The Porcupine Mountain Series Part 2: Dr. Seuss Would Like It Here!

www.seussville.com

One of my favorite books is Dr. Seuss' "Oh, the Places You'll Go!"  I have been many places, both in body and in mind.  Some were great, some not so much.  But when I live in the tin can and go outside I am often reminded of this book, and have found that I do not need to travel far to find the best places.  For me, they are all in my home state, Michigan.

Once I have the tin can hooked up to my car, and Rooney in the back seat, and I am driving on the highway headed north, I think not just of the places I'll go, but the people I'll meet.  I always meet plenty of people on my tin can trips that are just like me.  They don't care who I am, or what I've done, or how much (or how little!) money I have; they are drawn to me, and I to them, by a common love
of living in the wilderness.  No one I meet on a hiking trail has ever asked me what I do for a living.  Often they don't even ask my name.  They are not concerned with who I am outside of the wilderness, only who I am in that moment.  We share stories of our adventures, talk about what we have seen that day out in nature, and form an instant bond born of our similar experiences.  I have met some amazing people!

I was nervous about going alone to the Porcupine Mountains, because the wilderness area is far removed from cell phones, gas stations, grocery stores, and hospitals.  Help, if I needed it, would be far away.  So it was that I experienced a moment of panic when I pulled the tin can into my camp site to discover one of the tires was completely shredded.  I asked a Ranger if he had any advice for how to get a new tire, and he gave me the number of a guy who lives 35 miles away who might be able to help.  I couldn't call him, though, because I didn't have a cell phone signal.  Fortunately, another camper overheard my conversation with the ranger, and said he and his buddy would help me.  They jacked up the trailer, took the wheel off, found the spare tire, and sadly told me the spare was the original one from 1970, and useless.  But they knew the area well, and sent me an hour away to a shop in Bessemer, with very good directions, where I met a life-long Yooper and really good guy.

Jim, from C & M Oil Company, took one look at my tire and said,

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"Oh ya, you don wanna be driving on that, eh?"  He pointed out that I really should have radial tires on my trailer, and proceeded to put a new, much better tire on the wheel.  When he brought it back out to me, I showed him the spare, and he put the same new tire on that as well.  Then he said,

"Ya, these here new tires are bigger than yer old ones, yer gone want ta put da spare on da other side, you betcha."

Alrighty, then.  I worried that eventually I would need the third tire for the spare, so we agreed that on the day I left the mountains, I would drive back to Bessemer and get a third tire put on the wheel.  That way, I would have two new tires on the tin can, and a spare, and they would all be the same tire.

Jim was really nice, and went out of his way to make sure I would be safe.  He only charged me for the tires, no labor.  And he agreed to meet me early at his shop later in the week, to get me back on the road at a decent time.

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When I left Bessemer, I stopped at a Michigan Roadside Area.  In the U.P., there are no Rest Areas like downstate, where there is a big parking lot and nice bathrooms with flush toilets and electric lights.  U.P. Rest Stops consist of pulling on the shoulder of the road to park, and using an outhouse.  I will, however, say that Michigan outhouses are very clean, always have toilet paper, and many use composting to keep the odor and fill line low.

I stopped there to let Rooney out of the car for a walk and a potty break.  We wandered behind the outhouse to a narrow trail in the woods, when we heard a low growl.  The hair on the back of my neck stood up, Rooney immediately went into defensive stance, and my hand went to my gun.  A rustling in the branches produced an old geezer, complete with white beard to his belly, flannel shirt, and a missing tooth.  I laughed and told Rooney to relax.  The growl had come from the old man's sled dog team, tied up in the woods.

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He had been driving and camping for three weeks in an old, beat-up VW van with his sled dog team.  He's from Alaska, where he has lived for the last three years in a small cabin with no utilities.  He chops his wood for heat and cooking, grows his own food, hunts for meat, and is completely self-sustained.  I asked where he was headed, and he told me he hadn't seen his wife and family in three years, so he was going home to southern Michigan for a visit.  His life-long dream had been to live in Alaska, but his wife did not want to go with him.  She stayed behind to run his business.  I naturally asked what kind of business he has, and he casually replied,

"Oh I've made millions.  About 50 years ago, I got the idea to sell deer urine to hunters.  Now we manufacture the stuff and sell to all the outdoor stores, all over the world."

Huh.  Millions, eh?  I guess the money really doesn't matter to him.  But if the Discovery Channel ever decides to produce a reality show about him, I think they should call it Piss Posh.

I thoroughly enjoyed talking to the old man, he had to have been at least 85.  He patiently answered all my questions about living off the grid in Alaska and told some great stories.  I wished him well and went on my way, but I will never forget him.

Back at the campground, my new friends returned to help me put the wheel on, and I was good to go.  I may have lost a day of hiking, but it was worth it to experience the friendly help of strangers and meet the old man.

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That night, a storm blew in.  As it approached I took Rooney for a quick walk, and passed by a campsite with 2 tents and 4 guys.  I stopped and asked if one of them had been playing "Amazing Grace"  on a harmonica the night before.  One of the guys raised his hand, and I let him know how much I appreciated hearing the mournful notes drift on the wind to my campsite.  The 4 Guys had anticipated the storm, and they were the only campers to have a massive tarp hung over their campsite and a fire going.  As the rain started, I ended up sitting by their fire with them and hearing their story.

The 4 Guys had been destined to be friends since birth.  They grew up together, married each other's sisters, and are now raising families of their own together.  The bond the 4 Guys shared was deep and strong, and I found myself longing for that kind of closeness and companionship.  They made a pot of coffee over the fire and shared it with me, and told me how the raccoons had gotten their cooler and they had little left to eat.  Long time outdoorsmen making a Rookie mistake like leaving the cooler out made them that much more real.

We compared notes about hiking trails, told funny camping stories, and waited out the storm.  When I went to bed that night, I was grateful to have been given the gift of their friendship, if just for a moment in time.

Everyone I meet in my travels to the wilderness is of a special nature.
They all prefer to be outside, away from society, and all appreciate the miracle and wonder of the balance of nature.  Living simply, for whatever time they can get, and loving all of life is what these people share.  I think Dr. Seuss would have liked it in the wilderness, and if he had written a book about my travels, it might have gone something like this:

Oh, the people you'll meet
when into the wilderness you go
Some are tall, some are short
Or small, or big, some "just so"

You will meet ones who are rich, and ones who are poor
But none of that matters, who cares?
They have no need of money or things
When getting lost in the middle of nowhere

Oh, the people you'll meet in the wilderness
When you hike on the shore and the trails
They all have the same smile, as they walk and they see
Through the sun, rain, snow and gales

They are young, they are old
and everywhere in between
They all know so much of the world they are in
They all know what it means

The people who come to the wilds each day
Are all seeking the same thing
The people you meet deep in the woods
Have hearts that know how to sing!

Oh, the people you'll meet at the end of the day
When you're tired and achy and weary
Some will be smart, some will be not
But each loves the wilds so dearly

They will tell you their stories
Which sound just like yours
When you live in the wilderness
There are no walls and no doors

Oh, the people you'll meet who know how to be free
In the wild where space is a given
The calm ones, the excited ones, all of them know
Being in the wilderness is livin'!

Some will come happy, some will come not
Some will be angry or tired or sad
But once in the wilderness none of that stays
They will forget the life that they've had

Oh, the people you'll meet when you walk in the wild
All put one foot in front of the other
They are never alone, no matter their troubles
In the wilderness we walk with each other!

On my last night in the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness Park, I took Rooney along the Lake Superior shoreline to climb and jump the rocks and watch the sun set.  Coming up over a steep rock, I was startled to find a man, sitting in a camp chair on top of the rock, beer in hand, quietly watching the waves.  Not wanting to interrupt his reverie, I apologized and tried to move on, but he invited me to share the sunset with him.  Rooney and I sat on the big slab of rock, and the man and I told each other about our time in the Porkies.  We had seen many of the same things that week, but had not crossed paths until now.  I found a sense of peace sharing a sunset with a total stranger who understood me better than any of my friends at home.  We fell silent, and as the sun hit the distant horizon with a sizzle and the waves lapped at the rocks, I was content.  Oh, the People I've Met! who have enriched my life for mere seconds.  They all have a place in my heart.

New Places, New Faces, Same Story…Awesome!

I am one of those annoying people who watched a movie a few years ago, jumped on the bandwagon, and wrote my own Bucket List.  It's a long one, with the top two lines reading "Alaska in the Tin Can",  and "Write A Story".  Further down the list is "Camp One Night in Each of Michigan's State Park Campgrounds".  To that end, I spent last weekend at Port Crescent State Park, at the tip of the thumb in Michigan, along the Great Lakes Bay Region.  I've never before gone east to camp in my great state, so I was apprehensive, mostly about the reported snake population that thrives in the reedy, marshy waters of Lake Huron's shoreline.

The day I left home was my favorite kind of summer day; hot, windy, sunny, but with storms threatening in the evening hours.  The iPod was on shuffle, the tin can was clean and packed, and Rooney was in the back seat looking out the window, with what I swear was a smile on his face.  Newfies are known for their solemn faces, but Rooney looked so happy.  Google Maps re-routed me away from the construction zone on M-25 to take me on a delightful, meandering voyage through farmland and wind turbine fields.  Stretched out in front of me were no less than 100 wind turbines, possibly more.  The majestic towers spun lazily in the breeze, waving to me and sending me along my way.  It was rather awesome.

I came upon a roadside rest stop, and discovered the first site of a natural disaster responded to by the Red Cross.  I then continued along M-25 to catch glimpses of Lake Huron, and storm clouds building in the sky far away over the cold water.  When I pulled into Port Crescent State Park, I knew I still had plenty of time to set up camp before the storms, yet I felt rushed to complete my camp so I could watch the storm approach while sitting on the beach.

The tin can was ready to be inhabited with 20 minutes to spare.  I walked Rooney while we could still stay dry, then settled into my camp chair under the awning and felt the wind shift as electricity filled the air.  I could actually smell the rain coming, and with the first distant rumble of thunder, I felt my surroundings change as the storm came upon me.

It was a lovely storm; not dangerous from where I was sitting, just a brilliant display of light and sound reminding me of how powerless we are to stop nature, and how lucky we are to experience it.

The storms came and went all weekend, but it didn't stop Rooney and me from exploring the park and meeting other campers.  I have always
found that each state park in Michigan attracts a certain "type" of camper, and at Port Crescent I found the best kind of people.  Every camper I met didn't care what the weather was doing, they had come to enjoy the peace of camping along the shoreline of a Great Lake, get outside to walk slowly and take in their surroundings, and share their stories over a fire.  They were a friendly bunch who respected each other's privacy.  And, of course, they all fell in love with Rooney.

Speaking of Rooney, he once again has a brown tail, instead of his usual black and white.  He really must learn not to back up to the bonfire.  While I appreciate torch light, the smell of burnt hair that still lingers in the tin can is unpleasant, at best, and downright sickening when a rainy day turns the odor to wet, burnt hair.  As with the other times, his hair is so thick he never even knew he was on fire until I tackled him to the ground at beat him with a blanket.  I assure you, his expression quickly reverted to the Newfie "sad look".



All in all, Port Crescent gave me exactly what I needed for this trip.  Sunny days, stormy nights, and wonderful campground hosts who were knowledgable about the area and gave good suggestions for things to do.  The campground is quite secluded, miles from the nearest town of Port Austin, and make sure you fill your gas tank in Caseville before you arrive.  Though the black flies were biting, and there are no trails within the campground, and dogs can't go anywhere near the beach without a DNR officer appearing out of nowhere, the campground was clean and my site was on the beach.  The sunsets were stunning, the driftwood was spectacular, and the staff, hosts, and campers were a friendly group, making my stay rather enjoyable.  For a quiet weekend, I would return there to regain peace and perspective in a busy life.  As a side note, I am most pleased to report that I didn't see a single snake.  They must not have known I was coming.

Returning to Bagwaji

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

There is rapture on the lonely shore;

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar;

I love not man the less, but Nature more.

-Lord Byron

This is one of my favorite poems; I carved the words by hand with a pocket knife on the door of my Shack, which is no longer mine.  These words always come back to me when I travel, so even though I had driven many miles to participate in the Michigan Ice Fest, I simply could not be five days in the U.P. without spending one of those days doing what I love best, the solitary Bagwaji.

Despite several invitations from my new friends at the Ice Fest to go climbing on Friday, I resisted the temptation and stayed true to my nature by spending the day alone, hiking in the north woods.  Bagwaji is an Ojibwe term for into the wild.  Perhaps my American Indian ancestry calls me to the woods, or possibly I just gain so much from a solitary communing with nature that I felt drawn in the direction of the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore's North Country Trail to hike, breathe, and take it all in.

Wearing many layers to combat temperatures in the single digits and the ever-present wind coming off Lake Superior, I drove to the Munising Falls trailhead, left my vehicle, and took the path toward the North Country Trail.  A Cross Country skier had gone in the same direction, which made my hiking easier as I followed his tracks.  The hike was steep and mostly uphill, making me think the skier ahead of me must be in very good shape, and as I huffed and puffed and once again cursed myself for the many bowls of Captain Crunch I have consumed, I continued on at a leisurely pace (as if I was capable of a brisk pace) and stopped often to capture images of snow, snow, and more snow.  I don't often see that much snow where I live.

Upon reaching the level of 200' above the shoreline, the trail evens out and follows the stone ridge from which the ice formations originate.  There are few opportunities to actually see the frozen waterfalls, as they are below the ridgeline, though at one point I was hiking in silence, only to come upon a sudden vantage point for watching the climbers below.  I didn't even know they were there until I was quite literally standing over them.  As I took photo after photo of people climbing the ice, I realized that they were unaware of my presence, which made for some good candid shots.  I have to admit, it felt kind of creepy to be standing there watching people who didn't know I was there, so I moved on.  Later I ran into the Cross Country skier, who turned out to be a climber I had met the night before, so he slowed his pace for me and I hiked out behind him.

I then continued on alone again, hiking down Sand Point Road and finding the access point up to the ice.  Once more going up a steep incline, I found climbers from the Ice Fest and went a little wild with my camera, climbing ledges and outcroppings to get the right angle and the close-up shots without actually strapping on crampons and climbing the ice with them.  Angling ever up, I eventually made it back to the North Country Trail and continued east to the marsh trail, which was deserted and gave me two hours of being completely alone.  When I say completely, I mean it.  No birds, no wolf tracks, no moose, no cougar (one of which had been in the general area 4 months ago), and of course the bear and snakes were all hibernating.  Thank goodness the snakes were hibernating; I was in a marsh, after all.  I focused on the snow and the many unusual formations the wind twists the white flakes into, including finding my first snow snake.  Even that made me breathe a little quicker.  I studied the different species of trees, pleased to see so many birch, with their curling bark and smooth trunks.  I hiked, I listened to the wind and the moments of complete silence, I reveled in the contrast between blinding white snow and dark trees which held their secrets waiting for Spring to reveal their full form.

Snow Snake!!!!!!!!!!

I indulged in my fascination with brightness and darkness, shadow and light.  It never fails to amaze me the patterns that are formed by natural light, though instead of getting my camera back out of my pack, I just sat for a long while on a snow-covered log and contemplated the shadow and light.  Filled with inspiration and longing to better understand the natural world, the winter landscape displayed black and white simplicity,  and in every object a purpose.  What a beautiful reminder to stay focused, to give purpose to my words and actions.

That purpose of action came about quickly when I realized the sky was growing darker.  With much reluctance, I left my perch and hiked back to my vehicle.  Eager for the evening festivities, I made my way back to Sydney's for companionship and food.

What sets the Michigan Ice Fest above other adventure weekends is the efforts of Bill Thompson to bring us all together at the end of the day for camaraderie and even more excitement.  Bill offers food and drink, new and rekindled friendships, reps on site for advice and gear, and the extremely popular slideshows!

www.fabriziozangrilli.com

Friday's lineup was every bit as awesome as the previous night with Bill Thompson and Ben Erdmann. First up was Fabrizio Zangrilli.  Seriously, with a name like that, I knew he would be fabulous, and he did not disappoint.  Fabrizio lives in Colorado, but for the past 22 years his climbing has taken him all around the world, from Alaska to Antarctica.  His slideshow told stories of leading expeditions to Everest, K2, Cho Oyu, the Gasherbrums, Nuptse South Face, Ama Dablam, Pumori and Cerro Torre.  According to his blog, Fabrizio is one of the few climbers to go from K2 base camp, 5000m, to Camp 4, 7900m, and back to base camp in a day.  He believes in speed and safety.

www.fabriziozangrilli.com

www.fabriziozangrilli.com

Fabrizio told us that many people ask him how to get started as an alpinist, how does one prepare to take on such an adventurous lifestyle?  His advice is "research how to be cold and lonely".  From there he told many stories that made us laugh, accompanied by photos of his expeditions.  But Fabrizio also spoke of safety and caution, and friends lost to the mountain, and gave us all a sobering reminder that such a lifestyle carries inherent risk.  Alpinists are not reckless.  They are prepared and educated and aware of the risks.  Again, the question came to mind;  why do they do this?  What makes them different?  I was only beginning to understand the answer, but I'm pretty sure it has more to do with the mountain in front of them than the lure of adventure.

Fabrizio's tales filled the room with laughter, and as he concluded with a message to be safe and climb on, it occurred to me that the people brought to the Michigan Ice Fest are indeed professionals, not just because they are sponsored Alpinists, but because they are educated and amusing speakers who draw you into their lives and share their passion.  

I'd had the privilege of meeting another of these professionals the previous night when Bill Thompson introduced me to Joe Josephson.  Bill did not tell me Joe is an alpinist, he just said there was someone I should meet.  Joe spent a little time talking to me about growing up in Montana, but it wasn't until he began speaking after Fabrizio that I realized who he really is.  He was so friendly and down-to-earth, I was amazed to hear the stories of his many accomplishments and roles other than climbing.  

Joe is the published author of Winter Dance: Select Ice Climbs in Southern Montana and Northern Wyoming, and a marketing force for the alpine community.  He organizes the Bozeman Ice Fest each year and works tirelessly to promote safety and achievement on the mountain.  As Regional Coordinator for the Access Fund, Joe has received national recognition for his multi-year campaign regarding winter use in Hyalite Canyon.  He promotes stewardship and conservancy, as well as increasing understanding of landscapes and wildlife through direct experience. (Huffington Post, Feb 2013)  

In addition to being an author, alpinist, sales rep, photographer, and event organizer of the annual Bozeman Ice Climbing Festival, Joe produces videos. One of his recent works,  Genesis: 40 Years of Hyalite Ice Climbing, is a delightful story of old vs. new as Pat Callis, the first climber ever to complete and name the Genesis route in Montana in 1971, climbs Genesis again with Pat Wolfe, a young but experienced alpinist.  The twist in the plot is the use of Callis' original climbing tools from the 70's, which has Wolfe wondering if he can even accomplish the climb.

Courtesy Google Images

Tools have come a long way since then, thanks in part to Yvon Chouinard, alpinist and founder of Patagonia.  A visionary in climbing and in business, Chouinard believes that "how you climb a mountain is more important than reaching the top" and even though he has developed many improvements in climbing gear, he strongly believes that the equipment doesn't matter nearly as much as ability and experience.  His philosophy drives the point in "Genesis".

It was also Chouinard who said "It's not an adventure until something goes wrong".  Joe Josephson knows a little something about that.  Throughout his presentation, the prevailing theme was aborted climbs due to equipment failure.  The story becomes even weirder when you discover that it was the same piece of equipment that failed every time:  the stove.

www.jetboil.com

Joe has more stories of being in the middle of an expedition and being unable to rehydrate due to the stove not working, the stove being accidentally kicked off the mountain, the stove's fuel running out, and more.  Without the stove, climbers cannot melt snow to purify it and drink water.  Since climbers dehydrate quicker in cold temperatures, the stove is absolutely necessary to complete the climb.  If it's not an adventure until something goes wrong, Joe has had a lot of adventures!

Courtesy Google Images

I also posed my question to Joe.  When most people do not spend their life on such extreme adventures, what makes him different?  He paused for a moment, and answered, "that's a really hard question".

Joe grew up with the Beartooth Mountains in his back yard.  As a child, he would stare at those mountains and knew in his heart "that's where I wanted to be".  The only answer Joe could give me was his awe of the scale and magnificence of the mountains, which pulled at him and drew him in.

The answer that was emerging all weekend was that unexplainable something that draws these alpinists to the mountain, or in the case of our weekend, a tower of ice.  I don't think it's the challenge of climbing that makes the climber different, it's the call of the land that not everyone hears.  Each of the alpinists that presented at Michigan Ice Fest have gone to college and studied nature.  It's almost as if they need to know the mountain.

www.michiganicefest.com

Joe Josephson has faced and conquered many challenges in his life.  An accomplished alpinist, he has known adversity and embraced success.  All of the professional climbers in the room had this same quality. But as I spent time with the participants of the Ice Fest, I heard so many personal stories of life's challenges.  Every one of the 450+ people there had a reason for being there to climb the ice, and we had all overcome challenges to be a part of this weekend.    There is a reason people put aside their daily lives to spend a few days climbing a frozen tower of ice, and the reasons were important.

I had my own reasons for being there, but my personal challenges do not matter so much as my experience on the ice.  Regardless of why we were there, we all shared the experience of being called to the mountain - or Pictured Rocks - and becoming part of something bigger than ourselves.

I have as hard a time answering my own question as the other climbers did.  When the people at home all thought I was crazy to come here, what makes me different?  I hear the call, and I answer it.  I go to immerse myself in the scale and magnificence of the landscape and learn from it, pushing myself to be worthy of the land.

These people aren't crazy.  They are informed and careful planners.  What sets them apart is they do not ignore the longing inside of them, they chase after it.  As I left Sydney's that night to get a good rest before the Saturday climbing class I was taking, I wondered why on earth I had waited so long to answer this call.  I was right where I longed to be, with people who understood, and the ice was waiting for me.

Climb on!

What Makes You Different?

Courtesy www.openwalls.com

As I spent last weekend trying to take in all the new people, places, and experiences at Michigan Ice Fest, one burning question was on my mind.  When I told friends and acquaintances I would be traveling to Michigan's U.P. to go ice climbing, they all asked "Are you crazy?"  After my experience at the Ice Fest, I have to say maybe I am a little bit crazy.

It seemed to be the theme of the weekend.  But still, I looked at all my new companions, from the people who were there for the first time to the ones who go back year after year to the professional alpinists, and wondered what it is about them that makes them want to climb the ice.

This group of people didn't seem to realize that 99% of people simply don't want to climb…anything. So to the members of this select group, I posed the question all weekend.  When most people would be terrified to do what you do, what makes you different?  Why do you do this?

I first asked this question of my unexpected climbing partners on Thursday.  I hadn't planned on attempting my first climb until Saturday in the Women's Intro to Ice Class, but I met a man named Bob at the motel who said he had enough extra equipment to take me out to the ice formations.  All I needed was climbing boots.  Right away, I felt some apprehension, because I didn't even know that I needed "special" boots.  I walked over to Sydney's, the bar-slash-official headquarters of Ice Fest, and met Nic, who works at Down Wind Sports and is one of the many people who aided me in my quest for knowledge.

Courtesy www.salewa.us

The first thing I asked Nic was, can I trust this guy?  I am a woman traveling alone, attempting to do something I've never done before that holds inherent risk, and I'm considering trusting a stranger to keep death at bay while I dangle from a tower of ice.  Nic gave me some great information about safety, and even showed me what to inspect on the borrowed equipment.  He then suggested a few questions I should ask Bob, and if he gave the correct answers, I should be able to trust that Bob knows what he is doing.

I was fitted in a pair of demo boots by Nic.  They were pretty cool boots.  Made by Salewa, the Pro Gaitor Mountaineering Boot has many critical features that I came to appreciate as the day went on.  They were warm and stayed dry, but have a breathable membrane so my feet didn't sweat.  The grippy Vibram Salewa Pro outsole gives a good grip in snow without strapping on a crampon.  And the best feature of all is the adjustable tension system which allows you to switch between walking and climbing mode with a twist of the included allen wrench.  Usually, wearing a pair of rented boots would lead to blisters and swollen toes, but these boots were so comfortable and warm, I forgot I had them on.

Armed with boots and advice from Nic, I went back to the motel and knocked on Bob's door.  He introduced me to his climbing partner, Francesco from Rome, Italy, and after some time spent adjusting gear and packing up my back pack, we left in my Yukon to find some ice!

Again, this was all new to me.  I didn't know that we had to drive to the parking area at the end of Sand Point Road, leave our vehicle, and walk most of the way back down the road, find an access point, and hike up a steep incline.  I was exhausted before we even reached the ice!  I was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, that when I glanced up to finally see the ice in front of me, it took my breath away.

I had to wait, a rather long time, while Bob found the higher access point and hiked above the falls to place the top rope.  I kept my feet moving to stay warm, and when Bob finally came back down, helped me into my harness, and told me to start climbing, I panicked.  Just like that?  Start climbing?  What do I do?

Bob on Belay

Bob said that when my ice pick was firmly grounded, I would know by the sound the ice makes.  Huh?  What on earth does that mean?  But this was what I came here to do, so I strapped on my crampons, grabbed my picks, and started climbing.

I didn't get far.  I was exhausted from the horrendous drive the day before, I'd had little sleep, I'd already put a few miles in just getting here, and my arms were shaking from fatigue.  No worries though, because the first time my pick hit the ice and stuck, I heard it.  A light dawned in me and I realized this is what I came for; all thoughts left my head, it was just me and the tower of ice in front of me, talking to me, breathing on me, keeping the promise to stay motionless in its intended purpose.  I trusted the sounds, the feel, and the ice.  It was that moment of me being one with this natural wonder I clung to, knowing I was part of the ice and it was part of me.  Crazy?  No.  Just right.

I began to answer my own question in that moment.  What makes me different?  The answer doesn't come from words, it comes from a feeling of being part of nature, understanding the world around me that God made.  I felt the ice, and it was all good.

I asked Bob to belay me back down.  He said I did okay for my first try.  I wasn't embarrassed that I didn't go all the way to the top, however I was determined to get some rest and push myself to go much farther the next time.  I was already hooked; ice climbing is like nothing I've ever done before, and I wanted more.

Francesco

While Bob and Francesco completed their own climbs, I hiked back to the Yukon alone.  I needed time to absorb what I had learned and done and felt.  When I finally reached the car, I planned on sitting in it with the heat running until Bob and Francesco returned; I was too restless.  Even though the wind was at gale force coming off Lake Superior, and it was 4 degrees F, and the falling snow was almost horizontal, I started hiking.  I hiked for an hour, thinking of nothing but the sound that pick made in the ice, and arrived back at the Yukon just as my partners were coming down the road.

My First Climbing Partners
Francesco and Bob

Later that evening at Sydney's, I experienced my first of several slideshow presentations from some of the most experienced and respected climbers in the world.  This became something I eagerly looked forward to each night!

I had introduced myself to the organizer of Ice Fest, Bill Thompson, and he graciously pointed me in the direction of all the people he thought had stories to tell.  Through him, I met so many amazing people!  First I met Mary, who until a year ago was in a wheelchair, a victim of Cushing's Syndrome.  Her bones had weakened to the point she had fractured her spine.  After several years of misdiagnosis and poor treatment, she met a doctor determined to help her.  One night, as Mary slept in her hospital bed, she dreamt of a voice telling her she would be okay.  When she woke, her newest doctor was sitting at her side, holding her hand, and when he spoke, she realized his was the voice she heard in her dream.  He had stayed by her side all night, praying for her recovery.  Within weeks, she was walking with a walker, then a cane, then on her own.  She is now strong enough to attempt ice climbing.  She knows in her heart that the doctor's prayers cured her, and she is determined to embrace life and new challenges.  She had climbed the ice that day and was feeling on top of the world!

I also met Rachael, a 12 year old girl who was attending the Michigan Ice Fest as the recipient of the Sue Nott Scholarship (more on that later).  Bill helped me set up an interview with Rachael and her mother.  Rachael is a delightful young lady who claims to not be a winter person, which gave me a laugh.  I asked her why she applied for a scholarship to climb ice if she hates winter.  She told me she is a rock climber who is looking for a new challenge.  In her words, ice climbing is a scary concept, but her first attempt was "epic" and changed her life.  Rachael, at such a young age, already understands the power of pushing herself to embrace nature, and she is an extraordinary girl.  When I asked Rachael what makes her different from other girls, she grinned and said "I like to challenge myself outdoors".



Then came the first presentation, by Bill Thompson.  In case there is any doubt, it really was accompanied by the best music out there!  After slides of previous years' Ice Fest antics, Bill gave an overview of the weekend and with great excitement, announced the release of the Third Edition of An Ice Climber's Guide to Munising, Michigan, which he co-wrote with Jon Jugenheimer.  This beautiful and informative guide is a far cry from the First Edition, which was typed on a single piece of paper by Mark Reisch in November 1990.  The guide is not only invaluable to ice climbers, but anyone interested in exploring Pictured Rocks National Park should purchase one here.

Bill also announced, with great enthusiasm, that the Michigan Ice Fest has grown to be an INTERNATIONAL event!  He called out to climbers in the room from France, Italy, Australia, England, and Iran.  Yes, Iran. There were Canadians there, too, but Bill doesn't count those people as foreigners, since the U.P. and Canada are essentially the same place.

Ben Erdmann
Courtesy www.downwindsports.com

Then Bill introduced Ben Erdmann.  I had no idea who he is, or what to expect, but as soon as I heard he lives in Alaska, my ears perked up.  Alaska is the dream, the top item on the tick list.  For those of you who aren't in the know, as I now am, the tick list is a list of places you've been to that were on your list of places to go, or more specifically, climbs you've accomplished.  Once you complete a certain climb, you tick it on your list.

Denali
Courtesy Google Images

I am planning a trip to hike in the wilds of Alaska four years from now.  When Ben Erdmann showed a slide of his home in Alaska, my heart swelled with longing.  He lives in my dream home, a tiny stone cabin that "would fit in most people's living room", surrounded by woods in the middle of nowhere.

Courtesy Google Images

Ben introduced himself as a native of Marquette, Michigan who now lives in Alaska, working for a conservation organization inspecting the BP Oil Pipeline.  He works in between climbing expeditions, but his job consists of hanging on the ropes over the massive pipeline, so whether he's working or climbing, he's on belay and loving it!  Ben gave a great presentation about his many climbing adventures, and spoke of his one true unrequited love with bush pilots.  Ben thinks bush pilots are the greatest people on the face of the earth, and whenever he can save enough cash, he reignites his passion for them.  Apparently, being flown in to base camp beats hiking in every time.

Courtesy Google Images

Climbing is dependent on the weather, especially on the bigger mountains in remote regions of the world.  Ben told tales of waiting for days in the village of the Patagonia Andes, checking weather charts daily waiting to climb Fitz Roy.  In Ben's words, it's not like the Weather Channel, where a picture of a smiling sun tells you it's a go; the climbers check all sources of weather related charts and must interpret them.  When the window opens up, the rush begins to pack everything up and head out.

Courtesy Google Images

Patagonia experiences very strong winds from the North and West, carried off the Pacific Ocean.  These winds create winter conditions in the western Andes year-round.  Predicting the window of weather suitable for climbing to the summit is tricky business.  Often, a climbing team begins an ascent, only to be forced to bivi up for several days under harsh weather conditions before continuing.

Listening to Ben's stories, I heard many people in the room mutter "that's crazy!"  But later, when I asked Ben what makes him different, why does he live this way, he replied he doesn't know.  He said he's just always known he wanted to do this.  Is he crazy?  No, because all climbers try to take every precaution before and during a climb.  They gather the beta, they analyze, they make informed decisions.  There is risk; but there is also skill, and knowledge, and respect for the conditions.

By the time I went to bed Thursday night, I did not have a clear answer to my question.  What makes climbers different?  I had a feeling, but could not put words to it.  All I knew at that point was, I was part of something very special, and I couldn't wait for tomorrow!

Storm Approaching, Mount Fitz Roy, Patagonia
Courtesy www.flickr.com

Running Through Alaska In Six-Inch Heels

I admit it; I can't walk in high heels.  They pinch my toes and make my hips hurt.  I avoid dressing up at all costs in order to avoid wearing a shoe that was originally designed by a man to make me look taller.  Unfortunately, I have passed this trait on to my teenaged daughter, Keely.  Recently, Keely was nominated for an "Oscar" award at her high school as part of the Spring Festival fun.  As a nominee, she was required to wear a formal gown.  We had just bought her first prom dress, and of course she refused to wear it before the prom, so I gently suggested to her that she find a dress to borrow.  A much, much taller friend loaned her last year's prom dress, a lovely gown that was elegant, simple, classy, and very, very long.

Having concern that she would step on the hem of her borrowed gown and rip it, Keely went to Target and bought these:

Wow!  My daughter is going to wear these?  The only type of women I know who can pull this off are women with attitude.  Keely tried the shoes on, and her attitude said "Where are my flip-flops?"  I then tried the shoes on, and my attitude shouted "I was raised by wolves!"  But then along comes my little Nina, my tiny 11 year old daughter with the skinny legs that make up three/fourths of her total height.  Nina tried on the heels, and her attitude screamed  "I am ALL that!" with the accompanying flip of long hair.

Walking down the hall like a top runway model, wearing her soccer uniform and shin guards, with her cleats carelessly thrown over her shoulder and heels on her feet, Nina stopped, gave a round-house kick, and declared "Take that, Terminator".  Not sure where she learned the kick or when she saw an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, I was, nonetheless, impressed.

This brought to mind my upcoming Alaska trip.  Yeah, my mind can make that leap.

Sometime before I turn 50, I intend to travel to Alaska for a month of camping and hiking.  The focus of my trip will be Denali National Park, six million acres of wild land bisected by one ribbon of road.  I recommend you read Denali's Research Administrator Lucy Tyrrell"s blog about walking all 92 miles of the road in sections, at www.nps.gov/dena  .  I plan to do that, as well as some off-road hiking.  In her blog, Lucy gives several accounts of seeing grizzly bears while on the bus to her starting point, but she never saw one while she was walking.  Which begs the question, if she saw one 10 minutes ago while safely riding the bus, what would she have done if she ran into the grizzly again while she walked?  She doesn't say, but it got me thinking.

I have done much research into this trip.  Should I go in the summer, when there is busy tourist activity but more park activities?  Or maybe Spring, when you can drive 30 miles down the road instead of Summer's 15 mile limit.  But the weather is iffy in Spring, and the tour buses aren't running to get you deeper into Denali.  Fall brings a Lottery, where a lucky few get to drive the whole 92 miles with few other people around.  Camping at any of the many campgrounds is open all three seasons, but not always accessible.  Weather is always unpredictable in Alaska.

I have researched my routes, my plan for hiking to different campgrounds, my options for camping in the tin can, and safe habits for campers.  I have studied the nature and habits of wildlife and read suggestions for staying safe.  I even spoke with a few guys I know who are big game hunters and have traveled in Alaska.  One of them gave me the following words of wisdom:

"Take a big gun and know how to use it.  If you see a Grizzly 15 feet away, he can be on you in 2 seconds flat.  If you think you can outrun him, try running through Alaska in 6-inch heels.  That's how effective you'll be in outrunning him."

As amusing as the image is of me running through Alaska in heels, his analogy brought some serious concerns to light.  What would I do if I encounter a Grizzly?  According to Lucy Tyrrell, sightings are common from the bus, but what about when you're walking in the wilds of Alaska?  I need to give thought to how I can get the most out of my experience while taking appropriate measures to stay safe.

In the next few years, don't expect to hear stories of me running through Alaska in 6-inch heels.  I am leaving Keely's shoes home.  I don't know about packing a gun, yet, but it is something to consider if I learn how to use it.  I do know that eventually I will tell you stories of endless days, and Northern Lights.  You will hear of wolf sightings, Grizzly meanderings, and countless songs of birds.  I may not be able to meet that Grizzly head on with a swift kick, the way Nina would, but I will have attitude.  My attitude will be one of awe and reverence and respect for the creatures who make Alaska their home and allow me to visit.

By the way, Keely won the Oscar for "Ray of Sunshine".  I am happy to report that she walked up to the stage with poise and grace, never once tripping on her borrowed gown.  I couldn't have been more proud.