Recipe

On the Summit

Water,
Sand,
Snow,
And rock.

Fly fish,
Cycle,
Ride,
And walk

Gravel,
Grass,
Mud,
And scree.

Backpack,
Wander,
Scale,
And ski.

Mountain,
Cavern,
Dirt,
And ice.

Explore,
Trek,
Cave,
And climb.

Talus,
Forest,
Stream,
And crag.

Summit
Surf,
Sail,
And cast.

Tundra,
River,
Lake,
And hill.

Yoga,
Swim,
Camp,
And chill.

Ocean,
Desert,
Cirque,
And peak.

Prepare,
Proceed,
Persist,
And Seek.

Simple,
Treasures,
Pure,
And sweet.

On the Road

Some of Life’s Good Things

After a Storm

The wind at your back.
Warm sun on your face,
And a bluebird sky.

Hot unflavored dark roast coffee.
A climbing rope that holds your fall,
And a self-arrest that works.

The first time a trout takes your fly.
A big stack of dry firewood,
And burned-bottom cornbread.

Rain pelting your tent with you inside it and dry.
A full water bottle,
And tires with enough air.

Arriving back.
A trail that flows well,
And a Snickers bar.

Shifters that work.
A hoppy IPA,
And a thunderhead in the distance.

Good sitting spots next to a campfire.
A warm coat,
And chips and salsa.

Extra room in your backpack.
A tank full of gas,
And shoelaces that stay tied.

Heading out on a journey.
A flat place to sleep,
And new terrain.

Star-filled skies.
A light switch that works,
And money in your pocket.

A crime report that doesn’t include your name.
A colorful sunset,
And paint that doesn’t peel.

Someone to tell your stories to.
A rock that breaks where it’s supposed to,
And lightning that strikes something besides you.

Sitting on a mountain summit when it’s not windy.
A bear that leaves you alone,
And a falling tree that misses you.

Crawling into your sleeping bag on a cold night.
A near-miss,
And homegrown tomatoes.

Tent zippers that work at 2:00 am.
A river that’s not flooding,
And fresh batteries in your headlamp.

Trouble-free audio on a Zoom call.
A door that only opens when it’s supposed to,
And a full roll of toilet paper.

The smell of a forest after a rain.
A waterfall where there’s not supposed to be one,
And duct tape.

Someone to tell you stories.
A red sky at night,
And new places to go.

10.5 mm of rope

Re-finding the Silver Trail- Copper Canyon, Mexico

Hike-a-bike on the Silver Trail

From the mines near Batopilas,
To the bank in Chihuahua.
And then by train,
To El Paso.
Haul the silver,
Hide the gold.

125 miles of trail.
Trains of mules with steel shoes,
Tarahumara’s with none.
Five stations along the way.
Mountains with pines,
Canyons with rocks.
Following the path,
That leads,
To the wagon road,
At Carachic.

A generation of travel,
Stopped by time.
Trees grow,
Meadows change.
The route forgotten,
Except for what,
The mules cut,
Into the rock,
With their hooves.

Forgotten stories linger:
Pilares, El Patron,
La Laja, Los Conchos,
El jefe with the knife,
Teboreachi,
The piano,
Huajochi.

Eventually, the day arrives.
And we go.
60 years later.

Years of talk and wondering,
Turn into action.
How hard could it be?
Mountain bikes, walking, and camping
Many questions asked,
But few answered.
Is this the trail?

We do it backwards- from Carachic.
First to El Ojito, then on south.
Past La Herradurra,
Night with Gabino Flores at Huajochi Station,
Walk through the Arroyo de las Iglesias,
Camp at The Hot Springs,
The next night with support at Pilares Station.

On to Siquerichi.
Cold night at La Laja Station.
Camping near Teboreachic Station.
Past Coyachique,
Then down to the Batopillas River.
From there, it’s ten miles of gravel road,
Finally, we arrive in Batopilas,
And Casa San Miguel.

The trail re-found
Was it ever lost?
Reconnoitered, mapped,
Ridden, walked, photographed,
Written and talked about.

Then,
Like before, the Chabochis
Move on.

But the trail stays.

Morning Dawns in Huahochic

Tarahumara- a poem

Tarahumara Man- Copper Canyon, Mexico

 

Drum,

Beating slowly,

And filling the air

With distant

Thumps.

 

A sound that connects

One canyon

To another.

One village to

The next.

 

Like a heartbeat,

Faintly pounding,

Almost rumbling,

As the people

Move their feet.

 

Walking

Somewhere, always somewhere.

Down the arroyo,

Across the meadow

To the big rock,

Never talking.

 

Soft, but hardened,

Mostly happy,

Sometimes sad,

And often burdened.

 

By others,

Who want something more

Than….

 

Semana Santa,

Matachines,

Tesguinado,

Rara’muri.

 

Many

Places to go,

People to see,

Things to do,

And a world to ponder.

Semana Santa, Noragachic

Mine Riding

033_Old_Mine
Porfirio Diaz Tunnel

The entrance to a horizontal mine shaft that we could ride our mountain bikes into was music to our eyes. The stone opening to the Porfirio Diaz Tunnel sat solemnly on a hillside in the middle of a barrio in Batopilas, Mexico. Sure, it’d been abandoned for 70 or 80 years. But that was of no consequence to us at the time. The entrance was circular and at about 12 feet in diameter, a little bigger than we’d each envisioned it to be previously. A flat dirt surface/pathway- perfect for mountain bikes– led into the darkness. Even though the place had the ominous appearance of almost being eaten by the solid rock, its beckoning call was persistent and ultimately won us over.

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Guaymas, 1971

Adventure lurks………

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Unexpected Suspension Bridge

It was Christmas break of my sophomore year in high school when Jake and I took off from Denton. We were geared up and driving his parent’s VW Camper-van (with their permission) bound for Mexico with a stop in Douglas, Arizona en route. The plan was to meet up in Douglas with an older/more mature person, whom I knew from the summer camp where I had worked the previous summer. The three of us would travel from there on down to Guaymas, Mexico, where we’d camp, have some quality beach time, and experience a bunch of “neat adventure stuff.” (Note- years later, and as a father, I’m not sure how we got our parents to agree to the plan. Although I do remember it being a good thing that we were going to be under the supervision of someone older). In the van, there was scuba gear packed away under one of the seats in cardboard boxes, places to sleep, and we must have had some food.

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Nacho Kino

Missing a Tutuburi

Copper Canyon Kino Springs campsite
Camping at Kino Springs

The countryside opened up as the Silver Trail left the Valley of the Churches. Our group of seven had passed a young Tarahumara man (the indigenous people of Mexico’s Copper Canyon) earlier in the day. And I’d asked about Nacho Kino, an old Tarahumara whom I’d met while mapping the Silver Trail a few years before.

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Frolicking in the Alps

 

Rope Team 2
A Rope Team

I could tell the story from my first Alps trip about the Swiss barmaid hovering around outside of my tent late one night asking for my tentmate, Matt. Or the one about Matt and I racing our Swiss guides back down from the top of the Argentine Miroir (a famous rock climb) to a nearby café where our group was waiting. Both occurred amid an adventure trip that the two of us were leading. It was made up of people of varying ages, including teenagers, a doctor who was even older than me, and my non-alpinism-experienced wife, Lori.

I’ll leave the details of those two events up to the reader’s imagination and, instead, tell the one about Lori, Doctor Bob, and Big Chris crossing a glacier.

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The Ride Down to Sorata

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Mountain biking

We topped the ridge on the dirt road and began dropping quickly into the valley on our mountain bikes. We all knew that it’d continue to get warmer and greener as we descended from the Bolivian highlands, but our thoughts were mostly focused on what awaited us at the end of the ride. The anticipated post-ride rewards were different for each person- a warm bath, cold beer, hot coffee, a dry room. And so, we thought of those things, and little else as the town of Sorata came increasingly into view.

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Beeting Aconcagua- The Climb

Climbing on the highest peak in the Western Hemisphere, 1985.

Summit Ridege- Huayna Potosi
Rope team ascending a big peak

    

          At an elevation of 22,841 feet, Aconcagua is the tallest mountain in both the Western and Southern Hemispheres. As South America’s tallest peak, it’s also one of the Seven Summits (highest point on each continent). Via most of the routes normally followed, it’s a mostly non-technical undertaking, although it is big. It’s sheer size, location, and the persistent presence of a cold, wet, and snowy wind known as the Viento Blanco have led to a variety of medical problems for climbers throughout the years. This particular expedition occurred in February 1985.

          This is the story of that climb: 

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