Wednesday, September 28, 2022

A Change of Seasons…

A Change of Seasons…

Recently I surrendered to another case of itchy feet.

There was a personal geographic knowledge gap I needed to fill in before the onset of winter. That’s the reason I pointed Sanctuary Too towards northern New Mexico. There were National Wildernesses and one National Monument that was calling out. “Sambini! Come and visit. You can even stay for awhile since you are low maintenance and quiet.” 

So that’s what I did. I headed to the Rio Grande Del Norte National Monument first. (Established by Obama in 2013.) I received positive intel from reliable sources about its beauty and solitude. Correct on both counts. I spent two nights at a BLM campground which possibly was one of my favorite campsites EVER! My pad sat off on its own, including a  personal pit toilet. Since I had no neighbors I was able to Solar Shower naked. A real plus. The downside? It’s a bit pricey. For two nights (with my senior discount), the rent was $7. Another example of BIGLY Gubmint sticking it to the people.



Which brings me back to A Change of Seasons. Wild Rivers Recreation Area’s campgrounds were nearly full. Gone were the multigenerational families accompanied by multigenerational dogs. Gone were the college kids playing techno music. The sites were occupied by senior travelers and the Nomadland crowd.



Read all the Nomadland crowd:


It was a sedate crew in which there’s no crime in just “hanging out.” I didn’t meet many fellow campers on the trails. Mostly they were campsite homebodies. I’m OK with that.



My distant neighbors were of the “14 day stay” category. They weren’t in any particular rush and for the Nomadland crowd, no particular place to go. 

I could actually see myself staying there a whole lot longer, (Think how many books I’d be able to read in two weeks!)  but my curiosity got the best of me.  Away I went to give a looksy to the Columbine-Hondo Wilderness and Wheeler Peak Wilderness. 



Well…there was a lot of uphill through dense forests and wet feet creek closings without the BIG VIEWS! Or as I say, “Not much bang for my buck.” Heaps of Schvitz (sweat) and hard work with little payout. Although I did see a pika at 12,000 plus foot Lobo Peak. 

The Carson National Forests campgrounds were underloved for the two out of three I stayed at. One was so underloved, the Forest Service charged nada! Free! The price was right for my fellow neighbors: two seniors and one young dreadlocked dude in an old tent. Actually it turned out to be fine (even for a guy who could afford to pay like me).



I tried another area of hiking and camping outside of Taos. In the campground along BUSY US Highway 64, I encountered Helen, a 60-70ish old newbie to the Nomadland lifestyle. She acted as the unofficial campground host meeting and greeting us new temporary residents. She resided in a Van which was reminiscent of my old Barley van. After asking her how long she’s been on the road, her story poured forth.



“I’ve been at it for five months. After reading Nomadland and seeing the movie, I decided to give it a go. I got advice from Bob Wells (made famous in the book and movie. ) and off I went. I’ve been at this campground for five nights. I’ll be here another five nights until I join a caravan of full time women RVers. They have an itinerary of places to go in order to get through the winter.” 

(Here’s Bob and his book. He’s a year younger than me. All that “Freedom” must have aged him.) 




“Where will the caravan be spending the winter?”

“They mentioned going to Pahrump, NV by next month.”

“Have you ever been to PahTrump? There’s more gun shops and casinos than grocery stores. It’s not a spiritual place. Where else will the caravan be going?” 

“Quartzite and Yuma. New places to me.” 

It was then I confided in Helen that I lived the Nomadland life for 6.5 years. 



“I’ve been to Quartzite and Yuma. Once! For a reason. There were too many people in those towns for my tastes. They weren’t natural areas that appealed to me either. For those 6.5 years, I was exploring. It wasn’t about the inexpensive lifestyle. I was checking out areas that might be my next Happy Place. Deep down inside though, I was always searching for a location to eventually settle down in. It wasn’t aimless wondering, although it seemed like that every now and then.” 

With that, I handed Helen a half dozen cookies and three oranges. She thanked me profusely. For Helen and the rest of her caravan, it is about the money. I wished her luck and safe travels.



After filling in the “Northern New Mexico Empty Spaces” of my personal map, I turned north towards Colorado’s Rio Grande National Forest and it’s South San Juan Wilderness. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. All the campgrounds were shuttered for the season. This seemed excessively early to me.

Somehow the summer season yielded to the hunting season. The dirt roads were rife with ATVs driven by well-armed camouflaged garbed folks on the prowl for Bambi. I felt out of my element and wasn’t comfortable setting up camp just anywhere. 

Yet, I wasn’t ready to call it quits, so I set my sights on the USFS Lower Piedra campground. It was my first overnight there, although in the past I’ve done plenty of disbursed camping along the Mighty Piedra River. I’ll sum it up quickly. There were around 20 campsites containing two other extremely quiet campers. Nothing but the sound of the gurgling River. 
Perfect. This campground too was about to close for season.

Internally, I’m registering the shorter days, the brisk mornings and the exaggerated shadows. I’m not pleased with knowing summer (my favorite season) is on the wane. 


Autumn is beautiful. Still I become verklempt with the reality of the lurking “Here’s Johnny!” behind the door. That’s Winter. AKA my least favorite season. 





The change of seasons is complicated! 

Summer vacations yielding to retirees and full-time Nomads. Then the hunters appear. Public campgrounds begin locking their gates. 

Before you know it, the Jewish New Year arrives! 

Which brings me to this last photo. In this, the year 5783 (Jews have been around longer than the oldest Bristlecone Pine tree. That’s ancient.) I decided to perform a traditional  Tashlich on the banks of the Mighty Animas River.

What’s a Tashlich? It’s a symbolic Jewish Guilt ritual in which the sinner (me) cast whole wheat bread into the surging Mighty Animas River, thereby tossing my past transgressions away and beginning 5783 with a clean slate. 

Personally I think it’s all about fattening the fish before the Passover Gefilte Fish harvest. 

Enjoy the seasons whichever one is your favorite,
Cheers
Jeff







Tuesday, September 20, 2022

Those who explore don’t always…



discover their own version of the Northwest Passage, although some, as in Roald Amundsen do. 

That plucky Norwegian made the journey in a lightweight ship with a crew of six. In other words, ultralight exploring. It took Mr. Amundsen three years (1903-1906) to complete the passage. 

Alas, Roald’s route was too shallow for commercial use. Therefore, it was deemed worthless to the powers to be. I’m sure Roald would disagree with history’s assessment of its value.

In 1910,  Mr. Amundsen was the first to arrive and survive at the South Pole. 




I won’t kid you. I explore, but my goals aren’t as lofty as the almost mythical Northwest Passage or the out and back traverse of the South Pole. Brrrrr!

For me, its simpler than that. I’m searching for more Happy Places.



On a recent escape from the Labor Day Weekend Four Corners Motorcycle Rally. (Which unfortunately is centered in Durango). I decided to shorten the long drive to Great Basin National Park by checking out Utah’s Fish Lake National Forest.

Blogs from my past escapes:



It’s a scattered National Forest adhering to places above the surrounding deserts where trees can actually grow.



For starters, I chose a three night campout in the forest’s geologic namesake-Fish Lake. Upon arriving at the Bowery Creek campground, I discovered cigarette butts littering the site, too many graffitied Aspen trees, (who cares if “Jane ❤️‘s John” in 2009?), an abundance of ATVs and the drone of RV generators.

The nearby hiking trails led up through stands of skeleton forests murdered by an insidious pathogen or bug. The landscape was rolling ridges punctuated by meadows and cows. It wasn’t exciting or Ansel Adams eye-catching. Scenery wise it was “meh”. 



My time there wasn’t all negative though. The campsite was a Joe Namath’s pass from the shores of Fish Lake which is the largest freshwater natural lake in Utah. Ospreys hovered overhead, while I Happy Houred below. I read 2.5 books in three days. I wasn’t overworked. 

Will I ever return to Fish Lake?

Nope! 



Afterwards, it was on to Great Basin National Park, just in time for a record setting heatwave! Despite Great Basin’s remote location (south of US Highway 50. AKA the Loneliest Road in America), it’s been discovered too.



(Another victim of the Fort Collins Syndrome:  https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-fort-collins-syndrome.html 

To cobble together an eight night stay in the Park, required moving camp and campgrounds five times. Ahh the price one pays to stay in our Nation’s Natural Cathedrals. No complaints though. There’s heaps of Happy Places there AND now I know the best campsites!

Like Arnold The Terminator, “I’ll be back!” 



True explorers don’t give up easily. I decided to check out another chunk of Fish Lake National Forest. The mountainous section east of Beaver, UT didn’t disappoint. I took in the views and potential hikes all while camping at an IPA can’s length below 11,000 feet. It was stunning scenery with plenty of Happy Places potential. 

Of course, I’ll be back.

I have a standard line about the aging process. Do you know what’s the best thing about aging is? 

That’s one less year of money you need to live on.

On the other hand, what’s the worst thing about aging.

That’s one less year of exploring for Happy Places. 



I believe Roald would agree to this concept even though my explorations are pretty wimpy compared to his.

Keep exploring! It’s more fun than sitting at home doing solo Happy Hours.

Cheers,
Jeff 

Last photo: Even intrepid explorers need refreshments every now and then.





















Monday, August 8, 2022

A Season to Savor.



“Come on Summer!” was my fire department mantra. This simple exclamation got me through all those extra winter shifts I worked in order to “go missing” from June to September. That’s how much I love the summer season.

Now decades later, nothing has changed except I have a greater appreciation of “Summertime and the living is easy.” Maybe it’s because I have more summers behind me than in front of me. I’m well aware that time isn’t on my side. Therefore, I’m on an obsessed mission not to squander an hour/day of this (for me) primo period of the calendar year. 



“So Jeffie! What’s so special about summer?” Well, I’m glad you asked inquiring reader. 

Summer is about abundant daylight, sunshine, wildflowers, waterfalls, snow-free high country trails, camping (lots of that), baseball, outdoor concerts, patio Happy Hours, the Carbondale Mountain Fair, pika sightings, photogenic pregnant puffy cumulus clouds, Trail Angeling on the Colorado Trail, fresh peaches and barbecue.



It’s the season of shorts, flip-flops and gaudy tank-tops. (Yet, still being prepared for inclement weather at 10,000 plus feet. Remember Hypothermia never has an off-season.) 



But more than anything, summer is about my personal well-being. I’m at the top of my game both mentally and physically. I possess hummingbird energy (until 8:30 pm). I wake looking forward to the day. (Unlike winter when I feel as if an obese Mississippian Walmart shopper sits perched upon my shoulders.)



Best of all are my above tree line rambles. For lunch, I alight on a soft rock with a long view. Preferably within sight of a potential pika colony. While nibbling on a PB&Boysenberry sandwich, I take in the Rhode Island sized scene before me. Then I begin my Durango as a basecamp mantra. “This is so amazing. I live in a beautiful place.” 



In that moment, I’m at peace.

I’m happy.




Photos that require an explanation:



I took a midsummer break to rest my arthritic knees at the Carbondale Mountain Fair.. It was two days of food, IPAs and a few gummies of overindulgence. That’s me volunteering on the Peace Patrol. (Yes, I was sober!) Apparently the riff-raff  knew their was a new Sheriff in town. All was quiet on the Carbondale front.  

Just doing my job.

Special Kudos to Jim Jim and Martha for allowing me to camp at the JJMart RV Park in Carbondale. It’s the best in the West. 



Photos from my final resting place:



A summer ritual of mine is a jaunt up Handies Peak. It’s here where my estimated 6.5 pounds of ash and bone fragments will be left by Keith Sambur and Justin Sambur. (AKA the best nephews in the world.) In this photo, I’m clutching a two gallon Ziplock bag. I’ll  probably fit into that with room to spare. Why waste money on an urn?





To paraphrase one of the Passover Four Questions: “Jeffie! Why was this year’s hike up Handies different than other years?”



This year for the first time, there were two pikas greeting me at the top. The word must be getting out along the Pika Pipeline. This Wondering Wandering Jew is on our side. Jeff is all about Pika Power and keeping the fuzz balls around for future generations to enjoy. My favorite season wouldn’t be the same without pikas.

In case you missed this last post:

Come on Summer!
Jeff