Mingus Mtn. and Christopher Creek Take #2

Yes, I know I've been slacking on the blog postings... life has been a bit hectic in the lab to say the least. Mostly for something a little bit like this and a really pain in the arse protein that refuses to be quantified. Maybe more on that later, I don't like thinking about it. To keep my mind off of it, evenings are filled with climbing, mountain biking, and ultimate frisbee. On the days when I don't have anything going on in the evenings, I'm afraid that blogging hasn't come up on the top of the list.

But, the weekends are still filled with adventures. On Friday (7/25/08), I finished up in the lab early and headed out to join a few of my fellow grad students at Mingus Mountain for a weekend of relaxing. It was 106 degrees out at 6 p.m. when I headed out of the Valley, and as I gradually drove higher in elevation, the temperature gradually came down. By the time I reached the top of the first set of mountains, it was 86, and soon after a high country monsoon blew across the highway, dropping the digits below 70. It was beautiful. A few hours later, I hopped off of the 17 and headed west on 279 towards Cottonwood and Jerome. It was the first time I had driven through the old mining town of Jerome, and its old, rainsoaked streets bathed in a fading twilight reminded me of my tramping days in the mountain town of Eniskerry in Ireland. I continued to climb up past the town as the sun fully set until the temperature read 55 degrees and I pulled off towards the campground. I wound a few more miles on a dirt road to the top of Mingus Mountain until I found my friends, huddled among the dripping pine trees around a glowing campfire. I set up my tent and broke out some adult juice boxes while the rest of our troupe showed up. We spent the night grilling, drinking, telling stories and just generally being the crazy grad students that we are.

We woke up the next morning to a bright, sunny day. After a leisurely breakfast of whatever we had sitting around (everything from Clif Bars, fiery hot potato chips, strawberries, and hot chocolate), we put on hiking shoes and headed out to explore. We first headed up to several of the vistas that make Mingus the beautiful place that it is. At the very top of the mountain, we were joined by a few hardcore downhill mountain bikers (I was jealous) and half a dozen hang glider pilots that were putting together their wings. We played on the glider ramp's edge for awhile until we realized that the conditions weren't going to be right for them to fly for a few hours, so we continued our explorations. We headed across the mountain to the fire tower, which, unfortunately for us (but good for the forest, I guess), was manned by a ranger and we weren't allowed to go up there. So we (ok, I) climbed trees instead to get a better view. We romped around for a bit before deciding that we didn't want to miss the gliders launching, so we hurried back across the mountain. We were about 300 meters away when we saw a guy preparing to launch, so we sprinted up to the launch site. It turns out that they have to wait until conditions are completely perfect, so he didn't launch for another 10 minutes. When he did, though, it was really magical. He ran down the length of the ramp and was airborne in less than a second, gracefully lifting himself into the air. While we waited for a second guy to launch, another pilot offered to let Jeremy and me try out one of the gliders. Although it was only 80 pounds, it was fairly awkward, and you'd definitely need some training before just taking off into the sky. We watched two others fly into the blue shortly after and we admired their flights for a long time, watching them gracefully catch thermals and rise high above us.

We spent the rest of the day playing frisbee, soccer, and eating and hanging out back in camp. Since it is impossible for me to sit still for more than 30 minutes when there are adventures to be had, I headed out for what I thought would be a nice, easy mountain bike ride. I started out on the gravel road that soon ended in a mud pit that was posing as a dirt road. It was a blast, and before long, I had mud caked in all crevices of the bike and every inch of my body. I rode the road as far as it went to the edge of the mountain and some radio towers and then turned around to try and tackle one of the mountain bike trails that Missing Link had also gone down earlier that day. It was less muddy, but filled with annoying skull sized rocks that made the trail painful even with full suspension. I didn't even make it a mile down the trail before I decided that I had had enough. I spun back to the road and blasted through the mud again before arriving back at camp, covered from head to toe in muck to the surprise of my clean campmates. Fittingly, Guy and Brad from ML pulled up behind me in a truck just after I came in, so I gave the Dirt Monkey a big muddy hug while they told me about their great ride down the mountain. I was a little bit jealous, but I was having fun of my own.

We spent the evening cooking over the fire, drinking, and reliving our crazy undergraduate days with a game of caps that lasted well into the morning. I don't remember heading to the tent, but I do remember waking up too early. I packed up and said goodbye to the few souls that had crawled out of their own tents at the early hour, and was on the road headed east by 7:30.

For two hours, it was just me, Michael Tolcher, the desert and the Jeep. It was a great morning to roll down the windows and watch the world roll past. I got to Christopher Creek around 9:30 with Bill, Melissa, Jason, Tyler, and his wife, Anshula arriving shortly afterwards. We started down the trail retelling adventures and just being the crazy gang of Team Escape. We hit the cold water of The Box and didn't look back, with the original team members jumping off cliffs, sliding down the slides, and just having a blast as we started to make our way down canyon. Shortly into the trip, we found a log floating in the stream and had an epic battle trying to stand on it while pushing our fellow team members off of it. Before we knew it, we came to the first of the bigger waterfalls and rather than the beastly scramble around it (as per ODP's trip last time), we opted to carefully downclimb the slick granite. Once Tyler helped all of us down, we both looked to the high cliffs above and then looked to each other. Of course it was possible... After a quick depth check, we scrambled back up and Tyler beat me to the punch, topping out on the 40' or so high shelf above the water while I was still crossing back to the other side of the creek. He made a great jump and landed safely below. I followed suit and I'll admit that my legs were shaking when I got to the top and peered below. But, there wasn't any backing out, and I lept as well. It was an incredible jump, and had a wicked rush... even better than the cliff at Tonto Creek. So good, that we both decided to do it again, and for the second jump, we brought relative newbie jumpers Melissa and Bill up for the ride. Both did a splendid job, and all four of us were high-fiving at the conclusion of some awesome jumps. We continued downstream for more slides, jumps, climbs, and lunch at a nice rock formation, where I found a liberty head dime from 1943.

After lunch, we continued on to the first rap of the day, where Jason and Bill put in new slings (the old one was secured by a very worn piton) and Bill, Anshula, Jason and I rapped down the 50' of the falls. Although a bit jealous that I had already rapped down, I depth checked for Tyler and found no bottom to the pool. He had a great jump from the top before Melissa joined us as well and we packed the rope for the next rap. The second rappel was from a log directly over a 25' waterfall. Although I could have jumped it, the rappel looked even more fun than jumping, and it certainly did not disappoint. There was a great little cave behind the falls that we hung out in for a bit before continuing on.

The rest of the trip was filled with more jumping, sliding, and the hilarious antics of Team Escape and before we knew it, we came to the side spring that marked the end of the canyon. The hike back out to the top wasn't bad and we got to the cars in great time. We ended the incredible weekend with some Mexican food in Payson and called it a day. It was an incredible weekend, but ended far too soon, and by 9 p.m., I was already back in the 100 degree humid monsoon heat, looking forward to the next adventure.

Four Peaks Motherlode

It has always been said that nature is a mother. It has been said before that the ocean is a mother as well. For the most part, they are nurturing and harbor life, but they are also strict and stern when it comes to keeping balance in natural laws... like the law of gravity for instance. Well, it turns out that mountains are mothers as well. Five of us got first hand experience when we climbed Four Peaks over the weekend.

Since the theme of the weekend was climbing and Four Peaks, I decided to get a little dose of it on Friday. After work, I headed to the climbing gym with Tyler and Melissa before having a Team Escape happy hour at the Four Peaks Brewery. It's amazing how much we shared in such a short period of time while in Zion, and it was great to get together again and discuss future adventures.

I headed home before too late and got a good night's sleep. Jack knocked on my door at 6:30 a.m. asking if I wanted to join him for a Desert Classic-Telegraph Pass-National ride. As much as I wanted to go, I also wanted to sleep in a little bit for the first time in a long time. For once in my life, I was actually glad that I didn't go, as when Jack limped back from his abbreviated ride on DC, he was spent with the combination of heat and humidity, and had nothing good to say about his ride. I spent the morning and early afternoon getting stuff done around the house and a little bit in the lab. Then, at 3 p.m., I loaded up my pack into Tom's car and Hannah, Tom, Martin, and I headed north to join Angel out to the Four Peaks Wilderness. After a brief stint at Target - where I picked up some AMAZING juice boxes for adults: sangria in 250 ml boxes, we transferred our stuff into Angel's brand new Xterra and drove north on 87. We arrived at the trailhead parking lot a few hours before dark. We had the entire mountain to ourselves, so we set up camp in one of the corners of the dirt lot and set to playing a bit of frisbee and exploring. We scrambled on the boulders above the camp with our boxes of wine and watched the sun go down over the Valley far away. It was a very peaceful being the only ones on the mountain, and I couldn't have been happier. After it got dark, we shared the odds and ends of a dinner (including everything from canned ravioli to bread and hummus to potato chips) around a very bright lantern. Full and excited about the next day, we headed off to bed.

Although we had brought several tents, we opted only to set up a four-person tent to simplify packing up early in the morning. It turned out to be a bad decision, as a four-person tent fits about the same number as a four-person liferaft: although it holds that many people in an emergency situation, it certainly isn't comfortable. Angel sprawled out in the Xterra while the rest of us sardines slept fitfully, counting down the hours until the sun came up. By 5 a.m., a bright orange band broke through the gray twilight and lit up Lake Roosevelt to the east. We packed up camp, packed our bags, and by 5:50, we started up the trail. We appreciated the tricks that the morning light and rolling fog played on our surroundings as we made our way up to the saddle of the mountain. The feeling was a bit eery and exciting at the same time. We reached the saddle in 50 minutes, and after admiring the view for a bit, we found our way to the Amethyst Trail. The fog was steadily rolling in as the ground below us warmed up, obscuring our view of the peaks above us. I was pleasantly surprised at the condition of the trail. I had expected to bushwack from the start, but the trail was relatively easy to follow along the western ridge of the mountains on the edge of the treeline. As we were making our way around Peak 2, I spotted a few small purple crystals among the gravel. Soon, we were finding amethysts everywhere. Like big kids on an Easter egg hunt, we had our eyes glued to the ground, trying to find a better one than the one before. Before we knew it, we came upon an old rusty gate that separated us from the mine and the next stage of our hike. We climbed over and around the razor wire and into a small gully that had been washed out in a recent monsoon. Crystals were everywhere, and we all scrambled around finding chunks of the amethysts among the other rocks. Both Hannah and I found substantial pieces before we continued up past a small mining shack and into the cleft in between Peaks #3 and #4. The scenery became eerier the higher we climbed. I felt like a character in a cross between Chronicles of Narnia and Camelot, and I half expected to see a dragon to come roaring out of a cave at any time. The fog was so thick that we could not see ahead of us, and as we climbed, the fog swallowed up where we had just travelled. Still, we scrambled up; over boulders, through thick scrub oak, carefully on top of loose scree (Hannah barely missed a large loose rock that Angel had sent tumbling) and into mossy springs. It was slow going, but eventually we all climbed up onto a ridgeline, where the fog rolled out for a few seconds to reveal a far away peak. The fog closed in as quickly as it had opened, leaving us in a small island of visibility that left much up to the imagination. Tom, Hannah, and Martin were positive that the peak we saw had to be Peak #4, but my navigational instints told me that it had to be Peak #3 to our north. Based on the way we had come up the mountain and the current ridge that we rested on, I figured that #4 HAD to be off to our right, to our south. For several minutes, I was berated and told that I was completely wrong, crazy, and on drugs. But I knew that I was right, and broke out the map to confirm at least the route that we had taken to get up. To me, I didn't see how it could be any other way. I was alone in my fight, but I would not back down, and I started up towards where I knew the peak should be as Martin broke out his compass. Low and behold, north pointed exactly where I said that Peak #3 should be. Had I broken down, we would have never made it to Peak #4. Following my navigation, we made it up two more ridges to a stone pile at the top of the peak that held a rocket box that contained the Peak #4 register, confirming at last our place in the white world. The fog continually rolled in and out, but it was still difficult to determine the best route up to #3. After we signed our names in the register and took a few pictures, we scrambled down from the peak to tackle the next one. Coming down from #4 was a combination of light scrambling and bushwacking through the only peak with pines. When we reached the saddle between the peaks, we could see a bit of a route up towards the summit ridgeline. Tom and I started up what we hoped would be our best bet and were rewarded with some fairly steep scrambling. We definitely used our rock climbing skills on the steep pitches, catching our breath and scanning always upwards. Although it was steep, the exposure wasn't too terribly bad... until I looked down. About halfway up, I experienced a little bit of vertigo as the fog lifted enough to reveal just how far we had come up. It was a more than a little bit spooky, especially not knowing what was ahead of us. But, there was nothing to do but continue on. After several more scrambling walls, we reached a knifelike ridge that would lead us to the summit. Had the fog not covered everything, it might have been a bit scarier, but we couldn't see more than 20 feet below us and had lots of good hand grips and ledges to stand on. Finally, we made it to the very top, and pulled the register box out of a rock pile full of lady bugs. The fog opened up to reveal the broad plain of Lake Roosevelt below to our west, and for a short time, gave us a chance to size up our next adversary. The trick to route finding between Peaks #2 and #3 is that there is no route. All of the past trip reports that we had read led us to believe that we should go around the east side of the mountains, but other than that, good luck. Peering into the foggy valley to our north, we understood why. Munching on apples and candy bars to get a little bit of energy up, we could not see a good way to get down. Like a river runner staring at a wall of whitewater for the first time, I knew that we were in for a treat, like it or not.

We spent a bit of time at the peak resting and gearing up for what we knew would be the defining part of the climb. Then we all cinched up our packs and took off towards the north. Our efforts were almost instantly thwarted as the northern edge of the mountain ended abruptly in a steep cliff. East it was. We made our way down a cleft in between two steeper parts of the mountain. Not long into the face, we came to a very steep downclimb. Tom and Hannah started down without hesitation, but I faultered on the edge. I held back and let Angel climb down, and heard Tom yell out that there was another steep drop below the initial downclimb. For some reason, I just had a really bad feeling about the route, so Martin and I opted to climb up and around the steep section. It was a little bit out of the way, but we managed to scout a really fun way down, using scrub oak branches as impromtu ropes as we slid easily down the smooth sloping granite. We met up with the Tom quickly and watched Hannah and Angel come the rest of the way down the difficult section before continuing on. We proceeded downclimbing and scrambling down the cleft for some time, yelling out whomever was leading at the time, "Is it doable?," when they stopped at a particularily sketchy section on more than a dozen occasions. We each took turns mapping out routes, and I had a great time scouting ahead. At one point, while waiting on the others, I came to our steepest and longest dead end yet. I stood on a boulder, hanging onto some scrub branches, peering over the edge of the 50' cliff, hoping with all of my heart that there was an exit somewhere. Finally, looking back up the mountain, I saw what I hoped was a route to the south and pointed Hannah through the thick brush towards it. Less than a minute later, Hannah shouted back that we had hit another difficult section. I came up on her, on the opposite side of a very exposed ledge, peering down anothe 10' drop. I wasn't even feeling confident enough to traverse the ledge, so I opted to go up and around again. It was the long way, but it turned out to be a whole lot easier, and I hopped down to the bottom of the cliff while Tom attempted a wicked downclimb. In the end, the entire group followed me up and around and we resumed our scrambling. After about two hours, we finally reached the last of the steep cliffs and were able to traverse the rocks and brush over to the east face of Peak #2. We continued to skirt the lower part of the mountain until we could look up without seeing walls above us. I tried and failed to make it up a few scrambling pitches before we made it around to a bit of a valley in between two steeper faces and started making our way up. Half of the most challenging part of the day was over, but we still had a long ways to go. It was amazing how our idea of "hard," "steep," and "dangerous" had changed over the course of the day. We scrambled over difficult boulders as if they were nothing and hauled ourselves up exposed faces that we wouldn't have even thought about tackling in the morning. At that point, we just wanted to gain the summit, but the mountain certainly did not make it easy for us. The sun had come out in all of its desert glory, and we squinted through the sweat dripping in our faces, always with an eagle eye scouting for the summit. I stopped at a little spring coming out of the mountain and feasted on the delicious, cold water, and gave some to Martin, who had run out. Hours in, we finally topped out on a little bit of ridge that revealed two peaks at the top with a false summit to the east of them. Tom started to scale the false ridgeline while the rest of us consulted the map and tried to figure out exactly which way was the best. Finally we decided to just head up between the two taller peaks. Martin and I scouted ahead and tried to show the rest of the group the best route. The best route became blocked at one point by a rattlesnake, which Hannah found as she grabbed onto a nearby tree. Finally we reached the ridgeline... only to find that the true summit was still a long ways off. But, I was rewarded with at least knowing where I was. When Ted and I had attempted to climb over to #3 during our first time on Four Peaks, we had made it to that knifelike ridgeline before we were forced to turn around. This was a testimony to our literal "steep" learning curve of the day, as we had just hiked up what I had previously thought was impossible. As we continued to climb, I kept coming to what I thought was close to the summit only to realize that the mountain had many tricks up her sleeve in the form of impassable brush, crumbling rock, and false routes. There was no choice but to press on, but it was incredibly frustrating, and I thought that we would never reach the summit. I sloughed off my scouting responsibility and just set my sights on finishing the mountain, yelling back to my teammates every once in awhile to keep them on track.

Finally, five hours after departing Peak #3, I pulled myself up the last boulder and found myself on the true summit. Exhausted and relieved, I dropped my pack and took a moment to enjoy the accomplishment. Hannah arrived shortly afterwards, and we high-fived and waited for the rest of the group to summit as well. We all took a bit of time to rehydrate and reenergize before we set off to finish the Motherlode. I resumed my scouting duties for the tired pack, and after a few exposed pitches that we hardly noticed, we made it to the bottom of #2 and traversed around and up to the scrubby chute that led to the top of #1. It was such a feeling to be up there at the highest point in Maricopa County with four of my good friends, having reached a milestone that very few hikers even attempt. We took lots of pictures now that the fog and clouds had completely burned off. Our journey was not over yet, though, and we slowly began making our way down to the scree chute. My legs were completely worn out, and my knees resisted each step of the way. I finally monkeyed my way down to the saddle, using my arms as much as I could to take the load off of my tired lower body. Our weary group sat on the logs for a bit to muster one last bit of strength before pressing on to the car. We were all sort of in our own little worlds, and the group spread out in a short amount of time. I found myself alone with the mountain, the sun seeping through the young oak and pine trees. Bone-tired as I was, I still could not help but admire the beauty that surrounded me and the incredible feat that we had just accomplished. Eventually, though, my mind started to wander and settled fast on the Monster energy drink that was waiting for me back at camp.

The last 20 minutes of the hike seemed to take forever until finally I came out of the forest and at last spotted the car, where Angel and Martin were already resting. Hannah and Tom came shortly after and we all enjoyed liquid and calories and clean clothes before starting the long drive back to Phoenix. As Angel drove the Xterra down the long dirt road in the fading twilight, we all relived the incredible adventures of the day and the car buzzed with an incredible feeling of our completed goal.
Although I remained sore for the next few days (the Tuesday night bike race and Wednesday ultimate league games were pretty tough), the adventure was definitely worth it. It was one of the toughest hikes I have ever done, and also one of the most rewarding. Although I said that I probably wouldn't do the hike again after we finished, time has a way of healing the scratches and soreness, and you'll probably find me up there again sometime.

Virostko Family Reunion

I know I've said it on numerous occasions, but I absolutely love my family. Yes, we're a quirky bunch, but I bring part of that craziness to the group, and we're all loved for it.

So, when I stepped on the plane back to Indiana, I was stoked at the weekend ahead. Now, you might be thinking, "Well, she's going to her family reunion, no adventures for her this weekend..." Yeah, you don't know my family. I knew what lay ahead of me, and I couldn't wait. My mom's side of the family, the Virostko clan - including all my relatives from my grandpa's siblings and several generations of their families, only has a reunion every three years, and I had missed the last one while training in Florida in '05. So, I was excited to see many of my extended family whom I hadn't seen in years, and also enjoy some new adventures in Turkey Run State Park.

I arrived in Indy shortly before 6 p.m. and my sister, her boyfriend Justin, and I began the drive out to Rock Run. I had never been there before, but is basically a 900 acre farm owned by my second cousin (I think...) Bill. And it is amazing! Nestled in the heart of Parke County's covered bridge country lay incredible limestone walls, a sandy creek, dozens of Virostkos, and a TON of good homecooked food. I visited for awhile, with the most common introduction being, "So, you're the rower...," dug into some food (and snowcones!), and then my cousins and I began exploring. We climbed the limestone faces, explored the mossy banks of the creek, and were even guided (as it got dark, unfortunately) to some absolutely incredible waterfalls on the property. The place had a very sacred, secret feeling to it, and there were even some Indian carvings on the rocks. Very cool stuff.

After dark, we made the long trek (long only because we got lost due to the highway being closed) to the Inn at Turkey Run. I have loved Turkey Run since I was little, and just being at the Inn brought back so many good memories. I instantly feel like a kid when I am there, and it was great to relive old memories and make new ones. We met up with our cousins in the big living room/lobby, took advantage of the free coffee and tea, and played cards until the wee hours of the morning. We got up early the next morning for the main part of the reunion, with any plans for a morning hike doused by a hard, steady rain. We had a great morning, with many of my relatives giving little speeches about the family. Mom brought a big cardboard cut-out of my grandpa -as this was the first reunion we had without him - and told some stories about him, and both Emi and I got up and talked about our own respective adventures in nursing school, PhD, and of course, the Atlantic. It was great to see everyone and learn about what is going on with the Virostko family. "Flea" Virostko is still surfing the big waves out in California with the Maverick's crew, and though he's only a distant relative, I still think its cool that he's part of our family. We had an incredible lunch, took lots of pictures, and then us "kids" were free to go.

So, in the tradition of Turkey Run and my awesome family, we changed and headed out to the infamous Trail #3. Em, Justin, Scott, Devin, Mitchell, John, and I tramped along the ridgeline, eating raspberries along the way, down the mossy stairs, and arrived at the banks of a very flooded Sugar Creek. I had never seen the little river so high, and all of our eyes got big at the sight of it. My cousins and I have very similar mind sets, and I'm pretty sure that we were all thinking the same thing: how fun it would be to play in the raging water. Alas, we had some hiking to do, so we traversed the suspension bridge and made our way to the Devil's Icebox and other limestone structures until we found ourselves in the canyon and making our way up the ladders and climbing up the waterfalls. Trail #3 has always been a favorite of mine, and no matter how many adventures I go on in the future, it will always have a very special place in my heart. And no matter how old all of my family gets (Mitchell is 16 already!), we'll always act like little kids out there (with better climbing skills). We had a blast trekking through the damp, green forest and down into the mossy walls of Falls Canyon, where we stopped at the Punchbowl (a pool carved in the limestone), climbed waterfalls, and just generally had a great time in each other's company in the beautiful surroundings. Before we knew it, we waded through the mouth of the stream and found ourselves back at Sugar Creek. We all stood there at the water's edge, watching massive logs get swept downriver as we stared longingly at its fast current. Mitchell and I stood waist deep in the backwater wondering if there were any rangers nearby, and how quickly we could get back to the lodge if we hopped on a log and rode it downstream. For better or worse, we didn't take advantage of the situation, and we started back across the bridge, where the prospect of jumping off of it seemed like another sweet adventure. But, the thought of getting arrested at a family reunion kept us from taking the leap, and we headed back up the other side. Before returning to the lodge, though, we decided to check out the river below Sunset Point. Debris was swirling around an eddy behind the rock ledge, but Mitch and I decided to at least get a better look at the river, so we swam out in the deep brown stew to where our jumping rock should have been. It was deep underwater, but we decided that if we got the nerve to later tackle the current, that it was totally doable. We went back to the lodge, showered, and spent a few hours in the pool before joining the rest of the family for a barbecue out at one of the shelterhouses. After a wonderful meal of hot dogs, hamburgers, more homecooked goodies, and watermelon, the thunderstorms returned and my mom and I had a nice walk back to the Inn in the rain. In Arizona, I forget how much I miss walking in the rain, and it was special.

All of us cousins spent the remainder of the evening playing Rock Band. Scott, Mitch, and Devin were all pretty good at the game, which only made the rest of us look that much worse. My favorite was Jack's drunken singing skills. It was classic.

On Sunday morning, several of us took a small hike on the flooded Trail #6 and visited some more before most of the family headed out. It was hard to say goodbye so soon, but it had been a great reunion. After everyone had headed home, Emi and I exchanged birthday presents (Happy 22nd Lil Sis!!) and spent some time catching up. Since my flight back to Phoenix wasn't until the evening, Emily, Justin, and I hiked back out to the suspension bridge and climbed up on a bluff overlooking the creek and just relaxed for a bit, taking advantage of the mulberry trees that were filled with fruit along the way. The water was still flowing fast and deep below us, and it was very tempting to just jump off the cliff into the water below, but somehow we resisted the urge and just enjoyed the serenity of the afternoon.

Soon enough though, it was time to head back. We drove back to Indy and I caught my flight back to the Valley of the Sun. All in all, it was an incredible weekend with my family in one of my favorite places. I can't wait to go back again in a few years!!

Freedom

Independence Day means a great deal to me. I am very proud of my country and the values upon which it was built. Ours is a great nation with innumerable freedoms, and I am very grateful for those who founded it and for those who continue to protect it, allowing all of us Americans the independence and freedom to mold our lives in pretty much any way that we choose.

I've been taught to be independent since I was a young child, and I appreciate my parents for allowing me to discover all that the world had to offer. The freedom that America provides and my independent upbringing have shaped the person I am today, and have influenced many of my past adventures. I value my freedom on many different levels: from the privileges outlined in the Bill of Rights, to the ability to carve out a successful life with a bit of hard work, to the vast expanses of public land that traverse the beautiful country from sea to shining sea.

To celebrate the birthday of the United States of America, I saw it fitting that I enjoy the freedom and awe-inspiring country that I so appreciate. When I was given the invitation to join Bill and a few others up in Zion National Park, I knew that I was in for a weekend full of canyoneering and new adventures. What none of us on the trip knew was that we would return from the trip with a new respect for nature, stories and memories that will last us a lifetime, and bonds of friendship formed that will be able to withstand any storm that life brings.

I met Bill at his house just north of the Phoenix Mountain Preserve on Thursday evening, and Bennett, Tyler, Melissa, John, Anna, and Carrie arrived shortly after. We filled Bill's truck with harnesses, helmets, ropes, packs, and other gear in anticipation of a full weekend in the canyons and headed north on I-17. I had just finished with a busy, albeit short, week and once I got a chance to slow down while sitting in the car, I began to feel the full effects of the sleep deprivation. I faded in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat, trying to keep Bill company as he drove the 7 hours up to Hurricane, Utah. Fortunately, he and John shared lots of stories on the way up, and we made it safely to our motel around 2 a.m. I brushed my teeth, babbled a bit incoherently about graduate school trying to get to know my new adventure mates (it turns out that both Tyler and Melissa are also grad students at ASU), and then crashed.

We slept hard and long, and did not end up waking until the sun was well over the horizon and beating down through the motel window. For the first time, I was able to take in our amazing surroundings: rolling desert nestled in towering red rock mesas that stretched to the horizons. It was love at first sight in my affair with Utah. I could not help but smile at the adventures that I knew were waiting within those red walls. After a slow start and accidently leaving Melissa at the McDonalds, our group began to come together. On our drive from Hurricane to Zion, I kept my eyes glued to the scenery and my adrenal glands started gearing themselves up for what lay ahead. Once inside the park, we procured permits for Pine Creek Canyon and Keyhole Canyon, and drove up into the heart of Zion, with Bill blasting Lords of Acid as we approached the tunnel checkpoint, and all of us in the truck laughing at the... let's just say interesting... lyrics and wondering what the rangers would do when they heard the music. Fortunately for all involved, the song ended and the rangers were well away from the checkpoint when we came through. Anna and Carrie would not be joining us for the actual canyoneering, so they helped us shuttle vehicles around so that we could get started. While Bill was parking his truck at the end of the route, Bennett, John, and I started down, as to prevent us from getting too congested in the canyon. We crossed the road and headed down into Pine Creek Canyon. The walls narrowed quite quickly, the layered sandstone beckoning us deeper into its bosom. We came to our first rappel shortly and met two other groups who were also headed down canyon. They graciously let us use their ropes, and we were down the 20' sloping slickrock feet in no time. A nice easy warm-up. We continued down canyon for a bit more, downclimbing a few easy drops until we came to our first awesome rap of the weekend. It was about 50 feet or so that dropped down into a sand pit engulfed in some amazing sandstone carvings. A small owl sat on a ledge, indifferently watching our progress with large black eyes that revealed that he'd seen thousands of people do it before. As John and I stood at the bottom watching Bennett come down, we smiled at each other and the incredible surroundings. We knew from that point on that it was going to be an incredible weekend. We continued on in this fashion for a few more miles and a half dozen rappels through the wide, but varied, slot canyon until it opened up to reveal a majestic view of the canyons below and we came to our longest rappel of the day. For practice, we decided to rig a single rope and waited for Bill, Tyler, and Melissa to join us as we weren't sure how many ropes they had brought for the first canyon. The rappel was well over 100 feet, and was overhanging, making for a fast, frictionless decent on one rope. My hands were burning, and I'll admit, my legs were shaking a little bit, by the time I got to the bottom. I looked up and watched the remainder of the group come down with admiration. We were really canyoneering in Zion. Stoked did not even begin to describe it. The rest of the canyon was a wide boulder field which we enjoyed scrambling and rock hopping through. Like little kids, we bounded along, each of us finding a new, fun, route to get to the bottom. As the canyon became deeper, so did the pools of water, and we rejoiced in jumping from the boulders above into every one. From the fearless John to the first-time jumper, Bill, we all got several refreshing dunks in the clear, cold water. Finally we came out to the end of our first canyon, and while climbing the path to the road, I found a right-hand glove on the trail. After the blisters that I incurred on my first long rap, I was very thankful for this seemingly insignificant piece of equipment.

We caught a ride in the back of a pick-up to Bill's truck and headed up to the trailhead for Keyhole Canyon. The hike up to the canyon was almost as amazing as the canyon itself. Layers and layers of red, yellow, brown, and pink sandstone shone in the late afternoon sun as we climbed up to some hoodoos that marked the trail to the canyon. As soon as we headed down, the canyon instantly turned into a narrow slot. The rappels weren't huge, but the canyon was beautiful, with the sun just trickling in through the narrow passage above us. The only bad part of the canyon was the water. Normally, you would never hear me say that anything pertaining to water being a bad thing, but this wasn't any normal water. The pools looked and smelled like unflushed toilets, and wading through them and pulling ropes out of them was not exactly our idea of a good time. But, the canyon was totally worth it, and towards the end, we made it to a long, deep narrow section where we half-smeared, half-swam our way to the other side, helping each other across as our team really started to bond. We knocked the canyon out in a few hours, and finally scrambled out the other side in the fading evening sun. It had been a full, incredible day in the canyons, and the best part was that we still had two more to go. That evening we enjoyed a nice meal at one of the lodges outside of the park, watched the full array of stars that covered the night-time sky, relaxed a bit in the hot tub at our hotel, and then got a good nights sleep.

We woke up early in the morning, had a good breakfast there at the hotel, repacked our wet ropes and harnesses, and headed back to Zion to tackle Behunin Canyon. At the Visitor Center, we unloaded the truck and hopped on one of the shuttles that took us upcanyon, past the Court of the Patriarchs (which we could hardly see due to our position on the bus) and the Zion Lodge and dropped us off at The Grotto, where we would start our 4-mile hike up to the start of Behunin. It was cloudy and the forecast was for 30% chance rain when we headed out, so we agreed that if it did still look like a storm by the time that we reached the canyon, then we would turn around and not risk getting caught in a flash flood. We crossed the Virgin River and began the long ascent towards Angel's Landing. The trail was very well maintained (read: it was concrete the whole way to the top), and provided magnificent views of the river and surrounding red rock. It was a steep hike, but we were reluctant to take breaks without taking our packs off, and taking our packs off was too much trouble to do very often, so we slogged onwards, past the trail that turned off to ascend Angel's Landing, and finally reached our first high point atop a white rock mesa. The views from up there were majestic, and John, Tyler, and I played and explored for a bit while we waited for the rest of the group to catch up. It did start sprinkling though, and all we could do was hope that the clouds dissipated in the next two miles, otherwise all of our hard work going up would be for nothing. When the entire group caught up, we rested for a little bit and enjoyed the views some more before hiking down and around the mesa into another wide canyon. It was another half mile again up the canyon before John's GPS said that we had finally reached the start of Behunin. Over the course of the 4 mile trek, we had ascended more than 2,000 feet and we rested briefly under a large pine before traversing a long slickrock section and descending into the canyon that was guarded on one side by massive red cliffs towering above us. The first part of the canyon was downclimbing and bushwacking through some more amazing rock formations, but after a bit, the scrub opened up to reveal a 400 foot drop that would be tackled in a series of 4 rappels. Standing on the edge of my first big drop was both nerve-wracking and very exciting. We split again into two groups of three, and Bill, Melissa, and Tyler headed down before us, while another group of six lined up behind us. The first and second raps were fairly easy down the slickrock, and we decided to share ropes with the group that was coming down behind us. We had a bit of a freak accident when Bennett's pocketknife slid out of an unzippered pouch in his pack and bounced down the 100 foot cliff, opening on the way and grazing the side of Tyler's shorts. Safety in our group was paramount, and from then on, we were extremely careful with everything we did, lest a simple misstep become a fatal accident. The third rappel was absolutely awesome - a 100 foot drop into a sandy ledge, followed by a fourth that finally landed us at the bottom of the first part of the canyon, stoked at what we had just done. A bit further downcanyon, we went down one more short rap before the high canyon walls closed in on us. It was a beautiful feeling, trekking through the sand with cliffs stretching above you for hundreds of feet and ferns growing in the cracks.

We leapfrogged with the group behind us for the next few rappels, as they bypassed a few of the rappels and we opted to get our money's worth, rapping into pools of water and into some more carved rock formations (almost dropped into a deep hole cut by the water). Before we knew it, we turned a corner and were in the last of the rappels, looking out of the canyon into the expansive view of the main Zion Canyon. From there, it was one long rappel, followed by the biggest drop of the weekend: a 160 foot rap - the majority of which was free hanging. It was such an incredible feeling to be standing at the top of the cliff and looking out over the entire valley, and then dropping off the edge of the world into nothingness. I will admit that my arms were tired by the time I reached the bottom of the last rap, but despite the long descent, I felt on top of the world. We chatted with the group in front of us for a bit, recapping the highlights of the amazing trip so far, before boulder hopping through the stream down to the small waterfall at the Emerald Pools below. We didn't find Bill and the rest of the group there, so we continued on to the lodge. We saw plenty of deer at the lodge, but not the rest of our group, so after we exhausted our search, we plopped down on the shuttle to the Grotto. Still no sign of the others, we had no choice but to return to the Visitor's Center where we finally found them waiting at the truck.

By that time, it was well past dark and all of were tired, hungry, and beginning to get a little crabby, so we stopped off for some fast food, and brought it back to the hotel where we ate in the hot tub. Happy, nourished, and relaxed again, we climbed into bed with dreams of red rock floating through our heads.

On Sunday, we were all still a bit tired from the previous two days of adventure, but we were still excited as to what the day would bring in Spry Canyon. We drove up again past the tunnel to an area a few hundred meters above the start of the Pine Creek trail. The sun was out in full force as we hiked along for some time in the sandy wash of the dried creekbed. After half a mile, we turned left and made a sharp ascent up some more slickrock. For the next mile or so, we played "find the cairn," as we lost the route several times, searching around like lost ants before we eventually made it to the top of a small pass in the juncture of several canyons. Once again, the view was outstanding and almost magical. As we were the only ones in the canyon and there was no sign of human life as far as we could see, I felt as if we were pioneers looking out among the canyons for the first time. I can't even begin to explain how happy I was, just sitting there and soaking it all up. Once we had all found our way to the top, we headed down into Spry. Tyler was the first to find a way down into the actual canyon, downclimbing some of the slopes at the very head of the canyon, but since I was already a few hundred meters ahead, I simply bushwacked down the scrub and was rewarded with a confetti of dead leaves showering me as I wound in and under the brush. Our path finding quest continued for some time more, with each of us finding our own way deeper into the canyon before all six of us found the solid, sandy bottom of the wash. The trail became more pronounced at this point, as from there on, there was only one way to go: straight through the dry wash. Soon enough, we came to our first rappel of the day, a >100 foot rappel that from a distance looked gnarly, but in reality was a very fun sloping decent on the ever present slickrock. Tyler also found a sweet little sand pit that he dubbed a "vortex," for its unique reverberations when you pounded the sand in the circular pit. At the bottom, Bennett and I went ahead of the rest of the group, getting a head start to set the ropes on the next rappels. Even after three days in the canyons, I was still awed by the beauty of my surroundings, and we spent an enjoyable hike to the next two raps. The first of the two was an easy 15 foot rappel into another unique sand pit, where I climbed up a rock formation to snack on the biggest apple I've ever eaten and waited for the group to catch up. From there, we dropped down a 10' rap that had an awkward start over the roots of an old stump, in which both Bill and I got caught in. It was actually pretty humorous to be suspended upside down, just a few feet above the ground, and it was good practice to get out of that situation in a controlled, fairly safe environment (as opposed to getting caught on one of the long raps). We went along as a group for a little bit, enjoying a few more rappels before the sky started to turn against us. As Bennett and I were pulling the ropes from a medium sized rappel, several menacing-looking clouds started rolling in. A little bit wary of the potential storm, and eager to find some higher ground, the rest of the group headed down the next rap. Just as we got to the rappel, lightning fell from the sky and thunder cracked soon after. I threw a rope down to the rest of the group so they could set the next rappel as Bennett and I made our way across a tricky approach and down a great rappel, which would have been absolutely amazing if it weren’t for the approaching storm. By the time we pulled the ropes from that rap, Bill had already rigged a single rope over a chockstone sling without looking at our directions. When we arrived down at the rappel, Bill was frantically calling to us that there was not another bolt on the second section, and that he was effectively stuck on a small ledge without a rope long enough to get him down. The thunder made everything ominous, and a few sprinkles of rain increased the sense of urgency as Bennett and Bill yelled back and forth at each other in order to correct the situation. We rigged a double rope from a sling higher up on another side of the rappel, and Bill was able to get down to relative safety. Where we were stationed more than a dozen feet above the watercourse, we were safe from a potential flash flood, and we decided to play it safe and wait out the storm while Bill found some higher ground below us. We waited for about 10 minutes until the storm passed. Although the thunder and lightning had made it feel dangerous, only a few drops of rain ended up falling, and as the sun came out and we realized that we were going to be fine, one by one we all dropped over the edge and joined Bill. It took us a little while to get all of us down and set up the next rappel, and by the time that Bill headed down, the skies were clouding up again. John and Tyler went down next, leaving Bennett, Melissa, and me at the top as large drops of rain started falling. Knowing that we didn’t want to get split up in case it really opened up, we hurried down to join the others, being careful on the wet sandstone as we descended. The first of the series of rappels dropped into a narrow slot, traversed a little ledge, and then descended again further into a waist deep pool of water. Once in that part of the canyon, there was no emergency exit, and by the time I waded across the narrow pool of water, the rest of the group was already down the next rappel. Ensuring that the last two would be ok, I rapped down the next 30 feet into a large sand pit and quickly climbed up to a ledge on higher ground as the thunder and lightning commenced once more. As soon as Bennett and Melissa got down, John was there to pull the ropes and we got everyone up to the ledge just as the skies completely opened up. Wind, rain, and hail pelted the canyon while we huddled together underneath a small overhang and watched the monsoon ravage the sand and stone around us. Even as violent as the storm was, it was over soon after it began, and 10 minutes after we had pulled the ropes, the wind and rain subsided and we crawled out of our little shelter. A small waterfall cascaded over a nearby canyon wall and we watched with awe and looked up to the top of the canyon. A strange noise that didn’t quite sound like wind rumbled high above us, though the trees at the top of the canyon weren’t moving. We looked at each other quizzically as the noise grew steadily louder. Before we could even put two and two together, a torrent of foaming water filled with debris rushed out of the small slot where we had just rappelled from and dropped into the sand pit where we had landed 10 minutes earlier. Ten minutes separated our safety from an imminent, violent death being pummeled with the force of the water, logs, and rocks that tumbled over the edge of the cliff. We shuddered as we looked up to the rappels above us. Any number of factors could have delayed us, and we were all ecstatic just to be standing there together. For the first 10 minutes, we hugged and took pictures and thanked God for sparing us as the flow multiplied and grew to be several feet above our bolts at the top and turned the sand pit below into a foaming, churning cauldron. For over an hour, we watched the force of nature do its work, and we were overwhelmingly awed by the sheer amount of water that was making its way down. The skies were blue, and the sun shone across the freshly showered landscape, and eventually the torrent of water diminished to a small muddy waterfall, so Bill decided it was safe to continue on. He led the way, and scouted out potential new trails to return to the truck. One by one, the rest of us followed him down the 60 foot cliff and landed in the stream below. The adjacent waterfall, though still muddy with silt, looked too good to pass up, so at Tyler’s initiation, we all jumped in the freezing water. Our adrenaline was still flowing fast, and all we could do was smile at our situation. The scene was beautiful even without the recent cheating of death, and with the adrenaline still coursing through our veins, the world took on a whole new light. We took the opportunity to rinse the ropes and then began our boulder hopping descent. The stream was flowing just enough to make some incredible waterfalls, and we took great joy splashing through each one and we bounded along with our newfound energy. The canyon stretched out below us, bathed in the most amazing light, and we couldn’t have been happier. But it got even better… Soon we came to our last rappel of the day, a normally dry, 85' rappel over the last cliff before reaching Pine Creek. Now, as we set up the rope to descent, we rapped directly in the water: a 85’ free hanging descent in a waterfall. Words cannot even begin to explain the joy that each of us felt as we were hanging there in the middle of space in the middle of a canyon with people that were now our brothers and sisters. When we all reached the bottom, we hugged again, thankful not only for being alive, but for the experiences that we were having together. We barely felt the packs on our backs as we hiked down the very last stretch to Pine Creek and back to Bill’s truck, where we were joined by Anna and Carrie. We sloughed out of our wet harnesses and clothes, cracked opened a few celebratory beers, and drank to the canyon, to Mother Nature, to each other, and to the foundation of Team Escape.



The energy on the ride home was still electric, with stories of the weekend and other past adventures filling every mile of the road. By the time we arrived back in The Valley in the wee hours of Monday morning, we knew that Team Escape was bonded for life and we all look forward to many more adventures together in the future.

Quarter Century

Today is the 25th anniversary of my being. A quarter of a century. A potential quarter of my life. Twenty-five years. Crazy.

July has always been one of my favorite months. Growing up, my friend Mel and I shared a job working out in the fields of Pruitt Flowers, a common love of Jimmy Buffet, and birthdays that were two days apart. I learned a lot on those hot, muddy July days out in the flower fields, and in them, Mel introduced me not only to Buffet's music, but also to his hilarious, but strangely profound writing. In his book, A Pirate Looks at Fifty, the beginning goes like this:

"In four hundred words or less, this is what happened from early adolescence until now: I broke out of the grip of Catholicism and made it through adolescence without killing myself in a car. I flunked out of college. I learned to play the guitar, lived on the beach, lived in the French Quarter, finally got laid, and didn't go to Viet Nam. I got back into school, started a band, got a job on Bourbon Street, graduated from college, flunked my draft physical, broke up my band, and went out on the road solo. I signed a record deal, got married, moved to Nashville, had my guitars stolen, bought a Mercedes, worked at Billboard Magazine, put out my first album, went broke, wrecked the Mercedes, got divorced, and moved to Key West. I sang and worked on a fishing boat, went totally crazy, did a lot of dope, met the right girl, made another record, had a hit, bought a boat, and sailed away to the Caribbean. I started another band, worked the road, had my second and last hit, bought a house in Aspen, started spending summers in New England, got married, broke my leg three times in one year, had a baby girl, made more records, bought a bigger boat, and sailed away to St. Barts. I got separated from the right girl, sold the boat, sold the house in Aspen, moved back to Key West, worked the road, and made more records. I rented an apartment in Paris, went to Brazil for Carnival, learned to fly, went into therapy, quit doing dope, bought my first seaplane, flew all over the Caribbean, almost got a second divorce, moved to Malibu for more therapy, and got back with the right girl. I worked the road, moved back to Nashville, took off in an F-14 from an aircraft carrier, bought a summer home on Long Island, had another baby girl. I found the perfect seaplane and moved back to Florida. Cameron Marley joined me in the house of women. I built a home on Long Island, crashed the perfect seaplane, lived through it thanks to Navy training, tried to slow down a little, woke up one morning and I was looking at fifty, trying to figure what comes next."

So in the spirit of Mel (happy birthday old man!) and Jimmy Buffet, here is my version:

I was born in a Naval Hospital in Oceanside, CA and spent my first few years filling my diaper with sand from the shores of the San Luis Rey and learned to swim in the Pacific waves. My sister was born when I was three and I promptly bounced her off the trampoline into an orange tree. At 6, we moved to Indianapolis where I flunked my first homework assignment and learned to ride a bike. I spent the next two years exploring the labyrinth of unfinished roofs and muddy basements of our fledgling subdivision. At 9, we moved to southern Indiana, spent a long year sharing a bed with my sister at my Gran's house, and then moved to the farm, where I started exploring everything from our cabin a hundred meters away to abandoned houses miles away. I started playing softball and basketball, learned to play the drums, and joined the science fair team. I won the conference cross country meet, became an Intel Science Talent Search finalist, played with President Bush's dog, and headed to France and Spain. I spent the rest of the summer in Israel, worked at the Weizmann Institute, climbed Masada at sunrise, swam in the Red Sea and Dead Sea, and fell in love with an amazing British bloke. I attended Purdue, started rowing, spent a summer in Dublin, climbed half the peaks in the Wicklow Mountains, broke up with the British bloke, and fell in love with the idea of rowing across oceans. I found someone crazy as myself, bought a boat, graduated from Purdue, and spent a summer dodging hurricanes in Florida. I attempted to row across the Atlantic, got caught in a tropical storm, was rescued by pirates, spent 11 days learning to sail and exploring tropical islands before being plucked out of the Caribbean, and landed on the set of The Today Show. I spent the next few months wondering what I was supposed to do after the biggest failure of my life, so I headed out to Arizona, started my PhD, learned to play rugby and ultimate frisbee, and explored desert oases by foot and bike. I spent 51 days rowing across the Atlantic, broke a world record by 17 days, returned to Arizona, reflected for a bit, and while looking for the next adventure; I realized that I had made it to 25.

It's been an amazing, interesting, and adventurous life so far, and I want to thank each and every person in my life that has made it special. Without you, I would have no one to share my adventures with, and my life wouldn't mean half as much. So, here's to the past 25 years... and to the many adventures to come in the next 25.