I’ve had false starts before, many of them. So…, why now, why this time?
Reading as a kid
I’ve loved reading for as long as I can remember. More often than not, when other kids were playing outside, I was reading. Some of my most vivid childhood memories are of browsing through libraries or riding my bike down to Main Street in Logan, Utah to visit the Book Table bookstore – I could always find something I wanted there. Book orders were an exciting time at school, at least for me – I’m sure my mother secretly wished the school would stop handing them out. Adding to my collection of books and organizing it was almost as fun as reading. I read all kinds of books but my favorites were mysteries; Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators, the Hardy Boys, Agatha Christie, and The Westing Game are some of the most memorable. Finding clues and solving cases was endless fun.
My reading lean years
I never made a conscious decision to stop reading. I can’t put my finger on the exact point when it happened; maybe there wasn’t just one point. Cars, girls, sports, jobs, movies and TV began to occupy my former reading time. Compounding that, going to college, starting a family, and embarking on a career as a computer engineer dominated my time. Spending significant portions of my day in front of a computer monitor or reading about computer science the last thing I wanted to do in my spare time was read. I started fly fishing to escape – but that’s a whole other story.
Back in the saddle
I credit movies for reviving my reading appetite. I fell hook, line, and sinker for the advanced previews of the Lord of the Rings – it seemed like nearly a year in advance on the first one. I bought the trilogy plus the Hobbit and devoured them before the movies debuted. The Chronicles of Narnia were next – I enjoyed all of them. My taste gravitated towards fantasy.
Reading these classics reawakened my childhood dream of writing a book. However, being away from reading for so long, I felt compelled to research a variety of authors in hopes of discovering my own story to tell. I started perusing recommendations on Amazon – I love Amazon by the way. I picked up titles from Anne McCaffrey, Ursula K Le Guin, G.R.R. Martin, Cornelia Funke, Christopher Paolini and Naomi Novik. During this time I read the Harry Potter series – who didn’t? Also, based on editor’s picks on Amazon, I read Stolen Child by Keith Donohue and the Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger – thoroughly enjoying each of them.
As my children grew older they started reading too. My fourth son introduced me to Fablehaven, the Ranger’s Apprentice, and Percy Jackson, all of them excellent and worth reading.
Ready to try writing
That brings us into the calendar year 2010. Now, I’m not saying I’ve read enough to be a writer – I’m not sure if I can ever do that --but I’ve read enough to know what I like. I’ve cherished those works that make me feel alive, that make me want to read more. I want to do that for someone else. My hope is that I can evoke an emotional connection with my readers – if I’m ever lucky enough to have some.
Nudges
I’ve received nudges along the way too. In January my wife signed me up for a writing class through the Spanish Fork city adult arts education program. It was an excellent class taught by Annette Lyon. Annette has published several books, she really knows her stuff. I gained confidence, not that I am a good writer, but that I can become a good writer. And the only way to become a good writer is to write.
Big nudge
My biggest nudge so far happened in February. I knew that writing would be hard work, and take a huge amount of effort. Given my status in life, I’d been wondering if writing was a worthwhile endeavor. So, one morning I happened to be reading from A Disciple’s Life (the biography of Neal A Maxwell) and Standing for Something by Gordon B. Hinckley. In A Disciple’s Life I read:
“Yes there would be problems ... yes there would be challenges ... yes there would be unevenness and disappointments ...
He knew all those things, yet ... he did not wait until everything was perfectly in order before acting... If one tried to solve in advance all the problems which might occur later, he might never start! The capacity to trust the Lord for continuous revelation as to what would later need to be done was clearly a part of the makeup of this very special man.” (A Disciple's Life page 467)
In Standing for Something I read:
“[God] allows ... disappointment to occur on the threshold of every human endeavor. It occurs when the boy who has been enchanted in the nursery by Stories from the Odyssey buckles down to really learning Greek. It occurs when lovers have got married and begin the real task of learning to live together. In every department of life it marks the transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing.” (Standing for Something page 134)
I refuse to believe that reading both of these passages on the same day was a mere coincidence. I’d been reading A Disciple’s Life off and on for several years. I’m not saying I’m destined for greatness, in fact, in all likelihood I’ll never be published. But the direction I should go right now seems crystal clear.
Hope + dream + work
I’ve had false starts before, many of them. So…, why now, why this time? I’m not sure I’ll ever be good. But I have dreams I hope I can turn into reality. I want to write a book. I know it will be hard work, but I’m eager to make the “transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing.” I have to try. And the first step is to start.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
A New Bird
There are around 10,000 living species of birds in the world today, making them the most numerous vertebrates with legs. Translation: there are a lot of birds out there; there’s more fish, way more insects, but it’s safe to say that birds are pretty common. Learning to recognize birds by their individual characteristics, thus identifying a specific species, can feel like a 1 in 10,000 proposition, especially the first time you do it. But taking one bird at a time, not only is it easier than it sounds, it can be a rewarding exercise.
I've seen lots of birds around my house over the years. The American Robin, very familiar in the northwest especially where I live, is easily recognized by its dark gray back and brick-red breast. Last spring my family and I watched with rapt attention as pair of Robins built a nest, laid eggs, fed the hatchlings, and trained the young birds to fly. We even took some video footage as this lasted for several weeks. But most of the time, when trying to identify a bird, they don't cooperate that well.
Preparing to go to work one morning last December I heard a fairly loud bird call from outside the house. We're used to hearing Robin's sing around our house, they are almost as easy to recognize by their song as they are by sight. One thing I knew for sure at this point was the bird making this call definitely wasn't a Robin. Always interested in identifying a new bird, I stopped what I was doing in order to figure out if the sound was coming from the front or back of my house. Since the Robin's nest in the front has been vacant for many months, and I have some bird feeders in the back, my first impulse was to look in the back. As I headed that direction I heard the call again, this time more distant. I reversed direction and moved toward the front of the house. Knowing from past experience if I opened the front door the mostly likely thing that would occur is I'd witness a flurry of wings as any bird in the area made a hasty retreat from my yard, I stealthily positioned myself at the front window unsure of exactly where the bird would be.
From my point of view at the window I quickly scanned the front yard searching for the source of the call. My eyes were immediately drawn to motion around, of all places, the vacated Robin's nest. I saw a good sized bird, larger than a Robin, pecking at and around
the nest. Its beak was long, resembling a Woodpecker's. My first thought was this bird is a Lewis's Woodpecker which is similar in size. It had a grayish head and a tan breast covered with black spots. I watched for a couple minutes trying to note in my mind as many characteristics as I could, relishing in how smart I was to quickly identify this bird I'd seen on a couple of occasions, albeit never very close to my house. The bird flew from the tree to our rain gutter, the only thing visible from the front window now was its tail, but it was a really good view of the tail – often a significant characteristic when identifying a bird. Then it hopped up on the roof of our porch. Totally gone from my view at the front window I ran upstairs to my son’s room hoping to get a closer look. From this new vantage point I saw it pecking at a patch of snow on the roof, breaking off tiny ice crystals into small enough pieces to consume. It was fascinating to watch. During this time I was able to catch front and side views well enough to validate my id -- at least I thought I did.
I don't remember what caused me to second guess myself but after watching it for a while I decided to grab my bird field guide and bask in the triumph of my identification from memory. I'm pretty good, I thought to myself. Casually perusing the Woodpecker section of the field guide it was obvious I'm not as good as I thought I was. While the Lewis's Woodpecker is about the same size the similarities to this bird ended there. I turned the page thinking, ok, it must be a Hairy Woodpecker, also a bird I've identified before. Strike two. My confidence started to waiver. I turned to the next page and continued my downward spiral; the Northern Flicker was the first text on the page. Having never even heard of the Northern Flicker before, I thought I was going to have to start over from scratch searching through the entire field guide – a tedious process to say the least. What I failed to notice is that the Northern Flicker is a member of the Woodpecker family. Nearing utter defeat, my eyes scanned the pictures locking onto the topmost bird on the page. To my surprise it had a grayish head -- with a red crown, which I hadn't noticed -- but it had a tan breast with black spots, the back and wings were brown with black bars (stripes) -- which I had noticed, kind of, more so after reading about them than before. According to the field guide the key distinguishing marks of a Northern Flicker is a black patch across the chest, just below the neck, and a conspicuous white rump while in flight.
Armed with this new information, 90% sure of myself now, I raced back upstairs to see if the bird was still on the porch roof. It was gone. However, I did see a slight bit of fluttering just past the edge of the roof, in the tree with the nest. I raced back downstairs to the front window and in what was now an unprecedented experience for me; the bird was once again rummaging around the nest. Its back was turned to me but as I patiently watched, hoping it wouldn't up and fly away, it hopped to the side of the nest oriented facing me. What a stroke of luck. Even better luck was, there in plain sight, too obvious to miss now, the bold black patch across its chest. Now I'm 100% sure this is a Northern Flicker.
The Northern Flicker is
not new. What is new is something inside me, something the Northern Flicker has added to me, a spark of appreciation kindled for the seemingly common, yet deeply amazing, environment I get to live in every day. I become a new bird. The list of birds I’ve personally identified, my life list, is modest, especially compared with avid birders. Each time I add to my list however, is a very satisfying experience. It’s like making a new friend.
I've seen lots of birds around my house over the years. The American Robin, very familiar in the northwest especially where I live, is easily recognized by its dark gray back and brick-red breast. Last spring my family and I watched with rapt attention as pair of Robins built a nest, laid eggs, fed the hatchlings, and trained the young birds to fly. We even took some video footage as this lasted for several weeks. But most of the time, when trying to identify a bird, they don't cooperate that well.
Preparing to go to work one morning last December I heard a fairly loud bird call from outside the house. We're used to hearing Robin's sing around our house, they are almost as easy to recognize by their song as they are by sight. One thing I knew for sure at this point was the bird making this call definitely wasn't a Robin. Always interested in identifying a new bird, I stopped what I was doing in order to figure out if the sound was coming from the front or back of my house. Since the Robin's nest in the front has been vacant for many months, and I have some bird feeders in the back, my first impulse was to look in the back. As I headed that direction I heard the call again, this time more distant. I reversed direction and moved toward the front of the house. Knowing from past experience if I opened the front door the mostly likely thing that would occur is I'd witness a flurry of wings as any bird in the area made a hasty retreat from my yard, I stealthily positioned myself at the front window unsure of exactly where the bird would be.
From my point of view at the window I quickly scanned the front yard searching for the source of the call. My eyes were immediately drawn to motion around, of all places, the vacated Robin's nest. I saw a good sized bird, larger than a Robin, pecking at and around
the nest. Its beak was long, resembling a Woodpecker's. My first thought was this bird is a Lewis's Woodpecker which is similar in size. It had a grayish head and a tan breast covered with black spots. I watched for a couple minutes trying to note in my mind as many characteristics as I could, relishing in how smart I was to quickly identify this bird I'd seen on a couple of occasions, albeit never very close to my house. The bird flew from the tree to our rain gutter, the only thing visible from the front window now was its tail, but it was a really good view of the tail – often a significant characteristic when identifying a bird. Then it hopped up on the roof of our porch. Totally gone from my view at the front window I ran upstairs to my son’s room hoping to get a closer look. From this new vantage point I saw it pecking at a patch of snow on the roof, breaking off tiny ice crystals into small enough pieces to consume. It was fascinating to watch. During this time I was able to catch front and side views well enough to validate my id -- at least I thought I did.I don't remember what caused me to second guess myself but after watching it for a while I decided to grab my bird field guide and bask in the triumph of my identification from memory. I'm pretty good, I thought to myself. Casually perusing the Woodpecker section of the field guide it was obvious I'm not as good as I thought I was. While the Lewis's Woodpecker is about the same size the similarities to this bird ended there. I turned the page thinking, ok, it must be a Hairy Woodpecker, also a bird I've identified before. Strike two. My confidence started to waiver. I turned to the next page and continued my downward spiral; the Northern Flicker was the first text on the page. Having never even heard of the Northern Flicker before, I thought I was going to have to start over from scratch searching through the entire field guide – a tedious process to say the least. What I failed to notice is that the Northern Flicker is a member of the Woodpecker family. Nearing utter defeat, my eyes scanned the pictures locking onto the topmost bird on the page. To my surprise it had a grayish head -- with a red crown, which I hadn't noticed -- but it had a tan breast with black spots, the back and wings were brown with black bars (stripes) -- which I had noticed, kind of, more so after reading about them than before. According to the field guide the key distinguishing marks of a Northern Flicker is a black patch across the chest, just below the neck, and a conspicuous white rump while in flight.
Armed with this new information, 90% sure of myself now, I raced back upstairs to see if the bird was still on the porch roof. It was gone. However, I did see a slight bit of fluttering just past the edge of the roof, in the tree with the nest. I raced back downstairs to the front window and in what was now an unprecedented experience for me; the bird was once again rummaging around the nest. Its back was turned to me but as I patiently watched, hoping it wouldn't up and fly away, it hopped to the side of the nest oriented facing me. What a stroke of luck. Even better luck was, there in plain sight, too obvious to miss now, the bold black patch across its chest. Now I'm 100% sure this is a Northern Flicker.
The Northern Flicker is
not new. What is new is something inside me, something the Northern Flicker has added to me, a spark of appreciation kindled for the seemingly common, yet deeply amazing, environment I get to live in every day. I become a new bird. The list of birds I’ve personally identified, my life list, is modest, especially compared with avid birders. Each time I add to my list however, is a very satisfying experience. It’s like making a new friend.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
It's all about the boys ...
Imagine you're a boy or maybe you have a son who loves baseball. For a 3rd or 4th grader the baseball draft is filled with the greatest anticipation. It's a chance to show off your skills and be with your friends. Finding out which team you're on and who else is on your team is right up there too. As the season approaches you work hard to refine your game, attending practices and working out individually. Winning isn't the only thing but it's the goal you set for yourself and your team. As the season gets underway you learn to work together and support each other. You quickly learn that hard work and a little luck can really pay off. As the end of the season approaches you are once again filled with anticipation looking forward to the city tournament where 22 teams come together to duke it out -- only the best team left standing -- bragging rights to the winner as well the usual set of awards, among which is the coveted placement in the state tournament. You want to win it all but don't dare even to dream about it. Then you go to work. You look for small ways to make improvements. You fight for motivation against all odds -- then you play. Game by game you struggle, you fight, you give it your best, but more than anything else you never give up. Then the thing you hoped for, the unbelievable, happens. You knock off the best team in the tournament in the semi-finals and run away with the championship. Joy, elation, awe are just a few words to describe your feelings. You move from here to anticipation once again -- the state tournament. Surely your hard work and effort will be rewarded with the best seating of any of the city teams in the state tournament, that's only fair.
Now imagine if all your anticipation was in vain, your hopes dashed to pieces, the rug pulled out from under your feet because someone doing the scheduling didn't wait to reward the actual winners, they simply chose, before the city tournament was barely half over, who they thought would win, rewarding teams who ended up in 3rd and 7th places higher than teams who placed 1st and 2nd. Imagine how you would feel, or how you would feel telling your son that. A man of honor and integrity would stand by his words "It's all about the boys" and do what is right even if it's hard. But then I come back to reality and remember that, in the city where I live, the rec department gets the final say, no matter what. They're the ones who make all the rules but only enforce them when it's convenient or helps their own teams.
Way to go Giants, you did it, City League Tournament Champs! Who would have thought you could do it?
Now imagine if all your anticipation was in vain, your hopes dashed to pieces, the rug pulled out from under your feet because someone doing the scheduling didn't wait to reward the actual winners, they simply chose, before the city tournament was barely half over, who they thought would win, rewarding teams who ended up in 3rd and 7th places higher than teams who placed 1st and 2nd. Imagine how you would feel, or how you would feel telling your son that. A man of honor and integrity would stand by his words "It's all about the boys" and do what is right even if it's hard. But then I come back to reality and remember that, in the city where I live, the rec department gets the final say, no matter what. They're the ones who make all the rules but only enforce them when it's convenient or helps their own teams.
Way to go Giants, you did it, City League Tournament Champs! Who would have thought you could do it?
Saturday, April 26, 2008
High Anxiety -- Climbing Angels Landing
The night before I read, one more time, from the Zion Canyon Trail Guide: "Angels Landing – Strenuous Long drop-offs and narrow trail. Not for anyone fearful of heights. Ends at summit high above Zion Canyon. Last 0.5 mi follows steep, narrow ridge; chains have been added."
The day of the hike I woke up with mixed emotions. I didn't sleep very well in anticipation of the day's activity. Half of me was excited for a challenge, to spend time with my sons accomplishing something that isn't easy. The other half was apprehensive. I worried I was plunging headlong into something I couldn't control, a strenuous hike I'd never done before. I looked for a way out without losing face – nothing presented itself.
The plan for the day had my family splitting up, only three of seven going on the hike. While the rest wanted to relax, hang around the hotel and go to the pool. We needed to meet back up as soon as possible so we could leave at 5:00pm for a special birthday dinner for my soon to be 16-year-old son.
My mixed emotions intensified when it took longer than we thought to travel from our hotel in St. George to the Zion Canyon Visitor Center, the better part of an hour. As the drive continued to drag on I started the mental calculations of how long it would take to do the hike and get back in time for our dinner plans. According to the trail guide the Angels Landing hike takes 4 hours round trip. We were bumping up against our dinner deadline.
A little background about me—I have chronic lateness syndrome. I've been known to totally mess up plans because I tend to get caught up in the moment, totally disregarding prior engagements.
Once again I offered to forgo the hike in order to guarantee we didn't disrupt the dinner plans. And once again I was shot down.
After being dropped off we scurried into the shuttle, right around noon. I had it in my mind that the 4 hours the trail guide estimated was for ordinary folks – those unlike the super me and my boys. But the fact that we started late, and had important dinner plans that could easily be messed up, started me off feeling behind.
We exited the shuttle at the Grotto and made a beeline for the trailhead across the street. I prepped my 2 sons, one 13-years-old and the other 18: "We need to hustle through the hike, no dilly dallying." As we progressed through the lower part of the trail my 13-year-old made excellent time. In fact, I worried he was going too fast and should pace himself. We stuck together, mainly because they were nice and waited for me when I lagged too far behind. The first set of switchbacks weren't much of a challenge, the trail was paved most of the way. By the time we made it to the base of the mountain the trail leveled out into a welcomed gentle rolling up and down stroll, for a few minutes. We made it through that section even quicker and came upon the second section of switchbacks. This was mostly in the shade and once again posed little challenge. Till we hit the spot I now understand is called "Walters Wiggles." What a cute name for what ended up being quite the opposite of cute. Looking up from the base of the wiggles this set of switchbacks were so tight and so many, I at first glance thought we were going to climb stairs carved into the stone. They weren't actually stairs but they might as well have been. The rapid zig-zags wore me out after the first few. I set my goal to go back and forth, one zig and one zag, once before stopping for a breather (rather than stopping at each switchback). This strategy had the added bonus that I could stop in the shade each time. I got into a rhythm, found a second wind and began taking 2 zig-zags before a break. As I plodded along through the 21 zig-zags I'd come upon my sons laughing and hiding in cracks pointing out how old I am. Something I'm only now able to look back on and smile at. Clearly the wiggles didn't have the same physical impact on my sons that they did on me. At the top of the wiggles the trail leveled off just before my physical strength gave out. We had a brief leisurely stroll through a comfy sandy-bottomed trail into Scout Lookout. It's at this point where you can catch a glimpse of what's to come before reaching the summit of Angels Landing. Pay attention here.
Up to this point on the hike there were many people going up and down, along with us. Each one that passed going down I wanted to ask: "Is it worth it?" and "How far are we?" But few if any spoke to us more than a brief greeting. I guess they were busy enjoying the solitary beauty of the surroundings, like we were.
The stroll through Scout Lookout was invigorating. Physically that was exactly what I needed. We passed many who were lounging about enjoying the view. But for us, we had a schedule to keep. From here to the top is a mere 0.5 miles, a piece of cake. We made it to the first set of chains. My first thought was alright, I can handle this, it's gonna be fun – let the challenge begin. That's because the first set of chains are pretty easy, on a hill with no narrow cliffs. I believe this is how they suck you in. Progressing through that first set I was confident, everything was good. We did have to wait for traffic – it was pretty much a single line for those going up and down. But that was always a welcomed respite.
Then the trail got steeper and narrower. I don't remember exactly where it happened but the fun, at least for me, stopped. My anxiety mounted with each step I took over the narrow rocks, shuffling along the edge of the sheer cliffs, which at this point rose roughly 150 feet. I thought to myself this would be so much easier mentally if I were alone, without my sons. It was my sons, especially the headstrong 13-year-old, who despite his so far athletic, acrobatic, prowess, I could envision slipping over the edge while I watched helpless unable to assist either them in any way. I briefly thought about how I would explain such an occurrence to my wife. As we continued through this set of chains, boulders, and narrow ledges I started to wonder how anyone could enjoy this? I stopped at each location that afforded a more comfortable, stable refuge and took a deep breath, pondering whether or not I really wanted to continue. Through this section I couldn't even look around and enjoy the beautiful scenery. The best I could muster was to focus on the next step immediately in front of me, completely ignoring the cliff edges to the left of me and the steep drop offs to the right. Trying with every ounce of effort I had not to worry about my sons, while at the same time praying that we'd all make it through this safely. I looked for hope from anyone descending. A "you're almost there," or "it's not so bad", or even "it's worth it once you get to the top" were not freely flowing, but I started petitioning people till I got the feedback I desperately needed. My nervous chatter distracted from the fears surrounding me providing minute amounts of calm, much funnier now, looking back. There were many times as I asked people that I hoped they'd say just a few more feet, just over that rock right there. One devastatingly said "you're almost there but you've still got some tough spots before you reach the top." I didn't need that. But it kind of riled me – maybe I did need that. It wasn't nearly as bad as they made it sound. Soon after that we rounded a corner with no more chains in sight. The trail leveled off for another 30 yards or so and that was it.
People were sitting down along the way enjoying this view. We walked till we reached a large group and we couldn't go any further. We made it! I looked down at my watch, our climbing time so far was 1:15, not too shabby. The view was enjoyable, but after a 15 minute rest, some jerky and water, and a few pictures, the schedule needed to be met. I still didn't really enjoy this part, my sons did though. They loved jumping from boulder to boulder, regardless of the proximity to the edge. My 13-year-old, much to my dismay, needed to accomplish every part on his own. Each offer of assistance from my older son was waived off.
My favorite part while descending through this upper section was giving encouragement to those going up, that same encouragement that I so much needed during my own ascent. As we passed through the last section of chains, back to Scout Lookout, I've never been so glad to be "back on the ground" in my life! From here down the sense of accomplishment settled in. I even let gravity coax me into a jog at times, accelerating my descent. Even with stopping a few times to take pictures we crossed the bridge that leads to the shuttle stop at the Grotto after a scant 2:35 total round trip time. I guess I am super, not-so-ordinary, after all.
Was Angels Landing an easy hike? Heck no! Was it terribly difficult? No. But the combination of physical and mental challenges, enhanced by traveling with someone you love, care about, and tend to worry about, make it stand out for me as an accomplishment not soon forgotten. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.
The life lesson I take away is this: Sometimes life feels perilous, with ultimate doom surrounding us and our loved ones. Worrying about it doesn't help us make any progress, in fact worrying stifles progress. The best thing to do is focus on the very next step required as an individual, hoping and praying that our loved ones will do the same.
A second life lesson is this: once you've overcome a challenge a small, simple word of encouragement to others in a similar challenge of their own, can mean the difference between their success or failure.
The day of the hike I woke up with mixed emotions. I didn't sleep very well in anticipation of the day's activity. Half of me was excited for a challenge, to spend time with my sons accomplishing something that isn't easy. The other half was apprehensive. I worried I was plunging headlong into something I couldn't control, a strenuous hike I'd never done before. I looked for a way out without losing face – nothing presented itself.
The plan for the day had my family splitting up, only three of seven going on the hike. While the rest wanted to relax, hang around the hotel and go to the pool. We needed to meet back up as soon as possible so we could leave at 5:00pm for a special birthday dinner for my soon to be 16-year-old son.
My mixed emotions intensified when it took longer than we thought to travel from our hotel in St. George to the Zion Canyon Visitor Center, the better part of an hour. As the drive continued to drag on I started the mental calculations of how long it would take to do the hike and get back in time for our dinner plans. According to the trail guide the Angels Landing hike takes 4 hours round trip. We were bumping up against our dinner deadline.
A little background about me—I have chronic lateness syndrome. I've been known to totally mess up plans because I tend to get caught up in the moment, totally disregarding prior engagements.
Once again I offered to forgo the hike in order to guarantee we didn't disrupt the dinner plans. And once again I was shot down.
After being dropped off we scurried into the shuttle, right around noon. I had it in my mind that the 4 hours the trail guide estimated was for ordinary folks – those unlike the super me and my boys. But the fact that we started late, and had important dinner plans that could easily be messed up, started me off feeling behind.
We exited the shuttle at the Grotto and made a beeline for the trailhead across the street. I prepped my 2 sons, one 13-years-old and the other 18: "We need to hustle through the hike, no dilly dallying." As we progressed through the lower part of the trail my 13-year-old made excellent time. In fact, I worried he was going too fast and should pace himself. We stuck together, mainly because they were nice and waited for me when I lagged too far behind. The first set of switchbacks weren't much of a challenge, the trail was paved most of the way. By the time we made it to the base of the mountain the trail leveled out into a welcomed gentle rolling up and down stroll, for a few minutes. We made it through that section even quicker and came upon the second section of switchbacks. This was mostly in the shade and once again posed little challenge. Till we hit the spot I now understand is called "Walters Wiggles." What a cute name for what ended up being quite the opposite of cute. Looking up from the base of the wiggles this set of switchbacks were so tight and so many, I at first glance thought we were going to climb stairs carved into the stone. They weren't actually stairs but they might as well have been. The rapid zig-zags wore me out after the first few. I set my goal to go back and forth, one zig and one zag, once before stopping for a breather (rather than stopping at each switchback). This strategy had the added bonus that I could stop in the shade each time. I got into a rhythm, found a second wind and began taking 2 zig-zags before a break. As I plodded along through the 21 zig-zags I'd come upon my sons laughing and hiding in cracks pointing out how old I am. Something I'm only now able to look back on and smile at. Clearly the wiggles didn't have the same physical impact on my sons that they did on me. At the top of the wiggles the trail leveled off just before my physical strength gave out. We had a brief leisurely stroll through a comfy sandy-bottomed trail into Scout Lookout. It's at this point where you can catch a glimpse of what's to come before reaching the summit of Angels Landing. Pay attention here.
Up to this point on the hike there were many people going up and down, along with us. Each one that passed going down I wanted to ask: "Is it worth it?" and "How far are we?" But few if any spoke to us more than a brief greeting. I guess they were busy enjoying the solitary beauty of the surroundings, like we were.
The stroll through Scout Lookout was invigorating. Physically that was exactly what I needed. We passed many who were lounging about enjoying the view. But for us, we had a schedule to keep. From here to the top is a mere 0.5 miles, a piece of cake. We made it to the first set of chains. My first thought was alright, I can handle this, it's gonna be fun – let the challenge begin. That's because the first set of chains are pretty easy, on a hill with no narrow cliffs. I believe this is how they suck you in. Progressing through that first set I was confident, everything was good. We did have to wait for traffic – it was pretty much a single line for those going up and down. But that was always a welcomed respite.
Then the trail got steeper and narrower. I don't remember exactly where it happened but the fun, at least for me, stopped. My anxiety mounted with each step I took over the narrow rocks, shuffling along the edge of the sheer cliffs, which at this point rose roughly 150 feet. I thought to myself this would be so much easier mentally if I were alone, without my sons. It was my sons, especially the headstrong 13-year-old, who despite his so far athletic, acrobatic, prowess, I could envision slipping over the edge while I watched helpless unable to assist either them in any way. I briefly thought about how I would explain such an occurrence to my wife. As we continued through this set of chains, boulders, and narrow ledges I started to wonder how anyone could enjoy this? I stopped at each location that afforded a more comfortable, stable refuge and took a deep breath, pondering whether or not I really wanted to continue. Through this section I couldn't even look around and enjoy the beautiful scenery. The best I could muster was to focus on the next step immediately in front of me, completely ignoring the cliff edges to the left of me and the steep drop offs to the right. Trying with every ounce of effort I had not to worry about my sons, while at the same time praying that we'd all make it through this safely. I looked for hope from anyone descending. A "you're almost there," or "it's not so bad", or even "it's worth it once you get to the top" were not freely flowing, but I started petitioning people till I got the feedback I desperately needed. My nervous chatter distracted from the fears surrounding me providing minute amounts of calm, much funnier now, looking back. There were many times as I asked people that I hoped they'd say just a few more feet, just over that rock right there. One devastatingly said "you're almost there but you've still got some tough spots before you reach the top." I didn't need that. But it kind of riled me – maybe I did need that. It wasn't nearly as bad as they made it sound. Soon after that we rounded a corner with no more chains in sight. The trail leveled off for another 30 yards or so and that was it.
People were sitting down along the way enjoying this view. We walked till we reached a large group and we couldn't go any further. We made it! I looked down at my watch, our climbing time so far was 1:15, not too shabby. The view was enjoyable, but after a 15 minute rest, some jerky and water, and a few pictures, the schedule needed to be met. I still didn't really enjoy this part, my sons did though. They loved jumping from boulder to boulder, regardless of the proximity to the edge. My 13-year-old, much to my dismay, needed to accomplish every part on his own. Each offer of assistance from my older son was waived off.
My favorite part while descending through this upper section was giving encouragement to those going up, that same encouragement that I so much needed during my own ascent. As we passed through the last section of chains, back to Scout Lookout, I've never been so glad to be "back on the ground" in my life! From here down the sense of accomplishment settled in. I even let gravity coax me into a jog at times, accelerating my descent. Even with stopping a few times to take pictures we crossed the bridge that leads to the shuttle stop at the Grotto after a scant 2:35 total round trip time. I guess I am super, not-so-ordinary, after all.
Was Angels Landing an easy hike? Heck no! Was it terribly difficult? No. But the combination of physical and mental challenges, enhanced by traveling with someone you love, care about, and tend to worry about, make it stand out for me as an accomplishment not soon forgotten. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.
The life lesson I take away is this: Sometimes life feels perilous, with ultimate doom surrounding us and our loved ones. Worrying about it doesn't help us make any progress, in fact worrying stifles progress. The best thing to do is focus on the very next step required as an individual, hoping and praying that our loved ones will do the same.
A second life lesson is this: once you've overcome a challenge a small, simple word of encouragement to others in a similar challenge of their own, can mean the difference between their success or failure.
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