A Look Back: Backpacking in Banff, the Prettiest Lake Ever, and the Town of Jasper, AB

In the last "A Look Back" Post, we'd survived an "encounter" with an elk and were on our way out of Jasper National Park and into Banff. We found, thanks to a friendly Parks Canada Ranger, an amazing backpacking route and stunning scenery.

Our destination in Banff National Park.

Instead of staying in another relatively tame campground, we opted to stop at the Columbia Icefield Visitors Centre to investigate overnight backcountry trips. It took us at least ten minutes to convince the friendly Parks Canada ranger of our desire to see the real Banff National Park and our willingness to walk more than one kilometer uphill. After he decided we were worthy of real advice, he pointed out Glacier Lake on a large map, describing views of one of the most beautiful, pristine spots within a day’s reach of the Icefields Parkway. More than convinced that this was our trip, we secured a backcountry camping permit and were on our way.

Governor Stable Meltdown Outdoor Bouldering Competition Recap

Some Governor Stable boulders, a little wet after the prior day's rain.

Governor Stable, located in Lancaster County, PA, is a 37 acre tract of land with over 100 climbable boulders no more 15 minutes of walking apart. According to Lancaster Online, a group of climbers first secured a lease for ten acres of the land from private landowners when bouldering started gaining popularity. Trespassing problems forced them to shut down climbing for several years, but the Friends of Governor Stable (FroGS) organization recently signed a new lease and reopened the area officially in January of 2011.

Climbing is allowed to members only eight months of the year for a $60 annual fee. “Open Climb Days” are held some weekends throughout the year, and the general public can purchase a $10 day pass to climb there. To me, the membership makes sense. It’s meant to promote responsible climbing and will help preserve access for future generations. Last weekend’s Meltdown Bouldering Competition was my first opportunity to visit Governor Stable, and the first outdoor comp I’ve done.

Meltdown Bouldering Comp Format

After watching rain fall all day Friday, we were all concerned the comp would be postponed. Thankfully, it wasn't, and FroGS assured us the rock was dry. It was, mostly… Competitors had from 10am to 5:30pm to climb and the top ten problems counted toward each competitor’s total point score. No bonuses for flashing problems were given and two fellow climbers had to sign off on each completed problem.

Competitors received a mini guide with a list of every established problem in the area, its name and rating along with a short explanation of how the problem is meant to be climbed. To climb Casablanca (V3), for example, climbers are instructed to “Start on big square cut jug and pull through to a thinner top out.” These one liners certainly weren’t beta, but did help us make sure we climbed each problem from the correct start to the correct finish.

All climbs were assigned a point value from 20 to 1200 and climbers could earn bonus points for climbing a circuit of specific problems. In addition to beginner (V0-V2), intermediate (V3-V5), advanced (V5-V7) and open (V8+) categories, an climbers could enter the "enduro” category and win by climbing the highest number of problems. Strangely, no one entered it!

Paul Esteso on Moby's Dick (V5/V6).

Bouldering Outside ≠ Bouldering Inside

I’d considered the intermediate category during preregistration given the grades I typically climb indoors. But, as we all know, climbing outdoors is different from climbing indoors. It almost feels like a completely different sport to me, and the number of days I’ve bouldered outside remains in the single digits. Throughout the day, I couldn’t come close to consistently climbing the grades I’ve achieved inside. I also don’t ever recall a day where I’d managed ten problems at V3 and above indoors! So, into the beginner category I went.

I warmed up on Biscuit (V0) with Paul and two other climbers spotting. The problem is easy, but it had been at least a year since I’d topped out on anything. I reached the top and hesitated while Paul told me I had as much time as I needed. Throwing my toe over the last edge, I mantled up on my right hand and crawled to the top of the boulder, heart pounding. It took all day for the adrenaline rushes to fade each time I came close to topping out. I was, as always, surprised and elated by the support from other climbers!

It was humbling to spend the entire day working problems V3 and below and to battle so much fear on the top outs. Some of the boulders were definitely still wet from the downpour the day before, which made me nervous, as did the thin layer of green moss that had seemingly appeared overnight on some of the surfaces. But with so many boulders in such a concentrated area, there was no shortage of climbing!

The Results

Jed working on my favorite problem of the day, Casablanca (V3)

I had an amazing group of people to climb with. I was, as always, surprised by and grateful for the amount of support I got from strangers. After listening to a group of guys I didn’t know cheer me on side by side with good friend Paul during my first knee-shaking top out of the day, I knew I was among my community. (And FYI, Paul is one of the best climbing buddies anyone could ask for!) When I left my crash pad for friends working Casanova (V6), a complete stranger offered me her pad while I worked Chai Right (V2) and gave me a spot for the downclimb.

My favorite problem of the day was, by far, Casablanca (V3). It’s an area classic with a beautiful jug to start on and a significant lack of footholds to go with it. With enough body tension, I was able to keep my feet on the wall for the first move, a long throw to a knob with the right hand, which you have to hit before both feet peel off. There’s a heel hook and a bump from an intermediate to a crimp, the crux of the climb for me. It took a handful of tries, but I sent it and it was my highest point valued problem that day.

I ended up climbing eleven problems, earning just under 1000 points and winning the beginner category. Sponsors including East Ridge Outfitters, EMS, Climbnasium and Organic were incredibly generous with donated prizes, and my package included a free pair of Evolv shoes. I chose the Hera model and can’t wait for them to arrive! I also can’t wait for the next open climb day. Governor Stable is an amazing place!

Where My Girls At?

There was a significant lack of female representation in general at the comp, and no one entered the Women’s Advanced or Open divisions. In past comps I’ve attended, including PRG’s Winter Burn and the Earth Treks Roc Comp, the number of men competing was twice that of the women competing. Where are all the girls?

Good friend and kickass lady boulderer Alison Vuocolo aims to do something about that disparity at our home gym, Go Vertical. She's leading a women’s bouldering clinic series beginning at the end of April, which I'll write about on Adventure-Inspired next week. Her clinic filled up in less than a week, which says to me it’s not about lack of interest from the ladies. So, why are there so few women competing?

Have you been to Governor Stable? Do you have favorite climbs there? Tell me in the comments!

Guest Trip Report: Red Rock Rendezvous Recap

Priya and Justin at Calico Basin. (J. Johnsen)

I'm proud and excited to feature Justin Johnsen as Adventure-Inspired's first ever guest blogger! Hope you enjoy his take on this year's Red Rock Rendezvous.

I’d heard about the Red Rock Rendezvous for years, but this time, my friend Brett’s enthusiasm from his 2010 Rendezvous was infectious.  Philly friend Frank and I signed up to go and made plans to meet Brett at the event. I tried to recruit a few folks including Priya who had relocated to Washington D.C. from Philadelphia. It was to be a rendezvous indeed!

When Katie realized she couldn’t go, she recruited me to write about the Rendezvous. With a gonzo journalism assignment like this to Las Vegas, I wanted to roll out like Hunter S. Thompson. But our lack of budget limited me to vodka and tonic as a chemical prelude, and thus passed the flight west.

Milestones

On Friday, we stopped at Calico Basin for a warm up climb at Cow Lick Crag. Changing into our climbing clothes, the city was gone from our eyes and minds for the duration of the festival. We were at the edge of the wilderness, albeit a heavily populated one; a thousand attendees would be there for the Rendezvous in addition to the usual visitors. We spent the necessary fifteen minutes in overloaded awe of the beautiful scrambled sandstone landscape of the Calico Hills, an experience I have each time I come here.

As I lined up draws on my harness, I had a flashback to the first time the three of us tried to climb outside together on our own. Merely two years ago, I had become confident enough to set up top rope anchors at High Rocks, Philadelphia’s largest local crag. Despite rain falling all night, we drove almost an hour to find a (legal) campsite, slept in the weather, and were rebuffed from climbing by the weather. 

Now here we were at a world class desert sandstone sport climbing destination, ready to hit the rock on our own. What a milestone in our climbing lives and in our friendship.

We climbed Cow Lick Co., an easy, slabby 5.7. Frank and I took turns leading and Priya followed on toprope, all the while lamenting that she hadn’t learned to lead yet. Interestingly, she won a set of five top end quickdraws from Trango in their post-Rendezvous contest on Facebook; I know she’ll be leading on those soon!

Frank after locating the disappearing tent. (J. Johnsen)

Rogue Winds, Disappearing Tents

We chatted with climbers from far and near at the crags. One person warned us the campsites were filling up, so we hustled out after one round of climbs. Fortunately, this was bad beta. We drove past Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area to Spring Mountain State Park, the scene of every bit of the festival except the climbs. There was ample space; two or three times the number of tents on site could have fit comfortably. Although, I’d guess many more would have been flattened by the gusting 60 mph winds.

The winds were a memorable part of this year’s Rendezvous. During a speech, one of the Access Fund representatives, (whose name I forgot to note… damn you, free beer!), said this was a good year because only three or so tents blew away. Frank and I seem to be responsible for this mayhem; we forgot to anchor ours the first morning. When we returned from a short hike, it had gone AWOL. We found it a hundred yards away, pinned by a log that helpful campers had trapped it under. Later that night, after rigging a truly SRENE anchor to hold it, Brett and Stephen mentioned their tent had taken out by another one blowing by. While I can’t be totally sure, it sounded like ours fit the description…

The registration tent full of fun and gear! (J. Johnsen)

Fun, Food, Beer and Gear!

Both Rendezvous nights were quite similar. Festival attendees focused on a stage where renowned climbers played slide shows and told stories of the year’s feats, and the event’s sponsors gave presentations and thanks. Each attendee got a commemorative beer glass, which was freely refilled between the hours of 5 and 10 like some mythical Norse drinking horn with beer on tap from New Belgium. Valhalla!

The lawn was lined tents belonging to well known climbing equipment companies. Some loaned gear for the following day’s climb; for collateral, you could test some top-of-the-line gear. Naturally the sales reps were there to talk about the virtues of their wares, but most were genuinely users of the same. By the time I figured out that I could borrow gear while looking through the Osprey and Five Ten tents, I was too tired, cold and buzzed to think about trying on shoes.

I ate the food, I drank the beer and I drooled over the gear, but maintained self-control and didn’t buy any on impulse. Brett and his climbing partner regaled us with stories of their multi-pitch climbs in the canyons. The party ended each night with music and dancing each night. We huddled in Frank’s four season tent, safe from the angry wind and making plans for the next day.

Learning crevasse rescue techniques with the AAI. (J. Johnsen)

Crevasse Rescue in the Desert

Frank and I took a crevasse rescue class Saturday morning. This complemented a winter mountaineering class we took a couple of weeks before, and contributed to the idea of climbing Mount Rainier. A climbing friend of mine from California, BJ, was also at the clinic. I knew him from a 2008 trip I put together for Mount Williamson. Having climbed the last of California’s 14ers last year, he’s looking to Colorado’s and Washington’s tallest summits.

Our instructors, American Alpine Institute guides Angela Seidling and Kristen Looper, taught us roped glacier travel, self-rescue, and rescue pulley systems. They were helpful and thorough, and kept a perfect pace for presenting such a large volume of specific information. With a practiced cadence born of experience, they broke up lectures and demonstrations with hands on activities for all of us. We practiced tying into a rope, ascending on prusiks and rigging pulley systems. While the desert might seem like a silly place for a glacier safety clinic, the weather did its part to get colder each morning. By the Monday after the Rendezvous ended, there was snow near the elevation we camped at.

...Rain in the Desert?

Priya on toprope at Civilization Crag. (J. Johnsen)

After the AAI clinic, we broke away from the festival and found our own climbs. Being accustomed to slippery Pennsylvania schist and shale, Red Rock’s sandstone was a pleasure to scramble across on the approach, and to climb to the “remote” Civilization crag. After a playful hike in, we warmed upon the Sun Never Sets (5.7) with a slabby ending, but more interesting than the prior day’s hike. Next we moved to Babylon 5.8. It gave me some real anxiety leading to the first bolt; the deck beneath was uneven and rocky, the crag was new tome, and the good holds were interspersed with hollow-ringing loose flakes. After a quick hang to get my head back on straight, the rest of the route was fun, enjoyably exposed, but not technically difficult. Soon all three of us had climbed both route and were scouting the 5.9 next to Babylon.

We were cut short by heavy raindrops. Having heard horror stories of how unreliable Red Rock stone becomes after heavy rains, I feared the worst when the first drops hit. But all we had were briefly passing desert showers. Some climbs were canceled Saturday afternoon, though. As we walked back through the parking lot, I overheard one attendee say that his “How to Lead Trad” class in the canyon that afternoon turned into a “How to Bail Gracefully” class.

The author on lead, Sun Never Sets (5.7) (P. Swamy)

One Hell of a Subculture

On Sunday, we had our celebrity clinic after the free pancake breakfast. The names of our instructors weren’t provided in advance. As we got off the shuttle at Willow Springs, our “Crack Climbing” class of five combined with a “Trad Anchors” class of two. Our instructors were Sonnie Trotter, one of Canada’s best single pitch trad climbers, for crack climbing, and Kate Rutherford, just back from an alpine first ascent on Mount Fitz Roy in Patagonia, for trad anchors. Unfortunately, our crack class was assigned a crag that didn’t have a proper full-pitch crack climb. Instead, we practiced on some chest-high cracks of variable widths and still learned quite a bit.

Compared to top athletes of other sports, Kate and Sonnie were free of ego. It makes me proud to be part of such a down-to-earth culture where people do this just because they love to climb, and that’s often enough to bond over. That’s what I really took away from the Red Rock Rendezvous. This is one hell of a subculture. The rebellion of the early decades of climbing is still here to some degree, but so many of the newer generations of climbers are activists for constructive causes at the same time.  I see great things here for climbing, and great things ahead. The Rendezvous really plugged me into this current.

Three Perspectives on the Weekend

Justin , Priya , Frank

Justin Johnsen is a generalist, currently working as a software developer at a Medicaid provider. His post-hippy parents shared their love of the outdoors with him in the mountains, deserts and beaches of Southern California. After moving to Philadelphia and finding no mountains, he picked up the surrogate sport of climbing, as a new excuse to spend time outside with interesting people. 

Trip Report: The Batona Trail and Wharton State Forest in Pictures

Our 15-mile loop in Wharton State Forest.

I went backpacking in New Jersey this weekend. Believe it or not, the same state that brought us The Jersey Shore TV show is also home to beautiful forests, meandering streams and plenty of opportunities to explore them. This weekend's adventure took Dan and I to the Wharton State Forest and a portion of the Batona Trail.

The Batona Trail, short for (BAck TO NAture), is a flat, meandering 49.5 mile hiking path winding through three New Jersey state forests. It was built in 1961 by the Philadelphia-based Back To Nature Hiking Club. Club President Morris Bardock collaborated with the Department of Conservation and Economic Development to build a trail connecting Brendan T. Byrne (formerly Lebanon) and Wharton State Forests.(Visit Wikipedia and NJPineBarrens.com for more history.)

With only two of us in one car on this trip, we didn't hike the trail end to end as a shuttle trip, but came up with a low key 15 mile loop, pictured above left. Our itinerary also involved an overnight at the only primitive campsite without any other registered campers!

Dan and I started from Batsto after picking up a camping permit for Lower Forge. They're required if you want to spend the night in a state forest. For two of us, the permit cost a whopping, bank-breaking $4! The forest sees numerous boy scout troops and other groups during warmer months, and we were told we'd picked a great time to come. Batona Camp, our original destination, had over 40 registered campers while Lower Forge didn't have any.

Dan at the Batsto Batona Trail sign.

The Batona Trail and most of the trails in Wharton State Forest are flat and easy, which was part of the appeal for this weekend! If you're looking for spectacular vistas and elevation change, this area isn't for you. But my goal was to drive less than an hour and spend the weekend walking around a beautiful place I'd never explored before. I wanted to stretch my legs, warm up for backpacking season, and just get out there!

Most of our hike looked like this!

The Pinelands are a pretty amazing place in general, another reason for our choice of trail this weekend. The area is nicknamed the Pine Barrens because of the barren soil; crops were difficult to grow there. The soil is so full of minerals, particularly iron ore, that some of the water appears rust colored. Though some will tell you the rivers run red with the blood of the Jersey Devil's victims! We escaped unscathed, thank goodness.

Red water near Quaker Bridge on the Batona Trail. (D. Herscovitch)

We reached Quaker Bridge around lunch time. I knew the trail would be flat and the scenery wouldn't change much, but it was still great to have a break from the sand and pine trees! We stopped for a snack, then continued on to Lower Forge Camp.

Happy after a snack at Quaker Bridge! (D. Herscovitch)

We arrived at Lower Forge after crisscrossing dirt roads and found the connector trail to Lower Forge Camp. Thankfully, no motor vehicles are allowed within 1/4 mile of camp. A group of boy scouts had stopped for lunch, but after they moved on, we had the entire giant site to ourselves! We'd talked about dropping our packs and hiking up to Batona Camp (six miles away) for fun, but we'd both tired of the flat trail and spent the afternoon relaxing at camp. One of my favorite things in the world is taking the tent out on my first trip of the season!

Evening descends on our camp at Lower Forge.

Dan got a great fire going after he took care to rake pine needles and other debris from around our little fire pit. The Pinelands are particularly susceptible to forest fires, and taking caution is important. We brought along some of my favorite backpacking foods, including a few Kielbasa sausages. Extra time at camp meant extra time to eat!

Dan's hands-free sausage roasting setup. Ingenious!

Thanks to REI's blog, we knew we were in for a treat that night - the largest full moon in 20 years! But I fell asleep long before the moon rose high enough for photos, and snapped this one of the Batsto River, which looked more like a swamp, at dusk.

Sun sets on the Batsto River.

We set out the next morning back down the Batona Trail from Lower Forge to Quaker Bridge. After crossing Quaker Bridge, we picked up a green blazed connector trail. Dan and I both decided green blazes should be prohibited on hiking trails in forests. And if they're allowed, they should be a different shade of green than the forest! As the trail wound through the woods, we came to an area with an above average collection of living underbrush. Most of the area was devoid of small plants and shrubs. It looked like the forest had burned and was beginning to recover.

Dan moving into a burned section of forest.

The green blazed connector trail led us to the Mullica River Trail, which would take us back to Batsto Village and our car. The yellow blazes were definitely easier to see than green!

Presenting... a brand new looking trail sign!

Most of the Mullica River Trail looked like the shot below...wide and a little boring! It was nice to walk side by side along the river, though. Normally, you'll spend miles just staring at the heels of your hiking companions! The highlight was passing Mullica River Camp and the canoe/kayak launches. The trail crosses over roads used by Jeep clubs and off road vehicles, and we ran into a long line of Jeeps not far from Batsto.

The very wide and flat Mullica River Trail.

We finally made it back to Batsto mid afternoon. The Historic Village is a neat place, and I'd highly recommend making it part of any Wharton State Forest trip. All in all, the trip was exactly what I expected. The trail was flat with little change in scenery, and I'm not sure I'd go back for another trip unless it was to hike the Batona Trail end to end!

Batsto Historic Village

What are some of your favorite easy, low key backpacking trips? Have you been on the Batona Trail? Tell me in the comments!

A Look Back: The Accidental Adirondack Ascent

Evening descends on Lake Colden.

The old adage says that hindsight is always 20/20, right? It's easy to look back and laugh and mishaps, but some part of you wishes you'd foreseen the result of your decisions and made slightly different ones. One of the most entertaining things about reading old trip reports is picking out all of the things I'd do differently, especially when trip partners make an easily avoidable mistake. 

This post is a journal excerpt from the summer of 2006. I'd just graduated from college and was in the midst of packing to move to Alaska. A last-minute decision took us up to the Adirondacks for a few days and led to one of the most entraining blunders I've made in my short outdoor career!

Dan and I spent this past Sunday through Wednesday in the High Peaks region of the Adirondacks thanks to my Uncle Bill, trip planner extraordinaire. Our mission was to visit Mount Colden via the Flowed Lands and do as much exploring as well wanted. Even with his route advice, I didn't feel as prepared going into the trip as I wanted to. (We left the hot cocoa behind - tragic!) Everything felt rushed, which could have had something to do with my college graduation last week. But I'm leaving for Alaska in two days, and couldn't bear the thought of doing so without one last Upstate New York hurrah.

Our little home the first night. The sun came up in the morning!

After taking off from Ithaca on Sunday, we zipped up north and arrived in Newcomb in good time. The High Peaks were as beautiful as they've ever been. The mountains were cloaked in green, life exploding everywhere I looked. Making good time meant we were on the trail early, which is always a good thing with an impending thunder storm headed your way. The only problem was, we were on the wrong trail.

We followed the driving directions to Upper Works Road, a lonely secondary road that takes hikers deep into the western High Peaks. Instead of following it to its terminus and parking there, we parked in another small lot just south of it and set off. I knew it wasn't the trail we wanted, (the blazes were yellow, our trail should have been blazed red), and I'm not sure why I just went with it, but I did.

Mother Nature dumped buckets of cold rain on us, I was soaked and grumpy, I can think of a million reasons why I didn't question our route decision. We knew we were supposed to go up, and we were going up. "So we're fine," I kept telling myself. The trail ascended gradually at first, then steepened significantly. We climbed up and up, crawling on hands and knees over giant rock piles, boulders, waterfalls and fallen trees. At one point, we stopped because I couldn't figure out where we were on the map. I handed it to Dan. He looked at it quizzically, flipped it around a few times, smiled and said, "I think I figured out where we are, and you're not going to like it."

Arriving at the Flowed Lands lean-to, finally!

I laughed the kind of laugh crazy people laugh. This was a ridiculously tough climb, we'd done it in the rain with all of our gear, and I was fucking exhausted. Whatever he was about to tell me, I wasn't ready to hear it. It was supposed to be a leisurely stroll to Calamity Brook where we'd set up the tent and wait out the storm. But no. On the first day of our trip, in a monsoon, we'd climbed, (1800' in 1.6 miles I'd later learned), up an unmaintained trail to the top of Mount Adams. At just over 3,500' tall, it's not even one of the 46ers. Dan figured out where we were because of the fire tower, indicated on the map by a teeny weeny triangle. The views from the top of were minimal, not that I was in any frame of mind to enjoy them. We sucked it up, climbed back down, and spent the night in a little shack on the trail that likely used to be outpost of some sort. Having a roof was a blessing; we decorated the shack with our wet gear and got set up without getting more soaked. Unfortunately, the air was wet enough that nothing dried.

Monday was better. We put on our wet clothes, hiked back to the car and drove to the right parking lot at the end of the road to our intended starting point. The steady uphill hike to Calamity Pond and the Flowed Lands was tough, my body protesting from the day before. We stomped through ankle deep puddles of mud and hopped along giant rocks. It was great fun, minus the growing blisters on my heels and the extra 30 pounds on my back. The Flowed Lands lean-to came into view mid afternoon at which point the decision was made to pack it in for the day. A park ranger stopped in for a visit that night and brought great advice for the next day.

A beautiful day on Lake Colden. Mt Colden in the background.

Tuesday involved a leisurely, pack-free lap around Lake Colden with me nursing my blistered feet. They'd grown to the size of silver dollars, and I was grateful for the fact that all we had to do Wednesday was get back to the car. On the drive home, I couldn't help thinking I'd held Dan back the entire trip. I was tired, sore, blistered, and battling the stress that comes with an impending 5,000 mile move. It wasn't the send-off I'd hoped for, but it was a send-off nonetheless. Adirondacks, please forgive me. I'll be back to do it right someday.

So we climbed the wrong mountain. Meh. I can laugh about it now, but you can bet I wasn't laughing about it then! It turns out the fire tower on top of Mount Adams is a pretty neat structure with a lot of history. I've been back to the Flowed Lands area since, but still haven't been to the top of Mt. Colden. Anyone want to do it with me?

A Look Back: Alone With My Thoughts in Denali

This post in the "A Look Back" series takes me back to one of my most vivid memories of the two years I lived in Alaska - the day before what I planned to be an epic-at-the-time adventure. I was an outdoor n00b living in an outdoor adventurer's paradise, Denali National Park in the summer, and planned to take full advantage. This is an excerpt from the journal I kept while I was there.

sunset on the Healy Range, Denali National Park, 2006.

this place. this wonderful place. this wide expanse of enthralling beauty, so much beauty i could cry, so much beauty i can hardly believe it truly exists. i'd seen the pictures just like everyone else, but i never anticipated this feeling of wonder and excitement just from gazing out my window as the slightly setting sun hits distant ridges i might be lucky enough to stand on. despite the sun that never sets, snow stays unmelted on the highest peaks and in rock crevices that never feel its warmth. i want to see it all. and it's all mine. it's my own giant playground.

i'm waking up, stretching my legs, and realizing the world as i knew it has changed. it's surreal. this place is altering my consciousness every minute of every day. i'm going out into the wilderness alone tomorrow for the first time, my first solo camping trip, and i'm so scared-excited. i'm going out on my own because i can. because it's there. because i want to experience silence.

the sun's turned Mount Healy an impossibly fluorescent shade of pink. an Alaskan sunset - the absence of the actual disappearance of the sun over the horizon, but rather defined by the vibrant colors and shadows it brings while the larger inhabited part of this hemisphere is dark. it's almost midnight and i can still see every tree, clear as day, clear as i will seven hours from now when i pull myself out of bed for my little adventure. Sanctuary Creek, where i'm headed, we'll see if it's actually a sanctuary. it sure looks like one. and sounds like one.

a self portrait on the Denali Park Road at Sactuary Creek, 2006.

i fit a tent, sleeping bag, food, a map, two nalgenes and other mini-essentials into the North Face Slingshot backpack i used to take to class every day. tent pegs and extra clothes are tied to my unbelievably heavy mountain bike frame. i'm hoping i'll actually be able to pedal. i'll catch a camper bus to mile 22 on the park road, set up my little tent, and just be. for a day, a night, and another day.

tomorrow, i'll leave it all behind. i will just be. i will exist, Denali will exist, and that will be enough.

Embarrassing as this is to admit, my not-so-badass self and I didn't spend the night out in Denali National Park. I set up the tent as planned, went on a hike and came back to make dinner. At that point, I realized I was alone, and lonely. At 22, being alone with my thoughts was a little much. I wasn't scared, just lonely. Time passed so slowly, and I realize now I just wasn't ready to be completely alone with myself, yet. I packed up my 30 pounds of gear after seven or eight hours out there, saddled up and biked the 22 miles back to the park entrance. I'd never biked that far in my life. The park road is hilly, long, and mostly gravel. I made it back in the middle of the night, sore and slightly defeated, but optimistic. I look back at this and smile because that trip seems so small and silly now, but it was such a big deal then!

Fluffy Stuff and Face Plants - A Week of Skiing in Revelstoke, BC

Skeptical of Dan's giant powder skis. (D. Herscovitch)

It’s not easy being average. If you’re a beginner, you’ve got so much learning to look forward to, so many new things to try. If you’re a pro, you boldly attack the most difficult option in front of you knowing full well it’s not out of your league. If you’re average, you’re stuck. You’ve got more to learn, but are just within reach of taking on the stuff the pros do. You're above the beginner options, but not quite ready for the expert stuff. You’re just not there yet.

Though applicable to other situations, in this case I’m specifically referring to skiing. I donned skis for the first time four years ago in Alaska. Until our trip to Revelstoke, I'd never taken a formal lesson. The only comparable terrain I'd seen was at Alyeska, and I've been mostly on small hills in PA since. My first real ski trip was an eye-opening, sore-leg-creating wonder of an experience!

Revelstoke - Heard of It?

Until trip planning started, I hadn't. The town of Revelstoke, nestled in the Columbia Mountains of British Columbia, was founded in the late 1800's when the Canadian Pacific Railroad was built through it. It's a picture perfect little mountain town. Hardcore skiers from around the world have visited Revelstoke for years, and with good reason. The mountains are tall, steep, and breathtakingly beautiful, not to mention the 40-60 feet of annual snowfall.

Revelstoke Mountain Resort (RMR) is only four years old and thus one of the best-kept drop dead gorgeous ski resort secrets. With over 5,000 vertical feet to ski from top to bottom, RMR has the highest drop in North America. In addition to 54 runs, one of which is over nine miles long, short hikes take you to the North Bowl and Greely Bowl as well as the summit of Mount Mackenzie for some serious powder.

Lots of Snow, Lots of Avalanches

The beautiful terrain at RMR, avalanche-free!

After spending a beautiful night at the Hotel Eldorado in Kelowna, BC (best fish and chips ever!), Dan and I took off for Revelstoke. We spent the day playing car tourists, including a stop at Rogers Pass in Glacier National Park. Both Revelstoke and Glacier National Park are part of the larger Columbia Mountains, a stunning set of ranges covering over 52,000 square miles.

Before the trip, I watched two pretty cool avalanche control videos that illustrate both the power of the terrain and the incredible ability of area personnel to manage it. We’d heard of week long Trans-Canada Highway closures due to avalanches, and experienced it first hand when we attempted to leave Revelstoke to pick up friends in Kelowna. The highway was closed 20 miles outside of town for two hours for avalanche control, and we turned back.

That being said, of course all backcountry travel requires extensive knowledge of and experience with avalanche terrain. Without it, park rangers even recommend steering clear of what would normally be easy day hikes. I'm not ready for serious backcountry skiing yet, but regardless, due to our lack of avalanche terrain knowledge, any backcountry travel was out of the question. There's so much I wanted to see that we couldn't access because of our limited exposure to that type of terrain. Where I grew up and where I live, avalanches just aren’t an issue. But an avalanche course or two could open up a whole new world of opportunities, and those classes are at the top of my to-do list now!

It's Not Easy Being Average.

When the foot of snow fell on our first night in town, I woke up elated and ready to experience my first real powder day! Dan and I stuck mostly to blue runs that first day, though I did manage a serious face plant after getting my tips stuck in powder. The rest of our group, all experienced and talented skiers, arrived that night. As a result, all subsequent days involved harder, steeper runs and a lot more speed. Most of them would jump in and out of glades, fly down steep groomers, and talk about hiking up to the summit of Mount Mackenzie to make fresh tracks in knee deep powder. I did my best to hold my own, go as fast as I comfortably could, and even duck in and out of the occasional group of trees. But with a place like RMR at your disposal and a group of ballsy, experienced folks with you, it's not easy being a Type II skier.

In the Greely Bowl trying not to panic. (D. Herscovitch)

I spent a good bit of the week feeling intimidated by the terrain. Revelstoke is steep, plain and simple. And it snows a ton and a half there, which means a significant amount of powder. Though all North American ski areas have the same ratings for runs, the black runs out west aren’t comparable to black runs where I’ve been skiing. They were, as expected, much harder. Revelstoke doesn't use double black diamonds to signify the hardest of the hard runs, which means some black runs were more difficult than others. I did my first hike to a run ever in the North Bowl of the resort, and when we reached the end of the hike, the drop in to the bowl looked like a step off a cliff. But I did it, and it was amazing.

I fought feelings of guilt for being one of the last down each run, feelings of frustration because I wanted to keep up, but couldn't, and the occasional feeling of terror. But I also felt incredibly lucky to be with a couple of patient, talented skiers to watch and learn from. They'd give me pointers when I wasn't too frustrated to listen, encourage me when I made it down a run I didn't think I could, and they'd push me to try things I was too scared to do. I took my first lesson with friend Amanda the day before we left, and though I need at least ten more, I learned a few things that made me more confident. I even managed a long series of sweeping turns in knee deep powder without falling on the last day!

All in all, it was an amazing trip, and Revelstoke is a beyond amazing place. Who wants to go back with me?

A Look Back: My First Backcountry "Orienteering" Trip, Massasauga Provincial Park

Dan and I planned a four-day trek along a 30km orienteering trail in Massasauga Provincial Park. The park is accessible only by water and stretches along the Georgian Bay in Ontario. It was my first real extended backcountry trip. Who cares if I didn't know what orienteering meant?  I couldn't wait to just get away, but had no idea what I was getting into. My borrowed backpack was stuffed full of things I didn't need, and it didn't matter that my trip buddy laughed when he saw how neatly folded all my clothes were. It was adventure time.

at the end of one portage section, Massasauga Provincial Park

We hopped in the car and spent six hours touring the middle of nowhere between London, ON and our destination. After predictably missing our 2pm water taxi, we opted to rent a canoe from a little paddling center called White Squall. We could handle getting to our island in the Massasauga without a captained boat, right? After wandering around in the outfitters, I almost wanted to drop my Cornell degree track for a life spent canoeing and kayaking.  Colorful vessels lay stacked all around me, just waiting their turn.

It really was spectacular, except for the black flies. There were hundreds, no millions of them! Everywhere! My skin prickled for days after we got home in anticipation of microscopic teeth sinking in. The shop owner smiled and informed me you just get used to them gnawing on your flesh after a while.

Bug Hats, Portages and...Cabins?
We bid farewell to the car at the top of Canoe Lake in the Massasauga around dinnertime. A few locals watched us swatting flies while we unpacked, and they approached us to ask us if we'd brought mosquito netting. We looked at them quizzically, and they insisted we take a pair of what Dan and I affectionately dubbed Bug Hats. They're simple cylinders of mosquito netting with elastic at one end and camouflage fabric to hold it together at the other. Who knew we'd need them?

Dan and I with our Bug Hats...and bugs.

The first leg of the trip was a half hour cane from one edge of the lake to another where we picked up a portage trail. After the portage, we dropped the canoe back into the water and paddled toward an island that would be our home for the weekend; an island connecting Spider Lake with Canoe Lake. I couldn't believe we were able to discern the difference between one little island and another.

After what seemed like a million extra miles of paddling, we finally found the island and an unmarked trail as the sun was setting. We hiked up the portage trail with the canoe and ran into a makeshift house with all the comforts of home, though it looked as if no one had been there for months. It was made entirely of decaying fiberboard and sat on rickety stilts. The 50's era refrigerator sitting outside became our bear-proof storage facility at night. I couldn't fathom how they could have electricity to run it in the first place.

Where's the Trail? Eh, Who Cares?
We initially planned on hiking the 30km North Arm Trail, but orienteering trails with no markers at all are tough to navigate. Someone had put orange tape around some of the trees as markers, but the trail didn't look like a trail at all. We decide against getting hopelessly lost and easily passed the four days exploring the park from our base camp. We swam a little one of the days and discovered my lungs don't work in water that cold.

The view from our camp, Massasauga Provincial Park

The waterways wound around like an ancient maze of scratched cliffs and small outcroppings with windswept trees clinging to them. Each little bay and inlet invited us in. We explored Spider Lake by canoe and found several very small islands, even a few large boulders popping up in the middle of the lake. During our four day stay there, we saw less than ten people, and only when we left our little island.

We couldn't have asked for better weather, or a better site. Our tent was nestled into a bed of pine needles and a little rock outcropping nearby was perfect for sunset viewing. I'll definitely make a mental list, or an actual list, of all of the things I learned before I forget. But I believe I've forgotten some of them already...

This post is a journal excerpt from 2005. In reality, we didn't have a prayer of finding the orienteering trail. I was secretly glad when Dan agreed to take little side trips from base camp rather than getting completely lost in the woods. I came home with hundreds of black fly bites and a clear understanding of what orienteering means!