My Greater Sandhill Crane Escape.

from Durango’s Labor Day Weekend Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. 

Sandhill Cranes give loud, rattling bugle calls, each lasting a couple of seconds and often strung together. They can be heard up to 2.5 miles away and are given on the ground as well as in flight, when the flock may be very high and hard to see. They also give moans, hisses, gooselike honks, and snoring sounds.

Source: allaboutbirds.org.

I’m well aware that many of these bird vocalizations are similar to the noise emitted from Harley Davidson motorcycles and or their riders. But that’s where the similarities end. 

If those chrome pipes could speak, they’d be squawking, “Watzit to ya!” 

Whereas when a majestic Greater Sandhill Crane speaks, the sounds are ancient, inspiring and reassuring. Sandhill Cranes shout, “We’re still here! We’re survivors!” 

With this in mind, I did what I normally do when someone or something is bothering me. I leave.  I had to get away from the wrong kind of noise and the motorcyclists overly aggressive vibe. So… I attended the Yampa Valley Labor Day Weekend Crane Festival based in Steamboat Springs, CO instead.  

(By now I’m hoping Durango’s Hazardous Material Response Team mitigated the Bud Light and testosterone spills along Main Avenue.) 

I began my quest for Avian knowledge by attending Arvind Punjabi’s (an eminent scientist for the Bird Conservancy of the Rockies) presentation. His Thursday evening talk was sobering,. Since the 70’s  nearly three billion birds have gone missing in North America. They are the victims of climate change, loss of habitat, pollution and for many falling prey to domestic cats. Mr. Punjabi claimed birds might be the “Canaries in a coal mine” when it comes to our planet’s health. I don’t possess enough Doctorate degrees to doubt him. Earth is in trouble. 

On Friday, I found myself sitting on a shuttle bus at 5:45 am for a meeting with the Sandhill Cranes. I wasn’t the only Early Bird. The bus was packed with other yawning avian enthusiasts. En route, Van (a retired CO Division of Wildlife  Biologist) gave a Sandhill Crane quick teach presentation. There was a vast amount of information to absorb before first light. Between the bumps, grinds and engine noise, I gleaned whatever I was capable of hearing. Greater Sandhill Cranes top out at over four feet in height and weigh more than ten pounds. Their wingspan is equivalent to a small NBA player, (greater than six feet). They’re big birds who are capable of flying 200-300 miles per day. Sandhill Cranes are true athletes, not winged weekend warriors. 

Eventually, we all stumbled off the bus at the Hayden, CO residence of Nancy Merrill who happens to be the Founder of the Colorado Crane Conservation Coalition. (The same organization who sponsors this bird/birder friendly event.) During a solemn sunrise the Sandhills went airborne from the nearby wetlands of the Mighty Yampa River. Their destination was an upland feed zone.  Watching Sandhills in flight is as close to a religious experience I’ll ever have.

We got back on the buses and gave a  landlocked chase. Honestly, I can’t say the cranes chose their vegetarian restaurant for its scenic setting. There was a regional airport and Hayden’s coal burning power plant a short flight away. I suppose hunger conquers esthetics. 

At 9ish o’clock I boarded another shuttle for my scheduled bird walk at Carpenter Ranch. (A working cattle and feed operation preserved with the support of the Nature Conservancy. Be mindful of the cow pies). There we met Ted Floyd (editor of Birding magazine). Mr Floyd is as wired as a caffeinated hummingbird.  This bird authority knew his stuff though. Ted pointed to a retreating  mass of black specks.  “See that flock of Fuzzy Feathered Fussbirds? You can identify them by the whites of their eyes.” OK! It sort of went on like this  as my birding energy began to wane. Fortunately, two sightings occurred which grabbed my attention and woke me up. 

A) a Leopard frog. That was a BIGLY hit.

B) an adolescent slacker Bald Eagle who couldn’t be bothered to fly or fend for itself. It just sat in the same snag for about an hour. I dunno, maybe it was playing a video game. 

I wasn’t too bummed when this bird walk migrated back to Steamboat Springs. I had plenty of time to relax until Happy Hour. 

On Saturday, I had enough non-bird time to squeeze in a decent hike. Then I hustled over to the Steamboat Library for the keynote speaker presentation. Dr. Rich Beilfuss is the CEO and President of the International Crane Foundation based in Baraboo, WI.  He too has many Masters and Doctorate degrees. The good doctor spoke about the fifteen species of Cranes found the world over. Ten of these species are threatened. Including North America’s Whooping Crane. (There’s approximately 800 individuals.) On the other wing, Sandhill Cranes are considered a comeback success story of sorts. YAY! 

Saturday evening was spent back at Nancy’s bird friendly pad and paddocks for more Crane flights and feeding viewings. The undisputed highlight of the weekend came as the Cranes began to boogie to music only they could hear. Their dance is a bit of hip-hop, gyrations and wing flaps. Who needs “Dancing with the Stars” when you can view Cranes? 

The  Yampa Crane Festival whetted my beak to seek out these large, lovable winged critters at other festivals. As with all events though, Covid has changed the rules. Socorro, NM has already cancelled its November “Festival of the Cranes” over Covid concerns. The organizers for the Monte Vista (CO) Crane Festival suggest we check back again November for a Yay or Nay on whether or not it happens. 

Here’s the good news though. Cranes are illiterate. They haven’t read about social distancing, the advantages of being vaccinated or how to properly wear a mask. They are clueless in a great way. The Cranes will appear in the same wetlands at about the same time of the year. They aren’t on humanity’s schedule. Cranes are blessed in this regard.

In mid-November, I’ll spend my birthday at Bosque Del Apache Wildlife Preserve near Socorro, NM. I’ll be their at sunup and sunset and wander around in between. Join me and I’ll spring for dinner and drinks in Socorro after the Cranes turn in. 

I’m OK if the Cranes don’t bake me a birthday cake. For me the birthday present will be to see them once again.

Cheers,

Jeff

I’m not a Hut Guy.

If you’ve been following along since the 2014 inception of this blog, you’ve noticed my distinct disdain for hut to hut hiking. Oh! I have my reasons. IE: A nasty sinus infection from a Chilean hut super spreader event, the complete lack of privacy and the acrid odors and unique sounds of unrelated hikers in close quarters. Of course, I wrote about them:

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/01/a-hut-too-far.html

So why did I bid $400 in the Great Old Broads of the Wilderness Online Auction for a four night Hut to Hut Sneffels Traverse? 

I blame it on bidding under the influence of Double IPAs. The next day I woke to a caffeine high instead of a hop high, sadly I discovered the winning bid was mine. CRAP! 

The auction item was for two, in huts which maxed out at eight. I reached out to a few sort of locals to join me. They had legitimate excuses. “I’m planning on shampooing my hair on those days.” Or “I scheduled an oil change at Jiffy Lube. I can’t break it.” 

On a whim, I turned to the other member of the Sub-Eleven Foot Expedition Team. My forty-plus year buddy Nelson. (Between the two of us we don’t add up to eleven feet in height.) 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/10/warning-paria-canyon-is-not-for-the.html?m=1

I launched the invite and informational website to my brother from another mother. “I already paid for this. You’ll get a freebie.” 

His answer was pure Nelson-Speak. “I’ll look into it. I’ll get back to you ASAP.” Translation: I’ll begin exhaustive research into blogs, interviews, photo content, reviews and the Library of Congress. This might take awhile.

Weeks later, “I’m interested.” Nelson-Speak. He’s figuring out the logistics and running it by his wife Jude. 

“Take your time. If you aren’t coming, I’ll camp with Sanctuary Too and just chalk the experience up to an IPA senior moment.” 

A bit about Nelson. He’s generous, kind, well traveled, considerate, an award-winning photographer, smart, humble and funny. He too grew up in the Big Apple. Unlike me, Nelson managed to jettison New York City’s “edginess” trait. This is probably why he’s an All-Around great human being.

A few days later, Nelson had his game plan for a “GO!” He sent me the details as I marked the dates on my wall calendar. 

From time to time we checked in on each other with questions and concerns. (We’re Jewish so we both harbor Hebrew Angst.) Our biggest concerns were:

A) What if our hut mates weren’t vaccinated?

B) or Worse! What if our hut mates were Glock carrying MAGA hat wearing Trumpers! OY!

Just in case, I packed a tent, sleeping bag/pad and stove. I planned on sleeping under my nylon dome regardless of who was going to join us. I’m the world’s lightest sleeper. I need my space.

Our worries were all in vain. Four of the eight hut mates canceled which left Dwight and Joan from Salt Lake City. We all met in Ouray for our hour long shuttle ride to the trailhead. It didn’t take me long to realize I was the boring homebody in this crew. Name a country or an adventure and Dwight, Joan and Nelson probably played there. I didn’t consider stating, “Oh yeah! Well I ride my bicycle to the local brewpubs at least twice a week!” Sometimes even I know it’s better to keep my mouth shut and listen. I might even learn something. Seriously, they are both Cookie cutter versions of Nelson and Zen-like too.. We struck Kosher Karma on this one. 

As far as the hike went, it was sort of underwhelming. Nelson and I are connoisseurs of big views, even though we are quite small. Most of the miles were spent maneuvering through a green tunnel of trees. After awhile it became a walking joke. “WOW! Nelson check out that Aspen!” Or “Of all the Spruce/Fir forests I’ve been to, this is one of them.” 

As the Polly Anna cliche goes though, “It’s all good!” I got the chance to hang with my buddy for a week and met two inspiring and interesting people who are strangers no more.

I’m pretty sure a wonderful time was had by all.

Note to self: Don’t drink double IPAs and bid at the same time.

Cheers,

Jeff

PS the really great photos are Nelson’s.

“It’s 8:30 in the morning and you’ve…

already made my day.” Enthused Lydia, a Colorado Trail through hiker on a drizzly day in August 2020. 

So what did I do to deserve such an “Atta-Jeffy”? 

I handed this young, hungry backpacker a spare PB&Peach sandwich. That’s all, not a thousand shares of Amazon stock or health insurance for life, just a whole wheat sandwich. I walked away thinking, “Wow! That was an easy mitzvah.” (Good deed)

This episode got me thinking. I’m going to be a Trail Angel. 

From Appalachiantrail.org

A Trail Angel' is a term of endearment given to people who have provided Trail magic in the form of direct kindness and generosity to hikers.

Perfect! But I wasn’t going to settle for being a basic Wonder Bread Trail Angel. I was determined to be the one and best Jewish Mother in a male’s body Trail Angel. I decided to confine my efforts to the Colorado Trail/Continental Divide Trails in the above tree-line regions of the San Juan Mountains. 

As usual my summer has been racing by at Warp Eleven speed. “ He canna take anymore, Captain. He’s gonna blow!” June. Poof! July Poof Squared! 

It wasn’t until late July, I finally got my chance to don my yarmulke and wings. I chose Molas Pass for a shake down Trail Angel run. With a loaf of Multi-Grain Whole Wheat’s worth of PB&Boysenberry sandwiches, I set off towards the general direction of Durango. My bag of goodies didn’t last more than five miles on my outbound hike. It’s quite clear there are A LOT of hikers on the Colorado Trail!

My next gig was on Kennebec Pass in the La Plata range. I wasn’t  planning on being there, but the biting bugs chased me out of a nearby campout. I only had one loaf of bread. Sigh! I wasn’t prepared. Luckily for the hikers, I had enough ingredients to make the loaf into sandwiches. That bag of nourishment and calories didn’t last long either. When the sandwiches ran out, I offered up Clif Bars. (Definitely not as enticing as a PB&Blueberry sandwich.)

My next Trail Angel venue was on top of 12,650’ Stoney Pass. I was camped on the Continental Divide but by now those CDT hikers were long gone. Fortunately, I was on the home stretch for the Durango bound Colorado Trail hikers. My supply of sandwiches, oranges, Clif Bars and candy became depleted in a 12 RT hike. At least my pack became lighter.

So Jeffy, what’s it all about? I’m glad you asked. 

Here’s the demographics of the hikers. They are overwhelming white, young, educated, enthusiastic and incredibly polite. A few had the distinct smell of sweat and pot wafting off their soiled clothes. (Those Stoners really thought my sandwiches were AWESOME!) There was not one red MAGA hat among them.

They all have trail names. After introducing myself, (since it’s not cool to accept food from a stranger.) I asked a 6’12” hiker what his nickname was. He answered “BFG”In which I replied, “Big F—-ing Guy?” He turned away and laughed, “No. Big Friendly Guy!” Now that’s polite! And yes, he was friendly. 

I met Gazelle, Four Wheel Drive, Tea Bag, Long Fish, Cato, Moxie, Lazy Bear and others I can’t recall.

This is what I receive from those brief encounters.

As a jaded senior,  I score a twinge of hope. These youngsters will never look at an old growth forest and think, “I wonder how many board feet of lumber a clear cut would yield? OR gaze at a seemingly endless mountain vista and ponder, “maybe there’s mining opportunities out there.” No. They are now strong advocates for public lands, wild places, fighting climate change and Leave No Trace ethics. They are our future. 

On today’s mitzvah mission, I handed a sandwich to a young, fit woman hiker. She smiled, I smiled back. Then she said this to me. “You are so sweet!” It was 8:30 in the morning and THAT made my day.

Seriously, become a Trail Angel. You don’t even have to be a Jewish Mother in a male’s body to do it. I guarantee you will reap more than you sow.

Cheers,

Jeff

Last photos: I do provide pizza delivery too. For this I received a bearhug from Amy H. Her boyfriend Doug M (whom I once worked with) was OK with that.

Dispatches from Western Kansas.

“The mountains are calling and I must go…to Western Kansas”

John Muir

For me Summertime is precious.I wish I could collect all the warmth, wildflowers and long days and preserve them in a Ball jar. This is why I make a concerted effort to maximize my above tree line hikes/camping trips with Sanctuary Too to the towering mountains of Western Kansas. 

Here’s some photos to entice you to the alpine basecamp towns of Sharon Springs, St. Francis or Tribune, KS. 

From what those Kansas visitor bureaus are saying hotel rooms are going fast so you better book NOW!

Pssss! That’s Fake News, the other “BIG LIE” and just plain BS. Of course there’s no mountains in Western Kansas (unless you count 4,039 foot Mount Sunflower, which I ascended in 2009 with supplemental oxygen). I talked smack to throw off the scent of wannabe out of Colorado state tourists.

Our National Forests have been discovered. People who never knew their was such a thing as “Outside” found it in the throes of Covid. According to our beloved Durango Herald (June 7, 2021). “ The public escaped to the outdoors during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, so much so that the U.S. Forest Service recorded 18 million additional visits in national forests and grasslands last year.”

Too many of those 18 million extra visitors found their way into our nearby San Juan National Forest. Unfortunately some of those folks turned out to be guests from Hell. Consider the iconically beautiful Ice Lake Basin. Jed Botsford, (Recreation staff officer for the San Juan NF) described the 2020 summer scene in gross detail.

“This summer it was 400-600 hikers a day, every day of the week,” Botsford said. ”That high alpine environment up there cannot handle that amount of people walking off-trail, and that’s what was happening. We were seeing camping not only in the lower basin but actually at the lake itself. And, of course, camping above treeline, you don’t have very much cover, so people were going to the bathroom literally right next to their tents, which they set up right next to the lake. We had human waste all over, between the rocks at the edge of the lake and 100 yards back.”

Source: Denver Post

Of course, I wrote a blog about Ice Lakes visitation as well.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/08/i-mentally-prepared-myself-for.html

Dear visitors, 

Coloradoans know you are coming. We understand tourism is a significant part of our state's economy: ( 86.9 million visitors spent $24.2 billion in 2019. Source. Denver.org.) 

During your time in the Centennial State, let’s all be good neighbors. The seven principles of “Leave No Trace.” ethics are a good place to start. Please take a moment to digest its content. 

That covers land stewardship in wild and scenic places. 

Here’s a few more thoughts: Many Coloradoan’s wouldn’t mind if you donned a backpack and left your OHV/ATV behind. It’s a lot less polluting and quieter too. 

Be nice, smile at the locals, leave your NRA themed T-shirts/sidearms at home, and don’t forget to tip those busy service workers. Please try and be a low maintenance guest. 

Special note to the Texans. We don’t care if you are from the Lone Star State. If it’s that great, why did you leave!

Can’t we all just get along?

This Bud’s for…

Everyone.

“You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello"

Lyrics by John Prine

I was finishing up a gig of box shlepping for the monthly Friends of the Library sidewalk book sale, when I noticed a very senior customer. He was long and lean as a giraffe’s neck. Covering his sparse gray hair was a dapper cap. His wristwatch was adorned with turquoise. I’d say he stood out from the crowd of Durango’s book lovers. 

I watched as he methodically went through all the tables plucking books and placing them in a nearby cache. He chose most of his reads from the History/Biography tables. Eventually, he took a seat at a picnic table to review his selections. Every now and then, he’d glance up for a few minutes of people watching. I immediately recognized this activity. It’s the “better to be around humans than to sit alone in an empty house” look. 

It’s a look I’m guilty of as well. 

I wandered over, “Good Morning! Sir! I’m Jeff. I volunteer for the Friends of the Library. I couldn’t help but notice how long you spent at the History/Biography tables. Would you be interested in a really great book about Theodore Roosevelt?” 

“Maybe. Tell me about it.”

I gave him a brief book report on James Bradley’s “Imperial Cruise.” 

“ I used to be a Ranger for the National Park Service, so I’d be interested in learning more about TR.. I’ll go and look for it. My name is Bud by the way.”

“No need Bud! This is a full customer service book sale. I’ll bring the book to you.” 

I returned with the paperback and took a nearby seat. “I love our National Parks! They are one of America’s greatest inventions. Where did you work for the NPS?”

That was my opening. Bud took over from here. “I spent most of my career years at Mesa Verde. I was in law enforcement. I enjoyed my time with the Park Service, although I had my share of “by the book” superintendents. They weren’t the easiest of bosses.”

Bud’s history sprung forth from there. He grew up in Salt Lake City. “We were one of the few non-Mormon families!” He got married and raised five children. (Four daughters and a son). There are lots of grandchildren. Bud pulled out tiny family photos from his worn leather wallet. Apparently his  progeny are scattered in the cardinal directions of the US. I read between his silence  that his spouse was long gone. 

It was getting near lunchtime when Bud asked, “will there be more book sales?”

“Yes!” I caught the attention of our Madame President of Friends of the Library. “Shelley, would you happen to have a handout on upcoming sales for this Gentleman?” 

“Of course!” She returned in a nanosecond and handed Bud a slip of paper. 

We both stood up. “Bud, I hope we see you again in July”

“Yes! I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“Good!” We shook hands on it.

Bud did return in July.  I bought him a cup of coffee, “I drink my coffee with three teaspoons of sugar and lots of cream, like my Mother drank it.” Our conversation took off from where we left off in June. 

When we parted this time, I handed him my “retirement card” with my contact information on it.

“Bud. If you need me to run errands for you give a shout. I’m not that busy that I can’t help.”

“Thank you! Jeff. So far so good. I’m still getting around.” 

“In that case, I’ll see you in August.”

Once again we shook on it.

“So if you're walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes
Please don't just pass 'em by and stare
As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello"

Thank you John Prine for these words of wisdom.

Respect your Elders. One day you might be old too.

The Goodness of Gestures.

In the aftermath of my should-have-killed-me accident, I was well…depressed.

Who wouldn’t be? I was rear-ended on my bicycle by a sedan traveling at 50 MPH! It was an Uber sucker punch. 

For months I resided in a belly button to neck brace. Every part of me was sore, scarred or scabbed. Even my toenails ached. Worst of all, was the big questions. How well will I heal? Will I get my active life back or will I become the world’s first full-time nonfiction book reader? These questions and mountains of angst kept me up at night. I was in a bad state of mind.

One day, Rosie emailed me. Her message was short and sweet. (Like her) “Jeff, I made something for you. I hope it cheers you up. It’s in the mail. Keep getting better!” Of course, I thanked her beforehand. 

Eventually I reluctantly returned  to Tucson for another winter of discontent. After a session of physical therapy, I found a cardboard box at my door. I brought it inside and opened it. It was a Ride The Rockies Team Bar2Bar themed quilt! The panels were the tank tops of twenty years of my “drinkers with a bicycle riding problem” team. I sashayed backward after spreading  it out on the floor. I alternated between laughing and crying. 

I called Rosie immediately. “Rosie! This is the best gift I have ever received. Thank you so much!” I meant every word and then some.

 It took almost a year but I did heal! I spent my final winter of discontent in Tucson getting rid of stuff. I had made the decision to go “Homeless by Choice.” If it didn’t fit into Barley the Van, it was gone. I was pretty draconian on this. There were two materialistic sentimental items that made the cut.

A) Fido the porcelain pug who was gifted to me by a long lost friend. A woman who was capable of making me laugh like no other. 

B) Rosie’s Team Bar2Bar quilt. It fit nicely on my almost Queen-sized Barley the Van bed.

Both Fido and Rosie’s quilt survived those 6.5 years of my rootless existence. However, like me they aged. All four of Fido’s stubby legs have been Superglued back onto his frame. The Team Bar2Bar quilt was faded and frayed. There was no way either was going into a dumpster.

When Covid (SPIT!) struck I phoned Rosie. 

After commiserating about the misery of Covid, I got to the point. “I’d like to commission you for a second quilt. The Bar2Bar one is looking rough, but I can’t pitch it. Would you like a “stay in place” project? This time I’ll pay for your creation.” 

“Sure! I have to finish a baby quilt first, then I’ll get on it.” 

I desired a larger quilt with a National Park theme for my Durango home. She pointed me to an  Amazon site for the panels, and away we went. A little over a year later, (It took Michelangelo four years to paint the Sistine Chapel. Artistic genius takes time)  I met Rosie in May, 2021 at a post-Rockies game pub. I wandered in with a few friends as well. Rosie had already draped the quilt over a railing for all to see. I stopped to take the wonder in.. “Rosie! It’s beautiful!! You outdid yourself on this one.” Once again I meant it. Then I gave her a big squeeze hug.

And yes, I did send her a check in which she responded. “Jeff! It’s too much!” 

My reply? “Not at all, you have no idea on how much that Team Bar2Bar quilt meant to me. This is my simple way of paying you back.” 

Here’s my point. Rosie performed a gesture of goodness. She didn’t have to play Good Samaritan but she did. Here was a potential mitzvah (good deed) moment and she seized it.

There are life lessons here and I can be trained.

So now that I’m settled down in a tight community where everyone knows everybody,  but me,

I’m trying my hand at gestures of goodness. 

When a neighbor had a Buddha purloined from the front of her townhome, I instigated a local fundraiser to replace it. Marcia is still enthused about her new jolly Buddha. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/02/what-would-buddha-do.html

At a block party, I picked up an extra case of IPA to barter for Durango Food Bank donations. We netted $53 for a worthy cause.

If I hear a friend/neighbor is sick, injured or just feeling down, I’ll drop off a meal’s worth of Minnesota Soup or Sambini’s Famous Kosher Green Chili. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2020/01/

Will any of these deeds end poverty, bring about World Peace or curtail Climate Change? Of course not. BUT maybe someone else will notice. Then we can start a movement! I have a name picked out already.

“The Rosie Make a Quilt Good Gesture Foundation.” I nominate Rosie for CEO. 

Please consider becoming a member. 

Thanks!

Jeff

The Myth of the Bucket…

List.

In 2019, I was performing a welfare check on one of my favorite humans on the planet. Joe (AKA Trauma) was in his epilogue chapter of Stage Four liver cancer. Our conversation was anything but the usual light banter of jokes, sporting news and old memories. The overall tone was somber and forced.

In an awkward moment, Joe spoke out, “Sambini! You’d be proud of me. I finally retired!” 

“That’s great. Joe.”

“Yeah, some retirement Right?!” 

A few months later, Joe was gone. He was 62 years old. Joe’s Bucket List fit with room to spare in an urn containing his ashes.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2019/06/parting-is-nothing-but.html?m=0

Now when I’m involved in conversations with friends or acquaintances, our dreamy future plans often takes center stage. If I hear the cliche “It’s on my bucket list” a few times AND if they are older than 50.  I’ll interject “Well, Dontcha know,  you probably have more days behind you than in front of you. What are you waiting for?

This is shocking news to many, when it’s just simple math and statistics. (The life span of Americans has been declining too. Covid made it worse). 

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m all in favor of creating travel or experience goals. (But only if you mean doing them!) In the last decade, I’ve been knocking off many: the Galápagos Islands, Machu Picchu (twice), the Camino de Santiago (twice), hiking in the Alps, the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island, The Torrens del Paine Loop,  hiking the wild Portuguese Coast, hugging Redwoods,  getting into the Maze District (twice), finally seeing the Wave, going on an Hawaiian whale watch, and now getting into the high country of the nearby San Juan Mountains to name a few.

It was nearly a decade ago too when I became well aware of my own mortality. In July 2011,  I survived a bicycle vs. sedan collision in which three doctors assured me most cyclists would have perished. It was a life changing event. Life or death is sometimes a matter of landing just right. Apparently I  “nailed” the landing. 

This is why I abhor wasting days. As  Founding Father Thomas Jefferson said, “Never put off for tomorrow, what you can do today.” This includes Bucket Lists. 

Joe would concur.

PS. I’m currently available for Bucket List mentoring. My rates are reasonable. Happy Hour with or without dinner.

Cheers,

Jeff