Box Canyon Blog.com
"We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." C. Bukowski
NOTE: Open post and then Single Click On first Post Photo to view an album in a more detailed, larger format...
Monday, October 8, 2018
Thursday, October 4, 2018
Gratitude: An attitude of appreciation and reverence for all things past — the munificence of downhill glides as well as the lessons of uphill ascents.
Anticipation: Looking forward to Gratitude.
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Fall came mid-September this year, early by a couple weeks. But aspen and oak brush colors have been in a brilliant and beautiful holding pattern. I wish I could say the same for the forecast, as today is the first of 10 to 12 days of rain, then snow, followed by more rain and dismal grey clouds that tend to suffocate needy outdoor types. Could be the time has come to bail Goldie out of jail.
Saturday, September 29, 2018
Friday, September 28, 2018
Monday, September 17, 2018
"Remind me to get my depth perception checked," I said to Bobbie, who either couldn't hear me over her grunts and groans and heavy breathing, or couldn't care less about anything I had to say while battling a ridiculous slope of slip-slide talus.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
We are taken by surprise on Tuesday's drive over Red Mountain Pass, looking for some new "dots" to add to our grid. Autumn colors are about to peak, earlier than usual by a week or more. Even though it happens every year, the kid in me can't help feeling it's brand new.
Thursday, September 13, 2018
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Stretching both my legs and the limits of a senescent memory on a lonely Woods Lake trail, I recalled how, even as a child, it never took long to outgrow my front yard and neighborhood. I must have been four or five when we moved to an almost new tract-home on La Mirada street in south Phoenix. Only a few blocks distant, South Mountain filled the frame of our living room's "picture window," as did the flash-boom summer monsoon lightning storms that discharged on its rocky ridge-lines.
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Friday, August 24, 2018
Last week a longtime friend, Martha, came up from Albuquerque to spend a week with her daughter in Montrose. It had been a while since Martha had hiked a mountain, let alone above timberline. So she called Bobbie. Who better to call for an alpine "fix?"
Saturday, August 18, 2018
Imagine skimming along at 13,000 feet, an undulating path underfoot. You're alone, above timberline, above the urban fray of political bullshitters, tedious Face-bookers and mass murdering psychopaths...above all the sordid megalomanic news of corporate greed and corruption. I tell ya, folks, now more than ever, depleted spirits cry out in desperate need of a wilderness recharge. Nothing—not drugs, alcohol or money—fills empty vessels with peace and contentment quite like a lonely alpine trail.
Thursday, August 16, 2018
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Sunday, July 29, 2018
"I discovered a passion to live my days fully, a conviction that will sustain me like sweet water on the periodically barren plain of our short lives.” Jonathan Waterman
Sunday, July 22, 2018
We had all day to play above timberline. No threat of thunder and lightning, just deep blue sky overlaid with a smattering of vaporous white clouds, and a carpet of endless rolling tundra to hike on... now all greened up from recent monsoons. Perfect time to dig something out of the ole bucket of lists and get 'er done...
Saturday, July 21, 2018
Friday, July 20, 2018
"What we want from art is whatever is missing from the lives we are already living... Something is always missing. Jane Hirshfield
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
I sent out invitations to a few friends to join us for a hike to Bullion King Lake and beyond. Bobbie and I have been itching to try the "beyond" part—up and over the saddle/pass above Bullion King basin—a cross-county search for Columbine Lake. In the ineffable words of Gomer Pyle, "sir-prize, sir-prize, sir-prize;" Nobody responded to my invitation. Maybe it was the vague wording...or the distinct possibility of an endless, high altitude traipse across tundra and scree and boulders that ends with a 911 call...
Thursday, June 28, 2018
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Perspective is such a relative construct. When in a room indoors we sense the boundaries and fill it to the brim with self. Only when outdoors, on top of a mountain, can we realize that we are not the story. Just a ripple from a pebble tossed into the sea.
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
A Soaring Ascent Up Mount Abram...because it's there and because we still can and because we still remember the way
"Stories are compasses...we navigate by them, build our sanctuaries and prisons out of them. To be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra..." The Faraway Nearby, by Rebecca Solnit
Monday, June 18, 2018
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Friday, June 1, 2018
Thursday, May 31, 2018
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Bobbie had to work yesterday so I would be flying solo. I was in desperate need of a summit and not just any summit would do. No, I needed a mind-blowing, Land of Oz, come to sweet Jesus and weep kind of summit.
Monday, May 28, 2018
So I'm sitting in my faux leather hearthside chair. It's early of a morning and my abused, aching legs are gently propped on a padded footstool. I'm half crippled from vigorous back to back days on the trail.
My iPhone pings; a short text from Leon reads: "Log Hill?" Ugh...
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Since being roped into the Black Canyon Ascent by my 1% body fat biking/hiking/swimming/running pal, Leon, ten days ago, I’ve been “cramming” like it’s finals week back at SMSU. Yes, just like those nightmarish party-now/study-later days of youthful lore, I stand before you naked and afraid and unprepared for a "test" I got wrangled into whilst heavily sedated with I-can-do-anything endorphins following a silly little bike race up Log Hill.
Sunday, May 13, 2018
In order to race up Log Hill, Leon and I must first ride 16 miles of county backroads—from Ouray, through Ridgway and beyond, to a brightly labeled "Danger: Natural Gas Line" post that serves as a makeshift starting line at the base of "the Hill."
Sunday, May 6, 2018
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Sunday, April 15, 2018
''Wherever we look there is but a wilderness of rock,'' wrote Maj. John Wesley Powell, the Colorado River pioneer and one of the first "whites" to gaze upon Moab's labyrinth of canyons. ''Deep gorges, where rivers get lost below cliffs and towers and pinnacles—ten thousand strangely carved forms in every direction—and beyond them, mountains blending with clouds.''
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
The night after Bobbie traded me for her "hearth" in Lovely Ouray, I nursed a lusty, menopausal male notion to reprise "Alaska," a favorite circumferential loop in Klondike's Hills. I knew my body was't yet conditioned for the "marathon-ish" four-plus hours of uphill grinds and "vice-grip" descents, but, assisted by 3 cups of dark roast "liquid courage" the next morning, I figured the best way to get in shape for "Alaska's" nether-lands is to ride Alaska's nether-lands. You'd think there'd be laws regarding Old men and caffeine...especially in Utah.
Wednesday, April 4, 2018
6 AM, 20 some miles north of Moab, a bachelor in paradise waits on sun and temps to rise enough to straddle his Bad Habit Cannondale and put in some single-track time. Bobbie’s home in Lovely Ouray, working on her second cup of coffee, snug as a bug by the hearth.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Thursday, February 22, 2018
"It's a beautiful day," I screech in the worst "Bono" imitation ever, then proceed to butcher U2's lyrics like slaughterhouse sheep. My felicity is boundless on Hangover Trail. I've got the sun's warmth on my face, a cool breeze at my back, and views to die for. "It's a beautiful day."
Friday, February 16, 2018
Wistful Reminisce in Jerome (revised due to a dropped paragraph that explains Bobbie's connection to Jerome)
I'm in the mountainside town of Jerome, Arizona, casting a reminiscing gaze over the expansive Verde Valley. Bound by snowcapped San Francisco Peaks to the north, familiar vermillion cliffs to the east, and Mingus Mountain to the west, Verde Valley holds a hoard of memories that range from happy to sad. But I've been coming to this area since before I can remember, and it feels as comfortable as a pair of old cotton sweats.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
"Everywhere he looked, he could see the most vibrant world of life that had no need of him...that would not think for a moment of his vanishing...have no memory of him...would go on without him. He began to fear his imminent death, not because he would die but because he sensed that he had never really lived as he wished. The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Richard Flanagan.
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
This belated Havasu post comes to you from just north of Phoenix, on the shore of Lake Pleasant, where it's less than "pleasant." Temps soar into the 80's under skies that aren't cloudy all day. Yes. It's tying or breaking records here and the extended forecast shows no relief in sight. "Might as well go home," Bobbie mutters, a trail of sweat trickling from her brow. "Goldie doesn't do 80's very well neither do I."