Clean Slate

Here we go into another brand-spanking New Year! Resolutions wait in the wings as we stare at the clean slate, trying to decide which ones will play a role in this year’s ambitions. What an exciting time to renew our convictions and determine to discover hidden abilities and desires within ourselves!

Many of us will resurrect previous resolutions that expired before becoming full-fledged habits in our lives, such as exercising or dieting. While exercise and health are certainly great aspects to improve upon, I have found that focusing on an event rather than a concept is much more effective. For example, rather than say, “I’m going to lose 400 pounds this year” say, “I’m going to run that marathon in September.” If my goal is to be prepared for an event, with a very definite “deadline,” I will work toward that; if my goal is to simply begin running, chances are slim that I will have enough motivation to continue running through the whole year. We all want a reward for our efforts, no matter what we do, and even finishing an arduous race is reward enough for exercising. Remember to reward yourself for achieving success, whether you run a race or finally clean out that cluttered garage.

Some of us will, at this point, have realized that every previous year’s resolutions came to naught, and therefore refuse to engage in the New Year’s tradition. Should you find yourself looking at resolutions negatively, pick something that you wouldn’t normally view as a resolution. Something as simple as visiting all the National Parks in Utah in 2011 could be considered a resolution. Or consider an “If – Then” resolution: “If I visit Arches, then I’ll visit Zion next; and if I visit Zion, then I’ll visit Bryce…” A lot of the time we need to break up resolutions in order to make them easier to accomplish. We often feel like failures if we endeavor to do some great thing, get halfway there and then either quit or we are forced to abandon the goal. Looking back, though, we will typically find that we were quite successful in one aspect or another, or that we learned some valuable information during our journey toward that resolution. Cherish that new information and apply it, otherwise the experience truly is in danger of becoming a complete failure.

Still others of us will build upon a resolution from last year that was successful and create a bigger and better resolution for this year. First, let me congratulate you if you did indeed follow through with any of your 2010 resolutions. The human experience would not be much of an experience if the concept of progress were not an integral part of it all. Perhaps your resolution last New Year’s was to learn to ski; this year’s resolution should build upon that: learn to snowboard, or pick up cross-country skiing, or even enter a local ski competition. Remember, life is a downward moving escalator: if you’re not working hard to reach the top, the escalator is taking you back down to the bottom.

I hope you are as enthusiastic about setting new goals for 2011 as I am. Though life is one continuous flow of time, and we’ll never get the chance to be 20 again, the New Year gives us all a chance to reflect on the last 365 days and resolve to expand our knowledge, abilities or experiences in the next 365 days. Happy New Year and best of success in your 2011 ventures!

Combating Litter

Close your eyes while you read this first paragraph. Imagine yourself alone in a serene forest, near a small stream. The cool, pristine water flows by, gurgling and lapping at your submerged toes. You lean back and place your hands on the soft moss that is everywhere, cushioning you as you enjoy the scenery. A small bird lights in the tree branch above your head and serenades you with a tune that could pass as Beethoven’s 9^th: “The Ode to Joy.” Sunlight filters down through the bright green foliage and dances above the stream, producing better entertainment than any Hollywood studio ever could. In an instant the sunlight disappears, the whole forest darkens and a flash of lightning strikes nearby. The bird’s song is off key and it begins to sound like a dirge. The moss you are resting on has lost its softness and sharp rocks seem to be pushing themselves up through the moss. And in the previously pure water a milk jug floats along, passes you by, bobbing as it goes. As the jug rounds a bend in the stream and vanishes from your view, the sunlight returns, but it’s not playful like it was. The bird continues to sing, but the song is now an ordinary tune with no composition. After moving your backside and hands, the moss is still soft, but you’ve got sharp little indentations in your palms. The stream endlessly babbles along, however you can see a slightly discolored path in the middle of the stream where the jug traveled. Okay, open your eyes.

How did this scene go from idyllic to unpleasant so quickly? I’m no expert in these matters, but I would argue that the jug in the water elicited the less than peaceful responses of nature. Litter tends to do that. Ruins beauty and tranquility within seconds. Think about it. How many times have you been out in the woods, wondering if any other human has ever trod the same path as you, and you’re quickly answered with a beer can or sardine tin? Suddenly you’re extremely aware that you’re not the only one that wanders about in the forest. And not only can you not imagine that you’re exploring an undiscovered paradise now, but someone else tainted the purity of that paradise long before you ever arrived.

Believe it or not, there are people in this world, even in your own community, who cannot read. What’s more unbelievable is that there are people in this world who can read but refuse to do so. These people will walk right past a sign stating “Pack Out What You Pack In,” and drop their granola bar wrapper wherever they please. It’s really quite sad that they have so little regard for others who would like to enjoy the uncontaminated version of a trail. Unfortunately these people will have children who will learn from their example and carry on the terrible tradition.

Fortunately there are people in this world who care about such matters, and hopefully you are one of them. Though we cannot always catch the litterbugs in the act, we can take an active role in providing a more beauteous experience for those who come after us by simply picking up the offending bits of trash ourselves and disposing of them properly. Consider carrying an ordinary plastic grocery sack or garbage bag with you next time you take a walk or do anything outdoors. You don’t have to adopt a highway to clean up garbage near a road. Just do it. Perhaps those inconsiderate litterbugs will see you cleaning up the trash they threw out their car window last week and think twice before doing it again.

Chilly Camping

If you’re one of those people who enjoys camping all year round, no matter the weather or temperature, you’re not normal. That being said, I must admit that camping in cold weather can be as fun as camping during warm weather. The fire seems more comforting and magical surrounded by ice and snow, and there is no way that your sleeping bag is going to make you too hot during the night. (By the way, if you sleep in anything other than a tent or lean-to, such as a cabin or RV, you’re a cheater and not allowed to consider yourself a true camper.)

One winter camping trip, my friends and I set up our camp on a frozen lake. Looking back now it still seems like a completely teenage idea. Instead of building a fire right on top of the ice, which created a natural barrier between us and the ice-cold water, we brought along a barrel that was cut in half with 3-foot legs welded to it. It stood high enough that the ice wasn’t affected at all. When we woke up in the morning, though, our body heat had definitely affected the ice. There were clear indentations of where we had slept that were visible after we packed our tents. I often think about how much more exciting the night would have been if one of us had melted his way right on through.

Here’s some sound advice for all those winter campers out there: don’t camp on a frozen lake. Seems logical enough, but trust me, teenage boys aren’t full of logic; they’re full of testosterone and bravado. (All the moms of teenage boys are nodding their heads vigorously right now. The dads are just peering over the newspaper and staring sternly at their boys.) Another piece of advice: bring along your own firewood. It is not so fun to scavenge for dry, unfrozen wood for your winter campfire. Most people freeze to death before finding a sufficient supply of wood to keep them warm. I hope the irony of that statement is not completely lost on you. Just pay the $5 for firewood at the convenience store or take along some from your own woodpile and save yourself the hassle.

Besides a tent that will help cut down on the cold wind at night, a proper sleeping bag is extremely necessary for a winter campout. Don’t plan on using the same sleeping bag you used in the summer. You’ll die. You’ll wake up in the morning and discover that you’ve frozen to death. That’s a surefire way to ruin the camping trip. Take along a sleeping bag that is rated for below-zero temperatures. Mummy bags are great because you can enclose your whole body in the bag, except for your eyes, nose and mouth.

Many of you are still wondering why anyone would willingly camp in the snow. It’s simple, really: the stars are brighter when it’s cold, and as their light enters earth’s atmosphere it actually makes a twinkling sound. If you still don’t understand, it’s a teenage boy thing – something to do with proving that you’re invincible and daring. It’s amazing what humans will do simply to feel a sense of adventure in their lives.

Learning From Nature

We humans are such spoiled creatures. And our pets too. Especially our pets. Well, mine anyway. Here we sit in the comfort of our homes and offices and places of business, the heat is on and we’re wearing layers of warm clothes. We’ve got hot cocoa and fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies to snack on and our dogs and cats are curled up near the fireplace. Most of us don’t spend more than a half an hour each day outside in the winter if we can help it. Without our furnaces and electricity and other amenities, many of us would freeze to death within days of the first snowstorm of the year. So how do animals do it?

I was on my way to Idaho a couple weeks ago when I saw a herd of cattle near the freeway. It was below freezing outside, and the cows acted as if they were all fine. I knew that the temperatures would drop when night fell, and I wondered how those animals would survive without any sort of cover like a barn. As I thought about it and did some research I found that cattle typically huddle together in small groups, even as they’re feeding. As long as they have enough food and water readily available, they can generate enough body heat to keep them warm. In groups, the body heat is more efficient and cows can withstand temperatures that would normally kill humans after prolonged exposure. Those cows gotta watch out for Jack Frost nipping at their nipples, though. Frostbite on udders is supposedly very common. Ouch!

Cattle are hardly the epitome of extreme temperature survivors, so let’s consider animals that are experts at living in the coldest environments: penguins and polar bears. Similar to cattle, penguins bunch up to withstand the cold, and they also have insulating feathers that help considerably against the Antarctic winds. The coolest thing about penguins is they can control blood flow to their wings and flippers. Wouldn’t that be nice to have that type of control over your body? Polar bears use the same tactic penguins do. Besides having copious amounts of blubber, they also have thick fur that traps air and keeps them insulated. Air apparently doesn’t conduct heat, and the polar bears use their thick fur as a buffer zone to keep their skin nice and warm. Humans exploit this concept with goose down parkas. The poofier the coat, the warmer the person.

Polar bears are also smart enough to sit out the coldest parts of the year by hibernating. Several animals use hibernation to survive the cold. Most hibernating animals are mammals, and they stock up on necessary fats and nutrients in the fall to last through the winter. I’ve determined that Thanksgiving is simply a modified version of stocking up for the winter. We gorge ourselves silly in preparation for the frosty months ahead. I would argue that Thanksgiving is an obsolete tradition since we don’t need the extra fat and blubber like other animals, but I’m afraid of getting smacked in the head with peas and mashed potatoes.

Many animals that aren’t furry and aren’t specialized for winter conditions do something that most of us would like to do: go south. Where it’s warm. Birds typically migrate to warmer climes in preparation for winter, but they’re not the only ones. Some insects and even some mammals are known to travel great distances to outrun the freezing temperatures.

So what have animals taught us? Grow thick hair or buy a coat; huddle up if you can; eat, eat, eat; sleep through the toughest cold spells; and buy a winter home in Tucson. Oh, and cover your nipples well. Remember these things and you too can survive extreme temperatures like a wild animal.

'Tis the Skison

Let the winter games begin! I can’t think of a better way to end a Thanksgiving weekend than with a few feet of snow in the mountains (neither can the ski resorts). Despite the warmer than usual beginning of November, the end of it has lived up to typical Utah snow seasons. Thank goodness too, because the state’s full of skiers and snowboarders who were ready to riot against the weathermen for holding the snow back.

My younger brother can probably think of a better way to end the Thanksgiving weekend other than ending it with a broken face. According to his doctor, the cheekbone below his left eye has a tripod fracture, all due to a helmet. Everybody touts the safety of helmets, but my brother is now a dazed and confused victim of such a helmet. Sure, the helmet protected the snowboarder’s head that he collided with, but my bro’s face is shattered. Ruined. No girls will like him now. Guess he’ll have to become a monk. The doc says he’ll be able to ski again, but who will want to ski around someone with a broken face? (Jonny, if you’re reading this, I love you, man.)

As with any sport, safety cannot be stressed enough. Thanks to people like my brother, though, we have a constant reminder of how important safety measures are. In a way, the less safe people in the world create a lot of excitement and an “x-factor”-ness to the world. People like me can sit across from people like my brother and say things like, “Well golly gee! You shoulda’ been wearing a helmet too!” but really what I’m thinking is, “Man, that’s going to leave a cool scar that people will ask about and he’ll be able to relate a pretty good story.”

I hope to have my own exciting stories by the time ski season is over. Not that I’m going to attempt and create my own (could be fun, though, to stage falling off a cliff or slamming into a tree…or maybe not). As long as I’ve got my brother by my side, I’m sure we can experience some unplanned antics. He’s the most accident-prone in the family (don’t worry, Jonny; I won’t ever tell my readers about the time you rolled dad’s car). And sports are nothing if not surefire ways to expose ourselves to some sort of danger or risk.

Life’s not worth living for many of us unless we are fighting for it some of the time. Sports like skiing can put us smack-dab in the middle of a life-and-death situation, and as long as we come out alive, we long for the next adrenaline-pumping moment when we can show ourselves just how capable we are at surviving the worst. I salute my little bro for taking the shot to the cheek like a champ and hope he recovers well. Somehow he drove himself back down the canyon and to my older brother’s home before he made it to the emergency room.

My little brother knows how to grab the ski season by the horns and I know he can’t wait to be back on the slopes even after his brain-jarring accident. The snow has just begun to fall and we’ve got a good three or four months of skiable weather ahead of us. Enjoy the powder and watch out for helmets!

Snowed In

If a snowstorm rolled in now and stayed until late spring, I’d be happier than a jaybird. That is, as long as I had plenty of supplies and food to remain comfortable for the storm’s duration. I’ve always wanted to live where the snow all but swallows my house up. Especially when I was a kid. What kid doesn’t dream of being unable to attend school for days on end because of the snow? Now that I’m an adult and have adult responsibilities, I’d give anything to be snowed in. All I need to keep me entertained is a small shovel to make snow caves with and I’m set for the winter.

Now that I have a small son who still isn’t quite big enough to go skiing with me (my wife insist three months is NOT a reasonable age to start teaching a child how to ski; I say the sooner the better), I may as well be snowed in this winter. Don’t worry; I’m not complaining. I’ve plenty of things to do around the house, but I know I won’t be participating in too many outdoor adventures this winter. Perhaps a ski trip or a sled ride here or there. Nothing extremely dangerous and life-threatening; after all, I’ve got to survive long enough to teach my son how to take ridiculous risks in order to show nature that man is a formidable opponent in the never-ending conflict of Man vs. Nature.

I’ve considered building my own snowmaking machine in my yard. By using the back part of my roof I could create a small ski/sled hill, maybe even with a jump at the end of it to launch me over the back fence. The neighbors might not be happy with the extra snow I’m creating, though. My roof would probably cave in too. Better scale down the operation.

The Iditarod is a little over three months away. I already own two dogs that love the snow; I’ll only need about ten more. We can head over to the nearby park every day and practice pulling a sled around. Okay, never mind. I just read the rules for the Iditarod and I’m already unqualified because I haven’t ever run a dog sled race before. But that doesn’t mean I can’t train for other sled races that aren’t as grueling. I’m sure my 15-lb. dogs won’t mind pulling my 160-lb. body (plus a sled) around for a couple of hours every day.

The most reasonable wintry idea I’ve recently come up with involves a pair of snowshoes. Who needs a mountain to enjoy snowshoeing? I’ll walk around on the snow in my yard. I’ll even shovel the snow into random piles to fool myself into believing I’m walking along mountainous terrain. If I become tired of my own yard, I could venture out onto my neighbors’ snowfields. And if I neglect to ask for permission to snowshoe in their yards, that would add a risky element to the whole scheme. Avalanche danger and wild animal encounters would be replaced with neighbors demanding an explanation for my tromping through their yards. Might just be the most adventurous winter yet…

Bagging the Perfect Bird

There I stood, surveying the large group of plump turkeys, trying to decide which one to take home for Thanksgiving. Some were small, probably around five to ten pounds. Others were approaching the twenty-pound range. And suddenly I saw it. The perfect bird. It had to be at least twenty-five pounds. Enough to feed the whole family we would be enjoying Thanksgiving with.

Had I lived back in the early colonial times, I’d be using a blunderbuss right now. You know, one of those guns with a funny bell-shaped muzzle that most likely scared everything off after you shot it, it was so loud. Nowadays a shotgun is more practical, but there are those who insist on continuing to use old-fashioned guns such as the blunderbuss to make their bird hunt more exciting.

Me? I don’t even use a gun. “Then surely you must be an archer, hunting your turkey with a bow and arrows,” you say. Nope. Not even that. I use my bare hands. That’s right, I rely on nothing other than what God saw fit to give me. None of those fancy inventions and contraptions that give humans a completely unfair advantage against wildlife. Don’t think I’m judging you if you do use one of those unnatural devices. You are much safer with those items, especially since we don’t have sharp teeth and claws like most of the creatures out there.

Humans have been actively defying the old “survival of the fittest” theory for thousands of years now. We walk out there in nature, where newborn deer, sick moose, and aging pheasants are typically the ones picked off by predators, and we flip the natural world upside down by looking for the biggest and strongest prey and removing it from the gene pool. If you ask me, dinosaurs didn’t go extinct from some natural disaster or from shifting ecological trends; they went extinct because humans decided to go after the biggest prey imaginable. Unfortunately back then there wasn’t a group of people dedicated to preserving various animals, like the World Wildlife Fund, and thus the largest and most ferocious predators became extinct due to the ingenuity of humans. That’s what I think.

Anyway, after looking for the best way to approach the perfect bird I had just discovered, I slowly made my way toward it. I literally had to nudge an old woman out of the way in order to get to it. Apparently I wasn’t the only one shopping early for Thanksgiving. As I grabbed the frozen bird wrapped tightly in white plastic, my eyes shot down to the weight. Dang! I was off a couple of pounds. It turned out to be only twenty-three pounds. Oh well.

I’m thankful this Thanksgiving season for people who are willing to kill my food for me, because I’m a softie and don’t even like killing the occasional spider or bee that finds its way into my house. I would definitely be a vegetarian if it weren’t for butchers and slaughterhouses. Well maybe not; if I can gut a fish, I can work my way up to bigger animals, right? At any rate, it’s nice to be able to go to the store and simply pick up a pound of meat without having to deal with the whole butchering process.

I hope you are able to find the perfect bird for this Thanksgiving, whether you shoot it with a gun or bow and arrow or you pick it up from the grocer’s. And remember: Be thankful!

Slip-Sliding Away

Funny how snow seems to surprise some people every year. “Whoa! Why’s my car sliding across the road toward that power pole?!” It’s as if the rains of spring and summer have washed away all memories of the inevitable white stuff that falls in Utah and has made it a favorite destination for skiers and snowboarders around the world. Snow begins to flutter and there are suddenly numerous reports of vehicle accidents caused by the iciness on the roads. Didn’t we all just finish mastering the art of controlling our vehicles in wintry weather eight months ago or less? I’m convinced most of the accidents that occur involve driver’s who have recently moved to Utah from sunnier and warmer climes. (I’m not pointing any fingers at you, Californians. Arizonians are just as much to blame as you.)

Many of you are like me. We own a vehicle meant for rougher driving conditions. We have 4-wheel or all-wheel drive capabilities. That means our vehicles are invincible to snow and ice, right? Unfortunately, a vehicle is only as safe as its driver, and sometimes that’s not even true.

I remember coming down Parley’s Canyon last year in a driving blizzard that eventually shut the road down. As I crept down the canyon at a safe 10 mph (and even then the wheels slipped now and again) I noticed a pair of headlights coming up behind me. I could tell by the way the orbs of light increased quickly in size that the vehicle was going much faster than I. Since the snowplow I had been following had exited to load up on more salt, the lines on the road were nonexistent, and it was extremely difficult to judge where the shoulders were. I attempted to scoot over to the right of the road, out of the path of the juggernaut behind me, but as the vehicle neared me it was clear the driver had no real control over the pathway of the car. I could tell the other driver was applying his brakes as he came up on my rear, because his car’s backend began to swing around on him. Lucky for me that shifted the car’s trajectory enough that he narrowly missed me and shot toward the left side of the road, spraying snow 15 feet into the air as he entered the median. Lucky for him the median was quite flat and he was easily able to backup and return to the roadway. I’ll never know if he made it down the canyon safely, because even after that harrowing encounter he continued on his speedy journey as if nothing had happened.

Unlike most people out there, I love driving in the snow almost as much as I love skiing or making snow angels in it. I enjoy driving in it because, for the most part, it slows everybody down. The roads are not as intimidating when everyone is putting along at 20 mph, trying to avoid sliding around.

Please take the time this year to ensure you are not that seemingly ignorant person on the road who thinks his souped-up truck is any match for the combination of freezing temperatures and water on roads. 4-wheel drive does not equal untouchable. Make sure your vehicle is well stocked with emergency supplies too, such as water, food, chains, a first-aid kit, tools, and even flares. You never know what icy weather will do to your vehicle.

Time Management

It has been three and a half weeks since my baby boy was born and I still haven’t fully adapted my schedule so I can stay active and care for him. I am taking three months off of work to learn all about my new baby. Call me Swedish if you like. I have a couple more months to figure out when I can squeeze in a run or a desert excursion or an eight-hour nap. Really what it comes down to is finding the energy at the same time I have an extra hour or two to do something.

I’ve never been good at time management, but I’m discovering that without a structured schedule I’m prone to lazing about and neglecting any sort of physical activity. Usually anything before noon might as well not be planned. Yesterday I had planned on waking up a bit early and taking my vehicle in for safety and emissions testing (I know it’s not really physical activity, but, hey, it requires some effort). Yeah right. After waking up at 7:45 AM, I moved from one sitting position to another as I surfed the Internet and played games on my laptop until suddenly, it was well after noon. Where had my day gone? Talk about dragging butt.

Now don’t get me wrong; I am finding a few moments here and there to take my family on small drives into the mountains, but I can’t really go on a hike. You see, I’m responsible for all the diaper changes and I can’t walk twenty feet without that kid filling up his shorts. I’d take him with me, but you know how finicky doctors are with newborns and how they insist on keeping babies indoors for weeks on end to avoid any illnesses. Anyway, I do what I can to get out of the house and expose my baby boy to the outside world.

Day planners have never worked well for me. If I buy one, I typically go all out for the first two days writing everything I can think of to remember in the coming weeks. After I’ve written all three events that I could think of, I begin writing in birthdays and holidays. Then I start filling in each workday with the word “work.” As if I wouldn’t remember that.

Right now I just need a simple system to help me remember what I want to accomplish each day. Since I’m a night guy, I should plan most of my activities later in the day and into the evening. It’s interesting to see how tired I am in the mornings and how that fatigue melts away as twilight approaches each night. I always get an energy rush around 7 or 8 PM and it lasts until 10 or 11 PM. Most of the time I end up pacing the house trying to come up with an idea of what to do with my energy until my wife places the baby in my arms and tells me to rock him to sleep. That helps because I can at least bounce the baby and use up some of my energy.

At this point I am dead-set on running every other night around 9 o’clock. We’ll see how long that lasts. Perhaps at the end of two months I will have a wonderful schedule system. And then I’ll go back to work and the schedule will be shot to pieces. I suppose that’s just the curse of being a living creature: adaptation. The new baby phase is only the beginning of the long road of adaptation ahead of me. Can’t wait for the teenage years.

Poisonous Animals

Spiders, snakes, scorpions, frogs, bees, jellyfish: Pick your poison. There are numerous animals around the world that are able to defend and support themselves using harmful chemicals transmitted by bites, stings and even a simple touch. Luckily we only have to worry about a few of those chemically enhanced creatures here in Utah. And unless you happen to be allergic to some of them, such as bees, their poisons are relatively harmless to a human.

I found some information on the Internet from the Western North American Naturalist that recorded deaths related to poison from 1900-1990 in Utah, and the numbers were extremely low. Only 20 people had died in that 91-year span from encounters with poisonous animals, and half of them were bee sting deaths. This data can mean a couple of things: that people have been quite vigilant in avoiding poisonous animals or that people have received medical care in a timely manner to avoid strong poison’s side-effect of death.

If you rely on movies and television for survival skills, you know full well that the best way to treat a rattlesnake bite is by sucking the venom out. If you rely on proven medical information, you know that antivenin is the only hope for a rattlesnake bite and any amount of sucking will not prevent death in the end. In order to keep the poison from reaching the heart faster, the snakebite should be kept below the level of the heart. I know a guy who was bitten by a rattlesnake out in the West Desert and he was able to make it to a hospital nearly an hour away before the poison could do some serious damage. But an hour is probably cutting it really close; it makes sense in the case of a poisonous bite that the quicker you seek medical attention, the better.

Insect/spider bites and stings (including scorpions) should be treated similar to snakebites. Try to slow the venom’s route to the heart by using cold packs and placing a tight bandage above the site of the bite, but not too tightly. You don’t want to cut off circulation, just slow the flow to your heart until you can get to the hospital.

Watch out especially for the brown recluse spider. His bite is unique because instead of delivering a poison that travels to your heart, it begins the transformative process of decay in your skin, known as necrosis, and, if not treated, can spread across your body and you will rot and decay like a dead corpse despite your living status.

This type of transformative poison also exists in a couple of other creatures that have not been sighted in Utah since last October. But beware, because there have been rumors of vampires and werewolves hiding out in Utah’s forests. If a vampire or a werewolf catches you and bites you, their poison will transform you into their kind. There is no known antidote for their poisonous bites. Should you notice anyone around you becoming extremely hairy or paler with a pair of sharp incisors, chances are high that he or she has come into contact with a vampire or werewolf. The best way to avoid a bite from either is to satisfy its plea of “Trick or Treat!” with a treat and let it be on its way to the next house. Good luck avoiding poisonous animals and Happy Halloween!

How to Survive an Abduction

Have you ever been out in the mountains at night enjoying the starscape, and you see something dart across the sky, stop midway, hover for ten, twenty seconds, and then seem to shoot straight up into the black sky above and disappear? Despite what the government would have you believe, aliens are real. Instead of covering up their existence, our nation’s leaders should be providing us citizens with advice on how to combat the extra-terrestrials, should they attempt to suck us up into a glittery beam of light in order to prod and poke us until their scientific minds are satisfied. I think our politicians would be much more handy writing an alien abduction survival guide (especially the New Mexico representatives) than a 2,000-page health care reform proposal (that no one reads anyhow). Since the government chooses to dally about with other trivial matters, like the economy and education reform, I have undertaken to provide you with a few tips from my own, though somewhat limited, experience.

The last time I had an encounter of the third kind, I was disappointed to find that pepper spray is ineffectual against aliens. You would think with their great, bulbous eyeballs that the spray would work wonders, which it does, but as an alien aphrodisiac. Get’s ‘em all in a tizzy, and trust me, you don’t want them to be grabbier than they already are. There isn’t much you can do about avoiding the actual abduction, which is why these are tips on surviving, not avoiding, such occurrences.

The most important thing to remember during an abduction is that you are being kidnapped by scientific aliens. These are not your common, run-of-the-mill, middle-class space invaders; they’ve been trained to show little to no emotion as they slice and dice towards greater understanding. These guys thrive on results, and one of the biggest results they love is emotional reaction to whatever it is they are doing to you. Give them nothing, say nothing, scream nothing, emote nothing. This will confuse them and you will throw off many of their experiments and data. Play a dummy and I promise you, they will red flag you so that other aliens do not make the same mistake of abducting you as they did.

Under no circumstances should you try to engage in reasoning with the aliens. Most extra terrestrials are language purists, and so your pleas for mercy and goodwill will be rebutted with an extremely foreign dialogue. Aliens can understand human languages perfectly, but they choose not to allow any of our words to enter their vocabulary, and they do so by never speaking it. Since the “greys” refuse to speak Earth-talk, you may as well have fun with your words. Babbling like a madman, putting words together that would never make sense in any situation, is a surefire way to make those bug-eyed creeps second-guess their understanding of our language.

My last tip is for the after-abduction. Most people want to rush out and notify police or the local newspaper of their horrific experience, but that is unwise. Governments around the world have done a good job of covering up all evidence of alien affairs here on Earth, and any admission of an abduction will only be met with frowns and aversion. I suggest you find and join an alien abductees’ support group in your community, where you’ll be able to share your story as well as gain the knowledge that the abduction was not your fault. Hopefully you’ll never have to deal with such an out-of-this-world experience, but if you do, I hope that my advice is helpful.

Ghost Towns

Now that we’re approaching Halloween, I figured it’s time for a spooky outdoor adventure. Ghost towns are the perfect place to go for a thrilling excursion; there’s always a chance that they’ll live up to their name. Utah is full of ghost towns, though Wasatch County doesn’t seem to have any. There are some in nearby Duchesne County, and plenty out near the Great Salt Lake/Tooele area. Most of the ghost towns were little mining towns that became obsolete as technology advanced or valuable ore deposits became scarce. Old, dilapidated buildings or simple foundations are the only indications that humans ever tried to settle the various scattered locations around the state.

I took a drive out to the Pony Express Trail and explored a few of the ghost towns there in Tooele and Juab Counties. There really isn’t much near any of the sights, so I was glad my wife and I had brought along snacks and water. Plus the humans we saw on our way to the ghost towns were sometimes more frightening than the actual prospect of running across an old miner’s ghost. It was eerie driving through a town as everyone stopped what they were doing to straighten up and watch the vehicle pass by their house. It was like something from an old horror flick: people with pitchforks and scythes and other archaic farming instruments following the out-of-towners with their vacant stares.

Once we passed the creepy “live” towns, we were able to visit ten or fifteen “dead” towns in one afternoon. The most memorable is a town called Gold Hill. If you’ve ever seen the film The Hills Have Eyes, Gold Hill would be the perfect candidate for one of the film’s sequels. The ghost town still has a few living haunts. People continue to live among the broken-down machinery and rotting buildings. Apparently there is an effort to rekindle Gold Hill’s mining industry. There was a sign in the middle of the town, and my wife and I read it from the safety of our Jeep. There was no way I was exiting my vehicle, giving the townspeople the chance to do whatever it is that ghost town people do to outsiders.

No ghost town is truly complete without a rundown cemetery nearby. There’s nothing more chilling than stumbling over some weather-beaten grave markers in the dry brush just outside of town. It’s hard not to imagine the long forgotten bones waiting underground for the unsuspecting adventurer to fall into their clutches. Luckily my wife and I were visiting ghost towns and their cemeteries by day, because at night those bones would have dragged us down into their cold embrace.

If you’re in the mood for some thrills and chills this Halloween season without paying the outrageous costs of a haunted house, check out a ghost town or two. The best website I’ve found for Utah ghost towns is at www.ghosttowns.com. Simply select Utah from the drop-down list at the top of the webpage and you’ve got access to bits of lore and other information about ghost towns across the state. Take a flashlight, keep your car doors locked, and prepare for roads that go bump in the night (and day; they’re dirt roads, after all).

Animal Pancakes

Though there are hunting opportunities all year long, autumn ushers in the majority, including many of the general elk and deer hunts that are so popular here in Utah. While a lot of you may be joining the orange-vested ranks of hunters, crawling around the mountains of Utah in search of ruminant targets, I will be at home changing my Jeep’s oil filter. It’s not my fault my dad woke me up early on autumn Saturdays to help him change his van’s oil instead of go hunting like all the other normal dads and sons. That’s a good thing, though, because I have such a soft spot for animals that I probably couldn’t have killed anything during a hunt anyway.

Despite my lack of hunting skills, I have killed animals. Mostly fish during Scout camps, but a few others have made it under the wheels of whatever vehicle I was driving at the time. Luckily for me, all of those animals have been small: squirrels, rabbits, and a bird. And I can’t forget about the cat, but I don’t really know if I killed it or not; it was still hissing, spitting and leaping when I last saw it. Anyway, fishing and hitting animals in my car is the closest I’ve come to hunting.

Years ago I personally witnessed a 4-point buck jump out onto the highway and bound across two lanes of traffic before running smack-dab into the side of a semi-trailer, which happened to be in the lane to our right. It was surreal as I watched the beautiful beast drop like a sack of potatoes 100 feet in front of the truck my friend, Ivan, was driving. We were doing a good 65-70 mph, and we had vehicles on either side of us, so our only path was over the top of the poor creature. We didn’t want to leave the animal lying there, so we took the next exit and circled back, but some other kind soul was already moving the hulking mass out of the roadway.

I’ve always thought it funny how much “food” goes to waste when vehicles make “pancakes” out of animals. Road kill in some states is fair game: If you hit it, you can cook it. Here in Utah, there are a few restrictions. Number one, you can’t simply load the freshly squished animal into your car and haul it home. That’s considered poaching here. Number two, if you don’t want the meat to go to waste, you can call the Division of Wildlife Resources (the main office number is 801-538-4700) and a DWR officer will come and assess the situation. Should the officer deem the animal worthy of consumption, you’ve got meat for your next BBQ! Sometimes there is a permit fee, though, so don’t assume that the damage to your car was necessarily worth it. The price of the permit depends on the animal involved, so expect to pay more for a bull moose than for a deer.

Next time you’re out driving and you see an animal come out into your path of travel, forget the silly point system and adopt the better meal system. Suddenly a cat just went from 100 points to 0 meals, but a deer went from 500 points to 10 meals (for a family of four). The meal system is very dependent on the size of whatever group of people it is feeding. If you are single, that same deer is going to be worth about 40 meals (rough estimate). You will find that many animals (and humans) that had high point values are all of a sudden worthless.

Drive safe this fall and watch out for wildlife. Three-quarters of a meal for the squirrel!

A Letter to the Gray Wolves Out There

Listen up, Gray Wolves. I’ve got a bone to pick with you (not literally; I’m not into carrion). It’s time you all realized that we’re living in the 21^st century now, and the primitive tactics that you employ to survive are extremely outdated and backwards by today’s standards. Just because you’ve got “endangered species” status doesn’t mean you can go around behaving badly. You may be my favorite animal, but the bear is also pretty high on my list, so watch out.

Not only would I like to try to talk you all into becoming a bit more civilized, this letter is also meant to warn you. While you might sincerely believe that sheep are your mortal enemies, and that they’re out to get you so you’ve got to get them first, they have employed many of us humans as their bodyguards. As you can see, they’re much more advanced than you. They’ve learned the concept of alliances and guarded protection. Should you approach your mortal enemies, there is a high probability that a human will greet you with a lethal weapon of some sort. Once again, watch out.

You may be surprised to discover that us humans have established stores that sell sheep meat and other sheep products, such as sheepskin blankets. Think about it: Is it really worth your life, stealing these items, when you can easily procure them legally? I know it’s difficult to leave your pack of friends to become a responsible adult and work for your keep, but you wouldn’t have to fear that the next raid on the Patterson’s ranch would be your last. I bet you’d even find some items at the store that you’ve never even come across during all your hunting and scavenging. Some of my favorites are fruit snacks (I eat meat, too, but I love these things; you gotta try ‘em), cheese crackers (put a little turkey between two crackers; it’s great!), and Jell-O (‘nuff said).

The next time you’re howling at a moon, take some time and think about your situation. People are afraid of you. Every time a boy cries, “Wolf!” 15-20 villagers show up with various garden tools to fight you. Sometimes you’re so desperate for food that you’re willing to eat three-day-old elk. But there is hope. Look at your cousin, the dog, as a prime example of how you can benefit from an alliance with us humans. And don’t start complaining about how some dogs actually get eaten by us. That’s halfway around the world and it’s nothing you need to worry about in these parts.

Dogs enjoy comfortable lives, especially when compared with your conditions. I have dogs and I give them scratches and rubs all the time. Every now and then I give them super-secret table scraps (don’t tell my wife), things like bits of chicken and rib bones. They even have their own soft beds. You might think that they’re spoiled, but that kind of treatment is very common for a dog. “Domesticated” doesn’t have to have such a negative connotation. It’s got its perks.

I’ll end this letter by saying, “Resistance is futile.” Sure, you’re somewhat protected for now, but once you increase your population size, you’re fair game. Every time you hear a twig snap or an unusual rustle of leaves, you’ll have to be on your guard. A life of running, even if you are free, isn’t a great life. Good luck in your future endeavors of avoiding death during ranch raids.

Defending Autumn

Everyone has a favorite season for one reason or another. I personally find all the seasons appealing in their own ways, but autumn is by far my favorite one. Winter has its amazingly fun sports; Spring has its new beginnings; and hot Summer days paired with cool water are almost unbeatable. But Autumn is always magical for me: the sound of crunching leaves; the smell of wood burning; the sight of bright, dying leaves; the taste of a fresh harvest; and the touch of a slight chill in the crisp air.

We can officially welcome Autumn back into our lives this week. Some of you may dislike the season, and others may love it like me, but whether you like it or not, it’s here. The thing I like most about Autumn is that change is most evident, much like Spring, but less muddy. Leaves explode with color as birds fly south overhead. Fields are harvested and small rodents run about stocking up on any grain or seeds that may have fallen to the ground. The cooler temperatures force woodland creatures closer to the valley floors and people to tinker about with furnaces that require tender love and care to make it through one more winter.

Autumn is a breath of cool, fresh air after a hot, dry Summer, but many people only see it as a precursor to a bitter Winter. Since Winter is my next favorite season, I have absolutely no problem with the fact that Autumn is easing us into freezing temperatures. I consider a little early snowfall a bonus during the Fall months, especially when it happens in September. Plus it’s always nice to pull out your warm clothes from last year and discover that twenty-dollar bill you put in your pocket and forgot about. Cha-ching! You’re suddenly rich! And if you’re anything like me, you love wearing jackets, because it’s too much effort to iron any of your wrinkly shirts and the jacket hides the wrinkles perfectly.

I have purposefully left the best part about Autumn for last, and that is: Football! Whether your son is in the Little League or playing for the high school team, or you’re following your favorite college or NFL team, football consumes the lives of millions of Americans every year, and for a few good reasons, too. One, football snacks and foods (i.e. chips and salsa, grilled items, etc.) are better than any other sports foods (compare against baseball’s hotdogs). Two, men are able to vent frustration by watching their favorite players demolish the opposition, and women can enjoy the parade of men in tights and seemingly-muscle-enhancing padding.

And finally three, it’s the best excuse in the world why you can’t rake up leaves or go chop the head off a turkey anytime between Thursday through Monday. I mean seriously, there’s always a good college game on Thursday, the local high school game on Friday is a community tradition, Saturday is jam-packed with back-to-back action, the NFL dominates Sunday, and then for good measure, there’s some random NFL game on Monday too. “Sorry, honey. Work around the house has got to wait until either Tuesday or Wednesday. Any other day is just plain out of the question. Gotta be able to keep up with the guys at work, you know. Doing research and stuff. All about football. Otherwise they’ll call me names and make fun of me and then I’ll come home and take it out on you and the kids and the dogs…”

As you can see, there are many things that make life magical during the Autumn months. But don’t take my word for it. Pack up your five senses and go use them in the coming days. Observe all the wonderful changes happening right before your eyes while you gather red, yellow, orange and mauve leaves to decorate your home with, but make sure you’re home by seven to catch the big game!

The Monster From the White Lagoon

I stood there, camera poised for the third shot, before I realized that my editor and friend, Martin (aka “The Big Guy”), was backpedaling, trying to regain his balance. Little did I know that his foot had become stuck in a mass of black gooeyness that seemed to seep from the white and gray landscape of the north end of the Great Salt Lake, and he had just freed himself from it with about all the strength he could muster. It appeared a Herculean effort, judging by the way it threw him backward as he fought for a good foothold. Unfortunately, he was able to stop gravity’s tug and he righted himself before I could get any more photos of his potential downfall. The whole thing was over within 30 seconds, but it seemed to last for at least five minutes.

Martin’s two children, who were with us, laughed and cried with delight at their dad’s antics; I personally clapped my hands and said, “What fun! Do it again!” Martin ignored our taunts and immediately found a piece of rotten wood to scrape the burning, molasses-like crud off his leg. To tell the truth, Martin was a little disappointed that I didn’t capture his near-death experience with the camera.

After recovering from the misadventure, Martin looked at me and said, “What is this stuff anyway? Tar? Oil?” I had no idea. It smelled like it could be either. Long, black veins spread out from the main body of the “tar pits”, looking like an alien life form that was attempting to survive in the harsh, saline-rich environment all around it. As Martin and I found out very shortly from an informative passer-by on a motorcycle, we were standing on an oil field that was abandoned a couple of decades ago, known as Rozel Point.

Who would even think that the thick, black substance Martin had found himself stuck in was crude oil? After all the oil spills in the oceans and streams and lakes around the world, one would think it near impossible to simply find oil bubbling up out of the ground anywhere nowadays without a Hazmat crew nearby. We were merely on an excursion, not expecting to find the debris, rusted equipment, barrels, and crude oil that we discovered. In fact, we were headed for the Spiral Jetty, which lies perhaps one thousand feet to the west of Rozel Point. We ended up spending a couple of hours exploring something that we didn’t even come to visit. But boy, it was a blast. Martin’s near-fall was certainly the high point, but there were many other interesting and fun things out there.

Martin and I now have plans to engage in more extensive exploration of the Rozel Point/Spiral Jetty region in the coming weeks. Any subsequent observation of the oil fields will most likely take place from a fair distance. Martin was lucky the first time that he didn’t fall forward. In fact, one of his boys, on the way home, asked, “Dad, what would have happened if you had fallen in?” The matter-of-fact answer was simple, and perhaps shocking to the little one: “I’d have died!” And I am convinced Martin would have then continued in the afterlife to haunt the oil fields as the monster from the white lagoon: dripping with crude oil; trying to catch the pelicans overhead with his super-sticky fingers; and when any new explorers happened upon the seeping goo, he’d yell, “Dare you to step in it!” and then shove them in, causing them to share his fate.

It was fun to learn something about Utah that I would have probably never known had I not gone out to the Great Salt Lake that day. One tiny puzzle piece of Utah history has been put in place and it’s exciting to realize that there are still so many more pieces to put together. More than likely I will never finish the puzzle, but at least I will end up getting a good view of what the finished puzzle would look like.

Go out there and find some puzzle pieces yourself, just watch out for bubbling oil. And whatever you do, don’t play in it!

Give a Little Whistle

I love my dogs, but I can’t get them to do tricks or commands without offering a treat. Allegedly my dogs come from a long line of miniature American Eskimo dogs that were trained at one point to perform in the circus. Those dogs could ride horses and do back flips and hop around wearing tutus. My dogs beg at the dinner table. And they drop toys at my feet for me to throw. Nothing even close to flips. Apparently dogs are only as smart as their owners.

Labor Day weekend brought the Soldier Hollow Classic Sheepdog Championship to our own backyard. Talk about smart dogs. I sat and watched as a man whistled short commands to a dog that was sometimes two or three football-field lengths away. Some whistles told the dog to “Go right,” or “Go left,” or “Stop,” or “Hey! One of the sheep is bolting and you’ve got to round it up before it blows the whole competition for us!” I wish I could simply whistle and my dogs would respond instantly like those Border Collies did. It was fascinating to observe each handler’s unique style and each dog’s skill with the sheep. At times it appeared that the handler was operating the dog and sheep with a remote control, because the cooperation on all sides was near flawless.

I’m sure many of you here in Heber and Midway have had an opportunity over the last few years to attend one of the sheepdog events at Soldier Hollow. Whether you’re a dog person or not, the dogs at these events are sure to amaze and delight. What I loved about the whole experience was the variety of exhibitions and activities. Not only were sheepdogs flaunting their expertise on the hillside, there were dogs leaping off a platform into a pool (which anyone could enter and try to win a prize), there were other dogs jumping through hoops and catching Frisbees, and there were still more dogs showing us humans how to properly herd ducks. It was such a pleasant experience.

After I arrived home Monday from the Soldier Hollow Classic, I instantly began trying to train my dogs to do anything other than “sit” or “lie down.” Fifteen minutes later I was frustrated, so I took them to the park to walk it out. When I saw a group of ducks near a little stream, I remembered what I had learned from the duck-herding dogs, but rather than train my dogs to herd ducks, I allowed them to chase the ducks away and then I used my new-found skills to round them all back up. We did that a few times and then my dogs got bored and indicated that they wanted to go home to beg for treats. I’ve decided to accept the timeless axiom: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Except for my dogs are only a couple of years old. So I’ve tweaked the saying to fit my circumstances: “I can’t teach my dog tricks.” But hey, I won’t let that get me down; I learned something from a dog at a dog festival: “A young dog can teach a relatively old human (compared to a dog) new tricks.”

Someday I will learn how to communicate with my dogs through whistling. I think it would save time. Rather than explain why my books should not be eaten and watch as my dog cocks its head to the side as if she doesn’t understand, I could give a little whistle that means the same thing and she would get the message loud and clear. No mistaking “treat” for “tree,” or “no” for “snow.” Next time the sheepdog competition rolls around, I want to display my dogs in the “How to Speak Genuine Dog Language” exhibit. Course, you’ll have to walk half a mile to come see it, otherwise my whistles would screw up some poor Border Collie and instead of fetching a group of sheep down the hillside, she’d wind up trying to find a newspaper to bring to her owner.

Last Rays of Summer

Summer officially ends on the 23^rd of September. For most children summer ends when school starts at the end of August. I think I’m safe to say that for most adults summer ends on Labor Day. It’s really one of the last holiday weekends when a grown-up can plan on taking a long camping trip or boating adventure. After Labor Day it’s pretty hard to find a good, long weekend when the weather is still somewhat warm for any summer activities. Once autumn hits, the temperatures will drop and the weather will become much more wet, making hikes and campfires all but obsolete.

So what do you plan on doing with your last long summer weekend? Catch up on all the television shows you’ve recorded on your DVR over the last few weeks? Or do some fall cleaning that should have been done in the spring, but you’re just getting to it now? Or perhaps you’re hopping in your car and you’re headed out to the Great Salt Lake to enjoy some peace and quiet out by the Spiral Jetty? I hope you don’t pick the last option, because that’s my plan and I don’t want anyone else ruining my peace and quiet. But I do hope it’s something similar, such as heading to a lake to fish or following the instructions on a map that your grandfather left you that leads to a legendary stash of bandit loot somewhere in the desert.

Whatever you do and wherever you go I truly hope you soak up the last rays of the summer sun. A person like me, despite my love for the wintertime, can still appreciate the summer and the activities that go along with it. I am excited for the weather to become cooler and the air to become crisp, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t look back on the last few hot months with a fondness for their warmth and the refreshing effects of a river. Now that I can look back, the unbearably hot days seem like a bad dream, and I am left with a handful of happy memories: a walk around Mirror Lake; watching shooting stars; hopping across large rocks to cross a raging river. The sole regret I have is that I did not have time to do more.

Labor Day affords me one last big chance at engaging in one more fun, summery adventure. That is until next year. The seasons are great like that: whatever you wanted to do this year that you didn’t get around to because a family reunion got in the way or the weather was terrible the weekend you were planning on an extra-long hike, you can plan for the next year. In a way, the ends and beginnings of seasons are like miniature New Year’s Days. You look back at the previous months, decide what you wanted to do, and make a resolution to do it the next year, as well as look forward to the coming months and resolve to do certain things this year.

As the wind blows through tall, dry, yellow plants and shimmering mirages reflect across an expanse of glaring white salt, I’ll be scribbling a few plans down for next year’s summer in addition to envisioning how I will take full advantage of this year’s fall and winter. Gazing out at the unnatural (though composed of natural materials) spiral that stretches out toward the beautiful, blue sky, I will remind myself how time marches forward and I must choose to either spiral outward and expand my horizons or be sucked in by the spiral’s pull and wind up in the center, swirling in place, going nowhere. I am certain I will choose to broaden my outlook and learn to enjoy more of what this earth has to offer. What a wonderful world.

Mountains Aren't Just For Hiking

As man evolves, so do his toys. Used to be a person wouldn’t even dream of trying to take a bicycle up a mountain trail. Bikes now have shocks and all kinds of fancy gadgets that could make them fairly float down a cliff side. I imagine there were a few boys back in the day that attempted to take their old, rickety, banana-seated hunk of metal with two wheels up a mountain, but after losing the fenders and the chain, they stuck to shooting varmints out in the fields.

When I was a lad, shocks were the big technology when it came to mountain biking, but I couldn’t afford them, so I stuck to shaking myself near to death every time I came down a mountain trail on my bike. The shocks and absorbers that are available nowadays make my mouth water when I realize that almost every bump and jarring motion would disappear with their use. I have upgraded to a shock on my front fork, but it doesn’t feel like it’s doing much after 15 minutes of riding. Someday I’ll stop being so cheap and upgrade all the way so I’m comfortable.

Besides shocks, there are also advances in the brake area. I had a bike once that only had front brakes (the back brakes had simply broken and I hadn’t fixed them). As I was coming up to a traffic light, the light turned red and I clamped down on my brakes, but the front brakes snapped with rust and wear. Luckily, there was only one car waiting to go through the light and I wasn’t killed in the cross traffic, but I had to find a way to slow myself as I careened down the hill I was on. Eventually I had to employ my shoes to act as stopping agents.

But shoes are not the advance I am talking about in the brake area. Disc brakes are. The first time I experienced disc brakes, I wound up on my face and elbows with my legs somehow tangled in the bike frame. Disc brakes stop a bike much faster than regular rim brakes, and that takes some getting used to. All it takes is a little, tiny, teensy-weensy, baby squeeze and disc brakes begin some serious slowing. Between shocks and brakes, life on a bike has become a little more efficient.

Unfortunately, disc brakes are not the only thing that will send you face first into the dirt. Large rocks will, for example, or ditches, or even badgers. Try to remember that mountain biking is not as easy to escape without injury as regular road biking. Take a simple first aid kit with you to bandage up the small lacerations caused by whipping branches. And also remember that your face and elbows may not be the only victims of mountain biking’s savagery: your wheels may suffer punctures. All experienced cyclists, whether on a paved road or mountain trail, take along a flat repair kit, unless their wheel-technology has advanced past the need to worry about flats, which is very possible.

I love feeling the cool mountain air rush past me on my way down a mountain on my bike. It’s fun to maneuver corners and jumps and experience the adrenaline rush of narrowly avoiding colliding with a tree. My absolute favorite part of mountain biking, though, is blasting through puddles after a rainstorm. Some people like to get their vehicles dirty; I like to get mud on my face. Makes me feel like a human, like I’m alive. So get out there and get some dirt on your face, or some cuts and bruises on your legs. It might even be fun to use your feet as brakes. Happy biking!

Fleet Feet

Over ten years ago I was part of my high school’s cross-country running team. I wasn’t anything exceptional, but I typically finished in the top 40 percent. Eventually I quit running because I suffered from shin splints. In the last ten years I’ve gone for a run maybe two or three times. It’s quite sad, because I loved the adrenaline rushes and sense of accomplishment after each race. Last week I started running again, and I’m committed to keeping it up. Especially since most of the people around me continually mention how a person suddenly begins gaining weight after the age of 30. I definitely need to start a good exercise habit now; otherwise I know I’ll regret it.

When I experienced shin splints the first time many years ago, I thought I simply needed to stretch my legs more. Come to find out, the shoes I was wearing were not optimal for the sport of running and they were quickly ruining my shins. Who knew a bad pair of shoes could cause so much pain? I went from running ten miles per day, easy, to less than a mile before the shin splints would kick in. This time around I’ve bought a pair of shoes designed for running. Not cross-trainers or tennis shoes. Running shoes. Makes sense, right?

Some of my fondest cross-country training memories include the mountains. Our coach would take us up into the mountains, sometimes to a ski resort, sometimes to an obscure trail in the middle of nowhere, and he’d turn us loose. I’m surprised that, out of a bunch of high school kids, none of us went missing. I really liked running ski resorts in the summer, because the air is cleaner and cooler in the mountains and the flora and fauna are always beautiful and fun to see. The only downside to running the mountainous trails was Tim. Tim somehow always wound up in front of me, and his sweaty body reeked something foul. If I tried to pass him, he took it as a challenge and sped up. If I tried to hang back, he would slow down too. It was as if I were his only competition. Luckily Tim hasn’t showed up in my latest running exploits, so I’m safe for now.

Here’s some important information about me: I can’t stand mornings. I am not a morning person. Sure, I’ll wake up early if I need to, to go on a fishing trip or start the campfire for breakfast, but I’m rarely in a good mood those mornings. When I go running it’s at night. There is something magical about the nighttime, with its cooling breezes, its subdued lighting, its ability to relax and calm after a hard day’s work. Perhaps someday I will learn to appreciate the morning, but until then my affection for the night will continue. Plus, all the energy that I didn’t use during the day can be burned up at night, setting me up for a generally good night’s sleep.

If you’re a runner, stay safe out there. Runners who prefer running in the dark should be as bright as possible. If you’re considering running as a hobby or necessary exercise, you have my admiration. I know how hard it is to pick the sport back up after ten years. And if you’re suddenly assaulted by the smell of rotting hamburger meat, congratulations, you’ve had an encounter with Tim. Happy running and watch out for those nasty shin splints!

Food and Grass

There are some forms of art that are slowly dying or have died in recent years. I’m not talking about fine art, rather arts such as the art of porch-sitting, or the art of going-outside-to-do-anything-other-than-take-the-garbage-out. Even the art of fine dining inside the home is becoming extinct. Some people don’t know how to prepare food if it’s not microwaveable or easy to pull out of the box and shove into the preheated oven. Technology has given us more free time and what do we do with it? I don’t know about you, but I’ve taken up the hobby of not going insane.

Have you ever stopped eating in the middle of a meal and realized that nobody is talking, the television is on and little Billy is mindlessly putting vegetables (which he never eats) into his mouth as he watches one of the many crime investigation shows? If it doesn’t bother you, by all means, continue not talking with your family members and let Billy put hair on his chest. If it does bother you (the not talking or interacting part), go on a picnic. It’s simple, refreshing and you might have a good conversation with your family. Not to mention most picnics involve fun activities before and after eating, like Frisbee or catch.

Picnics are the perfect way to get in touch with a lot of things. Family, for one; the world outside your home, for two; and the beauty of nature, for three. The list doesn’t stop there, of course, but I’ll allow you to complete the list of items that you enjoy doing as you sit on a blanket in the grass and munch on a crisp piece of celery and watch your children beat each other up because Billy threw the Frisbee into the nearby stream and it has disappeared.

I am ready for a picnic at the drop of a hat: there is always a blanket in the back of my Jeep. You don’t even need a basket, though it does help if you want to keep plates and utensils in it. Most of the time, my picnics are pretty whimsical. My wife and I will stop at the store, grab some chicken and potato wedges, and we’re off to enjoy lunch in some shady grove in the foothills. Or if we’re feeling French, we’ll buy a small loaf of artisan bread, a triangle of Brie cheese, dipping oil, and maybe some lunchmeat, then go find a picturesque place to dine. Simple, yet flavorful and fun.

What’s really nice about picnics is that you end up spending some quality time with your family and friends. Conversations happen, the kids get exercise, the food typically isn’t microwaved, and there are rarely any dishes to wash up. Clean-up consists of mom and dad each grabbing a side of the blanket and flipping the crumbs off for some lucky bug to find. The time you saved with not washing dishes you get to spend finding out just how much more energy everyone else has than you.

If you are one of the great people in this world perpetuating the art of picnicking, I salute you. There are so many problems in this world that affect a person’s well-being negatively, but you are doing something active that promotes a healthy lifestyle, both mentally and physically. And what better way to enjoy Utah’s outdoors than with food? Nothing beats watching the sun set behind the Wasatch Mountains as you devour a homemade Shepherd’s Pie on top of a grassy knoll.

Should you find yourself wishing you had more time or energy for picnicking, just do it. Throw some foodstuffs into a sack, hop in your car, find the nearest park, and eat! It doesn’t get any easier than that. I wish everyone “bon appétit,” especially if you are eating Brie on bread, and I hope you have some great moments as you combine food and the outdoors.

Lions and Tigers and WHAT?!

When I was a little boy my mother and father took us camping with a large group of girls every year. I didn’t really care that I was one of ten to fifteen males among what seemed like a million girls at a Girls’ Camp in the Uintahs. All I cared about was finding the next stick to poke into the fire.

One memorable day as I stared into our campfire, my trance was broken by the shrill cry from one of the girls in the camp. Before I knew it, dozens of screams and shrieks assaulted my ears and I thought for sure the man with the hook hand had arrived; you know, the guy who goes lurking around the mountains looking for young people to help him create the perfect horror story. Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that instead of the hook-handed man, the girls were merely frightened of a bear cub that had wandered into the camp and climbed up a tree. I couldn’t understand why the men in the camp seemed to be just as scared of the cub as the girls, until my dad explained that “where there’s a baby, there’s a mama.”

Bears, cougars and the occasional rattlesnake seem to be the main villains in any outdoor setting here in Utah. While these animals are certainly dangerous, let’s turn the clock back a few years to the time of the dinosaurs (some of you can probably still relate a few good stories from those days). Imagine hiking up to Stewart Falls and you’re suddenly face to face with a velociraptor, or you enter a cave, only to find out that what you thought were stalagmites and stalactites were really the teeth inside a T-Rex’s mouth…and by then it’s too late.

Luckily we don’t have to worry about giant reptiles ruining our fun; instead they can be part of it. Vernal lies two-and-a-half hours away from most of you and the landscape surrounding it is teeming with the remains of dinosaurs. If you’re willing to drive 20 more miles east of Vernal and part with $10, you can take your carload of friends and/or family members into Dinosaur National Monument. There you can hike, camp, raft, and explore, all while in the presence of harmless prehistoric monsters buried in the rocks. Take care, though! Just because the dinosaurs can’t bite doesn’t mean smaller reptiles and bugs won’t. (Side note – the quarry at Dinosaur National Monument is presently closed, which means that the majority of fossils and bones will be inaccessible. That not to say that there’s not a chance that you could stumble on a stegosaurus spike on a hike somewhere, though.)

Vernal isn’t the only hot spot for dinosaur lovers to meet. Utah is home to numerous museums that display replicas of the dinosaurs found here. My all-time favorite dinosaur is the Iguanodon, though I’m not sure whether he’s a Utah native. I just like how he’s always giving the “thumbs-up.” That’s probably how the species survived among larger terrors like the Tyrannosaurus Rex: as the T-Rex approached the Iguanodon, he’d flash his thumbs, as if to say, “Hey, man, it’s cool. Everything’s groovy,” and suddenly T-Rex would feel a little less aggressive and wander away.

Next time you see a bear or cougar or rattlesnake up close and personal, I doubt you will shrug and think, “Could be worse. Could be a dinosaur.” But once you’ve gotten yourself out of your predicament, I hope you can appreciate the fact that dinosaurs were as real a threat on earth as any living animals are today. Let’s hope that there aren’t any meteors headed our way, though; otherwise people in a few thousand years will be digging up moose and elephant bones and wondering what the heck they dug up. If you take the time to go see what people are digging up nowadays, have fun imagining and learning about the earth’s past and don’t go in any caves shaped like dinosaur mouths!

Rocky Roads

Whenever someone mentions the term “rocky road” around my co-worker, he dives into the tedious tale of his high school friend who has the last name of Roads and how his parents named him Rocky and his brother Dusty. And every time he tells us this two-minute story, he acts as if it’s the first time he’s ever told anyone. Owing to the fact that the story is only two minutes, we all sit and wait and smile and say, “Ha ha. That is truly ingenious of those parents! Rocky and Dusty Roads. Pure awesomeness right there…” My discussion of rocky roads will not only be longer than two minutes (unless you are a speed reader), I also promise that it will be more interesting than what you just read.
Last Friday I decided to take a drive up into the Mirror Lake area. A few miles before Mirror Lake there is a turnout for the Duchesne Tunnel. One summer my Scout troop camped out at the top of the Duchesne Tunnel and we ended up taking inner tubes down the freezing passageway (which I don’t recommend or think is all that legal nowadays). After the first run down the tunnel, we figured a second run is only appropriate for adventurous young men like ourselves. We’re probably lucky we didn’t freeze to death, wearing only swimming trunks and sandals through an icicle-ridden, six-mile long tunnel that took an hour and a half from start to finish.
Of course you’re wondering when rocky roads are going to come into the picture. Well, we had a couple vehicles parked at the turnout so we could get back to our campsite about seven miles away. Back then it didn’t seem so bad traveling on the dirt road that led to our campsite, but when I returned last Friday, the road reminded me of a cobblestone road, except instead of tiny smooth rocks they were large stones, some sharp, and all I can say is, we were fortunate to have a vehicle that could handle the road’s bumpiness. At first I thought I had found a dried-up riverbed to travel along, but then there were indications (e.g. other people camped out near the road) that I was indeed on a roadway that led to an actual destination.
My poor pregnant wife. She thought for sure the bumps would induce labor and we would wind up delivering a baby two-and-a-half months early right there in the middle of the mountains and we’d have to flag down another motorist to borrow a knife to cut the umbilical cord. (Some of you are reading this thinking, “That’s how I was born. Nothing wrong with that.”) As we crawled down the mountainside at 5 mph toward the head of the Duchesne Tunnel, our unborn baby boy decided it was roughhousing time and he started really kicking and punching. My wife wanted to turn back and get off the road so the baby would calm down, but the road was little more than a glorified hiking trail, and it was literally impossible to turn our vehicle around, so we stopped every so often.
After about 45 minutes of bumpy rocks and short breaks, we eventually made it to the shady valley that is home to the Duchesne Tunnel inlet. The road we came down was the only way out, so I made sure we took plenty of time to relax and take in the scenery around us. We were surrounded on every side by mountains and woods. We saw a beautiful 100-ft. waterfall and hiked through a small canyon with a river running through it. The area was pristine and there were only a handful of other humans enjoying it with us. It was so peaceful; the only noises were natural ones coming from the river and the wind in the trees.
I am convinced that the rocky road we traveled on weeded out many would-be visitors to that beautiful area. I’m all for people getting in touch with nature, but along with people comes garbage and noise. The less accessible a location is, the more unspoiled and picturesque it will remain. The harder the journey, the more enjoyable the destination. Just another one of life’s lessons that was shaken into me as I bumped up the rocky road again toward a paved highway that would lead me quickly and easily back home.

In the Absence of Great Adventure

The great poet Robert Frost wrote, “Two paths diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” That man knew how to create his own adventure: taking the almost unrecognizable pathway through a forest full of animals and other unknown dangers. Now, Robert Frost spent much of his time in the New England area, a relatively flat landscape, which means his pathway wasn’t fraught with the perils of steep cliffs and rock slides potentially blocking off the main trail. I don’t know if I could call his walk through the woods a hike; it’s more of a stroll really. And that is why he took the path less traveled by. He must have found the well-traveled paths extremely mundane and tedious. In the absence of great adventure, Robert Frost had to create his own.
Here in Utah, we have numerous trails that, as seen constantly in the news, pose a considerable risk to the people hiking those trails. Great adventure (i.e. coming face-to-face with a rattlesnake, holding onto tree roots to keep from falling off a 100-ft. cliff) is only minutes away from many of our houses.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but I love hiking. There was a time in my adolescent years when every day I blazed my own trails (or followed very narrow deer paths) through the forests of Rose Canyon, near the Kennecott Copper Mines. We lived right smack dab in the middle of nowhere, and there was plenty for a young boy to explore without having to travel too far. On summer days while the city kids were complaining, “Mom, there’s nothing to do…there’s nothing to eat…it’s too hot…” I was climbing to the top of a mountain that I had climbed three times previously that week. And each climb was as exciting as the last. Each day was a brand new day and I never knew what I would find or experience.
All across Utah, there are hiking trails that typically lead to a point of interest, whether it’s a waterfall or a cool rock formation or breath-taking beauty. (By the way, there are very few areas in the United States that can compare with the wealth of trails and hikes that Utah has to offer. Nebraska, anyone?) Some of my favorite “hikes” would probably be termed “strolls” by my reckoning, like Cascade Springs in American Fork Canyon or Silver Lake near Brighton Ski Resort. Both provide the strollers (as I will call them, since I cannot bring myself to call anyone a hiker who does not struggle to reach their destination) with a wooden pathway around a beautiful body of water. There are other trails near the main wooden pathway that you can take and evolve from a stroller to a hiker within seconds. And the pathways are very family friendly. If you have young children, such strolls are ideal to expose them to the wonders and joys of nature.
Some weekends I don’t have any grand adventures planned, but I still want to enjoy the outdoors. A hike is always the perfect solution. I can choose to take a small hike (15-30 min.) or a longer hike (4-6 hours), and there are plenty of each within a reasonable distance from my home. Back in my Rose Canyon days I could easily slip away on a hike and not worry about taking any sort of supplies. Now I generally have to prepare for hikes, mostly with water and a snack to keep my energy up. Sometimes even a map is required, especially if the hike is full of paths less traveled by. If I’m planning on a longer hike, an extra pair of socks and a first-aid kit are necessities. I may not have been the best Boy Scout, but I can appreciate their motto of “Be Prepared.”
If you’re in-between adventures, or your children are telling you that there is nothing to do (they already ran through the sprinklers and built a chair tent), consider a hike. They’re healthy, easy on the eyes, and typically free, other than fuel and supply expenses. And if you’re going to take the path less traveled by, be prepared and know that it will make all the difference between mundane and adventurous.

Why I Carry a Bat Signal

I drove up into the mountains to escape the oppressive heat of the valley floor and to write my column in the quiet that only the night can afford. Everything was fine and dandy as I sat there on a log a little way off from my car and looked out at the twinkling city lights in front of me. The cool air was relaxing and the occasional hoot of an owl was comforting while I carefully strung words together so that they would make sense to you, my dear reader.
Little did I know that disaster was lurking the whole time I wrote. And little did I know that disaster could take the form of a simple key, broken in half and bent at an angle just right for puncturing some poor unsuspecting fool’s tire. That’s right, a key inserted itself into my tire and released all the air necessary for safe travel. I kind of felt bad for the key, because it had obviously been made for a specific purpose, but it was now broken and useless and had tried to prove its usefulness by attempting to open my tire, which it was indeed successful in doing. But enough anthropomorphizing.
I didn’t realize that my tire was flat until I had backed my vehicle up to leave and it felt like my Jeep was stuck in some mud (I’ve felt that a few times and it’s never really a good feeling). Believe me, I’d have rather been stuck in a little mud than have a completely flat back tire. So there I stood, the good Tenderfoot Boy Scout that I was, utterly unprepared. No flashlight, no mechanic, no bat signal, no nothing. Luckily, my vehicle came equipped with a spare tire and other random tools that I eventually learned what they were capable of. Okay, I’m not that stupid when it comes to changing a tire, but it did take some searching around to find all the various tools hidden under seats and in secret compartments. This was my first flat tire on my Jeep in the three years I’ve had it. Pretty good I’d say.
Anyway, the flimsy jack I had to use got the Jeep up to a good height and I was able to remove the lug nuts. When I attempted to pull the tire off, the vehicle shifted its weight and the jack snapped in two pieces. The Jeep came down with a crash and I was suddenly up a very specific creek without a paddle, so to say. At first I hoped that the jack was simply playing around, but upon closer inspection I could see it was ruined beyond repair and I now had a 3-wheeled Jeep (which, by the way, is not a good thing to have at all).
The thing I love most about the mountains are the people who go out to enjoy them. I wasn’t in an extremely popular area, especially at night, but I was fortunate enough to finally flag down a kind soul in a truck who had a much sturdier jack than mine. The driver of the truck was more than happy to help, despite my embarrassment at having to ask for it and within minutes there was a spare tire where there wasn’t one moments before. After expressing my somewhat flustered thanks, I was back on the road again headed toward blessed civilization and my warm bed. (Actually I was headed toward this column you are reading now, and then bed.)
I realized that I could have been in a real bind if another motorist had not passed by me that night. I might have been able to dial a number on my phone and get enough reception to call for help, but those chances would have been thin indeed. Being prepared for the worst is an excellent rule of thumb, especially for outings in secluded areas where mechanics aren’t waiting around every corner, or any corner for that matter. I hate to say it, but expecting the unexpected isn’t what I do best, which is why I now carry a bat signal with me at all times. I haven’t tested it yet, but I have faith in the Dark Knight. I can’t always expect another outdoors enthusiast to bail me out of every scrape I find myself in, but if there is one nearby, you better believe he or she will do anything to help a person in need. Thank you, fellow adventurers, for being prepared when I’m not!