Monday, November 12, 2018

My 52 Hike Challenge

Summit of Mt McLoughlin

I like lists. I blame my mother. I am well skilled in her trick of adding things you've already done to your to-do list just so you get that inner thrill of crossing them off, and thus feeling so much more accomplished for the day. Because your list says so. But my love of lists goes far beyond a general to-do list to keep me on track... I keep hiking lists! And bucket lists! And when I see those silly lists of “Top 10 Things To Do/See/Hike” in some place or other, I see it like a challenge—how many can I get crossed off??? So yes, for better or worse, I like lists.

Eagles Rest
When I was trying to get back in a groove of hiking after my body was such a traitor... I knew I needed something extra to keep me interested, to keep me seeking out new trails, to keep my soul fueled so my body would follow suit and get back to where these little trails weren't torture. I needed to make it a game! I had heard of the 52 Hike Challenge, and thought it was cool, but just hiking 52 times seemed too easy. Then I realized that you can really adapt the challenge to whatever you want, and I thought “What about 52 different hikes??” Most of my training for Denali had been on just a handful of trails set on “repeat”, so there I was, well over half way through the year, and I really didn't have many different hikes on my list. Like... At all. I wondered if it would even be possible to get 52... But then that's what makes it a challenge, right? Game on!

Bonus! New patch for my board!
I sought out new to me trails, and logged over 40 on my list of 52, and most in a shockingly short period of time. Mixed in with old standbys, and a few variations of favorites, I hit the 52 mark about a month ago. I have added a few more since then, so have had the chance to remove some of the almost-repeats, but at the end, it was kind of shocking to see a list of 52 different hikes written out. That's a lot of miles, a lot of places seen, a lot of adventures and exploring I got to enjoy. Some days, I logged 3 or more different hikes—ones I would never have done before because they were shorter than the drive warranted... But discovering I could combine them to meet my daily goal of miles or gains, AND get an extra thrill for ticking a few more spots off on a list??? Win-win. Plus, I've realized there is a beauty in doing multiple shorter hikes in a day—a whole other challenge in setting out on another hike when your mind has already “finished” hiking. It can be hard to get your body going again after the drive to the next trailhead! Extra training to get my head to cooperate when it doesn't want to.

Playing around in Red Rock Canyon
Overall, it made for a fun challenge. Some people take years to achieve their 52. Some stick to the original premise of 1 hike every week for a year. Some go about it super fast. Some take it way seriously, and others less so. But there are no hard and fast rules, it's just about getting out there and discovering the benefit hiking can offer for your life. To see how you can grow, and what you can discover about yourself. For me? I'm never more myself than I am on a trail. I'm never stronger. Never more confident. Never more free of the anxieties and stressors life can shackle me with. Never closer to God. Never more in awe of the beauty He surrounds us with. Never more grateful for this crazy life I get to live. Plus... It's a list. So it makes me happy!

Mt Bachelor Summit, looking at the Three Sisters
You can read more about the 52 Hike Challenge on their website, www.52hikechallenge.com, and if you look at their Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/52hikechallenge/), you might even see a familiar face featured as their "Motivation Monday" from today... I'm going with not many people must finish the challenge, since I really can't be that much of a motivation, ha!

Dog Mtn--the only hike I actually hated. Except for the brief view of my favorite—Mt Defiance!
Here's my 52 (in no real order):
  1. Table Mtn from Bonneyville
  2. Mt Kilimanjaro (Marangu Route)
  3. Mt Kilimanjaro—Horombo to Zebra Rocks
  4. Tom Dick & Harry Mtn
  5. Smith Rock Summit Loop
  6. Smith Rock Misery Ridge
  7. Mt St Helens (Worm Flows)
  8. Silver Falls loop with Perimeter Trail and Rackett Ridge
  9. Silver Falls loop with Perimeter Trail and Buck Mountain Loop
  10. Peterson's Butte
  11. Silver Falls—full perimeter loop
  12. Mt Denali, Basecamp to Camp 2
  13. Triangulation Peak and Boca Cave
  14. Stahlman Point
  15. Ramona Falls and Bald Mtn
  16. Mt Thielsen
  17. Tokettee Falls
  18. Umpqua Hotsprings
  19. Jefferson Park via S. Breitenbush
  20. Gold Butte Fire Lookout
  21. Timberline Trail
  22. Black Butte
  23. Mckenzie River Trail
  24. Painted Hills Overlook
  25. Carroll Rim
  26. Painted Cove
  27. Sutton Mtn
  28. Cascade Head
  29. Marion Lake
  30. Coffin Mtn
  31. Bachelor Mtn
  32. Mary's Peak (North Ridge)--from gate, with Meadow Loop
  33. Jefferson Park via PCT
  34. S. Breitenbush Gorge Trail
  35. Red Rock Canyon, Moenkopi Loop with Calico Hills
  36. Havasupai—Hilltop to Supai
  37. Havasupai—to Colorado River
  38. Dog Mtn
  39. Mt McLoughlin
  40. Mt Bachelor
  41. Hardesty Mtn
  42. Mt June
  43. Eagles Rest
  44. Silver Falls—Trail of 10, as figure 8
  45. McDowell Creek Falls
  46. Mary's Ridge (North Ridge)
  47. Mary's Ridge (North Ridge) with lollipop
  48. Shellburg Falls
  49. Dome Rock
  50. Mt Defiance via Defiance Trail
  51. Rooster Rock via Trout Creek
  52. Iron Mtn and Cone Peak Loop

Headed down Mt Bachelor

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

Catching Up From Summer: Recovery and Mt. Thielsen

Mt. Thielsen from Diamond Lake

I've been a slacker lately with my blog. Multiple times, I've written posts, and... Never gotten around to posting them. It seemed like too much effort, and the reality is that I have enjoyed being a hermit, enjoyed taking a break from the world. Living in the moment. Being intentional with my time, not thinking about how to craft what God is doing in my heart into words that would make sense to others. And maybe, just a little bit, I wasn't really sure what He was up to; and truth be known, I'm still not. I just know I'm enjoying the crazy journey, and trying to trust God will make it clear where it leads to next. So, in an effort to try and get caught up with what happened months ago... Here are a couple of blogs from Summer.

Cooper Shelter via the Timberline Trail
~

This is something I wrote a few weeks [now months] ago, that I never posted. I'm not sure why, maybe because I was kind of over posting anything on Social media or maybe it just didn't feel as insightful as some things I write, but in seeing it still open on my much neglected laptop, I'm rather in awe of the progress I've made in just a few weeks. How successful my plans of enjoying the scenery, hiking to hike, and seeking the adventures has truly been. I summited a mountain yesterday [errr, start of August]. A small one, but still! Far more than I expected I'd be capable of this season, and it has it's own story to tell... But first, this one:

Not going to lie, even taking the dogs for walks at first kicked my butt. We went for lots and lots of walks during harvest!
I tried my first hike post-Denali, post-end of the denial of how weakened my body was. Okay, maybe there was a certain degree of denial left, because I totally thought I'd just go crush Mary's Peak like I always have... I had visions of getting up early, beating the heat, and being home by noon. On my way back to feeling like I could go climb some mountains still this season... Wrong. After another night with an unwelcomed visit by my friend, insomnia, I canceled my alarm when it went off at 5. But by 8, I was still awake, tired of “resting”, all bit of merciful dozing well behind me. So I got up, loaded Allis' pack, and we headed out.

Jefferson Park via S. Breitenbush
Truly, I probably didn't do that badly. I still roadkilled 3 men in my short hike. But within the first half mile, my legs were screaming with the exertion, I didn't have the stamina to truck up the steeper hills like normal, and the mental battle to keep going set in. The car was close... Maybe this just isn't my day... But I've only ever not summitted Mary's ONCE, and snow was involved. (Snow = legit enough of an excuse for someone like me to turn back, plus... I had a truck waiting for me at the warehouse, and had been horrifically sick.) So... I let pride fuel me for awhile, and finally, when I didn't feel like I could even get my legs to lift my feet anymore, I realized it was fine. I could go back to my car. Today wasn't really about going and crushing a trail, it wasn't about keeping my excellent summit stats, it wasn't about anything other than seeing where I was at physically, and getting my butt back on a trail. I had left my house! Unlike the numerous “plans” before, I had succeeded in making it to a trailhead, to face this honest evaluation of my body.

Triangulation Peak
Yes, it was rough, my legs are weak, my back was still making its protestations very apparent, my stamina is still oh so far from where it once was... But on the way down...? I ran. Not the whole 2.5 miles I'd gone up, but a few large sections of it. And oh did it feel good! Of course I saw a trailrunner running UP as I was coming down, and I was utterly cursing him with the ugliest and nastiest jealousy I've probably ever felt—there was a time I could do big sections of Mary's on the way UP as well, and after this less than impressive return to hiking, I rather doubt those days will return, but... At least there was progress. There was no way I could do any running towards the last of my training for Denali. None. It wasn't even a tempting thought!

Early morning hikes are the best--Black Butte
Once home, with achy legs and a body that was just crying out for a nap (which it got)... I wondered if I have the passion or drive in me to regain what I've lost. Or was hiking just one of those things that was no longer worth the energy, the effort, the time for me to invest in again? My bikes still hang in my garage, waiting for the day that I risk the coordinationally challenged and zero-balance reality that is “me” and go for a ride again. They are still waiting, but would my hiking shoes join them in waiting for my return? Oh I sure hope not! There is too much beauty on a trail. Too many wonderful smells of wilderness, too many miles begging for you to lose your soul on... I'm sure it will be a long road for me to get back to where mountains are an option (sigh, I had so many goals for this summer and fall), and I'm not going to push myself. I'm going to enjoy a break from any real “training” and just “hike”. Seek out those smaller adventures that never warranted the drive because they had no “training” qualities. Seek the spots that truly speak to my heart. Stop watching my pace stats and take the little moments to open my eyes to the beauty God placed around me. Relish those moments He designed just for me. It'll be a long road, but I'm hoping one that is a little more peace and beauty filled than I've had for awhile.

Mt. Thielsen Summit!
Rereading that blog post that almost wasn't, I remember all too well the uncertainty in my head at that moment. The fear that God was taking climbing and, worse, hiking from me. The fear of who I'd be without those things, how I'd keep my head in check when it got crazy, how I'd process things, how I'd grow. Who would I be without my crazy adventures that make the challenges of life pale in comparison, giving a very insecure woman some much needed confidence and strength. It was a dark moment. Darker than realizing I was going bald. As I was putting my untouched climbing gears away, trying to reestablish order in my neglected house, I found myself legitimately tempted to box it all up and donate it instead. Just get rid of the lot of it. I was angry with God, and hurt beyond belief as well—how could He do this to me??? How could He leave me here??? What was the point of all that work if it was just going to END???

Gold Butte Lookout
I knew I needed to find some new mojo, but it was hard. I looked at my lists of hikes I'd never gotten to do, and thought maybe I'd find the inspiration there... And sure, I saw some incredible things on some pathetically short hikes that still managed to kick my butt. And it was pleasant enough, but... It wasn't the same. I went to Ramona Falls. I hiked some of the Timberline Trail. I went to Triangulation Peak and Boca Cave. I went to Stahlman Point. I made the drive to the always beautiful but not long enough Iron Mountain. All were gorgeous. All taxed my energy and strength. And though I was excited I was finally seeing a little improvement physically (like oh my goodness, I was struggling so hard not to give up hope that I'd ever make progress)--and my hair was even regrowing, but my heart just wasn't in it... And that leads me to the decision to climb Mt. Thielsen.

Lake Ann
My parents and some dear friends of our family were going to be camping down at Diamond Lake like they do every year... And Thielsen is right there, just across the highway. It is hardly more gains than I had worked my way up to again, so realistically, it was feasible I could make it. It's just a little mountain, with some different elements that make it a little more exciting than just a slog. I told myself it was probably the only mountain I stood a chance at summitting this season, and if I failed, at least I'd get some fun times with friends and family out of it. So I decided to head down to Diamond Lake and go it solo—no way was anyone going to see me struggle that bad. No way were there going to be witnesses to the battle I needed to have with God regarding mountains and life and direction and purpose. Mom doesn't like when I solo, but... I figured she'd practically be within yelling distance and had ample means to track my GPS, so eh, she could deal. It was nice to just relax for a bit, but seeing that rocky spire pointing up into the sky, I was wondering how the heck I thought I could get up there, but did my best to ignore and just be in the moment.

Paradise Park via the PCT
I got up early, or rather I didn't sleep—having these weird dreams of zombies and death, and hoping they weren't foretelling of my plans for the day. I slipped out while the campground was still quiet, and the sky was just starting to get light. The trailhead lot was pretty deserted, just a couple of cars, which surprised me, and started making me doubt my decision to go solo. The spire is low grade rock, which isn't my forte. I was going without protection--no rope, no harness, nothing to prevent a major fall. I was hoping there would be people around for that part to at least put my mind at ease. But I put it out my head, because there were still a few miles and close to 4,000 feet of gain I needed to get through first. And oh was it rough. My body was protesting. I couldn't get any breakfast in my wonky stomach. My legs and lungs just didn't want to cooperate and get in a groove. But I pushed on. I told myself to just keep going—I didn't have to go fast, I didn't have to not stop, but I had to keep trying. And the first few miles clicked by. My body finally started to come alive, and all of a sudden... I was at the ridge. I wasn't mentally prepared to start “climbing” yet, I had struggled so much just on the approach! And now I needed to go up the steep ridge? You've got to be kidding me... So I found a nice sit-rock, and took a little break. Tried again to get some food in my stomach (thank the good Lord for gummies...) and finally took off again. I did the math, I had plenty of time to get to the spire by my goal time, so just needed to calm down, keep my head down, and GRIND! Okay, let's do this!

Golden Hour! Jefferson Park via PCT
Before I knew it, I glanced up and the spire was looming right in front of my face! I had somehow covered almost 2,000 feet of gains and hadn't even realized. It was like a major repeat of how God met me on Kilimanjaro, just like He was setting my feet on top of the mountain with no effort of my own. This time, yes, it was a grind, but the worship music in my ear buds was speaking straight to my soul, the temperature was mercifully cool, the air was dry and smelt of all my favorite pine-goodness-smells, and I had just got lost in the moment. Now this summit was right in front of me, and I found myself again, fighting back tears at how God can give us the most amazing things, when our soul needs them desperately. I took my time up the scramble—I have to fight for scramble. Plus, there was a team of five slowly making their way down, and I had left my helmet in the car thinking it would be deserted—so had no protection against rock fall, so I hung out for awhile at the edge of the route to stay out of their fall lines. And then the spire...

Not going to tell you... Off trail. But it was BEAUTIFUL.
I couldn't see the promised “worn” rocks that made the route obvious. I saw nothing obvious. I saw potential routes everywhere! But I wanted the RIGHT one... So fought my head more than necessary and had myself in a tizzy. If I couldn't find the route up, how the heck would I find it on the way down??? Maybe down is exactly where I should go... does it matter if I make it up the spire? Do I need a true summit? Oh geez. It was ugly. But I finally convinced my head to just shut.the.heck.up and climbed. It's a super easy climb, I'm just one that trusts my judgment better if someone is there so my pride keeps my freak out at bay letting me think clearly, and without that luxury, it was more mentally taxing than it needed to be. But I made it! And it was gorgeous! The lake, Mt. Bailey... The world at my feet. All the memories of how God meets me on mountains flooding back, and I was just in awe. But I saw no more obvious route indications from up top as I had from the bottom, and having seen no one else on their way up, I knew I was stuck having to downclimb this sucker solo, so I may as well suck it up and hurry and get it done and over with. As I was strapping on my pack and taking my first step off the edge, I prayed God wouldn't leave me alone here, that He would be with me, and not let me freak out. I had barely uttered this silent prayer when I heard something... could it be??? I hollered out “Is someone coming up??” And out of the quiet, a voice. A fellow climber. How he got up there without me seeing him, I will never understand, but it was exactly what I needed. We visited on the summit, and agreed to downclimb together. In his company, knowing I wouldn't have to downclimb alone, I was able to actually relax and take in the beauty of the world laid at my feet. He asked me how I'd gotten into climbing mountains, and I just simply said what has become my normal take-it-or-leave-it response, that I blame it on God, and the conversation moved on. He pointed out Crater Lake... Somehow, I had totally missed that this giant collection of peaks was actually in a circle with a lake in the middle, because what valley girl really thinks of seeing Crater Lake from the top of a peak? That just doesn't happen. I'm special, I know.

Threw down a marathon for the first time! Via MRT
Climbing down was a breeze, and off we went descending the scramble and back onto the ridge... Along the way, and much to my surprise, he asked more about why I blame God for mountain climbing, and it led to probably the most profound conversation I've ever had. Not profound in it's content necessarily, but profound in the way it correlated to what I've learned to expect of God: for Him to meet me on mountains. I thought He had done that on the way up, but then for the way down, as a bonus, He sent me a brother in Christ, someone that has struggles in faith and trusting God the same way I do, someone that seeks to find God in solo time on a mountain-side, begging for the epic, someone that can find strength and inspiration in how God created such beauty for us to marvel in. It was incredible to see someone else that mixes faith and the outdoors, and be reminded just how much God can use people anywhere, at any time, to speak to our hearts. I think we both walked back to our cars seeing God a little more clearly than we did when we'd left them hours before, and I'm so grateful that God works how He does.

Sometimes, you combine 3 shorter hikes into 1 day! Coffin, Bachelor, and Marion Lake
Follow Up: I absolutely love hiking again! My heart dreams of craziness and adventures. My mind drifts to the possibilities that trails and mountains hold in their midst. I continue to be amazed at how God uses trails to quiet my head so I can hear His whispers of peace and love and truth. I feel more like myself than I have in so long--my body can still be a traitor, but progress is being made, and passion makes up for the residual weakness. I have crossed so many trails off my bucketlist, and logged more miles than I had hoped for this year. I have found such blessing in all the solo time, and the courage to tackle things I would never have dreamed of on my own. I have discovered to a whole new depth the level of support and love around me, and have been actually enjoying walking in faith, blind to where the journey leads to. God is good.
Once again summiting Mary's. Everything is right in the world. 

Saturday, October 20, 2018

Gear Review: Garmin inReach Explorer+

Mt Hood from Bald Mountain--With my inReach

I was hiking the Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood, and got stopped as I was making my way up the bank after crossing the Muddy River. There were so many people on this section of trail, and I was missing my solitude, and wanted to hurry and get out of there. He looked at me with a puzzled expression, and asked “What's... (insert awkward hand gesture referencing the general proximity of my pack's left shoulder strap)”. I couldn't help but laugh at his awkward way of asking. He wasn't the first to wonder about the Garmin inReach clipped to my shoulder strap. It is hands down the piece of gear I get asked about the most, and is usually the only piece of gear I will actually take the time to stop and explain, because I believe it's that important.

A little about me: I like to hike. I like to climb. I like to backpack. I like to go solo. I like to travel the world. I love to be completely out of cell-phone range for as long as my busy schedule will allow. I often like to leave spur of the moment with no real planning or thoughts of where I might end up. I have a family that is very much not into physical pursuits of any kind making all of this very foreign to them—who then struggle to adjust to the idea that I'm out doing things that they think are stupid and will undoubtedly kill me. The level of risk can seem overwhelming to them, but they also want me to live my life to the fullest and go where God leads. And perhaps in contrast to all of those desires, I also love to learn, and to apply safety protocol, Leave-No-Trace, and proper hiking practice to my adventures to preserve the trails, safety, and enjoyment for ages to come. This is my life. Trying to reconcile it all can be a struggle when there are more than a few conflicting desires in this crazy heart of mine—like wanting to just leave and not tell anyone where I'm going, versus the safety of having a well laid plan that has been shared in advance with a check-in person. My best solution? I present you with the Garmin inReach Explorer+.


I had been aware of the Garmin inReach for a couple of years (and other items like SPOT that work similarly), but felt it wasn't for me... I'm not a techy person. Just switching to having a watch capable of tracking me via GPS, with the ability to upload tracks to navigate... There were tears of frustration. TEARS. And swearing. And reigning myself in so I didn't throw things. Plus, an inReach just seemed so much more... “extreme” than I felt my life warranted. I mean, a few mountains and some hiking? How overkill does a SOS/SMS transmitter seem??? But then I had an impromptu dinner with a friend who sold Garmin equipment. As we were catching up, she asked about my plans coming up (no big, I was just going to go after Denali...), and she looked at me with practiced patience and with such sincerity as one who gets it--having built a life around spending time in remote areas hunting, and asked me to at least consider an inReach. Like for Christmas. Like she knew my mother would buy one for me. So don't make her go behind my back to my mother, because she would... My fate was sealed, I was ending up with an inReach whether I liked it or not.

But to my great surprise? I've had an inReach for nearly a year now, and I love it. It is actually one of my favorite pieces of gear. It's not perfect, and I sometimes hate the invasion into my solo time that an overly concerned mother can cause... But the freedom it provides, the peace of mind, the convenience, the maps? So. Worth. It.

Mooney Falls, Havasupai AZ, complete with my inReach

For those of you not familiar with an inReach, it is essentially a satellite text messaging device, that is also a GPS tracker which lays down your track or navigates you, all in one handy package. It works anywhere in the world, and has a SOS feature built in that once activated, forwards your distress signal to all local authorities for the region you're in (as well as any messages you send to provide information about your situation/condition, i.e. non-life threatening, someone just broke a leg, we're equipped to stay the night, etc.) and coordinates the rescue effort. There are three models: the inReach SE+, the inReach Explorer+ https://amzn.to/2CUquPh (which is what I have, it adds built in topographical maps = AMAZINGNESS, plus an altimeter. It weighs in at 8.8oz with its carabiner), and the newly introduced inReach Mini https://amzn.to/2R3Cot8 (just 4.23oz! I might just need one of these...) They range from $350 for the Mini to $450 for the Explorer+, and do require a monthly subscription to use—plans vary based on needs and usage.

There are Freedom plans that result in little higher monthly costs for the same set of features, but which can be activated just for the months you want to use your inReach, or contract plans for 12 months for bare minimum, safety-only type use clear up to unlimited messages and tracking points. I have a year contract for a “Recreation” plan, which offers 40 text messages per month, unlimited tracking points at 10 minute intervals, and runs me about $25 monthly. Check out the plans here: https://explore.garmin.com/en-US/inreach/#subscriptions. One caution I will say when evaluating plans, there is a charge to downgrade plans when you're on a contract, which seems unfair to me. If I'm going on a big trip and think I'll be texting a lot, I could upgrade to a higher plan for no fee, but when the month is over, and I would like to go back to my Recreation or even the basic Safety plan, I would incur a fee to make that switch ($25--which kind of reduces the savings to be at a cheaper plan). That fee is what led me to select the “happy medium” of the Recreation plan for the year. There is also an activation fee to get started, and an annual fee if you opt for the “Freedom”/month to month plans. But all in all, for as little as $12 a month, you can have piece of mind knowing you can reach emergency responders anywhere in the world, and let you loved ones know you're safe.

Mapshare: Messages show up on your track so people know how things are going
Closer to home, my Mapshare gets a little cluttered with all the tracks. I could organize them, but they make me happy.

So... on to the fun stuff! Why do I love my inReach Explorer+? I think the reason I first came around to having an inReach was the “Mapshare” feature. I can send a link for my Mapshare to whomever I want, I can set password protections, select date ranges of my tracking points to be shared, which folders of tracks to show on the map, and many other options. You can also organize all your tracks! When I leave for a trip, be it an expedition or a day hike, I turn my inReach's tracking on, and it automatically uploads my tracking points to my Mapshare at whatever timing interval I choose. Whoever I have sent the link to can then view where I am, if I'm moving/not moving, send me messages, ping my location, read any “Mapshare” messages I've uploaded, and basically just follow along on my adventure. If my mother gets worried that she hasn't been able to get me on my cell-phone, she just hops on my Mapshare and looks for the blue arrow indicating my location and knows I'm out somewhere, that I'm moving, and can message me if she needs. Messages can also be sent directly without going through Mapshare if someone has your “phone number”, and you can choose to allow/disallow messaging from your Mapshare page, so there are tons of control features to customize to your preferences/trips. Mapshare is fun though because you can let people follow your progress on a big trek, and can share messages along the way that get posted with your tracking points explaining how things are going. You end up with fun messages from friends about your progress, or prayers for your safety, etc.

On expedition trips, I've been able to post a daily update for anyone watching my Mapshare—saving me from having to message each person individually, and stretch my 40 text messages to last my whole trip. Instead of getting 5 texts asking why my tracking point hadn't moved... I could just post that “Weather is still bad, and we're still stuck in camp. Hoping to be able to move again tomorrow.” The messages show up on the map at the location where I sent them, along with my track. And again, this works anywhere in the world. I don't need internet, or cell-service, I just need a reasonable view of the sky. So while in Africa, I could text my family back home without having to get any special coverage on my cell-phone (which wouldn't have worked most of the time anyway because there wasn't coverage on Kilimanjaro or way out on safari). Super handy. Keep in mind, these are SMS messages, so you're limited to 160 characters (a few less if you have it set to include your location link).

Climbing on Mt Denali, friends back home watching the progress each day

There are also free “preset” text messages included. You can set up 3 different messages to send, which don't count toward your monthly limit. For me, they are all set to go to my mother. #1 – Just checking in, things are fine, I love you. #2 – Made the summit, heading down, things are fine, I love you. #3 – Off trail, will talk to you soon, I love you. These messages might not provide much detail, but they are quick to send, and let her know that I'm fine. I usually only use them when I'm in a big hurry or I'm running low on messages, because the Mother usually doesn't recognize that these are my “preset” messages, and thinks that because of the lack of detail/brevity, something must be wrong, and a whole texting frenzy ensues... But in theory, they're great!

Having the Explorer+ was important to me because I wanted topographic maps and the altimeter. I have a Garmin Fenix 3HR watch, which I have also learned to love, but when I purchased it, I really wanted what was then the newly released Fenix 5X, which has built in topos--on your wrist! Ohhhh the luxury. But for the price... I just couldn't justify getting a watch that is that giant to try and wear on my tiny wrist. Even the Fenix 3 is wider than my wrist is and the strap barely goes small enough. As much as I wanted topos, I knew I wouldn't be getting them on my wrist. So adding in an inReach, I knew it was worth the extra $50 to get the topos, and a far superior altimeter than the Fenix offers (which is pretty crummy, I tell you). I wasn't super keen on adding more weight and another item to keep charged (though the battery life is very impressive, and I rarely have to charge it--if I'm not tracking, just keeping it on to send/receive messages, it will last a couple of weeks easily. With daily tracking, I usually charge it every 5 days or so leaving it on but not tracking while in camp), but it's been well worth it. The new Mini is even lighter yet, but relies on a second device to really utilize the features—you can pair your Explorer+ or SE+ with your phone to be able to type out messages easier and navigate through the map options, but can still use all the features and type messages using the device's built in buttons--preserving your phone battery for longer. So it just depends which features are most important to you.

Going off trail to find the prettiest fall in Oregon, no worries of getting lost

Topographic maps and a good altimeter are such a blessing when you're climbing, or even hiking, and I've quickly adjusted to the point of wondering what I did without them. But having the ability to quickly and easily glance at your track is probably my favorite part. My Fenix 3 makes a map of where I've been, but it's more difficult to see the detail, to pan around and see what's around, to see if your trajectory is going to meet back up with your track or not. With my inReach (or with other GPS devices, I realize this isn't a unique feature to the inReach), you can zoom out and see your whole track, see what's ahead, see the distance to a set of coordinates. On a big loop hike that you're wondering if you took a wrong turn at one of the junctions.... Not that that has ever happened to anyone, right? You can just pan around the map and see oh nope, just a little further and I'll meet back up to the main trail! Phew. I love a good adventure, but when it seems like you're hiking in entirely the wrong direction and should have reached a junction by now and that inkling of worry is setting in... I'm so grateful to be able to glance at the screen of my inReach and know for sure if I need to worry or not.

Is the inReach perfect? No. Are there features I don't like/don't use/would change? Yes. And there are a lot of things I've not really played with to know much about—weather forecasts? Folders for your tracks? But the main things I've found that I think are drawbacks are very few. I think the inReach is lacking on providing stats for your track. It lays down a wonderful track, that unless you're down in the bottom of a canyon, seems incredibly accurate and useful for navigating. But the mileage always seems off—even with more frequent tracking intervals—compared to my Fenix 3/cell-phone tracking apps/other GPS watches. Also lacking? It does not calculate elevation gains for your track. The altimeter is far more reliable than on my Fenix or other devices, but it does not process the elevation changes to give you totals from your track. Looking at total gains versus mileage is one of my key stats for training, and I find it really disappointing that the inReach doesn't offer it (the Fenix does though, so it's not a deal breaker).

Backpacking solo to Jefferson Park, Mom was messaging me to make sure everything was okay

Other things I'm not super keen on, the user-face could be improved some, but is fine. I wish there was more control to change things from the Earthmate App for your phone rather than logging in to your Garmin account (especially to change Mapshare features). And again, weight and having another item to keep charged. An upgraded sapphire (crystal) screen would be amazing, since it endures some abuse hanging on my bag, but it is nothing some screen protectors can't handle (I have these https://amzn.to/2PHfN5v). Also, Garmin has recently lost the ability to be able to push through messages to post to your Facebook page. This was kind of a fun feature, and one they are working to resolve, which enabled you to let everyone on your social media know you made a summit or whatever, without having to give everyone the link to your Mapshare and the ability to text you/see more details of your trip. Connected-ness can also kind of be a downside with an inReach—when you want solitude and people don't seem to respect that and send nuisance messages or work messages--so do be mindful of who you give your "phone number" to, because that cannot be controlled through your Mapshare settings. But the flip side is that I can leave knowing my risk-level for not having told people I'm leaving or where I'm going is greatly reduced. Is hiking/climbing/backpacking still risky? Sure. But I know I'm doing what I can to reduce that risk.

Proper hiking protocol with or without an inReach would still be to let a check-in person know my full plan, and my ETA of being back (which I still absolutely do if it's a trail I deem higher risk). It's part of the first rule of Leave-No-Trace—have a plan, and be prepared. But it's a rule I've always struggled with—I don't want people worrying about me, I don't want people having to watch the clock when getting down to the wire of my return time (or for me having to think through when that would be), or to have to make the call to start notifying authorities. I still utterly recognize the benefit of having the check-in person, but with my inReach, I know that if I'm still alive, I'm absolutely hitting that SOS button and calling in help if needed. And if I'm in such sorry shape that I can't hit that SOS button, odds are that I'd be dead by the time emergency responders were able to get to me anyway, so I'm 100% good with that risk.

Remote parts of Oregon, to find the trails less traveled. Overlooking the Painted Hills.

There is no fail-safe when hiking. There is no way to ensure that you will be okay. There is nothing that can eliminate all the risk. No trail that is “easy” enough in rating, or short enough, or a day that is nice enough that can promise safety. I see so many people set out on hikes that are grossly ill-prepared. They might have a bottle of water at most, and nothing else. Nothing to protect against the elements if weather moves in. Nothing to make camp with if forced to stay the night in the wilderness. No 10-Essentials, no wilderness survival skills, no medical training. People that have no concept of route finding or navigating, no prior research or knowledge/expectation of the trail they've set out on. People that are taking off after trails that they are physically in no condition to tackle. And what's worse, they have no true understanding of the risk they are assuming. Even a straight forward rescue for a non-life-threatening injury can take most of a day for a close-in, popular trail with cell-service. Lack of knowledge, lack of experience, and poor judgment are the leading causes of hiking/climbing deaths (not cougars, not bears, not creeper-men that will attack me, not gear failure, not freak weather moving in...) People need to know the risk they are assuming when setting out on hikes/climbs/treks, and they need to take it seriously. I can never encourage this enough. There is no promise of help out there. Be prepared. Educate yourself. Learn to stay safe. No exceptions. I have gotten mocked a time or two for having my “fancy safety phone”, but I've also been sincerely thanked by multiple people who work with SAR teams for carrying it--even on the shortest/easiest of trails.

Ultimately, having an item like a Garmin inReach can provide a lot of features, which used correctly, help reduce the risk you assume going off to do the things you want to do; it does not, however, ensure your safety, or give you an excuse to be lax on safety measures. Weighing all the pro's and con's of carrying an inReach, it is an item I absolutely don't want to be without no matter the trail, and one I don't compromise on when it comes to cost or cutting pack-weight down.

Even on little hikes, my inReach is still clipped to my pack--Cascade Head by Lincoln City

Bonus: if price is a limiting factor and you happen to have a membership, Costco sometimes carries the inReach SE+, and sometimes on a super good coupon! 

No GPS tracker works great in narrow canyons, but I still appreciated it while route finding to the Colorado River


Monday, July 9, 2018

Denali: A Journey Home

First true glimpse of Mt. Denali!

You know when you get those sinking suspicions something is wrong with you... And then convince yourself you're a worry wort, and have watched too many episodes of House, MD, and that you're just fine, that it's all in your head? Most of the time, you're right. Sometimes, not so much, but it takes something big before you're ready to admit it. Denali was kind of like that. And so much more, and so much less, and just such a journey of a lifetime, that led to hard decisions, and easy ones, and turned my world on end in incredible ways. But I'll get to that, as I piece together this adventure that is still swirling in my head begging to be made sense of.


All my gears, in one checked bag and my carry-on. Boo-yah!
It was a massive whirlwind to even leave on this journey. From being so sick in February and then cracking a rib, to trying to make up for lost time in my training, and then being slammed with everything under the sun when it came to trying to put on a 109 year old Festival, that you think at this point should really just plan itself, right? Wrong. So very wrong. Training was proving to be a train-wreck, and Strawberry Festival was resulting in such sleep deprivation I could hardly function.

Finally making it to Alaska for the first.time.ever. Oh my!!!! Still light out :)
I guess it was fitting that the journey on Denali was also a whirlwind—in the literal sense. I think the term used was “typhoon”, but the outcome was the same: the storm of a decade, and we were trapped in the midst of it. Apparently late season trips do not insure that massive storm fronts brewing on the ocean don't slam the mountain and keep you tent-bound for days wondering if your tent was going to collapse at any moment.

Gear check at the hotel in Anchorage

Getting everything organized in the hanger
I don't know why I would be surprised that my time since coming home from Alaska was equally a whirlwind, albeit in entirely different ways; but alas, weeks have gone by, and I'm still fighting to get my head on straight.



I remember the painful fight with God that led me to surrendering to this adventure... The torture to let it become a reality when it was so easy to live in denial that the weeks were getting fewer and fewer, and that I would in fact be leaving. To do something beyond crazy. That people die doing. And that was way out of my comfort zone. I remember sitting in Cindy's office, after being nagged at for weeks by the Gateway clan, finally resigned that I had to book that gosh-darn plane ticket, and freaking out and squirming in my seat and whining and acting like such a child that she finally offered to click the “confirm booking” button for me. I remember the painful goodbyes, to my church family, to my festival people, to the Gateway clan, to my puppies... And finally to my mother at the airport. It wasn't the first time I'd flown off solo, to go do crazy crap, but somehow an expedition up North America's highest peak seemed far more daunting than going and hiking through land minds on the border of Israel and route finding in the desert of Jordan or hiring armed guards to go into Sinai... Clinging to the elements of excitement worked to a degree, and I still had total peace that I was supposed to go, but the actual act of going has always been my hang up. Once I'm gone, things get better.
I go all my life avoiding little planes, then 4 flights in less than a month!

Finally leaving!
Except this time, I had way more apprehension about how this was going to turn out. Denali isn't some little weekend climb where you can go light and quick. It's a grueling slog, with packs and sleds loaded down with 3 weeks worth of gear and food. It's the mental battlefield of staying invested when you could be enduring weather days for a large portion of your trip. It's physically, emotionally, and mentally depleting. And I already felt depleted.

Mt Denali is in there somewhere!

To the untrained eye, that looks nothing at all like a runway!
After Africa and my cracked rib, I was in such a slump physically, and time was getting short to make up for it. I trained hard. I managed to put in more miles on my legs per week than ever before, and usually in just 3 days of training. I'd do multiple 15+ mile hikes with good gains back to back. My legs were recovering fantastically. But my legs weren't the problem. All those hills I used to run down effortlessly...? I couldn't run to save myself, and couldn't even imagine ever having been able to run up big sections of them. All of a sudden, running my normal 4 miles on the treadmill was utterly impossible. I couldn't pack weight at all without tanking ridiculously. Sure, I could go crush my normal routes without a pack on, but throw in weight or some steep inclines and I was flailing, and wondering if I could get the job done. Training that hard, I should have been able to do better!



I tried making excuses for it in my head, coming out of that long of being laid up with a cracked rib and pneumonia, it would just take awhile. But the harder I trained, the weaker I felt, and the more and more I noticed my stamina was gone.

Base Camp!


That, in and of itself, was enough to make me worry, but it got worse. I'm not really a person ruled by physical appearance, but I've always tried to look nice—mainly for fear that if I didn't, my natural inclination of being lazy would take over and I'd become one of those that puts zero effort into her appearance, and I just feel that's not paying respect to those who's time your asking them to give up on your behalf, but that's beside the point. When massive wads of hair were falling out in the shower... And more massive handfuls when I was combing my hair... And shed hairs were covering my car, my clothes, my floors, every conceivable place I went... When my hair was becoming matted with so much hair being lost and caught up in the length... Being a person that cares about physical appearance or not, I started to panic. I again tried denial, and I'm really, really good at denial, but when my ponytail became smaller and smaller... When the hair loss didn't stop... I had to face it. I kept my head covered constantly with hats, I hate hats! I looked up reasons it could be happening—stress? Ha! Surely this is all Strawberry Festival's fault... But was it? As crazy as things were, I didn't feel stressed. I knew in my gut what the likely culprit was, but I didn't want to face it. But it just seemed too coincidental that I was weakening, my hair was falling out en masse, my skin was dry for the first time in my life, my finger nails were all of a sudden surrounded by horrific cuticles that wouldn't heal, my body's inability to deal with cold was worse than ever... And when I'd just watched New Holland suffer through the same thing... Ugggg.

Crevasse rescue and skills practice

Rope teams are always so photogenic :)
I finally broke down 2 days before I flew out, and got my blood work done to check my thyroid levels. And sure enough, my T3 and T4 were both at the very bottom end of the “normal” range—which is kind of a misnomer, since there really isn't any hard and fast “normal” when it comes to thyroids, which is why dosage rates are always a bit of trial and error. But regardless, here I was leaving for a trip I needed to be in top form for, and I was going in knowing my body was literally unable to even muster excess energy to keep my hair from falling out. This was going to be FUN. But armed with meds I took for the first time hours before my plane took off... I decided to trust that if God had wanted me to do this thing, that He'd be in it with me. The outcome wouldn't matter, I just needed to be obedient and let Him do His work.


How you travel on glacier when sunscreen doesn't work for you... Ninja Style!
I left late on a Friday night... And it never got dark. I've heard all my life about the “land of the midnight sun”, but never truly believed it. I scoffed when our gear list said headlamps weren't needed. After touching down in Anchorage at midnight, I decided to move my headlamp out of my pack and into my suitcase that would be staying at the hanger in Talkeetna. It's not that the sun is still out, but is like when it's getting really light in the morning right before the sun comes up. It's dimmer, but still totally light. I got in the shuttle to the hotel, coincidentally enough with a fellow teammate coming in from France, and got checked into my room for the night. Thank goodness for black out drapes! I slept so much, and barely had time to get a walk in before gear checks the next day. One of our teammates seemed ill prepared—very shoddy and antiquated gear, and obviously no understanding of the concepts behind some of the pieces required. Like that no cotton garments were allowed... And he didn't think that applied to underwear? Or that we needed to be prepared for full facial coverage to prevent frostbite in the event of getting caught in a storm... And he had ill fitting 1970's glacial “goggles” and no face mask. Poor guy, he'd dreamed of climbing Denali for 40 years, but sometimes things just aren't meant to be. We went out shopping to the mountain shops and REI for people to get last minute gears they were missing (or in Allan's case, most of the gear list)--I managed to find some of my favorite mountaineering socks, which I couldn't for the life of me find more than two pairs in my house while I was packing, so yay! I was going to be able to change my socks more frequently than once every 10.5 days. I really like clean socks. More so than clean underwear, not even going to lie. Then we headed out early the next morning to drive to Talkeetna.


La Sportiva love! Worth every penny for keeping my feet toasty warm! My parka too :)
I slept most of the way to Talkeetna, but we did stop at a Fred Meyer in Wasilla, where apparently Sarah Palin is now Mayor. Once in Talkeetna, we got most of our gear organized in the hanger, and walked over to the National Park Service office to finalize our climber registration and sit through the mandatory orientation. I got my NPS passport stamped! I was excited. We picked up our CMCs (clean mountain cans/poop cans), and headed back to the hanger. Along the way, the passengers from the cruise ships were gawking at us and asking what was in the cans... One of the guides just laughed and said “Nothing yet!” Oh goodness, I often forget that talking about pooping, or the measures you take to reduce your impact on a mountain, is so foreign to the “normal folks”. I am a firm advocate in educating people though, so when they say how amazing my adventures are, I'm quick to dispel the romanticism of it and cut to the nitty gritty: I poop in a can and have to pack it out with me. Or in the Cascades, I poop in bags. Either way, we carry our own poop. Romanticize THAT! Cindy says I need to just let people have their fantasies, and to stop talking about poop... Hmph. Where's the fun in that? But bonus fact, on the mountain, there is only one approved location left to dispose of human waste, and it is quickly becoming the NPS's policy to have all human waste packed out. Until it is mandatory, it is just “encouraged”--but as a reward, if your team packs out all its waste, you get a poop flag! I'm pretty excited about it. I'm not sure how long it takes before the NPS ships them out, but for sure, I'll be sporting it proudly when it arrives!

Making camp below Camp 1


Moving on from discussing poo, though I'm tempted to relay what it's really like to try and do your business in the midst of a blizzard... We were hoping to fly out early afternoon, and had been given the “go” that we'd be flying out in about 20 minutes! So we rushed to do final packing, get our boots on, pack up our bags that were staying in the hanger... And 20 minutes came and went, and we were still waiting. Weather was looking more and more questionable, and we heard reports that snow was coming down at basecamp. We were on hold. Hours passed, we finally walked into town for dinner—ready to walk out in a hurry if the call came, which it didn't, and we headed back to the hanger to wait some more. Finally, we got word that we for-sure wouldn't be flying, so got settled in to this beautiful log cabin for the night. Oh my, I would so happily live there and be a hermit and never leave—a log cabin, in the woods... It's pretty much my life-long dream, which will never be realized since... farm ground is about as opposite from “woods” as can be, but a girl can dream! We were up early the next morning to get back to the hanger and wait some more! We had less time to wait this round, and once it was decided we were flying in this little gap in the weather, it was a panic of frenzied activity getting the final pieces of luggage on the planes that were still mostly loaded from the day before, go through final flight checks, and we were off!


Represent, represent!
I got to ride co-pilot on the flight in—super cool! But oh my, I wasn't feeling good. It was pretty rough, as the weather was still marginal, and as we were popping up over ridges to careen down into the glacial valley to land, I was soooooo beyond ready to get out of that God forsaken plane, I can't even tell you. But then it was go-go-go to get the gears all off-loaded and packed up a hill and set up camp... All while I was still trying not to throw up, so that was pretty miserable (and for me, a very slow go). We were either going to move that night (when the lower glacier was frozen up again, not melted and slushy from the sun during the heat of the day), or the following night, and the guides elected to wait until the following night, in hopes we'd be better adjusted to the night schedule. So we got up super early, to go work on some skills like crevasse rescue, sled rigging, glacier rigging, glacier travel, and finally, traveling with sleds. There were only 2 of us that had done the “mandatory” prep-course that served as the qualification process to get approved on a team, so... That was pretty frustrating to me, but whatever, it was still fun to be out there, in the crazy gorgeous terrain. We headed to bed expecting to get up in the wee hours and start the long and arduous trek to Camp 1, but... Ended up having to wait until planes were flying, to pick up Allan, who the guides had decided wasn't fit to make the move. All around, it was a pretty disheartening situation—for Allan, who wanted a chance to live out his dream, and for the rest of us who were being held back yet again after so many delays already, when there were supposed to be measures in place to approve people for the physical demands of a journey like this. Definitely not a great start to a trip where keeping your psyche in check is the greatest battle—it felt like we were already set up for failure.

And so it began...

Ice was building up on everything, the wind was CRAZY
But on we went. We made it to within an hour and half of Camp 1, and had been moving great—although I got some nasty blisters on my heels, which isn't uncommon for me, but a major bummer that early into a trip—when the guides said we'd just make camp there, so we could get an earlier start the following day to stay on the “night” schedule. I really wasn't in favor of the decision not to continue the push to Camp 1 while rested on a roll, but at some point, you have to trust that the guides understand better than you do. It was just unfortunate that it meant we had to travel farther to cache supplies, yet it wasn't as high as it would have been had we left out of Camp 1 to place the cache, so when we moved to Camp 2 (or traditional Camp 3—traditional Camp 2 so rarely gets used anymore that most have just dropped it from the numbering), we had to go further down the mountain than we would have had to in order to retrieve our cache. We set up camp, had dinner, and headed to bed.

The snow was a bit crazy outside!

Do you see all the tents below us...? Me neither.
We followed the plan for setting our cache the next day—so instead of carrying the entirety of your gear with you, you take the excess gear (mainly fuel, food, and gears you'll only need higher on the mountain), and carry it up part way and bury it, then move camp carrying a little lighter load than you would have, and once you set up the next camp, go back and retrieve your buried cache. There are different trains of thought on whether or not this is the most efficient moving system—it allows you to make bigger moves from one camp to the next, rather than smaller moves and setting up camp more times, but it is the style adopted by most large expedition teams. We got the cache in, and made it back to camp, and planned to breakdown camp and move the next day, which is when things got interesting. Reports were coming in that a big storm would be hitting, and depending on timing, we'd either get up early and move camp, or have to stay put if it came in earlier than expected. We went to bed not knowing which would be the case but hoping for an early wake up indicating we'd be able to move... When we got woken up later than expected, I was pretty surprised to hear we'd still be moving, but thought oh good, the storm must be coming in later than expected. WRONG. We had only made it part way when the storm hit. Those that know me even a little bit, know I don't like snow. I prefer to stay inside and utterly ignore it until it has melted away. It fills me with anxiety, and thoughts of things being horrifically out of my control and dangerous. Jered seems to love driving in the snow, sliding his pickup all over... I sit on my hands, in and effort to not white-knuckle grip anything I can get my hands on. Mountaineering? Still kind of a shock to me that I'm able to tolerate snow on the ground, but getting caught in an utter white-out blizzard, while on a mountain, searching for camp, when you're on glacier, and there are crevasses who knows where, and there is no more boot track, you're trail breaking, and wands are few and far between...? To say it was a stretching and growing experience for me would be an understatement.

Meet Ben and Neil! The best tentmates EVER!!!
We were in 3 rope teams of 3 climbers. I was in the caboose position of the first team, and could barely make out my leader most of the time, and some times, I couldn't even do that. I felt better when the second team was close enough I could make out their leader, but even that was hit and miss. So I pretty much just moved blindly through the storm following the rope in front of me. It felt like all I had to give to get to camp, I was exhausted—when your body is already physically weak, and you add in mental and emotional stress (and trail breaking!), it's a doozy! But we made it to camp, and in the horrific winds and snow, worked to hastily set up camp and get out of the elements and ride out that ever intensifying storm. The following days were a bit of a blur. Conditions were bad enough the guides would bring us food to our tents, and pretty much took the full responsibility of keeping the tents shoveled out (when snow is coming down that fast, and there is that much wind bringing in snow drifts, your tent can quickly become completely socked in. People suffocate because there is no longer enough open space around the tent for air to get in). The winds were pretty horrific, especially when they are blasting you with snow. There were times I really wondered how much more our tents were built to withstand. The wind would pull at the tent so hard you could feel it lifting you up! And when you had to venture outside (I was really kicking myself that I hadn't brought a bigger pee bottle! Ohhhhh how I loathed when it was full and I couldn't hold it any longer and thought my bladder would explode, and I simply had to go out in the craziness!), you had to be careful or you could get lost easily. I couldn't make out any of the other camps, even though I knew they were just meters away! Even finding my own tent again was sometimes a challenge. There would be the occasional lessening of winds, but then they'd be right back. I can't imagine how bad it was up at Camp 3! I spoke to some climbers that had gotten trapped between Camp 2 and Camp 3, and it was all they could do to keep the tent held down for days!

As far as the Big Foot beanie made it with me as its keeper!

Finally getting to see Camp 2! So beautiful!!!!
Earplugs against the howling winds and thrashing of the tent were a necessity. I actually enjoyed the blessing of being able to sleep so incredibly much. All my weeks and months of sleep deprivation had taken their toll, and I could finally REST. And having nothing much to do in the daytime, I was able to spend hours upon hours catching up on some much neglected Bible time. And to get to read some just for fun...? It had been years! But even with that, I was going a bit stir-crazy. I had the most incredible tentmates (Neil and Ben), and both were masters of the Rubik's Cube by the time the storm started to subside. There was definitely lots of laughter and stories, and fun memories made in our tent—I could not imagine being in that close of quarters for that long with people you didn't get on well with, oh my!The blessings and God's favor abounded for me on this trip, in so many ways!

Headed down to Basecamp


We were on fuel rations (for hot food and more important—melting snow for water), not knowing how long the storm would last, and not having been able to retrieve our supply cache, so finally had to take advantage of a slight break in the weather to try and get down to our cache. We didn't make it far before the weather hit again (okay, we hadn't even fully left camp), and soon found ourselves in another white-out. Our 3rd rope team got separated from us, and we had to wait for them to find our coordinates. Another expedition team that had gotten stuck between Camp 1 and Camp 2 when the storm hit initially had made camp where we were at, and offered to let us hunker down behind their snow walls to wait for the 3rd team to find us—so nice! I had woken up feeling like it was going to be an “off” day for me—one where you just struggle physically anyway, but when we finally were able to continue on and found our cache and rigged my sled, it was pulling a little crooked and was really irritating my back (working in a seed cleaning warehouse takes its toll, and my back is prone to having issues, but not having tossed bags since January, it had been doing amazingly prior to this). We were on a 50 minute move/10 minute break schedule, which is already a struggle for someone like me who likes more frequent “micro breaks” while climbing, but I tried to tough it out until our break so I could readjust my sled. In hindsight, I should have just stopped the team for a minute to readjust, because by the time we stopped for a break, my back was screaming. The pain was encircling my rib cage, making it difficult to breathe while stopped without being in immense pain, let alone while struggling for air while climbing. My recently healed rib was no longer feeling healed and was adding its own protestations. And all of a sudden, I was seriously worried I wouldn't have it in me to get back up to camp. I didn't have the energy to be in this much pain... I had to stop the newly tied together mega-rope-team so I could catch my breath on the last hill, and forced them to slow their hurried pace to one I could just barely manage. I felt awful.

As close to "sunset" as it gets in the land of the midnight sun.
I was greeted in Camp 2 by two guides I knew with AAI Team 6, but even seeing them did little to boost my energy/excitement. I knew Neil was probably headed down mountain to get back to work, and I had to consider seriously if I should join him. I knew there wasn't a right or wrong decision to be made, just what decision I could most live with. We'd eaten up most of our “extra” days, and wouldn't have much wiggle room waiting for a weather window to move to high camp and summit. If the weather even relented and allowed us to move to Camp 3! Which they were still expecting the possibility of days of waiting out remaining storm fronts... And I knew my back wouldn't just magically be better... I've never let the pain stop me from getting my job done, but this was different, my body had never been this weak. Even with my chopped off hair, I was still getting massive wads lost every day, and the stray hairs in my buff that were getting in my mouth, and down in my shirts and tickling me, and just finding my hairs everywhere was driving me insane! There were so many variables. A smaller, stronger team put the remaining team in a much, much better position for getting a chance at the summit—and would gain them a few precious “extra” days by not having to place a cache for Camp 3, instead being able to utilize a leftover cache placed by an earlier AAI team that wasn't able to retrieve it. It was all running through my head at a million miles an hour trying to assess what was best... Was the chance at a summit worth it to me to risk putting my team in danger if I wasn't physically able to continue? If I had to turn around later... I'd doom them to 2 days minimum stuck in camp while they were down a guide to take me down mountain. And then there was Ben, who was on a quest to become the youngest to complete the Explorer's Grand Slam. He'd already done so much, just two weeks prior he'd been atop Everest... I tried reassuring him that if he didn't make the summit this time (since things were looking a bit grim), that there was still a chance, that there'd be time to come back before his deadline for another go of it... But that chance would be slim. He wanted to inspire people to go after their dreams, to have hope... God had so very much beat the idea of hope over my head for long enough, I knew all too well how desperate our world is for inspirations of hope, and here was this passionate, inspiring, 19 year old committed to doing just that. There were a million reasons to go, and a million reasons to stay. Ultimately, it came down to one thing that gave me peace in the decision. The one thing I felt like God was telling me more and more with every passing moment on that mountain.

Flying back to Talkeetna!
I left for Denali not knowing what to expect, but expecting something. God has never failed to meet me on mountains, and I knew this wouldn't be an exception. I was feeling like, I'd lost my way... Like mountains had been where God wanted me, but not where he wanted me for the next phase of this crazy life I live. Strawberry Festival was wrapping up, harvest was coming (or rather, had started), and as much as my heart was feeling broken and like a piece was missing being away from the farm—not just for Denali, but pretty much for the past couple of years as the warehouse has dominated my schedule and left me ineffective at maintaining a place on the farm as well—I didn't know how to exist in that life and juggle my schedule. It felt like I couldn't “have it all”, and yet the things I had left, didn't seem like the things my heart was leading me towards anymore either. I didn't know where God was leading me, but I had been feeling like a shift was coming, and had buckled up for the ride of trying to figure out where that shift would take me... Home. It would take me home. The place I finally felt I belonged again.

They crossed the line messing with the toilet of someone who's been stuck using a CMC...
I had anticipated missing out on swathing the earliest variety of grass, but harvest came earlier than expected... We got 1.5 inches of rain, but late enough it wasn't going to help the early stuff. Swathing started, and I was still socked in with weather at Camp 2. Camp 2! The thought of staying on mountain another week and a half... I could be missing combining, not to mention the entirety of swathing. As much as I had tried to convince myself I was okay with missing a little swathing, the truth was, I wasn't. I've always loved harvest, it's what made me fall in love with agriculture. Sure it's hectic, and sucks at times, and usually is super stressful and causes family drama, and can be a pain... But I love it. And I wanted nothing more at that point than to be home and in my swather. I wanted to be home and figuring out a way to juggle things that I could still have farm work in my life and not just be a slave to my warehouse. No summit could ever matter more than that—as great as they are. I've been so blessed to have this crazy time in my life of going on these epic adventures, meeting the most amazing people, seeing some of God's most amazing creations on this crazy beautiful planet we call Earth... And I truly hope that the journeys and adventures continue—and more importantly, the lessons He brings in the midst of them, but I'm really excited at the prospect of adventures not being the focus for the time being. I can't imagine what my life would look like without the adventures I've had—if it weren't for mountains stripping away all the crap of life and showing me my raw and real and bare to the bones self... Would I still be struggling to have confidence in myself? Or to know what truly matters to that woman? Would I still be so worried about what aspects of myself to show to the world, because I don't think people can wrap their heads around all that is “me”? Life is better knowing exactly who I am, and being able to embrace (with confidence) who that person is. So despite the high toll this crazy path of adventures has taken, I know I'm better because of it. I'm stronger. I'm happier. I'm more confident. I love deeper. I feel more. I know what matters. And in that moment, it wasn't a summit.

This is my kind of "night schedule" = SWATHING
I packed my gears, and roped up with Neil and one of our guides, Kevin, and said goodbye and a heartfelt good luck to Ben (he summited! I'm so excited for him, now he's off to tackle Elbrus), and headed down the mountain. My heart was on cloud 9. It was probably a good thing I was in caboose position on the rope team, because there was definitely plenty of times I couldn't help but raise my arms in worship to God at this amazing experience. At how magical it all was, at how incredibly awe-inspiring the scenery was that was laid out before me... Or event the fact that I had done it, I submitted and followed God up to Alaska, to go off on an expedition team... what.the.heck. It was surreal.

Unpacking is the bane of my existence.
We made it back to basecamp, and had a couple short hours to try and nap before a plane was inbound to pick us up. It was a frantic rush to get the gears on the plane, no moment to lose if we were going to get out before the weather hit again... But we did it. And flew out low over the glacier to stay under the weather that was coming down upon us. We got back to Talkeetna, and after washing my oh-so-thin hair in the shop sink in the hanger, I packed up my suitcase and was ready to catch a flight yet that night. We got a ride back to Anchorage, and since I had a few hours to kill, got to hang out with Neil a bit longer and get some real food before heading out (my stomach and its oh so fun “issues” were thrilled! Food that didn't leave me in pain, praise be!). Neil even lent me the use of his hotel room so I could take a proper shower! I'm sure my neighbors on the plane were even more appreciative than I was. Mom was at the airport to pick me up, and I came home to two very, very excited puppies, and a shenaniganed house, compliments of the Gateway clan. It was all blissful, and made my heart swell with gratitude even more.

Yes, I may sometimes drive swathers home... Don't judge.
It's been hard to adjust back to “reality”, and phones and internet and responsibility. I want to be a hermit and just ignore everyone and focus on the puppies and harvest, being cooped up in a cab of some piece of equipment mindlessly going in circles, and... food. Food is kind of a big one. But that's part of the adventure. My hair is barely falling out anymore, and I can tell my body is healing. I've been taking it easy, and denying myself trail-time, but I'm feeling stronger. People keep asking “what's next??” and if I'll go after Denali again, and the truth is, I don't know. And I'm okay with that. I haven't existed without some big goal or trip on the horizon for so incredibly long now, that I'm kind of excited to have nothing on the calendar, not a single climb or adventure, not even a vacation. I'm not going to lie, I had a moment of panic and was already looking at ways I could still get the JMT in this fall, or maybe a trip to Hawaii to go tackle one of the hikes that God used to speak to my soul and start me on the journey of mountains... Any maybe those things will happen, but not as a distraction. Not as running away from life. It's been a long road to get to this place, of coming home—not just literally, but emotionally and spiritually as well, and I'm going to enjoy it for a bit before leaving again. I think whatever comes next in life, this is where it's going to happen. Sometimes I doubt that I'm hearing God right, or I distrust my understanding of what He's wanting out of me, but I'm trying hard to just let His peace be my confirmation. Those moments when His peace washes over you, and you know with all certainty you're exactly where you're supposed to be, are my absolute favorite. And that's what I've had during my nights out in the swather, my days out in the combine, even catching up on the months of housework that had been sorely neglected... I know this is where I'm supposed to be. And I'm so beyond grateful for the journey it's taken to get back to this place (I wish it hadn't taken losing my hair and stamina, but even those I can find gratitude in because they played a key role in bringing me back home), and know how very blessed I am to be here. I hope I never again take it for granted, or let myself get so lost in my own mind's craziness that God has to take me on such an epic journey to rediscover myself, but at least I can rest assured that if I do, He will be faithful to pursue me to the ends of the earth if necessary to get me back where I belong.

Puppy paws, cowboy boots, and combines. THIS is where I belong.
P.S. -- Alaska is so amazing! A sightseeing trip is definitely moving up on the bucket list... And the shows are true, people ride around town on quads, there are these amazing homesteads out in the most remote of areas, so many get around by float planes, sled dogs are soooo a thing, and the mines are legit! It definitely exceeded all expectations, even during my brief exposure to actual civilization.

My 52 Hike Challenge

Summit of Mt McLoughlin I like lists. I blame my mother. I am well skilled in her trick of adding things you've already done to yo...