Extreme Poetry Writing

Before I take you on an outdoor adventure, I have a confession: I read and write poetry. It’s a sort of hobby. One month ago, I was searching on the internet for modern poetry, and I came across a website promoting “extreme poetry writing.” The point of extreme poetry writing is to find some hard-to-get-to part of the world so that you can write your innermost impressions about it while being there. My schedule was wide open for the coming Saturday, so I decided on that day to experience the joy of composing a few lines of poetry over a broad landscape I had just conquered.
As a writer and former Boy Scout, I know how important research and preparedness are. I know that December is not a month where most people are out crawling around on a mountainside, and trails are covered in deep snow, so I checked on avalanche conditions for the Mount Timpanogos area. Then I got out my map and planned my route.
Saturday finally came and I was excited. I woke up, got ready for the day, threw the gear I would need in my Jeep, kissed my wife good-bye, gave her detailed information about where I would be, and headed for Mount Timpanogos. I geared up for my hike at a picnic area. I didn’t need my show shoes right away, so I secured them on the outside of my pack, and then made sure I had the most important items: pen and paper.
The snow was slushy and I had to be careful not to slide right off the small deer trail I was following. As I hiked higher, the snow became firmer and I was able to make good use of the snow shoes. Luckily, deer were the only animals I saw. There’s nothing like a mountain lion or bear to spice up an extreme poetry writing adventure.
About two and a half hours into the hike I got to a point where my map was no help and all my planning was good for nothing. I wasn’t lost but I had overlooked an area of my map. All that the map showed was two contour lines close together, but I was staring at a thirty-foot cliff face adorned with an iced-over waterfall. No other routes were visible.
Not wanting to give up completely, I unpacked my pen and paper and prepared to extract the beauty of the frozen nature around me. Fifteen minutes passed before I found the perfect opening line. As the pen touched the paper, nothing came out. I shook the pen, sucked on it, yelled at it, but the ink would not flow. It, too, was frozen.
Somewhere on Mount Timpanogos, there is an empty pad of paper and a cheap pen lying in the snow near a waterfall. I can’t say that I was completely disappointed in my extreme poetry writing adventure, but I can say that a person can never be too prepared or do enough research for outdoor activities, especially when it’s winter.