A to B through Z

So It's been a busy summer then a busier fall, but luckily in all my hopping around I found the time to take some notes for posterity. I feel like when I was younger the set of adventures I had experienced was limited enough that keeping track of them was simple. At this point I can barely remember the specific approaches on mountains from last summer, let alone back in college. With that in mind here is quick recap of my hikes in Rocky Mountain National Park this summer. Less for posterity and more for my own edification. As a quick aside, most of this was written in an afternoon hailstorm in the Ute Meadow so that may be where the note of terror you detect is coming from. B-17 hike - CSU-Pengree/Comanche park area (07/14/13) Great for an easier yet rewarding day hike about 1.5 hours from ft Collins. Take 14 west to 63E. There's some great car camping sites along the Poudre on 14. Also, a few spots on 63. 5 hours, easy pace. The trail ends at

Recently I read a blog by a pretty popular homebrewer about how he uses miller light to test new varieties of hops before throwing them into full batches of beer. Using a bland, familiar base to become acquainted with an unknown variable seemed like a brilliant idea to me and I made a quick note to try this out some time. A few days later it dawned on me that this is precisely the method I used to work my way through my mother's spice rack as a teen. When my friend Dustin was visiting a few weeks ago he kept poking me about how I plan meals, how I think about cooking, and why I wasn't using a recipe. As usual, I shrugged and probably gave an unhelpful and sarcastic answer. I have a few good cookbooks (Joy of Cooking is my jam) and obviously an internet brimming with shitty advice, but mostly this goes ignored or lightly-referenced. There are a handful of tried-and-true recipes that Ann has faithfully transcribed but I couldn't tell you where she keeps "our" c

I hope no one ever makes a documentary of my life. Not because I feel incapable of great deeds or am unsure of their coming. Rather, it seems that every biography papers over the indecision, angst, and apprehension that I sincerely hope has plagued the luminaries before me. I understand that Ernest Hemingway's bad poetry and Jeff Tweedy's shitty mix tapes make for poor prose, yet it makes relating difficult. The biography kick I have been on recently has made this obvious. A paragraph about lost years capping off a lengthy list of dates and places intended to sum up a childhood and family history, the dryness of which may only be topped by your neighborhood police blotter. Perhaps I'm not the target demographic, but if the telling of a lionized figure's life is not inspiring future genereations of partially-molded minds then what, praytell, is the point? We either need better authors or better youth. I suppose this entry forgoes the latter conclusion by its very e

As the sun set just beyond the horizon, the curvature of the earth became thunderously apparent. Less so in the bend of the horizon, but rather in the gradual transference of orange to blue in grand striations. The lights of a familiar city receded as the creep of rural America extended far beyond areas best remembered. It's hard to imagine manifest destiny fulfilled when in flight. It seems less likely that man has conquered nature with his feverish grappling when viewed aerially. Rather, I see a species huddled in mounds and clumps, steeled against an enveloping blackness far afield of these hives of commerce. A journey into these dominant wilds with pack and pole only reveals this precarious state. And yet we journey on, perhaps for this very reason.