Die Walküre: a synopsis and review (kind of) from the 2011 Met Performance

Often I've been told that the music I'm listening to is descriptive of a scene and that I should clearly be able to hear what it is if I knew how to listen.  "Can't you hear the ocean there in the strings?  And that trumpet that came in: that's the moon coming out between the clouds.  Can't you hear it?  Isn't it obvious?"  No it's not, and no I can't; but I know exactly what's going on when Die Walküre opens.  Many operas we're familiar with begun with an overture that is basically a sampler of the music to come.  Not so here, here the orchestral prelude accompanies a man running from his foes, having been bloodied and disarmed and we know that's what happens as a result of the music.  The first 3 1/4 minutes of the video below give you the prelude:

Our running hero is Siegmund, being chased through the forest by faceless foes.  Lepage's great machine, the subject of much debate in staging The Ring is here perfect.  The long, metal finger bend down and reflect the video images of trees as Siegmund dashes between them.  Finally spent, he finds a house in the midst of the woods and casts himself down at the hearth.  Enter Sieglinde, woman of the house and wife of the brute Hunding.  She is struck by his beauty and when he awakes gives him drink.


The two speak briefly, clearly both enamored of each other but soon their dialog is cut short by the entrance of Hunding.  He commands dinner be made from him and their mysterious guest.  Over dinner (in which the unhappy relationship between wife and husband is clearly shown) we learn that Sigmund was separated at birth from his twin sister and spent his life wandering with his father fighting off enemies.  Now his father has vanished and he has been beaten and is being chased after trying to defend a young woman forced into marriage (who has died in the midst of the fight incidentally).  Hunding reveals that he is one of the men called to hunt Sigmund and that this is the task he was returning from when he found the stranger in his home.  Because he has been welcomed as a guest Hunding tells him that he has the night in deference to hospitality but come morning Hunding will fight and slay Sigmund.


Well it's all getting rather fraught, isn't it?  Hunding goes to bed, aided by a sleeping draught Sieglinde has slipped him and the two love-birds talk.  Sigmund bemoans his state: his father had promised him that in his hour of need he would find a sword and would win victory with it.  Surely now, unarmed in the house of an enemy the time has come!  Sieglinde tells him that on her wedding day a strange man came, shoved a sword into the tree that stands at the center of their house and left.  Since then no man has had power to remove it.  Sigmund takes the sword out and rejoices, he and Sieglinde are in love!  Once more, they discover they are brother and sister which only compounds their joy.


Yes, it's weird but that's the way it goes in mythology, and particularly in Wagner's portrayal of it.  The rather incestuous plot is greatly helped by some stunning love music, started by a lone cello and caught up into the orchestra and the voices.    In the Met's production no singer is anything but stellar, and though this isn't the act in which each will show their magnificence the music swoops and soars, and carries us through to the end when Sigmund and Sieglinde run off together, knowing they will soon be chased by Hunding and his kin.


Perhaps this a is a good time to mention James Levine.  The primary conductor at the Met (who has many titles there), chosen at incredibly young age to lead the world famous opera house he has become one of, if not the most renowned opera conductors today and is especially noted for his interpretations of Wagner.  Recently he has suffered back problems and had to recuse himself from all summer performances.  It is rumored that he may never return which would make this particular performance his last in the Met.  A sad day indeed, but suffice it to say that this showing was worthy of him, and worth seeing as a final hurrah should that be what it is.


Well again and orchestral prelude opens us into Act II.  It's another wonderful piece of music and shows the wait leitmotives (musical themes that represent people, objects, emotions, or ideas) can be used to tell the story.  Hear the Walküre theme at the end?  You'll recognize it from the Ride of the Valkyries.

Here is Wotan, king of the gods and our first view of the connection between Die Walküre and its predecessor, Das Rheingold.  In comes Brünnhilde, daughter of Wotan and the Valkyrie of the title, though she has eight sisters who will appear later.  Deborah Voigt sings the title role and does so in a world-class fashion.  Her voice is spectacular, and as is becoming more and more a concern in opera, her acting is also quite good.  She is jovial and war-like, she loves her father and her task: to bring fallen heroes to Valhalla where they can help Wotan defend the gods themselves.


Well in comes Fricka, wife of Wotan and goddess of marriage and contracts.  It is by her that Wotan is able to rule, and she is quite upset at the breach of contract he is making!  It turns out that, unknown to the children, Wotan is father of both Sigmund and Sieglinde and has planned from them to kill Hunding and go on to preform a task he needs done to rescue him from his poor choices in the past (long story guys).  Well Fricka points out that they have both committed the crime of incest and broken the covenant of marriage, thus he must reverse himself and kill Sigmund as punishment for his crimes.  Stephanie Blythe is Fricka, a renowned Wagnerian singer, and she is sublime here in her basically 20 minute long nag aimed at Wotan (presumably stolen from Wagner's wife at the time, Mina).


Wotan slinks away, having agreed to perform the deed.  A wonderful piece of music here highlights the change that will come over the opera.  He orders Brünnhilde, who he just told to save Sigmund, to have him killed and bring him to Valhalla.  She is outraged but Wotan flies into a rage, orders her to proceed and exits.  He does so after having run over the whole plot The Ring up to this point, which fills in holes if you aren't familiar with Das Rheingold and some holes that that opera left as well.  In addition, it fills the listener in on all the important leitmotives that accompany each event or object.  When he speaks of the ring of power, there is the music for the ring.  When he sings of Valhalla here is the Valhalla theme.  A good way to get caught up: listen closely!


Brünnhilde, loving her father, goes down to Sigmund who is standing beside his sister, the two in the process of running from Hunding and Sieglinde fallen asleep with exhaustion.  Brünnhilde informs Sigmund that he is to die but that she will take him To Valhalla where he will be in the company of heroes, his father and served his every desire in the great hall.  Sigmund seems excited but then asks the big question: will Sieglinde be there?  No, Brünnhilde replies, she can not come.  Then Sigmund is determined to kill her and himself and walk in hell together rather than be separated in the heaven of Valhalla.  A wonderfully lyrical piece of music here accentuates Sigmund's longing for glory and his is even greater love of his sister Sieglinde. 


Well, Brünnhilde is so touched by their love she changes her mind, defies her father and tell Sigmund that she will save him.  And she tries when the fight begins but Wotan himself appears and shatters Sigmund's sword: allowing him to be run through by Hunding, who Wotan than kills in disgust.  Brünnhilde, frightened for her life and Sieglinde's, takes the woman with her and flees from the wrath of her father who is incensed that she disobeyed him.  The curtain falls on his anger.


Ah, Act III, one of the most spectacular pieces of opera ever created.  It opens with one of the most famous works of art in the Western world: The Ride of Valkyries (it's important to have a recording with singing).

The Valkyries (Brünnhilde's sisters) are riding up to a great mountain top with fallen heroes aboard their horses.  Here the set and direction of Robert Lepage is wonderful, with the Valkyries actually riding the set itself down onto the stage, bucking and galloping the whole way!  The sisters great each other in joy and discuss their exploits.  They note that Brünnhilde is not here, where is she?  Ah, there she comes!  But in great haste, and who is aboard her horse?  She appears with Sieglinde and begs her sisters for help.  Give her a new horse that she may flee father!  Her sisters are too loyal and too afraid of Wotan to do so.

Brünnhilde then turns to Sieglinde who is depressed to the point of being catatonic.  She wishes she had died with her love Sigmund and does not have any special thanks for Brünnhilde.  That is until she's informed that she is now pregnant with Sigmund's child (who will become Sigfried: the hero and title character of the next opera).  Brünnhilde instructs her to go the woods to the East where Wotan fears to go and their give birth to the great hero Sigfried.  Sieglinde is newly inspired and thanks Brünnhilde greatly with music of astounding beauty.  Here we hear the redemption theme that will come to cleanse the world two opera from now.  These few lines of Siglinde's are a demonstration of the incredible power of  Eva-Maria Westbroek's voice.

Sieglinde is off with the ruins of Sigmund's sword, and just in time for here comes Wotan!  Brünnhilde's sisters try to hide her for a time from the wrath of her father but they are soon chased away and the daughter and father left to sing one the final scene in the opera together: the most beautiful part of an opera packed with astounding music.  In his wrath he curses Brünnhilde to lie sleeping until some mortal wakes her and becomes her master in her now limited life.  Brünnhilde argues that she was only fulfilling Wotan's true will with her actions and does not deserve such a punishment.

The predicament reminds me of Jephthah from Judges who has sworn in haste to sacrifice the first thing that comes out of his house to God.  One must ask what he thought would exit, was his dresser surprisingly mobile and apt to run out to great him?  Of course his daughter appears and is subject to his rash promise.  Here to Wotan, not just now but through-out his life, has made rash contracts which have bound him down until he is given no escape.  He has just been forced to kill his favorite son (Sigmund) and now must remove the immortality of his favorite daughter and giver her to a mortal man.

Brünnhilde convinces Wotan to place a ring of fire around her, and that only a man who does not feat Wotan will be able to cross it: ensuring that at least the man she is bound to will be a great warrior.  Wotan agrees and says good bye to the daughter he knows he will never see again.  Summoning fire to encircle Brünnhilde , he sings the opera to its close.

This passage is so incredibly moving that I was brought to tears and remained in them for the final 15 minutes of the opera.  It is a powerful scene from the storyline alone, but the music is without equal.

The whole opera was one of the more intense experiences I've ever had with a work of art of any kind.  With two long intermissions it clocks in at over 5 hours, so it is not to be undertaken lightly, but it is well worth the time invested, and the Met's production is simply superb.

Here again

Ah Church, I'm here again.  For some reason I feel happier entering the family ward than I did the Singles'.  Probably some B.F. Skinner effect though I can't think of any particularly happy event that's happened here, not beyond the everyday, Church experience.  No matter, even if it's irrational at least it's positively irrational.  I thread my way through the crowded hallways towards the chapel.  I'm early, but with this being the second service here today I have to be careful not to step on or run into the numerous children from the last meeting who are scampering about.  I finally make it to the chapel doors and peer in.

On my mission I had figured out the rules that govern seating in a family ward.  Perhaps rules is too strong a word; patterns then.  Unfortunately, I've forgotten a lot of them in the intervening years.  I know if you chose wrong it's easy to get displaced by a family who thinks you've taken their (obviously reserved) seat.  One of the advantages of being a missionary was the excuse it gave you to stand at the door until services began and then nab whatever seat was open in the back.

Really my biggest goal here is to not sit directly in front of rowdy children.  Besides the added noise I always end up getting pummeled from behind and find myself unable to deal appropriately with it.  Typically I sit their quietly pretending I don't notice the saliva encrusted hands slugging me in the back.  "What's that?" my body language seems to be saying, " I had no idea I was being pounded in the back and will now have to have my suit dry-cleaned."  My body language is quite well spoken.

I slide into a seat on the side, far enough over so others can join me, close enough to the aisle so as to avoid the appearance of having sequestered myself alone, against the wall.  A few moments later a young family seats themselves directly behind me.  The children began the traditional ritual of back pounding and I sigh.  Oh well, he tries, he fails, he'll have a go again next week.

As I studiously ignore the fist of fury that have entrenched themselves behind me, an elderly lady comes over and sits beside me.  I know her!  Despite about one third of this ward inexplicably knowing who I am, I know 3 of them, 4 tops, but she's one of them!

"You probably don't remember me," she begins.

Ha!  I try desperately to keep an incredibly smug look off of my face.  This is my big chance to pretend to know someone without having to actually pretend!  "No, I remember" I interrupt in what I fervently hope isn't an incredibly condescending voice.

"Well" she goes on to explain, apparently unaware of my mighty triumph, "we have a grand-niece in town..."

Uh-oh.  My recent victory quickly drains away, most likely along with just about all the blood in my face.  My mind races, but being unemployed, good excuses to avoid this stuff are hard to come by.  She's about to try to pair me off, I just know it.  And here it come...

"..I don't want to play matchmaker" uh-huh, "but I think she'd really like to spend time with someone her own age.  She's just here for a few months staying with us, all these old people and..."

This woman really is a very sweet old lady, there's no question about that.  Sadly all that is forgotten as I listen closely, ready to pounce at the first mistake she makes.  I don't do blind dates, certainly not with someone's grand niece.  "Someone her age", what age is that?  She's probably 17 and her grand-aunt just has no clue how old anyone under 60 is anymore.  But she's still talking.

"..and anyways I really think she'd enjoy spending time with someone her own age" there it is again "so we'd love to have you over after Church for dinner"

Ha!  I found her mistake: she said dinner!  After Church would really be 'lunch' in my lexicon but she said dinner.  Advantage me!

Appearing both crestfallen and yet strangely eager, I respond "I'm terribly sorry, I have dinner" (ha!) "plans with my sister and brother-in-law".  (Pull it back, your voice sounds like you just received news that your whole family went down in a terrible helicopter crash after having attacked Chicago in what's already being described as "the next 9/11").  I'm realizing here, in a moment of personal clarity, that all in all I probably wouldn't make it as an actor in Hollywood, better end this soon.  "So I would like to, and that's very sweet but I guess I just can't today.  Thank-you though."

I do kind of have a dinner date with my sister and brother-in-law.  Close enough anyways, and I don't feel the need to explain to my parents that I wont be home for supper due to having a date with someone while being chaperoned by a couple somewhere in their 200th year of marriage who apparently set me up while I'm at Church.  I'm pretty sure their view of Church is dark enough without that image to go with it.  Some more pleasantries and she heads back to her seat with Church about to start.  Whew!

During the sacrament hymn, another family joins me on my pew.  Young children again but the parents seem to be in better control.  The father sits next to me and subconsciously (apparently) keeps his little ones bound in between himself and his wife, using his leg as the corral boundary.  Suddenly I realize the hitting has stopped.  Kids behind me and to my side and I'm being left alone!  Well excellent, I guess when it rains it pours.

Sacrament begins.  It's surprisingly quiet.  Almost all the children there are talking, but it's amazingly in whispers, or quiet talking I suppose.  No shouting or screaming: I'm impressed!  This is quite pleasant, at least for a family ward.  Oh, maybe I should be focusing on the sacrament at this point.  Good thing my attention span lasts for at least three second.  I look up to the stand where a member of the stake presidency is sitting.  I know him, he seems to appear at whatever ward I attend.  I can never remember his name but it's easy to recognize his face.  He always looks like he's staring out at a sea of people in the process of eating their own children.  Honestly, how can he look so disgusted with the world all the time? Even when he's smiling he looks disgusted, I don't know how that's possible.  Maybe this is the result of forcing the WWII generation men to watch their wives give birth.  They just weren't ready for that sh**.

I continue my 20 second cycle of paying attention and getting distracted through the remainder of the service.  The first talk is actually quite good, a little humor, a good message well portrayed by someone who clearly isn't overly comfortable with public speaking.  Oh, are we standing up to sing the intermediate hymn?  All right, I could use the stretch, I stand up to watch the rest of the congregation slowly get to their feet, apparently under the impression that this is the worst thing humanity has forced upon itself since that fateful decision to air Jersey Shore.  My pathetic attempt to sing the bass line to a hymn I don't know finished, we sit and listen to that Stake Presidency member deliver his recitation.

The thesis of his talk is apparently that we don't have a good enough appreciation for how horrendous Christ's suffering was.  This is going to be good, I can tell.  He begins a delineation of the horrors of the Crucification, along with a bunch of medical jargon about just how painful it would be.  Ugh.  This is like listening to someone read the script to a Saw movie.  I imagine, I don't go to those things because I don't like them.  I don't think having a disgusted looking octogenarian read the script would be much of a step up though.  Why am I not getting distracted now?  Isn't there some perfectly innocent movement in the crowd that I can over analyze and then demean in my own mind?  Apparently not.  I'll just have to concentrate on not vomiting until he finally steps down.  They should bring those airline-baggies with them if they're going to go into this kind of detail.  Also, don't tell me to think about this next time Christ comes up in my mind.  I want to be able to pray again at some point in my future life and I wont be able to if this is the image that pops into my head when I try.

Few, it's over.  Closing hymn and we're off to Sunday School.  I settle down into the back and studiously don't say anything as the class filters in.  With no one to talk to I'm always to these classes early and it can make for some awkward moments.  I find it's a lot less awkward if I appear to be doing something really important, rather than sitting there pretending not notice anyone.  Which of course is exactly what I'm doing.

The class opens up and it's time for introductions.  Luckily I got mine out of the way last week, so I'm in the clear now.  Oh, there's the elderly lady from before with her husband.  Wait, who is she sitting by?  Oh my gosh, this isn't who I think, is it?  "This is our niece, visiting us for a few months before she goes back home."  She says, shattering my idealistic hopes.  That was who she was trying to set me up with?  I'm mean she looks fine I suppose but she's at least 45 years old!  I guess I was right when I figured she didn't have a good grasp of age, but in a very wrong direction.  Oh goodness, do I look 45?  I always thought I looked young for my age, at least when I shaved.  Do I appear to be in her age group?  Am I really "someone her age"?  This is highly unsettling.

I make it through the rest of class without blurting out anything inappropriate.  I'm asked to read but I made it through college and grad school, I can read aloud without thinking, which is perfect for this moment right now.  Because I'm certainly not thinking about John 6, I'm just trying to reassure myself that at 25 I don't appear to be twice as old as I actually am.  Honestly, I never thought I'd have to the problem of worrying about looking old, I thought I was above that type of shallow self-absorption.  Turns out I have a breaking point too.  And that point is being set-up with a freaking 45 year old.

Class ends and I slink innocuously off to my Elder's Quorum meeting.  There's only 5 other guys there, including the one running the meeting.  He seems to be very conscious of that fact and tries cracking jokes about it for upwards of ten minutes.  I think I might have heard someone laugh but that could've been the pew creaking.  This is fun.  Finally he turns it over to the instructor for the day.  His lesson is on honesty and he begins with a series of very odd hypotheticals ("imagine you're a sixteen year-old girl whose Mother is a drug addict" umm, OK).  No one wants to respond to any of them.  Finally someone raises his hand to bring up someone everyone's more comfortable talking about: women.  Of course it's the classic: "if your wife asks you if she looks fat, what do you respond".  Ah-hah!  I know how to answer this one, and if I'm going to be here for an extended period of time I should probably at least try to make some inroads.

I start to blather on and on, even I stop paying attention.  This is not good, only two people are looking at me and they're both looking bored.  Shoot, better wrap it up.  Wait a second, did I just call all their wives fat?  Uh-oh, I think I did.  I'm not that dumb though, right?  I'm mean surely they realize that's not what I meant, right?  Probably not, I start to back-pedal.  I don't think it's working, though I have to admit more of the guys are looking at me now.  Finally the instructor cuts me off and moves the lesson on.  That went well.  I certainly made some inroads.

The class ends in a series of contradictory statements from all involved along with an admission of torrenting mp3s from the instructor.  Always a nice touch.  We're out a little late.  I better hurry to my car, gotta get ready for that dinner appointment with my family tonight!  That went really well I thought.

It's not a beard

I have this discussion a lot.  It's not that I'm growing a beard, at least no more than any post-puberty male is always growing a beard.  It's just that I'm not shaving right now, they aren't the same.  Or I don't think they're the same, clearly it's not unanimous opinion.  With an electric shaver I went daily, it was easy and the shave wasn't great so I couldn't go longer without some obvious side effects anyways.  When I transitioned to the straight shave I found I could go multiple days before shaving again.  Skipping one day was a max if I wanted a clean look but the shave was so good that I could at least do that, and more if I didn't care too much about stubble.  The problem was when I removed it from my daily routine it got easier to rationalize extra days.

Well all that came in stride until I finished school and couldn't find a job.  I also moved and outside my family still have literally no friends.  Or none within a few hundred miles anyways.  I didn't go to work, school, nor did I go out socially.  The only reason to shave for appearance sake was Church once a week.  Which I quickly transitioned to.  Only I don't make it to Church every week.  I'm not skipping or anything, not directly anyways.  But I take trips (mostly camping trips) that will often go over the weekend and find myself in the woods rather than the chapel on Sundays.  I haven't missed that many Sundays, but when I do that adds a week to my lack of shaving.  I've just finished the longest stretch for me since I started shaving.  I went with my parents on a trip (see below) that covered two Sundays.  The next weekend was general conference, so that was three Sundays missed and I missed each shave with them.  I did finally pick up the blade today but the beard had gotten rather long, to the point I stopped believing the "not growing a beard, just not shaving" argument myself.  Ah well, it's gone now.  Here's a before and after set:

Recent Camping Trip (Spring Break, 2011)

Well I wont describe it in detail but I got back at the beginning of this week from a nice little trip.  Because I sort pictures by location and not trips or time I can't give a link to the collection of them directly.  Instead I will direct you to my photos in general: http://www.panoramio.com/user/5423509 and say that at this point they are the last photos uploaded there (which show up first, the site organized it by date).  There's some good ones there.

We went, via the Monument, to Capital Reef in Utah.  There we climbed Navajo Knobs.  Afterwards over to Escalante and to Little Death Hollow.  Then down to Coyote Gulch the next day.  Following was some good driving on Hole in the Rock road and Cottonwood road (and a little trip down the associated Narrows).  Then we headed into Phoenix to catch some Rockies spring training which was fantastic.  Finally we headed back up with a stop to walk down into and out of the Grand Canyon.  Finally: home.  Not a bad trip.  No one else was amused as I was but I loved that there were signs all over the place in the GC telling you not to walk down and back in a day.  One read: "Do not attempt unless you are prepared for the following: permanent brain damage, cardiac arrest, death"  I found that hilarious.  I guess my whole family is prepared for death!

The Thorofare in Winter

The Thorofare, as referenced by me, is a large expanse of Wilderness that encompasses the Southern border of Yellowstone National Park and the Northern, Teton Wilderness.  It is huge, it is wild, it has mountains, and other than during hunting season virtually no one goes there.  That virtual lack of people drops even further in the winter when it would be lucky to see five people over the course of the extended season.  My Father had been there twice before in Winter (and several times in the Summer) but I never had in any season.  This year, still looking for work, I had time to join him on his sabbatical trip into the most remote part for a five day ski trip.

I don't have any pictures placed directly here, but I have uploaded quite a few, and tagged their location so you can see our journey if you wish.  They are all located here.

We left Saturday night and drove into Wyoming to get a jump on the next day (it's a long drive from Colorado to Turpin Meadows in North Western Wyoming where our journey was to start).  The next day we arrived at the trailhead (and our lodgings) in the early afternoon.  That gave us time to put a trail in before dinner.  The overall plan was to leave from Turpin Meadows and climb up into the Soda Fork Meadow.  From there we head North into North Fork Meadow, over Trail Creek Pass and down to Ocean Divide and Meadow.  Then out into the Thorofare valley where we'd stay by the Hawk's Rest cabin.  A lay-over day to cruise around the valley (and specifically go over to the Thorofare ranger cabin) and then back the way we came.

That afternoon we made it to the top of Soda Fork Meadow, which was helpful for two reasons.  The first is to have a trail put in for the next day (breaking trail in cross-country skis is hard!) and the second is despite a wide, summer trail and good maps we still got lost quite a bit in the woods.  It's amazing how easy it is to lose a trail in the Winter!  Well anyways, we put the trail in and headed back for dinner.  After eating and putting our packs together for the next day it was time for some early sleep.

The next day we got up and on the trail by 6:20, just as it was getting light.  We were dry and well prepared (about the only time on the trip) and so even though the temperature was hovering somewhere between -10 and -15 we didn't feel very cold.  We made it back to Soda Fork in good time, and slogged through the meadow as a wind began to pick-up.  Then up and over to North Fork, avoiding the avalanche slopes as best we good.  The original plan was to make it to the top of Trail Creek Pass by that night but the snow was much deeper than anticipated (deeper down to a crust, the 4.5+ feet of snow pack wasn't the issue, the amount we sunk in was) and as we slogged through North Fork Meadow it became increasingly unlikely that we would make it.  I, in particular, ran out of energy and we had to stop at the top of the Meadow for a very cold lunch.  We made it almost halfway up the pass before deciding to stop at around 3:00.  Which seems early but there's much left to do on these trips after the traveling end is over.

We constructed a snow cave in the trees, which took two hours.  There was so much snow it was never an issue to find a good place (though walking around through it was more problematic).  Here we picked the base of a tree and simply dug up out of the depression.  Afterwards it was time to melt snow and boil some water for our (freeze-dried) dinner.  This process was very slow, taking almost two hours every night.  It's an amazing amount of extra work to have to melt snow for drinking water rather than just purify stream water.  That done we retired to the cave as it was getting dark and spent the next 11 hours laying inside.

The next day we were up at sunrise and moving as fast as we could.  We broke camp and headed up the pass, which involved one very tricky gully we were forced up to avoid an avalanche slope.  70' of elevation gain by side-stepping can really wear you out!  Then up and over down to Two Ocean.  The many-mile-meadow was a slog.  Though it was beautiful, the endless breaking trail through a meadow whose end never seemed to get closer was quite punishing.  Finally we hit the end and drop off both the meadow and the trail to follow the creek down to the Thorofare valley (which, though slightly dangerous, is much faster in the winter than sticking with the trail).  From there we cross the massive expanse to the bridge over the Yellowstone and the cabin by Hawk's Rest.  Though the whole trip so far has had pretty good views, this is certainly the jewel.  The scale of it all is hard to take in.  The mountains aren't as spectacular as the Wind Rivers to the South, or the Tetons that we could see at the beginning of the trip, but they're beautiful, and huge, and the area is so wild as to more than compensate.  The two of us were mostly likely the only ones who would be there for the entire Winter, and we were certainly alone then!

Again we made it by 3, and set to building a snow cave and melting water.  And again finished just in time to duck into the cave as night came (and with it, the cold).  The next day we awoke for our layover day, a chance for some great scenery and for out bodies to rest an recuperate.  Neither of us were eating or drinking enough (we estimated under 1500 calories a piece per day) but a day of easier skiing should help.  We headed over to the Thorofare cabin on the other side of the valley.  The views were great and this was my biggest day for photography.  Right outside the cabin (about) is a special point.  Hard to nail down exactly, but it is the farthest one can be from a road in the contiguous United States.  I took some pictures and a 360 view from there before heading back.  I then skied around to get some more photos while my Father melted more water.  A couple of short little ski trips and a dinner later and it was off to bed again.

The next day we saddled up and began the return trip.  It had begun snowing the night before and was still going when we left.  In fact we couldn't see across the valley to figure out where to go!  We simply had to trust our sense of direction, and memory, to make it through.  Luckily both were good enough we made it across with no incident and spent the rest of the day alternating snow and sun.  Which was a sticky combination for our skis, and a tiring one, but not beyond our means.

We had planned to sleep in our first snow cave that night, but upon returning found it sagging far too much for comfort (it had begun sagging the first night, and actually dripped quite a bit of water on my Father's sleeping bag).  So we pressed on all the way down the pass into the North Fork Meadow where we built a new cave and for the last time, melted snow for our final journey out.

The next day it was still snowing, though again clearing on occasion for a brief bit of sun.  We made great time down to Soda Fork and out, but as soon as we hit the top of the trail, the sun came out in earnest and our skis began to stick terribly.  What had taken us less than 2 hours to get down the first day we put in the trail this time took close to four.  It was quite painful, as I had injured my leg the previous day, and quite slow.  Nevertheless we had left early in the morning for just that reason, and made out car by 2:00 with plenty of time to spare.

It was a great trip, gorgeous and wild.  This little summary here was intended more as a "where was I" description than a true expression of what the trip was like.  It as cold, and very wet.  It was a lot of work especially with the snow not really ideal for skiing at that point.  Always being on top of 4 or 5 feet of snow, never being able to sit down or be dry grates on a person.  Yet it was spectacular, the views were amazing. And the feeling of solitude and grandeur more than made up for the hardships such as they were.  What a wondrous time!

Beware Ties

I imagine a constant flux of neutrinos flowing into my body through my tie.  It appears to be acting as some sort of portal into my body; Rays of matter tracing backwards in time to fusion sources, rushing into my soft interior.  Though I can't imagine my tie provides any meaningful armor against something as slippery as a neutrino, it of course provides no easier entrance into me.  Perhaps its the shape: like some sort of colloquial, super-hero insignia.  It certainly matches well with the stereotypes of male persona: everyday superheros, each a calling card of barely hidden powers and chivalry.

I wonder what damage all that extra energy is doing to me.  Perhaps wearing a 3-piece helps as it allows my vest to protect most of my chest.  Of course my tie some how conducts matter into me despite the two layers of clothing beneath.

I have to imagine that it's more than just neutrinos.  After all, those basically interact with nothing and thus can not be percieved.  I'm seeing these particles flow into me, though certainly they could do nothing more than enter in.  Maybe its electromagnet waves: photons, pure energy.  This is certainly an appealing visual but the physics doesn't add up.  Hollywood aside, energy and light can't be seen unless directed at one's eyes.  Unless the offending material is actually flowing out of me, through my tie, this does not work.  And my tie is definitely imbibing that substance into me, not shedding it abroad.

It appears more as some sort of macro-scale particles.  Perhaps low-level atoms fluorescing under an unknown energy stream.  Or mixed in with radioactive elements that are emitting in the visible spectrum for some astrological cause.  No, the particles are only part of the stream, that must be it.  Some far off transmitter aimed directly at my tie, fiery and endless streams of matter.  Hydrogen atoms in a stream of photons, photoelectric, creating for me a wondrous image of the exterior communicator.  Some purpose served by manipulating my insides.

So much energy corrupts, and corrupts quickly, but I can not imagine, or wish not to, so much effort done just to destroy me.  This has been going on for some time, if it truly were determinantal I would have known by now, most likely would have died by now.  It is something else, something far more sinister than mere death.  Murder is a street game, a low class offense.  This is technocracy, this will not stoop to such a petty crime.

A deeper game is being played here: I'm convinced of it.  The tie manufactures are in on it, have been for years.  What if correlation of upper-class behavior is actually the result of some generational scheme?  Or perhaps this the next step into activation was more recent.  That must be why there is now a fashionable alternative for women and tie wearing.  Now both sexes are subject to the whims of these transmitters.  But who is the great plotter?

Perhaps the first step is to begin to follow the leaders of the tie companies.  Find their associates, figure out with whom they have hatched their great scheme.  Or would it be more direct to go straight to the fashion moguls themselves?  Are they the chief players in this game, manufacturers just some pawns that have been brought forward in our new, industrial age?

No, they must both be only minor actors in the game: each one taking a title role when society shifts attention.  Now that we have moved into the information age, visual fashionistas are taking a starring role. But somewhere behind both the strings lead back to that great puppeteer.  They're lurking in the dark, behind the veil.  Can we pierce that deeply, or are we to remain forever subject to our ties?  Bound up in inevitability as someone else's will is played out in our lives.

Colorado National Monument

A three night, two day (three day if you count driving) trip to the Monument.  I left Monday late in the morning.  A stop by Target to pick up some supplies (Target because I needed some electronics too) and then about 5 hours later I was pulling into the campground.  I step up the tent, which was a new, ultra-fancy/light one man contraption my Dad had just purchased and wanted me to try out.

After that it was time to walk around and see the sites.  I played around with my camera, as I was trying to get better at manually setting the shutter speed and f-stop, as well as learn its secrets.  Dinner and chores finished in time for the sunset which was a dozy, and then off to bed for some fitful sleep.  All three nights I was the only one in the campground which was quite nice.

Up the next day at around 5:30 and off to the trail.  The hike I had planned was actually outside the Monument itself: a few miles to the West, up to the densest concentration of natural arches in the United States save Arches NP itself.  They're all located in Rattlesnake canyon, North-West of the Monument.  I actually got off around 6:30, which was about when it got light enough to see unaided.  It was cool, low to mid twenties, but after about 30 minutes with my rain-coat on I was too hot and returned to just my hiking clothes, which ended up being the last time I wore anything for warmth this trip.

The hike was across a few canyons before climbing up to the top of Rattlesnake (the arches themselves actually being on the ridge of Rattlesnake canyon rather than down at the bottom of it).  For the first half-mile or so there were many foot-prints, then just one set.  At three miles in there was a very tricky spot with the snow and ice and that was the last of those prints.  After a slog up to the top I reached the ridge and was rewarded with some very nice views, then down to see the tops of these arches!

Then it was time to head down and see them from below, where it was supposedly much better views.  Now ... how to get down?  All the maps I saw, including the one I had with me showed the trail dipping down the 100 or so feet right at the beginning and simply continuing around.  I had walked to the end of the ridge on top and seen no connection.  For about two hours I searched for the trail, walking back and forth.  Finally I walked up to a trailhead above the ridge where a 4x4 track came in (closed for the winter).  There I found a map that clearly showed that the trail did not connect, that it simply ended at the top of the arches and looked like it did on my map because, horizontally, it was almost on top of the trail that went around the bottom.  The only way to reach that trail was back the way I came and then around the point of the ridge.  Ahh well, I got some good pictures.  Including one incredibly wide panorama from the 4x4 trailhead.

Then it was back down and around for those arches!  They were incredible, and remote enough to make them a lot more fun then Arches NP.  I was disappointed that my confusion on top kept me from dropping down into the canyon like I had originally planned, but I saw all the arches which was the main point.  Loop over I headed back to the car.  The whole trip was around 25 miles, which wasn't too bad.  A lot of snow and mud and my new boots held up great so that was promising.

I turned in at sunset again, and slept even worse this night.  Still I got a few hours in and woke up at 4:30, which was just about perfect.  My second hike started flat and in the trees, which was good for pre-dawn hiking (with a headlamp) and I wanted to get an early start.  The mud was pretty bad there and the more of the hike I completed in the morning the better, before the ground thawed out.  So it was around 5:45 when I actually got started, this time in the Monument itself.

The overall hike was to go down the liberty cap trail down to the bench at the foot of the Monument, walk along that to Wedding Canyon and follow that up to the Monument trail (the bench and wedding trails both being unmaintained trails).  That would lead back to the main road, and from there Black Ridge trail back to my car.  Overall about 27 miles, so it promised to be a good work-out.

The sun came up around the time I hit liberty cap, which was good for both scenery and the hike down to the bench was a bit tricky.

Then off on the bench trail, which was mostly pretty good though I did lose it once.  There were great views though.  No footprints, which was nice, always good to have a bit of the hike that feels secluded even if it's over-looking a town.

After walking past the trail head to the Colorado National Monument Trail (looks imposing, doesn't it?) it was up Wedding Canyon.  Incidentally, the trailhead was the only place I ever saw anyone else on a trail there: two women walking together, and one runner.  The trail up the canyon was quite nice, though steeper than I had anticipated.  As with the rest of the Monument, there were nice, canyon views the whole way.

Then I met up with the main trail and went back to the road above the canyons.  The trail was expertly routed to be both safe and spread the elevation gain out as much as possible.  One of the best trails I've been on, though by this point things were starting to get rather muddy.

Once I hit the road, I picked up the liter of water I'd stashed there and it was up to Black Ridge and back.  This walk at first was pretty, but quickly fell into the trees and lost most of the view.  What I remember about it, though, was the mud.  By now it was afternoon and snow was melting and ground unfreezing and things were very unpleasant.  Each step was at least an inch into the quagmire, rocks and plans, on trail, off trail, nothing seemed to work as a solution.  Still, one step at a time and I made it back to the car with a very nice trip completed and time left to wander around and see the sights.

There was supposed to be rain and snow coming in that night so I planned on getting to sleep as quickly as I could, and simply packing up and leaving as soon as the precipitation came.  While I turned in early I simply couldn't get to sleep.  The weather was supposed to move in by 9, and when midnight came I was still awake and still waiting.  I finally decided to just forget it and go home.  So I packed up and left around 12:30 or so.  I was glad I did, the pass at Vail and the Eisenhower tunnel got very slippery by the time I reached them, it turns out it was snowing there already, just not at the Monument!  Anyways, I beat the chain law being put into effect by about half an hour, though conditions were quite slippery and very slow for me.  I made it home by 5:30 that morning, unpacked and went to sleep.  A very nice trip, if not overly long.

Full pictures, including higher resolution versions of the ones here, can be found at: http://www.panoramio.com/user/5423509/tags/Colorado%20National%20Monument

Moving into the (video) Big Time

I finally figured out how to get video from the camcorder developed during the Alaskan gold rush onto my computer.  So here's my first video: me playing the piano.  Yes, I am that boring.



There you go.

And Home Again

When I got up the next morning (I wont say woke up, as the only time I slept was 10 to midnight) I went down to the end of the Island and walked a mile out to the farthest South overlook on the Island.  I brought the tripod and tried to take some 360 pictures of the sunrise.  I haven't found a program to merge them yet so I don't know how well it worked,  but there some good shots either way.  I then did some more overlooks on the way out, none of them being more than 2 miles.

Below is looking through Mesa arch out onto the East side of the park.

After the overlooks it was time to go to Arches.  I hadn't been there in ages and I have to admit after my much expanded memories and a week in Canyonlands, I was kind of disappointed.  Still, it was nice and I took several pictures, including the classic Delicate arch.

Then it was shortly after 12:00 and I realized I'd done everything I wanted to do in Arches.  Which meant it was time to go home.  Fine with me, I didn't feel like spending another night out anyways.  The drive home was pretty fast.  A little scary in a few parts but amusingly the most dangerous part was about 3/4 of a mile from home where I couldn't make it up a snow covered hill.  However, two alternate routes later and I was home from my trip: a success!

Down and Around

The planned loop had me drive to one tailhead and then walk back to the Gooseberry trailhead about 2.5-3 miles along the paved road.  Then a drop down Gooseberry itself and out onto the shelf.  From there the trail flowed around the tip of the Island and back to the trail leading up to my car.  The total distance was about 26 miles, and in the winter timing can be everything.  I left before sun-up, but twilight had already come.  Under no condition did I want to do Gooseberry before the sun came up (even though it would be in the shade all day due to the positioning of the cliff).  When I arrived at the drop the sun was coming up and there were some great views.

After taking pictures and a deep breath, there was nothing for it.  I have no pictures to show how truly terrifying it was, so you'll have to take my word for it.  The shot below was simply me right above the trail (you can see the first carrin on the bottom left) pointing my camera straight down.  The trail drops faster than you can really see in this picture.

Besides the pain in my left knee and foot, it was terrifying.  I never lost the trail and I honestly believe it was a gift from God, as there were many points where I simply had to plunge ahead and hope I was on the right track.  There was steep drops, cover in several feet of snow.  Small ledges you were to walk across that had so much snow you didn't know they were there and just had to hope.  Slipping and watching mini avalanches charging out in front of me and then dropping off the side of the cliff into the aether, I was frightened.  I went very, very slowly, foot by foot.  The 1+ miles of actual descent took me about an hour and a half, but I made it.

Once down it was spectacular.  Mountains and deep canyons, and the Island always above me.  And no one there at all, nor had there been.  It was just me and the scenery and miles and miles of trail.  I did begin to get nervous.  The next landmark after the drop that had a distance associated with it was 8 miles.  With the injuries I had I thought I was going fast but I knew I could easily be deceived by the pain.  I kept pushing myself to faster and faster.  As it turns out I was going plenty fast, in fact my resting average for the day was just under 3 mph (and just over if you took out the slow drop down Gooseberry).

I made it back to my car with plenty of day left for dinner and settling down.  I discovered that not only was I the only one on the trail that day, but there was only one or two other car tracks down on the south end of the Island where I was!  Now that's solitude.  I spent the night in the car again, and I was cold and slept poorly but this time I wasn't nervous.  It was a great day!