One weekend in Wyoming

...I set off on an adventure with people I hardly knew.

I liked that we weren't brought together by our love for each other, but by our love for the mountains and mutual interests. We all wanted to be away for the weekend, to be in the mountains ice climbing, to go adventuring. I knew by the end of the trip we'd be friends.

Maybe one might say we'd been spoiled in our previous ice climbing experiences by the easy accessibility of Ouray and the Black Hills. But I don't think that's the case. These climbs, though prolific, were not easily obtained. The searching in those mountains, however, wandering around the steep rocky, snowy slopes, amidst the scraggly evergreens and sage, was an equal part of the adventure.

 It's never just about the climbing. It's about being out and exploring, and finding. We earned our ice and were pleased to do so.

When we finally trudged, out of breath, around that bend in the canyon and saw our ice fall, there all along, all still and blue and validating, it was like finding hidden treasure.

Matt. Unassuming, cheerful, much to say and not in a hurry. 

An Atlanta boy grown to be a Colorado mountain man who didn't lose the Georgia drawl. 

We talked about poop.

We fancied ourselves nature experts. We argued about whether or not it was deer or elk or goat poop (by the end of the day it made no difference in Eddie's scooping it up and throwing it over his shoulder at me as we hiked back to the vehicle) (he used to play baseball, he never missed), horse or bear poop (I hope you're picking up on the irony of the nature experts comment by now), whether or not bear poop changes drastically depending on whether they last ate berries or people.

We argued about whether or not bears hibernate in winter if there hasn't been much snow or cold ("Don't they build snow caves?"), whether that was a coyote or a wolf cry, if moose travel in herds, if mountain sheep can really fall over dead from fright (they can), and how much work it would actually be to have an ostrich farm.

(Of course we talked of other things too - of how they met and past relationships, of politics and travel and our jobs and previous ice climbing trips and mutual friends and childhood and injuries. But who wants to read about all that?)

We learned about Cody, Wyoming. That it's the rodeo capital of the world ...

...and that it's the gateway to Yellowstone, and the home of Buffalo Bill. And from experience we learned that although the mountains around Cody contain the most backcountry ice climbing routes in the United States, the locals don't care. They care about religion, guns, trucks and cattle. They do not care that out their back doors there are over 150 natural frozen waterfalls in a 10 mile radius.

We even went to the outdoor shop and they could tell us nothing to help us in our quest for ice. But there was a certain appeal in this, too. It wasn't a trendy Colorado sporty town full of Patagonia clad enthusiasts and wannabes. These were just cowboys and there happens to be ice out there.

So we poured over the guidebook, in all its vague and misleading glory, discussing and puzzling it out together, and ventured our way into the mountains.

We were like kids in a candy store as we pointed out to one another climb after blue iced climb, far up into those mystic canyons.

Lovely, imposing, poignant, remote and mostly unattainable to the likes of us. They whispered promises of someday, those endless frozen flows, those elusive heights, holding secrets of things beyond our skill and knowledge and strength to know. Maybe we haven't the heart for it, maybe we'll never have the courage for the potential heartbreak found in the magnitude of that level of climbing. But it whispers to us, and we wonder what if. What if we could climb that high. What would we know then? The secret of the universe lies in those heights.

We don't speak of it aloud, but the wonder of it is in our hearts and leaks through our eyes as we gaze up at those summits in longing and fear and contemplate things beyond our knowing.

I saw a moose, which I've always claimed don't exist because I've never seen one before in all my travels.

"Did you see the moose?" Matt asked casually, like it was just another mule deer. "It wasn't!" I exclaimed. "Oh, was it an elk?" He asked. Matt, in his unusual and unpretentious innocence, assuming I must be right. "I thought it was a moose." Eddie whipped the truck around and there it was, it was a moose.

It reminded me of the time I stood in an orange sunset deep down in Mexico where the river meets the Gulf, and suddenly there were dolphins jumping in the waves below. How I was so astounded and consumed with delight at the long awaited sighting. Seeing the moose felt like that.

A mile down the road we saw a magnificent herd of elk lounging in a high desert meadow.

We heard a wolf's cry and an owl's hoot.

We shared puffies and advice.

Puffy on puffy on shell on hoodie on wool.

We watched the sun set behind the high and broken horizon.

We saw the laziest of snows mosey down defiantly from a blue sky.

I broke through the ice on a creek crossing.

We dug out seats in the steeply angled slopes and sat conversing in the snow, shivering and uncomplaining, waiting our turn on the rope, drinking in the crisp mountain air.

Just another day in the mountains.

In another year Eddie will be transferred out of state for his job, and Ashley - by then his wife - will go with him. Maybe we'll meet up from time to time on impromptu climbing trips. Or maybe we won't.

Matt will probably still be in Colorado and we'll remain uncommunicative Facebook friends.

But for this weekend we were together, an unlikely team, adventure buddies, sharing inside jokes and staring together at unknowable heights with our hearts in our throats. When axes and cleats slipped their icy grip and someone gasped in startled fear as they came off the ice we'd holler up "I have you. You're good", holding calmly to their belay, their safety.

We stood on belay, hunched with our faces toward the ground as shards of ice rained down like shrapnel to thwack mightily upon our helmets. We called encouragement and challenges, high fived successes, exhaled deep breaths of relief when he finally made that clip and the danger was past for the moment.

For this weekend we were in the mountains, holding the rope and each other's lives in our hands.

How could we not be friends after that?

I love things like that, sports like ice climbing, that bring random strangers together in the mountains and make friends of them.

There was that. And what else is there? For that moment, in that present, there is nothing else.

Nothing that I know of.

The Suck

I used to think I had things to say. Looking back I probably didn't and I certainly don't now. How that switch came about I'm not exactly sure, but it's probably having to do with my expectations of what is interesting.

Mostly I find I bore myself when I write. I try to have interesting thoughts and ideas to write about but...there's nothing.

Where was I going with this?

I can't remember but there's a quote, this quote by AJ Jacobs - whoever that is: Embrace the Suck.

Not the suck like "I suck"...

Sucks to suck, Eric

...but the hard uncomfortable stuff, the boring stuff that brings about results that aren't boring - the 4:30AM wake ups, going to the gym where you don't have any friends, eating the spinach, not eating all the things that you want to eat - all the things! - running when it's 5 degrees, going to bed early. Those things...they suck. They are gritty and beautiful and satisfying but then I'm like "It's Thursday and I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT. Any of that. I want to eat bread and chocolate and binge read fiction books and online shopping and not do anything at all on my To Do list. Sometimes I basically go to my Do Not Do list and do all those things - every one of them - because I look at that and I'm like Look at all these great things! and YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO and then I'm like WHY DO I SUCK MY LIFE IS FALLING APART and it's like Yeah well they were on the Do Not Do list for a reason and now you're sad and chubby. Should have listened to your rational self who wrote the Do Not Do List in a moment of clarity and ambition.

My life.

So yeah but what AJ was talking about was the gritty stuff, the stuff that only sucks when you're thinking about having to do it right now, but once you start you're exhilarated and once you're done you're happy and healthy. Those are the things I'm trying to do.

Who knew?

Embrace the suck.

I don't know if it ever stops sucking, but eventually you give up arguing with yourself about it, which really is the exhausting part, and don't even acknowledge that there is another option so it's no longer "This sucks" it's just "This is what I'm doing now". Wish we could just skip to that part. But that beginning This Sucks phase is part of the suck that must be embraced and so can't be skipped. At first my whiny side is all You want me to do what?! Don't be ridiculous! Have a nap, you're clearly unwell. Eventually, if the rational gritty self wins out enough, the whiny side tries a wheedling But...but...but...naps! And pastries! And eventually it just gives a perfunctory No but already knows the battle is lost. Or won. And my bad ass self is like YEAH SUCK IT.

Also, I really miss riding my fucking bike (swearing is on the Do Not Do list but pretty sure it's the only thing on the list I haven't accomplished yet today and I like to be thorough). And I miss being at the point where I was fit enough that riding was fun. But anyway it's snowy and I don't have a fat bike and all my friends who ride are in another town so it's all beside the point. Moving is disruptive, everybody, I don't recommend it unless you're an adultier adult than I. Which is likely, let's be honest.

OK. Tomorrow I'll try to accomplish the other list. ONLY BEGIN. It's the only hard part, truth be told.

Embrace the suck! Be all THIS SUCKS...yeahhhhh, isn't it great?

And it was happy

There is an old fashioned and unremarkable magic about Galena.

It never fails to provide a refreshing elixir of simplicity, nonsense, community, acceptance, laughter and all other such things. TV doesn't play in the background because there isn't a TV. No one is huddled in exclusive seclusion on the couch engrossed in their phone because there's no cell service or WiFi. That leaves so much room for engaging with one another. That's all there is, really. Everyone there is everyone's priority. What a strange and wonderful concept.

Snapshots from the last day of the year, in no particular order and with no great quality:

Ryan and I weren't quite as thrilled about the special New Year's drink as some of the others. We sipped bravely until the countdown had passed and then abandoned ship.

They were huddled together engrossed in wedding pictures and memories, so I said "Hey look at me".

The important thing is that I was included.

It was after midnight when Rob and Seth were animatedly discussing something in the other room, and I said to Ryan "How can they still have so much to talk about this late into the night??" "Who knows," he shrugs, and then we returned to our own animated discussion about books, the irony escaping us. There's always something to talk about in Galena.

Looking in,
windows of warmth.

Looking out, pipe smoke on the porch in the woodsmoke tinged cold.

That interesting picture.
Look at it.

The most magnificent god-awful white elephant gifts. They will be conversation starters forever now.

We made it until 1:30AM. We were all fading and sleepy but ended up congregated in a circle around the wood stove, loathe to leave the warmth of the conversation and fire for the cold bedrooms. But by and by we bid goodnight. Gwen had gone up earlier and turned on the electric blanket on my bed so it was warm and ready and I drifted off cozy and happy.

In the morning everyone wandered down, one by one. Coffee percolated on the stove and after good mornings we each ended up picking up the nearest book to hand and reading in quiet companionship, sometimes making remarks or sharing something we found interesting. When coffee was ready and passed around and everyone was more awake, conversation picked up...

...of books and anarchy and old family recipes and how people in Spain have a different concept of time than we do.

And that's how I welcomed in the new year.
That's pretty alright.

Hope everyone's was as happy, in their own way.

January is coming

The cold days, the dark days.
It is, to borrow a line from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, "A kind of nowhere, famous for nothing at all and has an appeal because of just that."

It's always the culmination of a story and a goodbye session and hope.
There are so many 4:30AMs in January.
I'm rather looking forward to it.