Inked

 

Poor Tom Arnold. At the time, getting a tattoo of his new bride's face on his chest seemed like such a romantic gesture. However, more than fifteen years after their bitter divorce I'm sure he has some regret. I can't imagine his girlfriends have been all that fond of seeing Roseanne Barr smiling at them from beneath all that chest hair.

That's the think with tattoos. They're forever.

Our kids have more than a hundred of those little stick-on ones that last  for a couple of days, depending on how regularly they shower. Most of these are animals, insects, and flowers. There used to be a lot of peace signs in the tattoo jar but most of these were used up right away. Our general rule with the tattoos is that they can apply one or two at a time but no more. No sleeves. Or back murals. We have somehow come to the conclusion that a few are okay but too many will inevitably lead to a life of Busch beer, biker gangs, and heroin use. It all begins with one too many sparkly butterflies.

Sometimes they want something a little more permanent - like a Sharpie tattoo. For this they bring me a collection of permanent markers and I make my best tbuzzing noise while coloring in cartoon-ish pictures on arms, backs, and legs. I'm not really much of an artist but can manage a respectable heart, baseball, smiley face, or flower. The kids had friends over this weekend and they wanted some Sharpie tattoos. You always have to wonder what their parents think when they come home with a manly anchor and chain inked onto their arm.

Still, these are playful and, most importantly, temporary. What about the real things? How does one go about deciding what to have permanently colored onto their skin? Olympic swimmer Missy Franklin made that decision this past week when she had the Olympic rings put onto her upper leg, just below the cut of her swimsuit. The rings represented her status as an Olympian and the location ensured that it would only be visible when she wore a swimsuit. She was also careful to pick a spot where, later in life, the rings would not sag into ugly egg-shaped ovals.

In what was a surprise to many people, Tricia got a tattoo last week as well. It was actually something we have both talked about for the past fifteen years. With her birthday approaching I made the joke I was going to get her a tattoo for her gift. Instead of laughing she said, "Okay." Fifty dollars and thirty minutes later she was permanently inked. No, she didn't get a picture of my face or even a skull with a dagger and serpent protruding from the eye sockets. She decided, instead, on a small daisy near her ankle. It's simple, cute, and discreet.  

No sleeve. Or back mural.

But there are plenty more birthdays to come. So who knows.

Yosemite - Eleven Months Out

Here is a short video featuring the breathtaking landscape I cannot wait to explore next summer as we make the long haul West toward Yosemite National Forest. I was thinking of Yosemite yesterday as I sat in a teacher meeting. We were reading a lovely article by naturalist Rachel Carson about the benefits of walking beside our children and, together, living in awe of the beauty and wonder of nature. Not that I have high expectations or anything, but I'm already feeling that if I were allowed to visit only one place my entire life this would be it.

If you haven't been to the Yosemite Valley you might want to join us after seeing this. (Oh, and make sure click "full screen.")

“As long as I live, I'll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I'll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I'll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can."

                                                    - John Muir

Olympic Haze

Last week I heard that President Obama had taken the time to call the US women's gymnastics team to congratulate them on their gold medal in London. He quoted himself as having told them "The wonderful thing about the Olympics is that it reminds us for all our differences, when it comes down to our country we're Americans first and we could not be prouder of them and everything they're doing on our behalf."

This made me think of the advertisement Visa began running before the games began. At the end of the ad it read simply  "Go World." In this vein, I would have preferred to have heard Obama say that first and foremost we are members of a global community. And that despite our differences we are united as one. However, that's not what the games seem to be about. The Olympics provide that once-every-four-years opportunity to root madly for some previously unknown American to beat the bejeezes out of that cocky looking [insert any other nationality] swimmer in lane four.

I remember watching the Olympics as a child. Rooting interests were crystal clear - we watched and prayed that the United States would beat the much-hated Russians. Supremacy over communism was being waged in the form of boxing, sprinting, and pommel horse. It seems silly now but I really got wrapped up in it back then. I don't know that there's so much of that anymore. Maybe if Syria or Libia had better beach volleyball teams?

For the most part I don't really care for the Olympics anymore. We have watched more of them this year thinking that it might provide some worthwhile family time together every few evenings. The first night we coerced the kids into watching the opening ceremonies. After about half an hour of a symbolic reenactment of British history Ty looked over and asked "What ARE the Olympics?" I tried to ensure him it would be about sports but he didn't look all that convinced.

Over the next few nights we all sat and watched a good bit of gymnastics and swimming.

"Wow, America wins at almost everything!" Muluken declared.

"No, Muluken," I corrected. "They just show the sports on TV that are most popular. They're generally most popular because those are the sports we usually have a good chance of winning. In China they are probably not showing swimming. Just like here they're not showing so much ping pong or badminton."

These types of conversations popped up more than once. The sacrifices (and subsequently, priorities) of the gymnasts who leave their families to train under great pressure. The lone swimmer who passed on corporate money so she could remain eligible to swim with her high school team. Oh, and the advertising.

Especially the Olympic advertising.

There was one ad where a swimmer was training in the pool and at the end of his swim he pulled up at the edge of the lap lane where there was an ice cold bottle of Coca-Cola waiting for him. Smiling, he reached over and took a big drink.

"I don't think Olympic swimmers probably drink Coke while they're practicing," someone mentioned.

Another "favorite" came, not so surprisingly, from Mc Donalds. They were promoting a game where you can win food prizes as American athletes win gold medals. This struck us as an odd pairing. Basically, we win the opportunity to clog our arteries as reward for the athletes demonstrating great fitness and strength.

I tried my best to explain that these companies pay millions of dollars to attach themselves to the Olympics so that when you feel elated by the victory of athletes you might also feel elated by their products. It is as if you can become a part of this Olympic experience by purchasing a GE product or filling the refrigerator with Coke.

It's hard to pick which of these sponsorships is worse but, if pressed to do so, I might have to go with the trio of BP, Rio Tinto, and Dow Chemical Company. In what have been dubbed "The Green Olympic Games," these three companies serve as sponsors despite all the harm they cause to the Earth. Many have accused them of trying to "greenwash" the public concerning their many unethical corporate and environmental policies. Some protestors have taken to splashing their large print ads with oil.

After a few nights the kids lost interest and moved on to other things. Soon after, so did Tricia and I. The Olympics are about to come to a close and I think we are all relieved.

We're about Olympic-ed out.

Men vs Wild

Since moving into our house about a year ago Ty has tried repeatedly to catch a fish in the lake. His first attempts were made with a reel he received as a favor at a birthday party a few years ago. He would jab a worm on the end of the hook, cast it out, and wait a few seconds before deciding to reel it back in and start over. As much as he wanted to patiently wait for a fish he couldn't quite resist the urge to cast over and again.

Sometimes he would create his own fishing poles from sticks he collected in the woods. He would dig out lengths of my rope from the garage and tie them to the end. While these poles never worked they certainly weren't any less successful than the nice store-bought one he'd been using. Also, the creativity and perseverance he demonstrated in carefully putting them together could easily be considered reward enough.

Still, he really wanted to catch a fish. Last winter a friend of mine came over with his fishing gear and, although he didn't get any bites, assured Ty that there were plenty of fish in that lake just waiting to be caught. He suggested we keep at it. I wondered if this would be enough since I knew literally nothing about fishing other than where to put the hook and the worm.

A few weeks later I went to the sporting goods store and bought some new tackle, hoping this might help. The salesman filled my ears with lots of advice as well as a rundown of his greatest catches. I stood there trying my best to look adequately impressed. Much to the consternation of the salesman, I grabbed a few glow-in-the-dark bobbers and headed home. That evening I took the boys night fishing. Though we still didn't catch anything we did enjoy watching the tiny lights bobbing around on top of the black water. After twenty frigid minutes we headed back down the trail toward home with the understanding that we were just as bad at fishing in the dark as we were in the light of day.

 Finally, this past June someone saved the day.  Tricia's sister and her family dropped by on their way home from Florida to spend a few days with us. While they were here, the boys' Uncle Dan shared his knowledge, and love, of fishing. He patiently sat for hours sorting out mangled knots, replacing gear, and teaching everyone what lures to use (not to mention how to put them on the hook correctly).  Soon everyone was trying their luck.

 In just two days time we all  "worked" together to pull eighteen fish out of the lake. Despite a bit of initial hesitation the boys even learned how to take the hook out of the fishes' mouth and throw it back in.

 Now successful fisherman, there was just one thing left to do.

Eat the fish.

We all sat around the computer and watched a YouTube video explaining how to fillet a bass. The guy in the tutorial did a beautiful job in just under two minutes. He made it look so incredibly easy. After a heatwave and multiple summer trips the boys and I headed back to the lake to catch a few fish we would eat. We weren't nearly so successful as we had been when Uncle Dan was here but Muluken did manage to catch two large mouth bass for us. We dropped them into the bucket and listened to them flip around in the small bit of water we had put into the bottom. I found this sound to be unsettling. Ty, on the other hand, really wanted to watch them die. (I'm going to hope this is a natural eight year old reaction)

We brought the two fish back to the house and I taught the boys to clean them. I decided to put off something so sophisticated as filleting and stick with just the crude act of pulling the guts out. They slit open the fish along their bellies, pulled out the organs, and rinsed them off under the hose. We then wrapped them in foil, built a small campfire, and put them over the flames using the top grate from the barbeque grill. After about ten minutes we pulled the fish off the fire and spread them out on the table beside the fire ring. Though Muluken looked a bit unsure as to whether this was safe to eat, Ty dug right in. Within a few seconds all three of us were  pulling the fish apart and eating its flesh with our grubby fingers. Ainsley came out with a friend to see how it was going and wrinkled her nose at the sight. She wasn't interested in joining in.

After we finished, we threw the skeletal remains into the woods and our dog Tess ran out to ensure there was nothing left. As we were cleaning up Ty remarked "That was SO cool. Can we eat the fish again?"

"Not today. Or tomorrow. Or probably next week," I said. "But sometime. Maybe next time we'll try to fillet it like in the video."

I can only imagine this might not go so good. But it'll be part of the process of learning. We learn one little simple thing, like casting a lure, and then after some success begin to wonder what we could improve or learn more about to be even more successful. Thus, the layers of learning begin. This should say something about schooling, don't you think.

Somewhere along the timeline of this story Ty said to me, "You're the best dad ever. NO OTHER dad would let their kids eat the fish!!!" Of course, lots of dads would. And almost all of them would know a lot more about fishing, gutting, and cooking. Yet my lack of knowledge and experience didn't stand in the way of a good time. It was enough just to be learning together. And laughing.

I'm going to end with the final passage from the book I've been reading this summer, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder. This book spent a good bit of effort making the point that we don't have to know everything about nature to instill a sense of wonder and appreciation in our children. We need only enjoy ourselves alongside them.

As a side note: The following passage is so peaceful yet I'm using it alongside my own nature story that ends with the blunt killing and gutting of fish. I'm just sayin'...the contrast is not lost on me.

*****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****  *****

It seems like just the other day...

The boys are small. We're staying in a three-room cabin beside the Owens River on the east slope of the Sierras. We can hear the October wind move down from the mountains. Jason and Matthew are in their beds, and I read to them from the 1955 juvenile novel Lion Hound, by Jim Kjelgaard. I have read this book since junior high. I read: "When Johnny Torrington awoke, the autumn dawn was still two hours away...

The next evening, after Matthew goes into town with his mother, Jason and I walk a stretch of the Owens to fish with barbless flies. As we fish, we watch a great blue heron lift effortlessly, and I recall another heron rising above a pond in woods long ago, and I feel the awe that I felt then. I watch my son lift the line in a long loop above his head. Under the cottonwoods, he tells me with firmness that he wants to tie his own leader. And I understand it is time for me to put some distance between us on the river.

When it is too dark to see into the water, we walk toward home in the cold. We hear a noise in the bushes and look up to see seven mule deer watching us. Their heads and long ears are silhouetted against the dark lavender sky. We hear other sounds in the bushes. We reach the gravel road, and an Oldsmobile rolls up behind us and an old man cranks down his window and asks, "Do you need a ride or are you almost there?"

"We're almost there," I say.

We can see the light in our cabin. Matthew and his mother are waiting, and tonight I'll read a few more pages of Lion Hound before they sleep.


Jason is a man now, and on his own. Matthew is in college. I feel a sense of pride and relief that they have grown well, and a deep grief that my years as a parent of young children is over, except in memory. And I am thankful. The times I spent with my children in nature are among my most meaningful memories - and I hope theirs.

We have such a brief opportunity to pass on to our children our love for this Earth, and to tell our stories. These are the moments when the world is made whole. In my children's memories, the adventures we've had together in nature will always exist. These will be their tales.

On the Appalachian Trail: Nantahala Outdoor Center to Newfound Gap in Smoky Mountain National Park

Another year, another section hiked on the AT. Picking up where we left off last year, Nantahala Outdoor Center, all six of us headed UP into the woods and followed what is affectionately known as "the green tunnel."

Day One: NOC - Sassafras Gap Shelter   7 miles (142 total AT miles)

Tricia and the girls were joining us for our first day of hiking. The plan was to hike in seven miles to the first shelter together and then part ways the following morning - the boys and I heading on and Tricia and the girls heading back down to the car. That first day was a doozy. We gained 1700 feet in elevation in just two miles. It was tough going for each of us. There was a lot of encouragement, plenty of rest stops, and buckets of sweat. I think we were all thankful for the relatively cool mountain air because down in the gap the temperature would reach into the nineties.

One concern I had about this first day, outside of the really challenging climb, was the fact there were no water sources listed between the gap and our shelter. Seven miles is a long way to go with no water sources when you walk as slowly as we do. We generally average about a mile per hour including the various breaks we take to catch our breath, climb on a fallen tree, or reach for a midday snack. A few hours in we were all very low on water when Muluken noticed a small trickle falling down the rocks at the side of the trail. We were very excited. We all chugged what little was left of our bottles and patiently waited for them to fill up again. I treated the water with my Steripen and we were good to make the final few miles into camp.

Soon after we would get all the water we could ever want. Storm clouds moved in above us and a steady rain began to fall. We all stopped to put on our pack covers and Ainsley pulled on her rain jacket. The rest of us chose to let the rain cool us off a bit. It was refreshing and didn't last all that long. By the time we reached Sassafras Gap Shelter we were already dry - and relieved. The shelter was a bi-level structure with a small cooking/eating platform in the front. Alone, we unpacked our things and made ourselves at home.

Harper and Ainsley share a laugh.

Tricia and I enjoy a short break.

Three of the kids playing cards on the upper sleep platform.

While they played cards, Ainsley wrote about her day in her journal.

Three pots, two cans of fuel, and a few Mountain House dinners. You can see the straps of my pack hanging down from above. This did not prevent the shelter mice from rummaging through my pack. They chewed up a Jet Boil lid (which should have been hanging in the bear bag) and left a tiny "present" in the bottom of one of my pockets.

Day Two: Sassafras Gap Shelter - Cable Gap Shelter       15 miles (157 total AT miles)

Throughout the night we heard a variety of interesting noises. It's normal to hear the symphony of bugs buzzing once the sun sets. What is not so normal is to hear a loud screaming noise followed by the breaking of branches and crunching of sticks as something seemingly large comes storming down the mountain. I'm not certain what it was (a cub maybe?) but it definitely woke most of us up. Surprisingly, no one mentioned this until the next morning. Everyone just silently went back to sleep.

Once we were all packed up for our hikes the girls began crying because they didn't want us to leave. Ty had been in tears the night before claiming he did not want to hike anymore and wanted to go home. This was the end of his hike of the AT in its entirety. Muluken was silent. This was not the start I envisioned for the trip. I offered Muluken the opportunity to choose whether or not he wanted to do this trip and he responded "I'm NOT quitting. I want to hike." So hike we did. We gave our last hugs and, feeling like a terrible dad, I pulled away from the girls and headed off in the opposite direction. Just a few yards up the trail I called back "Hey, we left you a message on the trail. Be sure to look for it!"

The day before Muluken and I collected fallen flowers and made a heart for the girls. After a few hours of hiking they found it. It was still perfectly in tact. We might be lugheads most of the time but we can be sweet too.

Muluken and I soon found our stride. We were really making great time up and down the trail. We decided to stretch our planned eleven mile hike to fifteen miles. We were hoping to have a shorter hike the following day into Fontana Dam because we knew there'd be ice cream and soda. I don't really care that much for soda but somehow knowing you can't have something makes you want it all the more.

We stopped for the night at Cable Gap Shelter. We really were at the bottom of a deep gap. The shelter was small and dark - requiring a headlamp even before dusk. We ate our dinner (dehydrated ratatouille), brushed our teeth, hung all scented items over a distant tree, and climbed into the shelter for a game of rummy. I won. By a lot.

Day 3: Cable Gap Shelter - Fontana Dam Shelter   6 miles (163 total AT miles)

We were up at 6am and on the trail by 7. That's a bit of a slow start but with a short day ahead of us there was no need to hurry. It seems whenever we work ahead to get a short day - thinking this will make for an easy day - it always backfires. Short days seem to go slower, I guess because our focus shifts from the walking to the destination. This is a big no-no.

Our first climb was grueling - not so much because it was long or steep but because we were both a bit groggy and anxious. However, a few hours into the hike we each woke up and our legs loosened. Along the way we came across many trees that had been hollowed out. I talked Muluken into climbing into one to see if he could fit. It was tight with the backpack but he made it in with a few pushes from behind.

The last three miles were all downhill. Going downhill is the worse part of hiking. Your toes all get crunched into the front of your shoes and the impact on your knees really begins to take its toll. By the end of this descent I had the beginnings of five blisters and a spiking pain on the outside of my right knee.

The pain was worth it though. We hit the bottom, crossed a road, and walked into Fontana Dam. There was a bathroom, a phone, and a soda machine. After some small talk with two other hikers I made my way into the bathroom to wash my hands and face. It felt great. After a little more small talk I filled out our backcountry permits for the Smokies and we walked the final one mile into the shelter. We were excited because the Fontana shelter is known to hikers as the "Fontana Hilton" because it is so nice.

This shelter was amazing. Not only beautiful and clean, it was huge. We had it all to ourselves for the night. Only a hundred yards away was a bathroom with running water and a shower. This is all located on TVA land. TVA uses the dam to create electricity which it then sells to regional electric companies.

We met these two fellas as we came out of the woods. They had been hiking just ahead of us the past two days. 

Here is Fontana Lake. It sits at the base of the Smokies (seen at the top left). The water is remarkably clear.

As promised, the visitor center had ice cream bars.

A small path beside the shelter led down to the lake. Someone had tied a rope to the trunk of a tree to help ease down the steep grade leading to the water's edge.

Refreshing!

We enjoyed playing underwater with the new waterproof camera. As we hike north we will encounter many more trailside lakes and rivers.

There was a lot of talk about a bear cub who had been hanging around the dam. According to a maintenance worker, the cub was abandoned by its mother last year but survived the winter alone. We were told it was very small but to be careful should we sight it - it might walk right up to us to get food. Later that night as we sat playing cards at a picnic table beside the lake a car pulled up and an older gentleman climbed out and walked over to us. He told us he was looking for a bear he had seen a few nights ago sitting on a small rock wall just beside where we were playing. He showed us photos of it on his phone and it was definitely the cub we had been warned about. As we headed back to the shelter we were glad we had chosen to sleep on the upper platform. We pretended we didn't know that bears are really good climbers.

Day 4: Fontana Dam Shelter - Mollie's Ridge Shelter   11 miles (174 total AT miles)

 The day's hike was much easier than expected. Though there were a number of decent climbs we marched along quite easily. We found that a great attitude and careful pacing make all the difference. This was a great day of hiking.

We crossed over the top of the dam and made our way into the Smoky Mountains.

We were both very excited to get into GSMNP. However, I was a bit intimidated by the climbing I knew lay ahead of us. We would be gaining more than 2000 feet of elevation.

One of the things we noticed about the Smokies is that they have a lot more sings letting you know how far you are from various trails and shelters. There was also a sign at the entrance to the park about a day hiker who had gone missing last March. That was a bit unsettling.

Speaking of signs, we saw this one posted a number of times throughout the next few days. Evidently it is not advised to approach a bear. Go figure. Still, we REALLY wanted to see one.

This was typical of the trail for the first day in the Smokies. About twenty miles ahead the trail would drastically change.

We counted more than ten piles of bear scat on the trail during the day. Most were much larger than this one and did not contain so many undigested berries. This particular fellow must have been having stomach issues.

When we reached the shelter it was only about five o'clock in the afternoon. We were rained on during the last two miles of our hike and came into the shelter absolutely drenched and shivering. We changed into dry clothes, slid into our sleeping bags, and played a few rounds of poker while waiting to warm up. Around this time Muluken admitted he was homesick. Because of a baseball tournament, he had been away from the family for the past twelve days while we were in St. Louis. A long hike immediately after this separation was probably not the best planning. We decided to hike a long day tomorrow (17 miles) and then do another 12 the following day to get into Gatlinburg. We'd stay in a motel there, resupply, and head back out for two more days before getting picked up as we exited the Smokies. This would shorten our projected hike by about five days but only thirty-five miles.

Day 5: Mollie's Ridge Shelter - Clingman's Dome Observation Tower   22 miles (196 total AT miles)

We left the shelter early to get a head start on what we anticipated to be a long day of walking. We had never walked 17 miles before and weren't positive how long it might take us.

The rising sun peeks through the trees.

Muluken pretends to be asleep on a nice rock chair.

We don't dare eat most the things we find growing alongside the trail but blackberries we know are safe - and yummy.

Over the past two years we've seen a lot of different types of mushrooms. Many of them we have photographed. Can you believe the Smokies are home to more than 2,000 varieties of mushroom.

A rare toad sighting. What we see most are centipedes, millipedes, and snails. We paid close attention to the birds we heard today.  If you listen carefully you can identify a pattern to their songs. Pretty soon Muluken was excitedly sharing patterns he noticed coming from above.

Our clothes were still wet from hiking in the rain yesterday. When we reached Rocky Top (the subject of the famous song) we took off our shoes and socks and lay them out to dry. Due to the cloud cover it didn't work.

We passed a log that had the official AT emblem carved into it. There's talk of getting AT tattoos when we finish the trail.

Due to a shady character we encountered at the shelter we planned to sleep in for the night, we wound up hiking an extra six miles in the dark and the rain, getting lost, and sleeping exposed to the pouring rain with fifty mph winds snapping our bags this way and that. We hiked this extra distance with three guys we met earlier in the day. One began to collapse from exhaustion, another was certain he had broken his toe, and the other fell multiple times while trying to carry not only his own pack but his sick buddies as well. It was a long night - but an adventure.

Day Six: Clingman's Dome Observation Tower - Newfound Gap   8 miles (204 total AT miles)

After a long terrible night we were rewarded with a beautiful sunrise.

A coniferous rainforest, the top of Clingmans Dome is home to many dying trees. This is due to the balsam wooly adelgid - an insect introduced from trees imported from England.

Muluken and I hiked eight miles through Frazier firs to Newfound Gap. My feet were killing me from all the rocks and the multiple blisters that had been rubbed raw the evening before. I knew as we hiked into the gap we were going to have end our hike for the year. There had been enough drama, misfortune, and injury for one year. Never before had we had a hike where so many things seemingly worked against us. Still, we had fun and passed the 200 mile mark of our journey toward Maine. Next year we'll finish the Smokies and make our way into Hot Springs, North Carolina. That will put us about 1/8 of the way to finishing the trail. Ha, there's a lot of hiking still ahead.

Finishing up at Newfound Gap. Fitting it should be raining. Unable to get a shuttle or cell phone reception, we hitchhiked into Gatlinburg. Backpackers hitch a ride into town from this gap all the time so finding a ride was not all that difficult.

Within a few hours Tricia and the other kids were in the van and driving up to get us. We all had dinner, stayed the night in a motel, and spent the next morning doing small hikes in the Smokies as a whole family. A perfect ending!