Life Updates

Alright, let's jump right in and drop a few bombshells, shall we?

Davo and I are getting married!

At this point, no date, no plans, no problem.  Someone suggested that we get married on a mountain or hanging off a cliff, a la Lynn Hill.  Sorry, I can't put myself in the same league as Lynn-freaking-Hill.  Plus, my mother would kill me.

photo © bob d'antonio, 1989

This was decided almost a month ago, but I've been fairly inconsistent about writing here, which is going to have to change because...

...I just bought a one-way ticket to Managua, Nicaragua.  Leaving on Monday.  Three days from now.  Ok, well, I decided to go last week and bought the ticket on Saturday, which was a full 8 days before departure.  Good thing I already have a passport.



My current plan is to start in Nicaragua, where I'll work on my Spanish language skills at a school for foreigners in Estelí.  They're arranging a homestay for me, so starting Tuesday 4/3, I will not speak or hear English for the foreseeable future (way to throw myself into the deep end).  When it's time to leave Nicaragua, I'll go overland via Honduras, El Salvador, or both on my way to Guatemala.  Dave will meet me in mid-May for some outdoor adventuring in Guatemala and southern México.  Back to Ithaca, New York, together, in June, for the next chapter of our lives.

For the past three years, since leaving Peru in 2009, I have coped with the aching desire to go back to Latin America.  Through a combination of this-and-that, I ended up back in the States when I felt like I should have been south-of-the-border.  I finally have a chance to correct my course...

...because I have resigned from my job.  For the second and final time.  I've typed and erased sentences trying to explain the conclusions I've drawn, what I've experienced, where that puts me in life and my ability to serve my community, blah blah blah.  The bottom line:  I love the organization, I love my colleagues, but it's time to move on.  I'm ready...  onward and upward!

Three major life changes in the past three weeks.  Eh, so it goes.  :-)

Wee Stinky, Flower of Death

The big stinky flower of death bloomed at Cornell!

This "little" guy has a few names.  The Titan Arum, for us English speakers.  Amorphophallus titanum, for the science geeks.  And Wee Stinky (no, seriously), named for a small glen on Cornell's campus, for us locals.

The mad scientists up at Cornell grew this specimen from a seed produced by a plant in Wisconsin in 2002. Some people get dogs, which live about a decade...  other people grow rare Sumatran rainforest plants, which take a decade to bloom then flower for 48 hours.  Different strokes, different folks, etc.

Being Upstate NY (where not much of note ever happens), pretty much the entire town (ok fine one-third of the town) turned out to see Wee Stinky's Big Moment.  It was like Wegman's on Saturday morning, just as surreal and slightly more smelly.

Wee Stinky had the potential to be big, as some Titan Arum top 12 feet tall with a storage tuber weighing 200 lbs.  We visited Wee Stinky on its second day in existence, and I'd say it was about 7 feet tall.  I doubt Wee Stinky's tuber was 200 lbs, as Wee Stinky was living in a large plastic pot (like the kind you'd find at a big-box hardware store).

Wee Stinky's insides heat up to nearly 100F (98.6F, actually, same as our insides) in order to disperse the stank of death, hence the nickname "Corpse Flower."  By the time we met Wee Stinky, the stank of death wasn't so strong, more like a faint odor of fish rotting in the sun.  Indonesia's reputation for producing smelly things (durian, anyone?) disappoints again.

looking down wee stinky's insides--where the smell was the strongest

If Wee Stinky were in the Sumatran rain forest, its native environment, the stink would attract pollinating carrion flies.  Apparently Ithacans have more similarities to carrion flies than you'd think, because Wee Stinky attracted 10,000 humans during the two days it was in bloom.

That's right--Wee Stinky takes years to grow from seed, only to produce a bloom that lasts 48 hours, not to bloom again for decades.  I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere, something about rotting fish and Sumatran rainforests, the ephemerality of time and gawking at all of nature's freak shows.  Something like that.

Cornell's College of Agriculture and Life Science took an amazing time-lapse video of Wee Stinky's moment of glory.  I can't get their direct link to work, so here's the video hosted at YouTube, but you should also go to the Cornell Titum Arum blog to show them some love.  One hundred percent of the credit for this goes to the awesome plant masters hiding in the greenhouses up the hill (what are they growing under those lights?).

What a Lame-@$$ Winter (Adirondack Hiking Street & Nye Mountains Trip Report)

Time to get off my butt and start posting again.  Adventures are afoot, people.  This is serious business.

You know what wasn't serious business this year?  WINTER.  Downtown got only a few tracings of snow the entire season.  Disappointed?  Freaked out?  Concerned that the entire Finger Lakes region is gonna be covered in ticks this summer?  Yes, yes, and yes.  I live for the days when it's so cold that my nose hairs stand on end (because they're frozen)--this is "proper" winter.  Thank heavens I got to go dogsledding (though word on the street is that our über-cold week was Ely, MN's only week of "proper" winter).

In February, we escaped to the Adirondacks High Peaks in search of winter.  None there, either.  Instead, we found a few funny, familiar faces.  Good trade-off, I'd say.

We day-hiked Street and Nye Mountains, two of what are traditionally considered to be the 46 highest peaks in New York State.  Somewhere around 8.5 miles round-trip with around 2,500 feet of elevation gain.  These used to be trailless summits, but the ADK 46ers (I think) have done some major trail maintenance, cleaning up the tangled web of herd paths between the two summits.  Either I'm becoming a stronger hiker, or these wasn't a particularly difficult hike.


It was mid-February, but wow, it was warm on the lower-elevation parts (probably right around freezing).  I was down to my base layer on top and was sorely regretting wearing the thicker thermals.  I ended up sweating more than I wanted to, so by the time we made the summits...

...COLD.  Grrrrr!  As we started the steeper ascent above the col between the two mountains, the snow got deeper, we hiked straight into a snowflake-spitting newsprint-colored cloud, and it got cold.  Go figure.  It was beautiful, though--little branches shining with ice, evergreen boughs draped heavy with white powder.

Of course, as we retraced our steps back down the mountains, liberally employing the time-tested technique for cutting down the time of a snowy descent i.e. the butt-luge...  it got warm again.  Back to sweating.  In February.

What a lame-@$$ winter.

If you're thinking of doing this hike, know that many of the older guidebooks and maps are extremely out-of-date.  The trail is good enough that you don't need a guidebook or map, but you wouldn't be going into the woods without a map and compass and the skills to use them, now would you?  Otherwise, this felt like a standard ADK day-hike.

Dogsledding (A Damn Fine Adventure)

It's been well over eight months since I've written.  As evidenced by this post, I'm still alive--alive and kickin', dreaming and scheming.  Some days more so than others, to be honest.  I'm glad I took a little break from writing, but little breaks turn into big breaks more quickly than you'd imagine.  I'd been waiting for a damn fine adventure to end the big break from writing, and I finally had one:

Dogsledding.

Cornell Outdoor Education put together a group of instructors for a week long winter camping, cross-country skiing, and dogsledding expedition in the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota, hosted and guided by three instructors from the Voyaguer Outward Bound base near Ely.

most amazing pantry ever

We had one full and fun day of preparations.  We sorted and packed gear and food in the enormous, well-outfitted trips building (I almost fainted when I saw Outward Bound's pantry).  Outside, we tried out our skis for a brief intro to skiing lesson.  It was my first time on skis in three winters (how sad), but my legs soon remembered their groove.

At 3:00 p.m. we headed to the dog yard for dogsledding 101.  Walking into the dog yard for the first time is an unforgettable experience:  63 dogs barking, jumping, yapping, lurching, howling, begging to be put on a line and given a chance to pull.  (By the end of the week, I would be nearly immune to the sound of dogs barking and howling.)

something about milkshakes and a yard? i don't remember...

These dogs aren't indoor pets.  They have one goal and only one purpose in life:  to pull as hard as they can in a forward direction.  As such, they're treated like a precious, albeit feisty and defiant, piece of equipment.  You shove your leather mitt under their collars, stand them on their hind legs, and walk them around.  If they're on four wheel drive--i.e. all four paws on the ground--they will walk you instead of the other way around.  They sleep outside, eat chunks of lard before bed, wake up covered in frost, and don't seem to mind very much.

I, on the other hand, do mind very much when I wake up covered in frost, which is what I did for five consecutive nights.  Sleeping warm in a very cold climate is just as much performance art as technical skill.  The night before the expedition, we slept outside the trips building to practice our systems with the psychological comfort and physical safety of a heated building just steps away.  I didn't sleep much that first night.  I was excited, and though I was mostly warm, my mind churned over the question of "I wonder when I'm gonna get cold."

And then...  we were off!

five days and four nights away from civilization and everything uncivilized about it

Our days went like this.

Adjustment

Going up and up and up and over the snowy Rockies. Down into the flat, empty, boring plains of eastern Colorado and Kansas. Kansas goes on forever. Missouri does, too. Grass, silos, the occasional oil well. There goes the St. Louis arch. Now southern Illinois and suddenly there are trees instead of grass. Indiana and small towns.

Kentucky and the road gets narrower, closer to the creek, the hillsides getting steeper. Bluegrass, bourbon, Daniel Boone, Appalachian Kentucky. We tucked our tent into the tent city behind Miguel's and climbed while hiding from thunderstorms. I saw my first funnel cloud forming in the sky, a weird sense of clouds going both ways at once before my brain suddenly thought of Toto and flying cows. The steep climbing in Red River Gorge is outstanding, as is the community. I had my personal best day of climbing, completely relaxed and not attached to anything other than my fingers and toes on the rock.

Moving on. I felt like I was going faster, time was speeding up, everything was more intense the farther east I went. Is that always true? The green of western Virginia (not West Virginia) was unsettling after two months in beige and brown. I recognized this landscape as familiar and pondered why it didn't feel that way. North Carolina and holy heaven so many people. How can it be so crowded here? Where are stillness and silence? Why is everything happening so fast, yet nothing is happening? Speeding up through Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey.

And now: New York State. Tompkins County. City of Ithaca.

I sit at a desk in return for money. I cook on a stove and always have a shower at my disposal. I make plans more than 24 hours in advance. I don't wear hiking boots.

I used to live like this. This used to be my normal, so part of me remembers this. I know the streets of Ithaca like the back of my hand. I'm sitting in the same cubicle in the same office (I even found some old tea I'd left in a drawer). I take the same shortcuts, shop in the same grocery store, hang out with the same people. I've slipped right back through a door that I'd thought I'd slammed shut, padlocked, bolted three times, and nailed shut with boards. It's as if I'd stayed at home for just a few days due to a nasty case of the flu, then reappeared in society. Occasionally I get a weird sense of deja vu when something is slightly different. But everything is pretty much the same.

Except I'm different. I stumble when anyone asks if and how I've changed. (Most people, though, haven't asked much about my experiences--I look the same, talk the same, even dress in my old clothes, so what could be different?). Well, of course I'm different. With every second of the minute, I, and you, and every one in this world, are changing. I'm not prepared to elaborate on my changes from the past year in a public way. I've been handed some pretty huge life lessons and perspectives, and I need to take some time to myself to make sure they stick around.  I'm sure I'll write again, at some point, when I have a better idea of what I want to say (and what I want to do with this blog in the future).

Southern Utah

Southern Utah...  where to begin...  I'll start with...  AMAZING!

Ok, ok, I won't use too many superlatives.  But my time here was, uh, really, really amazing.  Alright enough of this.  Here's the rundown...

our route through southern utah

Zion National Park: I had no idea what I'd find in Zion—all I knew was "big canyon." Then these thousand-plus foot cliffs came out of nowhere:

daaay-amn

 We hiked to Angel's Landing. I didn't know why it's called Angel's Landing until I was looking down from this:

If you're in a good mental place at this point, you think that angels probably land in the middle of the canyon.  If you're in a bad mental place at this point, you're praying to the angels!

I've turned back from a trail only once in my life; Angel's Landing nearly became the second. The first 2 miles are super easy. The last half-mile is 3rd to 4th class scrambling up a steep narrow razorback ridge with 1200 foot drops on either side to a platform that feels suspended in heaven above the valley. It's not hard, physically, but it's a bit of a mind trip! Hang on to those chains!

The way down was easier than the way up.  For sure.

I wish we'd spent more time in Zion, but we weren't sure how much time we'd have before we needed to head east, so we moved on. I would love to return here some day.

Bryce Canyon National Park: Zion is big; Bryce is intricate. It's known for its pillars of rock, called hoodoos.  This is a really fun word to say again and again.  Go ahead.  I'm not listening.  Right, eh?

these are hoodoos.  multi-colored hoodoos!

We did the "figure eight" track between the Queen's Garden, Peek-a-boo Trail, and Navajo Trail, which covers the Bryce Amphitheater pretty well. The park was still covered in snow, which was so beautiful.

hoodoo in the snow

Grand Staircase – Escalante National Monument: This place is enormous, and we only scratched the surface. In that tiny scratch, though, we managed to come up with some of the most fantastic, beautiful, fun experiences of this entire trip... slot canyons!

kicking up my heels for a bit of rest!

We went through Peek-a-boo Canyon and Spooky Canyon.

Peek-a-boo Canyon was soooo beautiful, with sandstone of pink, orange, samon, gold, yellow, and white sculpted into fins, swirls, and arches. It also involved some fun scrambling and climbing.

beautiful peek-a-boo canyon's salmon-colored sandstone

Spooky Canyon was darker, gloomier, and pretty tight in places—maybe ten inches wide—not wide enough to pass through with a backpack (hint: balance it on your head or kick it forward with your foot).

making my way through spooky canyon...  a "dramatic" action shot

Neither canyon was technical or particularly difficult, but it was a perfect introduction to slot canyons. Next time, I really want to try something a bit more technical, more than just wandering and scrambling.

a tight spot in spooky

Capitol Reef National Park: I hadn't heard of Capitol Reef before this trip, but I think it's as visually stunning as the Grand Canyon or Zion. It's a big uplift of the Earth's crust, so the different layers of sandstone are visible, along with other domes, buttes, and mesas. We were only passing through, but I'd love to return in order to explore more.

beautiful rock formations in capitol reef national park

Glen Canyon National Recreation Area: Another place that was totally not on my radar, Glen Canyon has enormous, dramatic red cliffs. It seems like the type of place where you could park on the side of the road and wander off to explore. We spent a night on the banks of the Dirty Devil River, before crossing over the Colorado River. Another place I'll come back to explore!

camping next to the dirty devil river in glen canyon national recreation area

Natural Bridges National Monument: If something like this were on the East Coast, it would be a major tourist destination. Because it's in Southern Utah, it's meh. There are three big, white sandstone bridges. Worth a quick stop (that's all we gave it) and not much more.

this is a natural bridge

Canyonlands National Park: Canyonlands is actually three "parks," separated by the Colorado and Green Rivers. We went to The Needles section to do, what else, some hiking. Because it was supposed to be warm that day, I decided to wear my Chacos; I had to end the hike early because of pains in my feet. Wondering if all of this hiking has given me a stress fracture or tendon damage or something.  :-(

before i busted my foot

the needles section of canyonlands national park

Arches National Park: The way timing worked out, we went into Arches on three separate days. The first day, not knowing how much time we'd spend in Arches, we only did the scenic drive and walked to a distant viewpoint of Delicate Arch.

eyeballin' delicate arch

The second day was rainy and dreary. Oh no! This is supposed to be the desert! Maybe someone would cancel their spot on the ranger-guided Fiery Furnace walk... and someone did.  Once again, a lack of planning got us a last minute ticket on something that's usually booked well in advance.

fiery furnace walk

By the time we were done, the rain was clearing up, so we continued our hiking day with the loop through Devil's Garden via the Primitive Trail, marveling at the sandstone fins and arches. Pretty cool place.

resting at partition arch

The third day ended up being our rest day. We hung out in Moab at the library and grocery store (exciting, I know). That evening, we walked out to Delicate Arch to see it up close.

the classic delicate arch photo

San Rafael Swell: If you're in a slot canyon, you can bet your PB n' J that anyone you meet will mention "that guy who got stuck and cut off his own arm." Yeah, it happened in a slot here in the San Rafael Swell. No, I don't think it will ever happen in Little Wild Horse Canyon.

a pretty picture of the little wild horse slot canyon

This was another non-technical slot canyon that someone recommended to us. Very non-technical—it was packed with families with young children on the day we hiked it. The narrows were quite pretty, and some sections were indeed fairly narrow, but it would be hard to beat Peek-a-boo and Spooky!

Southern Utah is...  well...  the best word I can use is: AMAZING!  Not only is it superbly beautiful, many of the most amazing places are easy to explore and not in National Parks, so there's more freedom to camp and hike on previously disturbed areas using LNT principles.  It's really easy not to see anyone if you want to be alone. You know you've been in Southern Utah for a while when seeing two cars at the trailhead makes you grumble about crowds!