Improvising the Eno HouseFly as a 1-person ground shelter

(Oh, hi, hello, yes, it's been a while. I am more active on Instagram these days, but I still write, and I've released a new chapbook called 'why don't we know each other'--it's available now.)

My first trips as an outdoor educator involved sharing shelters with my co-instructors, people with whom I spent several days getting to know before sharing such close quarters for any period of time. When I was hired to work with Dunn School, it was the first time I found myself in need of a 1-person shelter, as our orientation was short and I would be the primary wilderness instructor on the trip.

After trying out the REI Quarterdome 1 on the first trip, I returned the tent due to its weight, but moreso due to the expense. I wanted something simple, light, and not wildly expensive. Those who have the funds can acquire a sub-1-pound shelter made of cuben fiber for $300-500. Considering the wear I tend to put on my gear and my unpredictable work schedule, I couldn't stomach the expense.

The compromise I landed on was to use an Eno HouseFly Rain Tarp as a ground shelter. At 27 ounces without accounting for ground stakes, it's not the lightest solution, but since I was able to purchase one on sale for less than $100, it was a good compromise.

The tarp comes with quite a bit of cord and I've been able to shed a bit of weight by eliminating the plastic tensioners and connectors tying the lines directly to the straps on the tarp. 10 lines are included (6 for structure and 4 for the doors), and I tend to only carry 6 of the lines.

I set the tarp up with my trekking poles to create an A-frame shelter. I stake the corners directly into the ground for warmth and privacy, and create tension in the ridgeline using a truckers hitch from the trekking poles.

As you can see, there's no floor to this tent, so I have to bring my own. The nice thing about not having a floor is that I can pull my pack into the shelter without worry about dirtying the floor or crowding a vestibule. I sliced open a plastic contractor's trash bag for my floor, on which I place my sleeping pad. I am on the lookout for some discarded Tyvek for the next series of trips, as a lighter alternative.

These photos are from the test run of this set-up at Dunn School before the actual 4-day trip-- always good to practice beforehand! After first setting up the trekking poles handles down and tips through the loop, I decided to try them out handle-up. I like the way the doors sit this way better, though I worry about the force on the material.

What I learned during the trip is that since I am 4'11, I can comfortably sleep under the tarp with a trekking pole on only one end, and the other end staked down. I haven't yet had the pleasure of setting this up using trees. I imagine a taller person may want to create more headroom by staking out the corners with cord and having their trekking poles adjusted to be taller. There would be more airflow that way as well.

For those who worry about insects, well, I did find a scorpion underneath my ground tarp while camping in Big Sur that year, but we managed to stay well away from each other. The HouseFly has a few flaps of material that create a sort of barrier between the walls and the ground, but there are those doors. I'm somewhat concerned about mosquitos in my coming work season, but not quite enough to switch to a $200+ set up. Okay, to be honest, I'd probably worry less about the expense for a tent if I were not based in a place as expensive as the Bay Area. We'll see how long the streak can last.

Funnily, the nights that I've slept in my hammock so far have not required a tarp at all, so I've only ever set up this hammock shelter on the ground. There may be cheaper, lighter, and bug-netted options out there if I keep a better eye out for sales, but I've become attached to my improvised solution. And, why carry both trekking poles and tent poles?

All Who Dare Los Angeles Premiere // Free Screening

My trip to the Lost Creek Wilderness with Eagle Rock School students last year is captured in this one-hour documentary:

All Who Dare follows nine incoming Eagle Rock students who leave behind their families, friends, and familiar environments as they surpass their limits in the Lost Creek Wilderness of Colorado. 

Guided by experienced wilderness educators, the students are challenged physically, emotionally, spiritually and socially during this once-in-a-lifetime journey of personal growth. They quickly learn that there are no excuses in the wilderness, and that completing the trip is only the first step in taking responsibility for their lives. 

All Who Dare – also the school’s motto – provides a compelling look at the unconventional approach of a nationally acclaimed innovative high school that provides hope for young people who are striving to turn their lives around.

The film is showing in Burbank on November 2nd. I wish that I could be there for the LA premiere, but I'm firing a soda kiln on November 1st, and have to stick around until the 6th to unpack and clean the kiln.

You can register for the free screening at AMC 16 Burbank here: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/la-premiere-screening-all-who-dare-documentary-panel-qa-tickets-38643081497

At the Stanley Hotel with Jack (L) & Jordan (R)

I drove from Oakland to Estes Park last month in order to attend the premiere, and sat on the post-film panel. It was so wonderful to be among the students, faculty, and staff of the ERS community, and to be reunited with my awesome co-instructors on the trip, Jack and Jordan.

It's been over a year since I worked for ERS due to various scheduling conflicts, but I hope that changes in the coming seasons. Over the last three years, I've grown more and more comfortable working with young people, ever more in awe of what they understand, what they are capable of when they are supported, and how much we can learn from one another when given the time and space abundant in extended wilderness expeditions.

(Along the way to Colorado, I lost my necklace-- keep an eye out, world, it could be anywhere by now. It added a bittersweet tinge to the journey. With all that has happened in the last few weeks, to individuals in my life as well as to entire communities around the world, I'm keeping perspective on the loss as best I can. And, I'm still posting on Craigslist and messaging pawn shops around the US. Because why not.)

A June that dreams are made of // part 1

My spirit has been nourished to near-bursting this month.

A small attempt to capture it. 

Upon beginning to write this, I realized it would take two posts to even briefly talk about each of the things. So this is part one of two.

GirlVentures Staff & Sea Kayak Training

After having worked community courses and one summer course with GirlVentures since 2014, I was finally able to attend an official summer staff training in Point Reyes. We hiked to Sky Camp and Coast Camp, built relationships as a staff, practiced curriculum, and delved into discussions of equity and inclusion. Such conversations are not easy or comfortable, but it is wonderful to work with an organization where we can step into that discomfort and find support.

Another reason I love working with GirlVentures is their commitment to developing staff skills. The weekend after staff training, a number of staff were taken on an overnight sea kayaking trip in Tomales Bay, where we participated in an ACA Level 2 Coastal Kayak Touring Workshop. It was my first overnight paddling trip, and I was so nervous about it that I contemplated not going until the very last minute.

Being out on the water seems so unpredictable, and I'd never had to pack or dress for submersion before, so for the first time in a long time I was getting ready to do something completely new to me. It was a good reminder of how difficult trying new things can be and reaffirmed to me how amazing young people are to face new situations all the time.

TNP Wellness & Solidarity Workshops at Khmer Girls in Action 

I co-facilitated a series of writing workshops with tra for Southeast Asian youth at Khmer Girls in Action in Long Beach. To witness their stories, creativity, eloquence, and their commitment to justice and community was humbling and inspiring. I don't often get to work with Khmer youth and being part of the process of them giving themselves permission to tell and to explore their stories, to tell them that it is okay to make up spellings for Khmer words, to hear echoes of my own story in theirs, to have the opportunity to learn and grow with them-- I am beyond grateful for that.

I loved being able to learn from tra's presence and creativity in facilitation. To be reminded to let go of any insecurities I may have about my abilities, because facilitation is about the participants, not about me. That the job is not to perform, but to listen and to elicit. To draw forth the story. To give authentic responses, to encourage.

Some of them will be sharing their writing at KGA's 20th Anniversary Gala tonight. I'm so excited for them and wish I could be there.

Queer Road Trip with Audrey Kuo at Tuesday Night Cafe

Audrey and I do not usually write or perform with other people, but were invited to do a set together for the June 20th Tuesday Night Cafe. A major event in our friendship was the roadtrip they agreed to take with me to Lander, Wyoming for my NOLS fellowship in 2014. For our set, we decided to make up a podcast called Queer Road Trip to tell the story of that journey and to share the great tenderness we've nourished in our friendship.

We shared "A Minute of Tenderness," during which we took turns sharing things that made us feel tender.

The weekend prior saw the murders of Charleena Lyles and Nabra Hassanen, more tragedy to add the never ending list of tragedy. In our set, we created an altar for Charleena and Nabra and invited everyone to speak the names of those lost to police brutality, to racism, to anti-blackness, to transphobia, to islamophobia.

We invited our dear friend t.k. lê to the stage to share her poetry with us. We spoke of grief, of mourning, of rage, and of possibility, of hope, of joy.

Five years after I moved out of LA, Tuesday Night Cafe still feels like home. I'm so grateful.

---

To be continued.

Big Sur, Big Rains // A loop around the Silver Peak Wilderness, Part 2

Finally finishing this up after spending time in LA, doing a trip with Dunn's Sophomores, and a personal backpacking trip with friends along the Pine Ridge Trail in Big Sur.

Thursday PM: Estrella Campground to Spruce Campground

The navigation out of Estrella was challenging, and I have to give the students a lot of credit for finding the route. There were a few use trails which led to impassable spots, and we had to explore up and down the creek to find a way. Luckily, one of the students in the other group had mentioned to us a knee-deep water crossing, which was key in helping us find the way. While I tend to prefer to navigate based on landmarks and terrain, the compass was extremely useful after we crossed the creek, and I wish I had it out sooner as it would have saved us some time. I was thankful for my students' patience and their ability to stay in good spirits. 

On this stretch of Salmon Creek Trail, we were stopped in our tracks by deadfall-- two large trees had been knocked down across the trail, making it look impassable. I tried to scout out a way around it down the hill, to no avail. Here was another lesson for me; I could have saved time by looking more closely at the deadfall first. It turned out that the trees were stable, though of course awkward to get around with a big pack. I helped them each across and many of them found that it wasn't as hard as they originally thought. 

The rest of the way to Spruce was, thankfully, very straightforward. The girls later told me that I started hiking very fast after we crossed that obstacle. I was eager to get to camp, and glad to take advantage of the downhill trail. We came upon Spruce Camp very suddenly after crossing a low creek, and walked past it to the trail junction because it seemed to come up so soon. There was no signage at this campground other than an arrow pointing to the trail across the creek and one of the students adamantly said she would make a sign there so that no one else would make that unnecessary .15-mile uphill trek. I'm not sure it happened, but it was a nice thought. 

At this point, knowing how much poison oak we'd just trampled through, I passed around some poison oak wipes for everyone to use on their face, hands, any skin that had been exposed during our hike. I haven't yet had a poison oak reaction myself, but that doesn't mean I won't. Sneaky plant, that. I'd previously used Tecnu for washing off poison oak on trips, never wipes, and I still prefer it. 

That night, during our satellite-phone check-in (the connection was awful), I learned that more bad weather was coming in, and we were to hike out early the next morning and get back to school rather than to have the planned car-camping night with the other groups. I facilitated a small closing ceremony after letting everyone know the new plan. There was some celebration by the students that there would be one less night of camping, which is to be expected with a compulsory trip, and I let them know that I regretted that they wouldn't be able to gather with the other hiking groups as planned. Sharing experiences with one another before returning to school is a very special part of trips like this, and would probably have been extra interesting for them with all the weather-related challenges we had in the beginning.

It was a very warm closing ceremony, and we got to bed early. Just before turning in for the night, I found a tick attached to my left side, explaining the strange ache I'd felt there all day. In my fatigued state, I pried the tick off ungently before even thinking to reach into the first aid kit for tweezers. Ticks have to be attached for at least 36 hours to transmit Lyme Disease, and tiny nymphal ticks are much more likely than adult ticks to stay attached for that long. Still, upon returning to town, I was glad to be prescribed a round of antibiotics (doxycycline) as a preventative measure.

Friday: Spruce Campground to Salmon Creek Trailhead

We woke for our very last morning stretch at 6AM, put out breakfast, and began to take down camp. As predicted, at 7AM, the first drops of rain began to fall and quickly escalated. We got out of camp 1.5 hours after waking, and covered the two miles in around an hour. Everyone was in relatively good spirits, which is not surprising since we were heading toward hot showers and warm, dry beds.

The last mile winding down toward the trailhead was especially lovely, the switchbacked hills covered in poppies, beautiful even with their petals closed against the rain.

There was much rejoicing as we reached the vehicles-- we were the first ones out. Soon after we arrived, a school vehicle pulled up. The trip director was in the process of evacuating an instructor for a severe poison oak reaction. By the time the evacuation happened and all the groups were out and ready to caravan, the storm had fully established its presence.

Back to School

Statistically speaking, driving is the riskiest part of most outdoor programs. The hour spent winding around Highway 1 under sheets of rain and gusts of wind required my full concentration. The students slept through it, for the most part. There were moments when it poured so hard that I considered pulling over just before they passed. I felt sweet relief upon pulling into the gravel lot back at Dunn.

The students were gathered, gear was collected, and they were dismissed at around noon. Due to the change in schedule, the post-trip clean-up which students would typically participate in was left to us instructors. Not ideal or efficient, but so these things go sometimes. Gear cleanup and storage is a vital part of all trips, and I wish the students had been able to participate in it.

Thankfully, the next day and a half were sunny and warm as we dried out the tents, laundered the sleeping bags, tested and fixed the stoves. And then we were done.

After Thoughts

I would love to return to the Silver Peak Wilderness and do this same loop on a personal trip. Some of the erosion along the trails is worrisome, but manageable. This trip was the first time I held such primary responsibility for wilderness skills and risk management, and to be honest I started out quite intimidated. I heard somewhere that a great way to learn something is to teach it. I became a backpacking instructor two years ago with only two short personal trips under my belt, and I'm continuously refining my skills and learning more about pedagogy and facilitation. This recent increase in responsibility has improved my confidence in both my outdoor skills and my leadership skills, and it's taught me that I still have a lot to learn about managing time, giving structured and unstructured lessons, and facilitation.

It's surprising how these trips seem both long and short. Something about being removed from your daily context that does funny things to time. One moment it's only beginning, and all of a sudden it's over. I look forward to the next. 

Big Sur, Big Rains // A loop around the Silver Peak Wilderness, Part 1

The first trip of my outdoor work season was a backpacking trip in Big Sur's Silver Peak Wilderness with 11th grade girls from Dunn School. When I arrived at Dunn for orientation and prep, I learned that I would lead an all-female-identified group, including the faculty member, which was somewhat rare for Dunn, and solidly in my comfort zone, since I had begun my backpacking instructor career with GirlVentures. It was a welcome surprise.

Monday: Los Olivos to Forks Campground (or so we thought)

We set out from Los Olivos with the intention of doing a point-to-point hike in the Ventana Wilderness, but Big Sur received such a deluge in the days prior that two of the roads to our original trailhead were closed and the trail itself was impassable. The creek we were meant to cross had swelled enormously and was moving fast; crossing it was beyond the scope of our trip as well as objectively dangerous. This, along with the poor condition of the road we had just driven up, which another group would have to drive down with bad weather in forecast, necessitated a change of plans. As we hiked back to the trailhead, I asked the faculty member whether they had ever had to cross water like that. In past years, she said, her feet had barely gotten wet. 

We camped that first night at Santa Lucia Memorial Park Campground, setting up our tents during another bout of rain and retiring soon after dinner in the cold. The next morning was clear, thankfully, for our drive down to the Silver Peak Wilderness, where we would hike this loop:

Tuesday: Salmon Creek Trailhead to Buckeye Campground

We parked at the Salmon Creek Trailhead lot, which is a few minutes' walk south of where Buckeye Trail starts. Our goal that day was to get to Buckeye Camp, which would have us traveling 3.75 miles and climbing about 1700 feet in elevation. Needless to say, that was a challenging first-day hike, especially since we had spent the morning driving down from the Ventana Wilderness and did not start until 1:00 pm.

The girls were great about adjusting to one another's needs, whether we were dealing with physical challenges or motivational ones. We hiked as a close group, and I was thankful that I didn't have to continuously remind people that no matter what, we could only go as fast as the slowest hiker anyway. In groups where some want to go faster, I've found that oftentimes we've reached the destination later rather than sooner; people get so tired that rest breaks are longer and less efficient, and there are many more aches and pains to haunt us along the way.

We made camp at dusk, when we found a spot that, though it was not the flattest terrain, we had a kitchen with glorious ocean view. The stars that night were magnificent-- the best I saw the entire trip.

I was relieved to finally be in the backcountry after our frazzling first day. The gentler weather certainly helped, too.
The next day, we realized we had been just half a mile or so short of the actual Buckeye Camp. Though it was a lovely meadow with a picnic table and trees, most (all?) of us were glad that we stopped when we had.

Wednesday: Buckeye Camp to Lion's Den

This second day of hiking was to be our longest, with the map and trail signs telling us we'd have anywhere from 5 to 7 miles to cover that day, over varying terrain. We climbed up the rest of Buckeye Trail and headed east on Cruickshank Trail, passing one of the other groups along the way, who were doing the reverse of our loop. They warned us of thick brush, poison oak, and knee-deep water that would be on our next day's hike. We filed away that information while focusing on the miles we still had ahead of us before that night's camp.

We all began to hit our stride on this day, I think, with students showing their aptitude and interest in navigation, natural history, and traveling over unfamiliar terrain. We saw beautiful manzanitas and madrones, shrubby trees with smooth, chocolatey, surreal bark which love a little elevation and Mediterranean climes.

There were exposed trails, some of which were quite eroded from the recent rain, leading to a few instances when I passed a trekking pole back for students, or closely spotted them as they made their way down startlingly steep trail. Again, they showed their commitment to an encouraging environment and helping one another get through the experience safely.

One thing to remember when hiking across exposed, eroding trails cut into steep mountainsides: keep moving! Steadily and calmly continue forward until you reach more stable ground; taking very slow steps or hesitating will only give the ground more time to weaken beneath your weight.

Just a quarter mile or so before Lions Den Campground, on the ridge, we stopped for a snack break in the shade of the chaparral. Since it was the midway point of our trip, I took some time to revisit Leave No Trace ethics as well as the group's hopes and fears, which we had shared before the trip began.

We then descended into Lions Den Camp, which we were to share with another group from the school. Students are always so thrilled to see one another even though they've only been apart for a couple of days! We allowed the groups to spend fifteen minutes together (which instructors and faculty were also glad to spend), and then we each went back to our own camp chores for the night. It all went very smoothly.

One student from the other group was super impressed that we had gone all the way from Buckeye and made it to Lions Den just an hour or so before them-- they had started 1 or 2 miles ahead of us at Upper Cruickshank Camp. I praised our group for their efficiency in getting out of camp, typically one of the biggest challenges/time-eaters when backpacking. We took advantage of the clear evening with a post-dinner lesson, and then prepared for another early (though not quite as early) start the next morning.

Thursday AM : Lions Den Campground to Estrella Campground

We woke at 6:45 and had camp packed up (and foot care done!) by around 8:30 that morning-- another praiseworthy effort. While the group was eager to begin hiking, a few had new complaints about their packs, and I took some time to take a closer look.

It takes experience to get used to the many minute adjustments that can be made throughout the day to keep a pack comfortable, and students sometimes are not aware of how packs are supposed to fit. There are places where it's normal to experience aches and discomfort, such as around the hipbones, but any time students express pain in the back or shoulders, it's worth finding a good stopping point to fiddle with adjustable torsos and attachment points for loader straps (the straps above the shoulder that help pull the upper part of the pack closer to your back). 

Another note on pack-fitting is that when a higher-capacity pack in my size is available, I go for it-- this saves a lot of time and grief, and over-stuffing can lead to a pack no longer fitting comfortably, not to mention putting unnecessary stress on the fabric and zippers. If you have trouble getting all of your gear inside the pack the first time, it's not going to get much better even as you eat your food. It's much easier to have too much room and cinch down the pack.

The stroll along Cruickshank Trail to Coast Ridge Road was quite fast, leading us to question the trail sign stating that Lions Den was a whole mile away.

We could see the valleys all around us, and could almost make out the ocean through some haze. We stopped for a few photos. A solo hiker (the only person we encountered who was not from the school) came upon us and also warned of the thick brush along Salmon Creek Trail. I was confident that we would be fine, since it is much different to walk uphill through thick brush than charge downhill. 

As we made our way down, we could really see what they meant. Chaparral, live oak, sharp succulents, and plenty of poison oak all grew close into the trail. For those of us in the 4'11 (me) to 5'3 range, it wasn't too bad, but we really felt for our 5'11 group member, who was having to push through or duck below all the stuff growing above our heads. She assured us that she was fine. A couple of other students said "This is actually fun!" The trail was clearer as we made it to Estrella Camp, where we stopped for lunch. We were tempted to make camp there, it was so nice, but we had many hours left in the day, and the lure of a shorter hike out the next morning motivated us on. 

To be continued... 

(Wow, this post is longer than I imagined it would be, but I'm enjoying reliving the trip-- tomorrow I begin prepping for a trip with Dunn's sophomores. Hopefully I'll be able to write Part 2 before we set off. There are no photos from this trip because I ruined my old-but-good camera during my very wet and cold trip in Alaska last year, but I've acquired a new, water-resistant camera for future trips.)

"How was Alaska?"

Life is not what you alone make it. Life is the input of everyone who
touched your life and every experience that entered it.
We are all part of one another. - Yuri Kochiyama

Weighing in at more than half a pound, my Hydroflask was most certainly an impractical luxury item for the 28-day NOLS Alaskan Wilderness Backpacking trip on which I was recently an Instructor-in-Training. As someone who is 4'11" and under a hundred pounds, every ounce really counts, even if I don't want it to. I am of the mindset that I'd rather go slower with more weight, making due with what I have, rather than go for a newer, shinier, lighter item.

That ideal has to shift when backpacking in a professional capacity, I realize now, but I don't regret bringing the heavy thermos with me. Our 120-mile journey through the Southern Talkeetna Mountains year olds culminated in a cold, rainy all-night hike, and the hot sugary caffeinated concoction I had was well worth the extra weight.

Of course, I won't be bringing it on my next professional trip.

I've been putting off writing a post about Alaska. The task of compiling almost a month's worth of learning and experiences into a comprehensible blog post or trip report has been daunting.

Here's an attempt to sum it up:

We hiked up mountain passes and down into valleys and back up into passes, again and again and again. We walked through icy cold creeks and crossed rivers together in eddy lines. We made cornbread and pizza and cinnamon rolls from scratch. I made cheesy pancakes and oatmeal chocolate chip pancakes and cinnamon raisin pancakes and accidentally made pancake pizza.

I got bruises on my hips and blisters on my feet and sun bumps on my left ear and the climber's bumps on my heels peeled and peeled and peeled. I read Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore and Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. I read excerpts of writing about the construction of wilderness that challenged my existing notions of wilderness, wilderness education, access. I questioned what I was doing there, what I wanted from the experience, what I felt about being the only woman of color on the trip, what I felt about continuing to pursue work with NOLS.

The summer solstice came at the midpoint of our trip. We didn't pack headlamps. We went to the toe of the Chickaloon Glacier. We saw places on our map where glaciers that were there less than 10 years ago no longer exist. We saw caribou and moose and eagles, and some of us saw grizzlies. We ended our hike at the confluence of the Talkeetna River and Iron Creek, where jet boats picked us up for an exhilarating ride to the town of Talkeetna.

Before and after the course, I stayed at the NOLS Alaska base in the town of Palmer, where we grazed on beautiful salads from the garden and freshly baked bread daily. I lived for a few days in a canvas wall tent before the trip, and in a 3-person Kelty tent for the few days I was there afterward. My co-instructor Deev and I practiced acroyoga a few times.

And that was my June 9th to July 19th.

I flew back to Long Beach, read some poetry at Tuesday Night Cafe, performed a wedding ceremony for my good friends, then promptly returned to the Bay Area.

In a few weeks, I'll be out on another backpacking trip, this time as a wilderness instructor for Eagle Rock School. A 23-day trip rather than 28. Again with teenagers.

I plan to apply for a NOLS Instructor Course. If accepted, I'll go on the 35-day course next year. There's still a lot I'm mulling over. What it means to be a woman of color in a historically white male institution. The idea that wilderness conservation displaces indigenous peoples from a way of life intimately connected to nature, and the reality that my parents, who collect rain water and grow practically half of the food they consume, are potentially--likely?-- more in tune with nature than the majority of people who consume the outdoors.

Aparna, former Diversity and Inclusion Manager at NOLS, recently wrote:

It’s one thing to want to make people of color aware of a world of possibilities, to put outdoor adventure on their radar, or even to work to create an inclusive culture in the outdoors that is welcoming to everyone. But it’s quite another thing to presume that of all their choices, people will somehow feel compelled to leave the comfort of a roof over their heads to “rough it” in the woods. Camping, like stamp collecting or painting or driving fast cars or dancing, is not for everybody. And. That. Is. Okay.

I have been thinking a lot about how I've bought into a particular way of consuming the outdoors, consuming wilderness, as a rock climber, as a backpacker, as an outdoor educator. And that there are experiences that I want to pursue that bring up contradictions that are difficult to reconcile. And that I can play a role in the pursuit of a more equitable world even from a place of contradiction. That life is a series of reconciliations.

I started this post with my thermos. The heavy, bright orange vessel made it through the 28-day trip without a scratch. Between the jet boat ride out and the present, however, it's gained some small dents and chips. The latest was a couple of days ago, when I knocked it off the driver seat of my car and onto asphalt as I was loading things. It occurred to me then that all of the dents came after what most would consider a more trying environment for keeping things new. But while I was backpacking, I took better care of it. I usually did only one thing at once. I knew that I had to "go slow to go fast," as my WFR instructor Mazie was fond of saying. I took care of things well. And since I've returned, I've caught myself many times trying to go too fast, doing things while distracted, being less than present.

The outdoors gets sold as a place to get away from it all, to leave the distractions of daily life, the leave the necessary frazzled-ness behind. We talk about how nature allows us to be more in touch with ourselves, so we must preserve these "pristine" areas so that we can go and rejuvenate ourselves and thus perform better in the society as it stands. But the wilderness reminds me that there are so many parts of society that need to change, that need to be calmer, that need to be less fixated on more, newer, faster.

In a few weeks, I'll be trekking through the Gila Wilderness with teenage students. I'll be sharing with them the values that I've reinforced through being outdoors and the skills that I've learned through NOLS and GirlVentures and my personal experience. I'll continue to be perplexed by the complications and contradictions of identity, politics, conservation, consumption, capitalism.

And that's it. There's not really any way to wrap a bow around it.