Back Home Again in Indiana

Although I now spend my time exploring all that the Arizona desert has to offer, I owe my adventurous spirit to the woods and rivers of southern Indiana. I was happy to spend the holiday weekend back in the hills of my youth for a few days with my family and the natural world that gave me the inspiration to continue my explorations for the rest of my life.

I got in on Friday night, and by Saturday morning, my dad, sister, and I were on our way to the Clark County State Forest for a hike on the Knobstone Trail. Emi and I have wanted to hike the entirety of this famous trail for a long time now. The Knobstone Trail runs from Delaney Park in Washington County just north of Salem and ends 60 miles to the south near Deam’s Lake. It's the longest continuous trail in the state (plans are in the works to extend it another 80 miles), and many people use it as a training run for the Appalachian Trail. The trail snakes along through the Karst topography that makes the southern part of the otherwise flat corn-growing state so beautiful. The Knobstone trail exhibits all that I love about southern Indiana - tall trees, lush forests, rolling hills, and gurgling streams - and my sister and I were eager to see if it held up to our expectations. I have to admit though, our desire to hike the whole thing is tempered by the experience of two guys that we picked up a few years ago at the Henryville Forest fire tower. After two days of hiking they were jaded by “all the trees that just look the same," and we wanted to check out if it was true or not. Starting out on the border of Washington and Scott Counties, we hiked up to the top of the ridgeline from the creek bottom, with our hearts pumping and my lungs trying to adjust to the humidity in the air. The trail was all that we had hoped it would be, providing awe-inspiring vistas that looked out over the surrounding forested hills all the way down to Louisville. Wildflowers and GREEN blanketed the entire scene, and I was in heaven. We hiked for 11 miles along the ridges, through valleys, across clear streams, and deep into the southern Indiana forests, enjoying the lush diversity of flora and fauna along the trail. To my surprise, the woods were FULL of blueberry bushes, which until Dad bought the new farm in Crawford County, I would have never believed, as I spent a decade in the woods just north of there and had never seen them. But sure enough, half the bushes were filled with little green berries that promise to be tasty in about a month. By the last few miles, we were started to get (just a little bit, I really do love the woods) tired and jaded with the trees, and finally came out to the small clearing where we had parked the other truck. All in all, it was a great day, and I would happily hike the entire trail, and hope to do so in the future.

The next morning, we packed up the red canoe and a cooler, and headed to Milltown for our annual canoe trip. When I was very little, my favorite book was Three Days on a River in a Red Canoe, and I would spend many hours dreaming of my own trips down rivers. Shortly after we moved to the farm, we bought our own red canoe and my dad and I packed it for a 3 day, 60 mile canoe trip down the Blue River, starting at the bridge on our farm and ending near Corydon. If I had to give one defining moment in my young life that led me to my adventurous lifestyle, I would have to say that it was that first trip downriver. Although the first day started out sunny and in the shallow waters of the upriver Blue, it ended in a lightening storm a few hours before our intended campsite. I paddled my little heart out through the torrential downpour, pounding thunder, and log jams until we finally curved around a little bend in the river at Fredricksburg where I scarfed down the best soggy cookies ever and helped set up camp on the sharp boulders underneath the bridge. Never had I been more appreciative of warm food and a dry clothes. When we set out the next day, we had to abandon our dry camp and paddle back out into the rain, instantly soaking our bodies once again. But, the rain had raised the water levels considerably, and the skies cleared to reveal some incredible rapids that we flew through all the way to Milltown. By the last day, we had gotten really good at scouting the rapids, and I was absolutely hooked on the thrill of speed and adventure. I left the river that Memorial Day with a smile on my face, and with the exception of one or two years in college, I've been doing it every year since. Although we only took a day trip this year, it was still just as fun, especially considering that over the last few years I have graduated from the simple paddling in the front of the canoe to steering in the back - which is a total rush to feel the control you have as you maneuver through rapids. I held the rudder position the majority of this year's trip, with Emi sitting up front and Dad relaxing on the cooler in the middle of the boat - much to the amusement of some other paddlers on the river. We loved it. The river has changed considerably in the 12 years that I've been running it, and they now have commercial canoe trips on the lower part of Blue River, but we still were able to enjoy the peace and tranquility of the river after we passed the majority of the novices. We saw deer, turtles, ducks, snakes, and all sorts of wildlife along the banks, sipped from the springs that flow out of the hills, and just drank in the beauty of it all. Much to the confusion of my family, I tried to take pictures while steering, and at one point, had the canoe pointed into the rocks just as we were about to enter a set of rapids... oops. After lunch, Dad took the back seat and I sat up front while Emi took pictures in the middle. We ended the day dropping over the edge of the ruins of an old dam near Corydon (my favorite one, the river drops several feet in the course of about 20 meters, and it feels soooo good to run it), and finally portaged south of Harrison-Crawford State Forest after a fun full day on the water.

On Memorial Day, I spent the day watching the rain from the front porch, eating good home-cooked food, and playing with the half dozen baby ducks that my dad brought home from my grandpa's. They're the cutest things, and by the end of the weekend, I had them following me around the yard like a momma duck. Alas, I eventually had to leave the land of rain and green, and we headed to the airport in the evening. And since Louisville is the home of Yum! Brand Foods, my sister and I couldn't leave the airport without hanging out with Colonel Sanders of KFC fame. After some Asian tourists got done taking pictures with the statue, we sat down on the bench next to him, much to Angela's embarrassment and our delight. I love my family! Overall, it was a great to see my family, hang out in the southern Indiana wilderness, and spend a relaxing holiday weekend at home.

"It's waterproof"

After a busy week of ultimate frisbee, climbing, (not purposefully) injuring Hannah while mountain biking at Papago Park, and a full week in the lab trying to get my plants to express gp41, I was certainly ready for the weekend. On Saturday, after a quick trip to REI for my first garage sale (they're crazy!), Kohl and I headed out to the Verde Valley for some relaxing in the Hot Springs and Fossil Creek. Kohl had never been up in the area, so the drive up there was an adventure in and of itself. We were going to try to see what fun Sycamore Creek could offer, but our scouting reports from the highway above didn’t offer much promise for water, and we decided to keep going and tough out the 20 or so miles of rough road to the hot springs. When we got there, the usual crowd of rednecks abounded (much to our humor) as we hiked across the Verde to the springs. Always looking for an adventure, we decided to hike up the ridgeline instead of crossing the river, and ended up walking along the edge of a cliff before sliding down the scree that finally shot us out to the base of the springs where a (ubiquitous) naked drunk guy welcomed us to the area. But, he soon left and we had the place to ourselves for a bit while I showed Kohl all around the little oasis and we alternated between relaxing in the pools, cliff jumping, swimming through the rapids of the Verde, and splashing in the hot water that falls over the edge of the banks. It was great laughing like old times and just being our crazy selves. Of course, I was documenting the whole thing taking loads of pictures. As we were sitting by the pool with the camera, I mentioned to Kohl that it was ok if it got wet, as it was waterproof. For some reason, I tell her this every time we're near water with the camera. "Really, it's waterproof...? I didn't figure that out when we used it every day on the Atlantic." I don't know whether I forgot about rowing the Atlantic, using the camera out there, or the fact that Kohl was never further than four feet away from me during the entire trip, but I have stated the obvious to her on so many occasions that it's become a running joke.

After we had our fill of the hot springs, we made our way back downriver, taking a few minutes to ponder exploring the old ruins of the power plant before driving back to Fossil. At the trailhead, Kohl and I thoroughly explored the creek's many pools, swimming and just basking in the beauty of it all. I absolutely love the area, and it was great being able to share the joy of it. We spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring and swimming and jumping in the blue green waters. We didn’t even make it up to the bigger of the small falls, but I got to see pools that I had never swam in before and it was well worth it. Once we had exhausted ourselves in the pools, we played like little kids in the small puddles that line the creek and watched the tadpoles and other small creatures swimming around. We couldn’t resist bringing some home to attempt a little aqueous biosphere (I’m afraid it didn’t last too long). After a long day, we came home and had an excellent meal of potato soup and I prepared for the next great adventure.

On Sunday, a group of 12 intrepid Phoenicians drove out to the Salome Wilderness in Tonto National Forest out near Roosevelt Lake for a little canyoneering trip in Salome Creek. Armed with ropes, harnesses, belay devices and a whole lot of excitement, we hiked out a few miles from the trailhead to the creek. It was all desert before the creek, and unless you knew what was waiting ahead, you would have never thought that an oasis was tucked in below Dutchwoman Butte. The trip would have been perfect, but one careless mistake cost me one of my favorite and most versatile piece of outdoor equipment. With my camera tucked snugly in the pocket of my boardshorts, I excitedly half jumped/half fell into the creek and started walking along the creek for a few feet before the bottom turned to algae. Not wanting to get caught up in the muck, I started swimming. A few feet later, I remembered about my camera, checked my pocket, and realized that the indispensable piece of equipment was no longer there. It may have been waterproof, but it certainly didn't float. After 10 minutes of fruitless fishing through the muck, we had to continue on without it. I was heartbroken and quite peeved at myself. That camera had lasted me dozens of trips, taken thousands of pictures, and survived several falls to the bottom of other creeks, drops off of rocks, and an ocean. I was devastated at the loss. Alas, Salome Creek was as good of a distraction as any, and it was gorgeous - plus I try to always carry an extra camera and photographer, usually in the form of Hannah. After snaking our way through several boulder fields and small waterfalls, the creek entered a narrow canyon surrounded by pink granite walls. We swam, jumped, and slid our way through the deep clear pools, waterfalls, and slick waterslides. It was better than a water park, and much more awe inspiring. It was certainly an adult playground, and for hours we splashed through the canyon, our laughter echoing off of the ever growing walls. After a few miles of incredible fun, we arrived at a large pool surrounded by perfect jumping cliffs and ending in a 30' waterfall. While Bill set up the ropes for the rappel, Haydon and I launched ourselves off of the walls and plunged into the cold pool. Finally, we started one by one down the rope into another large pool below. Once we were all safely to the bottom, we swam out to the end of the canyon with huge smiles on our faces. In a bit of reverse karma from losing my camera, Hannah almost became a casualty of a splashing war between Pierre and I. Fortunately for all of us, the massive rock that I threw (narrowly) missed her head. The hike back out wasn't too bad, as our waterlogged bodies fought off the evening sun with great efficiency. We ended the weekend with a meal in Tonto Basin and drove home happy with another great adventure in the books.

Lovely Month of May

May is one of my favorite months, mostly for the change that it brings. I thrive on change and new experiences, so with the advent of summer months, I'm a happy kid. During the last week, the campus filled with stressed students taking exams, then filled with throngs of parents and families in town for graduation, and then... emptied. As a graduate student, I really do appreciate the summer months - even with the Valley heat. There is truly something relaxing about biking to work without having to worry about dodging cars careening through red lights, hippy kids on longboards, or clueless girls on cell phones who haven't quite mastered the idea of moving two wheeled objects. It's also nice to be able to go to Sack's once again without having to stand in line. The full time residents of the university have the place to ourselves once again, and life is good. Without regularly scheduled lab meetings, seminars, or colloquiums, we are also given the complete freedom to work more efficiently. It doesn't mean that we necessarily do, as the academic atmosphere is much more relaxed during the break, but the freedom and the lazy days of summer do make for a very enjoyable few months.

I started my first day of "summer" on Saturday with Jack, exploring the desert that surrounds the area known as Pima Dynamite in Scottsdale. Jack used to ride the sandy singletrack quite often to train for dirtbike races, but many of the trails are now closed to motorized traffic,* so he can no longer ride his favorite 70 mile loop. It's too bad, as the trails are incredible, though tough for those of us whose two-stroke engines don't require a gas-oil mix. It took me at least half an hour to warm up on the surprisingly difficult trail. Although the trails didn't appear technical, the sand coupled with boulders and a little bit of elevation made the first part of our first loop tiring. It was definitely worth it though, because after we rounded a small mountain, the trail was all down. Jack and I had a blast zooming around boulders and down and around a hard packed rollercoaster surrounded by red blooming ocotillo and yellow palo verde. As I was following Jack and enjoying a particularly winding downhill section, a baby fox that wasn't much bigger than two fists darted across the trail and stopped scared in its tracks right in the middle of my line. I tried to brake, and let out a scream as I felt a bump under my back tire. Jack doubled back, assuming by my fearful scream that I had gotten bitten by a snake, while I hopped off my bike and watched the little guy limp off into the bushes. Although we both tried to scrounge him back out of the brush to make sure that he was ok, all we managed to do was startle a rabbit, so we had no choice but to hop back on our saddles and continue along our way. I felt really bad for the baby, considering that I spent much of my childhood watching my mom (Happy Mother's Day, I love ya!) move turtles off the road and having never hit anything bigger than a toad with a car, much less a bike. The rest of our first lap went without mishap though, and we had so much fun that we took a second one around some different singletrack. After more than two hours, Jack's tubeless back tire had started to deflate, so we took one of the fire service roads along the powerlines back to the truck in the company of dozens of dirtbikers, quad riders, and mountain bikers happily sharing the beauty of the trails.

Saturday afternoon was spent at my advisor's house for one of his incredible parties. He provided his house, pool, and a grill FULL of marinated beef and chicken while the rest of my lab provided a keg of Newcastle, dozens of side dishes, live music (provided by Ryan and his band), and lots of party spirit. We spent hours eating, playing with the lab's many kids, swimming, and sharing stories of the past year. Towards the end of the evening, Dr. Mor broke out the champagne to toast our graduates (we had five this year, including a master's and four undergraduates). And then, after much anticipation, he revealed to us that... he HAD indeed acquired tenure at ASU. All of us erupted in a huge, relieved applause. I was so happy for him and the rest of our lab, as ASU has some pretty bad politics revolving around tenure, and had he not been granted tenure, all of our futures at the university would be in jeopardy. Our celebrations went long into the evening until I pulled Dr. Mor's youngest shivering son out of the pool and headed back home. Hannah, Ryan, the keg, and I spent the rest of the evening chilling at the house.

On Sunday, I had planned to get some work done around the house and American Fire, but I am a water baby through and through, so all it took for me to abandon my work was a phone call from Suda promising a free day at the Sunsplash Waterpark. It was Honeywell's employee appreciation day, and Brandon, Phil, Suda and I had a great day being kids - racing down waterslides, relaxing in the lazy river, screaming on a free fall tube ride, getting shot around a really cool water cauldron, eating popsicles, and just generally having an incredible watersoaked day.

After a fun, exhausting day, I went home to change, grabbed my climbing harness, and headed back out - this time to Camelback mountain to join Pierre, Evelyn, Hannah, and Erika for a bit of climbing and rapping on one of the many boulders in Echo Canyon. Pierre taught us how to tie brakes, attach ropes, lower ourselves down, climb up, and belay on the real rock. For hours we enjoyed scrambling all over the boulder and drinking tea until we had to break out headlamps and head back down to the parking lot.

Overall, it was a great weekend with lots of diverse fun. Wanting to squeeze one last adventure out of the weekend, and taking advantage of the fact that neither of my roommates were home, I decided to do a little bit of experimenting with my Indian cooking. I won't go into great detail about the disaster that ensued, but I will just say that I learned many lessons from my ordeal: a). you are supposed to roast sooji before you boil it, otherwise it turns into a mushy paste that looks (and tastes?) like glue, b). I haven't quite figured out which Indian spices go with what, ie. mustard seed goes with everything, garam masala doesn't, c). gluey paste mixed with spices and chicken still doesn't taste good, and finally, d). a hefty dose of ketchup will save just about any meal. Satisfied with a jam packed weekend, I went to bed with a gurgling stomach and a happy heart, excited about the first week of summer ahead of me.

* As it turns out, Saturday was the last day for ANY motorized traffic on ANY of the Pima Dynamite trails, due to the lobbying of the Sierra Club. It's really a shame, as the motor guys out there are respectable riders and are the ones who made and maintained the trails in the first place, so they don't deserve a $1200 fine for using public land.

Dad Vails

This will be the first time in seven years that I won't be spending the second weekend of May in Philadelphia as a rower, speaker, or coach at the Dad Vail National Championship Regatta. Vails has been one of my favorite events since I was a freshman at Purdue, and I cherish a million memories from the infamous race on the Schuylkill River. Along Boathouse Row, home to the Schuyhkill Navy, you can feel the presence of the thousands of rowers that have graced their hallowed walls and docks over the last 150 years. As you walk past, you can't help but feel overwhelmed with an incredible sense of pride and tradition that accompanies the sport. The Dad Vail represents the culmination of an entire year of blood, sweat, and tears: from long - if not idyllic - fall days building our endurance base, to cold winter mornings trudging through the snow to the musty basement of Lambert Fieldhouse to pound out hours on the ergs, to the toughest week of the season spent on Lake Hartwell in Clemson hammering out piece after piece in preparation for the races ahead of us, to the entire joy that is the spring season with its share of tough battles, poignant victories, lessons learned, and bonds forged with the strength and commitment that it takes to propel an 8 oared shell across the water. As you unload, rig, and walk the boats down to the docks that line the Schuyhkill, you realize that you are representing not only your crew and university, but also the very spirit of the sport, as every action you take is one that countless oarsmen have taken many times before between the river's shores. Warming up on the far side of Peter's Island, basking in the sweet smell of the locust blooms during the last few minutes before the race, lining up alongside some of the best club teams in the nation, putting all of your focus on the rower in front of you as the official raises his flag, channeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins into those first few strokes, rowing into oblivion as your legs and lungs cry out for oxygen, and finally slumping over your oar after seven minutes and 280 strokes of anaerobic hell. Lather, rinse, and repeat a few more times until finals on Saturday, and you have the Dad Vail Regatta. For those of us who have had the honor to row in the regatta, these battles are a microcosm of our lives, and they mean the world to us. From my innocent days as a novice, smiling on the winner's dock with my coach and eight teammates after an unbelievable, undefeated season. To my first year on varsity, Kohl and I posing with our silver medals from two different boats for a grainy picture that would later end up on the front of The Exponent for our first American Fire article. To a disappointing loss during the semifinals of my junior year that resulted in the most disheartening 2nd place finish in the petite finals. To a tumultuous senior year with a new coach and my teammates of four years being split between two different boats for the last race of our collegiate careers - ending it as we began, together with gold medals on the winner's dock, surrounded by the best friends a Boiler could ask for. When the 14 of us seniors locked hands and jumped off the launching dock into the muddy waters for the last time as members of Purdue Crew, we were all taking a bit of each other with us to the next stages in our lives. For me, that next stage of my life nearly ended it, and by the time I arrived on the banks of the Schuyhkill a year later, I was a much more mature person, delivering not a portside Power 10 through the Strawberry Mansion Bridge, but an inspiring speech to the graduating class, as Olympic team coach Mike Teti had done for me and my own class the year before. For the first time, I sat in the alumni tent with my former teammates and finally got to enjoy a beer while watching the races. Though we had looked forward to that day since our freshmen years, we felt out of place, and would have gladly traded traded places with those in unis for one more shot at the glory of collegiate rowing.

The circle was finally completed last year, with me in khakis and an embroidered polo, pushing my novice kids off of the dock after months of learning and growing on all levels. In them, I could see pieces of myself five years prior - young and wide eyed, scared but proud and prepared to leave everything on the water, knowing that their teammates were doing the same. Although the closest they came to the winner's dock was rowing back up towards St. Joe's boathouse, I still couldn't have been more proud of them. Together, as a team, we had overcome hundreds of obstacles to get there, and our little crew from the desert proved what it took to be a Dad Vail rower: hard work, faith, teamwork, dedication, and perseverance. The next day, we sat in the bleachers and watched as Purdue set a precedent by winning both the men's and women's varsity 8's races - a first in the history of the Dad Vail. As they hoisted the team points trophy over their heads as my own teammates and I had done in years past, I was overwhelmed with an amazing sense of admiration for my Purdue team, my ASU team, the sport of rowing, and the spirit that encompasses the whole of the Dad Vail Regatta.

Dad Vails is an incredible place, full of pride, pain, guts, and glory. Although I will personally miss the regatta this year, I wish the best to every coach and athlete that will be participating, and especially... Boiler Up!

May Days

When you were a little kid, you never thought of your teachers as real people with real lives... they were just your teachers and that was it. When the end of the school year came around and you celebrated the sweet summer ahead, you figured that your teachers just crawled back into their caves and waited around for the next three months dreaming up place value worksheets and scheming up other evil ways to torture you when you returned in August. You would have never conceived that they were celebrating much harder than you were at the advent of summer. Well, it's completely true. Now that I'm a grad student and (a little bit) closer to the top of the academic food chain (see here), I get to reap the full benefit of the prof's celebrations in the form of free drinks at the School of Life Sciences End of the Year Happy Hour. I hadn't planned on drinking at all, and was content with my massive plate of Mexican happy hour fare, but since it's bad etiquette to refuse a tequila shot from professors, I had to oblige. Let me just say, it is awesome to sit around with your friends and watch normally conservative, intellectual professors take shots. Priceless. When free alcohol abounds, so do the stories that you'd never hear during seminars, and I couldn't resist the combination of the two. Between Macayo's and Mamacita's, we had plenty of both in a wonderful Cinco de Mayo night of debauchary.

Although Coronas are an excellent tool for having a great night out, they don't do much for installing new brakes. After I biked home from the bars, I dug out the brand new brake pads from my bag and put them on around midnight in anticipation of a ride around South Mountain in the morning. Needless to say, they did not pass the 6 a.m. quality control inspection. I groggily repositioned and tightened them before heading out to meet Jack and his buddy Josh for a Mormon/National Trail loop. One of my old coaches in high school always recommended that if we practiced with people that were better than ourselves, then we had no choice but to become better ourselves. Well, it was true for the shortest JV forward on Eastern's basketball team, and it's still true today. Jack is a better biker than me, and Josh is an absolutely stellar mountain biker who practically lives on South Mountain. By 7:30, I was completely regretting my decision to drink the night before, as even the fire road to the trailhead was laughing at my attempts to keep up with the guys. Things didn't get much better once we got to Mormon. Jack and I both struggled up the infamous, aptly named hill, "The Widowmaker," while Josh raced ahead and waited for us every few hundred meters, giving us great advice for tackling different switchback sections. I appreciated the advice, but my head was pounding and all I wanted to do was go back down and take a nap. Although the majority of the way out was up, both Jack and I learned a great deal about how to tackle some of the rough sections, and by the turn around point on National, we were definitely ready to head back down. The return trip was incredible, and both of us stayed on the bike the majority of the time, with the exception of the waterfall, which I didn't even get to see Josh bomb down because he was so much faster than us. Even though we were much slower than Josh, both Jack and I felt that we had improved a great deal since our first National run, gaining both control and confidence in our skills. The trail really is addictive, and I can't wait to get back out there again.

After the ride, I headed up to Scottsdale and met up with Angel and Christie. After a short detour to REI, we headed to Fossil Creek. The area had been so beautiful last weekend that we just couldn't resist going back up there. It was midafternoon by the time we arrived, so we hoisted our heavy packs and made our way to the first of the big falls without stopping. It had been a year since I had been to the oasis, but it hadn't changed much and was as incredible as it was the first time I saw it. Loads of water cascaded over the travertine cliffs, and we played in the deep blue-green pools to our heart's content. After playing around for awhile in the waterfall, we continued on upstream until we found a good spot to camp. Our choice was a good one: a small sandbar with plenty of hammock trees just upriver of a smaller fall with several swimming pools, and adjacent from some gurgling rapids. I set up my hammock and gathered firewood while Christie and Angel put up their tent and hammock. In no time, we were feeling at home. Although we didn't have enough time to hike up to the Flume Falls, we continued exploring upriver for the next few hours, swimming through the rapids, hopping the boulders, and admiring the amazing geology that adorned the cliffs. We've been to the Fossil Creek area several times now, and I had never noticed the quartz/gypsum structures in the rock before. The formations appeared as though lightning had struck and melted the quartz, leaving smooth pockets of layered glass-looking rock. It was the coolest looking thing, and for the rest of the trip, I would keep my eyes peeled for unique pockets of the natural glass. After a little more hiking around, we headed back towards camp, making sure to play in the pools, rapids, and waterfalls below our camp before the evening became too cold to swim. When we could no longer stand shivering behind the falls, we changed into dry clothes and started a fire in preparation for dinner. It was the first real camp fire we've had while backpacking (usually its too dry to have one), and it was a very warm, welcome change. For dinner, we had bread and cheese as appetisers and then baked vegetables in tin foil in the fire for the main course. Coupled with a package of Mountain House noods 'n' chicks and topped off with a few liters of pinot noir, it was an excellent meal. After several servings of wine and a few hours listening to gurgling spring and tree frogs while watching the stars through the trees, I curled up in my hammock and was rocked to sleep. Curled up in the cocoon of my hammock and sleeping bag, I couldn't hear or see anything, and I didn't end up emerging from my bed until the sun had filtered through the trees of the valley. The three of us ate oatmeal and had spiced cider for breakfast, once again enjoying the fire and the peacefulness of the area before breaking camp. Once we had packed up and hidden our packs in a small thicket, we did what I never thought I would willingly and knowingly do again: we hiked up the hill across the creek to the Flume Road. The first time we attempted this, we failed magnificently, and were rewarded with cactus in places that we'd rather not mention. The climb was still long, steep, and prickly, but the fact that we knew there was a road up there did make things easier. We did eventually get up there, and then hiked along for another 3 or 4 miles to the Flume Falls. The power plant and associated flume on the springs had just been decommissioned a few years ago, so the riparian areas surrounding Fossil Creek are still adjusting to the differences. Last year when we went to the falls, the dam itself was dry enough to walk across. This year, water poured over the berm, and we had to cross downstream of the falls. The place was as gorgeous as I remembered though. I swam through the deep pools, up the strong rapids, under the hole in the rock, and out into the still pool across from the falls before diving off of the rocks and swinging from the rope swing. Once we had played ourselves out, we headed back along the Flume Road, and then hiked/slid back to where we hid our bags and continued on downstream. From there, we stopped back at the bigger falls for some more fun. Again, we played behind the falls, jumping into the amazing current and getting tossed around in the undertow before it spit us out a few meters later. Like a happy little sea otter, I floated on my back and simply smiled at the simplicity and beauty of it all while I wore myself out swimming around the falls. Later in the afternoon, we hiked down to a smaller falls with plenty of fun areas around it and spent the last part of the day jumping off of the falls, exploring the travertine formations above the falls, and just relaxing on the smooth warm rocks along the creek. Once we were completely worn out from our playing, we returned to the car and headed back south. We stopped at a great Mexican restaurant in Payson and gorged ourselves on chips and salsa, burritos, and margaritas before making our way back to the Valley. All in all, another amazing weekend.