My Fear Factors.

My Fear Factors.

I’ve been visiting Death Valley for about a quarter century. (That makes me sound old!) This BIGLY National Park is one of my Happy Places.

in that time , I’ve discovered about a dozen “Go To” hikes. 

This year I noticed a new sensation in a “repeat Canyon” hike. The amble features an eighteen foot marble like unclimbable (for me) chute.  There’s an alternative  route in place though. It requires dealing with a slick eight foot chimney. When I was younger, I’d take a deep breath and scramble up the obstruction. It never felt right, especially on the return descent. This time, I paused while standing atop a stack of jumbled  rocks.Hmmm. Did this chimney grow? Wasn’t their more hand and foot holds? Where did that slight overhang come from? Thoughts of what could happen made me hesitate. I gingerly stepped off the ramp and retreated down canyon. The sensation was fear.

It’s not just the thought of taking a tumble. I’m more concerned about “What Ifs?” I’ve become overly cautious.

When I provisioned up for my Death Valley National Park three plus weeks desert wander, I sort of went overboard.

I’m carrying enough water to fill a kiddy pool. 

My food supply is equal to a Safeway Supermarket. 

I brought enough “Cutie” oranges to keep scurvy at bay for the entire US Navy. 

I could host a Sigma Phi Nada fraternity party with all the IPAs in stowage.

Starbucks offered to buy back my horde of Pike Place blend  Apparently I cornered the market.

I’ve downloaded and paid for the premium Gaia GPS app. Maybe I won’t get lost as often. 

My storage unit is stuffed with enough warm clothes for a Ernest Shackleton South Pole expedition. Mind you, I’m spending my time in the desert.

I precariously perched extra gallons of gasoline  onto Sanctuary Too for a long sought journey into Racetrack Playa. The National Park Service issues dire warnings about the road in. “Beasts and Monsters lie beyond this sign. Be aware and be prepared.” Hence all the extra gas. Honestly, it’s a jiggle-your-love-handles washboard route. (A reminder for me to go on a diet). My chain smoking slacker neighbor at the end-of-the-road dry camp arrived in a Kia hatchback sedan. So much for beasts and monsters. (But I had more food, beer and stuff than he had!)

So I’m left to ponder. Why did I become a wimp about things I barely thought of when I was younger? I survived then, why wouldn’t I do the same now?

My lame excuses are age and experience. I’ve been living this wandering wondering lifestyle since I was 17. While others were getting married, raising a family, working to keep it all together and pursuing the myth of the American Dream, I was “out there” hiking, car-camping, bicycle touring and backpacking. I’ve gotten lost, gone hungry, understand thirst, been injured and had to limp out to an ER. I’ve frozen my tuchas off by not carrying enough wool, fleece or down clothes. Worst of all, I’ve run out of IPAs. HORRORS! I’ve experienced all of these events more than once. To use the cliche, “been there, done that.” I didn’t find those moments enjoyable back then. Why should I now? 

But Jeff! What about challenges? What about pushing your mental and physical limits to the extreme? To this, I answer. Considering I was bred to be a tailor or merchant, I’m OK with my resume. (Remember, I was Northern CO’s first Jewish professional firefighter). I’ve sidestepped the Grim Reaper more than one person has the right to.  I have nothing to prove. 

BTW. “Fall Canyon” is the hike I retreated from. The name says it all.

Last Photos: Sometimes  Death Valley hikes require a rope and a ladder. I examined both of them. Neither would have met OSHA standards. I used the ladder. YIKES! 

Be careful out there. I’m sure Aron Ralston wasn’t planning on cutting off his arm when he ventured into “Blue John” Canyon.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/08/at-least-i-didnt-have-to-cut-off.html

Jeff

For me, Winter is the Third Great…

Inevitable. The cold, dark and snowy season is only preceded by the other two Great Inevitables. Death and Taxes. It’s no secret, I’m no fan of winter. 

When I began peeling off the fall months on my wall calendar, i knew it was time to go proactive. Three weeks in an overpriced VRBO in Snobsdale, AZ, BOOKED! A week plus with Brother Mike and Sister-in-law Robin in FL. BOOKED! Two weeks of camping in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. BOOKED???

Yes, I was concerned about being n the same camp spot  for fourteen nights. It would be a first for me. I’m sort of a restless Wandering Wondering Jew. I prepared for this outing by purchasing a National Geographic Organ Pipe Cactus map. Hmmm. It’s right on the border of Mexico. Looks like there’s a few hiking trails, but not an overwhelming amount. Closest town with a grocery store is 35 miles away in Ajo. I better provision up with lots of IPAs, coffee and I guess some food too.

After a nine hour, 600 mile cruise, I found myself at Campsite #160. “So this will be home for two weeks?” were my initial thoughts. I set Sanctuary Too up in 70 degree temps,  popped open a camp chair and a Double IPA while enjoying a technicolor sunset. This might not be so bad after all.

I established a comfortable routine. Wake early, drink coffee, watch the sunrise, eat, set off for a 6-12 mile hike, return to camp, eat, shower, read or write, drink beer number one, watch the sunset, eat, stargaze with beer number two, read and go to sleep. I know, pretty exhausting yet simplistic. 

My neighbors were cold weenies from mostly wintery states: the Dakotas, Maine, Minnesota, Washington, Wyoming, Wisconsin and LOTS from Colorado. One older Dude from Salida, CO nailed the Snowbird sentiments. “My skin is getting thinner. It’s seems harder for me to stay warm in the winter, I’m really enjoying  these toasty, dry temperatures. My joints don’t ache either.”

Exactly! 

The campground is dominated by pairs of retirees. I smile while waving a friendly hello as they amble by. Then I’ll  return to my Kindle book. I rarely engage in conversations. I’m not the kind of guy who intrudes on other’s Endless Honeymoons. Besides its just a stark reminder that I’m a single senior citizen in a Couples World. I’m already well aware of this. 

Organ Pipe National Monument isn’t all perfection though. Being this close to the Mexican Border gives it a feel of a Demilitarized Zone. All those lurking Border Patrol Agents, old mining roads with “CLOSED” signs on them, the discarded migrant debris and the Good Samaritan oasis’s. It’s hard not to feel someone is watching you, even though you are probably alone.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/01/im-first-generation.html

All in all, this has been a great-eyes-wide-open getaway. Will I be back? Heck Yes! Maybe this is a sign of maturity and aging. I can sit still longer and enjoy the little things, especially when it’s warm and sunny.

It’s my mea culpa to be a cold weenie. But, I’ve always been this way. At this point of my life I might as well do what makes me happier. I’m not languishing, feeling too lonely or experiencing malaise. For me, these are positive objectives. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/01/languishing-is-word.html

Here’s a suggestion. Do what makes you feel better no matter what your Great Inevitables are. 

Last photo: in Organ Pipe NM the  Sprinter Vans are gathering for the start of mating season. It’s not dangerous to be near them until the males go into rut. Then I suggest putting it into reverse very slowly. 

Next stop Death Valley National Park.

Cheers,

Jeff

I’m a First Generation…

American.

In the years leading up to the 1939 official start of WW II, my Grandfather Benjamin, (a jeweler in Vienna) shipped my mother and her two siblings ahead to New York City. Later on Bennie arrived minus his wife/my mother’s mother. The “why” behind this  event is and shall remain a Sambur family mystery. I’m positive it’s not a feel good story.

My father immigrated to New York in 1937. He said goodbye to his family in Poland. He never saw any of them alive again. 

When people ask me about all of this, I wave it off as “Holocaust Stuff.” 

Yet what is “Holocaust Stuff” to the progeny of the Holocaust survivors? 

It’s about immigration to another land with little more than memories, the clothes on your back and a piece of luggage. 

So it’s no stretch of the imagination to say, I posses an inordinate amount of empathy for immigrants. My parents ability to escape the run-or-die anti-Semitism in Nazi influenced Europe is the only reason I’m breathing air right now.

The world works in strange ways.

Recently I left Durango”s winter behind while seeking desert warmth and sunshine. I was on a nine hour 600 mile southwest mission. Currently I’ve been camping for over a week at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. This desert jewel straddles the AZ/Mexico border. It’s a land of stately saguaros, extraterrestrial looking mountains and of course Organ Pipe cactuses. 

It’s also a region dominated by Border Patrol Officials driving 4X4 pickup trucks. On a 42 mile loop road I spotted eight Border Patrol units. I actually had a too-close encounter with one. The young male officer was barreling through a wash heading the wrong way on a one-way road. He shrugged sheepishly before he sped off once again. I have no idea what migrant phantoms  he was pursuing. No explanation was given. 

The National Park Service signs are atypical too.

While hiking the trails. I’ve discovered evidence of migrants heading in a northerly manner. A desert bleached shirt, hat and trousers. A blown out black garbage bag with empty plastic containers of surgery juice drinks, colas and salty snack food. I poke the remains with my shoe trying to extract a story from the litter. How many were there? What was their destination? What caused them to risk it all to come to a foreign land where they won’t find a “Welcome Wagon” to greet them? This is what I know, the decision to wander was probably made in desperation. Like my parents their options were few.

On an exploration drive I came upon The Great Wall of Racism. Inspired by a fat, finger pointing xenophobe with a flair for theatrics, it was something to behold. But not in a good way. The fifteen foot wall is mesmerizing and nauseating at the same time. It’s a severe gash across the desert. Like Trump, there’s absolutely nothing subtle about it. The Wall is an in-your-face “F—k You!” to our southern neighbors. A stark reminder of failed diplomacy and an off kilter foreign policy.

All this costly economic and ecological damage to prevent wannabe laborers who mow our lawns, clean our hotel rooms and pick our produce. Sure there’s a few bad apples lugging drugs. GASP! However, those smugglers  are severely limited to how much they can carry. (Most drugs enter the country through legal border crossings. Source USA Today, 1/19/2021) Besides, if Americans didn’t crave the contraband their would be no smuggling. Supply and Demand. Heck! The Loser who supposedly penned “The Art of the Deal” should understand this basic economic premise.

A justification for Homeland Security and our massive Military Might is the necessity of “Protecting our American Way of Life” 

However. America’s biggest threat already lies within our borders. The January 6th, 2020 attempted coup  orchestrated by Made in America White Terrorists  was an attack upon Democracy. Yet there are those (including 147 Republican Congressmen) who call these Rebels without a clue-Patriots. Trying to overthrow the Federal Government? Now THAT’S unAmerican! 

 Unfortunately Trump, the BIGLY LIE and his enablers and ring-kissers aren’t going away. (Just like Covid). Democracy is at risk. That’s  more frightening than migrants (mostly potential laborers) coming across our Borders. 

If my parents were still alive today they would agree. 

Visit Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Take a hike and put yourselves in the shoes of the migrants. You might get a dose of empathy. 

“Tear Down This Wall! 

Ronald Reagan 

June 12, 1987

West Berlin

Here’s a few other posts pertaining to our Border:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/07/we-will-build-wall.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/03/borderlands-national-park.html?m=0

For further reading:

The Devil’s Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea

14 Miles: Building the Border Wall by DW Gibson

Stay safe and healthy,

Jeff