This book chronicles a month-long adventure of camping and hiking in the U.S. National Parks in the summer of 2018, primarily in the Pacific Northwest. There are tales of adventure, humorous accounts, and captivating descriptions. Also nearly every chapter engages in a spiritual or philosophical discussion relating to the influence of one’s life upon another, the meaning of suffering, and the power of faith.
Why did you write this book?
I wasn’t going to write this book, because this particular summer was, in some ways, very difficult and shed light on some faults of my own character, at the time, and my struggle with illness. I didn’t want to write about it. I was done. But I have a goal of visiting every U.S. National Park and writing about the adventures in a series of books. Two of my summer adventures are chronicled in my books Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Park and beautiful wild and Still, Calm, and Quiet: More adventures in the National Parks and beautiful wild. With time and maturity, I realized this was perhaps my most meaningful summer- a time of great personal growth, and it was a part of my story that needed to be shared. I am so pleased to share it now, and hope everyone can learn and grow from my own experiences and insights.
Should I read your other two National Park adventure books first?
I would love it if you read Canyonlands and Still, Calm, and Quiet, but it’s not necessary. Each book gets progressively deep and philosophical. If you are ready for the most meaty book, this is the one.
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 on Jan 7. 2022. It has taken me about three years. A great deal of time has elapsed since my last installment due in part to being wrapped up in other writing projects as they concern Dollywood and Theodore Roosevelt. In recollecting my advetures, I relied heavily on journal entries, photographs, itineraries, and maps.
What makes this book unique?
Each chapter is sort of its own episode and can stand alone, but, when read together, they paint a greater picture and produce more meaning. It is not a travel guide but rather describes my travels in the physical and spiritual sense. The reader will enter my mind and thoughts as I’m out exploring largely alone. The book also features 200 black and white photographs and 45 vintage illustrations. Among the many stories in the book, you’ll read about my struggle for survival in Death Valley, the time I jumped into Crater Lake, my first grizzly bear encounter, and my first ever days in Montana.
Are the photos and illustrations your own?
198 of the 200 photos I took myself. A photo of the a grizzly bear I did not take. I also did not take the cover photo. The illustrations are not my own, but are from vintage publications in the public domain that are no longer in print. They are recycled here for your enjoyment .
Where was the picture on the cover taken?
That is Emerald Bay on Lake Tahoe in California.
Where can I buy this book?
Currently this book is only available on Amazon and is eligible for regular and Prime 1-2 day shipping. In a few months it should be available from walmart.com and other online retailers. Buying direct from Amazon is the greatest way to support me as the author. Buy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DZVRCQRY
Will you be releasing an ebook?
I am a traditionalist. I like my books in a good ol’ hard copy format, and so that is how I am choosing to share my book. I spend a great deal of time on the physical design of my books I have no plans to create an ebook at this time.
Is this book the same collection of stories found on your blog?
Some of the stories are the same, but 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?
Mojave National Preserve
Death Valley National Park
Emerald Bay State Park
Manzanar National Historic Site
Bodie State Historic Site
Redwood National and State Parks
Oregon Caves National Monument and Preserve
Crater Lake National Park
Mount Saint Helens National Volcanic Monument
Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area
Olympic National Park
Mount Rainier National Park
North Cascades National Park
Lake Chelan National Recreation Area
Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area
Glacier National Park
Lone Pine State Park
Is this book content appropriate for all readers?
Yes
What other books have you written?
Check out my full bibliography on my website here.
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!
In my mind Glacier National Park was the National Parks of National Parks, like a next level experience only conquered by the very bold and adventurous, or something like that. I made it! I had seen pictures of course and was astounded by the unbelievable views, and now I was here! I turned left off Highway 2, through a little tunnel under the railway, and into the little tourist village of West Glacier. I passed by a visitor center for Alberta, Canada. Although I was not in Canada, I was so close. I also passed by a few little tourists shops, Glacier Raft Company, and a little restaurant and ice cream shop called Friedas.
The pines hugged in closer after I crossed the bridge over the Middle Fork of the Flathead River, and there in the shade of the dark rich pines was the National Park sign. Bold and beautiful it read, Glacier National Park. I admit it’s now commonplace for me, after having spent many summers in Glacier, but at the moment this was a big deal. It was my first time here. This was an accomplishment. This was one of the more out-of-the-way National Parks I’d been to. Its mountains were extreme with moving Glaciers, and its forests held grizzly bears and wolves! This was no ordinary place to be. I was swept with a sense of accomplishment, gratitude, and wonder being here.
Nearby I parked at the Apgar Visitor Center. It was early and it was still closed, but there was a National Park bus stop on site. The plan was to take the bus up to Logan Pass, the highest point on the famous Going-to-the-Sun Road. From there I’d hike the Skyline Trail one way about fourteen miles up to the Garden Wall to catch a view of Grinnell Glacier, then I’d continue north to the Granite Park Chalet where I’d take the Granite Park Trail down to “The Loop,” another spot on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. There I’d catch the bus back down to my car. This would be a full day endeavor hence the getting started so early.
As I stood there waiting for the bus, I was cold. I needed the sun to rise and warm things up. I had a few layers on, including my new Under Armour base layer I bought at the thrift store outside Seattle, yet I was still just wearing shorts. I knew it would warm up. I double checked all I had in my backpack: a map, snacks, water, flashlight… just in case. I was prepared. My boot laces were pulled tight. I was ready! Anxiously I walked around, reading all the signs, observing what other tourists were doing, and checking messages on my cell phone. I had caught a wifi signal from the visitor center.
I chose to take the bus as opposed to driving for a few reasons. I was nervous about driving the Going-To-The-Sun Road. It seemed intimidating. The road is known as the most scenic drive in America but was also snug against dramatic cliff edges gaining 2,560 feet in elevation. I knew I would have to drive it to carry through with my next few days’ itinerary, but I wanted to size it up first and just observe it with someone else behind the wheel. I didn’t have to drive it until the following day. I also read that parking can be difficult to find at Logan Pass where my trailhead was, so I didn’t want to risk not being able to park. Lastly, I like the energy in the air on a bus in a national park with everyone geared up for adventure. It’s a unique culture that I find to be part of the park experience.
The bus ride was terrifying! I sat on the right side near the front of the bus. I swear this bus was too big for the road. Around every bend I felt as if my side of the bus was jutting off the cliffside. The first few miles of the road were easy, relaxing, just through the mysterious, dark, wet, mossy forest with light peaking through in the most intriguing and mystifying ways. The bus took us alongside Lake McDonald, the long-stretching wonder. Then we were along the beautiful McDonald Creek, where the water runs clear if not in a surreal turquoise. But then the real ascension began and things got hairy. It wasn’t so bad until rounding a place called “The Loop,” where the road makes a dramatic turn and narrows. There’s supposed to be two lanes, but it seems more like one by any other comparison.
The trees lessened and boulders became more prominent. I began to notice the forest below, no longer aside us. We were up in the mountains. The views were astounding, more magnificent and boisterous than anything I’d seen before, as if the mountains were calling for attention. However, I would appreciate them more the next day. Right now I was distracted by the thousands of feet expanse just beside me to which I felt I’d be plummeting down at any moment if for some reason I didn’t cling hard enough to my bus seat. The tension was real.
We proceeded through a few tunnels of which we were too big for; and a few bridges, built into the rock walls, better suited as foot paths in a Vanderbilt garden. I have never been more nervous on a ride in my life. Around each wind in the road, I felt I was just swinging out over valleys on my corner of the bus, dangling over great heights.
I could not understand how the bus driver was just so casual and relaxed, making friendly conversation with another passenger. She was loudly talking about how she was a school bus driver and this was just a summer job. I was carefully watching her in case I had to spring into emergency assistance, I suppose. At one point she grabbed her water bottle for a sip. Two hands on the wheel! I wished to telepathically impart.
I would be gripping that steering wheel so tight, head tilted forward, focused on the road. I wouldn’t be talking to anyone. I would have to be totally focused on the road. In fact I couldn’t even drive a bus on this road. We would already be plummeting down to McDonald Creek. Maybe if she is so relaxed I should be too. I tried to, but I was so tense. I couldn’t wait to get off this bus safely.
The bus stopped for some mountain goats crossing the road. We were getting close! We were now near the tundra. Water flowed around in many different directions and spread everywhere from the melting snow. Tight shrubs and alpine grasses hugged the rocks, and the tops of mountain peaks stood as monuments around us.
I survived! I got off at Logan Pass on top of the world. Here is the Continental Divide. Water flows east to the Atlantic, west to the Pacific, and north to the Hudson Bay. There’s a real feeling of being at the pinnacle of North America. There’s also a big parking lot where a visitor center sits along with two big flags, one of the U.S. and the other of Canada. Glacier National Park shares a boundary with Waterton National Park in Canada. Together they form what is called an “International Peace Park.”
A short distance from the parking lot at Logan Pass is the trailhead for the Highline Trail, often touted as the best hike in the park by many visitors. It begins at such an elevation that the mountain peaks around it are obviously bald, exposed to the wind and sun, reminding me of some of the rock formations of the Southwest in Arizona or Utah. The trail starts just off the Going-to-the-Sun road, and goes down a shallow decline with rich green grasses and a few pines. Then it snugs up close to a cliffside. The trail is just a couple feet wide, right up against a rock wall. The other side is a sheer cliff, plummeting hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet down. This did not bother me at all. The difference: I was in control of my body but wasn’t of the bus. This was an experience to marvel at. I loved it! The trail was already pretty busy this morning. There were other hikers right in front of me and others trailing up behind. “Be careful,” they told one another as they carefully maneuvered the small path.
This trail lives up to its hype. It was extravagant. At times it opened up to just enormous views atop these mountainous meadows spread with yellow blooming glacier lilies and patches of snow stretching before dramatic mountain peaks carved by glaciers. Each mountain valley was framing another stunning view in the distance. There was forest too, a grand immensity of it, but I was mostly above it. The descending display of each little triangular pine tree top spoke of the grandeur of the landscape before me. The sky was rich blue, the snow bright white, the mountains gray with skirts of dark green pines around their bases, and just before me was the vibrant green and yellow of the glacier lilies. I was right in calling this a next level National Park. These were the most immense, grandiose, dramatic, and beautiful views I had seen out of any National Park. This was the cream of the crop, or as they say, “”the crown of the continent.” Each dramatic mountain peak was like the palisades on a crown, the landscape adorned with the finest things of nature: glaciers, waterfalls, forested basins, the crown jewels of God’s creation.
This morning the sun was also very bright and positioned at just the right angle to illuminate these jewels, reaching into every little crevice and wrinkle on the mountainside, adding to the depth and detail of everything.
After about an hour in, I stopped at one majestic meadow to shed a few layers and eat some electrolyte gummies. I was getting quite warm in the morning sun. The trail was still busy, and hikers continually passed me. I found a rock to first set my backpack on and then to sit down on for a moment and behold the landscape. Although warm from the sun, the air was cool, and I took in a deep refreshing breath of rich snow-chilled mountain air. Then I carried on.
About seven miles in I came to the Grinnell Glacier Overlook spur trail. It was just a half mile and would lead up to the feature called the Garden Wall, which is a natural rock wall that is a definitive line of the east side of the park and the west side. It’s like a great narrow spine of the park. From here I could look down and see Grinnell Glacier. The spur trail was completely exposed above the treeline and very steep, gaining one thousand feet in a half mile distance. Sometimes when going uphill, I try to go fast and just get the exertion over with. I tried here, but the air was very thin on top of the world. My whole body felt so heavy and gravity felt extra strong. When I got there I was utterly amazed! I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t looked up any images prior. I was stunned. I hadn’t seen anything like this.
This may be a strange comparison, but it kind of was like when someone reveals a bloody wound, and you’re shocked by the look of it. You weren’t expecting to see something so abnormal on the skin’s surface which is usually smooth and predictable. It’s a grand abnormality on the skin and in the flesh. This glacier view was that grand abnormality on the earth’s surface and in the earth’s crust. But replace the disgust with awe, and replace the red of blood with rich turquoise blue and a white so bright and so angelic it burns.
Wow! I had never felt so high up. I was way on top of the world. I thought I was on top of the world at Logan Pass. I was wrong. This was even next level! I sat on a rock’s edge, below me rocks crumbled down, slanting into a blanket of snow which then spread over Grinnell Glacier. Then hundreds of feet below, I could see the ice rippling with white and turquoise blue. It was the glacier descending and melting into a bright opaque turquoise glacial lake. The lake fed into another lake and then into another lake in a chain of glacial lakes spread out immensely in the forest below. I was on top of everything and looked across at the other gray mountains tops up here above the treeline, rippled through the ages with rock layers. There were blankets of snow littered amidst these mountains, drooping in every which way. It was also clear here to see the carving power of a glacier. It’s where a whole mountainous valley began. This was. and stands to be, one of the greatest sights I have ever beheld.
I sat to snack on a Clif Bar and enjoy the view for a spell. A little chipmunk came very close. I’m sure he was hoping for a bite or two. That wasn’t going to happen, but I did take his photo, which he couldn’t have cared less about. Then shortly after, a group of Chinese tourists arrived all wearing the same off-white sun hat. They were all oohing and aahing and talking in their sharp-sounding language.
This place was unbelievable. I had really arrived somewhere! I couldn’t have conjured up such a view in my mind. Now it was resident in my mind. So satisfied, I began my descent to carry on back on the Highline Trail.
Something inside of me is dying, and I feel like death. These were the exact thoughts, exact words running through my mind. I was restless in my tent at night, rolling around on my sleeping bag. I had never felt quite like this before. I wasn’t in pain, for there wasn’t any sharpness of feeling. But there was this subtle aching, and even more so than a feeling, it was a knowledge that stirred within me. I was not well. I couldn’t get comfortable. My body was in utter forthright rebellion. Inflammation was raging on. The body was winning in this battle despite my will. I wanted to be well. I wanted to relax. The body wasn’t having it. Therefore my sleep was interrupted, shallow, brief, and before I knew it was morning.
The day before I had traveled from Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area in Washington here to West Glacier, Montana. I had traveled nearly six hours, around Spokane, through the panhandle of Idaho, past St. Regis, Montana, and up the west side of Flathead Lake. In St. Regis I made one of my more notable stops of the day at the St. Regis Travel Center. Right off highway 90, just across the Idaho border in Montana. This gas station establishment boasts “restaurant, casino, Montana’s largest gift shop, expresso” and “free live trout aquarium.” I just pulled over to go to the bathroom. I didn’t need all this, but I’ll take it! (minus the casino). ! It was like the Montana version of Buccees. Here I was greeted by a bag of free popcorn and a near endless supply of Montana t-shirts, huckleberry everything; and every Montana, grizzly bear, and Western knick-knack and patty whack you could imagine. Many items were boasting common Montana mottos and phrases: “The Treasure State,” “Big-Sky Country,” “The Montana way,” “Grab life by the horns”… I browsed around and didn’t purchase anything but was impressed by the inventory. In later summers working in Montana, I’d be back here a couple of times.
Shortly I found myself traveling upside Flathead Lake. I didn’t know that was its name. All the places I’d see in the next few days I’d have much more experience, knowledge, and memories with in the future with my subsequent summers working in Montana, but now it was all new. When I write about my adventures I like to talk about my experiences and observations at that time. As difficult as it is, I make a conscious effort to restrict myself from injecting later knowledge and experiences of these places. So although now I know it was Flathead Lake, then it was just some big lake I was traveling by. I was impressed by such an immense lake. Why hadn’t I heard of this before? It is the largest lake in the U.S. outside of the Great Lakes. I stopped in the community of Lakeside. I was very hungry and found a little cafe right off the road. I went inside, but after seeing the prices, I decided to continue on. I wasn’t used to the tourist prices in the Flathead Valley.
Atop the lake lies the biggest city in the valley, Kalispell. My hunger was so ravenous. I stopped at a Kentucky Fried Chicken. It genuinely sounded so good to me. I know it was not the best choice for my gut, but I was in need of some comfort food. This solo traveler from Kentucky, a little bit weary and beaten down by health issues, needed a bit of comfort from back home. Now it is humorous, because I know of way better and nourishing choices in the valley for food.
Leaving Kalispell, more and more tall pines filled in the landscape, and the road just seemed to roll along these wooded hills, swooping up and down with the great Rocky Mountains of Glacier National Park standing in the distance. Although the woods were everywhere, I did not feel nestled in the woods because the road was wide and beside it was a path for bikers and snowmobiles. Everything around me just seemed so big with the land and forest just so immense. I passed by a few tourist traps: “The Huckleberry Patch” and “Huckleberry Haven” boasting their huckleberry pie, and a western ranch style building called “ The Montana Fur Company” with a tipi and Native American relics outfront. Most prominent was this place called the “Ten Commandments Park,” with a dozen or so billboards situated together in a half circle, each loudly displaying a religious or political message. This seemed like something I’d see in Texas. Is Montana the Texas of the North? This I certainly thought.
Some National Parks have no real build up, not much of a tourist economy around it. Others, such as the Great Smoky Mountains, have an extreme excess. Glacier seemed to have a moderate amount of tourist build-up. The place seemed touristy, but not in an obnoxious way. Its quantity and quality was of such a way that it served the park well in building up just the right level of excitement and anticipation without being obnoxious or tacky.
I wouldn’t make it into the park this evening but according to plan I would stay at the West Glacier KOA. I had read this was the flagship KOA. I’d stayed at many Kampgrounds Of America and had become a big fan, so to stay at the allegedly best of all KOAs was an exciting thing for me. I had noticed, while booking my stay online, that this KOA was also the one featured on the front cover of the KOA directory. This was big stuff! Rolling along wide wooded highway 2, suddenly to my right stood the big bold beautiful KOA sign made of rich dark wood with black letter insignia, and it didn’t say “Kampground” as most are identified, It read “KOA Resort.” Oooh, fancy!
I checked in at the office, where I also was given a free KOA koozie. I don’t drink, but I was still glad to have a KOA souvenir. The campground was enormous. I had a standard tent pad which backed up to some woods at the junction between where the cabin guests stayed and the RV area. I quickly set up my tent, because I was on a mission: I wanted to enjoy the hot tub, which I did. It was small and busy, but I enjoyed a nice warm soak. I then finished setting up my camp, blowing up my air mattress, and throwing my pillow and sleeping bags in the tent. I felt calm and relaxed walking around the campground and getting familiar with the place. There was a vibrant energy, a positive one of happy families on vacation and kids on their bicycles. I kept having to make frequent trips to the bathroom. Although I felt relaxed in many ways, my gut was not happy.
I noticed on the resort map there were some little hiking trails in the woods just behind my site. I went on a stroll through the woods and there I decided to call my parents and let them know of my sickness. I had procrastinated telling them. I guess I was hopeful it’d just go away as suddenly as it seemed to come upon me, and therefore be a non issue. But I felt like now I was in for a long haul. I should let them know. Just talking about it and my experience with it so far was draining. I didn’t want to really talk about it. I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn’t.
Soon, after I settled in my tent for the night, and this was the night things took a major turn for the worse: Something inside of me is dying, and I feel like death. These feelings. After tonight, the illness would not just bother me but rage on.
In the morning I ate at the KOA resort. It had a restaurant, with a nice outdoor patio. I ordered the Montana Breakfast of eggs, potatoes, and thick sausage patties. I was impressed by the quality here. In the subsequent days I’d learn this trio is the standard Montana breakfast almost everywhere. After breakfast, I was driving, for the first time ever, into Glacier National Park with great excitement. I was going to hike the famous Skyline Trail, which in my present state of health, would not be easy.
As I was driving I thought back to what I would consider my greatest thoughts and reflections on this trip so far. I thought about Nurse Logs and the life-enriching ability one leaves behind after they have died. I considered my previous thoughts on the colors of my sunset and the qualities of one’s life that can be evident and seen when a life comes to completion, or to put it more bluntly, one dies. There was so much thought about death, but not in any dark way, but in an inspiring way, thinking more about the quality of a life truly lived before time naturally runs out. I was only twenty-eight, not an age one normally contemplates what they leave behind upon their passing, but these were my thoughts. It was curious to me that shortly after these thoughts came to me unexpectedly my health had been taken from me to the point my mind spoke: “I feel like death.”
Were my deepest thoughts and personal revelations preparing me for this, preparing for the end? It sounds very dramatic in retrospect, but in the moment it was quite sincere. The only other time my body was under this attack with ulcerative colitis brutally flaring was when I was in college and it was severe. There were the restless nights of rolling around the floor in pain, the hospitalization, the intense pain, the blood loss, the anemia, my body not digesting food, the malabsorption, the withering away, the affected eyes, the suffering teeth, the weakness, the fatigue, the fainting, the crying. The option of surgically taking out my colon wasn’t on the table, because the doctor believed I was too weak to survive the surgery. I look back and marvel how despite everything I continued onward.
At that time of the first onset I was a student in education, and I was due for student teaching the next semester. With my current state of health I felt I just couldn’t do it. I informed my parents I was coming home. I notified the education department at my school, telling them I had to postpone my student teaching because of my health. Then, this decision sat horribly with me. I didn’t feel at peace about it at all. Although now officially unenrolled, I called a meeting with the dean of education. I knew how rigid and firm to policies and procedures the whole institution was. I felt embarrassed, but I was going to plead and beg them to let me back in the program. I wanted to proceed with student teaching despite my health and weakness. I told the dean “I am very sick, but I may not get better. I may be like this for the rest of my life, so I don’t want to let this sickness stop me. I must learn to live with it.”
I’ll never forget what the dean told me. Somewhat surprised looking at me square in the eyes, she said “Well, that says an awful lot about your character.” I was back in! God gave me an inner strength and fierce resistance to face my illness while moving forward in life. .
In the struggle I clung on with a tight grip to a harmony of Bible verses I felt God spoke directly to me, 1 Peter 5:10 and Phillipians 4:7 together: “After you have suffered a while, the God of grace Himself, whose knowledge surpasses all understanding, will restore you and make you strong in Christ Jesus.”
It’s just for, “a while,” I thought. That helped me persevere. God will “restore” me and make me “strong.” That gave me hope. However, I was struggling with this. I wanted to believe it. I held the word of God to be true. It had proved itself over and over again to be so, but this night was exceptionally long, and there was no improvement in my health whatsoever. I felt myself slowly dying. What does this promise and these verses really mean?
One evening in my quiet time, alone in a little study nook in my university, in my sickly state with increasing complexity of illness, I was journaling and thinking over this promise of God. Then it dawned on me: I think I know what it means. The first part about “suffering a while,” well I was there, no doubt. I knew that to be true. The second part, “I will restore you and make you strong.” I struggled with that because I was not seeing it as I expected it to be, in this life. Maybe, that is the part God will accomplish when he calls me home. When I die. In his eternal presence I will be restored and he will make me strong. So maybe God is telling me, “After you have suffered a while, I will bring you home to restore you and make you strong.”
It was profound to me and haunting in some ways. I didn’t want to die so young, but at the same time the notion was comforting in knowing that whether it be in life or be in death God restores me and makes me strong. I am victorious through Him, either way! I took a deep breath as though accepting my fate, not sure I felt ready for the responsibility set before me, to proceed into death with faith, resting on His promise. I zipped up my backpack, tucked away my journal and Bible, and carried on with life’s demand. Live strong and fiercely to the end. But oh what an ache it was still to my soul! This was a silent disease. Few would know. I’d be here and then I wouldn’t.
God’s promise did hold entirely true, as it always does, and to my own heart’s desire, for God is good! I was restored and made strong in this life shortly after.
When I look back at this period of sickness in my life, it doesn’t seem so dark, and actually never felt dark in the moment either, though it may seem so from the casual observer. Actually, I am extremely grateful for that time of sickness and for the wrestles with faith. These were times of some of the greatest spiritual intimacy and dependency on God in my life. His promise held so much more, too, than what I even thought at the time. When God promised to restore me and make me strong, I considered that just in the physical sense. God did mean that, but He also meant it in a spiritual sense. God would strengthen me spiritually beyond what I could see in the moment. To go through such an experience of facing a prospect of death so young and doing so walking hand in hand with God, I think produces a level of wisdom and maturity that I am eternally grateful for and has become an integral part of my character and outlook on life and death. I would never want to go back and relive those days, but I’d also never wish they didn’t happen. Dolly Parton captures the sentiment in her song The Good Olde Days When Times Were Bad: “No amount of money could buy from me, the memories that I have of then, No amount of money could pay me, To go back and live through it again.”
But now, what was happening to my body here on this journey out West, here at Glacier, with the return of this great grave sickness? My thoughts went back to this previous era of life, to the promises, to the pain, to the prospects. I didn’t want to have to face and reconsider everything, but here it was again, in my face (or in my gut rather). There was a bit of initial panic and I felt overwhelmed. What do I believe again? I saw how God’s promises applied back then, but how do they apply now? I thought I had closed that chapter and had moved on, but it was back. Was it the same chapter of life? No. This was chapter 2. I was more prepared in the spiritual sense. Something was about to go down (or come down rather). That would soon become evident.
“Okay, I look alright.” I said to myself while looking at my picture by the sign to Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area. It was a relief. I was not feeling well at all. I thought my relaxing time in Stehekin would be good for the body. It was certainly good for the soul, those two nights up in the forest in the most remote community in Washington surrounded by nature. Yet inside my intestines and my immune system were still angry. I felt as if I was entering that stage where my body was starting to reject food altogether. Anything I would eat would make me feel unwell, and I felt weak and withering. This was devastating to me at the time for a number of reasons, but especially because in recent years I had really focused on my health and building my body up. I was so disciplined and persistent with my daily workouts. I was very strict on my diet. My body was my most valuable thing in life. We should all treat our bodies as the valuable things they are, but I believe I had become over preoccupied with it.
I could see the natural process that played its course for me to arrive at such a place. I had spent much of my teens and young twenties very ill. Then my body healed. I regained strength and began to feel healthy after a long period of sickness. As my body began to once again absorb nutrients from food, it was exciting, and I held such an appreciation and gratefulness for my health. Slowly that evolved into being over-concerned and over-consumed with it. It was more about health too. It was also about building muscle and maintaining a certain physique. It was building an image and maintaining it. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, but did I let that consume me, so as to lose my health now was unnecessarily devastating? This is what I was thinking.
Now I felt like everything I had built was crumbling down. I was living to build my body. I had put so much value in that and now I did not have it. My muscle was withering away and I was feeling weak and ill. It was a punch to the gut that was already wounded…. But in the photo I just took I thought I looked good. I still looked healthy. I still looked strong. I certainly was feeling worse on the inside than I looked on the outside. Sometimes with ulcerative colitis, it is apparent when someone is ill, but it is also a silent illness, in that one can be very sick and feel utterly miserable but on the outside everything may look fine.
The photo I took gave me a little pick-me-up, for I was low in spirit. After the welcomed distractions of Stehekin and the excitement of exploring that little pocket in the woods the past few days, I had a three hour drive in which I felt miserable. My gut was restless and my body was fighting itself. I was pestered with the thoughts Why is this happening to me? And then No, this can’t be happening, but then I repeatedly was confronted with the reality that, Yes, this is happening. My thoughts would at times be distracted, especially by sights along the way- but then I’d feel the abnormal churning of the gut, an urgency to pull over, and I‘d have to repeatedly confront reality: I’m ill.
Eventually I arrived at Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area. I had pulled over at one of the entrances to take my picture by the sign, something I try to do at every National Park Until. Feeling slightly better about my current state after seeing my photo, I pulled into Kettle Falls Campground. It was a very open arid campground. There were a few pine trees here and there, but mostly dry grass and dusty ground. I was atop a bluff beside the lake and on a rounded island very close to the mainland. As much as I love the deep forest, there is always something very comforting to me about wide open spaces. I think it’s the midwestern Illinois blood flowing through me. It’s calming for me to see the big sky and gaze over long distances, and there I could see that sky, and could look across the land over the lake.
Conservationists vs. Preservationists
Lake Roosevelt really is a part of the Columbia River formed by the Grand Coulee Dam created by president Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1941. I love natural places, and there is something extra remarkable about a beautiful lake naturally occurring in the wild, but there is something mildly disappointing about a dammed lake. I am not against dams. I think dams are fascinating in how much renewable energy they can provide and all the outdoor recreation they can afford. However I am well aware that there are people who are completely against dams altogether and any human influence upon the land. When I consider these people, I know I differ with them in the type of naturalist I am. I believe I am a conservationist, which I would define as one who calls for responsible use of the land to maintain its benefit for further generations. This is certainly different from exploiting the land, for I have great reverence for the land. If we were to exploit it, we would rid it of all its benefits, rendering it useless and defacing its natural beauty. Rather I believe we conserve it, so we can have it for its benefits for generations.
In some instances the best step we should take as conservationists is leave some things alone, preserve them. However my worldview is that the earth is designed for man’s benefit, and therefore we should use the earth for its intended purposes, and sometimes that benefit is simply in its beauty. An example is the Yosemite Valley. Don’t touch it. Let it be. It holds remarkable beauty. Other times the best purpose is for recreation or energy, perhaps that the assessment here for Lake Roosevelt. Sometimes the best purpose is agriculture, mining, cattle raising, farming, housing. Historically, the National Forest service has been a conservationist department, their motto: “land off many uses.” The National Park service is different in that its “to preserve and protect,” a largely preservationist mentality.
The preservationist as an individual doesn’t believe in any human involvement with the land. They believe in leaving it completely untouched. They want preservation as is. A conservationist believes in preservation as well, but the preservationists doesn’t share the same view of land use as the conservationist. Historically speaking, I have great respect for both types of people. Theodore Roosevelt was a great conservationist and John Muir was a great preservationist. Together they accomplished a lot. I think the input of both, the challenging view of one upon the other is good to find a balance and approach situations reasonably. The conservationist unchecked could be corrupted into an exploiter of land, but the preservationist helps bring the conservationist back to his roots of mighty respect for the land. Also the preservationist unchecked can become an extremist, viewing the human as merely a hindrance to the planet, restricting his due duty to the earth. As a consequence the planet actually suffers. Unfortunately I think many have arrived at this harmful viewpoint today, or at least those with loud voices and showy influence have.
Let’s take the example of forestry. It was once common practice for those working in forestry to attend to the forest. Fallen trees would be cleared from the forest and used for timber. This would benefit the man, but also benefit the forest as a whole. When lightning would strike and forest fires began, there would not be all the dry dead wood on the forest floor as ripe kindling, and therefore forest fires wouldn’t be as large and destructive. I know forest fires are natural and can be good things too, for the aftermath of a forest fire regenerates new growth and provides nutrients to the soil, but forest fires have grown bigger and more deadly, causing much damage, killing habitats, and disrupting air quality. People today want to blame out-of-control forest fires on “climate change,” but really the main factor is that in many parts, because of preservationists’ no intervention policies, forest floors are not cleared out of fallen timber. I see this as man not attending to his duty. Man in my view was created to attend to and take care of the land. He benefits from it, but he also takes care of it.
Many preservationists of today are treating humans like an invasive species. Not only do we have man not attending to his duty to care for the land, but we also prohibit and restrict him in so many instances, which may not be necessary or good. I am so glad the infrastructure of our National Park system and the creation of all our beautiful National and State Park lodges and roads occurred at a time of the healthy pull of both sound thinking conservationists and preservationists. Today the preservationist would prohibit humans from all of what we have and enjoy in terms of parks. We wouldn’t have the richness of our access to these beautiful places. We have to be responsible but we cannot throw out reason. After all, this is ours too!
Each Animal Has a Job
Take a look around the animal kingdom. All animals manipulate the earth. I think the strongest example is the beaver. They gnaw down trees, create dams as well, creating whole ponds and waterways that otherwise may not exist. They use their creations for their homes, their habitats, and cultivating their food sources. We don’t see huge movements and people taking to the streets to protest beaver dams now, do we?
What about bees? They build these hives, enormous in comparison to their size, then they go around stealing pollen from all these flowers. Should they just let these flowers be? Should we regulate bees and restrict them from tampering with all these flowers? Should we place zoning restrictions on their hives? What would happen then? Well, there would be no pollination of our flowers. They would cease to reproduce. We’d have no flowers and would lose many vegetables and fruits to extinction. Also, bears feed off of beehives.
Let’s talk bears. They have a responsibility to the forest too. They clean up dead carcasses and their waste spreads as fertilizer and spreads seeds to propagate growth of many plant species. Should we regulate bears and not let them roam free and confine them, for they are tampering with the forest by moving all those carcasses and spreading all their waste?
Man’s Role in Nature
Just like the bear and the bee God has given every creature its role. Birds build nests, bees build hives, beavers build dams, prairie dogs build entire underground towns, can’t the human build for himself a home or build his own dam? Every animal has a role with the environment. The human has a role too. The discussion should not be, how do we remove humanity from nature, but rather what is man’s responsible role in nature? Ignoring his role, the earth suffers. As written in the book of Genesis, God put man in the “Garden” to attend to it, and not to ignore it. We should especially not ignore our forest and water ways in this great garden. We need to attend to them.
This is not to say I am careless, but man is not an invasive species. I believe the earth is created for man. The bigger issue is that man doesn’t know who he is. The further we get away from God as a society, the less we know who we are; and the less we know about who we are, the less we know about our role and responsibility to the earth.
Here I stood at Lake Roosevelt. What do I make of this dammed lake? When it was constructed at the time of the U.S. coming out of the Great Depression and into World War II it provided much needed energy for the economy and today it provides great recreation. I acknowledge and have an appreciation for these things, but I also was a bit saddened learning more about it. Kettle Falls, the water falls which were a great and prominent gathering place for many Native American tribes of the Pacific Northwest to trade and fish along the Columbia River, was now flooded because of the dam. I was saddened that such beautiful things as waterfalls were eliminated by man, and I was sad considering tribes lost such an important location for them. When the dam was built and the falls were being flooded over, a number of tribes got together for a “ceremony of tears.”
This site was also so important to their salmon economy. At one time the Columbia River was home to the world’s largest salmon runs with over thirty million salmon taking the route. The dam changed that. Oh, what should I make of Roosevelt Dam? Some things we just have to accept. There’s no changing. Things won’t go back. Kettle Falls are gone. The salmon run is not what it once was. Lake Roosevelt is here to stay, and so I have to approach it, not by the past, but in the present. Lake Roosevelt is unarguably beautiful. I chose to appreciate it and enjoy it.
Mission Point
I drove just a few miles up the road to Mission Point, a little peninsula on the lake where the Jesuits had formed a mission, beginning with the visit of two Canadian-French Catholic missionaries, Francois Norbert Blanchet and Modeste Demer in 1838. They witnessed to the Colville Indians and the fur trappers and traders of the Hudson Bay Company visiting the nearby Fort Colville. The following year they held the first recorded mass between the Rockies and the Cascades and baptized nineteen Native Americans. This was my first time learning of Catholic missions in the U.S.. I would go on to learn of many more on my travels through Montana. There at Mission Point was the old mission meeting hall. It looked like nothing more than a cabin. I walked around and read the interpretive signs. There was a small path that led out to the tip of the peninsula. I walked out there and sat down for a moment. Everything was still, calm, and quiet. The sun was setting behind the hills in the distance on the other side of the lake.
On my walk back down the path to my car I spotted a deer. It was watching me through a window of pine trees in the forest. I paused and locked eyes with it, then I moved slowly and quietly towards it before it trampled off.
Back in my tent I looked through the pictures I had taken on my phone and reviewed my itinerary. Tomorrow I’d arrive at perhaps the climax of the summer adventure, at what I was considering the National Park of all National Parks, Glacier National Park!
It was the hour to get organized, for it was time to head toward the airport and return Zach to Kentucky where he came from. So we began first-thing this morning. The trunk of the car was just a grand mess of all our things sort of mixed together: the boots, the backpacks, the flannel, flashlights, the park maps, the souvenirs. We handed things back and forth as we got organized. “This is yours…..This is mine.” We also had to take down the tents and pack up the sleeping bags. It was quite an operation. I wasn’t sure how to feel about all this. Was I to be sad to send Zach off, continuing the adventure by myself? How would that feel after all this time together? Or should I feel happy and relieved to be able to have my solo freedom, to do everything as I wanted to and not have the stress of the complaining and the concern of trying to appease. I guess I sort of shrugged it off. I’ll find out when he’s gone, I concluded.
Leaving Mount Rainier National Park, we stopped just outside at a little “backpacker lodge.” That’s how I described it in my journal. I didn’t bother to write down its name or provide any details, except that I bought a cup of hot tea and a scone for breakfast. I described it as a “backpacker lodge,” by the part-grungy, part-artsy nature of the place and the few patrons around sporting large backpacks. In writing about this place I’ve examined maps and have tried to locate this place, to give it a name here, but I simply cannot find it. Perhaps it doesn’t exist anymore, or perhaps it is just well hidden on the maps.
In recalling my adventures in the National Parks and the beautiful wild, this is not the only place I visited I haven’t been able to relocate. The very day I picked Zach up from the airport, and we were traveling our way up California on highway 101 in the semi-arid lands, passing by many a vineyard, I came to a sign boasting some sort of self-sustaining community. It was advertised as an all-natural farm working on renewable energy. Its signage read “visitors welcome.” I knew this was the kind of place Zach would like to see. So, I pulled off the road. This was for him. He seemed excited to see it. We pulled onto a dusty driveway. The land was dry and the sun was harsh. A box stood at a post with a suggested donation listed. We threw in a few dollars. I should have known better…Well, honestly I had no idea what was in store.
So this was this little commune of various buildings and paths between them we could walk around on. We weren’t quite sure where we could go, or what we were to see. There was some interesting makeshift infrastructure, networks of homemade irrigation systems, green houses, lots of plants hanging around, buildings that were constructed…um…what’s the word… creatively. It was kind of intriguing, but then we came across a local. He was a middle-aged man, leathery, wrinkly skin from too much sun exposure. His hair was dirty and matted; his shirt only buttoned up halfway to show off his collection of hippie necklaces. He was super friendly and talkative…because he was drunk. The first piece of evidence was the smell on his breath. He welcomed us, and gave a slurred introduction to the grounds. He wanted to show us his home that he built himself. It was a hut, made of dirt clay and glass bottles. I’ll admit it was impressive. It even had some nice windows built into it. It had to have been a lot of work, but after I briefly saw it. I was done. I was done listening to him curse like a sailor so casually and I was ready to go! But he kept talking and talking. When we did get away, I made a comment to Zach about how drunk he was, “…and high,” Zach added. I hadn’t picked up on that, but it’s because I hadn’t been exposed to enough high people to know what that sort of behavior looks like. Then a notion started to dawned on me: I think we are on a marijuana farm. Again, I was done. I wanted to get out of here. Before we left we did go into a gift shop, which was surprisingly nice and put together, not very reflective of the jury-rigged nature of the rest of the place. By observing the type of merchandise my suspicion grew stronger.
That was weird. We carried on.
As I’ve gone back to maps and the internet to try and find this place, learn more about it, to confirm what exactly it was, and to give it a name, I can’t find anything. Perhaps that’s intentional, and that’s fine, because I really don’t care to know more. What I do know is that it was in California, and they can have it, and they can keep it. I suppose all I’ll ever know about it is what I remember. Just like the backpacker lodge outside Mount Rainier National Park, that’s all I got.
After our brief stop for breakfast we only had a couple hour drive to the Seattle-Tacoma airport, so as we got close we made a few stops. Zach wanted to visit a Target to return a Nalgene bottle he had bought toward the beginning of our ttrip together. I have a tradition on my summer-long vacations to get a Nalgene bottle and sticker it up with stickers from each park I visit. I had a neon yellow bottle for stickers for my Southwest adventures I write about in my book Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Parks and beautiful wild. I have a dark green one with stickers from the Still, Calm, and Quiet: More adventures in the National Parks and beautiful wild summer, and I have two classic blue ones from parks I’ve visited on various smaller trips back in the Eastern United States. For this trip I had a dark turquoise bottle sporting my stickers. Zach had learned of my ways and wanted to do the same. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, as they say, so I liked that he wanted to copy me, but the Nalgene he had bought earlier on the trip had a plastic casing around it that must have, at some point, melted onto the bottle and now could not be fully separated. So he wanted to exchange it.
I also let Zach pick where to have lunch since it was his last day on the trip, and he was always the one with the large and urgent appetite. It’s definitely telling that we were no longer in the wild when he chose ihop. We were in the city of Tacoma next to Seattle. It was my first time eating at an ihop. I was surprised to learn there was more on the menu than just pancakes.
In the later afternoon it came time to take Zach to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. I parked and we went inside. He checked his bag, we said goodbye, and he quickly made it through the TSA security checkpoint. I did feel a poignant sadness. As much as he frustrated me, I felt this heavy aloness set in. It was the realization that I was so far away from home and now all alone. Why should this bother me? I’ve traveled so far away so alone so many times. But as I saw him move past security towards his gate, I knew deep within me, our friendship wouldn’t recover from this trip. Our friendship was built over a love for the outdoors and recreation. Those are great things, but they can also be superficial, especially when we view nature so differently. I view it as God’s design with purpose, intention, and messages which it beholds for mankind to draw closer to Him. Zach didn’t share that view. I also value human life so greatly much differently than Zach. We argued about this. He saw human life as too abundant and in need of being lessened. This sat so incredibly unwell with meI saw it all as sacred and designed by God with even greater purpose. Humanity is God’s most prized possession. Yes, possession. We are His. I felt I couldn’t bring up these deeply held views of mine. They would cause further arguments. Zach saw human life as too abundant and needed to be lessened.
There also was no peace in this friendship. There was complaining and conflict and never a sense of security. We were not kindred spirits. We didn’t share any weightier values. At this time in my life I was too young and immature to realize that perhaps I could be an influence upon Zach’s life, but when it comes to forming friendships it takes a great deal of effort for me to form them. I also don’t throw the word friend around casually. I take the term friendship quite seriously. In recent years I’ve been very conscious of my use of the term “friend” versus “acquaintance.” I will only use that term friend for a true kindred spirit, for someone I can rely on, whom I share great values with, whom I am willing to get behind and advocate for in life, and someone who is willing to do the same for me.
I also believe friendship is a design of God for us to build each other up spiritually. The Bible has a lot to say about friendship. Take into account Proverbs 18:24, “One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. Then Proverbs 17:17 reads, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” Lastly, I’d like to mention Proverbs 27:17, which I also think has a lot to do with friendship. It reads, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another”. What I thought was a friendship between Zach and I was not reflective of any of these verses.
We are all wired differently. It takes a deal of effort for me to create friendships. There’s this effort of really putting myself out there and sharing of myself that doesn’t always come naturally. I do it and delightfully so when I see the potential for a fruitful and lasting friendship. In such instances it encourages me. I get a great deal of energy from it, and my life is enriched, but to put forth the effort for a friendship based over a mere superficial hobby for nothing of substance, is exhausting. I am not saying that the way I maneuver friendship is the best and that my views are even the best for me. I find myself often to be solitary, lonely quite often. I suppose if I didn’t take friendship building so seriously, but more casually, and I put forth effort to connect even over the shallow and superficial things in life, I may have more people around me. Maybe I’d be less lonely, but also being surrounded by people on a shallow level of commonality I think is exhausting. I would probably feel even more lonely to be surrounded by people who do not share my values and outlook. I do say, that because I do take friendship so seriously, that the people I do invest in that I truly call friends mean a lot to me. I am very rich because of that, and maybe I feel a richness of friendship that some people do not, and for that I am very thankful.
As Zach was now gone on his way back to Kentucky, a whole different mindset had to set in. I had to shift from accommodating another traveler, to just looking out for myself. I was free! Not gonna lie, this is what I wanted.
Leaving the airport, I was able to quickly adopt the new mindset of being alone and free! The next leg of my journey would take me to North Cascades National Park, but tonight all I had to do was drive two and a half hours to a KOA northwest of Seattle, so I didn’t have to be in a rush. Therefore in Marysville, Washington, a suburb of Seattle, I stopped at a Planet Fitness. The original plan was to take a shower there, but then I realized I could just shower at the KOA tonight, and so I just enjoyed a workout. Normally I focus on one certain muscle group per day at the gym, but since I hadn’t been to a gym in a while, I decided to just do a little bit of everything.
At this point in my life, I still hadn’t made the switch from the flip phone to the smartphone. I had an iphone, a cheap one, just to take photos and connect to wifi when the opportunity allowed. I needed to take the iphone into Planet Fitness and connect to the wifi to make a payment through mobile banking. In between sets I was trying to remember a password, reset a password, select all the images of stop-lights, get a confirmation code through the flip phone, translate that over— all of those technicalities.
Next to the gym was a local thrift store. It was pretty large, and I was excited to check it out. Maybe I can find some fun camping gear. I’d really like to find a skateboard. That isn’t something I could have packed in my suitcase. Maybe I can find some good CDs for some different travel tunes. Since I hadn’t made the migration from flip-phone to smartphone, I also hadn’t made the switch over to digital media. I had no such luck with any of these hopes, but I did find an Under Armour base layer that would come in handy during the cold nights and mornings up in Glacier National Park. Leaving the thrift store, I did notice a couple homeless people loitering around the parking lot, one pushing a shopping cart as if it was a caravan. The way they acted, their demeanor, made it evident they were drug abusers. It was nice to get a workout in, and to wander around the thrift store, but the druggies were a stark reminder I was in the city and I wanted to be back in the wild.
I got in the car and made my few hour drive to the KOA campground. After zipping up interstate 5, I was on highway 20 heading east along the Skagit River. Urbanization waned, and gradually more forest set in. I knew the KOA wasn’t going to be anything fancy in terms of KOAs. It was just a basic one, but all my experience with KOAs thus far had been good. Making the turn into the KOA I was surprised to find that it was gated, and I had to press a button to open the gate. I went to the office to check in. The host seemed a bit frustrated. She went over the usual rules and explained how the gate will be located after 10pm. I wondered why this KOA needed such a security measure as a locked gate. We seemed to be in a pretty rural area, and back in nature, which is generally a safer place to be. It’s not like we were in a city. She pointed on the map where my campsite was. It was the furthest away at a dead-end road. “There was a picnic table at your campsite, but we’ve been having a problem. Some people entered in from the woods and stole the picnic table, dragging it off into the forest.” This explained her frustration, and now I knew why there was a locked gate. But who comes from out of the woods and steals a picnic table? It seemed so odd. I wasn’t bothered by the fact I wouldn’t have a picnic table, but it was unsettling that people come from out of the woods and steal things.
I drove down the gravel path where it dead-ended at my campsite. I was farthest away I could be from any other camper in this campground, isolated. I stood there at my site and looked into the forest imagining some strange forest people emerging and scoping out what they could glean. Where were they coming from? What’s in those forests? Not having made the smartphone migration, I wasn’t accustomed to using any digital maps to check out my surroundings, so I just looked at that forest with a mysterious wonder, imagining people dragging picnic tables into its depths. Those were unsettling thoughts.
I drove back to the “recreation center” as it was called. It was like a community center in the campground next to the pool. There was a water dispenser and plastic KOA cups. I was a KOA fan and had never seen a KOA cup before. They were obviously meant to be taken. Souvenir! There I sat at a folding table, cracked open my Chromebook, connected to the wifi, and began transferring some of the photos from my point-and-shoot camera’s SD card to the Chromebook for backup and also to share some photos online. What an adventure thus far, from the Mojave Desert to the North Cascades in the Pacific Northwest. It was very relaxing to sit there for a while, and I was at great peace while looking at all these beautiful photos I had taken on my journey. I also proceeded to take a shower and was all refreshed and reset. Then I hopped back in my car and drove back down the dead-end to my campsite.
It was dark now, so there was a certain mysterious ambiance in the air. I stood there on the tent pad in the silence, alone, looking at the forest again. The host’s words reverberated in my ears, “Some people came from out of the woods…and stole the picnic table, hauling it into the forest.” I imagined them now hauling a body into the forest. I did not saunter over a decision. There was an unsettling vibe here. It was not strange enough to cause me to leave, but I was going to sleep in my car, and so I did.
“Of all the fine mountains which like beacons, once blazed along the Pacific Coast, Mount Rainier is the noblest.” – John Muir
Cars were backed up to get into this park. I could see just a little bit up the forested road to the entrance gate. There a large wooden sign hung down from a rustic pine log which laying there, propped up by other pines on either side, had constructed an archway- a portal into the park. Its letters were all upper-case, bold, and carved simply into the sign. The grooves painted white displayed “MT. RAINIER NATIONAL PARK.”
This was a top tier national park, our nation’s third behind Yellowstone and Yosemite, created in 1899 by President William McKinley signing a bill passed by Congress. This park is named and centered around one mountain peak, but deservingly so. MountRainier is a giant at 14,411 ft. It is visible throughout most of the state of Washington and has the most glaciers than any other peak in the contiguous United States with a whopping total of 26 glaciers. We had seen this mountain much earlier in the day, traveling from the Olympic peninsula around Tacoma. It was a magnificent bold giant standing in the distance. Over the course of hours we noticed it growing bigger as we drew closer to it. Now we were at the mountain’s base about to enter the National Park!
Once officially inside, passing beneath the enormous sign and log beams, flashing my park pass and getting my park map, the road immediately began to gradually ascend. We were on our way to the Paradise village area of the park on the side of the mountain. There in Paradise was a visitor center, a lodge, and a network of trails. On our ascent through the thick rich forest, I stopped at one point to hop out onto a short path to a platform overlook nestled between the dark pines. There at the platform’s edge I beheld the amazing wonder of Nisqually Glacier tearing down the mountainside. Up until this point this was one, if perhaps not the most, impressive view in nature. It was my first time observing a glacier- the breaking ripples of ice, deep grooves, sharp edges rolling over and tearing down the mountainside, but all seemingly still. It was action frozen in time to my eyes. I observed a depth of snow and ice I had never witnessed before, and as the glacier spread down the mountains I saw the enormous gorge it had created over many years, carving away at the mountainside. Although there was a plaque labeling Nisqually Glacier, I believe, after considering the park map, I was also looking at two other glaciers in the same view: Wilson Glacier and Von Trump Glacier. It’s hard to differentiate between all the glaciers as they run so close to each other and at times converge.
Van Trump Glacier was named after Philemon Beacher Van Trump, an American pioneering mountaineer who made the first recorded summit of Mount Rainier. He wrote: “That first true vision of the mountain, revealing so much of its glorious beauty and grandeur, its mighty and sublime form filling up nearly all of the field of direct vision, swelling up from the plain and out of the green forest till its lofty triple summit towered immeasurably above the picturesque foothills, the westering sun flooding with golden light and softening tints its lofty summit, rugged sides and far-sweeping flanks – all this impressed me so indescribably, enthused me so thoroughly, that I then and there vowed, almost with fervency, that I would some day stand upon its glorious summit, if that feat were possible to human effort and endurance.”
Unlike P.B. Van Trump, I would not be summiting Mount Rainier, but I shared in his admonishment of the mountain, and around its base and on its mountainside I would experience many of its rich wonders. With just one up-close and unobstructed view, it was love at first sight!
“Let’s go!”
We got back in the car and continued on our way to Paradise. It was about twenty miles of meandering parkway that climbed and switch-backed up to 5,400 feet. At Paradise the mountain peak was on full display. The terrain had leveled to an extent to allow the construction of the large visitor center, lodge, and ample parking. I was anxious to get outside. Breaking my usual protocol, I took to a trail before even watching the park film. We’d do that later.
Zach and I started on Nisqually Vista Loop. It’s supposed to be a casual paved loop, but pavement was only visible for a few yards, the rest was buried under multiple feet of snow. We slid, ran, trudged, fell, and laughed our way around the loop. The mountain peak with its great and scarring glaciers came into view every once in a while through the lodge-pole pine trees, and at the trail’s furthest reach we had an unobstructed view of the mountain while on enormous continuous icescape that stretched up the mountainside connecting to the glacier’s ripples. Although it was summer, and I was wearing gym shorts, this place had so much ice and so much snow, that I felt so far in the North, in an extreme arctic landscape. The one thing I had to overlook, however, was the air temperature, as it wasn’t very cold out at all.
At one point on our hike we heard water rushing. We paused and tried to figure out where it was coming from, just to come to the realization that it was beneath us. A mountain stream was flowing beneath the snow. We then encountered a few cavities in the snow just wide enough to fit a body. So taking turns we both hopped down, our boots landing in the shallow stream, and we raised our hands up out of the hole, taking each other’s photo trying for the illusion that we had been buried in snow.
When we completed the loop, we went into the visitor center. It was quite large, with lots of ample space for sitting in its spacious lobby beneath a combination of timber and iron framework that supported a pointed ceiling. Its walls were almost entirely glass, giving way to much light, especially with all the sun reflecting off the snowy landscape outside. The visitor center had museum exhibits on the park on its second floor which was a combination of loft and balcony. We went into the theater to see the park film, of which I remember nothing, probably because this mountain did not need a film to speak for it. It was so grandiose and commanding of attention, that any measly park film was greatly overshadowed. After the park film, we had a quick bite to eat in the cafeteria there in the visitor center, and then we were back on the trails to visit Myrtle Falls.
Our short hike to Myrtle Falls was lovely. I think typically it’s only about a half mile walk one way on pavement, but it was a bit more of hike for use trudging over snow banks, perhaps wandering off the official route at times, observing the many marmots lounging and flopping around, and admiring the alpine meadows full of blooming glacier lilies. We concluded our hike at around two miles. Here we weren’t exactly above the tree line, for small groupings of pines could be seen at the fringe edges of the meadows, but largely we were above the trees in rolling meadows of the mountainside. Despite it being a sunny day with a nice rich blue sky, we were cast in the shadow of a foothill, a ridge on the mountainside. As we approached the falls, we saw it sprawling down into a Edith Creek Gorge, chillingly cold in the shadows, water falling and tumbling over water, streams cascading upon protruding rocks behind the many paths of the water falling. It was a rather simple, but beautiful water fall, as from the creek it sort of bloomed as it fell, branching out in many streams down into the gorge. Just above the falls was where the trail led to a pedestrian polebridge perhaps about thirty feet long, made of timber from the forest. Behind the view of the falls, the bridge, the creek, the snow banks, and the flower laden meadows, was the towering Mount Rainier. Its highest reaches were adorned with the silver lining from the sun peeking out from behind some adjoining ridge with a cast stretching just far enough to barely reach the top of the mountain.
With all the movement of water sprawling in every which way, falling, and cascading; and glacier lilies feeding off the melting snow, the marmots flopping around, the tourists delighting on meandering paths and trudging through snow, I thought about how rich of a place this was. I also considered how we were up high on the mountainside, and below was a rich forest, full of more waterfalls and streams, thick pines, and forest growth; with bears, mountain lions, bobcats, foxes, minks, and all the other wild animals and tweeting birds of the forest. This mountain provided so much life! It was truly rich. I’ve written about how we can liken mountains to people. There are so many different types of mountains which exhibit the different kinds of influence and character of which a person can behold.
I started this summer’s journey in the Mojave desert where the mountains surrounding are largely dry, harsh, and bare. They lack the richness of a place like this. They do not support an abundance of life. There is no richness of the forest like on this mountainside.
Mount Rainier with its glaciers melting feeds the forest around it. Not only can I liken this mountain to Wheeler Peak, being bold and unwavering, but this mountain is also very life-giving. Like a nurse log, it provides rich nutrients, giving life to the forest around it through its supply of melting ice, and its delicate balance of sunlight and shade. However, unlike a nurse log, this mountain is not dead. It’s alive. I say it’s alive on the basis that it is an active volcano. Thus here lies the message: though nurse logs provide great insight showing us how even when we are dead, we can provide life to future generations, we provide life to others while still alive as well, just like Mount Rainier. I know this may seem maybe even more obvious than the nurse log analogy, but I think we ought to be aware that we should not over focus on our efforts of what we can leave behind while ignoring who we are and what we can do in the present. We have the immeasurable benefit and advantage of our present life. We can use it to take hold of the life books of others and write into them powerful influence, whether it be in the form of encouragement, instruction, giving… Whatever it is we do, we do not do it alone, as to do so would be in vain. We do everything through the power of Christ in our lives. We may be the mountains that provide for the richness of life around us, but who provides the weather to bring snow upon our mountains? Who causes the sun to shine on our side? Who causes the water to melt and fall? Who brings the flowers to bloom? This makes me think of Scripture, of all the mentions of bearing fruit spiritually. To bear fruit spiritually is to be like Mount Rainier. Look at the life flourishing around it. There is evidence of God at work here, and there would be much more to consider and write about here in regards to the powerful symbolism of Mount Rainier.
When we were done with our hike we went back to Paradise Inn next to the visitor center. It was an inn of beautiful rustic National Park architecture style, cozy and woodsy, with wood logs beams stretching in every direction, an “A frame” roof, dangling native american style lanterns, a blazing fireplace, and inviting little nooks to relax in. It was a great sanctuary from he snow and he evening cold outside. There I bought some tea and wrote some postcards.
Leaving the lodge, getting ready to head down the mountainside to our site at Cougar Rock Campground, a beautiful sunset was on display with deep rich pinks and purples. The sunset reflected off the snow on the mountain peaks, providing colorful stretches of snow. Wow! It was a sunset so perfectly reflective of a mountain so rich in life. Its colors were so vibrant and deep. Most of the tourists were gone. The area was silent and serene. I had to pause a moment to take it in. John Muir knew what he was saying when he said Mount Rainier was the noblest of peaks.
Before we arrived at Crater Lake National Park, the day had started off waking up at the Oregon Caves Chateau, tucked away in the woods, in our secret little attic space high up in the Chateau. There was no central air system in the Chateau, so I undid the latch and swung open up one of the rustic windows in our attic. to let the cool night air in. The room was pretty warm during the day but by the next morning it had certainly cooled off.
We made our way down a few flights of stairs to the diner-style cafe on the main level. It too had its own vintage charm. It had probably not been touched much since the 1930s when the lodge was built, but maybe it was tweaked a bit in the 1960s or 70s to give it its distinct color palette of yellows, browns, yellowish-browns, and oranges. It had a dining counter with swivelling stools that snaked around. It was smaller but very similar to the one in Jackson Lake Lodge in Grand Teton National Park, the one in which the “cougars” bought me dinner. Here I feasted upon some buckwheat pancakes and bacon, with a cup of coffee. This was the more economical dining option at the Chateau. Last night, feeling fancy, and knowing this was probably the only time I’d be out this way, I splurged, and Zach joined me. We ate at the lower level dining room in which the bubbling brook from outside flowed into the dining room in an inlet of rocks.
I’ll admit part of me felt guilty for spending so much on a meal, and dining on tablecloths and placemats, while camping and trying to be economical. but I also felt like for such an experience, it was worth it. I had also planned on eating here, so the cost wasn’t unexpected. At the time this was the most expensive meal I had ever purchased at around $30. I had braised pork with sauteed carrots, asparagus, mashed potatoes, and a side salad with dinner rolls. It was very savory and done right.
Before we left the Chateau in the morning, I hopped on the piano bench in the lobby, and I left a tune for the old place, a song I had written on the piano as a teenager. The piano had been calling out to me everytime I passed by, and so I finally responded.
Leaving the Chateau we uneventfully traveled through the forests of Oregon, and as we neared the small city of Grants Pass, I decided to browse the radio stations and see If I could get an idea of the local flair. In southeastern Kentucky, I can tune into some bluegrass and Southern gospel stations with local news of who died and who has married. When I drove across the Navajo Nation, I listened to traditional Navajo music in native tongue. When approaching Chicagoland, there is a wealth of Spanish language stations with a lot of ranchera music, indicative of its large Hispanic population.
The number of country music stations, I believe, is also very telling about the overall culture of a place. There are a lot of values embedded in most types of music. In the country genre there largely is a love for country, family, nature, the land, sentimentality, hard work and blue collar grit. Rap music is another example, very telling about values. It overwhelmingly values pimping and prostituting, debauchery, carnal desires, stealing, raping, disrespecting authority, and killing. The prevalence of such stations in a particular region is a small glimpse into the overall and dominating culture. So what did I find in Oregon? Well, I landed on a yodeling station. What does yodeling tell me about the people? What values are embedded in the yodeling genre? I couldn’t tell you, but my ears were fixated and pleased. What talent! How does one even do that? Is yodeling a part of Oreganian culture? Are there little mountain yodelers atop the Cascades? I still hadn’t figured out Oregon and wasn’t sure if this was an essential part of it.
After departing Grants Pass, we were traveling along Oregon’s Rogue RIver, which flows western to the sea from its headwaters in the Cascades just next to Crater Lake. We were zipping along highway 5, the Pacific Highway. We could see mountains ahead and heavy greenery and foliage along the highway, with a glance every once in a while of the river with its craggy natural embankments. When we split from highway 5, we started to ascend, and pine trees took over. They were not giant Redwoods from days prior, but thick groves of moderate size pines standing perfectly straight and pointed on a dry, barren, and at times dusty ground.
When we arrived at the park, our first order of business was setting up camp. Crater Lake has two park villages, Mazama Village and the Rim Village. We were staying at Mazama, and we were not going to do any backtracking. We had a lot to see for we only had one day to experience Crater Lake National Park. Mazama Village comes right after the park’s entrance station, thus it was our first stop. The campground was average, nothing remarkable, with large flat pine-laded tent pads under pine trees. After we set up camp we went to the visitor center, and from there we had our first glimpse at the remarkable Crater Lake, but I didn’t want to give it too much attention right away. There is an order of events for visiting a National Park, at least in my book(s), quite literally. First I had to orient myself with the park film to be able to better appreciate and understand the vista before me. The visitor center was a small cabin, half built of large chunks of rock, the other half of wood. Next to the main room was a little side room with an ad hoc set up with a television playing the film. I learned just how Crater Lake was created by a volcano. To put it simply, much simpler than the film’s details, a large and powerful eruption caused a crater, and then over time rain water and melted snow filled the crater, creating the lake. One of the many unique characteristics of Crater Lake is that it has no water flowing into it, making it one of the most pure natural bodies of water in the world. I was really fascinated how something so destructive and violent, such as a volcano, created a place now so beautiful and serene. There was a message here to unpack. There is a universal truth to be explored. I’d get back to that thought later.
From the visitor center we began the thirty-three mile Rim Drive around Crater Lake. We stopped at just about every wayside overlook. The lake is enormous, with a six-mile diameter and about twenty miles of shore line. It is quite serene, and truly is just a giant bowl. One can see the rocky and steep rim of the bowl all around and always look at the lake from a great distance above on the rim’s tall cliff edges. The most striking feature of the lake is its color. It has the richest blue water I’ve ever seen. It’s so bright, vibrant, deep and royal. Such a particular and unique color almost makes it look artificial, as if the water was dyed, like the color of those faux waterfalls of a mini-golf course of the 1990s. But of course I knew better than to think it was fake, and it wasn’t tacky but beautiful in its surreal display.
Surreal is a word I’ve landed on to describe the place, for to be surreal something incorporates characteristics of reality combined with fantasy. Crater Lake, though very real, seems to incorporate elements of sheer fantasy. Even apart from simple visual observation, there are names given to the places in the park which give way to fantasy, such as Wizard Island, Phantom Ship, Castle Point, and Wineglass. Even the visitor center and village buildings look rather fairy-tale-like, reminding me very much of Snow White’s cottage.
Wizard Island
We took a five-mile side trip from the rim driving down Pinnacle Valley to an area simply called “The Pinnacles,” where large sharp, pointed piles of gray and brown volcanic pumice stick up from the ground, like the fingers of a giant beast reaching up to emerge from the depths of the earth. I had never seen anything quite like this before, although they did remind me a little bit of the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon. These did not, however, have the flat capstones as hoodoos. Rather these were pointed, like smooth delicate giant stalagmites. They also didn’t have the warm orange and red colors of Bryce Canyon, but rather they were mostly a ghostly pale gray and actually not beautiful at all. They were rather ugly, but in nature’s most intriguing of ways.
Back on the Rim Drive, a very notable stop was at the Phantom Ship Overlook. From here we looked out at the lake at just the right angle to see a small island that looked like an abandoned pirate ship. It had craggy rocks that pointed like the masts of a ship, and a few pines and shrubs adorning it, looking like seaweed or barnacles, as if it had been some sunken ship summoned up from the depths of Davy Jones’ locker by some dark magic.
Phantom Ship
Along the drive we also stopped at the Cleetwood Cove Trail, a one-mile, very steep trail of dramatic switchbacks which led down to the cliff in which I jumped into the lake. I was excited to get down to the lake and see this fantastical water up close. So far I had only seen it from high above the lake on the rim. So in excitement I suppose I was walking quickly down the trail. Zach complained I was walking too fast and then brought to my attention that he thought I always walked too fast and that I should be waiting for him. Initially I felt sorry and was more conscious of trying to walk with him instead of getting ahead, though this was nothing I was doing consciously, and by no means an indicator of me trying to put myself first, elevating myself to a position of superiority. It was just my sheer excitement propelling me forward and putting me ahead of him. This may seem like an unimportant detail, but I only note this because it was the first in a series of complaints, or at least the first I recollect in a pattern that started to develop. This pattern of complaining would eventually really get to me, but with that detail aside…
Crater Lake is by all means beautiful, but there is a very similar view from whatever side of the rim one is at. The terrain surrounding the lake is very uniform with its display of pine trees, rock and arid ground. Minus the novelty of the ghostly Pinnacles, this park doesn’t provide the diversity which some of the units of the National Park Service do with varying views, flora, and fauna. The attraction here is not much else than Crater Lake itself. However, alone the lake is a great treasure and worthy of the National Park title. I suppose if I had given us more time to spend in this park, we may have discovered more, and thus this view would change, but from my one day visit to the park, this is my impression.
The conclusion of our self-directed tour ended back, full-circle, at the Rim Village. I was looking forward to eating at the Rim Village Cafe. Some National Parks offer great food services, such as the Grand Canyon and Yosemite which have great cafeterias in giant scenic halls. Yellowstone has some really good options as well. Even Oregon Caves National Monument surprised with its Chateau. But at this point, I hadn’t fully understood how food service works in the National Parks. Different parks have different contracted concessionaires. Some are small businesses, most are parts of giant conglomerates, and some are certainly better than others. Some are dedicated to the guest experience and quality. They have integrity. Others solely value profit and how to trick and trap the tourists to empty their wallets. This was one of the latter. In my first two National Park adventure books I was very careful not to criticize anything in relation to our beloved National Parks, but I have changed my approach. I believe through honesty and sincere critique about how these parks are managed, we can bring about improvement or preserve that which is good. The National Parks are our great treasures as American citizens. We should not let them become exploited and degraded, and therefore I speak honestly only out of my deep love for, and interest in, these places.
After Zach and I disappointedly purchased some highly-priced cheap food, we went snooping around to find a place to sit down. We made our way to the second level, which was probably used only for special events. It was largely an open space, but at the end of the room there was a couch and coffee table in front of a big window pristinely displaying before us Crater Lake. We found quite a scenic place to dine on our less than desirable food, thus our dinner experience was redeemed by the view alone.
After we ate and enjoyed the view, we went to Crater Lake Lodge, another lodge on the National Register of Historic Places. It opened in 1915 and was similar in style to the outside of the Oregon Cave Chateau, except maybe three times bigger. Inside there was a lot of wood, giving a very cabin-like feel, especially with its exposed timber frames, and large stone fireplace. But its lobby was small and not very notable otherwise. There we sat and rested for about an hour. I used the time to write a postcard to my parents, enter some of the day’s events into my journal, and revel in the fact that I did overcome a fear and jumped into Crater Lake. We then went back to our campsite in Mazama campground, and just like that our visit to Crater Lake National Park was coming to an end. The next day we would get up very early and make our way northwards to Washington State to Mount Saint Helens, another volcanic wonderland.
I have to do this, I thought. I felt I just had to jump into Crater Lake. I had come this far, but I was full of so much fear. I was staring down off a cliff into Crater Lake, into a seemingly endless abyss. Crater Lake has some of the clearest and purest water in the world. It’s a massive lake at about five miles in diameter. With a casual glance the lake is a vibrant bright royal blue, but at the right angle, looking straight down into it, I could see the blue gradually grow deeper in transparency reaching an eternal darkness. The truth is it reaches about two thousand feet in depth. From up here, that seemed like an eternity. My eyes could follow little bubbles that traveled up from the depth, growing bigger as they wobbled and floated up to the surface. I have never in my life been able to see so deep into water. These little bubbles helped show the profundity of what I was looking into. It was unsettling.
I was certainly not alone on jumping into Crater Lake. This was the thing to do. There were dozens of other young people who were doing it, each one taking his or her own turn, and just about everyone reached the rim with hesitation. It wasn’t a terribly high cliff, only thirty five feet. That’s a little over two stories, but it was the shock of looking into it and seeing an endless depth that caused just about everyone to rethink matters.
What if I don’t come back up? I questioned. The thought was irrational, I know, but it is what seeing such deep waters provoked. If I couldn’t see into the water, if it was just murky, like most of the water out east, I would just have trusted the water to propel me back up. There never would have been a question, but here, something about seeing the depth of the water, conjured up this incredible fear.
This one irrational thought wasn’t the only fear. There were also two more aspects. Secondly, the temperature of the water was very cold. At the visitor center I learned it was about forty degrees today. That’s very cold for water. Also, I had lost trust in myself as a swimmer. The summer prior, while visiting my brother Nathan in New York City, I visited Rockaway Beach at Gateway National Recreation Area on Long Island. I had seen some people jumping around on a sandbar out in the ocean. It didn’t look far. I could swim out there too. I did and just barely made it. That was strenuous. When I lived in Houston, Texas, I went swimming everyday for exercise, and I had really built up my confidence as a swimmer, but it had been a while. My lungs were no longer in quite the swimming shape.
After a fun time of jumping around on the sand bar, it came time to swim back to the mainland, and that’s when things got hairy. I felt as if my efforts were fruitless. I kept swimming but wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t seem to be making progress. The ocean was just pulling me backward, and I began to panic. In my panic my limbs grew stiff. I didn’t think I was going to make it. It was quite an intense moment. At one point I decided to just give in and see how far it was to the ocean floor. I sank, and I hit rock bottom. It was not far off. So my strategy was to sink, hit the bottom, jump up for air, and gradually progress my way to the mainland. This seemed to be more effective and require less energy than trying to rotate my panic stricken limbs. When I made it to the shore, I collapsed on the sand in relief. This experience was traumatic. When I’d go swimming shortly thereafter in subsequent months, I’d find my heart racing as my mind took me back to that moment.
Now at Crater Lake National Park in Oregon, I knew this jump wouldn’t involve much swimming afterward, maybe only fifteen feet back to the rocky shore line aside the cliff, but I was still traumatized by my incident in New York. What if I freeze up in shock of hitting such cold water? I’m sure I wasn’t the only one with such questions. There was one teenage girl, who stood there for a good fifteen minutes. She’d inch her way closer to the rim, peer off it slowly, and cower back, taking a deep breath. Very few people approached the jump with boldness. A number of people, all young guys and girls, regularly offered for each other to cut in front of themselves and go first. I was one of them. “Oh, are you ready? Go ahead….You can go first…please.” When someone did cut to the front, that person would often look off the cliff edge and motion for the next person to go ahead. It was a bit of a pile up. When someone finally mustered up enough confidence to jump in, the rest of us cheered in great applause, for we understood it was a big deal and just what it took to do it. It was a great emotional feat of conquering a fear. We all felt it. We knew how strong that fear could be. It was encouraging, fun, and genuinely so pleasing to cheer each other on. There seemed to grow an instant camaraderie among the people here on this cliff on this June evening.
At one point I decided to just get out of the way. My nerves were only growing. I climbed down alongside the cliff to the water’s edge and captured pictures of others jumping in. I captured Zach’s jump on video, and there was another young man whose picture I caught mid-air. His feet looked like they were resting on the mountains across the otherside of the lake in the photo. I showed him the photo when he got out of the water. He really liked it and wanted a copy. He introduced me to AirDrop, which is something I never knew was possible before.
I just had to jump in the lake too. There were a few reasons. First, I knew this was a rare opportunity to overcome a fear, and every fear I overcome will make me a stronger person. There is nothing inherently dangerous about this. In all rational observation, deep down I knew I’d be fine. It was my own human instincts and irrational fear getting in the way. I was fully aware of this. Secondly, I admit, I wanted bragging rights to say I jumped into Crater Lake. Thirdly, how could I ever live with myself knowing I was up there on the cliff’s edge set out to jump into the lake but chickened out? I had to do this. I climbed back up there. I gave myself just a brief moment of hesitation, in which a man said to me, “If you start to drown I’ll come rescue you, I promise.” I guess that little bit of assurance was enough to greenlight this endeavor, and I jumped.
Crater Lake seemed so wide and huge from my freefall into it. It was too big, too intimidating. What am I doing?! I closed my eyes and hid behind the darkness of my eyelids. The cold mountain air ripped between my feet. I felt so exposed, my little half-bare body exposed to the elements, engulfed in the air. I felt the strange sensation of having lost control. There was nothing I could do to stop that which was before me. There was absolutely no way to stop the fall, no turning back. I was at the mercy of gravity and the forces of nature, exposed and vulnerable. I thought by this point I should have reached the water, but I was still falling. It was taking a while…but I was doing it! I was already proud of myself for facing my fear and already felt accomplished. I had launched myself off that cliff despite the most paralyzing of fears. If there ever is a chance to face a fear, do it. It’s what we all must do to keep growing. Theodore Roosevelt when talking about being a fearful child once said, “There were all kinds of things I was afraid of at first, ranging from grizzly bears to ‘mean’ horses and gun-fighters, but by acting as if I was not afraid I gradually ceased to be afraid.” He also added, “The worst of all fears is the fear of living.” I was living, jumping into Crater Lake!
Okay, where is the water?Surely I should have hit the water by now, I thought. I guess I’m still falling. I wondered just how cold this water was going to feel, and how deep I would fall into it. What is it going to feel like?Will Zach get a good picture of this? I’m glad I could share that one guy’s photo with AirDrop. After this we will finish our drive and go check out the lodge. It’ll be nice to rest there a bit, before we go back to camp. Should we make a fire tonight, or just go to sleep? Tomorrow we’ll make our way to Mount Saint Helen and stay at a KOA. There are so many cool places left to visit on this trip. I’m hungry. I wonder what kind of food we can find around here. I wonder what kind of fish and creatures live in this lake. I wonder what lurks in its deepest depths.Is there something like the Loch Ness Monster in these waters? One day this will all be…
KAPLUNK!
I was in Crater Lake.
Water was gurgling, bubbling, and ripping around my ears. I felt gravity suck me downward, pressure pound at my skull, and then I began to rise. Surface, come quickly, I begged. Don’t take as long as that fall.
Gasp! I made it. I opened my eyes and….
I panicked.
My knees locked up.
It was so cold. Too cold. I was numb.
I instantly knew I was not going to make it back to the shoreline. My presupposition was correct. Time for plan B. I didn’t have one, but I was going to make one. I was not going to make a scene as to call over the man who promised to rescue me. How embarrassing that would be. Instead I flailed my way over to the craggy cliffside just below the jump-off. There was no real rock ledge or anything to provide footing, but somehow, with the greatest of Spiderman-like moves, I fasted my grasp and curled my toes onto that rock’s face. I will wait here until I catch my breath, and so I did, and I survived. I was white, blue, shivering cold, slightly traumatized, exhausted, yet adrenaline racing, and I was a heck of a warrior, I guess you could say. I’m glad I did it. It’s a story to tell, but…never again!
It was a cool wet morning. This land was moist, damp, dark, and dripping. Beneath my feet the decaying wood on the forest floor was almost sponge-like. This sure wasn’t Southern California anymore, where I had just been the day before, where the ground is perpetually thirsty. This was a new place for me- The Redwood Forest of northern California.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “You have to come see this. This snail is huge!” I was impressed and also wanted to wake my travel companion, Zach. I stood outside my tent taking in the misty wet wonderland. We had arrived in the dark the night before, and I wasn’t sure of what all comprised the surroundings when we were setting up camp. So I gingerly stepped out of my tent with curiosity. What is out there? I thought. The creature I found crawling up my tent was the biggest insect I had ever seen. It was crawling very slowly, easing its way, putting its whole body into it. I had my terminology confused. It was not a snail at all. It was a banana slug. This creature had a dismal sort of earthy yellow, with a rubberlike appearance. It was rightly named, for not only do these slugs have a yellow appearance, but they also are just about the size of a small banana. I’d come to find that Zach is not an easy one to wake up and get moving in the morning, but my exclamation about a bug got him right out of his tent. He is one fascinated by critters and crawling things of all kinds.
“That’s not a snail. That’s a slug,” he corrected, observing it and soon gently poking it with a twig, inspecting its response. I was a little bit embarrassed by my error. He went on to spy two more crawling around our camp. They are commonly associated with the Redwood Forest, but I had not read up enough about this park to know, and thus these slugs were quite a surprise for me. We had camped in Elk Prairie campground, just a short walk from one of the park’s visitor centers. After I had got the ball rolling to get the day started with my bug exclamation, I made breakfast. I fixed my campfire apple crisp in which I baked apples in a tin cup over a campfire and melted an oatly chocolate chip Clif Bar over them. After breakfast, we quickly packed up our camp, then prepared our backpacks for an overnight adventure.
Redwoods vs. Sequoias
Before embarking on our day’s big trek, we drove over to the visitor center where, next to it, we went on a stroll through the Redwood forest on an entanglement of a series of short trails with interpretive signs. We had seen some Redwoods, driving between them the evening before. It was spectacular to see the evening sun finding its golden glow between their branches on the pine floor. But now it was a distinctly different experience to be outside and in their habitat. These trees are massive, surely impressive, but they don’t quite provide the same wow factor and sense of awe as the Sequoia’s of southern California. People often assume the Redwoods are the world’s largest trees. They are the world’s tallest trees, but the mighty Sequoias are the largest in volume, having girthier trunks and therefore invoking a greater sense of awe and boldness.
The forest flood was a bed of pine needles and moist wood decay. As we trod on top of the forest’s soft bed, we looked up at the high reaches of the Redwoods disappearing as their branches covered one another. They for sure created a canopy. We were under it. The term “inside the forest,” really is quite appropriate. We were not quite fully outside. We were inside, but a different sort of inside. We could not see the sky except for small slivers peeking in, and thus the forest was dark, dismal in appearance. Vibrance was dampened. Looking down from the forest’s tall reaches we encountered our company, enormous ferns crowding in what otherwise would be empty space, from the trunks of the trees to the edge of the paths. I couldn’t help but make more comparisons between the Redwoods and the Sequoia. The Sequoia has a cleaner, more refined look about it. It has straight edges and is more dignified. The Redwoods are a little more wild, sloppy, unrefined, if you will. They have many knots and lumpy growths which especially congregate around their bases. They give a feebler appearance as some are split and splintering. In a couple instances we climbed up into some trees which had split, and we took our pictures in the tree cavities
Nurse Logs
As we wandered around the interpretive paths, I could see Zach’s head just barely visibly among the ferns which grew nearly as tall as him. At one point, with him ahead, I stopped and read an interpretive sign. It had really provoked some pondering. It was next to a fallen tree. On top that fallen Redwood, or from within it rather, other saplings were growing, and moss and greenery were laden. I had also seen, along the day’s hike, other instances in which a nearly full grown tree had grown out of the fallen trunk of another. The placard beside this tree read, “Nurse Logs.” I read that these fallen trees provide just the right nutrients to foster growth of the next generation of plant life. They are a phenomenon of the forest. I observed this particular fallen tree in front of me. It was as if it was its own world, its own little island or little planet in the universe of the forest. This decaying tree provided so much life and created its own miniature forest. It had its own visible microbiome.
This was very captivating to me. I knew immediately something so spectacular and peculiar is not without a deeper meaning. What is the message God has through us through “Nurse Logs.”? I truly believe no marvel of nature goes without a message. All of nature is designed to reveal spiritual truths to mankind and point us back to God.
I began to think about people in relation to trees. To help you follow my train of thought, or perhaps my “tree of thought,” as it branches out in many ways, let’s take this to my most rudimentary observation. A Nurse Log is dead yet it provides life. There are people who are dead, but yet provide life. Not in the sense of bodies decaying and providing nutrients for the soil or tree growth. Don’t get me wrong. Rather, I mean in the sense that those who have gone on before us enrich our lives through their past lives fully lived. Their legacies, their teachings, their love and efforts are life-giving. We often live off of or find our life-fuel through the inspiration and efforts of those who have come before us… and if we don’t, we should. There are great people of the past who are true gifts from God, whom he placed in the exact right moments of time to enrich our lives.
Nurse Logs in Scripture
I thought about the lives of those in Scripture, whose examples provide such enrichment to our own lives. I think of the faith and commitment of Paul in the face of persecution and suffering; the openness and raw relationship between Job and God in the midst of extreme suffering; the trust of Moses despite feelings of inadequacy; and the courage of Joshua to lead a new generation in battle after their people had gone astray. As I’ve posed this question to others, there are many females in particular who find strength in Mary for her obedience to and trust in God to be the mother of His only Son. There are so many Biblical figures who enrich our lives. However, there is really only One who can truly give life, and that is God through Christ Jesus. For the sake of this Nurse Log analogy, when I say “life-giving,” I refer to one who can greatly and profoundly enrich our lives, not literally give life. There are so many life-giving people in Scripture it’s overwhelming. God has given us a record of their lives with intention to help bring about the robustness of our own lives and ultimately lead us to Him.
Nurse Logs in History
With these thoughts, I was overwhelmed in the best sense of the word. My wheels were spinning. I decided to consider other areas of our lives or other categories of “Nurse Logs.” I thought about more recent historical figures- the Abraham Lincolns, the George Washingtons, the countless heroes of time, and the men and women who have served in the military whose sacrifices have cleared the forest for our lives to flourish, especially all the lives sacrificed in the Revolutionary War and Civil War that allow for the freedoms we have today in our country. I also considered the theologians and philosophers whose great explorations of Truth have informed my own life and enriched it, even those who more tactically have built things and made advancements in medicine. Then I took this down to a more personal level. I asked myself, Who are the specifically identifiable Nurse Logs in my life– deceased people who truly enrich my life? Whose legacy continues to feed me and provide the nutrients for my own growth?
Grandparents as Nurse Logs
First and foremost, one answer is clear: It’s my grandparents, who are all deceased. It’s their efforts, their values, their consistency which influenced the character and values of my own parents. Consequently my parents have passed on those same values to me. There are so many aspects to consider, including ones of which I will never be aware. I can, however, examine some of the obvious ones: faith, creativity, persistence, family, love… Those are some of the nutrients I grow out from, left by their lives. I would surely not be who I am without my grandparents, and as a matter of fact, not for my grandparents parents, and the lineage for generations. My grandparents are surely the most nutrient dense Nurse Logs in my life. Their influence, though most times not direct, is the most profound and interwoven in my life.
Walt Disney: a Nurse Log of creativity and work ethic
I began to think of others, deceased people apart from family, who have enriched my life. When I think about my sense of creativity and work ethic I think of Walt Disney. He influences me as a writer and teacher. The broad gamut of his stories and creative work spur me on in my own creations. He adopted a principle his father gave him: “Any job worth doing is worth doing well.” I believe that. It guides me in my own creative endeavors. Walt put a great influence on the quality of my work, and his example speaks to me and influences my work. He also saw the quality and potential in others. He was a master at bringing talent together. That has influenced me to bring on outside talent into my own creative projects. I also am inspired by the value he placed in storytelling, family, and innocence. Even my patriotism is inspired by Walt Disney’s love for his country. How sad Walt would be to see how far the company he started has strayed from his values.
Something often overlooked about Walt Disney is that he placed a great importance on reading too. He hoped his storytelling would inspire children to read more, something I am also so passionate about. I’ve spent a few years writing for Dolly Parton’s Dollywood theme park, and in that getting to know more about Dolly Parton than I ever expected or could have imagined to in my life. I see how Walt Disney is surely a nurse log to Dolly as well, inspiring her in her theme park, resorts, and storytelling. In her book Dream More: Celebrate the Dreamer in You, she really summed up the value in reading that perhaps the three of us share. She writes, “I tend to find that people who read more are generally more engaged and therefore care more.”
To top it all off, I am inspired that Walt made the largest entertainment company in the world out of nothing. His story is that of a poor farm boy in middle America, who moved to Kansas City with virtually nothing and was homeless. He started off on his own taking showers in a train station and sleeping in his office, but in those moments he had fierce determination, which for me is life-giving inspiration. When I feel like I make no progress in my own efforts I think back to Walt’s story and find the gumption to keep going.
John Muir: a Nurse Log of viewing nature
Another man who inspires me, who feeds my life, is the preservationist, writer, and adventurer John Muir. I wrote about him in my book, Still Calm and Quiet: More adventures in the National Parks and the beautiful wild, when I visited his family home in Martinez, California. Through reading his work, he has shaped how I view nature- how all of creation is intricately designed with common properties reflective of a common Creator. John Muir cherished all the fine details of nature and that has helped me find delight in the most common, intricate, and most unusual things of nature. Muir has taught me to view all things in nature with awesome wonder, truly privileged to be able to look into the fantastical, artistic mind of God. This has also helped me find the great meaning in all things in nature. If it wasn’t for Muir, a number of my books would not have been written, or at least not the way they have been. I may not even have stopped to ponder the Nurse Logs and really consider what message they hold, and therefore I wouldn’t be writing any of this now.
Muir also helped me toughen up. When I brave the elements and my uncomfortability grows strong, I think about all Muir endured on his adventures, sleeping exposed on a lump of moss or in the bitter colds of Alaska, or even walking a thousand miles across the country.
Theodore Roosevelt: a Nurse Log of characterand strength
Lastly, one who should not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me and my writing is Theodore Roosevelt. He inspires me most in terms of his character which was so solid, His commitment to principles, right and wrong, and what is just and righteous was so strong. He did not shrink from hardship but endured it to great extents, compelled by his own moral duty.
I was initially drawn to Roosevelt learning of his childhood illnesses and the immense grief he had as a young man through tragic loss. How can someone go through such pain and suffering, yet become such a powerful and effective leader, living such a rich life, and become president? I had to study this man and learn of that which guided and sustained him. Roosevelt without a doubt would have said his own father, who passed away when he was a young man, was his greatest Nurse Log, and to me Theodore Roosevelt is certainly one of my greats. I pull great strength from his many hardships and resolve.
In 2022 when I spoke at A Badlands Chautauqua: Gathering of the Teddy Roosevelt’s in North Dakota, I began my talk with this very topic of Roosevelt as a Nurse Log. To my humbling honor, the oldest living Theodore Roosevelt repriser, the dignified Marty Jonason, told me afterward, “The part about the Nurse Logs really gave me chills.” Though I was surprised and felt so honored to receive such words, I thought of it as a challenge. Shouldn’t we all feel that sense of chill when we consider how greatly we can impact the lives of others, even when we are gone?
Roosevelt’s Joy
Back to my study of Roosevelt, I’m most recently interested in Roosevelt’s joy. He was a man of many outward emotions, but a very prominent one was joy. A quote that often comes to mind is, “The joy of living is his who has the heart to demand it.” One could take this to great philosophical lengths, to some interpretations that I may even disagree with. However, for me, and what I believe Roosevelt was saying, was quite simple. There is great joy in this life we are given, but it must be pursued. He follows this with his line “Life is an adventure, accept it in such a spirit,” implying that joy comes from fully embracing the adventures of life. We must remember that God wants us to be joyful, and we can find great joy in Him and his many blessings in life, but as Roosevelt says, we must pursue joy and fully live our lives. Oh, there is so much to unpack when it comes to Roosevelt. I could write a book about him… well, actually, I have, a few times.
A very important aspect of living life is also the truth that we cannot fully live our lives apart from God’s Spirit gifted through the redeeming power of Jesus. To Roosevelt’s point, we cannot fully enjoy our redeemed life without embracing all that lies in our paths and pursuing the opportunities afforded us. As he would say, this is the “adventure.” It’s so easy to fall into gloom in an aging world that does not seem to be maturing but rather degrading. With so much going on in the world, one may think pursuing joy is but a frivolous and selfish pursuit. It’s easy to dismiss it in all our trouble, but joy is so important that God commands us at least twenty-five times in Scripture to rejoice, and joy is mentioned over two hundred times in the Bible. In Philippians 4:4 it is written, “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice!”
With all the mention of God, amidst my discussion on Nurse Logs, one might ask, Are you going to mention Jesus as your Nurse Log? Surely Jesus is the most influential force in my life. He influences and permeates every corner of my life, and I want His influence to be even greater. If at times that’s not true, it’s yet a deeper desire to want my heart to long and let God have more control. The reason why I don’t call Jesus a Nurse Log, is because He is alive! He is not dead. This I know. Jesus was a human, but he was also divine, God in the flesh. Here I discuss the deceased purely human Nurse Logs, who nevertheless I give God all due credit for. All Nurse Logs are gifts from God.
Authors as Nurse Logs
As I’ve thought all of this over to great depths and have considered my Nurse Logs, I must also credit the countless authors through the ages whose words inspire and give us life. How fortunate we are to live in a time when we have the wisdom of the ages passed down to us in text, and so many books in print which can provide so much enrichment. It can be natural for some young people, myself at one time included, to dismiss the writings of the deceased as irreverent and outdated…but pause. I now unfold such old books with great reverence and an expectancy to learn. Some of the writers of the past were much more thoughtful than the average man today, much more conscious of God and their place in the universe. They may be gone, but the words they have left behind, may be nutrient dense. We must have sacred reverence for the past. The past too is a gift. It is all a part of God’s story. Let us cherish the wisdom of the ages and the library filled with countless examples of lives past lived.
The whole phenomenon of Nurse Logs, though fun to ponder, and an instigator of reverence and gratefulness, is also a challenge to us. Will we live lives that count for the next generations? Will they feed off of what we have done with our lives? I’ll admit I don’t know what that means for my life. I don’t know what it looks like. I have to have faith. It’s like trying to see the sky through the limbs of the Redwoods. I know it’s there, I just can’t see it. God has a plan for your life, even though you may not know the specifics. Maybe just like Marty, that should give us goosebumps. I pray that in God’s plan we may be those life-giving Nurse Logs of the forest.
Who Are Your Nurse Logs?
As you venture forward in the wilderness of the unknowns of life, take a moment to consider, Who are your Nurse Logs? and may you draw inspiration from them.
The day leading up to the night of the monsoon, when my tent was destroyed, I took on Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas, referred to as “the Top of Texas.” It’s a mere 4.25 miles to the top. But this 4.25 miles felt more like 42.5 miles.
I got an early start at 7:00 am and didn’t anticipate that this hike would take most of my day. The trail snakes around the edges of the mountain with dramatic cliffs to the right, leading from one false summit to another. The landscape of course is grandiose, looking out upon a wide expanse of surrounding mountains, but it isn’t anything terribly unique. As the sun harshly beat down on me, I observed lizards scurry and eagles fly overhead. The trail is largely exposed to the sun, with common desert shrubbery around and an occasional yucca plant or pine tree.
After having passed out in Big Bend National Park my confidence as a hiker had been damaged, and so I overpacked on food and water for this hike carrying unnecessary weight. I was very disciplined in eating and drinking every so often. At one point I found a tree along the cliffside where I could sit in its shade and take a break.
Many hours later, after dozens of false summits, I finally arrived at the “Top of Texas.” The final stretch of the trail is a rock scramble, and there at the top of the mountain is a metal triangular monument decorated with official seals and a with geocache box beside it labeled with the elevation of 8,749 feet.
I sat down and enjoyed the view looking down before me was an iconic rock protrusion that resembled a mitten or the state of Michigan. Behind it, the wide expanse of Texas was spread across earth. Dry brown hills and valleys and sandy expanses stretched as far as the eyes could see. I don’t know if it was my imagination or not, but I perceived that I could actually see the curvature of the earth from up here.
The view was similar to the views atop the Chisos Mountains at Big Bend National Park, but a major difference here was the bragging rights to claim to have reached the highest point in Texas.
I opened the geocache box and read the hiker log, like on many mountaintops hikers filled the log with Bible verses. Something about the beauty of the mountaintop causes people to reflect on the splendor and majesty of God.
When I descended the mountain I went into the visitor center. There was no one there except one ranger. This place was very quiet. I asked the ranger to play the park film for me, and I bought a pin and postcard. I then went to my car and took off my boots, my feet were rejoicing as I Iet them breathe and be free..
There was a wooden shelter beside the parking lot that looked to be constructed to house vending machines at one time, but now it was empty. I noticed an electrical outlet. Here, barefoot, I sat down in its shade, charged my Chromebook, and even caught a wifi signal from the visitor center to check my messages. Relaxed, feeling accomplished, with my back resting against the wooden structure, I called my parents who were visiting my older brother Nathan and his wife Catherine in New York City. I shared with them the excitement of crossing the U.S. Mexican border on foot at El Paso and everything I thought about that and about passing out in Big Bend National Park and summiting Guadalupe Peak.
Then ravenous. I went into the town of Carlsbad for supper. I wanted to try someplace local, but the only place that came into consideration was a Mexican restaurant. I parked my car and walked towards the entrance, but then I noticed no windows on the restaurant, and I began to receive very bad vibes from the place. Something was not right. I then settled for Chili’s and, uncharacteristic of my regular food choices, I had a grossly fatty burger. I followed this up with a stop at the store for some yogurt and frosted flakes, and then I went back to the park, got in my tent, read some out of my book on Big Bend country and endured the nighttime monsoon.
The following day I would make the trip up New Mexico, hop on old Route 66, and roll into Albuquerque to spend a few days with my cousin Rachel and her family.
Josh Hodge blog 