Snow Fall

       There's nothing like a spur of the moment drive through the backroads of Allegany County after class.  Especially when it's mid-30's and dumping heavy flakes of snow on the windshield Austin's CRV.  Time stood still as we drove past an Amish man and his two draft horses who were making their way down a snow covered dirt road.  There's something about snow on everything that makes us want to take pictures and clear our heads from all the terms, theories, methods, and regulations that are drilled into our heads during the week.  If you ask me, this is the perfect way to start a weekend.  Enjoy folks!

Lattice Bridge

Winter In Letchworth

          Waking as early as possible after a restless night, Dominic and I made it to the closed Parade Grounds Entrance and a dead end road that met up with the train tracks above the Upper Falls.  Without hesitation we parked the car and moseyed to the viaduct until the echos of the Genesee River were within sight 240 feet below.  The mist from the falls had froze among the gorge walls and overhanging trees creating a smooth glassy view that nobody could forget.

Upper Falls Birdseye View (Atop Viaduct)

       
          As we made our way through the desolate park I took a fresh regard as I had never seen "The Grand Canyon of the East" covered in snow.  The lack of tourists made this trip all the more enjoyable as we did not have to avoid their company or their high dollar sports cars.  There was a solitary makeup of the park this day that gave off such an overwhelming gratitude for the land and water; one that makes me think of the future and how I want to live my life protecting, preserving, appreciating and recognizing the importance of nature and all that it brings to us whether it be implicit or explicit, internal or external, physical or mental.

Great Bend Overlook

Upper Falls Viaduct

Climbing The Talus

          The sound of the tent zipper woke me as I tiresomely checked my watch, 4:45 am.  Time to get out of this warm cocoon and out into the foggy mist that surrounded our campsite.  The oatmeal was a bit cold, but it didn't seem to matter to me.  Such a minor thing as I knew that attempting to summit this mountain would be much more unpleasant than a cold breakfast.  We were at Warner Lake basecamp 9,345 ft. up in the La Sal Mountains.  The anticipation was overwhelming as I stared up at the snow-capped monster, gradually getting closer and closer.  The climb took a nice start with loose talus the majority of the way up which beat up everyones quads and knees.  Once we took a food break and rehydrated, it was time to push on to the false summit through the fir-aspen and pine-oak.  Only 250 yards split the difference between the group and the top of this colossal mountain; oh yeah and a great deal of summit fever.  Once atop, I felt it to be appropriate to call the woman that I missed most, Mom.  Nothing seemed to matter to me while standing at 11,642 ft. with a great group of people.  For once I was content with life.  Satisfaction.  My first real taste of what mountaineering was, was finally here.  Little did I know the fun part was still awaiting.  For approximately a quarter mile I slid down the crusty snow and ice mixture to the talus that I dreaded.  The bloody shins were just a small reminder that I was still alive and well.  As we traipsed back through the prairie I could vaguely make out my hammock hanging between the quaking aspens that lined our campsite.  We made it.

The Arches

          If you were to ask me what Arches National Park was a year ago I wouldn't have known what to say besides a tourist attraction that lures in the wealthy, ignorant doctors and lawyers which is somewhere out in the inhospitable desert -- a place where nothing but the buzzards and lizards live and the cactus grow tall and mighty.  Now, almost six months later, I can tell you that this so called "desert" is more than just its stereotypical label.  It doesn't surpass its hostile tag by any means, but it does exceed the critics beliefs in my world.  The deserts diversity is intriguing to me and continues to interest me, even when I'm 1,700 miles away from it, living in rural Western New York.  The Arches shot up from the bright sand and towered over the junipers and cottonwoods that shaded the cryptobiotic soil.  Magnificence is the only word that I can think of that is semi-close to describing these massive concrete sandstone formations.  After taking in the breathtaking views of these rocks, and snapping over 200 pictures, it was time to move on to another part of my journey; never forgetting the Arches and the history that they hold under each layer of sand.

Sunny Hill Down And Back

Mon-PM: 2:06, 1611’ ~ Sunny Hill Down And Back

(2,228’)

           

            After stepping out the door at 1:00 I wasn’t exactly sure what I was getting myself into, which was probably a good thing.  The route was a down and back, with 1,893’ of climbing.  I was quite familiar with the first 4.5 miles but the next 2.5 miles were foreign to me as I had never before ran them.  The climb up Messer Hill, or better-known Sunny Hill wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it would be.  Whether this is due to my experience with the Rockies or just a surprise in my fitness.  With the hardest part of the run over, I caught my breath at the campgrounds, downed a gel and a bottle of water, said my so-longs to a friend and was on my way back to the cabin in the woods where I belonged.  Near mile 11 I began to feel some chaffing around my inner thigh, which wasn’t surprising by any means.  I had my mind set on not stopping until I was in my driveway or I was belly-up in a ditch with the crows soaring above me.  Luckily it was the former and I trudged down the driveway and into the frigid cabin.  Overall I felt the run to be a success and the 14.5 miles that came with it were forgiving in their nature.  Now I just pray that the God’s will be easy on me tomorrow.

            

Moss Lake Hiking Trip

       Today a few friends of mine and I went and hiked the 83-acre glacial kettle lake known as Moss Lake Bog, located in Caneadea, NY just outside of Houghton, NY.  Moss Lake is unusual from other lakes or ponds in that it doesn't receive enough water to overflow the bowl or "kettle" in which it sits. Water only leaves the lake through ground seepage or evaporation.  The lake is home to an uncountable amount of catfish.  Along with the catfish are carnivorous plant and over 75 species of birds have been spotted.  The bog is protected by the Nature Conservancy and was declared a National Natural Landmark in May 1973.  


Below are some picture that were taken along our hike. Enjoy and comment!

  Sunset, Moss Lake 

 Peat Moss atop the water, Moss Lake

     Dock to the water, Moss Lake

 Sunset in woods, Moss Lake

 The entire bog, Moss Lake

 Signs, Moss Lake

 Sunset on shore, Moss Lake

Moss path, Moss Lake

On The Run

             The day was hot and the sunlight burned the top layer of skin on my uncovered body.  I was about to take off on something that I did ritually.  There was no reason for my running; no straight-forward knowledge as to why I chose to push my body through the rolling hills of Allegany County with nothing but a watch, a water bottle, and a pair of old Nike running shoes that have seen better days. 

“I’m going for a run,” I shouted through the screen door to my mother who had been doing laundry. 

“When will you be back?” She asked eagerly.

“I’m not sure,” and just like that I was gone, off the old wooden porch that my father had built twenty years earlier.  “There’s a point in everyone’s life where they realize their true identity.  Where they understand who they are as a person and what God has given the opportunity to become.”

            I ran through the mud, through the trees, the chilly creek water for what I did not know, but for the feeling that arose when I had stopped.  The energy I felt was like no other.  Why? The question popped up nearly every time I took off on a run.  I didn’t have an answer.  Nobody had the answer.  I just pushed it aside and told myself not to wonder why but rather imagine how.  People would drive by with the most puzzled looks on their face.  It was 90 degrees out, the windows were up, the air conditioners were cranked to the max, and the sunglasses were on the faces of all.  Me on the other hand, I was outside, no shirt, no air conditioner or ice in my lemonade, no; I was running.  For what reason, I didn’t know, but I liked it.  It was my drug; my freedom and peace.  It was something nobody could take away from me.  It wasn’t an object that I cherished, it wasn’t a present from a family member, it was a gift from God, and it was something that he wanted me to do whole-heartedly.  He knew me better than anyone else, and it was He that told me to run. 

            Too many times I felt weak, too many times I told myself it just wasn’t far enough or fast enough.  I was neither right, nor wrong.  I often wondered why was I doing this?  Everyone else was inside their homes watching their flat screen televisions and eating dinner.  They were laughing at pointless sitcoms and crude humor that the television stations aired for them.  No, not me; I was on the move.   Putting one leg in front of the other, pounding the earth with my aching soles.  What was I running from? Nothing.  What was it that made me choose to beat my body for hours a day? Well, I wasn’t entirely sure of that either, but I liked it.  I liked the pain and the feeling that I was fully alive.  Never in my life had I ever felt this alive like I did when I laced up my shoes and took off.  There was nothing that mattered to me while I ran.  Time stood still, my problems were flushed down the drain, and my cell phone was turned off and slipped into the drawer by my bedside.  For once, communication with the rest of civilization didn’t matter to me.  I was freed from the conforming world known as society.  How did one simple thing keep me at my equilibrium?  I didn’t have the answer, but I didn’t need it.  I was running.

            “Mom I’m back from my run,” I coughed as I entered the house, dripping sweat on the cold tile floor. 

“How far did you go?” She asked excitedly. 

“Ten miles.”

“Ten miles?”   

“Yes Mom, ten miles. With a 1 and a 0.” I ensured sarcastically.  Like that our conversation ended and dinner was served.  I ate as much as I could and thanked her for the delicious meal.  I was ready for bed and it was only 7:00 pm.  I guess that’s what happens when you decide to run that much in a single day I thought to myself.  Even though I felt the pain from the common shin splints or the burning sensation that occurred every time I walked up the stairs of my high school, I knew it was worth it; maybe not at the time, but I knew that whatever it was that I was pushing for, my pain wouldn’t be denied in the end.

            From simply jogging in gym class to running as far as I possibly could without fainting, I found joy.  The joy came from the ideas that entered my head as I was out on the road, the trail, or the track.  My mind was clear and my tensions were released through the rush of endorphins throughout my blood stream.  The worrying of finishing a major project or the stress from agonizing whether or not you were accepted into the college that you’ve been dreaming about for months, even years; running cured it.  I ran through the streams where the trout rested, I ran through the woods, through the mud with nothing on my mind.  Why? Because I knew that nothing mattered.  I knew that the only explanation for what I was doing was God’s reason for me.  The questions were answered.  I wasn’t asking myself what I was doing anymore.  I now knew why I was running.  I was running because it’s what He wanted me to do.  For all I know and for all I believe; He was right.