Sunday morning: Down at the visitor center, the overnight low was 17 deg. I'm impressed.

Drive west into Utah via Sage... A sprig of sweet sagebrush on the dashboard. Bear Lake, Idaho border, calcium-blue, but a long muddy walk out to the edge at Garden City. Up west, down Logan Canyon. Oh my, it's still fall here! Trees and bushes of every color. Hunters everywhere, mostly orange. High peaks frosted. The city of Logan is lovely too. Pause not, push on, west to Promontory and the Golden Spike museum.

Admire the human handiwork. Not just the railroad -- A nice surprise, Thiokol is here. They mounted a shuttle SRB outside their HQ. It rings like an enormous bell when tapped on the aft skirt. History, technology, my mind is full.

The day is long and continues. Return east to the highway south. At West Bountiful, try to find an edge of the Great Salt Lake. Hopeless, marshy; pick up hitchhiker mosquitos, continue south and west. Admire the lake, Antelope Island, Lake Bonneville terraces everywhere, the incredibly tall smoke stack at the nearby copper mine, and the inside of a shower stall at the South Shore marina. Too cold to swim, sigh.

Sunset approaching... Where to camp? Drive on south through Tooele and Vernon. In the dark, find Little Sahara Dunes, White Sands Campground. Obscure BLM park but a wonderful gem. Deserted desert, sleep on soft sand between trees, but pitch a tent -- the only time this trip -- thanks to hantavirus. Actually cook a meal on propane, but what a hassle...

Walk barefoot up cold wet nearby soft sand dunes as the moon rises majestic. (Flip flops back on, it's too cold!) Spot a little fox's iridescent orange/green eyes in my headlamp's glow. We study each other at length. I am the intruder on his nightly rounds. He minds, but just a little.

It's been a fabulous day. A two-yogurt-cone day. The night is chilly again, even in the tent, I must be tired.

Monday morning: Hike the dunes again at sunrise, and drive them too. My Subaru can handle the off-road tracks at the push of a 4WD button. Whee! Depressingly trashy here though.

Back at the visitor center, it's closed; no now it's open just for me, thanks! The ranger in charge has been here three months and hates sand. Seven cute kittens and a lovely relief map of the area. ATV heaven in the summer, he says.

Well it's a long way to California. I'd better move on.

The asphalt makes its closest approach to enormous Sevier Lake. Follow a track half a mile to the soggy alkali earth... Walk the flats a while. The water is miles distant. There's nothing quite like a bare salt lake in the midst of wide-open desert.

Come upon the Nevada border and a rare bit of road construction. Gain a meaningless time zone hour -- I'm living on sun time. At last ahead is Wheeler Peak! And Great Basin National Park. Arrive in time to tour Lehman Caves... Up close and personal, like it should be. 50 deg inside, and I must work to avoid the flowstone.

Alas, Wheeler's summit is out of reach. But not quite, so I agonize. The high road is closed, adding 4.5 miles each way and 2200' gain. I'd have to posthole to the top. Be patient, come back another time closer to the summer solstice. [2023: Not yet, maybe never. I've been up Wheeler Peak, the high point of NM, instead...] Better to spend this trip doing other things. Still, it beckons...

Tired of finding camp after dark, so I stop early at remote Baker Creek Campground, 7530', yes high again. Deserted; a creek runs nearby. Build a campfire, eat well. Yet more meditation without direction. Thoughts always so chaotic. Life just is so simple, yet so rich and overwhelming. It is quiet, it is peaceful, but I cannot encompass it. "We can embody the truth, but we cannot know it." Go to bed early.

Tuesday morning, 0340: It's cold again, colder than I thought it would be, but not a problem, I just have to dress for it, a nightly ritual. Could use more sleep, but I want to roll before twilight. A long drive ahead today. Decisions to be made, where to go and what to miss. The sun rises on Wheeler Peak in my rearview mirror. Agonize again near Ely. Elect one option of several. It's a tossup, but this one should be less stressful. I won't spend time in Death Valley this trip, more's the pity, but so it goes.

Cruising across central Nevada I discover the Black Rock Lava Flow and the Lunar Crater volcanic field. Time out to explore a bit... More time here would be nice too. Calcite crystals embedded in bubbly basalt; unseen mysteries on the horizon.

Being on the road already feels like a lifetime. But like life, there's not enough time! I can do anything I want but not everything, just like at home, and I hate that. It feels peaceful and fulfilling, but at the same time empty, sort of pointless, unbounded. Not lonely though! I like my peace and quiet, and I chat with people I meet along the way. There is no time for deep questions, even on this long drive. It doesn't matter. Don't worry, be happy!

Toward Warm Springs, the road is arrow-straight for 17 miles... I love this place! A mylar balloon drifts across the road, I stop to snag it. Mickie and Minnie and it says, "I Love You". Who loves who? Who loves me? I almost take it seriously as a playful sign from a humorous God. Put it in the passenger seat; it keeps drifting up to catch my attention, makes me laugh!

Recharge in Tonopah. Now south to Goldfield, west across familiar Lida Summit. This is a remote, desolate, favorite part of the world, the western Basin and Range. Enter California and notice the hamlet of Oasis hasn't grown at all that I can tell. Wind up into the White Mountains, down to the hollow valley of Deep Springs Lake. Another surprise awaits!

I've passed Deep Springs several times. The salt lake is pretty set against surrounding mountains. This time I have 4WD -- I might as well try to get down there. Just past the low point in the paved highway, a two-tracker goes the right way. Three-plus sandy rocky rutted miles later I'm down at the edge of the salt pan. Walk out a ways. What's that blob in the distance? Yowza, it's an upside down airplane! About a third of a mile from the edge.

Visit the wreck. A Cessna 150, gutted, wings and engine gone. Wheel ruts in the muddy flat tell the tale. The nose wheel came down and over it went. Too bad the pilot aimed toward the lake instead of following the edge of the salt. Looks like no serious injuries though. Gather a discarded control yoke for my flying fanatic friend Jer/ (who enters my tale later).

Getting late in the day, dang it, get back to the highway. From there I can make out the wreck with binocs. Continue up and up to Westgard Pass, 7271'. Turn right toward White Mountain Peak and the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. From Grandview Campground, spot the airplane again with optical aid, barely, way down to the east. The long shadows help.

Last time I was here was seven years past. Finally I'm back to walk the Methuselah Trail... A 4.3 mile loop past the oldest living trees on Earth. It's snowy and icy at 10000', proceed with caution.

Solitude now; a few others were here but they left. Pass through Methuselah Grove at sunset. Which living tree is the oldest? Could be any of many. Sit a while, try to appreciate being one of these gnarled ancients. Imagine watching one tree's full life cycle... 4600 years... In real time. Scary. I snap back to reality.

Best move on before dark. Wind back to the trailhead just as a flashlight is required, 2.5 hours enroute. It's calm, cold, clear, and gorgeous here. Tremendous view of the Sierras and the lights of Bishop as I pause along the road. Consider camping at Grandview, 8500'. No, I want warmth tonight! Down the hill. A rip-roaring ride into Big Pine, 4000'. "Wide vehicles not recommended."

North seven miles to obscure and seedy Keoughs Hot Springs pool. It's gone private, but I finagle a $5 shower and soak before closing at 9 pm. Yay! Back to Big Pine, find the (are you ready for this?) Baker Creek Campground. Same name as the night before, a state away! It's less private, somewhat dusty, but much warmer, and suffices nicely. I sleep by a creek again.

Wednesday: First sun on the high Sierras east wall, wow. Now my car needs an oil change; I came prepared. The city's sprawling grass and gravel park suffices. Now head south at 9 am... Decision time. Loop east to Panamint Valley, the long way around? I wish, I love that country. But no, Moonstone Beach beckons, and I have a date in San Francisco. Drive south (actually boring) then west to Kern Canyon. Been there once, it was pretty, but it's hazy today like LA smog. Maybe it is smog. Disgusting!

This is a long driving day. Getting ever further from home. Bakersfield, Wasco, Cholame... Whoa, back up, there's the James Dean memorial! Unexpected, interesting. Take more back roads to Atascadero, through the vineyards. Farmer's market in the grassy city square, yum. The countryside is lovely here... Why would anyone live elsewhere? But I'm just passing through. It has a certain dreamlike quality now.

Too late to make the Pacific this day. I find a campground near Cerro Alto, in the heart of a recent arson fire. The deep coastal valley is still like Eden though. This is a beautiful place. Hike up out of trees onto scorched and ravaged ridges, high up, watch the sun set into the ocean. Stark black hillsides, denuded, some patches of orange and green. Even destruction is phenomenal. (Severe mudslides are expected.)

I have the place to myself and sleep well but for one car at 2 am. So it goes.

Thursday: "Sleep in" (6 am) and still feel icky; unclear why. Forget walking up the Cerro Alto summit for sunrise. Reach the Pacific at what turns out to be very near the middle of my trip. Morro Bay, the sun comes up on an empty beach. Chill breezes, lots of birds. Not many shells here, the beauty is in the air and the water and the red light on the rock in the bay.

Up the road a ways, sooner than I remembered, is Moonstone Beach. Just over 1800 miles on the odometer. I spend seven delightful childlike hours below the seacliff walking sitting laying on the black pebbles in the sand at the surf pawing around for rare agates and jade. The rounded rocks are sensuous and soft and sticky. Cold wet hazy fog envelopes me and other treasure hunters.

I give an impromptu lesson on geology to a gaggle of field trip students. Pass around petrified wood from Wyoming, still in the back of my car. Give away some more chips, "happy birthday!" to one man I meet. Fill a wine bottle with sand, rocks, and water: "California Beach 1994". [2023: Still looks about the same, evaporated maybe 1-2".]

I hate to leave but I've overstayed. Drive the long incredible coast highway again north to Santa Cruz as day becomes night. Yet another winding road, what joy (do I detect cynicism here?) Someday I must bring Megan to drive this herself. The sea hides in a layer of white. I am no wiser and I am not nearly at peace as I'd hoped, but at this moment I cannot complain; except about the traffic.

My laundry needs an overhaul. Harder than you'd think to find a place by UCSC. Eat while it washes and dries, socialize, give away more rocks. Wish I'd brought more clothes and not planned a laundromat break. I'm sleepy and I don't really need it now, but I'm out of underwear. Eventually up the road, more winding around to HP's Little Basin site... Nobody home, go find a spot in the vast darkness of the coastal redwoods.

Journaling before bedtime, two visitors. A raccoon scares the life out of me; could it be a bear? (Colorado On My Mind.) My first wild encounter with one of them. Then Robin, the wife of the site manager, pulls up to check on me; at least I saw her lights coming. They do things differently in HP California... I needed a reservation? Not a problem as I'm the sole camper this week.

Friday: Big City day. Thanks Bill and Dave for the hot shower! Give away more petrified wood to caretaker Robin -- like Johnny Appleseed? Going on noon, better roll; my dinner date is downtown at seven. Enjoy the spectacular drive past Big Basin State Park, stately redwoods, orange leaves, huge trees, deep shadows; and into the south Bay Area at Saratoga. Pilgrimmage to Fry's Electronics.

More free time, why not? Visit HP Cupertino, home away from home, say hi to electronic co-workers. Again there is astonishment: What am I doing here during my sabbatical? Hey, freedom means the right to be random!

Later that same trajectory, meet a bevy of cross-dressed beauties at a gay bar and restaurant in South Market. One of them I got to know by email, hence this invitation. Scariest part of the trip: Not the "ladies", but parking my car, my spaceship, in town at night... Dinner is good, elbow room is tight.

Now for something completely different. Attend the annual transgendered Halloween party in San Mateo. There are some pretty women there -- I think. It takes some time to sort out my emotions.

Saturday: Another 2 am. No place planned to stay overnight, and I'm frugal. Sleep four hours in the car in the corner of the hotel parking lot -- urban car camping. Undisturbed and surprisingly comfortable. Breakfast at Denny's, watch some jets take off at SFO (man, I'm far from home), and go downtown.

Could start the long drive now, but no, I'll play around here today first. At Ghirardelli Square, not one but two street people come up to say hello before I'm out of my car. Weird but pleasant despite no handout from me. Fisherman's Wharf, sourdough, yum. Half an hour is plenty, thank you.

Find by phone that my friend and cohorts will meet me at Macy's, but not till 2 pm. OK, I badly need some nature, the city is stifling. Head out across the Golden Gate and walk an hour the grasslands high on Mount Tamalpais. Ah, back to the earth, and later back to SF. Meet my cross-dressed companions at Union Square. Said with a smile: "I decided your lifestyle is sick... Not the clothing, but living in a big city!"

Traipse around the store, out of place, the only straight with a bunch of simulated females. Some look real, others don't care. My friend could be my sister. It's fun...

Later drive east to Walnut Creek for dinner with my friend. Then to another gay bar for pool. Doesn't open till eight, it's getting late, I'd better push on.

One hour down the road I'm out of oomph. The Sierra campgrounds are hours ahead and I want some sleep now. Motel Six Fairfield it is.

Sunday morning: I planned, I still want, to be home Tuesday afternoon. Not much time left! As expected the long drive ahead is daunting. And I hate to roll past places without stopping. But I can do a little windshield touring if I choose wisely. (Alas, it is not to be.)

Over the crest of the Sierras. Locate a small memorial to the Donner party. Collect enormous sugar pine cones. Lake Tahoe... Why not. Detour! Cruise the north shore. I heard Pyramid Lake, Nevada is just as pretty, so I'll compare them.

Back on I-80, get lost looking for the back road (bad omen). Methinks I should write a letter to each of the states comparing their free highway maps; Nevada's sucks. Maybe later... Find the road. At 2:30, down the hill to Pyramid Lake. It's barren here, a desert, nice but not what I thought.

Big stupid mistake time. Driving down the west shore, I want to touch the water, my habit. Big signs warn a permit is required, pay at a reservation store. But I only need a moment. Pick one dirt road... It pauses above a sandy beach, far from the lake. Press 4WD and go down to it. Hmm, tough moving. Deal with it in a moment. At the lake. Back to the car. It really doesn't want to move. Clutch smoke. This is weird. Nuts, I'm really stuck. Visions of night in a reservation jail cell, "Failure to Obtain Permit"...

To make a long story short, it takes some cowboys to get me back on the road, a tow truck to retrieve my clutchless car to a mechanic's in Fernley where I camp for the night, most of the next day and over $500 to fix it, a long walk into town and back to visit an ATM for cash, and 21 hours to drive the 950 miles of interstate highway (sigh) home with a five hour nap in the front seat on the south shore of Great Salt Lake and a average of 70 MPH on the road. It's a weird experience, a hell of a Halloween night. But I'm back on schedule to spend time with Megan, 3500 miles after leaving. Trip eleven takes eleven days, and carries me right into the last third of my sabbatical.

Itemize items scavenged: Everything from an umbrella to a pocketknife to an airplane yoke. This too was treasure hunting, along the roadways. What I needed (or didn't) seemed to materialize.

I'm at a borrowed workstation at HP in Cupertino, California. Having entirely too much fun. Put a bit over 2000 miles on my Subaru in the last week. I've been spending way too much time (mellow mellow), at far too few places while cruising the byways of the American West, and only on rare occasions the interstates. I could stand to make a habit of this... Maybe during warmer weather though... The second night out, at 8000' in Wyoming, the temperature was 17 deg at a visitor center 1000' lower. My water bottle froze in four hours; and no, I was not using a tent.

But, it's been really quiet on and off the roads this time of year. I like that! Most of the time I'm in no rush so I can stop whenever I want and do whatever I like, which is really cool, but always at the expense of what's further down the road, oh well.

It's a big, beautiful, overwhelming world out there. Too bad there is so much highway trash...

...I wrote you four days ago from Cupertino and now I'm back at home in Fort Collins! I needed to drop into HP anyway to visit the Credit Union to get a big check to take to my bank to cover my Cash Reserve debit to pay for replacing the clutch in my car yesterday in the unforgettable town of Fernley, Nevada...

So there I was in Cupertino... Later I met my friends downtown (after dark, old section of town, car full of goodies... yikes! I hate big cities) and had a nice dinner and then went to a big party with them that lasted till nearly 2 am...

...Pyramid Lake is treeless, in the boonies, on a reservation, and it has a very soft shore. Soft enough to take the remaining life off a Subaru clutch trying to 4WD out of it. (Note well, earlier this same week I'd four-wheeled without difficulty through deep ruts, sand, sand dunes, dry lakes, gravel, ...)

Well a pickup truck of cowboys coming home from a rodeo(!) just happened to stop at the right time to help get me pulled up to the road and give me a ride into town to arrange an expensive 20 mile tow of the car to a mechanic. Fortunately the mechanic was able to do the work the next day for merely $517 parts + labor and I was on my way 24 hours later than I would have been. (I didn't know ATMs could hand you that much money at once!)

After the long road trip essentially to get my car fixed in Fernley, it is good to be home. I'm ready for some cabin fever. But you gotta seize the moment! Pilot friend Jer/ Eberhard ("let's fly to Lake Powell sometime... this decade") has free time and an airplane. My houseboat is bouncing around on the buoy, unused. Good weather, Jer/ rounds up airline pilot friend Brian McMorrow from Florida(!), and we're off. (Groan, do I really want to do this?)

Sunday: Wheels up at 0835. Getting over the Rockies is... Interesting. Strong westerly winds, mountain wave. It takes four tries and 1.5 hours to cross the divide. Each time we ride a wave up and then fly west hoping to beat the sink. The scenery is breathtaking -- and at one point near Mount Meeker, just a little too close for comfort.

Onward to Grand Junction, kind of bouncy but oh so beautiful. Alas, no alternator. Make a scheduled stop, 1135, meet Mike Berry for lunch, arrange to borrow one of his cars while leaving the aircraft grounded for repairs. Four hours from here to Powell, but so it goes. No wait, this can be fixed, we have the technology! Reshuffle to return Mike's vehicle, airborne again at 1515. Uneventful flight down the Colorado River to Bullfrog Marina. Admire Arches, Moab, Canyonlands, Cataract... God's country.

Water taxi to Wildwind right about sunset. Nice to be home, but too late to move it. I spend my first ever night at the buoy, as always sleeping on the top deck. Two novel events: The boat always faces the wind; strange how the stars change direction during the night; beds don't usually act like this. And the wind is always from the bow... The uphill direction... Right into my sleeping bag. Being it's November, right-rotate the bed 90 during the night for precious warmth.

Jer/ and Brian sleep downstairs all three nights... With the propane heaters on. Wimps. Freezing builds character.

Monday: It's 40 deg and clear at sunrise. This time of year the lake is deserted. Cast off, fill fresh water, and cruise south. No ski boat with which to scout, so we take our floating home everywhere. Into Annies Canyon, check out the sound cave at the right rear. Crew goes ashore, captain seizes the opportunity to dive in for a quick bath. "<expletive> that's cold!" But also clear and pretty.

Thence to Slick Rock Canyon, moor the monster, walk to visit the ruins (again), just over an hour afoot. Up Iceberg Canyon, a favorite spot is naturally vacant; nobody is in the entire canyon. The water is gorgeously glassy and reflective. Explore the slope and ledge here below the encircling cliffs. Paddle a leaky raft around and under; the wetsuit was worth bringing. Eat well. Awesome quiet cold evening. But as usual my mind is full of present tense, dodging deeper matters that lie fallow... LTUAE.

Tuesday: Hold the boat ashore while Jer/ and Brian walk up to a little ruin. Then motor back to the main channel. The houseboat is haunted, I swear it. On our way back north we must dink with ill-running engines. Eventually accept that one is down for the count. Cruise by Halls and Bullfrog, enter Moki Canyon, make the long winding drive to the right rear fork. Five hours from Iceberg, hardly a soul sighted. We own the lake.

All three attend a two-plus hour outing, up the fork a bit to an enormous orange sand dune. Jer/'s been up before but I haven't. This slope leads to a tricky passage out of the canyon. Standing on the slickrock bench above we sight the Halls Crossing airport -- mission fulfilled. Great view down into Moki. Race down the dune, over a minute of bounding flight. No way up the moki steps to another Anasazi area here... Life is good, eat well again.

Wednesday: Maneuver out of the narrow channel and back to Bullfrog. Clean the boat, call for a ride, depart the runway at 1150. The travel back is lots easier but no less beautiful. Sightsee the lake including our waterways; explore the San Juan, Grand Gulch, Natural Bridges, Monticello. We lunch at Montrose.

On past the Black Canyon, round snowy Mount Sopris, high tailwind, clear the divide without incident. On the ground in Fort Collins at 1600. Flying is the way to go! This time cheap too, $243/each for all trip expenses. Trip twelve on the shelf, an inserted outing, unexpected.

Now there's one more journey on my mind. I thought perhaps to drive to visit relatives, a sister in Pennsylvania, then others in Florida. During the forgettable interim after Powell, I study maps and realize the long distances involved. I have the time, but I'm tired of the road. Also for some odd reason I dislike being away from home for long periods. Turns out my sister is heading south anyway... Plan the drive just to Florida and back. It's still 2000 miles, and long and dull for many stretches. The cost to fly to Tampa is high, though.

I'm in a mellow mood, not applying myself to productivity, but really enjoying my freedom. Time is still not sufficiently copious, but that's OK. I volunteer at Megan's school, handle chores, dine out with friends... And have a brilliant notion. Sure enough, airfare to Atlanta is acceptable. In fact my daughter can come too! The best of all worlds? Fly, drive, camp, family...

Saturday: My daughter Megan Silverstein and I fly smoothly to Atlanta despite dire warnings of an impending winter storm that stalls over Utah. On the highway in Georgia with two hours of light. Plan A is to head south and west to find a campground. Never mind, let's go to Six Flags tomorrow. (Freedom means the right to be random.) Drive out to find the park. Closed for the season? Oops, back to Plan A. (Comfort means having a backup.)

There just aren't any campgrounds to be found though. This is a surprise. End up at motel in LaGrange, Georgia.

Sunday: Onward into Alabama. I'd forgotten that most of the eastern US is still heavily forested. It's a different world, humid, sans horizon. In Montgomery, tour the capitol grounds. Megan studied state capitols recently; now they come to life. Fifty flags, fifty flagstones; here's one from "Colorful Colorado". It's quiet here, deserted. Same down on the Alabama River... Feed the ducks.

I'm eager to get to the Gulf and it's miles away. Megan's not joyful about it but does her homework enroute; she's missing three days of school. At the Little Perdido River we battle the jungle briefly looking for the northwest corner of Florida. "I'm sure it's around here somewhere." Near Mobile we spend the afternoon touring a WWII submarine and a battleship. How impressively intricate, complex, and massive they are. I haven't been here since I was a kid myself.

We won't make much beach time today, but do arrive Dauphin Island to camp before dark. The mood is mellow. We walk to the beach. Scores of oil rigs twinkle in the shallow darkness.

Monday: Dauphin Island! A name from my childhood memories. 1967? It is of course not like I recall... Hot showers at Fort Gaines Campground. Forego the fort for four hours playing in the sand and surf west of the rental homes. Nobody much around and no rush to go anywhere. Still, eventually, I must drag my daughter back to the adventure at hand.

Catch the ferry off the east tip of Dauphin, a new experience for Megan; cross Mobile Bay. Then drive east and east, wishing we had more time. But the drive feels curiously slow. Too much traffic; pokey roads hugging the coast. Pass by a national seashore, aim for a beach camp that turns out to be closed. Another night at a motel, alas, but we can swim in the pool in the dark.

Tuesday: I want more beach time, so we make lots of stops. Not much shelling, but it's fun to play. Mexican Beach, St Joseph's Bay, Cape San Blas -- Florida's northern southern-most point. On one beach I actually take the time to write in the wet sand a favorite verse by Kahlil Gibran: "At ebb tide I wrote a line upon the sand, and gave it all my heart and all my soul. At flood tide I returned to read what I had inscribed, and found my ignorance upon the shore."

Later Megan steps on a rusty nail and we round up a tetanus shot. She's not limping much, might as well see another sight, Gopher Hole at Leon Sinks; and collect another capitol -- Tallahassee. The old building is a shrine, its replacement is 22 stories of modern tower, but with a nice view from the top-level lounge.

Heading inland east, we'll find a motel if necessary. But in Perry a suitable stopping spot is sighted, we camp again, an RV park, highway noise...

Wednesday: Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, we're close to the grandparents, both eager to arrive. One pause at Crystal River to walk the archeological site. Ancient midden mounds. A carved rock (stele) here dates from 440 AD, predating the Anasazi by 800 years... Incomprehensible.

Pass up Tarpon Springs for once. Arrive at Palm Harbor before dark; happy homecoming. Three days of family fun, not enough, but Megan is missing school to be here, so it must suffice.

Thursday: A large fraction of the extended family goes to see "Santa Clause" (the movie) and visit a nearby park by Lake Tarpon ("No feeding the alligators"). A nearly confusing array of nieces and nephews. Back at home, Mom puts on a feast not soon forgotten; a classic family gathering.

Friday: Grand day out -- grandparents and kids that is, to Busch Gardens! No parents allowed. So I might as well beachcomb. Five hours out to the north end and back of Honeymoon Island SP. Walking in the gentle warm waves, barefoot on the soft sand. Life is good and I have the seashells to prove it. Dinner out with siblings and inlaws. We talk a little about getting old... LTUAE again.

Saturday: All too soon we're due to drive back to Atlanta, more directly this time. Megan and I take the freeway north; nothing much to say about it. Miles away near Moultrie, Georgia we pass a cotton gin running round the clock, huge doors wide open pouring out light, and wander in for an impromptu tour. Megan takes home a wad of white stuff. Then we visit a while with her other grandparents, the ex-in-laws.

I was born just up the road in Albany. Nearly 39 years later and I've never been back. We cruise on up, late and tired, find a very nice site to camp for the night. Another RV park (don't these Southerners understand tent camping?), but quiet and pretty; a bit wet too.

Sunday: This morning I seek out signs of the past I don't remember. Names of places told to me: Turner City, Wherry Housing. I'm sure that much has changed, and so it has. I recognize my infant neighborhood from photos. The base hospital is long razed and still within government property. Miller Brewing owns the runways. I might have begun here but I feel no roots. It's a curious sensation.

North to Atlanta... The road is foggy, raining, packed with vehicles, bleah. But there's time to collect a third capitol. Once again I wish we had more time! The Georgia state house holds a grand museum. On the grounds is a third replica of the Liberty Bell in as many states. We wander for most of an hour, then it's time to take back the rental car.

We find a motel near the airport, close out the car, and have an evening to unwind. The flights today were booked, but just as well, the fog is playing hell, I hear. Dry our camping goods. Walk to dinner and back. Prod the kid to finish her homework. A good sleep and an early start...

Monday: An hour late departure, a holdover from Sunday. The rest goes well and Megan is at school by 1110. "Direct to you from Atlanta Georgia, presenting Miss Megan Sarah." Trip thirteen was a family scene, not exactly how I had in mind, but still one of kind, worth the time (and cost, ouch). Maybe next summer I can talk more with my parents... About LTUAE.

John Cage said: "Everyone is in the best seat." No one has a privileged perspective. I've experienced life quite fully, and gathered as much raw input as anyone could hope. Yet this is not fulfulling. I understand that I need a vision, an unfinished business, to focus my life and give it meaning...

In Florida my cousin Glenn Zeidman observed, "Sometimes you must tread water until you know which way is the shore." He's right of course, but I'm tired of treading.

December ends up a forgettable time. The days pass without recollection. Per Nietzsche: "When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you." I walk the edge of the abyss. I seek and find many long discussions with old and new friends; this helps a great deal.

Remember Maria Espejo? I met her in Montana in July. It seems like forever ago, yet I haven't worked since then. She comes to visit relatives in Denver, and me too. I like to play tourguide! Let's show Maria a thick quick slice of Colorado.

Wednesday: Up the Big Thompson River after 9 am; hunt pretty rocks on the North Fork. Adventure quotient high, weather nice, let's hike! Depart Bear Lake in the national park at 1305. Slippery snowpack from the start. Quickly leave the crowds behind.

Dream Lake overlook. Trail obscured, follow packed path uphill on snow. Hard to lose the trail because if so, you sink deep into snowdrifts. Timberline; lose trail, posthole, bushwhack. Emerald Lake overlook; straight down on steel blue ice. Follow the trail around a corner into strong wind. Decide to push on anyway.

Make Flattop Mountain, 12324', 4.5 miles on trail, at 1635, six minutes before sunset. 19 deg, windy, lovely. Forget about Hallett Peak, not enough time. Winter sunset on the continental divide suffices!

Look over the west side, huge frozen far-off lakes. Talk to various relatives on radio. Then cruise down at 1655, wind at our backs, how far can we get before dark? Nearly to Dream Lake overlook by the Braille method. Rest of the way by flashlight, lots of small slips and slides, nothing injured but pride. Back to deserted trailhead at 1940. Yowza!

Find overpriced but attractive coffee shop for dinner in Estes Park. Arrive cabin at HP's Hermit Park by 10 pm. Overheat cabin with wood stove; stand around bonfire outside. Stay up too late talking again.

Thursday: South on the Peak to Peak highway to Nederland, east to Boulder via Boulder Canyon. Lots of stops including... Twin Sisters trailhead, Camp St Malo (church on the rock), Wild Basin (can't walk to falls briefly, road closed halfway in), Allenspark cafe, Crystal Spring, Boulder Falls.

Lunch and shopping on Pearl Street Mall in Boulder. Drive up Flagstaff Mountain road; walk up to treeline in Chataqua Park at sunset. Visit NCAR on Table Mesa... City lights. Theme for the day: "If we had more time, we would..."

Expressway toward Denver; south to Casa Bonita. Wait 1.3 hours for a table, but worth it. Drop Maria with family and I'm home at 0115 after nearly finding DIA (not yet open) by accident in the snowy dark. Trip fourteen, a nice last fling...

• Long before starting the LOA I wrote:

  "I'm on the dinosaur track, even as HP is on the beauracracy track." ... "I fantasize that after a couple of weeks (or months) of really getting caught up on little things, with no daily work pressure, I'll be in a different mental place and ready to make large decisions about the rest of my life."

  Well... See above for how this turned out. But also at that time I wrote:

  "Odds are good I'd return to HP in some capacity... I'm some years away from really being ready to part-time retire and dabble at low-paying or part-time employment while amortizing savings. So I don't want to burn any bridges or slam any doors."

  Also I didn't explicitly say that I was feeling like a wage slave before the LOA. And I didn't include this saved text:

  "The deepest inner reason for this time off is making life plans. The very next level, also very deep, is living without pressure, bounds, regimentation, scripts, or schedules. Those two things complement each other. Unfortunately the next level, the things I want to do or the places I want to be, conflict with those deepest things. They must be kept in perspective."

• I didn't mention that in 1991 I took 16 extra (unpaid) days off to do more traveling, but that it turned out to be stressful squeezing the extra short trips between working.

• My cat died in January before my LOA, after 17 years, which increased my freedom -- at a cost. It was one of many things that factored into taking the leave when I did.

• I didn't explicitly say that I'd learned that people need visions and unfinished goals in life for life to feel meaningful, and to focus their sense of purpose.

• I got stung by a wasp my first weekend off work, and by another one later. I got big nasty localized reactions to the stings. [2023: Learned that I have high tryptase, big LLRs = large localized reactions so I'm unusually allergic, and am lucky to be alive after years of occasional wasp stings. Started carrying EpiPens everywhere during wasp season...]

• I didn't say much about my non-existent love life. Especially about my former best female friend Carole Wallis, who married someone else in the fall and became very distant. She ultimately (in December) sent me a diplomatic but brief "fuck off" letter when I was expecting an invitation to help celebrate her finishing her doctorate. This hurt a lot. I thought we had a mature, enduring, non-physical love relationship.

• I attended two friends' weddings (Donna Ott, Kevin Keirn) in the fall, one alone, one with Megan. Both were memorable events that evoked strong feelings.

• Bill Vodall visited Fort Collins from Montana in mid-October and we spent some fun time together.

• I read a number of books that had been on my shelf a while, including "Finite and Infinite Games", and finally starting "Mountain Light" (bought in 1987).

(Next trip report: 1995_0818-20_Leadville100.htm)