Month: January 2017

State 24: Nevada: Calico Tanks Hike, Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area

Girls’ Trip! The idea for this trip came courtesy of my friend Betsy, who is married to Graham, with whom I captured Pennsylvania back in 2015 by completing the four day Habitat for Humanity Ride for Homes. Betsy had her sights set on volunteering at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Kanab, Utah.

I looked at the map and said, “Hmm. Look how Kanab is close to the border of both Nevada and Arizona. ”

Betsy said, “Hmm. I’ve never been to Vegas and I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon.” I had done both, but was up for a repeat, especially since this time, we would have more time, and I could see the Grand Canyon from the North Rim.

We got ourselves flights. We signed up for volunteer shifts. And we waited. Betsy worked with a personal trainer to get her mileage up. And then… as September 19 clicked over to September 20, my dad died.

 

He had suffered for years, without complaint. He faded like his favorite Princeton sweatshirt. Kim and I did the best we could to provide him with the best care we could, at home. We kept him out of the hospital for eight years, except for one night inpatient. We kept him out of a nursing home. We kept him close to us as his world shrank from his state to his town to his home to his bedroom to his bed. And we held his hands and wiped his tears on his last night. He slipped away so gently we couldn’t be sure. There was so little left to slip.

Six days later, Betsey and I jetted off to Vegas, one of us emotionally fragile and the other  needing a knee replacement and with an eye injury. Two women bearing the visible and invisible scars so common in middle age.

Vegas greeted us with brilliant desert sunshine, which would have been welcome, except Bets had burned her cornea with contact lens fluid just that morning, and she had severe pain and photophobia. I begged her to go to urgent care but she didn’t want to spend her time in Vegas waiting for urgent care. So she slept,  and I took the first of many Uber rides to Rite Aid and got medicines.

By the time I woke her for Michael Jackson Cirque de Soleil (don’t laugh!), she was no better but uncomplaining. Stoic like my dad. The show was right in our hotel, and it was lots of fun, much better than I anticipated. We caught dinner at the Bellagio after watching the fountains spurt under the lights, and then we trundled into bed, hoping for a miraculous cure by morning.

No such luck. It was time to take another Uber, or two or three or four, to get Betsy seen by a doc and pick up prescriptions and return to the hotel, check out, and go for the rental car. Finally we were on the road, maybe by 12:30, heat of the day in Nevada, heading for Red Rocks Conservation Area, close to downtown, for our Nevada challenge. We sought a fairly short hike, since we were off to a late start.

I asked the ranger if the footing was sure on the Calico Tanks hike, and she assured me it was. At first, it was, indeed, but it soon devolved in a mélange of slick rock and boulder scrambles which knocked at Betsy’s confidence as she struggled with her knee and her vision. I didn’t want to leave her but she insisted. I rushed my way to the tanks and the views, with many a hiker asking after my friend, all admiring of her pluck. She is very tough. This was only my first opportunity to see it. More was to come.

We had a long drive ahead of us, but it was stunningly beautiful, the sunset breathtaking, and after dark, we rolled into our home for the next week or so, a tiny house in Kanab, Utah, hard by an historic home and within walking distance to plenty of restaurants. We were due at Best Friends by 7:30 the next morning for orientation. I had Betsy set the alarm for 6:15. She gave me the side eye with her one good eye but complied. I was up at five. Time difference, you know… Plus Utah is one of my favorite places. It’s like the license plate claims- Life, Elevated.

State 25: Utah- Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks, Grand Staircase- Escalante National Recreation Area.

Best Friends is no ordinary animal shelter. Tucked in its own red rock valley on over a thousand acres, it’s home to horses, dogs, cats, parrots, pigs, puppies, wild beasts, rabbits, ferrets, and furries and feathers of every ilk. Each species has its own experts and custom living areas and volunteers. There are morning and afternoon sessions seven days a week, and in the interim, the staff dishes a vegan lunch for five dollars a head to all volunteers. We started with dogs, walking on established trails and cleaning outdoor pens.

 

After three pleasant hours, we tucked in to a delicious lunch, then headed to Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument for our first Utah hike. We  drove for miles off the main road on a narrow dirt path and explored a wash where some movies were shot. There were signs warning about flash floods and sudden weather changes. We looked up and saw this sky:

and we cut short our hike.  By the time we got to the car, it was raining, and we had to ease the car up a steep hill on wet, loose sand without four-wheel drive. No problem, we are two women that can do whatever is required. Of course!Another good dinner and cowboy crooning in Kanab rounded out the day.

The next day of volunteering, Bets and I were sure to be early so we could score the plum assignment in Dogtown- PUPPIES! We spent the morning socializing nine week old puppies by sitting on the floor around the edges of a big room and allowing the little cuties to move among the volunteer group at will. Loads of kisses and laughs, and we learned a lot about dog behavior from the puppy manager. She took the time after to talk with Betsy about her rescue dog, Buddy. Betsey felt she had found her milieu and determined to work with puppies the next day, too. I was heading for parrots, switching it up.

It seemed to rain most afternoons for a while in Kanab, and this afternoon, we got a good old fashioned thunderstorm. Betsey passed on the hike, so I headed out myself and did two short hikes, one right down the street from our tiny house. I got caught in a downpour and royally soaked. There was a woman with a dog who said her husband had been up the rocks for two hours with an old beagle, and she was mighty worried. Turns out he met up with some younger guys and everyone was ok. As the weather cleared, I went in search of a mountain to climb. At the other side of town, I found a short, intense hike which I intended to trail run. I did, on the flatter sections, but it was really steep, and the altitude at Kanab, even in- town, is 4,970 feet. Here is a view from near the top, of the Grand Staircase and the ever changing Utah sky.

Next day, parrots for me and puppies for Betsy, and a hike together right at Best Friends. We weren’t lost, but we didn’t find what we were looking for. I forget now what that was, but we did find sunshine and solitude and picturesque views round every corner. We climbed up out of the valley, Betsy maintaining her steady, inexorable pace, me leading and circling back. We had a system that worked for us, and we were ready to move into the next phase of our adventure- the National Parks.

Day One was Bryce Canyon. We arrived not long after sunrise and spent the day watching the quality of light change with the weather and time of day. It was hard to refrain from taking photos long enough to put one foot in front of the other. We hiked all the way to the bottom of the canyon, then straight back up, through a narrow slit in the rock on an extreme incline, sharing the popular Navaho Loop Trail with other intrepid hikers of all ages. Several times I worried about Betsy’s knees and stamina, but I needn’t have. On terrain much more difficult than her home park in Philadelphia, Wissahickon, she surprised me, and herself, with her drive and guts.

One hike for her, two for me, then we drove out toward the opposite end of the canyon and watched the rain walk the length of the canyon along with us, catching us in a royal storm and very chilly forty mile an hour winds by the time we reached Inspiration Point.  An hour later, no sign that rain had ever fallen. Someday, I want to come back and explore some of the other trails.

State 26: Arizona- Grand Canyon National Park, North Kaibab Trail

Day Two, Grand Canyon National Park, from the North Rim. The drive from Kanab is easy and scenic, itself part of the day’s experience. Thirty miles of meadows and pine forest form the transition zone from civilization to the wild lands of the canyon. The Grand Canyon Lodge perches on the edge and offers up the iconic view from massive wooden chairs. Some folks just park themselves on the patio or in front of the big window and spend the day. We wanted more; we wanted mules.

Afterward, Betsy knew she was not up for hiking, so she gave me the car keys and I headed for my Arizona challenge, the Kaibab Trail, 3 miles down, through and beyond the Supai Tunnel, then back up. Miraculously, I succeeded in parallel parking the CRV in the only available parking space at the trailhead.

My confidence soared. I used gravity to advantage during the first half of the hike, and grit to overcome it on the way back up. Along the way, I saw a injured trail runner, but she was well attended, splinted, under a makeshift sunshade. All the other hikers were wondering how she would be extracted from the trail. I should have known… then I saw our mule tender, John, riding one mule, leading another. She was to be muled outta there.

I found Betsy back at the lodge and we went to the gift shop. , where she treated me to a membership in the Grand Canyon Association, and I bought a book titled Grand Canyon Women. Certainly, Betsy and I counted ourselves among them.

I need to return to this park and spend more time. I want to go Rim to Rim.

Day 3: Zion National Park

Zion is very close to Kanab, well within an hour. Our hike was the Angel’s Landing Trail, a climb which ends on a rock so steep it is inlaid with chains for hikers to haul themselves up to the summit. The chain system is one of the engineering wonders of the park, and it has been in place for decades. Betsy went as far as her legs would carry her, and we leaned into the rock as the wind attempted to pry us off the trail. It was exposed, dizzying, and strenuous, but despite her fear of heights, Betsy went to the start of the chains, then wished me luck and left me to complete my challenge alone, though in the company of a line of hikers, each of us dependent on others who were heading down.

It was like Everest’s Hillary Step, only with warmth and oxygen. It proved a stout challenge to my own fear of heights and the strength of my arms and legs. It’s the most dangerous hike in Zion, and I did it, the final piece of my extended run of Utah challenges. After I made my way back to the lodge, Betsy and I shared a final lunch at a cavernous park lodge, along with AJ, a fellow hiker from NJ who was on an extended quest.

Afterward, Bets and I  rode the shuttle bus together and did the hanging garden hike. We met a couple who did the hike I want next, The Narrows, which is accomplished in the water, in a slot canyon. You can rent waterproof gear and go as far as you want, minding the rain, of course, as that could prove fatal. How cool would that hike be?

We drove to St. George for our last overnight, prior to a dawn flight and a day of travel to return us to NJ. The trip proved healing  to my heart, a boost to Betsy’s confidence, and a hell of a lot of fun. What a way to celebrate the 100th birthday of the National Parks.

 

Shenandoah National Park, November 3-5, 2016

Laura came home on break from her job in Crested Butte. We drove to Philadelphia for a visit with Emily, with a plan to kidnap her and take her on a family hiking trip. She resisted, we pressed. She relented. Success! I had both my girls. Let’s do this.

First stop, Front Royal, Virginia, a seedy motel and three hungry bellies. Across the street, a converted gas station called the Pave Mint. Local beers, friendly folks, and Game 7 of the World Series. Go Cubs!

Our first day of hiking featured a trek to hexagonal rock outcroppings that reminded us of the surface of a soccer ball, and a summit ridge where we saw a bald eagle swooping and playing with smaller birds, practicing her flight skills. Emily treated us to a lovely rendition of her medieval ballad, Louverdere and Eagle Feather. She has the voice of an angel.

Late that afternoon, some of us napped and others explored the local brewery and whisky distillers in Sperryville. The Waxamatic, designed to precisely place wax on the neck of a whiskey bottle, didn’t work, and was used solely as a bottle rack. But it put me in mind of Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz in I Love Lucy, when they had their short-lived job at the candy factory. More than enough said on that, I’m sure…

We stayed in a lovely garage apartment, just across the street from excellent coffee and doughnuts. And we were happy to see big Clinton/Kaine posters on the property. That wasn’t a given…

Day Two, we almost hit a deer in the morning, but no harm done. Then we hiked to the highest point in Shenandoah National Park and were  treated to forever vistas and the galumphing stride and furry face of Lady Boots, veteran hiking Bernese Mountain Dog and chick magnet.

Whose woods these are I think I know. All of ours.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but we have promises to keep. And miles to go before we sleep.

So we hit the road, north to Philadelphia, then home.

January 21, 2016: The Women’s March on Washington

Fifty becomes fifty-one. I have been waiting for a challenge befitting our nation’s capitol, and This is IT. My good friend and writing coach, Donna, secured me a coveted ticket for the bus trip to the Washington March. Along with other members of the Somerset County Federation of Democratic Women, we made signs and prepared for the worst, writing our emergency contact information on our forearms in permanent marker and loading the ACLU phone number into our cell phones in case we got arrested. Turns out, we needn’t have worried.

When we pulled into the rest stop in Delaware, the place was wall-to-wall buses, the crowd, majority female, the mood, festive and supportive. The men were sharing their restroom with the women, and no one was assaulted. Imagine that… And I began to believe that this was going to be a transformative experience for the participants, and maybe even the nation. Like, when are people friendly in a rest stop?

Traffic was heavy on 95 in Maryland, mostly bus. The weather was gloomy, fog filling the deep chasm containing the Susquehanna River. I felt it fitting and symbolic, as a pall hung over our nation after Trump’s election and inauguration, empty stands lining the presidential parade route.  When we arrived at the RFK stadium bus parking depot, our Bus 1 was turned aside and told to seek street parking. No room at the stadium. We gathered our signs and took a Bus 2 photo. Good thing, because we never saw each other again until the end of the day. We split up into our groups of three and made the 24 block trek down SE Capital Street. This beautiful neighborhood had turned out on their front porches to support us on our march. Every home had a sign with a quote by Martin Luther King, Jr. Even the infants were caught up in the spirit.

The Washington Monument was truncated, its top third obscured by the lingering fog. Washington would surely have wished to avert his eyes from the constitutional crisis we have brought upon ourselves. We don’t have that luxury. These are extraordinary times indeed.

The March was gigantic, estimated at over half a million people, yet there wasn’t a single arrest. A young man remarked that although he had never been in a group so large, he felt surprisingly safe. That had not been the case for him the day before, when rioters had broken store windows and set fires.  This was like one huge, diverse family. I was agog at the variety of signs reflecting every viewpoint on every issue you could imagine, and at the amazing creativity on display. I joined in on chants and cheers, some led by little children in strollers. My favorite one provided me with the title for the piece: What does America look like? THIS is what America looks like!

The streets were so full that the start point for the march was moved repeatedly, until it became apparent to organizers that there really could be no march, since people already filled every inch of space from the planned start to its finish. We marchers didn’t know that, however, and with an inadequate sound system and the immensity of the crowd, very few people were treated to the speeches. Even though we were close to the stage, we couldn’t hear more than snippets of Angela Davis and the drums underpinning Alicia Key’s tribute to the mothers of young men and children killed by police officers. We became a bit impatient after hours of standing, and began chanting, Let Us March! Finally, they did, but they turned us around back toward the Capitol and sent us briefly up Pennsylvania Avenue.

By then, I had lost my buddies and needed to start back to the bus. I wish we could have had more time to explore, because I had several friends in attendance I met on the Selma march in 2015, but I didn’t want to miss the bus. Haseltons are never late. We have a family chant honoring that tradition, but I didn’t share it with the other marchers.

I jogged a bit of the 24 blocks back up Capitol St, and noticed that a Quaker church was open and offering free coffee and clean bathrooms. Best of all, they had the bumper sticker which I felt best captured the feel of the day:

Love Thy Neighbor. No Exceptions.

Even though all the police officers were aghast when they heard that we planned to walk to and from RFK because the Metro was overflowing with people, we all handled the distance with ease. It put the march back into the March. It felt so good to move in a wave among thousands of welcoming, committed, and interesting people.

I learned a few things on Bus 2 that evening. Three of our number had been born outside of the U.S.: one woman from Uruguay, a man from Paraguay, and a woman from Poland. All three said that Trump’s bluster, nativism, corruption, lying, distrust and control of the press, inability to tolerate dissent, all were familiar to them as the first steps towards dictatorship.

My mood turned somber as I thought about what they said. I hope we don’t all just go home and think, “Well, wasn’t that amazing?”, and go back to living our lives as if this is normal. It’s not.  I fear for our nation under Trump, who stands for nothing and could fall for anything. I don’t feel anyone is safe unless everyone is safe. But in my lighter moments, and as I review the stories and pictures others have posted about the marches across this nation and around the world, I realize that the Women’s March on Washington was a balm to my spirit in these troubling times, a reminder that there are kind and open- minded people in this country, and together, we are a force for good that cannot be ignored. If we are vigilant, we shall overcome the overcomb.

The young people thronging the streets and chanting and dancing give me hope for the future, for it is their’s.

 

 

After a long and wonderful visit in Oregon with Matt, Megan, and Tessa, Kip and I found ourselves in the northwest corner of the U.S. as Labor Day weekend was kicking off. Why head home when we were sooo close to the border of Washington State? We pressed on, renting a car and making a beeline for Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument.

We didn’t have a permit to climb the cone, but there are tons of hiking options not requiring a permit. We chose the eight mile out-and-back known as Harry’s Ridge Trail. Harry Randall Truman owned an inn at the edge of Spirit Lake, in the shadow of the volcano. As warning advanced in the days leading up to the eruption in 1980, he refused to leave his piece of paradise on earth, and it became his final resting place on May 18, 1980.

Mount Saint Helens creates its own weather, steam still rising from it, and a cinder cone reforming minute by minute. This is an active volcano. We hiked in her self-created intermittent to steady rain showers and marveled at the profusion of wildflowers reclaiming the hillsides.

Thousands of dead tree trunks of massive proportions clogged the edges of the lake, grim reminders of the concussive force and heat which stripped this place of vegetation and robbed it of light under an enormous ash cloud 36 years ago. As we hiked, the sun did its best to peek through the fog and mist, and it acted as a roving spotlight, drawing our attention to details we otherwise surely would have missed. There was one segment of the trail that hugged a steep hillside, requiring us to sidle carefully past a few hikers heading in the opposite direction.

As we headed back, I ran the last mile or two of the trail in a steadily increasing rain. We lingered outside the Visitor’s Center at the viewpoint, as blue sky tantalized us and threatened to reveal the volcano, only to recede or be shoved back by clouds and fog.

On the way out, in the rearview mirror, we saw our chance, turned around, and gaped at the immensity of the mountain, the crater, and the re-forming cone. An excited young boy and was able to take our picture, and we returned the favor for his family.  Success!

After a full day of exploration, we continued on to our Air BNB accommodations for the night. Our hosts were Aussies with Italian names, and they greeted us warmly at the door and welcomed us into their family life, trading stories about the kids as we sat down to spaghetti Bolognese and big glasses of chianti. I was able to diagnose plantar fasciitis for the lady of the house and show her the stretches which would help her heal. We tottered off to bed a mite unsteady, and it wasn’t because of foot pain… The next day, Fabrizio was up and offered breakfast, but we demurred. We wanted to see Mount Rainier National Park.

It was Labor Day. It was crowded. It was totally worth it. We did two short hikes near waterfalls and then hiked about four miles out onto the lower shoulder of the big daddy volcano, which we had been  able to see looming over a playground all the way back in Portland. Like Helen, this mountain teased us by draping himself in fog and cloud. I took about a thousand pictures of him, staying alert every second, hoping to catch him unawares, sadly, without success. I rescued a bug from the middle of the trail, and we saw a black bear and her cub at a great distance on a grassy slope, chowing on berries. Many lovely chats with others out enjoying the park on a gorgeous day.

Afterward, we went to Seattle, staying with another nice couple in the Capitol Hill District. We reconnected with Rachel and Edith, whom we had met in 2015 on Bus 2 of the Selma to Montgomery 50th Anniversary March. Edith has two older sisters, Helen and Bea, and it was great to meet these girls, about whom we had heard so much. We all posed with the Jimmy Hendrix statue downtown.

On our last day, Kip and I explored Seattle, taking a ferry ride to Bainbridge Island and exploring the museum there documenting the Japanese Internment camps during World War II. Little did we know then that Trump would be elected, bringing with him the vague but disturbing possibility that we might be doomed to repeat this shameful period of our history, this time directed at Muslims. RESIST.

Stepping off the ferry, we explored the Pike Place Market down on the wharves, but it was overrun with tourists. We walked back to our Air BNB and collected the car, and checked in Haselton- early at the SeaTac airport for our red eye flight home. Oregon, Check. Washington, Check. All three west coast states done this summer. And I had plans for late September into October. Next up, Nevada, Utah, Arizona.

But first, I needed to get home. My father was fading away…