When a great soul is silenced

Scott Roy blazing a trail during Ironman CDA 2011

A great man was silenced last night.

I had a prof who used to ask her class "who are your heros?" Scott was my hero. I doubt he had any idea how much his friendship meant to me. The obvious inspiration that he gave me and hundreds more was how to tap the inner athlete in all of us. I hope one day to find his balance of the drive to compete, the love for life, and the commitment to help others realize their goals.

I didn't know him as well as some. But what I saw in Scott I see in very few. He radiated goodness. He had a light inside him. The kind of light that leaves you wanting more. A light that came from some bottomless well of goodness. His smile was the simplest way to see this light. Big, huge smile, constantly smiling. You improved your swim. Big Smile. You ran a personal best. Big Smile. You found a way to improve your transitions. Big Smile. You showed up to practice. Big Smile.

He was a coach's coach. It came natural to him to lift people up. Inspire others the only way he knew how, expressing genuine care for anyone who came to him with a goal. I know this first hand. My mother went to Scott with the goal of completing Ironman CDA 2011. The months leading up to Ironman, and during the event itself I saw why so many people spoke so highly of Scott. He had a special gift to cultivate a courage in my mother to finish that triathlon under unbelievably difficult conditions. They finished Ironman together, crossing the finish line together.

I think of an amazing husband and father and coach, now silenced. Still so much to give this world. Even now, still raw with disbelief, I can't seem to accept that such a great man has been silenced. For all those who knew Scott, peace be with you. And for those who never had the chance, take my word for it, a great man is gone from this world. His light will live on.

Fire it up.

How's this thing work again? Oh, right, this is where I post my notes from the field.  With this post I'm blowing the dust off this old blog and recommitting myself to keeping you informed on my journey into the unknown.

I make no promises on how often i will post. As much as i plan to post i am excited to disconnect from this increasingly connected world. And of course i will be limited to finding a "connection" on the road. With that said, bookmark it, forget about it, enjoy it, laugh at it, get annoyed by it, learn from it, this blog is as much for me as it is for you. I am eager to reconnect with that feeling of why I first started this travel log. As a way to highlight the amazing people and places I come across during this nomadic life.

There is so much in this world to stress about. But this page inspires me to tell the tales of all the beauty in this world. Searching different corners of the world to find those people i have yet to meet, the places i have yet to see.

Some of you have a rough idea of my plans for the coming months, but in the end, i'm just as excited to see what gets posted on this blog as you are. Admittedly I venture into the unknown with some trepidation, but isn't that what makes life worth living, that ever-so-faint feeling like you are going to shit your pants if you think too long about what you've just decided to do. In the words of a man named Hunter, "Buy the ticket, take the ride."

Gather around friends. It's storytime.

that's a wrap

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower.

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

- written 1923 by Robert Frost

This poem came into my life from a dancer I once dated. She fancied these few verses by Frost. And in short order I found myself enjoying the same poem from time to time. Now is one of those times.

There was the first post on this blog and with this, the last. For over a year and a half I have been doing my best to report stories, faces, places, personalities and inspirations on any given day. I have enjoyed the people who informed me every so often that something I wrote made them feel something or see something beautiful. Those uncommon comments fueled my tank along the way.

For a multitude of reasons I will no longer be keeping my notes from the field. The short answer is I feel this blog has run its course. I no longer feel I am reporting moments of inspiration the way I set out to do in the beginning. You can be sure life's smallest moments will still catch my eye and grab my heart but that is where they will stay.

To the handful of dedicated readers I thank you for your interest in my bits of banter. And for those who dropped by every once in a while I hope you managed to take away some enjoyment from this dusty diary of mine.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go attack life.

Bullwinkle (and gang) in the backyard!

I arrived back at the house after my run and the thought hit me- "i wonder what time of year that moose usually comes around" I made a few more steps down towards the creek and spotted Bullwinkle in my backyard! Had I not been jamming to my tunes i would have spied him before i spooked him. He saw me and made an unhurried effort in the other direction. Hence the "backside of Bullwinkle" pic.

And then, just as it was about dark I noticed some odd movement mixed in among the bushes across the creek. After several minutes of investigation it became clear that they were porcupines grabbing dinner. I had no idea they enjoyed such meals, several feet from the ground. Again, a sad photo, just to give some idea.

An unexpected change in terrain

So this video makes me laugh. It was filmed up on St Helens by two guys who were part of our group that climbed this past weekend. Though I dont know them well, both guys are extremely talented backcountry skiers and have tremendous passion for the outdoors. And this video was just one of those special moments that happened to be caught on camera:

Skinning up and skiing down Mount St. Helens

Mount St. Helens erupted 31 years ago almost to the day. I know this because I was born one month before she blew her top, sending ash hundreds of miles in all directions. Much of the Pacific Northwest corner of America watched the sky turn dark in the middle of the day on May 18, 1980.

I found myself in a car with a few fellow co-workers on Friday after work. The car was loaded with skis, tents and the goal of "skinning"to the top of Mount St. Helens. Skinning is a term used to describe alpine touring, the act of walking up hill on skis and then taking off the "skin", a strip of material that attaches to the bottom of the ski to grip the snow that is removed when one feels the urge to ski down.

The morning started out perfect. The sun was out and the guys and I were making good time up the mountain. Alpine touring is an art I am only starting to learn and appreciate. It takes tremendous cardio strength and strong leg muscles to hold a good pace while heading up hill.

The point when things became interesting started around the time we found ourselves in a dense fog some 700 feet from the summit. A complete white-out where you could see no more than 7-10 feet in front of you and the fog/cloud cover matched perfectly with the white snow giving the sense of vertigo.

Pushing up towards the summit we found ourselves along the ridge line. The only telling feature that allowed us to know we had made it to the crater's edge was the 50 foot long flat ridge line and the faintest white line that represented where the sky and the edge of the crater met.

Stripping our skins from the skis we started to slowly ski down through the fog. We had lost any clue as to where we were exactly, hoping after we skied through the fog we could find our sense of direction. However, not only had the fog moved further down the mountain we had inadvertently skied further west of the trail head that would lead us back to the car.

I will not bore you with the five hour unexpected traverse we did in order to find our way back down the mountain to the parking lot. It was a lesson for me on many levels. The most important being how disoriented one can get in a complete white-out. And a close second is to pay careful attention to maps, compass readings and land marks even on what is assumed to be the simplest of journeys.

Darkness and rain began to fall just as we happened upon the trail head. Making it back to the car felt better than it usually does. It was a great weekend spent with some great guys. I collected many beautiful moments from this weekend. Some I acknowledged as they happened and others only came to me in hindsight. But on this late Sunday night all of them are now filed neatly away in my mind as "that long day on top of an old volcano".