A Backpack Trip

Long overdue. 

When I turned 60 half a year ago, Courtney Sambur (my nephew Keith's wonderful spouse) handed me a surprise present. It was a note. It said something like this: 

"I, Courtney Sambur will give Keith Sambur a one-night Kitchen Pass to backpack with Uncle Jeff this summer." 

For me it was a priceless gift.

Its been over a decade since my nephews joined me for a ramble in Colorado's Great Outdoors. At that time, Justin was waiting to attend Colorado State University for his advanced degree. Keith just received his law degree. It was tweener time for the two of them. His most generous parents (brother Mike and sister-in-law Robin) sent them west for two weeks of U.J Boot Camp. 

 

We hiked everyday on a whirlwind tour of Colorado's pretty places. Most of the time we donned massive backpacks. On off days it was mere day packs. We were in constant motion. I was always hiking in front, pushing the pace. I taunted them mercilessly. "If this is too much of a strain on you guys. I can drop you off at the mall. You can spend the days shopping. Would you like that?" From below I could hear them cursing me. 

Hey! It was two against one. 

At our finish line in Aspen, Colorado (they had to return to NYC the next day), the boys had noon time beers to celebrate. They toasted each other. "We survived Uncle Jeff!"

The bottom line: Robin phoned me when the kids deplaned. "Jeffy! The boys look great! They look so healthy!" 

They both lost ten pounds of weight in that fortnight. If you really are serious about a weight loss program hang with me.

Back to the present. Keith and I had a great time tramping 18 miles from Estes Park, Colorado to Grand Lake, Colorado. Maybe one day, Justin can rejoin us. I would love that. 

In the last photo, that's a Pine Marten. It's the first one I ever saw in my life. I spotted another a few days later. Go figure! 

Stay in motion, it's good for you.

Jeff

Fear of Farbluzhet...

When I was a little "boychick," the Sambur Homebody family would hit the open road every now and then. Our vehicle was usually a used Chevy in suspicious condition. (We even owned a Corvair!)  I would take my place in the front between Sid and Clara. My older brothers watched the Bronx go by from the backseat. 

We would be cruising around when Clara would pipe up, "OY! We are Farbluzhet!" This is the Yiddish word for hopelessly lost. Sid would then get the "I'm nervous, very nervous" look combined with his worried expression. Those weren't happy moments in the Sambur Chevy. So I grew up thinking getting Farbluzhet should be avoided and feared at the same time. 

Now I hike in wilderness areas and alone most of the time. I take a large scale Trails Illustrated map, and often times a vague notion of what lies ahead. I also carry a fear of getting lost in my backpack too.The worst thing about becoming "disoriented" is how it would screw up my Happy Hour schedule. 

On my recent three day, 30 plus miles backpack trip in the Maroon Bells Wilderness, my fear of pulling a disappearing act was more pronounced than normal. I heard from reliable sources (a Wilderness Ranger) that a segment of my itinerary was dicey. The official U.S. Forest Service handout acknowledged the trail was "lightly used and steep." The insider info I pulled out of the Ranger was this, "When you get over the pass, take a hard right. Aim for the bottom of the bowl." Pretty vague. Right? 

I asked him, "Can't I just follow the creek drainage to the intersecting trail?"

His no-nonsense response, "No! Unless you can swim waterfalls." Not so much.

So I hit the trail early to buy myself more time to get lost and found. The hike up the pass was so easy a Caveman could do it. (good line, GEICO.)  At the top, I saw a large bowl below me and faint routes wandering off at odd angles from that point. I chose the way "hardest right." I quickly realized my choice was an elk thoroughfare. There were hardly any signs of Homo Sapiens. However, those elk must have been civil engineers as there meanderings followed the ridge's contours. Strong work until an elk labor dispute caused the construction project to come to a halt. At that point I began to imagine seeing trails at the bottom of the bowl. I gingerly made my way down. Nope! It was those nasty trail mirages. I hiked this way and that generally going downhill. It took my about half a mile before I found a genuine cairn. Like a bloodhound on a scent, I began to follow. I might have howled even. The trail crapped out often, but I stay focused. 

It took many hours of beating the bush to arrive at a more user friendly trail. I really like that one since it took me back to Barley the Van and a date with Happy Hour.

My point to all this? Don't get farbluzhet. You might get Sid's "I'm nervous, very nervous" worried look. It will upset your kids too. 

Stay Found,

Jeff

I'm no Gambler

You've got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run

"The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers

Yesterday, I left Carbondale with the idea of summiting nearby Mount Sopris. (12,965 feet). With a  70% chance of thunder-boomers and lightning as the forecast, I was more than a bit concerned. However, after my usual two pots of java for breakfast, I was feeling game on. 

As I made my way through the green ecozones, all was fine. The sun was shining, the wind was gentle and temperature was set for cotton instead of fleece. Perfect. By the time I got above tree line, conditions began to change. 

To the east of me, the valleys of the Maroon Bells/Snowmass Wilderness were beginning to fill with cloudy and wet stuff. I felt a few drops of moisture myself. It wasn't my sweat either. With half an Empire State Building of uphill ahead of me, I made a decision. It was time to head down. 

Despite Sopris' minuscule size compared to its neighbors, it's an extremely steep endeavor. The mountain's flank is composed of rock slabs strewn about in a haphazard state. The odds are "flip a coin" whether the unforgiving surface slides or not. The descent is tedious and slow. There is no quick exit off of Sopris. 

One can always second guess a hiking decision. Would I have been able to complete the climb safely? Possibly.

Did I make it back alive for another Happy Hour? Definitely. 

I made the right choice. Sopris is not going anywhere. 

Please try and make the Right Choice when you are in Wild Places. 

That's not my handwriting in the last photo.