God and Nature

Plain is the beauty before us!

Could this beauty be for us?

Andrew Peterson 

"The Magic Hour"

Over the past 6 or 7 years the following ideas have been presented to me and I have found them to be true:

1. All people desire happiness and seek pleasure.
2. This is a good thing to do.
3. There is joy and happiness and pleasure that is the best to have, of highest quality and of greatest quantity.
4. It can be found!

Also for the past 6 or 7 years Julia and I have really enjoyed nature. Seeing spectacular things and going remote and quiet places is something that we both value (to varying degrees). What we see and do while out-of-doors is a great source of happiness to us. What about God? Why do I enjoy nature so much and how God is involved with the pleasure I find there?

There have been many helps along the way. Some are pastors, some authors, and some musicians. And they all help point us towards what is true about the world.

It's clear in the Bible that God had a purpose in creating the natural world.

And one called to another and said:

“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts;

the whole earth is full of his glory!”

(Isaiah 6:3 ESV)

(Especially the atmosphere)

The heavens declare the glory of God,

and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Day to day pours out speech,

and night to night reveals knowledge.

There is no speech, nor are there words,

whose voice is not heard.

Their voice goes out through all the earth,

and their words to the end of the world.

In them he has set a tent for the sun,

(Psalm 19:1-4 ESV)

With that in mind, Julia and I have really enjoyed ourselves outdoors lately.

Almost...

Aaalllllmoooosssst...

Perfect.

Almost.

Aaalllllmoooosssst...

Perfect.

A song that has pointed our minds towards enjoying the beauty of God on display in nature is How Great Thou Art. Living in Alaska seemed to bring the meaning of this song to life. So did getting caught hiking in a thunderstorm.

Tough not to be in awe of the natural world up in the Great White North. 

Lately we have also found that the Wasatch Mountains produce their own kind of awe. 

Wasatch Summer

Wasatch Fall

Wasatch Winter

Canyons in Canyonlands NP are something to behold.

So are canyons in Arches NP.

Yes they do.

In the event of a sprained ankle, read a book.

And lately, with the help of songs sung and words written, the depth of our enjoyment has reached places I could never have imagined. C.S. Lewis and his address called "The Weight of Glory" and a few more songs provide helpful context for the pleasure we've had in exploring Utah and Alaska.

I spent much of the summer surrounded by the beauty of the high desert. But...

The books or the music in which we though the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things - the beauty, the memory of our own past - are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country have never yet visited. 

Glory suggests two ideas to me, of which one seems wicked and the other ridiculous. Either glory means to me fame, or it means luminosity....But not fame conferred by our fellow creatures - fame with God, approval or (I might say) "appreciation" by God....I am not forgetting how horribly this most innocent desire is parodied in our human ambitions, or how very quickly, in my own experience, the lawful pleasure of praise from those whom it was my duty to please turns into the deadly poison of self-admiration. But I thought I could detect a moment - a very, very short moment - before this happened, during which the satisfaction of having pleased those whom I rightly loved and rightly feared was pure. And that is enough to raise our thoughts to what may happen when the redeemed soul, beyond all hope and nearly beyond belief, learns at last that she has pleased Him whom she was created to please. 

Glory, as Christianity teaches me to hope for it, turns out to satisfy my original desire and indeed to reveal an element in that desire which I had not noticed. By ceasing for a moment to consider my own wants I have begun to learn better what I really wanted.

Kachemak Bay.

Grewingk Glacier and Glacier Lake.

The natural world does more than simply show off the creative power of God or display His beauty. C.S. Lewis points towards another beautiful purpose of God we can take hold of through our interaction with the created world.

We usually notice [our spiritual longings] just as the moment of vision dies away, as the music ends, or as the landscape loses the celestial light....For a few minutes we have had the illusion of belonging to that world. Now we wake to find that it is no such thing. We have been mere spectators. Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us; her face was turned in our direction, but not to see us. We have not been accepted, welcomed, or taken into the dance.

Photo by Jinny.

Getting closer to Grewingk Glacier. 

And this brings me to the other sense of glory - glory as brightness, splendour, luminosity. We are to shine as the sun, we are to be given the Morning Star. I think I begin to see what it means. In one way, of course, God has given us the Morning Star already: you can go and enjoy the gift on many fine mornings if you get up early enough. What more, you may ask, do we want? 

Under Worthington Glacier. Photo by Jinny.

Ah, but we want so much more - something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words - to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

Mt. Blackburn from above the Bonanza Mine.

At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.

The Alaska Range and Summit Lake. 

When human souls have become as perfect in voluntary obedience as the inanimate creation is in its lifeless obedience, then they will put on its glory, or rather that greater glory of which Nature is only the first sketch.

The Gulkana Glacier.

For you must not think that I am putting forward any heathen fancy of being absorbed into Nature. Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each one of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendour which she fitfully reflects. 

On the Gulkana Glacier. "Well, mighty good water if I don't die!"

Southern Utah is incredible. The Magic Hour by Andrew Peterson was ringing in my ears as we wandered Zion National Park and southern Utah.

La Verkin Creek

A view from Angel's Landing.

A view of Angle's Landing.

East Rim Trail.

This is my Father's world 

and to my listening ears

All nature sings and 'round me rings

the music of the spheres.

This is my Father's world 

He shines in all that's fair

In the rustling grass I hear Him pass

He speaks to me everywhere

Towards Zion NP.

Looking at Canyonlands through Looking Glass Rock.

Nature points to a beautiful God. But the glory of nature pales in comparison to the glory of God. It's a shadow, a beautiful shadow. But only a pointer to a more beautiful reality.

But nature also brings to light a desire. And God satisfies that desire.

These longings and desires "to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it," are satisfied in a beautiful God on a wonderful cross. He has presented Himself to us in Jesus. He has made it possible for us to glorify God by enjoying Him forever.

There is the source of joy and happiness and pleasure that is most satisfying. The source lasts forever and it offers the most perfect kind of satisfaction. There is a beautiful truth the enjoyment of nature is pointing to. "Some day, God willing, we shall get in." The New Testament rustlings tell of Jesus satisfying our every longing for pleasure. He brings us in by taking our sin and providing us with righteousness we have not mustered up on our own. And we cannot. 

In nature God is calling to us to go after happiness and joy and righteousness. He asks us to go after pleasure by doing what the natural world has been doing since its creation. We are compelled to join the created world in doing what God created us to do. He intends for us to glorify Him by enjoying Him forever. Seek pleasure by glorifying God and we will be satisfied!

Some of the most paradigm smashing words about the pursuit of pleasure are in the first paragraph of "The Weight of Glory."

The New Testament has lots to say about self-denial, but not about self-denial as an end in itself. We are told to deny ourselves and to take up our crosses in order that we may follow Christ; and nearly every description of what shall ultimately find if we do so contains an appeal to desire. If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling around with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

I hope that nature is one thing that keeps you from being too easily pleased.

HS 100

The Hot Springs 100 is an adventure race that begins at Chena Hot Springs, AK and ends at Circle Hot Springs, AK. A few months ago Julia's old ski coach mentioned he was interested in making a go of it. I immediately expressed my desire to try it as well. So we started planning for it.

Below is the driving route.


View Larger Map

Because we had to go by foot, Scott and I took a shorter route. Prior to the race we had many conversations while planning our route. We spent hours looking at quadrangle maps and google earth. I created a series of waypoints for my GPS unit that we could use to navigate when our direction became obscured by weather, foliage, or terrain. Scott brought maps of the areas we planned to pass through. We were darn ready for a challenging race.

In the 4-5 days leading up to the race, I ate a lot of food. Four boxes of macaroni and cheese, four lbs of cereal, nearly two lbs of dry pasta, and all sorts of other stuff disappeared from the shelves.

Two days before the race I started to consume my secret weapon.
I ate an entire pie in 24 hours.

We had a goal of finishing in less than 30 hours. This seemed reasonable but we knew that a lot had to go right for us to make it. A long stretch of up and down from the Far Mountain Trail to Birch Creek was difficult to interpret on the maps and satellite photos. Water was not particularly abundant on our route. But the weather was slightly overcast and cool and we were optimistic.

Pre-race photo courtesy of Mike Welsh.

Leaving Chena Hot Springs at the start of the race. We were never
really in the lead. 

We got ourselves up onto the Far Mountain Trail and pushed along at a very good pace, nearly 3 mph, considering the number of climbs along the trail that exceeded 500 feet. After about 2 hours we had completely dropped all the racers who had decided to take the same route as we had. That was encouraging.

Scott making the last climb before we left the Far Mountain Trail
and headed off into the unknown.

The top of Far Mountain Trail looking NNE.

Dropping off the Far Mountain Trails was not a little steep and my feet began to hurt. Blisters. Neat. This was a bit disappointing since all of the previous hikes in the months leading up had produced no blisters whatsoever. Whatever. I had decided not to take off my backpack for the first 30 miles, until we reached Birch Creek. A quick adjustment of the socks and catch back up to Scott. Backpack was still on 11 miles in.

Around 1:00 PM as we started into the first area below the tree line that did not include a man-marked trail, we came across one of the more exciting discoveries of the route we had decided to take. There were game trails everywhere! And they were heading in more or less the same direction we were hoping to go. Some trails were better than others. We found that caribou trails were far superior to moose trails. But most reduced the amount of bushwhacking so significantly that a finish time of less than 30 hours was not so difficult to imagine. We were making incredible time through what I anticipated to be the roughest parts of the trip.

Game trail! Caribou make the finest trails around. 

For the next six to eight miles we followed the ridge between two drainages, following game trails through the brush and enjoying the tundra above the tree line on the exposed ridge.

Above tree line with the wild flowers.

For the next several hours we moved along quickly, up and down between forrest and exposed tundra. This was an incredible few hours. The breeze cooled us off as we moved along at a 2-3 mph pace, the views were wonderful, and the game trails were a joy. The trails would appear and disappear in the brush and finding and keeping them was a wonderful mental challenge that diverted attention away from sore feet and tired legs.

One of my favorite moments of the trip.

Scott and I discussed the route often, making both macro- and microscale decisions. We also had plenty of time for silent trudging. Though there was a possibility that the guys we saw during the first two hours of the hike were only a few miles behind us, there was a distinct feeling that we were isolated and alone. On quiet moments throughout the duration of the trip I recited a wonderful Easter poem I recently memorized and several other songs describing how great God is, most from Hope College chapel services. There was enough time for four or five recitations of each song I could remember. A happy time on the trail.

And there was a continuous breath of very fresh air. There are more spectacular adventure race courses and routes but the satisfaction of being out in the wilderness was overwhelming. We did not see many rocky cliffs but what we did see caused me to lift my hands in joy and appreciation.

Enjoyable terrain. Spectacular even.

The game trail below marked a profound high point around 8:00 PM. We were hours ahead of where we planned to be and what we could see ahead appeared to offer fast travel where 2-3 mph was not unreasonable.

Finding a unobstructed game trail caused me to shout and laugh with happiness. 

We were reaching about 12 hours of constant moving and coming up to 27 miles of travel. I had not stopped to take off my backpack (Ha!). Around 10:00 PM, I started to think about strange things to keep my brain going. Such as what the overall effect of the mosquito that I had just sucked down had on my hiking performance. Should I try to spit out a mosquito if it finds itself in my maw? Is eating it going to lead to faster hiking or slower hiking? I know there is at least a little bit of caloric value in a mosquito. But would that energy from the mosquito be useless as more energy is required to process the mosquito and move the undesirable pieces out the other end? Mosquito eating: helpful or hurtful?

We followed an ancient two track put in along a ridge, possibly involved in wildland fire fighting in decades past, where Scott found a useful moose trail that offered good footing. The two track/moose trail spit us out into a field tussocks that appeared very long, 1-2 miles. Not ideal. Tussocks are pretty much cursed at by any backcountry traveler, before, during, and after any experience with them. They generally involve twisted ankles and soaking wet feet. We plodded on, still holding onto a moose trail headed in the same direction we were attempting to head.

*;^%$#$%^%^*;. It's all tussocks. Tussucks.

Also at this point Scott was running low on water. We had found small patches of water along the trail but had been repulsed by the caribou feces and mosquito larvae floating and swimming about. Near this first tussock field, Scott had an excruciating experience with hamstring cramps. He stopped walking, started screaming in pain, fell on the ground, and laid there until the cramps let up. Interesting development.

Working through the first field of tussocks. Not encouraging.

Keep on.

A small wildland fire from the tussock ridge. Kind of neat.

Around 12:00 PM we were ready to dive into the next tussock field. As we worked towards the border of the field through an old burned out stand of small spruce trees all the crap that could hit the fan seemed to hit it. In addition to having a few more debilitating hamstring cramps, Scott was starting to feel nauseous. Food was not appealing at all and very little potable water was left between the two of us, which was about the only thing he appear to be able to keep down.

Right about then I notice that my GPS unit was not in its pocket on my backpack belt.

%^!@$^*;*@^!$%^;*I()(*^%$!?!!?!?

I had dropped it within the last 10-15 minutes. We were picking our way through a maze of burned out trees and tussocks. Our previous path was essentially invisible. I mentioned to Scott my idiocy. He laid down in a grassy spot and didn't move for the next 45 minutes while I attempted to retrace our steps. I took off my backpack for the first time since shouldering at the start of the race 14 hours earlier. Dang it.

This was helpful for Scott. I asked him to blow a rescue whistle he had every minute or so to help give me a reference point as I searched for my GPS. Later he told me that it took everything in him just to take a deep breath and blow the whistle. Things were not going well at this point. The loss of the GPS was not a race breaker (and we couldn't really turn around and retrace our steps anyway). The weather and visibility were both very good and we knew our route well. But we needed some water sooner rather than later.

I surrendered my GPS to the wilderness and returned to Scott sprawled in the tussocks. He hadn't moved at all for nearly an hour except to blow the whistle. We put the packs back on and began to move on to the next great field of tussocks. Almost immediately Scott experienced another hamstring cramps, falling back to the ground and screaming in pain.

Time for a change of plans. Down off the ridge we planned to follow all the way to Birch Creek to our southeast was more flowing water called Clums Creek. Instead of shooting for Birch Creek we decided to head for the closest water possible. Scott believed he could make it the mile or so down to the water. I picked through the brush and tried to find a route that involved as little use of the hamstrings as possible. This was difficult to do.

After traveling less than a quarter mile Scott had a few more cramps. I had been praying silently that his cramps would hold off long enough for us to get to Clums Creek. Finally I said aloud something to the effect of, "God please keep Scott from cramping so that we can get to the creek." I gave him all the water I had and he got up and we started started moving down the slope. No more cramps for the next half mile or so and we were dunking our water bottles in the nice clear creek and sucking down as much water as we could hold. Thank you God.

Thankfully the type of crap that hits the fan involving dangerously close animal encounters had not hit the fan, and it never did throughout the entire trip. That's sweet. Kind of. It would have been fun to see something or other. Some racers did run into a few large mammals.

Our put in on Clums Creek. Somewhere around 2:00 AM. 

We took our time on the banks of Clums Creek. Earlier we were discussing 15 minute stops to get the boats inflated and off down the river. We ended up spending about an hour getting water and food put in ourselves and the boats loaded up and ready to go. Scott felt much better after drinking as much water as he could handle.

Eventually we bundled up, hopped in the boats, started downstream, and got out of the boats at the first snarl of sweepers 50 yards downstream. Neat. We played this game for about 3 hours. We also found ourselves regularly bouncing along rock bars as we worked our way downstream, trying to find the deepest route down Clums to Birch Creek. It was kind of cold too. Ice formed as water splashed on our backpacks strapped to the bow. We scraped our way down, finally arriving at the confluence and entering Birch Creek around 5:00 AM.

Larger creek!

We learned later that this was one of the lowest water years in the past decade. Thus, not only were we were dragging butt on the rocks, it was relatively slow moving. We scraped our boats along, searching for a nice deep channel, getting out and soaking our feet in the creek for a while when we got stuck.

A few exciting spots on the river kept us awake. Just before the obvious Shotgun Rapids were two large boulders with a bit of a drop that we bounced past. That kept us awake. Also, we saw a couple of racers asleep in their boats just before the rapids. Aside from some folks waiting for racers to come down the road about one mile from finish line, they were the only humans we saw the entire race. Heck yeah we were passing them.

Shotgun Rapids. Portage river left.

I was kind of cold. When we portaged Shotgun Rapids I found that getting out of the nice warm boat with a spray skirt was unpleasantly cold. I sat in a puddle of water that completely soaked my lower body while in the boat but taking off the spray skirt and getting out was the most difficult part of the morning. My legs were shaking uncontrollably, muscles throughout my body were contracting randomly, I had a lot of trouble staying upright while walking on the uneven rocks on the bank of the creek, and the mental process of putting my boat in the water and then getting in it was really hard to put together in the right order. I guess that is what some people call moderate hypothermia. I call it part of the deal. Spray skirt closed, problem solved. Is that stupid or tough?

Scott hopping in the boat after portaging Shotgun Rapids.

We bounced along for another three or four hours after the rapids. On one particularly straight calm portion of the river I fell asleep for what seemed to be about 10 seconds. At that point I suggested to Scott that we set a goal for when we wanted to reach our takeout. He agreed and I started paddling hard, trying to reach our take out by around 11:00 AM or something like that.

Birch Creek paddling.

Eventually we bounced the 20 or so miles down Birch Creek to Pitka's Bar where we hopped out of the boats and onto dry land.

Tak for turen!

Kind of dry land. My feet had been soaked for the past 12 hours. Also, they were a bit blistered. Time for a large dose of mild anti-inflammatory medication.

We collected our completely soaked items into our packs and headed up towards the ridge we planned to follow in order to avoid a bushwhack up a creek that most racers take. As soon as we crested the bank, we noticed a tussock field about a mile long. Neat. We crossed the tussock field and started to climb through the woods to the exposed ridge. Many thanks were again due to the caribou for carving trails through the woods.

The wispy clouds of the previous day gave way to rain clouds blowing in from the west. So the camera went away for a while. This was relatively challenging hiking. Though we had changed socks at the takeout, everything was soggy. We followed a four-wheeler trail for about 5 miles along the ridge, eventually making a final bushwhack to a gravel road that marked the final stretch. At this point, both feet were feeling pretty well shredded. Since taking out at Pitka's Bar, both heels and the balls of my feet felt like they were completely covered by a blister; one big one on the heel, one big one on the ball of my foot.

I convinced Scott that I heard voices on the road behind us (kind of true; I heard something) and that we needed to keep a brisk pace to stay ahead. A bit more than four more miles of walking put us at the finish line.

Finish line in sight.

We signed in on the finish line sheet and called it good.

Done.

Scott had arranged for some of Julia's old teammates to pick us up between the hours of 6 and 8 PM. We had joked on the last hour of hiking that it would be a bit disheartening to be just a bit too late, see them pulling away, leaving us to figure out a way home that night. Didn't happen. Good thing too. Dry shirt, pants, and socks have never felt so good. Also the folks at the Steese Roadhouse offered free burgers to race finishers. That was good too. We finished in 32 hours 18 minutes, about the middle of the pack. The winner beat us by about 12 hours. Whatever. We had fun.

Adventure racers generally discuss the sorry condition of their feet following the completion of the race. In fact there is a book about it that Julia's roommate just gave her that I am excited to read. My experience is no different. My feet hurt a lot. Also, a few days later my feet swelled up and I suddenly developed enormous cankles. That was weird.

Post-race. I didn't even notice the open blister on my achilles
during the race. 

Post-race. That's a new look.

A few weeks after the race I looked at my pinky toe and noticed that about a square inch of skin was falling off. Also, it turns out that I was correct when I thought that a good portion of my heel pad was a blister.

Three weeks after.

We traveled a long way, about 66 miles. Plenty of climbing up and down too. 

Wikimapia is fun.

But I guess we didn't really cross Alaska.

Alaska is big. Much to cross.

The race was 32 hours of wild. This photo represents the approximate 14 hours of mosquito interactions we had.

I decided not to bring a head net. 100% Deet is only partially
effective in these conditions.

Scott and I were two of many first-timers trying the race. But we made a pretty good go of it. Here is a writeup from the local paper. The pep talk he mentions that I remember was something to the effect of, "Well, we have to keep going. When can you move again?"

I have found that there is a profound difference between misery and pain. I really enjoy making that distinction. The race was painful, no doubt, but I recall very little,  if any, misery. Remembering the Gospel gives me hope for a life spotted with pain but devoid of misery. May it be so. As the race promoter, Mark Ross, says, "Be free." It would be my pleasure. 

The iMovie templates are silly but efficient. This only took about 30 minutes to put together. And it made me chuckle to myself a lot.

Also, some unedited video with an interview immediately following the race.

Well, that was enjoyable. I hope I have the opportunity to do something similar again.

April and May

In April, Julia had the wonderful opportunity to head home to Michigan and do fun things like this:

Real eggs!

Plastic eggs!!!!

Looking good wife.

While Julia was in Michigan, I was in Alaska doing fun stuff like this:

Getting towed up the lateral moraine of Canwell Glacier.
Photo by Erik.

Making tracks up and down the slopes south of the
Canwell. Photo by Nick.

Skiing back down the lateral moraine on the Canwell.
Photo by Nick.

That was so much fun I decided to take Julia out there the next weekend to try to ski in the same area. We spent the night in a friend's cabin on Fielding Lake and woke up early the next morning to head to the mountains. Alaska is a spectacular place, both in terms of the people we have met and places we have seen. 

We have stopped and taken pictures at this spot nearly every time we have
 driven down the Richardson Highway. This time we had wonderful light.

We weren't able to get up there with downhill skiing equipment. So we switched to skate skis and scooted along the same trail I had taken a week earlier. Though we didn't have cloudless skies and we didn't put in any new skin tracks up the hill, it was still a spectacular outing.

Julia above the Canwell.

On the way back I found a soft spot in the trail. 

An outline of my face was visible in the snow.

Julia entering the canyon where our car was parked.

Before Julia headed to Michigan, her old ski coach and I had begun planning for competing in the Hot Springs 100 adventure race (also referred to as AlaskAcross). This was helpful when Julia was gone as it provided something to distract me from missing my lovely wife (though it wasn't even close to being adequately effective). We did a few hikes and long runs on weekends during April and May. One weekend we checked out the first nine miles of the route we planned to take. A walk on the Angel Rocks Trail, hike down to the river, and float back to a bike stashed in the woods was also enjoyable.

Angel Rocks

Looking down the Upper Chena River from near the top of the
Angel Rocks Trail.

Floating the Middle Fork of the Chena River.

When Julia had to leave Alaska again in May, I started to do all sorts of weird things, such as crying myself to sleep, eating only pasta and olive oil with a glass of water for a meal, and eating six pounds of Cocoa Crunchies and Magic Stars. I also started doing a few abnormal things to prepare for the race, like walking to and from a teacher inservice in Fairbanks and hiking all night to train for the race. On the second to last day of work at Ben Eielson Jr./Sr. High School, I walked to work and it took all night. I ferried across the raging Chena River at 2:30 AM in the morning. I very much by chance avoided an encounter with a pipeline service truck at 2:00 AM. I definitely didn't want to explain myself. He didn't see me, I wasn't going to wave. It probably wasn't the wisest adventure to go on, but whatever. I had lots of fun anyway. I followed an owl for about 45 minutes along the pipeline as I chased it from tree to tree. I sang nice and loud and nobody told me to shut it. It was good to be alone for a while.

The pipeline at twilight. The first ten piles of bear scat along
the pipeline service road weren't that disconcerting. But that
eleventh one really got me thinking.

Dawn breaking on very quiet Chena Lakes.

Finish line.

Tak for turen!

WikiMapia is fun.

After walking to work, there were less than two weeks left before the race. My tapering period began, mostly because my heel hurt from walking 27 miles on gravel and pavement. Thankfully everything was ready to roll for the race.

It's a very good thing when Julia is present. I eat and sleep far better than when she is around. Also Julia doesn't think my adventure choosing mechanism has enough checks and balances. But I'm still alive!

Ha!