The Great Blue Heron

If a picture could say it all.

At this juncture I’ve had several people in my life die, including an assortment of friends and family. I’ve felt a sense of loss with each death but this fall, when I had to accept that my grandpa was sick with brain cancer, and now far too quickly, no longer with me, dead; I felt a hole of remorse and pain I’ve never felt before. My grandpa, Pop, was my everything. 

He died almost two months ago and I’ve been struggling to write something because I want whatever I write to be perfect. I don’t want to summarize his life, I want to honor his life. As I slowly begin to formulate ideas of how to best do this (I have a general idea but the end product will take some time) in this post I’ll tell you about a bird I’ve been seeing regularly ever since he passed: The Great Blue Heron.

No joke, I’ve been seeing Great Blue Herons EVERYWHERE lately.  If not daily, I’ve seen this great bird multiple times a day in the most interesting places. I’ve seen him flying over head, stalking prey in ponds, and suddenly springing into action with a slightly too close for comfort interaction with Josey. I’ve seen him in Colorado, Nebraska, Chicago and North Carolina.

I’ve adopted the Great Blue Heron into my life as my animal totem, my guiding force – an animal that presented itself so perfectly timed with my grandfather’s passing that I easily brush aside cynical doubts as to its meaning and validity. I never looked at the Great Blue Heron carefully before or taken any interest in him whatsoever, but knowing my grandfather’s interest in ornithology and this bird’s great power, I’ve quickly become fascinated.

The Great Blue Heron - a photo from the interweb

The Great Blue Heron represents self-determination and a jack-of-all-trades, reminding me to continue to trust and pursue my relatively unconventional path. He also teaches that grounding yourself in all manners of the sense can lead to valuable emotional insights. These are always the things my grandfather provided me with – unwavering belief in any endeavor I embraced – always encouraging me to make good use of both my body and mind – asking me to take a harder look at driving forces in my life.

I’ve led a pretty anxiety laden life and I think much of this has come from feeling a need to have one concrete, end-all goal. As I’ve begun to honestly address the anxiety in my life (after waking up on my 29^th birthday feeling nauseous, head and heart throbbing) I’ve begun to take the time to pause and look at the roots of my anxiety more - I’ve begun to take deeper breaths.

The Great Blue Heron and my grandfather, which I will now forever equate as one, are teaching me slowly, that to me balance is a little of this and a little of that. That my love for moving along trails through dense forests, mountain scenery, and alpine terrain mesh perfectly with my interest in intimately knowing the natural world, and working to contribute ever so slightly to the conservation of this planet that I call home.

Pop

As the Great Blue Heron tells me to trust in my self-determination I find that slow and durable is faster than rapid and rash. I apply lessons of risk, resilience and restoration to my life and happily find a balance of introspection and engagement. I see that shifting gears early and often is my most interested form of life. That I’m a creature who can be both active and quite; and through this all, why wouldn’t I keep rolling the dice?

Pop was more than just my grandpa, he was that extra special man in my life. I never questioned his love and I knew without a trace of uncertainty that he would always and forever have my back. I’m thankful the Great Blue Heron has entered my life. Reminding me to pause. Reminding me to take a deep breath.

More or Less, Yes

After 29 years of thinking that I want more out of life, I’ve come to the halting realization that in actuality, I want less.

I want less commitment, less definitive purpose and less of a path to follow. With the subsequent time and energy afforded by less, maybe I won’t find myself overwhelmed by the constant nagging notion of productivity as a prescription for full life. Maybe I’ll become unconsciously absorbed in the details of this beautiful planet and have no choice but to fight tooth and nail for its survival. Maybe I’ll find a way to write words that express the feeling I get in the face of fear and the exuberance for life that follows without sounding maddeningly cliché.

This realization comes with a mixed bag of emotions.

In the wake of conversations with friends who share similar desires and values I want to bolt out the door and start loading up a van - birds of paradise exploding from my chest. Other times I sit alone at a table full of strangers and feel like a small, insignificant lunatic who needs to start paying their dues and jump on the drunken misery train of mundane ASAP.

So why? Why not just “go for it”?

Well…I’m thinking too linearly. This isn’t just a switch to flip. It’s a progression. It’s the slow unraveling of a façade that came with the unexpected and sickly alluring world of more. It’s finding comfort in familiar scars; making uncertainly a friendlier foe and understanding that infinite possibility has no end. It’s ending the battle of should and starting the adventure of could.

So thats why. That's why I AM going for it. Slowly but ever more surely, beginning, with less.

Reeling

My mind is reeling.

I’m in Grand Junction, CO for the Colorado chapter of The Wildlife Society’s annual state meeting and after two consecutive days of inspiring presentations, workshops and discussions with wildlife professionals I can’t get my brain to turn off. It’s a strange mix of exhilarating and overwhelming being here; ideas flood the limits of my mental capacity and opportunities that I’ve only dreamed of have casually present themselves. It’s the strange irony of being in love with something that just two years ago, I hardly knew existed.

Windy camp with Los Cuernos in the distance

While the revelations of this conference are framed by the inherently un-sexy confines of a hotel ballroom, it’s these thoughts that bring me rushing back to my setting the majority of last month. Enter: Patagonia.

It all began in early 2014 as I reflected on the passing of two people I held in great respect and affection: Amy Dombrowski and Bill Keith. The untimely deaths of these two highly passionate and kind individuals lead me to a clear realization that this is a short, fragile life we live. I rationalized, as a result, that the absolute worst thing I could do in the wake of their deaths would be to set limits on the possibilities of my own life. With this resolution in my mind, I took out a United airlines credit card with the perk of 50,000 free reward miles and combined those with a few I’d been saving to purchase a $58.04 round trip ticket (after taxes and fees) to Santiago, Chile for Winter Break of 2014-2015.

I’ve dreamed of laying eyes on the sheer, glaciated cliffs of Patagonia’s most famed mountains – particularly the Fitz Roy masiff – since the day Patagonia, Inc. catalogues began arriving at my house circa 13 years old. That being said, I had high expectations for this trip. And let me tell you: it didn’t disappoint.

I would have to write a short novel to tell the complete tale of Kate and I’s time in Patagonia and all the amazing moments we experienced. With this not being possible, nor a highly desirable endeavor, I’ll simply share a few small points that I simply can’t stand to withhold:

Sophie, guardian of Navarino

Isla Navarino: It’s not the end of the world, but wait, being one of the southern most inhabited islands in the world, Isla Navarino kind of is. Kate and I arrived here on recommendation of my roommates, Lee and Marie, and we were quite simply blown away. The land was rugged, pristine and insanely beautiful. We encountered jagged peaks, stunning lagoons, vast landscapes of micro-plant communities and twisted beech trees straight out of Dr. Seuss. The challenging, adventurous nature of the trek took us over beautiful passes, up vertical slopes entirely devoid of switchbacks, rock-hopping across scree fields and crawling over downed trees in thick vegetation – all in the company of a couple tag-along local dogs. The incredible kindness, generosity and pure awesomeness of the people of Isla Navarino’s largest town, Puerto Williams, left us utterly floored.

Torres del Paine

Torres del Paine National Park: Despite the crowds that came along with a location on the bucket list of the entire world, when Kate and I arrived at the Torres mirador and gazed upon the most perfect sight known to man with the luck of a blue sky break in the day, it was impossible to contain the sudden exuberance that shot your heart straight up to your head. We sat there for what seemed like ages, mesmerized. For the rest of our time in the park we decided to avoid the masses by condensing the 5-day “W” trek into a 3-day backpack/run adventure. On our penultimate day, an early start on a seemingly gloomy day lead us up Valle Francis (in near solitude!) into the most expansive cirque I’ve ever laid eyes upon. We returned to camp, packed our tents and bags and continued over to the Grande Paine Refugio where we set camp once again before taking off to see Glacier Grey. Still in our hiking boots and with 13 miles already under our belts, we faced a stiff headwind for ~6.5miles out to the glacier. Here we encountered house-sized chunks of bright blue ice floating in a vast lake that was being fed by a massive wall of ice. On our return trip we realized just how strong the wind we had face on our way out was as we quite literally flew back to camp. At the crest of a large hill where the wind was roaring particularly hard, we had the sensation of being marionette dolls – moving our limbs effortlessly as if they where attached to strings while we sped across the landscape.

Kate, looking for cerro Fitz Roy

The Fitz Roy massif and Cerro Torre: In my mind I held these mountains to be the holy grail of Patagonia. As our bus neared the gateway town of El Chalten, Fitz Roy and its satellite peaks beckoned us with a perfect view and clear blue skies. I stared in wonder. As we arrived into town small clouds began to cover Fitz Roy’s peak and I decided to wait on a photo. Little did I know that would be the last I would see of the great mountain. For the next 3 days Kate and I saw nothing but rain, snow, and more rain. We camped for a while before retreating into town to enjoy local microbrews and play the tourist game for the first time on our trip. We were scheduled to depart at 6pm on our final day to start the long trek home and with a big dose of luck we woke early that morning to SUN! Kate and I headed to the mountains to commence a 20 mile one-day tour (somehow, again, in hiking boots even though we ran 90% of the time) of the area to see what we could see. Although only glimpses of a few Fitz Roy satellites presented themselves, we sat at the base of the massif completely alone, watching glaciers hang high above vertical faces. It was hard not to feel that you were watching a sculptor at work as he carved away the finishing touches of perfection, shrouding his work from view with clouds. We continued on to another glacier and finally Cerro Torre where again, luck hit as I caught a 30-sec full view of the famed tower.

Kate and I

Back in the here and now, it’s hard to leave you with only those stories as each sentence makes me think of a million more – but in the end this trip gave me so much more than I could have ever anticipated – and beyond adventure and beautiful sights I have three take home points:

1. The knowledge that I must return to Chile and Argentina. At the onset of this trip 3 weeks seemed like ample time to see the sights. I now know that I’ve seen .001% of the tip of the iceberg that is Patagonia. The high Andes of the north, the pristine beauty of the South and the belly of Fitz Roy – all these things are calling.

Micro plants on Navarino

2. I had the most excellent travel companion I could ask for. Kate and I have spent many a day running and talking and having fun since I meet her 2 years ago in Fort Collins but a trip like this changes a friendship and I’m so thankful for the time and adventures we shared. The experiences we encountered on this trip are of such quality that they will be impossible to erase from my mind. 

3. Time to reflect is the most valuable time of all. Next to the sights I saw and happiness I felt, I equally value the time I was able to spend reading, writing, thinking quietly in our tent: I made a new friend (and developed a huge crush) on John Muir, I set goals that are being fed by the fire of this conference (yep! Still in Grand Junction!), and learned that little bit more about (as cheesy as it sounds) the core of myself.

As the thoughts of adventure funnel back to the excitement of my current location at my reeling mind is slowing. I’ve lived a large portion of my life stuck in the confines on my own mind and this expansion feels refreshing, exhilarating and challenging. I’m letting it all sink in. Making small personal commitments in my mind. I am no more than quietly, contently, happy.