Five animals I love just as much as Cecil the Lion

I watched a family of ducks swimming as I drank my coffee this morning at Lassen Volcanic National Park’s Manzanita Lake.

It occurred to me that I was still angry about Cecil the Lion, but not for the reason you probably think. Every time I see a Facebook post about Cecil the Lion, or Blackfish, or the Salt River horses, I get angrier.

Not just because those beautiful animals are captive or dead, but because the response to those situations feels so disproportionate to the crime. After all, how many pigs do we hold captive and kill daily to feed our bacon obsession?mt rainier marmot

We care deeply about big majestic mammals like lions, orcas, and wild horses. We care so deeply in fact that many of us are willing to update our Facebook statuses.

Unfortunately, that level of care doesn’t extend to the vast majority of life on this planet. On my travels, I’ve had special experiences with many “lesser” lifeforms than lions and wild horses. Here are five of my favorites.

1. Salmon and steelheads on the Umpqua River. We all know that salmon swim upstream to spawn (making them the true opposite of tuna in Seinfeld wisdom). You can’t truly appreciate what swimming upstream means until you see them battling against the seemingly insurmountable falls along the Umpqua River in southern Oregon.

2. Canada geese at Tahoe and Donner Lake. My first Meander seemed to sync up perfectly with the northern migration of geese and I shared several lakes with them on warm days in Eastern California. When I see them on the Scottsdale greenbelt in spring, my mind wanders toward summer travels.

3. Banana slugs along the Pacific Coast. Life doesn’t get much lower than these slimy little guys that live along the moss-shrouded rivers of the coast. Long and yellow in the Redwoods, stumpy and green on the Olympic Peninsula, they always make me smile.

4. Marmots in the sub-alpine zone. When I first saw these furry oversized rodents at Olympic National Park’s Hurricane Ridge, I didn’t even know such an animal existed. My favorite encounter was with a precocious varmint at Tuolomne Meadow who just couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t share my PB&J.olympic banana slug

5. Steller’s jays in the Sierra Nevada. They’re annoying as hell when you’re trying to crank out that one last hour of eye mask-aided sleep, but watching these beautiful blue birds hop from campsite to campsite looking for crumbs reminds me of lazy mornings reading and journaling in the Sierra Nevada.

My Meanders have often been about big majestic mammals. From bighorn sheep at Grinnel Glacier, to traffic-jamming bison at Yellowstone, to an abandoned black bear cub at Sequoia National Park, I’ve seen some amazing animals.

In my view, the banana slugs and marmots are also sacred and precious manifestations of God (or universe or spirit or whatever noun you prefer).

As I finished my coffee at Manzanita Lake, the relentlessly adorable fuzzy little ducklings passed out of sight. I thought how glad I was that they were paddling along here on this lake and not being fattened up on a farm on their way to somebody’s plate.

Their lives have gotta be worth a Facebook status too, right?

***

Note: Want more of my pro-life ramblings? Check out One Dead Duckling and My Choice to be Vegetarian.

umpqua river salmon

Trading the beauty of the West for the beauty of Home

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The Meander ended at around 6 p.m. on Sunday, September 15.

At first I resisted, but resistance was futile. I surrendered late on Wednesday. Within 36 hours, I was home after 134 days and 10,000 miles on the road.

What happened at 6 p.m.? I’m not quite sure. In the late afternoon, I watched in awe as a heard of 50 bison crossed the Yellowstone River. Within hours, I was so moody during a long traffic jam that I was unmoved passing within feet of the dozen or so bison that were blocking the road.

On Monday, I was numb to the sights of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone – one of the most painted vistas in the American West. Back at camp that night, I recognized my funk and resolved to turn it around.

bison traffic jam at YellowstoneAnd then the weather turned. It rained and hailed all night. The echoes of the thunder boomed off the surrounding mountains. Lying awake in my tent, I counted the seconds between lightning flashes and thunder crashes and determined some strikes were within two miles of camp.

Tuesday’s weather report promised snow flurries and subfreezing overnight lows, so I broke camp and headed south to Grand Teton National Park.

I spent most of Wednesday in the warmth of Jackson Lake Lodge before returning to camp that night. I sat in my car as the frigid rain poured down. Facing another night of rough sleep, I threw in the towel.

I was done.

I found a room in Jackson, hastily broke camp, and drove through the pitch black hoping not to hit a moose. The next day, I drove 650 miles over 11 hours to Page, Ariz., where I bought a six pack of Kiltlifter at Safeway. I was home.

The Beauty of the West

I experienced incredible beauty on the Meander. Our government has protected our 59 most beautiful places as National Parks. I visited 10 of them this summer – not to mention numerous state lands, national forests and monuments, and great cities and towns.

What I’ve seen with my own eyes, most only see in photos or on television. Reproductions can’t do the sights justice, but they can move me to tears.

four peaks kiltlifterIn Leavenworth, Wash., it was photographs of the Pacific’s rocky coasts and the Northwest’s glacial lakes. In Bozeman, Mont., it was paintings of beautiful rivers, big mountains, and, of course, bison.

Alas, squeezing so many sights into a single summer comes with a price. Eventually, it’s hard to differentiate. After all, how many different configurations of mountains, water, and trees can you see in one summer – in one lifetime – and still see them through fresh eyes?

The West is beautiful – overwhelmingly so. It’s so beautiful that it’s numbing. And that’s why I had to throw in the towel. Why spoil one’s first experience with a beautiful place by plowing through it cold, exhausted, and homesick?

The Beauty of Home

My return home was surreal. As I passed through Flagstaff onto the familiar freeway to Phoenix, I began to feel as though I was simply returning from a weekend trip. It was as if Yosemite and the Redwoods and Seattle had all been a dream.

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me, “Do you still want to live in Arizona after all the beauty you experienced?” I took the question to imply that Arizona is not beautiful.

I’ll admit it. The Valley is not as beautiful as Mt. Rainier. Or Glacier. Or the Olympics. Anyone who has been to those places would almost certainly agree.

But the Valley is home. And after 134 days and 10,000 miles on the road, home is plenty beautiful to me.

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bison crossing the yellowstone

Seeking – or creating – an endemic park experience

The last two weeks were a whirlwind. I left Seattle on August 26, camped seven nights in Olympic National Park, drove 12 hours east to Montana (with a two-night layover in Wenatchee, Wash.), camped six nights in Glacier National Park, then drove six hours to Bozeman, Mont.

Whew!Iceberg Lake with Matt

That’s lot of long drives, rainy days, and sleepless nights on the ground. By the time I arrived in Glacier, I was exhausted. When exhaustion sets in, I get grumpy and jaded. I lose my childlike sense of awe and wonder.

That’s too bad, because I’d heard great things about Glacier.

High in the Rocky Mountains on the U.S.-Canada border, Glacier is one of 59 National Parks in the U.S. and one of 193 natural World Heritage Sites on the entire planet.

Alas, for the first few days of the visit, my eyes were closed to its beauty – quite literally. At one point, I fell asleep while praying on the patio of the Many Glacier Lodge.

I wasn’t miserable. Far from it. I drove the amazing (though densely foggy) Going to the Sun Road and I saw my first black bear. It was only visible for two seconds at least 100 yards away as rangers chased it from our campground. But, hey, a bear!

During a ranger program in the Olympics, I learned the term endemism. A species is endemic to its area if it’s found nowhere else on the planet. The ranger then adapted the term to the experience one can have in a particular park and nowhere else.

For example, you can only behold the Yosemite Valley within Yosemite National Park. You can only hug a Redwood on the Redwood Coast.

Finally, on my sixth day in Glacier, I had my endemic experience.

An 11-mile roundtrip hike led me to the Grinnell Glacier. Grinnell is one of 26 glaciers remaining in the park (in 1850, there were five times as many). It won’t exist beyond 2030.

I’d seen glaciers from afar on The Meander. I was not prepared for the view up close.

The ice sheet was truly massive – difficult for this desert rat to comprehend. Although it was sunny and quite warm on the hike, the ice chilled the entire landscape. I countered the cold by snuggling a backpacker meal filled with boiling water. Grinnell Glacier

Water streamed from the glacier as it melted in the summer sun. Rather than cascading directly off the mountain, the melt-water formed an iceberg-covered, deep-turquoise lake in a bowl atop the mountain. Hiking past the series of waterfall-fed lakes that led to the glacier, one would never have guessed there was yet another lake at the pinnacle of the 1,600-foot climb.

I woke up the next morning sore and exhausted. I was wiped out. But, as it was my final day in the park, I willed myself into a 10-mile roundtrip hike to yet another glacial lake.

The hike was so-so, until I then willed myself into another endemic experience – with a little nudge from my traveling partner.  I plunged buck naked into the frigid waters of Iceberg Lake.

Although the dip lasted only a few seconds, I got an underwater view of icebergs through hazy aqua-colored water. I also received such an adrenaline shot that all threat of falling asleep that afternoon was instantly removed.

Earlier in The Meander, I’d have taken that plunge without a push from a friend. Late in The Meander, I have to remind myself not to pass up once-in-a-lifetime opportunities like swimming with icebergs beneath a glacier that’ll disappear before I reach retirement age.

I have three parks left. Tomorrow, I begin a six-night stay in Yellowstone and Grand Teton. Then, in my final week on the road, I get three nights in Zion.

It’s up to me to keep my eyes fresh and my heart open. It’s up to me to seek – or create – my endemic park experiences.Iceberg Lark swim

After 100 days on the road, I’m restless in Seattle

Seattle greeted me with open arms when I arrived on July 5. In my first 48 hours in the city, I reacquainted with my cousin and her family, found a great yoga studio, and saw two concerts including Robert Plant. What a reception!

No city could keep up that pace. Two years ago, I was ready to move to Seattle. Today, I’m ready to go home. I’m very aware of missing things like my Tempe Leadership class’s first reunion, two of my closest friends’ last nights in Arizona, and the start of Camp Tontozona.

Desert rat in snow at Mt Baker

There’s gotta be a desert here somewhere …

Of course, I’m making the most of my time here. I absolutely love this area! I’ve seen the Seattle sights with my mom, camped twice in the North Cascades, and enjoyed quiet time connecting with my cousin’s family and doing a ton of yoga.

I know what some of you are thinking. Boo frickin’ hoo.

Most of you are sweltering in triple-digit temperatures. You’re reading this post while sitting in your cubicle. You quite understandably think that I’m on a hella long vacation.

I totally get that. It’s hard to define this experience in terms I’d have recognized six months ago. I mean, what the hell is a sabbatical anyway? As I approach my 100th day on the road, it’s quite clear that it is not a vacation. It’s a lifestyle – and not one that I’d choose to live long-term.

No girl. No gig. Just the road. That mantra carried me through an action-packed, spiritually-charged, growth-fostering, two-month drive from San Diego to Seattle. But now? Meh.

No gig? Ha! I love my career. Breakfast with a former coworker in Portland reminded me how much I miss wrapping my mind around a good puzzle.

No girl? Well, I really really dug a girl in Phoenix. Goodbye was a prerequisite for this trip and all the benefits it’s delivered. But goodbye was NOT easy.

Now, after nearly 100 days on the road, it’s time to get back to the gig. And the girl. And ASU football. And my favorite city in the world. And my own bed and kitchen. And all of you.

I’m leaving Seattle on August 26 for a week in the Olympics followed by a short layover in Central Washington. I’ll be at Glacier National Park in Montana by September 8 and Yellowstone in Wyoming by September 15. From there, I’m heading straight down the Colorado-Utah border toward Tempe (with short stops at Dinosaur National Monument and Arches).

That means no Denver and Rocky Mountain National Park. No Salt Lake City and Bryce Canyon and Zion.

Estimated date of arrival: September 28. Right in time to watch my Sun Devils trounce Southern Cal. Right in time for Tempe to wake from its summer slumber.

Until then, I’m stuck on sabbatical. But, if you gotta be stuck somewhere, sabbatical is the place to be. After all, the weather and the views are fantastic!

seattle skyline from kerry park

A decent view until I get home …

Eyes, mind, and heart open to new experiences

I stayed at a friend’s house last weekend while mine was rented to travelers through Airbnb. Giving up my bed (or any bed) is a key piece of my plan to not go broke during the Meander. (What’s the Meander?)

On Sunday, with my day’s work done, I jogged toward Papago Park. The jog devolved into a slow, appreciative walk as I discovered a multiuse corridor stretching along a waterway from the city’s treatment facilities south to about Mill and Curry.

Moeur Park in Tempe

An unexpected pre-Meander meander through Tempe’s own Moeur Park.

The water flowed south through man-made waterfalls and hardscape built from urbanite. Mallards swam in pairs in riparian areas dense with reeds, palms, and mesquites. Walkers and bikers traveled along the shoreline while hobbyists played disc golf on an 18-hole course.

All of this is within three miles of my home for the last 12 years. I had no idea it existed.

This is the kind of fortuitous encounter I’m most excited to experience on the Meander.

When I visited Seattle two years ago, I fell in love with Mount Rainier and Olympic national parks. But unexpected moments defined the trip as well. I saw a four-our inning at a Mariners’ game, spent hours wandering downtown, and built light sabers out of pool noodles with a cousin I hadn’t seen in two decades.

Last summer in New Mexico, Taos’s art galleries and the natural wonders of the Jemez Mountain Trail didn’t disappoint. But I’ll also always remember stumbling into a free visual arts exhibition on a late-night walk around our hotel in Santa Fe.

This summer, I’m excited to trace the footsteps of Chris McCandless and to explore Yosemite, Yellowstone, and Crater Lake. However, I’m also excited to see what’s in Turtle Bay Exploration Park along the Sacramento River in Redding, Calif. I don’t know anything about it beyond the name and I’m not going to Google it before arriving.

I’m also eager for the conversations with locals that didn’t happen in Seattle because I was shy or in New Mexico because I was with my girlfriend. If I learn nothing more than how to connect with strangers even briefly, the Meander will be worthwhile.

The unexpected is why my itinerary is written softly in pencil. There are a few firm dates dictated by campsite reservations or friends’ flights. But, for the most part, I plan to not have a plan.

Eyes, mind, and heart open to new experiences.

My itinerary is very fluid. Know a can’t-miss spot? Got a friend with a couch? Let me know in the comments!

 

So, when will you be back? 3 possible end dates

Not surprisingly, the end of my time at Bulbstorm and the imminent launch of the Meander has inspired a lot of questions. (What’s the Meander?)

Forrest Gump at Alabama

Forrest Gump’s run started in SEC Country. Will mine end there?

For example, are you gonna get another job? No, I don’t think I’d like another job. What are you going to do about money and bills? Well, I’ve never really liked paying bills. I don’t think I’m gonna do that either.

(Full disclosure: I do intend to offer freelance marketing services while on the road.)

But the No. 1 question I hear is: When will you be back?

My answer? Hell. I don’t know. First, I don’t leave until May 8 (in the footsteps of Chris McCandless). Second, meandering doesn’t have an agenda and it definitely doesn’t have a hard stop. Here are three possible exit scenarios:

Speaking Victory (August return)

I’ve had an amazing experience exploring the West Coast and connecting with loved ones in Seattle. I’ve seen what I came to see. The old familiar pulls of career and relationship tug at me. Not unlike Forrest Gump at the end of his run, I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now. And, lo and behold, I make it back in time to scout a Rose Bowl dark horse with good friends at Camp Tontozona. Probability: 10%

Winter is Coming (October return)

Colder temps and shorter days make chilling in Seattle beyond summer less desirable. The timing is right to leave for Yellowstone before it gets too cold and proceed to southern Utah once the summer heat lifts. Once I leave Seattle, I start nosing around for jobs back in Phoenix. If the right job comes along, I rush back through Utah. If not, I take my time at Arches, Bryce Canyon, and Zion intending to return in time for the annual Tempe Leadership alumni reception. Probability: 60%

SEC Country (December return)

I’ve reached Utah with no job prospects and no burning desire to leave the road. Leaves are changing colors in Colorado. ASU prepares to face Notre Dame in Dallas. And the SEC schedule is just starting to heat up. After all, I love southern accents and sundresses. Probability: 30%

My itinerary is very fluid. Know a can’t-miss spot? Got a friend with a couch? Let me know in the comments!