To Camp, or Not To Camp, That is the Question

My new way of being is of openness, confidence, and joy. I give up that I am controlled by fear and that I do not deserve to be loved. That is who I am.” — my Baptiste Yoga mantra 

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When you read my posts and imagine my journey – what do you see? Perhaps me roaming freely in the wild, setting my camp up late after I cannot travel any longer. Can you see my breath on cold nights, the steam as I douse the last embers of my fire, the throbbing pulse of the stars lighting my way to my tent, the stillness of the chaparral as I drift into dreams?

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The first day of this trip I went to REI and bought a beautiful brand-new tent. I was proud of it and the adventures I’d have with it. When I went to check-out the woman at the register eagerly asked me, “Where are you headed tonight?” I didn’t know, so I asked her where she thought I should go. She stopped, got lost in a thought, and began to almost smile. “The Great Sand Dunes.” The longer she contemplated the Dunes the happier she seemed to grow: “Oh! There are so many beautiful camp grounds there.” It was spring now on her face. “You must be excited to camp tonight?” I fidgeted. “Well, it’s supposed to be awfully cold…” Sheepishly I went on, “So… I’ll probably just stay in a cheap motel, and then do it later.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged. 

After this embarrassing beginning, my REI bag has been getting ripped to shreds. Not from use exactly. More from each time I shove my suitcase back into my trunk and it catches the corner of the bag after another night at a La Quinta or Best Western. 

So, why haven’t I been camping? Well, I’ve had all sorts of reasons:“It’s been an unseasonably cold spring in the Southwest.” “It’s hard to get the right permits”; “Will other people in camp sites think I’m weird if I’m alone”; “I’m tired today, better get a good night sleep, maybe tomorrow?”; “Do coyotes ever eat campers while they are asleep?”

And so, last night was no different. I’d driven out to Alstrom Point overlooking Lake Powell. To get there requires a 4x4 as the last hour of the drive is a mixture of sand and slip-rock. I went slow and got near the end, but had to stop two miles before the point because that portion required high clearance.

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Alstrom Point was a recommendation from Oliver and Harriet (mentioned in the last post). When I arrived and looked down at the waters, I gasped. The water was still, mirror like reflections where I’d expected blue.

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Later the winds picked up and rinsed the sandstone from the water’s surface. Now, I was struck by the starkness of the stone above the water. In Minnesota lakes are signs of vitality and life - tall grasses and taller trees. Here, no sign of trees, only stone upon stone.

From my high vantage I could watch the shapes of rain too — from cloud to ground — calligraphy on a parchment sky. 

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With the sun at my back, I looked east over the lake, watching the sunset transform the colors of rocks below. There were others photographer’s there too, each one of us perched atop our own rocky outcropping, each one of us madly adjusting our ISOs and shutter speeds with the changing light, gripping our tripods firmly, jumping from stone to stone, looking for new angles, searching for ways to grasp and hold the deepening oranges, purples, and blues before they faded into dusk.

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Caption: (New Friends met on the trail 1 of 2) This is Peter, a doctor from Albuquerque, who in his free time leads bespoke photo tours of the Southwest. I asked him when he got into photography, “I got my first camera at 7 and my first SLR at 14. T…

Caption: (New Friends met on the trail 1 of 2) This is Peter, a doctor from Albuquerque, who in his free time leads bespoke photo tours of the Southwest. I asked him when he got into photography, “I got my first camera at 7 and my first SLR at 14. The rest is history.” Peter had ALL the gear, including a whole bag of filters for multiple types of lenses. He also had the most tricked out Jeep I’ve ever seen. He said he spent 5 years working on it. You can check him out at his website: boehringerphotography.com

Caption: (New friends met on the trail 2 of 2) this is my new friend Ken, a chemist from LA. Though he shoots Cannon (forgive him), Ken knows the technical aspect of digital photography inside and out. I learned a lot, and laughed even more, talking…

Caption: (New friends met on the trail 2 of 2) this is my new friend Ken, a chemist from LA. Though he shoots Cannon (forgive him), Ken knows the technical aspect of digital photography inside and out. I learned a lot, and laughed even more, talking with him during both the sunset and sunrise.

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As the sandstone cliffs transformed from carmine to vermillion, vermillion to waning hues of gray, I finally turned to look west and saw the sun had disappeared for the night for good. I packed my bag and turned to go. These other photographers had all set up camp near the point, but I still had two miles back to my car in the dark. I hadn’t eaten. It was at least two hours to a motel. I had no reservations, no plan. Where should I go – south to Page or west back to Kanab? 

I thought about camping. But my amorphous fears kept whispering to me reasons why I should drive away. Yet, I said to myself, This isn’t quantum mechanics. Little children camp by themselves. I have a tent. Why don’t I use it?

I once read an ancient Buddhist adage that goes something like this: “If you want understand how you are elsewhere -- observe how you are here.”  

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As I walked in the growing darkness, that saying kept looping in my mind. Like a flagellant’s whip, I wielded the phrase skillfully, driving it into my back again and again to cut ever deeper at my pride. With each recitation, each new lash, a new memory of shame would be conjured up. I remembered classes I didn’t take, languages I gave up, jobs I didn’t apply for, friends I didn’t pursue, tasks at work I didn’t do, artistic projects I never started, conversations and conflicts I avoided.

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But then another more recent memory came to me. Earlier in the day I’d talked to my friend Kat. We’d been partners for one of the most pivotal self-inquiry exercises during my Baptiste Teacher Training in Sedona. As I was giving voice to my deepest fears about myself - she’d held space for me, saw me, and had great compassion for me. Her love in that moment helped change my life. Since training we’ve been touching base every week to ask each other - “Where is your old story emerging?” and, “Where are you experiencing resistance?” But yesterday she asked me a new question, “How are you living your new truth?”

On this journey it’s become clear to me that without inquiry of the past I cannot break my old patterns, and without breaking my old patterns I cannot grow into the person I want to become. And yet, what I suddenly saw is that self-understanding is only half of the equation (at most). The point of understanding the past is to help let it go – not to meditate on it endlessly, finding ever more ways the patterns were always there. If I want to transform — I must understand so that I can let go, AND act in new ways now.

In her questions she was reminding me to ask myself when I’m struggling – “Do you remember who you ARE? I don’t care who you WERE. How can you affirm your new self in this moment?”

For me, that’s all I needed to drop the whip. What does it matter what I didn’t do before? Just do the thing now. 

I actually started to jog toward my car, a weird feeling of internal warmth, a glow of excitement to set up my camp site, to sleep in the cold.

I’ll be honest. I didn’t sleep particularly well. I kept worrying about phantom footsteps in the dark. I couldn’t find a comfortable position for my body. It was so cold (36F when I woke up) that I slept with 3 layers on as well as a hat and mittens. And despite all that, I did the thing. And when I unzipped the tent at 5:45am to run the 2 miles back to the point for sunrise, I felt stupidly happy about everything. Happy to hear Lark Sparrows sing, happy to see stars, happy to watch them fade into blue. But more than any of those things, I felt so empowered to say yes to whatever emerged before me. I hadn’t realized how much psychic energy this small (unfounded) fear had been holding over me. And now that it’d been released - I felt so freedom, so much joy!

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I made it to the point with less than a minute to spare before sunrise. 

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An hour later I left the point to do that 2 mile walk yet again. This time, no more darkness. This time, my back bathed in a warm light. This time, with joy and hope in my heart. And with each step I thought, “I AM open, I AM confident, and I AM joyful. How will I live these truths out today?”

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Post script – if you are enjoying these posts, I’d love to hear what is resonating with you. And if you think someone else would enjoy them, please consider sharing them. As I wrote above, part of my life work right now is finding ways to affirm living with openness, confidence, and joy. Sharing myself and my journey through this medium, both with people I love and those I’ve never met, is an expression of that. And more importantly, in this sharing I’m discovering an ever growing sense of grounding, purpose, and life.

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Crying Beside The Colorado River

“But he [Depression] just gives me that dark smile, settles into my favorite chair, puts his feet on my table and lights a cigar, filling the place with his awful smoke. Loneliness watches and sighs, then climbs into my bed and pulls the covers over himself, fully dressed, shoes and all.” Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

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When I started telling people I was going on this journey, I got many types of reactions. However, if I were to categorize their reactions into three buckets, it’d probably go something like this:  

  1. I’m so excited for you! I can’t wait to hear what you discover 

  2. I’m so sorry you’ve had such a hard year; I hope you find what you’re looking for

  3. I see, you mean like: Eat, Pray, Love?

“Eat Pay Love! F*** you!” I wanted to say – but I’m from Minnesota, so I probably just smiled. The comment seemed to minimize my entire journey (seemingly such a monumental thing for me) and turn it into the playing out of some tired cliché. In fairness, I’d never read Eat Pay Love. But I felt like when people said it, they did so with an undercurrent of sardonic knowing. Despite that, after getting the comment yet again earlier this week for the Nth time, I gave up and downloaded the audiobook. If you can’t escape something, at least do it ironically.

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Five minutes in, and I found myself saying that F word again silently in my mind. It’s really good. The prose is evocative and imaginative. The internal struggles she describes are many of the same ones I’ve been trying to navigate. I needed to hear this story, now. The first portion of the book describes her time in Italy. For her, it was a time of fullness, joy, and discovery, and yet, there were many moments, often unexpected, when her old demons came to visit. In one scene that especially struck me, she describes coming home one day after feeling joy and wonder only to discovering Depression and Loneliness (personified), luridly lingering around, waiting to rough her up like mob muscle or corrupt cops in a film noir. “Wherever you go, there you are,” I thought. 

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After Baptiste Level 1 Training, I felt like I’d been transformed. I could see my old self-limiting stories so clearly. I understood why so many relationships in my life had fallen apart. I felt a wellspring of joy that had been dammed off for so long. I felt so empowered to change the course of my life, to change all the broken relationships... 

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And yet, this morning, I found myself beside perhaps the most stunning road in America (Utah-128), looking out over the Colorado River and watching the sun reflect off the cliff faces. What more beauty could I hope for? And yet, I couldn’t stop crying. This was a new experience. What kind of a man cries without reason? I berated myself. And In Public? Alone?! 

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This trip has been marked by so much opening up, but this morning I could feel myself withdrawing again – falling back into old patterns of hiding, fear, and self-loathing. Is this really a time of transformation or just a hiatus? Maybe what happens on the mountaintop can’t be brought back to valley. Are all my relationships doomed to deteriorate the longer I am with that person? Why can I only express my heart so freely through text, but clam up when I’m face-to-face with people I love? Am I just running away, like a child, without a plan, expecting someone else will find me? My old favorite quote kept reverberating around in my mind, like a prophesy of doom: “It is a joy to be hidden, but a disaster not to be found.”

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It’s not that I don’t see that these fears are part of my old stories – it’s that they seem to be still be true! That is the true punch to the gut. It’s same feeling I imagine a prisoner must have, thinking he escaped, seeing the outside, taking that first step into the fresh air, ready to run, only to fall down -- discovering an unbreakable fetter was still around his ankle.   

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But no – I know this cynical hopelessness is part of my old story too. Perhaps it is better to imagine these old stories as wolves roaming the mesas of my mind. I have long fed them, and they’ve grow strong. They are part of me, and so I cannot kill them; but I can stop feeding them; and if I do, in time their howls may grow weak; so enfeebled they’ll be as indistinguishable and impermanent as the wind. 

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Yes, my life is littered with broken relationships. Yes, my patterns of thought are deeply ingrained. Yes, I don’t know where I am going. Yes, wherever I go there I am. And that’s why I’m on this journey. If I knew how to get there, I’d already be there. If it were easy, it would already be done. 

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In the midst of my tears I began to text my brother – half way around the world in Africa – spilling my fears and frustrations to him in a way I never do. He was so kind and loving -- so reassuring.

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So often in the past I’ve tried to carry all my striving alone – but salvation can only come in admitting my inadequacy to change alone AND not to wallow alone in that truth, but to trust that there are many others who want to stand beside me in my brokenness.

If I’m able to bring the mountaintop back into the valley, I know this is the path I need to trust. 

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Post script - several of you have asked me whether it’s okay to forward my emails to others. The answer is yes. I am fully owning this journey (physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually). I have no shame in admitting my struggles or hesitance in sharing my joys, even to perfect strangers. That integration is part of the work I need to do right now. So, if you think one of my posts would be interesting (or better yet helpful) to someone - please send it to them! It would make me very happy to know my words are finding their way to those that need them.

Upper Antelope Canyon

This post gives you: (1) tips on how to plan a trip here, (2) the story of my interactions with Logan, who grew up exploring the canyons before they were tourist destinations, and (3) my reflections on visiting one of the most iconic photography locations in the world with only an old iPhone. Read on below…

Upper Antelope Canyon

Upper Antelope Canyon

Before planning a trip to see the canyons there are a handful of things you need to know. First, you can’t just show up, you need to pay for a tour (and they book up in advance)! The canyons are owned by several Navajo families, and they have authorized only several tour companies to operate tours. Second, the tours aren’t cheap or very long (often just 1-2 hours). Third, the famous “beams of light” in Upper Antelope only occur for part of the year. They start in late spring and peak in June. Fourth, each slot isn’t that long in distance. If you were to walk through Antelope, Owl, or Rattlesnake Canyons without stopping it wouldn't take more than a few minutes. Fifth, depending on the time of day you go you may be jammed into Antelope canyon so many people it’ll feel like Disney World. (To deal with this they now sell “photography tours” at times when they limit the number of others in the canyon - for a premium). Sixth a different set of Navajo families own '“Lower Antelope Canyon”, so if you want to see that you have to book a completely different tour.

Taken together, does this mean don’t go? No way!

I loved my morning in and above the slots. I’ve never been in anything like them before. The shape of rocks, the colors, the shadows … even with others around was more than worth it. I also picked the time of my tour (early morning) and the tour company carefully to mitigate a number of the issues. (More on this below…)

The shadows in Upper Antelope Canyon were magical

The shadows in Upper Antelope Canyon were magical

Exploring Rattlesnake Canyon

Exploring Rattlesnake Canyon

After agonizing over which tour to take, I choose Antelope Canyon Photo Tours. It was expensive, but I had a fantastic morning! When the other family that was supposed to be part of my tour didn’t show up, my tour ended up being a private one. So I got all morning alone with Logan, a Navajo man who had grown up literally next to the canyons. He had so many stories of both him and his family camping, hiking, riding, and even partying in the slots (in the 1980s and 1990s). In addition to the nature, I was fascinated to hear about what his Navajo heritage meant to him, the debates they were having in the schools now around continuing to teach the language, the recent economic uptick in Page all due to Canyon tourism (apparently almost no one came to the Canyons before the late 1990s), the recent building of a $1,000+ / night Amman hotel near the canyons (my Best Western cost $59 by contrast and it was great), as well as the controversy over closing the local coal plant which locals believe is causing high cancer rates.

When we weren’t talking about those broader topics, he was a man on a mission! He had his tour down to an art. He moved fast, knew exactly where to stop, which angles to take pictures at, and what settings to use. He told me he’d stop more if I wanted, but I felt guilty slowing him down, even though I was the client! In retrospect, that is another good learning for me, and entirely consistent with the rest of my life I need to speak up for what I need versus always trying to appease whoever I’m with and silently feeling frustrated.

My guide. As you can see the geology is very different here than in the Upper Antelope Canyon with its overhangs that make you feel like you are in a cave

My guide. As you can see the geology is very different here than in the Upper Antelope Canyon with its overhangs that make you feel like you are in a cave

On the bright side, we had wonderful time talking and exploring for almost four hours through multiple slots, and other than Antelope Canyon, we were completely alone in all of these slots. My favorite was Mountain Sheep - which was the most remote (our giant truck almost got stuck multiple times on the way there and back).

My guide walking ahead into Mountain Sheep Canyon.

My guide walking ahead into Mountain Sheep Canyon.

At the back of the slot, after getting through all the usual paths, he asked me if I wanted to go “up and over, instead of back through the canyon”. Of course I did!

At times, it got to be a bit precarious. But it was more than worth it.

Here we had to grab hard on the bush to pull ourselves up. Definitely not on the normal trail… but take a look at the rock formations we found on the top in the next set of photos!

Here we had to grab hard on the bush to pull ourselves up. Definitely not on the normal trail… but take a look at the rock formations we found on the top in the next set of photos!

Looking down into Owl Canyon - on another one of our off road adventures (this one was less precarious). I wish someone was down there for scale. It was probably at least 20 feet from the top where I was standing to the bottom.

Looking down into Owl Canyon - on another one of our off road adventures (this one was less precarious). I wish someone was down there for scale. It was probably at least 20 feet from the top where I was standing to the bottom.

Not only were some of the views down into the slots breathtaking, but I also loved hearing how our scrambling made him think of his childhood and his brother. It was clear he looked up to his brother (even as an adult) - and had so many fond memories of adventuring with him when they were children.

The main disappointment of the morning was that I didn’t have my camera during any of the adventures, just an iPhone. On the bright side it opened up better conversation and the ability to be more adventurous. I also felt like I got some okay shots Antelope, but I know with my big camera and tripod it would have been totally different. Even though Upper Antelope Canyon is so well photographed, expensive to get into, and busy, I still want to come back later with all the right gear someday soon. (Also - to any photographers reading this - definitely use a wide angle lens!)

Near the entrance to Upper Antelope Canyon. We were lucky that no one else came into the canyon for more than 15 minutes after we entered it.

Near the entrance to Upper Antelope Canyon. We were lucky that no one else came into the canyon for more than 15 minutes after we entered it.

 

Little Colorado River Navajo Tribal Park

I found this place of pure wonder when I pulled off the road ~20 minutes to the east of the Grand Canyon National Park on highway 64. It was marked simply by a sign that said “scenic view”. From the road it was unclear what scenic view there’d be.

After a brief walk from the parking area the canyon edge, my jaw dropped. During all of my hiking in the National Park I only got brief glimpses of the lower canyons and the river below. I was mostly near the rim. Here, so close to the park entrance, everything was changed. It was all flat desert (with some mountains further away) and then just one, very deep cut into the desert that hid the River below. I hadn’t realized just now deep the lower canyons were, or the strange shapes the river twisted and turned.

I had plans to rush onward to Horseshoe Bend from there, but I found the view so arresting at the edge that I lingered for over an hour to watch the colors turn on the canyon walls.

Today was yet another affirmation that the best things in life often emerge when you leave space to be surprised, and are willing to say yes to adventures with unknown look-outs.

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When I left the sun had already set behind a small mountain range, however the ranges to both the east and the north held the light and glowed a vermillion hue for what felt like an hour as the rest of the world turned to darkness. I wish I’d been able to capture it, but I don’t think it could be captured photographically. The scale of it was too immense. Below is one photo I did grab on my iPhone when many miles later the road hugged near one of the ranges.

I apologize for the truly terrible iPhone photo, but it gives you a sense of how the rocks held the color more than an hour after sunset. These rocks were close. What was more remarkable for looking out to the horizon and seeing miles and miles and …

I apologize for the truly terrible iPhone photo, but it gives you a sense of how the rocks held the color more than an hour after sunset. These rocks were close. What was more remarkable for looking out to the horizon and seeing miles and miles and miles of mountains like this lit up from far away.