August Rain

August rains visit the mountains like a song, sweet beginning and end. Ever soft and shallow, small droplets amass conviction then steam ever determined to the ground. Refreshing scents of sage and pine filling the air, an effervescent soup one wears to taste. All around colors change. Great mounds of stone alter to reveal other shades of magnificence and strength. Roads, once light and dusty turn to thick unforgiving muck, while the grasses shimmering light reflect the sky's brightness. Like stars, twinkling in their terrestrial cosmos.

High On A Mountain Top - Mount Olympus '09

Scaping out the land below, the people like ants. Small creatures in single file freeways and roads. Sunbeam light breaks through cloud cover, ushering colored spectrum and song into the gray morning. ever cool breezes blow, moist, chasing the fog up the mountain trail.
Rain comes now, not from above but all around, beading on my skin. As quickly, the warm sun appears to chases wet droplets away.

Delicate Rhythm and Excitement

It is early morning, dark, absent the warming touch of sunrise, yet I am filled with anticipation and excitement. Keen to nature's awakening, it fills my soul as I drive through Big Cottonwood Canyon.

Silver Lake lays silent, shadow cast and surrounded by an army of snow caped peaks. Eking out of the lake-giant, a small stream glides in whimsy; hardly a prelude to the mighty current it feeds close by. Its deliberate current is steady, though barely moving as to deceive me. I slide into the water, carefully and not to disturb, too much, the soft bed of soil and mud beneath my feet. Even still, delicate plums of brown smoking soil envelope me and rise before being carried away. Now, pressing against me, I can feel the cool stream, refreshing and clean.

Sunlight begins to overcome the mountains and breaks through the trees, blinking in the morning breeze. It reflects across the mirrored surface and warms me. Dark blackened-brown reeds lay succumbed by winter snow packs, eager to again stand erect when the season warms. Quiet, still... the air reflects my rhythm as I lay my fly onto the surface, until, something strikes it with deadly precision, from the depths below.

Moab, UT

Moab offers a unique experience to discover many of the red rock country treasures. Nearby amenities include Canyonlands and Arches National Parks, Dead Horse Point State Park, and the Green and Colorado Rivers. With so much to offer, first time visitors may find it overwhelming.


Our trip included short hikes through the national parks, seeking out arches, slot canyons, and river valley views that stretched out to the horizon. A foreign silence seemed to fill the arid landscape, yet the desert was full of life. Spring blossoms doted our paths with radiant reds, yellows, and faint blues that seemed to reflect the clear skies brilliance. Lizards and crows now make home, what was once inhabited by native tribes. Sandstone canvases of primitive art await those willing to put in the leg work, while careful observers may find artifacts of ancient workmanship to appreciate, lying uncovered along their paths.


The balance that maintains this fragile ecosystem is essential here. I am as alien to this world as another planet. Could the silence be the sound of man, absorbed into the landscape like water to dry earth, truly awestruck by the surrounding beauty?

Limits

Real journeys take place without set destination or time frame. It is the apprehension of uneasiness that awakens the senses and invites new perspective. Routine is the enemy of innovation, and yet we continually seek the comfort of the familiar; to frequent known territory, until we are thrust into the abyss to find our way. The often foreignness of life’s changing circumstances brings opportunity to break free of routine and open the mind to their influence.

Simplified, Cooling Silence

Winter camping is the essence of the outdoors simplified to minimal and basic needs. Filled with uncertainty and apprehension of the unfamiliar. Without the added comforts and time spenders to attract our attention, we are left to focus on alterations to our routine, and relearn tasks in the cold. Our senses heightened; eating, sleeping, and going to the bathroom become challenging and pose new discomforts. The latter, almost always waiting until I am comfortably laying in my sleeping bag; warm inside layers of down, somewhere between sleep and awake. Dreading the inevitable ambush of chill to my tender parts, I hold off until the final moments before making a mad dash for any proper spot nearby to find relieve.

Once the urgency is over, I am left again with the lucid wilderness. It is quiet and pleasantly aglow with reflected moonlight. Like a neon blue cityscape, the snowdrifts advertise brilliance and wonder. Blackened silhouettes of wood and pine stand like skyscrapers. They shrug off accumulated snow, with a soft whoosh, from their branches to pile it below. Stars shine like glowing ambers above me, though foreign constellations now inhabit the once familiar sky. Solemn breezes flow across my neck, and raise my hair, as the chill runs down my spine. The forest comes alive, with soft ambiance and I am pleased to witness it alone, in the simplified, cooling silence.