Utah Adventures for the Merely Human
by Frances Warden
Recently my editor read an article I wrote about the out-of-doors and remarked that she envied my fortitude, energy, and fitness. I enjoyed a hearty laugh; then I felt it only right to disabuse her of her illusions. I would like to claim to be an energetic and fit adventuress, but at age 62, this would be possible only if I wrote under an assumed name. Those who know me would simply roll their eyes.
Fortunately, adventures in the outdoors are not just for the strong, brave, and experienced. They are also for all the rest of us—ordinary people who love the beautiful world we find ourselves in, and who want to see as much of it as we can before we die. Enjoying adventure takes, perhaps, one-tenth fitness and courage, and nine-tenths cheerfulness, serendipity, and humor.
Strength in Numbers
When braving the outdoors, it helps enormously to have a companion. With my friend, Karen, I have gone hiking, biking, backpacking, off-roading, river running, bird watching, photo journaling, and cross-country skiing. Recently my grown son asked, “So, Mom, is it just a matter of time before you and Karen take up bungee jumping?” I may be the weaker vessel, faint but pursuing as Karen disappears over the distant horizon, but still, she gets me out there, and that is what matters.
As Pooh says, “It’s friendlier with two.” You never know for sure what you will experience in the out-of-doors, but the unexpected actually becomes part of the fun when you have a fellow traveler who is cheerful and optimistic. To make our outings even more fun, Karen and I often invite our children, grandchildren, and other friends along.
The Energy Dilemma
Energy is not my strong suit, and for many years, chronic fatigue kept me from spending as much time outdoors as I would have liked. Even now, after a long hike or a trip, I sometimes have to sleep the better part of the next week to recuperate. In fact, I need a nap pretty much every afternoon. My companions are understanding and often explore close by while I sleep.
On hikes, a slow and steady pace is the key for me. When I go with a group, I pair up with the most relaxed hiker and, as Dory recommends in Finding Nemo, I “just keep swimming.” My hiking buddy and I pause now and then to catch our breath, watch some bugs, listen to a bird, or identify a flower—and then we just keep going. As senior hikers, we may be the tortoises rather than the hares, but we are not out there to prove anything. We are out there because we love life.
Camping in the “Good Old Days” …
In the past, I tended to be a bit cavalier about discomfort. My dad, who initiated me into camping, took a minimalist approach to outdoor comforts. We generally threw a canvas sleeping bag on the bare ground and slept under the open stars. Later, as a student at BYU, I spent 26 days in Southern Utah in a “survival” class. Our survival equipment consisted of a pocket knife and an army blanket. During the class, I learned how to make a coal bed in the sand; I cooked little cakes made of a paste of water, flour, and salt directly on the ashes of our campfire; and I even caught a fish with an old safety pin.
… And Camping Now
It is probably unnecessary to say that I don’t camp like that anymore because I don’t have to! Now I use lightweight self-inflatable air mattresses, perfect for naps or nighttime; featherweight walking sticks, heaven sent for wobbly ankles; tiny propane stoves to cook on; a new backpack designed to eliminate back strain. Clothing made from miracle fabrics keeps me warm and dry.
Portable water purifiers make even standing water safe to drink, and with freeze-dried foods, I can even eat asparagus sticks and marinated pork chops over a campfire, if yI am so inclined. Goodbye paste cakes!
New-Fangled Gadgets
Although new technology makes experiencing the out-of-doors safer, more comfortable, and more ecological with every passing year, I admit that I can be a bit resistant to it. I often feel that a crack team of young designers makes an excellent living figuring out how to baffle seniors with manuals written in unintelligible techno-speak, features one needs a civil engineering degree to understand, tiny buttons we can’t push, tiny print we can’t read, and audio features we can’t hear!
However, I’m happy to say I continue to adapt and learn. Many outdoors stores even offer helpful classes to help you learn what is available and how to use it. In browsing the amazing technology available, I’ve been stunned to learn that there are telescopes that use global positioning technology to help a star gazer identify any star, and digital cameras that enable you to take hundreds of photos off a single charge—the list goes on and on.
A little open-mindedness can help seniors like me embrace this unfamiliar high-tech gear, as well as some of the lesser-known low-tech gear. For example, on a backpacking trip to Grandaddy Lake in the High Uintas, my friend Karen wore the most ridiculous-looking mosquito hat. Including the picture is a necessity, because otherwise no one would believe anyone would wear such a funny looking object. Snickering under my breath, I confronted the mosquitoes armed only with a bottle of bug spray . . . until I had inhaled a few lungfuls. At that point I was very pleased to learn that Karen had brought a spare mosquito hat for me.
Taking Weather in Stride
Outdoor adventures such as our trip to the Uintas involve nature--which is famous for not doing what we want it to. With modern equipment and common sense, however, weather need not be a deterrent to adventure. Most of the inclement weather we experience is transitory and can actually add zest to the experience.
When Karen and I and some of my children and grandchildren began our run of the Green River in Flaming Gorge, it was a gorgeous day. Unfortunately, within ten minutes of our destination, we ran into what I believe most seasoned sailors would call a squall. I like to exaggerate and say it was more of a horizontal rain that struck our eyeballs with the force of a fire hose. We quickly made our way to the nearest shore and cowered under the overturned raft, while nature raged around us.
The canoe actually made a fine shelter, and the squall lasted only a matter of minutes, during which time I was single-mindedly fretting about my children and grandchildren who were in a second canoe. I held the only key to the locked car, and I could imagine them cold, wet, and shivering, waiting for us. When we made our way to the parking area, however, we laughed to find them instead drying off nicely by the heat of the hair dryers in the bathroom. That trip gave us all a great story to tell.
Serendipity
On a recent trip to Southern Utah, we had a plan—take a jeep and visit Devil’s Garden, hike into Hole in the Rock, and then drive north and explore a seldom-used road. However, that weekend it rained so much that we had to cancel the first half of our plan due to flash flood warnings. Later, we had to cancel the second half of our outing when we found that the road we had planned to take was washed out.
What we had not planned on was the little slot canyon we discovered as we drove back through Long Canyon. At the entrance to this side canyon—not more than ten feet wide—was a tiny “beach” of red sand and a scattering of vivid blue wild flowers. Mineral seepage had created bold abstract patterns on the cliff walls, making them look as though they had been created with a giant paintbrush. Once inside this narrow oasis, we caught a glimpse, high above, of a tiny sliver of vivid blue sky, reflected in the clear pools of water on the red sand floor. There were little alcoves, mini caves, giant stone steps, and a beautifully sculpted rock face to climb. It was a child’s playground, designed by the Master Artist.
We had not anticipated the incredible peace and beauty that we found in the solitary canyons and dry washes of Southern Utah. As we abandoned our previous itinerary and allowed serendipity to take over, I could feel the tension drain away as I listened to the sound of the wind rustling in the cottonwood trees. I settled back in the warm sand, hands behind my head, and looked up at the interlacing branches silhouetted against the clear, infinite sky. I was hypnotized by the silver light I saw dancing off the undersides of the leaves. I could almost hear the voices of the Anasazi, who once called this land home, speaking to us in the whisper of the swaying branches.
It really doesn’t matter that none of our trips ever turn out quite like we plan, or that we are not young and strong any more. We will keep going back to the wild places of Utah, because we know that life is too short and the world too beautiful to allow anything—not our human imperfections, our age, or our fears—to keep us from exploring it.