In the summer of 1997 I participated in a month long mountaineering course in the San Juan range of the Colorado Rocky mountains. This is where I learned to navigate comfortably in the mountains. Before the only backpacking I had done was 3 or 4 day trips with Price Club sleeping bags and K-Mart tents. It was a rude awakening but a wonderful experience.
That's right folks, for those of you who followed my adventures in Australia, I will soon be spending a full month (30 days) in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, where I will learn to survive in the wilderness.
I will be going with a group called Colorado Outward Bound. Basically I just need a break from civilization. So I'm leaving it. I figured I could use the challenge.
Here's a brief description: "you will: hike with a heavy pack (approx. 60 lbs) at altitudes which may exceed 14,00 feet; climb peaks, passes or canyon trails with exposure to high, steep overhangs; use ropes to cross ravines, swift rivers and streams; and have the responsibility for acting as one another's safety system. On most courses, you will participate in a one- to three-day final expeditions without direct instructor supervision. On the final expedition, your patrol will travel a designated route that is arranged and described by your instructor with only periodic check-ups or designated rendezvous." Here's another quote about the 60 lb pack from someone who went on it. "You'll wear it all day and the only time you'll take it off is to eat and shit." Sweet.
This course has "inherent risks including but not limited to serious and sometimes fatal burns, falls, bites, broken bones, dislocations, contusions, sprains, spinal injuries, concussions, frostbite, hypothermia, drowning, sunburn, disease, infections, cardiac arrest, strangulation, exhaustion, dehydration, chest and abdominal injuries, and psychological trauma." I'm hoping for disease, infection, and psychological trauma (but that last one may be a bit late, no?).
And that's not all. Three t-shirts, three pair of socks, and [I think] three pair of underwear are all we allowed of those articles of clothing. And if that weren't enough, we can't bring anything scented. Which means no deodarant, tooth paste (that's right--it's a big bucket of baking soda for us boys and girls), and anything else we animals use to keep from denying our natural stench. We can use soap, but it has to be bio-degradable.
The course is from June 13th to July 12th [1997]. So basically I finish my last exam on the 10th at 6PM. Then I have to pack up all my worldly possessions and find a place to stow it all for a month, then get my ass to Colorado, in time to be picked up at 7:30AM on the 13th. Kind of reminds me of my last two weeks in Australia and my first three weeks back in the States. No phone number, no address, no keys. Just a backpack and a bunch of friends stepping over my junk until I pick it up.
I know what you're saying. "But Frowbie, I don't want to wait until mid-July to hear about your adventures." Well you don't have to! They've already started...with my trip to the doctor's office! So far I've already:
Well folks, I hope that was enough to whet your appetite. I will, of course try to remember the facts as best I can (and embellish like hell otherwise). So be on the look out for Frowbie:
P.S. Maybe I should have a naming competition since Frowbie Down Under is no longer applicable. Maybe Frowbie the Yeti, Homo Frowbie Erectus, Frowbie in the Mist, Frowbie of Greystoke. I'll have to think about it.
Okay, so I stole the the title from a fictional biography of Michaelangelo, but at least "Frowbie on the Rocks" was my own concoction. Anyway, on to the interesting stuff.
How to attempt to sum up all the madness I lived through in 30 days in the Rocky Mountains? I guess that would be impossible. I think I could talk about the trip forever and only the other people on the trip would have any idea what I went through. But here is my attempt. I guess chronological order is the easiest way to do it.
I must admit I was scared to death of not being up to par with the types of people I expected to be on this trip. After talking to a lady from Outward Bound on the phone about the trip I was informed this course was for "the diehards of the diehards". Sweet. So I walk into the meeting area at 7:30AM July 13th and go to sit down and from a group of about 25 people this bald guy shouts out in a southern accent, "Howdy there!" I smiled and said (in my cali accent) "Hey what's up?" And then this southern gentile (that's supposed to be pronounced "jen-teel" as in gentleman, not gentile as in "not Jewish") goes on to introduce himself as Adrian. I think I was the only person he did this to. I'm not sure why. I think he had already introduced himself to everyone else individually, just assuming that anyone at the Holiday Inn must be with Outward Bound. So now I know Adrian.
A few minutes later a lady, who at some point in her life must have donated some vital portion of her brain to science (or anyone willing to accept it really), walks in and tells us the bus is outside. So everyone grabs their gear and piles into this classy orange school bus. After sitting in the bus outside for 20 minutes I come to the conclusion that either a) 25 backpackers have just climbed into a random school bus or b) we have been the victim of a practical joke. I decided the answer was b when she came back out and told us all to get out for some dumb reason, but to leave our gear inside. But, I realized outside when she locked us out of the bus, that the answer was c, she was just a big moron.
My conviction in my answer was further confirmed as we are driving up the mountains and the guy sitting across from me has to keep shouting at the bus driver to look at the windy road in front of us and not the "beautiful 300 foot drop" to our right. At one point the same guy, who has proven to be loud and obnoxious, makes a smart-ass comment to the driver that someone's window is not at least half-way closed "as per regulation". She shouts back to the person to close it a little more, "so you won't fly out if the bus rolls." The guy across from me thinks for a minute and shouts back with a hint of alarm in his voice, "why would the bus roll?" Now I've met Benny.
Benny spends the rest of the trip telling everyone about his final year in wrestling in Philly. In response to a comment about how difficult it is "wrestling the guys in Pennsylvania", a tall lanky guy shouts out, "you don't have to tell me man." It turns out this guy is from Pennsylvania and he helps Benny spend the rest of the trip talking about wrestling, all the while managing to throw in comments about his home town of Lancaster being half Amish, and half outlet malls. Now I've met Matt (the only one of three Matt's who will be called Matt for the next 30 days--I was of course...Frowbie).
So I spent the trip talking with Adrian and a few other people and instantly took a liking to him (no, this is not leading up to some gay love story). When we arrived we all pile out of the bus relieved to be alive, while the bus driver is beaming (ignorance is bliss as they say). So we step out of the bus...and into three inches of mud. Fortunately for me I had, randomly, decided to change out of my sandals and into my gator-stompers (my nickname for my boots--they're indestructible).
Well, the day goes on and we break off into groups and I find out Benny, Adrian, and Matt are in my patrol. Next I proceed to meet the other four in my group: Chris, the group SNAG (Sensitive New Age Guy); Nate, who became our town crier, shouting "Wake up you bitches!", except in the grand tradition of cultural clashes (i.e., Benny's influence on an Alabama boy), it came out "Wake up you bee-atches!"; Will, who due to his uncanny orienteering ability was joked about as sniffing the wind to determine the time of day; and Crow (the third Matt) a Texan who after getting a "butt cold" by accidentally ingesting fecal matter, walked off one morning with the trowel in hand (which was the universal sign for going to take a shit) commenting that he was "just going out for breakfast." And one last note I have to add is that Matt's favorite ice cream is in fact...wait for it, Guiness. Yes, apparently there is a Guiness-flavored ice cream, and Matt was the person to inform the rest of us.
So we spend a few hours getting our gear and choosing what clothes to bring. I had mentioned in my previous email that we were only allowed three pair of underwear. Well, I got to thinking about it and three pair of underwear for 30 days works out to 1 pair for ten days. I didn't so much care about wearing it that long, but when I took them off I wouldn't want to have to touch them except with tongs. Solution? I didn't bring any. What's more I only brought one pair of shorts. And finally, we weren't allowed to bathe in any water sources because it wasn't LNT (Leave No Trace--the outdoors equivalent of Kosher). So to sum up, one pair of shorts, no underwear, no bathing, 30 days. Sweet.
Anyway, by the end of the day we had started backpacking and arrived at our camp by about 7:30PM. Without any elaborate detail I will sum up the evenings events. While setting up our tarps (oh yeah, did I mention we used tarps, not tents, for 30 days even when camping at 12000+ feet on snow?) we were rained on 3 times and hailed on once. While cooking dinner a gas tank leaked and became a bomb waiting to explode all over the forest ground. The whole stove and gas tank were on fire, but we managed to bury it in dirt before it blew. For dinner we had the second worst meal in my life (the worst came later in the trip when someone burned a white sauce, mixed in the burned crap at the bottom and it tasted like burned cigarette butts--literally). And in the mountains you don't have the luxury of just not eating. You need the energy and if you don't eat it, you pack it out. After dinner, when it occurred to me we had no toilet paper I asked what were our implements of sanitation. Well, I was informed, we had many options: rocks ("just find a smooth one and wipe the dirt off"), pine needles ("young trees are best"), pine cones ("dead ones are softer"), snow ("this is your best choice, cuz when it's white, you're done"), sticks ("just peel the bark off and give it a nice long wipe"), grass ("just yank it out right out of the ground"), and leaves ("if you can find 'em, but you probably won't"). Don't laugh. I used every single one. And finally on going to sleep, I thought to myself, "Hey I have a great idea! Leave Irvine. Spend a month in the mountains! Eat shit for 30 days! Carry a 60 pound pack around the mountains! Wipe your ass with pine needles! Be a man! Idiot." Anyway, while I was laying in my sleeping bag, being scared to death of what the next 29 days had in store, I sniffed my bag and noticed a foul stink and remembered the instructor telling me they don't wash the bags, just the liners (known affectionately as fart sacks). My train of thought then went as follows: "That's disgusting! Ya know, that smell is kinda familiar. That's smells kinda like the mac'n'cheese we had for dinner. Agh! That's my breath!"
So I survived the first night--barely. We spent the second and third days learning how to walk up and down mountains on all kinds of fun terrain. We learned how to walk up and down snow in a group and how to stop when you slip. We hiked up into some talus (huge chunks of broken jagged rock) and scree (basically broken shale or small chunks of rock). Then the fourth day, we summitted our first peak. So we have basically had two days to prepare and then day four we climb a mountain. No worries.
We got up at 3:30 in the morning, and OH MY GOD! was it cold! We set out around 5AM while the sun was still not yet up. When we got to the base, we took a water break and people shed layers of clothing. Well, I had decided to wear both my thermals and my thicker fleece pants, which were way too warm with the sun up. Only flaw is I'm not wearing underwear. Solution? Get butt naked in the Rockies baby! Yep, I stripped and changed right there, despite my instructors yelling "Go mountain man," and "You need to wipe that thing better."
So we climbed up a really steep (or so we thought at the time) snow field, over some scree and got to the point were we roped up. I had taken a rock climbing class prior to the trip, but I still hadn't climbed outside of a gym yet, so I was a little nervous. Also, we climbed in our gator-stomper hiking boots, not the petite little slippers rock-climbers wear. Anyway, after a hard slog we arrived at the top around noon and I decided to do a snow angel. It was a lame snow angel. The view did not blow me away as I expected (first mountain climb and all that), but it was gorgeous nonetheless. Then our instructor whips out a huge-ass chocolate bar and we all nearly creamed our pants. Well, I can only speak for myself really, but I'm extrapolating.
We climbed down about a half hour later and got back to camp around three. Now I must admit I was really scared hiking on the scree, because every step you take you slide about a foot and a half. But I lost it entirely when I looked over and our instructor was slaloming down the stuff. He was seriously boot skiing back and forth on broken rock down the mountain! I was amazed at the time, but by the end we were all doing it. Take the 'mountain down with ya' was his instruction (same guy who taught us to shit), the theory being the more rock that follows you down, the more rock will bury your foot so you don't slip. That's good, because I just don't feel safe if my feet aren't buried in a few cubic feet of broken shale. I'm sure you empathize.
Anyway, I cannot begin to even encompass the trip in one short (or even long)
attempt, so I will hit try to sum up briefly.
For the next 4 weeks, we:
Well, that attempts to sum up one of the craziest adventures I have ever lived, and I am sure it does a pathetic job, but that is the nature of adventures, I am learning. They are better lived than relived. And if sound like I loved every minute of it, that is not true. The food sucked. We were never fully rested, always waking up fatigued (it was just that you got used to it, not that you ever felt truly powerful) and at ungodly hours. Wiping your ass with everything under the sun can hurt at times. Carrying 70 pounds on your back across all manner of earth in all manner of weather is only romantic when you're describing it. I have permanent scars on my hips from the weight of the pack (I think a lot of us do). You wanted to kick pretty much everyone's ass at some point during the trip. It was damn cold at night. I came back with scars all over my hands and legs from slipping on rocks, jamming my legs into crevices while climbing (on one climb, I looked down and saw a shiny red spot dripping off a rock, and then saw nice bright band of red across my leg--it looked cool anyway), and bushwacking through some really thorny bushes. But despite all that, those few moments when you are standing on top of a peak looking out over ranges and ranges of mountains or looking up into the clearest night sky gazing through multiple layers of stars, or watching hawks play thousands of feet above in the mountainous castles, you realize some things in life are only to be treasured by the special few who are really willing to work for them. And maybe that is what makes them so special.
I won't get all whimsical, but I want to make a few observations, then I'll shut up.
For a month I didn't have any media influence. I didn't have sex broadcasted at me from every angle. I didn't see people screaming on TV, hear DJ's on the radio trying to portray life as one big party and if you're not in on it then you're a waste, or see those ridiculous women's magazines telling you how to look beautiful (i.e., like everyone else), how to 'get your man' (ask him out, stupid), etc. etc. yak yak yak. One last thing on this subject and you can do the rest. Next time you go to a mall, look around you and really try to notice how much of our economy relies on peoples' insecurities. It's astounding.
For a month I didn't see my face. Try going one day without doing that. It's difficult. It's weird to neither know nor care what you look like. I was clean shaven at the start of the trip. When I saw my reflection for the first time, I looked like I had a beaver skin pasted across my face. Someone made the comment that he hadn't seen himself in so long, he had started to think of his face as that of the people around him. His face was theirs.
TV is dumb. Really dumb. Chris and I turned it on, flipped through every channel and realized we just weren't that stupid and shut it off. It was so passive and we had just spent a month being nothing but active and outgoing.
Rather than "sucking the marrow out of life" (a quote from Henry David Thoreau and common theme on the course), most us get Uncle Ben's prepackaged microwavable marrow, minute marrow, or dehydrated marrow (Just add water!). I've already reverted to a lot of old [bad] habits. But I guess people don't truly appreciate how much societal influence we suffer from until you are removed from it entirely. It's a welcome reprieve. Kind of a chance to redefine everything you ever thought you valued. I came back and couldn't care less about clothes and was seriously confused every time I walked by a clothing store. It just didn't make sense. Why do we need so much when we can get by with so little? Cause we have it shoved down our throats that what we have is never good enough. When were we ever taught to be content with what we have or are?
Giardia sucks. Yes, I got it on the last day of the trip. The day we ran the race and couldn't carry water bottles. If you don't know what it is, look it up.
Okay enough preaching. It happens. Anyway, to sum up, my adventurous spirit was only further fueled by taking this trip, and despite being fatigued to the bone, I found myself whitewater rafting with my dad not 3 days home from the trip, through such rapids as Sledgehammer and Boat-eater. Then on returning home I checked out the NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) homepage and determined that spending two months trekking through Kenya might a be good next adventure. I was literally aching to leave again after being back in civilization only a week and a half. Only problem is money. Since I didn't actually have the money to go on the Outward Bound trip, I am about as in debt as one person my age can be. All in time I suppose. Till then, I have one quote from a very wise man:
"I been smiling lately, thinking about the good things to come..."
--Cat Stevens
P.S. I have been without a home for a total of three months within the past year. I'd just like to thank anyone who let me sleep on their floor or leave my junk in their garage, living room, closet, car trunk or back seat. :)
I learned things that I didn't really know I needed to learn from people I didn't think had anything to teach me. Even now I find myself considering things people said on that trip that I didn't pay much attention to. In fact I have begun acting on some of those ideas, and working them into my life. Thinking back, I am sincerely glad everyone in my patrol was on that trip. There is no doubt we all argued a lot. But we also learned a lot by being thrust into contact with people from entirely different walks of life who had entirely different, and often contradictory, viewpoints. Most of the time we choose our company and in doing so, choose the opinions we will be exposed to. Sometimes it's valuable to not have that choice. I gotta say thanks to everyone in my patrol: Jed, Nate, Jeff, Benny, Mark, Matt, Crow, Will, and Chris, I'd love to hear what you guys are up to. Take care.