There's Your Sign

             Have you ever counted the signs on the side of the road as you travel from your home to work? There are speed limit signs, crosswalk signs, signs warning about upcoming signs, signs letting you know that a deer might jump out in front of your car at any given moment, stop signs, and many, many more. There are so many signs from my home to work that I ignore most of them. They have become part of the background. Road signs are, for me, the epitome of our society and culture to constantly warn each other of rules or possible danger. However, there are many rules and dangers that are not preceded by a warning sign and that is when most of us have to rely on common sense to steer away from potential harm or accident.

            Last week I drove past a group of cars on the side of a mountain pass road. The area where the cars were parked was odd, because I knew there wasn’t a trailhead nearby, but I figured a bunch of friends had maybe decided to explore uncharted territory. As I neared them, though, I noticed that some of the cars still had people in them and they were all fixated on the same point across the road. I slowed down and looked toward where they were staring and I saw another group of people out of their cars in the brush and forest with cameras. And that’s when I saw the humongous bull moose. The people snapping pictures were a mere 30 feet away from the monstrosity. At first I was awe-struck, since I have only seen three of the magnificent creatures with my own eyes. But as I continued to crawl past the cars and people, I was suddenly very aware of the danger that the moose presented, and I wondered why those people were getting so close.

            I don’t know if the moose tried to charge, because I didn’t stop to watch. I’m sure the news would have reported the story if the moose had injured anybody (and yes, I checked various news sources because sometimes I suffer from a severe case of “Schadenfreude”). The thing is, I’m pretty sure people would have gotten close to snap pictures of the highly dangerous beast even if it had bright pink lettering on its flanks reading: MAY CHARGE AT ANY TIME. CAN BE LETHAL. ALSO, LIKES APPLES.

            Without signs and warning labels to constantly caution us about potential hazards, we humans can be downright silly sometimes. How many forest and wild fires have started because someone didn’t stop to think about the ramifications of shooting a gun in an area full of dry weeds and brush? Why are there so many vehicles at the bottoms of canyons and cliffs? Couldn’t someone have put up a sign (reading: DO NOT POKE WITH A STICK. MAY TRY TO CONSUME YOU.) near the tar pit that almost claimed the life of my good friend Martin as he poked it with a stick?

            Most of us, except teenagers, possess brains that are capable of contemplating future possibilities concerning a multitude of situations. Yes, there are freak accidents that no one could have predicted, but a few of those are caused by someone who didn’t exercise any mental power before making a crazy decision. Warning signs and helpful information can only have so much influence over our actions. Be smart wherever you go and avoid being the subject of the headline: TWELVE DEAD IN OVERLOADED JETSKI ACCIDENT.

Mountain People

             Have you ever asked yourself, “Why I am following this dirt pathway into a heavily wooded area full of hidden dangers replete with claws, fangs, and antlers?” Have you ever thought, “Why am I sleeping on the ground when I’ve got a perfectly good bed at home?” Perhaps you’ve truly questioned why you continue to sit there smiling as smoke from a campfire assaults your lungs and stings your eyes. The answer to all of these questions and more is that you’re part of a highly-specialized group of humans known as “mountain people.” It’s in your blood. Actually your genes. You possess the mountain people gene.

            I have been on numerous hikes when I suddenly find myself at the back of a long line of people hiking the same trail. Instead of wishing I had chosen the path less traveled by, I feel validated that I picked a good trail, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many people clamoring to hike it. Of course I enjoy a nice, quiet, unpopulated trail, but when I’m in the company of fellow mountain people there is never a dull moment. Mountain people are notorious for telling stories that sound like lies, but are almost always true. Sharing a trail with someone who has come face-to-face with a bear or was caught in an avalache and lived to tell about it is an exciting experience.

            Mountain people pride themselves on their ability to go without modern comforts, like chairs with cushions, soft beds and personal bathrooms with clean, running water. When I was a teenager I had a friend who frequently went camping with nothing but a knife and the clothes on his back. He would often go alone and for two days at a time. Even when he was home he was constantly sleeping just outside his house in a tree. His self-taught survivalism sometimes bordered on masochism. Every challenge nature presented he accepted with gusto. He rarely wore shoes, unless it was cold. He refused to eat anything that he didn’t kill or gather himself. He sought out the most difficult routes up a mountain; trails were for sissies. He was the incarnation of the axiom “what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” I’m pretty sure he has since become feral and roams the Oquirrh Mountains in search of the next challenge nature has in store.

            For the longest time I wished that someone would find a way to bottle the smell of campfire in the form of a cologne. I would have worn it all the time as a boy. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that I discovered most people find a campfire’s aroma slightly offensive. Since the discovery of the mountain people gene, I now understand why I am so attracted to the smell. A fire attracts mountain people like a fluorescent light attracts bugs. We can’t help ourselves. Camping is incomplete without a firepit and plenty of thin sticks to burn.

The mountain people gene is nothing to be ashamed of if you possess it. The sudden urges to shoot animals and lick your fingers that haven’t been washed in anything except stream water for three days are perfectly natural. Now get out there, explore the canyons, take on nature and start a marshmallow-roasting fire. Let that mountain people pride show!

Water, Water Everywhere

             Last week I took my little guy, Eli, fishing at Silver Lake near Brighton. Even though the fishing wasn’t the greatest there, I knew it would be a nice place to enjoy the sights while teaching my boy the art of relaxation that involves casting a line out and waiting for a fish to bite. He was pretty excited when I grabbed the poles out of the car. Not because he knew we were going fishing, rather he expected an epic sword fight was imminent. As a fellow childish male, I couldn’t help but oblige his expectations, and an epic sword fight actually did take place right there in the parking lot. I’m not sure who won, but based on the size of the smiles on our faces, we both did.

His excitement over the poles, though, was nothing compared to the joy he expressed as we walked toward the mirrored surface of Silver Lake. He laughed, clapped his hands, and began bouncing on my shoulders, where he was perched. You see, my 20-month-old boy loves water, or as he calls it, “wawa.” He’s fairly indiscriminate about the type of water he tries to play in, whether it’s coming from a sprinkler, in a pool or lake, or flowing down the gutter. Most of the time it’s not a problem, but on the few hikes we’ve taken together I’ve had to really watch him around rivers, ponds and lakes. He has a nasty habit of running toward water when he sees it. I haven’t had a chance to properly fill his head full of horror stories so that he’ll automatically be wary of entering any body of water, but give me time. There are plenty of nights to tell him these stories right before he goes to sleep.

Anyway, after enduring ten minutes of bouncing and the constant chant of, “Wawa! Wawa! Wawa!” I chose a fishing spot where the bottom of the lake was visible for at least a few feet before disappearing into the black void where a sea serpent undoubtedly resides. That way, if Eli decided to give in to his hydrophilic urges and happened to jump into the water, I could easily retrieve him. I’m happy to say that I never had to worry about him during our fishing trip. It appears that my son is developing a healthy sense of danger and he stayed a couple of feet away from the edge of the lake the whole time. He was content smacking the water and trees and rocks with his fishing pole. As a reward for being so well-behaved around the water’s edge, I held Eli’s sippy cup full of water over his head and shook it while he squealed with delight over the sudden “rainstorm.”

With a hot summer well on its way this year, I’m sure Eli and I will be spending a little bit of time around water. Even though he seems to understand that not all water is safe to just jump into, I’ll still be on my guard. Toddlers are about as unpredictable as a flash flood in Southern Utah. It’s like small children are constantly playing a game of “red light, green light” with their parents: turn your back and they try to get in as much trouble as possible. No matter where I am, I listen well for a splash every time I turn my back, because Eli is somehow able to find water anywhere. Enjoy your own watery adventures this summer and keep those feet wet!