chydesirae

[chydesirae]

Osprey Packs | Hike The Line from Osprey Packs on Vimeo.

[chydesirae]

(via https://vimeo.com/318897818?ref=tu-v-share)

[chydesirae]

😍

Original caption:

THE DIVIDE is a collection of high altitude visuals captured among Colorado’s humble giants in September 2018. 3 weeks worth of visual nectar has been squeezed it into 3 minutes of alpine eye candy.

Shot on the DJI MAVIC 2 PRO in 4K DLog-M, 10-bit [4K CONTENT IS AVAILABLE FOR LICENSING REQUESTS]

This quick vacation/drone project kicked off when I left Atlanta and headed west with my wife, Karen, and our 10+ year old Siberian Husky, Sophie. I had also just got my hands on the new DJI Mavic 2 Pro quadcopter. Our plans were simple. Drive to SW Colorado’s San Juan mountains to wander before meeting a group of awesome friends in Aspen to backpack the famous 4 Pass Loop around the Maroon Bells. With stable Autumn weather on our side, we backpacked along pristine singletrack, scree and talus for over 70 miles while gaining 25k+ in elevation. Luckily, this favorable weather pattern permitted us to sleep high (between 11.5k and 13k) for a majority of our 15 nights under the stars. Our loyal canine companion, Sophie, even got to bag a few 14er summits which was a first for her. - Doug Urquhart

[chydesirae]

I cannot see you

I cannot see you,

Though I long for you,

Your face and it’s familiarity,

Your movements still play

Detailed in my mind.

I cannot see you,

Though there’s no one I’d rather see,

To feel your embrace,

Body pressed against mine,

So vivid in my mind,

I see you every day,

But I cannot see you.

I almost saw you,

The torture of proximity,

A 20 minute wait and fate

Would have brought us together.

Fate still mocks me with

Almosts and maybes

Still, I cannot see you, and

This time I choose to stay away

Repeating: he’s not good for you

Over and over like a forgotten reminder.

My heart aches for you this morning,

My whole body a saddened state.

So close to your touch,

Your gaze would give me all I’ve longed for,

Your lips.

If I saw you, would you see me?

Could you sense how broken I’ve become,

Though my bones still hold solid in place?

Would you know the stitches I’ve had to place

Each time you cut me with

Inconsistencies.

I still feel their scars.

I cannot see you,

I don’t know if I

Ever really did.

[chydesirae]

The High Uintas Wilderness

We lay on a boulder large and flat, bodies well-worked and weary, staring up at the tops of pines, perfectly content to just lay there, looking. I still find it funny, the improbability of moments. Here I am, in the high Uinta wilderness beside a glacial lake with a man from Georgia who I barely know. But wilderness finds a way of connecting unlikely souls.

We hiked the eight miles to the Four Lakes Basin and I couldn’t shut up. I rarely talk when I hike because I feel like it defeats the purpose, but it had been a while since I’d talked to anyone much at all. I find I am developing a social anxiety, reflecting too much on what I say after its said, how I am perceived, wondering if I am annoying or seem like I’m bragging. The fact that finally I was able to release my thoughts and the nerves brought on by newness would not allow my words to stop and so I talked and talked. I learned many new things about this new person, but I was most impressed by the fact that not only could he keep up, he could out-hike me. Now this was certainly new.

Up at 10,000ft my elevation had doubled. I am climbing up a rocky trail, 30lbs on my back with a man whose hobby is to bag 14ers. My legs felt fine, but my lungs were looking for more oxygen. I leveled my breathing and sunk into the rhythm, focusing on swinging arms and moving legs. Finally, my words stopped. Once we reached the basin we hiked another mile until we found a good spot to camp. There it was, a clearing in the trees just a couple hundred feet from a clear cold lake. We set up camp, pumped water, smoked a blunt, and felt our bodies become boulders, heavy as we sunk into the rock. The wind whispered “your burning” as it cooled my reddening face. I put on sunscreen and we went down to the lake. My foot went in, numb, and out. Hell no, no way. He submerged. Good on you man, you’re fucking crazy. It’s pretty awesome. Back on the rock we cooked dinner, we smoked more weed, and talked about random things while killing countless mosquitos. Ants must have wandered past their fallen bodies, wondering what war had occurred here. The sun set over the canyon edge without much of a show.  The canyon ridge of quartzite was laced with boulder fields and talus slopes, lush with pinyon and rising up over 1,000 feet, seeming to jet out as a sheer vertical fault from the basin of the blue lake. He gawked at the novelty of the landscape and I had to admit I’d never seen anything quite like it either.

Both of us are well traveled, we’ve spent our lives outside of college traversing the country, leading people on bar crawls through major cities and teaching them to set up tents in national parks. I’ve spent summers backpacking through states, cycling from one ocean to the other. He’s spent weeks on end hiking, many summers rafting and snowmobiling through remote regions. We spend every weekend we can as mini-adventures. But despite our lifestyles, our affinity for the outdoors, and similar dispositions, the chemistry was lacking. There was a divide. The sun dropped over the edge and we lost 10 degrees in no time. Soon it was cold. High 30s at most. We did not want to sleep though we could not keep our eyes open. We talked and dipped in and out of dreams, waiting for stars to illuminate the sky. Huddled under a blanket we kept each other warm, but not a hand wandered out of place. He was respectful.

Day two I woke up at eight. He emerged from a bundle of blankets perched in a hammock as I took my first sip of coffee, the sun shining warmly on my face. We spoke softly and moved slowly, time did not matter. We packed a day bag and decided to make a loop around the lakes and follow the canyon walls back. Our end destination was Lake Amy, she was small and we’d hoped she’d be warm. We made a path through forests thick with logs, probably victims of bark beetles. Weaving through logs and strands of lodgepole pine, Engelmann spruce, and Douglas fir my mind was more at rest. I felt my confidence returning.  I whistled occasionally and expected to see bears. We came to the first lake of the day – Dale, and quickly found the second (Jean) beside it. We thought those who named these lakes unoriginal or perhaps sadistic – Jean, Dean, Dale, Daynes…easy names to mix up in conversation. We sat and took photographs of the landscape and each other. Ate food and took in the scenery. Didn’t need to speak much as the landscape told a story. We saw a couple hikers walk by on the path not far from where we sat. I began to feel more comfortable with him.

We continued on, walking around the lake’s edge. The grass and moss felt like a thick sponge, perhaps a bog was forming. Wildflowers dotted the landscape. We walked up hill and came to another lake, which was somewhat unexpected and unnamed on the map. It was warmed than “our” lake and so I stripped down to my underwear and swam. His eyes did not wander, I did not feel as though my body was meant for anything other than movement. It was a shallow lake, and the water made me feel reborn. Perhaps baptisms were intended for ice water. When I got out of the lake the wind was sporadic enough to give me the chills. He gave me his towel and we sat on a rock. The sun warmed me, and I randomly thought of poptarts heating in a toaster oven. I told him this random thought and we laughed and dubbed the place Lake Poptart. For the first time I felt a new energy emanating, a curiosity brought on by proximity and bare skin. Neither of us acted on it. How can I simultaneously want something to happen and fear it will happen and not want it at all?

We resumed our meander without any rush, over scree and boulders, covered with a lime green moss. Huge spiderwebs connected these rocks, acting as trip wire. He moved across the boulders with agility, as well as fallen logs and wet rocks. Calls himself a mountain goat, and I felt like a newborn deer with legs unsteady. The rocks were fascinating colors, and finally I made my way to the other side. We passed by another shallow lake and continued to ascend. In search of Amy we went as high as we could go without beginning a class four scrambled. And then we found the throne.

The throne was what we found instead of Amy. A huge rock exactly like a chair, we could have fit four on its “cushion”. We sat and looked out over a vast view, saw that we were in a bowl. Surrounded by the Wasatch range and Uinta mountains, some canyon walls and plenty of pines. We could see large lakes in the distance and imagined we were the kings of the world. We smoked a blunt and saw smoke bellowing in the distance. Wondered if we should worry but figured that wouldn’t do us any good. The fire was far enough away.

After an hour passed and I had coveted his sweatshirt, I realized he must be getting cold. We made our way back down to camp, discovered a makeshift fort and some wreckage from a plane years ago. Found some carrins and followed them as they traced the edge of the lake until we were back at camp around 4. We had spent the day hiking three miles, I’ve certainly never done that before.  We resumed our lazy position on the large boulders and watched the clouds pass for an hour, pointing out shapes and making small talk.

The evening passed as we passed the pen back and forth, I read a few chapters in a children’s book and he sat happily in silence. We waited to see a good sunset, but it was hidden behind the cliffs and we were too lazy to walk for a better view. Like the night before the cold crept in and again we moved in close for warmth, this time with more blankets. After a while I placed my hand in his, just to see how it would feel. It was comforting, and good to be connected. That’s all it had to be. But I recognized something I did not know before. I had built myself a wall that had never been there before. I literally could not let myself feel much past anxiety or doubt. With him I felt calm, like there was no pressure. I recognized our differences, thought that perhaps we could both use a companion. A friend. Maybe he wants more, I did not ask. But it did not seem like that was the only way, as it has with others. I wanted to express how much I appreciated his restraint, or perhaps he was uninterest. But I didn’t want to make things weird or to say the wrong thing. We found ourselves again in and out of sleep, listening to Gregory Alan Isakov, I let myself think about Taylor again, but only for a moment, and then I let myself let those thoughts go. Like the smoke, it does no good to worry about what is distant and out of my control.

[chydesirae]

I don’t think I love very many things but here are the ones I can think of: I love the first sip of coffee in the morning I love reading someone else’s words and finding a connection in them I love the feeling a good song invokes I love wondering I love driving at night with no destination I love the gentle kind of sadness like a reminder that I can feel.

Marianna Paige (via larmoyante)

[chydesirae]

Choices beneath the stars

He asked me if I wanted to go on a night hike and I always want to hike, so I said yes. He said he was going to take photos of the galaxy and I just wanted a friend, so I said yes. And I knew I shouldn’t pretend this was just going to be some casual walk with someone I could finally talk to. But I wanted to believe that, and so I did. We walked over slickrock and down washes, the air was finally cooling, and the buttes shadowed us from the sun. The cedar sandstone glowed terra-cotta red against the fading sun, contrasting sharply with the indigo blue of the distant Abajos and La Sals. Further mesas appeared purple and the sky was streaked with pink. We live in the desert, but we are from the foothills of the Sierras, and we grew up much the same. We talked about what it was like growing up in a small rural town with religious parents. I acted as a soundboard as he discussed growing pains and failed relationships, I was happy to be an ear because we all need someone to hear our sorrows sometimes. We arrive at the spot, a most beautiful place surrounded by Needles, canyons create mazes that weave around our island of slickrock. Prickly pear and juniper trees have adapted to a lack of water as we have adapted to fewer words in our lives. It felt so good to pass our stories from ear to ear as we passed a plastic cup of sweet bourbon back and forth, our tongues becoming freer as we revealed deeper bits of our selves. I’ve been here before and knew where it was heading but still I went on pretending it was fine. We are practically strangers, but you’ve shared with me your darkest chapters. Please don’t look at me that way…and so I look away and up at the stars. We wait for the sky to darken in one of the quietist places in this country. A crescent moon moves above the spires as it moves across the globe the stars they glow so bright. We are so very alone this night.

You are such a nice guy, a smart guy, the kind of guy my mother wants me to end up with. You ask if you can photograph me and I see no reason not to, so I sit and look at the stars and freeze for the frame. After you come and sit beside me, I feel the heat of your body against the chill of the night. You ask if I am cold and I lie and say no. I wonder why you brought a mat, but I know. You are moving at a good pace and I see a dozen stars fall before me. I focus on the sky and try to seem distracted, you point out constellations and talk about possibilities. Your arm finds its way around my waist and I feel like I am freezing for that frame again, I want to shrink so I can’t be reached but I feel like I could be squeezed so easily. I don’t know how to respond. You want to kiss me I can feel it and so I turn my body away, let my hair fall on the side of my face that’s closest to you. I am quieter than before, hoping my body will speak for me. You are kinder than others and ask if this is okay. I surprise myself by saying no, a word I was never sure how to use before.

I say I don’t want to mislead you, you seem like such a nice guy. You say okay, you understand. I compulsively apologize, and a jumble of excuses fall from my lips. I am not ready for this. I feel my consciousness separate from my body, recognize that familiar panic setting in. Why can’t I ever be blunt?  I know I am okay, he’s not that kind of guy. Most girls would be smitten. I could only think of my ex. How it didn’t feel even a little like it did with him, when our bodies were like magnets. With him my mind struggled to elongate the moment, I tried to eternalize seconds. But now my mind was full of fear as he asked me again, “can I kiss you?” I don’t want to mislead you. “I don’t care what happens next, it’s a beautiful night and you’re a beautiful girl and I just want to kiss you.” I sat there silent, not sure what else to say and shook my head. Time was frozen in a bad way. I wanted to fall like a star and fade away.

[chydesirae]

A thousand times yes!

[chydesirae]

Things that have changed since I first met you:

1)      I don’t ever get the urge to drink anymore, and I had never recognized it as an urge before.

2)      I find myself imagining becoming part of a community more often.

3)      I’m starting to realize how long it will be before I find “the one.”

4)      I have grown less confident.

5)      I am starting to narrow in on my path.

6)      I wish I could have dedicated myself to you.

7)      I no longer believe love fixes everything.

8)      My knowledge of the depths of love and its’ intensity is greater than it was before.

9)      Sometimes I feel so alone it’s almost like even my conscience has left me.

10)   Nature has been my therapy. I’ve discovered how it can calm me. Sometimes, when depression or heartache begins to creep in, I force myself to go outside. To go walk or on a run. Sometimes I come back feeling like I’d never even started feeling low. Sometimes I come back and feel like a hysterical toddler would, when he was picked up in his mother’s arms and rocked into a fitful sleep. Sometimes I come back feeling almost numb – and that’s better too.

11)   I only feel joyful when I am not thinking about you. When nature’s beauty overwhelms me, or physical excursion causes me to meditate.

12)   I understand what it must feel like to have the urges of a smoker – sometimes I want to call you so bad.

13)   I never realized how much more tolerable people could become when you’ve had the chance to vent about them to someone else.

14)   I’ve learned the depth of beauty in the desert.

15)   I value water as some men value faith.

16)   I wanted you to love me in the same way a mother wants to hold her newborn for the first time; the way a child wants to hit the game-winning home run; the way a man looks at his beautiful bride on their wedding day;  I want you to be happy even more than all that.

[chydesirae]

December at Yase

by Gary Snyder You said, that October, In the tall dry grass by the orchard When you chose to be free, “Again someday, maybe ten years.” After college I saw you One time. You were strange. And I was obsessed with a plan. Now ten years and more have Gone by: I’ve always known where you were – I might have gone to you Hoping to win your love back. You still are single. I didn’t. I thought I must make it alone. I Have done that. Only in dream, like this dawn, Does the grave, awed intensity Of our young love Return to my mind, to my flesh. We had what the others All crave and seek for We left it behind at nineteen I feel ancient, as though I had Lived many lives. And may never now know If I am a fool Or have done what my karma demands.

[chydesirae]

“Sleep Spaces. In the night there are of course the seven wonders of the world and the greatness tragedy and enchantment. Forests collide with legendary creatures hiding in thickets. There is you. In the night there are the walker’s footsteps the murderer’s the town policeman’s light from the street lamp and the ragman’s lantern There is you. In the night trains go past and boats and the fantasy of countries where it’s daytime. The last breaths of twilight and the first shivers of dawn. There is you. A piano tune, a shout. A door slams. A clock. And not only beings and things and physical sounds. But also me chasing myself or endlessly going beyond me. There is you the sacrifice, you that I’m waiting for. Sometimes at the moment of sleep strange figures are born and disappear. When I shut my eyes phosphorescent blooms appear and fade and come to life again like fireworks made of flesh. I pass through strange lands with creatures for company. No doubt you are there, my beautiful discreet spy. And the palpable soul of the vast reaches. And perfumes of the sky and the stars the song of a rooster from 2000 years ago and piercing screams in a flaming park and kisses. Sinister handshakes in a sickly light and axles grinding on paralyzing roads. No doubt there is you who I do not know, who on the contrary I do know. But who, here in my dreams, demands to be felt without ever appearing. You who remain out of reach in reality and in dream. You who belong to me through my will to possess your illusion but who brings your face near mine only if my eyes are closed in dream as well as in reality. You who in spite of an easy rhetoric where the waves die on the beach where crows fly into ruined factories, where the wood rots crackling under a lead sun. You who are at the depths of my dreams stirring up a mind full of metamorphoses leaving me your glove when I kiss your hand. In the night there are stars and the shadowy motion of the sea, of rivers, forests, towns, grass and the lungs of millions and millions of beings. In the night there are the seven wonders of the world. In the night there are no guardian angels, but there is sleep. In the night there is you. In the daylight too. Robert Desnos.”

—

[chydesirae]

It really boils down to this: that all life is interrelated. We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied into a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

Martin Luther King Jr

[chydesirae]

Boundaries are fears made manifest, designed to protect us. I don’t want protection, I want freedom.

Terry Tempest Williams, in “The Hour of Land”

[chydesirae]

Beware of Destination Addiction: a preoccupation with the idea that happiness is in the next place, the next job, and with the next partner. Until you give up the idea that happiness is somewhere else, it will never be where you are.

Robert Holden (via sad-plath)

[chydesirae]

He loved me once, though it was sporadic. He’d choose to love me when he felt lonely. But never more than that. I had learned to expect days of silence, Sometimes weeks, Until my love was needed again. He’d try me on for size, Just to discard me when I didn’t fit just right But I still let him come back when he promised me he missed me. Sporadic love never lasts, And I know one day he’ll be gone Gone like the last day of spring that melts into that summer heat, And I’ll miss him all the same.

B.N. (via bethanienicholsonpoetry)