Change has been not only constant but VAST this summer and fall!
I am living in a new place, the 4th this year after Belgrade, North Conway and Wolfeboro. Matt and I have a great apartment in West Lebanon, NH that is starting to feel like home (thanks mostly to my mom's appetite for Ikea furniture that has no place in her house) and a new roommate, Monica, who is becoming a solid girlfriend - which I've been missing for a couple years now. Female companionship has been sparse and transient, and I am realizing now how great it is to have it back in my life!
I started my first year at Dartmouth Medical School six weeks ago, and thus lifestyle changes about. Without any foreseeable income beyond pathetically meager part-time work and a largesse of learning material related to the human body, "fun" as I used to know it has been cut back quite a bit. Adjusting to a student lifestyle has been tough - especially when the last two years have been the antithesis of what I'm doing now! Wandering, traveling and working are much different than staying put, being in debt, and studying. That said, its not as bad as I'm making it sound - I am learning incredibly interesting things, I get to dissect a human cadaver (how cool is that??), I am surrounded by an excellent community of both med-school and non-med-school friends, and above all, I've taken a real, tangible step towards my dream of becoming a doctor. And, as part of my curriculum, I get to hang out with a pediatrician and help diagnose and treat her adorable kid patients. That keeps me going through weekends spent studying indoors while the leaves turn to fall ... and let's be honest, I don't study all the time. There's been plenty of bike riding, rock climbing, hiking and visiting family and friends. Matt and I havn't even been home the last 4 weekends - visiting Matt's dad on Lake Winnepesaukee, attending Sam and Emily's incredible wedding, going to see U2 at Gilette Stadium, hanging out with Woody and Keith, and traversing the Carter-Moriah are just a few of the recent fun. But no matter what, medical school at this point is a means to an end for me - I am not made to sit in a class room and study over piles of books, and that's what we're doing for the most part. Clinical stuff comes around in 3rd year, and from then on, things just get better and better until you finally get to practice medicine on your own. That's a carrot the size of Montana to me!
The Upper Valley is incredibly beautiful, and I feel lucky to be in school here - if I were in New York, I'd be hating my life. It's amazing to be able to get out of class and pop over to Rumney, or head up Gile mountain to a firetower just outside of town, or jump off the roof of a friends' house in the Connecticut River. I can bike to school every day, a nice 4.5 mile jaunt door to door. And a world class medical center is just a few minutes away, tucked in those hills. It's pretty great. I think I'll enjoy calling this place home for four years - longer than anywhere has been home in a while! But once I'm done, we'll probably light out for the West again ...
The course material is mostly interesting, and mostly very understandable, but very voluminous. The analogy they tell you in orientation is that its like trying to drink from a firehose. I felt incredible unbalanced for a while, hating the idea of studying but knowing I had to, and I'm slowly adjusting to spending my time more wisely, studying smart, and still enjoying myself while giving the appropriate amount of energy and respect to my schoolwork. I want to be a great doctor, and that won't happen if I don't have a solid background in the basic science of medicine. Plus, its kind of a challenge - let's see if I can ace this anatomy quiz, even though there's thousands of terms we have to know. That kind of thing. We have tests every 2 weeks in every class, so the "quiz weekends" are not exactly fun, but certainly doable and a worthy sacrifice.
And things with Matt are also great. We've settled into a lifestyle where though we don't see each other as much (he's still doing shift work over in North Conway), the time we do spend together is always fun, interesting, and comfortable. I always miss him when he's gone, even though it allows me more time to be productive, focus on school, and get out and socialize with my classmates - who are truly awesome! I definitely picked the right place in terms of location and student body character. And we are settling into a pretty strong long term relationship, which is even more of a comfort. All in all, I'm pretty happy! Optimism and perseverance are things that can certainly be refined as a first year med student, so I consider it in some ways a blessing that things are hard.
And the leaves are turning. It's hard to remain upset for long when it's fall in New England!
Ciao,
Anna
A good friend of mine likes to quote an unknown speaker: "The only thing that is constant in life is change." For myself at this point in the great circle of being, this rings rather true.
Since my last entry, I have moved 2000 miles. The company that I keep has changed almost entirely, except for Matt. The hills around me are closely forested, a lush green. The mountains are my kingdom of recreation and solitude, but my skis are carefully tucked away in a corner of the attic. I awaken each morning hoping for sun and breeze to warm the cliffs, rather than calm silent flakes of precipitation to cover the trails. My daily routine can be summed up in a stream of words as such: coffee, breakfast, bug spray, climbing, growlers from the Moat, couches, dinner, friends, love, sleep. Sometimes I go to work, too.
I am a contemplative person by nature, and more so when confronted with changes and decisions in my life. Though on a day-to-day basis I rarely think long before plunging willfully into whatever sounds most fun and exciting among the opportunities of a given situation, I like to sit around and have long conversations, too, sometimes with myself, in my own head, when the urge strikes. With change stitched across every aspect of my life in recent months, certain things seem more relevant in my experiences.
I am someone that likes to make connections with people. When I like someone and enjoy being around them and find they have interesting things to say and that they understand me, I want to spend all my time with them. I've been lucky enough to often be surrounded by people that I feel that way about. When I don't have that, I retreat into my writing, reading long novels, reaching out to others in my life that I've felt connected to in that way that aren't physically present. I am struck by the genuine happiness that I feel when I'm just sitting in around, talking, eating, drinking, being with a person or people that I am spiritually connected to. I look around and I say, we are all human beings, and that is what bonds us. It doesn't matter the location or the circumstances, foreign or familiar, extreme or typical; shared experiences, no matter how simple, feed my heart and soul. And it never gets old to travel somewhere new and push your personal limits and find those moments along your journeys. When things change, I can always count on knowing that there are people who will come into my life and enrich it in unpredictable and unique ways.
I spent a week between jobs early this month with two friends that I had known only briefly in the past- people that I happened to have met at a crossroads, with me headed in one direction and they in the other. Though our time together was short, we are bonded by a love of climbing, a passion for exploring, and a penchant for late nights and early mornings. We spent a week constantly in each others company and reading each others thoughts. Again we met at a crossroads, with me headed off to a different place again, but that didn't diminish the joy I felt in their company. Would that one day we'll all be in the same place for many days ...
Change is constant, and wonderful.
Moxie
I
In mid-January, I had to fly home. I had two interviews for medical schools I was really interested in, and of course I wanted to visit my mom and my dog and my friends in Boston and Vermont and North Conway. My best friend is now dating a great guy who happens to be my boyfriends’ best friend. Two good friends from North Conway just got engaged and are getting married up in the Mt. Washington valley, maybe this summer. I ate a lot of cheese and went to Whole Foods and drank wine with my brother and my mom. I played catchphrase with some of North Conway’s local riff-raff over PBR pounders. I visited the Vermont Pub and Brewery with some old friends in Burlington, VT.
Over the time I was away, Matt was all over Bozeman skiing, seeing friends, going to the Banff Film Festival, playing Rock Band, and enjoying our new community as much as I was enjoying my old ones. I returned eager to see him and everyone and hit the slopes and the microbreweries and our other favorite haunts.
On Wednesday, I went back to work in the Whitetails, a beautiful low desert in southwest Montana, with two of my favorite co-workers, Bryce and Evan. We spent most of the week in a heated dome shelter that we use when it’s very cold out, entertaining the two students with drawing sessions, reading from the Audubon guide, telling ghost stories, and having long, soulful, funny sing-alongs every night.
Monday, the field director and another team leader come out to the field. As we are walking down towards Mama Hootch to circle up, it strikes me that something might be wrong. And then the bomb – my company is closing and everyone will be laid off in two days when our regular field shift ends. Talk immediately turns to jobs, of which there are almost none to be found in the area. I walk away to a sage field with a view of Ratio Mountain, where I begin a rapid cycle through the five stages of grief.
We teach the students that many things will be out of their control, and the only thing they can control is how they react to these situations. They cannot control being sent to a program, or to boarding school, or having absent parents, or being susceptible to chemical addictions. But they can control their attitude, at any time, in any situation. Like many of the things we teach the kids, they are directly applicable to our lives as adults. Losing a job that I really enjoyed and a community that I had just begun to feel a true part of was initially shocking and very sad. The people from this job will scatter, unwilling to live underemployed or month-to-month just to stay in a place that we call home mostly because of the people that make up our community. My heart ached to think of losing so many friends we had just begun to know. And my heart ached even more to not be with Matt, to know that he’d found out days ago and had been struggling since to piece things together for us without me for support or input. And I could choose to be angry and dwell on the loss, or I could choose to look forward.
I was left to process this is the field for two more days with Bryce while Evan left to work the weeks’ graduations. The students, as self-absorbed as they usually are, could tell something was up; especially when I spent a whole night staring at the ceiling with racing thoughts and the next night Bryce ran outside to chop wood in a snowstorm without a shirt on to burn off energy. We finished strong, with a torch ceremony to give them their trail names. And then we combined the two teams in the field and left behind the Whitetails, probably forever in my case. Many beers ensued at Madison River and beyond.
The next day, our first of unemployment, was also our last. Our old program offered both Matt and I our jobs back, starting in early March. We immediately asked how many instructors they were hiring, and put out the word to our friends willing to look into moving across the country to remain in a great industry with great people. Visions jumped in my head of competing in the Tuckerman Inferno this spring, skiing up to do Oakes or the Gulf or Slides, rock climbing all summer with my old buddies.
And a few more surprises: I was accepted to two of my top three choices for medical school.
I spent a sublime day skiing at Moonlight with Matt and four other friends that Friday. We went to Yellowstone for the weekend to track the wolf packs and sit in the Boiling River. We went to Missoula to visit two old friends and one new one that took us skiing, took us drinking, and made us even more convinced of how much we will miss Montana. Unemployment, when we are unattached to families or leases and we have a little money, isn’t so bad. A month of skiing around Montana, visiting Yellowstone for free, exploring the backcountry on skis finally, making the rounds of our favorite watering holes several times a week, is pretty darn amazing. I will have a job, I am going to medical school, and we will be okay.
I don’t want to leave Montana yet – we had so many plans for the spring and summer. We feel at home here and we really love everything about it. It feels good and familiar when we drive back into town or walk back into the house. This wasn’t part of our plan. We can only control how we react to the punches, though. We can roll with them. I am extremely thankful that things are working out for us, and my heart goes out to the good people I know that have families and houses and are rooted to Bozeman by more than simply a group of wonderful people, who will live on in my memory as well as heart.
Sometimes I wish I had five lives to live. I have so many passions and so many things I want to do in my life that I don’t think I’ll ever fit them all in. With a couple weeks or so left out West, we won’t be able to come close to doing everything we’d planned and hoped to. With a lot of thinking behind me, I’ve let that go. What we have done, what we are doing, where we are, it’s wonderful. There will always be experiences you miss out on, friends you have to leave behind. You can only enjoy what you have in the moment and appreciate the experiences you do get to have. When we leave Bozeman, it will be hard; but it will be on to other mountains no less extraordinary. Our journey continues.
I have been in Montana almost 3 months. The landscape has changed dramatically since I arrived; physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
I was awoken in the early hours of the morning by a steady tapping as the screen of my window flexed inward, a stiff wind carrying blinding sheets of snow against the panes. By the time I woke up, Bozeman was drifted in snow that would continue all day. Usually this is means for immediate action upon awakening, brewing coffee and packing ski gear for a day in the mountains, but the temperatures had also happened to dip far below zero in the night. Reluctant to expose previously frostbitten toes to these extremes, I stayed inside for the day and had a surprisingly pleasant, if sedentary, day.
The mountains out my window, now snowy to their foothills, represent endless possibility for me. They are my mountains now, the places nearest to home that I may explore and enjoy at my leisure. I skied at the local resort where I have my season pass for the winter for the first time yesterday. The snow was variable at best, crunchy wind crust at worst, and I ended the day with burning theighs and a sore neck from falling hard on my face for the first time of the season. This winter that will likely hold the more opportunity for me to get out and play on my boards than I have ever had. I am so very greatful for the circumstance in which I've found myself. I may miss the wilds of New England, the familiar paths and roads and peaks, the closeness of evergreen forests and tiny, winding roads, but I have officially fallen in love with most everything about the Montana wilderness; the endless skies, the roads that stretch out empty for miles over rolling hills, the mountains that pierce the clouds and call the soul to revel in them.
Before my previous shift at work, the second I worked in the field, I was still very much questioning if this job was really what I wanted from likely the last professional experience I will have outside of medicine. Given time alone during the week, I would leave the group, climb to the nearest rock outcrop with my radio, camp chair, and perhaps a book (I was encased breathlessly in my sleeping bag late each night, absorbed by The Andromeda Strain) for idle brain food. These alone times, truly deep in a more remote, forgotten wilderness than the popular mountains around Bozeman or Yellowstone, I was allowed an unusual clarity. I felt a renewed desire to to help youths connect with the natural world around them and discover who they are. I have the unique opportunity to share with teenagers, many of them hurting for an identity and a purpose, what provided (and still provides) me with an identity, a purpose, and also a sense of spirituality as strong as any religion. I am reading a book called Last Child in the Woods, which is about children in America losing the connection with nature that generations before us had so naturally and easily. I feel lucky to have been blessed with spaces to roam and woods in which to explore and learn as a child. I internalized the power of nature at a very young age through a variety of mostly unstructured experiences in natural places near and far from home, and to this day, their power is evident upon me and within me. Meeting people to share these experiences with and then indulging and immersing in the natural world with them is what feeds my soul and makes me happy at the end of the day. It is not the only thing, but I know that my love of running around outdoors will never fade, will never fail me. I imagine taking off on weekends in medical school to sleep outside and float down rivers; sneaking in early morning skins before seeing patients for the day; carrying my kids in a backpack until they can hike their own favorite trails; chasing my grade-schoolers down double diamonds; road tripping to National parks when I retire; taking daily walks around my neighborhood until I can't walk anymore. And by then, hopefully, I'll have enough memories of places, animals, trees, flowers, trails, rivers, lakes and mountains to sustain me forever.
Moxie
I work about 15 minutes down the road from where I live in a little town near the interstate. A few turns take me out of our development and down the one main drag. A few blocks past the school, the library and the town hall and suddenly the road opens up and the speed limit jumps from 20 to 70. Suddenly there aren't any buildings along the side of the road, just rolling hills of sagebrush and dry grass and occasional thickets of trees near low spots. Houses give way to ranches which become fewer and father in between. The Bridger mountains are close enough to see each individual canyon rising to the 8000 foot ridge. They're just starting to fill up with snow. I can name every peak along the ridge now, even from far away. Off to the south you can see the Madisons and the Gallatins, which separate Bozeman from Yellowstone and Big Sky. Way off to the West are the Tobacco Roots, and on a clear day you can see the Beartooths, the highest mountains in Montana, through the pass to the Southeast. Cattle are suddenly the only roadside inhabitants, although at dusk, its a good bet you'll see a whitetail or two on the side of the road.
The After 10 minutes I turn down a dirt road, which you can take all the way to the middle of the state if you want, 200 miles or so. In a few more minutes, you arrive at the campus of low log buildings (it was a high school once), driving under a big wooden archway. A horse named the Governer is almost always standing right at the turn, greeting whoever drives by. Behind the main office and the gym a quick little creek provides the moisture for huge cottonwoods to grow. Flocks of turkeys are a common sight, gobbling through the field or by the stream.
This week I wasn't working with the kids, so I did spent the week doing odd jobs around campus and out at our base camp. Base camp is another 15 miles up the road, out into the real country, and I love going there. Out of the driveway, you head north, passing over Dry Creek and the dirt road starts to wind a little more. You pass a huge, old grain elevator in a little knoll by an icy river. Ranches are few and far between, maybe marked by just a mailbox and a driveway going away over the hill. You can see for hundreds of miles to all the ranges from the top of these hills. In the lower elevations there are cottonwoods and aspen groves along the washes and streams, and higher up, at the base of the hills, the evergreen forests start up. The light at the end of the afternoon is especially magic on the hills, where the shadows come out. During this season, hunters are a pretty common sight, visible by their blaze orange prowling through the thickets and fields.
After a while, you come around a curve in a little canyon and a recently cut-up dirt track marks the entrance to base camp. This is where the kids come on day 1 for their introduction to the wilderness of Montana and the journey they are about to begin. I think this slice of land is one of the most beautiful I've ever laid eyes on, and were I escorted here for a 7 week break from my life, even as a surly, hateful teenager, I would be okay with it. You walk up the road for a quarter mile or so, and come to a broad hill. One day I walked up, lost in my own thoughts, and surprised a pair of mule deer grazing next to the supply shed, a doe and a buck with a magnificent rack of antlers.
From here, there are two sites: one for the new students, and one for the graduates. Both are equipped with more or less the same things: firepits, a couple wall tents, a teepee covered with the red hand prints of former students, piles of firewood, an outhouse with a moon-shaped cutout on the door. The grad site is high on a hill with a view of the surrounding area, the nearest ranch a few miles away, and over the top of the hill, the city of Bozeman a ways away in the distance. The intake site is in a grove of trees spreading across a little wash, closer to the road than you might realize without the cover, with just the trees around you for a view excepting to the North, where even more remote hills rise. At the base of these hills sits a town with a couple shacks falling down to the ground and a schoolhouse with no windows and 6 mailboxes out in front of a trailer for the permanent inhabitants that live either in the trailer or in a few houses in the surrounding hills. The next town is a bit bigger, with a church and a bar and maybe even a schoolhouse, but its 45 miles up the winding road through the brown hills and craggy, crumbling cliffs.
Driving along a narrow back road, slowly so as not to slide out of the mud tracks, we ran into a young man driving an old truck. "This the road to Ringling?" he asked. He had no gun, no orange on, and nobody in the passenger seat. He didn't look in any hurry and I realized it was a Saturday. Until recently, it was legal in Montana to drive with a open container as long as you were under the legal limit and stayed clear of the city boundaries. And that's how you might spend a weekend, just driving around with your buddies, just for the heck of it, because there are dirt roads that wind through hundreds, thousands of miles of big, open lands under big, open skys. The homesteads at the base of the canyon, with hundreds of acres of open hills tumbling out their doorstep, don't look strange anymore. They look like a dream.
I ever feel lost, feel homeless, all I need to do I ramble up into a set of hills, or find a rushing creek or a grove of trees. Hopefully the weather will be nice enough to just sit and take it in, and hopefully I'll have my notebook and a pencil.
I'm about to fly to my home, back across the country to a yellow house across from the Mystic River with a hyperactive black lab in the backyard. But that's not my only home, it seems. There's one at the end of a dirt road with a slackline and an apple tree outside, flying a pirate flag, and a view of Cathedral Ledge out the front lot. There's one tucked away in a valley of purple hills, with a rink that I poured my heart into. There is even one on an island somewhere in off the coast of Northern Maine, a bare outcrop of rocks I can barely remember overlooking a gray New England harbor. And finally, there's one with a couple of big old rottweilers, an American flag always flying out front, a view of the Bridger mountains, and a really loud, hairy cat.
You can live somewhere, for years even, and it never feels like home. Or when you leave, it no longer is your home because it changes, the people change, the buildings change, maybe even the landscape itself changes. But in the unlikliest of places, I think you can find a home. You don't have to be there for long. The people and the places that defined it are captured in time, to forever be yours. You can go there in your heart, and that will keep it warm.
Moxie
Ahh, to finally be working again. To have a purpose and distraction beyond recreation. To be away from one's significant other for the first time in two months. To listen to farting and swearing of teenage boys again ...
Okay, that may not sound all that great. But in a strange way, for me, it was.
I just finished my first shift as a wilderness guide for the new program I'm working for. This one's a little different than the last, mostly because there is no cushy lodge to return to after four days of expedition - this is eight days of woods and only woods. For the students, its 40+ days of woods. They get pretty tough.
I was ambivalent about beginning work due to a lingering bad mood (and perhaps PMS?). However, once the truck left us for good in the field and I met the team and spent a few hours pelting them with wrapped up trash bags in an ingenious game called "Madball", I knew I was home. Not so much with the students, but with the simple comforts and labors of living in the wilderness. Your whole day is joyfully consumed with doing the things neccessary to stay warm, dry and happy and keeping your students as such.
My co-leaders were, as I expected, an interesting, eclectic mix of personalities and experiences. Outdoor programs attract all types of wanderers, travelers, adventurers and dreamers. One is a former preschool teacher with a painting degree. One is a frat kid from UNH. One is an NOLS instructor. A Biochem major from 2000 miles away. Somehow in just eight days we became a well-olied unit of authority and mentorship (I think). And far from wanting to work with each of them, I wanted at the end of the week to sit down and have a beer with each of them.
The kids, as expected, were similar to those I'd worked with: boys taking their best shot at growing into men. They have a funny conception of what that means and how to go about it. While its harder for me to understand than a man, perhaps, anyone can relate to the stuggle for self-identification and independence that plagues even the most well-adjusted teens. They were a hilarious bunch. I hope I get to work with them in the future. Scheduling may be interesting as true to form, I am one of only two women on my shift. We are a hot commodity in the job sector that requires weeks without showering.
I finally feel at home. I knew I would, and I knew the mountains would be the place that made it so.
Much love,
Anna
So after enjoying my new town for 48 hours or so, my need for perpetual motion struck with devastating force and I dragged Matt out the door to drive through a snow storm for Glacier National Park. Along the way, we picked up some expensive but organic goodies at the Good Food Store in Missoula and more importantly, our friend Hayley, and even more importantly, bear spray from the local REI. VW-Bug-Sized Grizzley Bears Are Not A Joke.
We arrived at the southwest entrance to the park a little before sunset and grabbed a campsite with a sliver of lake showing through the trees.Then we took "the best scenic drive in America" on the Going-To-The-Sun road through the heart of the park. For the first 10 miles, you wind up through all these 8000, 9000 foot peaks and stare at this giant snowy wall in front of you. You're like "how the hell are we going to drive around that?" And then you realize that you indeed cling to the side of this sheer mountain range for four miles before finally crossing the continental divide at 9000 feet in the slightest weakness in the wall of peaks. It was especially pretty at sunset. We cooked up some delicious soup for dinner and sat around the fire with a few cartons of Bandit in our crazy creeks, Hayley and I nervously discussing bear attacks, Matt rolling his eyes. I absolutely woke up at least 3 times convinced the silent jaws of a grizzley were about to rip through the tent wall. In fact we did survive the night.
The next day we got up and discovered hot coffee for just a dollar at the gift shop. We took recommendations for day hikes from a rather unathletic looking woman at the visitors center and set out for a 9-mile out-and-back hike to Snyder Lake. We hiked through a beautiful cedar forest, climbing steadily until we reached a narrower trail on the banks of a rushing stream. We climbed higher and higher on this, finally emerging into alpine meadows interspersed with scree slopes. We started playing 20 questions to distract ourselves from how cold it had become. Thankfully, at the last minute, I had thrown my down jacket into my daypack. We managed to sit for about 10 minutes on the edge of this beautful lake ringed by snowy peaks before we all admitted that the subzero windchill was a little much. We descended happily back into a warm fall day. Then we took a wood gathering expedition to Rocky Point, an outcrop on Lake McDonald with views of all the peaks to the East. The woods around the point had been burning in a fire 5 years ago, and all these first successional plants were growing happily on the forest floor next to huge, black, charred stumps. It was very cool. We soaked up the Vitamin D, then headed back for another round of food, fire, and wine. We feasted on Annie's, Skyline Chili, and Butternut squash soup, all one pot camp meals that I highly recommend. I slept much better than night.
Day 3 dawned actually kind of - warm! We made for avalanche lake to try to catch a glimpse of a glacier, which unfortunately we had not managed yet, but Hayley decided that she could no longer walk properly and we turned back. The pleasure of Glacier was really the scenery, the far away beauty of towering mountains over green forests and lakes stretching as far as the eye can see. Though we actually did not see a glacierWe returned to a snow covered Bozeman refreshed and content.
A few days later, we stocked up on snacks and pasta and headed south into the Gallatins, getting a glimpse of Big Sky on the way, to Yellowstone. We arrived just before sunset, again, and watched a herd of elk graze contentedly on the flood plain of the Madison River. We stayed the night at the Madison campground with a view of the river canyon and a beautiful sunset. A camping tip - always keep a boy scout handy to build a roaring fire from whatever is available around your campsite, even if the wood is scarce and wet. I've found it to be the most useful thing you can bring.
The next day we embarked on an epic tour of all the coolest (no pun intended) features of the "Caldera" area, or the geothermal volcanic depression in the middle of the park. We saw "paint pots", which are water and mud swamps colored red, blue, green, yellow, etc by the type of heat loving bacteria that live in them. I bored Matt silly with facts about the thermophilic archaebacteria. They are as far away from humans on the evolutionary trees as is possible, not even in the same kingdom as plants or animals or even other common bacteria. Mud volcanos, spitting mud pits, and bubbling mud caldrons were some of our favorite features for the hilarious plopping, smacking noises they make. We also saw no less than five spouting geysers, including the infamous Old Faithful, which was less than impressive because you were actually expecting it. It was way cooler when you would hear hissing and splashing around a corner and run ahead to see a geyser spewing water and steam, only to cease completely in less than an minute. We drove around Yellowstone Lake, one of the highest in the US at about 7000 feet elevation. We criss-crossed the continental divide. In the spitting rain and snow, we walked down to a huge canyon of the Yellowstone River, with these dramatic red, yellow and orange cliffs flanking the deep river bed and two 300-foot water falls in rapid succession spraying mist up into the cloudy sky. We were interrupted several times by herds of buffalo walking alarmingly close to us as we were traversing boardwalks or trails on foot - luckily, the elk, which are both in rut right now and can act quite aggressively, kept a polite distrance. Fubbalo are amazingly cute up close, for big shaggy beasts. We warmed up in the zoo-like lodge at Old Faithful, and browsed the largest collection of themed glassware I've ever seen. It was quite a day. We had been planning to do the park as well as the Tetons, just south of Yellowstone, for the whole week - but, our boss called as offered up a chance for some additional early training at work and we had to cut the adventure short. No matter - we drove at sunset up to Mammoth Hot Spring, by the north entrance, to stay the night under juniper trees, surrounded by extremely friendly elk.
In the morning, our final geothermal feature was possibly the most spectacular - the Mammoth Hot Springs. They are colorful terraces overflowing with hot water and splashing all down a rambling hillside, with strange shapes and pools steaming up from the ground. You look at these sapphire pools misting invitingly and all you want to do is jump in to the natural hot tub - until you realize that they are actually boiling water. Maybe not such a good idea.
On our way out, we stopped at the Boiling River hot springs, which pour into the glacial Gardner River at 130 degrees and create a nice little temperature gradient in which to soak. We had the whole area to ourselves, and it even started to snow a little bit, to our delight. We kept our eyes peeled for wolves on the srubby mountains surrounding us as we enjoyed a sublime moment in nature's hot tubs. Alas, no wolves arrived. However, we were not done with the wildlife of the park. Just as we crossed the 45th parallel, less than a mile from the gate, a train of Bighorn Sheep galloped across the steep slope a few hundred feet above us. We pulled into a turn out and got out to take pictures as another pack of sheep hastened after the first. These ones had horns, we could see, and in fact we were watching a pretty obvious mating ritual, and a couple male sheep decided that our voyeurism was not appreciated. As they ran down the hillside snorting, I decided it was time to get back in the car and move on. In the rear view mirror we watched them charge a slower car, confirming the code of wild animal attacks - you don't have to run fast, you've just got to be faster than the slowest guy.
The beauty of Yellowstone was both far away, the calming scenery and rolling hills and vast mountain ranges, as well as up close - the bubbling pools and colorful bacteria mats and rushing hot streams. National Parks feel wild and safe to me, places where the power of nature quietly overwhelms whatever is going on outside the boundaries of the park. While I'm there, its as if life is on hold - in a good way.
The next day, after a late night watching the Sox pull off another amazing comeback (I'll admit, I turned off the slaughter for a while there ...), we were back to the woods again. Or, more accurately, an isolated patch of rolling hills outside Bozeman with four teenagers and three other wilderness guides, observing and helping out with the newest enrollees at our new program. The kids, on day two of their new lives in the woods, really impressed me: three of four were already working on their new skills, thinking about their new lives, and day I say even happy with the situation - if not to be deposited in the wilderness against their will, to be relieved of chaotic family and school situations. We spent 24 hours cooking a group meal over an open fire, harvesting bows for their bow drill fire sets (you can in fact make fire by rubbing two sticks together. I'll show you if you don't believe me when I learn it), teaching about bear safety, hypothermia, and wilderness hygeine, and generally supporting the positive and ignoring the negative words and behaviors. I am very excited to start working again, especially when work is backpacking and working with kids.
Now to watch the Sox ruin the Rays in Game 7 ...
Much love,
Anna
Hello from Bozeman, MT!
What a wild three weeks it’s been. Apparently, we left New England at all the right time, because according to frustrated outdoor professionals in that area, its been raining for two straight weeks. Knowing I would be staring longingly out the window at a mist-covered Cathedral and actually agreeing with the kids when they assert how much it sucks to camp for multiple days in the rain makes me feel less nostalgic about leaving during my favorite season.
If you are moving across the country and have time (but not money) to spare, then here are some suggestions: couch surf in every town you can, even if its Iowa City, and then bust out the tent for some national park hopping (beware buffalo turds).
We spent several nights visiting all of our college/high school buddies – Woody, Jen, Jocelyn, Keith, Simmons, Skootch, Hadley - that happen to be somewhat conveniently spaced across the northeast and Midwest. Nothing of note, except great times with some of our best friends in the world. Many beverages were consumed in the process; we are reminiscing about college, after all. How far away it all seems until you spend a night laughing your butt off about all the things you'll always find funny.
We also managed to pop in on Matt’s parents in Cincinnati, and his good friend Kristen as well. Hanging out with great parents who aren’t your own makes you wonder very earnestly why you aren’t living rent free at home and enjoying the home cooked meals, sweet concern and spontaneous financial support (“Will you guys pick up a pint of ice cream for dessert? Here’s a fifty – no, take it!”).
West of the Mississippi, we don’t have many friends, but the federal government is suddenly on our side! We enjoyed an outrageous sunset over the South Dakota prairie before pulling into the eerie silence of the Badlands NP under a new moon. Coyotes howled through the night, which prompted some funny late night conversations overheard through the tent wall. “RICHARD! Didja hear that?? They’re getting closer! Oooh, do you think we can all fit in the mini-van if they attack??”
You can see how the Badlands got their name, because indeed it does look like a landscape where death by dehydration might be preferable to a run-in with the evil spirits that could very well call the weird, beautiful hills home. A friendly visitor center and well places kiosks explaining said creepiness in bright colors and upbeat graphics took the edge off. We saw a bighorn sheep, which was a bit of a disappointment, seeing as he had only one very small horn attached to his head. A sitting buffalo was also a bit of a disappointment, as he was planted like a large, brown, unmoving boulder under a kiosk we’d wanted to read. Prairie dogs are entertaining, especially when they are being stalked by a coyote, (maybe the one that had been previously stalking Richard's wife and kids?). And of course, cows are everywhere!
After the Badlands, we headed to Wind Cave National Park to tour the 4th longest cave in the world. Our trusty tour guide Ranger Tom tried to take all the humor out of descending into a cave via concrete steps with handrails with a crying toddler and several older Spanish-speaking women. Of course, Matt and I were not to be deterred and found plenty of laughing points to annoy everyone on the tour. Mainly we toyed with the idea of stealing the toddler when Ranger Tom flipped the lights off. Just kidddding. The cave is actually famous for a formation called “Boxwork” that even Caveboy had never seen, so we got a kick out of it. After a sunset drive through the Needles, a beautiful climbing area north of the park, we settled down with a fire and Skyline Chili to beat the chilly night. We got sympathetic offers of coffee and warming time in nearby trailers as we brewed hot drinks in the morning on our frost-covered picnic table. We assured all those concerned that in fact we had been using the wireless internet from our tent and had been quite warm and happy all night.
And from there, we drove through the empty grasslands of Eastern Wyoming, got our first glimpse of the Rockies, stopped for gas and snacks on the Crow Indian reservation in Montana, and finally arrived in Bozeman just after dark. We spent a few stressful days living in a tent (I kept waking up in the middle of the night, convinced a meth addict from the nearby trailer park was raiding the car of all our worldly possessions) and then decided on a place living with extremely nice couple in a great, comfortable house outside of town. Note to self: don’t live in a tent while you house hunt.
Coolest State that nobody ever visits but should: South Dakota.
Longest, most annoying state: Wyoming. They even have signs after every town saying “If this is flashing, the interstate is closed. Turn around and return to [whatever extremely small town without lodging or food you just came from].”
Night one with our roommates, we cooked steak and had a bottle of wine we’d been saving for our first night in Montana. Of course we probably ruined it keeping it in a hot car for three weeks, but no matter. The next morning, we drove up to Missoula for a much needed visit with our good friends from North Conway, Paul and Hayley. Though we both got together on the exact same day, they beat us on the moving-to-Montana idea by a month. Like the breakfast burrito, they stole our best idea, but I find Bozeman cooler than Missoula even though we live about 8 miles out of town. They took us to their favorite lunch spot, then their favorite brewery, then their favorite bar to watch the Sox, then to their favorite breakfast spot, then to their organic grocery store, then their favorite hot springs. The hot springs were something I’d been looking forward to about the west, and the experience didn’t let me down. We drove over the Idaho border, hiked up a river flanked by 10,000 foot mountains, and relaxed into the night in a perfectly warm spring just a couple rocks away from an ice cold river. I could not have asked for a nicer moment in our first few weeks as Montanians. To cap off the Western mountains experience, we spent the twenty minute hike back to the car freaking out that we were being preyed on by a massive (PACK! of) Grizzly bear(s). I swear I heard heavy breathing, even if Paul and Matt laughed off a rustle in the bushes as a squirrel.
Cool things about Montana:
It’s a swing state! My vote will actually count.
There are dogs everywhere. And we have three, and one cat, in the house.
There are no trees except in the mountains, so you can see for miles. A little disconcerting at first, I’ll admit, but I’m growing more fond of it every day.
Not so cool things about Montana:
Apparently, meth is a huge problem here, and used to be an even bigger one. Meth heads are pretty freaky looking. However, Bozeman is “like Pleasantville” as one prospective land lord told us; so I think we’re safe.
We can see the Bridger mountains from our back window, rising up and calling my name to ski all winter. That’s when all my anxieties about a new place (and some are lingering, as to be expected) will dissolve, I’m sure – when the first snow blankets those mountains and I clip my ski pass to my jacket and head for the hills, all will be well. We have jobs, though we aren’t sure when we can start. No matter – Glacier and Yellowstone are a short enough drive away and I could soak up those places for days.
Until soon,
Anna
Sometimes I like to think back to what I was doing a year ago to the day. Today, Sept 21, I was half way finished with the Long Trail. How long ago that was and how far away it seems! I have just embarked on a new adventure and suddenly had the urge to chronicle it.
I just spent 9 months in North Conway, NH proving that the year after college can be not only OK, not the worst of your life, but maybe the best. I skied more days that I have in the past 5 years combined, all over the rugged mountains, off the Headwall of Tuck's and down the icy chutes of Wildcat. Once ski season ended, I threw my outdoor enthusiasm at rock climbing, starting when snow still covered the bottoms of the climbs and progressing by leaps and bounds the grades I could conquer. My summer in North Conway culminated with climbing Recombeast on Cathedral, called the best 5.9 in the East, under bluebird skies. We watched the sunset from the top and I've never felt more accomplished. There were many days getting my butt kicked, spit out by cracks and offwidths and crimps, bleeding and swearing.We would charge to the cliff after work on Tuesday, put up a few climbs, and do laps on both the rope and the case before lighting a fire and strumming guitars. How much more typical of a crunchy wilderness guide can you get? I loved my job, so much that I'm heading off to do the same thing in a few weeks. Best of all were my partners in crime ... you know who you are. What a bunch of crazies.
As you might imagine, I met someone doing all this and now, lo and behold, we are moving to Montana to play in another set of mountains. It's always been a dream, and now we're making it a reality. I'm writing from Williamsport, PA, where we're staying with Matt's brother for some old fashioned college fun on our way out.
It's funny how hard it was to leave New England. It's my home more than I ever realized. My mom, my dog, my leaves turning in the fall, my black flies even - all behind. And ahead? I can't even say. Where I'll be in a year? No clue. It's good to be young, loved and living life to the fullest. One thing hasn't changed; I'm still the luckiest kid in the world.
Much Love,
Anna
How did I end up here and what did I do to deserve this?
I have three shifts of work under my belt, and I love this job. I've been paid to climb snowy mountains, snowshoe along the AT, stargaze from frozen lakes, listen to the Pats go 16-0 from a bivvy sack, and got paid double to eat steak, ham and turkey all in the same day (Christmas). I've learned to fix Whisperlite stoves and MSR snowshoes. I've got 10 new friends to work with and live with and play with on my off shifts. I get to live in a sweet ski house at the end of a dirt road and walk around the trails behind it. I ski on one of the best mountains in the East during one of the best winters in years. I look out my window and all I see are snow and trees and I couldn't be happier.
Last week we had a five day expedition over Mt. Chocorua, one of my all time favorites. We camped out three nights and got snowed or rained on all three. Other than a little Carbon Monoxide headache from suffocating in my bivvy sack under some new snow on night 2, zero complaints. I even managed to make edible rocket fuel (pasta with brown sugar on it) on Saturday morning, which considering my cooking ability, is an ccomplishment.The fourth night, we stayed at Camp Penacook, the prettiest spot in the world. We watched the sun rise over the mountains to the East from our sleeping bags. Later that day, in the hot sun, we climbed Middle Sister and gazed out over the entire snowy host of the White Mountains. It never, ever gets old for me. We passed ice climbers at Champney Falls, rode the pony in a secret bush crash site, and slept warm and happy with hot water bottles in our sleeping bags. I was sad to leave, though the falling snow promises another powder day tomorrow at Wildcat.
I. Am. Really. Lucky.
Happy New Year!
Much love,
Anna
