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Robert Hunter wrote the words to Ripple and Jerry Garcia sang them. The Grateful Dead played and I guess Jerry is the only public figure whose presence I really do miss. I mean, you know, JFK & MLK & RFK did me in and whether people know it or not their killings did in part of the soul of this nation … soul sickness. I started writing about a song & transcendental beauty and look where I got to. Songs like Ripple, Brokedown Palace, Morning Dew and others were the songs of a new dawn for me and I’m grateful to the Dead and others like the Incredible String Band (“We were trying to do something genuinely wonderful …”) and the Beatles for being responsible to so many people.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night.
And if you go, no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone. (from Ripple)

Anyway, along the road (no simple highway), I’ve been in Places of Transcendental Beauty

• Sitting by the Mekong running deep and strong through the hills of Luang Prabang
• In a mind that sees others, truly, truly
• In my Grandmother’s garden in the golden light of a dreaming vision
• My beautiful wife, ____
• Looking up at the desert sky in the deep night – a million stars shining like the First Night
• Baby David, asleep, safe
• In the kitchen with Jeff on Oram street, the walls yellow, off center, the warmest place in the world, it seemed
• Waking up in a redwood forest looking up at the ancient trees and a bluebird flashing across the vision
• My generation, from Vietnam to dancing free in forests and meadows
• Visions: God; we really are all One
• Leaving Vietnam in 1967 and returning in 2005
• Walking with David behind deserted temples in Angkor
• Seeing the strength of Cambodian refugees back in the bad old days of 1981-86
• Countless 1000s of babies; old people writing new love and strength stories; I mean I get off sitting in North Park and watching it all flow past
• Shwedagon; Burma (the people)
• The Wind River Mountains

Aya!
David asked for a pad Thai recipe – like what they serve for 20 baht at a little stand near the Tha Phae Gate in Chiang Mai (photo below). To-go orders are wrapped in banana leaf and newspaper. Here is a recipe for a classic lunch dish in Thailand.

For about two servings of pad Thai
· Fresh rice noodles or ¼” rice noodles soaked warm water 15 minutes
· 2-4 cloves garlic (crushed and chopped some
· ½ cup firm tofu cut in little strips
· 2 beaten eggs
· 2 or more T peanut oil (more oil improves taste)
· 1-2 handful bean sprouts, maybe also some finely shredded cabbage
· ½ cup water
· Green onions (3-4) cut into 1” pieces
· T fish sauce
· 2 T sugar (palm trad)
· 2 T tamarind juice or rice vinegar (tamarind better, I think)
· Some soy sauce – ideally ½ & ½ regular and sweet Indonesian
· In Thailand they often add a little or a lot little dried shrimp – I prefer fresh shrimp (6-8 ounces or more). You can also cook with pork or chicken.
· On the side: lime wedges,* sliced cucumber and shallot in cold water and vinegar with some sugar, chili powder,* crushed roasted peanut* (don’t be afraid to use more than restaurants), black pepper and lime Cambodian style, mint, basil, little “rat shit” chilis sliced in fish sauce with lime juice & maybe a little sugar,* & anything else you can think of.
* = essential

Set up all the ingredients in bowls in the order they’ll be added.

Heat oil – hot, but not smoking. Wok is best (more hot surface), but anything okay.
· Add tofu, shrimp (shrimp is done when it turns pink)
· Add noodles, then water
· Cook until noodles soft (just a minute or so)
· Add nam pla, tamarind or vinegar, sugar, soy & cook stirring for a minute or so
· Push everything to the side of the wok, add a little more oil and soft-scramble the egg & onion together and flop the other stuff on top of the egg & onion, mix it around some and serve with peanuts over (and on the side) and bean sprouts (just a few sprouts for me, thanks) and cabbage if you have it.

As you can see, it’s a little complicated if you cook it once or twice, but much less so if you make it more frequently.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!
Every weekend we drive to Garland for Vietnamese food. We usually eat at Bistro B and also frequently at Pho Bang. We went today to Bistro B, but it was closed because of a fire eight days ago or there was a fire and the damage will be repaired in 8 days – language issues. The young women working the cash registers were there, giving away baguettes and café sua da to anyone who wandered in. They’re part of the Bistro B experience, easy on the eye, snatching your money (but still glad to see you), multitasking with speed and intensity. So I had my 2nd café sua da of the day and we fired on up the road to Pho Bang for com tam thit nuong (broken rice plate with charcoaled pork chop) with fried egg on top of the rice and some brilliant nuoc cham – and it comes with a little bowl of pho broth. We started out sharing a table (tables in the center of the room seat 8) with a family of five and when they left a woman with three children came to the table. We talked a little and the woman said, “When you want pho, you come here.” It’s true.

Pho Bang is exactly like a basic restaurant in Saigon. The only differences are that Pho Bang has aircon with fans instead of just fans and padded chairs instead of blue or pink plastic. Everything else is the same – the food is great, there are many employees keeping everything moving, everyone there for the food, everyone chock-a-block – it’s a scene.

A nice email to get

From: Carrie
Subject: The Gate In Your Garden (A Cottage Garden)

Good morning!

My husband and I recently bought a house that we are renovating. Part of the project is to grow a fantastic garden. First, however, we are replacing the fence. Months ago I came across a photograph of the gate to your fence (pictured below). I instantly fell in love with the tree (carved?) on the gate and knew I must have something just like it 🙂 It would mean a lot to me and be much appreciated if you could please pass along any information you have regarding that gorgeous gate! Thanks so much!

Sincerely, Carrie
(Pennsylvania)

Hi Carrie,

Thank you. I made the gate from cedar boards, framed vertically into a kind of picture frame box, except the back pieces to hold it steady & join the boards (I used 3 vertical pieces 1½ “ wide to join the vertical boards that make up most of the gate surface), I left off until the last. There is a top, horizontal board (on which is written & carved, “Memories” in my son’s hand). Then I drew a picture on 8.5×11 paper, then drew the same thing, but larger on the gate. Drilled holes where leaves, etc. were to gain access with my hand scroll saw. Cut out leaves and branches. Put in the vertical joining pieces. Used a rasp, then sandpaper to soften the edges of the cuts. Didn’t use preservative – I expect to give out before the gate does.

I know you can grow some great things over there in PA. It’s cold at times, but no searing summer months on end like here. If you decide to grow roses (specifically, old garden roses), I recommend you read about them – that’s what winters are for, reading and dreaming, catalog reading, list-making … find a good nursery that has a good selection of OGRs – most get a new shipment in early spring (well, not that early for you). There are three such places in Dallas – all are independent – you may have to look a little.

Enjoy your home and garden.

Charles

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On one side of my helmet was written, “Morituri te Salutamus” – which I understood to be said by Roman gladiators before the fight and to mean, “We who are about to die salute you.” They started with “Hail Caesar!” – but I wasn’t hailing no mf Caesars. On the other side was a wonderfully rendered Grim Reaper (and my blood type). I understand that lots of people now are running around with tattoos that say similarly grim or grimmer things. In some cases they’re reality statements, like my helmet.

An entry on pain in Erika Lopez’ “clog” (http://clog.erikalopez.com/) put me in mind of that place of mind. I’m adding her site to my links as well as Jo’s wonderful photos taken in Burma and dorf’s backpacking site.

It’s about 6 weeks until we leave to visit David for Thanksgiving in Berkeley, then to Hong Kong for 4 days, Bangkok for a few days, then fly to Hanoi and around (Ninh Binh?) for I don’t know how long and then train on down Vietnam via Hue and I’m unsure where else and on into Saigon and then bus to Phnom Penh where we’ll meet David and spend the week with Samnang’s family. David and Leslie and I will go from there to Chiang Mai area or maybe Penang and back to Bangkok, where we’ll split up and David will head to Houston and Leslie and I will hang in BK for a few days and then fly to Hong Kong for 3.5 days, then home. Photo: Star Ferry stairs

It’s a little strange to be doing this in these economically perilous times, but it’s all been done for a month and Samnang is pretty sick. I’ve been thinking, like many others, about things laid up where moth and rust corrupt. We may need for me to unretire. We’ll see how it goes.

One year, maybe about 1983, Leslie and I were talking about having a garage built, you know, thinking about size, construction, color, cost and what not and then the idea of going to Asia came up and we realized not only would it cost less to go to Asia, but going would be a memory treasure uncorruptable by anything except death or dementia and she looked at me and I looked at her and we laughed – talk about a no-brainer! Annnd, we ended up getting RT Thai Intl. tickets 2 for the price of one!

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These Are the Days (Van Morrison)

These are the days of the endless summer
These are the days, the time is now
There is no past, there’s only future
There’s only here, there’s only now

Oh your smiling face, your gracious presence
The fires of spring are kindling bright
Oh the radiant heart and the song of glory
Crying freedom in the night

These are days of the endless dancing and the
Long walks on the summer night
These are the days of the true romancing
When I’m holding you oh, so tight

These are the days now that we must savor
And we must enjoy as we can
These are the days that will last forever
You’ve got to hold them in your heart.

These are the days by the sparkling river …
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
Those were the days and these are the days – the only days we’re given. May we embrace them as the treasures they are.

Thinking back on the 1960s, the time of this song, the time I came up, the time of war, then of healing and boundless possibilities – days when we really did think in terms of “Oh the radiant heart and the song of glory crying freedom in the night,” and thinking now, what now? Those days are past, and what are these days? A time of slowing, slowing and remembering with sweet nostalgia how it was? Or a time of turning from the long middle of life, now toward now (enriched by what went before) and what lies ahead like a sparkling lake in the high snowy mountains, into lakes, lakes into streams, into lakes, into sparkling rivers and
These are the days
All the days we’re given
All that we have
Holding together
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
I added a new site to the “other links” section on the right side of the page. I met Jo on the internet – his passion for Burma shines on through his photographs and words. I hope you’ll visit Pictures from Myanmar.

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Link to more photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/chaskemp

9/1/08: Leslie and I had breakfast with Chris, Shirin, and Alice right before Chris headed out to the Marine Air Base in San Diego. Good time, even with the anxiety present as Afghanistan marches closer. I was on the road by 10:30, north to Locust Grove (it’s not a suburb) in Eastern Oklahoma to pick up Jeff and then through Oklahoma into Kansas and on to Fort Collins and into town around 6:30am. The Camry camper worked great – very comfortable stretched out in a sleeping bag with feet in the trunk while the miles roll away as the other guy drives. Photo above: Titcomb Basin; Photo below: On the way in

We had breakfast at a Waffle House near the CSU campus. I didn’t realize until I looked at the cooking area that Waffle House is some kind of descendent of Toddle House like where I worked 46 years ago in Baton Rouge at the foot of the bridge from the honky-tonk area across the river. I worked nights, 8p to 6a, 6-7 nights/week, starting at $.85/hour and pretty soon they trusted me so I was making $1.00 and then $1.25/hour working by myself and every night it was drunks coming in from 10 or 11 to 3 or 4 so that a few times I had to pull my butcher knife on guys, and the police were by pretty often, but I cooked up some good breakfasts and burgers (“Gimme one a them masturbators,” they’d shout out when they wanted the ill-named masterburger – you would think that someone would have thought when they were naming this two-pattie cheeseburger, hmmmm, maybe young guys might have some fun with the word, “masterburger,” but they didn’t or maybe it was somebody’s idea of a corporate joke and in any case, it boggles the mind, don’t it), with breakfasts being my favorite to cook and after you’re pretty good and fast at cooking you can do it so that it looks kind of effortless with your arms kind of hanging loose and most things done with a flip of the wrist and you’re looking kind of vacantly into the distance with 2 or 5 or 10 orders going, throwing it down just so – just like the young guy cooking at the place we were eating!

We did some shopping in Ft. Collins (Hiker Pro water filter for me and sleeping bag for Jeff) and headed out for Pinedale across the desolate high desert of southern Wyoming. I remembered how lonely and cold Laramie was in the late night on the streets hitch-hiking to nowhere in 1963 like a rolling stone. We went across miles and miles of scrub until Jeff spotted the Wind Rivers far off in the distance. The mountains were high and stark, with clouds heavy around the tops and where there were no clouds, snow and ice. We stopped at the general store in Pinedale and then on to the trailhead and a Forest Service campground nearby. We camped less than a mile from the trailhead and had a nice fire, then a cold but comfortable night in Jeff’s new REI 3 person dome tent. Photo: 2nd morning

In the morning we had the almond butter and preserves on raisin bread sandwiches and cold café sua da I brought from Dallas and hit the trail. The Pole Creek Trail goes gradually up most of the way, with a few sharp (but short) ups and downs. We cut off north at the trail to Island Lake. Before we stopped we had rain, sleet and snow, but not too much of any of them. The weather became more threatening and we were tired, so stopped at a little lake past Barbara Lake and went a little way up the hill to a perfect flat site. Photo below: Island Lake, I think

We went back down to the lake to filter some water and on the way back to the campsite, ran into a man trying to make things right with a woman who was having a complete meltdown. It seems he had hiked too far ahead of her with the other people in their party and she apparently was feeling tired and alone and afraid – “You’re with ME,” she said as he tried to explain. It was an odd scene and we wondered for several days if she stayed with the hike or went back down. Dinner was mashed potatoes, shelf-stable bacon, cheese, and tortillas – excellent.

On day two we headed up the trail past Hobbs Lake, Seneca Lake and Little Seneca Lake. The trail was more up and down now and in the afternoon there was a heavy cloud cover – strangely, the clouds seemed to be blowing toward us from the south and the north. This wasn’t the last time we would see what seemed to be conflicting winds and weather. I’ve never been anywhere where the weather changed as quickly and frequently as in the Winds. With weather coming from two directions we went off-trail and found an okay campsite, again, half way up a hill above a lovely little basin. It started snowing just moments after we got the tent up. We hung out in the tent until it was almost clear and hiked down to a little stream and filtered water with snowflakes swirling around us. Walking back up the hill, we both ran completely out of breath and strength by the time we got to the tent. Photo: from our campsite in the Basin

We had chili with pasta, tortillas, and cheese for dinner. I couldn’t finish mine, so saved it in the bear vault for breakfast.

I awakened to pee sometime in the night and started putting my boots on. Jeff said I might want to pee in a baggie because it had been snowing for more than an hour. I wouldn’t miss it for anything and went on outside where there was about 2 inches of snow on the ground with the sky mostly clear with a million stars shining and still a few flakes falling. It was an all-time great urination, if a little cold.

In the morning there was snow and ice on the tent. A blue tarp answered the where to eat question. Altogether, a more difficult than usual camp to strike. It was here that I had this major insight: it’s easier to get up at home than in the wilderness. Photo: near camp 3

We headed on up the trail toward Island Lake, which was about ½ mile past our camp. We went past the lake toward the basin and had a nice conversation with two brothers we’d met before on the trail. We also saw the couple from Salida we’d met in the Forest Service campground and again on the trail. They had been to Knapsack Col and said it was too icy for them.

We continued on closer and closer to the jagged grey peaks, icy and snowy, that were the northern boundary of Titcomb Basin. By the time we got to the lower of the two main Titcomb Lakes, we were pretty tired, so split up to search out a good campsite. Jeff found an outstanding site, halfway up a hill of domes and overlooking Titcomb Lakes with the peaks close behind and above.

Once again, setting up camp was slow, for me at least. I was seeing some improvement in breathing, but we were at 10,500 feet and had been humping 5-6 hours/day for three days now – after a 1,200 mile drive – so not too bad for two old flatlanders (not too great either). Jeff took a nap and I wandered over and in between the domes in the afternoon sun. I set up a nice little kitchen area with rocks to block the wind with the idea that we’ll be in this same place for two nights. Photo: Jeff

The only people we saw since leaving Island Lake were the four noted earlier and a man wandering far away off the trail.

For dinner I had pasta with sour cream and chives and dried salmon and vegetables. The salmon stayed crunchy and required a lot of chewing. Jeff had pasta alfredo with tuna and of course we both had tortillas and cheese. After dinner we walked along the little ridge behind our campsite to a nice little hollow space with sunlight and no wind, then further along the hillside and then back to camp. It’s 6:45 and we’re in the tent – a pretty vigorous day. Light snow was swirling in the dark when I got up to pee.

We took the next day off. Walked to the end of the upper Titcomb Lake where Jeff talked with the leader of the National Outdoor Leadership School contingent that was camped above the lake. He told Jeff that about 10 people had backed of Knapsack Col (our planned route out). We climbed along the ridges, slept in the sun, let the day drift away … Photo: we passed this little lake …

Going into places like this and Maroon Bells is a kind of vision quest – not necessarily to see a vision, but to improve vision. What I saw this time were the main things:
– Leslie and David
– My life – church, friends like Jeff, backpacking, working in la clinica, trying to practice mercy, being in places like this
These might (superficially) seem ordinary. One thing is sure though, when you go on a vision quest, you don’t get to specify the vision. This was good vision for me and I’m grateful.

I slept well that night. In the morning, heavy clouds around and over the peaks sealed our decision to walk back out the way we came instead of trying the col deeper in the mountains. We hiked out faster than we hiked in. Going out past Island Lake we saw the man and frantic woman we encountered the first day. She was fine now and they waved gaily and we gave them applause and thumbs up – she passed the test! We made it this day back to our first campsite and passed a nice evening, with a small campfire, very nice. The weather held good and were on the trail early the next morning. Photo: camp 3

The trail out had more uphill sections than we’d remembered. We were back at the trailhead around noon. We went to a pretty nice outfitter for Jeff to get a sleeping pad to replace his “maxi-pad” which had developed a leak. We then looked for a motel – discovering that because of the oil boom and impending winter, there were no vacancies in this or the only other nearby town. We needed a shower and to wash our clothes and to my great distress, broke off the trip. So we did not get to the Cirque of the Towers as planned and instead drove straight on through to Oklahoma to let Jeff off and I continued on home. I wrote to an internet friend that the issue was not that the trip ended early, but the wonder and beauty of what there was.

Ruminations on food:
– Dehydrated marinara, hamburger gravel, and pasta is my favorite; dehydrated chili a close second.
– Idahoan mashed potatoes (“Fully Loaded” or “Southwestern”) and shelf-stable bacon, tortillas and cheese makes a great meal.
– Oatmeal is okay for a few days, then it gets pretty old + it’s fairly heavy.
– The great dehydrated salmon experiment was less than a success (still chewing over here).
– I always take too much food and especially too much trail mix.
– I’m glad I had an extra spoon as I left my favorite spoon at home. I ate with a knife for a day until I found the extra spoon.

Finally: this is an Ultimate Place and God willing, I’ll return for at least two weeks next year. I’m grateful to Swimswithtrout, Double cabin, and Dorf for their help and guidance; to Jeff, my trekking partner; and as always, to Leslie, my wife and life partner for her support and everything else.

(After the Rawah trek) With a glad heart I was on the road from Loveland to Boulder, watching the clock for when to call Leslie in case she was taking a nap. Happy times to talk with my wife. The best place I could find to stay was a Best Western for $130/night with a senior discount – aargh! I was tired and smelly, so took a room, unloaded my gear and went looking for a place to eat. Almost like a sign, I found a Nepalese place – from beautiful mountains to a place from beautiful mountains. I gorged on a pretty good buffet, which was actually more Indian food than Nepalese – no problemo. The photo in the entry below (July 6) of Leslie waiting for a bus was taken somewhere outside Kathmandu on a RTW trip in 1978. Ahhh, Kathmandu, how sweet and high those times! Photo: sunrise near Clayton New Mexico

Back to the room to shower and shower and shower and wash my clothes and shower. Oh man, did that feel good!

I slept very poorly and even got up a few times to work on organizing my gear. In the morning went (several times) to the hotel breakfast buffet and organized my gear. It took a long time repack everything, but finally, after another long shower and a few minutes before checkout time, I was ready.

I got a sandwich from a store and hit the road on out of Boulder. From the highway I could see the Flatirons and other rocks along the ridge outside the town. I remembered hanging out on the 3rd Flatiron with friends, Renn and Rick, playing like monkeys on the rock, racing to the top, drinking wine at the top, bouldering down below, sleeping in my hidey-hole. Further down the ridge I caught a glimpse of Rabbit Ears, which Kor, Bradley and I did a new route on (south face?) in 1963 or 64. Photo: 1st camp, just below treeline below West Maroon Pass

Cruised through the edge of Denver, talking on my cell to Leslie, telling her that my place is with her. I mean, I’m glad to be here, but she is my heart and home.

The highway took me through Georgetown, where Bradley and I worked at the Holy Cat restaurant for a few months one winter. We were paid a few dollars a day, tips (I was the waiter, he the bartender), food, lift tickets and a place to sleep that was so cold we usually slept on the floor of the bar. Good times. I got out and walked around a few minutes – nothing happening in the summer but tourists. I guess now that would be me, too.

The highway to Aspen gets pretty amazing steep and narrow at times. Along the way, I pulled off the road and walked into the forest to eat half the sandwich I’d gotten earlier. Getting deeper into the trip.

I got into Aspen around 4:30 and got directions to the Maroon Bells, got lost, found, and now I’m in the trailhead parking lot writing, waiting for the sun to set so I can sleep. I think I’ll walk toward TH a ways. The mountains look kind of intimidating in the darkening evening clouds. Photo: from West Maroon Pass

I was asleep by 8:30, in my comfortable Camry kind of camper. I dreamed of a woman who lived next door to my grandmother and I was in my grandmother’s house. We were wondering how the woman was doing as we hadn’t seen her in a very long time. We went over there and found her living in the most grotesque conditions – trash, feces, urine and she could barely walk and there was some kind of insect crawling in and out of her rotten left eye, but she seemed mentally or spiritually okay. Taking a note from Leslie, I began pulling some resources together …

I started hiking early in the morning, heading past Crater Lake. I’m stopped in the middle of a scree slope, feeling complete, thinking of my Mom and my Leslie, after my Mom had radiation for brain mets and her hair was starting to fall out in clumps and they were on the porch of Mom’s house behind ours and Leslie was cutting her hair, both of them crying and me looking out the bathroom window at them, crying.

I love my wife,
Heart of my heart,
Companion of my life,
Soul of my soul.

Thinking of David,
How I wish,
How I wish you were here.
Good hiking here, DK.
No mozzies so far today.

People in my prayers today: Leslie, David, Jeff, Mary, Nora, Shirin, Chris, Ron, Bible study guys, so many others … including Forest Service and Park Service peeps and volunteers. Photo: at West Maroon Pass

I lost the trail via a faint trail in the underbrush and snow alongside Maroon Creek. I finally bushwhacked my way back to the creek and got across without a problem. The crossing was made easier by my having gotten into mud soup earlier – gloop – over the tops of my boots, so I was happy to let the river wash my boots and trousers. I hiked up a run-off stream toward where I thought the trail would be and along the way there were 100s of white butterflies fluttering all around me and then, Hello Trail!

About 1:30 I stopped for awhile and talked with a young couple on a day hike to West Maroon Pass. I told them it gives me joy to see them so young and strong and they said something sweet in return. As I write this more than an hour later, I realize in that hour I haven’t thought about a bummer of an earlier experience. So they gave me a healing – give you joy, give me joy.

Clouds were rolling in and I was at the last place to camp before the snow and scree on the way up to the pass, so I stopped and set up camp. My feet were wet and cold and as soon as the tent was set up and water replenished, I took my wet stuff off and dried them babies – oh happy feet in dry socks & Crocs. This has been a good day’s hike, taking my time, stopping to write. I’ve taken my time and gotten to wherever I’ve gotten to and here I am, wherever I am, as happy as a clam. Photos (above & below: from West Maroon Pass

It’s about 4pm and I’m back on the pattern that Jeff and I worked out: hike for 6-8 hours, set up camp, fix the main meal of the day, relax. Today I had beef stroganoff, salsa, cheese, tortillas, water and a small piece of dark chocolate for dessert. I’m sitting in dappled shade, among wildflowers, leaning against a gnarled pine, occasional white butterflies flitting around. No mosquitoes, a very few flies, cool breeze, the only sounds the water rushing down the mountains in many streams and rivulets from the melt-off and the wind. Now a bird, but mostly just water and wind.

As the sun goes down it seems a few more birds, but not many. Sun setting behind the mountains and it’s cooler now. The tent vestibule is tied open, so I can look at Belleview Mountain as I go to sleep. I realized a little while ago that I‘ve camped on an extension of the mountain like a small plateau in a huge basin – mountains all around, except for the long narrow valley I walked up, up, up. Photo: my favorite place, a small basin near Trail Rider Pass

At daybreak I lay in my tent watching the light hit the top of Mount Bellview and Belleview Mountain and the light slowly moving down the rock and snow …

I broke camp at 7:20 and started, where else, up. From camp to the pass it was mostly snow, but none steep enough to warrant crampons, which is good, as I don’t have any. Along the way I lost the trail, but a young man named John called me to the trail. We sat and talked awhile and then he took off up the trail and across snow. I followed at a much slower pace. There was more and steeper snow close to the top of the pass, so I headed straight up what turned out to be unstable mud and rock. Toward the top it was steep enough to be don’t-look-down steep (for me, anyway) until I made it to all rock. Whew, I didn’t like that much. And then to the top of West Maroon Pass at about 12,500 feet – breathtaking.

I’m sitting at the pass, resting and writing in the sun and no snow. This is why I’m here. This thin air. This basin on my right. This basin on my left and lakes far below. This time to be still – especially the still in the astonishing.

From the pass I went down steep switchbacks and across more snow and then a nice walk through fields of flowers. I’m guessing I’m about a week ahead of the greatest display, but there are many blooming now, too, so no complaints from me. Photo: looking down on basin

Then the trail started up toward Frigid Air Pass, not too steep, but ever upward and I needed to rest every 100 meters or so. When I got to the top, there was another stunning view of Fravert Basin and peaks stretching far away.

Down steep switchbacks, more snowfields, more trails of muddy water and finally a good campsite in Fravert Basin. Still no mosquitoes. I set up camp fast as there were threatening clouds. Fixed dinner (chili, hamburger gravel, tortillas, cheese, water, bite of dark chocolate) with a few raindrops falling, then no rain, but heavy clouds. 10 minutes after dinner some thunder. Sitting here in a grove of trees among flowers writing.

Two women literally run into the first (next) campsite with two muddy goldens. It’s the mother-daughter team the young man named John told me about. They’re rushing to set up their tent and make it with about 15 seconds to spare before the rain starts, so that’s good. Hoowee, I’ll bet it’s a scene with those two muddy dogs and all their gear piled in. I remember when our golden, Goldy, would shake off – what a huge spray of water!

It’s cooled down, raining for about 30 minutes so far.

I’m a little surprised at how little I’ve thought of my work (teaching community health) these past weeks. I feel a kind of background sense of pride in a job well-done for quite a while. I’ve never doubted for a moment that I left at the right time. It was getting so hard keeping all those windows open and operating at the same time – multiple undergraduate and graduate students, multiple patients, multiple systems (uni, clinic, grants). I was thinking today about how well the last two groups of students took care of me – literally. I’ll never forget it. Photo: from Trail Rider Pass

I guess it’s common when you’re a short-timer, to slack off – but we never did – I worked hard and so did the students – no compromises – full-speed and serious until the end. Something my employer and (non-student) colleagues (with several notable exceptions) never understood was the extent to which my students and I worked in partnership. They never understand that we worked together to heal the sick, physically and spiritually. They never understood the importance of that to the students and their growth as healers and humans.

So here’s to you, all the beautiful students.

I think it was raining when I went to sleep. There was a lot of lightening and thunder and then that passed, leaving a gentle rain.

The only problem with my neighbors being close was that their tent overlooked what I had planned to be my toilet area. So I broke camp and hiked up the trail a ways to a more private area. Then I filled my water bladder and bottle and had a devotional and started up the trail through a forest primeval, past a spectacular waterfall (Photo above) and any number of smaller falls.

When I got to the North Fork River, it was running deep and fast. Being alone and not trusting my strength/balance in crocs, I decided to wade across in my boots. It was a good decision as the water was very strong. Though I stopped on the other side and wrung my socks out and poured the water out of my boots, my feet were wet and cold the rest of the day. Photo: a stream

Shortly past the river was a big field of columbine. The trail was going up at that point and I failed to take a photo – alas, this was the only large field of columbine I saw. I walked through fields of flowers – yellow, white, blue, a few maroon – ever upward, through groves of aspen, scattered pines, upward. At some point I felt unsure of where I was and felt uneasy about it. To my left was a huge grey mass of rock and I felt a little uneasy about that, too. Forty years ago I would have been trying to work out a route up the face to the top, but, times change.

Finally I came around a corner and there was a beautiful little basin with a plateau and two little lakes with rounded granite formations on several sides. It was a perfect place to camp, but for some reason I wanted to push on to Trail Rider Pass. I’ll come back to this place, though. Onward, up, up, up and finally over the pass. The mother/daughter/2 dogs team was behind me for awhile, and on the approach to the pass they pulled ahead. At one point, as I stopped to gasp – I mean rest, I saw the dogs sitting on a rock outcrop gazing over the valleys while the humans labored slowly up the trail.

Finally to the top and another stunning view across the mountains and down into Snowmass Lake. I descended across more snowfields, the steepest so far. Near the edge of one I spaced out for a moment, losing my concentration a moment too soon and slipped and slid with shocking speed about 15 feet into some rocks. Yikes! Down, down, down, with some of the snowfields less steep so I could kind of slide/skate along for fun. Photo: from either Trail Rider or Buckskin Pass

Got to the trail junction near the lake. One way went maybe ¼ mile (down) to the lake and the other way went up toward the next pass. I took the path toward the pass, so missed camping close to the very beautiful lake. A great infantry truth: he who humps down, must hump up. My campsite that night was a textbook on where not to camp (many mosquitoes, among huge trees, several were dead – “widow-makers,” as the Baylor chaplain says). Beautiful bird songs in the evening, one of which I hadn’t heard before. And, as always in the mountain forests, woodpeckers.

In the morning I fixed a cup of coffee, ate an energy bar (Wild Child’s recipe) and took off up the trail. The 4th pass, Buckskin Pass was the easiest and I went up without much difficulty (found a tiny bird’s nest with dark brown eggs in a hole by the trail) to find yet another amazing view, then down, down, down toward the trailhead. It started to rain, but I doddered along, carefully, tired, happy, and grateful for my trekking poles – an old man’s friends for sure. Photo: cornice at Buckskin Pass

Flowers I saw that I can identify: purple fringe, lacy paintbrush, alpine primrose, marsh marigold, alpine clover, tansy aster, columbine, mountain bluebell, king’s crown, and (my favorite) alpine forget-me-not.

Animals: pronghorn antelope (in New Mexico), pica, chipmunk, marmot, mule deer, bighorn ram, llama, ground squirrel, rat (as in ratus ratus).

Meals – Dinner: marinara, beef, pasta, tortilla, cheese; chili with beef, tortilla, cheese; pasta alfredo with chicken, tortilla, cheese; pasta parmesan with chicken, bagel, cheese; I always added olive oil and salsa or peppers to the entree.
Breakfast: oatmeal with dry fruit, pecans, and milk.
Lunch: energy bars (Wild Child’s) or trail mix.
I think I need to increase my intake some.

After the trek eats: hamburger, fries, Pepsi; Sicilian pizza, coke; sausage biscuit, hash browns, coffee; Vietnamese beef with cheese on top (Cheese? Um, good.), chao gio, potato chips, Cheerios with strawberries. Mr. Pigo. Photo: pica.

Photos from Maroon Bells and Rawah Wilderness

Sometimes it’s like I’m looking in on a Shakespeare tragedy, in reality, seeing people’s lives pass through mine, today, children – still sweet – of a woman who wears her resume on her arms and neck and elsewhere in a series of tattoos done in an East Dallas barrio apartment and you know, women don’t do these kind of tattoos around here because they are a little, uh, alienated. When they were ready to leave, her son says to me, “Is there any question you want to ask her?” I say, “Yeah, how are you, Mom?” “I’m doing good.” (Meaning, she’s clean.) And I’m saying to her son, “Hey ______ , next summer you’ll be 13 – old enough to volunteer at the clinic, what do you say, want to come here a day or two a week?” And he lights up, quietly, and says, “Yes. Can my big sister come too?” “Sure, no problem.”

A man I know comes in, a retired police officer. He’s bringing his grandson in for a scout physical. He tells me his wife died in November 2006 and his daughter died in November 2007 and he’s taking care of his grandchildren, new responsibilities, back in law enforcement. The South Texas retirement home he and his wife built and she never saw is empty.

The verb, hostage: one of our patients tells me that she had been an accountant in El Salvador until 4 months ago. She came to the U.S. after her brother was “hostaged” and killed in December. Another brother had been “hostaged” and killed 11 years ago. These were political kidnappings that also involved ransoms that once paid, resulted in death.

Each one of our patients comes to us with a background. Sometimes the stories are ordinary, sometimes good, and sometimes terrible. But each one is the story of a life, a family, strengths, weaknesses. It’s a good thing to find a place where you can tell your story.

Romeo & Juliet (they used to have a scene)