Transitions...
I returned from the wilderness on a Sunday and spent a bizarre celebratory evening in Palm Springs with many of the people frm my course. Monday, I happily boarded a plane to San Francisco where I relaxed to the best of my ability. I spent a good deal of quality time with Sitka, my brother's dog - and walked all around Golden Gate Park and the Richmond District. I also did research about summer programs that involve travel, community service, and the outdoors. We'll see.
Saturday, Dan meg and I went hiking up in Marin. We did about 6 miles through the redwoods. Sitka loves hiking and pulled us up with him along the trail. That night, we had pizza on Haight Street. Sunday, while Dan and Meg were off playing frisbee, I explored china town and the adjacent neighborhood that is lines with cafes, italian restaruants and remnants of the beatnik generation. I spent hours in Citylights bookstore and happily found my cousin's poetry on their shelves. I visited the Jewish Museum to see a photography exhibit on Jewish identity. One of the artists gave a talk about his work which featured the story of a woman, a family and a community of Jews from Latin American countries. Many of these recent converts could trace their routes back to Jewish ties from before the Spanish Inquisition in 1492. Now, they have a synagogue in the Bronx bursting with young community members. Another one of the works, by an artist named Nikki lee, depicted a Jewish wedding. Nikki Lee's approach is to set up scenes to illustrate a message.For this project, she dressed as an Asian bride at a Jewish wedding. The groom was cropped intenttionally fromn each photo. Bizarre, but powerful - and feminist. Im not sure how I feel about it!
I met up with Miriam, a friend from Teva. and Sunday night I had a delicious and peaceful evening with her roommies. We made margharitas and stirfry, relaxed overlooking their garden, and woke up to yoga. The next day, I fell in love with Berkeley (as I fully expected would happen...) I walked around the campus and the main streets there a bit. In the library, there was an unbelievably powerful art exhibits depicting scenes from the Abu Gharab prison.
Then, Dan and I headed up north to do some wine tasting. It was gorgeous - rolling hills covered with vines. I wished we were on bike! The first winery we went to was biodynamic - even better than organic, their enterprise was entirely sustainable complete with solar power, crop rotation, etc.
Tuesday night, I took a redeye back to NYC. I guess it's been too long since I lived in Seattle; I'd forgotten how rough red eyes can be! I landed in Atlanta in the middle of the night, without getting much sleep on the first flight. Then, after wandering blindly through the Atlanta airport for 2 and a half hours, I finally got on my flight to Newark. I landed back in this center of urban blight at 10 am, took 3 trains through concrete and metal mazes and arrived at noon in Penn Station. Even after a week in San Fran, the site of New York, and especially NJ, was shocking. I watched some ducks drinking on a puddle of muddy water - wished I could tell them of the beauty and clean water that lies elsewhere. What a humble home they have found!
I am excited to be in New York, near friends and family, and working for an organization that I believe in so strongly. But I miss the stars, the moon, the breeze. I miss being outside so much. I crave a camping trip, a climbing trip, a fire. For now, I must enjoy the merits that only a city can offer, relishing its own special organisms, while not forgetting the great outdoors that awaits me only a few miles away.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Joshua Tree . . .
50 days & nights and still reflecting, still readjusting, still trying to uncover the subtle changes inspired by "a season on the wilderness."
0 - pillows
1 - hot shower
1 - 60 year old woman who peed on me while simulating a seizure
2 - laundry opportunities
2 times - I was a bad vegetarian
3 - experiences with flushing toilets
3 days - spent entirely solo (almost a week of silence for me this year)
4 - snow or hail storms
5 kinds of wildlife spotted (big horn sheep, hare, kangaroo rats, coyotes (heard), jack rabbits)
7 miles trekked in search of Tamarisk (an invasive weed, of which we found none)
9 - students from 9 states: AK, MA, CT, RI, VA, CA, IN, CO and MN
10 degrees - temperature at night during our first week (35 degrees is average low for Jan.)
14 days - without changing out of my long underwear top
30 minutes - of ab exercises, push ups and stretching every morning
60 pounds - typical weight of pack
150 - miles trekked
50 days & nights and still reflecting, still readjusting, still trying to uncover the subtle changes inspired by "a season on the wilderness."
50 Nights in Joshua Tree by the Numbers:
0 - pillows
1 - hot shower
1 - 60 year old woman who peed on me while simulating a seizure
2 - laundry opportunities
2 times - I was a bad vegetarian
3 - experiences with flushing toilets
3 days - spent entirely solo (almost a week of silence for me this year)
4 - snow or hail storms
5 kinds of wildlife spotted (big horn sheep, hare, kangaroo rats, coyotes (heard), jack rabbits)
7 miles trekked in search of Tamarisk (an invasive weed, of which we found none)
9 - students from 9 states: AK, MA, CT, RI, VA, CA, IN, CO and MN
10 degrees - temperature at night during our first week (35 degrees is average low for Jan.)
14 days - without changing out of my long underwear top
30 minutes - of ab exercises, push ups and stretching every morning
60 pounds - typical weight of pack
150 - miles trekked
Part 1: The Desert Trek
Part 2: Wilderness First Responder & Greer Basecamp
Part 3: Climbing
Part 4: Final Trek
5 women, 5 men and two instructors (bill and kate), we set out on January 14. Leaving from Black Rock Canyon, a campground in the northwest corner of the park, over the next 14 days we traversed all the way to the southeast corner. At the campsite, we organized our packs, divided up the group gear - food, fuel, water, pots and pans, navigational tools and trekking poles - said goodbye to our wallets and cell phones and headed off across the snow dusted desert. For the first 5 nights or so, we were in "survival mode." As soon as the sun showed signs of leaving us, we hurriedly set up camp, cooked dinner and tried to stuff it in before frostbite set it.
Arriving at camp, we developed routines quickly. Each of us was assigned a job of the day - setting up tarps, cooking, cleaning, navigating or water distribution. While 2 people set up the tarps, others were piling the water dromedaries under food bags to try and keep them from freezing entirely. During those first few days, we didn't have to worry about rodents or other nighttime intruders - as Bill said, "No sensible mammal would be outside in this temperature." After dinner, which we tried to finish before it began to freeze to the inside of our bowls, we would heat up water. Armed with water bottles full of boiling water, I would quickly 'water a bush' do 50 jumping jacks and crawl into my sleeping bag. The first night, my water bottle leaked.
Let's talk a bit about sleeping, under a tarp, in 10 degree weather. As hypothermia thinks about setting in, it's common to have to urinate frequently. Hence, our nights were disrupted by several trips to the bathroom. Upon return, the sleeping bag was cold, the lower half downright frosty. I would tie off the bottom of my bag so that my body heat only had to heat half of it. Curled in a tight ball, I would do sit ups or the plank to try and warm up my body and thus the bag. A few handfuls of GORP helped me warm up, and usually I was able to fall back to sleep for another two hours or so.
Mornings offered minimal relief. We woke up in the dark, at 6 AM, to a sleeping bag that once or twice was covered in frost. If the night had been windy, our tarp touched our faces or flapped noisily through the night. Trying to dress myself warmly in a mummy bag was an acrobatic endeavor, but usually most of my layers were already on. First thing in the morning, the cold made me nauseous, but we slowly thawed out during the 30 minute stretching routine that kicked off each day. Once the sun arrived, we began to break down camp. By 9AM, we were back on the trail. (well, we usually navigated without trails, but...)
Every 3 days or so, we hit a cache - a pre-planted supply of water and food. Cache days meant heavier packs, but we could also deposit any trash at these sites. Often, we found a special treat waiting for us at caches - cookies, banana bread or mail!
One week into the trip, on the eve of my 26th birthday, we set out for solo in the miserable named "fried liver wash." Around 5pm, we were each led to a solitary spot where we were to remain in silence for the next 48 hours. We were allotted a journal, 10 crackers, peanuts, raisins, water and a tiny solo tarp. (I cheated and brought the Wilderness First Responder textbook to study from.) Thus began my most unusual birthday. I spent much of the day laying in my sleeping bag, writing letters and reflecting on 2006, on 26 years on the planet, on the beauty of needing no one and expecting nothing. With expectations lowered, I was filled with enormous joy when surprised by birthday cards from Kate and Walter - who even snuck me some handwarmers as a gift!
I watched the sun journey across the sky, hiked up an embankment to see the sunset across the vast Pinto Basin and the Hexie mountains. Aligned with the earth, I slept facing north. Around me were some desert oaks, creosote plants and many flies. I was asleep before the sun, but that second night, I work up frequently, willing Orion to fly faster toward the west. Willing Canis Major to chase him across to the far horizon. Eventually, the big dipper rose, the new moon showed its sliver and I caught a few hours of sleep towards morning. On that second day, boredom began to come and once noon had passed, I waited restlessly for Kate to free us from our solitary stints. More patient than usual, and filled - filled with faith and excitement, and a refreshing sense of independence, we rejoined the group. Our eyes blazed with contemplative fire, and we reassembled over a tasty dinner of Thai noodles and tofu. Leia (the logistics coordinator) had made a birthday prayer flag for me and put in our previous cache a ridiculously delicious cheesecake . (it was just as tasty the next morning when I licked the crusty remnants from my bowl!) Thus completed my birthday celebrations.
The terrain varied each day. We only met with a few other hikers; mostly it seemed the park was ours alone. We rarely gained more than 1000 feet of elevation in a day, with the exception of our wild navigations through the Hexie Mountain Range. There, just after solo, we braved the mountains as a challenge. (we could easily have gone around them) As we arrived at the top of a mound, we found at each try that another peak rose beyond it. False peak lead to false peak endlessly and we lacked the correct topo map, so our direction of travel was a best guess. It was in this mountain range, exhausted and without the end in sight, that we found a favorite campground. High above the Pinto Basin, near Mary Peak, was a sanctuary of soft sand amidst the rock. We called it our oasis. That night, the 10 of us slept outside, bivying without tarps, huddled close for body heat. (we also had a pretty hilarious set of skits that night - we performed sketches about "leave no trace" ethics of camping." Our instructors performed skits mocking us!) The following day, I was a navigator. It was a long and technically challenging day. We traversed the side of steep mountains, following contour lines on the map, walking 'nose to butt - avoiding falling talus that kicked loose beneath our feet. Walking above a desert wash, we eventually found a steep descent to the valley below. From there, we followed Porcupine Wash - a wide, beach-like wash with hills of mountains forming rock walls on either side.
As we trekked, we tried to pick up trash along the way. The park, we observed, was a burial ground for lost balloons. Daily, we picked up discarded balloons, the remnants of happy releases turned crisp in the dry desert sun. We untangled their ribbons from cholla and yucca plants, the balloons sadly clinging to the memories of a 50th birthday, a 20th anniversary, a barney theme. More eager, however, were we to detach these balloons from the grips of the spiny desert flora than ourselves! Each desert plant had its own unique defense system. No tree was safe - certainly not the deceptively beautiful Joshua Tree - a plant capable of impaling, scratching, blinding a careless hiker.
The Barrel cactus (photo), Cholla and Cat's Claw mastered torture. Their sharp teeth would cling to clothing and drive through shoe rubber. "Wait, I'm cholla-ed" was a common call, and we would bust out the tweezers to try and free a member of our patrol.
In spite of the peril it can cause, the desert was beautiful. Challenging, yes, its beauty felt like a secret gift. From a distance, the rocks formed statuesque silhouettes, jutting out from former lake beds, shadowed by the outstretched arms of the Joshua tree, the park often felt like another planet. Large fields of evenly spaced trees looked cultivated, each tree leaving a fair share of land for his brethren - each parcel of land too arid to sustain more than a single tree. We would often try to camp beneath a large shelter of rock. The wall would protect us from the wind and sandy washes softened our sleep.
Our favorite part of the trek was in the last two days. We made our way through the rocks of Carey's Castle, a more remote and most alien like part of the park. Navigation was tricky, but in the end we found a wash and we walked through the path formed over millions of years by water. Coming across steep rocks, we would help each other descend, passing backpacks up front and spotting each other as we jumped to the next sandy surface. On our final morning of trekking, 5 of us woke early to attempt a nearby peak. We set a turn around time of 8:30. We hiked in silence through cholla along a steep ridge line toward the summit. Stopping only briefly for water, at times the mountain seemed too steep to climb. It was mostly 3rd class terrain - steep talus rock adjacent to steep drop offs. Thinking we had reached the peak, we pushed hard the last few steps - only to be confronted with the realization that we were at a false summit. Onward ! At 8:30 exactly, we reached the top. Celebrating with a few photos, a shehechiyanu, and some dinner plate bickey crackers, we turned around. I got to navigate the tricky descent! Choosing a route carefully, we had to use our hands to scramble down the steep slopes. Far below, we could just make out our camp site. The hike was a trip highlight. Before leaving the park, we sat for awhile in silence, soaking in our final minutes in the Park. We didn't know then that it would be awhile before we sojourned amidst those Joshua trees again.
We were headed for Camp Greer . . .
Arriving at camp, we developed routines quickly. Each of us was assigned a job of the day - setting up tarps, cooking, cleaning, navigating or water distribution. While 2 people set up the tarps, others were piling the water dromedaries under food bags to try and keep them from freezing entirely. During those first few days, we didn't have to worry about rodents or other nighttime intruders - as Bill said, "No sensible mammal would be outside in this temperature." After dinner, which we tried to finish before it began to freeze to the inside of our bowls, we would heat up water. Armed with water bottles full of boiling water, I would quickly 'water a bush' do 50 jumping jacks and crawl into my sleeping bag. The first night, my water bottle leaked.
Let's talk a bit about sleeping, under a tarp, in 10 degree weather. As hypothermia thinks about setting in, it's common to have to urinate frequently. Hence, our nights were disrupted by several trips to the bathroom. Upon return, the sleeping bag was cold, the lower half downright frosty. I would tie off the bottom of my bag so that my body heat only had to heat half of it. Curled in a tight ball, I would do sit ups or the plank to try and warm up my body and thus the bag. A few handfuls of GORP helped me warm up, and usually I was able to fall back to sleep for another two hours or so.
Mornings offered minimal relief. We woke up in the dark, at 6 AM, to a sleeping bag that once or twice was covered in frost. If the night had been windy, our tarp touched our faces or flapped noisily through the night. Trying to dress myself warmly in a mummy bag was an acrobatic endeavor, but usually most of my layers were already on. First thing in the morning, the cold made me nauseous, but we slowly thawed out during the 30 minute stretching routine that kicked off each day. Once the sun arrived, we began to break down camp. By 9AM, we were back on the trail. (well, we usually navigated without trails, but...)
Every 3 days or so, we hit a cache - a pre-planted supply of water and food. Cache days meant heavier packs, but we could also deposit any trash at these sites. Often, we found a special treat waiting for us at caches - cookies, banana bread or mail!
One week into the trip, on the eve of my 26th birthday, we set out for solo in the miserable named "fried liver wash." Around 5pm, we were each led to a solitary spot where we were to remain in silence for the next 48 hours. We were allotted a journal, 10 crackers, peanuts, raisins, water and a tiny solo tarp. (I cheated and brought the Wilderness First Responder textbook to study from.) Thus began my most unusual birthday. I spent much of the day laying in my sleeping bag, writing letters and reflecting on 2006, on 26 years on the planet, on the beauty of needing no one and expecting nothing. With expectations lowered, I was filled with enormous joy when surprised by birthday cards from Kate and Walter - who even snuck me some handwarmers as a gift!
I watched the sun journey across the sky, hiked up an embankment to see the sunset across the vast Pinto Basin and the Hexie mountains. Aligned with the earth, I slept facing north. Around me were some desert oaks, creosote plants and many flies. I was asleep before the sun, but that second night, I work up frequently, willing Orion to fly faster toward the west. Willing Canis Major to chase him across to the far horizon. Eventually, the big dipper rose, the new moon showed its sliver and I caught a few hours of sleep towards morning. On that second day, boredom began to come and once noon had passed, I waited restlessly for Kate to free us from our solitary stints. More patient than usual, and filled - filled with faith and excitement, and a refreshing sense of independence, we rejoined the group. Our eyes blazed with contemplative fire, and we reassembled over a tasty dinner of Thai noodles and tofu. Leia (the logistics coordinator) had made a birthday prayer flag for me and put in our previous cache a ridiculously delicious cheesecake . (it was just as tasty the next morning when I licked the crusty remnants from my bowl!) Thus completed my birthday celebrations.
The terrain varied each day. We only met with a few other hikers; mostly it seemed the park was ours alone. We rarely gained more than 1000 feet of elevation in a day, with the exception of our wild navigations through the Hexie Mountain Range. There, just after solo, we braved the mountains as a challenge. (we could easily have gone around them) As we arrived at the top of a mound, we found at each try that another peak rose beyond it. False peak lead to false peak endlessly and we lacked the correct topo map, so our direction of travel was a best guess. It was in this mountain range, exhausted and without the end in sight, that we found a favorite campground. High above the Pinto Basin, near Mary Peak, was a sanctuary of soft sand amidst the rock. We called it our oasis. That night, the 10 of us slept outside, bivying without tarps, huddled close for body heat. (we also had a pretty hilarious set of skits that night - we performed sketches about "leave no trace" ethics of camping." Our instructors performed skits mocking us!) The following day, I was a navigator. It was a long and technically challenging day. We traversed the side of steep mountains, following contour lines on the map, walking 'nose to butt - avoiding falling talus that kicked loose beneath our feet. Walking above a desert wash, we eventually found a steep descent to the valley below. From there, we followed Porcupine Wash - a wide, beach-like wash with hills of mountains forming rock walls on either side.
As we trekked, we tried to pick up trash along the way. The park, we observed, was a burial ground for lost balloons. Daily, we picked up discarded balloons, the remnants of happy releases turned crisp in the dry desert sun. We untangled their ribbons from cholla and yucca plants, the balloons sadly clinging to the memories of a 50th birthday, a 20th anniversary, a barney theme. More eager, however, were we to detach these balloons from the grips of the spiny desert flora than ourselves! Each desert plant had its own unique defense system. No tree was safe - certainly not the deceptively beautiful Joshua Tree - a plant capable of impaling, scratching, blinding a careless hiker.
The Barrel cactus (photo), Cholla and Cat's Claw mastered torture. Their sharp teeth would cling to clothing and drive through shoe rubber. "Wait, I'm cholla-ed" was a common call, and we would bust out the tweezers to try and free a member of our patrol.In spite of the peril it can cause, the desert was beautiful. Challenging, yes, its beauty felt like a secret gift. From a distance, the rocks formed statuesque silhouettes, jutting out from former lake beds, shadowed by the outstretched arms of the Joshua tree, the park often felt like another planet. Large fields of evenly spaced trees looked cultivated, each tree leaving a fair share of land for his brethren - each parcel of land too arid to sustain more than a single tree. We would often try to camp beneath a large shelter of rock. The wall would protect us from the wind and sandy washes softened our sleep.
Our favorite part of the trek was in the last two days. We made our way through the rocks of Carey's Castle, a more remote and most alien like part of the park. Navigation was tricky, but in the end we found a wash and we walked through the path formed over millions of years by water. Coming across steep rocks, we would help each other descend, passing backpacks up front and spotting each other as we jumped to the next sandy surface. On our final morning of trekking, 5 of us woke early to attempt a nearby peak. We set a turn around time of 8:30. We hiked in silence through cholla along a steep ridge line toward the summit. Stopping only briefly for water, at times the mountain seemed too steep to climb. It was mostly 3rd class terrain - steep talus rock adjacent to steep drop offs. Thinking we had reached the peak, we pushed hard the last few steps - only to be confronted with the realization that we were at a false summit. Onward ! At 8:30 exactly, we reached the top. Celebrating with a few photos, a shehechiyanu, and some dinner plate bickey crackers, we turned around. I got to navigate the tricky descent! Choosing a route carefully, we had to use our hands to scramble down the steep slopes. Far below, we could just make out our camp site. The hike was a trip highlight. Before leaving the park, we sat for awhile in silence, soaking in our final minutes in the Park. We didn't know then that it would be awhile before we sojourned amidst those Joshua trees again.
We were headed for Camp Greer . . .
Camp Greer is the basecamp that Outward Bound California calls home in the winter months. It sits about a mile down the road from Joshua Tree National Park, overlooking the gridded city of Twentynine Palms, an anormous military base and the desert mountains beyond. The basecamp that we called home (reluctantly) for the next month was a few hundred yards down the road from the offices, gear room and industrial kitchen of the OB Headquarters. Our little village included 3 yerts and 1 dome - a canvas structure remeniscent of Epcot Center. We had no electricity, no running water... we often felt like settlers as we boiled water to cook and clean. The blue port-a-potties sort of ruined that feel though.
Because Jaime was such a phenomenal teacher, the material never felt overwhelming or too complicated. Still, the WFR course was mentally challenging. After 2 weeks of vigorous activity, we found ourselves stuck at base. While the outside members of our class could go out for dinner and use cell phones freely, we were not allowed to leave the site. My savior those weeks was Erin, who joined me on a daily morning run through the sandy washes nearby. (we had permission to go running if we went in pairs and stayed off the road.) The long days offered no other chance for activity, so we resorted to writing a song in the evenings before bed. I wrote a lot of letters and counted down the days.
I want to stress that while WFR was definitely not the most fun part of the course, it may very well prove to be the most valuable. I learned so much about the functioning of the human body, about how to assess whether a problem is serious or not, and about how to deal with any incident from stomach aches, breaks and sprains to bleeding and seizures. (True, certain illnesses present little chance for me to help, but I can recognize these too, and know when emergency evacuation needs to happen.)
THE DOME - Our home at Camp Greer
The 10 of us piled into the dome, sleeping in a close circle around the walls. Never, ever have I slept amidst a greater stench of BO, dirty socks and, well, copious flatulance. Still, the laughing that constantly shook the walls - from the final minutes before sleep (at 8 PM) and again as we awoke each morning - made life in Epcot Center (as we called our home) tolerable. It was here that our group became incredibly close, cuddling to keep warm at night, spooning in twos and threes in our mummy bags, we were as comfortable together as family. This certainly helped during our WFR Course - close physical contact became a part of the daily routine.
Joined by a few outside students, we spent 10 days - 8 and 9 hours a day - learning the skills and practices of Wilderness Medicine. We studies acronyms endlessly, practiced giving breaths, taking pulses, checking blood pressure, making splints. . . Our teacher, Jaime, was absolutely phenomenal. He tolerated our impatient and immature antics, allowing us frequent breaks. He would rework lessons to fit our antsy needs, sending us outside and giving us infinite experiential scenarios. The lectures were kept to a minimum.Inside the Dome
Because Jaime was such a phenomenal teacher, the material never felt overwhelming or too complicated. Still, the WFR course was mentally challenging. After 2 weeks of vigorous activity, we found ourselves stuck at base. While the outside members of our class could go out for dinner and use cell phones freely, we were not allowed to leave the site. My savior those weeks was Erin, who joined me on a daily morning run through the sandy washes nearby. (we had permission to go running if we went in pairs and stayed off the road.) The long days offered no other chance for activity, so we resorted to writing a song in the evenings before bed. I wrote a lot of letters and counted down the days.
I want to stress that while WFR was definitely not the most fun part of the course, it may very well prove to be the most valuable. I learned so much about the functioning of the human body, about how to assess whether a problem is serious or not, and about how to deal with any incident from stomach aches, breaks and sprains to bleeding and seizures. (True, certain illnesses present little chance for me to help, but I can recognize these too, and know when emergency evacuation needs to happen.)
Part 3: Climbing
Part 4: Final Trek
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