In the Brooks Range, on our last night.

This is Post 2 in a series about my recent Alaska Brooks Range backpacking course.

It was Aug. 6, the afternoon before the start of my NOLS Brooks Range Hiking course. I was in Alaska, enjoying the comforts of the Ah, Rose Marie Bed & Breakfast, in Fairbanks, while waiting for others enrolled in the course to arrive.

As I waited to meet my course-mates, I wondered: What kind of person signs up for a Brooks Range NOLS course?

I generally love people. I get energy from people, and am inspired by people. Still, I get a little nervous before meeting new people.

We would be dropped off by the side of the road, north of the Arctic Circle, a region where evacuation is nearly impossible. We would be off the grid, and we would not be “picked up” for 12 days.

We would be “stuck,” together.

Strangers, dropped off on side of road in the Far North.

After being dropped off, and watching the van drive off, I recalled a quote by John Kauffmann in John McPhee’s Coming Into the Country: “You come to this place on its terms. You assume the risk.”

For me, part of the risk (read: scary part) of the NOLS course was setting off into The Far North with people I didn’t know.

I did not enroll in a NOLS course for the people I would meet. I enrolled in the NOLS Brooks Range Hiking course because I wanted to experience an epic place that is wild and vast and home to very few people, and to learn leadership and outdoor skills from the world’s premier teacher.

The NOLS course is not a guided tour or a vacation. It’s a lot of work. In fact, it is mostly work. The easiest part of the Brooks Range Hiking course was the hiking. When we weren’t hiking, we were setting up camp, cooking or baking, cleaning up, only to wake up again the next morning to break it all down and pack it all up and start all over again.

My hiking team on top of a snowy pass.

At times there was torrential rain, cold, and even snow, and steep slopes and loose rock, and sinking, squishy tundra over which to hike, or tussocks, which felt like hands coming out of the tundra and pulling/tugging your ankles down as you tried to take a hiking step, and there were deep rivers to cross.

We had to work together, which at times meant working out differences and supporting each other in a wide range of circumstances. We had to pull together in times of hardship to move the group forward. It meant being selfless.

Each of us was vulnerable during the course, and often, which meant we really got to know each other.

Working together to set up camp.

Perhaps course-mate Jon (Rosenfield) said it best, in his informal video interview, which I captured near the course’s end, when he said the Brooks Range experience meant “coming back in contact with myself, because there’s no hiding from all parts of yourself out here.”

Indeed. Each of us revealed ourselves in The Far North.

Hiking up a hill toward a mountain pass.

Through thick and thin, I came to love these people who were on my course.

The hardest part of the course for me was being away from, (and out of contact with) my three young sons and husband. My Brooks Range comrades – Antonia, Chris, Jon, JJ, Marc, Pat, Cutter, Lauren and Amy – were a wonderful surrogate family for me. They are not merely friends; they’ve made it all the way into my inner circle, which is saying something because before the course, I already had plenty of wonderful people in my life.

By the end of the trip, I felt right at home. Marc, Chris and Jon, who were part of my cook group, were rolling their eyes at me -- much like my boys do to me at home.

A couple of weeks before I departed Wyoming for Alaska, I went to coffee with a friend who is a former NOLS instructor and who has spent time in Alaska’s Brooks Range. She shared her photos and further whetted my appetite for the upcoming adventure. One of the things she told me, that struck me, was that the experience would change me, and that one thing I may notice upon my return will be I will have changed, but the world and people around me won’t have changed.

Sure, I changed as a result of experiencing, so intimately, Alaska’s stunning Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and Brooks Range.

But the biggest change in me was brought about by my course-mates. Because they were/are so different from me, I learned much from them, while discovering new things about myself. And in the process, we shared what was for me an unforgettable, experience of a lifetime.

The best way I can describe the way these special people changed me is to say I am better because of them.

My Brooks Range people, on top of our last pass, toward the end of our course.

Antonia, Chris, Jon, “JJ”, Marc, Pat, Cutter, Lauren and Amy: Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

I would love to introduce you to them here:

Antonia Ruppel (or “Toni”), 32, is a native German, with a B.A., Masters and Ph.D. from Cambridge University, is a Senior Lecturer in Classics, teaching Greek, Latin and Sanskrit at Cornell University. Antonia speaks beautiful, “proper” English. I could listen to her for hours if afforded the privilege.

Antonia Ruppel.

I loved having her as a tent-mate. She is the wittiest person I have ever met, and is fascinating to converse with, what with her wealth of knowledge and what is a wide range of interests. Except for our two female instructors, Antonia and I were the only women on the course. As hopefully women readers will appreciate, we girls like our girlfriends for particular types of conversations. It was a treat to retreat to the tent each night and have important – and rich – conversations with Antonia. I would share some of them but then I’d have to kill you. Yes, the conversations were that great. I have never met anyone like Antonia. She is that much of a treat. She is brilliant, charming, and I have to say it again, fantastically funny. I also loved her enthusiasm for hunting down wild blueberries, and her skills at finding (usually several) antlers on every single hike. We will remain friends forever, and I consider myself lucky as a result.

Chris Scovil, 28, is a Tax Manager at Deloitte Tax LLP, in Chicago, IL. At 6’9”, Chris was “the tall man” on the course. He is a triathlete, has an appreciation for fine food, and his passions include international relations, cooking, thoughtful conversation and the outdoors.

Chris Scovil.

Chris’s courage on loose, exposed terrain, despite his discomfort, was an inspiration to me during the course. I was fortunate to be in Chris’ cook group, and on many days, in his hiking group, and can fondly recall many meaningful conversations we shared. Chris was often the first to start doing the “common work” that had to be done every morning and evening, even as all of us were getting soaked in a downpour. He placed a great deal of respect on goals and schedules, which I really appreciated during our course, and in my life, in general. One other thing about Chris is that he has a big vocabulary. Prior to this course I was proud of the extent of my vocabulary, but on a few occasions Chris used words I didn’t know the meaning for. A word lover, I found these instances exciting. I would be on Chris’s team any day. He is not only really smart and driven, but also courageous, loyal and generous.

Jon Rosenfield, 42, is a Ph.D. conservation biologist for the Bay Institute in the San Francisco area. This was his fifth NOLS adventure, which to me, meant he is an expert at all things NOLS. He took me under his wing and taught me how to master the camp stove and the spice kit.

Jon Rosenfield.

He helped me turn unspectacular entrées into spectacular entrées, such as the apricot, cashew and sunflower nut quinoa meal I made for our cook group the night before an arduous hike over a big mountain pass. Jon is engaging and smart and funny. He had many of us in stitches for long periods of time. We had many great conversations “in the kitchen” and while sharing caffeinated mud from his coffee press. Due to his many NOLS experiences and his unending good nature, it really was a gift to be on the course with him. By the end of our trip I felt like I had known Jon for most of my life. He was probably the first of my course-mates to make it into my inner circle. Which is really saying something.

Marc Morisset, 31, was born in Belgium, Brussels, but now lives in Paris, France, where he is an international sales manager. Marc is well-traveled (he has traveled to 50 countries), and after our initial conversation, I sensed he was hungry for an outdoor experience and a physical challenge.

Marc Morisset.

Throughout the course, I admired Marc’s quiet leadership, especially the way he would step up and lead, with conviction, when he was asked to be “on point.” I remember the day our group was crossing the Continental Divide, and Marc was asked to take point on what was a very steep, loose slope of rock sliding on top of more sliding rock. He rose to the occasion and did a phenomenal job of route finding. As someone who asks a lot of questions, I appreciated Marc’s own questions of others in his desire to learn. He was there to be challenged, and to learn, and he applied himself to the course, and to our mission, to the full extent. When I first met him my impression was that he was a very serious man, which certainly I think he is, but I also got to see a very fun, and funny side of him when we taught him how to play gin rummy, and during his telling a story about his role in playing high stakes poker. I am glad that I met Marc, and that he is among my friends.

Cutter Williams turned 27 during our course, and is from Portland, OR. He is a writer, who works as a barista at a popular coffee house. When he’s not a barista, he is working toward publishing a magazine called Cavalcade Literary Magazine. I found Cutter and I to be kindred spirits in that we both would like to, well, just walk, preferably forever, even it’s all uphill.

Cutter Williams.

Introspective, Cutter was often laying in the tundra reading a novel or writing in his journal along a babbling brook. I envy Cutter’s ability to “chill.” I have three unforgettable memories that occurred on the course involving Cutter: an air ping pong game on his birthday that we played until we realized we didn’t have anyone willing to chase the ball for us, skipping rocks across the Chandalar River, and also his finishing my “Yeehaw” bear calls with his signature finish. Watch for his name in future literary works. I have a hunch that great literary things are in store for Cutter. I also hope to take him “walking” in my back yard, the Wind River Mountains, one day. I think he’d love ‘em.

Pat Kirby, 25, is an investigator for The Public Defender Service for the District of Columbia, in Washington, D. C. Two things I’m absolutely certain of after having spent time with Pat is that he is an extraordinary friend to his friends, and that his employer is lucky to have him on board. He very evidently cherishes his friends. This was obvious when he referred to them in conversation.

Pat Kirby.

It is obvious to all around Pat that he is a man of honor and integrity, which must serve him well in his work, which he loves, including the responsibility that comes with it. Pat is a natural team player. I witnessed him many times winning consensus while leading or being on point during a hike, or even during tasks at our camp. He is a good initiator, but is also an active follower. It is evident that in all areas of his life, he is a contributor. He is someone I’d want on my team, and I would be honored to be on his. He is sometimes quiet, and so it’s an exceptional treat when he finds something really funny because his laugh is quite boisterous, and when he gets going, it’s contagious. I imagine those closest to him get to hear that a lot, and I envy them for that.

John Jostrand, or “JJ,” is 57, and is a partner in an investment management and banking firm in Chicago, IL. John is married and has two grown sons. I connected with JJ for many reasons, but initially because we are both spouses and parents and had those things in common. He was also the oldest (yet as fit as a 25-year-old) on the course, so I, the second-to-oldest, looked to him for his wisdom on all kinds of fronts. JJ (very obviously) is an effective leader.

John (JJ) Jostrand.

He is enthusiastic, warm and engaging. His love for the outdoors and physical challenge was evident throughout our course. Others gravitate toward him. I was fortunate to be in JJ’s hiking group often, but a few of the experiences with JJ that I’ll never forget include the time we had a “Vista Data” break and he discovered a location at which an unfortunate dall sheep met its end. It was quite a find! JJ was also along when we “went swimming” in the Brooks Range, and again during our “rock sledding” adventure. JJ had many notable bear calls, but “Booyah!” was his signature call and I will think of him now whenever I hear that word. He also had a stash of Brazil nuts that he shared with me throughout the course. JJ is a kindred spirit. I admire him and am better for having met him.

(Instructor) Lauren Rocco, 25, is in her second year as a NOLS field instructor and recently relocated to Palmer, AK. She graduated from Dartmouth College in 2008 with a degree in Government and an interest in Computer Science. Upon graduating, she caught what she calls a “travel-exploratory bug,” and wanted to travel and learn more. In 2008-09 and 2009-10, she went to Antarctica to shovel snow and work in the carpentry shop.

Lauren Rocco.

Most recently she was a teacher at a charter school in Boston, MA. Lauren is currently enrolled in an EMT course and in addition to leading NOLS courses, she would like to volunteer for the local Search and Rescue. Lauren told me that she finds instructing for NOLS is meaningful, impactful, challenging, and “it obliges everyone involved to become better human beings.” When she’s not leading a NOLS course, she’s likely learning something, constructing something, reading, cooking, programming, or going for walks and exploring. I found Lauren to be a most effective leader, engaging and sensitive to both the environment and those around her. Her love of learning and her genuine interest in others was demonstrated throughout our course. She often read poetry to us during our evening meeting. In addition to being a great leader, Lauren is a lot of fun to be around. I went swimming, “rock sledding” and played “Ninja” in the Brooks Range – all of which happened when I was in the company of Lauren.

(Instructor) Amy Davidson, 36, is a NOLS field instructor and program supervisor. She graduated from the University of California at Berkeley with a major in Linguistics and a minor in Education. She took her NOLS Instructor course in May 1999 and worked her first course that summer. Subsequently she worked one summer course per year while working in San Francisco as a creative services consultant to the advertising industry.

Amy Davidson.

In the past two years, Amy has been a full-time NOLS employee, working in Alaska during the boreal Summer and in New Zealand during the balance of the year. Amy is smart and very funny. Her style is directive and yet engaging. As someone who wants to be a leader but can use more directive, I learned a lot on the course by watching Amy’s leadership style. She was well liked – loved – and yet has a knack for being directive and decisive. In being that way, Amy really enables her students to become more than what they otherwise would become as leaders in the outdoors. Amy is a high level leader who instills confidence in those she leads by challenging them to not be afraid to try, and even fail, and to embrace doing so in the pursuit of learning. I really enjoyed having Amy as one of our instructors and she is a great model for me.

Thanks for reading! Please check back soon for more blogging about my Brooks Range experience.

FOR MORE PHOTOS, AND VIDEOS:

Videos

Photos – part 1 of 2

Photos – part 2 of 2

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The National Outdoor Leadership School is the world’s premier teacher of outdoor skills and leadership. Consider enrolling in a NOLS course. There are many to choose from, throughout the world. Or, request a catalog that provides in-depth course information.

In Alaska's Brooks Range.

Greetings from my beloved Frontier of Wyoming. I am re-entering upon returning from my National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) course in Alaska’s remote Brooks Range and Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.

For two weeks, I backpacked a country that is so big and unending and wild and spectacular that there is no way I can adequately communicate or share its magnificence.

A place like Alaska’s Arctic National Refuge and Brooks Range, and an experience like a NOLS course, changes people. I am not the same person.

I have many interesting stories to share. While I am still “unpacking” all that I gained from the experience, here is a list of the main take-aways.

1. A NOLS course is not a guided tour or a vacation. It is hard, but it’s one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done. When I sign up for hard things, I grow. This was hard for all kinds of reasons, and as a result, I am more than I was before.

My hiking group on top of a snowy pass, after a hard uphill effort.

2. Longing. As a mother of three young sons, I found the hardest part of the NOLS course was not having any contact with my family. I now know what it is to “long” for someone. I am better for enduring it, though, and I hope my doing so may inspire other women who are mothers to consider a NOLS course.

Photo note from the Brooks Range for my husband and sons.

3. Expedition Behavior. This is one of the concepts for which NOLS is famous. On my course — spent with “strangers” and in bear country where bear precaution protocol means you can’t do anything without three other people near you at all times — learning to pitch in and do whatever it takes to move the group forward was critical and one of the most valuable skills learned. I see significant value in applying EB in all areas of my life.

Expedition Behavior at work!

4. Route-finding. We did lots of macro- and micro- route finding in the Brooks Range, a region that has no roads or trails. Map reading and route finding were a major part of my course. If we didn’t do it well, it was costly. Nothing like climbing the wrong pass or ascending or descending the wrong drainage only to realize you should have spent more time thinking it through and studying the maps, right? (Chris said it best when he said, during a particularly lengthy map check: “I don’t think it’s a waste of time for us to figure out where we are.”) Like in life, we can charge ahead with our heads down, choosing a route without looking ahead or considering the big picture. We can choose a path in life without being decisive, and just sort of wander and hope we end up at a good place. Or, we can look at the big picture — the features of the landscape before us for as far as the eye can see  – and then choose micro routes based on factors such as rewards, risks, time investment, certainty, consequences and other factors or features. This was one of my favorite aspects of the course, particularly how it applies to my life, since I am choosing to not follow a trail.

Route-finding was a favorite aspect of the course for me.

5. “Leader of the Day.” Our group of 10 divided into hiking groups of five each day. Each group was led by a “leader of the day.” I volunteered for this early on in the experience. While our hike was considered a success and I received positive feedback during the debrief, the day wasn’t easy for me. Despite the “success,” and my hankering for leading, I felt ineffective on a couple of fronts. It was humbling. I had many learnings during that day, which are already serving me in my life. The LOD component of a NOLS course is invaluable, and I plan on getting vulnerable in sharing my LOD experience with you in an upcoming post.

Each of us was Leader of the Day at least once.

6. Active Followership. This is another of NOLS’ well known leadership skills. Because I prefer to lead — I favor ownership and responsibility — I looked forward to learning about “active followership.” Turns out that I’m often an active follower due to my non-directive style of leadership. But mostly, this skill is an intriguing one, and I will be posting about it.

Hiking near Lake 4352, with caribou up ahead.

7. Bear Precaution Protocol. Wow. This is a good story to tell! Alaska is bear country. A lot of leadership skill development simply happened as a result of being required to always have three people with you to do anything, which, most notably, included going to the bathroom, but also for simple tasks like retrieving a camera from a tent or needing to communicate something to a member in another group that was in the tents when you were at the kitchen or the other way around. This aspect of our course also provided some humorous material, some of which I’ll be happy and excited to share in a story on this blog in the future.

This is supposed to be funny.

8. Baking and Cooking in the Brooks Range of Alaska. I never imagined I’d leave my NOLS Brooks Range Backpacking course with cake mix and flour on my outerwear, but that’s what happened. NOLS courses follow a “pantry-style” food rations system. We don’t bring freeze-dried foods or s’mores. We had bags of flour, brown sugar, cornmeal, powdered milk, pancake and cake mix, quinoa, pasta, cous-cous, cereal, granola and a pretty generous spice kit. Meal time was a big deal, then. Not only were we hungry and motivated to “lighten our loads” by consuming the food we were packing, but pantry-style cooking involved measuring and combining  – and being creative. This often meant breakfast and dinner, from set up to clean up, each took about two hours. The cooking and baking and creating with our course-mates was an unexpected pleasure of the course that facilitated not only meal preparation but intimate bonding and time for great conversation with one another.

Baking in the Brooks Range.

9. 24 Hours of Daylight. Well, more or less, it never got dark. At home in Lander, WY, I’m a morning person. I rise at 5 am and am in bed by 10 pm. On my NOLS course in Alaska, we would wake up between 7:30-9 am and often eat dinner as late as 8-10 pm. Often we didn’t get to our tents for bed until midnight. If we had nightfall I am not sure I could have adjusted. Certainly it would have been interesting to see me try and operate on such a schedule! But given it was light all the time, it was nothing to adjust. I found it wonderful to have so much light and yet it was so perplexing when I would be visiting with one of my course-mates in broad day light, and it was midnight! I did not sleep well, despite being tired and comfortable and for the most part, warm. It may have been due to the daylight, although I doubt it since I often had my head buried in my sleeping bag. When I returned to civilization, I saw author Tim Sanders quote someone saying “I haven’t slept for 12 days. Because that would be too much.” Oh how I can relate. That is my story for the Brooks Range. Fortunately I did get lots of rest when others were sleeping. And as someone once told me, I can sleep when I’m dead. I was in Alaska’s Brooks Range after all!

This was the closest thing to nightfall that we had.

10. Rainbows. We saw several rainbows during our backpacking. Each was magnificent. My favorite was one that lit up its end (a bunch of orange lichen-covered rock on top of a pass we had just ascended) and another on our second-to-last day of hiking that filled the bowl of a black granite peak. Often we were above the rainbow, which provided a pretty cool vantage.

Indeed- there was gold at the end of the rainbow.

11. Variable weather. The weather for our two weeks was phenomenal for backpacking. That said, we experienced all four seasons on our course. Probably we had more spring and fall than winter and summer. Most days, at least for some short duration, we would have on our full rain gear, but not too frequently. On one day, we ascended a mountain pass in falling snow. On our two layover days of the trip there was enough sun to get more freckles on my face and even get de-layered down to a short-sleeved shirt and shorts. Mostly it felt like Autumn though. Much of the tundra’s floor was “crispy and crunchy” and there were lots of golds and burnt-red leaves. I like to be in control. The weather is something I can’t control. For this reason I am fascinated by it and welcome its variety. I also like the way the weather, depending on its mood, changes the feel of the moment as well as the look of the landscape. The variable weather did all of this for us in the Brooks Range.

Watching the clouds was fantastic.

12. Physical challenge. I am in good physical condition. My passion is long distance day hiking and I live at an elevation of 5,280′ and hike at altitudes ranging from 8,000′-12,000′. I didn’t expect my NOLS course to be much of a physical challenge for me. Still, it was physically demanding. There were two days that involved ascending mountain passes in rain and/or snow that had steep angles and loose rock on rock, followed by a long, unrelenting descent in a rocky gorge. These days, combined with the usual work of the course (setting up and breaking down camp, packing, and other chores) were challenging. Overall the course was a good physical challenge. Certainly this is a huge benefit of a NOLS course — using the outdoors and an awe-inspiring natural setting as a platform to improve your work ethic and your health.

Hiking in soft tundra, through tussocks, across rivers, and up steep mountain passes was physically demanding.

13. Leave No Trace. I know we didn’t! Learning and applying the Leave No Trace principles in a place as undiscovered and vast and wild as Alaska’s Brooks Range and Arctic National Wildlife Refuge was a critical component of the NOLS course. I have much to share about LNT and examples of our implementation of LNT, including one of our biggest fails — and the low point of the entire course for me — when a Dig-It went missing. Long story short, we found it. But the stakes are high with LNT. We don’t mess around. NOLS taught us/me well when it comes to LNT.

We left no trace on the beautiful landscape of Arctic tundra.

14. The People. As I waited to meet my course-mates, I wondered, nervously, “What kind of person would sign up for a NOLS Brooks Range Backpacking course?” I was eager to meet these new people but also nervous. Turns out that I have some new friends in my life that I view more as family than friends. I will never forget any of them and hope we can keep in touch forever. To share such a meaningful, unique, hard experience together in a magical setting, is really something to treasure. Our instructors, too, were off the charts and also a part of this new family. I didn’t enroll in the NOLS course for the people I would meet. But it turns out the people on this course enriched the experience in ways I could never have imagined.

My Brooks Range family.

15. Evening Meetings. Every evening, as part of the NOLS experience, we had evening meetings. These provided a time for announcements to be made, tips & tricks to be shared, and discussion around the next day’s schedule. Then, one of us would have a 15-minute “spotlight,” which was a time to share your life story. There was also usually a poetry reading or a sharing of a chapter or small essay. Sometimes one of us would read something interesting in a naturalist’s book about something we saw during the day. The evening meeting was an intimate time for our group and it was really a great way to end each day.

Evening meeting.

16. Classes. A NOLS course is not a guided tour or vacation. There is a lot of instruction provided in outdoor skills, wilderness travel, environmental ethics and leadership. There were often classes held in the morning before we hit the trail, or in the evenings, and on our two layover days. Some classes were optional. There were classes on leadership styles and skills, knot-tying, cooking, stove-repair, map reading/gps use, first aid, and others. One class was “Alaska: Sense of Place.” This was presented to us during a layover day with the Chandalar River in the background. It made the experience complete because we were able to better understand the place we were in and how it came to be.

Knot-tying class.

17. Unforgettable Moments. The moments of this trip that are unforgettable include “swimming” in the Brooks Range, skipping rocks in the Chandalar River, watching four little waterfowl take off from Caribbean blue waters of Lake #4352 as hundreds of caribou ran across a hillside in the background, standing on a pass and being above a rainbow to the left and in falling snow with sunshine piercing through on the right, “sledding” down a bunch of shale/scree, playing gin rummy under the fly in a downpour, the smell of Labrador tea while hiking in the tundra, the taste of wild blueberries, the almost-constant sound of running water from a nearby river or a babbling brook, watching the clouds move down a ridge and “fill in” the fronts of a peak we could see from our tents, chocolate chip, brown sugar and granola pancakes with peanut butter on top, listening to poetry with kindred spirits in a magical place, posing with antlers against my head, coffee in the morning, looking at scat full of berries and small bones and trying to figure out the story, baking my first backcountry cake, the unique and fabulous signature “bear calls” each of us had, hearing rain pitter-patter on our tent all night long, the first time I set up and operated the camp stove with no assistance, the vanilla sky on our last night in the Chandalar River, walking up and through a small-but-dramatic gorge, the “moment of silence” upon ascending our final pass of the trip — a point that symbolized our “going home,” hiking under the moon and a handful of stars during our 2 am “hike to the highway,” our tailgate coffee party on the road at the end of the trail/course, and the really deep conversations I shared with each of my course-mates at various points of the course. And there are so many more.

A moment in silence at top of our final pass.

18. I’m A NOLS Graduate! I was raised here in Lander, WY, where NOLS is headquartered. One of my only regrets was that I never took a NOLS course. (We plan to send each of our three sons on a NOLS course when they’re 16.) I love what NOLS stands for and am a cheerleader of NOLS. In my work and travels, I’ve often met people who are NOLS graduates. They always are leaders in their fields, which I think is no accident. During the last year, I’ve been going through a bit of a “reinvention”, and many folks I know who work at NOLS (Jeanne O’Brien, Bruce Palmer, Kat Smithhammer, John Kanengieter, Brian Fabel, Rick Rochelle, and others) told me, “it’s never too late.” My NOLS experience was everything I had hoped it would be, and more. Truly. I had high expectations for the course and they were exceeded. I am fulfilled to be among the graduates and in this “club.”

19. Jaw-Dropping, Inspiring Scenery. I will be inspired for the rest of my life by the sights I saw and experienced in Alaska’s Brooks Range. I feel honored and privileged to have been a guest.

Tundra.

20. NOLS Leadership Curriculum. NOLS is famous for its leadership model that utilizes the outdoors as its classroom. A big motivation for my embarking on a NOLS course was to learn and experience the school’s leadership curriculum. I was not disappointed! I learned about NOLS’ 4 Leadership Roles (designated leadership, peer leadership, active followership and self-leadership) and its 7 Leadership Styles (expedition behavior, competence, communication, judgment and decision-making, tolerance for adversity and uncertainty, self-awareness and vision and action). It’s funny; I got my money’s worth from the leadership classes and curriculum, but I also reaped a lot of leadership development benefit that just happened due to the fact I was dropped by the side of the road in the Far North to backpack for two weeks with “strangers,” having to follow strict bear precaution measures, cook and bake together, struggle together, etc. For this reason, NOLS’ is truly a brilliant model.

Instructor Lauren teaching us about Leadership quadrants.

21. Personal Video Interviews with my course-mates. Meet the interesting friends I made on my NOLS course and hear from each of them what they gained from the experience. For starters, here is mine:

MUCH MORE to come here in the next days and week.
Part 2: My Brooks Range People Made Me Better
Part 3: Epic Adventure — And Longing

If you’d like to see videos or photos, help yourself here:

Videos

Photos – part 1 of 2

Photos – part 2 of 2

Hi.

It was very early morning on July 29, when reasonable people were still in their beds sleeping.

Four of my closest girlfriends met my husband and I at our house at 3:09, and by 3:17, we departed for the trailhead at Dickinson Park, about an hour-and-a-half drive. Despite the early hour, as we left Lander, it was 67 degrees outside. A couple miles outside of town, a star shot across the black sky that was heavily dotted with dazzling, sparkling stars. As we approached the trailhead, we watched a small herd of elk cross in a meadow in front of us.

Holly Copeland, Leann Sebade, Kathy Swanson, me, and Kathy Browning, on the Bears Ears Trail. (See the Bears Ears in the background)

By all indications, the day would be a stellar one.

This “epic adventure” is a trip I planned back in late spring. As readers of this blog know, one of my passions is long distance day hiking, particularly in my backyard, Wyoming’s southern Wind River Range. I love to hike far in a single day, in a landscape whose natural beauty takes my breath away, with people who are positive, interesting, fit, funny, and who are a pleasure to be around. If all goes well, my heart, mind, soul and health benefit.

I feel so strongly about the benefits of this type of epic pursuit that this hike would serve as sort of a “test drive” for a product I plan to offer in my new leadership/coaching business.

Hiking near the end of the Bears Ears Trail.

We enjoyed epic views like this one, of Grave Lake and Musembeah Peak.

There were six in our group, including Kathy Swanson, Kathy Browning, Leann Sebade and Holly Copeland, and my better half and frequent hiking companion, my husband, Jerry. (Jerry and I had this hike on our life list, but he also generously offered to help me by taking additional photos to capture the magnificence of the day.)

We would start at Dickinson Park, hike the Bears Ears Trail to its end, connect to and hike the Lizard Head Trail to the North Fork Trail, and then head back toward Dickinson Park. The start and finish are separated by two miles of dirt road. If there’s one thing we like to think we are, it’s smart, so we took two cars and dropped one at the end before we started hiking.

We hiked at altitudes of 11,000 feet to 11,700 feet for much of the day.

A huge rock formation between Bears Ears and Lizard Head trails.

The hike, according to the maps we had on hand, indicated the adventure would be about 26.2 miles — a marathon hike. (Turns out the maps were wrong; our trusty GPS, along with the signage on the trails, would indicate that in fact our loop hike measured 29.3 miles.)

The hike would start at 9,400 feet elevation and climb to just under 12,000 feet in places. For much of the hike, we would be between 11,000′ and 11,700′. All told, there was 5,700′ of elevation gain.

In other words, this adventure would be more than a long walk; it would involve some lung-busting and muscle-tearing. The payoff, of course, would be panoramic mountain views that would continue to unfold in front of us for long periods of time, as well as meaningful conversation and a fun time with kindred spirits.

Ascending a snow field at our start on the Lizard Head Trail.

My husband, Jerry, waiting for us girls.

The first three miles are a climb through gradual, but seemingly endless switchbacks through lodgepole forest. Once out of the trees, we were at 11,000′ and hiking in alpine tundra by sunrise. Like I said, by all (continuing) indications, it would be a stellar day.

The Bears Ears Trail gets its name for a rock tower formation that looks exactly like a (teddy) bear’s head, complete with its two ears on top. You can see the Bears Ears from various spots in the front/low country we frequent, so it’s a treat to walk right under it and to see it up close.

Early Native Americans, particularly the Shoshone and Crow Indians, frequented this area to hunt for bighorn sheep, and to perform religious ceremonies.

Alpine tundra and granite peaks were the flavor of the day on the Lizard Head Trail.

Brief celebration along the way.

Quick huddle.

Enjoying some thin air.

At this point, you can see Funnel Lake, before continuing through a low saddle called Adams Pass before dropping to a bridged (marsh) crossing of Sand Creek.

After crossing Sand Creek, we continued to the right of Sand Creek and ascended a rocky trail. The granite is this area is 2.5 billion years old. It’s hard not to feel insignificant in the spectrum of time when hiking amongst such old rock.

Stopping to take in the views.

Lizard Head Peak.

Happy hikers.

At the seven-mile mark, we were handed our first real prize – a jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring, panoramic view of the Wind River Range. Mount Washakie and Washakie Pass, Bernard Peak, Lock Leven Lake, Chess Ridge, Mount Hooker (with its perpendicular 1,600-foot-tall face), Grave Lake, Mount Bonneville, Musembeah Peak, and more. Imagine a view of towering, silver granite, snow-covered mountain peaks with a scattering of glaciers and lakes and you get the picture.

This is a great turn-around spot for reasonable-but-fit day hikers. Even better, though, would be to do a quick scramble to the top of Mt. Chauvenet, which stands 12,250 feet tall and is right there behind you as you’re taking in these magnificent views of the Wind River Range. Jerry and I climbed it about 12 years ago and I can’t recommend it enough.

We stayed on the Bears Ears Trail and continued up, until the trail crested and we opted to enjoy a short break while taking in the awesome views.

Up next for us was connecting to the Lizard Head Trail. The Lizard Head Trail would connect us to the North Fork Trail. Some of us had previously hiked the Bears Ears Trail, as well as the North Fork Trail, but always on separate occasions and had never linked the two trails. Jerry and I had long wanted to see what Lizard Head Trail was like. In looking at a map, and having climbed the massive Lizard Head Peak in 1999, we knew it could only be awesome.

And boy, were we right about that.

Lunch with a view.

My husband, Jerry, leading us on the descent into the North Fork.

After connecting to the Lizard Head Trail and ascending a snow field, or two, we reached sweeping views of additional sections of the Wind River Range. In fact, for the next several (seven?) miles we hiked on alpine tundra that was littered with an abundance of tiny, fragile wildflowers of all colors and kinds, and lichen-covered rocks while being overshadowed by one granite peak after another to our right.

We’re talking jaw-dropping scenery. The kinds of views that can move you to tears, and, especially given the altitude, take your breath away and leave you speechless. For moments at a time.

I’m usually a swift hiker and we had a timeline to keep for this long hike. But, during this stretch, I “strolled” quite a bit. It was impossible not to. The views were just so amazing and the hiking too enjoyable. The air is thinner on this trail, though. Some of us had faint headaches and I reminded the group — and myself — to take deep breaths to counter the effects of the thin, oxygen-deprived, high altitude air. I, as well as Jerry, and the others, snapped tons of photos along this section. (As you can see from the number included in this post!)

Wildflowers and Cirque of the Towers.

After about seven miles of hiking on the Lizard Head Trail, we were afforded views of the famous Cirque of the Towers. (Yeehaw!) The Cirque of the Towers are an amazing collection of 17 peaks that provides world-class climbing. We could also see Lonesome Lake, which is situated directly below the Cirque.

Lizard Head Peak stands 12,842′ tall and is the star of this section of the Lizard Head Trail. No wonder it is the trail’s namesake. About one mile northeast of the Cirque of the Towers, Lizard Head is the area’s dominant peak. From our vantage we enjoyed a magnificent view of its east face, which towers 2,300 feet above Bear Lake.

Here, with Lizard Head, Bear Lake, the Cirque of the Towers, Lonesome Lake, Mitchell Peak, Lizard Head Meadows and The Monolith as visuals, we stopped for a short break. This now marks the best lunch spot I’ve ever experienced.

Because we were on a timeline, and by now, knowing that the hike would be a few miles longer than the original marathon distance we had anticipated, we started moving again, descending toward the North Fork of the Popo Agie River, where we would connect to the North Fork Trail.

Once we hit the North Fork Trail, we were back in the forest. The trail was more kind — both in terms of grade and terrain. The shade was also nice, given it was early afternoon and we were hiking at a reasonable elevation. Here, many of us (re)lathered ourselves with bug spray and some of us donned head nets. Darn it — the mosquitos were out in force. Fortunately we had all expected this.

The Monolith and the North Fork of the Popo Agie River.

Rivers in the Wind River Range were/are raging right now compared to normal, given the abundance of snow and moisture our mountains received this past winter and spring. We knew we had at least four river crossings to contend with but had been informed before our departure that they were all passable. Still, we were a little anxious in anticipation, as turning back was not something we wanted to consider.

It was a few miles of level, fast hiking before we reached the first crossing. The water was swift and hit most of us in the mid- to upper-thigh for part of it. But the water felt great and we all crossed successfully, although some of us did so with more mental ease than others. I’m not a huge fan of river crossings so was glad to have this first one behind us. Reportedly, it would be the worst of the crossings.

One of five water crossings on the North Fork Trail.

The next one, however, proved to be swifter than our first. We took our time, and again, we all crossed with no more than some anxiety.

Turns out there were three other crossings that required us to de-shoe, but they were easy and the water provided a welcome relief to our tired, dirty, “protesting” feet.

Except for the bugs and the water crossings, in my opinion, the North Fork Trail is a walk in the park. From Lizard Head Meadows to Dickinson Park the distance is 13 miles and the elevation change is a mere 1,000 feet.

That said, as is usual for these long hikes, the last two miles feels like four, if not more. With about 25 miles on our legs, we were pretty much cruising through the forest with little effort. At one point, I asked Jerry, the GPS-carrier, what our elevation was and he said, “8,600 feet.” What? I asked him again two more times and each time the answer was the same. This was a little demoralizing considering I/we knew the end was located at about 9,400 feet.

The character-building portion of the hike (if there was one?) for me, and I’m guessing for the others, was at about the 26-mile mark, where we walked on a dusty, hot trail through a recently-burned section of forest and then had to grunt up a hill for about 1,000 feet only to descend a couple hundred feet and go for what was a couple more miles (that seemed like five or six) to get to the end.

Once at the end, we had cold beers in a cooler (a surprise reward from Jerry), and Kettle Chips and Rainier cherries from Leann. All hit the spot!

But the biggest reward for me, and hopefully for my comrades, is that I had gained an epic experience, memories to last a lifetime, inspiration that will serve as fuel for me, stronger friendships, and a health benefit to boot.

Yeehaw! Beers all around after an epic day.

A SHORT VIDEO:

On Cyclone Pass July 8.

Shoshone Lake is a big lake that is in my backyard. Tucked in the foothills of Wyoming’s southern Wind River Range, the lake is situated at about 10,000′, and in the Shoshone National Forest.

My husband, Jerry, a friend, Kathy Swanson, of Casper, WY, and I hiked to Shoshone Lake and beyond on July 8. The route we hiked follows some trail, but mostly two-track/ATV road. As a result, many hikers do not hike to Shoshone Lake. Pity!

Kathy and I, with the Popo Agie Falls in the background. This is about 3 miles into the hike, on the Middle Fork Trail.

I hike to Shoshone Lake 2-3 times a year if possible. In my humble opinion, it’s the hardest (best training) marathon hike near my town of Lander, WY, and it provides one of the best views of my backyard.

Kathy, and my husband, Jerry, in Shoshone Basin.

Kathy, cruising on one of the hike's only level sections, alongside Shoshone Lake.

The “prize” — the reason we go to such great lengths on this hike — is Cyclone Pass. The top of Cyclone Pass provides one of, if not the, most glorious views of the southern Wind River Range. While one could do this as an out-and-back hike, or ride a jeep or  an ATV to Cyclone Pass and Shoshone Lake, we typically choose to hike a point-to-point route.

Kathy and I, midway up Cyclone Pass. It's a grunt!

Almost to the top of Cyclone Pass.

Our hike started at Bruce’s Bridge, about nine miles southwest of Lander. From there, we hiked seven miles on the Middle Fork Trail, to a junction that took us uphill, on a grunt, for three miles, before joining the Shoshone Lake Trail at 10 miles. From there, we hiked briefly through the forest before it opened up into the vast — and lush — Shoshone Basin. After hiking through the basin, we arrived at Shoshone Lake, which marked a little over 13 miles.

My husband, Jerry, checking out the views from top of Cyclone Pass.

Jerry and Kathy, taking in the views, and I'm guessing, voicing their relief that Cyclone Pass is behind them.

From there, it’s a mostly-level trail alongside the lake’s shore for a little over two miles. Next up is Cyclone Pass. And there are no two ways about it. Ascending Cyclone Pass is a grunt. It’s pretty much straight up over all kinds of rock scatter, and on July 8, some running water. The ascent of Cyclone Pass is about 1.5 miles and 650 vertical feet. Because it comes at a point when you have about 15 miles of mostly uphill miles on your legs, it’s a real “character-builder.”

Group timer shot.

No matter. Going uphill is not an unreasonable cost, given the prize at the top. You can hopefully see in the photos here of Cyclone Pass and get the picture.

After an extended break at top of Cyclone while taking in the awesome views, we then started our descent toward Baldwin Creek.

Kathy, on the dreaded Chute.

Jerry, on The Chute, which was more like a creek.

Despite the fact it’s all downhill from Cyclone Pass, arguably the toughest part of the day is what’s next, a 2-mile section known as The Chute. This is basically a dried-up creek bed. Some areas are nothing but rock on rock. For our hike there was a actually a stream running down much of the middle of the The Chute. It’s hard on the legs. It is sustained and unrelenting downhill on nothing but rocks on rocks. Let’s just call it what it is: another character-builder.

Following The Chute, we hike by Suicide Point, a great feature that is aptly named. From there it’s just downhill, downhill and downhill, and more rocks and rocks and rocks. To be sure, the descent, even beyond The Chute, is a very rocky one.

Kathy, in bottom right, descending last few miles of our hike.

Almost to The End of our hike.

My dad was to pick us up at the parking lot above the Shoshone Lake Switchbacks, off Baldwin Creek Road at 3 pm, but he was delayed in receiving our Spot Messenger text regarding our ETA, so we ended up descending a few of the switchbacks. (By then, in dire straits, I took a small bite of a snake on that portion. It’s my dad’s fault?) All told, we hiked about 25 miles, including 4,300′ of elevation gain.

I ate a snake. Or not. You decide.

It was an epic day. I would even go so far as to say it was stellar. It had all the important features: camaraderie, stunning views, character-building, and a reat health benefit to boot.

Beers All Around!

Here is a very short video from Cyclone Pass:

During the 45-mile Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim of Grand Canyon in May 2010.

One of my favorite words is EPIC. I probably drive people nuts because I say it (as well as stellar) so often. I have a lot of epic in my life. This is by design.

Epic means majestic, heroic, impressively great. In short, it means big. To do something full-on, cranked up at least a few notches above normal and average and ordinary. I like it when things are epic.

One of my foremost passions is long distance day hiking. I like to hike far and fast in a single day. Some of my recent epic adventures include a 45-mile Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim, a 50-mile traverse (day hike) of Zion National Park, a 32-mile Traverse day hike of Wyoming’s southern Wind River Range, and many others. I also skate skied 50 miles in a day last winter.

I should say that, being from Lander, WY, where there are many world-class athletes in various outdoor pursuits, at least in Lander I consider myself merely “normal.” But most people, regardless of location, have the same reaction when I tell them of my love of hiking 30-50 miles in a single day. They look at me like I’m whacked, with confusion.

I’m developing a leadership coaching business for women that, as part of a package, will provide epic adventure(s). Recently, when telling a colleague about my plans, she responded with, “What I don’t understand is why you do these things.” In not so many words, she was saying this will be important for my marketing. (Thank you Debbie Cohen).

So, I’ve been thinking about this question. Why do I do these epic adventures? Here is my list of reasons. Of course, it is epic.

• Health benefit. To embark on an epic adventure, I need to be in great shape. This fact keeps me training at a high level throughout the year so that I can consider any audacious adventure that presents itself to me or that I find intriguing. Being super fit also ensures I’ll be able to keep up with our three young sons and my ambitious husband. (I wasn’t always this fit. It takes determination and commitment. But my level of participation – in all aspects of my life – has increased and improved as a result of my commitment to good health. I highly recommend it. It also helps when it comes to recovery. My legs were tired, but not sore, after the recent Zion traverse.)

• It’s a lot of work. I love the process of working, and the harder, the better. There is something about my heart pumping and the feel of my muscles working, my mind alternating between wandering and focusing that happens on these epic outings that makes me feel very alive.

Grand Canyon.

• Nature. My senses are most alive when I’m outdoors in a spectacular natural setting. I’m talking about natural beauty that can move me to tears just by looking at it and taking it all in. The fresh air on my skin, the scents of the landscape and the songs of birds and sounds of animals are all present. It’s a very real connection I experience with nature.

Pingora, Cirque of Towers, in Wyoming's southern Wind River Range.

• Mind clearing. You know the saying – “wherever you go, there you are” (Jon Kabat-Zinn). I show up to the trail with all my “stuff.” There could be lots on my mind, not much, all good, all bad, nothing special, something that is really special – whatever. Me, and all that matters to me in my world, show up. As the adventure gets under way, the solitude I’m afforded (which is provided even when I’m hiking with others) enables thoughts to get organized (“mapped”) in my mind. Mostly this is unconscious for me. Thoughts that are most pressing will rise to the top.

I can consciously choose to focus on something and try to keep my mind on that topic, or I can let my mind wander and let thoughts lead and lay where they may. The former takes effort as my mind wants to wander when I’m in open space, moving in a place surrounded by huge vistas. By the time I’ve completed the hike, I’m much more clear on many things. I have solved problems, prioritized, come up with brainstorms for solutions, written blog posts, re-played conversations that are important, made discoveries, etc.

• Camaraderie: It is amazing to share an epic adventure with other like-minded people. All of the epic adventures I’ve been on with others have provided a social aspect, as well as opportunities for solitude. The conversations that occur and that are shared along the trail add to the experience and the memories.

Camaraderie.

• Humility. In the natural places I’ve been and am drawn to, the views are remote and natural and rugged and enormous in scale. I feel insignificant in size, both with respect to the country that surrounds me, but also to the task at hand. This experience humbles me. I love that it does.

The Roaring Fork, Wyoming's Wind River Range.

• Pilgrimage. The longer and harder (the more epic) the adventure, the more spiritual it is for me. Because the adventure is hard work and is very much a struggle, I become vulnerable. I find myself in an awe-inspiring place, with my senses completely awake, yet weak due to the effort. I always discover new truths about myself during this struggle.

Great scenery helps lift the spirits when struggle sets in.

• Mental toughness. Or, shall we say, an epic adventure provides an opportunity to practice “mind over matter.” During these epic hikes, there is always a crux, sometimes more than one, when things are at their most difficult, and I find that I am at choice. I want to quit. I have completely blister-damaged feet, or my legs hurt, or I’m out of energy, or it’s too arduous of a task to continue or finish, it’s closer to the start than the finish, or all of the above.

Completely blister-damaged feet during my Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim.

During these hardest times of the hike, the negotiations in my mind start. (And I’m a pretty effective negotiator!) I start arguing and settling and negotiating and reasoning with myself in my head. Examples: Well, if I don’t do the full 50 miles, that’s okay – 42 miles with this much elevation gain and loss is pretty awesome. Or: Well it was a long winter and I’ve only logged one 20-mile hike so far, so it would still be awesome if I were to stop after 36. Or: These conditions suck. There is no way anyone would finish this on a day like this, in these conditions.)

Tough times in Grand Canyon. It was, well, hot.

This crux – this place I describe above – is a very powerful place to be. It’s when I’m reminded of the many survival stories I’ve read and been in awe about, including the likes of Ernest Shackleton’s Endurance or Unbroken, the survival story about Louie Zamperini. I think of these stories, and others, and talk about getting perspective real quickly! Suddenly my issues are tiny in size. And, it’s during this stage that I’m reminded that, in fact, we are at choice. Come to think of it, my being there was a choice. (Read VIKTOR FRANKL’S MAN’S SEARCH FOR MEANING, which in so many words states that, Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation. You cannot control what happens to you in life, but you can always control what you feel and do about what happens to you.)

During the crux (meltdown) of an epic adventure, the question I often ask myself is, How do I want this story to end? What is the story I want to tell about this? Of course as a writer, this context makes sense. The point is I get to decide, which is not always easy, especially since it would be easier to quit. On the Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim, I had major blisters on both feet by mile nine, and before the half-way point, both of my feet were totally blister-damaged. Every step (millions?) felt as if I were standing on needles or burning coals. However, for me, it’s often harder to quit and have the ending I don’t want, than it is to suck it up and do the rest of the work. (Please take note that blisters do not cause permanent damage so I didn’t view my continuing as reckless, just very difficult and painful.)

The power is in the fact that this is a choice that I get to make and that I live with that choice. I like the power of this and it serves as a metaphor for all the choices we get to make in our lives. (By the way, I have not always chose to end stories with “happy, successful endings.” I quit the Tahoe 50-mile run at mile 42 due to heat ailments, and I quit the Run to the Sun 37-mile event after 27 miles, because, well, I just didn’t want to finish. I learned from these non-finishes despite the fact they were not the endings I was going for.)

In short, these epic hikes provide me with practice for life’s challenges and hardships.

•  Accomplishment. When I finish something that’s, by my standards, epic, I am a better leader as a result. This translates also into increased confidence that helps in all aspects of my life.

The "finish line" after the Zion National Park Traverse, May 2011.

• Gratitude. Often, near the end of an epic adventure, some tears are shed. Most of them come as a result of gratitude that overwhelms me. Physical hardship (which causes vulnerability), natural beauty, and solitude combine to fill me with gratitude, especially for my family and friends, my abilities, the opportunity to have this experience, the scenery that surrounds me — not to mention that near the end, success is almost for certain! The final stage of the epic adventure becomes very personal, and devotional, for me.

Zion National Park, West Rim Trail.

So, there you have it. These are the reasons that I choose to do these epic adventures. There is no question I am better for them. I am healthier, have improved leadership, confidence and participation in my own life, have collected some interesting stories to share, have seen sights so stunning that they continue to inspire me, have formed lasting friendships as a result of these adventures, and feel more alive than ever. I have experienced change, and have grown. I am energized and fulfilled. It is my aim to facilitate the same epic experience for my clients. (BTW, epic means different things for different people. An epic adventure for a client might be an eight-mile hike at altitude. Or more. Or less.)

I would love to hear your thoughts on epic adventures. Have you embarked on one? And, how did it affect and/or change you?

In Hop Valley, about eight miles into an approximately 50-mile traverse hike.

Our approximately 50-mile traverse hike was the idea of Mike Lanza. He recently turned 50, and had conjured up this trek that would commemorate a mile for every one of his years. My friend, Jon Dorn, who took me on the epic Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim around this time last year, was kind enough to invite me along.

On Friday, I drove 10 hours from my hometown of Lander, WY, to a hotel near Hurricane, UT, located about 40 minutes from our adventure’s start. That evening I had dinner with four of the guys who would be on the trek. (I would be the only woman, hiking with seven men.) After dinner, I set my alarm to wake up — a mere three hours later. Turns out I got a full two hours of shut-eye. Wow.

The cast of characters on the hike hailed from six states, including California, Idaho, Colorado, Montana, Massachusetts and Wyoming. Included: Mike Lanza, creator of TheBigOutside.com, author of an upcoming book about climate warming in our national parks, and northwest editor for Backpacker magazine; Jon Dorn, adventure athlete and editor-in-chief of Backpacker; Mark Fenton, a race walker and bike- and pedestrian-friendly community-building consultant; Carl Schueler, an Olympic race walker who works in land use planning; Todd Arndt, a family physician and competitive runner; David Ports, multi-sport adventurer and the USA YMCA Director; Mark Godley, an avid adventurer and a sales representative for a software startup; and finally, me, a consultant, writer and aspiring life and leadership coach.

In other words, the event would be well documented and widely published, fast-moving, pedestrian-friendly, a good use of the land, well-planned, provided with medical care (medicated, even, perhaps?) and effectively sold. And, if I could keep up, perhaps I could provide some championing and cheering.

By the way, in addition to all the logistics such an epic trek requires, as a group we also agreed not to eat each other no matter the circumstances. No cannibalism. Still, as the only girl on this trip, and knowing how desperate people doing these long adventures can become, I planned to make myself look as unsavory as possible.

We started from Lees Pass, in the Kolob Canyons region, on the LaVerkin Creek Trail. It was 52 degrees at the 3:15 a.m. start and we hiked under a dark, clear sky. For the first few miles, I couldn’t see anything other than the light from my headlamp that illuminated the path in front of me, and the streaming line of little lights from the others.

Once my eyes adjusted, I could sense the huge canyon walls we were walking under and through and I could see the outline of their ridges. They were impressive in size and made me feel like an ant. And we were an awful lot like ants — carrying our loads and moving quite briskly under the enormous canyon walls in a single-file line — with great purpose.

We covered the first six miles quickly and with ease.

After about seven miles we could hear roaring water. Mike commented, “Wow. LaVerkin is running strong.” I started to get nervous as we hiked and the creek’s roar became louder, and closer. I started negotiating in my head the other things he said instead of that the creek was running strong. But I couldn’t come up with any other logical words that rhymed so I remained wound up.

Crossing a high and swift LaVerkin Creek. This is at the end of the crossing. Look at my shorts to see how deep the water was in the middle. That's David Ports behind me. (Photo by Michael Lanza)

Sure enough the creek was running strong. I’ll say! The creek isn’t wide, but looked deep and swift. I was scared. As we all looked for a good place to cross, Mark (Fenton) decided to give it the first shot. I watched as he got half way across, and was under water to his waist and stopped just short of the other side. I’m not going to lie. For a moment there, I thought he might go down creek. He is a strong guy, and yet was fighting the current pretty good. Finally he stepped up to the other side’s bank, soaked, but safe.

I was scared. I have crossed many rivers, many much wider than this creek. But I had no experience crossing a creek or river as deep and swift as this.

Todd found a little wider, less deep channel and the rest of us opted to take his route. I confided in Jon and David, “I’m just letting you guys know that I’m out of my comfort zone. I’m scared. I don’t have experience crossing deep creeks or rivers.”

Gentlemen that they are, Jon and David offered to go in front of, and behind, me. They instructed me to plant my poles and focus on getting good footing. I found that it also helped for me to look across to the other side rather than down at the swift current. Crossing in between these two strong guys made it easier and before I knew it, I was standing on the other side, wet to the tops of my thighs, but safe all the same. It was exhilarating, not to mention, cold and invigorating.

Mike Lanza and Todd Arndt, doing some early-stage hiking.

Next up was the Hop Valley Trail. We hit the valley right at sunrise and the sights were amazing. We hiked on a sandy, wet trail amidst breathtaking beauty of towering red walls to our left and right. This stretch of the trail was challenging in that we had to cross a stream that was about ankle deep with no rocks to hop on, about 10 times. We crossed it so often that it didn’t make sense to de-shoe every time. As a result, my feet got quite wet and caked and filled with orange mud during this stretch.

Although this part of the hike was absolutely breathtaking in its beauty, I was concerned that my wet, muddy shoes might present problems for my blister-prone feet, and, by that point, we were not even 14 miles into the hike. This worry weighed on me because I fully intended to make the complete traverse and was intent on preserving my feet for as long as possible. So in the big scheme of things, this wasn’t an ideal start. We also lost the trail a couple of times, which cost us a little additional time and energy. But I’m not complaining; the scenery was too outstanding and the company too awesome.

After about mile 14, we arrived at the Hop Valley trailhead. There, Amy and Lisa, wife of (speedy) hiker Mark Fenton, greeted us with homemade wheat/cinnamon waffles, coffee, yummy homemade trail mix and other gourmet treats. Their smiling faces and cheering lifted my spirits, which had sunk a little out of concern for my wet feet.

Soon we were off again. It was 9 a.m., and it was heating up. We took the Connector and Wildcat Canyon trails to eventually meet up with the West Rim Trail. The four-mile Connector trail is just that — a means to connect to other trails. As we started down the trail I realized how hot the sun felt and that it was only 9 a.m. Not a super performer in high heat, I felt a little more worry set in. Fortunately by 10 a.m., gray clouds filled the sky. I was more thrilled to have cloud cover than concerned about precipitation. This cover persisted and provided significant relief from heat for several hours.

Standing along the West Rim of Zion.

It took quite a while to reach the West Rim Trail but we made up some time and had returned to a pretty swift hiking pace on the two trails that would get us there.

Soon after joining the Wildcat Canyon Trail, I parted company with Mike, Todd and David, who opted for a short side trip to Northgate Peaks. (Jon, Carl and Mark F were ahead on the same side trip) I opted to continue onward. My goal was to make the traverse, rather than hit a particular total distance in miles for the day and I remained focused on preserving my blister-prone feet for as long as possible, which for me, meant not adding any additional miles.

I hiked alone for just under six miles before reaching the West Rim Trail. I took my shoes off to soak my feet and cross Blue Creek. Because I was now ahead of the others, I took my time to sit on a rock and air-dry my feet, change socks again, and consume some high-energy calories, before continuing and shortly arriving to the West Rim Trail.

This was a big deal, getting to the West Rim Trail. I have heard many times from people, and in articles I’ve read, that Zion’s West Rim Trail is absolutely spectacular. In other words, I was about to enjoy some serious payoff for my efforts thus far. I couldn’t wait to see what all the fuss about West Rim was about.

I waited for a bit to see if any of the others would show up. About 10 minutes later I heard voices and greeted Mark, Carl and Jon. Together we found a shade tree, where they all removed shoes and took a short break. Because I had enjoyed the recent break at Blue Creek, and given my eagerness to see West Rim’s sights, I opted to continue. Jon said he’d wait up for David and Mike, and I was off.

Stellar views from the West Rim Trail.

The West Rim Trail is long. It is 14.5 miles from its start to the Grotto Picnic Area, in Zion Canyon, situated on the park’s main road. For the first six or seven miles the trail is unspectacular, offering a great view of Wildcat Canyon, but not much else. It follows a pretty even grade until dropping into Potato Hollow. It wasn’t long, and speedy hikers/race walkers Mark and Carl showed up. I enjoyed hiking with them for a couple of miles, during which Todd also caught up.

Todd, approaching yet another epic vista along Zion's West Rim Trail.

We relieved our feet with a quick break, and a water re-supply in the non-scenic, burned (read: un-shaded) Potato Hollow area.

Carl and Mark jetted ahead from there, and Todd and I hiked together along the West Rim of Zion. We were both complaining, if only slightly, about the lackluster views for what was reported to be a trail known for stunning vistas.

As if on demand, everything changed. In front of us for the next several minutes was an unfolding, labyrinth of canyons. We were completely wowed. We stopped several times to just look at the jaw-dropping views before us. As if the views weren’t quite enough, there was an assortment of brand new flowers in bloom along the Rim trail. Absolutely stellar views.

From the West Rim are views of a labyrinth of canyons and unique formations.

After following the West Rim, the trail descends into and in and out of the unique and massive rock formations, for which Zion is famous. The geology of Zion includes nine formations that, combined, represent 150 million years of mostly Mesozoic-aged sedimentation. Back then, warm, shallow seas, streams, ponds and lakes, vast deserts, and dry near-shore environments covered the area. Uplift associated with the creation of the Colorado Plateau lifted the region 10,000 feet starting 13 million years ago.

Todd, on the West Rim Trail.

The North Fork of the Virgin River carved Zion Canyon, and during the later stages lava flows and cinder cones covered parts of the area. While hiking up, down and through these unique and massive cone-shaped formations, I couldn’t help but feel quite insignificant in the spectrum of time.

Starting our descent into Zion Canyon, still on the West Rim Trail.

At around mile 35, Jon caught up with Todd and I, and we consumed with much enthusiasm some Twizzlers (red licorice goodness) that were in Jon’s pack.

Massive rock everywhere as we descended the West Rim Trail en route to Angel's Landing.

Looking down into Zion Canyon and the Virgin River. (Note the climbers near bottom in the crack of the wall)

Shortly after, about 12.5 miles into the 14.5-mile West Rim Trail, we reached the spur for the noteworthy Angels Landing trail. Because I had hiked Angels Landing on a previous trip, I opted to sit this side trip out, while Jon and Todd, and Mark and his wife and daughter hiked to Angel’s Landing.

This photo shows the trail to Angels Landing, and Angels Landing itself.

Standing with the speedy hikers, Mark Fenton and Carl Schueler.

Our wonderful support crew, near Angels Landing, including Lisa and Skye Fenton and Amy.

After a good rest, I headed down the remaining two miles into Zion Canyon to the Grotto picnic area. There, Mark Godley greeted Todd, Jon and I with sandwiches and raisin and oatmeal cookies I had made. And let me tell you, this real food hit the spot.

Next up: a 2,500-foot climb up, and several more miles of hiking to meet up with the East Rim Trail, which would lead to the trek’s finish at the Park’s East Entrance. I think it was about 7:30 p.m. when we caught one of Zion’s free shuttle buses up the road to the Weeping Rock Trailhead. Remaining distance to the end of this walk in the park: 10.5 miles.

Once off the bus, Mark, Todd, Jon and I proceeded to climb several steep switchbacks before passing through the awesome and unique Echo canyon, and up, up, up before accessing the East Rim Trail. For a small bit, right before total darkness, we had a hard time remaining on the trail, which was marked by cairns on steep and uneven rock. We reached an elevation of about 6,500′.

Jon Dorn and Mark Godley pose for me as we start our ascent up the Observation Point Trail toward East Rim.

Looking into Zion Canyon from a couple miles up the Observation Point, en route to the East Rim Trail and the end.

By now, there was no more twilight so we had our headlamps on and despite the black sky, the almost-full moon lit up the ridgelines of what were very obviously massive walls and cliffs around us. I made a mental note to hike the East Rim Trail sometime in the daylight. I am pretty sure the sights are astounding.

At about six-and-a-half miles into our final stretch, we came across the stash of Gatorade that Mark G had earlier in the day cached for us. Grape Gatorade never tasted so good. With about four miles left, I told the others the news – that many of my previously-prospective blisters were now full-on open and/or torn actual problems, and that I was feeling the pain in my feet. I told them I was perfectly okay, but that they should go on ahead and that I was going to resort to listening to some music via my iPod to help me get the gumption necessary to finish this thing standing up.

I didn’t lie. My feet exploded with pain. Each step felt like I was walking on hot coals but with pins and needles also injected in between my toes, on my heels and on the balls of my feet. I’m not complaining; I’m used to blisters on my feet on these endurance hikes. And thankfully these didn’t pose problems until this point – four miles from the finish of a traverse hike across a national park. So, yes, I did choose to slow it down some, and to “dig deep” with the help of some inspirational music.

But, in the interest of full disclosure, it’s at this point of these hikes – the last few miles – that the experience becomes deeply spiritual for me. At this stage, it becomes for the first time clear that I will succeed in finishing. This makes me quite emotional. There are often tears. I shed them mostly in gratitude. I think of my husband, Jerry, and our three sons, and of their love and support. I think of my parents, and my sisters and brother and their families; of my extended family and the dear friendships and relationships that nourish and support me, and that make my life so rich. I think of the hard training I do so that I can participate in these unique endurance adventures when the opportunity comes along.

And, it is true, at this point, I’m physically exhausted, sleep deprived and due to the blisters on my feet, in serious pain. So, while I didn’t want to slow the boys down, and while I planned on being introverted as I listened to my iPod, I also wanted to be alone for the finish. The final stretch is quite personal for me.

The last four miles, which seemed more like ten miles, were surreal and beautiful. There was an almost-full moon that illuminated the sand and rocks that marked my trail, and made the slick rock to my left glow sharply white. Also worthy of noting is the fact that the final stretch drops some 2,000 feet through a Ponderosa forest. Once, a bat fluttered by my ear, and I could hear the sounds of night creatures stirring even over the soft playing of Beethoven and Enya in my ears. Stars were out as I marched, slow but deliberately, toward what would eventually be The End of this adventure.

With probably two miles remaining, I came to a water crossing. The guys were waiting there to see how I was doing and to let me know “there’s a huge gorge/waterfall to the right. Cross right near it.”

Wow. This sounded exciting. Sure enough, as I rock-hopped across, I looked to my right, down what was a rather significant gorge/waterfall. Suffice it to say you would not want to get disoriented or wobbly while catching a glimpse. (Turns out that this feature is Jolly Gulch.) And jolly, I was becoming, knowing I would soon be off my feet, and possibly even drinking a cold beer.

About an hour later, I was greeted by laughter and a bit of a tailgate party, complete with beers and bags of chips and, heck, even Twinkies, being offered by my fellow hikers, Mark, Jon and Todd. Yeehaw! While I skipped all the side trip hikes, I think with my gazillion, off-trail bathroom hikes, I may have closed in on 50 miles… But if I didn’t, who cares?

Todd, Jon and I, with celebratory beers. (Mark G was also there but snapped this photo)

After this traverse, I have a more intimate connection with Zion National Park. I will be inspired for weeks and months – forever – by the sights that I saw, the acquaintances I made with all the guys on our trip and our support crew, and as a result of having accomplished a physically demanding pursuit.

When I learned I’d be the only girl on the hike, I was a little worried. Mind you, it’s not that this is that unusual for me to be hiking with mostly boys. After all, I’m outnumbered in a similar way at home, where my husband and I live with our three sons and our male puppy.

I didn’t want to slow the group down, or be a liability to anyone. I was honored to be invited and to be permitted to tag along with these accomplished adventurers. And, I wanted to successfully complete the traverse.

The men were all gentlemen and I am better for making their acquaintances. They, and the conversations I shared with them, enriched my experience.

VIDEOS:
HOP VALLEY VIDEO:

WEST RIM TRAIL VIDEOS (6):

EAST RIM TRAIL VIDEO:

Doing some kettlebell swings during some down time in Goblin Valley.

Normally I would take a reprieve from training during our family’s spring break. After all, I was getting some exercise. We hiked every day. But the hikes were fun and enjoyable — not “training” efforts.

The fact that in less than four weeks I will be hiking from North to South across Zion National Park — about 50+ miles including sidetrips — in a day — means I needed to get some training in during my trip.

No problem. Following our adventuring in Goblin Valley State Park, Jerry, and our 4-year-old son, Fin, took a nap. Wolf and Hayden, our older sons, explored a slot canyon while I did a core and kettlebell workout. In all, it took about 12 minutes to get pretty well worked over, with no sacrifice of family time.

Another day, after our hiking in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, I did some body weight exercises in our campsite while Jerry and the boys built a fire.

On the final day of our trip, at Coral Pink Sand Dunes, I raced my sons up and down a huge sand dune. We ran, all out, up and down, only a handful of times. It was fun, and a heck of a workout to boot. (I think I’m still sore from that fun, “little” effort.)

I share this to prove that you don’t have to go to a gym, or deprive yourself of family time on a vacation, to get some high quality training in. (Thanks to my trainer and friend, Steve Bechtel, of Elemental Training Center, for influencing me in this regard.)

Kettlebell throws.

Goblet squats in a little slot canyon.

Racing our sons up a giant sand dune. (The winner gets extra s'mores.)