School what?

It probably seems as if I don't do a whole lot of schoolwork what with all this adventuring going on, so I'd like to state for the record that that isn't the case. To all appearances I goofed off a lot this past weekend, but in reality was hard at work.

Photographing plants is exhausting. (Viola nuttalli)

It might appear from my numerous photographs that I was just on a fun jaunt looking at pretty flowers, when in reality. . . okay, it was a fun jaunt with flowers, but it was also homework!

Lupinus!

This semester I am taking Rocky Mountain Flora, my first real wildlife class. It is an encouraging sign of things to come that while it is challenging, I also enjoy it a lot. Surprising considering I never gave much notice to plants before, but now I'm totally nerding out on them.

The plant world might seem staid and boring--after all, they don't run around hooking each other with giant horns like some game animals are wont to do. They are easily trampled underfoot without uttering a squeak of discomfort or protest.

And yet, silently, plants are at war with one another. War, incest, sometimes even SELF-incest (that's a new one. . .), murder, and genocide ensues wherever there are plants.

In short, plants are pretty badass.

If you don't immediately believe me, remember that there are such plants as Venus Flytraps out there in the world that snap up and digest prey with their juices. And those "pretty" petals on that lupine up there are really a siren song designed to call insects away from other plants and toward itself instead. Don't fool yourself--every plant you see is risking its life to stake out the best possible territory to survive and pass on offspring. A meadow of flowers is more like a battleground, and your prancing through it aimlessly is altering the outcome of those battles. (So, watch your step.)

MURDER DAISIES!

Sometimes--by which I mean a lot of times--seeking a career in wildlife biology is a bit discouraging. It is a lot of hard work for very little payoff. But sometimes, it is also awesome, and the only place I can imagine myself being. It is a career I pursue, definitely not for the money, but purely because of my own personal motivation and love of all things wild (animal or not).

There is something to be said for that.

Boundaries

Spring--real, birds-singing-and-flowers-blooming spring, arrived today. It was one of those blue sky breezy days that made it absolutely impossible to do anything other than get out and dive right into it. So I did what any self-respecting college student would do, and skipped class.

Let me explain that I do not skip class lightly. . . but today was so rare and beautiful that my valuable life-dollars would have been wasted if I spent them in class. An hour and a half of class, or a half-day of climbing craggy limestone cliffs amongst the junipers?

After making that tough decision--toughest I'll make all week--I called the friend who had invited me out, Matt, and told him I was in.

It was an interesting chance to climb with someone different than my usual partner. It's always cool to gain new perspective and experience with someone different, though there is also a certain sense of apprehension. I am still pretty rough around the edges as a climber and there is a lot for me to learn yet before I can manage myself completely safely on the rock.

Speaking of the rock, it was gorgeous--a blank, monolithic slate of limestone that rose up out of nowhere beside a rough single-track road. I was in awe just looking at it. There must be some sort of natural climber in me though--I was immediately unsatisfied with merely gazing at it from the ground. I needed to be on it.

I was soon to get intimately acquainted with that rock. As a "warmup" Matt led a 5.9 route while I belayed. I have caught a lead fall before, but only in practice when I was warned well in advance. With Matt it was lightning fast. I watched him slip and the next thing I knew I was smashed up against the wall, still gripping the rope tightly down by my thigh.I blinked up at him in surprise to see how he was doing, but he was more concerned with me than his own fall.

Despite the hard knock to my elbow and shin, I was sort of glad it happened. Now we both knew that I could catch him when it came down to it, and he got his fall out of the way.

Matt took a second go at the route  and managed it without any more falls. I could see how crazy it was at certain points though, how he'd risked quite long falls on nearly nonexistent hand and foot holds. Now that he'd gone up first, I could have chosen to climb the route on top rope and eliminate any risk, but. . .(see last post).

I decided I would lead it, not realizing that it was about to push my boundaries much further than ever before. Only a few feet up, I could hear a loud beating in my head, and it took me a moment to realize it was my heart nervously hammering away (this lasted the entire climb). Every time I have lead climbed in the past, I was painfully aware of how far I was from each bolt, and how long of a fall I would be taking. This time there was no room for such calculation. I had to focus every ounce of my being in just moving my ass to the next available hold, because none of them were trustworthy enough to stand around on and think about the universe.

I had a brief thought at one point--flung far out to the right of the previous bolt--that I was standing on literally nothing. I even shouted down to Matt that I had no clue what was keeping me on the rock at that moment. Two single fingertips and maybe a single toe from each foot had contact with the rock, and I was at a place where slipping would have been a very rough scrape indeed.

                   (The tiny dot in the center of that photo is Matt at the top of the 5.9)
Actually, I'm pretty sure it was only my incredible fear of death (okay I would not have literally died, but it kinda felt like it) that kept me suspended in the air. Amazing what motivation can do to a person's strength. I could've done a pullup easily at that moment, hell yeah. Panting and dripping with sweat, I reached a nice ledge to stand on below the anchor at the top, and gratefully hugged the nearest outcropping of rock. Safe.

Matt and I continued climbing after that, including one disastrous lead on my part that ended in a free climb back down, which was a bit touch-and-go. But truly, what happened after that for me did not matter, because I'd conquered myself and my fear already. I cheered Matt on as he (top-roped) a 5.10 like a champ, envious but admiring as always. The hours had burned away magically while we weren't looking, and it was time to get back. We packed up and headed back to the vehicle, both having tested our limits for the day .

On the way back, I bought us some victory ice cream, which we ate while watching crazy kayakers enjoy a beautiful evening out on the Clark Fork river. Today--today life is good.

To Barrow, to Barrow

           Another semester of school has begun, and with it more adventure as we head into spring. . . Well, granted, the semester hasn't been all that adventurous so far. Unless you count walking to school a different way every day so as to not get bored. (I've discovered a treasure of beautiful architecture around here). Or I guess, class or whatever that thing is that I'm here to do.
           Three weeks of life and no adventure, no adrenaline rush? No wonder I'm going batshit. Well, that is all to change soon. . .
           Because I've already got plans lined up for this summer, and they include this place:

                               That's right: Pluto.                          

If you'll trace your eyes up to that circled red dot there, yes, the one that is hundreds of miles from literally anywhere, that is where I will be spending my summer. The town is called Barrow. The cast? An 8 person team of researchers. Target?

No, the caribou BEHIND the duck.

         Yeahhh. Pretty sweet deal eh?
          Of course, as the actual date draws closer I will become gradually more panicked about it. WHAT IF MIDNIGHT SUN MAKES ME CRAZY? What if I'm already crazy and don't know it yet? What if I get attacked by THIS?

Dammit. Wrong photo.

How about THIS?

That's more like it.

Okay, so I'm thrilled at the prospect of seeing one of these guys. But not up close, I must admit. There's potential for walruses, caribou, bowhead whales...whew. The possibilities. . . So anyways yes, I get to saddle up and spend the summer working in Barrow, studying endangered eiders. No matter how many times I say that it never seems to get more real. . .
      Adventure one day? Hell. Yes.
      (Oh god.)

Invincible

   People who have watched some of my adventures at a distance--i.e. through Facebook--often have the impression that I'm totally gung ho about dangerous stuff. People who are not so at-a-distance, like the pals I went caving with last post, have told me that I act like I'm invincible and that I need to learn that I can die just like anyone else.

   I am sort of amused to hear this because it is so terribly untrue. Sometimes, I think I am the most frightened, scaredy-cat person in the world. I have an incredibly inventive brain that is able to think of every possible way I could die/get mutilated in any situation.

Particularly this situation.

     It makes me wonder if this is the case for a lot of daredevil type people--people famous for their free solo climbing or extreme kayaking, or those crazy backcountry skiers who purposely trigger avalanches to outrun them. Maybe they are scared too, and the only way they can think of to overcome it is to run straight at it, head on.

    I doubt this is unique to me. In fact, it seems like a very human trait. Where would we be if someone thousands of years ago hadn't decided to pick up a spear and chase after a giant woolly mammoth? If we'd stuck to trapping chipmunks and squirrels, I doubt we would have ever made it out of the stone age. Easy prey brings small reward.

Eh, plenty of reward here on this pillow.

As a species, we owe a lot to fear. It alerts us to danger, obviously. But there seems to be an equally strong pull toward it in humankind. My most reliable signal for when I ought to do something is when I am afraid of it. (Note I say fear and not downright repulsion, like playing chicken on train tracks or something. Big difference.)

Humans, in fact, almost seem addicted to fear. Look at some of our favorite pastimes, including horror films, theme parks, and extreme sports. As a species we are all about the fear.  Judging by the actions of a typical teenager, it seems to be a biological mechanism to curb our overpopulation.

 Strangely, my enjoyment of a situation shoots up along with the danger level. I like climbing routes while on a top rope a lot, but I enjoy climbing lead even more (and I am definitely not alone in this). The difference: the risk factor. Skiing at a moderate pace is pretty fun. Racing to the point where the trees become blurs is awesome.

And yet, every time I go skiing my brain is wondering if I'm going to break a leg today. In the middle of my Banff adventure, I suddenly became paralyzed with fear that the car was going to break down and strand us in the middle of the Canadian wilderness with no help for days. Sometimes I am afraid even to go on a hike because I am afraid of not being able to keep up the pace. Before I do just about anything, I am afraid of failure.

Seen here: lovely piece of FAILURE TO REACH THE SUMMIT

I have learned that the more often you give in to fear and avoid whatever it is you are afraid of, the bigger it grows. It compounds on itself until you are suddenly wrestling with a giant beast everywhere you go. And/or the nagging knowledge that you didn't make it to the top of the peak because fear turned you away (not that this is personal experience or anything. . . )

So instead of avoiding it, you might as well embrace it. Contrary to my friends and family's beliefs, I am all too aware of each mortal breath I take. There are a million ways to die, and we only have control over a very limited number of them. I could try to avoid all of them and spend my life in a sealed underground bunker. . . but, realistically no, I could not. No one can predict that if you spend your entire life not doing "dangerous" things, you won't just trip over a curb and break your head open on the sidewalk. Generally speaking, I take calculated risks, and carefully decide if what I am about to do is worth accepting that risk.

And. . . sometimes I'm just young and dumb. My bad.

Cliff diving: because your friends told you to.

Cave Quest

After the trip to Banff, it wasn't quite time to return to reality just yet. I originally planned to do some ski mountaineering on a nearby peak with some buddies, but spring rain intervened and kept us indoors. How could we have an outdoor adventure and still stay out of the rain?

An idea dawned on me. I had never once thought to wonder if there were any caves large enough to explore nearby, so I started Googling. As it turns out, caving is not a vastly popular activity (I also learned that real cavers do NOT like the term "spelunking"). But I came across a few vague mentions of a cave a few hours' drive away, found only by careful navigation and a topographic map.

The cave supposedly required rappeling into a 40 foot shaft. Will and John, my avid climber friends, perked up. Another detail--the shaft was likely full of ice, on which we might be able to practice some ice climbing, which we have been hoping to do all season.

We were sold, so we packed into a 4 wheel drive vehicle and headed off, having no clue what to expect. Three hours later we found ourselves on unmarked roads that could hardly be called roads--more like dirt tracks across the prairie. We jostled over ruts and rocks, and urged the vehicle on through deep snowbanks. Finally the road became entirely closed in by snow. To this point we had navigated entirely by matching up our surroundings to the topography on the map, since none of the roads were marked and dozens of them forked off at every corner. Many extra tracks weren't even displayed on the map, which was from the reliable and relevant year of 1957.

This way to the interstate?

The topography around us fit remarkably well with our map, however, so we thought we were in the right place and not far off. We grabbed our packs and climbing equipment and started hiking.

The search for the cave went on for a good hour. We struggled through pockets of deep snow, half-wondering if we were going to discover the entrance shaft in a less-than-pleasant manner. The three of us fanned out to look, keeping contact through occasional shouts of Marco Polo.

I had almost given up the quest and decided we had come all this way just to enjoy a beautiful day together on the earth's surface when I faintly heard the shout "I FOUND IT!"

Will, the map-reading genius, had realized we were mistaken about which road we were supposed to be on and found the cave where it was supposed to lie, in the drainage of what used to be a running creek (which likely helped form it long ago). We ran over to join him and all high-fived in excitement--we'd won the treasure hunt. Now--to enjoy our find.

Beckoning us in. . . .

The guys took their time setting up a rappel system on an anchor around a nearby tree. This wasn't one you wanted to get stuck in the bottom of, and the three of us had conveniently forgotten to warn anybody of where we'd gone. (127 hours, anyone?) There was brief questioning of who ought to go down first and officially be the first to enter the unknown (I was perfectly fine with waiting my turn).

After double checking the gear, John began to lower himself down.

Every couple feet he descended, the two of us remaining up top shouted to check on him, and received a mixture of swearing in reply. It turned out that the entrance was indeed a waterfall of ice, and rappelling down it was a clumsy and slippery affair. Halfway down, the melting water started dripping on your head, and at the bottom you stood in a shower, if you didn't move away quickly enough.

All this I was about to find out, for he had reached the bottom and shouted "Off belay!" which was my signal to set up my own rappel. My heart rate was quick with excitement as I lowered into the darkness, helmet on and headlamp on high. After an equally ungraceful descent, my feet touched bottom and my jaw dropped. The cave was bigger than I had expected. A tunnel to my right dropped away into impenetrable darkness. The unknown, there for us to explore.

When all three of us were down, we began our exploration of the cave. We moved slowly and carefully, gloves on to protect anything we touched, since the cave had obviously been vandalized in the past. Signatures were scrawled all over, and then covered with a slick of ice. It was a bit of a shock to find signatures from the 1800s--particularly one from an Iowan, which seemed rather out of the way.

One of many stalagm"ice"

It was an awe-inspiring place, one that somehow urged us to keep our voices low as if at the library. In two hours we made it through several chambers but were stopped at one chamber that required a short climb down to the floor. The carriage was turning into a pumpkin, and it was time for us to go. It would take us a long time to ascend the ropes back out of the entrance and we wanted to do so in daylight. Regretfully, we turned around, promising to return.

 Exiting the cave required scrambling over slippery rocks up to where the icefall began, at which point we dug our ice axes and crampons into the wall and climbed while held on tight belay. I had never been so intent or focused on what I was doing in my life as when I made a move while the tip of one ice axe bore all my weight.

After just a few hang-ups--including the rope lodging itself on a rock on the side of the shaft and getting stuck, requiring me to do a slightly risky rescue--the three of us were back on the surface, still shot with adrenaline and unbelieving of what we'd just experienced. And of course, we looked at each other and swore we were going to return and finish what we started, someday.

Watch your step. . .

Snow blew around us as we hiked back to the vehicle and headed back out. Montana has caves all right.

Happy caving :)

Dream Vacation

It's that time of year when college students flee somewhere warm and dry for a week, hopefully to escape the dreary Missoula spring weather. Unless you're crazy, that is, and decide to go farther north to chase the receding snow just so that you can camp in it and freeze your ass off.
       
Guilty! My very best adventure buddy and I loaded up the car and headed for Alberta to spend our spring break snowshoeing through deep crust and camping out in spring snowstorms. The Canadian Rockies were like nowhere we'd ever been before.

A scene like this ought to be narrated by Morgan Freeman.

This picture is of our trek to the toe of the Athabasca Glacier, my brother's obsession of the entire trip. I had to force him to stay off the glacier itself. Dying in a crevasse and becoming one with the glacier forever seemed not to bother him too much.

That's alright--I actually understood this sentiment. Dying in Banff amongst the towering peaks and extremes of life. . . you could a lot worse. (You know, if you HAD to die.)

For four days we explored, snowshoeing through some extreme avalanche territory, crossing semi-frozen lakes and negotiating icy trails and roads blocked in by snow. We got stuck only once in a parking lot, though that was nerve wracking enough. It was the middle of the Canadian wilderness and we had no cell service or snow shovel, a fact I keenly remembered at that point.

After the car got stuck we were both a little shaken, especially when the snow began to flurry and the clouds descend. There wasn't an open winter campsite around for hours of driving. When I saw a sign for an open hostel in the middle of nowhere, like a little winter oasis placed there just for us, I hurried to pull over. HI-Rampart Creek Wilderness Hostel turned out to be another wonderful part of the journey, being our first time ever staying in a hostel. As soon as we saw the heated rooms with bunk beds we were sold. Besides, the guy running the hostel seemed like he had been alone for days, possibly months, with only his adorable dog Dana for companionship.

Our last day in Canada was magic. We woke well rested from the hostel to peer outside and see that the clouds had lifted, and it was going to be a beautiful day in the Rockies.

Almost right away we came across a wolf bounding gracefully down the highway. He stayed for a few moments in front of us before leaping over the side of the road and disappearing into the valley below. It was my first time seeing a wolf in the wild, and I think I see what all the fuss is about now.

The weather held the entire day, through our trek to the glacier and exploration of steep, dramatic canyons filled with ice falls. At the end of the day we worked our way back to Banff town, which is pretty charming when you look past extensive tourism. Also, I am of legal age in Banff, so my brother and I capped off our trip with a few drinks at the bar while watching a local band, whose members wore cutoff jeans and no shoes, play songs like "I'm at Home Getting Hammered While She's Out Getting Nailed."

Despite sleeping out in a snow flurried campground that night, we stayed warm and neither of us wanted to leave in the morning. We'd been living out a dream, and nobody wants to wake up from that--but eventually it is time to return to the real world. My brother is graduating this spring and his life is moving on to working a job in Denali National Park and wherever he wants to go after that. And it's time for me to finish up the semester with as much grace as I can manage, and set off on my own new adventure alone in the Arctic tundra.

Life moves on, but we'll always have the pictures. 

Need for Speed

Happy winter everybody!

I feel quite sorry for anyone who doesn't have seasons--or those who fail to appreciate it when they do. Is it a pain in the ass to drive on crappy roads and scrape your windshield? Yes. It also sucks to have to bundle up like an Arctic explorer just to grab the newspaper.

But honestly, I'm having a hard time even sympathizing with these woes, because AWESOME.

http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live

This guy says, "What? Hard to travel in the snow you say? I can't hear you through the sound of awesome!"

I'm no pro when it comes to skiing, but I do love it. And anyway, you don't have to love hurtling at deadly speeds down extremely angled slopes to enjoy the wintertime. Snowshoeing or cross-country skiing are just as enjoyable in their own way. If none of these interest you, then. . . well, you and I don't have much in common, but at least you can enjoy a hot mug of tea indoors while watching the snow fall outside.

Turns out, even the wussiest person who is highly susceptible to cold temperatures (read: me) can adjust to the cold. I have found out that the human body is sturdier than I ever would've imagined. It may not be beautiful, but dammit, it's resilient.

I only lost 3 toes to frostbite on this trip. Win!

This winter, I have backpacked overnight in -20 degrees F perfectly comfortably. Hiking out the next morning, condensation froze my eyelashes solid, and my hair was white with frost--but I felt just fine. I have skied in -13 F with formidable windchill, and still managed to have an amazing day on the slopes. I have gone for long walks and runs in the cold, and where my lungs once ached to receive that frigid air, now they handle it. The human body is an amazing thing after all.

It's easy to forget when you don't hold up to society's ideal, or even your own ideal. It really isn't about how your body looks. It's about what it can do.

Enjoy your winter :)