national parks – Page 2 – Josh Hodge blog

Everything to Know About Joshua Hodge’s New National Park Book

April 30, 2021April 30, 2021Posted in national parks, nature, new mexico, texas, travel, UncategorizedLeave a comment

My new book is here! What is it about and why should you read it? I want to address this questions and more, so you really know what’s up with this book and why I’m so excited.

What is this book about?

This book chronicles a month-long adventure of camping and hiking in the U.S. National Parks in the summer of 2017. It features humorous and adventurous accounts, and descriptions, of the natural world, and it explores the inspiration gleaned from such experiences. It also explores the question of, what should be our response to natural beauty and the craftsmanship of God? It is not only an account of the physical adventure, and the things learned along the way, but also a look into my mind and the thoughts I have as a solo adventurer.

Why did you write this book?

Back in 2016, after another summer of adventure and being so inspired by my experiences, I started blogging. I realized I had a lot I wanted to share from my past adventure. As a writer, I used to write more fiction, but I realized my real life adventures provide all the engagement and entertainment one seeks in a good story. I came to find an audience online that appreciated and was inspired by my writing. I also had things I learned that I really thought others could benefit from, and not only that, but I wanted to inspire people to get out and come to realizations on their own. I decided to refine and compile what I had written, as well as include additional pieces, to create my book, Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Parks and the beautiful wild. I knew from the very start this would not be a stand-alone work. Still Calm, and Quiet: More Adventures in the National parks and the beautiful wild is the second installment in this series.

Should I read Canyonlands: My adventures in the National parks and the beautiful wild first?

I would love it if you read Canyonlands, but you don’t have to read it to enjoy Still, Calm, and Quiet. In its intro and opening chapters, Canyonlands gives a little bit more background and provides more of the logistical details of my travels.

Who published this book?

I am my own independent publisher and own all rights to my work. I design and format my publications. By meeting publishing standards, I am able to work with Amazon for printing and distribution.

How long did it take to write this book?

I began writing this book in 2019, before Canyonlands was published. It has taken me about three years. I had some journal entries and writings written during the 2017 travels that were incorporated into chapters of the book.

What makes this book unique?

This is very much a variety book. In addition to my adventurous accounts and exposé of inspiration, this book includes two biographical works, a fictional piece, a couple poems, over 100 black and white photos, and dozens of vintage illustrations. It has some great stories of me passing out, encountering a mountain lion, getting caught in a lightning storm, having my camp attacked by squirrels, being stuck in a buffalo jam, getting lost on a mountain, and much more!

Where can I buy this book?

Currently this book is only available on Amazon and is eligible for regular and Prime 2 day shipping. In a few months it should be available from walmart.com and other online retailers. Buy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093RMBNCP

Is this book the same collection of stories found on your blog?

Some of the stories are the same as the ones found on my blog, but they have been refined, reedited, and augmented. A number of them are not and are only found in the context of this book. As one of my blog readers, you will find this new and fresh.

What are the parks featured in this book?

Chiricahua National Monument (AZ)

Fort Davis State Park (TX)

Big Bend National Park (TX)

Rio Grande National Scenic River (TX)

Chamizal National Memorial (TX)

White Sands National Park (NM)

Guadalupe Mountains National Park (TX)

Carlsbad Caverns National Park (NM)

Dinosaur National Monument (UT/CO)

Grand Teton National Park (WY)

Yellowstone National Park (WY/MT)

Bruneau Dunes State Park (ID)

Craters of the Moon National Monument (ID)

Wild Horse State Recreation Area (NV)

Rye Patch State Recreation Area (NV)

Lassen Volcanic National Park (CA)

Shasta State Historic Site (CA)

Whiskeytown National Recreation Area (CA)

John Muir National Historic Site (CA)

Is this book content appropriate for all readers?

Yes

What other books have you written?

Wild Christmas (2006)

Dakota Broken (2015)

Among Blue Smoke and Bluegrass (2018)

Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Parks and the beautiful wild (2019)

Señor Hodge’s Casa de Mascotas (2020)

Theodore Roosevelt for the Holidays: Christmas and Thanksgiving with the Bull Moose (2020)

Buy Still Calm and Quiet here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093RMBNCP

www.joshhodge.com

Attack of the Squirrels

February 4, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, natureTagged camping, lassen volcanic national park, manzanita campground, safety, squirrelsLeave a comment

This was no ordinary enemy. It was smart, effective, and ruthless. I came back to my camp to find it had been violated.

In the morning I woke up early to go for a hike, having slept so peacefully in the quiet pine-filled forest of Lassen Volcanic National Park in Northern California. The campground was comfortable. A bed of pine needles was spread everywhere giving it a naturally soft and cushioned surface. At night I could look through the pines and see the star filled skies. This morning, as the sun filtered through the trees, it made the ground like gold.

I changed into some suitable clothes for hiking and threw my backpack and everything I had with me in my tent into the car for safety. I left behind, of course, my sleeping bag and pillow. I zipped and locked everything and was off for a hike. I was in the Manzanita Campground and there was a trailhead for the Manzanita Creek Trail at the edge of the campground. I made my way from Loop C to Loop D and then along the path in the forest. During my hike I saw scores of pinecones just strewn all about the forest floor. They were of that enormous type I’d seen the days before, some as big as my head. They were from the sugar pine tree. I’d read that some of these pinecones can reach a length of two feet.

The hike was rather uneventful and un-notable- no striking characteristics of features to set it apart from any stretch of forest in the park. I hiked for maybe a couple miles until the snow banks became so dense and tall that the trail was entirely lost. Just the day before I had gone on a hike up Prospect Peak and had gotten lost in a similar fashion. Of course I found my way back eventually, but I wasn’t ready to get lost again today. There were other things to see and do This hike was just a bonus to kick start the day, so I decided to turn around and head back toward camp. On my return I passed by two older men also out for a morning hike. “How’s the trail up ahead?” one of them asked.

“It kind of just disappears with the snow. I didn’t know where to go,” I replied

As I strolled back into camp I rounded the loop and came to my site. I could feel my blood pressure rise. Something was not right. The side of my tent was flailing. It had been ripped and was dangling and floating in the quiet breeze. My initial thought was that my camp has been attacked by a bear. A bear must have ripped into my tent! How could this be? I raced up to my tent and looked around. I didn’t leave any food nor anything with any odor in my tent, just the air mattress, sleeping bag, and pillow. As I observed the rip, I noted it was peculiarly neat, almost as if it was carefully unwoven at the tent seam. A bear would have been more vicious and careless, I thought. Something doesn’t add up.

Just at this moment the campground host was making his morning rounds in his golf cart. I ran over to him. “Can you come over and check out what happened to my tent?” I asked

He followed me over, took one glance, and without hesitation declared “squirrels”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked. Just kidding. I never talk like that, instead: “What?!” I exclaimed. Was he joking? How am I supposed to respond?

“That’s right, squirrels. They were after the stuffin’ in your sleepin’ bag. I betcha they used it to make their nests all nice and warm.”

I had never heard of such a thing. I considered myself pretty intelligent and well-versed in the ways of camping, and I was responsible and cautious. I knew not to leave anything of odor in my tent. All my food was in the bear box and I even made sure nothing valuable was left out, because you can never have the assurance of trust with strange humans. But squirrels? I had never thought that squirrels would be a threat.

“Oh yeah, they are a real problem ‘round here. There was a couple here with motorcycles- real nice ones. They woke up in the morning to find the squirrels had chewed right through the leather seats of their motorcycles and pulled out the stuffin’. We even have to be careful with the tires on the RVs. Sometimes they’re after the rubber and can tear those things up. That’s why we have tire covers.”

I never would have imagined such a thing.

“It’s definitely the squirrels,” the man said as he reached his hand into my tent and pointed out some squirrel droppings sprinkled across my air mattress. How indecent! How corrupt! I was not happy. This was Kelty, my expensive tent. Since the weather was really nice and the temperatures quite comfortable, I wanted to sleep in my airy tent, where I could look up and see the sugar pines and the night sky. I thought this was going to be a safe place for my tent. But squirrels? How dare they! I took pictures of them the day before. I thought they were cute and friendly little woodland creatures, not vandals and thieves, taking stuffing from the very pillow I lay my head to rest on.

At the campsite next to me was a man packing up his things. I went over and I asked if he had any tape. He lent me his roll of classic duct tape, and so I taped my tent together. Take that squirrels!

This time I did not add this incident to my list of misfortunes. Instead, I laughed it off. This was quite funny and would make a story, I thought. Never before did I have a tale to tell of my camp being systematically invaded by squirrels and my tent chewed into by these rodents.

This was the second tent destroyed on this trip. The first one was True Blue with it’s tent pole snapped in a monsoon at Guadalupe Mountains National Park. Despite the misfortune, somehow my paradigm had shifted. I wasn’t focused on the negativity. I accepted this moment as part of the adventure. It is what it is, and there is nothing I could have done to have prevented this, for I did not have the knowledge to know about the threatening squirrels, and I didn’t even know to seek such knowledge. This had to happen for me to learn, and it had to happen for me to write this episode of my adventure.

When I reflect upon it, I think of how the forests out East are so lush and rich and full of plant life, so much so that the animals usually don’t care about the camper and his set up. Occasionally you’ll have a curious raccoon come by the campground at night, maybe a skunk (that’s another story), but as for the bears and the squirrels, they have a whole lush forest to enjoy. They don’t care about people’s riches.

Here in California where the forest is so dry, where drought has ravaged the land for so many years, where the plant life is scarce, these squirrels are desperate. They will go to the extremes of chewing into people’s tents and ripping the stuffing out of their pillows to make nests. And the bears too warrant concern for personal property. I remember at Sequoia National Park. in the visitor center, watching a film of bears ripping off doors of automobiles to get inside and consume whatever smelled edible. They even went to the extremes of eating car seats if they smelled appetizing.

Many of us not from California look upon California and say it is full of crazies. Like with any place, and any such statement, it can’t be applied to everyone, but here it certainly can be applied to the animals. Guard your pillows!

Read the previous entry “Lost in Lassen” here: Lost in Lassen – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Singing into a Volcanic Crater

January 27, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, UncategorizedTagged california, cascades, cinder cone, lassen peak, lassen volcanic national park, loomis museum, national anthemLeave a comment

“O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…” I found myself singing into a volcanic crater in the high reaches of California. “…What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming…” What was it about this volcano that spurred on my patriotism and brought forth the anthem? I was in Lassen Volcanic National Park in Northern California. This active volcanic area is asleep, but it was only about a hundred years ago it experienced hundreds of volcanic eruptions in a three year span. In 1907 Theodore Roosevelt, noting the exceptional beauty of the area, designated it as two National Monuments: Lassen Peak National Monument and Cinder Cone National Monument. Nine years later in 1916 these monuments were established as one National Park.

Lassen Volcanic is quite a wonder. Although “asleep,” it’s clearly alive. In the park museum I learned that early pioneers and homesteaders making their way across California noted the “fire in the sky” from the volcanos. Although this fire in the sky hasn’t been seen for a hundred years, there are still areas of the park with thermal springs and fumaroles boiling up from the earth’s fiery depths, reminding the visitor that beneath the earth’s thin crust much is in motion. Here all four types of volcanoes are present: cinder cone, composite, shield, and plug dome. The park features the world’s largest plug dome volcano: Lassen Peak and the last volcano in the Cascades mountain range. Although now monitored for seismic activity, Lassen Peak will not be asleep forever and will erupt again, they say. It’s all in a matter of time. Comforting.

I was very much looking forward to visiting this park. The pictures I had seen of it were just beautiful with pine forests, picturesque lakes, towering volcanic peaks, rich blue skies. It was even more beautiful than photographs could depict. It is certainly one of the underrated National Parks in my opinion. It is quite astounding and unique and doesn’t get the attention it deserves. It’s just so scenic, straight from magazines, and its volcanic landscape is so young and fascinating.

When I first arrived, I visited the Loomis Museum which also doubled as a visitor center. It was constructed in 1927 by Benjamin Franklin Loomis who was a homesteader and photographer instrumental in incorporating the area into a National Park. His museum displayed his photographs of the 1915 eruption, and he eventually donated the museum to the National Park Service. Here I soaked up some history and geology and to my dismay learned that the majority of the park was closed due to impassible snow. I was quite disappointed initially. I particularly wanted to see Bumpass Hell, the section of the park with the fumaroles and thermal springs, a mini Yellowstone-like area. Despite this closure, I’d still find plenty to explore and enjoy. I started off with a stroll along Reflection Lake, which was beside the museum. It was so tranquil. The ground was carpeted in large golden pine needles, beneath aromatic pines, and I beheld some pinecones as large as my head. This park reminded me in some aspects of Great Basin National Park in that it was this hidden little wonderland up in the mountains.

I decided I’d spend the afternoon and evening going for a hike. One of the most popular hikes of the park was still accessible. That was the trail to Cinder Cone. The trail started into the sparse forest, proceeded to black sand, and spiraled up the cone to the crater atop. I trudged. It was quite challenging. Going uphill in sand took extra effort and strain on the leg muscles. I naturally tried to push myself up with each step but ended up partially digging my feet into the sand. My rate of progress was not adequate for the effort I was exerting, but this was the only way. This cone I was ascending was completely barren and I was so curious as to see what the crater way up there would look like.

The air was hot, dry and thin, and there was a calm stillness to it. I was out here alone. At least I thought so, until a man started coming down the trail as I rounded a turn. I asked him something like “Is it worth it?” or “Am I almost there?” and then we got to talking. I told him I was from Kentucky. He told me he was from a city in California.

The question of “What brings you all the way out here from Kentucky?” led to me explaining how I was a teacher on a National Park road trip, and then we went right into talking about teaching. I came to find out he was also a teacher, a 5th grade math teacher.

“You’re a Spanish teacher? In elementary school?” he questioned in surprise. “We don’t even have Spanish in elementary school here in California.”

I wanted so badly to say: “Well, we’re just a bit more progressive in Kentucky,” but I bit my tongue. I thought it was a funny statement, but wasn’t sure if he would find it so. “Progressivism” is a hijacked political term, but California as a whole prides itself on being “progressive.” Kentucky isn’t often regarded as cutting edge, but in education, and particularly in the district in which I teach, I’d say it is- in a more classical sense of the term. Secretly, inside, I was proud Kentucky one-upped California in this regard.

When I got to the top of the volcano, a large crater was on display, uniform in appearance, of dark brown sand; and at the rim were fragments of red rock, so bright they almost looked bloody. I trailed a worn path padded into the malleable terrain around the rim of the crater. I was in awe of its size and magnitude. I found myself standing there at the rim singing the National Anthem into the crater. Maybe it was a ripple from the patriotism I felt at Roosevelt Arch in Yellowstone; maybe it was because I felt like I had really achieved something by climbing up to the top of this crater, like America has achieved so much in its young life through so much toil and effort; or maybe it was just simple appreciation for the marvelous natural wonders of my nation. Maybe it was the line “And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,” conjuring up images of a volcano erupting. I was sincere, but I also laughed at myself afterward. Who sings the National Anthem into a crater? Well, I do. Perhaps I’ve spent too much time out in the wild alone. Perhaps I’ve lost it. If I’ve lost it, I quite enjoy it. It’s not everyday I get to sing the National Anthem into a volcanic crater.

On the opposite side of the crater from where I arrived at the time, I could look out and see the marvelous lava beds stretching across the landscape. Apparently marvelous is not the formal word for the lava beds. The official name is the “Fantastic Lava Beds”. And they certainly were fantastic! Unlike Craters of the Moon, where the entire landscape seems to be some volcanic wonderland, here, from up on the crater looking down, one can certainly see precisely where lava had once flowed alongside the forest, for the forest grove is still complete by the beds. Petrified waves of lava sprawled across the land, dark and ominous, and eventually spilled into a rich blue lake nestled at the foot of another volcano laden with snow. Aside this lava bed, and closer to the volcano I was upon, were pumice fields. These “fields” were very bumpy and rolled like waves frozen in time. On the tops of some of these mounds were spots of red, orange, and pink rock appearing almost like welts or blisters on the earth’s skin- a certainly unique natural wonder to behold.

O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming,

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,

O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Lost it? Not yet, but soon I was about to become genuinely lost as a mountain trail would disappear on me.

Read the previous entry “Bruneau Dunes and the Kangaroo Rats” here: Bruneau Dunes and the Kangaroo Rats – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

A Lion on the Moon

January 21, 2021Posted in adveture, national parksTagged backpacking, craters of the moon national monument, craters of the mooon, echo butte, mountain lions, national parks, preserveLeave a comment

Perhaps I was wrong about mountain lions. Maybe they would be more of a problem after all. That growl was unlike anything I had ever heard before. Suddenly I was flooded with goosebumps. The park ranger at the visitor center was not kidding.

I was now at Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve in southern Idaho. At the visitor center a blond female park ranger, with abundant curls that towered upon her head like she was straight out of the 80s, made a child declare the Oath of Service as a Junior Ranger. She spoke with her “r”s quite accentuated. “As a Junior Ranger I promise to teach others about what I learned today, explore other parks…”

Then it was my turn. I wanted to secure a wilderness permit to camp out in the volcanic black sand wilderness of the monument. The ranger was kind and helpful, and she highlighted a place on the map I should camp at: Echo Crater. She proceeded to indicate the route and gave me a permit to hang on my backpack. She said the trail wasn’t always visible, but pointed out some landmarks to guide me on my way. I asked her to repeat them. After all, I didn’t want to end up lost like at White Sands National Monument. I asked her if there was any wildlife I needed to be aware of. “Squirrels,” she said. “We have squirrels.” Okay, I thought, you don’t need to advise me about squirrels. Then, just when I was about to move on, she informed me: “Now, there has been a mountain lion spotted a few times recently out by Echo Crater.”

“Oh?” Perhaps this is more important information than that of the squirrels

“Just be cautious, and you should be fine.”

Do I ask her more about this? I thought. She already issued me a wilderness permit and asked me if I was prepared for safety in the backcountry. I didn’t want her to lose confidence in me or doubt her decision in issuing me a permit. So, “Thank you,” I replied. Plus I was running short on time. I wanted to set up camp before the sunset. It was already evening. The day flew past me as I had driven in from Yellowstone and even experienced my first buffalo jam.

So I quickly got myself together. I was able to pack quite lightly and use my new serious backpacking backpack I had gotten at a Bass Pro Shops at the beginning of the summer. I had my Kelty tent, long underwear, sleeping bag, Vitamin Water, bandana, compact pillow, a Clif Bars, a protein fortified crispy rice bar, electrolyte gummies, miniature toothbrush, flashlight, water, and a book. I was ready, or at least close enough, so I hit the trail. The terrain was quite unique in that it primarily consisted of black and dark brown sand and rocks, which was the lava field remains of a series of underwater volcanoes that defined the area and gave it all its buttes, cones, and craters. As I made my way along volcanic remains there was the occasional shrubbery or pines that adorned the landscape, but it was mostly barren and dry like the surface of the moon. There wasn’t much of a trail other than footprints in the black sand. At one point I passed by some lava flow caves. I’d read about these. These hallowed out tubular caves underground were where lava once flowed. The tops of these caves pressed upon the surface and gave the terrain a rounded, and, at some locations, a cracked surface. I’d read somewhere in the monument you can explore these caves.

Then suddenly I heard an abrupt growl or roar, not any ordinary sound, but a heinous malicious sound, like something had just been attacked violently! It seemed to come from the ground, from the lava tube caves just beside me. I was flooded with goosebumps, a chill went down my spine, and I ran down the trail, but with my oversized backpack, running was not sustainable. The sun was setting beneath the horizon and any remaining shrubbery had taken on a golden hue from the sun, bidding farewell to the day, and here I was alone and vulnerable. Well not exactly alone- with a mountain lion in my midst!

I became extrordinarily vigilant, every few seconds looking behind me, hoping I didn’t find a lion stalking me. My actions express my concern, but at the same time, how cool, I thought. I just heard a mountain lion attack something. It seemed almost unreal. I couldn’t wait to return back to the visitor center in the morning and tell the rangers about my experience.

Eventually the trail of footprints dissipated into nothing. I had been counting buttes, for the ranger told me that after a number of buttes I’d find Echo Crater. I wasn’t sure what the visual difference of butte and crater was. At the time I thought it was pronounced “butts.” I was just counting butts at sunset with a mountain lion. Wait, how am I supposed to know if I’ve been counting “butts” or craters? What about cones? I was uncertain of where I was supposed to be. At one point I backtracked a little bit to reassess the lay of the land. Then I had to assess my situation. I could keep going, or I could call it a night. After all, the daylight would soon be gone. I think it’s probably better to get set up and in my tent, regardless of whether I am in the right location or not, because there is probably a mountain lion on my tail. I concluded that I would consider this big mound of a volcanic feature Echo Butte, whether it really was or not.

I also had another burning question: Am I to camp in the crater or beside the crater? The ranger just said “at the crater.” “At” is a vague term in such a circumstance. I thought I’d try and camp in the crater, so I made my way up the side of the hill leading into the crater. Then it dawned on me: Do I really want to be trapped inside a crater with a mountain lion? I remembered when I was in Death Valley years prior. I ventured down in a crater, and then had a bit of trouble getting back out, and I recalled a coyote down in that crater. Perhaps the mountain lion lives in the crater and I’ll get trapped in there with him. No thank you. I felt better camping out on the lava flow. Aside the mound of the crater was a flat barren field of black rock and sand. While I was setting up my tent there, I tried not to bend or kneel down much, after all, that would put me in such a vulnerable position for the mountain lion to pounce and break my neck. Then I threw my backpack in my tent and hopped in. As I was unpacking my bag and getting situated, some rocks tumbled down from the crater mound and I heard steps. It’s found me! I shrieked in my soul and my heart jumped. What to do? Then I saw out the window of my tent, it was no mountain lion. It was a deer. It walked right past my tent. Phew! That was a close one! I thought.

As daylight left, I had my snacks, brushed my teeth, and pulled out the book I had purchased in the visitor center. It was a middle school mystery reader, one in a series, each one taking place in a National Park. This was the Yellowstone installment called “Wolf Stalker.” More appropriate for the occasion would have been “Lion Stalker.” As I began to read the book, I found no allusion to imminent peril, and it captivated my attention. I had calmed down. I felt fine, at ease, and quite at peace. I found the same great lonely freedom I found when I went backpacking in the wilderness area of the Petrified Forest. I slept quite well, despite brushing waking consciousness a few times from the cold.

In the morning, as I woke with the sun, I began to thaw out. I thought I’d explore more of the area this morning and have a look inside the crater. I tore down my tent and packed my bag. I felt quite alone, but I loved it. As Theodore Roosevelt once said, “The further one gets into the wilderness the greater is the attraction of it’s lonely freedom.” I was removed from the troubles of the world, and my featured accomplishment was surviving the night without being eaten by a mountain lion. The danger of a lion now seemed so distant.

But then…what was that sound? It was something more than the chirping of birds. Voices? People? Around the bend of the crater mound came a couple of beings. I’d learn they were a park biologist, the older man, and his apprentice, a college student doing an internship. I thought I would ask them more specifics on where I was and what I could see. Pleasantly, they introduced themselves and told me they were out here studying birds, particularly taking a bird inventory. They set a timer for five minutes and then counted bird calls they heard in specific areas. It told them what birds were in the area and how healthy the population was. They had finished their work for the morning and were doing just a bit of sightseeing, the older man showing his intern around.

“Come follow me,” the biologist invited. “I’ll show you how to get into the crater. He guided us around to the other side of the mound where vegetation was more abundant. We did quite a bit of bushwhacking. I engaged in conversation with both of them about my trip, about the park, about their lives and where they were from. I felt so fortunate to have my own private biologist to guide and interpret the park for me. Once we reached the edge of the crater we had climbed quite high. I was struck with an awesome view into the crater. It was like its own little biome, its own island. Trees and shrubs grew down in it. How cool it would have been to camp down in that sheltered world, but then again who knows how safe. I looked out upon the expanse of the preserve here and saw snow capped mountains in the distance. The biologist guided us down into the crater. I marveled at the rocks, and the trees, and the crater walls. I saw where other people had camped before, and my question of where I was intended to camp had thus been answered.

When we trekked our way out of the crater we parted ways, and then rejoined by happenstance again. At one point I veered to check out a cave. I poked my head in cautiously. Because of what I heard the evening before, that was quite enough. I thought about telling the biologist about what I heard and my experience the night before, but when I contemplated sharing it, I felt like I sounded crazy. I thought then about telling the ranger back in the visitor center, but when I got there, it was still very early and it was closed. I left my wilderness permit at the door. I didn’t share my experience with anyone at the park, but I treasured it as one of my greatest souvenir experiences of the summer. With that in my pocket, onward I’d proceed to Bruneau Sand Dunes State Park.

Read the previous entry “Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch- What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me” here: Bears and Buffalos – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Bears and Buffalos

January 18, 2021Posted in national parks, travel, UncategorizedTagged bear spray, buffalo jam, mount washburn, yellowstone, yellowstone national parkLeave a comment

Bears, they’re gonna get me! I have to keep making noise. “Hey bear!” I occasionally called out as a warning. I had learned you never want to surprise a bear. As I hiked up this mountain I intentionally made loud obnoxious steps, kicking the rocks beneath my feet when I had the opportunity. I was hiking solo up Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park, along a wide open gravel trail.

It’s all quite ridiculous in retrospect, but this was my first substantial hike alone in grizzly bear country. I had no way to gage the threat of a bear attack other than by all the worrisome warnings from the National Park Service through all the trailhead signs and in the park newspaper. Also, just days prior in Grand Teton National Park, bear spray was selling like it was the latest craze. I thought I would buy bear spray, but when I found out it was $50, I guess my thrifty self decided my life wasn’t worth that much. But there also was a bit of doubt that bears were a viable threat to my safety. I once thought rattlesnakes would be much more of a problem in the Southwest than what they are, and then there were the mountain lions. I never had any trouble with these animals. Maybe bears were just one more to add to the list. And bear spray? Really? It sounded like quite a gimmick to me. Fear is a great way to make a buck. I wouldn’t put it past the greedy and sly to overhype the threat of bears and scare people into buying bear spray. Then again I’m prone to entertain conspiracy theories as distrust seems to be my default in what’s new. If bears were a really serious and substantial threat I was thinking the park service would provide bear spray with the price of admission into the park or require people to purchase it.

Now, don’t take advice from me about your approach to such a situation. This was my very first solo hike in bear country, but in subsequent years, especially during my stays in Montana, I’d hike many times solo in bear country. Have I had bear encounters? Yes, quite a few. Have they ended ugly? No. Most bears just seem to loaf around without a care, but I’ve heard stories. I’ve met people who have been attacked. It’s real, but to what degree is this threat? I still have a hard time gaging it. I now do carry bear spray with me when I’m out hiking in Montana, but after dozens of hikes, I’ve never had to deploy it.

But here in Yellowstone I was a newby, and although I convinced myself not to buy bear spray by holding onto my conspiracy theory and my $50, I still was cautious, and I became a bit paranoid on my way up Mount Washburn, thinking that the bears could be just about anywhere and were ripe and ready for attack at any moment. In retrospect, I don’t think this particular mountainscape in Yellowstone was prime bear habitat, but at the time, what did I know? I’ve told myself quite a few times when I’m out hiking and taking certain precautions, “better safe than dead.” I use that phrase to justify taking the extra safety measures I sometimes take, but I certainly don’t live by it always. Way too many people are held back by fear, and in being so, they miss out on the richness of life. We must face fears to truly live, but we need to do so with intelligence. Preparedness, strength, and knowhow are great, but the greatest of survival skills is intelligence along with some sense.

Back to the hike at hand, Mount Washburn was named after Henry D. Washburn who led the Washburn Expedition in 1870 to explore Yellowstone and make detailed maps and observations which would eventually be used in designating it a National Park. The expedition is described in Nathaniel P. Langford’s book, “The Discovery of Yellowstone Park.” I chose this hike because I was craving a mountain top view, a manageable day hike, and the guide book I was following had it in the itinerary. At six miles round trip it was quite manageable. It was three miles up, reaching 10,243 feet and a quick three miles down. The hike was very much out in the open and trailed what looked like, at times, a road. It probably served so for the fire lookout at the top. The mountainside was mostly rock and grass, but there were also large stretches of dead trees, mostly light grey and barren like driftwood, others charred dark from forest fire. Across the landscape in the distance were many valleys, rolling hills, and wild planes with pockets of trees tucked in here and there. Further up the hike, large snow drifts spilled onto the trail. Then snow was everywhere. Alongside me a thick pine forest stretched out in the great expanse and climbed up other mountains ladened with snow. Fluffy rounded clouds contrasted the rich blue of the sky and cast shadows all over the wide landscape. Purple fringed gentian bloomed along the way, seeming to delight in the cold but sunny mountainside.

At the top a firetower stood and a sign marked the elevation. The view atop was nothing outstanding from the views all along the way up: rolling hill after rolling hill, pine forest, dark shadows cast by the clouds, and mountain peaks of snow in the distance. Most everything was painted a shade of blue from the sky’s reflection on the terrain. I satisfied my mountaintop craving, but realized Yellowstone is perhaps better explored by means of its geothermal features, rivers, and lakes below.

Once back at the car, and safe from all bear encounters, I’d drive over to the Grand Canyon Village once again for dinner, then I’d pass by Yellowstone Lake at sunset on the way back to my campground. On the side of the road opposite the lake, water flowed into a little pond. I pulled over as I observed the most stunning display of colors. Vibrant deep blue and orange, cast in the sky by the sunset, reflected into the pond with the dark silhouettes of trees. It was the most beautiful deep and rich display of colors. I really savored this view and the moment.

This was not the only time I made a spontaneous pull off to the side of the road because beauty caught my eye. I had done it quite a few times throughout my stay in the park. Usually if one sees another car pulled over at a seemingly random spot, it’s because someone spotted some wildlife, and soon cars began to pile up. In this fashion, on a later trip to Yellowstone, I’d see my first wolf. At one point this day I pulled over because I noticed some beautiful flowers, and I wanted to take their picture. Then a number of cars slowed down, some pulled over. “What do you see? What do you see? Is there a bear, a buffalo?”

“No, I’m just taking a picture of some flowers,” I responded. They seemed disappointed, dismissed me and drove on. Oftentimes, in a quest to find the biggest or most shocking feature on the land, some people miss out on the exquisite detail of the smaller, finer things, like the flowers along the way, or the colors of the sunset reflected in the waters.

When I reached my campground I had completed a full day. Hiking up Mount Washburn was one of the final things I did. I had also visited the Mammoth Hot Springs area earlier and took in the unique stacks of thermal springs. I took a self guided tour of Fort Yellowstone at Mammoth Hot Springs where the U.S. Army was stationed to patrol the park in early days. Now the buildings which constitute the fort are ranger residences. My mind was captivated with the thought, and I daydreamed, of what it would be like to call this place home. These buildings were homes. People lived here, had families here, had cookouts in the backyard as children played. Inside was their furniture, their things. This was their home, and it was in Yellowstone! How incredible! On a side note- something that rightfully needs to be documented, for it changed my life- here in the Mammoth Village I discovered huckleberry licorice, which would go on to become my favorite candy.

After visiting Mammoth Hot Springs, I visited Roosevelt Arch, and stepped foot into Montana for the first time. I then took Blacktail Drive, a scenic park drive on a gravel road. It was quite serene and I saw quite a number of buffalo there. I also took in the Calcite Springs Overlook. Midday I found myself sitting on a rocking chair on the porch at Roosevelt Lodge. This lodge and cabin complex was built in the 1920s at the site where Theodore Roosevelt once camped by llamar valley. It is rustic and has a lot of warm charm. I had already eaten and was not hungry, but I looked at the menu at the lodge. I saw a cozy dining room while a fireplace crackled. The buffalo burger on a corn bread roll really jumped out at me, and I kicked myself for not waiting to eat here. Someday on one of my journeys between Kentucky and Montana, I want to stop here and have the full Roosevelt Lodge experience.

After my third full day in Yellowstone, I felt like I got to know the park, but knew there was much more to see and discover. I would come back and visit again. Next on my summer adventure plan was a stop at Craters of the Moon National Monument in Idaho, but before I left Yellowstone in the morning, I would find myself in a “buffalo jam,” as they call it. At least fifty buffalo overtook the road I was on. I came to a complete stop in my vehicle as buffalo of all sizes crowded around. They walked slowly around my vehicle. It was incredible. I saw buffalo calves for the first time. They look like strange deformed ponies, I thought. At one point a large buffalo stopped right in front of my car. He stared at me through the windshield. He nodded his head toward the right and then the left, and then looked back at me. It was as if he didn’t know he had to walk around the car. Oh No! I then became a bit concerned that the buffalo might try pushing my car or walking up upon it. After a few minutes it figured out the solution was to walk around. I could have lowered down my window and pet it’s back, it was so close. I was thrilled. This buffalo jam was perhaps the most unique and marvelous wildlife encounter I had ever had thus far. More kept coming and coming. I felt so fortunate to be here at just the right moment. I couldn’t have imagined a better crowd to wish me farewell on my journey.

Read the previous entry “Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch- What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me” here: Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch – What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Why I Cried at Roosevelt Arch – What Theodore Roosevelt and the National Parks Mean to Me

January 17, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, natureTagged National Park Service, national parks, Roosevelt Arch, Theodore Roosevelt, yellowstone, yellowstone national park2 Comments

When I saw Roosevelt Arch I cried. It churned up an emotional response in me. This gateway to Yellowstone National Park, situated near the Northwest corner of the park, tugged at my heartstrings. To understand why, I must reflect on it and consider myself in the moment, for the emotions brought up were so deeply entrenched. It’s not something to skim off the surface of my being.

I think to best understand the reason for my emotions I must consider Roosevelt Arch in three aspects. First, I must consider its symbolic meaning, what does Roosevelt Arch mean? Next, I must consider it’s visual appeal, why does this visual provoke this feeling? And thirdly, I must reflect upon the man whose name is inscribed upon it: Theodore Roosevelt.

It is certainly not without evidence the measure of significance the National Parks means to me. I have visited so many and have written extensively about them. The National Parks are places I go to restore my soul. When life is burdensome, and I’m weighed down by the heaviness it entails, when I lose perspective and get caught in the rush and concerns of the moment, the National Parks with their magnitude, beauty, and remoteness have become places I go to step out of my troubles and find perspective. The immensity of the mountains, the richness of the forest, the profoundness of the canyons humble me and diminish the concerns in my own life as I gain perspective of the bigger canvas of life.

As I am inspired by the grandiosity of things I also find such beauty in the smaller things- in the wildlife, in the design of plants, the way water flows and sits, and in the beautiful way the sun filters through the trees or paints across the plains. Everything big or small is so near perfectly balanced, beautiful and unique, reminding me of the awesome expansive creativity of God. And here, as I am surrounded by God’s artwork, I am reassured knowing the same wonderful Maker who crafted these lands and natural wonders is the Architect and Orchestrator of my own life. I see that the fingerprints in nature are the same fingerprints in my own design. It is such a humbling yet reassuring feeling to know the awesome Creator and Coordinator of nature has His hands on my life.

Here in the remoteness and solitude of so many parks I am ushered into a place where I can focus in on this masterful Creator, to pray, to reflect, to enjoy His company in the still, calm, and quiet. Man has constructed temples, churches, and cathedrals, all of which can serve so much good, but God has also gifted us, in his own incredible design, temples in nature that point us back to him in a unique way. Whether it’s the stunning Yosemite Valley, the wide openings of the Rio Grande, the mountain peak in Appalachia, the spread of glaciers in the Rockies, or beneath a giant sequoia, these places of quietude and beauty are here for us to draw us back to the Creator.

In addition to these spiritual aspects, there are other more broadly understood terms in which the parks have been meaningful to me. They have been places that have put me up to challenges, physically and mentally- taking on long strenuous hikes, pulling my weight up cliff sides, overcoming fear in turbulent water, and problem solving when things have gone awry. The experiences in the parks have strengthened me physically and mentally and in return have been good for my soul. In the same regard they have instilled in myself a greater confidence in my own abilities, and have given me a passion to which I identify. My experiences in the parks have molded me into the outdoorsman I am, have spurred in me the desire and necessity to learn new skills, and have kindled the appreciation and thirst for beauty and adventure.

So here I was at Roosevelt Arch, this manmade structure was the first and primary entrance to Yellowstone National Park for many years. Montana was the main means of entry into the park as support for the exploration of Yellowstone primarily came out of the Montana Territory through the Washburn Expedition. When the railroad was brought to Yellowstone it came through Gardiner, Montana, and thus a grand entryway to Yellowstone was constructed in 1903 with the inscription above it “For the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” This phrase comes out of the Organic Act which established Yellowstone as a National Park, but it is unofficially a slogan used throughout the National Park Service. Standing here in front of the arch I see how it greatly contrasts the wild remote landscape around it of mountain and field. And this structure is bold and tall, a mighty gateway to Yellowstone. It was evident to me that this was the entrance not simply to Yellowstone but to the first National Park. Thus this arch, this portal, is where it all began. This is the doorway to all the National Parks and a monument to one of America’s best ideas.

In this moment, before the arch, I was also swept away with patriotism. My country has chosen to preserve such treasures and honor such beauty. The heroes, the fathers of the National Parks- now long gone- made this possible, people such as John Muir, Theodore Roosevelt, Stephen Mather, Nathaniel Langford- all outstanding Americans. Just the fall before, a turbulent election took place. Some people became very vocal about their thoughts on the United States. Some citizens renounced patriotism and attacked the country with boisterous and repetitive rhetoric, and many in higher education proudly slandered our nation. When I was in New York City visiting my brother and sister-in-law, walking down Fifth Avenue, a group of young people chanted and pleaded for the abolishment of the United States. How infuriating that was, but how refreshing and restorative to be here at Roosevelt Arch to celebrate the natural wonders my country has chosen to preserve for the ‘benefit and enjoyment” of all people and recognize the patriots that made this possible. People need to get out of the cities every once and while and enjoy the wonders of nature and the diversity of the country.

It is without question that my knowledge of Theodore Roosevelt himself is part responsible for this emotional response to seeing this arch. Theodore Roosevelt, more so than any modern historical figure, has had the greatest influence upon my character. It is largely due to the difficulties he endured and the principles by which he stood. This man knew pain, physical and emotional, to great profundities. Some may see him as privileged, and although he was in some regards, he also was a man of great misfortune. Life was not nice to him in many ways. He lost his father as a young man and both his mom and wife died soon after on the same day- a day in which in his journal he’d remark solely: “the light has gone out of my life,” with an X. This was a man who felt like he lost everything. Before, he spent much of his younger youth physically Ill. Severe asthma and intestinal issues plagued him. I have not experienced nearly as much hardship as Roosevelt, but I, like so many people, have faced my own hardships in life. I’ve had my own extensive and grave health issues, have lost dreams, and have been in emotional distress. How inspiring it is to see Roosevelt not allow himself to be beaten down by life, not to wallow in self pity, but rather do the most unexpected thing and learn to embrace the difficulties of life, to accept life for what it is, to find value in challenge and hardships. He grabbed difficulty by the horns and called it for what it is: “the strenuous life,” something he preached about. Although his lot in life initially dealt him misfortune, he did not let that hinder him. Roosevelt loved life. He had a passion for it in all regards, and lived it to the fullest, courageously and vigorously.

This wimpy, sickly child, not expected to survive past childhood, would go on to occupy the bully pulpit. He’d clean up sin loving New York City as police commissioner and governor, charge up San Juan Hill as a commander, see that the Panama Canal was constructed under his presidency, attack corruption in Washington, author more than forty-five books, raise six children, and work to preserve more federal land than any other president, creating a culture of natural preservation. Although so accomplished as president, being one was not always in his plans. He once said he never wanted to become president, but he became one by destiny. When president Mckinley was assassinated in 1901, Roosevelt had to assume office. Although, expectedly so, he rose to the occasion and preserved the dignity of the office, he made light of the frivolity among the Washington political elite, for Roosevelt, despite his status, was a common man. He may have been born into the New York elite, but this man was relatable to the ordinary American. He’d camped with them, hunted with them, ate with them. He left the comforts of high-class New York City and became a rough and tumble cowboy and rancheman in the Dakota Territory. He did not simply identify with a class of people, he identified as American.

Along with his firm sense of nationalism, Roosevelt also defined in his own terms what it meant to be a man. Having read many books by and about Roosevelt, this is a motif I’ve found that spans his life and story. Always to some extent he was preoccupied with thoughts of manhood and how to live up to and fulfill his duty as a man. He’d observe characteristics in others, then write about them and speak about them. He would come to define manhood by four principles: courage, hardiness, integrity, and independence. I think presently, our nation, as a whole, lacks strong male role models. Modern attacks on masculinity, and fatherless homes, have left a generation confused and lost in society. Media has watered down or redefined manhood in physical and lustful terms. The youth more than ever need men like Roosevelt to lead them and teach by his legacy.

I suppose on a more uniquely personal level, I identify so strongly with Roosevelt because of his passions: America, history, reading, recreation, nature, and writing. Although hunting and fatherhood are two huge parts of the Roosevelt experience that I am not yet personally acquainted with, we have such similar interests and worldview, that an overwhelming majority of things Roosevelt said are relatable to me in some regard. Thus he has become quite intriguing to me.

So with all these characteristics in mind, here I was at Roosevelt Arch. Theodore Roosevelt had laid the cornerstone for this magnificent construction that would be dedicated to him. With all the symbolic meaning, as a gateway to America’s National Parks, bearing the name of Roosevelt and the slogan, “For the benefit and enjoyment of the people,” how could I not get emotional? This place appealed to me on so many levels. This was the door that unlocked all the National Parks which would mean so much to me and to so many.

“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike” – John Muir, The Yosemite.

Read the previous entry “Providence in Yellowstone” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2021/01/15/providence-in-yellowstone/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Check out my book Theodore Roosevelt for the Holidays: Christmas and Thanksgiving with the Bull Moose here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08M8Y5P29

Providence in Yellowstone

January 15, 2021January 15, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, travel, UncategorizedTagged grand canyon of the yellowstone, museum of the national park ranger, national parks, yellowstone, yellowstone national park1 Comment

It was day two in Yellowstone National Park. I slept soundly in my tent, despite the campground being full, crowded, and not having much privacy at all.

On my morning stroll to the bathroom I saw a buffalo walking between two campsites right alongside the picnic table and a RV. I hadn’t expected it. I suppose he wanted to wish all us visitors a “good morning.” It reminded me of one morning in Rocky Mountain National Park when an elk was grazing right alongside a camper’s tent.

It was a cold and overcast morning. Wet clouds hung low overhead. I quickly disassembled my tent and threw it into the backseat of the car. I could only reserve this campsite for one night. Yellowstone in the summer is an extremely busy place. The next two nights I’d camp at the Grant Village Campground. Once in my car, I had some breakfast from my stash of dried foods and began my day’s itinerary as spelled out in my book. My first stop was at the Fishing Bridge. This long century-old log pole bridge stretched over the Yellowstone River just as it forms and flows northward from Yellowstone Lake. Pine trees stand snug at the water’s edge and some inlets give way to marsh. It was a quiet and peaceful place, especially at this time in the morning. I strolled quietly and contemplatively. Then a big bus came to a stop, hissed, opened its doors and a swarm of Chinese tourists poured onto the bridge, equipped for the misty weather with transparent ponchos and ready to take photograph selfies, nearly each one carrying a selfie-stick.

More so than any other park, Yellowstone seems to be a favorite among Asian tourists. Tour busses full of these well-equipped tourists are found all over the park. In addition, signs in the bathrooms and outhouses instruct foreign visitors on how to use toilets in the United States; the general store at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone has an Asian food isle with a variety of noodles; and restaurants in the park seemingly cater to a certain tourist- namely with the noodle wok. Days prior in Grand Teton National Park, on my guided hike around Swan Lake, the Ranger brought this up, explaining how the influx of Chinese tourists is because of the current strong middle class in China. I also think it just must be in particular fashion in China to visit U.S. National Parks. Tour companies are designed for and are catering to this demographic, probably making quite a wealth for themselves.

When I left the Fishing Bridge I proceeded Northward and drove a short distance to the Mud Volcano. On my way I saw another buffalo trailing the road. At the Mud Volcano area there was a short boardwalk around gurgling and burping mud pots of highly acidic water that erodes the volcanic rock and turns it into a sludgy thick ooze. The landscape here was very soupy with water sitting, boiling, slowly flowing, and burping up from the ground all around. The most impressive feature here was the Dragon’s Mouth. A hole in an embankment by a thermal pool hissed and gurgled as it constantly let out steam, resembling just what it’s title suggests.

After making another couple brief stops I arrived at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone at Artist’s Point. There were crowds of Mandrian speaking tourists, posing in front of the viewspots once again with their selfie sticks. Behind them was one of the most magnificent views in the National Park Service: Lower Falls at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. It is incredibly picturesque. A platform juts out at the edge of the canyon, where crumbling yellowstone is on display traveling down to the focal point of the perfectly flowing immensity of the Lower Falls which is so entirely uninhibited. This is one of those marvels of nature which is hard to take in and gain perspective of. The beauty before you is just astounding. You feel almost as if you are trapped in a painting trying to gain your bearings. Although I was surrounded by people, I tuned them out, and my mind and eyes became fixated at the wonder before me. Captivated would be the most appropriate word. All the sounds and clutter around me dispersed, and I was still, calm, and quiet to my perception. What a wonderful piece of artistry- truly striking- not happenstance but designed.

Then… “Take photo?” asked the tourist in broken English. “Sure,” I replied. When I was done taking the photo I turned behind me to look off the other side of the observation platform to the peculiar display of the canyon walls which slid diagonally down towards the river from a definite abrupt edge of pine treeline. Colors were on strange display here in nature’s own pink and yellow drooping down in rock formation like melted crayons.

While in the area I escaped onto a trail that followed the ridgeline. At one point it veered into a dark and moist forest, and at the time I thought this might have been a prime bear habitat. All alone with not much experience in bear country, I decided to head back towards the crowds. I drove over to the trailhead for Uncle Tom’s Trail, where I descended 328 stairs to the base of the Lower Falls. It was cold and wet, and my stay was brief.

My next stop was at the commercial area of the Canyon Village. Sharing a parking-lot was a general store, an outdoor gear shop, a souvenir shop, and the Canyon Lodge, which is not exactly a lodge but a cafeteria. The cafeteria was very nice and newly renovated in a 1960s style. Something also about the design made me think of a lodge. It seemed like I was at a high elevation ski lodge, not that I had ever been to one before, but it gave off that vibe to me. Here there were two lanes, two sections: One they called “American food” and the other “Asian food.” I was surprised no one had thrown a fit about their terminology in this “woke” era. For me it was just fine. I thought most fitting for my visit to Yellowstone was some classic American cuisine. I had a pot roast with smashed potatoes and gravy with mixed vegetables and garlic sauce. I was surprised by the quality of the food- top notch for a National Park- so much so that I’d come back here to eat the following day.

My first trip to a National Park in my adult life was in the fall of 2014 to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee. This was the fall after my summer trip to Disney World. Being a classic Disney fan, the trip was everything I hoped it could be, or “magical” I guess is what they say. I enjoyed hopping from one park to another, moving about from one attraction to another, and taking the buses around to visit the different resorts. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park, with all it’s different parts, whether the high reaches of Newfound Gap, the scenic valley of Cades Cove, or the hub of the Sugarland, it’s variety is similar to the different parks in Disney World; and all its different features like Alum Cave, Clingmans Dome, Laurel Falls, Charles Bunion, etc. are like all the rides and attractions in Disney World. I remember thinking the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is the Disney World for the nature lover. Not every park is like this. Not all parks have different sections and a plethora of varying attractions, but Yellowstone most certainly does more so than any other park. Yellowstone has an abundance of “attractions”, numerous villages, lodges, and restaurants. It is an enormous theme park. I’d say The Great Smoky Mountains is more like a Disneyland and Yellowstone is Disney World. It’s at a whole different level- or “a whole new world” as they say.

After having lunch in the Canyon Lodge I proceeded on my journey. I stopped at the Museum of the National Park Ranger between the Canyon Village and Madison by the Gibbon River and Gibbon Falls, which I also admired. I tell my students back in Kentucky jokingly that when I grow up I am going to be a park ranger. I so admire park rangers and think it would be a most intriguing profession. So, without a doubt, a stop at this museum was necessary. The Museum of the National Park Ranger was located in an old building that used to house soldiers back when Yellowstone was patrolled by the U.S. Army in its early days. This museum gave a brief history of the National Park Ranger; showed a re-creation of an early ranger residential quarters; displayed old newspaper articles and photographs; showcased badges which signify different rankings and classifications within the ranger system; and most fascinating to me at the time, displayed a map from 1916 of the United States with all the National Parks labeled. Something on this map jumped right out at me: a number of the National Parks on the map were no more. What happened to them? There was a retired park ranger volunteering to answer questions in the museum. So naturally…

“What happened to these parks on this map that don’t exist anymore.”

He seemed pleased to have a question to answer. His grey mustache bounced up and down as he spoke. His passion for the National Parks was evident. “Well, some were given back to state and local supervision, and others were defaced so much that they lost their cultural value.” I found this to be quite an interesting bit of information. Later, in my days working in Montana, I’d get an original publication of the book Oh Ranger by Horace Albright. In this book there is a map with a number of National Parks and Monuments that also are no more. At Seven Islands State Birding Park in East Tennessee an exhibit on Tennessee State Parks explains how a number of National Park units in Tennessee were redesignated as state parks.

When media outlets complain of a politician downsizing federal lands, I’ve come to find that really, in many instances, the public land is put back into the hands of state and local municipalities. This detail is left out in reporting as it doesn’t always fit the narrative. Mackinac National Park became Mackinac Island State Park. Lewis and Clark Cavern National Monument became Montana’s first state park, Father Millet Cross National Monument became Old Fort Niagara State Historic Site, and the proposed Pioneer National Monument became a series of state parks in Kentucky including Fort Boonesborough State Park, to name a few.

Once done at the museum and with my pleasant chat with the retired ranger, I continued on my journey and down the left side of my day’s loop. The main parkway is like a number “8.” I was on the left side of the lower loop. The upper loop of the “8” I had not seen at all yet and would be reserved for the following day. On my journey on the lower loop I stopped at the Artist’s Paintpots where a number of mudpots, fumaroles, and springs painted lavalike colors across the broken and soupy landscape of delicate earth. A boardwalk guided the tourists among the features. I had plans to stop at the Midway Geyser Basin to see the famous Grand Prismatic Spring. But the traffic was backed up to the road. I decided I’d come back early in the morning.

I proceeded to the bottom of the number “8” on the West Thumb of Lake Yellowstone where I had a campsite reserved at the Grant Village Campground. I checked in and set up my tent in the cold misty forest. It was very similar to the campground I stayed in at Grand Teton National Park. The Grant Village Campground provides visitors campsites within little nooks in the forest. It’s a quiet, recommended campground in the park. After setting up camp I went to the general store, which had a small cafe attached to it selling sandwiches and ice cream. I ordered a sandwich. When I held out my debit card to pay, the employee asked to see an ID.

“Kentucky! We are from Kentucky!” the cashier exclaimed. “My wife and I are from Louisville. We are teachers. We just work the summer here in Yellowstone.”

This is an important moment in my life. My mind flashed back to the waitress in Jackson Lake Lodge talking about how she got a summer job online, and I remembered she wrote me the web address to find summer jobs in National Parks on a napkin. I briefly thought about pursuing it, but I had doubts as a teacher if I would have enough time and the capability to escape from my normal life for such a adventurous summer job. But then this couple were teachers here from my state! They were able to work around the education system in Kentucky to get away for the summer. If they could do it, I could do it! I would do it! They had inspired me.

Trying to follow in their footsteps, a year later, in the winter, I applied and pursued vigorously the opportunity to work in Yellowstone. I was shot down. They wanted more of a time commitment than what I could offer as a teacher. This didn’t stop me. There had to be a way, for this couple did it. I tried other parks. I tried Big Bend National Park in Texas and Glacier National Park in Montana. I received job offers from both! A privately owned mercantile just outside of Glacier National Park won out. In the summer of 2019 I’d find myself working my first summer in what would become my most favorite place on earth. My heart would get lost in Montana, and my experiences in Montana would be some of the fondest and most meaningful in my life. The people I’d meet in Montana would become some of my most treasured. It was this moment in Yellowstone- this teacher couple from Kentucky- who would put all of this in motion. Coincidence? I think not. Coordinated? Definitely.

Read the previous entry “Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone” here: Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone

January 2, 2021January 2, 2021Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, travelTagged national parks, old faithful, old faithful inn, upper geyser basin, west geyser basin, wyoming, yellowstone, yellowstone in a day, yellowstone national park1 Comment

Yellowstone, with gurgling mud pots, colorful pools, hot springs, and geysers shooting into the air, it’s nature’s wonderland. Herds of bison, elk, the curious badger, and ravenous wolves call it home. Cascades and waterfalls, sprawling valleys, rivers, and lakes are pocketed in all corners. It’s so huge and magnificent that it’s daunting to even write about. It is the first National Park, founded in 1872, and among the larger ones at 3,471 square miles, larger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined. Central Park is to New York City as Yellowstone is to the United States of America. It is America’s park.

I wanted to give myself plenty of time to make acquaintance, so I had given myself three days, but one could really spend a lifetime exploring its vast wonders. I had bought a book in the gift store at the visitor center of the neighboring Grand Teton National Park titled “Yellowstone in a Day,” published by the Yellowstone Association. It really spelled out an itinerary for Yellowstone in 3 days with optional additional days itineraries.. It was precisely what I needed, and so truly I visited Yellowstone by the book. It calmed my worry that I might miss something of importance. I knew assuredly, before all else, that I needed to see Old Faithful. That was a must, along with the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. I knew I wanted to see Grand Prismatic Spring, but at this point, arriving at the park, I didn’t even know its name nor if the images I had seen of a grandiose and colorful pool were of various springs around Yellowstone or one specific. I’d learn that Grand Prismatic is definitely that one that sticks out from the rest, boasting its own character, photographed many times.

I entered Yellowstone from the south from Grand Teton National Park via the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Memorial Parkway which connects the two parks together. I beheld the entrance sign and took my photo by it and then proceeded to the West Thumb Geyser Basin. Here a half mile boardwalk meanders atop of a delicate landscape where a number of geothermal springs display extravagantly bright turquoise pools which steam into the cool air. Signs warn that the ground may be thin and advise visitors not to step on it but to stay on the boardwalk. Thus the ground appears to the eye like a thin pebbly and crispy crust just atop a earth that bubbles and steams, alive and breathing. The boardwalk descends down along the side of Yellowstone Lake, where one can see over three miles across to the snow capped mountains. Just aside the boardwalk are a few geothermal features within the lake water visible to the eye. There is one called the Fishing Hole. It is not more than a mound that pokes up in the lake with a couple-foot hole in the top where boiling water feeds into the lake. It got the name as the Fishing Hole because there is a tale of a man who would go fishing right here in Yellowstone Lake. Once he caught his fish he’d dip the line over in the hole and cook his fish right there and have himself a meal.

When I came near the completion of the West Thumb Geyser Basin Loop, a female elk popped out of the adjacent pine forest and stepped onto the boardwalk. She simply crossed over the boardwalk and meandered between the geothermal pools. People stopped and gathered to take pictures. I was surprised how unfazed the elk was with all the visitors- but most animals in Yellowstone are rather comfortable with visitors. It’s as if the animals are trying to say. “This is my home, I am quite comfortable here. You are on my turf.” As a visitor, I really do feel like I’ve come inside the animals’ home in Yellowstone. I truly am a visitor here- more so than in any other park. This is the animals’ park.

Leaving the West Thumb Geyser Basin in car, I traveled to the Upper Geyser Basin, the home of Old Faithful! This is perhaps the most prized feature of the National Park Service. The parking lot conveys so with its enormous size. Here a village sprawls horseshoe alongside this feature. Here in this park within a park, is the Old Faithful Inn, Old Faithful Lodge, main park visitor center, Snow Lodge Cafeteria, and a large gift shop and general store. I wanted to see it all, and so I did. When I left my car, I saw a number of noisy crows perched atop a few vehicles. Were they welcoming me, or was their pestering cry their attempt to tell me to go away? Probably they were just looking for handouts. I rushed into the village in excitement. I just had to see Old Faithful erupt! I learned she did so about every hour. Enormous crowds gathered around a boardwalk which outlined the site of the geyser. Some wood benches were built into the boardwalk, but they were already taken. Intently observing, before its eruption there were a few brief spurts, leaving me wondering is that it? Sometimes tourist attractions can be overhyped, but when Old Faithful did erupt, she DID erupt, unmistakably, shooting into the sky pillars of water. People oohed and aahed, and it was everything I hoped for. Water towered upon water, hissing and boiling. It was an overcast day so unfortunately Old Faithful didn’t contrast against a blue sky, but she was still visible with great billows of steam. When the tower of water sunk back into the ground, the tourist quickly disappeared. Many headed back to the parking lot or into the gift shop. I was hungry and ready for lunch. I ate in the Old Faithful Lodge cafeteria, which has an exposed log frame and overlooks the site of Old Faithful through its big windows. This was one of five choices for me to eat just in this village, but at the time I did not know.

When I was done with lunch I took the couple mile boardwalk loop from Old Faithful along the Firehole River to the Upper Geyser Basin boardwalk. Here there were numerous geysers, the highest concentration in the world. There was lots of hissing and bubbling all around, and the air was filled with the repugnant smell of warm sulfuric acid evaporating into the cool mountain air. Seemingly at random, a geyser would erupt for a few minutes, tourists rushed to it, but then moments later elsewhere along the boardwalk, another would erupt and the tourists were drawn to another direction, each tourist reveling in the presumption that perhaps they were the first one to have seen the geyser erupt in maybe hundreds of years, but most of these geysers like Old Faithful are pretty consistent.

When I neared the farthest end of the path, I was desperate to go to the bathroom. The hissing and bubbling eruptions, and the flowing water taking place all around, did not help my predicament. There was a line for an outhouse of about a half-dozen people. I couldn’t fathom having to wait so long with the urgency I was experiencing, but I did and in the meantime I helped a few tourists open a bear proof garbage can. They were struggling and did not know how to open it. I felt quite experienced.

When my walk through the Upper Geyser Basin was complete, I was back next to Old Faithful and walked into the Old Faithful Inn. I get goosebumps on the verge of writing about this place, because it is the most impressive structure and most magical hotel in all of the National Park Service. It is the first “grand” lodge in all of the National Park Service. Shabby accommodations did exist beforehand, but this inn took everything to another level. This became the largest log hotel in the world. This inn was also the birth of the National Park Service Rustic architecture style, which sought to create buildings which harmonized and fit in with the natural surroundings. Imperfections and asymmetry, rebellious to the styles of the industrialized world, were welcomed. Hand labor contributed greatly to this style, and Robert Reamer who designed this hotel went on to create a number of other lodges in National Parks. When Theodore Roosevelt and naturalist John Burroughs toured Yellowstone in 1903 they saw plans for the lodge, and it’s been noted that Theodore Roosevelt praised the plans extensively.

When one walks into the lobby he or she is greeted by an enormous stone stacked fireplace in the middle of the atrium. Its chimney is extremely bold, larger than the rooms would be in many houses, and it extends six levels up through the rustic log roof. The logs which make up the whole building are not shiny and refined, but rough and rustic, unpolished and wild. Each level has a balcony which looks down into the main lobby. Just standing in the lobby looking around the place impressed me greatly. It truly looked handmade, and most of it was. It’s a mighty fortress of a structure and the epitome of a childhood dream of a fort in the woods. The top two levels in the lobby were small crows nests for musicians. Back in its earlier days, dances were held on this lobby floor to the live music above.

I wanted to spend some time here and enjoy this building and its architecture, so I went to the small cafe adjacent to the lobby and bought an overpriced cinnamon scone and a cup of orange spice tea. I walked up the rugged uneven stairs, noticing families on vacation climbing the stairs causally, hauling their suitcases. I couldn’t even imagine the delight of spending a night in such a place. I’d be so elated you’d see it all over my face. On the third level I stopped and sat on a rocking chair which faced the railing before me and the lobby below. A violinist up in the crow’s nest began to play soothing and relaxing music. This moment was so perfect. I just reveled in and savored it. The sights, the sounds, and the comfort of my hot tea were all perfect.

Resting here I imagined what it was like back in the day when the only way to this remote lodge was through the great wilderness on coach. There weren’t any roads nor the infrastructure of today. What a magnificent place to come upon in the wild after days of travel by horse, foot, or coach. The warm fireplace would have been so welcoming, and although rustic in style, this would have been luxurious. I imagined the visitors all dressed up dancing across the wooden floor below to the sound of the fiddle in the rafters.

Then, stop, I reminded myself: Be still. Be calm Be quite, and be ever present in this moment, savoring it completely for what it is. I so thoroughly enjoyed my break of peace and quietude here and often think back to it at the mention of Yellowstone. After sitting here for probably a good half hour, I resumed meandering around and found myself outside on a rooftop terrace facing Old Faithful. She was erupting again and I enjoyed it all a second time. This was a great vantage point of Old Faithful without the herds of people. It was cold outside so I didn’t loiter for too long. I went back in and went into the gift shop in the inn. I bought two post cards- one vintage one for my parents and another artistic one for my friend Ricky in California. I took them with me to the second floor where a few small old wooden desks outlined the walls. The desks had built in lamps and cozy wings for privacy. I filled out the postcards and then decided I better head to camp. I took a short stop by the Kepler Cascades, as the book instructed, on my way to my campsite at Bridge Bay, which I had reserved months in advance.

I arrived at the campground just before dusk. The campsite was mostly an open field with no privacy and very few trees, but I didn’t mind. By the time I was done setting up camp, the sun had set and I could hear a ranger giving a talk over at the campground amphitheater. I thought about joining but felt my time was best spent getting reorganized in my car and off to bed. After cleaning out my car and getting organized, I made my trip to the campground bathroom to brush my teeth, and then I settled into my tent with my park map and my “Yellowstone in a Day” book to see what the plan would be for tomorrow.

Read the previous entry “The Mighty Tetons” here: The Mighty Tetons – on the verge (joshthehodge.com)

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

Valles Calderas and the Land of Enchantment

September 10, 2020September 10, 2020Posted in national parksTagged bandelier, colorado, national monuments, national parks, new mexico, santa fe national forest, valles calderas2 Comments

Valles Calderas is some sort of a dreamland. You don’t find it on Earth. You find it in fantasy, but it so happens to also be within the state of New Mexico. This place really makes the New Mexican state motto “Land of Enchantment ” come to life, and it’s a stark contrast from the dry desert stretches of southern New Mexico. According to geologists, long ago a giant volcano erupted creating a thirteen mile wide depression in the ground which now is rolling meadows and streams surrounded by rounded coniferous mountains. It’s not enormously epic in presentation but surprisingly comforts and charms the visitor. Wide open expanses of bright green grass contrasted with the dark green of the conifers splashed out under the cloudless blue sky create the perfect artistry. The small streams meander around the landscape, waters reflecting the rich blue of the sky.

The visitor center was a small, seemingly temporary building. Little information was provided about this National Park unit. It was designated a National Natural Landmark by the National Park Service in 1975 but then gained the designation of a National Preserve in 2000. I had assumed it was an even more recently established National Park unit since it didn’t have its own uniform National Park brochure like all the other National Park sites.

When I arrived I was unsure of what to see or what to do. Uncharacteristic of the usual very friendly and informative National Park rangers and employees, it seemed like the employee here was just not eager to share information. After explaining that it was my first time here, and not getting much response, I decided I’d just ask about the park drive. I remember my friend and coworker, Jamie Hamblin, had been here the summer before with her parents and she shared enthusiastically how breathtaking the park drive was. I got instructions from the employee to drive up to the gate, get out of my car, open it, and close it when leaving. I came to think that perhaps being a preserve this place was not intended for recreation but more of just a place to protect wildlife. Therefore I did not get out of my car. I simply drove the road. I’d later find out that this is a recreation destination with hiking, biking, camping, horseback riding, and even hunting opportunities. I drove around for about an hour on the dirt road that meanders through the meadows. I did not see any remarkable wildlife, only deer, but I’ve been told at times one can see herds of elk here. I just enjoyed the peacefulness of the drive and the beautiful scenery.

When I left, I made the scenic half hour drive through the Santa Fe National Forest alongside Los Alamos among the sweet smelling pines to Bandelier National Monument. Here much green was replaced by arid red rock. Seventy percent of the nearly 34,000 acres is designated wilderness. I only had about an hour to spare. Although National Monuments can sometimes be even more impressive and worthwhile than some of our designated National Parks, my trips give time priority to National Parks, and along the way I try to stop and visit as many National Monuments and other National Park Service sites as I can. Given my time constraints I hiked along the 1.2 mile loop from the visitor center to see the cliff dwellings and rock houses of the early pueblo people. A series of ladders adjoined rock faces, where small rock homes were formed often into the natural cavities and indents of the jumbled red rock formations. These were unique from the dwellings seen at places like Mesa Verde or Canyonlands where they are often constructed under cliff overhangs.

As I walked across the parking lot to my car, I passed by another solo traveler just getting out of his vehicle. He had a jeep adorned with stickers of many parks, many that I’d been to. By his appearance it looked like he may have been camping for days as well. As I’ve mentioned before, people to me are like books. I am fascinated by people’s stories. Where do they come from? Where is their story headed? Solo travelers intrigue me the most. Those are the books I most want to read. Maybe it’s simply because I relate, or also because I know that traveling solo, especially on cross country road trips, takes a lot of character. It can be lonely and challenging at first and others may question, but then one resolves these predicaments and learns to carry on and enjoy the adventure, solitude and all. At least this is my experience. I want to know the stories of others.

Leaving Bandelier National Monument, I drove through some remote stretches of northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. Crossing into Colorado I passed by many open fields with the backdrops of mountains behind them. This was very much the ranching part of Colorado, a side I hadn’t seen much of before. This was the backbone of the continent. This was the place I’d read about, of ranchers with grit along the continental divide. The further I drove into Colorado the more green and welcoming the environment became especially after having been in the desert for many days. I stopped for dinner at a Subway and got out of my car into a cooler and slightly less arid climate. I remember thinking how this was not the tourist route, and here I was a young man from Kentucky out in the rural stretches of Colorado. I felt out of place, far from home, but that didn’t bother me one bit. I felt accomplished to be so out of my ordinary. I stopped at a gas station for some Muddy Buddy Chex mix and I then carried on with my four hour drive.

The sun making it’s late evening descent among the mountains and fields of cattle was beautiful and peaceful. The road took me into Rio Grande National Forest alongside the East Pass Creek. This calming scenery reminded me of why I take these trips and it filled me with a renewed sense of excitement for the travels ahead of me. But I was also travel weary from spending so much of the day in the car. I realized I still had at least an hour drive left, I was not looking forward to finding my campsite and setting up in the dark in Curecanti National Recreation Area, my intended destination. While considering the predicament I came to a National Forest Service sign labeled Buffalo Pass Campground off to the side of the road. Perhaps I’d abandon my plan and stay here.

I pulled off the main road onto a gravel one and found a simple but beautiful campground sitting alone in solidarity amongst pine trees with a field to one side outlined with a rustic split rail snake fence. No one else was here, but this campground really spoke to me. It’s one of my favorite campgrounds I’ve ever stayed in. It’s difficult to put my finger on exactly why. There was something very attractive about it, being so remote, being an unexpected find, very quiet and peaceful, not crowded with growth, but open and spacious but still in the forest. It was a place of good vibes, or as in Mexican Spanish, “buena onda.” I set up camp here at dusk, changed into some comfortable pajamas, and made a campfire as the sun slowly began to rest casting a sleepy blue all over the campground. When my fire died down I laid in my tent and fell asleep while reading a book about early pioneer life in West Texas. The following day I’d check out Curecanti National Recreation Area and arrive at the most intriguing and Jurassic Dinosaur National Monument.

Read the previous entry “The Sandia Mountains and the Old Town,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/03/11/the-sandia-mountains-and-the-old-town/

Check out my book Canyonlands: my adventures in the national parks and the beautiful wild here: https://www.amazon.com/Canyonlands-adventures-National-Parks-beautiful/dp/1711397873

The Sandia Mountains and the Old Town

March 11, 2020March 11, 2020Posted in national parks, new mexico, travelTagged Albuquerque, merica clothing co, new mexico, old barrel tea, old town, sandia mountains1 Comment

My visit to Albuquerque was a pleasant one despite the fact that my gum infection was raging on and I was in a continual nuisance of pain. The night before my day of Albuquerque exploration I had a hard time sleeping as the pain was throbbing and so bad that it was creating a vibration sensation in my ears. I took some Tylenol and was able to sleep a bit on-and-off. In addition to the pain was the anxiety that this infection could escalate to the point that it could hinder or even stop my summer adventure.

I was visiting my cousin Rachel, her husband Alex, and their four year old son Malcolm. They devoted the whole day to introducing me to the city and sites of Albuquerque. It was a brightly sunny day and we started with a visit to Old Albuquerque, the historic center of the city from its founding in 1706. Here the church of San Felipe de Neri stands overseeing Old Town Plaza, the birthplace of the city, which is very reminiscent of the zocalos I’d seen in the center of many Mexican cities. It had pathways, areas of green grass, benches, and a gazebo for occasional performances. Surrounding the square were narrow streets with adobe structures one after another boasting artisan shops and local eateries. After taking our picture together in front of the church we went into a few stores and I saw the touristy nick-knacks and patty-whacks. I did not buy anything except a sticker of the Sandia Mountains. I knew we’d soon be going up them. I found it humorous that Sandia is a Spanish term for watermelon. I thought it was a coincidence but Rachel explained how the mountains can look pink with the sunset cast upon them in the evenings. We also stopped by Old Barrel Tea Company where I bought myself a cup of iced tea.

Here in the old town I also called my dentist’s office to see if they could prescribe any antibiotic for my gum infection. They informed me that they could not send a prescription to another state nor give me any recommendation except that the best thing I could do was to schedule an appointment to see a dentist in New Mexico. Given that the dentist would most likely be out of the insurance network and unreachable in a reasonable time frame, I realized I was on my own and was very disappointed in the healthcare system. This situation weighed heavy on me.

For lunch I enjoyed some New Mexican fare. I did not know that New Mexican cuisine is its own category. It’s a fusion of the cuisine of Pueblo Indians, Mexican, and Spanish and it incorporates a lot of local spice. I thought my experiences having studied and lived in Mexico would be enough to understand the menu, but I needed a little explanation. I had enchiladas de carne adovada with red pepper sauce. Carne Adovada? Pork slow-braised in a spicy red chile bath for hours.

After lunch the highlight of the day came, our trip up to the top of the Sandia Mountains on the Sandia Peak Tramway. Leaving the desert floor the tram glided above the Cibola National Forest. Below were a plethora of rock jumbles and desert shrubs hugging the sides of the mountain. Higher up pine trees started to make their appearance. The tram was very much like the one in New York City that travels between 59th and 60th street and over the East River onto Roosevelt Island but unlike that one, this one ascends 5,300 feet. In the winter this is also used as a ski lift but now in summer its a scenic tram ride. At the peak there are trails that venture off into the mountains and a platform to observe the city of Albuquerque so far below that it’s nearly unrecognizable.

Up here in the mountains we all started off on a short trail together, but I traveled a bit further as the rest went back to the lift area. I didn’t want to keep them waiting for me long, so I ran the trail two miles to the Kiwanis Cabin. An old rock shelter built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. The work of the Civilian Conservation Corps pops up in various National Parks, National Forests, state parks, and other public lands. I enjoy coming across their work because the quality and rustic craftsmanship is to be appreciated. Not only have they built cabins and lodges but also park roads, bridges, and trails. They are no longer in existence but functioned as a voluntary work relief program for unemployed young men primarily in the 1930s. This was a part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, which I am very hesitant to praise, but I am grateful for this part of it. Up here by Kiwanis Cabin I was at a rock protrusion. I enjoyed the great unobstructed view of the world below.

On my way back, on the narrow path between the trees, I began to pray to God about my gum infection and about this trip in general. I felt a great sense of peace come over me. All of my anxiety regarding my gum infection was hushed. Also up here in the mountains I felt way more in my element. I enjoyed Albuquerque below but something about the cooler mountain air was soothing. And amongst the pines and aspen I felt in the company of reassuring friends. The sweet smell of the western pines, brought back memories of prior summers, rekindled my spirit of adventure, and made me feel alive and vigorous.

After joining back with the others, we soon descended the mountain on the tram to the mainland. We stopped by a Bubble Tea cafe before heading to the house.

Back at Mesa del Sol I was able to kick off my boots and relax. I brought together all the stickers I had accumulated on this trip so far and began to sticker up my new dark green Nalgene bottle. I have a new tradition that each summer I buy a Nalgene and place stickers all over it from the parks and destinations I visit. I use the water bottle all summer, and then I retire it to a display shelf. Sometimes I’ll pull off a bottle from the past and use it again, but mostly they are momentums from the summer trips, and as I look over the bottle in hand, with all its stickers, I’m reminded of all the memories. Malcolm even made me a sticker for my bottle of his house, and although the bottle did sport it for a long while, eventually it fell off.

In the evening, nearing sunset, I went for another walk around the neighborhood. This time solo. I observed the Sandia or Watermelon Mountains in the distance and the pinkish color they reflected in the evening. I also walked by the Albuquerque movie studios. Out back they had the facades portraying an old Western main street for a Western sci-fi Netflix series in production.

Back at the house I visited with Rachel over yet another cup of tea. I learned that both Rachel and I have an affinity for hot teas of all kinds. I then told Rachel how I thought Malcolm looked like the child and protagonist, Elliot, from the recent Disney movie Pete’s Dragon. We ended up watching the movie. It is one of my favorite Disney movies. It makes sense for me taking place in the Northern woods, having a park ranger as a major supporting actor, and symbolically tying in themes and messages about life and spiritual matters. It’s soundtrack had been the background music for much of my traveling this summer.

And like this my visit with my Cousin Rachel and family came to an end. The following morning, I would hit the road. Just as one of the songs from Pete’s Dragon repeats, I would “go north,” and make my way to Colorado.

Read my previous episode “From Carlsbad to Albuquerque?” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/03/05/from-carlsbad-to-albuquerque/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

Camping in a Monsoon (and what it taught me about life)

February 27, 2020February 27, 2020Posted in national parks, nature, texas, UncategorizedTagged camping, guadalupe mountains, national parks, north american monsoon, storms, texas3 Comments

I lay in a cold wet puddle as the wind ripped around me. I felt pitiful. I had been trying to fall asleep for a long time but the wind violently jostled my tent and whipped around the sides in a clamor. In addition, the sky every so often let out thunderous cries as lightning streaked across the sky. Unlike with my previous experience out on the sand dunes of White Sands National Monument in New Mexico, here I was protected from lightning with the towering Guadalupe mountains standing nearby, and I had the waterproof fly on my tent which I thought would keep me dry. It was just the noise and the way my tent was dancing in the wind that was keeping me up. Then, as the wind picked up and the clouds broke loose holding nothing back, the fly of my tent was ripped off and the rain poured into my tent.

There’s no use going out to retrieve the tent fly, I thought, It’s probably long gone, flailing out in the wind off in the distance. I pulled my sleeping bag over my head. It was thick. Maybe it will keep me dry until the storm passes.

But the storm wouldn’t pass. It only grew more and more intense. It was undoubtedly a North American monsoon. With intense solar heating in this region of the country during the day, winds shift and low pressure troughs are created bringing in moisture from the Gulf of Mexico and gifting the desert with torrential rainstorms.

For future reference, a sleeping bag is not enough to keep you dry from a Monsoon. Water began to soak through my sleeping bag, and it was cold. I curled up keeping my limbs close to the rest of my body to preserve heat. My car was parked about thirty yards away. This was a walk-in campsite. I couldn’t easily get to my car without being fully inundated with the cold relentless sheets of rain, and if I were to go to my car, I’d have to bring everything of value I had with me in my tent, because likely my tent would be ripped away in the wind.

I was going to wait this out. Then with a fierce whip of wind, my tent came collapsing down upon me. The wind completely snapped a tent pole. Minutes later I was shivering in the fetal position in a puddle of water. This was pitiful. Cinematically I could picture this moment in my mind. The camera ascending upward facing downward revealing the image of a man contracted in a puddle of rain water and the water continuing to pour down. I’d look so helpless… but I wasn’t. I grabbed my backpack and was feeling around the layers of cold wet collapsed tent to find the zipper of the tent door. Then with a mad dash, through piercingly cold sheets of rain, I made it to my car. I turned the heat up high and cupped my hands around the vents. I was gonna be ok.

My pillow and sleeping bag were soaked and had been abandoned in the tent. But I had a spare sleeping bag in the backseat. I peeled off my wet clothes, and climbed over the front seat to the back where I pulled down the seat to access the trunk. I retrieved some dry clothes to put on, and I pushed a sweatshirt and other articles of clothes up into the corner of the back seat to great a place to rest my head.

This was not the type of camping I imagined doing this summer. I longed for the dry, star filled nights, with cracking fires, and a peaceful quietude, where cares were long forgotten and my mind and body at ease. Here I was crunched up in a small car as the monsoon raged on.

In the moment this was all meaningless to me. I had embarked on this trip not only to enjoy the scenery and recreation but to also be inspired and hear from God. I have often found inspiration in nature. The previous year God illuminated the canyonlands to show me he could transform the deep dark places of my life. He also inspired me to be unwavering in life’s challenges. I came to moments of deep realization and inspiration by pondering ghost towns and mountain peaks. But this monsoon was a nuisance, void of meaning to me. And in regard to inspiration, this whole trip so far seemed like a failure.

However, I was quick to forget the miraculous incident at Chiricahua when locking my keys in the car. Not only did God deliver me from my circumstances but he told me, “Be Still. Be Calm. Don’t worry.” But now, here, in the literal storms of life, I had placed this off to the side of my mind, forgetting about it and becoming inundated with the negativity around me.

Sometimes we can only find the meaning in situations when we look back on them. There is meaning here. In life we face figurative storms that are in a whole other category than this summer monsoon. These storms of life are painful with suffering, loss, anger, change, and doubt. How often do we let the storms of life distract us from what God has promised us and what he is teaching us? We are quick to focus on the present suffering instead of focusing on what we know about God, what God has taught us in our lives, and all the promises he has made.

Scripture is flooded with promises of God helping his people in times of trial. We can read these and be reassured and find peace, but even greater confidence is found when we consider all the times these promises in scripture have played out in our lives. As followers of Christ we see the scripture come alive in our lives as God carries us through hard times.

I reflect back when I was a freshman in college battling depression and insecurity about my faith. After spending so much time in an unhealthy church where fellow “Christians” treated each other combatively, I began to question God’s goodness and even existence. Then in my own quiet time I came across James 1, “Consider it pure joy my brothers whenever you face trials of many kinds, for you know the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete not lacking anything.” In the trial of my faith in God himself, God began to reveal himself to me through a series of answered prayers and strength in the midst of my weakness. In a note to a God I thanked Him for doing good things in my life. I asked that I would always feel Him near, and I asked that He would give me a heart of worship. God, in the most miraculous way, answered me through Jeremiah 32:40 “I will make an everlasting covenant with you, promising to never stop doing good things for you. I will instill in you a heart of worship, and you will never leave me.”

In the storms of life, I am prone to be the pessimist, letting my thoughts snowball out of control, thinking things can only get worse and speculating my doom, but then I remember this promise: God will never stop doing good things for me. After speaking to me in that moment, God set me on a path of healing. He brought a dear friend and spiritual mentor into my life. Together we held onto the verse Romans 8:28. It was our verse. “For we know that all things work together for good for those who love God and have been called according to his purpose.”

Other substantial storms in my life have had to do with my health, between ulcerative colitis, Pancreatitis, and all the challenges they have brought, I’ve clung onto my life in the most desperate of ways in the most excruciating pain and loneliness. During this time a harmony of verses was cemented in my mind “After you have suffered a while, the God of grace Himself, whose knowledge surpasses all understanding, will restore you and make you strong.” Also with diagnosis looking grim, God laid before me many times Jeremiah 29:11 “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” As a feeble young man, hospitalized, making my way down the hallway with my walker, this verse again jumped out to me inscribed on the wall. Not only was it a promise in scripture but I know God was directly promising it to me. When health challenges return and I question the future I have to remind myself of these promises.

And then years later there was my drive to the doctor’s office. All they could tell me on the phone is that there were abnormalities in my blood work. I knew something was wrong. I feared for the challenges ahead. My mind flashbacked to the nights in college of rolling around on the floor in so much pain that my mind couldn’t even formulate thoughts. And I began to consider all the sleepless nights in which I always had to keep moving. Movement was the only distraction from pain. I couldn’t bear this again, I thought. As I was driving on my way to the doctor’s office God spoke to me saying,”never again will you go through the pain you’ve endured.”

I’d soon find myself in a battle with lupus and a relapse of ulcerative colitis. Miserable, yes, but physically painful, no. God spared me. When medicines fail, when blood work is out of range, I remember, “never again.” God promised me. And He’s also said He has “promised me hope, and a future,” He also “will never stop doing good things for me,” and He “will restore me and make me strong.”

When you encounter life’s storms are you quick to imagine the worst? Do you wallow in the suffering, doubt the prospects of your future, or even begin to feel like you’ve fallen away from God’s grace? Although this may be a natural human response, we can change it. When faced with the monsoons of life, pause. What has God taught you in life’s prior challenges and deliverances? What has He promised to you? Contrast your own worries and concern verses what you know to be true.

One of my favorite musical artists, Steven Curtis Chapman, in his song “Remember to Remember” sings of just that. We have to remember what God has led us through previously. He’s led us through the canyonlands and to mountain peaks. What has He taught you along the way?

A life with God has nothing wasted. Your story is a part of God’s story. He uses your past to prove himself and his character. Next time a storm rolls in, my hope is that you don’t camp out in the monsoon, but pause and take inventory of promises you know to be true. If you’ve never heard God’s voice, may you begin to seek it and begin to start a life with Him. Only then you will realize you are equipped and empowered, not just cold wet and crunched up in the backseat of a car.

Read my previous episode “The Mystique of Carlsbad Caverns,” here: https://joshthehodge.com/2020/02/08/the-mystique-of-carlsbad-caverns/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR

The Mystique of Carlsbad Caverns

February 8, 2020February 8, 2020Posted in adveture, national parks, new mexico, travelTagged bats, Brazilian free-tailed bats, carlsbad caverns, caves, national parks, new mexico1 Comment

The drive from Big Bend National Park to Carlsbad Caverns is not one to boast of. I most definitely found myself on a truck route, a sure minority in my small car, with flat land and oil fields all around me and little to see. But when I arrived at Carlsbad Caverns just across the state line from Texas in New Mexico, the destination would most certainly be worth the journey.

National Parks that are formed around caves are hard to evaluate in comparison to other National Parks. There is such an immeasurable difference between a cave National Park and any other. Caves evoke different feelings. They are dark, dank, gloomy, yet wild pieces of nature’s artistry. I like them and they fascinate me, as do all wonders of nature. They can even inspire me, but hidden from the sun, beneath the surface of the land, they place themselves in their own category of mystique.

I had reserved a lantern tour of the Left Hand Tunnel portion of caverns online months in advance and was very much looking forward to it. This would be my first lantern tour in a cave. The following year I would get to go on a lantern tour in Mammoth Cave and Oregon Caves, but this was the first so I was very excited for it. Along with my excitement came a bit of frustration because I had trouble finding the park. The address I had led me to the park’s administrative offices in the town of Carlsbad. I began to consider that I might arrive late, miss my tour, and add this to my list of grievances: feeling burnt out, locking my keys in my car, having a rock fall and dent the hood of my vehicle, getting caught in a lightning storm at White Sands National Monument, and getting reprimanded from a park ranger. Of course I shouldn’t have been focusing on the bad and instead should have been grateful for being out here and being able to go to these parks in the first place, but this is where I was at mentally at this point in my trip.

After figuring my way and zipping around the five miles of road leading to the center of the park, I arrived with a few minutes to spare. I changed my clothes in my car for the cooler temperature in the cave, which stays at a consistent 56 degrees fahrenheit, and went into the visitor center to check in for my tour. There were ten people for the tour. We met inside the museum part of the visitor center and the ranger and guide, Josh from Maine, took us to a classroom to distribute lanterns. They were simple wood box lanterns with candles inside them. We then boarded the historic elevators which dropped us to 754 feet below ground level. At the time they were installed in 1932 they were the longest single-shaft elevators in the world.

During the tour, in which we made our way through the undeveloped section of the cave on a dirt path, the ranger presented the history of the discovery of the cave. According to the National Park Service “Our first credited cave exploration happened in the cave in 1898. Sixteen year-old cowboy, Jim White, was rounding up cattle one evening when he spotted smoke from a wildfire off in the distance. He went into high alert. Fires could be just as devastating then as they are now. He rode closer to gather information. How big was it? Was it moving quickly? What direction was it burning? These questions and more pushed Jim to ride to the fire so he could report back to camp with the most accurate information possible.

As Jim approached the smoke, he noticed something strange: he couldn’t smell the smoke, hear the crackling of flames, or feel the heat of fire. Jim realized he wasn’t seeing smoke. He was watching bats. Thousands-upon-thousands of Brazilian free-tailed bats. Jim finally stopped at the mouth of the cave completely mesmerized by the spectacle of flying mammals filling the air above him. He once said he watched the bats for nearly half an hour before the darkness fell so completely he had to return to camp.

Because he knew the other cowboys would mock him, Jim didn’t immediately describe what he’d seen to anyone. He thought it over for several days.The deep hole in the ground and its secrets continued to gnaw at him. He had to find out what was down in the dark recesses.” Jim went on to explore the cave more and introduce others to it.

I loved this story and tried to put myself in Jim’s place, discovering such an immense marvel on my own at such a young age. On another note, an additional fascinating thing I learned on my tour was that microbes have recently been discovered in the far reaches of the cave that specifically attack cancerous tissue and that this discovery may have huge medical implications on the treatment of cancer.

Although I very much enjoyed the tour, afterward things got increasingly fascinating. I was told that if I wanted to take the elevators back up to the visitor center I would have to soon, because they would be closing for the evening. If I chose not to, I’d have to hike my way out of the cave. Of course I opted for the latter choice. This gave me time to explore the Big Room of the cave and have a sandwich. I found it unique to order food and eat at the Underground Lunchroom. Back in the early days of the park there was an actual kitchen down in the cave, but because of food preparation causing damage to the cave, food started to be prepared outside of the cave and sent down.

After my quick bite to eat I began my exploration. I cannot put into words the uniqueness, the massive scale, the variety of what is in this cave. It is its own underground world. This is a cave with massive rock formations. I pondered if up above some if these things would be considered mountains. The scale is just astounding. And unlike Mammoth Cave which is largely covered by a capstone, this cave is a true cavern meaning it is composed of soluble rock which permits entrance of mineral water which grows speleothems and therefore makes the most impressive display of stalactites, stalagmites, straws, draperies, cave popcorn and bacon, and a plethora of other cave features. At times it all looks elegant, other times eerie. With every turn there is something strangely unique to look at. In the Big Room the park service has a paved trail with railings that meander around, and many spotlights illuminate the most astounding of features.

With a burst of excitement I went from one feature to the next, but then made the same walk again to quietly savor the surroundings and be filled with a sense of wonder. I could easily imagine I was on another planet, a more desolate one. When I was done pondering and wandering I began my ascent to the cave entrance. It was all a gradual uphill hike, along a paved path. The passage narrows and widens from one set of switchbacks to another. I was the only person on this path. Despite other parts of the park and the visitor center being quite busy, I didn’t see a singular person for the entire ascent. I felt like I had Carlsbad Caverns to myself. As I got closer to the cave entrance I began to hear chirping overhead. I looked up and saw small dark creatures flying near the roof of the cave. Bats! I thought. They grew in number and in volume the more I ascended, swirling in flight above me. The cave was very tall so I couldn’t see them up close, but I reveled in the unique experience of hiking in the company of lively bats.

Back at the visitor center I told a ranger what I experienced. I would be informed that they most likely weren’t bats but cave swallows. Also in the visitor center I watched the park film and bought a pin for my collection. Then after killing a bit of time, I went back outside to the amphitheater located right at the mouth and natural entrance of the cave. It was time for the nightly bat flight program. A ranger would talk about bats and then around sunset the bats would come flying out of the gave in a grand spectacle. So, as programmed, a ranger talked about bats feeding on bugs, especially mosquitos, and how the tendons in a bats hands are designed opposite of ours. To expand their fingers from their fist it requires strength, but a fist tightly clenched is in the nature relaxed position. This is how they are able to cling onto things and one another and hang upside down. The ranger talked about the immense size of the bat population between 200,000 and 500,000 in the cave and how bat, guano a.k.a. bat dung, was once harvested from Carlsbad Caverns for its value as a nutrient rich fertilizer.

The ranger then presented some sad news: do to the nature of the weather, the bats may not be coming out of the caves. It was a gloomy evening, clouds hung low and the wind was strong. It seemed that a storm was just moments away. The bats would not come out in storms. But then as he was talking about such a predicament a bat flew out of the cave, followed by another. They flew around a group of trees and went back into the cave.

The ranger explained that these were the “scouts.” The bat colony sends out a scout to check the weather and report to the rest. If the report is good, the group then exits the cave. If the scout determines the weather to be threatening, the colony would stay in the cave for the night and postpone eating. Minutes later a swarm of bats exited the cave in the most spectacular, eerie, yet beautiful display. They came out in a spiral formation almost appearing like a tornado, Dark black silhouettes contrasted against the evening sky. They flew right above me in a beautiful display with the precise coordination of a school of fish. With Batman and Halloween and all the other references to bats in popular culture I am quite familiar with the silhouette of a bat with its wings extended, but there is something strictly exciting and beautiful to see thousands of these silhouettes moving, flapping, flying above me in the sky.

Nowhere else have I seen such a display. It was breathtaking, and I was very fortunate to see it. Moments later it began to rain. The bats probably wouldn’t have exited the cave if the scouts had reported rain. I made it back to my car and opened up a can of soup and ate it for supper with the sound and display of rain water crashing against my windshield.

A trip to Carlsbad Caverns is worth every bit of time and travel to visit. It truly lives up to the title of National Park, for it is an extremely unique place to be treasured, with great stories, most impressive natural features, and a stunning show presented by it’s natural inhabitants.

Read my previous episode “On the Rio Grande: a world between U.S. and Mexico,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2020/02/02/on-the-rio-grande-a-world-between-the-u-s-and-mexico/

Check out my new book “Canyonlands: My Adventures in the National Parks and the Beautiful Wild,” here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1711397873/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_U_UjGjEbYBGF4PR