Winter Guilt

I’m well versed in the intricacies of Jewish Guilt. It’s the questionable gift that keeps on giving and giving, over and over again. When I was in my middle ages , I was still apologizing for something I blurted out to my father when I was five years old. Now that’s  long distance guilt.

Since moving to Durango, I’ve experienced a new kind of guilt. I’ve named it winter guilt. It goes something like this. 

“Jeff. Why don’t you spend more time in Durango during the winter?”

“I’ve never liked winter.Its not my season. I’d rather be in warmer, snow-free places.”

Then the suggestions begin. 

“You’re an active guy. Maybe you need to take up a winter sport. Have you tried downhill skiing?” 

“Yep. Tore my ACL back in 78, the first and last time I went. Thats the reason why I walk so funny.”

“How about snow shoeing?”

“You mean snow trudging?”

“Ever try cross country skiing?”

“Yeah, people stopped inviting me when I’d say, “I’m cold. Can we please go home now? “ (Especially when I announced this when the vehicles were still in sight.)

When this approach isn’t working, they’ll try another tact. “Jeff. It’s important to embrace all seasons.” 

“No it’s not. That’s like asking Guantanamo Bay detainees to embrace water boarding.” (Maybe that’s over embellishing. But only just a tad.)

Eventually I’ll lean into my inquisitor and trigger the avalanche. “Honestly, i don’t even like the look of snow. It’s white and boring.”

On occasion, I’ve had lovers of the dark and cold season tell me I should seek counseling. (Thankfully, they never mentioned electroshock therapy.) If avoidance of winter were a neurosis, there’d be a lot less Snowbirds and many more Shrinks in AZ, FL, CA and TX. I’m not alone on this. It just seems that way in Durango.

After returning home from ten weeks of winter avoidance, the frosty season was still lingering. My neighborhood hiking trails were under snow and ice. Nighttime lows were in the single digits. It didn’t take  long for me to catch a cold and deal with an arthritic knee. Worst of all my hard earned tan was beginning to fade. 

All these were minor physical afflictions  compared to the return of my old nemesis. Feeling lonely and depressed. On one particular blustery, chilly gray flannel day, I spent my time inside alternating between eating  ice cream and sucking on my thumb. Mental malaise was settling in. A no bueno moment.

As usual, I went on the attack. Straight to the Weather.com website. Hmmm! There’s a warm weather window opening in a few days at Canyonlands National Park. I packed, did some meal preparations and faster than you can say, “Winter storm warning” I was joyfully ensconced at Squaw Flats campground for a multi-night stay. So what if I had to leave Durango at 5 am. I scored! 

Folks. There’s never been a period in my life where I felt any other way about what I call the “season of death.”

(The EPA concurs : https://www.epa.gov/climate-indicators/climate-change-indicators-cold-related-deaths )

It’s a part of my DNA makeup as much as being undersized and owning hazel colored eyes. It’s who I am. I can’t change it anymore than ones sexual preferences or gender affiliation. As the cliche goes, it is what it is. 

So Durangoans, if you don’t lay winter guilt on me, I promise not to lay Jewish Guilt on you. Trust me, you’re getting the better end of this deal. 

All these lovely snow free photos were taken from nearby Canyonlands National Park.

This is why I moved to Durango. Location, location, location.

Stay warm and come on summer!

Jeff

Last photo: As usual I purchased another piece of Real Estate. One day there will be a Sambur Towers on Fifth Avenue, NYC. I’m looking for investors.

Let the Photos Speak…

Death Valley National Park. A BIGLY place with many wonders.

If you need them.

Here’s some written words.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-death-valley-x-files.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/02/it-was-love-at-first.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/02/my-fear-factors.html

The Death Valley X Files…

“I Want to Believe.” The X Files TV series.

Extraterrestrial, Out Worldly and Freaky is how many would describe Death Valley National Park. So it only makes sense, the region would attract the ultimate illegal aliens.

On my recent trip to DVNP, I was doing my usual Wandering and Wondering when I came upon this intergalactic phone booth. I picked up the phone and dialed ET and began speaking. 

“Hi Guys! I’m camped nearby. Why don’t you drop in for an IPA and some appetizers? My treat. We can schmooze about the state of the Earth and other galaxies. I’d enjoy hearing your Big View perspectives.” 

I heard a garbled response but my I Phone Translator app wasn’t set to “Out of this world” mode. Thus their answer was lost in space.

I returned to  camp at sunset doing my usual. That is drinking an IPA, reading and just looking around. When  I saw this!

After the Undocumented Dudes and Dudettes landed, (a Wall wasn’t going to stop them)  their were a few awkward moments of attempted communications between civilizations.  Fortunately  IPAs are the universal language of love and understanding.  I  was conscious, oriented and alert enough to capture the moment on film. 

So we laughed, kibitzed (told stories) and noshed on some appetizers. All in all, an enjoyable Happy Hour. (More so than drinking with boring humans.)

I limited my guests to two beers. I didn’t want them flying under the influence (FUI), especially at Warp Drive. 

Before they launched though they taught me how to move rocks without physical contact. It’s a cool bar trick called telekinesis. I was a quick learner.

Last photo: Before ET could phone home, he/she had to post a letter into an intergalactic mailbox. 

The galaxy was a lot easier to negotiate back then.

May the Force be with you,

Jeff 

It was Love at First…

Sight.

 Is what I experienced when I ventured below sea level into Death Valley National Park in the late 1990’s. I arrived there in a manly Ford Escort hatchback.  Stuffed inside was a bicycle, a box of maps, beer, camping gear, some clothes and food. Back in those pre-get-hit-by-too-many-cars days, I was more cyclist than hiker. 

I stopped by the Visitor Center for info on possible bike rides.  As usual I had lots of questions.

“Hi! I was thinking about riding from Furnace Creek to Scotty’s Castle. How long away is that?”

The young and polite National Park Service Ranger answered, “52 miles.”

“Oh, that’s not too far. I can ride there and back in a day.”

“No Sir. That distance is one-way only. Double that for a return trip.”

“What! But it’s only about an inch and a half on the map!”

“Sir. Death Valley is vast. It’s the largest National Park in the lower 48. There’s over 3,000,000 acres to roam around in. There’s lots to see here. I’d suggest you take a ride from Furnace Creek to Badwater. That’s about 52 miles round trip.”

So that’s what I did. 

Badwater is the lowest point in North America. (-282 feet. The height of a 20 story building). From those bleached salt flats, I looked up across the valley to Telescope Peak rising over two miles above me. 

“This is so wild! This is so crazy! I love this!”

That is how my DVNP quarter century love affair began. 

Recently, I was on a three week mission, “to boldly go where no Wondering Wandering Jew had gone before!” (My apologies to Captain Kirk for the paraphrase.) I’m here to say my love fest for DVNP is still present and accounted for.

Many people think Death Valley is desolate, stark and generally uninviting. To these folks I say, “It’s a subtle beauty that’s not for everyone.” 

Death Valley is a place you have to “Get.” I notice the zebra stripes on the mountains, the ebb and flow of the changing colors, the shadows and the extraterrestrial nature of it all. I “get” it.

On this past trip, I was offline for over a week. It gave me the opportunity to ponder the real important issues of our world. 

Such as:

Why did I see Little Brown Bats, Wild Burros and Kangaroo Rats in one valley but not the others? 

Why do people ignore the signs and drive across salt flats, playas and alluvial fans? Thus creating a long lasting  scar for all to see?

How is it, I’m capable of discovering pockets of solitude and silence in the most populated state in the country? 

When this trip was all said and done, it was my best visit to DVNP. (A close runner up was the 2016 Superbloom year). When the temperatures are pegging pleasant, when the wind is as mild as a fly’s fart, when Orion’s Belt felt so close I might have been able to measure his waist, there’s no where else I’d rather be in the winter months. It didn’t hurt that my campsites were so remote I showered as naked as the moment I was born. 

NOW THAT’S FREEDOM!

Death Valley isn’t for everyone, but it’s definitely the right place for me. 

If you go be super careful. In many places (where I go) no one will ever hear you scream. 

Cheers and Come on Summer!

Jeff

Last photos: I purchased an Airbnb for long and short term rentals. I priced it right too.

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