Tag: outdoors

Moving Forward

 

 

A photograph of a mountain lake reflecting the surrounding mountains

If there’s a Heaven, and assuming that’s where I go, I hope there are:

Bluebird skies to fill my eyes,
Brilliant stars to light the nights,
Unknown trails to touch my feet,
Mountaintops to hope to reach.

Lot’s of trees to fill the forests,
Golden Trout to take my flies,
Sketchy ledges to try to ride,
Good friends to walk beside.

Open spaces just to wander,
No time to waste or squander,
Stiff breezes to nudge me onward,
No false summits to tease me forward.

Silent places to clear my head,
Smells of flowers to fill my nose,
New horizons to give me hope,
Boundless vistas to help me cope.

Solid rock to hold onto,
Cooing doves to listen to,
Flowing rivers to float my boat,
Roaring rapids to hope to float.
.
Massive glaciers to ski across,
Mountain streams to need to cross,
Flat spots to pitch my tent,
Stacks of rocks to block the wind,

Deep crevasses to blow my mind,
Smokeless campfires to warm my spine,
New treasures to try to find,
No good times to leave behind.

Audio Version:

Taking a Break

 

Golden Lake in the Wind River Range of Wyoming
The Wind River Range, Wyoming

Dreams of a river
Full of trout,
And an alpine summit
Without a route;

Of slippery slopes
All clad in ice,
And trail suppers served
Without any rice;

There’s alpine tundra
Filled with flowers,
Lonely mountaintops
With red rocky towers;

Huge herds of Bison
Shake the ground,
And Mule Deer run
Without a sound;

A strong wind answers
With silent breath,
The persistent questions
Of life and death;

Bull Elk bugle
Their signalling call,
While Aspens brighten
A mountain fall;

There are spongy hummocks
Of wetland grass,
And clear blue lakes
As smooth as glass;

The horizon’s filled
With massive peaks,
Snow-melt fills
A maze of creeks;

Unknown trails
Are everywhere,
I wonder which
Will take me there;

There are boulder fields
And talus slopes,
Berry vines
And climbing ropes;

Happy faces
Wide open spaces,
A lot of places
With few human traces;

I open my eyes
And step back onto the trail.
I breathe in deep;
Choose where I’m going;
Smile; and exhale.

Audio:

Mountain climbers nearing the summit of a mountain

Livin’ and Learnin’

 

 

 

 

Messin’ with a Red Ant,
Drawin’ pictures in the dirt,
Swattin’ at a gnat,
And takin’ off my shirt.

Lookin’ at a cloud,
Whistlin’ out of tune,
Thinkin’ about tomorrow,
And wonderin’ if it’s noon.

Damin’ up the creek,
Wishin’ for a flood,
Hopin’ for dessert,
And playin’ in the mud.

Watchin’ buzzards soar,
Freezin’ in the snow.
Trippin’ on a root,
And seein’ what’s below.

Hammerin’ rocks together,
Tastin’ leaves and grass,
Livin’ in the moment,
And sittin’ on my ass.

Hearin’ Coyotes yippin’,
Puttin’ band-aids on my knee,
Tastin’ Honeysuckle,
And fightin’ with a tree,

Crossin’ on a log,
Bangin’ with a stick,
Gettin’ stung by wasps,
And feelin’ kinda sick.

Laughin’ at the squirrels,
Swimmin’ with the Perch,
Dryin’ in the Sun,
And headin’ off to search.

Burnin’ up the daylight,
Avoidin’ all the Ticks,
Yellin’ cause I can,
And fiddlin’ with some sticks.
Screamin’ at a boulder,
Listenin’ to the day,
Runnin’ from a bug,
And ponderin’ what to say.

Walkin’ without shoes,
Forgettin’ things I know,
Rememberin’ what just happened,
And rowin’ with the flow.

Drinkin’ from a pond,
Witchin’ with a stick,
Rollin’ down the hill,
And floatin’ in the crick.

Climbin’ on a mountain,
Raisin’ up the sail,
Breathin’ in the air,
And followin’ a new trail.

Leanin’ on a tree,
Ponderin’ sticker burrs,
Rattlin’ the bushes,
And screamin’ if it stirs.

Soakin’ up the mornin’,
Celebratin’ what went right,
Smellin’ all the roses,
Not frettin’ about the night.

Fillin’ up the moments,
Soakin’ in the day,
Savorin’ ‘round the corner,
Goin’ where I may.

Audio File:

A ba backpacking cooking group prepares a mealroup
Supper

Light at the End of the Tunnel

 

The afternoon rain nourished the ground,
But left your fingers cold, wet, and numb.
Your hands feel like blocks of wood.
The situation is miserable,
But a hot cup of coffee awaits.

It was only a riffle,
But the canoe turned over anyway,
And all of your stuff is soaked.
There’s a warm and stiff breeze,
So just pull over to the bank,
Unpack your gear, set it out,
And let the wind work its drying magic.

The snow has gotten into your boots,
And your socks are sopping wet.
Your toes are beginning to ache
And lose feeling.
But the cabin is nearby,
And you’ll soon have your bare feet
Propped up on a chair and warming in front of the wood stove.

The early morning rain shower
Was unfortunate, timing-wise.
The tent fly is completely saturated
And it’s time to pack up and leave.
So just stuff it in the bag as is.
Soon enough, you’ll have it spread out
And drying under a blaring sun.

The conditions are brutal above treeline,
But that’s where you are.
High winds are blowing the snow
Directly into your face,
Stinging, burning, and limiting what you can see.
But the calm of the refugio
Is only a few minutes away.

Somehow, you got the tent set up in the rain,
Before the full force
Of the storm arrived.
Now it’s really coming down.
But” glory be!” –you’re warm and dry
Inside the tent and zipped up in your sleeping bag

There’s no moon, and the night is incredibly dark.
You’ve put on all the clothes you have
But are still cold.
You bundle up in your sleeping bag
As much as you can, but your shivering is out of control.
Then, you remember
That dawn is coming,
And tomorrow is supposed to be hot and sunny.

Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere.
You’re alone, it’s late-night, and you’re
Distressed by the thought of all the things you don’t have.
But then, you realize what you do have,
Which includes no pressing schedule
And a pleasantly warm night ahead.
And so, you recline the seat,
Close your eyes, and relax yourself to sleep.

The thunder and lightning are especially terrifying
From your up-close position under the tree.
Thankfully, you got your raingear on
Before the thunderstorm unleashed its torrent.
It begins to rain hard,
But the time between thunder and lightning
Is beginning to lengthen,
And you know that means the storm is moving away.

Rest comes easier,
When you know there is,
Light at the end of the tunnel.

Anchoring the Tent

 

Outside the Doors, Nature Scores

 

Colorado mountains
Miles and Miles of Wild

Drizzly days
And hilltop haze.
Northern Lights
And starry nights.

Soggy trails
And empty sails.
Mountaintops
And hurt that stops.

Fields of flowers
And meteor showers.
Desert sands
And barren lands.

Paths aplenty
And options many.
Frozen hands
And fouled up plans.

Horrid heat
And driving sleet.
Summit hopes
And gentle slopes.

Thirst unquenched
And clothes all drenched.
Grazing herds
And flocks of birds.

Gentle breeze
And massive trees.
Blowing gales
And monster tales.

Wild Strawberries
And pristine prairies.
Foot stuck in mud
And massive flood.

Thorny shrubs
And a boot that rubs.
A swimming Otter
And fresh running water.

Deep snow on ridges
And rotten bridges.
Double rainbows
And grassy meadows.

Warm sunshine
And stars align.
Runout cracks
And big bear tracks.

Possibilities many
And thoughts of plenty.
No food or drink
And skunks that stink.

Butterflies
And stormy skies.
Hornet stings
And Condor wings.

Times of wonder
And times of thunder.
Wobbly fawns
And rainy dawns.

Squirrels at play
And birds of prey.
Rose hip tea
And churning sea.

Majestic views
And trails you lose.
Grand waterfalls
And sheer cliff walls.

Warming fire
And prickly briar.
Red sunsets
And route regrets.

Blue noontime sky
And dust in eye.
Lost, then found
And a cracking sound.

Unseen growls
And hooting owls.
Joyous hoots
And slippery roots.

Thank-god Holds
And summer colds.
Scree to ski
And crashing tree.

Moonlight glow
And blowing snow.
Horny Toads
And unneeded roads.

Times of glitch
And times of rich.
Times of pain
And times of gain.

Outside the door
There’s lots of or.
There’s good and bad.
And happy and sad.

So,
Embrace the rhymes
And engage the times.

———————————————————–

Audio Version:

Clearing in the West

Part of the View

 

I climb to a high place,
And savor the view,
So much to see,
My world seems anew.

Ground ripples below
Until it reaches a stream.
That’s flowing along
With water agleam.

Bright shiny reflection,
Small, but intense.
Catches my eye,
Creating suspense.

A big Douglas Fir,
Sways to and fro’.
Seems guarding something,
From what I don’t know.

Squirrel scampers across
A branch to my side.
It notices me,
And begins to chide.

The light moves on,
And the magnificent buck
That’s resting under a pine,
Looks more like a duck.

Out of the forest,
A trail comes forth.
Crosses below
And heads to the north.

Some animal runs,
Its movement a flash.
Then abruptly jumps into
The creek with a splash.

A rock falls from the cliff
Off to my right.
Its crash at the bottom
Creates quite a sight.

Above the horizon,
Beyond what I know,
Big mountains arise,
All capped in snow.

Where clouds meet the ground,
And land becomes sky.
The near disappears,
And far enters my eye.

Then, I realize,
That the things that I see.
Are simple, yet complex,
And all part of me.

Each time I gaze,
At the world all around.
The sights may be different,
But they always astound.

It’s heartening to know,
I have a role in the view.
I’m a cog in the world,
A part of the stew.

So, I stand up and turn,
Then go on my way.
Ready to face,
What comes as it may.

Audio Version:

Seeing the Sunset

Good Senses

Looking into the Copper Canyon backcountry

Starry nights
And faraway lights.
Where storm clouds go
And a wild lightning show.

Above the peak
And the end of the trail.
Crossing a log
And staying out of the bog.

Warm days in winter
And fields full of color.
Snowfall in summer
And a distant drummer.

Intriguingly perched boulders
And birds flying south.
The movements of herds
And undefined words.

Second winds found
And hills lit by the sun.
Uncharted miles
And grandeur that smiles.

Mysterious corners
And faces in logs.
Waves rolling in
And time without end.

Branches all tangled
And stickers that stick.
Why campfires smoke
And cause you to choke.

The bacon that’s cooking
And ants that don’t bite.
Dust Devils on the horizon
And moments that wizen.

Unknown new roads
And scratching an itch.
At the top of the climb
And the future time.

Life fills up your mind
And lights up your path.
So, free your spirit to wander,
There’s so much to ponder.

Audio Version:

A campfire to smell

Rich

backpacker walking down a dirt road in the mountains with the Aspen trees turninggolden.

Count your wealth
In soaring trees,
Dunes of sand,
And sprawling seas.

In Limestone rocks,
Granite faces,
Grassy meadows,
And open spaces.

In thorny cactus,
Whitetail Deer,
Rolling plains,
And rivers clear.

In moonlit nights,
Gentle snows,
Trails of dirt,
And cawing crows.

In Bison herds,
Buzzing bees,
Starry nights,
And cooling breeze.

In boulder fields,
First raindrops,
Boggy creeks,
And mountain tops.

In waterfalls,
Cedar breaks,
Grizzly Bears.
And big snowflakes.

In gurgling springs,
Hungry snakes,
Wild raspberries,
And alpine lakes.

In Aspen groves,
Wild mountain honey.
Spring wildflowers,
And days all sunny.

In vast pine forests,
Pecan bottoms,
Briar patches,
And colorful autumns.

So count your blessings
Not your gold.
Nature’s rich,
“Look, behold.”

Audio Version:

Boquillas Canyon on the Rio Grande

 

Mired in the Mud

Backpackers crossing a creek
Crossing a creek

Backpacking down the trail.
I come to a creek,
And look for a crossing.
It’s a dry one I seek.

Suddenly I’m stopped,
Mired in the mud.
A boot gets stuck,
And I fall with a thud.

I feel my body,
And nothing seems hurt.
I decide to get up,
And wipe off the dirt.

Except…

The dirt that covers my hands and legs,
Is gooey, wet, and awful sticky.
And to clean it off now I realize,
Will be a task that’s mighty tricky.

So, I wade into the stream,
Where the water is wet.
Wash off the mess,
And loudly scream.

Now that I’m clean,
But thoroughly soaked.
I continue across,
My dry crossing revoked.

I clamber out of the water,
On the other side.
Drenched to the hilt.
And I begin to slide.

The weight of the backpack,
Pulls me back.
Toward the water,
And I begin to totter.

Once again I fall,
Onto my back this time.
My pack’s submerged,
But without the grime.

My stuff’s all soaked,
My elbow aches.
Getting up is hard,
And my body shakes.

Finally, I’m up,
And proceed once more.
This time careful,
As I reach the shore.

Then, it’s out of the water,
Up onto the bank.
This time it’s easy,
I have two fails to thank.

Audio Version:

backpackers on the trail
Backpacking