The Importance of Family

The next morning, I packed a quick overnight bag, shared breakfast with my cousins before they left for school and jumped in the car to drive down to Tucson to visit with my Uncle Rick, my Aunt Louise and my three older cousins; Matt, Tim and Adam. Two hours later down I-10, I was pulling into their house on the western edge of the city.

I've always enjoyed visiting Tucson. It's small, and granted, I've never really done much else there other than stay and visit with my family, but there's something very subtle about it that I've always enjoyed. Maybe it's that many of the mysteries of the Old West lie within just a few miles of its boundaries. Maybe it's that just up into the hills lie a multitude of hidden oasis's nestled between the desert crags of the Santa Catalinas. Or maybe, and most likely, it's because I have vivid memories of visiting Tucson as a child, my first visit to the southwest, and that those memories have created for me a unique charm about the area.

Unfortunately, some things had changed. About a year beforehand, my Aunt Louise was diagnosed with terminal cancer; pancreatic, I believe. Not long before I arrived in Las Vegas, her health had recently taken a turn for the worse and my uncle debated whether or not it would be helpful for me to visit with them at all. There were no nurses, no hospice staff to help...just my Uncle, and that's the way they both preferred it. Not wanting to impose, but also knowing that this would mostly likely be the last time I would see Louise, I agreed without question to stay in a hotel up the street.

My last time with my Aunt Louise was quiet and full of smiles. She was tired, but still as sharp as ever. My fondest memory of her occured during my first visit to Arizona, in which she introduced me to the magic of cinnamon-sugar toast, a breakfast delight that brings back that moment every time I bite into it. I had meant to tell her this, but never got the chance admist our last conversation. She passed away just a few weeks later.

I spent a lot of time with my Uncle over the few meals we shared together while I was there. He's a very soft-spoken, but direct man, reminding me of my late-grandfather more and more each time I see him. His stories are always shared with experience and a deep, moral purpose. I learn more about myself each time I see him. We talked a lot about my aunt and how he, the boys and their grandchildren are coping with her illness, and we talked at length about our family and the plethora of stories that we both regarding each one of us. He sped me up to date with how his three boys are doing and how my cousin Tim (his middle son) is still in pain, but recovering well from a freak motorcycle accident a few weeks back. Fortunately before I left to head back to Phoenix, I was able to see all three of them, even if for just a few short minutes, and that's all that mattered.

Following a nice breakfast that my uncle and I whipped up together, I said my goodbye's to everyone and jumped back on the road towards Phoenix. Just before I arrived into town, I got a call from my Uncle Dave telling me that they were on their way to Lake Pleasant, a local retreat about 25 miles north of the city. The timing was perfect. With my Uncle's boat in tow, we redeveuxed off the interstate and I drove the rest of the way to the lake in Dave's truck along with my cousins Jon, Danny and Jon's friend...crap, I can't remember his name. Cool kid, though. I wanna say Mike. ...Let's just say his name is Mike.

What does one do on Lake Pleasant? Speed boating. Cliff jumping. Water skiing. Wake boarding. Camping. Partying. Kite surfing. Hiking. Scuba Diving. Drinking. Sailing. Blatently oogling bikini-clad women (Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, Danny ...Be. More. Subtle.) Kayaking. Tubing. Wind Surfing. ...the list goes on. In the few hours we were there to enjoy it, we got to do three of those things.

It's become a tradition of sorts. Each time my cousins and I go to Lake Pleasant on the boat with my Uncle, we go cliff jumping. The drop is close to 30 feet, sometimes higher depending on the level of the lake, and it's a great little rush to break up the day. I pride myself on my lack of fear of heights and cold water...two things which continually cause hesitation in my cousins for which I'm continually able to call them out on it, being about fifteen years their elder. Truth is, I just enjoy the banter.

After a few jumps, Danny broke out the wake board and we spent a bit of time speeding around the bay so he could practice his verticals. For a kid that I continually harass (in my defense, he does ask for it), I will say that he's pretty damn good on his board. My two younger cousins have really come into their own and it's come to the point where I can hang out and converse with them as adults, not as their babysitter. That's a really cool moment of realization when it happens. Following Danny's bout of showing off, we inflated the Inner-tube, which preceded each of us taking our turn being rag-dolled across my Uncle's wake while he laughs maniacally at the constant bouts of aquatic abuse that we all volunteered for. It took me an hour to dig out that wedgie.

With the sun dropping and the air becoming cool over the lake, we headed in, loaded up the boat and enjoyed a quiet ride back into the city. Exhausted, we spent the rest of the evening eating dinner outside by the pool, delighting in whatever new wild game that my uncle picked off as the main course of our menu. Discussions of what my last day with them in Arizona would entail dominated the end of the conversation. But that's meant to be discussed in another post soon enough.

My best moments in Arizona are because of my family. The time I spend with them is priceless to me, no matter how often I continue to visit. I will always go back. Every two years has been my goal since I've been in college. I don't see that changing. Not in any future I can foresee, anyway.

Summer Hike Series: Oneonta Gorge

In southern Utah, within the depths of Zion National Park exists a slot canyon hike simply labeled, "The Narrows," an ankle-to-chest-deep creekbed that narrowly winds between two solid, 1000-ft. walls of rock for fifteen miles upstream from the main part of the park. Twice I've been to Zion and as it's been a goal of mine to explore this scenic, rugged stretch of backcountry, I've been hindered by both a limited schedule and threats of flash flooding, the latter of which could spell disaster to any fool stupid enough to hoof it during flood season. In northern Oregon, within the western edges of the Columbia River Gorge hides The Narrows' little lost brother, Oneonta Gorge, a spectacular tease of the hidden treasures that the Pacific Northwest has to offer.

Where: From Portland, drive eastbound on I-84, past Multonomah Falls, taking exit 35 towards Ainsworth Park. Backtrack 1.5 miles west on the scenic byway until you pass Horsetail Falls, followed about .2 miles later by a foot tunnel on the left side of the road. Park in one of the spaces just beyond the tunnel. The trailhead begins on the Oneonta Creek riverbed just underneath the roadway bridge.

Oneonta Gorge, a mossy, fern-lined chasm that is so narrow, the 30-foot wide Oneonta Creek actually fills it from wall to wall, is the incredible result of what happens when water cuts through the area's basalt lava layers along a fault line. Hiking this gorge could be one of the coolest short hikes in all of Oregon.

Being sold on a single photograph of the inside of the gorge, I had to do it. When my friend Kyle, who was visiting from D.C. for the weekend, suggested we go on a hike, this was the first option I thought of. Knowing that there is a bit of tricky footwork at the mouth of the gorge, I threw a harness around Kino, packed up a few supplies and a mere 45 minutes later we were parking the car below Horsetail Falls in search of the entry point into Oneonta Creek. A few minutes later we were already ankle deep in water and approaching a jumbled cluster of a log jam unlike any I had ever seen.

I read about this part of the hike while researching the gorge, as its an obstacle that often daunts the faint of heart from continuing on. A twenty-five foot high, twisted Jenga puzzle of fallen trees, the log jam is obviously the product of a long-passed number of flash floods, the oldest memories of which are buried deep within its tangle. It almost resembles a strange, Escher-like maze when trying to navigate from one end to the other, with dangerous pockets and naturally-created pitfalls between the sticks that seem to be straight out of an Indiana Jones adventure. Concerned that I may not even be able to cross it with Kino, I explored a few routes to the other side in search of the safest option that would allow him to pass. With Kyle's help and the aid of Kino's harness, the three of us performed a bit of a leapfrogging technique that helped Kino wind his way over the beams and down to the creek on the other side. Even though another owner was letting his dog navigate through it all on his own, due to Kino's old ligament damage and his back legs being as weak as they are, I wasn't taking any chances. All in all it took us about 15 minutes.

Once we passed the log jam, I released Kino from his tether and stepped into the heart of the gorge. With fluorescent lichens and maidenhair ferns gracing the walls that were towering over 150 feet above us, our view upstream was like looking through a window into Narnia. Being almost 11am, the sun's rays were starting to breech the top of the canyon walls, little by little, streaming down to meet the riverbed floor. It was simply breathtaking.

Running up ahead of us, Kino soon discovered a 1/4 mile later that the creek, mostly ankle deep up until that point, plunged into nearly shoulder-high depths for about 100 feet. Only after I waded in to the 52-degree pool with my bag held high above my head did he build up the nerve to actually dive in and cross with me. Even then, he found a way to scramble up onto a small ledge to my right and billy-goat his way to the other side. ...I have a dog that hates swimming. Go figure. Kyle followed shortly behind, and once the three of us were through, we continued along the gorge's twists and turns until we reached the final pay-off: Oneonta Falls.

Plunging into the creekbed from above, the 120-foot Oneonta Falls is simply spectacular to behold. You can see it from a distance as you approach the end of the gorge, the roar of its two tiers of water echoing through the canyon. Regardless of the hypothermic-like water, I plunged into the pool beneath the falls to try to get some better, more closeup photographs of the falls. Instead, I ended up attempting to coax Kino into the water with me for a quick swim. He visibly and vocally objected to such a notion, clearly wanting to have nothing of the sort while being so close to the rushing waterfall. It was hard to determine which freaked him out the most; the fact that there was a ear-deafening column of water behind me, or that I was swimming so close to the base of it. I couldn't help being entranced by them though...the falls are so pristine, it's hard not to want to swim up and just touch them.

After taking a few quick shots in front of the falls, I started to notice a crowd of people begin to make their way towards our end of the gorge. It was close to noon by now and as it was a Sunday afternoon in the midst of summer, this was beginning to become an immensely crowded hike. The solace of the gorge no longer offered to us as an option, Kyle, Kino and I began to head back through the wading pools and over the still-carefully-maneuvered log jam before reaching the road and heading west past Multonomah Falls and back to Portland.

If you have the opportunity and don't mind getting a bit wet, this hike is definitely worth the effort. It's been hard to top the absolute majesty of Tunnel Falls along the edge of Eagle Creek, but Oneonta Gorge offers a unique experience unlike any other trail hiking options around Oregon. No question about it, I would definitely put this on the top of my list, and needless to say I plan on going back.

Back into Civilization

For three days, I removed myself from mostly all contact with the outside world and lived among the Havasupai natives within the remote, outlying depths of the Grand Canyon. It was an experience that I'll not soon forget, and hope to relive again in the near future. Even more than a year later, the memories of that oasis amidst the desert live vividly in my mind, with its turquoise water, blazing crimson rock and lush green foliage surrounding my every step through the narrow valley. Such places are only meant to exist in dreams and yet, there it was, a living reality. It makes one's obligation to leave all that much more difficult.

After three days of meditation, exploration and hiking along the valley's numerous and picturesque waterfalls, it was time for me to pack up and head back up the long, hot, 10-mile path to the rim of the canyon and begin the third leg of my trip towards Phoenix and Tucson to spend my final days within the southwest with family. That morning, accompanied by a new canine friend I named "Quixote" (fitting, as I was reading Cervantes' book amidst my stay) I enjoyed a quick breakfast, packed up my tent and began the trek back towards my car. Quixote, who had been shadowing me all over the valley for the better part of a day and a half, followed me for about two miles past the village, my last view of him being atop a small ridge behind and above my path, regally watching me as I passed into the great crevice that would lead me home.

Four hours, ten miles and 2400 vertical feet later, I was finally able to rest alongside my car, gratefully ending the brutal climb to the top of the rim. Without wasting much time, I hopped in my rental, cranked up the AC and headed south down Indian Rd. 18, then east towards Flagstaff. Due to a small mishap with my dinosaur of a phone and the pools underneath Mooney Falls, I was unable to make outgoing calls. Using this opportunity to final invest in an iPhone, I made a quick stop into an AT&t store, made the quick exchange, and jumped on Interstate-10 to head down the big hill into Phoenix.

Two hours later, I was pulling into my Uncle's house and after a vibrant greeting with my boy Cougar (the resident Golden Retriever that becomes attached to my hip during each visit) and their new addition Blitz, I was ready for a nice, comforting, hot shower. Just after I finished cleaning up four days of desert filth off my skin, my cousin Danny walked in the door, followed a bit later by my Uncle Dave. Not long afterwards, we found ourselves heading up the street to a local wing joint to gorge ourselves on a few baskets of wings and a bit of beer. My Aunt Ellie and cousin Jon joined us a bit later on their way back from a college visit for Jon. We ate like kings.

The night continued on back at their house, watching a few movies with a couple of Danny and Jon's friends, heckling each other over Facebook and discussing what the next few days were going to include. Those plans would have to wait, however, as the next morning I would be traveling even further south into Tucson for a day to visit another aunt and uncle and their three grown boys, Matt, Tim and Adam, all of which I hadn't seen in almost five years. Until then, only one thing was saturating my mind; the promise of a good night's sleep. Promise: kept.

The Return of the Traveler

My last post was over fifteen months ago. I'm not quite sure why I phased myself away from keeping up this blog, especially with all the traveling I've accomplished so far this past year...I may have had a lot distracting me at the time, or I was more accustomed to updating the devil in us we all know as Facebook...either way, I've made it a point to make it back here and start playing catch up...one post at a time.

So like I've said, I've done a lot of traveling this past year, from creeping into the depths of the Bone-Norman caves in West Virginia to competing in the Chicago Triathlon to fulfilling a decade-old dream of exploring the western horizons, not to mention everything in between. That's a lot to cover, so here's what I think I'm going to do:

Each week, I'm going to cover, chronologically, my exploits over the past year and three months, starting from my trip from Havasu Falls down to Phoenix, AZ to see my family. If I do some traveling in the meantime, I'll take a pause from the previous coverage in order to detail the current trip, only to afterwards pick up where I left off, and to finally catch up to where I am now.

Mark this as the Return of Jack Traveler, the return of the great adventure.