Bottomless Pit

It was a Friday morning when Brent and I set off to find the Bottomless Pit.
It was a place we'd been told was gorgeous,
and a 14 mile hike up Barr Trail.

Well, four miles up (seriously UP) we were told it wasn't a 14 mile round trip hike.
Rather, it was 22.

We charged ahead.
Did I say we'd heard it was gorgeous?

There were a few obstacles to overcome.

Barr trail is steep.
Very, very steep.
A lot of huffing and puffing and resting.

And then there was this guy.
And when a bear decides to hike the trail, well, you just let 'im.

From big animals to small...

Made it all the way to Barr Camp. Seven miles of trail and 3,700 feet of elevation gain.

But still 4 miles from our goal.
We continued to climb.
Then, about two and a half miles from the Bottomless Pit, we came out under the summit of the peak. 

Rough, rugged terrain all around us.
Where was the beauty we were supposed to be finding?
When Brent asked me if I thought this was pretty, I said, "No. But yes."
Even ruggedness has a certain beauty to it. 

We kept walking.
And in the middle of all that barrenness...


There is this...

So we stared in awe.
And had lunch (homemade pico de gallo and pizza, thankyouverymuch).

And took pictures...

And stared at the view from almost-the-summit.
(And really, who wants to summit?
At the summit you have a parking lot and gift shop.
Here you have a waterfall.
I mean, really, is there a debate to be had?) 


By the time we were almost to the bottom, even the bees were tucked in for the night.

Amazing, amazing, amazing.

I talked to Matt Carpenter yesterday about the area and he told me there are also the ruins of a shack up there and a couple cars - from people who have tried to commit suicide by driving off the top. We didn't see any of that. I guess anything man-made just didn't stand a chance next to this.

Lessons Learned:
1) Sometimes arduous journeys lead to beautiful jewels.
2) Sometimes, in the midst of the most rugged, barren-looking terrain, life springs forth.

Cloud Porn

That's what John calls it. I think he's right. We couldn't stop taking pictures. 

Taken from the top of his roof on Thursday evening. 

Lessons Learned: 

1) Watching a storm roll in from the highest roof in the area can feel a bit scary. But some risks are worth taking. 

2) Turn around. Look at the whole view. Perspectives change when you do. 

3) A scene can look completely different five minutes from now. Give life some time.

A Week of Weather

May 24th - 
A lovely hike in the hills of my hometown. 

Homemade dinner of vegetables and broth.

There's just something about dining in the mountains...

Started out the afternoon in shorts and a t-shirt

& ended with three layers on by the time we returned to the vehicles.

May 21st - 
Was introduced to a new-to-me hike above Manitou Springs. 

Almost climbed it as opposed to hiked it, as the grade was steep.

May 22nd - 
Did the hike for the second time - this time at dusk and
with different company. 

We wanted to see the lights above the city. 

What we failed to remember was our headlamps,

 so heading down in the dark was a little dangerous. 

So was the thought of the mountain lion recently seen roaming through town. 

We scared each other with what-ifs and did-you-hears. 

But the view was unsurpassed.

May 19th - 

Tried to climb, tried to 

avoid the weather by heading south. 

But it hit there, too, and right above where we were. 

Thunderheads rolling with - yes, thunder - meant lightning was probably close. 

Too close when you're carrying a rack of metal gear. 

The sun is deceiving. By the time we'd hiked back to the car

it was gone and those dark black cirrus clouds blanketed the sky. 

Drops hit the windshield, diverting our attention from the cliff walls...

 

To apartment walls. 

We took them from bland beige...

To beautiful blue.

A little too pastel for me, but 

everyone else loves it. 

So I'm gonna live with it for a while

and see if it grows on me.

If not, I'll just paint again. 

(I do love to paint). 

Found a new-to-me chair.

Exactly what I wanted. 

Recliner, without looking like that fat, overstuffed kind

that could swallow a fat man whole.  

 

Lovely place to read to the kids. 

Where the Red Fern Grows, currently. 

Also added the gallery wall on the right. 

May 26th - 

Braved the winds that took the state by storm.

Kids, parents, Tim, and I

back at 11 Mile.

Mom and Dad had wanted to see me climb.

Boys just wanted to find something in the river. 

After two hours of the wind

whipping stinging grains of sand across 

backs of legs and arms

we called it quits.

But only until next weekend... 

Lesson Learned: If the weather doesn't cooperate, beautiful things can still happen on the inside.

A Place of Discovery

Through tunnels and around bends...

There is a place where the river meets the rocks.

Fly-fishermen occupy the former. Climbers, the latter.

In the dog days of summer, the two meet, as climbers, hot from the exertion of reaching (and often surpassing) the birds...

Take to the water to cool off.

Not this day, though.
Early May is too early, the water too cold. Instead, we are content to bask in the beauty of the nature...
(some still)...

(some rushing)...

 All around us, and content ourselves with just a dip of the toes.

And although at lower altitude the Aspen trees are full, here in the mountains, the trees, too, seem just a little hesitant to unfurl in the chill that the higher elevation brings.

 

The leaves are tiny, the foliage not yet concealing the deeper recesses of the forest. 

This canyon is not far from where I grew up, yet I don't remember ever going there. I'm grateful for that, because sometimes, when you grow up familiar with something, you take it for granted. I certainly didn't with this place. I was able, instead, to look at it with the eyes of someone wanting to discover.

And like the river, revealing its beauty secrets upon closer inspection...

Or the forest, prodding you to look past the grove and see the details...

So there were mysteries set in stone, routes in this rocky playground waiting to be unlocked. A lot of looking at the rock, trying to decipher what it was saying. A lot of moving my fingers in all directions as far as I could reach, searching for holds so small they were invisible until I touched them. Like reading a good mystery novel and trying, with each page, to figure out the twist at the end, the rock held back and made me do the sleuthing.

I discovered more than beauty that May day at Eleven Mile. I discovered that due to all the mantling, which I love more than any other move, it is my favorite place to climb.

My day of climbing in Eleven Mile Canyon also marks another milestone. It was the first time I led, anchored in, and set up my own rappel.

Indescribable, it is, this thrill of so much discovery (lesson learned).

Cannot wait to get back to where the river meets the rock.

my perspective on my divorce

I was thinking the other day that a lot has gone on in the past seven months of my life. I've moved states, moved back "home," moved in with my parents, started working for the first time in ten years, filed for divorce, and rented my own place (for the first time ever, I might add).
But really, it hasn't been just seven months. It's been over a year.

Because it's March 12 of 2011 that I mark as the day I did the 180 of my life. It's one of those life-defining dates. You know, the day you get married, the day you have kids, the day someone dies, the day you move to such-and-such a place or start such-and-such a job or meet such-and-such a person...


                                         (Sunrise or sunset?)

March 12. The day I ignored "what I was supposed to do" (which is - gasp! - a huge thing for me) and did what I wanted to do. What I needed to do.

It came in the form of confiding something to someone - which in turn meant admitting something to myself - and it opened what a few people in my life may view as a can of worms.

They can view it as they like.
In my opinion I opened a can of, oh, roses or something.

Although I don't particularly care for roses.
So let's call it a can of orchids.

Whatever it was, it was right.

I had to fight against myself for a while, to be OK with what was happening.

Everything in me hated the idea of divorce...

Everything but the part of me that was dying.

Sometimes change is excruciating.
Sometimes it's excruciating because it happened to you and you didn't want it to and everything in you wishes it didn't happen so you didn't have to deal with things you never wanted to deal with.
Sometimes it's excruciating because you're the one making it happen and you aren't really sure it's the best decision for all involved (i.e. my children), and it means a lot of hardship in the short run at the least and the long run at the worst and you really don't know, ten years down the road, if you'll be happier because of your choice.

I don't know.

I don't know ten years down the road how I will feel.


                           (Beautiful contrast.)

I only know how I feel now.

Liberated.
Freed from a lot of things. Too many to go into.

Like Myself.
Without realizing it, I'd traded who I was for who I thought everyone else thought I was supposed to be.
I'm her again.

Lonely.
The nights when the kids are with their dad, it's hard to not think they're supposed to be with me. The apartment is quiet. But I'm learning to live with the solitude.

Loved.
So many people have been unconditional with it.
Very good, old friends have stood beside me and held me up when I needed it most.
And tons of new friends I've met over the last six months have stepped into "instant friend" mode.

A Little Lost.
It's not always easy finding your own way when you've been told for so many years what to do. The last time I made all of my own decisions was over 14 years ago. There's a freedom in it, sure, but it's also a little unnerving.

Light.
A huge burden has been lifted. One I didn't realize was there. One I'm disgusted was there because it was a burden of pretense. I hate pretense. I hate that I allowed it to so creep and seep into my life that I didn't even notice it was there or that I was living a lie so well.

Limited.
There's a lot to relearn. Going back to work after a full decade of stay-at-home-mom leisure. Forget the "re" - there's a lot to just plain learn. Like providing for myself. And single parenting. And balancing work and play and kids and errands. And funds.
And, and, and...
A million "ands."

You'll probably notice there's a lot of back-and-forth listed above. Good and bad.
I'm not going to sugar-coat it.
Divorce is difficult.
In some ways.
But it gets better.

Even though there are hard days, I feel that the hardest days are behind me.
Emotionally, anyway.
I had weeks and weeks back in Texas where sleep was the only time I was at peace. Every.waking.moment was difficult to get through.
Days where I had to move from hour into hour, because thinking any further ahead than that was impossible. There was just no way. My brain was in one kind of prison. My body was in another.

There is nothing worse than hopelessness.

                               
                             (Are you going up or down?)

But I haven't had a day like that since I left Texas.

There have been a lot of unknowns.
A couple menial jobs that I hated.
(Kim described them as "soul-draining." Apropos statement}.
A lot of learning to take care of things myself (you know, I'd never had to put oil in my van or air in the tires, and those are just the little things).
Some fear of the future.
Will things work out??
Will I be OK?
Will life be OK?

I'm here to say yes. Resoundingly.
Because even if things don't work out exactly how you want them to, it's still better to go through that and be true to who you are than vice versa.
For me anyway.
There's nothing better than being true to who you are.
Nothing better than putting a stop to something that was sucking all the life out of...life.
Nothing better than saying no more.
Eventually.
Finally.


                             (The rainbow or the clouds? - photo courtesy of my friend Kristin).

A pastor friend from high school, when I told him I could stay in my marriage and just survive, responded, "God didn't intend for people to just survive."
A counselor once commented, "There are different kinds of emotional abuse. There's the kind when people yell and scream at someone. Then there's the kind when they ignore them and discount everything they say. Just because you're not yelling and screaming doesn't mean it's not emotional abuse."
A friend from California mentioned, "You just haven't seemed happy the last few times I've seen you."
A former teacher - now friend - commented, "I've noticed in your Facebook posts that you are back to being the old you. The you you were in high school."

It's all part of me saying, "Enough."

There's a lot of good and a lot of bad in making major life-changing choices.
I would be lying if I said it's been easy. It hasn't.
But it HAS all been worth it.
The back-and-forth.
The give-and-take.
The step this way and then the step that way.
A dance that's a combination of joy and pain.

Yes, there's been a lot of wondering if I'm going to end up upright. If the joy is going to end up outweighing the pain.
 
                                        (Which way is upright, anyway?) 
 
It has. 
I have ended up upright.
Partly due to luck.
Partly because I am too stubborn not to.
But mostly because I decided before I did it that if I was going to turn my life upside down I was going to embrace every single aspect of it. That means the parts that are uncomfortable and scary and painful just as much as the parts that are lovely and joyful and freeing.

I recently had a long conversation with a friend. He told me he likes how, despite what I'm going through, I'm always upbeat. Although he was being generous with that compliment - because it's not completely true (he's seen me cry and has patiently listened to me vent on a couple occasions) - for the most part he's right. And it's because I made the decision at the outset of all this that I was going to be OK with my choices and the outcome of them. I refused to live in a state of depression or regret or guilt or fear.

And then he paid me one of the best compliments I've ever gotten.

"I like you," he said, "Because you're so present."


And then my oldest brings me this. Think my perspective may be contagious?

That's what the thus-far part of my journey has done for me.

I love this dance.

Run the Gambit (or Insanity Defined)

Saturday dawned clear and bright, an almost perfect day for climbing. She was awestruck by the beauty of the rugged rock cliffs as he drove her into the canyon. It doesn't get any better than this, she commented. We get to enjoy this amazing sport, in such spectacular places... Why doesn't everyone do this?" He didn't have an answer.


Minutes later they were strapping their packs to their backs - the rope in his, the rack in hers. She'd started to put her big huge camera into her pack, but he stopped her. It was a good call, but not for the reasons he mentioned. He said she didn't want to haul that thing up the mountain, then leave it unprotected at the base while they climbed. What he didn't know was that she found the hike up so beautiful - especially the little yellow flowers carpeting the trail's edge, reminding her of Dots candy. Tucked into deep green foliage, they gave the ground a fresh, citrus look - that the hike would have taken them twice as long for all her stopping to take photos. And as it was, there wasn't time to gaze. With other groups hot on their heels, they panted up the mountain, hoping to beat any others headed to the popular route they planned to climb.

The trail disappeared at the side of a great boulder field.

Could it be possible that the hike to the base of the climb would be more strenuous than the climb itself? It was certainly feeling that way. They stepped carefully across the massive stones.
Finally at the base of the route, tucked into a nook in the canyon, the wind whipped in and bit at their fingers, their ears. As they donned caps and fleeces and jackets and hoodies, she reminded herself that people had tolerated much worse conditions to climb. Indeed, it was part of being a climber, which she was. Even though this was only her seventh time climbing outdoors, she already had close to two dozen climbs under her harness. So even though her fingers felt like ten icicles for the first two pitches, she didn't complain. Much. And when she did, he laughingly told her to suck it up. He was good with her like that.

Their main climb that day was Gambit which, according to Mountain Project, has the highest summit in Eldorado Canyon. She was glad he hadn't shared that with her previously. This 4-pitch climb was intimidating enough without that information! In fact, at times the only way she was sure some parts of it were climbable was because he was up above her somewhere having done it already.


Because yes, she's a little bit freaked out by the height. As much as she loves climbing, she's still new to this outdoor stuff, and out of her element at times - which leaves her wondering how it's possible to be in and out of your element at the same time!

But despite frozen fingers, despite her fear of being so high and exposed, despite not knowing, sometimes, how to make the next move, she kept her head up and climbed steadily toward the summit.


And then, after a few hours, she was there. There, where the view was unsurpassed. Highest summit in the park, and she'd climbed a rope to it. Amazing climbing, and then getting rewarded with such a view! It begged her question again. Why doesn't everyone do this??


Perhaps the answer lies in her first words to him once she reached the summit.

"It's official. I think I'm insane."

(Lesson Learned: Sometimes the way up seems impossible. Just keep climbing. Eventually you will reach the top).