Month: July 2021

“The mountains are calling and I must go” wrote John Muir. That phrase describes my daily life. Hiking is my way of wandering. I am passionate about hiking regardless of where I go. Woods, lakes, meadows, waterfalls, overlooks—all have a draw for me. However, mountain tops will always have a special magnetic attraction.

I am not a mountain climber but a mountain hiker. Therefore, for the most part the mountains that I can walk up are the ones I pursue, which does eliminate some possibilities. I have hiked to the top of several notable and high mountains including Kala Patthar (18, 514), Mt Whitney (14,505), Longs Peak (14,259), and Grand Teton (13, 775). I have hiked my favorites in the park that are relatively accessible many times including Flattop, Hallet, Twin Sisters (my very first), Mt Ida, Sundance, and Deer Mountain. I never climb the same mountain twice since each time the trek is different.

Several years before I moved permanently to Colorado, I dreamed of hiking all the “14ers” in Colorado. There are over 55 of them. I met people who had done all or had this goal. I had already hiked 10 mountains in Colorado over 14,000 feet when I set this target.

About the time I decided I had the ambition, however, I read Jon Krakauer’s book, Into Thin Air. It is a personal account of the devastating events associated with climbing Mt Everest in 1996. That book socked me in the stomach to remind me that no mountain top is worth dying in the effort. The mountains will always be there, and not to summit is not a failure. As mountaineer Conrad Acker offered, “The summit is what drives us, but the climb itself is what matters.”

Each new or revisited peak ascended teaches me something. I have a different experience no matter how many times I go up the same mountain. Further, as one of my favorite “prophets,” Dag Hammerskjold, suggested, “Never measure the height of a mountain until you reach the top. Then you will see how low it was.”

Little in my life can displace the thrill of being on a mountain top. I am grateful that I continue to have the physical ability to walk up mountains. I love the vistas and the 360 views. Many mountains are breezy on top, and to an extent, I enjoy the breeze. Many of the mountains in Rocky have active marmot colonies near or at the top.

Regardless of what the peak holds, I am always inspired by my smallness amid the panoramas. Getting to the top highlights a delicious fatigue that powers the way back down. Getting to the top also reminds me how beautiful the forests, lakes, waterfalls, and meadows are below.

This modified chant from my high school days seems apt to describe my feelings about the volunteer group at Rocky Mountain National Park, the Weed Warriors. We wage (and rage) war on invasive and exotic plant species in the park.

Invasive plants are not native to a specific location and tend to spread to a degree that can cause damage to the environment. The term applies to introduced species that adversely affect the habitats and bioregions they invade. In the case of Rocky Mountain National Park, they can take over meadows and crowd out beautiful native wildflowers and grasses.

If someone had asked me five years ago if I would ever volunteer with such a group, I probably would have said no. Plants aren’t my thing and I am much more interested in the social interactions occurring in the park. Nevertheless, I have become energized by the toil I assume once a week with the Weed Warriors.

Great satisfaction occurs in seeing a meadow devoid of (prickly, purple) musk thistle, (fuzzy) mullein, and (sticky, dreaded) houndstongue. Further, however, I find the camaraderie of the Warriors to be an attraction that keeps drawing me back. This group of mainly older women and a handful of men are some of the most dedicated and passionate volunteers I know.  They work hard for hours but chat, laugh, and enjoy the unpaid labor every day.

Eliminating weeds works best as a team effort. We are a team. We are assigned grids to cover and line up in ways to assure that we are swathing the areas in a systematic way.  We have either a park supervisor or another lead volunteer who directs us each day. Everyone in the group, however, has a role. One of our members is a wonderful baker and is trying to perfect her high altitude baking so brings us delicious treats when she comes. Another member is our unofficial safety officer and reminds up continually to drink lots of water. Several members are wildflower experts who point out the beautiful flora that is supposed to inhabit the meadows. My role is as a worker bee.

Each week in the summer and as much as we can throughout the rest of the year, we combat the invasive weeds that have been brought into the park on people’s feet, in horse manure, and by the winds. Every day is a skirmish, each year a battle, and eventually we will win the war by making the meadows of the park full of native flowers and grasses.

Although I contribute my time, this volunteer opportunity has numerous psychic rewards. What could be grander than being outside, walking in meadows, seeing snow-capped mountains all around, feeling warm breezes and sunshine, and making wonderful volunteer friends? It doesn’t get more restorative than being a mighty, mighty weed warrior.

I have a love/not love relationship with yoga. Hate is too strong, but I have tried for 25 years to really enjoy yoga. I find, however, that the only way I can love it is when I do it regularly and have a teacher who calmly leads me through the practice. I am currently going through the “not love” phase because I haven’t been able to motivate myself.

Yoga for me is a discipline that includes breathing, simple meditation, and an attempt at specific body movements. I appreciate the spiritual aspects but they are not central to me. When I have done yoga regularly (for me that means once or maybe twice a week), I feel healthier and more relaxed.

I resonate with the parts of yoga that are meditative and that help me relax into my body. I appreciate the philosophy. I dislike the part that forces me to stretch muscles that don’t move that fluidly. And yet, when I finally make them stretch, it feels so good.

Stretching has never been a favorite. My body was not designed for bending and flexibility. When I was in elementary school, we had to do the Presidential Fitness Test. As a competitive child, I found it quite fun seeing how well I could do the flexed-arm hang and the shuttle run. I hated the sit and reach or stand and reach because I simply could not score in the 50^th percentile, no matter how much I tried. I have been blessed with a fair amount of athleticism but stretching has not been my passion or forte.

I had a friend many years ago who was a ballet dancer until she had a career ending injury. She still stretched daily and remarked every time how good it felt. I wondered how she could feel that way. Nevertheless, I am seeking that illusive revelry that I have yet to find.

I have had several outstanding yoga teachers. I do not go back to a group yoga class unless I sense the calmness of the instructor since I cannot do most of the poses well. Teachers say continually not to judge oneself, but that is hard for me. Nevertheless, I appreciate yoga under encouraging tutelage.

As a runner, I never give a second thought to running alone. If I have people to share a run, it is great, but I am personally motivated regardless. Yoga is not the same. I need the camaraderie of a teacher and other yogis to enjoy the effort. I cannot get a personal solo practice going and then, of course, that spirals into negative talk to myself and so on and so on. I want yoga guidance and inspiration.

Sometimes to name an issue makes it easier to resolve, but I am not so sure about my relationship with yoga. My fitness level is good except for the flexibility issue. My mental energy is usually fine and the meditation and calmness aspects of yoga would make it even better. I will continue to seek the balance that I know yoga can give me. Namaste is a salutation to others, but I will continue to try to make it a salute to my own self-care.

The Land of No Trees is a new appreciation of mine in Rocky Mountain National Park. I love trees as I have I have written previously. I am, however, acquiring a passion for the space with no trees called the tundra.

One-third of the park is tundra, a greater quantity than any other national park in the country.  Until I started wandering every day in the park, I had little appreciation for the tundra. I had hiked on trails crossing the tundra and had admired the flowers in the summer, but I really didn’t identify with this magical world until I became immersed in it.

The tundra is an ecosystem filled with beauty and contrasts. The land is almost completely uninhabitable in the winter, but teeming with plants, insects, and mammals in the summer.

One of my volunteer activities is being a Tundra Guardian, now referred to as an Alpine Volunteer. I get to go up Trail Ridge Road to the tundra regularly and talk to people about this unique environment. Some of the most interesting facts about tundra include:

• Tundra can be found in arctic areas often referred to as the “land beyond the trees” such as in Alaska. It can also be alpine tundra, as it is in Rocky, which is the high elevation “land above the trees.”
• The growing season can range from 6 weeks to 12 weeks depending on the amount of snowpack. A simple law suggests that for every 100 feet in elevation gain, spring comes a day later, and fall comes a day sooner.
• 99% of alpine plants are short perennials, grasses and sedges, flowering plants, mosses, and lichens.
• Living organisms on the tundra tend to hibernate (marmots, chipmunks), tolerate (ptarmigans, pikas), exterminate (plants, butterflies, bees), or migrate (elk) before the severe winter.

I feel more affection for the tundra each time I visit. Elk and their babies summer on the tundra and enjoy the rich grasses and sedges. Marmots lounge in the sun while the pikas prepare their hay piles for the coming winter.

Although the tundra environment is highly fragile and stepping on a plant can destroy what has been growing for decades, these plants are amazingly resilient because they HAVE been growing for years. Walking on the tundra is a captivating experience. Ambling on the tundra should be done lightly by staying on trails and/or by stepping on rocks as much as possible, not following directly in someone else’s footsteps, and walking slowly and deliberately not to disturb the earth.

Rocky has designated 2021 as the Year of the Tundra. The emphasis this year, and every year, is on helping people understand this vast area and what can be learned about and from it.

The tundra reminds me of two words: Renewal and Resiliency. Renewal is the way that the flora and fauna resume their activity after the extreme winter interruption. Resiliency reflects the capacity that these flora and fauna have to recover in their challenging environment. Resiliency represents toughness within fragility.

I am honored to call myself a tundra guardian. I am learning my own lessons about renewing my life after the COVID interruption. I am also practicing how to be resilient and tough in all types of situations.