From Kili to Boston

It's been over two months since we've been back in the states now, which means it's been over two months of insanity.  My life has been filled with job interviews, stress, job training, even more stress, and travel.  And now, I find myself in Boston, preparing to run in the 118th running of the Boston Marathon.  Tomorrow morning, I finally get to run this race I had tried for so long to qualify for. It's a cool feeling, especially on such a momentous year, but also a little strange.  I almost don't feel good enough or fast enough to be running this.  And yet, here I am.  Wish me luck...

Kilimanjaro, Day 6 - Summit Day

February 3, 2014

Kilimanjaro, Day 6: Summit Day

It all started with a loud knocking on our tent at precisely 12:15am, which was the wake-up time we had negotiated.  We had slept in the majority of our gear to stave off the biting cold that permeates everything at 15,331 feet, so there wasn't much to do, except activate our foot and hand warmers, and attempt to force down some breakfast.  We gathered in the mess tent, nervously sipping our hot drinks and nibbling our power bars, but no one had much of an appetite, partly because of the altitude, but mostly because we were all on edge.  There was a nervous energy hanging over us, as we prepped ourselves for this final ascent, as we were all too aware of what was waiting for us out there at the trailhead.

We began our final 4,010 foot ascent to the roof of Africa at 1:00am, in the pitch black and bitter cold of night.  As we approached the trailhead, we could see lines of tiny headlamps further up the mountain, all belonging to hikers who had started much earlier than we; their presence more intimidating than comforting, as they seemed so far away.  Eventually, we would pass most of those lights, not out of competition, but as a result of our strong, steady pace.  But, first, we started this hike just as we had every other hike on the mountain.  Pole, pole.  Slowly, slowly.

This time, we moved more slowly than anyone at sea-level could ever imagine.  We were already above 15,000 feet, so the simplest task required monumental effort.  Even drinking from my Camelback took my breath away, making climbing the mountain seem an impossible feat.  So, rather than get discouraged, I took it one step, and one breath, at a time.

The world around us was so densely black that we couldn't see the landscape ahead, or anywhere else around us.  Our vision was limited to the infinitesmally small area illuminated by our headlamps, thus our world became no more than the ground directly in front of our feet.  Talking was too much effort, and wasted precious oxygen, so we all put our heads down, and silently made our way up the mountain, one small step at a time.  Pole, pole.  Slowly, slowly.

The complete darkness, in combination with the ever-depleting oxygen levels, proved a powerful hallucinogen for me.  I kept seeing things in my peripheral vision - flutters of light and other vibrant colors not grounded in reality - and would turn my head to seek out their source, only to find myself so light-headed and dizzy that I was in danger of blacking out.  I also began hearing things - little chatters of laughter and far-off bits of conversations that probably weren't really taking place.  (Or maybe they were.  I'll never know.)  It was disconcerting to realize my mind was playing tricks on me, especially knowing that an altered mental status is one of the earliest signs of altitude sickness.  I didn't want my mind to go there.  The climb itself was already difficult enough; I didn't want to be preoccupied with whether or not I was getting sick.  So, I popped in my earbuds, turned on my iPod, and lost myself in the the playlist I had made just for this occasion.  Thankfully, it worked.  The music drowned out the heavy breathing and complaints of those around me, giving me something to concentrate on, rather than my own doubts and misery.  It allowed me to focus on me.

After that, my only intentional thought was to watch the feet of our guide, Richard, as he lead us up the mountainside, step by step.  Pole, pole.  Slowly, slowly.  All I had to do was place my feet exactly where he had placed his, focus on my breathing, and listen to my music.  My world became that limited and that incredibly simple.

My strategy was a success.  Before I knew it, we had been climbing for two hours.  Then three.  It was impossible to judge our progress from the landscape around us; we had the darkness to thank for that.  Our only marker of success was time, so we clung to what our watches told us, with each digit becoming our lifeline.

Soon enough, we were able to make out the ridge above us, thanks to the ant-like procession of headlamps progressing along its edge.  And, soon after that, we found ourselves at Stella Point, which at 18,680 feet, was only 660 feet short of the peak.  I don't think I've ever felt so relieved.  And, yet, we still weren't done.

And then, ever so slowly, the sun began to edge its way over the horizon, turning the once-black sky into brilliant layers of indigo, orange, and crimson.  Step by step, we crept towards the peak.  Little by little, the sky continued to lighten.  Finally, we were able to see our surroundings - the mighty glaciers, snowfields, and craters that make Kilimanjaro the magnificent feat of nature that it is.  Saying it was breathtaking doesn't do it justice.  Saying it was life-altering is only the beginning.

By the time the sun rose, illuminating everything around us, my head felt surprisingly clear and my breathing normalized.  I'm not sure if it was the adrenaline, or the benefit of being allowed to walk on a flat surface for a few minutes, but I felt amazingly well for being at such an incredibly high altitude.  Mouse, on the other hand, was not fairing so well.  He had opted not to take Diamox, and it showed.  I could see he was suffering, weaving along the trail like a drunkard, complaining of a pounding headache, and I was worried.  He was hurting, making his experience nothing like mine.  But, as bad as I felt for him, I couldn't help but be elated.  After 5 1/2 hours, we had made it.  We were at the top of Kilimanjaro!

But 19,340 feet is not an altitude that one stays at for long, so our celebration was short-lived.  We quickly took our pictures.  We high-fived.  We celebrated.  And then we headed back down the mountain.

So now, I'm lying in our tent at Mweka Camp, at 10,065 feet, more tired, sore, and covered in filth than I have been in  my entire life.  My back aches.  My quads are shredded.  And my body still quivers with the fatigue of today's journey.  But, in all honesty, none of that matters.  I did it.  I summited Kilimanjaro!!!

Kilimanjaro, Day 5

February 2, 2014

Kilimanjaro, Day 5: Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp



It's kind of incredible watching camp break down every morning.  As we hikers eat breakfast, pack our bags, and organize ourselves for the day, our porters swing into action, silently and efficiently gathering up our mess tent, sleeping bags, and other supplies into large, straw baskets and bags fashioned out of tarp, all to be carried atop their heads to the next camp.  Just as quickly as our colorful city of tents appears on the barren landscape each and every afternoon, it disappears, with only the bare rock and gravel of this mighty mountain left in our wake, like a mirage that never even existed.

Even though this same routine has taken place every morning, today's breakdown seemed even more fantastic.  Maybe it's because more and more trekkers have been converging, as the various routes are beginning to meet up, so the latest camps have become increasingly populated, creating a multi-colored sea of tents, spanning as far as the eye can see.  Or, maybe, it's because today's energy is vastly different from the previous days; the air is practically alive with excitement.  I can hear the exuberance and anticipation in everyone's voices as we prepare for today's hike.  There's a boisterousness that wasn't there before.  We've all made it this far, which, in and of itself, is an accomplishment.  But, even more exciting, is that today is the day we head to base camp, where we will rest our weary bones for a few hours before beginning our final trek to the top.  So, in all reality, this morning is the beginning of a very long and arduous twenty-four hour stretch.  This is the beginning of the end...

Kilimanjaro, Day 4

February 1, 2014

Kilimanjaro, Day 4: Barranco Camp to Karranga Camp

It happened again.  The beginning of today's hike was nearly a repeat of yesterday's.  Once again, I was light-headed, couldn't get my breathing under control, and became overwhelmed with frustration.  At least, this time, I knew what to expect, and was able to push my way through it without too much trouble, save for a moderate dose of crankiness.  It just isn't fun to feel so horrible, even for a short period of time.  But it isn't going to get any better; the higher we climb, the worse these symptoms are going to get.  I guess I'm just going to have to accept that the first thirty minutes on the trail are simply going to suck, which means I'm going to have to toughen up.

Today's challenge was The Breakfast Wall, which loomed over Barranco Camp, taunting us with it's steep vertical rise.  In all reality, it wasn't that much of an elevation gain, maybe 700 or 800 feet to the ridge line, but that didn't make it seem any less daunting when we were sizing it up during breakfast.  It looked exactly as the name suggests, a wall jutting straight up from the landscape, separating us from our next resting point.  It was a sheer cliff of slick, black rock, formidable in its presence alone. As we drank our morning coffee, we could see the hikers who had set out before us, tiny as ants, slowly making their way up this steep wall.  Talk about intimidating...

Once we got going, it became apparent that the wall looked much more formidable than it actually was.  Technically speaking, we weren't doing anything more difficult than I've done in any of the canyons of Utah or Nevada that we've navigated dozens of times.  But even doing something as simple as a Class 4 climb at 13,000+ feet, is more than a little taxing.  Every hand grip and foot placement is one hundred times more challenging than if I were doing it at sea-level.  It didn't take much for me to feel completely exhausted and out of breath, which quickly took its toll on my psyche.  My temper flared and I snapped at the boys, even though they were only trying to encourage me.  But in my oxygen-deprived state, I took this encouragement as mocking, and became convinced they were patronizing me.  I was fuming.  The funny thing was, I could logically recognize my bad mood was a direct result of the lack of oxygen to my brain; I just couldn't stop myself from slipping into my cranky pants.  So, rather than drive my husband and friends away, I put my head down, took a few deep breathes, and concentrated on the climbing.  In no time at all, my breathing was under control, my head began to clear, and my grouchiness subsided.  I apologized for my foul mood, and before I knew it, we were at the ridge line.


Unfortunately, reaching the top The Breakfast Wall did not mean we were done for the day.  We took a quick break, and started back on the trail, first dipping low into a valley before heading right back up another steep ridge to reach Karanga Camp at 13,106 feet, which is where we'll camp tonight.  I'm not going to say today was easy, as my brief bought with the altitude would disprove, but it wasn't exactly difficult, either.  More than anything, today felt like a slow and steady grind.  We reached camp by 11:30 am, which totaled a mere three hours of hiking.  In all honesty, the work was done nearly before we realized it had begun.  We've spent the remainder of the day relaxing, napping, and exploring camp.  We've had more than enough time to kill.

What strikes me most, here at Karanga Camp, is what a serious undertaking this expedition truly is.  Mouse and I have backpacked before, spending several days at a time in the wilderness, far from any trace of human civilization, but we've never done anything like this.  As I walk around camp, I'm simply awestruck by what a feat this adventure truly is.  I'm not sure exactly why this realization is hitting me so hard today - maybe it's because several parties converged from different trails today, making camp even more massive than usual, or maybe it's because someone we've come to know quite well was overcome with altitude sickness today, and had to be emergently escorted down the mountain.  Whatever the reason, there's no denying this is serious business.

The snow-capped top of the mountain is getting closer and closer, and it's almost scary to realize we are going to attempt to summit it in just over twenty-four hours.    We're in the thick of it now, and there is no turning back.  We're going to summit Kilimanjaro, and I'm so grateful for the hiking, climbing, and overall wilderness experience I have, as it gives me a frame of reference, helping me through the taxing hikes and ice cold nights.  Each night seems to get colder, so each night I pile on more gear.  I'm almost maxed out right now, but am saving the last and warmest pieces for tomorrow. At 13,106 feet, it's cold enough for me to see my breath as I write this, even though I'm tucked away in my tent.  And I can't leave my gloves off for long, as my fingers cramp up from the cold.  Tomorrow we'll be at greater than 15,000 feet, so it's only going to get worse.  I'm not looking forward to tomorrow's conditions, but I have to remind myself that it's all part of this journey; a piece of the puzzle that is trekking Kilimanjaro.  Soon, we'll be back at the hotel and in the heat of the lowlands, but for now this is our reality.

Kilimanjaro, Day 3

January 31, 2014

Kilimanjaro, Day 3: Shira Hut 2 to Lava Tower to Barranco Camp

After the sun went down last night, it got cold, cold, cold.  I guess I should have known that would happen; we were camping at 12,500 feet, after all, but the frigidness took me by surprise for some reason.  It was an unrelenting, permeating cold that followed us wherever we went.  Even the mess tent provided little respite, with our food turning ice cold the moment it hit our plates.  And this morning we were greeted with a thin sheet of frost covering everything in camp, even our tents.  It was a chilly reminder of how far up the mountain we've already come, and, yet, how far we still have to go.

Today was, by far, our coldest start yet.  It was also our most difficult day yet.  The point of today was to acclimatize ourselves to the ever-increasing altitude, so we started at the 12,500 feet elevation of Shira 2 Camp, making our way up to Lava Tower at 15,190 feet for lunch, then back down to 13,044 feet, where Barranco Camp resides.

Unfortunately, today was not my finest day.  I felt fine when I woke up.  Nothing was out of the ordinary, except being increasingly sore and stiff from our long days on the trail, coupled with sleeping on the cold, hard ground.  I ate breakfast and packed up my gear without a second thought.  But, as soon as we began ascending up the trail, every part of my being felt off-kilter.  My head began to ache, despite the prophylactic Tylenol I had taken earlier.  My stomach felt nauseated.  My bowels felt off.  And, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get my breathing under control.  It was shallow and rapid, like I was gulping for air.  I did my best to take long, slow breaths, but wasn't able to do so at the pace we were keeping.  It was like drowning on dry land.  I could feel my mental status altering; I was angry, scared, and frustrated all at once.  What made it even worse was that the boys kept on, pulling further and further away from me.  I wanted to yell for them to wait, but I didn't have the energy.

The frustration, anger, and fear only continued to build as I tried to catch up.  I'm never at the back of the group, so I was becoming infuriated that I couldn't catch them.  But, as the gap between us increased, I also began to realize that I simply wasn't capable of keeping that pace, which made me feel even worse.  I became mired in self-doubt.  What if I couldn't make it to Lava Hut?  What if this was the end of the road for me?  What if I don't get to summit the mountain?  It was becoming a dangerous mental game.  I could feel the panic rising up and taking over my entire body.  The tears began to well up in my eyes, no matter how hard I fought them, but there was no stopping them; it was a visceral, gut reaction.  I tried to get myself under control.  I tried to think logically, use my nursing smarts, and remind myself that all of this was a basic physiologic response to oxygen deprivation.  Still, I couldn't help the intense emotions overtaking me.  I was becoming physically and mentally exhausted, and we weren't even an hour into today's hike.  Finally, I had to make the decision to stop caring about the boys, and dictate my own pace.  Pole, pole.  Pole, pole.  I kept my head down and repeated that familiar phrase over and over.  After was seemed like an eternity, but was probably only another 10 minutes, the boys noticed I was moving considerably slower than they were, and stopped to check on me.  We took a break, so I could catch my breath, drink some water, and start taking my Diamox, the most commonly used medication to prevent altitude sickness.

Eventually, I began to feel better.  After our short break, we were able to continue up the mountain and over the ridge, albeit at a much slower pace, finally reaching Lava Tower at 15,190 feet.  By the time we arrived at our lunch destination, I was back to my usual self; no headache, no stomachache,   and, most importantly, my breathing was back under control.  As my physiologic symptoms of altitude sickness dissipated, so did my psychologic; the panic, frustration, and anger were all gone.  My confidence had returned.

We eventually made it to Barranco Camp, at 13,044 feet, by 1:30pm, where we're all just hanging out and relaxing, as per usual.  Oddly enough, we were exactly on schedule, despite having adopted my slower pace.  Today was a good lesson in the importance of listening to my body.  It doesn't matter if if I'm first or last to reach our destination, as long as I take it nice and steady up the trail, I will make it.

Kilimanjaro, Day 2

January 30, 2014

Kilimanjaro, Day 2:  Mount Mkubwa to Shira 2 Camp


We're disgustingly dirty, thanks to the high winds and whirling dust that envelops us above tree-line, but we've made it to Shira 2 Camp.  The four of us have all flopped into our folding chairs, a luxury we're not accustomed to in the backcountry, and are airing out our sore and sweaty feet.  The temperature at camp is perfect, as the sun is still out; it feels good to be able to just sit back and let it warm us.  After 6 hours of hiking such varied terrain, we're all exhausted, and it shows.

At 11 miles, today was our longest stretch of the entire trek, although it wasn't the most difficult portion of trail we'll be facing.  We started at Big Tree Camp/Forest Camp, at 9,498 feet, and slowly made our way out of the jungle, into the grasslands, then up through the high dessert, before passing through Shira 1 Camp and, finally, reaching the rocky, moon-like landscape of Shira 2 Camp, where we are camping tonight, at 12,500 feet.

Just like yesterday, we stuck with the time-honored tradition of "pole, pole", gradually making our way to higher ground.  But today's pace was much more comfortable, as our guides are getting to know us and our abilities a little better.

Today's hike was amazingly beautiful, in an oddly familiar kind of way.  If I hadn't known I was in Tanzania, I could have easily been convinced this was just another hike in the American West.  At times, I felt like I was hiking Mount Bierstadt, in the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains.  Other times, I could have sworn I was in Joshua Tree National Park.  These are the times when I'm amazed by how ordinary everything seems, even though this trip is taking me worlds away from anything I've ever known.  But, of course, there are moments when I'm reminded of how foreign this experience truly is, like when we could see the Kenyan border during one of our breaks.  It didn't look like much from our vantage point, but there it was, hidden somewhere in the plains.  Just the thought of that blows
me away.

Even though today's hike was long and fairly taxing, I'm amazed by how good I feel.  Yes, I'm exhausted and my muscles are sore, but that's the extent of it.  I don't have a headache.  I'm not experiencing any stomach issues.  I'm not even overly fatigued.  I feel exactly what one would expect to feel after hiking 6 hours, pleasantly worn out.  Robert was the only person in our group who felt a little off from the altitude, but he was back to normal after the Tylenol had time to kick in.

It's only 3 o'clock in the afternoon, so now we have the remainder of the day to kick back and relax.   Soon, it will be time for our afternoon snack of tea, Milo, and popcorn.  Since we need to give ourselves time to properly acclimate to the ever-increasing altitude, as much of our time over the next several days will be spent hanging around camp, as it will be on the trail.  Needless to say, I see a lot of heated card games in our future...

Kilimanjaro, Day 1

January 29, 2014

Kilimanjaro, Day 1:  Londorossi Gate to Mount Mkubwa (Big Tree Camp/Forest Camp)

We made it.  We're finally here.  We've reached our very first campsite, Big Tree Camp/Forest Camp, along the Lemosho Route of Mount Kilimanjaro.  Although this was only the first day of seven, and probably the least strenuous of all the days we'll spend on the mountain, it seems like it took us a lifetime to get here.

It all started nearly a year ago when my close friends and fellow outdoors-enthusiasts, Mike and Robert, announced they were going to climb Kilimanjaro.  They invited Mouse and I to come along, but I didn't think Mouse would go for it.  He's a good sport about most of my overly-ambitious endeavors, but this was going to be a serious undertaking.  And yet, to my great surprise, he was game.  So, sometime in August 2013, the planning for this great adventure began.

It took us months to get everything organized.  First, we had to decide upon a guide company.  We ended up choosing Ultimate Kilimanjaro, which turned out to be more of a middle-man that contracts out to Zara Tours, one of the largest guide companies in Tanzania.  (Up until today, I was a little annoyed with going through a middle-man, but after being in Tanzania for only two days, I have realized that they probably made our planning and preparation go much more smoothly than if we had attempted to to through Zara Tours directly.  It may have cost us a smidge more money, but it was definitely worth the convenience and decreased stress level.)  After choosing the guide company, we had to pick a date.  Once the deposit was paid and we were fully committed, life became a blur of work, training, and a multitude of trips to REI.  Before we knew it, it was time to drive cross-country to drop off the pup, and hop on a plane to Amsterdam, the first pitstop in this crazy month-long adventure.  So now, it almost seems surreal to be lying here in my tent at Big Tree Camp/Forest Camp, writing in my journal about our first day on the mountain.

The day started off like one might imagine any large-scale expedition in a third-world country to begin - in complete chaos.  Even though there are only four of us in the group, we require an astoundingly large support crew.  To be honest, I'm not even sure how many people are in our crew.  I've read that a group our size requires a minimum of two porter per person, a cook and waiter (who also serve as porters), an assistant guide, and a lead guide.  We could have more in our crew.  We could also have less.  We've met our assistant guide, Johnson, and our lead guide, Richard, but everyone else has swarmed around us in a flurry of activity.  First, it was to pack our bus and get us on the road.  Then, it was to unpack the bus at Londorossi Gate to weigh all of our gear and eat lunch.  After that, it was to repack the bus and make our way to the Lemosho Glades Trailhead.  And now, it's to get camp set up and dinner prepared.  Our crew never seems to stop, with everyone in constant motion.  It's almost dizzying to see them at work.

The ride from Londorossi Gate to the Lemosho Glades Trailhead was probably the most incredible, most stressful, and even most laughable things I've encountered in a long time.  The change in landscape as we drove deeper into the jungle was simply spectacular.  The landscape morphed from dry, dirt roads and dusty fields to lush, emerald-green foliage.  The more altitude we gained, the more beautiful our surroundings became.  But, there was a price to pay for our surroundings, the deeper we delved into the jungle, the worse the roads became.  The road turned into no more than a glorified Jeep trail, rutted out beyond all belief.  There were times I was convinced our big, old bus had no chance of making it; we would lean so far to the left or right that I could have leaned out the window and touched the ground.  But, as one might suspect, we did make it down the dilapidated road and to the trailhead, which is where our hike began.

The actual hike to Mount Mkubwa was incredibly mellow.  "Pole, pole" is our theme for the next seven days, which translates into "slow, slow".  And slow was definitely the speed set forth by Johnson, our assistant guide.  So slow, in fact, that it was almost painful at times.  It felt like I was expending more energy by trying to slow myself down, than if I just let myself go at a natural pace.  The athlete in me wanted to faster, but Johnson was determined to keep us in check.  So, we took our time, spotted a few different species of monkey, and even caught a monkey brawl.  After a couple of hours, we finally reached camp, which is a small tent city, as several groups and guide companies are all converging at this one spot.  Some of us will follow the same route over the next several days, others will break off and follow different courses.  Regardless, the area is scattered with sleeping tents, mess tents, outhouse tents, and climbers making conversation.  It's the first time I've really felt like I'm actually doing this.  I'm going to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

An Even Bigger Sigh of Relief

Holy Crap!  I can't believe it's been a month since I posted that last picture!  It seems like only yesterday that I was planning for (and stressing about) our trek up Kilimanjaro.  (The WiFi was so intermittent in Tanzania, it became impossible to for me to post any updates while I was there.)

I may have been smiling in the photo from my last post, but I was more nervous than I will ever truly admit.  This was definitely our biggest, most involved excursion to-date, and I had my doubts.  But, in the end, everything turned out just fine.  I'm not going to say it was easy, but it definitely wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be.  I was grateful for our significant backpacking, hiking, and climbing experience, which meant we were never forced to step out too far out of our outdoor-adventure comfort zone.  Instead, we just had to deal with the effects of the extreme altitude, the food, and the discomfort of being on a seven-day trek.  Therefore, it was very do-able.

While preparing for Kilimanjaro, I had a difficult time finding many informative blogs on what it's actually like to climb the mountain, so I want to provide a resource for those climbing it in the future.  Almost every account I read before our trek talked about how miserable and difficult reaching the peak can be.  I want to provide a counterpoint to those accounts.  So, over the next couple of weeks, I will be posting journal entries that I recorded while hiking the mountain.  I hope it will provide a very real, but also encouraging account of what it's truly like to Kilimanjaro.

Stay tuned for more...

Kili Day

Kili, here we come!

The Road to Kilimanjaro - The Day Before

Ok.  Amsterdam is done and over.  In retrospect, it might not have been the best preparation for Kilamanjaro, but it was good fun, despite the rotten weather.  The skies may have opened up and rained sheets upon sheets of rain on us every single day, but all we had to do was tuck into one of the little Brown Cafe's and everything was ok.  A couple of Heinekens later, we would be dry and warm, and ready to tackle more of the city.  I loved every part of Amsterdam: the cobblestone streets, the old-school architecture, the walk-ability of the entire city.  It was easily the best layover ever.

But now we're in Moshi, Tanzania, at the Springlands Hotel, packed and ready to start the big climb tomorrow.  I think I've freaked myself out over the past couple of weeks, reading way too many blogs of how tough the Kilimanjaro climb can be.  I've been doubting myself and my abilities.  I've scared myself into thinking I might not be able to do this.  I've been beyond nervous.  But I have to keep reminding myself that I'm fit and have been training for this.  We live at altitude, have been snowshoeing in the mountains, and even took that hut trip after Christmas.  If that didn't prepare me for Kili, then nothing will.

Our big hike begins tomorrow.  It's now or never, so I guess we better be ready.  I'll be off the grid for a whole, but a full trip report will certainly follow.  Wish us luck!


Click here to view our pics from Amsterdam.

A Big Sigh of Relief

Whew! We made it! All joking and dramatics aside, I was really, truly convinced we wouldn't make it to the airport in time.  The roads were horrible, as in highways closing, zero visability, and slicker than slick conditions.  Thank heavens for my parents and their determination to brave the deplorable road conditions and get us to our flight in time.  No sane person would have voluntarily gone out in those conditions, yet they did.  Amazing.  And, here we are, somewhere over the Atlantic, on our way to the first leg of this crazy adventure.

Amsterdam, here we come!!!

Road Blocks

My belly is somewhere in between a twisted knot of steel and a basket full of butterflies right now.  On one hand, I'm beyond excited and can barely believe today is finally the day we start our big trip.  On the other hand, thanks to the snow and ice covering the rural Michigan roads, we're making painfully slow progress to the airport right now.  So slow, in fact, I'm beginning to fear we might not make it in time.  I'm, actually, REALLY scared we're not going to make it in time.  But, it's all out of our hands at this point.  All we can do is keep plodding on, and hope the roads get better the further west we go.

Please, please, please get us there in time!!!!

Detour

Well, here we are, navigating the snow-covered, icy roads of the Midwest, en route to our next big adventure.  When we left Denver, it was sunny and nearly sixty degrees, so all of this cloud-covered winter chill is more than a little deflating as the backdrop for the first days of our vacation.  But this is only a pitstop on the way to bigger and better things; a mere blip on the map of our grand scheme.  In a few days, we will leave all of this Midwest droll behind and find ourselves soaring over the Atlantic, headed for parts unknown. (To us, anyway.).

But first, we're off to Michigan.  It's a strange and moderately inconvenient detour, considering our final destination, but we have a pup to consider, after all, and a little time with Nanna and Poppa will do him good.  So, this is how we have come to find ourselves trekking cross-country, in the middle of winter, slipping and sliding down rural highways, in near white-out conditions.  

No matter, today's drive is nearly over. Good friends, good wine, and amazing food are only an hour away.  And then, ultimately, Amsterdam, followed by Tanzania and the forboding Kilimanjaro.

You see, it's all worth it.

Didn't I tell you I had things worth writing about again?  Let this next adventure begin...

Our Backcountry Retreat - The Opus Hut

Crunch.  Crunch.  Crunch.  Crunch.  The sound of our snowshoes digging into the hard-packed snow was all we could hear in-between our heavy breathing.  At 10,000+ feet, the air was thin, making the incline up Ophir Pass seem even steeper, and our over-stuffed backpacks seem even heavier.  It was only a 3.5 mile trek to The Opus Hut, but our journey felt like it was taking an eternity.  It didn't help that the hut was nowhere in sight; all we could see was the trail going up, up, up.  We occasionally stopped to catch our collective breath, rest our burning quads, and take a swig of water.  The air temperature hovered around 10 degrees Fahrenheit, yet we were sweating as though we were in the middle of a heat wave.  All except puppy, of course.  He bounded up and down the trail with the exuberant energy of a child on Christmas morning.  I guess this was our Christmas gift to him.

Since we had two weeks off over the holidays, Mouse and I decided to take a little trip into the backcountry.  Considering it's the dead of winter here in Colorado, many people might deem this crazy.  Not for us.  Nope, in our minds, this was the perfect time to dust off our snowshoes, load up our backpacks, and head to the Southwest portion of the state for a hut trip, which is exactly what brought us to this sweaty, quad-burning, breathless point in time.  We were headed to The Opus Hut, near the top of the Ophir Pass.  During the summer months, the road we were slowly making our way up is open to traffic, taking one within 100 feet of the hut.  During the winter months, no such luck.  The road is nonexistent, nothing more than a cross-country ski and snowshoe path, meaning anyone wanting to stay at the hut must earn the right to do so.  And that was exactly what we were doing - earning our right to stay at this hidden gem of the San Juan Mountains.  So, we huffed and puffed, and just kept putting one foot in front of the other, until we finally caught a glimpse of the hut.  It was only a speck, and we had many switchbacks to navigate before we could finally rest, but it was the glimmer of hope we needed.

I'm not going lie, when we finally reached the hut, and were able to shed our cumbersome snowshoes, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  We were lucky, it only took us 3.5 hours to make the 3.5 mile trek up the pass, but my quads and back weren't feeling so fortunate.  We had opted to pack in our own food which, when combined with our winter clothes, basic supplies, and necessary box wine, had made for surprisingly heavy backpacks.  We were only staying two nights, but it felt like we had packed in enough weight to last us a week.  None of that mattered now, though.  Now it was time for us to reap the rewards of our hard work, pour a hearty glass of wine, and settle into our remote retreat.

For those unaccustomed to typical backcountry accommodations, The Opus Hut could seem a bit basic.  It's definitely not for anyone expecting Hilton-like luxury.  But, for those of us used to roughing it in less-than-ideal situations, this hut is a backcountry dream come true.  With running water, composting toilets, a working kitchen, solar power, and comfortable beds, it is downright palatial.  And, of course, the views are unparalleled; no one will ever wake up at a Hilton to see such pristine, untouched wilderness.

So, we spent the next two days relaxing, reading, and simply hanging out as a family.  Butters was overwhelmed with having so much wilderness and freedom at his doorstep that he ran and played non-stop, like the puppy he is.  Mouse and I opted to keep things a little more low-key.  We did our fair share of snowshoeing, but we also enjoyed the opportunity to take things down a notch.  After the whirlwind of the holidays, it was exactly what we needed.  And, luckily, with our bags at least 10 pounds lighter, the 3.5 mile trip back to the trailhead and our car was much less painful.

Click here to see the photo album from this trip.

Hello, again.

Why, hello, my old friend.  It's been a very long time since we've seen each other.  In all fairness, it's all my fault.  Once my summer road trip was over, I guess I didn't feel like I had much to write about.  I didn't even take a travel assignment this fall.  It just seemed like too much.  After being gone on two separate assignments last year, training for Ironman all summer, and then embarking on a month-long road trip, all I wanted to do was stay home and nest.  So, that is exactly what I did.  I found a local contract and stayed put.  So, please forgive me for not writing, but there really hasn't been much to write about.  The last few months have been incredibly, wonderfully mundane.  But, it's not going to stay that way much longer.  Our next adventure is about to begin...