nature – Josh Hodge blog

Onward I’d Run

November 18, 2024Posted in national parks, nature, travelTagged adventure, glacier national park, grizzly bear encounter, highline train, hiking, montana, national parks, st. mary, suffering, travel, ulcerative colitisLeave a comment

I was trying to catch my breath. I had run and sprinted, giving it all I got, putting all my strength and force into the end of this run. I was running along the creekside on the road just outside of the St. Mary KOA on the east side of Glacier National Park with the towering Rocky Mountains in the distance. Behind all this was not just the motive of wanting to take a morning run. It was a physical manifestation of my frustration, an outpouring of my emotion. I was so fed up with my body and this illness. Sometimes I’d feel fine. Then I’d be plagued with the most uncomfortable feelings in my gut, reminding me I was unwell, and this grave feeling of desperation would take over.

So this early morning, I ran, faster, and faster, and gradually ran more and more onto the front of my feet. Soon I was sprinting. As I did so, my heart pounded forcefully in my chest, feeling as if it was about to burst out. My sides began to ache, naturally from the exertion and I wasn’t accustomed to running this fast. The exertion was painful as my lungs were desperate for more air than they could take in. Normally I’d slow down, or take a break, but I pushed onward, relentless to the pain. I was fueled by fierceness. I suppose maybe in some ways I felt, despite my will and desire, my body had control over me lately with this illness, and now through forcing it through such extreme exertion I was proving to myself I still had control over this vessel, or maybe I just wanted an outlet for all this build up burning frustration.

The more I pushed myself, and the more I ached and desperately drew in breath, the more I realized it was pointless. I was sick. I could pour out all my efforts, all my strength, all my energy into this; and my desire could be so strong, my efforts relentless, yet this wasn’t going away. I was still going to be sick. This wasn’t all on the forefront of my mind, but it was buried in there somewhere, and it explained how suddenly my legs and arms became limp, as I slowed down running. I hit a realization as tears of desperation and frustration ran down my face. I stopped running. The harsh reality fell upon me again. I could not not make this go away. Alone, I was helpless. I wanted to be in control. It was all out of my control.

Just a few days before, I had my great moment of declaration upon the Highline Trail, in which I resolved I would not give into despair, and no matter my circumstance I’d bring glory to God through my illness. Often when we make ground spiritually and draw close to the heart of God, the devil has a counter attack. He did here I believe. Just moments after my heartfelt declaration of resolve, I experienced great cramping, desperation and urgency. Sparing you from unpleasant details, I was above the treeline, on tundra, exposed. There was nowhere to run away to, no privacy, and tourists were around me. With great anxiety I made do. But it happened over and over again, a persistent physical attack, leaving me exhausted.

Exercising, especially running, I thought would be an outlet for this stress and inflammation in the body. After good exercise the body calms down and relaxes. I needed that. Ulcerative colitis also sometimes feels like there is a misplaced energy or fire within the body. The energy or fire was focused on attacking and burning my intestines. If I could, through physical exercise, displace the fire from the intestines and channel that energy into a more productive means, I’d be okay. It’s an abstract feeling that I know is not exactly medically accurate, but it’s how it felt. There was also the feeling that I could force this all to go away, just as it came on so quickly, so too it could leave, like there was a switch in my body that needed to be flipped and it’d all be over. I felt I could flip this switch through exertion. I was trying so hard to displace this energy and flip the switch. After all, I felt there had to be something I could do to fix this problem.

“Forgive me God, for putting my body before you…” I prayed “…for setting it up as an idol, for being so caught up in my health and physical strength and appearance that I failed to put my deepest value in you. I let myself become distracted from that which is most important” I knew this illness would be painful in any circumstance, but the fact I had idolized my body so much, made it all hit harder emotionally, now that I lost my health. I realized I needed this moment of repentance. “Help me focus on you and put you first.”

I continued onward calm and quiet in the presence of God on the Highline Trail among the majestic mountains and alpine meadows. For a while I escaped the turmoil of my condition. I had distractions.

“Look there are two bears,” another hiker called out. Sure enough, pretty far in the distance, but still visible with the naked eye, two big grizzlies grazed on the mountainside. This was my first grizzly bear sighting! I was approaching the Granite Park Chalet. Here hikers lucky enough to score a spot can stay in the rock chalet overnight. I was only there briefly, observing the bears and heading descending four miles to The Loop.

Just in time I caught the last bus back down to the Apgar Village. I was the only one there at the bus stop. I didn’t realize it was the last bus until the bus driver told me how lucky I was. I was exhausted. I had hiked around 15 miles in total, and my legs were very heavy. Although I had completed it, I went through such physical desperation and anxiety with my colitis, that I in many ways felt defeated by this hike. I enjoyed it in some short spurts, but mostly I was in survival mode. I didn’t conquer this trail. It got the best of me.

The rest of the evening was relatively relaxing. There were other great distractions from my illness and my body was for the most part at peace. One such distraction was my visit to the Lake McDonald Lodge built in 1913. It’s a National Historic Landmark and built in the beautiful Swiss chalet-style. Inside it is composed of rustic National Park Style architecture, in which design elements mirror the natural surroundings. It featured exposed rough wooden logs as beams, and railings and fixtures carved of rough planks and tree branches. It had a coarse stone floor and taxidermied animals of all kinds all over, including elk, moose, and goat to name a few. Great big murals of mountain landscapes and native americans adorned the walls, and an enormous chandelier of Native American lanterns, painted on in a petroglyph manner, glowed warm in the otherwise dimly lit space.

The focal point of the lodge was an enormous stone fireplace and chimney, so big there are benches within the mantle, like a foyer to the fire. The precise term I learned is called an “inglenook.” I’m a big fan. There is nothing that says northwest North America greater than this lodge. I poked around its three different levels and balconies, observing the art and taking in the extraordinary ambiance. Around some chairs and leather couches, animal furs hung and coffee tables stood on Native American rugs. Theodore Roosevelt would have absolutely loved this place. It was just his style, and although gentle and calm, it seemed to boastly proclaim such words as “hunter.” “taxidermist,” ”naturalist,” “America,” and “the great outdoors.” I thought about how I’d love to sit here and work on my writing. It would be the perfect cozy and inspiring place to write.

After snooping around the lodge a bit, I returned to the East Glacier Village and had my first elk burger at Frieda’s. I decided to go full-on tourist and pay a pretty penny for the burger. Its lean and gamey meat was delicious. It was also relaxing to be waited on and enjoy a full meal after such a rigorous day. Having multiple cups of water brimming with cold refreshing ice was also just what I needed. This evening I felt normal and at peace. The next few days I’d have other moments like this, in that for a while I escaped the reality of my illness, but then at times- something would shift within my body and the feelings of being unwell would kick in with the anxiety and desperation that accompanied it. Over and over again I’d shift from feeling well and carefree then slapped with reality that inside I wasn’t well. I had to come to terms with this reality not just once, but over and over again. In more ways than one, it was exhausting and frustrating, leading me to my fierce early morning run ending in a tearful mess and the feelings of defeat…but I’m not defeated, I’d remind myself. It’s only an emotion. I must live and lead a life above these emotions. Onward!

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “God’s Glory in my Suffering (victorious no matter what happens!)”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Stehekin Day 2: Pastries, Grouse, and Greatness

September 15, 2024Posted in national parks, nature, UncategorizedTagged bakery, grouse, national parks, pastry company, stehekin, washingtonLeave a comment

I woke up to the strangest, most intrusive sound in my campsite just aside my tent. I could not place this sound. I was so perplexed. It sounded like a drumming, but too soft and coming from too low-down to the ground to be that of a human. A gnome? An alien? That’s ridiculous! It was so close, approaching my tent. This is bizarre. I rolled over and pushed myself up quickly to unzip my tent. There stood the funniest looking bird. I would describe it as looking like some sort of wild chicken, but it was strutting with its feathers on full display and its chest puffed out, like a miniature turkey. It looked so proud and pompous, yet it was so small and ridiculous, especially with its little feather tufts sticking up on the top of its head like some punk-rock motorcyclist. It was trying to be tough, but had big curious infant-like eyes. My initial thought: What the heck is that? Upon locking eyes, his feathers shrank close to his body, in what I perceived as a reaction of embarrassment, and then he scurried off into the forest in fright.

I had never seen this type of bird before, and I don’t know how I knew, but somehow it’s name was on the tip of my tongue. As I excited my tent and slipped on my boots, I kept trying to fish this word out of my memory. I was so close. I gathered my water bottle and my new book on Stehekin and threw them into my backpack. I began walking down the hill and it hit me: It’s a Grouse!…then, Is the plural form of grouse, grease?

This was day two of camping in Stehekin, the most remote community in Washington. My encounter with the grouse was midday. When I woke up and unzipped my tent for the first time of the day, I was greeted by the tall pines, the serene lake below, and the mountains standing mightily on the other side of the lake. My camping neighbor Luna Luu was already up as well, fixing things about her camp.

“Good morning,” I greeted. “Did you get some pictures of the Milky Way?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t end up going. It was cloudy last night,” she explained.

It’s what I had suspected.

This morning my first order of business was to go to the bakery for some breakfast. I invited her to come along, but she had her own hiking plans. After quickly throwing myself together, I hopped on my bike and took off down the road toward the bakery: Stehekin Pastry Company. The mountain morning air was brisk and refreshing, and there was no morning bustle about this place, as is common in so many places. Here the few people that were around eased into their morning. It was relaxing, moving at the gradual pace of the rising sun, slowly, growing with every passing moment gradually more alive.

Opening the bakery door, I was bombarded with the enticing smells of cinnamon and coffee blended with all the other aromas of the fine craftsmanship of the Pastry Company. After camping outside in the cold northern night, biking through the brisk mountain air, I knew it was going to be so relaxing and perfect to sit down with a cup of something hot to drink and a great big fresh cinnamon roll dripping with house-made icing, while sitting by a window, glancing outside to watch the forest slowly wake up and be illuminated by the morning light. I sat there in peaceful bliss doing just so.

After a while I got up to browse the nearby shelf of merchandise. There were hats, stickers, and books. A particular book caught my attention Stehekin: A Valley in Time, the true story of the valley through the eyes of Grant McConnel, a man who lived here from the 1940s until the 1990s. I bought it, along with a sticker. I wanted to learn more about this place, and this book seemed perfect. I also noticed a number of other books, all by local authors. I realized this was somewhat of an author community. I understood why. The place was ripe for inspiration with its natural beauty, and its remoteness and solitude eliminates all the distractions for the writer. I would love to live in such a place and dedicate my time to writing. So far I’d imagined myself living here as a baker, then a teacher, and now an author. I had no idea that in less than a year I’d find myself spending my whole summer on the edge of Glacier National Park, in the remote community of Polebridge, sandwiched in between parkland and national forest in the wildest river valley in the lower forty-eight states. There I’d live and work amidst the beautiful Rocky Mountains, off the grid, in the beloved Polebridge Mercantile and Bakery. I guess we could say it was a dream come true, looking at the dreams occupying my mind during my time in Stehekin. When I was interviewing for the job in Polebridge over the phone in the winter- the owner told me how he wanted to place me at the front of the store as a closing cashier. In that moment, and in fact all-through the interview, in my mind I kept seeing the Stehekin Pastry Company. It was my only point of reference to such a job. I recalled seeing the bakers back in the kitchen with their mounds of dough, working so diligently but seeming to have fun. “What about putting me in the role of a baker?” I asked. The owner, Will, explained how he believed that with my skill set as a teacher I’d be best suited for the front of the house. He was right. He told me that if things work out he’d like for me to keep a relationship with the business and return for more than just a summer. I worked there for many summers and continue to do so. My time working at the Polebridge Mercantile and Bakery are some of the richest of my life. Although oftentimes rustic and primitive, it’s my summer paradise. I love it!

After my morning cinnamon bun I got back on my bike and traveled non-stop to the other end of the road, past all the sites I had stopped at the day before: the one-room schoolhouse, the two-room schoolhouse, Rainbow Falls, Stehekin Ranch, and then bearing off the main road I rolled down a path to the Stehekin Airstrip, a field amidst the pines. Is this really an airstrip?…I guess it would do. I could imagine a little private plane landing and rattling atop this field. I supposed boat access wasn’t the only way to arrive at Stehekin but plane access had to be private. There were no commercial or charter flights. Biking past the “airstrip” I sought out “The River Trail,” from my map. When I parked my bike against a tree and started on the trail I realized it was not a very frequently trafficked area, for it was mostly overgrown and had just a narrow space barely big enough for my feet. My ankles were brushing up against the growth of the forest floor. This was a rich lush forest, more characteristic of those back East. At one point the path came close enough to the river I could see the water. At this location I’d call it more of a creek than a river. I veered off the path and stepped down onto the river bed. It was so shallow the water didn’t even reach as tall as the top of my boots. The water was also not high enough to cover all of the riverbed. The middle of the river was dry, so it was there I sat down. With my eyes closed and listening to the trickling water around me, I prayed a prayer of thankfulness for being here. I also prayed about my health. I had enough distractions from all I was seeing and experiencing in Stehekin that I hadn’t been focusing on it, but it was still, in its own aching way, always present on my mind and felt in my weakening body.

This is good for me, I thought, to relax by the river, to take in the soothing sounds of the water and the lights beaming through between the tree branches. This was a gift from God. I had been feeling that my body was caught in this state of high tension and if I could get it to calm down, escape this state of being, I’d be okay, but it felt like a lot to do. I was up against my very self. I concluded every moment should be used to help bring my body out of this state of tension. This was one such moment. Relaxing was now a priority of mine. In my relaxed state I broke open my journal and began to write.

When I got back on my bike, calmed, settled, grounded into this time and space, I leisurely began biking back to the other end of the road. Of course I had to pass by the bakery again, and it was time for lunch. I was hungry and there were many great things on the menu for lunch. I couldn’t make up my mind of what to order so I just decided to buy two lunches, a salad with salmon and a roast beef sandwich. They were delectable- especially the salmon. I thought it was fitting to eat salmon in the Pacific Northwest. Once back in “town” I realized it had been about twenty four hours since I had rented my bike, so it was time to turn it in. Then feeling mildly handicapped without my wheels, I walked back up to my campsite. It was time for a nap. It was only afternoon, yet I had already covered great ground this morning and felt it was fine to give up some of my day to sleep. After all, relaxing was now a priority. I fell into a deep sleep in my tent, wrapped in this fold of nature, and then I woke up to the drumming grouse just outside my tent.

I ended up spending a large portion of the evening sitting on a rock up on the mountainside behind the campground, looking down at the lake. There I read the book I had bought about Stehekin. It was a very entertaining read. Between this evening and the following morning I read the whole book. That’s very fast for me. It was that good. I especially enjoyed learning about the community back in earlier times. I read how delivering mail along the stretch of road was a shared responsibility. People took turns. In the winter, the author delivered the mail on skis. It was customary for him to stop by and visit with everyone along route. It sounded kind of nice, skiing out in the cold of winter, stopping occasionally every few miles, stepping into a warm house with a warm fire in the hearth, greeted with a cup of coffee or tea, and engaging in conversation about the latest news of the valley. It also stuck out to me the part discussing how there was only one phone in Stehekin in the post office brought in by the National Forest Service. That was the only immediate communication to the outside world, and it wasn’t very reliable. It also struck me as comical, the part about the aftermath of a plane crash up in the woods, and how the locals, given they had very limited resources, stripped that plane and used it for building materials in their homes, and even parts of it was used for dinnerware. Remnants of the plain could be seen popping up all over the community in people’s houses.

The author talked about how for so long Stehekin was frozen in time, and a unique and very personal community. Whenever someone had to take the boat down the valley into Chelan, people were often repulsed by the chaos and lifestyle of those “down lake.” Reading this book, everything seemed like such a far-off, foreign, yet intriguing concept. However, later in my own time working at the Polebridge Mercantile and Bakery in Montana, I would live through similar experiences. It too is, at this time, a one phone community. The contrast between our life up the North Fork River valley couldn’t be more stark against the developing society down stream.

The following morning, day three in Stehekin, it was time for me to go “down lake” back into the real world, but I wouldn’t be spending much time in society. It was time for the next leg of my adventure and off to other wild places, soon approaching the behemoth of National Parks: Glacier National Park. Before I boarded the boat I walked to “The Garden.” This morning the gardener was there. From my understanding this was all his. I bought from him some sugar snap peas and cherries. I stood there in the garden and spoke with him for a few minutes. He told me some of his story and how he ended up here. To me, at the time, it struck me as sort of weak, running away from society and life’s problems to live up here in remoteness. I had perceived it as a negative thing, but with the evolution of society “down lake” and after my own experience living in a similar remote community, I have grown in perspective thinking back on his story. There is a healthier way of living that is lost in the bustle of growing society. I get it.

Back on the boat, I was munching on my delicious sugar snap peas, so sweet and crisp, mixing things up every-so-often with a nice tart juicy cherry. This is going to be good for me, I was thinking, for my body and fighting the inflammation I was feeling. Some nice fresh produce, a few days in Stehekin with moments of great relaxation, and now sitting in the sunlight on the open water is going to make me just fine, I thought. My ulcerative colitis was just some strange nightmare. I’m going to put this illness behind me. It’s over. I’m okay now.

I was wrong, very wrong. This was only the beginning. Things were going to get much worse… and much more beautiful.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Stehekin: The Most Remote Community in Washington”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Traveling Across North Cascades National Park

April 28, 2024Posted in adveture, national parks, natureTagged diablo lake, new haven, north cascades, north cascades national park, ross lake, washington, winthropLeave a comment

I got an early start because I had slept in the car. There was no deconstructing the tent and packing up. I was ready to go. I went from sleep to the turn of the car key and I was on the road. Now it was time to pay a visit to another National Park: North Cascades National Park, which was only about an hour away. When people refer to the North Cascades, it’s similar to when referring to the Redwoods. As the Redwoods constitute a collection of state parks, North Cascades too is a collection. There are three major entities: Ross Lake National Recreation Area, Lake Chelan National Recreation Area and North Cascades National Park proper, though the latter name is just used to refer to all in the trio collectively.

I had big plans for this visit: an overnight backpacking adventure the following day in the Lake Chelan area. Today I would just be traversing the heart of the parks on highway 20, stopping at the visitor center, all the overlooks, and seeing what I could see. I had noticed in my investigation that all the iconic views of North Cascades were roadside viewpoints, so I figured I wouldn’t be missing anything essential.When visiting parks I’ve got to make sure I don’t miss out on the essential views. What a shame it would be to go to Yosemite and never see Tunnel View, or go to Yellowstone and fail to see Old Faithful.

My first stop was at the visitor center by the west entrance of the park. There I watched the park film, and a series of other films on smaller screens throughout the visitor center. The three National Park units that make up this area were all created in 1968. This park has glacial mountains, consisting of over 300 glaciers. Although it’s famous for its sharp mountainous peaks, called the Cascades, it got its name North Cascades, and I suppose the mountains too, from all the water cascading from the peaks, forming many streams and rivers. The water sources of the area were used for hydroelectric power, but the development of the National Park stopped the further industrial development. The park’s two most famous lakes, Diablo Lake and Lake Ross, are the result of man-made dams. Both lakes are extravagant in their bright turquoise color, which is created from rock particles. The National Park Service describes it best: “the distinctive turquoise color of the lake is the result of suspended fine rock particles refracting sunlight. These rock particles, called glacial flour, enter the lake when rock from the surrounding mountains is eroded by ice and flows into the water through glacial streams.”

After learning about everything in the visitor center, it was time to experience it all first hand. About ten minutes up the road I made my first stop. Nestled closely by mountains on either side, within a gorge, and right along the Skagit River, was this little town with modest homes and a few small businesses. It was strange to see manicured lawns, and intentional landscaping around buildings in a National Park. The only other thing it reminded me of was the town of Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone, where many park rangers and staff take residence. But this town looks rather industrial with lots of electrical wires and utility infrastructure. I know this had to do with the dams and hydroelectric power, but it didn’t even cross my mind that the waterways in this park were still being used to generate electricity. I had assumed this was all a relic of the past, that it was a company town of a hydroelectric power company but the homes left over from that bygone era were now ranger residences. I thought this was a little ranger and park employee village. I’d soon learn I was wrong. The town of New Haven is surrounded by federal National Park land, but this mile long community is owned by Seattle City Light, and all the residents of the town are exclusively employees of Seattle City Light, working on the Skagit River Hydroelectric Project, a series of dams and hydroelectric stations. Altogether this operation provides about 90% of Seattle’s electricity. I was surprised to find a currently operating utility company stationed within a National Park. Operations of the hydroelectric project began in 1924 with president Calvin Coolidge formally initiating it all. With The National Park designation coming more than forty years later. I suppose the value of the hydroelectric power was too valuable to eliminate. I’m sure there is quite an interesting and complex relationship between Seattle City Light and the National Park Service.

In town I wandered around a bit, reading a few historical placards. Prior to World War II this town was quite a tourist destination. The tourists would come in on a twenty-three mile train ride, stay in the Gorge Inn, and go on tours of the Hydroelectric Project on boats. It was quite a thing to see. But after the war it lost its status as a tourist destination.

There in town I saw an old steam engine on display, and crossed a suspension bridge, and I bought a brown sack lunch at Skagit General Store. This town wasn’t particularly charming or quaint. It wasn’t rustic, and it lacked any defining character. The proximity of the mountains and river were its most prominent features, but it wasn’t trying to be a tourist destination anymore, for it was only a functioning company town. The city dwellers need their electricity. I wasn’t expecting this but I learned that hydroelectricity is a part of the experience when visiting North Cascades National Park.

Just a little bit up the road I passed a dam, one of a series, but this one was the most visible and creatively named “The Gorge Dam”. It had to be old. Observing the architectural design of the powerhouse, you could say, “they just don’t make them like that anymore.” It was designed with attention to the image it would portray. It was a work of art. Not knowing much about architectural terminology, I would say it was a fusion of Roman and Art Deco design. It had long rectangular windows and boxy features with a regal boldness and pillars.

Suddenly everything changed past the dam. I was back in the National Park, and back in nature’s beauty. I was a little disappointed, at the time, to learn that the lakes of the National Park were not natural but were the result of dams. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good dam, and I admire human ingenuity to harness power through water, but to know the National Park was not all natural just kind of tainted it a bit in my mind. The only dam I wanted to see here was a beaver dam. Of course if a beaver dam is a part of nature, then isn’t a human dam a part of nature too? Is man himself not a part of nature?

As I continued my journey on the park road, climbing upward in the mountain reaches, I made my next stop at the overlook of Diablo Lake, and oh my! What a sight! Pristine! I was surprised to see that such a vibrant turquoise color could even exist in nature. It was such a bright and vibrant color. Although perplexing, in its surrealness, it yet looked so natural and believable. Mountains dramatically sloped down into the milky turquoise water, which curved around into many bays. To the right side of the lake, before the inlet of a bay, stood two small little islands. The middle of the lake spread up to the foot of Davis Peak, a jagged snow-capped mountain. From behind the mountainscape delicate clouds wisped forward, as if imitating beams of sunlight. The dark richness of the pine forests on the mountainsides, contrasted with the turquoise lake and the blue sky created a unique pacific northwest color scheme. There at the overlook I also noticed a pine tree whose needles were turning red. It was probably a sickly tree, but in my photos I was able to add a splash of red, creating such a colorful capture. From here the mountains were dramatic and tall, but there were only a few to behold. Mountains didn’t stretch on in layers in the distance. Only the immediate ones were seen, giving the accurate impression that I was up very high. All other peaks were below and hidden. Only here could I see the highest reaches and I did feel on top of the world.

Just a few miles up the road I also came to an overlook for Ross Lake. It too was stunning. It was similar in color and nature to Diablo Lake, but much longer, and the way the mountains were situated and the lesser number of immediate bays, made it just the slightest bit less picturesque, but still beautiful and magnificent nevertheless.

The rest of my drive provided great views of sharp craggy peaks, jutting up from the mountains, as if mountains were upon mountains. These weren’t rounded or flowing mountains but dramatic sudden reaches. And they were immediate reaches, right there, with snow caught in their veiny rivets. There was a definite character to these mountains, and if these mountains were music, they’d be crescendoing cymbals of a regal nature. It’s was if I could hear the mountains. I stopped at one overlook of the mountain valley and beheld the mountain peaks beside me, so tall. It was truly a moment of awe, and I thought, I’m back. I’m in my element. The awesome wonder that beset me my first great summer adventures is here to recapture my spirit. The sense of adventure was on fire again, a blazing campfire, with sparks igniting the night sky. I was coming back in my spirit to a place I so longed to be.

About twenty miles outside of the park I arrived into the town of Winthrop, Washington. None of the campsites in the National Park were reservable online, and planning my trip I wanted to have the security of a place to stay. I wasn’t sure how busy North Cascades would be. It didn’t prove to be very busy at all. Arriving in Winthrop, I was surprised. The land was very arid. There were hillsides surrounding that were very dry and barren. I could have been fooled that I was in a desert of the Southwest. I had never before associated the desert with Washington. On the way to the KOA I drove through the little downtown. It was a quintessential Wild West downtown of not just Western facades, but the real deal. Nothing was too bold or boisterous but rather small and charming. The businesses beheld names such as “General Merchandise,” “Emporium,” and “Saloon.” A vintage but functional gas station with two pumps sat next to the road where people walked on the sidewalks. I realized this place was a tourist draw, but not overly so. It wasn’t crowded. It wasn’t flashy. It was just right. After being in the remote, brisky north reaches of the Cascades, it was comforting to be in this warm little welcoming Western frontier town. I’d later learn that Owen Wister, the Harvard roommate of one of the original settlers in the area, Guy Winthrop, wrote his famous Western novel, “The Virginian”, after a visit to Wintrhop.

The KOA was only a mile from the downtown stretch. I drove across Chewach River, noticing a bike path parallel to the road and also crossing over the river which was shimmering in the evening sun. Everything around here looked well taken care of. Right next to the entrance to the KOA was a long wooden western style building named “Winthrop Dry-Goods.” Perfect! I went inside the small grocery store and bought some yogurt, Frosted Flakes, and milk.

I checked into the KOA, and it was so nice. It sat right at the Methow River at the foot of a desert hill. I had reserved a camping cabin, which had plenty of space around it, and I felt like I had so much space to breathe in this nice dry, warm, and welcoming place. I took off my boots and trod around barefoot. Relaxed, I organized the trunk of my car. Now that Zach was not here, I had full reign. I also did a load of laundry, and packed for my upcoming backpacking trip to Stehieken. While the clothes were spinning I took a warm shower in the nicest KOA bathroom I have ever experienced. When I checked in, the hosts even bragged about how new it was. It was a log cabin style building and inside there were about a half dozen little individual private bathrooms. Each had their own shower and little changing area separate from the sink, mirror, and the rest of the bathroom. They also each had their own skylight, letting in warm sunlight. They all had that nice new building smell, but not just any new building, but a fresh-wood log cabin smell about them.

When I gathered my laundry and went back to the cabin, I noticed a few items hadn’t dried completely, so I laid them out on the railing of the porch. I then poured myself a cup of Frosted Flakes into my KOA cup from the night before and reveled in the sweet crunch, as I sat on the porch swing, updated my journal, and read a little bit of John Muir. This was a simple yet blissful moment.

I then drove back into town, first stopping at the cable bridge alongside the bike path to cross over and look down into the river. In downtown I parked my car and walked down the mainstreet. There wasn’t as much to see as I expected from the initial perception driving in, but it was all pleasant. I ate dinner in an old turn of the century schoolhouse, rightly named “Old Schoolhouse Brewery.” I had a chicken sandwich on the back porch overlooking the river.

Back at my little cabin, at great peace for a quite a productive evening, and after having a day full of great vistas and travel, I slept soundly, anticipating the adventure that lay ahead: backpacking into Steheiken.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Strange Faces, Strange Places”

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Skyline, Longmire, and My Walk of Shame

April 11, 2024Posted in national parks, natureTagged adventure, carter falls, cougar rock, longmire, mount Rainier, mount rainier national park, skyline, washingtonLeave a comment

More snow, more glacier lilies, more flopping marmots, more blue sky, more wandering mountain streams, more astounding views– they were all here. It was day two at Mount Rainier National Park in Washington state, and Zach and I were on our way to Panorama Point. This point was not on my itinerary for the day, but much had been shifted and changed. For the most part, my printed itinerary was ignored for this leg of the trip, and we were just feeling it out. I wasn’t going to stress about it either. I was learning to be more career free, trying to lessen my level of stress and go with the flow, as I was still concerned about my health. So once arriving at the park and observing the maps, a trail named the “Skyline” trail reaching a “Panorama Point,” stuck out to me. I figured places with such names would surely deliver satisfying views.

As we started off on the hike, we had to leave from the Paradise hub of the park and hike past Myrtle Falls again, which we had seen the evening before. The entirety of the hike was uphill, and “hill” is quite an appropriate term to describe the terrain although we were on a mountain side. For this mountside was composed of various hills and was a very wavy landscape. We’d round one hill, and the incline would lessen greatly for just a moment, and then we were traveling up another. The path we were on had been trodden enough that for the most part I could see the path clear from the snow with its natural gravel surface. Much of the trail was also outlined with rocks, but surrounding us, apart from the beginning meadows of glacier lilies, we were surrounded by snow. Slowly but surely we climbed higher, and Paradise was becoming smaller behind us. Reaching the higher snowy elevation of the hike, I noticed a giant gray rock canyon carved to our left by a glacier. The glacier was no longer there. It had melted down into Paradise, but its pathway was clearly visible.

The most astounding view of the trip was not the actual Panorama Point but when out in a fair distance beside us, on the snowy sloping landscape, with a giant rocks wall behind them, and glaciers looming over them, trekked a group of mountaineers. They were traveling all in a line, as in a train pointed upward diagonally. Each mountaineer was bundled up with winter gear: hoods, gloves, and large packs on their backs. They all had trekking poles, and it was obvious they were on their journey to summit Mount Rainier. The view of this train of mountaineers, so tiny and miniscule compared to the immensity of the mountain, added great perspective; and considering the notion they were on their way to the mountain peak on an impressive journey, sparked in me an exciting admiration for adventure. To be in their presence, if just for a moment, and yet at a distance, helped create this climate of sheer adventure! I wanted to summit Mt Rainier too!…but not this time.

When we reached Panorama Point after about three miles, there was a leveled area of gravel, outlined with rocks like the path was. It was also fenced in with a steel cable strung between some stakes. The Park Service didn’t want people on this trail going beyond this point obviously. From here there was a 360 degree view. Looking southward, the main attraction of the point were the sharp peaks of the Tatoosh Range. Although still quite grand in their rugged and sharp attire, they looked like miniature Tetons. From Paradise, the Tatoosh mountains stood tall, but from up here, we looked about level to them or down upon their peaks. Here we could also look down and see the Paradise Inn and the whole village far below. Here the marmors were trying to steal the show and grab everyone’s attention, posing majestically in the most dignified and stately ways, as if suddenly ignoring their rather goofy nature.

Turning to the east were many layers of mountains far in the distance, stretching on in immensity. They were of various dark blue shades. The closer ranges appeared darkest and the further ones lightened up just slight enough to create a contrast, and thus I could see there were four layers of mountain ranges on display, one in front of another. Behind us, to the north, was a mountain on display as well. First was a snowy stretch of mountainside, but behind it stood the mighty Mount Rainier ever so boldly with its crumbling glaciers. Completing the 360 panorama and turning to the west, two main features came into view: The entire glacier rock canyon I had seen climbing up was in prominent display, as a gouge or scar on the mountainside, and then next to it, down in the depths of a valley, was the Paradise River, snaking around the forest.

The views were nice, but I believe better views were seen elsewhere in the park. The greatest highlight of this hike was not in the views but was in the journey back down to Paradise. We decided not to complete the entire loop, as it would be a little bit longer and we wanted to preserve time to see some other places in the park, so we went back the same way we came… sort of. This time we did not stick to the path at all. Instead we slipped and slid down the mountainside, surfing all the wavy declining hills. We did so standing up on our feet. There was such a lack of friction between my boots and the snow, and such a perfect uniform slippery slushy icy consistency of the snow, that I was speeding down this mountainside. I’d launch myself forward and see how far I could keep the momentum. It was reminiscent of sliding across the newly polished wooden floor in socks as a kid, but here we were sliding down over great expanses, and it was exhilarating! I was surprised at the physics of this occurrence in that it was even possible. The fun icy descent had us back in Paradise in no time.

After a quick stop in the cafeteria for some burritos, we were back in the car. At eleven miles west on the park road, we stopped at Longmire, a historic section of the park with tales to be told. Here was a small flat prairie, surrounded by trees, and somewhere tucked away were mineral springs. This was the site where a man named John Longmire and his family had a homestead in the 1800s. It is also here where the Longmire’s opened a mineral springs resort. People with all sorts of illnesses came from all around the country to stay at the Longmire’s hotel and soak in the mineral springs. It was believed the waters had healing properties. Even doctors would prescribe patients to soak in these springs. Where are they? I questioned. I need to find them. Maybe the springs can heal my Ulcerative Colitis. It was unlikely but I was willing to try anything. If only I was here about two hundred years ago. The closest thing I found to a spring was some sort of water source pooling in bright orange. It very much resembled the leakage of abandoned coal mines I see in the forests of Kentucky, but it was likely the minerals of the spring oxidizing and changing color…It was not very appealing.

In this Longmire area was also a short path called the Trail of Shadows which traced a meadow, which next to stood a small collection of historic buildings from the Longmire’s resort days. They were all built in the rustic National Park Architecture style. The Longmire’s hotel today stands as the functional National Park Inn. Next to it was an old rustic gas station and “comfort station,” as they called it back in the day, with a tall stone foundation and an overhang with two old gas pumps that were probably once just more gas pumps in the wild. Another building that used to be the park headquarters is now a small museum on Longmire. It’s most fascinating feature to me were some antique taxidermied animals. Maybe it was their age or the way they were poorly put together, but to me they were funny, especially this taxidermied pine marten flaring its nostrils and showing its teeth, very territorial. As we meandered around the Trail of Shadows, at one point we veered off onto an unmarked path. We ended up crossing a suspension bridge and found a village of unmarked cabins. These weren’t on the map. There seemed to be one central building among them. We walked inside just for a moment, for I quickly realized we weren’t supposed to be here. There were couches, tables with board games, and a kitchenette. This was a part of a staff lodging complex. I concluded. It was like a community center. How cool it would be to work in a National Park for the summer, I thought. What a foreshadowing moment.

Just a couple miles up the road in the park was our campground at Cougar Rock where we had spent the night the night before. I thought of taking a break, hanging out at camp, maybe relaxing in the tent, perhaps doing some reading, regrouping and planning the rest of the evening. Our campsite was number 20, so there was a bit of slow driving through the campground to get to our site. When we arrived I was stunned to see our tents were not there. Someone else’s bright orange-colored dome tent was there instead. All our stuff was gone! I was completely taken off guard. Did someone steal our stuff? Did someone rob our campsite? How dare they! What a nightmare! I got out of the car for I was going to confront these imposters, but no one was there. The feeling of offense grew stronger. Then I looked to my right. Our tents and all our camping gear had been throw alongside the campground road. The audacity! Then I vaguely remembered something. I think at one park we are to switch sites in the midst of our stay… It wasn’t this one, already, was it? I pulled out my itinerary. I wanted to prove my suspicion wrong and reclaim my site with my reservation documentation. I unfolded my itinerary, and embarrassment immediately set in. I was the one at fault. We were the trespassers. We were the squatters. We were the offenders. We were at site 20, but we were supposed to have moved to site 2. I was embarrassed in front of Zach, to myself, and to whoever else might be in the campground watching us. We got back in the car and I drove to site 2. It wasn’t that far, only 18 sites away. I didn’t want to deflate my air mattress and deconstruct my tent, pack it in the car, only having to reassemble everything. Instead I decided to take a walk of shame, picking up my tent with the air mattress and all inside it. The tent floor was sagging greatly as I was walking it down the road to our new site. I succeeded at trying not to notice anyone else around me, for my head hung low in shame. Back at the tent I situated everything in its place, and carried on, hoping to blend back in among the other campers in the campground.

I don’t recall what Zach was up to at this moment. I was probably too inner focused on my own embarrassment, but when camp was reassembled, I proceeded to seek out some firewood to purchase for a fire we’d have at night to cook our soup, and I rested my head in my tent and read some more of my book on wolves. After a brief rest, we took the short trail from our campground to Carter Falls. The trail was a 1.3 mile segment of the Wonderland Trail, which in its entirety is over ninety miles. We rushed along the path beside Paradise River to the falls, which spilled down from about fifty feet in height. It’s described as a “horse-tail” falls, but the falls splits in two over a protruding rocks, near its top, to create almost two side by side falls. So I guess its a “horse-tail” falls if the horse has two tails. It was a pleasant fall for such a short hike from camp, but nothing to really write home about. It reminded me much of a fall I’d seen in the Great Smoky Mountains.

After our quick visit to the falls, we drove back to Paradise. I wanted to hang out in the Paradise Inn again like we did the evening before. There was a balcony up by the rafters in the eves of the roof with wooden desk and warm lamps. I bought some hot tea from the inn’s cafe and a few more postcards. I’d fill them out as well as update our happenings in my journal. When I went to purchase my postcards I also bought a green bandana that itself was an artistic map of the National Parks of the Pacific Northwest, of Olympic, Mount Rainier, and the North Cascades. It was a perfect souvenir covering all those parks.

When night set in, we headed back to the campsite, and this time our tents were still there. Phew! I started a fire. I peeled the label off my can of soup and opened its lid. I set it just aside the fire. It was time for supper. This would be the concluding night of our stay in Mount Rainier National Park. This was also the last full day of Zach on this summer’s adventure. The next day, as planned, I’d take him to the airport in Seattle to travel back to Kentucky. Though this leg of the adventure was over, I had much still before me as a solo traveler. I would go on a backpacking adventure in North Cascades National Park, venture on to Lake Roosevelt, and would make my acquaintance with the national park of all National Parks: Glacier. My health was also about to take a turn for the worse. I’d struggle physically, have to come to terms with reality, learn how to accept it, and find the resolve to carry on amidst hardship.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Mount Rainier: the noblest of peaks”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

The Mountain Goats of Hurricane Ridge

March 20, 2024Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, UncategorizedTagged hikes, hurricane ridge, klahhane ridge, mountain goats, olympic national park, wildflowersLeave a comment

When their procession was over there were nineteen mountain goats in total just a stone’s throw away. We were on the trail to Klahhane Ridge in Olympic National Park. The path was just a small one trodden into the side of the mountainous ridge. To detour left from the trail would be dangerous as the mountainside was sloped so steeply, and to the right it would be perilous as well. Although it was pretty and ladened in wild grasses and flowers, it too was steep and plummeted down into the valley. The truth is, this path was probably the mountain’s goats’ path before it ever was a trail in the national park. The mountain goats were loyal to this path. One by one they rounded the bend and emerged from a pocket of pine forest to this open mountainside. I’ve heard they can be aggressive when approached, and I noticed a few patriarchs of the band with tall sharp black daggers for horns. Behind them were the women and children, or I guess technically the “nannies” and their “kids”. They were all so beautiful with long coats of fur. Some of the more mature goats had strands of fur dangling from them, like the moss laid on the trees. Some of the strands of fur caught in the breeze and wisped around. It was summer shedding season, and it was obvious these goats had been carrying fur to the max. They were drenched in it, except for the young kids. Their fur was short, fluffy, and perfectly white and pure.

Enough observing, a decision had to be made on the part of Zach and myself. The mountain goats were not the least bit inhibited by our presence, and continued walking toward us, potentially posing a threat. They had to have noticed us, but they didn’t acknowledge us. They continued about their parade, walking along their path, although not with a prideful march. They were certainly not pompous, nor were they timid. They seemed to not have a care and continued on with a quiet and steady confidence.

I had learned from the Rock the Park show that making spitting noises can deter mountain goats. I didn’t know at the time why, but later I looked into it and learned that it’s the sound male mountain goats make to warn aggressors to retreat. So, per my lead, Zach and I started making spitting noises. The goats showed no alarm, but it did work perhaps, for casually they climbed off the trail and down onto the steep grassy slope, an area Zach and I could not have gone down for we don’t have that sort of mountain goat balance and maneuvering ability. Here they were on full display as a band. I was thrilled at the spectacle of mature mountain goats, in white shaggy fur, on a steep mountainside, contrasting the dark rich blue of the forested mountains behind them capped with snow; and the innocent little kids, taking careful steps in the wild grasses alongside wild mountain flowers. Once we felt at ease seeing the goats travel off the path, Zach and I paused to revel in the moment, exclaim to each other how cool it was, and take photos.

This wasn’t our first wildlife encounter on this hike. When I parked the car at the Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center, right along the parking lot were four deer grazing in the grass. One was a buck with its young rack of fuzzy antlers. He was laying down but had his head propped up, alert, as if looking out for the female’s feasting in the grass nearby who came very close to us as we were observing them. I suppose this event was foreshadowing of the richness of wildlife and close proximity to it we’d encounter on this trail.

The trail was 7.6 miles in total, starting from the visitor center and ending for us at Klahhane Ridge, although this was just a segment of a much larger network of trails. The path held snug to the side of the mountain nearly the whole time, not on a ridge but close to one. It meandered through open grassy slopes and patches of pines. Some of the pines had very shaggy bark and were ladened with moss, especially as we gradually climbed higher.

In the open grassy areas, we would see the trail ahead snake among the mountain side. To see it slither along added great perspective to the mountainous scene. To our right, in the distance, the Cascade Mountain range sprawled. It was an overcast day, but the clouds were high enough that even the tallest mountain peaks were not covered. What the clouds did do was darken the forest, making the mountains a deep navy blue with their snowy peaks really popping out. No mountain really stood out from another. Instead it was one after another, rather uniformly, with short divots and valleys between them, and each mountain plateauing at about the same height. They stood tall like soldiers in uniform, guarding the way eastward.

Alongside our path and down the grassy mountainside were a plethora of wildflowers. As Zach had studied up on them in the visitor center, he was able to identify and call some out by name. There was one with many delicate little white petals that were brushed with pink at their veins and fine edges. Its leaves were stringy pale yellow and green, and they sprawled out like spaghetti. They were a region specific plant called Olympic Onion, actually producing a bulb that is edible and produced commercially. Another wildflower spotted was White Avalanche Lily with its bursting star bloom and dotted with yellow at its pistil. Each one stood in its own space, seeming very independent, spaced out from its counterparts. They weren’t like some wild flowers that seem more like city-dwellers, crammed into a small space together. These lilies were country folk. They had their own space, their own plot of land, their own hardy independence. At one point we came across patches of a stalky plant bearing multiple tubular bright purple blooms. They are called Penstemon and remind me a lot of Blue Bells. These were all subalpine flowers.

This hike really made me aware of how far north we were and not just in terms of the nation’s edge and proximity to Canada, but also in terms of elevation too with mountains, goats, patches of snow, deep mountainous ravines, subalpine blooms, and an arctic touch in the breeze every once in a while. As were climbed in elevation on our windy path, we at one point ascended a series of switchbacks, and there at the higher elevation were marmots, those funny whistling flopping, nervous little guys, those beavers of the mountain, as I call them for their flabby appearance and prominent two front incisors. They smile and run, call out in a loud beeping sort of whistle, or lounge around in the sun. To me they are just simply a funny animal in appearance and behavior. They are delightful.

When we reached our journey’s farthest peak we beheld an incredible vista. We could see out to the ocean, an inlet of the Pacific called the Salish Sea which gives way to numerous straits around Vancouver and the San Juan islands. Also boldly and majestically stood Mt. Baker on the edge of North Cascades National Park, between Seattle and Vancouver, although neither city was visible. The mountain was still around 150 miles away, but it was clearly visible with one enormous rounded peak covered in snow and another jutting peak down its side. We sat down and beheld the vista. What an enormous view! We could see so far and even see the ocean yet feeling nowhere near it.

As we were sitting there, enjoying the view and pointing things out, out of the corner of my eye I spotted something moving. I looked down to see a chipmunk getting a little too close to my backpack laying on the ground by my feet. I grabbed the backpack up, knowing the critter probably wouldn’t think twice of going inside in search of food. This chipmunk was familiar with humans. I could tell. I had no plans of carrying a chipmunk down off Klahhane Ridge. No one should feed wildlife, and there are rules and even laws against it, but before I had time to say anything, Zach had a piece of a Clif Bar in his hand which the chipmunk was eating from. Zach then reached down with his other hand to pet the little rodent’s back. After one swift swoop down the back of its coat with his finger, the chipmunk took off.

I planned to stay here a while. I had no rush to get away from this great view, so I settled in the spot I was sitting, clearing away some small uncomfortable rocks beneath me. From my backpack I was guarding from the chipmunk, I took out my new book: The Wisdom of Wolves. “Storytime?” I proposed. I proceeded to read the introduction of the book out loud and Zach listened.

On our hike back down Klahhane Ridge we saw more marmots, deer, and wildflowers. When we reached the car, we could agree we had completed a truly satisfying and rewarding hike. It had some of the greatest elements that make for a good hike: great wildlife spotting, diversity of plants to observe, mountainous views the entire way, and a majestic overlook at its furthest reach. Although the day was a great one, night was soon coming, and things would take another turn. Things were about to get rocky.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Gas Pump in the Wild”

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She Tried to Kill Me: Death Valley’s Claim on My Life

February 3, 2022Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, UncategorizedTagged california, death valley, furnace creek in, national parks, zambriski pointLeave a comment

Hold on Josh. Hold on. You’ve got to, or you’re going to die. I could feel myself beginning to slip from consciousness. I was in a desert canyon in Death Valley National Park in southern California. It was 122 degrees outside this summer day without a single cloud in the sky. The sun beat down harshly. I was out for a hike, not a long one, just a few miles, but I was competing with nature. I thought it wasn’t going to be a challenging match, but Death Valley was winning. I began to experience lightheadedness. My hearing began to sound muffled. Then there was the dreaded fading of colors. Hold on. Don’t let yourself go. If I were to pass out, it would only be a matter of minutes before Death Valley would dry me out and bake me in its inferno. I was hiking uphill on jagged triangular rock and badland formations on the Badlands Loops Trail, trying to make it out of the canyon. Normally this would be easy, for I’m fit and capable, and this wasn’t even very steep, but here in the harshness of the desert, with the oppressive heat, my body was giving up. Am I dehydrated? Or am I lacking salt? Or is it heat stroke? The body could be overheated, no longer having the ability to cool down to a life sustaining temperature. Maybe my body just could not keep up with the extreme heat of Death Valley.

My heart began to race rapidly. Oh no, I know how this goes. Soon it could beat out of control, bringing me to the ground. I’ve fainted before, at Big Bend National Park, but luckily I was inside around other people. Here I was completely alone, except for with her, Death Valley. We had met before. She caught me in a sand storm summers before.

There was a little bit of shade just up against the short canyon wall. There were fragments of broken rock down by my feet, which seemed, in my present state, so far away and unreachable, but there was one big enough for me to sit upon. I lowered myself slowly and cautiously. Any quick movements, any exertion whatsoever, could cause me to black out. I crossed my legs, the most comfortable position to keep myself up from complete collapse. My vision went blurry for a moment, but I still had a grasp on it. I focused on breathing slow, deep breaths.

I had water, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what I needed. If I was salt deprived, this would worsen my symptoms. However, it could be life-saving as well. I took a sip of my water which had turned hot from the all-consuming heat. I poured the rest on my head. Although hot, it was not as hot as the air around me. It could cool me off just a bit. And if salt was what I needed, there was one thing I could do. Sweat contains salt. I began to lick my arms. It’s not that I was particularly sweaty, for one doesn’t sweat in Death Valley, as sweat immediately evaporates in the extremely dry climate. But even this being the case, there should still be leftover salt deposits on the skin, I thought.

I had overestimated my strength in the desert. It didn’t help that I did this hike shirtless. I like the feeling of the desert sun on my skin, and I thought that in the heat the less clothes the better, but actually if I had worn something to cover my torso it could have provided shade for the body and maybe I wouldn’t have overheated as quickly.

I had not yet cried for help. I was only about a mile from Zabriskie Point, a popular lookout point, where people would be present, marveling over nature’s artistic display of giant jagged rock formations, but I was so far down in a canyon with a sea of rock formations before me that I could not hear any of them, and I don’t think they would hear me. If I were to exert my voice loudly, this might take too much energy and cause me to lose my consciousness. I could not make a phone call. My phone was in the car. I left it there, for there was no service out here anyway. It was just me and her, Death Valley. I’ve always said she is my favorite park. She is so different and unique from all the others. Her views are so astounding, Her mountains are so tall. Her valley is so wide. She is rich in history of gold, silver, and borax mining. She’s the keeper of abandoned mines and ghost towns. She’s so strong and so dramatic, and this was one of the many features I liked about her, but she was also ruthless. She lures people in with beauty and mystique, as in the past she tempted with her riches of gold and silver. She’s a masterful artist, skillful at manipulation, luring man in to choke and turn him back to the very sand from which formed him.

She caught me. She had me right where she wanted me. Though a lover turned hostile, I had done her no wrong, but merciless she pursued me. I focused on breathing and said a prayer. After a few minutes my heart returned to a normal pace, colors in my vision returned, and my hearing was sharp. I was okay. I had to get up and continue. Time was of the essence. I needed to get back to the car. I stood up slowly, and I walked carefully. A peace had brushed over me, despite concern still guiding me. I was able to be calm yet knowing the urgency. I made progress, slowly, calmly, not letting my heart rate spike.

The trail wound up and down and around wavey rocks and canyon walls, until I could see up ahead the sharp pointed rocks of Zambriski Point. I could see people on the rim taking pictures, and it was a sign of relief. Slowly and methodically, I made it back to the lookout point among the other tourists. They were nonchalantly posing for photos in front of the jagged points spiking up from the canyon. I then was assumed to be another one of them, but no one knew what I had just experienced. I got back to the car and turned the air conditioning on high. I had some hot gatorade, and dry snacks. They seemed to help. I longed for something cold and refreshing, but nothing here would be cold. It was all hot.

I’m done with hikes for the day, I concluded. After resting in my car for a few minutes, I was ready to check out the Furnace Creek Inn, one of the two accommodations in Death Valley National Park. I wasn’t going to stay. I just wanted to see it. I had learned about this historic inn from a documentary about National Park lodges. It was built in 1927 by the Pacific Coast Borax Company before the area was declared a national monument and later a National Park. This inn was once a desert oasis for Hollywood elites, and to this day, it says on its website that it “still pampers every guest.” I had to see it for myself.

Its a structure that very much fits in with the landscape. Its foundation and lower level walls are constructed with rocks from the very desert. It’s building blocks were formed from the very sand of Death Valley. After I parked my car I walked up the drive. On one side there was a lawn with a tall fountain. Yes, there was a lawn in Death Valley! I could scarcely believe my eyes. On the other side of me was a wall skillfully crafted out of rocks and above it a patio for guests. Up above was the main level of the establishment. To get there there was a rounded tunnel that cut through the rock wall and seemingly went back to a staircase. Lights were affixed in the tunnel to light the way. How unique of an entryway, I thought. It seemed sort of like I was approaching some passageway in a medieval castle, but as soon as I entered the tunnel, a large aggressive wasp darted towards my face. I abruptly moved my head, evading its assault. It buzzed around me loudly and invasively. I ran back out of the tunnel to the drive. I had thought I was alone, but then I saw a lady walking her way around the front of the inn. I must have looked ridiculous, running away erratically from a wasp. I immediately regained composure, stood upright, and walked moderately. I smiled and nodded my head politely. “Hello,” I said, as if nothing unusual had just happened.

I walked around the rock wall to another staircase that led up to the main lobby of the inn. Inside I was quite impressed. I beheld a beautiful lobby of simple elegance. Intricate tilework spread through the lobby and into the halls. Big rounded windows looked out into palms and the desert mountains in the distance. Oritenal rugs sprawled out beneath wingback chairs and floor lamps. I did feel out of place, however, and began to wonder if this was alright, that I, a mere vagabond of the desert, was welcome in such an establishment. If I knew it was so nice, I would have dressed a bit differently from my gym shorts, cut-off, and hiking boots. But I decided to ignore my attire and just walk about the place as if I belonged. No one had to know I was a foolish young man who nearly died in the desert, who really is not sure where he is spending the night, and could no way afford this place. I could pretend and carry myself as if I knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. Some National Park lodges encourage visitors and are quite welcoming. This seemed just a little bit prestigious and more intimate to me, but I pretended like I belonged the best I could, given the circumstances. I wanted to appreciate its architecture, elegance, air conditioning….and pool?!

I walked out into the oasis garden behind the inn. I was so completely surprised that such a place existed in Death Valley. Here was a forest of palm trees on a hillside blanketed in green grass. Small winding stone pathways and stairs meandered around it and over a bubbling brook and rippling pond. Little stone walls held up the hillsides of tasteful landscaping. This place looked so cared for and so astounding to exist in such a barren place as Death Valley. Between the palms, in the distance, I could see the large expanse of the desert and its mountains standing tall. What a contrast! More immediately before me I was faced with a large natural spring fed swimming pool. Its poolside was encased by beautiful stone architecture with arches resting on cornerstones, and it was all in the shade. After being so exhausted in the desert, and strolling now still in the oppressive heat, the thought of being engulfed beneath the water of a swimming pool seemed so perfect and just what I most wanted. I had been successful thus far in pretending as if I belonged at the inn, walking around the lobby and garden oasis. What if I just took it one step further and helped myself to a little swim? I was very close to letting myself walk through the gate and into the pool, but I first noted that it would be quite obvious if anyone was watching, for no one else was at the pool. Then my moral conscience kicked in. This was not for me. It was desirable. It would be so nice, but it was not mine.

Back at my car I noted cell service here by the inn and sent a text to my mom telling her about the 122 degree temperature. She responded “You are not going to camp in that!” She knew that was my plan, and it still was my plan.

I drove thirty minutes to the Stovepipe Wells Village. I remembered the general store here from my previous visit. I bought a Death Valley Black Cherry soda in a long-neck glass bottle here back on my first National Park adventure. Inside I was greeted by a self-serve soda fountain. I got myself the mega jumbo cup, nearly filled it with small nuggets of ice from the dispenser, then poured over it cold refreshing blue Powerade. When I left the store and took the first sip through the straw, it was the most heavenly experience. My body was crying for this so badly: the sugar, the sodium, the electrolytes, and most welcome of all, the cold. I couldn’t take it in fast enough. I may not have made it into the pool at Furnace Creek, but this ice-filled cup of Powerade drowning me was the most perfect thing at the moment. Death Valley had tried to take me, I survived, still weary and war torn, but now I’d just powered up. It was going to be a good night.

Next order of business: finding a site and setting up camp. There were a number of first-come -first-serve campgrounds in Death Valley. In accordance with my itinerary, I was on my way to the Emigrant Campground when I discovered, along the way, a large sandy lot where others had parked and pitched tents. It sat a little bit elevated on a plain that sloped down into the valley. It displayed a beautiful open expansive view. The sun was setting, and I preferred not to set up camp in the dark. I figured this area would be fine. There were no numbered sites, no bathroom, but I could do without. I pitched my tent, and then went for a walk.

I passed by a ranger station or some park service building in the middle of the road that looked closed for the summer. Just past it I paused. I deviated from the road and stood up upon a rock looking out. The sun had set. The mountains were a rich dark blue, and the sky a vibrant pink. This beauty was enough to give shiver with goosebumps, even in the extreme heat. Out in the valley there appeared to be a lake, but I knew it was just the giant salt flats contrasting the surroundings. Everything was so giant, so huge- the mountains, the expanse of the valley, the salt flats. Everything seemed to flow smoothly from the Artist’s brush. Even with such an incredibly huge view, the desert was so still, calm, and quiet. This confirmed all the more that Death Valley remained my favorite National Park. She has a unique overwhelming effect on my soul. I love her, despite the fact she tried to kill me.

With a calmness of the late evening desert seeping through my being, I walked slowly and relaxed back to my tent and shed a few tears in response to such beauty. This was also my first stop of my very first grand National Park adventure back in 2015. I was coming back to where it all started, my following in love with the Parks, where excitement and wonder was so fresh and new. The desert reminded me of all I had seen and experienced since, and I felt extremely grateful.

Back at my car I brushed my teeth and didn’t bother changing clothes for the night. It would all be coming off in this heat. I checked the temperature from the car before I locked it up for the night. It displayed an even 100 degrees. I noticed I had cell service and decided to respond to my mom’s text over her concern about me camping in the heat when I told her it was 122 degrees earlier. I responded “No worries. It has cooled off…it’s only 100 degrees now.”

I crawled into my tent. Death Valley had spared me and now was as beautiful and captivating as ever.

Read my previous entry here: Monoliths and Stars: Wonders of the Mojave
Check out my book Still, Calm, and Quiet, here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093RMBNCP

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

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

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

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

On the Rio Grande: a world between the U.S. and Mexico

February 2, 2020Posted in adveture, national parks, nature, texas, UncategorizedTagged big bend, chisos basin, mexico, national parks, rio grande, terlingua, texas, west texas1 Comment

“Is there a trail over there?” I asked.

“No, but you can bushwhack,” the man replied. I was looking at Terlingua Creek in Big Bend National Park as it poured into the Rio Grande and the water flowed into Santa Elena Canyon. I had parked at the trailhead. There was supposed to be a trail into Santa Elena Canyon. It didn’t look promising, but if this man and his three small children could do it, I could too. How did they do it, really? Did he carry all his children on his shoulders? Because the Terlingua Creek was not by any means a dainty waterflow easy to cross. It appeared as a rushing river. As I put my feet in to start my “creek” crossing, the water rushed around me, and as I carefully stepped forward the water got increasingly deep. Water flowed waist up, and I nearly lost my footing. I was unsure that this was a good idea, but after crossing the deepest part, with a lunge, I met ground on the other side. Well soft silky terrain that oozed between my toes and sucked my feet down into it.

Trudging my was through a forest of underbrush, ducking my head under curving branches and pulling others aside with my handle, I was following the footsteps of prior travelers trying to find my way to the actual established trail. I knew the level of water was to blame for the covering of the actual starting point of the trail. While I was exploring my way through this jungle-like environment I got caught up in the novelty of the scenery and moment and so lost track of footprints in the mud. I tried to backtrack, but I couldn’t make sense of the footprints anymore especially combined with mine. I was barefoot, shirtless, ankle deep in mud, and bushwhacking my way through riverside growth. I felt perhaps the most primitive and truly explorative I have ever felt before.

Eventually, after a brief moment of uncertainty, I arrived in Santa Elena Canyon where giant cliffs forming the canyon walls measure 1,500 feet. Here one cliffside is Mexico and the other is the United States of America, and the Rio Grande flows in a murky pale brown in between. On the U.S. side, about halfway down the cliff faces, rock erodes leaving piles and a bar alongside the river where trees and other plant life grow. This is where the established trail is found.

As I walked through the canyon, I was met with a sense of wonder at the immense bold rock walls and the knowledge that the two countries come together at this exact location. Here I was far down below in the eroded expanse created by the river. Up above on the plateaus is where the two countries exist with all their problems and all their dealings. Here in Elena Canyon I felt like I was in some secret fortress or a hidden world, protected, encased by the walls of the canyon. I walked slowly, my eyes focusing at the majestic walls and back down to the quiet river.

I took the trail as it flowed up and down alongside the canyon wall. At one point I came across a large fish that the river must have left ashore, which had begun to dry out and be reclaimed by the earth. I took the trail until I could no longer, until it sort of disappeared and the rocks became more jagged and gave way to the river. Everyone that comes to Big Bend National Park should not miss out on this short hike. The views are among the most astounding in the park. The only word of caution would be crossing the creek.

The visit to Santa Elena Canyon was near the end of my day’s adventure. This morning I ventured out in my car to travel the whole expanse of the park and get a sampling of all it has to offer. I first stopped at the Fossil Discovery Exhibit. I learned all about the terrain and dinosaurs that used to live in this shallow sea. I even got my picture with a cask of the Deinosuchus skull. I then proceeded southward in the park on my way to the southeast corner to visit the Hot Springs. I’d read about this and was very interested I had never been in a hot spring. I stopped at the Panther Junction Visitor Center to inquire about the hot springs. New to hot springs, I just didn’t know if there were any safety precautions I should take. The park ranger said “I can tell you this: It’s about 100 degrees outside right now, and the water is also about 100 degrees. You can decide if you want to go in or not.”

I drove the 20 miles to Hot Springs.

The final few miles were on a remote dirt road. When I arrived in the small parking area a sign read “Vehicle Theft is common in this area.” That was not comforting. I got out of my car and very cautiously observed my surroundings, alert at all moments. I was near a part of the Rio Grande where the water was shallow and the girth of the river was small, where crossings from Mexico on foot were very possible and so frequent.

I observed the remnants of the old post office and bath house that used to stand on site. On the half mile hike to the hot spring, I got hit with an overwhelming sense of insecurity and uneasiness. I felt like I was being watched. Something was not right. Then, next to the trail, I came upon a grouping of small Mexican animal figurines “alebrijes” standing on the ground by a plastic jar with a slit cut in the top for money collection. Someone had crossed the river to place this and may be hiding somewhere at this moment, keeping an eye on the money jar. In retrospect, this seems silly, but this was the final bad omen. These figurines probably belonged to someone impoverished from across the border who was rather innocently trying to make some money. However a criminal is a criminal. This person broke laws by crossing into the U.S. this way and selling items in a National Park. Considering this, along with the sign warning of vehicle theft, I could almost hear the little figures saying “we are watching you,” and in the moment it scared me a lot. I came upon them but it seemed like they found me, and suddenly jumped out, unexpectedly. They seem like menaces of a Goosebumps novel. It sounds ridiculous, but such a negative energy surrounded those little figurines that I started running back to my car. I don’t know exactly what danger was there, but I could sense it. I knew it wasn’t worth it to see the hot springs.

Back on the main road I took a short stop at the Rio Grande Village which was closed for the summer, except for its store. There were very few people out and about the park but here a group of about a dozen teenagers and few adults formed a line in front of the checkout counter. They were all together. I bought some Check Mix and a Vitamin Water as well as a pair of fancy socks with an image of a bear and the words “Big Bend” sewn into them. I then proceeded to the Boquillas Canyon Overlook. I parked my car and walked the short path to the river overlook. There, on the banks of Rio Grande on the U.S. side, a short Mexican man wearing a sombrero was singing Cielito Lindo “Ay, ay, ay, ay Canta y no llores.”

There were a few other tourists at this spot as well. One man asked this singer questions about where he was from This man shared. “I’ve been crossing the river for about 20 years to sing songs, any requests.” He too had a money jar for tips.

I wanted to cross the river as well. Near this location was the port of entry to Boquillas, Mexico. One can take a short boat ride across the river, present his/her passport, and enter the small town of Boquillas for a visit and most typically a meal. Today the port of entry was closed. This man, however, did not let that stop him.

When I crossed the expanse of the park and was nearing the West end to visit Santa Elena Canyon I stopped at Mule Ears Viewpoint where one can see the two giant rock formations peaking up like ears. I also stopped alongside the road to view the enormous ocotillo plants, a native to the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts with their skinny stems creeping well over twelve feet tall.

My final stop before venturing into the canyon was at the Dorgan House Trail which leads to the remnants of an old homestead called Coyote Ranch. There were interpretive signs telling a brief history of the place. Settlers had to give up their homesteads when the government seized control of the land. The remnants of the buildings at Coyote Ranch are rusticly beautiful. There were clay bricks falling down from once fully constructed walls and door frames and window beams constructed of what looked to be driftwood. The homestead was up on a bit of the hill. I paused and looked out at Santa Elena Canyon in the distance and the expanse of savannah and rock formations in the distance. The place was so extremely quiet and remote. It fascinated my imagination to entertain that this was once home for people and they somehow raised animals and grew crops on this near barren land.

When my day was nearing its end, I headed back to the Chisos Basin in the center of the park where I was staying in the campground. I went to the lodge and bought a book titled Beneath the Window: Early Ranch Life in Big Bend National Park Before it was a National Park. The author Patricia Wilson Clothier recounts here childhood living in the region and the difficulties of trying to farm a land so harsh and uninviting. She mentioned how during her childhood in Big Bend, other people were rare, and those who did live nearby in the Big Bend region were a journey away. When they weren’t at their ranch, like others they would always leave doors unlocked and open for weary travelers passing by. It was expected that people passing through may need a place to stay or food to eat, so the door was always open. I found that information very insightful. Maybe this goes to explain the very apparent friendliness of West Texans. A culture was established in the past of excitement for people and visitors, because “new” people were a sure rarity in this rural land. I thought to myself, I don’t need to be in West Texas to be a rarity. You’ll find me a rarity wherever I am, for better or for worse.

I ate dinner at the Chisos Basin Lodge restaurant. I enjoyed some pork tacos with kale wand a great views of the rock pinnacles before me out the window. After dinner I bought some yogurt from the general store I fainted in the evening before, and I read my new book on the back porch of the lodge to another amazing West Texan Sunset.

The following day I would head north to the border of New Mexico and Texas to visit Gualalupe Mountains and Carlsbad Caverns National Parks.

Read my previous episode “Passing Out in Big Bend National Park,” here: https://joshthehodge.wordpress.com/2020/01/20/passing-out-in-big-bend/04/11/treasures-of-the-chihuahuan/

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

Category: nature

Onward I’d Run

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Traveling Across North Cascades National Park

Skyline, Longmire, and My Walk of Shame

The Mountain Goats of Hurricane Ridge

She Tried to Kill Me: Death Valley’s Claim on My Life

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

www.joshhodge.com

Attack of the Squirrels

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

Lands Alive: My First Day in Yellowstone

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

On the Rio Grande: a world between the U.S. and Mexico

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